WE two Americans are lucky to be living in a Youth Commune. How better to reach the very heart of Soviet life than among its youth? Our friends, the old workers Feodor and Andree, linked for us the present with the dark past, when Singer owned the machine plant and dictated Podolsk workers' lives. So young Jack, Sonya, Alex and the others link today with tomorrow, giving us an insight into what lies ahead.
In the land of the hammer and sickle, socialism is maturing not only in a material sense, but in, a human one as well. While productive and cultural forces are being developed to their full, human beings are likewise being transformed. This is especially true of the children and youth.
The idea of communes is one expression of this. Organized usually by young workers, they spring from their desire to live both off the job as well as on, as Communists and builders of a new world.
Naturally these communes, or communal living quarters, have their ups and downs. The one in which we are living is no exception. But the ups far outweigh the downs. After a few weeks in our commune, it is easy to understand why it receives so many applications for membership. Even the old-time grudges about town who at first looked askance at the idea--those youngsters! They're probably up to some mischief!"--now have to agree with the general opinion that the Youth Commune is a community asset, and deserves to grow.
In the fall another commune, composed of eighty of the best young workers, will be organized.
Ours is not a large commune--only nine members (not including,its two visitors). This April it celebrates its first anniversary. There are six boys, Alex, Ivan, Misha, Vashka, Nick and Gregory, who share one large-sized bedroom; and three girls, Sonya, Ira and Shura who sleep in another slightly smaller one. All work in the sewing machine factory, and are busy days and evenings with Comsomol and other social activity. All are studying in order to develop themselves, both technically and politically. In each case, their parents are dead or are working elsewhere on the farms, while the boy or girl has been drawn to the town and factory.
Besides two bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom and toilet, there is a room set aside for study and reading, Commune meetings and friendly gatherings. Its double-glassed windows look out in winter over rolling plains of wood and snow, usually dotted with skiing, romping children--tiny round balls of wool and fur. In summer the scene changes to one of gleaming woods and green, flowering fields where sun-burned youngsters, with their leaders, can play and explore to their hearts' content. These are children of those who work at the sewing machine plant, for out Commune is situated in the new Workers' Town connected with the factory. The expenses of the apartment which total about eighty rubles a month, is divided among them according to earnings. This low cost of living is one practical advantage of communal life.
The walls of the room are bright with Soviet maps, pictures of Stalin, Lenin and Voroshilov, water-colours by Misha, and the Commune's wall newspaper. Written by its members, out of their experiences, it also carries news of Soviet construction and the workers' movement in other countries. In one corner is a small first aid cabinet, nearby a radio; on the chest and large study-table many books and papers.
Over the window runs a slogan, written in home-made characters. "Not things, but persons are petty-bourgeois" (that is, with the outlook of small business men). When we-asked Ivan why the Commune had put this up, he gave one of his frank boyish grins. "Well, you see, it was this way," he explained. "When one of the fellows or girls would come home with a new silk tie or scarf, the others would josh, 'Oh, you're getting petty-bourgeois. It got pretty bad. So one day we had a Commune discussion. That slogan's the outcome. Why shouldn't we have silk and enjoy good clothes! The main thing is, not what we wear, but what we do."
This nineteen-year old lad is secretary of the Comsomol organization, in the factory school where he and eight hundred other young workers are receiving their technical training.
Then there's Alex Krichenko, a lanky, boisterous lad of about eighteen years. He carries a card, given him by the Soviet Government, entitling him to special rates at the workers' theatres and movies, to free transportation and other privileges. That is because he is the son of a poor peasant who joined the Red Partisans during the Civil War, and lost his life in defending the people's freedom. His mother receives a pension to care for her family, Alex and the other children have been given many opportunities. Completing a three-year course in the Podolsk factory school, Alex is now a skilled machinist entrusted with important work on a new type of industrial sewing machine, and earning a hundred and seventy rubles a month. Alex's mother, together with her daughter, works on a collective farm which she helped organize. When vacation month comes, Alex usually journeys down to pay them a visit.
Gregory is a near relative of Alex's. They have long shared their experiences and plans with one another.
Young Vashka is a quiet fellow whose deep-set eyes burn with tense desire to learn, to measure up to his job. "He's a good lad," his uncle, Andree, once told us, in answer to our query. "When he came to me from the village three years ago, after his father died, he was a greenhorn. I took him in hand, and tried to give him some incentives. It took him a while to catch on. But life in the factory and Comsomol has done wonders. Yes, I only hear good reports about him." And the old revolutionary nodded his approval.
Not long ago Vashka was freed from his machine to become assistant secretary of the Comsomol. Working under Jack's direction, he is developing fast. Between other duties he is burrowing into his books. When he finds something that stumps him, he appeals to Jack for aid.
There is another side to Vashka. The other day he asked his comrades, "Which shall I get first--a new overcoat or an accordion?" After some debate, he decides the coat can wait. He needs the accordion to make music for the youth to sing and dance by, the way he used to do in the village.
The three girls churn together. Sonya, a fair-haired, blue-eyed girl of twenty-three, was elected last year by her needle department to represent them in the city council or soviet. She likes civic work. As a member of the soviet's committee on community feeding, she takes part in the regular inspections and check-up of co-operative stores and food supplies.
She had struck me as a very capable, but rather matter-of-fact person--until I discovered her one evening, crouched over a book on the kitchen table, reading revolutionary poetry aloud to Ira.
Another time, when discussing her budget, Sonya admitted, half-ashamed, "Too much of my wages go for clothes. Not my top clothes. But for nice underwear." Beneath her boyish khaki shirt their is hidden linen, embroidery and lace. Perhaps here is one reason for the slogan over the window.
Ira gives much of her time, after working hours, to leading her group of Pioneers. In her dark blouse and wisp of a skirt, she looks hardly more than a Pioneer herself. All three girls take part in amateur dramatics at the club, often joining in collective excursions to the theatres in Moscow. Misha says the girls put in too much time on this kind of thing. "Don't pay any attention," the girls answer, "we can't all be as serious-minded as Misha, and that's that."
One evening Ira slips in with her album. "Just to get acquainted," she says shyly. We look through pages of snapshots of her pals and herself. Girl friends. Boy friends. Her leader at summer camp. Bits of ribbon and souvenirs of days she wants to remember: a photograph of her sister and herself taken with her mother, who died when Ira was still a child. Gaudy postcards that she apologizes for. "Just to fill up space." Badges she won when a Pioneer.
We talk a long hour. At the end she slips out as softly she came. To Ira, the Commune has brought comradeship, home.
Misha, eighteen, a skilled mechanic, is one of the most likable of them all. Not long ago he organized a class for fifteen older women and men who were semi-literate. Since it meets in the Commune, we have had plenty of chances to listen in. It is the most remarkable class which I have ever attended.
One of the organizers of the Commune and its president, Misha, was away when we first came to Podolsk. He had been recovering his health in a sanatorium, after risking his life to save several others. It happened that one evening when only a small shift was at work in the repair department, a gas leak developed. The workers, engrossed in what they were doing, failed to notice the gradually accumulating fumes. Later, Misha chanced into the department where he worked during the day,. He found the motors still running the room filled with gas, and men, overcome, lying by their machines. Some evidently had lost consciousness while trying to carry their comrades to safety. Throwing off the power, giving the alarm, this slight lad dragged out five workers before also being overcome. As it was, no lives were lost.
Misha takes what he did as a matter of course. He only did his working class duty; what any Communist would have done.
Some months before this, Misha, who is studying painting, invented a new pattern for the upper part of the sewing machine which allows an economy of laquer, giving the factory a saving of 2,500 rubles a year. Rewarded a premium of the same amount, Misha turned it over to the Commune with which it purchased extra blankets, cots, and other equipment.
Busy as they are with many engrossing activities, the Commune members get little opportunity for joint communal life. Sometimes there are meals together in the evening, or, later on, gatherings around the table for tea and talk. Once in a great while they make a joint trip to the club movie and on free days go skiing with other young workers, or help the peasants on neighbouring collective farms.
Some readers no doubt are asking themselves, "What about it, when boys and girls live together that way? Don't they get into sex affairs?" Put this question to Sonya, Nick and Misha--their answers are frank, without hesitation. The attitude of Commune members towards one another is not primarily that of "boys" and "girls" but of comrades carrying on common work. Sex does not ordinarily play any part in Commune life.
However, if two should happen to fall in love, then they and the Commune would discuss it together. As this Commune has no means for making living arrangements for couples, the young pair would probably have to leave the Commune and find a place to live elsewhere. So far, in our Commune, the question has not come up.
In general, standards of conduct in a Commune are high. Even the Mrs. Grundys admit this.
After living among them, you realize there is nothing mushy about Soviet youth. They have been trained in a scientific, frank approach to sex. To them it is no darkly mysterious, dare-devil thing; neither do they require a series of love affairs in order to get a kick out of life.
The new youth are living an all-round healthy existence. They are keenly aware of their task as builders of a new society. Their days are crowded, their evenings full. In America or Europe, working class youth finds it impossible to live such an all round life. Seeking for excitement, they look to find it in the way that commercialized press, theatre, and motion picture have taught them--in sex. Under such circumstances, it is impossible to judge the outlook of Soviet youth by conditions as they exist in other parts of the world.
Like every other aspect of Soviet life, standards of personal conduct and personal relations are undergoing many changes. All ethics are class ethics. The old code of morality, based upon the double standard and the subjection of women, has been discarded. This was the code of a decadent society and class--the bourgeoisie. The new code of proletarian ethics is still in process of development. Its principles are clear, but its applications have to work themselves out in terms of human experience. Communist youth take their responsibilities in this working-out very seriously.
In, general the philosophy runs something like this: the social gauge of conduct is the effect your act has on the working class struggle for a new world. If it promotes this, making you a better fighter, then it is good. If it hinders it, then it is anti-working class, and wrong. Unless your actions impair your social usefulness, or someone else's your personal relations are a private affair. A man and woman may decide to live together, or to separate, and no one interferes. However, love is a serious matter and not to be entered upon lightly. Promiscuity is not tolerated. If there is a child, the state steps in to protect the child's interests. There is no such thing as an illegitimate child in the Soviet Union. All children are legitimate, with full rights of citizens. Its father as well as its mother is held responsible for its support and welfare.
I ask Sonya, "What happens if you find one of the girls running around with many boys?" She looks thoughtful. "That very rarely happens. You see we have so many interests. And we usually marry early."
"But when such a case occurs?" I insist. Ira remembers one incident that happened in the factory last year. "We took the girl aside, and talked to her in a comradely fashion. We explained the dangers of what she was doing. We said, 'If you love one of these boys, why then, take him for your mate. But cut out the running around.' We saw to it that she got drawn into social activities more and to studying.... Now she has settled down."
Where the person is a Comsomol or Party member, his comrades' expectations of him in this or in other respects are very exacting. Recently I was told by a student of a case that came up before the Comsomol bureau in his university, in Moscow. The member brought to trial by his comrades was accused of having lived with several girls in the last year. Such cases occur. Two of the girls had had abortions. Found guilty, he was expelled both from the Comsomol and university. This was anti-social in the highest degree; there was no mistaking the indignant scorn which his actions called forth. He had proven himself emotionally unstable, and lacking in social consideration. He had not only failed to do his own studies, but placed handicaps on others.
In a Leningrad Comnmune of young metal workers, Anna, one of its members, confided to another girl that she was pregnant and planned on having an abortion. Her reason was that she wanted to continue her life in the Commune, which was only for adults. The child's father was living with his parents and had no room to offer her. The girl took Anna's case before the Commune bureau. They discussed it, deciding to tell Anna that if she would have the child, they would adopt it as theirs, end she and the child could continue living on in the Commune. This is realism and the new code in practice, with "all for one, and each for all."
Sonya, Jade, Misha, Ira, Alex. We will not soon forget you. Communist youth whom Andree, Feodor and other old-time revolutionary workers look upon as the most valuable products of the new day which they gave their best years to bringing about.