Gulag

These are fine distinctions, but they matter. Although the Gulag and Auschwitz do belong to the same intellectual and historical tradition, they are nevertheless separate and distinct, both from one another and from camp systems set up by other regimes. The idea of the concentration camp may be general enough to be used in many different cultures and situations, but even a superficial study of the concentration camp’s cross-cultural history reveals that the specific details—how life in the camps was organized, how the camps developed over time, how rigid or disorganized they became, how cruel or liberal they remained—depended on the particular country, on the culture, and on the regime.⁵⁸ To those who were trapped behind barbed wire, these details were critical to their life, health, and survival.

In fact, reading the accounts of those who survived both, one is struck more by the differences between the victims’ experiences than by the differences between the two camp systems. Each tale has its own unique qualities, each camp held different sorts of horrors for people of different characters. In Germany you could die of cruelty, in Russia you could die of despair. In Auschwitz you could die in a gas chamber, in Kolyma you could freeze to death in the snow. You could die in a German forest or a Siberian waste-land, you could die in a mining accident or you could die in a cattle train. But in the end, the story of your life was your own.

PART ONE

THE ORIGINS OF THE GULAG, 1917—1939

Chapter 1

BOLSHEVIK BEGINNINGS

But your spine has been smashed,

My beautiful, pitiful era,

And with an inane smile

You look back, cruel and weak,

Like an animal past its prime,

At the prints of your own paws.

—Osip Mandelstam, “Vek”¹

One of my goals is to destroy the myth that the cruelest era of repression began in 1936–37. I think that in future, statistics will show that the wave of arrests, sentences and exile had already begun at the beginning of 1918, even before theofficial declaration, that autumn, of the “Red Terror.” Fromthat moment, the wave simply grew larger and larger, untilthe death of Stalin . . .

—Dmitri Likhachev, Vospominaniya²

IN THE YEAR 1917, two waves of revolution rolled across Russia, sweeping Imperial Russian society aside as if it were destroying so many houses of cards. After Czar Nicholas II abdicated in February, events proved extremely difficult for anyone to halt or control. Alexander Kerensky, the leader of the first post-revolutionary Provisional Government, later wrote that, in the void following the collapse of the old regime, “all existing political and tactical programs, however bold and well conceived, appeared hanging aimlessly and uselessly in space.”³

But although the Provisional Government was weak, although popular dissatisfaction was widespread, although anger at the carnage caused by the First World War ran high, few expected power to fall into the hands of the Bolsheviks, one of several radical socialist parties agitating for even more rapid change. Abroad, the Bolsheviks were scarcely known. One apocryphal tale illustrates foreign attitudes very well: in 1917, so the story goes, a bureaucrat rushed into the office of the Austrian Foreign Minister, shouting, “Your Excellency, there has been a revolution in Russia!” The minister snorted. “Who could make a revolution in Russia? Surely not harmless Herr Trotsky, down at the Café Central?”

If the nature of the Bolsheviks was mysterious, their leader, Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov—the man the world would come to know by his revolutionary pseudonym, “Lenin”—was even more so. During his many years as an émigré revolutionary, Lenin had been recognized for his brilliance, but also disliked for his intemperance and his factionalism. He picked frequent fights with other socialist leaders, and had a penchant for turning minor disagreements over seemingly irrelevant matters of dogma into major arguments.⁴