RIGA.
[On the history of the local strike, a correspondent for the Yessische Z[eit]u[n]g reported on January 27 (14):] We have detailed accounts of the Riga strike thanks to correspondence sent to German newspapers. Here is what was written about the strike’s unfolding: Several weeks ago—long before the St. Petersburg uprising—workers at the city’s government shipyard—whose operations were, for “political” reasons, still being conducted under the old firm name “Lange & Son”—announced that they would go on strike unless their wages were increased. Workers from several other factories soon joined them. The workers’ resentment was particularly directed against the foremen who oversaw the hiring of laborers. Everyone knew full well that these foremen extorted bribes from workers, pocketing 10–15 rubles per job placement at the factory. These illicit payments were then deducted weekly from the workers’ earnings. It was only natural that, in the foremen’s own interests, they sought to keep workers under constant surveillance and often exploited them. On more than one occasion, workers had beaten foremen in the dead of night. Factory inspectors had tried to calm the workers by promising stricter oversight of the foremen. A few days earlier, emissaries arrived from St. Petersburg and Moscow, endeavoring to incite a strike at the Baltic Wagon Works—where several thousand workers were employed. On Wednesday morning, workers were already marching through the streets in large, orderly crowds, utterly free of drunkenness (a rare occurrence in Russia—remarked the German correspondent)—and they compelled one factory after another to halt production. In just 21 hours, they succeeded in bringing all the factories in Riga and its suburbs to a standstill. Yet, unlike previous strikes, this movement now increasingly assumed a political character. It was a mass demonstration. [Yesterday, a clash erupted between roughly 50,000 workers and troops, leading to the infamous bloody events along the Daugava River.] During a performance at the city theater, envoys from the Polytechnic Society appeared and demanded that the show be suspended. The theater was immediately closed. Workers bearing red banners marched through the city, delivering revolutionary speeches. Here is a letter from an eyewitness, published in a bourgeois-democratic newspaper:
[When the strike movement spread from St. Petersburg to the Baltic region and Poland—thanks to the close proximity of these areas to foreign lands—it became possible not only to trace the unfolding events through brief, and of course, inevitably biased telegrams, but also through firsthand reports from correspondents.*
We draw upon several such journalistic accounts.]
Pu? a. January 21 (14) \ At the very moment I write these lines, the roar of a snowstorm echoes alongside the cries of the excited crowd—[“the gruesome howling”]. From afar, it is difficult to discern the precise nature of the sounds rushing toward us. But like me, thousands of citizens
in Riga hear those cries—and instinctively link them to the news from St. Petersburg and Moscow, which had already spread far and wide across the globe. Since yesterday, no fewer than 50,000 workers—indeed, virtually every worker in the city—had gone on strike, spurred on by organizers in St. Petersburg. Students not only joined the ranks of the strikers; they even took on a leading role. One Latvian proclamation,
Fr[an]kf[urter] Z[ei]t[un]g. I II [19]0o, 1 Mror]g[en]bl[att],

RIGA

The Social Democratic Union, like many others circulating here in recent days, outlined the causes and motives behind the strike [not entirely coherent—in both directions (?)] [From the editorial staff]. We urge readers not to forget that we are dealing with a correspondent from a bourgeois German newspaper, one that wages fierce battles against German social democrats. His assessments are thoroughly colored by a bourgeois perspective. For Russian workers, it is especially instructive at this moment to examine the stance taken toward their struggle by European liberal bourgeois—those who observe from a relatively distant vantage point.)
Throughout the proclamation, one can clearly discern a fervent longing for liberation from tsarist autocracy, which weighed down upon everyone like a heavy stone. [In particular,* the impression one gets from the proclamation is somewhat akin to viewing a kaleidoscope.] First and foremost, the text expresses solidarity with the pioneering fighters in St. Petersburg—who had sought audience with the Tsar, advancing toward him with a priest carrying a cross at the head—and who were massacred by the authorities in great numbers for their efforts. Next, the proclamation sets forth demands for a shorter working day, higher wages, better treatment, a constitution, and an end to the war in Manchuria. [Mixed in with these demands are bitter denunciations of capitalism and the wage-labor system, under the modern regime of daily or piece-rate pay.] The proclamation concludes with shouts of “Hurrah!” in honor of the revolution. “Workers! Forward, forward, forward!” [(The liberal bourgeois attempts to mock; he finds the combination of political and economic demands “incoherent.” To us, however, this very combination represents one of the greatest sources of strength for the movement. Ed.).]
This manifesto is indeed written with passion, fervor, concision, and weight [(burning and fiery, compact and significant)], yet it lacks a broad base and a sharp edge [(a firm point)]. Most of the local workers are not particularly interested in striking—(50,000? Ed.)—and would prefer to continue working. On the other hand, the political orientation is not sufficiently emphasized, and there is neither the Emperor nor the ministers to whom the workers could direct their demands. (Has the author perhaps been influenced by New Spark’s call to confront workers and [bourgeoisie] face to face—perhaps even plagiarizing that idea? Ed.) Just an hour ago, notices issued by the governor were posted at every intersection, prohibiting all gatherings on account of the workers’ criminal intentions—and threatening the use of military force against even the slightest resistance. Despite this ban, crowds of workers, shouting “Hurrah!” in honor of the revolution, continued to demonstrate in the streets, while five shots were fired from the public into the ranks of the troops stationed near the cathedral. Fortunately, no one was wounded. The shooters fled.
… Evening fell. A fierce storm raged on. Windows were coated in ice. The howl of the wind filled the entire house. In the next room lay the body of the man shot dead by my Russian landlady [(the murdered tenant of my Russian hostess)]. His friends had brought him here a quarter of an hour ago. On the lower floor, three more students lay gravely wounded. The noise and cries I had heard earlier on the boulevard were cries of terror and rage—cries born of the terrible battle that had unfolded along the banks of the Daugava, claiming an unexpectedly high toll of lives. I could not remain seated at my desk. I stood by the Daugava, together with many others whose compassion and solidarity with the fighters outweighed their fear for themselves. In front of the house—its lower windows, doors, and walls riddled with bullet holes—lay some 17 [boats], both dead and wounded. Red Cross sleighs [(? Leichenschlitten)^] arrived, collecting both the living and the dead and transporting them to the hospital. Standing beside me was a hunchbacked woman [(a heavily boned, hunched woman?)]*
Her legs refused to carry her, and she collapsed. Soldiers and civilians watched in silence as traces of blood marked the snow. About thirty paces from us, on the steep embankment overlooking the Daugava, stood several men and women who were hurrying down onto the ice, passionately discussing something and gesturing wildly.
I asked what was happening. They replied: a crowd numbering in the thousands—composed of workers, foreigners, onlookers, and revolutionaries—intended, led by the students, to encircle the troops; a gendarme had been killed by a shot fired from the crowd; the troops responded with a volley, to which the crowd retaliated with further gunfire.
Then the crowd—largely composed of indifferent or timid participants—scattered in all directions. The masses surged toward the Daugava; soldiers pushed many of them down onto the ice from the embankment. The ice near the [stone] shore rocks was thin and gave way beneath their feet. A vast throng of people disappeared beneath the ice, swept away by the swift current!
“Disperse! Do not gather, or we will open fire!” I heard the shout. My neighbors to the right and left began to flee. I leapt into one of the house’s doorways, where several people rushed in. From the cathedral came the tolling of bells: the alarm! But the public did not rush to the site of the fire—due to the late hour and the inclement weather.
The following day was quiet. The arrival of Cossacks, after the carnage that had occurred, made little impression. Around the German
In No. 5 of “Forward,” a footnote was added to the phrase “shots fired from the crowd”: “This fact has not been confirmed by our correspondents.” Ed.

RIGA

A large crowd of people from all walks of life gathered at the theater when the Polytechnic students staged a solemn memorial procession in honor of their comrades who had fallen the previous day.
A sizable infantry detachment arrived. The detachment commander firmly ordered the removal of the banner. From the window, a large black banner was unfurled, bearing the inscription: “You died for your homeland! Glory to your memory! Revenge upon your murderers!” The students rejected the demand and instead began waving the banner from the second-floor windows.
It was still daylight. The entire Polytechnic was surrounded by troops, and orders were given to seize the banner. The soldiers moved toward the porch.
The students drew their revolvers and knives.
However, the director of the Polytechnic managed to intervene at the last moment, persuading the students to agree to remove the banner after the conclusion of the [memorial service (Trauerfeier)]. The officers and soldiers were left standing, listening as speakers, in impassioned addresses delivered before an audience without hats, amid shouts of “Hurrah!” and fluttering banners, as the solemn hymn “Eternal Memory!” resounded, praised the deeds of the departed and swore to avenge them. [The memorial service] lasted for a long time. The banner was later removed.
Now all is calm. Only small groups of workers pass through the streets, singing songs…
Another liberal newspaper reported on January 16:
[Voss[ische] Z[ei]t[un]g. 31 I 05].
[Riga. January 29 (16).] Saturday’s pay period passed quietly. Work resumed at all factories on Monday. Fears of new bloodshed surrounding the funeral of a single student proved unfounded. On the streets, the troops kept their distance from the funeral procession, while the cemetery was completely surrounded by Cossacks ready for combat. Thus, the body had to be buried without speeches or demonstrations. A student walked ahead of the coffin, bearing a large wreath, tirelessly pointing out in all directions the [gilded] red ribbon upon which golden letters proclaimed:
“Glory [(Ehre)] to your memory! Death to your murderers!” Numerous appeals were distributed in both Russian and Latvian—passed from hand to hand or tossed into the crowd in small, tied packets of a dozen each.
Another correspondent wrote [also] to the same newspaper on January 29 (16): Despite all their brutality, the army and the police proved utterly powerless here [(completely failed)]. There were even instances where, on certain streets, crowds of workers encircled the police officers, forcing them to carry the red banner in front of them. In this serious drama, there were, in a sense, both tragic moments and satirical episodes.
The number of dead found in the streets was determined to be 56; of the wounded, another 17 died in the hospitals. The sight that unfolded was truly breathtaking [(ergreifend) (?)]—an unprecedented spectacle in Riga: heavy wagons, usually used to transport sacks of grain or iron goods, now carried uncovered corpses through the streets.
Finally, here is another letter received from a participant in the events:
In Liepāja, Ventspils, and Mitau, too, the general strikes had broken out. From Mitau, reports came in as early as January 14:
[Mitau. January 27 (14). Official News.]
Agents arriving from Riga had triggered the strike. The growing crowd of workers halted factory after factory. Troops were called in. The workers demonstrated with songs and banners, distributing appeals. Patrols roamed the city.
[Mitau. January 28 (15). The strike continues.] Crowds of workers walked the streets.
There had been no clashes with the troops yet.
[(Voss[isrhe]
Z[ei]t[un]g).]
[Mitau. January 30 (17).]
The strike continued.
The garrison had been weakened by the dispatch of a company to Vindava. Unrest broke out. One policeman was wounded. The troops had not yet resorted to the use of weapons. A battalion of infantry and an artillery battery were sent from Vilnius to Libau. Libau. January 28 (15). Last night, a crowd of demonstrators destroyed telegraph poles. This morning, they were reinstalled. There were attacks on bakeries, but the troops, reinforced by reinforcements from Kovno, dispersed the crowd.
Vindava. January 31 (18). The strike was initiated by elevator workers, who presented a series of demands. Later, railway workers joined them. All businesses and banks were closed. The strikers remained calm, gathering in the market square to discuss their demands. After being promised certain concessions, the elevator workers resumed work.
*
Two short notes followed, penned by M. Olminsky under the headings “Riga” and “Reval,” crossed out by Lenin with the words: “In Liepāja, Vindava, and Mitau—as well as in Reval. In Libau, moreover, the telephone line was damaged and the telephone poles were broken.” Instead of the crossed-out lines, Lenin’s text was inserted below—Ed.

WARSAW