REPORT ON THE TACTICS OF THE RCP(B) – 5 JULY
Comrades! To be honest, I have not had the opportunity to prepare properly for this report. The translation of my pamphlet on the tax in kind * and the theses on the tactics of the Russian Communist Party ** are all that I have been able to systematically prepare. To this material, I wish only to add a few clarifications and remarks.
In order to substantiate our party’s tactics, it seems to me that we must begin by examining the international situation. We have already discussed in detail the economic conditions of capitalism on a global scale, and the Congress has already adopted certain resolutions on this matter.25 In my theses, I touch upon this question very briefly, focusing exclusively on the political dimension. I do not delve into the economic foundations; however, I believe that, in the international context of our republic, we must politically reckon with the fact that a certain balance of power has now undeniably emerged—between those forces that once engaged in open, armed struggle for the dominance of one or another ruling class: the balance between bourgeois society, and the international bourgeoisie as a whole, on the one hand, and Soviet Russia, on the other. Yet, of course, this balance is only relative in nature.

* See Collected Works, 5th ed., vol. 43, pp. 203–245. Ed.
** See the present volume, pp. 3–12. Ed.

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It is only with regard to this military struggle that I assert that a certain equilibrium has been established in the international arena. Of course, it is essential to emphasize that we are speaking here only of a relative equilibrium—a highly unstable equilibrium. In the capitalist states, vast reservoirs of combustible material have accumulated, just as they have in those countries that until now were regarded merely as objects of history rather than as its subjects—that is, in the colonial and semi-colonial regions. It is therefore entirely possible that, sooner or later—and quite unexpectedly—uprisings, great battles, and revolutions will erupt in these lands. In recent years, we have witnessed the direct confrontation between the international bourgeoisie and the first proletarian republic. This struggle lay at the very heart of the world’s political landscape, and it is precisely here that a fundamental shift has now taken place. Since the international bourgeoisie’s attempt to strangle our republic has failed, an equilibrium has emerged—albeit a highly unstable one.
Of course, we fully understand that the international bourgeoisie is currently far stronger than our republic, and that it is only a peculiar combination of circumstances that prevents it from continuing its war against us. Over the past few weeks, we have once again observed, in the Far East, attempts to resume the invasion.26 There is no doubt that such attempts will continue. There is no room for doubt within our party on this score. What matters to us is to recognize that an unstable equilibrium exists—and that we must make use of this brief respite, taking into account the distinctive features of the current situation, adapting our tactics to the specific characteristics of this context, while never forgetting, for a single moment, that the need for armed struggle may suddenly arise once again. The organization and strengthening of the Red Army remain, as ever, our primary task. And when it comes to the food question, we must continue to think, above all else, of our Red Army. In this international context, where we must still expect new attacks and new attempts at invasion by the international bourgeoisie, we cannot afford to deviate from our chosen path. As for our practical politics, the fact that a certain equilibrium has emerged in the international arena does carry some significance—but only insofar as we must acknowledge that the revolutionary movement has indeed advanced, even if the development of the international revolution this year has not proceeded as straightforwardly as we had hoped.
When we set out, in due time, to launch the international revolution, we did so not because we believed we could anticipate its unfolding, but because a host of circumstances compelled us to initiate this revolution. We reasoned: either the international revolution would come to our aid, in which case our victories would be assured; or we would carry out our modest revolutionary work, confident that, should we suffer defeat, we would nonetheless have served the cause of revolution and that our experience would prove beneficial to other revolutions. It was clear to us that without the support of the international world revolution, victory for the proletarian revolution was impossible. Even before the revolution—and again after it—we held that either the revolution would break out in the other, more economically developed capitalist countries, right away, or at least very soon; otherwise, we would surely perish. Despite this awareness, we did everything in our power to preserve the Soviet system under all circumstances and at any cost, for we knew that we were working not only for ourselves, but also for the international revolution. We knew this; we expressed this conviction repeatedly, both before the October Revolution and immediately after it, as well as during the conclusion of the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk. And, by and large, this was the right approach.
But in reality, the movement did not unfold as straightforwardly as we had expected. In other major, most economically advanced capitalist countries, the revolution has still not yet broken out. To be sure, the revolution is advancing—this we can affirm with satisfaction—and it is precisely because of this

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Under the given circumstances, although the international bourgeoisie is a hundred times stronger than we are—both economically and militarily—it is nonetheless incapable of strangling us. (Applause.)
In § 2 of the Theses, I examine how this situation came to be and what conclusions we must draw from it. I would add that the ultimate conclusion I draw from this analysis is as follows: the international revolution we have foreseen is indeed advancing. However, this forward movement is not as straightforward as we had anticipated. At first glance, it is clear that in other capitalist countries, despite the conclusion of peace—however flawed it may have been—it has proven impossible to spark a revolution, even though, as we know, the revolutionary symptoms were both profound and numerous—indeed, far more profound and numerous than we had imagined. Today, pamphlets are beginning to appear that reveal to us that, over the past few years and months, these revolutionary symptoms in Europe were far more serious than we had suspected. So what ought we to do now? What is needed above all is thorough preparation for revolution—and a deep, nuanced understanding of its concrete development in the advanced capitalist countries. This is the first lesson we must draw from the international situation. For our Russian Republic, we must use this brief respite to adapt our tactics to the zigzagging course of history. Politically, this balance is of great importance, for we clearly see that in many Western European countries—where broad masses of the working class, and quite possibly the vast majority of the population, are organized—the principal bulwark of the bourgeoisie consists precisely of those hostile organizations within the working class that align themselves with the Second and Second and a Half Internationals. I address this in § 2 of the Theses, and I believe that here I need only touch upon two points that have already been discussed in our debates on questions of tactics. First: the task of winning over the majority of the proletariat. The more organized the proletariat is in a capitalist‑developed country, the greater the depth and rigor with which history demands that we prepare for revolution—and the more thoroughly we must win over the majority of the working class. Second: in the industrially developed capitalist countries, the very core of capitalism’s support rests precisely on that segment of the working class organized within the Second and Second and a Half Internationals. Were it not for this section of workers—were it not for these counterrevolutionary elements within the working class—the international bourgeoisie would be utterly unable to maintain its grip. (Applause.)
I would also like to emphasize here the significance of the movement in the colonies. In this regard, we observe in all the old parties—indeed, in all the bourgeois and petty‑bourgeois workers’ parties affiliated with the Second and Second and a Half Internationals—a lingering residue of old, sentimental views: they claim to be filled with sympathy for the oppressed colonial and semi‑colonial peoples. The movement in the colonial countries is still regarded as a minor national movement, one that is entirely peaceful. But this is not so. Since the beginning of the twentieth century, profound changes have taken place in this respect: millions upon millions—indeed, the vast majority of the world’s population—are now emerging as independent, active revolutionary forces. And it is perfectly clear that in the coming decisive battles of the world revolution, the movement of the majority of the world’s population—initially directed toward national liberation—will turn against capitalism and imperialism and may well play a revolutionary role far greater than we currently expect. It is important to emphasize that, for the first time in the history of our International, we have begun to prepare for this struggle. Of course, there are still far more difficulties to overcome in this vast arena—but in any case, the movement is moving forward, and the toiling masses, the peasants of the colonial countries, though still backward today, will play a tremendously significant revolutionary role in the subsequent phases of the world revolution. (Lively approval.)

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As for the internal political situation of our republic, I must begin by examining class relations with precision. Over the past few months, a shift has occurred here, as we witness the emergence of new organizations within the exploiting class that are arrayed against us. The task of socialism is to abolish classes. At the forefront of the exploiting class stand large landowners and industrial capitalists. Here, the work of dismantling their power is relatively easy and can be brought to completion in just a few months—or sometimes even in a matter of weeks or days. In Russia, we have expropriated our exploiters, the large landowners, just as we did the capitalists. During the war, they lacked their own independent organization; they merely acted as lackeys of the military forces of the international bourgeoisie. Now, after we have repelled the offensive of the international counterrevolution, a foreign-based organization of the Russian bourgeoisie and of all Russian counterrevolutionary parties has come into being. One may estimate that the number of Russian émigrés scattered across foreign lands amounts to one and a half or even two million. In nearly every country, they publish daily newspapers, and all the parties—landlord and petty‑bourgeois parties alike, including the Socialist Revolutionaries and the Mensheviks—maintain extensive ties with foreign bourgeois elements; in other words, they receive sufficient funds to sustain their own printing presses. We can observe, beyond our borders, the concerted efforts of all our former political parties without exception—and we see how the “free” Russian press abroad—from the Socialist Revolutionaries and the Mensheviks down to the most reactionary monarchists—defends large-scale landownership. To a certain extent, this simplifies our task, for we are better able to assess the enemy’s strengths, his organizational structure, and the political currents within his camp. On the other hand, of course, this also complicates our work, because these Russian counterrevolutionary émigrés employ every possible means to prepare for struggle against us. This struggle dialectics once again demonstrates that, on the whole, the class instincts and class consciousness of the ruling classes still stand far above the self‑consciousness of the oppressed classes—though the Russian Revolution has accomplished more in this regard than all previous revolutions combined. There is not a single village in Russia where the people, where the oppressed masses, have not been shaken to their very core. And yet, if we calmly assess the organizational prowess and political clarity of vision displayed by the Russian counter‑revolutionary émigré community abroad, we are compelled to acknowledge that the class consciousness of the bourgeoisie still surpasses that of the exploited and oppressed. These individuals pursue every conceivable tactic; they skillfully seize upon each opportunity to launch attacks on Soviet Russia in one form or another, seeking to fragment and undermine it. It would be highly instructive—and I am confident that our foreign comrades will take up this task—to systematically trace the most significant aspirations, the most crucial tactical maneuvers, and the dominant currents within this Russian counter‑revolution. This movement operates primarily abroad, and it will not be particularly difficult for our international comrades to follow its trajectory. In certain respects, we must learn from this enemy. These counter‑revolutionary émigrés are remarkably well informed, superbly organized, and consummate strategists—and I believe that a systematic comparison, a methodical study of how they organize themselves and how they exploit each opportunity, can exert a profound impact on the working class from a propaganda standpoint. This is not abstract theory; it is practical politics, and here we see what the enemy has learned. The Russian bourgeoisie has suffered a crushing defeat over the past few years. As the old adage goes, “A defeated army learns much.”27 The defeated reactionary army has indeed learned much—and learned exceedingly well. It devours knowledge with the greatest avidity, and it has achieved remarkable successes. When we seized power in a single, decisive thrust, the Russian bourgeoisie was disorganized and politically underdeveloped. Today, I believe, it stands at the forefront of modern

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Western European development. We must take this into account, we must refine our own organizations and methods—and we will strive to do so with all our might. For us, the task was relatively easy, and I believe that other revolutions will likewise find it straightforward to deal with these two exploitative classes.
But beyond this class of exploiters, in nearly every capitalist country—perhaps with the exception of England—there exists a class of small producers and small farmers. The central question of revolution now lies in the struggle against these two latter classes. To free ourselves from them, we must employ different methods than those used in our fight against large landowners and capitalists. With the former two classes, we could simply expropriate them and drive them out—as we did. But with the last remaining capitalist classes, with the small producers and petty bourgeois who exist in every country, we cannot proceed in the same way. In most capitalist nations, these classes constitute a powerful minority, accounting for roughly 30 to 45 percent of the population. If we add to them the petite-bourgeois element within the working class, the total rises even higher—well over 50 percent. They cannot be expropriated or driven out; here, the struggle must take a different form. From an international perspective, the significance of the period now beginning in Russia—when we view the international revolution as a unified process—lies fundamentally in the fact that we must, in practice, resolve the question of the proletariat’s relationship to the final capitalist class in Russia. Theoretically, all Marxists have long and easily resolved this question; but theory and practice are two different things, and to address this question in practice is entirely different from addressing it in theory. We know full well that we have made grave errors. From an international standpoint, it represents tremendous progress that we are striving to define the relationship between the proletariat—the class that holds state power in its hands—and the final capitalist class: the deepest foundation of capitalism, the small proprietorship, the small producer. This question has now come squarely before us. I believe we will succeed in resolving this task. At the very least, the experience we are gaining will prove invaluable for future proletarian revolutions, enabling them to prepare themselves technically—and better—toward the resolution of this very question.
In my theses, I sought to analyze the question of the proletariat’s relationship to the peasantry. For the first time in history, there exists a state in which only these two classes remain: the proletariat and the peasantry. The latter constitutes the vast majority of the population. Of course, it is deeply backward. How, in practice, does the relationship between the proletariat—now holding power in its hands—and the peasantry unfold in the course of the revolution? The first form is alliance—a close alliance. This is a profoundly challenging task, but in any case, it is economically and politically feasible.
How, in practice, did we approach this question? We forged an alliance with the peasantry. We understand this alliance as follows: the proletariat liberates the peasantry from the exploitation of the bourgeoisie, from its leadership and influence, and draws it into its own ranks, so that together they may vanquish the exploiters.
The Mensheviks reason thus: the peasantry constitutes the majority; we are pure democrats, and therefore the majority must decide. But since the peasantry cannot act independently, in practice this amounts to nothing less than the restoration of capitalism. The slogan remains the same: an alliance with the peasants. When we speak of this, we mean the strengthening and consolidation of the proletariat. We attempted to realize this alliance between the proletariat and the peasantry, beginning with a military alliance as the first stage. The three-year civil war brought enormous difficulties—but in a certain sense, it also eased our task. This may sound strange, but it is true. War was nothing new to the peasantry; the struggle against exploiters, against large landowners, was perfectly familiar to them. Vast numbers of peasants were

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for us. Despite the vast distances, despite the fact that most of our peasants could neither read nor write, our propaganda was received by them with remarkable ease. This is proof that broad masses—just as in the most advanced countries—are far more inclined to learn from their own practical experience than from books. For the peasantry, our practical experience was further facilitated by the sheer enormity of Russia and by the fact that its various regions were able to traverse different stages of development at the same time.
In Siberia and Ukraine, the counterrevolution was able to achieve temporary victories because the bourgeoisie had the peasantry firmly on its side—and because the peasants were arrayed against us. The peasants often declared: “We are Bolsheviks, but not Communists. We support the Bolsheviks because they drove out the landowners, but we are not for Communists, because they oppose individual farming.” For a time, the counterrevolution could indeed prevail in Siberia and Ukraine, since the bourgeoisie enjoyed considerable success in its struggle for influence among the peasantry; yet it took only a very brief period to open the peasants’ eyes. In short order, they accumulated practical experience and soon came to say: “Yes, the Bolsheviks are rather unpleasant fellows; we do not like them—but all the same, they are better than the White Guards and the Constituent Assembly.” The Constituent Assembly had become a term of abuse among them—not only among advanced Communists, but even among the peasantry itself. From their lived experience, they knew full well that the Constituent Assembly and the White Guard amounted to the same thing: that after the former inevitably came the latter. The Mensheviks too made use of the fact that they had forged a military alliance with the peasantry—but they failed to recognize that this alliance alone was insufficient. A military alliance cannot endure without an economic foundation. After all, we do not live on air alone; our alliance with the peasants could never have endured for any length of time without the economic underpinning that formed the bedrock of our victory in the war against our bourgeoisie—since our bourgeoisie had joined forces with the entire international capitalist class.

The basis of this economic alliance between us and the peasantry was, of course, exceedingly simple—indeed, quite crude. The peasant received from us all the land he needed and the support necessary to withstand the power of large-scale landownership. In return, we were to receive food supplies. This alliance was something entirely new, resting not on the customary relations between commodity producers and consumers. Our peasants understood this far better than the heroes of the Second and Second-and-a-Half Internationals. They said to themselves: “These Bolsheviks may be stern leaders, but they are still our own people.” Be that as it may, we thus laid the foundations for a new economic alliance. The peasants supplied the Red Army with their produce and, in turn, received from it the support needed to defend their holdings. This is something the heroes of the Second International always overlook—men like Otto Bauer, who utterly fail to grasp the true nature of the situation. We must admit that the initial form of the alliance was highly primitive and that we made many serious mistakes. But we had to act as quickly as possible; we had to organize the army’s supply lines at all costs. During the Civil War, we found ourselves cut off from every major grain-producing region in Russia. Our situation was dire, and it seems almost miraculous that the Russian people and the working class were able to endure such suffering, want, and deprivation—possessing nothing but an unyielding determination to win. (Lively approval and applause.)
Once the Civil War came to an end, our task, at least in one respect, became quite different. Had the country not been so thoroughly devastated—as it had been after seven years of continuous warfare—it might have been possible to make a smoother transition to a new form of alliance between the proletariat and the peasantry. But even under those already harsh conditions, the country was further beset by crop failures, shortages of fodder, and other hardships. As a result, the burdens placed upon the peasantry became unbearable. We had to demonstrate immediately to the broad masses of the peasantry that we were prepared, without deviating in the slightest from the revolutionary path, to adjust our policies in such a way that the peasants would be able to…

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to tell ourselves: the Bolsheviks seek, at all costs and without delay, to alleviate our intolerable plight.
Thus, a shift occurred in our economic policy: the policy of requisitioning was replaced by a tax in kind. This change did not come about overnight. In the Bolshevik press, one can trace, over the course of months, a series of proposals—but no plan that truly promised success had yet been devised. Yet this is of little consequence. What matters is that we implemented this change in our economic policy purely in response to practical exigencies and the imperative demands of the situation. Poor harvests, shortages of fodder, and a dearth of fuel—these factors, of course, exerted a decisive influence on the economy as a whole, including the peasant economy. If the peasantry goes on strike, we will be left without firewood. And if we lack firewood, the factories will be forced to shut down. By the spring of 1921, the economic crisis—stemming from an unprecedented famine and acute fodder shortages—had reached colossal proportions. All of this was the inevitable outcome of three years of civil war. It was imperative that we demonstrate to the peasantry that we were both capable of—and eager to—swiftly alter our policies in order to immediately ease their suffering. We constantly repeat—this was also emphasized at the Second Congress—that revolution demands sacrifice. Some comrades, in their propaganda, argue as follows: “We are ready to make a revolution, but it must not be too costly.” If I am not mistaken, this position was advanced by Comrade Šmeral in his speech at the Czechoslovak Party Congress held on the 28th. I read about this in the report published by Reichenberg’s Vorwärts—a publication that, it seems, harbors a somewhat left-leaning tendency. Thus, this source cannot be regarded as entirely impartial. In any case, I must state that if Šmeral indeed made this claim, then he was wrong. Several speakers who took the floor after Šmeral at that congress declared: “Yes, we will follow Šmeral—after all, by doing so we will put an end to the civil war.” (Laughter.) If this is true, then I must say that such agitation is neither communist nor revolutionary. Naturally, every revolution entails enormous sacrifices for the class that initiates it. Revolution differs from ordinary struggle in that it mobilizes ten times, even a hundred times more people; in this respect, every revolution imposes burdens not only upon individual persons but upon entire classes. The dictatorship of the proletariat in Russia exacted from the ruling class—the proletariat—such sacrifices, such hardship, and such deprivation as history had never before witnessed—and it is highly probable that in every other country as well, the same pattern would unfold.
The question arises: how shall we distribute these burdens? We are the organs of state power. To a certain extent, we are in a position to apportion these burdens, to lay them upon several classes, thereby alleviating, to some degree, the plight of particular segments of the population. But according to what principle should we act? According to the principle of justice—or according to the principle of majority rule? No. We must act pragmatically. We must allocate resources in such a way as to preserve the power of the proletariat. This is our sole guiding principle. At the outset of the revolution, the working class was compelled to endure unimaginable privation. Today, I can affirm that our food policy has achieved ever greater successes year after year. And overall, conditions have undoubtedly improved. Yet in Russia, the peasants unquestionably gained more from the revolution than the working class. There can be no doubt about this. From a theoretical standpoint, this, of course, demonstrates that our revolution, to a certain extent, was a bourgeois revolution. When Kautsky leveled this charge against us, we merely laughed it off. Naturally, without the expropriation of large landholdings, without the expulsion of major landowners, and without the redistribution of land, what results is only a bourgeois revolution—not a socialist one. Nevertheless, we were the only party capable of carrying the bourgeois revolution to its conclusion while simultaneously paving the way for the struggle toward socialist revolution. Soviet power and the Soviet system are institutions of the socialist state. We have already estab-

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These institutions have indeed been put into place, yet the task of establishing economic relations between the peasantry and the proletariat remains unresolved. Much work still lies ahead, and the outcome of this struggle will hinge on whether we can successfully address this challenge or not. Thus, the distribution of burdens is, in practice, one of the most arduous tasks we face. Overall, the situation of the peasantry has improved, while the working class has borne the brunt of severe hardship—precisely because it is exercising its dictatorship.
I have already noted that the shortage of fodder and the crop failure in the spring of 1921 gave rise to an unprecedented level of deprivation among the peasantry, which constitutes the majority of our population. Without sound relations with the peasant masses, we cannot survive. Therefore, our immediate task was to provide them with urgent assistance. The condition of the working class is extremely dire; it suffers terribly. Nevertheless, the most politically advanced elements within the working class understand that, in the interests of the working-class dictatorship, we must make every possible effort—whatever the cost—to aid the peasantry. The vanguard of the working class has grasped this truth, though there are still individuals within that vanguard who fail to comprehend it, who are too exhausted to fully grasp its significance. Some have even seen this as a mistake, resorting to the term “opportunism” in their criticism. They claim that the Bolsheviks are allegedly helping the peasants: the peasant who exploits us, they say, receives whatever he desires, while the worker goes hungry. But is this truly opportunism? We aid the peasants because, without an alliance with them, the political power of the proletariat is impossible—and its very preservation becomes unthinkable. It is precisely this principle of expediency that has guided us, rather than any notion of equitable distribution. We help the peasants because this is absolutely essential for safeguarding our political power. The supreme principle of the dictatorship is to maintain the alliance between the proletariat and the peasantry, so that the proletariat may retain its leading role and state authority.
The only means we found to achieve this was the transition to a natural tax—a measure that emerged as an inevitable consequence of the struggle. Within the coming year, we will implement this tax for the first time. In practice, this principle has yet to be fully tested. From military alliances, we must move toward economic ones, and theoretically, the sole foundation for the latter lies in the introduction of a natural tax. This represents the only theoretical possibility of building a truly solid economic base for a socialist society. The socialized factory provides the peasant with its products, while the peasant, in return, offers bread. This is the only viable form of existence for a socialist society—the only form of socialist construction in a country where the small peasant constitutes the majority, or at least a very substantial minority. One portion of the peasant’s yield will be rendered as tax, while another will be exchanged for products from the socialist factory—or through commodity exchange.
Here we arrive at the most difficult question of all. A natural tax, of course, implies freedom of trade. After fulfilling his natural tax obligation, the peasant is free to exchange the remaining portion of his grain as he sees fit. This freedom of exchange signifies the freedom of capitalism. We state this openly and emphasize it clearly—we do not conceal it in the slightest. Our position would be precarious if we were to attempt to hide it. Freedom of trade signifies the freedom of capitalism—but at the same time, it ushers in a new form of capitalism. In other words, to a certain extent, we are in the process of reinventing capitalism. We do this quite openly: this is state capitalism. Yet state capitalism in a society where power belongs to capital is one thing, while state capitalism in a proletarian state is quite another. In a capitalist state, state capitalism means that the state recognizes and controls capital—in the interests of the bourgeoisie and against the proletariat. In a proletarian state, the same measures are taken in the interests of the working class, with the aim of resisting—and ultimately combating—the still-powerful bourgeoisie. It goes without saying that we must grant foreign bourgeoisies,

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foreign capital and concessions. Without the slightest degree of denationalization, we are handing over mines, forests, and oil fields to foreign capitalists—so that we may obtain industrial products, machinery, and the like from them, thereby restoring our own industry.
On the question of state capitalism, it is true that we did not all agree at once. But in this regard, we were able to rejoice in the fact that our peasantry was developing—and that it had fully grasped the historical significance of the struggle we are currently waging. Even the most humble peasants from the remotest villages would come to us and ask, “What? Our own capitalists, who spoke Russian, have been driven out—but now foreign capitalists are coming to us?” Does this not itself attest to the maturation of our peasantry? An economically conscious worker needs no lengthy explanation as to why this is necessary. The Seven-Year War has left us so impoverished that it will take many years to restore our industry. We must pay the price for our backwardness, for our weakness, for what we are learning—and for what we still have yet to learn. Whoever wishes to learn must pay the price for his education. We must make this clear to everyone; and if we can demonstrate this in practice, then the vast masses of peasants and workers will come to see things our way—because this path will immediately improve their lot, and because it will create the conditions necessary for the restoration of our industry. What compels us to do this? We are not alone in this world. We exist within a system of capitalist states… 29 On one side stand the colonial powers—but they cannot yet aid us; on the other side are the capitalist nations—but they are our enemies. Thus arises a precarious balance, admittedly a very unstable one. Yet we must nonetheless reckon with this reality. If we wish to survive, we must not close our eyes to it. Either we achieve immediate victory over the entire bourgeoisie—or we must pay tribute.
We acknowledge quite openly—we make no secret of the fact—that concessions under the regime of state capitalism represent a form of tribute paid to capitalism. But in doing so, we gain time— and to gain time means to gain everything—especially in an era of equilibrium, when our foreign comrades are painstakingly preparing their own revolutions. The more thoroughly those revolutions are prepared, the more certain their ultimate victory will be. Until then, however, we will be forced to pay our dues.
A few words about our food policy: it was undoubtedly both primitive and inadequate. Yet we can also point to certain successes. In this connection, I must once again emphasize that the only possible economic foundation for socialism is large-scale machine industry. Anyone who forgets this is not a communist. We must address this question in concrete terms. We cannot approach these issues as the theorists of old-style socialism did; we must tackle them practically. What does modern large-scale industry mean? It means electrifying all of Russia. Sweden, Germany, and America are already well on their way toward this goal—even though these remain bourgeois countries. A comrade from Sweden once told me that a significant portion of industry there has already been electrified, along with 30% of its agricultural sector. In Germany and America—countries that are even more advanced in their capitalist development—we encounter this phenomenon on an even larger scale. Large-scale machine industry means nothing less than the electrification of the entire nation. We have already appointed a special commission composed of the finest economists and technical experts. Almost all of them, to be sure, are opposed to Soviet power. These specialists will eventually embrace communism—but not in the way we have, not through twenty years of underground work during which we ceaselessly studied, repeated, and rehashed the ABCs of communism.
Almost all organs of Soviet power were in favor of turning to the experts. The engineer-experts will come to us when we can demonstrate to them, in practical terms, that this path leads to a substantial increase in the productive forces of the country. It is not enough to prove this to them merely in theory; we must show them the truth in practice. And we will win these men over to our side—if we frame the question differently, not by appealing to theoretical propaganda about communism. We say: large-scale industry—

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the sole means of saving the peasantry from destitution and famine. On this point, all are in complete agreement. But how are we to accomplish this? Restoring industry on its old foundations would demand an enormous amount of labor and time. We must instead imbue industry with more modern forms—namely, by embracing electrification. Electrification requires far less time. We have already formulated comprehensive plans for electrification. More than 200 specialists—almost all, without exception, opponents of Soviet power—have been working on these plans with great interest, even though they were not communists. Yet, from the standpoint of technical science, they could not help but recognize that this was the only truly correct path forward. Of course, there is still a long way to go between plan and implementation. Cautious experts estimate that the initial phase of work will require no fewer than ten years. Professor Ballod has calculated that it would take just three to four years to electrify Germany. For us, however, even ten years is far too short. In my theses, I present concrete numerical data so that you may see just how little we have accomplished in this field thus far. The figures I cite are so modest that their significance is more propagandistic than scientific. Nevertheless, we must begin with propaganda. The Russian peasant who took part in the Great War and spent several years in Germany had seen firsthand how modern methods of farming could be employed to overcome hunger. We must launch a broad-based campaign in this very direction. These plans, in themselves, hold limited practical value—but their agitational potential is immense.
The peasant sees that something new must be created. The peasant understands that this task cannot be left to each individual to pursue on his own; rather, it must be undertaken by the state as a whole. While held captive in Germany, the peasant came to see—and to understand—the true foundations of life, of cultural life. Twelve thousand kilowatts is a very modest beginning. An outsider familiar with American, German, or Swedish electrification might well laugh at this. But he who laughs last laughs best. Yes, let this be a modest start—but the peasantry is beginning to grasp that vast new undertakings must be launched on an enormous scale, and those undertakings are already underway. We face tremendous challenges ahead. We will seek to establish relations with capitalist countries. Let us not begrudge the fact that we will supply capitalists with several hundred million kilograms of oil—on the condition that they help us electrify our country.
And now, to conclude, a few words about “pure democracy.” I quote what Engels wrote on December 11, 1884, in a letter to Bebel:
“Pure democracy assumes significance during a revolution as the last bourgeois party—a role it already played in Frankfurt, where it became the anchor of salvation for all bourgeois, even feudal, interests… Thus, throughout 1848—from March to September—the entire bureaucratic apparatus sided with the liberals in order to suppress the revolutionary masses… In any case, on the day of crisis and in the days that followed, our sole adversary will be the reaction gathering around pure democracy—and I believe this fact should not be overlooked.”30
We cannot pose our questions in the same way that theorists do. The entire reactionary camp—indeed, not only the bourgeois but also the feudal—is rallying around “pure democracy.” Our German comrades know better than anyone what “pure democracy” truly signifies, since Kautsky and other leaders of the Second and Second-and-a-Half Internationals have consistently defended this “pure democracy” against the sinister Bolsheviks. If we judge the Russian Socialist-Revolutionaries and Mensheviks not by their words, but by their actions, we will find that they are nothing more than representatives of petty-bourgeois “pure democracy.” In our revolution, they demonstrated this purity with classic clarity—and during the latest crisis, in the days of the Kronstadt Rebellion, they revealed what “pure democracy” really means. The ferment among the peasantry was intense; among the workers, too, discontent prevailed. They were weary and utterly exhausted—after all, there are limits to human endurance. For three long years, they had gone hungry,

III CONGRESS OF THE COMMUNIST INTERNATIONAL
But one cannot go hungry for four or five years. Hunger, naturally, exerts an enormous influence on political activity. What, then, did the Socialist-Revolutionaries and the Mensheviks do? Throughout the entire period, they wavered—and in doing so, they only strengthened the bourgeoisie. The organization of all Russian parties abroad vividly illustrates the state of affairs today. The most astute leaders of Russia’s big bourgeoisie said to themselves: “We cannot achieve victory in Russia overnight. Therefore, our rallying cry must be: ‘Soviets without the Bolsheviks.’” The leader of the Cadets, Miliukov, even defended Soviet power against the Socialist-Revolutionaries—a statement that sounds quite strange. Yet this is the very dialectics of practice, which we are learning in our revolution through a peculiar path: by observing the actual course of our own struggles and those of our adversaries. The Cadets advocate “Soviets without the Bolsheviks,” because they understand the situation all too well—and because they hope to reel in a portion of the population with this bait. That is what the clever Cadets say. Of course, not all Cadets are wise; but some among them are indeed shrewd, having drawn certain lessons from the French Revolution. Today, the slogan is clear: fight the Bolsheviks at any cost, come what may. The entire bourgeoisie is now lending its support to the Mensheviks and the Socialist-Revolutionaries. The SRs and Mensheviks have become the vanguard of reaction itself. This past spring, we had the opportunity to witness firsthand the fruits of this counterrevolutionary alliance—31.
Therefore, we must continue our relentless struggle against these elements. Dictatorship is a state of heightened warfare. And it is precisely in such a state that we find ourselves. There is no military invasion at present. However, we are isolated. On the other hand, we are not entirely isolated either, since the world’s international bourgeoisie is currently unable to wage open war against us—because the working class, though the majority of it is not yet communist, has nonetheless attained a level of consciousness sufficient to reject intervention. The bourgeoisie must reckon with this mood among the masses, even though they have not yet fully matured into communism. For this reason, the bourgeoisie cannot launch an offensive against us—at least not yet, though such a move cannot be ruled out entirely. As long as there is no overall, definitive outcome, the state of terrible warfare will persist. And we declare: “In war, we act like soldiers: we promise neither freedom nor democracy.” We tell the peasants quite openly that they must choose: either Bolshevik power—and in that case, we will make every possible concession up to the limits where maintaining power remains feasible, after which we will lead them toward socialism—or else bourgeois power. Everything else is deception, pure demagogy. The fiercest struggle must be waged against this deception, against this demagoguery. Our position is this: for the time being, we must make broad concessions and exercise the utmost caution—precisely because a certain balance exists, precisely because we are weaker than our united adversaries, precisely because our economic base is far too weak, and we stand in need of a stronger economic foundation.
That, comrades, is what I wished to share with you about our tactics—about the tactics of the Russian Communist Party. (Long applause.)
The newspaper report was published on July 9, 1921, in Pravda, No. 144.
It was printed in full on July 14, 1921, in the Bulletin
of the Third Congress of the Communist
International, No. 17.

Printed according to the text of the book “The Third World Congress of the Communist International.

Stenographic Report.”

Petrograd, 1922