# Report Delivered at the First All‑Russian Congress of Laboring Cossacks, March 1, 1920{76}
Source: PSS vol. 40

Comrades! Allow me first to extend greetings to the Congress on behalf of the Council of People’s Commissars. I deeply regret that I was unable to attend your gathering on the very first day of the Congress’s opening and thus missed Comrade Kalinin’s report. However, from what he shared with me, I gather that his speech covered a great many issues pertaining to the immediate and pressing tasks of Soviet construction—and, in particular, those relevant to the Cossacks. Accordingly, in my own report, I intend to devote the greatest attention to the international situation of the Soviet Republic and to the tasks that, in light of this international context, are now confronting the entire working class—including the Cossack masses.

The international position of the Soviet Republic has never been as favorable or as victorious as it is today. If we reflect upon the conditions under which our international position has emerged over the past two years—years marked by unprecedented hardship and an unimaginable toll of human suffering—and if we examine the underlying causes of this development, then before every thoughtful individual will be laid bare the fundamental forces and driving mechanisms, as well as the basic balance of power, that define the unfolding global revolution.

When, more than two years ago—at the very dawn of the Russian Revolution—we began to speak of this impending, worldwide international revolution, it was, in a sense, both a vision and a prediction. Yet for the vast majority of working people who did not live in major urban centers and had not yet undergone the rigorous training of party schools, such talk of an international, encroaching revolution was met either with skepticism or indifference—and in any case, with only a limited understanding. Indeed, it would have been neither natural nor reasonable to expect that the immense masses of the working population—especially the peasant, agricultural laborers scattered across vast, remote distances—could, in advance, form even a rudimentary grasp of why an international revolution was approaching, or of the fact that this revolution was, in truth, truly international. The experiences we have endured over these two extraordinarily difficult years—and the trials through which the working masses of distant frontiers have passed—deserve far more than mere dismissal; they deserve careful reflection, rather than the facile response that “times were hard back then, but now things have grown easier.” No, we must ask ourselves: Why did things turn out as they did? What does this mean? What lessons should we draw from this experience? And whose political perspectives have been confirmed by what our own national history—and world history—have shown us over these two years? It is on these questions that I would like to focus my remarks today.

From the standpoint of the international situation, this question becomes especially clear: for when we consider matters on a truly global scale—not from the perspective of a single party or a single nation, but from the vantage point of all nations taken together—when we view events on such a grand scale, the particularities and minor details fade into the background, while the fundamental driving forces that shape world history become strikingly evident.

When we launched the October Revolution, overthrowing the rule of landowners and capitalists and issuing the call to end the war—and when, in doing so, we turned that call toward our enemies—when, after that, we fell under the yoke of German imperialists, and then, in October–November 1918, Germany was crushed, while Britain, France, America, and the other Entente powers rose to dominate the entire globe—what was our position? The overwhelming majority declared: Is it not now plain that the Bolsheviks’ cause is hopeless? Many went further, adding: Not only is their cause hopeless—but the Bolsheviks have proven themselves to be deceivers. They promised peace, yet instead, after the German yoke was broken and Germany defeated, they turned out to be enemies of the entire Entente: of Britain, France, America, and Japan—those most powerful states in the world. Russia, ravaged, weakened, and exhausted by the imperialist war, and further burdened by civil war, was now expected to endure a struggle against the most advanced nations on Earth. It was easy to believe this—and no wonder that, fueled by distrust, indifference, and all too often outright hostility toward Soviet power, these sentiments spread ever wider. This is hardly surprising. What is more remarkable is that, despite our struggles against Yudenich, Kolchak, and Denikin—men whom the world’s wealthiest powers supported in every possible way, powers against which no military force, not even remotely comparable, existed anywhere on Earth—we emerged victorious from these battles. And the fact that this is so is plain to see—even to the blind; it is visible to those who are worse off than the blind, those who refuse to see no matter what—and yet, even they can perceive that we have emerged triumphant from this struggle.

How, then, did this miracle come about? It is on this question that I wish to focus your attention above all else, for it is here that the fundamental driving forces behind the entire international revolution are revealed with the utmost clarity. By examining this question in a methodical, pragmatic manner, we can arrive at an answer—because we have already lived through this experience; we can look back and recount what actually transpired.

We won because we were—and could be—united; because we were able to win over allies from among our enemies’ ranks. Our enemies, infinitely more powerful, suffered defeat because there was no unity among them—not now, not in the past, and never will be. Each month of struggle against us brought with it the disintegration of their own camp.

Let me now turn to the facts that bear witness to these truths.

You know that after their victory over Germany, England, France, and America had no adversaries left on the ground. They had plundered Germany’s colonies; there was not a single patch of land, not a single state, where the military might of the Entente did not reign supreme. One would have thought that, in such a situation—when these powers were still enemies of Soviet Russia—they would have clearly understood that Bolshevism pursued the goal of international revolution. And we never concealed the fact that our revolution was but the beginning; that it would achieve a victorious conclusion only when we set the entire world ablaze with the same fire of revolution—and we understood all too well that the capitalists were furious enemies of Soviet power. It is worth noting that they emerged from the European conflict with a million-strong army and a mighty navy, against which we could not even field a semblance of a fleet, nor raise an army of any real strength. Had as few as several hundred thousand soldiers from that million-strong army been diverted to fight us—as they had been diverted to fight Germany—the Entente could easily have crushed us by military means. There is not the slightest doubt about this for those who have engaged in theoretical reflection on the matter, and especially for those who actually fought in that war, who knew it firsthand through personal experience and observation.

England and France both sought to subdue Russia by this very route. They concluded an alliance with Japan—a nation that had taken little part in the imperialist war yet had dispatched hundreds of thousands of soldiers to strangle the Soviet Republic from the Far East. England landed troops at Murmansk and Arkhangelsk, not to mention its advance into the Caucasus, while France disembarked its soldiers and sailors in the south. This marked the first historical phase of the struggle we endured.

At that time, the Entente possessed a million-man army—soldiers who, of course, stood in stark contrast to the White Guard forces then gathering in Russia, which lacked both organizers and proper weaponry. And so the Entente turned these soldiers against us. But what came to pass was exactly what the Bolsheviks had foretold: they had argued that the struggle was not merely a Russian affair, but an international revolution—and that we had allies among the workers of every civilized country. While these predictions did not come to fruition in the direct form we had hoped for when we extended a peace offer to all nations{77}, our appeal was not met with universal response. Yet the strike that broke out in January 1918 in Germany{78} showed us that we had not only Liebknecht—whose oratorical prowess had already enabled him, even during the Tsarist era, to denounce the German government and bourgeoisie as bandits—but that we also commanded substantial support among the working class. That strike ended in bloodshed and the brutal suppression of the workers; and in the countries of the Entente, the bourgeois classes naturally deceived the workers: they either lied outright about our appeal or failed to publish it at all. Thus, our November 1917 appeal to all peoples did not receive direct implementation—and those who had believed that a revolution could be sparked by nothing more than this single appeal were, of course, bound to be deeply disappointed. But we did not rely solely on a mere proclamation; we looked instead to deeper, more fundamental driving forces. We insisted that revolution in different countries would unfold along distinct paths—and that the issue was not simply to overthrow a Rasputin appointee or some reckless landlord, but to confront a more advanced, more enlightened bourgeoisie.

And so, when England landed troops in the north and France in the south, the decisive test arrived, and the final reckoning was at hand. The question now became clear: who was right? Were the Bolsheviks correct in asserting that, to emerge from this struggle, one must place one’s trust in the workers? Or were the Mensheviks right when they argued that attempting to launch a revolution in a single country would be sheer folly and a desperate gamble—since other nations would crush it? You heard these arguments not only from party members, but from anyone just beginning to ponder politics. And now the decisive test had come. For a long time, we did not know what the outcome would be. For a long time, we were unable to fully grasp that outcome—but in retrospect, we now know it. Even in the English press, despite the torrent of vicious lies hurled at the Bolsheviks in every bourgeois newspaper, letters began to appear from English soldiers stationed near Arkhangelsk, reporting that they had encountered leaflets in English on Russian soil, explaining that they had been deceived—that they were being led to fight against the workers and peasants who had founded their own state. These soldiers wrote that they refused to fight. As for France, we know that there was a sailors’ revolt there—and today, dozens, hundreds, perhaps even thousands of Frenchmen are serving hard labor for their role in that uprising. Those sailors declared that they would not march against the Soviet Republic. Now we see why, at present, neither French troops nor British troops are advancing against us; why the English soldiers have been withdrawn from the vicinity of Arkhangelsk, and why the British government does not dare to send them onto our soil.

One of our political writers, Comrade Radek, once remarked that Russian soil would prove to be a terrain upon which no soldier from another country could ever wage war after setting foot on it. At the time, this seemed like an overly bold promise—almost too good to be true. Yet history has shown that his prediction came to pass. The very soil where the Soviet Revolution unfolded turned out to be exceedingly perilous for all nations. It became clear that the Russian Bolsheviks had been right: even before the advent of Tsarist rule, they had succeeded in forging unity among the workers; and those workers, in turn, had established small cells that greeted every person who placed their trust in them—whether French workers or British soldiers—with agitation conducted in their native tongues. To be sure, our publications were meager by comparison: while the English and French press churned out thousands of newspapers, each carrying countless columns devoted to propaganda, we managed to produce only two or three quarter‑page leaflets per month—at best, one leaflet for every ten thousand French soldiers{79}. I am not even certain whether that many ever reached their intended audience. So why, then, did both French and British soldiers nonetheless place their trust in these leaflets? Because we spoke the truth—and because, when they arrived in Russia, they discovered that they had been deceived. They had been told they were fighting to defend their fatherland; but once they set foot in Russia, they found that their true mission was to safeguard the power of landowners and capitalists, to stifle the revolution. If, within just two short years, we were able to win over these men, it was because, despite having long since forgotten how they had executed their own kings, the moment they stepped onto Russian soil, the Soviet Revolution—and the victories won by Russian workers and peasants—reminded the soldiers of France and Britain of their own revolutions. Through the events unfolding in Russia, memories of their own past revolutions began to resurface within them.

Here, it became abundantly clear that the Bolsheviks had been right: our hopes proved more substantial than those of the capitalists—even though we possessed neither the means nor the weapons, while the Entente boasted both arms and an invincible army. And yet, it was precisely these so‑called “invincible” armies that we ultimately defeated. We achieved the remarkable feat of ensuring that neither British nor French soldiers dared to march against us—because, through bitter experience, they knew full well that any such attempt would backfire upon themselves. This, indeed, ranks among the most extraordinary miracles wrought in Soviet Russia.

Now, four years into the war—after 10 million lives had been lost and 20 million left maimed—when imperialists finally ask themselves: What, after all, was the purpose of this war? Such questions inevitably lead to some truly fascinating revelations. Recently, negotiations conducted in 1916 were published in France. As early as 1916, the Austrian monarchy had begun peace talks with France—but France had kept these negotiations secret. Albert Thomas, who styled himself a socialist and at the time served in the government, had traveled to Russia in order to promise Nicholas II Constantinople, the Dardanelles, and Galicia. Now, all of these long‑concealed documents have come to light, printed in a French newspaper. Today, French workers are asking Albert Thomas: “You claimed that you entered government to defend the French fatherland and the interests of French workers—but in 1916, when the Austrian monarchy offered peace, you, Albert Thomas, concealed this fact, and in doing so, you consigned millions of lives to death, all so that French capitalists might profit.” These revelations are far from over; we began by publishing the secret treaties, exposing to the world the very reasons behind the loss of millions of lives, the countless sacrifices made in the name of imperialist ambitions. It was all for the sake of securing Constantinople and Galicia for Nicholas II. Every imperialist knew this. The Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries knew it as well—and if they did not know, then they were nothing short of utter fools, unless they had somehow failed to study politics and diplomacy to the extent necessary to grasp what is now being revealed in French newspapers. These revelations are now deepening, and their scope shows no sign of ending. Thanks to this, workers and peasants in every country are growing ever more attuned to the truth—and are beginning to understand, with increasing clarity, the real causes behind the imperialist war. And so, more and more people are coming to believe that we spoke the truth, while the imperialists, in leading them to fight in defense of their fatherlands, had been telling them nothing but lies.

This, then, is the reason our miracle occurred: despite our military weakness and apparent powerlessness, we managed to defeat the soldiers of England and France. What once seemed like a distant possibility has now become a hard‑fought reality. To be sure, we earned this victory only at tremendous cost, enduring hardships beyond anything previously imagined—and paying an unimaginable toll in human lives. For the past two years, we have endured unprecedented suffering from famine. These trials struck us hardest when the breadbasket regions of the East and South were cut off from us. And yet, we emerged victorious—not merely for our own nation, but for all nations, for all of humanity. Never before in history had the militarily most powerful states been unable to stand against a Soviet Republic that was utterly weak on the battlefield. But how did this miracle come to pass? Because we Bolsheviks, as we led the Russian people toward revolution, understood all too well that this revolution would be a painful one; we knew that we would bear the weight of millions of casualties—but we also knew that the working masses of every country would stand with us, and that our truth, once it exposed the lies of the old order, would steadily gain the upper hand.

After the great powers’ disastrous campaign against Russia, they turned to a new strategy: the bourgeoisie, with centuries of experience under its belt, had learned to adapt its own unreliable weapons. In the past, it had sought to crush Russia through its soldiers; now, it attempted to strangle Russia by leveraging the weaker states on its periphery.

Dialectics, self-movement, cognition – these are the fundamental categories through which we must grasp the historical process. Imperialism, as a stage of capitalism characterized by the concentration of capital in the hands of a few monopolistic corporations, represents the highest form of capitalist exploitation. The bourgeoisie, the ruling class of modern society, seeks to maintain its dominance by exploiting the proletariat and other working classes, while simultaneously striving to extend its control over ever-wider spheres of global production and exchange. Yet, in the final analysis, imperialism is but one manifestation of the inherent contradictions within the capitalist mode of production itself—a contradiction that inevitably leads to the downfall of the ruling class and the rise of the proletariat as the vanguard of historical change.

The Soviet state, born out of the revolutionary struggles of the working class, embodies the dialectical unity of theory and practice, of principle and action. It is not merely a political institution; it is the materialization of the proletariat’s historical mission to overthrow the capitalist system and establish a new social order based on the collective ownership of the means of production. The Soviets, as organs of workers’ power, represent the direct expression of the class struggle—the organized, conscious struggle of the proletariat against the forces of exploitation and oppression. Through the Soviets, the working class not only seizes political power but also begins to transform the very foundations of society, laying the groundwork for a communist future.

Class struggle, far from being an abstract or theoretical concept, is the living, dynamic force that drives historical development. It is the engine of social transformation, the relentless struggle between the interests of the ruling class and those of the oppressed masses. In every epoch, the class struggle takes on different forms—sometimes overt, sometimes covert—but its essence remains unchanged: the proletariat’s ultimate goal is to abolish all relations of exploitation and to create a society in which human beings are free to develop their full potential, unburdened by the chains of private property and wage labor.

The means of production—the tools, technologies, and resources that enable human labor to shape the material world—are the primary battleground in this struggle. Under capitalism, the means of production are concentrated in the hands of a small minority of capitalists, who exploit the labor of the working class for the sake of profit. But under socialism, the means of production are placed under the collective control of the people, ensuring that they serve the needs of society as a whole rather than the interests of a privileged few. This transformation of the means of production is not just an economic shift—it is a profound cultural and moral revolution, for it reorients human activity away from the pursuit of private gain and toward the common good.

The superstructure—law, politics, culture, ideology—is shaped by the base—the economic relations that define the material conditions of life. However, the superstructure does not simply reflect the base; it actively influences and transforms it. The ideological struggle waged by the proletariat against the bourgeois ideologues is a crucial component of the class struggle. By exposing the false consciousness propagated by the ruling class—by revealing the lies and distortions that justify exploitation and oppression—the proletariat undermines the ideological foundations of capitalism and paves the way for a new, emancipatory worldview.

The petty bourgeoisie, though often caught between the poles of the class struggle, is not immune to the transformative power of the proletariat. While the petty bourgeoisie may initially align with the bourgeoisie in defense of their own narrow interests, their position is inherently unstable. As the contradictions of capitalism deepen, the petty bourgeoisie finds itself increasingly marginalized, its livelihoods threatened by the relentless advance of industrialization and technological progress. In this context, the petty bourgeoisie may come to recognize the need for a radical transformation of society—a transformation that can only be achieved through the decisive intervention of the proletariat.

Commodity production, the hallmark of capitalist society, is both a source of wealth and a mechanism of exploitation. Under capitalism, the production of goods is driven by the logic of profit, not by the needs of human beings. This leads to the alienation of labor, where workers are reduced to mere cogs in the machinery of production, their creativity and humanity stifled by the relentless pursuit of surplus value. Yet, even within this oppressive system, there exists the potential for resistance and rebellion. The working class, through its struggles and sacrifices, has repeatedly demonstrated its capacity to challenge the status quo and to envision a different, more just world.

The Bolshevik Revolution, led by the RCP(b), was not merely a political upheaval—it was a profound philosophical and historical rupture. The Bolsheviks understood that the path to socialism could not be achieved through gradual reform or compromise; it required a radical break with the old order and the establishment of a new social order based on the principles of equality, solidarity, and collective self‑determination. The Soviets, as the organs of workers’ power, became the crucible in which this new social order was forged. Here, the working class not only seized political power but also began to build the institutions of a socialist society—schools, hospitals, cooperatives, and communal enterprises—that would serve the needs of the people and lay the foundation for a truly human-centered economy.

The Council of Labour and Defence, established in 1918, was one such institution—a body tasked with coordinating the efforts of the working class to defend the nascent Soviet state against internal and external threats. The Council brought together representatives of workers, peasants, and soldiers, embodying the spirit of unity and solidarity that defined the early years of the Soviet Republic. It was here that the working class first began to exercise its power not only as a political force but also as a social force, shaping the destiny of the nation through its collective decisions and actions.

The Central Committee of the RCP(b), the guiding body of the Bolshevik Party, played a pivotal role in steering the course of the revolution. It was the Central Committee that formulated the policies and strategies necessary to navigate the turbulent waters of civil war and foreign intervention. Under the leadership of Lenin and Trotsky, the Central Committee ensured that the Bolsheviks remained true to their revolutionary principles, even in the face of overwhelming odds. It was the Central Committee that issued the decree on the nationalization of the banks, thereby breaking the financial stranglehold of the bourgeoisie and placing the means of credit under the control of the state. It was the Central Committee that launched the policy of prodrazvyorstka—a measure designed to redistribute surplus grain from the countryside to the cities, ensuring that the urban working class had access to food during the harsh winters of the Civil War.

The Soviet state, however, was not built overnight. It was the product of decades of struggle, of countless sacrifices made by the working class in the name of freedom and justice. The Bolsheviks understood that the road to socialism was long and fraught with challenges—but they also knew that the working class possessed the strength, the determination, and the vision to overcome any obstacle. It was this unwavering faith in the working class that enabled the Bolsheviks to withstand the attacks of the White Guard, the intervention of the Entente powers, and the internal divisions that threatened to tear the young Soviet Republic apart.

In the end, it was the working class—not the bourgeoisie, not the petty bourgeoisie, not the intellectuals—who emerged victorious. It was the working class that, through its struggles and sacrifices, laid the foundations of a new society—one in which the exploitation of man by man was abolished, and in which the dignity and autonomy of every individual were guaranteed. The Soviet state, though imperfect, was a testament to the power of the working class to transform the world—and to the enduring promise of socialism as a path to human liberation.

As the Bolsheviks themselves recognized, the victory of the working class was not the end of history, but the beginning of a new chapter in the ongoing struggle for human emancipation. The lessons of the Soviet experience—lessons of courage, solidarity, and perseverance—continue to resonate in the hearts and minds of workers around the globe. For the working class, the struggle for socialism is not a distant dream—it is a living reality, a daily battle fought in the factories, the fields, and the streets. And it is in this struggle that the working class will ultimately realize its true potential—as the architects of a new, more just world.

Only the Russian Socialist Republic has raised the banner of war for genuine liberation, and throughout the world, sympathy is turning in its favor. Through small nations, we have won the goodwill of every people on Earth—millions upon millions of them. These peoples are currently oppressed and crushed; they constitute the most underdeveloped segment of humanity—but the war has begun to enlighten them. In the imperialist war, colossal masses of peoples were drawn into the fray: England dragged regiments from India to fight against the Germans; France conscripted millions of Black soldiers to battle the Germans. These men were formed into shock units, thrown into the most perilous sectors where machine guns mowed them down like grass. Yet even in the face of such slaughter, they learned a great deal. Just as Russian soldiers under the Tsar once declared, “If we must die, then let us die fighting against the landlords,” so too did these men resolve: “If we are to perish, let it not be in order to aid French bandits in plundering the German capitalist bandit—but rather to liberate ourselves from both German and French capitalists.” In every country around the globe, even in India itself—where three hundred million English tenant farmers are oppressed—consciousness is awakening, and with each passing day, the revolutionary movement grows ever stronger. All of them look toward a single star: the star of the Soviet Republic—because they know that this republic has endured the greatest sacrifices in its struggle against the imperialists and has stood firm in the face of desperate trials.

This is what the second crushing defeat dealt to the Entente means. It signifies victory on an international scale. It means that the vast majority of the world’s population approves of our peaceful policy. It means that the number of our allies across all countries is growing—admittedly much more slowly than we would wish, but still growing nonetheless.

The victory we achieved against the offensive prepared by Churchill against us demonstrates that our policy is sound. And following that, we secured a third victory—a victory over the bourgeois intelligentsia, over the Socialist-Revolutionaries and Mensheviks, who in every country had been furiously hostile toward us. Yet even they ultimately turned against the war against Soviet Russia. In every country, the bourgeois intelligentsia, the Socialist-Revolutionaries, and the Mensheviks—this breed, alas, exists in every nation (applause)—condemned interference in Russia’s affairs. In every country, they declared that such intervention was a disgrace.

When England proposed that the Germans blockade Soviet Russia—and Germany refused—this finally shattered the patience of English and other Socialist-Revolutionary and Menshevik leaders. They said, “We may oppose the Bolsheviks and regard them as tyrants and plunderers, but we cannot support a proposal to join the Germans in strangling Russia with a hunger blockade.” Thus, within the enemy camp itself—in their own countries, in Paris, London, and elsewhere, where the Bolsheviks were vilified and treated no differently than revolutionaries had been treated under the Tsar—bourgeois intellectuals in every city issued a call: “Hands off Soviet Russia!” In England, this became the rallying cry under which the bourgeois intelligentsia organized mass meetings and penned countless appeals.

That is why we were forced to lift the blockade. We could not hold onto Estonia, and having signed peace with it, we are now able to resume trade relations. We have broken through to the civilized world. On our side stands the sympathy of the majority of working people, while the bourgeoisie is anxious to begin trade with Russia as soon as possible.

Now the imperialists fear us—and they have good reason to fear us, for Soviet Russia has emerged from this war stronger than ever before. English writers have written that armies the world over are decaying; yet if there is one country in the world where the army is growing stronger, it is Soviet Russia. They tried to slander Comrade Trotsky, claiming that the Russian army was kept in iron discipline through ruthless measures—and through skillful, wide‑ranging agitation.

We have never disavowed this approach. War is war; it demands iron discipline. Have you, gentlemen capitalists, not employed such methods? And have you, gentlemen capitalists, not engaged in extensive agitation? Do you not possess a hundred times more paper and printing presses? If we compare the volume of our literature with yours, does it not seem as though a single pea represents our output, while mountains loom on your side? Yet your agitation failed, while ours prevailed.

The dialectics of self-movement reveal that the very process of cognition is inseparable from the struggle of classes. Imperialism, as the highest stage of capitalism, is characterized by the relentless exploitation of the working class and the intensification of class antagonisms. The bourgeoisie, driven by its insatiable quest for profit, seeks to maintain its dominance through both economic coercion and political manipulation—yet this very pursuit ultimately leads to the downfall of its own system. For the proletariat, the path to liberation lies not in compromise with the bourgeoisie but in the revolutionary overthrow of capitalist relations of production. Only through the dictatorship of the proletariat can the material conditions be transformed, enabling the emancipation of humanity from the shackles of exploitation.

The petty bourgeoisie, too, harbors illusions about the possibility of peaceful coexistence with the bourgeoisie. They dream of a “social reform” that would somehow reconcile the interests of capital and labor—a notion rooted in the belief that the bourgeoisie can be persuaded or even won over through negotiation. But history has repeatedly shown that such dreams are nothing more than utopian fantasies. The bourgeoisie, after all, is inherently opposed to any genuine social transformation; its very nature demands the extraction of surplus value, the accumulation of wealth at the expense of the working masses. To expect the bourgeoisie to voluntarily abandon its privileges is to ignore the fundamental contradictions of capitalist society—and to underestimate the power of class struggle.

Take, for example, the experience of the Socialist Revolutionaries and Mensheviks. They sought to negotiate with the capitalists, hoping to avoid bloodshed and to transition gradually toward social reform. Their goal was noble: to bring about social change without resorting to civil war. Yet their failure to achieve this outcome underscores the futility of attempting to bridge the gap between classes through mere compromise. The Bolsheviks, on the other hand, understood that the only way forward was through decisive action—the seizure of power by the proletariat and the establishment of a dictatorship of the proletariat. This was not a matter of idealism but of necessity: the bourgeoisie could not be reformed; it could only be defeated.

The Bolsheviks did not shy away from the harsh realities of revolution. They recognized that the road to socialism would be fraught with conflict—not because they were eager for violence, but because the old order could not endure. As Lenin famously stated, “There is no middle ground between revolution and counter-revolution.” The Bolsheviks’ strategy was clear: to mobilize the masses, to organize the working class into Soviets, and to lead the country toward a new era of equality and justice. In doing so, they laid the foundations for a truly democratic state—one in which the people, rather than a privileged few, held power.

But the lessons of the Russian Revolution extend far beyond Russia’s borders. The world was witnessing the rise of imperialism, a system built upon the exploitation of colonies and the ruthless competition among imperialist powers. The First World War had exposed the brutal face of capitalism, leaving millions dead and countless others maimed. Yet even as the war raged, the imperialist powers continued to scheme and plot, each seeking to secure its share of the spoils. The United States and Japan, for instance, were locked in a bitter rivalry over control of China—a nation of 400 million people. The imperialists claimed to champion democracy and republicanism, yet their actions revealed a stark truth: the scramble for colonies was less about ideals than about raw power and profit.

In Germany, where the Spartacist League had been crushed in the aftermath of the war, the remnants of the revolutionary movement found themselves caught between the hammer of reaction and the anvil of bourgeois restoration. Meanwhile, in France, the legacy of the Great War left the nation deeply in debt, while Britain emerged as the dominant imperialist power, having amassed vast wealth through its colonial empire. Even in these advanced capitalist societies, the seeds of revolution were already taking root—but the ruling classes clung to their privileges, unwilling to relinquish control.

It was in this context that the Bolsheviks emerged as the vanguard of the international proletariat. They understood that the struggle against imperialism was not just a national affair but a global one. The imperialist wars, far from bringing peace, had only deepened the divisions between nations—and between classes within those nations. The international proletariat, united in its common cause, saw in the Bolsheviks a beacon of hope: a party capable of leading the working class to victory over the forces of exploitation and oppression.

Today, as we look back on the events of the Russian Revolution, we are reminded of the enduring relevance of its principles. The dialectics of history teach us that revolutions are not merely acts of defiance—they are the inevitable result of systemic contradictions. The struggle for socialism is not a fleeting aspiration but a long-term project, requiring both patience and perseverance. And though the road ahead remains difficult, we have learned that the greatest obstacles can be overcome when the working class unites under the banner of revolution.

The international proletariat stands ready to carry forward the legacy of the Bolsheviks—to build a world free from exploitation, where the means of production are owned collectively, and where the fruits of labor are shared equitably among all. Let us remember that the path to socialism is not paved with ease—it is forged through struggle, sacrifice, and unwavering commitment to the cause of the working class.

Indeed, they may yet turn Poland against us. The Polish landowners and capitalists are seething with rage, hurling threats that they seek to reclaim the territories of 1772,{83} that they aspire to subjugate Ukraine. We know full well that France is stoking the flames in Poland, pouring millions into the country—because France has already gone bankrupt and is now placing its final wager on Poland. And we tell our comrades in Poland that we cherish their freedom as we do the freedom of every other nation; that the Russian worker and peasant, having endured the yoke of Tsarist oppression, knows only too well what that yoke entailed. We understand that the greatest crime was the partition of Poland among German, Austrian, and Russian capital—that this very division condemned the Polish people to long years of subjugation, when the use of one’s native tongue was treated as a crime, when the entire Polish nation was raised on a single thought: to break free from this triple yoke. It is for this reason that we comprehend the deep-seated hatred that burns in the soul of every Pole—and we tell them that we will never cross the border where our troops now stand—and indeed, our troops are stationed far beyond the reach of the Polish population itself. On this basis, we offer peace, for we know that such a peace would be an immense gain for Poland. We do not seek war over territorial boundaries, for we wish to eradicate that accursed past when every Great Russian was regarded as an oppressor.

But if Poland responds to our peaceful overtures with silence—if it continues to lend its support to French imperialism, which is driving it to war against Russia—if fresh trains laden with military equipment arrive in Poland day after day—if Polish imperialists threaten us that they will march upon Russia—then we say: “Let them try! They will receive a lesson they will never forget.” (Applause.)

During the imperialist war, when soldiers died for the sake of enriching the Tsar and the landed gentry, we spoke plainly and openly: to defend the fatherland in an imperialist war is to betray it—to defend the Russian Tsar, who seeks to seize the Dardanelles, Constantinople, and the like. But when we made those secret treaties public, when we launched the revolution against the imperialist war, when, for the sake of that revolution, we endured unspeakable suffering, when we proved that the capitalists in Russia had been crushed, that they no longer dared even to dream of returning to the old order—then we declared that we were not defending the right to plunder foreign peoples; rather, we were defending our own proletarian revolution, and we would defend it to the very end. That Russia which had been liberated, which had suffered through two years of struggle to bring about its Soviet revolution—this Russia we will defend to the last drop of blood! (Applause.)

We know that we have emerged from an era when we were hemmed in on all sides by the armies of imperialist powers, and when the working people of Russia were still largely unaware of our tasks. In those days, partisan warfare reigned supreme: everyone sought to seize weapons for themselves, heedless of the greater good; lawlessness and plunder prevailed in every corner of the land. Yet in these two short years, we have forged a unified, disciplined army. This task was exceedingly difficult. You know that one cannot master the art of war overnight. You also know that military science is the exclusive domain of the officer corps—of the colonels and generals who survived the collapse of the Tsarist army. You have surely heard that, thanks to those old colonels and generals, there were countless mutinies that cost tens of thousands of lives. Every such traitor had to be purged—and at the same time, we had to recruit commanding officers from among the former ranks of the officer corps, so that workers and peasants could learn from them; for without scientific knowledge, it is impossible to build a modern army, and so we must entrust the command of the armed forces to professional military specialists. This was a daunting task—but we have overcome it.

We have created a unified army, now led by the vanguard of experienced communists, who have succeeded in spreading agitation and propaganda wherever they go. To be sure, the imperialists are also engaged in their own agitation—but today, the peasantry is beginning to understand that not all agitation is the same. By instinct, they are learning to discern where truth lies and where falsehood lurks. At any rate, the agitation propagated by the Mensheviks, the agitation instigated by Kolchak and Denikin—these efforts no longer enjoy the same success they once did. Take their posters and pamphlets: they speak of a Constituent Assembly, they speak of freedom and republicanism—but the workers and peasants, who have won their freedom at the cost of blood, now understand that behind the term “Constituent Assembly” lies the capitalist. And if anything ultimately turned the tide of the struggle against Kolchak and Denikin in our favor—despite the fact that Kolchak and Denikin were backed by the great powers—it was this: in the end, both the peasantry and the laboring Cossacks, who had long remained aloof and indifferent, now rallied to the side of the workers and peasants—and it was this very shift that, in the final reckoning, decided the war and brought us victory.

Relying on this victory, we must now strive with all our might to consolidate it on a different front—one that is bloodless, a front of war against the devastation wrought upon us by the war against landlords, capitalists, Kolchak, and Denikin. You know what this victory has cost us; you know the terrible struggle we endured when we were cut off from the grain-producing regions, from the Urals and Siberia. At that time, workers in Moscow and Petrograd were forced to endure the unbearable torments of famine. You were frightened by the very word “dictatorship of the proletariat.” This term was used to intimidate the peasantry and the working Cossacks, as though to instill in them the notion that dictatorship meant nothing more than the brazen arrogance of the workers. In truth, however, while England and America sought to prop up Kolchak and Denikin, the workers of the central cities, in exercising their dictatorship, sought to show everyone through their own example how to break free from landlords and capitalists and to march forward together with the toiling masses—because labor unites, while property divides. It was this lesson, which we learned over the course of two years, that ultimately led us to victory. It was labor itself that bound us together, whereas the Entente was constantly disintegrating, for property had turned imperialists into savage beasts, driven first and foremost to tear at one another over plunder. Labor, on the other hand, forged us into the force that unites all toiling people. And now, the very word “dictatorship” can only frighten those who are utterly ignorant—if such people still remain in Russia.

I do not know whether there remains a single person who has not been taught by Kolchak and Denikin and who does not understand that the dictatorship of the proletariat means that the proletariat of the capital cities and industrial centers has never before found itself in such dire straits as during these past two years. Today, peasants in the producing provinces find themselves in a position where, though they own the land, they take the entire harvest for themselves. For the first time in thousands of years, since the Bolshevik Revolution, Russian peasants are working for themselves and are able to improve their diet. And yet, throughout these two years of struggle, the working proletariat, in exercising its dictatorship, has endured unprecedented suffering from hunger. Now you understand that dictatorship means leadership—it means uniting the scattered, fragmented toiling masses into a single, cohesive whole against the capitalists, so that we may defeat the capitalists and put an end once and for all to the bloody carnage that has already claimed 10 million lives and left 20 million maimed. To overcome such a power—rooted in mighty armies and in modern culture—requires the unity of all toiling people, a single, iron will. And only the toiling masses can provide this unified, iron will: only the working proletariat; only those conscious workers who, for decades, have been trained in struggle through strikes and demonstrations, who succeeded in overthrowing tsarism; those workers who, during two years of unprecedented civil war, bore everything on their shoulders, fought in the front ranks, and forged the united Red Army—into which tens of thousands of the finest workers, peasants, and cadets poured their lives, dying in the vanguard, while in Moscow, Petrograd, Ivanovo-Voznesensk, Tver, Yaroslavl, and every other industrial center, they endured unspeakable torments of hunger. It was these sufferings that welded the workers together and compelled the peasants and the working Cossacks of the producing provinces to believe in the truth of the Bolsheviks, for it was through this very path that they were given the opportunity to hold their ground in the struggle against the White Guards.

That is why the working class has every right to say that, through these two years of sacrifice and war, it has proven to all working peasants and to every working Cossack that we must unite, that we must forge our bonds. We must fight against those who profit from famine—those who seek to sell bread at a thousand rubles per pood rather than at a fixed price. One may make a fortune from such speculation, but it leads backward, back to the old days when tsarism reigned supreme and when capitalists, in pursuit of their own profits, threw humanity into imperialist slaughter. Such a path leads backward—and it is unacceptable. After the struggle against Kolchak and Denikin, both working peasants and Cossacks came to see clearly that unity is essential; they joined hands with the workers and began to recognize the workers as their leaders. Working peasants saw no offense in the workers’ rule—and could not see any; only the landlords, capitalists, and kulaks perceived offense—these being the worst enemies of the toiling masses, the allies of those imperialists who brought all manner of calamity upon the population and unleashed the bloody war. It is imperative that all workers, all toiling masses, come together in unity—and only then shall we achieve victory.

The bloody war is over; now we wage a bloodless war against devastation, against ruin, poverty, and disease—wars that four years of imperialist warfare and two years of civil war have inflicted upon us. You know how terrible this devastation is. Today, on the outskirts of Russia, in Siberia and the south, tens of millions of poods of grain have already been harvested and transported to storage—but in Moscow, agonizing hunger still persists. People are dying of starvation because they cannot get grain delivered; and they cannot deliver grain because the civil war has laid waste to the country, destroyed its transportation networks, and reduced dozens of bridges to rubble. Steam locomotives are broken beyond repair, and we lack the means to quickly restore them. We are now struggling to secure aid from abroad. Yet we know that we now have the opportunity to embark on the full-scale reconstruction of industry.

How, then, are we to rebuild industry when we cannot offer goods in exchange for grain—because we simply have none to offer?

We know that when the Soviet政权 takes grain from the peasants at a fixed price, it compensates them only with paper money. What, then, is the value of this paper money? It is not the true price of grain—after all, we can issue nothing but paper currency. Yet we insist that this is necessary: that the peasants must lend their grain to the state. And would even a single well-fed peasant refuse to lend grain to a starving worker, knowing full well that once the worker has been nourished, he will repay the loan in kind? No honest, conscientious peasant would ever hesitate to lend grain. Peasants who have a surplus of grain must deliver that grain to the state in exchange for paper money—and that, in essence, is what lending entails. Only a champion of capitalism and exploitation fails to understand this, or to recognize it as a matter of principle: only those who seek to enrich themselves still further at the expense of the hungry. For the workers’ government, such conduct is utterly unacceptable—and in our struggle against it, we will stop at nothing, no matter the cost. (Applause.)

We have now devoted all our resources to the restoration of industry, and we are advancing steadily in this new war—waging it with the same resolve and the same determination with which we have won victory after victory thus far. We have entrusted a commission of scientists and engineers with the task of devising a plan for the electrification of Russia. This plan will be completed within two months, providing us with a clear and comprehensive blueprint for how, over the course of just a few years, the entire country will be crisscrossed by an extensive network of electric power lines—and how, rather than simply returning to the old ways, we will rebuild our industries anew, ushering in a level of cultural development that our prisoners of war had witnessed in Germany.

This is how we must restore our industry—and in doing so, we will repay a hundredfold the grain loans we have taken from the peasants. We know that this task cannot be accomplished in a year or two; the minimum program for electrification is projected to take no fewer than three years, while achieving complete victory in this culturally transformative endeavor will require at least ten years. But if we were able to endure two years in such a bloody conflict, then surely we can weather all difficulties—and persist for ten years or more. Through the workers, we have gained invaluable experience in leading the working masses, an experience that will guide us through every challenge on this bloodless front of struggle against ruin, ultimately leading us to triumphs even greater than those we achieved in our wars against international imperialism. (Applause.)

Published in incomplete form on March 2, 1920, in the newspaper Izvestia of the VTsIK, No. 47.

Published in full on March 2, 3, and 4, 1920, in the newspaper Pravda, Nos. 47, 48, and 49.

Printed according to the text of Pravda, cross-checked against the text of the pamphlet: V. I. Lenin, “Speech at the First All-Russian Congress of Laboring Cossacks,” Moscow, 1920.