Be apart of the revolution
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Join the Revolution
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"Have you ever tried pissing in a winter storm to see if it would freeze immediately? I tried and the wind blew it right back at me-
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1917, Petrograd
The first weeks after the seizure were quieter than the night of the storming, but far more dangerous. The city still smelled of cordite and fear, but now it carried another odor — expectation. Everyone wanted to know what came next, who would speak, who would enforce, who would rule and properly manage.
I moved constantly, through lobbies and offices, the Red Guards as silent shadows behind me. Lenin as he usually did floated through the city like a specter of purpose, his speeches still lighting the streets, stirring crowds and the masses. Yet Trotsky moved faster, louder, hands in constant motion.
'That bastard', It was a grudge of competition if it could be called so. We were already at odds with each other and many amongst council knew, and not only him but a many others.
And while they make speeches of grand economic plans for the nation and its people that was far from even being complete? I worked in the spaces between — offices, meeting rooms, and even factory floors. I tried to speak from the stage as frequently as I could, but my responsibilities had limited me to my managerial, financial, and military matters.
Nonetheless, as usual, my assignments were either subtle, calculated or stern. A carrot with a stick, or just the beating stick itself. A commissar who hesitated for too long was transferred to a lower-level position or removed. Printers were directed to change headlines; newspapers that praised the previous administration vanished overnight. Soldiers were stationed in positions where they could keep an eye on the crowd without drawing attention to themselves — a hand on a rail, a gun visible in darkness.
I knew the stakes. Revolutions can implode just as easily as they rose, and the people had learned that they could demand more. But there was one thing they hadn't learned yet: revolutions need to be guided, not just sparked , lenin at least had an understanding of this yet he too underestimated the thought and process needed to see the transition made somewhat smoother.
Proper decisions, details, structures and procedures implemented to ensure a less chaotic tangent to this regime change.
'Hold that thought.'
Makarov came up to me with reports in hand. "The Vyborg district is experiencing problems. The new committees are being rejected by certain factories.
I read the notes, barely flinching as I sighed mentally. "Send in detachments, quietly. Arrest the ringleaders we'll have a talk with them."
He hesitated. "Isn't arresting a bit… harsh?"
I looked at him, the weight of days in my eyes. "No. Harsh is me having them beaten in public. We'll speak to these men and see if we can find common ground but if they refuse, they'll already be in our custody.There are already enough fusses and farces, and more wont do us any good if these men start something we can't put out without using force." I told him.
Sverdlov then barged in through the door way interrupting our little conversation.
We turnt our gaze to him already curious on what news he might've harried now.
"Complaints about the censorship of the press," he stated without abate. "And more strikes in the eastern districts."
"And here comes more bad news,"
I let out a verbal sigh loud and visible for both to see yet they remained quiet understanding the burden of trying to resolve issues that were already difficult to resolve in such chaotic times.
"Tell them," I said slowly, "that freedom of the press does not mean freedom to sabotage."
Sverdlov raised an eyebrow at my tone.
Frustrated I was with the lot of them.
"We'll reopen a few newspapers," I continued, "but only under Party oversight. People must believe they can speak — but only through us."
He scribbled a note without argument. That was one thing I liked about Sverdlov — he understood that appearance could serve truth better than any speech.
Makarov shifted uncomfortably in his chair beside his standing colleague . "And the strikes?"
"Bread and coal," I said. "It's always the same."I walked to the map on the wall, tracing with my finger the lines of the city — the frozen veins of industry. "Half these factories don't even have regular power. Supply trains are sitting on rails because no one's certain who commands the stations."
"Do we send detachments again?" he asked.
"Not this time." I turned. "There was a list of engineers brought to my attention, those that had managed and run some of the stations, see if you can make accommodations to have them return to their posts .And food. As much as we can spare — just enough for them to see we're thinking of them. Then send word to the factory committees: those who cooperate get first shipments of coal. Those who don't, wait."
It was simple mathematics of loyalty — scarcity turned to leverage. The revolution had promised a better future for the masses and I would see it done.
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The following day
The snow outside had piled up against the windows in unequal drifts, pressed like white fists against the city. I allowed my gaze to linger a little longer than required, visualizing the streets below, the factories caught in indecision, and the people unsure if they had overlords or liberators. Regardless, they would obey. They had no other options.
Sverdlov slid more papers toward me across the desk."The rail engineers have agreed," he said smiling at his job well done.
"They'll return to the depots by morning, but only if their food is delivered first."
"Then make sure it is," I said, indicating that it was now in the hands of his careful discretion.
Makarov opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, a flicker of reluctance crossing his face. "Comrade, some of the committees still refuse to cooperate. They say they will not take orders from those who seized control overnight."
I turned slowly to him, letting my eyes settle on his face in thought. " Those old fools, don't they realize that the times have changed ? They need to understand this fact, no they must learn this fact, and make no mistake they will learn. Make the offer — bread, coal, work, recognition — and the choice is theirs. Refuse, and let the consequences speak. But we will no not strike the first blow publicly, they will be the architects of their own destruction"
Sverdlov made a note as he usually did. And Makarov only nodded, understanding that the line had been drawn. It was not a question of justice, or even morality — it was a question of survival and efficiency.
I returned to the map. Rail lines, factories, and warehouses marked in careful ink strokes; the veins of the city, the arteries of supply. Petrograd could not breathe without these lines. Without them, the revolution would choke.
"Prepare lists," I said, "of every factory, every warehouse, every distribution center. Names of committee heads, union leaders, and any previous administrators who remain. I want control, but also continuity. Know who can be persuaded, and who must be reminded of the new reality."
"The Politburo would not see you overreach beyond your border in theirs," Sverdlov
"There is no real border and that is the issue , imaginary lines drawn up behind which they still hold no form of organization." I refuted.
"Lenin, had given me the go ahead to do what needs to be done across all areas, and I will not allow the people to suffer because of petty obstacles created by bureaucratic buffoons,"
The man had an expression of wanting to sigh but nonetheless he kept his cool.
"By your will then koba," He nodded in agreement.
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That evening, I visited one of the more volatile districts myself. Workers huddled in small clusters, hands red from the cold, murmuring about food and fuel, about newspapers and strikes. I walked among them, Red Guards inconspicuous behind me, letting my presence settle like a shadow
"Comrades," I said, loud enough to reach the nearest groups,"Your voices are being heard, I know your anguish in these times, I know of the confusion and chaos wrought because of the change but I implore you to make cooler heads prevail. We are working tirelessly to improve the situation across all departments and regions but we cannot move forward if diplomacy isn't the solution for having our current problems resolved"
Eyes met mine, some defiant, some hesitant. The ones defiant would understand soon enough. The hesitant ones would move first — they always did.
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By the time I returned to Smolny, reports were already arriving. Coal shipments leaving the depots, engineers supervising the rails, factories slowly whirring back to life. A fragile pulse returned to the city, and with it, a sense of increasing normalcy , however little.
I sat at the desk, fatigue pressing into my bones, but satisfaction too. Petrograd was not yet whole. The economy was fragile. The people restless. But the city had learned one thing: the revolution was being guided, and I made mention wherever and whenever I could to remind them of this reality and that things would improve for the better. Outside, the winter storm still roared. But inside, within walls both literal and political, the pulse of a new order beat stronger with every decision, every strike of a pen, every calculated move in this dangerous game of survival and power.