Introduction by Odd Arne Westad, Harvard University No other political leader in the twentieth century influenced his country as much as Joseph Stalin. Adolf Hitler left little behind, except destroying Germany as a major power for at least two generations. Mao Zedong is still admired by some as the great unifier of China, but his legacy is hard to find among most Chinese today. President Franklin D. Roosevelt and British Prime Minister Winston Churchill were substantial leaders, but their ideas were soon repudiated by their successors. Only Stalin left a deep and lasting imprint on the country he led, holding Russia – even today – back from engaging positively with the outside world and making many Russians admire values from which others recoil. In a recent opinion poll, a majority of Russians thought that Stalin played a positive role in the country’s history.[1] Stephen Kotkin’s outstanding new biography of Stalin provides a set of explanations of why this might be so. Kotkin’s Stalin fitted the times, but also dominated them. He led the Soviet state almost from the beginning, making it possible for it to survive and, over time, impossible to imagine an alternative. His own form of Marxism became the Soviet ideology (and the world-wide Communist ideology, for that). Kotkin’s Stalin was the sine qua non of the USSR and of Communism in the twentieth century. Getting rid of that heritage would mean a basic re-evaluation of the past that Russia has yet to undertake (unfortunately, but perhaps not surprisingly, given the sense of chaos and dissolution that the post-Soviet era instilled in many Russians). Kotkin’s view of Stalin in this first volume of the biography is not without it critics. None of the reviewers contributing to this roundtable are uniformly admiring, but then that is hard to expect in an account of the life of one of the century’s great tyrants and mass murderers. Richard Pipes, the doyen of Russia historians in the United States, takes Kotkin to task for underestimating the degree to which Lenin turned against Stalin in the final period of his life. Calling Kotkin’s approach “an eccentric denial,” Pipes believes these episodes had greater significance for Stalin’s later behavior than Kotkin admits. Silvio Pons, whose work has been very important in setting the agenda for debate over Soviet influence on international Communism, believes that Moscow’s policies – both domestically and internationally – were as much a result of a group of leaders’ thinking as of Stalin’s own. Pons reckons that, overall, Kotkin’s account offers few surprises. It follows, he claims, “a well established blueprint” for Stalin biography. Michael Jabara Carley finds Kotkin’s discussion of Stalin’s policy towards the West “stereotypical and oversimplified,” and sees the author as overlooking the international significance of the Russian revolution. Jonathan Haslam, who has recently written a fascinating account of the Soviet intelligence system,[2] sees Kotkin as going “out of his way to accentuate his differences with others.” He believes that the author’s weak point is his lack of understanding of the Soviet economy (although he also sees weaknesses in Kotkin’s treatment of international affairs). For instance, the drop in world commodity prices in the late 1920s was, according to Haslam, much more important for Soviet collectivization than Kotkin admits. In spite of these points of criticism, it would still be fair to say that all the reviewers here admire Kotkin’s book as a significant biography, which, as Haslam puts it, provides “a dazzling display of erudition presented with admirable clarity.” Pons calls it “comprehensive and vigorous”, and Pipes sees it as “a very serious biography that, except for its eccentric denial of Lenin’s rift with Stalin late in his life, is likely to well stand the test of time.” The appreciation for the quality of Kotkin’s scholarship is universal. As could be expected, Kotkin counters these criticisms forcefully. His critics, he says, consistently underestimate the significance of Stalin’s views and his personality on Soviet history. Much of what happened in the Soviet Union would not have happened without Stalin. “No Stalin, no collectivization,” for instance (and that is not a small instance). “No Stalin, moreover, no survival of the Soviet regime.” Kotkin also accuses them of ignoring the central message of his book. Aiming at Haslam, he points out that “an understanding of historical agency and process could be viewed as the principal subject of my book.” On balance, it is hard not to admire this biography. Not only is it written with verve and gusto, but it puts forward important interpretations with which one may disagree (but should be careful in doing so without undertaking the same amount of research in Russian sources that Kotkin has done). The criticism is important, but should not get in the way of reading what is in my view by far the best Stalin biography ever written. If they have not already done so, the readers of this forum should read the book and make up their own minds. Participants : Odd Arne Westad is the S.T. Lee Professor of U.S.-Asia Relation at the John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University. His new book on the Cold War in the 20th century will be published in 2017. Stephen Kotkin (PhD 1988, University of California, Berkeley) has been teaching at Princeton University since 1989, where he holds a chair jointly in the History department and Woodrow Wilson School for Public and International Affairs. He is in the final stages of Stalin, Vol. II: Waiting for Hitler, 1929-1941 (Penguin). Michael Jabara Carley obtained his PhD in history from Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario. He is professor of history at the Université de Montréal. He has published widely on Soviet relations with the West. Amongst these publications are 1939: The Alliance that Never Was and the Coming of World War II (Chicago, 1999), also in French, Russian, Italian editions, H-Diplo forum, 2000; and Silent Conflict: A Hidden History of Early Soviet-Western Relations (Lanham, MD, 2014), H-Diplo forum, 2014. A French edition is in preparation. Professor Carley is working on a new book dealing with Soviet relations with the West and formation of the Grand Alliance. Jonathan Haslam is George F. Kennan Professor in the School of Historical Studies at the Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton. He is also a Fellow of the British Academy, Emeritus Professor of Cambridge University and a Fellow of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. His last work was Russia's Cold War: From the October Revolution to the Fall of the Wall (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011). The next work, Near and Distant Neighbors. A New History of Soviet Intelligence (New York: Farrar Straus and Giroux, 2015), appears late August. Silvio Pons is Professor of Contemporary History and East European History at the University of Rome, Tor Vergata (Rome II) and Director of the Gramsci Institute Foundation in Rome. He is a member of the Editorial Board of the Journal of Cold War Studies (Harvard University). He has extensively written on the Cold War, the foreign policy of the Soviet Union, and the global history of communism. His main publications include Stalin and the Inevitable War (Frank Cass 2002); Reinterpreting the End of the Cold War (Frank Cass 2005); A Dictionary of Twentieth Century Communism (Princeton University Press 2010); The Global Revolution. A History of International Communism (Oxford University Press 2014). He is currently the General Editor of the Cambridge History of Communism, forthcoming in 2017 with Cambridge University Press. Richard Pipes (BA Cornell 1945 and PhD Harvard 1950. Frank B. Baird Professor of History, Emeritus, at Harvard. Publications include: Russia under the Old Regime, The Russian Revolution, and Property and Freedom.

Review by Michael Jabara Carley, Université de Montréal This new study by Stephen Kotkin is really three books in one. It is a biography of I. V. Stalin and a political history of the Russian Revolution and the following years up to 1928. The third book—all right, forgive me if I am a little facetious—is located in the heavily annotated endnotes. I enjoyed reading Kotkin’s work. The main text is well-written, well-researched narrative history. The author has an entertaining, fast paced style, which is bothered only by the overloaded endnotes. To the specialist, much of the narrative will be known, but the re-telling of the story of the revolution and civil war and the struggle for control of the Soviet state after the incapacitation and death of Bolshevik leader V. I. Lenin is nonetheless interesting and often captivating. Likewise, the biography of Stalin will be known to specialists, but the retelling of Stalin’s life as a revolutionary is fascinating, and introduces new details about Stalin’s personal life. In the historical profession there are skimmers and diggers. Clearly, Kotkin, to his credit and our benefit, is a digger into the pertinent archives. I am of course a specialist of Soviet foreign policy and Soviet relations with the West. Jonathan Haslam and Silvio Pons are also specialists of Soviet foreign policy. But Kotkin’s book deals only in passing with foreign policy, based mostly on works published without benefit of access to Soviet foreign policy archives. Consequently, his references to relations with the West are few and sometimes stereotypical and oversimplified. Soviet foreign policy and relations with the West are not the strength of Kotkin’s book. Domestic Soviet policy and politics are where the author excels. How does Stalin fit into the early history of the Bolshevik revolution? He was born in Gori, Georgia in December 1878, son of an alcoholic cobbler and a serf’s daughter. They were poor, and their first two sons died as infants. Iosif was the third child, nicknamed Soso, who might also have died, for he caught several of the children’s maladies of that period. If only it had been so, Kotkin muses. Soso was a tough, willful kid, and smart too. His mother sent him to school, where he was a good student, then to a seminary in Tiflis, capital city of Georgia. It was there that Soso Jugashvili, embraced the cause of revolution. The uninformed reader of Kotkin’s Stalin may wonder why there was a revolutionary movement in Russia or why Soso turned to it. In 1861 the Tsar Aleksandr II abolished serfdom under which peasants had lived for hundreds of years. They were ‘emancipated,’ such as it was, two years before black slaves in the United States. The trouble was the emancipation process took years, and peasants at least in European Russia ended up with less land than they had before emancipation and had to pay inflated prices for it, especially where the land was productive. Kotkin calls the process “flawed” (37), and this is true, for ‘emancipation’ was intended to serve the interests of the landed aristocracy more than it was to free the peasantry. For centuries the tsars had depended on the loyalty of the landed aristocracy: they offered serfdom and then ‘flawed’ emancipation as compensation. So it was not for nothing that a revolutionary movement began during the 1860s. Life was hard and brutal for most peasants and most urban workers once industrialisation took off in the late nineteenth century. Soso’s interest in revolution was not preordained, according to Kotkin, it was more by chance that he became sensitised to the injustices of peasant life. Rebellious, and disrespectful of discipline, Soso was eventually expelled from the Tiflis seminary in 1899. The, author though, seems hampered by a lack of sources for this early period of Stalin’s life. Soso became involved in the revolutionary movement in the Caucasus. His overprotective mother worried he would be arrested. He was, for the first time in 1902, and exiled to Eastern Siberia in the following year. It was at this time that he took the pseudonym Koba. He eventually escaped and made it back to Tiflis in 1904 in time for the revolution of the following year. He worked as an organiser in western Georgia in the mining district of Chiatura, a “hellhole” (76) where workers were treated like convicts doing forced labour. Koba was in his element and a precocious revolutionary. He learned quickly to disdain liberal reformists working within the tsarist order “so that the wolves and the sheep can pasture together” (105). That was a Bolshevik point of view, and true too. Wolves are carnivores; sheep eat grass. After the failure of the 1905 revolution, which was repressed by tsarist authorities, Koba reputedly became capo of a gang of Georgian bank robbers. Their ill-gotten gains were delivered directly to Lenin himself. A few months later Koba lost his first wife, a beautiful Georgian woman, who died of typhus or TB. She was a “class above” Koba’s future girlfriends (105), peasant girls, one of whom, age 13 or 14, , was said to give him a bastard son who died in infancy. Koba was an Alpha male, like most of the Bolsheviks, who enjoyed the company of the opposite sex. Even the seemingly incorruptible Lenin had a mistress. No wonder the Bolsheviks butted heads repeatedly. Bank robbing was frowned upon amongst most revolutionaries, particularly amongst the softer opposition Mensheviks, and Koba moved on to more conventional forms of revolutionary agitation. He was arrested again in 1910 and spent much of the rest of the time until 1917 in prison or exile, the last time in remote northeastern Siberia, near the Arctic Circle. Periods of exile were interrupted by escape back to European Russia. Kotkin notes that whilst many revolutionaries gave up the cause during the tsarist repression after 1905, Koba did not. In 1912 he started using the name Stalin, “man of steel” (133). He was too, a Bolshevik to the core. Kotkin retells the story of the February and October Revolutions and of the bloody, destructive civil war which followed. Stalin returned from Siberia in March 1917, set free from his place of Siberian exile by the collapse of the tsarist order. He played a major, if not entirely public role in the events of leading up to the Bolshevik seizure of power in November 1917. He became one of Lenin’s most important lieutenants along with L. D. Trotskii, Stalin’s long-time nemesis. Many historians have told and retold this story, but Kotkin’s account is nevertheless interesting and vigorously written. He underlines the utter chaos, anarchy, and violence of the civil war period, and the precariousness of Soviet power during the first eight-nine months of 1918. The Russian army having disintegrated, a process encouraged by Bolshevik anti-war propaganda, the Soviet government was compelled to sign the treaty of Brest-Litovsk with Germany in March 1918. It was a draconian capitulation and an unmitigated disaster for Russia. Lenin gambled that it would not last. How the Bolsheviks survived those first months in power was a combination of blind luck, tenacity, and ruthlessness. Elites don’t take kindly to having their privileges and power wrenched away from them, and the tsarist elite fought back with the help of foreign interventionists. The so-called Allied intervention (1917-1922) which intended to strangle the Soviet state in its cradle, barely rates a mention by Kotkin. France, Britain, and the United States earnestly sought to overthrow Soviet authority. They threw sacks of banknotes to anyone in Russia who said hewould fight the ‘Bolsh.’ They supplied arms and advisors to aid and nurture the counter-revolution. Troops were also sent, though not enough, to the four corners of Russia. They shot Bolsheviks on sight. They talked about hanging the rest from long lines of gallows. Nor was the civil war in Russia on a small scale, millions perished, making the American civil war by comparison look like a walk in the park. After the end of the war on the Western Front, the French and British high commands thought it would be a cinch “to down the Bolsh”. They planned to send twenty or so divisions. However, plans were one thing, reality another. Having survived the Western abattoir, common soldiers resisted entering another one against the Bolsheviks. French soldiers and sailors mutinied; British and Canadians grumbled and dragged their feet. When the ‘Entente’ intervention failed, the French, British, American governments tried other means to contain Soviet Russia (the USSR after 1922) and hinder its development, with military alliances in Eastern Europe (the cordon sanitaire), trade sanctions, denial of credit, hostile press campaigns, and anti-Communist electioneering. Signs of Russophobia and Sovietphobia were everywhere to be found in Europe and North America. Does all this sound familiar? Mutatis mutandis it should. Who said the Cold War started after 1945? Kotkin at times portrays the Western powers in the 1920s as well-meaning—at the Genoa conference in 1922 (445), for example—they were nothing of the sort. The Bolsheviks were paranoid, but sometimes they had reason to be. A lot of enemies will make you so. Of course, Kotkin would reply and does in his text that the Bolsheviks brought their woes upon themselves. In a way they did, but it is a chicken and egg argument. Revolutions do not come from nothing; the ground is prepared by selfish, grasping elites who refuse to share wealth and political power with what they regard as lower orders. Stalin and the Bolsheviks were revolutionaries who devoted their lives to the world socialist revolution. It would have been best, from a Western point of view, if they had just talked about revolution, and did not really make one. You know, like politicians of ‘the Left’ in the West, who make promises and then don’t keep them. Like Mensheviks, Stalin would have replied with contempt. The Bolsheviks actually did what they said they would do, bewildering and enraging Western politicians. Nor did they want to make revolution only in Russia; that was merely the first step to a wider revolution in Europe. In a way, Bolsheviks were naïve; they thought they could threaten Western elites without serious consequence. These elites in turn thought the Bolsheviks were boulevard ‘anarchists’ and chatterers, stirring up the darker, lower orders of society. When the Bolsheviks actually seized power in the capital, Petrograd, Western governments were astounded, indignant, contemptuous. At first, as Kotkin notes, the Entente powers thought the Bolsheviks would not last more than a few days. It was preposterous to think these café philosophers could take and hold power. But they did, if only barely. They are on the brink of collapse, everyone thought (and Kotkin nicely demonstrates). It was the spring and summer of 1918. Just one more shove, they said in the West, and we’ll send them to Hell. But the Bolsheviks crawled away from the Inferno’s precipice, bleeding from many wounds. In the summer and autumn of 1918 they built up, from nothing, a Red Army which won victories against its ‘White Guard’ and interventionist enemies. During the summer of 1918 Stalin was responsible for the defence of Tsaritsyn (Stalingrad after 1925). Here, as Kotkin notes, Stalin showed his determination, ruthlessness, and ability to get things done. This latter quality Lenin appreciated in the chaos of that summer. He did not appreciate his reckless insubordination, however, or his vituperative quarrels with Trotskii. Whenever Lenin looked the other way, or when he convalesced after an attempt on his life at the end of August, Stalin and Trotskii “deepened their antagonism” (307). Did anyone wonder what would happen between these two if Lenin were not around? Stalin was recalled for insubordination, just in time it seems, for Tsaritsyn nearly fell to White Guards. It was saved by the timely arrival of Red Army reinforcements. In November 1918 Germany signed the Armistice and war ended on the Western Front. Lenin declared Brest-Litovsk null and void, and the world socialist revolution, just around the corner. Western leaders showed a brave front, planned further intervention, and some worried that Lenin might be right. In 1919 the Bolsheviks organised the Communist International, or Comintern, an international organisation of Communists, to spread propaganda and revolution in the west. And why not? The Entente was doing all it could to bring down the hated Soviets. Some Bolsheviks considered the Comintern a weapon of self-defence, since the Red Army was not strong enough to advance into central Europe. Nonetheless, after the end of the foreign intervention and civil war the Comintern became a nuisance to Soviet diplomats trying to deal with the West. The Western powers demanded an end to Comintern interference in their domestic affairs, a somewhat audacious stance, given the intervention and later attempts to hinder Soviet economic development. We have to live and let live, G. V. Chicherin, Commissar for Foreign Affairs, told Western interlocutors. Neither side could bring themselves to do it, though the USSR, being the weaker party, had to be more pragmatic. The Bolsheviks won the civil war but really they had lost, for everything was in ruins. There was little functioning industry, no commerce other than barter often at the point of a gun. Paper money was worthless or nearly so. In 1921 Lenin announced the New Economic Policy or NEP, a mixed private, public sector economy, to end the chaos and return to a normal functioning, eventually socialist society. Few Bolsheviks liked the NEP because it introduced capitalism into the countryside and the lower levels of commerce and industry. Lenin replied that for the time-being it was the only option. NEP and other issues were not going to be easy to resolve in the ruins of Soviet Russia, but everything got a lot harder the following year. In 1922 Lenin was felled by a series of strokes. He lingered on until January 1924, but without his political presence the simmering quarrel between Stalin and Trotskii erupted into the open. Kotkin relates the story of the long, bitter feud for control of the USSR between Stalin and his rivals. Trotskii had many talents and was amongst the bravest of the brave, but he was a poor politician, as Kotkin notes (and other scholarsas well), with even worse interpersonal skills. He did not fully understand the high stakes for which Stalin was playing, at times allowing himself to sulk or stand aloof. Most other senior Bolshevik leaders did not seem to get it either until too late. Stalin outmanoeuvred them all. The greatest danger to Stalin’s ambitions was the so-called ‘testament’ left by a dying Lenin in which he recommended, inter alia, the removal of Stalin from the powerful position of General Secretary of the Russian Communist Party. As Kotkin points out, this document was a potential danger to Stalin’s ambitions, something he (Stalin) clearly recognised. Kotkin doubts the authenticity of the testament though he concedes that it probably represented Lenin’s views. It’s an interesting argument, but who knows? What is certain is that senior Bolshevik leaders knew of the testament and believed it to be genuine. What they didn’t know was how to use it. And they were confused too. They did not understand who was the real danger to themselves and to the state they wanted to build. Who is enemy no. 1: Stalin or Trotskii? Most Bolsheviks got the answer wrong, and Stalin finessed the testament and slipped away from danger. By the end of 1928 he had outmanoeuvred and beaten all his rivals for power. His authority was incontestable. Kotkin deals last with Stalin’s decision to collectivise Soviet farming. All Bolsheviks, wherever they stood on the question of Stalin or Trotskii, wanted to modernise Russia. To them this meant industrialisation and the transformation of agriculture. You could not have one without the other. Peasant agriculture was unproductive, did not produce sufficient surpluses to sustain industrialisation and feed workers in the cities and rising factory towns. Go fast, go slow, or slower were the basic parameters of the debate. Stalin took one position, go slow, then the other, go fast. Kotkin explains the manoeuvres and how they fit into the struggle for power. The author concludes that Stalin opted for rapid, forced collectivisation ultimately for “ideological” reasons. Let Kotkin explain his idea: “The Bolsheviks desperately needed the peasants to produce good harvests, but the better the peasants did, the more they turned into class enemies, that is kulaks….That is why, finally, scholars who dismiss Stalin’s Marxist motivations for collectivization are as wrong as those who either hype the absence of a ‘plan’ or render collectivisation ‘necessary’. Stalin had connected the ideological dots, reaching the full logic of a class-based outlook” (676). Everything was predetermined for Stalin; it was either socialism or bust. Ironically, this is Kotkin’s view too. There were no alternatives for the Bolsheviks of the 1920s; no gradualism or mixed private, public sector economy, which could bring resolution of seemingly insoluble problems without jettisoning socialism. There was no ad hoc approach, no ‘Keep Buggering On’ policies which could provide solutions. A square peg does not go into a round hole. “The principle alternative to Stalin,” writes Kotkin, “was the willing abandonment or unwilling unhinging of the Bolshevik regime” (732). Not everyone agrees with this point of view. Russian historian, Oleg Khlevniuk, for example, takes a contrary position in his new biography of Stalin.[3] Kotkin essentially concludes that the tenets of socialism do not compute. “Construction of political order on the basis of class… was (and always will be) ruinous.” Only free markets, “common humanity”, “individual freedom”, “genuine democracy”, “rejection of planning”, capitalism essentially, will work (730, 737). “Insanity [was] inherent in Leninism.” The Bolshevik revolution was an “escapade”; the Soviet government, a “regime”; the 1905 revolution, “madness” (118, 286, 737). Who declared that the Cold War is over? I cannot say whether Kotkin is right or wrong about the alternatives facing the Bolsheviks in the 1920s. I wonder if a definitive answer is even possible. Stephen F. Cohen, the biographer of N. I. Bukharin, suggested that there were alternative paths to forced, ruinous collectivisation.[4] Bukharin wanted to go slow with collectivisation, provide material incentives, and count on a more gradualist approach to industrialisation. His public statements may have been facile at times, but amongst the Bolsheviks, blustering public rhetoric was often heard. Kotkin dismisses Bukharin as a lightweight. I agree, but perhaps we should hear from Cohen and Khlevniuk on the alternatives to Stalin’s radical policies. Kotkin makes much of ‘ideology’ in Stalin’s beliefs. “He was an ideologue who was flexibly pragmatic” (736). Well yes, but so what? but does it really matter? After all he was a Bolshevik revolutionary. Why should he not have been “ideological”? It is a controversial matter amongst historians: was Stalin a Realist or an Ideologue, or both? I have also addressed this issue in matters of foreign policy, though I wonder whether the question itself is not ‘ideological.’ Why don’t we ask it more frequently, for example, about anti-Communist Tory ‘Die-Hards’ in Britain or about conservatives of the Bloc national in France? They agitated the ‘Red Scare’ to win elections during the Inter-war Years even at the expense of what other contemporaries considered to be national interests. If Stalin and other Bolsheviks were ‘ideologues’, so were anti-Communists in the west. In a way they were birds of a feather. They clashed repeatedly during the inter-war Cold War. M. M. Litvinov, Deputy Commissar for Foreign Affairs during the 1920s, called it the “Silent Conflict”. The confrontation was not of course ‘silent’ any more than the cold war was ‘cold’. As I have already mentioned, Kotkin arguesthat the Bolshevik revolution was a provocation to the West. It certainly was. “The Bolsheviks, with their coup,” writes Kotkin, “had created a condition of capitalist encirclement, then proceeded to conduct themselves in a way that reinforced their predicament…” (732) There are many key words in the cold-war lexicon about the Russian Revolution and the Soviet Union. ‘Coup’ is one of them. It implies that the seizure of power by the Bolsheviks was the act of a revolutionary elite without roots in the masses they purported to represent. Other historians, Alexander Rabinowitch for example, hold to contrary ideas. His works are listed in Kotkin’s bibliography.[5] Could the Bolsheviks have made a revolution that did not provoke capitalist encirclement? Only if they had played by the West’s rules, embraced capitalism, abandoned the revolution. Become Mensheviks, Stalin would have retorted. The Bolsheviks did create trouble of their own making, often shooting themselves in the foot during the 1920s by bungling revolution in other countries. They should have known better, and some did including Stalin), but as Kotkin points out (and I also[6]), domestic politics often got in the way. Nor was the Soviet government monolithic or motivated by a monolithic Marxist worldview. Chicherin, Litvinov, L. B. Krasin, amongst other Bolsheviks, argued against shoot-in-the-foot policies. Sometimes Stalin listened, covering his caution with bluster; sometimes he did not, or could not (for fear of attack by his rivals). He became more openly cautious after various disasters in Europe and China. For a time in the 1930s he even dropped the bluster, but that’s another story which I hope to tell in a future book. If you carry Kotkin’s statements to their logical conclusion, the Bolsheviks should have given up revolution from the first day, or better yet never embarked upon it. Kotkin dabbles in counterfactual history. What if Stalin had died? What if “a pair of bullets” (223) had despatched Lenin and Trotskii? There would have been no USSR—and no biography of Stalin either! Perhaps it’s better to deal with what was rather than with what might have been. Kotkin’s book is a fine narrative history, although—and forgive the cavil—it could have done without the narrative in the endnotes. The author illuminates the formation and evolution of Stalin’s personality in the wider context of the history of the Russian Revolution and its aftermath. Much of his story has been told before, but Kotkin’s version is not less enjoyable to read. And there is more to come. This is a work in progress, a huge and ambitious enterprise. I salute the author’s industry and creativity, and look forward to reading the subsequent volumes.

Review by Jonathan Haslam, Cambridge University With publication of this outstanding book, Stephen Kotkin emerges as the leading historian of the Soviet Union from the new, post-Cold War generation of academics. The University of California at Berkeley had only just begun to admit students for doctoral research on Soviet history in the 1980s when Kotkin set out to study the subject. Hitherto, with the honourable exception of Columbia, those so motivated were invariably redirected to departments of political science on the grounds that, without direct access to archives, real history was impossible. Kotkin had actually set out to research France or Central Europe. But an extraordinary twist of fate – an unwilling supervisor followed by an unexpected meeting with the philosopher Michel Foucault on campus – impelled Kotkin to work on the history of Soviet power. Kotkin rejected the unspoken but enticing obligation accepted by others to align himself with one school or another in a field notorious for career patronage heavily influenced by strong ideological preferences. This was, after all, the divisive era epitomised in the person of President Ronald Reagan, during which the left saw itself as under siege and mobilised within university departments to further its own cause, not least at the expense of the non-committed. Kotkin, however, freed himself from conflicting pressures to conform, and deftly emerged unscathed from the acidic, partisan feud that raged in Berkeley’s history department between the right (Martin Malia) and the left (Reginald Zelnik) - both now deceased. Inspired by the Annales school in France, Kotkin’s groundbreaking and contentious thesis on the vast Soviet factory constructed under Stalin’s five year plan at Magnitogorsk in distant Siberia was a massive 700 page undertaking rooted in local archives.[7] His intuition was that this could form the basis of a micro-study of Stalin’s Russia. Seeing and vicariously experiencing the Soviet Union at street level and on the production line amidst the dismal disappointments of the Mikhail Gorbachev era, Kotkin became convinced that a very different future for Russia was inevitable, but also that a full-scale history of Stalin’s state might someday be done. The self-destruction of the USSR finally made that possible. Since that time Kotkin has proved unstoppable at Princeton University as a popular teacher, researcher, writer, and publicist. Unintimidated by received opinion from any quarter - indeed if anything provoked by it - he opened his seminar at Princeton to speakers of all opinion. Not a trace here of Robert Tucker or Stephen Cohen’s legacy in the government department, which can be summed up as steadfastly anti-Stalin but broadly sympathetic to the Soviet experience as a whole, certainly in international relations. It therefore comes as no surprise to find that the biography of Stalin takes no prisoners and aroused misgivings from an older generation - albeit attenuated in print - on the part of Richard Pipes (Harvard) on the right and Ronald Suny (Ann Arbor, Michigan) on the left.[8] The book has, after all, been written without a trace of deference to any pre-existing authority, ideological or academic. Indeed, it can be argued that Kotkin at times goes out of his way to accentuate his differences with others. He has, after all, assiduously exploited sources unknown to anyone else in their entirety, even if unaccountably he relies in some instances too much on some (especially the memoirs of Stalin’s onetime secretary Boris Bazhanov and the widow of Comintern official Kuusinen) and freely discards others as unreliable (Lenin’s testament). Here, embarking upon a challenging life of Stalin, the unsuspecting reader is swept away on a glistening sea of lucid, flowing prose - it cannot be an accident that Kotkin was an English major as an undergraduate. It is hard upon reading to cling to one’s own preconceptions or to put the book down before finishing. It represents a dazzling display of erudition presented with admirable clarity: no mean feat for someone steeped in Russian language material which has a tendency to mangle the prose of others. Kotkin is a trailblazer in another important sense. It is all too usual to find historians on both sides of the Atlantic dismayingly ignorant about and apparently indifferent to dimensions of Soviet history alien to their own, as a result attempting to cast everything in terms of causation that fits neatly within their sub-discipline: historians of domestic politics for whom society is insignificant; social and economic historians who play down the personal and the political; domestic historians who utterly ignore the impact of foreign policy; foreign policy historians who neglect everything else, even secret intelligence; let alone biographers captivated by psycho-history. On the contrary, oblivious to intellectual protectionism, and to his great credit, Kotkin gathers everything purposefully within his compass and surveys a vast panorama with great panache. No one, however, can really cover the entire picture in equal strength, certainly not without devoting his/her entire life to the task. Certain strokes of the brush are less well aimed than others. Inevitably, as a domestic specialist, Kotkin finds himself more sure footed stepping into questions of domestic rather than foreign or economic policy. The occasional slip-up is inevitable. Locarno (1925) was not really a ‘Peace Pact’ (a Soviet term), however portrayed to the British public. It was more of a security pact uncoupling Western Central Europe from the East. Underlying the entire enterprise was the bogey of a Soviet-German alliance that obsessed Whitehall; a feature elsewhere alluded to by the author. Indeed, the brilliant British diplomat Harold Nicolson described one of the main purposes of British policy in a Cabinet Paper, quoted by E. H. Carr in the third volume of Socialism in One Country years before it reached the official record, as aimed primarily at the political isolation of the Soviet Union. Here Moscow was highlighted by Nicolson as “the most menacing of all our uncertainties, and it must thus be in spite of Russia, perhaps even because of Russia, that a policy of security [what becomes Locarno] must be framed.”[9] Throughout his coverage of diplomacy in the 1920s, discussion of Commissar for Foreign Affairs Georgii Chicherin and his main deputy Maxim Litvinov could have also benefited from the use of secondary sources not listed and, perhaps also, primary sources in Kotkin’s vicinity. The journalist Louis Fischer, who was on first-name terms with both personalities, had a great deal to say in his memoirs and wrote reliably; his papers are actually in Princeton University’s Firestone Library. Some of Litvinov’s material is at the Hoover Institution at Stanford. I interviewed his daughter Tatyana thirty years ago, and a biography of his widow, Ivy, has long been in print.[10] The weakest dimension, however, is the economic. Reliance upon Michael Dohan[11] for the cursory coverage of the international economic conditions giving rise to collectivisation seems unwise. The great issue that historians have argued about in terms of Soviet policy driven by ideology or circumstances was surely the great turn in October 1929 to the forced collectivisation of agriculture. And that took place in the context of a catastrophic fall in world commodity prices beginning that spring. Without the assurance of foreign income receipts on a grand scale, the importation of capital goods from the West in the absence of credits would have been impossible; and given that the peasantry was witholding from the market, the rational decision for the Bolsheviks was to seize the means of production at any price. This is, nonetheless, the best history as biography. The sheer magnitude of disparate sources weaves an almost seamless web of context for assessing the life of Stalin. We are treated to crisp and dramatic character portrayals of all and sundry; that of Bukharin being particularly cutting. Most unusually for historians of Russia, Kotkin also highlights key events of West European history, which are effortlessly and colourfully threaded into the fabric – such as Mussolini and the rise of Italian fascism. And our indefatigable guide even directs us to the most obscure whereabouts of key Soviet institutions on the Moscow map. Information hitherto impossible to find in one text and which must have taken hours to locate even in an individual instance, it forms a vivid sense of reality on the ground. And whereas some - notably but not only Sheila Fitzpatrick)[12] - have gently chided Kotkin for the degree to which he has attended to context, arguing that this is more a history of the Soviet Union than the biography of its principal creator, Kotkin rightly follows E.H. Carr - albeit without saying so - in arguing that it is only through studying the full context that Stalin rightfully emerges. The reference to Carr - whom, incidentally, Malia much admired as a political historian of the Soviet Union - leads me to take issue with one of Kotkin’s conclusions: If Stalin had died, the likelihood of forced wholesale collectivization - the only kind – would have been near zero, and the likelihood that the Soviet regime would have been transformed into something else or fallen apart would have been high. “More than almost any other great man in history,” wrote the historian E.H. Carr, “Stalin illustrates the thesis that circumstances make the man, not the man the circumstances.” Utterly, eternally wrong. Stalin made history, rearranging the entire socioeconomic landscape of one sixth of the earth… Stalin did not flinch.[13] Yet Kotkin is in fact much closer to Carr than one might believe from this statement. Carr was making an argument different from that caricatured by Kotkin. He was doing so in the classical Hegelian manner, inevitably risking confusion and misunderstanding on anything other than a close reading of the text, presenting, as he does, the startling paradox that Stalin was both the product of his time and the creator of things new, which were indeed not products of his own mind but contrived by others: If, however, Stalin, in his reaction against western influence and in his reaction against a theoretical approach to politics, was the product of his period, the dramatic element in Stalin’s career and personality resides in the fact that it was he, above all, who carried forward the revolution to its appointed conclusion by bringing the rapid industrialization of the country. Carr goes on to say that “If Stalin’s methods often seemed to reflect characteristics derived from his personal background and upbringing, the aims which he pursued were dictated by the dynamic force inherent in the revolution itself. What Stalin brought to Soviet policy was not originality in conception, but vigour and ruthlessness in execution.”[14] It would therefore not appear from his preceding account that on sober reflection Kotkin would actually disagree with this judgement. Thus what might strike distant onlookers is how Carr-like Kotkin’s history actually is. And it is probably no accident that when summing up the story so far, Kotkin turns not to the notable previous biographers of Stalin – Isaac Deutscher,[15] Robert C. Tucker,[16] Dmitrii Volkogonov,[17] Robert Conquest,[18] et al. - but to Carr, who was primarily an historian of the Soviet régime and not a biographer of Stalin at all. This is because Kotkin’s conception of how to write biography is actually closer to that of Carr than he is fully aware of. In arguing this, however, I have no intention of suggesting that this biography is anything other than original in conception and accomplishment. But, as historians, the most effective and long lasting influences on us are all too frequently those we are least conscious of; and those texts we lapped up in our formative and most impressionable years can have a more lasting impact than we ever imagined. These arguments aside, Kotkin’s achievement, quite apart from portraying and explaining Stalin, is that he has set a new standard for the writing of Soviet history. He thus faces a Herculean task to complete the multi-volume work over the next decades, as the context, domestic and foreign, grows ever more complicated, which Robert Tucker discovered to his cost. Indeed, not long before he died he described himself as ‘Stalin’s last victim.’[19] But whereas Tucker was driven by fire in his belly – tortured by a bitter personal hatred of Stalin - Kotkin has apparently no emotional stake at all in the final outcome. For some it has seemed puzzling that he appears willing to acknowledge Stalin’s strengths as well as his psychotic nature. Whether, therefore, he has the commitment to sustain this massive venture with the same intensity of effort remains to be seen. Knowing him, however, the odds are that he will.

Review by Silvio Pons, University of Rome, Tor Vergata (Rome II) By writing his biography of Josef Stalin, Stephen Kotkin is re-thinking and re-writing the history of Russia in the first half of the 20th century. Many other biographers of Stalin may have had that same purpose, but he is the only one to fulfill it. Kotkin has brilliantly found a key to analyse the interaction between the man and his era - the classic dilemma of any historical biography, particularly for those personalities who concentrated in their hands an impressive amount of power over the life and death of millions. His focus is on Stalin’s life in the wider context of world developments that affected Russian history. As Kotkin puts it in the Preface, it is a book that builds “toward a history of the world from Stalin’s office” (xi). He is fully aware that “the immensity of that history reduces Stalin’s early life to proper perspective” but maintains that “it also sets the stage for grasping the immensity of his subsequent impact” (10). In the conclusions, he rejects E. H. Carr’s statement that Stalin’s life demonstrated how “circumstances make the man” and argues that the impact of his personality was instead crucial (739). Kotkin could have referred to Ian Kershaw’s biography of Hitler as a model of the scholarly ability to embed a historical personality in his own times, as well as to combine interpretation and research.[20] In the first volume of what promises to be a definitive work, Kotkin focuses on Stalin’s formation in a way that differs from other scholars. His narrative is about Stalin’s world, both in personal and impersonal terms. His key word is geopolitics. His attention to imperial rivalries and Russia’s relative flaws represents a distinction not only from other biographies of Stalin, but also from several histories of Russia’s twentieth century. The account of how Stalin became a revolutionary and a Marxist in the environment of Imperial Russia provides a more comprehensive perspective than we are used to. We can see Stalin’s personal traits - even the most controversial ones such as his religious formation - emancipated from speculation through the lens of events, structures, mentalities that must have had an impact on him. A personality from the periphery of the Empire was suited to reflect ambivalences - such as concern for national issues and for state building. However, Kotkin is careful not to anticipate those traits of Stalin that would emerge only in the aftermath of the 1917 October Revolution. The author underlines how the challenge of modernizing nation states both at the center of Europe and in the East - Germany and Japan - dramatically impacted Russia in the quarter century before the First World War. He maintains that although the regime faced more or less successfully the pressure of modernization, the persistence of autocratic rule embodied a basic frailty. In his words, “the tsarist regime found itself bereft of a firm political base to meet its international competition challenges” as it discouraged modern mass politics (130). The Russian state was strong enough to suppress perspectives of serious constitutional reform - that were widespread on a world scale early in the century - as well as revolutionary activities by Socialists. Socialism “meant a life in Siberia” - and Stalin was no exception. But in the event of war, social revolution could become inevitable, as the upheaval of 1905 menaced. The Bolsheviks were poorly prepared to confront such eventuality. Their experience of exile, either abroad or in Siberia, did not favor a clear understanding of Russia’s social and political perspectives. Stalin had not missed the revolution of 1905, but evidence of its impact on him is weak - as his detachment from Georgian nationalism had come before it, and his first encounter with Lenin was not decisive (81). He missed the Great War and returned from imprisonment to Petrograd after the February revolution of 1917, only to support the Provisional Government - a moderate line that he and fellow Bolshevik leader Lev Kamenev had to drop after Lenin’s angry reaction. Lenin was the exception among Bolsheviks and his personality made the difference in their encounter with revolution. All this is well known, but Kotkin provides a vivid reconstruction of 1917 and shows us Stalin’s role as a propagandist of Lenin’s radical line (176-77). Contra his Bolshevik adversary Leon Trotsky’s account, Stalin did not miss the October Revolution. Not only did he establish himself as a crucial ally of Lenin, but also demonstrated his aptitude “for summarizing complicated issues in a way that could be readily understood” (193). Such a scholastic approach would prove to be a decisive virtue later. Kotkin’s reconstruction of Stalin’s ascent to power offers no surprises. He follows a well-established blueprint by showing how Stalin strengthened his position as he exploited his loyalty to Lenin during the Civil War. However, Kotkin’s biography emancipates Stalin as a historical personality from Lenin’s shadow - thus separating itself from other biographers.[21] Stalin was not minor at all - and nobody could underestimate the importance of his position at the center of the Bolshevik’s one party-state as a General Secretary in 1922 (411). He even showed a degree of realism hardly typical of other Bolsheviks - particularly in his assessment of nationalities that made him “the would-be centralizer in Eurasia,” but distinct from Lenin, who was “the centralizer globally” (478). At the same time, the author also emphasizes Stalin’s psychological frailty to an unprecedented degree. The so-called Lenin’s Testament of 1923 created an essential fil rouge. The point is not whether Lenin’s Testament was authentic or false. The point is that Stalin feared its possible consequences of de-legitimation up to late 1927, when he eventually destroyed the Trotskyist opposition (591 and 643). Thus, doctrinaire thinking, versatile pragmatism, authoritarian pedagogy, and a fragile psychology, appear the basic traits of Stalin’s personality on the eve of the definitive establishment of his personal power. What about his relationship to world revolution and the Communist movement? Kotkin rightly warns us that such question cannot be separated from geopolitics, since from the time of the Civil War, Bolshevism “was not just a state-building enterprise but an alternative world order” (343). No more an end in itself, as it had been for all Bolsheviks, by the mid-1920s revolution abroad became inseparable from Soviet state interest in the context of world politics. Stalin pointed out the contradictions between great powers and the influence of revolutionary movements as basic factors of Soviet policy, even more so in the eventuality of war. As early as January 1925, he famously declared that “if war begins, then we must not sit with folded arms - we must act, but act last. And we will act in order to throw the decisive weight on the scales, a weight that might be dominant” (556-8). Such words were exemplary of Stalin’s mixture of realism and ideology. His idea that the legitimacy of Soviet power depended more on its capacity of ‘building Socialism’ and forging the bases of a great power than on the expectation of world revolution emanated from a realistic viewpoint, albeit one that was expressed in an ideological language. But his view of war and power in the contemporary world was founded on a peculiar doctrine, the theory of the inevitability of war - a key legacy of Leninism that Stalin endorsed as an inflexible law of historical development.[22] Kotkin misses the opportunity to better focus on the meaning of ideology for an understanding of Stalin’s personality. To be sure, Stalin linked revolution to war, as the author remarks (556). But his peculiarity lies not so much in establishing such connection, as in the weight he assigned to objective tendencies of imperialism - seen as permanently unstable and eventually catastrophic - more than subjective factors like the role of revolutionaries. The reverse side of this view was Stalin’s idea of world power exclusively as the realm of relations of strength. In his vision of global politics, there was no place for hegemony as distinct from dominance - even less than we learn from Kotkin’s book. We may wonder to what extent ‘pessimism’ about the destiny of revolution in the aftermath of the defeat of the Red Army in Poland in the summer of 1920 (408) - reinforced by the fiasco of October 1923 in Germany - contributed to the shaping of Stalin’s worldview, and particularly his skepticism about revolutionary movements. He indeed applied such pessimism to non-European revolutions too - although China stood out for long as Comintern’s main success when compared with debacles in Europe. The author shows how the disaster of Stalin’s policy towards China in 1926-27, that eventually exposed the Chinese Communists to the bloody repression of the Guomindang, influenced the definitive conflict with Trotsky and the opposition in Moscow. Stalin did not really develop a Chinese policy, besides maintaining an obstinate alliance with Chiang Kai-Shek. He typically blamed the Chinese communists for mistakes that were a consequence of his own directives (640). Kotkin is interested in demonstrating how Chinese policies were part of Stalin’s debacles, and were generated by ideological dogma. This is a goal he achieves, though all Bolshevik leaders had a poor understanding of China. But he abstains from drawing more general inferences on the relationship between Stalin and the Communist movement. The problem of China had complex implications, related to the interaction between Moscow and world revolution already in the 1920s. Latent contradictions between Soviet state interest and the Communist movement would constantly re-emerge both in Europe and China.[23] It is a topic that the author will have to address in the following volumes. At the end of 1927, Stalin was triumphant but had not yet made his mark on Russia. Kotkin focuses on the consequences of his trip to Siberia in early 1928, as it set the way for an improvised and violent response of the regime that would subvert the basis of Russian society. ‘Improvised’ does not mean that the regime lacked any background in terms of culture and ideology. The author convincingly maintains that “the greatest political gamble” of Stalin’s life depended less on a bid for power than on ideology - a class-based worldview that he applied to society as well as to states and their relationships, regardless of his understanding of nationalism. “Stalin lived for the revolution and Russian state power,” writes Kotkin (667). The Bolshevik perception of external threat was essential to ideological motivation. During 1928, Stalin worked to expose the “Shakhty case” - an alleged “sabotage” by a group of engineers in the mines of the Donetsk region - as counterrevolution fuelled by foreign countries, namely Germany and Poland, with heavy diplomatic consequences, in order to promote class warfare as a response to supposed war plans by “international capital” (698-9). At the same time, he turned to a “grand strategy,” reminding his comrades that the Soviet Union had no colonies, indemnities, or loans to industrialize - unlike England, Germany, and the United States in the nineteenth century - a point with which “no Bolshevik could readily disagree” (710). Threat from the outside, challenges of modernization, scenarios of power politics, and class warfare inside the country were strictly associated to each other - and Kotkin ingeniously establishes the connections. There is a point for discussion here. The author maintains that Stalin’s personality was decisive for launching collectivization. Had he been defeated or killed, the entire course of Soviet Russia would have changed. No Stalin, no ‘Revolution from Above.’ But the arguments and the language that Stalin employed were largely and deeply shared in the Bolshevik party. Even the opposition had the same vision of external threat and contributed to the ‘war scare’ that eventually led to its downfall. So what was specific to Stalin? Kotkin’s reply is that siege psychology was Stalin’s distinctive trait, as he, more than anyone else, combined revolution and paranoia. As Kotkin puts it, “Stalin lived immersed in the grim OGPU summaries of the country’s political mood, which his worldview shaped in a feedback loop,” in the conviction that “the USSR was encircled by hostile forces and honeycombed with internal enemies” (668). Here Kotkin seems to backdate the Stalin of ten years later, hinting at a sudden escalation in ideological blindness - at the very moment of his triumph against the opposition - for which we have no explanation. Should we assume that Stalin did not play with “capitalist encirclement” and only was totally obsessed by such a specter? There is no doubt that his insistence on the threat of new wars hardly made real sense, unless as a means of domestic ideological mobilization. Perhaps historians will never fully settle the question of why Stalin decided to forget his pragmatism, to the point of putting at risk his own power, and embraced the visionary perspective of a gigantic cataclysm that was destined to create a human tragedy. However, Kotkin’s narrative is the most comprehensive and vigorous one at our disposal. Many other authors have underlined the rupture determined by the option of collectivization. But Kotkin’s interpretation of the impact of Stalin’s personality and his prevailing ideological motivations is unique.[24] At the same time, the author brings into the book some substantial aspect of his own earlier work. He adopts the paradigm of modernity, but seems to offer a more multifaceted version. He looks at modernity first and foremost as a “geopolitical imperative…a matter of acquiring what it took to join the great powers, or fall victim to them” (63). Only having defined such context does he remind us how the Bolsheviks’ increasing identification of Socialism and modernization was critical to Stalin’s anti-capitalist impact. Though the militant thrust towards collectivization was “a form of ostensible modernization that negated capitalism” (726) - and anti-capitalist modernity provided an identity for the Soviet Union -, this process cannot be understood without its connections to world power. In the same way, the concept and psychology of civil war that organically shaped the Bolshevik identity is embedded into a wider picture. Stalin is portrayed as applying to its extreme logic the Leninist assumption that a permanent state of war with the world would necessarily lead to a state of war inside the country (737). This was a view that Stalin never abandoned. Kotkin’s forthcoming volumes will surely supply an invaluable account of how all of these factors interacted throughout the entire era of Stalin’s rule.

Review by Richard Pipes, Harvard University Emeritus The Cleverness of Joseph Stalin[25] Joseph Stalin, for a quarter-century undisputed master of the Soviet Union and its postwar satellites, was one of the leading mass murderers of the murderous twentieth century. So much so that Hitler, Stalin’s competitor in this field, came greatly to admire him. In some of his “table talks,” held in the circle of intimate associates while German troops were ravaging the Soviet Union, Hitler called him a “genius” and a “tiger.”[26] According to Alexander Yakovlev, a member of the Politburo and the closest adviser of Mikhail Gorbachev, who as chairman of a commission to study Stalinist repressions had access to all the relevant records, Stalin was responsible for the death of 15 million Soviet citizens. He tyrannized over the country as no one had done before. Yet according to public opinion polls, he remains one of Russia’s most popular political figures: a survey conducted in 2006 revealed that nearly one half (47 percent) of Russians regarded him as a positive figure. What accounts for this paradox? It is that the great majority of Russians have little interest in politics. They regard politicians as crooks and esteem them only to the extent that they protect them from their neighbors and foreigners. Their concerns are not national but local, which means that the majority of them do not participate in politics in the sense in which the ancient Greeks have taught us. Thus when the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991 after nearly three quarters of a century of unprecedented tyranny, there were neither protests nor jubilations; people simply went about their private business. The lives of the great majority of Russians are uncommonly personal, which makes them excellent friends and poor citizens. There was nothing in Stalin’s background to have anticipated that he would wield such monstrous power. He came into the world in the Georgian province of the Russian Empire, the child of a cobbler and a washerwoman, both of whom had been born serfs. His actual year of birth was 1878 but in 1922 he decided to rejuvenate himself and proclaimed his birthdate to have been December 21, 1879. Henceforth, as long as he was alive, his birthday was celebrated on that day throughout the Soviet Union. His alleged fiftieth birthday in 1929 was a national holiday. Harvard University’s library catalog lists over 1,200 books about Stalin. Among the best known of these are the biographies by the French ex-Communist Boris Souvarine (published in 1935) and Leon Trotsky (posthumously published in 1941). Of the more recent biographies, especially noteworthy is that by the Soviet general Dmitri Volkogonov, based on archival sources and originally published in 1988. Stephen Kotkin, a history professor at Princeton, has issued what he intends to be the first of three biographical volumes. It covers Stalin’s life until 1928, by which time, with Lenin dead and Trotsky exiled, he became the Soviet Union’s undisputed leader. The book is based on an immense number of sources: its bibliography covers nearly fifty pages and lists some three thousand titles. The endnotes encompass 122 pages. The dimensions of the projected biography are explained by the author’s conception of his book as much more than the life of a single man: as he says in the introduction, “in some ways the book builds toward a history of the world from Stalin’s office.” Following Trotsky’s dismissal of him as “the outstanding mediocrity in our party,” it has been the practice of non-Bolshevik biographers to treat the young Stalin as a nonentity. Kotkin rightly rejects this view, stressing Stalin’s bookishness, his loyalty, his ability to “get things done.” He cites a former schoolmate recalling that Stalin “was a very capable boy, always coming first in his class; he was [also] first in all games and recreation.” “What Trotsky and others missed or refused to acknowledge,” Kotkin writes, was that Stalin had a deft political touch: he recalled names and episodes of peoples’ biographies, impressing them with his familiarity, concern, and attentiveness, no matter where they stood in the hierarchy .... This in contrast to Lenin’s other close associates, who were mainly bookish intellectuals. On becoming personally acquainted with Stalin in 1905, whom in a letter to Maxim Gorky he would call a “splendid Georgian,” Lenin quickly learned to appreciate Stalin’s abilities as an organizer and increasingly came to rely on him. Even Trotsky had to admit that in 1917 he had “noticed that Lenin was ‘advancing’ Stalin, valuing in him his firmness, grit, stubbornness, and to a certain extent his slyness.” As a youth, Stalin, known as Soso, was destined for a clerical career and enrolled in a theological school. He performed poorly and in 1899 was expelled from the Tiflis Theological Seminary. By this time he had read Marx and became a fully committed revolutionary. Kotkin describes how he “immersed himself in the workers’ milieu,” getting a job at an oil refinery owned by the Rothschilds and distributing incendiary leaflets. He engaged in illegal activities, including banditry, for which he was arrested in April 1902, and the following year sentenced to three years’ exile in Siberia. He soon escaped his exile and returned to revolutionary work, for which in 1908 he received another sentence of exile, which he again succeeded in escaping. In 1913 he was exiled for the sixth time: he remained in Siberia until the revolution. He was back in Petrograd in March 1917, one month ahead of Lenin. Before Lenin returned to Russia and called for a decisive break with the Provisional Government, Stalin, unacquainted with Lenin’s thinking, wanted the Bolsheviks to cooperate with the government. Also, unusually for a Bolshevik and quite realistically, he questioned the likelihood of a revolution breaking out in Europe. As Kotkin writes, Stalin would note a few months later that “there is no revolutionary movement in the West, nothing exists, only potential, and we cannot count on potential.” “Stalin’s role in 1917 has been a subject of dispute,” writes Kotkin. Nikolai Sukhanov [the author of a seven-volume memoir of the revolution] ...forever stamped interpretations, calling Stalin in 1917 “a grey blur, emitting a dim light every now and then and not leaving any trace. There is really nothing more to be said about him.” Kotkin justly disagrees with this judgment. “Sukhanov’s characterization … was flat wrong,” he writes. Stalin was deeply engaged in all deliberations and actions in the innermost circle of the Bolshevik leadership, and, as the coup neared and then took place, he was observed in the thick of events. Stalin’s official post in the new Soviet government was commissar of nationalities. Roughly more than half the population of the Russian state consisted of national minorities. Stalin was the Bolshevik Party’s expert on this subject, having written in 1913, under Lenin ‘s tutelage, an essay in which he had advocated that the minorities be granted the right to “self-determination” without specifying what exactly he meant by it. But his actual position in the Soviet government was much weightier: a member of the Bolshevik Central Committee since 1912, he was, as Kotkin notes, one of the party’s four “top” people, next to Lenin, Trotsky, and Yakov Sverdlov, as well as editor of Pravda. He was important to Lenin not because of his ideas-Lenin had no need of those-but because of his organizational skills and uncanny ability to deal with people. He had a talent, Kotkin writes, “for summarizing complicated issues in a way that could be readily understood.” His principal rival was Trotsky, who in March 1918 was appointed people’s commissar of army and navy affairs, in which capacity he directed the Red forces to ultimate victory in the Civil War. Incomparably more sophisticated than Stalin, Trotsky had two strikes against hin1. One was his prolonged hostility toward Lenin. In the early years of the century he had repeatedly denounced Len in as a “slipshod attorney,” a “Robespierre” who sought “a dictatorship over the proletariat,” a “malicious and morally repulsive” individual. This hostility was ignored after he joined the Bolsheviks in mid-1917, but the memory lingered. In elections to the Central Committee held at the Tenth Party Congress in 1921, the hero of the Civil War came in tenth, behind Stalin. The other handicap was his Jewishness. Although born a Jew, Trotsky attached no significance to this fact, on one occasion telling a Jewish delegation that he was not a Jew but an “internationalist.” Yet whatever he thought of himself, he was perceived, in and out of the party, as what Stalin in a personal conversation cited by Kotkin called “a Jewish internationalist.” No Jew had ever held a governmental post in Russia and this was not about to change. Trotsky’s handicap proved Stalin’s boon. In March 1921, Lenin declared that as concerned politics, Trotsky “hasn’t got a clue” and is said to have proposed that he be excluded from Politburo meetings. In June 1918, Stalin was dispatched to Tsaritsyn on the Volga to gather grain for the central cities. Before Jong Tsaritsyn was encircled by anti-Bolshevik White armies. Stalin requested and obtained unlimited powers over the city and its garrison; instead of being engaged in provisioning he assumed military command. He acted ruthlessly, shooting many people. Trotsky was dissatisfied with his performance and asked Lenin to have him recalled. The city was eventually won when Dmitry Zhloba, leader of the Bolshevik “Steel Brigade,” Jed a raid on the White Army. Even though Tsaritsyn was not a glorious page in his career, in 1925 Stalin had it renamed in his honor as Stalingrad, a name the city would bear until 1961 when, following his disgrace, it was renamed Volgograd. Even after Stalin’s failure to lead the Red Army in Tsaritsyn, his power continued to grow. By the autumn of 1921 he was drafting Politburo agendas and appointing numerous party officials. As Lenin’s health began to deteriorate in early 1922, Stalin felt increasingly secure in his post. In the spring of that year, Lenin proposed and the Eleventh Party Congress acquiesced in having Stalin appointed the party’s general secretary, the chief executive officer of the Central Committee. In this capacity he was Lenin’s heir apparent. Kotkin describes how he “had exceptional power almost instantaneously.” My own researches revealed that during 1922 Stalin was Lenin’s most frequent visitor. He grew increasingly self-confident and began to act on his own initiative, which soon led to a conflict with Lenin. In 1922 Lenin suffered two massive strokes that gradually eliminated him from public activity. He was installed in a mansion outside Moscow where doctors permitted him only occasional involvement in politics. Though disabled, he watched with growing dismay Stalin’s high-handed behavior and began to wonder whether he had not made a mistake endowing him with such great powers. In December 1922-January 1923, he dictated a document that came to be known as his “Testament.” In it, he wrote as follows: Stalin is too rude and this shortcoming, fully tolerable within our midst and in our relations as Communists, becomes intolerable in the post of General Secretary. For this reason I suggest that the comrades consider how to transfer Stalin from this post and replace hin1with someone who in all other respects enjoys over Comrade Stalin only one advantage, namely greater patience, greater loyalty, greater courtesy and attentiveness to comrades, less capriciousness, etc. This powerful denunciation of Stalin, first published in The New York Times in 1926 (translated by Max Eastman), had to wait thirty years before it became public knowledge in the Soviet Union, following Khrushchev’s denunciation of Stalin at the Twentieth Party Congress. Subsequently it was included in the fifth edition of Lenin’s Collected Works. Given these facts, it comes as a considerable surprise to have Kotkin reject the Testament as very likely a fabrication. He refers to it as a document “attributed” to Lenin whose authenticity “has never been proven.” Although Kotkin acknowledges that it could be authentic, he does not clearly accept it as such, as it has been by all other historians; as noted, it is included in Lenin’s Collected Works. Kotkin points to the fact that no stenographic originals of the document exist. But he contradicts himself by citing Stalin’s own references to the Testament and his admission, according to an account by Trotsky of a party meeting, that he was indeed “rude.” Stalin, in whose interest it was to denounce the Testament as a forgery, never did so, as Kotkin himself admits: indeed, he referred to it as “the known letter of comrade Lenin.” In January 1923 another incident occurred that further alienated Lenin from Stalin. Lenin congratulated Trotsky for having won a battle over foreign trade. Stalin promptly learned of this communication. He telephoned Nadezhda Krupskaya, Lenin’s wife, rudely criticized her for “informing Lenin about party and state affairs” in violation of the rules he had established, and threatened her with an investigation. Having hung up the phone, Krupskaya became hysterical, sobbing and rolling on the floor. When he learned of this incident several months later, Lenin sent Stalin the following note: Respected Comrade Stalin! You had the rudeness to telephone my wife and abuse her. Although she had told you of her willingness to forget what you had said ...I have no intention of forgetting so easily what is done against me, and, needless to say, I consider whatever is done to my wife to be directed also against myself. For this reason I request you to inform me whether you agree to retract what you have said and apologize, or prefer a breach of relations between us. Kotkin does not cite this letter but refers to it as a “purported dictation” because there is no handwritten stenographic copy or any record of the letter having been sent from Lenin’s secretariat, even though it, too, is reproduced in Lenin’s Collected Works. Finally, there was the Georgian question. In early 1920 Lenin ordered the invasion of Transcaucasia, an area consisting of three sovereign republics, Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan. Given the overwhelming superiority of the Red Army the conquest proceeded smoothly. But once it was completed Stalin and his sidekick, Sergo Ordzhonikidze, began to behave ruthlessly in their native Georgia. Deeply troubled by reports that were reaching him from there, Lenin started to reconsider the whole concept of a Soviet Union. In the last days of 1922 he dictated a memorandum on the nationality question in which he criticized Stalin’s “hastiness and administrative passions” as well as his proclivity for anger. Referring to Stalin’s actions in conquered Georgia, he called him in this document “a crude Great Russian Derzhimorda” or “mug-slammer.” Kotkin does not cite this document either but simply dismisses it as “a blatant forgery,” although it has been accepted by all historians of the period of whom I am aware as well as the editors of Lenin’s Collected Works. It is difficult to explain Kotkin’s skepticism of Lenin’s late anti-Stalin diatribes except perhaps by his unwillingness to concede that, supportive as Lenin had been of Stalin until his fatal illness, by the end of his life he had turned resolutely against him. Kotkin admits that statements made by Lenin to his sister corroborate some of the Testament’s contents. But he maintains that the document itself may not have been written by Lenin and suggests that Krupskaya may have been responsible for it, believing that “in her heart she knew Lenin’s wishes.” This volume ends in 1928, which indeed was a critical year in the history of the Soviet Union. In January Trotsky was exiled to Central Asia from where, the following year, he would be expelled to Turkey and eventually end up in Mexico, where he would be murdered by a Stalinist agent. This eliminated Stalin’s main rival. Then in Siberia, Stalin delivered what Kotkin calls an “earth-shattering speech” in which he announced two revolutionary measures: collectivization and industrialization. Collectivization would deprive the 100 million Russian peasants of the land they had acquired over the previous century and herd them into collectives in which they would work not as independent farmers but as state servants. It was a return to the Muscovite period when the crown owned all the country’s acreage. The peasants furiously resisted this mass expropriation, destroying crops and killing livestock. Half of Russia’s horses, cattle, and pigs perished in this slaughter. As a consequence, between five and seven million people died from hunger. Industrialization- in fact if not in theory-was meant to give the USSR a defensive capability necessary for the looming World War II, which Stalin both anticipated and hoped for. Although in principle it was intended to give the USSR a rich, modern economy, in reality it served principally military purposes. After joining the Politburo in the late 1980s, Yakovlev learned to his amazement that 70 percent of the Soviet economy was militarized. This is a very serious biography that, except for its eccentric denial of Lenin’s rift with Stalin late in his life, is likely to well stand the test of time.

My gratitude to the editors of H-Diplo for commissioning the commentary, Arne Westad for introducing it, and the four scholars for taking up my work. It is an honor to be afforded such a forum, and I appreciate it deeply. I also appreciate how some parts of the four scholars’ commentary refute other parts. Stalin, vol. I, contains more than 500,000 words; this response will be limited to not much more than 2,500.

Richard Pipes is perhaps the greatest historian of Russia alive, and his scholarship might be the most cited in my book’s endnotes. I again regret his commentary, which first appeared in the New York Review of Books. To recapitulate, I nowhere dismiss Vladimir Lenin’s so-called Testament as a fabrication. I point out, as the Russian scholar Valentin Sakharov first demonstrated at length, that there is no solid evidence to confirm Lenin produced the text. During these years, Lenin became still more demented and an invalid, as persuasively recorded in the doctors’ journals and visitors’ observations (which are no longer top secret). The Bolshevik leader had lost the ability to write and it is not clear he could speak, certainly not in whole and coherent sentences; his wife N. K Krupskaya interpolated his grunts and gestures. Furthermore, the circumstances of the emergence of the dictation attributed to Lenin in 1922-23 are very suspicious, while the content changed over the years (up through publication of the 5th edition of Lenin’s Complete Collected Works in the 1960s). At the same time, as I also show in detail, the Testament – whoever produced it – was colossally consequential in Iosif Stalin’s life. Indeed, the Testament haunted him and, along with what I call the Bolshevik regime’s structural paranoia, shaped his character. Surely that was the issue to engage? I most regret that Pipes did not take up my arguments about the non-viability of the tsarist regime because of the nature of the autocracy; the characterization of the moves by the so-called Provisional Government against the Duma during the February Revolution as a coup; the failures of constitutionalist movements in the early mass age not only in Russia but across the globe; the contingency of the Bolshevik coup against the Petrograd Soviet, and the singular role of Lenin; the tragedy of the global left that ensued as a result of the Bolshevik triumph.

Silvio Pons, whose indispensable scholarship has deeply influenced my own, approves of the fact that my book places Stalin’s life in a global context. He seems less convinced that I demonstrate how Stalin from the mid-1920s worked out a Soviet geopolitics, but readers will judge the copious evidence. The book also brings forth considerable evidence to show that inside the regime Stalin had the most thorough and advanced understanding of Eurasia and nationality politics as well. Stalin continued to try to make sense of the world and to commit blunders, yet he understood foreign affairs and domestic affairs as a continuum, and the personal dictatorship that he tirelessly built up inside the Bolshevik dictatorship is inseparable from his attention and approaches to international relations. Stalin was not a tsarist but a Soviet ruler. In a puzzling aside, Pons asserts that “Kotkin’s reconstruction of Stalin’s ascent to power offers no surprises.”[27] Well, did we know that Stalin was in power, already, from April 1922, so that the issue once Lenin got ill in May 1922 was not some ‘succession struggle,’ but dislodging – or not – Stalin? Did we know that Stalin was a true-believing Communist and the person whom contemporaries recognized as doing the most to codify a Leninist legacy? Did we know that Lev Kamenev was as close, perhaps even closer, to Stalin as to Grigory Zinoviev? Did we know that Stalin’s calumny of Leon Trotsky as not being fully Leninist was at least partly justified? Did we know the interlocking picture presented by the close portraits of Stalin during his early regime that were written at that time? When I first embarked on the project, I did not know all that.

Pons raises probing questions about my treatment of Stalin’s 1928 decision to force collectivization – and the dictator’s improbable triumph in doing so against all odds. The argument in the book has several dimensions; here I can merely outline them. Capitalist encirclement was real – the Bolsheviks, by seizing power, had encircled themselves, for the world was, and remained, capitalist-dominated. Meanwhile, even into the late 1920s the Red Army paraded across Red Square and undertook its maneuvers on bicycles; there was essentially no Soviet tank park in 1927-8. Geopolitical competition, therefore, was fundamental to everything.[28] But so was ideology. Capitalist options to respond to the geopolitical imperative and modernize agriculture as a key to industrialization were available but anathema, no more than a temporary concession. This ideological commitment to socialism, meaning anti-capitalism, created a profound dilemma for the regime. By 1928, only about 1 percent of the vast country’s arable land had been voluntarily collectivized; socialism in the countryside could have been realized only by mass violence on a breathtaking scale. The crisis of 1927-28 over grain collections and much else, moreover, was to a very considerable extent caused by ideology, that is, by ideologically conditioned economic mismanagement of the quasi-market of the New Economic Policy. Everyone in the upper echelons of the regime agreed that socialism would have to come into being in the countryside, too, at some point, followed eventually by Communism. They were, after all, Communists. But much of the inner circle opposed forced collectivization because they feared it would not work, and trying would prove disastrous. But Stalin – as Pons allows, albeit in supposed criticism of my argument – threw their language right back at them, demanding that they demonstrate the courage of their self-professed Marxist convictions and accept the necessity of forced collectivization. He found it necessary and managed to browbeat or outmaneuver nearly everyone else in the inner regime to force through the collectivization they shrank from. When the policy caused more ruin than even Marxist skeptics had predicted, destabilizing Stalin’s own personal dictatorship, he stayed the course. Looking closely at the others in that regime, as my book does, I submit that no one else could have managed. So, geopolitics creates an imperative, ideology circumscribes the acceptable responses, and willpower achieves what looked impossible. No Stalin, no collectivization.

No Stalin, moreover, no survival of the Soviet regime – in the form we know it: Bolshevik political monopoly and anti-capitalism in the economy. If scholars disagree, they need to explain how a committed Communist regime, determined to build socialism on the way to eventually building Communism, was going to tolerate and survive capitalist market relations among the vast majority of the country’s people; or, they need to explain who else in the inner regime could have seen through to completion the forced collectivization of 100 million peasants, right through the resulting horrendous famine, which was the only way to achieve socialism in the countryside. It is tragic that Stalin did not give up, and that the others did not remove him, even though, as my book details, he kept resigning orally and in writing. Stalin was not inevitable. He was a perverse achievement. The alternative to him in the real world was Bolshevik surrender or collapse. The left – some very early, others much later – discovered that acceptance of markets and private property and of ‘bourgeois’ parliaments (Marxist ‘revisionism’) was the sine qua non for avoiding Stalin-like horrors. And yet, part of the academic left today – not Pons – remains confused about the gulf between Leninism and social democracy. I know firsthand from the public discussions of my Stalin.

Jonathan Haslam, like Pons, is a justifiably acclaimed scholar of Soviet foreign affairs from whom I have learned immensely. His similarly spirited remarks also capture what I had hoped to achieve. Sure, there are some humorous passages thrown in – e.g., that I relied too much on firsthand witnesses like the inner-regime functionary Boris Bazhanov (supposedly unreliable) and not enough on journalists like Louis Fischer (supposedly reliable). Haslam asserts that I follow too closely Michael Dohan’s work (a great and undervalued dissertation that never became a book), but in fact I reject Dohan’s argument, while the alternative view Haslam implies in his comments actually overlaps Dohan’s (the drastic fall in global commodity prices as supposedly causative of collectivization and Bolshevik autarky). And so on. We all, of course, have our readings of the field of Soviet history, its vicissitudes over time, its outstanding or overrated individuals.

Part of Haslam’s commentary concerns my treatment of E.H. Carr, his thesis adviser, about whom he has published a balanced critical biography. This affords me a welcome opportunity to restate my position. I find the defense of Carr here, to a degree, justified. When I began lecturing on Soviet history at Princeton, I turned first and foremost to the encyclopedic ‘needlework’ of Carr’s History of Soviet Russia, fourteen volumes covering the twelve years 1917 through 1929. I continue to assign some of Carr’s writings. But precisely because Carr continues to be read and exert influence – including his What Is History? (1961) – his work needs to be confronted. Contra Haslam, Carr was not “primarily an historian of the Soviet régime.” Through no fault of his own, the hard-working Carr lacked the sources to appreciate the inside of the regime – the party secretariat, the secret police, military intelligence, counterintelligence – but the limitations did not derive from Soviet secrecy alone. Carr was a historian of Soviet policy, which by his own admission, initially, he celebrated, albeit in his semi-detached manner, as the onset of a better future for humanity. (“The First Five-Year Plan seemed to me to the answer to the anarchy of capitalism, so clearly demonstrated by the economic crisis”).[29] In 1946, Carr further asserted that British wartime economic practice – state control of the economy, a stress on physical rather financial indicators, production of guns over butter, rationing, labor assignment, all of which resembled the Soviet model – would endure, such that a market economy would wither.[30] This erroneous forecast of unstoppable convergence to statization was common at the time, but nonetheless a decisive error, part of Carr’s fatal embrace of the myth of Soviet “planning.”[31]

Writing in the wake of the Soviet Union’s World War II victory, Carr concluded that Stalin’s collectivization and industrialization “were imposed by the objective situation which Soviet Russia in the later 1920s had to face.”[32] In later years, Carr’s position shifted slightly.[33] But from beginning to end, he insisted that the Stalin revolution, ‘excesses’ notwithstanding, entailed a necessary modernization. Well, yes, if Bolshevik monopoly and anticapitalism were ruled, politically, to be the only acceptable path. Of course, there are multiple ways to modernize, including of a peasant country, just not multiple ways to modernize without the rule of law, without political pluralism, without freedom of expression and assembly, and above all without private property or market. To be blunt: Carr never appreciated the unnecessary quality of the Soviet tragedy in large part because he failed or refused to appreciate the centrality of ideology. This aversion was long-standing on his part, a notable shortcoming, for example, of his worthy biography of Bakunin (1937).[34] Thirty years later, Carr still asserted “it would be far-fetched to suggest that it was dogma which drove the politicians to act as they did.”[35] Carr, who began his career as a foreign office official, eschewed ideology (‘dogma’) in his own life. But without due attention to ideas, he simply could not get Bolshevism or Stalin right.

Let us give Carr his due but be precise, re-quoting, as does Haslam, Socialism in One Country, from 1958: “If, however, Stalin, in his reaction against western influence and in his reaction against a theoretical approach to politics, was the product of his period, the dramatic element in Stalin’s career and personality resides in the fact that it was he, above all, who carried forward the revolution to its appointed conclusion by bringing the rapid industrialization of the country.” I agree with this – but I emphasize the profound contingency of this outcome. Carr goes on to say that “If Stalin’s methods often seemed to reflect characteristics derived from his personal background and upbringing, the aims which he pursued were dictated by the dynamic force inherent in the revolution itself. What Stalin brought to Soviet policy was not originality in conception, but vigour and ruthlessness in execution.” I agree with this, too – but, again, only partly, for Stalin was more of a thinker and more original than Carr ever allowed. Where I especially part company is over Carr’s diminution of Stalin’s singularity. “More than almost any other great man in history,” Carr wrote in the same volume quoted above, “Stalin illustrates the thesis that circumstances make the man, not the man the circumstances.”[36] That is the Carr I expressly repudiate. Am I wrong? In the end, Haslam correctly notes that I share much of Carr’s emphasis on power and of his structuralist approach to history, but I put far greater emphasis on agency in relation to structures (or, as I call them, landscapes of possibility). An understanding of historical agency and process could be viewed as the principal subject of my book.

Michael Carley’s commentary brought to mind the Stalin-era materials I have been researching. Yes, Western officials lied and not infrequently acted in bad faith in conducting their international relations, but a single-minded focus on those undeniable facts to explain Soviet-Western relations is one-sided. Back on May 20 1940, following the failure of the prolonged effort to strike a Soviet-Western alliance in the 1930s, Ivan Maisky, the Soviet ambassador in London, indulged in his diary in what by then had already become the Soviets’ psychological salve for explaining away their diplomatic isolation: Maisky blamed the “bourgeois elite’s moral hatred of ‘communism’. This hatred has prevented this elite from establishing any sort of stable, friendly relations with the USSR over these 20 years.”[37] Ok, what about the Communist regime’s mass murder of peasants, workers, ethnic groups, and its own loyal officials and military officers? The attempted Communist coups abroad? Moscow’s fabricated trials of British nationals and many others? Can we really downplay the enormous divergence of state interests and of regime type in favor of some supposedly class-interested blind ‘hatred’ of Communism? Many Western officials despised Communism. Such sentiments were only a part, and in no way a decisive part, of interwar international relations.