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CONCLUDING REMARKS ON THE REPORT REGARDING THE FOOD TAX

27 MAY
Comrades, it seems to me that, despite the dissatisfaction voiced by many comrades from the localities regarding the reports and the ensuing debates, we have nonetheless achieved one crucial objective: we have gained a clear understanding of how the new policy is being grasped and implemented on the ground. In truth, there was little else we could have set as the primary goal for this conference—other than to exchange views, so that we might thoroughly familiarize ourselves with this new policy and, in unanimous accord, move toward its proper application. And we have indeed attained that goal. To be sure, there were moments of confusion—and even intellectual wavering, which, unfortunately, at times extended far beyond mere practical uncertainties or speculative musings about whether this “serious” policy was truly “serious,” or destined to last long or short-lived. What Comrade Vareikis had to say was, in essence, not at all communist; in terms of its underlying logic, it bore a striking resemblance to Menshevism. We must state this plainly. How could he possibly insist on asking, “Tell us, is the peasantry a class—or is it not a class?” Of course it is a class. If that is so, he argued, then political concessions are in order; but if not, then certain measures must be taken in that direction—measures that, in any case, would closely resemble the Zubatovist approach.
Here, reference was made to Martov, who had asserted this point in its entirety; yet Comrade Vareikis spoke of “to a certain extent,” “in one way or another,” “partially.” The resulting confusion was nothing short of staggering, utterly monstrous. It was the very same kind of confusion that arose when we were accused of resorting to violence. And once again, we find ourselves compelled to explain that when we speak of dictatorship, what we mean is the exercise of force. Every state is, in essence, an exercise of coercion—but the key distinction lies in whether that coercion is directed against the exploited or against the exploiters; whether it is wielded against the working class and the oppressed, or against the ruling class itself. The same applies when we draw comparisons with Zubatovism. What, after all, was the essence of Zubatovism? It consisted in using minor economic concessions to prop up the exploiting class while simultaneously offering crumbs to the oppressed classes. That is why the response was always the same: economic concessions will never persuade the proletariat—the class that has fought tirelessly for the liberation of all the oppressed—to abandon its aspiration to seize political power and dismantle the entire system of oppression. Today, the proletariat holds power in its hands and wields it with confidence. It leads the peasantry. What does it mean to lead the peasantry? First and foremost, it means pursuing a line that aims to abolish classes—not to preserve small-scale production. Had we strayed from this fundamental, core principle, we would have ceased to be socialists and instead fallen into the camp of those petty bourgeois—into the ranks of the Socialist-Revolutionaries and the Mensheviks, who today stand as the most bitter enemies of the proletariat. Not long ago, Comrade Bukharin quoted, in Pravda, the words of a highly respected political thinker like Milukov (a figure quite different from Chernov or Martov), who argued that, in Russia’s current political arena, there is room only for a socialist party. And since these “socialist” parties—the Socialist-Revolutionaries and the Mensheviks—have chosen to take up the task of confronting the Bolsheviks, then, in that sense, the Socialist-Revolutionaries and the Mensheviks deserve “honor and a place.” This is Milukov’s own literal formulation, revealing that he is far more astute than Martov and Chernov—simply because he represents the interests of big bourgeoisie (even if, personally, he was not as sharp-witted as Chernov or Martov). And Milukov is right. He assesses the stages of political development with complete sobriety, pointing out that, in order to return to capitalism, one must first pass through the stage of Socialist-Revolutionary and Menshevik ideology. Such a stage is indispensable for the bourgeoisie—and anyone who fails to recognize this is simply foolish.

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From the standpoint of the bourgeoisie’s interests, Milukov is entirely—and absolutely—correct. If we, as the party of the proletariat, are leading the peasantry, then we must pursue a policy of strengthening large-scale industry and, accordingly, we must make economic concessions. The proletariat led the peasantry, and it led them in such a way that, during the Civil War, the peasantry reaped greater economic benefits than the proletariat itself. To put it in Martov’s terms, this amounted to nothing less than Zubatovism. Economic concessions were made in favor of the peasantry—concessions granted to that segment of the working population which constitutes the majority of the country. Is this a misguided policy? No—it is the only correct policy! And no matter how much we may hear talk of Martov’s “little phrases,” of how you cannot deceive a class—I still ask you: what, exactly, are we deceiving? We say there are two paths: one leads via Martov and Chernov, and through them to Milukov; the other leads via the Communists. As for us, we are fighting to destroy capitalism and to establish communism—a path that is exceedingly arduous, and along which many grow weary and lose faith. The peasantry does not believe. But are we really deceiving them? It is laughable to claim that we are deceiving the class, that we have become hopelessly entangled in three competing theories—when in fact, we are not even dealing with three theories, but rather just two: the proletariat and the peasantry. The proletariat leads the peasantry, but this class cannot be expelled as easily as landlords and capitalists were driven out and destroyed. To transform it requires long, painstaking effort—and often great hardship and sacrifice. It is up to us, the leading party, to determine how many burdens will fall upon the proletariat, and how many upon the peasantry. Should we guide this division according to the principle of equality, of equal distribution? Let Chernov and Martov debate that question—but we say that our guiding principle must be the interests of the proletariat: namely, to safeguard against the restoration of capitalism and to secure the path toward communism. If the peasantry is now more weary, more exhausted—or, more accurately, if it perceives itself as more weary—then it is to them that we must grant greater concessions, precisely in order to guard against the resurgence of capitalism.

and to secure the path toward communism. This is the correct policy, and we are guided by nothing but a class-based calculation. We declare openly, honestly, without any deception, to the peasants: in order to hold fast to the road to socialism, we will grant you, our peasant comrades, a series of concessions—but only within certain limits and to a certain extent—and, of course, we alone will judge what that extent should be and what those limits ought to be. The most significant concession we make is in terms of the distribution of burdens, which have, until now, fallen more heavily upon the proletariat than upon the peasantry. Over the three and a half years of the dictatorship of the proletariat, the proletariat has borne far greater hardships than the peasantry. This is an utterly obvious and incontrovertible truth. Such, then, is the question at issue between the proletariat and the peasantry: either the peasantry must come to an agreement with us, and we will grant it economic concessions, or else there can be no other outcome but struggle. That is why all other arguments amount to nothing but the most egregious confusion. In reality, any other path leads straight to Milyukov, to the restoration of landowners and capitalists—while we, on the contrary, say that we will make every possible concession, so long as it serves to uphold and strengthen the power of the proletariat, which, despite all difficulties and obstacles, steadily advances toward the abolition of classes and toward communism.
Furthermore, there were serious misinterpretations regarding the remarks made about Comrade Svidersky’s speech. All representatives of the opposition immediately launched into a series of brilliant parliamentary attacks against him. The most brilliant of these “parliamentary opponents” turned out to be Comrade Larin. While the Soviet system does not offer much scope for parliamentary rhetoric, human nature still asserts itself; although we do not have formal parliamentary institutions, the habits and manners of parliament have nonetheless persisted. Concerning Comrade Svidersky, some claimed that he had gone too far, even suggesting that he had advocated for a “food dictatorship.” Perhaps Comrade Svidersky did, in his choice of words, say a bit too much. But in essence, he was right. We allocated speaking roles in such a way that each speaker, so to speak, would take on a specific

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instrument in the process. As for the exchange of goods, Comrade Khinchuk, the representative of Centrosouz—a cooperative leader—delivered the report. As you know, Centrosouz has concluded a contract with the state. If not all comrades have read this contract, they have at least become familiar with its contents through non-official channels. The state enters into a contract with representatives from Centrosouz; the People’s Commissar for Trade concludes a contract with a representative of the cooperative movement, and cooperative members abroad must abide by our agreement. In the contract, we stipulate that all goods should flow into the cooperative network—so that cooperatives may trade not for themselves, but for us, for the centralized state, for large-scale industry, for the proletariat. This is a profoundly important and critical condition, for otherwise it simply cannot be done. In Petrograd and Moscow, famine reigns; yet at the same time, Comrade Bryukhanov presents tables showing that in the prosperous provinces, people consumed twice as much food as their allotted share, while here, in our own regions, we received only half as much. In your view, given such circumstances, is a food dictatorship necessary? In my opinion, it is not only necessary—it is needed two or even three times over, because we are rife with such tendencies toward recklessness. We must recognize that we cannot do without coercion, and that the entire process of distribution within Centrosouz must remain under our control.
We tell Centrosouz: you have traded well, and we will reward you with a bonus in the form of a specified percentage. This is enshrined in the contract, and we will certainly encourage this commission-based trade through a comprehensive bonus system, awarding premiums for profitable transactions—but we will insist that this trade serve our interests, the interests of the state that has centralized large-scale industry and is led by the proletariat. Will large-scale industry benefit? And who, then, will it benefit?
How, pray tell, can you obtain food supplies without taxation? Not in any case! We do not know whether taxation or barter will yield more—but it is a fact that there is simply not enough of a surplus fund available for barter. Without an apparatus of coercion, you will never obtain what you need. Never! This is plain to everyone. And in this regard, as a proponent of this line, Svidersky is entirely correct. We have approved the inspection regime, and the Presidium of the VTsIK will place even greater pressure on you—after all, you know whom to put in jail; that is your responsibility—but once you have placed someone in prison, you must ensure that he fulfills his obligations. Today, without state support—roughly four hundred million poods of grain—we cannot even begin to talk about large-scale industry or socialist construction. Anyone who has not learned this lesson over the past three years is not worth discussing further. Yet despite the enormous number of mistakes we have made, we have steadily increased this fund—and although, in 1920, when we expanded this fund, we committed a grave error in its distribution, we nevertheless achieved tremendous progress. We must approach matters with sober judgment and acknowledge that, in order to collect the food tax, we need a rapidly functioning apparatus; there is no room here for liberal rhetoric or for nodding approval at the idea that “inspection” is somehow an unpleasant matter.
And as for the notion that, during the transitional period from capitalism to communism—and with the majority of the population still rural—you could obtain taxes without coercion, I am afraid that, as far as I know, such a “communist” society does not yet exist. If you wish to sustain large-scale industry—the very foundation of the proletarian dictatorship—then you must want this apparatus to function effectively. And of course, centralization is essential here. Take a look at the statistics. Unfortunately, few of you are truly familiar with them. Consider how many localities, despite explicit directives from the center, have taken liberties for themselves. And then, from Moscow and Petrograd, comrades come to us and present tables documenting deviations from central directives. It turns out that there were three warnings, just as many reprimands—but what came next? Next came arrest, dismissal, and so on. (A voice from the audience: “How many such cases were there?”) There were many violations, but few dismissals. This is what I wanted to say in defense of this line.
This year’s harvest, it seems, will be decent in many places—and earlier than we had anticipated. So we must prepare in advance; and right now, the situation is such that…

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We must quickly assemble the core fund. Consequently, to treat this matter as many here have done is utterly misguided.
As for Comrade Larin, his talents lie more in the realm of parliamentary opposition and journalism than in the sphere of practical administration. When it comes to drafting proposals, he is tireless. He mentioned here that as early as January 1920 he had put forward a sound proposal. But if we were to collect all of Comrade Larin’s drafts and select from them only the truly viable ones, we would probably have to measure their merit in terms of mere tenths of a per mille—roughly one in a thousand.
On May 10th, he submitted to the Politburo of the Central Committee a proposal for a general transition to collective supply. The underlying principle was indeed enticing—but when was this proposal introduced? On May 10, 1921, at a time when food supplies were utterly insufficient even in such major centers as Moscow and Petrograd, when these vital hubs of the Russian Republic were temporarily condemned to a semi-starved, near‑famine existence. To propose a restructuring of food distribution agencies at a moment when people were exhausted, huddled by the telegraph wires leading to Siberia, the Caucasus, and Ukraine, watching every route, scrutinizing almost every railcar—such a suggestion was nothing short of absurd. What on earth could possibly justify a shift to all‑collective supply at such a time? The Politburo adopted the following resolution: “Reject Larin’s proposal—and the VTsIK (which, of course, promptly endorsed the proposal)—and instruct the author to reconsider the issue once again, with greater thoroughness from the standpoint of actual supply capabilities…” This basic approach was reiterated—at least according to what you may have read in Chubar’s and Golzman’s resolutions—at the Trade Union Congress, where Chubar aligned the main tenets of his resolutions with the cautious policy laid out by the Party’s Central Committee. Golzman and Larin, however, proceeded according to a rule that Larin himself, half in jest, whispered into my ear as the Politburo session drew to a close. (I don’t think I’m being overly presumptuous in recounting this conversation.) When Larin saw that this resolution had been adopted, he said to me, “You’ve offered us a little finger—now we’ll take the whole hand.” At that moment, I realized—not that I hadn’t known it before, but now I would finally understand—how we ought to negotiate with Larin. If he asks for a million, we should offer him just fifty thousand. (Laughter.) During the debate, it became clear that when Larin was asked for his sources, he cited an example he described as “brilliant”—the construction of the Kizlyar–Staro-Terechnaya road. Although it had already been demonstrated here that there was nothing new about this example—that such experiments had been carried out before—still, it was progress when someone presented us with a concrete case, a tangible result of experience rather than abstract theorizing, rather than endless resolutions. It would be a misfortune if we were to spend our time reading and debating these resolutions, nine-tenths of which leave one feeling heavy‑headed after even a cursory glance.
What we need are not resolutions, but an accurate accounting of local experience. Let us study that experience—otherwise, what good is it to build system upon system and churn out draft laws on collective supply when we lack even the most basic capacity for real provision? Practical work is already being done on the ground. We have often been told: “There’s no point blaming the localities for failing to share their local experience.” Yet the Central Committee itself has been accused of withholding local expertise. In truth, we ourselves possess little such experience; we are preoccupied almost exclusively with issuing decrees. Most of us are immersed in this tedious work, which is why we are unable to perceive the wealth of local experience. That experience must be brought to us by you. When Larin presented his brilliant example of the Kizlyar–Terechnaya road, it was entirely appropriate—after all, it was local experience. But even here, he allowed himself to become carried away; Chubar and Osinsky had to correct him. And this was not an isolated instance. He claimed that under the old system, a worker received 28 pounds, while under the new system, he received 4 poods. I questioned the figures and asked him where he had obtained them. He replied that they had been verified by the Workers’ and Peasants’ Inspection. But we know that Larin is not only a parliamentary figure—he is also skilled at drawing caricatures. First, he produced a cartoon, insisting that there was no beast more vicious than the RCI; now he claims that the figure of 4 poods instead of 28 pounds had been certified by the RCI. At first, through such anecdotes, he undermined all faith in the RCI; then, he suddenly held up RCI certification as the sole proof. And both Chubar and Osinsky pointed out that in the forest…

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In industry, this system has been employed time and again. The key lies in comparing the experience of one locality with that of another. Larin’s most valuable insights came when he described the progress being made on the construction of the Kizlyar–Terek Road. Was it not better to learn from the experiences of Tula or Tambov—these were the questions we needed to answer. The central authorities cannot provide you with such information, for we ourselves do not possess it; rather, it is up to you to bring these local findings back to us, to share your data with us, to guide us—and in doing so, we shall all learn from one another, striving to emulate the best practices.
Among the thousands of local centers, at the county or district level, there may be just two or three that have truly mastered this approach; perhaps a few more can be found, but two or three is certainly a reasonable estimate. These centers must be studied thoroughly—but in a practical, probing manner, subjecting their figures to rigorous verification and avoiding reliance solely on the rhetoric of the opposition. If we approach matters in this way, the central authorities will indeed have much to learn.
Furthermore, I believe the most important outcome of our discussion was the series of detailed indications regarding how the exchange process had begun—what was lacking were only precise figures. Comrades from the Donbas region had sent a telegram stating: “We exchanged 3,000 poods of wheat.” This transaction concerned a small-scale operation, yet the specifics remained unknown. I had expected that comrades here would elaborate: On what basis did the exchange take place? Through which organization—was it through Komprod, a tenant farmer, a concessionaire, or a private entrepreneur? We do not know these details, yet they are far more crucial than our decrees. Decrees can be read; there is no need to convene a conference merely to discuss them. But if we wish to assess how those 3,000 poods of wheat were secured in the Donbas—and to determine whether comrades in Volhynia or Tambov might have done even better—we must gather in person to deliberate. A great deal has already been accomplished at the local level. What is needed now is for local leaders to bring their practical experiences to the table: “I tried this, but a central agency stood in my way—and then I managed to bend that central agency to my will.” Regarding Tambov Governorate, a comrade spoke quite dismissively, slipping into parliamentary-style rhetoric as he lambasted Komprod, claiming that the region boasted cooperative shops and institutions. Some comrades took up this line of argument. There are numerous adverse conditions—late sowing, harsh climatic conditions, and a host of other challenges; in many places, negative factors compound one another. Yet even under such difficult circumstances, his data clearly showed that exchanges had begun and that cooperative efforts were gaining momentum. Even lipstick was mentioned: How much lipstick did you acquire, and under what conditions was it distributed? We must put lipstick to good use—after all, in commerce, we must account for what people are asking for. When people ask for lipstick, we must deliver. With proper management, we can even turn lipstick production into a major industrial enterprise. All we need to do is calculate how much lipstick we must purchase—or procure—in order to secure 1,000 poods of bread. (A voice from the audience: “And icons—they’re asking for icons!”) As for icons—here, someone reminded us that peasants are requesting icons—I believe that, unlike capitalist countries, which exploit such commodities as vodka and other intoxicants, we must resist this temptation. For however profitable these goods may be for trade, they risk pulling us back toward capitalism rather than propelling us forward toward communism—whereas lipstick poses no such threat. (Laughter.) When it comes to bells, opinions diverge; some comrades suggest that in certain regions, bells will soon be voluntarily melted down and repurposed into copper wire for electrification. Moreover, there are so many bells in Russia today that they scarcely serve their original purpose for religious believers—after all, the need for them has largely disappeared. (p. 26) Concerning Volhynia, it was said that in some areas, peasants would trade a pood of salt for a pood of bread. But how was this trade conducted? Did you employ agents? How did you carry out your transactions? Who stored the goods? Who affixed the locks? How much was stolen?—None of this was discussed. Yet these are precisely the questions that matter most to you. Instead, it was reported that the Poles offered a pood of salt in exchange for a pood of bread. In conversation with a comrade, I pointed out that if the Poles were willing to give a pood of salt for a pood of bread, while your own peasants were content to accept just 10 pounds of salt, then surely you could have negotiated better deals for yourselves. Who was standing in your way? You claimed that the central authorities were the obstacle. But let me say this: I find it hard to believe that the central authorities would actually stand in the way of securing a pood of Polish salt!

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four poods of bread. There’s no way we could be against that; I’ll never believe it. Back when we had an army, comrades used to complain that everything was handled through military authorities—but now that there is no army, no war, we must turn to the central authorities for guidance. A comrade once told me that they now have “Yuzhbum” and that they’re fighting against this very “Yuzhbum.” When I asked which institution they had filed a complaint against “Yuzhbum” with, he replied that he didn’t know—yet this is of utmost importance.
They are utterly unable to name the institution where the complaint against “Yuzhbum” was lodged. As for what this “Yuzhbum” actually is, I have no idea; it is probably an institution afflicted by the same bureaucratic distortions that plague all our other Soviet bodies. The bourgeoisie continues to wage war against us. We’ve expelled many of them abroad under the protection of Milyukov, but thousands still remain here, waging war against us according to all the rules of bureaucratic art. And how, comrades, do you fight against this? Do you think you can simply take on this “Yuzhbum” with your bare hands—and so forth? When we fought against Denikin, we did not go into battle with our bare hands; instead, we armed ourselves to the teeth and organized armies. But here sit superb clerical officials who now see their class interests as lying in doing us harm, in obstructing our work—officials who believe they are saving culture by preparing the Bolsheviks for downfall, officials who know the intricacies of clerical procedure a hundred times better than we do. After all, how could we possibly have known this trade? We must fight them according to all the rules of the art—and hold accountable those Party comrades who go around complaining or telling anecdotes about some alleged atrocity committed in such-and-such an institution, wandering all over Moscow and recounting tales of bureaucratic misadventures. And you, comrades—conscious communists—what have you done to combat this? “I complained,” one says. “But to which institution did you actually take that complaint?” It turns out that not to any institution at all—and yet the complaint ought to have been directed both to the Sovnarkom and to the VTsIK, that is, to make use of all the rights guaranteed by our Constitution.

This is war—and of course, it is often accompanied by defeats. But where has it ever been seen that even the most victorious wars are entirely free from setbacks? Defeats are possible here as well, but we must continue to fight. Yet we treat this matter far too lightly. Have you ever brought anyone to justice for bureaucratic delays? Where are the judgments handed down by people’s courts for the case of a worker or peasant who, compelled to visit an institution four or five times, finally receives something that is formally correct—but in substance nothing more than a mockery? You are communists, after all—so why don’t you set traps for these bureaucratic gentlemen, then drag them before the people’s court and throw them into prison for their endless delays? How many of them have you sent to prison for bureaucratic procrastination? Of course, anyone will tell you that this is a troublesome business. Perhaps someone might take offense. Many reason this way—but when it comes to filing complaints or telling anecdotes, we have the strength to carry it through. In the end, however, the line between anecdote and the kind of gossip printed in the foreign journals of Mensheviks and Socialist-Revolutionaries becomes blurred. The Mensheviks publish: “We have our own correspondents in every Soviet institution in Moscow.” (Laughter.) Time and again, the anecdotes told here—especially those that circulate widely in the speeches of the parliamentary opposition—are reproduced in Menshevik journals just a few days later. But we must know where to draw the line; we must distinguish serious struggle from mere anecdotal storytelling. Of course, when the people grow weary, a gifted orator may tell an anecdote to give them a moment of respite. From that perspective, I have no personal objection. But we cannot rest content with that—we must sum up our experience, reflect on how many cases we have prosecuted, and assess the results we have achieved. If we approach this task with that mindset, we will endure this war—even though it is far more difficult than the Civil War.
I would like to say a few more words about Nikolaev Governorate. A comrade from Nikolaev Governorate offered a wealth of invaluable insights here. But these

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The directives were, for the most part, still underdeveloped. He remarked: “Manufactured goods and iron are flowing in—but not lipstick.” Others pointed out that manufactured goods were not coming through at all. Comrade [someone] turned his attention to the merchants of grain: while compelled to implement free trade, he wanted to know how best to combat this phenomenon. We could no longer fight as we had in the past; on the contrary, we had established transport security measures and adopted a series of new decrees—but of course, it was impossible to achieve rapid results. But what, in this regard, was your local experience? We now have a number of decrees concerning transport security—not against the merchants themselves, but against their “improper use” of transport. Special commissions have been set up, along with emergency troikas of the Cheka and the TChK, as well as the military authorities and the People’s Commissariat for Railways. So, what bodies are operating in your localities? How do these various organs coordinate with one another? What is being done about complaints that the merchants have once again gained the upper hand? How are they actually functioning? These are the questions we need to be discussing. Yet here people come to complain: “The merchants have overwhelmed us.” We have adopted decree-based directives—perhaps they are flawed; we must examine them carefully—but how are we to go about doing so? We test our own decrees by publishing them. You know them; you come here to discuss them and their practical application. In such-and-such a place, the transport troika operated in this particular way—successfully here, less successfully there. Perhaps this will not be as dazzling a presentation as the one on the food dictatorship. But without this, we cannot learn how to make fewer mistakes in our decree-based work—and that, above all, is what matters.
In conclusion, I would like to turn to the conclusions that, in my view, Comrade Osinsky has very aptly outlined, and which provide a comprehensive summary of our activities. Osinsky offered three key conclusions. The first was “seriously and for the long term.” I believe he is absolutely right. “Seriously and for the long term”—this is something we truly must engrave firmly in our minds and remember well, for, owing to the pervasive habit of gossip, rumors circulate that we are pursuing a policy in quotation marks—that is, mere politicking, that everything is being done only for the day. This is incorrect. We take into account the class relations at play and look at how the proletariat must act in order to lead the peasantry, despite all obstacles, toward the path of communism. Of course, we must sometimes retreat—but we must approach this matter with the utmost seriousness, from the standpoint of class forces. To see this as a trick or a ruse is to imitate the common folk, the petty bourgeoisie, who live in a way that endures far beyond the confines of the Communist Party. However, when Comrade Osinsky went further and began to speak about a specific time frame, I would hesitate to agree. “Seriously and for the long term”—twenty-five years. I am not so pessimistic; I will not attempt to determine what, in my view, the appropriate time frame should be—but, in my opinion, that is somewhat overly pessimistic. Let us hope that we can plan for five to ten years; after all, we often struggle even to plan for five weeks.
We must promote non‑party, enterprising workers. We must keep repeating, over and over again, that the nature of meetings, congresses, conferences, and gatherings within the Communist Party and in Soviet Russia simply cannot be the same as it was in the old days—or as it still is in many of our circles today, where speeches are delivered in the spirit of parliamentary opposition, only to be followed by the drafting of resolutions. We have accumulated so many resolutions that no one—not even those who drafted them—can possibly read them all, let alone collect them. We must focus on action, not on resolutions. Under the bourgeois system, it was the owners who engaged in practical affairs, not the state organs; but for us, economic activity is our shared responsibility. This is the most fascinating aspect of our politics. Of course, we can—and indeed must—scold the Mensheviks for the 999th time; yet, in the end, this is nothing more than repetition—a practice many of us have been engaged in for thirty years. And for most of us, it has grown tiresome.
Consider, instead, the question of how we might exchange manufactured goods, lipstick, and other items for bread within a socialist state—how we might secure an extra pud of flour in exchange for Polish salt. That is a hundred times more interesting. Although it may not be the usual topic, we must address the issue of entrepreneurial initiative at party meetings. The entire capitalist world is gripped by extreme hunger. As for salt, lipstick, and other commodities—they are abundant in their lands; and if we apply our resources wisely…

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With the slogan of local initiative and grassroots dynamism, we will secure for ourselves an additional few hundredweight of grain.
Comrade Gusev has provided me with a draft resolution on the communist production cooperative. The essence of the draft is laid out in paragraph five, where cooperative members request that they be guaranteed a “healthy, hygienic ration.” (Laughter.) A “healthy, hygienic ration” — this is the ultimate goal toward which our entire food policy is directed. We must collect 240 million poods of grain through taxation and 160 million poods through barter, totaling 400 million poods, so that the peasantry can feel the economic stability of this collection system.
We could no longer continue with the requisitioning policies. It was imperative to change course. In this respect, we may now find ourselves at the most challenging stage of our construction efforts. If we were to compare the entire work of the Communist Party to a four‑year university curriculum in the higher sciences, then our current position could be described as follows: we are taking a transitional exam from the third to the fourth year; we have not yet passed it, but all signs indicate that we will succeed. If we count in terms of academic years, the first year spanned from the 1870s to 1903 — the initial, formative period, when revolutionary currents ranging from Narodnikism and Social Democracy to the Second International gradually converged on Bolshevism. That was the first year.
The second year ran from 1903 to 1917 — a period of intense preparation for revolution, marked by the first experience of the 1905 Revolution. The third year extended from 1917 to 1921 — four years whose substance far surpassed the preceding forty years. This was a profoundly practical test, as the proletariat came to power; yet it was still not the decisive trial. While our songs proclaim that “this is our final, decisive battle,” I must say that, unfortunately, it is not the last — though it is one of the battles closest to the final, decisive engagement, to be precise. Now we are taking a transitional exam from the third to the fourth year. If we take Osinsky’s example and speak in terms of years, I believe we should allocate ten years to this task, because we must first pass the transitional exam from the third to the
fourth year, and then we must successfully complete the entire fourth year: only then will we truly become invincible. We can achieve victory on the economic front. If we prevail in our relations with the peasantry and manage to secure a “healthy, hygienic ration” this year, that will mark a transitional exam from the third to the fourth year. After that, all the projects we have planned will take on a more serious and enduring character.
This is the challenge before us. That is why, as I bring my remarks to a close, I would like to reiterate my hope that, despite the difficulties and in spite of all those longstanding traditions that prohibit addressing local issues of petty economics at congresses, conferences, or even at good parliamentary sessions, we nevertheless resolve to say to ourselves: as communists, we must engage in this work; we must carefully account for practical experience in economic activity at the grassroots level — where decrees are implemented, where they are put to the test, where their shortcomings must be corrected, where we must begin our work in such a way that we can summarize it at a local assembly. Only then will our construction move forward in a genuine and lasting manner. (Stormy applause.)