Shock Workers, The First Cruise. 1931

At the end of 1930, 257 Soviet shock-workers were given a cruise around Europe in reward for their high productivity. Their factories allowed them time-off with full pay and financed the cruise. The workers were duly dismayed by the state of the capitalist West, and during the cruise most of them applied to join the Communist Party. On their return, the shock-workers recorded their impressions. The book exemplified the new “proletarian” literature; it was a collective composition (though each entry was signed); and it instilled proper political attitudes in its readers. Published with great fanfare, the book was a model for Soviet literature.

Moscow, November 8, 1930

Today the shock-brigade workers are making their first "sortie" into Europe.

Promptly at nine o clock the engine gave a short, sharp whistle, and our train glided out of the brightly-lit station into the darkness. I sat by the window. A few of my comrades, I could see were wiping their eyes. Their mouths quivered suspiciously.

The train raced onward, lights flashed past the windows, telegraph poles sailed by.

Somebody began singing and that was enough to start the whole lot going. Soon the train rang with voices of young and old. Folks from the Ukraine, from the Urals, from Ivanovo-Vosnesensk. They sang for a long time.

We did not go to sleep till late that night. I lay awake listening to the monotonous sound of the wheels. They seemed to chant—"To Europe—to Europe—to Europe!"
F. Korolev
On the journey we roved from one compartment to another, making friends.

There were the "Dynamo" people, the leaders of the shock-brigades, Gavrilov and Popov, the foreman Bashlikov, and the engineer Rickman. They were worrying about how the production plans were going to be carried out without them. Gavrilov said that he had left a lot pupils there at the works. They would have no one to guide them now. Would the program of work be spoilt, he wondered.

Night. Conversation was at a low ebb. Some of the old shock-brigade workers were already snoring. And the express went tearing along full speed ahead. The engine driver never slackened his pace. He knew that he was carrying 300 of the best workers in the Soviet Union, and was trying to land them, at a shock-brigade rate
A. Salov
November 10, 11, 12.

The Excursion Bureau organized a committee out of the leaders of the group. The question of our work on board was discussed, of the leaders duties and the publication of the wall-newspaper. A number of worker-correspondents volunteered to take up this work. We discussed he plan of reports to be read on the countries that we were to visit, Germany, Italy, and Turkey.

We passed the shores of Sweden. The islands Gotland and Aaland. On our left was Latvia. We caught a glimpse of Reval.
A. Salov
We glided up the Kiel Canal. Before we got up to the lockgate, somebody pointed out a launch coming in our direction. There were about five people on it, and they waved their hats to us. They were employees from the Hamburg and Berlin Soviet trade delegations.

We shouted "Hurrah" to them in reply. Eight policemen were already waiting on the quay.

Two German boys from the Young Communist League, who had found out that the shock-brigade workers from the Soviet Union were coming, tried to come on board to speak to our Young Communists. The police would not let them. One Young Communist got through somehow, though. he ran on board the Abkhazia shouting "Rot Front!" (Red Front).

Along the gangway came a group of Soviet people working in Germany. They were headed by Comrade Krumin, our consul-general in Hamburg. The Soviet colony in Berlin sent its representative, too.

Our Soviet Diplomats and Trade Representatives turned out to be former workers from the Moscow and Leningrad factories—Comrades Krumin and Bayat as well. They began to tell us about Germany. We sailed up the Kiel Canal as far as Hamburg.
A. Salov
After dinner our excursion bureau gave a lecture over the wireless on Germany, Hamburg in particular.

Along the shores of the Kiel Canal stand houses, factories and schools. The festive appearance of the Abkhazia as it sailed slowly up the Canal under its red flag, and the songs that rang out from its deck, drew all eyes. Heads popped out of windows, and here and there a clenched fist—the sign of "Rot Front"—was raised, and the words "Rot Front" floated across to us.
V. Shilin
Hamburg

Two tug-boats came out and took us to the quay. We had no sooner arrived than we heard the greetings of the longshoremen: "Rot Front! Rot Front!" And one German worker called out in broken Russian—"Long live the shock-brigade workers of the Soviet Union!"

We replied and cheered. The police who came down to "welcome" us were not particularly pleased at this exchange of greetings. They went up to the workers and started a dispute about something or other.
A. Salov
The port of Hamburg gives the impression of being well thought out and well equipped. The loading and unloading of boats is fully mechanized. There are fine port railways, The pavement is diabase, and this allows immense platform-cars to be moved easily with the help of small tractors. The tractors have a very large production capacity. I admired the mechanized loading of bricks—no wheelbarrows, no gangways and not one brick broken in the unloading. The unloading of the *Abkhazia *was carried on in the same way. We saw floating docks, beautifully mechanized, great shipyards, colossal warehouses, scores of giant steamers. We had read in the papers all about the crises in capitalist countries, but mere printed paper is not as convincing as the sight before one s eyes. It was not Sunday and there was no strike on, and yet—the great warehouses stood empty and silent as if frozen. That was how they looked at home during the civil war. Only here, on the spot, can one realize the meaning of that capitalist catastrophe that is called the industrial crisis.

We were put ashore at one of the huge shipyards where 7, 000 workers used to be employed. Now only about 800 are engaged there. But even these workers, who are exceptionally highly skilled, are kept going with a great effort.

At present they are working eight hours a day, but very soon the working day and the working week will be shortened, with corresponding reductions in wages.

Why? Because there is no work. There is a crisis.

All the workers wear tarpaulin overalls—their own—they are not provided by the employers.
V. Shilin
In the sheet-iron department the different processes of preparing iron are carried on. The equipment is very old. We had this sort of equipment 40 years ago, but now most of it has been scrapped. The machine shops occupy a tremendous area. There are many lathes here, doomed to idleness on account of lack of work. Only in one corner of the huge workshop are the lathes working. We notice gearing that was got rid of long ago in the best Leningrad works as it was uneconomical and hindered the movement of the cranes. We did not see anything new in the patternshop—the usual benches. Some very simple patterns were being made by an ancient pattern-maker. There were no young folks to be seen. The workers wore very dirty clothes. Almost all of them had pipes in their mouths. The heads of departments smoked cigars.

During the dinner-hour we saw how uncomfortable the workers were. They ate standing at their lathes, amid all the noise and hurry. The better-off workers ate at dining rooms in the shipyards. As we left the shipyard, we saw opposite the head office, several score painted booths, made of thin boards. They had tiny windows. We thought, in our simplicity, that they must be dog kennels or pigeon coves. What was our surprise, then, to learn that they were summer "cottages" rented by some of the better-off workers.
V. Shilin
When we had finished inspecting the shipyard, we sailed away in the launch to our Abkhazia. After a good dinner we went to see the sights of Hamburg. The Trade Delegation gave us a guide to show us around.

From the port, dark, narrow streets led to the center of the town. We divided up into groups of 20 each with a leader. There were 15 groups. Sometimes the groups bumped into each other, and then together with the German Young Communists who were trying to explain things to us, we presented a whole procession. People turned to look at us in astonishment; others ran out of shops to see what had happened.

And we were something to look at! There were young lads and lasses amongst us, and grown-up men and women, and old gray-haired people. All differently dressed. Some wore ordinary caps or hats, some caps with shiny peaks. The women wore red kerchiefs and shawls on their heads, Soviet fashion. Some were in shoes, others in high Russian boots. We all had Soviet badges in our button-holes, and we held our head high and smoked our Soviet cigarettes.

Yes, with heads held high we walked through the streets of Hamburg.

After all, we had come to visit the workers of Germany in own ship and not just anyhow.

We had come to the German workers—not as slaves, but as the masters of our country, the land of the Soviet that is building up socialism.

The sense of their own dignity could be seen even in the way our folks walked. I was not surprised, therefore, that the policemen were unusually polite even when we crossed the streets at points where it was not allowed. They did not stop us, but the traffic. The policeman held up their white gloved hands, and all buses, motor-cars, and bicycles stopped to let us pass. We saw streets flooded with light, electric signs, arresting placards. We saw the great windows of smart shops with wax figures in them and live people, too, who took the place of the wax figures. There was everything that science could invent, everything for every need, for eating or wearing. In some windows hung the carcasses of pigs or oxen beautifully done up. The butchers and confectioners were loaded with every delicacy. The drapery and shoe-shops were full of goods. Everything shone, everything had a price on it, from the cheapest to the dearest. There was plenty of everything. Shops and goods and salesmen.

Only one thing was absent: customers.

We walked about "free" Hamburg all day, for many a long mile, but we never saw a customer. And it was easy enough to understand why; the economic crisis had deprived scores of thousands of workers of their wages and therefore of their purchasing power.
V. Shilin
The police were hand-picked men, well-built, young, clean-shaven. They wore good uniforms, helmets and beautiful leather leggings. They were each armed with a revolver, a short sword, and a baton on a strap.
V. Shilin
The class contrasts between the various quarters of the town struck one at once. Luxurious residences lined the shores of the lake. These belonged, of course, to the upper bourgeoisie. Then there were the districts, where the intelligentsia and middle classes lived, and last of all, a labyrinth of dark tunnel-like lanes and alleys, some of them not more than six feet wide. This was where the workers lived, the creators of the world s wealth.

And how did the rich live, those who wring the last drop of blood from the workers?

The shore of the lake where the bourgeoisie took their ease and enjoyed life, was divided up into lots; each lot was fenced off in a different way. Trees had been planted along the streets which were spotless. These were palaces, not houses. They were all built differently from one another, all two-storied. There were decorative plants and flowers in the gardens. The entrances and drive-ways were beautiful, the windows glittered like diamonds.

We entered the working-class district, and walked up one of the streets. I went first, stood with my back flat against the wall, and in four steps was already at the opposite wall. We went on further. All the windows were either broken or open. The buildings were so rickety and in places leaned over at such an angle, that they seemed to be only about three feet across the street from one another. In fact, it was rather terrifying to go up a street like that at all.

We turned into a lane. I measured its width—two steps. We looked into one of the yards. Great iron rubbish bins stood in it. Under each window there were wooden brackets with ropes across on which washing was hanging out to dry. There were no wash-houses, or attics for drying the clothes. The people washed their clothes at home, dried them under the windows, and lived in the attics themselves. These, then were the streets and alleys of the Hamburg proletariat. No sunlight here. Only eternal gloom.
V. Shilin
It was terrible to see workers living like this. Rickety houses, ready to tumble down any minute. An awful stench, mingled with the odor of carbolic acid, came from them. Poverty peered from every crack. We saw children with pale, drawn faces. Although the weather was cold, they ran about barefoot, in ragged garments.

We wanted to find out more about the workers lives, so we wandered slowly from street to street. Hundreds of heads popped out of windows, hundreds of eyes stared after us, unable to understand why tourists should have come to their filthy alleys. They asked us who we were, and when they learned that we were Soviet workers, they showed the German communist sign of the clenched fist and shouted, "Rot Front!". The children ran after us. They also clenched their little fists. The lane rang with their cries of "Rot Front!".

At a cross-roads we saw placards with the number 4 on them. They were the lists of communist candidates. The whole district had voted for them...

And then up came a squad of police. The "Dynamo" engineer Rickman said: "See how soon they sniffed us out! They learned there was a landing party and are ready to meet the enemy."
A. Salov
Germans from the Young Communist League and other organizations were waiting for us at the quay. The police were really alarmed this time at the behavior of the unemployed, who tried to show their friendliness to us... Many of them were hungry; our shock-brigade workers shared their sandwiches with them. They devoured them like starving people.

In the evening I went round the town with a few comrades and a German stevedore, a communist, who had been unloading our boat. This man took us to a little room, and told us how the stevedores union functioned. He showed us various cards and forms. From there we went to the working-class district, where he was well-known for his work in the trade union and the Party.

It was cold and pouring rain... But in spite of the weather, on either side of the street women were standing. They were of all ages, and wore all kinds of clothes, but all had painted lips. One of them, a timid, neglected woman, glanced about, searching for a client. Others, bolder, would tug at the sleeve of some passer-by, offering themselves for sale...

We got to the home of a worker-communist, who had been eleven months out of work. It was on the second floor. We were warmly welcomed. As soon as the inhabitants of the flat knew why we had come, they revealed to us all the miseries of the German worker s life. It was a small flat of three tiny rooms. The floor was uneven and rotting. We went up to the attic where people had been driven, by poverty and need, to live. The roof let in the light, the wind, and the rain.

This is supposed to be a good flat," we were told. "As a rule the rooms and dwellings of the workers are much worse.
V. Shilin
Five of us Young Communists, went for a stroll around the working-class district of Hamburg. A German house-painter came with us. He took us to slums beside which even our old "Prolomka" would look like a fine, clean district. In one of the narrow lanes we went straight from the street through an open door into a room that looked like a barn. It was furnished with a bed, a table and two chairs. We were warmly greeted by a man and a woman, both still young. The wife, Maria, wanted to run out to buy something for us with what was probably her last penny. We would not let her go. We stayed there talking for a whole hour. They told us how terribly hard it was for workers to live in Hamburg.

We made our way along the market-gardens, now quiet, that surround the town. The dark silent outlines of huts became more frequent. At the door of one of the huts we stopped. A young man lifted the latch and let us into a very chilly room. In a moment a candle was lit and we could see a small room. There was nothing but wooden benches and a small table in it. Huts like these are inhabited by paupers, petty thieves, prostitutes, and unemployed workers who cannot afford to pay rent for flats.

We returned to the Abkhazia. We were silent all the way, oppressed by what we had seen.

G. Bebchuk

Source: Excerpted from International Literature, No. 1 (1932), pp. 3-15, trans. Anthony Wixley.