Last week the Soviet bread-card system, a daily nuisance to every Russian to whom it has not been a curse, had lasted longer than the World War—six years. Most Russians felt as if there always had been, always would be bread cards. Suddenly at 12:30 one afternoon last week Soviet Premier Vyacheslav Molotov called in reporters who found him twinkling behind his spectacles.
“When the card system was initiated,” said Russia’s Premier, ”our enemies prophesied the inevitable collapse of the Soviet Government. Subsequent events have laughed at these prophecies. I can now inform you that the plenum of the Central Executive Committee of the Party, at the personal instance of Comrade Stalin, has voted to abolish bread cards, effective Jan. 1.”
Since bread has been sold excessively cheap to Soviet aristocrats with cards,* the card system cannot be replaced by ordinary open sale without upping some-what the price millions of good Soviet proletarians (card holders) will have to pay for bread. To keep them from squawking, to prevent the abolition of bread cards from starting a revolution, there was only one thing to do: raise wages. Solemnly last week the Central Executive Committee raised, effective Jan. 1 the wages of millions of good Soviet proletarians, upped pensions and even scholarships. In generous mood it also upped the price the State pays farmers for grain.
Still rationed by card and to be rationed until further notice throughout Russia are meat, potatoes, tea and such luxuries as butter, which at times has been classed in the Soviet Union as a medicine, available only on doctor’s prescription. Because Russia has again had a bumper wheat crop, Premier Molotov talked exclusively about that, said nothing of the ruthless Stalin tactics which caused desperate peasants to massacre their cattle and saddled Russia with a meat shortage which will endure for decades.
Carefully guarding the secret of exactly how much grain Russia has raised, a secret worth money to grain speculators such as the Soviet Government. Premier Molotov declared with gusto: “One billion five hundred million bushels of grain will be at the disposal of the people. . . . Our reserves are enormous. . . . Ten thousand new bread shops will be opened before April 1. … In 1928, when bread rationing began, there were 123,000 State and cooperative stores. Today there are 283,000.”
That to smash the small farmer and exalt the collective farm was good policy is J. Stalin’s great claim. He holds the entire situation, including the statistics, in his dictatorial hands. Last week Premier Molotov claimed that this year only 8% of Russia’s grain came from small farmers who supplied 86% in 1929. In other words J. Stalin & Co. now claim to get 92% of their grain from collectives—the greatest agricultural revolution in all history.
From Novosibirsk last week came the usual bloody item of Soviet grain news, an item so commonplace as to excite no Russian remark. Because the collective farm “Red Front” raised only 40% of its State-scheduled grain quota, the Western Siberian Circuit Court sentenced four of the collective’s officials to be shot.
*In Moscow last week the State bread stores’ price to people with cards was 48 kopeks per kilo of black bread, one ruble for white. At this price Great Aristocrats (manual workers and Soviet officials) could buy 800 grams of bread per day, Small Aristocrats (white collar and professional folk) 400 grams. People without cards, such as loafers or priests, or Russians who had exhausted their card quota, paid last week in Moscow two rubles per kilo of black bread, three and a half rubles for white—or roughly four times the card prices. Often, especially outside Moscow, the cardless have been unable to buy bread at any price.
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