In the Donbas
By JEAN ROUNAULT
Y visit to the U.S.S.R.- was not clandestine ; it was organised for me by the N.K.V.D. In January, 1945, six months after the liberation of Rumania and its occupation by Soviet troops, Moscow demanded workers from the Rumanian Government. It was a question of a kind of levy on labour, affecting some sixty to eighty thousand Rumanian citizens. In principle this did not affect others than those of German origin, but in fact there were a number of errors, due to the speed at which the operation was executed. In the course of a few days the Soviet police arrested tens of thousands of men and women. In Bucharest the town omnibuses toured the streets, and as soon as they were full proceeded to Mogosala Station, where cattle-trucks were waiting. This order affected men between the ages of eighteen and forty-five and women between eighteen and thirty-five. But among the mass of deportees I saw children of fourteen and men of sixty-five. Quite frequently both the father and mother of a family were picked up, the children being simply abandoned to their fate. True, according to the instructions given the N.K.V.D., pregnant women and those with a child of less than one year were not to be arrested. But it depended on the goodwill of the police whether those instructions were respected.
Although a French citizen, I found myself among the deportees. The N.K.V.D. officer simply refused to take any notice of my papers. He politely regretted the misunderstanding, the responsibility for which he laid on the Rumanian police, and assured me that an intervention with the Soviet Embassy would immediately secure my release, but in the meantime he was obliged to seize my person. . . . So I was put in a cattle-truck bearing the legend, in French : " 40 men, 8 horses."
There were escapes from the trains. For example, three people succeeded in slipping out of the wagon next to mine. The Soviet sentry soon put the matter to rights ; he simply picked up the first three persons he encountered on the nearest platform. They happened to be gipsies. But what did it matter ? All that was demanded of the sentry was that he should arrive at his destination with the same number as he set out with. At the end of the train there was a wagon for the dead, who were thus also present on arrival. The intense cold prevailing throughout the fifteen days of the journey preserved the corpses.
I have often been asked if we were ill-treated during the journey, and if it recalled the horrors of the Nazis. No, there were no brutalities. We were simply treated as cattle. Our transport dis- charged its cargo at Makeyevka, in the Donbas. We very soon learned that we had been placed at the disposal of the Coal Trust. Theoretically we were on the same standing as the " normal " Russian worker, the only essential difference being the accommoda- tion. We were lodged in a camp for reasons of convenience and security. But right from the start there were numerous attempts to escape, although successful ones were rare. I know of one case where a father and son got back to Rumania on foot. This extra- ordinary journey lasted more than a year, and obviously could not have been successfully accomplished without aid from the popula- tion. In general, fugitives were not betrayed by adults but by children, who, scenting a stranger, ran after him in the streets and so drew the attention of the police. The attitude of the popula- tion was a passive complicity, which sometimes even took an
active form. One can only assume from this that a lively solidarity exists between the Soviet people and the deportees, a solidarity all the more striking in that it shows itself not only towards Poles and Rumanians but also towards Germans. Yet the Donbas during the war was subjected to a German occupation of which the least that can be said is that it was of unimaginable harshness.
This fellowship between the Soviet workers and the deportees was manifest at all times. In the street you could ask the first person you met for a cigarette, and be would give-it to you as simply as he might greet an old friend. When you were hungry you could enter the first house, and the occupants would share their poor morsel of bread with you without asking who you were or where you came from. This solidarity was also very much part of the workshop atmosphere. I worked in a lamp factory and as a radio mechanic without having the slightest idea of either of these trades. Yet, thanks to the collusion of the Russian workers, and even of some foremen, I learned the essential movements, and when it came to difficult tasks my Russian mates handled them for me. I was even by error promoted to electro-mechanic, first-class, and received 100 roubles more than my comrade Ivan, who did the more difficult part of my work. I never had the least fear of exposure. In the pit as in the workshop there were no sneaks among us. The Soviet worker is acutely conscious of his status, and the reason for his friendliness is not only a natural kindliness and generosity, but also a keen awareness of his own position as a slave.
Marxism proclaims the abolition of classes and in consequence the abolition of the class war. In reality the Stalin regime has created new classes. ,Right at the bottom of the scale is the mass of workers and peasants ; above are the different categories 'of the privileged. To get a correct picture of the social structure of the U.S.S.R. it is necessary to consider the country as one vast barrack. The officers are either the Party functionaries and the police, or the technicians and administrators, bound together by a multitude of petty privileges. The fact is that on an average -every fiftieth Soviet citizen enjoys some petty privilege, is a kind of sergeant of Stalin, and, like a servant, co-operates with his master when it is a question of suppressing the slaves, but is also not averse to stealing from the remote master, whom he knows only from portraits. Tsarist Russia was also divided into various " classes," each with its clearly-defined position in the hierarchical scale. But it is incontestable that military organisation and discipline constitute the power of Stalin's society, and make any opposition movement extremely difficult, even impossible.
Does this mean that the attitude of the Soviet worker towards the regime is purely passive ? No, far from it. He defends himself against the regime ; he attacks it with the means at his disposal. Above all, he retains his liberty of thought. The incredible propa- ganda based on the laws of crowd psychology and the principles of Pavlov has not shaken his determination to think for himself. In the first place, he refuses to read the newspapers. The one with the largest circulation is Pravda, i.e., " Truth." So a proverb has been coined: " Truth does not tell the truth." Although the sub- scription rate (for Communist Party members and nachalniks, or " bosses ") is only twenty copecks a copy, it sells on the market for ten roubles. This is because paper is in great demand for the making of cigarettes.
The Soviet worker replies- to slogans with counter-slogans. Thus to the slogan: " Stalin says: The most precious of all capital is man '," he counters: "And Stalin is the greatest capitalist-200 million men." To one of Lenin's favourite slogans: " He who does not work shall not eat," he answers: " Who works; eats little ; who works little, eats better ; who works not at all, eats best."
Sabotage is continuous, and the Press is compelled to make daily reference to it. What is the significance of this ? Is it no more than stupidity arising from the natural ineptitude of the Russian worker ? I know that it is something more than that. There is a will to self-defence on the part of the Soviet worker. It is this that creates the muddle, the importance of which cannot be over- estimated, for it compels Stalin to set certain limits to his imperialist ambitions.
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