clarity grows almost to transparency when one sees Stalin left in the
burning heap alone—Stalin, the former terrorist, true to himself,
the secretive Georgian, the master of the Russian state, the man who,
six months after the murder of Kirov, "understood and approved"
the measures of capitalist defense of the renegade Pierre Laval,
measures which happened to dovetail with the defense of the Moscow "trial." We do not clearly perceive the immediate and detailed
reasons for the proceedings of the Moscow trial but the significance
is easily discerned: /'/ is a decisive step towards the fascisization of
the state which was born of the heroism of the revolittionary fighters
and militants of the October.
So, addressing ourselves to the authors and the accomplices, we
ask the question so vital to the revolutionary proletariat:
What have you made of the October Revolution?
The affair is flooded with a more illuminating light when one
considers that it is not over, that the arrests and the suicides continue and reach the very heart of the Stalinist outfit. It is as if they
wished to eliminate physically all the older generation, and all is
centered around the person, around the specter of Trotsky.
Stricken out of official history by an impudent falsification of
reality, exiled, hunted down, isolated, sick, the ogre lives—terribly
alive despite all efforts, all slanders, all plots, and all traps. To the
extent that he still lives, the tradition of October persists, despite
all, intensely alive. Even apart from the fight for which he is always
ready, the old insurgent, whom they did not dare to destroy when
they had him in their power, remains an intolerable symbol and, for
many, in Russia and throughout the world, the living mirror of
It is important, then, that he disappear as soon as possible. If
they do not succeed in doing away with him physically, they must
at least annihilate him morally. Those who hold mankind in great
contempt believe that they will be able to circulate as true the
grossest and most fantastic lie, if only they assert it with enough
effrontery. And why not the most spectacular buffoonery? Why not
Trotsky, the creator of the Red Army, the organizer of the great
victory, why not Trotsky, an agent of the Hitlerite Gestapo? Evidently the fabricators of such an imbecilic infamy are not interested
in supporting it with the slightest proof. The point is simply to
bellow it forth with such resolute voices that the proletariat will not
have the audacity to subject it to doubt; and then it will be true.
It is thus that one reads day after day the declarations, articles,
confessions of the accused and after them of all those who were suspect or who were in danger of being suspected, repeating incessantly
the damaging and monotonous lesson. "It is he, it is he, it is he"—
the old friends distinguishing themselves only by their more sordid
insults and their more hypocritical tone in a spirit mimicked from
the professional penitents of the Salvation Army.