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POLITICAL REPORT OF THE CENTRAL COMMITTEE OF THE RCP(b)

27 MARCH (Applause.) Comrades! Allow me to begin my political report not at the beginning of the year, but at its end. At present, the most pressing issue in politics is Genoa. Yet since the press has already devoted an extraordinary amount of space to this topic—and since I was compelled, in my speech of March 6, which was subsequently published, to set forth a substantial analysis of the matter—I would ask, unless you have specific requests for further elaboration, that I be permitted to refrain from going into detail on this question.
You are all, by and large, familiar with the situation in Genoa, as the press has given it considerable coverage—indeed, in my view, far more than it deserved—often to the detriment of the real, practical, and urgent needs of our overall development, especially in the realm of economic reconstruction. In Europe, of course, in all bourgeois countries, there is a strong penchant for endlessly debating—or even obsessing over—every conceivable detail concerning Genoa. And this time, though certainly not only this time, we have been following suit—and doing so to an excessive degree.
I must say that the Central Committee has taken the most meticulous measures to assemble a delegation composed of our finest diplomats (and today we have a respectable number of Soviet diplomats, far more than in the early days of the Soviet Republic). We formulated highly detailed directives for our diplomats heading to Genoa within the Central Committee itself. These directives were crafted over a long period, debated repeatedly, and re‑debated again*. And it goes without saying that while the issue at hand may not quite qualify as a “military” one—though that term might invite misinterpretations—it is, in any case, a question of competition. Within the bourgeois camp, there exists a particularly powerful current, far more influential than the others, bent on sabotaging the Genoa Conference. There are currents that, come what may, are determined to see the conference held and to ensure that it comes to fruition. It is these latter currents that have now gained the upper hand. Finally, within the camp of all bourgeois nations, there is a tendency that might be described as pacifist—and to which both the Second and the Second and a Half Internationals can be rightly attributed. This is the camp of the bourgeoisie that seeks to uphold a series of pacifist proposals and to formulate something akin to a pacifist policy. As communists, we hold certain views on this brand of pacifism, though it is entirely superfluous to expound upon them here. Clearly, we are not going to Genoa as communists—but as merchants. We need to trade, and they need to trade. We hope to trade to our own advantage, while they hope to trade to theirs. How the struggle unfolds will depend, albeit to a limited extent, on the skill of our diplomats.
It is self-evident that when we go to Genoa as merchants, we cannot afford to be indifferent to whether we are dealing with representatives of the bourgeois camp who lean toward a military resolution of the issue, or with those who lean toward pacifism—even the most tepid form of pacifism, which, from a communist standpoint, fails to withstand even the slightest criticism. A merchant who failed to grasp this distinction, and who did not adapt his tactics accordingly to achieve practical objectives, would be a poor trader indeed.
We are going to Genoa with a practical aim: to expand trade and to create conditions under which it can flourish most broadly and successfully. But we are by no means

* See Collected Works, 5th ed., vol. 44, pp. 374–376, 382–384, 385–386, 406–408; this volume, pp. 34–40, 63–64. Ed.

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guaranteeing success for the Genoa Conference. To do so would be both laughable and absurd. I must say that, even when assessing the possibilities before us with the utmost sobriety and caution, I still believe it would not be an exaggeration to state that we will, in fact, achieve our stated objective.
Through Genoa—if our counterparts there are sufficiently astute and not overly stubborn; past Genoa—if they should choose to be obstinate. But we will attain our goal!
After all, the most urgent, most pressing, most practical, and most acutely revealed interests of all capitalist powers in recent years demand the development, rationalization, and expansion of trade with Russia. And once such interests exist, one may argue, one may quarrel, one may part ways in various configurations—indeed, it is quite plausible that we will ultimately diverge—but in the end, this fundamental economic necessity will, in its own way, forge its own path. And I believe we can rest assured on this score. I make no guarantees regarding timelines, nor do I guarantee success—but at this very gathering, we can say with reasonable confidence that the development of sound commercial relations between the Soviet Republic and the rest of the capitalist world is bound to move forward. As for the possible interruptions along the way—I will address those in due course in my report—but I think we can limit ourselves to this much when it comes to the question of Genoa.
Of course, comrades who wish to examine the issue in greater depth and are not satisfied with the list of delegation members published in the newspapers will be free to form a committee or section and to review all materials from the Central Committee, including correspondence and directives. The details, naturally, were outlined by us only in broad terms, since it remains uncertain—who exactly will sit down at the table in Genoa, and what conditions, preliminary agreements, or stipulations will be laid out. To dissect each and every one of these here would be highly impractical, and I believe it would even be practically impossible. I repeat: the Congress, through

a section or commission has every opportunity to gather all relevant documents on this matter—both those that have been published and those still held by the Central Committee.
I will confine myself to what I have said, for I am convinced that our greatest difficulties do not lie in this particular issue. This is not the question upon which the entire Party should focus its primary attention. The European bourgeois press artificially inflates and deliberately exaggerates the significance of this conference, deceiving the working masses—just as 90% of all bourgeois media in these so‑called free democratic countries and republics invariably do. We have, to some extent, succumbed to this press. As always, our newspapers still cling to old bourgeois habits, reluctant to embrace the new socialist path—and we have stirred up more noise than the matter truly warrants. In essence, for communists—especially those who have endured such grave years as we have since 1917, who have witnessed political maneuvers as profound as those we have seen since then—Genoa does not present any great challenges. I do not recall that, on this issue alone—not only within the Central Committee but also throughout our Party—any serious disagreements or disputes ever arose. This is only natural, for from a communist standpoint there is nothing contentious here—even taking into account the various shades of opinion among us. We are going to Genoa, I repeat, like merchants seeking the most advantageous arrangements for the development of trade—a trade that has begun, that is ongoing, and that, even if some were to forcibly interrupt it for a time, would inevitably resume its growth after that pause.
Limiting myself, therefore, to these brief remarks about Genoa, I shall turn to those questions which, in my view, constitute the principal political issues of the past year and the central questions of politics for the coming year. It seems to me—or at least, this has become my habitual way of thinking—that in the Political Report of the Central Committee we must not merely recount what transpired during the reporting year, but rather reflect on the political lessons learned over that year—fundamental, root-level lessons—so that we may

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correctly define our policies for the coming year, and so that we may draw valuable insights from the past year.
The central issue, of course, is the New Economic Policy. The entire reporting year was marked by the New Economic Policy. If we have achieved any major, significant, and irrevocable victory this year—though I am not yet entirely certain of this—it is only insofar as we have managed to learn something from the very beginnings of this New Economic Policy. Even if we have mastered only a small part of it, we have nonetheless learned an extraordinary amount about the New Economic Policy over the past year. As for whether we have truly learned enough—and to what extent—we shall likely discover this only through subsequent events, through occurrences largely beyond our control, such as the impending financial crisis. It seems to me that the most important thing to bear in mind regarding our New Economic Policy—as the foundation for all our deliberations, for assessing our experience over the past year, and for drawing practical lessons for the year ahead—is the following three points.
First and foremost, the New Economic Policy is crucial as a test of whether we can, in fact, forge a genuine connection with the peasant economy. During the preceding phase of our revolution, when all our attention and all our energies were devoted—or nearly consumed—to the primary task of repelling invasion, we could scarcely give proper thought to this vital link; we simply did not have the time. To a certain extent, it was both permissible and necessary to neglect this connection when the pressing, immediate, and existential threat of being suffocated by the colossal forces of global imperialism loomed large before us.
The shift toward the New Economic Policy was decided at the previous Congress with extraordinary unanimity—indeed, with even greater unanimity than was displayed in resolving other issues within our Party (which, it must be admitted, generally prides itself on its high degree of consensus). This unanimous agreement demonstrated that the need for a new approach to socialist economics had become utterly urgent. People, who had previously differed on many issues and viewed the situation from diverse perspectives, came together without hesitation and with remarkable speed to the unanimous conclusion that we lacked a true, systematic approach to socialist economics—and that the only way to find such an approach was through the New Economic Policy. Due to the unfolding military events, the evolution of political developments, the rise of capitalism in the old, culturally advanced West, and the transformation of social and political conditions in the colonies, we were compelled to break through the old bourgeois world at a time when our country, while perhaps not the most backward economically, was nonetheless one of the most underdeveloped nations. The vast majority of our peasantry operated small, individual farms. The construction of what we had envisioned as part of our program for building a communist society proceeded, to a certain extent, at odds with the realities faced by the broad peasant masses—upon whom we placed heavy burdens, justifying them by claiming that war allowed no room for hesitation in this regard. And though this justification, taken in its entirety, was met with acceptance by the peasantry—despite the inevitable mistakes we could not avoid—the peasant masses, in general, recognized and understood that these immense burdens imposed upon them were essential to safeguarding the worker-peasant state against the landowners and to preventing the capitalist onslaught that threatened to strip away all the gains of the revolution. Yet there was no real connection between the economy being built in nationalized, socialized factories, plants, and state farms, and the peasant economy.
We saw this clearly at the Party’s 52nd Congress. We saw it so clearly that there was no lingering doubt within the Party about the inevitability of the New Economic Policy.
It is quite amusing to observe, in the extraordinarily rich array of publications produced by various Russian parties abroad, the assessments of this…

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our decision. The only difference between these assessments is utterly trivial: living in the past, they still insist that the Left Communists remain opposed to the New Economic Policy. In 1921, people recalled what had happened back in 1918—what the Left Communists themselves had long since forgotten—and they continue to chew over and re-chew this old narrative, insisting that these Bolsheviks are, as everyone knows, a cunning and deceitful people; that they are hiding from Europe the very disagreements that exist within their own ranks. When one reads such accounts, one cannot help but think: let them go on believing whatever they wish. If that is how they perceive what is happening in our country, then we can gauge the degree of consciousness—not to mention the level of sophistication—of those so-called “most learned” elder statesmen who have now fled abroad. We know full well that no real divisions ever existed among us—and they did not exist precisely because the practical necessity of adopting a fundamentally different approach to laying the foundations of a socialist economy was clear to all.
We had no link whatsoever with the peasant economy—the new economic order we sought to build. Do we have such a link now? Not yet. We are only just beginning to forge it. The true significance of the New Economic Policy, which our press still too often seeks to discover everywhere except where it ought to be found, lies entirely—and solely—in this: to establish a connection between the new economic order we are painstakingly constructing, despite immense difficulties and great clumsiness, and the peasant economy upon which millions upon millions of peasants depend for their very survival.
And therein lies our greatest achievement. Without this crucial link, we could never have claimed the title of revolutionary communists.
We began to construct the New Economy in an entirely new way, completely disregarding all that had come before. Had we not begun this endeavor, we would have been utterly crushed within the first few months—or even the first few years. But this does not mean that, having embarked upon this path with such absolute boldness, we must necessarily continue in the same vein. Where does such a notion come from? It springs from nowhere.
From the very outset, we made it clear that we were undertaking an undertaking of unprecedented scope—and that unless we received swift assistance from the working-class comrades of more advanced capitalist countries, our task would prove exceedingly difficult, fraught with inevitable errors. The key is to maintain a sober, clear-eyed perspective: to recognize where mistakes are made, and to start over from scratch. Even if we must begin anew two—or perhaps many—times, that alone will demonstrate our capacity to approach the world’s greatest challenge with unclouded judgment and unwavering realism.
Today, the central task in regard to the New Economic Policy is to properly assimilate the lessons of the past year. This is something we must do—and we are determined to do it. And if we are to achieve this goal at all costs—and we are resolved to succeed!—then we must understand that the primary, decisive task of the NEP, the task that subordinates everything else, is to establish a vital link between the new economic order we have begun to build (albeit poorly, albeit clumsily, yet nonetheless beginning to construct on the basis of a wholly new socialist economy, a new mode of production, a new system of distribution) and the peasant economy that sustains millions upon millions of rural households.
Such a link did not exist—and above all, we must create it. All other considerations must be subordinated to this imperative. We must also determine to what extent the New Economic Policy has succeeded in forging this connection, without undermining the foundations we had so hastily begun to lay.
We are building our economy in partnership with the peasantry. We must repeatedly revise and refine our approach, ensuring that a seamless bond exists between our socialist efforts in large-scale industry and agriculture, and the work each peasant undertakes—work carried out according to his own means, driven by sheer necessity, conducted as best he can, without pretension or grandiosity (for where, indeed, is there room for wisdom when the stakes are nothing less than survival itself—a dire struggle against the relentless threat of starvation?).
We must make this connection visible—to ourselves, to the entire nation, and especially to the vast peasant masses—so that they may clearly see that there is a link between their own arduous, unimaginably impoverished, desperately meager, agonizing existence and the work being done in the name of distant

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socialist ideals. We must ensure that the simple, ordinary working man understands that he has experienced some improvement—not the kind of improvement once enjoyed by a privileged few under serfdom and capitalism, when every step forward (and there were undoubtedly significant advances) was accompanied by mockery, by abuse, by cruel exploitation of the peasant, by violence inflicted upon the masses—a legacy that no peasant has ever forgotten, and one that will linger in the Russian consciousness for decades to come. Our goal is to restore that bond, to demonstrate to the peasant through concrete actions that we are beginning with what is already familiar, already known, and still accessible to him despite his poverty—not with something remote, something fantastical from the peasant’s perspective—but rather to show that we truly know how to help him, that in times of dire need, when the smallholder is ruined, destitute, and tormented by hunger, we are ready to offer tangible aid. Either we prove this to him, or he will cast us aside—there is no avoiding that outcome.
This, then, is the true significance of the New Economic Policy—and the bedrock upon which all our policies are founded. Herein lies the principal lesson we have learned over the past year of implementing the New Economic Policy, and here resides our guiding political principle for the coming year. The peasant has placed his trust in us—and after all that he has endured, he cannot help but continue to do so. By and large, the peasant lives in the spirit of compromise: “Well, if you don’t yet know how to manage things, we’ll wait—and perhaps, in time, you’ll learn.” But this credit cannot last indefinitely.
We must bear this in mind, and even as we receive this credit, we must move swiftly to act. We must recognize that the moment is approaching when the peasant country will no longer extend us further credit—and when, to borrow a commercial term, it will demand payment in cash. “But after all these months, after all these years of deferred payments,” the dear rulers say, “you have finally discovered the most reliable, most trustworthy way to help us escape from want, from poverty, from famine, from ruin. You know how to do it—you have proven it.” Such an examination is inevitably drawing near—and it, This examination will ultimately determine everything: the fate of the NEP, as well as the fate of communist power in Russia.
Will we succeed in completing our immediate task—or will we not? Will this NEP prove useful for anything at all? If it turns out that retreat is the right course, then we must draw closer to the peasant masses, retreating alongside them—but advancing, though a hundred times slower, yet steadily and unswervingly, so that they may always see that we are, after all, moving forward. In that case, our cause will be absolutely invincible; no force in the world will ever defeat us. Even now, after just the first year, we have not yet achieved this. We must state this plainly. And I am deeply convinced—and our New Economic Policy provides ample opportunity to arrive at this conclusion with complete clarity and firmness—that if we fully grasp the immense peril inherent in the NEP and direct all our efforts toward those weak points, then we shall indeed succeed in resolving this task.
We must draw close to the peasant masses, to the rank-and-file working peasantry, and begin to move forward at a pace immeasurably, infinitely slower than we had once dreamed—but in such a way that the entire mass truly moves forward with us. Then, in due time, the acceleration of this movement will come about in ways we can scarcely even imagine today. In my view, this is the first fundamental political lesson to be drawn from the New Economic Policy.
The second, more specific lesson lies in subjecting state-owned and capitalist enterprises to competitive scrutiny. We are now establishing mixed enterprises—about which I will speak a bit more later—which, like all of our state trade and indeed our entire New Economic Policy, represent the application by us communists of commercial methods, of capitalist techniques. These enterprises also carry the important significance that they establish a practical competition between capitalist methods and our own. Let us compare them in practice. Up to now, we have been drafting programs and making promises—this was entirely necessary at the time. Without programs and promises, it is impossible to launch a world revolution. If the White Guards, including the Mensheviks, criticize us for this, that only goes to show, XI Congress of the RCP(b)
that the Mensheviks and the socialists of the Second and Second and a Half Internationals have no real understanding of how revolutionary development actually unfolds. Otherwise, we could not have begun in any other way.
But now the situation is such that we must institute a truly serious form of oversight—not the kind that is carried out through control bodies established by communists themselves, even if those control bodies were superb, even if they existed within both the Soviet institutions and the Party apparatus, even if they were almost ideal control organs—such oversight would be nothing more than a mockery in light of the actual needs of the peasant economy. Yet this is by no means a mockery when viewed from the perspective of our own construction efforts. We are currently establishing these control bodies, but I am not speaking here of that kind of oversight; rather, I am referring to the kind of oversight that is conducted from the standpoint of the mass economy.
The capitalist knew how to supply goods—he did it poorly, he did it in a predatory manner, he insulted us, he robbed us. This is well known to ordinary workers and peasants who do not engage in abstract theorizing about communism, because they do not even know what communism really is.
“But capitalists were still able to supply goods—can you do the same? You cannot.” Indeed, these were the very voices that, in the spring of last year—though not always clearly—could be heard, yet they formed the undercurrent of last year’s entire spring crisis: “You are excellent people, but when it comes to economic matters, the very task you have undertaken—you simply do not know how to handle it.” This was the simplest, yet most devastating criticism that the peasantry—through the peasantry, in fact, a whole host of worker strata—directed against the Communist Party last year. And this is why, in the question of the NEP, this old point assumes such great significance.
What we need is genuine oversight. A capitalist operates nearby, acting in a predatory manner, reaping profits—but he knows how to do it. As for you—you are trying something new: you have no profits, your principles are communist, your ideals are noble—indeed, they are so lofty that even saints would long to enter paradise while still alive—but can you actually get things done? What we need is oversight— genuine oversight—not oversight in which the Central Control Commission conducts an investigation and issues a reprimand, or in which the VTsIK imposes disciplinary sanctions—but true oversight, conducted from the standpoint of the national economy.
Communists were granted every possible grace period; they were given credit in amounts never before extended to any other government. Of course, the communists helped rid the country of capitalists and landlords—the peasantry appreciates this—and they willingly granted credit and deferred payments, but only up to a certain point. After that, the test came: can you manage affairs no worse than others? The old capitalist knows how—it’s his specialty—but you do not.
Here is the first lesson, the first major section of the Political Report of the Central Committee: we do not know how to manage affairs. This has been proven over the past year. I would very much like to take the example of several state trusts (to use that beautiful Russian phrase so highly praised by Turgenev) and demonstrate how we actually know how to manage affairs.
Unfortunately, for a variety of reasons—most notably illness—I was unable to develop this part of the report in full, and must therefore limit myself to expressing my conviction, based on careful observation of what is actually taking place. Over the past year, we have demonstrated with absolute clarity that we do not know how to manage affairs. This is the central lesson. Either we will prove the opposite within the coming year, or Soviet power cannot endure. The greatest danger lies in the fact that not everyone fully grasps this reality. If all communists and responsible cadres clearly recognized: “We do not know how to manage affairs—let us first learn,” then we would win the day. In my view, that would be the fundamental, root-level conclusion. But many do not recognize this truth; instead, they are convinced that anyone who thinks otherwise is merely an underdeveloped person, someone who has never studied communism—perhaps, they reason, they will come to understand, will learn. No, I beg to differ: the problem is not that the peasant or the non‑Party worker has never studied communism; the real issue is that the time has passed when we needed to formulate a program and call upon the people to fulfill that great program. That era is over—now we must prove that, in the current difficult circumstances, we are capable of practically helping the economy of the working…

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… and the peasants themselves, so that they may see that you have withstood the test of competition.
The mixed enterprises we have begun to establish—enterprises in which both private capitalists, both Russian and foreign, and communists alike take part—represent one of the most appropriate forms for genuinely fostering competition, enabling us to demonstrate—and to learn—that we are fully capable of forging close ties with the peasant economy no less effectively than the capitalists; that we can meet the peasants’ needs; that we can help the peasantry advance along its own path, however backward it may be, for it is impossible to transform it overnight.
Such is the kind of competition that confronts us as an absolute, pressing task. This, in my view, is the crux of the New Economic Policy—and indeed, the very essence of our Party’s political line. We have countless purely political questions and difficulties to contend with. You are well aware of them: the Genoa Conference, the looming threat of intervention. The challenges are great—but compared to this particular challenge, they are mere trifles. We have already seen how such matters are handled; we have learned much from experience, having tested the waters of bourgeois diplomacy. It is a craft that the Mensheviks spent fifteen years teaching us—and in the process, they did teach us some valuable lessons. This is nothing new.
But what we must now accomplish in the realm of economics is this: to withstand competition not only from the most sophisticated industrialists and financiers, but also from the humblest shopkeepers and merchants—those who will go out to the peasants without arguing about communism—imagine this: they will not argue about communism; instead, they will ask: “If we need to procure goods, negotiate fair prices, and execute sound contracts—if I build at a certain cost, then perhaps the communists will build even more expensively, maybe ten times more expensive.” This is the kind of propaganda that now defines the core of our economic strategy; this is where the true heart of our economic policy lies.
Let me reiterate: we secured deferred payments and credit from the people thanks to our sound economic policies—and if we were to speak in NEP terms, these are essentially “bills of exchange,” yet the maturity dates on these bills remain unwritten. When these bills are presented for payment, you cannot determine their due date simply by consulting the bill itself. This is precisely the danger—and the distinctive feature— that sets these political bills apart from ordinary commercial bills. We must pay close attention to this fact; we must not rest content merely because responsible and outstanding communists are serving in state trusts and mixed enterprises—such efforts are utterly futile, for these comrades lack the practical skills needed to manage affairs; in this respect, they are often worse than the average capitalist clerk who has trained under the tutelage of large factories and major corporations. We fail to recognize this reality; instead, we still harbor a lingering sense of communist arrogance—a sort of “commu-arrogance,” to put it in the grand style of the Russian language. The issue is this: even the most dedicated, the most conscientious, the most loyal of communist leaders—those who have endured prison camps and faced death without flinching—are ill-equipped to engage in commerce, for they are not businessmen; they have never been trained in business, have no desire to learn, and do not understand that they must begin their education at the very foundation. This communist, this revolutionary who has wrought the greatest revolution in human history—this man, upon whom not forty pyramids but forty European nations once looked with hope for deliverance from capitalism—must learn from the humblest clerk who has spent ten years running errands in the storeroom, who knows the ropes inside and out; whereas this responsible communist, this devoted revolutionary, not only lacks that basic knowledge—he does not even realize that he lacks it.
And so, if we, comrades, can overcome even this first instance of ignorance, then it will be a monumental victory. From this Congress onward, we must leave with the conviction that we did not know this—and that we must begin our education anew, starting from the very beginning. After all, we have not yet ceased to be revolutionaries (though many claim—and not entirely without reason—that we have become bureaucratized)—and we can still grasp that simple truth: in this new and extraordinarily difficult undertaking, we must learn to start over again and again. We begin, hit a dead end—then start anew—and repeat this process ten times, until we finally succeed. Let us not grow arrogant, nor boast of our status as communists while some lowly clerk, perhaps even a White Guard officer—or, more likely, a White Guard operative—is far better equipped to carry out the tasks that must be accomplished, come what may, economically speaking; whereas we ourselves are unable to do the job. If you are a responsible communist, holding hundreds of positions and titles—and

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“a knight” of the Communist and Soviet orders—if you can truly come to this realization, then you will have achieved your goal, for this is something that can be learned.
We have made some modest, albeit small, advances over the past year—but these gains are negligible. The real problem is that there is still no widespread, universally shared conviction among communists that today, even among the most responsible and devoted of Russian communists, our capacity in this regard is actually inferior to that of any seasoned clerk. I repeat: we must begin our education anew. If we can come to this realization, then we will pass the test—and it is a serious test, one that the approaching financial crisis will surely bring to bear; a test that the Russian and international markets—over which we are bound, with which we are intertwined, from which we cannot escape—will demand of us. This is a grave test, for here we may be defeated, both economically and politically.
The question is posed in this way—and only in this way—because the competition at hand is both serious and decisive. We have tried countless different approaches and solutions to our political and economic difficulties. We can proudly claim that we have long been adept at employing these various strategies and maneuvers, adapting them to diverse circumstances—but now, we have exhausted all possible avenues. Let me tell you this without exaggeration: in this sense, the “final and decisive battle” is not against international capitalism—there will be many more “final and decisive battles” to come—but rather against Russian capitalism itself: against the form of capitalism that arises from the small peasant household, that is sustained by the very same rural economy. In the near future, we face just such a battle—though its precise timing remains uncertain. Here lies the “final and decisive battle”; there can be no further political or other such detours, for this is a contest with private capital. Either we pass this test of competition with private capital, or we suffer utter failure. To pass this test, we possess not only political power but also a wealth of economic and other resources— All that you desire—except for the ability to learn. That ability is lacking. Now, if we draw this simple lesson from the experience of the past year and make it our guiding principle for all of 1922, then we shall overcome this difficulty as well—though it is far greater than the previous challenge, because it lies within ourselves. It is not a matter of some external enemy; rather, the difficulty stems from our own unwillingness to confront the uncomfortable truth that has been thrust upon us, and our refusal to accept the very predicament we must face: to begin learning anew from the very beginning. This, in my view, is the second lesson that emerges from the New Economic Policy.
And a third, supplementary lesson concerns the question of state capitalism. It is a pity that Comrade Bukharin is not here at the Congress—I would have liked to engage him in a bit of debate—but I think it best to save that discussion for the next Congress. When it comes to the issue of state capitalism, our press—and indeed our entire Party—often fall into the trap of intellectualism and liberalism, pondering at length how we ought to understand “state capitalism,” while reaching back to old books for guidance. Yet those books say nothing whatsoever about what we are dealing with today: they describe the kind of state capitalism that arises under capitalism itself—but not a single book offers even the slightest treatment of the state capitalism that can exist under communism. Even Marx never thought to write a single word on this subject; he passed away without leaving behind a single precise quotation or irrefutable insight. Thus, it falls to us now to find our own way forward. If we survey our press’s coverage of state capitalism with a broad, overarching perspective—as I sought to do in preparing for this very report—it becomes clear that most of what is being said misses the mark entirely, that the focus is directed in completely the wrong direction.
According to the entire body of economic literature, state capitalism refers to that form of capitalism which emerges under a capitalist system when the state directly subordinates certain capitalist enterprises to its control. But in our case, the state is proletarian, The Eleventh Congress of the RCP(b)
it rests upon the proletariat, granting the proletariat all political advantages and, through the proletariat, drawing the peasantry from the bottom up (as you will recall, we began this work with the formation of the Komsomol-based peasant committees). For this reason, state capitalism so often leads many astray. To avoid this, we must bear in mind the fundamental truth: the kind of state capitalism we have in our midst is not addressed by any theory, nor by any existing literature—simply because all the conventional concepts associated with these terms are rooted in bourgeois power within a capitalist society. Yet our society has already slipped off the rails of capitalism, having yet to fully step onto new tracks; and it is not the bourgeoisie but the proletariat that governs this state. We refuse to grasp that when we speak of “the state,” we mean ourselves—that the state is the proletariat, the vanguard of the working class. State capitalism is the form of capitalism we can learn to limit, to define its boundaries; this state capitalism is bound to the state itself—and the state is made up of workers, of the vanguard of the working class, of the avant-garde, of us.
State capitalism is the form of capitalism we must bring within defined limits, though to this day we have yet to succeed in doing so. That, in essence, is the crux of the matter. And it is entirely up to us to determine what kind of state capitalism we will create. We possess ample political power—more than sufficient; we also have ample economic resources at our disposal—but what we lack is the skill possessed by that vanguard of the working class which has been entrusted with direct responsibility—to define boundaries, to delineate spheres of influence, to subordinate others rather than be subordinated. All that is needed is skill—and we simply do not yet possess it.
A situation utterly unprecedented in history: the proletariat, the revolutionary vanguard, wields more than enough political power, and yet alongside this power exists state capitalism. The key to resolving this dilemma lies in our understanding that this is a form of capitalism we can—and indeed must—tolerate; a form of capitalism we can—and must—bring within bounds, for this kind of capitalism is essential to the broad masses of the peasantry and to private capital, which must operate in such a way as to meet the needs of the peasantry. We must arrange matters so that the normal course of capitalist production and capitalist circulation remains possible—because the people need it; without it, life itself becomes impossible. Everything else is not absolutely essential for them, for this camp—they can come to terms with the rest. If you, the Communists, if you, the workers, if you, the conscious section of the proletariat that has taken upon itself the task of governing the state, if you can manage to ensure that the state you have taken into your hands acts according to your own principles—if you can do that, then we may truly say that we have learned this lesson.
Now I turn to the question of halting the retreat—a topic I addressed in my speech to the Metalworkers’ Congress*. Since then, I have encountered no objections—neither in the Party press, nor in private letters from comrades, nor in the Central Committee. The Central Committee endorsed my plan, which consisted of presenting, in the name of the Central Committee at this very Congress, a proposal to halt the retreat with full

* See this volume, pp. 8–16. Ed.

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We must emphasize this with energy and urge the Congress to issue the appropriate directive—now in the name of the entire Party, now as a binding mandate. For a year we have been retreating. Now we must speak on behalf of the Party: enough! The goal that we sought to achieve through our retreat has been attained. This phase is coming to an end—or has already come to an end. Our new objective is to regroup our forces. We have arrived at a new position; overall, we did indeed carry out a retreat, albeit in a relatively measured way. To be sure, there was no shortage of voices from various quarters who sought to turn this retreat into a panic-stricken flight. Some argued, for instance, that we had retreated incorrectly in certain areas—such as certain members of the group known as the “Workers’ Opposition”53. (I believe they were misnamed.) Out of excessive zeal, they rushed through one door only to find themselves in another—and now they have seen this clearly for themselves. At that time, they failed to recognize that their activities were not aimed at correcting our course; in fact, their efforts served but one purpose—to sow panic and obstruct the disciplined execution of the retreat.
Retreat is a difficult undertaking, especially for revolutionaries who are accustomed to advancing—especially when they have advanced for several years with tremendous success, especially if they are surrounded by revolutionaries from other countries, all dreaming only of launching their own offensives. Seeing that we were retreating, some of them even broke down in tears, in a manner both inappropriate and childlike—as occurred at the last expanded Executive Committee meeting of the Comintern54. Even among the finest communists, driven by the noblest communist sentiments and aspirations, some comrades wept because good Russian communists, imagine that, were retreating. Perhaps it is now difficult for me to fully grasp that Western European psychology—even though I have lived for a considerable number of years in those splendid democratic nations as an émigré. But perhaps, from their perspective, it is so hard to understand how one could ever be moved to tears.

For us, at any rate, there is no time to dwell on sentimentality. It was clear to us that precisely because we had advanced so successfully over many years and achieved so many extraordinary victories—and all this in a country that was incredibly impoverished, lacking even the most basic material prerequisites—it was absolutely essential, once we had gained so much, absolutely essential to retreat in order to consolidate our gains. We could not hold onto every position we had captured in a sudden, lightning‑fast offensive; yet, on the other hand, it was precisely because we had seized such vast territories in the heat of the moment, riding the crest of workers’ and peasants’ enthusiasm, that we had so much room to maneuver—so much space that we could retreat far and still retain the ability to retreat even farther today, without losing sight of what truly matters, of what remains fundamental. Overall, the retreat proceeded in reasonably orderly fashion, although the panicky voices—including those of the “Workers’ Opposition” (and therein lay its greatest harm!)—did lead to occasional breaks in discipline, to lapses from proper conduct during the retreat. The most dangerous thing about a retreat is panic. When an entire army—here I speak metaphorically—retreats, the kind of exuberant, forward‑driven spirit that characterizes a successful advance simply cannot prevail. On every step of the way, you will encounter a mood that is, to a certain extent, subdued. We even had poets who wrote that here, in Moscow, there was hunger and cold, whereas before the city had been clean and beautiful; now, instead, there was trade and speculation. We have a whole host of such poetic works.
And it is only natural that this arises from the act of retreating. And herein lies a tremendous danger: to retreat after a victorious, great offensive is terrifyingly difficult; the relationships involved are entirely different. There, even if you do not actively enforce discipline, everyone pushes forward and flies ahead on their own; here, however, discipline must be far more conscious—and a hundredfold more necessary—because when an entire army retreats, it does not know where to stop; it sees only retreat—and sometimes, just a few panicked voices are enough to send everyone running. The danger here is immense. When such a retreat occurs with— XI CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
a standing army, they set up machine guns—and when proper retreat turns into chaos, they shout, “Fire!” And rightly so.
If people sow panic, even if motivated by the best of intentions, at a moment when we are engaged in an extraordinarily difficult retreat and when the very essence of our task is to maintain good order—then at such a moment, we must punish even the slightest breach of discipline with strictness, harshness, and merciless severity—not only in regard to certain internal Party matters, but even more so when it comes to figures like the Mensheviks or all those gentlemen of the Second and a Half International.
The other day, I read in the 20th issue of the Communist International an article by Comrade Rakosi on Otto Bauer’s new book—a man whom we all once studied under, but who, after the war, like Kautsky, had become a pitiful petty bourgeois55. He now writes: “Here they are retreating toward capitalism; we have always said: revolution is bourgeois.”
The Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries—who preach such ideas—marvel when we say that we will shoot those who advocate such views. They are astonished—but the matter is clear: when an army retreats, it requires discipline a hundred times greater than when it advances, because in an offensive, everyone rushes headlong forward. But if everyone now begins to rush backward, then it is ruin—inevitable and immediate.
Precisely at such a moment, to retreat in an orderly manner, to establish the limits of retreat with precision, and to resist the lure of panic—that is the most crucial task. And when a Menshevik says, “You are retreating now, but I have always been in favor of retreat—I agree with you, I am one of your own—let us retreat together,” we reply to him: “For openly displaying Menshevism, our revolutionary courts must mete out the death penalty; otherwise, these are not our courts—they are something else entirely, God knows what.”
They simply cannot understand and keep saying, “What dictatorial tendencies these people have!” They still think that we persecute the Mensheviks because they— In Geneva, they were at odds—56 of them. But if we had pursued that path, we likely wouldn’t have lasted even two months in power. Indeed, the kind of rhetoric espoused by Otto Bauer, by the leaders of the Second and Second-and-a-Half Internationals, by the Mensheviks, and by the Socialist Revolutionaries, is simply their natural disposition: “The revolution has gone far enough. We’ve always said what you’re saying now—let us repeat it once more.” To which we reply: “Let us put you up against the wall for this. Either you will refrain from voicing your views, or—if you insist on articulating your political convictions under the present circumstances, when we find ourselves in far more difficult conditions than during the direct invasion of the Whites—then, forgive us, we shall treat you as among the worst and most harmful elements of the White Guard.” We must never forget this.
When I speak of halting the retreat, I do not mean to suggest that we have learned how to trade. On the contrary, I hold the opposite view—and I would be misunderstood, and it would be proven that I lack the ability to express my thoughts clearly, if such an impression were left by my remarks.
But the crucial task is to put a stop to the nervousness and restlessness that have taken root among us as a result of the New Economic Policy—the relentless drive to reinvent everything, to adapt and adjust. We now have a number of mixed enterprises. Admittedly, there are very few of them. With the participation of foreign capitalists, we have established nine enterprises, six of which were approved by Sokolnikov’s commission at the Foreign Trade Committee, while Severoles concluded two agreements. Thus, we currently have seventeen enterprises, each endowed with multi-million-dollar capital, approved by various authorities. (Of course, our administrative apparatus is itself quite tangled, so one might well yawn at this point.) But in any case, we now have enterprises involving both Russian and foreign capitalists. They are few in number—but this small yet practical beginning demonstrates that the communists have been recognized, evaluated not according to lofty institutions like the Central Control Commission or the All-Russian Central Executive Committee, but according to their actual practice. Of course, the Central Control Commission is an excellent institution—and we

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We will now grant them greater authority. Yet still, when these bodies scrutinize the communists, consider this: imagine that their authority is not acknowledged in the international marketplace. (Laughter.) And when ordinary capitalists—both Russian and foreign—enter into joint ventures with communists, we say: “Still, we know how to do something; however poor our performance may be, however meager our achievements, we already possess some foundation in this regard.” Of course, it’s not much—but think about it: it’s been a year since we proclaimed that we would devote all our energy—though people say we have plenty of energy—to this endeavor, and in just one year we’ve only managed to establish seventeen enterprises.
This shows just how devilishly clumsy and unwieldy we are, how deeply entrenched our inertia remains—and how many more setbacks we are bound to endure, for which we will inevitably be held accountable. But still, I repeat, we have made a start; we have conducted our reconnaissance. Capitalists would not come to us if the most basic conditions for their operations were not in place. Yet even if only a tiny fraction of them have ventured forth, that alone proves that we have achieved a partial victory.
Of course, within these very enterprises they will continue to undermine us, to undermine us so thoroughly that we will spend years untangling the mess they leave behind. But that is no matter. I am not claiming that this constitutes a victory—it is merely reconnaissance, revealing that we already have a field of action, a piece of ground, and that we can now begin to halt our retreat.
Reconnaissance has revealed a paltry number of agreements with capitalists—but still, these agreements have been concluded. This is where we must learn and move forward. In this sense, it is time to stop fretting, shouting, and flailing about. Notes pile up upon notes, telegrams follow telegram after telegram: “Can’t we also reorganize ourselves, since we have the NEP?” Everyone is bustling about, creating nothing but chaos; no one actually gets down to practical work, while everyone merely debates how best to adapt to the NEP—and in the end, no real results emerge.
And the merchants laugh at the communists, probably muttering, “Back in the day, we had the ‘chief negotiators’—now we have the ‘chief talkers.’” The fact that capitalists have mocked us, that we were late, that we missed our chance— there is not the slightest doubt about this—and in this sense, I say that we must, on behalf of the Congress, adopt this directive.
The retreat is over. The principal methods of working with capitalists have been mapped out. There are examples—even if only in small numbers.
Stop pontificating and theorizing about the NEP; let the poets write their verses—after all, that is what poets are for. But economists, do not theorize about the NEP; instead, increase the number of these enterprises, and rigorously assess the ranks of communists who are capable of competing with capitalists.
The retreat is over; the task now is to regroup our forces. Here is the directive that the Congress must issue—a directive that should put an end to the clamor and confusion. Calm down; stop trying to outsmart everyone—such efforts will only count against you. In practice, you must prove that you work no worse than the capitalists. While capitalists forge economic ties with the peasantry in order to enrich themselves, you must forge ties with the peasant economy in order to strengthen the economic power of our proletarian state. You have the advantage over capitalists because state power lies in your hands, because you control a whole array of economic levers—but you simply do not yet know how to wield them effectively. Look at things more soberly, cast off the glittering trappings, the solemn communist garb, and simply learn the basics—then we shall defeat the private capitalist. We possess state power; we command a wealth of economic resources; if we can overcome capitalism and forge strong bonds with the peasant economy, we will become an utterly invincible force. Then the construction of socialism will no longer be the work of a drop in the ocean called the Communist Party, but of the entire working class; then the ordinary peasant will see: “They are helping me”—and he will follow us with such resolve that, though his steps may be a hundred times slower, they will be a million times more steadfast and enduring.
It is in this sense that we must speak of halting the retreat—and it would be fitting, in one form or another, to turn this slogan into a resolution of the Congress.

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In this connection, I would like to address the question: What, in fact, is the Bolsheviks’ New Economic Policy—evolution or mere tactics? This is how the “Change-of-Period” faction posed the question—a current that, as you know, took root in émigré Russia, a socio-political movement headed by some of the most prominent Kadet leaders, including several former ministers of the Kolchak government—men who had come to believe that the Soviet power was in the process of building a Russian state and that, therefore, they ought to follow it. “But what kind of state is this Soviet power building? The Communists claim it is a communist state, insisting that this is merely a tactical maneuver: the Bolsheviks will outmaneuver private capitalists in times of hardship, and then, so the story goes, they will simply reclaim what is rightfully theirs. The Bolsheviks may say whatever they like, but in reality this is not tactics—it is evolution, an internal transformation; they will eventually arrive at a conventional bourgeois state, and we must support them. History takes many different paths,” the Change-of-Period thinkers reasoned.
Some among them pretend to be Communists, but there are also those who are more forthright—in particular, Ustryalov. It seems he once served as a minister under Kolchak. He disagrees with his comrades and declares: “As for your talk of communism, go ahead—if you wish—but I maintain that this is not tactics for them; it is evolution.” I believe that Ustryalov’s candid declaration does us great service. We hear far too much—especially in my official capacity—of sweetly packaged Communist lies, “Communist propaganda,” day after day, and sometimes the sheer volume of such falsehoods becomes almost unbearably oppressive. And then, instead of this “Communist propaganda,” comes the journal “Smena Vekh” and speaks plainly: “What you’re seeing is nothing of the sort—it’s all in your imagination; in truth, you are sliding back into the ordinary bourgeois swamp, where communist banners will soon be fluttering alongside all manner of empty slogans.” This is highly beneficial, because here we are no longer confronted with a mere rehash of what we hear constantly around us, but rather with the class-based truth laid bare by the class enemy itself. It is immensely useful to encounter such a perspective—not because it is customary in a Communist state to write in this way, or because writing otherwise would be forbidden, but because this is, in fact, the class-based truth, bluntly and openly articulated by the very class enemy. “I am in favor of supporting Soviet power in Russia,” Ustryalov says—even though he was once a Kadet, a bourgeois, and a staunch supporter of intervention—“I am in favor of supporting Soviet power, because it has embarked on a path that leads straight toward the restoration of ordinary bourgeois rule.”
This is a profoundly useful insight—and one that, I believe, we must bear in mind. It is far better for us when the Change-of-Period thinkers write in this way than when some of them merely masquerade as Communists, so that from afar, one might hardly distinguish between them—perhaps he believes in God, perhaps he believes in the Communist revolution. To be frank, such open adversaries are indeed valuable. The kinds of insights Ustryalov articulates are, quite frankly, entirely possible. History has seen countless transformations of every sort; to rely solely on conviction, loyalty, and other lofty moral qualities is, in politics, anything but a serious approach. Noble moral qualities may be possessed by only a small number of individuals—but it is the vast masses that ultimately determine the course of history. And if a small number of people fail to align themselves with these masses, then sometimes those few are treated with less than due respect.
There have been countless examples of this, which is why we should welcome the Change-of-Period thinkers’ candid pronouncements. The enemy speaks the truth of class, pointing to the very danger that looms before us. The enemy strives to make this danger inevitable. The Change-of-Period thinkers express the sentiments of thousands upon thousands of various bourgeois figures and Soviet functionaries—those who are participating in our New Economic Policy. This is the fundamental, the real danger. And so we must focus our attention squarely on this question: Who, in the end, will prevail? I have spoken of competition—but there is no direct assault upon us; no one is choking us by the throat. What tomorrow will bring remains to be seen, but today, no armed forces are bearing down upon us. And yet the struggle against capitalist society has grown a hundredfold more fierce and more perilous— XI CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
for we do not always clearly discern where our enemy lies, nor who our friend truly is.
I have spoken of Communist competition not from the standpoint of Communist sympathy, but from the perspective of the development of economic forms and social structures. This is not competition—it is a desperate, frenzied struggle, if not the final battle, then certainly one that is close to being so—a fight to the death between capitalism and communism.
Here, we must ask the question clearly: Wherein lies our strength, and what is lacking? Political power is more than sufficient. Hardly anyone here could point to any practical issue, any business institution, where the Communists—or the Communist Party—lack adequate authority. There are those who think about this all the time, but they are people who look back in hopeless resignation, failing to grasp that we must look forward. The primary economic strength is firmly in our hands. All the major, decisive enterprises—railroads, factories, and the like—are all under our control. Rent, however widely it may be practiced in certain regions, plays a negligible role overall; in essence, it constitutes an utterly insignificant share of our economic resources. The economic power vested in the proletarian state of Russia is more than ample to ensure the transition to communism. So what is still lacking? Clearly, what is lacking is cultural refinement among the layer of Communists who wield power. But take Moscow—4,700 responsible Communist officials—and consider this bureaucratic behemoth, this towering mass of bureaucracy: who is leading whom? I very much doubt that one could say the Communists are leading this mass. To tell the truth, it is not they who lead—but rather, they are led. Here, something akin to what we were taught in history classes as children has come to pass: we were told that sometimes one people conquers another, and then the conqueror becomes the conqueror, while the conquered becomes the vanquished. That is simple enough, and universally understood. But what happens to the culture of these peoples? It is not so simple. If the conquering people are more cultured than the conquered people, then… dialectics
He imposes his own culture upon it; but if the situation is reversed, it often happens that the vanquished impose their own culture upon the victor. Did something similar not occur in the capital of the RSFSR? And might it not be the case here that 4,700 communists—almost an entire division, and all among the very best—found themselves subordinated to a foreign culture? To be sure, one might at first be led to believe that the vanquished possess a high level of cultural sophistication. But nothing could be further from the truth. Their culture is meager, paltry—even so, it is nonetheless greater than our own. However pitiful or insignificant it may be, it is still more substantial than that of our leading communist officials, for these comrades lack the requisite skill in governance. When communists assume leadership positions in state institutions—and sometimes, deliberately, they are placed in such posts by skilled saboteurs seeking merely to secure a façade, a veneer of legitimacy—they are all too often taken in, deceived. This admission is deeply unpleasant. Or, at the very least, far from pleasant—but I believe it must be made, for this is precisely where the crux of the matter lies today. In my view, this is the political lesson of the past year, and under this banner the struggles of 1922 will unfold.
Will the responsible communist leaders of the RSFSR and of the RCP come to understand that they do not know how to govern? That they imagine they are leading, when in fact they are being led? If they can come to this realization, then of course they will learn—learning is always possible—but to learn, one must first learn, and in our country, people are not learning. All around us, orders and decrees are issued left and right, yet the results are seldom what anyone had hoped for.
The competition and contest we have placed at the forefront of our agenda with the proclamation of the New Economic Policy is, in essence, a serious contest. It would seem that such contests take place in every state institution; in reality, however, they represent yet another form of struggle between two classes irreconcilably hostile to one another. This is yet another manifestation of the struggle between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat—a struggle that has not yet been brought to a close, and which, even within Moscow’s central institutions, has not yet been transcended on a cultural level. For time and again, bourgeois figures know the business better than our finest communists, who hold all power and all the means at their disposal.

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and unable to take a single step with their rights or their authority.
I would like to quote a passage from a pamphlet by Alexander Todorovsky.59 The pamphlet was published in Vesyegonsk—a small district town in Tver Governorate—and appeared on the first anniversary of the Soviet Revolution in Russia, November 7, 1918—long, long ago. This comrade from Vesyegonsk appears to have been a party member. I read this book some time ago and cannot guarantee that I am entirely free from error in this regard. He recounts how he set about equipping two Soviet factories, how he recruited two bourgeois entrepreneurs and did so in accordance with the practices of the time: under threat of imprisonment and confiscation of all property. These men were brought in to help rebuild the factories. We know how, in 1918, the bourgeoisie was “recruited” (with a laugh)—so there is no need to dwell on that detail; today we recruit them by other means. But here is his conclusion: “That’s only half the battle—simply defeating the bourgeoisie, crushing it, is not enough; we must also compel it to work for us.”
These are remarkable words. Remarkable words that reveal that even in the town of Vesyegonsk, even in 1918, there existed a correct understanding of the relationship between the victorious proletariat and the defeated bourgeoisie.
It is only half the battle if we strike the exploiters hard, neutralize them, and bring them to ruin. Yet in Moscow, roughly 90 out of every 100 responsible workers imagine that this is the whole task—that the key lies in crushing the enemy, neutralizing them, striking hard at their hands. What I have said about the Mensheviks, the Socialist-Revolutionaries, the White Guards—it often comes down to neutralizing, striking hard at the hands (and perhaps not just the hands, perhaps at some other vulnerable spot) and bringing the enemy to ruin. But that is only half the battle. Even in 1918, when this insight was first voiced by the comrade from Vesyegonsk, it was only half the battle; today, it is less than a quarter of the task. We must ensure that their hands work for us—not that responsible communists stand at the helm, bear titles and ranks, while drifting along with the bourgeoisie. This, in essence, is the whole point.

To build a communist society through the hands of communists is a childish, utterly childish idea. Communists are but a drop in the ocean—a drop in the vast sea of the people. They can only lead the people along their own path if they correctly discern that path—not only in terms of its broad, world-historical direction. In this respect, we have charted our course absolutely rightly, and every nation offers proof that we have chosen the right path. And in our own homeland, in our own country, we must likewise chart that path aright. It is defined not only by this—but also by the absence of intervention, by our ability to offer the peasant goods in exchange for grain. The peasant will say, “You are a fine man—you defended our homeland; we listened to you for that reason—but if you do not know how to manage affairs, then get thee gone.” Yes, the peasant will say this.
We can manage the economy—if communists are able to build that economy through the hands of others, while themselves learning from the bourgeoisie and guiding it along the path they wish to follow. But if a communist imagines, “Why, I know everything—I’m a responsible communist; I’ve defeated men far more lowly than some clerk; we fought on the front lines—surely we’ve faced tougher foes than these”—then it is precisely this prevailing mindset that cuts us to the quick.
This is the least important part of the task—if we neutralize the exploiter, strike hard at their hands, and clip their wings. This must be done. Our State Political Administration and our courts must no longer proceed as sluggishly as they have heretofore; instead, they must remember that they are proletarian courts, surrounded by enemies from all corners of the globe. This is not difficult—we have largely already learned how to do it. A certain degree of pressure must be applied here, but it is easily accomplished.
The second half of victory lies in building communism through non-communist hands—to be able to put into practice what economic necessity demands—namely, to forge connections with the peasant economy, to satisfy the peasants so that the peasant says, “However hard it may be, however heavy the burden, however agonizing the hunger—I see that the authorities, though unfamiliar, though unaccustomed…”

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a tea party—but from it emerges practical, genuinely tangible benefits.” We must ensure that those numerous elements, far surpassing us in number and influence, with whom we collaborate, operate in such a way that we are able to observe their work, to understand that work, and to see that through their efforts something truly beneficial for communism is accomplished. This is the crux of our current situation: while individual communists may have grasped this idea and recognized its importance, within the broad ranks of our Party there remains a profound lack of awareness regarding the imperative need to engage non‑Party members in our work. How many circulars have been issued on this topic? How many speeches have been delivered? And yet, in the span of a single year, what has actually been done? Nothing. Out of the hundred committees within our Party, not even five can point to any concrete, measurable results. This is how far we have fallen behind the pressing demands of the present—and how deeply we remain mired in the traditions of 1918 and 1919. Those were great years, years marked by the most momentous undertaking in world history. But if we look back at those years without recognizing the tasks now before us, then that would be nothing less than ruin—certain, absolute ruin—and the whole point is that we simply refuse to acknowledge this reality.
I would now like to offer two practical examples illustrating how our administrative practices are faring. As I mentioned earlier, it would have been more appropriate to take one of the state trusts as our case study. I must apologize for not being able to employ this sound approach, since doing so would require a thoroughly detailed examination of the records pertaining to at least one state trust—but unfortunately, I was never afforded the opportunity to conduct such an investigation. Instead, I will present two small examples. The first example: MPO 60 accused the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Trade of bureaucratic inefficiency; the second comes from the Donbas region.
The first example is somewhat unsuitable, but I have no better alternative at hand. Still, I can use this instance to illustrate the central point. As you know from the newspapers, in recent months I have been unable to engage directly with matters of state; I have not worked in the Sovnarkom, nor have I held a seat on the Central Committee. During my brief, occasional visits to Moscow, I was struck by the desperate, harrowing complaints directed at the Foreign Trade Commissariat.
I have never for a single moment doubted that the Foreign Trade Commissariat was inefficient, that red tape and delays were rampant there. But when the complaints grew especially fervent, I decided to investigate further: to take a specific case, to dig down to the very roots of the problem, to uncover exactly how things were unfolding—and why this machine was not functioning as it should.
MPO needed to purchase canned goods. A French citizen appeared on the scene to make the sale. I do not know whether he acted in the interests of international politics, with the tacit approval of the leaders of the Entente, or whether his actions were part of a broader campaign orchestrated by Poincaré and other adversaries of Soviet power (I am confident that our historians will shed light on this matter after the Genoa Conference). What is certain is that the French bourgeoisie participated—not only in theory, but in practice as well: a representative of French capital found himself in Moscow, offering canned meats for sale. Moscow is starving; in the coming summer, the hunger will grow even more acute. No meat has been delivered—and judging by the known shortcomings of our People’s Commissariat for Railways, it is highly unlikely that any will be delivered anytime soon.
Canned meats are being sold—with Soviet currency, of course—though whether they are still fit for consumption depends entirely on the outcome of future investigations. What could be simpler? Yet, when one approaches the matter in a truly Soviet manner, it becomes anything but straightforward. I did not have the opportunity to follow the case closely myself; instead, I initiated an inquiry and now possess a notebook detailing the unfolding of this famous episode. It all began on February 11th, when, upon a report from Comrade Kamenev, the Politburo of the Central Committee of the RCP adopted a resolution emphasizing the desirability of procuring foodstuffs abroad. Of course, how could Russian citizens possibly resolve such a question without the guidance of the Politburo of the Central Committee of the RCP? Imagine: how could 4,700 responsible workers—according to the 1961 census alone—possibly address the issue of importing foodstuffs from overseas without the oversight of the Politburo? Such a notion is, quite frankly, beyond comprehension. Comrade Kamenev, clearly, had a deep understanding of both our political realities and the practicalities of governance; he therefore did not place excessive faith in the vast ranks of responsible officials. Instead, he took decisive action: rather than relying on the collective wisdom of the entire body, XI CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
he turned his attention to the Politburo itself—and promptly secured, without any recorded debate on the matter, a resolution stating: “Direct the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Trade to consider the feasibility of importing foodstuffs from abroad, taking into account tariff considerations,” and so forth. The People’s Commissariat for Foreign Trade was duly instructed. The process began to move forward. This occurred on February 11th. I recall that I was in Moscow toward the very end of February—or perhaps around that time—and what immediately caught my eye were the cries, the outright, desperate cries of my comrades in Moscow. What was the problem? We simply could not procure enough food. Why? Because of the endless delays at the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Trade. I had long been absent from day‑to‑day affairs and was unaware at the time that the Politburo had already passed a resolution on this matter. All I did was instruct the Head of Administrative Affairs: “Follow up on this, obtain the relevant documents, and bring them to my attention.” In the end, when Krassin arrived, Kamenev spoke with him, the matter was resolved, and we successfully purchased the canned goods. After all, any endeavor that ends well is a good endeavor.
I have no doubt whatsoever that Kamenev and Krassin are capable of reaching agreements and of correctly defining the political line dictated by the Politburo of the Central Committee of the RCP. If political decisions—especially in commercial matters—were left to Kamenev and Krassin alone, we might well have the finest Soviet republic in the world. But it is impossible to drag the members of the Politburo—Kamenev and Krassin—into every single transaction. Krassin, in particular, was preoccupied with diplomatic duties ahead of the Genoa Conference, with tasks demanding frantic, superhuman effort—and yet we insist on bringing these comrades along just to purchase canned goods from a French citizen. This is not how we ought to work. This is neither new policy, nor economic strategy, nor even genuine political maneuvering—it is, quite simply, a mockery. I now have a full record of this case. Indeed, I have two separate investigations: one conducted by Gorbo-nov, Head of Administrative Affairs at the Sovnarkom, together with his assistant Miroshnikov; the other carried out by the State Political Administration. To be honest, I do not know why the State Political Administration became involved in this case—I am not entirely sure that this approach was the right one—but I will not dwell on that here, for fear that we might find ourselves needing yet another investigation. What matters is that… dialectics
The material has been gathered, and I now have it in my hands.
How did it come to pass that, when I arrived in Moscow at the end of February, I found myself confronted with a genuine outcry—“We can’t buy canned goods”—even though the steamer was lying in Libau, the canned goods were there, and Soviet currency was even being accepted for genuine canned goods? (Laughter.) If those canned goods do not turn out to be utterly rotten—and I emphasize “if,” because I am not entirely certain that I will not draw a second conclusion from this matter, though we will have to report on its outcome at another congress—if, then, the canned goods are not rotten, they have been purchased. So I ask: what is the problem that such a matter could not move forward without Kamenev and Krasin? From the evidence at my disposal, I see that one responsible Communist sent another responsible Communist packing. From the same evidence, I also see that one responsible Communist told another responsible Communist: “I will no longer speak with you unless a notary is present.” Reading this story, I was reminded of how, twenty-five years ago, when I was in Siberia in exile, I often found myself acting as a lawyer. I was an underground lawyer, since I was under administrative exile—a practice that was strictly forbidden—but since there were no others available, people came to me and recounted their various cases. The hardest part, however, was understanding what the real issue was. A woman would come to me, and she would naturally begin by talking about her relatives; yet it was incredibly difficult to get to the heart of the matter. I would say, “Bring me a copy.” She would start talking about a white cow. When I told her, “Bring me a copy,” she would leave and reply, “She won’t listen without a copy about the white cow.” That’s how we used to joke within our colony about this “copy.” But I did manage to achieve a small measure of progress: when people came to me, they brought a copy, and we could finally figure out what was going on—why they were complaining, what was troubling them. This was twenty-five years ago in Siberia, in a place that lay hundreds of versts away from the nearest railway station.
And why, after three years of revolution in the capital city of the Soviet Republic, did it take two investigations, the intervention of Kamenev and Krasin, and directives

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to purchase canned goods? What was lacking? Political power? No. Money had been secured—so both economic and political power were in place. All institutions were functioning as they should. What was missing?—The cultural sophistication of 99 percent of the employees of the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Trade, against whom I have nothing but respect and who are, in my view, outstanding Communists—and the workers of the Foreign Trade Department themselves: they simply lacked the cultural capacity to approach matters with due care and precision.
When I first heard about this, I drafted a written proposal to the Central Committee—my suggestion was that all officials from Moscow’s state institutions, except for members of the VTsIK—who, as you know, enjoy immunity—except for the members of the VTsIK—should be locked up in Moscow’s worst prison for six hours, while the staff of the Foreign Trade Department should be detained for thirty-six hours.* Now it turns out that no culprit has been found. (Laughter.) In fact, from what I’ve described, it’s perfectly clear that no culprit will ever be found. It’s simply the usual Russian intellectual inability to put theory into practice—mere blundering and careless handling of affairs. First they plunge in, make a mess, then think things over—and when things don’t work out, they run to Kamenev to complain, dragging him into the Politburo. Of course, the Politburo is where one must bring all the most difficult questions of state policy—about which I will have more to say later—but before acting, one must first think carefully, then act. If you’re going to speak out, make sure you back your words with documents. First send a telegram—there are still telephones in Moscow; send a telex to the relevant agencies, provide a copy to Tsurupa, and say: “I consider this transaction urgent, and I will prosecute anyone who delays it.” We need to reflect on this basic level of cultural competence: approach matters thoughtfully; if a problem cannot be resolved immediately—within just two minutes, over a phone call—take the documents, surround yourself with them, and say: “If you drag your feet, I’ll lock you up in jail.” Yet there was not the slightest bit of careful deliberation, no preparation whatsoever—just frantic activity, several commissions, everyone exhausted, worn out, ill—and yet the matter could have been moved forward only when Kamenev could be paired with Krasin. This case is typical—not only in the capital city,

* See Collected Works, 5th ed., vol. 44, p. 429. Ed.

but it is also observed in other capitals, in the capitals of all independent republics and individual regions—and even in non-capital cities, such matters are constantly occurring, and sometimes even far worse.
In our struggle, we must remember that Communists need to approach matters with thoughtfulness. They can tell you brilliantly about revolutionary struggles and about the state of the revolutionary movement around the world. But when it comes to emerging from desperate need and abject poverty, they lack the ability to think carefully, to be cultured, to act with integrity—skills they simply do not possess. To accuse responsible Communists of approaching their duties dishonestly would be fundamentally misguided. The vast majority of them—99 percent—are not merely conscientious individuals; they have proven their unwavering devotion to the revolution under the most trying conditions, both before the fall of the Tsarist regime and after the revolution itself, literally sacrificing their lives. To look for the root cause of these failures in their character would be utterly wrong. What is needed is a culturally informed approach to even the simplest state affairs; we must understand that this is a matter of state, a matter of commerce—and if obstacles arise, we must know how to remove them and hold those responsible for delays accountable in court. We have a proletarian tribunal in Moscow, and it should bring to justice those who bear responsibility for the fact that tens of thousands of poods of canned goods remain unbought. I believe the proletarian tribunal is capable of meting out punishment—and to punish effectively, we must first identify the guilty parties. But I assure you: it is impossible to find the guilty—each of you should examine this case for yourselves: there are no guilty parties, only confusion, chaos, and sheer nonsense. No one knows how to approach a task properly; no one understands that state affairs must be handled not in one way, but in another. And it is precisely this that the White Guard and the saboteurs exploit. We once lived through a period of furious struggle against saboteurs—and that struggle remains on the agenda today; of course, it is right to combat saboteurs and to fight them relentlessly. But how can we truly combat them when the situation is as I have described? Such behavior is more harmful than any act of sabotage: the saboteur needs nothing more than to witness two Communists quarreling among themselves over the question of when to turn to the Politburo for assistance in obtaining…

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a fundamental directive for food procurement—and to squeeze through that narrow gap. If even a moderately astute saboteur positions himself near one or another Communist, or takes turns standing by both of them and offers his support—then it’s over. The cause is lost forever. Who is to blame? No one. For two responsible, deeply committed revolutionaries are locked in a dispute over last year’s snowfall, arguing over the precise moment when they should bring the issue before the Politburo in order to secure a principled directive for food procurement.
This is how the question stands—and this is where the real difficulty lies. Any clerk who has been trained in the crucible of a major capitalist enterprise knows how to handle such matters; yet 99 percent of our responsible Communists neither know how nor care to understand that they lack this skill—and that they must begin their education from the very basics. Unless we grasp this truth and return to the drawing board, starting once again with the preparatory class, we will never succeed in solving the economic problem that now lies at the heart of all our political endeavors.
Let me offer another example: the Donbas. As you know, this region is the very center—indeed, the true foundation—of our entire economy. There can be no talk of restoring large-scale industry in Russia, nor of truly building socialism, for socialism cannot be constructed except through large-scale industry. If we fail to restore the Donbas and raise it to the proper level, then our efforts will come to naught. The Central Committee has been closely monitoring developments in this region.
In this area, there was no arbitrary, laughable, absurd transfer of petty issues to the Politburo; rather, what was at stake was a matter of genuine, pressing urgency.
The Central Committee ought to ensure that in these truly vital centers—these pillars and foundations of our entire economy—work is carried out effectively and efficiently. At the head of the CPCP—the Central Administration of the Coal Industry—stood not only individuals who were undoubtedly devoted to the cause, but men of great learning and immense capacity; indeed, I would not be far off the mark if I said they were men of talent—and thus the Central Committee’s attention was rightly focused on this region. Ukraine— an independent republic—this is all well and good—but from a party perspective, it sometimes adopts—how shall I put it more politely?—a somewhat cautious approach. We will have to find a way to reach out to them, for the people there are shrewd, and while I would not go so far as to say that the Central Committee is being deceived, it does tend to drift away from us, just a bit. To gain a clearer understanding of the situation, we examined matters within the local Central Committee and observed the tensions and disagreements that had arisen. There was Kimka—the Commission for the Utilization of Small Mines. Of course, there were intense frictions between Kimka and the CPCP. Yet the Central Committee had already gained some experience in these matters and unanimously decided not to remove the leading cadres—but rather, to report any disputes to us, even down to the smallest detail. For when we have in a given region not only dedicated individuals, but also capable ones, we must strive to support them, helping them to further their education—if, indeed, they have not yet fully mastered their craft. In the end, a Party Congress was held in Ukraine—I do not know what transpired there; all manner of things occurred. I consulted with our Ukrainian comrades, and I specifically asked Comrade Ordzhonikidze to investigate, while the Central Committee itself assigned someone to travel there and see for themselves what had taken place. It seems that intrigue and utter chaos reigned there, and even after ten years, the Institute of History might still struggle to make sense of it all. But in fact, despite the Central Committee’s unanimous directives, this group was replaced by another. What had gone wrong? Primarily, despite all their high qualities, a portion of this group made a notable mistake. They found themselves in the position of those who had “re-administered” 62. There, we are dealing with workers—though when people speak of “workers,” they often assume that these are factory and plant proletarians. That is far from the truth. Ever since the war, the people who flocked to factories and plants were not proletarians at all; many came seeking refuge from the conflict. And today, are our social and economic conditions really such that genuine proletarians are drawn to factories and plants? That is not the case. Marx was right in theory—but Marx was writing not about Russia, but about capitalism as a whole, beginning in the fifteenth century. Over six hundred years, that analysis holds true; but for present-day Russia, it is simply inaccurate. Almost entirely

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the workers who come to the factories are not proletarians at all—they are every kind of casual element.
To manage work properly, ensuring that progress is not hindered, that emerging frictions are resolved in a timely manner, and that administration remains firmly linked to politics—that is the task at hand. For our political strategy and administrative practices hinge on keeping the entire vanguard closely connected with the broad proletarian masses and with the rural peasantry. Should anyone forget these essential cogs in the machine—or become overly absorbed in administration alone—trouble will ensue. The error committed by the workers of the Donbas may seem trivial compared to our other mistakes, but it serves as a telling example: the Central Committee had issued a unanimous directive—“Leave this group in place; let us even welcome minor conflicts into the Central Committee, for the Donbas is no ordinary region—it is a region without which socialist construction will remain nothing more than a pious wish.” Yet our entire political authority—and the Central Committee’s own prestige—proved insufficient to prevail.
Of course, this time the error lay in administration; beyond that, there were countless other missteps as well.
Here is an example illustrating that the crux of the matter does not lie in political power, but in the ability to govern—to assign personnel appropriately, to avoid petty clashes, and to ensure that state economic affairs proceed without interruption. This is precisely what we lack—and therein lies our failure.
I believe that when we speak of our revolution and weigh the fate of that revolution, we must rigorously distinguish between those revolutionary tasks that have been fully accomplished and that have entered history as something utterly inseparable from the great global historical turning point away from capitalism. Such achievements lie behind our revolution. Certainly, the Mensheviks and Otto Bauer—representative of the Second and a Half International—may cry out, “They’ve merely carried out a bourgeois revolution!” But we insist that our task is to carry the bourgeois revolution to its logical conclusion. As one White Guard publication put it: “For four hundred years, our state institutions have been accumulating filth and refuse”; and we… dialectics has cleared away this manure in the span of four years—this is our greatest achievement. But what, then, have the Mensheviks and Socialist-Revolutionaries accomplished? Nothing at all. Not only here in Russia, but even in advanced, enlightened Germany—there, too, they are unable to remove a single scrap of medieval filth. And yet they dare to hold our greatest achievement against us as a reproach. Bringing the revolution to its ultimate conclusion is an integral part of our legacy.
Now, the scent of war hangs heavy in the air. Workers’ unions—such as the reformist unions—pass resolutions against war and threaten strikes in protest of war. Not long ago, if I recall correctly, I read a newspaper dispatch reporting that in the French Chamber of Deputies, a distinguished communist delivered a speech against war, pointing out that workers would choose rebellion over war 63. We can no longer pose the question as we did in 1912, when the Basel Manifesto 64 was being published. Only the Russian Revolution demonstrated how one might emerge from war—and how arduous that task truly is; it showed what it means to break free from a reactionary war through revolutionary means. Reactionary imperialist wars are inevitable across the globe. Humanity cannot—and will not—forget that tens of millions were slaughtered then, and that more will be slaughtered still, as we grapple with questions of this nature. After all, we live in the twentieth century, and the only people who emerged from a reactionary war not by serving the interests of one government or another, but by overthrowing them altogether—those were the Russian people, led forth by the Russian Revolution. And what the Russian Revolution has won is irrevocable. No force in the world can take it back—not any more than no force can undo the fact that the Soviet state was established. This is a victory of world-historical significance. For hundreds of years, states had been organized along bourgeois lines; for the first time, a form of state distinct from the bourgeois model was discovered. Our apparatus may be flawed—but just as the very first steam engine, though crude in design, was nonetheless a breakthrough, and though we do not even know whether it actually worked, that does not matter. What matters is that the invention was made. Let the first steam engine have been imperfect in form, but today we have the locomotive. Let our state apparatus— The Eleventh Congress of the RCP(b)
be far from perfect—but it has been created nonetheless; the greatest historical invention has been brought to fruition, and a state of proletarian type has been established—and so let all of Europe, let thousands of bourgeois newspapers trumpet the horrors and poverty that supposedly plague our land, let them proclaim that the working people endure nothing but suffering—still, throughout the world, workers everywhere gravitate toward the Soviet state. These are the great achievements we have attained, and they are indelible. Yet for us, the representatives of the Communist Party, these achievements merely open the door. Our task now is to lay the foundations of a socialist economy. Have we done that? No, we have not. We do not yet possess a socialist foundation. Those communists who imagine that we do are making a grave error. The crux of the matter lies in clearly, distinctly, and soberly distinguishing what constitutes the world-historical achievement of the Russian Revolution from what we are executing with utter carelessness, from what remains unfinished, and from what must be redone again and again.
Political events are always deeply intricate and complex. One might compare them to a chain: to hold the entire chain together, one must grasp the master link. It is impossible to artificially select the link you wish to cling to. In 1917, what was the crux of the matter? It was the end of the war—a demand shared by the entire people, and one that encompassed everything. Revolutionary Russia achieved an exit from the war. Great efforts were required, but in doing so, the people’s fundamental need was met—and this gave us victory for many years to come. The people felt it; the peasants saw it; every soldier returning from the front understood perfectly well that, in the Soviet power, he was receiving a government that was more democratic, more closely aligned with the working masses. No matter how many foolish mistakes or outrageous blunders we might make in other areas—if we could only address this central task, then everything else was rightly done.
In 1919 and 1920, what was the crux of the matter? Military defense. The mighty Entente loomed over us, choking us with its overwhelming power—and there was no need for propaganda: any non-party peasant understood what was at stake.

The landowner advances. Communists know how to confront him. That is why, by and large, the peasantry sided with the communists—and that is why we emerged victorious.
In 1921, the crux of the matter was orderly retreat. That is why strict discipline was essential. The “Workers’ Opposition” argued: “You underestimate the workers; workers must show greater initiative.” But true initiative consists in retreating in an orderly fashion while maintaining ironclad discipline. Anyone who introduces even the slightest note of panic or breaches discipline risks destroying the revolution—for nothing is more difficult than leading people in retreat, especially when those people are accustomed to conquest, steeped in revolutionary ideals and aspirations, and in their hearts regard any retreat as little short of a disgrace. The greatest danger lies in failing to maintain order; the greatest task is to preserve order.
So what is the crux of the matter now? As I have sought to bring my report to a close and draw together its themes—I would like to emphasize that the crux of the matter does not lie in politics, in the sense of shifting directions; countless discussions have arisen around the NEP. All of this talk is futile—it is nothing but harmful chatter. With the NEP, we find ourselves preoccupied with tinkering, with reorganizing institutions, with founding new ones. This is nothing but idle chatter. We have come to realize that the crux of the situation lies in the people themselves—in the selection of personnel. This is hard for a revolutionary to accept, one who has grown accustomed to fighting against petty concerns, against cultural trivialities. Yet we have reached a point where, in political terms, we must assess the situation with clearheaded objectivity—we have advanced so far that we can no longer—and should no longer—hold onto every position.
Internationally speaking, our position has improved in staggering ways over the past few years. We have secured the Soviet form of state—a step forward for all humanity—and the Comintern confirms this to us daily, drawing on reports from every corner of the globe. There is not the slightest shadow of doubt in anyone’s mind. But in practical terms, the reality is this: if communists fail to…

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If we fail to provide practical assistance to the peasant masses, they will not support us. The focus should not be on legislating, on issuing the finest decrees, and so forth. There was a period in our history when decrees served as a form of propaganda. We were mocked; people said that the Bolsheviks did not understand that their decrees went unimplemented—indeed, the entire White Guard press was filled with ridicule on this score. Yet that phase was entirely legitimate: when the Bolsheviks seized power, they told the ordinary peasant, the ordinary worker, “Here is how we would like the state to be governed; here is the decree—why don’t you give it a try?” To the simple worker and the simple peasant, we presented our political vision immediately, in the form of decrees. As a result, we won—and continue to enjoy—the immense trust we had, and still have, among the popular masses. That was a time, a phase, that was absolutely necessary at the dawn of the revolution; without it, we would never have risen to the head of the revolutionary tide—we would have been left trailing far behind. Without it, we would never have earned the trust of all those workers and peasants who sought to build a new life on fresh foundations. But that phase has passed—and yet we refuse to acknowledge it. Today, when we prescribe that some institution be built or remodeled, the peasants and workers will only laugh. The ordinary worker and peasant will no longer take an interest in such matters—and rightly so, for the crux of the matter does not lie there. You, a communist, must no longer approach the people with such concerns. Although those of us who sit in state institutions are always burdened with countless petty details, it is not these trivialities that we ought to address; the real issue is not in these small tasks—but rather in the fact that people are placed in positions where they do not belong. A responsible communist, who has carried out the entire revolution with outstanding success, may be assigned to a commercial or industrial enterprise in which he understands nothing and, worse still, obstructs the ability to see the truth, for behind him, shrewd speculators and fraudsters are expertly concealed. The fundamental problem is that we lack any practical means of verifying what has actually been accomplished. This is a prosaic, minor task—mere trifles, in fact—but we live in the aftermath of the greatest political upheaval, under conditions in which we must, for a time, exist within the framework of a capitalist order. The crux of the entire situation— the crux of the matter does not lie in politics in the narrow sense of the word (what appears in the newspapers is little more than political chatter; there is nothing socialist about it); the crux of the matter does not lie in resolutions, in institutions, or in reorganization. While these are undoubtedly necessary, we will carry them out—but let us not impose them upon the people; instead, let us carefully select the right individuals and rigorously monitor their practical implementation—and it is the people who will truly appreciate this effort.
In the mass of the people, we remain but a drop in the ocean, and we can only lead effectively when we accurately articulate what the people themselves truly perceive. Without this, the Communist Party will not be able to lead the proletariat, and the proletariat will not be able to rally the masses behind it—and the entire machinery will come crashing down. At present, the people and all working masses see their primary concern as providing practical relief from dire need and famine, and as demonstrating that genuine improvement is taking place—a change that the peasant needs, a change that feels familiar to him. The peasant knows the market; he knows trade. We were unable to introduce direct communist distribution, for we lacked both the factories and the equipment needed to make it possible. Thus, we had to rely on trade—but we had to deliver goods no less efficiently than the capitalist could, otherwise the people simply could not endure such a system of governance. This, then, is the true crux of the situation. And barring any unforeseen developments, this must become the cornerstone of all our work in 1922, provided three conditions are met.
First, we must ensure that no intervention occurs. We are doing everything in our power through diplomacy to avert it; nevertheless, intervention remains a constant threat, looming ever closer each day. We must indeed remain vigilant, and in defense of the Red Army, we must be prepared to bear certain heavy sacrifices—though of course, we must carefully limit the scale of those sacrifices. Before us lies the entire world of the bourgeoisie, which seeks only to find new ways to strangle us. Our Mensheviks and Socialist-Revolutionaries are nothing more than agents of that very same bourgeoisie—such is their political position.
The second condition is that the financial crisis must not grow too severe. It is already approaching—and you will hear more about it when we discuss financial policy. Should the crisis prove too intense and burdensome, we will once again be forced to…

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to reorganize and to devote all our energies to a single task. If it is not overly burdensome, it may even prove beneficial: it will purge the communists from various state trusts. We simply must not forget to carry this out. The financial crisis is shaking up institutions and enterprises, and the unfit among them are the first to collapse. We need only remember not to blame everything on the specialists, while insisting that the responsible communists are truly excellent—those who have fought on the front lines and always worked with distinction. Thus, if the financial crisis does not become excessively severe, we can turn it to our advantage and cleanse the ranks not as the CC or the Central Inspection Commission 65 do—though they too have their role—but rather by thoroughly vetting all responsible communists in economic institutions.
And the third condition is that we must avoid making political mistakes during this period. Of course, if we do make political errors, then all our economic endeavors will be undermined; we will find ourselves preoccupied with debates over correction and direction. But if such regrettable errors are avoided, then the real crux of our work in the near future will not lie in decrees or in politics in the narrow sense of the word, nor in institutions themselves or in their organizational structures—though these matters will certainly receive attention to the extent necessary, within circles of responsible communists and Soviet institutions—but rather in the selection of personnel and in the rigorous oversight of implementation. If we can master this practical aspect, if we can deliver tangible results, then we will once again overcome all difficulties.
In conclusion, I must address the practical side of our Soviet organs, our highest institutions, and the Party’s relationship to them. An unhealthy dynamic has developed between the Party and Soviet institutions, and on this point there is complete unanimity. I have already illustrated, using a concrete example, how even the most trivial matters are dragged before the Politburo. Formally speaking, it is exceedingly difficult to break free from this pattern, since we are governed by a single, ruling party—and it is forbidden to complain to a Party member. As a result, everything that comes out of the Sovnarkom ends up being routed through the Politburo. In this regard, I also bear considerable responsibility, for much of the connection between the Sovnarkom and the Politburo was maintained personally by me. When I was forced to step down, it became clear that the two wheels were not operating in tandem; Kamenev had to shoulder threefold the workload just to keep those connections afloat. Since I am unlikely to return to active duty anytime soon, all hopes now rest on the fact that we now have two new deputies—Comrade Tsyurupa, who has been thoroughly “cleansed” by the Germans, and Comrade Rykov, who has been utterly and admirably purged by them. It turns out that even Wilhelm, the German Emperor, has proven useful to us—something I never anticipated. He had a surgeon, and that very doctor happened to be treating Comrade Rykov, excising the worst portion of his ailment and leaving it behind in Germany, while preserving the healthier part and sending it back to us, completely purified for Comrade Rykov. If this approach continues to be adopted, it will be an altogether commendable development.
But joking aside—let us turn to the fundamental directives. There is complete consensus within the Central Committee, and I hope that the Congress will give this issue due consideration and approve the directives in the sense that we must relieve the Politburo and the Central Committee of petty concerns and elevate the work of responsible officials. It is essential that People’s Commissars answer for their own work—not that they first report to the Sovnarkom, then to the Politburo. Formally, we cannot revoke the right to appeal to the Central Committee, since our Party is the sole governing party. We must put a stop to every petty complaint, but we must also enhance the authority of the Sovnarkom so that People’s Commissars take a more active role there, rather than relying on deputy commissars. We must reshape the nature of the Sovnarkom’s work—in ways that I was unable to achieve over the past year: we must pay far greater attention to monitoring and ensuring the proper execution of tasks. We will have two new deputies—Rykov and Tsyurupa. When Rykov served at Chusosnabarm 66, he managed to get things moving, and progress was made. Tsyurupa headed one of the finest People’s Commissariats. If the two of them focus their utmost attention on improving the performance and accountability of People’s Commissariats, then—even if it is but a small step—we will have made progress. We have 18 People’s Commissariats, XI CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
of which no fewer than 15 are utterly unfit—good People’s Commissars are hard to come by everywhere; let us pray that people will devote more attention to this matter. Comrade Rykov should be a member of the Central Committee Bureau and a member of the Presidium of the VTsIK, for there must be a link between these institutions—without such a connection, the main gears sometimes run idle.
In light of this, we must ensure that the commissions of the Sovnarkom and the Council of Labour and Defence are streamlined, so that they can focus on their own affairs and resolve them independently, rather than scattering their efforts across an endless array of committees. Just recently, a major cleanup of commissions took place—120 commissions were identified. But how many were actually needed? Only 16. And this is not the first such purge. Instead of taking responsibility for their own work, submitting decisions to the Sovnarkom, and understanding that they bear ultimate accountability for their actions, these officials hide behind committees. In the committees, chaos reigns—no one can make heads or tails of who is responsible for what; everything becomes muddled, and in the end, decisions are made where everyone shares the blame.
In this context, we must emphasize the need to expand and strengthen the autonomy and activities of regional economic councils. Russia has now been divided into regional districts based on sound scientific principles, taking into account economic conditions, climate, living standards, access to fuel, local industries, and other relevant factors. On the basis of this division, district and regional economic councils 67 have been established. Of course, there will be occasional adjustments, but we must raise the standing of these economic councils.
Next, we must ensure that the VTsIK operates with greater vigor and convenes its sessions more effectively—sessions that should be longer in duration. These sessions should deliberate on draft laws that are sometimes hastily submitted to the Sovnarkom without any pressing need. It would be better to postpone such drafts and allow local officials to carefully consider them, while demanding stricter adherence to legislative standards—something we have not yet done.
If the sessions of the VTsIK are extended, they can be divided into sections and subcommittees, enabling them to scrutinize work with greater rigor—and, in my view, dialectics constitutes the very crux, the entire essence of the present political moment: the center of gravity must be shifted to the selection of personnel and to the rigorous verification of actual implementation.
We must recognize—and not shy away from recognizing—that in 99 out of 100 cases, responsible communists are not assigned to the tasks for which they are currently suited; they do not know how to conduct their affairs and must now learn. If this is acknowledged—and given the prevailing international situation, we have ample time to acquire the necessary skills, and, judging by that, we will certainly have enough time to master them—then we must see to it that this is done at all costs. (Stormy applause.)
Newspaper reports were published on March 28, 1922, in Izvestia VTsIK, No. 70,
and on March 28 and 29 in Pravda, Nos. 70 and 71.