War, Peace and Revolution: International Socialism at the Crossroads, 1914-1918 9780312855871

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i 'EVOLUTION International Socialism at the Crossroads 1914-1918

DAVID KIRBY

AND REVOLUTION International Socialism at the Crossroads 1914-1918 The outbreak of war in August 1914, and of revolution in Russia in 1917, are universally acknowledged to be major watersheds in the history of the international socialist movement. This book deals with the attempts of that movement to come to terms with the changed situation: to devise a viable socialist peace program, and to face up to the challenge thrown down by the revolution in Russia. It ranges over the entire continent of Europe, paying due attention to social unrest and the political conflicts of the individual countries, as well as to the impact of the Russian revolution on the European labor movement. It will be of interest to students of history, politics, sociology and international relations and to all those interested in socialism and the labor movement.

HX 40 .K513 1966 2031946

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Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2019 with funding from Kahle/Austin Foundation

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WAR, PEACE AND REVOLUTION

War, Peace and Revolution International Socialism at the Crossroads

1914-1918 David Kirby

St. Martin’s Press

New York

© David Kirby, 1986 All rights reserved. For information, write: St. Martin’s Press, Inc., 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010 Printed in Great Britain

First published in the United States of America in 1986 ISBN: 0-312-85587-7

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Kirby, David, 1942War, peace, and revolution. Bibliography: p. Includes index. 1. Socialism—History—20th century. 2 Socialism—Europe—History 20th century. 3. World War, 1914-1918. I. Title. HX40.K513 1985 324'.1 85-11895 ISBN 0-312-85587-7

Contents

Introduction Abbreviations 1 Before the fall 2 Social democracy and the war 3 The drum’s discordant sound 4 The Second International 1914-1917 5 The Soviet initiative (March-June 1917) 6 The Russian revolution and the European labour movement 7 Stockholm in the balance (May-July 1917) 8 The Soviet delegation to the west (July-August 1917) 9 The Zimmerwald alternative 10 Illusions and realities 11 Taking stock Notes Bibliography Index

vi x 1 26 49 69 95 130 152 171 188 204 230 249 284 302

Introduction

The history of organised labour movements in Europe has long been bedevilled by many of the problems inherent within the peculiar fusion of the ideas of socialism and the organisation of large numbers of workers which took place during the latter half of the nineteenth century. Many historians have shared some of the ideological or emotional assumptions and feelings of those whose actions they are studying, and their parti pris position has often drawn them into making judgements based more on polemical or ethical criteria than dispassionate assessment of the evidence. What the movement ought to have done, rather than what it actually did, is an underlying theme of such analyses.This is particularly true of the events of August 1914, over which subsequent events in Russia in 1917 have cast their own light. Marxist-Leninists see the history of the European labour movement from the ‘correct’ perspective arrived at by Lenin in Swiss exile. Reformist social democracy is adjudged to have ‘betrayed’ the working classes in 1914, and the ‘social pacifist’ groups which sought to bring an end to the war and to rescue the inter¬ nationalist honour of socialism are deemed to be vacillating, weak and ‘pseudo-revolutionary’ will-o’-the-wisps, trying to lure the workers from the revolutionary path. The evidence of working-class unrest during the war is paraded as a demonstration of revolutionary spirit, but is rarely subjected to critical scrutiny. The Bolshevik party is held up as the epitome of a class-conscious revolutionary organisation, but its peculiarly Russian characteristics, and its many internal squabbles and divisions, are not the subject of comment. This somewhat blinkered approach is not much favoured by historians outside the Soviet bloc; but they can become snared by the lines laid down by communist interpreters of the events of 1914-1917. Right-wing socialists are all too often dismissed as unprincipled opportunists or loyal, dull bureaucrats who have long since lost or abandoned any ideals they might once have had. The opprobrium heaped upon the right-wing German social democrats still clings. Their efforts to grapple with the problems of government after 1918 have attracted less attention than the activities of the left-wing socialists and communists during the German revolution. The Leninist taxonomy of right/prowar-centre/antiwarpacifist-left-revolutionary has often been accepted without much attempt to discern the nuances. Above all, historians have preferred to

Introduction

vii

dwell upon the failings of the left during the period 1914-1921, when the bold claims of socialist parties to be true revolutionary forces for change with a vision of the future were put to the test, and found wanting. Judged by their own high standards, they did fail to stop the war, influence the peace, make a successful revolution, or advance the cause of socialism as they would have wished, and it would be idle to pretend that this book is not primarily about the inability of socialists to live up to their declared ideals. Nevertheless, the seeming inability of mass organised labour movements to effect a radical and decisive breach in the walls of the established order outside Russia should not be allowed to obscure certain other features, which I hope to make clear in the following pages. First, the organised labour movement was a relatively new and untried political phenomenon. Many of its leaders had been with the movement from its beginnings, and if they recognised its limitations as a result of their wartime experiences, they were also aware of its achievements. The movement did sustain comradeship, loyalty, solidarity, and promote and encourage the aspirations of thousands of working men and women, in a wide variety of activities. As a political force, it did without doubt influence constitutional change and reform; and its trade unions were instrumental in compelling employers to take seriously the claims of their employees. It is true that the majority of workers remained outside the parties and unions, and indifferent to the appeals of socialism at the polls; but the fact remains that organised labour was a crucial element in the life of most European states after 1890-1900, and in a broader perspective than that offered by the war years, achieved a considerable measure of change. Second, I would suggest that there were obvious differences of attitude between Russian socialists and those of the legally tolerated ‘mass parties’ of the rest of Europe, even before 1914. The former were in resolute opposition to a state which persecuted them at every turn, and from which they could expect nothing good. The latter were involved in the life and affairs of the state, which they may have disliked as a bourgeois instrument of class rule, but which they hoped one day to take over and transform into a ‘people’s state’. The Russian autocracy collapsed because it was incapable of change; it had lost the respect of large sections of the elite as well as the masses, and could no longer cope with the strains of war imposed on a backward and inefficient economy. The instruments of autocratic rule vanished with it, leaving a political vacuum which was ultimately to be filled by a party prepared to erect a new form of state power. Such a collapse did not occur elsewhere, for even if the emperors departed, the structures of the state remained intact, and the power elites in industry, commerce and the armed forces were not disposed to give way meekly before a socialist assault. That the socialists of central Europe

viii

War, Peace and Revolution

opted for an adjustment of the power relationship, via the constitution and ballot box, for pluralism and factory councils rather than the social¬ isation of the means of production may be attributed to their reluctance to take power in what they perceived to be unfavourable circumstances, or to their fundamental lack of commitment to socialism, according to one’s predilections. But as they were quick to point out, Germany or Austria was not Russia, and their ideological notions of socialism had developed along rather different lines to those of their Russian counter¬ parts. In this book, I have avoided any precise definition of the term ‘socialism’, and have laid more emphasis on the ethical rather than the Marxist-materialist assumptions. I take international socialism to be primarily a form of moral protest rather than a concrete, organised force which socialists of the left strove for but were never able to achieve. My main theme will be the questions posed by the outbreak of war in 1914 for the European labour movement: specifically, the attempts of the different parties to work out their response to the problems of peace, democracy and the position of the working class in society, at a national and inter¬ national level. I have not attempted to analyse the causes or course of revolution in Russia or elsewhere, other than where necessary to illustrate their impact in general on socialist thinking and workers’ actions. Similarly, this does not claim to be a study of workers’ protest or grass¬ roots radicalism, though I have felt it necessary to include chapters on the attitudes of those whom the parties claimed to represent in order to show that the relationship between the leadership and their followers was a crucial element in the formulation of policies. It will be obvious that I have relied heavily on the German labour movement for much of my evidence, partly because of the sheer volume of work which has been produced, and partly because of the seminal importance of that movement in the history of European socialism. It may be objected that I have neglected eastern Europe and the Mediterranean lands, whilst dwelling too much on the countries of northern Europe. But as my study is primarily concerned with social democracy, which I take to be a political movement for the advancement of socialism on the basis of democratic institutions, rather than the communist movement which has established itself on rather different criteria in the countries of eastern Europe, I feel justified in concentrating on those countries where social democracy has remained an enduring force. I have not investigated trade union developments, which would undoubtedly throw interesting light on the history of the labour movement during the first world war, other than as an adjunct to my political theme. I have derived great benefit from the advice and encouragement of many people over the years, and would like to thank in particular Francis

Introduction

ix

Carsten, James Joll, Martin Grass, John Schwarzmantel, Bruno Naarden, Hannu Soikkanen, Bent Jensen, Moira Donald and all the students of my M.A. course on socialism during the first world war, whose ideas and suggestions have inspired me to carry on with this work. Grants from the British Academy, the Leverhulme Trust, the Hayter Fund and the Central Research Fund of the University of London enabled me to visit archives and libraries abroad. David Kirby London, 1985

Abbreviations

ARA BLEPS BSP CAB CAP CGL CGT DZB FO HO IISG ILP ISB ISC KA LO LPA LSI POB PRO PSI RKP SAG SFIO SPD TA UDC USPD VA VSA

Arbetarrorelsens arkiv (Labour Archives, Stockholm) British Library of Economic and Political Science, London British Socialist Party Cabinet Papers Commission Administrative Permanente Confederazione Generale di Lavoro Confederation Generale du Travail Die Zimmerwalder Bewegung, ed. H. Lademacher Foreign Office Home Office Internationaal Instituut voor Sociaalgeschiedenis, Amsterdam Independent Labour Party International Socialist Bureau International Socialist Commission Krasnyi Arkhiv

Landsorganisation Labour Party Archives, London Labour and Socialist International Parti Ouvrier Beige Public Record Office, London Partito Socialista Italiano Russische Korrespondenz Prawda Sozialistische Arbeitsgemeinschaft Section Francaise de l’Internationale Ouvriere Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands Tyovaenarkisto (Labour Archives, Helsinki) Union of Democratic Control Unabhangige Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands Valtionarkisto (National Archives, Helsinki) Vapaussodan arkisto (Civil War Archives, Helsinki)

1

Before the fall

Internationalism, imperialism and the problem of war When the Second International was founded in Paris in July 1889, in somewhat confused circumstances, socialism as a political movement was very much in its infancy. The French socialists were split into factions, the German social democrats were hampered by Bismarck’s anti-socialist laws, and the small Social Democratic Federation in Britain was wracked by quarrels and splits. Twenty-five years later, however, the parties affiliated to the International could boast a total membership of over three million. The French socialists had been united as one party in 1905, and although membership lagged behind that of the unions (syndicats) of the Confederation Generale du Travail (CGT), the Parti Socialiste {Section Francaise de VInternationale ouvriere- SFIO) managed to obtain 103 seats in the elections of May 1914 to the Chamber of Deputies. The German Social Democratic Party {Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands - SPD), allowed to operate within the law after 1891, became the largest single party in the Reichstag in the 1912 elections, when over four million voters returned 110 socialists. In Britain, the strength of the labour movement rested in the trade unions, although the Labour Party was beginning to asssume some sort of identity as a political force, with the Fabians and Independent Labour Party (ILP) providing much of the intellectual leadership. Socialist parties had also made impressive advances on the electoral field in Sweden, Denmark, Finland, Belgium and Italy. In most countries where socialist activities were freely permitted, there existed a flourishing sub-culture of party and trade union newspapers, pamphlets, discussion groups, sports clubs, drama groups, party schools and other organisations and activities. On the surface, therefore, it seemed as if the labour movement in many European countries had reached a level of maturity which few of those founder members of the Second International, on the hundredth anniversary of the storming of the Bastille, could have envisaged. This impressive advance of organised socialism was bolstered by an optimistic rhetoric which did not always mask a growing anxiety about the movement’s ability as an international force to counter the challenge of an aggressive capitalism, striving for new world markets. In 1909, for example, the leading theoretician of German Marxism, Karl Kautsky, had bluntly asserted that ‘the present-day arms race is above all a con¬ sequence of colonial policy and imperialism’, and as long as this was so,

2

War, Peace and Revolution

propaganda for peace was of little use.1 Three years later, however, Kautsky was beginning to shift his ground. He argued now that militarism was not necessarily the dominant feature of imperialism; it was based on economic circumstances rather than economic necessity. In Kautsky’s opinion, capitalism was more likely to seek peaceful and profit¬ able exploitation of world markets. He envisaged the extension of the principles of cartelisation to international relations, with the major industrial powers combining to exploit the world peacefully, inaugur¬ ating a new era of ‘ultra-imperialism’.Though keenly aware of the growing threat of war, Kautsky also noted a desire for peace in all sections of society; hence he urged socialists to strive for international agreements on arms control.2 Such a policy, adopted by the SPD Reichstag group in March 1911 was attacked as utopian by the party’s left wing. Karl Radek, a Polish Jew whose acerbic utterances did little to endear him to his German colleagues, declared that the SPD had failed to keep pace intellectually with the tempo of capitalist development, and suggested that many party leaders saw imperialism as yet another piece of evidence that socialism would have to be postponed to the distant future. Radek and others were taken to task by Gustav Eckstein, a close associate of Kautsky, for seeing imperialism as the inevitable outgrowth of capitalism, and the arms race as a ‘natural necessity’, which could not or should not be combatted.3 By 1912, the German party had begun to divide on the question of tactics in the face of the war threat. The left favoured aggressive mass action to fight the bellicose tendencies of capitalism; the centre and right attempted to find ways of settling potential conflicts peaceably. Underlying these attempts was the conviction that war would be an unmitigated disaster for the proletariat and its prospects of eventually inheriting power, which the orthodox German Marxists believed would only occur when the inner contradictions of capitalism had matured to crisis point. The history of the Second International was dominated by this issue of what socialists were to do in the event of war. Karl Marx had urged the working class to counteract the diplomatic wiles of their governments with all the means at their disposal, in order to vindicate the simple laws of morals and justice as the paramount rules of the relations between nations; but Marx was no pacifist. War might be a disaster for the working classes, but it could also be the midwife of revolution. Marx left no hard-and-fast rules on how socialists should react to the threat of war, however, and the Second International tended to endorse the moral tone of Marx’s inaugural address to the founding congress of the International Working Men’s Association in 1864, and to avoid the implications for socialism of a conflict which might hasten revolution. The Moroccan crisis of 1905-1906 prompted a flurry of activity,

Before the fall

3

principally amongst the French socialists, to place the problem of war on the agenda of the forthcoming international socialist congress in Stuttgart. It was here, in 1907, that the conflicting views of the French and German socialists came out into the open. Within the French party, there were three distinct lines of thinking on the question of tactics. The orthodox Marxists, grouped around Jules Guesde, rejected the antimilitarism and insurrectionism of the anarchosyndicalists of the CGT as damaging to the growth of a class-conscious socialist movement in France. They believed that the only way to eliminate the danger of war was through the ultimate triumph of socialism. In the meantime, militarism could be curbed by socialist refusal of credits for military expenditure, and by the substitution of people’s militias for standing armies - an orthodox position similar to that adopted by the SPD. The insurrectionist tactic was advocated most forcefully within the SFIO by Gustav Herve. Jean Jaures, the dominant political figure in the SFIO, rejected this tactic as futile and dangerous, and the Guesdist line as sterile and rigid, and it was Jaures who won the day at the 1907 party congress in Nancy with a resolution for concerted and coordinated international action which would utilise all means from demonstrations to a general strike, and in the last resort, insurrection, to prevent war. The SPD resolution presented by August Bebel to the Stuttgart con¬ gress carefully avoided mention of the methods by which the labour movement should combat the threat of war. The workers and their parliamentary delegates in each threatened country were simply to adopt ‘the methods which seem to them most effective’. In the ensuing debate, the German centre and right rejected any idea of a general strike, which they feared would simply jeopardise the entire structure of the labour movement. The final resolution adopted by the congress was a strange blend of inherently conflicting ideas. The main body of the resolution incorporated Bebel’s analysis of the nature of wars in capitalist society, and his non-committal conclusion; but in the sub-committee set up to draft the final resolution, the left managed to slip in a final sentence which declared that, should war break out nevertheless, socialists should take steps to ensure its early termination ‘and to strive with all their power to make use of the violent economic and political crisis brought about by the war to rouse the people, and thereby to hasten the abolition of class rule’. The German party machine had thus managed to head off the demands of the French and their allies in the ILP and the Parti Ouvner Beige (POB) for an effective tactic to prevent war, but they had also allowed the left to slip in an amendment which was clearly designed to utilise a war situation in order to precipitate revolution. As this was not a commitment to a revolutionary tactic to prevent war, however, it aroused little attention.

4

War, Peace and Revolution

The Stuttgart resolution was a compromise which satisfied everyone and yet solved nothing.4 The debate over tactics was renewed three years later at the Copen¬ hagen congress of the International. A proposal sponsored by Keir Hardie and Edouard Vaillant, calling for a general strike, especially in industries which supplied the implements and means of warfare, as a particularly effective means of preventing war, was eventually referred back to the Bureau of the International for further study, with the promise that it would be placed on the agenda of the next congress. The congress resolution on war was consistent with the position of the SPD majority and reflected a desire to align socialism with radical movements pressing for peace and control over the diplomatic practices of the great powers. The principal points embodied in this resolution - international courts of arbitration whose decisions were to be binding, the limitation of arms production, and the granting of autonomy to all nations seeking it - were not new, but they were to form the basis for a ‘preventive’ strategy for moderate social democrats, as the left’s Stuttgart amendment was to point the way for revolutionaries seeking a curative solution to the problem of war. But neither addressed the immediate question of what the labour movement could or should do to counter the threat of war. The extraordinary congress convened in Basel in November 1912 was an impressive demonstration of international socialist solidarity in the face of a perceived threat - a Balkan war - but it did nothing to solve the question of tactics. Kautsky was full of praise for the promptness with which the congress had been organised, but he freely admitted that it was impossible to predict what sort of influence the congress might have. In characteristic fashion, he weighed up the prospects. On the one hand, in an era of universal conscription and of a well organised revolutionary pro¬ letariat, no government dared plunge into war without first succeeding in generating enthusiasm for war amongst the populace; on the other, however, ‘it would be pointless, and even downright pernicious, in a populace swept away by universal enthusiasm for war, to wish to hinder the government’s war effort by mass actions, or by the most violent method of all, a mass strike’. Kautsky made it clear that the task of socialists was essentially propagandist, and that mass actions were feasible only in so far as they followed this general guideline.5 The French were however still anxious to secure some sort of positive response to the threat of war; but the resolution put forward by Jaures and narrowly approved by the extraordinary SFIO congress in July 1914 in preparation for the proposed August meeting of the International in Vienna, differed in several crucial respects from that of Hardie and Vaillant. The strike weapon was to be used to force governments to arbitration, not simply to prevent war. It was to be simultaneously and

Before the fall

5

internationally organised, which presupposed the existence or creation of a central coordinating body to supervise the operation. And it was to take the form of a massive workers’ demonstration, rather than an all-out strike to cripple the process of mobilisation. It was moreover to take place only if a real threat of war was thought to exist. In other words, it was to be a demonstration of proletarian opposition, not a call to insurrection. This was to prove an important shift of emphasis within the context of the French labour movement’s approach to the question of war. The syndicalist CGT continued to affirm that in the event of war the French proletariat would respond with a revolutionary general strike; but no clear guidelines on how this was to be carried out were laid down. Several bloody defeats in strike action added to the growing disillusionment of the rank-and-file with the sterility of a revolutionary rhetoric which seemed to do little to improve the workers’ immediate conditions. At the 1911 conference of bourses de travail and federations of the CGT, all but one of the speakers admitted that they could not count on their unions calling a general strike in the event of war. By 1914 the CGT was losing members, and its chief newspaper, La Bataille Syndicaliste, had an ailing circu¬ lation. The revolutionary element was also being displaced from the CGT leadership, which a government report of July 1914 characterised as seeking to inspire new confidence by ‘a little less revolutionary extremism and a little more attention to reality’.6 The malaise affecting syndicalism was in sharp contrast to the rising fortunes of the SFIO, whose member¬ ship rose from 53,928 in 1910 to 90,725 by the July 1914 congress. The insurrectionism of the CGT was intimately linked to the politics of class struggle in France; it had little relevance in the end to the broader issue of preventing war. The call for a general strike alarmed and irritated the German trade unionists, who openly declared their contempt for such ‘general nonsense’. The SPD leaders were also sceptical about the ability of the French and British trade unions to mount a general strike.7 Of the handful of parties which bothered to reply to the Bureau of the International (ISB) with regard to the Hardie-Vaillant proposal, the Danes felt that a general strike tactic would simply reveal the weaknesses of international social democracy, and the Finns argued that it would be impossible to know if there would be mass support for strike action in the event of war. A strike in Finland, as in other countries, would be tanta¬ mount to armed rebellion, and its failure would damage the movement for years to come.8 In an article published in 1912, the Austrian socialist Otto Bauer argued that a general strike tactic was only feasible if there was a determination to follow it up by armed revolt and revolution; but the chances of revolution were exceptionally poor at the outbreak of war, when the power of the state was at its height and the full force of national passions was unleashed. Under these circumstances, the prevention of

6

War, Peace and Revolution

war by a general strike was a ‘utopian fantasy’.9 Even if the ISB could supervise a general strike on an international scale, argued Jules Guesde at the SFIO congress in 1914, the inequality of the labour movements in the different countries would imperil the existence of the most highly organised movement, and would be tantamount to an act of treason against socialism itself.10 A general strike, even as a preventive or demonstrative measure designed to compel governments to draw back from the brink, was not even seriously considered by the delegates hastily summoned by the ISB to Brussels at the end of July 1914. Even if Jaures had persuaded his colleagues there of the necessity of coordinated international action, it is doubtful whether the ISB could have performed the task with the un¬ qualified support of the affiliated parties. But the failure of international socialism to live up to its boast of being the sole guardian of the peace in a world of predatory imperialist powers was not simply due to a lack of a coordinated and effective strategy. It was a reflection of the inability of international socialism to accept the logical consequences of its own premises concerning the nature of war in capitalist society. The speech of welcome delivered by the Swiss socialist Blocher to the assembled delegates in Basel during the Balkan crisis of 1912 neatly captures this confusion: European social democracy detests war, which is threatening on the horizon . . . but it does not fear it. If there is in Europe a force which has nothing to fear, but much to gain in the event of a general war, it is surely social democracy. A European war would probably unleash violent disturbances and commotions which would hasten the collapse of the economic system under which the working class is suffering today. But we do not want progress to follow this atrocious and terrible path. We know that the forces acting in the present economic order of society will lead us all the same to victory without the catastrophe of a European war.11 Otto Bauer argued in similar fashion. A European war would bring in its wake far more radical social and political changes than had previous conflicts. Nevertheless, it was the duty of the proletariat to do all it could be prevent the outbreak of such a conflagration. If war did erupt nonethe¬ less, socialists should disclaim all responsibility and wait for discontent to grow amongst the masses, temporarily seduced by the siren call of nationalism.12 For many socialists, especially those of the German-speaking lands, socialism was a kind of Holy Grail concealed in the bosom of the capitalist order. The movement should strive unceasingly to rescue the sacred object, but preferably when capitalism began to lose its grip - not in the

Before the fall

7

midst of turmoil. The movement also clad itself in shining armour. The struggle against the bellicose tendencies of the great powers would preserve the honour and integrity of social democracy and absolve it of blame should war break out. In the ensuing debacle, the parties would be able to hold aloft the banner of socialism as a hope and a promise of salvation for the war-weary masses, and would thus be able to rally them once more for an intensified class struggle in peacetime. This assumed, of course, that social democracy itself would not be seriously affected by the whirlwind of war. There was an awareness of the dangers of chauvinism carrying away large sections of the working class, but no-one seemed to think that the party leadership might also be affected. War was seen as an unmitigated evil, in spite of the general acceptance of the view that radical transformation frequently attended in the wake of hostilities. It was something to be feared as the harbinger of chaos, destruction and worst of all, the ‘false revolution’. The most productive years of the great founder figures of socialism had coincided with a phase of revolution and brief national wars which had destroyed the Metternichian system and had established Germany as a powerful force in Europe. After 1871, however, the great powers were able to maintain a kind of equilibrium in Europe. The area of conflict shifted to the periphery, where the unresolved eastern question festered, and beyond Europe. This long period of European peace saw the emer¬ gence and growth of organised labour movements, and it would not be too fanciful to imagine that this reinforced the conviction that socialism could only prosper if peace was preserved. It was also felt that the era of barricades was over, and there was much citing of Engels’ later writings to support this view. The 1905 revolution in Russia was regarded by most western socialists as the 1848 of a back¬ ward country - an era long since over in the more advanced western European nations. The ‘revolutionary’ character of Marxist social democracy was qualified by Kautsky’s rejection of the ‘revolution¬ making’ party. It was a fairly general axiom that revolution would occur when circumstances were ripe; the party could not predict or create these circumstances.13 This held true in the social democratic parties of northern Europe and the Habsburg Empire, which drew much of their intellectual sustenance from the German party. Kautsky’s ‘strategy of attrition’ (Ermattungsstrategie) was attacked by those on the left of the SPD as a denial of the revolutionary potential of the masses. In Pannekoek’s view, it was a systematisation of the negative features of the tried and trusted tactics, which expected no upsurge of conscious activity on the part of the proletariat, and which regarded revolutionary occasions ‘as catastrophes, which suddenly descend upon us as if from another world, without our consent or assistance, and which

8

War, Peace and Revolution

will finish off capitalism.’14 Even so, when it came to the question of what the proletariat might actually do in the event of war, Pannekoek was almost as imprecise as Kautsky, relying on the class-consciousness of the worker and the threat of mass action as a restraint upon aggressive capital¬ ist warmongers. The left saw the struggle against war as an integral part of the fight for socialism, and they suspected that their more moderate colleagues were becoming increasingly resigned to the indefinite post¬ ponement of the ends of the movement in the face of the machinations of the imperialist powers. Nevertheless, other than advocating a more aggressive tactic based upon the notion of mass action (which assumed that the masses would actually rise up at the right moment), the left could offer no more positive guidance than the right on tactics to be adopted internationally. The years immediately preceding the outbreak of war were thus characterised by a growing sense of resignation and passivity amongst the leaders of the German and Austrian labour movements. The threat of war weighed far more heavily on the French, whose initiatives of 1907 and 1910 were rebuffed by the SPD. In their anxiety to avoid war, the French deemed it legitimate to set fire to the whole forest, in the words of J.J. Becker; by illuminating the threat, they hoped that they could prevent its realisation. It was less important whether they could actually do what they declared they would.15 Jaures’ 1914 resolution, which was a rejection of simple insurrectionism in favour of preventive action on an international scale, might have carried more support in the ranks of the German socialists, had the Vienna congress of the International met in August 1914. But by the beginning of August the clouds of war were rolling over Europe, and far greater divisions were beginning to appear amongst the socialist parties. Socialism, democracy and the national state Socialism had not only come to maturity as an organised political force during an era of European peace; it was also intimately linked to the advance of democracy and nationalism. The winning of the vote, the acquisition of full citizen’s rights and emancipation from alien rule were issues on which social democracy could fight the bourgeois order; but they also served to integrate the working class into the framework of the national state. August Bebel’s distinction between the fatherland which belonged much more to the proletariat than to the ruling class, and the circumstances which served the interests of the ruling class in their fatherland, was a fine one which could easily be blurred.16 On the one hand, the working class was to be preserved from the contamination of bourgeois ethics and would be freed from the iniquities of the capitalist system by virtue of the ineluctable workings of the objective laws of

Before the fall

9

history. At the same time, however, the movement enabled the working class to obtain concessions and a status within the existing system. There were nevertheless a number of clear differences between the national parties which were to a large extent determined by the circum¬ stances in which they operated. In some countries, the existence of reformist liberal parties played an important role in determining socialist policies. In Sweden and Denmark, for instance, social democracy on the eve of the war was moving towards an alliance with radical and liberal parties in order to achieve constitutional reform. In Britain, the labour movement was deeply entangled in an informal alliance with the Liberal Party. In Imperial Germany and the Grand Duchy of Finland, on the other hand, the existence of constitutional norms and institutions encour¬ aged the development of moderate, parliamentary tactics and a concern for legal status, whilst the repressive nature of regimes which had no intention of permitting truly parliamentary government strengthened the revolutionary determinism of the socialist parties. The active suppression of the labour movement within the Russian Empire (Finland was the one exception) meant that the intellectuals who led the social democratic movement from abroad were unlikely to abandon the tradition of unremitting hostility towards the tsarist regime which dated back to the time of Herzen. The concessions wrung from the autocracy in 1905 were soon lost. The Duma failed to develop into a parliamentary institution, and party political and trade union activity of the kind which existed in the German and Habsburg Empires simply did not exist in Russia. The main problem facing social democracy in the Habsburg Empire was posed by the nationalities. The 1899 Brno programme adopted by the social democrats of Austria envisaged the transformation of the Austrian lands into a democratic federation of nationalities, in which nationally determined autonomous bodies would replace the historic crownlands. All the autonomous territories of one nationality were to be united into an association which would have complete control over the cultural and national affairs of that particular nationality. This programme was a rather uneasy compromise between the more centralist-minded Germans and the Slavs, and although the idea of a double network of administrat¬ ion was developed by Karl Renner and Otto Bauer, it never succeeded in capturing the imagination of socialists outside the Empire or of the nonGerman socialists within it. By 1911, the Czechs’ animosity towards the predominantly German-speaking leadership of the Gesamtpartei was at fever pitch, and the problem of what to do with the nations of the Empire seemed as intractable as ever. The national question was most acute in backward, rural regions of Europe, areas in which socialism failed to establish the kind of mass support it enjoyed in the industrialised countries. Marx and Engels had

10

War, Peace and Revolution

been particularly scornful about the future of these nationalities, whom they regarded as virtually doomed to extinction. The socialists who had to deal with the national question at the end of the nineteenth century could not so easily afford to be dismissive of the claims of the subject peoples. This was particularly the case in Austria-Hungary, with its large national minorities. In the Russian Empire, the national minorities on the eastern borderlands occupied the most advanced parts of an economically backward country; and the Poles at least could lay claim to a culture and an identity as great as that of the Russian people themselves. Marx and Engels had seen the achievement of national independence as an aspect of the struggle of the working class to emancipate itself and to achieve class hegemony which would ultimately lead to the dissolution of class and nations. But both men also assumed that it was historically impossible for a large nation to discuss its internal problems seriously as long as that nation lacked political independence, and that the existence of an international proletarian movement was predicated upon the existence of independent nations. They made a distinction however between the ‘historic’ nations, amongst whom they numbered Poland, Hungary, Germany and Italy, and the ‘historyless’ peoples. Engels in particular had little time for the peoples ‘who never had a history, nor the energy required to have one’, though his contempt was largely prompted by fear of Russian-inspired Panslavism, which he saw as the driving force behind an essentially bogus principle of nationalities in eastern Europe. He specifically rejected the idea of a restoration of Polish independence as in accordance with the principle of nationalities, since a restored Poland would comprise at least four different nations. The cause of Polish independence was seen primarily as a means of weakening Russia. For Engels, the Poles were a nation foutue, useful only until Russia was drawn into an agrarian revolution. From that moment on, Poland would have absolutely no more raison d’etre.17 Towards the end of his life, Engels did modify his position on Poland, though he continued to have ‘damned little’ sympathy for the smaller Slavic peoples. In a letter to Kautsky, he maintained that six months’ independence following the collapse of the Russian autocracy would suffice to bring the Slavs of Austria-Hungary back into the fold. Sixty years of bourgeois development and bureaucratic government would simply land the Bulgarians in the same hole (im Arsch) as the Serbians, he informed Bernstein in 1886. Far better for the Bulgarians and for us if they were to remain under Turkish rule until the European revolution, Engels concluded. He also rejected Bernstein’s view of a Great Serbia acting as a barrier against Russia and Austria, expressing great distrust of the Serbian dynasty and of Panslavist sentiments. Should the action of the Serbs threaten to engulf Europe in war, which ‘would ruin our entire

Before the fall

11

revolutionary situation, then they and their right to steal cattle must be mercilessly sacrificed in the interests of the European proletariat’.18 The emergence of a socialist movement in Poland, however, caused him to revise his views on the Polish question. It was the duty of the Polish socialists, he told Kautsky, to place national liberation at the head of their programme. Kautsky believed that Polish independence could only come as a result of the collapse of the autocracies in revolution. Engels felt this was of no significance; the independence of Poland and Ireland - though the contexts were different - were matters of justice and duty for all socialists.19 In other words, the broader revolutionary perspectives of the era of revolution and national awakening tended to give way to notions of justice, and national self-determination came to be detached as a separate issue in itself in the deliberations of the Second International. This was challenged at the end of the nineteenth century by Rosa Luxemburg, who held that a commitment to national self-determination was incompatible with socialism, since it subordinated the class struggle to a bourgeois ideal, that of nationalism. In the era of imperialism, she argued, the assertion of national interests was merely a deception and betrayal of the working classes to their deadly enemy, capitalism. National self-determination had long ceased to be progressive in Europe, where rapid economic development within the major territorial empires had led to an intensification of the class struggle. This was the case in the Russian Empire, which she believed to be ripe for revolution. Separation from Russia would cut Polish industry off from the Russian market and would inevitably result in economic decline for Poland, with the only beneficiaries being the reactionary landowning classes and the bureau¬ cracy. The only area in which she was prepared to concede that the demand for national self-determination might be the correct socialist tactic was the Ottoman Empire, which had shown itself incapable of any kind of economic progress. In other words, it appeared as if Rosa Luxemburg was turning Marx upside down, for he had supported Polish independence and defended the Ottoman Empire as part of his strategy of weakening the Russian autocracy. Luxemburg’s justification for her ‘revisionism’ was to argue that the slogans of the 1848 revolutions should be brought into line with the historical experience of subsequent decades. This was a view shared by Lenin, though he was also quick to seize upon Marx’s own changing views after 1848 to attack Rosa Luxemburg, making great use of Marx’s change of heart over Ireland in his polemical article of 1914, ‘The rights of nations to self-determination’. Lenin distinguished three categories of nation: the advanced capitalist countries of western Europe and the United States, the countries of eastern Europe, and semi-colonial lands such as China and Turkey. It was

12

War, Peace and Revolution

the duty of the proletariat in the advanced countries, where the national question was no longer an issue, to support demands for political independence from the oppressed colonial peoples, whilst in eastern Europe, the tasks of the proletariat could only be fulfilled once the right of nations to determine their own future had been won. Lenin was no unqualified admirer of small states. Like other socialists who considered the national question, he recognised the distinct economic advantages of large territorial areas. Furthermore, the acknowledgement of the principle of self-determination was not synonymous with the recognition of the principle of federation - Lenin was distinctly hostile to the AustroMarxist solution. In certain instances, federation or complete separation might be preferable to national inequality as the only way to ultimate democratic centralism. But, Lenin maintained, the aim of socialism was not only to end the division of mankind into tiny states, it was not only the rapprochement of nations; it was also their fusion. Rosa Luxemburg was opposed to the principle of national self-deter¬ mination because she believed it would shatter the revolutionary proletarian movement welling up within the Russian Empire. Lenin supported it, not as an end in itself, but in order to liberate the more advanced economic regions of the Empire, where nationalism had struck deep roots. Nationalism was an instrument which the Polish bourgeoisie and landowners could use to distract the workers, in the same way as Great Russian chauvinism could be used to whip up xenophobia amongst the Russian workers. Liberation for the oppressed nationalities would thus aid the liberation of the Russian people.20 Lenin was also conscious of the psychological aspects of chauvinism which led him on occasion to emphasise the moral right of nations to separate.21 The national question was also of relevance in the German and British Empires, though it did not occupy the centre of the political stage as it did in the Habsburg monarchy. German and British socialists could endorse the principle of national self-determination, though in general they relegated the Danish, Alsatian and Polish problems and the question of Ireland to the sidelines. Karl Kautsky could indeed look forward to the day when international socialism could lead to the final elimination of the languages of small nations and the creation of a cultural entity in which one language and one nationality alone existed, as had occurred in the eastern Mediterranean after Alexander the Great’s reign.22 Nevertheless, there did remain in Germany and Italy strong local and particularist traditions (the same may be said of France and Spain, where the revolt of the Midi and the Barcelona insurrection were very much directed against an alien and hostile central government), which prompted constant doubts about the exact nature of the nation-state. As GeoffEley has suggested, the suffusion of national values by various

Before the fall

13

pressure groups such as the Navy League and the Pan-German League in a society in which the precise definition of the national tradition was still disputed not only created further confusion and instability, it also erected a framework of notions which trapped opponents of rampant nationalism into thinking along similar lines.23 As Friedrich Adler saw in 1915, the internationalist class loyalty proclaimed by Wilhelm Liebknecht as the framework for the emancipation of the German working class gave way to a kind of organisational patriotism with the growth of the movement. Internationalism became subsumed under class loyalties, which in turn became anchored within the national state as German social democracy sought to escape from its ‘pariah status’.24 Studies such as those of Dieter Groh and Gunther Roth, which draw out the integrative features of social democracy, do tend to leave a number of questions unanswered. Organised labour movements in Europe were firmly enmeshed in the system they claimed to oppose, and they did act as a kind of mediating agent for the integration of the working classes into civil society. But whereas socialism promised hegemony and liberation, in practice it only offered the prospect of a clearly defined class existence within capitalist society, which showed little signs of imminent collapse. Even where social democracy had edged towards considering entry into government in alliance with liberals to push through constitutional reform, as in Sweden, it was far from hovering on the brink of power. The forces of the right were powerfully entrenched, and could whip up mass hysteria in order to dash the designs of the reformers, as the events in Sweden leading up to the fall of the liberal Staaff government in 1914 show. Any gains that were made in the struggle for better wages and working conditions were often lost in subsequent slumps in the trade cycle. Trade unions had to fight a constant uphill battle to ensure that their rights to combine, act and negotiate were protected by law. In many areas of Europe, from the agrocities of Apulia to the Polish mining communities in Silesia, the workers were to all intents and purposes isolated from the rest of society, and neglected by the organised labour movement. Behind the skilled men with steady jobs who were the backbone of these movements in western and central Europe were hundreds of thousands of unskilled workers, living a hand-to-mouth existence, for whom the prospect of integration into bourgeois society was at best a mirage. Even the skilled workers were coming under threat from new technological processes which undermined the value of their crafts¬ manship. It was to be the skilled engineering workers, not the masses of the wretched and oppressed (in whose hands Anton Pannekoek placed the future of socialism in 1915), who provided the most revolutionary and militant activists during the war.25 Social democratic parties which had enjoyed several decades of legal activity and which had managed to build

14

War, Peace and Revolution

up an impressive organisation and bureaucracy were without doubt suffering an atrophy of revolutionary elan, as Robert Michels noted just before the war. But this is not to say that the established order would sooner or later surrender the field to socialism, or that a situation might not arise in the future when the working class whom these parties claimed to represent might resort to revolutionary means to attain certain ends. In other words, social democracy was still on the sands rather than on the promenade, and could be cut off - or swept along - by a high tide, should circumstances so decree. The working classes and social democracy In the three decades before the outbreak of war in 1914, the location, composition and structure of the industrial workforce in Europe changed significantly. The first decades of industrialisation had seen considerable migration from the countryside to the centres of manufacturing. This migratory process gained momentum, and spread to the more backward regions of Europe, after 1870. Hundreds of thousands flooded to the new centres of mining and manufacturing; thousands more went to the great cities in search of work. The last years of the nineteenth century saw a massive boom in the construction of public and private buildings, bridges, railways and roads. The growth of the cities brought employ¬ ment not only for building workers, but for country girls in the houses of the middle class and for a whole range of workers in the service sector, from carters and porters to shop assistants, clerks and office workers. Europeans were not only moving to the towns; they were also leaving the continent in growing numbers. The steady flow of emigrants across the Atlantic became a flood after the American civil war, when the temptation of cheap land and the inducement of a low-cost ticket lured thousands to the prospect of a better life. Over four million Europeans left for the United States between 1909 and 1913, mostly from eastern Europe and Italy. America became the melting-pot for countless national¬ ities, but on the continent of Europe the old ethnic and regional homogeneity began to crumble too. Between 1850 and 1914, for example, the Ruhr area witnessed a major influx of workers, mostly into the mining industry. In 1850, only 13,000 were employed in the mines; by 1913 there were 395,000 miners, a large number of whom were Poles. In 1910, the Polish-speaking population of Westphalia was 279,000; in 1861, there had been only 16 Polish speakers in the entire region. The ethnic composition of many of the towns of eastern Europe changed dramatically with the influx of peasants speaking the language of the underprivileged subject nationalities. Elsewhere in Europe, regions hitherto remote and isolated were affected. The draining of the marshes of Ferrara and the breaking up of the ancient sheepwalks of Apulia in the

Before the fall

15

1870s led to extensive exploitation of the land with a workforce brought in largely from outside the area. The discovery of new orefields, coal seams and deposits of petroleum could also transform the landscape of untouched rural areas within a very short time. Railway construction brought huge gangs of navvies into the countryside. The lines they helped build broke down the divisions between town and country which still prevailed in much of Europe before 1860. The railway network, with its emphasis on accurate timekeeping and its aggressive embodiment of the machine age, carried the message and principles of industrialisation into the countryside. Compulsory education and universal conscription further helped break down the barriers between regions, town and country. The child was taken from the home and fields to learn the accepted forms of civilised, literate society; the young men were taken to be drilled and disciplined on the barracks square. Both processes involved an introduction to new, stan¬ dardised modes of behaviour, custom and language. Both made the young aware of the existence of the state and of the nation. To be sure, there was a great deal of inert resistance to the efforts of the schoolmaster and the drill sergeant; but the evidence of a decline and disappearance of practices and customs characteristic of traditional rural societies would suggest that the values of industrialised, urban society were winning the day. The pace of economic development also affected traditional patterns of work. The drive to exploit the land more efficiently began to break up the quasi-patriarchal relationship of master and men. The introduction of machinery made many farmhands redundant. The acquisition of the trappings of bourgeois wealth by the farmer and his wife meant that the farm servants no longer lived in, but had to find accommodation where they could. Small tenant farmers who lacked the means to improve their land and holdings were forced to seek work elsewhere, and to abandon the land. Traditional rights of grazing, fishing and access to woods for fuel were whittled away. The putting-out system and many home-based crafts were threatened with extinction. Technological change and innovation also affected the industrial workforce. The small manufacturing unit where skilled craftsmen were able to determine the pace at which they worked began to give way to huge factory complexes in which single¬ purpose machines which could be operated by semi-skilled workers dictated the pace of production. The turret lathe and the milling machine, both requiring relatively little skill to operate, made possible much higher levels of productivity. Stable and accurate gauges replaced callipers and rules, and ensured a high degree of standardised control. Special-purpose machinery led to piecework replacing time-determined wages, and the introduction of rational instead of customary norms for the determination of wages meant cost accounting, and the employment of office staff.

16

War, Peace and Revolution

Before 1914, however, relatively few industries had gone over completely to such methods of production and ‘scientific management’ because of the initial cost. In this respect, the war years were to see a major break¬ through. The regions and peoples of Europe were affected in different ways, according to the varying pace of economic and social change. Even in advanced industrial countries such as Britain there were sizeable rural areas where little had changed since the time of the Tudors. Nevertheless, by 1900 Britain had acquired the basic outlines of an urbanised, industrial society in which significant numbers of factory workers were following in their fathers’ footsteps. Elsewhere in Europe, the momentum of indus¬ trialisation had got under way much later, and the displacement of large numbers of people was still going on. The process of industrialisation did serve to integrate thousands into a time-controlled work routine in large productive units totally different from the traditional modes of employ¬ ment in and around the home; but these changes also generated an increased level of bewilderment and rootlessness. Marc Ferro has made the striking observation that the mass of early twentieth century men and women were outside public affairs. The ruling classes maintained themselves in power with the aid of a vast army of bureaucrats, whilst democracy failed to realise its promises, and reform, although producing material improvements, did not enable the lower classes to take control of their own affairs. The town-dweller no longer had any real say in the affairs of state, province or community. He rejoined the peasant in ‘common impotence’ in the face of overweening state authority.26 As with many brilliant Gallic generalisations, there is some need for qualification. In the first instance, there are clear differences between what may be termed the backward, rural periphery and the advanced, industrial heartlands. In backward areas such as southern Italy, south¬ eastern Europe, the Iberian peninsula and much of the Russian Empire, the mass of the people were completely outside whatever framework of society and politics happened to exist. In Russia, the emancipation of the peasantry had not led to any significant integration of the cherny lyudi into civil society. The lot of the poor peasant in Italy was not much better. Italy has been characterised as ‘a country which bore the consequences of a political unity realised without any true popular participation, charac¬ terised by serious social and economic backwardness and by the contrast between the northern regions and the South’.27 Politics were marred by the handicaps of backward societies - clientelism, manipulation of elections, bribery and corruption. The press mirrored the views of the ruling order, and urban, middle-class radicals and socialists failed to provide a leadership or strategy which could satisfy the aspirations of the

Before the fall

17

impoverished sharecroppers and farm labourers. Ignorance and super¬ stition, high levels of illiteracy and a low degree of political activity (with the exception of violent protests, perhaps a measure of how far the poor peasantry was outside any kind of mediating political framework) were characteristic features of the Mediterranean and eastern European lands, where capitalist exploitation of the soil was particularly ruthless and where the state did little or nothing to protect or improve the lot of the worker. In the industrial heartlands, however, the state and public authorities were not as remote or as evidently repressive. The worker was given at least an elementary introduction into the political community through education, the relaxation or abolition of restraints upon his freedom to meet and organise, the extension of the suffrage and the provision of public services and certain benefits such as regulated working conditions, pensions and sickness allowances. Working men had organised them¬ selves, and had themselves become organised within the framework of industrial capitalism. The expansion of capitalism also brought material advantages to significant sections of the working class. Poverty, degradation and misery was the lot of huge numbers of unskilled or itinerant workers, or of those who simply fell on hard times. But a skilled man in regular employment might be assured of some degree of comfort, and this in turn gave him some sort of standing in society, albeit on the lower margins. Far from wishing to destroy the bourgeoisie, this prosperous section of the working class strove to emulate the habits and lifestyle of the better-off.28 These ‘respectable’ members of the working class were acutely con¬ scious of the ragged and rough masses beneath them. Karl Marx observed in 1870 how the ordinary English worker hated the Irish worker, whom he saw as someone who threatened to undercut him in the labour market and thus lower his standard of living. The influx of unskilled workers of different ethnic and religious backgrounds into the industrial centres of Europe undoubtedly intensified feelings of superiority and resentment amongst the indigenous working class. Ties of kinship, racial and religious prejudices, craft exclusivity, even a desire to ape the middle classes, all ran counter to notions of working-class solidarity, but these divisive features of proletarian life seem not to have attracted much attention amongst the theorists of socialism before 1914. The essential difference between the industrial heartlands (Britain, ex¬ cluding southern Ireland and the Highlands, Belgium, north-eastern France and the Rhone valley, the Rhine-Ruhr complex, northern Italy, parts of Bohemia and Austria) and the areas with an overwhelmingly rural population and agrarian economy, as far as the labour movement is con¬ cerned, may be summarised thus: in industrialised areas the solidarity,

18

War, Peace and Revolution

discipline, self-respect and sense of purpose provided by the organised labour movement were conditioned by and even corresponded to the patterns of work discipline, organisation and functional stratification of industrial capitalism. The labour movement was emphatically of this world, and the worker was an integral, if not integrated part of the mode of production and of the environment which this helped create. Moral rejection of the excrescences of capitalism was certainly part of the social¬ ist critique; but the real thrust was directed against exploitation, not the material advances of industrialisation. Machine-breaking was not part of the socialist credo. The Marxists of the 1890s in Russia, for example, positively welcomed the advances of industry, which those of an earlier age had viewed with some trepidation. In the backward parts of Europe, and to some extent in countries such as France, where there still remained a large peasant population and artisans working in small workshops, resistance to the advances of capitalism was an important factor. George Lichtheim has made the interesting observation that Russians and Spaniards, never having been converted to either Protestantism or liberal¬ ism, were not disposed to divorce politics from ethics or metaphysics in the manner of mostxwest Europeans or Americans.29 In both instances, rejection of the modern world and adoption of a universalist and messianic revolutionary doctrine found favour. Marxism was slow to gain ground, and then amongst urban craftsmen such as the Jews of Vilna or the printers of Madrid; and in Russia at least, Marxism acquired a dis¬ tinctly different complexion to that of central European Marxism. In the Catholic countries of southern Europe, with weak central authority and large numbers of illiterate rural poor, messianic anarchism enjoyed con¬ siderable support. Labour conflicts were not the disciplined affairs they were in Britain or Germany; they were desperate battles fought against rapacious landlords and the armed units of the state. In such circum¬ stances, a well-disciplined labour movement of the German model was hardly likely to develop. This division between well-established and integrative labour move¬ ments in the industrialised western European countries and the un¬ organised, endemic rebellious anarchy of the poor peasantry of the backward periphery must however be advanced with some caution. In several countries where moderate, reformist parties and unions dominated the labour movement, there was an upsurge of industrial militancy and a growth of anarcho-syndicalist tendencies immediately before the outbreak of war. The Norwegian Labour Party, for example, had been dominated by moderates from its foundation in 1887, drawing support from the craftsmen and skilled workers of the coastal towns. Rapid industrialisation after 1905, centred on rural areas, where large numbers of construction workers were employed to build hydro-electric

Before the fall

19

power stations, dams and electro-chemical plants, changed the com¬ position of the Norwegian working class. There emerged within the labour movement a strong radical opposition, based in Trondheim, and drawing its support from the unskilled and itinerant workers, charac¬ terised by one writer as men with ‘broad-brimmed hats, big neckties, ragged hair and ultra-radical ideas’. This radical trade union opposition (.Fagopposisjon) drew some inspiration from French and Swedish syndical¬ ism, and some from the International Workers of the World (a number of Norwegians were actively involved in the labour movement in the United States, including the radical leader, Martin Tranmael). Unlike the syn¬ dicalists, however, the Norwegian radicals did not scorn political action. Their position in general terms was that of the left within the socialist movement in Europe, a ‘maximalist tactic ... no politics of compromise, no minister-socialism, no reformism . . . emphasising the class character of the movement and its revolutionary aims, and opposing the parlia¬ mentary and opportunist reform policy of the “people’s party” ’.30 The Fagopposisjon was closely linked to the radical youth movement within the Norwegian Labour Party. Dissident youth organisations were a constant worry for the party leadership in the Scandinavian countries and Germany. In Germany, the SPD took advantage of the 1908 Imperial law of association, section 17 of which prohibited young people under the age of 18 from joining political clubs or attending political meetings, to impose tighter controls on the youth movement. In Scandinavia and Germany, the socialist youth movement played an important role in the antiwar opposition after 1914, continuing the strong antimilitarist tradition of prewar years. Youth radicalism was aptly summed up by one of the principal leaders, Willi Miinzenberg, in 1919: It is part of the psyche of youth to prefer a revolutionary to a safe but deceitful political course, even if it is full of danger. The trade unions and social democratic parties in their day-to-day struggles easily lose sight of the great final aims of the socialist movement, which for the youth organisations, unhindered by electoral affairs and wage bargaining, are firmly established at the heart of the pro¬ letarian class struggle.31 A strong sense of injustice was fortified by an intransigent maximalism, and the party leaders were constantly under pressure to embrace a more rigorous theory of action from the spokesmen and journals of the youth movement. The Finnish Social Democratic Party offers a peculiar example of a mass movement strongly inspired by German Marxism in a country where industrialisation had only just begun to develop. In 1910, only 12 per cent of the population was dependent on manufacturing industry for

20

War, Peace and Revolution

its livelihood, as against 66 per cent who were engaged in agriculture and forestry. In 1904, party membership was around 16,000, and many of these predominantly artisan members were grouped in associations strongly influenced by liberal-philanthropic leaders. The existence of an unreformed four-estate Diet virtually excluded the party from parliamen¬ tary activity, at a time moreover when the assimilationist policies of the Russian authorities cast a shadow over political life in the Grand Duchy. The passive resistance campaign waged by the bourgeois constitution¬ alists between 1900 and 1905 helped create a degree of political consciousness in the countryside, where changes wrought in the pattern of rural life by the demand for timber and subsequent pressures on land also caused discontent. In October 1905 a national general strike occurred as Finland’s contribution to the revolution. This strike gave organised labour a key role, which it was quick to exploit. Thousands joined the party - membership by the summer of 1906 was around the 100,000 mark - and brought with them a militancy which caused serious em¬ barrassment to the party leaders. In the elections to the new unicameral parliament in 1907, conducted on the basis of universal male and female suffrage, the Social Democratic Party captured 80 of the 200 seats with 37 per cent of the votes cast, and it was to remain the largest single party in subsequent elections. On the eve of the war Finnish social democracy, in terms of parliamentary representation, was the most successful of all the European socialist parties. However, the democratically elected parlia¬ ment was unable to function properly as a legislative body, since it did not control the executive power and was subject to the dictates of the autocracy. No reforms could be pushed through which might satisfy the aspirations of the party’s supporters, most of whom were tenant farmers and the landless poor. The party was unable to provide a means of integrating the rural masses into society by effective land reform. The revolutionary events of 1905 produced a wave of radicalism which the leaders of the party sought to channel into more disciplined modes of political behaviour, whilst at the same time keeping the radical spirit alive through propaganda and agitation. The revolutionary and uncompromis¬ ing tones of the party’s rhetoric concealed an anxiety that the masses would burst the bonds of disciplined class-consciousness.The political and constitutional situation in Finland did not offer much scope for reformist or possibilist arguments; but neither did it persuade the Finnish socialists to abandon their legal status and pursue a more revolutionary course of action. Whereas the socialist parties in the rest of the Russian Empire were formed in a spirit of intransigent and revolutionary opposition to the autocracy and were compelled to operate illegally for much of the time, the Finnish Social Democratic Party developed out of well-meaning bourgeois efforts to promote ‘the workers’ cause’, and was

Before the fall

21

never proscribed. In this respect, it had far more in common with the social democratic parties of Protestant Europe.32 The Finnish Social Democratic Party was a relative newcomer (it was founded in 1899, adopting the ‘social democratic’ label in 1903, and becoming a significant mass party only in 1905-1906), and in one sense the militancy and enthusiasm of the rank-and-file was more typical of the early pioneering days of the older labour movements. Even so, there were indications of dissatisfaction and discontent within the movement, especially in the party-dominated trade unions. Parteiverdrossenheit of the kind detected by Carl Schorske in his study of German social democracy occurred in other countries too, as the youthful springs of the 1880s and 1890s reached the flat plains of the second decade of the twentieth century. It seemed to many that the flow of the movement had turned into aimless meandering. This was true on the right as well as on the left. Hjalmar Branting, the veteran Swedish socialist leader, argued forcefully for social democratic representation in government after the Social Democratic Party had emerged as the largest bloc in the 1914 elections to the Second Chamber. If the party refused to join forces with the liberals in toppling the conservative Hammarskjold government, Branting main¬ tained in October 1914, the electorate would believe that voting socialist did not bring any practical results.33 The left attempted to push their parties towards a more radical tactic at the Jena congress of the SPD in 1911 and at the congress of the Austrian party in 1913, but the dynamic theory of action which the left sought to restore to the forefront of the movement was rejected in favour of a pragmatic reformism glossed over by a mechanistic ideology of revolutionary passivity. For the left, the belief that power could be conquered through the winning of a parliamentary majority simply ignored the realities of the era of imperialism. Democracy was a means, but not an end in itself.34 The left in Germany urged the adoption of a strategy of mass strikes to further the proletarian struggle, and tangled with Kautsky as well as the right¬ wingers. But although the left raged at what they saw as the abandonment of world-transforming aims for a dull strategy of attrition, their increasing emphasis on ‘masses’ instead of ‘classes’ suggests that they were aware that the old vanguard of the labour movement had lost whatever revolu¬ tionary potential it might once have had. Surveying the scene after the outbreak of war, Anton Pannekoek admitted that the majority were likely to remain loyal to the parties which had renounced a revolutionary strategy in favour of reformism. If the revolutionaries broke away, they would only form small minority sects, as they had done in Holland in 1909. Pannekoek asked a number of pertinent questions about the members of the SPD, which other left-wingers were to be asking about their own parties in the first year of war. Half a million read the socialist

22

War, Peace and Revolution

and trade union newspapers; but how many more read non-party news¬ papers, and how many actually got beyond local and union news? Most of the party’s members were passive and inactive, concluded the Dutch socialist: The two decades of prosperity which lie behind us have given the most able-bodied groups with the best organisation a greater degree of affluence, contentment and confidence of further advancement through the strength of their own organisations, have made possible achievements in the cultural field, and have thus created the un¬ revolutionary type of movement that we have witnessed in Germany during recent years.35 The theory of a sedate, bureaucratic party machine abandoning the revolutionary ideals of its early days, developed by Robert Michels, and taken up independently by the left during the war does not fully explain the strength of loyalty within the movement. It may well be, as Roth has argued, that the leadership was not as remote from the rank-and-file as Michels believed, and that the desire for a quiet, organised petty bourgeois existence was shared by leaders and led.36 The movement was important for large numbers for whom it provided an opportunity to gain self-respect and to participate actively in a milieu which might have been imprisoned within the more powerful reality of modern capitalist society, but which had a real purpose for them. As Pannekoek perceived, it enabled working men to gain a confidence in their own abilities to organise and press demands; and it was also possible to rise within the movement to high office. In general, those of working-class origins who did so rise - Friedrich Ebert, Thorvald Stauning, Will Thorne are three of many such examples - remained on the right of the party, and frequently voiced their distrust of the left-wing intellectuals. There is certainly no reason to believe that the rank-and-file admired these intellectuals - or even understood them. And perhaps the left-wing intellectuals were asking too much of the working class. Not everyone can be a committed moral revolutionary, in much the same way as most Christians prefer the familiar and comfortable ways of established religion to the millenarian enthusiasm of the latter-day saints. If the working classes did not share the left’s enthusiasm for revolution¬ ary activity, there is no reason to suppose that they necessarily endorsed the liberal-pacifist morality of the moderate intellectual leadership. Imbued with a rationalist view of life, and concerned to define action in terms of objective forces, socialist intellectuals tended to overlook the subjective and irrational aspects of human behaviour. The passion for improving the lot of mankind frequently prompted socialists to assume that the message they preached was understood and shared by those who

Before the fall

23

were subjected to their propaganda. The evident desire of most workers to look after their own interests, which might or might not coincide with those of other workers, and to improve their conditions through reforms and concessions did not always accord with the left’s wish to foster a spirit of revolutionary class-consciousness. On the other hand, those for whom life was a constant struggle against hunger and poverty, and they were probably a majority of the working class in all countries, were unlikely to be captured permanently by the mainstream socialist aim of taming capitalism with the aid of a democratic bridle. There were certainly signs of dissatisfaction with tried and trusted parliamentary and trade union tactics in the ranks of the European labour movement as the twentieth century moved into its second decade. There were a number of major industrial conflicts which turned into bitter con¬ frontations between strikers and the forces of law and order; but this is not necessarily evidence of a mounting tide of revolutionary militancy. Strikes such as that of the Hamburg shipyard workers in 1913, the miners of Trpndelag in 1911 and the workers in the lumber industry in the Kymi valley, Finland, in 1913-1914 were responses to a well-organised, determined and ruthless offensive by industrialists, who were often able to beat down the demands of the strikers. There was also a strong under¬ lying tendency towards moderation and compromise amongst union leaders, and the militancy of certain elements should not be allowed to obscure the fact that the countervailing moderate tendency commanded at least the tacit support of the majority of trade unionists. Industrial action is usually taken by the workers in order to remedy immediate grievances, usually related to pay and working conditions. Prolonged and bitter conflicts could serve to educate the worker about the existing order; but they rarely developed into an attack on that order, in the normal course of events. The example of the 1905 Russian revolution, and the wave of strikes which occurred in other European countries excited the left, but the centre and right drew different conclusions. They argued that the revolution had occurred in a country weakened by military defeat, with a discredited regime. It had been crushed once that regime recovered. To Contemplate similar mass action in countries with an in¬ comparably more powerful and sophisticated state apparatus would be the height of folly. The supporters of a mass strike, according to Branting, were ‘economic Blanquists’, dangerous to the good order of the party and trade unions. The whole theory was ‘an infantile disease, nothing else’.37 The German trade union bosses would have heartily endorsed the Swedish party leader’s view. Kautsky was prepared to accept the mass strike as a valid weapon in certain circumstances; but it could only be used once, not as Luxemburg envisaged, in a series of actions. Luxemburg conceived of the mass strike as an irresistible and spontaneous force,

24

War, Peace and Revolution

arising naturally from prevailing conditions; but she underestimated the ability and power of the state to smash such actions, and overestimated the willingness of the working class to engage in such ventures. The evidence of waning militancy in the French syndicalist camp, discussed in great detail by contemporaries, seems not to have been noted by the left in Germany.38 There was also the problem of bridging the gap between the worker as a unit of production and as a citizen, which in James Connolly’s opinion was largely responsible for the failure of socialism to avert the v/ar: Politically large numbers roll together at elections round the faithful few who keep the machinery of the party together; industrially, more or less, large numbers roll together during strikes or lockouts. But the numbers of either are shifting, uncertain and of shadowy allegiance. From such no revolutionary action of value in the face of modern conditions of warfare and state organisation could be expected. And none came.39

Conclusion As I have tried to indicate in the above pages, the working class cannot be defined as a homogenous whole. The huge migration to the cities and centres of industry, mining and construction brought together people of very different ethnic and cultural backgrounds, and the animosities this engendered frequently prevented the creation of any cohesive sense of unity or solidarity. Studies of the Ruhr area, for example, have indicated that the high turnover of labour from one year to the next, ethnic and con¬ fessional divisions and ingrained conservatism prevented the creation of solidarity within the workforce before 1914.40 Demagogues were not slow to whip up antisemitic or anti-Catholic feeling. Employers frequently offered inducements such as cheap housing, workers’ clubs, unions and other facilities - which could be forfeited if the worker stepped out of line. Skilled workers did not take too kindly to the threat of dilution through the employment of semi- or unskilled labour on machines which made their skills redundant. There was widespread hostility to the employment of women in jobs traditionally regarded as male preserves. In spite of professed aims, socialist parties did little in practice to promote women’s rights, even within their own ranks; and trade unionists were often down¬ right hostile to claims for better pay and working conditions for women. Much of the antagonism between youth movements and the unions stemmed from the feeling amongst many young workers that their interests were not adequately represented by the unions. Such feelings of exclusion or neglect could generate a militancy which vented its wrath on the leaders of the movement as much as on the system.

Before the fall 25

There were many fissures within the labour movement by 1914, and these have led historians to conclude that the eventual splits of 1917-1923 were somehow foreshadowed before the war. This seems to me to underestimate the reasons why the labour movement managed to maintain an outward unity for so long, and ignores the desperate desire for reunification manifested by so many who eventually found themselves in new parties. It also ignores the fundamental changes in the com¬ position of the labour movement during the war, and the change of attitudes of the leadership as well as the rank-and-file which took place in these years. The discipline and defensive solidarity which had held the movement together before the war in the face of an internal enemy was no longer all-important once that enemy had been externalised. National solidarity now became more important to the leadership, and discipline was used to ensure this was so. In Germany and Sweden, for example, the radicals had either to shut up and abide by the majority decision, or get out. For the rank-and-file, the discipline of the movement was broken up by mobilisation into the armed forces or into the huge new war industry complexes. The army and the munitions works imposed new kinds of discipline, but as the war dragged on, this was not enough to sustain the sense of national community which many socialists and non-socialists believed the ‘August experience’ had created. The wave of protest which erupted in most European countries in 1917 was primarily caused by deteriorating material conditions. The weakened labour leadership of the belligerent countries, without many of their best local activists, were not able to cope with this upsurge of militancy in the old tried and trusted manner. The habits and practices of decades simply broke down in the radically changed circumstances of total war. Whether the experience generated a genuine revolutionary mood, or simply left the workers exhausted and disillusioned, and how far the leaders of the labour movement responded with new strategies and ideas, the following pages will attempt to show.

2

Social democracy and the war

August 1914 The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand on 28 June 1914 did not immediately set alarm bells ringing in the socialist camp. Indeed, it was not until the end of July, as events began to gather pace towards the inexorable climax of war, that socialist leaders began to have doubts whether the proposed congress of the International would be able to meet in Vienna. Few believed the Austrian-Serbian crisis to be irresolvable. There was a strong disinclination amongst the leading Austrian socialists to believe in the possibility of war right up to the delivery of the Austrian ultimatum to Serbia on 23 July. This at least prompted the SPD executive (Vorstand) to issue a manifesto condemning warmongering intrigues and calling for mass protest demonstrations; but the Austrian socialists’ manifesto continued to see the crisis in local terms, and offered no hint of what the labour movement might do to prevent it spreading. Berlin’s rejection of British offers of mediation on 27 July brought home the seriousness of the situation, prompting the Italian Socialist Party (PSI) to demand that Italy stay neutral in the event of conflict. The SFIO executive (Commission Administrative Permanente - CAP), for its part, seemed reassured that the French government was doing everything possible to preserve the peace. On 29-30 July, a hastily convened session of the ISB was held in Brussels. The rapturous reception accorded the speakers at a massive peace rally in the Cirque Royale on the night of the 29th and the impressive series of rallies and meetings staged in the countries now being drawn into the web of conflict, concealed the inability of the International to devise an effective means of mobilising the labour movement against the threat of war. As the delegates left Brussels, their mood was still one of cautious optimism that the governments would step back from the brink. Within a week, a European war had begun, and the euphoria of the Cirque Royale had vanished forever.1 The strong belief held by socialists of different nationalities that no country wanted war was accompanied by a mixture of sentiments. The mood of the Brussels meeting veered from the pessimism of Victor Adler’s opening statement on the Wednesday morning to one of optimism that the conflict would be limited. Several delegates, including Hugo Haase of the SPD, chided the Austrian party leader for portraying the mood of the proletariat in such dark tones. At the same time, there was a

Social democracy and the war

27

sense of resignation and passivity in the face of events. The CGT’s comite confederal failed to come up with a clear antiwar strategy at its meeting on 28 July; the manifesto published in the CGT newspaper Bataille Syndicaliste the following day contained nothing about strike action, and praised the French government for its sincere efforts to maintain peace. Although there is evidence to suggest that a number of syndicats were prepared to take militant strike action, the CGT leaders preferred to abandon their frequently repeated assertion that the threat of war would provoke a general strike and to align themselves with the moderate pacifism of Jean Jaures. The assassination of Jaures on 31 July seems to have pushed the syndicalists even more into the camp of moderation. The joint session of party and union leaders was interrupted by news of the murder; on a highly emotional note, all rallied in support of a proposal made by Bled, secretary of the powerful Seine union federation, second¬ ing the SFIO action for peace. Bled’s warning that it was not an opportune time to frighten the supporters of peace with inflammatory declarations was symptomatic of the shifting CGT position.2 Fear of arrest under the notorious Carnet B, uncertainty about the response of the working class and an awareness of the actual weaknesses of the syndicalist movement all played a part in bringing the CGT to ‘sit on its principles’ on 31 July. Hesitations and doubts plagued socialists in other countries, in some instances, parties and unions strove to play down antiwar feeling by issuing directives to the press. The gravity of the situation tended to produce an imperceptible identification with the statesmen at the centre of the crisis, who were seen as striving to avoid war in general, and involvement of their own country in particular.3 Accompanying a growing sense of powerlessness and inability to launch a proletarian counter-offensive to head off the threat of war was a kind of patriotism, not clearly articulated as yet, but which was to burst forth with a vengeance on 4 August and the following days. Antipatriotism and antimilitarism had flourished in the ranks of French syndicalism; but as the studies of Jean-Jacques Becker and Jacques Julliard have shown, the former was in decline and the latter had become directed more at the defects in the existing army system. French syndicalism was essentially inward-looking, dominated by the small workshop (atelier) mentality.4 In some respects, the French syndicalists were firmly set in an honourable tradition of hatred of central authority, over which the red flag of la patrie could still appear in times of crisis. French socialism, in spite of its broader horizons, shared the same characteristics. Beneath the antipatriotic phrases of the CGT and the pacifist internationalism of the SFIO there lurked a ‘deep, visceral patriotism, brought out by elementary education and the constant proddings of the teachers, on which socialist slogans simply slithered [sur

28

War, Peace and Revolution

lequel glissent les slogans socialistesY.5 This patriotism was never far from

the surface. At the extraordinary SFIO party congress in mid-July 1914, Jaures declared, as he had before, ‘We wish to prevent war by a concerted and organised international action, but we are also determined to secure the national independence if it is threatened’.6 As the likelihood of the former coming to pass receded, the party and CGT leaders clung increasingly to the latter. After a hurried and inconclusive meeting with Hermann Muller of the SPD on 1 August, the leaders of the party spoke next day to a gathering of the federation of the Seine in the Salle Wagram. They all-invoked the name of the murdered Jaures and proclaimed that ‘France invaded would defend herself, and in joining in this defence, the socialists would be keeping faith with the revolutionary tradition of socialism and the International’.7 Thus, two days before the SFIO parliamentary group approved the Salle Wagram resolution and agreed unanimously to vote for credits for a war of national defence, a justification for the union sacree had been forged. The mood of resignation had been stronger within the SPD, though even on the left there was a genuine belief that the Kaiser and his government were anxious to avert war. The warmongers were thought to reside in Vienna, not Berlin. The demonstrations, impressive numeri¬ cally, produced no concrete proposals for action to prevent war. Although precautionary measures were taken - Ebert and Otto Braun were packed off to Switzerland on 30 July with the party funds - Chancellor Theobald von Bethmann Hollweg had been assured by Albert Stidekum, a rightwing member of the SPD Vorstand, of the loyal support of the party during the crisis. This assurance was important, but the party was already putting the brakes on - and moving towards outright acceptance of a war of national defence. From the end of July, the socialist press began to carry ever more alarmist articles alluding to the threat of a Russian invasion. Germany’s women and children shall not be the victims of Russian bestiality, the German land shall not become the booty of the Cossacks, the theme of a piece in Erzgebirgische Volksstimme on 1 August, was to become a chorus round the land by 4 August.8 The main issue for the SPD executive and parliamentary group at the end of July was not what measures to take to prevent war, but what the party’s position should be on war credits, were Germany to become involved in hostilities. Hermann Muller was instructed to travel to Paris to seek French support for a refusal to vote war credits. When he met the SFIO deputies in the Palais Bourbon on 1 August, the situation was already changing by the hour. Germany had declared war on Russia and the French government had ordered full mobilisation. Muller was unable to offer much comfort to the French. He presented a picture of division over the question of voting for war credits within his party, and his

Social democracy and the war

29

assurances that the SPD would not support war credits lacked conviction. The French socialists clearly saw Germany as the aggressor: should France be attacked, they would either have to vote for war credits, or abstain; they could not in all conscience vote against them. No decision was reached, and when Muller arrived at the Reichstag on the morning of 3 August, Germany had declared war on France - and the SPD Reichstag group had voted by 78 to 14 to vote for war credits in the Reichstag on the following day. On 4 August the SPD group observed party discipline and voted unanimously for war credits, in spite of the fact that Bethmann Hollweg had previously announced that German troops had entered Belgium. The party co-chairman, Hugo Haase, one of the 14 who had initially opposed voting for war credits, declared on behalf of the SPD that: Our people and their future liberty have much, if not all, to lose from a victory for Russian despotism, stained as it is with the blood of the best of the Russian people . . . That is why we are doing what we have always proclaimed: in the hour of danger, we will not leave the fatherland in the lurch. Haase’s words echoed those of the secretary of the SFIO, Louis Dubreuilh, uttered on 2 August: if cnotre France repuhlicaine et pacifique’ were attacked, the French socialists would rally to her defence, keeping faith with what they had always maintained.9 On 4 August, the 125th anniversary of the momentous session of the French national assembly, German and French socialists voted to support the national war effort. The British Labour Party and its constituent elements had been united in condemning European statesmen for meddling with Fire right up to the British declaration of war on Germany that same day. On the following morning, the party executive drew up a resolution condemning the war and accusing Sir Edward Grey of com¬ mitting Britain to supporting France in the event of war without the knowledge of the British people. Now that the war had broken out, the duty of the Labour Party was to secure peace at the earliest moment. This was endorsed by the Parliamentary Labour Party (PLP) that evening, but Ramsay MacDonald’s proposal that the resolution be read out later that evening to the House was rejected, and the PLP voted to support war credits and the war effort. MacDonald thereupon resigned as chairman of the PLP and was replaced by Arthur Henderson. The Belgian socialists had taken a decision to support their government only a few hours after the delivery of the German ultimatum on 2 August. By the end of the month, Belgian and French socialists were sitting in their governments, and a political truce - Burgfrieden in Germany, a more emotive union sacree in France - had been declared by the socialists of all the belligerent

30

War, Peace and Revolution

countries west of the Oder. The Austrian and Hungarian parties were not called upon to vote for war credits, though the fear of‘Muscovite despotic arrogance and Sarmatian barbarism’ (a phrase employed in the Vienna Arbeiter-Zeitung on 2 August) and the necessity of defending European culture and liberty was a recurrent theme in the Austrian and Hungarian socialist press. The two Serbian socialists in the national parliament voted against war credits, and the Menshevik and Bolshevik members of the Duma abstained on the vote taken on 8 August. In neither country did these protests have more than a symbolic value. The socialists of the neutral countries, with the exception of Italy (where the issue of entry into war was a real and divisive one), also took steps to support a strengthening of national defences.10 Socialist reactions to the transformation from opposition to war to acceptance of national defence varied from despair and disbelief to relief. The Russian socialist and feminist Aleksandra Kollontai, who was sitting in the gallery of the Reichstag on the day the SPD voted for war credits, felt a sense of horror and despair at this betrayal of internationalism - a feeling shared by Clara Zetkin and Rosa Luxemburg, both of whom initially contemplated suicide. Once the initial numbing shock had passed, however, anger began to surface. Writing to his friend and colleague Pavel Aksel’rod on 12 September, Yuly Martov denounced the German socialists for having disgraced the banner of Marxism so completely. The SPD had ‘scandalously liquidated its hegemony in international socialism’; it was now the duty of internationalists such as the Russian Mensheviks to attack without scruple this betrayal.11 On the whole, however, the mood of most socialists was one of resignation, mingled with a sense of relief and even expectation. Many felt that they had done all they could to prevent war, and that no blame could be attached to them. They still remained idealists, though their idealism now began to acquire different dimensions. The coming to power of the Bolsheviks in 1917 and the subsequent establishment of a Soviet state with its own ideology (and all that implies) has lent a polemical colouring to analysis of the events of August 1914, from which it is not easy to escape. Even non-Marxist historians have tended to accept and use labels such as ‘social chauvinist’ and ‘pacifist’ to describe the divisions within socialism during the war, though as Georges Haupt has pointed out, the use of such terms is based on ethical rather than historical criteria.12 Merle Fainsod’s argument, that the right behaved differently when faced with the crisis because it had ‘never sub¬ scribed’ to notions of the class struggle and international proletarian solidarity, assumes that there were clearcut divisions and underestimates the complexities of Marxist interpretation. Like Annie Kriegel, he sees the centre as essentially conciliatory and often contradictory,

Social democracy and the war

31

balancing between the ‘two powerful realities’ (in Kriegel’s phrase) of class and nation.13 Unfortunately, it is not easy to specify where the centre lay in any of the major socialist parties, and the growth of antiwar opposition may be seen as an indication that the dilemma of reconciling class and national interests was by no means resolved in 1914. Between the hawkish right wing, which supported a war of victory and even endorsed annexationist war aims, and the revolutionary left which called for the transformation of the war into a struggle for socialism, there was an overwhelming range of conflicting, shifting and often inconsistent opinion. The rapid turn of events in July-August 1914 caught all socialists by surprise, and they had to respond in an ad hoc manner. It was commonly believed that the war would be of short duration; and it was generally assumed that it was one of legitimate self-defence, although this argument sat uneasily upon the belief that the war was an inevitable consequence of imperialism and the arms race. The French socialists could find susten¬ ance for their support of the war in the revolutionary patriotism of the nineteenth century. Many saw the war as a means of advancing the cause of internationalism and democracy. For the syndicalist Dumercq, the choice was between a Junker victory, which would lead to further conflict, or a European victory, out of which ‘armed International’ a durable peace would be born. Another syndicalist developed the standard view of liberating the German people from the yoke of militarist imperialism in the following manner: It is important to cooperate with the bourgeoisie in the liberation of [occupied] territory and in defeating German military and political imperialism because we will at the same time be delivering a rude blow to the imperialism of certain political parties in France and having acted in this manner, we can turn to the Republic and say: as we have liberated you with our blood from German imperialism, free yourself from the imperialists who make of you a stunted, selfish Republic [une Republique batarde et egoiste] and move towards progress, towards concrete social reforms. After the war, the CGT would have to ‘reclaim the debt’ owed by the bourgeoisie to the workers.14 The German socialists also set a price against their patriotism; but whereas the French could fall back upon a revolutionary tradition and had some cause to be aggrieved by the German invasion, the Germans not only had to square their consciences to accommodate the awkward fact of the invasion of Belgium and north-east France; they had also to make peace with a hostile regime which had hitherto treated the labour movement with contempt. There was always an edge of anxiety to

32

War, Peace and Revolution

German socialist patriotism. Beneath the wave of militarist nationalism, Eduard David noted in his diary on 11 August, there was a strong upsurge of democratic feeling. Prussian suffrage reform would have to be the price paid by the regime for SPD loyalty. David and Max Cohen-Reuss made great play of the SPD’s desire for national unity in discussions with highranking officials at the beginning of the war, but both regarded the ‘big gesture’ of Prussian suffrage reform as essential. Were such a concession withheld, the hopes of the people would turn to bitterness and resentment.15 The main justification advanced by the SPD for its endorsement of the war was that Germany was threatened by invasion from the east. As soon as the objectives of national security had been accomplished and the enemy was disposed towards peace, Germany should seek to make peace which would enable her to live in amity with her neighbours.16 The russophobia whipped up in the German and Austro-Hungarian socialist press was given a more sophisticated tone by the claims of the SPD to be fighting for the liberation of the oppressed peoples, and even the Russians themselves, from the yoke of tsarist tyranny. The frozen chords of Marx’s Neue Rheinische Zeitung suddenly echoed in the ears of German social democracy, which conveniently forgot the warning uttered in Vorwarts on 3 August, that the SPD should not rescue the autocracy from the brink of revolution on which it stood in July 1914 by supporting a war against Russia.17 For German social democracy, support for a war of national defence ended the pariah status in which the party had languished so long. The ‘unpatriotic’ socialists became good Germans, even winning the symbolic acclamation of the Kaiser himself. The hostility which had hitherto been directed against the ruling class was now shifted to an external enemy. The primacy of discipline within the movement was exemplified by the unanimous vote for war credits; and the need for discipline to preserve national unity was a powerful weapon in the hands of the leadership, determined to stand no nonsense from dissidents. But the ‘August experience’, although profound, still did not expunge the tensions, nor did it integrate the labour movement into the nation. It would be a mistake to see statements and pronouncements made during the euphoric days of late summer 1914 as indicators of more than a sudden mood. The same may be said of the other countries which were swept along in the current of war. In their desire for peace, European socialists had failed to comprehend the immeasurably more powerful force of war, or the effects and consequences the outbreak of hostilities would have for the labour movement. As Trotsky noted in the autumn of 1914, the advance guard of social democracy found itself isolated, its organisation destroyed by the call-up of thousands of members. Mobilisation and the declaration of war

Social democracy and the war

33

not only meant that social democracy found itself face to face with the might of the state and its military forces; they also aroused fresh hope amongst the masses, many of whom had remained outside the influence of socialist agitation. In such circumstances, it was hardly surprising that the labour movement failed to resort to obstructionist tactics to prevent war.18 The outbreak of war took most people unawares, and it was some time before individual socialists and the collective leadership of the parties fully formulated their views on the changed situation. In their statements and writings, pacifism and internationalism were intermingled with bellicosity and patriotism, much as such sentiments had been qualified by a cautious realism before 1914.19 The Second International proved to be nothing more than a loose association of national parties, incapable of providing direction or leadership when the crisis broke. Once war was declared, as the Dutch socialist Willem Vliegen remarked in a report on arbitration which was to have been presented to the Vienna congress of the International in August 1914, the voice of common sense would give way to the roar of the guns. National sentiment and a spirit of belligerency would spread rapidly, carrying the working class along with it.20 Never¬ theless, the failure of international socialism to stop the war did not mean that the ideals of internationalism enunciated at Stuttgart, Copenhagen and Basel perished. The restoration of peace was declared to be the main objective by all socialist parties, but there were wide margins of disagreement on how this peace was to be achieved, and on what terms. The war was seen as a tragedy, but it did offer new opportunities for the transformation and direction of society. The evolutionary strain of socialism could be utilised to argue that the war offered an excellent opportunity for the labour movement to press for reforms and to strengthen its position within the state and in society. The revolutionary tradition could be drawn upon to show the war as an essential climacteric, destroying the national state and laying bare the aggressive and ultimately self-destructive nature of imperialism. New ideas and perspectives were thrown up by the war, but old attitudes and loyalties still remained strong. Restoration, rather than transformation, was the keynote of much socialist thought and activity, even if there was a broad awareness of the need to rebuild more effectively in order to avoid future catastrophes. This was particularly so with respect to the International. The attempts to revive the International will be considered later; the next section looks at the response of the socialist parties to the war and the related issues of national defence and peace terms. Defining positions, 1914-1915 On the morning of 4 August, German troops invaded Belgium. By the

34

War, Peace and Revolution

end of the month, Brussels had fallen, and Joffre had been compelled to pull back from Mons. The French government withdrew to Bordeaux on 3 September as the decisive battle for the Marne got under way. The German advance was halted, and the two opposing sides began to dig in. The war of movement, after the ‘race to the sea’ had been stemmed in November, came to an end. Trench warfare, a terrible war of attrition costing millions of lives, was to prevail for the next three-and-a-half years on the western front. In the east, the Russian invasion of East Prussia was repulsed at Tannenberg on 31 August, but eastern Galicia remained under Russian control. The Austrians were also driven out of Belgrade by the Serbian army in December, though the war severely drained the resources of a poor country of less than five million people. A year later, the exhausted army accompanied by thousands of refugees fled across the mountains to Albania, leaving Serbia under Austro-Hungarian and Bulgarian occupation. The Russian army was also in retreat, evacuating Poland and much of Lithuania. The entry of Italy into the war on the side of the Allies at the end of May 1915, and of Bulgaria as an ally of the central powers in October 1915 brought the carnage to the mountains at the head of the Adriatic. The really big battles, in which casualty rates were truly horrific, were yet to come. The events of autumn 1914, especially the violation of Belgian neutrality, soon destroyed any lingering hopes of reconciliation. The attack on France and Belgium provoked some disquiet amongst the SPD leadership, which had voted for credits for a war of defence against Russian aggression. The entry into government of Guesde and Sembat at the end of August was taken by the SPD leadership to be a sign of French willingness for peace, and the party Vorstand agreed on 29 August to use all its influence on the German government to guarantee mild peace terms for France. Two party members were also to go to Switzerland to try to establish contact with the French socialists.21 The French socialist press made some attempt to exonerate the SPD from blame, and sought to curb excessive anti-German sentiment. The death of a leading member of the SPD in battle moved even Gustave Herve, one of the most vociferous antiGermans, to write a dignified obituary. Albert Siidekum wrote from Stockholm on 5 August to Keir Hardie, complaining of the falsehoods printed about Germany in the British press, and hoping to be able to prove in the near future ‘that England is on the wrong side - even that unfortunate Belgian affair cannot change my opinion.’ In reply, Hardie admitted: ‘As far as I can make out, the Kaiser did his best to preserve the peace of Europe, and he certainly went as far as man possibly could do in seeking to propitiate this country to induce it to remain neutral.’22 The Franco-Belgian socialist manifesto published on 6 September placed the burden of guilt squarely on the shoulders of the German government, but

Social democracy and the war

35

expressed the belief that the SPD, once it recognised the guilt of its government, would go into opposition. This manifesto, and the growing awareness of hostile feeling towards Germany amongst the socialists of the neutral countries, had a depressing effect on the Germans. For David, the manifesto was a ‘blow to the heart of the International’, and evidently the work of the opposition inside German social democracy. Karl Liebknecht was in fact in touch with the Belgian socialists, and news of the existence of an antiwar opposition in Germany was publicised in the Dutch socialist newspaper Het Volk on 3 September. Liebknecht also gave the Belgians the impression that Germany sought to defeat France and annex Belgium. This suspicion was strengthened by the uncritical endorsement of German occupation policy produced by the right-wing socialists Noske and Koester. The Germans were also upset that the Franco-Belgian manifesto had been signed by the four Belgian members of the ISB.23 As the war raged and the stories of the atrocities supposedly committed by German troops hardened into legend, attitudes in the allied socialist parties stiffened. The Labour Party manifesto issued on 14 October spoke of a victory for Germany as the end of democracy in Europe. ‘Until the power which has pillaged and outraged Belgium and the Belgians, and plunged nearly the whole of Europe into the awful misery, suffering and horror of war, is beaten, there can be no peace.’24 It was the duty of socialists to continue the struggle to the end, to defeat German mili¬ tarism; only then could the world be rescued from the ‘nightmare of blood’, according to Jules Guesde. The failure of the SPD to dissociate itself from the policies of the German government was strongly con¬ demned by the allied socialists who supported unreservedly their own national war effort.25 The Belgian socialists were the most resolutely opposed of all the socialist parties in the allied countries to any meeting with representatives of the SPD. As long as German troops occupied most of Belgium, there could be no talk of peace. Any international socialist meeting to discuss a peace initiative, declared the POB general council on 12 December 1916, would be futile and dangerous, since the SPD had palpably demonstrated its inability to observe the basic tenets of international socialism. A small group of Belgian exiles in Holland were however more inclined to con¬ sider the possibility of an international socialist peace initiative, and differences on this issue were to cause a rift between Camille Huysmans, the secretary of the ISB, and his more intransigent party colleagues.26 The president of the International, Emile Vandervelde, was especially hostile to any idea of a peace initiative as long as German troops occupied parts of France and Belgium. Vandervelde had accepted a post in the Belgian government soon after the invasion, and he had sent a telegram

36

War, Peace and Revolution

to the Russian socialists in the Duma, urging them to support the war effort to ensure the survival of democracy in the face of German aggres¬ sion. Both Menshevik and Bolshevik groups in the Duma had already issued a joint declaration protesting against the war, and had left the chamber before the vote on the war budget was taken. In their replies to Vandervelde, Mensheviks and Bolsheviks both acknowledged the validity of the cause of democracy, but claimed that support for the Russian autocracy would be a grave disservice to that cause. The Potresov group of Mensheviks did accept that the defeat of Germany would hasten the process of democratisation. There was thus no need for the allied socialists to abandon their support of the war, and the Russian socialists should themselves not oppose the war; but open support for the regime was a different matter. Even more open supporters of the allied cause, such as G. V. Plekhanov, identified with western democracy rather than the cause of reactionary tsarism.27 Russian social democracy had to struggle against great difficulties in normal circumstances to gain a footing inside the Empire. The war brought a new wave of banishments to Siberia and arrests, though a few did manage to remain active. Although the line of opposition to the tsarist cause was maintained, it was by no means as principled as that hammered out by the internationalists in exile; and the differences between the more workaday second-rank socialists such as N.S. Chkheidze and the high fliers in Swiss exile were to become very apparent in the early days of the February revolution. For the French socialists, the German invasion and the threat to Paris revived old memories of the Franco-Prussian war. On 26 August 1914 a ten-man commission was set up to consider the question of joining the government - a suggestion already rejected by the parliamentary group and the CAP. The gravity of the situation helped persuade the party leaders to change their views, and on 28 August Guesde and Sembat were authorised by the permanent commission, set up at the beginning of hostilities to coordinate SFIO activities, to enter the government as an exceptional measure. The SFIO group in the national assembly voted unanimously to support a new call for war credits in December 1914, and for the publication of a manifesto which justified socialist support for the war and spelled out the reasons: the defence of France’s independence and territorial integrity, the voluntary reunion of the provinces of AlsaceLorraine, the recognition of the right of national self-determination, and the creation of a federation of nations. France was fighting not just Prussian but all imperialism, for a war to end all wars and for a peace of free peoples. The conseil national meeting in July 1915 came out with a series of resolutions which in essence differed from the 1910 Copenhagen congress statement of socialist desiderata for the preservation of peace

Social democracy and the war

37

only in one respect: the notion of collective security (7a constitution dyune force Internationale de sanction’) was introduced.28 The CGT rallied to the war effort, although mobilisation revealed the inadequacies of its organisational structure., and also took many militants into the ranks. Leon Jouhaux used the comite confederal to rally support for the war, and apart from isolated areas which had a strong tradition of antimilitarism, the syndicalists offered little opposition. Jouhaux saw the war as a fight against German imperialism; but he was also anxious to secure gains for the French working class. He supported the American Federation of Labor proposal for an international labour conference to meet at the same time and place as the eventual peace conference, to discuss workers’ interests and the foundations of a durable peace, and he was anxious to secure international labour legislation. On the morrow of demobilisation, the burden of war debts upon the people would be enormous, and the bourgeoisie would be sure to place this burden on the shoulders of the workers unless they ensured that the peace treaty contained clauses to prevent it. Moreover, the war must also bring compensation for the sacrifices of the workers.29 The British labour movement was not affected by the war in the same way as its French and Belgian counterparts. Britain was not invaded; nor were large numbers of men immediately drafted into the armed forces (although great numbers volunteered in the early months of the war). The British Labour Party was also very different in composition and ideology from continental socialist parties. Its main purpose was to secure the election of representatives of the working class to Parliament. Most of its members were affiliated through the trade unions, who were at best indif¬ ferent to the ideals of socialism. Intellectual leadership was provided by middle-class radicals of the Fabian Society, with the Independent Labour Party (ILP) providing the movement with some of its best leaders and a blend of nonconformity and idealistic socialism. The British Socialist Party was a small and rather doctrinaire Marxist grouping, which split over the war in 1915. There were also a number of other local groups, some of which were to play an important role in the antiwar opposition. In the years before the war, the Labour Party had concentrated on laying the foundations for a national political party structure. In the spring of 1914 the party resolved to fight the next election as an independent party of the left. The electoral agreement with the liberals was rejected, in spite of Ramsay MacDonald’s hankering for a new arrangement. The political interests and ambitions of the British labour movement were to play an important part in determining the position of the Labour Party during the course of the war. It has been argued, for example, that the unions were frightened by the prospect of high unem¬ ployment and the party by the prospect of a ‘khaki’ election, which would

38

War, Peace and Revolution

go against labour, and that these fears, rather than a sense of patriotism, lay behind the civil truce in Britain.30 At the end of August, the party and the unions agreed to suspend independent political and trade union action for the duration of the war and to join other parties and bodies in encouraging voluntary recruitment. In the spring of 1915, three members of the Labour Party accepted government office and most of the large unions agreed to forgo the right to strike and to accept relaxation of existing trade union practices. The restrictions imposed on trade union activity by the Treasury Agreement and the 1915 Munitions Act caused a great deal of resentment; but the ensuing industrial unrest was directed against these shackles and the other impositions of the wartime situation, rather than against the war. In general, the Labour Party devoted little time to considering the future peace settlement before 1917. Its attentions were drawn more to specific domestic issues. The war emergency: workers’ national com¬ mittee, set up at the beginning of the war on the initiative of Arthur Henderson as a kind of watchdog for labour interests, helped provide a broad forum for the development of party policy which was to have some influence in the formulation of a party constitution in 1918. By concen¬ trating on issues upon which the broadest spectrum within the labour movement could agree, such as employment and consumer affairs, the committee managed to preserve party unity as well as the political truce. It also served to divert attention from the war and its causes. The Italian Socialist Party (PSI) had been faced with the dilemma of supporting or opposing war in 1911. An extraordinary party congress had voted to reject Giolitti’s war policy, though the right wing defended the war as necessary to provide relief for the problems of the mezzogiorno through colonisation of Libya. These dissidents were eventually expelled and formed a new party under the leadership of Bissolati. The two years before 1914 witnessed a rapid increase in PSI membership and a growing militancy in the trade unions, boosted by the revolutionary rhetoric of Mussolini’s AvantU. In 1913, there were some 810 industrial strikes, involving 385,000 workers, the highest figure yet reached for a single year. The killing of three demonstrators at Ancona in June 1914, when police fired on an antimilitarist demonstration, provoked a general strike which led to the virtual collapse of order in Emilia and the Marches, although the strike was called off after two days. The syndicalists did not shrink from calling for civil war to prevent the war in July 1914; but the PSI leadership was noticeably more cautious. A meeting of the Direzione of the PSI on 4 August blamed the war on the Balkan ambitions of AustroHungarian imperialism, egged on by German militarism. The tone of AvantU and many party leaders was openly sympathetic to the allied cause. Since there was a strong neutralist current in the bourgeois parties,

Social democracy and the war

39

the PSI was not called upon to make any decision in 1914. In September the party called for ‘inexorable resistance’ to the war and for the preservation of Italian neutrality. One month later Mussolini was dismissed from his post as editor-in-chief of Avanti! for advocating intervention on the allied side. Mussolini’s expulsion from the party did not eliminate pro-entente feeling, and there was talk of a ‘relative neutrality’ which presupposed an Italian national interest at stake. Though the parliamentary group, Direzione and CGL leaders issued a statement on 16 May 1915 directing the group to vote against war credits and inviting the proletariat to continue the fight for neutrality, no further action was proposed.The PSI policy of ne aderire ne sabotare was passive, lacking any revolutionary perspective and concealing a strong underlying reformist nationalism.31 The PSI was to acquire a spurious fame for its opposition to the war (which its leaders were not slow to exploit on the international socialist circuit). The SPD, the brightest jewel in the socialist world before 1914, was cast down into the flames of the inferno for what the internationalist minority believed was a shameful betrayal of the cause. No other party was subject to such abuse, or arraigned in the dock of world socialist opinion as guilty of transgressions, as was the German Social Democratic Party. Undoubtedly the party’s dominant position within the inter¬ national socialist movement placed it in the role of chief of the angels; and its own rigid discipline and sense of duty ensured that the fall would be so much the mightier. The whole issue of Germany’s war aims and war ‘guilt’, revived in furious fashion by the Fritz Fischer school and its opponents, has also clouded dispassionate judgement of the SPD. But were the German socialists any more culpable than socialists of other countries who supported the national war effort? In the confused situation at the beginning of August, when censorship, the threat of proscription and the upsurge of patriotic sentiment un¬ doubtedly influenced German socialists to believe that all they had striven for was threatened by the hordes of Russian despotism, rallying to the fatherland acquired a momentum which swept the entire party into the national camp. But although there was a general acceptance of the necessity for national defence, and elation over German victories, there was also increasing frustration caused by a worsening domestic economic situation. The long-term interests of the working class were by no means abandoned, and the unwillingness of the regime to make concessions kept the old class tensions alive. On the positive side, in the eyes of the majority within the SPD, the war had destroyed the ‘unpatriotic’ tag; and it seemed to offer the chance to make Germany a truly democratic country. Defence of the fatherland was linked to this aim. The war was also seen as one of defence against Russia and British imperialism; the

40

War, Peace and Revolution

attack on Belgium and France was explained away as an unavoidable military necessity. The crucial question is how far the majority came to accept the annexationist aims of the German government. A right-wing group, whose journal Die Glocke received financial support from the government, openly espoused such aims; and the programme drafted by Eduard David and approved by a sizeable majority at a meeting of the Reichstag group and the SPD Parteiausschuss (Council) in August 1915 was certainly in line with thinking about hegemony in Mitteleuropa. This programme argued that the return of Alsace-Lorraine to France was out of the question, as was the detachment of Polish-speaking areas from Prussia. To safeguard her freedom of economic development, Germany should demand ‘open door’ treatment in all colonial areas; most favoured nation status in the territories of her enemies after the peace; and the preservation of the Habsburg and Ottoman Empires. The incorporation of Russian Poland as an independent state entity (Staatswesen) into a federation with Germany and Austria-Hungary would not only satisfy Polish national aspirations, but would be the best military safeguard for Germany’s eastern border. Belgium should be restored to full indepen¬ dence, but not as a military outpost and political instrument of Britain. There was no condemnation of the breach of Belgian neutrality, nor any mention of indemnification of Germany for damage caused. David attributed the success of his programme to the negative and antinational character of the minority’s programme, drafted by Bernstein, and to the positive economic policies and the recognition of the interests and security of Germany in his own proposals.32 It should be noted however that David was one of the most intelligent and influential figures on the right wing of the party, and that his annexationist views were not always shared by his colleagues, who could be easily depressed by domestic or military setbacks. The growth of opposition within the SPD and of war-weariness prompted the Vorstand to launch a campaign against annexationism and for peace in 1916. David found Philipp Scheidemann in a pessimistic mood, seeking peace at any price, in August of that year.33 National interests had to be balanced against class interests. Speaking in the Reichstag on 5 April 1916, Ebert made it clear that the SPD did not find it easy to defend the ruling order which still prevailed in Germany. The SPD’s opposition to that system had not been changed by the war. Ebert’s denunciation of annexations and his call for the chancellor to consider any peace initiatives was some¬ what compromised by his defence of the U-boat campaign as a legitimate answer to the British blockade; but the thrust of his speech came at the end, when he conjured up the spirit of the masses who would return home from the trenches with a strong self-awareness:

Social democracy and the war

41

They will be imbued with a firm resolve that the state, for which they have risked their lives in the trenches, must not be the adminis¬ trative instrument of a small, privileged class . . . this new generation of the trenches will not allow its political life to be determined by the roundabout of the Prussian three-class electoral system.34 For much of the time, the reformists within the SPD leadership were content to march to the tune of the national interest; but they were not always sure of their destination, nor of their followers, for whom the war meant great sacrifices but little of the liberation promised in the euphoria of the Augusterlehnis.

Some idea of the antagonisms within the socialist movement generated by the experience of war may be gleaned from the discussions and resol¬ utions which took place in London and Vienna in 1915. The conference of socialists from the allied countries took place on 14 February in London, and was attended by 46 delegates from France, Britain, Belgium and Russia. The organisers of the conference sought to keep the Russian internationalists in the dark, sending no invitations either to the Bolshevik central committee or the Menshevik organisation committee. This caused great turmoil in the exiles’ ranks. Keir Hardie, the acting chairman, attempted to avoid discussion of the question of war guilt; but the French had made it clear that they intended to reject any talk of peace until German militarism was destroyed. Vaillant argued forcefully for an allied victory over Germany, whilst Vandervelde attacked those socialists who refused to attribute blame. There was much disagreement in the commission set up to draft a statement of aims between Vandervelde, Vaillant and Ramsay MacDonald, and the ILP and Chernov for the Socialist Revolutionaries objected in plenary session to the branding of Germany as the sole aggressor. The French hard-liners for their part did not much like the suggestion that the question of Alsace-Lorraine should be settled by plebiscite, nor the attack on Russia over the treatment of the Duma socialist deputies. The Vienna conference of 12-13 April, attended by an SPD delegation, representatives of the Hungarian and Czech parties, and the Vorstand of the Austrian party, saw some sniping at the official policy of Durchhalten (seeing it through) by Hugo Haase of the SPD and Friedrich Adler, the leading figure of the opposition in Austria. The final resolution was conciliatory and expressive of a desire for peace, in spite of the reservations of the right; but it also declared that peoples of the central powers were determined to fight in defence of their independence. 3 ' As long as the majority socialists on both sides were unwilling to shift away

42

War, Peace and Revolution

from their primary loyalty to the national cause, a socialist peace initiative was unlikely. But what of the opposition? The emergence of an opposition, 1915-1916 Loyalty to decisions taken in August 1914, and a resigned belief that opposition was in any case futile, given the general slide into war, proved to be a fragile cement. By the spring of 1915, open opposition had flared up on the fringes of the French and German labour movements, and discontent with the officially stated position of the parties was growing. By the end of 1916, all attempts at conciliation within the SPD had broken down, and the band of critics of the SFIO’s intransigent attitude towards a socialist peace initiative was growing rapidly. War-weariness undoubtedly played a major part in the growth of antiwar feeling. There was mounting unease at the evident disparity between the official socialist line of support for a war of national defence and the bellicose and annexationist claims made by ardent partisans of the war effort, including right-wing socialists. The chauvinistic tendencies within the SFIO leadership were criticised in May 1915 by the federation of Haute-Vienne in a memorandum circulated to other affiliated federations. This initiative stimulated much discussion, although the scattered pockets of opposition were slow to organise, and were much divided amongst themselves. Much of what may be termed ‘opposition’ was an inarticulate longing for an end to the privations and misery of war, which was often temporarily assuaged by victories or an improvement in the food situation. The most popular man in the trenches according to Karl Kautsky, was Karl Liebknecht, not for his policies, but because he was a man committed to ending the war.36 Liebknecht himself was well aware of the need to win over the support of those hitherto indifferent to politics, but now caught up in the misery of hunger and cold brought about by shortages. The old, prestigious leaders of the labour movement were fading away - Jaures, Bebel, Keir Hardie died within a period of three years - and the authority of those now in charge came under intense fire. Much of the thrust of the oppositional critique of the war was aimed at the party leadership - though few were willing to contemplate splitting the party. There were obvious differences between the moderate opposition (the ‘social pacifists’ in Leninist terminology) and the revolutionary fringe; and there were also fissures on the left. As Berta Thalheimer confided in Robert Grimm, the one-man begetter and organiser of the Zimmerwald movement: ‘The German opposition still lacks anything like a solid foundation. It is fragmented, broken up into separate tendencies.’37 The Grimm correspondence offers many examples of the fractious and squabbling inability of the currents of

Social democracy and the war

43

radical opposition to come together. Like many revolutionary groups dominated by intellectuals (for this opposition was rich in polemical tracts and speeches), doctrinal clarity was essential for the German and Russian Zimmerwaldists; and there were always those who regarded their own doctrinal purity as superior to all others. The debates and disagreements of the radical left will be considered later. At this stage a brief outline of the main current of opposition is presented, whose basic philosophy was summed up rather neatly by Jean Longuet in a letter to Camille Huysmans on 15 April 1916: ‘The truth is that not one of us is a partisan of peace at any price; but some [in the party] do not want peace at any price.’38 The first opposition groups in France emerged during the autumn of 1914. Opposition within the CGT was strongest in the Federation des Metaux, though it also had support in other craft and professional unions, such as that of the schoolteachers. Two members of the CGT opposition attended the Zimmerwald conference in 1915, where they sided firmly with the moderate majority. There was also a coterie of activists grouped around the journal La Vie Ouvriere, closely associated with the Russian exiles of the Nashe Slovo group.39 The syndicalist opposition was reluctant to collaborate with the opposition in the SFIO, though in January 1916 the two came together to form the comite pour la reprise des relations internationales. The minority opposition within the SFIO sought to create a broad front of all elements critical of the war, including non¬ socialists. They did not reject justifiable national defence, nor did they wish to split the party. They were critical of the government’s conduct of affairs in the July crisis, and of the tendency of the majority socialists to support the idea of war a outrance. They also rejected the notion that Germany alone bore responsibility for the war, and urged the resumption of relations with other socialists, which the majority resolutely opposed as long as the SPD continued to support the German government. By the end of 1916 the minority was sufficiently strong to prevent the CAP taking disciplinary measures against them, and had in fact captured 11 seats on that body. The majority began to shift towards a more conciliatory attitude in the winter of 1916-1917. The CGT and SFIO called on the French government to respond to President Wilson’s demand that the belligerents declare their war aims, and on 26 January 1917 the SFIO parliamentary group unanimously acclaimed Wilson’s formula of peace without victors or vanquished. The majority were still firmly opposed to the notion of an international socialist meeting until the SPD came out openly against the policies of the Germac^government: and the hard-liners of the right were critical of any deviation from the union sacree.40 The opposition to the war in Britain at a political level was radical, rather than avowetfiy socialist in inspiration. At the beginning of the war

44

War, Peace and Revolution

a small group of radical liberals, with Ramsay MacDonald, formed the Union of Democratic Control (UDC). The objects of this pressure group were: to establish parliamentary control over foreign policy; the creation of international understanding based on popular consent rather than governmental fiat; and honourable peace terms, which would seek to avoid future conflict. In September 1914, the UDC outlined a four-point peace programme. There should be no territorial transfers without the consent of those living in the areas affected; the British Parliament should have the power to sanction any treaty, arrangement or undertaking; British foreign policy should be directed towards international collabor¬ ation, not the maintenance of the balance of power; and Britain should propose as part of the peace settlement a plan for the drastic reduction of armaments by general nationalisation of the industry and controls over arms trafficking. A fifth point was added in 1916 on the necessity of free and unhindered commercial intercourse.41 The UDC programme (which differed very little from that endorsed by the International in Copen¬ hagen in 1910) was supported by many branches of the ILP and there was close cooperation between the two from the early months of the war. Although they were loath to accept the ILP’s brand of socialism, many radical liberals were drawn into the party as a result of its stand on the war. The ILP’s manifesto on the war blamed the machinations of the great powers and the blunders of secret diplomacy, and this was endorsed by the great majority of ILP branches. Although some loss of member¬ ship was noted in the first two years of war, numbers began to pick up by 1916. Large branches such as those in the City of London and Bristol were actively engaged in staging public debates, meetings and rallies. They did not shrink from expounding the ILP position on the war, but they were also active in fighting for better conditions for workers and the dependents of troops overseas.42 The ILP’s stand against the war aroused a great deal of hostility within the Labour Party, especially from patriotic union leaders, who tried hard to reduce the ILP’s influence within the party. This hostility probably helped strengthen the bonds between the ILP and the UDC. It may also have obscured the differences within the ILP itself. Ramsay MacDonald was certainly no pacifist, nor an opponent of the allied cause. He seems to have believed that an allied victory would afford a suitable opportunity for calm and rational discussion of the terms of a just and durable peace. His contempt for the forces of old diplomacy and faith in the moral superiority of radical solutions may have been ‘elaborate attempts to deny that there was a problem to be solved’, but it was not untypical of the radical strain of thinking about foreign affairs.43 The ILP position tended to reflect MacDonald’s own rather equivocal views - critical of the con¬ duct of foreign affairs, regretting the war as a tragic folly, but careful to

Social democracy and the war

45

avoid accusations of seeking Britain’s defeat. The saintly but rather exas¬ perating pacifism of Alfred Salter appealed to some in the party, but irritated many others. There was a section of activists, including Clifford Allen and Fenner Brockway, who were active in opposing conscription a peculiarly British form of opposition to the war. Allen was frequently critical of the party leadership for indecisiveness, especially in pressing for the government to state its terms for peace. This group and the member of the Scottish ILP embraced a more evidently socialist view of the world, viewing the war as the result of intensified capitalist com¬ petition. But to the hard-bitten Russian revolutionaries, the antiwar opposition in Britain was little more than ‘confused and sentimental pacifism’.44 The first full statement on peace aims arrived at by the ILP was at its annual conference at Easter 1915. This was simply a reaffirmation of the four-point programme of the International (no transfer of sovereignty without the consent of these affected, democratic control of foreign policy, reduction and control of arms manufacture, and international bodies to regulate disputes), and was fleshed out in a statement issued in September 1916 in response to an invitation from the executive of the ISB to submit views on peace aims. The ILP was also actively engaged in keeping alive international contacts, although the Labour Party confer¬ ence in January 1917 rejected an ILP motion for a revival of the Inter¬ national and an international socialist meeting by a substantial majority. Nevertheless, six of the 17 members elected to the national executive committee at the conference were or had been members of the UDC, and the passing of a resolution calling for an international league to enforce peace was the first indication of an interest in defining peace aims shown by the Labour Party since the beginning of the war.45 On the eve of the Russian revolution, then, the moderate opposition to the war a outrance was gaining ground within the SFIO and the Labour Party. In Germany, it was being forced out of the party. The first open breach of party discipline occurred in December 1914, when Karl Liebknecht voted against war credits. At first, the Reichstag group attempted to play down the nature of the opposition and within its own ranks allowed a degree of loyal dissent, but by the end of 1915 this modus vivendi had broken down. The opposition was constantly baulked in its attempts to speak in crucial Reichstag debates. Writing to his old friend Victor Adler in February 1915, Kautsky gave vent to his fears that the right-wing socialists and trade unionists now thought the time was ripe to purge the party of its Marxism: ‘Naturally they do not want a split, but control of the whole party apparatus and we are to be reduced to the status of dumb dogs.’46 Kautsky also feared that the left radicals would win ground amongst the discontented workers. David was convinced at the

46

War, Peace and Revolution

end of 1914 that the party would split, though he was thinking of the ‘anarcho-socialist demagogues’ Liebknecht and Luxemburg with whom he had been debating; Kautsky also accused Luxemburg of seeking to split the party.47 The moderate opposition began to address its message of peace to the country in the spring of 1915, when Hugo Haase made a series of speeches throughout Germany. In June 1915 the opposition drafted a leaflet attacking the policy of the party on the war and urging the breaking of the civil truce and a return to the class struggle. This leaflet, drafted by Karl Liebknecht, was circulated and attracted the support of a number of party activists, including 12 members of the Reichstag group. A more moderate statement was produced by Haase, which attacked the war rather than party policy. Haase was however violently attacked for this action, which was deemed inconsistent with his position as co-chairman of the party. In March 1916, 18 members of the SPD Reichstag group were expelled. They formed themselves into an ad hoc grouping (SAG), whose principal spokesmen were Georg Ledebour and Wilhelm Dittmann. A number of dissidents still remained within the main SPD group, and the left radicals regarded the breakaway SAG with a great deal of caution. In the autumn of 1916 the editorial board of Vorwarts, on which the opposition had a dominant position, was purged. The seeming determination of the majority to drive the opposition from the party, increasing government repression, and the failure to win over the masses helped bring the moderate opposition and the left radicals together. In January 1917 a national conference of the opposition was convened in Berlin by the SAG. The moderate majority showed a great reluctance to break with the party, and managed to head off a demand by the left calling for the withholding of affiliation dues by local party organisations. The SPD leadership responded by declaring that all who supported the opposition could no longer be considered party members, and although this decision had no binding force, it was clearly understood to be the final parting of the ways. The opposition finally constituted itself as the Independent Social Democratic Party (USPD) at Gotha on 6-8 April 1917, at a conference which was anything but unanimous on what the nature and role of the new party should be. Whether the split in German social democracy was the final phase of the radical-reformist division which had existed in the SPD before 1914, or more the result of wartime experiences has been a matter of debate amongst historians. Arthur Rosenberg believed the USPD was ‘the product of a temporary wartime situation’; Carl Schorske has maintained that the dividing lines were clearly foreshadowed at the 1913 party congress, and more recently David Morgan has asserted that the USPD

Social democracy and the war

47

‘was unmistakably an offshoot of the old Social Democracy in every respect, from its leaders to its ideology’. Suzanne Miller has placed another gloss on the split by emphasising the importance of differing ideas of party discipline.48 What is beyond dispute is that the USPD was a self-proclaimed party of opposition to the war, even if it was by no means united as regards aims and strategy. The moderate centrists such as Haase who had left the SPD were no longer in the middle but on the right, although still in a majority. For such men, the breach with the old party was a tragedy rather than a blessing, and in many important respects they had more in common with their former colleagues than with their new bedfellows of the radical left. The gulf between radicals and moderates was revealed at the Gotha conference. The Bremen radicals, who had close connections with Lenin, refused to join the new party, which they predicted would soon break apart. The Gruppe Internationale or Spartacists, whose main bases of support outside Berlin were in Stuttgart, Chemnitz, Hanau and Brunswick, were exceptionally critical of the SAG, and reserved the right to disseminate their own views within the new party. In a lengthy speech on the second day of the conference, Fritz Heckert, a Spartacist from Chemnitz, declared that on four crucial issues the SAG and Spartacists differed: imperialism, national defence, parliamentarianism and mass action. Heckert launched a fierce attack on Kautsky, whom he charac¬ terised as ‘an impractical theoretician’ who had not changed his position during the war. For Heckert, centrism was the same as bourgeois pacifism. He went on to voice disappointment at Ledebour’s defence of parliamentary activity, and urged action outside the Reichstag.49 Ledebour also aroused heated discussion by justifying socialist support for national defence in certain instances.50 In his opening speech, Hugo Haase had referred to the new party offering a ‘sheltering roof - a term to which the left took great exception, although it appears to have been coined originally by the Spartacists. It was however an accurate description of the USPD. The moderate oppo¬ sition had been driven out of the SPD, but they still clung to the traditions and ideals of the old party, which they felt had been captured by a narrow¬ minded bureaucracy which had lost sight of the goals of socialism. They wished to break the Burgfrieden and return to the old class struggle, preparing the proletariat for renewed action after the war, but not for revolutionary activity during hostilities. The moderates’ attitude towards the issue of national defence was as ambivalent as was that of the French minoritaires and the ILP. For the radicals, the development of a new revolutionary perspective and consciousness was paramount; for the moderates, the struggle for a peace of conciliation was of prime import¬ ance. This they hoped to achieve by renewing international socialist

48

War, Peace and Revolution

contacts, voting against war credits and putting pressure on the German government to renounce its annexationist ambitions. They also sought the transformation of Germany into a democratic republic. The ultimate victory of socialism was seen in the determinist perspective developed by Karl Kautsky, and not as something to be achieved by mass revolutionary action.51 Conclusion In general, the opposition tended to assume that the failure of the International to prevent war marked the end of an epoch, and that the war had brought about a new set of historic circumstances. Where they differed was over the adaptation of tactics and strategy to meet these new circumstances. Could the historic legacy of the prewar socialist movement, in spite of its imperfections, be reshaped, or should it be jet¬ tisoned? Few were prepared to go as far as Lenin in rejecting the ‘stinking corpse’ of the old International. Most thought in terms of salvaging what was best and noble from the ruins, of rallying the scattered ranks of social democracy to the struggle for peace. To reject the old organisations would be tantamount to throwing the baby away with the bath water; they should be recaptured from within, not reviled from an isolated and impotent sectarian position. The growth of antiwar sentiment was seen as a vindication of the struggle to bring the international socialist movement back to the old tactics of the class struggle and opposition to the bourgeois state and capitalism. The restoration of peace was the main objective, but as we shall see, this did involve a shift from the purely preventive concept of working-class restraint upon the forces of bellicose capitalism to the view that the only guarantee of a lasting peace lay in the victory of socialism. Even so, the call for the war to be transformed into a civil war and a revolutionary struggle for power remained very much confined to a minority.

3

The drum’s discordant sound

Illusions and realities The wild mood of euphoria which erupted amongst what might be described as the articulate classes at the outbreak of war has been well chronicled. What is less easy to determine is the reaction of the inartic¬ ulate masses. Undoubtedly many welcomed the war ‘as a licensed break¬ up of detestable lives’. For the ‘great mass of human beings depressed by the sordid conditions in the big towns’, the call to military adventure was the lesser evil. In Trotsky’s words; ‘The call to arms broke into their existence as a kind of promise . . . The war gripped everyone, and in consequence, the downtrodden, those whom life had cheated, felt them¬ selves on a par with the rich and powerful.’1 Trotsky compared the mood of the Viennese mobs demonstrating on the Ring to that of the crowds in St Petersburg in 1905, and noted how often war had proved to be the mother of revolution. Victor Adler had also witnessed the same crowds, but his conclusions were decidedly more pessimistic. The French syndicalists were visibly shaken by the sudden upsurge of patriotism. According to Alphonse Merrheim, recalling in 1919 the outbreak of war; the working class, swept along in a tide of chauvinism, would have relieved the authorities of the task of shooting any antiwar resisters.2 And yet, right up to the eve of war, large numbers of predominantly workingclass citizens had demonstrated against the threat of conflict. Twenty thousand turned out in the pouring rain in Hamburg on 28 July, and there were major rallies in all the big cities of Europe. The horrors of war were graphically portrayed by press and orators. A study of the German socialist press by Friedhelm Boll has led him to conclude that an aware¬ ness of class differences in no way disappeared under the euphoria of the August experience. The sudden price inflation, a sharp rise in unemploy¬ ment and a fall in real earnings, all recorded in the press and of course experienced by the working class, were realities which were overlooked by those who saw class differences magically disappearing.3 There was thus an inherent discrepancy between the notion of patriotic duty which motivated the socialists of the belligerent countries to support a war of national defence, and the abandonment of the struggle for class interests which was implicit in the civil truce. As the war progressed, the glaring inequalities of sacrifice, growing food shortages, inflation, the fatigue induced by working long hours in poorly-heated factories on inadequate diets and the diminishing prospect either of peace or of reforms and

50

War, Peace and Revolution

improvements in the lot of the working class, all added up against the fragile premises on which the civil truces were based. It would be unwise however to conclude that the socialists who forged such truces were dangerously out of step with the people they claimed to represent. Max Adler and Herman Gorter, for instance, drew attention to the fact that a ‘community of interest’ had developed between the working class and capitalism as a consequence of expansionist imperial¬ ism. Both men alluded to the irrational, aggressive and powerful force of nationalism which had manifested itself in 1914, although both recognised the existence of a passive nationalism in the organised working class long before the outbreak of war.4 Edwin Hoernle, a radical from Stuttgart, maintained that the ‘spiritual dominance’ of the ruling class had been neglected, and that petty bourgeois ideas and attitudes had become deeply entrenched in the German workers’ movement. When war broke out: the fatherlandless rascal suddenly remembered that he too had a fatherland in the class-state, and the proletariat, of whom it had earlier been said that he had nothing to lose but his chains, suddenly realised that he really did have a lot to lose - little social and political rights, tiny insurance benefits, savings accumulated after much hardship ...5 A lengthy analysis of developments in the German labour movement by Karl Radek frankly admitted that a section of the working class shared the same national and reformist beliefs as the SPD and union leadership. This better-paid ‘labour aristocracy’ was happy to accept the crumbs which fell from the capitalists’ table.6 As we shall see, the most militant strikers and antiwar activists in the factories were the better-paid skilled workers who were supposedly part of this labour aristocracy. This is not to say that these people would have opposed the war in August 1914 had they been given the lead. Their opposition to the war grew out of the experience of war itself, and it did not necessarily carry direct political overtones. The strikes which occurred in the spring of 1917 in the war industries of Europe were clear indications of discontent with working conditions and the misery created by the war, but in general they failed to develop into a politically articulate protest movement. There was also a great deal of political indifference amongst the workers. News of victories, for example, could immediately raise hopes or frustrate efforts to bring discontent to a head by political activists. The ideas of the UDC and the ILP undoubtedly began to gain ground in certain sections of the British working class; but there was also a body of stout patriots who could be relied upon to break up pacifist meetings. The peace movement in Britain was associated in

The drum’s discordant sound 51 the minds of the members of the West Ham trades council with ‘the same old psalm-singing hypocrites’ and ‘middle-class peace men’ who were the butt of much trade union animosity at Labour Party conferences.7 It is often forgotten that the war also divided the working class into those who fought and those who stayed at home to work for the war effort. In addition to depriving the labour movement of actual or potential leaders, organisers and activists, mobilisation and conscription also creamed off a large number of the movement’s passive supporters. The war experience served to create a gulf between the soldier and his former workmates. In rural areas such as the Ardeche, the draft had taken practically the entire able-bodied adult male population by 1917, ‘the active elements of the population, those who produced, who read, thought and talked and formed organisations’. In consequence, dis¬ cussion of the war was stultified, and the purveyors of (bourrage de crane ’ met with little resistance in a society deprived of its young men and already stricken with grief at the loss of life. Soldiers home on leave found it almost impossible to describe the horrors of the trenches; they preferred the company of their comrades-in-arms to that of their former workmates and friends still in civilian occupations.8 There was also a great deal of animosity felt by the soldiers, who were risking their lives for a pittance whilst the munitions workers were earning high wages. Many of the German troops home on leave for Christmas 1917, according to Karl Retzlaw, upbraided the munitions workers for working too hard; if munitions were in short supply, the war would have to end.9 Women in particular came in for abuse: one French soldier wrote to Merrheim in 1918 that women had sold their husbands for 25 sous at the beginning of the war, and continued to do so.10 On the other hand, women appear to have been quite active in denouncing ‘dodgers’ who avoided military service by seeking work in the war industries. What sentiments, if any, inspired the millions who marched away to war? There is plenty of evidence of patriotic feeling amongst activists in the labour movement, called up in the heady days of 1914 (and the patriotic wave does tend to fade rather rapidly thereafter); but witnesses such as the French syndicalists who corresponded with Leon Jouhaux belong to the articulate classes, and are also concerned with universal matters such as duty to a fatherland, the future of internationalism and the meaning of sacrifice. The less articulate infantryman was probably more concerned with his personal survival. Unable to summon up the eloquence of the highly literate, he masked his emotions with cliches. Much has been written about the horror of trench warfare and the obscenity of the slaughter on the western front, an experience which one writer has described as a ‘radical discontinuity on every level of conscious¬ ness’. But it could be argued that the war was a more shattering

52

War, Peace and Revolution

experience for highly sensitive, well educated young men with a strong sense of place within an ordered society than it was for a man brought up in poverty and deprivation, where refined emotions and ideals went by the board in the fight for survival.11 This may be illustrated by a brief consideration of the notion of community and front-line comradeship. Undoubtedly, men forced to live together under fire will forge some sort of comradeship; but this is not necessarily permanent - since the grim reaper and the dictates of high command constantly change the pattern - nor is it durable. The comrade¬ ship of the trenches was forged under duress. It bore no relation to the realities of civilian life. It extended across the barbed wire on occasion, though in the end it was the enemy in front whom the soldiers shot at, not the enemy to the rear. The men in the trenches may have despised the staff officers and the prosperous patriots back home, but they were at least identifiable. The enemy was anonymous, unseen for much of the time, endowed with mysterious, frightening qualities. In an unreal world, killing assumed a logic of its own. In the more tranquil world of civilian life, it had no meaning. The war experience for most men was a lesson in survival. Siegfried Sassoon’s comment, on witnessing a man demented with grief at the news of his brother’s death, crying in the guard room at base In my belief Such men have lost all patriotic feeling. (Lamentations) - says more about the upper-class officer than it does about the poor

soldier. As one former combatant in the French army put it: The soldier of 1916 was not fighting for Alsace, nor to ruin Germany, nor for the fatherland. He was fighting out of integrity, habit and compulsion. He was fighting because he could do no other. He was fighting, in the end, because after the first wave of enthusiasm, after the dejection of the first winter, there came with the second winter a mood of resignation ... 12 Those who shouldered arms on mainland Europe had little option. Only in Britain was there no conscript army until 1916. By midSeptember 1914, half a million men had volunteered. In many industries, there was soon a serious depletion of the labour force. Out of a total work¬ force of 588,000 in the engineering industry, 105,000 had joined up by the middle of 1915, and a similar percentage of volunteers seems to have occurred in other industries. Why so many men flocked to take the King’s shilling will probably never be fully explained. It has been suggested that militarism in prewar Britain had much deeper roots than the popular

The drum ’s discordant sound

53

image of sturdy contempt for the soldier’s life would suppose.13 There was certainly no antimilitarism comparable to that preached by the syn¬ dicalists and Herveists in France, nor was there a socialist youth move¬ ment actively opposed to militarism as there was in Germany and Scandinavia. Enlistment may have been prompted by a sense of adven¬ ture, a desire to escape from a humdrum existence, or an unwillingness to be singled out as a shirker. In many instances, it must have been the act of the moment, rather than a clearly thought-out decision. There was certainly an. atmosphere of drum-beating patriotism surrounding the recruiting drive, but against this we must set the fact that Britain was not immediately threatened with invasion. The Germans and the peoples of Austria-Hungary might be roused by the fear of Muscovite barbarity; the French remembered 1870. The British people were told that the war was being fought for the sake of democracy and gallant little Belgium, invaded by a people not traditionally regarded as enemies of Britain. The left in France could conjure up the spirit of warlike, revolutionary patriotism and of Gambetta’s national resistance. In Britain, radical patriotism was essentially pacifist and fraternal, and had to a great extent been displaced by jingoism. How far the British working class was affected by jingoism is a matter of debate amongst historians; it is worth remembering however that an inclination to disbelieve everything relayed down the line by higher authority was one of the enduring legacies of the war.14 This is not to say that the British working man was impervious to patriotic appeal; but his notion of patriotism was not necessarily that of the ruling class, nor of vulgarisers such as Horatio Bottomley. In Italy, which entered the war in 1915 as a divided nation, there was some initial resistance to the call-up. A number of soldiers demonstrated their opposition to the war at railway stations and on troop trains, and mobs attempted to prevent trains leaving for the front. In Prato and Pisa, general strikes were called.15 There appears to have been no significant opposition to mobilisation in other countries. The militants who might have taken action in France were isolated, deprived of information from CGT headquarters. The rank-and-file, as Monatte admitted at the 1913 conference of the Bourses de Travail, were ‘tired and fed up with the futility of insurrectionism’.16 In the Russian Empire, the insurrectionary wave of July subsided as mobilisation brought with it scenes of enthusi¬ astic patriotism. By December 1914, over six million were under arms in the Empire; millions more were to be thrown into the fray before the revolution broke out in 1917. France mobilised some eight million soldiers during the war. Nearly one-and-a-half million perished in battle; it is thought that one out of every two metropolitan Frenchmen returning from the front ieceived a wound of some sort. In the battle for Verdun alone, 350,000 French

54

War, Peace and Revolution

troops were killed. By the end of 1916, there were evident signs of war¬ weariness in the ranks of the French army. In April 1917, full-scale mutinies erupted along a crucial section of the front between Soissons and Auberive, and although the worst of the mutinies were over by the beginning of June, discontent simmered on. Guy Pedroncini has esti¬ mated that two-thirds of the army were in some way or another affected. In spite of strenuous efforts by army intelligence to demonstrate links between pacifists and ‘defeatists’ on the home front and the troops, it would appear that the crisis was a protest against the conduct of the war (significantly, the sector most affected was at the very centre of the disastrous spring offensive of General Nivelle) rather than a cry for peace. Morale was if anything even lower in the Imperial Russian army by the winter of 1916-1917. Bread was frequently not available for days on end; the troops were virtually living on strong tea. In 1915, one soldier wrote bitterly of the Russian press writing about the troops being well clothed and fed, whereas in truth they were ‘as hungry as wolves in winter’. By the end of 1916, reports were beginning to filter through of troops refusing to attack.17 Socialists had long voiced their opposition to standing armies and militarism. Disarmament and ‘defence nihilism’ were major themes of the socialist youth movement, and stimulated a fierce debate in the columns of Jugend-Internationale, founded in 1915 as the voice of the dissident antiwar youth movement. Lenin entered the debate in 1916, denouncing disarmament as a false and petty bourgeois slogan. Socialists should welcome the militarisation of the masses, since the arming of the proletariat was an essential precondition for the revolutionary struggle. Radek also praised the virtues of universal conscription in a situation in which ‘great numbers of the masses are driven by distress and the intensification of class differences into revolutionary struggle’. The recruits would then be able to turn their arms against those who had armed them.18 The Bolsheviks had agitated in the armed forces after the 1905 revolution and were to do so again in 1917. But socialists elsewhere were reluctant to become involved in clandestine activities in the barracks, or the trenches. There is little evidence of socialist agitation amongst the French troops or the mutinous units of the Habsburg army in 1918.19 The vast majority of troops who mutinied simply wanted to end their own war or at least secure better treatment from their superiors. The ‘instinctive’ socialism of the trenches, so frequently remarked upon by outsiders, was a negative force created by necessity. The Gemeinschaft which many Germans believed had been created by the war was not an indication of social solidarity but an intensified dependence on one’s fellow man in the face of danger.20 The war brought about tremendous changes in the composition of the

The drum ’s discordant sound

55

workforce and the structure of industry. During the autumn of 1914, prices rose sharply and so did levels of unemployment; but a year later, the munitions industries were crying out for workers. Men with certain skills were reclaimed from the forces, and legislation was introduced to direct and control labour. There was a great deal of movement from one factory to another, as workers sought to cash in on the demand for their labour by moving to better-paid jobs. High wages could be earned in the factories producing for the war effort; those involved in production for domestic needs or for export languished. However, inflation meant that wages frequently lagged behind in real terms, though the decline in real earnings was more marked in Germany than in Britain, where workers also suffered far less from food shortages. The acute shortage of adult male workers meant an increasing proportion of the workforce were women and youths. In Russia, over 40 per cent of the industrial workforce in 1917 were women. In Petrograd, which had one of the greatest concentrations of factory workers in the Empire (392,000, or 11.9 per cent of the total industrial labour force in Russia on 1 January 1917), the figure was lower, largely because of the preponderance of heavy engineering; but women comprised over 60 per cent of the workers in the textile and food processing industries, and 20 per cent of the workers in engineering, compared with a mere 2.7 per cent in 1913.21 The number of women employed in the engineering industry in Germany rose from 27,373 in 1913 to 220,332 in 1919. In Britain, commerce and the public services attracted large numbers of young women, whilst one sector of employment for women experienced a significant decline - some 400,000 fewer were in domestic service at the end of the war than at the beginning. There were also almost one million women working in the munitions factories.22 The extensive employment of women in occupations hitherto maledominated had a number of consequences. Female labour was cheaper, unskilled for the most part, and unorganised. Many of the plants set up during the war to produce shells and explosives employed large numbers of women, often housed in hastily erected barracks in isolated places and working long hours for poor wages in unhealthy and hazardous conditions. In manufacturing industry, where women and other unskilled workers were put to work on single-purpose machines, the skilled craft unions were not slow to protest about dilution. A strike of boilermakers at Thorneycrofts in Southampton over the introduction of unskilled labour in July 1915, for example, was, in the words of the official history of the Ministry of Munitions: writing in large letters of what was going on all over the country. Canadians who had come over to work on munitions were boy-

56

War, Peace and Revolution

cotted by the trade union members in a shop. Non-union men were subjected to all sorts of ill-treatment. Men who desired to work at their full speed . . . were made the object of threats. When in some cases it was proposed to dilute labour by putting women on to semi¬ skilled jobs, the men chosen to instruct them were forbidden by their union representatives to do so ...23 Such hostility was probably more common in Britain, where craft exclusivity was deep-rooted and the pattern of manufacturing industry more established than on the Continent. But in all countries women occupied a subordinate position within the ranks of labour. They were becoming a significant element of the manufacturing process which the organised labour movement had hardly begun to recognise, let alone integrate into its ranks on an egalitarian basis. For many women, the extra income from their earnings could make an appreciable difference to the household budget. Those who were worst off during the war included the war widows or wives of men at the front, who were unable to go out to work because of family commitments. At the beginning of 1918, for example, the war allowance for a wife with two children was 97 marks a month, at a time when the basic weekly wage for men in the munitions factories in Germany averaged between 50 and 70 marks, and for women between 20 and 30 marks. In Hamburg, it was estimated in June 1918 that the weekly cost of basic rationed commodities for a family with three children was 37.68 marks; rent, heat, lighting and other necessities brought the total weekly budget to over 80 marks. Only by working overtime, or with the extra earnings of other members of the family, could the father hope to make ends meet. Where such extra earning capacity was absent, or where the wages came from industries not involved in war production, where rates of pay were considerably lower, life was extremely grim for the German working class. In Bavaria, an average wage of 35 marks a week in the late summer of 1916 was only just sufficient to purchase bare necessities: Basically, the family seemed to live on bread and potatoes . . . For vegetables, cereals and groats there was not a penny to spare. Clothing, footwear and underclothing could not be replaced, and there was often not enough to buy the soap needed to wash the underclothes.24 Such instances of real hardship occurred in other countries, though the screw really began to turn after the autumn of 1916, and more fiercely in some countries than others, and more viciously for certain sections of the population. Inflation began to cut cruelly into the living standards of the salaried workers. In neutral Switzerland, for example, where the cost of

The drum’s discordant sound

57

living doubled between 1914 and 1918, the spokesman of the salaried workers could write in February 1916 that there was good reason to speak of the impoverishment of the salariat (Beamtenstand). In Germany it was estimated that whereas average wages in war industries rose 100 per cent between the outbreak of war and July 1917, shop assistants’ wages rose on average no more than 18 per cent over the same period. The erosion of living standards and loss of status led to a greater readiness to employ tougher action in negotiations with employers, but even the more radical white-collar associations continued to stress the separate identity of the middle class.25 Far from bringing together all classes into a magical community of national effort, the war created new tensions and exacerbated old ones. The middle classes in Turin fulminated against the highly-paid workers in the war industries who squandered their earnings whilst the troops were risking their necks. The peasant women in Emilia and Tuscany sought to force the workers in the ‘auxiliary’ factories out on strike because they resented their privileged position as wage-earners profiting from a war which had taken the men from the countryside in such great numbers.26 In the district to the north of Vienna, according to a report on public opinion in March 1917, the poorer sections of the middle class and the working class were beset with worry about the lack of basic commodities. Patriotic sentiments still prevailed: people were not against the continuation of the war, but they did complain about the inequality of sacrifice. ‘ Gleicher Hunger fur alle’ was the common attitude of those who bore the burden of sacrifice.27 Workers in the towns believed that the peasantry was profiting from the war and concealing food. Farmers slaughtered their animals in Germany rather than accept the prices fixed by decree. The hoarder and the black-marketeer were familiar objects of public contempt, yet shortages and high prices forced everyone to look to his own interest first. By the third winter of the war, discontent and disillusionment were rife in the central powers, Russia and Italy. There were numerous food riots and demonstrations in Germany and Austria-Hungary in 1916. In November of that year, for example, railwaymen’s wives and workers in the repair workshops in the Styrian town of Knittelfeld demonstrated at the lack of sugar, saying that it was unjust that coffee-house owners should have sugar so that officers and the bourgeoisie could idle away their time drinking coffee. There were protests at the Traisen iron and steel works at the lack of bread and flour in December, and workers in Neunkirchen rejected their bread ration as inedible in January 1917.28 A disastrous potato harvest meant shortages in Germany; even Philipp Scheidemann had to spend hours foraging around the countryside in search of potatoes. Huge numbers of Germans were dependent on war

58

War, Peace and Revolution

kitchens for a hot meal. By April 1917, it is estimated that one in three citizens of Hamburg were queuing for the meagre portions of thin, watery soup, mainly consisting of swede. One mother wrote to her son at the end of February 1917 that things looked bad in Hamburg: ‘five weeks without potatoes, hardly any flour or bread ... we go to bed hungry and get up hungry.’29 In Russia, the lack of bread and flour was to be the spark which ignited the powder keg of revolution. Elsewhere, even in neutral countries such as Sweden and Spain, food shortages, long working hours, lack of heating and the glaring contrast between the affluent life of speculators, war profiteers and the upper classes in general and the drudgery and weariness of the poor generated a resentment of explosive dimensions. Even in Britain, where workers were not forced to subsist on boiled swede, the situation was sufficiently worrying to prompt a commission of enquiry into industrial unrest. This discontent could have dramatic consequences, as the February revolution demonstrated. On the other hand, whilst it did foster a growing desire for an end to the war, there were still severe obstacles to a powerful political drive for peace and reform by organised labour, and even greater difficulties in the path of those who sought to transform the war into a revolution. Apathy and anger The first two years of the war saw a dramatic decline in party and union membership in the belligerent countries. By March 1916 SPD member¬ ship had fallen 60 per cent below its prewar level. The Deutsche Metallarheiterverhand (DMV) sank from a membership of 554,934 in 1913 to 226,000 in March 1916. In Brunswick, the number of organised metal¬ workers slumped by half between the end of 1913 and the end of 1917. In Hamburg, the decline in trade union membership was even more marked, falling from 137,168 in the second quarter of 1914 to a mere 55,487 by the end of 1915. The CGT collapsed from a prewar membership of over half a million to around 150,000 in August 1915; the Hungarian trade unions lost half their members within the space of a year. Only in Britain does trade union membership appear to have remained fairly constant during the early years of the war. Thousands of trade unionists and party members were mobilised, and many more changed their place of work or trade and either failed to pay their union dues or were unable to do so because the local branch ceased functioning. The circulation of party and trade union press was also affected. Sales of L’Humanite fell from 66,575 in June 1914 to around 30,000 in 1915. La Bataille Syndicaliste had to cease publication in October 1915, although it managed to reappear again shortly afterwards, with a drastically reduced print run. In the provinces, the activities of the French socialist movement were badly hit by the war,

The drum’s discordant sound

59

and many small newspapers either ceased publication or struggled fitfully to survive. The German labour movement, better organised and staffed, was more able to carry on, though the opposition found itself deprived of a foothold on the editorial boards of a number of papers. As activity at the branch or local section level withered, union and party leaders were becoming more involved in the running of the war effort. In Germany, the Durchhaltepolitik in some respects was a continuation of the line pursued by the labour movement before the war. In the face of circumstances dictated by history, the worker was urged to grit his teeth, maintain discipline and make the best of a bad job. The wartime situation reinforced the importance of discipline (which also allowed the party bosses to crack down on the dissident opposition) and gave a new and positive meaning to integration. Those who broke ranks bore the stigma of a double disloyalty - to the movement and to the nation. Hugo Haase, by no means a radical or a splitter, brought opprobrium upon himself for his part in the composition of the July 1915 appeal for peace, Das Gebot der Stunde. ‘Politically naive bookworms’ such as Haase only made difficulties for the party and jeopardised the work of those responsible for parliamentary and political activity; they should pay heed to party discipline and their own responsibilities.30 The message of seeing it through was firmly driven home in the party and trade union press: in the words of the trade union paper, Correspondenzblatt: The policy of 4 August 1914 corresponds to the most vital interests of the trade unions, it safeguards us from enemy invasion, it protects us from the dismemberment of German territory and from the destruction of flourishing sections of the German economy, it protects us from the fate of an unfortunate conclusion to the war which would burden us with war indemnities for decades. The trade unions must hold fast to this policy of 4 August under all cir¬ cumstances and cannot emphasise enough the dangers of attempts to frustrate the policy of the present parliamentary group of the party . . . Above all, they expect that short shrift will be accorded to the propagandists of a split, and that their influence on the further development of the party will be rendered harmless. 31 The German unions were drawn into collaboration with the regime, but there were nevertheless limits to that collaboration. The unions could not simply allow themselves to become willing instruments of control and repression, however much this might serve to appease the government and the industrial-military complex. They had to press for concessions and the protection of workers’ rights, and they also sought to implement a long-term strategy which would strengthen their bargaining power at the end of the war. In the end, they came to see the army leaders as allies

60

War, Peace and Revolution

against an obstreperous body of industrialists, amongst whom the Herrim-Hause mentality still prevailed. These gentlemen were certainly alarmed at the prospect of increased union power. Hence, as Alfred Hugenberg suggested in November 1914, it would be best ‘to distract the attention of the people and to give fantasies concerning the extension of German territory room to play’.32 In other words, the diversionary ploy of social imperialism was still very much on the agenda, and the prospects of German expansion and economic hegemony in central Europe undoubtedly did affect the actions of trade union leaders. In Liebknecht’s phrase, they were caught up in a ‘law of the parallelogram’ of power relationships, from which they could not escape. The munitions programme introduced by Hindenburg in September 1916 was essentially a victory for the heavy industrialists, faced with a loss of profits, and a defeat for the Ministry of War and its section dealing with exempted labour (AZS). The AZS had attempted to extend the principle of conciliation boards first established in Berlin in 1915, but had met with fierce resistance from heavy industry, which could count on local military commanders to sabotage such moves. The unions were prepared to accept restrictions on the free movement of labour because this would give them a direct say in the direction of labour and a chance to achieve bargaining status with management. Groener, the new head of the supreme war office created in November 1916, was disposed to go along with the unions, since by this means their loyalty to the state could be ensured. After considerable debate and amendments, the Auxiliary Service Law was passed by a large majority in the Reichstag on 4 December 1916. This law was designed to mobilise to the full all available labour resources and it placed restrictions on free labour agreements for the duration of the war. Employees could still change their position if they could justify this to a joint arbitration committee. As a result, there was an increased turnover of labour, and decrees preventing freedom of movement in key industries such as mining and aircraft construction had to be issued. For the unions, the Auxiliary Service Law appeared to be a breakthrough in the struggle for parity with the employers. In a petition to the Bundesrat and Reichstag on 30 June 1917, the unions outlined their long-term goals: workers’ committees, conciliation agencies and arbitration boards were to be retained after the war, with state encourage¬ ment for the creation of workers’ chambers and the conclusion of collective wage agreements. This in turn provoked a bitter attack by the industrialists on the political implications of the law and on Groener, who was dismissed in August. The Auxiliary Service Law has been described as an important step in the direction of parliamentary control and the integration of German

The drum }s discordant sound 61 workers into the state through recognition of the role of their organisations.33 There is however little evidence to show that the work¬ force was brought any closer to integration into the system. The workers gained little from the deals which the union bosses sought to make. Local officials and army commanders frequently conspired with industrialists to hinder or obstruct the creation of arbitration committees. The heavy restrictions of the state of siege were still enforced. Above all, the law did nothing to alleviate the growing misery of the masses. The SPD and trade union leaders continued to preach the message of Durchhalten to a working class which was less and less responsive. ‘I only wish that Dr Muller [the first SPD functionary to be appointed to administrative office in the new Kriegsernahungsamt] and the [wealthy] people who live round the Alster had to fetch their food from the war kitchens for just eight days. Then everyone would say: an end to the war!’ interjected a demonstrator at a meeting addressed by Muller in Hamburg in August 1916: ‘Then Dr Muller wouldn’t be talking any more about seeing the war through, but about stopping it [nicht mehr . .. durchhalten, sondern aufhalten].’ Fine speeches about seeing it through were only for the working class, maintained another speaker at a meeting of women assistants in the Hamburg war kitchens in February 1917: the ruling class was making sure their purses were full.34 The embittered mood of the workers caused growing anxiety within the SPD, especially in the aftermath of the April strikes in 1917. At a meeting of the party council in April, one member admitted that neither the party nor the unions had any influence in Magdeburg, where the workers were indifferent to any talk of war aims. All they wanted was peace and something to eat. At the June council meeting, a member from Dortmund spoke of desperate food shortages. The people there would rather rob and steal than starve, even if they had to stand trial. Two SPD deputies expressed their worries about the party maintaining control over the workers in Saxony because of the worsening food situation, in a conver¬ sation with the Saxon Minister of the Interior in April 1917.33 At a meeting of the Prussian Crown Council on 9 July 1917, shortly before his resignation, Bethmann Hollweg spelled out the danger for the authorities: The trade unions complain that they no longer control their people, who are incited by the radicals who say that the Imperial social democrats have done nothing for them. It is absolutely essential that the right wing of the social democrats are strengthened once more. For what is to be done if the government can no longer count on the help of the trade unions in combating the strike move¬ ment?36

62

War, Peace and Revolution

The trade union and party leaders were not only losing their grip over the rank-and-file in Germany. Police reports from areas of unrest in Austria spoke of the difficulties of labour leaders in restraining the hungry and weary masses.37 The annual report to the Trades Union Congress in September 1917 singled out as the most important finding of the commission of enquiry into industrial unrest that ‘“Trade Union officials are distrusted” ... in [the workers’] opinion we had either fallen asleep at our posts, or we have sold their birthright for a mess of pottage.’38 In Britain, as the secretary of the Birkenhead Trades Council observed at the end of the first year of war, ‘trade unionists were torn between defending their country and defending their conditions’.39 A number of trades councils (composed of representatives from a variety of union and labour organisations and numbering almost four hundred in 1914) had been involved in militant activity before the war. Trades councils in some cities had called for a general strike in the event of war; there was however little action when war was declared. In Bristol, for example, where a militant was elected president of the trades council in 1914, it was the Dockers’ Union which took the initiative in calling a mass meeting on 3 August to urge the TUC and Labour Party to convene a national conference immediately to consider the best means of pre¬ serving Britain’s neutrality, and it was Ernest Bevin of that same union who voiced support for a general strike to prevent British entry into the war. In the event, no strike took place, and the Trades Council in Bristol as elsewhere followed the national leadership of the labour movement. Any doubts about the war were lost, at least temporarily, in a sudden burst of practical relief work. Participation in relief and distress com¬ mittees tended to modify some of the old suspicions of the Lloyd George reforms such as national insurance and pensions, and in this respect the war experience of the leaders of the working class at a local level helped reconcile them to the principle of social reforms granted by a benevolent, paternalist state - the kind of socialism envisaged by the Webbs and other Fabian reformers. The trades councils did also show increasing sympathy for the opposition to the war. The erosion of civil liberties and the restrictions placed upon labour were frequently discussed, and by 1918 it is estimated that 174 trades councils and labour organisations, represent¬ ing over half a million members, were affiliated to the Union of Democratic Control. Against this however must be set the findings of two local studies, which show the Bristol and Birmingham Trades Councils to have been badly divided over the issue of conscription, with opponents failing to provide an effective strategy with which to combat conscription, and its supporters virtually breaking up the trades councils.40 The trades councils were not closely associated with the shop stewards’ movement, although in certain cities such as Sheffield they were

The drum’s discordant sound

63

sympathetic. Like the bourses de travail in France and the camere del lavoro in Italy, they were primarily involved in practical work to relieve distress and ensure an adequate food supply; their composition was also too heterogenous and shifting to afford a basis for political activity. The various committees, largely headed by shop stewards, which were formed in areas such as the Clyde and Sheffield, were essentially intended to fight the restrictions imposed by the 1915 Munitions Act. The Clyde Workers’ Committee was composed of political activists, especially from the small Socialist Labour Party, which had been strongly influenced by the syndicalist ideas expounded by James Connolly and Daniel De Leon. It declared its aim to be the repeal of the Munitions Act, and for ‘unity and closer organisation of all trades in the industry, one Union being the ultimate aim’. The trade union officials who backed the Munitions Act were branded as traitors to the working class.41 Although the shop stewards managed to weld together an effective force to defend the skilled craftsmen against encroachments such as dilution, they failed to appeal to a wider section of the workforce. Clearly, the unions were no longer able to control significant sections of the skilled workers of Britain, as they were losing their grip in Germany and France; but there were also limits to the rank-and-file committees as potential vehicles for mass action against the war and its effects, or as embryonic new forms of proletarian organisation. One of the most striking features of the opposition to official party and trade union leadership was a distrust of structured, centrally directed activity, and an overweening faith in the ability of the workers. ‘Untrammelled by obsolete rule or law’, the Clyde Workers’ Committee claimed to represent the ‘true feeling’ of the workers; though in the view of one of the shop floor militants, the leaders were often isolated from the workers.42 The German shop steward leaders Richard Muller and Emil Barth constantly stress in their memoirs how little influence the political opposition had upon the rank-and-file movement in the factories.43 This is of course a partial picture, and it is clear that there were strong links between radical political figures such as Robert Dissmann in Frankfurtam-Main and Wilhelm Koenen in Halle and the factories. But there was still a divorce between political and trade union activity, which could be heightened by suspicions or the ineptness of political revolutionaries. Some idea of the difficulties facing a political activist concerned to win over workmates to a radical point of view can be gleaned from the memoirs of Karl Retzlaw, a young Silesian who had moved to Berlin with his widowed mother just before the war. Retzlaw worked in the AEG factories until the winter of 1917-1918 as a tool grinder, becoming a Vertrauensmann early in 1917. Retzlaw was a member of a seven-strong Spartacist group in Berlin-Moabit, all like himself skilled workers.

64

War, Peace and Revolution

Trying to spread propaganda was difficult, owing to the din of the machinery (though by virtue of his trade, Retzlaw could at least move freely around the factory). Many who agreed with what he was saying fell back on standard cliches (‘If you were my age ... If you were a family man like me’). There was a high turnover of labour, and many of the women brought into the workforce were indifferent to politics. The ‘reclaimed’ men from the front used to boast of their experiences, and news of a victory would invariably revive patriotic sentiment. Working hours were desperately long, conditions unpleasant, and the quality and quantity of food available in factory canteens left a good deal to be desired. In such circumstances, sheer human weariness was the deadliest enemy of the agitator, whose work Retzlaw compared to sawing through a steel chain with a nailfile.44 The circumstances in which radicals such as Retzlaw operated tended to lock them into a conspiratorial world in which their heightened sense of mission as liberators of the working class did not always correspond to reality. Kark Liebknecht, like many others on the left, thought that the capacity of a party for action was not to be measured by the number of its members, but by its harmonic relationship with the mood of the masses. Programmes and manifestos, mechanical discipline and ‘dead organis¬ ational forms’ were insufficient. Class-consciousness and the ‘resolute initiative of the masses’ were vital for any revolutionary movement.45 The ‘new socialism’, according to Anton Pannekoek, ‘places emphasis ... on the deed itself, on the initiative of the masses . . . The revolution is nothing other than the process of maturation of the masses through struggle.’46 The old SPD, in Rosa Luxemburg’s view, had become encased in a straitjacket (eine Zzvangsjacke der Ohnmacht). Firm resolve and a will to fight were far better than magnificent organisation, which could be built up and refined in the heat of the revolutionary struggle.47 The Bremen radicals, who refused to join the USPD, were equally scornful of the old party, ensnared in the traps of capitalism, and also hostile to the idea of a Fiihrerbewegung.48 In their desire for clarity, the groups on the left often ignored the concrete needs of the workers, and were thus reduced to sterile squabbling in theoretical debates. The fragmentation of the left in Germany continued up to the founding of the Communist Party and beyond. As for the USPD, it has been argued that it did little to organise the groundswell of discontent in 1917. Both Morgan and Suzanne Miller agree that the party became the political vehicle for the emerging forces of radicalism, though Miller argues that the USPD was never able fully to attain undisputed leadership of the mass opposition for three reasons, of which its lack of consistency is the most important. In addition, there was a strong residual loyalty towards the old party (and considerable confusion about the split amongst the

The drum ys discordant sound

65

rank-and-file) which could be reactivated at decisive moments. The lack of homogeneity and the personal weaknesses of the leadership further undermined the revolutionary potential of the new party.49 The USPD’s support was patchy, and its activities were hindered by the authorities. Robert Wheeler has argued that the USPD was not simply a return to an ‘old style internationalism’ as George Lichtheim maintained, but an embodiment of Liebknecht’s Internationale der Tat to which ‘large segments’ of the working class were committed.50 In placing emphasis on rank-and-file radicalism, however, Wheeler seems to endow the USPD with a clarity of purpose and homogeneity which it quite patently lacked. The USPD appealed to those who wished for an end to war, but it offered no clear-cut positive solutions, nor even a socialist programme. The radical left believed that peace could only be achieved through socialism, which necessitated a political struggle for power. But it remained weak and divided, and lacked an effective organisation. A report on revolutionary activity and the possibility of unrest compiled just after the February revolution made the following observations. In Stuttgart, where the radicals were strongly entrenched, they were unable to persuade even their closest comrades to take action. In Breslau, the SPD was dominant, and the idea of any radical action was ‘simply absurd’. The workers’ mood in Diisseldorf was determined by the ‘belly question’; political struggle for peace was unlikely. In Hamburg, even if the workers were radically inclined, they were not interested in backing the left’s call for action. In Berlin, the ‘heart of the opposition’ with an estimated nine-tenths of the workers behind the SAG, ‘the actions of the Spartacus group have come to grief in the face of determined resistance by the comrades. Even when they have managed to get a few thousand demonstrators out on the streets, curiosity rather than sympathy for such actions has been the reason for the larger crowds.’51 Admittedly, this report is rather com¬ placent in view of what was to come, and rather contemptuous of working-class opinion. But it is significant that the authorities could be confident enough to rule out the likelihood of Germany erupting into revolution as Russia had just done. The revolutionary left was even weaker and less well organised in the other belligerent countries. Friedrich Adler’s peace resolution obtained a mere 16 votes at the 1916 congress of the Austrian Social Democratic Party. There were a number of left radicals in the youth organisation, though their activities were limited to Vienna, and not very effective either. At the beginning of 1917, stirred by President Wilson’s words and the response of the central powers, the party organised a series of peace meetings in Vienna. The left radicals were very much in a minority at these meetings and their proposals for strike action for peace were given a hostile reception. According to one police report, the opportunity to

66

War, Peace and Revolution

engage in peace propaganda was very welcome for the party as a means of channelling discontent away from the grasp of the opposition.52 Lenin sent several emissaries to try (unsuccessfully) to instil a degree of revolutionary firmness into the French opposition, which was most reluctant to adopt the tactics outlined by the Bolshevik leader in ‘Tasks of the opposition in France’. The British Socialist Party was described by the Latvian Bolshevik Janis Berzins as bereft of ideas or people, and the ILP, he thought, was composed mostly of idealists such as Fenner Brockway and Bruce Glasier who ‘had not ceased day-dreaming of unity with Vandervelde and Scheidemann’.53 However, the BSP and many members of the ILP were actively engaged in the fight against conscrip¬ tion, and many were jailed for their beliefs. The one truly radical centre in the British Isles was Glasgow, where the Trades Council opposed the war from the start, and where a large antiwar demonstration was held on 9 August 1914. Such meetings were a regular feature of Glasgow life; in addition, the Clyde shop stewards were intensely active and through Peter Petrov, the revolutionary Zimmerwaldist message reached the city early in 1916. Glasgow also produced one truly revolutionary figure, John Maclean, though his influence remained limited to a small number of disciples. There was of course one attempted revolution before the events in Petrograd, and that occurred at Easter 1916 in Dublin. It has been argued that Irish labour was politically much stronger than Sinn Fein, even up to the Rising. Sinn Fein had little or no representation on local councils in Ireland, and its newspaper had a circulation of around two thousand, compared with the Irish Worker’s twenty to thirty thousand. The Rising was nevertheless inspired and directed by the Military Council of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, and James Connolly was the only major labour leader to become directly involved in it. Irish labour was critical of the war, but did not directly oppose Irish support for Britain. Connolly outlined his position in January 1916 in the following terms: While the war lasts and Ireland still is a subject nation we shall continue to urge her to fight for her freedom . . . But the moment peace is once admitted by the British government as being a subject ripe for discussion, that moment our policy will be for peace, and in direct opposition to all talk or preparation for armed revolution.54 Connolly was also scornful of the pacifists in Britain who talked of the restoration of Belgian independence, but said nothing of the rights of Ireland. 55 But the Irish Labour Party, formally constituted in 1914, and the trade unions took a non-committal view of the Rising/whilst labour reaction in Britain was generally hostile. The ILP thought that the Rising

The drum’s discordant sound

67

was a terrible and criminal mistake, though the BSP took a more sym¬ pathetic stand, and was prepared to raise the issue of Ireland at the Stockholm conference in 1917.56 The general indifference, if not hostility of socialists to the nationalist uprising in Dublin underlines another weakness of revolutionary thinking: a failure to take seriously the explosive potential of nationalism. For Trotsky, the war was a revolt of the forces of production against the political form of the nation-state, and meant the collapse of the national state as an independent economic unit. The only way to combat world imperialism was through international revolutionary activity by the proletariat. The Polish group around the journal Gazeta Robotnicza stoutly declared that the idea of the national state in the epoch of imperialism was anachronistic. The Polish proletariat should be con¬ cerned with the class struggle, not the fight for national liberation waged by the Polish bourgeoisie.57 This was indeed a crucial issue for socialists in the subject nations of the eastern empires, and had led to bitter quarrels and splits. Left-wing socialists tended to take an exaggeratedly anti¬ national line, and in so doing neglected the revolutionary potential of nationalist movements. Thus, Karl Radek dismissed the Irish rebellion as little more than a putsch staged by petty-bourgeois urban nationalists, earning a rebuke from Lenin, for whom the socialist revolution in Europe could not be anything other than an outburst of mass struggle by the oppressed: The struggle of the oppressed nations in Europe, a struggle capable of going all the way to insurrection and street fighting, capable of breaking down the iron discipline of the army and martial law, will ‘sharpen the revolutionary crisis in Europe’ to an infinitely greater degree than a much more developed rebellion in a remote colony. A blow delivered against the power of the English imperialist bourgeoisie by a rebellion in Ireland is a hundred times more significant politically than a blow of equal force delivered in Asia or in Africa. 58

Conclusion By the second winter of war, four broad strands of thinking on the question of peace had begun to emerge within the European labour move¬ ment. The ‘majority’ socialists of Britain, France, Belgium and Germany were most clearly committed to the defence of national interests, though partial or partisan attitudes can be detected in other parties. In general, the allied socialists believed that a lasting peace necessitated the defeat of German militarism, though not all subscribed to the ‘jusqu’auboutisme of the more intransigent leaders such as Vaillant and Vandervelde. A small

68

War, Peace and Revolution

number of German social democrats openly espoused annexationist views, but the majority tended to see the war in terms of loyalty to the decision of 4 August, in order to ensure German security and national integrity. A second strand of thought, prevalent amongst the socialists of the Scandinavian countries and the Netherlands, and the moderate opposition to the war, sought a peace without victors or vanquished. This line was pursued by the ‘northern neutrals’, who looked to reconcile the parties of the Second International, to win them over to the idea of peace and thereby to bring pressure on the belligerents to enter into negotiations. By 1916, however, the internationalists who formed the majority of the Zimmerwald movement - principally the Russian Mensheviks, the Italian and Swiss socialists - were beginning to shift away from the idea that war could somehow be prevented by the application of democratic controls. The only guarantee for a lasting peace lay in the triumph of socialism, though how this was to be achieved and whether it would actually bring the fighting to an end were matters on which the inter¬ nationalists were much divided. Finally, those who urged clarity and separation from the reformists, the creation of a new International rather than the reconstruction of the old, and who were prepared to endorse fully the slogan of civil war, not civil peace, were very much in a minority. The revolution which broke out in Russia in the third winter of the war came as a surprise, and was certainly not the result of socialist agitation. It occurred at a time when moves towards a reconvening of the Bureau of the International were gaining momentum, and it was to play a crucial role in efforts to mount a socialist peace initiative. Russia was to be the prism in which the socialists of Europe saw reflected their own hopes and fears.

4

The Second International 1914-1917

First soundings (1914- 1915)

The hardening of attitudes and the bitterness generated by the war amongst the socialists of the belligerent countries brought the socialists of the neutral countries to the forefront of the battered international movement. As early as 16 September 1914, the Swedish Social Demo¬ cratic Party leader, Hjalmar Branting, had written to Pieter Troelstra of the Dutch Social Democratic Party, suggesting a small conference of neutral socialists which might seek to arrive at a platform acceptable to both sides in the war. Branting stressed the importance of maintaining international links at the present terrible time and laid great responsibility upon the neutrals to perform this task.1 The executive of the Swiss Socialist Party, meeting on 15 September, discussed proposals by Ernst Nobs and Otto Lang which urged the Swiss party to join forces with socialist parties in other neutral lands in a peace initiative, and agreed to approach the Italians to organise a joint meeting to discuss possible ‘neutral’ socialist action against the war.2 The Socialist Party of America also offered its services as a mediator, and proposed an international socialist conference, to be held in Washington, The Hague or Copenhagen. The American proposal failed to get off the ground, but the other initiatives began to gain momentum during the autumn. Representatives of the Swiss and Italian parties met at Lugano on 27 September. They agreed that the Swiss party should take on the task of convening a conference of socialists from neutral countries at the beginning of November, at the suggestion of Hermann Greulich, the veteran Swiss socialist. The Bureau of the Second International was also to be pressed to resume its functions as soon as possible. The Swiss party executive accepted this charge on 2 October. Greulich’s letter, sent to the parties affiliated to the International, carefully avoided criticism of the executive committee of the ISB, and asked for agreement to the Swiss party s playing the role of mediator and information centre until the ISB could resume its activities.3 The Dutch Social Democratic Party also circularised the parties of the International on 2 October with a proposal to transfer the headquarters of the ISB from occupied Belgium to The Hague. This had been discussed

70

War, Peace and Revolution

with the Belgian members of the executive committee of the ISB in September. The Belgians were unwilling to accede to the transfer of the Bureau to neutral Holland, partly because they suspected Troelstra of having pro-German sympathies. The Dutch socialist leader engaged in an active campaign during the autumn of 1914 to persuade the parties of the International to support the Dutch proposal, and in December the headquarters were transferred to The Hague, with three Dutch members co-opted onto the executive committee. This action was viewed with some resentment by the Belgian and French parties, and was to provide them with a useful excuse for opposing any resumption of contacts with the opposing side via the medium of the ISB. Thorvald Stauning, the leader of the Danish Social Democratic Party, was another activist in the cause of international socialist relations. On 28 September he proposed a special meeting of the joint committee of the three Scandinavian socialist parties, established in 1913, to discuss the possibilities of an international conference of socialists from the neutral countries. The joint committee met twice in October, the second session being attended by Troelstra, and decided to go ahead with plans to convene an international conference of socialists from neutral countries. Branting, like other Scandinavian socialists, had initially viewed the Danish proposal with some scepticism, but was evidently won over by the urgings of the Russian Mensheviks in Stockholm. Troelstra was also doubtful about the value of such a meeting, but agreed to go along with the Scandinavian proposal after talks with the Mensheviks and Aleksandr Shlyapnikov, the Bolshevik spokesman in Sweden. The hostile reaction of the SPD executive to the idea of a general conference of neutrals ‘which would pass resolutions directed against Germany’ persuaded Troelstra to suggest that the planned conference be restricted to the Scandinavian and Dutch parties. Emissaries sent out to the neutral countries by the SPD had received a cool welcome, and the Germans were anxious to avoid public condemnation. Troelstra’s suggestion caused some dismay in the Danish socialist camp, and after some negotiations a compromise was reached whereby American and Swiss delegates would be invited as ‘guests’. In the end, the Swiss refused to send delegates, and the Copen¬ hagen conference held in January 1915 was confined to the ‘northern neutrals’.4 By the end of 1914, two distinct groups of neutrals were emerging, though they were separated more by geographical and personal circum¬ stances than by ideological differences. A keen desire to preserve national, as distinct from political neutrality and a somewhat moralistic sense of duty towards international socialism were common elements in the attitudes and actions of all the socialist parties of the countries not involved in the war. The Swiss socialists supported the granting of extra-

The Second International 1914-1917

71

ordinary powers to the Federal Council on 3 August 1914, and acknow¬ ledged the need for measures for national defence. There was a strong belief that Switzerland was an exceptional case, with its classic neutrality, militia and federal democracy, which justified socialist support for measures designed to secure that neutrality. The reformist Griitliverein was unequivocally in favour of patriotic national unity, but the radical wing of the party also accepted the case for national defence.5 Increased security measures were also supported by the Dutch and Scandinavian parties. The Swedish Social Democratic Party executive had adopted a more positive approach to the question of national defence in April 1914, and empowered Branting to open negotiations with the liberal leader Karl Staaff with a view to eventual cooperation in government in October of that year. On 1 August Branting had sent a telegram to the Conservative Prime Minister Hjalmar Hammarskjold, assuring the government of socialist support for a policy of neutrality. This was endorsed by the party congress a few days later.6 The Danish socialists had aligned themselves with the radicals before the war, and the Zahle government formed in 1913 enjoyed the tacit support of the socialists, who were anxious for constitutional reform. At the outbreak of war, the socialists backed the government’s declaration of neutrality and voted for increased security measures. The 1915 party congress gave overwhelming support for Stauning’s policy of collaboration and a year later an extraordinary party congress voted heavily in favour of socialist participation in government. Stauning was to join the broadened coalition in October 1916. There were considerable differences of opinion over the nature of neutrality, and the role which socialists in the neutral countries could play as mediators in the conflict. For the scattered Greek socialists, for example, a defence of neutrality was seen as tantamount to supporting the King and the reactionaries against the reformist Venizelos, who wished to join the war on the allied side.8 The Spanish socialists adopted a proallied stance, partly in reaction to conservative pro-German sentiments and partly because of a belief that an allied victory would be a blow for democracy and liberty.9 There was a definite bias towards the allied cause amongst the neutrals. The German invasion of Belgium was strongly condemned by the Swiss socialist press, including the German-language newspapers, and it was a crucial issue for Hjalmar Branting. The chairman of the Dutch Social Democratic Party, Willem Vliegen, even raised the possibility of Dutch intervention on the side of the allies on 5 August 1914, though Troelstra was quick to rally the party to a policy of strict neutrality. Troelstra was widely suspected of having pro-German sympathies by the socialists of the allied countries, and this mistrust hindered his efforts to rebuild international links. Troelstra believed that the war had been

72

War, Peace and Revolution

caused by imperialism, though he took issue with the assertion of his fellow Dutchman Gorter that it was an inevitable consequence of im¬ perialism. The danger of war could be contained within capitalism if social democracy played an active role in the formulation of foreign policy. The International had been overtaken by events in August 1914; it was therefore important that it should not be unprepared for peace. Socialists should work actively for a peace of conciliation, since a victory for either side would be a disaster. After initial hesitations, Troelstra endorsed the initiative of the Scandinavian socialists for a conference of neutrals, though he preferred to avoid occasions when public statements on the causes of the war might hinder rather than promote socialist unity. Troelstra preferred to focus attention on general issues such as disarma¬ ment and the prevention of future conflicts.10 In this respect, he found himself in disagreement with Hjalmar Branting, for whom the question of war guilt was important. Branting was the same age as his Dutch colleague (both were born in 1860). Both men came from secure middle-class backgrounds Troelstra’s father was a government official, Branting’s a teacher - and both had been active in the labour movement for over a quarter of a century. Both were dedicated parliamentarians, but whereas Troelstra always claimed to be a revolutionary Marxist - and it may be said that he regarded Kautsky as his mentor - Branting was a democratic socialist whose great hero was Jean Jaures. Like Stauning, he was prepared to go into government with a bourgeois party willing to push through constitu¬ tional reform. In the autumn elections of 1914 to the Second Chamber of the Riksdag, the social democrats emerged as the largest single party, with 87 seats to the liberals’ 57 and the conservatives’ 86 seats. The constitutional implications of the fall of the liberal government in February 1914 - when the King had been seen to be deeply involved in the activities of the conservative opposition - and the existence of a powerful pro-German lobby in Sweden strengthened Branting’s con¬ viction that pressure should be brought to bear by as broad a body of opinion as possible on the Hammarskjold government to remain neutral. Branting also had a small group of pro-Germans in his own party to contend with (they were expelled in 1915) and a much more troublesome left wing which was finally forced out of the party in 1917. Troelstra’s own sympathies towards the SPD were to some extent counterbalanced by the francophile attitudes of other leading Dutch socialists. His party was politically far less significant than the Swedish, though less troubled by the left wing, since the revolutionaries had been expelled in 1909. Branting’s approach to the problem of war differed from Troelstra’s in several respects. He shared the view that the war was not necessarily an inevitable consequence of imperialism, but he placed far more emphasis

The Second International 1914-1917

73

on the strength of nationalism. ‘Common interests’ were so manifold that it was ‘entirely natural’ for all classes to come together to defend their existence. It was therefore quite wrong to condemn the parties which had rallied to the national cause at the outbreak of war.11 Branting believed that the International could be revived, but not by ‘rootless groups of un¬ patriotic individuals’; it was essential to recognise the strength and validity of national feelings. In spite of his determination to avoid public accusations of attributing blame for the war, Branting was unable to conceal his antipathy towards Germany. No-one had the right to con¬ demn the SPD for voting for war credits, for they genuinely believed they were supporting a war of national defence; but one had the right to complain, Branting continued, especially if the German socialists continued to defend a war which was so evidently aggressive in the way it was being conducted.12 Branting was deeply moved by the invasion of Belgium, which he saw as a gross violation of the principles of neutrality. His moral commitment to peace was undisputed; but he was inclined to believe that a secure and lasting peace would only be achieved if democracy triumphed over militarism and autocracy, which placed him unequivocally on the side of the allies. Thorvald Stauning was 13 years younger than Branting and Troelstra, and of working-class background. He had worked his way up through the party, of which he was treasurer for 12 years, to become chairman in 1910. Though not uninfluenced by Marxism, Stauning was always more concerned with practical results. The Danish party was led by men of working-class origin, and its policies were pragmatic and moderate. The left wing was negligible, and largely confined to the party’s youth section. Scandinavian socialism, as conceived by the Danish socialists, was based on: close cooperation between unions, cooperatives and party, sound harmony between theory and practice, a glowing faith in the ideals of socialism linked to a sober recognition of the opportunities of the moment, and tireless daily work to win for the people the greatest possible power in the state, and for the working class the greatest possible influence amongst the people and on the state.13 This rather smug faith in the progressive virtues of the movement was reflected in the Danish socialists’ attitude towards the International. It had done all it could to prevent war, but had not been strong enough. Now it was the turn of the northern neutrals to uphold the standards of the movement, conscious of their ‘world-historic mission and the ‘civilising work’ of promoting the welfare and happiness of the people. Stauning was less concerned with what sort of peace would be accom¬ plished than with promoting a movement for peace. In this regard, he was

74

War, Peace and Revolution

to play a much more active role than Branting, whose support for neutral initiatives was always qualified. Like Troelstra, Stauning had developed close relations with the German socialist leaders. The Danish party had collaborated with the SPD on the contentious Schleswig-Holstein question before the war. It was the belief of Stauning and his fellow socialists that the frontier issue could be settled by agreement with Germany, and they were thus opposed to the anti-German agitation of the Danish nationalists, in much the same way as the Swedish socialists opposed the pro-German element in Sweden. In both instances, national political interests played a part in shaping attitudes.15 The main concern of the socialists of the neutral countries in the winter of 1914-1915 was to prevent the spread of war. This caused them to place the interests of neutrality before the principles of international socialism. When the Italian left-wing socialist Constantino Lazzari chided the Swiss socialists at the Lugano conference for declaring their willingness to defend their country’s neutrality - since in Lazzari’s view, war always served the interests of capitalism - he received little support. His colleagues Filippo Turati and Guiseppe Modigliani both defended the right of the Swiss to fight should external powers threaten their neutrality.16 The Danish and Norwegian parties were prepared to compromise their principled opposition to defence spending in the interests of securing neutrality - both voted for increased expenditure on defence in 1914. The belief that neutrality was or might be threatened tended to colour attitudes towards the belligerents, which in itself created suspicions, as we have seen in the case of the SPD. The conviction that attempts must be made to revive the International and to bring together the parties sundered by war was tempered by private hesitations and reservations. Branting and Troelstra both felt that Stauning’s eagerness for a conference was premature, and were markedly less optimistic about the chances of success. Rosa Luxemburg wrote to Branting on 9 November, arguing that no international conference should be called as long as the parties in each country were so unclear about their own positions. Pavel Aksel’rod was sceptical about the value of international conferences as long as the psychological conditions which had brought about an upsurge of nationalism in the labour movement were still present. He preferred a series of private meetings of representatives of different countries, ‘like-minded comrades’, not chauvinists or ‘vulgar revolutionaries’ - an obvious reference to Lenin.17 Aksel’rod, a senior and respected figure of the Russian emigration, put these views to Greulich at the beginning of September, and again to Robert Grimm, the editor of Berner Tagwacht who had also been approached by Lenin. Lenin had attempted to persuade Grimm to print his theses on the war. This Grimm refused to do, and in spite of Soviet

The Second International 1914-1917

75

assertions that Lenin’s theses were discussed at Lugano, there is little evidence to show that this was so.18 Grimm’s draft manifesto, approved by the Lugano conference, characterised the war as imperialist and denounced the bourgeoisie of both sides for claiming that it was a war of defence, but it did not call for a breach of the civil truce, refusal of war credits or denunciation of ‘social chauvinists’. Grimm was principally concerned with the revival of international socialism, not the creation of a new International. He argued that it was essential to win over the majority of socialists to the idea that the International still existed and had validity, and to do this, the neutrals should seek by personal links to bring together the French and German socialists. To this end, a coordinating committee should be set up. Grimm’s cautious endorsement of a confer¬ ence of neutral socialists did not go far enough for his right-wing Swiss colleagues Albisser and Pfliiger, who wanted a campaign to reunite the entire socialist international for peace. Lazzari and Morgari were un¬ willing at first to support a manifesto whilst the question of national defence remained unresolved. Lazzari did however support Grimm’s suggestion that the neutral governments be urged to offer mediation, which his right-wing colleagues Turati and Modigliani felt would have little chance of success. Modigliani and Turati were in favour of Grimm’s manifesto as a reminder of socialist principles. Whatever else Lugano achieved, it did not produce a clearly defined ideological line of action of the kind advocated by Lenin. If anything, the conference was an honest reflection of the confusion reigning amongst the socialists in the immediate aftermath of August 1914.19 Defining positions (1915-1916)

Lugano had been primarily concerned with the prevention of the spread of hostilities and the preservation of neutrality. The Copenhagen conference (17-18 January 1915) was more interested in the problem of peace. Interestingly, it was Troelstra who appeared keener to condemn the German occupation of Belgium (and the British blockade of Germany) than Branting, who with Stauning preferred to leave such contentious issues outside the conference. Troelstra also stressed the necessity of the proletariat engaging in a fiercer struggle to attain power, and he urged collaboration between the socialists of the belligerent countries in order to avoid the possibility of international socialism being left high and dry at the peace. The final text of the manifesto was very much the work of the Dutch socialist. It urged the socialist parties of the neutral countries to press their governments to offer mediation in the conflict. It also reaffirmed the principles of the prewar International, and invited the ISB to convene at the earliest suitable moment an inter20 national socialist conference to deliberate upon peace terms.*

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Soundings taken by neutral socialists in the autumn of 1914 had shown that the idea of any sort of international meeting was viewed with mistrust, if not downright hostility, by the socialists of the belligerent countries. Camille Huysmans, the Belgian secretary of the Bureau, was also of the opinion that it would be ‘quite impossible, useless and danger¬ ous to summon a meeting of the Bureau now. Impossible, for most of our leading members are unable to come - useless for we have no real power to do something - dangerous, because the conference would become a violent exchange of reproaches.’21 Huysmans was nevertheless conscious of his duties as secretary, and refused to adopt the openly partisan attitude of his fellow countryman Emile Vandervelde, chairman of the ISB and also a member of the wartime Belgian government. At the first meeting of the new executive committee of the ISB on 13 January 1915, it was decided to invite delegations from the parties of the belligerent countries to separate meetings at The Hague. The SFIO turned down this invitation, and although the ILP was in favour of reconvening the full Bureau, it went along with the Labour Party view that it would be inadvisable for the British section of the ISB to attend if the French did not. The POB delegation which met members of the executive committee on 19 February made it clear that they would not consider any meeting with the German socialists until they broke completely with the policy of the Imperial German government. The meeting with the SPD delegation in March was inconclusive, though the Germans were less hostile to the notion of an international gathering than were the French and Belgians, and were persuaded by Huysmans of the need to make some sort of statement of their position on the war.22 The executive committee of the ISB also came under pressure in the spring of 1915 from the socialists of the southern and eastern European neutral countries. On 6 March the acting secretary of the Swiss Socialist Party, Fritz Platten, wrote to Huysmans in the name of his party, calling for greater activity. Receiving no reply, the central committee of the Swiss party decided on 28 March to renew its invitation to the executive committee of the ISB to convene a plenary session of the Bureau in Switzerland. If no reply were received by 7 April, the Swiss would them¬ selves take action to convene a conference of socialists from neutral countries. Troelstra replied on behalf of the executive committee, pointing out that attempts to call a meeting had foundered on French opposition and begging the Swiss not to thwart the efforts of the executive committee of the Bureau. The Swiss Socialist Party executive decided to go ahead with its proposed conference, to be held at the end of May. This initiative had to be abandoned for lack of support. The northern neutrals declared themselves satisfied with the results of the Copenhagen con¬ ference and argued that another conference would be inopportune. The

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Italian socialists excused themselves on the grounds of the seriousness of the situation in Italy (Italy entered the war at the end of May).23 The flagging initiative was now taken up by Robert Grimm. The 34year-old editor of Berner Tagwacht was to play a central role in the development of a radical alternative to the efforts of the more moderate northern neutrals to revive the International. In a new periodical, Neues Leben he denounced the civil truce which prevailed in the belligerent countries and urged a return to internationalist principles. Unlike Troelstra, who believed the International should wait for the right moment before coming forward with its peace plans, Grimm argued forcefully for a renewal of the class struggle and for support of the opposition groups in the belligerent countries - not in order to split parties, but to strengthen the fight against reformism and for peace. The emergence of opposition to the war was now becoming evident. In France, the Federation des Metaux decided on 17 April to urge the CGT to publicise the appeal ('Die Welt speit BluF) of the German opposition and to answer with a similar statement. When the CGT declined to do this, the May Day issue of the Federation paper, Union des Metaux, denounced the war and came out for a peace of no annexations, political and economic independence for all nations, disarmament and obligatory arbitration. This was the first official breach of the union sacree.24 Grimm was also encouraged by the decision of the Italian party leadership on 15-16 May to call for a conference of all parties and groups opposed to the civil truce and willing to fight on the basis of the class struggle for a speedy peace of no annexations or alterations of territorial frontiers without the consent of those affected.25 The mission of Oddino Morgari to western Europe to persuade the French and British labour movements to back a neutral socialist conference, although failing in its immediate objective, did reveal growing opposition to the war within the CGT and in the ILP. Martov, who followed these discussions closely in Paris, persuaded Grimm that a further conference of neutrals would achieve little. Instead, a conference of‘leftist elements’ opposed to their governments and committed to the class struggle would serve to radicalise the moderates and to curb the sectarian tendencies of the ultra-left. Grimm was himself doubtful whether he could persuade his party to endorse such a conference, and he was fairly sure that the official parties in the belligerent countries would have nothing to do with such a proposal. A conference of the oppositional elements would naturally not imply splitting; it would serve simply to establish a line of action for the struggle against the war.26 Grimm’s hope that representatives of the opposition from the belliger¬ ent countries would attend the preliminary meeting in Bern were to be dashed. Of the seven participants, four were emigres - Aksel’rod

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(Menshevik), Zinov’yev (Bolshevik), Adolf Warski (Central Committee of the Social Democratic Party of the Kingdom of Poland and Lithuania SDKPiL) and Maximilian Walecki (Polish Socialist Party leftists - PPSLewica) - and the Swiss socialist soon found himself enmeshed in the strands of exile politics. Zinov’yev wished to invite only left-wing radicals to the projected conference, and opposed inviting centrists such as the Haase group in Germany. Aksel’rod on the other hand felt that an invitation to the Haase group was highly desirable, and Zinov’yev was unable to rally support for his exclusive list of proposed participants. The meeting finally agreed to follow the formula of the PSI resolution of 16 May: all parties and groups adhering to the class struggle and opposed to the civil truce would be invited. Whether or not this would include the centrist opposition in France and Germany was not made clear, though the aim of the conference in Grimm’s view was to work for peace and not for a new International.27 This was amplified by Grimm in his opening speech to the assembled representatives of a mixed assortment of opposition groups, conveyed to the small village of Zimmerwald from Bern in four charabancs on the morning of 5 September 1915. The major socialist parties had abandoned internationalism and were sailing in the wake of nationalism. Under such circumstances, the ISB could no longer carry out its tasks: it now led a life of ghostly inactivity. Grimm then endorsed the PSI call for proletarian action for peace on the basis of the resolutions and decisions of the Inter¬ national. For Grimm, as he was to write after the conference, Zimmerwald’s purpose was: to rally the residue of the Second International, the elements still loyal to socialism and the class struggle, to raise up the flag of social¬ ism, which had slipped from the hands of the appointed represen¬ tatives of socialism, and to erect over the gory battlefields the true symbol of humanity and the struggle for the liberation of peoples.28 The first full session of the conference, on the Monday, was largely taken up with reports and statements of party attitudes. Pavel Aksel’rod admitted that it was a common view in western socialist circles that the Russian emigres were doctrinaire and isolated from the movement in Russia, and he sought to demonstrate that this was not in fact the case. Although Aksel’rod alluded at the end of his speech to the two tendencies within Russian social democracy, one of which sought to create a new International, the other wishing to rebuild the International on a stronger footing, there appeared to be a willingness to avoid recriminations. Zinov’yev denied that the Bolsheviks wished to devise a special Russian tactic, and joined Aksel’rod in declaring that unity within Russian social democracy was equally desired by his faction.29

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If Grimm imagined that he was going to have an easy passage amidst the emigres - who constituted one-third of the delegates - he was sadly mistaken. On 7 September Radek introduced the left’s draft manifesto, which insisted on clarity of aims and on a revolutionary class struggle. Grimm’s first comment was that the manifesto seemed to be directed at the parties not the masses, and he felt it was inappropriate to reveal tactics to their opponents. Guiseppe Modigliani, sensing that there was unlikely to be agreement on a manifesto, wondered whether one was needed. In his view, it was more important to form a committee to revive the International and to work for peace. Georg Ledebour argued that the conference should seek to take up what the ISB had bequeathed, not found a new International. The left’s draft manifesto was unacceptable. They all wanted revolution, but this did not mean that the details of revolutionary activity should be trumpeted before the whole world. Lenin protested. In a revolutionary situation, it was essential to discuss methods and tactics. To be for peace was in itself meaningless, since everyone desired this. The new situation demanded new methods of struggle.30 As the debate proceeded, it became obvious that the left was very much in a minority, as Aksel’rod had hinted it would be. The fundamental division between the Leninist position and that of the majority was summed up by the French syndicalist, Alphonse Merrheim: You, comrade Lenin, are ruled not by the desire for peace, but by the wish to erect the foundations of a new International: it is this which divides us. We want a manifesto which will demand action for peace: we do not wish to stress what divides us, but what unites us [hearty approvall.31 At the end of a long day, the meeting voted by 19 to 11 to leave Radek’s proposal until a permanent directive committee was established. An editorial commission was set up, and this eventually rejected all three draft manifestos submitted. The final manifesto was the work of Grimm and Trotsky. It asserted that the war was the outcome of imperialist ambitions, and criticised the socialist parties which had suspended the class struggle and voted for war credits. The signatories of the manifesto reaffirmed the principles of international proletarian solidarity, called for a peace without annexations or indemnities, and endorsed the right of nations to select their own form of government. Although the task of all socialists was declared to be uncompromising class struggle, there was no indication of the tactics to be followed. In the final session of the conference, there were numerous objections and amendments. RolandHolst proposed that the refusal of war credits be made obligatory, which aroused the ire of Georg Ledebour. Oddino Morgari felt the manilesto

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was simplistic because it ignored all the psychological and nationalist factors which had led to the war, and unjust because it placed the burden of guilt equally on all governments whereas ‘in reality the Central Powers are the chief guilty party’. The left (Lenin, Zinov’yev, Radek, the Latvian Berzins and the Swedes Ture Nerman and Zeth Hoglund) criticised the manifesto for failing to denounce opportunism and for its lack of directives on methods of struggle. Eventually, after further squabbling, an uneasy unanimity was achieved, and the conference ended at 2.30 in the morning.32 The conference also established the International Socialist Commission (ISC) to direct further activities. This was to be located in Switzerland, and Robert Grimm was appointed as its secretary. The response of the main opposition groups in France and Britain was disappointing. The ILP had nominated delegates to the Zimmerwald conference after dis¬ cussions with Oddino Morgari, but passports had been refused. The Latvian Bolshevik Janis Berzins tried to persuade the ILP to nominate a member to the ISC, which he hoped would be able to do some good work until the Bureau was once more ready to resume its duties, since the members of the new commission ‘have no intention to start a rival organisation’. But the response was cautious: Had our delegates been able to take part in the Zimmerwald Con¬ ference, they would, while warmly supporting the international and peace affirmations in the Manifesto, have disapproved of those passages condemning other socialists for the action they have taken in connection with the present war.33 Although the ILP declined to affiliate, the BSP and the small Socialist Labour Party appointed correspondents, and sought to publicise the Zimmerwald manifesto in Britain.34 One or two federations of the SFIO declared their support, but the minoritaires kept their distance on the whole, and the party majority set its face firmly against the whole movement, as did the SPD. As long as Zimmerwald failed to attract the whole-hearted support of sizeable opposition groups such as the ILP, the minoritaires around Jean Longuet and the Haase-Bernstein-Kautsky group, it would be condemned to suffer the doctrinal wranglings of the emigres. Before the Zimmerwald conference had even been thought of, Aksel’rod had written to Grimm, warning him of Lenin’s efforts to ‘drag into the International his beloved fractional methods of fighting’, and referring to Lenin’s activities at the international women’s and youth conferences. At the women’s conference, held in Switzerland at the end of March 1915, the Russian delegates had tried to persuade the meeting to accept a resolution based on Lenin’s theses on the war. Though

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defeated, it was agreed to publish the resolution in the report of the conference.'- Lenin also exercised pressure on the delegates to the international youth conference, also held in Switzerland.36 Lenin and Zinov’yev also sought to organise the left before the Zimmerwald conference, but did not have things all their own way. The meeting in Zinov’yev’s Bern flat on 4 September endorsed Radek’s text in preference to Lenin’s, although several changes were made to this draft manifesto. There was also another njeeting after the conference, when an informal Zimmerwald left was established.37 During the winter of 1915-1916 the harassed Robert Grimm found himself caught up once more in the quarrels of the emigres. The activities of Karl Radek, contemptuously referred to as ‘Lenin’s mouthpiece’ by Aksel’rod, were particularly troublesome. Radek had made many enemies, and the Germans at Zimmerwald even threatened not to sign the manifesto if his name appeared on it. Aksel’rod bombarded Grimm with angry letters, warning him to steer clear of the Russians’ quarrels and not to allow the Bolsheviks an opportunity to publicise their case in Berner Tagwacht. Writing to Berta Thalheimer in November, Grimm confessed that he was in a ‘damned awkward position’ because of the passivity of the German opposition, which allowed small groups such as that led by Julian Borchardt (ISD) to make all the running. Radek had been nominated as a representative of this group to the ISC, much to the annoyance of the other Germans.38 The controversial question of mandates came up at the meeting of the full ISC in February 1916, provoking Grimm to complain that it was impossible to deal with so many separate groups. Surely, he declared, some sort of unity of the opposition was possible, a sentiment fully shared by Modigliani. Grigory Zinov’yev then sounded the trumpet call for clarity. Castigating the parliamentary opposition in Germany and France for their timidity, he proclaimed the issue of splitting to be of the greatest importance. Gustav Laukant of the SAG opposition in Germany con¬ tested this, arguing that the masses were not in favour of a split. If only it could unite, the opposition was on the road to winning over the masses. Laukant objected to the third point of Lenin’s proposed agenda for a conference to be held at Easter, fearing this was an attempt to create a Third International. Were this agenda approved, his group would not attend the conference. The Bolsheviks for their part objected to any invitation to Haase and Kautsky (in the event, the two men turned down the invitation on the grounds that they were members of a party affiliated to the ISB), and Zinov’yev attempted to read into the report of the meeting a protest against the Menshevik organisation being allowed more than minority status. In Zinov’yev’s view, the majority of Mensheviks were social patriots, a reference to the decision of the Russian-based

82

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Mensheviks to support elections of workers’ delegates to the war industries committees in Russia. This manoeuvre in turn aroused a storm of protest. Despite these recriminations, the statement issued by the Bern meeting reflected a hardening of attitudes since Zimmerwald. It denounced attempts to revive the International by the compromised socialists who continued to support the civil truce and urged a return to the revolutionary class struggle, refusal of war credits, withdrawal of workers from institutions of national defence, withdrawal of socialists from government, breach of the civil truce and open economic and political mass struggle against the ruling classes and their governments. On the other hand, it did not call for the formation of a new International.39 The second conference of the Zimmerwald movement was held at Kiental, near Bern, at the end of April 1916. The question of the International once more aroused heated debate. The resolution of the majority of the ISC, introduced by Lazzari, called for the replacement of the executive committee of the ISB by one chosen from socialists of the non-belligerent countries. Affiliated ISB sections were to expel socialists who were members of governments, were to refuse war credits, to break the civil truce and to pursue all means to bring about a peace of no annexations or indemnities, based on the principles of national selfdetermination. Lazzari was supported by Serrati, Modigliani, Martov, Aksel’rod and Adolph Hoffmann of the SAG group, all of whom argued that social patriotism could and should be fought within the Second International. The minority position advanced by Warski opposed any attempt to convene a meeting of the ISB and warned of the dangers of belligerent governments using socialists such as Scheidemann to promote their own national ends under the guise of internationalism. Thalheimer, Warski and Lenin proposed instead that social patriotism be rejected in favour of the revolutionary class struggle and a new International. In the end, the conference adopted a resolution proposed by Stanisfaw Lapinski (PPS Left) and Zinov’yev, which criticised the Bureau for its inactivity, condemned the abandonment of the class struggle in favour of the civil truce, but did not reject the Second International entirely. Should the ISB convene, the ISC would consider the role and position of the Zimmerwald movement. This resolution displeased the left and the right, but was finally approved by 21 votes to one.40 The Kiental debates revealed that the fissures in the ranks of the opposition were as many and as deep as ever. Hoffmann for the moderate German opposition declared his faith in the old Erfurt programme of the SPD and the resolutions of the International. The Berlin group he represented wished to return to these old principles. Paul Frolich of the Bremen radicals rejected this entirely, and insisted on the need for clarity.

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He also criticised the parliamentary opposition and the Spartacists, whose relations with one another had turned sour at the end of 1915. The French parliamentary opposition was severely criticised for not voting against war credits, and Brizon’s speech was punctuated by several agitated interjections. Like their German counterparts, the French parliamentary opposition were reluctant to accept orders from the Zimmerwald movement, and were not prepared even to abandon the notion of justified national defence. The Kiental conference was nevertheless a decisive step to the left, even if Lenin continued to express his distrust of the ‘vacillating’ majority of the movement. Robert Grimm’s theses on the position of the proletariat in regard to the question of peace, which were to form the basis for the resolution finally issued by the ISC, condemned as utopian, as long as capitalism prevailed, such remedies as disarmament, obligatory arbi¬ tration, open and democratic control of foreign policy and national self-determination. The only permanent peace would be won by the victory of socialism. On the other hand, the resolution offered no practical suggestion on how that victory could be accomplished. The emphasis was upon renewed mass struggle for socialism and peace, and this reflected the views of the Mensheviks and the Gruppe Internationale rather than those of the Leninist left. The left’s draft resolution focused more on the threat posed by ‘the petty bourgeoisie, opportunists and social pacifists [the German party centre, ILP, etc.]’ who sought to deceive the masses and themselves by pursuing the ‘will-o’-the-wisp of a democratic peace’. It also urged a revolutionary struggle against capitalism as the only peace programme of social democracy: ‘Lower arms, raise them against the common enemy, the capitalist governments. That is the peace message of the International.’ But, as Warski acknowledged, there were many present at the conference who were unwilling to break with the past, or to recognise that social pacifism was ‘a bridge for imperialism’. The un¬ willingness to condemn those who continued to advocate what the Grimm theses admitted was an illusory policy was indeed an inconsis¬ tency in the thinking of the left-centre now dominating the movement, and an indication of the confusion over goals - an end to the war, or the victory of socialism to ensure a permanent peace.41 Towards Stockholm (1916-1917) The emergence of the Zimmerwald movement as a forum for radical antiwar opposition was viewed with some alarm by the northern neutrals. Stauning on behalf of the executive of his party protested at the setting up of the ISC and its claims to be acting on behalf of international social democracy. Branting believed Zimmerwald would lead to splits, and he was dismissive of the ‘anarchistic elements’ which dominated the

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movement.42 At the end of January 1916 Stauning wrote to Huysmans, proposing a meeting of socialists from the neutral countries, which might draft a programme of socialist peace terms. Such a meeting would be ‘an effective step’ against the supporters of the Zimmerwald movement, ‘whose activities undoubtedly may be damaging for future attempts to unite our forces’.43 Huysmans had already spoken at the Dutch Social Democratic Party extraordinary congress at Arnhem of the need for the ISB to pursue a more active role. This speech was intended as a public reply to the ISC and the majority socialists of the allied countries who continued to block any attempt to reconvene the full Bureau. In the spring of 1916, Huysmans visited France and Britain for discussions with all shades of socialist opinion, and was able to conclude that the ISB was still recognised as the official centre of the International and that Zimmer¬ wald enjoyed little support. Huysmans’ main concern appears to have been to prod the parties into publishing statements on peace aims, rather than the reconvention of the full Bureau. In discussions with members of the ILP on 31 March, he told Snowden that he was personally against the Bureau meeting until after the war. The Bureau could only act as an inter¬ mediary, and if it did not go far enough for the ILP, it was going too far for the Labour Party.44 The Dutch members of the executive committee of the ISB were anxious to take more positive steps to counter the activities of the com¬ mission in Bern, and in spite of Huysmans’ initial opposition, arranged for a second conference of neutral socialists at The Hague on 31 July-2 August 1916. The Hague conference was clearly designed to put a spanner in the works of the Zimmerwald movement, and to draw away those parties which had shown sympathy to its aims. The Swiss Socialist Party had voted by a large majority at its Aarau congress in November 1915 to endorse the Zimmerwald manifesto; but a majority of the party executive were suspicious of the leftward trend of the movement. In May 1916, the executive refused to leave the Bureau or to approve the resolutions of the Kiental conference, and the Swiss Socialist Party also decided to accept the invitation to The Hague, with Robert Grimm as their representative. The Italian socialists on the other hand wanted a plenary session of the Bureau, and accused the executive committee of neglecting its duty. The Rumanian socialists, who were affiliated to the ISC, were equally critical, though they declared their willingness to par¬ ticipate in the conference. In the end, the refusal of the German govern¬ ment to grant travel permits to Grimm meant that The Hague conference was essentially another northern neutral affair.45 The differences between the three leading figures of the northern neutrals over the war were clearly revealed at this conference. In his opening speech, Troelstra came out for immediate socialist action for

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peace and for a plenary session of the ISB. Troelstra also intimated that the socialist parties of the belligerent countries should be prepared to break the civil truce if their governments were unwilling to pay heed to socialist peace demands. Branting was far more sceptical about the chances of success of any peace initiative as long as autocratic Germany occupied allied territory. He adopted a sympathetic attitude towards the French and Belgian position, criticising Troelstra’s view that the question of Alsace-Lorraine could be settled by mutual agreement, and insisting on the restoration of Belgian neutrality as the first condition of any peace settlement. He was hostile towards the Zimmerwald move¬ ment, which Troelstra had welcomed as an indication of the growing desire for a socialist peace initiative. In Branting’s opinion, a full session of the ISB would be inopportune at the present moment. It was for all affiliated parties to determine this issue. Stauning for his part reproved Branting for passing judgement. This could and should only be done when all parties were gathered in plenary session, which Stauning held to be highly desirable in spite of all the difficulties.46 The final political resolution adopted by the conference also marked an advance from the position outlined in the resolution adopted at Copenhagen. It called for a full session of the ISB, for example, and urged the parties of the belligerent countries to adopt a more positive stand on the question of peace. It was also critical of both sides, though making a clear distinction between autocracy and democracy, and aggressors and defenders, a point Branting was anxious to uphold. Independence for Poland and the restoration to Belgium and Serbia of full national sover¬ eignty and territorial integrity were demanded. The German socialists were urged to reach agreement with their French comrades over AlsaceLorraine, for which autonomy was seen to be the best guarantee of national liberty. The resolution also declared its faith in the ISB, and though Troelstra’s qualified acknowledgement of the Zimmerwald move¬ ment found expression in the approval of the right to promote proletarian policy in whatever manner thought suitable - naturally, within the confines of existing organisations - the overall tone of The Hague resolution was very different from that issued in Bern. The most obvious difference was that, whilst the Zimmerwaldists had rejected as utopian such remedies as open diplomacy and obligatory arbitration, the northern neutrals continued to affirm these ideas, as formulated at the 1910 Copenhagen conference of the Second International.47 The efforts of the northern neutrals to revive the ISB met with little success. Stauning gained the impression that the majority socialists in Germany were willing to meet comrades from other countries, though they were not very pleased with the inclusion of the passage dealing with Alsace-Lorraine in The Hague resolution. He was less optimistic about

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the SFIO, whose conseil national on 7 August passed a series of resolutions condemning the ‘dangerous deviationism’ of Zimmerwald, setting out the conditions to be met by the SPD before a resumption of international relations was possible, and endorsing the continuation of the war for the liberation of France and the independence of Belgium and Serbia. Although the meeting also resolved to work for a second inter-allied socialist conference to discuss the terms of a durable peace, this was not a very encouraging response to the call of the northern neutrals.48 The minoritaires who had taken up the call for a reunion of the full Bureau after Huysmans’ visit in March, made impressive gains within the party, and at the December congress, a resolution refusing to look at the question of international relations until the SPD had defined its attitude towards the war scraped through with a bare majority. Nevertheless, the renewed appeal launched by Stauning, at the fifth session of the Scandinavian joint committee on 8-9 December, for the executive committee of the Bureau and the parties of the belligerent countries to work for consultations, produced little response. The Dutch members of the executive committee busied themselves in January 1917, trying to persuade the British, French and Belgian sections of the ISB to agree to discussions with the executive committee and Hjalmar Branting. Neither initiative bore fruit.49 The continued refusal of the majority allied socialists to countenance a full meeting of the ISB was however balanced by the public intervention of President Wilson in December 1916, which proved to be a major fillip to the efforts of those socialists seeking a peace of reconciliation. Both the SFIO and CGT called upon the French government to respond to Wilson’s demand that the belligerents declare publicly their war aims, and on 26 January 1917 the SFIO parliamentary group unanimously acclaimed the American president’s formula of peace without victors or vanquished. Avanti! hailed Wilson’s January statement as an endorse¬ ment of many of the ideas of Zimmerwald, and the government was urged to adopt Wilson’s proposals. The moderates in the PSI parliamentary group were also in favour of participating in the planned inter-allied socialist conference, an idea rejected by the party congress in February.50 The ISC rejected the idea of participating in such a conference, and belittled President Wilson’s intervention: peace was only possible through the growing strength of the international proletariat. Although the manifesto issued at the end of December spoke of the ‘firm resolve’ of the proletariat ‘to turn the weapons of struggle against the enemy at home instead of [their] brothers’, this was seen by Lenin as revolutionary phraseology which could easily be glossed over by opportunism in practice. At the turn of the year, Lenin wrote a series of polemical pieces, attacking the spread of ‘social pacifism’ in the Italian and Swiss parties,

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and singling out Robert Grimm in particular as a compromiser. In Lenin’s view, the moderate majority of the movement was now capitulating to ‘social chauvinism’, and he threatened to leave the move¬ ment unless the situation changed.51 The intensification of economic warfare from the autumn of 1916 gave added urgency to the efforts of the northern neutrals to press for peace, since the war was now beginning to affect their own countries. Growing war-weariness, and the fresh impetus provided by President Wilson, certainly disposed many socialists in the belligerent countries to rethink their position on the war and international socialism. The outbreak of revolution in Russia, and the appeal launched by the Petrograd Soviet on 27 March for a restoration of international proletarian unity in the fight for peace, provided the final boost for the socialists of the northern neutral lands. In his memoirs, Pieter Troelstra recalled that it was now felt that they had to act, or miss the opportunity. F. M. Wibaut, another Dutch member of the executive committee of the ISB, believed that unless they acted swiftly in calling a plenary session of the Bureau, resentment would grow.52 The first initiative was, however, launched by the indefatigable Thorvald Stauning at the beginning of April, in circum¬ stances which gave rise to some controversy at the time and which are still not easy to unravel. In the weeks following the revolution in Russia, the SPD appeared to be very anxious to establish contact with the Russian socialists, and none more so than the right-wing members of the party who had established close relations with representatives of the nationalities of the western borderlands of the Russian Empire. Albert Siidekum, for example, sought to involve the Finnish Social Democratic Party as an intermediary between Russian and German socialists.53 The main channel of contact ran through Scandinavia, where allied diplomats were not slow to detect German activities and to draw their own conclusions. Rumours of German attempts to get in touch with Russian socialists via the SPD, with the intention of promoting a separate peace, were circulating in Sweden from the end of March.54 On 23 March an open letter signed by eight Russian socialists, composed after a meeting of Russian emigres the previous day in Copenhagen, appeared in the Danish Social-Demokraten. It stated their commitment to peace, but it also urged the German proletariat to oppose any attempt by German imperialism to weaken or defeat the revolution. This message was transmitted to Friedrich Ebert by Stauning, a member of the Zahle government since October 1916. After consultations with the state-secretary at the German foreign office, Ebert sent a non-committal reply, hailing the triumph of the revolution, which it was hoped would bring about a speedy and secure peace. This episode was to have two consequences of considerable importance for later

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War, Peace and Revolution

developments. Stauning was accused in the non-socialist Danish press of running the errand of the German government, and these accusations were to lead to a minor government crisis in the summer; furthermore, they did little to lessen Stauning’s reputation of being pro-German which was unfortunate in view of his efforts to mount an international socialist peace initiative. Second, in failing to take a firm stand against the rumours of separate peace moves, the SPD seemed to confirm what the allied socialists and their friends in neutral countries already suspected, that the SPD was a willing accomplice of the German government.53 In the early attempts of the SPD to get in touch with the Russian socialists, an important part was played by Alexander Helphand, also known as Parvus. A Russian Jew, Parvus had worked in close collabor¬ ation with Trotsky during and after the 1905 revolution. By 1914, how¬ ever, he had broken most of his links with the revolutionary movement, and had incurred the suspicion of Russian and German socialists as a result of his devious activities. In the years before the war, he amassed a fortune in Turkey in somewhat dubious circumstances. He moved to Denmark in 1915, where he established an extensive import-export business and engaged in political activity with the financial backing of the German government. He was in close touch with the German foreign ministry and the minister in Copenhagen, Ulrich, Count von BrockdorffRantzau, as well as with leading right-wing members of the SPD, whom he engaged as collaborators in the government-financed journal, Die Glocke.

Parvus’ own views are not easy to establish, though he himself claimed never to have abandoned his desire to see the revolution triumph in Russia. On 1 April 1917 he outlined two courses of action for Germany in a memorandum to Brockdorff-Rantzau. Either she could conclude a peace without bitterness with Russia, which would necessitate the existence of a stable regime in that country, or she could mount a summer offensive, occupying large areas and gravely weakening the revolutionary regime. According to his biographers, Parvus favoured the latter alter¬ native, which was in accord with his overall revolutionary strategy of victory for socialism in Russia.56 On the same day, however, Stauning received a letter from Parvus, posted in Stockholm, which claimed that the triumph of revolution in Russia had opened the way for social democracy to take the initiative in peace making. Parvus urged the Scandinavian socialists to set up a committee to promote links between the socialists of the belligerent countries, and endorsed the idea of an international socialist conference, although he admitted this was a difficult matter and would take time to arrange.57 Parvus may have known his man, but Stauning probably needed no prompting. On 2 April he renewed his call for a concerted peace

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initiative. Unless the ISB acted, support for Zimmerwald would grow, and Stauning threatened to call a conference on his own initiative if the ISB did not act. The Danish party also decided to send Fredrik Borgbjerg to Petrograd to persuade the Russians to support the Danish initiative. On the same day Hjalmar Branting set off in great haste, and amidst great secrecy, for Petrograd. Branting was unable to keep his departure a secret from the German minister in Copenhagen, however (it may be that Parvus learnt of Branting’s proposed mission whilst he was in Stock¬ holm). Brockdorff-Rantzau saw Borgbjerg’s trip as an attempt to counter Branting’s intention of‘stirring up war fever against the Central Powers on behalf of the Entente’.58 Thus alerted, the German foreign ministry immediately facilitated contacts between the German and Danish socialists. On 4 April a meeting took place at the SPD headquarters in Berlin, at which Parvus and Wilhelm Janson, a right-wing German trade unionist with close Scandinavian connections, gave details of the situation in Russia and of the Danish social democrats’ decision to send an emissary to Petrograd. Two days later, Ebert, Scheidemann and Bauer travelled to Copenhagen to given Borgbjerg a message for the Russian socialists. This was in the form of a statement of the SPD position with regard to peace terms, and a hint, no doubt inspired by State-Secretary Arthur Zimmermann, with whom they had conferred, that no German offensive was being planned on the eastern front.59 The efforts to promote a socialist peace initiative were thus caught up in the diplomatic intrigues of the belligerents from the start. Borgbjerg was delayed on the Swedish-Finnish frontier by zealous British officers, and did not reach Petrograd until the end of April. Branting, on the other hand, was allowed to pass freely into revolutionary Russia. He was clearly afraid of the danger of a separate peace between Russia and Germany, and of Russia abandoning the cause of democracy in the fight against German autocracy, a point which he made to the Russian socialists. He warned the Menshevik organisation committee not to build hopes on a revolution in Germany, and advised them of the impending visit of Borgbjerg, whom he described as under the influence of Scheidemann. He also outlined the work of the neutral socialists to promote peace, and urged the Mensheviks to influence the socialists of the other allied countries to come to a con¬ ference, according to Tsereteli.60 Branting’s return to Sweden coincided not only with the passage north¬ wards of the first batch of Russian exiles, including Lenin; it also occurred as the Dutch socialists launched their initiative. On 15 April Albarda, Wibaut, van Kol, Troelstra and Huysmans met in a house in Laren. The four Dutch members of the executive committee of the ISB and the secretary of that body decided to call a conference of all parties affiliated to the International in Stockholm on 15 May. The Dutch

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members of the executive committee would go to the Swedish capital and there join forces with representatives of the Scandinavian parties to organise the conference. Minority groups which had emerged during the war were also to be invited.61 The sudden and spectacular appearance in Sweden of the Russian revolutionaries, who had travelled through Germany with the consent of the German government, gave rise to a fresh wave of speculation. Branting claimed to have heard rumours of plans by the Zimmerwald left to stage a conference in Stockholm to facilitate peace with Germany before his departure to Petrograd. On 15 April the Swedish newspaper Dagens Nyheter carried a story that Lenin intended to work for a separate peace with Germany by means of a Zimmerwald conference in Stock¬ holm. This story was soon relayed to other countries, and in an article welcoming the Dutch initiative, Branting was careful to differentiate between this and the ‘Leninist conference’ which would have been organised as a challenge to the existing International and which ‘in reality, if not directly, was aimed at promoting attempts to reach a separate peace between Germany and Russia’.62 Branting’s endorsement of the Dutch initiative may have been prompted by his suspicions of the activities of the Zimmerwald left, but it was a cautious endorsement all the same. In conversation with the Italian minister to Stockholm on 19 April, Branting maintained that the Stockholm conference would have to start by taking up the question of Germany’s conduct in the war. He believed the Germans would seek to bring pressure to bear for the conference to convene as soon as possible. He was however of the opinion that there was no need to hurry matters; the military situation might in the course of the summer swing in the allies’ favour. Above all, Branting remained convinced that a peace con¬ cluded whilst Germany held the advantage in the field would not prove lasting. He also agreed wholeheartedly with the francophile Dutch socialist Willem Vliegen that any conference which might further German interests was to be prevented at all costs.63 Whilst Branting remained cautious about the prospects of the Stockholm conference, Stauning had no such inhibitions. After discus¬ sions in Sweden with Branting and Albert Thomas, the French socialist minister sent to talk with the Russians in Petrograd, Stauning announced that the Russians and Germans would participate in the proposed con¬ ference and the French would therefore be unlikely to refuse to attend. Branting had been far less optimistic on this score in conversation with Borgbjerg earlier in the month.64 Stauning also informed the SDP leadership that Thomas was no longer opposed to the idea of meeting the German socialists, and was prepared to throw open the question of Alsace-Lorraine to discussion. It was therefore vital, Stauning argued, for

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the SPD and the German government to take steps to show their desire for peace, a general settlement of conciliation and not a separate RussoGerman peace. Ebert and Scheidemann discussed the question of AlsaceLorraine with the under-secretary to the chancellor and Arthur Zimmermann before going to Copenhagen, and were given to understand that the German army high command might favour a frontier adjustment. This was mentioned to the Danes as a sop to French prestige in the discussions held on 26 April. Stauning professed his understanding of the German position and promised to talk to Thomas on his return from Russia.65 Thomas had however already made it clear in an interview published in the Swedish Social-Demokraten on 19 April that frontier adjustments were unacceptable and that the return of Alsace-Lorraine was desired by all Frenchmen. Thomas also found the idea of meeting an unrepentant SPD delegation in conference quite insupportable.66 Troelstra was also busy securing German support for the conference. On 19 April he visited Berlin, and had discussions not only with German and Austrian socialists, but also with the state-secretary for foreign affairs, Arthur Zimmermann. Zimmermann bowed to Troelstra’s argument that the conference would be condemned as a German manoeuvre if only the majority socialists were allowed to attend, and attempted to persuade the army high command of the propaganda value of permitting the USPD to attend Stockholm, given that the allied governments were unlikely to allow their antiwar socialists to go. The high command was very reluctant to con¬ cede this argument and the foreign ministry was also concerned to try and inculcate a ‘sense of patriotism’ into any USPD delegation.67 By the time he arrived in Stockholm, Troelstra had managed to stir up fresh controversy, the source of which was an interview he had given to Het Volk before going to Berlin. This was picked up by the German press, and gave the impression that Troelstra favoured a separate peace as the only way to achieve a general settlement. Branting was not unnaturally alarmed, and Troelstra’s subsequent corrected version did little to settle matters. An interview with the Hungarian Az Est newspaper also sug¬ gested that Troelstra still saw a separate peace as a means of bringing about a general settlement.68 By the time the Dutch members of the ISB executive reached Stock¬ holm, it seemed as if the whole idea of an international socialist conference was doomed from the start. The decision of the CAP ofthe French socialist party on 27 April not to attend the conference, which the French main¬ tained had been called by an unauthorised body, the reiteration of the POB on 3 May of its opposition to any conference, and the British Labour Party national executive’s decision on 9 May not to attend seemed to vindicate Branting’s feeling that it would be a difficult task to win over the allied socialists to the idea of Stockholm.69

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On 30 April a meeting was held in Stockholm, attended by Troelstra, Albarda and van Kol, Branting and Soderberg of the Swedish Social Democratic Party, the French socialist and journalist Andre Waltz, and the Belgian socialist Louis de Brouckere. De Brouckere restated his party’s opposition to any meeting with the SPD as long as it supported the policies of the German government, but appeared willing to accept the idea of a series of preliminary conferences between the organising committee and individual party delegations, as long as these meetings were not deemed to be binding on the parties concerned. The Dutch and Swedes agreed to set up a series of such conferences, though reserving their position on the question of a general conference, which was declared to be their ultimate aim.70 On 3 May the Dutch and Swedish socialists agreed formally to join forces and to invite Danish and Norwegian colleagues to nominate representatives to a Dutch-Scandinavian committee, which would act as a permanent organising body for the conference. Troelstra and Branting were elected joint chairmen of the committee at its inaugural meeting on 10 May, with Camille Huysmans acting as secretary. The initial date proposed for the conference was quietly abandoned, and a new date of 10 June proposed, in the hope that the allied socialists could be persuaded to change their minds about attending. Willem Vliegen was asked to travel to Paris to win over the French socialists, and it was hoped that Huysmans and van Kol might go to Russia to win the support of the Soviet.71 On the same day, 10 May, the ISC announced from its new Stockholm headquarters that a third Zimmerwald conference would be held in that city on 31 May to determine its position on the question of peace and the proposed Dutch-Scandinavian conference. Finally, the Petrograd Soviet had voted two days before to launch its own appeal for an international socialist conference. This was a decision which was to have momentous con¬ sequences for the becalmed Dutch-Scandinavian project. Conclusion The revolution in Russia and the attempts to convene an international socialist conference to debate issues of peace immediately set in motion a complex diplomatic game in which socialists of the belligerent and neutral countries alike were to become involved. The extent to which they were willing accomplices or innocent victims of the machinations of the great powers will be examined more closely in subsequent chapters. At this stage, however, it would seem appropriate to ask whether there are any grounds for supposing that a powerful and united socialist front for peace could have emerged during 1917. On the other hand, it is clear that the entry of the United States into the war under a president committed to the ideals of the ‘new diplomacy’, and the proclamation of similar aims

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by revolutionary Russia provided a powerful impetus to what Arno Mayer has termed the ‘forces of movement’, the parties and organisations seeking a radical new approach to diplomacy and international relations. Wilson and Kerensky epitomised the desire for a just and lasting peace in a world weary of war. It is interesting to note that the Dutch initiators of the Stockholm conference were careful to associate their project with the names of Wilson and Kerensky from the start. 72 The socialists of the allied countries were heartened by the triumph of the revolution in Russia and the proclamation of a crusade for democracy by President Wilson, because this gave them a greater moral superiority (and an additional lever) over the socialists of the central powers. The appeal drafted by Turati on behalf of the PSI on 12 April 1917, for example, saw the two imperialist groups of belligerents replaced by ‘an alliance of states dominated by the Russo-American spirit of democracy and renewal, against an enfeebled and empty autocracy’: the revolution and American intervention, in Turati’s opinion, had imposed a new character on the war.73 At the same time however, the socialists who backed the war effort did adopt a more critical attitude to their governments and began to examine seriously the future outlines of peace. There was a growing movement for a peace of conciliation in all majority socialist parties, though national interests continued to colour the terms they were prepared to consider. It was however highly improbable that the socialists who supported the national war effort would ever have come together to form a common front, even though in their growing anxiety for peace and willingness to express criticism of government policy they were a good deal closer in the autumn of 1917 to some sort of broad consensus on peace aims than they had been hitherto. The only real chance of some sort of united inter¬ national socialist campaign lay with the opposition, though even here there is a clear distinction to be made between those such as the ILP and French minoritaires for whom a democratic peace was the goal, those within the Zimmerwald movement for whom no peace could be lasting without the triumph of socialism, and those who advocated an all-out revolutionary struggle and who were increasingly contemptuous of their less zealous comrades. It is of course pertinent to ask how effective an international socialist campaign for peace would have been, though it is maybe the wrong way of looking at internationalism. The Second International s significance is surely not as an organisation capable of mobilising the working classes against war, but as a centre for protest. Those who proclaimed themselves internationalists were primarily moralists with a sense of responsibility. ‘The whole world is longing for peace’, wrote Hugo Haase to his son in April 1915, ‘and if we are not to be the heralds of these feelings, of this

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desire for peace, then who will be?’74 If we see internationalism as a protest movement against the horrors of war, rather than in terms of attempts to reconstruct the International and equip it with more effi¬ cacious methods of class struggle; as a movement for democracy and the rights of peoples to determine their own future, rather than as a revol¬ utionary vanguard in the Leninist manner, then we will be in a better position to assess its strengths and weaknesses in 1917. The debate on issues of war and peace unleashed by the Russian revolution and fed by the interventions of President Wilson and the Petrograd Soviet must also be seen against the background of develop¬ ments in the trenches, on board ship, in the factories and on the streets of Europe. Millions had been mobilised to fight the war. Their lives had been suddenly and often dramatically changed, and their perceptions of what life could or should offer had changed too. Socialist leaders had to take account of the discontent and aspirations of those they claimed to lead, and this could force them to adopt more radical or critical attitudes. It goes without saying that circumstances differed widely, but neverthe¬ less there was a marked upsurge of the ‘forces of movement’ everywhere in Europe, which left the harmony of the civil truce in tatters by the end of 1917.

5

The Soviet initiative (March-June 1917)

Early days In the late afternoon of Thursday 8 March 1917 a young French diplomat taking a stroll along the Nevsky Prospekt in Petrograd encountered ‘a small group of demonstrators, who were, however, quite quiet and sur¬ rounded by police’. Everything was perfectly orderly and passers-by watched the demonstrators with amused sympathy.1 Within the space of a week, this peaceful demonstration had swollen into a revolution which was to sweep away the old order for ever. By the evening of Sunday 11 March it seemed as if the impetus of the demonstrations, which had assumed an openly political character, had been blunted. The following morning how¬ ever the troops of the Petrograd garrison mutinied and by the evening much of the city was in the hands of the insurgents. The council of ministers virtually abdicated all authority. The Duma refused to obey the Emperor’s orders to disperse and attempted to compel him to appoint a new government. At the same time, a small group of socialists meeting in room 13 of the Tauride Palace, the building in which the Duma held its sessions, decided to form a temporary executive committee of a soviet (council) of workers’ deputies. The first session of the Soviet met that same evening. The creation of the Soviet, reviving echoes of the 1905 revolution, impelled the Duma provisional committee to take steps to assume the leadership of the revolution. On 15-16 March Nicholas II abdicated and a provisional government headed by a liberal landowner, Prince Georgey L’vov, was set up by the Duma committee. In the meantime, the Petrograd Soviet had issued its first real challenge to the authority of the liberal- democratic government. The Soviet’s order number one decreed the election of committees representing other ranks in all units of the Petrograd garrison, with deputies to be elected to the Petrograd Soviet. The decisions of this expanded Soviet of soldiers’ and workers’ deputies were to take precedence over competing orders issued by the military commission established by the Duma. This order effectively deprived the Duma committee of any authority over the troops in the capital, and its impact was soon felt outside Petrograd. There were serious mutinies in the Baltic fleet and in several army units. Committees and soviets were elected to represent the grievances of the soldiers and sailors and to debate the course of the revolution. The gradual disintegration of

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discipline in the armed forces, the parlous war situation, inflation, serious shortages of foodstuffs and essential war materials, and the heady but unstable effervescent mood of revolutionary svoboda composed the background against which the soviets and the provisional government contended for the exercise of authority. With the demise of autocracy in Russia, two major questions were raised: what sort of new order would eventually emerge, and what would be its position on the war? The collapse of the old order produced a vacuum, which neither the provisional government nor the Petrograd Soviet was able or willing to fill. The provisional government saw itself as a temporary body holding the ring until a national constituent assembly could determine the future of Russia, though it found itself increasingly compelled to exercise an authority which it patently lacked. The executive committee of the Soviet declined to enter government on 15 March, or to sanction acceptance of office by Kerensky and Chkheidze (the former took office, the latter refused). The Soviet assumed a watchdog role over the actions of the government, which it held had been formed with the consent of the Petrograd workers and soldiers. In the words of Irakli Tsereteli, the most forceful of the Soviet’s leaders in the spring of 1917, the provisional government ‘must have full executive power insofar as this . . . strengthens the revolution’, but it would be overthrown if it deviated from this course. As long as the government ‘under the impact of revolutionary events’ followed a revolutionary course, the Soviet would support it.2 At the conference of soviets in April, Tsereteli asserted that the Petrograd Soviet had chosen from the start the path of agreement with the bourgeois provisional government. He felt that the Soviet could seize power should it deem it necessary; but the proletariat must base its actions on considerations of‘what we may be able to preserve and strengthen and not what we may be able to possess momentarily’.Tsereteli stressed the need for ‘national will’ and unity. It would be a tragedy to lose this by unnecessary conflict with the pro¬ visional government, unless that government deviated from the revol¬ utionary path, in which case, Tsereteli believed, it would alienate its popular support.3 In broad terms, Tsereteli was articulating the view of most socialists in Russia. Demands for a provisional government to be set up by the Soviet had been made in mid-March, but by the end of the month the Soviet had settled into a role of revolutionary watchfulness. The initial statement issued by the Bureau of the Bolshevik central committee in Petrograd on 12 March called on the workers and soldiers to form a revolutionary provisional government which would be charged with the task of getting in touch with the proletariat of the belligerent countries to raise the revolutionary flag, overthrow their governments and strive for an

The Soviet initiative (March-June 1917)

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immediate cessation of hostilities. This earned Lenin’s approval.4 The Bureau in Russia was composed of three men at the outbreak of the revolution, and it is possible that Aleksandr Shlyapnikov, a close wartime associate of Lenin, was instrumental in shaping a policy which corres¬ ponded fairly closely to Lenin’s own stated position. On 20 March for example, the Bureau issued a statement which called for the war to be turned into a civil war, with the establishment of a dictatorship of the proletariat and peasantry as the aim. The return from exile of Kamenev and Stalin soon changed this. The Bolsheviks’ Petersburg committee had already adopted a resolution of non-opposition to the provisional govern¬ ment on 16 March, because its actions were thought to correspond to the interests of the proletariat and the broad democratic mass of the people. Kamenev and Stalin, who now took control of the Bureau from Shlyapnikov, Molotov and Zalutsky, argued that the slogan of‘down with the war’ should be discarded in favour of bringing pressure to bear on the provisional government to initiate peace talks. At the all-Russian party conference in mid-April, the majority approved the tactics advanced by Stalin and Kamenev, which called for vigilant control over the pro¬ visional government’s activities and for that government to enter into peace negotiations. The conference also decided to enter into discussions with the Mensheviks about the possibility of reuniting.5 As this meeting was ending, Lenin arrived at the Finland Station in Petrograd. The Bolshevik leader had viewed with increasing alarm the drift towards support for the provisional government amongst the Bolsheviks already in Russia. His initial reaction to the formation of a provisional government had been to see it as a conspiracy of AngloFrench imperialist interests, which had impelled Milyukov and Guchkov to seize power in order to continue the war - incidentally, a view shared initially by many German social democrats. Those who urged the workers to support this new government in the interests of the struggle against tsarist reaction were traitors, since the provisional government was handin-glove with imperialism and willing to strike a bargain with tsarism. The tactics of the Bolsheviks should therefore be resolute opposition to such a government, and ‘to urge that government to conclude a demo¬ cratic peace is like preaching virtue to brothel-keepers’. If the Soviet exercised political power it would, in Lenin’s view, agree to carry out the programme he had outlined in October 1915: the repudiation of all past agreements and treaties, a call for an immediate armistice and the publication of peace terms, which would include the liberation of all colonies and oppressed peoples. The soviets should also call upon workers in other countries to overthrow their governments. On these terms, Lenin was prepared to wage war against any bourgeois govern¬ ment, since this would be a just war.h

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Lenin’s anxiety to return to Petrograd was such that he was prepared to run the risk of being gravely compromised through his dealings with the German government. On 19 March Martov raised the possibility of the exiles returning through Germany and neutral Sweden under an agree¬ ment whereby German civilian internees would be released by the pro¬ visional government. The German foreign ministry was quick to respond favourably to this idea, which it hoped would further Germany’s aims of securing a separate peace with Russia. The provisional government was not so keen, and it was not until mid-May that the first large contingent of exiles- passed through Germany. Lenin initially supported Martov’s scheme, but on 3 April, angered by the lack of progress, he decided to open negotiations with the German minister in Bern via the Swiss socialist, Fritz Platten. In the end, 32 exiles left Switzerland in the famous ‘sealed train’ on 9 April. Four days later, Lenin was in Stockholm. The Swedish socialist Fredrik Strom later recalled that he was in such a hurry to get to Russia ‘to save the revolution’ that he almost ran to the hotel where a room had been reserved for him. Another Swedish socialist likened him to a provincial schoolteacher about to lay into the priest with whom he had quarrelled.7 The future Commissar for Education, Anatoly Lunacharsky, told Romain Rolland that Lenin was a man with whom it was futile to argue. He was convinced that he was right, and was ready to sacrifice everything to prove this. He was ‘a man with enormous power over the people, the only one of the socialist leaders who exerts such influence by the clarity of the aims which he advances and the contagious¬ ness of his will-power’.8 The assorted revolutionary socialists gathered in Petrograd were soon to be assailed by this shabbily dressed middle-aged man, who had spent most of the past decade in exile. His reply to the greeting delivered by Chkheidze, the chairman of the Soviet and head of a reception party at the Finland Station, was to brush aside the plea for cooperation in defence of the revolutionary fatherland, and to issue a stirring call for the vigorous prosecution of the revolution. In Sukhanov’s memorable phrase, his was ‘a voice from outside’. After repeating the substance of his speech outside the railway station, mounted on an armoured car, Lenin was taken to the nearby Ksheshinskaya Palace, the temporary headquarters of the Bolsheviks. From the balcony of this house, he denounced the peace programme of the Soviet and rejected the idea of 3 parliamentary, democratic republic in favour of soviet power. The following day, Lenin threw more fireworks into the ranks of the Russian socialists in a session at the Tauride Palace. This speech, which was to constitute the basis for the April theses, rejected any support for the provisional government and called for a republic of soviets throughout the entire country. Lenin argued that the revolution was passing from the first stage, which had

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brought the bourgeoisie to power, to the second stage, which would be a socialist revolution. The role of the Bolsheviks was to lead the masses in this struggle for the transfer of power to the soviets. All thought of colla¬ boration with other socialist groupings in Russia was ruled out, and Lenin also repeated his call for a new International of revolutionary leftist parties.9 Lenin’s proposals astounded friend and foe alike. He was accused by Tsereteli and other Mensheviks of endorsing Bakuninism, whilst many Bolsheviks expressed their bewilderment and private disagreement. His theses were published under his own name in Pravda with the rider that they represented only his personal opinion. The Petersburg committee of the party rejected them by 13 votes to 2, with one abstention. Kamenev repeated on several occasions his view that the period for a socialist revol¬ ution was not at hand in Russia, and claimed that Lenin’s theses contained not one single practical answer to the everyday issues of revolutionary Russia. Although Lenin managed to win over support in a series of regional party meetings, the Bolsheviks were far from endorsing whole¬ heartedly his demands for the transfer of power to the soviets and the creation of a workers’ and poor peasants’ republic.10 The outbreak of revolution generated a great wave of patriotism in Russia. Sukhanov noted that soldiers in Petrograd during the first weeks of the revolution would not listen to or permit any talk of peace, and numerous units of the armed forces pledged themselves to fight on in defence of the revolution.This mood clearly influenced the attitudes of Bolsheviks returning from internal exile. Stalin’s editorial in Pravda on 29 March urged the troops to stand fast as long as the German army obeyed the Kaiser. Until the imperialist powers agreed to peace negotiations, every man should remain at his post. This theme was taken up in other Bolshevik newspapers.11 Several of the soldiers’ delegates attending the all-Russian conference of soviets in mid-April put forward resolutions calling for the war to be fought to a victorious conclusion. One declared that ‘as a soldier, an honest Russian warrior, I must die with honour or con¬ clude an honest peace, so that all the world may know that we concluded a peace honestly, not by begging for mercy from the enemy’. Tsereteli’s resolution calling for an early peace was passed by a large majority, but not before approval of an amendment proposed by another soldiers’ delegate to the effect that the army should be prepared to take the offensive if necessary. Kamenev on behalf of the Bolsheviks and internationalists proposed that the revolutionary people of Russia should take the war into their own hands if the other belligerents rejected peace proposals, and transform it into a war for the freedom of nations, in consort with the pro¬ letariat of western Europe; but until such time, the army should be pre¬ served as a bulwark against counter-revolutionary forces.12

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Lenin was also quick to grasp the strength of feeling in the capital. His first April thesis acknowledged ‘the undeniable good faith’ of large numbers of supporters of revolutionary defencism, who would have to be shown that a truly democratic peace was impossible as long as capitalism prevailed. In numerous speeches and statements, Lenin was careful to avoid the charge of defeatism or of being an agent of the German government seeking a separate peace. He also acknowledged that the party was a feeble minority in most soviets. There was an underlying note of caution in the April theses, and although Lenin was able to win the day at the party’s April conference, the main concern of the Bolsheviks was how to build up their organisation. The resolutions, as Rabinowitch says, ‘pointed the party vaguely toward the socialist revolution while leaving unanswered the crucial questions “How?” and “When?” 513 Lenin’s slogan of ‘All power to the soviets’ was, as Anweiler has suggested, a revolutionary and strategic rather than a social-structural aim; but it did raise the question of how the diarchy of power was to be resolved. For the men who filled the executive committee of the Petrograd Soviet, however, the notion of soviet power was quite unacceptable. The soviets were seen rather as valuable safety-valves for a wide range of opinions unleashed by the revolution, and they could exercise a degree of watchful control over the doings of the government; but they did not represent the whole population, which had to be served by a broad-based coalition government. Soviet power would mean class power, a prospect few socialists in Russia were prepared to contemplate in April 1917.14 The soviets, committees and councils which sprang up all over Russia in spring 1917 were in any event talking-shops rather than effective instruments of revolutionary power. The largest and by far the most important soviet was in Petrograd. Although a more manageable structure was created in April, the Petrograd Soviet was still an unwieldy body in which oratory played a crucial role. Its executive committee was also far from ideal as a policy-making body. Its composition constantly changed in the first weeks of the revolution as emigre leaders were co¬ opted on their return to the capital. No agenda were prepared in advance, and discussions were frequently interrupted so that decisions were often taken without a clear understanding of their implications. It was in this atmosphere of confusion and wild enthusiasm that the Soviet’s peace programme was formulated. The Petrograd Soviet’s first statement took the form of a proclamation ‘To the peoples of the entire world’, issued on 27 March. This proclamation, couched in revolutionary rhetoric, appealed to the peoples of the world to join in common action for peace and for a decisive struggle against the territorial ambitions of all governments. This was distinctly at

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variance with the official statement of the provisional government, which pledged itself to honour existing commitments to the Allies and to continue the war. Pavel Milyukov, the new minister for foreign affairs, also informed Russian ministers abroad that the new government intended to observe to the letter the obligations contracted by the old regime and to pursue the war to a victorious conclusion.15 The Soviet proclamation embodied two inherently contradictory con¬ cepts. On the one hand, it proclaimed the moral right of the revolution to combat imperialism and to lead the peoples of Europe in the struggle for peace; but it also reserved the right of the revolution to defend itself against the forces of reaction, internal and external. According to the leftwing socialist Nikolay Sukhanov, the principal author of the proclam¬ ation, it should have provided a foundation for the future policy of the Soviet - ‘an internal struggle against the bourgeoisie, a struggle for peace at home, and an armed rebuff for foreign imperialism at the front’.16 Sukhanov admitted that there was an inherent contradiction in the proclamation, but maintained that this would not have manifested itself had the two lines of action run parallel. Instead, Sukhanov claimed, the revolutionary, internationalist principles which had inspired the proclamation were gradually abandoned as the Soviet engaged in diplomacy and allowed itself to become a cat’s-paw of the intrigues of the Allies and of Germany.17 The original draft of the proclamation was evidently more in line with the antiwar, internationalist principles favoured by Sukhanov, but it was modified by the executive committee and the Soviet session of 24 March, where fears were expressed that such a proclamation would undermine Russia’s security. The speech made by Chkheidze, the chairman of the Soviet, on 28 March, in which the necessity of revolutionary defence was emphasised, was probably a fair reflection of the sentiments of the majority of the deputies in the Soviet.18 Although the internationalists were able to play an important role in the formulation of the proclam¬ ation, they were very much in a minority in the Soviet. At the end of March, the Zimmerwald internationalists sought to forge a common policy, and a loose Zimmerwald bloc, including Mensheviks, socialist revolutionaries and Bolsheviks, acted in concert until the return of Lenin. A real shape and direction was given to Soviet policy on the war by Irakli Tsereteli, who returned from remote Siberian exile at the beginning of April; and this was to differ a good deal from the rather vague internationalism espoused by Sukhanov and his colleagues. Irakli Tsereteli was one of the ‘first reserves’ from Siberia on whom Martov, frustrated at not being able to hasten back to Russia, pinned his hopes.19 The Menshevik internationalists in western Europe had hailed the position enunciated during the war by the group of exiles in Siberia

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in two short-lived journals; but they tended to overlook a number of subtle differences between their views and those of the ‘Siberian Zimmerwaldists’, of whom Tsereteli was the most prominent figure. In the first instance, Tsereteli made a distinction between aggressive wars and wars of defence, although he admitted that the only country fighting a just war of defence was Belgium. More significantly, he distinguished between ‘ultra-chauvinists’ such as Plekhanov, with whom reconciliation was probably impossible, and moderate defencists with whom he felt reconciliation was possible. To this end, he was prepared to work with the liberal opposition in Russia, and he also endorsed social democratic participation in the war industries committees established by a leading Octobrist and future member of the provisional government, A.I. Guchkov. The Bolshevik and Menshevik internationalists in the west denounced the whole idea of participation in these committees, but a group of moderates who wished to exploit the possibilities for legal activities ignored the emigres and seized the opportunity to join these committees. It was these ‘liquidators’, organised as the Central Workers’ Group in Petrograd, which provided some of the impetus for the demonstrations which toppled the regime, and which organised the creation of the Soviet.20 In his first speech after his return from Irkutsk, Tsereteli praised the passages in the Soviet proclamation which rejected annexationist tendencies, but he went on to say that ‘as long as our cry is not taken up by our brothers in Germany - so long shall we keep watch over our freedom, our threatened fatherland’.21 Two days later, he was to formulate his ideas more precisely at a crowded session of the Soviet’s executive committee. Sukhanov spoke first. He accused the provisional government of failing to repudiate the war aims of the old regime, and warned of growing bourgeois support for the war to be fought to a victorious conclusion.The campaign for peace should be extended into the ranks of the army and amongst the workers, and the Soviet should demand immediate repudiation of tsarist war aims by revolutionary Russia and an open demarche to the allies, inviting them to open peace negotiations on the basis of no annexations or indemnities. According to Sukhanov, Tsereteli attacked him ‘with all his strength and passion’. The rather touchy journalist listened for a long time without taking the point until Tsereteli explained that nowhere had Sukhanov mentioned the need to defend the revolution and resist the enemy. Sukhanov affected to believe that Tsereteli as a newcomer failed to realise that the question of defence had already been discussed in the executive committee. In shifting the emphasis away from peace to national defence, Sukhanov claimed, Tsereteli was abandoning the Zimmerwald line, winning over ‘tarnished Zimmerwaldists’ such as

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Chkheidze and Skobelev in the process. Tsereteli’s speech, in Sukhanov’s words, caused an uproar. The entire left began demanding the right to speak, but Tsereteli had ‘loosened the tongues’ of the right, and ‘a sea of vulgar commonplaces’ gleaned from the gutter press swept through the room. Shlyapnikov, speaking for the Bolsheviks, later characterised the internationalists as attempting with their repeated proposals for a concerted struggle for peace to reconcile the irreconcilable. Nevertheless, the Bolsheviks backed the internationalists’ demands, and Shlyapnikov declared that his party was also willing to defend the fatherland, provided the proletariat was in command. Sukhanov believed that Tsereteli’s resolution, which was passed by a large majority, effectively destroyed all prospects of a mass struggle for peace, and substituted diplomacy as the weapon to be employed by the Soviet. Tsereteli’s own view was that Sukhanov was merely reiterating the Soviet peace formula: he neither wished to overthrow the government nor to alter its position. What Tsereteli wanted was closer contact with the new government to compel it to acknowledge the Soviet peace programme. In other words, the Soviet should exercise its influence to make the government act according to its wishes.22 Tsereteli’s policy rested on two principles: the desirability of a general peace of no annexations or indemnities, which the Soviet was to press the provisional government to initiate; and the necessity of maintaining the defences of the revolutionary fatherland in the meantime. An external dimension was soon to be provided by the Soviet’s attempts to mount an international socialist initiative for peace. There can be little doubt that Tsereteli provided the executive committee of the Soviet with the leadership and a policy on the war which it had hitherto lacked. He was also able to rally a considerable majority behind this policy. On the other hand, he alienated the small but active group of internationalists, who were to find new confidence with the return of the emigres from the west after mid-April. It is interesting to speculate what might have happened had Tsereteli, with his considerable oratorical ability and prestige, chosen to come down in favour of the internationalists’ slogan of a mass struggle for peace as a means of bringing pressure to bear on the government, since this might have given real vitality to a grouping which embraced a size¬ able number of Bolsheviks who seemed willing to act independently of the Leninist position. Tsereteli was in fact prepared to use the threat of extending agitation for peace into the ranks of the army, where he claimed the troops would respond enthusiastically to the Soviet peace programme, in discussions with the provisional government on 6 April. The government eventually overrode Milyukov’s objections and agreed to a statement which declared that the aim of free Russia was not the domination of other peoples or the

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conquest of foreign territories, but the establishment of a lasting peace based on the people’s right to self-determination. This was not an unqualified endorsement of the Soviet programme, and Milyukov con¬ tinued to do all he could to assure the Allies of Russia’s intentions of abiding by her original commitments. Sukhanov felt that the statement, which was endorsed by a large majority in the Soviet, was a Pyrrhic victory, achieved by the tactics of peaceful compromise. ‘It not only detached the “victor” from his troops, it also deprived him of the stimulus to active victory. It drove the “victorious” chariot into the impenetrable swamp of opportunism and “conciliationism” ’.23 Tsereteli was later to attribute the failure of his policy to the fundamental misfortune which befell revolutionary Russia, left to accomplish a ‘universal task’ on her own. This meant that she was forced to substitute a national-revolutionary objective for the universal objective of peace. On the other hand, Tsereteli maintained, any peace campaign directed at the masses, as the internationalists wanted, without democratic support from other countries would have resulted in ‘a kind of Brest-Litovsk inter¬ pretation’, i.e. a separate peace.24 Tsereteli’s rather high-flown apologia ignores a more basic reason for the failure of his policy, which the Danish minister was quick to note after a meeting of the Soviet’s liaison commission and the provisional government. ‘Whilst one can thus say that the people at the present moment are more or less united with regard to the continuation of the war, it is nevertheless impossible to predict whether the many unsolved issues, above all the food question, will not cause public opinion to change course once more.’25 Tsereteli’s policy also stood or fell - in the first instance - on the willingness of the provisional government to adopt it as its own. As long as Milyukov remained in office, this was unlikely to occur. The patriotic enthusiasm of the early days of the revolution was beginning to fade. Discipline in the armed forces had been seriously eroded, and rousing speeches by Kerensky were no substitute for adequate clothing and weapons. Furthermore, the revolutionary rhetoric of the Soviet campaign for peace could only be truly effective if other belligerent governments could be frightened into negotiations by similar campaigns by their own war-weary citizens. In other words, either the revolution would end the war, or the war would destroy the revolution. The majority socialists and the Petrograd peace initiative The socialist parties of the countries locked in combat were not slow to formulate their response to the Russian revolution and the Soviet proclamation ‘To the peoples of the entire world’. By early April, delegations or emissaries were on their way to Petrograd to deliver the views of the majority socialists of Britain, France, Belgium and Germany.

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Each mission had the approval of the government in question. The French government urged to SFIO to send a delegation ‘with a view to influencing advanced elements [in Russia] to prosecute the war vigor¬ ously’, and the British war cabinet authorised Arthur Henderson to use his influence to ensure ‘that a suitably composed British Labour Party deputation should accompany the French party with the same object’.26 A joint mission composed of three French intellectuals and three ‘matterof-fact’ representatives of British labour arrived in Petrograd on 13 April.27 The German social democrats had consulted foreign office officials before handing over their peace proposals to the Danish emissary, Fredrik Borgbjerg. At a meeting of the expanded party council on 19 April, Philipp Scheidemann hinted that the SPD leadership had already taken steps to get in touch with the Russian socialists, although he did not elaborate for fear of press leaks. He voiced suspicion of the purpose of Hjalmar Branting’s trip to Petrograd at the beginning of April, and complained about ‘British gendarme’ tactics on the frontier which were designed to prevent Borgbjerg entering Russia (the Danish socialist was delayed at the frontier for over a fortnight, and did not arrive in Petrograd until 27 April). The meeting welcomed the Soviet peace initiative and declared its agreement with the formula of peace without annexations or indemnities on the basis of‘a free national development of all peoples’. At the same time, it proclaimed the combating of annexationist and chauvinist ten¬ dencies and the struggle for peace to be the most important task of German social democracy. The SPD was also to fight to achieve demo¬ cracy in the Reich. However, the claim of the allied governments that they were continuing the war to compel Germany to adopt a democratic state system was emphatically rejected. The democratisation of Germany was the task of the German people themselves, not of outsiders. How this task was to be carried out was not stated in the resolution.28 In the first weeks of the Russian revolution, the SPD demonstrated the strength of its attachment to the German national cause. Its leaders continued to pursue an active policy of seeking contacts abroad, and in this regard were aided by the German foreign ministry, which had its own reasons to facilitate contacts between the SPD and antiwar Russian revolutionaries. They saw the Russian revolution in the light of the SPD’s own objectives, and in no way as a model to be imitated in Germany. On the other hand, the collapse of the autocracy undermined the main justification for German social democratic support for the war effort. Growing internal unrest, the emergence of a rival pro-peace party and external circumstances, such as the American entry into the war and President Wilson’s proclamation of a war for democracy, were also causes for unease. The SPD did not abandon its defence of the national interest,

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nor did it seriously contemplate breaking the Burgfrieden; but it did adopt a more aggressive strategy aimed at the democratisation of Germany, and it took up the call for peace. However, the majority social democrats were unwilling to accept a peace at any price. German national interests were securely embedded in the peace proposals adopted by the party in spring 1917. For a significant section of the leadership it was clear that a democratic Germany would be a nationally united Germany, which could if necessary continue a war of national defence against the imperialist designs of the Entente. The line adopted by the SPD in the spring of 1917 was for the long-promised Neuorientierung in domestic politics to be implemented immediately, and for the opportunity to make peace to be seized, but not at the cost of abandoning German interests. In endorsing the Petrograd peace formula, the SPD leadership hoped to place the onus on the socialists of the allied countries to press their governments to renounce annexationist aims. Scheidemann in particular placed great faith in the French minoritaires who he believed would win the day within the SFIO, and lead the party into open opposition to the French government on the peace issue. The national interests of Germany were to form the basis for any participation in peace negotia¬ tions, and the SPD sought to secure that peace by aligning itself with the Soviet position in the hopes of splitting the parties of the Entente countries. But behind the peace campaign of the SPD lay a real anxiety about the future, concisely expressed by Eduard David in conversations with high-ranking military officers in May 1917. David’s personal view was that Germany should secure territorial compensation in the east, and he felt that there was a lot to be said for an alliance of democratic Russia and Germany against the British. Together with his party colleagues, he remained loyal to the Burgfrieden, and the necessity of seeing the war through. But the longer the war continued, the more difficult it would be for the party and trade union bosses to defend this line. It was therefore essential to grasp any opportunity to conclude a favourable peace. Should it become known that a chance for peace had been destroyed because of the demands of Germany, the leaders of the party would no longer be able to restrain their people. ‘The party would fall asunder, the leadership would vanish and the consequences would be strikes, unrest, affecting the front, and at the end of the day perhaps, revolution.’29 Such a stark prospect did not face the leaders of labour in France or Britain. Though both countries had suffered severe losses in the fighting, neither had had to endure the hardships of a winter with inadequate heating and food shortages. It was the fear of another winter of hunger which spurred the German and Austrian socialists. What concerned the labour and socialist leaders of the allied countries was the fate of Russia, and her ability to remain in the war.

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The Soviet had already been alerted by the ILP and the Menshevik organisation committee in Switzerland to the fact that no representative of the antiwar opposition had been allowed to travel with the AngloFrench labour delegation. The delegates were coldly received by the executive committee of the Soviet on 15 April. The British delegates stuck stoutly to a simple defence of the policy of pursuing the war to a victorious conclusion. Their French colleagues bore the brunt of the Soviet’s hostility, and felt compelled to retreat on the issue of AlsaceLorraine, accepting that the question of its restitution to France should be submitted to a plebiscite of the inhabitants.30 On 23 April the French socialist minister of munitions, Albert Thomas, arrived in Petrograd to take charge of affairs. A pugnacious and extremely hirsute figure, Thomas was not a man who was easily swayed from his convictions. According to the French attache, ‘he tries in vain to act the fierce socialist by eating his wing of pullet from the end of his knife, and by talking of how he “will make them sweat for it” at the afternoon’s meetings’.31 Thomas was not entirely unmindful of his socialist inheritance, in spite of his resolute patriotism and commit¬ ment to the war effort. He was frequently scornful of the revolutionary posturings of the Russians, but he was also prepared to pitch his own hat into the oratorical ring during his visits to the front and in the sessions of the Soviet. Like many French radicals and socialists, he tended to see events in Russia through the prism of France’s own revolutionary experience.32 Within a few days of his arrival, he had fallen out with Maurice Paleologue, the French ambassador, who insisted that there should be no question of agreeing to a revision of war aims. Thomas shared the view of his French socialist colleagues that the entry of America into the war and Wilson’s proclamation of a crusade for democracy were important new elements, and he was prepared to advocate a revision of allied war aims which would embrace the concept of a democratic peace. To this end, he was prepared to back Kerensky and the majority within the Soviet against Milyukov, who still opposed any fundamental revision of aims. On 27 April Thomas sent a telegram to the French prime minister, telling him that he would take over the respon¬ sibility of conducting French policy from the ambassador, as he had in fact been empowered to do. Thomas had hardly begun to hold discussions with the Soviet when the provisional government was shaken by the crisis provoked by Milyukov’s note to the allied governments, issued on 1 May. This note rebutted the idea of a separate peace and affirmed that the Russian people were determined to fight the war to a victorious conclusion. The provisional government would fully observe its obligations towards its allies; no mention was made of a peace without annexations or contributions. This

108

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brought an immediate reaction, with mass demonstrations against the government and isolated incidents of street fighting. The Soviet was able to persuade the crowds to disperse, and a hasty gloss was put on Milyukov’s original note in a joint communique issued by the govern¬ ment and Soviet. The crisis had once more raised the question of power, however, and after some hesitation the executive committee of the Soviet voted by 44 to 19 votes to authorise socialist entry into government. It was against this background of political turmoil that the Soviet initiative for an international socialist conference was launched. The Petrograd Soviet had expressed a desire to establish contact with the socialists of Europe from its early days. On 31 March it was agreed to set up an agency in Stockholm which would monitor the German press and send delegations to Europe. A proposal for the Soviet to call an international socialist conference was made on 12 April at the all-Russian conference of soviets by the Menshevik M. J. Gold’man (Liber). The Soviet discussed a telegram from the ISB on 18 April (presumably informing the Russians of the decision to call a conference for Stockholm) but no decision appears to have been taken. A week later, the executive committee approved the idea of an international conference proposed by its sub-committee on international relations.33 The issue was to come up again at the beginning of May, when the Danish socialist Borgbjerg finally reached Petrograd. After private and unofficial discussions with leading members of the executive committee of the Soviet, Borgbjerg was officially received by that body on 6 May. The Dane announced that he was speaking on behalf of the Scandinavian joint committee, and gave an outline of Scandinavian socialist peace initiatives since 1914. In the name of the joint committee, he invited the Soviet to participate in an international socialist conference, at which the German social democrats would be present. Judging from the reaction of the members of the executive committee, it would seem that Borgbjerg was in fact delivering Stauning’s personal appeal, issued on 2 April, and not the call issued by the Dutch socialists on 15 April. The Russians were left with the impression that no practical steps had been taken to arrange a conference, and no venue had been fixed. The Soviet was aware of the Stockholm conference initiative of the Dutch socialists, but the Russians also knew that it had run into difficulties with the refusal of the SFIO to participate. Faced with this picture of confusion and hesitancy amongst the socialists of western Europe, and in the midst of a crisis sparked off by Milyukov’s unwillingness to accept the Soviet peace formula, the Russian socialists decided to mount their own international socialist conference. Borgbjerg’s visit may have influenced this decision in so far as he offered the Russians the possibility of contact with the SPD in the international arena, but the moving force was provided by the growing

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awareness of the Soviet leadership of the necessity for an international campaign for peace.34 The accusation of being an agent of the Germans rang constantly in the ears of Borgbjerg, with the Bolsheviks shouting louder than most. He was subjected to fierce questioning by the executive committee of the Soviet on 6 May, and his announcement that the German government would postpone military offensives on the eastern front in view of the Russians’ peace efforts was coldly received as an attempt to sell the idea of a separate peace. The SPD peace programme presented to Borgbjerg just before his departure from Copenhagen adhered to the principles of national selfdetermination, disarmament and international courts of arbitration, but on specific issues did not offer much hope for agreement amongst the socialists of the allied countries. Belgium was to be restored to full in¬ dependence, as were Rumania and Serbia, with the Serbs having access to the Adriatic. The ‘Bulgarian part’ of Macedonia was to be given to Bulgaria. The inhabitants of Russian Poland were to have full freedom to decide whether they wished to remain part of Russia or become indepen¬ dent, but Poles living in the German Empire were to be permitted only cultural and national autonomy (Borgbjerg’s oral statement also had the Germans advocating similar autonomy for the Danes within the Empire). A friendly agreement over frontier adjustments in Lorraine was possible, but Alsace was not an issue for discussion.35 Borgbjerg had handed over a copy of the SPD peace programme to Albert Thomas at the Swedish frontier town of Haparanda on 21 April. Thomas had already declared in a press interview that the restitution of Alsace-Lorraine was supported by all Frenchmen, and he thought a plebiscite was in practice impossible. He also declared his reluctance to commit his party to any meeting with the German majority socialists, and in a telegram to Branting expressed his own personal unwillingness to confer with members of the Zimmerwald movement.36 His sojourn in Russia was to cause him to adopt a more flexible position, although his basic convictions on these issues remained unchanged. He experienced a ‘disagreeable surprise’ in his discussions with Milyukov when the Russian foreign minister revealed the secret agreement of February 1917 with the French government, which would have given the Saar as well as Alsace-Lorraine to France, with the left bank of the Rhine made into an autonomous territory. Thomas disagreed with Milyukov s insistence on honouring past agreements, and sided with the British ambassador, Sir George Buchanan, and Kerensky in seeking to realign allied war aims. On 7 May he presented a programme to the British and French prime ministers, which sought to restate the allied commitment to fighting the war to a victorious conclusion, but which also was intended to proclaim that the allies were fighting for democracy and liberty. Such a statement

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War, Peace and Revolution

would put the Entente powers in line with the ideals of President Wilson and the Russian revolution: Thomas believed that such a declaration would compel Germany to declare her war aims, and would cut the ground from under the feet of the socialists who were planning inter¬ national conferences. On the question of reparations and the restitution of Alsace-Lorraine, Thomas insisted that the two governments remain firm.37 In the government crisis which followed the publication of the Milyukov Note, Thomas and Buchanan both recognised the necessity of socialist entry into office, and of an allied adjustment of war aims which might strengthen the position of the new coalition. Thomas’ speech to the Soviet’s executive committee on 12 May acknowledged the dominant role of that body, and was conciliatory on the question of annexations. He repeated that all parties in France were for the restitution of AlsaceLorraine, but intimated that the French socialists would not reject the holding of a plebiscite as a possible solution. On the other hand, the formula of ‘no annexations or contributions’ would need to be more precisely defined. In his reply, the Menshevik Steklov declared that they would do all they could to arrive at an amicable agreement.38 Thomas’ more conciliatory stand was also influenced by the disturbing reports he received from Moutet and Cachin, just returned from the front. All three felt that they would have to reach agreement with the Soviet as the only way of reviving Russia’s military energies. This would involve going along with the Soviet call for an international socialist conference, as long as the terms for such a conference were unequivocally spelled out.39 On 15-16 May, as the government crisis was at its height (and about to be resolved by the entry of leading figures of the executive committee of the Soviet into a new coalition), the three French socialists attended a lengthy session of the Soviet. That morning, the Soviet had published an appeal to the socialists of all countries, urging them to support the Soviet peace initiative. The socialists of Germany and Austria-Hungary were urged not to allow their governments to act as executioners of Russian liberty, or to take advantage of the ‘joyous mood of freedom and fraternity’ which had swept the Russian army to transfer troops to the western front to crush the French.40 Skobelev had made the same point two days earlier in a speech to the Soviet, in which he warned that whilst Russians fraternised on the eastern front, the French army was reeling under the blows delivered by German forces transferred there. In the words of the Belgian socialist minister Emile Vandervelde, who had just arrived in Russia, the revolutionaries were beginning to realise that Scheidemann was not the government of Germany, and that fratern¬ isation and negotiations on the eastern front served no other purpose than to demoralise the Russian army.41

The Soviet initiative (March-June 1917) 111 The demoralised state of the Russian army was also taken up by Marius Moutet in his speech of 15 May. He asked the Soviet, as the real power in the land, if the Russian army could remain in its present situation until the international conference took place: I am sure you understand the point of my question. By the same token as you are asking us to set in motion back home a determined campaign in support of your pacifist and internationalist action, which we are in fact disposed to do, then we must be able to reassure our countrymen in the fullest sense of the word that if you want peace, as we all do, then this is not to be a peace at any price, a peace with no conditions, and that in any event this pacifist campaign will not stop your military campaign, which can only be halted by an absolute agreement amongst all the Allies.42 For the executive committee, Dan put the Russian point of view: there could be no Russian offensive without a categorical assurance by the Allies that they would revise their war aims. As the debate dragged on into the small hours, another area of disagreement arose. Tsereteli, returning from a session of the provisional government, declared that the Zimmerwald movement represented the struggle against imperialism, and the Russians could not understand why the French socialists refused to attend a conference convened in the spirit of that movement. Steklov made a similar point. Moutet hotly rejected any idea of a Zimmerwald conference being attended by the French majoritaires, and the meeting finally broke up with a vague agreement to continue discussions in an attempt to find a compromise formula for the international conference. In the meantime, the allied socialist delegates would strive to persuade their colleagues of the necessity of attending the conference, and would put pressure on their governments to repudiate annexations and in¬ demnities.43 The French delegates were prepared to go along with this, as we have seen, because they felt they had to support the Soviet as the real authority in Russia at that time. Moutet and Cachin left Petrograd with the departing ambassador on the morning of 16 May. Both men were deeply impressed by their experience, and convinced that the French socialists should go to an international conference to lend moral support to the Russians. Moutet believed that an allied revision of war aims would bring about a magnificent national revival which would guarantee victory, a view not shared by the pessimistic Paleologue. In Stockholm, they reiterated their determination to press for participation by the SFIO in a conference, fearing a separate peace would ensue if the Russians were to face the Germans alone. They also told the Swedish social democrat Erik, Baron Palmstierna that coming face to face with the ‘brutality’ of the

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Germans would soon alert the idealistic Russians to the reality of their situation.44 Albert Thomas also appears to have wavered from his original position, which was that the conditions for attendance at the conference should be so framed as to make it impossible for the German socialists to participate, unless they broke completely with their government.45 Writing from the front on 25 May, he informed Ribot that he judged it necessary to go to the conference, and if the conditions upon which he had strenuously insisted were rejected, ‘peut-etre conviendrait-il meme alors d’aller a Conference\ He also informed Lloyd George that if the French government agreed, he had decided to go to Stockholm at whatever cost, and he had recommended his party colleagues to accept the invitation. On his return to Petrograd however he was annoyed to learn that Moutet and Cachin ‘had made a real hash of things’ by persuading the SFIO national council, as he imagined, to recommend participation in the conference ‘sans conditions\ With his allied socialist colleagues, Thomas sought once more to force the Soviet to define its conditions for participation.46 It is obvious that the French socialists were motivated by tactical rather than ideological considerations in their dealings with the Soviet in 1917. They did not share what Emile Vandervelde called the Russians’ ‘messianic faith’ in an international socialist conference.47 For the French socialists, Stockholm was the necessary carrot to persuade the Russians to resume their military campaign. They agreed to persuade their government to revise French war aims (and the revelation of the secret agreements acted as a salutary shock in this respect); but they did not expect the German majority socialists would do the same. They remained faithful to the view of the SFIO majoritaires that Germany was the guilty party. French revision of war aims would merely heighten the moral superiority of the democratic cause and would put increased pressure on the socialists of the central powers, whom the French socialist delegates wished to expose before the bar of public opinion. The Zimmerwald position, as Moutet explained to the Soviet, was in French eyes the same as opposition to national defence, and as such was plainly unacceptable. The point of departure for the Russian socialists was very different. The appeal ‘To the peoples of the entire world’ was firmly based on Zimmerwaldist principles, as Sukhanov claimed and Izvestiya noted in a commentary which distinguished the Soviet’s position from that of the advocates of victory.48 Addressing a private meeting of members of the Duma on 17 May, the former foreign minister, Pavel Milyukov, re¬ marked on the contrast between the national stance of the majority of western socialists and the internationalism of Zimmerwald which had ‘flowed into Russia in a broad stream’, had been vigorously propagated by

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the returning exiles, and had been taken up by ‘large sections of our public, which were poorly informed about these occurrences in other countries’.49 What was very much a minority movement in western socialism had become a moving force of the Russian revolution. At the very commencement of the war, Russian social democracy - with the exception of a few supporters of the allied cause, such as Plekhanov - had declared its opposition to a government whose victory would only strengthen reaction in Russia. The collapse of that government seemed to vindicate the moral stance of the opposition. Triumphant, the revolution¬ aries now sought to persuade other socialists to follow their example by opposing the machinations of their imperialist governments and joining the crusade for a peoples’ peace. The moral superiority and idealism of the Russians saddened and irritated their more pragmatic visitors. According to Emile Vandervelde, the Russians believed that the prestige of their revolution allowed them to impose their peace formula on other socialist parties: even the majority social democrats of Germany would not be able to resist.50 Unlike the French revolutionaries of an earlier epoch, however, the Russians were in no position to carry their moral convictions through Europe at the point of the sword. The revolution had occurred in a militarily enfeebled country; and as Trotsky had foreseen in the autumn of 1914, the bayonets of the Hohenzollern armies threatened Russia’s very existence. Such a prospect can hardly fail to paralyse Russia’s revolutionary forces: for it is impossible to deny the fact that the party of the German proletariat stands behind the Hohenzollern bayonets. But this is only one side of the question. The defeat of Russia necessarily presumes decisive victories by Germany and Austria on the other battlefields, and this would mean the enforced preser¬ vation of the national-political chaos in Central and South Eastern Europe and the unlimited mastery of German militarism in all Europe.51 The above passage accurately summarises the dilemma in which the revolutionaries found themselves in May 1917. The fate of the revolution depended on the willingness of the belligerents to conclude peace. As Russia was militarily incapable of forcing the issue by final victory on the battlefield, she was compelled to resort to other means. The allied governments were forced to take stock of their position by the weakness of their eastern partner, but the debate on the revision of war aims v/hich ensued was ultimately irrelevant as a means of achieving peace, because it failed to suggest an effective way in which the central powers could be persuaded to accept such terms. The neat formula of a peace w ithout

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victors or vanquished presupposed a world in which men of goodwill might amicably settle their differences, according to the moral code of the ‘new diplomacy’. Unlike President Wilson, most Russian socialists had little confidence in the willingness of imperialist powers to adopt a democratic peace programme. They pinned their hopes on the ability of the proletariat to persuade their governments to change their policies. Proud of their own achievements, they urged other socialists to follow suit; but their rhetoric masked a host of inner contradictions concerning the nature of revolution in Russia. The Soviet initiative for an international socialist conference, the external dimension of its policy of revolutionary defencism, must be seen in the context of this internal debate. For other European socialists, Stockholm offered a hope for peace; for the Russians, it was also a hope for the revolution. Zimmerwald and Russia During the spring of 1917, Russia came to resemble a vast debating society as hundreds of meetings were held to discuss the progress and fate of the revolution. In general, the workers preferred to follow non-party men whom they knew and trusted; but within two months, the non¬ partisan element was beginning to disappear from the soviets and committees. Many of those initially elected to these bodies - factory elders, friendly officers or NCOs - proved to be either too moderate or too ineffective in articulating the demands of their electors. By April, the parties were beginning to dominate the institutions of revolutionary Russia.52 The activities of a core of dedicated party workers were of crucial importance in the early weeks of the revolution; in this respect, the Bolsheviks had a distinct edge over their rivals. Young men such as F.F. Raskol’nikov, V.A. Antonov-Ovseyenko, I.T. Smilga and V.N. Zalezhsky played important roles in winning over the sailors of the Baltic fleet to the Bolshevik cause, and one looks in vain for Mensheviks and SRs of the same calibre.53 The Bolsheviks worked tirelessly to win over troops, sailors, workers and peasants. At a meeting of delegates representing socialist and labour associations for Finns living in and around Petrograd, for example, the principal speaker was Jukka Rahja, a Bolshevik since 1903 and a member of the executive of the Petersburg committee in 1917. Indeed, Rahja virtually monopolised the entire meeting, treating the assembled delegates to lengthy expositions of the Leninist position on the war and the national question. There was a world of difference between the ideas put forward by Rahja and the homespun phrases of the fraternal delegate of the Finnish Social Democratic Party.54 What is recorded in the proceedings of meetings is not necessarily an accurate reflection of the sentiments or mood of those present. Marc

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Ferro has suggested that the workers’ demands were aimed at improving working conditions, not at changing them, and that in resolutions emanating from the masses, the question of socialism never arose.55 The principal demand of the industrial workers in March was for an eighthour day with no diminution in pay. This was conceded by the indus¬ trialists’ association in Petrograd on 23 March, and other employers soon followed suit. The winning of the eight-hour day greatly boosted the confidence and assertiveness of the workers, who were also able to obtain significant wage increases, which appear to have exceeded price rises during the spring. By July however, prices were accelerating ahead. Potatoes became 175 per cent dearer between February and October, bread 150 per cent, whilst the average increase in wages over the same period was only 53 per cent. By the autumn, famine was threatening in 20 of the 43 gubernii of European Russia.56 The labour conflicts of the summer were often explosive affairs. The strike threatened by the workers at the giant Putilov plant on 19 June, for example, was directed as much against the government as for better wages, and the agreement eventually reached was insufficient to hold in check the growing militancy of the workers. Strikers elsewhere frequently included political demands in their list of grievances. Another source of discontent was the growing threat of unemployment. The closure of factories and the threatened evacuation of industrial plant from Petrograd in the face of the German advance were seen by the factory committees and soviets as a plot to destroy them. These fears and anxieties helped radicalise the workers and turn them towards the Bolsheviks.57 The industrial workforce in the major centres of production in the Empire had swollen considerably during the war years - from 242,600 in 1914 to 393,800 at the beginning of 1917 in the Petrograd area, for example - but party activity had stagnated or had been smashed by the police. The Menshevik praktiki, moderates who advocated legal activity, played an important role in the formation of the Petrograd Soviet, and the Mensheviks dominated that body into the summer, in spite of their lack of an effective grass-roots organisation. The Bolsheviks, who had begun to make ground at the expense of their rivals in 1914, suffered a serious decline as a result of arrests. In the working-class suburb of Vyborg, there were no more than 500 Bolsheviks at the outbreak of revolution; in Tallinn, membership of the RSDLP dropped from 125 to less than 50 at the outbreak of war, and even at the end of March 1917 had only risen to 510.58 A high proportion of the new workers were unskilled chernye rabochie, peasants sucked into the factories; one third of the workforce at the giant Putilov works were unskilled peasants, for example.59 The lack of even elementary labour organisations such as trade unions meant that the

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Russian worker had to build these up virtually from scratch, and at a time when major political issues were under debate. There was thus no clearly defined division between trade union and party political activities. The circumstances which gave rise to craft consciousness in industrialised western Europe did not exist to the same degree in Russia, and the political turmoil of 1917 ensured that labour struggles would not simply be confined to purely economic issues. If workers, soldiers and peasants were more concerned with realising immediate demands such as the eight-hour working day at the beginning of the revolution, they did also show signs of suspicion of the provisional government. The workers in a munitions factory in Moscow, for example, declared on 18 March that the working class should support the provisional government, which represented bourgeois interests, only as long as its policies did not conflict with the interests of the ‘broad toiling masses’. The workers of the Dinamo factory in Petrograd declared that the army and people had not gone on the streets simply to replace one ruler by another, but to realise their slogans - freedom, equality, land and liberty. But the soviets were usually seen as watchdogs of the soldiers’ and workers’ interests rather than as an alternative form of government. By the end of May, the demand for power to be transferred to the soviets was far more common, though there was a good deal of confusion as to what this would actually entail.60 The war was an issue which dwindled in importance in the provinces far removed from the front. The sailors and troops generally responded patriotically to the call to rally round the flag of revolutionary defencism. ‘We all love Russia, we all trust the Provisional Government, and we want to carry on the war to a victorious conclusion’ was the unequivocal declaration of the executive committee of the Helsinki Soviet on 24 March; but as the war dragged on, attitudes began to change.61 The call for an offensive in the summer was seen as an attempt by the officers to restore discipline. The failure of that offensive was a further blow to the sagging morale of the army, and the rate of desertions rose alarmingly. Peace was increasingly seen as a way out of their suffering by the troops, most of whom were peasants anxious to return home to take part in a redistribution of the land. Earlier patriotism dwindled into indifference. The soldiers were little concerned about the details of the peace, and proved difficult to organise politically. Their ‘defeatism’ was not inspired by ideological conviction, but by a growing awareness of the futility of Russia remaining in the war. In March, these soldiers stood forth as rather self-conscious defenders of the revolution. By August they were beginning to abandon that role and look to their own interests. If the people of the former Empire were suddenly to find themselves

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riding the whirlwind of revolution in 1917, the political parties were also inextricably caught up in the same storm. The labour movement in Russia had been persecuted and driven underground from the start. None of the parties of the left could in any sense of the word be described as parliamentary; their inheritance was that of revolutionary struggle. The experience of 1905 had left an indelible mark on Russian social democracy. The vanguard role of the proletariat in a future revolution was considered by Mensheviks and Bolsheviks alike, though they arrived at rather different conclusions. Parvus and Trotsky developed a new and unorthodox theory of ‘permanent revolution’. Lenin contemplated socialist participation in a future post-revolutionary government. The Mensheviks advocated revolutionary self-government, which they hoped would create a network of workers’ organisations from below; the Soviet of 1905 was seen as the embodiment of this notion. Nevertheless, by assuming that the proletariat would play a vital role in the revolution, the Mensheviks posed a question from which they shied away, since they did not regard Russia as ripe for a socialist revolution, and until such time, the workers’ party should remain in opposition. Should the bourgeoisie fail to fulfil its historic role, the workers might be compelled to seize power, but unless revolution spread to the west, the Russian revolution would suffer the same fate as the Paris Commune.62 The outbreak of the war and the subsequent alignment of the major socialist parties of the west with the national cause tended if anything to heighten the Russian revolutionaries’ sense of integrity and mission, and subtly to shift the focus of their mission to a European plane. In September 1914, for example, Lenin devised a programme of action essentially for the Russian proletariat, in which he announced that a defeat for tsarism would be ‘a lesser evil by far’. In his November 1914 theses on the war, however, Lenin assigned tasks to the proletariat of all countries. They were to expose those who supported the war and to work for the transformation of an imperialist into a civil war. The Bolshevik conference in Bern in February 1915 approved these theses, though Lenin was obliged to accept a more circumspect defeatist formula.6' For Lenin, ‘clarity’ and firm revolutionary commitment were paramount. He insisted on the need to get rid of the great mound of petty bourgeois, opportunist manure’ which had accumulated in the mass social democratic parties of the prewar era. Those who still insisted on the value and usefulness of unity incurred his unmitigated scorn. In a letter to Henriette Roland Holst in March 1916, he denounced the Gruppe Internationale for wishing to form an alliance, as he saw it, with the ‘Kautskyites’ and described Trotsky as ‘a Kautskyite, i.e. he wants unity with the Kautskyites in the International, with the Chkheidze group in Russia. We are absolutely against such unity.’64

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Up to a point the Menshevik internationalists agreed upon the need to cleanse the Augean stables- of the labour movement. They preferred however to revive and rebuild the old International, subjecting past errors to rigorous analysis in the hope of creating a new and vigorous movement. Martov shared Aksel’rod’s dislike of splits and preferred to try to win over erring socialists to the idea of peace. At Kiental, the Bolsheviks argued that splits were already a fact of life; the old International was thoroughly discredited and should be abandoned in favour of a new one. Martov, although critical of the ISB, argued that it was essential not to alienate the minority opposition in France and Britain who were pressing for a meeting of the full Bureau. Aksel’rod preferred to wait and see if the patient recovered rather than operate at the risk of killing him.65 Unless a resumption of broken international contacts occurred before the peace, Aksel’rod foresaw an ‘epoch of confusions and schisms in the Social Democracy ... an eminently undesirable prospect’.66 For the Mensheviks, the winning over of the big socialist parties of the west to the struggle for peace was also vital if the weak Russian labour movement was to fulfil its task of overthrowing the autocracy and pressing the struggle for a general peace. The immediate aim of Russian social democracy was a bourgeois-democratic republic and the liquidation of the war. The chosen agent for this task was to be the all-Russian constituent assembly.67 This was not something much favoured by Lenin, although he appears to have expected a bourgeois-democratic revolution as the likely outcome in Russia. In any event, Lenin’s main preoccupation was with the tactics rather than the ideology of revolution. In October 1915 he sketched out what the revolutionary party would do if it attained power, in terms very similar to those outlined at the beginning of the revolution in 1917. Lenin rejected any possibility of support for the ‘revolutionary chauvinists’, should they win the day in Russia, and plumped for ‘an alliance of the international proletariat for the socialist revolution’.68 His defeatism was founded on a conviction that a revolutionary tide would sweep Europe as a result of the horrors of war, and would ultimately save the Russian revolution. He was con¬ temptuously critical of Trotsky’s slogan of ‘neither victory nor defeat’, which he felt was tantamount to defence of the fatherland. But unlike Trotsky, he never considered what might follow if defeat did hasten the revolution in Russia but also strengthened the forces of Prussian militarism.69 In the opening weeks of the revolution, defence of the revolutionary fatherland, rather than concern for a socialist solution to the problem of war, was a prominent feature of the speeches delivered by orators such as Kerensky and Chkheidze. Tsereteli, on the other hand, was constantly aware of the international socialist dimension of his policy. In a speech to

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the all-Russian conference of soviets in April, he made this point very forcefully. The declaration of war aims pressed out of the provisional government by the Soviet was a major vicitory for democracy; but for this victory to be fully realised, it was not enough for the democratic ideal to triumph in Russia alone. The question of peace for which the Russian people are striving . . . cannot be resolved by the forces of the Russian people alone. It is essential that this movement obtain sufficient powerful backing in other countries. And it is only when that effort gathers enough strength, when democracy compels its governments to make a move towards the demands of democracy that there will be any real settle¬ ment of the question of peace.70 In the early weeks of the revolution, Tsereteli was confident that the antiwar minority would triumph in other countries as it had in Russia, and he made his sympathies for their position very clear in his dealings with the allied socialist delegations. At the same time, however, he was not prepared to break faith with the allies. He firmly rejected any idea of a separate peace and strongly opposed the Bolsheviks’ demands that the provisional government should publish the secret treaties. Tsereteli’s internationalism became gradually tarnished in the eyes of the left, since as a member of the government from mid-May, he was even more obliged to play along with the allied governments. Those on the left who recognised the need to defend Russia were unwilling to do so, as it seemed, at the behest of imperialist powers. In their enthusiasm for international proletarian action, the Russian socialists tended to gloss over the awkward fact that the majority socialists still remained loyal to their governments. There was a tendency to see the revolution as the catharsis which would purge the old International, with the majority socialists either being persuaded to abandon the civil truce or to yield to pressure from below for a peoples’ peace. ‘We have emanci¬ pated not only ourselves but the whole world as well’, declared the inter¬ nationalist Yuri Steklov on 27 March. The peoples of Europe had only to join forces and rally to the Soviet call to bring the war to an end.71 International solidarity and a socialist congress appeared to be ‘an extremely powerful guarantee’ for peace, according to another Men¬ shevik internationalist, though he did not explain how this would occur.72 This rather vague idealism came under fire from Plekhanov, who argued that it would be futile to go to Stockholm to consort with Scheidemann. The Bolsheviks also denounced any idea of a meeting with majority socialists, though this was partly to counter criticism of Lenin’s mode of return and to stem accusations that the Bolsheviks wanted a

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separate peace. Trotsky, who returned to Russia in May, was also opposed to Stockholm, which he regarded as a piece of self-deception by those who believed it would end the war.73 The decision by the Soviet to convene an international socialist conference was taken on 8 May. Earlier that day, the Bolsheviks discussed their own position with regard to a conference, and it is clear that Borgbjerg’s visit influenced the debate. The Moscow moderate, Nogin, recounted Borgbjerg’s speech to the Soviet, and ended by supporting Bolshevik participation in an international conference. Lenin did not, and denounced ‘Danish Plekhanovs’. Kamenev agreed that Borgbjerg was a German agent and that it was unlikely that the SPD would break with the German government. He believed that the party should not take part in any conference with majority socialists, but he urged close collaboration with the antiwar minorities. He refuted Lenin’s suggestion that the executive committee of the Soviet had only taken up the issue in response to Borgbjerg’s visit. The question of an international conference had been raised at least a fortnight before and it was likely that the executive committee would reject the Danish project and take upon itself the task of convening a conference. A commission of three - Lenin, Kamenev and Dzerzhinsky - was set up, and their resolution was approved with eight abstentions. This roundly denounced Borgbjerg and the allied socialist delegations as agents of capitalism and proclaimed that ‘the party of the Russian proletariat’ would form a brotherly union only with those parties and groups fighting a revolutionary struggle in other countries for the transfer of power to the proletariat.74 This resolution was read out later that day at the session of the executive committee of the Soviet. The Bolsheviks and Plekhanov’s Yedinstvo group were the only dissentient voices. The Trudovik group were for participation on condition that the allied socialist parties were represented, and a minority of internationalists wished to exclude all social patriots. The majority however favoured Erlich’s suggestion that the conference should embrace all opinions. The majority socialists were urged to fight openly and energetically for the right of the minorities to attend. The conference was to be held in a neutral country. A commission was set up to work out the details of the Soviet invitation, and a delegation was to go to neutral and belligerent countries to establish contact with the parties and with the Dutch-Scandinavian committee in Stockholm.75 The assumption of the initiative by the Soviet and the ISC announce¬ ment issued on 10 May for a third conference of the Zimmerwald move¬ ment to be held in Stockholm caused some confusion outside Russia. Stauning believed the Russians were appealing to the allied socialists to support the Dutch-Scandinavian conference.76 The Swedish left

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socialist newspaper Politiken, on the other hand, hailed the Soviet initiative as a blow against the efforts of the allied socialists to keep Russia in the war, and against the Dutch-Scandinavian proposal. The Soviet initiative was seen as entirely Zimmerwaldist in tone.77 The DutchScandinavian committee was annoyed at the Soviet’s lack of consultation, whilst Branting in particular was alarmed by the conditions attached to the Soviet invitation.78 During the latter half of May, in fact, the Zimmerwald movement in the person of Robert Grimm was to play an important part in the deliberations of the Soviet and of the socialist parties in Russia. On 14 April Grimm asked permission via the Swiss foreign minister Hermann Hoffmann to travel through Germany to Petrograd. In an interview with the German minister in Bern, Grimm also asked for transit permission for the Russian emigres. The minister formed the impression that Grimm’s presence in Petrograd would counter the ‘antipeace activities’ of Branting, and he believed Grimm’s offer to sound out the possibilities of peace in Russia and report back via the Swiss minister in Petrograd might be of advantage to Germany. It would seem that the Russian emigres still waiting impatiently to return had no knowledge of Grimm’s diplomatic ‘mission’. On 20 April a gathering of Mensheviks in Bern authorised Grimm to put their case for permission to return to the Petrograd Soviet, but no mention was made of any peace soundings.79 Permission was granted by the German govern¬ ment for Grimm to travel through Germany, but then Berlin had second thoughts and attempted in vain to withdraw the travel permit. Romberg admitted that Grimm was a fierce opponent of ‘official’ Germany, but contested the view being peddled by another Swiss socialist, Carl Moor, also a German agent and personal enemy of Grimm, that he had pro¬ entente sympathies and would probably cast his influence in favour of the allied cause within the international socialist camp.80 Grimm’s involvement with the German government was to prove his undoing, since he was expelled from Russia on suspicion ofworking for the Germans and was forced to give up the post of secretary to the ISC, which passed under the control of the Zimmerwald left. Why he should have chosen to compromise himself in such a way is something of a mystery. Whatever his motives, the scandal which broke in June set in motion yet again the rumours of socialist agents of the German government trying to promote a separate peace.81 Before the scandal broke, however, Grimm was instrumental in shifting the headquarters of the ISC to Stockholm. In an interview with a liberal Hungarian newspaper, he declared that immediate and direct discussions between Russian and German Zimmerwaldists were essential. Although he was critical of the Dutch-Scandinavian initiative, he did not condemn it out of hand.82

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Robert Grimm had attracted the fire of Lenin in the autumn of 1916, when the Bolshevik leader accused him of combining leftist rhetoric with rightist tactics as the Zurich conference of the Swiss Socialist Party. In letters to various party comrades and in advice to the left Zimmerwaldians of the Swiss party, he railed against Grimm’s ‘treachery’: The Zimmerwald Right has in my opinion ideologically buried Zimmerwald: Bourderon plus Merrheim in Paris voted for pacifism [at the congress of the CGT, 24 December 1916]; Kautsky did the same on the 7 January 1917 in Berlin [at the all-German conference of the party opposition]; Turati (on the 17th December 1916!!) [in his speech to the Italian parliament] and the whole of the Italian Party also. This is the death of Zimmerwald!! In words they condemned social-pacifism (see the Kiental resolution), but in deeds they have turned towards it! Grimm has basely turned towards the social patriots within the Swiss Party ... by entering into a bloc with them on the 7th January 1917 ...83 Lenin was very anxious to work on the Swedish left socialists, who broke with the main party early in 1917, as his long letter to Aleksandra Kollontay on 5 March 1917 shows. In two letters, written on 14 and 16 March 1917, Kollontay painted a pessimistic picture of the Swedish left. She complained that the internationalists in Scandinavia were unaware of the changes within the majority Zimmerwald bloc. Neither the Swedish nor the Norwegian leftists could conceive of a different Zimmerwald, and they needed time to discover the ‘pernicious errors’ which lurked in the Zimmerwald principles they held in such esteem. According to one Swedish left socialist, Lenin accused the Swedish left of being ‘bourgeois pacifists’ during discussions in Stockholm, and in an article written in April 1917, he launched several swipes at the petty bourgeois, small state notion of disarmament advocated by the Norwegian and Swedish left.84 This low opinion of the revolutionary potential of his erstwhile allies in the Zimmerwald left may have prompted Lenin to voice his lone opposition to acceptance of the ISC invitation to a third Zimmerwald conference at the Bolsheviks’ April conference. Zinov’yev, though highly critical of the Zimmerwald majority, argued in favour of remaining within the movement. He believed that those groups which ‘belonged’ with the revolutionary left but had hitherto held aloof because of their distrust of the Bolsheviks might now be persuaded to come over to the left, attracted by the Bolsheviks’ stance on the war. The Bolsheviks should go to the Zimmerwald conference to establish contact with these people. Zinov’yev’s tactic was to break with the Zimmerwald majority at the right moment, taking the revolutionary left with them. Nogin and

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others on the right of the party still hankered after participation in the conference to be convened by the Soviet. Lenin for his part doubted whether the proposed Zimmerwald conference would take place, and he entertained litle hope of being able to detach other revolutionary elements from the Zimmerwald majority. The party’s central committee was how¬ ever authorised to prepare for Bolshevik participation in the Zimmerwald conference. The party was to continue the work of the Zimmerwald left and to hasten the founding of the Third International.85 At the end of May Robert Grimm was finally granted permission to travel to Petrograd. On 23 May he addressed the Mensheviks’ national conference. The majority had already endorsed entry into government, a move opposed by the internationalist wing led by Martov, recently returned from Swiss exile. In his speech, Grimm took a critical line on the entry of members of the Soviet into government, which he believed had given the allied majority socialists a chance to justify their own policies. He saw a ‘cloven hoof in the disguised threat of an offensive contained in the new government’s statement of aims, and insisted that the socialist ministers should resign unless the new government accepted the Zimmer¬ wald peace programme and demanded an immediate suspension of hostilities. Such a demand would provide the workers of other belligerent countries with a practical slogan which would enable them to exert stronger pressure on their own governments. Grimm also felt that if all and sundry were invited to an international socialist conference, it would prove worthless. A clear programme was needed: governments would have to be fought with all the weapons at the disposal of the forces of revolutionary mass action if they did not declare their willingness to cease hostilities and to negotiate a peace without annexations or indemnities. Such a platform would form the basis of the invitation, and would pre¬ suppose that the initiators of the conference considered themselves bound by that programme.86 Grimm’s speech echoed very closely the ideals of the Menshevik inter¬ nationalists. Before returning from exile, Aksel’rod and other inter¬ nationalists had published a protest in Berner Tagwacht against allied socialist attempts to persuade the provisional government to fight on to victory. Aksel’rod felt that a peace initiative from revolutionary Russia was essential. The Petrograd Soviet should mount a popular campaign to force the provisional government to discuss a joint renunciation of con¬ quests and common approaches to peace with the allied governments, and should promote an international socialist conference to develop worldwide proletarian action. If the official party leaders refused to support such a move, the workers would be justified in electing new ones, in other words, splits would be legitimate in order to further the cause of peace.87 In an interview in Stockholm, Martov maintained that the fate of

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the revolution rested in the hands of the British and German workers, and their ability to force their governments to the peace table. Until socialist parties broke with their governments, a peace initiative was meaning¬ less.88 The internationalists were strongly represented at the discussions of the Soviet’s commission entrusted with the task of preparing the conference, on 28 and 30 May. It was resolved that the executive committee of the Soviet should take upon itself the responsibility for convening and organising the conference. The Dutch-Scandinavian committee and the ISC were to be informed of the ‘tactical reasons’ for this by a special delegation. The conference was to be held in Stockholm in the first fortnight of July, and it would seek to promote the general struggle to compel the imperialist governments to accept and carry out the Soviet programme of peace, and to end the war. Participation would be open to parties affiliated either to the ISB or the ISC, and to national trade union organisations; but on condition that they accepted the platform outlined in the invitation. Sukhanov, one of the members of the commission, claimed that the internationalists managed to secure agree¬ ment that the conference should not be treated as a kind of talking-shop, incapable of militant and decisive action. Only those parties and groups which had broken with the policy of national unity and opposed their governments would be invited. In other words, the conference was intended to form a base for militant revolutionary action, and not for compromise with the social patriots.89 It was presumably in the hope that such a conference would be convened by the Petrograd Soviet that the internationalists endorsed the idea at a meeting on 28-29 May of members of the Zimmerwald movement.90 The proposals of the commission were laid before the executive committee of the Soviet on 31 May, and would seem to be in line with the internationalist position. All socialist parties, affiliated to the ISB or the ISC, would be welcome to participate in the conference, provided they endorsed the position enunciated in the Soviet’s appeal ‘To the peoples of the entire world’ of 27 March, and bound themselves to accept the decisions of the con¬ ference, which would meet in Stockholm in July.91 Although the appeal of 27 March is remarkable for its stirring rhetoric rather than anything else, endorsement of its message clearly implied a breach of the civil truce in the eyes of contemporaries. This is why the internationalists objected to the tone of the invitation endorsed by a large majority of the executive committee on 2 June. The text of the invitation had been presented by Tsereteli, whom Sukanov suspected of having erased all traces of Zimmerwald principles from the original. It made no mention of adherence to the principles of the 27 March appeal. Instead, it declared the main task of the conference to be the reaching of agreement

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amongst representatives of the socialist proletariat on ‘liquidation’ of the policy of national unity, which was an obstacle to the struggle for peace. Parties and organisations which shared this view and were ready to unite in an effort to realise the breach of the civil truce and the assumption of an international struggle for peace were invited to send their representa¬ tives to Stockholm, In other words, what for the internationalists was a sine qua non - breach of the civil truce - was made the main task of the conference, but was not specified as a condition for participation. This was felt to be a capitulation to the majority socialists, and a dangerous compromising of Zimmerwaldist principles. Trotsky argued that the only way to make the conference work was to make rejection of the policy of national unity a condition for participation; discussing the issue with the majority socialists in conference would be a futile exercise. Grimm, called upon to give the view of the ISC, replied cautiously. As far as the Zimmerwald movement was concerned, the decision of Stockholm would be taken at the third Zimmerwald conference. Pressed by Trotsky, he expressed his personal view that the invitation to the majority socialists should be conditional upon their rejection of the policies of their governments and of the civil truce. Tsereteli interjected that this would make it impossible for the majority socialists to attend. The SFIO had just agreed to come without making a breach of the union sacree a condition for attendance, whilst the ILP was not willing to impose such conditions upon the majority because they knew this would make the conference unrepresen¬ tative of the whole working class. It was at the conference, not before, that the question of the civil truce should be decided/2 Although the internationalist minority felt that a grievous error had been committed in the drafting of the invitation, its wording proved too strong for the allied socialist ministers still in Russia. For Albert Thomas, newly returned from the front, it was ‘the violation of all our agreements, of all the conventions on which we were all in agreement’; Arthur Henderson, who had just arrived in Russia, found the terms of the Soviet invitation ‘most objectionable’.93 There was a stormy discussion on the night of 3 June between Henderson, Thomas and Vandervelde and the three Russian socialist ministers, Kerensky, Skobelev and Tsereteli. Tsereteli sought to defend the Soviet initiative on ideological grounds which the allied socialists were not disposed to support. He refused to differentiate between allied and German imperialism, both of which had to be combatted in order to win a durable democratic peace. If represen¬ tatives of the Russian revolution were to appear at the Stockholm conference as partisans of the allied majority socialist bloc, constrained by the decisions of that bloc, the independent role of these representatives would be rendered valueless. The chance would thus be lost to make use of the prestige of the revolution to reconstitute the unity of international

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socialist democracy. On these grounds, he justified the Soviet’s rejection of the invitation of the Labour Party to an inter-allied socialist conference in London, a decision agreed upon at the Labour Party executive committee meeting of 9 May. The allied ministers disagreed; if their parties were to go to Stockholm, they would have to work out the means of giving life to the decisions of that conference, which must be geared to out-manoeuvre the majority German socialists. Tsereteli now began to give way before the determined resistance of the allied ministers. Henderson made it quite clear that the idea of Stockholm had aroused a strong wave of opposition amongst British workers. When Tsereteli expressed surprise, saying that he had been led to believe by the British ambassador that the British government was favourably disposed towards Stockholm, Henderson said that he spoke as a member of that govern¬ ment as well as the secretary of the Labour Party, and that neither he nor his fellow party members wished to consort with Scheidemann as long as the majority socialists continued their support of the German govern¬ ment. At the end of the meeting, Tsereteli gave his personal assurance that he would endeavour to persuade the Soviet to send its delegation to London to collaborate with the inter-allied socialist conference to work out an agreement to ensure that the decisions of Stockholm were ‘loyally put into practice’. If the majority German socialists continued to support their government, the delegation would be the first to urge the conference in Stockholm to prevent their participation.94 On 4 June Thomas, Vandervelde and de Brouckere sent an open letter to the executive committee of the Soviet, protesting at the formulation of the invitation. The tenor of this letter was that there was a clear difference between national unity in defence of democracy - here the signatories alluded to the entry into government by the Russian socialists as an indication that the Russians also shared this view - and the German socialists’ continued support for their imperialist government. Any conference which gave sustenance to the Germans’ position would be futile and dangerous.98 The executive committee’s reply was composed on 12 June, one day after Albert Thomas had voiced his apprehensions about the invitation at a session of the Soviet. This claimed that the allied socialists had misunderstood the original invitation. The Soviet ‘does not demand of any one party that it renounces the policy it is pursuing as a prerequisite for receiving an invitation to the conference’. Convinced that the conference would reach complete agreement on the major issues, ‘the Soviet considers it inexpedient for individual parties to require other parties to accept beforehand certain obligatory decisions as a condition for their participation in the conference’. However, the Soviet was not convinced that a preliminary meeting of allied socialists was necessary. The conference would be successful only if socialists ceased to regard

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themselves as representing the belligerents, and saw themselves as spokesmen of the working-class struggle for peace.96 In spite of the ‘Zimmerwaldist’ tone of this final paragraph, the allied socialist ministers were confident that they had won the argument. The provisional government, now bolstered by the presence of Soviet leaders, was committed to staying in the war and to launching a summer offensive. In spite of the Soviet reply, Henderson had received personal assurances from Tsereteli that the Soviet delegation would collaborate in discussions with the allied socialists in London. Albert Thomas, whose own position was rendered difficult by the French cabinet crisis and the decision of his own party to go to Stockholm, as he thought, unconditionally, had perhaps good reason to be satisfied as he left Petrograd. He was acutely aware of the growth of the antiwar minoritaire faction within his own party, and this made him especially anxious to combat Zimmerwaldist tendencies within the Soviet. The revelations of the Grimm affair gave him an excellent opportunity to strike a blow at Zimmerwald. On 12 June he sent a telegram to the French minister in Stockholm with the text of Hoffmann’s message to Grimm, outlining Germany’s peace terms. This was to be passed on to Branting for publication in Social-Demokraten, and was to be telegraphed to all the allied countries. Publication of this compromising document, Thomas concluded, would serve to smash the intrigues in Stockholm and Petrograd, and the neutral countries.97 Several days later, he noted in his diary, after conversations with members of the Dutch-Scandinavian committee: Where are we now exactly with the Stockholm conference? Basically, the policy of imposing conditions which I have sought to follow has yielded what could be achieved. I think that it has caused the Soviet to issue binding declarations and to define its position. If the Russians had been capable of convening and organising the con¬ ference, we would have been able to pursue this policy to its limits; they would have finally agreed to a conference convened on a predetermined platform. It seems as if the Russians are not capable of organising the conference. On the other hand, it seems that after the Grimm affair, their collusion with Zimmerwald is now impossible. Conclusion: practical and moral necessity decrees that we should look to the Bureau to organise the conference.'x Thomas’ suspicions of the Soviet were shared by the pro-allied members of the Dutch-Scandinavian committee. Writing to his Dutch colleagues on 5 June, Albarda complained about the indecisiveness of the Soviet and the inconsistency of its decisions, and pinned his faith on the ability of the French socialists ‘to bring the Russians onto the right track’. In his reply,

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Wibaut felt that ‘what was the strong point when we decided to call a conference that Sunday morning in Laren - Russia - has now become a weak one’.99 Stauning and Troelstra on the other hand were equally alarmed at the way in which the allied socialist ministers were trying to force the Soviet into abandoning its internationalism and becoming virtually an ally of the Entente cause.100 In the meantime, the Dutch-Scandinavian committee urged the Soviet to send a delegation to Stockholm as soon as possible for joint discussions on procedure and the final date of the conference. Success now depended on pulling together and not allowing the movement for peace to become disunited.101 Conclusion A peace movement had undeniably been set in motion, and Stockholm was to become something of a magic word encompassing deep-felt longings and hopes for an end to war. The allied majority socialists had abandoned their early opposition to any kind of renewal of international contacts whilst the war was in progress, and were beginning to rethink their positions on peace aims. On the other hand, they were far from plunging headlong into an international conference with representatives of the ‘enemy’ socialists. The German majority socialists had publicly proclaimed their support for the Soviet peace formula. However, the slogan of no annexations or indemnities was open to very wide interpretation, a point made by critics as widely different as Trotsky and Albert Thomas. In the eyes of the left, this slogan also allowed moderate socialists to evade the real issues; such a peace could only be truly meaningful if realised by the revolutionary action of the proletariat. What continued to divide the left was how far the proletariat should or could - pursue this revolutionary course. The left in revolutionary Russia was at odds over this issue with regard to their own situation. The internationalists and moderate Bolsheviks such as Rykov, Nogin and Kamenev believed that the Soviet should seek to exercise strict control over the provisional government, compelling it to adopt its peace programme. For Tsereteli, this was in the end too negative, an abdication of the responsibility for Russian democracy. For Lenin, it was a futile tactic, since control without power was nonsense. But Lenin’s confident belief that a socialist revolution was possible in Russia and that the Bolsheviks could carry through such a revolution was not shared by many, even within his own party. The Russian socialists had an undeniable advantage over their comrades elsewhere, in that they could claim to have made a revolution. This gave them a moral superiority which coloured all their pronounce¬ ments and statements to the outside world. The Russians’ call for

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129

revolution in Europe was to find little sympathy amongst European socialists, but as Trotsky pointed out at the all-Russian soviet congress, it was the only hope for Russia’s freedom. The Russians had to agree to stay in the war and launch a new offensive, hoping against hope that a powerful upsurge of popular opinion in the west would force the belligerents to the negotiating table. Their own initiative for a major socialist conference had become ensnared in compromise agreements of a very fragile kind. Although Thomas and Henderson agreed to persuade their parties to support Stockholm, they had in no way abandoned their basic conviction that such a conference was a means of keeping Russia in the war, and would serve to put the spotlight on the guilt of Germany and the SPD. The only hope therefore for the Russians was that the warweary masses would force the issue, either by revolt or through some kind of pressure upon their governments. How realistic were such hopes the following pages will seek to demonstrate.

6

The Russian revolution and the European labour movement

Images of revolution Although socialists everywhere in Europe welcomed the revolution in Russia, they tended to interpret its implications in the light of their own political circumstances. Developments in Russia were frequently viewed through the prism of previous European revolutionary experience. This was particularly true of the French socialists, who saw their own revolutionary heritage, as it were, re-enacted upon a Russian stage. Albert Thomas for example defended the Soviet’s preoccupation with ideology as a revolutionary affirmation of principles comparable to that of the French revolutionaries of 1789 and 1848. The soviets themselves were compared to the Jacobin clubs, and even the collapse of the summer offensive did not end French socialist speculation on who was to be the Russian Danton.1 The overthrow of a ruling dynasty in the midst of war reminded Karl Kautsky of 1792-1793, although he was later to reject as facile the comparison of Russia in 1917 with the France of 1793.2 The Dutch socialist Anton Pannekoek compared Russia to France in 1848, though he noted that there were obvious differences in the nature of the class struggle.3 The unfolding of events in Russia also prompted many socialists to repolish the thoughts and prophesies of the two great founding fathers of modern socialism. The first reaction of socialists who supported the national war effort was to see in the overthrow of the Tsar the triumph of those elements in Russia anxious to pursue the war more vigorously.4 Although the antiwar opposition in central Europe sought to place the revolution in a Marxist perspective, paying attention to the unfolding of the class struggle and the implications of Russian developments for internationalism, they also shared the general view that it was a great victory for democracy. The allied socialists, however, preferred to see this as a fillip for the general cause of democracy in the war. The reformist Italian socialists in midApril declared that the war had now assumed the character of a struggle between an alliance of states ‘dominated by the reformist and democratic Russo-American spirit’ against a corrupt German autocracy.5 The

The Russian revolution and the European labour movement

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implication of this line of reasoning was not welcomed by the German majority socialists, who objected to any suggestion of an externally dictated democracy for Germany. USPD and majority socialists alike agreed that the Russian revolution was not a model for Germany to follow.6 Kautsky believed that it was the duty of German social demo¬ cracy to strengthen the peace movement in Russia by compelling the German government to reveal its war aims, which were to be such as to make a general peace possible. Kautsky ruled out the possibility of a socialist revolution in Russia, where the preconditions for such a process were absent. Democracy was to be established through the election of a constituent assembly, which would allow the class struggle to acquire ‘a more rational foundation’ in the form of party political and parliamentary activity.7 The German left was quicker to note the social implications of what had happened in Russia. Anton Pannekoek, a long-time member of the German left in spite of his Dutch nationality, thought the revolution was a mass movement, though not a specifically proletarian one. The tsarist government had lacked the strength and aggressiveness of the regimes of the advanced capitalist countries and had crumbled before a popular uprising against the misery of the war. Nevertheless, in the spring of 1917, Pannekoek still believed the revolution was essentially bourgeois. It was in Germany not in Russia, that the proletarian revolution would occur.8 Rosa Luxemburg, although cut off from the outside world in the prison of Wronke, was quicker to see the possibilities for a proletarian revolution in Russia. Russia’s bourgeois politicians had been driven to take the lead through fear of an upheaval from below; but sooner or later, the bourgeois would reveal its counter-revolutionary character. It was therefore essential for the proletariat to press on with the revolution, with the demands of 1905 inscribed upon its banners. The struggle for peace was paramount, but in Russia this could only take the form of a revo¬ lutionary class struggle, a fight for political power, which could only be sustained by the proletariat if the workers of Europe rallied to the revolutionary call for peace.4 Relatively few commentators devoted much time to analysing the elements of Russian society in the revolution. The Russian Menshevik, and later commissar for foreign affairs, G.V. Chicherin, drew the attention of readers of the British Socialist Party newspaper The Call to the ‘kaleidoscopic variety’ of the Russian revolution, in which class¬ conscious workers rubbed shoulders with ‘the half-slave of yesterday’, enjoying the first freedom of bourgeois liberty.10 But Chicherin failed to say very much about the peasantry, which most socialists ignored as an unknown and ultimately conservative force. Otto Bauer, who returned to Austria from a prisoner-of-war camp in Russia in the autumn of 1917,

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suggested that the alliance of peasants and workers in Russia would last only as long as the demands of the former for land reform were not met. Bauer also believed that the revolution had been sparked off by the ‘elemental movement’ of the distressed masses in Petrograd, and that its driving force was ‘the democracy’ of the soviets rather than the bourgeoisie, though he concluded that a bourgeois democratic republic would be a more ‘natural’ outcome than the dictatorship of the pro¬ letariat.11 The events in Russia also had the effect of reviving the rhetoric of revolution. Socialists who had long since abandoned any belief in the possibility of a violent overthrow of existing regimes were quite prepared to resort to revolutionary phrases in 1917. Philipp Scheidemann angered the right in Germany with his allusions to events elsewhere and to the clock showing five minutes to twelve at home; Hjalmar Branting allowed himself momentarily to mount the barricades in a speech to the Swedish parliament in April; and moderate British politicians could indulge them¬ selves at the Leeds conference in an outburst of enthusiasm for soviets in Britain. The Russian revolution permitted the leaders of the labour movement the luxury of expansive solidarity and gave them an oppor¬ tunity to refurbish the fraternal phrases of the revolutionary tradition. It did not necessarily convert them into revolutionaries. The revolution also fired the popular imagination. This was particularly the case in Britain. On 24 March over 7000 crowded into the Great Assembly Hall in the Mile End Road, London, to hear speeches by British and Russian socialists. Over 25,000 applications for tickets were received for the Albert Hall meeting early in April. The Labour Leader claimed 70,000 demonstrators attended a meeting in Glasgow (‘the British Petrograd’) in May, a meeting at which a resolution was passed calling for the overthrow of capitalism.12 The message of the revolution also filtered through into the factories. At Bourges, for example, a fly¬ sheet distributed by militants denounced the union sacree and the war, with the Soviet appeal of 27 March printed on the reverse side.13 The miners of South Wales in the summer of 1917 passed resolutions urging the miners as a whole to respond to the Russian call for international action for peace.14 The commission of enquiry into industrial unrest in Britain attributed the causes of this trouble to domestic problems, but there was reference to a declining belief in the parliamentary system and a lack of confidence in the government, and explicit mention was made of workers who ‘referred to “Russia” and openly declared the one course open for Labour was a general “down tools” revolutionary policy to secure reforms that constitutional action was failing to effect’.15 In the Austrian mining town of Fohnsdorf, where a strike broke out in April, the miners, according to a police report, learnt of the Russian revolution and

The Russian revolution and the European labour movement

133

the strikes in Berlin from their newspapers, and this in turn inspired their own actions. On the other hand, an earlier report concluded that news of the revolution was greeted with some scepticism by the workers in Austria, and was welcomed only in so far as it might hasten the end of the war. The authorities also discounted the importance of the ‘anarchist students in Vienna who had called on the workers in the arsenal to ‘learn Russian, learn from Petersburg’ at the end of May; the subsequent strike at the arsenal was attributed to long working hours and the lack of food, rather than the slogans of revolutionaries.16 This indeed is rather typical: there are many police reports of subversive talk - ‘learning Russian’, ‘doing as the Russians have done’ but the Russian example did not become a model for imitation. Such expressions betray a frustration with the harsh conditions of wartime, rather than an unequivocal desire to foment revolution. The Russian revolution provided a new range of slogans and phrases for the grumbler; not an example to follow. Those travellers on German trains who were heard to mutter that ‘the Russians do it better’ and other disloyal phrases were employing a new weapon in the subtle war against official propaganda. The Russians could thus be held up as harbingers of peace, brotherhood and democracy in the face of the blandishments of the state to pursue the war to the end.17 One of the strangest responses to the Russian revolution was the Leeds convention of June 1917, the culmination of a series of meetings and demonstrations staged by the left in Britain. Robert Williams, a left-wing member of the ILP, thought Leeds would mark an epoch ‘to do for Britain what the Council of Workmen’s and Soldiers’ Delegates is doing for Russia’.18 Even the sober-sided Philip Snowden regarded the con¬ vention as ‘the beginning of doing things in this country’, when ‘the democracy’ started to ‘take matters into their own hands as the people of Russia have already done ... it is the only way in which an enduring peace can be established’.19 The BSP thought the convention would open up a new era in the class war; it was to be the Runnymede of the workers and the starting point of the British social revolution.20 This fervid enthusiasm also welled up at the convention itself, a monster assembly comprising liberals, radicals, socialists of various hues, suffragettes and even the notorious Captain Tupper of the Seamen’s Union, who introduced the only jarring note into the proceedings (Ernest Bevin also raised a few mild objections to the tenor of the meeting). The convention adopted a resolution pledging the delegates to work for a general peace of no annexations or indemnities, based on the rights of nations to decide their own affairs. A second resolution called upon the constituent bodies at once to establish in every town, urban and rural district workers’ and soldiers’ councils ‘for initiating and coordinating

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working-class activity’ to work for a peoples’ peace and ‘the complete political and economic emancipation of international labour’.21 In spite of the revolutionary tone of some of the speeches at Leeds, the main aim of the convention was to give new life to the peace movement. On the question of setting up councils, the ILP and the BSP took rather different views. In a comment on the resolution, Snowden argued that the work entrusted to the councils should begin at once, or the proposal would become farcical; but in his autobiography, he claimed that when the committee entrusted with the task of setting up these councils met, it considered the carrying out of the resolution ‘unnecessary’. The ILP national administrative council, meeting at the end of June to consider the matter, agreed that the coordinating committee should be constituted as a ‘war emergency organisation’; but it was not to interfere with or limit the work of existing organisations; it should not be allowed to dissipate the energies of ILP members; and it should function simply as an advisory body.22 The committee did in fact issue instructions very much in line with the ILP view. Councils were to be as broadly based as possible, but were not to supersede or encroach upon existing organis¬ ations. The ILP clearly envisaged the councils as a means of coordinating the peace movement; but since the party had already created a reasonably effective antiwar campaign and was closely linked to the Union of Democratic Control, the need for a new organisational structure was soon revealed as superfluous. In October 1917, Ramsay MacDonald could report that a national council had been set up, but that lack of funds gravely hampered any prospects of immediate activity. After this October meeting, the national council seems to have become defunct; and the idea of‘soviets in Britain’ died a quiet death.23 The BSP appears to have been more enthusiastic about the councils as a novel means of propagating socialism; perhaps its leaders hoped to use the movement to assert their own claims to represent true socialist ideals in Britain. In a series of articles, Tom Quelch argued that socialists should seize the opportunity and work to influence the masses through the councils. ‘As the peace movement develops, as the causes of discontent grow in intensity, as the revolutionary urge spreads and deepens and gathers strength, so will the local workers’ and soldiers’ councils become more consciously and aggressively socialist.’ If the workers could achieve solidarity through the councils, which could fuse together industrial, political and cooperative activities, the next general election could see the return to the House of Commons of an overwhelming majority of working-class representatives. Although Quelch and some of the Clyde¬ side activists urged the shop-stewards’ committees to join the councils,there does not appear to have been much response, with the partial exception of South Wales and Clydeside.24

The Russian revolution and the European labour movement

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The regional committees which were to set up councils were supposed to meet at the end of July; most meetings were either cancelled or broken up by patriotic mobs. The failure of the council movement in Britain may be attributed to mob action and the disapproval of the authorities, but the taking up of the peace initiative by the Labour Party at its special con¬ ference in August did deprive the movement of much of its original raison d’etre. Similarly, the defence of civil and industrial liberties, which was seen to be an important function of the councils, failed to attract the support of shop stewards and unionists who might well have provided much-needed organisational backbone. In this respect, the Leeds episode reflected the fragmented nature of the British labour movement. Summer of discontent The Leeds convention was a bizarre echo of revolution in a country which, of all the belligerents, seemed least likely to plunge into disorder and revolution. There were strikes in the Midlands and Lancashire in the spring of 1917, but the main issue was dilution, not the war. Far more serious disturbances occurred elsewhere in Europe, where food shortages were a significant contributory cause in sparking off protest. In April 1917 Germany experienced the first major wave of industrial discontent of the war. On 15 April the bread ration was cut by a quarter in order to conserve supplies. This was accompanied by promises of an increase in the meagre meat ration and regular supplies of potatoes, and there were also hints by the Chancellor of suffrage reform in Prussia. These vague promises were not enough to blunt the threat of massive strike action in the major centres of manufacturing where the opposition was strong. In Berlin, the action was discussed beforehand in the factories where the radical shop stewards (Revolutionare Obleute) were well en¬ trenched. The local leaders of the Metalworkers’ Union knew the strike was coming, and sought to assume leadership in an attempt to limit it to a protest about the food situation. A union-led strike committee nego¬ tiated with the food commissar and General von Kessel, who assured the strikers that Richard Muller, one of the leading shop stewards, would be released from custody and that no strikers exempted from military service would be drafted into the army. Michaelis, the food commissar, promised to increase the meat ration, and an advisory committee representing the workers was appointed to assist the Mayor of Berlin on food questions. These vague terms were received with some hostility by the strikers, but a general meeting on 18 April voted to call off the strike. The majority returned to work, but a minority stayed out and elected their own workers’ council in response to the demands of the Leipzig strikers. In Leipzig, a mass meeting on the first day of the strike of some 30,000 metalworkers from the munitions factories approved a resolution drafted

136

War, Peace and Revolution

by local USPD activists. This demanded cheaper food and fuel, the lifting of restrictions on civil liberties, including the annulment of the state of siege, censorship and the Auxiliary Service Law, universal and equal suffrage throughout the Reich, and a declaration by the government of its willingness to enter into immediate peace negotiations on the basis of no annexations or indemnities. A delegation was appointed to present these demands to the chancellor, and was authorised to make further demands should the situation warrant it. The meeting urged other workers to rally to this programme, and appealed to all to send representatives ‘to establish a workers’ council with the representatives of the metalworkers and of the USPD’. The government refused to negotiate until the strike was called off, which occurred on 18 April after the employers promised to reduce the working week by four hours and to raise wages.25 From the start, the USPD played an active part in the strikes. Hoffmann, Ledebour and Dittmann agitated for the adoption of the Leipzig programme at a series of meetings in Berlin. In areas where the USPD was weak, there was little activity. There had been strikes in the Kiel shipyards in March, which the governor attributed to the influence of the left. In Hamburg, however, strikes were avoided by the granting of an extra bread ration for the week commencing 16 April, a temporary increase in the meat ration and close collaboration between the Kriegsversorgerungsamt and the unions.26 The moderates still dominated the labour movement in Hamburg, but the blocking of proposals for suffrage reform by the right closed one of the paths along which the SPD might have hoped to divert pent-up frustration. The failure of the union leaders to break the employers’ obdurate resistance to wage increases in the summer and autumn of 1917 led to increasing dissatisfaction with the moderate leadership.27 There were further strikes in June, when courts-martial meted out heavy sentences on strikers in the Ruhr. Demands for peace and suffrage reform had surfaced here alongside wage claims and the habitual plea for better rations. There were serious riots in Upper Silesia at the end of June. An earlier strike wave in May had been attributed by the authorities to the close links between the labour movement in occupied Russian Poland and the largely Polish workforce in the Silesian mines, as well as to the ‘baleful’ influence of reclaimed troops. The USPD was weak in this area, as it was in Cologne, where a metalworkers’ strike for higher wages in July was initiated by the Catholic union.28 The opposition was however strong in Brunswick. Friedhelm Boll has argued that the criteria for mass action put forward by Feldman, Riirup and Kolb - strong local traditions of radicalism and a huge influx of new workers - are not really valid in the case of Brunswick. The city was surrounded by a rich agricultural area, and probably suffered less from

The Russian revolution and the European labour movement

137

food shortages than other bigger German cities. Its population increased by only 42 per cent between 1890 and 1910, and there was no great influx of labour during the war, when the men called up were for the most part replaced by local women. Although a restricted franchise in the Duchy had been a bone of contention for the prewar SPD, its leaders were generally on the centre-right of the movement. However, the local SPD newspaper did advance critical views of the conduct of the war; the rightwing political leaders were often absent in Berlin, whereas the left¬ wingers remained in town, and were well entrenched in the unions and youth movement. Young workers in the city struck in May 1916 against attempts to dock part of their wages for the war loan. The strike lasted five days, and ended with the withdrawal of the proposal. This was the first strike of any consequence in wartime Germany, and provided the Spartacists with useful propaganda. The Brunswick youth were also involved in the creation of an opposition within the German socialist youth movement. The opposition’s journal Freie Jugend was first printed in the city with the help of the editor of Volksjreunde, the SPD newspaper.29 The April strike affected only certain plants in Brunswick, where the shop stewards were active, and was focused more on the inadequacies of dear-time increments. The August strike was more overtly political. Flysheets called for a general strike to force a peace settlement on the government. Food committees, on which workers were to have a decisive say, were to be set up. All special privileges were to be abolished, and there was to be equal distribution of provisions and necessities. Overtime was to be banned, the eight-hour day brought in, with wage increases; the Auxiliary Service Law was to be scrapped and civil liberties restored. Political and military prisoners and others jailed for their part in food riots were to be released, and there were to be guarantees that no measures would be taken against the strikers. Universal suffrage was to be introduced into the Duchy, and the Brunswick government was to press for a peace of no annexations or indemnities. The strike was called off after a few days, however, with no concessions having been made.30 France was also afflicted by a wave of strikes in May-June 1917, which were sparked off by falling wage levels, and were notable for the high proportion of women involved. Far more serious, from the point of view of the authorities, was the series of mutinies which wracked the army throughout the spring and summer of 1917. Guy Pedroncini has carefully revealed the discrepancy between the high command’s view that the mutinies were the work of pacifists and revolutionaries and the realities of war-weariness. The notion of malevolent pacifist influences at work was already established in the Section de Renseignements aux Armees by the end of 1916. There is no archival evidence however of serious links between

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pacifist or revolutionary organisations and the mutinies, which were most serious in the zones where the disastrous April offensive had been launched. Though there were rumours of soldiers’ committees, it is likely that these never got beyond the stage of localised agitation. Collective appeals and petitions were sent from groups of mutineers to other regiments, but with little success; and though a number of letters from the front spoke of revolution, Pedroncini concludes that ‘revolution’ was seen as a means of personal salvation from the horrors of war, not as an end in itself.31 A very similar pattern occurred in Italy. By the end of 1916, the authorities were beginning to fear that ‘negative influences’ in the country were having a bad effect on troop morale. In the six months of virtual inactivity on the front between November 1916 and May 1917, however, it did seem as if the morale of the army was improving. There were no evident reactions to the news of the Russian revolution, which the high command presented as a great piece of luck for the entente. The entry of the USA into the war also created a sense that the fighting would soon be over. The failure of the spring offensive on the Isonzo and the huge loss of life caused a collapse in morale, and there were a number of instances of indiscipline on troop trains, with insults hurled at civilians. On 19 June a battalion of infantry on a train cried ‘Down with the war, long live Russia and the revolution!’ In July, there was a serious mutiny amongst the soldiers of the Catanzaro brigade, which their commanding officer attributed to persistent subversive propaganda. The Duke of Aosta, on the other hand, believed lack of leave and other grievances to have been the primary cause. There appears to be little evidence of socialist agitation in the army: socialists seem to have done all they could to avoid combat duties, and preferred to collaborate with the authorities in maintaining public order. Morale on the eve of Caporetto was thought to be reasonable, though that catastrophe was to raise once again the spectre of subversive agitation. Many peasants in northern Italy were exultant, believing that the defeat would mean peace. The ‘tedeschi’ were hailed as liberators from the curse of war, which was being paid for in peasant blood ‘whilst the signori and the bloated comandi and contractors are getting rich’. Elsewhere, however, there was something of a resur¬ gence of working-class patriotism, with right-wing union and party leaders urging their members to rally to a war of national resistance.32 In other instances of unrest in the armed forces of the belligerents, the high command also preferred to attribute the cause to the insidious effects of outside agitators and the Russian revolution, rather than admit that war-weariness and wretched conditions might have something to do with the desperate actions of the men.33 The mutinies and protests of 1917 were primarily triggered off by the awful circumstances in which the men

The Russian vevolution and the Euvopean labouv movement

139

found themselves, and were in no way aimed at undermining the authority of the state. It is perhaps worth noting that the Russian revo¬ lution succeeded because troops in the capital joined the insurgents. No such event occurred elsewhere. In the one city which experienced a major insurrection in 1917, Turin, the Sicilian, Sardinian and Calabrese troops fired on the workers without compunction, as Gramsci and others bluntly acknowledged.34 Troop unrest was not confined to the countries at war. In neutral Sweden, high prices and food shortages were beginning to cause dis¬ content by the spring of 1917. By mid-April, there did seem a distinct possibility of serious unrest. The right-wing social democrat, Erik, Baron Palmstierna, recorded in his diary: Members of parliament returning from the countryside are saying that there is unrest there, and it will get even worse. (April 13). Feelings of revolution everywhere. Hunger riots are beginning. (April 19) New demonstrations. People are gathering before the magistrates, demanding bread . . . The army is clearly unreliable. When bayonets are fixed in the street, the pillars of society crumble. (April 27)35 Between 18 April and 1 May, there was almost a score of demon¬ strations of refusal of rations by troops in various parts of the country. Soldiers sometimes marched in formation through the centre of towns to draw public attention to their cause. On 31 March the secretary of the antimilitarist socialist youth association, Karl Kilbom, declared: ‘Let the right give us more militarism, but let us draw comfort from the fact that the great mass of soldiers in Sweden are going the same way as in Russia. We must intensify antimilitarist action, immediately take up revolution¬ ary activity in every garrison.’36 Agitation amongst the troops was carried out by ‘servicemen’s committees’ set up by left-wing socialist clubs. In Stockholm a soldiers’ and workers’ association, clearly modelled on the Soviet example, was created on 21 April and imitated elsewhere. Although a national conference was held in March 1918, this movement failed to develop beyond the dissemination of antimilitary propaganda amongst the troops. Although it was hoped that, in the event of soldiers being called out against strikers, they would rebel and go over to the workers, no plans were drawn up to meet this eventuality, nor were any preparations made for an armed uprising. The troop unrest in Sweden was caused by poor rations and the harsh imposition of extra duties. It frightened right-wing circles in Stockholm, who began to make preparations to set up a paramilitary guard to keep order. Under pressure from the social democrats, the government

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promised on 28 April that no such guard would be permitted; but on the following day, the left-socialist newspaper Politiken spoke of the need to set up a ‘red guard’ to protect the people against ‘the bandits of reaction’.37 There were also serious disturbances in the industrial areas of the country. On 16 April workers in the east-coast town of Vastervik downed tools and gathered at a mass meeting. This demanded an increase in the bread ration, the prohibition of food exports and the abolition of income tax for those on low incomes, in addition to wage increases and an eighthour working day. A 14-man committee was elected, and the demon¬ strators urged other workers to follow their example. In Adalen, the centre of the depressed timber industry, workers mounted expeditions into the countryside to check the stores of farmers and shopkeepers, seeking to persuade them to lower their prices. At the end of May, troops had to be called in to restore order on the island of Seskaro, after the workers’ organ¬ isation there had ordered a distribution of bread from the stores of the island’s two bakers.38 The Social Democratic Party sought to harness this mood of popular unrest by adopting a more aggressive stance which would outflank the left (which formed a separate party in May 1917) and which would help achieve the party’s main objective, suffrage reform. On 21 April, amidst rising tension, the party organised a mass demonstration outside the parlia¬ ment building in Stockholm. Per Albin Hansson took up some of the Vastervik demands for cheaper food, rents and fuel, but said nothing about higher wages or the eight-hour day. The meeting also demanded equal and universal suffrage for men and women. This programme failed to catch on elsewhere in the country, where strikes and demonstrations continued. Party and union leaders met on 27 April, and published a statement urging calm. The union representatives were urged by the opposition social democratic youth association to call a general strike if demands were not conceded; should the unions fail to act, the demonstrations would spill over into unrest.39 The May Day demonstrations passed off peacefully, but in the northern provinces, checks on food stocks continued and began to spread to the Sundsvall area. On 3 May the Sundsvall socialist newspaper Nya Samhallet advocated the creation of workers’ committees by local party organisations to supervise distribution of food in association with official bodies. This was meant to counter the activities of the syndicalists, who were strong in the Adalen area. Two days later, the idea was taken up by the Social Democratic Party’s parliamentary group select committee, and endorsed on 7 May by the party executive. The trade unionists were less enthusiastic, fearing a repetition of the disastrous general strike of 1909, but eventually agreed to join what became known as the 1917 workers’ committee.

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The committee did not concern itself with wages or working conditions. Its proclamations and circulars were devoted to the suffrage question. The first circular issued on 11 May spoke of the Russian revolution arousing hopes for democracy everywhere, and suggested that the masses would not easily be deflected from their aim. It did not however propose any action to reinforce the underlying threat of mass discontent. The original draft prepared by the party nominees on the committee, Gustav Moller and Varner Ryden, had urged the workers to make immediate preparations for a general strike. This was successfully resisted by the trade union (LO) representatives, as was the idea of sending out a proclamation to the troops, which the unionists felt would make all contact with the government impossible and would appear as if they were seeking to promote revolution.40 The LO was in fact under pressure from its provincial members to institute some kind of action, and it summoned representatives to an extraordinary meeting on 17 May. This meeting came down emphatically against a general strike, which it was thought would have little chance of success in the prevailing economic situation. This message was conveyed to a meeting of the party council on 20 May, with the warning that the LO would withdraw from the 1917 workers’ committee if it sought to agitate for a strike. The party’s representatives on the committee hankered for some sort of radical initiative, even extraparliamentary mass action, if the party was not to lose control of the situation. Only one however was confident that the troops would stand by the workers in the event of conflict. In the end, no firm decision was taken by the party council, though Branting came down firmly against any demonstration strike. The future of the 1917 workers’ committee was now in jeopardy, since the party representatives were threatening to quit if a firmer line did not emerge and the LO leaders were resolutely opposed to any strike action. However, if the committee were to break up, the initiative might pass to the left socialists and syndicalists, and it was probably this fear which persuaded the members of the committee to remain united. The proclam¬ ation of 25 May accordingly declared that the committee’s main aim was the winning of constitutional reform and not issues like the eight-hour day, which fell within the unions’ competence. On 5 June events came to a climax when Hjalmar Branting raised the question of the reform of the franchise in elections to the First Chamber in the Riksdag. As the debate proceeded, police started to break up a mass demonstration outside the building, inflicting numerous injuries. Branting’s attempts to calm the crowd were met with cries for a general strike. Feelings were running high at a meeting attended by over 10,000 the following day, but the left failed to take advantage of the tense situation. The LO and Social Democratic Party retained a firm grip over

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War, Peace and Revolution

the workers, which the left socialists were unable to break. The last proclamation of the 1917 workers’ committee on 11 June declared that there was little support for the idea of a general strike, and pointed to the forthcoming elections for the Second Chamber as the way to achieve reform. Despite a promise to remain in existence, the committee quietly ceased to function in the summer.41 In Sweden and Denmark, the social democrats succeeded in forging working alliances with radicals and liberals in the struggle for consti¬ tutional reform. In Norway and Finland, developments in 1917-1918 took a more radical turn. In both countries, social tensions brought about by rapid and uneven economic change played a part in the labour conflicts. The rapid expansion of the Norwegian economy after 1905 had created a new type of worker, without deep-seated craft or class traditions; and it was amongst these men that the trade union (LO) opposition gained ground. This movement was emphatically opposed to centralised, care¬ fully organised trade union activity. Its 1911 Trondheim resolutions and 1915 programme stressed that the LO should be a ‘common denomin¬ ator’, but local centres were to mount and direct action. All nationally binding agreements were to be scrapped, and unions were to sever all links with self-help organisations such as sickness benefit funds. But the LO opposition did also see the value of political activity, and won control of the party, in alliance with the left radicals, in 1918.42 The Norwegian Labour Party and the LO were unable to deflect economic discontent into political agitation, as had their Swedish counterparts. An emergency programme drafted by a joint committee of the party and LO called for state regulation of all important food prices and subsidies on most essential items. But the threat of more drastic workers’ action was dropped when the government promised to act on some of the demands. There was little alleviation of the situation, however, and unrest within the labour movement continued to simmer throughout the summer.43 The Finnish Social Democratic Party enjoyed the unique distinction of being the only Marxist party to secure an absolute majority in parlia¬ mentary elections before 1917. Thus, when the revolution erupted in Russia, and the provisional government ordered the convention of the parliament (Eduskunta) elected in 1916, the Finnish socialists appeared to be in an excellent position to obtain reforms via parliament. After much hesitation, the party decided to allow six of its less prominent members to join six non-socialists in a coalition government. Much of the spring and summer was spent in wrangling over the constitutional status of Finland vis-a-vis Russia. The Finnish social democrats had never been close to the Russian revolutionary movement, and had remained cut off from wartime developments in European socialist circles. The party did establish closer contact with the Russian socialists from April 1917, but the principal aim

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was to secure support for an extension of Finnish autonomy. A few Finnish Bolsheviks did play important roles as link-men between the Bolshevik central committee and the Finnish party, but official co¬ operation between the two was limited. On the whole, the Finnish Social Democratic Party saw the revolution in terms of what Finland as an embryonic national state could gain from the upheaval. Although the party, with its parliamentary majority (103 out of 200 seats) and its participation in government, soon found itself at odds with the Russian provisional government over the extension of autonomous rights, it did not heed the Bolsheviks’ pleas to join the forces of revolutionary opposition. The conflict with the provisional government reached a head in July, when an Enabling Act, transferring sovereignty from the now defunct ruler to the Eduskunta and virtually declaring complete internal independence, was passed by a large majority in parliament. Having recovered from the crisis of the disturbances in Petrograd in mid-July, the Kerensky government was sufficiently strong to refuse to acknowledge this action, and to dissolve the parliament. The socialists were thrown into confusion, but meekly accepted the order. Instead of defying the provisional government, the social democrats - after a couple of half¬ hearted attempts to reconvene the old parliament - participated in the October elections, and lost their overall majority on a much higher turnout than that of 1916. Socialist representatives had also been withdrawn from government by the end of the summer. As autumn approached, the party and unions found themselves faced with a rising tide of frustration and discontent amongst the workers, badly hit by unemployment, inflation and food shortages.44 The social and economic problems faced by Finland in 1917 were by no means exceptional; but they were given added edge by the fact that the revolution had created a kind of power vacuum in the relationship of Russia and Finland, which ultimately meant a lack of established political authority and the means wherewith to enforce that authority. Member¬ ship of the Social Democratic Party rose beyond the 100,000 mark, whilst that of the unions soared even more spectacularly. Trade unionism was a sickly plant in Finland, and had been overshadowed by the party. Union officials were hard pressed to keep pace with their members’ demands in 1917. Many of these demands were hopelessly unrealistic, and were often fuelled by an almost messianic belief in the strength of direct action. There was a rash of strikes on the land in the spring and summer of 1917; poorly organised and ineptly led, these produced a crop ol skirmishes, acts of sabotage and even bloodshed.4 5 In the towns, there were food riots and other disturbances. On 13 August, for example, after a crowd had broken into a butter warehouse and distributed its contents, a mass meeting called by the Helsinki Social Democratic Party organisation

144

War, Peace and Revolution

called a local general strike in protest at the government’s food policy. The strikers demanded a lowering of recently fixed prices for milk and butter and thorough reform of the food boards; a day later, they increased their demands to embrace political reforms.46 Mass meetings in other towns demanded the resignation of food boards and local councils, and in a number of instances council halls were besieged in an effort to get workers’ representatives onto the unreformed local government bodies.47 During the early days of the revolution, there was a good deal of fratern¬ isation between Finnish workers and Russian troops. All was not sweet¬ ness and light, however. Fights over girls, drunken brawls and racial hostility did not vanish with the tsarist regime. Reinforcements to the army units stationed in Finland during the summer imposed severe strains on an already delicate food supply situation. In towns with a sizeable Russian garrison, the middle-class citizens were not alone in wishing the troops would leave the country.48 There was also friction between the soldiers’ and sailors’ soviets and Finnish labour organis¬ ations. In mid-April armed troops burst into a meeting at which nego¬ tiations for a eight-hour day in the engineering industry were taking place. They threatened to take over factories and supervise production under armed guard unless the workers’ demands were met. This distur¬ bance led to mutual recriminations, and a delegation of Finnish trade unionists was jeered when it sought to obtain assurances from the Helsinki Soviet that troops would not in future interfere in Finnish affairs without prior consent from the trade union council executive. The troops were apparently worried that the strikes might endanger war production, despite union assurances that there was no intention of sabotaging the war effort.49 In general, it would seem that the representatives of the Russian forces in Finland were primarily interested in keeping their lines of communi¬ cation open to the capital, rather than in aiding the Finnish proletariat. There were however a number of instances of Finnish workers calling in troops to help them in labour conflicts, and as the summer progressed, the number of incidents of troop involvement in Finnish affairs increased. In the autumn, armed gangs of soldiers and Finns roamed the countryside, committing robberies and the occasional murder.50 This groundswell of unrest the Finnish Social Democratic Party was unable to channel into political activity, as was the case in Sweden, since the revolution had created a political caesura which no amount of con¬ stitutional argument could repair. In Russia, the crisis of authority was evident from the outset. In Finland it was implicit and disguised in a miasma of constitutional wrangling. Pre-revolutionary institutions survived intact in Finland, and the socialists showed no desire to create new ones: no Finnish soviets were ever created, for example. When the

The Russian revolution and the European labour movement

145

social democrats lost the political initiative in August-September, they reverted to an attitude of intransigent opposition to the bourgeois system, as they had done over the previous decade. In the autumn of 1917, how¬ ever, they were compelled to bow to pressure from below for action to alleviate distress, though they sought to ensure that discipline and order were maintained. A circular sent round by the party in September, authorising the creation of workers’ guards, specified that unreliable persons and ‘less class-conscious’ workers were not to be admitted; but the massive influx of recruits to the movements posed serious problems of selection. The sheet-metalworkers’ branch of the Metalworkers’ Union in Helsinki noted on 28 September, for example, how difficult it was to find class-conscious and reliable persons. Most of the branch members were ‘March newcomers’, lacking true class consciousness; but if they were not drafted into the guards, they might leave the movement altogether.51 The resumption of the old name of Red Guard, with its memories of uncontrolled revolutionary activity in 1906, was something which the party sought in vain to prevent. By the end of 1917, dissident Red Guards were threatening to break away from party control.52 The Finnish example is of interest because it shows how differently the revolution was perceived in a country intimately involved in the downfall of the tsarist regime. Far from striving to emulate the Russian example of soviet democracy, the Finnish labour movement sought to channel the revolution into disciplined, class-conscious activity within the existing framework of institutions. The main thrust of socialist strategy was directed towards the conquest of these institutions and their democratisation, rather than their replacement by new organs of the revolution. Perhaps the most spectacular outburst of urban protest outside Russia in the summer of 1917 was the insurrection which erupted in Turin. In common with Petrograd, Turin had experienced a dramatic upsurge of the industrial workforce during the war: firms such as Fiat quadrupled their labour force, and something like 150,000 workers were employed in the city’s factories. High wages were earned in the factories geared to war production, a circumstance which occasioned much adverse comment in the non-socialist press. Long hours and harsh factory discipline caused much resentment, however, though the uprising was caused primarily by a breakdown in the distribution of food supplies, which had been a major headache for the authorities since the end of 1916. Many bakers had had to close in January and again in March 1917. On 21 March, the prefect warned the ministry of the interior of the gravity of the situation, which was seen as affording an opportunity for the antiwar propagandists of the PSI, who were strongly entrenched in the city. Fears of disorder mounted during the summer. In August, flour supplies virtually dried up. By 22

146

War, Peace and Revolution

August, there was practically no bread to be had in the city. Workers at two of the city’s largest factories walked out in protest that afternoon. By the evening most of the factories in the city were shut, and there were large crowds on the streets. Although bread supplies were rushed in, unrest continued. On the afternoon of 23 August, troops were deployed. Trams were torn off their tracks and made into barricades by the crowd, and some shops were looted. A church and monastery were sacked and burnt, largely because the monks had aroused bad feeling in the locality. The workers were cut off from the city centre, which was occupied by troops. On the morning of 24 August, these units took the offensive against the working-class districts to the north and west. The workers’ attempts to break through the cordon, or to persuade the troops to mutiny, failed; by the evening, the insurrection was virtually over. In all, some 50 workers and 3 soldiers were killed, with 200 workers wounded.53 There is little to suggest active socialist leadership of the Turin uprising. A meeting of leading labour activists was held on the morning of 23 August, and the following day a notice praising the action of the proletariat appeared on the walls of working-class areas. This urged the workers to wait for instructions and to avoid senseless violence which might jeopardise food supplies. According to one militant, neither the reformists nor the revolutionaries knew what to do, and preferred to wait for instructions from the party leadership in Milan.54 But no advice came. The statement issued by the PSI Turin section and the Camera del Lavoro on 25 August, whilst praising the courage of the workers, also regretted the ‘sad unpreparedness’ of the party organisations.55 The Turin insurrection is by no means the only instance of a professedly revolutionary party proving incapable of offering clear leadership in a crisis. The July Days in Petrograd, and the events in Spain which compelled the socialists to call a general strike in August, were both occasions when confusion and defeat resulted.56 The Bolsheviks were fortunate enough to recover from this setback, and to have a much better opportunity of seizing power. It is undeniable that they were led by those who were determined to make revolution, though it must also be admitted that Russia was already in the midst of turmoil, and that the question of political power still lay open. Elsewhere in Europe, any overtly revolutionary action actively sponsored by the organised labour movement would constitute a challenge to the still undiminished powers of the state.

The limits of protest Undoubtedly, the manifestations of discontent provoked alarm in ruling circles. In Austria-Hungary, a deterioration in the food or fuel situation

The Russian revolution and the European labour movement

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in the forthcoming winter was thought likely to result in serious disturbances. There were also growing worries about the loyalty of the non-German peoples of the Habsburg Empire. The prospect of further unrest prompted a number of high-ranking officers in Austria-Hungary and Germany to contemplate the establishment of a military dictatorship. In France and Italy at the end of the year the governments of Clemenceau and Orlando introduced stern measures to stem ‘defeatism’, whilst the British government tried a mixture of compromise and repression to deal with the shop steward movement. The unrest of 1917, though symptomatic of a growing war-weariness, did not however pose a permanent or sustained threat to the authority of the state. In the vast majority of cases, striking workers and demon¬ strating crowds were seeking redress of immediate grievances, and their protests could be blunted by concessions or promises, or by coercion. The mood of the workers was also tempered by their own circumstances, the attitudes of workmates, the influence of local and regional prejudices, ethnic and religious differences. Rarely did the protesters seek to constitute any sort of permanent organisation, or even to link up with fellow sufferers elsewhere; and when they did, the authorities were quick to act. Revolutionary groups such as the Spartacists in Germany, even when they managed to escape the tight surveillance of the authorities, often en¬ countered working-class apathy or hostility. According to Richard Muller, USPD and Spartacist plans for a May Day demonstration in Berlin and efforts to stage a campaign of demonstration strikes against the war failed to win the support of the shop stewards, or to meet with much response from the workers.57 An attempt by a dissident group within the radical youth movement to turn the International Youth Day on 2 September 1917 into a mass strike encountered some hostility, and when left radicals tried to bring out the workers in the Halle-Merseburg area in a general strike in mid-August, they were decisively rebuffed.58 Retzlaw’s contention that the rash of strikes were spontaneous outbursts of dis¬ content, little influenced by radical agitation, would seem to be sub¬ stantially correct, though it should be pointed out that they did occur in regions and in industries in which the opposition was strong.54 In France, rank-and-file militancy was far less concerned with political than with economic issues. In the industrial Parisian suburb of Saint-Denis, where the minoritaires were dominant, the labour movement was more occupied with ‘material’ demands than with pacifist or revolutionary options, according to J.-P. Brunet.60 One militant at Rennes complained that, whilst meetings to discuss wage increases were generally well attended, workers preferred to go fishing or on country rambles when ‘a serious question such as the possibility of a fair and lasting peace’ was to be

148

War, Peace and Revolution

discussed. In Nantes, anarchists tried without success to' introduce pacifist slogans into wage demands in 1917. Only a small minority of the metalworkers in the town were members of a union, and were reluctant to endorse anything which did not relate to wages or working conditions.61 Marc Gallo has produced figures for two industrial centres to show how small the hard core of militants was - probably no more than one per cent of the total workforce. On the other hand, there does appear to have been a revival of grass-roots militancy during the war, with hitherto politically ‘backward’ areas such as Bourges experiencing an influx of active militants from the north or the Seine region; but rank-andfile activities were also blunted by repression or wage concessions.62 Labour unrest was prompted by a number of specific grievances dilution, poor working conditions, ‘the belly question’, as the Germans termed the food problem. Nevertheless, any protest sparked off by dis¬ satisfaction with the state of affairs in wartime was ipso facto a political act, since it challenged, however indirectly, the assumptions of national unity and sacrifice and the slogans of ‘seeing it through’ or ‘jusqu’auboutisme’. In wartime, the worker was brought face to face with the state as the supreme director of the economy and the controller of the means of existence. Any action in defence of the workers’ status was not conducted solely against an individual employer, but against the state. Such conflicts might also serve to remind the worker of his rights as a citizen; and as we have seen, protest movements which began as a result of economic grievances did acquire a broader political dimension. For antiwar groups and parties, this was a sure sign that their message was getting through; but while they were prepared to organise strikes and demonstrations, they shrank from the prospect of open revolutionary action. ‘It is all very well to stage putsches’, commented the USPD Mitteilungsblatt in April 1917, ‘but against the brilliantly organised forces of the present-day military state, these are simply condemned to failure, just as elemental hunger revolts which erupt are soon stifled.’63 Emil Barth, the rather vain shop steward leader in Berlin, dismissed the USPD leaders with few exceptions as timorous organisation men, and flayed the ‘revolutionary gymnasts’ of the Spartacist League for failing to under¬ stand the psyche of the German working man.64 When Max Reichpietsch visited the Berlin offices of the USPD to seek support for the sailors of the fleet, he got little comfort beyond a few pamphlets; certainly, there was no incitement to mutiny, as was later alleged at the trial of the Kiel mutineers.65 Although the activities of USPD members, and the demands put forward, varied considerably, the party as such did not present an effective or clearly defined national strategy on the question of peace; nor did it endorse a radical programme of action. The major domestic issue was perceived to be democracy, not socialism, and this was to be achieved

The Russian revolution and the European labour movement

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by pressure on the government, not its violent overthrow. The revo¬ lutionary left did call for a German revolution, and their agitation did serve to keep the USPD on a more leftward course. But the authorities were not so alarmed by the opposition in Germany as to fear the eruption of revolution. The Italian Socialist Party was an even less likely candidate for leading the revolution, in spite of its rhetorical pronouncements. The party’s official position of not supporting the war effort, but not sabotaging it either, left great scope for flexibility and deception. When asked about the party’s position in May 1917, Constantino Lazzari declared that: The Direzione of the socialist party ... at this moment intends to act with the utmost caution . . . the socialist party cannot assume the responsibility for a revolutionary action which would place the country at the mercy of the enemy . . . following the Russian revo¬ lution, there has been no attempt to change the regime in Germany ... In a country like ours, constitutional for fifty years, the socialist party can and must only act in a parliamentary way, and it is not in its nature to arrange conspiracies and plots.66 Renato de Felice suggests that the PSI lacked the ability to channel and guide politically the spontaneous unrest of the masses.67 It might also be argued that the party lacked the will be provide such direction. At a meeting of the Direzione, parliamentary group, the CGL and represen¬ tatives from the Milan and Turin party sections on 8 May 1917, Serrati argued that popular agitation should be encouraged to bring people onto the streets to demonstrate for peace; but several other speakers warned of the danger of inflaming the masses, and no decision was taken by the meeting.68 One Italian socialist told the diarist Martini in September that he was going to Mantua to tell the women not to go into the piazza to shout ‘down with the war’, a ridiculous gesture ‘because peace cannot be obtained by the cries of a few women in the province of Mantua’, but by the desires and actions of the international proletariat.h,) In spite of its revolutionary pronouncements, the PSI failed to provide any active leadership to those ready to protest against the war. At a local level, party activists seemed to be even more incapable of offering direction.711 Even where there was a strong and active group of revolutionaries, as in Turin, there was a signal lack of decisiveness when a crisis did erupt, as in August 1917. Conclusion

Although labour movements in Europe hailed the Russian revolution, they interpreted its course and consequences in the light of their own national experience and their own objectives. Few socialists wished to

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War, Peace and Revolution

imitate the Russian experience. The main preoccupation of the major socialist parties and trade unions was not the disruption and overthrow of the state, but the acquisition of a rightful place for labour within society. This was already firmly fixed in party thinking before the war, as was distrust of direct action which would only damage the movement and set back the cause. Dissident groups pressing for a more radical extraparliamentary tactic had come under pressure before 1914; during the war years, they were kept under tight control, or eased out of the party altogether, as in Sweden and Germany. The worries voiced at party meetings, and by policemen who worked in close liaison with reliable party and union officials, that discontented workers were beginning to slip out of the party’s control should not allow us to forget the still considerable authority and organisational power wielded by such as the majority SPD or the Austrian socialists. The way in which the Swedish Social Democratic Party channelled the mood of discontent away from the control of syndicalists and the left socialists may also serve to illustrate the power of moderation and firm leadership. Nevertheless, the upsurge of discontent which could be directed into some sort of revolutionary action did pose problems, even if unrest was often fragmented, ill-coordinated and liable to lapse into quiescence. Those who supported the war effort were caught on the horns of a dilemma. They had attempted to rally the organised labour movement behind the cause of national unity, with the implicit objective of securing further advances for that movement. Entry into government, deals over the control and direction of labour, the establishment of workers’ representation on the shop-floor, however much they were criticised, were seen by many as positive gains. But many of the expectations of organised labour were not met. Equal political status, and bargaining rights with employers were patently withheld: basic rights of expression and association were suspended, traditional craft practices transgressed and eroded, and strikers were imprisoned or drafted into the army. The much-trumpeted dissolution of the classes was blatantly contradicted by the glaring inequalities of sacrifice. It would have been a sublimely ignorant and insensitive party official anywhere on the war-torn continent in 1917 who shared the view of certain right-wing figures that the working masses were still content with their lot. In the face of rising unrest, how were the organised parties and unions to maintain their credibility as vehicles for radical change? In some instances, as we have seen, swift and determined action could keep the party in the vanguard of the political movement, and head off the challenge of those who favoured extraparliamentary mass action. But in other countries, mass discontent was to push the labour movement to the

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left, as in Norway, Finland and Italy. Much also depended on the ability of the established order to absorb and defuse protest. Mass protest, whether in the form of grumbling, absenteeism, riots or strikes, was a significant element in 1917; but outside the Russian Empire, it was not politically decisive. It served to underline the dilemma in which socialist parties found themselves, but it did not indicate a way out of that dilemma. The socialist parties did not plump for revolution and the overthrow of the existing order. They preferred to exert renewed pressure to ensure that labour would have a fairer share of power in the state, through constitutional reform, labour legislation, recognition of parity in industrial relations, and they sought to mount a campaign for a just and durable peace. It is to this struggle, against the background of social unrest, that we must now return.

7

Stockholm in the balance (May-July 1917)

‘11 faudrait done aller a Stockholm’ In spite of the official refusal of the French and British parties to take up the invitation of the Dutch-Scandinavian committee to an international socialist conference in Stockholm, the prospects afforded by this initiative were seized upon by the antiwar opposition. The British Labour Party, commented Ramsay MacDonald, after the national executive meeting on 9 May had declined the Dutch-Scandinavian committee’s invitation, ‘continues to amble about like a feeble old man full of vanity and delusions’.1 The French minoritaires, who had grown steadily in strength as the war dragged on, laid a clear choice before the majority of the party at a national conference on 6 May: either the SFIO endorsed Stockholm, or the party split. The majoritaires began to give way during May on this issue. Willem Vliegen, sent by the Dutch-Scandinavian committee to present the case for Stockholm to the CAP of the French party, gave assurances that the conference would not meet without the allied socialists and offered a way out for the majoritaires by proposing a pre¬ liminary meeting of the ISB, Branting and a Swiss delegate to discuss calling an international conference. The majoritaire resolution for the national council, due to meet at the end of the month, did in fact favour the convening of the International, though by regular procedure and at The Hague, and with the question of war guilt on the agenda.2 The news of the Soviet invitation, the apparent conversion of the French socialists visiting Russia to the idea, and the sensational revelations concerning the secret treaties disclosed by Cachin and Moutet to their colleagues on their return from Petrograd, fostered an enthusiastic reception for Stockholm at the national council meeting on 27-28 May. In Petrograd, Albert Thomas fumed at the apparent bungling of his erstwhile companions in Russia, which he believed had resulted in the party deciding to go to Stockholm unconditionally. This was not however the case. The resolution adopted by the national council welcomed the Soviet initiative, and fully supported the demand for a conference of the International: a French socialist delegation was to be

Stockholm in the balance (May-July 1917)

153

sent to Stockholm to express in a ‘preliminary conference’ the views of the SFIO for common action to procure a peace ‘according to principles for¬ mulated by the Russian revolutionary government and socialists’. The French delegation was also authorised to discuss with the Soviet the con¬ vening of a conference, as demanded by the Russians.3 The ambiguity of the resolution was ignored in the enthusiastic embrace of the two wings of the party, and the French government’s announcement on 1 June that passports would not be issued to the socialist delegation for Stockholm further relegated the meaning of the national council decision to the back¬ ground. In other words, the decision to go to Stockholm was rapidly over¬ shadowed by the debates in the Chamber on war aims, precipitated by Cachin and Moutet’s revelations concerning the secret agreements at the meeting of the SFIO parliamentary group on 30 May. The Ribot government had already decided on 10 May to refuse passports, but had not made this decision public in order not to embarrass the majoritaires, who, it was hoped, would win the day at the national council meeting. The unanimous decision to go to Stockholm forced the prime minister’s hand, though Ribot appears to have been persuaded by the arguments of Thomas and the British government of the need to sup¬ port the Russians by allowing socialists to go to Stockholm, provided they did not speak to the Germans there. Ribot’s colleagues were less accom¬ modating, as was General Petain, who argued at the meeting of the war committee on 31 May that permitting socialists to go to Stockholm would demoralise the army, already badly shaken by mutinies. The prospect of a government revolt compelled Ribot to announce in the Chamber on 1 June that passports would not be granted. In the four days of debate which followed, the socialists pressed the government, and the former prime minister Aristide Briand, to reveal the extent of France’s commitments concluded in secret agreements with her allies, and urged a revision of war aims in line with the pronouncements of the new order in Russia. Faced with the prospect of a wholesale revolt by the SFIO, at a critical stage of the war (the mutinies were by no means over, and a wave of strikes had just begun), the government retreated. In spite of the occasional acrimony of the debate, the majority socialists were as anxious as the government to avoid an open split. On behalf of the majoritaires, Renaudel announced that he was prepared to endorse the text of the ordre du jour introduced, with government backing, by the Radical Charles Dumont. This repeated France’s claim to Alsace-Lorraine and reparations for war damage, but asserted that France had no designs on foreign lands or peoples, and would work to secure lasting guarantees for peace and the independence of peoples through the proposed league of nations. The plea for passports made by Cachin was ignored, and the ordre dujour was passed, with 47 socialists registering a negative vote.4

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War, Peace and Revolution

Annie KriegePs verdict that the government could afford to refuse passports because it was well aware that working-class opinion had not been won over to the idea is probably correct. Nonetheless, there was clearly a desire for some sort of socialist initiative which would place the German social democrats fairly and squarely in the dock of international opinion, and which would offer support to the Russian cause, with which the French socialists now identified themselves. The real thrust of the party’s activities was, in fact, directed less towards the proposed Stock¬ holm conference than to further discussions with the Russians. The CAP deputed Longuet and Renaudel to go to Petrograd to confer with the Soviet on the conditions for its planned conference, with discussions in Stockholm at a preliminary conference of the kind being staged by the Dutch-Scandinavian committee.5 Raoul Verfeuil, one of the most persistent critics of the majoritaires, complained in July that the majority still plotted to destroy the idea of going to Stockholm by imposing conditions which would make such a conference impossible.6 In a letter addressed to the Soviet on 25 June, the CAP pointed out that the conditions discussed by the French socialists and the Soviet in May would have to be put down more precisely in written form. It was also essential to make sure that no socialist grouping ‘n’ayant pas d’existence reelle’ was admitted to the conference. This was reiterated in a telegram to Branting and Huysmans on 19 July, which denied the right of a body such as the international socialist commission to convene or help convene a conference.7 At the end of May, when the need to prevent Russia slipping into separate peace negotiations with Germany was most urgently felt in the west, Albert Thomas had been prepared to go to Stockholm even if the allied socialists failed to obtain its desired conditions for the conference. In a telegram sent to Lloyd George, he made it clear that he felt the British prime minister shared this view.8 The war cabinet, made aware of the precarious position of Russia by the despatches of Buchanan and Albert Thomas, had discussed the prospect of Russia concluding a separate peace at its meeting on 9 May, and had agreed that efforts should be made to counter this by working for a separate peace with AustriaHungary. The cabinet was also inclined to the view that it was important to counter German propaganda by having a strong delegation from the Labour Party at Stockholm ‘who would represent our national aims in the war in their true light’. Henderson would be eminently suitable as a leader of such a delegation, but as a member of the government, he could not take up such a role without compromising the cabinet/ At its meeting the same day, the Labour Party executive voted 9 to 4 not to go to Stockholm. Instead, an inter-allied socialist conference was to be con¬ vened in London as soon as possible, and a three-man delegation (Purdy,

Stockholm in the balance (May-July 1917)

155

Roberts and Henderson) was to be sent to Petrograd to urge the Soviet to send delegates to this conference, which was provisionally arranged for 23 June.10 In the event, Arthur Henderson was authorised by the war cabinet to go to Russia to assess the situation, and if necessary, replace the British ambassador. As we have seen, Henderson aligned himself with Thomas and Vandervelde at the beginning of June in seeking to impose conditions for the proposed international socialist conference upon the Soviet. Henderson’s invitation to the Russians to participate in an inter-allied socialist conference undoubtedly offered Albert Thomas a new weapon in his endeavours to ensure that the Russians would not stampede the allied socialists into a conference ‘sans conditions Awareness of public and par¬ liamentary hostility towards the idea of meeting the Germans in Stockholm and of the evident reluctance of the French and British govern¬ ments to allow MacDonald and Longuet to go to Petrograd via Stockholm to present the minority position also stiffened the resolve of the allied socialist ministers. The reply of the Soviet executive committee to the protest letter drafted by Thomas, Vandervelde and de Brouckere, in Henderson’s view, ‘shows a tendency towards meeting our views on inter¬ pretation of no annexations or indemnities and on the right of socialist parties to remain in their respective governments’; but the final sentence, i.e. that the conference would only succeed if socialists regarded them¬ selves as representatives of a united working-class movement, and not as representing their governments, revealed the Russians’ real position.11 Far from having reached an understanding with the Soviet on an inter¬ national socialist peace initiative, the allied socialists departed from Russia with the issue of the Stockholm conference still hanging in the air. It is clear that the allied socialist majority leaders did not see Stockholm as an international convention of socialists determined to press for a peoples’ peace. They were persuaded of the need to attend such a conference by feelings of loyalty, not untinged with anxiety, towards their Russian colleagues, and by an awareness of the importance of countering German propaganda. In the spring of 1917, the British government at least was prepared to accept the case for a British labour delegation going to Stockholm. By the end of July, however, the British government had begun to lose faith in the Russians’ ability to sustain their war effort, and had turned against the whole idea, which was then beginning to gain momentum in Labour Party ranks. The refusal of passports by the war cabinet gave the left a weapon with which to belabour the government in subsequent months (as also occurred in France), but it can be argued that Stockholm had little more than a symbolic value for the allied socialists, majority and minority alike. The real question raised by the Soviet in the spring of 1917 was that of war aims and the conclusion of a peace by

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War, Peace and Revolution

belligerents no longer committed to the imperialistic aims revealed in the secret agreements concluded before the outbreak of revolution. The revision of war aims, the repudiation of annexationism and adoption of the principles advanced by the Soviet, which the French and Italian socialists in particular linked to the pronouncements of President Wilson - herein lay the core of a programme for the socialists of the belligerent lands, and the success of such a programme was to be measured inter¬ nally, not on the platform of an international gathering. The debate on war aims The entry into government of leading members of the Soviet in mid-May coincided with one of the severest crises of the war on the western front. The failure of the Nivelle offensive in April was followed by widespread mutiny in the French army, which was rendered virtually incapable of launching any further attack for the rest of the year. There was also a series of work stoppages and strikes in Britain and France, which caused great anxiety in government circles.12 The allied governments thus had little option but to pay heed to the growing influence of the Soviet, in the hope that the commitment of the new provisional government not to conclude a separate peace but to stand fast against German aggression could be made to stick.13 The planned Russian offensive, it was hoped, would relieve the pressure on the western front until the American forces could arrive. In the meantime, however, the western governments had to face up to pressure from the left to align themselves with the Soviet peace formula. On 16 May, Philip Snowden moved an amendment to the order for the third reading of the Consolidated Fund Bill to read as a welcome by the House of Commons of the provisional government’s declaration of peace aims. Snowden called upon the government to issue a similar declaration and to join with its allies in restating their position on the war in conformity with the Russian declaration. Snowden proceeded to denounce the practices of secret diplomacy, and hinted at the spread of revolution beyond the borders of Russia. Endorsing the Stockholm conference as ‘the embryo of the parliament of man’, he posited that it would ‘advocate unanimously’ free trade, a league of nations, inter¬ national arbitration and the abolition of secret diplomacy, in other words, the preventive strategy adumbrated by the 1910 Copenhagen congress of the Second International and taken up in Britain by the Union of Democratic Control. Ramsay MacDonald, supporting the amendment, argued that its adoption would strengthen the Russian revolution.14 MacDonald himself had urged the Russians not to conclude a separate peace but to assume the leadership of a democratic crusade for peace.15 At the Leeds conference on 3 June, MacDonald envisaged the Russian

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revolution as restoring the initiative lost by labour at the beginning of the war: Let us lay down our terms, make our own proclamations, establish our own diplomacy, see to it that we have our own international meetings. Let us say to the Russian democracy, ‘In the name of everything you hold sacred in politics, in morality, in good govern¬ ment, and in progress, restrain the anarchy in your midst, find a cause for unity, maintain your Revolution, stand by your liberties, put yourselves at the head of the peoples of Europe.’16 In his anxiety for the Russians to avoid the temptation of a separate peace and his fears about the ‘anarchy’ of the extreme left, MacDonald differed little from Arthur Henderson. The principal difference lay in the two men’s attitudes towards the role of government. For Henderson, peace could only be concluded by the belligerent governments: Ramsay MacDonald distrusted government, and pinned his hopes on popular action, or popular control. Even in the depths of pessimism at the end of 1916, he could reflect that ‘the gusty emotionalism which seized the people when the war broke out . . . indicates an instability of judgement which makes the wildest revolutionary change possible after peace’.17 He was even suspicious of a league of nations, which might easily become an instrument of great-power diplomacy and militarism: international arbitration and a council of conciliation, paralleled by a remodelled socialist International, were the surest guarantees of peace.18 Speaking in the House of Commons on 26 July, he called on the allies to accept the Russian proposal that representatives of the people, in addition to those of the governments, should attend the forthcoming allied conference on war aims. 1 9 The enthusiasm for a peoples’ peace shown at Leeds and in the public utterances ofILP leaders did not give rise to any positive action of the kind called for by the Kiental conference or the Soviet. The ILP, meeting in Leeds in April 1917, had not even ventured to call on Labour MPs to vote against war credits.2,1 The antiwar movement in Britain was primarily con¬ cerned to force a change of attitude in the government by reasoned argu¬ ment, and not mass action. Although it had begun to make headway within the labour movement, it still had to face considerable hostility from the patriotic union leaders who dominated the Labour Party.21 The ‘superior moral standpoint’ adopted by Ramsay MacDonald and C. P. Trevelyan, a leading figure in the UDC, irritated the Labour MP George Wardle in the House of Commons debate on 26 July. He rejected the notion that the ILP members were the only ones who wanted peace, freedom and democracy: the difference was that he, for one, believed in fighting for democracy. In this, Wardle was supported by the bulk of the Labour Party.22

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War, Peace and Revolution

The possibility of antiwar socialists travelling to Russia with the Labour Party delegation created some disquiet amongst those selected by the party to go to Petrograd, and although these objections were over¬ ruled by Henderson’s urgent pleas, the trip finally foundered on the quay¬ side at Aberdeen, when sailors refused to man the ship on which the men were to travel. As the debates of August were to show, the massed battalions of the trade unions were still determined not to allow the ‘proGerman’ ILP and BSP to speak for British labour on the international stage. Nevertheless, these same debates at the extraordinary party conference did reveal a growing desire for labour’s voice to be heard, and set in train a process of re-evaluation of labour’s position on the war which was to culminate in the drafting of the memorandum on war aims, in which the hand of the UDC was clearly evident. British labour was not un¬ influenced by the debates elsewhere in Europe, either. Even the redoubt¬ able George Wardle had to declare his support for the resolution of the Chamber of Deputies, passed on 5 June, in preference to the Reichstag peace resolution, an indication of awareness of the shifting ground of the debate on war aims, if nothing else. The Chamber resolution was, in van der Slice’s words, ‘a distinct advance’ over the perfunctory avowal of the will to victory by the Senate. It disclaimed any idea of conquest of German territory (other than the redemption of Alsace-Lorraine): once Prussian militarism had been destroyed, durable guarantees of peace and the independence of nations large and small within a league of nations would have to be established. The socialists’ orders of the day each stressed different aspects. The majoritaires associated themselves with the declaration of the provisional government, the minoritaires with the Soviet peace formula, whilst the Zimmerwaldists backed the demand for a general and immediate peace.23 But although the government had been forced onto the defensive by the socialists’ attacks during the four-day debate in secret session, no firm commitment to a revision of war aims had been given. For the socialists of western Europe, the most contentious issue of the war was the future of Alsace-Lorraine. Troelstra appears to have been anxious to avoid discussion of the issue at Stockholm, fearing it would wreck the conference. In the opinion of the German minister to The Hague, the country which possessed Alsace-Lorraine at the peace would have won the war, a maxim equally valid for France and Germany; the German socialists should be obliged to combat any attempt to promote a different resolution of this issue, and if they were unable to do so, should leave the Stockholm conference.24 The majority socialists, in fact, were to prove obdurate on the question of Alsace-Lorraine, which they had consistently argued was an integral part of the Reich. In 1915, Branting

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and Troelstra made it clear that this intransigence was a major obstacle to peace moves, and Branting even suggested that the SFIO would be prepared to accept a plebiscite in the area.25 The most that was conceded in the statement transmitted to the Soviet by Borgbjerg in May was that an adjustment of the frontier might be feasible. The proposal for a plebiscite advanced by the French minoritaires on 6 May was dismissed as impracticable by Hermann Wendel a month later.26 In discussions with the Dutch-Scandinavian committee in mid-June, the majority socialists held firm to their contention that Alsace-Lorraine was bound economically to Germany, and was nine-tenths German in population. The inhabitants had shown no desire to return to France. Branting’s argument, that ‘the injustice of fifty years was not to be excused on ethnographic grounds’, cut little ice with the Germans. Fischer maintained that the referendum was demanded by outsiders, not by the inhabitants, and he alluded to the ‘injustice’ of Louis XIV’s policy of incorporating much of Alsace-Lorraine in 1688. Troelstra’s pleas for reconsideration of the idea of a plebiscite were bluntly rejected by David as an infringement of German sovereignty, and David was equally hostile to the idea of both sides declaring that the war should not continue over this one issue. The most that he was prepared to concede was support for full cultural autonomy for Alsace-Lorraine. The Germans were also reluctant to have the burden of reparations for war damage in Belgium placed on their shoulders alone.27 The dominant figure of the SPD delegation to Stockholm was Eduard David, who developed his anti-British views in his pamphlet justifying the German socialists’ memorandum. The SPD position in the summer of 1917 was to voice agreement with the Soviet formula, but to oppose conciliation with the western allies, in the hope that Stockholm would force the majority socialists of those countries to give way to the minority.28 The results of the visit to Stockholm, however, were not very encouraging. The Dutch-Scandinavian committee had grilled the Germans, and several of its members had hardly concealed their hostility. Thorvald Stauning was especially upset by van Kol’s attack on the SPD, which he believed compromised the neutrality of the committee. In an interview given immediately after the discussions with the Germans, he voiced disappointment at the way things were going. He was worried in particular that the French socialists had not protested against the refusal of passports.29 Albert Thomas, who met the committee on 18 June, upset the Danish socialist leader even more, by his own account. He denounced the SPD attitude as exemplified in its memorandum as untenable. His ‘constant aim’ had been to persuade the Germans to say that the question of Alsace-Lorraine was negotiable. Since they had not done so, there could be no peace negotiations, nor a ‘common language’ between

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democrats.30 This message was transmitted to the Germans by Stauning and Nina Bang. David drew pessimistic conclusions. There was no hope of the SPD memorandum being accepted in France. The only hope now lay in the developments in Russia (which had just launched an offensive on the eastern front). On their return home, the SPD delegation found a mood of growing discontent amongst the workers, which was brought out by the provincial representatives at a session of the party council on 26 June. Here, for the first time, the question of refusing to vote for war credits was seriously discussed. The government was to be compelled to make an unambiguous statement in favour of a peace of no annexations or indemnities. David came in for a good deal of criticism. His quiescent policy would serve only to drive the party into a marsh, argued one delegate: there would be a catastrophe in the winter if the party did not now act in the interests of the working class. In a pugnacious final speech, David agreed upon the need for a change in the government’s attitude, but he disputed the means to achieve this. Were the party to raise ‘the flag of rebellion’ by refusing credits, Lenin and co. would say - we were right, wait, the revolution is coming in Germany. Such an act would be a false move, and would dash Russia’s hopes for a peace. He believed Bethmann Hollweg was closer to the SPD position on peace than he was to the annexationists, and pointed out that the allied governments and socialists did not believe in a status quo peace as far as Germany was concerned. Were the SPD to opt for concessions on Alsace-Lorraine and reparations, it might obtain peace, but it would be a peace of defeat. Refusal of credits was tantamount to peace at any price; were the party to press for the aims outlined in its memorandum, it would be deceiving the people if it claimed this would lead to a speedy peace.31 The question of a revision of war aims in Germany was intimately linked to the constitutional issue. At the beginning of May, a Reichstag commission to prepare for constitutional reform was set up with Scheidemann as its chairman. On 15 May two SPD interpellations on war aims were laid before the Reichstag. Bethmann Hollweg argued that it would not serve German interests for the government to reveal its war aims. Scheidemann spoke of the threat of revolution if the government persisted in its dreams of annexation, and the parties of the centre also distanced themselves from the annexationist right. Though the name of Scheidemann came to be linked with the idea of a peace of conciliation, it was the Catholic Centre Party spokesman, Matthias Erzberger, who was to play a crucial role in the moves leading up to the peace resolution in July. The chancellor’s vague promises of suffrage reform in Prussia after the war, contained in the Easter message, were no longer acceptable to the SPD by the end of June. On 23 June, Ebert and Scheidemann

Stockholm in the balance (May-July 1917) 161 impressed on Wdhnschaffe and Zimmermann the need for a clear govern¬ ment recognition of the need to democratise Germany. Vovwavts called for ‘decisive action’ on the suffrage question on 27 June, one day after an SPD memorandum seeking reform, improvements in the food situation and a peace of conciliation had been presented to the chancellor. Vorwarts admitted that suffrage reform was unlikely in view of the opposition of the other parties. However, on 1 July leading German academics called for universal suffrage throughout Germany. The constitutional com¬ mission, galvanised into renewed activity, called for full civic rights in all states in a resolution which the SPD also supported, though with reservations. The crisis came to a head on 6 July, when Erzberger launched a devastating attack on the conduct of the war, and urged the government to return to a war of defence, declaring its willingness to accept a peace of no annexations or indemnities. A meeting of party leaders from the Centre, National Liberals, Progressives and SPD that afternoon agreed upon a general resolution calling for a negotiated peace, but failed to resolve the issue of a change of government, urged by Stresemann and Richthofen of the National Liberals.32 Over the next few days, the fragility of the new alliance was revealed. The SPD was disposed to bring pressure to bear on Bethmann Hollweg; the National Liberals were bent on replacing him. In the background hovered Hindenburg and Ludendorff, the real masters of the situation, who expressed their willingness to work with the Reichstag. On 9 July Calker for the National Liberals demanded a reconstituted government responsible to the Reichstag, and then a declaration on peace aims. The National Liberals had earlier attempted to broaden the peace resolution to appeal to the moderate right, a move rebuffed by the SPD. Ebert pressed for a declaration, and then a reconstitution of the government, though David, in touch with the supreme command and aware of LudendorfFs desire to replace the chancellor, was more sympathetic to the National Liberal position.33 By 12 July the SPD leaders were beginning to abandon Bethmann Hollweg. Zimmermann and Capelle, ministers for foreign affairs and the navy respectively, were to resign in order to strengthen the impression of the government’s official recognition of the declaration on peace aims: the chancellor should go if he proved to be an obstacle to peace. There was a good deal of theoretical agonising over the introduction of parliamentary controls, with a tentative scheme offered by Siidekum for a provisional state council, composed of ten representatives of the majority parties in the Reichstag, the chancellor and six or seven ministers (men either deputed by the parties or, in the case of foreign affairs and the navy, professional civil servants), and a representative of the GHQ, which would act as a kind of expert advisory body on all legislative proposals and

162

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international treaties. In Scheidemann’s later recollections, the meeting of the party leaders resembled the debates in the Paulskirche in 1848: David put it more pithily in his diary: ‘Long rambling speeches [Hin-und Herreden]. United in aims, but split over their speedy realisation.’34 In the meantime, the army had not been idle. On 9 July Stresemann, with Ludendorffs backing, attacked Bethmann Hollweg’s leadership in the Reichstag. Three days later, the Crown Prince invited the paicy leaders to meet him to sound out their views on Bethmann Hollweg’s continued tenure of office. Erzberger for the parties of the centre-right demanded his resignation. Neither the Progressives nor the SPD were willing to fight for the chancellor, whose resignation followed after the army supreme command threatened to resign if he continued in office. The SPD leaders now began to realise the weakness of their position. The majority parties had no candidate for office, David admitted. All they could do was impress upon the Kaiser their determination to compel the new man to accept the peace programme. The new man, imposed on the Reichstag by the generals, soon demonstrated his unwillingness to be bound in this way. At a meeting in the garden of the ministry of the interior, attended by Hindenburg and Ludendorff, Michaelis declared that it had been his understanding that the supreme command and the majority had been in agreement over the peace resolution. He proposed making a declaration that Germany was not pursuing a war of conquest, but of defence, and sought reconciliation, not annexations; he then urged the majority to drop the idea of presenting its resolution. This was impossible, argued David, for then the USPD would introduce it, albeit in amended form, and the SPD would have to commit harakiri by voting against its own proposal. Michaelis then agreed to draft a speech, seeking Hindenburg’s agreement, and discussing it with some of the party leaders.35 In spite of pressure from Scheidemann, Payer and Erzberger, it was evident to the SPD that the new chancellor was unwilling to accede to the spirit of the peace resolution. At a parliamentary caucus meeting on 19 July the SPD made the best of a bad job. A binding promise on Prussian suffrage reform had been conceded, and a majority for a war aims programme ‘according to our views’ had been created. Were the party now to refuse credits, this majority would break up. By 61 votes to 14, it was agreed to vote for war credits.36 The passing of the peace resolution by a large majority in the Reichstag that day was hailed in Vorwarts as a vindication of what the SPD had been preaching since 4 August 1914. It was a step towards peace, and a significant change of heart by those of the centre who had hitherto thought differently. It was, moreover, for the first time in the history of Germany, ‘an expression of the will [ein Willensakt] of the representatives of the German people’. In his speech,

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Scheidemann demanded freedom of the press and the release of political prisoners such as Liebknecht, and characterised democratic reform as being no longer a party aim, but the wish of the entire German nation. At the same time, however, he voiced reservations about the tone of Michaelis’ speech, and urged the new chancellor to push through the reforms which the German people desired. Hugo Haase, speaking for the USPD, was far more critical, noting Michaelis’ qualifying phrase ‘as I understand it’ applied to the peace resolution, and drawing attention to the fact that the new chancellor enjoyed the confidence of the generals, not the Reichstag. The peace resolution made no mention of the right of national self-determination, nor of general disarmament. Although it renounced forced annexations of territory, it was not specific in this respect, and it made great play of the necessity of securing the freedom of the seas and removal of economic barriers, which could be interpreted as a cover for the German drive for economic hegemony. The resolution, in Haase’s view, ‘ends with resounding fanfares of war. It amounts to a whipping-up of the passion for slaughter and war, not a strengthening of the desire for peace.’ Only by adopting the programme of the Soviet could the Reichstag exercise any real influence, by strengthening the pro¬ visional government and the Soviet, and thereby putting pressure on the allied governments to revise their war aims and seek peace. Haase ended by reading the USPD’s Stockholm memorandum into the minutes.37 The initiative launched by the majority parties failed to dislodge the ruling order in Germany, though it did forge the rather precarious alliance which, in Rosenberg’s phrase, was to create ‘the middle-class German republic’ in 1918.38 Parliamentary and suffrage reform was not conceded, nor was the supreme command and its puppet chancellor seriously embarrassed by the peace resolution. The SPD failed lament¬ ably to abide by its initial resolution to refuse to vote for war credits unless suffrage reform were conceded, and it remained passive for the remainder of the year. The initiative slipped away as the military situation improved. The Centre Party returned to its old line of support for the war, and the Progressives lapsed into silence. The right soon recovered, and the ultra-patriotic Vaterlandspartei managed to recruit PA million members by July 1918, more than SPD membership at its peak. In the events of June-July 1917, the USPD played a rather meagre role. This was partly due to the lack of any clear direction within the new party, partly as a consequence of official controls and harassment, but also because the majority socialists seemed to have stolen the independents’ clothes by endorsing the Soviet formula. The USPD was lukewarm about the Dutch-Scandinavian committee’s proposed conference, though it elected delegates on 4 May. The Soviet invitation was welcomed as an opportunity to meet the Russians in Stockholm, which the granting of

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War, Peace and Revolution

passports by the German government to the USPD delegation eventually permitted. The importance of Stockholm for the USPD lay in reviving international action, rather than the devising of peace formulae.39 Kautsky differentiated between the USPD and majority socialist memor¬ anda submitted to the Dutch-Scandinavian committee by declaring the former to be internationalist and democratic, whereas the latter was full of nationalist and militarist thinking; Haase dismissed the SPD’s conversion to the Soviet formula as opportunist.40 Behind the rhetoric of the so-called ‘Scheidemann peace’ and the clamorous endorsements of the Soviet peace formula, the socialists of Europe were as divided as ever over strategy and aims. This is evident from closer study of how the phrase ‘no annexations or indemnities, and the right to national self-determination’ was interpreted. Camille Huysmans, well aware of the contentious nature of issues such as AlsaceLorraine, preferred to gloss over the Soviet formula as merely an indication of what should be a status quo ante bellum peace, amended by the solution of problems which had become acute as a result of the war.41 For the left, this was tantamount to covering up the faults of imperialism. Revolution, not restoration, was the keynote of the critiques penned by Radek, Trotsky and Kamenev. Trotsky and Kamenev both argued that the resurrection of the old map of Europe would imply consent to old robberies and acts of aggression. Both advocated a socialist united states of Europe, though Trotsky was careful to note that the right of national self-determination did not have universal validity, but should be considered in the light of economic development.42 The socialists on the right were deeply suspicious of the aims of their confreres in the opposite camp in the war. Scheidemann’s interpretation of the Soviet formula meant that the peoples who had been thrust under the German yoke would be compelled to wear it in future, in Plekhanov’s view.43 Germany must abandon her ‘fantastic dreams’ of an empire from Bremen to Baghdad, argued the veteran anarchist Kropotkin, who also found the term ‘no annexations or contributions’ too vague.44 Renaudel was careful to point out that the Russian formula did not exclude reparations for damages nor ‘reparation du droit’.45 Albert Thomas and Eduard David clashed in the Swedish press in June, each seeking to justify the stance of his own party. Thomas congratulated himself on seeking to establish a precise definition in Petrograd of a peace without annexations, which for the Germans meant a status quo ante bellum peace, with no return of annexed territories (Alsace-Lorraine, Posen, North Slesvig) and sep¬ aration from the allies of territories such as Russian Poland, or colonies. David retorted that there was a clear difference between peoples with a culture and historic past, seeking their national independence (such as the Irish and Egyptians) and the primitive peoples of the African colonies of

Stockholm in the balance (May-July 1917) the European powers. On reached between French launched an attack on the allied lands, which were imperialist interests.46

165

Alsace-Lorraine, he referred to the agreement and German socialists before 1914, and he assumption that real democracy existed in the dominated by an oligarchy of capitalist and

While the major socialist parties sparred endlessly over the conditions for participation and the agenda of the Stockholm conference, the Dutch-Scandinavian committee had been holding a series of meetings with representatives of a variety of parties. These discussions, and the memoranda submitted, revealed wide divergences, not least between the parties of the small nationalities and their counterparts in the major European states. One of the first delegations to be received - on 23-24 May - was that of the Finnish Social Democratic Party. The memor¬ andum submitted by the party came out clearly in favour of complete independence for Finland, and expressed little confidence in or loyalty to the provisional government, with whom the Finns had already begun to come into conflict. The memorandum claimed to represent the views, not only of the Finnish Social Democratic Party, but of the progressive elements in Finland. There are strong grounds for suspecting that its composition was influenced by the pro-German Finnish activists in Stockholm; certainly, the demand for complete independence had not been officially endorsed by the party at that time.47 The members of the Dutch-Scandinavian committee voiced their surprise at the sudden appearance of the demand for independence, and Huysmans and Branting both chided the Finns for their indifference to the revolution. The two Finnish delegates also encountered hostility from Kautsky, for whom the preservation of democratic Russia was all-important.48 The growing agitation by the Finns and Ukrainians for a greater measure of autonomy, or even independence, provoked sharp reactions from the leaders of ‘the democracy’ in Russia. Attempts to reach an acceptable interim arrangement with the provisional government failed: by June, the Finnish socialists had come out openly for independence, whilst the First Universal issued by the Ukrainian Rada on 23 June pro¬ claimed the right of the Ukraine to decide its own fate. Whilst still acknowledging the provisional government, the Ukrainians set about creating their own administrative and legislative structure. The Finnish socialists for their part seized upon the endorsement by the all-Russian congress of soviets on 3 July of full internal independence and parlia¬ mentary sovereignty for Finland as the basis for an act rushed through the Finnish parliament a fortnight later. They conveniently forgot the rider attached, which declared that the final settlement of the Finnish question lay within the competence of the national constituent assembly.44 The conflict between Rada and provisional government reached a

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War, Peace and Revolution

dangerous point by July. Discussions between Rada leaders and a threeman delegation from the provisional government resulted in a com¬ promise, which was in fact a victory for the Rada in that it recognised the right of the Ukrainians to self-determination. The arrangement proved too much for the Kadet ministers, who resigned from the government rather than sign the document. The Finns were less successful. Strengthened temporarily by the collapse of the July Days revolt, the new leader of the provisional government - and a critical opponent of Finnish claims to greater independence - felt emboldened to ignore the Finnish law, which the Finnish socialists had already qualified as a reinforcement of internal liberties and not a declaration of independence. On 28 July, Kerensky issued the order of dissolution for the Finnish parliament, which was promulgated four days later on the votes of the non-socialist ministers in the coalition senate and with the casting vote of the governorgeneral. Bereft of armed support, the Finnish socialists backed down and thereupon surrendered the initiative on the national question to the non¬ socialist parties, who secured a majority of the seats in the October elections for a new parliament. With the exception of the Bolsheviks (who were by no means united on the question of national self-determination - the Finnish socialists in Stockholm had little joy with Radek, the Bolsheviks’ chief spokesman abroad), the Russian socialists were unwilling to endorse unconditionally the right of subject peoples within the former Empire to determine their own political future. The national question was to be left to the con¬ stituent assembly to decide, a solution which found little favour with the Finns and Ukrainians. Certain Russian socialists, such as Aksel’rod, argued that independence for economically backward nations, such as Georgia, would be a retrograde step; but in general, the separatist strivings of the Finns and Ukrainians were seen as weakening the strength of the revolution.50 This accorded with Kautsky’s view, elaborated in a six-part article in Die Neue Zeit in June. For the proletariat, the nationality question was relevant only in so far as it accorded with the interests of democracy, and for Kautsky, the assimilation of nationalities rather than their differentiation was the goal of socialism. 51 The future of the nationalities of the western borderlands of the former Russian Empire was also complicated by the actions and aims of Imperial Germany. A provisional state council had been set up in Warsaw by the central powers in 1916, and Germany was also actively supporting separatist movements emanating from the Baltic provinces and Finland. The declaration made by the majority socialists that formerly indepen¬ dent countries such as Poland, which had now been liberated by the events of the war, should have the right to self-determination was rather too close to the aims of the German government for the USPD, which

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urged the creation of an independent Poland embracing all the territories inhabited by Poles. Bernstein nevertheless queried Milyukov’s demand for the restoration of Poland ‘wherever the Polish language is spoken’, since this would cut East Prussia off from Germany and would pose severe problems in Posen and West Prussia, with their large German¬ speaking minorities.52 The representations made by the various ethnic socialist parties of Galicia further emphasised the complexity of the problem. The Ukrainian social democrats in the Habsburg Empire produced a wealth of statistics to show that Ukrainians comprised almost half the population of Galicia. In eastern Galicia, it was claimed, the Poles were ‘colonists, illegal occupiers, arrogant masters . . . outsiders and enemies for the mass of the Ukrainian people’. The Austrian social democrats’ assertion that the nationalities were so mixed up in the area that territorial delimitation was impossible, and would only serve to provoke a new war, was denied by the Ukrainians, who maintained that Galicia could be divided into two distinct countries. An independent Ukraine was the desired objective, though if this could not be achieved, national autonomy should be given within Russian and the Habsburg lands. Ukrainian territories should not be incorporated into an independent Poland, which should also provide guarantees for national minorities within its frontiers. A similar claim was made by represen¬ tatives of the Jewish socialist parties. The Polish Socialist Party endorsed full minority rights, but was clearly annoyed by accusations of oppression levelled by the Jews and Ukrainians.53 The revolutionary fraction of the Polish Socialist Party and the Polish social democrats of Galicia and Silesia had supported the central powers before the revolution, but relations with the occupying powers deteriorated in the summer of 1917. It is not without significance that the majority German socialists spoke of independence only for congress Poland, and the Austrian socialists were likewise only prepared to concede autonomy for Galicia and Posen within the Habsburg and Hohenzollern Empires, with the possibility of an amicable settlement in the future between the revived Polish state (Congress Poland) and the central powers.54 The question of the future of Poland did indeed raise a whole host of problems. Gustav Moller, a Swedish member of the DutchScandinavian committee, outlined some of these problems in a two-part article published in the late summer of 1917. All the Polish lands would have to be united, since an independent Congress Poland would simply serve German interests and would leave Polish irredenta in Germany and Austria. But could the Germans be persuaded to agree to this? And if Galician Poland were detached from the Habsburg Empire, would this not set off the total disintegration of the multinational monarchy? Moller argued that it was not in the interests of socialism to preserve the Austro-

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War, Peace and Revolution

Hungarian Empire, a view not shared by his fellow members or the Austrian and Hungarian socialists.55 The Austrians and Hungarians advocated democratic reform and national autonomy within the framework of the Empire. The Czech socialist delegation, however, disagreed with this. National autonomy was not based on economic cir¬ cumstances or political realities; instead, they argued, a federation of independent national states should be created, in which the only limits upon sovereignty would be a common foreign and defence policy and the establishment of common economic and fiscal controls, subject to supra¬ national parliamentary control. Smeral was already under pressure from the right wing of the party to press more vigorously for national independence, and did in fact resign the leadership in September 1917.56 The precarious unity of the socialists of the Habsburg monarchy was also threatened by the South Slavs. Viktor Adler made strenuous efforts to obtain permission from the Austrian foreign ministry to allow a delegation of Serbian socialists to go to Stockholm ‘in the interests of the state, which happen to coincide with our own [i.e. the Austrian socialists]’.57 A delegation was eventually given permission to travel, as were two Bosnian socialists. Though denounced as agents of the Habsburg government by the Yugoslav committee, the Bosnian socialists delivered a lengthy description of the neglect of Bosnia-Herzegovina by the Habsburgs and accused the Austrian socialists of benign unconcern towards their problems. They came out for a South Slav state, or for broad autonomy for the South Slavs in the Habsburg Empire if this were not realisable.58 According to Prince Fiirstenberg, keeping an eye on proceedings in Stockholm for the Habsburg government, the Serbian socialists were fierce opponents of Panslavism and the Karageorgevic dynasty, and had persuaded the Dutch-Scandinavian committee to modify its draft peace programme, which had advocated the union of all South Slavs.59 The Serbian socialists proved to be unreliable allies, how¬ ever; they took advantage of their situation to denounce the military occupation of Serbia, and advanced a curious blend of Zimmerwaldian ideas (Balkan federal republic, autonomy for Macedonia) and frankly expansionist claims in their submission to the Dutch-Scandinavian committee. Their demands for access to the Aegean via the Vardar valley aroused the wrath of the Bulgarian ‘broad’ socialists, who had laid claim to the whole of Macedonia in their memorandum. The Macedonian question was to prove a major stumbling-block for the DutchScandinavian committee, endeavouring to arrive at a formula which would satisfy all parties.60 Weighing up the problems confronting the committee, Gustav Moller acknowledged that the principle of national self-determination would have to be modified if the war were not to continue, since its application

Stockholm in the balance (May-July 1917)

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in toto would mean the destruction of several states which would rather fight on than submit to such a fate.61 In broad terms, this was the line adopted by the committee. Contentious issues such as the future boundaries of Poland and the Balkan states were best settled by nego¬ tiation at a peace settlement based on the general principle of con¬ ciliation.62 The alternative posited by the Zimmerwald left was rather different. In a statement issued by the International Socialist Commission on 26 June, the slogan of peace without annexations was portrayed as having become an empty phrase bandied about by majority socialists to suit their own interests. The only way to peace was not through conciliation, but by active struggle, as defined at the Kiental conference.63 The Kiental resolution had declared that only socialism could eliminate national oppression through the complete political and economic union of peoples. Until this occurred, the proletariat should strive by means of the class war to obtain protection for national minorities and the autonomy of nations on a democratic basis. The proletariat was also to be on its guard against the creation of non-viable states by the capitalist powers, operating ‘under the false flag of the liberation of oppressed peoples’.64 The defeated powers would resort to the defence of small nations as ‘small change in the diplomatic market at the conclusion of peace’, argued Christian Rakovsky in a pamphlet issued by the ISC.65 But although the Zimmerwald left, which controlled the ISC after Grimm’s resignation in June 1917, denounced Stockholm as an attempt to rescue imperialism, the moderate antiwar opposition was far less inclined to reject out of hand the idea of a ‘Stockholm peace’. In the summer of 1917, the ILP, USPD, PSI and French minoritaires pinned their hopes on the Soviet delegation, which reached Stockholm as the Russian offensive on the eastern front began. In the eyes of the Zimmerwald left, the equipment of these ‘argonauts of peace’ was already tarnished by the Soviet’s commitment to launch this offensive; but it still shone brightly enough to attract the ‘social pacifists’ to Stockholm. The Soviet initiative had compelled the majority socialists to rally to the idea of an international socialist conference and to define more precisely their own position in regard to a future peace. They were still reluctant to abandon national interests, but had adopted a more critical attitude of their governments’ conduct of the war and unwillingness to enter into negotiations. Faced with internal discontent and parliamentary pressure, the governments of the belliger¬ ent powers deemed it wise to beat a strategic retreat over the more outrageously annexationist aims and to make public utterances which betokened at least an awareness of the desire for peace. In their less sanguine moments, the antiwar socialists dared to believe that the tide was on the rise for their cause, and that the Russian revolution would

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carry a democratic peace across the breadth of the war-torn continent. Unwilling to take up an openly revolutionary struggle against their own governments, they awaited the arrival of the Soviet delegation in Stockholm and the west in hopes of a resurgence of the democratic will for peace as the Russian offensive faltered and collapsed, and the belligerents disposed of their forces to continue the war into its fourth year.

8

The Soviet delegation to the west (July-August 1917)

Petrograd - Stockholm In his first despatch from Stockholm to the Soviet executive committee on 8 July, Vladimir Rozanov concluded as follows: The authority of the Soviet is truly enormous. It was enough for one newspaper to write that I am your [Chkheidze’s] right-hand man in international politics (I do not pretend to be), and everyone started to turn to me: ‘End the war-it’s in your power’.1 The popular enthusiasm for the Soviet as the harbinger of peace belied the harsher political realities. Not only were the Entente governments beginning to lose faith in the Russians’ ability to play a significant role in the war; within Russia itself, serious doubts about the chances of ‘the democracy’ to bring about peace negotiations were being raised. The executive committee of the Petrograd Soviet had declined to enter government at the beginning of the revolution, and had sought to exercise a kind of revolutionary remote control over the L’vov ministry. The crisis provoked by the Milyukov note prompted L’vov to invite Chkheidze to raise the issue of a coalition government at the executive committee. At a night session on 11 May, the idea of entering a coalition was narrowly defeated, with Tsereteli and Skobelev maintaining that this would weaken the Soviet’s influence. Since entry into government would arouse the hopes of the masses which the Soviet leaders might not be able to fulfil, it was preferable to remain outside. Four days later, under pressure to join a reshuffled cabinet, the executive committee reversed its earlier decision and voted 44 to 19 for participation.2 This decision was hailed enthusiastically by a plenary session of the Soviet on 18 May, though Trotsky spoke of a duality of power which was not ended by a socialist entry into government. Tsereteli saw only two courses: entry into govern¬ ment; or seizure of power, and asked Trotsky if he was sure that the Soviet would be supported if it did seize power. Entry into government was denounced by the Bolsheviks and Menshevik internationalists, and the stage was set for a conflict which grew in intensity as the provisional government’s authority waned. As a leader in Den ’ perspicaciously noted: It is surely the misfortune of the Russian revolution, that one side is headed by utopian radicals such as Lenin, energetic and

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possessed of an impulsive will, whilst on the other side stand the Hamlets of Marxist realism. And whilst the Hamlets hamletise, the possessed pursue their activities towards catastrophe . . . The revolution, like Saturn, devours its children. With us, I fear, it will end differently: the revolution will be devoured by its own children.3 The entry into government was the subject of debate at the all-Russian congress of soviets in June. Introducing the debate, Liber claimed that the first coalition had not taken a clear and firm revolutionary line, and power still remained in the hands of agents of the old regime in a number of key areas. He cited an incident at the beginning of May, when the Soviet had countermanded an order by Kornilov to arrange artillery and troops in the centre of the capital, as an instance of power passing de facto to the Soviet, which as a result of the April crisis was obliged to act decisively. However, it was unlikely that the whole nation would back the ‘experi¬ ment’ of Soviet power, which was in any case favoured only by a minority. Coalition with the bourgeoisie was thus the only course. Power to the soviets would also result in a coalition, since the soviets were composed of different parties. For Tsereteli, a seizure of power by the soviets would end in civil war and the triumph of reaction; for Dan, it would serve to drive the peasantry and petty bourgeoisie into the arms of the bourgeoisie. In the final vote, the Menshevik resolution supporting entry into govern¬ ment defeated a Bolshevik call for the transfer of power to the soviets by 543 votes to 125, with 52 abstentions.4 The policy of Russian democracy on the war, as outlined by Dan, Tsereteli and other leading Mensheviks at the congress, had a threefold aspect. Pressure was to be brought to bear on the allied governments by the coalition to revise their war aims and abandon the war of conquest. The international socialist conference was to rouse proletarian solidarity against the imperialist policies of the bourgeoisie; but until the war was brought to an end by the efforts of international democracy, the Russian army was to be placed on the alert ‘for defensive and offensive actions, if the collapse of the front would mean the defeat of the Russian revolution and a severe blow for the cause of international democracy as a whole’. 5 This policy, which was approved by a large majority, came under fierce criticism from the left. Fighting the war with slogans, manifestos and socialist gatherings was futile, argued Lenin; the imperialist war could only be combatted by revolutionary class struggle on a global scale. Martov was also critical of the attempts to persuade the allies to revise their war aims, and to rouse the proletariat of western Europe for an international conference. His proposal of breaking with the allies and continuing a separate war with Germany found little support however.

The Soviet delegation to the west (July-August 1917)

173

‘Every thinking soldier will say to himself: of every five drops of blood I shed today, only one is spilt for the Russian revolution, and four for the French stock exchange and British imperialism’, argued Trotsky. The army was not what it had been under the old regime. As long as the aims of the offensive were not resolved, the soldiers would lack motivation.6 Trotsky had in fact put his finger on the heart of the Russian dilemma. Russia’s envoys in the allied countries had been bombarding the provisional government with warnings of a growing anxiety and irritation amongst the public and in allied government circles, which would only be allayed by Russian successes in the field. The official journal of the provisional government declared on 23 June that it was only by vigorous military action that the voice of Russia would be heard at the forthcoming inter-allied conference.7 But there was little enthusiasm for an offensive, which collapsed almost immediately after it was launched. What had originally been seen as the means of defending Russia until a peace settlement had been arrived at came to overshadow the end - the Soviet peace initiative and the Stockholm conference - in the opinion of Voytinsky. Aksel’rod believed that the Soviet underestimated the obstacles in the path of international proletarian action. Overburdened with work, it was unable to devote sufficient time and energy to this major issue, and it was further compromised by the entry into government and allied pressure for an offensive. Tsereteli felt that Russia was abandoned by international democracy; faced with the threat of defeat, it had to look to its own defences, which meant that a ‘national-revolutionary objective’ had to be substituted for a ‘universal objective’.8 What is ignored in all these analyses is the fact that Russia, a weakened and threatened country in the throes of internal convulsions, was in no position to exercise more than moral pressure on its allies, once the crisis of May-June had passed; and that the allies, increasingly coming to regard Russia as expendable to the overall war effort, could afford to ignore the attempts to rally international democracy in favour of peace. The long-awaited Soviet delegation arrived in Sweden at the beginning of July. Its instructions were to try to persuade all groups and factions to participate in the conference. In order to achieve this end, preconditions for attendance were to be avoided as far as possible. The conference would then reach decisions which would be binding on all participants. As we have seen, this was a dilution of the terms proposed by the com¬ mission entrusted with the task of preparing the invitation by the Soviet executive committee, which had sought to make breach of the civil truce a precondition for participation.9 Even so, the brief entrusted to the delegation ran counter to the notions of the allied majority socialists and their sympathisers on the Dutch—Scandinavian committee, with whom the delegates conferred for three days. At the first meeting on 9 July,

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War, Peace and Revolution

Branting, Vliegen and Huysmans pointed out that binding decisions would cause extreme difficulties for the British and French parties. Troelstra offered a via media whereby parties would only be obliged to carry out those resolutions for which they had voted. The delegation refused to deviate from their instructions, however.10 Three of the Russians also met the ISC, at a meeting attended by members of the USPD and the redoubtable Karl Radek, who attacked the terms of the Soviet’s appeal for a conference and the tone of its reply to the allied socialist ministers. The policy of the Soviet, maintained Radek, was vague and inconsistent, and was retarding the revolutionary movement in the west. Although the Germans declared their intention of participating in the Soviet-convened conference, Radek announced that the Zimmerwald left would not. Receiving no satisfactory reply to their request for cooperation in organising a general conference, the Soviet delegation decided to merge with the Dutch-Scandinavian committee, and to issue a joint invitation to all parties affiliated to the ISB, or con¬ nected with the ISC, majorities and minorities, to a conference in Stock¬ holm on 15 August. On the day this invitation was issued, the ISC officially turned down the offer of cooperation, citing the Soviet’s reply to Thomas, Vandervelde and de Brouckere as evidence of the erosion of the original Zimmerwaldian intentions of the Russian initiative.11 In the eyes of the Zimmerwald left, the Soviet had simply opened the door for the social patriots, who dominated the Dutch-Scandinavian committee, and would swamp the Stockholm conference. There was now a real danger of a shift of emphasis from revolutionary action to outright approval of minister socialism.12 The argument advanced by the Soviet delegation, that submission to decisions which would be directed against the policy of national unity was more efficacious than the preliminary imposition of this condition, was brusquely rejected by the left, though not by the Germans, with whom the Russians were to have more fruitful discussions. Haase declared that the USPD would support the Soviet position at Stockholm, and would in no circumstances vote for vague resolutions which would allow the ‘national-socialists’ a chance to continue their policy of Burgfrieden. Nevertheless, although the Germans pledged themselves to work for the social revolution in Germany, they ruled out this possibility during the war. Bernstein had said the same in private discussions with the British minister in Stockholm. Ledebour also complained that the Russian offensive had provided a welcome boost to the German government, and had badly affected the revolutionary move¬ ment’s efforts in Germany.13 The German government, then engaged in troubles of its own, was given no cause to be worried about the meetings in Stockholm by the reports of its agents. A report to the foreign ministry on 6 July concluded

The Soviet delegation to the west (July-August 1917)

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that the chances of a conference taking place were minimal. The talk of peace concealed the fact that peace was no nearer than ever. Gustav Mayer, a historian of the labour movement, reported to Berlin on 12 July that hopes of delegations arriving in Stockholm from the Entente countries in the near future had sunk to almost zero. He also reported that the majority of the Russian delegation wanted an International which came out openly for revolution, in which there would be no place for the German majority socialists.14 Esme Howard, at first alarmed by the terms of the invitation (which he suspected had been forced on Branting by Camille Huysmans, ‘a doctrinaire of the narrowest kind’), appears to have been reassured by the Swedish socialist leader, who was ‘not dissatisfied’ with the tone of the invitation. After hard debate, a compromise had been arrived at, and it was ‘assumed’ in the text of the invitation that the decisions of the conference would be accepted as final by all participants. The French minister in Stockholm felt that the invitation was a necessary but platonic concession to the Soviet delegation.15 Clifford Sharp, The Times correspondent covering the discussions in Stockholm, succinctly summed up the result of the discussions as an agreement ‘to modify the proposed conditions of admission in such a way that it will in practice be possible for each party to place upon them its own interpretation’.16 The provisional agenda confined itself to three broad themes: the war and the International; the peace programme and the International; and the ways and means of realising this programme to bring a speedy end to the war. The invitation then read as follows: The organisers of the general conference are deeply convinced that in order to bring about the end of the World War the International must induce all the socialist parties and all the trade union organisations to refuse any cooperation with their governments, if they refuse to indicate their war aims or proclaim Imperialist aims in an open or disguised manner or refuse to renounce them. Con¬ vinced that your organisation shares these views and that it is ready to undertake the duty to put into practice without hesitation or deviation the resolutions of the general conference (conforming to these principles), the Delegation of the Russian Soviet and the Dutch- Scandinavian Committee beg you to take an active part in the international socialist conference and to send representatives.17 The phraseology of the invitation resembled that of earlier statements put out by the Petrograd Soviet; but there were significant omissions, in particular, no mention of the Soviet peace formula. The Zimmerwaldist language of the revolutionary class struggle which featured prominently in the appeals of 27 March and 15 May was virtually erased from this joint document. In a speech at the all-Russian congress of soviets, one of

176

War, Peace and Revolution

the men deputed to go to Stockholm, the Socialist Revolutionary N. S. Rusanov, had warned that there was a danger of blighting the cause of peace in a Russian commitment to the Zimmerwald conference, since this would speak only for a minority of socialists. He also observed that the crisis of socialism would not be solved in an instant by the exhortations of one country, in spite of its revolutionary pedigree. The Russians had to come to terms with suspicions and hostility in the socialist camp, and should recognise the continuing strength of imperialism.18 Nevertheless, to claim that the invitation issued on 11 July was a ‘fundamental concession’ to the arguments of the British and French majority socialists would be to underestimate the belief still entertained by the Russians that an international conference could be persuaded to mount a mass campaign against the imperialist policies of the belliger¬ ents.19 This was clearly indicated in Chkheidze’s reply to the SPD’s acceptance of the initial Soviet invitation. All participants would have to declare their willingness to discuss and make binding decisions on the measures to be adopted for mass action to force the imperialist governments to abandon their war aims.20 The SPD however was only prepared to go along' with this if the allied socialists were willing to distance themselves from their governments and engage in a simul¬ taneous campaign for peace.21 The British minister in Stockholm was also alarmed at the prospect of a conference at which allied socialists ‘will be implicitly if not explicitly bound’, and which might ‘prove exceedingly dangerous and only favourable to the ideas of the German majority and to the establishment of a Scheidemann peace on the basis of the status quo ante bellum\22 A similar conclusion was drawn by the British and French majority socialists, on receipt of the invitation, and there were lengthy discussions with the Russians in London and Paris on this very contentious issue. The Soviet delegation’s mission was beginning to run into difficulties before Rusanov, Erlich, Smirnov and Gol’denberg set off for London at the end of July. Rozanov complained to the bureau of the Soviet executive committee on 10 July of the inadequacies of Smirnov and Erlich, and the lack of support from the Soviet’s section for international relations. Information should be furnished for publication in the Bulletin, whose editor Yuly Vaynberg was criticised for the execrable translations which were put out. Money and materials were desperately needed.23 Back home, meanwhile, things were going from bad to worse. The Danish minister accurately characterised the massive demonstrations on 1 July as a defeat for the moderate element in the Soviet: In all previous demonstrations, there have always been a prepon¬ derance of banners for the continuation of the war and for the

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177

soldier’s duty to go to the front. This time, on the contrary, all the slogans were against the war and against an offensive to force the government and the allies to begin peace negotations.24 A week later, the minister reported that what was remarkable about the offensive was that it had been launched without any regard for the prevailing political situation. The government remained as impotent as ever in the face of disorder.25 On 15 July the four Kadet ministers resigned from the provisional government rather than sign the agreement with the Ukrainian Rada. The next day, antiwar demonstrations by pro-Bolshevik soldiers broke out in Petrograd. The confused episode of the ‘July Days’ temporarily discredited the Bolsheviks, but it also deepened the government crisis. At the same time, the Germans launched a counter-offensive which drove the Russian forces back in disarray. Lunacharsky, speaking at a meeting of the all-Russian executive committee on 22 July, observed that the counter-offensive gravely endangered the revolution and with it, the hopes of the international proletariat. The Russian proletariat and revolu¬ tionary democracy must appeal to the democracy of the world to rally its forces to bring about an immediate peace. Martov abandoned his earlier hostility to socialist participation in government, and advocated a new revolutionary government, committed to reform, democratisation of the bureaucracy, withdrawal from the war and reinforcement of the army to repel imperialist attacks. But the left’s insistence on a revolutionary Soviet government was not endorsed by the meeting, which preferred to vest the provisional government with unlimited powers to restore discipline in the army and crush counter-revolution. After considerable manoeuvring, a new government under Kerensky’s leadership emerged on 3 August. The absence of Tsereteli, who pleaded overwork and a desire to concentrate his energies on the affairs of the Soviet, symbolised the weakening grip of the soviets on the government of the country. 6 Whether the new government could restore order and discipline to the tattered Russian army, as the Allies were now demanding, was another matter. The Danish minister did not hold out much hope of the situation improving in his despatch of 8 August, a prediction which he confirmed a fortnight later.27 The news of events in Russia had a profoundly depressing impact upon the Soviet delegation, Erlich wrote to Rusanov on 3 August.28 The formation of a new government, and its desperate attempts to maintain credibility in the eyes of the entente, was to weaken still further the Russians’ hopes of rallying the socialists of the west behind an internationalist banner. The Russians came to the west as argonauts of peace to try to recover for mankind the golden fleece of peaceful collaboration between peoples divided by war, wrote

178

War, Peace and Revolution

Clemenceau in August; but, he reminded the delegation, the Greek argonauts had looked for the fleece with weapons in their hands to fight the barbarians who blocked the way.29 The weapon of the offensive had shattered in mid-July; the policy of revolutionary defencism advocated by Tsereteli, Dan and Skobelev in the Soviet was discredited in Russia amongst the war-weary workers and troops, and shown to be pitifully in¬ adequate in the eyes of Russia’s allies. The only hope for Stockholm was that its moral appeal might still carry weight, or that the scattered and divided forces of the International might yet rally behind a socialist programme of peace. In this respect, the Russians travelling westward might more appropriately be compared to the runner from Marathon, bearing a message in the hope that it would be taken up by fresh forces. London - Paris - Rome The arrival of the Soviet delegation in London, as The Times was at pains to point out, coincided with the second stage in the creation of workers’ and soldiers’ councils. It was expected that the Russians would attend the London conference, at which resolutions calling for the adoption of the Soviet peace formula, and the coordination of working-class activity in favour of peace, were to be discussed.30 The Leeds convention had in fact aroused a great deal of attention in the European socialist press. Sergey Tsion, a Russian revolutionary returning home after ten years of exile in England, declared in an interview that even those who had been active for decades in the British labour movement could not remember having attended ‘such a class-conscious, revolutionary and united congress’ before. In no other European country had the Russian revolution made such a deep impact as in Britain.31 Given the undoubted enthusiasm which did exist, and the anxious desire of Ramsay MacDonald and other ILP leaders to confer with the Russians, it is perhaps surprising that the results of the London visit of the Soviet delegation were so meagre. The meeting to establish a regional workers’ and soldiers’ council in London was broken up by a mob, and there appears to have been little contact between the Russians and the antiwar groups in general. The parlia¬ mentary group of the ILP informed the Russians that they would not attend the proposed inter-allied socialist conference if the Russians did not; but, were the Russians to attend in a consultative capacity, the ILP would find itself in a difficult position, since it would be in a minority.32 In the discussions which took place in London and Paris, it was Arthur Henderson, rather than Ramsay MacDonald, who set the tone and pace; and it was Henderson’s firm intention to convene an inter-allied socialist conference, at which the terms for going to Stockholm could be deter¬ mined, before any international socialist conference was held.33 At the meeting on 25 June with the Labour Party executive, the Soviet delegates

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pressed for the conference in Stockholm to be held before 22 August, claiming that there were ‘highly political reasons’ for its speedy con¬ vention. The executive was not to be deflected from its own timetable, however. It was resolved to arrange an inter-allied socialist conference on 8-9 August, to be followed by a special Labour Party conference on 10 August, which would decide if the party should be represented at the Stockholm gathering. Later that afternoon, it was agreed by five votes to two to recommend acceptance of the invitation on condition that the Stockholm conference was of a consultative nature, and that no binding resolutions be adopted. It was also decided that Henderson, MacDonald and Wardle should accompany the Russian delegates to Paris for con¬ sultations with the SFIO.34 Henderson’s decision to go to Paris in the company of Ramsay MacDonald aroused considerable disquiet in the war cabinet. Lord Curzon and Sir Edward Carson felt that the cabinet would be seriously compromised if one of its members publicly accompanied a known pacifist. Henderson justified his voyage as essential ‘to ensure that the conditions governing attendance at the Stockholm conference were satis¬ factory’.35 In the absence of the prime minister - then in Paris - the cabinet was uncertain what to do, but a telegram from Lloyd George, greeting the idea of an inter-allied socialist conference but reserving his position on Stockholm, seems to have persuaded the government to grant passports. This incident was to lead to bitter recriminations in the House of Commons three weeks later. Lloyd George, according to the British ambassador in Paris, was ‘nervous about the military situation and the possibility of the Pacifists, British, French and Russians, forcing on us an unsatisfactory peace, and he wants to juggle with them’.36 He left one of the war cabinet secretaries, George Young, to keep an eye on Henderson in Paris, with instructions for the Labour Party leader to temporise on the date of the Stockholm conference and to make the conditions as harmless as possible. Henderson was not to undertake any action which would commit the British government to the conference.37 The foreign office was already under pressure from the US government, which had decided to refuse passports for Stockholm in May, and a decision had already been taken to refuse passports for William O’Brien and David Campbell of the Irish TUC and Labour Party. The suggestion by Huysmans that experts on Indian, Persian and Irish affairs be sent to Stockholm to rebut charges being made by German-financed representatives of these nations provoked lively comment in the foreign office, ending with Lord Robert Cecil’s remark: ‘It is exceedingly desirable that this conference should be burked’.38 At a session of the war cabinet on 30 July, with Lloyd George in the chair:

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War, Peace and Revolution

It was generally agreed that, so far as at present could be judged, it was not desirable for the British nation to be represented at the Stockholm conference. The situation had altered materially since the time when the conference had first been proposed . . . In these circumstances, it was felt that the situation would require very careful handling. It was pointed out that the influence of the Independent Labour Party and the Pacifist organisations would probably be exerted to manoeuvre the Labour Party and the British government into a difficult position. The series of conferences now planned would give an opportunity for this. One step would lead to another ...39 Furthermore, Henderson’s seeming commitment to Labour Party repre¬ sentation at Stockholm had placed the cabinet in a dilemma, in view of his position as minister. Whilst Henderson could hardly reconcile his attitude to continuance in office, it was felt, his resignation would amount to a repudiation of Stockholm, which could have serious repercussions on the allies’ relations with Russia, and thus on their prospects in the war. Arthur Henderson returned from Paris on 31 July to face a mounting barrage of press and parliamentary criticism, and growing hostility from his cabinet colleagues, which culminated in the famous doormat incident and Henderson’s subsequent resignation on 11 August.40 Why had Henderson changed his mind on Stockholm, and how far was he, in Lloyd George’s rather smug phrase ‘out of tune with the stern but frigid sense of responsibility and self-control that was dominant here’?41 At the cabinet session on 1 August Henderson claimed that British labour’s policy on Stockholm had been precisely that of the government towards the Russian demands for an inter-allied conference on war aims, i.e. to postpone it as long as possible. He recalled that, before he had travelled to Russia, the war cabinet had agreed upon the advisability of a British delegation attending Stockholm, if the conference were held. In Russia, he had been impressed by the great importance attached to this conference by the Soviet and M. I. Tereshchenko, the foreign minister, as a means of clearing away the suspicions prevalent in Russia of British imperialist designs. Convinced that the conference would take place, and aware of the danger that Russian delegates might be placed in if left alone with enemy and neutral socialists, he believed there was no alternative but to recommend British attendance to his party executive. However, as he declared in the House of Commons that same day, he was only prepared to accept a consultative, and not a binding conference, an ‘exchange of views’ between representatives of labour organisations and socialist parties, at which the British position could clearly be enunciated. In cabinet, he admitted that circumstances had changed considerably since

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his departure to Russia, but until he met his colleagues in government, he had no idea that their attitudes had changed.42 In other words, Henderson clearly felt that the cabinet had shifted its ground without adequately informing him. The whole episode was complicated by the flurry of tele¬ grams between London and Petrograd, which purported to suggest that the provisional government no longer held the Stockholm conference to be of great importance; but the war cabinet had already decided that, with the waning influence of the soviets in Russia (and Russia’s patent inability to sustain a credible war effort), British attendance at Stockholm was no longer necessary or desirable. Aware of the American government’s decision not to grant a passport to Morris Hillquit for Stockholm, and of the French and Italian governments’ denial of passports, the cabinet resolved on 8 August to inform the House of Commons that the attendance of British delegates at the conference would be illegal. In the hope that ‘working men themselves should refuse to attend rather than that the Government should announce their decision and thereby appear to dictate to the Labour Party’, it was agreed that the announcement would be made on 13 August, after the special Labour Party conference.43 In his address to that conference, held in Central Hall, Westminster, Henderson outlined his reasons for supporting British attendance at Stockholm. He had told the Russians that a British delegation would make a full and frank statement as to why they had supported the war, and of the aims and objectives for which they continued to support it. Only govern¬ ments, as representatives of the whole nation, could make peace; all that socialists could hope to do was to take the opportunity for an exchange of views. It was imperative that representatives of all the allied countries, including America, should attend, and the fact that the American Federation of Labor and the Belgian Labour Party had declined the invitation was an important factor that could not be ignored. Furthermore, Henderson continued, the Russians still demanded a binding conference. This the British Labour Party resolutely opposed, and if it failed to persuade the conference organisers to drop this condition, it would put British labour in a dangerous position, which Henderson had sought to avoid all along. If the conference were to be purely consultative, it would afford an opportunity of persuading the German people that ‘it was the crime of their rulers that caused the war, and it is the crime of their rulers that now prevents its just settlement’. The whole speech was couched in terms of an allied victory, whether political or military, and gave no indication of any conversion on the part of the speaker to the necessity of a revision of war aims.44 Endorsement of Stockholm might give poor struggling Russia’ a helping hand; but British participation would have to be on terms very different from those desired by the Soviet. This less than enthusiastic justification for Labour Party attendance was

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followed by W. C. Robinson of the United Textile Factory Workers, moving the resolution for participation in a consultative conference. Robinson declared himself still in favour of continuing the war until Britain had secured the objectives for which it had entered the conflict. Labour should insist on a peace which would give complete independence to the small nations of Europe, and should go to Stockholm to convince the German workers that they were the victims of an autocracy which labour wished to replace by constitutional government. Sexton of the Dockers’ Union moved the opposition amendment against participation, claiming that ‘the opinion of the rank-and-file was not reflected by the resolution’. G. N. Barnes MP, cast doubts on whether the Russian people themselves were now in favour of Stockholm; and ‘he did not believe the boys at the Front wished to parley with the enemy in the gate at the moment’. In the face of this pugnacious patriotism, the resolution for participation was nevertheless carried by 1,846,000 to 550,000 votes. The patriotic right wing was to have its revenge almost immediately, when an amendment proposed by the Miners’ Federation that no further additions from any affiliated or unaffiliated body be made to the delegation of 24 appointed in equal numbers by the Labour Party executive, the parliamentary com¬ mittee, the TUC and the special conference itself, was passed by an equally large majority. This was clearly intended to disbar the ILP and BSP, and provoked Philip Snowden to declare that there was nothing the conference could do to stop the ILP going, since the constitution of the International allotted mandates to all affiliated sections. The ILP ‘would go to Stock¬ holm not tongue-tied ... to say that the slaughter had gone on long enough’, and to plead for a peoples’ peace. Henderson, worried about dis¬ unity, thereupon proposed an adjournment to allow further amendments and discussion of the question of representation.45 When the conference resumed its deliberations on 21 August, the majority in favour of Stock¬ holm shrank to 3000, whilst the Miners’ Federation amendment secured an even more overwhelming majority than before.46 The refusal of passports by the allied governments - a decision which few socialists believed would be reversed - was the final blow to the idea of an international socialist conference.47 There was nevertheless a great deal of truth in the assertion made by Matthias Erzberger’s agent in Scandinavia on 17 September that the refusal of passports was not the main obstacle: On the contrary: the leaders of the socialist majority parties saw in the refusal of passports a welcome opportunity to hold the question of the conference as a whole in suspense until it could be resolved in their favour. Had they achieved this, the question of passports would no longer have presented an obstacle.48

The Soviet delegation to the west (July-August 1917)

183

If the last sentence is debatable, the utterances of the Allied majority socialist leaders, both in public and privately, lend support to the main contention. Speaking in Champigny on 10 August, for example, Albert Thomas declared: We cannot go to Stockholm, I stress, to look for a compromise peace there, to determine some equivocal formula, in the pursuit of which we would place all the forces at our disposal to bring pressure to bear upon our government. Remember the remark so often made, and so justly: were we to act in this manner, the German socialists would be powerless to exercise pressure on their government, and we would be playing a mug’s game [un jeu de dupes].49 Renaudel blamed the Soviet delegation and ‘several friends’ (presumably those with whom he disagreed) for not presenting the idea of the conference in its true light, and for composing the invitation in such a manner as to lead to misunderstandings which made it impossible for the entente governments to grant passports. He assumed (correctly) that Branting agreed with him that the examination of responsibility for the war was a prerequisite for the establishment of the conditions for a durable peace.50 Far from wishing to offer the hand of reconciliation to their German colleagues, the British and French majority socialists hoped to put them in the dock, as did the Belgians and the prowar Italian socialists.51 The majority socialists insisted during the talks in Paris on 29 July that the question of responsibility be placed on the agenda of the conference; otherwise, the general feeling in their parties was such that they would not be allowed to participate. The Russians agreed to subsume this under the general heading of the ‘War and the International’, but declared that the Soviet representatives at the conference would do all they could to ensure that this contentious issue would not overshadow the main business, the organisation of the struggle for peace. The Russians also failed to carry their proposal that resolutions be binding upon all partici¬ pants. The national sections taking part were merely to declare definitely what effect they intended to give to the decisions arrived at by the conference, after the decisions had been taken. The conference date was further postponed to 9-16 September, with Christiania as an alternative location should practical difficulties prevent the holding of the meeting in the Swedish capital.-2 After the discussions in Paris, the Soviet delegation proceeded to Rome. On 16 May Avanti! had published a statement from the Direzione of the PSI, the parliamentary group and the CGL, affirming the principles of Zimmerwald and endorsing the Soviet peace formula. Avanti! had declared a fortnight earlier that the PSI would go to Stockholm, not to

184

,

War Peace and Revolution

mediate between brothers, but ‘to pronounce a sentence of divorce’. The delegation chosen to go to Sweden, carefully balanced between centrists and reformists, would speak in the spirit of Zimmerwald in close association with the Russians.53 At the meeting in Rome with the Soviet delegation, the Italians declared that they would go to Stockholm, but would abide by the final verdict on participation, to be pronounced at the Zimmerwald conference, which was scheduled to meet five days before the international socialist gathering was to take place. The reformists, however, preferred to go to Stockholm with or without the sancion of the Zimmerwald movement, and they were alarmed at the manifestations of pro-Bolshevik sentiment which attended the meetings addressed by Smirnov and Gol’denberg (Rusanov and Erlich returned to London at the urgent request of Henderson to counter the rumours of Kerensky’s indifference to Stockholm). It was Kerensky, not Lenin, who wanted an immediate peace, argued Treves. Turati made a clear distinction between Russia and Italy, and stressed that the Russian example was not suitable for the Italian labour movement, whose mission was to exercise ‘modest influence’ upon the bourgeois state to conclude a peace which would be ‘as little bourgeois as possible’ (che sia meno borghese che sia possibile). On 30 June Turati had promised support for the government if it endorsed a ‘dignified’ peace based on the Russian proposals, and he was to remain faithful to the principles enunciated by Wilson, even though the American president had turned against Stockholm.54 The collapse of the Italian army at Caporetto, on the eve of the October revolution, prompted the reformists to urge national resistance against the enemy. The left continued to adhere to Zimmerwaldist principles, but did little to put these into effect. 55

Conclusion By the end of August, the possibility of a socialist conference had passed from the agenda, though the refusal of passports served as a means of keeping the idea alive. The inter-allied socialist conference in London on 28 August voted unanimously to protest against the refusal of passports, and demanded that they be granted to majority and minority delegates alike; but thereafter the conference collapsed in chaos, ‘a disaster for Stockholm’, in Troelstra’s judgement.56 Gustav Mayer was the likely author of a report from Stockholm on 31 August which maintained that the weakened and divided labour movement of the Entente countries was unlikely to compel the governments to give way on the question of passports. The report continued: At the present moment, it is doubtful whether stronger pressure from Russia is to be anticipated, at least as long as the Coalition

The Soviet delegation to the west (July-August 1917)

185

Government remains in office. The revolutionary parties have missed the psychological moment, the Soviet at the height of its powers and overwhelming influence has lost the unique oppor¬ tunity to take up the powers of government to complete the revo¬ lution and give peace to mankind. As a result of its timid attitude, its capitulation to the elements on the right, and its coalition with these forces, the Soviet has turned itself into a capitis diminutio. The bourgeois parties have cut off its revolutionary locks, in which its power and strengths lay, and the proletarian giant Samson lay there, powerless. Qui mange du pape en meurt. A revolutionary force at the head of a revolutionary movement which binds itself to opposing forces loses its strength and is sapped by this union.57 The mood of the members of the Dutch-Scandinavian committee echoed Mayer’s assertion that the prospects for Stockholm were not good. ‘Our cause has never floundered so badly as now’, confessed Troelstra to his party comrades on 5 September, though he hoped the returning Soviet delegation might present a different picture.58 The Soviet delegation conferred with the Dutch-Scandinavian committee in Stockholm on 10-12 September. In spite of setbacks, the Russians claimed their mission had been a success. They had detected a powerful upsurge of feeling against the war, and although the leaders of the majority socialist parties appeared unwilling to break with their governments and to fight for the right to attend, the idea of Stockholm still survived. The meeting decided to issue a manifesto, in which it declared that preparations for an eventual conference would continue. In the meantime, the committee would draft a peace programme, on the basis of memoranda submitted and discussions held.>g This draft was to be presented to separate conferences of the allied and central power socialists, which it was hoped would meet before 15 October. Represen¬ tatives of the committee would attend as observers.M) The members of the Dutch-Scandinavian committee continued to pin their hopes on a peace of conciliation being accepted by the major socialist and Labour Parties as an acceptable formula for a renewed international initiative; but they differed over the way to achieve this. Branting stressed the need to convince working-class and public opinion in general of the necessity of Stockholm, and felt that a breach with the allied governments over the passports issue was not desirable, since it would weaken the democratic cause.61 Troelstra accused the allied socialists of a lack of confidence in the SPD’s willingness to fight for democracy in Germany, though he also advised the German majority socialists to abandon their exclusively national attitudes and fight for the democratic principle of self-determination.62 In a draft article written probably at the end of the

186

War, Peace and Revolution

year, he came to the conclusion that all the parties were impregnated with the national policies of their governments. Playing with diplomacy and avoiding unpleasant problems would not bring about an international conference; this could only be achieved by popular pressure for peace.63 The possibility of a ‘rump’ conference of Russian and central power socialists was toyed with by the SPD and the German government in the autumn of 1917. Although the idea was rejected by the Soviet delegation and the Soviet itself, the rebuff experienced by the Russians in the west did render the prospect of some sort of Russo-German rapprochement more attractive.64 This was emphasised by Matthias Erzberger’s agent, Hermann Goldberg, in a lengthy report of his discussions with the Russians in Stockholm. Although Goldberg did not deny that the German advance on Petrograd was hardly calculated to quell Russian suspicions, he argued that moves towards democracy in Germany could open the door to negotiations between the two countries. He was also quick to note the growing influence of the Bolsheviks in Russia, and drew attention to the fact that the Soviet delegation had conferred both with the Menshevik internationalists and Bolshevik representatives in Stockholm. Encouraged by the evidence of growing war-weariness and discontent in the west, still hopeful that the antiwar minorities could capture the leadership of their parties, the Soviet delegation - in Goldberg’s opinion - believed the idea of Stockholm was not dead, but could be resuscitated in a different form, which would allow the Zimmerwald socialists to participate.65 In this last respect, Goldberg may have read too much into the situation. The Soviet delegation refused to give assurances that the breach of the civil truce and opposition to the war through international class struggle would be made conditions for attending Stockholm, when pressed to do so by Radek and the Menshevik internationalist O. Yermansky. Although Erlich presented a report of their trip to the west to the third Zimmerwald conference on 10 September, the delegation took no part in the deliberations of that gathering.66 In the end, the delegation, like the Dutch-Scandinavian committee, could do little more than claim a victory for the idea of Stockholm and urge socialists in Europe to renew their efforts to secure a lasting peace through negotations.67 Depressed by their failure to impose the authority of the Soviet upon the allied socialists and by the news from Petrograd, isolated and illinformed by their colleagues in the revolutionary capital, the five delegates returned to a Russia which had changed considerably since their departure. The axiom, that the revolution would either end the war, or the war would kill the revolution, had acquired even greater significance. Revolutionary defencism had been discredited. The socialists of Europe

The Soviet delegation to the west (July-August 1917)

187

had failed to rally in support of beleaguered Russia. The capitalist governments of the Entente seemed determined to impose shackles on Russia. The message proclaimed by Lev Kamenev in mid-September and endorsed by 279 votes to 115 by the Petrograd Soviet on 14 September - was for Russia to rely on her own strength. The policy of compromise should be abandoned: a national government of represen¬ tatives of the revolutionary workers and peasantry should proclaim a democratic republic, transfer manorial lands to peasant committees in advance of the constituent assembly, institute workers’ control and nationalisation, and declare for a universal peace.68 In his Finnish exile, Lenin was working on a similar theme: the revolution could only save itself by breaking completely with imperialism, both external and internal. An immediate and unconditional peace should be offered; if rejected, Russia would defend her ‘true’ revolution. Unlike Kamenev, Lenin had no time for Stockholm. Revolutionary socialism should break completely with the social patriots and social pacifists, and work for a mass proletarian revolt against the war and for the social revolution. Lenin’s advocacy of a revolutionary strategy as the only way of breaking through the impasse in which Russia found herself was to be put to the test in the winter of 1917-1918. President Wilson, who had pleaded for a war without victors or vanquished in the winter of 1916-1917, was now as committed as the other allied leaders to a war which would impose peace through victory. In an interview on the eve of the SFIO Bordeaux congress in October, Albert Thomas bluntly declared that it was time to end the ambiguity within his party. The SFIO must decide whether it was for a war for victory or not; it could not flounder in the marsh of uncertainty any longer. This interview bore the caption ‘Socialists at the crossroads’, an accurate epithet with which to describe the position of all strains of social democracy as the war entered its fourth winter.bq The Stockholm conference had prompted socialist parties to consider seriously their positions on the war and to define their attitudes towards the peace; but it had also revealed the deep animosities and divisions that existed. In a way, it marked the first round in the struggle which was to lead to the final split in the International, rather than ‘the last attempt of International Socialism to draw up socialist peace terms’.70 The Stock¬ holm peace programme was to serve as a summation of moderate socialist thinking in the attempts made in 1918 to forge durable terms for a peace of conciliation. But as long as the belligerent powers thought primarily in terms of imposing a military solution, the realisation of such a peace was unlikely, unless a new upsurge of revolutionary discontent in all countries could compel the governments to give way.

9

The Zimmerwald alternative

The International Socialist Commission in Stockholm The International Socialist Commission (ISC) had been established to co¬ ordinate the activities of antiwar international socialism by the Zimmer¬ wald conference, in September 1915. It was located in Bern, with Robert Grimm as its secretary. The Kiental conference in April 1916 had authorised the convention of the expanded ISC to discuss the attitude of the movement to any decision of the executive committee of the ISB regarding the summoning of a meeting of the full Bureau of the Second International; but it had also defined the position of the Zimmerwald movement on the role of the international proletariat. In the event of a plenary session of the Bureau taking place, the delegates of the parties and organisations which have adopted the position enunciated by the Zimmerwald conference shall in their participation pursue the particular aim of exposing the true intentions of nationalist socialism, which wishes to deflect the working class from its goals, and shall unreservedly and without qualification oppose this attempted deception with the funda¬ mental principles on which the internationalist opposition in every country has constituted itself.1 The revival of the ISB, which culminated in the decision of the Dutch members of the executive to summon an international conference for Stockholm in mid-April 1917, brought to the surface the divisions in the Zimmerwald movement on the viability and possible role of the Second International. Lenin had entertained few hopes of the Zimmerwald move¬ ment acting in a truly ‘international’ role from the outset, and by the time of his return to Russia, he had virtually written it off as a vacillating body dominated by social pacifists.2 On the other hand, the Soviet initiative was hailed by centre and left alike as truly Zimmerwaldian in spirit. By the time that the Soviet delegation arrived in Stockholm, however, the situation had changed. The Soviet had given way to the pressure of the allied socialist ministers, the ISC argued. Fearing that the proposed Stockholm conference would be swamped by social patriots, and would be more likely to endorse minister socialism than to urge the adoption of a revolutionary struggle against the war, the ISC refused to take part in preparations for such a gathering.3

The Zimmerwald alternative

189

The composition of the ISC had also changed with the resignation of Robert Grimm, following the disclosures of his involvement with the Swiss foreign minister. The three Swedes - Zeth Hoglund, Ture Nerman and Carl Carleson - who formed the provisional ISC in Stockholm, and Angelica Balabanova, the new secretary, were closely associated with the Zimmerwald left and were openly sympathetic to the Bolsheviks. On the question of the International, however, they were more inclined towards the position adopted by Zinov’yev, i.e. for a left-wing takeover of the movement, than that of Lenin, who wished to break with Zimmerwald. Zinov’yev had proposed a new effort to capture the Zimmerwald move¬ ment at a meeting of the Bolshevik central committee on 29 June. In Lenin’s opinion, this was ‘arch-opportunism’: either the ISC declared the Zimmerwald movement finished and proceeded straightway to create a Third International of revolutionary groups, or the Bolsheviks would quit the movement.4 The three-man delegation of the Bolshevik central committee in Stockholm was periodically subjected to letters and tele¬ grams from Lenin, urging the same point. The Soviet historian Ya. Temkin maintains that this delegation, composed of Karl Radek, Jakob Ganetsky (Hanecki) and Vatslav Vorovsky, was uncertain what line to adopt: they tended to veer between the idea of a meeting of revolutionary groups alone and working to preserve the left-wing bloc within Zimmer¬ wald. In a fragment of autobiography, Radek claimed that he had joined forces with Zinov’yev in Switzerland, shortly after hearing news of the revolution in Russia, to persuade Lenin not to break with Zimmerwald.5 Radek appears to have written to Lenin on 1 June, urging a decisive break with Zimmerwald, although he was later to counsel the Bolshevik leader to avoid taking any premature decision. With the takeover of the ISC by the Swedish left socialists, it may have seemed that the prospects of the left within the Zimmerwald movement had improved. Nevertheless, the ISC objected to attempts by Aleksandra Kollontay and Karl Radek to proclaim a boycott of the Soviet conference, on the grounds that this could only be determined by the third Zimmerwald conference itself. On the following day, 14 July, the Russische Korrespondenz Prawda issued by the Bolshevik Stockholm delegation declared that Zimmerwald was ‘on the verge of schism’ over the question of participation in the Soviet’s Stockholm conference. On 18 July the ISC drafted a circular to its affiliated parties and groups, inviting them to the third Zimmerwald con¬ ference, to be held in Stockholm on 10 August. The provisional agenda included the question of Zimmerwald’s attitude towards the Soviet con¬ ference. The date was altered to 3 September at a further meeting of the ISC at the beginning of August.6 The Bolshevik delegation had already invited all groups and parties unwilling to participate in the socialpatriotic Stockholm conference to send delegates, no later than 5 August,

190

War, Peace and Revolution

to confer. On 20 July they joined the Bulgarian ‘narrow’ socialists and the Swedish left socialists in drafting a statement, denouncing the efforts of the moderates to secure peace as futile, and attacking those of the Zimmerwald movement prepared to go to the Stockholm conference. All revolutionary socialist organisations and workers were invited to send delegates to Stockholm ‘to confer with representatives of the committed internationalist organisations on the furtherance of the struggle for peace, and in view of the split in the Zimmerwald union brought about by the vacillating and hesitant elements, to confer on the coming together [Zusammenschluss] of the revolutionary social democratic elements’.7 This attempt to create a new revolutionary grouping failed to get off the ground. Writing to a Finnish colleague on 2 August, the Swedish left socialist Karl Kilbom surmised that the threat to break with Zimmerwald was a tactical ploy on the part of the Bolsheviks to keep the movement in line. Kilbom’s own position was similar to that of Aksel’rod; the left should attend the Stockholm conference in order to expose the social patriots before the eyes of the working class.8 In August Kamenev sought, without success, to persuade the Bolshevik central committee that the left should attend Stockholm to prevent it becoming a blind instrument of the imperialists. His speech at the central executive com¬ mittee of the Soviet on 19 August was disowned by the majority of the central committee, and drew a fierce rebuke from Lenin, then in hiding in Finland. At the end of the month, the central committee issued imperative mandates to Radek and Vorovsky to quit the Zimmerwald con¬ ference should the majority vote in favour of attending the Stockholm gathering.9 Lenin had pressed Radek and his colleagues to speed up a meeting of internationalists of the left on 11 June. The failure of the Zimmerwald left to convene such a meeting was a grave error, he contended at the end of August. But when it came to naming the groups suitable for such a convention, Lenin clearly had to sift fairly carefully through existing leftist groups. He ignored the Spartacists, and only certain elements of the Swedish left, the Bulgarian ‘narrows’, the Swiss youth movement and of the BSP, passed muster. Furthermore, Lenin clearly saw the initiative resting with the Bolsheviks, a party of more than 200,000 members.10 Radek preferred to follow the tactic of forcing the Zimmerwald move¬ ment as a whole to choose. It would be for the forthcoming Zimmerwald conference to decide whether it wished to remain a temporary shelter for revolutionary socialists and war-weary opportunists, or become the basis of a Third International. For the Bolsheviks, Radek continued, the decision was not all that important, since the ‘Internationale der Tat’ would only be forged in the process of revolutionary struggle.11 This last point underlines a crucial difference between those who

The Zimmerwald alternative

191

pinned their hopes on a resurgence of revolutionary proletarian inter¬ nationalism from below, and Lenin, who had always stressed the import¬ ance of organisation, without which spontaneous mass action would dribble away. Commenting on the Zimmerwald conference, Lenin re¬ iterated his view that it was a mistake not to leave the ‘rotten’ movement, which continued to play the game of conciliation with the social pacifists; and he emphasised the necessity of an initiative by the Bolshevik party ‘the only party of internationalists in the world having as many as seventeen papers, etc.’. The party’s Stockholm representatives were to be entrusted with the task of calling a conference of the left.12 Returning to the same theme a month later, he repeated his contention that only in Russia was there comparative freedom for internationalists to meet, and added: The establishment of the Third International ought not of course to be understood formally. Not until the proletarian revolution has triumphed in at least one country, or until the war has come to an end, may we hope for a speedy and successful movement towards the convoking of a great conference of revolutionary internationalist parties of various countries; nor for their consent to a formal adoption of a new programme.13 The experiences of the first half-year of the revolution caused Lenin to draw the following conclusions: the Bolsheviks had erred in underestimating the true nature of the revolutionary situation in Russia during the July Days. A just peace could only be brought about by a revolutionary seizure of power in Russia. If the ‘least probable case’ should happen, and the capitalist governments rejected the peace terms offered by the Russian workers’ government, in spite of popular pressure, ‘then a revolution in Europe would come a hundred times nearer, and the army of our workers and peasants would select for itself not hated but respected commanders and leaders’. Convinced of the justice of the war once peace had been offered, the secret treaties scrapped, and the alliance with the bourgeoisie and landowners severed, the Russian workers and peasants would wage war voluntarily ‘and such a war would bring still nearer the inevitable workers’ revolution in the advanced countries’.14 In other words, the only way to break the deadlock and unleash revolution lay in a seizure of power by the Bolsheviks, and not in hoping for a resurgent ‘International of action’. True, Lenin by no means discounted the potential capacity of the war-weary masses of Europe for making revolution; but he did not discern any organised party comparable to the Bolsheviks with the will, energy and leadership to provide the inspiration and guidance for such a revolution. Lenin’s ‘International of action’ in the autumn of 1917 was located primarily in Russia itself, where the crisis was rapidly approaching a head.

192

War, Peace and Revolution

Before 1914 Lenin had been preoccupied with Russian, rather than international socialism, and his many attempts during the years in Switzerland to forge new revolutionary groupings had not led him to any very satisfactory conclusions, as his many impatient outbursts against the timidity and lack of revolutionary zeal of the left testify. Back on Russian soil, he became absorbed in the tactics of revolution in one country, and the shape and form which the triumph of that revolution could bestow upon the international proletarian movement. Unlike the Menshevik internationalists, he did not link the fate of the revolution in Russia to the development of that movement; nor did he shrink from the possibility of a bitter civil war ensuing after the seizure of power. Those who were afraid of the wolf should not venture into the woods.15 Lenin also differed from the Zimmerwaldists in his identification of the main enemy of internationalism. Though Radek and others were sharply critical of the ‘social pacifists’, they were still inclined to give them the choice of reforming their ways, and had not entirely written them off for the internationalist cause. The social patriotic majority of the Soviet, for example, was seen by the Bolshevik delegation in Stockholm as an obstacle to the reconstruction of the International, luring those parties such as the USPD, ILP and PSI, which were beginning to break with social patriotism, to Stockholm, ‘the road to Canossa’.16 The real enemy for Lenin, however, was not the social patriotic majority, but the social pacifists such as Kautsky. It was specifically to combat such people that a revolutionary Third International had to be created.17 Lenin’s urgent pleadings for a clean break with Zimmerwald and the creation of a Third International attracted little support, however. The Spartacist international group in Germany had approved Luxemburg’s draft for a new International at its conference in January 1916, but it did not prescribe the membership of this proposed body. The representatives of this group at the Kiental conference were unwilling to press for the artificial or premature creation of a Third International, which they believed would only emerge through the revolutionary struggle of the proletariat.18 Although highly critical of the Soviet peace formula and the Stockholm initiative, the Spartacists did not take up the call for a complete break with the moderate antiwar opposition, as did the Arbeiterpolitik group; and no group in Germany echoed Lenin’s call for an International of the left alone. The principal issue at stake for the Zimmerwald groups and parties in the summer of 1917 was whether or not to support the Soviet initiative and go to Stockholm. The international socialist youth bureau, meeting in Stockholm on 19-20 May, rejected the planned Stockholm conference of social patriots, but pledged its support for the Zimmerwald con¬ ference.19 The Italian socialists and the USPD pledged their solidarity

The Zimmerwald alternative

193

with the Russian position. The USPD voting to participate in the Stock¬ holm conference on 3 May, instructed their delegates not to take part if the Russians did not, nor to approve of ‘spongy, worn-out resolutions’, and to seek to bring about a conference of the antiwar minorities. Above all, they were to propagate the class struggle against the war policies of the belligerents.20 The Soviet initiative for a conference offered new hopes for the moderates of the USPD, who found themselves in agreement on many issues with the Russian delegation in Stockholm, during dis¬ cussions at the beginning of July. Ledebour and Dittmann, sent by the USPD to Stockholm at the end of July, were somewhat more outspoken in their views. Yermansky later recalled that they showed no trace of the ‘particularly German defeatism’ and passivity which he had noticed in Haase and Kautsky, neither of whom was willing to carry on a vigorous class struggle against the war or to seek the overthrow of the German monarchy. Dittmann recorded that Zeth Hoglund for the Swedish left was opposed to participation in the general Stockholm conference, but would be ready to reconsider the situation should the Zimmerwald conference decide on participation.21 When that conference finally met on 5 September, the bloom of enthusiasm for the Soviet initiative had faded badly. In spite of the noble efforts of the pacifist chairman Carl Lindhagen - the socialist mayor of Stockholm - the discussions soon turned into a bear garden, in which Aksel’rod, Yermansky and Panin did battle with the Bolshevik delegation of Vorovsky, Ganetsky and Radek, plus Semashko, sent by the central committee to keep an eye on proceedings. The bellicose Georg Ledebour also weighed in from the start, brushing aside Haase’s querulous reservations about the non-representative composition of the meeting and insisting on working to find a way to achieve common action. His proposal for a general international strike to end the war was not initially supported by his colleagues, nor by the Russians, however. The two major points of discussion at the conference were how to conduct the struggle against the war, and the tasks of the international proletariat in the Russian revolution. Thursday, 6 September was taken up in endless debate on whether or not to participate in the ‘Huysmans conference’, with no firm decision being taken. Ledebour and Haase sought to avoid making a decision on the grounds that the future of the conference was so uncertain, but Radek was not disposed to let the matter rest. The workers had to be told the truth about the reasons for the failure of Stockholm. Kathe Duncker for the Spartacists backed Radek; Aksel’rod proclaimed that he and Panin could not take part in the discussions if the meeting decided to boycott the Soviet conference. Radek declared that the conference in Stockholm had been born in Petrograd and had died there, and insisted that the USPD made its mind

194

War, Peace and Revolution

up about denouncing the social patriots’ schemes. The German indepen¬ dents continued to haver; Haase wished to go to the conference to expose the social patriots before the masses, whilst Ledebour still preferred to play down the issue. Duncker, in the name of the Spartacists, submitted two statements. The second denounced the idea of attending any con¬ ference with government socialists, and defined the nature of revo¬ lutionary action for peace: From the point of view of the vital interests of socialism, however, the peace action of socialists cannot consist of inducing the individual governments to reveal their war aims, paving the way for conciliation between them, teasing out an acceptable peace formula for all the belligerent countries, working out plans for the future political map [Staatenkarte], or voicing pious wishes for so-called guarantees for a durable peace in the shape of utopian bourgeoispacifist proposals such as disarmament treaties, international courts of arbitration and so forth. The only real peace action for socialists must be to encourage clearly and distinctly, the proletarian masses of all belligerent states to take up the revolutionary class struggle for peace, a struggle for political power after the example of the Russian proletariat, to bring to their attention the tremendous political tasks of the present historical moment, the lessons of the world war and the Russian revolution ...23 The first statement outlined a peace programme, which was essentially democratic in its demands. There was no call for a breach with the social pacifists, nor for a new International. In essence, the programme echoed the curative strategy of the Kiental conference, calling for a political revolution rather than the social revolution to which Lenin was now devoting his thoughts. In his memoirs of the conference, Yermansky made the point that all were agreed on the necessity of the class struggle to win a democratic peace; disagreement arose over the form of this struggle. He also accused Radek of placing the struggle for socialism higher than that for peace. In discussions with Dittmann a month earlier, he had argued that backward Russia was not ripe for socialism, and felt that the Bolsheviks were mistaken in their belief that they could seize political power and try to force Russia into the modern world.24 According to Semashko, he weighed in at the conference against the Bolsheviks, accusing them of anarchism ‘grounded on the dark masses of the proletariat’.25 Aksel’rod also inveighed for four hours against the Bolsheviks, attacking their activities in July and defending the Soviet participation in government, which the Bolsheviks wished the conference to denounce. On this note of

The Zimmerwald alternative

195

mutual recrimination, the last occasion before the Bolshevik seizure of power on which the two wings of the RSDLP clashed abroad, the con¬ ference drifted to a conclusion.26 The official account of the conference concluded by saying that the participants went their ways in the knowledge that a significant step forward had been taken, which justified the hope that the meeting had been one of action. Yermansky felt that, although it failed to decide upon general coordination of the masses against the war, there was a ‘moralpolitical consciousness’ of a growing sense of class internationalism. Interestingly, this sentiment was echoed in the news-sheet put out by the Bolshevik delegation in Stockholm, which also committed the organis¬ ations which were ready to leave Zimmerwald in the event of compromise with the social patriots to support and remain within the movement.27 The Bolshevik newspaper in Helsinki, Priboy, declared that the conference had embarked on the path of genuine resurrection for the International.28 The only sour note seems to have been struck by Lenin, who condemned the meeting as a useless ‘motley gathering’.29 The step forward which was to transform Zimmerwald into an active movement was the call for a simultaneous international mass strike, Ledebour’s original proposal. In spite of attempts to keep the manifesto containing this appeal secret - Luise Zietz was sent by the USPD to Stockholm at the end of September to urge the ISC not to publish it for fear of repressions in Germany in the aftermath of the abortive Kiel mutiny - its contents were soon leaked. Writing to Ramsay MacDonald on board the train to Copenhagen on 30 September, for example, Eduard Bernstein admitted to sympathising with the idea of an international strike, though he doubted its feasibility in Germany.30 The manifesto was also published in October in certain Russian and Finnish newspapers, and was finally released officially on 11 November, with the outbreak of revolution in Russia. Three day earlier, the ISC and the Bolshevik delegation issued a joint appeal, calling on workers to support the revolution, not by words but deeds. Strikes, mass demonstrations and the building of workers’ and soldiers’ councils were urged, and an invitation issued to representatives of all parties wishing to carry out this struggle to go to Stockholm.31 The manifesto and appeal were, ironically, a direct echo of the left’s amendment to the Stuttgart resolution of 1907, urging workers’ organisations to take advantage of the chaos created by war to hasten the overthrow of capitalism and to end the conflict. The prophylactic accretions - disarmament, replacement of standing armies by people’s militias, international arbitration of disputes, and so forth - which had been added to the original statement of principle of the first gathering of the Second International in 1889 — were stripped away. War was an

196

War, Peace and Revolution

inevitable consequence of capitalism, and would only disappear with the emancipation of labour and triumph of socialism. The Zimmerwald left, however, still thought in terms of prewar years. Its adherents virtually ignored the existence of millions of armed men and the extensive coercive powers of the state. There appears to have been little or no attempt to organise revolutionary cells in armed units, as the Bolsheviks had done after 1905 and again in 1917. The left continued to believe in the elemental force of spontaneous mass action, without much concern for the rocks on which such a force would expend itself. In other respects, the revolutionary socialists of the European countries had more in common with the centrists than with Lenin, particularly on the questions of the class struggle, the state and democracy, and the role of the party. Friedhelm Boll, drawing on Korsch’s analysis of Marx’s theory of revolution, sees the political-historical interpretation giving way to the structural-analytical after 1848. Thus, whereas the Communist Manifesto sees history essentially in terms of the class struggle, the Critique of Political Economy (1859) argues that a social formation will never collapse before all the forces of production have developed to the point where they can be replaced by new and more advanced relations of production which have matured within the frame¬ work of existing society. This, in Korsch’s view, was a distinct rejection of the voluntarist ‘party of action’, the communist league, in an objectively non-revolutionary phase. 32 Much of subsequent European Marxist theory was couched in terms of structural analysis of the forces of production within society, and the historical dimension acquired a more purely national dimension. Thus, Bernstein’s critics attacked him less on Marxist grounds and more in terms of German history, and the SPD developed its own concept of a Volksstaat as the alternative to the Reich. 33 The class struggle was also seen in terms of consolidating the working class as the historical process of capitalist maturation unwound itself, rather than as an historical process in itself. This was the issue on which Kautsky and the left crossed swords in 1912, and it lay at the heart of Lenin’s State and Revolution. Recognition of the class struggle, Lenin argued, was insufficient, since the theory of class struggle was created by, and was acceptable to, the bourgeoisie. A Marxist was one who extended this recognition further, to its logical outcome - the dictatorship of the proletariat. Lenin was not interested in an exhaustive analysis of the existing order, and the gradual capture of the state by the inexorable advance of socialism. A democratic republic was the best form of state for the proletariat under capitalism; but Lenin now substituted a new form of democracy, soviet power, and argued that the state should be smashed and replaced by new instruments of proletarian rule. In The Tasks of the Revolution, published on 9-10

The Zimmerwald alternative

197

October, he outlined a programme for Soviet power, and conceded that, having seized power, the soviets could still secure a peaceful development of the revolution - though it was probably their last chance. This would involve ‘a testing of the programmes of various parties in practice, a peaceful passing of power from one party to another’.34 In his private correspondence, however, Lenin was urging the Bolsheviks to seize power as the only party capable of satisfying the aspirations of the masses. The role of the party featured far less in his published writings, especially State and Revolution, which became the best known of his 1917 writings abroad by virtue of Lenin’s efforts to have it translated after the October revolution. Herein lay much of the subsequent misunderstanding of the nature of soviet power amongst western socialists and anarchosyndicalists. 35 On the eve of the October revolution, then, Lenin was pressing for a thorough social revolution and the establishment of a higher form of democracy, soviet power, to work towards the new socialist state and offer a genuine prospect of a just peace, which would stimulate the revolution in Europe. The instrument with which to achieve these ends was the Bolshevik party, as the true spokesman of the proletarian masses in Russia. Where Lenin differed from many of his colleagues in the party was in his awareness of how weak state power had become in Russia, and his belief that the tide of revolutionary sentiment was still rising. True, many other socialists proclaimed the same belief; but they lacked Lenin’s resolute conviction that power could be seized and a social revolution carried out. This was the substance of Lenin’s reply to Novaya Zhizn’s arguments against a Bolshevik retention of power. The position elaborated by the moderate Bolsheviks and Menshevik internationalists in early September - a revolutionary democratic government, rather than the dictatorship of the proletariat - was hailed in Stockholm as a triumph for Zimmerwald and Lenin, and left an erroneous impression of a united internationalist majority in the Russian capital. Lenin’s On Compromises was seen as laying the foundation for this unit whereas in reality, it was advanced with some reservations, and soon aborted by the Bolshevik leader.36 Lenin was dismissive of‘revolutionary democracy’: the Men¬ shevik internationalists had warned against the danger of‘utopian ideas’ such as the immediate transformation of the bourgeois-democratic revolution into a socialist one in their summer programme, and were to condemn Bolshevik attempts to impose socialism on a backward country after the October revolution.37 For Lenin, the crisis had matured, and the future of the Russian revolution and the honour of the Bolshevik party were at stake. The Menshevik internationalists did not deny the crisis, but their preferred remedy was for political hegemony of the soviets, which might lay the foundation for the structure to mature.

198

War, Peace and Revolution

On the eve ‘There is no room for doubts. We are on the threshold of a world proletarian revolution.’38 Such was Lenin’s confident prediction in midOctober 1917. On 28 October O. W. Kuusinen spoke of discernible revo¬ lutionary developments in France and Germany, and predicted that it would only be a matter of weeks, or even days, before revolution flared up again in Russia. As for Finland, a mass uprising was likely even if there were no revolution in Russia.39 Were the socialists in revolutionary Russia and its component parts correct in their assumption, however? And what part did this belief in a rising tide of international proletarian discontent play in deciding the outcome of the crisis in Russia? There is no doubt that the tide in Russia, and especially in the big cities, was flowing strongly in favour of the Bolsheviks at the beginning of September. The soviets in Moscow, Petrograd and in Finland and Estonia passed under Bolshevik control, as did Tsentrobalt and the army committee of the fifth army, on the crucial northern front. Aware of this, Lenin issued instructions for a seizure of power in his letter to the central committee and the Petrograd and Moscow committees at the end of September.40 His insistence that the Bolsheviks ought to take the initiative in convening an international conference of the left was doubt¬ less reinforced by this awareness; Lenin may even have felt some satis¬ faction at finding himself at the head of a growing mass movement after years of grinding frustration in which he had had to endure the ill-con¬ cealed scorn of the leaders of the big battalions of the western European socialist movement. While the masses flocked to the parties of the left in revolutionary Russia, they had left the parties of the western European countries in droves. The majority SPD claimed 243,061 members in March 1917 and 249,411 a year later; the USPD’s claim of 120,000 members in September 1917 is certainly an exaggeration. In 1914, SPD membership had touched the million mark. The Austrian Social Democratic Party membership slumped from 119,450 in summer 1914 to 40,567 in summer 1917. The SFIO, which claimed 90,725 members at the outbreak of war, issued cards to 35,793 members in 1918.41 Too much importance should not be attached to these figures, however. Large-scale mobilisation and movement of population, and the general decline of peacetime political and party activities were largely to blame, and membership figures soared once more in 1918-1919. Nevertheless, the attrition of party (and union) membership, the increased coercive powers of the state and the greatly reduced status and effectiveness of parliamentary activity on the one hand, and the enormous structural changes in the economy, with all the effects on living standards and conditions that entailed, on the other, did deliver a powerful blow to many of the comfortable assumptions of mainstream peacetime social

The Zimmerwald alternative

199

democracy. That the authority of Parliament had seriously declined was the starting point for Ramsay MacDonald’s draft memorandum on socialism and government in 1919 (though he blamed Tory reactionaries and the machinations of Lloyd George for this sad state of affairs). A similar conclusion had been reached two years earlier by the commission of enquiry into industrial unrest in Britain.42 There is also ample evidence to suggest that the working classes were beginning to lose faith in their leaders in parliament and in the unions, and that new forms of organisation at the grass roots were taking shape. The wartime situation also cast a different light on working-class protest: as Robert Grimm remarked, resistance to the effects of war would by the nature of things assume a ‘revolutionary’ character, though such actions might be perfectly acceptable to normal times; in war, it was ‘revolutionary’ for a couple of women to demonstrate against high prices.43 That the war experience had generated a desire for radical change was a belief shared by socialists of the right and left. Where they differed was over the means by which such change could be effected, and in their emphasis upon the meaning of democracy. Moderate socialists were not averse to using the threat of uncontrollable mass discontent breaking out if reforms were not conceded. Hjalmar Branting, speaking in the Swedish Second Chamber on 27 April, warned that the demonstrations taking place throughout the country as a result of the right’s failure to make adequate provision for food supplies were a powerful expression of the deep-rooted desire amongst the Swedish people to safeguard their rights to determine their own fate, and could not be ignored. A democratic wave was sweeping Europe from the east, and Sweden could not remain unaffected. In private conversation, however, he let it be known that there would be no revolution in Sweden unless he gave the sign, and he had no intention of doing so.44 In the elections to the Second Chamber in the autumn of 1917, the Social Democratic Party scored a significant success, and after tortuous negotiations, entered government under the liberal Nils Eden. Constitutional reform followed in 1918, though not without difficulty. Nevertheless, the Swedish left socialists were unable to emulate the left in Germany, and posed no serious threat to Branting’s dominance over the Swedish labour move¬ ment. A reluctance to exploit the potential threat of mass disturbances was evident in Italy and Austria, where the revolutionaries began to chafe at the cautiousness of the party leadership. An intransigent revolutionary fraction was formed in Florence, and issued a circular on 23 August which was sharply critical of the Direzione. Similar criticisms were also voiced by the Neapolitan socialists.4" In the aftermath of the collapse at Caporetto, the moderates in the PSI and CGL urged workers to rally to

200

War, Peace and Revolution

the war effort. The intransigents called a special conference in Florence on 18 November., which was attended by representatives of a number of provincial federations and Lazzari and Serrati of the PSI’s ‘maximalist’ wing. Though Bordiga called for immediate revolution, the majority disagreed, and the final manifesto merely restated the party’s opposition to the war.46 The left initiated a debate which lasted a day and a half at the Austrian Social Democratic Party conference in October, during which the somnolent party executive was taken to task for its passivity. Although Viktor Adler managed to preserve unanimity with a bland resolution, the party did mount a series of public meetings to demand peace. One such meeting in the Concert Hall in Vienna attracted a crowd of 15,000. The speeches were mostly ‘sober and to the point’, and Seitz ‘energetically opposed’ attempts to cheer for the imprisoned Friedrich Adler and the Bolshevik revolution.47 The chairman of another meeting anxiously obeyed police instructions and reminded the speaker not to talk about general strikes.48 The fears of uncontrollable mass action sweeping the party aside are vividly documented in the case of Finland. At the end of October, the party and union leaders had drafted a programme of economic and political demands to be presented to parliament. It was unlikely that the non-socialist majority - returned in the elections at the beginning of the month - or the rump bourgeois government (the socialists having pulled out in August) would accept these demands; the alternative was therefore to stage some sort of seizure of power. Though the radicals saw some sort of action as inevitable, however, they were unwilling to contemplate a full-blooded revolution. A plan for a partial seizure of power was drafted by Kuusinen, and a central revolutionary council set up on 8 November. Parliament rejected the party’s reform demands the next day, and the planned seizure of power was discussed by the revolutionary council that evening. The workers in Helsinki and other cities were keen on some sort of action, but the leadership was divided and hesitant. On 12 November the trade union congress met. It was immediately apparent that the question of pressing urgency was the critical food situation; political issues were of secondary importance. Eero Haapalainen, a leading radical, demanded a rigid dictatorship of the proletariat in order to prevent mass starvation. Similar sentiments were expressed by other speakers, and the union leadership was criticised for its cautiousness.4g At an evening meeting of the party and union leaders and the revolutionary council, it was decided to proclaim a general strike if the demands were not approved by parliament the following day. The Speaker refused to put the demands before the assembly, and the strike began at midnight on 13 November. The revolutionary council soon found itself under pressure from radical workers in Helsinki to seize power, but although such a decision was

The Zimmerwald alternative

201

taken in the early hours of the morning of 16 November, it was almost immediately rescinded. Parliament had been persuaded to pass the Enabling Act, approved in July during the previous session but not confirmed by the provisional government, which transferred sovereign authority to the legislature. An eight-hour day and local suffrage reform were thereupon passed before the all-night session came to an end in the early hours of the 16th. This was sufficient to persuade the party moderates that the strike should be called off, and the radicals’ plan for a socialist government was finally accepted, after the union leaders thought better of their call for a seizure of power. There was pessimism about the chances of the Bolsheviks remaining in power in Russia, and little enthusiasm for a socialist government, which was only likely to come about through revolutionary action, since the party no longer commanded a majority in parliament. The moderates were in fact already looking into the possibility of a coalition with the Agrarian Party. In the end, the strike was called off on 19 November, amidst bitter recrimin¬ ations amongst the radicalised Red Guard and workers. The party failed to secure a socialist government, and a bourgeois coalition committed to the restoration of law and order received its mandate from parliament on 26 November.50 The Finnish Social Democratic Party was to attempt a seizure of power two months later, but its leaders’ lack of enthusiasm for revolution was still patently evident. ‘Instead of attempting a revolution, the party was in fact driven into one’ was the apt verdict of O.W.Kuusinen some thirty years later. In his 1918 post mortem, Kuusinen blamed ‘the mirage of parliamentary democracy’ for the party’s failure to seize power in November; but the illusion was to persist even after the party committed itself to seizure of power at the end of January 1918. Far from seeking to set up a dictatorship of the proletariat, they wished to preserve and strengthen democracy.51 In this regard, they had much in common with their fellow Zimmerwaldians, such as the USPD and PSI, the Swedish left and the Spartacists, all of whom conceived of change primarily in terms of politics. The inauguration of a republic, with sovereignty residing in a unicameral legislature, full democratic and civic rights for all, abolition of militarism, and a few fundamental reforms long sought by socialists - the eight-hour working day, direct and progressive taxation these were central demands, until the experience of the Bolshevik revolution and upheaval in central Europe prompted the parties of the left to contemplate the prospects of soviet, or council democracy.52 Against these demands, the internal complement to the curative strategy of ending the war, must be set the more immediate desires of the working classes, as articulated in strikes and demonstrations. It is true that political demands were made, but the pressing need was for economic

202

War, Peace and Revolution

and social change; and this in turn presented problems of execution and control which few socialists were capable of resolving. The incipient collapse of overstrained economies and the threat of mass uprising by a people desperate for relief from great hardship once more raised the spectre of the ‘false revolution’. Significantly, Lenin entitled one of his lengthier analyses of the situation in 1917 The Threatening Catastrophe and How to Fight It. Famine and chaos could only be prevented by rigid controls and regulations, enforced by soviet power. In his pamphlet, Der Weg zum Sozialismus (1919), Otto Bauer acknowledged that revolutions did occur as the result of ruling class resistance and closure of the peaceful parliamentary route to reform; but he was clearly loath to endorse this course. Socialism should be the fruit of purposeful work, not the result of a devastating catastrophe.53 It should also clearly correspond to the wishes of the majority. Any attempt to impose socialism against the wishes of the majority upon an economically backward country (and it was generally assumed that a majority in favour of socialism would only come about in an industrially advanced country) was doomed to failure. True, there were theorists of the left who looked to the positive and creative achievements of the Russian experience. The Soviet ‘experi¬ ment’ did have the virtue of offering a model or at least a point of debate in the post war years but for leaders of mass parties in 1917, the prospect of a full-blooded revolutionary seizure of power was not on the agenda. Hesitation, fears of reprisals and a singular inability to coordinate action were the hallmarks of the Swedish left in the spring of 1917, the Spanish socialists in the summer, the Italian labour leadership at the time of the Turin uprising, and the Finnish socialists in November. The USPD, reported police headquarters in Berlin on 19 November, aligned themselves with Lenin; their problem was how to express their support. ‘The will to stage mass demonstrations is there; but the courage to proclaim them is lacking. They believe that by calling meetings, something will develop. But there is no-one who is willing to lend his name to this.’ 54 Against this general background of socialist reticence, Lenin’s interjection ‘There is!’ to Tsereteli’s rhetorical assertion that there was no political party in Russia which was prepared to take power, at the all-Russian congress of soviets in June, stands out in stark contrast. Lenin’s will to power cannot be denied; but it should not be forgotten that the question of power in Russia had been thrown open to competition as a result of a revolution. This much was recognised by the other parties as well. At the beginning of November, after considerable internal wrangling, the Bolshevik party took action to break the deadlock of dual power. The problem of the survival of the revolution in the midst of war still remained. Lenin undoubtedly hoped that the proletariat of Europe would rise up in revolt against their rulers and the war, but he was

The Zimmerwald alternative 203 too sanguine to rely upon such an occurrence. In the chaotic months of winter 1917 -1918, his genius as a tactician was to be severely tested, but he had swum against the stream before and was prepared to be a small fish rather than a big beetle.55 At the Zimmerwald conference in 1915, he had dismissed the passive and faint-hearted theoretical revolutionaries of the German centre. The old methods of struggle were no longer valid in an era of revolution: This is how it is: either truly revolutionary struggle or mere idle prattle, which will only help the deserter ... To be for peace is in itself of no significance. Even David writes: we are not for war, only against defeat. Everyone wants peace. We must work out new, original methods of struggle in accordance with the new situation, quite different from the old tactics of the Germans and the Russians.56 After November 1917 he was to find himself in a new situation once more, demanding new tactics. His colleagues at the Zimmerwald con¬ ference were still trying to decide between his two choices.

10

Illusions and realities

The Bolshevik peace initiative On 7 November 1917 the Russian provisional government was over¬ thrown. The all-Russian congress of soviets, meeting that same day, decreed the transfer of power into its own hands. On 8 November it resolved to establish a provisional workers’ and peasants’ government, to be known as the council of peoples’ commissars, to administer Russia until the constituent assembly convened. In the name of the chairman of this government, V. I. Lenin, a decree on peace, addressed to the govern¬ ments and peoples of all belligerent countries, was issued by the congress that same day. The decree called upon all the belligerents, peoples and governments, to start immediate negotiations for a just and democratic peace, and proceeded to define what the new Russian government under¬ stood by such a peace. The Russian government denounced the pro¬ visions of the secret treaties concluded or endorsed by its predecessors, declared its intention of conducting negotiations openly, and proposed an immediate and general armistice on all fronts. It also declared its willing¬ ness to consider all other counter-proposals. The decree ended with a stirring appeal to the class-conscious workers of Great Britain, France and Germany to support the initiative and the Russian revolution by ‘comprehensive, determined and supremely vigorous action’.1 Addressing the Soviet congress, the commissar for foreign affairs, L. D. Trotsky, bluntly asserted that the revolution in Russia would be stifled if the proletariat of the west did not rise up and crush imperialism. The Bolsheviks seemed therefore to have inherited the basic dilemma of the revolution: it would either end the war, or the war would destroy it. The decree on peace was Lenin’s first attempt to break out of this impasse. The decree was deliberately ambiguous, addressing peoples and governments without distinction. Undoubtedly, the Bolsheviks hoped that the proletariat of the war-weary countries would rise up and emulate their example. Many continued to believe that this was the only way out of the situation in which a weakened Russia found herself, pinned down by a remorseless imperialist foe. Lenin, on the other hand, was far more pragmatic. Although professing his conviction that revolution in the west was inevitable, he was careful to add the rider that it was not predictable.2 The differences between Lenin and his colleagues were to grow as events unfolded, though there were indications before the October

Illusions and realities

205

revolution to suggest that he was somewhat less than optimistic about the ability of the revolutionaries of other countries to organise and carry through a full-blooded seizure of power. Lenin’s experiences of the Zimmerwald movement had left him with few illusions about the leaders of the USPD or the opposition in Britain and France. Given his firm belief in the prime importance of tightly-disciplined and determined leadership, and his absolute commitment to the furtherance of revolution in Russia, it is unlikely that he would have seized power in the hope that revolution in Europe would save him and the revolution. Hope was one thing; fulfilment of hopes quite another. The decree on peace served a threefold purpose. In the first instance, it was the necessary statement of the Bolsheviks’ proclaimed intention of ending the war for the Russian people. In a somewhat muted and oblique manner, it appealed to the proletariat of the belligerent countries to act vigorously in order to allow the Bolsheviks to make peace successfully and to emancipate the Russian people from all forms of exploitation. No mention was made of the emancipation of the proletariat in other countries; nor did the decree express the conviction that the only way to a durable peace was through the triumph of socialism. In spite of this appeal, it is clear that the decree was meant as a serious overture to the imperialist governments to begin peace negotations. The revolutionary core of the decree lay not in its rhetoric, but in its emphasis upon the principle of national self-determination. What the Bolsheviks probably did not realise was that they were offering their opponents a time-bomb which could become a weapon in their hands as well. Thus, Count Czernin, writing to the German chancellor on 10 November, was quick to notice that, since the Bolsheviks conceded the right of self-deter¬ mination for non-Russian peoples, ‘it would be our business ... to ensure that the desire for separation from Russia and for political and economic dependence on the Central Powers be voiced from within these nations’. A positive response to Lenin’s initiative would also take the wind out of the sails of the socialist parties of Austria and Germany.3 It was nevertheless some little time before the central powers were to have the opportunity of employing such a weapon against the Russians. Preliminary talks began at Brest-Litovsk on 2 December between military representatives, leading to the conclusion of an armistice on the eastern front on 15 December. In the meantime, the Soviet government attempted to sound out the attitude of the allied governments towards their initiative, with no very satisfactory conclusions. The realisation that they would in all likelihood have to face the central powers alone when the peace talks began prompted doubts and fears amongst the Bolshevik leaders, leading Trotsky to contemplate seriously the alternative of having to wage revolutionary war.4

206

War, Peace and Revolution

As these preliminary manoeuvres were taking place, the idea of an inter¬ national socialist conference was once more taken up in Scandinavia. An ISC proclamation of 8 November urged representatives of all parties willing to carry on the struggle to come to Stockholm. In a series of articles published by the Bolsheviks’ bureau in Sweden, the attacks on the ‘social patriots’ were noticeably tempered by an expressed willingness to work with them, should they be sincerely committed to an active policy of ending the war.5 On 17 November V. V. Vorovsky of the foreign delegation of the Bolshevik central committee met Alexander ParvusHelphand in Stockholm. Parvus brought with him a message of support from the majority socialists in Germany. The return message was an urgent request to both parties in Germany to wage an internationalist proletarian struggle for peace. This was delayed by the Auswartiges Amt for fear of its likely impact in Germany.6 At the same time, Parvus also sought to bring the Danish socialist leader Thorvald Stauning into the action once more, urging him to convene a conference of representatives of socialist parties in the belligerent and neutral countries, to meet in Copenhagen before 28 November. The Bolsheviks in Stockholm seemingly endorsed the idea, and had sent a courier to Petrograd to inform the Soviet government.7 Stauning promptly launched himself into action, offering to organise an international socialist conference at the beginning of December in com¬ munications to Troelstra and Huysmans.8 Neither recipient supported the idea, however, and nor did the Labour Party executive to whom the proposal was relayed.0 Scheidemann for the SPD responded favourably, but his attempts to forge contacts with the Bolsheviks in Stockholm were frustrated by the Auswartiges Amt putting pressure on him to abandon the idea of a socialist conference in favour of separate negotiations between the Russian and German governments.10 How involved Vorovsky was in these efforts to revive Stockholm is not clear, though according to one source - the Swiss socialist and Austrian agent, Carl Moor - he showed little interest in the Danish initiative. On the other hand, the German diplomats with whom he had dealings in Stockholm believed he shared Parvus’ view that peace could only be concluded by negotiations between peoples.11 In their increasingly desperate and isolated situation, the Bolsheviks were no doubt willing to grasp any opportunity to relieve the pressure upon them (hence Vorovsky tried to push the idea of transferring the talks from Brest-Litovsk to a neutral country, in order to allow ‘parliamentarians’ instead of army men to determine their course).12 But, as Trotsky confided to Zeth Hoglund of the Swedish left socialists on 15 December, they were not really interested in conferences. It was revolutionary action in other countries which was necessary.13 Although the Soviet executive resolved on 4

Illusions and realities

207

January to send a delegation to Stockholm to prepare for a fourth Zimmerwald conference, nothing subsequently happened. A meeting of Russian and Scandinavian left-wing socialists, attended by assorted individuals of various nationalities, failed to come to any very positive conclusions on 24 January, other than resolving that a delegation of the Soviet central executive committee should travel west to establish contact with revolutionaries in other countries. This delegation eventually came to grief en route for Stockholm, when it became caught up in the Finnish civil war.14 In spite of the occasional appeals to revolutionary proletarian solidarity, the Bolshevik leadership appears to have done remarkably little to forge a new Third International in 1918, other than to foster the creation of revolutionary groups amongst the prisoners-of-war of different nationalities. If the Bolsheviks had shown some slight inclination to appeal to the European proletariat as a whole to back their peace initiative in November, they soon returned to first principles clarity before unity, and a break with the centre and right. On the other hand, the members of the Dutch-Scandinavian committee and of the British labour movement began to shift from their initial cold reaction to Stauning’s appeal, and the idea of a reconvention of the International was to be floated once more in the New Year, albeit in somewhat changed circumstances. The first plenary session of peace talks between Russia and the central powers opened at Brest-Litovsk on 22 December. Adolf Ioffe, heading the Russian delegation, submitted a six-point programme as a basis for discussions. The central theme of this programme was the unrestricted right of nations to self-determination. Three days later, Czernin replied on behalf of the German, Austro-Hungarian, Turkish and Bulgarian governments, declaring their willingness to accept these points as a basis for discussions. Though he rejected the Bolshevik definition of selfdetermination for nationalities not enjoying independence, and claimed that the principles were only acceptable if agreed to unreservedly by all belligerents within a certain time, these reservations were glossed over in the euphoria with which Czernin’s ‘Christmas present was received in Petrograd. A ‘mortal blow had been inflicted on imperialism declared the left SR Shteynberg: Trotsky himself appeared to think the central powers were on the defensive, and the Allies under renewed pressure from below.15 General Hoffmann’s blunter definition of self-determination on 27 December, which implied that the non-Russian peoples of the former empire, now living under German occupation, had expressed such a desire, soon dispelled this euphoria. Nevertheless, the Russian initiative did pose a challenge to the allies and central powers alike, even if it offered a stick with which the Germans were eventually to beat their counterparts

208

War, Peace and Revolution

at the negotiating table. There is no doubt that the German military felt distinctly uneasy at the prospect of dealing with an avowedly revolution¬ ary government, and they were unhappy with the studied moderation of the German foreign minister, Richard von Kiihlmann. The Austrians were a further liability, since Czernin made no secret of the fact that peace was essential if the Habsburg Empire were not to collapse. The Austrian social democrats confined themselves to sober mass meetings for peace, but the left was resurgent, and renewed labour unrest was to be feared as the winter drew on. The SPD had also declared its support for the Bolshevik peace initiative, though it too confined itself to peaceful mass meetings and resolutions of support. The USPD’s call for mass demonstrations throughout Germany was frustrated by the authorities, who banned such activities; a USPD delegate was also prevented from travelling to Stockholm in December to confer with the Bolsheviks. The majority of the USPD leadership also set their faces against political strike action until the talks at Brest-Litovsk took a turn for the worse in the New Year.16 The decree on peace and the six-point programme tabled at BrestLitovsk also compelled the allied governments to consider their reply, which in the view of the British war cabinet ‘went to the extreme limit of concession’.17 The Lloyd George government was under considerable domestic pressure to issue some sort of declaration of aims, in the wake of Lord Lansdowne’s call for a negotiated settlement, and against the background of labour discontent over the Manpower Bill. The publication of a joint Labour Party-TUC memorandum on war aims on 28 December may also have spurred the cabinet to draft and issue a statement. The statement made by Lloyd George at a meeting with TUC leaders on 5 January 1918, approved by Albert Thomas and endorsed by Clemenceau, was, in Arno Mayer’s words, ‘a decidedly toned-down version of the knock-out policy’.18 It was however to be overshadowed by President Wilson’s famous ‘Fourteen Points’ address, delivered three days later, which was also a more direct response to the challenge thrown down by the Bolsheviks. After the debacle of disagreement at the inter-allied socialist conference in August 1917, the Labour Party and TUC parliamentary committee had worked jointly on the original memorandum drafted by Sidney Webb. The question of an international socialist conference was raised in cabinet by G. N. Barnes, and by Ramsay MacDonald in private corres¬ pondence with Lloyd George, but the matter was not pressed.ig Although the Dutch-Scandinavian committee felt that the Labour Party-TUC memorandum offered a real possibility for transforming a separate into a general peace, and resumed its efforts to convene an international socialist conference, the Labour Party leaders had no desire to force the pace. A

Illusions and realities

209

three-stage strategy was adopted. The memorandum was to form the basis for inter-allied socialist discussions; the agreed programme of aims would then be transmitted to the socialists of the central powers, in the hope that eventual agreement might lead to a reunion of the International.20 By the time the inter-allied socialist conference met in London at the end of February, the situation in eastern Europe had materially changed, but there is little evidence of anxiety amongst allied socialists to save the Russian revolution or to press for immediate negotiations for a general peace at any time in the winter of 1917-1918.21 It is perhaps significant that the December memorandum of the Labour Party abandoned affir¬ mation of the principles of the Soviet peace formula and support for the Russian revolution (points 2 and 3 in the August draft memorandum), but retained the statement issued by the inter-allied socialist conference of February 1915, which committed the allied socialists to fight until victory over German imperialism was accomplished. ‘Whatever may have been the causes for which the war was begun, the fundamental purpose of the British labour movement in supporting the continuance of the struggle is that the world may henceforth be made safe for democracy’, declared the December memorandum.22 The light of revolutionary democracy from the east was finally extinguished in favour of the principles of the ‘new diplomacy’ and democracy proclaimed in the west and raised aloft as a beacon of liberty by President Wilson. The Labour Party-TUC December memorandum opened with a careful exposition of the principles upon which a lasting, democratic peace should be based. This would involve the complete democratisation of all countries; abandonment of all forms of imperialism; the suppression of secret diplomacy and democratic control of foreign policy; concerted action for the abolition of compulsory military service in all countries; arms limitation; the establishment of a supranational authority, the League of Nations; and the setting-up of an international high court and the formation of an international legislature. These points corresponded very closely to the aims of the Union of Democratic Control, and were very much in line with the preventive strategy of international socialism. In their emphasis and detail, they contrast sharply with the rather sketchy and cautious ‘guarantees of peace’ adumbrated by the Petrograd Soviet in October; and such guarantees are entirely absent from the Bolsheviks’ sixpoint programme.23 The Soviet programme was principally concerned to establish allied agreement on war aims in order to open the road to peace negotiations; and it remained faithful to the principle of peace without annexations, without indemnities and on the basis of the right of national self-determination. As ‘an unfailing condition to peace’, the Germans would have to evacuate Russian territory occupied by them. This was not made a condition by the Bolsheviks, and was not even mentioned in the

210

War, Peace and Revolution

Labour Party-TUC memorandum. It was precisely on this point that the Bolsheviks came to grief, since the Germans at Brest-Litovsk insisted on the Soviet government taking cognisance of the decisions ‘expressing the will of the peoples inhabiting Poland, Lithuania, Courland and portions of Estonia and Livonia, demanding full state independence and separation from the Russian federation’, decisions which the German government had been careful to arrange in its favour.24 The Bolshevik programme, in fact, made no specific recommendations on territorial matters; rather, it offered a definition of annexation which thrust at the heart of national discontent in Europe. In Lenin’s definition, ‘any territory shall be deemed to be annexed whose population, over the last few decades [since the second half of the nineteenth century] has expressed dissatisfaction with the integration of its territory into another state, or its status in the state’.25 Such national groups were to be guaranteed an opportunity to decide freely by means of a referendum whether they wished to be independent or to join another state. Point six intimated that colonial questions were to be settled by the same criteria. Point four, surprisingly in view of Lenin’s long hostility to the idea of cultural autonomy, spoke of the protection of national minorities with guarantees of their cultural national independence and, where practicable, administrative autonomy.26 At first sight, it would seem as if the terms placed before the central powers did represent an amendment of the ideological programme out¬ lined by Lenin in his Theses on the socialist revolution and the rights of nations to self-determination, written in 1916. But it would be incorrect to describe Lenin’s endorsement of national self-determination as a ‘universal principle’.27 For Lenin, it was a means to an end. The principle of nationality as such had no intrinsic value for him, nor did he seem aware of the degree to which nationalism had affected the working classes, other than as an instrument of psychological pressure brought to bear by the bourgeoisie. National liberation would deprive the bourgeoisie of that weapon, and hasten the revolution. National oppres¬ sion was to be resisted, but national development was merely pandering to the principle of bourgeois nationalism. The awakening of the masses from ‘feudal lethargy’ and their struggle for sovereignty of the people, or nation, was a progressive cause which Marxists were obliged to support (and it was precisely in backward eastern Europe that this was relevant). But the task was ‘largely a negative one’, beyond which began the positive activity of the bourgeoisie in striving to strengthen nationalism. Hence Lenin’s rejection of the ‘thoroughly bourgeois’ idea of cultural-national autonomy.

Illusions and realities

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The proletariat, however, far from undertaking to uphold the national development of every nation, on the contrary, warns the masses against such illusions, stands for the fullest freedom of capitalist intercourse and welcomes every kind of assimilation of nations, except that which is founded on force or privilege.28 The ‘freedom to secede’ which Lenin offered to the non-Russian nations was certainly not intended to foster the principle of nationalism, but to advance the cause of revolutionary struggle. When the Finnish social democrats at the end of 1917 discussed Soviet recognition of indepen¬ dence, declared by the Finnish parliament on 6 December, Lenin and Trotsky showed much more interest in the prospects of revolution in that country. Independence would be granted without question; but what did the Finnish socialists intend to do about the revolution?29 Stalin, the commissar for nationality affairs, was critical of the ‘irresolution and in¬ comprehensible cowardice’ of the Finnish social democrats, who had failed to seize independence themselves from the ruling bourgeoisie. Soviet Russia recognised Finland as an independent state: ‘we had to do this, because the [Finnish] bourgeoisie were deceiving the people ... by claiming that the Russians, the chauvinists, the Great Russians were beginning to throttle the Finns. We had to do it.’ was Lenin’s later justifi¬ cation of this act.30 At the time, however, he was bitterly critical of the Finnish socialists, even contemplating writing an article on ‘Chauvinism in the midst of oppressing and oppressed peoples - petty bourgeois parasitism and the treachery of the Finnish social democrats’.31 The accusations of those within the Bolshevik party who had never regarded his arguments on self-determination as very convincing were to drive Lenin into a kind of moral justification for permitting bourgeois governments such as that of Finland to secede. Even so, he still clung to the conviction that, by recognising the independence of these states, Soviet Russia would slowly win over the confidence of ‘the most back¬ ward-looking working-class elements’ in those countries, whom the bourgeoisie had most deceived. Detached from their ‘own’ nationalist bourgeoisie, these workers would slowly and carefully be guided towards the idea of the ‘future united international Soviet republic’. 3" In other words, Lenin continued to adhere to the idea that nations should have the freedom to secede in order to realise through the socialist revolution the benefits of unification - after 1917, with the one socialist country in the world. Stalin, although faithfully echoing Lenin in his public pronounce¬ ments, was somewhat more cautious on the validity of the right to secede in all instances. The Bolsheviks retained the right to agitate for or against separation, depending on the interests of the proletariat and the

212

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revolution, he told the April 1917 conference.33 More bluntly, he later affirmed that liberation from national oppression was a question of power, of the transfer of authority to the proletariat and revolutionary peasantry.34 Where Soviet power was seeking to assert itself, as in the Ukraine, the principle of national self-determination had no place, a statement which provoked a right SR to claim that the new government’s policy on the national question was the same as that of pre-revolutionary days.35 In place of national self-determination, Stalin was to substitute the notion of proletarian self-determination. Lenin was later to denounce this as a cover for Great Russian chauvinism; but, with the dynamic spring of his own notion of self-determination shattered amidst the disintegration of the Russian Empire, the case for socialism in one country, with lip-service paid to national aspirations in the federative constitution of the Soviet state, was ineluctably strengthened.36 The six points submitted for discussion by the Bolsheviks at BrestLitovsk were not in themselves revolutionary - the British war cabinet, for example, could find itself in broad agreement with much of the programme - but the implications certainly were. Thus there are now two platforms on which the peace talks may be conducted: ours, which calls for renunciation of all conquests, present or past, and the German one, based on a readiness to abandon only what has been seized during the last war. Our allies will either have to adopt one of these two platforms or else put forward one of their own. If they adopt ours, if England grants Ireland freedom or self-determination, if Clemenceau grants selfdetermination to Madagascar and [if Wilson grants it] to Panama, then we will give them a whole-hearted welcome and will work alongside them in fraternal solidarity [to achieve] the selfdetermination of these peoples, as well as of Alsace-Lorraine, German and Austrian Poland, etc.37 Trotsky may have been whistling in the wind - and his later reply to a question about the German interpretation of self-determination suggests that he held few illusions about the willingness of imperialist govern¬ ments to go along with the Bolshevik interpretation - but the challenge had been made, to governments and to the socialists of Europe. The SPD leaders were convinced for their part that the Bolsheviks could not conclude peace without an honourable and complete implementation of the right of self-determination, and sought to keep the German govern¬ ment to the principles of the Christmas Day declaration. Were the central powers to insist on terms unacceptable to the Russians, it was feared, the Bolsheviks would have no alternative but to fight a revolutionary war, which could have serious repercussions for Germany.38 It was soon

Illusions and realities

213

obvious that the German interpretation of self-determination concealed annexationist designs; and if the talks collapsed, the consequences for Germany would be disastrous. In Erzberger’s phrase, there were two alternatives: either a strike of generals, or a general strike.39 A week later, the fear of unrest and revolution continued to impel the members of the inter-party committee to seek further discussions with the government, though David noted in his diary that the situation seemed ‘almost hope¬ less’.40 The SPD thus found itself caught on the horns of the dilemma into which it had entered in August 1914. How could the party exercise effective control over the decision makers in the state in order to ensure that its concept of a democratic national state was not trampled underfoot by reactionaries, or by the revolutionary action of a discontented but dis¬ oriented working class? As Scheidemann was quick to see, January 1918 was a replay of July 1917, only this time the crisis was more acute. In the background, the ‘evil spirits’ were plotting; in the factories, the revolution¬ ary shop stewards were agitating for mass action to end the war.41 The Bolshevik peace initiative thus posed a fundamental challenge, in a way that the earlier appeals of the Soviet and international social democracy had not, to the assumptions and objectives of German social democracy.

‘Krach und Eklat’ When the true nature of the central powers’ response to the Bolsheviks’ terms for peace became known in Russia, an explosion of indignation occurred. Left SRs and a considerable section of the Bolshevik leadership (especially those from Moscow) urged a revolutionary war. Lenin advocated delaying tactics in the negotiations, due to resume on 9 January, and floated the idea of transferring the talks to Stockholm. In the mean¬ time, the armed forces were to be reorganised and propaganda was to be geared to explaining the necessity of a revolutionary war. The central executive committee of the soviets endorsed this programme, and called upon the workers of the belligerent countries to rise in revolt. In Kamenev’s words, ‘Our dispute with the German imperialists must be settled by revolution.’42 The Bolsheviks’ tactics aroused a great deal of unease in the camp of the central powers. In a telegram to the minister-presidents of Austria and Hungary, and the Austrian minister of the interior, Count Czernin warned that: The tactics of the Russian delegation are becoming ever more obvious, and are aimed at dragging out the negotiations and thereby bringing about unrest in our hinterland. I am in no doubt that the Bolsheviks have secret links with our socialists.43

214

War, Peace and Revolution

The Prussian ministry of war claimed in February that it had received information of agitation directed from abroad for several weeks before the strikes at the end of January. Broadsheets and posters urged the workers to compel their governments to make peace, and to take radical action to ensure the peace was fully democratic.44 Some of these illegal flysheets did undoubtedly cross the front; others were based upon the appeal of the third Zimmerwald conference, and - perhaps more directly - by the joint appeal put out by the ISC and the Bolsheviks’ foreign delegation, which called on workers to carry the struggle for peace onto the streets and into the factories, and to build workers’ and soldiers’ councils. An Austrian left-radical flysheet, put out on the night of 12-13 January, for example, declared that the Russian people and the Russian revolution showed the way to peace and liberty, and called on the workers to unite as had their Russian brothers. Although it urged the formation of councils, it did not call for strike action, however.45 The massive wave of strikes which erupted in Austria in mid-January was certainly not provoked by the feverish activities of small revolution¬ ary cliques, however much these may have attracted the attention of the authorities. It was a cut in the flour ration which brought out the workers of Wiener Neustadt on 14 January; but, as reports began to come in early the next day, it became evident that a ‘radical tendency seems to have gained the upper hand’, and was bent on pressing political demands. ‘The movement seems to be developing into a demonstration for an immediate conclusion of peace.’46 On 13 January five meetings had been staged by the Social Democratic Party of Austria in various parts of the capital, and the mood appears to have been tense. One meeting had to be terminated by the authorities, after a ‘rather inciting’ speech by a socialist member of the Reichsrat had led to cries of ‘Hoch dev Revolution/’.47 Resolutions passed at the other meetings declared that the workers would ensure that peace negotiations at Brest-Litovsk were not broken off. The party leadership came in for some criticism for its indecisiveness and, although backing the strikers’ demands, it urged caution and the maintenance of order. The left radicals, on the other hand, urged the workers to rally to the red flag of the Russian revolution. The Austrian peace delegation should be elected by the people, an immediate armistice should be declared on all fronts, the militarisation of the factories and wartime regulations should be abolished, and freedom of association and political liberties (including release for Friedrich Adler and other political prisoners) should be guaranteed. The left also dispatched couriers to other industrial centres and cities of the empire at the beginning of the strike.48 By 19 January nearly 113,000 workers were on strike in Vienna alone, with as many again involved in similar actions in Lower Austria. Strike action broke out in Budapest on 18 January, in Cracow three days

Illusions and realities

215

earlier. Even more alarming for the authorities were the first signs of mutiny in the armed forces. A largely Hungarian regiment about to entrain on 19 January staged a demonstration for peace and the socialist revolution, and military police had to be called in to restore order. A fortnight later, a full-scale revolt broke out at the naval base of Cattaro. Instances of unrest and mutiny were recorded on eastern and southern fronts in February. This creaking of the rickety structure of the multi¬ national empire prompted the generals to consider the imposition of a military dictatorship, though they were successfully headed off by the Austrian minister-president Seidler, with increased measures taken for stationing security forces (Assistenztruppen) within the empire. By the beginning of April, seven infantry divisions were so employed.49 In spite of frequent reports during the strike that the workers’ leaders no longer had control over the situation, the authorities still preferred to seek collaboration with party and union leaders in damping down any future discontent.50 The party admitted on 17 January that it had played no part in setting off the ‘elementare Bewegung\ The manifesto issued on 16 January demanded an immediate end to the war, a peace without covert or overt conquests, based on the unhindered right of national selfdetermination. The four demands published in Arbeiter-Zeitung a day later specified no territorial demands at Brest-Litovsk, a thorough reorganisation of the food supply administration, democratisation of local assemblies, and the abolition of the militarisation of the factories.51 These four points were accepted by Seidler as a basis for discussion. Czernin telegraphed from Brest-Litovsk, promising not to seek territory at Russia’s expense, or to allow the talks to collapse over territorial issues. He also stressed that further unrest at home would jeopardise the chances of concluding a speedy peace. The Austrian and Hungarian governments seemed disposed to concede the demands of the socialist leaders, and on the night of 19-20 January the socialist leaders in Vienna managed to persuade the workers’ council, which it had authorised three days earlier, to end the strike. There was a good deal of reluctance in the factories to call off the action, however, and the party leadership in Austria and Hungary came in for a lot of criticism. Provincial delegates at a meeting of the Lower Austrian Social Democratic Party section on 1-3 February strongly condemned the Vorstand for calling off the action without consultation. The Vienna workers1 council, it was claimed, had sought to ‘throttle’ and not lead the strike. 52 A week after the official ending of the strike in Austria-Hungary, thousands of workers in the major industrial centres of Germany downed tools. Here, the USPD was directly involved in preparations for a mass demonstration strike against the war, though the cautious phrasing of the manifesto agreed upon a meeting of USPD politicians and revolutionary

216

War, Peace and Revolution

shop stewards on 10 January reflected the moderate views of Haase rather than the more radical wishes of the shop stewards and USPD leftists. The three-day action was scheduled for 21 January, but later postponed for a week.53 In Berlin, an 11-man action committee was elected on the afternoon of 28 January by 414 delegates of the striking workforce, and a seven-point programme of demands drawn up. This programme sought to rectify specific grievances arising out of the wartime situation, to press for democratisation and for a democratic peace of no annexations or indemnities. Although there was a lot of opposition to the idea of SPD representatives on the action committee, three were co-opted (Ebert, Bauer and Scheidemann) in addition to Haase, Ledebour and Dittmann for the USPD. The authorities reacted by imposing bans on meetings and the creation of strike committees, prohibiting the distribution of Vorwarts, and - on 31 January - declaring a strict state of siege in the capital. Troops were drafted in, and numerous arrests, including the USPD leader Wilhelm Dittmann, were made. The state-secretary of the interior refused to see the workers’ representatives, and would only talk with party leaders who were members of the Reichstag. In the face of this intransigence, the strikers were unwilling to follow the course of armed insurrection urged by the Spartacists, and with the authorities placing key factories under military rule, many began to drift back to work. The strike was called off in Berlin on 3 February. Unlike the April strikes, the January action spread throughout Germany, afflicting the Ruhr mining area and southern Germany, though leaving virtually untouched strong centres of the left such as Brunswick and Leipzig.54 The massive strike wave, which brought out 700,000 workers in the Habsburg Empire and probably as many in Germany, was triggered off by a combination of circumstances - the cut in the flour ration, resent¬ ment at the delays in producing suffrage reform, and at the exigencies of the state of siege - but it undoubtedly came to focus its efforts on the winning of peace. It is significant that the negotiations at Brest-Litovsk, rather than the notion of an immediate and general peace, claimed the attentions of the strikers, and they responded more to the seeming intransigence of the central powers than to the universal appeal of the Bolsheviks. In Dittmann’s view, the strike in Germany was against the army’s attempts to sabotage the prospect of a peace of conciliation with Soviet Russia; Ledebour and Eisner echoed this opinion.55 Scheidemann believed that the strikes had been provoked by the lack of food, confusion over peace terms, and the failure to produce suffrage reform. The SPD had not been informed about the plans made by the USPD, who ‘terrorised’ workers to go on strike: the SPD leadership had done all it could to bring the strike to an orderly conclusion as soon as possible. Nevertheless, he feared that rejection of Wilson’s terms and the draconian

Illusions and realities

217

measures of the authorities would do little to lessen discontent, which might well mount if an offensive were launched on the western front.56 Major von dem Bussche’s summary of the situation reached similar conclusions: The masses, and the SPD as well, simply do not understand how important it is for us to erect a barrier against a new wave of hostilities [Kriegswelle] from the East, by arranging territorial conditions in the East in our favour [in unserem Sinne]. They would welcome the conclusion of a peace in accordance with the Russians’ interpretation of the right of nations to self-determination. There is no doubt that we would thus have to reckon with a lack of understanding on the part of a large section of the people for a renewal for the war in the East: thus . . . would provoke amongst the working masses renewed and vehement opposition, and lead to a new mass strike.57 This sombre assessment was not shared by others in the high command, however, who persisted in the belief that the masses were basically contented, and that agitators were to blame for the unrest.58 The strike did little to persuade the government and army to modify their terms for peace. Indeed, some pressure was brought to bear on SPD leaders to rally to the government’s side. On 26 January, for example, Ebert was shown telegrams relating details of the Bolsheviks’ activities in the Baltic lands and suggesting that revolution, and not peace, was their ultimate objective. Ebert was not disinclined to take up these issues in the inter-party committee - three days earlier, he had denounced the dis¬ solution of the constituent assembly and declared that the SPD would do nothing to ‘protect’ Trotsky - but the government had to declare that the representatives selected in German-occupied borderlands would be made more truly ‘popular’ by the addition of other elements. Otherwise it would be impossible to persuade the German workers that the Bolsheviks were wrong. Were the government to abide by its principles of 25 December, the Bolsheviks could do what they liked - the SPD would remain loyal, Ebert affirmed.59 Although unhappy about German plans for ‘humanitarian’ aid in Finland and the Baltic lands, the SPD leaders offered little resistance, especially as relations with the parties of the centre cooled noticeably in the aftermath of the strike. Scheidemann s rather plaintive cry on 11 March, that the party had to choose between showing its strength of character or going down in history as puppets, evoked little response. The annexationist right wing wished to approve the peace terms; a minority wished to oppose them. In the end, the party abstained in a mood of resignation, with dark hints that the peace would not last.60

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War, Peace and Revolution

News of the strike movement in Austria reached Brest-Litovsk as the conference was being adjourned on 17 January, after a fruitless series of debates between Trotsky and his opponents, including a delegation from the Ukrainian Rada. Two days later, in the early hours of the morning, the constituent assembly was dissolved. This action, and the activities of the Bolsheviks in the unoccupied Baltic lands and the Ukraine, were undoubtedly to weaken the Soviet position. In suppressing the constituent assembly, Lenin alienated the sympathies of socialists who believed that he was seeking an honourable and just peace. Kautsky, although critical, evidently believed ‘a new epoch in world history is beginning’, and credited the Bolsheviks with energy and ability to tackle the problems of Russia.61 The German majority socialists expressed reservations about the Bolsheviks’ actions and policies, but believed they were genuinely sincere about peace. By mid-February, however, they were beginning, in Otto Braun’s phrase, to draw a ‘thick, visible demarcation line’ between German social democracy and the violent putschism and anarchy which they perceived in Russia.62 The USPD activists were still divided, though the moderates began to take a distinctly sceptical view of the Bolsheviks’ claims. For many such as Rudolf Hilferding, ‘one’s heart is on their side . . . but one’s mind will just not go along’.63 And for Otto Bauer, writing to Kautsky at the end of September 1917, the overestimation of their own strength produced by the experiences of revolution amongst the workers had found its true expression in the tactics of Lenin and Trotsky. ‘The fervid belief of the Jacobins in the omnipotence of the guillotine has been reincarnated in Petrograd in the fervid belief in the omnipotence of the machine-gun.’64 The use of violence and terror - and their justification - by the Bolsheviks caused many middle-aged and elderly gentlemen who had for years talked of the revolutionary nature of Marxist socialism to shrink away in horror. For the younger militants caught up in the severe repression which followed the strikes, the use of violence was less objectionable. ‘We need arms, we must carry our propaganda into the army’, was Muller’s conclusion. The working class would achieve nothing without resort to force against the existing order: that was the lesson of the January strike, according to the Spartacists.65 Although the revolutionary movement was severely afflicted by arrests, it was reconstituted under the flamboyant leadership of Emil Barth in Berlin. Barth himself had little time for the ‘revolutionary gymnasts’ of the Spartakusbund, though their illegal propaganda did undoubtedly help spread ideas and expectations of the coming socialist revolution.66 Though strikes were to erupt once more in Germany and AustriaHungary - where there were also mutinies in many troop units - they were not to attain the proportions of January 1918; nor did they produce

Illusions and realities

219

the wide-ranging political demands of the New Year’s actions. The deteriorating morale of the civil population and the soldiers, however, caused alarm; and the prospect of ‘Krach und Eklat’ so feared by Eduard David in January was to loom even more menacingly in the autumn, as the Empires slid to defeat and internal collapse.67 The first shots in the bitter war between the socialist advocates of democracy and the upholders of the dictatorship of the proletariat were fired in the winter months of 1917-1918. For his part, Lenin had nothing but contempt for the ‘wretched men in mufflers’ who slept with the ‘old, shabby little book of official socialism’ under their pillow. ‘Until the revolution transcended the limits of the bourgeois system, we were for democracy: but as soon as we saw the first signs of socialism and the progress of the revolution, we took a firm and resolute stand for the dictatorship of the proletariat.’68 The triumph of the revolution in Russia also persuaded Lenin that it was easier for such a movement to start in the backward countries of the world. ‘The pseudo-socialist, nearly all ministerial, Chernov-Tsereteli parties of Western Europe do not accomplish anything, and they lack firm foundation’, he told the third Soviet congress on 24 January.69 Here is more than a faint echo of the words of Alexander Herzen, disillusioned by the west’s apparent lack of revolutionary imagination or leadership, and convinced that the late¬ comers would receive, instead of gnawed bones, the right of precedence at the table of experience. Trotsky, reflecting on the progress of revolution in 1919, declared that the revolutionary epoch had ‘burst in through the most weakly barricaded door’, in backward Russia with its lack of traditions and strong institutions. But, unlike Lenin, Trotsky placed far more emphasis upon the need for revolution to extend beyond Russia. The primogeniture of the revolutionary proletariat in Russia was only temporary, and socialism only possible with the success of the revolution in Europe.70 In the hectic debates over what line to take with the central powers, however, Trotsky did not align himself with those who called for an allout revolutionary war. His preferred solution was to announce that Russia was leaving the war, but would not sign the ‘brigands’ peace’ with the central powers, thereby putting the onus on the war-weary German and Austrian people and their political leaders to force the governments to withdraw their terms. The news of revolutionary developments in central Europe may well have strengthened his belief that Russia would be saved by internal turmoil there. Lenin was far less certain, as his theses on the question of an immediate conclusion of peace, drafted on 20 January, reveal. It would be a ‘blind gamble’ for the Soviet government to formulate its policy on the supposition that there would be a European, or more specifically, a German socialist revolution within the next six

220

War, Peace and Revolution

months. The only policy available was the conclusion of peace on the German terms, which would at least allow a breathing-space for the revolution in Russia to consolidate its forces, and crush the bourgeois opposition. The socialist republic had done everything possible to advance the cause of the international proletarian revolution and the cause of national self-determination; the workers of the west had not yet responded and ‘if the concrete circumstances are such that the safety of the Socialist Republic is being endangered in order to prevent the violation of the right of self-determination of a few nations [Poland, Lithuania and Courland], there is no question but that the interests of the Socialist Republic must predominate’.71 This pugnacious line of argu¬ ment cut little ice with the central committee, however. On 21 January the voting was 32 for an immediate revolutionary war against 16 for Trotsky’s ‘no war, no peace’ formula, and 15 for the signing of peace on Germany’s terms. Three days later, after Lenin had agreed to support Trotsky’s line in return for an assurance from the commissar for foreign affairs that he would not then support a revolutionary war should his scheme fail, the central committee endorsed the ‘no war, no peace’ formula.72 When the talks were resumed once more at Brest-Litovsk, the situation looked far from hopeless from the Bolshevik point of view. Germany was in the throes of the strike movement; unrest still reverberated in central Europe; the Red Guards were advancing on Kiev; and in Finland, the socialists had seized power on the night of 27-28 January. Lenin noted these developments with obvious satisfaction, and added a twenty-second thesis to his compilation of 20 January: the fact that the revolution in Germany had begun offered an opportunity for further delay in the negotiations. The same day, 3 February, a radio message was beamed to the delegation at Brest-Litovsk, in which Lenin spoke of the collapse of the Rada, the ‘hopeless’ position of the ‘bourgeois counter-revolution¬ aries’ in Finland, and the great enthusiasm in Petrograd at the news of the formation of a workers’ council in Berlin. It was rumoured that Karl Liebknecht had been set free, and would soon head the German govern¬ ment. 73 It would seem therefore that Lenin still hoped that the revolution would flare up in the west and save the day. These momentary hopes were soon to be dashed. Although the Rada government had collapsed, its representatives signed a separate peace with the central powers on 9 February, and the Germans refused to enter into negotations with the Soviet regime set up in its stead. With the resumption of hostilities on 18 February, German troops advanced into the area and restored the Rada in Kiev on 1 March. Thereafter the situation degenerated into chaos, with the Rada overthrown by Hetman Pavel Skoropadsky in April, and with German troops pressing on into the

Illusions and realities

221

area around Odessa. The White Finnish government, through its agents in Berlin, concluded an agreement with Imperial Germany in March for the despatch of a ‘humanitarian’ force, which arrived in time to mop up Red resistance in April. Under the terms of this and subsequent agreements, the Finnish government found itself closely bound to the German side for the remainder of the European war. The Baltic lands similarly fell under German domination.74 The resumption of hostilities by the Germans, eight days after Trotsky’s famous withdrawal from the peace talks, shattered the last hopes of an uprising of the German and Austrian proletariat preventing such action. In the central committee, Trotsky’s support for Lenin’s proposal, that the German terms be accepted, ensured that it was carried. The Germans did not respond immediately; but an allied offer of assistance was abandoned almost as soon as the German reply came, on 23 February. The decision to accept these terms came near to splitting the party, and Lenin had an uphill task persuading the seventh party congress and the all-Russian congress of soviets to swallow the ‘Tilsit peace’, which would give the young Soviet state time to recuperate and prepare for renewed revolutionary action. The preservation of the revolution in Russia, and not its extension westwards, was the overriding priority; it would not be lost with the surrender of Finland, Livonia and Estonia.75 The case of Finland may be cited as evidence of the limited hopes of the Soviet government, and the wide disparity of aims between the Bolsheviks and the one socialist party to attempt a revolution outside Russia before the end of the war. It is important to correct the erroneous impression given in many studies of the Bolshevik revolution that some kind of Russian-inspired, or Soviet regime was established in Finland. The Bolsheviks certainly provided arms, and a number of troops stationed in Finland volunteered to fight on the Red side. But the revolution was directed and led by a Finnish socialist people’s commissariat in defence of democracy, and the rights of the people. Zeth Hoglund, a Swedish left-wing socialist, accurately summed up the aims of the government as being ‘a republic built on the principles of a unicameral legislature, universal suffrage and the popular referendum’. Kuusinen’s draft constitution was intended to guarantee ‘true’ democracy, which was seen as the necessary condition for any social revolution, and in their public and private utterances, the Finnish socialists repeated the same theme.76 Although Yrjo Sirola did sketch out a revolutionary programme which showed traces of Lenin’s ‘Will the Bolsheviks retain state power?’, the government showed no inclination to embark upon a socialist revolution, and indeed came under fire from radical workers and left-wingers for its excessive caution.77 The people s commissariat was anxious to get rid of Russian troops, whose presence

222

War, Peace and Revolution

was a drain upon the country’s dwindling food resources and an embar¬ rassment in the face of White accusations that the revolution rested upon foreign bayonets. In negotiations with representatives of the Soviet government, the Finns sought to seek as much as possible in territorial terms from a government in whose permanence they were not confident. They also refused to adopt the title of the Finnish socialist workers’ republic, preferring to speak on behalf of the whole nation. On 19 Feburary.a Bolshevik delegation headed by Aleksandra Kollontay gave the Finnish Reds to understand that acceptance of the central powers’ terms by the Soviet government would probably preclude all further assistance to the People’s Commissariat. The treaty of Brest-Litovsk stipulated the evacuation of Russian troops from Finland. The people’s commissariat expressed no regrets at their departure, even establishing a frontier guard to ensure that no unauthorised Russians re-entered the country.78 Fighting had broken out in eastern Finland at the end of January between Red and White Guards. The breakdown in law and order occasioned by the revolution in the Empire, the deteriorating economic situation, and the lack of a strongly entrenched state authority which could command the unqualified loyalty of the entire populace made civil war inevitable.79 The Finnish Social Democratic Party found itself at the end of January in the kind of situation predicted by Kautsky in 1911: should economic crisis drive the proletariat to rise up against the existing social order, the party would be pushed aside if it attempted to hold the workers back.80 The party leadership chose to back the rising, and ordered a seizure of power for the night of 27-28 January. At the same time, White forces under the command of General Mannerheim disarmed Russian units in Ostrobothnia, where members of the Svinhufvud government set up temporary headquarters. The civil war lasted some three months; at the beginning of April, Mannerheim’s troops took the city of Tampere, and pressed south to link up with German units which had landed on the southern coast that same month. The Red leadership fled to Russia, where a number founded the Finnish Communist Party in August 1918. The civil war was waged by a united labour movement: over 100,000 fought in the Red Guards, and 20,000 died on the battlefield, in prison camps, or in front of firing squads. The party leadership had little faith in a victorious outcome, and no notion of carrying out a full-blooded social revolution. The weakly barricaded door gave way in agrarian Finland as it had done in Russia; but the Finnish Social Democratic Party hovered timorously on the threshold. Whereas Lenin was pressing for a ruthless prosecution of the civil war, endorsing terror when necessary in the struggle to establish the dictatorship of the proletariat, and

Illusions and realities

223

eliminating all opposition, the Finnish socialists - like their mentor Kautsky - plumped for democracy. Given the superior military leader¬ ship of the Whites, their defeat was predictable, even if they had shown a more evident will to win. The Finnish civil war illustrated how little the Bolsheviks could do, or were willing to do, in order to spread revolution westwards in early 1918; and it also offered a curious example of a socialist attempt to engineer democratic change rather than social revolution, albeit through an uprising against the legally constituted government. It was a premature footnote to the debate on democracy versus dictatorship, which was already beginning to well up in Europe.

Making the world safe for democracy The wave of unrest which broke in central Europe at the end of January caused few reverberations in the west. In spite of the trauma of Caporetto, and the popularity of Lenin and Trotsky amongst the war-weary populace, there was no serious outbreak of unrest in the civilian population or armed forces of Italy, where stern counter-measures were taken by the high command and civil authorities to combat defeatism.81 In Britain and France, there was a resurgence of industrial militancy, led by younger shop stewards and factory delegates, and in certain instances their agitation took on a distinctly antiwar tone. The situation in the South Wales coalfield was described as ‘very serious’ in October, and a grave state of industrial unrest predicted by the chief constable of Glamorgan in mid-December unless strong counter-measures were taken.82 The antiwar movement was extremely active in South Wales, with frequent meetings attended by large and sympathetic audiences. Resistance to the ‘comb-out’ of men liable for conscription undoubtedly added great weight to the arguments of outside speakers and the local itinerant militants, such as Arthur Horner and A.J.Cook. One Scottish speaker was reported as saying at a meeting on 10 February that ‘It is not only in Russia that a revolution will have taken place, but it will soon be here, and I may tell you lads, in the good old Scottish fashion - There is cold comfort on the Clyde.’83 But in spite of simmering discontent, which surfaced in strike action throughout 1918, the shop stewards were unable to direct action against the war, and indeed preferred to remain within the familiar limits of factory-related grievances. Militants in France found it difficult to translate grievances over pay (gros sous) into action for peace. On 3 January a meeting of factory delegates from engineering and munitions works in the Paris region approved a resolution pledging them to fight for workers’ rights, and an amendment submitted by the Renault factory delegates, calling upon the government to define its war aims in line with the Soviet formula. The anarcho-syndicalist comite de defense syndicaliste staged a number of regional meetings to work out plans for

224

War, Peace and Revolution

a general strike to force peace negotiations, culminating in a national conference at St. Etienne in May. On 19 May this gathering of 246 delegates, said to represent 70 per cent of the total strength of the CGT, voted for strike action. The workers of the Paris region had already decided to strike a week earlier, and were already out before the St. Etienne decision was reached. The Federation des Metaux intervened to terminate the strike, and repressive measures were taken by the govern¬ ment. The threat of the German offensive broke the back of the movement, which remained localised and poorly supported. As in the unofficial railway strike in Britain in September, the strike leaders were forced on the defensive by accusations that they were sabotaging the war effort.84 Support for action to end the war, or for strikes, was not forthcoming from the mainstream party and trade union movements of either country. Far from rallying to the Bolsheviks’ appeal for an immediate peace, the Labour Party and SFIO, majority and minority alike, declared in the memorandum put out by the inter-allied socialist conference at the end of February 1918 that they saw no reason to depart from the principle of victory over German imperialism, as enunciated at the London con¬ ference of 1915. The memorandum was based on the Labour Party programme, with a significant overlay of Wilsonian principles, especially in the emphasis given to the role of the future League of Nations. It marked a major advance from the squabbles and disagreement of the previous inter-allied socialist conference of August 1917; but it was never¬ theless a triumph for Henderson and Thomas, rather than MacDonald and Longuet. Ramsay MacDonald had declared his willingness to affirm the 1915 London declaration in order to achieve agreement on war aims as early as 29 September 1917, in spite of his reservations two years earlier, and although critical of the details, which he felt were almost based on the assumption of an allied victory, he believed they were ‘sufficiently satisfactory to be going on with’.85 In mid-February, he visited Paris in company with Arthur Henderson, and pleaded eloquently for unity over the proposed memorandum. Henderson supported this call, but stressed that the inter-allied socialist conference was not intended to influence military issues. The British labour movement sought to complement the military effort by a moral and political statement, hitherto neglected.86 At the meeting of the conseil national on 18 February, both majoritaire and minoritaire speakers appealed for unity; and the SFIO resolution on peace aims was passed by an overwhelming majority of 2618 votes to 218, with 108 abstentions. Frossard’s blithe assumption that the majoritaires had now come round to the minoritaire position on Alsace-Lorraine, i.e. that it should not be an obstacle to peace negotiations, and that the

Illusions and realities

225

inhabitants themselves should determine their own future, was rudely interrupted by Renaudel. There was no question of a referendum, as Frossard maintained: only the word ‘consultation’ was permissible.87 This point of view won the day, and the clause relating to Alsace-Lorraine in the February inter-allied socialist memorandum reflects this. Whereas the Labour Party memorandum simply condemned the ‘crime against the peace of the world’ of 1871, and asked for the inhabitants of Alsace and Lorraine to be allowed freely to decide their political future under the auspices of the League of Nations, the February memorandum reiterated the French socialist claim that the problem was not one of territorial adjustment, but of right. In remarkably tortuous phraseology, the clause declared France’s willingness to remit to the League ‘with the freedom and integrity of a popular vote, of which the details can be subsequently settled, the organisation of such a consultation as shall settle for ever, as a matter of right, the future destiny of Alsace and Lorraine’. As a precondition, however, the peace treaty would have to declare null and void the German annexation of the territories.88 Wilson’s ‘fourteen points’, not Lenin’s peace programme, proved to be the rallying point for antiwar opposition and majority socialists. The memorandum adopted in London contained the hard core of the antiwar movement’s demands for a democratic peace; but the idea of a negotiated peace was superseded by a commitment to continue the struggle, and on terms which were unlikely to be acceptable to the SPD. It demanded the reconstitution of Poland as an independent state with free access to the sea (an advance on the rather vague proposals of the Labour Party memorandum); and it denounced open or disguised German annexation of the Baltic lands. Germany was also to bear the cost of reparations for damages in Belgium. If the socialists of the central powers did not recognise the justness of the principles proclaimed in London, Albert Thomas maintained, they would be serving notice on the socialists and democrats of the allied countries that they would have to continue the war to victory.89 This assumption was not challenged by the minoritaires or the ILP. Although the French and British labour movements had both moved into quasi-opposition to their governments, neither challenged the commitment to a military solution which was the necessary corollary to the allied revision of war aims. The German offensive in the west, which began on 21 March, finally destroyed the lingering hopes of a reunion of the International. The SPD responded sourly to the allied socialist memorandum. In the aftermath of victory in the east, Vorwarts hinted, it was difficult to reach agreement on ‘ideal’ terms for a general peace.90 At the end of May Troelstra endeavoured to set in motion the process of bringing together the two camps, and had discussions with represen¬ tatives of the Austrian and Hungarian parties in June. His talks with

226

War, Peace and Revolution

Scheidemann were less successful. The SPD Vorstand clearly saw the talks as nothing more than a preliminary testing of the water. Although point one of the Troelstra-Scheidemann draft account declared a preference for the memorandum of the Dutch-Scandinavian committee to that of the allied socialists, the Vorstand was at pains to point out that it still stood by the terms of the SPD memorandum submitted to the committee. On the crucial issue of Alsace-Lorraine, the idea of its surrender by Germany was termed ‘an unwarranted demand’.91 Troelstra’s planned visit to London at the invitation of the Labour Party was frustrated by a refusal of entry by the British government, under pressure from Havelock Wilson’s Seamen’s Union. His actions also roused the ire of his pro-Entente colleague van Kol.92 Nevertheless, his telegram to Henderson on 3 July suggested that the SPD was prepared to accept the Stockholm memorandum as the basis for discussion. Speaking at Northampton on 13 July, Henderson talked of‘encouraging replies’ received from the enemy countries to the proposals of the allied socialist memorandum, which ‘justified our demand for facilities in holding an international conference’. The SPD were even ready ‘to discuss the question of responsibility for the origin of the war and the problem of Alsace-Lorraine’. This was almost immediately put in doubt by the publication of the official SPD reply in The Times, which spoke of adherence to the party’s Stockholm memorandum.93 After trying in vain to meet Troelstra in Switzerland (a passport was refused by the British government), Henderson had to admit that his information was faulty, and that there seemed little likelihood of a conference in the foreseeable future. This pessimistic outlook was shared by others.94

Conclusion The attempts to reconvene the International during the war had been frustrated as much by the lack of basic accord between the parties as by government obstruction. This is not to say that the idea of some sort of international gathering of the forces critical in some degree or other of the war aims and seeming lack of strategy for a constructive peace of the belligerents was lacking in support. Even the Bolsheviks, in spite of their hostility towards the parties of the right and centre of the socialist spectrum, were not averse to the idea in their moment of need.95 The meetings of socialist representatives from the allied countries in 1918 did undoubtedly help clarify and publicise the aims of labour; the abortive Stockholm conference stimulated debate and encouraged the parties to define their positions. But the chances of the two opposing sides finding a common platform upon which to launch an appeal for an end to war were not very great. The major figures in the debate - Henderson, Thomas, Ebert, Scheidemann and David - showed little sign of shifting

Illusions and realities

227

from their basic assumptions, even though at various times they were openly critical of their governments’ reluctance or inability to clarify aims. In spite of the growth of a critical antiwar opposition, and the emergence of dissident voices within their more immediate ranks, the majority socialists remained committed to the policy of seeing the war through. Albert Thomas remained firmly convinced that a compromise peace on the basis of the status quo would be tantamount to a victory for Germany. ‘We continue the struggle’, declared Arthur Henderson at the end of 1917, ‘because we have to enforce reparation for a great wrong perpetrated upon a small unoffending nation, to liberate subject peoples and enable them to live under a form of government of their own choosing, and to destroy, not a great nation, but a militarist autocracy, which had deliberately planned war ...V6 This last sentiment was unlikely to arouse much sympathy amongst the SPD leaders, who angrily rebuffed all notions of enforced democracy at the point of an allied sword. In 1918, they had sailed through difficult waters, between the Scylla of rampant annexationism and the Charybdis of internal revolution. Eduard David afforded himself a private sigh of relief after the formation of the new government, in which the SPD was re¬ presented. A new Germany had been born, and the policy of reform within the existing state seemed to have been arrived at. ‘The path from 4 August 1914 to 5 October 1918 was difficult . . . But what would have been achieved by a revolutionary tactic? The bringing about of a compromise peace by way of civil war concealed the most frightful dangers and suffering, and would have ended in all probability in the triumph of reaction.’97 His colleagues, however, were less sanguine about the prospects of ‘stepping into the breach’, as Ebert put it. Otto Braun did not believe entry into government would bring peace any nearer; and if the Allies dictated terms, which he felt was likely, it would not be very pleasant for socialists in Germany to find themselves in the position of the Bolsheviks at Brest-Litovsk, having to accept a peace dictated to them by General Hoffmann. Scheidemann and others feared that entry into government would not do the party any good. ’8 Beneath the surface, the ground was shifting, and revolution erupted six weeks later; but it was an elemental explosion of a war-weary and frustrated people, rather than a movement inspired by the socialist opposition. What is striking in 1918 is the lack of any sustained effort by the USPD as the largest mass antiwar movement to press the case lor peace. True, the opposition had suffered severely in the altermath ol the January strikes; and one should not forget the mole-like activities of the more militant element in the factories. But the antiwar opposition was unable to make any significant impact upon the political scene in Germany before the revolution, and it failed to detach from the SPD any sizeable

228

War, Peace and Revolution

body of discontented members or activists. Still less did it persuade the SPD leaders to abandon the civil truce and Durchhalten. The same may be said of the opposition in France and Britain. Unity of a kind over war aims was achieved at the cost of abandoning any notion of a compromise peace without victors or vanquished. There is no doubt that the signing of a separate peace in the east and the launching of a German offensive in the west quietened the voice of the opposition, which moreover now had an opportunity of aligning its forces with the cause of democracy proclaimed by President Wilson. The Russian revolution had made the conclusion of peace an urgent matter for the democratic cause. Lenin had removed that item from the agenda, and his Russian opponents were accusing him of betraying the revolution. The latter caused consternation and dismay amongst western socialists, the former aroused resentment, and dispelled the lingering euphoria of ‘Stockholm’. Wilson’s ‘fourteen points’, in the last year of a war which suddenly set in motion not only the military, but also the political fronts of the belligerents, seemed a safer bet. What had appeared as a light shining from the east for the cause of democracy was now clouded over with the alarming shades of revolution and chaos. The Bolshevik revolution inserted a new element into the constellation of European politics which, beneath the heady rhetoric, revived a spectre which most European socialist leaders had long since consigned to the historic past - that of violent revolution and civil war. The Bolsheviks also unleashed another and equally alarming prospect - that of national disintegration. In proclaiming the rights of nations to self-determination, they were doing little more than had been tacitly approved by the other socialist parties in their memoranda submitted to the DutchScandinavian committee; but in raising this dangerous weapon above peace negotiations, they had placed a sword of Damocles over the whole of Europe. True, the national liberation movements elsewhere had gained considerable momentum, and derived support from the belligerents; the Bolsheviks were not the first to use this weapon. But in placing the demand within the context of their ‘revolutionary diplomacy’, and giving it a universal application, and from the position of state authority which »

they now commanded, they could not have been unaware of the repercus¬ sions in the weakened multinational empires of the world. Lenin had grasped the potentially revolutionary significance of the national movement at an early stage of the war; what he failed to realise was that this did not necessarily promote the cause of the socialist revolution, since the disintegration of multinational states did not eliminate the power of imperialism. This much was understood by Noske, hardly a sympathiser of the left, when he defended the retention of military forces in the occupied territories of eastern Europe. Their withdrawal would simply

Illusions and realities

229

mean their replacement by the forces of (other) imperialist govern¬ ments." Lenin’s assumption that the opposition would collapse if his side let go of the rope failed to take into account the weakness of his own men, or the ability of his stronger opponents to rally and renew the contest. The experience of war laid bare many of the cherished illusions of peacetime social democracy, though it should also be said that many hopes and aspirations were fortified at the same time. The moral heart of European social democracy was sorely afflicted by the batterings of war and revolution, but it still beat. The experiences of the postwar years above all, the inability of the statesmen at Versailles and elsewhere to settle upon a just and democratic peace, the permanent division of the labour movement, the rise of fascism and the renewal of global warfare 20 years later - were to prove an even more severe test of the belief in the ability of mankind to overcome its imperfections and fulfil its moral destiny.

11

Taking stock

The disintegration of the International The German military reversal in August 1918 marked a decisive turning point in-the war. Within two months, the coalition of the central powers was breaking up; the German government was reconstructed on a parliamentary basis under Prince Max of Baden, with SPD participation. The acceptance of the fourteen points by this government as a basis for peace talks generated a flurry of renewed activity in London and the neutral capitals, with the object of convening an international socialist conference. Hopes of an impressive gathering of representatives of labour meeting at the same time as the peace conference and making its united voice heard were not to be realised, however.1 The original plan to hold a conference in Paris was frustrated by the refusal of Clemenceau to permit citizens of enemy countries to enter France; and after further difficulties had been surmounted, the city of Bern in Switzerland was chosen as the venue. The conference of 103 delegates from 26 countries which met at the Volkshaus in Bern in February 1919 was convened in circumstances which few could have predicted the last time the Second International met on Swiss soil. On that occasion, in November 1912, the bells of Basel cathedral had rung out what seemed at the time to be a paean of triumph for the united might of international socialism, the great guarantor of peace. A storm of applause had greeted the words of Eduard Anseele, proclaiming the twofold task of the International: preparedness for defensive action against the possibility of violence unleashed by capitalism, and for an offensive to conquer the bourgeois state. No more would the proletariat be overtaken by events, Anseele declared.2 Less than two years later this proud boast was to have a hollow echo, as the labour movements of Europe aligned themselves with their erstwhile opponents behind the banner of national defence and security. Neither Anseele nor his Belgian colleagues attended the Bern conference, refusing to speak to the German socialists whom they regarded as virtual accomplices of the imperial government which had unleashed the war and subsequent occupation of most of Belgium. The Italian, Swiss and Rumanian parties refused to attend a gathering dominated by ‘social patriots’. The Bolsheviks, a factious group of despised exiles in 1912, were now in power in Russia, and the regime which they had established was to be a major item of debate at Bern - conducted in their absence. The wartime differences between the majority and minority factions

Taking stock

231

within German and French socialism continued to create animosity and bitterness. Although the British sponsors of the conference had wished to avoid the question of war guilt, their French partners, and Albert Thomas in particular, insisted on its inclusion in the agenda. Thomas also aroused much heated debate over attitudes towards Soviet Russia. The minority, led by Friedrich Adler and Jean Longuet, opposed any attempt to brand the Soviet experiment as undemocratic and misguided. They wished to keep the door open to all class-conscious revolutionary parties, and not exclude them.3 The conference adopted two resolutions relating to the peace settlement. The first endorsed the idea of a League ofNations, one of‘the noblest ideals of the socialist International’. The League was to be founded upon a just peace settlement, and its principal tasks were envisaged as being the prevention of further wars, by the enforcement of disarmament measures and the disbanding of standing armies, the resolution of disputes through arbitration, the prevention of economic crises through free-trade conventions, and the erection of an international labour tribunal.4 In other words, the League ofNations was to embody the principles of the preventive strategy endorsed by the prewar International, and taken up in the later stages of the war by the British labour movement, which was the most enthusiastic promoter of the idea at Bern. The second resolution dealt with the territorial questions. It demanded the right of peoples to determine their destiny and statehood within the framework of the League of Nations, which was also to organise plebiscites in cases of conflict, and to act as arbitrator if necessary. The League was also to afford protection to colonial peoples, and to promote education, civil liberties and political rights with a view to future national independence.5 The Dutch-Scandinavian committee and the inter-allied socialist memorandum had both tried to steer clear of the nationalities question by placing it within an international context, though the former had spoken of international guarantees, autonomy and democratic federation, rather than outright independence, whilst the allied socialists had pinned their faith in a supranational authority, and had rejected unity of race or identity of language as prima facie arguments for federation or unification. At the Bern conference, President Wilson was hailed by a number of speakers as - in Branting’s words - ‘historically a pioneering champion of the international policy of the working class’.6 The international permanent commission, consisting of two representatives from each party, was set up at Bern; and on 16 February it selected a nine-man delegation (four French, three British, Branting and Huysmans) to go to Paris, to present the Bern resolutions to the peace conference. Attempts

232

War, Peace and Revolution

to discuss the proposals with Wilson came to nothing; the best that could be achieved were discussions with his confidant. Colonel House. At the end of April, the international permanent commission met in Amsterdam, and adopted a series of resolutions on specific territorial issues. The recognition of the independence of Finland and Georgia was demanded, as was the right of the Estonian, Armenian, Ukrainian and Irish peoples to national self-determination, and of the GermanAustrians to choose whether or not to join the German state. The Czechs’ claim to annex German-speaking areas of Bohemia and Moravia was rejected, as were the claims of Czechoslovakia, Rumania and Yugoslavia to parts of Hungary. The Paris peace conference was not to take any decision regarding these areas, but should leave the question of national affiliation to be decided by plebiscites under League of Nations’ auspices. The Jewish peoples’ right to a national home in Palestine was also acknowledged. Finally, the conference declared its resolve to fight any peace settlement not in accordance with the fourteen points, though it did not specify how this would be done.7 Four months later, at a second conference in Lucerne of the commis¬ sion, a rather different picture had emerged. The illusions of a just and democratic peace had been shattered, and the international socialist movement, far from exercising powerful and united pressure upon the peacemakers, was torn and tattered. The majority resolution submitted by Renaudel was critical of the peace treaty, but welcomed the fact that it had been signed as the first condition for a subsequent revision. Although the League of Nations as constituted was acknowledged to be a bourgeois institution, it offered a hope for socialism, as an embryonic global organisation for the regulation of world affairs. The minority revolution, submitted by Hilferding and Longuet, condemned the peace treaty as a Diktat, and pledged the International to employ all means at its disposal to revise the treaty in accordance with the terms approved at Bern and Amsterdam. The aim of the international labour movement was to utilise the revolutionary situation brought about by the war to conquer political power for the realisation of socialism and the dissolution of classes - an echo of the left-wing amendment to the 1907 Stuttgart resolution. The majority resolution failed to denounce intervention against Russia and Hungary, or to define its attitude towards Russia, though it implicitly rejected the dictatorship of the proletariat in its emphasis upon democracy as the main aim of the revolution. The minority resolution urged defence by all socialists of the Russian revolution and denounced intervention, and called for a united front of all socialists to promote the class struggle.8 Although unanimity was finally achieved on a resolution outlining the territorial issues for revision, the Lucerne conference revealed the

Taking stock

233

divisions which had sprung up during the war. One month after the Bern conference, the Third International had been founded, in somewhat hurried circumstances, in Moscow. This conference endorsed a resolution drafted by Zinov’yev which condemned the efforts of the Bern meeting as designed to create a ‘yellow’ International, and singled out the ‘centrist’ trend as more dangerous than ‘social chauvinism’ - pseudo¬ revolutionary, yet striving for unity with the reprobates of majority socialism. The Third (Communist) International thus continued to follow the line already marked out by Lenin in 1916-1917. Kurt Eisner’s eloquent plea for socialist unity at the Bern conference was not to be. Within two years, the divisions had widened beyond repair. The second congress of the Communist International, meeting in July 1920, approved the 21 conditions for admission, which specified amongst other things the expulsion of all reformist and centrist leaders from parties which were to adopt the communist label. The efforts of the wartime opposition groups and parties to bridge the gap were unavailing. In the winter of 1920-1921, the parties which occupied the middle ground attempted to lay the basis of a reconstructed International. A conference in Vienna on 22 February 1921 set up the International Working Union to further this aim. Discussions in Berlin the following year between representatives of the three international groupings broke up in disagreement. By the autumn, the Vienna Union was beginning to accept that Moscow would not countenance any reconstruction of the International other than on its own terms. In May 1923, 620 delegates from parties not affiliated to the Third International agreed in Hamburg to re-establish the International under a new name - the Labour and Socialist International.9 The disintegration of the Second International cannot solely be attri¬ buted to Lenin’s ‘splitting’ tactics. The founding congress of the Third International was a hastily contrived affair, attended by an odd assort¬ ment of non-representative individuals. Russia was in the grip of civil war. Attempts to reintroduce Soviet regimes into the western borderlands early in 1919 were repulsed, and these areas became bases for counter¬ revolutionary and interventionist forces during the summer of that year. Russia had been defeated in the war, and was not represented at the Paris conference, where emigres sought to secure allied backing for their own plans. The discontent which welled up throughout postwar Europe cannot be attributed to the malevolent example or encouragement of the Bolsheviks, even though the Soviet bogey was frequently blamed for revolutionary unrest. The delegates who assembled at Bern had to face up to a general European crisis brought about by a destructive war, not promoted by Bolshevism. The divisions which existed were within their own ranks; they were not an alien import.

234

War, Peace and Revolution

The war had cruelly exposed the inadequacies of the Second Inter¬ national as a coordinating body, and the illusions of its members about the strength and effectiveness of international working-class solidarity; but it did not destroy the ideal of internationalism. Indeed, it could be argued that the experiences of war strengthened this ideal, even though its upholders fell to squabbling and mutual recriminations. Out-and-out supporters of the national war effort such as David and Renaudel continued to maintain their internationalism, which they saw being upheld by their own party. The SPD leaders might be accused of deliberate distortion of the meaning of Marxist internationalism in defending their decision to resist the ‘Russian threat’, and in welcoming the Russian reolution as a vindication of their mission of liberation; but the fact that they were so anxious to maintain contacts with other socialist parties, and did constantly stress their commitment to internationalism, is evidence that they did not discount the usefulness of an international socialist front. International issues rarely featured on the agenda of the British Labour Party before 1914: that they came to the forefront after 1917 undoubtedly has a lot to do with the work of the middle-class intellectuals of the Fabian Society and the Union of Democratic Control, but at the same time, such issues were seen within the framework of socialist or working-class solidarity across frontiers. True, the party’s ‘proletarian boots’ might have been belied by its Gladstonian head, ‘wearing the little red cap which it liked none too well’, as the communist J. T. Murphy put it.10 But the war years did see the party assume a leading role in attempting to formulate a socialist peace programme, and in the efforts to revive the International. The socialist opponents of the prowar parties continued to voice their scepticism about the internationalism of the majority. This division was less acute in France and Britain, where the moderate antiwar opposition managed to find a modus vivendi with their erstwhile opponents in 1918. More serious was the split in the German labour movement. Friedrich Adler, writing to Ramsay MacDonald in February 1921, felt that it might still have been possible to resolve the crisis within the Second Inter¬ national; but the USPD and other internationalist parties could not remain in the same community as the ‘unrepentant sinners’ of the SPD. As a result of this chaos, Lenin had been able to rush into ‘one of the most fateful experiments for labour, not only in Russia, but of the whole world’.11 Whether Lenin would have stayed his hand had the socialist international movement been stronger or more united, as Adler seems to imply, is doubtful. But the tenor of Adler’s letter is unmistakably that of the internationalism of the Zimmerwald majority. Zimmerwald had been more than a protest against the war; it was also a moral critique of the

Taking stock

235

failings of social democracy. Herein lay the difference between the moderate ‘northern neutrals’ and the Mensheviks, centre-left USPD, PSI and Swiss socialists who constituted the Zimmerwald bloc. Scandinavian socialists such as Stauning, Branting, Bjorgberg and Moller could ascribe the failure of the International to its powerlessness, and then proceed to act upon the pragmatic assumption that its work for peace should nevertheless be continued.12 For internationalists such as Robert Grimm, this was not enough. The class struggle, the ‘very fundament’ of the labour movement, had been shamefully abandoned. It was to be the task of Zimmerwald to restore that essential element, and to create an International of action.13 As the minority resolution at Lucerne declared, the general question of socialist tactics could only be resolved by productive agreement between all socialists, and this could only be achieved by returning to the firm principles of the International, i.e. the class struggle and rejection of collaboration with the bourgeoisie, and by energetic action.14 One of the major failings of the centrists, in the eyes of the Bolsheviks and their allies, was an inability to translate words into action. At a national level, this accusation is less tenable: workers could rally to international causes, as the demonstration strikes against intervention in Russia and Hungary of July 1919 showed. But there was a lack of understanding or agreement between the leadership. The idea of a 24-hour strike had first been raised by the PSI in May, and taken up by the CGT; but the British trade unions and party politicians were resolutely opposed to the idea, and the CGT backed out at the last minute. Ramsay MacDonald at Lucerne dwelt at length on the need for a ‘programme of action’ acceptable to socialists of all countries; but he proposed no measures for achieving this end, and spoke dismissively of strike action as a means of applying political pressure. Friedrich Adler, the arch-reconstructionist, also opposed the proposed demonstration strike in sympathy for Soviet Hungary, on the grounds that it might provoke an allied reaction.15 The inability of the internationalists to realise their declared aims was seen by Lenin as an indictment of the hesitant and wavering course of ‘social pacifism’, with its longing for unity with the social chauvinists. It was precisely against centrists such as Friedrich Adler and Jean Longuet, Karl Kautsky and Giacinto Serrati that Lenin directed much of his in¬ vective in the early years of the Communist International, in spite of the fact that in much of Europe, the ‘social chauvinists’ still retained the loyalty of the majority of politically active workers. In a tense and revo¬ lutionary situation, Lenin probably saw the ‘pseudo-revolutionaries as the more dangerous threat to a communist-inspired movement, though his polemics against Kautsky in particular reflect his disgust with those whom he had before 1914 regarded as ideologically sound. The founding congress of the Third International appropriated the

236

War, Peace and Revolution

revolutionary remains of Zimmerwald and discarded the centrist inheri¬ tance. 16 But the thin and often wavering red line of socialist international¬ ism did not perish. It survived in the ranks of the reunited socialist parties after 1923, and was kept alive by dissidents such as Max Seydewitz, James Maxton, Marceau Pivert and Ture Nerman, and groups such as the Socialist League in Britain, the Socialist Workers’ Party in Germany and the Mot Dag group in Norway. In the 1930s, these groups attempted to create a new internationalist grouping, and sought to exercise pressure on the Labour and Socialist International for a more accommodating attitude towards the communist movement. At its meeting in Berlin on 5-6 May 1932, this group affirmed that: Capitalism means War! Socialism means peace. The struggle for peace is, therefore, a struggle against Capitalism. Every coalition with Capitalist parties, every toleration of a Capitalist government, strengthens the economic and social system of Capitalism and en¬ courages the growth of Fascism which today is the strongest bul¬ wark of militarism and nationalism. At the same time these coalitions and tolerations weaken the possibility of active warresistance. Defence of the Soviet state, the re-establishment of the national and international unity of the working-class movement, and the proclamation of a general strike in the event of war: these were the tasks of the proletariat. The general tone of the reports from the delegates, with their gloomy accounts of schism, betrayal and infighting on the left and right of the labour movement, is distinctly at variance with the stern call to revolutionary action of the resolution; but neither would have been out of place in a Swiss village near Bern in September 1915.17 Socialism, democracy and dictatorship Kurt Eisner had pleaded for unity at Bern because socialism was ‘ham¬ mering at the door’. It was no longer a programme for a distant future, but a demand for immediate action.18 This was certainly true in the case of Germany and Austria, where social democrats found themselves cast in the role of inheritors of the bankrupt stock of the old empires. To answer satisfactorily the question of why the socialists did not succeed in carrying out fundamental social and political changes which might have ushered in the kind of social democracy they had longed talked of would require a second volume; but a few general points must nevertheless be made here. In the autumn of 1918, the multinational Habsburg Empire dis¬ integrated, leaving behind what Otto Bauer was to describe as a castle with the national park of the Alps and a bit of land - rump Austria.19 A German-Austrian republic was proclaimed on 12 November, and a

Taking stock

237

coalition of Christian socials and social democrats headed by Karl Renner formed. During the two years of coalition, a number of reforms were pushed through: but the social democrats were never very happy in government. As early as 9 January 1919, foreign minister Otto Bauer confessed to Jean Longuet that a purely socialist government was out of the question, since this would have alienated the agrarian and conservative provinces, leaving Vienna and Lower Austria in a parlous situation in which any socialist regime would have been starved into sub¬ mission within days. A purely bourgeois government was also impossible, since it would never have introduced the republic.20 In common with his colleagues, Bauer regarded socialism as feasible only within the frame¬ work of a union of the German peoples (including those of Bohemia and Moravia which the new Czech state claimed), an option ruled out by the terms of the peace treaties.21 In 1923, Bauer sought to justify the coalition as a temporary but necessary expedient to strengthen the position of the workers within the bourgeois state. This phase came to an end by 1920-1921, with the recovery of the bourgeoisie.22 But even in 1919, Bauer had sounded a note of caution about the prospects for socialism in Austria. Socialism could not be rushed in an impoverished country with a ruined economy, lost markets, a reactionary peasant majority, and with the omnipresent threat of renewed allied intervention.23 The German socialists assumed the burdens of office with rather similar forebodings. Kurt Eisner, who placed himself at the head of a mass movement in Munich in November 1918 and formed a coalition government, was a reluctant revolutionary, impelled by a moral con¬ viction that the war-weary masses should not be left in the lurch by socialist leaders in times of crisis. His aims were essentially democratic. He hoped that a democratic Bavaria would be able to exercise sufficient moral force to bring about a fair peace for Germany. Defeat for the USPD in the January elections compelled him to resign in February, though he was shot by a right-wing fanatic before he could announce his decision.24 In Berlin, the SPD had originally entered into coalition with the USPD in November 1918 to form the council of people’s commissars. This union had broken up at the end of the year amidst riots and disorders in the capital, though the SPD remained in office, suppressing attempted coups with the aid of Freikorps units and resolutely setting its face against any revolutionary experiments such as council democracy (Ratedemokratie). Hermann Muller, twice chancellor of Germany in the 1920s, maintained at the party’s Weimar conference in March 1919 that the SPD was in coalition with the bourgeois parties to ensure that social democrats would not have to bear the burden of responsibility alone for accepting the peace terms, and for internal reasons. The SPD should seek to

238

War, Peace and Revolution

exercise pressure to bring benefits for the workers., but should not step into ultra-radicalism. The USPD radicals and the communists threatened to turn Germany into a ‘second Mexico’ with their admiration for violent revolution.25 Unlike Austria, where the communists were numerically weak and the social democrats united, the left in Germany had frag¬ mented. Otto Weis claimed at Lucerne that Germany could have a purely socialist government if the USPD were willing to join forces with the SPD; but Hilferding denounced the SPD for allying with the bourgeoisie instead of opposing it: ‘The Prime Minister and some of his colleagues may call themselves Socialists, but the decisive force in the present German Government was Herr Erzberger, the leader of a party which contained all reactionary elements. That was the thing that really mattered.’26 The centre-left opposition talked a great deal about the urgency of the moment and the need for socialism, and accused those moderates who went into government of dereliction of duty and betrayal of the socialist cause. But the intellectual luminaries of the centre-left were not very hopeful of achieving socialism in the near future. This is the message of defensive caution carried in Otto Bauer’s 1919 Way to Socialism, in Kautsky’s writings, and in the speeches and articles of other Germans who rejected the SPD and the ultra-left. Thus, Friedrich Adler at Bern felt that the real difficulty facing socialism lay in the fact that the war had so undermined the ruling classes in Europe that they were ripe for over¬ throw: ‘but on the other hand, the war has devastated Europe and left us so economically depressed that it is truly very difficult in this war situation to build socialism’. The question was whether socialists should allow capitalism to recover or whether they should take advantage of the situation. Adler himself did not offer an answer, though he opposed any attempt to condemn the Soviet experiment. Kautsky disagreed with Adler’s view that the methods of achieving socialism were of secondary importance. What was needed first and foremost was a recovery of the economy. Capitalism would undoubtedly regain confidence if socialism failed to raise production levels in an effective manner: that was why it was necessary to ask if the Bolsheviks’ methods were correct - and on a theoretical plane, everything seemed to deny that they were. All the Bolsheviks had managed to do was create a powerful army: they had destroyed two major industries, disillusioned and ‘corrupted’ the proletariat, many of whom had returned to the land in despair. Kautsky believed that the best way of supporting the revolution in Russia was to back democratic socialism there against the Bolsheviks. Eduard Bernstein was even more forthright, condemning the Bolsheviks as counter¬ revolutionaries, in Germany as well as Russia. The Bolsheviks had grafted Marx’s precisely defined theory of the dictatorship of the

Taking stock

239

proletariat onto a country utterly unprepared for it; the end result was that ‘a rotten, false system is at the helm’, which, having bankrupted Russia, now sought to bankrupt other countries.27 The example of Russia, which even Friedrich Adler believed was funda¬ mentally flawed, did influence the debate on democracy or dictatorship; but it also offered an object lesson on how socialism could go disastrously wrong, not only in a backward country, but also in circumstances of economic collapse. Quite simply, the orthodox socialists of the German¬ speaking lands did not believe that an ambitious programme of social¬ isation of the means of production was feasible when the economy was in such a state of dislocation. The fortunes of capitalism exercised a peculiar fascination on socialist theorists. Several noted how finance capital had tended to lessen the anarchy of production, and was creating a rational and well-organised economic order, very different from that of Marx’s day. Organised labour was seen as a kind of restraining bit in the mouth of a boisterous capitalist horse. For Rudolf Hilferding, this had produced the paradox of a ‘counter¬ revolutionary’ labour movement taming the ‘revolutionary’ tendencies of capitalism. For Karl Renner, the only way in which socialism could hope to curb this dynamic force was by organisation and administration, and the instrument was the state, no longer serving the bourgeoisie alone, but a regulator of society and of the economy.28 Writing in the 1920s, the Belgian socialist Flenrik de Man argued that the defence of democratic gains necessitated the stabilisation of capitalism. Hence socialists in power since 1918 had pursued fundamentally conservative policies.24 At the end of his life, Otto Bauer maintained that democracy had furthered the development of a more rational and benevolent capitalism: a kind of symbiosis had developed between capitalism and reformist social democracy, in which both were mellowed. For this reason, the working class lacked revolutionary drive in the postwar upheavals.30 Socialists on the left had long suspected that their more moderate colleagues would be quite happy to postpone socialism to an indefinite future. But although the left loudly proclaimed its faith in the socialist revolution, it rarely had an opportunity to put its principles into practice. Parties of the centre—left such as the USPD and PSI lurched through the ‘Red years’ of 1919-1920 like omnibuses driven by a quarrelsome collec¬ tive, veering from left to right and back again, without ever reaching their proclaimed destination. The communist parties remained on the left, but tended to swerve into the fields of putschism, throwing off many of the more sober passengers in the process. By 1923 they were beginning to accept driving instructions from Moscow, though some had returned to the garage of social democracy and others had been swept off the road completely by authoritarian regimes, as in Hungary and Italy.31

240

War, Peace and Revolution

There was a strong current of anarchism or anarcho-syndicalism running through the revolutionary left. Distrust of organisation and party discipline, a faith in the power of spontaneous mass action, contempt for parliamentary and trade unionist tactics, and a belief that workers should do things for themselves as they were thought to have done in Russia, were the hallmarks of the ‘infantile disease of left-wing communism’ against which Lenin polemicised in 1920. The one area in which the left might have made a real impact was in the workers’ councils, set up in most countries of Europe between 1918 and 1920. But the scope and function of these councils varied enormously. In most instances, there was a crucial lack of coordination, and an inability to construct a truly national political programme or movement. Many of the councils were intended simply to press grievances about pay or working conditions. The moderates were often able to control and direct them into politically harmless areas of activity. Above all, in no country did they ever threaten to emulate the soviets, if for no other reason than the fact that state power had not collapsed as completely, even in Germany and Austria, as it had done in Russia. The Soviet republic set up in Hungary in March 1919 did come about as a result of the abdication of power by the Karolyi govern¬ ment in the face of an entente ultimatum to evacuate Hungarian territory; but it was not the result of pressure from workers’ councils, and Kun’s regime did not rest upon any such mandate. The workers’ councils in Austria, unlike Germany, were maintained as a political arm of the proletariat, under Friedrich Adler’s direction; but they rejected the Hungarian appeal to establish a Soviet Austria in March, and their social democratic leaders had no compunction about arresting Austrian communists in June 1919, after a failed putsch sponsored by the Hungarians. The centre-left did not reject the idea of a dictatorship of the prole¬ tariat, but they regarded it as a temporary measure, should circumstances so dictate,- to be carried out by the authorised representatives of the movement. They shared the right’s dislike of putchism and trigger-happy adventurers, and much preferred the democratic option. The Finnish socialists in their brief tenure of revolutionary office were extremely sensitive to criticism by their Swedish right-wing colleagues, and vehemently denied that they intended to set up a minority dictatorship. On the contrary, they were fighting in defence of democracy.32 Yrjo Sirola, in his sketch for a seizure of power, had been careful to stress this point; were the situation to demand a dictatorship, this could only be a temporary phase until the working-class majority of the people had adopted the programme of socialist reforms.33 The 1926 Linz programme of Austrian social democracy, which accepted Max Adler’s line that bourgeois resistance and rebellion should be broken by means of

Taking stock

241

a workers’ dictatorship, caused confusion since it clashed with the party’s commitment to democracy. Even Karl Kautsky, in his initial reflections on the question of democracy and dictatorship, did not make a clear distinction between the two, which he believed should mean the rule of the majority over a minority of oppressors in either instance.34 For reformist socialists, the issue was clearcut. The Swedish social democrats had condemned the Finnish experiment and Bolshevism in forthright terms on 12 February.35 Theoretical expositions were not needed to convince moderates that communism would not work, and would end in a personal dictatorship (or a dictatorship of the intellectuals, as Renner had prophesied in 1916 - ‘a picture of the future which will appeal to no worker’). The road ahead for the working class was democratic, ‘and we should not let ourselves be lured along any other, be it bedecked by ever so seductive a red mantle’, declared Branting in November 1918. Any deviation from this road would be ‘death and destruction for liberty in the world’, asserted his party colleague, Gustav Moller.36 Branting launched a blistering attack in October 1919 on those who scorned democracy, in words which evoked the long fight of veterans such as Branting himself for the vote for working men and women: We have fought for a generation for democracy. No-one can persuade us that we have been fighting for a worthless illusion. . . . The majority can surely understand that a people cannot live its life without democracy, but it is dangerous to weaken the workers’ attachment to this, since that may result in the other classes seizing power once more. Those classes which stand opposed to the working class can surely not imagine any better allies than those who seek to present democracy to the workers as worthless rubbish.37 And it was Hjalmar Branting, whose hand is clearly evident in the Bern resolution on ‘Democracy and Dictatorship’, which drew a clear line between those who urged a seizure of power and workers’ dictatorship and the social democratic adherents of democracy: Given the view of the conference that a truly socialist development is possible only in association with democracy, the method of socialisation which has no prospects of winning the support of a majority of the people must be ruled out from the outset. Even more dangerous would be any attempt to set up a dictatorship based upon only a section of the proletariat. This can only lead to the annihilation of the proletariat in a civil war. The result would be the dictatorship of reaction. Socialisation was taken to mean the planned development of different

242

War, Peace and Revolution

branches of the economy under democratic control. The arbitrary takingover of individual factories by small groups of workers would not be socialisation, ‘but capitalism with more shareholders’.38 For Swedish and Danish social democrats, the issue of democracy was relatively straightforward. It was primarily a struggle for the extension of the franchise, the abolition of privileged electoral classes, and the reduction of the influence of the Crown. The forces of reaction still had shots in their lockers, but were on the retreat, and it was to prove possible in the 1930s for social democrats to work in harmony with centre-left bourgeois parties in laying the foundations of a welfare state and in undertaking some measures for a planned economy. The Finnish Social Democratic Party recovered strength remarkably quickly after the civil war, though it was dogged by the incubus of 1918 and plagued by the disruptive activities of the communists on the one hand, and the intransi¬ gence of employers and White politicians on the other. The Norwegian Labour Party had fallen to the left in 1918, and the party conference of that year called for a new social order based on a soviet system. The revolutionary tactic was never used, however, and by 1923 the party had broken with the Third International. It was able to survive the period of flirtation with a revolutionary tactic - which owed more to native radicalism than Leninism - because the future of the democratic state was not seriously at issue, and because of a lack of divisive social issues which could be exploited by a revolutionary movement. An antinational attitude still flickered in the party, though this was virtually dead by the outbreak of war, when social democrats in all four Nordic countries were in government.39 Outside northern Europe, the picture was not so rosy. By the late 1930s, reactionary regimes dominated the continent. The German and Austrian labour movements lay in ruins, their leaders languishing in prison or concentration camps, or sharing a miserable exile with socialists and communists from Italy and most of the countries of eastern Europe. The popular front governments of France and Spain were soon to be extinguished - in the Spanish case, by civil war and Franco’s dictator¬ ship. The British Labour Party was still trying to recover from the disaster of 1931. As for the communist parties which survived, they were illuminated more by the light of Moscow (which shone relentlessly on all who were suspected of deviation) than by their own modest intellectual lights. The Communist Party of the Soviet Union seemed to offer at least some semblance of firm resolve and leadership in a world grown dark; the seekers after progress and the socialist solution who followed the Moscow road were prepared to forgive and forget a good deal in their isolation. This is a dismal picture; but not entirely unpredictable. The swing to the left which occurred between 1917 and 1920 tended to mask not only

Taking stock

243

countervailing trends, but also the mood of defensive anxiety with which socialist leaders viewed the future. The war years brought home many unpleasant truths which socialists had been loath to contemplate before 1914. The ‘ever onward, ever upward’ optimism of the prewar era was not to be repeated. Party and union organisations were seriously dislocated by the war, and were ill-equipped to deal with the great influx of new members when the fighting ended. At the same time, new forms of organisation had developed in the factories in response to the exigencies of wartime. These new organisations - shop stewards’ com¬ mittees and workers’ councils - failed nevertheless to become effective alternatives or auxiliaries to the older party and union structures. They were hampered by regional differences and isolation, sectional divisions, lack of any clearly perceived aims, and often by an unwillingness to break with the old structure. The council movement did not provide an alter¬ native around which the left as a whole could rally. The Soviet Russian model lured many towards communism, but the parties they created were in many respects a complete antithesis of the tightly organised avantgarde party which was outlined as the ideal in the ‘21 conditions’. The signs of ‘infantilism’ which Lenin detected in these early communist parties were in part inherited from before the war, though much was symptomatic of the naive and labile radicalism which erupted in the aftermath of war. Early communist parties all experienced wild fluctu¬ ations of mood and membership. Many thousands undoubtedly did roll to the extreme left and out again - sometimes into the radical parties of the right.40 On the other hand, the earlier picture of communist parties consisting overwhelmingly of unskilled, inexperienced new recruits to the labour movement has begun to undergo revision, and the ‘labour aristocracy’ thesis, which confines skilled workers to the socialist wing, is no longer tenable. In France and Finland, communist parties did succeed in attracting support from impoverished farm workers and small farmers, though historical and economic circumstances may well have determined this form of protest politics rather than the attractions of party policy. The debates on the land question at the second world congress of the communist International in 1920 showed how little western Marxists thought of the prospect of winning over the peasantry, or of Lenin’s cosseting of the small peasants. Here, as in so many other instances, the Russian way to socialism caused immense problems to those called upon to define their own tactics and strategy in its wake.41 Recent historical scholarship has attempted to get away from the traditional view of 1917-1920 in terms of party labels and ideological conflict by looking at the labour movement ‘from below’. This method of approach has provided many valuable insights and useful correctives, but is not without its dangers. There is always a temptation to generalise on

244

War, Peace and Revolution

the basis of evidence from one particular group of workers or locality. Attention has been focused more on areas of radical activity, such as the Ruhr, Clydeside and Turin, rather than on those which remained relatively undisturbed by industrial action or political militancy.42 We know a good deal about engineering workers and miners, but not very much about those who worked for low wages in the factories which were not producing for the war effort. And the attitudes and expectations of the troops returning to resume civilian life are still virtually unresearched. The war experience was indeed so profound that it is difficult, and certainly unwise, to draw any firm conclusions. It is true that the creation of huge work units geared to war production, the erosion of skills by the introduction of single-purpose machines which could be operated by semi-skilled ‘dilutees’, and the simple fact that many workers spent so much of their waking day in the factories, and were denied many of the prewar outlets for discussion or political and trade union activity, did help blur notions of status.43 Commonly experienced hardship, and protest against such deprivation, did also create a kind of solidarity which transcended craft exlusivity or ethnic, sexual or regional differences on occasion. But as I have endeavoured to show, there is at least as much evidence to indicate that different groups failed to act together, or to perceive their circumstances as identical, as there is of common and sustained solidarity. This is especially the case with women workers, who constituted a very large proportion of the workforce in the belligerent countries by 1918. Women were often very keen on sniffing out ‘dodgers’, and were difficult to rouse into political activity; but they could show as much, if not more, militant spirit as their male counterparts in protesting about food shortages or working conditions. There was much resentment of women workers, on the other hand, and an indifference to their low wages and poor working conditions, on the part of male workers and union officials. There is much evidence of hostility on the part of soldiers towards workers in the munitions factories: the latter were earning good money producing the means of war, whilst the latter were risking their lives for a pittance.44 Antiwar socialists were often hard pressed to make any impact: workers who might be prepared to listen sympathetically when things were bad became indifferent when they improved. Jews, foreigners, especially coloured workers, whom the British labour movement feared would lower wages and living standards of British workers if brought to the country, youths with money to burn (in the eyes of their elders), all provoked as much resentment as the profiteers, ‘goulash barons’, and overbearing officials. The fact that there was a great deal of working-class unrest in the postwar years has also led historians into making what may be un¬ warranted assumptions about the nature of ‘radicalism’. Between the

Taking stock

245

perception of grievances and the desire to remedy them hy collective action there may be a great gulf. Julius Deutsch saw the crowd playing an important role in transforming the individual nonentity into a selfimportant radical; but Leon Trotsky had made a similar point four years before about the grey and anonymous individuals who were cheering the declaration of war on the Ringstrasse. Radicalism by its very nature, Deutsch believed, was founded on very simple ideas. The radicalised masses could or would not see the complexities of the issues.45 There is no reason to assume that they would automatically fall into the ranks of the left, either, or even if they did, that they would share the same convictions and aspirations of the leadership. This is not to say that determined and resourceful leadership could not give direction and positive force to mass discontent, as in the Ruhr coalfields in 1919—1920. But as Geary has observed with regard to Germany, and Lyttleton for Italy, the lack of coordination was crucial. Spontaneous mass movements were in the end ineffective unless orchestrated into a sustained national movement; and when this did occur, as in the case of the Kapp putsch of 1920, which was defeated by an impressive display of working-class solidarity, the effort was not maintained or resolutely supported from above. Where there was considerable pressure from below for determined action, party and union leaders often were able to steer this into less dangerous channels, as we have seen in the case of Sweden in the spring of 1917. In Finland, where the authority of the state in a newly independent country was weak, the party was pushed into attempting a seizure of power, but more out of fear of being swept aside than conviction. But in the industrially advanced nations of western Europe, however, the small and often persecuted ‘sects’ of the 1870s and 1880s were able to develop into large-scale national organisations, which embraced a vision of the future which ful¬ filled the function of a self-sustaining ideological momentum. At the same time, these organisations continued to respond to the pulse of change, and assumed a kind of mediating role between the working classes and the forces which determined the pace. Accommodation, rather than transformation, was the keynote of this activity, the acquisition of votes and wage agreements which would serve to entrench labour for the day when capitalism and the bourgeois state would succumb to their own internal contradictions, leaving the way open for socialism. Between 1917 and 1920, socialist parties in many European countries found themselves no longer in the position of mediating the aspirations and demands of their constituents as an oppositional element, but having to make crucial decisions for which they were woefully ill-prepared. Few possessed a ruthless leader with a talent for spotting the weaknesses of the opposition; but few lived in a country so open to outright seizure of power

246

War, Peace and Revolution

as Russia in 1917. Those who advocated any sort of exercise of power did so out of duty more often than not, and their main concern was to strengthen the redoubt, rather than storm the fortress of the bourgeois state. Those who attempted a violent seizure of power on the streets of Berlin, or Munich, or Vienna, were often inspired more by the rattle of the machine-gun than by any clearly thought-out notion of socialist state power. Others, such as the much-reviled Noske, simply conceived their duty to be the restoration of order, by whatever means possible. Noske’s excesses.were grotesque; but his concern for order was also shared by others. The chessboard upon which the forces of capitalism had played out a game which the labour movement intended to claim when the time was ripe had been overturned. Organised labour, instead of watching from the sidelines, had to help pick up the pieces and resume the game as a rather unwilling participant. Some, such as Otto Bauer, believed the game had reached a stage of equilibrium which might enable labour to steer it in a direction ultimately beneficial to its cause. When the forces of capitalism began to regain the upper hand, labour sought to resign, and resume its old position on the sidelines, but found that it could not. In the semi-industrialised and backward agrarian countries, the labour move¬ ments fluctuated between refusing to play and trying to take the game by storm: in both instances, they were swiftly swept away. In the countries of Europe where social democracy continued to enjoy mass support, labour opted for pluralism, within which it could hope to maintain its ‘policy of territorial redoubts and economic enclaves’. But in failing to destroy the ‘pockets of private power’ of big industry, the army and landowners, the German and Austrian socialists ultimately paid the penalty.46 Conclusion Socialism was essentially a vision of the future; and many were not always capable of squaring their perception of present realities with this vision. All too often they fell back upon the lessons of history and past precedent in order to see their way round the problems of the present. They were the inheritors of the traditions and thought of the enlightenment, confident that men were capable of attaining perfectibility, if only shown the true way. But underneath the outward confidence there always lurked a strong current of self-doubt and apprehension. At its mildest, this took the form of anxiety about the way of the world - the arms race, the bellicosity of the great powers, the resilience and adaptability of capitalism all caused worries for socialist theorists. At its most pessimistic, there was a fear that the rational and pacific persuaders might, in the end, have called into existence an uncontrollable and frightening force which could well sweep the organised movement into

Taking stock

247

destruction in times of chaos. The fear of the masses was not confined to reactionaries and conservatives; it was also present in social democratic parties and trade unions. In Russia, the weakly barricaded door gave way in 1917. Elsewhere, the doors yielded to admit the working class to a greater degree of representation, in parliament, in the factories and in negotiations with employers; but the structure remained intact, and once inside the building, the representatives of labour found themselves at a loss as to what to do next. There remained a sense of insecurity and isolation, a suspicion of the ruling order (often mingled with deference or a desire to imitate), and above all, a gross lack of confidence amongst the labour leaders when it came to the point of assuming responsibility. In such cir¬ cumstances, they preferred to consolidate and push forward cautiously from their redoubts, hoping to change the rules of the game in their favour. Theirs was essentially a defensive cast of mind from the start; and the shaken ruling class was little disposed to give way before such caution. Temperamentally ill-suited to govern, the socialists of the defeated countries found themselves briefly holding the ring at a time which they adjudged to be highly unfavourable for their cause. Retrenchment and constitutionalism rather than socialist transformation was the option they settled for. In this they differed little from the socialists who held office in other countries once peace had been established. The problems of the exercise of power in societies deeply affected by the changes wrought by war continued to prove elusive for a movement whose strength lay more in the ability to analyse and offer prescriptive remedies than in a talent for government. Over the years, in the democracies of northern Europe, Britain, France, the Low Countries and Switzerland, the parties of the left gradually assumed an established place in the political spectrum; elsewhere, they were to be swept aside by military dictatorships or fascist movements less encumbered by ideological luggage, and prepared to resort to brutal methods in order to rule. As this book has attempted to show, the upholders of what may be termed mainstream social democracy preferred to follow tried and trusted policies rather than plunge into new and unpredictable directions in the crisis of war and revolution. The example of Soviet communism was not an encouraging one, and was indeed seen as a perversion of Marxist principles and of the proletarian movement. The fear of an uncontrollable mass action which would serve only to smash the finely balanced mechanism of the capitalist economies of western Europe also persuaded life-long exponents of social democratic principles that democracy, whatever its shortcomings, was preferable to the dictatorship of the proletariat. The communist parties claimed to be the sole upholders of the proletarian cause, in uncompromising opposition to the ‘system’ and

248

War, Peace and Revolution

the socialist parties which were a part of it. That large numbers opted for communism would suggest that the political, social and economic order of the postwar years failed to offer an acceptable home for many workers, though other sections of the community preferred to see their salvation in the authoritarian right-wing parties. Social democrats found themselves having to work within a system of government and brokerage which they had not been able to shape, and which they still opposed. In the shifting and uncertain climate of interwar politics, social democracy’s strategy of prevention prevailed over its curative ideals, as it had during the war; but it could no longer count on the individed loyalties of the organised working class, and even less on the efficacy of its policies of containment against the subversive forces of the extremes of the political spectrum.

NOTES

1

2

3

4

5 6

7

8

9 10 11 12 13 14

15 16 17

18

Chapter 1 K. Kautsky, Der Wegzur Macht, Berlin, 1909, p.90. U. Ratz, ‘Karl Kautsky und die Abriistungskontroverse in der deutschen Sozialdemokratie, 1911-1912’, International Review of Social History, 11, (1966), pp.214-5, 220. M. Salvadori, Karl Kautsky and the socialist revolution 1880-1938, London, 1979, pp. 170-4. K.Kautsky, ‘Der erste Mai und der Kampf gegen den Militarismus’, Die Neue Zeit (19 April 1912), pp.97-109. K.Radek, ‘Zu unserem Kampf gegen den Imperialismus’, Die Neue Zeit (17 May 1912), pp.233-41. G.Eckstein, ‘Gegenwartsforderungen’, Die Neue Zeit (19 July 1912), pp.569-76. G.Haupt, Socialism and the Great War, Oxford, 1972, pp. 19-22. J.Humbert-Droz, Les origines de VInternationale Communiste, Neuchatel, 1968, pp.32-8. K.Kautsky, ‘Der Krieg und die Internationale’, Die Neue Zeit (8 November 1912), p.191. J.J.Becker, 1914: Comment les frangais sont entres dans la guerre, Paris, 1977, pp.86-90. E.Dolleans, Histoire du mouvement ouvrier 1871-1936, Paris, 1939, pp.202-3. See the speech of Georg Ledebour at the 1910 Copenhagen congress: Internationaler Sozialisten-Kongress zu Kopenhagen, Berlin, 1910, p.33. Haupt, pp.30-55. H.Fluger, Den socialdemokratiske partiledelse, Alexander Helphand og den II. Internationales fredsbetraebelser 1914-1917, ms. dissertation, University of Copenhagen, 1974, p.16. Draft letter to the ISB, July 1911, Karl Wiik collection, box 26, Finnish National Archives, (VA). H. Weber (O.Bauer), ‘Sozialismus und der Krieg’, Der Kampf, vol. 12 (1912), pp.105-6. Encylopedie socialiste, syndicale et cooperative de ITnternationale ouvriere, ed. J.Compere-Morel, Paris, 1921, pp.301-5. Cornpte rendu analytique du congres socialiste Internationale extraordinaire tenu a Bale, Brussels, 1912, p.31. Weber (Bauer), ‘Sozialismus und der Krieg’, p.106. Kautsky, Der Weg zur Macht, p.52. A.Pannekoek, ‘Massenaktion und Revolution’, Die Neue Zeit (19 July 1912), pp.591-2. See also K.Kautsky, ‘Die Aktion der Masse’, Die Neue Zeit (27 October 1911), pp. 106-17, and the introduction and texts in Pannekoek and Gorter’s Marxism, ed. D. Smart, London, 1978. Becker, p.106. Internationaler Sozialisten-Kongress zu Stuttgart, Berlin, 1907, p.82. F.Engels, ‘What have the working classes to do with Poland?’ (1866), reprinted in The First International and after, ed. D.Fernbach, The Pelican Marx Library, vol.3. London, 1974, pp.378-88. K.Marx and F.Engels, Historisch-Kritische Gesamtausgabe, eds D.Rjazanov and V.Adoratskij (reprint edition, Glasshiitten im Taunus, 1970), Part III, vol.l, p.206. Engels to Kautsky (7 February 1882), Friedrich Engels’ Briefwechsel mit Karl Kautsky, ed. B.Kautsky, Vienna, 1955, pp.52-3. Engels to Bernstein (22/25

250

19 20

21 22

23 24

25 26 27 28

29 30 31 32

33 34 35 36 37 38

War, Peace and Revolution February 1882, 8 October 1886), Eduard Bernsteins Briefwechsel mit Friedrich Engels, ed. H.Hirsch, Assen, 1970, pp.82-3,343. Engels to Kautsky (7 February 1882), Briefwechsel, p.51. Luxemburg’s views on the national question can be gleaned from The national question. Selected writings by Rosa Luxemburg, ed. H.Davis, New York, 1976. For Lenin, see especially V.Lenin, Collected Works, Moscow, 1964-5, vol.20, pp.404-14, and vol.22, pp. 146-7. As in his article ‘The national pride of the Great Russians’ (1914), ibid., vol.21, pp.102-6. K.Kautsky, Nationalitat und Internationalitat, Stuttgart, 1908, pp.16-7. An interesting general review of the debate occasioned by the publication of Otto Bauer’s study of the nationality problem can be found in M.Borisov, ‘Sotsializm i problema natsional’noy avtonomii’, Sotsialist-revolyutsioner, vol.2 (1910), pp.227-33 et seq. G.Eley, ‘Defining social imperialism: use and abuse of an idea’, Social History, vol.3 (1976), pp.280-5. D.Groh, Negative Integration und revolutionarer Attentismus, Frankfurt-amMain, 1973, pp.723ff. F.Adler, ‘Die Sozialdemokratie in Deutschland und der Krieg’, Der Kampf, vol.l (1915), pp.35-6. A.Pannekoek, ‘De sociaaldemokratie en de oorlog’, De Nieuwe Tijd, vol.2 (1915), pp.145-6. M.Ferro, The Great War 1914-1918, London, 1973, p.4. N.De Stefano, ‘Moti popolari in Emilia-Romagna e Toscana, 1915-1917’, Rivista storica del socia/ismo, vol.32 (1967), pp. 191-2. See Henrik de Man’s observation: ‘Now, socialism will not be realisable as long as snobbery is supreme, a snobbery thanks to which the worker regards the bourgeoisie as being worthy of envy and admiration.’ H.de Man, The psychology of socialism, London, 1928, p.105. Robert Michels had already analysed the aspirations of the working class to rise into the ranks of the bour¬ geoisie before the war: see Part 4, ch.4. of his Political Parties, English edition, London, 1915. G.Lichtheim, A short history of socialism, London, 1975, p.222. H.Meyer, Den politiske arbeiderbevegelse i Norge, Oslo, 1935, pp.155, 171-2. W.Miinzenberg, Die sozialistischen Jugendorganisationen vor und wahrend des Krieges, Berlin, 1919, p.46. The major study of the growth of the Finnish Social Democratic Party is by H.Soikkanen, Sosialismin tulo Suomeen, Porvoo-Helsinki, 1961. See also D.Kirby, The Finnish Social Democratic Party, 1903-1918, Ph.D.thesis, University of London, 1971, pp.58-79. H.Tingsten, Den svenska socialdemokratins ideutveckling, Stockholm, 1941, vol.2, p.98. Z.Hoglund, ‘Parlamentarismens varde’, Stormklockan (17 June 1911). A.Pannekoek, ‘De sociaaldemokratie en de oorlog’, De Nieuwe Tijd, vol.l (1915), pp.71-2; vol.2 (1915), pp.143-5. G.Roth, The social democrats in Imperial Germany, Totowa, NT, 1963, pp.250-61, 272-3. Tingsten, vol.2, p.56. Salvadori, pp. 136-40. C.Schorske, German social democracy 1905-1917, Cambridge, Mass., 1955, pp.l 14-5. Dolleans, pp. 151-205. Becker, pp.86-98.

Notes

251

39

J.Connolly, ‘Revolutionary unionism and war’, International Socialist Review (March 1915), reprinted in Labour and Easter Week, Dublin, 1949, pp.59-60.

40

J.Tampke, The Ruhr and revolution, London, 1979, pp. 19-29. S.Hickey, ‘The shaping of the German labour movement: miners in the Ruhr’, Society and politics in Wilhelmine Germany, ed.R.Evans, London, 1978, pp.235-7. This is not to say that a spirit of militancy did not exist in the Ruhr; it simply failed to gell into a cohesive front embracing Germans and Poles, Catholics and Protestants, skilled and unskilled.

Chapter 2 1 2 3

4 5

6

7

8

9 10

11

12 13

On the socialist reaction to the July crisis, and the ISB meeting in Brussels, see Haupt, pp.183-215. Becker, pp.190-211. A.Kriegel, ‘Patrie ou revolution’, Revue d’histoire economique et sociale, vol. xliii, no.3 (1965), pp.377-84. See for example, Encyclopedie socialiste, pp.320-1, and the excellent survey of the SPD on the eve of war in F.Boll, Fneden ohne Revolution?, Bonn, 1980, pp.87-94. G.Lefranc, Le mouvement socialiste sous la troisieme republique, Paris, 1963, p. 149. P.Guidoni, La cite rouge. Le socialisme a Narbonne 1871-1921, Toulouse, 1979, p.189. Guidoni is talking primarily of the situation in Narbonne after its virtual occupation by the army in 1907, after the revolt of the Midi; but the general point is nonetheless valid. On the work of the instituteurs and the pacifist/patriotic message of elementary school textbooks, see J. and M.Ozouf, ‘Le theme du patriotisme dans les manuels scolaires’, Le mouvement social, vol. 49 (1964), pp.5-31. Encyclopedie socialiste, p.300. On pre-war patriotism in the French socialist movement, see A.Kriegel, Aux origines du communisme frangais, Paris, 1964, vol.l, pp.46-9. Encyclopedie socialiste, pp.329-31. C.Griinberg, ‘Die Internationale und der Weltkrieg’, vol.6 of Archiv fur die Geschichte des Sozialismus und der Arbeiterbewegung, Leipzig, 1916, pp.522-6 reprints L’Humanite’s report of the meeting in the Salle Wagram (3 August 1914). Griinberg, vol.6, pp.438-40. There is a good collection of apposite quotes from the German socialist press in Rosa Luxemburg’s Junius-Broschure: R.Luxemburg, Gesammelte Werke, Berlin, 1974, vol.4, pp.67-74, 109-12. Griinberg, vol.6, pp.448-9 for Haase’s speech; pp.522-6 for Dubreuilh. Documentary evidence of the socialist attitude towards the war can be found in Griinberg’s collection, published as a special volume in 1916, and in W. Walling, The socialists and the war, New York, 1915. See also J.Braunthal, History of the International 1914-1943 London, 1967, pp.1-35. Pis’ma P.B.AkseTroda i Yu.O.Martova,Berlin, 1924, p.84. This letter is interesting as an example of the assumption of leadership of the internationalist-revolutionary cause by Russian social democracy - which was to be immensely strengthened by the revolution. Haupt, pp.218-20. M.Fainsod, International socialism and the world war, reprint edn, New York, 1966, pp.216-7. Kriegel, vol.l, p.220.

252 14

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16 17

18 19 20 21 22

23 24 25 26

27

28

29 30 31

32

33 34 35 36

War, Peace and Revolution Dumercq to Jouhaux (7 October 1914) and Bigot to Jouhaux (28 July 1915) in B.Georges and D.Tinant, Leon Jouhaux, Paris, 1962, vol.l, pp.490-2, 520-2. Das Kriegstagehuch des Reichstagsabgeordneten Eduard Davids 1914 bis 1918, ed. S.Miller, Diisseldorf, 1966, p. 15; also entries for 31 August, 28 October, 7 November 1914. J. Kuczynski, Darstellung der Lage der Arbeiter in Deutsch¬ land von 1900 bis 1917-1918, Berlin, 1967, pp.244-7. Vorwarts (5 August 1914), cited in Griinberg, vol.6, pp.448-9. Vorwarts (3 August 1914), cited in Griinberg, vol.6, pp.445-6. Luxemburg, Werke, vol.4, for a critique of SPD policy; also L.Trotsky, Der Krieg und die Internationale, Zurich, 1914, pp. 13-18. Trotsky, pp.41-3. Cf.Ferro, pp.8, 34-8. G.Haupt, Le congres manque, Paris, 1965, p.215. A.Blansdorf, Die Zweite Internationale und der Krieg, Stuttgart, 1979, pp. 61-2. Kriegstagehuch, pp.26-8. Sudekum to Hardie (15 August 1914); Hardie to Siidekum (25 August 1914), Archives of the ILP: Series 3: Francis Johnson Correspondence (microfilm), BLEPS. Blansdorf, p.60, 62-6. Kriegstagehuch, p.34. Walling, p.165. Lefranc, p.202. Rapport du Bureau du Conseil General sur Pactivite du Parti Ouvrier pendant la guerre, Brussels, 1918, pp.60-6. M.Claeys van Haegendoren, 25 jaar belgisch socialisme, Antwerp, 1967, pp.91-5. The replies are printed in A.Shlyapnikov, ‘Sotsial-demokratiya i voyna (1914-1917 gg.)’, Proletarskaya Revolyutsiya, vol.3, no.15 (1923), pp.272-5. See also the Potresov group’s statement to the 1915 Copenhagen conference, in The Mensheviks in the Russian revolution, ed. A.Ascher, Ithaca, N.Y., 1976, pp.83-8. For Plekhanov’s position: G.Plekhanov, La social-democratie et la guerre, Paris, 1916. Encyclopedie socialiste, pp.343-99 contains details of the principal activities and resolutions of the SFIO in 1914-1915. The POB also favoured col¬ lective security and sanctions: Rapport, p.66. Georges and Tinant, pp.209-10, 224, 230-4. C.Howard, ‘MacDonald, Henderson and the outbreak of war, 1914’, Historical Journal, vol.20, (1977), pp.874-8. A.Malatesta, I socialisti italiani durante la guerra, Milan, 1926, p.23ff., and appendices offers a detailed documentary survey of the PSI’s attitude. See also the interpretation of L.Cortesi, Le origine del PCI, Bari, 1972, pp.86-102. Protokoll der gemeinsamen Sitzung des Reichstagsfraktion und des Parteiausschusses vom 14, 15 und 16 August 1915, Berlin, 1915, pp.2-4. Kriegstagehuch, pp. 141-2. See also Boll, p.l20ff. Kriegstagehuch, p.191. Boll, p.202. F.Ebert, Schriften, Aufzeichungen, Reden, vol.l, Dresden, 1926, pp.317-25. O.Gankin and H.Fisher, The Bolsheviks and the world war, Stanford, 1940, pp.273-85. Blansdorf, pp.157-73. Victor Adler. Briefwechsel mit August Bebel und Karl Kautsky, ed. F.Adler,

Notes 253 37 38 39

40 41

42

43

44

45 46 47 48

49 50 51

Vienna, 1954, p.630. Die Zimmerwalder Bewegung, ed. H.Lademacher, vol.2. Korrespondenz, The Hague, 1967, p.299. Quoted in Kriegel, vol.l, p. 133. The Nashe Slovo group of internationalists (Martov, Martynov and Trotsky) is the subject of M.Shaw’s thesis The Nashe Slovo group and Russian social democracy during world war one: the search for unity, University of Indiana, 1975. The growth of the opposition is dealt with in detail by H.Grossheim, Sozialisten in der Verantwortung, Bonn, 1978, and Kriegel, vol.l. M.Swartz, The Union of Democratic Control in British politics during the first world war, Oxford, 1971, pp.11-25, 42. The left and war: the British Labour Party and world war I, ed.P.Stansky, New York, 1969, pp.88-103, reproduces the first UDC pamphlet, The morrow of war, by E.D.Morel. See the ILP National Administrative Council minutes (15 October 1914), BLEPS, Coll.Misc. 464, and the minutes of the City of London branch (Coll.Misc.314) and Bristol branch (microfilm no.86). For example, he concluded a survey of the prospects for peace in the following manner: ‘The immediate (and temporary) settlement will be made without us. That will matter nothing at all in the long run . . . We have nothing in common with [these futilities]. We do not trust them.’ ‘Peace guarantees’, Socialist Review, 14/80 (1917). The quotation is from D.Marquand, Ramsay MacDonald, London, 1977, pp.205-6. Otto Braun, secretary of the foreign committee of the Latvian Social Democratic Party, to Robert Grimm (5 January 1916), Die Zimmerwalder Bewegung, vol.2, p.385. See also N.E.Korolev, Lenin i mezhdunarodnoe rabochee dvizhenie 1914-1918, Moscow, 1968, pp.103-5, 123. On the ILP, see R.Dowse, Left in the centre. The ILP, 1893-1940, London, 1966. Briefwechsel, p.611. Kriegstagebuch, p.84. Briefwechsel, p.606. On the fears of a split, see S.Miller, Burgfrieden und Klassenkampf Diisseldorf, 1974, pp.78-100. A.Rosenberg, Imperial Germany. The birth of the German republic 1871-1918, paperback edn, Boston, 1964, p. 121; Schorske, p.283ff. D.Morgan, The socialist left and the German revolution, Ithaca, N.Y., 1975, p.53. Miller, p. 155. See also Groh, pp.715-6. Protokoll iiber der Verhandlungen des Griindungs-P'arteitages der USPD vom 6 bis 8 April 1917 in Gotha, ed. E.Eichhorn, Berlin, 1921, p.63. Ibid., pp.52-8, 73, 78. On the development of the minority moderate position, Boll, pp. 129-40; Morgan, pp.35-8, 60-3; Schorske, pp.322-3.

Chapter 3 1 2 3

C.Playne, The pre-war mind in Britain. An historical review, London, 1928, p.29. L.Trotsky, Ma vie, Paris, 1953, pp.242-3. Lefranc, p.197. See also Kriegel, vol.l, p.63. Boll, pp. 109-10. See also the rueful comment by O.Baumgarten, that the image of the war projected from above may not have corresponded to the perceptions of those at a lower level in society, in his study of the moral state

254

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15 16

17

18

19

20

21

22

War, Peace and Revolution of the German people during the war: Geistige und sittliche Wirkungen des Krieges in Deutschland, ed. O.Baumgarten et ah, Stuttgart, 1927, p.47. H.Gorter, Het imperialisme, de wereldoorlog en de sociaal-demokratie, Amsterdam, 1915, pp.52-72. M.Adler, ‘Zur Ideologic des Weltkrieges’, Der Kampf, vol.8 (1915), pp.125-7. E.Hoernle, ‘Die Internationale ist tot! Es lebe die Internationale!’, JugendInternationale, vol.l (1915). ‘Einheit oder Spaltung der Partei?’, Arheiterpolitik (29 July 1916). Swartz, p.148. Stansky, pp. 160-71, 173-99 for extracts from the 1916 and January 1917 conferences. G.Rufin, ‘L’opinion publique en 1917 dans 1’arrondissement de Tournon’, Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, vol.l5 (1968), pp.80-93. K.Retzlaw, Spartakus, Frankfurt-am-Main, 1972, p.81. M.Dubesset, F.Thebaud, C.Vincent, ‘Les munitionettes de la Seine’, 1914-1918. L’autre front, ed.P.Fridenson, Paris, 1977, p.218. E.Leed, No man’s land, London, 1979, p.3. P.Fussell, The great war and modern memory, New York, 1975, pp. 182-3. Les anciens combattants 1914-1940, ed. A.Prost, Paris, 1977, p.46. A.Summers, ‘Militarism in Britain before the Great War’, History Workshop, vol.2 (1976), pp. 104-23. See H.Cunningham, ‘The language of patriotism, 1750-1914’, History Workshop, vol.12 (1981), pp.24-7; Fussell, p.316. S.Meacham, A life apart, London, 1977, pp.194-202. De Stefano, pp. 196-9. P. Corner, Fascism in Ferrara 1915-1925, London, 1975, pp.28-9. Georges and Tinant, vol.l, p.265. See also the detailed study of the French entry into war by Becker, and the article by J.Julliard, ‘La CGT devant la guerre’, Mouvement social, vol.49 (1964). ‘Soldatskie pis’ma v gody mirovoy voyny (1915-1917 gg.)’, Krasny Arkhiv, vol.65-66 (1934), pp.123-4, 134fT. On the French mutinies, see G.Pedroncini, Les mutineries de 1917, Paris, 1967, and Ferro, pp. 181-4. Lenin’s article was published in Sotsialdemokrat, December 1916 and in Jugend-Internationale, vols. 9 and 10(1917); see O.Gankin and H.Fisher, The Bolsheviks and the world war, Stanford, 1940, pp.493-9. K.Radek. ‘Was bedeutet die Ablehnung der Vaterlandsverteidigung?’. Jugend-Internationale vol.7 (1917), pp.1-4. Cf.D.Horn, The German naval mutinies of world war one, New Brunswick, N.J., 1969, p.82ff. R.Plaschka, H. Haselsteiner, A.Suppan, Innere Front. Militarassistenz, Wider stand und Umsturz in der Donaumonarchie 1918, Vienna, 1974, vol.l, p.l07ff. A point made in 1915 by Ernst Lederer: ‘Zur Soziologie des Weltkrieges’, Archiv filr Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik, vol.39 (1915), pp.349-51. See also Leed, pp. 198-200. Z.Stepanov, Rabochie Petrograda v period podgotovki i provedeniya Oktyab’rskogo vooruzhennogo vosstaniya, Moscow-Leningrad, 1965, pp.25-9, 34-6. F.Opel, Der deutsche Metallarbeiterverband wdhrend des ersten Weltkrieges und der Revolution, Hannover, 1957, p.52. V.Ullrich, Die Hamburger Arbeiterbewegung vom Vorabend des ersten Weltkrieges bis zur Revolution 1918,

Notes 255

23

24

25

26 27 28 29

30

31 32 33 34 35

36 37 38 39 40

41

42

Hamburg, 1976, vol.l, pp.229-31. K-D.Schwarz, Weltkrieg und Revolution in Numb erg, Stuttgart, 1971, p.162. A.Marwick, The deluge. British society and the first world war, London, 1973, pp.91-2. Draft notes for the history of the Ministry of Munitions, written by Mrs Mair, Beveridge Collection, IV: 1, BLEPS. A detailed account of the hostile reception by trade unionists of one woman who sought to become a trained tool fitter is given in A.Marwick, Women at war 1914-1918, London, 1977, pp.60-7. K-L.Ay, Die Entstehung einer Revolution. Die Volkstimmung in Bayern wahrend des ersten Weltkrieges, Berlin, 1968, pp. 125-6. See also Schwarz, pp. 163-4. Ullrich, vol.l, pp.237-44. W.Gautschi, Der Landesstreik 1918, Einsiedeln, 1968, pp.32, 36-7. J.Kocka, ‘The first world war and the ‘Mittelstand’: German artisans and white-collar workers’, Journal of Contemporary History, vol.8 (1973), pp.107-13. P.Spriano, Storia di Torino operaia e socialista, Turin, 1972 edn, pp.381-6. De Stefano, pp.202-6. See also Ay, p.124. Arbeitschaft und Staat im ersten Weltkrieg 1914-1918 (A.Quellen). I. Der Staat. (1. 1914-1917), ed. R.Neck, Vienna, 1964, pp.264-5. Ibid., pp.164, 210-6. Cf. H.Hanssen, Diary of a dying Empire, Bloomington, 1955, p.129, for the story of Scheidemann’s potato hunt. Ullrich, vol.l, pp.352-3. A detailed survey of the effect of food shortages on public opinion and morale is provided by F.Carsten, War against war, London, 1982, pp.74-8. For a selection of SPD press comment on Haase’s action, see Sozialdemokratische Partei-Correspondenz, vol.10 (5 July 1915), pp. 151-60. Haase was singled out because of his position as party co-chairman. Correspondenzblatt, vol.3 (1916), p. 19, cited in Opel, p.43. Quoted in G.Feldman, Army, industry and labor in Germany 1914-1918, Princeton, N.J., 1966, p.136. Ibid., p.247. Ullrich, vol.l, pp.275, 355. Protokoll der Sitzung des erweiterten Parteiausschusses, 18-19 April 1917, Berlin, 1917, pp.47-50. Protokoll der Sitzung des Parteiausschusses am 26 Jum 1917, Berlin, 1917, pp. 19-20. Carsten, p.161. Cited in Kuczynski, p.281. Arbeitschaft und Staat, vol.l, pt.l, pp.265, 270: pt.2, p.23. Trades Union Congress. Forty-ninth annual report, 1917. Palace Hall, Blackpool, September 3~8, 1917, London, 1917, p.55. A.Clinton, ‘Trades Councils during the first world war’, International Review of Social History, vol.l 5 (1970), p.230. D.Large and R.Whitfield, The Bristol Trades Council 1873—1973, Bristol, 1973, pp.9-17. J.Corbett, The Birmingham Trades Council 1866-1966, London, 1966, pp. 104-14. Clinton, pp.202-18. Swartz, p.206. Clyde Workers’ Committee. To all workers (pamphlet, November 1915), Beveridge Collection, Section III, item 15, BLEPS. On the origins of this committee, see J.Hinton, The British shop-stewards’ movement 1914-1921, London, 1972, pp.103-25. Clyde Workers’ Committee. To all workers, for the quote. T.Bell, Pioneering days, London, 1941, p. 139. See also the criticisms of the later Communist

256

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44 45 46 47 48 49 50

51

52 53 54 55

56

57

58

War, Peace and Revolution Party activist, J.Murphy, Preparing for power, London, 1934, pp.87-90, 97. Cf.R.Muller, Vom Kaiserreich zur Republik, Vienna, 1924, vol.l, pp.59, 66, 100, 102-10 and the more bombastic and hostile E. Barth, Aus der Werkstatt der deutschen Revolution, Berlin, 1919, pp.10, 21, 29-30. Retzlaw, pp. 35, 44, 48, 65. Retzlaw also felt that the radicals had little influence over the strikes, which were mostly spontaneous protests. K.Liebknecht, Gesammelte Reden und Schriften, Berlin, 1966, vol.8, p.546 f. A.Pannekoek, ‘De russische revolutie’, De Nieuwe Tijd, vol.3 (1918), p.122. Luxemburg, vol.4, p.257. Cf. Arbeiterpolitik (15 September 1917) ‘Partei und Fiihrer’. Miller, p.298; Morgan, p.53ff; Rosenberg, p.122. R.Wheeler, ‘ “Ex oriente lux”? The Soviet example and the German revolution, 1917-1923’, Situations revolutionnaires en Europe, 1917-1922: Allemagne, Italie, Autriche-Hongrie, ed.C.Bertrand, Montreal, 1977, pp. 40-2. R.Wheeler, ‘Revolutionary socialist internationalism: rank-and-file reaction in the USPD’, International Review of Social History, vol.22 (1977), p.335. Die Auswirkungen der grossen sozialistischem Oktob err evolution auf Deutschland, ed. L.Stern, Berlin, 1959, vol.2, pp.393-7. On the left in Germany, see Carsten, pp.47-50, 86-9, 91, 154-60. Arbeitschaft und Staat, vol.l, pt.l, pp. 199-206, 219-29, 250. Korolev, pp.123, 128-9, 141-5. ‘What is our programme?’, Workers’ Republic (22 January 1916), Labour and Easter Week, p.139. ‘What is a free nation?’, Workers’ Republic (12 February 1916), ibid., pp. 142-6. See also ‘British Labour and Irish politicians’, Forward (3 May 1913), Socialism and nationalism, Dublin, 1948, pp.67-9. A.Mitchell, Labour in Irish politics 1890-1930, Dublin, 1974, pp.42, 54-71. Trotsky was critical of the nationalist character of the Rising, but Lenin saw it as a brave but premature attempt to secure Irish freedom. On the BSP position, see the article ‘The Unity of Ireland’, The Call (22 June 1916) and the BSP memorandum for the Stockholm conference in Stockholm (Comite organisateur de la conference socialiste internationale de Stockholm), Stockholm, 1918, p.106. Trotsky, vol.iii, p.54. Statement on the Polish question by the editorial board of Gazeta Robotnicza, 1916 in G.Strobel, Quellen zur Geschichte des Kommunismus in Polen 1878-1918, Cologne, 1968, pp.306-8. Gankin and Fisher, pp.507-18. Lenin, Collected Works, vol.22, pp.353-8.

Chapter 4 1 2 3

4

Branting to Troelstra (16 September 1914), Troelstra papers, file 543, IISG. J.Humbert-Droz, pp.87-91. Blansdorf, pp.78-80. For the protocol of the Lugano conference and the circular issued by the Swiss party, see Die Zimmerwalder Bewegung (hereafter DZB), vol.l, pp.3-27. Humbert-Droz, pp.92-100. Y.Collart, Le parti socialiste suisse et TInternationale 1914—1915, Geneva, 1969, pp.97-138. M.Grass, Friedensaktivitat und Neutralitat, Bonn—Bad Godesberg, 1975, pp.82-121. Blansdorf, pp.109-17.

Notes 5 6

7

8 9 10

11

12 13 14 15 16

17

18

19 20 21 22

23 24

257

Collart, pp.51-71. J-P.Mousson-Lestang, ‘Le parti social-democrate suedois et le probleme de la defense nationale, 1914—1917’, Revue Historique, vol.510 (1974), pp.382-9. C.Bryld, Det danske socialdemokrati og revisionismen, Copenhagen, 1976, vol.2, pp.33-5. See also the information circular sent out in September 1914 by the Danish social democrats, justifying their support of the Zahle govern¬ ment in the Ramsay MacDonald papers, PRO 30/69, 1158. G.Leon, The Greek socialist movement and the first world war, New York, 1976, p.21. G.Meaker, The revolutionary left in Spain, 1914—1923, Stanford, 1974, pp.24, 54. Blansdorf, pp.95-8. Grass, pp.55-6, 68. Troelstra’s pamphlet, De wereldoorlog en de sociaaldemokratie, Amsterdam, 1915, relies heavily on Kautsky and Hilferding for its interpretation of imperialism. Hjalmar Branting, ‘Det sista kriget’, Socialdemokraten (S), (3 May 1915), in Hjalmar Branting. Tal och skrifter, ed. Z.Hoglund, vol.6, Stockholm, 1928, pp.36-43. Ibid., pp.60-99, ‘Arbetarklassen och varldsfreden’, speech delivered on 15 August 1915. Social-Demokraten (D), (17 April 1919), cited in Bryld, vol.2, p.22. Social-Demokraten (D), (18 April 1914), cited in Bryld, vol.2, p.9. See also Fluger, pp.14-5. Grass, pp.67, 268-71. See the discussion in Grass, pp.35-43 of the attitudes of the Scandinavian parties. DZB, vol.l, pp.10-13. Cortesi, pp.86-9 argues that the PSI was clearly prepared to defend Italian territory should her neutrality be threatened by Austria-Hungary. See Branting to Troelstra (3 October 1914) and Aksel’rod to Troelstra (27 January 1915) in Troelstra papers, file 543, IISG. Blansdorf, pp.103-7, 114-5. Blansdorf, pp.77-8, 88. A.Senn, The Russian revolution in Switzerland 1914-1917, Madison, Wise., 1971, p.31. Collart, pp.103-5. For a different view, see Korolev, p.52, and Lademacher in his introduction to DZB, vol.l, p.xlvi. See the minutes of the Lugano conference in DZB, vol.l, pp.5-24, and extracts in Humbert-Droz, pp.92-100. Blansdorf, pp.85-9. Grass, pp. 121-38. Blansdorf, pp. 128-32. P.Troelstra, Gedenkschriften, vol.4, Amsterdam, 1931, pp.23-7. Huysmans to Middleton, secretary of the Labour Party (16 December 1914) cited in Blansdorf, p.137. Blansdorf, pp.138-45. Rapport du bureau du conseil general sur Tactivite du Parti Ouvrier pendant la guerre, Brussels, 1918, p.64. NAC minutes (9 January 1915), ILP papers, BLEPS. DZB, vol.2, pp.29-39; 46-77 for correspondence relating to this initiative. Blansdorf, pp. 195-202. Blansdorf, pp. 186-7. C.Voigt, Robert Grimm, Bern, 1980, pp. 120-1. A.Rosmer, Le mouvement ouvrier pendant la guerre, vol.l, Paris, 1936, pp.236-7. The Liebknecht—Mehring—Luxemburg appeal was published in

258

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34 35

36

37

38

39 40 41 42

43 44

45

War, Peace and Revolution Labour Leader, the ILP paper. Malatesta, pp.57-61, 228-9. Martov to Aksel’rod (30 April 1915) Pis’ma, pp.331-2. Martov to Grimm (29 April 1915); Aksel’rod to Grimm (5 May 1915); Grimm to Aksel’rod (8 May 1915) , DZB, vol.2, pp.50-4, 61-2, 64-5. DZB, vol.l,pp.31-41 for the minutes of the meeting. Zinov’yev’s view was that ‘theoretical clarity’ was even more important than peace. DZB, vol. 1, pp.49-52 for Grimm’s speech at Zimmerwald. Berner Tagwacht, (20 September 1915) cited in Blansdorf, p.216. DZB, vol. 1, pp.84-91, 92-3. DZB, vol. 1, pp. 115-30. DZB, vol.l, p.147. Lenin had tried, but failed, to win over the French delegates to his position before the conference. Fainsod, p.69. DZB, vol.l, pp. 146-69. See also Senn, pp.91-101. Humbert-Droz, pp. 126-44. DZB, vol.2, p.473. NAC minutes (22 October 1915; 25 January 1916) September 1915 (meeting with Morgan), ILP papers, BLEPS. Berzins’ letter was sent to Francis Johnson by W.C. Anderson on 5 November 1915. Archives of the ILP, Series III. Francis Johnson correspondence (microfilm). DZB, vol.2, pp.337, 353, 386, 412. ‘Our policy’, The Call (24 February 1916) . DZB, vol.2, pp.70-4. A.Balabanoff, Erinnerungen und Erlebnisse, Berlin, 1927, pp.96-101, and her later Ricordi di una socialista, Rome, 1946, pp.83-9, for details of both conferences in Bern. R.Schuller, A.Kurolla, R.Chitarow, Geschichte der Kommunistischem Jugend-Internationale, vol.l, Berlin, 1929, pp.98-105. W.Miinzenberg, Die dritte Front. Aufzeichnungen aus 15 Jahre proletarischer Jugendbewegung, Berlin, 1930, pp. 156-63. T.Nerman, ‘Zimmerwald — internationalismens rost mellan internationalerna’, in Arbetets soner, vol.2, Orebro, 1956, pp.225-6. Z.Hoglund, Minnen ifackelsken, vol.2, Stockholm, 1953, p.179. A.Reisberg, Lenin und die Zimmerwalder Bewegung, Berlin, 1966, pp. 160-7. Korolev, pp.67-8. See the correspondence between Aksel’rod and Grimm, DZB, vol.2, pp. 174-6, 217-9, 236-7, 250-4, and Grimm and Thalheimer, Ibid., pp.298-300, 303-6, 324-6, 328-9. W.Lerner, Karl Radek. The last internationalist, Stanford, 1970, pp.41-3, 50-2. DZB, vol.l, pp. 197-262. DZB, vol.l, pp.353-76, 411-3. DZB, vol.l, pp.313-24, 408-11. Stauning to Grimm, October 1915. DZB, vol.2, pp. 183-4. ‘Oppositionsgruppernas international’, Social-Demokraten (S) (22 September 1915), Hjalmar Branting. Tal och skrifter, vol.6, pp. 101-6. Fluger, p.72, Grass, p.227. C.Huysmans, The policy of the International, London, 1916, for the translated text of the Arnhem speech. Blansdorf, pp.279-96. NAC minutes (31 March 1916), ILP papers, BLEPS. Relevant correspondence in DZB, vol.2, pp.562-9, Malatesta, p.108, Humbert-Droz, p. 161, Blansdorf, pp.307-12.

Notes 46

47 48 49

50 51

52 53 54

55

56

57

58 59 60

61

259

Het Volk (31 July, 1 August 1916). Social-Demokraten (D) (9, 10 August 1916). Troelstra, vol.4, pp.107-9. W.Vliegen, Die onze kracht ontwakken deed, Amsterdam, 1938, vol.3, pp. 194-5. Grass, pp.232-42. Grass suggests that Troelstra may have developed a degree of sympathy for Zimmerwald during a period of convalescence in Switzerland in 1916. Het Volk (2 August 1916). Grass, pp.238-9, Blansdorf, pp.321-2. Stauning to Troelstra (14 August 1916), Troelstra papers, file 556, IISG. D.Ligou, Histoire du socialisme en France 1871—1961, Paris, 1962, p.286. Fluger, p.78. Troelstra, vol.4, pp. 112-3. See also Huysmans’ corres¬ pondence with the Dutch members of the executive committee, Wibaut papers, file 226, IISG. Pendant la guerre. Le parti socialiste, la guerre et la paix Paris, 1918, pp. 154-5. Malatesta, pp. 128-9, 264-5. DZB, vol.l, pp.435-8. Lenin, vol.23, pp. 137-48 (‘Tasks of the Left Zimmerwaldists in the Swiss Social Democratic Party’), pp. 177-94 (‘Bourgeois pacifism and socialist pacifism’), pp.214-6 (‘Theses for an appeal to the ISC’). Troelstra, vol.4, p.113. Wibaut to Huysmans (13 April 1917), Wibaut papers, file 226, IISG. Entry for 21 April 1917, Herman Gummerus’ diary (1915—1918), Gummerus papers, Finnish National Archives. Tommasini to Sonnino (24 March 1917), reporting from Stockholm: / documenti diplomatici italiani. Quinta serie: 1914-1918, vol.7, Rome, 1978, p.422. Social-Demokraten (D) (23 March; 2 April 1917). Fluger, p.84. P.Tabor, ‘Staunings politik’, in Th.Stauning. Mennesket ogpolitikeren, ed. B.Schmidt, Copenhagen, 1964, pp.31-2. Z.Zeman, W.Scharlau, The merchant of revolution. The life of Alexander Helphand (Parvus), London, 1965, pp.207-9. Germany and the revolution in Russia 1915—1918. Documents, ed.Z.Zeman, London, 1958, pp.25. 30-1, for Brockdorff-Rantzau’s reactions to Parvus and summary of the alternatives. Brockdorff-Rantzau suggested that Germany should seek to create chaos in Russia and refrain for the time being from launching an offensive which would rally the centrifugal forces of the revolution in Russia. Fluger, p.82. It is rather difficult to reconcile Parvus’ insistence on a major socialist peace initiative with the line he was peddling to the German foreign ministry; and he does not appear to have been aware of the existence of the Scandinavian joint committee, which had sought to keep lines open during the war. Fluger, p.84. J.Stillig, Die Russische Februarrevolution 1917 und die Sozialistische Friedenspolitik, Cologne, Vienna, 1977, p.39. Fluger, pp.85-6. Stillig, pp.35-6. Ph.Scheidemann, Memoiren eines Sozialdemokraten, Dresden, 1928, vol.l, pp.421-7. I.Tsereteli, Vospominaniya o fevraTskoy revolyutsii, Paris, 1963, vol.l, pp. 272-6. P.Garwy, ‘Episoden der russischen Revolution. Aus der Erinnerungen von Peter Garwy’, Archiv fur Sozialgeschichte, vol.5 (1965), p.446. Stillig, pp.33-5. Troelstra, vol.4, p.114. Huysmans to Branting (16 April 1917), Branting papers, Vol.10. ARA.

260 62 63

64 65 66

67

68

69

70

71

72

73 74

War, Peace and Revolution ‘En konferens av Internationalen i Stockholm’, Social-Demokraten (S) (18 April 1917) Dagens Nyheter (15 April 1917). The Times (20 April 1917). Tommassini to Sonnino (19 April 1982), I documenti diplomatici, vol.7, p.570. Vliegen to Branting (30 April 1917) Branting papers Vol.10, ARA. Branting to Vliegen, received 11 May 1917, Wibaut papers, file 226.IISG. ‘Socialdemokratiets Fredsarbejde’, Social-Demokraten (D) (21 April 1917). H.Jorgensen, ‘Staunings fredsarbejde’, Th.Stauning, p. 141. Stillig, p.40. Fluger, p.87. Scheidemann, vol.2, pp.4-6. ‘Thomas om sin Rysslandsresa’, Social-Demokraten (S) (19 April 1917). See also the entry for 11 May in ‘Journal de Russie d’Albert Thomas’. Cahiers du monde russe et sovietique, vol.14 (1973), p.143. Troelstra, vol.4, p. 116. A.Scherer, J.Grunewald, eds, LcAllemagne et les problemes de la paix pendant la premiere guerre mondiale, Paris, 1966, vol.2, pp. 158-9, 163, 166-7, for the correspondence between the foreign ministry and the high command. See also ‘Troelstra i Kobenhavn’, Social-Demokraten (D) (24 April 1917). ‘Troelstras uttalanden’, Social-Demokraten (S) (24 April 1917). ‘Missforst&nden bland Vasteuropas socialister’ (Hj.Branting), Social-Demokraten (S) (7 May 1917). ‘Het Internationaale Socialistische Bureau naar Stockholm’, Het Volk (20 April 1917). Pendant la guerre, pp. 162-5. Rapport du Bureau, p.68. Minutes of the executive committee of the Labour Party (9 May 1917), LPA. ‘Troelstra anland till Stockholm’ (Hj.Branting), Social-Demokraten (S) (27 April 1917). Notes of this meeting in the Troelstra papers, file 430. See also Troelstra to Vliegen (30 April 1917) and Albarda to Wibaut (30 April 1917), Wibaut papers, file 227, IISG. Troelstra, vol.4, p. 119. Stockholm, pp.viii-ix. Troelstra’s proposals (5 May 1917) Troelstra papers, file 420. Albarda to Wibaut (6 May 1917), Wibaut papers, file 227, IISG. See also ‘Freds-Konferencen i Stockholm’, Social-Demokraten (D) (5 May 1917). Cf. Huysmans’ telegram to Branting: ‘delegation hollandaise se ralliant declarations kerenski et wilson a decide venir Stockholm pour organiser conference internationale ...’ (16 April 1917) Branting papers, ARA. ‘Versa alba nuove . . .’ Critica sociale, vol.9 (1917), pp. 125-6. Cortesi, p.l 15. Hugo Haase. Sein Leben und Wirken, ed. E.Haase, Berlin, n.d. p.106.

Chapter 5 1 2 3 4

5 6

L.de Robien, The diary of a diplomat in Russia, 1917-1918, London, 1969, P-7. The Russian Provisional Government 1917. Documents and materials, eds. R.Browder, A.Kerensky, Stanford, 1961, vol.3, p.1220. Ibid., pp. 1226-8. Listovki Peterburgskikh boTshevikov 1902-1917, Leningrad, 1957, vol.2, pp.251-2. Ya.Temkin, BoTsheviki v bor’be za demokraticheskiy mir (1914-1918 gg.) Moscow, 1957, p.222. Temkin, pp.229-30, 239. L.Schapiro, The Communist Party of the Soviet Union, paperback edn. London, 1963, pp. 161-2. See Lenin’s Letters from Afar, written between 20-26 March, his draft theses of 17 March and his letter to the Scandinavian-based Bolsheviks of 19 March: Lenin, vol.23, pp.287-338. Lenin restated his position in an

Notes

7 8 9

10

11

12

13

14 15 16 17 18

19 20

21 22 23 24 25

26

261

interview with the left-wing Swedish socialist newspaper Politiken on 14 April. On the return of the exiles, see Senn, pp.222-31. F.Strom, I stormig tid, Stockholm, 1942, pp. 197-8. Conversations with Lunacharsky (12 April and 15 May 1917), in R. Rolland, Journal des annees de guerre, 1914-1919, Paris, 1952, pp.1139, 1168. N.Sukhanov, Zapiski o revolyutsii, Berlin, 1922, vol.3, pp.1-31. M.Ferro, The Russian Revolution of February 1917, London, 1972, pp.207-9, 361-3 (text of the April theses). Velikaya Oktyabrskaya sotsialisticheskaya revolyutsiya. (VOSR) Revolyutsionnoe dvizhenie v Rossii v aprele 1917, Moscow, 1958, pp.15, 30 for Kamenev’s critique and that of the Petersburg committee. Temkin, pp.244-6. Stalin’s ‘O voyne’ was reproduced, e.g., in the Helsinki Bolshevik paper Volna (30 March 1917). See also K.Siilivask, Veebruarist Oktoobrini 1917, Tallinn, 1972, p.96 for similar attitudes expressed in the Estonian Bolshevik paper Kiir. Tsentralarkhiv 1917g.v dokumentakh i materialakh. Vserossiyskoe soveshchanie sovetov rabochikh i soldatskikh deputatov, Moscow-Leningrad, 1927, pp.48, 61-2,85, 90-1. Tsereteli’s resolution obtained 325 votes, Kamenev’s 57. A.Rabinowitch, The Bolsheviks come to power. The revolution of 1917 in Petrograd, paperback edn., New York, 1978, p.xxv. J. Martow, T.Dan, Geschichte der russischen Sozialdemokratie, Berlin, 1926, p.295. A.Ulam, Lenin and the Bolsheviks, paperback edn, London, 1969, pp.435-6. O.Anweiler, The Soviets. The Russian workers’, peasants’ and soldiers’ councils, 1905-1921. London, 1974, pp. 139-43, 161-5. Ferro, pp.346-8 for the government’s statement, pp.353-4 for the Soviet proclamation, and pp. 187-8 for Milyukov’s note of 17 March. Sukhanov, vol.2, p.200. Ibid: pp. 199-202. Tsentralarkhiv 1917 g. Petrogradsky Sovet rabochikh i soldatskikh deputatov: Protokoly zasedaniy ispolitel’nogo komiteta i byuro ispolitel’nogo komiteta, Moscow, 1925, pp.29, 39-40, 301 (hereafter Protokoly). Tsereteli, vol.l. p.32. Martov to Kautsky (23 March 1917), Kautsky papers, file D xvi 422, IISG. R.Wade, ‘Irakli Tsereteli and Siberian Zimmerwaldism’, Journal of Modern History, vol.9 (1967), pp.425-31. H.Roobol, Irakli Tsereteli. A democrat in the Russian revolution, (The Hague, 1976), pp.66-80. Schapiro, pp. 152-3. Roobol, pp.87-8. Sukhanov, vol.2, pp.332-41. Tsereteli, vol.l, pp. 45-7. A.Shlyapnikov, Semnadtsatyigod, Moscow, 1927, vol.3, pp. 182-5. Roobol, pp.91-2. Sukhanov, vol.2, pp.360-70. Ferro, pp. 191-3. Roobol, pp.97-8. Tsereteli to Aksel’rod (1 September 1919), Aksel’rod papers, IISG, cited in Roobol, p.92. Harald Scavenius to the Danish foreign minister (7 April 1917), in ‘Harald Scavenius’ syn pa omvaeltningerne i Rusland 1917-1918’, ed.B.Jensen, Danske Magazin, 8/IV (1973), p.lll. Bertie (Ambassador in Paris) to the foreign office (28 March 1917, and war

262

27

28 29 30

31 32

33 34

35 36

37 38 39 40 41

42 43 44

45

46

War, Peace and Revolution cabinet minutes (26 March 1917), cited in Stillig, pp.25-6. M.Paleologue, La Russie des tsars pendant la grande guerre, Paris, 1922, vol.3, p.299. Cachin, Moutet and Lafont were the Frenchmen; Thorne, O’Grady (both trade unionists) and the secretary of the Fabian Society, Sanders, were the British delegates. Protokoll ... 18-19 April 1917, pp. 43-7, 74. L’Allemagne et les problemes de la paix, vol.2, pp.218-21. Kriegstagebuch, p.229. See also Boll, pp.210-1. 216-21. Sukhanov, vol.2, pp.404-9. Tsereteli, vol.l, pp.173-81. Paleologue, vol.3, pp. 302-3. ‘Fevral’skaya revolyutsiya i yevropeiski sotsialisti’, ed. A.Shlyapnikov, Krasnyi Arkhiv, 15 (1926) (hereafter KA), pp.62-7. de Robien, p.41. Cf. I.Sinanoglou, ‘Frenchmen, their revolutionary heritage and the Russian revolution’, International History Review, vol.ll (1980), pp.566-76. Accord¬ ing to Paleologue’s successor as ambassador, ‘L’erreur du socialisme a ete de croire, sous ^influence du souvenir des soldats de l'An II, que toute revolution stimule le patriotisme et enfante des keros'J.Noulens, Mon ambassade en Russie Sovietique, Paris, 1933, vol.l, p.8. Protokoly, pp.54, 77, 101. Tsentralarkhiv 1917g.: Vserossiyskoe soveshchanie, p.54. Sukhanov, vol.3, p.324. Protokoly, pp. 123-6. Tsereteli, vol.l, pp.276, 280. The Danish minister believed Borgbjerg’s visit played a part in influencing the decision of the Soviet through his account of the SPD position on peace. ‘Harald Scavenius’ syn’, p.l 19. See also ‘Borgbjerg taler i Arbejder-og Soldatraadet’, Social-Demokraten (D) (9 May 1917), and ‘Borgbjerg beretter om sin Rejse til Petrograd’, ibid. (15 May 1917). Protokoly, pp.123-6. Tsetereli, vol.l, pp.277-8. Stillig, pp.36-7, 119-21. ‘Thomas om sin Rysslandsresa’, Social-Demokraten (S) (19 April 1917). Thomas to Branting (21 April 1917) Branting papers vol. 10. ARA. Thomas to Ribot (20 April 1917) in A.Ribot, Lettres a un ami, Paris, 1924, p.254. Stillig, pp.89-90. Protokoly, pp.342-5. KA, pp.71-2. ‘Journal de Russie’, p.146, entry for 13 May 1917. KA, pp.72-4. N.Avdeyev, Revolyutsiya 1917 goda. Khronika sobyitiy vol.2 Moscow Petrograd, 1923, p.91. Vandervelde to the Belgian foreign minister (22 May 1917), cited in Stillig, 126. The French army was at this time wracked by mutinies, although this was probably not known in Russia. ‘Discours de M.Moutet’; ‘Journal de Russie’, p.196. ‘Journal de Russie’, pp. 146-8. Stillig, pp. 126-30. Paleologue, vol.3, p.346. ‘Journal de Russie’ p.151. E.Palmstierna, Orostid. Politiska dagboksanteckningar, Stockholm, 1953, vol.2, p. 59. See also Troelstra, vol.4, p.120. Thomas to Ribot (15 May 1917), Ribot, p. 255. Thomas to Ribot, with a request to transmit the message to Renaudel and Dubreuilh (20 May 1917), ‘Journal de Russie’, p.200. ‘Journal de Russie’, pp.200, 175 (entry for 3 June 1917). As we shall see, Thomas’ annoyance was the result of faulty information; the decision of the national council was not a full-blooded, unconditional commitment to

Notes

47 48 49 50 51 52

53

54

55 56 57 58 59

60 61

62

63 64 65 66

263

Stockholm. E.Vandervelde, Trois aspects de la revolution russe, Paris, 1918, p.184. Sukhanov, vol.2, p.202. The Russian Provisional Government, Vol.2. pp. 1077-8. The Russian Provisional Government, vol.3, p.1273. Vandervelde, p.185. Trotsky, p.16. R.Abramovitch, The Soviet revolution 1917-1939, New York, 1962, p.16. Anweiler, pp. 115-6. E.Mawdsley, The Russian revolution and the Baltic Fleet, London, 1978, pp.22-4. Cf.Mawdsley, pp.30-1. N.Saul, ‘Fedor Raskol’nikov, a “secondary Bolshevik” ’, Russian Review, vol.32 (1973), pp. 131-42. For an interesting account of the work of one Bolshevik activist, see V.Zalezhsky, ‘Gel’singfors vesnoy i letom 1917 g.’, Proletarskaya revolyutsiya, vol.5 no 19, 1923. Pietarin ja Inkerinmaan suomenkielisten sos-dem. tyolais—ja talonpoikaisjarjestojen ensimaisen edustajakokouksen poytakirja, Viipuri, 1918, pp.7-14, pp.20-33. On Rahja, see M.Koronen, Finskie internatsionalisty v bor’be za vlast’sovetov, Leningrad, 1969, p.81. In 1917, there were some 28 000 Finns in Petrograd, and 130 000 Finnish speakers in tht guberniya. Most were born and bred there, though it would seem likely that the members of the 12 associations represented at the June conference were migrants, in touch with and influenced by Finnish social democracy. Ferro, p. 121. See also J. Keep, The Russian revolution, London, 1976, p.68. Keep, pp.69-73. U. Briigmann, Die russischen Gewerkschaften in Revolution und Burgerkrieg 1917-1919, Frankfurt-am-Main, 1972, pp.78-9. Briigmann, pp.79-85. P.Avrich, ‘Russian factory committees in 1917’, Jahrbuch fur Geschichte Osteuropas, vol.9 (1963), p.176. Siilivask, pp.38, 48. Revolutsioon, kodusoda ja valisriikide interventsioon Eestis (1917—1920), ed. K.Siilivask et al., Tallinn, 1977, vol. 1, pp.96-7, 121. Revolyutsionnyy Petrograd god 1917, ed. N.Nosov, Leningrad, 1977, p.9. Briigmann, pp.12, 79. S.Smith, ‘Craft consciousness, class consciousness: Petrograd 1917’, History Workshop Journal, vol.11 (1981), p.37. VOSR, vol.l, pp.463, 465, Ferro, pp. 117-21. Izvestiya GePsingforskogo Soveta (11/24 March 1917). For an interesting survey of provincial indifference to the war, and concern with other matters, see ‘Mart—May 1917 goda’, ed.Y.Yaklovev, Krasnyi Arkhiv, vol.15 (1926), p.56f. On Parvus and Trotsky, see B.Knei-Paz, The social and political thought of Leon Trotsky, Oxford, 1978, ch.4. I.Getzler, ‘The Mensheviks’, Problems of Communism, vol.6 (1967), pp. 16-18. The Mensheviks in the Russian Revolution, ed. A.Ascher, London—Ithaca, N.Y., 1976, pp.57-8. Lenin, vol.21, pp.15-19, 33-4, 40, Senn, pp.22, 39-40. DZB, vol.2, pp.495-9. DZB, vol.l, pp.322-3, 365-6. P.Axelrod, ‘The crisis in the International’, The Socialist Review, 13/78 (1916), p.243. A.Ascher, Pavel Axelrod and the development of Menshevism, Cambridge, Mass., 1972, pp.305-18. I.Getzler, Martov. A political biography of a Russian social democrat, Cambridge, 1967, pp. 139-47. See also Martov’s summary of Kiental in Informatsionnyy listok zagranichnoy orgamzatsn bunda,

264

67

68 69 70 71 72 73

74 75 76 77 78

79 80

81 82

83

84

85 86

87

War, Peace and Revolution June, 1916, pp.4-6. The Bund was also against the idea of a Third Inter¬ national, and very suspicious of Lenin’s splitting tactics. Martov to Aksel’rod (21 January 1915) Pis’ma, p.315. Aksel’rod’s speech at Zimmerwald, DZB, vol.l, pp.84-91. Theses of the Menshevik organisation committee, November 1915, DZB, vol.2, pp.269-80. Lenin, vol.21, p.403. See also p.159. Lenin, vol.21, pp.275-80, Trotsky, pp. 15-17. Tsentralarkhiv 1917g. Vserossiyskoe soveshchanie, p.41. The Russian Provisional Government, vol.2, p. 1076. Tsentralarkhiv 1917g. Vserossiyskoe soveshchanie, vol.54 (Liber). Articles written in Yedinstvo by Plekhanov, reprinted in G.Plekhanov, God na rodine, Paris, 1921, vol.l, pp.69-72, 77-8. The Russian Provisional Govern¬ ment, vol.2, p. 1119. Martov was also sceptical about Stockholm; c.f. Rosmer, vol.2, p.201. Sed’maya (aprel’skaya) vserossiyskaya konferentsiya RSDRP(b). Protokoly, Moscow, 1958, pp. 113-28, 248-50. Protokoly, pp. 127-8. KA, pp.69-70. Sukhanov, vol.3, p.324. Social-Demokraten (D) (13 May 1917). Politiken (11 May 1917). Socialdemokratiska partistyrelsens berattelse for dr 1917, Stockholm, 1918, pp. 19-21. Politiken, (5 June 1917). On the confusion, the correspondence between Hugo Vallentin, a journalist based in London, and Branting is very revealing. Branting papers, vol. 10, ARA. Minister Romberg (Bern) to Auswartiges Amt (14 April 1917), L ’Allemagne et les problemes de la paix, vol.2, pp. 101-3, Senn, p.230. Romberg to Auswartiges Amt (16 April 1917), DZB, vol.l, p.578. Musulin, Austrian minister in Bern, to Czernin(4 May 1917) in L.Haas, Carl Moor. Ein Leben fur Marx und Lenin, Zurich, 1972, p.274. Ferro, pp.248-50 tends to exaggerate the significance of the affair on allied thinking, however. For details of the affair, DZB, vol. 1, pp.575-644. DZB, vol. 1, pp.440-1. ‘Socialpatrioternas konferens i Stockholm ett misskrediterande av freden’, Politiken (25 April 1917). ‘Zimmerwald och freden’, Politiken (10 May 1917), translation of the Vilag interview. R.Grimm, Zim¬ merwald und Kienthal, Bern, 1917, pp.33-5. Lenin to Aleksandra Kollontay (17 February 1917). The letters of Lenin, ed. E.Hill and D.Mudie, London, 1937, pp.411-2. See also Lenin to V.A. and S.N. Karpinsky (8 January 1917) ibid., pp.405-6, and ‘Tasks of the Left Zimmerwaldists in the Swiss Social Democratic Party’, Lenin, vol.23, pp. 137-48. Lenin to Aleksandra Kollontay (5 March 1917), The Bolsheviks and the world war, pp.579-81. Ya.Temkin. Lenin i mezhdunarodnaya sotsial-demokratiya 1914—1917, Moscow, 1968, p.557, Strom, p.199. ‘Das Militarprogramm der proletarischen Revolution’, Jugend-Internationale, vol. 10 (1917), pp.3-4. Sed’maya .. . konferentsiya, pp.228-34, 253-5. The implications of this reso¬ lution are discussed in Chapter 9. The Bolsheviks and the world war, pp.609-13. For the new government’s programme, see The Russian Provisional Government, vol.2, pp. 1102-4. Ferro, pp.367-8. Berner Tagwacht (5 April 1917) and Izvestiya (21 May 1917), cited in Ascher, p.322.

Notes

265

88 89

‘En intervju med MartofP, Social-Demokraten (S) (31 May 1917). KA, pp.79-80, Sukhanov, vol.4, pp.85-6. The members of the commission were: Chkheidze, Dan, Tsereteli, Gots, Gol’denberg, Steklov and Sukhanov (seven members of the executive committee, the last two internationalist); the Bolsheviks refused to send two members, and it seems as if the party representatives were never at full strength, though Aksel’rod, Erlich and Rozanov, all internationalists, attended both sessions. 90 Balabanoff, pp. 148-9 mentions only Martov and the SR, Bobrov, as being in favour of the conference, but in her collection, Die Zimmerwalder Bewegung 1914-1919, Leipzig, 1928, p.59, Rakovsky, Martynov, Bobrov and Grimm are for the conference, the Bolsheviks and Trotsky’s group against. 91 KA, p.80. 92 KA, p.81. Sukhanov, vol.4, p.87, Tsereteli, vol.l, pp.243-5. 93 ‘Journal de Russie’, p.177. Henderson’s telegram to the Labour Party executive committee, (8 June 1917), minuted on 20 June 1917: Labour Party executive committee minutes, LPA. 94 Tsereteli, vol.l, pp.208-11, Vandervelde, p.179. Stillig, pp.204-5. 95 The Russian Provisional Government, vol.2, pp. 1173-4. This letter was also released to the press: see The Times (7 June 1917). 96 ‘Journal de Russie’, pp.182, 200-2. Protokoly, pp.341-2, 346-8. The Russian Provisional Government, vol.2, pp.1174-5. 97 ‘Journal de Russie’, p.203. Branting did publish the document on 18 June. The text of the Hoffman telegram is in The Russian Provisional Government, vol.2, pp.l 180-1. 98 ‘Journal de Russie’, p.189. 99 Albarda to ‘Amici’ (5 June 1917); Wibaut to Albarda (12 June 1917); Wibaut papers, file 227, IISG. 100 Fluger, pp.95-6, ‘Fredsarbejdet’, Social-Demokraten (D) (13 June 1917). ‘Brieven uit Stockholm, IV’, Het Volk (29 June 1917). 1 roelstra to Wibaut and Vliegen (9 June 1917), Troelstra papers, file 540, IISG. 101 Socialdemokratiska partistyrelsens berattelse, pp.20-1. KA, p.84.

Chapter 6 1 2 3 4

5 6

7 8

See the article by Sinanoglou (1980), pp.566-84. ‘Der Eispalast’, Die Neue Zeit (30 March 1917), p.611. ‘Stockholm’, Die Neue Zeit (31 August 1917), pp.506-7. ‘Rusland, Duitsland, Amerika’, De Nieuwe Tijd (1917), pp.229-32. Cf. ‘Der Sieg der russischen Revolution’, Vorwarts (16 March 1917); A.Kriegel, ‘Les reactions de l’opinion publique fran^aise devant la revo¬ lution russe, 1917—1918’, L’opinion publique europeenne devant la revolution russede 1917, ed. F.L’Huillier, Paris, 1968, p.99; Cortesi, pp.307-12, 405-8. ‘Versa alba nuove. . .’, Critica Sociale (1/15 May 1917), p. 126. E.Matthias, ‘Die Riickwirkungen der russischen Oktoberrevolution auf die deutsche Arbeiterbewegung’, in L’Huillier, p.50. The USPD Mitteilungsblatt (8 April 1917) stated bluntly that: ‘we have to reckon with different circumstances here to those in Russia, and the struggle for our inner liberties must take on different forms’. Salvadori, pp.218-22. ‘Rusland, Duitsland, Amerika’, pp.229-32.

266

War, Peace and Revolution

9 ‘Die Revolution in Russland’, Gesammelte Werke, vol.4, pp.242-5. 10 ‘The Russian Revolution and the International Outlook’, The Call (3 May 1917). 11 ‘Die russische Revolution und das europaische Proletariat’, Otto Bauer. Werkausgabe, Vienna, 1976, vol.2, pp.49, 52, 71. 12 Carsten, pp. 102-6. Labour Leader (29 March, 5 April, 10 May 1917). S.Biinger, Die sozialistische Antikriegsbewegung in Grossbrittanien 1914-1917, Berlin, 1967, pp.148-54. 13 M.Gallo, ‘Quelques aspects de la mentalite et du comportement des ouvriers dans les usines de guerre, 1914—1918’, Mouvement Social, vol.56 (1966), pp.24-5. 14 D.Egan, ‘The Swansea conference of the British Council of Soldiers’ and Workers’ Delegates, July 1917: reactions to the Russian Revolution of February 1917 and the anti-war movement in South Wales’, Llafur, 1/4 (1975), pp.13-14, 28. 15 Commission of enquiry into industrial unrest (Cd. 8662—69; London, 1917), p.3. Ibid., (Cd. 8696), pp.5-6. 16 Arbeitschaft und Staat, vol.l, no.l, pp.270, 318-20; vol.l, no.2, pp.3-4. 17 Cf. Carsten, pp.92-4; Ay, pp.54-5. 18 ‘Support the Leeds Conference’, Labour Leader (25 May 1917). The conference was convened by the United Socialist Council, composed of BSP and ILP representatives, a body set up in 1913. 19 ‘The Great Convention and after’, Labour Leader (31 May 1917). 20 ‘Leeds and after’, The Call (31 May 1917). 21 ‘What happened at Leeds’, The Herald (9 June 1917). ‘Britain’s greatest labour meeting. Leeds’ reply to Petrograd’, Labour Leader (7 June 1917). ‘We answer Russia’, The Call (7 June 1917). 22 ‘Review of the week’, Labour Leader (7 June 1917). P.Snowden, An autobiography, London, 1934, vol.l, pp.455-6. ILP National Administrative Council minutes (30 June 1917), BLEPS. 23 ILP national administrative council minutes (26 October 1917) BLEPS. For a fuller report of the first meeting, see The Call (25 October 1917). S. White, ‘Soviets in Britain: the Leeds Convention of 1917’, International Review of Social History, vol.20 (1974), p,179f. 24 See Quelch’s articles in The Call (21 June, 28 June, 19 July 1917). Hinton, pp.239-41; Egan, pp. 17-23. 25 Opel, pp.59-67; Muller, vol.l, pp.82-4; Feldman, pp.337-9. Carsten, pp. 124-7. 26 Militar und Politik, vol.1/2, pp.695, 725-35; Die Auswirkungen, p.453. Ullrich, vol.l, p.371. 27 Ullrich, vol.l, pp.374-80. 28 W.Schumann, Oberschliesien 1918-1919. Von gemeinsamen Kampf deutscher und polnischer Arbeiter, Berlin, 1961, pp.44-5, 50-3; Opel, pp.63-4. 29 F.Boll, ‘Spontaneitat der Basis und politische Funktion des Streiks, 1914-1918. Der Beispiel Braunschweig’, Archiv fur Sozialgeschichte, vol.17 (1977), pp.347-52, 358-60. G.Feldman, E.Kolb, R.Riirup, ‘Die Massenbewegungen der Arbeitschaft in Deutschland am Ende des ersten Weltkrieges (1917—1920)’, Politische Vierteljahresschrift, vol.13 (1972), p.87. O.Luban, ‘Die Auswirkungen der 1916 Jenaer Jugendkonferenz und die

Notes

30 31 32 33

34 35 36 37

38 39 40 41 42

43 44

45 46 47 48

49 50 51 52

53

54

267

Beziehungen der Zentrale der revolutionaren Arbeiterjugend zur Fuhrung der Spartakusgruppe’, Archiv fur Sozialgeschichte, vol.l 1 (1971), pp.197-202. Boll, p.361. Pedroncini, passim. P.Melograni, Storia politica della grande guerra 1915—1918, Bari, 1969, pp.251-65, 284-310, 372-8, 470-82, 488, 535-7. See D.Gill and G.Dallas, ‘Mutiny at Etaples base in 1917’, Past and Present, vol.69 (1975), pp.88-112. Militar und Politik. Band 1/2: Militar und Innenpolitik im Weltkrieg 1914—1918, ed. W.Deist, Dusseldorf, 1970, pp. 1013-4, 1069, for senior naval assessments of the 1917 unrest at Kiel. Melograni, p.358; A.Gramsci, ‘The Southern Question’, The Modern Prince and other writings, ed. L.Marks, New York, 1957, pp.34-5. Palmstierna, vol.2, pp.45, 49. Stormklockan (31 March 1917). C-G.Andrae, ‘Proletara organisationsformer 1917: Militar-demonstrationerna och arbetarekommitteen’ Archiv for studier i arbetarrorelsens historia, vol.7-8 (1975); S.Klockare, Svenska revolutionen 1917-1918, Stockholm, 1967, pp.42-50. Klockare, p.31fT. Social-Demokraten (S) (28 April 1917); Klockare, p.25. Klockare, pp.69-71. Klockare, pp.83-4. E.Bull, Norsk fagbevegelse (Gj0vik, 1968), p.98. W. Lafferty, Economic development and the response of labour in Scandinavia, Oslo, 1971, pp. 182-90. W.Lafferty, Industrialization, community structure and socialism. An ecological analysis of Norway, 1875-1924, Oslo, 1974, pp. 112-5. Bull, pp. 120-2. D.Kirby, ‘Stockholm-Petrograd-Berlin: international social democracy and Finnish independence, 1917’, Slavonic and East European Review, vol.52 (1974), pp.67-9. A.Upton, The Finnish Revolution 1917-1918, Minneapolis, 1981. Kirby, The Finnish Social Democratic Party 1903-1918, pp.219-36. Tyomies (14, 15 and 16 August 1917). Kirby, The Finnish Social Democratic Party, pp.214-6. Lappeenrannan kunnallisjarjeston kokous, (12 July 1917). Vapaussodan arkisto (VSA) 1 B 124a, Finnish National Archives. See also Kansalaissota dokumentteina, ed. H.Soikkanen, Helsinki, 1967, vol.l, pp.64-71. Kirby, The Finnish Social Democratic Party, pp.211-3. Ibid, pp.221, 230, 280-3, 285. J.Paavolainen, Poliittiset vakivaltaisuudet Suomessa v.1918, Helsinki, 1966, vol.l, pp.40, 46, 48-9, 52-60. Letter in the files of the Helsinki council of workers’ organisations, VSA Villa, Finnish National Archives. For details of Red Guard activity in 1906, see Kirby, The Finnish Social Democratic Party, pp.59-81; and 308fF. for the Red Guards in the winter of 1917-1918. Spriano, passim. M.Montagnana, Ricordi di un operaia torinese, Rome, 1952, pp.66-74. J.Cammett, Antonio Gramsci and the origins of Italian communism, Stanford, 1967, pp.47-55. Montagnana, p.69.

268 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70

War, Peace and Revolution Cited in Spriano, p.429. Meaker, pp.77-90. Muller, vol.l, pp.89, 100. Luban, pp. 105-11; Ullrich, vol.l, pp.481-2. Retzlaw, p.51. J—P.Brunet, Saint-Denis, la ville rouge. Socialisme et communisme en banlieue ouvriere, 1890-1939, Paris, 1980, p.l83f. Gallo, p.30. Histoire de Nantes, ed.P.Bois, Toulouse, 1977, p.369. See also Histoire de Rennes, ed.J.Meyer, Toulouse, 1972, p.427. Histoire de Grenoble, ed. V.Chanel, Toulouse, 1976, p.344. Histoire d’Angers, ed. F.Lebrun, Toulouse, 1975, pp.278-9. Gallo, pp. 18-26. Mitteilungsblatt (8 April 1917). E.Barth, Aus der Werkstatt der deutschen Revolution, Berlin, 1919, p.30. Horn, p.82fT. De Felice, p.477. Ibid., p.476. Malatesta, p.143. De Stefano, pp.206-7. Cf. L.Allegato, Socialismo e comunismo in Puglia. Ricordi di un militante, 1904-1924, Rome, 1971, p.79. A.Morelli, L.Tomassini, Socialismo e classe operaia a Pistoia durante la prima guerra mondiale, Milan, 1974, p.127.

Chapter 7 1 2

3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

12

13

Diary entry (9 May 1917), MacDonald papers, PRO 30/69, 1753. ‘La conference nationale des socialistes minoritaires’, Le Populaire (7/13 May 1917). ‘Vliegen a la C.A.P.’, Le Populaire (21/27 May 1917). Renaudel had informed Thomas on 10 May that he was ready to go to Stockholm ‘pour mettre accusation majorite allemand’. H.Grossheim, Sozialisten in der Verantwortung. Die jranzosische Sozialisten und Gewerkschafter im ersten Weltkrieg, Bonn, 1978, pp. 154-5. Pendant la guerre, pp. 167-8. L’Humanite (29 May 1917). A.Mayer, Political origins of the New Diplomacy 1917-1918, paperback edn, New York, 1970, pp.204-14; Grossheim, pp. 157-66. Pendant la guerre, p.169; Kriegel, vol.l, p.168. ‘Notre action’, Le Populaire (2/15 July 1917). Pendant la guerre, pp.175-6, 178. Message sent via Buchanan to foreign office (29 May 1917), FO 371/3006. Minutes of 9 May 1917, CAB 23/13. Minutes of the executive committee of the Labour Party (9 May 1917), LPA. Henderson to Prime Minister (15 June 1917), FO 371/3006. See also a copy of Henderson’s letter to the Soviet, seeking clarification of a number of points and stressing the importance of an allied socialist conference, in the Troelstra papers, file 422, IISG. For the exchange of letters between allied ministers and Soviet, see pp. 126-27. See Pedroncini, p.282, Schwartz, pp.161-2, and K.Middlemas, Politics in industrial society, London, 1979, pp. 102-3, for instances of anxiety in ruling circles. Foreign office to Barclay (Washington) (1 June 1917), FO 371/3006.

Notes 14

15 16 17 18 19 20 21

22 23 24

25 26 27

28

29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

269

House of Commons. Parliamentary Debates, Fifth Series, vol.93, (16 May 1917), cols 1625-1734. On a division, the amendment was lost by 32 to 238 votes. Diary entries (29 March, 4 April, 25 April 1917) MacDonald papers, PRO 30/69 1753. Marquand, pp.211-5. British labour and the Russian revolution. The Leeds convention: A report from the Daily Herald, introduced by K.Coates, Nottingham, s.d., p.22. Diary entry (24 December 1916), MacDonald papers, PRO 30/69, 1753. ‘Peace guarantees’, Socialist Review, 14/80 (1917), pp.17-31. Parliamentary Debates. Fifth Series, vol.96, cols 1479-80. Report of the annual conference of the ILP, Leeds 1917, London, 1917, p.68. ‘War credits’ (Zelda Coates), Labour Leader (19 April 1917). See for example Ben Tillett’s hostile report on the Leeds conference, convened by ‘a middle-class element, more mischievous than important’. This was relayed to Buchanan in Petrograd. FO 371/3006. Parliamentary Debates, Fifth Series, vol.96, cols 1512-5. A.van der Slice, International labor, diplomacy and peace 1914-1919, Philadelphia, 1941, pp. 168-9. Rosen to Bethmann Hollweg (14 May 1917), in L’Allemagne et les problemes de la paix, vol.2, pp. 197-8. J.Stillig, ‘Das Problem Elsass-Lothringens und die sozialistische Internationale im Jahre 1917’, Vierteljahreshefte filr Zeitgeschichte, vol.25 (1975), pp.64-6. Blansdorf, pp. 177-8. Vorwarts (6 June 1917). Minutes of meetings (11-13 June 1917) in note form, Troelstra papers, file 427, IISG. Troelstra, vol.4, pp. 126-30. The SPD memorandum was published, with other memoranda, in Comite organisateur de la conference socialiste internationale de Stockholm, Stockholm, Stockholm, 1918, pp.l 10-3. E.David, Wer Tragt die Schuld am Kriege? Berlin, 1917. Boll, Frieden ohne Revolution?, pp.212-7. See also Ebert’s article, ‘Die Moglichkeiten von Stockholm’, Vorwarts (4 May 1917). SocialDemokraten (D) (13 June 1917). Jorgensen, pp. 144-6. ‘Journal de Russie’, p. 188; Scheidemann, vol.2, pp.20-1. Protokoll der Sitzung des Parteiausschusses am 26 Juni 1917, Berlin, 1917, passim. Scheidemann, vol.2, p.27. Der Interfraktionelle Ausschuss 1917-1918, ed. E.Matthias, vol. 1, Diisseldorf, 1959, pp.3-11. Kriegstagebuch (6 July 1917), pp.240-1. Der Interfraktionelle Ausschuss, pp.14, 22-3. Kriegstagebuch (9 July 1917), p.242. Der Interfraktionelle Ausschuss, pp.47-55. Kriegstagebuch (12 July 1917), p.244. P.Scheidemann, Der Zusammenbruch, Berlin, 1921, pp.90-1. Der Interfraktionelle Ausschuss, pp.89-90. Kriegstagebuch (14 July 1917), p.246. Scheidemann, Zusammenbruch, pp.98-100. Die Reichstagsfraktion der deutschen Sozialdemokratie 1898 bis 1918, eds E.Matthias, E.Pikart. Diisseldorf, 1966, vol.2, pp.303-7. Verhandlungen des Reichstages. XIII Legislaturpenode, IISession, vol.310, (19 July 1917), cols 3570-92. Vorwarts (20 July 1917). Rosenberg, pp.168 et seq. See also Boll, p.226.

270 39 40 41 42

43 44 45 46 47

48 49

50

51

52 53

54

55

56

War, Peace and Revolution Boll, pp.233-4; Dittmann, pp.802-3 (IISG). See Haase’s changing mood, reflected in his correspondence, in Haase, pp. 144-6. Social-Demokraten (S) (30 June 1917). Huysmans’ draft memorandum (September 1917), Wibaut papers, file 226, IISG. L.Trotsky, Programma mira, K. StokgoTmskoy konferentsii, Petrograd, 1917, pp. 12-21. L.Kamenev, ‘Der Friede ohne Annexationen auf Grund des Selbstbestimmungsrechtes der Nationen’, Arbeiterpolitik (30 June 1917). K.Radek, ‘Zwei Friedensprogramm’, Arbeiterpolitik (24 November 1917). Plekhanov in Yedinstvo (28 April 1917); God na rodine, vol.l, pp.70-3. Kropotkin to Branting (8 June 1917), Branting papers, vol.10, ARA. L’Humanite (29 May 1917). Social-Demokraten (S) (20 and 22 June 1917). D.Kirby, ‘Stockholm-Petrograd-Berlin: International social democracy and Finnish independence, 1917’, Slavonic and East European Review, vol.52 (1974), pp.73-6. Stockholm, pp.298-304. Y.Sirola, ‘Kautsky Suomen itsenaisyydesta’, Sosialistinen Aikakauslehti, vol.5 (1921), pp.49-51. R.Pipes, The formation of the Soviet Union, revised paperback edn, New York, 1974, pp.58-9. J.Reshetar, The Ukrainian revolution 1917-1920, Princeton, 1952, pp.56-64; Kirby, pp.72-3. On Aksel’rod’s views, see Y.Sirola, ‘Puoli vuotta sosialistisena diplomaattina. Muistelmia Tukholmasta v.1917’, Eteenpain (USA), 257 (1928). J.Weinberg, ‘Die gegenwartige Lage Russlands’, Bulletin des Ausschusses fur auswartige Angelegenheiten des Petrograder Arbeiter-und Soldatendelegiertenrates (19 July 1917). K.Kautsky, ‘Die Befreiung der Nationen’, Die Neue Zeit, esp. 15 June 1917, p.249 and 22 June 1917, p.277. See also his critique of Bauer’s Nationalitatenfrage (1907), Nationalitat und Internationalitat, Stuttgart, 1908. Kautsky told the Finns in Stockholm that Russia ‘should remain large’; Sirola, p.51. E.Bernstein, ‘Miljukows Programm und der Politik der Friedensforderungen’, Die Neue Zeit (20 April 1917), pp.56-8. See memoranda in Stockholm, pp. 136-60, and press releases in SocialDemokraten (S) (19 June 1917) - Ukrainian: (3 August 1917) - Polish: (15 August 1917)-Poale Zion. M.Dziewanowski, The Communist Party of Poland, Cambridge, Mass., 1976, pp.57-66. Stockholm, pp.112, 125-6. Social-Demokraten (S) (31 May 1917). G.Moller, ‘Stockholmkonferensens problem’, Tiden, vol.6 (1917), pp. 163-4. vols.7-8 (1917), pp. 193-4. P.Troelstra, De Stockholmsche Conference, Amsterdam, 1917, p. 18. Huysmans’ draft memorandum, Wibaut papers, file 226, IISG. Stockholm, pp. 125-31, 191-6. Social-Demokraten (S) (31 May, 1 and 29 June 1917). L.Valiani, The end of Austria-Hungary, London, 1973, pp.178, 190-1. V.Mamatey, ‘The union of Czech political parties in the Reichsrat 1916-1918, The Habsburg Empire in world war one, eds R.Kann, B.Kiraly, P.Fichtner, New York, 1977, pp.20-1. On Smeral and the national question, see T.Vaughan Thomas, ‘Bohumir Smeral and the Czech question

Notes

57

58 59

60

61 62 63 64 65

271

1904-1914’, Journal of Contemporary History, vol.ll (July 1976), pp.79-98. V.Adler to foreign ministry (20 May 1917). R.Radolsky, ‘Die serbische Sozialdemokratie und die Stockholmer Konferenz von 1917’, Archiv fur Sozialgeschichte, vol.6/7 (1967), pp.584-5. Dusan Popovic to Henderson (16 July 1918), LSI, vol.2, LPA. ‘Ett underkannande av jugoslavernas ombud’, Social-Demokraten (S) (14 June 1917). Stockholm, p.182. Social-Demokraten (S) (25 July 1917). Prince Fiirstenberg to Czernin (20 October 1917); Radolsky, pp.592-3. The final proposals of the Dutch-Scandinavian committee spoke only of cultural and administrative autonomy for the South Slavs. Stockholm, pp.206-14, 217-22. See also the exchange of letters between Huysmans and Troelstra, October/November 1917, Troelstra papers, files 547, 331, IISG. Moller, p.162. See Huysmans’ draft, Wibaut papers, file 226 and Troelstra’s drafts, Troelstra papers, file 419, IISG. ‘Friede ohne Annexationen’, ISK Nachrichtensdienst, vol.l 1 (26 June 1917). This was a hectographed bulletin, issued in Stockholm by the ISC. DZB, vol.l, p.410. C.Rakowski, Das Wiedererwachen der Internationale, Bern, 1916, pp.8-9, 11.

Chapter 8 1 2 3

4 5 6 7

8

9

10 11

‘Fevral’skaya revolyutsiya’, Krasnyi Arkhiv (KA), vol.l6 (1926), p.27. Protokoly, pp.130-1. The Russian Provisional Government, vol.3, p.1267. Den’(12/25 May 1917), cited in R.Wittram, Studien zur Selbstverstandnis des 1. und 2. Kabinetts der russischen Provisorischen Regierung (Marz bis Juli 1917), Gottingen, 1971, p.68. V.Vladimirova, Revolyutsiya 1917 goda, Khronika sobyitiy, MoscowPetrograd, 1923, vol.3, pp.21-42. Ibid., pp.281-2 (Menshevik-SR resolution, adopted on 25 June). Ibid., pp.270-8, 45-7. Getzler, pp. 152-3. See the despatches of Sevastopulo (Paris), Nabokov (London) and Giers (Rome), cited in V.Vasyukov, Vneshnyaya politika vremennogo pravitel’stva, Moscow, 1966, pp. 175-9, 182-3. R.Wade, The Russian search for peace, February-October 1917, Stanford, 1969, pp.72-3. ‘Herostraten’, Die russische Revolution und die sozialistische Internationale. Aus dem literarischen Nachlass von Paul Axelrod, Jena, 1932, p.148. Roobol, pp.92-3. Protokoly, p.268; A.Yamanouchi, ‘The Stockholm conference of 1917 - the causes of its failure’, Japanese Slavic and East European Studies, vol. 1 (1980), pp.42-3 traces the dilution of the Soviet’s original proposals. See also Chapter 5, p.l24f. Rozanov’s report in KA, p.28. Notes of the meeting in the Troelstra papers, file 423, IISG. KA, p.28. BalabanofT, Erinnerungen, p. 165. DZB, vol.l, pp.442-3. Tsereteli, vol.l, pp.308, 313. A.BalabanofT, Die Zimmerwalder Bewegung 1914-1919, Leipzig, 1928, pp.66-9. This meeting took place soon after the delegation’s arrival in Stockholm on 3 July, and was attended by Rozanov (Menshevik internationalist), Gol’denberg (Menshevik defencist) and Smirnov

272

12 13 14 15 16 17

18 19 20 21 22 23

24 25 26

27 28 29 30 31 32

33

34 35 36

War, Peace and Revolution (Menshevik defencist). Cf. Politiken (14 July 1917). KA, pp.29-31. DZB, vol.l, pp.528-9. Howard to foreign office (3 July 1917), FO 371/3007. DZB, vol.l, p.531; G.Mayer, Erinnerungen, Munich, 1949, p.267. Howard to foreign office (13 July 1917, 16 July 1917), FO 371/3007. Thiebaut to Ribot (12 July 1917), cited in Stillig, p.239. ‘Russian socialists and peace’, The Times (16 July 1917). I have translated the original German draft, in the Troelstra papers, file 429, IISG, italicising words and phrases which differ from the milder English version, presented as Appendix One in the report of the Labour Party executive to the special conference on 10 August, which is also printed in Stansky, pp.217-9. The Labour Party Special Party Conference (Friday, August 10th), pp.8-10, galley-proofs in Labour Party archives. Bulletin, vol.3 (5 July 1917). D.Geyer, ‘Die russische Rate und die Friedensfrage im Friihjahr und Sommer 1917’, Vierteljahrshefte fur Zeitgeschichte, vol.5 (1957), p.239. Bulletin, vol.2 (30 June 1917); Vorwarts (5 July 1917). Vorwarts (21 July 1917). Muller to Soviet delegation, Tsereteli, vol.l, p.312. Howard to foreign office (16 July 1917), FO 371/3007. KA, pp.26-7. The Bulletin was hectographed, and appeared in French and German (an English edition was later added). It was meant to come out ten times a month, and had a Swede, Karl Lindoff, as responsible editor. See KA, p.43. ‘Harald Scavenius’ syn’, p. 125 (despatch of 6 July 1917). Ibid., p.127 (despatch of 14 July 1917). Browder and Kerensky, vol.3, pp. 1390-4; Getzler, pp. 155-7; Vladimirova, vol.3, pp. 142-6, 167; Rabinowitch, pp.23-6; Wade, pp.93-5. The new coalition, of eight socialists and seven liberals, was dominated by a troika of Kerensky, Tereshchenko and Nekrasov, none of whom had close links with the Soviet at this time. ‘Harald Scavenius’ syn’, pp. 138-9. KA, p.34. Cited in Tsereteli, vol.l, p.318. ‘Russian delegates in London’, The Times (25 July 1917). ‘Revolutionar stamning i England’, Social-Demokraten (S) (23 June 1917). ‘England infor revolutionen?’, Politiken (11 June 1917). KA, p.35. See Ramsay MacDonald’s letter to Lord Robert Cecil, probably written at the end of June 1917, PRO 30/69, p.l 161: ‘The news from Russia is not at all good, and if we are to be of any assistance to the middle anti¬ anarchist section every day’s delay is a missing of opportunities.’ According to his fellow party member, G.N.Barnes, who occupied his position in cabinet during the visit to Russia, Henderson had proposed this conference in April ‘as a counterblast to the proposed Stockholm conference’. J.M.Hodgson, office of the war cabinet to foreign office (4 July 1917), FO 371/3007. Minutes of Labour Party executive (25 July 1917), LPA. KA, p.35. Minutes of 26 July 1917, CAB 23/3, and CAB 23/13. The diary of Lord Bertie of Thame 1914-1918, ed. Lady Algernon Gordon

Notes 37 38

273

Lennox, London, 1924, vol.2, p.161. Diary entry of 27 July 1917. Stillig, p.246.

Foreign office reply (17 July 1917) to requests (21 June, 9 July 1917) for pass¬ ports from O’Brien and Campbell. Howard to foreign office (25 July 1917), and appended minutes, FO 371/3007. 39 Minutes of 30 July 1917, CAB 23/13. 40 Stillig, p.257f. Parliamentary Debates, vol.97 (13 August 1917), cols 909-32 for debate of Henderson’s resignation. Also Stansky, pp.229-49. 41 D.Lloyd George, War memoirs, London, 1934, vol.4, p.1900. 42 Minutes of 1 August 1917, CAB 23/3. Parliamentary Debates, vol.96, (1 August 1917), cols 2196-8. 43 Minutes of 8 August 1917, CAB 23/3. On the shifting attitude of the pro¬ visional government, see Wade, pp. 108-15. Stillig, pp.260-70. 44 The Labour Party Adjourned Party Conference (August 21st, 1917), pp.9-13, galley-proof in LPA. Stansky, pp.222-9. 45 Adjourned Party Conference, pp. 14-23. Snowden to Labour Party executive (21 August 1917), Archives of the ILP, Series III, Francis Johnson Correspon¬ dence (microfilm), BLEPS. 46 Labour Party, Report of the Seventeenth Annual Conference (Nottingham/ London, 1918), p.7. Clifford Sharp to Branting (23 August 1917), Branting papers, vol.10, ARA. The Miners’ Federation voted against the resolution in protest at the party executive’s pleas for representation for affiliated socialist parties; hence the shrinking of the majority. 47 See, for example, MacDonald to Branting (14 August 1917), Branting papers, vol.10, ARA. Wibaut to Huysmans (18 August 1917), Wibaut papers, file 226. IISG Muller to Ebert (29 August 1917) in Blansdorf, ‘Friedrich Ebert’, p.396. 48 DZB, vol.l, p.560. A similar argument was advanced by the AustrianGerman agent and Swiss socialist, Carl Moor: see his report to the German foreign office (22 September 1917), in Haas, p.284. 49 ‘Le discours d’Albert Thomas a Champigny’, L ’Humanite (14 August 1917). ‘Fur Stockholm - und Krieg ohne Ende’, Vorwarts (16 August 1917), an agency report of the speech, described in an editorial comment as (ein Eiertanz Thomas was denounced as an enemy of peace. 50 Renaudel to Branting (10 September 1917), Branting papers, vol.10, ARA. See Tsereteli, vol.l, pp.319-20, and the telegram from Huysmans and Branting (‘All conditions Paris accepted. We expressed same opinion to Russian delegates here. Absolutely necessary Cause Entente defended in Con¬ ference.’) in minutes of Labour Party executive (14 August 1917), LPA. 51 On Belgian position, see Rapport du Bureau, pp.69-79. For the attitude of the prowar Italian socialist delegation to Russia, see the interview in SocialDemokraten (S) (22 June 1917). The socialists of the central powers, meeting in Vienna at the end of August, declared that it would be inappropriate to raise the war-guilt question at Stockholm. Protokoll der Verhandlungen des Parteitages der DSDAP in Oesterreich . .. von 19 bis 24 Okt. 1917, Vienna, 1918, p.34. 52 Tsereteli, vol.l, pp.320-1. The Labour Party Special Conference, App.2, pp. 12-14. D.Kirby, ‘International socialism and the question of peace: the Stock¬ holm conference of 1917’, The Historical Journal, vol.25 (1982), pp. 713-4.

274 53 54

55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63

64

65 66

67

68 69 70

War, Peace and Revolution Avanti! (30 April; 15 May 1917), cited in Malatesta, pp.144, 148-9. C.Treves, ‘Da Parigi a Stoccolma’, Critica Sociale (1/15 August 1917) Avanti! (21 August 1917), cited in Cortesi, p.351: ibid., pp.116, 348-51. N.Valeri, Turati e la Kuliscioff, Florence, 1974, p.115. C.Treves, ‘Proletariate e resistenza’, Critica Sociale (1/15 November 1917), Melograni, pp.536-7; Cortesi, pp.364-7. Troelstra, De Stockholmsche Conferentie, p.7; also his ‘Brieven uit Stockholm’, Het Volk (5 September 1917). DZB, vol.l, pp.552-7. Troelstra to Vliegen, Wibaut and Albarda (5 September 1917), Wibaut papers, file 226, IISG. ‘Conferentie Russen’, notes in Troelstra papers, file 423, IISG. Troelstra, vol.4, p.146. This was suggested by Huysmans: ‘Projet’, in Troelstra papers, file 580, IISG. ‘En avgorande i London’, Social-Demokraten (S) (28 August 1917). ‘Was Ihr thun sollt?’, draft reply to Ebert’s ‘Der Boxerhieb gegen Stockholm’, Vorwarts (15 August 1917), in Troelstra papers, file 419 IISG. Draft in Troelstra papers, file 11, IISG. See also ‘Het Kongres te Stockholm’, Het Volk (22 December 1917). Troelstra’s leanings towards a more vigorous popular action were apparent at The Hague conference in 1916. See Chapter 4. F.Ebert, ‘Der Boxerhieb gegen Stockholm’, Vorwarts (15 August 1917). Muller to Ebert (29 August 1917); Blansdorf, ‘Friedrich Ebert’, pp.396-7 . German minister in Copenhagen’s despatch (1 September 1917), DZB, vol.l, p.558. Bulletin, vol.26 (18 October 1917); Boll, pp.228-9. DZB, vol.l, pp.559-66. O.Yermansky, Iz perezhitogo, Moscow-Leningrad, 1927, pp. 166-7. ‘Conferentie Russen’, Troelstra papers, file 423, IISG. DZB, vol.l, pp.454-5. See Gol’denberg’s speech, printed in Social-Demokraten (S) (15 September 1917) and Bulletin, vol.22 (23 September 1917), and ‘Ehrlich om Stockholmskonferensen’, Social-Demokraten (S) (25 September 1917). P.Troelstra, ‘Stockholmkonferenses ide’, Julfacklan (1917), pp.1-2. Rabinowitch, pp. 159-62. The Times (2 October 1917). Van der Slice, p.36, commenting on the peace programme.

Chapter 9 1 2 3 4

5

DZB, vol.l, pp.412-3. See his letters to the Karpinskys (8 January 1917) and Kollontay (17 February 1917) in Letters of Lenin, pp.405-7, 410-12, and Chapter 4. DZB, vol.l, pp.442-3. ISK Nachrichtendienst, vol.l4 (15 July 1917); vol.l5 (22 July 1917). DeyateVnost’ Tsentralnogo Komiteta RSDRP(b) v 1917 godu, ed. V.Akseyev, Moscow, 1969, p.166. Lenin to Radek (30 June 1917), Lenin, vol.43, pp.634-5; Reisberg, p.239. Temkin, p.584. Les bolcheviques par eux-memes, eds G.Haupt and J.J.Marie, Paris, 1967, p.334, entry by Karl Radek.

Notes 6

7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

16 17 18 19 20

21

22 23 24 25 26

27

28 29 30

275

Temkin, pp.580-4. Yu.Vorobtsova, DeyateVnosP predstavitePstva TsK RSDRP(b) v StokgoPme, Moscow, 1968, pp. 129-30. Russische Korrespondenz Prawda (RKP), vol.9 (14 July 1917). DZB, vol.l, pp.443-4. ISK Nachrichtendienst, vol.l7 (3 August 1917). BalabanofT, Die Zimmerwalder Bewegung, pp.75-82. Politiken (26 July 1917). Kilbom to Karl Wiik (2 August 1917), Wiik papers, file 29, VA. See also the interview with Aksel’rod in Politiken (25 August 1917). Temkin, pp.585-6. Reisberg, pp.248-50. Lenin, vol.43, p.632; vol.35, p.321. B.Lazitch, M.Drachkovitch, Lenin and the Comintern, Stanford, 1972, pp.26-8. K.Radek, ‘Zimmerwald auf dem Scheideweg’, Jugend-Internationale, vol.9 (1 September 1917) and Arbeiterpolitik (18 August 1917). Lenin, vol.25, p.303. Lenin, vol.26, p.174. Lenin, vol.25, pp.311-7. See the Menshevik internationalist programme in ISK Nachrichtendienst, vol.l6 (28 July 1917). The pithy phrase occurs in Will the Bolsheviks Retain State Power? Lenin, vol.26, p. 121. RKP, vol.9 (14 July 1917). See also Politiken (21 July 1917). Lenin to Radek (30 June 1917), Lenin, vol.43, p.635. DZB, vol.l, pp.291-2. Jugend-Internationale, vol.9 (1 September 1917); Miinzenberg, p.219. BalabanofT, Die Zimmerwalder Bewegung, pp.63-4. R.Wheeler, USPD und Internationale. Sozialistischer Internationalismus in der Zeit der Revolution, Frankfurt-am-Main, 1975, p.29. Malatesta, p.149. The PSI delegation was instructed to speak in the spirit of Zimmerwald and of the Russian revolution. Yermansky, p. 165; Dittmann, p.804. The Finnish socialists were also for participation, as was the Rumanian, Christian Rakovsky: see K.Wiik, Dagbok (29 August 1917), VA, and Rakovsky’s interview in Politiken (12 October 1917). F.Conte, Christian Rakovski, Lille, 1976, vol.l, p. 175, claims Rakovsky was anxious not to allow the movement to fall under Bolshevik control. See the fragmentary minutes in DZB, vol.l, pp.447-55. Der LedebourProzess, Berlin, 1919, p.23. Wheeler, p.35. BalabanofT, Die Zimmerwalder Bewegung, pp.93-4. Yermansky, pp. 172-3. Dittmann, p.805. Temkin, p.591. N.Korolev, ‘V.I.Lenin i Tsimmervafdskoe obedinenie’, Voprosy Istorn KPSS (1960), pp.151-4. Yermansky, pp.174-5; Reisberg, p.254. Les Bolcheviques, pp.336-7; ISK Nachrichtendienst, vol.23 (24 September 1917). DZB, vol. 1, pp. 481-2; Yermansky, p. 175. ‘Die dritte Zimmerwalder Konferenz’, Bote der russichen Revolution, vol. 5(13 October 1917). This was almost certainly written by Radek, who did the ‘lion’s share’ of the work on this Bolshevik news-sheet, according to Vorovsky. V. Vorovsky, Sochineniya, Moscow, 1933, vol. 3, pp. 358-9. ‘Vozrozhdenie Internatsionala’, Priboy (14 October 1917). Lenin, vol. 26, pp. 220-2. Bernstein to MacDonald (30 September 1917), MacDonald papers, PRO

276

31

32 33 34 35 36

37 38 39

40 41

42

43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

52 53 54 55 56

,

War Peace and Revolution 30/69 1161. Reisberg, p. 258. Politiken (8 and 11 November 1917). A. Balabanoff, ‘Die Oktoberrevolution und die politischen Streiks in Westeuropa’, Die Kommunistiche Internationale, vol. 6 (1919), pp. 38-43. The manifesto is printed in DZB, vol. 1, pp. 482-4. Boll, Frieden ohne Revolution?, 23-4. Ibid., 44fF. Lenin, vol. 26, pp. 59-68. Cf. Kriegel, vol. 1, pp. 278-9; Meaker, pp. 103-6; Lazitch and Drachkovitch, pp. 225-31. Lennin, vol. 25, pp. 305-10. Politiken, vol. 15 (15 September 1917): ISK Nachrichtendienst, vol. 26 (25 October 1917) for comment on BolshevikMenshevik Internationalist relations. Rabinowitch, pp. 169-72, 178-82. The Mensheviks in the Russian Revolution, pp. 108-10. Lenin, vol. 26, pp. 74-5. Sosialidemokraattisen puolueen puolueneuvoston kokouksen poytakirja (28 October 1917), TA. K. Wiik, Dagbok, vol. 23 (27 October 1917), VA. The Finnish socialists were aware of a likely Bolshevik seizure of power by midOctober; see K. Wiik, Dagbok 18 October 1917) and record of conversation with Karl Radek in the diary of the activist H. Gummerus, Dagbok (24 October 1917), VA. Anweiler, pp. 176-80. Lenin, vol. 26, pp. 19-21. Morgan, pp. 67-8; Carsten, p. 155. Protokoll der Verhandlungen des Parteitages der DSDAP in Osterreich ... 19 bis 24 Okt. 1917, Vienna, 1917, p. 102; Kriegel, vol. 1, p. 242. ILP national administrative council minutes, p. 1919 (Item 11), BLEPS. Commission of enquiry into industrial unrest, London, 1917, (col. 8696), pp. 5-6: conclusions made by G. N. Barnes. Protokoll iiber die Vorhandlungen des Parteitages der SP der Schweiz von 20 und 21 November 1915, Lucerne, 1916, p. 104. Branting, vol. 4, pp. 247-50. Howard to FO (19 April 1917), FO 371/3022. Stona della sinistra comunista, Milan, 1964, vol. 1, pp. 265-8, 296-8. Cammett, p. 57. Malatesta, p. 272. Arbeitschaft und Staat, vol. 1: no. 2, 11 Iff. Ibid., p. 135. SAJ edustajakokouksen poytakirja (12 November 1917), TA. Kirby, The Finnish Social Democratic Party, pp. 262-71. Ibid., pp. 271-95. O. Kuusinen, Suomen tyovaenliikkeen opetuksia, Lappeenranta, 1949, p. 17. O. Kuusinen, Suomen vallankumouksesta. Iteskritiikkia, Petrograd, 1918, p. 4. O. Kuusinen, ‘Kysymys valtiosta’, Kumous (31 May 1918). Kirby, pp. 363-76. See the programme outlined by the PSI in May 1917: Malatesta, p. 144; the Spartacist programme in Balabanoff, Die Zimmerwalder Bewegung, p. 92. O. Bauer, Der Weg zum Sozialismus, Berlin, 1919, p. 32. Die Auswirkungen, vol. 2, pp. 765-6. Lenin, vol. 43, p. 635. DZB, vol. 1, p. 130.

Notes

211

Chapter 10 1 2

3 4

5

6 7

8

9

10 11 12 13 14

15 16 17 18

19

20

First decrees of Soviet power, ed. Y. Akhapkin, London, 1970, pp. 20-2. See his speech to the central executive committee of soviets on 17 November: The debate on Soviet power, ed. J. Keep, Oxford, 1979, p. 87, and the sixth of his 21 theses on the necessity of signing peace, in Lenin, vol. 26, pp. 443-4. Czernin to Hertling (10 November 1917); Germany and the revolution in Russia, pp. 77-8. R. Debo, Revolution and survival: the foreign policy of Soviet Russia 1911-18, Liverpool, 1979, pp. 21-47. The debate on Soviet power, (8/21 December 1917), p. 187. ‘Fur die russische Arbeiterregierung oder fur die europaischen Kapitalistenregierungen?’, Bote der russischen Revolution, vols. 9/10 (17 November 1917); ‘Die Friedensfrage und unsere Aufgabe’ (K. Radek), ibid., vol. 11 (28 November 1917). Zeman and Scharlau, pp. 237-40. Parvus to Stauning (18 November 1917), in Fluger, p. 101. Stauning was to claim that he had not spoken to Parvus for more than nine months in April 1918: Stauning to Dubreuilh (24 April 1918), in MacDonald papers, PRO 30/69, p. 1162. Telegram of 20 November 1917 in Troelstra papers, file 556, IISG. The letter is printed in Fluger, pp. 102-3 (Danish) and Viktor Adler. Briefwechsel, pp. 650-2. Draft letter from Troelstra to members of the Dutch-Scandinavian committee (file 420) and Huysmans’ ‘Rapport a la delegation hollandaise’ (30 November 1917), file 429, Troelstra papers, IISG. See also Troelstra’s state¬ ment in Rotterdamsche Nieuwe Courant (1 December 1917). Minutes of Labour Party executive (28 November 1917), LPA. Fluger, p. 104; Scheidemann, vol. 2, pp. 122-36; Kiihlmann to Riezler, (9 December 1917), Germany and the revolution in Russia, pp. 101-2. Haas, p. 188; Riezler and Lucius to Kiihlmann (12 December 1917), Germany and the revolution in Russia, pp. 105-6. Brockdoff-Rantzau to Kiihlmann (12 December 1917), Der Friede von BrestLitovsk, ed. W. Hahlweg, Dusseldorf, 1971, pp. 98-9. ‘Vapenstillestandet sakrat’, Politiken (17 December 1917). Lazitch and Drachkovitch, p. 35. Ya. Temkin and B. Tupolev, Ot vtorogo k tret’emu internatsionalu, Moscow, 1978, pp. 222-4. A. Egede-Nissen, Ft hv i strid, Oslo, 1945, p. 192. The debate on Soviet power, vol. 14 (27 December 1917), pp. 212-7. Debo, pp. 50-2, 55-6. Militar und Innenpolitik, vol. 2, p. Ill6f; Carsten, pp. 99-100. Minutes of 3 January 1918, CAB 23/5. Mayer, pp. 322-8. War cabinet minutes (19 December 1919) (Henderson’s request for a declaration of war aims), CAB 23/4 (31 December 1917), CAB 23/13, (4 January 1918), CAB 23/5. Minutes of 31 December 1917, CAB 23/13. Ramsay MacDonald to Lloyd George (1 January 1918), MacDonald papers, PRO 30/69, p. 1162. Marquand, p. 222. ‘Reunion du Comite organisateur’ 7-8.1.1918’, Troelstra papers, tile 437, IISG. Palmstierna, vol. 2, p. 117 (diary entry for 1 January 1918; ‘Camille

278

21

22

23 24 25 26 27 28 29

30 31

32 33 34 35 36 37 38

39 40 41

,

War Peace and Revolution Huysmans and Branting are working eagerly for a meeting of the Inter¬ national’) Vorwarts (9 January 1918). Die II Internationale 1918-1919, ed. G. Ritter, Berlin-Bonn, 1980, vol. 1, p. 10; vol. 2, pp. 707-16. Albert Thomas often raised the question of going to Petrograd in an effort to stiffen resistance to the idea of a separate peace, but passports were refused by Clemenceau: L’Humanite (3 January 1918). Ramsay MacDonald also felt someone should have been sent, even unofficially, to prevent the Bolsheviks ‘drifting away’ from the Western democracies: Forward (29 December 1917). This memorandum is printed in Stansky, pp. 318-26. The August memorandum is Appendix 3 of The Labour Party special party conference (Friday, 10th August, 1917), pp. 16-30. The sub-committee entrusted with the task of preparing this memorandum was dominated by Sidney Webb: see Clifford Sharp to Branting (23 August 1917), with ‘a list of resolutions drafted by Sidney Webb’, Branting papers, vol. 10, ARA. Stansky, p. 319; Schwartz, pp. 166-8. The Russian Provisional Government, vol. 2, p. 1130; Mayer, pp. 296-7. The Bolshevik revolution 1917-1918: Documents and materials, ed. J. Bunyan and H. Fisher, Stanford, 1934, p. 484; Fischer, p. 479. Lenin, vol. 29, 349-50. Debo, p. 48. Mayer, pp. 296-7. J. Wheeler-Bennett, Brest-Litovsk, The forgotten peace March 1918, London, 1938, pp. 117-8. Mayer, p. 229. ‘Critical remarks on the national question’ (1913), Lenin, vol. 20, pp. 17-51. Report of the Finnish socialist delegation (9 December 1917) file 329 (471) 5:328 ‘1917’, TA. K. Wiik, Dagboksanteckningar (27-28 December 1917), p. 127. VA. K. Manner, ‘Parisen henkilollista muistoa toveri Leninista’, Lenin suomalaisten muistelmissa, ed. J. Latukka, Leningrad, 1925, p. 6. See also Lenin, vol. 26, pp. 175-6. The debate on Soviet power, (22 December/3 January 1918), pp. 240-1; Lenin, vol. 29, p. 171. C. Lindhagen, I revolutionsland, Stockholm, 1918, p. 77. Y. Sirola, ‘Kansainvalisen vallankumouksen rintamalla’, SPN.n taistelun delta, ed. T. Antikainen, Leningrad, 1934, p. 616. Lenin, vol. 30, p. 294. J. Stalin, Sochineniya, Vol. 3, pp. 49-55. Ibid., p. 209. Tretyi vserossiyskiy s”ezd sovetov rabochikh, soldatskikh i krest’yanskikh deputatov, Petrograd, 1918, pp. 72-4. R. Pipes, The formation of the Soviet Union, paperback edn, New York, 1974, pp. 109-113; Nettl, p. 515. The debate on Soviet power, (14/27 December 1917), p. 215. War cabinet minutes (31 December 1917), CAB 23/13. Die Reichstagsfraktion der deutschen Sozialdemokratie 1898 bis 1918, ed. E. Matthias and E. Pikart, Diisseldorf, 1966, vol. 2, p. 353 (Ebert: 4 January 1918): p. 361 (David: 6 January 1918). Der Interfraktionelle Ausschuss, vol. 2, p. 101 (Ebert: 16 January 1918). Vorwarts (7 January 1918). Der Interfraktionelle Ausschuss, vol. 2, p. 86. Kriegstagebuch (16 January 1918), p. 265. Scheidemann, vol. 2, pp. 139-41.

Notes 42 43 44 45

46 47 48 49 50 51 52

53 54

55 56

57 58

59 60 61 62

63 64

279

The Debates on Soviet power (19 December/1 January 1918), pp. 223-39. Debo, p. 57. This telegram, sent on 13 January 1918, and instructions to all provincial authorities, is in Arbeitschaft und Staat, vol. 2, pp. 194-5. Militar und Innenpolitik, vol. 2, pp. 1157-63. Arbeitschaft und Staat, vol. 2, pp. 192-3, 236-7. Hautmann, pp. 48-9. The tone and phraseology of this pamphlet bears striking resemblance to that of Spartacist flysheets. Report of 9.45 a.m., 15 January 1918, in Arbeitschaft und Staat, vol. 2, p. 199. For the events in Lower Austria, ibid., p. 196ff. Ibid., pp. 186-9. Ibid., pp. 223-4. R. Plaschka, H. Haselsteiner, A. Suppan, Innere Front, Vienna, 1974, vol. 1, pp. 64-5; Hautmann, pp. 49-52. Plaschka, pp. 94-148, 151-62. Arbeitschaft und Staat, vol. 2, pp. 228-82. Minutes of a meeting of central and local authorities at the Ministry of the Interior (28 January 1918), ibid., pp. 318-29. Hautmann, pp. 53-4; O. Bauer, Der osterreichische Revolution, Vienna, 1923, pp. 63-5. See also Redlich, pp. 255-6. Osterreich im Jahre 1918. Berichte und Dokumente, ed. R. Neck, Vienna, 1968, pp. 27; Hautmann, pp. 54-6; Plaschka, vol. 1, pp. 70-2; Valiani, pp. 215-6; Tokes, pp. 39-40. Morgan, pp. 87-8; Opel, p. 71; Muller, vol. 1, pp. 101-2. For the course of the strike movement, see: Carsten, pp. 132-42. Morgan, pp. 88-91; Opel, pp. 71-2; Stoecker, pp. 143-7; Ullrich, vol. 1, pp. 517-41. Revolution und Raterepublik in Miinchen 1918-1919, ed. G. Schmoltze, Diisseldorf, 1969, pp. 50-9. Dittmann, p. 829. Der Ledebour Prozess, p. 24. Revolution und Raterepublik, p. 45. Die Reichstagsfraktion, vol. 2, (5 February 1918), pp. 362-72. Der Interfraktionelle Ausschuss, vol. 2 (5 February 1918), pp. 193-4: (13 February 1918), p. 225. Der Friede von Brest-Litovsk, pp. 554-5. Report of the military commander of Mark-Brandenburg to the Kaiser (5 February 1918), Militar und Innenpolitik, vol. 2, p. 1165. Col. Bauer to Crown Prince (6 January 1918), in Der Interfraktionelle Ausschuss, vol. 2, p. 80 fn. Der Friede von Brest-Litovsk, p. 436. Der Interfraktionelle Ausschuss, vol. 2, p. 137. Ibid., p. 288. Die Reichstagsfraktion, vol. 2, (18 March 1918), pp. 386-8; (22 March 1918), pp. 390-2. Vorwarts (3 March 1918). Kautsky in Leipziger Volkszeitung (15 November 1917). citied in Salvadori, p. 224. Bauer to Kautsky (4 January 1918), Werkausgabe, vol. 9, pp. 1041-2. Compare the relative moderation of Friedrich Stampfer’s ‘Demokratie und Revolution’, Vorwarts (20 January 1918) with his ‘Bolschewismus’, Vorwarts (15 February 1918). O. Braun, ‘Die Bolschewismus und wir’, Vorwarts (15 February 1918). Losche, pp. 129-37. Hilferding to Kautsky (3 December 1917). Kautsky papers, file D xii, p. 631, IISG, cited in Morgan, p. 101. Bauer to Kautsky (28 Spetember 1917), Werkausgabe, vol. 9, p. 1039.

280 65 66 67

68 69 70 71 72 73

74

75 76

77 78 79 80

War, Peace and Revolution Muller, vol. 1, p. 110. Dokumente und Materialien, vol. 2/2, pp. 137-38; Boll, pp. 253-5. Barth, pp. 29-30; Morgan, pp. 104-6; Carsten, pp. 189-91, suggests that the extreme left was unable to profit to any extent by growing war-weariness. Die Reichstagsfraktion, vol. 2 (6 January 1918), p. 361. For details of strikes in 1918, see Carsten, pp. 178-89. Dokumente und Materialien, vol. 2/2, pp. 716-8. Osterreich im jahre 1918. pp. 35-8. Speech to the third Soviet congress (25 January 1918), Lenin, vol. 26, pp. 473-4. Lenin, vol. 26, pp. 471-2. Knei-Paz, pp. 310-24. Lenin, vol. 26, pp. 442-50; Wheeler-Bennett, pp. 385-91; Debo, pp. 75-6. Lenin, vol. 26, pp. 467-70; Debo, pp. 78-83. Lenin, vol. 26, pp. 450, 510. Neither Wheeler-Bennett nor Debo mention the 22nd thesis, nor the radio message. Debo tends to assume that Lenin was a good deal more resolute in pressing for the signing of peace than the evidence of his writings would suggest. Reshetar, p. 104ff; Pipes, pp. 114-36; H. Rautkallio. Kaupantekoa Suomen itsenaisyydella. Saksan sodanpaamaarat Suomessa 1917-1918, Helsinki, 1977. Finland and Russia 1808-1920, ed. D. Kirby, London, 1975, pp. 204-5, 234-9. G. von Rauch, The Baltic states, London, 1974, pp. 39-49. Lenin, vol. 26, p. 523, and his speech at the opening of the third Soviet congress: Tretyi ..., pp. 7-24. Z. Hoglund, Minnen ifackelsken, Stockholm, 1954, vol. 2, p. 132. Kirby, The Finnish Social Democratic Party, pp. 375-8. Even a work which claims to be a study of Soviet foreign policy in 1917-18, and written as recently as the 1970s, can talk of Finland in terms which suggest that the Bolsheviks established a regime there: Debo, pp. 196, 212. Finland and Russia, pp. 222-3 for Sirola’s programme. Kirby, pp. 370-2. Kansanvaltuuskunnan poytakirja, 19 February, 6 and 8 March. Syyttajiston arkisto, Ca 13, VA. Kirby, pp. 367-8. On the civil war, see the detailed and authoritative recent study by Upton. For its causes, see Finland and Russia, pp. 217-9, 221, 229-31. K. Kautsky, Der politische Massenstreik, Berlin, 1914, p. 224, cited in Boll, p. 64. This situation was grasped by the radicals of the Finnish Social Democratic Party leadership in the winter of 1917-18, and persuaded them that a revolution had to be attempted, even if they held out little hope for its success. See Sirola’s assessment of 13 January 1918, Finland and Russia,

p.221. 81 82 83 84 85 86

Melograni, pp. 466-93, 535-7. War cabinet minutes (18 October 1917), CAB 23/4. Chief Constable of Glamorgan’s report (14 December 1917), HO 45/10743, 263275. HO 45/10743, 263275, for this and similar reports. Kriegel, vol. 1, pp. 209-17. Picard, pp. 130-1. Brunet, pp. 180-2. G. Harry, ‘Les delegues d’atelier aux usines Renault’, 1914-1918, pp. 228-31. ‘What Labour should do now’, Forward (29 September 1917); Socialist Review, 15/85 (January 1918), p. 108. L ’Humanite (16 February 1918). Bertie to foreign office (18 February 1918), FO 371/3469. Marquand, pp. 223-4.

Notes 87

88 89 90 91

92

93

94

95

96 97 98

99

281

L’Humamte (19 February 1918). See also RenaudePs speech at Nottingham, The Times (23 January 1918) and Thomas’ interview in the Daily Telegraph (8 January 1918), noted in Vorwarts (10 January 1918). Stansky, p. 320. Die II. Internationale, vol. 2, p. 701. Le Matin (25 February 1918). Vorwarts (28 February 1918). On hopes of an international conference, see Huysmans to Wibaut (25 February 1918), Wibaut papers, file 228, IISG. On the background to these talks, see Troelstra to SPD Vorstand, (24 May 1918), and to Scheidemann (8 June 1918), file 538: ‘Berichte iiber die Besprechungen Scheidemanns und Troelstras am 17 Juni im Haag’, file 443: Scheidemann to Troelstra (21 June 1918; 24 June 1918), file 556, Troelstra papers, IISG. Die II. Internationale, vol. 2, pp. 716-9. Troelstra, vol. 4, p. 156 Van Kol to Troelstra, and the latter’s reply (21 June 1918), in Van Kol papers, Internationaale Korrespondentie 1915-1919, IISG. Intercepted telegram, van Kol to Huysmans (19 June 1918), Townley to the foreign office, FO 371/3479. The Times (15, 25 and 27 July 1918). Vorwarts (16 July 1918); Henderson to Troelstra (29 July 1918), Troelstra papers, file 347, IISG. Die II. Internationale, vol. 1 pp. 12-13; vol. 2. pp. 719-21. The Times (22 August 1918). Henderson to Branting. (12 September 1918), in Die II. Internationale, vol. 2, pp. 721-4. Thomas to van Kol, (11 September 1918), van Kol papers, Internationaale Korrespondentie 1915-1919, IISG: ‘je crois que le moment est passe, et qu ’il n ’est encore revenu pour les reunions utiles de socialistes en pays neutre. ’ See Vorwarts (2 and 10 January 1918) and Politiken (8 January 1918) for details of this attempt by Vorovsky to launch some kind of new initiative. Whether this was sanctioned by the Soviet government is not known; but it was probably a continuation of the November plan to rally international social democracy behind the Soviet peace proposals. B. Schaper, Albert Thomas, Leiden, 1953, p. 165f. A. Henderson, The aims of Labour, London, 1918 p. 71. Kriegstagebuch (6 October 1918), pp. 286-8. Die Reichstagsfraktion, vol. 2, pp. 433-60 (meeting of the Reichstag group and party committee, 23 September 1918). Scheidemann, Zusammenbruch, p. 174 Die Reichstagsfraktion, vol. 2, p. 433. Chapter 11

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Die II. Internationale, vol. 1, pp. 18-37. Compte rendu analytique du Congres socialiste Internationale extraordinaire tenu a Bale, les 24 et 25 novembre 1912, Brussels, 1912, p. 29 Die II. Internationale, vol. 1 pp. 533-4. Ibid., pp. 293-5. Ibid., pp. 343-4. Ibid., pp. 197-8, 279, 307, 341. Ibid., pp. 598-606. Ibid., pp. 655-61. On the history of the International between 1919 and 1923, see A. Donneur,

282

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

,

War Peace and Revolution Histoire de VUnion des partis socialistes pour Paction internationale 1920-1923, Geneva, 1967, and A. Lindemann, The ‘Red Years’. European socialism versus Bolshevism, 1919-1921, Berkeley 1974. Braunthal, vol. 2, pp. 149-270. J. Murphy, Preparing for power, London, 1934, p. 168. Fr. Adler to Ramsay MacDonald (10 February 1921), MacDonald papers, PRO 30/69 1165. See for example Borgbjerg’s speech at Bern: Die II. Internationale, vol. 1, pp. 278-9. R. Grimm, Zimmerwald und Kienthal, Bern, 1917, pp. 4-6. Die II. Internationale, vol. 1, pp. 658-9. Ibid., pp. 81-3, 614. Kriegel, vol. 1, p. 301. Hautmann, p. 196. Die Kommunistische Internationale, vol. 1 (1919), pp. 39-40. Conference of‘left-wing’ parties and groups in Berlin, May 5 and 6, 1932, ILP papers, Item 68, BLEPS. Die II. Internationale, vol. 1, p. 231. ‘Kein Erbe der alten Monarchic’, Arbeiterzeitung (27 May 1919): Werkausgabe, vol. 7, pp. 296-300. Bauer to Longuet, 9 January 1919, Werkausgabe, vol. 9, pp 1047-9; see also ‘Ein Jahr der Revolution’, Arbeiterzeitung (1 October 1919), Werkausgabe, vol. 7, pp. 35-8. O. Bauer, Der Weg zum Sozialismus, Berlin, 1919, p. 32; Protokoll des Parteitages im Jahre 1919 Vienna, 1920, pp. 32, 52-3. O. Bauer, Der osterreichische Revolution, Vienna, 1923, passim. O. Bauer, Zwischen zwei Weltkriegen? Bratislava, 1936, pp. 11-20. Bauer, Der Weg, pp. 5-9: ‘Die alte und die neue Linke’, Der Kampf, vol. 13 (1920); Werkausgabe, vol. 8, pp. 1022-6. Morgan, pp. 156-61. A, Mitchell, Revolution in Bavaria 1918-1919, Princeton, 1965. Protokoll der Parteikonferenz in Weimar am 22 und 23 Marz 1919, Berlin, 1919, pp. 1-5. Die II. Internationale, vol. 1, pp. 630, 636-7. Ibid. pp. 531-2, 545, 552-3. R. Hilferding, ‘Arbeitsgemeinschaft der Klassen?’, Der Kampf, vol. 10 (1915), pp. 321-9. K. Renner, ‘Probleme des Marxismus’, Der Kampf, vols. 4-10 (1916): this was later published in revised form as Marxismus, Krieg und Internationale, Stuttgart, 1917. De Man, p. 298 Bauer, Zwischen zwei Weltkriegen?, pp. 103-5, 258, 270-83. See Lindemann, passim., and Wheeler, USPD und Internationale, passim. Kirby, The Finnish Social Democratic Party, pp. 369-70, 377. Ibid., p. 371. K. Kautsky, ‘Demokrati och diktatur’, Tiden, vol. 1 (1918), pp. 3-5, and G. Moller, ‘Den sociala revolutionen’, Tiden, vol. 6 (1918), p. 243. ‘Till Sveriges arbetande folk!’, Social-Demokraten (S) (12 February 1918). K. Renner, ‘Probleme des Marxismus’, Der Kampf, vol. 5 (1916), p. 191; G. Moller, ‘Den europeiska revolutionen’, Tiden, vol. 1 (1918), p. 47; Hj. Branting, ‘Tyska revolutionen och svenska krav’, Social-Demokraten (S), (15 November 1918).

Notes 37 38 39

40

41

42

43

44 45 46

283

Hj. Branting, ‘Demokrati eller diktatur?’, Social-Demokraten (S), (29 October 1919). Der II. Internationale, vol. 1, p. 507. For a comparison of the three Scandinavian parties, see: E. Bull, ‘Die Entwicklung der Arbeiterbewegung in den drei skandinavischen Landern’, Archiv fur Geschichte des Sozialismus, vol. 10 (1922). Cf. Protokoll der Parteikonferenz in Weimar ... 1919, pp. 5, 18. Muller complained of those who had been the most difficult to organise before the war, such as transport workers, who were now making the most radical demands, and Beims spoke of ‘November socialists’ who would doubtless roll into the USPD, then the KPD, and out again. For the 1920 debate, see Lazitch and Drachkovitch, pp. 350-9. A valuable study of small farmers attracted to communism in Finland is J. Nousiainen, Kommunismi Kuopion laanissa, Joensuu, 1956. See also Kriegel, vol, 2. passim, and B. Fowkes, Communism in Germany under the Weimar Republic London, 1984, 172-83. See for example D. Crew, Town in the Ruhr. A social history of Bochum, 1860-1914 New York, 1979. D. Geary, ‘Radicalism and the worker: metalworkers and revolution, 1914-1922’, Society and politics in Wilhelmine Germany, ed. R. Evans, London, 1978, pp. 267-86.1. McClean, The Legend of the Red Clyde, Edinburgh, 1983. For an interesting, if politically misguided analysis, see: P. Frolich, ‘Wandlungen in der Struktur der Arbeiterklasse’, Die Internationale, (November 1919), pp. 304-9. See Jowett’s speech in: Report of the Sixteenth Annual Conference of the Labour Party, Manchester, 1917, p. 128. Retzlaw, p. 81. Gallo, pp. 17-19. J. Deutsch, ‘Radikale Stromungen’, Der Kampf, vol. 1 (1918), pp. 71-8. C. Maier, ‘Political crisis and partial modernization: the outcomes in Germany, Austria, Hungary and Italy after World War 1’, Bertrand, pp. 119-30.

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Index

Alder, Friedrich: and internationalism, 13 opposes war, 41, 65 imprisoned, 200, 214 in minority at Bern, 231 and Second International, 234 and Hungary, 235 and socialism, 238 and Russia, 240 Adler, Max, 50, 240 Adler, Viktor, 26, 45, 49, 168, 200 Aksel’rod, P.B. and idea of socialist conference, 74 and Zimmerwald movement, 77-9, 80, 82, 118, 190 and Soviet peace initiative, 123, 173 and national question, 166 at third Zimmerwald conference, 193-4 Albarda, J.W., 89, 92, 127 Albisser, J., 75 Alsace-Lorraine, socialist attitudes towards: 36, 40, 41, 85, 90-1, 107, 109, 110, 153, 158-9, 164, 225, 226 American Federation of Labor, 37 Anseele, Eduard, 230 Aosta, Duke of, 138 Austrian Social Democratic Party and national question, 9, 168 and war, 30, 208, 214 membership, 198 left-wing, 208 and Austria, 236-7 congresses: (1899), 9; (1913), 21; (1916), 65; (1917), 200; (1926), 240-1 Austro-Hungarian army, 54, 215, 218 Auxiliary Service Law, 1916, 60-1, 136, 137

Balabanova, Angelica, 189 Baltic fleet (Russian), 95, 114 Baltic lands, 217-8, 225 Bang, Nina, 160 Barnes, G.N., 182, 208, 272n Barth, Emil, 63, 148, 218 Bauer, Bustav, 89, 216 Bauer, Otto: and problem of war, 5, 6 and national question, 9 and Russian revolution, 131-2, 218 and socialism, 202, 237, 238, 246 Bavaria, 56, 237 Bebel, August, 3, 8, 42 Belgian Labour Party (POB) and war, 3, 29, 35-6 attitude towards International, 70, 76, 230 and Stockholm conference, 91

Belgium, occupation, and socialist attitudes 34-5, 40, 73, 75, 85, 102, 159, 225 Berlin, 63, 65, 135, 136, 147, 216, 220, 246 Bernstein, Eduard and national question, 10, 167 drafts SPD minority peace programme, 1915, 40 and SPD, 80, 196 in Stockholm, 1917, 174 on prospects of mass strike, 195 critical of Bolshevik revolution, 238-9 Berzins, Janis, 66, 80 Bethmann Hollweg, Theobald von and SPD, 28-9, 61 hints at suffrage reform, 135 dismissed as Chancellor, 160-2 Bevin, Ernest, 62, 133 Bissolati, Leonida, 38 Bled, C., 27 Blocher, Ernst, 6 Bolsheviks and war, 30, 36, 97, 117 and Zimmerwald movement, 78-81, 118 and Stockholm conference, 119-20 support for, 115, 190, 198 Central Committee, 96-7, 190, 198 delegation in Stockholm, 189, 192, 193 Petersburg Committee, 97, 99, 198, 206, 214 April (1917) conference, 100, 122, 211, 212 Borchardt, Julian, 81 Bordiga, Amadeo, 200 Borgbjerg, Fredrik, 89, 90, 105, 108-9, 120, 159, 235, 262n. Bosnian socialists, 168 Bourderon, A. 122 Branting, Hjalmar and 1914 Swedish elections, 21 and mass strike, 23 and Second International, 69, 86, 152, 154, 235 and Swedish neutrality, 71 and the war, 72-3 at Copenhagen conference, 1915, 75 and Zimmerwald movement, 83 at The Hague conference, 1916, 85 goes to Petrograd, 1917, 89, 105 and Stockholm conference, 90, 92, 174, 175, 185, 273n and Troelstra, 91 and Thomas, 109, 127 and Soviet Stockholm initiative, 121 in the Riksdag, 132, 141, 199 and Alsace-Lorraine, 159 and Finnish independence, 165

Index and war guilt, 183 and President Wilson, 231 on democracy, 241 Braun, Otto, 28, 218, 227 Bremen radicals, 47, 64, 82, 192 Brest-Litovsk, peace talks and treaty, 1917-1918, 205, 207, 208, 212, 215, 218, 220, 227 reactions to, 213 Briand, Aristide, 153 British government and Russian revolution, 105, 154-5 and Stockholm conference, 155, 179-81 and Labour Party-TUC memorandum on war aims, 1918, 208-9 see also Lloyd George British Labour Party and domestic politics, 9, 37-8 and war, 29, 35, 37-8, 44-5, 157 and International, 76, 234f. and Stockholm conference, 91, 154, 158, 176, 181-2 August 1917 special conference, 181-2 British Socialist Party splits over war, 37 and war, 66 and Ireland, 67 and Zimmerwald movement, 80, 190 and Leeds convention, 133-4 Brizon, Alexandre, 83 BrockdorfT-Rantzau, Count Ulrich von, 88-9, 259n Brockway, Fenner, 45, 66 Brunswick, 58, 136-7, 216 Buchanan, Sir George, 109, 110, 154 Bulgarian socialists ‘Broad’, 168 ‘Narrow’, 190 Bussche, von dem, 217

Cachin, Marcel, 110, 111, 112, 152-3 Calker, Fritz von, 161 Campbell, David, 179 capitalism and social democracy, 1-2, 7, 239 Carleson, Carl, 189 Carson, Sir Edward, 179 Chernov, V.M., 41 Chicherin, G.V., 131 Chkheidze, N.S. place in Russian revolutionary movement, 36, 103, 117, 118, 171 refuses government office, 96 greets Lenin at Finland Station, 98 emphasises defencism, 101 and Soviet Stockholm initiative, 176 Clemenceau, Georges, 178, 208, 212, 230 Clyde Workers’ Committee, 63, 66, 134 Cohen-Reuss, Max, 32 Confederation Generale du Travail (CGT) membership, 1, 5, 58 and war, 3, 5, 27, 31, 37 antiwar opposition within, 43, 77, 224 and postwar politics, 235 see also Jouhaux Connolly, James, 24, 63, 66

303

Connolly, James, 24, 63, 66 Cook, A.J., 223 Copenhagen conference (1915), 70, 75, 85 council democracy, 237, 240, 243 Curzon, Lord Nathaniel George, 179 Czech socialists, 9, 168 Czernin, Count Ottokar and Bolshevik peace offer, 205 ‘Christmas present’, 207 necessity of peace for Austria-Hungary, 208 on Bolshevik links with foreign socialists, 213 and January 1918 strike, 215 Dan, F., Ill, 172, 178 Danish Social Democratic Party and domestic politics, 1, 9, 257n. and war, 5, 71, 74 and International, 73 and Zimmerwald, 83 and postwar politics, 242 David, Eduard and Prussian suffrage reform, 32 reacts to Franco-Belgian manifesto, 1914, 35 programme of peace aims, 1915, 40 predicts SPD split, 45-6 and German war aims, 106, 159, 160 and July crisis, 1917, 161-2 clashes with Thomas, 164-5 on situation in January 1918, 213, 219 and SPD entry into government, 227 and internationalism, 234 de Brouckere, Louis, 92, 126, 155, 174 de Leon, Daniel, 63 de Man, Henrik, 239, 250n de Robien, Lucien, 95, 107 democracy and dictatorship, debate on 241-2 Deutsch, Julius, 245 Dissmann, Robert, 63 Dittmann, Wilhelm, 46, 136, 193, 194 Dubreuilh, Louis, 29 Dumercq, 31 Dumont, Charles, 153 Duncker, Kathe, 193, 194 Dutch-Scandinavian Committee established, 92 and Stockholm conference, 121, 127-8, 152, 154, 159, 164, 165, 173, 174, 185 and attempts to receive Stockholm conference, 207, 208 memorandum on peace, 226, 231, 27In Dutch Social Democratic Party expulsion of left, 1909, 21, 72 and International, 69, 70 and war, 71 Dzerzhinsky, Feliks, 120 Easter Rising, 1916, 66-7 Ebert, Friedrich and socialism, 22 and outbreak of war, 28 Reichstag speech, 1916, 40-1 and Russian revolution, 87, 89 discusses Alsace-Lorraine, 91 and July crisis, 1917, 160

304

War, Peace and Revolution

and January 1918 strikes, 216 and negotiations at Brest-Litovsk, 217 position on war, 226 and SPD entry into government, 227 Eckstein, Gustav, 2 economic change, 14-16, 55, 244 Eden, Nils, 199 Eisner, Kurt and January 1918 strikes, 216 pleads for unity at Bern, 233, 236 forms government in Munich, November 1918, 237 Engels, Friedrich, 7, 9-11 Erlich, G. and Soviet Stockholm initiative, 120 member of Soviet delegation, 177, 184 reports to third Zimmerwald conference, 186 Erzberger, Matthias and July crisis, 1917, 160, 161-2 and Brest-Litovsk, 213 attacked by Hilferding, 238

Fabian Society, 1, 37, 62, 234 Finland unrest in, 1917-18, 143-4, 200-1, 245 independence, 165-6, 211, 232 civil war, 1918, 221-3 Finnish Communist Party, 221, 243 Finnish Social Democratic Party and problem of war, 5 development, 1905-1917, 19-21 in revolution of 1917, 142-4 and Stockholm conference, 165, 275n. seizes power, January 1918, 201, 220, 221, 280n. Red government, 240 and postwar politics, 242 Food shortages and riots, 57, 135, 139, 140, 143-4, 146 ‘Fourteen Points’, 208, 225, 228, 230, 232 French army, mutinies in, 54, 137-8, 156, 262n French Chamber of Deputies, resolution on peace aims, 1917, 158 French government and Russian revolution, 105 and Stockholm conference, 153 and war aims, 153-4 see also Ribot, Clemenceau French Socialist Party (SFIO) electoral support, 1914, 1, membership, 5, 198 and problem of war, 3, 4-6, 8 and outbreak of war, 26-9, 34 and war aims, 36-7 leadership criticised, 42, 43 majoritaires, 67, 70, 76, 176 minoritaires, 80, 83, 234 and peace aims, 86 and Stockholm conference, 91, 112, 127, 152-4 and debate in Chamber, 1917, 153, 158 and Alsace-Lorraine, 159

discussions with Soviet delegation, 179, 183 Frolich, Paul, 82, 283n Frossard, L-O., 224-5 Fiirstenberg, Prince Emil von, 168

Ganetsky, Ya.S. (Hanecki), 189, 193 German government and Stockholm conference, 91, 174-5, 206 and July crisis, 1917, 160-3 see also Bethmann Hollweg, Max von Baden German Social Democratic Party (SPD) and 1912 elections, 1 and problem of war, 2-3, 5, 8 left wing, 7 ‘pariah status’, 12, 32 and outbreak of war, 26-9 and patriotism, 31-2 and SFIO, 34-5 and war aims, 39-41 division within, 42, 45-6 and Durchhaltepolilik, 61 hostile to neutral socialists’ conference, 70, 74 and International, 76 responds to Soviet appeal, 105-6 peace programme, 109 and revolution in Russia, 131 delegation in Stockholm, 159, 160 interpellations on war aims, 160-1 and July crisis, 1917, 161-3 membership, 198 responds to Stauning’s appeal, 206 support for Bolshevik peace initiative, 208 dilemma of, 213 and January 1918 strikes, 216 under government pressure, 217 and Bolshevism, 218 entry into government, 227-8, 230 and internationalism, 234 in government, 237-8 see also Independent German Social Democratic Party: Spartacists Greulich, Hermann, 69, 74 Grey, Sir Edward, 29 Grimm, Robert organiser of Zimmerwald movement, 42, 77, 188 and Lenin, 74, 87, 122 at Lugano conference, 75 at Zimmerwald conference, 78-81 these on peace, 83 refused permission to go to The Hague, 84 and Hoffmann affair, 121, 127 in Petrograd, 123, 125 resigns from ISC, 189 and antiwar activity, 199 Groener, Wilhelm, 60 Giolitti, Giovanni, 38 Glasgow, 66, 132 Glasier, J. Bruce, 66 Goldberg, H., 182, 186 Gol’denberg, Y.P., 176, 184 Goldman, M.I. (Liber), 108, 172

Index Gorter, Herman, 50, 72 Greek socialists, 71 Guchkov. A.I., 97, 102 Guesde, Jules, 3, 6, 34, 35, 36 Gustave V, King of Sweden, 72

Haapalainen, Eero, 200 Haase, Hugo at Brussels meeting, 1914, 26 declaration in Reichstag, August 1914, 29 at Vienna conference, 1915, 41 opposes war, 46, 59, 93-4 speech at Gotha, 1917, 47 and Zimmerwald movement, 78, 80, 81 and July 1917 peace resolution, 163 attacks SPD, 164 in Stockholm, 174, 193, 194 and January 1918 strikes, 216 Hague conference, the 1916, 84-5 Hamburg, 23, 49, 56, 61, 65, 136 Hammarskjold, Hjalmar, 21, 71, 72 Hansson, Per Albin, 140 Hardie, Keir: proposal on prevention of war, 1910, 4 corresponds with Siidekum, 34 chairman of 1915 London conference, 41 death, 1915, 42 Heckert, Fritz, 47 Henderson, Arthur becomes chairman of PLP, 29 helps found War Emergency: Workers’ National Committee, 38 and Labour Party delegation to Russia, 105 in Russia, 125-7, 268n. and Stockholm conference, 129, 154, 155, 181, 182, 184 and peace, 157 and inter-allied socialist conference, 178, 272n. goes to Paris, 179 resigns from government, August 1917, 180 and inter-allied socialist memorandum, 1918, 224 attitudes towards war, 226-7 Herve, Gustav, 3, 34 Herzen, A.I., 9, 219 Hilferding, Rudolf, 218, 232, 238, 239 Hillquit, Morris, 181 Hindenburg, Paul, 61, 161-2 Hoernle, Edwin, 50 Hoffmann, Adolf, 82, 136 Hoffmann, Hermann, 121, 127, 189 Hoffmann, Max, 207, 227 Hoglund, Zeth, 80, 189, 193, 206, 221 Horner, Arthur, 223 House, E.M., 232 House of Commons, debates, 156, 157, 179, 180, 181 Howard, Sir Esme, 175, 176 Hugenberg, Alfred, 60 Hungarian Social Democratic Party, 30, 168 Hungarian Soviet government, 1919, 232, 235, 240

305

Huysmans, Camille and Belgian colleagues, 35 and Longuet, 43 and international contacts, 76, 84, 86 and Stockholm conference, 89, 92, 154, 174, 179, 260n, 273n. and peace aims, 164 and Finns, 165 British minister’s view of, 175 and Stauning initiative, 206 goes to Paris peace conference, 231

Independent German Social Democratic Party (USPD) Gotha congress, 1917, 46-7 and antiwar movement, 64-5 and Russian revolution, 131, 202, 265n. and April 1917 strikes, 136 and Stockholm conference, 163-4, 192-3 and Bolshevism, 208, 218 and January 1918 strikes, 215-6 in government, 237-8 see also German Social Democratic party, Spartacists. Independent Labour Partu (ILP) and Labour Party, 1, 37 and war, 3, 43-5, 66, 77, 157 and Ireland, 67 and International, 76, 84 and Zimmerwald movement, 80 and Leeds convention, 134 Inter-allied socialist conferences London, 1915, 41, 209, 224 London, 1917, 126, 154, 178-9, 180, 184, 224, 272n. London, February 1918, 224-5, 231 International Socialist Commission (ISC) founded, 1915, 80, 188 meeting, 1916, 81-2 issues resolution, 83 issues manifesto, December 1916, 86 in Stockholm, 92, 120, 174 issues manifesto, June 1917, 169 changes composition, 189 issues proclamation, November 1917, 206 International (Vienna) Working Union, 233 intervention in Russia, and socialism, 232, 235 Ioffe, Adolf, 207 Irish independence, 11, 232 Italian army, 138, 223 Italian Socialist Party (PSI) and war, 26, 38-9 and International, 84 moderates and inter-alliede socialist conference, 1917, 86 and American intervention in war, 93, 130 policy on war, 149 and President Wilson, 156 and Stockholm conference, 183-4, 192, 275n. revolutionary wing, 199, 200 refuses to attend Bern conference, 230 proposes 24-hour strike, 1919, 235

306

War, Peace and Revolution

Janson, Wilhelm, 89 Jaures, Jean and threat of war, 3, 4, 6, 8 assassinated, 31 July 1914, 27, 42 name invoked, 28, 72 Jouhaux, Leon, 37, 51 Kamenev, L.B. returns from exile, 97 opposes Lenin, 99, 120, 190 on role of Soviet, 128 on European settlement, 164 and revolution in Russia, 187, 213 Kapp putsch, 1920, 245 Karoly government, 240 Kautsky, Karl and imperialism, 1-2 and threat of war, 4 ‘strategy of attrition’, 7 corresponds with Engels, 10-11 and national question, 12, 165, 166, 270n. attacked by left, 21, 47, 196 and mass strike debate, 23 on Liebknecht, 42 predicts SPD split, 45-6 view of socialist future, 48, 222 and Zimmerwald movement, 81 attacked by Lenin, 122, 192, 235 and Russian revolution, 130, 131, 218 and USPD memorandum on peace, 164 in Stockholm, 193 democracy and dictatorship, 223, 238, 241 Kerensky, A.F. as symbol of desire for peace, 93 enters government, 96 in revolution, 104, 107, 118 seeks to revise Russian war aims, 109 meeting with allied socialist ministers, 125 dissolves Finnish parliament, 143, 166 forms new government, 177 and Stockholm, 184 Kilbom, Karl, 139, 190 Koenen, Wilhelm, 63 Koester, Adolf, 35 Kollontay, A.M., 30, 122, 189, 222 Korsch, Karl, 196 Kornilov, L.G., 172 Kropotkin, P.A., 164 Ktihlmann, Richard von, 208 Kun, Bela, 240 Kuusinen, O.W., 198, 200, 201, 221 Lang, Otto, 69 Lansdowne, Marquis of, 208 Lapinski, Stanislaw, 82 Laukant, Gustav, 81 Lazzari, Constantino, 74, 75, 82, 149, 200 League of Nations, and labour, 209, 224, 225, 231 Ledebour, Georg leader of SAG group, 46 at Gotha conference, 47 at Zimmerwald conference, 79

in April 1917 strikes, 136 in Stockholm, 174, 193-4 proposes mass strike, 195 in January 1918 strikes, 216 Leeds convention, 1917, 133-5, 156-7, 178 Left-wing communism, 239, 240, 243 Leipzig, 135, 136, 216 Lenin, V.I. and national question, 11-12, 210-12 condemns International, 48 denounces disarmament tactic, 54 and French antiwar opposition, 66, 258n. on Ireland, 67, 256n. and Grimm, 74-5, 86-7, 122 at Zimmerwald conference, 79-80, 203 organises Zimmerwald left, 81 at Kiental, 82-3 returns from exile, 89, 98 and rumours of separate peace, 90 on tactics, 97, 98, 99, 128, 260-ln. April theses, 100 on clarity, 117 aims of revolution, 118 and Swedish left, 122 condemns Zimmerwald movement, 122-3, 187, 189, 190, 191, 195 and revolutionary class struggle, 172 and internationalism, 191-2 and soviet power, 196-7 and seizure of power, 197, 198, 202, 204 decree on peace, 204-5, 210, 225, 228 negotiations with central powers, 213 suppression of constituent assembly, 218 contempt of moderate socialists, 219 theses on peace, 219-20 accepts peace terms, 221 and civil war in Russia, 222 and Third International, 233, 235 and left-wing communism, 240, 243 Liebknecht, Karl in opposition to war, 35, 42 votes against war credits, 45 and trade unionists, 60 and mass action, 64 imprisoned, 163, 220 Liebknecht, Wilhelm, 13 Lindhagen, Carl, 193 Lloyd George, David prewar social reforms, 62 and Stockholm conference, 112, 154, 179-80 statement on war aims, January 1918, 208 Longuet, Jean opposition to war, 43, 80, 224 and Stockholm conference, 154, 155 at Bern conference, 231 at Lucerne conference, 232 attacked by Lenin, 235 Ludendorff, Erich von, 161, 162 Lugano conference, 1914, 69, 74, 75 Lunacharsky, Anatoly, 98, 177 Luxemburg, Rosa and national question, 11,12 and mass strike debate, 23-4

Index and outbreak of war, 30 accused of splitting tactics, 46 attacks SPD, 64 corresponds with Branting, 1914, 74 reaction to Russian revolution, 131 draft for a new International, 1916, 192 L’vov, G.E., 95, 171

Macedonian question, 168 McDonald, J. Ramsay resigns as chairman of PLP, 1914, 29 and electoral agreement with liberals, 37 at London conference, 1915, 41 and UDC, 44 on soviets in Britain, 134 and Stockholm conference, 152, 155 and Russian revolution, 156-7, 272n. and Soviet delegation, 178, 179 letter from Bernstein, 195 draft memorandum on socialism and government, 1919, 199 and international socialist conference, 208, 278n. and Henderson, 224 letter from Fr.Adler, 234 at Lucerne conference, 235 on peace, 253n. McLean, John, 66 Mannerheim, C.G., 222 Martini, 149 Martov, Yu.O. denounces SPD, 30 and international socialist conference, 77 at Kiental conference, 82, 118 on return to Russia, 98, 101 opposes Soviet entry into government, 123 proposes separate war against Germany, 172 advocates revolutionary government, 177 and Stockholm conference, 264n Marx, Karl and problem of war, 2 and national question, 10, 11 and Irish question, 17 theory of revolution, 196, 239 mass strike debate, 5-8, 21, 23-4 Max von Baden, 230 Maxton, James, 236 Mayer, Gustav, 175, 184-5 Mensheviks and war, 30, 36, 68, 89 and Zimmerwald movement, 28, 81, 83, 235 internationalists, 101-2, 118, 123, 171, 197 defencists, 103 dominate Soviet, 115 Merrheim, Alphonse, 49, 51, 79, 122 Michaelis, Georg, 135, 162-3 Michels, Robert, 14, 22 Milyukov, P.N. and Russian revolution, 97 promises to observe Russian obligations towards allies, 101, 103-4 note to allied governments, 107-8, 171 reveals secret agreements, 109

307

on Zimmerwald movement, 112 on Polish question, 167 Modigliani, Giuseppe, 74, 75, 77, 81, 82 Moller, Gustav and 1917 workers’ committee, 141 on national question, 167-8, 169 and International, 235 and democracy, 241 Molotov, V.M., 97 Monatte, Pierre, 53 Moor, Carl, 121, 206, 273n Morgari, Oddino, 75, 77, 79 Moutet, Marius, 110, 111, 112, 152, 153 Muller, Hermann, 28-9, 237, 283n Muller, Richard, 63, 135, 147, 218 Munitions Act, 1915, 38, 63 Miinzenberg, Willi, 19 Mussolini, Benito, 38-9

national question, and socialism, 9-13, 166-9, 205, 207, 210-12, 220, 228, 231-2 Nerman, Ture, 80, 189, 236 neutrality, 71, 74 Nicholas II, Emperor of Russia, 95 Nivelle offensive, 54, 138, 156 ‘no annexations or indemnities’, interpretations of, 128, 169 Nobs, Ernst, 69 Nogin, V., 120, 122, 128 ‘northern neutrals’, 68, 70, 76, 85, 235 Norway, unrest in, 1917, 142 Norwegian Labour Party, 18, 19, 74, 242 Noske, Gustav, 35, 228, 246

O’Brien, William, 179

Paleologue, Maurice, 107, 111 Palmstierna, Erik, 111, 139 Panin, M.S., 193 Pannekoek, Anton clashes with Kautsky, 7-8 and mass action, 13, 64 and reformism, 21-2 and Russian revolution, 130, 131 Parvus-Helphand, A., and revolution in Russia, 88-9, 259n. theory of permanent revolution, 117 and international socialist conference, 206 Payer, Friedrich, 162 peasantry in Russia, 15, 115, 131-2 in Italy, 16, 17, 57, 138 in France, 18, 243 in Finland, 20, 243 Petain, Henri Philippe, 153 Petrograd, 55, 95, 115, 1 16, 132, 146, 152, 220 Petrograd Soviet established, 95 issued peace appeal, 27 March 1917, 87, 100-1, 112, 124, 145 and provisional government, 96, 104, 110, 171-2

308

War, Peace and Revolution

initiative for an international socialist conference, 92, 108, 114, 120, 124-8, 152, 175-6 and soviet power, 100 and war, 102-4, 110-1, 187 peace programme, 209 Pfliiger, P., 75 Pivert, Marceau, 236 Platten, Fritz, 76, 99 Plekhanov, G. V. attitude towards war, 36, 102, 113 critical of Stockholm conference, 119, 120 critical of SPD peace programme, 164 Polish independence, 10, 11, 67, 85, 166-7, 225 Potresov, A.N., 36 Prussian suffrage reform, 32, 135, 160 Purdy, W.F., 154 Quelch, Tom, 134 Radek, Karl attacks SPD leadership, 2 on ‘labour aristocracy’, 50 praises conscription, 54 and Easter Rising, 67 at Zimmerwald conference, 78-9 incurs German socialist enmity, 81 and revolution, 164 member of Bolsheviks’ Stockholm delegation, 166, 275n. attacks Soviet policy, 174, 186 and Zimmerwald movement, 189, 190, 192 at third (Stockholm) Zimmerwald conference, 193-4 Rahja, Jukka, 114 Rakovsky, Christian, 169, 275n Reichpietsch, Max, 148 Renaudel, Pierre in June 1917 Chamber debate, 153 deputed to go to Russia, 154 and Soviet peace formula, 164 and Soviet Stockholm initiative, 183 and Alsace-Lorraine, 225 at Lucerne conference, 232 and inter-nationalism, 234 Renner, Karl, 9, 237, 239 Retzlaw, Karl, 51, 63, 147, 256n Ribot, Alexandre, 107, 112, 153 Richthofen, H., 161 Roberts, G., 15^ Robinson, W.C., 182 Roland-Holst, Henriette, 79, 117 Rolland, Romain, 98 Romberg, G., 121 Rozanov, V.N., 171, 176, 177 Ruhr area, 14, 24, 136, 216, 244, 245, 251n Rumanian socialists, 84, 230, 275n Rusanov, N.S., 176, 184 Russian provisional government, 95, 127, 165-6, 173, 177, 181 Russian revolution 1905, 23, 49, 54 February 1917, 95ff October 1917, 204

foreign reaction, 97, 104ff., 112-3, 130ff., 150, 222ff., 238-9 Russian soviets: conferences, 99, 108, 165, 172, 176, 202, 204, 219 Russian Soviet government decree on peace, 204-5, 209-10 suppresses constituent assembly, 218 and Finland, 220-1 Russian troops, 54, 95-6, 99, 103, 111, 116, 144 Russian workers, and revolution, 114-6 Ryden, Varner, 141 Rykov, A.I., 128 Salter, Alfred, 45 Sassoon, Siegfried, 52 Scavenius, Harald, 104, 176, 177 Scheidemann, Philipp attitude towards war, 40 and food shortages, 57 travels to Copenhagen, 89, 91 in touch with Russian socialists, 105, 206 and German war aims, 106, 110, 126, 164, 226 and threat of revolution, 132, 160, 213 and July 1917 crisis, 162-3, and January 1918 strikes, 216 role of SPD, 217 talks with Troelstra, 225-6 and entry into government, 227 Schleswig-Holstein question, 74 Second International congresses Paris, 1889, 1, 195 Stuttgart, 1907, 3-4, 33, 195, 232 Copenhagen, 1910, 4, 33, 36, 44, 85, 156 Basel, 1912, 4, 6, 33, 230 Bern, 1919, 230-2, 233, 236, 241-2 Lucerne, 1919, 232, 235, 238 Bureau (ISB) meeting in Brussels, 1914, 6, 26 attempts to reconvene, 68, 69, 75ff., 82, 84-6, 89 Seidler, E., 215 Seitz, Karl, 200 Semashko, N.A., 193, 194 Sembat, Marcel, 34, 36 separate peace, rumours of, 87, 90, 91, 109 Serbia, 10, 11, 85 Serbian socialists and war, 30 and South Slav question, 168 Serrati, Giancinto, 82, 149, 200, 235 Sexton, James, 182 Seydewitz, Max, 236 Sharp, Clifford, 175 Shlyapnikov, A.G., 70, 97 Shteynberg, I.F., 207 Sirola, Yrjo, 221, 240 Skobelev, M.I., 103, 110, 125, 171, 178 Skoropadsky, Pavel, 220 Smeral, Bohumir, 168 Smirnov, V.S., 176, 184

Index Snowden, Philip, 84, 133, 134, 156, 182 Socialist Party of America, 69 Soderberg, Ernst, 92 South Slav question, 168 South Wales, 132, 134, 223 Sozialistische Arbeitschaft (SAG), 46 Spanish socialists, 71, 146, 202 StaafF, Karl, 13, 71 Stalin, J.V., 97, 99, 211, 212 Stauning, Thorvald character, 22, 73 takes initiative in trying to convene international socialist conference, 70, 84, 86, 87-9, 108, 206 joins government, 1916, 71 as party leader, 73-4 at Copenhagen conference, 1915, 75 and Zimmerwald movement, 83 and SPD, 85, 160 and Stockholm conference, 90, 159 and Soviet Stockholm initiative, 120, 128 Steklov, Iu., 110, 111, 119 Stockholm conference, 1917 origins of, 87ff, 108, 153ff, 173ff strikes prewar, 23, 38 in 1917, 135ff., 156 in 1918, 214fF Strom, Fredrik, 98 Siidekum, Albert, 28, 34, 87, 161 Sukhanov, N.N. on Lenin, 98 on soldiers’ mood, 99 and proclamation of 27 March 1917, 10i, 112, 124 on peace campaign, 102-3 Svinhufvud, P.E., 222 Sweden, unrest in, 1917, 139-42, 245 Swedish Social Democratic Party and domestic politics, 9, 13, 71, 72, 140-2 in elections, 21, 199 and war, 71 and threat of revolution, 139, 202 and Bolshevism, 241 and postwar politics, 242 left socialists, and Zimmerwald movement, 122, 190 Swiss Socialist Party and war, 68, 69, 70-1, 74 and International, 76 — 7, 230, 235 and Zimmerwald movement, 84 Tereshchenko, M.I., 180 Thalheimer, Berta, 42, 81, 82 Third (Communist) International proposed, 81, 123, 189, 190-2, 207 founded, 1919, 233, 235-6 activities, 235, 243 Thorne, Will, 22 Thomas, Albert on Alsace-Lorraine, 90-1, 110, 159, 164 character, 107 in Russia, 109ff. and Stockholm conference, 112, 127, 129, 152, 154, 183

309

and Soviet Stockholm initiative, 125, 126, 155, 174 on peace aims, 128, 224 and revolution, 130 supports war effort, 187, 225, 226, 227, 273n. approves Lloyd George’s statement on war aims, 208 at Bern conference, 231 seeks to make contact with Bolshevik government, 278n trade unions Norwegian, 19, 142 British, 38, 58, 62, 208 German, 58f. Hungarian, 58 Swedish, 140-1 Finnish, 143-4 see also Confederation Generale du Travail trades councils, 62-3 Tranmael, Martin, 19 Trevelyan, C.P., 157 Treves, Claudio, 184 Troelstra, Pieter and International, 69, 70, 72, 76, 77 attitude towards war, 71, 257n. and SPD, 72, 74, 185 at Copenhagen conference, 1915, 75 at The Hague conference, 1916, 84-5 and Stockholm conference, 87, 89, 91-2, 158, 174, 185 on Soviet Stockholm initiative, 128 on Alsace-Lorraine, 159 and Stauning, 206 talks with Scheidemann, 225-6 and Zimmerwald movement, 259n Trotsky, L.D. and outbreak of war, 32-3, 49, 245 attitude towards war, 67, 79, 1 13, 128 attacked by Lenin, 117, 118 opposes Stockholm, 120, 125 and revolution in Russia, 129, 171, 173, 204 on self-determination, 164, 256n. and negotiations at Brest-Litovsk, 205, 207, 212, 218, 220-1 and revolution in Europe, 206, 211, 219 Tsereteli, Irakli and Soviet policy, 96, 99, 102-4, 178 and war, 101-2 and internationalism, 111, 118-9 and Soviet peace initiative, 124-7 and revolution in Russia, 128, 172, 173, 202 enters government, 171 leaves government, 177 Tsion, Sergey, 178 Tupper, Capt., 133 Turati, Filippo, 74, 75, 93, 122, 184 Turin, 57, 139, 145-6, 202, 244 LTkraine, 212 Ukrainian Rada, 165-6, 177, 218, 220 UKrainian socialists, and Galicia, 167 LTnion of Democratic Control (UDC), 44, 45, 50, 156, 158, 209, 234

310

War, Peace and Revolution

Vaillant, Edouard, 4, 41, 67 Vandervelde, Emile urges Russian socialists to support allied war effort, 35-6 at London conference, 1915, 41 attitude towards war, 68, 76 and Russian revolution, 110, 112, 113, 125, 126, 155, 174 Van Kol, H.H., 89, 92, 159, 226 Vaynberg, Yuly, 176 Verfeuil, Raoul, 154 Versailles, peace conference, and international socialism, 231-2, 233 Vienna, 65, 133, 214-5, 246 Vienna, conference of central power socialists, 1915, 41-2 Vliegen, Willem, 33, 71, 90, 92, 152, 174 Vorovsky, V.V., 189, 190, 193, 206, 281n Voytinsky, V., 173

Wahnschaffe, Arnold, 161 Walecki, Maximilian, 78 Waltz, Andre, 92 war outbreak, 26 course of, 33-4, 138, 230 soldiers’ view of, 5 Iff war guilt question, and socialist attitudes, 39, 41, 112, 183, 230-1 Wardle, George, 157-8, 179 Warski, Adolf, 78, 82, 83 Webb, Sidney, 208, 278n Weis, Otto, 238 Wendel, Hermann, 159 Wibaut, F.M., 87, 89, 128 Wilhelm II, Emperor of Germany, 32, 162 Williams, Robert, 133 Wilson, Havelock, 226

Wilson, Woodrow seeks allied statement of war aims, 1916, 43, 65, 86, 87 and ‘new diplomacy’, 92-3, 94, 110, 114, 156, 209 ‘crusade for democracy’, 105, 107, 228 and Stockholm conference, 184 and American war effort, 187 ‘Fourteen Points’, 208, 225 and social democracy, 231 women and labour movement, 25 and war, 56, 244 Yermansky, O.A., 186, 193-4, 195 Young, Sir George, 179 youth movement, socialist, 19, 24, 54, 147, 192 Zahle government, 71, 87 Zalutsky, P.A., 97 Zetkin, Clara, 30 Zietz, Luise, 195 Zimmermann, Arthur, 89, 91, 161 Zimmerwald conference, 1915, 78ff, 203 Kiental, 1916, 82-3, 118, 169, 192 Stockholm, 1917, 189, 193-5 Stockholm manifesto, 195, 214 Zimmerwald left, 80-1, 83, 121, 169, 174, 189, 196, 207 Zimmerwald movement, 68, 112-3, 124, 184, 188, 201, 205, 235-6 Zinov’yev, G. Ye. at Zimmerwald conference, 78, 80, 258n. and Zimmerwald left, 81 at Kiental conference, 82 and Zimmerwald movement, 122, 189, and Third International, 233

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Dr. David Kirby is Reader in Modern History at the School of Slavonic and East European Studies, University of London, where he has taught since 1969. His other published works include Finland in the Twentieth Century, 1979, reprinted 1984 and Finland and Russia 1808-1920, 1975.

St. Marti.. Press 175 Fifth Avenue New York, NY10010 Printed ir, Great Britain

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