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FINAL ADDRESS, OCTOBER 29
Comrades! Before responding to the remarks made in the notes, I would like to say a few words in reply to the comrades who have spoken here. In Comrade Larin’s address, I believe it is necessary to point out a misunderstanding. Either I did not express myself clearly, or he misunderstood me when he linked the question of regulation—about which I was speaking—to the issue of industrial regulation. This is plainly incorrect. I was discussing the regulation of trade and monetary circulation, comparing it with commodity exchange. And one more thing must be said: if we wish to approach our policies, our resolutions, our propaganda and agitation in such a way as to improve our propaganda, our agitation, and our decrees, then we should not dismiss the results of our most recent experience. Is it true that in the spring of 1921 we spoke of commodity exchange? Of course it is true—each of you knows this well. Is it also true that commodity exchange, as a system, proved ill-suited to reality, which instead presented us with monetary circulation, with buying and selling for money? That, too, is beyond doubt; the facts bear this out. Here, then, is a clear example—not of a fabricated error, but of an undeniable mistake.
The experience of our economic policy over the past period, which began in the spring, has shown that in the spring of 1921 no one

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disputed it, and the entire Party, at congresses, conferences, and in the press, adopted it with complete unanimity. The old disputes had not the slightest impact on this new unanimous decision. This decision was based on the conviction that through commodity exchange we are capable of achieving a more direct transition to socialist construction. Now we clearly see that an indirect path—through trade—is still required.
Comrades Stukov and Sorin lamented that people were talking about “mistakes,” asking whether it was not possible to refrain from inventing errors. Of course, if we were to fabricate mistakes, that would be a very bad thing indeed. But to brush aside practical questions as Comrade Gonikman does would be utterly wrong. He delivered almost an entire speech on the theme that “a historical phenomenon could not have unfolded in any other way than it did.” This is a completely indisputable proposition—and one that, of course, is familiar to all of us from the ABCs of communism, from the ABCs of historical materialism, and from the ABCs of Marxism. Such is the reasoning along these lines. What about Comrade Semkov’s speech—was this a historical phenomenon, or was it not? I maintain that it was, in fact, a historical phenomenon. Precisely the fact that this historical phenomenon could not have unfolded in any other way than it did proves that there is neither fabrication of errors nor a misguided desire—or even a misguided tolerance—for Party members to fall into despondency, confusion, or a depressed state of mind. Comrades Stukov and Sorin were deeply concerned that acknowledging a mistake—whether wholly, partially, directly, or indirectly—might nonetheless prove harmful, since it could spread despondency and stir up feelings of depression. Through my own examples, I sought precisely to demonstrate that the crux of the matter lies here: Does acknowledging a mistake still carry practical significance today? After what has happened—and what inevitably happened—do we need to change anything now? At first there was the storm assault; only after that did we move to the siege—everyone knows this—and today, the implementation of our economic policy is hampered by the erroneous application of methods that might have been splendid under different circumstances, but which are now harmful. Almost all of the comrades who spoke entirely overlooked this point—and in this, and in this alone, lies the whole essence of the matter. The best ally I found here was Comrade Semkov himself, for he brought this error vividly to light. If Comrade Semkov had not been present—or if he had not spoken today—it might indeed have seemed: Had Lenin really invented these mistakes? But Comrade Semkov stated quite clearly: “What are you talking about ‘state trade’! We were never taught to trade in prison.” Comrade Semkov, it is true—we were never taught to trade in prison! But were we ever taught to wage war in prison? Were we ever taught to govern a state in prison? And were we ever taught, anywhere, to reconcile the various People’s Commissariats and coordinate their activities—a task that is, in many respects, quite unpleasant? Nowhere were we taught such things. At best, in prison we were not taught *how* to trade—but rather we studied Marxism, the history of the revolutionary movement, and so on. From this perspective, many of us spent time in prison not in vain. When people tell us, “We were never taught to trade in prison,” what is revealed in those words is precisely a mistaken understanding of the practical tasks of our struggle and of the Party’s activities today. And this is precisely the kind of error that consists in applying methods suited to the “storm assault” to the period of “siege.” Comrade Semkov uncovered an error that exists within the ranks of the Party. This error must be recognized—and corrected.
If we had been able to rely on the military and political enthusiasm that had been an undisputed, gigantic historical force and had played a great role—whose echoes would resonate for years to come in the international workers’ movement—if that enthusiasm, combined with a certain degree of cultural development and with the preservation of our factories, had enabled us to move directly toward socialist construction, then we would not have had to concern ourselves with such unpleasant matters as commercial calculation and the art of trading. Then none of this would have been necessary. But now we must engage in these pursuits. Why? Because we are leading—and must continue to lead—the work of economic construction. Economic

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The course of development has brought us to a point where we must resort not only to such unpleasant measures as leasing, but also to the rather unwelcome practice of trade. One might have expected that such an adverse situation would give rise to despondency and a decline in morale. But who, then, is to blame? Is it not the very person who succumbs to this loss of spirit, this profound dejection? If the economic reality into which we have been thrust—shaped by the intricate interplay of economic and political conditions, both international and domestic—is such that monetary circulation has become the dominant feature, rather than commodity exchange; if our task now consists in seeking to regulate current trade and the prevailing malaise of monetary circulation, then what sort of communists are we, if we were to claim that these matters are of no concern to us? Such a stance would be the most pernicious form of despondency—a thoroughly despairing attitude that would render all productive work utterly impossible.
The circumstances under which we carry out our work are not solely the product of our own efforts: they are shaped by the ongoing economic struggle and by our relations with other nations. The cumulative effects of these factors have led us to raise the question of leasing in the spring of this year—and now, we must likewise address the questions of trade and monetary circulation. To dismiss these issues with the flippant remark, “We were never taught how to trade in prison,” is to yield to an unacceptable state of discouragement; it means failing to fulfill our economic mandate. It would certainly be far more pleasant if we could simply storm capitalist trade—and under certain conditions (with intact factories, high levels of economic development and cultural sophistication), there is nothing inherently wrong with attempting a “storm,” that is, with directly establishing commodity exchange. But today, the real mistake lies in our refusal to recognize the necessity and inevitability of adopting a different approach. This is not a contrived error; it is not a mistake born of historical abstraction—it is a lesson that teaches us how to properly understand what can and must be done in the present. Can a party successfully accomplish its mission if it approaches the task with the reasoning: “We were never taught how to trade in prison—commercial calculation is unnecessary for us”? There is much that we were never taught in prison—but after the revolution, we found ourselves compelled to learn, and we have learned, learning again and again with remarkable success.
I believe that mastering the art of understanding commercial relationships and trade is our duty—and when we begin to speak openly and frankly about this task, we will not only succeed in our learning, but we will indeed learn. We have been forced to retreat so far that the question of trade has become a practical issue for the Party, a matter of economic construction. What dictates the shift toward commercial principles? The surrounding circumstances, the realities of the present. This shift is essential if large-scale industry is to recover swiftly and to re-establish robust connections with agriculture, thereby enabling the proper exchange of goods. In a country with a more advanced industrial base, these developments would unfold far more rapidly; for us, however, the path is circuitous and protracted—but in the end, what we strive for will be achieved. Today, we must be guided by the tasks that the present and the immediate future place before us, before our Party, which is charged with directing the entire national economy. We can no longer speak of commodity exchange, for it has been wrested from our grasp as a field of struggle. This is an undeniable fact, however unpleasant it may be to us. So should we conclude that we have nothing further to do? By no means. We must learn. We must learn to govern commercial relations at the state level—a task that is undoubtedly challenging, yet entirely within our reach. And we will master this task, for we have already solved problems that were no less new, no less urgent, and no less difficult for us. Cooperative trade is a challenging endeavor, but there is nothing impossible about it; we simply need to grasp it clearly and devote ourselves to it with earnest diligence. Our new policy is precisely aimed at this goal. At present, a small number of enterprises have already been brought over to commercial accounting; wages are paid according to free-market rates, and settlements are now conducted in gold. Yet the number of such economic units remains minuscule; in the vast majority of cases, chaos still reigns, with a complete disconnect between earnings and living standards. Some enterprises have even been taken off the books of the state…

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of material supplies, while a portion remained under partial supply. Where, then, are we to look for a way out? Only in the realization that we must learn, adapt, and find ways to resolve these tasks as they truly need to be resolved—namely, in accordance with the conditions at hand.
Here is my response to the comrades who spoke about today’s discussion; I will now briefly address some of the notes that were submitted.
One of them asks: “You refer to Port Arthur—but can you not imagine that we ourselves might become the new Port Arthur, encircled by the international bourgeoisie?”
Yes, comrades, I have already pointed out that the forces of war are inherently perilous; one cannot embark on war without reckoning with the possibility of defeat. Should we suffer defeat, we would, of course, find ourselves in a situation no better than that of Port Arthur. Throughout my speech, I had in mind the Port Arthur of international capitalism—a fortress besieged not only by our own army, but by an ever-growing army within each capitalist country itself, an army that relentlessly lays siege to this very Port Arthur of international capitalism.
One note asks: “What, then, will our tactics be on the day after a social revolution—if it breaks out in a year or two?” If we could simply answer such questions, revolutions would be child’s play—and we would have staged countless uprisings all over the globe. But such questions cannot be answered, for we cannot say what will happen not just in a year or two, but even in half a year. Asking these questions is as futile as trying to predict which of the warring sides will end up in the dire straits of Port Arthur. All we know for certain is that, in the end, the fortress of international Port Arthur will inevitably fall—because in every country, the forces that will bring it down are steadily growing. Our fundamental question, however, is this: how can we, in the most arduous conditions we currently face, preserve the capacity to restore large-scale industry? We must not shy away from commercial calculation; rather, we must understand that it is only on this very basis that we can create tolerable conditions—conditions that satisfy workers both in terms of wages and in terms of the volume of work, and so forth. It is only on this foundation of commercial calculation that we can build a sound economy. What stands in the way of this are prejudices and lingering memories of yesterday. If we fail to take this into account, we will never be able to implement the New Economic Policy properly.
Questions are also being raised: “Where lie the limits of retreat?” Several notes ask in the same vein: How far can we afford to retreat? I anticipated this question and touched upon it briefly in my first speech. This question is an expression of a well-known mood of despondency and decline—and it is utterly unfounded. It is the very same kind of question we heard during the conclusion of the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk. The question is wrongly posed, for it is only through the continued implementation of our strategic shift that we can begin to generate the material necessary to answer it. We will retreat only as long as we do not yet know how to prepare ourselves for a decisive offensive. There is nothing more to be said on this matter. Retreating is certainly unpleasant—but when the enemy strikes, no one asks whether it is pleasant or painful; troops retreat, and no one is surprised by it. From discussions about how long we will keep retreating, nothing worthwhile can possibly emerge. Why should we preemptively conjure up scenarios from which there is no escape? Instead, we must turn to concrete, practical work. We must carefully examine the specific conditions, the precise situation at hand; we must identify what we can seize upon—be it a river, a mountain, a swamp, or a particular railway station—because only when we can find something solid to hold onto can we begin to advance. And let us not give in to despair; let us not dismiss the question with mere rhetorical exclamations, which may be valuable in their proper place, but which in this context can do nothing but harm.