To Moscow #4
The journey from Leningrad to Moscow took another eight hours. From this point on, we entered the well-developed Soviet rail network in earnest. Russia was like a vast socialist island floating in a capitalist sea. Internally it might foster a free atmosphere, but externally Russia enforced strict trade controls to ensure the peoples of Russia and the federation would never again fall under the yoke of foreign capitalists. With trade reduced to almost nothing, the surplus resources remaining inside Russia were poured almost entirely into railways, roads—in other words, infrastructure—and scientific advancement. Of course, some resources went to the Comintern support budget and the upkeep of the Red Army, but those amounts were not large. That was why, relative to its enormous territory, Soviet Russia’s rail network was reasonably well connected.
Although I have used the terms interchangeably until now, the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic—RSFSR—is only one component of the larger Union of Socialist Soviet Republics, the USSR. After the November 1917 revolution dissolved the Russian Republic and transferred all power to the Soviets, the fifteen ethnic groups that had composed Russia each formed their own Socialist Soviet Republic and the whole was restructured into a federation.
The reason I have not bothered to distinguish between “Soviet Union” and “Soviet Russia” is simple: Russia is the leading power of the Soviet Union. The other republics do not lag behind in influence; they enjoy genuine autonomy as distinct entities, yet in overall policy and diplomatic matters the Russian republic, with its overwhelmingly largest population, holds the decisive voice. That the headquarters of the Comintern—the center of international communism—sits in Moscow, capital of the Russian SFSR, and that this very World Congress is being held here, are both consequences of that reality. In short, while I will continue to refer to the federal union of republics—the USSR—simply as “Russia,” the Soviet Union is a strictly multi-ethnic state, and calling it Russia does not imply ethnic Russian dominance. From the beginning the Soviet Union has rejected every form of nationalism. Therefore “Soviet Russia,” “Russian SFSR,” and “RSFSR” can all be understood as referring to the same thing.
Setting nomenclature aside for the moment, “Look over there, Heinz.”
Moscow now lay before us. In the midst of the plains, the administrative heart of Russia rose on a prominent height, and the Kremlin Palace stood out at once.
When we stepped off the train at Moscow Station, dragging our luggage behind us, a scene quite different from Leningrad greeted us.
Добро пожаловать в Москву
Welcome to Moscow
If Leningrad felt like the birthplace of the revolution, the holy land of communism, a city of beauty, then Moscow felt like the beating heart of the Soviet socialist economy. In truth, the collectivization of agriculture and industry that had begun around 1918–19 and been completed in 1924 had utterly transformed the city’s status. The population, which had barely exceeded two million during the Great War, had more than doubled in the fourteen years since. Yet the crucial difference from Britain or France was that the factories, enterprises, capital, and land were owned not by capitalists or landlords but by the workers themselves.
As befitted the heart of world communism, we were greeted by more languages than could be counted. Cyrillic rendered Russian, Ukrainian, and Belarusian; the Latin alphabet carried German, English, French, and Italian; Greek letters spelled out Greek; Georgian and Armenian used their own scripts; Arabic script wrote Arabic; Chinese characters rendered Chinese and Japanese; and Hangul was visible as well.
Welcome, communist comrades from the land of Joseon!
It was strangely moving to see Hangul. The fact that they had not forgotten it after all these years touched me. The writing was still in the old vertical style—top to bottom, right to left when changing columns—without proper spacing, so it was a little difficult to read, but the meaning was clear enough.
It is 1931, the height of Japanese colonial rule. Twenty-one years have passed since Japan forcibly annexed the Korean Empire, and Tokyo has renounced its alliance with Britain and is now aggressively expanding its imperialism across East Asia, beginning with China. Naturally we have a duty to support the comrades fighting so fiercely on Korean and Chinese soil. Yet preventing Hitler from seizing power in Germany and communizing Europe as far as possible must remain the priority.
In any case, we entered the streets of Moscow beneath an enthusiastic welcome from the Soviet Communist Party. Red flags fluttered everywhere, together with yellow sickles and hammers and portraits of Comrade Lenin and Teacher Marx. Only in Russia could such symbols fly with such open pride.
As we drew near the Kremlin, the delegation from the Russian Communist Party that had been waiting for us stepped forward to greet us.
“Comrade Ernst Thälmann of the Communist Party! And you must be Comrade Emilia Heinz of the Labour Party.”
“It’s been a while, haha.”
Thälmann shook hands with the mustached man in uniform.
“Introduce yourself, Heinz.”
The man approached me as well.
“It is an honor to meet you, Comrade Heinz. I am Joseph Stalin, People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs of the Soviet Union and member of the Central Committee of the Communist Party.”
“Oh, a pleasure. I am Emilia Heinz, representative of the German Labour Party.”
That was how I first met Comrade Stalin.
“You must all be exhausted after the long journey to Moscow.”
That evening, the moment we had unpacked our luggage in the nearby lodgings, Stalin summoned the German delegation.
“Don’t burden them too much, Stalin.”
“I am not trying to burden anyone, Comrade Trotsky. But since there are faces here we have not seen before, I thought we might share a cup of tea so that everyone could relax before the Comintern begins in earnest.”
“Our Comrade Stalin may be blunt, but his consideration is genuine. It may feel awkward, yet please understand his intent.”
“Since you invited us before the meeting, it would be rude of guests to refuse.”
“If anything makes you uncomfortable, speak up at once, Comrade Thälmann.”
“Why do you say such things, Comrade Bukharin? I only speak from a glad heart…”
“Ahaha, who doesn’t know that? When dealing with people your passion can sometimes run a little strong.”
“I shall keep it in mind, Comrade Bukharin.”
Many of the Russian representatives were new to me. They all appeared to be important figures… and all seemed to be old acquaintances of Thälmann. Well, they had met three years earlier, after all.
With a soft clink, a man who looked like a close associate of Stalin set cups of tea before each seat and took the chair beside him.
“I shall enjoy it, Comrade Molotov.”
As the others began to sip, I lifted my own cup to my lips.
“Ugh, it’s bitter!”
…This is far too bitter.
“Pfft!”
“You fell right into it, Comrade Heinz!”
The intense bitterness stung my tongue; both our delegation and the Russians burst into laughter at the sight of my face.
“…Eh?”
Do they play practical jokes in official settings here?
“Heh heh, ah, my apologies. A few people have said it was bitter before, but I forgot because I brought a blend that suits Russian tastes perfectly.”
“Perhaps some milk would help?”
“Ah, milk… yes, please.”
“I’ll fetch it at once.”
Molotov, who had been sitting beside Stalin, went to a sideboard and returned with a small pitcher of milk.
“What exactly is this…?”
“Black tea, of course. Brewed the Russian way—very, very strong. We Russians drink bitter tea so often because of the cold that I suppose we no longer even notice the bitterness.”
The man who appeared the eldest answered.
“…It really is too bitter.”
“I understand. Everyone reacts that way at first. Drink nothing but this every day and eventually your tongue stops registering the bitterness at all.”
“If you say that, Comrade Kalinin, what on earth will Comrade Heinz think Russia is like?”
“But it is the truth, isn’t it?”
…As expected, Russia is a frightening place.
“Hand me your cup, Comrade Heinz.”
Before I knew it Molotov had returned with the milk and poured a generous splash into my cup. The deep crimson tea turned an opaque brownish-pink.
“Thank you, Comrade Molotov.”
He smiled as if it were nothing and set the pitcher down beside me.
“…By the way, what is it that you do?”
“You mean me?”
“Yes. I don’t mean anything by it—I was simply curious all of a sudden…”
All you’ve done since we sat down is pour tea. What exactly is your position…?
“Seeing me only pour tea, you assumed I was the tea-pourer, Comrade Heinz?”
“W-well, yes.”
Only after the words left my mouth did I realize how rude the question had been. I was still searching for a proper apology when he spoke again.
“Vyacheslav Molotov, Comrade Emilia Heinz. I currently serve as Chairman of the Council of People’s Commissars, with overall responsibility for the government.”
“Ah, a pleasure to meet you.”
Molotov…
“…Chairman of the Council of People’s Commissars?”
“Correct. You see Comrade Stalin here? He is People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs. Comrade Rykov over there is People’s Commissar for Posts and Telegraphs. And Comrade Kalinin, who was once the senior figure in the Party after Comrade Lenin, is Chairman of the Central Executive Committee.”
“But you said you hold overall responsibility?”
“In effect, yes.”
“…My word.”
So the stories were true—there really was no formal order of precedence between offices. There was simply no hierarchy at all. How fascinating…
“Enough of the dull talk, Comrade Molotov. I would like to hear about Germany.”
“Then let us speak of it, Comrade Trotsky.”
So that was Leon Trotsky—the passionate advocate of world revolution, supreme commander of the Red Army, and symbol of the left wing inside the Russian Communist Party.
“You have been engaged in many activities. Why not lay them all out before us?”
“All of those plans and actions were conceived and carried out by Comrade Emilia Heinz here, not by me. It would be better to ask her directly.”
“Is that so?!”
His eyes sparkled as he turned to me.
…This is rather burdensome.