X CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
2

REPORT

ON THE POLITICAL WORK OF THE CENTRAL COMMITTEE OF THE RCP(b)

8 MARCH
Comrades, as you are no doubt well aware, the question of the Central Committee’s political work is so inextricably intertwined with the entire activity of the Party, with the operations of Soviet institutions, and with the very course of the revolution itself that, in my view at least, it is hardly possible to speak of a “report” in the strict, literal sense of the term. I see my task as follows: to endeavor to highlight certain of the most significant events—those which, in my opinion, represent something like the pivotal points of our work and of Soviet policy over the past year; those that most vividly capture the experiences we have undergone and yield the richest material for reflection on the causes underlying the revolution’s trajectory, on the significance of the mistakes we have made—of which there have been many—and on the lessons to be drawn for the future. For however natural the task of rendering an account of the past year may be, however obligatory it is for the Central Committee, and however interesting it may be in its own right for the Party itself, the tasks of struggle that lie before us, unfolding as they do, are so urgent, so weighty, so arduous, and bear down upon us with such overwhelming force that our attention is inevitably drawn above all else to how we can draw the proper conclusions from what we have experienced—and how best to address the pressing challenges that now occupy our full attention, both in the present and in the immediate future.
Among the pivotal points of our work that have attracted the greatest attention this year, and with which, in my view, the bulk of our errors are most closely associated, the first is the transition from war to peace.

No doubt all of you—or at least the majority of you—recall that we had attempted this transition several times over the course of three and a half years, yet each time we failed to complete it; and it seems clear that we will not succeed this time either, for the vital interests of international capitalism are too deeply entwined with the imperative to prevent this very transition. I remember that back in April 1918—three years ago—I was called upon to address the VTsIK on our tasks,* at a time when we still framed them in terms that suggested the main phase of the Civil War had come to an end, even though in reality it had only just begun. You will all recall that at the previous Party Congress we had built all our calculations around this transition to peaceful reconstruction, believing that the enormous concessions we were then making to Poland would secure for us the peace we sought. But already by April, the Polish bourgeoisie had launched its offensive—interpreting our supposed pacifism, along with the imperialists of the capitalist powers, as a sign of weakness, for which it paid dearly, ultimately securing a peace that proved far more disadvantageous to them. Yet we never achieved that transition to peaceful reconstruction; instead, we were once again compelled to focus our primary attention on the war with Poland—and later, on the liquidation of Wrangel. This, then, was what shaped the substance of our work during the reporting year. Once again, our entire line of effort was pulled toward military objectives.
Then came the transition from war to peace, when we succeeded in ensuring that not a single soldier of the enemy armies remained on the territory of the RSFSR.
This transition brought with it upheavals that were far, far beyond anything we had anticipated. Undoubtedly, this was one of the principal sources of the myriad errors and misjudgments we committed in our policies during this reporting period—and for which we are now suffering. The demobilization of an army that had been forged in a country bearing an unprecedented burden of strain, an army that had been raised after years of imperialist war—demob-

* See Collected Works, 5th ed., vol. 36, pp. 239–276. Ed.

X CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
ilization of an army whose transport, given our limited means of transportation, was fraught with unimaginable difficulties—just at a moment when famine, triggered by crop failures, and a severe shortage of fuel, which brought transport to a near standstill, were added to the mix—this demobilization, as we now recognize, placed us before challenges that we had grossly underestimated. It is here, to a large extent, that we find the roots of a whole series of crises: economic, social, and political. As early as late last year, I had pointed out that one of the chief difficulties facing the coming spring would be the challenges associated with army demobilization. I had emphasized this point again on December 30, during a major debate*—a debate in which, no doubt, many of you took part. I must say that at the time we scarcely grasped the true scale of these difficulties; we had not yet realized to what extent the challenges would not be merely technical, but to what extent the manifold hardships that had weighed upon the Soviet Republic—exhausted by both the old imperialist war and the new Civil War—would be intensified precisely during demobilization. In a sense, it is quite accurate to say that it is precisely during demobilization that these difficulties would come to light in their full magnitude. For several years, the country had been stretched to its limits in pursuit of military goals, sustaining those goals with every resource at its disposal, sparing nothing of its meager remaining reserves and scant resources for this purpose—and it was only after the war ended that we came to see the full extent of the devastation and poverty that would condemn us for a long time to little more than the slow process of healing our wounds. Yet we cannot even begin to fully turn to the task of healing those wounds. The technical difficulties of army demobilization, in their profound complexity, reveal the depth of the ruin from which, among other things, an inevitable cascade of economic and social crises inevitably flows. The war had accustomed us—all of us, the entire nation—to focusing exclusively on military tasks; and when, after the resolution of those military tasks, the great

* See Collected Works, 5th ed., vol. 42, p. 216. Ed.

Part of the army encounters an immeasurable deterioration in conditions, finds itself confronted with unimaginable hardships in the countryside, and is unable, due to these circumstances—and the broader crises at hand—to put its labor to effective use. The result is something that lies somewhere between war and peace. The situation that emerges is such that it is once again impossible to speak of “peace.” Indeed, demobilization, the very end of the Civil War, signifies the impossibility of focusing all our efforts on peaceful reconstruction—because demobilization gives rise to a continuation of war, albeit in a new form. When tens and hundreds of thousands of demobilized soldiers are unable to apply their labor, returning impoverished and ruined, accustomed to warfare and almost viewing it as their sole vocation—when we find ourselves drawn into a new form of war, a new manifestation of it, which can be summed up under the single term: banditry.
Undoubtedly, one of the Central Committee’s mistakes was failing to fully account for the magnitude of the difficulties associated with demobilization. Of course, it must be said that there could have been no reliable benchmarks for such calculations, for the Civil War had been so arduous that the only guiding principle was: everything must be directed toward securing victory on the Civil War’s front lines—and nothing else. By adhering to this principle, and by sustaining the unprecedented strain of effort that the Red Army endured in its struggle against Kolchak, Yudenich, and others, we were able to achieve victory over the imperialists who had invaded Soviet Russia.
From this fundamental fact—which shaped a whole series of errors and exacerbated the crisis—I would now like to turn to the ways in which, in the Party’s work and in the broader struggle of the proletariat, a host of even deeper discrepancies came to light: miscalculations, flawed planning—or not merely flawed planning, but also misjudgments in determining the balance of forces between our own class and those classes with which it must, in cooperation, and at times in outright conflict, decide the fate of the republic. From this perspective, we must look back at what we have experienced, at our political lessons, at how the Central Committee—having guided the poli-

X Congress of the RCP(b)
in its activities—must come to understand, and strive to make clear to the entire Party. These include such diverse phenomena as the course of our war with Poland, as well as questions of food supply and fuel. In our offensive, in our nearly lightning-fast advance right up to Warsaw, an error was undoubtedly made. I will not now delve into whether this was a strategic or a political mistake—for to do so would take me far afield; I believe that such matters should be left to future historians, while those who, in the midst of fierce struggle, must continue to fend off every enemy, have little time for historical inquiry. But in any case, the error is plain to see—and it arose because we overestimated the superiority of our forces. To what extent did this superiority of forces depend on economic conditions? To what extent did it stem from the fact that the war with Poland awakened patriotic sentiments even among petty-bourgeois elements—elements that were far from proletarian, far from sympathetic to communism, far from unconditionally supporting the dictatorship of the proletariat, and, in some cases, one might even say, not supporting it at all? To sort out these nuances would be far too complex. But the fact remains: in the war with Poland, we committed a certain error.
And if we turn to a field of work such as food supply, we encounter a similar error. With regard to grain requisitioning and its implementation, the reporting year proved far more favorable than the previous one. This year, the total amount of grain collected exceeded 250 million poods. By February 1, 235 million poods had been gathered—compared to just 210 million poods collected over the entire preceding year; thus, in a much shorter span of time, the harvest surpassed last year’s total by a considerable margin. Yet it turned out that of those 235 million poods collected by February 1, we had already consumed roughly 155 million in the first half of the year—averaging 25 million poods per month, or even more. Of course, overall, we must acknowledge that we failed to allocate our resources properly when they were better than those of the previous year. We failed to adequately assess the full gravity of the crisis looming on the horizon as spring approached, and we succumbed to the natural impulse to increase aid to starving workers. Here, too, it must be said that we lacked any solid foundation for calculation. In all capitalist states, despite the anarchy and chaos inherent in capitalism, the cornerstone of economic planning is decades of accumulated experience—a body of knowledge that capitalist nations, homogeneous in their economic structure yet differing only in minor particulars, can draw upon and compare. From such comparisons, a truly scientific law can be derived: a discernible pattern, a proven regularity. We possessed neither such experience nor any comparable resource for making these calculations; and it was entirely natural that, when the opportunity finally arose after the war to provide more relief to the starving population, we were at once unable to strike the proper balance. Clearly, we should have moderated the scale of our distributions—and through this moderation, we should have built up a reserve fund for the dark days that were bound to come in spring, and that indeed did arrive. But we failed to do so. Once again, we made a mistake—one that was characteristic of our entire line of work: a mistake that reveals how the transition from war to peace presented us with a host of tasks and challenges for which we had neither the experience, nor the training, nor the necessary materials—and thus the crisis was dramatically intensified, further exacerbated, and made far worse.
Something analogous, without a doubt, occurred with fuel. This is a central question in economic construction. The entire transition from war to peace, the entire shift toward economic development—about which we spoke at the Party’s previous congress and which constituted the primary concern and main focus of all policy during the reporting year—of course, all of this could not fail to be grounded in, and to rely upon, accurate accounting of fuel production and its proper distribution. Without this, there could be no overcoming of difficulties, no restoration of industry…

X CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
There can be no question about it. It is clear that we are in a far better position today than we were last year. In the past, we were cut off from the coal and oil regions; after the victories of the Red Army, we gained access to both coal and oil. At the very least, our fuel resources have been significantly expanded. We know that the fuel reserves we inherited in the reporting year were larger than before. Yet, precisely because of this expansion in our fuel resources, we made a grave mistake by immediately adopting such an extensive distribution of fuel—so extensive that it quickly exhausted those very resources—and as a result, we found ourselves facing a fuel crisis far sooner than we had anticipated, even before we had fully transitioned to a proper, sustainable mode of operation. On all these matters, you will receive detailed reports shortly; at this moment, I cannot even begin to approximate the data we possess on this subject. But in any case, drawing on the lessons of the past, we must acknowledge that this error stemmed from a flawed understanding of the situation—and from our overly hasty transition from war to peace. It has become evident that this transition could only occur far more slowly than we had imagined. What we needed was far longer preparation, a much more deliberate pace—and this is the lesson we have learned over the past year, a lesson that the Party as a whole must internalize with utmost rigor if we are to define our primary tasks for the coming year and to avoid repeating these same mistakes in the future.
Undoubtedly, it must also be said that these errors—and especially the crises they gave rise to—were exacerbated by the poor harvests. While I have pointed out that our food supply efforts yielded incomparably better food resources during the reporting year, we must also recognize that this very fact constituted one of the principal sources of crisis. For due to the crop failures—which led to widespread famine, livestock mortality, and the ruin of peasant farms—the centers of our food requisitioning efforts were concentrated in regions where surplus grain was not particularly abundant. By contrast, the various peripheries of the republic—Siberia, the North Caucasus—harvested far greater surpluses; yet it was precisely there that the Soviet administrative apparatus was least well established, where Soviet power was least stable, and where transportation was severely hampered. As a result, we ended up gathering our increased food resources from the least productive provinces, thereby driving the crisis in the peasant economy to an extreme degree. Once again, we clearly see that our accounting practices lacked the necessary precision. On the other hand, we were in such a dire strait that we had little choice. A country that had endured not only a devastating imperialist war but also years of civil war could hardly survive except by devoting every available resource to the front. And of course, having been laid waste by war, the country had no alternative but to extract food surpluses from the peasantry—even if it could not compensate them through any other means. This was essential to save the country, the army, and the worker–peasant state. We told the peasants: “Of course, you are lending your grain to the worker–peasant state—but otherwise, you have no way to save your own state from the landlords and capitalists.” Under the conditions imposed upon us by the imperialists and capitalists through their war, we simply had no other option. Yet these circumstances ultimately left the peasant economy so weakened after such a prolonged conflict that the poor harvests were compounded by reduced sowing rates, deteriorating means of production, declining yields, labor shortages, and more. The harvest failure turned out to be far more severe than we had expected, and while our relatively successful collection of food surpluses did accompany this intensification of the crisis, it may well be that even greater difficulties and hardships await us in the months ahead. We must take this fact into careful consideration when analyzing what we experienced in politics during the reporting year—and when determining the political tasks we must set for the new year. The reporting year has left the following year with all the same pressing challenges.

X CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
For now, I would like to turn to a completely different topic—one that falls outside the realm of our immediate concerns: the debate over trade unions, which consumed so much of the Party’s time. I have already spoken about this today, and of course, I could only cautiously remark that few among you would likely regard this debate as anything more than an extravagant luxury*. Personally, I must add that, in my view, this extravagance was indeed utterly unacceptable—and that by indulging in such a debate, we undoubtedly made a mistake, failing to recognize that we had elevated a question to the forefront that, given objective conditions, simply could not—and should not—occupy the first place. We allowed ourselves to indulge in idle speculation, oblivious to just how deeply we were diverting attention from the urgent, looming, and all-too‑imminent question of the very same crisis. So what, then, were the actual outcomes of this debate, which consumed so many months and had grown almost tiresome for most of those present? You will hear specialized reports on this matter, but in my report, I would like to highlight one particular aspect: namely, that in this instance, a familiar adage proved true—“no harm without some good.”
Unfortunately, the “harm” turned out to be rather excessive, while the “good” was rather meager. (Laughter.) Still, some good did emerge: in losing time and distracting our Party comrades from the pressing tasks of combating the petty-bourgeois forces that surround us, we nevertheless learned to discern certain relationships that had previously eluded us. The real benefit lay in the fact that, in this struggle, the Party could not help but learn a great deal. Although we all knew that, as the ruling party, we could not fail to merge the Party’s “upper echelons” with the Soviet “upper echelons”—for they are already merged within us, and they always will be—we nonetheless gained a valuable lesson from this debate, one that must be carefully taken into account. It was primarily the Party’s “upper echelons” who voted in favor of certain platforms—platforms that were sometimes referred to as

* See this volume, pp. 4–5. Ed.

The dialectics of self-movement and cognition are the very essence of human progress. Imperialism, as a stage in the development of capitalism, is characterized by the relentless accumulation of capital and the intensification of class struggle. The bourgeoisie, driven by its insatiable desire for profit, seeks to exploit both labor and resources on an ever-expanding scale—yet this very drive ultimately leads to the contradictions inherent in capitalist relations of production. The proletariat, in turn, emerges as the vanguard of historical change, tasked with dismantling the old order and ushering in a new era of social justice.

In the Soviet Union, the dictatorship of the proletariat was not merely a political instrument but a profound expression of the material conditions of existence. It was rooted in the concrete realities of class struggle, where the working class, through its organized efforts, sought to transform society from one based on exploitation to one founded on the principles of equality and collective ownership. The Soviets, as organs of workers’ power, embodied this revolutionary vision, serving as both a means of organizing the masses and a vehicle for realizing the ideals of socialism.

Yet the path to socialism was fraught with challenges. The petty bourgeoisie, often caught between the poles of capital and labor, frequently oscillated between supporting the proletariat and resisting its advances. This ambivalence was not unique to Russia; it was a universal feature of the transition from feudalism to capitalism—and later, from capitalism to socialism. The NEP, though hailed as a pragmatic measure to stabilize the economy after the devastation of war communism, also exposed the deep fissures within Soviet society. While it temporarily eased the economic crisis and allowed for the revival of commodity production, it simultaneously reinforced the divisions between urban workers and rural peasants, between industrialists and smallholders.

The Central Committee of the RCP(b), the highest organ of the party, recognized these tensions early on. In its reports to the Congresses, it emphasized the need to strengthen the bonds between the proletariat and the peasantry, to bridge the gap between the two classes, and to ensure that the dictatorship of the proletariat remained firmly grounded in the interests of the working people. The VTsIK, as the supreme body of Soviet power, played a crucial role in implementing these policies, coordinating efforts across the vast expanse of the RSFSR and ensuring that the voice of the working class was heard at every level of governance.

However, the road to socialism was never smooth. The Council of Labour and Defence, established to manage the country’s wartime economy, faced immense pressure to balance competing demands: sustaining the military effort while addressing the needs of civilians, maintaining production levels while redistributing resources equitably. These tasks were complicated further by the ongoing class struggle, which manifested itself in myriad forms—from strikes and protests to outright insurrections. The RCP(b) understood that the success of the revolution depended not only on the strength of the party itself but also on its ability to mobilize the broader masses, to inspire them with a shared vision of a better future.

At the 10th Congress of the RCP(b), the debate over theoretical orientations reached a critical juncture. Some comrades, who had previously been skeptical of the party’s leadership, now began to recognize the urgency of the moment. As the party grappled with the challenges of post-revolutionary reconstruction, it became clear that the question of class struggle could no longer be relegated to abstract debates. The fate of the dictatorship of the proletariat—and, by extension, the future of socialism—hinged on the party’s ability to navigate these complex dynamics with clarity and resolve.

The discussions at the Congress revealed a spectrum of views, ranging from those advocating for a more radical approach to the consolidation of proletarian power to those calling for caution in the face of mounting economic difficulties. Yet, despite these differences, the Congress unanimously agreed that the party must remain steadfast in its commitment to the principles of Marxism-Leninism. The lessons learned from the previous years—lessons about the importance of unity, discipline, and strategic foresight—were reaffirmed and expanded upon, as the party prepared to confront the next phase of its historic mission.

As the Congress drew to a close, the delegates issued a resounding declaration: “The dictatorship of the proletariat is not a mere political slogan—it is the cornerstone of our socialist endeavor. To preserve and strengthen this dictatorship, we must deepen our understanding of the dialectics of history, embrace the self-movement of the working class, and forge ahead with unwavering determination.” With these words, the Congress set the stage for a new chapter in the struggle for socialism—a chapter marked by both triumph and trial, by hope and uncertainty, yet always guided by the enduring principles of Marxist theory.

In the end, it was not the grandeur of the ideas themselves that defined the success of the revolution, but rather the capacity of the party to adapt, to learn, and to act in accordance with the demands of the times. The dialectics of history taught the RCP(b) that the road to socialism was neither straight nor easy—but it was a road worth traveling, for it led to a world where the fruits of labor would be shared equally, where the dignity of the individual would be restored, and where the dreams of the working class would finally come true.

X CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
In those days, one could hardly pick up a German or French newspaper in the autumn without seeing how Moscow and the Bolsheviks were being portrayed—what adjectives were heaped upon us, and how the Bolsheviks were transformed, with just 21 conditions for admission to the Third International, into the central issue of their own entire political life. This is our conquest—and no one can ever take it from us! It demonstrates how the international revolution is gaining momentum, while, at the same time, the economic crisis in Europe is intensifying. Yet, even if we were to assume that, in the short term, aid would indeed come from abroad in the form of a solid proletarian revolution, we would simply be delusional—and I am certain there are no such people in this very hall. Over the past three years, we have learned to understand that betting on the international revolution does not mean setting a fixed timetable; rather, the accelerating pace of development may bring revolution by spring—or it may not. Therefore, we must learn to align our activities with the class relations both within our own country and in other nations, so that we can sustain the dictatorship of the proletariat over a long period and, however gradually, begin to heal the myriad ills and crises that continually descend upon us. Only such a perspective is both correct and sober.
Now I will turn to a matter that concerns the work of the Central Committee over the past year—and which is closely tied to the tasks before us: the question of relations with foreign countries.
Before the Ninth Party Congress, our attention and all our efforts had been directed toward achieving a transition from relations of war with the capitalist countries to relations of peace and trade. We undertook every possible diplomatic initiative in this regard and emerged victorious against what were undoubtedly formidable diplomats. When, for example, representatives of America or representatives of the League of Nations proposed, under certain well-known conditions, that we cease military operations against Denikin and Kolchak, they believed that we would find ourselves in a difficult position. In reality, however, it was they who ended up in a difficult position, while we achieved a tremendous diplomatic victory. They were outwitted, forced to withdraw their terms—which were later exposed in diplomatic literature and the press around the world. But to rest on a diplomatic victory alone is far too little for us. What we need are genuine trade relations, not merely diplomatic victories. Yet only this past year has the situation begun to shift toward a point where trade relations have started to develop somewhat. The question of trade relations with England arose—and beginning last summer, this became a central issue. The war with Poland set us back considerably in this respect. England was already prepared to sign a trade agreement. The English bourgeoisie wanted this agreement; the English court circles, however, were reluctant to see it come to fruition, repeatedly sabotaging the negotiations—and the war with Poland delayed the conclusion of the agreement. As a result, the matter remains unresolved to this day.
Today, it seems, the newspapers have reported that Krassin, in London, informed the press that he expects a swift signing of a trade treaty. I do not know whether this hope is fully justified. I cannot say for certain whether it will actually come to pass—but for my part, I must state that the Central Committee has devoted considerable attention to this issue and has regarded the tactic of making concessions as the right course of action, in order to secure a trade agreement with England. Not so much because we might gain more from England than from other countries—after all, England is not as advanced in this regard as, say, Germany or America. England is a colonial power, overly invested in its Asian policy, and at times overly sensitive to the successes of Soviet authority in certain countries lying close to its colonies. Because of this, our relations with England are marked by a particular kind of fragility—a fragility rooted in an intricate web of objective factors that no amount of diplomatic skill on the part of Soviet diplomats can overcome. Still, what matters to us is the trade agreement

X CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
with England, especially given the emerging opportunity to conclude a treaty with America, which possesses production capabilities on a far grander scale.
In this connection, the question of concessions arises. Over the past year, we have engaged with this issue more extensively than before. On November 23, the Council of People’s Commissars issued a decree that presented the question of concessions in a form most conducive to attracting foreign capitalists. When certain misunderstandings or incomplete understandings of this issue arose within party circles, a series of meetings were held among responsible workers, where the question was thoroughly debated. Overall, the issue did not give rise to major disagreements—though we did hear quite a few protests from workers and peasants. Some would say, “We drove out our own capitalists, and now they want to invite foreign capitalists in!” To what extent these protests were driven by unconscious fears, and to what extent they reflected the calculations of the kulak or outright capitalist elements among the non‑party members—who believed that they had a legitimate right to be capitalists in Russia, and capitalists with power, rather than allowing foreign capital to enter without wielding any real authority—whether one factor or the other played a role here: the Central Committee certainly had no statistical data on this matter, nor, in fact, could any statistics in the world possibly account for or clarify such nuances. But in any case, with this decree, we took a step toward establishing concessionary relations. It should be said that, in practice—and this must never be forgotten—we have not secured a single concession. The debate among us centers on whether we ought to strive at all costs to obtain concessions. Whether we succeed in securing them depends not on our debates and decisions, but on international capital. On February 1 of this year, the Council of People’s Commissars issued another resolution on the question of concessions. The first clause of this resolution states: “In principle, approve the granting of oil concessions in Grozny, Baku, and at other active fields, and initiate negotiations, conducting them with due haste.”

This question was not without its share of well-known debates. The granting of concessions—specifically in Grozny and Baku—seemed to comrades to be a misguided move, one likely to provoke opposition among the workers. The majority of the Central Committee, along with myself, came to the view that perhaps these complaints were not rooted in necessity.
The Central Committee, by a majority, and I personally, adopted the position that these concessions were indeed necessary—and we now ask you to lend your authority to this perspective. This alliance with state-owned trusts in other advanced countries is absolutely indispensable for us, given that our economic crisis is so profound that we simply cannot restore our shattered economy through our own efforts alone, without equipment and technical assistance from abroad. Merely importing such equipment is insufficient. We might instead grant concessions on a broader scale—perhaps to the largest imperialist syndicates: a quarter of Baku, a quarter of Grozny, a quarter of our finest forest reserves—thereby securing, through the deployment of cutting-edge machinery, the essential foundation we need. In return, we would receive equipment from those same syndicates—equipment we ourselves require—for the remaining portions of our industries. In this way, we could at least begin to catch up, if only by a quarter or by half, with the most advanced syndicates in other nations. No one who views the current situation with even a modicum of clarity can doubt that, without this course of action, we would find ourselves in an exceedingly difficult position—and that, unless we marshal every last ounce of our strength in a colossal effort, we will never close the gap. Negotiations with some of the world’s greatest trusts have already begun. Of course, their motives are far from altruistic: they pursue these arrangements solely for the sake of immense profits. Modern capitalism—putting it in the language of peaceful diplomats—is nothing less than banditry; it is a predatory syndicate, a far cry from the capitalism of more stable, “normal” times. It extracts profits running into the hundreds of percent, exploiting its monopolistic hold over the global market. Admittedly, such an undertaking would come at a very high cost for us—but since the world revolution compels us to…

X CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
we still have much to wait before that moment arrives. There is no other way for us to bring our technological capabilities up to contemporary standards. And had the pace of the world revolution suddenly shifted dramatically toward the favorable side following one of its crises—and had that revolution broken out while the concession terms were still in effect—then the concessionary obligations would not have proven as burdensome as they appear on paper.
On February 1, 1921, the Sovnarkom decided to purchase 18.5 million poods of coal from abroad, as our fuel crisis was already becoming all too apparent. By that time, it had become clear that we would need to draw upon our gold reserves not only to acquire machinery and equipment—but that the latter would significantly boost our coal production, enabling us to manage our resources more effectively if we imported machines designed to develop the coal industry, rather than merely importing coal itself. Yet the crisis proved so acute that we were forced to abandon this economically superior approach in favor of a less optimal strategy: spending our resources on purchasing coal that we could have produced domestically. We would have to make even greater concessions in order to procure consumer goods for both peasants and workers.
Now I wish to turn my attention to the events in Kronstadt. I do not yet have the latest news from Kronstadt, but I have no doubt that this uprising—quickly revealing to us the familiar figures of White Guard generals—will be quelled within the coming days, if not within the coming hours. There can be no doubt about that. But we must carefully weigh the political and economic lessons to be drawn from this episode.
What does it signify? The transfer of political power from the Bolsheviks to some undefined conglomerate—or coalition—of disparate elements, seemingly only slightly to the right of the Bolsheviks, perhaps even “to the left” of them—the sheer diversity of political groupings that attempted to seize power in Kronstadt is strikingly unclear. Undoubtedly, at the same time, the White generals—whom you are all familiar with—played a significant role here. This is abundantly evident. Just two weeks before the Kronstadt events, Parisian newspapers were already reporting that an uprising was brewing in Kronstadt. It was perfectly clear that this was the work of Socialist-Revolutionaries and foreign White Guard agents—and yet, at the same time, the movement ultimately devolved into a petty-bourgeois counterrevolution, a petty-bourgeois anarchic impulse. This was something entirely new. This development, when viewed in light of all the crises we have faced, must be carefully considered from a political standpoint and thoroughly analyzed. Here, a petty-bourgeois, anarchic spirit emerged, agitating under the banner of free trade and consistently directed against the dictatorship of the proletariat. And this mood spread widely among the proletariat—taking root in enterprises across Moscow, and extending to industrial sites throughout numerous provincial towns. This petty-bourgeois counterrevolution is, without a doubt, more dangerous than Denikin, Yudenich, and Kolchak combined, because we are dealing with a country where the proletariat constitutes a minority; we are dealing with a country in which ruin has overtaken peasant property—and moreover, we face another critical factor: the demobilization of the army, which unleashed an astonishing number of insurgent elements. However small—or however insignificant, one might say—the shift in power that the Kronstadt sailors and workers sought to enact—aiming to correct the Bolsheviks on matters of free trade—it may have seemed like a minor shift, with slogans that appeared largely unchanged: “Soviet power,” perhaps with slight modifications, or merely a refined version—but in reality, the non‑party elements served only as stepping stones, as rungs on a ladder, as bridges through which the White Guards made their entrance. This is an inevitable political reality. We have seen petty-bourgeois, anarchic elements emerge in the Russian Revolution; we have fought against them for decades. Since February 1917, we have witnessed these petty-bourgeois elements in action during the Great Revolution—and we have seen how petty-bourgeois parties have repeatedly claimed that their programs differed little from those of the Bolsheviks, asserting only that they pursued those programs through different methods. From our experience…

X CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
not only the October Revolution—we know this from the experiences of the peripheries, of the various regions that had once formed part of the old Russian Empire, where, in place of Soviet power, representatives of another form of authority would often emerge. Recall the Democratic Committee in Samara! 13 All of them came bearing slogans of equality, freedom, and a constituent assembly—and time and again, far more than once, they proved to be nothing more than a stepping stone, a bridge leading to the rise of White Guard rule.
We must draw all the theoretical conclusions that are inevitably required of a Marxist from this entire experience, for Soviet power, by virtue of its economic circumstances, is inherently unstable. The experience of all of Europe demonstrates, in practice, what invariably comes of attempting to sit on the fence between two opposing camps. That is why we must state clearly that political friction poses the greatest danger in this regard. We must take a close look at this petty-bourgeois counterrevolution, which raises the banner of free trade. Even if, at first, free trade is not as closely aligned with the White Guards as Kronstadt once was, it will nonetheless inevitably lead to White Guard rule, to the triumph of capital, to the full restoration of capitalism. And I repeat: we must recognize this political danger with absolute clarity.
This danger reveals to us what I have been discussing in our debates over programmatic platforms: in the face of this peril, we must understand that we are not merely required, in a formal sense, to put an end to party disputes—which of course we will do—but that this alone is not enough! We must remember that we must approach this question with greater seriousness.
We must realize that, in times of crisis in the peasant economy, we cannot survive except by appealing to the peasantry for assistance—both for the benefit of the city and for the benefit of the countryside. We must bear in mind that the bourgeoisie seeks to turn the peasantry against the workers, to stir up petty-bourgeois anarchic tendencies among the peasants under the guise of workers’ slogans—a strategy that will directly lead to the overthrow of

* See this volume, pp. 15–16. Ed.

the dictatorship of the proletariat and, consequently, to the restoration of capitalism, of the old landed‑capitalist order. Here, the political danger is plain to see. A number of revolutions have followed precisely this path—and we have always pointed it out. This path has now become strikingly clear before us. It demands of the Communist Party in government, of the leading revolutionary elements within the proletariat, a stance that is certainly not the one we have so often adopted over the past year. This danger undoubtedly calls for greater unity, undeniably requires greater discipline, and unquestionably necessitates even more concerted, more harmonious work! Without this, it is impossible to confront the dangers fate has brought upon us.
Next come the economic questions. What does the slogan of “free trade,” raised by petty-bourgeois forces, really mean? It reveals that in the relations between the proletariat and small farmers, there exist difficult problems—tasks that we have yet to resolve. I am speaking of the relationship between a victorious proletariat and smallholders, when the proletarian revolution unfolds in a country where the proletariat is in the minority, where the majority consists of petty bourgeois elements. In such a country, the role of the proletariat lies in guiding these smallholders toward communal, collective, and cooperative forms of labor. This is theoretically beyond dispute. We have touched upon this transition in a series of legislative acts, but we know that the issue does not lie in the laws themselves—it resides in practical implementation. And we know that this can be achieved only when one possesses a powerful, large-scale industry capable of offering small producers such benefits that they will come to recognize, in practice, the advantages of large-scale production.
This is how Marxists—and all socialists who have reflected on social revolution and its tasks—have always approached the question in theory. But in our case, there is one distinctive feature, the very one I have been discussing, and one that Russia embodies to the highest degree: we not only have a minority, but a significant minority of the proletariat— X CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
and a vast majority of the peasantry. The conditions under which we were forced to defend the revolution made the resolution of our tasks extraordinarily difficult. We could not demonstrate the full advantages of large-scale production in practice—for that large-scale production had been destroyed; indeed, it itself was struggling to survive, and its recovery could only be achieved by imposing sacrifices upon those very same small farmers. We need to revive industry—and for that, we need fuel; and if we need fuel, we must rely on firewood; and to rely on firewood means to count on the peasant and his horse. In times of crisis, famine, and livestock mortality, the peasant must extend credit to the Soviet state—in the name of large-scale industry, from which he has yet to receive anything. Such are the economic conditions that create immense difficulties; such are the economic conditions that compel us to examine the transition from war to peace from a deeper, more profound perspective. During wartime, we cannot manage our affairs otherwise than by saying to the peasants: “You must lend to the worker-peasant state, so that it may emerge from its dire predicament.” When we direct all our attention to rebuilding the economy, we must recognize that before us stands the small farmer, the smallholder, the small producer—engaged in commodity-based production until the great victory of large-scale industry is secured, until it is fully restored. Yet this restoration is impossible on the old foundations: it is a task that will take many years—no fewer than decades, and in our ruined state, probably even longer. For many long years to come, we must deal with this small producer as such, and the slogan of free trade will remain inevitable. The danger posed by this slogan does not lie in the fact that it masks White Guard and Menshevik aspirations; rather, it lies in the fact that it may gain widespread acceptance, despite the very same peasant masses’ deep-seated hatred of the White Guards. It gains traction precisely because it corresponds to the economic conditions under which the small producer must subsist. Starting from

From this line of reasoning, the Central Committee adopted a resolution and initiated a debate on the question of replacing requisitioning with taxation—and today, it has directly placed this very question before the Congress, which you have now endorsed through your decision of the 14th. The issue of taxation versus requisitioning has long been enshrined in our legislation, dating back to late 1918. The Tax Law was promulgated on October 30, 1918. This law, which introduced a natural tax on agricultural producers, was indeed adopted—but it never came into effect. Following its proclamation, several directives were issued over the course of a few months, yet the law remained unimplemented. On the other hand, the practice of extracting surpluses from peasant households was a measure that, under the exigencies of wartime, had been imposed upon us as an absolute necessity—though it did little to accommodate the peaceful conditions required for the sustainable existence of the peasant economy. What the peasant needed was the assurance that he could set aside a certain amount for state requisitions while still retaining sufficient resources to meet his own local needs and circulate within his own sphere of activity.
Our entire economic system—both in its broad contours and in its individual components—was thoroughly permeated by the conditions of wartime. In light of these circumstances, we were compelled to prioritize the collection of a specific quantity of foodstuffs, paying little heed to how this would fit into the broader dynamics of social circulation. Now, as we shift our focus from questions of war to questions of peace, we must begin to view the natural tax in a new light: we no longer regard it solely from the standpoint of state provisioning, but also from the perspective of safeguarding the interests of small agricultural holdings. We must understand those economic forms of resistance that the petite agrarian sector has manifested against the proletariat—and that are being further intensified by the current crisis. We must strive to do everything possible in this regard. This is the most crucial task before us. We must grant the peasant a degree of freedom in local economic activity, converting requisitioning into taxation so that smallholders can better plan their production and adjust the scale of their output in accordance with the tax burden. Of course, we are well aware that

X CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
in the context that surrounds us, this is a highly challenging undertaking. The sown area has shrunk, yields have declined, means of production have been reduced—all of which have led to a marked decrease in surplus production, and in many cases, such surpluses have all but disappeared. We must reckon with these realities as a matter of fact. The peasant must endure some hardship in order to spare the factories and cities from total famine. On a national scale, this is entirely understandable; but for the scattered, impoverished peasant household to truly grasp this principle—that is something we cannot count on. And we know that without coercion, we simply cannot succeed—coercion to which the ruined peasantry reacts with great intensity. Nor should we assume that this measure will shield us from the crisis. Yet at the same time, we are committed to making the greatest possible concessions in order to provide small producers with the best possible conditions for realizing their full potential. Until now, we have adapted to the demands of war; now we must adapt to the conditions of peacetime. This task has fallen squarely upon the Central Committee—a task of transitioning to a natural tax regime under the continued rule of the proletarian state—and it is closely intertwined with the question of concessions. You will be discussing this task in detail, and it demands our special attention. Through concessions, the proletarian state can secure agreements with the capitalist powers of the advanced nations; and the strength of our industrial base depends on these agreements—if we are to advance further along the path toward a communist society. On the other hand, during this transitional period, in a country where the peasantry remains dominant, we must find ways to implement economic measures that support the peasantry, to adopt the maximum number of policies designed to alleviate their economic plight. Until we have fundamentally transformed the economic structure, until large-scale industry has fully reorganized itself, we must ensure that the peasant retains the freedom to manage his own affairs. The situation we are currently experiencing is one of liminality: our revolution exists in the midst of capitalist states. As long as we remain in this liminal position, we are forced to seek out extraordinarily complex forms of engagement.

We, weighed down by the burdens of war, were unable to concentrate our attention on how to establish economic relations between the proletarian state power—which, though holding vast productive capacities, had been utterly devastated—and how to forge forms of coexistence with small farmers who, as long as they remain smallholders, cannot sustain themselves without a well‑defined system of local circulation. I regard this question as the most important economic and political issue facing Soviet power at present. I believe that this question marks the political culmination of our work—as we move beyond the wartime period and begin, in the reporting year, to transition to a peaceful state of affairs.
This transition is fraught with difficulties, and it has become abundantly clear that we must approach this petty-bourgeois tendency with sober realism. We view this array of phenomena from the vantage point of class struggle, and we have never been deluded about the fact that the relationship between the proletariat and the petty bourgeoisie is a difficult one—one that requires, for the victory of proletarian power, not merely isolated measures, but rather an entire system of complex, transitional measures. The fact that we issued a decree on the natural tax in late 1918 demonstrates that this question had long been present in the minds of communists—but that, due to wartime conditions, we were unable to put it into practice. In the midst of civil war, we were compelled to adopt wartime measures. However, it would be a grave error to conclude from this that only such measures and such relationships are feasible. To do so would almost certainly spell the downfall of Soviet power and the dictatorship of the proletariat. When the transition to peace takes place amid an economic crisis, we must remember that building a proletarian state in a country with large-scale industry is far easier than in a nation where small-scale production predominates. This task calls for a multiplicity of approaches, and we neither close our eyes to these difficulties nor forget that the proletariat is one thing, while small-scale production is another. We do not forget, X CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
We must recognize that there are distinct classes, and that the petty-bourgeois, anarchic counterrevolution represents a political stage on the road to White Guardism. We must confront this reality squarely and soberly, fully aware that, on the one hand, maximum unity, steadfastness, and discipline are required within the proletarian party; and on the other, we need a whole array of economic measures—measures we have so far been unable to implement due to wartime conditions. We must acknowledge the necessity of concessions, of procuring machinery and implements to serve agriculture, so that by exchanging these for grain we can reestablish relations between the proletariat and the peasantry that will ensure the latter’s survival in peacetime conditions. I hope we will return to this issue later, and I repeat: in my view, we are dealing here with a crucial question—and the past year, which must be characterized as a transition from war to peace—places before us tasks of the utmost difficulty.
In closing, I would like to say just two words about the question of combating bureaucratism, which has consumed so much of our time. As early as last summer, this question was raised in the Central Committee; in August, the Central Committee brought it up in a letter addressed to all organizations; in September, it was discussed at the Party Conference; and finally, at the December Congress of Soviets, the issue was taken up on a broader scale.15 There is no doubt that bureaucratic ills exist; they have been acknowledged, and a genuine struggle against them is essential. Of course, in the debates we have witnessed, some platforms treated this question at best lightly—and all too often, it was approached from a petty-bourgeois perspective. Undoubtedly, in recent times, ferment and discontent have been detected among non‑party workers. When non‑party meetings were held in Moscow, it became clear that, under the banner of democracy and freedom, these gatherings were in fact advancing slogans aimed at overthrowing Soviet power. Many—or at least some—of the representatives of the “Workers’ Opposition” fought against this evil, against this petty-bourgeois counterrevolutionary tendency,
and declared: “We will unite against this!” And indeed, they managed to demonstrate the highest degree of unity. Whether all supporters of the “Workers’ Opposition” and of other groups whose platforms leaned toward syndicalism are truly so remains to be seen—I do not know. It is imperative that we learn more about this at the present congress; we must understand that the fight against bureaucratism is an absolutely indispensable struggle—and that it is just as complex as the task of confronting the petty-bourgeois element. In our state structure, bureaucratism has come to assume such a pernicious character that it is explicitly addressed in our Party Program—precisely because it is intertwined with that petty-bourgeois element and with its atomized, fragmented nature. These ills can be overcome only through the united efforts of the working class, so that workers not only know how to welcome the decrees of the Workers’ and Peasants’ Inspection—after all, how many decrees do we have that are actually welcomed?—but also know how to exercise their rights through the Workers’ and Peasants’ Inspection—a right that today is lacking not only in the countryside, but even in the cities—and in some of our capital cities, no less! Often, even in places where cries against bureaucratism are loudest, workers still do not know how to exercise this right. This is a circumstance that demands our most careful and deliberate attention.
Here, we frequently observe that some individuals, while striving to combat this evil, may even sincerely wish to help the proletarian party, the proletarian dictatorship, the proletarian movement—but in practice, they end up aiding the petty-bourgeois, anarchic forces that, time and again throughout the revolution, have proven themselves to be the most dangerous enemies of the proletarian dictatorship. And now—this is the central conclusion and lesson of the current year—they have once again revealed themselves as the most formidable foe, capable of winning the greatest number of supporters and allies in a country like ours, able to sway the sentiments of broad masses and even to win over segments of non‑party workers. When that happens, the position of the proletarian state becomes exceedingly precarious. If we fail to grasp this truth—if we do not draw the proper lessons from this experience and fail to turn this congress into a pivotal moment, both in terms of economic policy and in terms of maximizing the unity of the proletariat— X CONGRESS OF THE RCP(b)
we will be forced to heed the somber words that we have forgotten nothing of what should sometimes be forgotten—empty, trivial matters—and that we have learned nothing of the serious lessons we ought to have absorbed during this year of revolution. I hope that will not be the case! (Stormy applause.)
“Pravda,” No. 53, and “Izvestia VTsIK,” No. 53, March 10, 1921.