Spies and Commissars

by Robert Service

  Foreseeing the results of the voting, the Left Socialist-Revolutionary Central Committee secretly sanctioned terrorist attacks in Russia. The idea was not to kill Lenin or Trotsky but to organize a ‘provocation’ that would wreck the Brest-Litovsk treaty and bring the Bolsheviks back to the path of ‘revolutionary war’. Left Socialist-Revolutionaries thought that they would achieve this simply by assassinating Ambassador von Mirbach. If they were successful, Berlin would break with Moscow immediately.

  On 6 July Yakov Blyumkin, an eighteen-year-old Left Socialist-Revolutionary working for the Cheka, entered the German embassy on a false pretext and shot Mirbach. Sovnarkom instantly proscribed the party and arrested several of its leaders. Dzerzhinski, embarrassed by the lapse in state security, sped off to their headquarters only to be taken captive by them. He was liberated thanks to resolute action by the Latvian Riflemen — a force which had gone over en masse to the Bolsheviks from the old Imperial army and quickly formed the effective core of the Red Army. Without their Latvians, the Bolsheviks would have been helpless. Lenin and Radek took a limousine to the German embassy at Denezhny Pereulok to express formal condolences. They were grovelling because they feared that unless they expressed outrage, however insincere, Germany might overrun Russia.35 In Berlin, Ioffe’s first thought was that German agents had killed Mirbach so as to sharpen the conflict between Russia and the Allies. He deduced this from the German Foreign Office’s request for Lenin to put the blame on Allied agents. The Germans called for the killers and their ‘ideological inspirers’ to be caught and punished.36 They also demanded the right to dispatch their own troops into Russia.37 But things calmed down and the leading Bolshevik Anatoli Lunacharski spread the news among the foreign community in Moscow that the emergency was nearly over. This needed doing since the Bolsheviks were worried that the British and French would start a preventive war to save Russia from German occupation.38

  Young Blyumkin was nowhere to be found. He had escaped to Ukraine, hoping to return when the Bolsheviks tore up the peace treaty. Frantic to oblige the Germans, the Soviet government ordered the execution of V. A. Alexandrovich, the Left Socialist-Revolutionary who had worked as Deputy Chairman of the Cheka. The German authorities let it be known that they were satisfied with the Bolshevik official reaction. Radek could be relied upon to make the best jokes about the emergency. He told acquaintances that a job could now be found for the generals of Nicholas II’s armed forces: they could be formed into detachments and trained to shed crocodile tears in Mirbach’s funeral cortège.39

  The Bolsheviks badly needed a counterweight to German power. Chicherin, who was appointed People’s Commissar of Foreign Affairs on a permanent basis at the end of May,40 cabled Ambassador Francis to say that Vologda was unsafe and that the diplomatic corps should move to Moscow. He added: ‘I am sending Radek to Vologda to execute the invitation.’ The word ‘execute’ did not exactly reassure Francis after the Mirbach murder. He replied that he felt secure in the north ‘because we do not fear the Russian people’. Radek, taking Ransome as his interpreter, turned up uninvited; he was sporting a jacket pulled tight with a belt from which hung a conspicuous revolver.41 To Francis this was an attempt to look like a ‘cowboy on the war path’. He told Noulens: ‘Ah, the miserable little Jew! If he comes back to see me with his revolver in his holster, I’ll get mine from out the drawer; I’ll put it on the table and tell him: “Now let’s talk!”’42 Soviet leaders, not for the first or last time, were behaving incautiously. The French were picking up their wireless traffic passing through Petrograd and knew what Radek and Chicherin wrote to each other seated at their Hughes apparatuses — this was the most up-to-date method of telegraph communication, which allowed people to type and exchange messages instantaneously. Radek ought to have avoided mentioning Francis’s predilection for his embassy secretaries; Chicherin was unwise to refer to the false tone of deference he used with the American ambassador. Ambassador Noulens enjoyed passing both these titbits on to Francis.43

  Noulens and Francis faced Radek down. The fact that he had tried to stir up the feelings of a 2,000-strong crowd of workers against the Allies did nothing to reassure them. They reasoned that they could too easily end up as Lenin’s hostages if they moved to Moscow. Radek and Ransome returned to Moscow with their tails between their legs.44

  After Francis had received cable intelligence that Chicherin had indeed ordered the local soviet to take them hostage, the Western diplomatic corps could see that Vologda was no longer a safe haven. This would have been the last straw for the ambassador even if he had not known that the British force in Murmansk was planning to overthrow the Archangel Soviet. The Bolsheviks had their own intelligence about this and had been executing known enemies in the region. Northern Russia became a theatre of war. Francis already had a secret agreement with the Vologda station master to keep a locomotive and carriages ready for his embassy to leave for Archangel at an hour’s notice. On 29 July he decided that the time had come to flee but, wanting to avoid the appearance of colluding in British military aggression, he changed the destination to Kandalaksha, a few miles south of Murmansk.45 Shortly before boarding he practised a little deceit by wiring Chicherin: ‘We have determined to take your advice.’ Chicherin heard what was really being planned and tried to prevent it: ‘Archangel means leaving Russia.’ He could hardly complain. His own deceit would have delivered Francis into Soviet custody. Chicherin had acted too late and soon all the Americans were sound asleep on a moving train.46

  Whatever brittle trust had existed between the Kremlin and the White House now vanished. Raymond Robins had already left for America on 14 May, still convinced that the Western Allies should not attempt a military intervention in Russia unless given Sovnarkom’s explicit sanction — by then his friend Lockhart had come round to recommending an Allied campaign regardless of the Kremlin’s wishes.47 But room for diplomacy through informal mediation had already disappeared. A bleak future of armed conflict loomed on the horizon. The Bolsheviks had dealt with the threat from Germany by signing the treaty of Brest-Litovsk. The Western Allies had yet to clarify their military intentions — and the communist leaders pondered their own options with heightened concern. They had hoped to crush their Russian enemies before meeting the challenges from abroad. Now they could no longer be confident that the Allied powers would allow them this freedom.

  12. SUBVERTING THE ALLIES

  The foreign military campaigns against Soviet rule ran the Cheka ragged across Russia and the borderlands of the old empire. The Germans held Poland, Ukraine and the Baltic region and maintained a force in Finland at its government’s request. The British were in occupation of Murmansk and Archangel. The French presided in Odessa. The Turks were pushing into the south Caucasus. The Japanese and the Americans landed expeditionary forces in eastern Siberia. The ‘intervention’ was multi-angled and highly dangerous. Nor could Soviet security forces ignore the potential for trouble from armed foreigners like the Czech ex-POWs who had been in Russia. The disintegration of the Russian Empire gathered pace as Georgians, Armenians and Azeris rejected the authority of Sovnarkom. The Volga region in south-east Russia was governed by Komuch. Russian anti-Bolshevik armies — the Whites — were stiffening their efforts in south Russia and mid-Siberia. Each of these forces sought to make contact with supporters in the areas under Bolshevik control around Moscow and Petrograd. The Chekists had their hands full with the tasks of combating counter-revolutionary activity over this entire zone. There was little time or personnel to spare on espionage and subversion abroad.

  The tasks of governing the Soviet-dominated zone were huge. The Bolsheviks accepted that they had to employ in the People’s Commissariats ‘specialists’ who had worked in the ministries before the October Revolution. Some did this with much reluctance and zealously persecuted anyone they thought to be acting disloyally. Although Joseph Stalin was notoriously suspicious of ‘bourgeois’ experts, he was not alone among Bolsheviks. It was their preference to prom
ote the working class to administrative authority in the ‘proletarian state’. Lenin had said and written this throughout 1917.1 Yet he recognized that years would be needed for workers to acquire confidence and training. While this was happening, the old personnel had to be kept in post under the watchful eye of communist commissars. Lenin and Trotsky were adamant that the Soviet state would collapse without qualified professionals; but they had a problem in securing acceptance for their pragmatism.

  Even they, though, did not want to employ former Okhrana officials. Like other communists, they detested what the political police had done to revolutionaries under the Romanovs, and they felt they could not trust any of them. The Soviet Constitution stripped former policemen of civil rights. Since the Chekists refused to employ such people, they had to teach themselves from scratch how to organize intelligence and counter-intelligence — on this as on other practical matters, Marx and Engels had left no handbook of instruction behind. The sole asset that the Bolshevik party possessed was its long experience of struggle against the security police. Clandestine political work had required the Bolsheviks to take precautions against infiltration and provocation. Cool vigilance had been essential. In fact when the Okhrana’s files were opened after the February Revolution, it was shown that police agents had penetrated the revolutionary parties more systematically than anyone had imagined. The Bolsheviks had prided themselves on their conspiratorial prowess. So Lenin was astounded to learn that one of his protégés in the Central Committee, Roman Malinovski, was a paid employee of the Okhrana. When Malinovski imprudently came to Petrograd and threw himself on Sovnarkom’s mercy, Lenin had no compunction about having him executed.2

  The Chekists learned some lessons better than others and were notably slow in acquiring technical expertise in code-breaking and encryption. This was something of an oddity. Before 1917 all of them — in the underground, Siberian exile or emigration — had used forms of secret writing for internal party correspondence. Often this involved little more than working with an agreed piece of printed text or list of specific words, and the chemicals they deployed for invisible script might sometimes be no more complex than the contents of a milk bottle. This experience taught them the importance of codes, but their political suspiciousness deprived them of a chance to increase their practical cleverness. Imperial Russia had brought on a brilliant group of cryptographers. None was more remarkable than Ernst Fetterlein, who fled across the Finnish frontier in June 1918. Fetterlein had decrypted the British diplomatic codes in the Great War, giving an invaluable tool to Russia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the War Ministry in their dealings with London.3 The communist authorities were able to invent only rather primitive codes — and the art of decryption for a while was out of their reach.

  They were aware that the security of their wireless communications left much to be desired. It took them years to recover from the loss of many of Russia’s most expert telegraphists, who walked out on them after the October Revolution.4 Bolsheviks could see that they were technically inferior to the Allies, the Germans and the Whites. One way round the problem was to send deceptive messages en clair. This is the only sensible way to interpret a particular conversation on the Hughes telegraph apparatus between Karl Radek in Moscow and Khristo Rakovski in Kiev. With theatrical extravagance, Radek claimed he could see no cloud in the Soviet sky. Lenin was recovering well from illness. The Red Army was conquering all the counter-revolutionary forces ranged against it and would definitely prevent the Czechs from linking up with the Allies. British and French prisoners were being held as hostages and would be summarily shot if trouble started up from Vologda. Radek boasted to Rakovski that things were entirely fine with the Germans.5 Such nonsense can only have been meant to reassure German snoopers that the Bolsheviks were sticking firmly to the Brest-Litovsk treaty. Just possibly Radek was hoping to scare the Allies away from interfering in Soviet affairs — or perhaps he had both purposes in mind at the same time.

  Chekist leaders were determined to rectify their lack of effectiveness. One thing they found easy was in recruiting officials. Plenty of Bolsheviks and their supporters had grievances against the middle and upper classes in the light of their personal experience under Romanov rule and were eager to join the security services and liquidate the plots against Sovnarkom.

  Felix Dzerzhinski at first glance was not the most obvious man for Lenin to have wanted as head of the Cheka in December 1917. He had no recent acquaintance with underground activity. Born near Minsk, he was a Pole from a noble family and went to a grammar school before being expelled for ‘revolutionary activity’. He was a poet and liked to sing. But political rebellion was his passion; and once he had discovered Marxism, he helped to found the Social Democracy of the Kingdom of Poland and Lithuania. He detested nationalism, being wary of fellow Poles who wanted their own independent state. He was allergic to internal party polemics — and, like his comrade Rosa Luxemburg, he had despised the shenanigans let loose by Lenin and the Bolsheviks in the world of Marxism before the Great War. He was exiled to Siberia in 1897 and again in 1900, but both times he escaped. Shortly after he had married Zofia Muszkat, she was arrested and he was left alone with their baby son. Yet he kept up his revolutionary activities. He had a rough time in prison after his last arrest in 1912, suffering beatings and being held for long periods in manacles — his wrists bore permanent scars. When released at the fall of the monarchy, he was more austere and restrained than before — and he was plagued by bronchitis.

  The fact that Dzerzhinski did not want the Cheka post was a recommendation in itself, and Lenin never doubted that he had made the right choice. Dzerzhinski applied a clinical judgement to any situation and had no qualms about ordering mass executions. Józef Pisudski, who led the Poles to national independence in 1919, remembered him generously from their schooldays: ‘Dzerzhinsky distinguished himself as a student with delicacy and modesty. He was rather tall, thin and demure, making the impression of an ascetic with the face of an icon… Tormented or not, this is an issue history will clarify; in any case this person did not know how to lie.’6 The British sculptor Clare Sheridan, who did a bust of Dzerzhinski in 1920, was struck by his demeanour:

  His eyes certainly looked as if they were bathed in tears of eternal sorrow, but his mouth smiled an indulgent kindness. His face is narrow, high-cheek-boned and sunk in. Of all his features it is his nose which seems to have the most character. It is very refined, and the delicate bloodless nostrils suggest the sensitiveness of over-breeding.7

  Dzerzhinski told her: ‘One learns patience and calm in prison.’8 Sheridan was unusual in coaxing such intimacies out of him since he did not welcome conversations of a personal nature. Dzerzhinski was nobody’s acolyte but he agreed with Lenin about what needed to be done in Russia. Ascetic and dedicated to the case, he would run the Cheka just as Lenin wanted — and he would not be held back by the kind of moral scruples that would have bothered Luxemburg.

  Dzerzhinski was not the only Chekist with a reputation for dispensing violence with a degree of distaste. Yakov Peters, his Deputy Chairman, impressed Louise Bryant in the same way: ‘Peters told me at various times that the only people he believed in killing were traitors in his own ranks, people who were grafters and who tried to steal everything, people in a time like that who did not stick to the high moral principle of revolutionary discipline.’9 If terror occurred under Soviet rule, she said, it was carried out by reluctant perpetrators like Peters who were harder on delinquent Bolsheviks than on ‘enemies of the people’. Even George Hill, less friendly than Bryant to Sovnarkom, felt that Peters ‘really hated what he was doing, but felt that it was necessary’.10 But Peters had a darker personality than he revealed to sympathetic foreigners. When living in London he had been involved in the murder of policemen which led to the Sidney Street siege in 1910. Like Dzerzhinski, he would do anything for the Revolution. As time went on, Dzerzhinski and Peters became more enthusiastic about taking the bridle off the Cheka. Enem
ies of the Bolsheviks did not scruple to use conspiracy and insurrection — an attempt was made on Lenin’s life in December 1917. Chekists wanted to meet fire with fire. They stopped at nothing to uphold the Soviet order while continuing to speak softly with foreigners.

  Martyn Latsis, a member of the Cheka Board, called in the Cheka house journal for the class enemies of the Soviet order to be exterminated. He was advocating classocide. It was not enough to suppress capitalism; just as important for Latsis was the requirement to liquidate all living capitalists. But although the legislative framework was permissive in the extreme, Dzerzhinski at first trod carefully and consulted the central party leadership regularly. The coalition between Bolsheviks and Left Socialist-Revolutionaries was among the factors holding back the Cheka, but after July 1918 the Bolsheviks were running a one-party state. They faced enemies, foreign and Russian, who were becoming increasingly well organized and well financed. From then onwards the Chekists fired first and asked questions later, if they asked them at all.

  The social groups they targeted were named in the Constitution adopted by the Congress of Soviets that July. In the clauses devoted to citizenship, several types of people were deprived of electoral and general civil rights. Aristocrats, priests and policemen were blacklisted, as were industrialists, bankers and landlords. The Constitution declared all the ‘former people’ — chilling phrase — to be suspect. Latsis wanted to victimize all of them. What he said openly, the Chekists quietly practised. When emergencies arose, the custom became to arrest people belonging to these categories and hold them as hostages. Such prisoners were executed whenever the Whites carried out terror against Bolsheviks. The gaols in Moscow and Petrograd were grim, filthy places of confinement and the work of rooting out counter-revolutionary groups brutalized the Chekists in attitude and practice. Their leaders at every level prominently included Jews, Latvians and other non-Russians whose animus against monarchy, Okhrana and Church was highly developed. They did not blanch at orders to terrorize people who had enjoyed privileges before 1917.