The Finnish Revolution 1917-1918 0816609055, 9780816609055

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The Finnish Revolution 1917-1918

THE NORDIC SERIES Volume 3

OTHER TITLES IN THE SERIES Volume 1 British Diplomacy and Swedish Politics, 1758-1773 by Michael Roberts Volume 2 Henrik Ibsen, Peer Gynt, translated by Rolf Fjelde. A thoroughly revised version of Fjelde's translation, with new appendixes. Volume 4 To the Third Empire: Ibsen's Early Drama by Brian Johnston Volume 5 Scandinavian Literature since 1870 by Sven Rossel VoI u m e 6 Viking A rt by David M. Wilson and Ole Klindt-Jensen ADVISORS TO THE NORDIC SERIES Thomas Bredsdorff University of Copenhagen Sten Carlsson University of Uppsala Rolf Fjelde Pratt Institute and JulHard School M. Donald Hancock Vanderbilt University Nils Hasselmo University of Minnesota Einar Haugen Harvard University Steven Koblik Pomona College Robert Kvavik University of Minnesota

Stewart Oakley University of East Anglia Juha Yrjana Pentikainen University of Helsinki George Schoolfield Yale University Ingrid Semmingsen University of Oslo Birgitta Steene University of Washington Sigurdur Thorarinsson University of Iceland Richard F. Tomasson University of New Mexico

The Finnish Revolution 1917-1918 Anthony F. Upton St. Salvator's College University of St. Andrews

University of Minnesota Press • Minneapolis

Copyright © 1980 by the University of Minnesota. All rights reserved. Published by the University of Minnesota Press, 2037 University Avenue Southeast, Minneapolis, Minnesota 55414 Printed in the United States of America Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Upton, Anthony F. The Finnish Revolution, 1917-1918, Bibliography: p. Includes index. 1. Finland—History—Revolution, 1917-1918. I. Title. DK459.U67 948.97'031 80-477 ISBN 0-8166-0905-5

The University of Minnesota is an equal-opportunity educator and employer.

Preface The reader may think that this is a large book and I make no apology for that. The importance and intrinsic interest of the subject matter fully justifies a comprehensive treatment. My reasons for embarking on the project were necessarily highly personal: Any foreigner who chooses to work on Finnish history is likely to possess a special combination of incentives and qualifications that in the nature of things does not occur often. It seemed to me that, being possessed of such a combination, I had some obligation to give a non-Finnish readership access to this significant and littleknown episode in modern European history. I would not claim to have exhausted the subject even now; to my knowledge further relevant materials exist that I have not had the opportunity to examine. But the book has already consumed what time could be spared from my full-time university teaching duties over a ten-year period and a line must be drawn somewhere. It is my hope that having opened the subject up, others may be stimulated to probe further into it. I have tried to be sparing in the use of Finnish words and names, but readers should know that Finnish spelling is regular and phonetic and the stress is always on the first syllable of a word. Finland is a bilingual state, with Swedish as a second official language, and many places and all official institutions have both Finnish and Swedish names. I have chosen the Finnish names throughout, except that the intero nationally familiar Aland Islands is used for the archipelago that lies between Finland and Sweden. Russian names and words have been transliterated according to one of the several recognized formulas. Until February 1918 two dating systems were used in Finland, the Russians following the Julian calendar, which was 13 days behind the Gregorian used by the Finns. I have followed Gregorian dating throughout so that, for instance, the October Revolution occurs on 7 November. All the translations from Finnish, Swedish, Russian, and German are my own, with the help of my wife with Finnish and Swedish. I have aimed at literal accuracy rather than literary elegance. A work of this kind is always, in reality, the result of a collective endeavor. It would be impossible to acknowledge mv debt to all the people who have contributed.

I should like to thank the staffs of the principal archives in Helsinki, the Valtionarkisto, the Sota-arkisto, the Tyovaen arkisto, the Kansan arkisto, and the staff of Helsinki University Library. The Library of Parliament in Helsinki was extremely helpful in lending its books for me to use in Britain. I have drawn freely on the writings of the many excellent Finnish historians who work in this field. If I select by name professors J. Paasivirta, T. Polvinen, H. Soikkanen, and J. Paavolainen, it is for the additional personal help and encouragement they have given; it in no way diminishes my sense of obligation to the others whose books are cited in the footnotes. Of course the views set out in this book are entirely my own, and no one else carries any responsibility for them. Special mention must be made of my wife's family in Finland, whose generosity and hospitality on many occasions made my work in Finland possible, above all my father-in-law O. Pollanen and Saara and Reino Halonen. The Court of the University of St. Andrews have assisted my work from their travel and research funds, and also granted two periods of sabbatical leave during which much of the work was done. As for my wife's contribution to this book, it is perhaps enough to say that but for her it would never have been conceived at all. Acknowledgments are due to the Valtionarkisto, the Sota-arkisto, the Tyovaen arkisto, and the Kansan arkisto, all of Helsinki, and the Foreign and Commonwealth Office Library of London for permission to quote from the documents in their collections: and to Kustannusosakeyhtio Otava for permission to quote from E. Heinrichs, Mannerheim Suomen kohtaloissa, S. Jagerskiold, Mannerheim 1918, C. G. Mannerheim, Muistelmat: to Kustannusosakeyhtio Tammi for permission to quote from M. Hako, H. Hukkanen, M. Nieminen, Aatteet jaaseet, J. Paavolainen, Poliittisetvakivaltaisuudet Suomessa 7975, H. Soikkanen, Kansalaissota dokumenteina: and to Werner Soderstrom OY for permission to quote from J. Paasivirta, Suomen itsenciisyyskysymys 1917, T. Polvinen, Venajan vallankumous ja Suomi, C. Enckell, Poliittiset muistelmani, J. O. Hannula, Suomen Vapaussodan historic/.

Contents 3

Chapter 1:

The Background to 1917

Chapter 2:

The Revolution Comes to Finland

Chapter 3:

Parliament, the Parties, and the Issue of Autonomy

Chapter 4:

The Disintegration of a Society

56

Chapter 5:

The Activists and the Valtalaki

70

Chapter 6:

Toward Chaos, August-November 1917

Chapter 7:

The General Strike

ChapterS:

Independence

Chapter 9:

The End of Parliamentary Politics

138

180

Chapter 10: The Coming of Civil War Chapter 11: Finland Divides Chapter 12: White Finland Chapter 13: Red Finland Chapter 14: The Civil War I

275 306 352 396

Chapter 15: The Civil War 11

445

Chapter 16: The Civil War III

473

Chapter 17: The Reckoning References Bibliography Index

26

549 579

587 Maps

Finland in 1917 539 Southern Pohjanmaa 540 The Satakunta Sector 547 The Tampere Sector 542 The Savo Sector 543 The German Operations 544 The Karelian Isthmus 545

576

237

203

702

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The Finnish Revolution 1917-1918

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Chapter 1

The Background to 1917 In 1809 the grand duchy of Finland was forcibly detached from the kingdom of Sweden, of which it had been an organic part for centuries, and became part of the Russian empire. Tsar Alexander I proclaimed himself Grand Duke of Finland and was formally recognized as such by the Finnish Diet, which pledged the allegiance of the Finnish people to him and his successors. The Grand Duke, for his part, took an oath to maintain the constitution and laws of his new dominion. This arrangement left Finland with most of the attributes of a sovereign state: The absent Grand Duke was represented by a Russian Governor General, but under him was a government—the Senate—composed entirely of native Finns, and after 1863 the Finnish Diet was regularly convened. Finland had its own separate army, legal system, religion, and language, and was an independent economic unit, with its own currency, taxation, and tariffs, divided from the rest of the empire by a legal frontier. Finland was not involved in the international relations of Russia, except briefly in the Crimean war and was not involved in the internal politics of Russia. Successive Tsars were content that it should be so, for they had no more loyal or trouble-free possession in their empire. The arrangement also meant that Finnish society, for several decades after 1809, adhered to the patterns established in the eighteenth century that were institutionalized in an elaborate code of mercantilist legislation and controls. The forces of change that transformed nineteenth-century Europe were late in coming to Finland; only in the 1870s were the main laws inhibiting free enterprise and social mobility repealed and the way opened for the development of industrial capitalism, but Finland's progress thereafter was rapid. Population, which was 1,700,000 in 1870, rose to 3,200,000 by 1914, in spite of nearly half a million emigrants; railways began with 67 miles of track opened in 1862 and developed to 2,600 miles of track in 1914; industrial production was valued at £3,000,000 in 1870 and £40,000,000 in 1914; the industrial labor force was 28,600 in 1885 and 110,000 in 1914; and the value of both exports and imports increased approximately five times between 1885 and 1913. Changes in the rural economy were less dramatic, because conditions in Finland are not suitable for intensive capitalist agriculture,

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but the old subsistence farming was largely phased out and farmers sought a cash income from dairy farming and exploitation of the forests. Despite the growth of industry, two-thirds of the population of Finland still made its living from farming and forestry in 1917, and the society was still predominantly agrarian and rural. Industrial capitalism was one of the forces that tranformed nineteenth-century Finland; nationalism was another. Even under Swedish rule the Finns had been conscious of themselves as a distinct people: The Finno-Ugric language spoken by the majority of the population was structurally quite distinct from the surrounding germanic and Slavonic languages, and reminded the Finns that they were a peculiar people. But under Sweden the separateness was bridged by common laws, common social and political institutions, and a common religion. The Finnish ruling class had merged with the Swedish settlers and administrators and adopted the Swedish language, to form a homogeneous rulinggroupamonga predominantly Finnish-speakin laboring population. But after 1809 the ruling class could not identify with the new imperial power; language, religion, culture, and political and historical tradition divided them from the Russians. Members of the ruling class society came to feel the need to establish a new identity as Finns, and in the end this need required identifying with the language and culture of the majority of the population. The process was slow and painful and split ruling society into two bitterly opposed linguistic factions, but by 1900 the result could not be in doubt—Finnish was replacing Swedish as the dominant cultural medium and a characteristic nineteenth-century linguistic nationalism had been born. The great majority of Finns entered the twentieth century conscious of themselves as a Finnish-speaking nation, of Finland as the fa therland, and believed that the Finnish nation had a place among the community of European peoples. And they knew that they had a historical destiny to embody their national ideals in an independent, sovereign Finnish state. Finnish nationalism was bound, in the end, to see the imperial power —Russia—a the enemy, since that power was the ultimate obstacle to the realization of its objectives. The tendency was reinforced by reference to history and culture. The long record of border warfare from the middle ages to 1 809 fed the concept of the Rus sian as periviho//inen—the hereditary enemy—and cultural difference identified the Russians as not only alien—Asiatic was a favorite label for them—but inferior; barbaric was another label that went with Asiatic. This made the Finns an outpost of western, Christian civilization against the East. Yet antagonism towards the imperial power, latent in Finnish nationalism from the beginning and logically predicated by the goal of sovereign independence, was not at first the main preoccupation of the nationalist movement. The more realistic and responsible leaders of the movement recognized that as long as Russia was a great power, Finnish independence was outside the realm of possibility. They recognized further that as long as successive Tsars respected Finland's autonomy, there was no need to raise the issue of independence, for Finland was a sovereign state for most practical purposes. So Finnish nationalism had turned inwards, and waged a bitter feud against the minority of the ruling class that clung stubbornly to its Swedish language and culture and declined to accept even parity of esteem, let alone predominance, for the language of the majority. In

4

this conflict the tsarist government figured as an ally, encouraging the claims of the Finnish language and helping it to achieve legal equality; the government saw this development as a means of weakening the old ties with Sweden and consolidating Russian suzerainty over Finland. Neither industrialization nor nationalism made the Finnish revolution inevitable: They only created the conditions and tensions within Finnish society from which a revolutionary situation was to emerge. The history of Finland for some ninety years after 1809 was tranquil: There had been the brief excitement of the Crimean war; the last major famine had occurred in the 1860s, before railways and cheap imported grain banished for ever a recurrent feature of Finland's history; and there was the heat and passion of the language dispute. None of these, however, had threatened the basic stability of Finnish society, which appeared to have the capacity to absorb conflict and change peacefully. The tsarist policy of respecting Finland's autonomy, in return for her loyalty and tranquillity, had been so successful that Alexander III had rejected categorically suggestions that Finland's status in the empire should be changed. But there were forces in Russia that resented the special status of Finland: Pan-Slav enthusiasts who wanted to Russify all the minority peoples, business interests that found the special economic status of Finland irksome, bureaucrats who resented the existence of a political frontier that their power could not cross, and military interests who saw in an autonomous Finland a gaping hole in their defensive barriers towards the west. The accession of Nicholas II in 1894 brought a Tsar who was weak and susceptible, and these various interests were at last able to get a hearing. It was decided that Finnish institutions and governmental practice must be integrated more closely with those of Russia, and the decision was announced in an imperial manifesto of 15 February 1899. Future legislation in Finland that affected the interests of the empire as a whole would be reviewed by the Russian Council of Ministers before being accepted or rejected by the Tsar. This was a clear breach of the Finnish constitution, in which the Russian Council of Ministers had no legal standing. There was also a program of specific innovations that were more disturbing to the Finns, which included the extended use of Russian as an offical language in Finland, the grant of full rights of citizenship in Finland to Russian nationals, and the introduction of the ruble as a legal currency alongside the Finnish mark. The Finnish reaction to the manifesto demonstrated how the national consciousness had developed over the preceding decades: A humble address of protest to the Tsar was organized with great speed and efficiency and signed by over half a million citizens. The Tsar ignored the protest and his Governor General, N. Bobrikov, was authorized to proceed with the implementation of the manifesto policies. The dilatory character of the tsarist administration ensured that most remained on paper only, when overtaken by events in 1905. The Finnish ruling establishment now had to decide whether to collaborate with an illegal policy or whether to resist, and if so, how. Many did collaborate, either from self-interest or because they judged resistance was hopeless; others continued to serve under protest, on the grounds they might be able to mitigate the effects of the policies; and some defied the regime and faced resignation or dismissal, and of these a few began to contemplate active resis-

5

tance to the oppressor. In the process Finnish nationalism became overtly political and radically redirected—away from the Swedish speakers, many of whom joined the patriotic resistance, and against the Russians. The latent, and often viciously racialist anti-Russianism, now came to the surface. Passionate hatred and rejection of Russia and the Russians became the main emotional driving force behind the movement; the political situation was normalized as the nationalists faced up to the alien, imperial oppressor. At first the majority of ordinary people remained apathetic, for the Russian policies hardly touched their daily lives. This was changed in 1901 when the tsarist government introduced a new conscription law, which disbanded most of the autonomous Finnish army and required conscripts to serve in the Russian army. Over much of Finland there was mass refusal to register for military service and an undergound organization emerged to coordinate the resistance. The involvement of the common people transformed the resistance into a truly national movement, and tension mounted. When the Russo-Japanese war broke out, an activist wing developed with the aim of raising armed rebellion as a means to eventual independence. With that development, all the classical features of a nationalist resistance to an alien imperial power had emerged. At the same time nationalism was producing a fully political independence movement in Finland, industrial capitalism was producing a political movement of the Finnish working class. Industrialization in Finland involved all the phenomena of exploitation and social distress that it did elsewhere in Europe, and the Finnish workers responded, like their fellows elsewhere, by organizing themselves. Because of the deep paternalist traditions of Finnish society, the movement began under ruling-class patronage, in an attempt to promote social harmony and win the workers for the ideals of the nationalist movement. In this phase, the only overtly political demand was for franchise reform, because the voting arrangements for the Diet of Four Estates—nobles, clergy, burghers, and farmers—were such that very few workers had a vote. Even so this first phase of the movement served to introduce working men and women to the world of ideas and trained them in the techniques of organizing a popular movement and conducting propaganda. Radicals had been attracted to the movement from the beginning; one of the earliest Finnish Marxists, N. F. af Ursin, joined in 1886; and in spite of the bourgeois leadership, radicalism spread. The first trade unions appeared and began to organize strikes in the 1890s. In 1895 the first specifically working-class newspaper, the Helsinki Tyomies, was published. From 1896, radical leaders like E. Salin and T. Tainio made an open bid for control of the movement on the slogan irtiporvareista—cut loose from the bourgeoisie—and at the national congress of the movement in 1899 the radicals won. It was decided to found a Finnish Workers' party on a Marxist program, with Salin as the first chairman and Tyomies as the official party newspaper. The process was completed at the Forssa Congress of 1903, when it changed its name to Finnish Social Democratic party—SDP—and committed itself to achieving a socialist society, principally through constitutional means, with the reform of the constitution the first

6

priority. But the program also envisaged that its objectives might have to be enforced through a revolutionary general strike. Although the concept of revolution was written into the statutes of SDP from the first, it was an ambivalent and divisive concept. It had been incorporated verbatim from the program of the German Marxists, and though it clearly referred to the "social revolution," which would overthrow capitalism, many Finnish socialists held that Finland must ftrst go through a "bourgeois" revolution in which the "feudal" tsarist order would be replaced by a liberal-bourgeois state. In that revolution, the workers would participate as auxiliaries under the leadership of the progressive bourgeoisie. This uncertainty about the character of the revolutionary events split the movement in 1905-06 and again in 1917-18. In addition, the movement was divided over its duty to promote revolution; the majority read into Marxist doctrine a mes sage of passive determinism—revolutions are not made, they occur spontaneously when the historical conditions are right. Thus although the movement must prepare the workers for revolution when it came, they were under no obligation to do anything to promote or hasten its coming. This meant thatthe leadership of SDPtreated revolution as an abstraction, which called for no immediate practical preparations on their part, so that when revolutionary events did occur, they were quite unprepared to cope with them. Only a minority within the movement, probably stronger in the rank and file than in the leadership, adopted a more positive attitude to revolution and were willing to give the historical process a helpinghand. Already in 1904 leaders like M. Turkia and Y. Makelin were urging that direct revolutionary action would be needed and that the movement should be preparing for it. If the Marxist concept of revolution tended to divide and weaken SDP, the idea of class struggle as the main driving force in the historical process strengthened and united it. The concept was promoted by E. Valpas-Hanninen, who as chief editor of Tyomies for most of this period was particularly well-placed to establish the ideological tone of the movement. He taught, and the workers readily accepted, that they must isolate themselves completely from the bourgeoisie and their institutions and have no dealings with the class enemy. As long as the capitalist order remained, there could be no fraternization across class lines. This was common doctrine in all Marxist parties at this time, but few took it so literally or practiced it so fiercely as SDP: no socialist could accept any public position that could be held to involve him in upholding the capitalist order —"minister socialism" was abhorred as a revisionist heresy. Socialists were expected to read only party publications, and anyone who contributed to a non-party publication would be called to account for it. The first priority for any local party branch was to acquire its own premises—the tyovaen talot, workers' halls that sprang up all over Finland—where social and political activity would be secure from bourgeois participation. The whole class-war attitude was epitomized in an article in Tyomies that urged young socialists not to attend the cinema. In addition to ruining their eyesight, they would expose themselves to subtle capitalist indoctrination; good socialists would boycott the cinema while capitalism endured and keep their ideological virtue intact. Because the rigid adherence of

7

SDP to the dogma of class conflict was a major factor in preventing the formation of a national front in 1917-18, a front that might have secured independence without the tragedy of revolution and civil war, many commentators, both bourgeois and moderate socialist, have portrayed the adoption of a class-war line by SDP as a disastrous aberration or even as the deliberate importation of an irrelevant and alien doctrine, with consequences baneful for the whole nation. It seems more realistic to suppose that Finnish workers embraced this dogma with enthusiasm not because they were convinced by the strength of Marxist arguments, but because it corresponded with the workers' own perception of the realities of their lives. The Finnish worker experienced many reminders that he was not a full citizen in his own country. He generally had no vote in either national or local government elections, because the right to vote was tied to property qualifications that excluded him. Those citizens who did have full political rights were formally and legally recognized as a privileged status group who were the real legal citizens, distinct from the laboring masses. Legal discrimination against the unprivileged was entrenched in Finnish law and custom. It may be illustrated from the law of 1865, still in force in 1917, regulating workers who lived in on their employer's premises. This law applied to a very substantial part of the labor force, including most domestic servants and many young, unmarried laborers. These workers were obliged to accept binding twelve-month contracts that could be purely verbal. If they became dissatisfied, or tried for any reason to leave their employment during the term of the contract, the police could be required to hunt them down and return them to the employer. The opportunities for exploitation under this system were limitless; the worker was in legal tutelage and denied basic individual rights, a fact emphasized by the provision that the employee was not allowed to have a locked bag or trunk, so that the employer might search his private possessions at any time. Finnish law on the relations of master and servant was a relic of the precapitalist era, and did not accept the liberal concept of free bargaining between capital and labor as theoretically equal parties. Naturally when Finnish workers organized trade unions and tried to initiate collective bargaining, they met unyielding resistance from employers who would not recognize their unions and would stop at nothing to break their strikes. The atmosphere created by such circumstances, which led to a corresponding militancy and obduracy among the workers, was exacerbated by the peculiarly Finnish feature that most industrial employers and most large landowners and their managerial staffs were Swedish-speaking, while their employees spoke Finnish, so that the lin guistic difference accentuated class barriers. Under these conditions, the class war was not something that the workers learned from Karl Marx but a living fact of their daily existence. The danger that the class struggle waged by SDP might escalate from a cold war to a shooting war was first made apparent by the events of 1905-06, which were in many ways a dress rehearsal for 1917-18. In 1905, as in 1917, the power of the tsarist regime collapsed as a result of military defeat, and Finland was immediately affected. When the great strike wave spread theough the empire in the autumn of 1905, a general strike was proclaimed in Finland as well, and since legitimate au-

8

thority had already collapsed, power fell easily into the hands of local strike committees. In most major centers there were separate committees for workers and bourgeoisie, and it was apparent that the workers' committees had the real power. As the Russian garrison mutinied and the Finnish police deemed it prudent to fade away, the government feared a total breakdown of law and order, offering funds for the creation of a national guard. The workers instinctively drew apart, and in Helsinki they formed their own Red Guard under the leadership of Captain J. Kock and K. Luoto, while the bourgeoisie formed a separate Home Guard, consisting mainly of university students. The leaders of SDP had had no part in forming the Red Guard and had little control over it; when, on November 4, the Tsar issued a manifesto promising to restore Finnish autonomy and authorizing the Senate and the Diet to draft a constitution based on universal suffrage, the leaders of SDP hastened to renounce revolutionary action, agreed to wait for the new constitution, and called for the ending of the strike. The Helsinki strike committee, which controlled the Red Guard, acquiesced reluctantly and issued a statement calling on the Red Guard to remain in readiness: "We must prepare for a new, even more severe battle, which the proletariat will wage from now on against the bourgeoisie."1 It ordered the Red Guard throughout the country to take orders only from Kock. The SDP leaders countered with the assertion that the Red Guard was subject to the control of the party, that its sole purpose now was to guarantee that there should be no backsliding over the new constitution, and that when this was secured the Guard would be disbanded. The Red Guard defied the party, and its leaders entered into negotiations with Russian revolutionaries for a fresh round of revolutionary action. This action was launched in July 1906, when the fleet and the garrison in the fortress of Sveaborg, in Helsinki harbor, mutinied. The Red Guard planned to support them by seizing control of Helsinki, and Kock went to the SDP Executive to demand that they proclaim a new general strike. When they refused, Kock issued his own strike call. The militant minority's bid to seize power within the workers'movementfailed because the Sveaborg mutiny failed, and the authorities felt strong enough to suppress the Red Guard. During the restoration of order, there was a clash on the Hakaniementori, the market square on the edge of Helsinki's working-class quarter, between Red Guards on the one side; and police and student Home Guards on the other; two Red Guards and seven Home Guards were killed, and the first blood had flowed in the Finnish civil war. The Tsar had confirmed the new constitution, based on a single-chamber parliament, universal suffrage, and proportional representation, together with a law establishing freedom of speech, organization, and public meeting, on 20 July 1906. In August, SDP held a Congress at Oulu that formally renounced violence, disbande the Red Guard, and committed the party to seek its ends by constitutional means. This did not end the divisions within the movement: A solid constitutionalist block was led by men like Salin and Tainio, but during the events of 1905-06 the movement had recruited a group of largely bourgeois intellectuals, who became identified with the Helsinki party and the newspaper Tyomies, and because the Helsinki party headquarters was in the Siltasaari district, they came to be known as thes/'/to-

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saarelaiset—the Siltasaari group. This group, which included such key figures of 1917-18 as K. Manner and 0. W. Kuusinen, dominated the leadership in the years after 1906, and their acceptance of constitutionalism was tactical only. They held that parliamentary action could never achieve real improvements for the workers, and that the party must continue relentless class struggle in anticipation of the next round of revolutionary unrest. Yet they did not advocate revolution for its own sake, or propose that the movement prepare actively for it; they simply prophesied that sooner or later the policies of the ruling bourgeois class would provoke fresh violence and that there could be no worthwhile collaboration or compromise between the classes. In consequence, theoretical arguments about tactics continued to divide the movement, but in practice SDP after 1906 became an electoral machine. It had acquired a mass membership that at its peak rose to 85,000 and this was the basis for a permanent and reliable body of electoral support. The party was highly centralized; agitators from headquarters toured the country, recruiting and organizing the local Workers' Associations, which were the legally registered, basic party units. The Associations were expected to follow the party line, as defined at Congress and interpreted by the party Executive and communicated in the party press. SDP quickly developed into a bureacracy within which local initiative was not encouraged; local Associations expected Helsinki to tell them what to do politically, and concentrated their efforts on social functions, though these usually had an educational or cultural content—mere frivolous entertainment, such as dancing, was frowned on. The center of these activities was the Workers' Hall, and by 1915 there were 911 of these all over Finland. The general atmosphere was one of solid, nineteenth-century self-improvement, with strong elements borrowed from Lutheran pietism, reinforced by the party's commitment to temperance. It was not an atmosphere in which revolutionary enthusiasm could flourish. The efforts of SDP to create a successful electoral machine were rewarded: At the first general election of 1907, the party won 329,964 votes of 899,347 cast and 80 of the 200 seats, which made it easily the largest party, and in every subsequent election down to 1917 it enlarged its share of the vote and either held or increased its number of seats.2 But these electoral victories were offset by the failure to achieve any concrete improvements through parliamentary action. A prohibition law, a sweeping reform of local government, and a number of other radical reforms laws were passed, but all in vain, because the Tsar withheld confirmation, and there was no constitutional way in which his veto could be overcome. Even after 1906 the Finnish parliament was not a sovereign legislature; the Tsar/Grand Duke had an unlimited power of veto, could appoint and dismiss the ruling Senate without reference to parliament, and had uncontrolled disposal of certain branches of the revenue, adequate to sustain the normal expenses of government. Parliament could not even initiate legislation, only petition the sovereign to introduce bills. The Tsar could therefore carry on the government of Finland legally without the consent of the Finnish parliament, or even against its express opposition. By 1908 the tsarist regime felt confident enough to resume its plans for strengthening Russian control in Finland. Conscription was abandoned, but Finland was required to make an annual

10

contribution to imperial defense costs instead. When parliament refused the necessary vote of supply, it was dissolved and the money levied by decree. As Russification measures were resumed, the more national-minded members of the Senate resigned and were replaced first by Finnish collaborators and after 1912 by Russians, who were increasingly and illegally given Finnish official appointments. The general line of Russian policy was affirmed by a resolution of the State Duma of 17 June 1910, which reasserted that matters arising in Finland that concerned the empire as a whole must be decided ultimately by the imperial government and legislature. As after 1899, this sweeping assertion of principle was not implemented in any systematic way, but one consequence of the new policies was to end the legislative activity of the Finnish parliament. Each session began with a formal protest at the latest illegality, which was countered by a speedy dissolution. All the high hopes of 1907 for an extensive reform and modernizaion of Finnish society and institutions came to nothing. The socialists had ambivalent feelings about the new wave of Russian oppresssion they had no difficulty about opposing what they saw as typical foreign imperialism, but this raised the problem of how far they could collaborate with the internal class enemy in a common front. A minority, led by Y. Makelin, urged the party to join the bourgeoisie in a common opposition to tsarism, but this implied suspension of the class struggle and the bulk of the movement could not accept that. So they rationalized their refusal to collaborate by asserting that the Finnish bourgeoisie was really in collusion with the Russian bourgeoisie. They suggested that the blocking of the reform legislation by the Tsar was really welcomed, if not actually contrived by the bourgeoisie in its own class interests. Bourgeois opposition to Russia was dismissed as hypocritical; they were only too glad to leave the imperial government the odium of blocking reform, while they played at being liberal. It must be said that no worthwhile evidence for such beliefs has been produced, then or later. But as a factor in the political situation, the falseness of the belief does not matter; large numbers of Finnish workers were sure it was true and that was enough. It gave an added dimension of bitterness to their class feeling. By 1909 there was growing and visible dissatisfaction in the workers' movement at the poor returns on parliamentarism. The ordinary workers could suspect that the party leaders had created comfortable lives for themselves as relatively well-paid members of parliament, hobnobbing with the gentry and adopting bourgeois habits, and ignoring their followers, except when they needed the votes. A worker could readily see why the leaders seemed to be in no hurry to exchange the amenities of parliamentary life for the hazards of revolutionary politics, or why they seemed relatively unconcerned by the failure to get results. The growing disillusion expressed itself in the falling-off of mass participation in party activity; the active membership of SDP declined by 40 percent between 1907 and 1910. Some of the energy was diverted into the emerging trade union wing of the movement: In 1907 a national trade union organization — Suomen Ammattijarjesto, SAJ —was set up as part of the united workers' movement and under its first chairman, E. Haapalainen, it followed militant, class-war tactics. Unlike the political wing, which engaged in purely verbal conflict, the trade unions

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engaged the enemy in bitter physical confrontations. As a result the trade union wing of the movement tended to be more radical than the political wing, and in this it was probably closer to the mood of the ordinary worker.3 Yet, however bitter the industrial struggle, and however severe the social problems created by industrialization, the central preoccupations of Finnish society were always agrarian, for this was still a predominantly rural society. Since Finland is unsuited to large-scale commercial agriculture, the basic unit of production remained the family farm, with a few living-in farm servants. A few, almost exclusively Swedish-speaking landowners cultivated large estates with wage labor, but most large landowners let out their properties to tenants in family-sized holdings, which were paid for by a mixture of money rent, produce, and labor services on the estate home farm. It is often represented that the problems and discontents of these tenantfarmers, or torppari, were the most acute source of social unrest in pre-1917 Finland, but it is easy to exaggerate the torppari problem. In 1910 only a fifth of the cultivated land in Finland was subject to any kind of lease, because there were substantial numbers of small freeholders, and in some parts of the country, like Karelia, torppari were rare. In 1912 there were a little over 150,000 tenant farms of all kinds, and of these some 55,000 were torppari with family-sized holdings, the rest were cottagers, whose holding was too small to provide a living, and who combined wage labor with the cultivation of their plots. Below both these groups was the true rural proletariat, some 315,000 landless laborers. By modern standards, all these groups were subject to heavy exploitation, but the lot of the laborer was far the worst, and could involve a grim existence of virtually unlimited hours of work, rough food and accommodation, and servile dependency on the employer. But as so often happens, it was not the exploited mass of the laborers that excited attention and sympathy, but the torppari and the more substantial cottagers. This elitist fringe of the rural working class, because they had possessions, property, and a sense of status, were able to agitate for an improvement of their lot in a way impossible for mere laborers. They had two outstanding grievances, insecurity of tenure and the arbitrary character of labor services; their complaints fell on receptive ears, for the nationalist movement was in principle on their side. It felt antipathy towards largely Swedish-speaking landlords who were exploiting Finnish-speaking tenants, and it was committed to the myth of the sturdy independent farmer, hard-working, patriotic, sober, and God-fearing as the backbone of the nation. The nationalists stood in principle for the enfranchisement of tenants and the expansion of the independent freeholder class by developing new land for the landless. Unfortunately, to translate their wishes into reality would have involved interference with the sacred rights of property, which the bourgeois nationalists were loath to comtemplate.4 Since most Finns lived in the countryside, and since the urban proletariat by itself was too small to provide an adequate electoral base, SDP was driven to look for rural support as well. In theory the main appeal of Marxist socialism should have been to the landless laborers, who were true proletarians, but they were generally too sunk in ignorance and apathy, or too dependent on the employers to be willing to engage in politics. So from sheer necessity SDP built its rural power base around

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the grievances of the torppari, and left the mass of the rural poor apathetic, cowed, and unorganized. The socialists adopted a policy of emancipation of tenants without compensation, whereas the various bourgeois groups expected the tenants to purchase their freehold, and on this basis SDP won substantial torppari support. As no agreed solution emerged in parliament, the Tsar intervened in 1909 with a decree imposing a moratorium on all leases, which would give torppari and substantial cottagers security of tenure on existing terms until March 1916, by which time it was expected that a permanent legislative solution would have been found. This removed the urgency from the situation and allowed SDP to reflect on the ideological unsoundness of its position. In 1911, the party adopted the more correct agrarian policy of nationalization of all land, though they added prudently that until the revolution, the policy of emancipation of tenants without compensation would be retained. Even so, the commitment to end the private ownership of land was bound to create a negative impression in a rural society that contained 125,000 families of small freeholders. Most of these people were undercapitalized and basically uneconomic and were vulnerable to exploitation by bankers, dealers, and lawyers; they thus had enemies in common with the workers and were potential allies, but they were fanatically attached to their status as property owners, and SDP seemed to be threatening this status. Nor was this policy the only way in which the ideological purity of SDP alienated rural society: The movement made a point of stressing its atheism and materialism, which went down well enough with factory workers, but made a painful impact in the countryside, where dissent had been traditionally expressed, not through atheism or scepticism, but by pietism, a retreat into fundamentalist sectarianism. The socialists, with their systematic denigration of Christianity could find no common ground with the traditional forms of expression of rural discontent.5 The narrow dogmatism and refusal to compromise, which characterized the behavior of the socialists, was common to all political factions in Finland before 1917 and made it impossible to form a common front of resistance to the renewed Russian attack on Finland's privileges. It was a wholly natural phenomenon; the politicians could afford the luxury of rigid consistency and adherence to principle because there was no prospect they would ever have to assume the responsibility of government. Since Finland was not a sovereign state, and the Finnish parliament was not a sovereign legislature, Finnish domestic political conflicts were an empty charade. Real power was in the hands of the tsarist government, and there was no way that the Finns by themselves could challenge that power. Even if the parties had dropped their differences and formed a common front, it would have made no difference; the power of the Russian state would still have rolled over any resistance that they could offer. In any case, the two main groupings did not see the Russian threat in the same way—to the bourgeois Finn, the danger was the subversion of the constitution, and oppression meant the appointment of a Russian to a Finnish official post; to the worker, the danger was the way in which the power of the Russian state sustained Finnish capitalists in their struggle with the proletariat, and oppression was the use of Russian troops or blacklegs in a Finnish industrial dispute. Further,

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by the standards of European experience since 1914, the Russian oppression in Finland looks very mild. Although it was stepped up after 1910, all it had amounted to by 1914 was a number of Russians installed in official positions, the wider use of Russian as an official language, public notices and street names in three languages rather than two, compulsory Russian lessons in secondary schools, and, in 1914 itself, the first major economic interference, when the imperial government forced a new grain tariff on Finland to secure the Finnish market for Russian grain. These things may have seemed monstrous oppression to civil servants and judges, businessmen, and secondary school teachers, but they did little to arouse the fighting instincts of the farmers and workers. It was therefore natural that while SDP was vociferous in denouncing Russian behavior, any actual resistance was left to the bourgeoisie. Even among them it usually amounted to little more than grumbling; most found it possible and expedient to submit. A dedicated few protested publicly in word and deed, and in reply the government fined newspapers, dismissed rebellious officials, drove vocal critics into exile, and imprisoned a few who chose to stay. The best known of the resisters was a judge of the Viipuri high court, P. E. Svinhufvud, who both as judge and Speaker of parliament publicly defied the illegal regime and in 1914 was arrested in his own court and sent for a spell in prison, followed by Siberian exile, becoming a folk-hero in the process. But while large numbers of Finns were ready to applaud such demonstrations, few were willing to act in support of them—the futility of such resistance was manifest—and the oppression lacked the viciousness and weight of material suffering that can drive people to rebellion even in a hopeless cause. There was still a hard core of nationalists who dreamed of armed resistance, though they had been driven underground after 1906, and with the passage of time their hopes were wearing thin. A leading Activist, H. Gummerus, who went abroad in despair in 1910, felt that the Russians would win because of the material advantages of association with Russia. Already the business community was waking up to the possibilities of the huge Russian market, and their support for activism was falling off; an act of oppression like the abolition of the Finnish army could look like a bargain. Conscription had ended, and in return for a modest financial contribution, Finland's external security was guaranteed by the forces of a great power. An independent Finland would have to spend much more on defense and would have nothing like the same degree of security. By 1914, the activist movement had collapsed, although there was endless talk and speculation about how a European war might transform the situation. One ardent Activist, T. Hultin, noted how bellicose her friends were "especially as long as someone else will have to pull the chestnuts from the fire," but this kind of daydreaming had no hard political significance.6 Much of what happened in 1917-18 can be traced to the pre-1914 situation, but it is clear that nothing in the Finnish situation of 1914 made revolution, attainment of independence, and civil war either inevitable or even probable. There was unrest all over Europe in 1914, but there was also islands of relative peace and security, and Finland was one of them. The working-class movement talked about the revolution that the obduracy of the capitalists would bring down on their own heads,

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but its leaders were doing nothing to prepare for it; on the contrary, they spent much energy urging the bourgeoisie to make concessions that would postpone the revolution to some indefinite future. SDP was a true paper tiger; for all its class-war truculence it threatened nobody and was no danger to the survival of Finnish bourgeois society, as long as the protecting hand of Russian imperialism sustained it. Similarly, although a few dedicated nationalists kept up resistance to Russian pressures, and won much applause for it, they did not threaten Russian power in Finland. The cutting edge of Russian oppression affected too narrow a section of society. Most people suffered no more than the irritation of seeing street names and notices in Cyrillic script and hearing the Russian language spoken on their home territory by the administrators and soldiers of the imperial power. On the whole, the Russian presence was restrained and its representatives correct in their behavior, while more and more Finns were doing very well because of the Russian presence. Businessmen, landlords, owners of seaside villas, and all the usual camp-followers of a foreign imperial establishment had no reason to wish the Russians gone, except injured national pride—and good hard currency is a great salve of injured pride. The bourgeoisie would continue to shout about oppression, just as the socialists shouted about revolution, but neither was really going to sacrifice present amenities for a problematic future. The truth was that Finland was prospering in 1914: The industrial revolution was gathering speed, the standards of living of all classes were improving, though unevenly and subject to temporary setbacks. Misery and poverty and stark social injustice did exist in Finland in 1914, as it did everywhere else and always had. But Finland in 1914 was a stable society; the Russian imperial presence, though an irritant in some ways, was the ultimate guarantee of the stability and prosperity. So Finland, like the rest of Europe, was blown off course by the disaster of the First World War. Finland's position in that war was unique and anomalous: For although as part of the Russian empire Finland was technically a belligerent, in fact, having no armed forces and not being a theater of war, Finland had many of the characteristics of a neutral country. Finns were involved in the fighting, some already in Russian service, like the future White generals Mannerheim, Lofstrom, and Thesleff, others reservists who obeyed mobilization orders, like the Helsinki police chief B. Jalander. In addition, many Finns joined the Russian forces as volunteers, some out of conviction of the justice of the Entente cause, some out of old-fashioned loyalty to the sovereign, but most simply young men who wanted to get into the action, and for whom the Russian services offered the best chance. Finns had mixed feelings about the war at the beginning: Nationalists obviously tended to be proGerman, like Tekla Hultin who wrote on 5 August: 7 What a strange position we are in. ... We do not feel hate for our so-called enemies nor do we have friendly feelings for our defenders. The war does not stir us, . . . Victory (of Russia and her allies) could bring final defeat in our fight for our rights. Military defeat could bring relief. There was also, among educated Finns, an element of cultural affinity with Ger-

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many; as Hultin noted, "German culture is closely related to ours." Against this, many Finns, even nationalists, were disturbed by the fate of Belgium and France, yet could hardly fail to recognize that Russia's defeat could become Finland's opportunity. So most bourgeois politicians came to take up a more or less pro-German position, whether they were Activists or not, and only a minority, centered in the business community and grouped round the principal bourgeois newspaper,Helsingin Sanomat, publicly followed a pro-Entente line. They accepted the Entente propaganda that their cause was the defense of the rights of small nations and looked to liberal England and France to influence the Russian ally in Finland's favor. The socialists on the other hand had no problems; because Finland was not involved in the fighting they escaped the dilemma of patriotism that wrecked the other European socialist parties in the belligerent countries. SDP could afford to adopt the correct Marxist view that this was an imperialist war in which the workers had no interest, a line which the movement as whole accepted almost unanimously. As the realities of war began to make themselves felt, public feeling began to change in Finland. The Russian government saw Finland as a weak spot in their defenses: the country was theoretically open to German invasion that would closely threaten Petrograd, and obviously in such an event the loyalty of the native population could not be relied on. So the country was put in a state of defense, the garrison was increased to 50,000, and Helsinki became the main operational base of the Baltic fleet. This meant that the Russian presence in Finland was sharply increased, a presence reinforced when the country was put in a state of emergency and normal civil rights were suspended or curtailed. The press was rigidly censored, rights of public meeting severely restricted, parliament was suspended for the duration, and strikes were forbidden. There was intensified gendarme activity and vigorous counterespionage measures, so that under cover of the wartime emergency, Russian control over Finland was enormously increased. The new pressures were bound to cause friction with the Finnish population. Although the discipline of the Russian forces remained good to 1917 and few incidents occurred with the civil population, the presence of occupying troops always causes friction, and in this case it was exacerbated by the racialist feelings of many Finns. The Russians were racial untouchables, and the idea of sexual relations between the servicemen and Finnish women set off incredible hysteria among the Finns. Hultin, who was a nationalist and a civilized liberal, wrote in her diary of seeing a Russian officer and a Finnish woman together on a train, and clearly felt it had been an obscene spectacle:8 you see he was a Russian officer . . . and his companion a Finnish girl. . . . What sort of offspring could come from such a cross-fertilisation. . . . Don't let us speak of love in these cases. How in times like these could even an acquaintanceship develop between a Finnish girl and a Russian soldier? In December 1915 she reflected on "how shaming it is to observe how frivolously many Finnish women behave towards the foreign garrison, without remembering at all the demands of their own and the nation's honour." If this kind of reaction was an isolated example, it could be dismissed as the hysteria of a romantic

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gentlewoman, but the evidence is that the underlying assumptions were generally held. The socialist paper Tyomies, in spite of the demands of proletarian internationalism, published an article in August 1917 deploring the conduct of Finnish women who consorted with Russian soldiers, though of course it was the fault of the capitalist system that they knew no better. The newspaper warned its readers that such conduct threatened the future of the race, with the curse of venereal disease that leads to one child in 20 being born blind and one married woman in 1 5 ending on the operating table. These glimpses into the mind of the Finns of that epoch, both bourgeois and proletarian, make it easy to understand the impact of this foreign occupying force on a community that was in any case unused to daily dealings with foreigners.9 It was not only the women whose virtue was held to be endangered: The other obvious impact of the Russian occupation was the extensive fortification works that were begun in 1914 and continued to 1917, and that created the myth of the "fortification worker." By 1917 the Russian war works had assembled in Finland a mass of laborers of various nationalities, even including Chinese coolies. These labor gangs had the unsettling effect that must be produced in any settled community when large numbers of the lowest type of unskilled laborer are introduced. The myth that grew from the undoubted facts of the situation was to the effect that thousands of decent Finnish working men, often raw youths from remote country districts, were attracted to the war works. There they consorted with all kinds of undesirable foreigners, learned bad habits, and lost their native virtue, turning into thieving, murderous hooligans and thugs. The atrocities and excesses of the civil war are then put to the account of these unhappy degenerates, and the bloodletting of the White Terror can be excused as a necessary sanitary operation, removing this pollution from Finnish society. Hultin believed the myth; she wrote how "as we remember well they brought also a spiritual plague, which then seized on the Finnish working man, and finally led to the Red revolt with all its horrors." Once more she was supported from the socialist side: In August 1917 Tyomies explained current outbursts of hooliganism by reference to "conditions on the fortification works during the war. . . . For many they have been veritable academies of irresponsibility." It is true that when the Russian war works were run down during 1917, these laborers tended to become unemployed, and their idleness and discontent were causes of disturbance. Further, many of them did join SDP and the trade unions in 1917 and brought with them the radical notions and rough and ready habits they had picked up in the labor camps. But detailed investigation cannot show that fortification workers had more than a marginal impact on developments; they were just one more of the surface phenomena that testified how the war had disturbed the foundations of the Finnish social structure. The Russian military presence had another disturbing impact. Part of their contingency planning was that if the Germans did invade Finland, much of north and west Finland would be abandoned and devastated, and the civil population forcibly evacuated. Rumors of these plans quickly spread to the Finnish population, and particularly after they had read about the tragedies of the great retreat from Poland in 1915, they developed a lively fear of

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suffering the same fate. In these ways the Russian wartime occupation of Finland injected new elements of fear, resentment, tension, and unrest into the situation.10 At the same time, the war had a direct influence on the working of the Finnish economy. The closing of the Baltic cut off Finland's two main export markets, Germany and Britain, and although limited trade could be carried on through neutral Scandinavia, the bulk of Finland's exports and imports had to pass over the one wholly open frontier with Russia. Fortunately the Russian war effort created an unlimited market for Finnish industrial products and services like ship-repairing, and all the metallurgical trades expanded rapidly, creating full and expanding employment. Agriculture too found that the demands of the armed forces for food and fodder, and the needs of the growing industrial complexes round Petrograd and in Finland brought cash flowing into Finnish farms. The negative side of this economic boom was the accompanying inflation, made worse by Russian insistence on exchanging the depreciating ruble at a fixed parity with the Finnish mark. The chief sufferers were the Finnish industrial workers and their families: The Finnish trade unions had been weak in normal times, but they might have been able to exploit the labor shortage after 1915 if emergency regulations had not forbidden strikes and hampered organization. The result was that real wages fell, so that by the beginning of 1917 they were a third below the immediate pre-war level. The Russian government tried to alleviate this situation by declaring controlled prices for foodstuffs, but the enforcement machinery was inadequate and a widespread black market developed. However, high prices were soon overshadowed by the increasing shortage of essential food; as the Russian economy collapsed under the strain of war it became unable to supply Finland with the necessary quantities of food, and there was no other source open. The figures for the consumption of basic foods show what happened: In 1915 consumption per head in Finland was 45.9 kg of wheat, 174.6 kg of rye, and 127.3 kg of potatoes; the corresponding figures for 1917 were 8.6 kg of wheat, 61 kg of rye, and 113 kg of potatoes. For the ordinary wage earner not only was food outrageously expensive, but by 1917 it was not available in adequate quantity, except on the black market. Endless queuing for uncertain supplies of basic food became an established feature of working-class life by the winter of 1916-17. The workers naturally believed, and were encouraged in the belief by the socialist press, that the bourgeoisie could buy all it wanted on the black market and that the farmers were making outrageous profits out of the workers' misery. As long as the war continued the prospect was that the situation would get worse, and the fear of actual mass starvation was ever-present during the events of 1917-18 and must be reckoned one of the most powerful causes of social and political instability.11 The growing economic distress of the wage earners was the basis for a marked revival in the fortunes of the workers'movement. Under the emergency regulations it was impossible to discusss international affairs or to criticize Russia or the activity of Russian agencies in Finland, so that political agitation had to be confined to purely domestic topics. It was possible to discuss topics like housing, food shortage,

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and conditions of employment, and this was done with the blame being fixed on the only source it was permitted to mention, the greed and selfishness of the Finnish bourgeoisie and the Finnish farmers. SDP pursued a vigorous campaign by press and public meeting to assert that there could be enough food for all but for the activities of rich farmers, speculators, and black market dealers. The workers responded by coming back into the movement, individual party membership reversed the decline of the pre-war years, and the unions affiliated to SAJ rose in numbers from 30,150 to 41,804 during the course of 1916. The revival was most dramatically demonstrated at the general election of 1916: Although the tsarist government would not allow parliament to meet, they did allow elections to take place as required by law. SDP won 47.3 percent of the votes cast and a clear majority of 103 seats in the house of 200. The result was distorted by the electoral system that slightly favors big parties, and by the very low poll of 55.5 percent in which evidence suggests that it was the nonsocialist voters who had abstained. Even so, it was a remarkable success and caused a new surge of confidence in the movement. Tyomies claimed in March 1917, on the eve of the revolution, that the future obviously belonged to the socialists, provided that "the social democrats will but keep, as their only and unconditional objective in all their struggles, the battle for the exploited and oppressed part of the nation." The euphoria was natural, but the temperamentally pessimistic Valpas showed a better grasp of realities when he wrote: 12 This victory is certainly a pyrrhic victory for the party. . . . If in the near future the situation so develops that the party become responsible for taking charge of our community, then there is no way to redeem the election promises. ... Now when we have blamed our bourgeoisie as guilty of the shortages and when, as the people see it, we have pledged parliamentary action to remove the shortages, what are the means by which they can be relieved?. . . . The exploitation of human distresses in the election was a mistaken tactic which will not fail to exact retribution. In the light of what actually happened, this was an extraordinarily shrewd analysis and the outcome was to be every bit as disastrous as Valpas' prophecy. The war created much more difficult problems for the bourgeois politicians than it did for the socialists, because they could not see how to avoid disaster whatever the outcome. The minority who looked to an Entente victory needed massive faith to believe that it would do Finland any good. Contrary to the tendency of all the belligerent imperialist powers to promise alleviations to their subject peoples, the tsarist government stated publicly in November 1914 that the full program of Russification in Finland was the settled policy of the government. If Russia ended the war victorious, Finland clearly had nothing to hope for, and Hultin was probably right when she wrote in January 1915, "public opinion is generally clear that the salvation of Finland depends on Russia being beaten or at least weakened and that Germany should dictate terms of peace favourable to Finland." Yet the prospect of being involved in a Russian defeat was equally unattractive; there might be mutiny,

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revolution, and chaos in which Finland too could be dragged down. But Germany was clearly the best bet, if only because it was an obvious tactic for the Central Powers to seek to stir up trouble for Russia in Finland. As early as 6 August 1914 the German Chancellor asked the embassy in Stockholm for a report on the prospects for setting Finland up as a buffer state, and in his memorandum to the General Staff on 9 September, he recommended detaching the subject peoples on Russia's borders and taking them under German protection. But there was an alternative school of thought in official Germany, which held that the conflict with Russia had been a mistake and should be liquidated by a speedy compromise peace. This view was argued in the memorandum that Falkenhayn presented on 18 November, and had the consistent support of the ambassador in Stockholm, von Lucius, who was in the key position when it came to dealings with Finland. The Germans always kept their options on these alternative policies open, and switched from one to the other as the situation developed.13 But it followed that when Finnish nationalist emissaries made approaches to German officials, they were not rebuffed. Gummerus called on the German Foreign Office as he returned home on the outbreak of war, and was encouraged to go to Helsinki and report back on the situation. Similarly, when another exile, Jonas Castren, called at the Foreign Office on 16 September and met Zimmermann, who consistently favored supporting the Finns, Zimmermann made suitable encouraging noises, and showed that what the Germans were interested in was the possibility of developing an internal resistance movement in Finland; on this the Finns initially had nothing to offer. The nearest thing to an organization was the Military Committee, a group of senior officers of the former Finnish army, who met regularly during the war and kept the situation under review. They were important to the civilian politicians as the only source of native military expertise, and the more active members, H. Akerman, M. Gripenberg, H. Ignatius, and later in the war N. Mexmontan and B. Jalander, were to play important roles in events. But the professional competence of the Military Committee has been questioned, the members had no experience of active service under modern conditions, and Ignatius, a founder member, conceded there was little they could do except gather military intelligence and pass it on to the Germans: "We could not achieve anything of greater significance under the circumstances we then lived under. The Committee's moments of glory were to come in 1917 itself." The man who did most to convert German interest in Finland into positive action was the highly ambiguous F. Wetterhoff. Wetterhoff was a Finnish lawyer and civil servant who had found it necessary to leave Finland in a hurry in 1912 because of alleged misuse of public funds and other scandals. He had set up business in Germany and taken German nationality, and made contacts in German high society, where he represented himself as a political exile. When the war began, Wetterhoff used his contacts to approach the Foreign Office and the General Staff with the idea of organizing a national rising in Finland to coincide with a German invasion, pretending that he spoke in the name of the nationalist movement and had extensive contacts back home.14 Wetterhoff had a gambler's luck, for unknown to him, on 27 October 1914 there

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was a meeting of nationalist students in Helsinki, where the leading figures were V. Kokko, Y. Ruuth, P. Norrmen, and K. Donner, and they resolved that steps be taken to develop a capacity for armed resistance, and that foreign assistance be sought for this. They naturally thought of Germany as providing it but were equally ready to seek help from Sweden. With some difficulty they persuaded senior activist politicians to take them seriously and on 22 December, at a meeting between th students and the politicians, who included H. Renvall, W. Zilliacus, R. Erich, and A. von Bonsdorff, it was agreed to put up money and a student delegation travelled to Stockholm. With the help of Gummerus, they began negotiations with the German embassy and then with Wetterhoff, who did most of the work, and on 26 Jan uary 1915 the Prussian Ministry of War agreed to accept 200 Finns, who must be of "good family and from educated circles," for a four-week military training course. On 1 February, Wetterhoff told Gummerus that he could start forwarding recruits. The Activists in Finland organized to meet their new obligations; the senior politicians formed themselves into the Central Committee, and assumed formal leadership of the movement. They managed to recruit the major figure of E. Hjelt, a former member of the Senate and Pro-Chancellor of Helsinki University, whose stand ing greatly helped their credibility. The actual work of recruiting volunteers and engaging in collecting intelligence that the Germans had asked for was organized by a mixed group of politicians and students, the Activist Committee. The first recruits were an elite body, nearly all students, and half of them from Swedish-speaking upper-class families; they were sent to camp at Lockstedt, near Hamburg, put through an officer cadet course designed for university graduates, and became the cadre of the future Finnish Ja'ger Battalion.15 At this point the enterprise nearly aborted, for right through the summer of 1915, both Falkenhayn and the Kaiser had hopes of concluding a separate peace with Russia, and would authorize nothing that might make this more difficult. The Finns were now asking for two things, an expansion of the training scheme to take an unlimited number of recruits, and some formal political undertaking from Germany to promote the Finnish cause in any peace negotiation, and they were baffled by the evasiveness of the German authorities. To add to their political credibility the Activists decided to seek socialist support, hoping that this would impress the German Social Democrats. When they approached the socialist leaders, they found them divided, since although SDP had always supported the idea of independence, the movement was still committed to its policy of noncooperation with the class enemy. Some leading socialists, notably 0. Tokoi and Y. Makelin, wanted to support the Activists, but the majority adopted the policy, suggested by Valpas, of benevolent neutrality. This meant that individual party members might join the activist movement if they wished, but on their own responsibility and without committing the party. The party Executive went so far as to send one of their number, K. Wiik, to Germany, where he visited the camp at Lockstedt and talked to German socialists, assuring them that SDP was unreservedly in favor of independence and would always be ready to support it. This was as far as the socialists would go, but the Activists were not discouraged; a correspondent wrote to Gummerus in Sep-

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tember 1915, "We can certainly count on them. . . . they are biding their time." When it became clear that Russia would not make a separate peace, the Germans began to respond to the intensive lobbying of the Finns. Zimmermann was authorized to make a verbal statement to the Finnish representatives that "Germany has concrete interest in Finland and its aspirations. German action in the area of Finland, through which the country's interests could be promoted, lies within the bounds of possibility."This was not much, but it was better than nothing. However, the real breakthrough was the reward of Wetterhoff's tireless activity. On 24 August he secured an interview with Falkenhayn, who had now decided that the Finnish cause was worth supporting, and was told that Germany would now extend the training program. On 28 August the Kaiser signed an order creating the 27 Ja'ger Battalion in the Prussian army, to consist of 2,000 Finnish volunteers. They would serve under German military law and take an oath of allegiance to the Kaiser, which threw into prominence the harsh fact that Germany had made no binding commitment in return. This caused some concern both at home in Finland and among the volunteers, one of whom, O. Lagus, noted as he took the oath on 5 September, "it was especially striking that we were given no kind of assurances, although we had to make promises." But the Finns were in no position to bargain and had to take what was offered.16 From September 1915 to March 1916 the Activist Committee managed to forward nearly 200 recruits a month through Sweden, but already in December and January there were damaging arrests, mainly through the efforts of Finnish informers, and by March the Russians were so clearly on top of the organization that the flow virtually ceased. The best recruiting areas were southern Pohjanmaa, which sent 325 men, and Karelia, which sent 234, and it can be noted that these two centers of activist enthusiasm were areas where small family farms predominated and the socialists were relatively weak. The 27 Ja'ger Battalion was a full infantry battalion with machine-gun and pioneer companies, and in March 1916 a field artillery battery was added. It was commanded by Major M. Bayer, with a staff of German officers and NCOs, and the language of command was German. The original 235 recruits of September 1915 grew to 1,092 by February and 1,502 by March 1916, when the battalion was considered fully trained and ready for service. The battalion had had its share of difficulties, and the motivation of some recruits was dubious; Lagus mentioned men who had thought they were signing up for civilian work, "and have not the slightest notion what the enterprise is really about. . . . They are naturally hugely dissatisfied." He also wrote of men who were not physically fit or otherwise of poor quality, that "there have arrived quite poorly educated people, mostly farmers and even ordinary unskilled laborers. The quality is often extraordinarily bad." There was tension between the original volunteers and the main body, since the former naturally got the first promotions, and they were for the most part Swedish speakers. But in spite of these problems, the very existence of the battalion quite transformed the prospects and standing of the Finnish independence movement. Although the Germans had made no formal commitment, the battalion was a

22

commitment in itself; it would now be very difficult for the German government to deny that it had a moral obligation to promote the Finnish cause.17 The enhanced status of the activist movement was reflected in reorganizations that now took place. It became firmly linked with the bourgeois political parties, whose leaders arranged the considerable funds needed to pay for recruiting and supporting the battalion and the Finnish lobby abroad. The Central Committee was enlarged to include representatives of all the parties, though it still mainly stood in the background as the guarantor of the credentials of the movement, as Hjelt described it, "really just a moral support for the whole." The real work continued to be done by the Activist Committee, but this too now had a representative from every party except the socialists, plus a representative of the Military Committee an two student delegates. The Finnish representation abroad was put on a more formal basis; it had rested on the individual efforts in Stockholm of Gummerus, J. Castren, and A. Fabritius, and now there was to be an officially accredited Foreign Delegation resident in Stockholm and authorized to deal with foreign powers in the name of the people of Finland. The three original representatives were joined by the politicians von Bonsdorff, Erich, and S. Sario, and two students, K. Donner and B. Appelberg. Although the activist movement was now formally united with the political parties, for even SDP could be regarded as giving tacit support, there were inter nal differences. Quite a strong minority would have preferred the intervention of Sweden rather than Germany, but their persistent lobbying of Swedish opinion only demonstrated the unreality of their aspirations. A more contentious issue was the status of Wetterhoff; the politicians, particularly Bonsdorff, regarded him as a moral outcast and wanted no dealings with him, while realists like Gummerus and Donner knew his help was essential. Wetterhoff himself was imperturbable, and simply continued to act as though he were the official delegate of the independence 1R movement. A critical situation developed over the decision to send the Ja'ger Battalion to the front. This was ardently desired by Bayer and the German staff and endorsed by many of the Finns, but others were opposed; Lagus noted "a whole lot of them say they do not intend to go out and get killed for Germany." The Delegation had agreed to the battalion going into action, on the understanding that this was what the men wanted, but when the Central and Activist Committees were presented with the accomplished fact, they were bitterly resentful. They held that the battalion could only be used for specifically Finnish purposes, and dreaded that it might be crippled by casualties, so that they would lose their only substantial asset. Wetterhoff was blamed, as he had indeed agreed in the name of the movement; but he thought the battalion was to take part in an offensive up the Baltic coast that would establish it on the south of the Gulf of Finland, from which position operations could be developed into Finland itself. The German command had no such plan for 1916, but Wetterhoff did not know this. The sector to which it was sent was a quiet one, and the battalion sustained few casualties, athough it was disturbing that three men at once crossed the lines and provided the Russians with full de-

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tails about the enterprise. As time passed, and the men of the battalion realized there was not going to be any advance in the direction of home, discontent mounted. Lagus was asking his diary in July 1916, "Why are you really here, has your being here any purpose and will any of your expectations be fulfilled?" Even the Finnish officers began to have doubts about German intentions and a meeting in July resolved:19 . . . we must have clear information from the Ministry of War what is to happen if there is no offensive and Sweden does not come in, and what guarantee we have that Germany, in a future peace negotiation, will appear with claims for Finland's independence. In September the battalion was moved to the coast, but the dissatisfaction among the men continued and led to talk "of a strike and other scandals," until Bayer issued an ultimatum to the Finns: They must either serve like other soldiers or face the consequences. There was a purge of unreliable elements, some of whom were sent to hard labor in a punishment camp at Bahrenfeld, and order was restored. But even enthusiasts like Lagus felt the strain: "The worst is that one must pretend to be optimistic for the sake of the men, and try to persuade them of things which one cannot believe in oneself." Some of the politicians too realized that Germany was not going to do much for Finland. When Wetterhoff went to the Foreign Office on 8 September, von Jagow admitted that Germany needed a separate peace with Russia and could not allow support for Finland to stand in the way. Wetterhoff was so impressed that he concluded that the movement ought to change sides and look for support from the Entente powers and the United States. His enemies got wind of this and used it to eliminate him; he was arrested by the German authorities in November 1916. Not all Germans were prepared to write off their Finnish venture; Zimmermann remained committed to it and decided that something must be done to boost Finnish morale. On 24 October, Zimmermann received a Finnish deputation and assured them there was no immediate prospect of peace with Russia, that German military action in Finland was still a possibility, and that whatever happened, in any peace negotiation Germany would promote the Finnish cause and, if independence could not be secured, would press for guarantees of full autonomy. The Activists had to accept this, and concentrated on the more immediate danger that their only asset, the battalion, might be torn apart by internal dissent, or disbanded in disgust by the German authorities. Negotiations were begun for a new role for the batallion, and on 18 December an agreement was concluded between the Finns and the Prussian War Ministry. The battalion would be taken out of line, and only used in future operations if these were clearly in the interests of Finland. A new and broader training program would be implemented, geared to producing officer and NCO cadres for a future Finnish army. The Finns for their part would try to revive recruiting to bring the battalion up to strength, and the men were to enjoy the same pension and gratuity rights as German soldiers. This agreement went a long way to meeting the political requirements of the Finns and to easing the material grievances of the Ja'gers. There were some further upsets before the agreement

24

could be implemented, partly because the battalion had enemies in the German military establishment, who saw its members as traitors and renegades, and resented the expense and trouble of maintaining a unit of doubtful reliability that could not even be used for operations. Bayer was blamed for being too soft with the Finns, and his enemies succeeded in getting him transferred—he left the battalion on 5 J anuary 1917, to the regret of most of the J a'gers. Almost immediately after this the new agreement was broken: A sudden Russian attack on the Riga front led to the battalion being sent back into action, though fortunately the casualties were moderate. On 25 March the battalion was finally and permanently taken out of line and went into camp at Libau.20 Through the winter of 1916-17, the Delegation in Stockholm continued to press Zimmermann for some more concrete guarantee of Germany's support for Finnish independence, and submitted a fresh memorandum on the subject in January but they received only polite evasions in reply. The lack of German commitment encouraged them to think in terms of using the battalion independently to promote the Finnish cause, and plans were made to put it ashore in Pohjanmaa. The landing would have a deep moral effect and it might be possible to gather in substantial numbers of recruits, and if the Russians pressed it too hard, the men could be withdrawn across the frontier into Sweden. On 9 March the men were informed that the Delegation would shortly be putting its proposal for a special mission for the battalion before the German authorities; at this point, all plans for the future were overtaken by the outbreak of revolution in Russia.

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Chapter 2

The Revolution Comes to Finland The street disorders in Petrograd began to worsen on 8 March 1917, but the authorities in Finland had no evidence of the seriousness of the situation until 12 March, when the insurgents seized the Finland station and stopped all rail traffic to Finland. The Governor General ordered measures to seal off Finland from the unrest, and on the following day orders came from the General Staff to send troops to Petrograd to restore order. The commander of the Baltic Fleet, Rear-admiral A. I. Nepenin proclaimed a state of siege in Sveaborg and alerted his officers on what was happening in the capital. On 14 March Nepenin tacitly accepted the success of the revolution, and acknowledged the authority of the provisional committee of the Duma, while his army colleague in Viipuri made no serious effort to send troops to Petrograd. The tsarist command in Finland was preparing to switch its allegiance, but was confident that it could prevent the situation from getting out of hand. Nepenin reported that the country was completely calm, "no disorder has occurred."1 The Russian Provisional Government had been formed on 15 March, and had nominated three commissars for Finnish affairs, F. I. Rodicev, D. D. Protopopov, and J. M. Ramot. They made contact with leaders of the Finnish community in Petrograd and asked for advice on what measures they should take; they were told that the first step must be to remove the Governor General. Consequently an order was sent to Nepenin to arrest the Governor General and his deputy; he hesitated to comply but when it was repeated early on 16 March, he invited the two men to his flagship and put them under arrest.2 That was the point at which revolution broke out in Helsinki. The fleet mutinied, the ships ran up red flags, parties went ashore without permission, demands were made for the replacement of Nepenin, and excited sailors began to murder their officers and throw the bodies into the harbor. Nepenin, in his last official report said that the fleet had ceased to exist as a fighting unit, and an officer noted in his diary, "In general, complete anarchy prevails." The news of the mutiny alarmed the Provisional Government, which sent Rodicev and M. I. Skobelev to Helsinki to restore order. They arrived on 17 March and appointed Admiral A. S. Maximov to replace

26

Nepenin, and in a series of meetings talked the sailors into a calmer mood. The killings ceased after 38 naval officers and a number of army officers had perished, Nepenin being one of the last; he was shot in the back as he went ashore to meet Skobelev.3 The system of dual power between the Provisional Government and the Soviets spread to Finland at once, as the ships and army units elected committees and sent delegates to the Soviets that emerged in Helsinki, Viipuri, Turku, and other garrison centers. The Helsinki Soviet was organized provisionally on 1 7 March, and its Exec utive took charge of events: It organized the military patrols that kept order, rounded up unreliable officers, police and intelligence agents, and seized the liquor stores to prevent looting. On 21 March, Rodicev addressed the Soviet with a patriotic speech, and the Executive issued a statement of support for the war and a call for unity and discipline. The sailors, who were always the most radical element, were dissatisfied with the composition of the first Soviet, and a general meeting on 6 April met their demands by ordering new elections. At the same time the meeting declared that Helsinki Soviet was the supreme Russian authority in Finland, and that all subordinate committees must conform to its general policy line. On 8 April the Helsinki Soviet voted to recognize the Provisional Government, though only as long as it represented the interests of the people, but also acknowledged the leading role of the Petrograd Soviet. They agreed to continue support for the war, but demanded a public repudiation of imperialist war aims. Finally they instructed the Executive to call an area congress for Finland that should set up a coordinating body for all Russian organizations in the country.4 This meant, in effect, that all power over the Russians in Finland belonged to the Soviets and the regimental and ships' committees, and the Provisional Government could operate in the country only with their permission. General Oranovski, who commanded the 42nd Army Corps at Viipuri told the General Staff that "the mood of the troops in Finland is such that the only authority and power they recognize is the workers' and soldiers' Soviet."5 The Finns had no part in the initial stages of the revolution; they were aware, however, that something dramatic was happening and on 15 March a delegation of political leaders set out for Petrograd to seek information. From 16 March, processions took place in the streets, the police vanished from the scene, banks and businesses began to close, and in Viipuri and Turku armed soldiers opened the prisons. Then on 1 7 March, Nepenin asked representatives of the political parties to come t his flagship, on the orders of the Provisional Government. He asked for their help in preserving order and told them that Rodicev was coming to Helsinki to open discussions on the political future. The Finnish leaders, who were rather alarmed by the manifestations of revolutionary exuberance, were very willing to comply and Helsinki SDP at once issued a statement calling for restraint, declaring that the first duty of the organized workers was to preserve public order and beware of provocations.6 The immediate concern of the Provisional Government in Finland was to prevent disorder and disaffection from creating openings for German intervention. The political delegation that had gone to Petrograd met Protopopov with other officials on

27

16 and 17 March and were told that the Provisional Government was ready to issue a manifesto restoring full constitutional rights to Finland; the officials invited the Finns to draft it themselves. Rodicev gave the same message when he met the party leaders in Helsinki. But the socialists and the bourgeois could not agree on the terms of a manifesto: All wanted a restoration of the constitutional rights, the summoning of parliament, and the installation of a new Finnish government. The socialists also wanted promises of a new, more democratic constitution and a confirmation of the reform laws blocked by the tsarist regime; the bourgeoisie held that these were internal matters inappropriate in a manifesto from the Provisional Governmen but they wanted an amnesty, particularly the Activists among them, who sought the release of their imprisoned members. Rodicev despaired of getting agreement and told the Finns to send a delegation to Petrograd to negotiate directly with the Provisional Government. This was done; after talks with Protopopov, M. Stachovic, the new Governor General, and his deputy, Baron S. Korff, the socialists were persuaded that they could secure the internal reforms they wanted through their parliamentary majority, and agreed to a manifesto on the lines suggested by the bourgeois spokesmen. The text was referred to the new foreign minister, Miljukov, who pronounced it "moderate and well-drafted both for content and form," and the March manifesto was formally issued by the Provisional Government on the evening of 20 March.7 It referred to the Provisional Government as "possessor of the full sovereign power," and on the strength of this canceled all legislation that violated the Finnish constitution, except for some wartime emergency regulations. The Provisional Government would call parliament into session, and invite it to draw up a new Finnish constitution, which should include an enlargement of the powers of parliament and guarantees of an independent judiciary and of basic civil rights. The manifesto concluded:8 By this act we solemnly affirm to the Finnish people, on the basis of its constitution, the steadfast preservation of their internal independence and their rights to their national culture and languages. We wish to express our profound conviction that Russia and Finland will henceforth be bound together by their respect for law, for the sake of mutual friendship and the prosperity of both free peoples. The manifesto of 20 March contained a contradiction that was the source of much of the political difficulty of the following six months. On the one hand it assumed that the Provisional Government now held the sovereign prerogatives that had belonged to the Tsar as Grand Duke; on the other, it promised the Finns "internal independence." The Finnish negotiators, who had been invited to write their own manifesto should have guarded against acknowledging that the Provisional Government retained such extensive powers over Finland. But though one or two perceptive observers noted this at the time, the negotiators, in the prevailing mood of shock and euphoria, did not. One delegate wrote afterwards that "as far as I can remember there was not the slightest misgiving raised among the Finnish negotiators

28

over this point." 9 Nobody foresaw the possibility of conflict; an atmosphere of total harmony and goodwill prevailed. The next problem was the formation of a Finnish government, which the Russians left entirely to the Finnish politicians. The Russians would have accepted a socialist government, but the Finnish bourgeois leaders wanted a coalition, in which SDP must assume the leading role as the majority party in parliament. 10 This was where the trouble began, for all socialists felt, with varying degrees of intensity, the theoretical objections against joining coalitions with the class enemy. When the problem was debated in SDP Council on 20 March, three conflicting views emerged. Y. Makelin argued that coalitions were forbidden and that SDP must form a socialist government. M. Turkia and O. W. Kuusinen asserted that "forming a Red government would meet insuperable difficulties" and that they must have a coalition to enlist the experience and talents of the bourgeois leaders. Valpas declared that not only were coalitions forbidden, but that a socialist party could not accept responsibility for governing a capitalist society. Since Finland was capitalist, the bourgeoisie must provide the government themselves. This was theoretically elegant, but unreal. M. Paasivuori commented that this position "is certainly an easy one, but also quite impossible to realise. The bourgeoisie are not going to form a government when they know that we hold the power to overturn it."11 Ideological purity struggled with political realism until the Council voted by 10 votes to nine to begin negotiations for a coalition. Even then they tried to mask what they were doing by proposing to negotiate with the bourgeois leaders as individuals, not as representatives of their parties. 12 When the Council was told on 23 March that the bourgeois would not proceed on that basis, it was thrown into utter confusion. At one point the delegates agreed to accept the bourgeois conditions, then reversed this decision and finally ran away. The Council adjourned and resolved that the party Executive should have full powers to deal with the government question as it saw fit. 13 The solution came on 24 March when J. K. Paasikivi approached the SDP Executive on behalf of the bourgeois parties. They had heard that the Russians were tired of waiting and were prepared to install a governmentof their own nominees. Paasikivi brought a list of names of men willing to serve in a coalition government with a socialist majority and committed to a broad program of reforms. When he further stated that these names were w i l l i n g to be approached as individuals, and not as party representatives, the Executive grasped the face-saving offer. Tokoi was empowered to proceed to form a government because "the position is now different from when the Council made its negative decision." On the evening of 24 March Tokoi's government list was formally approved by the Executive, with Kuusinen and Manner dissenting. 14 The Tokoi government was formally the Economic Department of the Finnish Senate—the other Department was the Finnish judiciary—and was appointed by the Provisional Government as the holder of the sovereign prerogatives. It had 12 members, and except on the rare occasions when the Governor General presided, Tokoi as chairman had a casting vote. This meant that with the five other socialists, V. Tanner, V. Voionmaa, W. Wuolijoki, M. Paasivuori and J . Ailio there would 29

ordinarily be a socialist majority. Further the bourgeois ministers were divided between four different parties. A. Tulenheimo and A, Serlachius belonged to the Suomalainen puolue—SP, the Old Finn party. E. Seta'la and R. Holsti belonged to the Nuorsuomalainen puolue—NSP, the Young Finn party. L. Ehrnrooth was from the Svenska folkpartiet—SDP, the Swedish peoples' party, and K. Kallio from the Maalaisliitto—the Agrarian party. Yet this coalition government was not really what it seemed, a socialist majority government, because it did not have the wholehearted support of the socialist movement. At best it was grudgingly tolerated in the manner expressed by Sirola, "I hope the majority of the party accepts the principle that a socialist government in a bourgeois society is an impossibility. . . . this is only a question of a chance situation, a critical transitional phase." The Tampere Kansanlehti noted that "one would have expected to meet in the list more of the leading names in the party than have appeared. In the whole list there are only two or three, whose names have general support within the party." This was because the leading men in the party knew that the coalition was a theoretical monstrosity, and tried to preserve their ideological purity by dissociating from it. Manner and Kuusinen published a formal dissent that claimed that the Tokoi government contradicted the expressed view of the party Council, and though it might do some good, the next party Congress would have to judge whether it had justified itself. The most ominous sign was a withering article by Valpas in Tyomies on 26 March. He declared that the bourgeois ministers, even those of radical inclination, were "all clear supporters of the exploiters' parties," while of the so-called socialists, Voionmaa was "a seventh bourgeois," three others were so far to the right that they did not deserve the name, and Paasivuori, who "was formerly one of the real socialists," was so no longer. Thus out of twelve ministers, "five may be socialists in name"; this was in no sense a socialist government, deserving the support of the party.15 Even the party Executive was defensive in its announcement of the government and called it a justified experiment only. The party would have to see how it worked out. With the advantage of hindsight, it is apparent that SDP had put itself into a disastrous position. Because it had a technical majority in the government and an actual majority in parliament, it was bound to be held responsible for the course of events. But since the socialist ministers did not have the undivided support of the movement, and were aware that they had been disowned by powerful elements within it, they could not act effectively as protagonists of the party in the government, and the party did not in fact control the executive. Further, the party was in a public position where it was simultaneously government and opposition, and this created a serious credibility gap in the eyes of the public, while the moral ambiguity of its position undermined the party's morale and sense of purpose. Finally, the caliber of the party's leaders had been tried and found wanting. Though they claimed to be revolutionary socialists, and controlled the most powerful political organization in the country, they had openly evaded the responsibility of exercising political power. Makelin had pointed out that if they refused to form a socialist government and "began drafting reform programmes with the bourgeoisie, then we are not really a revolutionary party any more."16 In truth, SDP had never been a revolu-

30

tionary party, except in the rhetoric of its leaders and newspapers. When it faced a revolutionary challenge, it proved not only unwilling to promote revolution but manifestly unready to exercise power at all. When circumstances thrust power upon it, the party was unable to make effective use of it. The revolutionary elements then in Finland had been imported by the Russians: It was the soldiers who arrested or forced into retirement the unpopular officials and agents of the old regime, or, as in Helsinki, Viipuri, and Turku, opened the prisons. Initially Russian patrols maintained order, but there was a clear need to set up new civil authorities and everywhere the Russians looked to the Finnish workers to provide them. On 19 March the Helsinki Soviet told SDP that they would hand over responsibility for civil policing to the workers, and asked for help in sorting out the prisoners to be released and in securing liquor stores. The SDP Council agreed "that the workers over the whole country should take the maintenance of order into their own hands"17 The workers were to set up militias and assume the functions of the poljce. The details of the process of setting up militias varied from place to place: Sometimes joint committees of bourgeois and workers controlled them, and approved members of the former police were retained. Sometimes the workers insisted on total control and the complete disbanding of the police. But in all cases the bourgeois municipalities were required to meet the bill for wages and expenses.18 The militia system was rapidly established throughout urban and industrial Finland and was bitterly resented by the bourgeoisie, who had to pay for the upkeep of police forces that proved to be blatantly partisan. The bourgeoisie had believed they were agreeing to a temporary expedient, but quickly discovered that the workers would never agree to restore a "normal" system of policing and that their refusal would, in the last resort, be backed by the soldiers. In this dangerous situation, the formal agencies of government, whether at national or local level, had to depend on a police force that they did not control. It was inevitable that bourgeois Finland would seek to put an end to this anomaly, and that when they did so, there would be embittered class conflict. The establishment of the workers' militias in place of the police was the principal agency through which the Russians thrust power into the hands of the working class, or emboldened them to go out and seize it for themselves, confident that the soldiers would back them up. SDP Council had urged the workers, on 20 March, to use their ordinary party and trade union branch organizations in exercising this power; this is what was done in most places. But in a few larger centers, new institutions were developed. The best known was in Helsinki, where at a mass meeting of workers on 18 March, Turkia told them of the need to exploit their new opportunities "with deliberation and wisdom," and reminded them of the need "to keep an eye on the bourgeoisie." Valpas then proposed that they set up a "Representative of Helsinki Workers' Organizations," on the basis of one delegate for every 200 members of the affiliated organizations. This body should "discuss matters concerning the workers, make decisions on them and direct the execution of its decisions." The meeting agreed unanimously and on 21 March the Helsinki Workers' Council began work. An executive committee of 15 was elected; K. Hamalainen became chairman,

31

with J. Tuominen as his deputy.19 The Workers' Council met weekly and quickly became the chief instrument of workers' power in the capital, taking over, for instance, control of the militia negotiations. It was never formally integrated into the structure of SDP, and its very existence weakened the authority of the traditional party leadership. In a short time, the Workers' Council became the institutional voice of the radical opposition to the traditional caution and parliamentarism of the official party line, and the leaders of the party found themselves being bypassed by the actions and declarations of the Workers' Council. The Helsinki Workers'Council, together with analogous bodies in Oulu and Viipuri, was the nearest that the Finns got to setting up Soviets on the Russian pattern. These developments had thrust the socialists into a close relationship with the Russians, for which they were not well prepared. Delegates at the party Council had noted that not all workers were well disposed towards the Russians, while K. Rovio, who had been one of their delegates to the Helsinki Soviet, reported some difficulties there: "There are still some very unenlightened Russian comrades."20 But the principle of proletarian solidarity was held to override such problems and when A. Taimi appeared before them, carrying the greetings of the Bolsheviks, the Council readily agreed to give 10,000 rubles to help the Russian comrades set up their organizations. On 23 March a delegation of Russian soldiers, sailors, and civilians came to the Council with their formal greetings. A sailor told the Finns that "up to now our strivings for freedom have been prevented by bayonets. Now those same bayonets are turned against the oppressors," to which Turkia replied that "your victory is our victory too."21 From the start the idea grew that there was a special relationship between the Russians and the Finnish workers, and that they should help one another in their various endeavors. The development was both spontaneous and natural in the circumstances: The Finns were delighted at the novel and exhilerating situation in which "the bayonets are turned against the oppressor." At this stage, only a few socialists worried about the dangers of becoming too closely associated with what was, in the end, a foreign army of occupation. Both sides tried to profit from the assumed comradeship of the Finnish and Russian workers. Kerenski came to Helsinki at the end of March to try and raise support for the war among the garrison, and took the opportunity, on the strength of his socialist credentials, to work on the Finnish comrades as well. He met the party Executive, where Kuusinen told him they were grateful for the manifesto but "that is outdated, we want more." Kerenski invited the Executive to submit a memorandum of their views that he would gladly put before the Provisional Government. Then, when Kerenski addressed a mass meeting of workers at the Workers' Hall, he exchanged embraces with Tokoi in front of the crowd, and urged them to support the war: Now that tsarism was destroyed, German imperialism was the common enemy of all free peoples. The Finns could trust the Provisional Government and could be assured that "it will do everything that you want," according to the Finnish press report, or that "it will do everything that is necessary for the Finnish people," according to Izvestija, an interesting difference of interpretation. The Finns certainly believed that Kerenski had

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committed the Provisional Government to meeting all their requirements, and conveniently forgot that he was asking for support for the war in return.22 By late March, the bourgeois press was complaining that it was time to end the revolutionary phase; He/singin Sanomat complained of the endless demands of mass meetings, resulting in quite innocent public officials being hounded out of office, and, on 8 April, attacked the view circulating in socialist circles that "the revolution is continuing." The paper thought this harmful and divisive at a time when the nation ought to close ranks to defend its newly regained freedoms. This was not an acceptable idea in the socialist camp: Tyomies had warned the workers on 18 March that cooperation with the bourgeoisie was tactical and temporary, that they must look behind the rhetoric of national unity for "the truth behind the words. Above all remember that what has happened in Russia is class war. And class war will happen in Finland as well." A few days later, it reminded readers, "Do not surrender your healthy distrust. Keep the class lines clear."23 There was no danger of this happening, as was made apparent when the first phase of the revolution was formally closed by nationwide festivals to honor the revolutionary dead. There was a public holiday, mass processions, and a feast of multilingual oratory: huge crowds were said to have turned out, 100,000 in Helsinki, 20,000 in a modest provincial town like Pori. Everywhere the bourgeoisie were strictly segregated from the workers, and at Pori the Municipality and local dignitaries were relegated to the end of the procession. Most of the oratory was harmless platitude, but the class war was not only symbolized by the processions, but sometimes expressed in the speeches.24 There was a radical current flowing through the workers' movement, and it was already beyond the control of the party leadership. In Helsinki the radicals had established permanent mass meetings on Senate Square, which were often joined by Russians, especially the sailors, and where revolutionary direct action was preached in opposition to the party line. Tyomies wrote contemptuously about these disorderly and unofficial manifestations on 5 April, but at a mass meeeting called at the Workers' Hall the following day, when Hurmevaara read out the official line on the food crisis, which was to tackle it by legislation in parliament, he was fiercely opposed. Speakers from the floor were unwilling to wait for legislation; they wanted direct action by the workers. The party leaders "have only pacified and calmed down. If they do not act, if they do not seize reforms now, then the favourable time will slip away." The meeting rejected the official resolutions and called on the Workers' Council to use the militia to search out and requisition food from the hidden stocks of the bourgeoisie. They also called for "the organised workers to keep the maintenance of order in its present form, subject to their supervision, by strength and force." The party leadership was saved from a humiliating rebuff only because at four other mass meetings in the city, the official resolutions were carried.25 It was apparent that the party was already involved in a struggle with its own left wing for the minds of the Helsinki workers. Parliament had met and elected its Speaker on 5 April, and the way was now clear for the party to work through the legal, constitutional machinery. In these

33

circumstances, the government, alarmed at the evidence of continuing disorder, issued a statement designed to bring the phase of irregular happenings to an end. It noted that the arbitrary actions of self-appointed authorities were continuing and that "such a situation, if it is allowed to continue, is a danger to the Finnish people." Finland now had a popular government and a free parliament that expressed the popular will, and there was no further excuse for resort to illegal actions. It warned how "reaction always treads on the heels of excesses and anarchy." Many changes were needed in society, but "we have before us a clear and legitimate way: through Finland's parliament."26 It remained to be seen whether constitutional channels could indeed contain the forces let loose in Finland by the Russian revolution.

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Chapter 3

Parliament, the Parties, and the Issue of Autonomy Finland in 1917 had the appearance of a normal European parliamentary state, with a government based on majority support in parliament, and answerable to it. In fact, the Finnish government of 1917 was not a sovereign executive, was not responsible to parliament, and did not have the confidence of the majority party. The government was an executive committee of departmental heads, appointed by and answerable to the sovereign, now the Provisional Government. Hence the Governor General, as representative of the sovereign, had the right to preside over its meetings, though he rarely did so. Tokoi, often loosely described as prime minister, had the official title and status of Vice-chairman of the government. Parliament had no legal power either to appoint or dismiss ministers, and statements made by Tokoi and some of his ministerial colleagues that they regarded themselves as answerable to parliament had no basis in law. The government worked on the collegiate principle; all major decisions had to be ratified in full session, after a vote if necessary. The record shows that votes rarely followed party lines reinforcing the view that party politics played a minor part in the determination of government policy. Ehrnrooth remembered that "collaboration was good well into the summer. Certainly votes were taken fairly often . . . but the votes were cast independently of party lines."1 The official record also shows that most of the work of the government consisted of administrative detail rather than major political decisions, and shows that this was not a true government, but an administrative agency with a complex relationship with the real sources of power. Tanner, the finance minister, recalled that "the centres of power were elsewhere: in parliament and Petrograd and even in the hands of the restless popular crowds. We were just workhorses without great influence."2 The bourgeois ministers did keep a close and confidential relationship with their party colleagues, but the socialists generally did not. Tanner and Paasivuori resigned from the SDP Executive on appointment as ministers, and all the evidence supports Tokoi's statement that "no common discussions took place between the party Executive and the government." Nor did the socialist ministers attempt to act as a group within the government; "the

35

government's socialist members lacked coherence." The party accepted this position as theoretically correct, as Tokoi remarked: "In accordance with its old princiles, it behaved like an opposition party," because that was the only possible position for a socialist party in a capitalist society. This attitude spilled over into the question of patronage. The revolution displaced nearly all the tsarist appointees to the higher administrative posts, such as the powerful provincial prefects, and SDP had an unrepeatable chance to put party sympathizers into the vacancies. But it deliberately chose not to; as Tyomies explained, "the workers' class struggle is to be held more important than obtaining a few general advantages. . . . Let us leave these offices in the possesssion of the bourgeoisie."The party needed its talent for itself, and the behavior of those in office was better controlled from the outside. When the party did intervene over appointments it was rarely on political grounds, but usually on the old issue of language. When protests were sent to Tokoi from the party against the appointment of C. Enckell to the vital post of Minister-secretary in Petrograd, in effect ambassador to the Provisional Government—a post he was to abuse with fatal results for the fortunes of the socialists—the grounds were not that Enckell was a notorious conservative closely involved with big business, but entirely that he was Swedish speaking. 3 The only socialist to maintain contact with the party was Tokoi himself, who met regularly with the parliamentary group and the Executive and discussed government policy with them. Tanner and bourgeois ministers like Talas and Ehrnrooth commented on his behavior as improper. 4 Yet if Tokoi's socialist colleagues had followed his example and that of their bourgeois colleagues, and developed their contacts with the party, the government would have been stronger and better placed to lead. As it was, the Tokoi government was internally divided, unsure where its allegiance lay, unable and unwilling to take major initiatives on the great questions of the day, and therefore unable to direct the course of events. It was a puppet government, tugged this way and that by forces it did not control. The first item on the government program was to clarify the constitutional position of Finland, and it set up a commission of leading politicians to draft proposals. The commission had a twofold task—to draft a new Finnish constitution, which would be submitted to parliament and then become the basis of negotiation with the Russian Constituent Assembly on the final relationship of Finland and Russia, and to draft interim proposals-for a working relationship with the Provisional Government. The latter task was q u i c k l y done; a draft was approved by the government on 7 April and forwarded to the Provisional Government. It proposed that parliament pass a constitutional law transferring the exercise of the sovereign prerogatives to the Finnish government. This would give Finland full internal autonomy, subject to the Governor General's remaining part of the government. Further, certain matters would be referred for the Provisional Government to decide, foreign and military policy and all questions involving the mutual relations of Finland and Russia. The Governor General had the power to rule which category any given matter fell into; since these provisions left very broad powers in Russian hands, Finns of all persuasions expected their proposal to be accepted without difficulty. It merely 36

gave effect to the promise of internal independence that was contained in the March manifesto.5 The Finns ought to have noticed that all the Russian expressions of good will towards Finland had been coupled with the hope that Finland would now assist the war effort. Even the delegation from the Helsinki Soviet had urged the SDP Council on 23 March that it was their duty to raise an army; the party Executive had discussed the idea but let it drop, and when Kerenski pressed them on the point they made no response. When the party took up Kerenski's offer to submit a memorandum on Finnish-Russian relations, it began by rejecting out of hand any idea of reviving a Finnish army that "could perhaps become an instrument of class war . . . and a support of the reactionary classes." At most they would consider raising a small, defensive, and wholly democratic militia force. What they wanted for Finland was complete autonomy, with their own head of state, and only foreign policy shared with Russia, and suggested that this arrangement ought to be guaranteed by some third power—they suggested Britain or France. This latter idea impressed Kuusinen greatly; it would give Finland "all that one could wish and is better than independence."6 When the Provisional Government came to consider the proposal of the Finnish government, together with the memorandum from SDP, it could see that Finland had no intention of assisting the war effort, that they were demanding virtual independence at once, and that they regarded Russian promises as worthless unless backed by external guarantees. The Russians would have been less than human if they had not felt that these proposals were offensive, and that if Finland had nothing to offer, they had no reason to make concessions. Guckov, the war minister, told Enckell bluntly that if Finland wanted favors she must pay for them. But since the Provisional Government also wanted to preserve its liberal reputation, it adopted the obvious tactic of procrastination. Kerenski replied to SDP that he was broadly in favor of full autonomy for Finland, though he rejected the idea of guarantees, but that the Provisional Government was only a trustee for the Russian people, which must be allowed to pronounce on the question through the Constituent Assembly.7 This then became Russian policy; as Stachovic defined it in a newspaper interview, "We canot do more than restore the status quo because we do not have the right before the Constituent Assembly takes action." The Provisional Government set up a mixed commission of Russian and Finnish jurists to consider the question, which held its first meeting on 21 April. The Russians argued that the union of 1809 was binding and could only be altered by a formal treaty revision. The Finns argued that the union had been purely personal and that the Provisional Government, as heir to the tsar, could revise the relationship. Since the commission was clearly deadlocked, three Finnish ministers, Tokoi, Setala, and Tulenheimo went to Petrograd to talk to the Provisional Government, but the deadlock remained unbroken; when the Finns suggested that the Russians were going back on promises made in the March manifesto, Kerenski lost control. He said that the Finnish proposals were "a coup that in normal circumstances would mean war. . . . if the Finns wanted war then. . . . " The threat was unspoken b clear. Enckell summarized the position in a report to the government on 26 April,

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that there was no chance of their proposal being accepted and that if they persisted, "they can only damage Finland's affairs." It was understood, however, that negotiations for a mutually acceptable interim settlement should continue.8 In this way the euphoria created by the March manifesto had vanished and Finland was once more on course for a conflict with Russia. There was no doubt that, in this matter, the government did speak for the whole Finnish people, who were thinking in terms not of autonomy, but of full sovereign independence. There had been a crop of public pronouncements on this point since March. At the festival to welcome the return of P. E. Svinhufvud from exile, both professor A. I. Heikel and the Pro-chancellor of Helsinki University, E. Hjelt, spoke of independence as an issue that must now be settled. A. Morne wrote in Ostsvensk Tidskrift on 4 April that the Russian revolution had brought Finnish independence within the realm of practical politics, and E. Grotenfelt, in Dagens Press of 7 April, claimed for Finland the same right to independence as had already been conceded to Poland. For the socialists, Y. Makelin, in his paper Kansan Tahto made a clear stand for independence on 4 April, while the fullest and most explicit claim was published by Professor R. Erich on behalf of the Activists in Stockholms Dagblad on 24 March. These pronouncements were mostly confined to provincial or foreign newspapers, since the political leaders of all parties were agreed not to publish demands for full independence that the Russians might take as provocations. But there was no doubt that all political parties stood for independence as the right of the Finnish nation.9 The Old Finn party met in congress on 4 May. The leaders took the line that although independence was the goal, they must accept a continuing link with Russia for the immediate future. They should accept the basis recognized in the March manifesto that the Provisional Government was "possessor of the full sovereign power." K. Rantakari denounced the "double morality" involved in accepting the manifesto and rejecting the authority on which it was based. A minority rejected all constraints; E. Suolahti said there was no dual morality, but "one morality, that is the interests and prosperity of the Finnish people. . . . I hope this parliament will vote unanimously to declare Finland free of Russia." But finally SP endorsed the policy of the government "to seek the broadest possible independence and to get it firmly established. In this respect the Congress sees the most immediate need as the tranferring of the power of decision in purely Finnish affairs to Finnish domestic political institutions."10 The Young Finn party discussed the issue at its Congress on 15 April and here too the radicals, though more numerous and outspoken, proved to be a minority. Activists like O. Stenroth and Ignatius wanted the party committed to demand full independence at once: H. Renvall told the Congress, "if we are silent we shall not get justice. If we say it then we can get it." But establishment voices urged caution; E. R. Holsti called for the party to be mature enough to rise above emotion, and E. Setala insisted that Finland had recognized the authority of the Provisional Government by a whole series of actions and could not now repudiate them. The decisive voice was that of K. J. Stahlberg, their elder statesman, who said that the part

38

had a duty "to observe such self-restraint that we do not create damage and difficulties for those interests which are vastly more important than the satisfaction we get from passing bold resolutions." The radicals submitted and the Congress passed unanimously a resolution that "the Finnish nation, seeking the widest possible political independence, must strive to secure and develop its freedom and right to selfdetermination, and that Finland's right to look after its own affairs should be realized without delay." So NSP too ended by backing the government line, despite its powerful Activist minority.11 The Swedish Peoples' party held its Congress on 17 May and adopted a very similar line: At one extreme O. Akesson held that the link with Russia had ended with the fall of the monarchy, but E. E. Schybergson, E. H. Estlander, and G. Rosenqvist called on the delegates to acknowledge the realities of power and to accept that the Provisional Government had well-founded claims in law to be recognized as the interim holder of the sovereign prerogatives. The Congress resolution stated that Fin land "is to be regarded as having the right to form an independent state," but accepted that circumstances could hinder this right and that the immediate aim was the "transfer of the power of the Grand Duke to Finnish institutions."12 The Agrarian League held its most important discussions in the parliamentary group. Their leader, S. Alkio had accepted the rights of the Provisional Government, but believed that Finland must have its own head of state in any future relationship because "the general opinion in the country is in favour of independence." His position became steadily radicalized and on 22 May, he presented a memorandum to his parliamentary group calling for independence: "I have come to the conclusion that we cannot present our demand for independence on juridical grounds, but surely can on historical grounds." Some of his colleagues were enthusiastic, but most had reservations. K. Kallio led a firm opposition to the memorandum; the time was not ripe, "the facts speak a different language." The memorandum was not adopted, and the Agrarians too remained in support of the government's policy. Alkio was disappointed, and wrote, "I regret that in the Agrarian group many showed that they were too timid to express a national view of Finland's future. We are cowards, who sit on the bank and weep."13 Nonsocialist Finland had made its decision: Everyone accepted the aim of sovereign independence in principle, and a minority in each party was ready to demand its immediate realization, but the majorities were realistic and accepted the authority of the Provisional Government. The only sensible course at present was to negotiate with that government for as much internal autonomy as it could be persuaded to yield. The minority was obliged to strike out for itself, to bypass the normal political channels, and throw in its lot with the Activist movement. There was no support in these debates for the socialist allegation that the bourgeois acceptance of independence was insincere, and that they really wanted to retain the link with Russia as a safeguard against revolution at home. Little fear of the socialists was expressed; remarks about them tended to display a benevolent patronage. Several speakers were ready to give SDP credit for its stand on the autonomy is-

39

sue, and NSP was told that "our Social Democrats are on the same footing as the Young Finn party. . . . The same democratic demand is the foundation of both these parties."14 The socialists did not meet in congress until June, but their position as the majority party in parliament forced them to formulate a policy on the exercise of the sovereign prerogatives. They had no inhibitions about using their majority to control the legislature, and when parliament met on 5 April to choose a Speaker, Manner was elected. The question then arose of what he was to say in reply to the speech of the Governor General at the formal opening of parliament on 11 April, in particular whether to recognize him as the representative of the sovereign. It was decided that Manner should say nothing about sovereignty, but would mention the need to put the relations of Finland and Russia "on a new basis" and assert the right of the Finnish nation to its own place in the future brotherhood of nations.15 The issue could not, however, be evaded, for the Provisional Government exercised one of the prerogative powers when it presented legislative projects to parliament—in this case three draft laws on the rights of Russians in Finland—and some agency would very shortly have to exercise another, the power to give assent to and promulgate legislation. The socialists took several days to decide what to do. They were encouraged to take a hard line by the visit of the Bolshevik, Madame A. Kollontai, who told them that it was their duty as socialists to fight the Provisional Government, and brought Lenin's message that the situation was "not civil peace, but civil war, class war." SDP could count on the support of the Bolsheviks in the struggle. Most of them agreed with Kuusinen that it would be dangerous "to acknowledge that the sovereign powers had been tranferred to the Provisional Government," and on 15 April they found the formula they wanted. In each specific instance, parliament might accept that the Provisional Government could "in fact" exercise the prerogatives in a revolutionary situation, leaving aside the question of the legal right to exercise them.16 On 20 April, Tokoi came to parliament, as head of the government, to make a statement about relations with Russia. He recalled that in the past Finns had believed that "Russia's victory was Finland's misfortune," and this had produced the Ja'ger movement, whose supporters had been true and honest patriots. But changing con ditions had made their movement superfluous, for "we have come to a new period. We now have freedom to work openly, honestly in the sight of all for the good and prosperity of our people, of the fatherland and of our own Finland." They could not yet predict how things would develop because "as I understand it the revolution has not been carried to its full conclusion," but the liberation of the Russian people must mean that they would accord the same liberation to other peoples. "The Finnish people has, over the ages, developed and ripened into an independent people," which was so distinct from the Russian people that there could be no question of fusion between them; they must go their different ways. He was sure that the Russian people recognized this, and their government should show at once "not only in words but in deeds" that their promises would be fulfilled. Tokoi concluded:17

40

I am encouraged to believe . . . that the beginnings of Finnish independence are now on a firm foundation, and our duty is to develop it steadfastly and consistently and in such a way that the independence of the Finnish nation will be assured already in the near future. The speech was a sensation, and almost certainly an impulsive improvisation. Ehrnrooth stated that it "was a great surprise for all, among others his colleagues in the government, who were quite unprepared for it," a view confirmed by Tanner, and in fact by Tokoi himself. He told his party comrades afterwards that "I have, with my knowledge of feeling in the country, and under the influence of enthusiasm, used the word independence, which would certainly never have been spoken if the whole government had vetted my speech." Russian opinion was outraged by the open demand for independence: Den wrote on 24 April that the Provisional Government would certainly reject the demand, "and we believe that in this respect it has the Russian public on its side, irrespective of party views. . . . the sovereignty of Russia over the lands that comprise the Russian state, and among them Finland, belongs to the Provisional Government."18 On the other hand, most Finns were pleased, and the Activists were delighted. Hultin wrote: 19 It was a great, powerful, direct and statesmanlike speech. Now it had been stated publicly what we are seeking politically. . . . In parliament there was no advance knowledge of it. ... We who have hungered and thirsted for such a public statement, our hearts are now flooded with rapture and hope for the future. The Activists sent a delegation of Jagers to Tokoi to assure him of their support and appreciation, and Uusi Ptiiva compared the courage of Tokoi with the timidity of his colleagues, and said he was clearly "the most powerful and straightforward man" in the government.20 For a moment it looked as though Tokoi might emerge as the national leader who united socialists with bourgeois radicals and who would carry the independence movement to final victory. But it was an illusion, based on a misunderstanding of the man: Tokoi was a gifted personality but a deeply flawed one. He had the ability to sense what people wanted to express and the power to put this into appropriate words. But as a leader he was a disaster. He was subjected to the test of acute political crises at several times over the months that followed, and each time he lacked the integrity to face up to unpleasant realities and took refuge in ignominious evasion of responsibility. Tokoi was not the stuff of which revolutionary heroes are made; he was a windbag and a weathercock. Precisely because his speech of 20 April sprang unprepared from his intuitive grasp of what people wanted him to say, it raised hopes that he could not fulfil, for there was nothing solid or well thought out behind it. The speech certainly hardened the resolve of the Provisional Government to make no more concessions, and it must be recognized that they had valid reasons for their attitude. The situation in Russia was extremely delicate, and the Finns were only one among several subject nationalities, all clamoring for their rights. It

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would be difficult to deny to other nations anything that was conceded to the Finns and the ministers were haunted by the nightmare of the disintegration of the Russian state, as indeed were Russian politicians of almost every faction except the Bolsheviks. Also, despite Tokoi's brave words, the Finnish government and the Finnish politicians, including the socialists, had no real alternative to continuing to negotiate with the Provisional Government for whatever compromise they could obtain — except that the socialists were beginning to explore the possibility that there might be a way around the obstacle that the attitudes of the Provisional Government presented. On 24 April the parliamentary group heard a report on Kerenski's bitter criticism of the Finnish demands and the next day Tokoi told them they had three choices: to wait and see what turned up, to submit new compromise proposals to the Russians, or to accept the challenge of Kerenski's fighting talk and "draw revolvers." Only Makelin was ready for the last choice, that parliament should claim full sovereignty now and prepare to fight if necessary. Everyone else felt that confrontation must be postponed; Kuusinen thought Tokoi had gone too far, that they were not yet strong enough to challenge the Provisional Government; and Manner doubted if they were even strong enough to handle their own bourgeoisie, declaring, "We need the support of the Russians." But this was precisely where they saw hope; perhaps the Russian socialists could be made to compel the Provisional Government to change its policy.21 So on 28 April the socialists decided to send K. Wiik, E. Gylling, M. Turkia, and E. Huttunen on a mission to Petrograd to canvas the opinion of the Russian socialists about the Finnish question. The Finns called first on the Menshevik Committee, whom Turkia described as "extremely ill-informed." The delegation presented the Finnish case and on 2 May got their answer, which showed that the Mensheviks agreed with the Provisional Government; they were ready to acknowledge in principle the right of Finland to self-determination, but this was a matter that could only be determined by the Constituent Assembly. The Finns then tried G. Plechanov's splinter group, but got much the same answer, with the asurance that the Constituent Assembly would certainly have a socialist majority, and the Finns could therefore wait confidently until it met. The Social Revolutionaries were even less encouraging, for although they too agreed to the right of all peoples to self-determination, they reminded the Finns that "the socialist movement . . . does not aim at national separation," and implied that by wishing to cut free from a Russia that they assumed would be socialist, the Finns were betraying the principle of proletarian solidarity.22 All this made it clear that Finland would get no support from the non-Bolshevik Russian factions in any confrontation over autonomy with the Provisional Government. It may be guessed that left to themselves, the Bolsheviks would have made much the same response to the Finns as the other factions, but they were not. Lenin had argued for many years before 1917 that Russia must give unconditional recognition to the right of subject nations to complete independence and secession; this would promote the support for their native socialist movements, and prevent the native bourgeoisies from winning over the proletariat on a program of nationalism. Lenin expected that once socialism had won power in Russia the former subject peoples

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would naturally form a federation with a socialist Russia on a voluntary basis. So in his first instruction from Switzerland to the Bolsheviks in Russia, on 24 March, Lenin insisted that "the Russian proletariat will guarantee to a Finnish republic complete freedom, including the freedom to secede." 23 This policy was accepte with much hesitation by many of the comrades in Russia after Lenin's return, but it provided a solid basis for collaboration between the Bolsheviks and SDP. The Finnish delegation to Petrograd had two meetings with the Bolshevik Central Committee, on 30 April and 2 May, which on the Russian side were dominated by Lenin. Wiik described how Lenin questioned him about the state of SDP, and the strength within it of opportunists and revisionists; it was "like an examination." At the formal session on 2 May, Turkia put the Finnish case and said that they foresaw a conflict with the Provisional Government. SDP was willing to fight if they could be cer tain of the support of the Russian comrades, and Turkia concluded, "We put the question for you to decide." Lenin replied that conflict with the Provisional Government could not be avoided, for it was imperialist and could not afford to make concessions to Finland that would then have to be extended to the other minority peoples. Let SDP accept the inevitable and they could count on the full and open support of the Bolsheviks: The only course open to them was "to proclaim open battle together with the Russians against that government." On this basis an informal understanding was concluded between the two parties, which Lenin later described, with some exaggeration, as "an unwritten treaty" between the Finnish and Russian workers. Turkia described it as an agreement that "we should begin the open struggle, write a manifesto against the Russian government." It is unlikely that at this stage anything more than a joint propaganda campaign was envisaged.24 The Bolsheviks held their VII Party Conference on 7 May, and Stalin presented the policy on Finland. There was opposition from Ju. Pjatikov and F. Dzerzinski, who felt that it encouraged bourgeois nationalism, so Lenin had to educate the conference in a speech on 12 May. He said that "our attitude to the separatist movement is indifferent, neutral. . . . We are for Finland receiving complete freedom because then there will be greater trust in Russian democracy, and the Finns will not separate." The formal resolution on the subject was approved on 16 May:25 The right of all nations forming part of Russia freely to secede must not be confused with the expediency of secession of a given nation at a given moment. The party of the proletariat must decide the latter question . . . from the standpoint of the interests of the struggle of the proletariat for socialism. These formulations, in which the Bolsheviks argue that the granting of independence as a right would ensure that Finland would not want to separate from Russia, have given rise to charges that their support for Finnish independence was insincer But Lenin was not making a Machiavellian calculation that by a gesture of generosity Finland could be preserved inside a Russian empire. As a Marxist, Lenin attached no value to Finnish independence as such: At most it was a stage on the path of development towards higher things. But it was a valid stage of development, and if the leaders of the Finnish proletariat saw it as necessary to separate then that was

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their right and their duty, and Lenin's recognition of that right was genuine. To ascribe to Lenin in 1917 a covert Russian imperialism is anachronistic; like any good Marxist he would have rejected the idea of socialism in one country, and would not have imagined that a socialist Russia could survive for long unless supported by socialist revolutions in the more advanced capitalist countries. In such a framework of ideas, the notion of keeping Finland for Russia made no sense, and Russian socialists who did think in such terms were castigated by Lenin as chauvinist and objectively imperialist. Finnish independence did not mean to Lenin the same as it did to a Finnish bourgeois nationalist, or even to many Finnish socialists, but his support for it was as genuine as theirs. This was made clear by the article which Lenin published in Pravda on 15 May, in fulfillmentof the agreement with the Finns. This set out the Bolshevik policy on Finland and poured scorn on the arguments of the Mensheviks and others that Finland must wait and negotiate with the Constituent Assembly. He made the point that unless Finland was conceded the right to independence in advance of any negotiation, she could not negotiate with Russia on equal terms; any position short of this was imperialism.26 For the Finnish socialists the value of any working arrangement with the Bolsheviks depended mainly on how much power the Bolsheviks had among the Russian garrison in Finland. When the revolution began, this had been very little: They had a few cells active among the sailors and dockyard workers, but were almost broken by the severity of the official repression. P. Dybenko, the Bolshevik sailor, described their initial position as most unpromising: "You see there were very few of us. We had no resources. There were no instructions from anywhere." This meant that the Mensheviks and the SRs took control of the Soviets in Finland, controlled the Russian newspapers, and established their party organizations, while the Bolsheviks were helpless. They appealed to the party Committee in Petrograd for assistance and the Committee sent an emissary to Helsinki to ask SDP to assist in getting the Bolshevik movement established. The man chosen was A. Vasten/Taimi, who became one of the key liaison men between the Bolsheviks and the Finnish socialists. He was one of an important group of Bolsheviks recruited from the Finnish emigrant community in Petrograd. This group was the natural link between the Bolsheviks and the Finnish socialists and in addition to Taimi provided other liaison men like his brother Alexander Vasten, A. V. 5otman, and the three Rahja brothers, all Bolsheviks of long standing and all bilingual in Finnish and Russian.27 Taimi persuaded the SDP Council to grant 10,000 rubles to help the Russian socialists and a delegation was sent to Petrograd to talk with the Bolsheviks and hand over the money. The Finns were embarrassed to discover that the Russian Socialists were split into factions, and felt obliged to divide the money, giving 3,000 to the Mensheviks. But they promised to hold collections among the workers, and Bolshevik speakers were invited to address meetings so that several further sums were passed over for the use of the Bolsheviks. SDP also gave organizational help, since the original Bolshevik group in Helsinki was so short of experience and talent that they could not even produce a cyclostyled news sheet by themselves. It was the Finns who arranged for the use of the government printing press on which the Bol-

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sheviks produced their newspaper — Volna. On 3 April a preliminary meeting was held to set up a Bolshevik party organization in Finland. It had an uncertain start, and when the Central Committee in Petrograd reviewed progress on 19 April they were far from satisfied with the energy or the ideological soundness of the Helsinki comrades. The party sent V. A. Antonov-Ovseenko, a senior member, to put things right. He held a meeting in Helsin ki on 12 May that elected a new provisional Executive with himself as chairman and Taimi as one of the members.28 After that the progress of the Bolsheviks in Finland was rapid, membership increased, and by June Antonov-Ovseenko reported that the Bolsheviks already controlled most of the fleet through the ships' committees, although some units, like the submarines, could not be infiltrated. They did not control the army, where the Mensheviks and SRs still had the majority in most units, but they were making headway here too as the peasant soldiers began to respond to the Bolshevik policy on land.29 The best objective test of the extent of Bolshevik power in Finland is their degree of influence in the various organs of soviet power there. At first the Bolsheviks were weak in the Helsinki Soviet, where their sailor delegates were poorly organized and ineffective. During April they could not stop the Soviet passing resolutions of support for the Provisional Government, but they did agitate successfully for fresh elections, and when the new Soviet met on 3 May, the Bolsheviks, though still a minority, were much stronger.30 By this time the Helsinki Soviet was no longer the unchallenged leader of the Soviets in Finland. On 27 April the whole garrison held a delegate conference in Viipuri—the first Area Congress—which elected an Area Committee for Finland. The new body, which had no Bolshevik among its 16 members, was content, however, with the role of spreading information and coordinating soviet activity, disclaiming any intention of depriving the Soviets of their legitimate functions. Since the Area Committee was content to play a secondary role, the lack of Bolshevik representation on it mattered little. There was a second Area Congress on 2 June, but Bolshevik influence was still weak: Congress declared support for the Provisional Government and the war, in spite of Bolshevik opposition, and the new Area Committee, enlarged to 25 members, included only four Bolsheviks, reflecting the fact that most of the soldiers were still SRs or Mensheviks.31 That was why the Bolsheviks had taken the lead in setting up a third organ of soviet power in Finland in which they might hope to win a controlling position. On 26 April, the Bolshevik sailor delegates in the Helsinki Soviet proposed the election of a Central Delegate Committee for the Baltic Fleet. The Soviet, which scented another rival, was not enthusiastic, and at first the sailors at Kronstadtand Reval were suspicious of a body that would be dominated by Helsinki, but the Bolsheviks got their way. On 11 May the first meeting of the new organ — designated Tsentrobalt— was held on the troopship Viola in Helsinki harbour: the Soviet, obstructive to the end, had refused to provide premises ashore. There were 31 delegates and they represented Helsinki, Kronstadt, Petrograd, and Reval; only nine of these were Bolsheviks, but they elected Dybenko as their first chairman and took a radical line from the start. The first order of Tsentrobalt proclaimed that it was the supreme authority in the fleet, wholly independent of Helsinki Soviet, and that all orders issued to

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the fleet required its endorsement. A full fleet Congress was summoned to Helsinki for 7 J une, and this elected a much enlarged Tsentrobalt of 68 members, which was firmly under Bolshevik control. 32 In these circumstances Tsentrobalt became the natural center of Bolshevik power in F i n l a n d — i n the Helsinki Soviet they remained a radical opposition. On 12 May, a Bolshevik-Left SR motion opposing the Provisional Government war loan was defeated by 217 votes to 125. On 15 May, the Bolsheviks persuaded the Executive to propose a resolution calling for the replacement of the Provisional Government by a government based on the Soviets, but a meeting of the full Soviet on 19 May rejected this and passed a motion of confidence in the Provisional Government. When Kerenski came to Helsinki on 24 May, he got an enthusiastic reception from mass meetings, and was assured that he had the full confidence of the Soviet. When Madame Kollontai tried to put the Bolshevik case against Kerenski, she got a rough reception, and Izvestija described the meeting as "passionate"; two days later she tried again at a meeting of the Soviet, was howled down by her audience, and had to abandon her speech. Therefore, to the extent that the Finnish socialists decided to l i n k their fortunes with those of the Bolsheviks they were embarking on a speculative venture. The Bolshevik position in Finland was getting steadily stronger, but it fell short of control, and in Russia as a whole they were much weaker.33 Uncertainty over the strength of their Bolshevik ally was a major factor in the decision of the socialist leaders to postpone an open attack on the Provisional Government. They did harden their theoretical position; from the beginning of May SDP asserted that by right the sovereign prerogatives in Finland had reverted to the Finnish parliament and that therefore the Provisional Government had no legal rights in Finland at all. The party position was defined in a resolution drafted by the Executive on 16 May for the forthcoming party Congress, which concluded that "the parliament of the Finnish people must be allowed to decide and regulate Finland's political freedom." It was reasserted in a major article by Kuusinen, which appeared in Tyomies on 27 May, and became the consistent basis of all socialist utterances in parliament. But this rigid theoretical position was combined with a continuing readiness to avoid confrontation by entering into an interim compromise arrangement on relations with Russia. So the socialists agreed that the prohibition law, the rationing law, and the laws on the status of Russian nationals should be submitted to the Provisional Government for confirmation, while denying that any legal right was involved. The decisions were represented as pragmatic, to meet a current emergency: Kuusinen asserted "there is no fully lawful confirmer of laws in existence at the moment." In another debate, he conceded that the Tsar had possessed legal rights in Finland, but the Provisional Government did not, and agreed it might seem odd that a socialist recognized powers in a monarch that he denied to a democratic government, but he told his bourgeois critics "we did not legislate the Finnish constitution. . . . Your class made it."34 On 18 May the Provisional Government was reconstructed after an outburst of criticism over its imperialist war aims: Some bourgeois ministers resigned and six socialists were added. This encouraged the Finnish socialists to see if the new gov46

ernment was more sympathetic to their position; when Tokoi travelled to Petrograd to attend the next scheduled session of the commission of jurists on 24 May, he took Makelin with him and on the previous day sought an interview, as head of government, with prince G. Lvov, the prime minister. After Tokoi had complained that the Finnish people could not understand why the Russians had not yet accepted the proposals put forward by the Finnish government he produced a more radical set of proposals from SDP, which demanded the transfer of the sovereign prerogatives not to the Finnish government, but to parliament. This was apparently intended to demonstrate that the longer the Russians procrastinated, the more the Finnish people would demand. Makelin said:35 Though not wishing to threaten in any way, he expressed grave misgivings as to what might happen were the proposal to be rejected by the Provisional Government. He announced that the movement for complete independence for Finland was growing day by day because of the unwillingness of the Provisional Government to accept the proposal. He declared that if things went on like this, neither the parliament nor the government could be answerable for the consequences. Lvov declined to be provoked; he contented himself with repeating that there were differences of principle between the Finnish and Russian positions that would take time to resolve. After this unhappy encounter, the committee of jurists remained deadlocked.36 The result was that the Finnish government accepted defeat and modified its proposals to meet the Russian objections. A new and weakened draft for a constitutional law to be put before parliament was submitted to the Provisional Government on 8 June. Bourgeois opinion gave it grudging acceptance as the bestthat could be secured; even Uusi Paiva called it a workable basis for discussion. The socialists were smouldering with resentment against the attitude of the Russians, and on 10 June Tyomies, while conceding that the government proposal meant an enlargement of Finnish autonomy, remarked that "ultimately power remains with a Russian government which is not in any way answerable to the Finnish people." It concluded with the remark that parliament had yet to express its opinion of the government's draft: The ground was being prepared for the socialists to repudiate it, if circumstances should change. Socialist frustrations also found expression in repeated hints that the obduracy of the Russians was being encouraged by the reactionary bourgeoisie for its own class interests. Kuusinen suggested this in his article of 27 May, when he asked: "Does the Russian government intend to follow the opinion of a small reactionary minority?" Tyomies clearly implied on 10 June that there was bourgeois, back-stage influence at work, though "we do not know this."37 Since these allegations were without foundation, this action looks like a cynical attempt by SDP to divert attention from the failure of its policies, which was especially irresponsible because it wilfully poisoned the political atmosphere. In fact, it has to be understood in theoretical terms. As Marxists, the socialists knew that the bourgeoisie ought to pursue its class interests by allying with the Russian

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bourgeoisie against its own workers, just as the Finnish workers sought cooperation with their Russian comrades. That there was no evidence of this happening was unimportant; the logic of history dictated that it must be happpening. In the end, the heightened class tensions produced by these allegations really did cause some bourgeois politicians to conspire with the Provisional Government against the socialists, a clear example of self-fulfilling prophecy at work. The bourgeoisie resented the accusations the more bitterly because in their eyes the socialists had been guilty of blatant conspiracy with the Russians against their own countrymen. The basic charge—that the socialists were encouraging the Russians to intervene improperly in Finnish internal affairs—was peculiarly inflammatory because it could be linked to the racist phobias that afflicted many nationalistminded Finns. The open Russian intervention in the demonstrations of 18 April for an 8-hour day first provoked a nationwide protest. The bourgeois press was outraged, and Tokoi was compelled by his government colleagues to make a formal complaint to the Governor General.38 Tyomies had mixed feelings; it insisted that SDP had not needed and had not asked for the Russians to take part, but they could not help exulting that now the capitalists were getting a taste of their own medicine after so many years of using Russian troops to suppress their workers. When a Russian soldier wrote to point out that soldiers were only proletarians in uniform, and were "not only entitled but obliged to take part in the struggle in whatever country they happen to be at the time," Tyomies agreed but with the reservation that such collaboration must be organized by agreement between parties and trade unions. The socialist leaders were uneasy about the implications of unrestrained proletarian internationalism in practice.39 By May, the issue of improper interference had been compounded by the evidence of the growing breakdown of discipline among the troops. The bourgeois press ran a regular daily column devoted to the misbehavior of the soldiers. Some was just irritating—soldiers played cards in public parks, or worse in cemeteries, they travelled on trams and trains without paying. Then there were attacks on property, ranging fron straightforward armed robbery to fishing with hand-grenades in village lakes. But worst of all were the incidents involving women, which fell into two broad categories. The first included assaults by Russian soldiers on unwilling Finnish females: Numerous accounts involved women on country or suburban roads being dragged off "to the woods" after refusing propositions from soldiers, and the impression was given that no woman was safe, even in the center of Helsinki. The second involved Finnish prostitutes and camp-followers: The police periodically rounded up prostitutes and other women consorting with soldiers and took them for compulsory medical examinations, as provided by law. The enraged Russians would often defend their women by force of arms, or mount expeditions to release them. Thus on 17 June all the papers had the story of a gang of soldiers who had broken into the T66I6 venereal diseases hospital in search of their women, while in Ha'meenlinna there had been two attempts in two days to liberate women from the prison there.40 These outrages, which in June would fill two columns of Helsingin Sanomat on a

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typical day, were not denied by any of the parties involved. The socialist press carried identical accounts, and the Russians openly admitted the existence of widespread misbehavior. The Executive of the Soviet distributed 5,000 leaflets calling for an end to hooliganism: Izvestija quoted the drunken sailor who yelled "What sort of freedom is it if there is no vodka?" as typical of the type of Russian who besmirched the name of the revolution. On 12 June it agreed that it was becoming unsafe for women to walk the streets of Helsinki because of the behavior of "persons dressed in the uniforms of soldiers and sailors."41 The provocation offered to the Finns was real, but the reaction often verged on the hysterical. Niukkanen told parliament that the race was in danger, a race "which is only a small remnant of the great national stock which Slavonic elements have already incoporated. . . . the women of our cities have now taken on thetaskof destroying our national identity". On 19 and 20 June Uusi Paiva devoted two consecutive editorials to the problem of the soldiers. They began with complaints about the interference in internal affairs, and the inability of the Russian authorities to stop it, and then continued to sex: The behavior of the soldiers and their women had really gone too far; "there ought to be some difference between human beings and animals." The behavior of the women showed "the moral rot which in this way spreads among the people and threatens to take root." The second editorial, headed "Get the Russian Soldiers out of Finland," argued that they served no military purpose and were worse than useless for internal security. They must be sent home and replaced by an adequate Finnish security force.42 It is easy to see how this embittered the Finnish political scene: The socialists were accused of joining with these animalistic violators of Finnish womanhood against their own countrymen, the very worst of all possible combinations of political and racial treason. It was unfortunate for Finland that there was in addition another highly emotional and divisive issue—the shortage of food. Tyomies took the lead in launching a myth that the Finnish farmers were deliberately restricting production in order to starve the workers into submission; "thus the workers can die of hunger next winter, victims of the revenge of the agrarian capitalists." The terrifying irresponsibility of this allegation was underlined by the casual admission tht the conclusion was only based on rumor.43 The whole myth was based on rumor, fed by the unguarded outbursts of producers against rationing and price controls. Farmers felt that they were being compelled to forego their legitimate profits in order to feed an army of idle layabouts in the towns, at unrealistic prices. In the eyes of many farmers the urban workers were atheistic, socialist hooligans, quite undeserving of sympathy; it was too easy, in the heat of an argument, for a farmer to say that as far as he was concerned, such people could look after themselves. He would merely be expressing the age-old resentment of country against town, of rural culture against urban culture, that exists wherever the two cultures are found side by side. Many Finnish farmers said many foolish and provocative things in 1917 but there was never any such plot to starve out the workers as the socialist press maintained. The bitterness came out in the debate on the rationing law on 9 May. Agrarian speakers tried to argue that the farmers were really subsidizing the urban population through controlled prices,

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Alkio claimed that "the farmer is the worker who has always carried the heaviest burdens in this country." The socialists were rightly scornful of this picture of the oppressed and suffering farmer; they pointed out that rural savings banks had had to put ceilings on deposits, and Kujala mocked Alkio: "The farmers' heavy burdens should be understood as the heavy weight of gold that presses on them at present. That is certainly heavy enough." When A. Juutilainen put the obvious point that it was madness to stir up class hatreds in a society threatened with starvation, when they should be trying to unite the whole community to maximize food production, he found no response. Instead, E. Eloranta told unlikely stories of farmers who left grain unharvested rather than pay a decent wage to get it in, and of agitators in the pay of the capitalists touring the countryside to tell farmers not to produce more than they could consume themselves. At the end Maki uttered an implicit threat of violence: "Do you really think, gentlemen, that the workers of this country, as in former times, will die of hunger on the thresholds of barns full of food. . . . we shall see that if famine comes, it comes to all Finnish citizens at the same time and in the same manner." The folly of these inflammatory exchanges was underlined by the vote on the rationing law, 177 to 6; the necessity for it was so obvious that only a handful of the most obtuse persisted in opposition.44 Thereafter, whatever the topic under debate in parliament, speakers on both sides fomented a spirit of social division and class hatred, drowning out the minority in both camps who appealed for moderation and compromise. When the socialist local government law made the moderate proposal to set up elected local authorities based on universal adult suffrage, the bourgeois critics alleged that this was democracy run mad; Helsingin Sanomat asserted that "it is not enough merely that the structure be as democratic as possible." Bourgeois speakers imagined the propertyless majority voting themselves handouts at the expense of the local taxpayer, and demanded that the poor be disfranchised or two-thirds majorities be required for all major decisions. It was then easy for the socialists to retort that this just showed the class basis of their arguments and that their talk of local government reform had always been hypocrisy because, as Annala said, the old system left them "pretty safe, pretty sure of their former position of power in local government."45 When the bourgeois parties were refused any amendments, they threatened to use their constitutional power to postpone the law until after an election. The Helsinki Workers' Council responded with a call for mass demonstrations outside parliament, and openly invited the soldiers to join the protests. Helsingin Sanomat expressed outrage at the threat of extraconstitutional pressures, and added that the invitation to the Russians "makes them more flagrant and more criminal." But Tyomies replied that there was no reason that the Russian comrades should not join a peaceful demonstration, and that it was the opponents of the law who were provoking threats of disorder by their endeavor to thwart the will of the majority, and by their expressed intention to "oppose force by force."46 Even when there was substantial consensus, the same bitterness broke through. The other major domestic reform measure of the session was the 8-hour law, and the socialists had made a concession over this by agreeing to separate bills for industry

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and agriculture. Consequently the opposition was more inclined to acquiesce, and the more radical even welcomed the law for the 8-hour day in industry. Uusi Paiva wrote on 18 June that "all reforms whose realisation is at all possible should be put into effect as energetically as posssible." They asked only for some flexibility and recognition of the special neeeds of individual trades. Even then Rantakari made a speech suggesting that the law was a plot by the socialists to keep earnings down by limiting hours, because:47 . . . the more poor people there are, and the poorer people are, the better equipped they are to do battle for a future millennial society, to realise it by the dictatorship of the proletariat, above all to take revenge on the capitalists, whom the workers, as I said, have been taught to hate. The bourgeoisie were as prone as the socialists to ascribe to the other side fantastic conspiracies based on dogmatic class hatred. It was inevitable that this willful spirit of division should affect the consideration of the issue of autonomy. On 12 June, the revised constitutional law on relations with Russia was introduced in parliament by Tokoi. He charged the Provisional Government with reneging on the undertaking given in the March manifesto, and said the proposal was an interim compromise forced on the Finnish people. He asserted that "our purpose aims much further, that the purpose of the Finnish people and the Finnish parliament is Finland's independence," but they would leave this claim to be submitted to the Constituent Assembly. He hoped that Russia could appreciate the advantages of free partnership over domination, and that Finland would "try to understand the Russian comrades and the Russian people, since I believe that it is better for us to be Russia's friend than her enemy." Up to this point, Tokoi's speech had been statesmanlike, and appropriate to a spokesman for the whole nation. Then he shifted ground, declaring that the possibility of independence could be denied if disorder and anarchy spread, for then "other nations, who are accustomed to maintaining law and order will come and rule us." He defended the position of the government in refusing to use traditional repression to deal with disorders, "we prefer to use reason to crude force. In a revolutionary situation the letter of the law must be sacrificed." Even at this point, what Tokoi had said was controversial, but not unreasonable. It was then that he introduced his conspiracy theory, which accused some of the bourgeoisie of deliberately provoking disorder so that foreign intervention would prevent independence. Those elements who were demanding rigid enforcement of the law were the guilty ones: "I have evidence that their actions are in their nature very close to that level . . . that is called provocation. . . . I do not want to say that the workers too have not in some cases got excessively worked up, but they have had . . . the whole of past developments as the basis and cause for all we have come to harvest in these times."48 In the debate that followed, the nonsocialist speakers fell on Tokoi's attitude to law and order: Nevanlinna remarked that if it was restored, "then in truth not the smallest credit will be due to the leader of the present government, after the speech he has just made here." Arajarvi claimed that parliament had been prepared to unite

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behind the government, but Tokoi had deliberately provoked dissent, while Talas thought the other ministers should register a formal protest at his remarks. Alkio welcomed the statement on independence, which had stated "objectives to which, at the present moment all hearts in this country strongly aspire." But the country could be ruled only by law, and it was deplorable that the socialists were undermin ing this; just like the old regime, they were "ready to resort to the power of Russian swords and rifles" to coerce their fellow countrymen. The socialists should live up to their responsibility, as the majority party, to speak for the whole nation-"Let us stop accusing one another." The result, of course, was that the socialist speakers concentrated all their venom on Alkio, calling him a hypocrite to talk of respect for law when his own farmer constituents publicly threatened to defy the rationing laws; "when the bourgeois side treats one aspect of legality in this manner, they should not shout so loudly about legality in other respects."49 This unhappy debate failed to help or clarify any issue; it illustrated only how deeply the politicians had plunged into the swamps of class war polemic, and how the issues of autonomy and independence had become inseparable from the question of class interest. From 15-18 June, SDP met in full Congress in Helsinki to take stock of the situation and map out its future line of policy. Turkia made the opening report, as party secretary, and at once revealed the particular conception of leadership that prevailed in the party. He remarked that "the revolution is not yet ended. It may be more correct to say we are at the beginning of the revolution" and it was impossible to predict how far it might go. Turkia saw revolution as an autonomous historical pro cess, within which the party was only the instrument of forces it did not control. The party, in "leading" the working class, were merely interpreting on its behalf the dictates of the laws of historical development. This passive attitude to events was the negation of true political leadership. But his main point was on priorities, and he declared on behalf of the Executive that counter-revolution in Russia was the main threat to the Finnish workers, and they must secure Finland's autonomy before this developed: 50 The important, the most important of all the tasks of this Congress, must be understood to be the question of safeguarding the right of the Finnish people to self-determination. We must get to the position that, in this country, the parliament of the Finnish people has complete freedom and authority to determine the internal affairs of the Finnish people. Therefore the issue of independece must have priority over domestic reform; Turkia ended by moving the Executive resolution for complete internal autonomy. However, the main debate on the first day was about internal affairs, and turned on how to secure the passage of the reform laws. There was no disagreement with the plans of Helsinki Workers' Council to mount massive demonstrations outside parliament, but deep disagreement occurred over whether if this failed the party should call a general strike. The radicals, like E. Haapalainen and Julkunen, argue that the mood of the workers demanded radical action; "unless these strike proposals are approved, then the matter will be taken in hand, even if by violence." Some

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moderates, like E. Salin, agreed that the workers would act in any case, and all the party could try to do was to discipline their elemental impulses. This idea was best expressed by J. Railio:51 Unless the Congress acts then the movement will grow beyond the powers of organised direction. We can pretend that all those who are now in our organisations are class-conscious workers. But the reality is something else, chaotic. . . . This Congress can scarcely accept responsibility for neglecting to organise this chaotic workers' movement in the country at this time. Valpas supported this view, and the Helsinki workers were already committed to extraparliamentary action: "What would the organised party be if in such a situation it did not go into action?" The peculiar conception of leadership was clearly reflected in these speeches: The party must follow wherever the spontaneous moods of the workers might lead. After a day devoted to committee work on preparing resolutions, the Congress went back into action on 17 June, when it debated the question of the Internationals. They had a memorandum from Sirola and Wiik, then in Stockholm, that explained that there were now two Internationals, the revisionist Hague International and the radical Zimmerwald International. In their opinion it was Zimmerwald that "in reality stood for the old social-democratic principles (class war and international solidarity)." Lenin had decided that it was of crucial importance that SDP should declare allegiance to Zimmerwald, because then it would be committed to unrestricted class struggle, and had instructed the Bolshevik fraternal delegate, Kollontai, to make sure this happened. She was supported by J. Rahja, who represented the Petrograd Finns, and Taimi who was the delegate of the Russian workers in Helsinki. Kollontai lobbied vigorously behind the scenes and in her public speech reiterated that the Provisional Government was the common enemy of the Bolsheviks and of SDP and "we must unite on this basis in a struggle against the aspirations of Russian state imperialism." The Bolsheviks expected, as a pledge of SDP's commitment, that it should declare allegiance to Zimmerwald. 52 But the Finns hesitated, and on the following day the Executive presented a motion to defer any decision on the question of the International. Valpas explained that though he personally was satisfied, he thought a majority in the party was not yet ready to support Zimmerwald; Haapalainen supported him and suggested that "it will suffice the Russian comrades in this question, at this moment, if we declare that we are on a class-war footing." Kollontai protested vigorously that if SDP did not affiliate to Zimmerwald, the Bolsheviks would find it difficult to continue support; it would be better to split the party than to hedge on this vital point of principle. The decisive intervention was by Kuusinen: He began by saying that the party had very little knowledge of Zimmerwald, and if the ordinary worker was asked about it, he "will say with a smile what concern is it of his?", but he could be educated. Kuusinen continued: There was no danger if "here and now we make a decision with our eyes half-closed and agree to the proposal of the Russian comrades that we will join Zimmerwald." Then he declared: 53

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I for my part am on a fairly revisionist footing now. . . . but it does no harm if outward appearence is more radical than reality. We have always been like that in this party. . . . We have made such a dogma of class war. . . . if there had been someone who had dared to speak against it, it would have been condemned by the party. But of course we have ventured in practice to act against it. After this the resolution was sent back to committee, and emerged as a recommendation to join Zimmerwald, which was accepted. Moderate socialists like Tanner and Huttunen were convinced that SDP had been stampeded into this decision by the sheer brilliance and force of personality of Madame Kollontai. In fact they had been seduced by the comforting and plausible assurances of Kuusinen that it was all right to adopt a radical stance in theory, while reserving the right to follow moderate policies in practice. It suggested that the party could have things both ways. Neither Kollontai nor Rahja were deceived; both independently reported back to the Bolshevik party that the majority in SDP were revisionist. What no one stopped to consider was the likely consequences for a movement that was committed to revolutionary principles, if a majority of its leadership and of the rank and file had serious doubts about them. It was a recipe for a disaster, since successful revolution demands total commitment, or it stumbles and fails. The strength of the revisionists was shown in the other controversial debate of the Congress on the decision to enter the coalition government. The majority motion conceded that it had been a breach of party policy for members to enter a government under capitalism, but justified it by reference to the extraordinary circumstances prevailing in March. Valpas presented a minority resolution that the existing government, because it had been nominated by the Provisional Government, had no legal standing in Finland, that it had been a flagrant violation of party policy for members to join it, and that the party could in no way be responsible for such a government. Turkia defended the leadership on grounds of expediency, alleging that the critics wanted "revolution for revolution's sake, in other words, the institution of anarchy." If the party did not like what had been done, they should look for an alternative leadership. Valpas insisted that a major error had been made and should be corrected, "to save what can be saved." The Bolsheviks supported Valpas, Kollontai said that his motion represented the spirit of Zimmerwald, and Rahja said the majority motion "doubly underlines the poverty of its class-consciousness." Salin, who described himself as a "pure revisionist," said that Valpas was right about the constitutional principle, and moved that an addition be made to the majority resolution, stating that the Provisional Government had no power to install a Finnish government because this right belonged to parliament. The amended motion was then passed against Valpas' motion by 70 votes to 37, which suggested that moderate or revisionist views were held by nearly two-thirds of the Congress delegates.54 Congress then passed a strengthened motion on independence that demanded55 Finland's political independence against the power to dominate of the Russian bourgeoisie. Because, except in the framework of a free Finnish state, the

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Finnish working class cannot conduct its class war undisturbed. . . . As an independent republic, free by the side of a free Russia, must be Finland's just position. Thus full sovereign independence, with only voluntary links with Russia, became the policy of the party. It also passed a resolution on the securing of the reform laws against parliamentary obstruction, which again reflected the strength of moderate opinion. If the demonstrations failed to secure their passage, then there should not be a general strike, but a dissolution of parliament and a general election. Revisionism had triumphed once more over revolution. Manner made a closing speech that congratulated the party on overcoming its internal divisions; there had been controversy, but this had "not been divisive, but on the contrary would have a positive influence on the party's work." His confidence was echoed by Tyomies, which was impressed by the unity that had been achieved: "Our Bolsheviks and Mensheviks still fit within a single framework and do not even seriously kick one another. . . . we are the first revisionist party in the Zimmerwald International."56 These comments were thoroughly justified, for the ability of SDP to retain both the revolutionaries and the constitutionalists within the same movement was a considerable achievement. But it was both a strength and a weakness: If the internal struggle had been allowed to split the party, then its ability to defend the interests of the workers against the bourgeosie would have been weakened. But the preservation of unity meant a continuing struggle within the movement between two irreconcilable points of view, which could only be papered over by refusing to face realities, and this prevented the adoption of consistent and workable policies. SDP was trying to have things both ways at once, to reap the benefits of constitutional politics, while reserving the right to revert to revolutionary action whenever that seemed more advantageous; this is a luxury for which there is always a high price to be paid.

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Chapter 4

The Disintegration of a Society In a normal society, law and order depend on the willingness of the majority of its members to comply with the law and obey the authorities, without any sanctions being applied. Dissident minorities, whose opposition is carried beyond the norms tolerated by society, will be repressed by the security forces, backed up by the courts and the penal institutions. A fundamental breakdown of order will occur if the security forces are overthrown and substantial sections of the population abandon the habits of unquestioning obedience. In Finland, the revolution produced both of these phenomena. By early April, the police had been disbanded and replaced by workers' militias; it soon became apparent that respect for constituted authority also had been gravely weakened. All over Finland, mass meetings of the workers made demands for the dismissal of unpopular functionaries, reconstruction of local Food Boards, the requisitioning of food, and searches for hidden stocks. The structure of authority was stood on its head; the ruled were dictating to the rulers. The phenomenon became the subject of a campaign in the bourgeois press, which demanded the restoration of normal procedures. This campaign elicited a government statement on 12 April that there was no further excuse for irregularities and that if they continued, "they will be a danger to the Finnish nation." All legitimate demands could now be satisfied through the restored constitutional authority of the government and parliament. The statement concluded: "Citizens, keep calm, avoid violence. Exert your strength to preserve order. That is the best way to preserve the liberty recently won, and a necessary condition for preserving it."1 The bourgeoisie were well pleased with the statement; Helsingin Sanomat said it came not a day too soon, but the reaction of the workers was mixed. In some places they pledged support for the government to "achieve a peaceful social life in the country and fight off anarchy and arbitrariness." Elsewhere they asserted the right of the workers to take direct action, described the statement as "a moral insult to the organised workers," and declared that "the organised workers recognise the present government only in the event that it seeks to protect the workers from capitalist exploitation." 2 In such circumstances it was of crucial importance that the 56

guidance that came from the leadership of the socialist movement was ambivalent. Party and trade union leaders could see that their authority too might be endangered, and Tyomies reminded the workers that "nobody is allowed to act on his own authority in these matters," but the difficulty of controlling such mass actions had to be weighed against their obvious value as a reinforcement of action through constitutional channels. Tyomies welcomed the fact that when parliament met, "the whole Finnish proletariat, demanding and threatening, stands round its representatives, so that the bourgeois, even the blackest of them, must consider what is consistent with their security." On 25 April, it said the bourgeoisie must learn to live with the mass meeting, for "in the political activity of the working class a new form of action, direct mass action, is coming to support and assist the former, purely parliamentary form." An article headed "What Ye Have Sown. . . . " conceded that "excesses may have happened occasionally, here and there," but these were "of the masters' own sowing." For instance, the undemocratic structure of local government was "lacking in moral authority" and was a direct provocation to mass action. But the party deplored as much as anyone the need to resort to irregular actions, and was confident that once prohibition had been enforced, local government reformed, food shortages dealt with, and basic social improvements secured, the excesses would cease. Only reform of legitimate grievances could "defeat anarchy at a time like this."3 The socialist leaders of 1917 were neither the first nor the last to suppose that habits of violence would be put aside once the purposes for which they had condoned them had been achieved. The problems that might arise through the excess enthusiasm of the rank and file were revealed first on the industrial front. On 20 March, the SAJ Executive decided to make the 8-hour day the first objective of the trade union movement. But before they had determined how to pursue this, the Helsinki metal workers resolved to enforce the demand by an immediate strike. They had consulted both the Petrograd Soviet and the Helsinki Soviet before they made their decision on 10 April, but informed SAJ only afterwards. The Executive was angered that the proposed action "has not been in accordance with SAJ regulations," and tried to head it off, but on 17 April felt they had no choice but to sanction the strike, which began the following day. The employers knew that resistance was futile and agreed to talks, which took place in Government House. While they were in progress a crowd of Russian sailors, "rushed into the conference chamber waving revolvers," and demanded to know whether the workers' conditions were being met. They were persuaded to withdraw on the assurance that the strike had been settled and the demands of the workers satisfied.4 Bourgeois opinion was outraged and the socialist leaders could not conceal their unease at what had happened. On 19 April SAJ sent a delegation first to the Executive of Helsinki Soviet, where Rovio asked that "the soldiers should not interfere directly in disputes between employers and workers and that all joint action . . . should take place only through the agency of SAJ and the Executive Committee." They went on to address a meeting of the full Soviet, where Haapalainen praised the unity of Finnish and Russian workers, but regretted the behavior of "unorganized" Russians on the previous day. The Soviet agreed wholeheartedly;

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it had always been their position that the Russians must not intervene in Finnish internal affairs unless invited by the workers, and they issued official instructions to this effect, suggesting the incident on 18 April might be the work of German provocateurs.5 The attitude of the socialist leaders to calling on Russian assistance wa the same as their attitude to direct action by their own workers: They were unhappy about using such means, but its obvious efficacy made the temptation too strong. With the settlement of the 8-hour issue in industry, the focus of unrest switched to the countryside, where the situation was very different. While industrial employers had come to terms with strikes and working class militancy long before 1917, the farmers were accustomed to a docile labor force. The Finnish rural commune was run by the ta/ol/iset—the freeholders—in collaboration with the/7//ms/r7/es—the rural police official —and the parish priest. The freeholders ran the commune through their monopoly of giving employment, and through their control of the commune meeting, at which they alone had votes and which controlled such matters as poor relief. This combined economic and political control was backed up by the nimismies and the priest, who alone could issue the certificates needed by anyone having dealings with a government agency or seeking employment outside his home area. In face of this tight, oligarchic power structure, neither the tenant farmers, nor the landless laborers, who formed the lowest level of rural society, had much prospect of successful protest or defiance. Although the socialists had made some progress in organizing the torppari, the elite of tenant farmers who enjoyed some measure of legal security, they had made little headway among the cottagers and laborers; thus the bulk of the rural proletariat remained unorganized and unaroused. The dependency of the rural laborers was reinforced by the farm labor law of 1865, which compelled laborers to enter fixed term contracts, during which they had no right to leave their employment, so that, as Helsingin Sanomat pointed out on 8 May, all farm strikes were illegal. There were obvious problems over legislating an 8-hour day for farm work, and while the bill for industry made good progress in parliament, the parallel law for agriculture met embittered resistance and was blocked in committee. This may have stimulated the apparently spontaneous and quite unorganized wave of rural unrest that began on 1 May at Kajaani and lasted into early June. By then there had been 57 different strikes, involving 946 farms, with the bulk of the trouble in the southwestern province of Satakunta.6 Violent incidents multiplied because mobs of strikers attempted to stop farmers and their families from carrying on working or even, in some cases, from milking the cows. On 24 May Uusi Suometar wrote of "violence close to anarchy, and violence which tramples on the sanctity of private property and personal immunity . . . which is a daily phenomenon in these strikes." Occasionally the strikers tried to get the soldiers to intervene, though usually without success in face of the nonintervention policy of the Soviet.7 The socialists were surprised and disturbed by the movement. Tyomies wrote on 22 May that the "momentary unruliness and wild-cat strikes" could be excused, but it urged the laborers not to dissipate their energies, but to build up solid trade unions. The Executive of SAJ gave M. Ampuja the job of going into the countryside

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and getting the farm workers organized. The government tried to alleviate the situation, first of all by emphasizing the seriousness of the food crisis, in which anything that might reduce production was suicidal. A statement urged workers to be moderate and farmers to be conciliatory: "Do not intensify the strike action so that the fields remain unsown and potatoes unplanted. And it is torture of animals to stop the cattle being fed and milked. Demand a sufficient wage . . . but . . . grant agreement with the employers on the length of the working day." Ministers, especially Kallio and Wuolijoki, hurried from one dispute to another on missions of conciliation, and generally succeeded in getting settlements along the lines of the proposed legislation.8 But the farmers, who saw their centuries-old hegemony being challenged, were in no mood to submit; the shock to their value system was too great to be absorbed. A Farmers' Congress sat in Helsinki on 28-29 May, in a militant mood: In the keynote speech by Professor H. Gebhard, the 8-hour day was denounced as an absurdity, and the unrest as an artificial agitation "originating in the cities."The farmers were contemptuous of the government and its policies, which they said were conniving at the breakdown of law and order, and the Congress called on them to organize their own defenses. A deputation went to lobby the government on 30 May, demanding the restoration of a reliable police force; when the ministers gave them bromides about the need for compromise and understanding, this hardened their resolve to help themselves. Tyomies rightly described the farmers as being aghast at a new phenomenon; "the people are acting on their own initiative, without the authorities or God. This is something really frightening." The paper described the Farmers' Congress as an organizing meeting for the rural class war, and this time they were not being fanciful.9 Bourgeois dissatisfaction with the performance of the new militias grew rapidly: First they were held to be failing in their duty. When on 19 April a crowd invaded the open-air market on the Kauppatori in Helsinki and demanded that stallholders lower their prices, although militia headquarters was only a few yards away, the militia would not intervene and the stallholders had to give in. In Tampere the local socalist paper, Kansan Lehti deplored the wave of petty crime in the city: "Hooliganism quickly raised its head. The men of the militia do not have the will or the strength—they probably lack both—to hold these dregs of society under restraint. The militiamen let the hooligans have their way, even vanish from sight when some disorder occurs, just when they are needed." Secondly the militias were blatantly partisan; when Viipuri militia was formed, the advertisement for recruits stipulated that they must be members of SDP. Uusi Suometar exploded with rage over this—the advertisement went beyond "all the bounds of decency. Or can one think of any more blatant and more brazen partisan oppression than such a requirement contains?" Viipuri Municipality, which had to pay the militia, tried to object; but popular pressure, combined with urgings from the government to avoid confrontation in a city with a large and unruly Russian garrison, compelled them to submit—Viipuri militia remained reliably partisan. The socialist position, expressed in the vote of Helsinki Workers' Council on 17 May, was that the workers' control of the militia

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must continue until local government had been reformed. They had a case, because until this happened, any restoration of the legal police system would deliver it into the hands of local authorities wholly controlled by the bourgeoisie. Since the restoration of the police was the demand of all the bourgeois parties, bitter conflict over the issue was inevitable.10 o In May, the Activists sent Ignatius and H. Akerman to talk to Tokoi about the 11 problem and they urged: No government . . . not even a socialist one, can exist without forces of order. Above all there must be a competent police, organized in all localities, and in the capital there should be a police reserve, which could be sent to places where the local security forces seemed too weak to maintain order. Tokoi listened politely but made no immediate response. In the debate in parliament on 12 June, bourgeois speakers raised the issue and Rosenqvist asserted that "we do not have a government which can assert itself now against opposition . . . which can create in our country peace for our people." Tokoi refused to resort to repression, saying that "those methods you have referred to are unconditionally wrong, and at this time legality cannot be restored in this country by these methods." Even the bourgeois ministers were realistic enough to see that provocation must be avoided on the issue. C. A. Serlachius, who was minister for the interior, was canvassed about legalizing a bourgeois counter-militia, or setting up a force of paramilitary police. He rejected both ideas; a bourgeois militia would bean incitement to civil war and the Russians would not permit the raising of paramilitary forces. He promised to persist in trying to restore the regular police, and sent a circular, without consulting his socialist colleagues, urging local authorities to appoint chiefs of police. These should cooperate with the local militia committees to get the police back on a regular footing. As soon as Tyomies heard about the circular, it claimed that the bourgeois were "going on the war-path against the people" and affirmed that the workers would not yield control of the police.12 The fact that in most local authorities the workers had few or no representatives was a constant source of trouble. Official socialist policy was to wait for local government reform, but some more militant local parties were not prepared to wait. In April the Tampere party demanded half the seats on the Municipality under threat of direct action, so that the government had to intervene to arrange a compromise. During May, the workers at Rauma made a similar demand and backed it with a general strike in the town. Since Rauma was an important communication center, both the national postal service and Russian military communications were disrupted by the strike. But orders from the postal authorities to let the mail through, and by the Russian command to the garrison to stop supporting the strike, were defied. Tokoi went to Rauma to try and urge compromise, but the strikers told him "they cared no more about Tokoi than any other minister, but that they themselves were the controlling authority in the town." They were eventually bought off with concessions, but Rauma had shown that wherever real power lay in Finland, it was not with the Finnish government.13

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Generally, the workers found that a policy of taking over the local authorities was less effective than leaving them in office and exerting pressure from outside by direct action. This was what happened in Turku: The Turku workers harbored very bitter feelings about the Municipality, which had never had a socialist member, was widely accused of misusing public funds, and had dragged its feet over reform of the police and over the workers' demand for parity on the local Food Board. Trouble began in Turku with the strike of firemen, which the Municipality determined to resist. On 26 May the Turku workers' organizations approached Turku Soviet and asked if the Russians would support a general strike in aid of the firemen. The soviet replied that it was always on the side of the workers, and on 29 May a general strike in the city was proclaimed, "until the bosses abandon their ruinous policy of defiance." It was a popular and tumultuous strike; the strike committee was in continuous session and met surrounded by large and noisy crowds. The police were told to leave the streets and a strikers' militia took over. The post office was closed, despite an order from Svinhufvud, as Procurator, not to interfere with the mail. When a group of bourgeois and students went to the post office to help distribute mail, they were dispersed by the militia, supported by soldiers. The first mediators arrived on 30 May, led by the socialist minister, Ailio, but the most they could do was to get rail traffic restored, while the Municipality remained obdurate.14 The strike committee then adopted a tactic that was to be used repeatedly over the months ahead against recalcitrant local authorities and official agencies. They decided to shut the Municipality in the town hall, surrounding it with workers, and keep it there in total isolation until it gave in. When it was discovered that not enough councillors were inside to form a legal quorum, T. Hyrskymurto took a car and some armed militiamen and rounded up a few more, who were shut in with the rest. They were told that in addition to satisfying the firemen, the workers now wanted a majority of seats on the Municipality, and if they continued to resist, the strike committee "will not answer for the actions of the incensed masses." The Turku councillors proved to be tough, despite their discomforts, and the mobs outside; they voted by 21 votes to 10 that they would not transact business under duress. Their supporters outside considered a possible rescue attempt, but the knowledge that armed soldiers were in support of the strikers deterred them. Both the Turku and Helsinki Soviets were demanding that the workers be satisfied, and threatened to install the strike committee as a replacement for the Municipality. It was high time for Tokoi to arrive, as he did, to pull off one of his oratorical triumphs. He told the workers that he came as a socialist, not as a minister, and rejoiced at their solidarity and their militancy. But if the disorders continued, the prospects of advancing Finland's independence might be endangered, and foreigners might be tempted to intervene; "we must preserve good order and avoid anarchistic actions." He urged them not to insist on taking over the Municipality, but wait for local government reform. He then produced his compromise; the firemen would be satisfied, they would look at legal ways to get worker representation on the Municipality, and there would be no victimization for any illegal acts committed during the strike. On 1 June the strike was called off and the blockaded councillors were released.15

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The events in Turku made a great impression nationally: The bourgeois reaction was naturally outrage; Uusf Pdiva complained that the socialists seemed to regard themselves as "entirely outside and above all law," for they could surely have restrained the workers if they had wished. The socialists were outwardly unrepentant, but their leaders were alarmed at the signs of growing loss of control. SDP Executive issued a statement on 2 June, saying that in future, if a local party wanted to take strike action, it must first consult the Executive. Next day Tyomies lectured the trade unions on the need to control their membership: "We must assess our strike movement coolly. Enthusiasm must not be the force behind our actions. . . . we are strong only as an organised body. Anarchy cannot lead to victory but to reaction."16 The later part of June saw the beginning of a second round of agrarian unrest. From then until August there were 21 major farm strikes, involving 1,003 farms. In the first round, the farmers had been caught unawares and had usually given in. This time they were better organized. As early as 17 April, farmers at Harjavalta had formed a "volunteer fire brigade" whose real purpose was to restrain disorders. Other communities followed the example and established "fire brigades" and "security corps," and in Satakunta, where the worst disorders occurred, the various organizations merged into a provincial force, the Satakunta Security Corps. This was the farmers' answer to the strikes, and although the members of the new bodies, from which socialists were carefully excluded, were armed only with a few revolvers and sporting guns, they could be formidable to unarmed and unsuspectingstrikers. 1 7 Some ugly confrontations developed, and the flashpoint was often the local dairy, for if the strikers could keep it closed, they immediately put the farmers under severe pressure. On 13 J u l y a crowd of farm strikers marched on the dairy at Huittinen and found it guarded by the local policeman and a group of armed farmers. The situation got out of hand, the defenders opened fire, and seven strikers were hurt. The socialist press at once proclaimed that the bourgeoisie had spilt the first blood in the class war at the "Huittinen blood bath."The climax came at Ypaja on 9 August, where a farm was being picketed. The local policeman was summoned and ordered the pickets to leave; a brawl ensued, in the course of which the policeman shot and killed one of the pickets. The first fatality of the Finnish class war of 1917 had occurred, and the socialists naturally generated the maximum indignation over the occurrence. Yet the Ypaja fatality proved to be both a climax and a termination, for the rural strike movement faded away d u r i n g August and did not re• -10 vive. The economic impact of the farm strikes was slight; although bourgeois propaganda made a major issue of the irresponsibility of the strikers who were endangering the nation's food supply, it is probable that the strikes had no measurable effect on this at all. The harvest of 1917 was a poor one, but that can be wholly accounted for by bad weather. The strikes did force up wage levels and reduce hours, but the farmers could well afford this after years of wartime prosperity. The significance of the strikes was political and social; they mark the extension of the class struggle into the countryside and the politicization of the age-old resentments of 62

the rural laborer. The farmers were right in thinking that outside influences played a part: Returned war workers, socialist agitators, SAJ union organizers, and Russian soldiers all helped to get the traditionally inert rural proletariat on the move. But once aroused, the rural laborers proved just as militant as their industrial comrades and rather cruder and less discriminating in their tactics. And since their opponents were better placed to offer resistance than the urban employers, the bitterness of the struggles rose to new levels. The very intimacy of the rural situation, the confrontation between comparatively small groups of men who had a long-standing personal acquaintance, in a society unaccustomed to this kind of conflict, generated depths of feeling and resentment not found in the more impersonal and accustomed conflicts in industry. Serlachius' circular to the Prefects on appointing police chiefs ran into trouble at once; at Mikkeli there was a bitter dispute over an attempt to reinstate the old police, at Lahti the workers rejected the Prefect's nominee and threatened direct action. But the most spectacular reaction came in Helsinki. With some difficulty, the Workers' Council was induced to accept a new chief of police, Voss-Schrader, with the socialist Rovio as his deputy. Then the Municipality provoked a crisis by threatening to stop paying the militia unless the regular police were restored. The government suggested a compromise whereby the force would be reduced to the same size as the old police, which would involve 213 redundancies, and offer scope for getting rid of the less satisfactory militiamen. Serlachius and the Municipality intended that the whole of the redundancies fall on the worker members of the militia. Under pressure from the militiamen, the Workers' Council countered with an ultimatum: Full control of the Helsinki militia must be vested in a committee set up by the Workers' Council, some obnoxious police officials must be dismissed, and the pay of the militiamen must be increased. Serlachius refused these terms, and on 30 J u n e the Workers' Council called the militia out on strike. 19 While Serlachius was ready to fight, his socialist colleagues were not and busied themselves looking for a compromise. The bourgeois politicians sought to strengthen Serlachius' position by forcing a debate in parliament on 14 J u l y on a motion approving his stand. Serlachius defended his policy, "in my opinion it is better that the capital is ... wholly without police or security forces for a time, rather than have a security force which regards itself as subordinate not to the legal government of the country, but to some organisation outside the government." Schybergson called for "police whom the people obey and who do not obey the people." Socialist speakers defended the record of the militia, but when it came to a vote Serlachius was sustained by 94-92. Some socialists who shared the bourgeois alarm over law and order had voted with them. 20 The Helsinki militia strike lasted nearly a month, although it was not accompanied by the dire consequences usually associated with police strikes. Tyomies called conditions in the city "insecure and intolerable," and a speaker at a meeting at the Workers' Hall claimed: "Nobody's life and property is safe. One cannot walk peacefully in the city any more, you never know when you might get a knife in the back." Yet a careful examination of the contemporary press does not support these allegations. There was 63

a wave of petty crime, some hooligan incidents, some molestation of women in the streets, and card games in the public parks that often ended in unseemly fights. But these phenomena, though unpleasant, were not disastrous.21 The solution came in a fashion that was now familiar. The government appointed Tokoi to mediate and he came up with a typical solution, to give in to the strikers and have parliament meet the extra costs from central funds. This meant a new parliamentary debate in which bourgeois speakers denounced the terms. E. Nevanlinna said they were "of such a kind that no society can agree to it," while Schybergson said that the militia "remains a class police, which considers itself to have no responsibility other than to further interests which have little in common with the demand for order." But when the vote was taken on 25 J u l y , the socialist majority carried approval of the settlement. Serlachius tried to oppose implementation in the government, on the grounds that Tokoi had exceeded his authority in agreeing to such terms, but he was voted down. The militia returned to duty and Voss-Schrader and Rovio resumed office, though Voss-Schrader was transferred almost at once, and Rovio became acting head of the Helsinki police. 22 Conservative opinion was undoubtedly horrified at what O. Setalai, brother of the minister, called "the dreadful excesses or rather anarchy of the socialists" and Uusi Suometar called "the unheard of terror which the present ruling party in our country allows to be exercised." Setalai, who was old-fashioned, thought that the remedy was "boldness and zeal to save the Church of our fathers from being abused and trampled on by unbelieving mockers," but most would have agreed with Uusi Suometar that the remedy was "legal armed forces of order instead of the present militia." 23 Such people thought the trouble could be cured if the symptoms were suppressed, whereas the unrest among the workers was fed by the deepest and most primitive of emotions, the fear of starvation. The facts of the food situation in Finland in 1917 were that in 1913 the country had needed to import 367.1 million kilograms of grain, and in 1917 managed to procure only 20.3 million kilograms. Since the beginning of the war, consumption of grain had fallen from around 220 kilograms a head to 70 kilograms, and of potatoes from 127 kilograms to 113 kilograms. These were the two staple components of the working class diet, and it is apparent that the workers were getting much less to eat. The new rationing system should have assured them a supply of basic foods at controlled prices, but their wives often queued for hours at the shops only to find that the rations were not being honored. Yet the worker could see that there was a range of uncontrolled foodstuffs on sale; he knew there was an extensive black market in rationed food, and he could watch the bourgeois eating in restaurants at prices he could never afford. 24 Against this background, the socialist newspapers were telling the workers, day after day, about farmers who flouted the rationing laws, who openly boasted they would rather feed grain to the animals than sell it to the workers, who refused to cultivate land in order to sell the produce at controlled prices. He was told that "the guardians of the law have been indifferent to infringements of the food control laws" and that bourgeois-controlled Food Boards connived with farmers to evade the regulations. 25 In short, the socialist press sought to persuade an unsophisticated and 64

captive readership that the capitalist enemy was deliberately trying to starve the workers so as to weaken them and beat them into submission. There was plenty of real hoarding, profiteering, and black market dealing in Finland in 1917, as there was everywhere in wartime Europe; but no evidence existed then for the kind of deliberate activity ascribed to the farmers, distributors, and officials involved in food distribution, nor has any been found since. It is both charitable and realistic to suppose that the journalists and politicians responsible did not invent these stories in cold blood, but based them on rumor and hearsay, combined with the evidence of fraud and evasion that occasionally came to court. All that was needed in addition was faith in the Marxist dogma that the laws of the class struggle made it inevitable that the bourgeoisie would behave in this manner. The result of the campaign was that the socialist leaders implanted a monstrous fear in the minds of ordinary workers, with consequences that the leadership was quite unable to control. The situation created by fears of starvation was made worse by the appearence of mass unemployment. It was caused by the spread of general economic dislocation, aggravated by the pressures on the Russians to run down their fortification works and military procurement programs in Finland. There was no unemployment insurance; relief was primarily the responsibility of local authorities, which traditionally provided cash relief or set up public works. The bourgeois-controlled local authorities naturally disliked spending large sums on the unemployed, but the workers, with their new sense of power, demanded immediate relief. It soon became apparent what would happen if they were not satisfied—the unemployed would resort to direct action. At Pori 300 "unorganized" workers blockaded the Municipality and insisted on immediate cash payments. In Turku, when the scheme of public works proposed by the Municipality was deemed unsatisfactory, a crowd of 3,000 workers marched on the city treasury to demand cash payments, and were only persuaded to leave when promised that the relief works would be opened within a week and that an advance on wages would be paid.26 These phenomena faced the leaders of the workers' movement with the familiar dilemma: Clearly each successful action advanced the class strugggle by inflicting humiliating defeat on the ruling class, but the undisciplined and unpredictable nature of the happenings was disturbing. The trade unions, who bore the brunt in thi area, had recruited large numbers of young, radical workers in the two years preceding 1917. When trade began to decrease, they were the first to be laid off, and naturally claimed that they were being victimized. Experienced union organizers found it difficult to control meetings; one wrote of "how little the mass of the workers knew the realities, and to how great an extent a few impulsive individuals moulded general opinion. . . . the masses went their own way and the leadership was forced to walk in the wake of the restless mass."27 The socialist press and politicians preached the virtues of discipline and order, and urged workers, "do not listen to individual blusterers, pay no attention to them." But this kind of talk could not stop the u n r u l y manifestations of popular discontent. 28 Both then and later socialist and bourgeois commentators tried to blame these excesses on "hooligans" or fortification workers. The myth has the convenience 65

that the unpleasantness can be blamed on alien, un-Finnish factors, and the "real working class" or the "real Finnish people" can be exonerated. It is true that the fortification works had taken numbers of young rural laborers from their highly structured environment and thrust them into one quite alien, where money was plentiful, and there was nothing to spend it on but cards, drink, and women. Such men did attach themselves to the workers' movement in 1917 and had some impact on its mood and behavior, but not at all as much as alleged by men like Tokoi and Tanner when they looked back on these events.29 The idea that the disorders of 1917 can be blamed on the fortification workers remains a myth. These phenomena—"hooliganism," gambling, drunkenness, womanizing, and addiction to petty, but often violent crime—were to be found at any time or place during European industrialization, when migrant labor from the villages was concentrated for industrial projects. It can be documented in Finland itself before 1914, with the sole difference that then there had been a reliable police force willing and able to intervene. What seems to have happened in 1917 was that unemployed migrant laborers, many discharged from Russian war work, who had never been members of a trade union or of SDP, drifted into the suburbs of the larger towns where prospects of relief were better. A degree of unruliness and petty criminality had probably been part of their life style, and they hung around mass meetings, shouted down or intimidated moderate speakers, and included an element of violent men ready for any kind of direct action, if only to relieve the tedium. Further, they were used to consorting with like-minded elements among the Russian soldiers and sailors. The presence of these antisocial elements in the semirural suburbs of Helsinki, Viipuri, and Turku was revealed by the figures of crime and violence that made communes like the Helsinki suburb of Malmi notorious in 1917. In such unlucky places the law-abiding citizen found himself increasingly terrorized by the migrants and their Russian soldier companions. Yet there were only a handful of these unhappy communities, and without the prior collapse of normal social restraints in 1917, such elements would have had little influence with the respectable organized workers. In normal conditions the bulk of the settled working class, led by its puritanical, teetotal party and trade union officers, would have found nothing in common with these disorderly gangs, in spite of a common proletarian origin. At most, the hooligan elements made a marginal contribution to intensifying the unrest that the fear of hunger and unemployment stirred up among workers who would normally have repudiated violence and illegality. In July the rising tide of unemployment coincided with a sudden worsening in the supply of dairy produce; the milk supply to the cities steadily dwindled so that in Helsinki the ration to adults was stopped altogether, and only children, nursing mothers, and the sick could get a supply. This was accompanied by a drastic fall in butter production, from 4,005 casks in the first week of July to 1,710 casks in the first week of August.30 The causes are not clear, but drought was the most likely explanation. There were signs that the radicalization of the workers was producing its own unofficial movement. On 20 July, when the party leaders explained to mass meetings in Helsinki their plans for unemployment relief through the local authori-

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ties, there were strong demands from the floor for more radical solutions: "Land and industrial plants should be brought into public ownership." On 25 J u l y , the unofficial movement sent its own letter to parliament to demand a national program of "worthwhile public works. . . . the meeting expressed the most serious condemnation against unprofitable public enterprises." At first Tyomies welcomed this spontaneous surge of activism, and encouraged the masses to "begin activity, to organise powerful demonstrations for work and bread."The Workers'Council associated itself with the demands of the unemployed, and on 2 August, parliament voted over two million marks for a program of relief works. 31 But the movement was already out of the control of the official leadership, daily meetings in Senate Square had elected their own action committee, and on 1 August this committee led the workers in a blockade of the Helsinki unemployment relief office. When the Workers' Council sent officials to control the demonstration, the crowd repudiated them; the Council had to agree to recognize the unofficial committee, "although this is against the principles of the organised workers." From that point the disorder steadily escalated: The Senate Square meeting invaded the adjoining market and compelled stallholders to reduce the price of potatoes from 4.50 marks to 1 mark a kilogram. Part of the mob moved on into the covered markets, looting fish and bread, and when the militia made arrests, mobbed their headquarters for a time to demand the release of prisoners. On 9 August, the finance committee of Helsinki Municipality was mobbed by the crowd, and forced to offer more cash reliefs and extra public works. The disorder spread to Turku where there had been no butter ration for a week; on 9 August, a mob invaded the depot of the Valio cooperative, seized butter stocks, and carried them off to the Workers' Hall. There, party officials disowned the movement—"the workers'organisations are not involved" — b u t the crowd held a mass meeting and voted for a general strike. A strike militia was appointed to inspect all food stores, sell the contents at controlled prices, and stop all food leaving the city. On 11 August the unofficial leaders began to sell off what they had seized, and this reduced tensions in the city; the strike ended and life returned to normal. 32 But the example had been taken up in Helsinki, where the Senate Square meeting voted on 11 August to seize food stocks and sell them itself at its own controlled prices. They resolved that "by the kind of moral action that the social democrats advocate nothing is obtained. We must take by force."33 This action stimulated the socialist leaders to try and get events back under party control, and on 13 August they called their own mass meeting and invited the unofficial leaders, Kivisto and Salonen, to attend. It was decided that the government must change the whole system of distribution by requisitioning all food supplies and lowering the controlled prices. There was to be a general strike in Helsinki to enforce their demands. The Executive of SAJ was summoned and although clearly unhappy about developments, they voted 47 votes to 15 to make the strike official. They demanded, in addition to a new policy on food supply, vigorous action on unemployment and a meeting of parliament to install a new government to carry out the program. The strike began on 14 August and was completely effective in 67

Helsinki: Pickets soon forced the closure of businesses that tried to defy the strike, and the Helsinki Soviet gave its approval. On 15 August two mass meetings were held, at which the party leaders at last seemed to have regained control. Manner persuaded the unofficial leaders to resign their power into the hands of the party and to surrender their control of the food stores; Tokoi promised that the government would be reconstructed and that he personally would take charge of the new policies on food. On this promise, it was agreed to end the strike the following day.34 This should have marked the end of the unofficial direct action movement in Helsinki, but it did not. The Senate Square meetings continued, and on 17 August, when the Municipality met in the Stock Exchange building to discuss unemployment relief, the crowd came down from Senate Square, together with some armed soldiers and sailors, and surrounded the building. The militia were called, and delegates from the Soviet; they tried to talk the crowd into dispersing, but without success. Instead, a mob headed by Kivisto and Salonen broke into the meeting, seized the councillors and searched them for arms, and required the acceptance of their demands for further immediate cash payments to the unemployed. In face of this, Rovio ordered the militia into action and mounted and foot police, some of them armed, attacked the crowd and dispersed it, arresting the leaders. This quite unexpected outburst of aggression by the militia came as a profound shock to the crowds: At the Senate Square meeting on 18 August emotion ran high, the party was blamed for the attack, and people demonstratively tore up their membership cards, while Russian speakers promised to get arms for the workers. But the militia moved in to the attack once more, arrested the speakers, and when the crowd gathered round militia headquarters, it was dispersed with vigorous baton charges. Physical force was supplemented by exhortation. Rovio appealed to responsible workers to stay away from Senate Square; Tyomies supported him in an article of 19 August headed "Disorders Must Be Condemned" and the Executives of SDP and SAJ issued statements. These said that such disorders only helped the class enemy and hinted that "dark forces" and "provocateurs" had been at work.35 The vigor and aggression displayed by the militia were so uncharacteristic that when some of the victims complained to the Workers' Council, it decided to investigate. The investigation revealed that on 17 August Rovio had been contacted by the "Helsinki Security Corps," an organization of bourgeois volunteers, which offered to help him restore order. Rovio was by then desperate at his failure to control the mobs and accepted the offer. About a hundred volunteers were issued with police equipment and stiffened with selected militiamen, mostly former policemen, and it was this force that had attacked and dispersed the mobs on 17 and 18 August. The Workers' Council censured Rovio for taking help from "unknown elements" and called his action "ill-considered." But they agreed he had been under intolerable pressure and expressed continuing confidence in his leadership of the militia. However, it was obvious he would not dare to resort to such means in any future crisis.36 Fortunately, disorder died away after the riot of 18 August and Helsinki relapsed into an uneasy calm. It would be quite wrong to represent the situation in Finland in August 1917 as

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a catastrophic disruption of the fabric of society. Over most of the country, and for most of the time, no serious disorders had occurred; life continued in its accustomed patterns. But although there was a superficial appearence of normality, the society had been badly hurt: Its confidence had been sapped and everwhere there was fear. The workers feared unemployment and hunger, the bourgeois feared that the whole fabric of law and order, and with it the sanctity of property and the ordered hierarchy of society, might collapse. It was this all-pervading fear that poisoned the atmosphere and provided the background against which the Finns had to try to cope with a mounting crisis in their relations with Russia.

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Chapter 5

The Activists and the Valtalaki The Activists had not expected a Russian revolution until after the war had ended and were surprised and dismayed by it. Gummerus wrote that the news "aroused almost more anxiety than joy in our Stockholm circle," and Ignatius recalled that "the early days of the revolution threatened totally to undermine the Activist movement which strove for Finland's independence. . . . therefore I could not rejoice over the revolution."1 Their first public statement urged their countrymen to put no trust in Russian promises: "If the Finnish people now accept autonomy at Russia's hands they will put at risk the work which, during the war, has pushed forward Finland's interests through the Central Powers." 2 But the Activists were powerless to stop the politicians at home from entering into negotiations with the Russians, and faced the danger that their most enthusiastic supporters might be seduced by a deliberate Russian campaign to win them from their commitment to Germany. On 23 March, Admiral Maximov, who spoke Swedish fluently, invited the student leaders to a conference. He suggested that the aims of their movement could be realized in agreement with Russia; Russia would be prepared to grant amnesty to the exiles and take back the Ja'gers, who would be free to enlist in a special unit under their own officers and serve the Entente cause. The promises were repeated by Kerenski on 29 March; though the students were deeply suspicious, fearing a trap, they did consult their elders on the Military Committee and were allowed to send a deputation to Haparanda to discuss the Russian offer with the exiles. The result was a unanimous decision to reject all approaches from the Russians and to maintain the Ja'gers in Germany as the spearhead for a national rising. Further contacts were made between the students and Kerenski in April, but as the students would consider nothing short of full independence, nothing came of them.3 The Russians in turn hardened their attitude; on 11 April Stachovic called the Ja'gers "an undesirable element of the population" and said they would be put on trial if they returned. When the Finnish Procurator-general, Svinhufvud, tried to put a case for the return of individuals like Gummerus and K. Donner, he was told that it would be better for all concerned if they remained abroad.4 It can be argued that the Activist

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rejection of the Russian offers was a mistake, because the Provisional Government was ready to pay a good price in political concessions to secure Finnish support for the war. Finland might have acquired the nucleus of a professional army, paid for and equipped by Russia, which could have secured independence without a prolonged civil war when the opportunity came. But the Activists had built their movement on a racist attitude towards Russia and a deep commitment to Germany, which blinded them to such possibilities. The Activists had to devise a modified program to meet the changed situation; for this, they turned to their legal expert, Professor R. Erich, who drafted a memorandum dated 24 March.5 Erich assumed that Finland was in the situation provided for by article 38 of the constitution of 1772, the failure of the ruling dynasty. In such case, parliament would assume the sovereign prerogatives but only for the purpose of conferring them on a new dynasty. This interpretation would defeat any claim that the Provisional Government had taken over the sovereign prerogatives. At the same time, the invocation of the constitution of 1772 would assert the principle of division of powers between a strong executive and the democratic legislature. The Activists believed that an independent Finland must have a strong government for the same reason as it needed the patronage of some outside power, because it would have a permanently hostile Russia as a neighbor. Erich suggested two alternative programs: In the first, parliament would declare Finland independent with the backing of a foreign, armed intervention. In the second, there would be negotiations with the Provisional Government based on the premise that: There may be significant tactical advantage to be gained from the presentation of a comprehensive and far-reaching programme, which although highly unlikely to be accepted without demur by the other side, will set out a sort of bargaining position and which will prevent a premature settlement with Russia. They should demand virtual independence for Finland, with absolute autonom in internal matters and only vestigial Russian control over foreign policy, so that Finland would be evacuated by Russian armed forces and declared neutral in the war. Such terms were designed to prevent any agreement with Russia until such time as the military or international situation permitted independence to be secured unilaterally. In addition to the danger that their compatriots in Finland might come to terms with the Provisional Government, the Activists faced the possibility that their foreign patrons might think that the Finnish cause was no longer worth supporting. There was a faction in the German Foreign Office, led by Zimmermann, that was reacting unfavorably to signs of Finnish reconciliation with the Russians. The Delegation sent a deputation to Berlin, where they saw Zimmermann on 24 March. They declared that:6 The thoroughly pro-German Finnish people . . . will be presented with a temptation of monstrous proportions. The situation is therefore apparently

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grave. If Finland is at be saved, and through Finland, Sweden is to be brought on to the side of Germany in the future, an intervention from the German side is absolutely necessary. The Finns got from Zimmermann a short statement that began, "the German government considers as a German interest the attainment, if possible, of full independence by Finland." Germany would press for this at any peace conference, and if it could not be secured, would urge the widest possible autonomy, under international guarantee. This statement was submitted to the Kaiser, who indicated that he approved it, though he declined to sign it and stipulated that it should only be circulated privately to party leaders in Finland. The Delegation would have liked "an assurance in a somewhat more definitive/more authentic/more solemn format," their drafting committee was not sure which, but the Foreign Office rejected all pleas for a more binding commitment.7 The Jager Battalion remained the one concrete pledge of German support, and the Activists were conscious that this too was endangered in the changed situation: It might disintegrate internally if the Jagers came to feel that their role had ended. A stream of propaganda was directed at them through the Activists, and the immediate danger passed, for on 9 April the battalion sent a message to friends at home that "the Finnish Jagers know that the country will not be liberated through an uprising in Petersburg. They know that its liberation demands the work and sacrifice of its sons." 8 Its position was further strengthened by General E. Ludendorff, who issued orders on 22 March confirming that the role of the battalion was to provide cadres for a future Finnish army, and that the training program should be so adapted. Its political character was recognized in the detachment of the battalion from the ordinary military administration and its placement under the Sektion Politik of the General Staff, with Captain E. von Hulsen in charge of its affairs.9 Even so, the Delegation was living through a depressing period; it seemed that the Germans were losing interest and the political situation at home was developin in total disregard of their programs. When Gummerus went back to the Foreign Office, Zimmermann told him the Activists never seemed to do anything —"you are as soft as the Russians"—and Gummerus was in despair. Thus, when von Hulsen decided to send a representative to Stockholm, Direktor Steinwachs, to keep contact with the Delegation, it was decided that the Military Committee must send someone to talk with him and offer collaboration with any proposed German action in Finland. A memorandum was drawn up that claimed that the Russian garrison was becoming demoralized, and that if the Germans invaded there could be a Finnish national rising: "In the event this were to happen the Military Committee would put itself wholly at the disposal of the German army."10 On the strength of this memorandum, the Germans offered to send an officer of the General Staff to Stockholm for exploratory talks with a representative of the Military Committee. The development that gave most hope to the Activists was the indication that inside Finland cooperation with the socialists might be possible. The stated policy of SDP —immediate internal autonomy supported by international guarantees—was

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close enough to the Activist program. They had a personal contact with the party leadership through Y. Makelin, who, though he was a strict advocate of class struggle, had shown a friendly interest in the Ja'ger movement, and his son was a volunteer in the battalion. Makelin had frequent cordial conversations with Activists like Sario and was given a copy of the Kaiser's note. When this was discussed in the SDP parliamentary group, there was a positive reaction; they suggested that the Activists ought to publish it. A number of socialists were sympathetic to the Erich memorandum, though they were a minority. M. Airola told parliament on 19 April that he agreed that the sovereign prerogatives now belonged "not to the Russian Provisional Government, which is unknown to the laws of our country . . . but to Finland's parliament."11 Tokoi's speech on the following day, with its tribute to the Ja'gers and assertion of Finland's claim to independence, set off a wave of enthusiasm for the socialists in Activist circles. A deputation of Ja'gers called on Tokoi and offered to put the services of the movement at the disposal of the government. K. Donner wrote to Jernstrom on 26 April that Sario had returned from a trip to Finland and that "he is absolutely satisfied with this trip and believes the best of the socialists." Tokoi's speech had been excellent: "One could not have asked more of anyone. In it one finds set out, in the name of the government to parliament, everything we have at heart and are working for." The euphoria went so far that praises of the socialists were heard in the Stock Exchange Club, where a bourgeois politician was heard to say that "our grey men have understood how to make use of both the tactics and the strategy that is necessary. Our social democratic party has, to a great extent, shown itself mature. . . . We can trust that popular elections, de mocracy in both its forms constitutes the firm national grounds on which the future will be built."12 It was unfortunate that many of these assessments of the socialist position on independence contained elements of hearsay and wishful thinking. The reality was that the socialists were divided and uncertain and that Makelin*s position was both extreme and unrepresentative. When Kuusinen told the Workers' Council on 23 April that "Finland must become free from Russia, must achieve full internal selfdetermination," the Council was disturbed and members complained that there had been no adequate discussion of these issues within the party. Once it became clear that the Provisional Government would not even concede full internal autonomy, the leaders could not agree how to respond. Kuusinen believed that Erich's interpretation of the legal position was correct, but they must be realistic and accept that there would be a continuing connection with Russia. Almost every speaker in the subsequent discussion agreed that it would be premature to claim independence at once. Manner was opposed to separation even as an aim, because the Finnish working class "cannot with its own resources hold the bourgeois in check: we need the support of the Russians." Makelin alone called for an immediate demand for full internal autonomy and suggested that they must think seriously about raising an armed force and seeking international socialist support for a confrontation with the Provisional Government.13 As the socialists looked increasingly to their Russian comrades for a resolution

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of their disagreements with the Provisional Government, their outlook diverged steadily from that of the Activists. Makelin moved with the rest, as was made clear in a speech in parliament on 16 May that ought to have warned the Activists that any hopes for cooperation were fading. Makelin declared his acceptance of Erich's position, alleging that bourgeois politicians who recognized the claims of the Provisional Government did so because they wanted its protection against the workers. He commented on a remark Alkio made in the debate to the effect that it was unrealistic to talk of independence when Finland had no armed forces. Makelin declared, "on my understanding that statement contained a longing, even if I should not say a lament." He warned the bourgeois members thatSDP was absolutely opposed to any attempt to raise an armed force—which was the central feature of all Activist planning—because the workers expected foreign support for Finnish independence not from imperialist Germany but from the Russian workers. "We have been told publicly by enlightened Russian workers, that the Russian Social Democrats must secure from the Provisional Government self-determination in all internal affairs for Finland."14 This speech showed that the socialists were committed to policies quite inconsistent with the aims of the Activists. Yet the latter either did not notice this, or refused to take it seriously, and went ahead with plans that assumed the workers would join a national uprising, which would expel the Russians by force and would be backed by German arms. The next stage of Activist planning was initiated in the Military Committee. This self-appointed club of ex-officers continued to meet at regular intervals in Helsinki to discuss the trend of events, but E. E. Kaila, who came to work closely with them during the autumn, noted that "it did not seem to have any firm composition," and did not seem to do anything but "made above all the impression of a kind of talking shop . . . without a firm agenda or plan of work."15 But since the Germans, who had little conception of the real nature of this body, had expressed the wish to consult with a representative from it, the Military Committee decided to send a del egation to Stockholm. N. Mexmontan, as the senior Finnish officer who had held an independent command, was to lead the delegation. They first consulted with a group of Swedish sympathizers, including the writer S. Hedin and two senior officers of the Swedish General Staff. The suggestion was made that Sweden might intervene in Finland, on the analogy of the Austrian occupation of Bosnia-Herzegovina in 1878, and expel the Russian troops. The Swedes were realistic enough to point out that without the support of the Swedish Left, such action was impossible, an the Finns deduced correctly that any active intervention by Sweden that would involve conflict with Russia was excluded.16 On 14 and 15 May the representatives of the Military Committee, together with J. Castren, who represented the Delegation, met with Steinwachs, Captain von Reiche, and Lieutenant Schmidt, representing the German military leadership. The Finns presented a memorandum that suggested that Germany land two army corps in Finland during the summer. The Finns could provide support, particularly if the Germans armed them in advance, and after the landing the disbanded Finnish army could be reformed with the help of the Jagers. It could be built up in time into a

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force of 200,000 men, ready to fight for the Central Powers. The Germans indicated that it was uncertain whether troops could be sent, though there would be no difficulty about supplying arms, but they promised to report back to their superiors. When the Finnish memorandum was considered in Sektion Politik, the reaction was skeptical: They could see no advantage in reactivating the German eastern front by an intervention in Finland, doubted if the Finns could really give much assistance, and noted that once Finland was cut off from Russia Germany would have to make good her food deficit.17 The Finns also held meetings among themselves and on 16 May drafted a new plan of action for the Activist movement. The Activist Committee in Helsinki would be reconstructed to amalgamate the students and the politicians into a single central executive, which would pursue three main tasks. First, they must revive the enlistment of men into the Jager Battalion, to prove to the Germans that support in Finland was still active; second, they must stimulate public opinion in Finland to demand the evacuation of the Russian troops, so as to clear the way for a German intervention; and finally, they must develop their own secret military organization inside Finland. The idea was "that measures be taken as soon as possible to train cadres among the male population in Finland which will be prepared to receive weapons and act in combination with the Finnish Jager Battalion."18 Military planning would be in the hands of the Military Committee, but execution would be in the hands of the Activist Committee, since it already had a rudimentary, nationwide organization. Mexmontan would remain in Stockholm to work on the military plans, and on 21 May, together with K. Donner and three Swedish General Staff officers who had volunteered to help, he drew up a mobilization plan for an uprising and the subsequent formation of a Finnish army.19 Ignatius brought the decisions back to Helsinki and they were approved by the O Military Committee. The Committee decided to send Ignatius and O. Akesson to talk to Tokoi and see if the government would authorise the raising of some kind of security force. Tokoi listened politely but would give no assurances, and in his speech in parliament on 12 June, he explicitly rejected the idea.20 The Activist Committee was restructured as planned, uniting the senior politicians and the students: A. Gripenberg became chairman, with O. Akesson, H. Akerman and E. Suolahti from the old Committee joined by B. Appelberg, S. Donner, T. Heikel, P. Hynninen, K. Koskimies, H. Renvall, E. Valikangas, W. Zilliacus,T. Svedlin,and Kaila, the secretary. They began planning their paramilitary organization, using the old Jager recruiting system, with 29 districts, each under a district chief and a committee that would form an embryo military staff. Within each district, the commune would be the basic unit, with its local chief and committee. The initial activity would consist of enlistment and propaganda, training would be undertaken where it was safe to do so, but the overriding need was to keep away from the attention of the Russians. Since it was intended to become an armed organization, a danger, given the state of social tension in Finland by June, was that the socialists would think it was aimed against them. To avoid this danger, the Activists stressed the importance of recruiting reliable members of the working class.21 The Activist Committee

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did not have to start from nothing; rather, their first task was to try and pull into their organization local movements that had already begun in some areas. The most active was Swedish-speaking Pohjanmaa, where on 19 May a public meeting at Mustasaari had recommended every commune to establish "volunteer fire brigades" and to enlist in them every able-bodied man between 16 and 60. Their purpose would be "to defend home and hearth and protect women and children." They were directed against the Russian soldiers' disorderly behavior and the rumored plan for a forcible evacuation of the civil population in the event of invasion. This home guard type of organization spread through most of Swedish-speaking Poh janmaa in May and June, and on 17 J u n e , Svedlin came to Vaasa, on behalf of the Activist Committee, to try and fit these home guards in to the proposed paramilitary organization. His chief inducement was a letter from the Committee saying that the Committee expected to be able to supply weapons in the near future, and asked the Pohjanmaa people to prepare to receive them. On this basis the first district committee of the national Home Guard movement was established in Vaasa, and acknowledged the leadership of the Activist Committee in Helsinki. 2 2 While these efforts to lay the foundation for an army in Finland were in progress, equally strenuous efforts were needed to retain the nucleus of an army that existed in Germany. The Ja'ger Battalion was threatened from various directions. It had powerful enemies still in the German Foreign Office and in the military bureaucracy, and as prospects for a separate peace with Russia seemed brighter, the battalion was regarded as an obstacle and was under pressure to disband. 23 It was also torn by internal dissent; in part this derived from a combination of physical hardships and a sense of neglect. Wegelius noted in April that his last parcel from home had been six months in transit and that the men resented the inadequate support from home. There was standing tension between the men in the ranks, largely Finnish speaking, and the officers and NCOs who spoke mostly Swedish and were accused of being overbearing and insensitive to the mens' welfare. This situation was exacerbated by the problem of the troublemakers who had been consigned to the punishment camp at Bahrenfeld. The officers tended to see their sufferings as merited, Wegelius and Jernstrom had no sympathy for them, but the rankers saw them as fellow countrymen suffering at the hands of foreigners. One of the few zealously Finnish-speaking officers, A. Sihvo, visited Bahrenfeld on 9 J u n e and found the 200 inmates in wretched conditions. He wrote that it was "shame on us, the Germans and this whole century that such an institution is in existence."24 The Delegation tried to alleviate the problem. Sario suggested that the battalion send a delegation to Stockholm, though he feared obstruction by German officials, knowing "the slight sympathies of the officials for such an 'irregular' matter." Bonsdorff persuaded a group of sympathetic financiers to pay a regular subsidy of 10 to 20,000 marks a month into a special "Jagerkasse" in Libau for comforts. But the most important measure was to secure the setting up of a training program adapted to the future role of the battalion as cadres for the national army. For some reason, the Germans were slow to implement this policy: When the Governor of Libau told the battalion on 31 May that "your hopes will soon be fulfilled," by midnight "there was nobody left sober 76

in the camp." In reality it was only on 4 July that Ludendorff signed the final orders for the new program and 26 July before they arrived at Libau. But that was another problem solved, as was the question of the Bahrenfeld men: On 18 June the battalion agreed to readmit those who wished it on two months' probation, while the rest should be discharged as civilians to do war work in Germany.25 By July the future of the Jager Battalion seemed assured. The Activists continued to pursue the mirage of collaboration with the socialists. On 4 May the students conferred with the young socialists, but found that the latter were either pacifist, rejecting the whole idea of an armed rising, or were committed to class struggle, ruling out collaboration with the bourgeoisie. Kaila claimed that this conference convinced the students that cooperation with the socialists was impossible, but their elders continued to hope. That same day, Wiik and Simla arrived in Stockholm as delegates of SDP for the preparatory commission for an international meeting of socialists. This meeting was designed to revive the shattered Social ist International and find ways of mediating an end to the war. SDP had been unable to give them any firm instructions on what line they should take about the future relationship of Finland and Russia. The two Finns were rather lost in the sophisticated, cosmopolitan atmosphere of Stockholm, and easily drifted into close contact with the Activist exiles, like Gummerus, Donner, and Erich. In their public statements the two socialists tended to be imprecise; an article by Wiik in the Swedish press on 19 June stated:26 There may be difference of opinion on what form of political position is, from the practical point of view, the most felicitous for Finland. But from a democratic point of view there can be no denying the people of Finland the right to decide for themselves what that position will be. But the memorandum which they presented to the preparatory commission on 23 May was influenced by Erich; it claimed that full independence for Finland was a precondition for securing socialism in Finland, and by implication overrode any obligation the Finnish movement had to socialist internationalism or the support of the Russian revolution. The nationalist tone of the memorandum drew strong criticism from the Russian delegates, who said it was a betrayal of Russian democracy, from the radical Swedish Left-socialists, and from Kautsky, who accused the Finns of deviating into bourgeois chauvinism. In the end, the most that the preparatory commission would say was that the question of Finnish independence ought to be on the agenda of any peace conference.27 The Activists in Stockholm were encouraged by their contacts with Sirola and Wiik in their belief that the socialists were basically on their side. On 14 May, K. Donner wrote confidently to Makelin that SDP should now make a formal commitment to independence and suggested that Tokoi arrange for a Finnish government delegation to come to Stockholm and lobby the international socialists in the name of the Finnish people. He continued: "Further it would be absolutely necessary to discuss more precisely the question of a militia, and other matters which are connected with possible action in the coming months." No response to this came

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from Finland, so on 4 June the Activists arranged a conference in Stockholm between Sirola and Wiik, who were joined by a colleague, W. Perttila, and Donner, Norrmen, and Gummerus. They found that the socialists would not commit themselves to support an armed rising; Wiik insisted he preferred to seek independence by negotiation, though Sirola conceded it might come to a fight with the Russians in the end. No agreement could be reached except that if the Provisional Government remained obdurate in refusing to extend autonomy, then parliament should "take the direction of the country's affairs in hand." Even after this, many of the Activists continued to hope for socialist support, but more and more, like Gummerus, they began to face the reality that "this was not the way in which an armed struggle for independence could be prepared, however willing we might have been to see social democrats with us."28 SDP was following a path that, although it led in the direction of conflict with the Provisional Government, would involve a very different type of conflict from that envisaged by the Activists. The party was waiting for the official response of the Provisional Government to the Finnish proposal that the exercise of most of the sovereign prerogatives be transferred to the Finnish government. It was already apparent before the official answer came that the Provisional Government intended to dig in its heels. Kerenski visited Helsinki on 12 May and in a speech at the Workers' Hall in Helsinki spoke of Russian goodwill for Finland, but added that "Here in Finland we must be especially careful because our big-heartedness and our kindness may be interpreted as weakness and feebleness," which would be a mistake, for the revolution was strong and determined. His Russian audience responded well to his chauvinistic oratory. The newspaper Den underlined Kerenski's warning when it cautioned the Finns against any thought of using force; "any attempt at violence might lead to irreparable calamities, for in these uneasy times navy guns might start firing by themselves, even without order from Petrograd."29 This was a clear threat to bombard Helsinki if trouble broke out. SDP sensibly took soundings among the garrison and sought to influence its views. They made an official approach to the Area Committee to clarify its view on the question of Finnish autonomy, but the Area Committee was evasive. They replied that the revolution stood for the self-determination of all Russia's minority peoples, including "the fraternal Finnish people," but the Provisional Government could not determine the issue, only the Constituent Assembly. The Finns should be patient, "let the freedom-loving Finnish people be at rest about their autonomy. Russia's revolutionary democracy wills it—and so it shall be."30 SDP also tried to influence the soldiers directly; on 20 May they put an article in the Helsinki Izvestija explaining their position, and a few days later the Helsinki Bolshevik, V. Smirnov, published a commentary on statements that Wiik had been making in Stockholm. These efforts did not go unanswered. An article by E. Petrov on 6 June said the revolution was not committed to anything more than internal autonomy, for Russia could not lightly contemplate an independent state so close to Petrograd, and many precedents existed for links between nations of diverse cultures.31 When Huttunen

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spoke with Kerenski on 21 May, he found him unyielding about the Finnish proposals: "Discussion is useless." When Tokoi and Makelin, in their interview with prime-minister Lvov, on 23 May, tried to frighten him with the idea that the attitude of the Provisional Government was feeding the demand for independence, Lvov was polite but unmoved.32 Among the socialist leaders only Makelin wanted an immediate confontation; "before long we shall come to the point that this question must be settled unilaterally." The others were content with the line expressed in parliament by Kuusinen on 25 May and in Tyomies on 27 May. This asserted the principle that the people of Finland had a right of self-determination —"even a small nation has the right to live its own independent life"—but for the moment they were content to support the compromise put forward by the Finnish government—"a conciliatory arrangement at the present moment"—and if it should come to a conflict, "we know that at least a part of the Russian people will certainly be on our side."33 The actions of the Finnish socialists would be determined by what they took to be the attitude of the Russian socialists, and the signs were still clear that the latter were not yet ready to support the Finns in a clash with the Provisional Government. When the second Area Congress for the Russians in Finland met on 2 June, this was confirmed, for it expressed continued support for the Provisional Government and the war. The Congress resolution on Finland accepted "the duty of the Russian political democracy to support the demand for the independence of Finland, in the event this demand is presented by a majority of the Finnish people," but clearly regarded this as a purely hypothetical situation. This position encouraged Kerenski to repeat that only the Constituent Assembly could determine the issue: "I cannot compromise on this point. The same point of view is shared by the Russian and soldiers' organisations in Finland."34 It has been seen that the Finnish government did give way in face of Russian firmness and presented a modified proposal to parliament for the provisional settlement of relations with Russia. This draft, the Lex Tulenheimo, left substantial powers, including the right to summon and dissolve parliament, in the hands of the Provisional Government. In the parliamentary debate on 12 June, Tokoi expressed Finnish dissatisfaction with the compromise and affirmed that "our purposes aim much further, that the object of the Finnish people and the Finnish parliament is independence." Tokoi took an openly opportunist position; Finland would wait for the Constituent Assembly if she must, but would exploit any earlier opportunity that occured. "I want to say at once that we have never in any instance or in any way wanted to tie the hands of parliament. Parliament must have unlimited power to resolve the issue one way or the other."35 In consequence the socialists were looking for signs that the position of the Provisional Government was weakening, and these were slow to appear. The All-Russian Congress of Peasants rejected the notion of Finnish independence and voted that there must be a continuing federal relationship between Finland and Russia. On 9 June the Helsinki Soviet had debated the nationality question and resolved that self-determination was correct in principle, but that all specific instances must be

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reserved for the Constituent Assembly to resolve.36 These were all signs that the Bolshevik position was still a minority position among the Russian revolutionaries, and this was confirmed when the All-Russian Congress of Soviets met on 16 June. The Bolsheviks had only 105 votes out of 822; their motion to overthrow the Pro visional Government and transfer all power to the Soviets was heavily defeated. When they attempted to organize street demonstrations in Petrograd to protest, on 23 June, the Congress forbade the demonstrations, and the Bolsheviks did not dare to contest the order.37 The SDP Congress had resolved to send a delegation to plead Finland's case before the Congress of Soviets and chose Wiik, Turkia, and A. Aaltonen, with Huttunen as interpreter. They were invited to address the Congress on 2 July and Huttunen submitted the claim for full self-determination, calling on the Congress as fellow socialists, to give fraternal support. "It depends to a great extent on your influence and your decision whether the Finnish people will be granted the full right of selfdetermination, or whether they are to remain under the government of the capitalist class and bourgeoisie of Russia." The implication that the Finns had little confidence in the ability of the Russian socialists to gain or keep power in Russia was not calculated to gratify the Russian audience, so only the Bolshevik speakers gave unreserved support to the Finnish position.38 Since it was apparent that the Bolshevik position would not be supported, the Finnish delegation put forward a compromise suggestion of their own. This would recognize Finland's right to independence under international guarantee, at the end of the war. In the interim, the Provisional Government should concede full internal autonomy, but would be allowed to keep troops in Finland until the end of hostilities, while the future of Finland's foreign relations could be referred to the Constituent Assembly. The proposal was referred to the drafting committee of the Congress, amended there, and finally reported to the full Congress by R. Abramovic and hence is generally referred to as the Abramovic resolution. The preamble accepted in principle the right of Finland to "full self-determination including political independence." It then addressed the Provisional Government, which was urged to "begin at once all the necessary measures to effect Finland's full autonomy," defined in terms of the transfer of the sovereign prerogatives to the Finnish parliament. Only "power over foreign affairs and questions of military administration and directives" was retained by Russia. Finally the drafting Committee had added a clause, which the Finns protested against, stating that the final determination of the relations of Finland and Russia was a matter of negotiation with the Constituent Assembly. Since it was certain that the Russian democracy would guarantee the freedom of the Finnish people, they should for the present "unite their strength with the strength of the Russian democracy to achieve the victory of the Russian revolution."39 The resolution was adopted by the full Congress on 3 July, with only the Bolsheviks dissenting. Much ingenuity has been wasted arguing about what the Abramovic resolution really meant, because it was of the common type that seeks to conceal unreconciled differences in ambiguous language. The Finns should have noted that the resolution recognized the Provisional

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Government as the executive arm of the revolution, and that it was a recommendation to the executive, not a binding instruction. Further the final clause clearly expected that the Finns, in return for the concessions recommended to the government, should avoid actions that might weaken or embarrass it. Instead, the Finns saw only that the resolution appeared to endorse their demands and they ignored the qualifications attached to the endorsement. The Activists had been busily absorbed in preparations of their own. In Stockholm, Mexmontan and his Swedish assistants worked out a plan for raising a Finnish army. It was very detailed because it had to assume that many of the executants would be civilian amateurs. The country was divided into 36 military districts, each of which would recruit a regiment for an army of 12 divisions, which with cavalry and supporting arms would total 65,910 men, and require 1,062 officers and 3,377 NCOs. This initial force would then build up over a period of seven to eight months into an army of 140,000. The final specifications, complete to the number of bugles required, were submitted to the German General Staff on 22 June.40 Parallel with this action, the Activist Committee was working on its plans to develop a Home Guard that would form the basis for the national rising. It is apparent that the letters sent to the Delegation in Stockholm gave a misleading impression of the progress of the movement, and that they were used by Donner and Gummerus to feed the Germans a wholly erroneous picture of the situation inside Finland. It was a picture of a nation virtually united in its determination to expel the Russians by force; "a militia is being enlisted in Finland with the participation of all parties." They asked for weapons for 100,000 men, and claimed that the rising could be activated by a German invasion or by an appeal for help to Germany from "Finnish parliamentary and government circles." 41 This material was the content of a memorandum taken to Berlin by Gummerus, J. Castre"n, and K. Donner at the end of June. The impression that the memorandum conveyed, that the preparations in Finland were at a high level of readiness, was far from the truth, though the Finns in Stockholm could not know this. The German Foreign Office, which had its own sources of information, was skeptical, but Ludendorff proved receptive to both memoranda. He was planning an offensive action on the Riga front for the early autumn; a diversion in Finland would fit in very well. Hulsen was told to encourage the Finns to go ahead, although "specific promises of help for Finland's liberation cannot be given for the moment." Mexmontan should develop his work further, since "the organisation of a rising based on a precise mobilisation plan seems to be a precondition of success."42 Ludendorff ordered a mission to be sent to Stockholm for further talks with the Finns. The German military planners had failed to notice significant features in the two Finnish memoranda. They were quite different in spirit; the civilians assumed that it would be enough to put arms in the hands of 100,000 enthusiastic volunteers and the Russians would be swept aside. Mexmontan knew that armies do not spring out of the ground, that besides the weapons and the services of the Jagers, he needed German troops to provide cover for the assembly of the army. Mexmontan left no doubt about this; his draft plan of 2 July stated that:43

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The basic condition for the succesful carrying out of the evacuation of Finland is German help, not just in the form of ammunition, weapons etc., but also units ready for regular operations. . . . the landing of German troops must also be effected at the same time as the Finnish organisations go into action. Since the Germans never intended to send fighting formations to Finland, a breakdown of communication occurred here that eventually wrecked the whole scheme. When an officer of the General Staff came to Stockholm on 3 July, he said that the Germans could not land in the Gulf of Finland because of the Russian fleet, so that the landings would have to be in the Gulf of Bothnia. Therefore the initial operation would be to clear north Finland from the line Kristiina-Joensuu, and mobilize the army in the liberated area; only sabotage operations would be carried out in the south, aided by specialists landed from German submarines. Mexmontan accepted this; he believed that the Germans in turn approved his plans, wishing him to take command of the operation, and would work exclusively through him. Somehow the question of the participation of German troops still was not clarified.44 Ludendorff understood that there was now full agreement with Mexmontan and issued orders for the German part in the operation. With speed and efficiency, 100,000 weapons were assembled from captured Russian stocks, shipping was found to carry them and the Jagers to Finland, German liaison experts and technical experts were nominated, and U-boats were assigned to carry the sabotage squads. Mexmontan modified his mobilization plan so that the Finns would only seize control in the northern liberated zone; the men mobilized in the south would be marched into the north to be formed and equipped. For this purpose, additional food and materials would have to be stockpiled in the north, and Mexmontan issued orders for this on 17 July. Detailed plans and orders were drafted for each of the 36 military districts; Ignatius has remarked that they were technically excellent and thoroughly professional.45 But they ignored two realities: First, the men in the south could never be persuaded of the need to abandon their homes and leave their families at the mercy of the Russians; second, the general state of development of the Home Guard movement was not nearly adequate to execute these complex and sophisticated operations. The planners in Stockholm were operating in a dream world, though they did not know it. On 28 July, Hulsen travelled to Sassnitz and met Donner. He said that Donner claimed everything was ready, and that 20 August should be the date for the first landing of weapons. Donner later denied that he had been so positive, but the actions of the Germans indicate that they believed a date had been set. On 30 July the Ja'ger Battalion officers were assembled at Libau and briefed on their role—they would be landed at Vaasa and would lead the Home Guard in a national rising. A party of instructors would land on 20 August, the first weapons on 8 September, and the main body of the battalion a few days later. No German fighting formations would be involved.46 Mexmontan knew nothing of this. On 27 July he transmitted his plans to the Military Committee and announced his assumption of command: " The office I am taking

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upon myself is, however, not a self-appointed authority: it was thrust upon me by force of circumstances." He said that the plans had "gained the acceptance of the relevant parties. They must, if no exceptions are indicated, be followed without question." These plans were preparatory, setting no dates, but on 1 and 2 August, Steinwachs conferred with Mexmontan and Donner, and Mexmontan agreed to set dates based on the first landing of an advance party of the battalion on 20 August. These dates were sent to Finland on 2 August, with the instruction that "the dual organisation (by the Military Committe and the Activist Committee) at present operative in Finland must now be replaced by a single line of command in accordance with the general instructions I send you herewith."47 Mexmontan spent much time and energy in his later years trying to assert that his timetable had been for purposes of illustration only, and was not intended to be implemented. For Mexmontan discovered later that he had made a fool of himself by issuing orders that could not conceivably be carried out, that assumed a participation by German fighting formations that never had been intended. All the Finnish planners had been quite clear that such participation was a precondition of any action; as the Activist Committee told Donner, they "will not take responsibility on themselves for any repeat of the Irish business."48 Either Mexmontan was deceived by the Germans, or he was grossly negligent about verifying their precise intentions. It is impossible to believe that the orders of 2 August were not meant to be implemented: Both the Germans and the recipients in Finland assumed without question that they were. The Activist Committee met on 11 August, the Military Committee on 13 August, and both were unanimous that Mexmontan's orders were completely unrealistic The Home Guard movement consisted of some 2,000 unarmed men, mostly in Pohjanmaa and still largely unorganized. The Military Committee thought it would need two months further work to reach a state of readiness, objected to some of Mexmontan's appointments, and demanded that a commander be appointed in Finland with "full freedom to choose personnel and effect changes which seemed desirable to him." In effect they were saying they had no confidence in Mexmontan's command. Before these rebuffs arrived, Mexmontan himself had been faced with the truth: When he and Donner met Steinwachs on 9 August, Steinwachs made it clear that no German troops would be provided, and Mexmontan at once replied that in that case the operation was cancelled. Steinwachs telegraphed Berlin the same day "all present agreements with the Finns inoperative because of new questions of principle. Please cancel everything."49 The General Staff had a conference on the situation on 12 August that resolved that the Germans were still ready to go ahead on the original basis; Hulsen was to contact the Finns again and find out "if the Finns' preparations were real and appropriate." Mexmontan wrote to Finland on 11 August that his timetable had been hypothetical, but the preparations should be maintained and developed; "I have emphasised strongly that our planned organisation, which the General Staff approved earlier, must not be disbanded."50 He sent further memoranda to the Germans, setting out the reasons why participation by German troops was essential and pointing out that he had assumed it would be four months before the new Finnish troops were ready to operate on their own. On

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21 August a top-level conference took place between Ludendorff, Steinwachs, Hulsen, and Crantz to consider policy on Finland, concluding that as long as the Russian fleet was in existence, German troops could not be landed in Finland; if the Finns could not operate without them, then the whole operation must be postponed. But they should be encouraged to persevere with their preparations, and trial shipments of weapons could be sent to stiffen their resolve. In order to avoid any repetition of the recent fiasco, the Finns must appoint a single responsible leader with whom the Germans could deal.51 In the end, the farce played out in July and August strengthened rather than damaged the cooperation of the Germans with the Activists. Both sides now had a clearer, more realistic appreciation of the situation and the prospects for a more positive achievement in the future were correspondingly increased. While the Activists had been preparing for one kind of clash with the Russians over Finnish independence, the socialists had been moving toward a quite different kind of conflict over the same basic issue. The June Congress of SDP, at the urging of the Bolsheviks Kollantai, J. Rahja, and Taimi, made a decision in principle to pursue the tactics of the Zimmerwald International. By the vigorous pursuit of class conflict they would seek to convert the general imperialist war into a revolutionary class struggle. They had done this, with obvious hesitation, on the assurances of the Bolsheviks that they could count on the support of the Russian revolutionaries. In concrete terms, SDP was to join the Bolsheviks in regarding the Provisional Government as an agent of imperialism, to be undermined and eventually overthrown. The Finns were encouraged by the events in Helsinki and Petrograd on 1 July, when mass street demonstrations, which the Congress of Soviets had called to express support for the policies of the Provisional Government, were turned against the Government by the Bolsheviks. In Helsinki, a crowd of 50,000 that included large contingents of Finnish workers marched under banners attacking the war and calling for the transfer of all power to the Soviets. To the Finns, this seemed an impressive demonstration of Bolshevik power. A sign that SDP was bracing itself for confrontation came on 29 June, when the socialists suggested amendments to the Lex Tulenheimo, to transfer the power to dissolve parliament and to appoint the Finnish government from the Provisional Government to the Finnish parliament. Bourgeois speakers replied that such amendments could only result in the Provisional Government's rejecting the law, which would set back the enlargement of autonomy. The socialists suggested that the tide of history was on the move; the Provisional Government would be thrust aside by it. Makelin declared, "We are moving towards political independence, we are moving without intrigue, we are moving to our objective as a conscious mass, in which the lowest ranks of the nation are the hard core." 52 But these were exploratory moves; SDP was still looking for openings, its main tactic being to seek to drive wedges between the Provisional Government and Russian socialist opinion embodied in the Soviets. They had attempted this at the Congress of Soviets, over the issue of providing Finnish currency for the expenses of the garrison. SDP blocked the Finnish currency loan that the Provisional Government

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had requested and tried to deal directly with the Executive of the Congress of Soviets. They claimed that they could not provide money that might be spent on the imperialist war, but would advance funds directly to the Soviets to meet the basic subsistence costs of the garrison. The Soviets declined to enter the trap and told the Finns firmly on 11 July that they must trust the Provisional Government, which was the representative of Russian democracy. The Provisional Government recognized the challenge and prepared to meet it, for they distributed circulars to the diplomatic corps to prepare Russia's friends for trouble with Finland. They claimed that the Finns "display in all matters extreme unyieldingness, as if they wished to provoke a situation of deadlock."53 The evidence is conclusive that, by July, SDP was shaping up for a confrontation with the Provisional Government. But some commentators would claim that there was an actual joint plan of the Bolsheviks and SDP to overthrow the Provisional Government during July. The bourgeois politician Ehrnrooth alleges that "socialist emmissaries had made contact with Bolshevik leaders and agreed on a common line for their political activity, going out for an open struggle against the Provisional Government." In July, he asserts, SDP, "our domestic Bolsheviks," threw off the mask and "now openly showed their colours."54 The credibility of all such theories rests on the assumption that the Bolsheviks had a plan to seize power and that the July Days in Petrograd (from 15-20 July) represent their attempt to execute it. It is impossible here to argue the case for rejecting this view, but it will be assumed that the July Days were in fact a spontaneous outbreak of the Petrograd garrison, originating among troops who feared that they would be sent to the front in support of the failing offensive. While clearly many individual Bolsheviks were involved, equally clear is that the party leaders were taken by surprise when the demonstrators came to party headquarters to demand that the Bolsheviks take charge of the uprising. It must be significant that Lenin was on holiday when the trouble began, that he had to be recalled in haste, and that it was manifest that neither he nor his party had any plan of action ready. Their slogan of "all power to the Soviets" was inherently self-defeating, since at this stage the Soviets were controlled by Mensheviks and SRs. The confusion was even more apparent in Helsinki, where the local Bolsheviks had no idea what was happening or what they should do. If the Bolsheviks had no plan in July, SDP could not be part of it. Two incidents have been used to support the conspiracy idea: One was a strike on the Helsinki-Petrograd railway that closed it for several days from 11 July. Enckell claimed that "a railway strike had been declared in Finland in connection with the seizure of power in Petrograd," though he does not explain how it was supposed to help. Yet the record shows that SAJ immediately denounced the strike as unofficial, and Tyomies supported them. Unless SAJ and Tyomies were engage in an elaborate deception, the strike had not been planned by SDP. The other incident was Tokoi's speech to parliament on 17 July. He had described the Provisional Government as an obstacle to Finland's aspirations, saying that "according to the latest information that obstacle no longer exists." 55 The implication isthatTokoi knew in advance the Bolsheviks were going to overthrow the Provisional Government.

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But he could equally well have misread the confused and confusing reports that were coming out of Petrograd during the July Days. Against these flimsy indicators there is evidence that the Bolsheviks themselves had serious doubts about SDP as a partner. Kollontai reported, after attending the SDP Congress, that SDP was still controlled by opportunists and that the sound elements would have to break away; "it will not be long to the day when the Finnish socialists too will experience a schism." Taimi complained that his urgings to SDP to adopt a harder line against the Provisional Government "fell on deaf ears."56 In the absence of positive evidence of any formal arrangement between SDP and the Bolsheviks in J uly, it is more sensible to believe that SDP was encouraged to de fy the Provisional Government because they expected generalized support, or at least benevolent neutrality from the garrison. They were particularly encouraged by the Russian support for the mass demonstrations outside parliament on 14 July to demand passage of the local government and the 8-hour laws. The Russian contingents were authorized by the Helsinki Bolshevik Committee, led by Taimi, but their action was authorized by the whole Helsinki Soviet. Some socialists found the appearance in the parliament chamber of a delegation of armed Russians, who gave a warning that the crowds "might do anything" if the laws did not pass, somewhat excessive. But the demonstrations and the public rejoicing in the streets after the laws passed, were described in both Izvestija and Tyomies, as glorious assertions of proletarian solidarity.57 The SDP leaders felt they had grounds for confidence that the soldiers and sailors would never turn their weapons against the Finnish comrades, nor allow others to do so. The turning point was the Abramovic resolution. Huttunen brought the text back to Helsinki, describing it as "much better than we had believed."This was be cause he and his colleagues willfully misinterpreted the resolution. In a speech on 10 July Huttunen referred to the Congress of Soviets as "a provisional parliament for Russia . . . the only competent authority to pronounce on the Finnish question." This opinion could only be maintained by ignoring the implications of the preamble and the concluding paragraphs of the resolution; the printed versions in Tyomies and in the party archives omit both. Some socialists never saw the qualifications; others who did dismissed them as of no significance because the main part of the resolution expressed exactly what they wanted. The socialists were further encouraged when a mass meeting of the garrison on 8 July endorsed the Abramovic resolution and strongly criticized the Provisional Government.58 When the Lex Tulenheimo came to the Grand Committee of parliament from the Constitutional Committee, the socialists voted to send it back for reconsideration. Then in the Constitutional Committee they submitted a new draft law of their own, which in part was based almost word for word on the Abramovic resolution. This draft is known as the va/tafaki—the law on authority—and began with the statement that "the rights of the ruler have ceased to exist." It went on:59 The Finnish parliament alone determines, confirms, and orders the execution of all Finnish laws, including those concerned with the budget, taxation, and customs revenue. Parliament also determines finally the resolution of all other Finnish busi-

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ness that in accordance with the laws previously in force were decided by the Tsar and Grand Duke. What is decreed here does not concern matters of foreign policy nor military legislation and military administration. The valtalaki specified that parliament determine its own sessions, and until a new constitution came into force, its own dissolution and that parliament install the Finnish government. The valtalaki, with the reservation about foreign and military affairs, proclaimed the full internal autonomy of Finland, declaring that parliament was wholly possessed of the sovereign authority. It was implied, since this situation arose from the demise of the Grand Duke, that this authority had been vested in parliament since the revolution, and because of this and because parliament was fully sovereign, the valtalaki required no external confirmation. SDP was confident that any opposition from the Provisional Government must be negated by the Soviets, who could not repudiate their own resolution. It was also confident that the domestic opposition would find it difficult to oppose the law. Alkio drew almost identical conclusions when he heard of the Abramovic resolution. He noted on 5 July that events "had clearly taken a new turn. This road must be taken"; in parliament he said:60 In my opinion this resolution is a political deed of such a kind that the parliment of Finland cannot leave it unregarded. I see in this statement of the Russian revolutionary democracy a finger pointing to the road which the Finnish people must travel to achieve for itself the political status that it hopes for. The valtalaki, because it ascribed full sovereign power to the Finnish parliament, was virtually a declaration of independence, and the general public saw it as such. The Activist Uusi Paiva denounced those bourgeois politicians who were hesitating to support it as men "who do not notice, or do not want to see the new possibilities that the shattering events of the revolution have opened for the nation." The socialists deserved credit for their initiative; "the valtalaki in so far as it regulates the relations of Finland and Russia, meets in all respects the demands which our nation almost unanimously approves." Talas gave full recognition to the merits of the law; "it served to arouse our people and caused the demand for independence to be brought out clearly." Gummerus described it as "a very important step forward on Finland's part in the direction of independence. It implied in effect a decisive break with the Provisional Government."61 No wonder that Kuusinen assured his colleagues on 9 July that two-thirds of the bourgois members of parliament would have to vote for it in the end. It was possible to oppose the law on the grounds of prudence; the Lex Tulenheimo was a certainty, the valtalaki a hazardous gamble because, as Stahlberg put it, "nothing can be built on the promises of a Soviet." Conservatives pointed out that to challenge the Provisional Government needed the backing of force: Rantakari said that "a seizure of power means in the end plain physical force. I scarcely need to ask where we have such a force." Against this, Makelin could claim a national consensus in support of the law: 62 Are not these ideas . . . consistent with many of the ideas of yourselves and

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those you represent? (They are!) We are compelled to struggle continuously with one another for advantages, that is economic necessity. But if I know you aright, then it is common ground between you and us, farmers and workers, that both groups hate oppression and cannot bear tutelage. On 10 July, in a vote between the Lex Tulenheimo and the valtalaki the latter won by 108 votes to 83; a minority of bourgeois members had voted with the socialists or abstained. There was another ground of conservative opposition to the valtalaki, mostly found in the SP and SFP, which rejected the law because it claimed sovereign power for parliament. This power was held to be unconstitutional because it broke the principle of the division of powers, and politically fatal because it would hand the country over to the socialist majority. The situation was analyzed by L. J. Ingman in a memorandum he wrote during July, in which he took the valtalaki and the local government law together as representing an "obvious intent to get sole power at a stroke in both national and local affairs." The socialists had made it clear that they would use their power to "serve the activity of the socialist party and pile taxes and obligations on the necks of the non-socialist elements." Their whole legislative program had been designed "to serve their personal and class advantage."63 Ingman's fears were well grounded; the socialists realized how the situation could be turned to their advantage. Kuusinen told his colleagues that they could count on a wave of popularity once the valtalaki passed: " In a couple of weeks we shall be in a strong position in relation to the mood among the people. The first task then will be to reorganise the government." Tokoi agreed, the government would resign and they could replace it with a socialist government; the pressure of public opinion would bear down any bourgeois obstruction.64 The hard-line conservatives in Finland had no chance of standing up to the mounting wave of popular support for the valtalaki. Their only hope was that the Provisional Government could block or modify the law. They were fortunate in having a resolute partisan in Petrograd, Enckell, the Minister-secretary. As soon as he had ascertained that the Provisional Government would not accept the Abramovic resolution, he pointed out to Lvov that the Finns seemed to be misinterpreting it and suggested that the Executive of the Congress of Soviets might be willing to help correct the error. Lvov persuaded the Executive to send a delegation to Helsinki, made up of Mensheviks and SRs, N. S. Ccheidze, M. Liber, I. Dan and N. Avksentiev They had a series of conversations with leaders of SDP on 11 and 12 July. They tried to insist that the resolution had not contemplated unilateral action by Finland, but a process of negotiation with the Provisional Government, with any final agreement subject to the approval of the Constituent Assembly. But they found the Finns would not listen: Kuusinen insisted that the valtalaki simply embodied the resolution of the Congress, and "you must demand that the government obey the resolution of the Congress." Then the Russians tried to persuade the socialists to modify the law and to submit it for confirmation to the Provisional Government. But Wiik said that they would pass it and put it into effect themselves, even though oo oo

Dan warned that "you will get the whole Russian democracy against you." Finally the Russians asked for delay so that the Provisional Government might issue a manifesto in similar terms to the valtalaki, but Huttunen replied "we have tried this one before." The delegation had to return empty-handed. Enckell made a last try for a compromise when he suggested that if the law was withdrawn, the Provisional Government would submit something in similar terms for parliament to approve, but SDP ignored this too.65 It is usual for historians who know the misfortunes that were to follow to condemn the socialist leaders for shortsighted arrogance and inflexibility. But this is to ignore the relevant considerations. A point of principle was involved, for the whole purpose of the valtalaki was to assert the sovereign power of the Finnish parliament; any of the proposed compromises was a tacit recognition that the Provisional Government had some measure of legitimate authority over Finland. Then there was no assurance that any of the proposals were in fact acceptable to the Provisional Government and every reason to think that if it retained any freedom of action it would reject them. Finally there seemed no need to compromise when the game was already won. On 14 J u l y , the Petrograd Izvestija, the offficial organ of the Soviets, affirmed that "the revolutionary democracy of Russia must vigorously uphold the new polity in Finland, which our Finnish comrades are trying to secure." Provided that Finland recognized the ultimate decision-making powers of the Constituent Assembly, the Provisional Government ought to satisfy Finland's interim demands.66 In any case, good grounds existed for thinking that the Provisional Government was on the verge of collapse. On 15 J u l y , the bourgois ministers resigne from it in the face of mounting popular discontent, and the J u l y Days began in Petrograd. Dybenko, the Bolshevik chariman of Tsentrobalt, has said in his memoirs that he and his colleagues knew nothing of any plan for an insurrection. His unsupported testimony would not carry much weight, but events do bear him out. The first news came through an order of the Provisional Government to Admiral Verderevski to prevent any ships from leaving Helsinki; he could use his submarines to sink any ship that tried. The admiral was shocked by this and consulted Tsentrobalt, which formally took charge of the fleet, while the admiral informed the Provisional Government that he would disregard their order. Dybenko recorded that "local civil authority (the Governor Genera!) and the Mensheviks and Right SRs were completely lost. There was created a total power vacuum." 6 7 But the Bolsheviks were equally lost and incapable of moving in to fill that vacuum. The Helsinki Soviet went into emergency session; it was moved that an emergency executive be set up to forestall the spread of disorder to Helsinki, and the motion carried against Bolshevik opposition. The decision meant that while the Russians in Helsinki had written off the Provisional Government, they were declaring their neutrality with respect to happenings in Petrograd. The Bolsheviks were still paralyzed because they did not know what was happening, so through Tsentrobalt they sent a reconnaissance party, led by Dybenko in a minesweeper on 17 J u l y . Other groups followed over the two succeeding days, but these were purely fact-finding missions, not attempts to take 89

part in the July Days. In fact, by the time they arrived, the Provisional Government had regained control and Dybenko and his party were arrested. There is no reason to doubt that the Helsinki Bolsheviks, like their comrades in Kronstadt and Petrograd, would have joined in the insurrection if they had known what was happening in time, but they did not.68 Confusion reigned among the Russians in Finland until 22 July; until 19 July it was assumed that the Provisional Government had fallen and that power would be transferred to the Soviets. On 22 July Izvestija revealed that the Government had survived and described the disorders as an unfortunate mistake. Then a joint meeting of the Area Committee and the Helsinki Soviet climbed on the winning bandwagon, announcing that the demonstrations in the capital had been counterrevolutionary and criminal, that everyone must rally round the Provisional Government, which had the full support of the Soviets. A big delegate meeting of Russians in Helsinki passed a motion condemning the July Days by 332 votes to 125.69 This was the measure of how far Bolshevik influence among the garrison had declined in the aftermath of the disorders in Petrograd. It meant that the final passage of the valtalaki through the Finnish parliament took place at a time when it was believed in Helsinki that the Provisional Government had fallen or was falling and that the Soviets had assumed or shortly would assume power, while the garrison in Finland showed no inclination to resist these developments. Only after the law had passed did it become clear that the Provisional Government had survived. In a meeting of the SDP Council from 15-17 July, the socialists had made their final decision to defy the Provisional Government. Valpas expressed the majority view when he said that the Provisional Government was "weak enough so that we can seize our rights." They should pass the law and put it into effect, and if the civil service proved obstructive, "if we have physical power we can replace them. . . . we can hold our own bourgeoisie in check, but how will things develop in Russia?" Valpas wondered if they ought to insure against this by holding a new election for a constituent assembly. They would receive a lot of bourgeois votes on the strength of the valtalaki, giving them a little more time to see how things developed. Kuusine was in radical mood: "After the Congress of Soviets they cannot use soldiers against us. We should take a revolutionary standpoint and drive the law through." Makelin and Huttunen on the other hand saw the value of sticking to constitutional forms; "respect for law demands legality, otherwise there will be passive resistance." The Executive of the Helsinki Soviet was asked for its opinion, and the party might have noted that the Bolshevik A. Seinman could not persuade the Executive to endorse the valtalaki; they thought there ought to be Finnish-Russian negotiations first. But on 17 July the party decided to ignore this and resolved that the valtalaki would be put through parliament as a constitutional law. The Provisional Government would not be asked to confirm the law; they would be invited to "recognize" it; necessary because arrangements would have to be made for foreign and military affairs. If the bourgeois parties denied the law the necessary constitutional majorities, the law would be regarded as in force provisionally, the socialist ministers would leave the government, and parliament would decree a general election for a new assembly em-

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powered to act by simple majority.70 In effect the socialists decided to disregard the Provisional Government and dare the bourgeoisie to block the valtalaki, confident that if they did, the electorate would punish them for it. As Kuusinen put it, "in case of necessity, a constituent assembly. There is strength enough." The third reading of the valtalaki was taken in parliament on 17 and 18 July. Three main lines of argument were expressed in the debate: The conservatives, while protesting their devotion to the principle of independence, asserted that th valtalaki was simply unconstitutional, because it violated the division of powers, and it involved a gamble with the nation's future. Stahlberg said that he would have supported the idea embodied in the law if it could have been legally adopted, but that was impossible—"I cannot support its approval with my vote and surrender the fate of the nation and people to such a policy of adventure." The bourgeois radical accepted the valtalaki as a major advance towards independence, and therefore sup ported it in spite of their reservations about some of the socialist attitudes. Talas said it was perfectly constitutional; Malmivaara said that he had preferred the Lex Tulenheimo, but that this represented progress and the bourgeois should support it: "We must ourselves have something to say in our own fatherland. We have always been the humble subordinates of others." Alkio thought the bourgeois opposition was hypocritical; "the resistance of the opposition is caused, for the most part, by fear of the economic revolution, the driving-through by the socialists to advance the economic revolution. The patriotic motive was only secondary."The socialists themselves had little to add; L. Lehtimaki asserted their full confidence in the Russian workers. There was no need to worry about the Provisional Government, "since the Russian proletariat is on our side, then we together with them can prevent, and in the end put a stop to any period of repression if it comes. . . . we are pretty certain that the Russian comrades will not start slaughtering peaceful people."71 The keynote speaker for the socialists was Valpas. He began by asserting that the bourgeois opposition to the law was self-interested, that they were afraid of democracy. "The representatives of the bourgeois class began, to put it bluntly, to be afraid of their wallets. Thus benefit of their wallets decided their politics." Parliament should have claimed the exercise of the sovereign prerogatives as soon as it met; now SDP was trying to correct an original error. Daring the bourgeois members to block the law, he said, "The people may well punish them. . . . in the state of feeling now prevailing, new elections will hold no terrors for the Left."On the other hand, they need not panic, for even if SDP continued to control a sovereign parliament it "could only achieve small reforms, which could be realised within the capitalist system of society." Indeed, when SDP enfranchised the tenant farmers, capitalism might be strengthened by this new body of property owners. Further parliament would not necessarily exercise all the sovereign powers directly, and the form of the future executive government was open to discussion; he assured the civ il servants that their rights would not be endangered. Finally he said that the Finnish people had an opportunity that could not be let slip: "We must make the attempt

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at this time, whether the attempt succeeds or not. At the same time we must preserve on this occasion the foundation of right, that same foundation of right which is the foundation of our old constitutional laws." In a later intervention, Valpas tried to calm bourgeois fears by claiming that SDP was not looking for a confrontation with the Provisional Government, that they did not mean "that this law should be thrown down as some kind of declaration of war on the Provisional Government. On the contrary I assume that a communication will be made in the most friendly possible terms." 72 It is unlikely that many bourgeois votes were swayed by the blandishments of Valpas, but in addition to those like Hultin who were genuinely enthusiastic, most of the rest succumbed to the moral blackmail of the valtalaki: They could not oppose a measure that they believed had massive public support. Two votes were necessary to pass the law; the first, which declared it a matter of urgency, needed a five-sixths majority, given by 165 votes to 27. Then the law itself had to gain a twothirds majority, and this was given by 136 votes to 55. Most of the Agrarians and some of NSP had supported it in the end. Parliament felt that what it had done was a historic decision; for a moment patriotic enthusiasms surmounted the barriers of class. Hultin recorded that "my eyes were flooded with tears of joy, perhaps it is unnecessary to admit it, but the eyes of many others were dampened and many handshakes were exchanged that evening with representatives of the Left." The euphoria continued on 19 J u l y when Tokoi came to parliament and in recognition of the valtalaki offered the resignation of his government. He was told that it would be best for the government to stay in office for the time being. 73 The euphoria was premature; in reality the opposition had been right about the valtalaki. It was a poorly drafted law rushed through in a blaze of emotionalism by a parliament of rather naive politicians temporarily blinded by crude dogma, or nationalist ardor, or both. The supporters of the law had misread the situation: They took an ambiguous resolution of the Congress of Soviets for a binding decree, they thought that the Provisional Government was about to collapse when it was not, and, in short, they had not stopped to t h i n k through all the possible consequences of their actions. But this was not a squalid or sinister attempt by the/socialists to grab a monopoly of power: It was a genuine bid for quasi-independence for Finland, founded much more on romantic, nationalist idealism than on hard Marxist analysis. The opponents of the valtalaki may have been proved right by events but credit is also due to the disinterested generosity and vision of those who mistakenly supported it. An irony of history is that just at this point, the prospects of success for the policy of the socialists were set back by the actions of the Activists in their pursuit of independence. The Russian authorities always had had a fair idea of what the Activists were planning; they knew about the projected German invasion and ordered the 5 Kuban Cossack Division to Finland; these were regarded as specially reliable troops and were intended to repress any action by the Finns. On 17 J uly the Northern Front ordered that in the event of invasion, the Russian forces would retire southeast to cover Petrograd while the fleet left the Gulf of Bothnia. Any resistance by the Finnish population would be crushed; "if there are acts of violence 92

against the troops, their cities, especially Helsinki, will be destroyed at once."74 On 3 August further reinforcements were ordered into Finland, 14 Cavalry Division and a brigade of 45 Division, and their orders specified that they were "to form a serious threat to the Finns, to make them more yielding than previously in all controversial matters."74 These new troops gave the Provisional Government the possibility of using force in Finland that the socialists had been confident it did not possess. This was a disaster, because on 21 July Kerenski became prime-minister of a reinvigorated Provisional Government determined to assert its authority. It began to exploit the reaction against the Bolsheviks that followed the July Days, stimulated by government-inspired reports that Lenin and his party were paid agents of Germany. Kerenski was further encouraged by the reaction of most of the Russian press when the news of the valtalaki was received. Den wrote on 20 July: 75 Comtemporary Finland has decided to show the world a wonder, up to now unknown, of narrow-minded nationalism wearing the garments of socialism. . . . The Finnish parliament decides and the Russian nation and its government are left to take note of the decision. Nothing else. . . . Finland has said her word and the question is solved. It was the opening shot in a press campaign that lasted some weeks on the theme that Russia too had rights to be considered. SDP had forgotten that Russian socialists too could have nationalist feelings. When Enckell made his first call on the new prime-minister on 24 July, "Kerenski stood in a Napoleonic stance in the middle of the big room" and shouted at Enckell, "do you want to drive things to the point that Russia begins military measures against you?" Enckell knew his man and resorted to personal flattery, and the effect was "like a needle pricking a soap bubble: in a moment there was nothing left but a damp mark."76 Kerenski was angry with the Finns, but also ill-informed and indecisive and was waiting for Stachovic to arrive from Helsinki. When he did, the two men decided to play a waiting game and see what the Finns would do next. The bourgeois supporters of the valtalaki, like Alkio, had made their support conditional on its being submitted for confirmation, "that this shall not become a law without confirmation by due process." But when they moved that it should be submitted to the Provisional Government for confirmation, they were voted down by 104 votes to 86. The socialists had intended that as soon as the law passed, parliament would promulgate it and exercise the sovereign prerogatives by installing a new government. But when they realized that the Provisional Government had survived the July Days, they drew back. Instead they sent Huttunen and Ma'ki to Petrograd to see the Executive of the Congress of Soviets and ask it to press the Provisional Government into recognizing the valtalaki. The Executive would have been less than human if its members had not recalled the rude treatment they had had at the hands of the socialists only 10 days earlier. They told the Finns that the valtalaki did not conform with the Abramovic resolution, and that they must address themselves to the Provisional Government.77 When this discouraging response came back to Helsinki on 25 July, the socialist leaders had noted the mounting

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evidence of Russian hostility, and had begun to draft a request that the valtalaki be "recognized." The address began by claiming that the valtalaki was based on the resolution of the Congress of Soviets, and that Finland could not admit that any foreign agency could exercise the rights that had properly reverted to the Finnish people and its parliament. It went on:78 The overwhelming majority of the Finnish people does not want to leave the political future cast adrift. Through its elected parliament it openly declares that it expects the Russian people to concede full political independence. . . . The law now passed about the exercise of the sovereign power does not mean a proclamation of the independence of Finland, but the strengthening of internal liberty. But that too is important to Finland. Trusting deeply that the past attitude of the Russian revolutionary democracy will triumph, the Finnish parliament dares to hope that now from the Russian side, those rights which are regulated in the law on the exercise of the sovereign power in Finland will be recognised as belonging to Finland and Finland's parliament. This document was brought to parliament for the first time on 23 July and was put to the vote on 25 July. Manner had ascertained that Stachovic was ready to take the valtalaki and the address to Petrograd, and the socialists betrayed the defensive mood that had overtaken them by weakening the address further. All reference to independence was removed, and an assurance inserted on foreign policy and military affairs, "on the basis of the law enacted there can be no question of changes being made to existing rights in these matters." In this weakened format the address was approved and given to Stachovic.79 It was clear that all parties were backing away from confrontation, and a powerful reason was the uncertainty about the mood of the garrison. On 23 July, a general meeting of the Area Committee was held to consider an order from Kerenski that Admiral D. Verderevsky be arrested for disobedience during the July Days and that Tsentrobalt be dissolved. After two days of discussion, during which Sokolov came from the Executive of the Congress of Soviets to argue the case that the Bolsheviks were German agents, the meeting protested the current repression of Bolsheviks, and refused to agree to the suppression of Tsentrobalt. They did express the hope that in future the Bolsheviks would respect majority decisions of the Soviets, and voted 339 to 1 to support the new Provisional Government, but they urged Kerenski to compromise with the sailors. He had little choice, since the sailors went ahead with elections for a new Tsentrobalt on 29 July, and although the Bolshevik membership was reduced to 7 of 68, they still insisted that the Provisional Government must release Dybenko and their sailor comrades.80 The garrison appeared to be formally loyal to Kerenski but with an apparent lack of enthusiasm for his line of policy. When the socialists refused to submit the valtalaki for confirmation, most of its bourgeois supporters felt they had found a release from their dilemma: They had no need to oppose the principles or content of the law, but they could freely criticize SDP for mishandling the question of implementation and detach themselves from the looming conflict with the Provisional Government. This was not enough

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for the hard-line conservatives, who resolved to encourage the Provisional Government to reject the law, dissolve parliament, and order new elections. By appealing to the electorate, they could avoid the charge of having resorted to foreign help to thwart the will of parliament, they could prevent the socialists making any further use of their majority, and they might hope to overturn it in a new parliament; in any case, they would win two months' breathing space for the situation to clarify. This minority group was well placed to get their way because they had the enthusiastic support of Enckell; their main problem was the weak and vacillating stance of the Provisional Government. Stachovic arrived in Petrograd on 27 J u l y , and on 28 J u l y Nevanlinna telephoned to Enckell that the socialists were about to invoke the valtalaki to install a socialist government. Nevanlinna was wrong about this, but may have acted in good faith on the basis of garbled information on what SDP intended to do. It was enough for Enckell to decide to act: He went to Stachovic and said that if the socialist government were installed, the position of the Provisional Government in Finland would become untenable. He must convince Kerenski that "both respect for the Finnish constitution and the prestige of the Provisional Government" demanded an immediate dissolution of parliament. Stachovic was persuaded, in turn persuaded Kerenski, and then hurried back to Enckell to join him in drafting a dissolution manifesto. Then Kerenski, while accepting that dissolution was a proper measure in the last resort, ordered Stachovic to go back to Helsinki for a last effort to negotiate with the socialists.81 EnckelPs action had been wholly illegal: He was the servant of the Finnish government yet he had acted without even consulting them, for the very good reason that he knew they would not approve. But Enckell was a strong, determined man; he believed a real emergency existed, and his improper behavior was probably decisive at that moment. Before Stachovic entered on his talks with Manner and Tokoi on 30 July, the Provisional Government was given an encouraging sign. Their commissioners carried out a series of raids on the Bolsheviks in Helsinki; though they missed Lenin himself, they arrested other leading Bolsheviks and Left-SRs, charging them with treason, and shut down the Bolshevik newspaper, Volna. The Executive of the Helsinki Soviet objected strongly to such action within its sphere of influence and protested to the Executive of the Congress of Soviets. That body handed out bromides, promising to raise the matter with the Provisional Government, and assuring Helsinki that everything would be all right in the end. By accepting this, the Helsinki Soviet showed that it was unprepared to defy the government and was manifestly happy to have an excuse for inaction. SDP expressed similar outrage, but since the Helsinki Soviet acquiesced, they had no choice but to do the same.82 When Stachovic received Manner and Tokoi he indicated that the Provisional Government would never recognize the valtalaki as it stood but was ready to discuss possible modifications. Manner replied, "What should we negotiate about, parliament has decided and cannot change it?" Stachovic urged that surely amendment was possible, but Manner reiterated, "I personally believe that parliament cannot withdraw." It was soon apparent that no progress was being made and the two Finns asked whether there would be any point in their going to Petrograd, but 95

Stachovic replied "scarcely any now." Manner and Tokoi went back to their colleagues to report the deadlock, but no one from the party leadership could suggest what to do; in the end, they took Kuusinen's advice to wait and see. "The most important task for the next two weeks was to avoid provocation. Now we are on the defensive."83 The bravado with which they had forced thevaltalaki through parliament had vanished; these men now showed themselves weak and irresolute. They had made a major error and had been caught out by the consequences, but they had neither the courage nor the imagination to make a tactical retreat, as Lenin so often did, or, alternatively, to make a stand and fight for their declared principles. Their prostration was pathetic, the more so because their opponent, the Provisional Government, was one of the greatest paper tigers of all time. The encouragement of Enckell and the passivity of the Helsinki Soviet and of the Finnish socialists nerved the Provisional Government to act in a quite uncharacteristic manner. On 31 July Korff came to Petrograd with a final draft of a dissolution manifesto, and it was passed by the whole Provisional Government and countersigned by Enckell. It noted the address and rejected its arguments, asserting that Finland's internal autonomy had always been conditional on the assumption that Finland and Russia had "a common holder of the sovereign power." If this power had not been transferred to the Provisional Government, it must still reside in the former Tsar. The manifesto continued:84 Having regard for its duty and concern for the protection and development of Finland's internal independence. . . . The Provisional Government cannot at the same time recognise the Finnish parliament has the right arbitrarily to limit in advance the will of the future Russian Constituent Assembly, and cancel the authority of the Russian state in matters concerning the legislation and government of Finland. The decisions of parliament, however, change in the most fundamental way the relationship of Finland and Russia, and infringe to the roots the constitution now in force in Finland. Let the Finnish nation consider its own destiny. It can only be decided on the basis of agreement with the Russian nation. Therefore parliament was dissolved and new elections ordered for 1 and 2 October, the earliest dates on which they legally could be held. The new parliament would meet on 1 November, when the government would present new proposals on Finnish autonomy. The legality of the dissolution can be argued indefinitely. If the constitution of 1772 was still in force and the dynasty had failed, then the sovereign powers had reverted to parliament. But if, as Enckell argued, the March manifesto was a valid agreement between Finland and Russia that the Provisional Government was the de facto custodian of the sovereign prerogatives, then clearly Finland could not abrogate the agreement unilaterally. But all such debate is in the strictest sense academic; this was a revolutionary situation and the ordinary laws did not apply. The action of the Provisional Government was political. They had accepted Enckell's argument that since socialists had appealed to the Congress of Soviets, over the

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head of the government, it must, if it were to retain any credibility as a government, demonstrate its own independent power. So just as it was asserting itself over the discredited Bolsheviks, so the Provisional Government demonstrated its power in Finland, confident that the socialists could not make any effective resistance. The Provisional Government desperately needed some cheap successes in August 1917, and the Finnish situation offered the cheapest possible. There was an element of risk that its orders might be flouted, but the signs were favorable. The press in Russia reacted positively, the bourgeois papers were delighted, but most important was that Izvestija, the official organ of the Soviets, endorsed the government's action. It said that Finland had acted in a way that harmed the revolution, and the government was right to appeal to the Finnish people, "who must decide for themselves whether or not they wish to assist the Russian revolution." Dissenting voices were raised: Rabocaja Gazeta saw the dissolution as legal but could not see how it would help to solve the original problem, and Maxim Gorki's Novaja 2izn was hostile, accusing Kerenski of blundering in his search for an easy success. But these were minority voices that could be disregarded.85 In Finland two formal obstacles had to be overcome: First, the decree had to be promulgated by the Finnish government, or it would have no legal force, and then parliament would have to recognize it and agree to disperse. The socialists were bound to oppose both steps but could not see how to do it. The constitutional committee of the SDP parliamentary group met on 1 August to discuss the matter. The Governor General had tried to soften the blow by an offer of the Provisional Government to confirm the local government law and the 8-hour law. In this way, SDP could salvage its major legislative achievements, but only at the price of acknowledging the authority of the Provisional Government and disowning the valtalaki. They never considered accepting, nor did they take up Svinhufvud's suggestion that parliament should meet and dissolve itself, thus avoiding conflict but preserving the principle of the valtalaki. They considered taking their ministers out of the government, but felt this would only play into enemy hands. It was decide that the ministers should stay in office, but refuse to do anything to implement the dissolution decree.86 Most of the bourgeois leaders had been surprised at the Provisional Government's bold action, though those who had opposed the valtalaki were delighted. Stahlberg said that "at last we can put an end to this continuous scandal and intrigue of the socialists with the Bolsheviks." But although most welcomed the chance to overturn the socialist majority in parliament, they were reluctant to endorse the exercise of a foreign authority in their own country, as this might seem unpatriotic. Their leaders conferrred in the Saatytalo with Svinhufvud, who said that the statement in the manifesto that Finland and Russia had a common sovereign could be challenged, but the Provisional Government had been recognized as temporarily exercising the sovereign prerogatives and therefore could order a dissolution. He advised that the government should ask the Provisional Government to redraft its manifesto to remove the objectionable claim before it could be promulgated. But the politicians feared to lose their chance of an election, and resolved that their ministers ought to support promulgation.87

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The Finnish government met to consider the dissolution decree on 1 August, but adjourned to the following day, when all twelve ministers attended, and Stachovic took the chair as Governor General. The socialists indicated that they would vote against, stressing that they regarded themselves as answerable to parliament. This meant six certain votes against, and required that the six bourgois stand solid, so that Stachovic could exercise his seventh casting vote. Kallio led and said that though he had reservations about the wording of the manifesto, "the nation could itself express its opinion in elections" and therefore he would vote for promulgation. The other ministers used the same formula and then Svinhufvud, as Procurator, was asked for an opinion. He said that the manifesto expressed "illegal principles, therefore the manifesto should not be published" but the act of dissolution itself was lawful. Then Holsti, who had been having doubts since the previous day, indicated that he supported Svinhufvud's view and the manifesto ought to be sent back for redrafting. Nobody supported him; Svinhufvud had no vote, and the socialists could not support him because Holsti's position accepted the de facto right to dissolve. The meeting took a recess: Ehrnrooth recalled that "the Governor General and the bourgeois ministers were totally dismayed, not to say inflamed" about Holsti's stand. He was taken in hand by "senior bourgeois colleagues" and "the situation was saved." The official record shows how the pressure had succeeded: In the resumed session Holsti said he "was compelled to vote for publishing the manifesto, so that by its means the Finnish people should get an opportunity . . . to express its views on the question of its own internal independence." With the vote of Stachovic, this gave a majority of seven votes to six for promulgation—the first hurdle was cleared, and the order for new elections was now law.88 But to ensure that the law was obeyed required the availability of the ultimate sanction of force, so the scene shifted to the Helsinki Soviet. A special meeting, enlarged by representatives of the regimental and ships' committees, was summoned for the evening of 2 August, and Stachovic addressed them. A motion to invite representatives of SDP was defeated, but the Finnish government was asked to send a delegate. This delegate turned out to be Tokoi, with Huttunen to assist. Stachovic explained how a perfectly satisfactory agreement embodied in the Lex Tulenheimo had been upset by the unwarranted interference of the Congress of Soviets. The valtalaki could serve as a basis of discusssion, but the dissolution would provide a new parliament that could meet at the same time as the Constituent Assembly and negotiate a final settlement with it. Tokoi replied and said he spoke as a socialist. He claimed that the Abramovic resolution was meant to be binding, and that the valtalaki was in complete conformity with it. He stressed the theme of working class solidarity, claiming that the Finnish proletariat knew its international duty and was willing to defend the revolution together with the Russian comrades. He suggested that the Soviet might set up a joint committee with SDP to look for an agreed solution. Stachovic saw the danger of this line, and intervened to insist that he was not making any criticism of the Finnish workers, but then introduced the nationalist theme when he said that everyone knew there were elements in Finnish society who were no friends of Russia, and they might exploit any Russian weakness.

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Sovelev spoke for the Provisional Government, playing deliberately on the chauvinism of his audience: He reminded them how unhelpful Finland had been over providing currency to pay the troops, and how unreasonable it was for the Finns to create difficulties for the revolution in pursuit of their own selfish claims. This caught on; a speaker from the floor, Porovin, supported Sovelev: Self-determination was for all nations, not just those in the Russian empire, and the Finns should recognize that if Russia was defeated, their democratic aspirations would also be lost. At the end, Huttunen tried to reverse the rising ride of nationalist feeling by stressing that the Finns had wanted further negotiations, but were convinced that what they had done was within the terms of the Abramovic resolution. "If the Congress in Petrograd had not adopted the resolution on the Finnish question, then this law would never have been passed by parliament." The Finns had no quarrel with Russian democracy as expressed by the Soviets; their only enemy was Russian reaction. It was to no avail: The final resolution of the meeting, carried by a large majority, said the dissolution decree must be obeyed to avoid the unfortunate necessity for a use of force. The "Finnish democracy undoubtedly made an error in taking its autonomy without the agreement of the Russian revolutionary democracy." But they were agreeable to SDP and the Congress of Soviets setting up a joint committee: "This commission would undoubtedly be able to settle the present conflict to the satisfaction of both sides." The resolution showed that the garrison did not want to become involved in a dispute between the Finnish socialists and the Provisional Government, but that they would not prevent the government using armed coercion if it had to.89 The socialists were baffled at the turn in fortunes; Tyomies spoke of "a complete reversal in the opinion of the Soviets,"90 but this was not so. The Finns had simply failed to comprehend the Russian point of view. To the Congress of Soviets, the Finnish question was a minor nuisance, and the Abramovic resolution was meant to pacify the Finns by general assurances of benevolence, leaving the practical consequences to be worked out later. To the Finnish socialists, the question of autonomy was the most important thing in the world and they naturally interpreted the resolution as definitive. They were encouraged to do this by their Bolshevik friends, but they were being narrow and self-centered. They just could not compre hend that the Finnish question might appear to be marginal, a minor irritant for the Russians, even Russian socialists, when weighed against the great issues of the war and revolution in Russia. The final part of the resolution of 2 August made this plain: The Russians saw the whole affair as needlessly inflated by the Finns; they were sure that another round of talks could easily dispose of the issues. Now the socialists faced the moment of truth. The government had promulgated the dissolution decree and official notice of it had been given to Manner as Speaker. Stachovic had made it clear that he would use force if he had to, and the Soviet had shown that it would not prevent this. Since parliament met in regular session on 2 August, a decision had to be made about whether orwhen itwould meet again. The SDP parliamentary group discussed the issue at length. They were unanimous in regarding the dissolution as invalid but were divided on how to give expression to

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this. One group wanted to play for time; Voionmaa suggested that: "the question of dissolution should not be raised in parliament, but resolve on a recess." Makelin agreed; the Speaker should say that the date of the next session would be notified. Another group, led by Kuusinen, Aronen, and Wiik thought that parliament should pronounce on the dissolution; that "the Speaker should ask parliament, so that members can say they do not recognise the manifesto." Eloranta alone wanted open defiance: Parliament should act on the valtalaki, set up a new government, and promulgate the legislation outstanding. Since they could not agree what to do, it was left to Manner and he followed Makelin's tactic. At the end of the sitting on 2 August, without mentioning the dissolution decree that remained "unopened in his drawer," Manner announced that "the time of the next session will be communicated separately in good time."91 Manner's action has been attacked bitterly as cowardly and inept. Critics recalled historic dramas in other parliaments and the lack of an heroic gesture of defiance was deplored. Dagens Press pointed out that everyone was now uncertain whether parliament had or had not been dissolved. Tampereen Sanomat saw the conduct of the socialists as contradictory and feeble. Parliament should have stood "strong behind the decision it had just made—instead—it went on holiday." The Activist Uusi Paiva, while it criticized the bourgeois politicians who had, in effect, collaborated with the Russians against their own countrymen, thought the failure of parliament to face the challenge of dissolution was deplorable. "Such a policy of creeping away does not, in itself, raise respect for the socialists in the country. We are of the opinion that this matter must be cleared up one way or the other." Otherwise, the legal status of the election would be in doubt and it could result in the disastrous situation of two elected bodies, each claiming to be the legal parliament.92 Yet a good case can be argued for the policy that SDP followed: It made sense to avoid a confrontation when, as the speeches of Tokoi and Huttunen to the Soviet showed, they might still be able to negotiate a way out of the crisis with the help of the Russian comrades. Tyomies reviewed the position on 5 August, and naturally began by denouncing the bourgeoisie:93 the Russian Provisional Government, together with Finland's reactionary bourgeoisie has stabbed parliament and the whole Finnish democracy in the back. . . . Parliament has not dissolved, it knows it has the right to continue its work. . . . but since it is threatened to prevent the work of parliament by armed force, then the situation is clear, parliament is stripped of a real possibility of working. If elections were to be held, they would be a straight fight between democrac and its enemies. "The Social Democratic party is a democratic party, it would willingly have this great question too decided by the nation itself. Nor has this party any reason to fear elections." The passivity of the socialists may be seen as unheroic or evasive, but it did keep various options open. Broadly they could either hope to resume work with the existing parliament, if the Soviets could be persuaded to facilitate this, or they could fight the election. In this way they could present SDP 100

as the champion of independence and democracy, and the bourgeois opposition as reactionary collaborators with the traditional oppressor. It must have seemed to the socialist leaders that they could not lose, whereas to have indulged in an act of defiance against the Provisional Government would have been irresponsible bravado. Their bid for power and glory through the valtalaki had gone badly wrong, but their current prudence should minimize the damage it had done and leave the future open.

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Chapter 6

Toward Chaos, August-November 1917 Until August 1917 the situation in Finland, in spite of the revolution and the disorders it had occasioned, was still recognizably normal. A legitimate Finnish government and parliament governed the country, however unsatisfactorily, within the bounds of the constitution and the law. From August onward, this was no longer the case; the country became increasingly both ungoverned and ungovernable, until by the beginning of November, the society was close to total breakdown. The immediate reaction of the socialists to the dissolution had been designed to keep the options open, and on 10-11 August the SDP Council met to consider what they should do. The Council had two questions to resolve—whether the socialist ministers should remain in the government and whether the party should participate in the elections. Moderates like Gylling, Salin, and Wuolijoki took the dogmatic line that the party should withdraw from government and thrust the whole responsibility on the bourgeoisie. Wuolijoki said that "even a bourgeois government must take into consideration the workers' demands. Best to have a bourgeois government, call the socialist ministers out." Salin expanded the case in Tyomies:1 Let the bourgeoisie alone look after the affairs of this state which they have led to the brink of destruction, until they have to admit openly that they have not the ability to go on any longer. . . . the time has not yet come. Capitalism is still too strong. . . . Let the bourgeois govern in a bourgeois society, let the socialists rule only in a socialist one. It was radicals like Kuusinen, Manner, and Tokoi who resisted this argument as "anarchist," because if the party did not provide legal solutions for the problems of hunger and unemployment, the masses might seek their own illegal solutions. So the party should stay in the government, but on condition that parliament was allowed to meet and legislate the necessary measures to deal with the crisis. If the Provisional Government refused this condition, then the socialist ministers should resign; this was the policy adopted by the majority. As for the elections, only Makelin urged the fully radical line that they were illegal and that the party must boycott 102

them. The pragmatists could not face the consequences of this position; the party would be left with the task of leading the workers in revolutionary opposition to the constitutional authorities, and this they could not face. The majority voted that although the dissolution had been illegal, "the Social Democratic party will begin electoral preparations." But they asserted that until a new parliament assembled, the existing parliament retained the right to act. Further, "seeing the elections ar not legally authorised, the parliament which will be elected in consequence cannot be expected in all cases to follow legal requirements." The party would call on the voters to recognize the new parliament as a constituent assembly, empowered to de termine all questions by simple majority vote.2 This policy assumed that the socialists were bound to win the election, and it can be seen why: The party had never lost seats in any election since 1906, its membership had risen dramatically since March, and its support for independence and the valtalaki was massively popular i the country. Nobody at this Council seems to have stopped to consider what the position would be if they entered the election on these terms and lost. The opposition attacked the new policy as dishonest: Dagens Press said it just showed the contempt in which the socialists held the constitution, and Helsingin Sanomat insisted that either the election was legal or it was not, SDP could not have it both ways.3 Yet though the socialists were being pragmatic, they were also firmly principled. Throughout the autumn of 1917, they clung to the simple principle that the valtalaki was a valid constitutional law that had come into effect as soon as it had been passed, by virtue of the principle of paliamentary sovereignty on which it was based. There were two overriding reasons that the party staked everything on this simple proposition. The valtalaki, by asserting the internal autonomy of Finland, cleared the way for the workers to pursue their class struggle against the bourgeoisie without the risk of foreign intervention, which alone could rob them of victory. Then the valtalaki guaranteed that victory by ensuring the triumph of the majority; it stated that full sovereign power belonged to the people of Finland and was exercised through their elected parliament.This swept away the checks and balances of the old constitution —the throne vacated by Nicholas II was to stay vacant for ever. Since the valtalaki was a constitutional law, it could only be amended or repealed by a two-thirds' majority, and it was inconceivable that SDP would ever lack the blocking third needed to preserve it. If SDP could make good its claims for the valtalaki, it was assured of the conditions for the eventual victory of the workers, and safe against any attempted counterrevolution. There could be no possible compromise on this. On the other side, the Provisional Government could not accept it, because the reservation to Russia of foreign policy and military policy could be overturned at any time in terms of the principle of sovereignty on which the law rested. Nor could broad sections of the Finnish bourgeoisie accept it, precisely because in denying the division of powers, it threatened to end minority rule in Finland and to tranfer ultimate political power into the hands of the masses. On 14 August the party notified Stachovic that the government would have to be reconstructed. He indicated that it was for Tokoi, as leader of the largest party, to make proposals; the Russians would accept whatever was agreeable to the Finns. 103

But this opening move was overtaken by the Helsinki strike. When Tokoi saw the Governor General on 15 August he was accompanied by a delegation of strikers who insisted that parliament must be allowed to meet to deal with the crisis, and Tokoi indicated that the party was likely to insist on this. However, to get the strike called off, Tokoi had promised that he would take charge of government policy on food and introduce a number of new measures at once, beginning with a reduction in the controlled prices of milk and butter. But when he put this proposal to the government on 16 August, two socialist ministers were absent and it was voted down by 6 votes to 4. Fortunately the strike had ended anyway and Tokoi seized the chance offered to submit his resignation, along with Paasivuori, Ailio, and Voionmaa, in protest at the action of the bourgeois ministers. The socialist leaders met in conference on 18 August, and had a message from Stachovic inviting Manner to try and form a government; "the commission ought to go the socialists and that would succeed best." They agreed that this was only posssible if parliament was allowed to meet in terms of the valtalaki. When Manner reported this to Stachovic, he added the warning that "as things are, the workers are beginning to lose faith in parliamentary action and are resorting to direct action." Stachovic was now under orders from the Provisional Government not to recognize the law or to allow parliament to meet under its terms. He offered to have the Provisional Government summon parliament into session or to negotiate new terms with a socialist government, which would preserve the residual authority of the Provisional Govern ment. Manner reported back to his colleagues. They had little difficulty in deciding that SDP should withdraw from government altogether until the valtalaki was rec ognized. Gylling and Tanner tried to argue for maintaining the existing coalition, but on 20 August the Governor General was officially notified of the party's decision, and the socialist ministers were instructed to confirm their resignations. Manner would now call parliament into session on 29 August to discuss the food and unemployment crisis, and to consider the formation of a new government.4 The socialists screwed up their courage to defy the Provisional Government because they could not see any alternative that did not involve compromising the valtalaki or leaving the popular discontents to find expression through revolutionary direct action. They had to gamble on the attitude of the garrison, which would determine whether or not the Governor General could stop the proposed session of parliament. Stachovic had approached the Executive of the Soviet and delegates of the regiment and ships' committees on 19 August, and after a lively debate they voted reluctantly to confirm the decision of 3 August, by 59 votes to 15. Although they expressed sympathy with the aspirations of the Finnish proletariat, they would not assist it against the Provisional Government, which was the democratic organ of the Russian proletariat. This meant that if Stachovic used force, he would not be opposed by the garrison.5 But it was clear too that the Soviet was unhappy over the situation; pressure was put on both sides to find some way to compromise. SDP tried to exploit Russian hesitations by issuing an appeal to all Russian socialists on 22 August, seeking their comradely intercession with the Provisional Government to avoid a clash. At the same time, the party issued a statement that professed to 104

doubt whether the Governor General would use force: "We do not know about this, and we do not believe it before we see it." Even so it seemed that Stachovic woul win: The Area Committee appealed to SDP to postpone the session, because in the last resort they must give their support to the Provisional Government, and this resolution was confirmed at a meeting of the garrison on 27 August. Above all the Russians feared civil strife, with the danger of an armed clash between supporters of the Provisional Government and those who supported SDP.6 On 27 August the parliamentary group of SDP was debating what should be done when parliament did meet. Representatives came from the Area Committee to report its decision, and this led some members to suggest that the confrontation must be put off. But those like Wiik, who insisted that the whole point of calling the session was to persuade the workers that action would be taken to meet their demands, suggested that at least they should consult the Bolsheviks first. He was sent off to talk to them, and the group reassembled on 28 August. Wiik reported that the Bolsheviks too were anxious to avoid violence between different groups of Russians, and he thought that SDP must somehow prevent the use offeree, otherwise "our real friends, the Bolsheviks, may be put in peril." Valpas insisted that even so they could not just cancel the session; "people would think we were cowards." It was resolved that they would assemble at the stated time, and if they were prevented from entering the parliament building, they would register a formal protest and retire to the Saatytalo for an informal conference of members of parliament to consider what to do. Then, at the last moment, it seemed that the Bolsheviks had saved the day; their speakers persuaded the Soviet to accept, by 1 50 votes to 90, a set of resolutions that reversed its previous policy. These stated that no Russian should interfere in Finland's internal politics, that the dissolution of parliament had been illegal and undemocratic, and that the garrison must refuse to intervene against the proposed session. A special commission of the Soviet was to see the resolution enforced, and it ordered that on 29 August no Russians should leave their quarters in arms without the express permission of the commission.7 If these instructions were obeyed, then Stachovic would be unable to stop parliament from meeting. During the night of 28/29 August, Stachovic ordered the 2nd Artillery Regiment to send patrols to the parliament house and prevent anyone from entering, but the regimental committee stood by the orders of the Soviet and refused. He then applied to the 14th Tsenstikov Hussars, who, recently arrived in Finland, had not yet adopted the political outlook of the rest of the garrison, and they agreed to act. The approaches to the parliament house were sealed off, and a notice affixed to the door: "By order of the Provisional Government of 18/31 J uly the parliament is dissolved. Its premises are closed for today."8 An expectant crowd had gathered in the streets when, towards noon on 29 August, members of parliament began to assemble. Then Manner arrived. He saw it as beneath his dignity to exchange words with the soldiers, and went off to see Stachovic, who told him that he had acted on the orders of the Provisional Government to prevent the unfortunate incidents that might have occurred if a session of parliament had to be dispersed. Manner delivered a formal protest: "I regard this measure as an infringement of the rights of 105

parliament and of Finland, " to which Stachovic replied that he would convey the protest to the Provisional Government. Manner departed and proceeded to the Saatytalo where the "advisory conference" was due to open at 1:00 P.M. The socialists had been unable to agree beforehand whether or not to try and convert this into a formal session of parliament: It would depend on the attitude of the nonsocialist members, and this was in doubt. Conservative opinion had been calling for a boycott of the whole business; Uusi Suometar had declared that the proposed session was patently illegal, and Helsingin Sanomat denounced it as an obvious electoral maneuver, designed to make the socialists appear as martyrs in the cause of independence. It had urged all nonsocialist members to stay away. In the event, representatives turned up from all the bourgeois parties and included most of the Agrarians. Manner opened the meeting by asking those present how they wanted to proceed; he explained his conduct on 2 August by saying that as Speaker he had been unable to confer official recognition on the illegal dissolution order by reading it out. Airola put the socialist case for holding a formal session, which was rejected by all the nonsocialist speakers. They expressed regret that force had been used against parliament, but insisted that the only acceptable course now was to wait for the outcome of the elections. Alkio differed, because he accepted the valtalaki principles and rejected the exercise of the power of dissolution by the Provisional Government. He accepted that parliament had the legal right to continue its function until the new parliament met, but could see no point in trying to exercise it. The meeting voted 44 to 37 that there should be a session; Manner was asked to appoint a time, but in view of the division he suggested an hour's adjournment for private consultations. The socialists spent it quarrelling; Valpas made a bitter attack on those who had voted against a session, whereas Airola defended them, "they had not been opposed to the idea, but found it impossible at the moment." When the Agrarians sent a message that they would take no further part in proceedings, the idea of holding a session was abandoned.9 The happenings on 29 August turned out to be an enormous anticlimax: They had been billed as the dramatic confrontation between SDP and the Provisional Government, but in effect nothing had happened except a demonstration that as yet SDP was in no state to challenge the Provisional Government. Afterward, nearly all those involved expressed relief that they had escaped so easily from a potentially damaging adventure. The socialists easily accepted their failure by blaming the bourgeois members of parliament for letting them down. They claimed that they might still hold a session if circumstances demanded it, but their opponents could receive their final answer through the elections: "Although we do not recognise these elections as legal, let the enemies of democracy receive their answer through them." In this statement of the socialist members of parliament, there was a sense of liberation now that the play-acting was over, and they could get down to the serious business of electioneering. The Activists were complacent; Uusi Paiva thought it had been valuable to demonstrate that Finland did not accept the right of the Provisional Government to exercise the sovereign powers. Helsingin Sanomat was happy to make electoral propaganda, asserting that the procedural mess on 29 106

August just showed that the socialists were unfit to be entrusted with the nation's affairs. The Russians were the happiest of all: Helsinki Soviet, conveniently forgetting the disobedience of the hussars, expressed satisfaction at the peaceful outcome: "In view of such a happy outcome of the affair . . . our life can once more follow its normal course." Their lack of interest in Finnish internal politics was blatant. The Provisional Government had won one of its rare victories. It had said it would not recognize the valtalaki until the Finnish electorate had pronounced on it, and had beaten off a direct challenge from SDP.10 For the moment at least, their authority in Finland was intact. When the socialists announced that they were withdrawing from government, the Governor General turned to the bourgeois politicians, and it was decided not to try and form a new Finnish government before the elections. Instead, the six bourgeois ministers would carry on as an interim administration, doubling up for the departed socialists, with Setala taking Tokoi's place as Vice-chairman. The government issued a statement that "it is their duty to endeavour still to take charge of government so that the country will not be deprived of a Finnish government," and their declared priority was the restoration of law and order. Setala made it a condition of continuing that the Russians "shall not put any obstacles in the way of achieving for the country a powerful security force, which will be the government's first object of concern."11 The first thought was simply to disband the militias and reinstate the regular police, but Stachovic warned them that "the soldiers will certainly intervene and prevent the return of the police forces to their legal position." When a reporter from Uusi Suometar challenged the chairman of Helsinki Soviet on this, he was evasive, but agreed that in such a case the Soviet would do whatever a majority of the garrison decided. The government was therefore compelled to act secretly, and first they found the organizer they needed in Bruno Jalander, a professional police officer who had made a reputation by his reconstruction of the police after 1906. Unfortunately, the action had also involved him in the forceful suppression of industrial unrest, so he had a bad reputation with the workers. On the other hand, Jalander had always been an Activist, and used his official position to help Russian revolutionaries to escape tsarist oppression, so this was remembered to his credit in Soviet circles. In 1917 J alander was taken onto the staff of the Governor General, where he acted as an Activist spy and was made a member of the Military Committee. As early as July he had acted as adviser for the first of the private security forces, Yovahti—The Nightwatch—recruited from ex-policemen by Helsinki property owners to secure their premises against mob violence. After the riots of 17 August, the Municipality decided to act, and sent K. Castren to Jalander with a proposal to raise a clandestine police force in the city for which they would supply the funds. It was intended that this force "when the opportunity came, would replace the useless militia." Jalander agreed, and by October he had recruited several hundred men, who were billeted in the Maitokeskusliike building, in central Helsinki, and underwent regular training under I. Helenius, a professional police officer who acted as Jalander's deputy. From the start Jalander intended to use his force for Activist ends as well; 107

it would be a cadre of trained men around which the various volunteer security forces could be rallied to fight the Russians. This raised the inescapable dilemma of all these Activist enterprises: They were genuinely nationalist and anti-Russian in purpose, but could not be kept apart from the antihooligan endeavors of the propertied bourgeoisie who paid for them, and hence could not escape the hostility of the workers and of SDP.12 Shortly after he began working for Helsinki Municipality, Jalander was asked by the government to raise a mounted police unit. This plan was official and had the approval of the Governor General. The order of 19 September was for "a police force of at least two hundred men" supported from government funds. Its official title was the Jarjestyslipusto—The Security Detachment—and a training camp was established near Porvoo on a country estate called Saksaniemi, with an excavalryman, G. Ahremberg, in command. This was planned as a paramilitary force; once more, the Activists saw it as the nucleus of a Finnish cavalry, and the Governor General had promised 500 rifles for it. But his official advisers realized the true intention of the force and blocked the provision of arms, so that by October Saksaniemi had 200 men and horses for them but virtually no weapons. The socialists soon learned about it and alerted the Soviet. The latter actually prepared an armored car expedition to disperse the Saksaniemi men and were dissuaded by the Governor General with the utmost difficulty. Under these conditions it was obvious that the government could not go very far in raising official security forces, and therefore the unofficial volunteer movement launched by the Activists was very welcome.13 The nationwide movement to establish a Suojeluskunta—Home Guard—had always sprung from two distinct sources, the desire of property owners to be defended against "hooligans" and "anarchists" by raising volunteer forces that should cooperate with the public authorities in maintaining order, and the plans of the Activists to raise an underground army to work with the Germans and fight the Russians. The first kind of activity was perfectly legal and could be supported from public funds, provided that official permission was secured; but the second kind was technically treasonable. A typical example was the Helsinki Suojeluskunta, started in August under 0. Eckman and H. Ritavuori, and officially sanctioned on 20 September. Its initial aim was "to gather forces from all parties to defend the country from the threat of hooligan power." This body was soon drawn into the Activist movement and acquired a paramilitary character. By October they had hired colonel B. Standartskjold to command them and were busy buying weapons, mainly from Russian soldiers; by December, the 800 members had 150 assorted rifles and 2 machine guns. In addition Helsinki had a largely student-based, unrecognized Suojeluskunta, more militant than the main body; though linked with the Activists, it preferred to keep its autonomy.14 The most important non-Activist movement was the organization set up by the farmers of Satakunta in defense against the strike movement. The various local organizations came together to form the Satakunta Home Guard in August, and on 6 September received official recognition, though when the prefect, Collan, asked 108

the government whether he should notify the local Soviet of this, he was advised to say nothing. Satakunta Home Guard deliberately excluded socialists from membership, and apart from actual strike breaking, they provided guards for the courts when strikers came up for trial for acts of violence. Their most ambitious attempt was to defend the police station at Pori from a mob that was trying to release accused strikers: On this occasion, the mob called in Russian soldiers to help and the Home Guard were worsted. This episode helped to encourage the Satakunta Home Guard to see the Russians as part of their problem, and the Activists hoped that it might be the opening to draw Satakunta into their organization. Kaila travelled to Pori to talk to the leaders on the theme that the real enemy was the Russian. He begged them not to antagonize the workers: "We have to understand the position of the socialist leaders. They do not approve of anarchistic actions, at least not in their own minds, but also do not want to distance themselves from those who commit them, because they hope to make really organised socialists of them." He urged the farmers "always behave as moderately, as unprovocatively, asconciliatorily as possible." Kaila failed; the Satakunta farmers knew what their movement was for and declined to join his movement. But they too did acquire a paramilitary character; they hired a Captain Nordenstam as military director and began looking for weapons, though without much success. By the end of 1917, the 4,000 members had only sporting guns and 150 assorted rifles. The Satakunta Home Guard was the biggest of the non-Activist movements and stood in a class of its own.15 When the Activists decided to raise an underground militia in July, Kaila set up an office in Helsinki, disguised as a spurious business enterprise, Uusi Metsatoimisto — The New Forestry Bureau-equipped with a dummy business archive, and it was never detected by the Russians or the socialists. Kaila was helped by L. Pihkala, who offered the services of his Finnish Sports and Athletics League, an old-established organization with branches all over the country and long dedicated to nationalist ideals. The plan was to cover the country with Home Guard units based on the commune, and grouped under 29 district staffs. In July there were district staffs in Vaasa, Kuopio, Kajaani, and Viipuri but except in Vaasa little local activity to supervise. Kaila was finding it difficult to arouse enthusiasm for his nationalist program that stressed the need for unity. He wrote that "the organisation must in no circumstances be made into a class organisation. Reliable workers must be admitted as well as bourgeois." But the local notables, whose help and money were needed to start Home Guards, were more interested in controlling the workers than in fighting Russians. Kaila found he was driven to tactics of infiltration; Home Guards set up with public funds to preserve order were taken over by concealed Activists, who were "leading them without their realising it," as Kaila put it.16 By November, Kaila had set up 10 district committees, had some kind of contacts in 10 more, and nothing at all in nine of his districts—so that a third of his proposed structure did not exist. The strongest area remained Pohjanmaa, but even here it was 14 November before a conference of Activists, meeting at Lapua, resolved to see that a Home Guard suported by public funds was set up in every commune. The historian of the movement has commented that:17 109

The prevailing opinion may be that the fire-brigade/home guard movement in southern Pohjanmaa began to roll like a spring flood. . . . such was not the case, but the development was sluggish and uneven there, for the most part, as in the rest of the country. Even here one cannot talk of a fanatical aggressive popular movement. Outside Pohjanmaa the best areas were the north and east, from Savo through the border areas of Karelia. Here, except in the city of Viipuri, Russian garrisons were few and the socialists weak so that Home Guard activity could be openly pursued, yet the absence of soldiers or aggressive workers' organizations meant little sense of urgency was present among local people. It was hard to keep up a program of training with no obvious enemy in view. In Viipuri itself great care was needed and the most valuable Activist cell was among the railway officials who monitored Russian military traffic and intercepted their telegrams. In central Finland the one strong district was Jyvaskyla, largely due to the enthusiasm of M. Pihkala, the brother of L. Pihkala, who set up a strong Home Guard committed to an activist policy, and got it officially adopted by the Municipality on 8 November. Jyvaskyla was the most reliable and militant district outside Pohjanmaa. In general, there was a serious lack of organization in central and southern Finland, where most of the population lived, and most industry and lines of communication were concentrated. Outside Helsinki, little could be achieved; Satakunta went its own way, and everywhere agressive socialist organizations, with the backing of the soldiers, inhibited development. Here there were broad stretches without even a nominal Home Guard structure, and as long as this was the case, Kaila could not pretend to a really national organization. Outside Pohjanmaa, his movement consisted of isolated groups of individuals playing at soldiers with broomstick rifles and shot guns; it had potential, but that potential remained to be realized.18 The root trouble was that Kaila'a efforts lacked credibility: He was asking men to enlist in an army that had no guns and no officers. He was well aware of the importance of weapons, and wrote to Donner in August that "in the countryside we begin to hear grumbling: why aren't we given arms?" His recruiting agents reported, "The question is where are the arms coming from?" and "We must get arms or the whole enterprise must be thrown over." The Military Committee was supposed to help him provide military expertise, but he found them difficult to work with. They tried to make him change his organizational scheme to fit Mexmontan's plan for 36 districts; they raised objections to a handbook that he had had compiled by Jagers, because they disliked the unfamiliar German-style drill. Yet he had to defer to them, because these elderly, aristocratic officers had the confidence of the business community, which Kaila and the young Activists lacked. It was the Military Committee that arranged a meeting with a group of bankers on 3 October and received the offer of a credit of 2 million marks. This was followed by further advances, so that by January Finnish big business had promised over 6 million marks to support what they understood to be a struggle against "hooliganism."The Military Committee also controlled the recruitment of officers. They paid the expenses

no

of the 24 Ja'gers who had slipped into Finland by the autumn and worked as instructors with the Home Guard. They were also supposed to mobilize the officers of the old Finnish army, but a call to such officers to attend a meeting in October brought only 15 responses, and only a handful agreed to take part in the training program.19 The many attempts to buy weapons from the Russians had yielded poor results, proving that they would have to be imported. Kaila and Donner organized a regular motorboat run from Umea, in Sweden, to Vaasa, through which small quantities of revolvers and ammunition were brought in, but its most useful cargo was a radio transmitter that reached Vaasa on 19 October. This greatly increased Kaila's planning potential because, batteries permitting, he had direct contact with Stockholm, whereas his courier service had needed four days to take a letter one way. Ludendorff had authorized the sending of a trial shipment of arms to Finland on 21 August, and Kaila and Donner fixed on Pohjanmaa as the place to land them, since it was the best organized and was designated as the reception area for any German landing. At the same time, the Military Committee pursued a plan of its own to land supplies from submarines on the south coast of Finland. Both plans went ahead: Kaila decided on Vastero, near Vaasa, as a place where they could land 30,000 kilograms of stores in a night from a steamer anchored 500 meters offshore. The Germans agreed to the scheme, found a steamer, the Equity, and loaded it with 6,500 rifles, 30 machine guns, 500 revolvers, and quantities of ammunition. Eight Ja'gers would accompany the load and remain in Finland to act as instructors. The plan worked perfectly; on the appointed night, 31 October, Equity anchored off Vastero while the local Activists got the Russian coast guard drunk and sabotaged their boat. On two successive nights the cargo was brought ashore and distributed to prepared hiding places. At one stroke, the credibility of the Home Guard movement was transformed. With these weapons and the instructors, it would be possible to arm and train enough men in Pohjanmaa to secure a base area where the Ja'gers could land, and Home Guards from other parts of Finland could be mobilized and equipped.20 The other plan ran into bad luck: The intention was to land a small party of Ja'gers, a small quantity of arms for the Saksaniemi force, and a radio transmitter near Loviisa on 17 November. The U-57 had no difficulty in reaching the rendezvous and unloading, but then the troubles began. On the return voyage, the U-57 disappeared and is presumed to have struck a mine, while on 17 November Finland was gripped by the general strike and the Loviisa area dominated by the formidable Kotka Red Guard, on top of which an expedition of Red Guards and Russians from Helsinki had attacked and dispersed the Saksaniemi men. The Ja'gers and most of the equipment were captured by the Red Guard, though the Ja'gers were later released. The transmitter was saved and carried to Helsinki, where it operated successfully right through the civil war without being detected and was an invaluable communications link. On balance, the misfortunes of the submarine venture could be written off as chances of war, and were quite overshadowed by the brilliant success of the Equity voyage.21 While the Home Guard movement was acquiring for the first time some degree 111

of credibility as a paramilitary force, there had been moves that indicated that sooner or later it might develop into the future armed force of the Finnish state. They began when the depleted Setala government was looking for reinforcement and approached a leading member of the Military Committee, H. Akerman, to become minister of food. Akerman was not at all enthusiastic, but his colleague Ignatius forced him to agree and to set conditions for his entry into the government. The main condition was that the government set up a committee, to be nominated by the Military Committee, "for establishing our own domestic armed force," with the understanding that the Home Guard movement would form the bulk of this force. Further, Akerman was to be permitted to set up strategic stocks of food in northern Finland to facilitate the planned German intervention. This special committee, which ranked as a subcommittee of the Military Committee, was an embryo war office, enjoying official status, with the right to use government funds and facilities. Ignatius himself presided, and chose as his colleagues A. Hallberg, A. G. von Rehausen, R. Schauman and G. Silfverhjelm: Jalander's police units were brought under its jurisdiction, and were to be integrated in the proposed public force. Finally, during November Kaila's Forestry Bureau was linked to the system by making Kaila secretary of the Military Committee, and the Bureau a department of the Committee.22 Another decision by Ludendorff on 21 August was that the Finns be urged to appoint a plenipotentiary, with authority to speak for their whole movement and to enter into binding agreements with the Germans. It happened that the Activist Committee had already decided to send their senior politician, E. Hjelt, to contact the Germans and to repair the damage done by the August fiasco. Hjelt had no doubt that the handling of the foreign activities of the Activist movement needed changing; the Delegation in Stockholm was "much too big and disunited," while Mexmontan "neither had nor wanted to have contact with the Delegation" with the result that "there was distrust and dissatisfaction in every direction."23 As soon as Hjelt arrived in Stockholm he began moves to have both the Delegation and Mexmontan set aside, suggesting that new credentials should be issued to a reconstructed Finnish representation. Further, when he discovered that Ludendorff was asking for the appointment of a plenipotentiary, he clearly saw himself as the appropriate person. When he met Steinwachs in Stockholm and presented him with a memorandum, which stressed that German intervention in Finland was "the only way to achieve the demand for freedom and to create order in our internal affairs," Steinwachs assumed that Hjelt was the plenipotentiary, and the assumption was not discouraged.24 Hjelt's call for new credentials was accepted by the Activist leaders. The members of the Activist Committee and the Military Committee, together with the politicians A. I. Heikel, H. Renvall and Svinhufvud, put their names to two sets of credentials. They conceded that the group had no formal legal standing, but claimed that they spoke on behalf of all Finns who desired independence. The credentials were issued to Hjelt, Erich, M. Gripenberg, E. Suolahti, and Mexmontan: the first set empowered them to enter into alliance with Germany, and in return for a guarantee of Finnish independence, commit Finland to raise an army that would 112

fight with Germany until the end of the war. The second set empowered them to negotiate with the Swedish government for recognition of Finland's independence, enter into contracts for military operations, take up foreign loans, buy military equipment, issue commissions, and hire mercenary soldiers. Fortified with these powers, Hjelt then drafted a new memorandum for the German government. This claimed that the whole Finnish people desired independence, "on the main question . . . all parties and social classes are at one." They also recognized that only Germany could secure that independence and urged that "Finland's liberation equally involves a strong German interest, both military during the current war, and political and economic after it." A Finnish government would be set up "composed of persons who enjoy confidence inside the country and . . . who satisfy equally the interests of the Central Powers." Finland would adopt a monarchical constitution and "for monarch there should be called some member of a German princely house." But the Germans should act quickly; there was the danger of rival offers from the Provisional Government or the Entente powers.25 It can be admitted that this memorandum was a salesman's prospectus, and not an academic treatise, but it faithfully reflected Hjelt's obsessive and narrow belief that Finland could have no future except in close association with Germany, because independent Finland would be in a state of perpetual enmity with Russia. His vision of Finnish independence reduced the country to the status of a German protectorate, but it was the only vision he had. Hjelt never stopped for a moment to consider what the situation would be if Germany lost the war and involved Finland in the consequences of the defeat. On 25 September, there was a further meeting between the new plenipotentiaries and a German delegation led by Steinwachs. The Germans brought a verbal as surance from Ludendorff that Germany would move into Finland as part of a new attack on Petrograd; "the plan exists and will be executed." But no date could be given. If however, at any time, Finland began a national insurrection, Germany would supply arms and repatriate the Ja'ger Battlion. Hjelt suggested that if Germany could not invade at once, she might seize the Aland islands, which would encourage the Finnish people and serve as a base for future operations. The German Foreign Office rather liked this idea; Kuhlmann wrote to Ludendorff on 29 September that it seemed the easiest way to encourage the Finns; "it is unlikely they can be sustained right through the winter if the Finnish hopes are disappointed this autumn." Ludendorff had to explain that though the civilian mind might see it as a masterly stroke, it was militarily impossible. Thus, in spite of Ludendorff's hint of a future operation by German troops, the German position was unchanged for the present—no German troops would be sent into Finland and the rest was up to the Finns themselves.26 The frustrations caused by the German attitude fueled a bitter struggle within the Activist movement. The Military Committee already blamed Mexmontan for the August fiasco and wrote him a reproachful letter on 27 September that made it clear they had lost confidence in him.27 He in turn had offended members of the Delegation by his high-handed treatment of them and had made an implacable enemy 113

of von Bonsdorff. Bonsdorff poisoned the minds of SektionPolitik against Mexmontan by insinuating that he was too friendly with Swedish military circles and not really committed to Germany.The Military Committee began looking for a replacement for Mexmontan and eventually found one in W. Thesleff. Thesleff was a Finnish officer serving on the Russian General Staff who had been captured by the Germans at Riga. He was known to be a strong Activist, and on 24 September the Military Committee suggested that he should become commander of the Ja'ger Battalion. The Germans seized on the suggestion and developed it. On 10 October Thesleff met Hulsen and Steinwachs in Berlin. They told him that Germany no longer had confidence in Mexmontan and would prefer that Thesleff become "the intemediary between the Military Committee and the German authorities."28 Thesleff accepted, the Military Committee approved, and Mexmontan became redundant and an embarrassment. In November Hjelt and the plenipotentiaries replaced the Delegation, and Ignatius was sent to tell Mexmontan that he had become an obstacle to good relations with the Germans and should stand down. Since Mexmontan was a decent and loyal man, he did. The main beneficiaries of the displacement of the Delegation and of Mexmontan were the Germans: Their relations with the Activists were now through Hjelt and Thesleff, both of whom were committed to the proposition that only Germany could ensure Finland's independence, and both of whom were ready to go to great lengths to secure German's support.29 The first sign of a revival of the Red Guard movement among the workers was an advertisement in the socialist press in Helsinki, calling on former members of the Workers' Red Guard to meet in Kaisaniemi on 12 May. The SDP Executive asked J. Tuominen, now chairman of the Helsinki Workers' Council and formerly secretary to the Red Guard committee of 1906, to attend the meeting and oppose in the name of the party any proposal to reestablish the Guard. The party did this because it was recalled how the Red Guard, during its brief and troubled existence after 1906, had been permanently at odds with the party because of its constant demands for a revolutionary armed struggle against the bourgeoisie. Tuominen has stated that no formal revival of the Red Guard took place on 12 May, but the Helsinki Workers' Council set up a committee to consider the matter. The party leadership stood firm against reviving the Guard and their stand was confirmed by the June Congress of SDP. Yet by June there was in Helsinki zHelsingin tyovaeston jarjestysmiehistd—the Helsinki Workers' Security Men—and a report of 7 July stated that "it has already got 15 hundred-man detachments." J alander remembered walking in the Elaintarha Park in June and seeing "hundreds of men drilling." In Tampere a meeting of 16 May had instructed the trade unions to recruit a strong jarjestysmiehisto of 300 men and to keep its existence secret. The Russian colonel, M. Svecnikov, recalled that his soldiers were helping to train workers in Tampere during the summer, which can refer only to this body. It is reasonable to assume that these organizations in Helsinki and Tampere were military in intention and represent the beginnings of the revived Red Guard movement. By 3 September there is no longer room for doubt, because the Helsinki Workers' Council received a letter carrying the stamp of "The Helsinki Red Guard," which announced its existence and 114

asked the Council for recognition. Their committee on the question reported to the Council that when the original Red Guard had been disbanded in 1908 the party had envisaged circumstances in which it might have to be revived and "now such circumstances have developed." The workers needed "a powerful armed body" because "the bourgeoisie has already organised its armed butcher guard." On 6 September the Council circularized trade union branches in Helsinki and called on them to recruit a tyovaen jarjestyskaarti—Workers' Security Guard—thus avoiding the emotive title Red Guard— Punainen kaarti. Three days later, the Workers' Council resolved to ask SDP to establish the movement nationally.30 It often has been asserted that the emergent Red Guard represented the intrusion of new and alien elements into the workers' movement, and recruited heavily from the unemployed, the fortification workers, and even criminal elements. Huttunen asserted that in Viipuri such elements "took into their hands locally the leadership of the movement." None of the detailed analysis of Red Guard membership so far undertaken supports such a view. Most early units were recruited by trade unions on a selective basis, and membership was restricted to members in good standing, not least because these were clandestine organizations at first. A member of Helsinki Guard insisted that "at the beginning it was put together from reliable members of the party organisations" and the statistical analyses bear out this claim. The recruiting circular was specific on the point "you must endeavour to prevent the less classconscious and the unreliable members from entering the organisation." As a result, over three-quarters of the membership of the Red Guard always consisted of established members of party or trade union branches; there was no significant element of professional criminals in either the leadership or the ranks. In the early stages in particular the typical member of the Red Guard was an established family man, of settled employment, and a trade union member of some standing. The Guard was not run or dominated by hooligan or anarchist elements despite widespread contemporary beliefs of socialists and others that this was so.31 In June the party Congress had ruled firmly against a Red Guard; when the Workers' Council made its proposal in September the feeling in the party was changing, and this was because of what they knew, and even more of what they imagined they knew, about the development of the suojeluskunta movement. One or two provincial papers had taken unfavorable notice of bourgeois activity in July, but the concern of the socialist movement nationally can probably be dated from a series of articles in Tyomies in August. One article uncovered the role of the bourgeois Activists in suppressing the riots of 17-18 August; another reported how at Loviisa, on 19 August, the local Home Guard, described as an "armed guard" had been used to break a strike in the town; and their conclusions came in a powerful article published on 23 August. It said that the bourgeoisie had deliberately created a scare about hooliganism and anarchy; "peaceful strikes are characterised in the bourgeois press, in the crudest colours, as acts of violence by criminal gangs."This was carefully orchestrated to justify the setting up of "bourgeois butcher guards . . . bourgeois dregs strongly armed against the workers, ready to spill their brothers' blood." The effect was dramatic; one of Kaila's agents, who had been getting some 115

cooperation from local socialists, wrote on 27 August, "What on earth is that Tyomies now saying? What is the purpose?" Now the local socialists had completely reversed their attitude. On 29 August, a letter from Lahti said, "you cannot credit how these last two articles in Tyomies have smashed up our front."32 From that point forward, most of the party press, and the speakers in their election campaign, portrayed the grand strategy of the class enemy as first to weaken the workers by starving them, and then when they were driven to protest, to let loose their armed Guards and drown the protests in blood. The workers were urged "to avoid all bourgeois butcher guard activity," and the Home Guard was compared with the tsarist Black Hundreds, whose aim was "mob-violence, anarchy and confusion—complete civil war." When Saksaniemi was uncovered, Kansan Lehti wrote that the bourgeois organizations, "however they seek to beautify their purposes . . . are intended to be the armed class organisations of the bourgeoisie." The Saksaniemi force was obviously "to carry out punitive expeditions. . . . they have half-officially admitted that this armed and mounted guard will be used for 'pacification work' in different parts of the country." This really meant armed action against "peaceful citizens who are only defending their means of livelihood." The socialists never considered for a moment that the Activist claim that the Home Guards were nonpolitical might be true. For one thing as Marxists, they knew that such a thing was impossible. But in addition it was very difficult for the Activists to make a convincing case; on the one hand was the concrete evidence from places like Satakunta and Loviisa that the Guards were being used against the workers, but on the other hand the Activists could not say in public that their main purpose was to lead a national insurrection against the Russians. They could only talk unconvincingly about preventing disorders that might follow a Russian retreat, "we do not know whether our country will be included in the area of military operations." So Tyomies declared on 26 October, "the bourgois are preparing against the workers and intend, when a suitable opportunity comes, to fall on them and drown them in a stream of blood, unless the workers by their strength can frighten the bloodthirsty leaders of the bourgeoisie . . . from carrying out their bloody intentions." Kansan Lehti drew the only possible conclusion, "their activities force the workers to plan vigorous counter measures."33 Some contrary voices were raised in the movement. Quite prominent leaders like O. Piisinen and T. Tainio wrote in Savon Tyomies during October in favor of the workers collaborating with the Home Guards for national ends. "In the midst of internal conflict, at a time of the most enraged struggle, we must remember we are Finns, and know that no one else will defend us if we are unable to do it ourselves." In the Tampere area, when the workers at Kuru and Ruovesi decided to raise a Red Guard, they made an agreement with the local Home Guard "that they would act together if there were disturbances of public order, and that in no circumstances would they act against one another." Such agreements are to be found elsewhere, but it must be significant that these conciliatory tendencies are mainly found where the socialists were weak, and knew they would be beaten in a clash. L. Vilenius, who was a genuine fortification worker, recalled that "in the last analysis the sup116

porters of peaceful activity on our work site did not hold that view because they were absolutely opposed to armed action—it was more that at that point it appeared that we did not have the possibility of armed activity."34 Thinking among the party leaders was already swinging around to the kind of views expressed in Tydmies when it was powerfully reinforced by the Russians. During the Kornilov affair, the Area Committee made plans to send troops from Finland to the defense of Petrograd, and on 12 September they sent Smilga and Antonov to the Executive of SDP to ask whether, if the troops left, the Finnish workers could protect their rear by maintaining order and keeping the railways working. They were told that the party was willing to try, "especially if we get arms." In talks betwen Manner, Tokoi, and Huttunen and the Russians the Finns revealed that they were thinking of raising a Guard. On the following day, the Executive got a letter from the Workers' Council asking for the establishment of a national armed organization, and Wiik noted in his diary that the response had been generally favorable. The reason why even the moderates did not oppose can be deduced from the remark of Gylling, who later came to have serious doubts about the Red Guard, that "the matter is urgent, if it should happen there is a distribution of weapons." He feared that if arms were handed out without there being a formal organization, the party would be unable to control events. Turkia was therefore instructed to draft regulations for a workers' armed guard.35 The defeat of Kornilov reduced tension and took the urgency out of the situation, until on 22 September Rovio appeared before the Executive, accompanied by three armed companions and claimed that the Home Guard was about to displace the militia. He told the same story to the Area Committee two days later, and said that the Finns "know the weakness of their forces in the struggle but hope for the support of Russia's revolutionary democracy." Rovio was usually a realistic and level-headed man, and his evident panic must have arisen from some exaggerated notion of Jalander's state of readiness. The party Executive was not stirred to action, but they had it in mind. When they discussed the signs that the masses were getting restless about the food situation on 29 September, Turkia suggested that "weapons will be unsheathed and country houses will burn," and if the government would not take relieving action, the party "must get arms for the Guards over the whole country." Still the Executive was not hurried; the first draft rules for a Guard were put before them on 13 October, and on 18 October Wiik expressed impatience at the delay —"all plans are in the air as long as there is no Red Guard." But a decision was taken and published as a statement from SAJ on 20 October. This called on the workers "at once to form security guards and . . . join them in force. . . . These workers'security guards are to be trained urgently in carrying out their tasks." Finally, on 23 October, a joint meeting of the Executives of SDP and SAJ approved the rules. The only serious debate was about the name of the new organization, whether it was to be Red Guard or Security Guard; the majority, haunted by memories of 1906, voted for the more neutral Tyovaen Jarjestyskaarti— Workers' Security Guard.36 The purpose of the Guard was defined in defensive terms, "to protect the workers' 117

freedom of organisation, public meeting, speech and press in these restless times, and generally to safeguard the rights of the working class." The danger from hooligan elements was excluded in the insistence that the members be elected by local parties "from class-conscious comrades, who are clear about the methods of social democracy and otherwise deserving of trust." The basic unit was the company of 110 men, which would elect its own commanders. These in turn would nominate candidates for the higher levels of command. In each election district, there would be a five-man committee, with three members nominated by the party and two by the Guard, thus ensuring party control at this level;at the top there was to be a fiveman commanding staff, appointed and dismissed by the joint Executives of SDP and SAJ, who were further empowered to dissolve the Guard when they felt no further need for it. On paper the control of the party over its new organization was complete.37 The workers had not waited for the party: An article in Tyolaisnuoriso of 19 September claimed that preparations for a nationwide organization were already far advanced, and it would be "such a body as has independent fighting capacity in support of whose establishment the argument is advanced that the class struggle has now reached the level where violence, if necessary armed force, must be used." But this account exaggerated; until the party had made its official call, action was local and spontaneous. The socialist press chose to remain almost silent about developments, but it looks as though only Helsinki and Tampere developed substantial organizations before 20 October. Helsinki had raised 23 companies by then, and on 6 October the Workers' Council had sent Taimi and T. Vesala to Petrograd to see if they could purchase rifles, but they were turned away and told that in any case negotiations would have to be with the party Executive. Tampere Red Guard, which had begun as the private army of the Metal Workers' Union got a new "Organizing Committee" on 5 October, when party representatives joined the Union men, and the organization was big enough to be divided into two battalions. The local party agreed to advance 25,000 marks for the purchase of rifles from the local garrison and they did better than Helsinki; the first delivery of arms took place on 16 October. Elsewhere, little solid achievement was recorded: Tornio had a guard of some kind by 17 September, Kuopio voted to set one up on 6 October, but stipulated that it should "act without arms and under strict supervision." Turku split; the radical leaders Airo and Hyrskymurto addressed a meeting on 26 September, telling the workers that "the circumstances might oblige the Finnish workers into energetic measures against the ruthless exploitation and oppression of the bourgeoisie."They then approached Turku Soviet, declaring that the Home Guard was a menace to the workers and the Russians, that they were "the same as the Kornilovites," and that workers needed military protection. The Turku party promptly disowned them, said the appeal to the Soviet was a provocation, and denounced Airo as a criminal and Hyrskymurto as a dealer in the black market. So there had been development of the Red Guard even before 20 October, but it was very uneven and scattered.38 Once the leadership had conferred official approval, the situation was transformed. At Tampere, the new five-man District Staff was elected on 26 October, 118

though it was ominous that when it first met, on 1 November, the Red Guard members demanded and were given parity on it by the election of a third member, an immediate and significant breach of the new rules. On 28 October a "Commanders' conference" was set up, consisting of all company and battalion commanders, and the battalion commanders given the right to attend meetings of the District Staff. On 6 November they had also elected a seven-man "economic affairs executive" to organize finance and supplies. Recruiting was by trade union meeting, and in some branches the members enrolled en bloc, but generally selectivity was stressed, so as to exclude "persons who aroused even slight doubts." By early November they had already enrolled over 2,000 members. This became the normal pattern of Red Guard organization, with at least a District Staff, a conference of commanders, and an economic committee; it meant that the Guard tended to strangle itself in committees and elections, and was generally a most unmilitary organization. Anyone who has worked on its surviving records knows how every company acquired a "staff" and bought itself the indispensable official rubber stamp, started to keep minutes of its endless debates, and issued floods of paper—orders, permits, passes, credentials. Despite its eventual defeat, the Red Guard has left a mountain of paper behind it; paper was the one thing, together with rubber stamps and inkpads, that seems to have been in abundant supply. There is substance in the comment that:39 The whole Red Guard movement . . . was more a political than a military organisation: it was simply a new political party which was set up in the creation of the Red staffs, a new upstart bureaucracy, which, from its position of quasi-military power, strove to undermine the old socialist party bureaucracy and set itself in its place. Recognition had the most impact in the smaller provincial centers: In Raahe, where a small group of enthusiasts had been struggling to found a local unit, the announcement of 20 October brought in 60 new recruits at once; drill sessions were held in the Workers' Hall, and an instructor who had served in the Russian army was hired. At Varkaus the Red Guard staff was reorganized on 27 October and set about vigorously looking for rifles; in Tornio the struggling organization was trans formed when a meeting on 29 October brought in 221 new members, and enabled fruitful official contacts to be made with the local garrison. Even so, the level of development, and the degree of enthusiasm remained very uneven: The best of the Red Guards, and the one with the most military characteristics, was that based on Kotka and the paper factories of the Kymi valley. The various Red Guard companies that had been started in the area came together on 4 November to establish a Kotka Regiment. They had the asset of a political leader of wide, if erratic, experience in E. Haapalainen, and one of the tiny handful of ex-officers to serve with the movement, A. Aaltonen. The influence of these two persuaded the local Soviet to provide the regiment with arms on loan, as Aaltonen was able to announce to the meeting. They had been lent "on the guarantee of himself and E. Haapalainen." A staff of five was elected for the new regiment; since it could provide rifles, instructors, even machine guns, and set about a vigorous fund-raising program consisting 119

largely of social evenings, it was able to weld the regiment into a real military unit. Kotka was one of the very few places where organization rose above the company level, and there was an adequate supply of weapons from the first.40 There remained many in the workers' movement who were not happy with the new organization. Tyolaisnuoriso doubted whether the membership rules were being enforced, and pointed to the danger of the Guard developing into "a state within a state, a type of party organ with which even the party leaders cannot do anything." Vocal criticism was expressed among the members of the parliamentary group, some of whom regarded the founding of the Guard as both unnecessary and provocative, and Kuusinen had to defend the decision by reference to the uncertainties of the future; "If the class struggle intensifies, then even the better elements among the bourgeoisie will turn against the socialists." Finally the decision came before a meeting of SDP Council on 28 October, and again there were doubts expressed whether the party would be able to control the Guard; Tuomi said "we should be careful. We might possibly hold them under control in the cities, but in the countryside they could commit harmful acts in the name of the party." But the Council endorsed the decision of the Executive; they too felt that new and revolutionary developments lay ahead that would call for the use offeree. The statement of the party Council on 31 October, while warning against lack of discipline —"we must remember that sporadic, badly organised and premature activity can lead to irretrievable defeat"—urged the workers to speed up the formation of the Guard; "some places are still quite unready, they must be got into condition urgently, because great events may be awaiting us." The Council required the commanding staff of the Guard to issue a directive, and this was done on 1 November in much the same terms as the Council resolution; great events were imminent and a disciplined response was vital; "the workers' guards must be ready to carry out their duties, we must be able to rise to the level of events."41 For the historian the emergence of two mutually hostile paramilitary organizations seems to be the most important domestic development in Finland during September and October, but few contemporaries appreciated the significance of what was happening. Their interest and attention was concentrated on the general election and its results. The nonsocialist parties entered the election divided about tactics on the supposed central issue of autonomy, but united in their determination to overturn the socialist majority. Since the Finnish electoral system was biased toward large groupings, it seemed obvious that the nonsocialists should present a common front and form an electoral alliance. Very early, the conservative Ingman had identified the issue that might enable them to overcome their differences when he wrote "there should not be any uncertainty with anyone, concerned for what is best for the fatherland, what is the most urgent task of the next parliament. . . . It is the restoration of legal order." Since the issue of independence was divisive, it would have to be evaded under some general formula; the Council of SP resolved that "the party will not adopt either a radical or a moderate position in supporting or opposing independence," and their manifesto simply promised "to seek independence in agreement with Russia." NSP had more trouble, because their Activists 120

wanted to put independence above law and order as an issue, but the desire to beat the socialists triumphed in the end, and NSP agreed to enter a bourgeois electoral alliance. The common program, announced on 23 August, called for "the broadest and best secured independence possible," with which no one could disagree, and then said that "to restore the supremacy of law in our country" was the precondition for any other kind of advance.42 The alliance caughton quickly and jointelectoral committees and joint lists of candidates were drawn up by SP and NSP. Money was made available to pay canvassers, provide entertainments at meetings, and distribute pamphlets with such titles as "Social Democracy and anarchy" or "Socialism and hooligan government." As one SP circular stressed, victory was so important that nothing must stand in the way; "if the money gives out, then borrow it." But the alliance of which they dreamed was beyond their reach: SFP could not bring itself to join the two Finnish-language parties that it had been fighting throughout its existence; they saw the spread of Finnish as a bigger peril than socialism. But since the Swedish-speaking areas where SFP put up candidates were areas where SDP was weak, this division did no harm to the antisocialist prospects. The Agrarians resolutely refused to enter the alliance, with a few local exceptions; they regarded themselves as a radical party, and they accepted the two principles of the valtalaki, independence and the sovereignty of parliament. They even had reservations about the legality of the dissolution, though this did not inhibit them from seeking to take full advantage of the election. But they cut themselves off from the alliance by proclaiming support of the valtalaki and a readiness to go beyond it to full independence, even if this involved conflict with Russia. Fortunately for the bourgeois cause, the Agrarians only ran candidates where they were strong, mainly the rural north and east of Finland, where the SDP had little to gain, and left the alliance a free run in the areas where socialists were likely to do best. The group with the worst dilemma were the Activists: They did not want to alienate the workers, but they sympathized wholly with the desire for law and order. Thus Uusi Paiva wrote on 18 August that "domestic reaction is rearing its head. The spectre of socialism is being painted on the wall and in this way they try to frighten the electors." Yet the Activists were themselves bourgeois and felt that "the freedom and independence of Finland have their strongest foundations in bourgeois thinking, not in socialist." They dodged the issue by a statement of 6 September that independence was the real issue in the election and the voters should "vote into parliament enlightened and fearless supporters of independence."43 The alliance parties were continually exasperated by what they saw as the priggish and frivolous way in which the Agrarians and the Activists put independence above law and order, and occasionally lashed out at them as splitters and traitors to their class. But generally they were intelligent enough to see that by sticking t law and order—and even more by hinting that the socialists, far from being champions of independence, were the self-proclaimed comrades of the Russian soldiers whose presence was at the root of the trouble—they would virtually compel Agrarian and Activist voters to support them. The bourgeois press insisted that socialists condoned lawlessness and were involved in the misbehavior of the so\d\ers.Helsingin 121

Sanomat said outright that SDP only pretended to deplore anarchy, that in reality "it directly defends hooligans and murderers," and that the real election issue was "for or against the rule of the hooligans." Some Activists tried to excuse the workers, like the Viipuri clergyman who said that "all the disorders, anarchy and hooliganism we now endure come from Russia." But they increasingly attacked the socialists for their fraternization with the Russian enemy, which infected honest Finnish workers with "this morbus Asiaticus." Uusi Pdivd added that "it is a crime to lead the dense masses of our people into such misfortune and such shame." The Activists also were acutely aware that law and order could win support for the Home Guard movement, which would not be attracted by the issue of independence. Law and order came to have increasing attraction for the Agrarians too; their nightmare as small farmers was of bands of city workers sallying armed into the countryside to forage for food. Ilkka made an outspoken attack on the Red Guard movement, "an armed force for plunder and other atrocities." The Agrarian manifesto called for the satisfaction of the workers' just demands, but it warned that a socialist victory would involved "the legalisation of hooligan power. Because the hooligan way of life is now rooted as a living force in the socialist movement."44 As polling day approached, the whole nonsocialist spectrum drew together on the question of law and order, and their differences over independence were glossed over. On 31 August a statement issued by SDP parliamentary group conceded that there was no more to be done in the old parliament; the movement must go forward to win a majority in the new. Their hopes rested on the position of SDP as the champion of the valtalaki as a stage on the way to full independence. Tyomies published an article "On Finland's Independence" on 4 September, accusing opponents of the valtalaki of committing "plain treason for their own class interests." However, the party was not looking for bourgeois support to win the election, although SDP stood for the interests of the whole nation; "in any event the working class must rely on itself. And the issue of Finland's independence is such a vital question that it will get the workers moving in the forthcoming election in such dense masses that the social democratic party will emerge the victor in the struggle." The socialists published their manifesto, "Rise up from the dark night of oppression," on 15 September. The valtalaki came first; "we must not yield an inch from the parliament's law on Finland's internal freedom." They called for a government that would uphold the reforms already legislated and present a further series of democratic reforms. The manifesto ended, "the elections have been illegally ordered. Therefore let reaction hear through them a revolutionary warning." If SDP won a majority, they would treat this as a mandate to override all constitutional limitations and legislate by simple majority. The party was conscious that it was not saying much about socialism. On 18 September, Tyomies addressed those workers who complained that "there has not been any revolution in Finland. Almost everything is as before." This was not true; the valtalaki was "a revolution in our internal conditions," which was why the bourgeoisie was so opposed to it. "Comrade workers, the law of 18 July is revolutionary in content and purpose. Through it we seek to overthrow the minority power of the bourgeoisie."45 122

The socialist leaders were confident of victory; it seemed unlikely that their unbroken run of electoral success would be broken this time. Further they had to believe in it, since the consequences of defeat entailed things that they did not care to contemplate. If they could not satisify the masses through parliament, then they feared a spontaneous revolutionary uprising that would be beyond their power to control. This was what Wiik meant when he said in Turku that if the election was lost, the workers might "initiate violent means of deciding things." He did not mean, as Helsingin Sanomat implied, that he wanted this to happen; on the contrary, he was desperately anxious to avoid it. The one leader who publicly faced the implications of losing was Kuusinen, in a speech on 5 September. He accepted that socialism could be built only on majority support, and the party must accept the will of the voters. He went on:46 We certainly have high hopes but the possibility of surprises must be taken into account. What is going to happen if we are defeated in the elections? It could perhaps cause a revolution among the people. But we do not know how such a revolution would end. It would be a misfortune for the whole working class movement, and that is one reason to exert effort to see that success is achieved in the election. Kuusinen did not see revolution as an opportunity to be embraced, but as a catastrophe to be avoided, and almost all his colleagues agreed with him. The apprehensions of the socialist leaders were solidly based on the deterioratin food situation. The Setala government did its best; on 18 August the whole grain harvest was requisitioned, so that whatever the farmer did not consume must be sold to the Food Boards at controlled prices. On 27 August they took upTokoi's proposal and agreed to subsidize butter and cheese. When it became clear that the potato harvest would be a third below normal, they asked the Governor General to facilitate the import of potatoes from Estonia. But none of this could compensate for a blow struck by the Provisional Government: Finland had made an advance payment to Russia of 60 million marks for grain deliveries. On 3 September Enckel and Stachovic saw the food minister in Petrograd, and were told that all export of grain had been stopped. Enckell warned that "if they would not send grain to Finland . . . the relationship with Russia would suffer," but the Russians were adament. The breach of faith probably caused the resignation of Stachovic on 17 September, and it made it certain that Finland would be desperately short of bread over the coming winter. If the socialist leaders were to avoid the disaster they feared, they should have tried to avoid stirring up emotive reactions over the food crisis, but the temptation to play politics was too much for them. Having left the government, and been prevented from acting through parliament, they denied all further responsibility; the bourgeois were in power and "he who has the power, also has the responsibility." On 11 September Tyomies published a particularly vicious and inflammatory article on food that repeated all the stories about grain left unharvested, grain fed to animals, and massive hoarding by the producers. The next day they attacked the black market, and alleged that "the upper class has made it 123

almost a point of honour" to flout the rationing laws, and "defiantly adopted a crudely anarchistic position on the food question which is a matter of life and death for society." When this was combined with reminders of how "the masters are ready with their butcher guards and other devices," it was hardly calculated to cool the passions of hungry laborers and their families.47 In this atmosphere every move by either side was seen almost exclusively in terms of electoral politics. Setala's government, worried by what it saw as growing reaction in Russia, made a bid to widen Finnish autonomy. Kerenski, in the throes of the Kornilov crisis, was ready to try and win favor in Finland and Enckell and Stachovic were allowed to draft a new manifesto, by which the Provisional Government would yield all its rights in Finnish internal affairs to the Finnish government, except the summoning and dissolution of parliament and the confirmation of laws. Kerenski signed the manifesto on 12 September, and although the changes amounted to very little of importance, the bourgeois parties made the most of it, maintaining that it showed how solid pragmatic advances could be made, instead of empty gestures like the valtalaki. But the socialists expressed outrage; this was collusion between the government and Kerenski to undermine the valtalaki —"it is the Finnish government's declaration of war against the Finnish parliament." When it was learned that Seta'la and Serlachius had been in Petrograd to ask for Kerenski's help over restoring order, and over food and had been promised it, suspicion deepened. The socialist leaders felt they had to act to assert themselves; they were spurred on by mass meetings on unemployment in Helsinki and Turku on 13 September, and a more menacing meeting of the Helsinki workers on 17 September that demanded the immediate recall of parliament or "the organised workers will not answer for the consequences that could follow."48 Even so, the leadership was hesitant: On 19 September the Executive of SDP met a delegation from the Executive of the Congress of Soviets, which had come to see if the quarrel with the Provisional Government could be patched up. On the crucial issue of holding a session of parliament, the talks ended in deadlock. The Provisional Government was still willing to call a session, but SDP could not accept this, while the Russians would not permit a session in terms of the valtalaki. The Russian delegation promised to try and extract further concessions from Kerenski, but the socialists correctly assumed that the sending of the mission had been a sign of weakness. On 22 September the SDP Executive met with the parliamentary group and decided to call parliament for a session on 28 September. They also drafted an open letter to the Russian socialists, assuring them that the party stood with them in opposing German imperialism, but asking in return that parliament be allowed to function without interference. They promised that the results of the elections would be respected and that the present parliament would give way to the new one. The nonsocialists denounced the plan as a blatant electoral trick, and tried to make the most out of the letter to the Russian socialists as evidence that SDP were collaborators with the national enemy. Helsingin Sanomat denounced the way in which Russian soldiers were treated as comrades, "whose help is resorted to from time to time," and a letter writer said bluntly, "We regard anyone who has 124

anything to do with them as a traitor." Uusi Suometar wrote of SDP betraying "our nation's sacred rights to decide its internal affairs itself. . . . our social democrats, quite voluntarily without consulting anyone, offer to the Russian soldiers these most sacred rights of our people." Tyomies replied with two articles on 23 and 30 September that repeated that there was a deliberate bourgeois plan to starve the workers and then let the Home Guard loose on them.49 A somber warning of the way in which tension was mounting was provided by the first overtly political murder, which took place in Malmi on 24 September. The local police chief in Malmi had recruited a force of police and Home Guard volunteers and led them on what amounted to a punitive raid on the commune. They managed to seize a number of leading "hooligans" and brought them to Helsinki for trial. On 24 September a young member of Helsinki Home Guard, who had had no part in events, but lived in Malmi, was shot down as he walked from the station, in what was clearly an act of revenge. A state of virtual civil war prevailed in Malmi, as the police and Home Guards patrolled the commune armed with pistols and sabers, and for the moment established their predominance, so that order of a kind was restored. The socialists were embarrassed, and the acquiescence of the inhabitants suggests that the local workers may not have minded having the roughnecks restrained. Tyomies could not justify the murder, insisting that SDP had always opposed anarchistic violence, but could not resist adding that the bourgeoisie, by using their Home Guard bully boys had brought the violence on their own heads and could best pacify the situation by disbanding them. The Turku Sosia/isti was more brutally frank about the incident; "there is no cause for surprise if it sometimes happens that the butcher guards get what they were looking for. . . . the fate of such hooligans will generally awaken no special sympathy or pity in a single person."50 The Malmi murder was a warning that the political situation was fast deteriorating towards open civil violence, and that the election might not solve anything. On 24 September Rovio and Smirnov went to the Area Congress, then in session, and presented SDP's request that there should be no interference with the sitting of parliament. At this stage, Bolshevik influence in the garrison was such that the Congress voted 116 to 10 that there would be no intervention, a decision confirmed by a delegate conference of regiment and ships' committees by 338 to 91. The new Governor General, N. V. Nekrasov, looked in vain for loyal troops to enforce his orders and could only affix official seals on the doors of the parliament house. His only assistance came from the nonsocialist politicians, who declared on 27 September that they would boycott the session and regard it as invalid. Even the Agrarians and Activists suspected a trap: The socialists, by asserting the illegality of the dissolution and the invalidity of the elections, were preparing a fall-back position in case they lost the election. This was not the case; Tyomies conceded in advance that the boycott would reduce the session to symbolic value only, that the electorate must pronounce the final judgement.51 On 28 September the SDP members of parliament gathered and empowered Manner to break the seals and enter the parliament chamber. The bourgeois boycott 125

was so complete that even the secretariat stayed away. Airola made the only speech, which claimed that "this meeting is a completely legal, full sitting of the lawful Finnish parliament." But he was quite explicit that the socialists recognized the results of the election as binding; "one does not need to conclude that there would be two parliaments in existence, but the newly elected parliament will begin work on the basis of the authority given it in the national election and this present parliament, when it has done its job and the new one is elected, will regard its authority as ended." The actual proceedings were rather an anticlimax; they did not attempt to discuss the food and unemployment situation, but formally confirmed the outstanding legislation passed down to August, and in doing so, without explicitly saying so, asserted that the valtalaki was operative.52 Airola's speech, and the articles in Tyomies, emphasized that the socialist leaders had staked everything on winning the election. The voting took place on 1 and 2 October, but the results could not be known for another week after, and the party leaders were in a state of near panic as they waited. When they got reports from Tampere, Turku, and Pori that the bread supply was nearly exhausted and the workers might resort to direct action at any moment, the Executives of SDP and SAJ met in joint session. The majority could see nothing they could do but wait until the election results were known and they could form a government that would satisfy popular demands. Kuusinen put it that "a general rising of the people must be held off until the election is declared." Turkia suggested that this might be too late, that they should at least prepare to proclaim a revolutionary general strike and arm the Red Guard, but nobody else could face this option. When Wiik spoke to Turkia on 3 October, he found him in despair —"the people cannot be got to obey." These men saw themselves less as leaders than as victims of the historical process: If they did not win the election they would be condemned to lead a popular uprising that they felt themselves to be incompetent to direct and that must end in catastrophe.53 If there was any gleam of light in this situation, it was the evidence of the growing power of the Bolsheviks. During August and September Lenin was in hiding in Helsinki, much of the time in Rovio's flat. He had conversations with Manner and Kuusinen, which are interesting because they dealt wholly in generalities. Lenin warned Manner of the dangers of chauvinism in countries like Finland, and the need for the workers to acquire military skills through conscription, but this was academic; the Finnish workers had no way to do this. The talk with Kuusinen, perhaps because they could dispense with an interpreter, was more concrete. Yet Lenin did not indicate that he had any positive role in mind for SDP; he contented himself with warning Kuusinen not to allow the Provisional Government or the Executive of the Congress of Soviets to tempt the Finns into compromising with them. Provided SDP stood firm, when the Bolsheviks came to power, they would make no difficulty about recognizing Finland's independence; "it will be easy to agree about this when power in Russia moves into the hands of the revolutionary working class." When it is considered that Lenin had several weeks in which he could have held any number of meetings with the Finnish leaders and involved them in his plans, it has to be concluded that Lenin simply did not regard SDP as very important and was 126

disinclined to waste his time on them. If SDP maintained its quarrel with the Provisional Government, threatening and weakening it, then that would be a bonus for the Bolsheviks; otherwise, he did not expect much concrete assistance from the Finns.54 The Kornilov affair had the same beneficent effect on the fortunes of the Bolsheviks in Finland as it did elsewhere in Russia. The troops were sharply radicalized, and expressed this most dramatically in Viipuri when the commander of 42nd Army Corps, General Oranovski, and 10 of his officers were thrown from a bridge and then shot down as they struggled out of the water—the troops playfully called it the officers'swimming school. Officers were also murdered in Helsinki. The Soviet did not approve of such anarchistic behavior, but responded to Kerenski's call for help by setting up a revolutionary committee in Finland to fight the counterrevolution. The committee did nothing against Kornilov, who had already been arrested when it was set up, but by claiming full authority over all Russians in Finland, it opened the way for the Bolsheviks. In the mood generated by the Kornilov affair, the Bolsheviks in Helsinki were able to pass resolutions in mass meetings calling for all power to be transferred directly to the workers and peasants and denouncing both the Provisional Government and the Executive of the Congress of Soviets for supporting it. A new Area Congress for Finland was summoned for 22 September to establish a new revolutionary executive in the country. When this assembled it confirmed that power within the garrison had swung to the Bolsheviks and their Left-SR allies, who between them had 110 of the 133 delegates. The Bolshevik, Seinman, was elected chairman, and the Congress adopted the full Bolshevik program for the immediate transfer of all power to the Soviets, immediate conclusion of peace, nationalization of industry, and the distribution of land to the peasants. A new Area Committee was elected, which was endowed with supreme authority over all Russians in Finland, and among its authorities was one "to work in contact with the Finnish social democrats." This new revolutionary executive had 37 Bolsheviks, 27 Left-SRs, and one token Menshevik. 55 Shortly before his murder, General Oranovski had reported to the Provisional Government that his troops were so rotted by Bolshevik disaffection that the officers were no longer safe, and suggested as the remedy the exchange of the disaffected units with fresh troops. When Kerenski had recovered from the Kornilov affair, he decided to reassert his authority in Finland, and began with the fleet. He ordered the disbanding of the central coordinating committee for the sailors, Tsentroflot, and an investigation into the murders of the officers. Tsentrobalt responded by a resolution to assume full control of the fleet, and they were given the support of the Area Committee and the Helsinki Soviet on 2 October. The commander of the fleet, Admiral Razvozov, entered a formal protest, but when Tsentrobalt assured him that they were prepared to fight the Germans under his command he agreed to collaborate. Then on 8 October a delegate conference of the Baltic Fleet adopted the full Bolshevik political program, and elected a new Tsentrobalt, with an enlarged Bolshevik majority. Kerenski had lost control of the fleet, and it soon became apparent he had lost the army too. The policy of transfers was inaugurated on 7 September, 127

when a reliable Cossack division was ordered to Finland. The Bolshevik agitators soon got to work on the men, and Antonov-Ovseenko was able to report to the Bolshevik Central Committee that the Cossacks "are not bad children."On 3 October the new Area Committee took the offensive: It resolved that since the Provisional Government was a coalition, it "has no share in power. . . . power in Finland has been transferred in effect into the hands of the democracy, which alone can defend the interests of a free country." Orders from the Provisional Government or its agencies would only be valid after they had been confirmed by the Area Committee. The authority of the Provisional Government in Finland had now been extinguished and taken over by the Bolsheviks.56 The Bolsheviks then moved to consolidate their power base in Finland so that the garrison could be used for intervention in Petrograd. On 7 October, the Area Committee issued a statement that it would refuse any further troop transfers that were politically motivated, and noted that there were some regiment committees where Menshevik influences lingered; these were to hold fresh elections. On 10 October, Lenin, who had moved to Viipuri, wrote to Smilga in terms that showed the key role of Finland in his thinking:57 It seems to me that we can have completely at our disposal only the troops in Finland and the Baltic Fleet, and only they can play a serious military role. . . . give all your attention to the military preparation of the troops in Finland plus the fleetfor the impending overthrow of Kerenski. . . . It is obvious that we can in no circumstances allow the troops to be moved from Finland. Lenin was prepared for open confrontation with the Provisional Government on the question of troop transfers if necessary. The hands of the Bolsheviks were further strengthened when the Northern Army Congress met on 15 October, when there was a lively debate on troop transfers, but the Bolshevik position was approved by 55 votes to 22. After the election of a new Northern Army Committee, it had. 24 Bolsheviks and 12 Left-SRs, against 25 others. So that although the Bolsheviks were strong in the Northern Army, they were not as predominant as they were in the Finnish garrison. Yet even there the Bolshevik support was not quite as solid as it appeared. When the Area Committee did agreee to exchange some elements of the Viipuri garrison for politically acceptable troops from the front, the Viipuri men refused to go. This suggests that some of the Bolshevik support was opportunist, and based on a desire to see a quick end to the war and to any danger of involvement in further fighting.58 When the Bolshevik party in Finland held a Congress from 11-13 Ocotber in Helsinki, it claimed there were over 9,000 party members in Finland, with active cells in every unit in the garrison. The party adopted Lenin's line that the class struggle had reached the point where civil war was inevitable, and the sole task of the party was to prepare for this. The crisis was expected when the new Congress of Soviets met in Petrograd, and demanded the transfer of all power to the Soviets, as it was confidently expected to do. Wiik was present as the fraternal delgate from SDP, and he told the Congress that the Bolsheviks were regarded as "the advance guard 128

of Russian revolutionary socialism. . . . we regard you as the party which, more than any other, upholds the banner of revolutionary socialism in Russia." No concrete evidence has been discovered to suggest that the Finnish socialists were consulted by the Bolsheviks over the planning and preparation of their new insurrection in Petrograd. But the contacts between the Bolsheviks and members of SDP were numerous and close enough for the Finns to realize that a new revolutionary upheaval in Russia was probable in the near future. The final open break between Kerenski and the Area Committee came in mid-October. The new commander of the 42nd Army Corps, General Tseremisov, had told the ministry of war at the beginning of October that he had no control over the troops in Finland. On 17 October he got an order from Kerenski to "put an end to the criminal actions of the Finnish Area Committee and fully restore order." He had to reply that he could do nothing. The Area Committee knew of the order and treated it with contempt: On 18 October it put out a statement that the main task of the Finnish garrison was now to defend Petrograd against counterrevolutionary attempts. The Area Committee had no confidence in the Provisional Government and would pay no regard to its instructuions. On the same day, J. Rahja reported to the Bolshevik Central Committee in Petrograd that the Area Committee now had complete power in Finland, and the authority of the Provisional Government in the country was at an end.59 It was 11 October before the provisional voting figures made it possible to determine the result of the Finnish election. There had been a markedly higher poll than in 1916, and all parties had increased their vote, SDP by 68,000, but it had still lost the election because its share of the poll fell from 48.1 to 45.6 percent. Their main enemy, the bourgeois alliance, was not the main beneficiary, for the alliance parties together had the same share of the vote as they achieved separately in 1916, and SFP had stood still. The real winners were the Agrarians, who, although they did not stand in large parts of the country, saw their vote rise by 70 percent. In terms of seats, SDP fell from 103 to 92 and its majority was gone, the bourgeois alliance had 61 seats, and the Agrarians had risen from 19 to 26.60 Broadly, what had happened was that while the socialist vote rose 18 percent, the nonsocialist vote rose 25 percent, so that SDP had probably lost some votes to the opposition and failed to achieve a maximum turnout, where the nonsocialist fear of a renewed socialist majority had stimulated their supporters to produce their maximum vote. However, the result cannot be interpreted as a straight victory over the socialists because of the divisions within the nonsocialist camp. There were 51 nonsocialist members who were either Agrarians or Activists, so that 143 members were committed to full internal autonomy at once, with full independence to follow. In the new parliament, a majority could be constructed three ways; full polarization with an antisocialist bloc of 108 against 92; an SDP/Activist/Agrarian alliance for independence, which would give 153 against 47; or a radical SDP/Agrarian alliance based on the valtalaki, which Activists rejected as inadequate or dangerous, giving a majority of 117 against 83. SDP had certainly lost the election, but there was still room for political maneuver if the party chose to exploit it. The bourgeois reaction was naturally one of delight that the nightmare of a 129

socialist majority was dispelled. Uusi Suometar congratulated the voters who had recognized the "socially destructive character of the activities of our own social democratic party . . . understood the threatening danger of socialism and risen up vigorously to repel it." It had been proved that the socialists did not, as they liked to claim, represent the majority. The one worry was the Agrarians, "our other class party," who might be a source of weakness when the margin was so narrow; they would have to learn to drop their "distrust against the other bourgeois parties."61 The socialists were stunned, and initially defensive: Tyomies gave its considered analysis on 16 October when it wrote that it was now serious that "the social democratic party has not got power in its hands . . . when it really needs it." If the bourgeoisie were foolish enough to try and reverse the gains which the workers had made since March, "the workers may have to give them a new course of lessons. And they will be ready to do that if the bourgeoisie needs it." But the leaders of the party were not at all as confident as Tyomies sounded. Their mood was closer to that of a correspondent who wrote, on 13 October, "What are we to do to be saved from starvation and bourgeois reprisals? Parliament will not be any help to us in this crisis. . . . we must think of other means of self-defence." But the leaders differed from the letter writer because he had the answer; the party, and the trade unions must enforce their demands by a general strike. They had no answer but to wait and see what the workers on one side and the bourgeoisie on the other would do.62 The leaders had convinced themselves that the masses were "on the move," and soon events in Turku seemed to suggest they were. Food riots broke out and there were calls for a general strike; but the Turku party remained deeply split, the moderate leaders blaming the trouble on hooligans and anarchist soldiers. However, the grievances behind the disorder were real enough; Wiik noted that people had to queue for hours for bread that was really "cattle feed" and was convinced that "there is an insurrection under way. . . . anarchy may break out." He convince his colleagues, and they used their favorite weapon. On 16 October Tokoi went to Turku to deliver the kind of ambivalent speech he had used so often to pacify the crowds. He admitted that they had lost the elections, and with it control of parliament, but that was "not the only weapon. It is certainly important, but things may work out so that it is not the most important. . . . we are still living in the middle o a revolution." Tokoi contrived to suggest that a range of options was open, though the only one he specified was to hold yet another election for a constituent assembly. The main thing was to "follow the decisions of the party organs, no group is allowed to set itself above the general class interest." The party thought the time had not yet come for a general strike, though "we are not afraid of it either." Tokoi's oratory worked its usual soporific effect, and Turku relapsed into an uneasy calm.63 From Tokoi's speech it is apparent that the leadership did not know what to do. They easily slipped into a policy of uttering threats of revolutionary action, which they hoped would intimidate the bourgeoisie into making concessions, and which they also hoped frevently need not be translated into deeds. Kansan Lehti wrote:64 130

Our ruling class can be certain that unless . . . it begins to think of something other than the profits of speculation, it will drive our society onto the revolutionary road. The working class is being driven extremely hard —if only to stay alive—to rise up and out in a revolutionary way. It is forced to consider taking power into our hands throughout the country. Tyomies joined in on 20 October, "The hungry masses are on the verge of acts of desperation. . . . if the bourgeois policy on food and other matters does not take a swift and sharp turn for the better, the present threatening unrest and anarchy could turn into reality." The indecision behind this policy of public bluster came out at a meeting between the leaders of SDP and SAJ on 18 October. Everyone was agreed that unless the government could be compelled to take action over food, the workers could not be held back. Then they would have to consider a general strike or a full seizure of power. But this prospect caused two opposite reactions: Haapalainen was ready to let things go and follow the masses.65 Let things begin. And then put the Red Guard into action. Set up workers' councils everywhere and found guards, then we throw out the municipal authorities and the government and take power. . . . we believe that we can easily get weapons when we want them. Workers' representatives should be elected to the military Soviets and work together with them. We will manage alright in Kotka. This was precisely the outcome that nearly every other speaker wanted to avoid or postpone. Wuoristo spoke for waiting to see what parliament would do, though if the workers rose "we should try to direct the situation." Wiik thought it idle to talk of direct action when the Red Guard was unprepared. Manner wanted to wait for events in Russia; when the Congress of Soviets met, "it will be a very favourabl situation for us and we can use it for political demands." Elo agreed, they could make plans, but said to "wait till things break out in Russia, though in case of need act earlier." Turkia warned that in any trial of strength now they would lose, that the government was ready; "the bourgeois intend to strike us down with armed force." The consensus was clearly for waiting and preparing, and this was reflected in the one decision to emerge, to go ahead with setting up an official Red Guard.66 A factor that undoubtedly induced caution was their uncertainty about the support they might expect from the Russians. Another discussion that day took place between representatives of SDP and the Area Committee. The Finns wanted the Russians to arm the Red Guard, but the Area Committee, while agreeing in principle, claimed that their local stocks were insufficient for this. They were alarmed at the threat of German intervention and what they understood to be the menace of the Home Guard movement, and in their turn asked the Finns what the workers would do if the Germans came. In further talk on 19 October, the Russians asked whether the Finns would fight with them against the Germans, but Kuusinen was honest enough to admit that he doubted if they would. At most the workers "would not fight the Russians, if they do not pillage as they retreat." It can be seen 131

why the Area Committe was unwilling to put weapons in the hands of the Finnish workers when they could not be sure how they might be used. Turkia told his colleagues "we will get arms when the conflict begins, but not before. The soldiers are doubtful, they do not know what we are going to do with them.67 The socialists did succeed in persuading the Russians that they were jointly menaced by the bourgeois guards, supposedly heavily armed, and that preventive action would be to their mutual advantage. On 23 October Russian soldiers raided the premises used by Jalander's police in Helsinki; their announcement said that the action was taken on information received, and was done "on behalf of the Finnish proletariat to get weapons for them."The Russians were not keen to give their own weapons to the workers, but quite ready to transfer those owned by the bourgeoisie. Unfortunately for the socialists, Jalander's men had only a few revolvers, so the searches drew a blank. Bourgeois fury at this treasonable collaboration was boundless. Jalander got together with Ignatius to publish two articles. The first, mHelsingin Sanomat, claimed that the Home Guard was a neutral organization aimed only at bandits and thieves. It challenged the socialists to say if they supported such people, because if they did, SDP was a party that "wraps itself in social democratic clothing, but under it allows the rotten corpse of anarchy to appear." The second was in Uusi Suometar on 26 October and challenged the editors of Tyomies. There was evident danger of civil war because "the foreign terror in our country has found a brother in arms in Tyomies. . . . If our workers, together with foreigners, turn against their own countrymen, that will be the result of incitement in Tyomies and we then hold the editors of Tyomies personally responsible for what may happen." The veiled threats of Ignatius revealed that these incidents had taken Finland a significant step nearer to civil war.68 The call from SAJ on 20 October for the workers to join the Red Guard was accompanied by an ultimatum to the government on food. This demanded that the whole business of food production and distribution be brought under public control, backed by greatly increased legal powers, and that controlled prices be set at rates the workers could afford. The government must present a program to this effect to parliament when it met on 1 November or face the consequences. "The workers must unconditionally and unanimously be ready immediately, in case of need, to initiate those measures which the situation may give cause for." The workers were urged to hold mass meetings in support of the demands, and a committee established to make preparations for a general strike. When this met on 23 October to consider the results of the meetings, it seemed the workers were ready to go. In Helsinki they had resolved that "no more letters be sent to the authorities. . . . Now we must prepare for the decisive struggle with the bourgeoisie. We shall not ask, we shall not demand, but we shall take the rights which belong to human beings." This kind of resolution convinced men like Kuusinen, Manner, Tokoi, and most of their senior colleagues that they would not be able to hold the workers back from resorting to force. Manner said that "the trade unions, the behavior of the bourgeoisie, the creation of the Red Guard are factors which will breed a popular rising." Kuusinen expected troubles in Russia to spill over into Finland; there 132

would be "a revolution in Russia in November that will react on Finland." At the first meeting of the preparatory committee for the strike, on 23 October, Kuusinen persuaded himself it might even be all right to seize power; it should be possible to disarm the bourgeoisie, and "it will not fight against impossible odds," while they could use the Congress of SAJ, called for 12 November, as "a popular parliament". Turkia encouraged this optimism, because he had been talking to the Russians again about arms for the workers; "within a few weeks we can get 18,000 from Petrograd, and take from the bourgeoisie over the whole of Finland." But such moments of positive thinking were exceptional; most of the leaders, for most of the time, contemplated the prospect of being forced to lead a revolutionary bid for power with foreboding and repugnance.69 The time of decision came when the Executive had to meet the SDP Council on 28 October, and their message was that the movement must try to hold back the revolution for as long as possible, while recognizing its probable inevitability and making suitable preparations. Kuusinen presented the Executive report with the frank admission that their previous policy had failed disastrously. They had banked on winning the election "but the election ended unexpectedly for us. . . . the faith of the proletariat in parliamentary activity has been shaken." It was "only a matter of days" before the workers in Helsinki took to the streets of their own volition, while in Russia a further outbreak of revolution was imminent. The party had to accept that "the masses may begin to act on their own intitiative, without taking note of the instructions and orders of the central organisations," and it must prepare for this. The forming of the Red Guard had been a necessary preparatory step; now they must decide what to do about parliament. The Executive recommended that although the movement regarded the election as illegal, they should take part in the new parliament, where they could make propaganda, keep an eye on what the bourgeoisie was up to, and block any attempt at constitutional amendments. Then they should present a program of demands on behalf of the working class, of which the central one was the demand for new elections of a constituent assembly, with a lowered voting age —in effect a cancellation of the election in favor of a new one held under conditions more favorable to the socialists. This would be accompanied by a set of demands for immediate specific reform measures.70 The proposals were severely criticized, but the critics were divided between those who remained committed to constitutional methods and those who accepted that some degree of extra-constitutional action was probably unavoidable. Manner summed up the thinking of the majority of the Executive at the end when he said:71 We cannot avoid the revolution for very long. . . . faith in the value of peaceful activity is lost and the working class is beginning to trust only in its own strength. . . . If we are mistaken about the rapid approach of revolution, I would be delighted. The contrast between Manner's melancholy resignation and Lenin's bursting enthusiasm for revolutionary action could not be more striking. Manner and his colleagues had not begun to appreciate how far Lenin and the Bolsheviks had departed 133

from the old social democratic orthodoxies thatSDP still held, and this created serious obstacles to their succesful cooperation in the days ahead. The Council adjourned so that an agreed compromise could be drafted, and while this was happening the socialist leaders suddenly realized that the SAJ ultimatum to the government on food would expire on 1 November, and they had done nothing about it. Lumivuokko had alarmist visions of the workers taking to the streets unbidden and Turkia shared his fears:72 The masses are now desperately anxious to get on the move, the central organisations must put themselves in the lead and discover whether the masses are in a condition to fight. If they are not we must try to get the rising put off. . . . In many places the balance offerees has not been precisely calculated, this is the natural result of the excited mood of the masses, but it does not guarantee victory. There was bitter recrimination; some on the political side said that the trade union side had got them into the mess, and it was for them to find a way out, but there was a consensus that if they took to the streets on 1 November, then in Airola's words "we shall be thrashed." The spectacle of a leadership that launched an ultimatum and then forgot to think about how to enforce it would have been comic, if it did not illustrate qualities that were to lead the workers' movement into appalling catastrophe. In blind panic, they ran to the Russians: Turkia went to the Area Committee to beg protection and found them in a bellicose mood; they would like nothing better than a chance to smash the Home Guard, they would "attack with machine-guns and drive the butchers off, or better let the Home Guard mobilise and then let the soldiers loose on them." Turkia was delighted, buthiscolleagues stopped to think how it would look if SDP invited the Russians to launch an onslaught on their fellow Finns; it would be a political disaster. Sirola spoke for the majority when he said that the Russians must "stay quiet until they are called for." The only way out they could see was to procrastinate, so a statmentwas issued that the movement stood behind every word of the ultimatum of 20 October, but would let the SAJ Congress on 12 November decide how it was to be enforced. In the meantime, let the workers remember "that scattered, badly organised and premature action can lead to inevitable defeat." A statement to a similar effect was put out by the staff of the Red Guard, which was to be in readiness; "great events may call us sooner than we think and then the workers' Guard must be ready."73 In the SDP Council, the moderates did not press their criticism of the Executive proposals. After discussion between the Council and the parliamentary group, an agreed program was issued on 1 November under the title Me vaadimme—We demand. This was one of the key documents of the revolution and represented the socialist answer to electoral defeat. It asserted that the dissolution had been the product of conspiracy between the bourgeoisie and Russian reactionaries, and that the election had been distorted by a mixture of lavish expenditure and fraud by bourgeois election officials:74 134

The representative body chosen through these illegal elections we do not understand to be a legal Finnish parliament, but the parliament elected last year is by rights the only legal one, because it has not legally lost its authority. . . . we have no great hopes that through this parliament it will be possible to win significant, useful achievements for the proletariat. . . . in our view we cannot decently get rid of this destructive impasse and conflict between two parliaments, unless the people, early next year, get the chance to elect a constituent national assembly, which will freely resolve and order the basic questions of the present revolutionary period and lay the foundations for future democratic progress. After the demand for a constituent assembly, the program required immediate action on food and unemployment, the implementation of the reforms carried in the old parliament, further reforming legislation on asocial security system, emancipation of tenant farmers, a purge of the judiciary and the civil service, and the drafting of a new, democratic constitution. All the bourgeois armed oranizations would have to be disbanded, though as nothing was said about the Red Guard, that would by implication remain in being. Finally there should be an interim arrangement with Russia, based on the valtalaki, by which a common foreign policy would be maintained and Russia might keep troops in Finland for the duration of the war; the final determination of relations with Russia could be negotiated later. Me vaadimme can be viewed in different ways: It was presented by the socialists as a last chance for the bourgeoisie to avert a revolution by accepting the demands, or as Tyomies put it, "to employ those vital moments which still remain to be used to settle the country's affairs in a peaceful way." It could have been legislated by orthodox parliamentary procedures and did not involve any challenge to the basic structures of capitalist society. Even Helsingin Sanomat, which complained that Me vaadimme had as many assertions as Luther's theses, accepted that most of the individual demands could be met, if they were to be satisfied in a constitutional manner. From this point of view, Me vaadimme appears to be a genuine offer to settle the political crisis within the framework of the existing legal and constitutional order. But from any bourgeois point of view two demands could be conceded only under extreme duress. To grant fresh elections for a constituent assembly was a blatant attempt to rob them of their electoral victory and compel them to admit that it had been invalid; whereas to disband the Home Guard while leaving the Red Guard on foot, was to admit that the Home Guard was an illegal organization intended to oppress the workers and to leave the socialists with a monopoly of physical force. From this point of view Me vaadimme, if it were insisted on as a complete package, was not a proposal for an agreed settlement, but a demand for unconditional surrender; the bourgeoisie must either submit or fight.75 Since the election the bourgeois politicians had concentrated on seeking an agreement with the Provisional Government on the basis on which the new parliament would operate, since it had been promised that proposals would be put before parliament when it met on 1 November. Three suggestions emerged; one favored by 135

many of the Finns was for the Provisional Government to nominate a Finn as regent and transfer the sovereign authority to him pending a final settlement with the Constituent Assembly. A second, devised by the Governor General, was to deal with the socialists on the basis of the valtalaki, and Nekrasov made soundings of Tokoi to see if this could work, and the socialists be brought into a coalition. Nekrasov's calculation was that the Activists and the Germans were more dangerous to Russia than the socialists; "it would be more advantageous to make alliance with the socialists." Third, the Provisional Government might issue another manifesto in agreed terms which the Finnish parliament would acknowledge de facto as the basis of an interim arrangement. All three schemes depended on avoiding a resolution of the issues by postponing them to the Constituent Assembly.76 The Provisional Government referred the question to a committee of jurists, the majority of whom recommended a firm stand because anything yielded to Finland would be demanded by other minority peoples who, "basing themselves on the Finnish policy of the Provisional Government will demand for themselves all those rights which the Provisional Government has given up in Finland."77 It was easy for a committee of academic lawyers to advocate firmness, but Kerenski and Nekrasov were politicians, and they knew that they had virtually no power in Finland. The fact had to be faced that the combination of the socialists with the Activists in the new parliament would reject any proposal for legislation brought forward in the name of the Provisional Government. By 30 October, Kerenski inclined towards the scheme, now worked out by Enckell in conference with the leading politicians of the nonsocialist parties, whereby parliament should meet and nominate a regent. The Provisional Government would issue a manifesto conferring the sovereign prerogatives on the regent, with whatever reservations were agreed. The Speaker would then recognize formally the terms of the manifesto as constituting an interim settlement of relations between Finland and Russia. The details were referred to negotiations to be held in Helsinki between Nekrasov and Enckell and the Finnish political parties.78 These negotiations were difficult, because first SDP would not enter into talks on any other basis than acceptance of the valtalaki and told Nekrasov this officiall on 2 November. This in turn split the bourgeois parties. A group of Activists and Agrarians, who had formed their own informal organization, the/tsenaisyysk/ubbithe Independence Club—and who were ready to buy socialist cooperation by accepting the valtalaki, broke with the hard-line conservatives who rejected it absolute ly. Such men "painted the valtalaki blacker than black and depicted in gloomy tones the damage that would follow from its approval." They were strengthened by the attitude of Kerenski, who flew into incoherent rage at the very mention of the valtalaki and spoke to Setala of instituting reprisals if the Finns insisted on it. By 3 November, with the meeting of parliament still held up, Hultin was close to despair and she confided in her diary:79 It is saddening and downright shameful to think of this divisiveness of ours at such a fatal moment. What will it avail us, even if we can win over the Agrar136

ians, when the socialists are rigidly opposed and with their unscrupulousness can turn society upside down as well, if they want to. On the basis of the valtalaki we could begin some kind of collaboration, but the Right-wing bourgeoisie will not agree to it on any terms. They will not even agree to talks with the socialists. There followed one of the last effective actions that the Provisional Government ever took: On 4 November Nekrasov told the nonsocialist leaders that the Provisional Government would not confirm the valtalaki, but he invited them to draft a manifesto that could have the same practical effect. Alkio gave way in face of this show of determination and by 6 November, a text had been agreed. The key provision was the statement that:80 The Provisional Government has therefore decided to give up the sovereign prerogatives over Finland, with the provision that foreign affairs be retained, as at present, by the supreme authority of Russia, and that Finland shall not alter the military legislation, or the laws concerning Russian nationals and institutions in Finland, without the consent of the Russian government. The Speaker was to announce to parliament that "parliament has decided to approve the act of the Provisional Government, and the rights belonging to the Grand Duke, with the exceptions mentioned, shall be exercised by the Finnish government." The socialists could not possibly accept this device, for it denied the basic principle of the valtalaki that the sovereign powers had already devolved on parliament. Efforts by the bourgeois to claim that this did not matter, since parliament would appoint the government that would exercise the powers, missed the point. But despite SDP's denunciation of the draft manifesto as an "attempted bourgeois coup," Nekrasov and Enckell travelled to Petrograd overnight, bringing the text of the manifesto for approval, and arrived on the morning of 7 November, the day of the October Revolution.81 The Provisional Government was no more, but in this matter it had delivered a typically destructive dying kick. The evidence suggests that the Finns, left to themselves, would have produced a majority of nonsocialist politicians ready to accept a solution based on the valtalaki as the only way to secure the collaboration of the socialists for claiming independence and of avoiding an open confrontation on class lines. The obdurate conservatives like Wrede and Ingman would have been left isolated. It is not certain, even then, that the socialists would have agreed, but it would have been very difficult for them to refuse a solution that gave them acceptance of the valtalaki. The refusal of Kerenski, partly for reasons of personal pride, to consider any proposal that involved formal recognition of the valtalaki, though he was ready to concede the substance of the law, deprived Finland of this last chance to draw back from open class struggle: It was one more in the catalog of palpable blunders for which Kerenski has to answer.

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Chapter 7

The General Strike The story of how the Bolsheviks, once they had recovered from the July days, were dragooned by an impatient Lenin into mounting an armed seizure of power is one of the best known in recent European history. Lenin had transferred from Helsinki to Viipuri on 30 September, to exert stronger pressure on his wavering Central Committee, and on 22 October he travelled back to Petrograd to preside over the meeting of the Central Committee, which voted 10 to 2 to launch an insurrection. The arrangements were in the hands of the Military Revolutionary Committee of the Petrograd Soviet, led by Trotski, and the appointed date was 7 November, to coincide with the meeting of the Congress of Soviets. Kamenev and Zinoviev made a last-minute bid to stop the insurrection by betraying the plan, and this forced Trotski to issue a denial, which was printed in Tyomies on 4 November. It looks as though the Finnish socialists believed the denial, for there is no evidence that they knew anything specific in advance about the October Revolution and they certainly had no plans for taking part in it.1 But the Bolsheviks in Finland were heavily involved in the preparations. On 30 October Antonov-Ovseenko reported to Lenin on the plans of the Finnish garrison: Tsentrobalt would send volunteer detachments to Petrograd from Helsinki in minesweepers. Lenin asked why the whole fleet could not move, and had to be told that the battleships could not get in close to Petrograd, while the men would oppose leaving the gulf of Finland open to the Germans. Lenin would have to be content with the 3,000 sailors sent in the minesweepers; it was not the last time that Lenin was to be impatient with the Finnish garrison for its unreadiness to forget about the Germans and concentrate on the revolution. Antonov-Ovseenko reported that elements of doubtful loyalty were among the submarines, the artillery, and the cossacks but that in general Bolshevik control of the garrison was complete. But it was not effortless and allies had to be persuaded; the Left-SRs in Helsinki were told the full plans only on 5 November, and in the Soviet there were calls for delay. But Tsentrobalt and the Bolshevik majority in the Soviet made it clear they would act alone if necessary, and they were helped in overcoming doubters when, on 6 November, 138

the Provisional Government sent troops to close the Bolshevik newspapers. This made the insurrection of 7 November look like a defensive reaction; mass meetings in Helsinki on 6 November were told that the reactionaries were launching a counterrevolution and they voted to give all assistance to the Military Revolutionary Committee. A delegation was sent to Lenin's headquarters atSmolny to declare the solidarity of the Finnish garrison with the Bolsheviks. On 7 November the Helsinki So viet met, approved the overthrow of the Provisional Government with acclamation, and affirmed that the Area Committee, Tsentrobalt, and their own Executive Committee would act jointly as the supreme revolutionary authority in Finland.2 Nekrasov and Enckell read about the revolution in the morning papers as they crossed the frontier on 7 November, and discovered there was no one to whom to deliver their manifesto. All the urgent negotiation about the relations of Finland and Russia had been a farce played out in front of the curtain, while the real events were being prepared backstage. Nekrasov stayed to join the Bolsheviks and vanish in Stalin's purge, and Enckell verified that the Provisional Government had fallen and returned to Helsinki on 9 November. Nekrasov's deputy, Korff, announced on 8 November that his function had ended and called on Setala to inform him of the demise of the Provisional Government. He concluded with the advice to "act on your own responsibility."3 Finland was left in a legal and constitutional limbo. The new era in Finland opened with an ominous incident. The Finnish socialists had been successful in persuading the Area Committee that the bourgeois Home Guard was a well-armed threat to their security. This had already led to the raid by the Russians on Jalander's police in Helsinki on 23 October, and then to the intervention of the Area Committee, after Jalander was made Prefect of Uusimaa province on 25 October and announced his intention of reinstating the regular police. The Workers' Council appealed to the Area Committee, and Smilga passed the warning to Jalander, through a mutual lady friend, "not to take too drastic measures prematurely." Jalander had to give way, but did not conceal his intention of trying again. At the beginning of November the Russians received word from a Finnish informer that the Home Guard had a large stock of weapons on the estate of A. Kordelin, a leading industrialist, at Mommila, and the sailors resolved to seize the arms. Jalander got advance information and warned Kordelin and the Home Guard at Lahti and Riihimaki that an expedition was on its way. On 7 November, a party of armed sailors came to Mommila, searched the house, and insisted on taking Kordelin and his male house guests back to Helsinki for questioning. On the way they ran into a party of Lahti Home Guard, firing broke out, and the sailors sustained casualties and fled, but not before they had killed Kordelin and his friend P. Petterson. On hearing this, Jalander received permission from the government to send out 80 Home Guard from Helsinki in a special train, and the Area Committee sent a party of soldiers in pursuit. Jalander's men were then ordered to disperse and hide their weapons, but not before they had exchanged shots with a party of sailors at Oitti station. By the evening of 7 November, 17 Russians and two Finns had become casualties, and the Area Committee was convinced that their fears were 139

confirmed. A. Weinman, for the Committee, announced that "we shall prevent the bourgeois arming and deprive them of their weapons" and on 9 November proclaimed a formal state of siege in Finland, directed against bourgeois agents of Germany and any other bourgeois who threatened armed attacks on Finnish workers.4 The bourgeois press expressed outrage, and Jalander lodged an official protest with the Area Committee. But it soon appeared that the Russians did not want a confrontation with the Home Guard, for they readily agreed to bury the incident with a joint committee of investigation. The eagerness that Smilga had shown on 31 October to come to grips with the Home Guard vanished in face of the bloodshed at Mommila, replaced by a mounting desire to have the Finnish workers tackle their own bourgeoisie, with discreet logistical support from the Russians. After 7 November the pressure for this built up, as Lenin pressed hard for more armed help to be sent from Finland to Petrograd, which could only be done if the supposed threat from the armed bourgeoisie were neutralized. The nonsocialist politicians in Finland were utterly dismayed at the turn of events in Russia: They tried to pretend that Finland was not involved and hastened to assert that now the last link binding Finland to Russia had been dissolved. But their basic reaction was the fear expressed by Hultin, "the wave of victorious Bolshevism will give our socialists water under their mill, and they are certainly able to start it turning." So far the new parliament had not met, except briefly on 2 November to elect as their Speaker J. Lundson, because it had been waiting for the new manifesto. On 7 November the bourgeois politicians resolved to hold a session on 8 November and, acting on paragraph 38 of the constitutional law of 1772 on the demise of the ruling house, they would elect a regency and declare it vested with the sovereign prerogatives. It was known that SDP would be utterly opposed since the procedure ignored the valtalaki; the radicals of the Independence Club who still wanted an arrangement with the socialists, agreed reluctantly. Alkio in particular regretted almost immediately having accepted the plan. This meant that the alternative idea of a radical coalition was still open, if the socialists chose to pursue it.5 The same day the Executives of SDP and SAJ met and drafted a statement that "the bells of revolution are ringing" and that "a great series of historical events is once more starting up. These events will affect our situation too. Let the working class therefore be watchful." At the same time there were warnings against premature action; the movement as a whole would decide "when and with what actions it is necessary to begin, with our whole strength." The statement plainly meant that the socialist leaders had no idea what to do, but were desperately afraid that the workers might simply follow the Bolshevik example spontaneously.6 Early on 8 November the two Executives met with representatives of the parliamentary group and came to a firm decision with surprising speed. When parliament met, the socialists would demand that it accept the program of Me vaadimme. If this was agreed, then it meant that the valtalaki was in force and the elections had been illegal, so that the old parliament would be convened to decide which body would exercise power until the proposed constituent assembly was elected. If parliament refused to abdicate in this way, the socialists would walk out and "the organised 140

workers would take power into their own hands." A Workers' Revolutionary Central Council, consisting of the two Executives and nine elected delegates of the parliamentary group, was set up at once, and would be the "supreme revolutionary executive body" until the SAJ Congress met on 12 November. The plan, which was basically Kuusinen's, was not unopposed. Wiik was unhappy because "the Bolsheviks ar forcing us to revolution even if we do not want to," and moderates urged that parliamentary solutions in agreement with the radical bourgeoisie were still open. When the decision was reported to the full parliamentary group, Huttunen added the fear that they were gambling on the success of the Bolsheviks, which was very uncertain. If they were defeated in Russia, SDP in Finland would be left in an exposed and untenable position. Kuusinen stuck to the familiar leadership position; if they recognized the power of the bourgeois in the new parliament, the masses would break away from the party and "there could come an unorganised revolution"; the meeting supported him against the moderates by 41 votes to 16, though this meant that over a third of the group either was absent or abstained.7 At 6:00 P.M. that evening there was a meeting between representatives of SDP and SAJ and the Bolsheviks, led by Dybenko and Weinman, at the former imperial palace. Weinman said that the Bolsheviks would prefer to work exclusively through the Finnish proletariat and asked,"What measures do you want us to take on your behalf?" If the Finnish socialists would now overthrow their bourgeois government, the Russians would support them, help to arm the Red Guard, and issue a manifesto recognizing Finland's independence. The two main Finnish spokesmen, Kuusinen and Wiik, played for time; it was clear that the Finns worried that the Bolsheviks might fail, though they could hardly say so. Kuusinen gave the general assurance that "our plan is to take power into our own hands this very week," which was true. That was what they had agreed that morning; what he did not add was that they still hoped to do this legally, without violence, by using parliament. Dybenko's account of the meeting suggests that considerable pressure had been put on the Finns. "The Finnish comrades were hesitating still. We told them 'if you will not support us we ourselves will carry through the revolution. Then you will have to take power into your own hands'. After long discussion the Finns agreed." There was also a personal message from Lenin, "Rise, rise at once and take power into the hands of the organised workers." Further, they knew that Dybenko's implied threat to go straight to the radical workers, over the heads of the SDP leaders, was not an empty one. Two of the Bolsheviks present, J. Rahja and Taimi, were already entrenched in the higher councils of the Red Guard, indeed Wiik had noticed their presence that morning when he visited the Red Guard staff.8 Parliament met later in the evening and the Speaker moved that a three-man regency be set up in terms of the law of 1772. Maki, for SDP, announced that they were utterly opposed to this, and moved that parliament adopt the Me vaadimme program. Tokoi said that this was the only way to avoid a resort to force, that this parliament must acknowledge its own illegality in order to satisfy the workers: "Revolution has once more boiled up in Russia. Do we want it to surge here, to cover, perhaps to drown us? No!" Then Alkio, who had been regretting that he ever 141

agreed to the regency, proposed they return to the valtalaki as the basis for an agreement; "the Agrarians were originally behind the valtalaki and they still are." Parliament should simply vote to promulgate the valtalaki, "so that the valtalaki can now be brought into effect." Sirola at once rejected the offer; Me vaadimme represented the minimum demand of the workers, and if it was rejected, "then the parliament of the street would speak in its thousand-voiced language." Manner insisted they could take it or leave it; since SDP regarded the parliament as illegal, they were indifferent what it decided—"it is in your hands, good ladies and gentlemen of the bourgeoisie. Do what you think will be best for you. I cannot give you any other advice." But with Alkio's defection there was no longer a majority for the regency scheme, and parliament adjourned until the following day. Socialist critics, writing in the knowledge of the miseries that were to come, have savagely attacked the rejection of Alkio's proposal. Huttunen called it "the biggest mistake the party may have made in the period of the single-chamber parliament." It is important to understand that from the point of view of Sirola and Manner, the offer had a decisive defect: Under it the valtalaki would come into force when it was promulgated, which meant that the elections had been legal and the present parliament, with its nonsocialist majority, was vested with full sovereign power. The socialist position rested on the belief that history now demanded that in Finland power be transferred to the workers, or else they would surely seize it themselves. Any solution that left ultimate power in the hands of the bourgeoisie, as Alkio's did, was pointless.9 During the night the Russians got an appeal from Lenin for more men, "as many as possible, but only loyal men who are ready to fight." He also wanted arms; "let me have everything you can spare." He was promised two shiploads of men and arms and 5,000 more men would come by rail, led by Dybenko in person. This meant that the situation in Petrograd was uncertain, that the strongest elements of the garrison were leaving and were not available to support the Finnish socialists. When the Revolutionary Council met on 9 November, it was shaken by the evidence of Bolshevik difficulties. Turkia, Tokoi, and Gylling now wanted to postpone the seizure of power and look for a solution based on Alkio's offer. Only Kuusinen stood firm for his original plan. And while the Revolutionary Council was wobbling, the SDP parliamentary group was in full retreat. They were attracted by Alkio's offer and resentful at the way they were being manipulated by the Revolutionary Council. One member declared "the valtalaki had been driven on the rocks because of unskilful handling, because we would not present it separately from the Me vaadimme programme." Kirves said that the group "had been tyrannised by certain members of the group," and Huotari identified the offending members as "chamber theorists . . . a certain clique of intellectuals." They were nervous too about depending on the Bolsheviks; "there is too much reliance on Bolshevik power in Petrograd."10 Wiik wrote in his diary that it was "a bad-tempered, irritated feeling in the group, the group is being dragged unwillingly along the road of revolution, through circumstances and manipulation by a few individuals." The anger and resentment directed by the ordinary group members against the party leaders was natural—they were bewildered and frightened men—but it was unfair. The Revolutionary Council had fol142

lowed faithfully party policy in insisting on the implementation of the Me vaadimme program. Manner and Ma'ki were so taken aback by the wave of hostility directed at them that they offered to resign as group chairmen. It was Makelin who calmed the meeting by reminding it of the laws of history. "There is no need to get upset. . . . What is now at hand is the first wave of that great class struggle. . . . We cannot stop what is to come, in conformity with the historical perspective." The group then agreed that its first duty was to block the regency plan and postpone an immediate confrontation between parliament and the workers.11 This was also the mood at a resumed meeting of the Revolutionary Council: Kuusinen tried to insist they go ahead with the plans to take power, if only to satisfy the Bolsheviks; "relations with the Bolsheviks in Helsinki could become much tenser if we remain in passive resistance against them," and further, it was unlikely they would issue their promised recognition of Finland's independence before the workers had assumed power. The rest of the Council was looking for postponement, and when they heard that Helsinki Workers' Council might be about to start something, Sirola was dispatched to dissuade them. He managed to persuade the Workers'Council that they needed more time, but it voted to set up its own revolutionary committee to prepare for a general strike. This body, which may be called the Strike Committee, had 25 members, 22 elected by the Council and 3 delegates of the Red Guard. The chairman was J. Tuominen, with K. Hamalainen and J. Lehtinen as his deputies. Unlike the vacillating Revolutionary Council, the Strike Committee organized its members into three shifts, and worked around the clock to prepare for a revolutionary general strike with unwavering and single-minded devotion. At most Sirola had won a brief respite from the threat of immediate revolutionary action in Helsinki.12 Parliament met in the afternoon, and the Speaker ruled that as there were three proposals, they would first choose between the SDP and Agrarian motions, and then put up the winner against the regency proposal. This meant that if only SDP voted for Me vaadimme, Alkio's motion would win against it, and if the socialists then supported Alkio, there would be a majority for the valtalaki against the regency. To avoid this, the conservatives voted for the SDP motion against Alkio, so that it won by 135 votes to 58. The result of this cynical maneuver was to defeat the valtalaki option, for in a vote between Me vaadimme and the regency, Alkio had no choice but to support the regency, which was passed by 106 votes to 90. The session adjourned and was resumed in the evening, when Ingman proposed the election of Svinhufvud, Paasikivi, and A. Gripenberg as regents. But now the conservative voting trick rebounded on them, because the embittered Alkio refused to support the nominations, and SDP forced a vote to adjourn to the following day.13 During 10 November the Revolutionary Council and the parliamentary group came under renewed pressures to take power. The Strike Committee announced that it had a plan and summoned meetings of the Red Guard and the workers in Helsinki to discuss it. The provinces too seemed ready to move: Tampere resolved that "right now is the best opportunity," Viipuri wanted immediate dismissal of the new parliament, Turku and Hameelinna would accept nothing short of the whole of Me vaadimme, and Hanko and Kakisalmi wanted at least immediate acceptance of 143

the valtalaki. The Bolsheviks too renewed their pressure: V. Smirnov, the Bolshevik lecturer at Helsinki University, put a letter in the papers saying that the Bolsheviks were ready to offer full independence to Finland, and there was now no legal obstacle "to the lawful parliament resuming activity, which parliament has the right to nominate a Finnish government." The Revolutionary Council was visited by a Bolshevik delegation, led by Lenin's personal representative, A. 3ottman, and was tol that "now we hold power and Finland's affairs can be settled as the Finnish socialists decide." The one contrary indication was the evidence that the Red Guard was far from ready to act: A circular from the commanding staff called on all units to make returns of their numbers and the names of their commanders, and reminded them that membership cards and rule books were available; but it was equally clear that this was the only kind of equipment that was. Attempts to obtain weapons from Petrograd had been met by Bolshevik refusal to release any while their own survival there was in doubt. The conclusion of the Red Guard circular that "the whole machinery of the workers' Guard must be got into condition speedily" betrayed the obvious fact that the Guard was still quite unready for action.14 The Revolutionary Council bowed to what it saw as irresistible pressures: On 10 November they veered back towards a speedy seizure of power. Sirola warned them that the Helsinki workers "insist that power be taken" and suggested the Council must act. "Our negative proceedings must become positive, exercise supreme power until a constituent assembly." Salin agreed; he had changed his mind in favor of revolution, declaring "now I can do no other than support it."Tokoi thought that "withdrawal is impossible. The Russian soldiers, the bourgeois and the greater part of the Finnish workers are compelling us." Makelin agreed, and the quicker the better. Oddly, it was now Kuusinen who wanted delay, stating that "we should stay on a legal basis as long as possible," but the delay was only to get the old parliament together to vote them in. In all the speeches at this discussion it was common ground that they were only yielding to necessity; in Sirola's words, they would take power "however burdensome it may be for us." To understand their continuing lack of positive enthusiasm for power, it has to be remembered how they saw their revolution. Kuusinen was to explain this in parliament when he said that the socialists "wish from our hearts for a socialist society and also hope for the revolution of the European proletariat" but this issue "will not be decided in Finland, it will be decided in Europe. . . . if there is no proletarian revolution there, then there will not be one in Finland either." To these Finnish socialists in 1917 the heresy of socialism in one country was unthinkable, so that the purpose of their taking power was only to hold it until a constituent assembly could be elected. And although they expected a socialist majority for this, its task could be only to legislate fora liberal-democratic, but still capitalist Finland—the socialist revolution would lie in the future. It was therefore both rational and humane to seek to avoid the miseries of the resort to force in pursuit of this interim objective. The Council decided to try once more to get parliament to abdicate by accepting the valtalaki, and thus facilitate a peaceful transfer of power.15 They had just done this when Lehtinen came and said he doubted whether the Helsinki workers would wait; their meetings that 144

afternoon might resolve on an immediate general strike. Turkia, Sirola, Tokoi, and Huttunen were dispatched to address the meetings, with the message to wait and see what parliament does; if it votes for a regency then "we must follow the revolutionary road." They were warned not to underestimate the difficulties of revolution, "the working class is not yet an absolute majority in this country. "The meetings were all persuaded to accept a resolution to give parliament another chance, but with the insistence that the whole Me vaadimme program must be realized.16 The parliamentary group met at 4:00 P.M. in a calmer mood, Manner's offer to resign the chair was turned down by 47 votes to 9, and they agreed that they would not compromise on the valtalaki —parliament must recognize it as already in force and then promulgate all the reform laws of the previous parliament. Tokoi made it clear what the effect would be; parliament "would declare itself illegal and the old parliament could assemble. . . . Now it looks as though the workers will seize power, but no final decision has been made on the matter." Wuoristo, always so far a moderate, now accepted the inevitable; "we talk a lot, it does not help, we will do this but cannot control what the workers may then do, because we cannot hold them back for ever." But there remained a substantial minority that wanted to find a constitutional solution, because a motion to notify the Agrarians of SDP's intentions and seek their support was defeated by only 29 votes to 25. When parliament met that evening Tokoi put the SDP proposal and said bluntly that it meant parliament must "leave this place to the lawful parliament, which has the right by the constitution to represent the Finnish people." Kuusinen then tried to solace the bourgeoisie with the hope of immediate recognition of independence by Russia and the assurance that this was not a socialist revolution. "The socialists do not wish anything other than legality. . . . the workers seek their demands without violence and without bloodshed." The bourgeois members were defensive: Schybergson urged that a regency need be only temporary; he would be quite happy if it confirmed the valtalaki as its first action, which since Schybergson thought the law completely unacceptable, meant either that he was being dishonest or he really was frightened. Then Kallio put forward a new Agrarian compromise, that if SDP would agree to a regency consisting of a conservative, an Agrarian, and a socialist, the Agrarians promised that their member would vote with the socialist to confirm the valtalaki and dissolve the regency. But Manner had to reject this too; it did not meet the socialist point that the valtalaki was already in force. He only offered the possibility that the socialists might continue to accept the new parliament; as Speaker of the old one, "I have not yet decided when it will meet. Sit on in peace." At this point the session adjourned.17 o In the interval Arokallio and Akesson sought out Wiik and urged consideration of the Agrarian offer, which they backed by proposing a radical coalition government of Agrarians and socialists. But SDP would not yield, as Sirola told the resumed session they had destroyed the independent sovereign executive in July and would not let it be resurrected "even for an hour. . . . it is a matter of principle." It was then that the new Speaker, Lundson, displayed the qualities of pedantic stubbornness and insensitivity to political requirements that made him a one-man 145

disaster. He ruled that both an SDP and an Agrarian motion to recognize the valtalaki were out of order, though there could have been a majority for them, as was shown when the Agrarians supported SDP in challenging the Speaker's ruling. It was referred to a committee by 109 votes to 81, and in the meantime the regency proposal was blocked. SDP had won a victory of sorts, if only a negative one. It is tempting to see the debate of 10 November as a great lost opportunity for a compromise; but it would be unrealistic to do so. The majority that could have carried either of the valtalaki motions would have split at once on how to interpret them, for the Agrarians could not have conceded the illegality of the election. Until SDP made up its mind whether or not it recognized the election result, and the consequent nonsocialist majority, the promulgation of the valtalaki could only prolong the uncertainty. The most that can be said is that any successful joint action by Agrarians and socialists might have reversed the trend towards class-based polarization, and given new hope and vigor to the moderates in both camps who were looking for agreed solutions.18 The next day was a Sunday, which gave valuable time for reflection. The Revolutionary Council now wanted to exploit the postponement of the regency by getting the Bolshevik government to issue a manifesto recognizing the valtalaki and calling the old parliament into session. They saw S'ottman, who assured them that the Bolsheviks would do whatever they asked, but the Finns seem to have had misgivings about £ottman, and resolved that Sirola and Huttunen must go to Petrograd and talk to Lenin in person. It was completely in character that the Council eagerly embraced a decision that would justify them in putting off any action immediately. The bourgeois leaders were in no better case: They met and heard about the new socialist policy, but could not agree how to respond. Alkio insisted that to confirm the valtalaki was "the only way to save this parliament," but Ingman pointed out that "it will not save this parliament, only give support to Manner's parliament." Frustration and impotence bred bad temper; Alkio claimed "the Agrarians are closer to the socialists than the masters" and finally walked out of the meeting, which meant there could still be no bourgeois majority for a regency.19 It is apparent that Lenin, despite the time he had spent in the country, knew very little about conditions in Finland, for that same day he addressed a letter to Manner, Sirola, Kuusinen, Valpas, and Wiik, which ran:20 I have heard from my Finnish friends that you are the head of the revolutionary wing of the Finnish Social Democratic Labour party and are carrying on a struggle for the cause of the proletarian socialist revolution. . . . We count on the aid of the Social Democrats of Finland. Long live the international socialist revolution. The letter is grounded on total misconception of the situation: None of the Finns to whom it was addressed believed in the possibility of a socialist revolution in Lenin's sense of the words, and Valpas and Wiik had no enthusiasm for any sort of revolution. This same ignorance led him to speak to Sirola and Huttunen, when they arrived in Petrograd on 12 November, in a manner that produced effects the 146

opposite of what he wanted. He urged the Finns to copy the Bolsheviks and seize power. He assured them of Bolshevik support; "if you want the Russian fleet it is for you to use freely"—a fatuous remark, since the fleet was of no possible use to the Finns. He also told them that "Kerenski is not beaten yet" and was seriously afraid that troops loyal to Kerenski might be brought from Finland to Petrograd and asked the Finns if they could block this by strike action. The result was that when Simla and Huttunen returned to Helsinki on 13 November, their dominant impression was that the Bolsheviks themselves regarded their hold on power as extremely precarious, and it would be dangerous for SDP to build its hopes on their survival.21 The socialist leaders had arrived at the same conclusion even before their delegates got back: Taimi had already returned empty-handed from Petrograd, where he had been looking for weapons, with the message that "they will not release any weapons from Petrograd as long as the struggle is undecided." So on 12 November, Manner told SAJ Congress that the Bolshevik regime could provide "a solid base for all our struggles, but its defeat would also be, without doubt, our defeat. . . . in drawing up our battle plans we must take note of all the possibilities"; and Tokoi rammed the point home: "One cannot say with certainty, at this moment, whether the proletarian revolution in Russia will be of an enduring or a transitory kind . . . our conduct will depend to the greatest possible extent on how circumstances develop in Russia." The uncertainty actually brought the Revolutionary Council to a decision on 12 November. Two motions were put before them, one "for the time being to press the bourgeoisie to carry out the Me vaadimme program," the other that "power be taken at once into the hands of the workers"; the first motion was carried by 18 votes to 8. The group was instructed to move in parliament for the promulgation of the laws passed and confirmed at the session of 28 September, but when parliament met, Lundson refused to allow any substantive business before the formal opening of the session, set for the following day, once more exercising his fatal genius for turning a critical situation into a disaster.22 Lundson's obstructive action was fatal, because the pendulum was swinging back towards revolutionary action in consequence of the meeting of the SAJ Congress on 12 November. The Revolutionary Council had already committed itself to referring the future line of action to this Congress, as Tokoi explained in his opening address. They represented 170,000 organized workers and they must make the choice: 23 to go as far as they have gone in Russia, that is that we too, in Finland come to take the whole state power into the workers' own hands. You must decide . . . the question whether the Finnish workers, the organised workers, are at this moment ready, whether they are able, and whether they have the possibility that they can take this power into their own hands, and whether they dare, at this moment, to take that decisive step. The alternative was to leave the bourgeoisie in power and exert pressure on them. But if they did decide on revolution, it could not be the socialist revolution. 147

"By taking state power into our hands, we can carry out reforms in one or two areas, but a full socialist transformation we cannot put into execution". Tokoi got his answer from Haapalainen, who said bluntly they must seize power at once by force of arms:24 The ruling power in the land must be suppressed. . . . we have no other means but to prepare for battle. . . . the workers throughout the country are prepared and they are expecting from this Congress . . . signals when to start. . . . if in the main centres things are in the same state as in Helsinki and Kotka, then there is no need to delay even an hour longer, we can stop all work tomorrow morning already and having finished the work of this Congress, we can all enter the battle for victory or death. The Congress applauded from what must partly have been sheer relief to hear a leader call for action unequivocally, without the endless reservations and weighing of alternatives that characterized the speeches of men like Tokoi. The speeches from the floor were all for taking power, largely based on acceptance as fact of the myths peddled in the press that the bourgeois planned to starve the workers into surrender. Hakkinen told the familiar story of farmers who said "they will feed grain, flour and other food to the pigs before they give them to the workers. . . . are we to die of hunger beside the grain bins, or is it better to fight?" Again and again it was affirmed that the workers would act in any case, whatever Congress did; "we must engage in the decisive struggle, because it is better to die in honourable battle than to die of hunger with folded arms." The speeches were so unanimous that the official minutes recorded that there was no point in continuing to summarize them.25 The contrast between the determined, militant mood of the SAJ Congress, and the ditherings of the Revolutionary Council and the parliamentary group is striking. It seems proof of the argument that the masses could not be held back, and that at the grass roots, the movement was driven by the fear of starvation. The workers had believed what the party had told them, that the capitalists meant to starve them out over the winter, and now they called on the party for action that would measure up this threat. It can be argued that SAJ Congress was not really representative of th ordinary worker, but it is hard to deny that when the radical line called for by the Congress was implemented, it evoked massive, spontaneous support from all levels of the working class. Yet the Revolutionary Council contrived to procrastinate: After meeting a delegation from the Congress, a statement was issued on 13 November confirming the policy laid down by the Council. Parliament would be called to promulgate all the laws confirmed on 28 September; only if it refused would revolutionary action begin:26 The whole organised working class of Finland must at once begin a powerful and effective struggle against the bourgeoisie for its bread and its rights. For this reason Congress orders all trade unionists to be ready, when they get the order, to begin a general strike covering the whole country. 148

Although this was an ultimatum, it fell far short of the kind of action Haapalainen had demanded, it even fell short of demanding the whole of Me vaadimme. There was nothing revolutionary in the laws of 28 September, and to accept them did not involve agreeing to a constituent assembly or to disbanding the Home Guard, though it did imply recognition of the valtalaki as being in force on 28 September. This point proved to be critical in deciding the response of the nonsocialist majority. The SDP parliamentary group was not in a militant mood on 13 November; their uncertainties had been fed by Sirola's gloomy report from Petrograd, and reports from Makelin that he was getting approaches from Activist circles about possible collaboration on the basis of independence. Within the Independence Club was the haunting feeling that the chaos prevailing in Russia should be exploited; as Hultin wrote, "Russia is in total anarchy and we could use the present moment to our advantage to declare the country independent." But though the temptation to respond to the approaches for some kind of radical coalition government was strong, the SDP group acknowledged that for the session that day they must present the ultimatum from the SAJ Congress. Parliament met and went through the formalities of an opening ceremony before the socialists could submit their motion for the promulgation of the laws confirmed on 28 September. To their astonishment, Lundson ruled that this was out of order and he would not submit it for debate. The moderate Wuoristo declared that "this is obviously deliberately intended to block the way to a peaceful solution" and Wiik said "I cannot believe that one man would take the responsibility of plunging the country into a general strike, perhaps a civil war." There were bourgeois like Hultin who regretted the Speaker's stand; she wrote in her diary that "the unfortunate legalism of the bourgeoisie is a major cause of this unhappy outcome. We have no broad-minded statesmen, only stubborn lawyers." This was true, but the dilemma of the nonsocialist majority was a real one: Hard conservatives like Ingman and Wrede were ready to defy the socialist threats, but the compromisers too had a basic instinct for self-preservation. Alkio revealed their problem when he advanced his compromise: The Agrarians were ready to see the laws of 28 September promulgated, but only by a procedure that gave unequivocal recognition to the legitimacy of the parliament. Since all the SDP speakers were evasive on that point, the debate ended with the Speaker standing firm on his ruling.27 When the SAJ Congress resumed on 13 November, its members wasted no time on the possibility that the ultimatum to parliment might be accepted. All the discussion was about how to organize a general strike, and the criticisms came from those who wanted to radicalize it, like Bryggeri, who said, "we are fighting for the social revolution, not just political power." Tokoi brought a report that it seemed unlikely that parliament would accept their demands: "it only remains for Congress to decide when the counter-measures previously decided shall be put into effect and on what scale." The Congress adjourned without passing any further formal resolution on a strike, which was clearly regarded as already decided. Tokoi then moved on to the Revolutionary Council to propose that it declare the general strike at once. At first it acted true to form—members talked of the great difficulties involved, 149

how the movement was not properly prepared, and even suggested that because the Congress had not passed a formal resolution, the Revolutionary Council was not empowered to call a strike. Then the mood changed, the logic-chopping debate ended, and they proceeded to action: Two votes were taken, one by 19 to 4 that they were empowered to call a strike, and then another by 24 to 1 that it should begin in Helsinki that night, and in the provinces as soon as notice could be given. Wiik noted that once the decision had been made, a strange mood of elation came over the Council; Pietikainen and Elo played the piano; the necessary administrative decisions came easily. The momentary gaiety was unique in the annals of the Finnish revolution, which otherwise was utterly lacking in revolutionary zest. The Finnish revolutionaries were in general the most miserable revolutionaries in history, behaving throughout like men contemplating their own funerals. Even on this occasion, it would be a fair guess that Pietikainen and Elo were playing Lutheran hymns. The Revolutionary Council set up a directory of Manner, Sirola, and Wuoristo to exercise general oversight of the strike arrangements, and established a set of committees for the Red Guard, transport and trade, law and order, and information. The newspapers were to be closed; only water and food supplies, food production, and fire and medical services were excluded. One vital question was left unanswered; as Wiik put it, "how far we should go?" They had still to decide whether this was the revolutionary seizure of power, or something short of that, an ambiguity that had much to do with the outcome.28 The official strike call was published on 14 November under the heading: "Workers into battle for bread and justice. The wheels are to stop." It alleged that the bourgeoisie had demonstrated that they would make no concessions: 29 . . . so now the measure of the workers' patience is full. . . . the workers themselves must speak the kind of language that the bourgeoisie understands. The bourgeoisie has blocked off the usual ways of struggle among the workers. It has forced the workers on to the path of mass action. Forward along that road to demand bread and justice. The program of demands came under three headings: acceptance of SDP's policy on food and unemployment, acceptance of the laws of 28 September, including th valtalaki, and promises to implement the main demands of Me vaadimme. Yet for all the fighting talk, this program fell short of that set out in Me vaadimme, for while the valtalaki was insisted on, it was accepted that the present parliament would continue until a constituent assembly was elected, and it said nothing about disbanding the Home Guard. Further, it did not demand the transfer of power to the working class, but implied that after the strike normal parliamentary government would be resumed. The instructions for the conduct of the strike required that in each community a revolutionary council would be set up with full authority over all workers' organiza tions, above all the Red Guard, which was to be the executive arm of the workers' power. The Red Guard would work with the militia in keeping order, mount guards and patrols, arrest dangerous enemies of the workers, confiscate liquor stocks, and 150

stop the spread of rumors. The instruction ended with the standard injunction that "during the general strike, order and discipline must be preserved irreproachably. It must be remembered that revolution is not the same as outrage and anarchy."The easiest part of the instructions to fulfill was the general cessation of work; official figures showed that over 84,000 workers went on strike, and 832 plants were closed. The more difficult areas were those which required positive action, the closing of bourgeois enterprises like shops and offices, and the exercise of control over the services like transport and food distribution that were allowed to continue.30 It would be misleading to describe the strike in general terms, for each community had its own experience. At one extreme were places where nothing happened; a resident of Kristiina wrote that "it has been completely peaceful, without the socialist disorders down there which seem to have been dreadful." A worker at Padasjoki remembered "the general strike really meant nothing at all here. There were no establishments where there could have been a strike. There were no acts of violence, no clashes, no Red Guard and no Russians." When Mustamaki SDP met during the strike, it did not figure on their agenda. They spent most of their meeting discussing whether dancing should be permitted after their business meetings, a problem that had been vexing them for months, and which occupied much more space in their minutes than any political issue. Thus some places, usually the more isolated communities, virtually contracted out of the general strike.31 Most provincial towns saw efforts by the Red Guard to enforce the strike regulations: Shops were ordered to close, guards put on public offices, telephone exchanges, and railway stations. There was usually no trouble because there was no resistance. Where opposition occurred, the Red Guard was often unable to cope. In Kuopio the Red Guard and the Home Guard both paraded the streets, but there was a tacit agreement to avoid confrontation and the shops stayed open. In Hameenlinna the Home Guard appeared armed and encouraged the shopkeepers to stay open. The Red Guard were able to borrow rifles from the local Russians, but they had no stomach for a fight and sat around in the Workers' Hall allegedly waiting for orders from Helsinki. The Home Guard remained in command of the streets. On the other hand, in Jyvaskyla the Red Guard did put down bourgeois defiance. Red Guard patrols were equipped with "a hammer and five-inch nails in their pockets. The shop doors of stubborn businessmen were nailed shut with a five-inch nail so that they could not easily be opened again." On 18 November, the local Home Guard tried to take control and came armed into the town to try to liberate the telephone exchange. But when confronted by superior numbers of Red Guards, they agreed to give up their weapons and disperse.32 The availability of weapons often made all the difference. In Raahe the Red Guard had been training with sticks, but when they resolved to assert their authority over the local Food Board, they applied to the local Russians. "We got as a loan five rifles, with which the whole Red Guard marched to the Food Board. We presented our demands and the comrades with rifles rattled the butts a bit on the floor, so emphasising the workers' demands. . . . the Board assented to our proposals." The general passivity of the Home Guard supports the impression of its leading historian that in November it scarcely existed 151

as an organized force in much of the country. Where it did, there was some reluctance to expose themselves to possible reprisals by the Russians, or to appear in open confrontation with the workers.33 In the big urban centres there was usually no difficulty. Kotka had the best organized Red Guard in the country and they took control, searched for arms, and imposed a curfew. Then, having secured their base area, they formed a flying column to clean up the neighboring areas; on 16 November it visited Lahti, searched for weapons there, and left a detachment to secure the control of the Lahti workers. On 19 November they visited Loviisa, where the police had been resisting the strike. The Loviisa police prudently left town as the Kotka men arrived, and the workers assumed control of the town. In Tampere, where the Red Guard had already purchased rifles from the local Russians, they took control, disarmed the police, searched bourgeois homes for food and arms, and arrested the local Home Guard organizers. There was no resistance and no violence. That was not to be expected in Turku, where the local Soviet not only lent rifles, but allowed Russian troops to act jointly with the Red Guard. The town was taken over on 14 November, and searches began for arms and liquor, during which, as Tyomies put it "there may have occurred events which were not intended by the leadership and which are therefore to be condemned." The local Home Guard organizers and the provincial Prefect were arrested and the Food Board taken over, together with the banks. Once they had secured the city, Turku Red Guard sent expeditions into the countryside, to search for arms and food, and assist the rural Red Guards in taking control.34 In Helsinki the Red Guard was still virtually unarmed on 13 November, and Taimi was asked to use his influence as a Bolshevik to get rifles from the Russians. According to his own account he asked, "how many rifles do you need?" and was told 3,000. Taimi approached the Area Committee, who readily agreed to lend weapons and they were brought from the armories in Sveaborg to the Workers' Hall the same evening. Taimi says "I handed over to the doorman, against a receipt, three thousand rifles and the necessary quantity of ammunition."They were handed out to the assembled Red Guards, most of whom "did not know how to handle them. Already in the first ten minutes there were two accidental shots but it did not affect the mood. People with a weapon in their hands feel they are masters of the situation." So they were; even in inexperienced hands, 3,000 rifles gave the Red Guard easy dominance in the capital; the Military Committee wisely withdrew to Porvoo, and made no effort to resist.35 On the whole, the Russians were reluctant to get involved in the general strike; the attitude of the Turku Soviet was eccentric. Official orders to 42nd Army Corps were to defend their own installations in case of "the expected attack of the Finnish White Guard on the Finnish Red Guards who are on strike." Tsentrobalt issued an order on 15 November that the crews should not go ashore. Izvestija, on 17 November, expressed a general welcome for the strike as evidence that "the Finnish proletariat has begun a struggle," but warned that they would not necessarily win in an armed clash with the bourgeoisie. No suggestion was offered that it was the duty of the Russians to go out and help the Finnish workers. The basic Russian attitude was 152

one of benevolent neutrality, tempered by their uncertainty which side would win, and their fear of the Germans, which made them reluctant, particularly after their experiences at Mommila, to get involved in hostilities with the bourgeoisie. Places like Turku or Tornio, where the soldiers joined with Red Guards to secure control, were exceptional; generally Russian assistance was limited to a tightly controlled loan of weapons. Lappeenranta Soviet, after carefully consulting Helsinki and Viipuri, agreed to look over their armory and "deliver all the uncommitted stock." But they expected to be paid rent for the weapons, and they were to be returned on 24 hours' notice. Viipuri Red Guard got a letter on 9 December reminding them that the rifles lent for the period of the strike must be returned. When Helsingin Sanomat was able to publish a review of events, they had to concede that "the Russian soldiers were in reserve" and had played little overt part in the strike.36 If the situation in Finland is viewed as a whole, the general strike was enormously successful. Even if allowance is made for places where nothing happened, and others like Vaasa, Kuopio, or Hameenlinna, where the bourgeois successfully defied the authority of the local socialists, it remains true that within 48 hours most of the country was firmly under the control of the local revolutionary committees. This was the more impressive since it resulted from spontaneous local initiatives by the workers, with no direct assistance from the center. The bourgeoisie were revealed as unprepared and disorganized, disinclined to fight, and usually easily overawed by the Red Guard. This was because a body of raw civilians armed with rifles, which was the Red Guard, will always defeat an equally raw body of civilians armed with sporting guns and pistols, which was the state of the Home Guard outside Pohjanmaa. The workers had delivered the country into the hands of their leaders through their instinctive mass solidarity. They were to discover to their cost that the leaders did not know what to do with it. The general strike was apparently a united movement directed by the Revolutionary Council, but that body had four component parts, the trade unions, the party, the parliamentary group, and after the first two days, the Red Guard; the obedience of the bodies represented to the rulings of the Council could not be guaranteed. In Helsinki there was the rival authority represented by the Workers' Council and its Strike Committee, more powerful in some ways than the Revolutionary Council because the Helsinki Red Guard tended to look to the Strike Committee for political directives. As the strike went on, Helsinki Red Guard began to develop a political will of its own. In theory the whole Red Guard was subject to the five-man directing Staff, now responsible to the Revolutionary Council, but since three of the five we re Aaltonen, Haapalainen, and Taimi, a group considerably more radical than the majority of the Revolutionary Council, their conformity to central directions could not be counted on. On top of this, Helsinki Red Guard under the leadership of K. Salminen, A. Miettinen, J. Lehtinen, and I. Manninen, the only effective armed force in the capital, showed little disposition to obey the commands of the Staff any further than suited them: They were virtually an autonomous power in the capital. This meant that the Revolutionary Council was in no position to command and direct; it had to persuade and conciliate in order to maintain any kind of united front. 153

The problems with Helsinki Red Guard were apparent by 14 November when the Strike Committee learned that they had gone to the prison and forcibly released the men arrested at Malmi. They were told that "you cannot begin to release prisoners without authority from above," but they ignored this and brought the 15 Malmi prisoners back in triumph. The prisoners in turn promptly organized a murderous vendetta in Malmi against those held responsible for their arrest. At a higher level the Revolutionary Council was having trouble with the commanding Staff. Within hours of the beginning of the strike, there were complaints of unauthorized actions, in particular by Haapalainen, which Wiik described as "products of the disorders in a frequently alcohol-poisoned brain." Although plenty of armed Red Guards were milling around the streets, reports continued to come in of shops and banks openly flouting the orders to close. It was all too clear that the Red Guard, the supposed executive arm of the Revolutionary Committee, was by no means firmly under its control, nor even in effective command of the situation in the city.37 Parliament did not meet on 14 November, but the Agrarians sent a formal written proposal to the SDP group for collaboration. They would join with SDP in a motion to promulgate the valtalaki, on the understanding that it came into force from the date of promulgation; following this action, they were prepared to form a coalition government with the socialists. The offer represented a split among the progressive bourgeois of the Independence Club: One faction led by Talas now rejected the valtalaki and insisted on collaboration with the conservatives; the other, led by Arokallio, positively preferred a coalition with the socialists on the basis of the valtalaki. The parliamentary group found the offer attractive, and Valpas thought that if necessary "we should support the Agrarians' proposal so that parliament takes the sovereign power," but felt they must refer the offer to the Revolutionary Council. That body dismissed it with contempt; "Finland's organised workers have taken it on themselves to achieve their demands," and were interested in nothing less than total acceptance of those demands. If this condition were met, the socialists "are ready to listen to bourgeois proposals about other matters which are not included in the demands." It then rebuked the group for having even acknowledged the Agrarian letter; "since matters have developed to their present stage, it does not have the right to decide matters whose initiation belongs to the Council." The Agrarians should have been told to apply directly to the Revolutionary Council.38 The group were furious, though Manner tried to soothe their ruffled feelings. Hutunen's motion to ignore the Council and accept the Agrarian offer found no seconder, but they did accept Valpas' motion that when parliament met, SDP would make its own motion to recognize the valtalaki; when this was defeated, it would support any Agrarian motion that vested sovereign power in parliament, and the Agrarians should be informed of this. Valpas' motion was accepted by 54 votes to 13; the reply to the Agrarians said it would be premature to talk of a coalition government yet, but it did not reject the idea. The Revolutionary Council claimed that the group had acted in accordance with its instruction, but this was not so. 154

Wiik accurately noted that the group had "embraced a revisionist point of view." They had not ventured to defy the Revolutionary Council openly, but Valpas' rather tortuous proposal was intended to signal to the Agrarians that SDP was interested in making a bargain with them.39 Among the workers, the success of the strike was generating pressures to convert it into a full seizure of power. Tuominen noted the mood of confidence in Helsinki; "now we are maintaining a powerful strike and iron discipline, such that we can smash the power of the bourgeoisie. Then we can get all our demands accepted, if only the leaders do not let us down." Tampere and Turku sent telegrams to the Revolutionary Council calling on it to stand firm, and Tampere insisted "we cannot have two governments"; the old bourgeois authorities must be put down and the regime of the revolutionary committees made permanent. When Helsinki Workers' Council met, it readily agreed that the efficacy of the strike should be stepped up, and Manninen, for the Red Guard, called for a full dictatorship of the proletariat. This was deferred, but it was agreed that the Red Guard should be enlarged.40 When the Agrarians got the letter from SDP they could see how their position had been strengthened: Since the socialists would support any motion based on the sovereignty of parliament, they could drop formal promulgation of the valtalaki and seek to win conservative support for a compromise motion. So they proposed to move that:41 Because the regency, to which parliament had decided to give the use of the sovereign authority in Finland cannot be elected yet, parliament resolves for the time being to exercise itself that power which, according to existing laws, belongs to the emperor and grand duke. Most conservatives would accept this, and the Independence Club gave it unani mous support; yet it met the critieria set by SDP. The group did not like Alkio's motion, in particular its provisional character, and Sirola remarked to Wiik that it showed the Agrarians exploiting the uncertainty and divisions in the socialist camp, but the majority resolved to adhere to their policy, with the minority entering a formal protest that this was contrary to the policy of the Revolutionary Council. When parliament met at 2:00 P.M. the Speaker put a conservative motion that since a regency could not be elected yet, the sovereign prerogatives should be transferre to the government, and parliament then proceed to appoint a new government Alkio moved the Agrarian motion, and Kellosalmi presented the SDP proposal to recognize the valtalaki. The Speaker ruled the SDP motion out of order, and a challenge to his ruling was defeated by 98 votes to 90, with the Agrarians making it clear they would not support the valtalaki on SDP's terms. Parliament came to a vote between the Speaker's motion and Alkio's at 10:00 P.M. and the Agrarian motion was carried by 127 votes to 68, with the socialists and some moderate conservatives supporting it.42 During the debate, there had been noisy demonstrations from the gallery and from a crowd outside parliament, and this helped to spread a sense of panic among 155

the socialist leaders that the mob was going to force their hands and insist on a seizure of power. Wiik analyzed in his diary the apprehensions at the root of the panic:43 The revolution is preposterous, we cannot force the civil servants to obey when we cannot even force them to go on strike. . . . Kuusinen's dogmas have brought us to this, alienated from the workers' way of doing things, yet impotent to change the proletarian character of the movement which kept the intellectuals out. But now, as a consequence of our lack of intellectuals, we shall not be able to master the machinery of government. Wiik was saying that the mainly bourgeois elitists who had climbed into the leadership of the workers' movement since 1906 did not believe they could govern against the determined opposition of their fellow bourgeois. There were exceptions; Sirola expressed confidence that the movement could master the country, and Salin exulted in what he saw as the beginning of the end of the old order. But the other socialist speakers were in such panic that they begged their bourgeois opponents to save them from their own followers. Tokoi began it after the vote when he moved that parliament must now try to conciliate the masses by immediate action, and proposed a new session at 1:00 A.M., when parliament should exercise its new powers to confirm the local government law, the 8-hour law, and the law making the government fully answerable to parliament. He should, of course, have included the valtalaki, but he was so disorganized that he forgot, and had to try and tack it on to his list later, to considerable bourgeois derision. It appears to have been his own idea; no trace of advance discussion is noted in the parliamentary group or the Revolutionary Council. After Tokoi had made his motion, other socialists called for help; Parssinen said, "you have awakened a giant and that giant is now at work. You must act now so that the giant is pacified." Kuusinen said, "I have the understanding that disturbances could happen tomorrow if we, who want to calm the workers down, do not get some kind of concrete results from parliament now," and Valpas declared, "I am informed that the strike leaders do not think they can control all the elements on strike. . . . some of these elements intend, perhaps tomorrow morning, to move."The conservatives were unmoved, but Alkio accepted that it was probably right to make a conciliatory gesture, for "I gravely fear civil war." But it would be enough if they confirmed the local government law and the 8-hour law; the others needed longer consideration. This was carried against Tokoi's motion by 105 votes to 89, and parliament reconvened at 1:40 A.M. on 16 November; after a brief debate, both laws were confirmed with a hard core of 45 conservatives voting against. After the vote Schybergson had the last word, "I beg to ask whether we must fear some new session tonight, or can we go home and sleep?"44 The bourgeois politicians could go home, but the wretched socialist leaders could not; they had to hurry to Siltasaari, where the Revolutionary Council was to meet at 3:00 A.M. in the Workers' Hall. There was a motion before it from Helsinki Red Guard, backed by the Workers' Council, "that the action so far is not satisfactory, 156

but the workers should take power into their own hands throughout the country." Sirola argued that this was premature when the events of that day showed that parliament could be pressured into making concessions, but above all the situation depended on external forces outside their control, "the position in Russia and the eventual attack of the Germans." The right policy was to force parliament to set up a government that would guarantee action on food, grant an amnesty for the strike period, and order the payment of wages lost by it. Gylling, Kuusinen, and Wiik all supported this policy, insisting that the strike must be ended before it got out of hand. The trade union and Red Guard delegates were utterly opposed, declaring that power must be seized; "if there is no revolution the central organs will lose all possibility of exercising restraint on the masses." There was total deadlock. Wiik said that if the masses really wanted to take power let them do so, but the Revolutionary Council should resign rather than "take part in something of which they did not believe any good would come." At 5:00 A.M., they voted and it went 14 to 11 in favor of seizing power, with a clean split between the minority, that is, the political and parliamentary delegates, and the trade union and Red Guard members.45 It was decided to restructure the Revolutionary Council, reducing it from 27 to 16, and then to elect a new executive committee. Since the minority refused to join the new Executive, it was made up of five trade unionists. The critical point of the Finnish revolution had arrived, as the new Executive retired to consider how to implement the seizure of power. They returned to the full Council at 7:00 A.M. to reveal that their nerve had failed them; they could not go ahead without the support of the political wing of the movement. So the Executive moved, and the Revolutionary Council accepted, that "since so large a minority dissented the Council cannot on this occasion begin taking power into the hands of the workers, but will continue to act to increase pressure on the bourgeoisie." The trade unionists confessed that "they could not take the responsibility on themselves." Wiik commented that they had been right "because they are not able to do it."46 The Finnish revolution aborted at 7:00 A.M. on 16 November. The movement had come to the brink of seizing power and retreated from it, thereby going on to the defensive—which is a posture fatal for a revolutionary mass movement. The socialist leaders had shown by deeds that despite years of talk about revolution they had had no real intention or desire to lead a revolution, but that thoughout, their policy had been to prevent it if they could, not just because they feared the bourgeois enemy, but even more because they were fundamentally afraid of their own mass following. The leadership now had to organize a retreat, but could only do so by continuing to make belligerent gestures and speeches, partly to try and bluff the opposition into concessions, partly to mollify, while deceiving, their own followers. In this process they were plunged into such a morass of deceit and double-talk, that when later on they faced a crisis of power that they could not run away from, their credibility and effectiveness had been gravely damaged. In effect Sirola had won and emerged as the leading figure on the morning of 16 November; his policy, that of stepping up the pressure until they got a government 157

that would satisfy the basic demands on food and guarantee immunity from reprisal, was adopted. On his suggestion, they decided to take over the railways, close the law courts, and compel all the agencies of central and local government to cease activity, including Setala's ministry. The new line was published in the "Information Sheet" for 16 November under the heading, "victory for the workers. That is the password. Nothing else will suffice." It was claimed that events in parliament showed that the class enemy was in retreat, but the workers would insist on their remaining demands, and to guarantee them must be assured a share in the exercise of power. "The sanction of the general strike must be continued. . . . It must be made more effective." It was a piece of thorough deception: Those who read the militant talk about securing a share in power for the workers would not know that it had just been determined that the workers were unable to seize power. There was also an attempt to satisfy the restlessness of the Red Guard by assigning to it a new task: It was to begin systematic searches for hidden stocks of food, if possible with the authorization of local Food Boards, but if necessary without; the order said, "we have a chance which must be used. We must do whatever can be done quickly." This order stimulated the Red Guard to extend the policy of entering bourgeois homes to search for food and weapons and added a new dimension of violence to the situation. It was certain some resistance would be made, and some elements in the Red Guard would use such activity as an excuse for plunder and revenge. Already, on 16 November, the first killings occurred in Malmi.47 The influence of these central directives should not be exaggerated, for it was already manifest that many Red Guards did whatever they were inclined to do without reference to the Staff. In Helsinki the Red Guard continued to take its orders from the Strike Committee. On 16 November, they occupied the railway station, the Uusimaa prefecture, and the central government offices, including Government House, where the ministers were required to leave and guards set on the building. When Setala tried to enter next day, he was ordered out at the point of a revolver. These actions were all in line with official policy, and the Strike Committee set up a food department to handle the stocks of food that it hoped to uncover by the searches. But Helsinki Red Guard went on with two actions that no one had authorized and that were to have grave and far-reaching consequences. First, they began to arrest some 200 persons whom they believed to be principal organizers of the Home Guard: Jalander was taken from his home at 4:00 A.M. on 17 November and thrust into a crowded central prison. Bourgeois leaders at once made the release of these men a condition for any dealings with SDP, while the Red Guard increasingly regarded them as hostages against any threat of legal reprisals. Similar arrests took place in Turku and Viipuri, with the same effect of blocking a negotiated settlement. Second, Helsinki Red Guard decided that it needed a headquarters, and on 16 November they took possession of the Saatytalo, where parliamentary committees met and set up their base there.48 On 16 November, the SDP parliamentary group sent a delegation to the bourgeois radicals to discuss terms for collaboration. They were not sure what would be the best form; Gylling envisaged a regular coalition government, and Makelin pre158

ferred socialist support for a bourgeois ministry, as did W i i k . With a coalition, in a situation where "the workers are being driven to anarchy . . . the socialists' good name would be misused to pacify them."The Agrarians and the more radical Activists were w i l l i n g to talk, and the bourgeois side had been deeply divided by the events in parliament. The stricter conservatives wanted to refuse any further parliamentary activity until the threat offeree was lifted, Wrede opposed "any decisions under such coercion," and Ahmavaara wanted no more parliamentary sessions "which are like the worst sort of disorderly street meeting." The radicals like Hultin felt they were being realistic. For only SDP could pacify the workers and it was worth some sacrifice of strict legality to calm things down and clear the way for the one thing that really mattered, the securing of independence. So although there was no immediate agreement, both sides expressed interest in a continuing exchange of views.49 It was 17 November when it became apparent how the uncontrolled actions of the Red Guard were transforming the situation. The most spectacular event was the mounting of an expedition of Helsinki Red Guards and some Russians against Saksaniemi. When the Military Committee moved out to Porvoo, Ignatius had taken 20 rifles out from Porvoo while Sipoo Home Guard was to stop any train coming out from Helsinki. The expedition was not ordered by the Staff of the Red Guard, and was probably organized by the Helsinki Bolsheviks using Taimi as their l i n k with Helsinki Red Guard. It consisted of several hundred armed Russians and Finns, and the defense plan failed completely; the Sipoo men did not stop the train, and Ahrenberg at Saksaniemi discovered that most of the 20 rifles did not work. Ignatius tried to mobilize Porvoo Home Guard to help, but Ahrenberg wisely ordered his men to scatter. The expedition looted Saksaniemi and murdered two members of the domestic staff who had imprudently stayed behind. The expedition then descended on Porvoo where the Home Guard promptly asked for an armistice and agreed to give up their weapons. The Red Guards and their Russian allies stayed for a d r i n k i n g session in the town and then took the train back to Helsinki. The Military Committee concluded that any action on their part was impossible. They decided to disperse and stay under cover until the strike ended. It is easy to see from this how Helsinki Red Guard came to have contempt for the potential bourgeois opposition and confidence in their ability to master it.50 Saksaniemi was spectacular, but the occupation of the Saatytalo proved far more important. The Strike Committee heard of it at 4:00 A.M. on 17 November and sent an immediate order to the Red Guard to leave the building, because it was essential for carrying on parliamentary business. This had no effect, and when SDP parliamentary group tried to meet there they were turned away. They protested to the Strike Committee, who sent a second order: 51 Because the Guard, without our permission and without our knowledge, has occupied the Saatytalo and other places, we must state seriously that such arbitrary actions must not happen. We shall give our orders for all such measures of this kind when it is necessary to institute them.

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But the Guard took no notice of this either, and when the bourgeois Kairamo arrived to convene a committee, he was told "only workers come in here"; when he asked when he could have access, he was told "probably never." Kairamo went to Speaker Lundson, who promptly cancelled the parliamentary session due on 17 November in protest. It is probable, though it cannot be proved, that the action of Helsinki Red Guard was deliberate and intended to wreck any compromise settlement through parliament. If so, it achieved total success. When the Independence Club heard about the events in the Saatytalo, they were unanimous in deciding to break off negotiations with SDP until all the violence was ended. Hultin noted that "it is clear that circumstances are such that today's parliamentary session must be cancelled because parliament can yield nothing to violence. . . . seldom has th Club appeared so unanimous and determined." The SDP parliamentary group did prepare further concessions as a basis for talks with the bourgeois parties, and got the Revolutionary Council to agree to them, but because they could not control the Red Guard they could not meet the bourgeois terms for continuing negotiations; the whole socialist strategy was in ruins because the bourgeois had formed a common front against them.52 A further obstacle to any negotiations, and a cause of added dispute between the Red Guard and the Strike Committee was the problem of the Red Guard prisoners. They had arrested 281 bourgeois notables and thrust them into Helsinki's overcrowded prisons. The Strike Committee had sought to ease tensions by releasing all those who would sign a pledge not to oppose the working class. Thirteen prisoners, including J alander and Serlachius, refused to sign on principle; the rest did so and were released. Helsinki Red Guard protested vigorously to the Strike Committee and bitterly resolved to retain its remaining prisoners as hostages. The bourgeois politicians were just as resolved to make the unconditional release of all prisoners a preliminary of any negotiated settlement.53 The Revolutionary Council met on the eveing of 17 November to face the fact that its new policy had failed. The increased pressure on the bourgeoisie had not produced further concessions but had stiffened their resistance. The subsequent d bate showed the socialist leaders as men haunted by fear, not of their bourgeois opponents but of their own workers, of the Red Guard, of the Russians, and of the whole ugly business of force and violence. Two views emerged, one that the strike could only be ended by promising to install a workers' government, though this would be a transitional device, "a means of sliding out," as Lumivuokko put it. The alternative, put by Kuusinen, was to end the strike unconditionally at once. He said:54 . . . dictatorship will end badly and our organisations will be wholly at risk. . . . if we have a bourgeois government it will be weak. . . . carry on wit other methods. . . . the workers'power is intact. Now we can present certai demands. The Red Guard can be retained, but the prisoners released and the bourgeois should grant an amnesty. A socialist government would be dependent on the Red Guard and that would make things very difficult. The Revolutionary Council was unanimous that the strike must end but divided 160

8-8 on how to do it. So Tokoi was sent to the Workers' Council, whose cooperation would be crucial in ending the strike, to see what their conditions were. As was hi way, Tokoi sniffed out the mood of his audience and then went along with it. He outlined his idea of ending the strike and setting up a workers' government, and asked: "Is the working class ready to seize power?" It would be interesting to know what answer he expected, but what he got were shouts from the floor, "We will take power and keep it." Now Tokoi could sense how the meeting felt, and he swung into line with its mood. "I submit to your decision, I whom you are calling into government as your sacrifice. Act quickly for time is summoning us and the Red Guard is threatened by hunger." Tokoi appears to have seen himself as a living sacrifice, leading the forlorn hope of a workers' government as the only way to get the strike ended. His lack of mental clarity, or basic honesty, was pathetic. He had no idea how the government he was offering could govern, no grasp of the fact that hungry Red Guards, as long as they had rifles, could take the food they needed by force. He had, apparently, no conception that this is what revolutions are all about and how they differ from normal politics. The members of the Workers' Council were made of sterner stuff: In a stormy debate, delegates demanded real revolution, "strike hard at the bourgeoisie. Institute censorship. Transfer industry to public ownership, the land and its appurtenancies must also be transferred to society." They wanted no reluctant government of sacrificial victims; "now if ever, energy and power are required of us. . . . we cannot draw back, we must fight forward." The Workers' Council resolved unanimously that a workers' government must be formed as a condition of ending the strike, and the parliamentary group must see this done.55 In consequence the SDP parliamentary group had to be assembled at midnight, Manner told them what the Workers' Council had decided, and stressed it was the only way to end the strike. They agreed to set up a socialist government under Tokoi, but split 21 to 21 on how it was to be installed and the chairman gave a casting vote to seek confirmation through parliament. No one asked the obvious question, what would happen if parliament refused? Tokoi was sent off to begin consultations. At 2:00 A. M. the Revolutionary Council reassembled to receive the report from the group, and Lumivuokko at once pointed out the ambiguity involved in promising to set up a socialist government through parliament. The political side insisted that only such a government would be viable, and by 7 votes to 5 the Council resolved to establish a "Red, parliamentary government." The defeated trade union men were bitter; Lumivuokko remarked, "When we go in with the politicians we always draw the shortest straws." The official order for ending the strike was then drafted and published in the "Information Sheet" on the morning of 18 November. It announced that the Revolutionary Council "now ceases its activity and dissolves, transferring authority on all matters to the Social Democratic party Executive."The Finnish revolution had finally been scuttled by its leaders.56 The statement began by claiming that the strike had succeeded in forcing the votes of 15 November from the bourgeois majority. It conceded that nothing had been done about food, but "that cannot be relieved through a general strike."The 161

struggle over this "should now be continued by other means, in parliament and out." The statement took credit for limiting the use offeree since no amount of violence could alone create a socialist society in Finland, "even at the price of the blood of the most heroic workers." The Red Guard was flattered; it had "carried through its first, great, responsible mission," but now it must put up its weapons in safe places and release its prisoners, though it was entitled to guarantees against legal reprisals. Finally, the statement said "it remains the task of the parliamentary group to try to form a workers' Red government, which is the best means to secure the achievements of the general strike and the other interests of the workers." This gave away the fraud being perpetrated on the workers; the Red government, which was to have been the condition for ending the strike, was not a reality but an aspiration only. This emerged more clearly in an accompanying "Commentary on the General Strike." This statement tried to set the strike in a broad historical perspective, and repeated the theme that the socialist revolution could not be realised "in tiny, underdeveloped Finland in isolation," that a socialist government might prove impossible, and a coalition might be the only feasible alternative. The trade unionists added their own note of dissent to the statement, built round the failure to do anything about the food crisis, which they saw as the central issue. They would have regarded measures "to take the government into the hands of the workers" as the only satisfactory guarantee that this problem would be dealt with, but they accepted the promise of a Red government as justifying an end to the strike.57 It would be unreal to suppose that when the Revolutionary Council drafted the statement, it was done with intent to deceive. The rationalizations on which it rested probably seemed convincing to them; they had not betrayed the cause of the workers. They were suggesting a pause in the onward march, as they made clear in the statement, "Our cause must go forward comrades. Be ready and order your ranks. The armistice could be short." The leaders were genuinely and rightly worried about the unreliability of the Red Guard, uncertain about the intentions of the Russian soldiers, unwilling in any case to be left wholly dependent on their support, and uncertain whether the Bolsheviks were going to survive in Russia or how the international situation might develop. There was a sound, rational case for putting off a seizure of power until the movement was better prepared and the international situation had clarified. The mass of the workers, however, could not see things in this light. They thought they had been called out for the final confrontation in the class war, and, more important, they believed they had won and that the enemy was beaten. It was difficult to understand the leaders' unwillingness to exploit the success and consolidate the victory: It must have looked and felt like a betrayal. During the course of 18 November it was shown that this was the reaction: a deputation of angry railwaymen came to the Workers' Hall to see the leaders, "very angry," as Wiik described them. They told Manner to his face "you have betrayed the workers, the strike must go on until a socialist government is established." More seriously, the Strike Committee met at 9:30 and demanded a socialist government. The Red Guard must stay in arms until this was achieved, and the strike continue until "all power is taken into the workers' hands."Then the Workers'Council met 162

and endorsed the resolution of the Strike Committee, and had them put to mass meetings. The meetings returned the same answer, that the strike would continue until the government was formed. At an evening meeting of the Workers' Council they moderated their position to acceptance of a coalition, provided it had a socialist majority, but this did not help because all approaches to the bourgeoisie were rebuffed. Alkio would not now go alone into a coalition with SDP, nor would he discuss an amnesty for the strike period, one of the most essential conditions. Tokoi's meeting with the Activists H. Renvall and H. Ritavuori ended badly. Renvall demanded answers to two questions as a prior condition: Had SDP authorized the acts of violence, which Tokoi could truthfully deny, and had the Red Guard got their weapons from the Russian soldiers? To which Tokoi answered, "such aid has neither been asked nor received." Since Renvall had actually watched the Russians taking rifles to the Workers' Hall, he knew this was a lie, but Tokoi was not averse to telling lies to get out of awkward situations. Renvall promptly broke off the discussion, "I put as a condition an honest and truthful answer, but since I see that I have not got one, I do not see how I at least can continue discussion of this matter." So Tokoi had to tell the SDP Executive that it was impossible to form a parliamentary government, and the Executive instructed the parliamentary group to form "a provisional workers' government, which can supervise the nation's business for the time being, while parliament is not meeting." 58 The parliamentary group found itself holding another midnight meeting, and Tokoi told them it would have to be "a revolutionary government to which the Manner parliament or some other organisation can give legal cover." Makelin agreed; they could either "let disorder continue still or else you must proclaim the dictatorship of the proletariat." There was embittered opposition, but Tokoi insisted on the facts; "the strike movement cannot be ended from the parlour. This may be painful but nothing can be done about it." In the end, the group voted by 46 to 16 that Tokoi should go ahead and form a government and draft a program, and they would seek to get it installed through parliament, and if that failed, "then the course of events will decide the next step." On 19 November Tokoi had his list of ministers and a program, and they were put to three mass meetings during the morning. Tokoi told his meeting that either parliament would install the government that day, or if not, the old parliament would be called to do it; in any case his government would be functioning immediately. The meeting was rightly skeptical and said they would meet again the following day; they would call off the strike when they had seen the undertakings about the government fulfilled. The other two meetings were more trusting, agreeing that the strike should end on 20 November, though in each, Red Guard elements hurled accusations of betrayal at the speakers. The Strike Committee met at 1:00 P.M. and decided by 13 to 3 that since two meetings out of three were agreeable, the strike should end at 2:00 P.M. the next day, and the Committee then dissolved itself. As Tuominen, the chairman, was clearing up after, a band of armed Red Guards entered and said that the strike must go on; to pacify them he added to the notice ending the strike; "This ending of the strike does not mean that the revolutionary struggle has ended, but it will go on until those demands have 163

been realised for which the workers began this great struggle." This was taken by Helsinki Red Guard to mean that their armed activity was to continue, even though the strike did not.59 Huotari was sent to Lundson to demand that parliament should meet on 20 November, but Lundson said that depended on an end to the violence and illegality. The bourgeois politicians were now solid; parliament would not meet until the strike ended and the prisoners were released, and Alkio and the Agrarians were now ready to join a purely bourgeois government. So that even if parliament did meet, it was increasingly unlikely that any kind of socialist government would result. As it was, the SDP group had to admit to Lundson that they were not in a position to meet his terms for holding a session. Some radicals then suggested recalling the old parliament, but the majority decided to wait and see what turned up next day. This wa also the result of meetings of the SDP Executive, and then of the joint Executives of SDP and SAJ; there was a lot of bad-tempered recrimination, but nobody could suggest a way forward. As Wiik noted, "the discussions yielded no result."60 On the morning of 20 November, the newspapers reappeared and at once injected a new element into the situation by describing the scale and extent of the violence that had been occurring round the country. The bulk of the trouble went no further than searches and arrests, with the confiscation of food and weapons, some inevitable looting, and a fair amount of violent language and rough behavior. Up to 19 November, 14 people had been murdered, all but the two victims at Saksaniemi isolated individual killings, with a concentration in Malmi. But the signs were that the violence was escalating as the more aggressive Red Guards began to expand their activity. One expected trouble center was Satakunta, where the Home Guard had mobilized in the rural communes during the strike, and generally kept the workers down. On 18 November Turku Red Guard sent an expedition to Loimaa, where they set up headquarters and proceeded to launch searches in the surrounding villages for food and weapons. On 21 November, Loimaa Home Guard ambushed a search party, killing one Red Guard and taking others prisoner. They were then ambushed in turn by a second force of Red Guards and eventually fled, leaving two of their own men and one more Red Guard dead. This left the Turku Red Guard in control of the Loimaa area, but the situation was close to civil war.61 Viipuri had been quiet during the strike, the garrison remained neutral, and the Home Guard decided it was prudent to remain inactive, for fear of provoking the Russians. Only the railway officials stubbornly refused to let the Revolutionary Committee take control of the station, so Viipuri asked Kotka Red Guard for help. A 200-man expedition, led by Aaltonen, came to Viipuri and joined up with Viipuri Red Guard under H. Kaljunen. They started a policy of searches in the city, forcing the railway officials to submit. On 19 November they sent out an expedition to investigate reports of Home Guard concentrations at Hiitola and Kakisalmi. The latter place was occupied, the local notables arrested, and food and weapons confiscated and then sold off to the local workers. The Home Guard determined to stop the further progress of this expedition, which Kaljunen was directing, and on 20 November attacked their train at Pyhajarvi station. During the ensuing battle, the Home 164

Guard were badly beaten, with three killed, several wounded, and 60 taken prisoner. Kaljunen indulged a great deal of verbal violence against his prisoners, and then contemptuously ransomed them in return for food. Once the Kotka men and Kaljunen had established worker dominance in the countryside round Viipuri, Red Guard activity erupted in previously quiet communes; a number of killings followed. All of this violence was unofficial, in the sense that it had not been ordered or sanctioned by the party, and some Red Guards had been penetrated by men of violence. A worker from Loimaa remarked that the Turku expedition contained many "who had never had any kind of membership card of a workers' organisation in their pockets." The presence of hooligan elements in the ranks of the Red Guard, men who could not be controlled by the party, made the continuation and expansion of the Guard's armed activity a serious obstacle to restoring social tranquility.62 Once bourgeois Finland was aware of the violence, a wave of indignation swept the country, exacerbated by the knowledge that the weapons with which the violence was committed had been procured through collaboration with Russian soldiers. Helsingin Sanomat on 20 November wrote of the "socialist terrorist general strike" and of "unarmed peaceful citizens murdered and mutilated." Uusi Paiva headlined "Red Terror. Socialist butcher guards, with Russian bayonets terrorise society. Terrible murders and bloody deeds." The paper said "the murders are the responsibility of the Social Democratic party. . . . the socialist leaders are washing their hands. . . . but the stains will not go away and the smell of blood stinks far and wide." The measure of the political damage done was an article by Alkio in Ilkka on 22 November, in which he wrote: 63 . . . from now on we do not need to be in any doubt who are the real butchers in this country. . . . the party will never get its hands clean of the innocent blood with which they are stained now. . . . not a single individual who, after this, adopts the principles of the party and supports its activity is free from responsibility. The only way in which the socialists could have warded off this torrent of accusation would have been a clear and unequivocal repudiation of the violence. But although they had not sanctioned it, and found it repugnant, they could not avoid an ambivalent attitude to it. Tyomies regretted violent incidents but suggested that most were the product of bourgeois provocations; the parliamentary group put out a statement that "it was endeavoured by the workers' organisations to direct the stirred-up masses into a peaceful general strike. In this they succeeded—and they did not succeed." The Helsinki Workers' Council protested at the bourgeois press campaign; the movement did not answer for "outrages committed by private individuals". They agreed however that "during the general strike there has, perhaps, occurred one or two things which could not be approved . . . butwhich are humanly understandable." The socialist response can only be described as morally evasive, and it acted as a further provocation to the bourgeoisie.64 The full moral fury can best be measured by an article written by the distinguished novelist, J. Aho, in Helsingin Sanomat on 24 November. He described three 165

brutal killings in he Helsinki area, and then poured scorn on the socialist notables, "former ministers, members of parliament. . . ." who dared to propose themselves as a government while demanding an amnesty for the perpetrators of such atrocities. Aho continued:65 . . . never . . . even if our political independence perish for a time, not even then. . . . A thousand times rather any kind of destruction, any kind of collapse, than such a building. The Finnish people will stand fearless still in theruinsof the collapsing citadel of thelaw. . . . They do not dare to take a stand against it. The newpaper does not relate a single murder other than that it happened in self-defence, or a pistol went off by accident. . . . It does not want to awaken in its readers any feeling of responsibility for what has happened. What a splendid deed if the leaders had acted otherwise, if they had stepped forward and said: we cannot legalise your violence, you can answer for your actions, shoot us if you want. Then they would have been men. . . . Aho concluded that until the socialist leaders were prepared to face up to their responsiblity for what their followers had done, there could be no question of admitting them to a share in government. Aho's article was exaggerated, unfair, and highly emotional, but it reflected vividly what the violence inflicted by the Red Guard during the general strike had done to the political situation in Finland. The trend towards polarization between the socialists and the rest of Finnish society had been obvious enough since March 1917. But until 16 November that part of the nonsocialist sector represented by the Agrarians and Activists in the Independence Club had wished sincerely, and many of them actually preferred, to find solutions for the political crisis through agreement and cooperation with SDP. After that date, their shock and revulsion at the criminal violence that had occurred, combined with their horror over the collaboration with the Russian enemy that had made it possible, convinced them that it was useless even to think of joining with those who, they believed, had encouraged or condoned it. It became increasingly difficult for socialist and nonsocialist Finns to see each other as fellow citizens, whose common interests outweighed their differences. Communication between the two opposed camps virtually ceased, and a state of political deadlock was produced that could only be broken by civil war, or foreign intervention. The first sign of the new politics came on 20 November when, because the Speaker still refused to call a session, the SDP parliamentary group convened an informal meeting of members of parliament at noon, to which 13 Agrarians and one or two other bourgeois members came. Salin explained that SDP could not satisfy the Speaker's conditions for parliament to meet, because the Red Guard would not release their prisoners until they were promised an amnesty. But Juutilainen affirmed that parliament would not meet while there was a threat of force, Lohi said there could be no amnesty for criminal acts, and Rantala said that it was for SDP to repudiate the violence and put an end to it. The meeting broke up at 3:00 P.M. with the bourgeois representatives completely deaf to the pleadings of the socialists; they 166

were no longer interested in anything the socialists had to say. When the SDP parliamentary group met at 4:00 P.M. to consider what to do, they were at a loss: They formally approved Tokoi's list of ministers and his program, but could not determine how his government could be installed. Tokoi and Eloranta wanted to summon the Manner parliament, but most of their colleagues felt that this would solve nothing, and in the end no decision could be made. The problem was passed back to the SDP Executive, but they too felt that the Red Guard was beyond their control; indeed Manner said that the Guard, "in whose leadership hooligans now decide," was likely to commit further provocations. The only way they could devise to try and restore unity and discipline to the workers' movement was to recall the party Congress for 25 November.66 The following day, 21 November, the situation remained confused: Violence was continuing; in some parts of the country, the strike had ended and normal conditions had been restored, but this was by no means general. Because of the continuing violence the bourgeois leaders stood firm. Hultin noted that "the general opinion is that parliament must not assemble before armed violence has ceased." Parliament did meet on 21 November, but only to elect its committees; the Speaker would not allow SDP to present its government list for approval. When Wiik came to party headquarters in the morning, he found the leaders divided and irresolute. Haapalainen and Aaltonen were boasting how they had the Red Guard under control—"it carries out only the orders of the Staff"—something they could scarcely have believed had they been sober. Tokoi was making what Wiik described as typically two-faced speeches and Sirola blamed everything on the trade unionists, calling them revisionists at heart and wondering whether the serious Marxists should not break away.67 At 2:00 P.M. a general conference was held in the Workers' Hall, basically the parliamentary group, but reinforced by representatives from the provinces, the Red Guard, and the trade unions. Kuusinen proposed that they proclaim Tokoi's government at once and ignore parliament, because there was no other way they could get the Red Guard under control. "If power is not installed in socialist hands then potential bloodshed cannot be avoided. In order to make the Red Guard a supporter of order and not a disrupter, speedy measures are demanded." He confessed that "yesterday I was of a different opinion," but it would only be a temporary expedient and the Congress could cancel it if it wished. Tokoi, on the other hand, thought that they should summon the Manner parliament next day to confirm the government; "the masses are waiting, they are weary of uncertainty." Sirola agreed, but stressed that they must make it clear this was not the proletarian revolution, and suggested that once the old parliament had installed the government, it might transfer its powers to the new parliament, thus restoring the option of returning to constitutional politics. He judged the workers were not strong enough to sustain more than a transitory seizure of power, particularly as in the last resort the bourgeois could play the card of German intervention. Only Haapalainen argued for open-ended revoutionary action, "The nation is acting . . . so come along." 167

They could begin with a "small revolution" and then let it develop, it "could be led into a big revolution. . . . The workers have decided. They care little for parliament. . . . proclaim the dictatorship of the proletariat." A long debate followed, revealing three currents of opinion. A small group of revolutionaries supported Haapalainen, like Vuorio, who declared, "we shall not get any further by the parliamentary way. . . . Let us get a revolutionary government that can govern." There was the group that supported the now united SDP/SAJ leadership for a temporary installation of a socialist government by the old parliament; finally, there were the moderates, mostly parliamentarians, led by Aronen, Kiviniemi, Jalava, Tuomi, and Wuoristo, who wanted to wait for Congress to decide on 25 November, to avoid any resort to revolutionary politics. Within this group there was a spectrum of opinions; Airola rejected a socialist government in a capitalist society on any terms, Wuoristo simply thought it could not work, and Tuomi disliked the idea of depending on the Red Guard or the Russians. In the end, five different motions were made, which then were reduced to two, one for proclaiming the Tokoi government at once, the other for referring the whole question to Congress. Only members of parliament voted, and the moderate motion was carried by 44 votes to 33.68 The peculiarities of this vote were of great significance for the future. Since it really represented the clash of five different points of view, neither the majority nor the minority represented a united body of opinion; the movemen was not simply divided into revolutionaries and moderates, which left the future subject to new shifts and alignments of forces internally. More important, there was no major figure in the majority group who could have consolidated their strength and led them to a position of preponderant influence within the movement, whereas the minority contained nearly all the recognized leaders; and while the immediate policy recommendation of the minority was rejected, there was no move to displace them. The future policy of the movement would still be shaped by the men whose arguments were defeated on 21 November. The socialist leaders tried to get a grip on developments. SDP Executive met after the debate on 21 November and remodeled the commanding Staff of the Red Guard; Haapalainen was put out and the Staff told to establish strict discipline in the Guard.69 But this attempt to assert central control had no immediate effect. The gradual restoration of normality in the country grew out of local negotiations with Red Guards. In Helsinki, the Workers' Council managed to persuade Helsinki Red Guard to accept the release of all but 12 prisoners, and to agree to leave the remainder in the custody of the ordinary prison authorities until they could negotiate a final settlement. The Guard reluctantly agreed to return the policing of the city to the militia and to evacuate the police stations and the Saatytalo. The Guard transferred its headquarters to the Kaivohuone restaurant with every intention of continuing its armed actions.70 Generally, wherever the Red Guard was strong and active, it forced the local bourgeois authorities and employers to purchase a cessation of armed activity. Kotka and the Kymi valley settled on 24 November: The Kotka Red Guard would 168

keep its weapons, but put them in storage, and the local workers would be paid for the period of the strike. Prisoners would be released and food seized by the Guard distributed through the normal rationing system. In Viipuri, further killings occurred before a similar agreement was concluded. Tampere Red Guard settled for a payment of 100,000 marks, but Turku was more demanding. The Red Guard there wanted half a million marks and other concessions and even then refused to release their prisoners, who were regarded as hostages for an amnesty, or to allow the officials of the provincial prefecture to resume their functions. Nor did these local agreements ensure an end to Red Guard violence. A number of incidents showed that as long as the Red Guard had weapons, they could and would blackmail and terrorize the bourgeoisie in total disregard of the instructions of their official leaders in Helsinki. In such circumstances it was a mockery to talk of a return to normal conditions after the strike —the society was manifestly poised on the brink of civil war.71 It is probable that a genuine settlement could have been achieved only under the auspices of a coalition government of socialists and radical bourgeois, and this option was still theoretically open. Helsingin Sanomat discussed it as a possibility on 25 November. Uusi Paiva, on the following day, recognized that such a government was the surest way to pacification. But their suggested conditions were severe, "only such socialists could come into question who condemn the bloody acts committed in the strike terror. There can be no bargaining over that demand." Informal talks between Activist politicians and some of the revisionist socialists only demonstrated that the bourgeois refusal to enter a government with those "whose hands are stained with the blood of fellow citizens" made the idea impractical. The Independence Club reviewed the situation on 25 November and concluded that "the possiblity of a third government list is to be regarded as having finally lapsed." This effort to avoid the full polarization of Finnish politics never had any real substance. It was a ghost from a dead past, a past that had perished in the traumas of the general strike. 72 Since 20 November the majority of bourgeois politicians were resolved to present their own government list to parliament and were unanimous that the only possible leader for it was P. E. Svinhufvud. He had his national reputaion for his public resistance to Russian oppression before 1914 and was respected for the period of Siberian exile that had ensued. Even the socialists recognized Svinhufvud as a man of fierce integrity and iron will devoted to the rule of law, and respected him for it. Svinhufvud was a formidable man by any standards, with the qualities of one who had no doubts about the Tightness of his principles. He also had the defects which that involved, rigidity or stubbornness, unwillingness to listen to advice from clever men of lesser integrity, and a tendency to regard compromise as a mark of moral failure. This proved a problem in forming a government, for the Agrarians remained attached to the principle of the sovereignty of parliament, while Svinhufvud regarded the vote of 15 November as unconstitutional, because it violated the principle of the division of powers. Svinhufvud did agree to bend a little on this; he would head a government based on the resolution of 15 November, but only on conditions: 73 169

that parliament, by this decision, did not intend to begin exercising the sovereign power directly, which even for practical reasons would be impossible. I assume therefore that parliament leaves to the government the exercise of those rights which are necessary, in order that the government can carry out the tasks of ruling the country. This was a great concession on Svinhufvud's part, for he insisted that "in my opinion, parliament should not have assumed the exercise of the sovereign powers, but should now, when there is no ruler, have elected a regent." Once this obstacle had been overcome, it was easy to agree on a program. Independence came first, "the most important task . . . is the securing of Finland's political independence." Law and order came next; there must be a new constitution and "the general concept of justice must be clarified and law enforcement powers strengthened so that orderly existence may continue." The rest was a liberal reform program, with a promise to tackle the food crisis with energy. While the negotiations for a government list went on, the politicians held a conference with the Military Committee representatives to discuss how a national militia might be established, and general agreement was reached on plans put forward by Ignatius to develop the Home Guard movement for this purpose. At midnight on 23 November, Svinhufvud completed his government list in time for a session of parliament on the following day.74 Parliament met on 24 November for its first full session since the early hours of 16 November and was faced by two government lists and two programs. The programs were not widely different—both began with independence—only the socialists insisted that the valtalaki must be the basis, "to be amplified by regulating the laws on Finland's foreign policy and military affairs." Both agreed on the need for a constitution, "to be constructed on a basis of democracy" as Svinhufvud's program put it, while the socialists specified it must rest on the principle of the sovereignty of parliament, with a lower voting age. The real division came on law and order; Svinhufvud was committed to establishing a strong force for the maintenance of order, while the socialist program said nothing about this. Instead it demanded an amnesty for those "who had executed decisions of organisations in furtherance of the general strike." This could be read as excluding acts of murder and robbery that had not been sanctioned by any organization, but it was obvious already that the socialists could not permit the prosecution of those guilty of outrages, however much they regretted them.75 The similarities of the two programs only obscured the gap that now separated the two camps, which became apparent as soon as the debate opened. Kairamo led for the bourgeois side in a speech accusing the socialists of betraying Finland's independence to the Bolsheviks. They had "sealed a close blood-brotherhood with the holders of power in Petrograd," and together with their "repulsive allies" had shed the blood of fellow countrymen. Hultin deplored this speech as provocative and unhelpful, but even a liberal Agrarian like Juutilainen, who dissociated himself and his party from the hard-line conservatives, insisted that some men on Tokoi's list were responsible for terrorism and could not be part of any govern170

ment. Salin delivered the socialist reply, hurling back the charge of foreign intervention and citing the open efforts of the bourgeoisie to get the Germans to support them; "what else is that but reliance on external force, armed force?" For decades the capitalists had oppressed the Finnish workers with the help of Russian arms; "You sat firmly in the saddle, safeguarded by Russian bayonets. But now those bayonets are wavering from under your backsides. . . . Now they seem to be be hind the working class." The bourgeoisie had provoked the anarchy of which they complained by their past behavior; "you are a cynical and shameless people." These were good debating points, but they showed that dialogue had ceased; both sides were talking to their own followers. Even so, the socialists tried to postpone the final rupture; Ma'ki moved an adjournment to 26 November, in the hope that the SDP Congress might have some compromise to suggest. Since the motion was carried by one vote, a handful of bourgeois, who also feared confrontation, must have supported it.76 The special Congress of SDP, which sat from 25-27 November, was intended to restore unity to the movement by defining the future policy it was to follow. The Congress had the obvious defect that, being a recall conference elected in April under very different circumstances, it might not reflect the current mood of the party. It was an open Congress because the SDP Executive, when it met on 23 November, could not agree on recommendations to put before it and had resolved to leave Congress to decide. The moderates had organized to draft a set of resolutions to commit the movement to constitutional forms of activity only, while the radicals procured a collection of telegrams from the provinces, all telling the Congress that it must secure a workers' government. Tampere trade unionists repudiated in advance any coalition government; lisvesi declared that the Manner parliament was the only legal one, Pyhajarvi wanted the nationalisation of everything without compensation, and Pirkkala demanded "a Red government and that Congress take a decisive stand so that democratic demands shall be achieved and safeguarded." These reactions give grounds for thinking that the mood of the party activists may have been more radical that the mood of the Congress delegates.77 Manner presided and he opened by confessing that the movement had got into unanticipated difficulties: 78 The general strike, once begun, turned into a revolutionary movement. The intention had been to fight with peaceful methods. But circumstances —the wretched conduct of the bourgeoisie —caused in part something different. The strike battle turned in part into bloodshed. Sirola presented a report from the Revolutionary Council, taking the line that since its conduct had been criticized by all factions, it probably had represented the party consensus, so that at least the movement was still united. However, events could easily throw up a new revolutionary crisis, and Congress must decide now how it should be tackled. Kuusinen reported on behalf of the party Executive; since that body had no recommendation to make, he merely outlined the options, to take power now, recognizing that it could only be a short-term expedient, or to 171

revert to constitutional politics. He showed that his personal inclination was to take power until a constituent assembly could be elected; this would safeguard "the achievements of the working class to date, so that they would not be lost even if we were defeated in the elections." Such a government would not even to able to control the whole country; areas like Pohjanmaa would be beyond its power, "but perhaps it could calm things down for that period of time." To allow a bourgeois government to be installed would be to expose the working class to legal repression, and he made an ominous reference to the suppression of the Paris Commune. But at the end Kuusinen stressed that it was for Congress to decide "which of the aforementioned lines it wishes to follow." In the debate, the case for the moderates was built on the argument, put strongly by Wiik and T. Tainio, that on Marxist principles Finland was not yet ready for revolution. Experience showed that the movement could not sustain a revolutionary government; as Gylling put it, "If we can only sustain a general strike badly, how much less could we sustain a dictatorship of the proletariat." This argument was buttressed by reference to the dangers of relying on Russian support, what Tainio called "depending on conditions and events in our neighbouring country." Turkia strongly backed this line, declaring that the Russians " are certainly willing to help, but the help is a bit sporadic." Finally the moderates asserted thatSDP was strong enough in parliament to prevent the bourgeois majority from doing much harm, and some still looked to the possibility of coalition with the progressive bourgeoisie. The real revolutionaries, as distinct from the Kuusinen revolutionaries for whom the seizure of power was tactical only, were a small group. Wesley said, "We are afraid of dictatorship here, and yet the country's proletariat has had to live under a bourgeois dictatorship. Why should not the dictatorship now be the proletariat's?" Tuomi simply declared his loyalty to the class-war principles of Zimmerwald; Haapalainen, and Hyrskymurto argued more pragmatically that the workers could not now return to parliamentary politics. Haapalainen conceded that it would be difficult to wield power, but if civil servants and capitalists resorted to resistance, "we can get them working by the simple device of taking ration cards away from strikers." Hyrskymurto quoted the example of this own Turku party, which would not permit the reinstatement of the deposed legal authorities, as proof that the masses insisted on taking all power for themselves. Since Manner and Kuusinen were professing neutrality, the case for the radical leadership was put by Tokoi and Sirola. Tokoi reminded them that in the summer "I tried to preach peace and I was abused for it." Now there must be a socialist government and the movement must rally behind it; this was dicatated by necessity, "you cannot stop a revolution by decisions of the party Congress." He hoped they could get enought support from Russia, particularly over food, to overcome the difficulties. He concluded, "My position is that the revolution cannot be avoided, it is coming because vast forces are on the move." Sirola was more positive, saying it was true the movement could not now carry out the socialist revolution in Finland, but they could achieve a considerable level of democratization of society. The movement would split if it renounced all revolutionary action; "we cannot deprive 172

the workers, who have taken the revolutionary path, of hope. . . . we must go along with them and try to do what can be done with the movement." He recommended letting the moderates try what they could do through parliamentary methods, but in the conviction that these would fail, so that the movement would also prepare itself for a reversion to revolutionary activity. The debate lasted for hours and was wound up at 11:00 P.M., when thy voted on the choice between parliamentary and revolutionary methods, and the parliamentarians won by 59 votes to 43 This meant that the drafting committee, which would present the final resolutions to the Congress, would take as its basis the set of resolutions drafted by the moderates, and presented during the debate by S. Heikkila, with the signed support of 18 delegates. The draft contained three clauses:79 1) The attainment of the objectives of social democracy is still to be sought through political, trade union and cooperative organisation, and through parliamentary and local government action, and the party declares that it rejects anarchist and anarcho-syndicalist methods of struggle. . . . 2) The temporary Guard, which the party leadership has formed, is to be developed in accordance with the established standards of conduct of the mature workers into reliable organisations so that they support the party and the activity of the working class, and do not damage it. 3) ... our economically underdeveloped country does not possess sufficient conditions for a dictatorship of the proletariat. . . . a purely socialist government, because it would not be supported by a socialist majority in parliament . . . would before long prove harmful to social democracy in our country. On the government question, while they would regard a bourgeois government a natural, a coalition with a socialist majority and a properly approved program "could be accepted in the compelling circumstances which prevail."This was a bid by the revisionists to take over the movement: The resolutions in effect nullified the acceptance of Zimmerwald principles, threatened to deprive the revolutionaries of control of the Red Guard, and challenged them to leave the movement if they would not accept the total repudiation of their recent policies. During 26 November, while the drafting committee was at work, the Congress turned to the question of the parliamentary vote on the government that day. Since Congress had not yet determined a policy, it was accepted that the parliamentary group should simply vote for the Tokoi list, but only as a gesture, "since the workers of Helsinki demanded it" as Hamalainen said. They knew it must be defeated. Instead, the Congress tried to grapple with the problem of the Red Guard. This was a painful and difficult topic as could be seen in the notes Sirola made for his report on the work of the Revolutionary Council. He was conscious that both the violence and the taking of help from the Russians were distasteful to many, perhaps most socialists. He queried in a margin whether to mention violence at all, but clearly felt he had to say something about it. A sentence saying that all acts of malicious 173

violence harmed the movement was crossed out, and instead he proposed to say that acts of hooliganism had occurred, but the party was not responsible, because such phenomena only proved "how great is the despair that part of the proletariat has come to." Sirola had planned to add that these hooligan elements would have to be purged, but struck it out, as he did the sentence, "It is understandable also that for that purpose arms have been borrowed and help taken from the Russian soldiers." These notes for Sirola's speech show the mental struggle of a humane and civilized man, who accepted the inevitability of revolution as part of the political process, but was repelled by the violence it entailed. Yet he felt he must avoid any expression that might alienate the Red Guard, or seem to support the bourgeois campaign of protest at its activity. It had been hoped to stay clear of this subject when the Congress accepted the presence of Sorsa, a member of the commanding Staff as representing the Red Guard, for he immediately assured Congress that the Red Guard would accept loyally whatever the Congress decided.80 Then, on 26 November, a delegation from Helsinki Red Guard demanded a hearing on the grounds that Sorsa was not representative, and Congress reluctantly allowed five minutes, during which K. Salminen spoke. He said bluntly that Helsinki Red Guard would not accept the Heikkila resolutions and would defy them if they were passed: "The Guard is not satisfied that power should go to the bourgeoisie. It will defend the liberties already won, arms in hand. They demand power for the proletariat." This was very badly received; A. Halonen, seconded by Salin, moved "an unreserved protest against the coup which Helsinki Red Guard has planned against the whole working class of Finland. . . . It is the duty of the party not to submit to Red Guard threats." The sense of outrage was general; even Hyrskymurto conceded that the acts of violence committed by the Red Guard should be investigated, Sorsa suggested that Helsinki Red Guard had been infiltrated by undesirables, and Manninen alleged that the deputation had been unrepresentative, that "those delegates represent perhaps a tenth part of the Helsinki Guard." He was sure that the majority would accept whatever Congress decided. Yet in the debate in Congress, and later in committee, no suggestion was made that the Guard could be dispensed with; all were agreed that they needed it, but the question was, as Wiik noted, how "the Guards can be developed so that they can be relied on." The outcome was that on the following day A. Wesley introduced a motion in the name of the Red Guard, in which it was recognized that the Guard must obey the commanding Staff appointed by the party, and agreed that for the present it should lay up its weapons and that there should be a purge of the membership. The Congress accepted this declaration of intent, and voted to set up a special "revolution fund" to finance the Guard. This meant that the very real problem of how the party was to control the Red Guard was hidden behind a screen of empty verbiage.81 The Congress session on 27 November opened with a speech by Stalin, who represented the Bolshevik government, in which he was commissar for nationalities. His mission was to follow up Lenin's urgings to the leaders of SDP and persuade them that it was their duty to seize power. Stalin had already spent time lobbying the leaders before he addressed the Congress, with J. Rahja translating. He claimed that 174

the Bolshevik experience showed how rotten the capitalist structure was, and the "possibility of victory for the revolution." He listed all the arguments that had been advanced against the Bolshevik seizure of power and said that they had all proved groundless, while the prolongation of the war meant that imperialism would soon collapse all over Europe. He went on to speak of self-determination, because the argument that their policy would fragment the Russian state had been one of the strongest to be advanced against the Bolsheviks: But I must say as strongly as possible that we would not be democrats (I say nothing about socialists) if we did not recognise the right of self-determination for the peoples of Russia. I say we should betray socialism if we did not institute all measures to restore fraternal confidence between Finnish and Russian workers. . . . the Council of Peoples'Commissars will confirm their verbal recognition by deeds, so that it will be realised unswervingly in reality. . . . full freedom to organise their own lives to both the Finnish people and the other peoples of Russia. A free honest alliance of the Finnish people with the Russian people. This was the incentive to arouse the enthusiasm of the Finns, immediate independence without conditions; then he came back to his central preoccupation, the seizure of power. No doubt SDP too had been frightened off by the supposed difficulties, but these were illusory. "In the present atmosphere only one course of action is valid, Danton's course of action, 'boldness, boldness and yet more boldness.' If you need our help then we will give it, offering you our fraternal hand. Of this you can be certain." This was reinforced by Rahja, who spoke in the name of the Area Committee; he said that the bourgeoisie was trying to persuade them to neutrality in the class struggle, "but they have not met with any response. . . . The revolutionary organisations will give all their support and strength against the wellarmed bourgeoisie of Finland." This Bolshevik pressure came too late; the mood of the Finnish socialists had already swung against a seizure of power, though it would subsequently strengthen the hands of the revolutionaries in SDP when the question was reopened, that the Bolsheviks had offered unstinted support. In the short term, Stalin's intervention may have proved diversionary, for it encouraged the leaders of the Finnish socialists to pursue the offer of independence, on which they could all agree, and to postpone the problem of taking power, over which they were divided. It certainly had no effect on the Congress decisions, because these had already been made before Stalin spoke.82 The drafting committee reported to the full Congress an amended text of the Heikkila resolution for which there had been an overwhelming majority. The preamble was reinforced by asserting that the valtalaki and Me vaadimme were still the current policy of the movement, so that full socialist revolution was exclude as an objective. Then they added what appeared to be a contradiction of the whole spirit of Heikkila when they said the movement would employ "all the methods consistent with the conscience of the people. It reserves for the workers the right, when nothing else will help, to defend itself in arms against an armed enemy." The 175

contradiction was only apparent, because it was made clear that a resort to arms would only be a response to an actual armed attack on the workers. They then condemned all violent outrages, though they naturally charged the bourgeoisie with responsiblity for them, "both present and to come, because it has fomented the anarchistic spirit by its blocking policies." The Heikkila clause about the Red Guard was adopted without substantial amendment. The substantive change came at the end, where the statement about forming a government was completely rewritten: 83 Because in these revolutionary times, there could arise a situation in which the driving through of the workers' immediate demands mentioned at the beginning could demand, temporarily, either taking the government and state power wholly into socialist hands, or the socialists participating in a coalition government, in which the bourgeois members are a minority, then let the social democratic parliamentary group and the party Council consider whether the one or other of these courses can be firmly expected to be more advantageous to the class struggle of social democracy, than harmful and dangerous, and if they come to an agreed decision about the advantages and conditions of the one policy or the other, then let that be permitted for the time being. What the drafting committee had done was to take the Heikkila resolution, which was intended to commit the movement exclusively to constitutional forms of action, and tack on a clause which could permit the adoption of the KuusinenManner-Tokoi policy of a temporary seizure of power in a revolutionary crisis. This totally nullified the point of the Heikkila resolution, which was to determine finally what forms of action the movement should adopt, by leaving the whole question unresolved. On 25 November the Congress had voted 59 to 43 for the Heikkila resolution, but in the drafting committee, when Salin asked for a straight vote between the amended draft and the original, this was refused by 56 votes to 11, an indication that the amended version represented the overwhelming consensus. The apparent reversal of mood was so striking that members of the defeated faction, like Tanner and Huttunen, and many later commentators, have implied that the drafting committee was packed or manipulated by the Kuusinen faction. But no such explanations are needed. What had happened was perfectly natural in the circumstances. The major factor at work was the natural instinct of any political movement for self-preservation. The minority on 25 November had been very substantial, and there was reason to believe that it represented the majority of the more active rank and file members. If these were driven out of the party, it would inflict enormous damage and fatally weaken the workers at a critical point in their struggle with the bourgeoisie. This was reinforced by a second consideration, the sheer personal and intellectual dominance in council and debate of the Siltasaari radicals, Kuusinen, Manner, and Sirola, backed up on this occasion by the demagogic support of Tokoi. Just as, on 16 November, the trade unionists had felt that they could not proceed with the revolution without the support of this group, so now the Congress could not take the responsibility of rejecting entirely the policies for which they had argued, with the risk of driving them out of the movement. There were good, honest, 176

and able men in the majority, Gylling, Wiik, Huttunen, and the veteran Salin, but by themselves they did not constitute a credible alternative leadership. These reasons are quite enough to account for the compromise that emerged from the drafting committee, without any need for the historian to resort to conspiracy theories. In the end, the majority had chosen to adopt a solution that, by keeping several options open, would also keep the movement intact. Further, the form of the compromise was such that both sides could hope they might prevail if the anticipated crisis should come. For while the radicals could hope for a majority in the party Council, the moderates knew they had a majority in the parliamentary group, and since both bodies had to agree to any seizure of power, each had, in effect, a right of veto. If anything, since the radicals would be proposing to upset the status quo, this should work in favor of the moderates. Kuusinen acknowledged this when he remarked to Huttunen, "there cannot come into question the establishment of any kind of dictatorship, unless the overwhelming majority of the party is supporting it." The moderate majority might well feel that it was the radicals who were being deceived, and that the price they were paying to retain party unity was remarkably cheap. Only a small group, led by Heikkila himself and Salin felt so strongly about the amended resolution that they entered a formal protest that the changes frustrated the whole purpose of the Congress, which had been to secure a clear decision on future tactics and strategy. They declared that "it leaves the party in that tactical impasse in which it has been for the past months," and argued that this must cripple the movement by continuing the state of internal strife. They, as a group, would adhere exclusively to parliamentary tactics, even at the risk of expulsion from the movement, and recognized that the radicals had the right to do the same. Their position was more honest, more consistent, and more elegant, but in terms of political realities it must have looked obtuse and suicidal to the majority of the Congress. It was Manner, in his closing speech to the Congress, who spoke for the sensible majority. The Congress had revealed divisions in the movement, but these were based on honest conviction and were signs of health and vitality. A threat had come from the bourgeois enemy and continuing unity was necessary for survival. "The era of great events has not ended. The struggles will continue," and probably spread to other European countries, perhaps transforming the prospects in Finland. They had all learned valuable lessons from recent events, they were united about their ends, and could not be stronger and more successful.84 Manner spoke with the conventional wisdom of the politician. The historian may see things differently. The general strike had been a severe defeat for the workers' movement. The aims of the strike had not been achieved; on the contrary, a previously hesitant and divided bourgeoisie had been shocked into unity and a determination not known before, and was therefore stronger and more dangerous. The socialists had made the fatal error of challenging the enemy to the ultimate conflict, and then failed to make their challenge good. It was true that the unity of the workers' movement had survived, but it was Salin, not Manner who proved correct; their continuing internal arguments were to be a source of frustration and weakness, not a kind of creative tension. The more lasting damage was psychological, for a 177

crisis of confidence had been created between the active, militant vanguard of the movement and its formal leadership. Sirola had pointed out that the movement needed to convince the masses that it was "the interpreter of their ideals and would be with them when the right moment came. . . . we must go along with them". The activist workers, the opinion-forming leaven among these masses, felt that in November 1917 the mastery of Finnish society had been within their grasp, and that the leadership had fumbled the opportunity to consolidate the victory. After that, the movement was in constant retreat, in face of a resurgent bourgeoisie whose strength and confidence steadily mounted, so that what happened in January 1918 was a despairing gamble to turn the tide. It showed that much of the elan and selfconfidence that had enabled the workers to dominate Finland in November 1917 had been fatally eroded. Kuusinen was almost certainly correct when he wrote:85 It is indisputable that there was a revolutionary situation then, and there was the possibility to broaden and deepen the actual seizure of power, which had already taken place at the time of the strike, into a full conquest of power, and by this to broaden and deepen the revolution itself. It was ironic that it was he, more than any other individual who, in the early hours of 16 November, had determined that there was not to be a successful workers' revolution in Finland. Instead of this, on 26 November, the bourgeois majority in parliament had installed the Svinhufvud government in total defiance of the socialist opposition. The full scale of the violence was now known—27 people murdered by Red Guards, five more killed in armed skirmishes with the Home Guard, plus two Red Guards killed The numbers were not extravagant, but these 34 corpses constituted an impenetrable barrier between the two sides. Tokoi introduced his government list, and though he routinely blamed the violence on bourgeois provocation, asserted that SDP was and always would be opposed to violence, wanting nothing more than a return to peaceful conditions. He confirmed that the socialists stood for total independence and wanted the Russian troops withdrawn "as soon as peace comes," and when voices from the Right called "straight away," he replied, "alright, even straight away." But he made the sensible point that since the Bolshevik revolution, the bourgeoisie had tended to behave as though Russia had suddenly ceased to exist, yet "the Russian nation remains in existence and we shall always, in future, be in close contact with it." It took the Finnish Right another thirty violent and bloodstained years before that basic truth finally sank in. Tokoi was trying to resume his role as national statesman, but his known attitudes during the strike had robbed that of all credibility: Kallio was the only bourgeois speaker who declared readiness to forget about the terror in the interests of reconciliation. P. Virkkunen expressed the majority feeling when he said that "Tokoi is closely associated with the terror exercised by the socialists, and any government which he headed would be based on open violence." Parliament then took a recess, but after it all restraint was abandoned and on 178

both sides were floods of bitter recrimination. Sirola made an outrageously provocative speech when he said:86 Yes, we are responsible for our acts and our failings. But, gentlemen, we are not answerable to you for anything. We are answerable to the workers. . . . Before you we appear only as accusers . . . accusing you of plunging the country, with incredible levity, into open class struggle, class war, and you are answerable for all its peripheral phenomena. At present there was a brief armistice, and Tokoi's program offered a last chance to convert it into a firm peace, but if the bourgeoisie chose not to avail themselve of it, let them look out for themselves. Alkio picked up the challenge and hurled it back; the recent events had convinced him that "if in this country we really want to achieve some kind of strong government, we must try to erect it from the bourgeois side, come what may." The odd voice of reason, like that of Aronen, pointing out that what the bourgeois press called "hooligan gangs" were really "hungry workers, who would be wholly peaceful if they could get the bare necessities of life," was not heeded. The bourgeois side was glued to its image of the Red Guard as either criminal in itself, or consisting of honest Finnish workers inflamed by a criminal leadership, in collusion with the Russians. The socialists could see the bourgeois only as brutal exploiters, food hoarders, and war profiteers, on whom the acts of violence were a wholly proper, if regrettable retribution. When the vote came, the Svinhufvud government won by 100 votes to 80, on strictly class lines. Finland now had its first native, sovereign government, but the mass of invective and recrimination that had given birth to it was a poor omen for its future success.

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Chapter 8

Independence Declarations of Independence usually are occasions for drama and ceremonial, so that the birth of a new sovereign state is properly recorded for posterity, but the circumstances of Finland's declaration of independence were quite different. The new government set up a committee to consider the question on its first working day, 27 November, consisting of Svinhufvud himself, Setala, Renvall, Talas, and Arajarvi. They were joined by Enckell, who since his post as Minister-secretary was held to have lapsed was treated as a shadow foreign minister. Since Svinhufvud and his colleagues had almost no experience of the world of international relations, they relied heavily on Enckell as an experienced diplomat and man of the world. This meant that Svinhufvud's instinctive tendency to assume that Germany was the only worthwhile patron of Finnish independence was balanced by EnckelPs assessment that Finland must avoid commitment to either of the belligerent camps. Sinc it was universally accepted in international law that the sovereignty over Finland belonged to the Russian state, the natural way to approach the question would have been to negotiate with the government of Russia, but the committee was unanimous that this was one thing they must not do. It would be dangerous to grant any official recognition to the probably transitory Bolshevik regime, because to do so might well anger the Entente, which viewed it with hostility; because it might prejudice relations with a succeeding regime in Russia; and because the Bolsheviks might claim authority in Finland, which they would use in favor of the socialists. They adopted the position that the Russian Constituent Assembly was now the sole legitimate repository of the sovereignty of the Russian state, and the only body that could confer a legitimate recognition of Finland's independence in the name of Russia. 1 At the same time, it was important not to do anything that might give offense to Russian national feeling, so the committee decied to begin by making an oblique approach to the Entente ambassadors in Petrograd, using Finland's desperate need for food as a cover. They would ask for help over this and say that since Russia had no generally recognized government, "the Finnish government sees itself forced to 180

turn to the above mentioned parties directly, and not, as previously, through the Russian foreign ministry." Such an approach might secure at least implicit recognition by Britain, France, and the United States that Finland was de facto an independent state. A problem also existed over how to proceed internally, Svinhufvud would not countenance asking for the cooperation of the socialists, and if the matter was exposed to debate in parliament, there might be fierce controversy, which would create a disastrous impression abroad and undermine the credibility of the demand for independence. They agreed that whatever was put before parliament must be in a form that left no room for debate; as Louhivuori put it, the government "wanted only to establish the matter as settled and thus face parliament with an accomplished fact."2 After consultation with bourgeois party leaders it was agreed that the government would make a statement to parliament that Finland now regarded herself as an independent republic, "in a restrained manner, avoiding conflict with Russia," and the Speaker should make a formal response in the name of parliament recognizing this. The socialists had been told by Stalin, both in public and in private, that the Bol sheviks would grant immediate independence on request, and Stalin had asked them what they wanted done. Yet instead of seizing the offer, they had told Stalin to do nothing until he heard from them in writing, and when the parliamentary group discussed the matter, Wiik's motion that they submit a request for independence at once was defeated. Kuusinen opposed the motion on the grounds that "if now Fin land were suddenly proclaimed independent, it would make the position of the Russian comrades difficult," Kuusinen and the majority, who must have heard what Stalin had said, found it impossible to believe that the Bolsheviks really meant it: Lenin's revolutionary radicalism was beyond the grasp of their imagination. When Svinhufvud called Manner in on 30 November to tell him officially what the government proposed to do, Manner replied that in the socialist view the correct procedure was to recognize the Bolshevik government and enter into negotiation with it, but Svinhufvud refused to consider this. Since this opened the possibility of an ugly scene in parliament, the government declaration had to be worded in such a way that SDP could not attack it without appearing to oppose the idea of independence.3 On 4 December, Svinhufvud led his ministers into the parliament chamber and presented 16 draft laws for consideration, the first of which was the draft of a new constitution. He read a statement that said that by the vote of 15 November, and by its acceptance of his government, parliament as the voice of the nation "had taken its destiny into its own hands." The new constitution was built on the principle that "Finland shall be an independent republic" and the government would take the measures necessary to secure foreign recognition of this. Since revolutionary Russia and most of the belligerent powers had declared their acceptance of the right of national self-determination, "the Finnish people believes that a free Russian people and its Constituent Assembly does not wish to obstruct Finland's endeavour to enter the ranks of the free and independent nations." The Speaker replied that independence was "the most fervent hope of the Finnish people. . . . with sincere 181

satisfaction it can be observed from the declaration you have just made that the government has begun and will continue the necessary measures for realising Finland's independence." Svinhufvud was heard in respectful silence, though when the bourgeois members stood up to hear it, the socialists remained seated; when Svinhufvud had left, first Manner and then Airola protested that by presenting laws the government had usurped the sovereign prerogatives that now belonged exclusively to parliament. Svinhufvud's conduct had been provocative: When he marched his government into the chamber and then marched out again, he was acting out his conception that the executive was an independent branch of the government and asserting the principle of the division of powers against the socialist principle of parliamentary sovereignty. Svinhufvud, as a man of principle, had behaved as though the constitution of 1772 were still in force, confining parliament to a strictly limited role. His government meant to govern, and if parliament did not like it they could setup a different government. Itwas only in this limited sense that Svinhufvud saw himself as answerable to parliament. But his attitude gave ground for the socialist suspicion, voiced by Aronen, that the vote of 15 November was being repudiated and "a seizure of power is being prepared," thus poisoning the atmosphere between the socialists and the government.4 The government treated the proceedings of 4 December as an official declaration of independence; the statement was to be read out in the churches and posted on the official notice boards. But even the bourgeois politicians felt it lacked a proper formality, and the next day Wrede, Ingman, and Stahlberg went to Svinhufvud and told him that there ought to be a resolution voted in parliament. He had no option but to agree, and a motion was drafted in the name of all the nonsocialist parties:5 Whereas the government has presented a bill to parliament for a new constitution on the basis of Finland's being an independent republic, parliament, as the holder of the sovereign power resolves to accept this principle and also approves of the government embarking upon the measures . . . essential to obtain recognition. . . . When the socialists discussed this they resolved to oppose it and insist on some mention of the need to negotiate with Russia, and on the constitutional principle tha parliament should direct the negotiation, not the government. It emerged that one rea son that they were unwilling to take up Stalin's offer was that they doubted whether, even now, the Bolshevik regime would survive, and were assuming that a final settlement would be with the Constituent Assembly, which might be far less forthcoming than the Council of Peoples' Commissars. So they drafted a counterproposal:6 As holder of the sovereign power the Finnish parliament proclaims the principle that Finland is to be an independent republic. An effort must be made to realise this independence by negotiating an agreement with Russia. . . . Fin land should also seek recognition . . . by other states. . . . To prepare the above mentioned matters and to draft proposals on them, for the approval of parliament, parliament resolves to set up a seventeen-man committee. 182

Svinhufvud rejected this without ceremony; he told the socialist representatives, "either we have a majority in parliament, and thus we get unrestricted full powers, or we have not and then you can instal others." Bourgeois politicians like Alkio, Stahlberg, and Hultin were uneasy at this total exclusion of SDP from formulating policy on independence, but yielded to Svinhufvud's insistence that "foreign affairs cannot be discussed with the socialists, because through them the Russians would get to know everything straight away." It must be recognized that this was more than a procedural wrangle over the constitutional right to conduct foreign policy. The socialists wanted independence through negotiations with Russia, whereas the bourgeois politicians wanted to get independence by exploiting the anti-Bolshevik feelings of imperial Germany and the Entente. They wished to mobilize foreign pressures to compel the Bolsheviks to recognize independence and in consequence withdraw the Russian troops from Finland, for they did not believe that these would ever be withdrawn voluntarily. Behind the pressure for independence was always the bourgeois obsession to get the soldiers out, so that they would be free to restore order and deal with their native "hooligans." When parliament met on 6 December, instead of a united vote proclaiming independence, two rival motions were presented; although Manner indicated that SDP did not want a debate, a vote had to be taken and the bourgeois motion was carried by 100 votes to 88. In consequence, although 6 December has been celebrated ever since as Finnish Independence Day, that did not happen at the \\mQ\Helsingin Sanomat commented on 8 December on the muted reaction to the great event, and the sadness at the open display of national disunity. But an earthy skepticism also was expressed. As U. Toivola wrote, "independence was not celebrated in the country. In December 1917, independence was still almost unbelievable. The wisest felt autonomy would be enough, if only it was assured."7 There was an instinctive grasp that the declaration of 6 December was an empty gesture and that the winning of real independence had not yet begun. The blunt reality was that Finland's independence did not depend so much on the will of the Finnish people as on the conflicting interests of the European powers. German policy in the east had been defined at a major policy conference on 23 April 1917; it was to leave the eastern front inactive and let Russia disintegrate under internal pressures until a separate peace became possible. Germany would then establish a vassal state formed out of Russian Poland and establish protectorates over Lithuania and Kurland, and if possible parts of Livonia and Estonia. No specific plan was made for Finland, only a general principle of encouraging the separatist aspirations of the minority peoples. But a further conference on 9 August had resolved that Finland and the Ukraine should be helped to achieve independence, but through their own efforts, and with only indirect assistance from Germany.8 This had been the basis of German dealings with the Finnish Activists in the summer and autumn, and carried the essential reservation that although Finnish independence was a desirable objective, it would not be allowed to stand in the way of a separate peace with Russia. On the other hand, if Russia refused to enter negotiations for peace, further limited military operations in the east were contemplated; one such 183

had been the Riga offensive in September, and Finland was a possible arena for further operations of this type. But with the Bolshevik revolution, this option was dropped. As early as 11 November Ludendorff decided to end the war by a spring offensive in the west, which meant that the eastern front must be closed down. This was based on Lenin's motion, passed by the Congress of Soviets, for an immediate armistice on all fronts, followed by the order to the Russian armed forces to cease operations on 20 November and Trotski's note to all the belligerent powers calling for a cease-fire on all fronts on 21 November. Ludendorff telephoned his chief of staff in the east, General Hoffmann, on 26 November to check: "Can we negotiate with these people?" On being assured they could, he gave permission to receive a Russian armistice delegation.9 In early November, Ludendorff was expecting the arrival in Berlin of the reformed Finnish representation led by Hjelt, and sent a memorandum to the Foreign Office, defining the limits of German intervention in Finland as the covert supply of weapons and the repatriation of the Jagers. A discreet expression of sympathy for Finland could be given, perhaps in a Reichstag stpeech, but he did not want "an open statement on Finland." So when Hjelt arrived and presented the Foreign Office with a request for German armed intervention, or at least a German occupation of Aland, he was told by Nadolny on 18 November that Germany fully sympathized with Finland's aspirations, but was given no specific undertakings at all. Hjelt then submitted a memorandum to Sektion Politik, based on the proposition that Finland was pro-German and could only secure her independence through the assistance of Germany. The memorandum continued:10 The separation of Finland from Russia . . . is of political, economic and cultural interest to Gemany too. It would form the northernmost link of the chain of states which will form a wall in Europe against the east. For Finland to separate from Russia, an invasion by German troops into Finland would be most desirable. . . . An uprising already prepared for could then occur. . . . If an invasion is not possible . . . a speedy occupation of the Aland islands would be extremely important for Finland. Finland could then probably do the rest herself. In the event of an immediate ceasefire with Russia, a demand for the withdrawal of Russian troops from Finland . . . would be of great value. On 26 November, Ludendorff summoned Hjelt and Bonsdorff to meet him, and gave them a whole hour of his time. At the end they were supplied with a written memorandum, which they might show to the Finnish government and reliable political leaders, it ruled out any German intervention in Finland for the present, even an occupation of Aland, and assumed there would be an armistice. The document continued: In the event of an armistice with Russia, Finland must issue a statement that the Finnish people claim the right to self-determination. As a further expression of this right, the demand must be made for the withdrawal of Russian troops from Finland. This statement must conclude with the publicly ex184

pressed wish for German support for Finland's efforts. General Ludendorff declares that he is prepared to see that the Finnish wish . . . is supported at the armistice or peace negotiations. The reply further confirmed undertakings to supply weapons and send back the Jagers, though this would have to be done unobtrusively, and urged the Finns to continue with their efforts to raise a national militia. Hjelt easily swallowed his disappointment at the rejection of his requests for an intervention, and he wrote that "the visit ended not altogether as wished, but it still left a feeling of security, a certainty that we could count on the support of the German military leadership in the days to come." Ludendorff too was well pleased; he had committed himself to no more than limited logistical support for Finland and some diplomatic pressure on behalf of independence, while he was confident, as he told Kuhlmann, that the Finns would do as he had requested. He was right about this; Hjelt wrote at once to Svinhufvud, asking for the issue of a request for independence and evacuation, and urging the development of the Home Guard movement into a national militia. But Hjelt was deceived about German support. The real worth of German undertakings was shown when the Russo-German armistice was concluded at Brest-Litovsk on 15 December: The armistice said nothing about Finnish independence or the evacuation of the Russian troops, because the Germans had not raised these issues. The one suggestion helpful to Finland that had been advanced by the Germans, to neutralize the gulf of Bothnia and thereby facilitate communications with Finland, was not pressed. In spite of Ludendorffs undertaking, Germany was not in fact prepared to complicate her negotiation with Russia by making stipulations on behalf of Finland. When the Activists in Finland read the armistice terms, and realized that Germany had done nothing for Finland, they felt betrayed. A letter to K. Donner on 22 December said that pro-German feeling had definitely been set back and pro-Entente feeling correspondingly encouraged.11 The Entente was not well placed to exploit any swing of opinion in Finland, because it had no Finnish policy. Until the October Revolution, the Entente had been concerned to keep Russia fighting; although they urged the Provisional Government to avoid embarrassing confrontation with Finland, they had no strong incentive to intervene on Finland's behalf. Their local diplomats had noticed the pro-German tendencies of the Activists. But with the triumph of the Bolsheviks, the Entente position was transformed: An inter-Allied conference in Paris had decided that the overriding consideration was to keep the eastern front in being, which implied hostility toward the Bolsheviks. It was agreed not to recognize the Bolsheviks as the government of Russia and to give support to groups in Russia who opposed them. But this did not help Finland, since the kind of Russian groups that opposed the Bolsheviks were also likely to oppose Finnish independence, so the conference did not formulate any policy on the issue. This did not mean that Finland could ignore the Entente, because Finland's best hopes of receiving food imports depended on supplies from the United States coming through the British blockade. Finland had strong incentives not to antagonize the Entente by entering into relationships with Germany or with the Bolsheviks, and to try and purchase Entente benevolence by a policy of neutrality. Further, if the Bolsheviks did consolidate their power in Russia, it waslike185

ly that the Entente would have no objection in principle to Finnish independence, since the self-determination of small nations was one of their declared war aims.12 But in the end, Russia was the arbiter of Finnish independence, for juridically the country was still part of Russia, and in reality was occupied by Russian troops. The Bolsheviks had never deviated from the policy imposed on them by Lenin in his April Theses, that Finland should be granted full sovereign independence at any time on request. The Council of Peoples' Commissars confirmed this right for all nations in its statement on nationality policy on 15 November. Stalin had confirmed it at the SDP Congress, and Lenin told the sailors on 5 December, "We are winning Finland over by giving her complete freedom to live in alliance with us or with others." The Bolshevik representative in Stockholm, Orlovski, told the German ambassador, Lucius, "that his government would, without doubt, recognise Finland's full independence," and Trotski sent this same message to the negotiators at BrestLitovsk on 20 December.13 Yet most people at the time, whatever their nationality, bourgeois or proletarian, found it difficult to credit that the Bolsheviks meant what they were saying, and a majority of commentators since have said or implied that the declared policy was fraudulent. This is because at the same time and with equal consistency, the Bolsheviks urged the Finnish socialists to seize power, and offered them Russian armed assistance in doing so. It has been shown that the Bolsheviks were pressing SDP in November, culminating in Stalin's efforts at the party Congress. Lenin told the sailors on 5 December that Russia would help the Finnish proletariat in its struggle; "the important thing for us is not where the state border runs, but whether or not the people of all nations remain allied in the struggle against the bourgeoisie, irrespective of nationality." He told Manner on 10 December that "it would be best that the Finnish workers take power into their hands," and on 20 December Smilga published a vigorous appeal to SDP. "Proletariat of Finland. Our revolution led to the victory of the workers. We turn to you with fraternal greetings and appeal: overthrow the bourgeoisie." Trotski told a Finnish delegation on 28 December he was "astonished that the Finnish Social Democrats had not made a revolution," and the last word was Lenin's, talking to the Swedish socialist Lindhagen in January: "The Finnish Social Democrats are traitors. They do not want a revolution, though it is their duty." But Bolshevik speakers also made it clear that they would expect a socialist Finland to have a special relationship with Russia. Stalin said on 29 November that small nations "will certainly see it as their advantage to remain connected with Russia (in a federation) and believed that Finland could scarcely be an exception in this respect." Lenin told the sailors:14 We are told that Russia will disintegrate and split up into separate republics, but we have no reason to fear this. . . . Let the bourgeois start their filthy squabbles and their trading over frontiers, the workers of all countries will not fall out over that sort of thing. We are now conquering Finland—this is using a nasty word—but not the way the robber barons of international capitalism conquered it. ... Only a socialist alliance of the working peoples of all countries can remove all ground for national persecution and strife. 186

He told Lindhagen: separating Finland from Russia was the chauvinistic demand of the Finnish bourgeois parties. In accordance with its principles the Russian government did not want to resist the demand and also intends to stick by its decision. But he was convinced that if Finland experienced a social revolution, the new government would draw close to Russia and would seek to make alliance with her. Uusi Paiva, on 15 December, chose to take Lenin's words to the sailors about conquering Finland literally, and since then it has been quoted again and again as proof of Bolshevik duplicity. But it was no such thing. The Bolsheviks accepted unwaveringly the right of Finland to self-determination, under a bourgeois or a proletarian government; but they obviously believed that Finland would fare better under a socialist regime and were willing at any time to help confer this advantage on the Finnish people. If Finland had a socialist government, frontiers and national sovereignty would lose their significance; two socialist countries would live together in intimate and comradely association. Later experience has shown that such views are laughably naive, but in 1917 they were believed sincerely. This was the sort of "reconquest" that Lenin had in mind. He would have been guilty of duplicity if it could be shown that the Bolsheviks artificially engineered a proletarian revolution in Finland with the intention of retaining Russian hegemony over the country. However, this cannot be shown; the Bolshevik attitude to a Finnish proletarian revolution remained impeccably correct; it was SDP itself, as the party of the Finnish proletariat, that must make the revolution. If it did, then the Bolsheviks had a duty to assist it; if it did not, it was betraying its socialist duty, but it was still for SDP to decide. The Bolsheviks had the right to advise, encourage, and exhort, but not to compel or manipulate a fraternal party—and the evidence is clear that they did not go beyond encouragement and exhortation. As Lenin made it clear to Lindhagen, the offer of independence remained valid whether or not the Finnish workers made their revolution.15 The integrity of the Bolshevik position has been further impugned by reference to the quite different, but related question of the position of the Russian troops in Finland. The position was clear enough in principle, that Russian troops would be withdrawn from an independent Finland. But while Russia was still at war with Germany, even if there was an armistice, it was unrealistic to ask Russia to leave a military vacuum in Finland, which would expose Petrograd to attack; this was obvious to everyone at the time except those Finnish politicians who could not or did not want to acknowledge military realities. But it is easy to assert that the Bolsheviks used pretexts to keep their troops in Finland, to nullify in practice the independence that they were offering in theory. The orders to the 42nd Army Corps, which was the bulk of the Finnish garrison, were "to cover the approaches to Petrograd from the side of the gulf of Bothnia and the gulf of Finland and the land frontier to the north of the gulf of Bothnia." They were confirmed by the Area Committee, which stated that "Finland must be regarded as part of the open front protecting the 187

approaches to Petrograd." It followed that the occupation must be maintained as long as Petrograd was under threat, that is until peace with Germany was concluded. Smilga put it on 20 December when he wrote, "Everybody understands that until peace has been concluded, we cannot uncover the approaches to Petrograd."16 However, within this policy there would be a partial evacuation of Finland in consequence of the Bolshevik decision to demobilize the army. The order was issued on 23 November, and envisaged a gradual, orderly process, whereby units would be reduced to their peacetime establishment, and though heavily reduced in numbers, would remain effective fighting formations. In Finland, the 42nd Army Corps called a conference on demobilization on 12 December, and adopted a plan for an orderly reduction, beginning with the older men. Weapons would be left behind, and units would regroup to retain their fighting capacity. The reality was very different: The Bolshevik government called considerable numbers back to Russia, first to defend Petrograd, then to defeat the counter-strike of civil servants and technicians, which called for the services of bookkeepers and skilled men; then as civil war developed in south Russia calls came for volunteers to fight the Whites. On top of this, the troops in Finland experienced the same spontaneous disintegration as the rest of the Russian army; men simply went home or failed to return from leave. By 31 December, Lenin had grasped what had happened when he said, "the army no longer exists. To maintain it is impossible. The best we can do is to consider how it can be demobilised as quickly as possible." The final blow had been the Bolsheviks' own decrees on the democratization of the army, which meant the election and recall of officers and the transfer of all executive power to unit committees. After that, in the last resort, each unit did whatever suited it.17 In Finland a battalion of 421 Regiment simply demobilized itself en bloc and forced the officers to make out the necessary papers; 106 Division had to demobilize its transport sections prematurely because there was no fodder available; and despite a reminder of 4 January that men on leave must return to their units, 423 Regiment reported half their leave men were failing to come back. The commander of 106 Division reported on 3 J an uary that 60 percent of his men were effectively demobilized and another 15 percent were on leave. By this stage, 42nd Army Corps could not find even 500 men to watch the frontier with Sweden.18 In these circumstances it is silly to talk of a Bolshevik plan to retain military control of Finland. Their own planning aspired to no more than keeping a skeleton force that might cover the northern approaches to Petrograd while the war lasted, but even this modest intention was frustrated by the determination of the soldiers to go home and the total collapse of discipline among the troops. At this period of its existence, the Bolshevik government was not like a normal government, because it lacked the capacity to use the machinery of the state to carry out its policies. Later on, the Bolsheviks would behave like any other imperialist power, for whom it would have been natural and instinctive to use its troops to frustrate Finnish independence. But because the Bolsheviks were weak and disorganized, they could afford policies based on principle, since moral force was all they had. The imperialist governments of the time all talked about national self-determination; though they 188

did not practice it at their own expense, the Bolsheviks could afford to practice it. The Bolsheviks lost nothing by recognizing the independence of Finland, for they lacked the means of preventing it and could at least collect moral credit for their action. A final important reason that the Bolshevik acceptance of Finnish independence was genuine was that Lenin regarded Finland as expendable. He saw at an early stage that the price of peace with Germany would be the surrender of the borderlands, under whatever disguise, and perhaps of the Ukraine as well. He accepted this, because he was sure any imperialist settlement would be overturned by the general European revolution that was imminent. In these circumstances, it made sense to preserve a socialist base in Russia, which would be a focus and inspiration for the coming general revolution. Lenin wrote: 19 It is quite impossible to predict the probable moment of the outbreak of revolution and the overthrow of any of the European imperialist governments (including the German). That the socialist revolution in Europe must come and will come is beyond doubt. All our hopes for final victory of socialism are founded on this certainty and on this scientific prognosis. On this analysis, what happened in the short term to Finland or the Ukraine was of marginal importance: If they must be sacrificed to imperial Germany in order to save socialist Russia, then it must be done. Lenin wrote: no Marxist, without renouncing the principles of Marxism and of socialism generally, can deny that the interests of socialism are higher than the interests of the rights of national self-determination. . . . if the concrete situation is such that the existence of the socialist republic is imperilled at the present moment on account of the violation of the right to self-determination of several nations. . . . naturally the preservation of the socialist republic has the higher claim. This was no empty theorizing, for the passage predicted what Lenin would do in March 1918, when he abandoned support for the socialists in Finland as the price of saving the Russian heartland for socialism. All this was quite beyond the comprehension of men like Svinhufvud and his colleagues, so that they set about securing independence on the assumption that it would have to be wrested from Russia by force or threats. This put them in the absurd position of battering their heads against a brick wall, when there was a door waiting to be pushed open at any time to let them through. Their first step was to draft a note to Britain, France, the United States, and the three Scandinavian power on 5 December. This announced the Finnish decision to claim independence and stated that "there has been no government of late in Russia which has been generally acknowledged either at home or abroad." The note then spoke of the "unrestrained behaviour" of the Russian troops that had "caused terror amongst the peaceful population of this country," and of the "serious food shortage, which the Finnish people is now having to combat," concluding:20 189

It is therefore of vital importance to the Finnish people that the truly isolated position in which the country now finds itself should come to an end. It is vital that the full independence of Finland be realised without delay and that its government manage to establish direct relations with foreign states. This statement was backed up by memoranda drafted on 12 December, which stressed that Finland sought good relations with all countries, did not seek military intervention, could not recognize the Bolshevik government, but would seek a settlement with the Constituent Assembly when it met. Thus Svinhufvud was relying on the anti-Bolshevik reflexes of the outside world, representing the Bolsheviks as a threat to civilized order, from whom Finland needed to be rescued. The note was carried over to Stockholm by J. Paasikivi and A. Gripenberg and after conferring there with Hjelt, and deciding that Hjelt should deal with the Germans, they presented the note to the Swedish prime-minister. The initial response was disappointing; Paasikivi reported that "there was no response in the name of the leadership. The personal opinion of the leader was that it is necessary to await further developments." The Swedish foreign minister discussed the matter with the German ambassador, and had enquiries made in Petrograd. On 16 December the official Swedish reply said that Sweden sincerely wished "to be able to recognise Finland as an independent state," but needed more information about the prospects of securing Russian agreement. In short, Sweden would wait and see what the great powers would do. The Entente powers played a waiting game, for all expressed sympathetic interest in Finnish independence, but France would grant recognition "as soon as the political situation in Russia is clearer," Britain would wait for the decision of the Constituent Assembly, and the United States would "await the development of events in Russia." Therefore the note of 5 December had proved wholly unproductive; it had taken Finland not a step nearer to recognized independence.21 The approaches to Germany went no better: Hjelt sent a telegram to Sektion Politik on 6 December, reporting the declaration of independence, and asking Lud endorff to implement his promise to raise the matter with the Russians. On 8 December, Ludendorff instructed Hoffmann to demand the Russian evacuation of Lithuania, Estonia, and Finland, but "the conclusion of the armistice must not be endangered"; in other words, it was an empty gesture, and the Russians naturally refused. The Germans, like the Entente powers, were certainly nervous that the rival camp might win some advantage in Finland by supporting independence, but none of the powers would endanger its relations with Russia on that account. The German Foreign Office said as much to the Swedish government on 14 December. It was fortunate for them that Hjelt was rather dilatory; he did not present the formal notification of the declaration of independence to Kuhlmann until 13 December, an the Foreign Office instructed its man at Brest-Litovsk, Rosenberg, "to enter into conversation on the matter with the Russian delegation in a manner which will not commit us, if it can be done without arousing suspicions." This showed how far the Germans were from putting any kind of pressure on the Russians, but it elicited a reply from Joffe stating the Bolshevik position. Joffe was then asked how the Bolsheviks would wish Germany to behave, and "Herr Joffe answered that in his opin190

ion, as long as the armistice or peace negotiations had not yet been concluded, we should certainly make it a condition of recognising independence that the Russian government should previously have reached agreement with Finland on the matter." Kuhlmann did exactly what Joffe had suggested; a message was conveyed to Hjelt by Lucius that German recognition must wait "until the Russian government ha reached agreement with Finland on the matter." Lucius and Rosenberg protested that Germany was being over-cautious; the Entente might get in first and surely Germany could at least say she approved of independence in principle. But Kuhlmann was not convinced that Joffe could be believed, and it was only after another confirmation from Trotski that a further message was sent to the Finns, on 22 December, urging them to apply for recognition to the Bolsheviks. Fortunately the German diplomats were accomplished liars and the Finns gullible, for Hjelt got the impression that "the Germans have pursued our interests energetically," and he remained convinced to the end of his life that "only under German pressure could Russian recognition have been secured."22 The Germans were now in a hurry, fearful of what the Entente might do, and Kuhlmann sent an appeal for haste on 25 December; "now it is exceptionally urgent." When the German Chancellor met Hjelt on 27 December he repeated this message. Hjelt had in fact written to Svinhufvud on 23 December, and sent telegrams on 27 and 29 December, all urging an approach to the Bolsheviks, or else "all Germany's efforts for us will be in vain," but it cannot be proved that Svinhufvud saw any of these messages in time to influence his decision. Svinhufvud was not an easy man to persuade, and his repugnance against recognizing or negotiating with the Bolshevik ran very deep. There had already been attempts to establish contact: K. YI6nen,a minor official in the Minister-secretary's office in Petrograd having business with Trotski raised the question of Finnish independence and was referred to the commissar for nationalities; "Stalin was his name if I heard it right." On 29 November Ylonen submitted a report to Setala, in which he urged that the contact be pursued, for the Bolshevik government "is the only existing centre of power in this country with which there is a physical possibility of establishing contact. . . . no other government or party here has even promised recognition of our independence." Ylonen was a minor official, meddling in matters that were not his business, and he was ignored. But there was a much more senior figure in Petrograd, K. G. Idman, who had held from the first that Finland should recognize the Bolsheviks, on which he disagreed with Enckell. Idman wrote:23 My opinion was that for the organisation of practical problems we should have to have dealings with the Soviet government, but for the time being should guard against recognising it in a way that would make our position difficult, in the event that Russia got a different government. Idman thought they should try and exploit the declared willingness of the Bolsheviks to recognize independence, but at first he too was disregarded in Helsinki. However, some contact was necessary because of the presence of the Russian garrison. The immediate problem was that the Russians needed more Finnish cur191

rency to pay the soldiers, and Smilga went first to the socialists on 30 November and explained that their existing funds would be exhausted by 13 December. The socialists were not at all helpful and told him he must take the matter up with the government, a further proof that the leaders of SDP were in no way trying to keep the soldiers in the country. The Area Committee then decided to put on some pressure and they closed the frontier so that no goods could get through from Russia into Finland. Their position was strengthened on 4 December when the Council of Peoples' Commissars issued a decree making the Area Committee the sole represen tative of Soviet power in Finland. Izvestija explained that the Area Committee was now "the highest organ of Russian state power in Finland . . . and will establish relations with the Finnish authorities as the plenipotentiary organ of the Russian government." Its position was further consolidated by the fourth Area Congress of Russians in Finland on 9 December, which elected a new Area Committee of 45, 30 Bolsheviks and 15 Left-SRs, and granted it full powers to act in all matters. By this time the blockade had worked; Talas had already contacted the Area Committee on behalf of Svinhufvud's government and was told that the frontier would stay closed until the currency needs of the garrison were met. On 11 December, parliament gave a grudging consent to provide the necessary funds, and Enckell then negotiated an agreement with the Area Committee. The SDP parliamentary group had supported the provision of funds only because "the situation is compelling"; Aronen protested that they were being blackmailed, and the suggestion from the Area Committee to set up a standing joint commission with the Finnish socialists was rejected, Manner pointing out that SDP did not want to be identified with the unpopular actions of the Russians.24 Svinhufvud had been compelled to enter into relations with the Area Committee and from then on there was regular contact between the government and the Committee on matters of joint concern, but there was still no contact at an official level with the Council of Peoples' Commissars. Idman returned to Helsinki with the idea of at least getting contact between the Finnish parties and their Russian counterparts, to prepare for the meeting of the Constituent Assembly. Idman wanted an allparty delegation, and persuaded Tokoi and Makelin to talk to Svinhufvud, but talks broke down because the socialists insisted that a minister must go with the delegation to give it official status, and Svinhufvud refused because this might imply recognizing the Bolsheviks. The only positive outcome of this conference was that Svinhufvud undertook that parliament should be consulted over foreign policy, and agreed to the setting up of a foreign affairs committee of parliament. Tokoi reported to his colleagues that he had the impression that Svinhufvud rather hoped that SDP would talk to the Bolsheviks, which was correct, and the parliamentary group decided that Manner, Huttunen, and Salin should go to Petrograd and discuss independence.25 Idman tried to salvage something of his scheme, and with great difficulty persuaded Alkio, R. Holsti, A. Furuhjelm, and H. Rautapaa to travel to Petrograd for talks with the non-Bolshevik parties on 12 December, but the result was disappointing; the Mensheviks did promise support for Finnish independence in the Constitu 192

ent Assembly, but the SRs, who were to be the largest faction in it, were evasive. The socialists fared much better; they saw Lenin and Stalin, and communicated the text of the declaration of 6 December. Lenin replied at once that "they recognise Finland's full right to complete independence."They asked Lenin how to proceed, and he said a written request for recognition either to the Bolshevik party or the Council of Peoples' Commissars would be appropriate, and any form of words would be acceptable. He warned the Finns against relying on the Constituent Assembly—it was uncertain when it would meet and if it conflicted with the Bolsheviks it would be dispersed, so "you cannot therefore put confidence in that assembly." Lenin said they could negotiate a formal Finnish-Russian treaty if necessary, but then added that much the best solution would be for SDP to seize power, which would dispose of all problems. So he asked, "Do the Finnish Social Democrats intend to carry the revolution forward or complete it properly?" Manner was evasive: "The party certainly was prepared for all eventualities: but no real decision had been made: but he held it possible that conditions would drive the workers to revolution, and the Social Democrats would scarcely be spectators on the sideline." Clearly there was no identity of view between SDP and the Bolsheviks about revolution.26 By this time the biggest obstacle to further progress towards recognition was the closed and pedantic mental outlook of Svinhufvud. This was demonstrated when he sent Idman to Petrograd with orders to seek out Nekrasov and notify him formally, as the last Governor General, of the declaration of independence. Idman had no trouble doing this; Nekrasov must have been astounded, though he made suitably benevolent noises in reply. Idman recognized the whole thing as silly and embarrassing, describing it as "only an act of politeness to the country's last Governor General." But to Svinhufvud it was a perfectly serious move that was legally correct and that demonstrated that for the Finnish government, the Bolshevik revolution was a non-event. He followed this up on 14 December with a letter from the Finnish government demanding the withdrawal of Russian forces from Finland now that it was an independent and neutral country. This met Ludendorff s suggestion though it came far too late for use at Brest-Litovsk, and represented a reasonable diplomatic bargaining counter. But it was blatant provocation to address it, as they did, to Admiral A. Razvozov and General D. Nadezny as commanders of the garrison, instead of to the Area Committee or the Bolshevik government. Smilga told Enckell and Idman later the "the Soviet government was offended by the behaviour of the Finnish government," though it is more likely that it was Smilga himself who took offense at the slight to his position as senior Russian representative in Finland. He wrote an article for Pravda noting that "the Finnish bourgeoisie is taking an extremely hostile attitude towards us" and said that the Area Committee would treat the letter with the contempt it deserved.27 The full extent of Bolshevik anger and resentment came out in two articles in Izvestija on 19 and 20 December. The first dwelt on the duty of proletarians in countries like Finland and the Ukraine to overthrow their native bourgeoisie. The Bolsheviks would always "support every movement of the poor against the rich" and reminded the minority peoples that independence was of little value "until th 193

mastery of the bourgeoisie is suppressed. We call them to struggle against capitalism and promise every assistance in that struggle." This foreshadowed Stalin's better known article on the Ukraine, of 26 December, which suggested that self-determination could only be granted to a workers' regime, for "the brotherhood of nations is only possible under socialism." These were the first warning signs that the Bolsheviks were seeking an escape clause for their open-ended commitment on self-determination. But in December 1917 they were only signs; the commitment was still unconditional. The article of 20 December was signed by Smilga, and was in effect the answer to the Finnish government's letter. He said that the Finnish government's vicious hostility to the Bolsheviks arose from the help the soldiers gave to the struggle of the Finnish proletariat. They were proud of this help and would continue to give it; "we are always and everywhere against the bourgeoisie . . . Russian revolutionaries hold it shameful to conceal their convictions." But the article also affirmed that the soldiers were not opposed to Finland's independence, though to talk of immediate evacuation while the war continued was simply unrealistic. And it did make it clear that the initiative for the overthrow of the bourgeoisie could only come from the Finnish workers themselves.28 Svinhufvud's policy had its last convulsion on 20 December, when a note was addressed to the consuls of the Entente powers in Helsinki, asking for their intervention to secure a Russian evacuation, largely on the grounds of the food shortage. This met with no response at all; the Entente had nothing to gain by such a move and in any case had no influence over the Bolshevik regime. The futility of this move was the measure of the bankruptcy of the government's policy, which so alarmed the socialists that they resolved to try to break the deadlock themselves. The agreement to set up a foreign affairs committee of parliament had resulted in unanimity about the text of an appeal to. the Constituent Assembly, which was largely written by Makelin. SDP collaborated on this because they now knew that the Constituent Assembly would have a non-Bolshevik majority and were uncertain whether the Bolshevik government would survive. As Kuusinen told his colleagues "The question of Finland's independence would stand on quite a different basis if it was certain that the Bolsheviks would stay in power." But most socialists were convinced that Svinhufvud was wasting the chance of immediate recognition through a refusal to negotiate with the Bolsheviks, a refusal that was motivated by narrow class interest. Wiik wrote in his diary that the government "has driven through its foreign policy in secret, which has so far been empty of result. . . . to such an extent the class tendencies of the bourgeoisie have damaged the efforts for independence."29 On 18 December, SDP put down an interpellation asking why the government had not entered into negotiations on recognition with any Russian authority, asking whether it was true that plans had been made to secure a Swedish intervention in O Finland at the price of ceding the Aland islands, and condemning secret diplomacy over a matter that "is the most public of matters for our people and other peoples." In reply, Svinhufvud told parliament on 22 December that the rumors about Swedish intervention were false, which they were, and that government policy remained 194

to approach only the Constituent Assembly. This decided the socialists to wait no longer, and on 23 December Wiik drafted a letter to be sent to the Bolshevik party. This started from the position that while socialist parties waged a common struggle against capitalism, each one had "to fight independently against the bourgeoisie of its own country" and self-determination facilitated this. The letter went on:30 among the Finnish people there is no difference of view that the political independence of Finland is to be brought into effect without delay. Certainly the motives of the different classes are different. The Finnish workers want it from the point of view of democracy, the bourgeoisie from a nationalist point of view. Comrades, we believe it would be of the most valuable international significance that Russian Social Democracy now, through you and your Council of Peoples' Commissars, demonstrate by a great, bold act of state, by recognising at once the full political independence of Finland, that you are determined to put into effect the nationality principles of Social Democracy. By doing this, the bourgeois nationalists would be deprived of their chief weapon and the workers would be encouraged to pursue the class struggle. It ended with the request that the Russian troops be evacuated. SDP Executive considered the draft on 25 December, and decided to send it to Petrograd with a delegation consisting of Wiik, Manner, and Gylling. Only at Kuusinen's suggestion, they dropped the request for evacuation so as not to seem to be supporting the government's letter, which they knew, from talking to Seinman, had been bitterly resented. The letter could hardly fail, since Wiik was deploying exactly the arguments that Lenin had been using since April; on 28 December the Bolshevik Central Committee acknowledged the letter and expressed total agreement with it. Lenin and Trotski took the opportunity to urge on the delegation the need to seize power, Lenin pointing out to the Finns that "now we have got all the trumps, but after the soldiers are withdrawn we shall be alone," and Trotski stating that "as a private party member he was surprised that the Finnish Social Democrats did not make a revolution" and telling Wiik "if you let the opportunity slip through your hands . . . it would be neglect which will not be forgotten." These exchanges emphasized that there was no agreement between SDP and the Bolsheviks over making a revolution, and, more important, neither Lenin nor Trotski made any attempt to set conditions for the recognition of independence. Independence would be granted, and the troops withdrawn, whatever SDP decided to do. Some bourgeois commentators, like Helsingin Sanomat on 1 January, credited this SDP mission with having opened the way for the government to seek recognition from the Bolsheviks, but this was to misunderstand the situation; the government could have approached the Bolsheviks at any time and got the same positive response. SDP's efforts were really superfluous.31 In the end, Svinhufvud was led to a change of mind and policy, not by the exploratory work of the socialists, nor even by the urgent requests of the Germans, but by a piece of false information. A senior government agent in Sweden, Georg von Wendt, had been talking to Swedish officials, who said, correctly, that Swedish and German recognition would follow at once upon recognition by the Bolshevik 195

government, but they added that time was short: The Swedish ambassador in Petrograd said that when the Constituent Assembly met, the Bolshevik government would be overthrown and a reactionary regime installed. Wendt got substantially the same message from a Bolshevik agent in Stockholm, Vorovski, and Wendt was so impressed that he hurrried back to Helsinki and met Svinhufvud on 24 December to argue for a change of policy. Svinhufvud was not convinced, and went off to spend his Christmas in the country, but Wendt stayed in Helsinki canvassing ministers and had a crucial success in convincing Enckell. When Svinhufvud returned to Helsinki on 27 December, at an informal meeting of ministers, Enckell and Idman pressed for action on the basis of Wendt's report Enckell offered to go in person and talk to Lenin, and the ministers agreed, sending Idman along with him. Enckell's change of position had been decisive, and so it had been the obscure von Wendt who had precipitated this fateful decision. It happened that Enckell had business with Smilga the same day, and when he told Smilga of the change of policy, the latter naturally lectured Enckell on the folly of the previous policy but readily agreed to help him get access to Lenin, offering to accompany him to Petrograd. Smilga, Enckell, and Idman travelled together overnight and by all accounts had a pleasant and companionable journey. When they arrived, Smilga was able to arrange an immediate interview with Lenin.32 Enckell was obviously in an uncomfortable position, but he explained that the Finnish government had intended to wait for the Constituent Assembly but were now uncertain whether it would meet and had come to Lenin for advice on how best to secure recognition. Lenin was friendly, and said that the Constituent Assembly certainly would meet and the Finnish government must decide for itself whom to approach; however, if they turned to the Council of Peoples'Commissars, they would get a positive response. When Enckell asked what the procedure should be, Lenin replied, "It is very simple. Your government writes us a letter, which will be answered at once." The answer would then have to be ratified by the Executive Committee of the Congress of Soviets, which would create no difficulty. Enckell hurried back to Helsinki and reported to the government on 29 December. They immediately drafted a letter, addressed to the "Russian Government" using the text agreed for the appeal to the Constituent Assembly, which concluded:33 Finland awaits the recognition of independence from Russia, in whose name it has often been proclaimed that liberty is the glory and the right of every nation. Nature has placed the Finnish and Russian peoples in close neighbourhood. The Finnish people earnestly wishes that the relationship of friendship and mutual respect will be preserved between these peoples and it is convinced that the full freedom of both peoples gives the best guarantee of realising this hope. Two copies were prepared and given the government seal, and it was decided that Svinhufvud himself should go to Petrograd to receive the answer; some of his colleagues were nervous at his venturing into the clutches of the Bolsheviks, but Svinhufvud was personally fearless and he saw it as fitting. 196

The government party got to Petrograd on 30 December and met a series of comic mishaps. The whole city was engaged in mass demonstrations for peace; the delegation could not even find a cab, and had to walk to the Minister-secretary's building, carrying their own luggage. When they went to Smolny, only Sverdlov wa there and they left the letter and were told to come back in the evening. When they did and had waited some time, the secretary to the Council of Peoples' Commissars Bonts-Brujevic, came out and said that their letter was not acceptable because it was addressed to the "Russian Government" and not to the Council. It was purely a propaganda point—the Bolsheviks had deliberately refused to call themselves a government-but it must be suspected that the opportunity to administer a snub to the Finns, because of their previous attitude, was not unwelcome. Enckell said that if they could have the loan of a typist they would change the letter on the spot, or he would do it himself and write the new address "really beautifully," but BontsBrujevic insisted they must return next day with a fresh copy. Idman noticed that Svinhufvud was not amused; indeed he "boiled inside," but there was nothing for it but to comply. Enckell probably carried off the honors over this silly incident, because although the corrected copy was addressed to the Council of Peoples' Commissars, the text of the letter referred throughout to the "Russian Government."34 On 31 December the revised letter was delivered and the delegation once more told to come in the evening for an answer. They sat fully dressed in an unheated reception room amid scenes of chaos, typists working, even small children playing on the floor, while Enckell tried to catch the attention of Bonts-Brujevic as he passed in and out of the smoke-filled room where the Commissars were working. They drafted a reply in the following terms:35 In answer to the proposal of the Finnish government that the republic of Finland should be recognised as independent, the Council of Peoples' Commissars, in full accord with the principle of the right of self-determination of peoples, resolves to propose to the Central Executive Committee: a) that the political independence of the Finnish republic should be recognised and b) that a special committee of representatives of both sides, consulting with the Finnish government, shall be set up to prepare the measures ocsioned by the separation of Finland from Russia. The Commissars signed gladly, for although they knew Svinhufvud was no friend of theirs, they felt that "if we liberate the Finnish people from Russian oppression, there will be one less historical wrong in the world."There was a further ground for satisfaction, for Lenin's government demonstrated to the world that it really acted on the principles it professed. Since they had just decided to launch a major propaganda campaign to expose the imperialist and annexationist plans of the Central Powers at Brest-Litovsk, their action was valuable ammunition: Lenin personally took the decree to the Izvestija office for immediate publication. But before this could be done, a slightly comic episode ensued, because Enckell felt that it was proper, on such a historic occasion, that the two heads of government should meet. He asked that Lenin should come and be introduced to Svinhufvud. This caused 197

consternation and facetiousness among the Council of Peoples' Commissars; Lenin shrugged his shoulders and asked, "What have I got to say to these bourgeois?" Trotski was asked to go instead, but he refused and suggested I. Steinberg, the commissar for justice, who said, "In my official capacity I can only arrest them."The unhappy Bonts-Brujevic was getting nervous, did not appreciate the banter, and interrupted them with "This will not do, they are waiting for you." So Lenin went, shook Svinhufvud by the hand, and asked "Are you satisfied now?" Svinhufvud made the considerable concession, for him, of replying in Russian; a few polite sentences were exchanged before they parted. Lenin was still struck by the farcical nature of the meeting and told his colleagues that he had inadvertently addressed Svinhufvud as "comrade." Trotski remarked, "It does not matter, if some time we fall into their hands, they will certainly recompense you for it."36 In this somewhat incongruous manner, Russian recognition of the independence of Finland was conferred, and the Finns could scarcely credit that it had been so easy. Idman wrote: "We were a little astonished to get it, since we had not expected that recognition would be given to us at once, in this fashion, in black and white." Svinhufvud hastened back to Helsinki by the night train, carrying the precious letter, while Enckell and Idman stayed to get the formal confirmation of the Executive of the Congress of Soviets. This body met on 4 January, and Stalin presented the decree for confirmation and stated that "a proletarian government, acting on the principle of granting the peoples' right of self-determination, must give its consent." He regretted that the recipients were the Finnish bourgeoisie and not the Finnish workers, remarking that "it was only because of their irresolution and unaccountable cowardice that the Finnish Social Democrats did not take vigorous measures to assume power themselves." Stalin continued:37 There is no force on earth that can compel the Council of Peoples'Commissars to break its promises. This we have demonstrated by the absolute impartiality with which we accepted the demand of the Finnish bourgeoisie that Finland be granted independence. . . . May the independence of Finland help the emancipation of the Finnish workers and peasants and create a firm basis for friendship between the peoples. Sverdlov proposed that the decree be accepted without debate, but an SR member, Moisejev, tried to claim that a final decision could only be given by the Constituent Assembly. He was laughed at by the majority, and in the end the Executive agreed to recognize Finnish independence with no dissent, though four SRmembers abstained from voting. The following day, Idman collected from Sverdlov the official paper that recorded the decision of the Central Executive Committee of the Congress of Soviets and Finland's independence had been solemnly and formally recognized by the Soviet Russian state. Events then demonstrated how much time and trouble could have been saved by approaching the Bolsheviks in the first place. On 27 December, a Finnish delegation presented a formal request for the recognition of Finnish independence to the Swedish government. The following day they were received by the King, who said that 198

while Sweden had the warmest sympathy for the request, a favorable reply must await the agreement of the Russian government. The Swedes were as good as their word: The government knew on 1 January of the decision of the Council of Peoples' Commissars and the next day von Wendt, the only official available, was called to the Foreign Ministry to discuss procedure. Then, without waiting for the Executive of the Congress of Soviets, the Swedes invited von Wendt to call on 3 January and receive the official letter of recognition. But protocol interfered, for Wendt had no credentials to act in the matter and suggested that recognition be conveyed by the Swedish consul in Helsinki. This was done, and on 4 January Sweden officially recognized the independence of Finland, the first foreign power after Russia to do so. On 6 January the consul came to the Finnish government, in full diplomatic uniform, with a ceremonial speech, the text of which he had sent in advance. It was typical that the Finns had not read the advance notice of his intentions; Svinhufvud, who was no orator, had to improvise a reply on the spot. Before a report could be released to the press, Setala had to invent the reply that Svinhufvud ought to have delivered on such an occasion, and this became the published version. In this way the great breakthrough was complete, Finland had her independence recognized not only by the Bolsheviks, which in international law was a dubious asset, but also by a government of impeccable legitimacy. Within days, Denmark and Norway had followed suit, as did an ever-lengthening list of second-rate powers.38 This was very pleasing, but what mattered was the response of the belligerent great powers and against all expectation France was first. Again it was Wendt who played a crucial role, perhaps because he came from the pro-Entente minority among the Finnish bourgeoisie. On 3 January, he hurried to the French ambassador in Stockholm with the news of Sweden's impending decision. The French government scented the chance of a cheap and worthwhile diplomatic coup and decided to recognize Finland from 4 January. The decision reached Helsinki on 6 January; on the following day, the French consul turned up in full dress to present his official letter to the government. He had not given advance notice, and was left to wait his turn in the government's reception room along with other clients. His speech made the most of the occasion, pointing out that French recognition dating from 4 January had been given even before France had received a formal request from the Finnish government, and promising that France would try to persuade her allies to follow suit. Clemenceau, the man behind the decision, reckoned it worth risking offending anti-Bolshevik Russians in order to wean Finland away from Germany. Britain and the United States did not; they resolved to wait on developments. On 18 January, Balfour told a Finnish delegation that Britain was still hoping for a Russian government that would reenter the war and could not take any action that might prejudice this possibility. But French recognition was important because it gave Finland the possibility of maneuver between the two belligerent camps.39 It could have been expected that Germany would have made sure of being first in the Finnish recognition stakes, but she displayed a caution that was her undoing. The trouble was the delicate state of the negotiation at Brest-Litovsk: These had been interrupted after 27 December, when Hoffmann brutally told the Russian 199

delegation over lunch that the detachment of Poland and the Baltic provinces as German satellite states was not regarded as an annexation, within the formula of no annexations and no indemnities. Hoffmann had noted with relish that Joffe lost his appetite, Kamenev was enraged, and Pokrovski wept. It had been agreed to resume negotiations on 9 January, but the Foreign Office deplored Hoffmann's candor and feared to add to Russian distress by any precipitate move on Finland. Hjelt, Erich, and Sario, who were the Finnish delegation, came to Berlin with the official letter requesting recognition, and presented it to the Chancellor on 27 December. He told them that Germany was satisfied that the Bolsheviks would grant recognition, but diplomatic formalities required that the Russian recognition come first. The German press release said that "a recognition of the independence of Finland on the part of Germany is dependent on Finland's understanding with the Russian government, with which Germany is at present engaged in peace negotiations." Hjelt was quite taken aback by this circumspection, which he described as "completely unsympathetic," which was perhaps why, as the internal German minute noted with obvious resentment, the Finns forgot to express "a single word of gratitude" for Germany's efforts on Finland's behalf. A period of mounting frustration followed in Berlin for both Finns and Germans, mainly caused by the slowness of communications with Finland. Hjelt did not know until 2 January thatSvinhufvud had gone to Petrograd, and on 4 January still did not know what the result had been. He could only tell the Germans that the request had been made, and urge them not to wait for Russia's official response: "It would be very unfortunate for Finland's future relations with Germany if the Entente powers recognise Finland's independence before Germany has officially intervened with Russia on our country's behalf." But the Germans would not move until they had the news of confirmation by the Executive of the Congress of Soviets. They had had an informal understanding with Sweden that Swedish and German recognition should be simultaneous, and when they heard that Sweden would not wait, told Lucius on 4 January to try and delay the Swedish action. It was only on 6 January that Hjelt was called to the Chancellory and given a formal letter of recognition signed by the Kaiser. The Germans indulged in some deception, for Htilsen told Hjelt that Sweden's prior recognition was by agreement with Germany, which was a lie, and the Kaiser's letter was dated 4 January, though he had not signed it until the sixth. Such details did not in any case worry Hjelt or most bourgeois Finns: they believed, in Hjelt's words, that "Germany's recognition meant more for us than that of any other power" and, perhaps, in the circumstances of January 1918 that was not unrealistic. The Finnish government, to its great regret, could not stage a ceremonial acceptance of German recognition for there was no German representation in Helsinki. But they received the telegram on the afternoon of 7 January, and it is recorded that "a festive spirit seized the members of the government, because now Germany too had recognised Finland's independence they knew they were standing on firm ground."40 There was a brief moment of illusion when it felt as though the international recognition of Finland's independence might heal the nation and enable a fresh 200

start. The sudden success, after years of hoping and the frustration that had followed the declaration of 6 December, created a momentary euphoria. Finns who normally could see nothing good in Russia, and saw the Bolsheviks as the incarnation of evil, wondered if they had been wrong. On 6 January Helsingin Sanomat wrote:41 The fact that Russia has recognised the political separation of Finland will have a favourable influence on our people in the future relations of Finland and Russia. We have cause to promote good, neighbourly relations with a nation whose leading political representatives have fulfilled our dearest wishes. Uusi Paiva,a paper which had for long had nothing favorable to say about Russia, wrote on 5 January that it was rare indeed for two nations to dissolve a union peacefully, and continued, "On Finland's side a warm acknowledgment must be expressed to the democracy of Russia, which has dared to introduce the ideals of freedom, so far so fragile, into the harsh world of reality, and to build on them a policy more just than before." It went on to note that politicians often derided the force of ideas, "but they can now witness with astonishment that there really are periods in history when the ideals of the nations can also be realised." Hultin, who had strong views on Russians, had none the less been pressing Svinhufvud in December to talk to the Bolsheviks; "since prince Leopold of Bavaria and Hindenburg condescend to negotiate with Bolsheviks, in the end, God help us, it should be good enough for us too." Now she felt vindicated: "A Finnish republic recognised by the government of Russia. This is our great, our marvellous new year gift." The feeling broke through the usual class barriers: Poems in Uusi Paiva and the Pori Sosialidemokraatti celebrated the same theme of liberation through the realization of long held ideals, and how this created the conditions for a fresh start. Keskisuomalainen wrote: 42 So it has happened. The everlasting dream of this nation, the everlasting hope is realised. The Finnish people is an independent free people, which from now on will see to its own affairs, itself care for its future, itself decide its fate. . . . Let us now drive out burdensome memories, let us try to get accustomed to that great truth that our nation really is a free independent nation. The feeling was strong enough to produce a single parliamentary session free from any word or gesture of party rancor. On 8 January Svinhufvud led his government into the parliament chamber and made a formal announcement of the recognitions received from Russia, France, Sweden, and Germany. He acknowledged that "the Russian people has generously fulfilled its promise to realise the right of selfdetermination of small nations." Recognition had come from both belligerent camps and therefore "it is clear that Finland, having separated from Russia, at the same time as it is an independent, it is also a neutral state."The French action had had its reward; it was as close as Svinhufvud ever got to declaring Finland neutral. The Speaker made a formal reply, which stressed the gratitude felt towards Russia:43 The representatives of Russian democracy have been the first, on Russia's 201

behalf, to recognise Finland's full independence. They have thus in fact carried out the right of nations to self-determination, which they proclaimed so vigorously to the whole world. Free Finland, as a good neighbour, must understand this and show its gratitude to the Russian people. Just once no dissenting voice was raised; parliament stood and cheered and then adjourned. But it was too late: The delay caused by Svinhufvud's narrow political vision and his pedantic legalism meant that when independence was secured, the nation had moved far down the road to civil war. It was Helsingin Sanomat that wrot sadly on 9 January how the atmosphere in parliament the previous day contrasted with the "internal chaos which seems to be continuing, even increasing. The waves of hatred and fratricidal feuding are raging fearfully high."

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Chapter 9

The End of Parliamentary Politics The SDP Congress had instructed the party to seek the implementation of the Me vaadimme program in parliament, and on 27 November the parliamentary group met to consider how this could be done. G y l l i n g moved that SDP could use its blocking position in parliament to force concessions out of the bourgeoisie because all major financial provisions, including state loans, required a two-thirds majority, as did all constitutional laws. The socialists were in a position to starve the government of funds and to prevent it enacting a new constitution. The issue was put to the test when the government asked parliament for a credit of 25 million marks on 28 November. The socialists wrote to the bourgeois parties that they would not vote any unappropriated credits unless the regency vote was annulled and the valtalaki confirmed. But when the bourgeois parties met to consider the threat, they followed Wrede's advice that "there must be no concessions to the socialists." For they perceived that if the state had no cash, the first to suffer would be state employees and those on public works. Ingman pointed out that "the bourgeois will endure a shortage of cash better than socialists." So it proved; on December 4 the SDP group met to reconsider since it was besieged by complaints from angry trade unionists threatened with nonpayment of wages. Gylling now moved that they abstain and let the credit through, which was carried by 41 votes to 40. But the party in parliament was exposed as both impotent and divided, for a hard core of 19 persisted in voting against the credit, led by Kuusinen and Manner, and the latter resigned as chairman of the group, "since in my opinion the majority of the group has displayed deplorable wavering in its policies."On 5 December, parliament did agree to annul the vote for a regency, but by 103 votes to 91 it formally refused to confirm thevaltalaki—the law of 18 J u l y , which had loomed over the political debate for so long, was removed from the agenda. 1 This signaled that the bourgeois majority would make no concessions to the socialists, but would treat their election victory as a mandate to govern. The SDP proposal to lower the voting age was rejected, as was a motion for the immediate enfranchisement of tenant farmers. On 11 December SDP moved the confirmation 203

of a group of laws passed in the previous parliament, and it was Alkio who moved that first they should be referred to a committee for reconsideration. The socialist speakers were furious; Salin remarked, "It seems to me ... that the bourgeois members regard the present situation in the country as too peaceful . . . they want to provoke an insurrectionary situation in this country." Makelin said he was getting letters that "say that parliament as at present constituted does not seem to be achieving anything. Therefore it would be better to come home and resort to arms." Some of the laws were confirmed on 14 December but others were held back, and in revenge SDP blocked a proposed tax on capital and dividends. When the socialists' draft blasphemy law was rejected, they killed the government's stamp tax, and by the Christmas recess had demonstrated that SDP could not force its program on parliament, but could deny to the bourgeois parties the full fruits of their majority position. In the long term such a prospect was intolerable and would drive both factions to look for solutions outside parliament.2 The first task indicated by the SDP Congress could not be carried out, nor could the second, to secure full control of the party over the Red Guard. The SDP Executive discussed the problem on 29 November and on the following day met with the SAJ Executive and appointed a new Staff to command the Guard. On this Turkia represented the party and Tokoi the trade unions, and it would exercise full control until a Red Guard delegate Congress was held at Tampere on 16 December. The new Staff began work by ordering the Red Guard to comply with the Congress instruction that armed activity was to cease. Since most Guards had no weapons, and those that had confiscated arms from the bourgeoisie had often returned them as part of the settlement after the strike, they made no difficulty over this. Where the Russians had lent rifles, as they did in Helsinki, these were usually taken back; the dissident Red Guards in the Kaivohuone who objected were forcibly disarmed by the soldiers. In any case the party agreed that the arms stored in the Workers' Hall would be safer in Russian armories. But in Kotka and Turku, when the Guard asked the local Soviet whether the arms should be returned, they were told to keep them, and in Viipuri, where the Russians did ask for their rifles back, Viipuri Red Guard refused and the Russians seem to have acquiesced. In Tampere the Guard had paid for its rifles and kept them, using them to mount guard and for training purposes. Some armed Red Guards, notably Kotka and Viipuri, did agree to put their weapons in store, but the possibility of their being taken out again was very much present.3 Apart from this immediate problem the new Staff sought to establish its general authority over the Red Guard. A joint statement by SDP and SAJ on 9 December claimed its sole right to direct the activity of the Guard:4 Great confusion and disturbance have been caused by the fact that in the general strike and its aftermath, more or less irresponsible persons, groups of workers and some workers' Guard detachments have engaged in their own activites, even defied the decisions of the central authorities. . . . Such behaviour must be severely condemned by the workers organisations. 204

It called for the expulsion from the Guard of such indisciplined elements, and on 11 December the Staff issued a statement on the importance of observing the rules on membership and the need to avoid unauthorized activity. The Guard "must avoid interfering, as an independent organisation, in any kind of political activity, without the express instructions of the supreme commanding committee." Some effort at compliance was made, for the local party organizations were often themselves alarmed at the manifestations of Red Guard independence. Kotka resolved to check all recruits in order to exclude undesirables, Kakisalmi imposed an oath of obedience, and Kuopio resolved, "as the only means to get free of those elements which, having recently joined the party, have managed to get into the Guard," to exclude anyone who had not been a party member before March. Viipuri Guard met on 9 December, after the local party had moved to dissolve the Guard, though the meeting was told this had been only "to demonstrate to outsiders." The party would be satisfied if each unit "will itself carry out a careful review" of its membership. They mainly had criminal elements in mind; Kellosalmi told the meeting that "we must form an honest, not a thieving Guard . . . we must not arouse horror and fear in society, but respect deriving from the correct behaviour of the organised workers." The meeting resolved that "if moral discipline based on conviction does not help, then there must be expulsions from the Guard, since the success of the workers is in danger in the opposite case." Yet they stressed that the names of any doubtful elements expelled must not be revealed, which would expose them to bourgeois reprisal. This went to the heart of the problem of the purge, the sense of solidarity in face of the bourgeois enemy inhibited the workers from disowning or exposing fellow workers, even when their behavior had violated acceptable norms.5 Further it is likely that the purge was aimed at the wrong target. It assumed that unauthorized, militant action by the Red Guards was caused by a fringe of hooligan, anarchist, or criminal members, and that their exclusion would bring it to an end. This was widely believed at the time and has been reiterated ever since, but the concrete evidence to support it is lacking. It is unlikely that antisocial elements played a leading role in the activity of the Guard then or later; the disobedience of the Guards was caused by the conviction of their members that the circumstances required militant activity and that the party was mistaken in seeking to forbid it. If hidden stocks of food were to be made available for distribution to the workers, and if the bourgeoisie were to be prevented from organizing armed forces to suppress the workers, then direct action was the only effective method open to the workers' movement. The dispute was between those who saw the Red Guard as a purely defensive organization and those who saw it as having a positive, even a leading role in shaping events. The developments in Tampere Red Guard illustrate what was happening: There, intense friction had developed by early December between the commanding Staff, organized according to party instructions with a majority appointed by the party, and the conference of Red Guard commanders. "Among the members of the Red Guard there have arisen differences and uncertainty about the relations of the Staff and the different committees to the leadership of the Guard 205

and the care of the weapons in its possession and its answerability." On 5 December a general meeting of Tampere Red Guard removed the three party appointees from the Staff; "their work did not satisfy the membership of the Guard, because of their poor, feeble activity." A new and more militant Staff of 20 was elected in defiance of party regulations, which left a running feud in Tampere between the traditional leadership entrenched in the party machine and the new men in command of the Red Guard. But the Red Guard leaders were not criminals, nor newcomers to the workers' movement: Three had been in the Red Guard in 1905, and nearly all were long-standing members of their trade unions, "but generally they did not belong to the better known leadership of the Tampere workers' organisations. They were a new kind of leader whom the development of the revolution raised to the surface." The Red Guard opened up new fields of activity within the workers' movement and members whose talents had had little scope in the traditional kinds of action found themselves thrust naturally into leading positions, and were equally naturally resented by those whose monopoly of power and influence they were challenging.6 The result was that throughout December, unauthorized, armed activity led by Red Guards continued, in defiance of party policy. There were two main kinds of activity: the sending of raiding parties to search for food and arms, sometimes leading to the arrest of suspected bourgeois leaders; and the levying of blackmail on bourgeois local authorities to extort money, or demand improvements in the organization of food distribution or unemployment relief. Malmi provided an extreme example of the first kind, which verged on plain banditry. The second was more common and usually meant mobbing or blockading public authorities and presenting demands for money to pay for expenses incurred by the workers during the strike, or demanding new schemes of unemployment relief. Instances of this kind of action took place in Viipuri, Tampere, Kotka, and Hamina, and in each case the local Red Guard took the lead and the local party organization disowned the actions as unofficial and the work of "unorganized" elements.7 The inability of the party leadership to control their followers was made humiliatingly clear in Helsinki. Helsinki Red Guard had about 3,000 members among whom was a hard core of 500 to 600 militants. These latter had supposedly been disarmed by the Russians on 28 November, but it was soon apparent that they still had rifles. The militants persuaded the Workers' Council to endorse a demand to the Municipality for one million marks, to meet the expenses incurred by the workers during the strike. Although SDP Executive opposed this demand, the Workers' Council threatened to take over the city government themselves if it was not met by 8 December. In consequence on 7 December the SDP leaders had to go to the Workers' Council and plead with it not to implement the threat. Turkia said that "it would undoubtedly lead to the fall of the government and the working class would be forced to put power into the hands of the workers" and he urged that the movement was not yet ready for this. The majority of the Workers' Council was unmoved; Turkia was told that the leaders had become estranged from the masses, and "if they do not do something on this question then the Workers'Council will 206

carry through its decision to a conclusion."The most they would concede was that on the next day a joint delegation of the Council and the party Executive would go to the Municipality and urge them to pay up. The leadership was saved by the enemy when, late on 7 December, the Municipality voted for a face-saving compromise whereby they would provide 1,320,000 marks for relief works. The Workers' Council accepted this and the immediate crisis in Helsinki was over.8 The militant Red Guard had emerged as an independent and uncontrolled force in society, and if it was prepared to defy the leaders of the socialist party, it was utterly contemptuous of all legal authority from Svinhufvud's government downwards. The Jalander case illustrated this. Jalander, as the Prefect of Uusimaa province, was responsible for law and order in the Helsinki area, but he was held in the central prison as a hostage of Helsinki Red Guard. They refused to allow his release unless he would resign as Prefect. Jalander appealed to the government for protection, but was advised by Svinhufvud to stay in prison for his own safety and did so until his patience ran out. Then he walked out of prison and reappeared in his Prefect's office on 1 January. It is apparent from Jalander's account of events that he thought Svinhufvud had acted feebly, yet the government was only being realistic — it did not have the capacity to protect its own officials from the Helsinki Red Guard.9 The limitations on government action were further emphasized as it struggled to revive the tattered remnants of its own security forces. It was decided to regroup the dispersed Saksaniemi mounted police and on the advice of the Military Committee to transfer them to Pohjanmaa, where a new training camp was set up at Lappajarvi. But the rail route to Lappajarvi ran through Tampere, where the Red Guard now kept a constant watch on all rail traffic. On 14 December, Tampere Red Guard detached three horse boxes destined for Lappajarvi and announced that they had requisitioned the horses, "and we will answer in full for any consequences which may arise from the confiscation." The horses were sold for Red Guard funds, as was a further consignment intercepted by Lahti Red Guard. As a result, the men and supplies for Lappajarvi had to be smuggled around Tampere and itwas only in January that training could be resumed. The government also had decided to recruit a force of foot police, "The Finnish Republic's Defence Guard," but these too had to be assembled at another remote camp in Pohjanmaa, at Jalasjarvi, where they began training under colonel K. Berg. All this showed that the legal governmentof Finland could only recruit security forces in its own territory on the smallest scale, and by conspiratorial means, whereas the Red Guard stopped the transport of government property, intimidated state employees, and contemptuously sold off their booty for their own funds, all with complete immunity from legal sanctions.10 But the series of events that demonstrated to the whole nation how neither the socialist leaders nor the government could control Red Guard militancy occurred in Turku. After the strike, Turku Revolutionary Committee remained in being and announced that "the militia will in any case be kept in the workers' hands—if necessary by force of arms." The arrested Prefect, Collan, and the police chief, Nikander, would not be allowed to resume their functions but would be held as hostages 207

pending a satisfactory settlement. The leader of Turku Red Guard, V. Lundberg, demanded that his men should become the official Turku militia and be paid by the Municipality.11 It became increasingly obvious that money was the principle concern of Lundberg and his men. They had extorted 500,000 marks from Turku Municipality immediately after the strike, but this was soon spent; in addition to being taken on the city payroll, they now wanted an immediate 200,000 marks as advance on their wages. A local bourgeois member of parliament remarked with some justice that "however good Mr. Lundberg's Guard may be as a security organisation it has to be admitted that . . . it is a comparatively expensive institution." Basically the Turku Red Guard had become a welfare organization, distributing public funds to the poor and unemployed. Negotiations with the government broke down on the question of money and on 15 December the Turku Revolutionary Committee called a militia strike. What followed took everyone by surprise: Mobs of civilians, and a few Russian soldiers, surged into the town center, looted the shops, and attacked the principle bourgeois newspaper and set its buildings on fire. Helsingin Sanomat called it a pogrom, which was not inappropriate, except that there was little violence to persons. It was a reaction common to police strikes everywhere, when the poor and deprived, the criminals, and the hooligans leave their suburban dens and satisfy their various impulses at the expense of property in an orgy of smashing and looting. Since Turku was a compact town the effect was dramatic. Keski-Suomi wrote that "the traces of destruction in the centre of the city are dreadful and give the impression that the city has been bombarded."The disorders continued sporadically over 16 and 17 December, being at their worst after dark; the initial estimate of the damage was 3 million marks. Lundberg had lost control completely; he toured the scene by car on 17 December but could make no impression on the looters, while the Revolutionary Committee appealed to the militia to return to duty but were ignored. It was the Russians who saved the situation; on the night of 17 December Turku Soviet sent cavalry patrols into the city and order was restored.12 A mass meeting in the city on 18 December welcomed the restoration of order and even proposed that "dark elements" should be run out of town, but a majority expressed support for Lundberg's determination to make the government yield to his original demands. He traveled to Helsinki, and though the SDP Executive gave him an unfriendly reception, he received warm encouragement from Helsinki Red Guard, which promised armed support if necessary. When Sirola went to the meeting of the Red Guard and tried to present the view of the Executive, he was shouted down. The government had now suggested a compromise settlement and this was accepted by SDP. They sent Tokoi down to Turku to sell it to the mass meeting there and he succeeded; the meeting voted for acceptance by 311 votes to 260, all hostages were released, and the militia returned to duty. But the pacification was precarious; when Turku Revolutionary Committee met on 26 December to consider whether to disband, it decided against this, because although "there is now an armistice with the bourgeoisie," they did not expect it to last. Lundberg and his Red Guard remained effective masters of Turku.13 208

The Turku disorders set off a nationwide debate in parliament and the press. Moderates in the bourgeois camp recognized that many socialists deplored the breakdown of law and order and looked to collaboration with them to restore the situation. But the hard men argued that "the threads of what happened in Turku start from Siltasaari" and that the Turku affair was the result of "the conscious and long-planned policy which the Social Democratic party . . . has followed and continues to follow." The provincial newspaper, Keskf-Suomi, expressed their mounting anger: 14 Finland's Bolshevik-socialists' wild sowing of misbehaviour is still bearing fruit. And from day to day those fruits become more foul. Armed robber bands of Red Guards still circulate from place to place, threatening the lives of peaceful citizens, taxing local treasuries for their own purposes and seizing property . . . where are our men hiding? . . . in this country nothing else will help than manly force and stern discipline, so stern that it will not allow the least compromise. It was a warning that the patience and tolerance of the propertied classes was wearing thin and that if the socialists persisted in justifying the Red Guard and its activity, they too would be regarded as outlaws and treated accordingly. The socialists had no hesitation in condemning the Turku outrages: Tyomies wrote "such rioting and theft is to be condemned and is anti-social, about that there can only be one opinion." Tokoi affirmed that "hooliganism is always to be resisted as the worst enemy of the revolution and the working class" and said in parliament that "good order is a necessary condition of our existence." Yet they could not get together with the moderate bourgeois because they insisted that neither SDP, nor the working class, was responsible for events in Turku. On the contrary, they suggested that the bourgeoisie was wholly responsible for provoking the workers by holding up reasonable reforms, or worse, that they had deliberately incited the disorder. Tyomies wrote that the riots had been organized to provide an excuse for calling down repression on the working class. "From what sources may the Turku robberies have come? It must be greatly suspected that they were deliberately organised as a provocation." The charge of deliberate provocation was absurd, but it showed the existence of a mental climate in which no reasoned dialogue between the sides was possible. 15 The socialist solution was to install a government that would grant reforms and pacify the majority of honest proletarians, isolating the real hooligans and destroying their power to work mischief. Sirola warned that the alternative to conciliation would be "the White Terror, the method of punitive expeditions," or a revolutionary order enforced by the workers. The socialist solution looked attractive, but was quite unrealistic. Nothing would have conciliated the Turku militants except unconditional surrender by the bourgeoisie, and this would have been followed not by a restoration of order but by a continuing round of arbitrary searches, arrests, and seizures of property. If any evidence had been shown that the socialist leaders could control their militant followers, their plea for conciliation would have had 209

plausibility. But events had demonstrated thatSDP had no authority in Turku, but that it was being dragged along, reluctantly it was true, in the wake of the militant minority. SDP Executive talked of purging and restructuring the Turku party, just as it talked about purging and restructuring the Red Guard nationally, but it lacked the will and probably the power to do it. The debates on the Turku disorders in parliament and the press had exposed a society so riven by fear and mistrust that it was no longer practicable for the reasonable men of both camps to come together.16 This situation was the more dangerous because the militants of both camps were preparing for a resort to force. The Home Guard had emerged with little credibility from the general strike. Either it had been ignominiously passive while its leaders were arrested and its weapons seized, or it had tried to assert itself and in most places had been soundly beaten. The movement suffered further from the armistice between Russia and Germany, which cancelled Ludendorffs promises of 26 November. Until Russia recognized Finland as independent, Germany was debarred by the armistice from sending weapons or returning the Ja'gers. Activist morale sank, and when Ignatius wrote directly to Ludendorff on 10 December that "we address a soldier with the frank speech of a soldier. Finland's people ask an open, manly answer when they pose the question, what can Germany's government and Germany's people do for us?" he got no reply. For Ludendorff would have had to say that Germany could do nothing while the armistice continued. On top of this, an attempt at a second major arms delivery ended in failure. Donner had told Kaila on 7 November that the Germans were so impressed with the success of the first delivery that the Equity would sail again with the much bigger load of 20,000 rifles, 50 machine-guns, and 22 Jager instructors, and would make three deliveries at Pori, Uusikaupunki, and Vastero. If this quantity could be landed and distributed safely to the Home Guard, it would give them a massive superiority in equipment over the Red Guard and totally transform their possibilities.17 But this time eveything went wrong. The Germans rushed the departure of the Equity and deliberately left her without radio, in case the armistice intervened; the pilot from Vaasa fell ill, the Pori Home Guard failed to find a pilot in time, and an attempt to arrange a rendezvou from Turku failed. Equity lay off Pori for three successive nights without making contact, until on 9 December a motor-boat came out and took off the Ja'gers and an insignificant quantity of weapons. The ship moved to Vaasa on 11 December, but again there was no contact, fuel was running low and the crew getting restive, and Equity returned to Germany with her cargo. The failure was disastrous, for as long as the armistice prevailed the Home Guard had no prospect of securing large quantities of arms.18 The general strike also had a positive effect for the Home Guard movement: the violence that had occurred provoked interest among bourgeois elements previously indifferent or hostile, and recruits flowed in, while businessmen and local authorites became willing to provide money and facilities. The problem was to use the money and enthusiasm to turn the raw recruits into some kind of fighting men. Training was provided by ex-officers of the Finnish army and by the returned Ja'gers. The officers were by definition elderly, lacking in experience of modern methods, though 210

Vaasa district chief was probably unfair when he told K. Donner that "our old soldiers are really quite incapable of directing the business." But it was true that most of the old gentlemen were neither inspiring nor efficient, so the burden of leadership fell on the Ja'gers. By the end of the year about 50 returned Ja'gers were available in Finland, together with 37 who had returned before 1917 and did not have the specialist training of the others. They were not evenly distributed over the country; there was a handful in Helsinki, and the bulk were in Pohjanmaa and Karelia. Whole regions, like the southwest and rural Uusimaa, got almost no Ja'ger training facilities at all. The distribution made sense; the Ja'gers were concentrated where the Home Guard was strong and could work without fear of interruption. Although their numbers were small, and many of the Ja'gers only began work in December, their impact was of incalculable importance. First, the Red Guard had no comparable facility, and this gave the Home Guard a marked relative advantage when it came to a fight. Second the mere presence of Ja'gers gave an enormous boost to confidence and morale; small groups of ill-armed Home Guards performed wonders under Ja'ger leadership, when other similar groups without this advantage proved as dismally incompetent in action as their Red Guard opponents. Finally Kaila, T. Svedlin, and Sihvo had the idea of setting up a Ja'ger-run training course for potential leaders, which was set up in the remote Pohjanmaa village of Vimpeli from 28 December to 12 January. There were 200 trainees, mostly students on vacation; the level was that of NCO training, and it meant the chance to do tactical exercises under skilled instructors, actually handling and firing rifles and machine-guns provided from the first Equity load. Sihvo was of the opinion that:19 The significance of the Vimpeli battle school for the opening phases of our war of liberation cannot be sufficiently valued. It is questionable whether, without it, we could have carried out the first mobilisation of troops, organisation, and forming of a front quickly and uniformly in our struggle for freedom. The device was so obviously successful that a second course for 240 men was opened at Voyri on 26 January, and one for 40 men was arranged at Kuopio.The 200 men trained at Vimpeli could not change the Home Guard from a raw militia into an army, but together with the handful of Ja'gers, they provided a cadre of military competence, which their opponents lacked, so that the relative advantage wa great, perhaps decisive. The provision of weapons was a much more serious problem. There was money; the Military Committee put up 630,000 marks for arms purchase or manufacture, but the supply was not there. On the manufacturing side, the only success was some small-scale production of hand grenades in Helsinki and Viipuri. Guns had to be bought on the black market from the Russians, and only a few units would sell to the bourgeoisie. Hameenlinna garrison sold 300 rifles to the Home Guard, but most purchases were much smaller and made no significant contribution to the general problem. The best black market was in Petrograd but the problem then was to get the arms into Finland; the Bolsheviks and the Red Guard became increasingly vigilant and several loads were lost. Viipuri managed to get some 700 rifles and a 211

few machine guns from Petrograd, and further east weapons could be brought over the frontier by sledge. About 500 more rifles came this way. A field gun purchased for 6,000 rubles got stuck in deep snow and had to be abandoned. An exotic purchase was 24 Lewis guns for Kuopio; the snag was that there were only 539 cartridges for the lot, but Kuopio Red Guard did not know that the guns were virtually useless, and undoubtedly were intimidated by this formidable-seeming armory. Weapons also could be stolen in transit with the help of friendly railway officials, but when Kokkola Home Guard stole a whole wagon load on 25 January, they overreached themselves and the Russian garrison forced them to return the arms. This points to the constant danger that weapons painfully acquired could be lost to Red Guard and Russian raiding parties.20 Such activities could not be of more than local significance; they contributed little to the general problem of arming the Home Guard, and they were not under central control. The only weapons that Kaila and the Military Committee could dispose of were those from the first Equity delivery. The Germans had stipulated that two-thirds must be retained in Pohjanmaa, but this should have left 1,500 to 2,000 rifles free for distribution. Kaila wanted to spread them widely, in small packets, to raise morale, but the Military Committee were opposed to this plan, and wanted to earmark the surplus weapons for the government's paramilitary police units. Further, some of the surplus rifles could not be accounted for; it is supposed that the local Pohjanmaa people simply appropriated them. Kaila planned to send out 14 lots of 100 rifles but the Military Committee countermanded the order and only five lots were sent outside Pohjanmaa, of which one was seized by the Red Guard at Tampere. It is probable that the two consignments that reached Mikkeli and Jyvaskyla did swing the balance in favor of the Home Guard in these two vital communication centers, when the time for action came. But the Military Committee was right and Kaila was thinking like a civilian: It would have been unproductive to scatter the Equity rifles all over the country, though to be fair to Kaila, when he made his plan he was expecting that the second delivery would soon be available. The overall result of these activities was that in January the Home Guard in the south and west, which was to become Red Finland, had about 1,800 rifles and nine machine-guns, and these were virtually lost to the White war effort. In the rest of Finland, excluding Pohjanmaa, the Home Guard had about 1,500 rifles and five machine-guns, while Pohjanmaa had 4,000 rifles and 18 machine-guns, more than the rest of Finland put together, plus the Equity rifles that were unaccounted for. In evaluating these figures, it must be remembered that there was very little ammunition; even in Pohjanmaa there were only 100 cartridges for each rifle. Therefore, right down to the outbreak of hostilities, the Home Guard remained very weak in terms of equipment.21 The central direction of the movement was hampered by a fundamental division of outlook between the members of the Military Committee, who, although they were thoroughly pro-German, had all served in the pre-1914 Russian army, and the younger political leaders like Kaila, who identified closely with the Ja'gers. This division should have been closed when Kaila became secretary to the Military Commit212

tee and the Forestry Bureau was subordinated to it. On 11 December Kaila organized a Home Guard delegate conference in Helsinki, from which it emerged that there was no organization at all in a third of the planned 29 districts and very incomplete organization in the others. Kaila remained optimistic, though no detailed plans emerged from the meeting, only confirmation of the basic strategy of securing a base area in the north and moving the southern Home Guards into it for mobilization. This was the only national planning conference to be held, but the Military Committee had begun to appoint district commanders, usually elderly officers with local connections, of whom Kaila had a poor opinion. He complained that they were only "a little younger and more active" than the "superannuated granddads" who composed the actual Military Committee, and on 23 January he wrote to K. Donner that "my earlier opinion is continually confirmed. It would be the greatest misfortune to our country if the military leadership was in their hands for very long." This created a very uneven pattern of local organization and readiness, depending on the personality of the district commander and the specific local conditions. In Satakunta a fairly vigorous commander, V. Berg, with an able assistant, S. Fabritius, found their efforts largely nullified by the independence of the Satakunta Home Guard, which gave its allegiance to the Military Committee only at a late stage. In Viipuri a largely ineffective commander, G. Warnhjelm, had in the end to be pushed aside by the energetic Ja'ger organizer W. Hagglund, who then had very little time to get a grip on things. A. Aminoff at Mikkeli,C. Malm at Kuopio, and W. Wiik at Jyvaskyla were all energetic, and ensured that when the time came they could establish superiority over their local Red Guards. Pohjanmaa, under the leadership of P. von Gerich, who was appointed on 8 December, was in a class of its own with a good level of coordination and central direction.22 The Military Committee and its chairman were supposed to preside over the whole structure as commander-in-chief and general staff. When Mexmontan was displaced, the Committee had to look for a new chairman, who had to be someone of high rank, with experience of commanding large forces, preferably under modern conditions. This restricted the choice, in effect, to serving Russian officers of Finnish extraction, and Ignatius and H.Akerman, who were most actively involved in the search for a new leader, decided there were only two possibilities, both Lieutenantsgeneral of cavalry, with good active service records—C. Charpentier and C. G. Mannerheim. Charpentier was a conscientious, amiable, and competent career soldier, a fluent Finnish speaker, and well connected in Finnish ruling society. Mannerheim was a man of a very different kind. He had been born into one of Finland's most prestigious aristocratic families, with a record of public service going back for many generations. Indeed Mandelin told Jalander in December that "if only because of his name he would be a suitable leader." Yet the reforms of 1906 and the rise of linguistic nationalism had pushed families like the Mannerheims out of politics; their Swedish culture and inherent distaste for democratic politics disqualified them. Baron Carl Gustav Mannerheim had been a young man of energy and ambition. He had rejected the possibility of a comfortable life as a country gentleman, with perhaps a dignified administrative career in Finland and had gone into the Russian army, 213

where a man of talent could rise to the top and play a part in the great world of international diplomacy and war. Mannerheim's career had been brilliant; he had all the qualifications, impeccable aristocratic descent and breeding, an inspiring and dominating personality, and natural talent as an organizer and leader. It had culminated in three years of distinguished service on the Russian front, which had now been cut short by the revolution. Of these two men, Charpentier and Mannerheim, the latter was indisputably the more distinguished.23 Yet there were difficulties in accepting Mannerheim as the leader of an essentiall liberal-democratic, nationalist movement of thoroughly bourgeois character. Apart from his class, he was Swedish-speaking, and though fluent in several languages, could maintain only an elementary level of conversation in Finnish. In addition to this, he had spent his whole working life as the faithful servant of the tsarist oppressor, and lived nearly all of it outside Finland, although he had carefully maintained his ties with the family and had undoubtedly followed developments in Finland, as he did elsewhere in Europe, with close and well-informed attention. But for these reasons, Mannerheim was a distant and alien figure to the farmers and provincial bourgeois who were the rank and file supporters of White Finland, and they would not readily identify with him; for the intellectuals and politicians who led the movement, and who were so thoroughly pro-German, there was the additional objection that Mannerheim was a strong supporter of the Entente cause. It could be said that in 1917 most Finns did not know Mannerheim, and he did not know them, for their paths had scarcely crossed; those who did have some knowledge of his career were bound to have serious misgivings. Kaila was typical; Mannerheim was only a name to him, and not a name to inspire enthusiasm: He wrote to K. Donner in January, "They have chosen as the new commander-in-chief general baron Mannerheim, who certainly seems energetic, but who is no friend of Germany." Since Mannerheim subsequently became the great hero figure of Finnish independence, it has becom difficult to remember that he returned to Finland in 1917 as an unknown, in many ways suspect personality, even an unsympathetic figure. Almost everything about his life until then was a handicap to him as the leader of White Finland, and it was a measure of his abilities that he triumphed over these disabilities. Such things mattered much less to the members of the Military Committee; they thought of him as a distinguished professional colleague, though none could claim close personal acquaintance with him—but then almost nobody in Finland, outside his family, could. So when the Military Committee looked for a commander in November they thought of Mannerheim at once; but faced with the problem that he was still in south Russia and they had no contact with him, and nobody could be certain that he would be interested, they chose Charpentier, who was elected chairman of the Military Committee early in December.24 The organizational structure of the Home Guard movement was now complete, but it was not long before everyone could see they had made a mistake. Everyone spoke well of Charpentier as a man, but almost no one could see him as the kind of leader they required. He lacked the essential quality of leadership, the will to take and exercise power and assume the personal direction of events. Ignatius thought he 214

lacked self-confidence; Jalander wrote "he lacked what was most necessary, personal ruthlessness and the strength to drive his own firm resolution through." He did not direct and control, he presided; this was fatal because of the shortcomings of the Military Committee itself. Kaila described it as "a kind of discussion group, a loose gathering of like-minded men . . . without any programme of activity or common plan." After he became their secretary Kaila wrote to K. Donner "it must be admitted (let it remain between us) that the whole staff does not seem promising. . . . the first two weeks have been total chaos." Mannerheim, when he came to observe the work of the Military Committee, came to a similar conclusion; it "handled all kinds of questions in collective fashion. I observed ever more clearly that the committee was not up to its task." Charpentier was not the man to transform the Military Committee into an effective instrument of command.25 Mannerheim resigned his commission about the time of the October Revolution, when he was already convinced that Bolshevism was a menace to the whole civilization of Europe as he understood it. It was unthinkable that a man of his disposition would retire and observe events: He felt a duty to combat the Bolshevik menace but retained an open mind on how this should be done. Mannerheim was in Helsinki in December, and his sister wrote, "When a man has his ability and experience there must be a task for him in this country, which we must now begin to build from the start." But though he received many callers, he did not put himself forward as a candidate for public service and resisted Ignatius' urgings to join the Military Committee. Instead, he went back to Petrograd for purposes that can only be guessed. It may have been a farewell visit to many old friends there—or he may have been looking for a field of action in Russia itself; if so, he must have become convinced that there was no place for him. Immediately on his return to Helsinki he yielded to the invitation of Ignatius and Akerman to join the Military Committee, for as his cousin, J. von Julin, told Enckell, he "needs work." When the Military Committee was raised in status from an advisory committee to a full government agency on 7 January, Mannerheim's name was included in the list of members. On 9 January he came with Ignatius to see Enckell and urge that the government speed up the return of the J a'gers and the procurement of arms from Germany. Thereafter he attended three meetings of the Military Committee under Charpentier's chairmanship until on 13 January he had had enough. At the close of the meeting Mannerheim rose to speak, "I thanked the Committee for the confidence they had shown in me and said that I did not think I could take part in their work any longer: my membership could give rise to the belief that its actions satisfied my understanding of what the situation demands." The members asked what did he think they should be doing, and he replied they should transfer at once to Pohjanmaa, and set up a proper general staff for the army that would have to be created, and "if you cannot leave today, then tomorrow." The Committee requested Mannerheim and Charpentier to submit reports to the nextmeetingon what action they recommended. Mannerheim's response was typical of this self-confident and often arrogant man, who was never patient with the inadequacies of lesser mortals: "I had given my opinion, I lit my cigar and left. I did not write a report. It was high time to do something, not just write."26 215

The Committee met later that day, without Charpentier, and decided that their chairman must go, and be replaced by Mannerheim. It may never be known what Charpentier really thought, but he realized what was happening and offered, his resignation independently. The incident showed how, within a week, Mannerheim had established his personal dominance over this collection of comparative strangers. Ignatius wrote:27 At that time I still had a wholly superficial acquaintance with Mannerheim, and I was never really in friendly relations with him, but already his behaviour in those few meetings where he was present had made a deep impression on all of us—we said that we had before us a commanding, energetic and self-confident soldier—just what we had lacked. On 15 January, Mannerheim and Charpentier went jointly to see Svinhufvud and Enckell, to confirm their acceptance of the change of command and receive the government's confirmation of it. The Red Guard was supposed to be waiting until its Congress met on 16 December for its future pattern of activity to be determined. In the interim the orders of the party, conveyed through the commanding Staff, were to cease armed activity, purge the ranks, attend to fund raising, and concentrate on the political education of the members. Units were urged to form discussion groups, or "revolutionary clubs" to prepare for the future, on the basis that "the workers' revolutionary movement has notended with the general strike, but it has really just begun." Most Red Guards were content to abide by these instructions, but a minority, and they tended to be concentrated in the larger and more important Guards, were not and persisted in various forms of militant activity. The party youth paper Tyolaisnuoriso complained that such Guards "consider that the Guard is completely self-directing, a fighting organisation independent of the other workers' organisations, which can do what it wants on its own initiative." Yet several commentators then, and since, have doubted whether the militancy did arise spontaneously from within the Red Guard movement, suggesting that it was due to alien influences. The repeated assertion of the bourgeois press and politicians that the Russian soldiers were the source of Red Guard militancy cannot be sustained. It was very clear in the period after the general strike that in most places the soldiers were not prepared to leave weapons in the charge of the Red Guard, because they feared they might get into the wrong hands or be used for purposes the Russians did not approve. Far from encouraging the militants, the Russians officially welcomed the decision of the Tampere Congress to accept party control; Izvestija expressed the hope that the Red Guard would become "a simple revolutionary organisation, removed from all anarchist actions." The official policy of the Area Committee was defined in orders of 28 December, that the soldiers must not intervene in Finnish internal politics and if they did get requests for intervention from Finnish workers, these must be referred to the Area Committee. No unit should issue weapons to outsiders without the consent of the Committee. The policy was not always observed, but in general it was, and where Russians did intervene in support of the Red Guard, they did so at the request of the Finns, 216

not at the instigation of the Russians. Thus in Hamina, where the workers were pursuing a dispute with the Municipality, claiming that the Home Guard was threatening them, they asked the Russians for rifles and the request was granted, "and as a precaution half a company of soldiers along with them." The incident was typical of the way the Russian presence stimulated Red Guard militancy. The Russians did not incite or instigate the actions of the Red Guard but their very presence, and their readiness in some instances to help with weapons and armed support, emboldened and encouraged militant Red Guards to act on their own initiative.28 It would have been logical for the Bolsheviks to seek to provoke revolutionary action by the Finnish workers, but it cannot be shown that either the Council of Peoples' Commissars of the Bolshevik party and its agents officially instigated or organized revolutionary action by Finnish socialists. The one exception was the activities of the Finnish Section of the Petrograd Bolshevik party, led by J. Rahja, the senior of three brothers involved in events. He was important enough to have become a member of the Central Committee of the Bolshevik party and a close colleague of Lenin. Whether or not Rahja had had any specific instructions from the Central Committee, he had appeared in Finland more than once as the spokesman of the Bolsheviks and had consistently urged SDP to make a revolution. During the general strike, he had developed close relations with the leaders of the Red Guard, and after it began to develop his contacts through the agency of the Finnish Section of the Petrograd Red Guard. This was reorganized in November, when a new staff was elected, with Rahja's brother Eino as political commissar, A. Dufva as chief of operations, and A. Uotinen as secretary. Their specific military task was to guard the railway to Finland and they set up headquarters in the former Imperial Waiting Room at the Finland Station. They were issued 200 rifles; the membership was exclusively Finnish and ironically they were partly financed by the Finnish bourgeois government. On 24 November Uotinen travelled to Helsinki to tell the government they would need to be paid for guarding the railway and one of the first acts of the Svinhufvud government was to advance them 75,000 rubles for this purpose. This meant that the Finnish Petrograd Red Guard were a Finnish organization, paid by the Finnish government to protect what was legally a Finnish railway, but they were also a recognized agency of the Bolshevik government, exercising control over communications with Finland and linked through J. Rahja to the highest levels of the Bolshevik party. They at once took it on themselves to use their position to stop bourgeois agents from buying arms in Petrograd and shipping them to Finland for the Home Guard, while they developed into the principal channel through which the Red Guard sought to arm itself.29 There is, however, no evidence that this function was planned or directed by the Bolshevik party; it simply grew in a quite haphazard fashion. It began when a Kuopio delegate to the SDP Congress asked Rahja to help get some rifles for Kuopio Red Guard. He acted quickly, for on 29 November the Military-revolutionary Committee in Petrograd authorized Rahja to send 650 rifles to Finland, and they were taken under Rahja's personal escort. One wagon was detached at Lahti, and 150 rifles put in store at the Workers' Hall there; the rest went through to Kuopio. Kuopio Red Guard 217

had to pay Rahja for the rifles, though whether this only covered expenses, or whether Rahja treated it as a commercial transaction, is not clear; he had plenty of enemies willing to accuse him of profiteering. The rifles were then sold to Red Guard members for 100 marks, and to spread the financial burden, consignments of 100 rifles each were sold to Kajaani and Varkaus Red Guards. Once the word of this transaction got out, delegations from many other Guards went to Petrograd to ask for similar deliveries, including major centers like Viipuri, Tampere and Turku. Some were lucky, but most were not: Lahti did unusually well, for the money made by selling confiscated Saksaniemi horses financed a second delivery of rifles. The Karelian frontier communes of Terijoki, Kuokkala, Kivennapa, Uusikirkko, and Raivola were provided with arms, for the obvious reason that the railway passed through their territory and they helped the Petrograd Red Guard to protect it. Otherwise the distribution seems quite random; small consignments went to Turku, Lappeenranta, Mikkeli, and J oensuu. The unplanned nature of these deliveries meant that the arms did not go where they would have been most useful, and their small size suggested that either Petrograd Red Guard could not easily procure supplies or lack of money prevented larger scale activity. The military significance of this arms trade was consequently slight, but it was a boost to the hopes and morale of Red Guards in Finland and a flow of delegations arrived at the Finland Station and "brought back either weapons, or promises of getting them, and told marvellous tales of how the masters there were held in check." Nevertheless, the contribution of the Petrograd Finnish Red Guard to raising the level of militancy in Finland was unsystematic and essentially passive; it was the Red Guards inside Finland who, on their own initiative, came to Petrograd to beg for help.30 One other channel of Bolshevik influence over the Finnish workers existed, and that was the Helsinki branch of the Bolshevik party. In this the key figure was Taimi, who because he was a Finn was the vital liaison man and had been in close contact with the Finnish workers' organizations since March. It cannot be shown that Taimi had any instructions from the Bolshevik party, but it was certainly true that after he had arranged for the loan of rifles to Helsinki Red Guard during the general strike he became a major influence among the leaders of Helsinki Red Guard and the chief spokesman of the militants; this made him a force within the movement.31 Taimi's importance was made clear when the Red Guard Congress assembled at Tampere on 16 December, for it turned into a duel between Turkia, who as SDP secretary put the party policy, and Taimi as delegate of Helsinki Red Guard, who argued the case for revolutionary action. The atmosphere was "pretty stormy" and the tension was increased by the justified feeling of the militants that the Congress had been rigged against them. The basis of the delegations was one delegate for Guards with under 1,000 members, two for those with over 1,000; this was absurdly biassed in favor of small, rural Guards of a pacific disposition and against the big city Guards, which tended to be militant. Turkia introduced the rules proposed by the party and they were naturally sent to a committee for examination, but only after a debate in which the militants attacked the defensive tone of the rules and their emphasis on subordination of the Guard to the party. Tyomies described it as essentially a debate over "how independent an organisation the Guard would be." While the committee argued over 218

the rules, the Congress spent the second day discussing problems of organization, but even then the debate on general policy flared up, with the militants insisting that the movement should have seized power in November and demanding that"the November mistake should now be repaired." As the tide of criticism mounted, Turkia made a dramatic appearance on the platform and declared "if you want to hang someone, hang me." He went on to address them "with the authority of a party secretary" and told them that SDP Congress had settled policy, and they had no constitutional right at all to discuss the general policy line of the movement. It must have been an effective speech; at least one delegate of militant disposition confessed that he had been won over by it.32 The climax came on the third day, when the committee reported back on the rules. They had failed to reconcile the different proposals, and the Congress was faced with the draft presented by SDP Executive and the rival draft proposed by Helsinki Red Guard. There were three important areas of difference between the two sets of rules, the first concerning the purposes of the Guard. The party rules defined this in terms of defense of the working class from armed attack; the militants wanted to add that the Guard was also "the revolutionary executive force for achieving the objectives set out by the workers." This claimed a positive role for the Guard in enforcing the will of the proletariat over that of the bourgeoisie. The second difference was over the relation of the Guard to the party. The party rules gave the command of the Guard to a General Staff of five, elected by the Congress. But the General Staff would simply execute the orders given to it by the joint Executives of SDP and SAJ, or any other executive organ that the movement might set up. Thus the Guard would have no autonomy in deciding the policies that it was required to carry out, and its members could only take part in policy making as individual members of the party or the trade unions. The militants proposed that the Guard have a policy-making Staff of eight, four elected by the Congress, and two each by SDP and SAJ, though in time of revolution control might be transferred to any revolutionary executive that was established. This was always the crucial issue: Was the Red Guard to be an equal third partner in the workers' movement, alongside the party and the trade unions, or was it subordinate to them? It was fundamental to the third area of disagreement over the method of appointing commanders. The party rules proposed that commanders of regiments be appointed by the General Staff, of battalions by the district staffs, while the regimental commander and his staff would appoint the company commanders. The militants simply adhered to the principle of the election of commanders at each level by the appropriate constituency.33 During the debate, Taimi made it quite clear why the issue of autonomy for the Guard was crucial, for it had the function of leading the workers' movement to follow the example of Russia. He said that "he had been in three Russian revolutions, and knew how a revolutionary struggle should be conducted," and the militant rules were designed for a Red Guard with "a revolutionary fighting spirit." When it came to a vote, Taimi was defeated; the exact figures are not known, but Taimi's own figure of 123 to 78 was probably about right. In any case, the party rules were accepted by a substantial majority. The Congress then went on to elect a General Staff under the 219

new rules, and the official candidate, A. Aaltonen, was elected commander-in-chief. It was suggested toTaimi that he contest the election, but he had already decided that his policy would be to defy the new organization, on the grounds that the Congress had been unrepresentative. This meant that the Congress had failed and instead of determining the policy and structure of the Red Guard, preparing it for the battle with the bourgeoisie, it plunged the movement into a new round of paralyzing internal struggles. This became apparent on the train back from Tampere, on which Turkia and Taimi had a furious argument, with Taimi defiant and Turkia threatening to get him expelled from the movement.34 The battle was joined at once when Taimi reported back to a meeting of Helsinki Red Guard on 20 December and had an easy success; the meeting voted to ignore the decisions of the Tampere Congress and continue to press for their own independent policy. This decision was then reported to the Helsinki Workers' Council on 22 December, and Taimi once more made the aim of his policy clear.35 It is important, and in the interest of the Guard, to separate the Guard from Rightist organisations and also from trade union activity . . . all known revisionists should be excluded from our Guard, because the peaceful opinions which they represent are not revolutionary. I have been a revolutionary for years, and I hold it to be opportune now to set out on the revolutionary road. Taimi's intention was that a revolutionary Helsinki Red Guard should form a cadre that would pull the rest of the working class after it into a revolution in defiance of what he saw as a revisionist political and trade union leadership. He wrote in his memoirs, written many years after the events in Stalin's Russia, that this policy had the support of the Helsinki Bolshevik party, which "fully approved my actions and directed by endeavours in those difficult days." He offered no supporting evidence for this claim. In the circumstances in which he was writing, he could hardly have said anything else, but it cannot be refuted either. It is noteworthy that he never suggested that he was acting under instructions from Petrograd, or that he even consulted the Bolshevik leadership there. Helsinki Red Guard entered into talks with other radical Guards to produce an improved version of its rules, confirming the final draft at a meeting on 6 January. They also elected their own command, the Helsinki Local Staff, which completely ignored the General Staff; "it had no sort of collaboration with the General Staff." Then they circulated their revised rules around the other Red Guards and invited them to declare adherence and thereby repudiate the Tampere Congress rules. It was a calculated bid to seize control of the Red Guard from the official leadership of the party.36 During December and January local Red Guards were eager for guidance and instructions, but as they were not getting them were frittering away their opportunities. Roytaa Red Guard in northern Finland was in a favorable position; the Russians lent them rifles and they could easily intimidate the local bourgeoisie. But it was not until 21 January that they set up a proper command and resolved to hold regular training sessions; this sparked off a protest that "entertainment" also should be provided. The consequence was that when Roytaa Red Guard met on 27 January, 220

the eve of the revolution, they spent their time discussing the program for a social evening and the problems of heating the sauna. The small rural Guards in particular were bewildered, and a typical letter to the General Staff asked for "instructions and rules what principles we are to act on, because we are isolated from the great world outside."37 This kind of evidence, and quite a large volume has survived, showed tha at the grass roots of the movement the Red Guard was unclear about what it was supposed to be doing and only too willing to have the General Staff tell them. The General Staff had a clear remit from the Tampere Congress to divide the country into 12 districts and appoint a District Staff in each; organize the Guard into companies, battalions, and regiments; and to appoint commanders and ensure that orders came from the top and were obeyed without question. It was to be an organization "military in all respects." The General Staff was to procure an adequate supply of weapons for it. Yet when the local Guards wrote to the General Staff, all they got in return was a book of rules, a supply of membership cards, and an instruction from Aaltone to keep an eye on their local Home Guard and try to find men with military experience to help them practice their drill. It was 2 January before the General Staff tentatively decided to appoint district commanders for Lahti and Kotka and to approach the Area Committee for a supply of weapons. They urged the Area Committee to ensure that arms "shall be obtained only through the General Staff," for they had grasped how important the central control of weapon supply was to their prospects of exerting their authority over the Guard.38 Since the General Staff could not satisfy the local demands for clear instructions and a supply of arms, it created a widespread dissatisfaction that provided ideal conditions for the Helsinki dissidents to launch their takeover bid. On 30 December the leaders of Kotka Red Guard resolved to address some "stern words" to the General Staff over their failure to implement Congress decisions. They warned that their members were increasingly attracted by the approaches they were getting from the Helsinki Guard, "tf the things we have mentioned are not satisfied without delay, it may possibly cause a great split, since the delegates promised the troops that everything would be in proper order in a week, and now there has been such a long time and nothing done." On 8 January, Kristiina Red Guard lost all patience and sent a blistering complaint to the General Staff over its inaction.39 It has become clear that the party Council and the trade union organisation have acted badly, but we now have the impression also that our leadership has not changed at all, there in Helsinki things are happening every day that the revolutionary people cannot tolerate, the government does what it wants without asking the opinion of the people . . . if our parliamentary group and the party Council and trade union organisation are powerless to stop them, then the revolutionary Red Guard must prevent such things, if you cannot get any improvements there then we northern revolutionaries must come there and clear things up, if you are not able to send such a government to the devil, then let those come into action who can, such things cannot be accepted at the present time. 221

This breathless, unpunctuated diatribe reflected the mounting impatience of the more militant Guards with the leadership elected at Tampere. Some of the inertia of the General Staff seems inexcusable. Turku noted on 22 January that they had no reply to repeated letters and decided to send an emissary to Helsinki to find out what was happening. Kotka too had had no reply by 16 January and made a similar decision. In fact the General Staff had not been wholly idle, rather disorganized, and unsystematic: They had had discussion with the Uusimaa District Staff, one of the few to be set up, on 8 January, about organization and recruiting. But they were held back by the disappearance of Aaltonen. The commander-in-chief had been asked to go to Kotka and pacify the guard there, but it is not clear that he ever arrived, and likely he embarked on one of his drinking bouts. He eventually surfaced in Petrograd looking for arms, but the embarrassment of the General Staff was vividly expressed in their minute of 13 January that they did not know where Aaltonen was and suggested that the SDP/SAJ Executives might nominate a substitute. A General Staff that had lost its commander-in-chief and did not know where to find him was the measure of the failure to implement the Tampere decision to establish a "fully military" organization under strong central control. It is noteworthy that under these circumstances no Red Guard did defect to the Helsinki dissidents. The workers' instinct to preserve organizational solidarity, and their habit of looking to the center for guidance kept the Red Guard loyal to the General Staff in spite of their impatience at its failings.40 Finland remained, however, an outwardly peaceful country in general, although two rival armies were preparing for combat. After the Turku riots, disorder was localized to a very few places like Malmi. On 19 December, Tyomies had assumed that the unrest could be contained because it was the work of a minority, "those irresponsible elements from the bottom of society who, because of their inability to assess things and because their emotions are stirred up, commit outrages, threatening society as a whole and the mass movement of the organised workers."41 At the center of the hope of the socialist leaders, that the workers could be held back from revolutionary action, was an agreement between SAJ and the government for a national inventory of food stocks. This would be made by house-to-house visitations of joint teams of bourgeois and workers. SAJ said in their statement on 18 December, which announced the agreement, that "all arbitrary inspections of food stocks are absolutely harmful to the general purpose. . . . Therefore the workers must stand aside from arbitrary actions and oppose them in whatever form they appear." But when the government published its instructions for the inventory, it appeared that households in.the countryside that fed themselves were not to be inspected, and any bourgeois householder could be exempt from inspection by swearing an affidavit, countersigned by another citizen of standing, about his stock of food. The government claimed that the existing law did not permit compulsory searches, and promised to submit amending legislation to legalize them, but this typical piece of pedantic legalism from Svinhufvud wrecked the most promising single effort to reduce social tensions since the general strike. Tokoi pointed out that though he did not think that the affidavits would be falsified, the ordinary 222

worker would, and since the restoration of confidence among the masses was the whole point of the exercise, it had been rendered futile. The bourgeois Uusi Aura agreed with him: "When the whole purpose of the inventory is in the main social and mass psychological, such an exception from the rules is a mistake." On 4 January the SDP Executive issued a statement that the proposed inspections were now wholly unacceptable and the party would boycott them.42 Although it would be rash to argue that a satisfactory inventory of food stocks in early January could have stopped the drift towards social breakdown, it is hard to disagree with a contemporary comment that this was the one measure that could have reduced tension at a stroke, because fear of starvation was at the root of much of the "revolutionary" unrest in the country. The explosive potential of the food crisis was made evident in Turku, from which the Revolutionary Committee had sent Lundberg to Petrograd on 26 December, to see if he could locate supplies of grain for Turku. He received promises of help, but the city remained on half-rations of bread, and the militia dispute was also rumbling on; the bourgeois side would not have Lundberg in command of any militia in the city. They threatened to cut off the pay of the militia, and Lundberg told Wiik that if necessary the workers would take the money from the banks by force. Further, they knew where there were stocks of grain, and meant to have them for distribution. On 12 January, the Revolutionary Committee decided that since the city was getting less than half the grain needed to maintain the ration, they would seize the seed grain being held in government stores. On 13 January Turku Red Guard was sent out to take 60,000 kilograms of grain, but it turned out that the seed grain was unsuitable for milling, and they had to negotiate to hand their booty back into the charge of the Food Board. But the cycle of militant action in Turku had been started up again; the Red Guard took over the government School of Navigation for their premises, and refused to hand it back. They sent to Turku Soviet to ask for the loan of machine guns, and on 20 January, the Turku party decided to enlarge the Revolutionary Committee, increasing the militant membership and vesting it with full powers to act as the situation demanded. The moderates in Turku, who as late as 12 January had been attacking Lundberg's actions as anarchistic, had virtually abdicated, because the mass popular fear about food made the appeal of Lundberg's militancy irresistible.43 As late as 31 December the Executive of SDP had remained firmly wedded to its policy of constitutional action, and it seriously considered putting out a new statement condemning the use of force, though at the same time they asked Taimi to sound out the Area Committee about getting weapons for the Red Guard. But after they had met on 3 January to consider the food inventory, the mood soured and recrimination broke out. Wiik told Sirola, "It seems you do not dare appear in opposition to the hooligans," to which Sirola replied, "We dare all right, but we do not see cause for it now." The discussion resumed on 5 January, when Kuusinen challenged Wiik on whether he wanted the party to take measures "against the revolutionary workers." This was their dilemma; they could all agree in deploring anarchy and hooliganism, but how could they do so in public, without appearing to 223

disown the honest militant workers and to be supporting the bourgeois clamor about law and order? Wiik thought they could: "Maybe hooligans will put on the appearance of revolutionaries, we shall not do them that honour." But the majority saw no way out. The whole movement was threatened by bourgeois aggression, and any statement they made would be divisive; they dropped the idea of any public condemnation of violence. At just this point, when the party Executive was wavering, the militants in Helsinki Red Guard decided to act44 On 6 January they held a meeting that first formally defied the party by adopting the revised rules and inviting other Red Guards to adhere to them, and then resolved to defy the government by setting up headquarters in the former residence of the Governor General, which housed the government's department of social affairs, and to settle their account with Jalander. It is assumed that Taimi was the driving force behind the decisions, but if so he was acting on his own. The Area Committee, which had been consulted, refused an offer to share the new premises with them and on 12 January its organ, Izvestija, condemned the action of the Red Guard as unauthorized by the party. On 8 January the decisions were implemented: A delegation from the Red Guard came to Jalander and demanded that he resign; "otherwise we cannot answer for his safety." Jalander replied that "as an official appointed by the government, I can submit only to orders which the government of the country gives me ... and I do not recognise orders which are arbitrarily issued by some faction." The delegation went on to meet the government, who took a less heroic stand, indicating they they might give Jalander a mission abroad. They had already told Jalander that they could not protect him and he was "to act as he saw fit." Jalander was a fighter; he engaged a body guard drawn from the Home Guard and continued his functions, though he took the precaution of sleeping at a different address every night. Obviously the Red Guard could have seized him if they had been prepared to risk a fight, but evidently they were not.45 The delegation also told the government they were taking over the Governor General's residence; the government naturally refused and told Rovio to use the Helsinki militia to protect the building. Rovio declined: "The militia cannot do anything against 400 to 500 armed Red Guards." He suggested an appeal to the Helsinki Workers' Council, to which he went himself to complain at the impossible position in which he had been placed. That body set up a committee to seek to reconcile the interests of the militia and the Red Guard. The latter simply moved in, and when Svinhufvud sent the minister, Louhivuori, to tell them to leave and to threaten that "the government will do everything it can to get you punished for this act of violence," he was told bluntly that the Red Guard no longer recognized bourgeois law. They renamed the building Smolny, thus announcing that this was to be the center from which the Finnish revolution would be directed. Yet their position was very different from that of Lenin in the original Smolny, for he had been leading a genuine mass revolutionary movement. The Red Guard in Helsinki were outlaws twice over, bandits in the eyes of the legal government and splitters in the eyes of the mass party of the Finnish workers. The leaders of SDP had now to decide how to face the challenge. There is no doubt at all that a moderate, passive, and 224

usually silent majority existed that could have been appealed to against the militants. Even within Helsinki Red Guard, only 350 members of nearly 2,000 had attended the meeting of 6 January, and only about 500 participated in the subsequent militant actions. Tyomies described the aims of the workers on 13 January a "a new government and soon, bread and justice, land for the tenant farmers, the workers to receive their due, democracy for the people." These were all aims that could be secured through constitutional action, they did not make revolution necessary, and many resolutions of local parties support the view that Tyomies correctly described the aspirations of most workers. Nor was the majority wholly silent. On 11 January Huttunen, the Viipuri party chief, published an article demanding a stand against Red Guard anarchy:46 Come out resolutely against the terrorism, which some Red Guards are clearly exercising against the party. We must decide whether the Red Guard prescribes the tactics of the workers' movement or the Social Democratic party. Above all the party Executive must do something about this and — without delay. Otherwise the Executive will remain an onlooker, while the Red Guard leads the party organisations and decides their tactics. In Savo the local leader T. Tainio wrote that independence was a sufficient achievement for this round of revolution, and in any case unauthorized acts of violence by workers were not revolution, only organized mass action:47 All other illegal activity is criminal and to be condemned by the Social Democratic party too, to say nothing of bourgeois society, whose rules and regulations we too are not only compelled, but even obliged to obey for our advantage . . . the majority of the people must be on our side if we intend to succeed. No minority, even with the help of rifles can, as a minority, remain in power long. Thus when the joint SDP/SAJ Executives met on 10 January to consider how to meet the challenge from Helsinki Red Guard, the option of disowning them and appealing to the majority in the movement was open to them. At first it looked as though they would take it: Lumivuokko demanded a clear stand against "hooliganism" and a clear statement "are we revolutionary or for reform?" Turkia attacked the low moral standards of many workers: "They say now we have liberty, now we do not need to work, only take our pay." He claimed that among the older party members "there is much aversion against the Red Guard," and Manner said "the Red Guard is in decay ... a coalition government is possible." Lumivuokko agreed; "an honorable compromise can be saved. There should be a security force to use against hooligans." Then Kuusinen intervened, turning the tide: He agreed that they were opposed to hooliganism, but because " a further sharpening of the class struggle is imminent," they must not risk a split in the movement by any public statement on disorders. Manner and Turkia climbed down; in the end only Wiik and Eloranta continued to argue for a public stand against the Red Guard. It would be 225

wrong to suppose that Kuusinen was the secret spokesman for the militants, though later, when he became an internationally famous communist, he liked to imply that he had been. He was just as unhappy as the rest, and told Wiik and Gylling privately on 12 January that he was haunted by the fear that the bourgeoisie were planning some armed initiative. Gylling suggested that the government was entitled to maintain order against hooligans, but Kuusinen replied, "You can call it that, but it would be spilling of blood, and disorder, just what the bourgeoisie wants and what I want to avoid." Kuusinen was trapped; he believed that the movement needed the Red Guard for its defense, because the bourgeoisie intended to attack, and although he was disturbed at the way the Helsinki Red Guard had behaved, he felt the movement dare not expose it to government reprisals by disowning it. So instead of openly rejecting what the Helsinki Red Guard had done, a statement was published by the General Staff on 11 January that was certainly critical: "The actions of the Helsinki Guard staff are to be regarded as splitting the strength of the Workers' Guards, and as such are to be severely condemned." But the statement was also an offer to negotiate a reconciliation, for it reproached the Helsinki Guard for not having talked with the General Staff, saying that "the General Staff is ready to take into consideration all proposals for a change of rules." Thus there was no attempt to confront the militants, rather an invitation to them to seek a compromise.48 The bourgeois camp had been reluctant to accept that the price of restoring order might be an armed clash with their own countrymen in the Red Guard, persisting in the convenient, if erroneous, belief that the Russian soldiers were the source of the violence. When Gummerus was talking with Activist friends in December, they still saw their problem as the need to create "an armed force against the Russian soldiers and also against our own Reds, if they are mad enough to go further along the road they so criminally trod during the general strike." This order of priority seemed justified by incidents in Pohjanmaa over the Christmas period involving the soldiers. The Pohjanmaa garrisons were getting nervous about their own declining strength and the rising level of Home Guard activity. When the garrison at Tuovila tried to seize arms from the local Home Guard and made arrests, there was resistance, and a party of sailors came out from Vaasa, occupied the village, plundered it, and killed rather messily an unlucky Home Guard who fell into their clutches. This was followed by a skirmish at Sundom on Christmas Day, in which Russians clashed with Home Guards and lost three men killed. At this, Russian bellicosity vanished, a cease-fire was negotiated through the Prefect, and on 28 December a meeting of soldiers in Vaasa resolved that undisciplined behavior that gave offense to the local populace was counter-revolutionary. The Vaasa sailors resolved that "Russian military forces will not intervene in the class war of independent Finland." The Area Committee tried to protest to the government at the killing of its men. Louhivuori went to see the Russians, and far from apologizing, warned that the government might not be able to protect Russians from the anger of the local populace; when he was asked what the Russians ought to do, he was told that the Area Committee should order "that the Russian soldiers stay quietly in their barracks and do not provoke the populace." This resulted in the orders 226

issued on 28 December forbidding intervention in Finnish internal affairs, and in fact incidents between soldiers and the local population seem to have diminished, and when they did occur were condemned by the Area Committee.49 There is no evidence that anyone of consequence in the bourgeois camp wanted an armed clash with the Red Guard, but when Helsinki Red Guard launched its open challenge on 8 January, the bourgeoisie were ready to take it up, in part because of two contradictory misconceptions they held about their opponent. One of these, found in Hufvudstadsbladet in January was that SDP really controlled the Red Guard and could put a stop to the disorders if it wanted to. Provided the bourgeoisie made their determination clear, it was unlikely that SDP really wanted a confrontation. The alternative view, found in Helsingin Sanomat on 9 January, was that SDP genuinely deplored violence, but was not able to control the Red Guard, from which it followed logically that they would not object if someone else brought it under control. It assumed that the Red Guard was "a rabble which now scarcely has more than a handful of supporters of a similar kind in working class circles." Helped by these misconceptions, the bourgeois leaders believed that they could afford to meet the challenge of the Red Guard and that it did not carry the risk of full-scale civil war. Their view was expressed in parliament by Wrede when he said, "It is certainly not a question of a struggle between different social classes, as long as our socialist gentlemen do not wish to line up with criminals, but it is a question only of a struggle between society . . . and criminal gangs."50 So on 9 January, the government made two decisions that virtually assured a civil war, although this was far from their intention. The first was made secretly at a meeting of ministers with the Military Committee. The government representative in Stockholm, A. Gripenberg, was to be authorized "to negotiate with the German government on the purchase of arms, clothing, etc., and to negotiate for the sending o home of those Finnish nationals in military service in Germany." H. Akerman travelled to Stockholm at once with this authority, which the Activists there interpreted as allowing them to secure German intervention on any terms they could get. The government envisaged buying equipment for a force of 60,000 men, for which the Jagers would provide the cadres. This was a force to compel the Russians to leave and stop them from coming back: it was far too large a project for dealing with the Red Guard. The second decision was public and was clearly aimed against the Red Guard. The government submitted a letter to parliament on the security situation, which said that now independence was recognized, "the internal condition of the country does not at all correspond with the most elementary requirements and demands of this free status." The situation was worsening and the existing militia system was patently unequal to cope with the disorders, nor would the new police law then passing through parliament suffice. "In addition and to reinforce it there is needed a professional, reliable security force obedient to the government," and the government asked parliament to authorize it "to initiate all the measures which it regards as necessary to create a strong security force in the country."51 When parliament resumed business on 9 January, it took up the Mikkola proposal 227

to establish a national militia. Airola, for SDP, accepted the idea of an armed force in principle, "if the national defence were organised democratically," but said the Svinhufvud government would not be allowed any such force because, "half the nation does not trust it." He added that he was against all use offeree, and the Red Guard had only come into existence because of the Home Guard movement; "if you give up butcher guards and standing armies, the Red Guard will not be needed and it will cease to exist." The record notes that the Right laughed at this, and who shall blame them? Airola was either dishonest, or he knew nothing about the Red Guard; it certainly had no intention of dispersing quietly if the bourgeois agreed to disarm. In fact, in a subsequent debate on foreign policy, Airola, stung by Alkio, admitted the falseness of his claim when he said "if I go to take the weapons from the Red Guard, they will not do it, even if Alkio should come and back me, and showed his fist and said that of course they must." SDP voted solidly against the Mikkola proposal; they would not even consider setting up any kind of national army. These arid exchanges anticipated the much fiercer debate that opened on the government's letter on 11 January.52 The government was deliberately vague about its plans; Castren made the obvious point that in any society the government must have a monopoly of coercive force, Svinhufvud stressed that the disorders were already causing protests from foreigners and that their continuance might imperil independence and invite outside intervention; and Louhivuori emphasized that the existing militia, "either because of its weakness or perhaps cowardice of its members," had done nothing to restrain the recent outbreaks of violence. The government's intentions were set out in a confidential document of 16 January that authorized the necessary financial measures. Their plan was to recruit an independent force entirely under government control, capable of intervening anywhere where "local security forces show themselves powerless." Its commission was "to restore internal order in the country impartially" and it would be of a paramilitary character, "taught and exercised in military type security operations, according to the latest doctrine in theory and practice." The plan made some degree of civil war inevitable, for it was inconceivabl that the hard core of the Red Guard would submit without a fight. The government was banking on the workers' movement in general not supporting them, in which case limited police action would be sufficient to cope. The key to their thinking was the time factor; they envisaged a period of one or two months before the new force was ready, and by that time they could reasonably expect to have negotiated a Russian evacuation; in addition they expected to have got the Jagers back and to have started building their regular army, and with this preponderance of force behind them it was even more unlikely that SDP would venture to support the Red Guard militants. The risk they ran was obvious; the Red Guard might not wait, but might launch a preemptive strike before the government was ready and before the Russians had left. And if the workers generally were not persuaded that the new forces would be impartial, they might well support the Red Guard, and then fullscale civil war could not be avoided. This danger, implicit in the government's planning, was the more critical because of the mood of their supporters, which rejected 228

all compromise. When delegates of the bourgeois parties met the government on 12 January to discuss tactics, Svinhufvud would have been willing to have the government's letter referred to a committee, so that possible compromises might be discussed before a final vote was taken, but the delegates saw no point in delay. It was resolved to force a vote approving the government's proposal that same day.53 This was probably a mistake, for when the debate started, the socialist leaders were still seeking at least to postpone and if possible to avoid an armed conflict. Manner made a notable statesmanlike contribution in opening the debate, and though he made the ritual statements about the violence being the product of bourgeois provocations, he went out of his way to praise the Agrarians for having sought compromise and even Svinhufvud as a man of integrity, who would not misuse a national security force for class purposes. Manner claimed that only a militant minority in both camps was looking for confrontation; "I do not deny that the more extreme anarchist-inclined elements among the workers include those who are only waiting for an opportunity." The solution must be intelligent measures of conciliation for the moderate majority of the workers. He concluded: 54 We Social Democrats do not want to oppose the maintenance of order, on the contrary we desire to take part in it. But it has been said many times that there must be established a democratic order, and it must be preserved democratically. That is the task we support This speech was so reasonable by comparison with many socialist utterances of the time that it may seem perverse of the bourgeois side not to have responded in a conciliatory fashion; but their attitude can be understood, and it lies in the unreality of Manner's remedy, which was "start boldly and honestly on the road of democratic social reform. In that way arms will soon fall from peoples' hands, both on the Right and on the Left." On this basis, speakers like Nurminen and Valisalmi could suggest that the new police law, and perhaps some improvements in the militia, could cope with the problem of disorder. In bourgeois eyes, and they were surely right about it, this course was simply not credible. Wrede made their point brutally when he asked, "Does anyone believe that the robber gangs, which spread death and plunder round the villages, do it with the intention of reforming society?" One or two socialist speakers took the point, and conceded that there were uncontrollable bandit elements in the Red Guard, but even then the best that Airola could offer was that parliament raise a security force, to be controlled by a committee of six, three from each side and working by majority vote. The sheer impracticality of this proposal explains the refusal of the bourgeois side to take a serious interest in it; the case against them rests on the general principal that in conditions of potential armed conflict, no opportunity of discussion between the sides should be rejected while there is talk there is hope.55 The damage became apparent in the way the tone of the debate degenerated when it became clear that the bourgeois majority was unyielding. Kellosalmi said it was obvious now that the bourgeoisie "wants civil war.ltwill not permit the strengthening of our democratic foundations or the disarming of the Guards." Eloranta 229

went back to the charge of provocation, saying that the bourgeois had engineered the Turku riots to provoke foreign intervention, that they were arming the Home Guard with dum-dum bullets, and he dramatically produced an alleged specimen, adding for good measure that they were often poisoned. When speeches like this are made, reason has fled and hysteria has taken over. Two motions by the socialists to refer the government letter to a committee were defeated, but parliament adjourned at 4:00 A.M. without taking a final vote. However, since the bourgeois side then resolved to offer no concession, the resumed debate on 12 January only served to inflame passions. Few bourgeois spoke, for they had nothing more to say. Gylling, with the full approval of Kuusinen, launched what he saw as the only way out, and presented a letter to parliament accusing the Svinhufvud government of systematically exceeding its powers; "these unlawful actions are obviously just a part of an intended seizure of power by the government." It rested on the belief that the Agrarians were worried by the authoritarian style of Svinhufvud's government and might be got to support an investigation of the charges, which would amount to a vote of no confidence. This could open the way for a progressive coalition of socialists and Agrarians that could be entrusted with the control of a national security force. There was a recess, but then Ingman ruled that Gylling's proposal was out of order and declined to put it to the vote.56 That was the end: Suutala said, "We representatives of the working class have shown many good ways by which the country can be pacified. You are going to adopt your own means. Very well! We shall see later how you succeed." Sirola made the main speech, declaring that since the bourgeoisie had resolved on the use of force the workers would have to disarm them; Makela warned that the Russian workers would not stand idly by in a civil war and that if it came "it must be cruel and it must be bloody." Castren wound up for the government, protesting that its intention was impartial and that this was in no way a civil war situation, "only some subversive elements have committed excesses and other crimes." Still, he gave no hint of any concessions to the socialists. Parliament voted to give the government the powers it sought by 97 votes to 85. Socialist members, led by Sirola, rose to register their formal protests. Wuoristo spoke for the parliamentary group and said that "Finland's bourgeois government has created a class-war army which is directed against the Finnish working people." Then hysteria broke loose; there were shouts of "Down with the government!" and, from the Left, "it should be arreste tonight." Parssinen accused the bourgeois members of laughing, and quoted, "You who laugh, soon you will weep." When the Speaker declared the session closed, Airola had the last word: "I propose that the session of parliament be closed by the bourgeois singing The cruel war has started.' " 5 7

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Chapter 10

The Coming of Civil War

Even after the vote of 12 January, the socialists had not really accepted that revolution and civil war were inevitable. When the parliamentary group met on 13 January, Sirola led the discussion and urged that they persevere with constitutional politics for as long as they could, although in the face of the bourgeois threats their first priority must be to preserve the unity of the movement. Sirola assumed that it was still uncertain whether the bourgeoisie planned to attack in the near future, but recognized that a confrontation between bourgeois forces and the Red Guard could happen at any time. Then the party would have three choices: "1. Go along on the understanding that there was a majority with them. 2. Go along out of loyalty. 3. Remain on one side, so as to preserve as much strength as possible." To make the right choice they would need to analyze the concrete circumstances, and there were imponderables. "The bourgeois may have considerable armies. The Russians here coul-d shift the balance if they took the workers' side." Outside intervention from other countries was possible. When so much was uncertain, the leadership must retain the confidence of the workers; "the workers should have some guarantee that the party will be with them when there is something serious in question," for if not, "if the workers get the idea, for example, that the group is not with them, then the group will be pushed aside." So they must avoid antagonizing the Red Guard and wait to see how things developed; this became the decision of the group.1 SDP Executive also met and came to the same conclusion. Turkia summed up the policy as "that we shall wait until the revolutionary movement comes, but not strive towards it, and certainly not desire it." In consequence, when they got a message that Helsinki Red Guard was willing to have talks with the party authorities, they welcomed the opportunity; as Wiik commented, "in this case the situation might be controlled, otherwise not."2 The Executive sent a delegation to talk with the militant leaders, Taimi, Manninen, Halm, and Kiviranta and a three-hour discussion ensued. Sirola spoke for the party, conceding that parliamentary action might not be enough, and that if the bourgeoisie attacked, the Red Guard must fight and the movement would have to support them. But the Red Guard was not 231

yet prepared and so should avoid provocations. The militants said that they spoke for the majority of the workers; they argued that it would be folly to wait for the enemy to strike first. Taimi said, "I am not an optimist who waits for a revolution through parliament. We must follow the Russian example, make a social revolution." Kiviranta asserted that the workers wanted "radical action . . . overthrow the government, dissolve parliament," and Taimi added, "The Russians will support a class struggle. They can help better than last time." At this point Sirola and Turkia began to give ground, admitting that the party leaders might be out of touch with the mood of the workers and agreeing that efforts should be made to restore a full understanding. Only Manner stood firm and insisted that armed conflict was not inevitable: "We could avoid it if the bourgeois would meet the workers' demands. . . . we should not provoke the bourgeoisie, individual activities should be brought to an end." At the end of the meeting Taimi asserted that Helsinki Red Guard would never accept the Tampere rules, and Manner agreed that the party would consider any proposal to revise its relationship with the Guard.3 The militants seem to have sensed that with a little more pressure, the party leadership would capitulate. They reported back to a meeting of Helsinki Red Guard on 14 January and passed an uncompromising resolution. This demanded that elections for a new SDP Congress must be held, and whatever happened, "political power must be taken into the hands of the Social Democratic party." Until this was done, the political direction of the Red Guard must be organized on the lines of the Helsinki draft rules, "and if the situation demands it, the supreme command of the Guard is to take the leadership of the revolution into its own hands." Helsinki Workers' Council supported the militants by insisting that talks must be continued until the positions of the party and of the Helsinki Red Guard had been reconciled. The result was that the official leadership of the workers' movement capitulated to this takeover bid by a minority of militants in Helsinki, led by Taimi and backed by the Helsinki Workers' Council. For after the SDP Executive had met and considered the discussions with the Guard, they issued a statement on 15 January, which marks the final surrender of the moderates. It said that the vote in parliament had declared the intention of the bourgeoisie to attack the workers; "of these intentions of the masters there is no doubt at all." It followed that any attack on the Red Guard must be regarded as an attack on the whole movement, and that:4 the workers' Guards are clearly absolutely essential for the security of the workers at this time . . . as a result of the brazen bourgeois political coup, the class struggle in our country may greatly intensify in the near future and give rise to previously unimagined situations. Then came the surrender, "We have observed that part of the more militantly inclined party comrades do not trust the resolution of the present party Executive to the extent that would be necessary." Therefore the party Council would meet and they would propose setting up a new executive organ representing the party, 232

the trade unions, and the Red Guard and would also propose the election of a new party Congress. In this way a small, determined group of men had imposed their will on a vastly stronger, but irresolute and disorganized majority. For there can be no doubt that the combined support of SDP, SAJ, and the official Red Guard wholly outstripped that of the Helsinki militants, who had no support outside their own ranks except in the Helsinki Workers' Council, and from minorities of like-minded militants in some of the bigger Guards. The moderates were not defeated—they abdicated. It was ironic that just at the point of surrender the official General Staff had had its position radically strengthened. They were compensated for losing Aaltonen, because when he did get to Petrograd he contacted Rahja about a supply of weapons and Rahja obtained a promise from Lenin of at least 10,000 rifles and some machine guns from stocks in Petrograd, and if more were available, "then as many more as they can find." The weapons would be a gift in the first instance; "payment can be discussed if the Finnish workers win and secure power." The news was conveyed to Helsinki on 13 January by Sotman, Rahja's deputy in the Petrograd Finnish Red Guard, and all the subsequent arrangements were in Rahja's hands. In some ways this action was the most important single Bolshevik intervention in Finland's affairs, and it is of the greatest significance that the Bolsheviks were dealing with the official General Staff and not with Taimi's Helsinki Red Guard. Nor were the Council of Peoples' Commissars or the Area Committee involved. There could be no better illustration of the lack of coordination within the Bolshevik camp than in the planning and execution of policy in Finland. This was a wholly capricious personal intervention by Lenin, who does not seem to have consulted or informed anyone, in response to personal lobbying by Rahja. It suggests very strongly that Taimi's activity in Helsinki was wholly local and self-directed.5 The result was to galvanize the General Staff into action: On 16 January notices appeared in the press that the District Staffs were now being set up and on 19 January the General Staff met to consider how to distribute the arms when they got them. They were uncertain about how many might be coming and worked on the assumption that it might be only 5,000 rifles and 30 machine guns. They proposed to distrubute these nationwide in packages of 200 to 400 rifles and a machine gun. This made sense politically, since it would maximize the stimulus to enthusiasm for Red Guard activity over the whole country, but militarily it would have made better sense to concentrate strength in the important centers. For instance, the plan would allocate only 550 rifles to Oulu and Vaasa districts, where the local Home Guard was known to be strong and in possession of thousands of rifles. It was true that if they received 10,000 rifles, they planned to concentrate the surplus in Helsinki, Tampere, and Viipuri. The promise of these arms enormously enhanced the authority of the General Staff over the Red Guard, and by itself put them in a position to outbid the Helsinki Red Guard in any appeal for loyalty. On the other hand, the weapons' arrival, which would swing the balance of armaments firmly in favor of the Red Guard, would be a pressing inducement to exploit 233

this situation by launching a preemptive blow at the bourgeoisie, and-thus to adopt the policy that the Helsinki Guard was demanding.6 Fortunately for the government, the Jager Battalion in Germany was insulated from the political divisions in the homeland; the socialists made no effort to influence the working-class Jagers, and in the end, only three former Jagers served in the Red Guard, though fifteen others refused to take part in a civil war. Unrest in the battalion was nonpolitical, and was eased when 60 troublemakers, "the worst elements in the Battalion," were sent away to Lockstedt and "in an eventual mobilisation will not be recalled." The armistice was a blow to battalion morale, as it made it increasingly unlikely they would return as a unit to fight the Russians; the prospect was that they would go back as individuals to take part in police operations against their own countrymen. When the news came to Libau on 6 January that Germany had recognized Finland's independence, there were considerable celebrations and on the following day, a grand parade. Wegelius was not impressed, "the wind lashed and the snow was wet. And one was grateful when the comedy was finished for this occasion—Oh God! How many times have there not been speeches and parades over the past years." Wegelius' cynicism seemed justified; although Ausfeld told them on 11 January that they could expect speedy repatriation, nothing happened. Thesleff wrote to Jernstrbm on 24 January how important it was to prepare the men for "service against the Russian soldiers, combined with the anarchist element in the country," and this was done with some success. On 29 January the soldiers' council resolved unanimously that the task of the Battalion would be "to clear the country of Russians and to restore order in the country," and though Wegelius for one was not enthused at this-"l fear the return home. The truth will be brutal"—the political reliability of the Battalion was assured.7 The Activists were as unhappy as the Jagers themselves at the post-armistice situation that required the Jagers to go back as civilians, in small parties, instead of a dramatic return as a fighting formation. The Germans insisted on this course, but it also became the policy of the Svinhufvud government. When Akerman took the government's new orders to Stockholm on 9 January, these specified that return of the Jagers in a body would be inopportune; it might offend the Entente and carried the risk of "creating a full civil war." Kaila and the Military Committee were bitter at what they saw as weakness and as the insidious influence over Svinhufvud of proEntente influences like Enckell. Kaila wrote on 14 January, "It seems almost hopeless watching how that Entente, caution crowd is raising its head everywhere," and looked forward to the change that the return of the Jagers might effect; "When the Jagers arrive —hopefully it will happen soon —in my view the time will have come to seek a shake-up of power in this country." The feeling among the Activists was so strong that when Akerman came to a meeting convened by A. Gripenberg in Stockholm, on 14 January, with H. Paloheimo, K. Donner, M. Gripenberg and Theslof, they decided to defy Svinhufvud's instruction and ask Germany to return the Battalion as a military formation. To do this, they needed to forge credentials; fortunately, Gripenberg still had some blank credentials signed by Svinhufvud 234

left over from December. They used one of these, dated it Helsinki, 8 January, and wrote on it a request to the German government that "the despatch of the orgaised troop in Germany to Finland, and the arms and equipment, should be permitted." Then they telegraphed cryptically to Svinhufvud: "have issued the credentials o discussed with Akerman, because the measure is absolutely necessary." There is strong evidence to suggest that Svinhufvud himself approved of their disobedience, that the cautious line adopted by the government was being forced on him by his colleagues. At least Suolahti wrote to K. Donner to assure him that Svinhufvud personally wanted the Battalion back as a unit and also would welcome the arrival with it of German officers as volunteers, something which the Military Committee was opposed to. Suolahti wrote: 8 The friends of the Entente, chiefly Enckell, are of course against this kind of action, but the chairman, and thus the whole government, are certainly on our side.. . . Please tell Steinwachs that the telegramme which the government sent to Gripenberg is to be interpreted in this sense . . . I do all I can for a pro-German point of view as a counter-weight to Enckell. We must clear all the friends of the Entente out of the way, otherwise I fear that the future policy of our country will be unavoidably shipwrecked. If Suolahti was right, then when Svinhufvud declared on 8 January that the policy of his government was based on the neutrality of Finland, he was deceiving parliament and the public. The forged credential was presented by Thesleff to the German Foreign Office on 18 January, and was immediately rebuffed. Because of the negotiations at BrestLitovsk, Germany could take no risks; "no German government at this moment could put the making of peace with Russia in the scales for the sake of Finland." Thesleff described the Germans as "very nervous, arising out of the scanty result they have achieved at Brest-Litovsk." By now, the Finns knew the best way around the obstruction of the Foreign Office, and they went directly to Ludendorff. He had been disturbed already by an inquiry from Hjelt how Germany would regard a Finnish declaration of neutrality, and he had told the Foreign Office that this must be prevented, as Germany had both military and economic interests to pursue in Finland. So when Hjelt approached him again, with a mixture of appeal to his chivalry—urging that if disorders continued, Finland "will fall into economic and moral catastrophe"—and discreet blackmail—"a negative answer to this request would seriously shake the confidence in reliance on Germany and its leaders"— Ludendorff responded. He agreed that Finland could purchase 70,000 rifles and other equipment, provided it was disguised as a private commercial transaction; similarly, since the Jagers were now legally citizens of a technically neutral state, there was nothing against their return home as civilians. Kuhlmann, for the Foreign Office, resisted for a few days; he agreed the Jagers could go but thought the arms sale "should be put off, unless we want to get into a false position with the Russians," but on 2 February he had second thoughts and agreed to the arms sale 235

as well. On 5 February the Ja'ger Battalion was disbanded as a unit of the Prussian army and given over to Thesleff; on 7 February the contracts for the sale of the arms were completed. It was a condition of these agreements that Finland would provide the necessary shipping, and fortunate that L. Krogius, director of the Finnish Steamship Company, was friendly enough to put five steamers at the government's disposal. Their movements were covered by false government contracts to fetch food from Copenhagen. The one other necessity was an ice-breaker, and there was the Sampo at Turku, which was requisitioned by the Russians to supply their troops in the Aland islands. This problem was handled by Turku Home Guard, who managed to seize Sampo, which had a Finnish crew on 26 January, and sailed her to Sweden. In this way, one of the two key government decisions of 9 January was realized, and the return of the Jagers with enough weapons for an army was arranged.9 The other decision, to establish a security force, was pursued with equal energy, using the same semiconspiratorial methods. Mannerheim was formally elected chairman of the Military Committee on 15 January; the next day he and Ignatius went to see Svinhufvud and A. Castren to receive his commission from the government. No formal record of this meeting has survived, and the scrappy accounts of the participants were compiled years later, and are partly contradictory. Most probably Mannerheim was given a verbal commission to organize government security forces in northern Finland, which at that time consisted of the two paramilitary police units. He certainly talked about the plans for the return of the Jagers, and they discussed how the Russian garrisons might be expelled if they refused to evacuate by agreement Mannerheim says, "I said I was ready to undertake the task, but I seta specific condition, that the government should not seek armed intervention from Sweden or from Germany." He says that Svinhufvud expressed skepticism: "The general has no army, no soldiers, no weapons—how then do you intend to put down resistance?" Mannerheim says he persuaded Svinhufvud it could be done, using the Jagers and the enthusiasm of the Home Guard, and that in consequence Svinhufvud "promised me, in the presence of captain Ignatius, he would not ask for troops from either Sweden or Germany." A source close to Svinhufvud said that he believed he had said that the government had no plans to call for foreign troops to intervene unless circumstances compelled this. He certainly told Enckell a few days later that "no request for any kind of foreign intervention could come into question, but Finland must undertake the maintenance of order with its own forces." But Svinhufvud always denied that he had made any promise to Mannerheim, or that such a promise was a condition of his accepting appointment. It could be that both men were talking about what was understood to be a police operation, albeit of a paramilitary character, in which foreign intervention would be both undesirable and unnecessary. They would have no difficulty agreeing that foreign troops were not needed. But Mannerheim subsequently forgot that they were not talking about the kind of large-scale war that actually happened, but which neither man envisaged at that point. The outbreak of full civil war, with Russian participation, created an

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entirely new situation to which any agreements entered into on 16 January were not applicable. When Mannerheim wrote his memoirs, he easily forgot that on that day he had not been appointed to the position he later occupied, commander-inchief of the armed forces of the Finnish republic. The conversation had been so vague that later in the day Mannerheim telephoned to Enckell to confirm what his position was to be, and Enckell told him "that the task given him by the government is limited to organising a security force."10 Further evidence of the tentative nature of the agreement between Mannerheim and Svinhufvud was that they forgot to discuss finance. Mannerheim had left the meeting and met the banker A. Ehrnrooth on the street; telling him of his new commission, he remarked that he had been given no assurances about finance. Ehrnrooth invited Mannerheim to meet a group of financiers that evening, and at the meeting Mannerheim explained that he needed up to 15 million marks at once, that it would delay things badly if he had to wait for official credits to be arranged. The financiers knew where their interests lay, so readily agreed to put money into the Military Committee's account at Vaasa: As Ehrnrooth put it, "If things go well, you gentlemen will get your money back, if not, then everything is lost anyway." By 19 January, Mannerheim had been credited 5.5 million marks, and when he telephoned from Vaasa to say this was insufficient, was given another 3 million at once. Ehrnrooth went to Svinhufvud to explain that they would need a government guarantee, and was told "all right you shall have it," and on the strength of this, the credit was enlarged to 9 million marks. That Finland's small and intimate ruling class could operate on this informal basis was a source of strength to the bourgeois cause, whereas the official processes of government were exposed to obstruction. But there was a price to be paid for this flexibility: Mannerheim, equipped with a loose verbal commission, and financed by private funds, was no more under that government's control than were Gripenberg, Hjelt, and Thesleff in Stockholm and Berlin. Svinhufvud's government had very limited power to control the agents it had appointed to execute the decisions of 9 January, and to that extent the power to control events was taken out of its hands. 11 Mannerheim lost no further time; on 17 January the Military Committee voted to set up a regular military staff at Vaasa under Mannerheim's command: M. Wetzer became chief of staff, Colonel W. Holmberg Adjutant, A. von Rehausen took charge of arms procurement, and Ignatius was Quarter-master General. Two civilians were added, a banker, A. Hallberg, and a transport expert, B. Lohman. Mannerheim remarked later that "I did not choose them, they chose me," indicating that he had reservations about their competence, but they were probably adequate to the limited tasks with which he then expected to be faced. Mannerheim added to their number Major-general E. Lbfstrom, which was a generous action, for Lbfstrbm had commanded an infantry division on active service and had had clashes with Mannerheim in the process. But Mannerheim knew how desperately he needed the help of a man with experience of high command under modern conditions, and set his personal feelings aside. One of his qualities as a leader was to be able to work with 237

people he did not like, but whose abilities he could respect. Lofstrom accepted, though since his family was still in Russia, he adopted the cover name of Toll. Mannerheim gave another demonstration of his personal qualities when he met the Karelian Jager leader, A. Sihvo, on 17 January. Sihvo, both as a Karelian and a Jager, had no innate enthusiasm for the aristocratic, Swedish-speaking Russian general, and was further taken aback when he was received by Mannerheim's Russian batman, who spoke no language but Russian. Yet Mannerheim won Sihvo's immediate and total loyalty, and Sihvo became the indispensable link with the Karelians in the early stages of the war. On 18 January, Mannerheim took the night train to Vaasa, and since it was known that Russians and Red Guards were inspecting passengers, he was given false papers, describing him as a Finnish businessman. Even so, he nearly came to grief at Tampere, where a Russian patrol became suspicious of the fluency of his Russian and took him off the train. He was rescued by an unknown Finnish railway official, who persuaded the Russians that, as a Finnish citizen whose papers were in order, they must let him proceed. It was a reminder of the role of chance in history that White Finland could have lost its leader at that point, with incalculable consequences for the course of developments, but for the initiative of one anonymous Finnish railwayman.12 Mannerheim's Headquarters began to function at Vaasa on 21 January, when telegrams were sent out to all Home Guard formations announcing its existence, followed by orders to report regularly on Russian and Red Guard activity and to send in returns of strengths. Mannerheim submitted his draft plan of action to the government on 24 January; it showed that he had a very imperfect grasp of the current situation. The plan assumed that the Bolshevik government had no intention of evacuating the troops, and even that it was trying to reinforce them. It also assumed that current disorders in Finland were led by the soldiers, and that only "criminal elements" in the population were supporting them. So he supposed his main task was to disarm or overawe the Russian garrison, not to engage in civil war with the Finnish workers. The existing paramilitary police units would be completely inadequate for this; he proposed to convert the Ja'gers on their return into a regiment of 4,000 men capable of regular military operations. They would support 10 additional paramilitary police units, disposed at strategic points around the country, who would deal with purely local disorders, and constitute cadres around whom the Home Guard could mobilize at need. Once the current emergency was over, these forces could be organized into a proper national army. Mannerheim stressed that the Home Guard was inadequate unless stiffened by professional soldiers; "the weak point of the Home Guard, the same as with the Red Guard, lies in the fact that they are for the most part unaccustomed to discipline, only partly mobile an very difficult to concentrate." The government must get the Ja'gers back as soon a possible, procure the necessary arms, and try to prevent the Russians from reinforcing their garrisons. Mannerheim had now appreciated that it was a military, not a police operation that he had to prepare for, but he gravely underestimated the size of his problem. His plan would raise about 9,000 professional fighting men, 238

including the Ja'gers, which would suffice for a number of expeditions against isolated trouble centers, but would be quite inadequate for prolonged military campaigning. Nor had he any sense of the urgency of the situation; he would need several weeks before any of his forces was ready for use, and he underlined this by entrusting his memorandum to the ordinary post, so that Svinhufvud received it only after the war was over.13 In consequence, when hostilities broke out at the end of January, very little had been done to realize the government decision of 9 January to set up a strong government security force. They had a commander and the beginnings of a command structure, but no properly organized manpower and almost no weapons, and their commander's plan of action was based on misconceptions that made it useless. They were saved from disaster because the disarray of the enemy was even greater. While the bourgeois camp was wrong in supposing that the presence of the Russians was the cause of the unrest and disorder that threatened the country, and in this respect Mannerheim and Svinhufvud simply shared in the common error; it was quite true that if the Russians could have been removed, the situation would have been radically changed in the government's favor. Thus the removal of the garrison was a perfectly intelligible and proper objective of government policy. When the Area Committee asked the Council of Peoples' Commissars how the recognition of Finland's independence had affected the position of the garrison, they received a telegram from Stalin, published on 11 January: 1 4 Finnish independence is recognised. The Mixed Commission is not yet set up, the basis for forming the Commission is not yet laid down. Until the Mixed Commission is established, and until otherwise ordered, the present relations with Finland are in force, and the Area Committee is the representative of authority in Finland and on its frontiers. This very Stalinist text has drawn much adverse comment, for in a sense it said that recognition of independence had changed nothing, that Russia still exercised ultimate authority in Finland. It is easy to go on from there to conclude that the Bolshevik recognition had been fraudulent. This was not the case; the Bolshevik position remained constant; as the Area Committee told the Finnish government at this point, the troops could not go until a peace treaty with Germany had been concluded, but they suggested that if Germany would guarantee the neutrality of Finland, they might evacuate even before the conclusion of a treaty. The defense of Petrograd was the only active consideration that determined the Bolshevik policy. This emerged because the Area Committee and Tsentrobalt were divided over the neutrality proposal. The sailors felt that their Finnish bases were so important operationally that they could not be relinquished in advance of a peace settlement, and they made their own separate approach to the government, in which Tsentrobalt declared it would not tolerate a German diplomatic presence in Helsinki as long as it remained their principal operational base. The Council of Peoples' Commissars took the same line as Tsentrobalt; when the Germans made enquiries at Brest-Litovsk, 239

Joffe told them that there could be no German presence in Finland, and no final evacuation until hostilities had been ended. He added, "Finland has certainly been recognized as an independent state, but in practice the separation from Russia is not yet completed. . . . Numerous questions remain to be cleared up between the two governments." It was therefore wholly natural that while the Finnish government sought to speed up the establishment of the Mixed Commission, the Bolsheviks were in no hurry. The government proposed to parliament to nominate the seven Finnish members, four bourgeois and three socialists, and SDP made no difficulty over naming their candidates. On 19 January a letter to the Bolshevik government announced the agreement and suggested that the Commission meet in Helsinki. No reply was received; when Enckell took it up in Petrograd, it became obvious that the Russians were either indifferent or were deliberately delaying matters. Bonts-Brujevic told Enckell on 29 January that the matter was "not at all urgent, since Finland had been joined to Russia for over a hundred years." Indifference seems the more likely explanation; the Council of Peoples' Commissars had won its propaganda point by recognizing Finland's independence, and thereafter lost interest in Finland except when German pressures forced their attention on it. When they were grappling with the fearful problems of the negotiations at Brest-Litovsk, the situation in south Russia, the secession of the Ukraine, and the problem of the Constituent Assembly, which met on 18 January, the situation in Finland, which seemed to pose no immediate dangers for them, must have been low on their list of priorities.15 A wholly defensive posture by the Russians in Finland was in any case virtually forced on them by the state of the garrison. By late January, demobilization had reached the class of 1903, and had reduced the nominal establishment of the units to half of their war establishments. But desertion and the recall of volunteers for service in Russia had brought the troops well below this nominal level. Since some of the volunteers and some men on leave did return to their units, there was passage of Russians both in and out of Finland and this caught the attention of Finnish observers. Kaila wrote on 9 January that soldiers were coming into.Finland as individuals and in groups, "but certainly a lot of them are going away too." It was easy for suspicious bourgeois observers to suppose that the returnees were reinforcements, and to fail to realize that the strength of the garrison was being steadily reduced. The Area Committee knew what was happening because they tried in vain to check it: On 17 January they appealed to the garrison, "Although we are all tired, although we are all physically weak, we are strong in spirit. Cannot we hold out still for two or three months?" On 21 January they issued fresh orders agains unauthorized departures and units were required to take steps to recover their absentees. The Area Committee was also conscious that the state of the men who did remain was often deplorable; the newspaper of 42nd Army Corps lamented on 12 January the growing evidence of anarchy and selfishness among the troops, and on 24 January commented on the filthy state of many billets as signs of the decay of discipline. Orders forbidding men to sell off their equipment and complaints 240

about widespread disorders among demobilized soldiers in transit arose from the same phenomenon, a general collapse of morale. There were often solid material reasons for this; on 8 January 421 Regiment reported that their money for buying food and fodder had run out, and 423 Regiment in Pohjanmaa reported on 22 January that the Finnish authorities were threatening to stop supplies of firewood and electricity because they could not pay for them. In short, the soldiers in Finland were of little military value and could not be relied on to execute any orders that the Bolshevik authorities might issue. Lenin had recognized this, and in January had written off the old army and begun to enlist the active and dedicated men in the new Red Army. But although units in Finland were circulated with appeals to enlist in the Red Army, they had to go to Russia to do so; no Red Army units were set up in Finland.16 Official Bolshevik policy continued to be one of Russian nonintervention in the affairs of independent Finland, confirmed in the Area Committee circular of 22 January, "not to interfere in the affairs of Finland, because Finland is an independent state." Their adherence to this policy was assisted by their knowledge that the troops were in no condition to intervene to any effect. Yet the consciousness of failing strength could work in opposite directions, because of a growing impression among the Russians that the Home Guard movement presented a threat to their security. Russian military intelligence gathered a lot of information about what the Activists were doing, though some of it was false. The biggest misconception derived from a report of the Tornio garrison that a large force of Ja'gers was assembling in Sweden, ready to cross the frontier. The report was groundless, but it was taken very seriously indeed. Most of the reports, however, were based on fact; the Russians knew that shipping was being collected to bring supplies from Germany, they knew that the Home Guard would try to get control of the ice-breaker Sampo, though they were unable to stop it happening, they knew about the Voyri training course, though they greatly exaggerated its size, and they received numerous reports of Home Guard training in progress. Further, they had the appeals from the Finnish workers, which always alleged that a heavily armed Home Guard was poised to attack; "the Red Guard (unofficially) turns to the Russian forces in Finland to request their help, in the first place with rifles." The Russians were aware that Pohjanmaa was the critical area, and that the Home Guard there had plans for disarming the garrisons; so on 23 January, 423 Regiment was put on alert in the correct belief that plans existed for an imminent attack on them. Fear of Home Guard attack produced a state of nerves among the soldiers that had variable effects on their behavior. In Pohjanmaa, where the Russians felt weak and isolated, it inclined them to avoid provocation and submit rather than fight. But in south Finland, where they were relatively stronger, and might hope for relief and assistance from home, there was the temptation to yield to Red Guard solicitations and join in preemptive actions against the Home Guard.17 The bourgeois belief that the Bolsheviks in Petrograd and the Russians in Finland were actively planning to cause a class-war in Finland that would nullify their 241

grant of independence is not sustained by the evidence. Neither is the equally common socialist belief that the Svinhufvud government was looking for an immediate armed confrontation. On the contrary, all their plans required a period of several weeks at least before the new security forces could be ready for action. Some pointers indicated that the government was looking for ways of postponing any immediate confrontation.18 In fact the storm and fury in parliament on 12 January had been followed by a week of deceptive calm that reflected partly how few wanted to resolve the crisis by force of arms and partly how few realized that Finnish society had drifted to the brink of civil war. In this interval, Gylling pursued a scheme of his own to bring down the government by a motion accusing it of exceeding its powers and calling for parliament to investigate this. Gylling believed that he could attract enough bourgeois radicals who resented the authoritarian style of Svinhufvud's leadership, or were prepared to do anything that might offer an alternative to civil violence, to pass his motion. The Speaker agreed to put it as an interpellation; on 18 January Svinhufvud replied that all the actions of his government had been consistent with the program he had presented to parliament on appointment. But the debate never took fire, parliament remained apathetic, and Kuusinen suggested that they adjourn the discussion to another session. The absence of any sense of urgency in parliament was presumably compounded of the complacency of those who did not realize how serious the crisis was—after all they had been living with unending crises for nearly a year—and the indifference of those who felt that solutions could no longer be found through parliament.19 But one further factor that inhibited any positive action after 12 January was that the socialists were waiting for the SDP Council, which met in the Saatytalo on 19 January. At the first session the Council was considerably under strength; only 28 representatives were present, only one of the four delegates of the SDP parliamentary group attended, and only nine of the sixteen electoral districts sent their members. Although numbers rose in the later sessions, it was never fully representative, and this undoubtedly helped the militant faction. Kuusinen opened the debate, but had to speak personally, for the Executive could not present an agreed report. He had now become resigned to revolution, because the workers could only be held back by the installation of their own government, and it was clear that the bourgeoisie would not allow this to be set up by constitutional methods:20 Thus the struggle seems certainly to be beginning. One can have different opinions over whether it should be helped forward or prevented. It would not be sensible to argue about that here. We must accept matters on the basis that it is a reality which is certainly happening. And that when it comes, every member of the working class must join in, even though each one has different feelings. We must prepare against every possibility. If the storm should not come, then there would be no danger, even though the preparations were not needed. We must select a committee to prepare things against all dangers. The Executive is not suitable for such a revolutionary committee. So a new 242

revolutionary central committee is appropriate. . . . Then the more radical social democrats must be put on it, real revolutionaries. Because otherwise, the more radical elements in the party will start moving on their own. It is idle to argue whether Kuusinen really wanted a revolution, and was trying to maneuver the movement into a position that made it inevitable, or whether he would still have preferred the nonrevolutionary alternative. It seems best to accept his words at face value; he took revolution to be a historical inevitability and saw the only sensible course of action to be to prepare for it and above all ensure that the movement went into it united. Sirola followed, and his differences of interpretation falsify the notion that a united radical junta was trying to manipulate the Council. Sirola thought the majority in the movement still opposed revolution, but that they must restructure the leadership to meet the demands of the Red Guard minority because the movement could not now afford to drive them into secession. "Shall we go against the revolutionary democracy? The arming of the people is a revolutionary necessity." But it was Rahja, as a Bolshevik fraternal delegate, who spoke with the voice of Lenin and showed that the radical camp was split down the middle, for his approach was utterly different from that of Kuusinen and Sirola:21 the party and its central leadership have betrayed the cause of revolution. . . . If we do not take action at once, the bolder, more active members will leave the party. . . . Now we must prepare against the bourgeoisie when arms are available. It will become more difficult in future. Recent experience shows that parliamentary activity should be rejected.. . . Now we must begin a struggle against the whole parliamentary system and get power for the workers. Put an end to empty speeches about policy and put the main effort into creating fighting organisations. The difference between Rahja and his colleagues Kuusinen and Sirola remained fundamental: They were prepared to go along with a revolution that could not be prevented, whereas Rahja gloried in the opportunity to make a revolution for its own sake—he wanted to direct events, not conform to them. Lundberg supported Rahja, declaring that Turku meant to realize socialist demands by force; he challenged the Executive, "either realise our programme together, or we will set up a new party leadership, which will not drag back." When the moderate reply came, its weakness was in the speakers, all obscure provincial delegates, but their case was clear: The majority was opposed to revolution and the alleged ferment among the workers was transitory. The Turku party secretary, Aaltonen, an old enemy of Lundberg, poured scorn on his claims: "The masses are really revolutionary because of food . . . if we start an armed attack we shall be beaten. . . . If we get power, is there a possibility of keeping it and what shall we do after?" A woman delegate from Kotka, power house of militancy, mocked the radical position:22 243

the revolutionaries in our area take the position, since we have a gun we must fire it, that is their whole revolutionary i d e a . . . we must not make a revolution, even if we have a few guns. Only when we are sure that we can keep power in our hands. Rantanen summed up bluntly for the moderates: "There are two kinds of participants in this meeting, those who have weapons and those who have sense." But the party heavyweights, who disagreed with the militants, and could have led opposition to them, refused to do so. Turkia certainly attacked Lundberg and Rahja, but he was not ready to resist them:23 For myself, I would hope that the revolution does not come yet, because we are still unprepared. A revolution that is built on foreign force is a misfortune . . . Rahja's speeches are beautiful revolutionary dreams. If the socialist revolution is coming, we shall go along with it, but we shall not set out to make it. The defeat of the moderates was finally ensured by the attitude of the trade unions, as expressed by Lumivuokko. They were still bitter about the general strike and declared that they would have no part in any new executive committee, but, like Turkia, if the revolution came, they would go along with it. It became clear that the Council was split: As Manner remarked, "It may be we cannot get unanimity in this matter." A resolution was presented from Lauritsalo local party that "the meeting demands that the whole capitalist society and economic system be put in the hands of the organised Social Democrat workers. This resolution must be put into effect at once, otherwise there will be consequences which history does not know." The incoherence of their concluding phrase testified to the fervor of their revolutionary enthusiasm, but in Council, when a radical declared this was "proof of the revolutionary mood of the workers," a moderate retorted, "if threats and attempts to by-pass our party organs are to be called revolutionary, so be it. Ordinary people will not understand it so." The Council could not face the reality of its divisions; the debate dragged on through the following day in the vain search for some agreed position. The militants stepped up pressure, and Helsinki Red Guard offered to end their secession if a new leadership was established and "if such a committee has a really revolutionary programme." Aaltonen insisted that in spite of divisions among the Red Guard, "one thing is certain, they are all revolutionary and this meeting must take their opinion into account, whether it wants to or not." The outcome was predictable; the moderates declined to set up a new revolutionary executive, on the grounds that the trade unions would not take part, but agreed that a subcommittee of the Council continue the search for an agreed policy. This was carefully balanced; Sirola, Kuusinen, and Eloranta were radical, Wiik and Wuoristo moderates, Heinonen and Nordlund uncommitted. The subcommittee was wholly divided; they managed to agree that the party Congress should meet at the normal time in the spring, but that there should be a special 244

delegate conference in Tampere in February to decide policy. This could be agreed, because it was a way of putting off any final decisions. Then they voted 4 to 3 to set up a new revolutionary executive, but could not agree on its remit. In the end they had to submit two conflicting reports, one by Sirola that the new executive be empowered to authorize a seizure of power, the other by Wiik that the procedure laid down in the November Congress must be observed and the new executive confined to bringing the Red Guard under the control of the movement, purging undesirable members from it, and preventing premature popular actions—in other words, to prevent a revolution rather than lead one.24 On 21 January, Council accepted the plan for a delegate conference in February by 18 votes to 13, but remained deadlocked over the powers of any new executive. Rahja insisted that "the task of such a committee would be that of a military committee, which would decide how to act when the revolution has begun" and Sirola said that it must be "fully authorised." But Gylling argued that ultimate authority must remain with the existing Executive, and on a vote this moderate position won. The socialists had reached another great turning point of the revolution, a reverse performance of the night of 16 November. Sirola, Manner, Eloranta, and Kuusinen announced they could not accept the policy and would resign from the leadership, and Turkia stated that he would follow their example. It was the moment for the moderates to step forward and take power, but only Harjula was ready to do so. He said, "If they do not want to stay, let them go. Some members of the Executive have put forward an artificial, splitting policy. Let us elect a few working men to the Executive if the gentry do not want to act." But the Council could not face this; as Turkia had said, "those resigning are the competent members," and both Wiik and Gylling accepted that any leadership that excluded them would lack all credibility. So the blackmail succeeded, as it had done on 16 November, though this time in the opposite direction, and the majority gave in. Wiik set about negotiating a compromise that was presented to the Council on 22 January: The existing Executive would remain in office but five new members were be added, all known militants acceptable to the Red Guard. They were Taimi, A. Kiviranta, Haapalainen, Letonmaki, and E. Elo. If they worked with the existing radical members they would have a majority of 9 to 3 on the new Executive. Further, the Executive wa empowered to divide into sections, so that a revolutionary subcommittee could be set up and they could coopt additional members as they saw fit. The compromise was therefore in fact a full surrender to the militants.25 The majority seems to have accepted the inevitable, for Wiik noted that "a peaceful mood" came over the meeting and they easily agreed on an official statement. The full party Congress would meet in April or May, but there would be a delegate conference at Tampere on 10 February "to analyse precisely the class-war situation in the country and its different parts and give its opinion on the measures and tactics demanded by the situation." In the meantime, the Executive would establish a "Workers' Executive Committee" from its own members, with the remit:26 245

to follow the development of events and direct the party organisations and the workers' Guards, so that all moves of the bourgeoisie, threatening the rights and freedom of the workers will be repelled with the utmost possible force, and to initiate those measures which the safeguarding of the conditions and advantages of the proletariat gives cause for. In other words, the Workers' Executive was to prepare for a revolution, though a final decision would rest with the full SDP Executive. The parliamentary group was authorized to negotiate with the bourgeoisie for a coalition government, but only on terms that met all the workers' demands, and "this possibility is to be regarde as slight." The Workers' Executive would consist of the new members, with Haapalainen as chairman and Letonmaki as secretary. In this way the workers' movement in Finland had virtually committed itself to revolution—though not immediately, since it would be nearly three weeks until the Tampere conference met to make a final decision, and not absolutely, since it still did not exclude a parliamentary decision altogether. The Tampere conference might decide against revolution, but the whole restructuring of the leadership assumed that revolutionary action would follow. The situation of the workers' movement seems to have been that the leaders of the Red Guard wanted a revolutionary seizure of power as soon as they were ready, the Bolsheviks among them for its own sake, the others because they believed that the government meant to attack them as soon as it felt strong enough. Many hungry, unemployed workers supported this view, which was strengthened by the belief that the Russian soldiers would help, and by the hope that a seizure of power would relieve their distresses. The radicals like Kuusinen and Sirola, who had now thrown in their lot with the Red Guard, were Marxist intellectuals, who believed that revolutions happened through historical necessity and that it was their duty to cooperate with the historical process; the question of whether they wanted a revolution was irrelevant. It was unlikely that this rarified theorizing had much popular following; the strength of this group, as they had just demonstrated, was that their skills in leadership were necessary to the movement. The mass of ordinary members, probably still a majority, neither wanted nor believed in revolutionary action, but they had a gut feeling that ensured that they would rally round a revolutionary government in the name of proletarian solidarity. So, in the end, would most of their leaders. Men like Wiik and Gylling believed that the workers' needs could be met better by parliamentary action, as did a majority of the parliamentary group; many of these were convinced that a revolution would end in catastrophe for the workers. But the price of asserting their view would be to split the movement. While they could contemplate this eventually, the corollary that they stand aside and leave the radicals to be dealt with by a vengeful bourgeoisie was something they could not stomach. So there was no revolt of the moderate, silent majority against the revolutionary minority: a few did follow the lead of men like Tanner, Huttunen, and Paasivuori and withdraw into passivity, but most moderates could see no alternative to going along with their comrades. This was the feeling Wiik recorded in his diary after 22 January: "So I have 246

gone along once more, although my proposal was thrown out and I do not know in what direction I can act."27 In a sense, the debates of the SDP Council were an irrelevance, for on the day that it met, the incident occurred that .triggered the civil war, and it had no direct connection with their deliberations. It started from fears among the Viipuri Red Guard about the extent of Home Guard preparations in the city. A Viipuri factory owner, M. Pietinen, had lent his premises for the storage of weapons and the manufacture of hand grenades, and the Home Guard mounted a discreet armed guard on the factory. On 19 January, Viipuri Red Guard turned out and launched a series of searches for weapons, arresting a number of prominent bourgeois, and soon they began to congregate threateningly at Pietinen's factory. The militia was sent for but declined to get involved, some Russian soldiers turned up, and then the building was attacked and taken; one Home Guard died in the fighting, two others were murdered elsewhere in the city. By 20 January, the Red Guard dominated the city, and held some 70 prisoners as hostages. It has never been suggested that these events were anything but a spontaneous local initiative: Nobody outside Viipuri authorized the action of the Red Guard, no Russian authority sanctioned the participation of the soldiers. These incidents happened at a time when tensions in Karelia were reaching danger point anyway; on the same day, Luumaki Home Guard, alerted by friendly railway officials, seized a wagon containing 200 rifles consigned to Mikkeli Red Guard from Petrograd. They took some, and tried to set fire to the rest. The nearby Lappeenranta Red Guard heard of what had happened, requisitioned a train, and set out to recover the weapons, resulting in a skirmish atTaavetti station on 21 January with the Luumaki men in which both sides suffered casualties; the Red Guard withdrew after recovering some of the rifles. When the Jager in command of the rural Home Guards around Viipuri heard about the attack on the Pietinen factory, he decided to mobilize his men and go to help. Viipuri Home Guard persuaded the municipality to issue an official invitation to Hagglund to bring his men into the city to assist in restoring order. The Russians were notified that the Home Guard were to be regarded as government forces, and they seemed disposed to stand aside. Hagglund, who had hoped to call out 1,500 men, could only assemble 600, not all of them armed, but on 22 January he marched them into the city, occupied the railway station, and began to patrol the streets. The Red Guard made little resistance and immediately appealed to the Russians for help.28 Independent of these happenings, a crisis had developed in Pohjanmaa and it arose out of a mistake. On 21 January, vigilant railway officials reported that two Russian military trains had left Petrograd for Seinajoki, and the bourgeois authorities jumped to the conclusion that they were carrying reinforcements to Pohjanmaa. In fact, they contained soldiers of 423 Regiment who had been sent from Seinajoki to fight in south Russia, had been disarmed in Petrograd for refusing to fight, and were now being returned to their units. The Finns did not know this, and Mannerheim sent an urgent demand that the government stop the trains, mainly 247

because he feared that their arrival might provoke the Home Guard to premature action. Idman was sent to the Area Committee, which knew nothing about the trains and readily agreed to try and turn them back. When orders to this effect V failed, Seinman and Rovio chased them in a special train as far as Riihimaki, but did not succeed in catching them up. So Mannerheim ordered the railway to be blown up, and at the same time ordered the Home Guard to mobilize at Lapua and then march on Seinajoki and disarm the garrison. They planned to do this on the night of 23/24 January. But in the course of 23 January the trains arrived in Seinajoki, the attempt to blow the track had failed, and the soldiers proved harmless. Mannerheim got an urgent appeal from the government, which was deep in negotiation with the Russian authorities, not to provoke any further trouble. He complied and ordered the cancellation of the attack on Seinajoki garrison. This order was not well received by the Home Guards assembled at Lapua, who demanded to know why they should obey this half-foreign aristocrat, who could not speak Finnish and had served the Russians all his life. They sent their leader, M. Laurila, to protest to Mannerheim, but Laurila fell an easy victim to Mannerheim's powers to charm. Mannerheim appealed to Laurila as one soldier to another, who knew the necessity of waiting to strike at the right moment, and Laurila went off meek as a lamb and persuaded his men to go home. Ignatius was horrified: "They wanted to act on their own authority, which would not have been of any use: you often have to cajole them like children . . . they must be put under discipline." This was precisely Mannerheim's problem; by imposing his will on this occasion he had reduced his freedom of maneuver, for if he called them out again, and then failed to go into action, his fragile authority would hardly survive—next time there could be no turning back.29 The danger that Mannerheim would lose control was made worse when Hagglund sent a message to Vaasa on 22 January that "Karelia is rising with all its men to liberate the country from the shame of anarchy. We rely on the brave Pohjanmaa men to do their duty." This was heady, emotional stuff, just what the Pohjanmaa farmers would respond to, and Mannerheim saw his plans threatened with ruin by rival forces in his own camp. He telephoned urgently to Svinhufvud, "demanding the preservation of peace at all cost."30 The Russians in Finland were unhappy and confused by the sudden urge of tension. On 21 January, Tsentrobalt had sent a delegation to the SDP Council to ask if the workers supported the bourgeois demands for immediate evacuation. Turkia assured the delegation that SDP did not and would issue a statement saying so, after which the sailors expressed satisfaction and withdrew. That the sailors would want to ask such a question shows how little contact or mutual understanding existed between the Russians and the Finnish socialists. The SDP statement dissociated the party from the bourgeois campaign:31 Of course there should not be Russian forces in Finland beyond the time when their removal becomes possible and in any case not after the coming of peace. B u t . . . we well understand that, at least partly, the current presence of the Russian military in Finland, before peace has been concluded, 248

may be necessary for the defence of revolutionary Petrograd against attacks by some imperialist government. This statement was reported in Ilkka on 26 January under the heading "socialists do not want the Russians to leave the country," but this is obviously a perverse misreading. It was quite clear that the presence of the Russians was to be temporary, and that the defense of Petrograd was the sole reason for their remaining. Not the slightest h i n t had been given that the party wanted the Russians to stay to help the workers against the bourgeoisie. It was the force of circumstances that was pushing both the soldiers and the workers towards such joint action. The Russians in Pohjanmaa had observed the Home Guard mobilization at Lapua and the Soviet of 423 Regiment ordered a general alert. On 23 January, the commander of 106 Division, Colonel Svecnikov, persuaded his divisional committee to order an alert. "Because the local populace may possibly take hostile action, the troops should be got to battle readiness, guards set up, and reconnaissance and observation of armed bodies moving by railway or other means of transport carried out." Svecnikov stressed how important it was to cooperate with the Finnish socialists: 32 It is therefore essential from now on not to interfere in Finnish affairs, in any circumstances, without the Social Democratic party, or misunderstandings could arise. We could get the Red Guard against us, which would obstruct the achievement of our aim which is the struggle against the White Guard. Defense against a common enemy was one obvious factor driving the Russians and the Red Guard towards collaboration, but there was also the factor of proletarian internationalism. This put great strain on the Russians in Viipuri, who had allowed the Red Guard to take over the barracks of the 8th Finland Rifle Regiment as their headquarters and even to keep their prisoners there. When the committee of 42nd Army Corps discussed the pressing requests of the Red Guard for more rifles, on 22 January, they requested the Viipuri garrison: 33 to discuss as a matter of urgency the question of arming with rifles the Finnish Red Guards now in the b a r r a c k s . . . for it is not possible to be inactive spectators of the possible destruction of an unarmed Finnish proletariat before the eyes of the Russian proletariat. Although the Russians did not interfere when Hagglund moved into Viipuri, this was because they were waiting for orders from Podvoiski, the Commissar for War. The text of the order they received is lost, but it almost certainly told them to reestablish Russian control in Viipuri by disarming all Finnish forces, whichever side they were on. This action would remove the temptation to support the Red Guard and be consistent with the official policy of nonintervention. This can be deduced from the report which the committee of 42nd Army Corps sent to Podvoiski on 24 January: 34 The troops are completely loyal. 42nd Army Corps' committee and Viipuri Soviet has ordered detachments to disarm those who appear on the city 249

streets with rifles, whether they are Red or White G u a r d s . . . . We believe that our organisations can prevent less informed elements from interfering in the struggles of our Finnish brother nation. The report was not quite accurate, however. What had happened was that on the night of 22/23 January the soldiers, helped by Red Guards, had recaptured Viipuri station. Hagglund, faced with Russian intervention, had withdrawn with his men to Venajansaari, close to the city, to observe developments. The Red Guard certainly were not disarmed; they remained with their prisoners in the barracks, while the workers had stepped up the struggle by declaring a general strike in the city. Their strike call asserted that "the bourgeoisie has now begun an open armed struggle to smash the workers completely" and summoned the workers to "fight for the freedom of the workers. Victory or death, that is our battle cry." The Karelians decided to take up the challenge, for during 23 January they sent Captain A. Pell to Sortavala to disarm the small Russian post there, which he did in a surprise attack at the head of the local Home Guard, and secured 150 rifles. Pell then took his men on to Joensuu, where there was another small garrison, and an active Red Guard led by A. Wesley. Pell overpowered both, took a further 100 rifles, and arrested the local socialist leaders, except Wesley, who got away. These attacks cleared the area of Karelia north of Lake Ladoga of all potential armed resistance, but by openly attacking Russian soldiers and stealing their equipment, they gravely escalated the conflict35 Ever since the violence began on 19 January, Svinhufvud's government had been trying to stop it. But they had the false assumption that the Russians had organized the outbreak in Viipuri, and resolved to protest to the Area Committee. They only located Seinman late on 22 January, and A. Castren delivered a vigorous protest, saying that in normal condition events in Viipuri would be a casus belli. Weinman was intimidated by this, though he knew very little about events in Viipuri, and agreed at once to telephone Viipuri to order the Russians there to stop whatever it was they were doing. Idman had the impression that the Russians in Viipuri were not responsive, and the Finns offered to provide a train to take Seinman to Viipuri, so that he could assert the authority of the Area Committee in person. On 23 January conditions looked more hopeful; once Hagglund had left the city, the immediate danger of a clash with the Russians receded, and the Prefect reported that the soldiers were willing to open negotiations with the Home Guard. So the government sent its message to Mannerheim to hold his hand in Pohjanmaa, and then made contact directly with SDP. Tyomies on 23 January published an appeal to stop the slide into civil war; "up to now we have hoped that civil war could be avoided in this country. . . . Can we not get to work for the general good of our nation by peaceful means?" Idman had talked to Tokoi and Makelin the previous day, and they had suggested that a coalition government was still a possibility, so now Talas and Renvall were sent to invite Manner to Government House for discussions. But Manner was tied by the Council resolution and could only offer a socialist majority government committed to the full socialist program, including the disarming of the 250

Home Guard. Talas remarked, "The Red terms were such that the country would have been wholly surrendered into their hands, for which reason nothing came of the conciliation." This was disappointing, but there was good news from Viipuri. Once Seinman arrived, he persuaded the garrison to declare its neutrality and issue a statement that "the Russian people cannot interfere in Finnish affairs," and further, they agreed to press the Red Guard to open talks with the Home Guard for a settlement. To this end, the Russians sent a letter to the Red Guard demanding that they ameliorate the conditions of their prisoners, which sounded grim, for the Russians suggested giving them a bigger room, allowing food to be brought in, and "letting them answer the calls of nature." They added that the Red Guard must leave the barracks, and that the Prefect had made these demands a condition for mediating with the Home Guard; "if he can get in touch with their staff, perhaps he can get them to leave the vicinity of the city." It appears that the Russians were worried that the prisoners might be murdered while on Russian premises, "which would cause difficulties." The Russians in Viipuri were clearly preparing to force the Red Guard into a compromise settlement.36 There followed a striking demonstration of the lack of coordination on the Bolshevik side, because Podvoiski now intervened, to nullify all that Seinman had been trying to achieve. The text of this order is lost, but it must have been a change of policy by Podvoiski in response to lobbying by the Red Guard, the Petrograd Finns, and the more militant soldiers. He now instructed Viipuri garrison to disarm the Home Guard only and hand over their weapons to the Red Guard. The Finnish government heard of this and on the evening of 23 January, Enckell was summoned from a dinner party and told he was to travel at once to Petrograd, as official representative of the government to the Council of Peoples' Commissars, carrying a demand for the immediate withdrawal of Russian troops. Louhivuori would accompany him as far as Viipuri, and Enckell was to stop off there for a day, to try to direct negotiations with the soldiers there, while Louhivuori should mediate between the Home Guard and the socialists. They set off in a special train at 1:00 A.M. and nearly came to grief at Malmi, where the Red Guard stopped the train; Louhivuori had to argue with them in his pajamas before they were persuaded to let the train proceed.37 The various negotiations that took place in Viipuri on 24 January were critical in determining whether the escalation of violence since 19 January could be halted or reversed. The conference between the Red Guard and the Home Guard, with the Prefect, Suhonen, Louhivuori, and Enckell acting as mediators, began at 2:45. The Home Guard wanted an unconditional release of prisoners, and the Red Guard a unilateral disarming by the bourgeois, whereas Louhivuori suggested both Guards submit to the orders of the Prefect and the prisoners be delivered into his custody. The two sides adjourned to consider the position, but in the interval the atmosphere deteriorated sharply. First a train sent by Viipuri Red Guard to Petrograd for arms and reinforcements was ambushed on its return journey, and the pilot engine wisely sent on ahead was derailed. The angry Red Guards descended from 251

the train and murdered three railway officials at Terijoki station, whom they suspected of responsibility, and this news was telephoned through to Viipuri. Second, the committee of 42nd Army Corps had been considering Podvoiski's new order, particularly in the light of Pell's exploits, and resolved:38 to enter battle against the Finnish bourgeois Guard and for that purpose to set up a 42nd Army Corps'Revolutionary Council. . . . All orders of the revolutionary staff are to be put into force immediately and without delay from now on, without any discussion. The bourgeois Guard will be given an ultimatum that it is to lay down its arms within 36 hours. If the ultimatum is not met, the forces of the Army Corps will be proclaimed in a state of war with the Finnish White Guard. When the Red Guard were informed of the new policy they naturally lost all interest in compromise, and the talks with the Home Guard broke up at midnight. They were supposed to resume next day, but the Home Guard had already decided not to put themselves at risk again by venturing into the city. When Enckell had talks with representatives of the Army Corps that evening, they told him of the new policy, and justified it by reference to Pell's attacks on their men. Two generals, Nadezny and Snabel, who attended as technical advisers, suggested that if the Finnish government guaranteed there would be no more attacks on the soldiers, the soldiers might revert to a neutral position. Although no progress was made, Enckell reported that he believed the Russians did not want to fight, and that it was worth trying to bluff them into staying outside the conflict.39 In sharp contrast with developments in Viipuri, when A. Castren and Idman went to the Area Committee in Helsinki on 24 January, they found Smilga had just come back from Petrograd. When he was pressed for evacuation and nonintervention, he was conciliatory. He pointed out that at the current rate of demobilization, the Russians would be gone in eight weeks in any case, but if Finland would declare her neutrality, and Sweden and Germany promise to observe it, the troops could leave at once. Helsingin Sanomat reported "generally the Area Committee took a fairly favourable attitude to the demands of the Finnish government, and promised to do their best to satisfy them." Those who believe that the Bolsheviks were a disciplined, tight-knit band of conspirators can only explain the contradiction between Smilga's attitude and that of Podvoiski by supposing that Smilga was engaged in deliberate deception while Bolshevik preparations matured. But the episode demonstrated only that the Bolsheviks had no coordinated policy on Finland, Smilga represented what he understood to be the settled policy on Finland, while Podvoiski had launched out on an aberrant variation of his own devising. It is observable that the various Bolshevik agencies dealing with Finland commonly contradicted and frustrated one another, with the unfortunate result that no meaningful negotiation with them was possible, since there was no supreme authority on the Russian side in a position to give effective guarantees about the conduct of the rest.40 The leaders of SDP were slow to appreciate the accelerated pace of developments. 252

After the ending of the Council, Sirola was commissioned to prepare plans for the consideration of the Executive, which would be presented to the delegate conference on 10 February. Simla's extensive notes and drafts show that he assumed that a revolutionary seizure of power could not be avoided; the question was how events could be retained under the control of the leadership, and what was to be the basi on which the revolutionary regime would operate. Sirola presented a long report to the Executive on 24 January, which began, "The country has begun a civil war. Unless it can be controlled without delay, it will lead to arbitrary, uncontrolled and conflicting events." They needed to clarify some imponderable factors, in particular how the population in general would react to a socialist government, "how many of them will come along or be neutral and how many will undertake active opposition," and, equally important, what could be expected of the Russians, "so that there shall be no surprises." The existing situation could not continue for long, since neither side would disarm and the existence of two rival sources of authority in the country was impossible. It was essential that the bourgeois government and parliament not be allowed to escape from Helsinki, for if they could establish themselves in Pohjanmaa, they would be able to organize foreign intervention. The workers would have to seize power, and begin by arresting the government and dissolving parliament. They should present a program that included a new constitution, the reform of landholding and the legal system, and the introduction of social security schemes. They would then have to consider how far and how fast to socialize the economy, and this required a decision about the basis of the new regime: "Are we to act on a democratic or a proletarian-/communist basis?" Sirola recognized that in the circumstances the seizure of power would bring about a situation of minority dictatorship, but assumed that this would be only transitional:41 Of course we shall not fight against democracy, on the contrary we must rely on it that the majority of the working population will adopt this programme before long, so that the apparent minority dictatorship will be only provisional, a necessity created by the revolutionary situation. The significant features of this report were that it assumed that enough time was left to consider and debate the timing and character of the seizure of power; that the plans did not depend on Russian participation; that Sirola did not know what the Russian attitude would be; and that he gave no thought to what would happen if a majority of the workers did not accept the new regime and it remained a minority dictatorship. The SDP Executive received the report on 24 January, but before they could settle down to consider it, events had eroded the assumptions about the timing on which it was based. The chain of causation starts with Lenin himself, who had backed up his verbal promise on 13 January of weapons for the Red Guard, with a written order dated 20 January, which ran:42 The bearer, comrade Rahja, an old party worker and known to me, is deserving of absolute confidence. It is extremely important to help him get 253

weapons (for the Finnish proletariat): about 10,000 rifles with ammunition, about 10 three-inch guns with shells. I beg you seriously to fulfil and not reduce the number. This further personal intervention by Lenin, which again seems to have been made without consulting anyone, had a dramatic effect, for by 22 January the General Staff in Helsinki knew that at 2:00 A.M. on 26 January, a train would leave Petrograd carrying 15,000 rifles, machine guns, and artillery. They issued their orders to the Red Guard on 23 January, on the assumption that the enemy would learn about the train and would seek to intercept it. The order began "the moment of action is at hand. The revolutionary workers are preparing and a decision in our favour must happen: arms are coming for the Red Guard." Therefore the Red Guards along the route had to mobilize to protect the train, and orders were issued to each relevant unit. For instance, the Kotka Red Guard would mobilize on 25 January and seize control of the railway in the Kouvola sector, occupying the stations and guarding the bridges. They would unload their quota of weapons, 1,400 rifles and six machine guns at Kouvola, and provide an escort for the train on its further progress. The Kotka Red Guard was delighted with the order and met on 24 January to make their plans for mobilization, which would mean proclaiming a general strike to release the men. The importance of the order of 23 January, issued by Aaltonen and Haapalainen without consulting the SDP Executive, cannot be exaggerated; it was one of the three or four most decisive events of the revolution. It meant that on 26 January there would be a general strike in most of the major population centers of southern Finland, that the Red Guard would be mobilized, and if all went well, armed. The order did not say what would happen next, but it was inconceivable that the armed workers would be prepared to go quietly home and wait on events. The order virtually compelled a revolutionary seizure of power beginning on, or immediately after, 26 January. Yet Aaltonen and Haapalainen had had no choice, once Lenin had issued his order and Rahja arranged for the train. They faced an accomplished fact and could do nothing but take immediate action to safeguard its contents, other than to tell Petrograd to cancel the delivery, which was unthinkable.43 When the SDP Executive assembled in the evening of 24 January, they were in a state of near panic because of the reports from Viipuri that the garrison had decide on neutrality, so that Manner lamented "in Viipuri, probably, all is lost," while Wiik noted in his diary "the Russian soldiers are not to be relied on, see Viipuri. At this point Aaltonen intervened and informed them of the orders issued by the General Staff, adding that once the arms arrived, "a general uprising will begin." He was also able to tell them that Podvoiski had changed the orders for Viipuri and that the soldiers would act against the Home Guard only. But this announcement, instead of cheering them, caused consternation as the implications were realized that they would have to seize power at once when they had made almost no advance preparations and the attitude of the Russians seemed undependable. Taimi managed to stem the panic by suggesting that they could get confirmation of the 254

Russian position by sending someone to Viipuri "who can report back here and then travel to Petrograd." They leapt at this, which enabled them to postpone making a decision, and nominated Taimi to go. But the dismay could not be repressed; Elo lamented, "The order means the beginning of a revolution," and Haapalainen began to wonder if even now they could postpone things: "Mobilisation means a general strike in the whole of south Finland, and the workers will not be content with three days, there will be disorder which is not desirable, it must and can be prevented." This leaves open the question of whether Haapalainen had been drunk when he agreed to the order the previous day, or whether he had only now realized what it meant. Aaltonen was the man who kept his eye on realities; he knew there was no possibility of postponement: "You will confuse things more this way, I am shutting up shop. . . . I have negotiated and organised so hard in Petrograd, do not mess things up now." Taimi then came in again to suggest that perhaps after all the arms train need not mean an immediate revolution:44 Aaltonen wants to make a revolution, and then it will not come from natural causes. As a Marxist I must oppose this. Let the weapons come first, and then, when we are armed, let there be a battle with the bourgeoisie, if they are bold enough. Turkia grasped at this crumb of comfort, "It cannot be put off, but it need not imply revolution." He suggested that Taimi try to get the Viipuri general strike ended and ease tension there, while Eloranta suggested they could mobilize only the Red Guard members and let the rest of the workers stay at work; but with this eminently silly suggestion, the meeting ended, and as Wiik recorded, "Taimi went." This meeting was conclusive proof that the Finnish revolution was not the result of a carefully planned conspiracy between the Finnish socialists and the Bolsheviks. On 24 January, the leaders of the movement, including radicals like Haapalainen and Elo, were scared witless by the prospect of having to seize power at once, and a major component of their terror was that they did not know whether or not the Russians would be assisting them. The many excitements of 24 January were not concluded by this meeting for Tsentrobalt had its own contribution to offer. During the day nervous sailors at Vaasa had skirmished with local Home Guards and telephoned Helsinki, implying that they were under attack. Ismailov, the chairman of Tsgentrobalt, telephoned Government House and demanded that Svinhufvud come to their headquarters ship, Kretset, firmly locked in the ice of the harbor. Svinhufvud's colleagues were apprehensive, but he insisted on going, only asking them to notify the Swedish consul if he did not return, and he calmly walked across the ice onto the ship. There he was engaged in hours of wild debate with a crowd of excited and partly intoxicated sailors, demanding that the attacks on their comrades in Vaasa must cease. Time passed and Svinhufvud did not reappear, and his colleagues got Idman, who was spending an evening at the theater, to go and look for him. Idman found the debate in full flow and joined in; Izmailov was talking wildly about bombarding Helsinki, 255

and demanding that the Pohjanmaa Home Guard must disarm, but Idman pointed out that even if Svinhufvud ordered this they would not obey. He suggested they send forSmilga, but the sailors were jealous of the authority of the Area Committee and did not want him interfering. Instead, they sent to SDP for Manner and Haapalainen, who arrived and promptly turned down the idea that Tampere Red Guard should go and rescue the sailors; according to Idman, they consistently tried to suggest that the sailors send their own expedition to Vaasa. There was a general argument about the Home Guard, with Svinhufvud insisting it was a neutral body, and the socialists claiming it was a class army, which "has now begun to fight against the working classes." Manner denied that the workers had asked the Russians for support; "we have told the Russian soldiers that we do not want their support," he maintained, which was technically true, but scarcely reflected the feeling of the Executive meeting that evening. About 3:00 A.M., the socialists left, and Idman was allowed to telephone to Government House; after a vain attempt to contact Smilga, he asked A. Castren to come, as the minister responsible for the Home Guard. Castren arrived and the debate set off once more; the Finns considered trying to slip away, but the presence of so many intoxicated, trigger-happy sailors deterred them. In the end, sheer exhaustion produced an agreement—all hostilities between the sailors and the Home Guard should cease, any captures of men or weapons should be returned. The three Finns were then allowed to leave the ship, escorted by Admiral Rysek for security against the sailors.45 The virtual kidnapping of the Prime-minister of a sovereign state by the sailors was an act of piracy; they had no authority from the Bolshevik government or the Area Committee, which repudiated their action when it heard of it. The sailors were a kind of joker in the situation, their actions cutting right across the established re lationships of the other parties. In retrospect, the whole episode looks farcical, though there is no doubt that Svinhufvud's life was in danger, and his consistent and calm demeanor do him the greatest credit. The sailors had dropped their original impossible demands and accepted a quite meaningless bit of paper, since the trouble in Vaasa had already died down. But this did not mean that the wild night on the Kretset did not influence events. During 25 January Mannerheim was told of Podvoiski's new policy in Viipuri and of the sailors' threats to send a relief expedition to Vaasa, and he decided that it was not safe to wait any longer before disarming the Russians in Pohjanmaa. He summoned Wetzer, Ignatius, and Lbfstrbm to a council of war, proposing that they mobilize the Home Guard for the night of 27/ 28 January and disarm the Russians in Vaasa and five other garrisons in Pohjanmaa. Only Lbfstrbm opposed and gave a professional soldier's judgment that "the plan was crazy, and a battle against numerically superior and well armed Russians hopeless," but his objection was overruled and the necessary orders were issued. It is interesting that while Mannerheim rightly judged that the soldiers in Pohjanmaa ha little capacity to resist, he made the same error as Lbfstrbm in supposing that the threats of the sailors should be taken seriously. Events were to show that they lacked the ability to make them good. Yet this decision, based partly on misapprehension, 256

was as important as the decision to secure the Red Guard arms train. It determined that on 27 January, when the Red Guard in the south should be getting its arms, the Home Guard in Pohjanmaa would launch their attack on the Russians. Either event by itself would seriously alter the situation, but the two events occurring simultaneously, though independently, would cause an explosion. This was the time-bomb ticking away behind the events of the last three days of "normal" politics.46 On 25 January Tyomies published a desperate plea for a peaceful solution; SDP was against all armament, for "armament only gives birth to armament, violence to violence," and appealed to the majority in the nation to help SDP pacify the workers. But in both camps, the men of violence had taken over. In Viipuri Hagglund had been in contact with Vaasa and tried to get armed assistance from there, but by 25 January it was clear that the Pohjanmaa Home Guard would not release any weapons; he decided to abandon Viipuri and move his force behind the river Vuoksi and set up headquarters at Antrea, as close to Viipuri as was safe. Hagglund himself proceeded to Antrea on 25 January, leaving the force at Venajansaari under Lieutenant-colonel Aminoff to follow later. During the night of 25/26 January, the Russian post in Antrea was overpowered and 300 serviceable rifles were acquired. The Whites then took a train to Vuoksenniska with 100 men. This was the headquarters of the Russian naval patrols on the Saimaa-Ladoga lake and river system. The train drew up in the depot while the 80 Russians were having breakfast, and they were overpowered without a fight. This action gave Hagglund 70 rifles, 12 machine guns, and 6 three-inch field guns, and it meant that all of Karelia east and north of the Vuoksi was clear of hostile forces. Hagglund organized his men into a battalion of 600 and formed a screen along the river by manning the crossing places. In Viipuri itself, the 42nd Army Corps duly sent its ultimatum to the Prefect: It said that since the Home Guard were not government troops and had attacked Russian forces, they must give up their weapons within 36 hours, or be treated as enemies. The ultimatum stressed that this affected only the Home Guard; "the measures will not be directed against the Finnish people or its independence." The Revolutionary Council sent telegrams to all units, which concluded that "if the ultimatum is rejected then the troops of the Army Corps will be proclaimed in a state of war with the White Guard." This should have brought the troops to a state of readiness, but there is little evidence that it had any effect on them at all. Viipuri garrison made no preparation to attack the Home Guard force at Venajansaari, and it was only o 26 January that the garrison delivered 300 rifles to Viipuri Red Guard. The ultimatum was wishful thinking by the Revolutionary Council; the rank and file had no intention of risking their lives for a cause to which they were indifferent.47 The workers in Viipuri held a mass meeting, resolving that the strike should continue until the Svinhufvud government had been overthrown, either through parliament, or by other means. Louhivuori had stayed on in the city to see if he could negotiate over the Red Guard prisoners, but they refused any concessions and in the afternoon he slipped away to Helsinki, convinced that the situation in Viipuri was beyond compromise.48 257

In Helsinki on 25 January, political life still had an appearance of normality. The Swedish consul tried a hand at mediation and had talks with Wiik, Manner, and Kuusinen, in which they indicated that if an armistice was declared in Viipuri, and if parliament would take up the Gylling interpellation and open the way for a change of government, a peaceful outcome was still possible. Parliament should have debated the interpellation on 22 January, but that session had been cancelled; and it was not on the agenda for 25 January, which was concerned with the government plans for enfranchising tenant farmers and the election of a delegation to attend the Brest-Litovsk negotiations. Gylling had asked the Speaker for a meeting on the following day, a Saturday, but this had been refused; now at the end of business he raised the matter from the floor, with Kuusinen supporting him, suggesting as a alternative that the present sitting be prolonged. But the socialist proposals were voted down and the next session set for Monday, 28 January. Gylling had the last word: "Parliament is being prevented from discussing and deciding on the manifold illegalities of the government, which on top of everything else is provoking open civil war. Let the Right asnwer for the consequences." With this, parliament's role in events had come to an end.49 No parliamentary vote on 25 January, short of the immediate dismissal of Svinhufvud's government, which was not in prospect, could have made any difference, for things had gone too far. The Workers' Executive had spent its first two days negotiating for a reunion with the Helsinki Red Guard, on the basis that there was to be a socialist seizure of power, and by 25 January agreement had been reached. Helsinki Red Guard agreed to recognize the Workers' Executive as "the highest revolutionary organ" and to submit to its authority and put themselves under the orders of the General Staff. A joint statement by the Workers' Executive, the Helsinki Local Staff, and the General Staff announced that the united movement would adopt the title of "Finnish Red Guard" and set up its headquarters in the Governor General's residence, where the Helsinki Local Staff was already installed. It was now possible to go ahead with plans for a coup in Helsinki, and a delegation was sent to the Area Committee to announce that the workers had now decided to take power. Smilga expressed satisfaction and committed the Area Committee to giving its support. At five in the afternoon the full SDP Executive met and Haapalainen presented the plans: The Red Guard would mobilize and take over the city, arresting the government and the leading bourgeois politicians, and the party would announce a revolutionary government, whose names were read out, which would assume authority over the whole country. The Russians would play no overt part; "the Red Guard will come out, and the Russians will not, but the Russians will hold themselves ready." In case of serious armed opposition from the bourgeoisie, Russian soldiers would deal with it. Otherwise, they would supply 2,000 rifles and 100 machine guns from their magazines in Helsinki to arm the Red Guard. This action by the Area Committee might seem to contradict the assurances given to the government by Smilga on the previous day, but it was quite consistent with Bolshevik policy, which had always proclaimed the intention to help the Finnish proletariat in its class struggle, on the understanding that the Finnish workers must take the 258

initiative. This-they had now done. Further, if all went well, there need be no intervention by Russian soldiers and the facade of noninterference could be maintained in the eyes of the outside world. Even so, the attitude adopted by the Area Committee was of decisive importance: They had not initiated or planned the seizure of power, but they made it possible by supplying the needed weapons, and their friendly attitude encouraged the Workers' Executive to go ahead in the confident belief that any bourgeois resistance would be overcome. Only Gylling and Wiik made any objection in the Executive, Wiik because the procedure laid down by the November Congress was not being observed, Gylling because he held that acting through parliament was still possible—"the government can and should be brought down, the revolution put off." Kuusinen, who had been silent the day before, now spoke out as a convinced revolutionary: 50 Now the seizure of power is only a technical question which needs to be worked out, and you should not put on the directing committee those who would compromise or stop half way. Now we must go through to the end, stop staring after the weapons from Petrograd, but go ahead even without that. Members of the Executive were still nervous about the Russian position for there had been no word from Taimi, and there was talk of sending yet another emissary to Petrograd "to find out how much help can be got and what their attitude is," but the meeting accepted that the revolution was decided. Kuusinen was to put an article in Tyomies to prepare the ground. The manifesto of the revolutionary government still had to be worked out, and no date had yet been set, but as Kuusinen had said, these were now only technical details. The government too had embarked on a significant change of policy, for up to 24 January Svinhufvud had generally sought to prevent any armed clashes with the Red Guard or the Russians. But his strange experiences on the Kretset had convinced him that it was more profitable to try to frighten them, exploiting their manifest nervousness about the Home Guard and their fears of upsetting the negotiations at Brest-Litovsk by infringing Finland's independence. As he and Castren walked back from the ship, they decided to give the Home Guard official status; on 25 January a circular was sent to the Prefects, and communicated to 42nd Army Corps, which said that "the Home Guard, which are generally known by the name of White Guards, have been formed with the encouragement of the government, and obey the orders of the government. Their purpose is solely to maintain order and prevent disorder, and you are to give them all assistance and support for this purpose." This meant that if the Russians now attacked the White Guard, they were attacking the forces of the Finnish state; and if the Red Guard attacked them, it would be an act of armed insurrection against lawful authority. The two leaders followed this up in the evening by summoning Smilga to talks at Government House, where Svinhufvud said bluntly that the government meant to restore order and that Russian obstruction must cease; they should evacuate north Finland at once, and 259

act to see that the hostages in Viipuri were released. Smilga was naturally playing for time; he offered to transmit Svinhufvud's points to his government, but pointed out he could do nothing about Red Guard prisoners "because we Russians cannot interfere in Finland's internal affairs." There was a comic incident when Izmailov phoned and asked to be included in the talks, and then came in person. Smilga met him in the lobby and told him to go away, remarking to Svinhufvud, "It is not worth coming and talking to the sailors." It was not a serious exchange of views, and both sides told lies. Smilga denied that the garrison in Viipuri had orders to disarm the White Guard only, though he himself had told Haapalainen this earlier in the day; when he asked the Finns how big the White Guard was, Castren replied, 70,000, and added, "The patience of these troops has been strained to the limit." Svinhufvud recalled "how those Russians were astonished and looked at one another with amazement, so that you could see at once how the information made a good impression." There were grounds for amazement, since Castren had multiplied the real numbers of the White Guard by three, and the number of armed men by seven or eight. The Russians left after nearly three hours of futile argument. 51 It was late, but the government's day was not yet over, for Louhivuori returned from Viipuri convinced that an armed clash with the Red Guard was now inevitable, and that the soldiers would almost certainly intervene on the Red side. Smilga's performance supported this conclusion, and they drafted a statement to be put in the papers next day. The statement put the blame for the prevailing disorder on the Russian presence, saying the nation was on the "edge of civil war" because misguided elements had been incited and armed by the soldiers. The government would do all it could to get an evacuation, but in the meantime those who joined the Russians in illegal acts were criminals and all decent citizens must band together to oppose them. "We hope that every Finnish citizen will now be ready for the sacrifices which the dangerous situation of our country and our nation may demand from each individually and all collectively." They then drafted a stern note of protest to the Council of Peoples' Commissars about the behavior of the troops, and then at last the ministers went home to sleep. The decisions made on 25 January finally made civil war inevitable, though the participants did not know this, so that efforts to avert the tragedy continued until the very last moment. 52 On 26 January, Tyomies began to prepare readers for what was coming: the government press statement was denounced as "a war cry and incitement to cruel acts of blood, to raise citizen against citizen, arms in hand." But the major article took the recognition of the White Guard as showing an intention to provoke civil war and said that the Red Guard would meet the challenge. The White Guard would be disarmed and "the government of the enemies of the people must be overthrown at last . . . and the Social Democratic workers' movement, by constructive labour, will create instead of destruction a democratic future for a free Finnish people." The article foreshadowed the violent overthrow of the government and sketched out a program for the workers' government that would replace it. The Red Guard began to take control of the railway, while in the top classes of secondary schools, 260

the boys began to slip away, "to fight for the fatherland, so that the power of the Reds could be put down." The Workers' Executive issued a general mobilization order to the Red Guard, to begin in Helsinki at midnight and be complete within three days. For Helsinki, lists were drafted of persons to be arrested and buildings to be taken over. The Red Guard was authorized to requisition property and supplies as needed, but must prevent plundering, protect foreigners, and destroy all liquor stocks. Taimi came to the Red Guard to announce that the Russians were ready to issue the equipment from Sveaborg, and it could be collected at once: there was no need in Helsinki to wait for Rahja's arms train. Helsinki Workers' Representative met and revived its revolutionary executive committee, with 25 members and J. Tuominen as chairman once again.53 At four in the afternoon, the SDP Executive met, and Taimi explained the detailed plans for the seizure of Helsinki. They discussed the manifesto for the revolution and commissioned Kuusinen and Manner to produce a final draft. Wiik was present, but he noted how "everything in fact seemed to be decided. I stayed silent." He regretted that he had not resigned at an earlier stage and considered whether, if he knew that arrests were to be made, he ought to warn the victims, and decided that in such a case he would "do nothing." The revolutionaries were now in full control; A. Halonen, who attended a meeting of district party secretaries intended to prepare for the local government elections, wrote of moderates at this meeting being "terrorised by the activity of the higher revolutionary leadership, or armed revolution men," and alleged they were threatened with violence if they did not cooperate. This account is suspect, for there was really no need to coerce the moderates; they were mostly in Wiik's position—they deplored what was happening but their loyalty to the movement inhibited them from opposing it. There was a move centered on J. Keto for the moderates to issue an appeal to the workers not to be misled into revolutionary action, but it was overtaken by the pace of events.54 It was as well for the peace of mind of the revolutionaries that they did not know about the renewed signs of wavering among the Russians. When the 42nd Army Corps was told by the Prefect that the White Guard were now government troops, they were taken aback, and agreed to withdraw their ultimatum, which had assumed it was a private army. They still insisted that the White Guard must withdraw from the vicinity of Viipuri, but a new order from the Revolutionary Council spoke of using force only "in case of an attempt on its part to disarm Russian soldiers." This order was wholly defensive, and as far as Finnish internal questions were concerned implied neutrality. It was also realistic in view of the current condition of the troops. General Nadezny reported on 26 January that both 106 Division and the Viipuri garrison were under half strength, and the commander of 106 Division, Svecnikov, has written: 55 the position of the committees, to which a lot of class-conscious comrades belonged, became almost intolerable, for although they could see everything collapsing around them, they had not the power to stop it. In place of former activism, weariness and indifference stepped in. ... The Russian troops 261

in Finland were in a state of disintegration, they had no special wish to fight against the White Guards. The promises of support by the soldiers that the Area Committee had given to Aaltonen and Haapalainen had been given in good faith, but the actual condition of the troops was such that they could not be fulfilled. A further possibility was that the Bolshevik government in Petrograd might forbid Russian intervention. Enckell had arrived there on 25 January, but it was 26 January before he succeeded in giving his notes and his credentials to Trotski's secretary. He was advised to omit any formal presentation of credentials, just send his official card, and Enckell recalled, "So that my card would come to the hands of the commissar for foreign affairs in the safest and speediest manner, I was advise to give it to Trotski's children, who were just about to go home. . . . With these formalities I was accredited ambassador to the Soviet Union." Enckell could not meet Trotski, but he did force himself on Podvoiski, and challenged him on his orders to the troops in Viipuri. Podvoiski blustered, revolution was beginning in Finland, and in such circumstances, "socialists recognised only one principle . . . proletarians of all lands unite." Enckell persisted in demanding whether this was the policy of the Bolshevik government, and Podvoiski admitted that he had issued his order without consulting them and offered to get an official ruling from them. Enckell had to telephone Helsinki during the afternoon of 26 January, and say that it seemed revolution in Finland was imminent and that the soldiers would be supporting the socialists.56 But at 9:00 that evening Enckell was called to the Tauride Palace and met by Podvoiski; he was told that the Council of Peoples'Commissars had overruled Podvoiski and ordered a policy of strict nonintervention in Finland, and that he had sent fresh orders to Viipuri:57 I withdraw the order I gave on 11 January to disarm the White Guard, in so far as there are no attacks against military units or individual soldiers on their part. I order you to observe neutrality in conflicts between Finnish citizens. Arms belonging to the state are not to be given to anybody. The guarding of magazines and other state property is to be strengthened. Enckell had won a diplomatic triumph; the Russians in Finland were now under government orders not to intervene, even by supplying weapons. He tried desperately to get his news through to Svinhufvud, but could not make contact until the morning of 27 January. The Podvoiski order was confirmed by a letter of 29 January, addressed by Trotski to Svinhufvud:58 the violent intervention of Russian military units in Finland's internal affairs is not allowed . . . we regard it as essential that Russian troops be withdrawn from Finland with the utmost speed. . . . We hope that the joint Commission now being formed can solve all the burning questions, in accordance with the national interests of each side.. . . Accept, Mr. Chairman, the assurance that the Soviet government of Peoples' Commissars is animated by feelings of respect and friendship towards the independent people of Finland. 262

These documents show that once the Bolshevik government was forced to think about its Finnish policy, it realized that it must not become officially involved in a Finnish revolution. The possible adverse repercussions at Brest-Litovsk and damage to their international reputation as the champions of national self-determination dictated this. Further, Lenin and his colleagues knew how weak their garrison in Finland was; they had in any case supplied the Red Guard with considerable quantities of weapons, and had been told more than once that the Finnish workers did not need the direct intervention of Russian troops. Trotski's letter said that the neutrality of the Russian troops was "as far as we know, the point of view of the revolutionary Finnish proletariat." There was nothing altruistic behind the Bolshevik calculation, but harsh realism: If the Finnish workers used the arms they had been given and successfully seized power, then Russian intervention would be superfluous, and if they failed, then intervention would be dangerous and ineffective. But it has been argued that both the Podvoiski order and the Trotski letter were deliberate attempts to mislead the Finnish government and world opinion. The case rests on a telegram that Trotski is supposed to have sent to the Finnish socialists on 26 January: "The moment has come to begin action. Concentrate 15,000 Red Guards in Helsinki and its surroundings. Take power. Arrest the government." The theory is that Trotski was desperate to forestall the appearance at Brest-Litovsk of a hostile Finnish government delegation that would embarrass the Russians in the same way as the appearance of an independent Ukranian delegation had done. There are only two witnesses to the existence of the telegram; one is A. Halonen, who said he heard it read out at the meeting he attended on 26 January, and the other is a Swede, Captain Stedingk, who said he saw a copy lying on Sirola's desk when he visited his office. Halonen never claimed to have seen the telegram and, writing some five years later, could easily have misremembered something else he had heard at his meeting. What Stedingk saw on Sirola's desk in February is open to speculation. The authenticity of the Trotski telegram, in face of the two fully authentic and contradictory statements of official Bolshevik policy, must be regarded as doubtful.59 The Finnish government was in session all day on 26 January, and although, as Talas wrote, "the government was aware of the danger threatening, it could do very little to repel the danger. It is natural that the government wanted, in the first place, to bring about conciliation." To be more precise, Svinhufvud clung to the view that they could and should seek to postpone a confrontation, and he rejected all proposals for positive action as potentially provocative. The Activists' offer to supply guards for the government buildings was declined; instead it was decided that Helsinki Home Guards should leave the city and either operate in the rural hinterland or go north. On the night of 26 January the Ja'ger V. Petrelius led some 850 armed men out of the city, and they took up quarters at Sipoo to watch developments. RenvalPs suggestion to send at least half the ministers out of Helsinki, until the situation clarified, was also turned down. Instead, new approaches were made to the socialists; a member of parliament had talks with Tokoi about mutual 263

disarmament and a coalition government, and Talas opened up another line of contacts through the Speaker; but in each case there was deadlock over the socialist insistence that Svinhufvud must resign and a new government have a socialist majority.60 But the Activists in Helsinki became so alarmed by the obvious signs of an impending coup that E. Suolahti was sent to the government to urge that at least three ministers, the legal quorum, should travel north at once. They arranged for a special train to stand by. Svinhufvud agreed to put the proposal to the government, but only Renvall, Talas, and A. Castren favored the idea; the others thought it would look like abdication, and the government voted to stay in the capital. Talas called Suolahti in to try to shift Svinhufvud, who insisted that "there is no hurry about this." At last, Suolahti convinced him that the Red Guard intended to stop all rail traffic that night, and that the 6:10 train to Vaasa would be the last to getaway. Svinhufvud then agreed that Renvall, Frey, and Pehkonen should take this train, but must return on 29 January if nothing had happened. The three ministers just managed to pack their bags and collect their families in time; in fact, Frey had to jump on to the moving train as it left. It was after their departure from Government House that Enckell's telephone report came through and Svinhufvud told Talas, the only minister left in the building, that he should try to leave too. Then Suolahti reappeared with the news that the Red Guard had occupied Tampere station, and no trains could go through to Vaasa. So Talas had to abandon his journey, and rush a message up the line to the three ministers to leave the train before it got to Tampere. They were to get off at Lempaala, where Talas' brother-in-law had a suitable house for a refuge. This was done successfully, and they managed to go around Tampere by sledge and pick up a train north of Tampere that got them to Seinajoki on the evening of 27 January.61 Of the remaining ministers, Seta I a and Arajarvi had gone to the country for the weekend, and the rest decided to spend the night in the Salama Insurance Company offices. From there, they called a conference of all leading bourgeois politicians to meet next day in the Saatytalo, and also reached Mannerheim on the telephone and fed him a wholly false report that two trainloads of sailors were about to leave Helsinki for Vaasa. Mannerheim outlined in general terms his plan for disarming the Russians, and Svinhufvud agreed he could act as he saw fit, but now Mannerheim was alarmed that the sailors might upset his plan. J. Castren was called to the phone and asked to issue an order forbidding railway traffic north of Haapamaki; he demurred, feeling the government had no powers to do this and it would not be obeyed in any case. Mannerheim was not tolerant of civilians contradicting him and asked, "Will the minister answer for the failure of my whole enterprise?" He was told, "No, but the general has more effective means of stopping rail traffic to Pohjanmaa." Mannerheim took the point, and they agreed that the government issue a statement that rail travel north of Haapamaki was uncertain. This ended the last direct, pre-war contact between the government and Mannerheim.62 On 27 January, Tybmies carried another preparatory article accusing the 264

government of having started a war against the working class and the Russian soldiers, "the majority of the Finnish nation and against Finland's liberators." Their sole responsibility for any violence that ensued was further asserted by the doctrine of historical necessity; those who oppose the forces of history are guilty of the violence this causes, and from this it followed:63 all revolutions, therefore, do not have an aggressive, but a defensive character. . . . We are not revolutionaries by nature, but the revolutionary movement on whose behalf we act leads to the use of armed force as well, when peaceful work, parliamentary work is no help, and when our opponents wish it and organise in arms against us. This is undoubtedly what Kuusinen and his colleagues realfy believed and points to a prime cause of their eventual failure, for a defensive revolution is a contradiction in terms. If large numbers of people are to be convinced that the discomfort, upheaval, and danger of the revolutionary process are worthwhile, there has to be an aggressive view of how the bad old order will be destroyed and replaced by a new and better one. Tyomies conveyed no such image. Instead of glorying in the opportunity to build a brave new world, it clearly regarded the coming revolution as a regrettable necessity, to be confined within the limits appropriate to its defensive character. All sense of dynamic, thrusting action was absent. Aaltonen and the General Staff now issued their orders to the District Staffs for general mobilization; they were to secure their localities and collect food and clothing for two months' service, though this must not delay "swift military operations if they are necessary." Local bourgeois officials could be arrested and their newspapers closed, while local government should be transferred provisionally to the local party organizations. All the orders of the Workers' Executive must be followed, but the emphasis was on local initiative—"you must show determination, and confidence and coolness"—and each District Staff must decide what was appropriate to its own area. This made sense, because Aaltonen simply did not have the information about local circumstances, did not know how many men there were available or what equipment they had, and knew next to nothing about the strength and intentions of the enemy. He was in no position to issue detailed operational orders. What he did do was add a set of tactical instructions, based on the correct assumption that the Red Guard knew nothing of warfare. He told them how to move, with adequate reconnaissance, and proper advance and rear guards, how to form a line when they went into action, how to react to coming under fire, how to post sentries, how to travel by train. All the men should have rifles, and their commanders revolvers and if possible swords, and there must be fire discipline, since "there is no hurry in firing" and it was rarely effective at ranges above 400 meters. Some of the detail looks ludicrous; the idea of the average Red Guard commander going around with a sword is almost surrealist, though some did; but as a sketch of basic military procedure it was quite sensible. It also does point up the low military capacity of troops to whom the most elementary rules of military practice had to 265

be explained by their commander-in-chief. The orders specified that in Helsinki, action would begin at 11:00 P.M. on 27 January. The Workers' Executive also issued orders to the Red Guard, which authorized it to use whatever force was needed to disarm the enemy though it stressed that "prisoners and wounded are not to be treated brutally or inhumanly." Property could be requisitioned, though receipts must be issued; and "the whole republic of Finland is proclaimed in a state of revolutionary struggle." Anyone in unauthorized possession of arms could be treated as "an enemy appearing arms in hand" and in general, counter-revolutionary activity could be treated "with all the severity of revolutionary law."64 The Workers' Executive also completed the draft of the revolutionary manifesto, which was submitted for approval to mass meetings in Helsinki. It started by proclaiming the bourgeoisie the aggressors, charging them with aiming to bring about foreign intervention. The workers would be acting in self-defense in deposing the government and arresting its members. It went on:65 It has been decided to take all state power into the trustworthy hands of the nation's w o r k e r s . . . a Social Democratic revolutionary government will be formed at once. . . . It is a question of the total suppression of the official establishment. . . peaceful citizens who do not wish to help the enemies of the workers have nothing to fear from the revolution . . . the workers' revolution is high-minded and severe. It is severe to arrogant enemies of the people, but a helpful refuge to all the oppressed and deprived. . . . We are firmly convinced that our working people, of both the present and future generations, will bless the revolution, which is beginning a new era of happier existence in Finland. This was rather more positive than the article in Tyomies and seems to have been well received by the Helsinki workers. The Helsinki Workers'Council met and proclaimed a general strike in Helsinki from midnight, to facilitate the mobilization of the Red Guard.66 The Area Committee too had been doing its part; they had already issued the promised weapons, and they drafted a statement for the soldiers on lines similar to the manifesto of the Workers' Executive, claiming they had been attacked and that "the government has publicly come out against the Finnish proletariat and the soldiers. The White Guard must be disarmed and all troops prepare to follow the orders of the Area Committee to this end." A second statement was drafted, in which the soldiers recognized the Finnish revolution and announced the setting up of "a revolutionary centre, which can coordinate the actions of the Russian revolutionary troops and the socialist Red Army." It would consist of the chairmen of Tsentrobalt, the Area Committee, and the Workers' Executive. The troops in Helsinki were given orders in line with the agreement made with the socialists, "to be fully ready for action, to be able to go out armed at any moment." On paper, at least, the Area Committee had been meticulous in carrying out its commitments to the Workers' Executive.67 266

One vita! part of the revolutionary plan was behind schedule, for Rahja's arms train did not leave Petrograd until 27 January, more than 24 hours late, probably because of the need to secure the railway to Viipuri. Even then this delayed timetable was not followed, because the White Guard from Venajansaari resolved that before removing to Antrea they would try to ambush the train, and they took up position at Kamara station. There were in fact three trains, with a pilot engine running in front; the first carried 250 Viipuri Red Guards, who had been armed in Petrograd, the second carried the arms, 15,000 rifles, two million cartridges, 30 machine guns, 10 three-inch field guns, two armored cars, and six wagon loads of shells. In the rear was a train carrying some 150 Russian soldiers returning from leave. The pilot engine was halted by a red light at Kamara, and the Red Guards disembarked and began skirmishing with the White Guard. The fighting was severe, only decided when the White Guard began to run out of ammunition and the Reds unloaded some of the guns to bring them into action. The White Guard withdrew in the darkness to Antrea, and the trains arrived in Viipuri early on 28 January. The Red Guard sustained 31 casualties; one of them was J. Rahja, who was seriously wounded and out of action for some time. He was a grave loss to the socialist cause, for whatever his defects of personality, he was a man of action who got things done. Further, the delay was important because it meant that the arms were not distributed to the Red Guard until after the revolution had begun, so that some provincial Red Guards were immobilized for several days for lack of weapons, and this was one factor that gave the enemy an invaluable breathing-space to organize and consolidate.68 Some time on 27 January, Aaltonen sent in a report as commander-in-chief to the Workers' Executive: 69 In accordance with the orders of the Executive, the Finnish Red Guard General Staff has initiated all the relevant measures. Information of the Executive's orders has been given to the District Staffs, and of the General Staff's instructions on their execution. For Helsinki the Staff has drawn up a detailed plan for all the consequences of the orders of the Workers' Executive and requests urgently further instructions. The troops in Helsinki are ready for all practical activity from 11 P.M. on the 27th, and the General Staff requests precise instructions on the time to begin. The strategic plan is ready and also action with the Russian soldiers is agreed. This report might sound rather complacent, but it was not too far from the truth: In the capital, at least, everything was ready to go by the evening of 27 January. Early the same day, Enckell at last located the government in the Salama offices and reported Podvoiski's change of policy. The government seized on this opportunity to defuse the situation and sent instruction to the Prefect at Viipuri to stop any further White Guard action against the Russians, and to demand that the soldiers comply with the new orders. A message was also sent to Vaasa, stressing that 267

successful negotiations with the Russians now seemed possible and urging the suspension of any further action against them. Then Idman was sent to the Area Committee to ask them to cooperate with the government in seeing that the new orders were obeyed by all Russian forces. In Viipuri, where 42nd Arms Corps had already got Podvoiski's order, the Russians replied at once that they would be obeying it. An order was sent out that:70 in the name of the Council of Peoples' C o m m i s s a r s . . . the Area Committee in Finland and the 42nd Army Corps committee forbid you henceforth to interfere in any way in the internal affairs of the independent republic of Finland, regardless of whether the interference benefits the White or the Red Guard. A further general order to the Army Corps on 27 January emphasized that it was "essential to observe strict neutrality in the struggles of Finnish nationals." The eagerness with which Viipuri complied with the new policy seems to confirm that the soldiers there had never been enthusiastic about helping the Finnish socialists. The Area Committee in Helsinki was in a more difficult position, for they had already given the weapons to the Red Guard, and could not very well go back on their commitment to help them. So when Idman managed to get Seinman on the telephone, and sought his help in avoiding incidents, he says that Weinman answered "very unenthusiastically, 'all right,' " and he deduced from this that the Area Committee would not be cooperating. They presumably were relying on the success of the socialist coup that night to solve the problem for them.71 During the morning, the bourgeois politicians had assembled in the Saatytalo and the ministers joined them there. According to Hultin, everyone knew that a socialist seizure of power was planned, that it would involve the arrest of the government, and that in south Finland it could not be resisted. The debate centered on two points: Could it still be averted by negotiation with the socialists, and, if not, should they appeal for foreign intervention? They were agreed that the socialist terms suggested the previous day could not be met, but a minority held that further talks would be worthwhile, as Talas said, "not just to gain time, but to achieve real results." Efforts were made to contact Tokoi or Manner, but the socialists evade them, presumably in the knowledge that the revolution could not be stopped now and that a basis for discussion no longer existed. Wiik heard of the bourgeois attempts and contacted Gylling, and they tried to find Tokoi and Manner, to plead for allowing parliament to meet next day as planned and search for a solution; but they also failed to locate them. By midafternoon, it was realized in the Saatytalo that there would be no negotiation, so they turned to the question of foreign intervention. A belligerent minority, led by Wrede and Estlander, was willing to appeal for foreign assistance if Russian interference did not cease, but even Wrede agreed it was inappropriate "against our own hooligans"; the consensus was that they should not seek "foreign help against our own countrymen, which was also the government's opinion. Such help could only come into question for the removal of 268

undisciplined Russian soldiers." All parties then agreed on a statement, drafted by Alkio, Ingman, and Stahlberg, which declared that "our country's recently won independence is threatened with destruction," but alleged that the main source of the danger was the Russian soldiers; the remedy was that "free Finland must demand that the foreign soldiers be removed from our country." But the statement called on the populace not to provoke the soldiers if they behaved correctly, and appealed for the nation to "stand firm around the government, which parliament has appointed to rule the country with law and justice." 72 The discussion continued into the evening; it was decided that Mannerheim's position needed to be regularized, so Svinhufvud scribbled a draft order, stating that "the government has ordered Mannerheim to be supreme commander for the maintenance of order in northern Finland." It empowered him to negotiate for the purchase of arms from Sweden and put a credit of 13 million marks at his disposal. It was not possible then to transmit this to Vaasa directly; instead, Svinhufvud gave an abbreviated version to the Swedish consul to send via Stockholm. This told Mannerheim that "he has been chosen commander-in-chief in northern Finland." It has never been explained why Mannerheim's commission was drafted in these limited terms, when the obvious course would have been to make him commander of all the government forces. But it could be that Svinhufvud still anticipated events developing separately in the north and the south, and hoped to be able still to negotiate for the neutrality of the Russians in south Finland. The real significance of this evening meeting was that the bourgeois leaders now accepted that a war had begun. Svinhufvud took a formal farewell of his party colleagues that stressed this truth and outlined such preparations as the government had been able to make. This was an impressive performance; Hultin wrote "he was in his appearance as calm and certain as before and firmly convinced that the socialists, by allying to the Russians, had made themselves impossible in the eyes of the nation forever." Svinhufvud was no orator, but when he concluded, "Gentlemen, we have the law on our side. Let us trust God," it expressed real conviction. 73 The meeting dispersed around 10:00 P.M. and Svinhufvud, J. Castren, and Louhivuori spent the night at the Inspectorate of Poor Relief, which had been selected as a refuge. They got away just in time, for the Red Guard had been moving on the streets all day, and at 11:00 P.M. the red lantern was hoisted on the tower of the Workers' Hall, as a sign that the revolution had begun. The Red Guard took over all the buildings they wanted, including the Saatytalo, and set guards on others like the parliament chamber and Government House. There was no resistance, and the only sporadic shooting was the work of nervous and inexperienced Red Guards firing at imagined enemies. The job of seizing the government had been given to the militia, and they bungled it. The homes of the wanted men were raided in the night but they had all resolved some days earlier not to sleep at home, and nobody was taken. The incompetence was staggering; the whole bourgeois leadership had been in the Saatytalo from 10 in the morning to 10 at night, and could have been taken 269

at any time; if it had been wished to wait for the deadline, they could easily have been shadowed as they left. The failure was a severe blow to morale, but it was probably as well that the leaders were never caught, for while they were in hiding they could not act, and in defeat they could have fallen victim to extremist violence, with all the obloquy such action would have brought on the workers' cause. The rest of the coup went exactly as planned, and by the morning of 28 January the socialists were in full control of the capital and the old regime had been deposed.74 Mannerheim's plan in Pohjanmaa was to mobilize the White Guard during 27 January and combine them with the two police training units for a simultaneous attack on all the Russian garrisons in south Pohjanmaa. Telephone and rail communication with the south would be broken at midnight, and "the attack will begin on Monday, 28 January at 3 o'clock in the morning." A typical mobilization order ran, "Karhumaki men are to come at precisely 12 o'clock tonight to Poutu house, provided with two days food. Avoid unnecessary disturbance. The real action is beginning. The password is 'Ilkka.' " Mannerheim left Vaasa in the evening for the village of Yliharma, where he waited by the telephone in the village shop for news of events. Before he left he had received a message from Svinhufvud in Helsinki; he called it a telegram, but there is no record of this and almost certainly it was the message about Podvoiski's new order, urging him to postpone operations. Mannerheim read the message, decided to ignore it, thrust it in his pocket, and drove off to Yliharma. Thus Mannerheim took it on himself to open hostilities, in defiance of the expressed wish of his government. He explained later why he thought he was right, and since he succeeded, few have questioned his judgment. He had good reason to think that the White Guard would not obey a second countermanding order, so that to issue one might cause only chaos and disaster. Then he believed that the two trainloads of sailors might appear at any time and upset the balance of power. Finally he doubted whether Russian assurances of neutrality were to be relied on, particularly since the soldiers were out of control and would do what they wanted. Further, the Pohjanmaa garrisons had not yet put themselves on a war footing, but they might do so at any time if he waited. Mannerheim, as a professional soldier, knew the risk he was taking; there had been much force in Lofstrom's arguments against his plan, and he really knew very little about the capacities of his men. He wrote, "We truly took a leap into the dark. But determination was not lacking, I had seen that during the whole time I had been in Finland. And the success of the enterprise depended precisely on determination and speed." So the die was cast, and as Mannerheim said afterward, "we cast it ourselves." Manner heim's plan was in two parts; the first was the securing of Vaasa, which was to be done by Wetzer with the local White Guard. It involved overpowering 1,000 to 2,000 soldiers and sailors living in barracks. The second involved eliminating the scattered posts centered on Seinajoki. Apart from Seinajoki, these were Laihia, Ylistaro, llmajoki, and Lapua, and they comprised some 1,700 men, but were more vulnerable than the Vaasa garrison because the men were lodged in private billets. 270

The assailants would work in two groups; one led by von Gerich, and stiffened by the police trainees from Lappajarvi, would deal with Lapua and then proceed to Seinajoki. The other, led by Colonel Berg and his police trainees, would deal with Laihia, Ylistaro, and llmajoki. A special detachment was to cut communications with the south by breaking the railway beyond Haapamaki.75 The operation started badly when the local White Guard attacked Laihia prematurely and failed to achieve surprise, so that they lost five men before the Russians fled, leaving 28 prisoners and 70 rifles. Luckily, this did not alert the other posts and did no harm to the general plan. The Lapua operation went perfectly, 1,100 White Guards, only 450 of them armed, were guided by local inhabitants to the Russian billets and had rushed them all without a fight by 5:00 A.M. They took enough rifles to arm the rest of the force and moved by train to Seinajoki, where they arrived at 7:00 A.M. Most of the garrison was still in its billets, and only one small group exchanged a few shots before it was rushed and disarmed. There were no casualties, and by 9:00 A.M. Seinajoki was clear. At Ylistaro the men had to wait for the signal that Lapua had been eliminated, but while they waited, news came that a train was approaching from Seinajoki. Since all civilian traffic was supposed to be halted, it was assumed that it was a military train, so the track was taken up and an ambush set. It was in fact a civilian train, forwarded in error, and it carried the three government ministers on the last stage of their journey to Vaasa. The officer in charge of the ambush realized the mistake, and fired warning shots to stop it, which the crew must have heard for the brakes were applied. The locomotive went over an embankment, killing the crew, but the coaches, though derailed, remained upright. The White Guard then discovered that they had nearly killed the Finnish government, and the three ministers had to spend the night at Ylistaro observing operations. The signal to begin came at 5 A.M., and though surprise had been lost and some shooting broke out, it was not very serious. Ylistaro was clear by 10 in the morning, and 600 rifles and 11 machine guns were captured. That left llmajoki, which was manned by artillerymen, who had retained their fighting capacity. Although Berg soon had them surrounded, he judged it unwise to venture an assault and opened negotiations, to the intense scorn of Laurila and his men, who despised such weakness. But Berg proved right; when the llmajoki men realized their isolation, they surrendered without a fight on the morning of 29 January. In these operations the White Guard lost only six men and captured 2,500 rifles, 11 machine guns, six field guns, and quantities of ammunition and other military stores.76 Vaasa needed different tactics, for the barracks could not be rushed, though they were surrounded under cover of darkness. Wetzer judged it was worth waiting to see if the Russians would negotiate, and by 9:00 A.M., all the Russian posts were engaged in talks with the attackers. Mannerheim's terms were disarmament and internment until they could be repatriated to Russia, with a guarantee of personal safety. By midafternoon, most of the Russians had accepted and the rest were overpowered, and Vaasa too was under White control. Mannerheim had spent a long 271

night at Yliharma, for he was gambling on the spirit and morale of his untrained Pohjanmaa farmers, but they did not disappoint him. These men had the zeal of a crusading army, and meant to purge their land of the Russian plague that infected it. Their simple code of beliefs and their religious faith look old-fashioned, but they worked wonders. When Renvall asked one of the men at Ylistaro whether he was confident of success, he was told, "It is like this, minister, we have laid this great affair at the feet of God, and we believe that God has heard and will hear our prayers and help us now." Mannerheim wrote how "a handful of fearless men stripped the arms from five Russian garrisons" and they did it because they were "full of strength and patriotic spirit, the desire for action and self-sacrifice competed together, the great end obliterated from view, for a time, everything else." Their Russian opponents were mostly demoralized, isolated in a hostile environment, without any obvious cause to fight for, and mostly taken by surprise; but it was still a remarkable, if small-scale military achievement. The combination of fervent nationalism with a simple pietistic faith drove these Finnish farmers into action and transformed a raw civilian militia into a formidable force. By nine in the morning of 28 January Mannerheim knew he had won. He decided to set up his headquarters at Seinajoki and issue orders for mopping up the remaining Russian forces in Pohjanmaa. There could be no question of surprise, but he was confident that the moral effect of the first victories, backed by the equipment he had captured, would be enough to achieve his objective.77 Mannerheim summed up what he had accomplished when he wrote:78 The liberation of Vaasa . . . meant a base from which Finland started out to fight for its freedom. Only this success of ours, the successful execution of our operational idea, opened for the Finnish people the chance to struggle victoriously against the preponderance of the enemy. Mannerheim's verdict is hard to dispute, if it is conceded that the war, which was to inflict immense harm on Finnish society, was inevitable. This was true for the situation as it had developed by 27 January, but in a longer perspective, this was surely a war that could have and should have been avoided. The presence of the Russian troops did pose real problems for the Finnish bourgeoisie, but time was solving them, for the cumulative process of disintegration would have removed them in a matter of weeks. They were not the malevolent force that the bourgeoisie took them for; the Bolshevik minority among them was incapable of imposing its ideas on the majority, who had neither the will nor the ability to retain control in Finland. There was no need of war to remove the Russian soldiers; they would have removed themselves in a little while. The hard core of revolutionaries in the workers' movement would have remained, aided and reinforced by the Petrograd Finns, which would not have submitted to a bourgeois government without a fight. But their belligerence was linked to the confidence they gained from the presence of the soldiers, and would have fallen sharply when these had gone. Some force would have been needed to repress the extremist minority, but this would have been an 272

internal police operation on a modest scale. Success would have depended on reopening the dialogue and collaboration between the nonrevolutionary socialists and the majority in the bourgeois camp that still, even on 27 January, was genuinely anxious to avoid armed confrontation. Svinhufvud argued persuasively, in a letter to the king of Sweden, that there had been no threat to the basic interests of the working class:79 It is surely known that the revolution in January was not caused by any irreconcilable conflict between the country's different social classes, or that parliament and the government it had elected was indifferent to the welfare of the workers or unwilling to carry out social reform. Our parliamentary electoral system is perhaps the most democratic in the world: parliament was in process of making a new constitution, and it had full power to create as liberal and popular a government in the country as it could possibly want. . . . The revolution had no social justification. E. Gylling, writing about the same time from the opposite camp, essentially agreed with Svinhufvud:80 Parliamentary work had begun to move. I hoped that by vigorous effort we could produce results which would satisfy the workers and mitigate revolutionary developments. . . . The revolution . . . would put all at risk, all the achievements of the working class to date, their organisations, property, position in parliament through which there now seemed the possibility of achieving new victories, even if a short, transitory reaction should interpose. Revolution should therefore have been prevented by every means. But these were the voices of reason, and in January they were drowned out by the voices of unreason. These fed on fear, fear that the bourgeoisie meant to use force to starve and emasculate the working class, fear that the socialists meant to use force to create bloody anarchy, and sell out the new-won independence to the Bolshevik Russians. The voices of fear were joined by voices of hope, equally voices of unreason, which urged that out of violence would emerge a Utopian new Finland, purged of the evils of its past and sure of a glorious future. Behind the visionaries were men with guns, confident that God or the forces of history were on their side, and that one climactic confrontation would settle the country's destiny for ever. They were also certain that if they did not strike, the armed men on the other side surely would. Idealists with guns in their hands, joined by men who love violence for its own sake, have the urge to put their cause to the test of arms. These were the forces before which the men of reason in both camps surrendered. Ingman wrote in his diary on 21 January this very question and provided the answer:81 Again and again one comes to the question: how is this possible? Is there no longer any reason in the course of events? . . . it may be that in the end there is, perhaps more than there seems. This may be the war of liberation for our people. It looked from the surface as though our nation had got its 273

freedom as a wholly free gift. Now it has happened so that freedom is to be won by hard struggle, if our people wants to achieve it. Ingman was one among many in Finland at that time who expressed an ancient human feeling that great achievement must be the fruit of conflict and suffering. Such people could welcome the resort to force. L. Letonmaki wrote in a poem, "The bayonets of the Red Guard are writing a new law for Finland," and a bourgeois poet, J. Siljo, felt the same satisfaction; "our liberty has lacked its baptism of fire. But now, now it is no longer so." Siljo went on to ask, "Now that anger has fired the sons of Finland, what could extinguish the flames?" The answer was an orgy of killing, destruction, outrage, and human debasement, justified by both side as a necessary crusade for a better society. Reasonable men had known that it was not really necessary, but in the end, not enough of them could resist the primitive call to sanctify their cause by a ritual blood-sacrifice. The outbreak of war in Finland on 27 January 1918 was one more proof of how far man, as a political anima differs from the image of the rational, prudent, hedonistic calculator, which reason says he ought to be.82

274

Chapter 11

Finland Divides

There was an initial period of uncertainty from 28 January to about 7 February, when the situation was clarified. This was because neither side had anticipated a full-scale war, and in this period accidental factors were certainly as important as premeditated actions. On the whole the initiative was left with the Whites and their actions shaped the course of events: That they never wholly lost this initiative goes far to explain their ultimate victory. Mannerheim's initial attacks left five coastal garrisons intact in southern Pohjanmaa, Kaskinen and Kristiina to the south of Vaasa, and Uusikaarlepyy, Pietarsaari, and Kokkola to the north. They could no longer be surprised but they were small, isolated, and shaken by the fate of their comrades. Kaskinen and Uusikaarlepyy surrendered on demand to the local White Guard on 28 January, and Pietarsaari did the same after token resistance. At Kristiina, the local Whites had no weapons and their surrender demand caused the Russians to arm the local Red Guard and prepare to defend themselves. Mannerheim had to send troops, who took the town by assault on 31 January after some hours of fighting, in which the Whites lost 14 men and captured 151 Russians and 74 Red Guards. At Kokkola too the local White forces had to be reinforced; when an attack was made on 29 January it was repulsed, but the soldiers agreed to surrender the following day. This meant that by 31 January Mannerheim had cleared all southern Pohjanmaa of hostile forces, captured 8,000 rifles, 34 machine guns, and 37 pieces of artillery and had suppressed the local Red Guard. He had doubled his original stock of weapons and could now arm men to extend his power into much broader areas.1 Mannerheim also had secured recognition as the leader of White Finland in the first few days. On 28 January he met the three ministers and discussed with them the problems of political organization, though since none of them knew what had happened to the government in Helsinki, no conclusions could be reached. But an immediate antipathy developed between the general and the politicians that was to persist until the end of the war. Frey described how "Mannerheim was at first almost brusque towards me and said that he had received no official instructions 275

from the government, nor money either, which were the prerequisites for waging war successfully." Frey tried to pacify Mannerheim by promising that henceforth he would get all the support he needed, but the root of the trouble lay in Mannerheim himself. Throughout his life, he never really overcame a soldierly, aristocratic distaste for democratic party politicians. He had learned to live with them and was prepared to render them the respect due to bearers of lawful authority, but in his eyes they remained one of the more unfortunate phenomena of the age in which he lived. On the other side the ministers, apart from Renvall, had no previous acquaintance with Mannerheim, and what they knew of his past career and his pro-Entente opinions did not predispose them to think well of him. Ifwas fortunate for him that as their last formal political act the government in Helsinki managed to issue a manifesto to the nation, which declared that "part of the Finnish people, relying on foreign forces and foreign bayonets, has risen in revolt against Finland's parliament and Finland's government." In consequence all the forces of the government:2 were placed under a common command and general G. Mannerheim has been appointed commander-in-chief. The government orders all the law-abiding population of the country to help general Mannerheim and his troops with everything which he regards as necessary for the succesful carrying out of his task. Mannerheim interpreted this to mean that he had been given supreme direction of the war effort, and that the ministers who had escaped to Vaasa were subordinate to him as commander-in-chief. It did not form a good basis for cordial relations between Mannerheim and the men who regarded themselves as the legitimate government of the Finnish republic. The three ministers, joined by Arajarvi, who had escaped from Tampere during 28 January, were realists enough to see that they had to give Mannerheim a free hand. Therefore on 1 February they issued a formal statement that they were now the legal government of Finland and called on all public servants and citizens to obey all orders which "the government now established here shall give, as the only legal government, chosen and empowered by parliament and answerable to it." They went on to confirm that Mannerheim was commander-in-chief and was to be obeyed unconditionally, "as long as military activity continues." In effect, the ministers having declared themselves the only lawful authority in Finland, had then virtually committed that authority to Mannerheim and made him the effective ruler of White Finland.3 It was Mannerheim whose public acts defined the character of the struggle, and initially that struggle was described as a conflict with the Russians. His communique of 28 January told of the disarming of the soldiers, and his general order to the White Guard on 29 January designated the Russians as the enemy: All their garrisons were to be given a six-hour ultimatum to disarm, and if they refused, force could be used to compel them. This policy both reflected the state of affairs in southern Pohjanmaa, where the Red Guard was a negligible quantity, but also, in a 276

situation where it was not yet clear that full civil war would ensue, it made sense to identify the foreigners as the enemy. The policy did carry the danger that the Russians in south Finland, who could not be attacked, might take up the challenge and strike back, even draw reinforcement from Russia. This was acutely obvious to the ministers in Helsinki, who issued a message on 29 January that welcomed Mannerheim's communique, but urged "in your next report emphasise that the disarming of the Russians is not an act of hostility directed at them." Mannerheim probably understood the importance of managing relations with Russia better than most people in Finland and on 30 January issued a public statement, addressed to "the brave soldiers of Russia." This declared that "the peasant troops of the independent Finnish republic, under my command, are not fighting against Russia, but have risen to defend freedom and the rule of law." He acknowledged that many Russian units had observed neutrality, but others, openly encouraged by the Area Committee, had joined with criminals and traitors in opposing government forces. In face of this, and as a purely defensive measure, he had been forced to disarm Russian garrisons, but their lives were guaranteed and the surrendered weapons could be the subject of negotiation with the Russian government. He concluded, "Russian soldiers! Enough blood has flowed already. Let the Finns—both peasants and workers —decide their own fate." Mannerheim also tried to enlist diplomatic pressure on Russia to remain neutral; he sent a telegram to Gripenberg, in Stockholm, to "begin energetic measures in Germany and Sweden to stop the Russians openly participating in the fighting." Finnish commentators have spent considerable effort since then trying to reconcile Mannerheim's statement that he was not engaged in war with Russia, with the official White position that these events were indeed Finland's war of liberation against Russia. The effort is superfluous: As long as any possibility remained that the Russians might be persuaded or compelled to abstain from intervening, it was obvious that the White leaders would pursue this aim. Once the Bolshevik government had declared open support for the Finnish Reds, which it did very quickly, then there was every advantage in stressing the element of Russian intervention; it created a favorable impression both at home and abroad, and on the pages of the historical record, "war of liberation" sounds much better than "civil war." 4 When southern Pohjanmaa had been cleared, Mannerheim faced two immediate military problems. One was to deal with the considerable Russian and Red Guard elements in northern Pohjanmaa, and secure his communications over the Swedish frontier, the other was to guard against attempts to penetrate his base area from the south. The situation in northern Pohjanmaa and, beyond that, Finnish Lapland was rather different from that in southern Pohjanmaa: The socialists were much stronger there, and were well organized in Raahe, Oulu, Kemi, Tornio, and Rovaniemi. The appeal of Activism to the local bourgeois and the rural population had been much weaker, so that the Home Guard movement had been poorly developed and was quite incapable of taking control unaided. If the Russians and the Red Guard were given time to mobilize their potential and use it in a purposeful way, they would 277

present a serious threat. Mannerheim had two advantages, one the inability of the various centers of enemy activity to coordinate their efforts, and the other the chance arrival at Haparanda of a small group of Ja'ger instructors, who were able to cross the frontier and provide leadership for the Whites in the far north. The indecision and consequent weakness of the enemy was shown first at Raahe; the soldiers began by negotiating with the local Whites, then broke off and moved into the Workers' Hall with the Red Guard, apparently intending to defend the town, but then when a White detachment from the south arrived on 1 February, they offered to negotiate and surrendered 250 men and their equipment without a fight.5 Raahe had been small and isolated, but Oulu presented a very different proposition. There had been tension in the town between the socialists and the local bourgeois all through January, and the Prefect already had asked the Home Guards to come into the town and maintain order. The Oulu Workers' Council met on 28 January, to face the fact that the Russian commandant, Colonel Golikov, had declared his neutrality, while the Red Guard had almost no weapons. The meeting was divided between those who saw resistance as hopeless, and those who believed that the soldiers could be persuaded to repudiate Golikov. The meeting decided on resistance, elected an alternative leadership in case of arrests, resolved to blow up the railway from the south, and sent emissaries to the barracks to lobby the soldiers. But it was a half-hearted decision, as shown by the failure to do anything about the railway. Their opponents acted with vigor, although they too had few weapons: On 29 January they sent an expedition to an outlying Russian post at Liminka and bluffed the garrison into surrender, winning nearly 150 rifles. This shifted the balance in favor of the Whites, who marched back into Oulu with their weapons and early on 30 January rushed one of the Russian barracks and an armory without firing a shot. But when they moved on to the main barracks and demanded its surrender, shooting broke out and the Whites found themselves outnumbered and outgunned. They broke off the action, retiring into the buildings of the prefecture. Golikov continued to urge his men to negotiate, but the workers were making headway with the soldiers, who began distributing weapons to the Red Guard, and by 2 February it had been agreed they would defend the town together. The socialists had been reinforced by a trainload of Red Guards from Tornio and were by this time aware of what had happened in Helsinki. Their paper, Kansan Tahto, published a stirring call to action: "Everybody into battle against the bourgeois butcher Guards. We will either win or perish." During 2 February the Reds almost certainly could have assaulted the prefecture with success, but they did not press an attack, probably because the Russians would not sanction offensive action.6 Mannerheim was told on 30 January that the Russians in Oulu probably would join the workers and that a relief column of 1,000 men would be needed. He acted at once, telegraphed to Oulu for the Whites to hold on, as relief was coming, and dispatched 650 men by train, under the command of Major-general A. Tunzelman von Adlerflug. The expedition picked up more men on the way and got as far as Ruukki, where they halted and were met by emissaries from Oulu, who offered to 278

negotiate. The talks continued over 1 and 2 February; the Whites were able to exploit the divisions between the Russians and the Finns, as well as the internal split among the socialists. They urged the workers to dissociate themselves from the soldiers, while offering the Russians preferential terms for their evacuation. The talks were wholly to the advantage of the Whites, who succeeded in sowing dissent among their opponents, but they reflected the feebleness of Adlerflug, who was calling for reinforcements, reporting, "I find myself in a difficult position," when in fact he was in no danger. Mannerheim could read the signs; on 2 February sent a strong man, H. Ignatius, to take charge. Ignatius put a quick end to the negotiations by demanding unconditional surrender. At the last moment, the Red Guard did block the railway and, with the help of militant sailors, launched an attack on the prefecture, but this was too late. Ignatius took his men in on foot and launched a general assault early on 3 February. It was a long and messy fight, with little coordination on either side, but by evening the Whites had won. At the cost of 70 casualties they captured 1,100 Russians and 800 Red Guards, with over 2,000 rifles and other equipment. That the casualties among the Reds included only one Russian killed showed that the soldiers had had no real will to fight, whereas the Red Guard had fought desperately, and could surely have done much better had they been properly armed and led. The Red Guard and the Russians had thrown away the opportunity to make an effective defense of Oulu because they could not make up their minds to fight, yet the conduct of Adlerflug suggests that the same mentality was present on the White side: He and his officers had been manifestly reluctant to try conclusions with the enemy. It had needed the will of Mannerheim to break the stalemate, and then the side with the will to fight prevailed. Ignatius was told to bring his men south at once, and leave mopping-up in the north to local forces.7 The three northern centers of Tornio, Kemi, and Rovaniemi were the setting for a triangular game of maneuver that lasted u n t i l 6 February. It started in Kemi, where a very weak Home guard bluffed the local Russians into giving up 170 rifles, but when, on 29 January, a train load of soldiers and Red Guards from Tornio arrived, the Whites in Kemi retired to Rovaniemi. At Rovaniemi the local Red Guard had held control, but with the arrival of Kemi Home Guard they in turn retired by train to Kemi. The Whites followed them as far as Tervola, some 40 km from Kemi, and set up a position, and the two sides engaged in an exchange of telegrams, each urging the other to give up its arms. On 1 February, a party of eight Jagers who had crossed from Sweden joined the Whites at Tervola and, when the Kemi Red Guard came out to attack the following day, organized a successful ambush of their train. All this time Tornio had been quiet; the more militant Red Guards and soldiers had gone south to Oulu, leaving 450 Russians in Tornio who remained passive. On 5 February a force was sent north from Oulu and found Kemi abandoned; the Red Guard had dispersed, while the Jager leader Jacobson took the men from Tervola by a roundabout route and on 6 February tried to rush Tornio. The attack ran into heavy crossfire and Jacobson was killed, but by the end of the day the Russians surrendered, giving up 800 rifles. The small Red Guard remaining in Tornio stood 279

inactive and surrendered on demand. Mannerheim's decision to clear up the north paid off handsomely: by 7 February his rear was secure, he had open land communication with Sweden, and he had captured substantial extra amounts of equipment.8 On the other side, Mannerheim faced two urgent problems, how to protect his base area from incursions from the south, and how to maintain contact with the almost autonomous White war effort in Karelia. The problem of defense was greatly simplified in that this was a railway war: Only by using trains could large numbers of men be moved quickly over considerable distances and then supplied with materials. The alternative was the use of sledge columns along the roads, and only comparatively small forces could be moved and supplied by this means, and their mobility was very restricted. So Mannerheim knew that any attack on Pohjanmaa from the south must come up the railway that led from Tampere to Haapamaki and then on to Seinajoki and Vaasa. What he had to do was to set up a blocking position on this line as far south as he could. It was an extraordinary stroke of fortune for the Whites that just before hostilities began a new railway had been opened that linked Karelia with Pohjanmaa. This led from the Tampere-Vaasa line at Haapamaki and ran through Jyvaskyla, Pieksamaki, and Savonlinna to Elisenvaara, where it joined the line that ran through Antrea to Viipuri. This was the vital communication link that held the two parts of White Finland together, and in consequence it made Haapamaki one of the most important strategic points in Finland. Mannerheim understood this, but his enemies did not, for the substantial forces of Red Guards and Russian soldiers in Tampere could easily have rushed out a force to Haapamaki and secured it. There were already local Red Guard there, and at Vilppula to the south, but they had only sporting guns and revolvers. The opportunity was lost partly because, as the Red Guard commander in Tampere remarked, the importance of Haapamaki "was not fully understood either in the District Staff at Tampere, nor, obviously in the General Staff of the Red Guard." Partly they failed to move because the Russians, as will be seen, were paralyzed by conflicting orders, and most of the Tampere Red Guard did not have rifles until the first major arms delivery reached the city on 4 February. Mannerheim, however, picked out his best men, the Lapua Home Guard and the men from the Voyri training course, led by three Ja'gers, P. Wallenius, R. Wuolle, and J. Heiskanen. They secured Haapamaki on 29 January, commandeered a special train there, and steamed down to Vilppula, where the local Red Guard, knowing their weapons were useless against men armed with military rifles, retired to the south. Wallenius telegraphed to Mannerheim: "Vilppula is in our hands without a fight." Mannerheim saw that this was the position he wanted, and noted on the telegram, "Vilppula must be held." Wallenius had had the same idea and announced that he would establish a position running from Mantta on his left, through Vilppula to Ruovesi on the right. It formed a natural water barrier against any advance north from Tampere, which was crossed by a road at Ruovesi, a road and the railway at Vilppula, and another road at Mantta. These were the only practicable routes that an attacker could take.9 280

On 2 February the Whites had 200 men in position at Vilppula with two machine guns, and small detachments at Ruovesi and Mantta, and they had arrived just in time, for a train came out from Tampere with 200 Reds. What followed was typical of these early encounters. The Reds, on making contact with the enemy, got out of their train, set up their machine guns, spread out in line, and fired away at the enemy until it got dark, when they remounted their train and retired for the night. During 3 February the Whites brought up more men and machine guns, strengthened the position at Ruovesi and opened the factory sluices at Mantta to break up the ice. On 4 February a bigger Red force appeared at Vilppula, this time with two guns, yet even with these could not press an attack to any effect. The next day they tried the Ruovesi road, but again retired after a day of useless exchange of shots. Finally on 7 February, the Russians and Red Guards were back at Vilppula with an armored train, but now the Whites too had field guns and kept it at bay. Colonel M. Wetzer, whom Mannerheim had appointed to command at Vilppula reported that the enemy had been driven off and "for the rest it is quiet." The failure of the Reds to rush the Vilppula position when it was vulnerable illustrated a special tactical problem of warfare between civilian militiamen. They were quite capable of lying behind cover and firing at the enemy, and thus holding a defensive position. But when they had to attack, which often meant floundering through deep snow, and started to suffer casualties, they stopped and took cover as sensible civilians would. In proper armies, this tendency is overcome by training and discipline, enforced by NCOs and officers, but both the Red and White Guards lacked this training. This meant that in general an attack would not succeed unless such superiority of fire was shown that the defenders were frightened into leaving their cover, or a flanking movement was executed. But except for men with skis, cross-country movement in the snow was virtually impossible, and their leaders either did not have maps, or could not read them, so successful flanking movements were unusual. In these circumstances, the defenders usually won.10 The fighting of 7 February marked the point at which the Vilppula position was successfully consolidated. It was not a front in the orthodox sense; from Mantta to Ruovesi was nearly 50 km and by that stage it was covered by 550 men and three machine guns at Ruovesi; 300 men, four machine guns and four field guns at Vilppula; and 130 men at Mantta. The gaps between the three strong points were screened by patrols and outposts, but this defense sufficed, since no considerable force could approach the position except at the three crossing points. There was no continuous close contact between the two sides, because of the severity of the climate and the rawness of the troops. Neither side had tents, and in the Finnish winter it was essential to spend the night in heated billets. The Whites, who had set up the position, were in possession of the buildings adjacent to the front, so the Reds had to billet in the rear, often in their railway coaches. This helped civilian custom to reassert itself: The Red Guard would set out for the front in the morning, as though going to work, spend the day exchanging fire with the enemy, and then knock off in the evening and go home. Thus stalemate set in at Vilppula after 7 281

February, when it became apparent that only a major offensive effort would break through. For the time being, Mannerheim's base area and his vital railway communications were safe. It had been a great achievement, though it had been done with little fighting or bloodshed—the assault on Oulu was the nearest approach to a real battle. Mannerheim's success had been a triumph of order and purpose over anarchy and confusion: He and his professional colleagues knew what they had to do and pursued their objectives in a systematic way. Headquarters had to work in a fog of uncertainty, for reports flowed in all the time of supposed enemy forces at large, accompanied by desperate appeals for help, which reflected the bewilderment and inexperience of men involved in an utterly strange situation. This made Mannerheim's professionalism priceless; he would not be diverted from his purposes by messengers of doom; they were told to hang on until the initial objectives had been secured. Mannerheim supplied a coherence and will that were the more essential because the enthusiasm and courage of his men was balanced by their near total ignorance of basic military skills. The history of the securing of Pohjanmaa is totally dominated by the commanding figure of Mannerheim, but to see his contribution in perspective, it is necessary to look at the White achievement in areas outside Pohjanmaa, where Mannerheim could offer little direct assistance. This tested the value of the work of men like Kaila, von Gerich, and Ignatius in developing the Home Guard movement long before Mannerheim appeared on the scene. The basic difference between the great tracts of central and northeast Finland and Pohjanmaa or Karelia was the absence of any substantial Russian garrisons. The only enemy was the local Red Guard, which mostly had no weapons, and even where they were armed, had little idea what to do. The area was basically rural, predominantly White in sympathy, but dotted with islands of socialist influence in towns and factory settlements, and the resulting isolation and dispersal of the Reds was a main cause of their downfall. The problems of the Red Guard may be illustrated from events at Kajaani, the most northerly and isolated Red Guard in the region. They had nearly 1,000 men to draw on, 100 rifles and a stock of ammunition, and they were led by a former NCO of the Russian army. Kajaani was not taken by surprise, for the leaders had been in conference at Kuopio on 27 January and had seen the telegram from Helsinki announcing the revolution. But this did not stimulate Kajaani Red Guard to take action; on the contrary, they resolved to wait for instructions, and meantime drifted into negotiation with the local Home Guard, which felt too weak to attack them. These talks went on until 7 February, with the Red Guard refusing to disarm but unable to decide to fight. By that time the Whites felt strong enough to arrest the leaders and three days later the rank and file agreed to surrender their weapons. It is true that Kajaani was of no great strategic significance: Its Red Guard could not have done much to help the Red cause; they could either have joined Kuopio, retired over the frontier into Russia, or fought in Kajaani and caused the Whites some inconvenience. But they did none of these, not for want of courage but through ignorance of what they could do in circumstances beyond their experience.11 282

This was equally the case in areas where a valuable contribution could have been made. One such was the Elisenvaara railway, where the fiercely militant construction workers were still camped along the line and included men skilled in using explosives, with a tunnel, bridges, and cuttings offering good targets. Mannerheim knew how important the railway was, and circularized his commanders on 6 February: "The railway Haapamaki-Pieksamaki-Elisenvaara must at any price be protected." Nobody on the Red side had any appreciation of this; an account of the passage of a trainload of Whites along the line told of crowds of hostile workers jeering and demonstrating—"there was of course a fusillade of curses and derisory remarks, especially from the young workers"—but though Mannerheim could see at once the significance of the railway, nobody in the Red camp perceived the possibilities that this situation offered. The railway was most vulnerable in the Jyvaskyla area, for in addition to several factory settlements, the farmers tended to be radical, so that some rural communes returned a socialist vote of 75 percent. Jyvaskyla Red Guard had plenty of men, but no rifles. The Jyvaskyla Home Guard, on the other hand, had an energetic leader in lieutenant W. Wiik, and obtained 100 rifles and ammunition from Vaasa just before the revolution began. This turned the scale; Wiik intercepted the message from Helsinki on 27 January and mobilized his men. The effect was immediate; the local socialists made peaceful approaches, and the small Russian garrison promised neutrality. On 29 January, Wiik telegraphed to Mannerheim that he controlled the town, and the railway was open, but he needed more weapons. Mannerheim replied, "Hold out in Jyvaskyla, help is coming from here later in the day through Haapamaki." As his strength built up, Wiik was able to order the Russians to surrender on 1 February, and then sent expeditions east along the railway to secure it, and south into the factory villages. Jamsa was secured with no more than a hostile demonstration from the workers, and then Kuhmo. While this was going on, the socialists at Jyvaskyla sat and waited. Their paper, Sorretun Voima, wrote on 3 February that although the bourgeois government had been overthrown, "the situation is still confused at present, and there are no firm directives to be had. We must therefore wait a bit longer." They had waited too long; on 4 February Wiik arrested the socialist leaders and closed their paper. A whole vital strategic area had been lost without a shot being fired. The Jyvaskyla Reds had the excuse that they were disarmed, and faced an enterprising opponent, yet given their state of mind it is hard to believe they would have done much; even if they had had weapons, they would still have lacked "firm directives" and sat around waiting for them in vain. 12 This impression is confirmed by what happened at Mikkeli: There the Red Guard had 100 rifles and could expect early relief from the powerful Kotka Red Guard, advancing up the railway from Kouvola. Their advance was held back only because the Whites had blown up two railway bridges. The one asset on the White side was the presence of Lieutenant-colonel H. von Bonsdorff, an erratic but energetic officer, with recent military experience. Both sides mobilized in Mikkeli on 28 January, and the Red Guard even seized the telephone exchange but then 283

abandoned it and retired to the Workers' Hall, from which they offered to negotiate. Bonsdorff promptly surrounded them and induced them to surrender without a fight: No doubt they too were waiting for firm directives and could not nerve themselves to act. On 29 January Bonsdorff telegraphed to Mannerheim that Mikkeli was secured, and then suggested that if given some help he would go down the railway and attack Kouvola. On 1 February a load of weapons came from Pohjanmaa, and Bonsdorff set out and initiated a series of advances and retreats resembling a chase in a French bedroom farce. Both the Mikkeli Whites and the Kouvola Reds proved nervous and panicky in action; on 2 February Bonsdorff telegraphed that he needed help, and two days after that his men had fled back to Mikkeli. More reinforcements came in from Pohjanmaa on 5 February, and Bonsdorff set off again, announcing Kouvola as his objective, but although the Reds too had retreated back to base, Bonsdorff halted prudently at Mantyharju when he heard of a major new expedition coming north. Mannerheim decided that Mantyharju was the proper blocking position for this front, and noted it as a position "which must be held." Mannerheim had also drawn his conclusions about the volatile Bonsdorff, for he subordinated him to Colonel C. Malm at Kuopio, a relationship not destined to prosper. Still, Bonsdorff had made a major contribution, for the Elisenvaara railway was particularly vulnerable to a thrust from the Kotka Red Guard, advancing up the railway from Kouvola, through Mikkeli to Pieksamaki.The Reds had lost a real opportunity, for the chase up and down the railway showed that the Whites had no inherent superiority over the Red Guard in this sector, and the Reds at Kouvola were more numerous and better armed. Bonsdorff was no military genius, but he had shown what a difference one energetic man could make in a fluid situation.13 The most powerful Red Guard in the northeast was at Kuopio, where they had 400 rifles and plenty of ammunition, whereas the local Home Guard had only 40 rifles and their useless Lewis guns. The Red Guard mobilized on 27 January and paraded through the town and could have occupied it without difficulty. If it had, it would have captured the gold reserve of the Bank of Finland, which had been sent there for safety. Mannerheim knew about the gold and on 28 January had bracketed Kuopio with Haapamaki as the objective of an immediate expedition; Colonel Malm was put in charge and allocated 1,000 rifles. But on 29 January Malm reported there was no immediate danger because the Red Guard had retired to a barracks on the outskirts, and the gold was safely in White hands. The Prefect engaged the Red leaders in negotiation, and one of the leaders recalled afterwards that "we let the time pass, and abused the butchers when we should have been beating them." The first armed clash occurred on 1 February, the very day that an expedition bringing men and weapons for the Whites arrived from Pohjanmaa; by 3 February Malm had them surrounded in their barracks. An assault on the barracks failed, but when artillery became available on 7 February the issue was decided. Kuopio Red Guard surrendered on 8 February. The Kuopio Red Guard obviously lacked the self-confidence to assert themselves, and their plan was clearly to wait for relief to come from the south, a mistake that proved fatal to them in the circumstances.14 284

The history of Varkaus Red Guard suggests what might have been achieved by more energetic leadership. Varkaus wasacompany town with a tradition of militancy and violence, and the general strike had thrown up an energetic leader of the Red Guard, M. Autio. On 28 January Autiomobilized his Guard and persuaded the small detachment of Russians in the town, who did not want to be involved, to hand over their rifles. The town was seized and the bourgeois managers and engineers were taken as hostages. This was the only case in the revolution where the Reds explicitly took hostages. Autio issued a statement that the hostages would be shot if hostile forces entered his territory. But the Varkaus Reds were crippled by their shortage of rifles, they had only about a hundred military weapons and limited their activity to raiding the hinterland for food.Mannerheim did not regard Varkaus as more than a nuisance and left it alone. The Varkaus Red Guard, for all its vigor, waited passively its inevitable destruction.15 By 8 February all of northeast Finland was under White control, with the sole exception of Varkaus. The remaining White territory was Karelia, north and east of the Vuoksi, which had been secured by 28 January. The only Red outpost left behind the lines here was the factory settlement of Vartsila, which had an armed Red Guard, but its behavior conformed to the familiar pattern. They debated endlessly among themselves what to do and kept up a negotiation with the local Whites. Then on 8 February, White reinforcements came in from Joensuu and Sortavala and the Red Guard surrendered after a brief skirmish. The White Guards who had ambushed Rahja's train at Kama'ra had joined the main force at Antrea on 29 January, and Karelia then had 950 armed men organized in three battalions, one based on Imatra and the other two on Antrea. In the rear areas and in the villages to the south of Antrea were plenty of unarmed White supporters but the whole Karelian district was desperately short of equipment; even unserviceable rifles were carefully doled out for training purposes and guard duty. The position was very vulnerable, for Antrea was only a short distance up the railway from Viipuri, where there were large forces of Russians and Red Guards, backed by the resources of Petrograd, while Imatra faced another large Red Guard based on Lappeenranta. The position was saved because the enemy did not attempt to advance until 8 February.16 The Karelian District was commanded by Colonel G. Warnhjelm, with Hagglund as his deputy, but before hostilities began Mannerheim had intended that Sihvo should assume operational command in Karelia. The revolution caught Sihvo still in Helsinki; it was a measure of the slack Red security that Sihvo could travel to Tampere by train on 30 January and then make his way unmolested to Mantta, from where he reported by telephone to Mannerheim on 1 February. Mannerheim confirmed that Sihvo should take command at Antrea, hold the line of the Vuoksi if he could, and endeavor to sabotage the railway to Petrograd. Initially, Sihvo had more trouble with his own side than with the enemy. Warnhjelm claimed overall command in Karelia, and was superior in rank to Sihvo, who recorded that "my astonishment was considerable when I perceived that such exalted gentlemen were in command there." By this he meant not just Warnhjelm, but a whole group of Swedish-speaking officers, who already had created a state of near mutiny by issuing orders in Swedish 285

to the Karelians. To them the use of that language was not acceptable, particularly from men who had all served in the Russian army, which the Karelians regarded as little short of treason. Sihvo was never a shy or tactful man and told Warnhjelm bluntly that things must change, that he could retain command over the rear areas but that operations would be directed by Sihvo and Hagglund from Antrea, and there, Sihvo declared, "as far as the front is concerned, things will be done as I command." He announced his presence to the troops, affirmed that in future all orders would be in Finnish, and that they must obey unquestioningly the instructions sent from Antrea. They must get themselves fully organized into military units, and those who were not fighting must engage in active training. Sihvo came just in time, for the mood at Antrea had turned defeatist. They had telegraphed Mannerheim on 4 February that if help did not come in three days, they might have to abandon the Vuoksi. Mannerheim replied on 5 February that it would be 8 to 10 days before any substantial help could arrive, and authorized them to retreat if they must. But by 8 February, after Sihvo had begun to make his presence felt, the situation had changed The report from Antrea said "the mood is bold, they are promising to hold their present position until the ammunition runs out," and by one of the coincidences of timing that always seemed to favor the Whites, the first major delivery of ammunition from Pohjanmaa arrived on the same day as the first Red advance from Viipuri began.17 By 8 February, a tentative line of division between White and Red Finland ran east from the Vilppula position to the mouth of the Vuoksi, but it was a line only on the staff maps at this stage; it was manned only at the few points where it was crossed by a major road or a railway. West from Vilppula, across to the coast, there was not even a notional line, but abeltof no-man's-land.The Whites had their coastal base at Kristiina, the Reds controlled Pori, and a distance of over 80 km separated the two. The situation was possible because no north-south railway existed in the whole area, and so no major advance was to be feared by either side. The Home Guard movement in southwest Finland was well prepared on paper. The District was commanded by Colonel W. Bergh, with the Ja'ger captain J. Fabritius as his chief of staff, and they had alternative contingency plans. In favorable conditions they would mobilize around Turku and contest control with the Red Guard; otherwise they would mobilize in the countryside and move north by road into Pohjanmaa.On 27 January, Bergh traveled to Vaasa to find out which plan to operate, leaving Fabritius in charge. He was faced with the Red seizure of Turku, and seems to have felt that the long trek north was impractical. So he scrapped the plans and urged the Whites to mobilize on the coast at Uusikaupunki: He thought a coastal base could be held and reinforced by sea. The usual result of last minute changes of plan followed, some Home Guard joined Fabritius at Uusikaupunki, some began to drift north and were collected at Kankaanpaa, under Lieutenant-colonel L. Nordensvan, others moved south into the islands of the Turku archipelago. On 5 February the Red Guard in Turku began to prepare an expedition against Uusikaupunki, and after considering and rejecting a plan by Fabritius to move north, the Whites resolved to retire over the frozen sea O to the Aland islands. From there they could get into direct contact with Vaasa and 286

Stockholm, and might be able to surprise the Russian garrisons and secure arms and equipment for themselves. The move from UusikaupunkibeganonV February, and on 10 February Fabritius set up a base at Kumlinge, on the fringe of the Aland group.18 The most striking feature of the story of how the Whites secured control of their territory is the total absence of any intervention from the bases of Red power in southern Finland. Many observers would hold that the sole chance of success for the revolution would have been that the seizure of power in the south be followed by a massive eruption of revolutionary forces into the north, something not seriously attempted for three weeks after the revolution, by which time White Finland was sufficiently consolidated to repel the attack. The seizure of power in the major centers of southern Finland caused no difficulty; the White Guard had already left Viipuri, and no serious attempt was made to contest the control of the other places. The only serious mishap for the socialists was the failure to arrest the government, which allowed the ministers to strike two last blows before they ceased to function. The first was the proclamation of Mannerheim as commander-in-chief, drafted by Svinhufvud, J. Castren, and Louhivuori, and carried concealed in a shoe to the government telegraph office, which the Reds had not yet closed. The second act was to authorize a counter-strike by public servants. A meeting of top government officials on 29 January drafted a resolution that they "will have no dealings with any kind of illegal government." No public servant, or any law-abiding citizen must serve such a government in any capacity; all public institutions should close until legal order was restored. The only exceptions were medical personnel, who might use their discretion, and officials of the food administration, who might continue working under existing regulations. A copy of this was taken to Svinhufvud, who endorsed it "I approve," and it was widely publicized and remarkably effective. It meant that even such humble functionaries as primary school teachers generally refused to recognize the Red regime,which was forced to improvise an entirely new administrative machine in face of the active obstruction of the officials of the old regime. With this last act of defiance, the government in Helsinki ceased to function, and the ministers went into hiding; Svinhufvud, J. Castren and Kallio found refuge in various private apartments, Talas and Louhivuori found safety as pseudo-patients in hospitals, and A. Castren used both types of cover. Setala, who had gone to Porvoo on 27 January, was successfully hidden in various country houses. The Red authorities never succeeded in laying hands on any of them.19 The statement from the Workers' Executive that announced the revolution said that "a Social Democratic revolutionary government for the country will be setup at once," and the plans for this were completed. There was to be a 14-member government, called "The Finnish Peoples' Deputation," working with a "Workers'Supreme Council," which would represent the various branches of the movement. The membership of the Peoples' Deputation was basically the reformed SDP Executive, less Wiik, who had resigned, and Gylling, who opposed the seizure of power and declined to serve. But they were joined by two trade union representatives, Tokoi and J. Lumivuokko, the joint chairmen of SAJ.The trade union leadership had refused to take part in preparing the revolution, as one of them wrote: 20 287

The party had ended the general strike against our wishes, indiscipline had spread in the workers' movement, because it had in part slipped out of the hands of trade unionists, and the party had given its blessing to many Red Guard enterprises, which we had not approved, and so we decided, as far as possible, to stand aside and let our brothers take care of things. Even so the trade unions could not repudiate the new government or withhold the services of their leaders, any more than the mass of moderate party members who had been opposed to revolutionary action—the instinctive ties of solidarity and loyalty ensured that. But it did mean that the revolutionary regime depende on a dead weight of reluctant supporters, whose hearts were not really in it. If they served to hold the revolution back from unfortunate excesses, they also may have smothered the Dantonian spirit of boldness, which is arguably an essential ingredient of successful revolution. With the establishment of the Peoples' Deputation, the Workers' Exeuctive, which had organized the revolution, stepped down. The Deputation held its first meeting at 9:00 P.M. on 28 January, and in dividing over whether to maintain the closure of the bourgeois press, showed that they had not fully grasped that they were presiding over a war, in which there could be no question of allowing enemy newspapers to be published. Most of their attention was given to drafting their own program, which was published the following day. It began with an offer to submit to the judgment of the workers:21 If it is your wish that we, together with the Workers' Supreme Council, which is to be formed, should step forth at this fateful moment to fulfil the task of the nations's revolutionary government, then we are willing to fulfil those tasks without wavering, as far as we are able. Every member of the working-class movement had a duty to serve the revolution in some capacity, but if at any time the organized workers wanted others to take over the duties of the Deputation, then each member was ready to yield up his place. In this passage the Deputation exposed one of its many weaknesses, for the members genuinely lacked the lust for power, and exercised it reluctantly and ineffectively. The program itself began with a simple affirmation that "we are Social Democrats. You know therefore what our programme is. It is a socialist programme."The immediate objective was to defeat the enemy and remove the danger threatening the workers, which would clear the way for socialist advance: The first stage would be "to change the whole organisation of the state." Government and administration would be democratized, the tax burden shifted to the wealthy, social security schemes established, education liberated from reactionary influences, and tenant farmers enfranchised. Up to this point, there was nothing either revolutionary or specifically socialist in the program. It then sketched the measures needed to ensure social control over the economy; the banks would operate under supervision, in order to control capital, and although the rights of small property-owners were guaranteed, "where the common need of the nation clearly demands it, that the exploiters' means of production be 288

taken into the possession of society, then the rights of ownership must yield." But this was a recipe for a mixed economy; it would be no Leninist transformation of capitalism to socialism by sweeping decrees: "from day to day, week to week, we muststep unremittingly forward along the road of socialist revolution." The program was described as the program of a socialist revolution, but it would be orderly and gradual; the immediate aim was a disciplined capitalism. Yet they did not lay down dogmatic limits to the process; it would have to go wherever the historical process might lead: Revolutionary worker comrades! It depends on you, now more than ever, how great are the results to be achieved. No Deputation by itself can make a real revolution. Only the people can do that, with the help of their great organisations. The members of the Peoples' Deputation knew what was required of them, for they were steeped in the pre-Leninist orthodoxy that revolutions are not made, they happen. The role of the leadership was to identify and conform with the demands of the forces of history. So they declared, "We have not entered into revolution as a game, any more than you have, but from a deep conviction that only through it can the working people of Finland be saved." The leaders were not making a revolution, they were suffering it because historical necessity said they must; this essentially passive attitude of mind towards the revolution was another reason that, in the end, they failed. On the whole the workers seem to have found the declared intentions of the new regime satisfactory. Tyomies pointed to the essential difference between this government and Tokoi's coalition, that the Deputation intended "to come to grips with the system of capitalist exploitation. And that is what we want." It warned readers to expect hard times, but like the program itself, the statement stressed the element of historical necessity; "now we have set out on the revolutionary road with determination, we have to go ever further forward." The program was put to a series of mass meetings in Helsinki d u r i n g 29 J a n u a r y , where Manner, Tokoi, Sirola, Letonma'ki, and Kiviranta spoke and had an enthusiastic reception. Tokoi explained that the revolution would in the end put a stop to capitalist exploitation, but that it was for the masses, not the leadership, to determine the pace at which this was done: "Everything that you want and demand depends on you." There was a flow of spontaneous endorsements of the new regime from important organizations, like the Helsinki Workers' Council and the Helsinki militia, and from numerous lesser groups and individuals. A letter in Tyomies from "a worker" probably expressed what most simple supporters felt, that this was their own government, "for the first time we have a government, a revolutionary government. We must ensure that its programmes are carried out." There was naive enthusiasm, as expressed by the inmates of a poor house, who rejoiced that "even for a few weeks in our lives we can breathe air completely free of bourgeois oppression," while a group of convicts asked for amnesty, so that they could "rise out of the oppressed position into which they had been pressed down by the old capitalist society." Some support was downright eccentric, 289

like that of the enthusiast who assured the dogmatically atheist Deputation that "he heartily wished the powerful blessing and great assistance of Almighty God "for their endeavors.22 The socialist takeover of the provinces was generally as easy as it had been in Helsinki. In Viipuri the workers were already in control and simply issued a manifesto calling for the election of revolutionary committees in each commune. Tampere already had a Revolutionary Committee; when it got the telephone warning from Helsinki on 27 January, the Red Guard were ordered to take control of the area and a provisional administration was installed. Turku too already had its Revolutionary Committee, and when they received the order from Helsinki on 27 January, they proclaimed the workers' assumption of power and had no difficulty in asserting it in the city. The rest of Red Finland followed the example of the major cities; the local party organizations proclaimed the overthrow of the old regime and assumed power themselves in the name of the organized workers. 23 The ease with which the workers took power in the south of Finland contrasted sharply with their inability to prevent the Whites taking power in the north. One reason for this lay in the original planning of the revolution. Any intervention in the north required military action, and the arrangements between the Red Guard and the Area Committee assumed that any serious military action would be the responsibility of the Russians. The Area Committee had set up an operations section, with Glazunov as chairman, empowered to direct the activity of all Russian units. In addition, there was supposed to be a liaison committee between the Area Committee, Tsentrobalt, and the Red Guard, though this does not seem to have functioned. But Glazunov and his operations section were caught completely off balance by Mannerheim's attack.They did send a warning to Seinajoki to expect an attack at any time, but Seinajoki had surrendered by the time the message arrived. The general order issued to 42nd Army Corps on 28 January was ambiguous, even contradictory: 24 The White Guard has made an attack on Vaasa. Initiate measures to rescue the garrison at Vaasa. The White Guard is to be given a decisive repulse. Gather the troops of the Army Corps which are entrusted to you in Viipuri. The last sentence was perhaps intended to mean only that Viipuri garrison should call in its outlying units for safety, but if taken at face value it was quite inconsistent with any attempt to relieve Vaasa. There were in any case disturbing signs that it might be difficult to secure compliance with orders that required the Russians to take the offensive. When Tsentrobalt tried to send ships from Helsinki to Vaasa to relieve the garrison, the crews flatly refused to sail. In Helsinki, where the statement issued by the Area Committee had pledged the Russians to make common cause with the Finnish workers, a meeting of the Area Committee, Tsentrobalt, and delegates of the u n i t committees passed a much less committed resolution that spoke only of defending themselves against White Guard attacks. This was also the position taken up on 29 J anuary at a delegate meeting of 42nd Army Corps in Viipuri. The meeting resolved that because the White Guard had attacked them, the Army Corps "regards itself as engaged in hostilities 290

with the Finnish White Guards." But they also resolved that any operations would depend on orders from Podvoiski, and that the purpose of such operations would be "the preservation of the armed forces and the saving of the nation's property"— in other words, a purely defensive response to any further attacks by the White Guard. On the following day they claimed further that they were still bound by Podvoiski's neutrality order and could not act until they had fresh instructions from Petrograd. On 29 January the extent of the disaster in Pohjanmaa became apparent; General Nadezny and the staff of 42nd Army Corps abandoned any thought of striking back and ordered the troops of 106 Division to retire on Viipuri at once, leaving only a rearguard at Riihimaki. Colonel Svecnikov, supported by Glazunov, protested at this on military grounds: if the Division moved it would become vulnerable to attack, whereas, in Svecnikov's words, "I do not believe the White Guard is capable of attacking the Division actively." He held that the Division was safer if it stayed in position. Nadezny insisted that his order must be put before the committee of 106 Division but they supported Svecnikov. On 30 January, the committee sent a formal refusal to retire, citing Glazunov's original orders and declaring their intention to concentrate for a counter-blow against Mannerheim. It seems that the Area Committee sought genuinely to fulfil its obligations by mounting an operation against the White Guard in Pohjanmaa, but was frustrated by the divisions and uncertainties in its own camp.25 The Red Guard was in no state to make good the failure of the Russians to act. It was not organized to conduct warfare of that kind and its General Staff was not an operational staff. Aaltonen had not issued any operational orders because he expected that activity would be purely local, and best left in local hands. It was soon apparent that this assumption did not square with reality, and Aaltonen was held to be responsible. On 28 January a brief announcementcame out that he had been "relieved of his post," and that a committee of Haapalainen, Taimi, and his brother A. Vasten had assumed "the higher command" over the Red Guard. However, since Aaltonen was their only source of military expertise, he had to be retained as chief of staff to the new commanders, none of whom had any military qualifications. A report by Haapalainen to the Deputation on 29 January, which complained that the General Staff "is composed of persons who are quite incapable of their jobs," and asked for authority to override the whole structure of elected staffs, because "the affairs of the revolution must be driven forward with the utmost vigour," showed the growing realization that things were not developing as well as anticipated. This was confirmed on 30 January, when Simla told the Deputation of talks he had had with members of the Area Committee. He had been given a picture of what had happened in Pohjanmaa and told that some kind of bourgeois government had emerged in Vaasa, but then the Russians had dwelt almost exclusively on the urgency of sending their troops home. The Area Committee had realized that the bulk of the soldiers were not only useless, but so demoralized that they were a positive danger; the Russians had said "there is a risk that someone like Svinhufvud could buy them over." It is certain that the Area Committee exaggerated because they wanted the Deputation to provide them with more Finnish currency for paying the troops, but 291

they had been genuinely shocked to discover the extent to which the soldiers were unwilling to act. The only firm promise of support that the Area Committee now felt able to make was that they would ensure that the railway to Petrograd was kept open—which they had to do for their own survival—and the promise that as the soldiers departed, "some of the equipment could be left to the Red Guard."This depressing conversation made it clear that the socialist expectation of adequte Russian military support was going to be disappointed.26 Then on 31 January the Deputation had before it a long report by Aaltonen that analyzed the situation and prospects of the Red Guard. He began by writing off the Red Guards in the north; "For the time being they cannot be used." Then it stated that for the present they must go over to the defensive; "the state of affairs thus compels us for the time being to initiate defensive action with the utmost seriousness, unless we want to lose the whole game." He described the current line of division between Red and White Finland, and doubted whether even that could be held; they might have to settle for a more southerly line, and in any case should begin to fortify their positions at once. He did propose some offensive action in Karelia, but with only a defensive purpose, to clear the west bank of the Vuoksi, so as to base their defense on the river. Even this operation would need Russian help, and "it is sad to report that the Russian soldiers have not fulfilled the plan which the representatives of the Area Committee made with the undersigned." A further reason for a strategic defensive was the existence of formidable forces of White Guards behind the lines, which would have to be dealt with by systematic military operations. For the future they would still need Russian assistance, but to avoid any further disappointments over this, it must be "fully and exactly clear how many Russian soldiers can be procured for oursupport, what equipment they have, where they are stationed and how far they are prepared to go." At least two regiments of Russians were needed at Tampere, and for the arming of the Red Guard they would need another 50,000 rifles and corresponding amounts of machine guns and artillery. Aaltonen's report was factual and realistic; it accepted that they faced a full-scale war, and that the Red Guard was incapable at present of doing more than holding its positions and clearing up the rear areas, and that even for this it was gravely short of equipment. Any serious offensive action would have to be undertaken by the Russians.27 The plight of the Red Guard was not exaggerated by Aaltonen, for while it contained plenty of men who had served as rankers or NCOs, and who could instruct comrades how to fire a rifle and execute basic drill, it had nobody with the technical skills needed for organizing proper operations in the field. Among the commanders, the awareness of this lack was making them prone to panic; in those early days reports flooded in of large and well-equipped enemy forces supposedly poised to fall on the Red Guard. Turku reported on 29 January "the situation is serious, the butchers are roving in crowds in the neighborhood of the city," which was sheer nonsense, but enough to make Helsinki Red Guard prepare a relief expedition, without consulting the General Staff. Aaltonen remarked with justice that this was just the kind of uncoordinated action that "leads to chaos." But similar reports from Hyvinkaa, Sipoo, Hameenlinna, and many other places served to paralyze the Red 292

Guard and inhibit it from making sorties from its urban bases. A more solid reason for passivity was the shortage of weapons: Tampere reported on 29 January that they could not operate outside the city because they could not arm their men; a return of 1 February gave the number of rifles available as 500. Kouvola made a similar report, that they wanted to move against the enemy, but hundreds of their men lacked rifles; Nurmijarvi wanted to attack its local Home Guard, but had no weapons at all; and Viipuri reported on 30 January that they needed at least 2,000 rifles before they could begin operations. An incident in Helsinki neatly illustrates the position. On 29 January, the commander of the Portu Battalion received operational orders, and replied on a tiny scrap of paper that he could not comply because his men had no rifles, and added, somewhat superfluously, that he had no paper either. This was endorsed at the General Staff; "send paper."28 It is not obvious why this crippling shortage existed, for official Russian policy was clear that any surplus arms should be handed over to the Red Guard. There should have been adequate stocks, because the half of the garrison that had been demobilized was supposed to have left its equipment behind and it was a fact that every captured Russian garrison in Pohjanmaa had had more rifles than men. When the Russians did evacuate Finland in February, they were able to transfer very large quantities of equipment to the Finns. Yet at the beginning of the war, the Russians in Finland repeatedly claimed that they were short of weapons themselves. Viipuri garrison reported that "it is possible to arm the workers, we should need 3-4,000 rifles with a corresponding amount of cartridges." It is difficult to credit that Viipuri really had no surplus rifles and thus more likely that, as in November, the Russian soldiers were reluctant to let weapons out of their own control, and further, that the supposed shortage of weapons was a convenient excuse for not taking action. Yet, if there was deception, Lenin was taken in by it, for on 30 January he gave an order to send 25,000 rifles and 30 machine-guns to Finland "for the protection of Russian soldiers in Finland against the atrocities of White Guard bourgeois detachments." The suspicion that the Russian plea of shortage of weapons was an excuse for inaction is strengthened by the fact that when the Russians felt directly threatened, they could act vigorously enough. The Bolshevik authorities in Petrograd rightly regarded the Karelian isthmus as part of their defenses. On 28 January, a circular was issued to all troops and Red Guards in Petrograd, describing the danger that was developing because of White Guard activity on the isthmus. It called for volunteers to report to the Finland Station to join an expedition to Viipuri. Its purpose was "to go to the help of our brothers. Mobilise your strength. There is a war on. Our help is needed." A similar appeal came to all regimental committees on 30 January, and the response was quite good. A detachment several hundred strong, mainly Russian Red Guards, arrived in Viipuri on 30 January, and on the way it had helped secure the railway by giving arms to the local Finnish Red Guard units along the line. The second appeal was followed by an order from the military command in Petrograd for specified units to send detachments to join an armored train that left for Viipuri on 3 February. This was the beginning of the continuing inter293

vention by the Petrograd Russians in the fighting on the Karelian isthmus, where the Russians involved had an obvious interest of their own to defend, to reinforce any obligation they felt towards their Finnish worker comrades.29 The uncertainty and hesitation apparent among the Russians in Finland over their role in the Finnish revolution should have been resolved when the Bolshevik government declared itself. The Workers' Executive had notified both the Area Committee and the Council of Peoples' Commissars on 27 January that power in Finland had been transferred to the Social Democrat party, and a telegram followed, from the Deputation on 29 January to the Bolshevik government, announcing its assumption of power. This expressed the hope that "in the struggle for the suppression of capitalism, firm solidarity will prevail between the Russian and Finnish workers." On 30 January, the commissar for posts and telegraphs, Prosjan, came to Helsinki to convey the recognition of the Peoples' Deputation by the Council of Peoples' Commissars. His message welcomed "the new socialist government of Finland," and said that in granting Finnish independence, they had always hoped that it would stimulate the Finnish workers to rise against the bourgeoisie:30 The hope was justified sooner than we could have expected. . . . The fraternal government of Russia hopes that the Finnish comrades can bring the struggle they have begun to a happy conclusion and promises every support in the struggle with the bourgeoisie. Trostki added his own greeting from Brest-Litovsk, "We greet the working class of Finland which has seized power from the hands of the bourgeoisie. . . . You an we have common enemies, common friends. . . . Long live fraternal, socialist Finland." Lenin was naturally delighted, and told the Third Congress of Soviets on 31 January that Bolshevik policy on self-determination was now proved right:31 We have proved to be right. We see now that our ideas have won out in Finland . . . they are awakening the working peoples' class consciousness and organising them into a solid alliance. . . . Thus no sooner had the Finnish workers and peasants taken power than they sent us their expressions of loyalty to the world proletarian revolution, and greetings which reveal unflinching determination to march along the path of the International. There is the basis of our federation, and I am profoundly convinced that more and more diverse confederations of free nations will group themselves around revolutionary Russia. There now could be no doubt what the Russian position in Finland was. Izvestija carried an article by Smilga on 1 February that told the soldiers there must be "merciless struggle with the White brigands. . . . Every honest man in our forces into the struggle with the White gangs. . . . We shall honour our obligation to the Finnish revolution to the end." The Area Committee published a similar message: "We must all, without any hesitation, enter into the defence of our comrades, the Finnish Social Democrats." The editorial said that the Finnish revolution showed how revolution would spread through Europe. "Out of the decision of the struggle

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depends the line of development of our revolution and therefore, for us, the Finnish question is our question . . . we must strain all our resources for the suppression of the White Guard." Dybenko addressed Tsentrobalt and told them they had a great opportunity: 3 2 We were unable to give open support to the Finnish proletariat: that would have created a storm among the imperialists of other countries (because we had recognised the independence of Finland) and Russia alone could not fight all the imperialist countries. But now we see that the Finnish White Guard is attacking us, and we cannot be silent. . . . We are arming the Finnish working class and our Red Guards are offering strong intervention in the struggle with the Finnish bourgeoisie. Arms for the forces and the fleet in Helsinki are on the way from Petrograd, so that we can support the proletariat of Finland. Our slogan is, "War with the bourgeoisie until victory." This policy was embodied in formal orders that the Area Committee had issued to 42nd Army Corps on 30 January: 3 3 All 42nd Army Corps' units are ordered to get into touch with the organisations of the Finnish Workers' Red Army, and to act against the White Guard, and together with the former directing, giving them the necessary cooperation and using them as armed troops. The Bolshevik leaders now spoke a clear and unambiguous language, but it proved that the troops would not obey. On 2 February the Area Committee, Tsentrobalt, and Helsinki Soviet held a joint meeting to consider the nearly total collapse of discipline. A succession of speakers affirmed that the men would not obey orders to fight but wanted to go home. Smilga launched a strong attack on the defeatism of the delegates, but recognized that the existing units could not be used, and they would have to raise a volunteer force, while the rest could go, but leave their equipment. While this was happening, however, the soldiers must at least resume normal patrol and guard duties. Yet it took two votes, and the chairman's re fusal to allow a third, to get Smilga's resolutions to this effect carried. The militants knew they had lost; Tsentrobalt was told next day that the area committee "remains without an army" and in the fleet, "the situation is gloomy, you listen to what the masses in the ships are saying and Tsentrobalt is losing all authority." Izvestija conceded defeat on 6 February; "our appeals to certain units, with requests to help the Finnish proletariat" had met with indifference on the excuse that "they were tired and did not want to be involved in Finnish affairs." Two days later, the paper wrote that only a minority had volunteered to fight, that "most of us are dreaming of our villages and of rest." So the Bolsheviks had committed themselves to full armed intervention in the Finnish struggle only to find that they could not fulfill their promises.®-' Instead, they had to improvise a much reduced assistance to the Finns with the volunteers who were available, and first of all they had to try and sort out the 295

problems of command. Svecnikov had evaded the order for 106 Division to retire to Viipuri by announcing on 31 January the formation of a volunteer force under his command to fight the White Guard. The rest of the troops could retire to Viipuri if they wished and be demobilized. Still, it was obvious that Svecnikov's efforts would be useless if he was going to be subject to defeatist orders coming from Viipuri, so on 2 February Glazunov proposed to Podvoiski that Finland be divided into an eastern and a western command. Svecnikov would command in the west, and a new and more reliable command must be installed in Viipuri; the present staff of 42nd Army Corps was "a superfluous relic of former times." There must be a change; "if things go on like this it will be impossible to function." Podvoiski took the easy way out by agreeing to the division, and confirming Svecnikov as commander in the west while leaving Nadezny and his staff in charge at Viipuri. Glazunov made one more effort to obtain a united command when he suggested on 9 February that Svecnikov's command be extended to cover Viipuri, but Podvoiski refused, probably because he intended to keep the Viipuri operations under the control of Petrograd rather than Helsinki. The resulting command structure was weak; Glazunov pointed this out: "At present the Viipuri district is separate, its commander is unreliable, he does nothing but harm." But since Petrograd preferred it so, this handicap on effective Russian action remained. 35 Svecnikov and Glazunov did press forward in western Finland and had suggested to the Finnish General Staff that the Red Guard too should be put under Svecnikov's command. The leading triumvirate, aware of their lack of military expertise, made no objection, and on 1 February Glazunov issued a formal order to Svecnikov:36 I give you permission to command the Red Guards at your discretion, and to commence active operations by sending out reconnaissance parties etc. Inform quickly how much assistance you need and when. Svecnikov set up his headquarters in Tampere and issued orders to the Russians to learn from events in Pohjanmaa, keep concentrated and alert, and work in the closest cooperation with the Red Guard. Offensive operations would be conducted by volunteers, though he would expect the artillery and supply services to give any necessary support. Svecnikov supposed at this stage that the spearhead of any operation would be provided by Russians, with the Red Guards acting as armed auxiliaries, though in most actual operations this position was reversed, with the Red Guard forces being stiffened with a minority of Russians. This was done for the minor mopping-up activity from Pori, Turku, and Riihimaki; the Turku force that eventually advanced on Uusikaupunki had 200 soldiers supporting 600 Finnish Red Guards. At Tampere Svecnikov first concentrated on securing the rail l i n k to Pori, which he mistakenly believed to be at risk; and the first reconnaissance toward Vilppula on 2 February, though led by the Russian Lieutenant Stolbov, was mainly composed of Red Guards. Before starting serious operations Svecnikov ordered up 1,000 Red Guards, with machine guns and artillery from Helsinki, and also waited for the Rahja arms delivery, which brought 2,000 rifles to Tampere on 4 February. 296

This enabled some of the idle Red Guards who were hanging around the city to be prepared for action, and Svecnikov now announced his offensive plan. The first objective was Haapamaki, whose capture would be followed by advances to Seinajoki and Jyvaskyla. The main force proceeded by train to Vilppula, and a flanking column went by road towards Ruovesi, and it was these forces that conducted the fruitless operations of 4-7 February along the Vilppula position. 37 Although these early activities were directed and supported by Russians, it was already apparent that the numbers of Russian volunteers were so small that the bulk of the fighting manpower would have to be provided by the Red Guard, and that the Red Guard must be developed into a proper army. On 30 January the General Staff wrote to the Deputation, asking it to determine the relationship of the Red Guard to the government. This caused no difficulty, for it was generally agreed that the Red Guard should become the official army of the state. A decree to this effect was issued on 2 February by the Deputation. It stated that "the Workers' Red Guard is to be retained permanently as the guardian of democracy and the achievements of the revolution," and would be taken into public pay. Haapalainen issued a general order to the Red Guard explaining the decree, which required each company to hold a meeting and pass a formal resolution agreeing to enter the service of the state: A minute of the meeting would be sent to the government and the u n i t would then become part of the official establishment. Each member would make an affirmation of loyalty: "We promise, arms in hand, one for all and all for one. . . . to fight for the suppression of the power of the capitalists and the liberation of the proletariat." Thus it would be a class-conscious army, dedicated to prosecuting the class war. Haapalainen reminded the Red Guard that "having got official recognition it has become a regular army, which has the public rights and duties of an army," and this involved observing a proper discipline and organization. The General Staff then set about planning an establishment for the new army. Their memorandum to the Deputation on 2 February claimed that "within two months the suppression of the butchers can be carried out and order restored to the land." The time was needed because they first would have to transform the Red Guard into a real field army, capable of carrying out formal military operations. They had no doubt that, once established, it could defeat the enemy. Further memoranda suggested that the government should set up a separate war department, with a Deputy of its own, and that a suitable establishment would be 30,000 men; if they were paid 600 marks a month, the expenses of a two-month campaign would amount to 47 million marks. 38 While the Deputation pondered these proposals, the General Staff tackled the urgent problem of supply. The Red Guard had so far been authorized to take what it wanted by way of requisition, and many units established "special sections" to deal with searches, arrests, and requisitions. There had been inevitable excesses and abuses, and, in any case, a system of each u n i t foraging for itself was a recipe for anarchy. On 3 February the General Staff announced the setting up of a Commissariat — Intendenttilaitos—with separate sections to deal with food, clothing, billeting, and pay. Each District Staff would establish a corresponding District Commissariat. 297

The Commissariat alone would have powers of requisitioning, which was to be exercised with restraint and the observance of due formalities; "for all requisitioned goods, a proper receipt must be given . . . even if it is only for a pin." The Red Guard must accept the same scale of rations as the rest of the population, and there must be no requisitioning of food in excess of what was due on ration cards. The special sections were to be disbanded and should render accounts of their activities. On 5 February, Haapalainen issued an order of the day reviewing progress towards militarizing the Red Guard. There were limitations, for instance, "our Guard, composed of volunteer workers, is not provided with uniform" and the men must at all times wear the red identification ribbons in their hats. They were warned against other surviving civilian habits, like using the telephone for confidential reports, which was unsafe, and must not get carried away by enthusiasm, for "our enemy is well armed and trained," and they could not afford to indulge39 in military operations of their own choosing, in small groups, which can easily become surrounded and destroyed. The common leadership must be obeyed. The arming of our forces goes ahead briskly. When the army of the proletariat is fully armed, then the enemy is beaten. The last sentence indicated that Haapalainen had a dangerously oversimplified view of what would be needed to ensure victory, but at least by the end of the first week of February the first steps had been taken to forge the necessary military instrument. The General Staff was not at first at all equipped to try to direct military operations, and in the earliest days it lacked the most basic information about its own forces. A circular of 1 February, repeated two days later, complained that the General Staff were not getting regular reports from units, and on 3 February they could only estimate the strength of the Red Guard as 20,000 armed men and 40,000 unarmed. Aaltonen, while he was their only expert adviser, had indicated that the clearing of White forces loose in the rear areas ought to have priority, and preliminary orders to this effect went out to Kouvola and Lahti on 30 January. But when Svecnikov took charge, the General Staff agreed on 2 February to give immediate support to his proposed advance north from Tampere. Taimi, with wild optimism, assured them that the Russians would send 2,000 men "who will certainly smash the butchers," so they decided to send men and arms to Tampere. The following day they came back to Aaltonen's plans for mopping up, and decided that Helsinki would send 3,000 rifles to Kouvola, and Viipuri another 2,000, so that the surplus manpower in the Kouvola-Lahti area could be used in combination with forces from Helsinki to deal with the enemy in eastern Uusimaa. These consisted of the local Home Guard of the Mantsala, Loviisa, and Porvoo areas, under the command of an elderly Finnish officer, Major G. Silfverhjelm, with the two Ja'gers G. Stenba'ck and S. Pekkola as advisers, totalling about 1,000 men, with 350 rifles and four machine guns. They had been joined by the Helsinki Home Guard under Petrelius, with 125 armed men, and by the Helsinki Student Home Guard. The Whites selected the railway junction of Kerava as their first objective, partly because through

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the railway telegraph they hoped to make contact with Vaasa. It was a dangerous choice, because its capture would cut communications between Helsinki and Petrograd, and was bound to stir the Russians to action. News of their intentions reached the enemy, and the Area Committee did immediately send out an expedition to secure Kerava. Petrelius had doubts about the wisdom of the plan, but yielded to the enthusiasm of the local leaders, who told him "Hell! We're going to Helsinki." The attack on Kerava was a miserable failure, poorly coordinated and launched at an enemy who was under cover and expecting them. The civilian militiamen could not press home an attack, and hearing the approach of a train from Helsinki, they broke off the action.40 This encounter on 30 January must have encouraged Aaltonen to go ahead, and he drafted a careful plan for a concentric advance by 2,000 Red Guard, starting from Helsinki, Kerava, Lahti, Kouvola, and Kotka. Every detail had to be spelled out: They would need ski-patrols moving alongside the columns to avoid ambush, and the precise timetable of movements and rate of march were specified, as well as the number of cartridges that should be issued to each man, with the injunction that they must shoot "sparingly and accurately, because cartridges are scarce." They were told what to do on encountering the enemy; the artillery should be brought up, and then the men advance in line. Once under fire, they should advance in rushes of 100 meters at a time. Any break-in must be reinforced, and flanking movements mounted if possible. Aaltonen rightly felt he could take no chances with the sort of troops he was using, and ultimately he relied on sheer numbers to ensure success; his order concluded "since you will have at your disposal twenty companies of well-equipped men, you should, hopefully, carry the scheme through." 41 In the event it worked quite well; the advice on ski-patrols certainly saved the Kotka column from an intended ambush. Things did go wrong; some of the artillery ammunition was the wrong caliber, machine guns often failed to work with inexperienced crews, and a machine-gun crew from Lahti stopped at a house for coffee, leaving their gun parked outside, when a group of enterprising Whites made off with it. But the enemy was in no better state; Sipoo had to be given up on 7 February, the defense of Loviisa failed when ammunition began to run out, and as the White Guard realized how they were outnumbered and isolated, morale collapsed. The citizens of Porvoo did not want the town defended and Silfverhjelm gave his men the order to disperse, while Petrelius led the bolder spirits out over the ice to the archipelago at Pellinge. The Red Guard occupied Porvoo and on 11 February followed Petrelius, but at Pellinge it was the Reds who had to cross the open ice against an enemy under cover, and despite the support of two guns, they were driven back. However, by nightfall the Whites were short of ammunition and decided to break up. One group, led by Petrelius, tried to slip back into Helsinki and many of these, including Petrelius, were intercepted by Red Guards and killed. Others tried to go north and join Mannerheim, and the remainder retired even further out to sea and when the Germans advanced into Estonia, crossed the ice, and took refuge with them. This was one of the more successful operations conducted by the Red Guard; 299

though many of the enemy had escaped, their military presence in eastern Uusimaa was eliminated and the area brought under Red control. It was not all loss for the White cause; they had tied down 2,000 of the best Red Guard units who might otherwise have intervened on the main fronts at a time when Mannerheim was still very weak. The campaign is also interesting because it shows how at first, the balance of military incompetence between the two sides was fairly even. The Whites had no qualitative advantage and were as unprepared for field operations as the Red Guard, and their leadership was just as quarrelsome and disunited. The military superiority that the White forces later demonstrated was not something built in to the original situation, but was the product of planning and hard endeavor.42 The Peoples' Deputation was scarcely involved in this military activity and had been busied with securing the political base of the regime. They hoped to strengthen its position by securing the recognition of foreign socialists, and sent a letter to the Zimmerwald International on 2 February. This announced their assumption of power and claimed that the Deputation was committed to "a socialist action programme." They continued, in terms that betrayed their failure to understand what Lenin was doing in Russia, with the assertion that "the Finnish workers are thus following the example of our Russian comrades, setting out on the path of social revolution." The Finnish socialists were hoping for more than mere moral approval, for they said:43 The Finnish proletariat is however confident that no country's class-conscious workers will allow their possessing classes, or their governments to satisfy the bloodthirsty urgings of the Finnish capitalists, by sending pacification forces against the Finnish proletariat. The response was gratifying; on 6 February, the Zimmerwald International recognized and welcomed the Finnish revolution and called on workers everywhere to support it. It is now apparent that the support of the International did not amount to much, but the Finnish leaders did not know that. They shared Lenin's belief that the workers of the belligerent countries had enough revolutionary potential to neutralize the counter-revolutionary tendencies of their governments. Bitter experience showed both Lenin and the Finns that they were wrong, but the belief goes far to explain the complacency of the Deputation in the face of the obvious danger of hostile foreign intervention. At home, the Deputation had to gain legitimacy by securing the formal endorsement of the workers' movement, by constituting the proposed Workers' Supreme Council. It was to have 35 members, 10 each from the party, the trade unions, and the Red Guard, and five from the Helsinki Workers' Council. Since for practical reasons, the Red Guard members would have to be elected by Helsinki Red Guard, this meant that the movement in the capital would be very strongly represented, at the expense of the provinces. In spite of their reservations before the revolution, the trade unions made no difficulty: On 2 February the SAJ Executive met with delegates from 24 member unions and agreed to elect their 10 members on the 300

Supreme Council. The Helsinki Workers' Council and the Helsinki Red Guard, who had been so active in promoting the revolution, naturally made no difficulty about electing their representatives. This left SDP itself, and on 3 February the SDP Council was convened. The obvious reservations expressed by the Council were natural in view of its membership. It consisted mainly of long-serving party members whose whole lives had been dedicated to constitutional politics, and who had not wanted the revolution. Now they felt they had been thrust aside by a combination of radical Helsinki intellectuals and new elements who had only risen to prominence in the movement since March. The opposition was weakened because the implacable constitutionalists, like Tanner and Paasivuori, had withdrawn altogether from public affairs. Those who had strongly opposed the revolution, like Wiik, Gylling and Salin, felt that now it had happened it must be supported. In the words of Salin, when he accepted appointment as editor of the new official newspaper, Tiedonantaja, "Since I have marched with the workers for more than twenty-five years, how could I desert them now, when they are committing follies." ^ Makelin presided, and sensed the atmosphere, for he made a robust attempt to head off recrimination over past decisions:45 I think that what has happened has happened through force of circumstances. It ought to have been done already during the general strike. But there is no time or necessity for reproaches. Those comrades who have commenced to organise things are entitled to get our support. The situation is serious but it is not to be avoided. Now we must continue without drawing back. Most delegates accepted this, few spoke in the general debate, and even fewer openly challenged what had happened. Airola asserted: The bourgeoisie could have been forced to compromise if we had been persistent: through opposition in parliament and in general, we would not have needed to resort to such violent measures. But if many may have agreed with him, they did not choose to speak. Kuusinen defended the revolution; it "had not all gone as we would have wished," but the "whole process was entirely new, so the matter is understandable." Generally Kuusinen struck an optimistic note, claiming that the bourgeois opposition would soon collapse. He identified three areas of difficulty for the revolution: the war, the food crisis, and finance, and he plainly thought that the last two presented the real difficulties. He claimed that "the situation looks good now, even if there is no absolute certainty," but warned that "if we should not be united, then the hopes of victory, which as I understand it are at present certain, would disappear." The debate moved on to the current problems, and Airola showed a professional's concern to make the best of the situation by accepting accomplished facts, and trying to increase his own influence: "Now the revolution must be helped according to our strength." A concerted attempt was made to reassert the influence of the old party members over the newcomers; "those forces, who had just joined us, are threatening to lead us astray into actions which are alien to social democracy." 301

They particularly wanted to muzzle the Red Guard; "military forces should not have any part in determining government." Murto, Turkia, Saarikivi, and Vuoristo supported Airola. A committee was elected to draft a policy statement; Airola and Vuoristo, as two of the four members, ensured a strong moderate influence. When the Council got down to discussing the Supreme Council, support emerged for enlarging it to 40 by adding five more representatives of the party. Hurmevaara suggested "the Red Guard may be offended and there could be conflicts arising between it and the party," but was not well received. In the end, by a vote of 16 to 3, they decided on enlargement, and then elected their 15 members, taking great care to get a full spread of provincial representation.46 The draft statement began by accepting the revolution. "The party Council approves the movement as historically necessitated and urges the country's workers everywhere to promote it energetically." They approved the Peoples' Deputation and its decrees, with the reservation that the principal laws must be submitted to a referendum "when opportunity offers." The preamble speaks of a social revolution, but the words "socialism" or "socialist" do not appear; the whole emphasis was on democracy, and the purity of their democratic idealism led them into a pre-Leninist and a-historical naivety. The idea that after the revolution had triumphed, all its major achievements should be subjected to referenda, in which they certainly envisaged the defeated would be able to vote, showed a basic ignorance of the realities of revolution. They saw their proposals both as ideologically correct, and as a means of curbing the power of the radicals. They did not see that the fact that revolution is an act of violence made nonsense of their proposals: If the popular will can be expressed through the ballot box, there is no justification for making a revolution. They did not see that war, the fact that blood had been shed, shifted the political conflict onto a qualitatively new level. Instead they seem to have thought, in a parody of Clausewitz' dictum, that a civil war was a normal constitutional struggle carried on by other means. Therefore they saw no obstacle in going straight back to electoral politics after the war, with full rights of participation allowed to the defeated enemy. The prevalence in the workers' movement of this kind of thinking was a major reason why they found it so difficult to carry through their revolution effectively.47 The draft went on to approve the Supreme Council in its revised format, and said it was "to draft laws and supervise the activity of the Peoples' Deputation, and together with it, take charge of the government of the country." The emphasis on power-sharing reflected the same determination to curb the radical forces in the Deputation, they added that in any case the SDP Congress was still the final authority in the workers' movement and would determine the definitive structure and functions of the Supreme Council. Finally, the draft laid down 10 instructions that were to be binding on the Peoples' Deputation and the Supreme Council. They were to prepare a new democratic constitution and submit it to the people in a referendum, to handle the food crisis so that the workers were not the first to suffer hardship, to run a limited planned economy that would still be a capitalist economy. On nationalization they said, "Let necessary caution be observed in 302

bringing production into social ownership, however the supervision of the state should be extended to the more important areas of production." Only in the case of active hostility by the capitalists should "the means of production be forfeit to the state." The general aim was to avoid economic disruption and restore normal conditions, "so that the revolution shall not give rise to unnecessary disruption for the peaceful population." These directives made up four of the 10 points, a prescription for a very limited revolution, almost a revolution without tears, consisten with their basic feeling that the revolution was a misfortune that had overtaken them, and whose consequences must be mitigated —a wholly negative conception.48 The remaining six instructions were all aimed directly or indirectly against the power of the Red Guard, and expressed the hostility felt toward it by the older generation of politicians. There was to be strict separation of civilian and military functions, and "the activity of the Red Guard is to be limited as far as possible to purely military matters, and the Red Guard shall be wholly subjected to the control of the Supreme Council." Thus the draft rejected any claim by the Red Guard to exercise a political role in the movement; it was to be the paid army of the state. The draft welcomed the decision to set up Revolutionary Courts, but stressed they must be wholly civilian. They opposed any kind of courts-martial, and if these proved necessary, they were to be confined to military matters. Finally, they came to the worst sins of the Red Guard, which, however, they discussed obliquely under the heading of "anarchy." They instructed the Deputation and the Supreme Council that:49 anarchistic and all arbitrary actions are to be prevented. In this respect the most severe measures are to be initiated. . . . The nation is to be issued with a statement, which shall emphasise that anarchy is the worst enemy of the working class, and that revolution is not the same thing as criminal violence. The opponent is always and everywhere to be treated justly . . . force is only justified against armed opponents. It was clearly implied that so far, the Red Guard had not lived up to these precepts. This passage on anarchy was the only part of the draft to cause controversy: Harma protested at the total subordination of the Red Guard to civil control, and was apprehensive about how the Red Guard would react to the total denial of their autonomous status; even Vuoristo, no friend of the radicals, could see that the draft was "like a declaration of no confidence in the Guard." But it was accepted by 11 votes to 6, the draft as a whole was unanimously approved and sent for publication, and the Council adjourned. The idealism that informed this draft, and the sturdy humanitarianism of its authors, does them enormous credit. In the heat of a civil war, these men who were principled atheists, came near to the Christian ideal of loving their enemies; at least they wished them no harm. It was a sentiment that their Christian opponents certainly did not reciprocate. Political realists will question the wisdom, with a war in progress, of issuing a public statement that explicitly and implicitly criticized the conduct of their own armed forces, and they had failed lamentably to grasp what was needed if the revolution was to be carried to a

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successful conclusion. But they emerged as men of genuine principle, who scorned to tamper with their ideals in the name of expediency. If their precepts were followed, the revolution was certainly doomed to political and military defeat, but its moral superiority over the victors would be incontestable. With this formal act of recognition by SDP Council, the Peoples' Deputation was fully installed as the legitimate and recognized authority in the areas that it controlled. All the branches of the workers' movement had pledged their loyalty and endorsed its program. If the program were realized, Finland would become a democratic, parliamentary republic, with a controlled capitalist economy, and a substantial public sector, as part of the machinery of control. The enfranchisemen of the tenant farmers would turn rural Finland into a society of small, independent landowners. It is open to debate whether this would constitute a revolution at all; it was certainly not the proletarian revolution as envisaged by Marx, and had little in common with the Russian revolution led by Lenin. The socialist leaders were quite clear that this was not the proletarian revolution, though many of their supporters were not. The leaders nearly always described it as a "democratic revolution," and Sirola tried to explain, in a speech of 3 February, what this meant. Finnish capitalism was held to be still at a comparatively early stage of development, so the conditions were not "ripe" for a socialist revolution. The world war had created a premature and artificial crisis in Finnish society, and Sirola claimed that the socialists had taken power as the only alternative to anarchy. They could promise only a democratic revolution, by which Sirola meant that "revolution is not made from Government House, but the workers around the country must carry it through." The workers would decide themselves how far it was to go, but they would be constrained by outside circumstances, for instance, whether or not the revolution spread to the advanced capitalist countries. Until they knew this, it would be dangerous and premature to embark on an extensive program of public ownership, and on the whole it was realistic to see the result of the revolution as "a better democratic order in this country."50 Realization of the program would have meant radical changes in Finland, but the essence of revolution, the violent displacement of one ruling class or group by another, appears to be absent. This was because these socialist leaders supposed it would not be needed; they believed that a wholly democratic political system, based on universal suffrage, must mean permanent majority rule, and by definition the workers always had a majority over the capitalists. Therefore, a purely democratic revolution would transfer power permanently into the hands of the working class. The unfortunate accident of October 1917 could be explained away as due to the limited franchise, and the bourgeois power holders being able to falsify the results. This conception of the transfer of power is not only unreal, because general experience of universal suffrage systems does not bear it out, but naive because it ignored the consequences of having resorted to force in the first place. Unless the old ruling class was destroyed, and nobody was proposing this, the force used to overthrow them would have to be maintained to prevent a counter-revolution. Yet the program made no provision for the continuing repression of the old ruling 304

class; on the contrary it forbade it—peaceful members of the bourgeoisie were not to be molested. What the socialist leaders mostly failed to see was that the original act of violence had cancelled the consensus on which Finnish society had operated, and the blood shed, atrocities committed, old scores settled by violence meant that it could not be reestablished. Armed coercion of the defeated enemy would have to continue until the passage of time produced a new consensus. If political leaders of the workers' movement did not want to acknowledge this, the Red Guards, who were actually conducting and experiencing the violence, soon did. This reinforced the already strong division between the Red Guards and the civilians, which always weakened and sometimes paralyzed the socialist camp. Although the socialists were now nominally united behind their program, they were in fact divided between those who recognized that the use of force against the enemy was central to what they were doing, and those who saw the use offeree as a regrettable, transient, and marginal phenomenon. By the end of the first week in February, the stage for the Finnish civil war had been set. The blind, initial fumblings of the two sides had sketched out a line of division that was to be substantially unaltered until the middle of March. On either side two warring governments had emerged in control of the territory on their side of the line. At a few points along the line fronts had been established, where their armed forces confronted one another, and behind the line, both sides were trying to develop their rudimentary armies. Both sides looked to foreign patrons, and expected them to help to resolve the conflict. The outcome of the conflict would depend on which side could best combine the development of its political and military potential with effective foreign intervention. For the moment, both sides had come to the limit of their resources and were locked in a stalemate, which only an injection of fresh forces could break.

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Chapter 12

White Finland

The White regime controlled most of the geographical area of Finland, but since much of their territory was sparsely populated wilderness, they had only just over half the population. The territory was predominantly rural; most of the urban centers and most of the country's industry were in Red Finland. This, however, was an advantage, since it reduced the hostile elements in the population, and since Finland had little domestic armaments industry, that the Reds controlled most of it was not very important for the war. The loss most keenly felt by White Finland was the absence of its natural leaders: Most of the government, the senior civil servants, the judiciary, bankers, and businessmen and nearly all the leading politicians were trapped in Red Finland. This helped to centralize leadership, for no men of stature were present to challenge Mannerheim's supremacy, but it also meant that the White regime was largely staffed by provincial mediocrities, decent, willing, and honest men for the most part, but relatively untalented. Apart from the problem of quality of personnel, government was no problem for the Whites. They were defending the existing order, they had the cooperation of the ruling groups in society, and they took over a local administration in full working order. They felt little need to innovate or legislate, having only to fill the gaps left by their severance from the capital and the institutions of central government. Once the position in Helsinki had been clarified, the four ministers in Vaasa began to function as a substitute national government. They announced on 1 February that they were "the only legal Finnish government in the country." Work began on 30 January when Renvall became chairman, and the portfolios were shared out. Renvall took foreign affairs, trade, and religion, Arajarvi finance and communications, Frey internal affairs and justice, and Pehkonen food and agriculture. No attempt was made to assemble a rump parliament, but a "consultative council" of politicians was formed, whose views were canvassed on major political decisions. For the nucleus of a central administration, they employed the three members of the Vaasa Appeal Court and developed substitute government departments by enlarging the provincial offices already in Vaasa. The Vaasa district

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railway administration became the national railway administration and the process was extended to the customs service, post office, food administration, and education. One department had to be created from nothing and that was foreign affairs: For this, S. Sario became head of department, with E. Valikangas as deputy and together with Renvall, the three of them conducted the nation's foreign policy. The position of the Vaasa government was strengthened after 23 March by the arrival of Svinhufvud and J. Castren; Svinhufvud resumed his post as chairman, and his per sonal authority greatly enhanced the effectiveness of the Vaasa government.1 The White government remained a very modest institution to the end; it never had more than 26 officials, and its informality astonished the German minister Brlick when he arrived in March. He reported, "One cannot talk of ministries: the whole government is carried on in three rooms, where all the papers lie around completely unguarded when the government goes for breakfast. There is almost no secretarial staff." Briick was not exaggerating; all the ministers worked together in one big room; the two small rooms were kept for the chairman and the foreign affairs department. When he presented his credentials on 26 March, the German diplomat was in full uniform, but the Finnish ministers received him in ordinary dark suits, for as Svinhufvud explained, they had no others. The climax came when the letter of credential from the Kaiser was handed over: Svinhufvud took it, "pulled out his big Kauhuva puukko, and cut the letter open with one stroke. 'Let us se now what Kaiser William has written,' Svinhufvud said." Briick commented, "The occurrence and this peculiar manner of opening the Imperial letter made such a deep impression on me that I shall always preserve the memory of it." The episode was a fitting monument to the Vaasa government; it wasted no time on empty ceremonial, it was crude, pragmatic, and it worked.2 The White government faced two main internal problems, food and finance. Food presented no immediate difficulty, for White Finland had a food surplus; the suspicions voiced by the socialists were correct, the farmers had had large stocks that they had been concealing, and since the cities did not have to be supplied, White Finland in general experienced no food shortage and the army was always fed adequately. The exceptions were some remote communes in the north and east that were not self-sufficient, were a long way from a railway, and difficult to supply. Some of them came close to starvation, but there was not much the government could have done about it. This state of affairs lasted into April, after which the stocks were consumed and, with the recovery of the south, the cities had to be fed On 16 April the bread ration was halved, and a period of real crisis began, but by then the war was almost won. The White regime never had the acute food problem that haunted the Red government throughout its existence; to enjoy the enthusias tic support of the farming community was a major advantage. Finance was never a serious problem for analogous reasons; the monied elements were friendly to the government, and in addition they had two bits of luck: the gold reserve was in Kuopio and could be used to raise foreign credit, and the Governor of the Bank of Finland happened to be abroad in January, and his personal authority sufficed to maintain normal contacts with foreign banks. Thus although most of the taxable 307

capacity of the country was in Red Finland, the government could raise the credit it needed: The private banks put their resources at the disposal of the government and a series of loans was taken, beginning with a million marks on 8 February. On 27 March, a short-term loan was offered to the public of 200 million marks, and was quickly oversubscribed, raising 278 million marks. This seems to confirm another socialist allegation that the Finnish farmers had more cash than they knew what to do with. In consequence, the two major problems of the White governmen were adequately resolved.3 A normal wartime government would have been occupied mainly with raising and running its armed forces, but the Vaasa government was not normal. Like its Red counterpart, it had no war department, and at the beginning scarcely had an army. The statement of 1 February described the White Guard, correctly, as "this voluntary national defence organisation." Such military business as was handled by the government was dealt with by Frey, through the internal affairs department, which had a special section for military affairs. The only independent moves made by the government towards raising armed forces were an appeal of 6 February for all fit men to volunteer for the White Guard, and their promise to set up a national commissariat to support the Guard; but they quickly found that such initiatives were not acceptable to their commander-in-chief. So, as Arajarvi wrote, the government's role in military affairs was strictly limited. "In the government we naturally followed adequately what happened at the front, however it is obvious that we did not want, and generally had no occasion either, to take up a position on these matters." This was just as well, for Mannerheim would not have tolerated their interfering with the running of the war for a moment. He wrote, "The government in Vaasa had set up a modest military affairs department, whose head was minister Frey, but this department did not have sufficient competence, or the strength, to see to the organisational and material questions that had to be decided." Mannerheim ran the war, and though Headquarters was his tool, the concentration of power was intense. His biographer, Heinrichs, said bluntly, "Mannerheim ruled alone," and General Peyron, a member of the staff at Headquarters, remembered:4 The commander-in-chief united in his person —both at the beginning of the war and during it—those functions which in Sweden, in war-time, are handled by the commander-in-chief, the defence minister, the chief of army administration, and in many cases the chief of staff. In the early days Mannerheim did not hesitate to conduct relations with foreign powers over the heads of the government, and issue all kinds of orders about purely domestic matters, such as the circular of 7 February requiring the suppression of the socialist newspapers. Friction between the commander-in-chief and the government was inevitable in any case, but it was exacerbated by Mannerheim's attitude, described by one of his Swedish officers, that "the government is a collection of slightly troublesome nullities." He expected them to do what they were told, and resented any tendency of the ministers to assert authority over him. Mannerheim wrote to his brother Johan on 21 February:5 308

I have further the impression that Renvall, now when in his opinion the situation is no longer as dangerous, is prevaricating and growing self-important. For the moment, certainly, they yield to my wishes without a murmur, but it seems to me that he, on occasion, would gladly oppose. It is easy to see why Mannerheim saw the Vaasa ministers as men of limited, provincial outlook, but even the loyal Heinrichs could see his mistake in allowing his opinion to be so obvious. Heinrichs noted that the ministers "were in no way personally deficient, narrow-minded and irresolute bureaucrats," and if they lacked Mannerheim's experience of the great world, "they also did not have his personal sensitivity about prestige, or his touchiness over formalities, or the unhappy choice of procedures, which appeared rather often in Mannerheim." Further, the ministers had to cope not only with Mannerheim's prima donna tendencies, but also with his frequent ignorance of domestic circumstances. Heinrichs summed up the problem: "It was not very easy to guide and enthuse a commander-in-chief, still to some extent ill-acquainted with the prevailing modes of thinking, without offending him and thus upsetting their collaboration." The tension between the government and the commander-in-chief became so great that on 15 February a Swedish officer at Headquarters wrote that the question was "will the commander-in-chief dismiss the ministers, or the ministers the commander-in-chief." This was overdramatic, for both sides knew that they needed one another, but on 17 February the government did travel to Headquarters and a demarcation agreement was worked out. Broadly, foreign affairs and internal civilian matters were to be left to the government, but all military matters were reserved to Mannerheim alone. 6 This tension was the more dangerous because elements within Mannerheim's forces were opposed to some aspects of his policy, and naturally they sought to use the government as a channel for promoting their opposition. Two issues generated permanent discontent among the members of the White Guard: One was the language question, and arose because the working language of Headquarters was Swedish. A typical protest from Jyvaskyla on 17 February stated: 7 . . . letters and documents . . . come to us in an insulting form, offensive in the extreme to our national feeling, solely in the Swedish language . . . there is now a principle at stake, and the national honour of Finland's Finnish-speaking people. Mannerheim was not to blame for this; he could see the danger, and wrote on the Jyvaskyla petition that all orders to Finnish-speaking areas must be sent in Finnish, but many of his officers regarded the need for translation as a tiresome chore, imposed on them to satisfy the demands of provincials and peasants. Orders continued to go out in the wrong language, and when they did, Mannerheim was blamed. The second issue was that of "Russian" officers, which was often connected to the language issue, since such men often spoke no Finnish at all, or "speak such a kind of Finnish that tears come into the listeners' eyes." They also had often preserved from their service in Russia an attitude of contempt for the lower orders, 309

and civilians in general. Numerous cases came up of White Guard volunteers refusing service under "Russian" officers; a Swedish observer noted "in the minds of the men of the White Guard, former Finnish-Russian officers are dubious and defective types." There were embittered protests that such officers "treat free inhabitants and volunteer fighting men like some satrap from tsarist times," and a group of White Guard soldiers in Pohjanmaa declared that resentment is "beginning to boil over, because Swedish and Swedish-Russian behaviour towards us Finns is intolerable. These careerists have seized positions in the army and its administration, and they treat us Finns like dogs." Feelings grew to the point where a delegate meeting of White Guards was held in Vaasa on 15 February, demanding that the government arrange for some kind of representative body to be attached to Headquarters, so that their views should be heard. It was a measure of Mannerheim's ability that he set aside the deep repugnance he felt towards the very idea of representative councils, for he had bitter memories of the Soviets in the Russian army of 1917, and invited the spokesman of the Vaasa meeting to come to Headquarters to discuss the problem. It was agreed that a "Consultative Council" of seven should be set up at Headquarters to represent the views of the White Guard rank and file, though its members were selected by Mannerheim. It was agreed that the Consultative Council should be the channel of communication between the White Guard movement and Headquarters, and that it would participate in recruiting and in establishing discipline and morale. The professionals at Headquarters tried to deny the Consultative Council rights of direct access to the commander-in-chief, but once this opposition was overcome, the Consultative Council settled down to do valuable work, in particular in helping Mannerheim to reorganize the White Guard troops into regular military formations during March and April.8 The setting up of the Consultative Council and the demarcation agreement of 17 February did not end the tension between Headquarters and the government. The ministers continued to be flooded with complaints against Headquarters, and on 6 March drafted a letter to Mannerheim to complain that "the inferior military authorities interfere in the civil government of the country more than military reasons seem to demand as necessary," but on reflection the ministers did not dare send it. Instead, Frey went to Headquarters on 12 March to suggest the setting up of a ministry of war, but though Walden agreed and remarked that "it is curious that sensible people like Mannerheim cannot understand that they must submit to the same laws as the rest," Mannerheim was adamant against the idea. He would not tolerate the threatened limitation of his freedom of action, and the government did not dare to force the issue. They thought of a scheme whereby Headquarters and the government might exchange ambassadors, like two foreign powers, but their courage failed them again; the solution emerged on 21 March, when Mannerheim o nominated H. Akerman as his personal representative to the government. It did not help very much; Akerman wrote that "the job was not especially attractive, since I clearly understood that in this post I should between the hammer and the anvil." The friction went on until, after the war, it exploded and led to Mannerheim's 310

abrupt resignation. Heinrichs has observed that the situation did not allow the government "to supervise the measures of the military leadership, or even get to know about them" and this was essentially owing to "Mannerheim's hostile or obstructive position." This "certainly did not help the situation, on the contrary, little by little the government began to be influenced by the opposition to the commander-in-chief." Handling domestic politicians remained Mannerheim's blind spot; when he had to deal with them, his usual flair for coming to terms with distasteful realities seems to have deserted him.9 A major problem for any government in a civil war is what to do about the hostile elements in the population. White Finland contained a substantial minority of socialist sympathizers; in the elections of October 1917, out of the population of voting age, 26 percent had voted socialist, and 41 percent for the bourgeois parties. The rest who did not vote would be mainly without strong political commitment. The figures show a substantial minority of Red sympathizers among the population of White Finland, and it was naturally thought of as a security risk. Two kinds of thinking about the enemy were prevalent in White Finland, one based on law and one based on emotion. By law, the Reds were held to be in a state of armed rebellion, which involved two main offenses, valtiopetos—sedition, and maanpetos— treason. The government statement of 1 February described the enemy as having "risen, arms in hand, against the legal social order" and therefore to be "regarded as traitors." Thus the Red enemy were regarded as criminals, and in addition to their treason, if they killed anyone, it was murder; if they requisitioned anything it was theft; if they burned down property during military operations it was arson. All who aided or encouraged them were accessories to or instigators of crime. This legal attitude had the vital political consequence that the enemy were not belligerents, entitled to the protection of the laws of war, nor could there be any negotiations with them on terms other than unconditional surrender. When Sweden offered to mediate, the Vaasa government regarded the proposal as an insult. Frey wrote, "it certainly felt bitter that in this way we were ranked with those who . . . had risen in revolt against the legal government." Mediation was always refused on principle, whoever proposed it. The Swedish government was told:10 The struggle which is now in progress in Finland is not a class war . . . but is a collision between, on the one side a legal social order . . . and on the other side plain terrorist activity . . . the Finnish government cannot recognise for a moment these criminal gangs, which have initiated violence against all human and divine rights, are a belligerent party with whom negotiations are possible. On this issue the government and the commander-in-chief were united; Mannerheim told the Swedish minister that no mediation was possible "because the Reds have begun a rebellion against the government elected by parliament." This ensured that there could be no compromise settlement of the conflict, but that it would have to be fought to the bitter end, for the Reds literally faced the choice of victory 311

or death. If they were defeated, every one of them was legally liable to execution as a traitor, or faced the living death of long prison terms and permanent loss of rights of citizenship. But in war, emotions always count for much more than legality, and the outbreak of hostilities released some very powerful emotions indeed among the population of White Finland. The most powerful was an unreasoning hatred of Russians, as the supposed hereditary enemy of the Finnish people, which can only be described as racialist. E. Grotenfeld wrote during 1917, "Looking from the point of view of zoology, one can certainly regard Russians as human. But never from the point of view of being Finnish. In this country they are a plague. There is no means so bad that it should not be used to damage them." This could be dismissed as racist ranting, if it were not evident that such public statements were perfectly acceptable in White Finland and, more important, that they were backed by deeds. The White Finns practiced genocide against Russians; that is, they killed them systematically because they were Russian. During the fighting, Russians either were not taken prisoner or were killed after capture. P. Susitaival, who served as an officer in Karelia, where Russians were most commonly encountered, wrote:11 On the Karelian front, Russians—whether they were Mensheviks or Bolsheviks—did not live many hours . . . among the Karelian troops smouldering Russophobia was principally fired by the concept of the Russian as the centuries-old destroyer and enslaver of our people. Although usually Russians who were taken prisoner were shot at once, it was chiefly because we regarded them as representative of the bad qualities of their race . . . personally I felt repugnance about executing prisoners—except for Russians. Abundant evidence supports this attitude; a White soldier recalling operations at Muolaa wrote, "on the way we met a group of Russians, who had deliberately stayed behind. They were shot without mercy." These were killings done in the heat of battle, but there were others, done in cold blood, after the fighting was over. Some of the Pohjanmaa Russians, who had surrendered to Mannerheim on guarantee of their lives, were subsequently killed; about 100 were victims of a mass killing at Joensuu in April. Nearly all the 200 Russians captured at Tampere were slaughtered, and the capture of Viipuri was followed by an indiscriminate massacre of Russians. Thus White Finns not only talked freely of Russians being subhuman, they acted on that belief. It followed that the Finnish socialists who collaborated with Russians committed not just legal treason, but moral treason against their race. The sort of feelings this could arouse may be seen in the writings of E. Railo, who wrote in an article in Uusi Paiva:12 Whatever a low human race, the most savage and irrationally backward, raddled by drink and hereditary disease, wallowing in whoring and beastliness, can devise to destroy an ordered and civilised society, these elements are devising and this is all the more dangerous because they have as leaders, advisers and assistants—a large part of Ugria's own people . . . who made 312

alliance with the ravishers of its mothers, offered them its brides and sisters, borrowed murder weapons from them, and set about with them to destroy the land of their birth. . . . Has there ever been, anywhere, among any nation, committed such a dreadful, repulsive treason? Railo positively welcomed civil war: He represented the sound part of the nation as saying: Up to now I have prayed God to save us from civil war, but now I see it can no longer be avoided. . . . It is only a civil war in name, in reality it is a battle against both the grey and the Red Russians, against all possible cruelty and darkness. . . . And just because our own countrymen are on the enemy side, we must strike ever more sharply, since he only is brave who, with his own sword and his own unshaking hand cuts out of his breast the dreadful tumour. Railo was no isolated freak; many of those who set themselves up as the moral leaders of the White cause shared his feeling about the enemy. K. Wilkuna wrote how he had dreamed "of a cold dictator who, with cannon and machine guns, will sweep the streets clear of the rabble," and recalled the words of Luther about the rebellious peasantry, "Kill them like mad dogs. . . ."13 These murderous feelings towards the enemy, already very apparent even before the fighting began, were then built up by the official news and propaganda of the White regime. This first stressed the element of collaboration with the Russians, and then developed a picture of a dreadful Red terror, alleged to prevail with the encouragement of the Red leadership, wherever they had power. The facts about the Red Terror will be analyzed subsequently; it is sufficient to say that government propaganda grossly exaggerated its extent, totally ignored the efforts of the Red leadership to stop it, and embellished it with trimmings that were largely imaginary, but commonplace in any wartime propaganda—mutilation of corpses, murder of victims before the eyes of their families, sadistic torture of victims before death, priests crucified with bayonets on their own altars. Mannerheim played his full part in the campaign; a statement of 29 January already mentioned murders committed by the Reds and warned "the enraged farmers, arms in hand, will themselves come to judge the traitors." On 4 February he put out a special statement on atrocities, alleging torture and the killing of the wounded, which concluded, "let them know that if, after this, they continue their barbarities, the most severe penalties will be enforced against them." When the apparently mutilated corpses of seven White Guards were discovered at Mantyharju, Mannerheim ordered that the fullest publicity be given to the rather gruesome official report, embellished by photographs. And in his orders for the Tampere offensive of 13 March he declared to his soldiers, "Our starved and tortured brothers and sisters in southern Finland fix their hopes on you, the mutilated bodies of murdered citizens and the ruins of burned villages cry to heaven for revenge on the country's traitors."14 This propaganda, whose incidents of torture and sadistic cruelty were almost wholly imaginary, but which the cool and calculating Mannerheim clearly saw as an 313

excellent means of stimulating the fighting ardor of his troops, met a ready response. A typical petition to Mannerheim from Savo, on 7 March, related as fact that:15 houses have been blown up or burned, sometimes the house with its owners. Some hundred peaceful citizens have suffered the application of torture in the most beastly manner before they were murdered, bodies have been mutilated and robbed. It is highly improbable that the Savo petitioners invented this palpable nonsense in cold blood; the official propaganda of the government had thrown them into a state of mind that was impervious to factual evidence. And on the basis of this myth, there developed a persistent demand in the White population for revenge on and security against the alleged perpetrators. The Savo petitioners wanted their opponents to be destroyed, "all the agents of violence and perpetrators of disorder being made harmless." The idea suggested by Railo, that the socialists were a disease to be eradicated by surgery, took powerful hold. The Activist poet, B. Gripenberg, wrote:16 A tree which bears poisoned fruits shall not be cultivated or cherished, it shall be pulled out by the roots and thrown on the flames as firewood. And Finland's treacherous Reds, who dream of plunder and murder, shall be rooted out and driven from our liberated earth . . . our freedom and our future shall be built on other and better men. Gripenberg was an extremist, but the writer J. Aho was not, yet he expressed much the same sentiment when he wrote:17 I proclaim an eternal war of holy wrath on this crime and its perpetrators, until it has been settled. A renewal must be made impossible for as long a time as is possible for the present generation. The thorns must be torn out of the ground by the roots. The extent of the viciousness that had been released was shown in a notable article by the writer I. Kianto, when he questioned the wisdom of sparing the enemy womenfolk: "Is it not prejudice or downright short-sightedness to leave unpunished precisely those who, simply by adding to their families, strengthen the enemy force? Would it not be a correct tactic to take some stated percentage of the second sex of the enemy?" He went on to assure his readers that those who carried out such a work would be inspired by no feeling of hatred, but would be "creating a great new Finland, the vigilant representatives of the fatherland and high idealism." Christian compassion towards the enemy was not wholly suppressed: The members of "The Young Womens' Christian Society" of Mikkeli wrote to Mannerheim about the captured "betrayers of the fatherland." They appreciated that most would be shot, but those "who are not shot on the spot at the front," ought to have the chance to see a priest before they were executed.18 In these circumstances it was inevitable that those Reds who lived under White control, or who fell into their hands during operations, would be subjected to severe 314

repression. Official orders to the White Guard were to disarm the enemy and "to arrest without delay all persons who have shown themselves dangerous to the public safety and all those who were known to have been in the rebel forces." No clear policy existed on what should be done with the prisoners, but in the early days occasional orders from Headquarters authorized their trial by court-martial, and some specified that "murderers and arsonists secured during military operations should be shot." The general tenor of official policy was that Reds taken in arms could be tried and executed, though it tended to suggest that this should be restricted to those guilty of criminal violence. Where there was no fighting, the Whites had sometimes entered into negotiations with the local socialists, but Headquarters always insisted that negotiations must be terminated, the socialist leaders arrested, and their political activity suppressed. It was then very common for some kind of local tribunal to consider who could be released and who should be retained in custody.19 Where fighting had occurred, repression was immediately more severe. At Ylivieska a White Guard was killed in a brief skirmish on 28 January. When the local Red Guard commander was captured, the local White community called for his death; "they said they would live in fear as long as he was alive," and he was shot. This was one of several cases in which individuals were killed by informal local decision, but where larger numbers were involved, some more formal procedure was adopted. In Kemi and Rovaniemi, 13 captured Reds were shot after trials by courtmartial, a severity that reflected the insecurity of the White authorities in an area known to have strong Red sympathies. At Vartsila where, after days of negotiating, last-minute resistance by some Red Guards caused the Whites seven casualties, there was a demand to shoot all the hundred odd prisoners. The leaders of Joensuu White Guard said, "We do not take prisoners of war, they should be shot at once." Pell, who was in command, had doubts and consulted Sihvo at Antrea. They decided to be content with the trial and execution of seven or eight of the prisoners. Thus at the very beginning of the civil war a pattern of murderous repression, by popular demand, was set in White Finland.20 Mannerheim seems to have been content to leave the process of repression to local initiative at first, but the matter was on his mind. One of the first remits to the new Consultative Council was to draft rules on courts-martial and the treatment of prisoners. The Council produced a memorandum on 19 February in which they suggested that courts-martial were perfectly legal, but they should consider that "a very considerable part of our people is behind enemy lines," and that to make extensive use of courts-martial might invite reprisals. "This circumstance seemed to be, at present, a sufficient reason for limiting the activity of courts-martial." However, some repression is necessary; otherwise "there is no guarantee that the extremely incensed and offended troops will not take disciplinary power into their own hands, and in that case the innocent could easily suffer with the guilty." So they recommended that while anyone attempting resistance behind the lines might be shot out of hand, and this would not be a judicial process but "emergency defence," those who surrendered in open battle might be taken prisoner. Those who did not offer armed resistance, but were still considered dangerous, could be 315

arrested and detained indefinitely. They then added a code of detailed rules for handling prisoners. Procope, the head of the legal department at Headquarters, was unhappy with the draft; he thought the provision on taking prisoners too imprecise; "it seems to me repugnant to begin shooting people who have laid down their arms, but they should be imprisoned and sent later for trial in the courts."21 Mannerheim ignored Procope's reservations, and embodied the suggestions of the memorandum in orders that he issued on 25 February. The first, to all commanding officers, said that the use of courts-martial was forbidden; any outstanding death sentences were suspended, and accused must be held for trial by "the relevant courts." The second was a public manifesto saying that all who "in the rear of the army" committed sabotage, espionage, or armed resistance or were found in possession of arms, were "to be shot on the spot." In addition, anyone else deemed a security risk could be arrested and detained. He endorsed the rules for the treatment of prisoners, and concluded "a rebel who lays down his arms in open battle and surrenders, may be taken prisoner at the discretion of the commander."22 Mannerheim's defenders have pointed out correctly that the draconian shooton-the-spot provision applied only to the rear areas, and was in accord with the accepted practices of war. But they go on to argue that the other provisions meant that Reds who surrendered in battle were to be treated as prisoners of war. It is assumed that he shared the view of his sister Sophie, then in Red Helsinki, who had written on 25 February, "I hope with all my heart that there will be no kind of counter-measures instituted, when the Whites have won. Many have joined the Reds out of genuine conviction." It is also true that an order of 13 March did specify that "all Red Guards are to be held prisoner" and stressed that "individual justice may not be exercised." Further, the orders for the assault on Tampere on 26 March say that "during the conquest of Tampere it is to be strictly observed that an enemy who surrenders is to be treated as a prisoner of war and that no action shall stain the clean record of Finland's White army." He did add that a lot of foreigners then in Tampere would witness what happened, and "from their accounts will depend to a great extent our country's reputation as a civilised nation." Mannerheim was obviously aware that his troops did not always take prisoners, but it looks as though except for the foreign observers this would not have worried him too much. It remains incontestable that the order of 25 February was permissive about taking prisoners, and if Mannerheim had intended to make it mandatory, he certainly would have said so. Mannerheim's private thoughts on the matter remain inscrutable and could have been ambivalent. As a professional soldier, who took a pride in his profession, he disliked any manifestation of indiscipline or arbitrary conduct by men under his command. But he could not see the Finnish Reds as opponents entitled to the protection of the rules of war. He told a German journalist, who had been urging the need for conciliation, that "there can be talk only of punishment." When asked what kind of punishment, Mannerheim replied "this will be determined by law. The revolutionaries have made themselves guilty of high treason and insurrection and the punishment for that is death . . . that is the law that must be followed." The ambivalence in the order of 25 February could reflect the ambiva316

lence in Mannerheim's own mind and also the realistic calculation that if he gave a less permissive order, it would not be obeyed and he would put his own authority at risk.23 The fact is that the killing of prisoners continued at an accelerating pace, and Mannerheim took no effective action to stop it. When Red Guards surrendered during battle their chances of survival remained very uncertain. When Wegelius went into action for the first time on 15 March he wrote in his diary that "a whole group of Reds was shot after capture . . . I was present at the capture. Some more Red (ca.50) were shot down after the capture." On the following day his unit moved on "after another 12 Reds were shot in passing." The tone of these diary entries suggested that for him these were quite acceptable occurrences.24 There were those in the White camp who deplored the repression, either on moral grounds or on grounds of expediency, because of the damage it would do to the future of the nation. On the whole the Lutheran clergy had a deplorable record; some figured as incendiaries who urged on the killing, like the priest of Kajaani who demanded that "all the leading men should be rendered harmless to the nation, if they do not fall in the fighting they should be shot . . . whether they have taken part in the bloodshedding or not." But a few clergy insisted that what they saw as God's cause must not be stained with brutality. The priest at Jaaski told his flock that "we have not set out to gratify the animal within us, to seek honour or revenge, but to protect humanity. That is why God is on our side." He was not alone; the theologian A. Pietila published a pamphlet entitled "The Desire for Revenge is the Destruction of the Nation."25 The voices of Christian conscience were joined by others from the world of culture. The writer V. Kilpi reminded the Whites that the workers constituted half the nation, and "the zealous justice fanatics forget that the punishment which they demand, if it is to be fundamental and impartial, will affect one half of the Finnish nation, a half without which the nation cannot function." J. Aho soon got over his initial bitterness and his diary recorded his distaste for the mentality of punishment and revenge: "It is appalling this gulf of detestation and hate, which has split the two classes of the nation. It will be loathesome, intolerable to live out the remainder of one's life in this country."26 Many must have sympathized with such views, but they were warned by the fate of U. Hannula, a politician and editor with impeccable Activist credentials, to keep quiet. Hannula published two articles against the Terror in Pohjolan Sanomat on 16 and 18 February. They were headed "Stop the Executions" and "A Different Procedure is Needed." He accepted that Reds who had taken up arms were guilty of treason and might be punished legally for it. But there was a law higher than the written law, "the law of conscience" and this prescribed "be generous to the conquered." Hannula denounced the repression as both wrong and self-defeating:27 By these numerous executions . . . we do not prevent anything, we add oil to the burning fire. One can arouse fear and trembling among the opponent by executions. . . . For the greater part it awakes the bitterest hatred and an unquenchable thirst for revenge . . . those who lie conquered before us are men of Pohjanmaa like ourselves-let that be remembered . . . the shooting of an 317

unarmed prisoner is violence, it is murder—I shall never shift from that conviction. The local White authorities were outraged, threatening to close the paper if any more writing like that appeared in it. None did; Hannula bowed before the force of public opinion. It is to the credit of bourgeois Finland that some questioned the rightness or the wisdom of criminalizing and punishing their enemies. But those who spoke out were pitifully few, and they were not heeded. It was Hufvudstadsbladet that voiced the consensus when it wrote that "no pity can be shown to people who have committed such beastly acts of violence as the Red ruffians. . . The purge must be carried out thoroughly so that it will have the intended effect."28 The fate of the socialists in White Finland was a harsh one. At best they were harassed, their organizations destroyed and their assets confiscated, their newspapers closed, and all public activity forbidden to them. Those who had been in the Red Guard, or otherwise prominent in public life before the war, faced the hazards of arrest, imprisonment, and possible death. At best the socialists and their families could hope to live as second-class citizens under the armed vigilance of their local political enemies, with a central government that had neither the will nor the capacity to protect their legal rights. Some changed sides under pressure but most of the Reds, though cut off from their leaders and brutally repressed, suffered in silence and brooded on their grievances. When the war began, White Finland had a commander-in-chief but it did not have an army. The White Guard was a volunteer militia and Mannerheim had to accept it as he found it. The White territory comprised eight surviving military districts—the North, Oulu, Vaasa, Satakunta, Jyvaskyla, Mikkeli, north Savo, and Karelia. Each district was divided into areas that were groups of communes and the commune provided the basic White Guard unit of one or two companies. Even this scheme was incomplete and, as late as 8 March, the Consultative Council found communes that had been assigned to more than one district and others that had been assigned to none. The initial task of the White Guard was to clear their home territory of the enemy and to secure it, and this remained their primary function. But Mannerheim had appealed to them to form detachments for service at the front, and by mid-February this had produced about 3,000 fighting men, predominantly the young and the adventurous. They had no uniform organization, and were really miniature private armies. At the Vilppula front in early March, there were 14 companies of White Guards, ranging in size from 75 to 216 men.29 There were major obstacles to organizing or enlarging this heterogeneous force: The first was the fierce localism that did not recognize an obligation to serve outside the home territory, of men "to whom the frontier of the fatherland is behind their own barn." When Kuopio declined to send men to help Karelia, they told Mannerheim "the Savo people would now, as always, rather fight for their home area than for Karelia." The more active areas quickly began to feel "a dissatisfaction which is based on injustices appearing in the uneven distribution of the defence burden." A Kemi newspaper had the grace to acknowledge that "the south Pohjanmaa spirit of giving everything, of all pulling together, had not yet blown through here." 318

Outside Pohjanmaa and Karelia, the call for men to go to the front met with a poor response. The other major barrier to development was the shortage of weapons. Until 17 February, the Whites had only their pre-war stocks and what they had captured, which should have amounted to 18,000 rifles and 70 machine guns. But the bulk of this had been captured by Pohjanmaa White Guard, and they were keeping about half the rifles in their own home territory. A circular from Gerich on 9 February complained, insisting that rifles be issued only to those willing to go to the front, but it was in vain. Thus the situation was that men who were armed stayed at home, while others who were willing to fight had no weapon. On 11 February, Wetzer reported from Vilppula the arrival of 150 volunteers, for whom he had only 50 rifles. The situation did not improve; a further circular on 16 February complained of the accumulation of weapons in the rear, and on 25 February Mannerheim complained that Vaasa was still sending unarmed recruits, although they must have 12,000 to 13,000 rifles available. So he was reduced to sending unarmed reliefs to the front to take over the rifles of men going on leave.30 This state of affairs simply illustrated that the White Guard was a democratic organization, and Mannerheim did not control it. To them "it was new, strange and disturbing that the power of decision should be concentrated in a single hand, in matters and decisions about which the men of the provinces were accustomed to confer on and decide together." One right they were accustomed to was choosing their own leaders, and this made them especially resistant to attempts to thrust "Russian" officers on them from above. They wanted Ja'gers to lead them, men like Sihvo; Raahe White Guard wrote to the Consultative Council "enthusiasm would be quite different if we could get Ja'gers here, Ja'gers draw the whole nation along with them." The feeling against Mannerheim's "Russian" officers, which often included him, rose to the point where the Pohjanmaa White Guard sent a delegation to Sihvo in mid-February to ask him to displace Mannerheim as commander-in-chief; they "did not see how it could tolerate that alien and foreign-language conduct which has prevailed at Headquarters, but they wanted to get a Finnish man as commanderin-chief." Sihvo, whose loyalty to Mannerheim did not waver, gently dissuaded them, but it showed how uncertain was Mannerheim's hold over his troops. Indeed, these were genuine volunteers, over whom he could exercise little or no coercion; they were not being paid and they did not recognize military discipline. So they had, for instance, no compunction about arranging their own leave. One of the best known incidents occurred at Vilppula, where Wetzer came on a company drawn up at the station without orders. They told him they would hand in their rifles, but must go home for two days, as they had a funeral they must attend, and they needed a sauna and a change of clothes. They then boarded a train and left, but did in fact return promptly after the two days. When the Lapua White Guard informed Headquarters on 24 March that they would be going home on 30 March for the funeral of their leader, M. Laurila and his son, Mannerheim endorsed the message that they must be allowed; he knew he could not stop them.31 But there was also indiscipline and mutiny of a more familiar type; on 21 March Lofstrom reported how a Vaasa White Guard battalion had caused a panic by 319

leaving the line without orders. This stemmed from dissatisfaction with their officers, "who were very often drunk." This was not the first incident involving Pohjanmaa White Guards sent to Savo; there had been an incident in February that revealed many of the problems Mannerheim had to struggle with in using troops of this kind. The Vaasa men had been dispatched to Mikkeli, though they were not told what their role was to be. The arrangements for clothing and feeding them failed at four different stops on the way, and when they did arrive, they were broken up and put on guard duties. This was upsetting, since they were a Swedishspeaking unit, and felt incompetent to stand guard in a wholly Finnish-speaking area. When they complained, unsympathetic officers told them to "go to Hell" and called them "cowards and chickens." They said "it was impossible to have confidence in the command, orders seemed muddled and we do not know who to obey." All these confusions are not uncommon in military life and regular troops would have grumbled and carried on, but these men were volunteers and did not accept the idiocies of military service—they mutinied and went home.32 On 16 February Mannerheim sent three of his Swedish officers to inspect the front and report, to enable Headquarters to exercise more effective control. When the first Swedish officers arrived at Headquarters on 10 February and asked the chief of staff where the troops were and in what strength, he had replied, "I haven't the least idea." He exaggerated; Headquarters had quite a lot of information even then, but he did make the point that Headquarters had only a very tenuous control over the White Guard. The observation team reported on 18 February and what they found outraged all their professional standards. They said that "conditions are wretched. . . . Undisciplined behaviour, neglect of guard and garrison duties, generally unsatisfactory conduct and an attitude of dangerous local patriotism." Their only consolation was that "the situation was probably even worse on the enemy side."33 Mannerheim had known from the start that he could not win the war with troops like these. When Renvall asked him, at their first meeting, how long the war would last, "I thought a moment and then I said: 'three and a half months—and that prophecy was realised almost to the day." This was not inspired guesswork; but a realistic calculation of the time that would be needed to raise, train, and send into action a regular military force, and organize an officer corps and a command structure to direct it. After a period for recruiting and weapons procurement, he needed 6 weeks for training and another 6 to 8 weeks for the actual campaign to recover the south. These considerations shaped Mannerheim's strategy: He must defend his base with the White Guard volunteers and use the time gained to create a battleworthy army. He wrote:34 The objective could only be achieved by an organised offensive movement. For that, an army was needed, and its creation in turn needed a staff to organise the army and lead it. I did not hide from myself that it would take weeks before an army could be created of such striking power that it was able to defeat the enemy. 320

So Mannerheim adhered to the plan he had drafted before the war and on 28 January sent out a circular to begin enlisting men for regular service. On 29 January he established an artillery school at Pietarsaari, whose personnel were also to be regular troops. Initially he planned for four "flying corps," total I ing 4,000 men, to be raised in Pohjanmaa, but as he widened his territory his plans expanded and the definitive scheme approved on 14 February was for 20 battalions of infantry, five to eight squadrons of cavalry, and six artillery batteries, about 10,000 men altogether. The officers and NCOs would be provided by the Ja'gers, and the men would enlist for three months, or the duration of the war, at a basic monthly pay of 450 marks. The idea of raising regular forces met with opposition from the start: Some was idealist, declaring that the national cause should not depend on what were, in effect, mercenaries; some was practical, believing that it would be invidious to have some fighting men who were paid alongside volunteer troops who were risking their lives for nothing. In vain, Headquarters pointed out that the regulars were volunteers too, and their pay was only compensation for loss of earnings; resistance was such that a critical situation developed. It was worst in Karelia, where Warnhjelm had to warn Mannerheim on 15 February that a deputation was coming to demand the postponement of recruiting in Karelia. Mannerheim received the deputation, but insisted that recruiting must proceed. However, this was an issue on which Warnhjelm and Sihvo were united; they feared their best men would leave the front to enlist, and that the new force would deprive their White Guard troops of equipment. When Mannerheim visited the Karelian front from 22 to 24 February, he had talks with Sihvo at which a compromise emerged; all the front-line men in Karelia would be incorporated into the regular force and paid, and a limited number of additional men would be recruited. Orders were issued that recruitment, which was supposed to have begun in Karelia on 18 February, should now begin on 24 February, but on that very day Mannerheim finally decided to replace voluntary enlistment by conscription.35 It was not the resistance in Karelia that forced the change of policy, but the general failure of recruiting for regular service over the whole country. Only Jyva'skyla was close to raising its full quota; Oulu had 520 men by 23 February, barely a third of the establishment, Vaasa was worse, and Mikkeli and Kuopio had only a handful of recruits. Mannerheim had difficulties even over these, since local commanders persistently tried to siphon them off for immediate front-line service. On 25 February, a general circular insisted that this must stop, and on 5 March, he wrote a strong reprimand to Lofstrom: 36 You know my strict organisational plan. The paid men are to be formed into field battalions. . . . They may not in any circumstances be exchanged with White Guard men, nor are they at your disposal. You must at once take measures to clear up the disruptions, which your interference in my organisation has given rise to. The final orders for organizing the paid regulars were issued on 3 March. There 321

were about 3,200 men, who would form six battalions, in two Grenadier Regiments. The officer corps was mixed,, the seniors being mostly ex-Russian service officers, the juniors a mixture of Ja'gers and recruits from the Voyri courses. The men were concentrated in Pohjanmaa by 8 March, and had one week for training together before Mannerheim sent them into action in his Tampere offensive. That meant they were inadequately trained, they had no uniforms, their level of equipment was uneven, but still they provided a semiprofessional nucleus with which to conduct the first major offensive movement of the White army.37 Mannerheim always intended to impose proper organization on the White Guard troops and assimilate them into his military establishment; he was able to make a serious start after 17 February, when the first major arms delivery arrived, together with an advanced party of Jager instructors. Over the next few days, orders were issued for the White Guard to be organized in standard-sized companies and battalions, and for fresh operational reserves to be raised, 3,500 in Satakunta, 1,500 from Jyvaskyla, and 1,000 in Savo. The men now must be prepared to engage to serve for a fixed period, and they were offered pay at the same rate as the regular troops. On 8 March, Mannerheim asserted his sole right of commissioning and promotion in the White Guard troops, and on 16 March it was formally established that they were subject to military law. After 15 March, a further seven battalions of White Guard troops were raised, and though the process of standardizing units was slow and uneven, the companies and battalions were mostly complete by April. On 20 April, a regimental structure was added, with seven territorially based regiments of White Guard troops on active service. Karelia retained its own peculiar arrangements throughout. The White Guard units were always second-line troops, organization and training remained in the hands of the largely amateur District Staffs, and their officers and instructors represented what was left over when all other needs had been met.38 Voluntary recruiting had clearly failed; it produced less than a third of the regular troops that Mannerheim calculated would be needed, so he had had to consider conscription. There was much to be said for this in any case; it was seen as an equitable way of spreading the burden, and was a concept familiar to Finnish society. Finns had lived with conscription for centuries and had been free of it only from 1900 to 1917, while the conscription law of 1878 had never been repealed, only suspended. The government had already asserted on 6 February that all able-bodied men had a duty to serve in the White Guard, and there was popular demand for conscription too. A typical resolution from a public meeting on 5 February declared "We do not want a few voluntary sacrifices, but we demand that every honest citizen take up arms."39 The pressures for conscription were so clear that it has to be explained why Mannerheim and the government hesitated to adopt it. There were two major considerations, one moral and one practical. In a civil war it was morally objectionable to compel men to fight, not only against fellow countrymen, but against a cause with which they might be in sympathy. A large number of the conscripts were bound to be socialists. This raised the practical question of whether it was safe to 322

put arms in their hands, and whether the resulting military formations would be politically reliable. Mannerheim was moved by both considerations and was not a man who liked changing his plans—he had meant to raise a field army by voluntary enlistment and it took heavy and sustained pressure before he would recognize that this had failed. Mannerheim discussed conscription with the government on II February, and thought there might be merit in asserting the principle to bring the White Guard troops under military discipline. He still did not want to use it for his field army. The government, after taking legal advice that the law of 1878 could be reactivated by government decree, and after consulting the politicians, drafted a manifesto that on the basis of the 1878 law all men between 18 and 40 were liable for service. The draft was shown to Mannerheim on 17 February and he approved it and it was published on 18 February.40 The manifesto used the myth of the Red Terror to cover its dubious legality, citing a desperate need to free the south from "that terrorist regime, which the enemies of the legal order are exercising, murdering, plundering, imprisoning and torturing the peaceful and law-abiding inhabitants." It was stated that conscription would be used to raise a field army, "a sufficient body of closely organised troops, who can at any time be moved wherever the commander-in-chief sees it necessary to save the fatherland." It was conceded that all the provisions of the 1878 law could not be operated; "the establishment of regular forces, observing all the provisions of the conscription law, would take too much time." So the government issued its own regulations: Each commune would set up a conscription board, to include a representative of the White Guard and a doctor, and every man between the ages of 21 and 40 on 1 January 1918 must report to it. Only those regarded a "reliable and fit for the national defence" would be registered for service. They would be enlisted in the White Guard at once, and the commander-in-chief could then requisition the numbers he wanted for regular service. The rest would stay in their own area, and be subject to training there. Men taken for active service would get two marks a day pocket-money and their families would become the responsibility of the commune. The manifesto did not specify whether or not known Reds should be conscripted and the government's intention was explained to a gathering of members of parliament on 28 February, when Arajarvi said that "Reds are also to be taken in, if they are willing to restore order. Those who are not regarded a sound enough in spirit for a weapon to be put into their hands without danger," could be taken for unarmed service.41 The law was put into effect without delay; 88 communes had held their registration by 2 March, and 150 more by 9 March, leaving only a handful who were later. The response to call up was about 70 percent, and as Mannerheim remarked, "the percentage who stayed away from the call-up was gratifyingly small." Once the men were registered, about half were exempted on various grounds, and a further quarter rejected on medical grounds, and this left the problem of identifying who was politically unreliable. In larger communities it was not easy to know what a man's politics were, but the authorities tried to make rough classifications such as "Red," "semi-Red," or "pinkish," and to avoid sending such men for front-line service. 323

Many obviously were sent in ignorance, and in a few areas the quotas could not have been filled without sending Reds, particularly in the far north, and in Jyvaskyla, where up to a third of the men were reckoned to be socialists. The military authorities naturally tried to discourage the dispatch of active Reds to fighting units; the Karelian District protested strongly at being sent "unreliable persons (Reds) in large numbers, . . . such conduct is against the specific orders of the government, and also contrary to the true ends of the war." On the other hand, local conscription boards ran into local criticism if they allowed all the Reds exemption from active service, and some communes undoubtedly saw a chance to get rid of troublemakers. Korpilahti observed that "these people are unsuitable for guard duties, but are to be sent somewhere else, to the front for the most part." The results were seen at the receiving end; units had to get rid of numbers of the conscripts they were sent, "the worst elements and the biggest agitators," before they went near the front. One example was a batch of 260 conscripts from Nurmes, sent to Karelia on 18 March. "A good half of these were pure Reds," and on the train they sang Red Guard songs, so that the authorities did not dare to issue arms to them because "a completely Red Guard spirit prevailed," and they had to be used for labor service. Yet only one unit, a Kajaani company, actually mutinied on being ordered to the front; they were disarmed, and four of the leaders subsequently shot. The authorities remained nervous, particularly that conscripts might turn their weapons on the officers, and showed this by the substantial numbers of executions for mutiny and desertion.42 Once they were at the front, surprisingly little evidence exists of disloyalty under fire. Authenticated instances of conscript units taking flight or falling into disorder usually can be explained by defective training or poor leadership, rather than political disaffection. One battalion of conscripts from Mikkeli had to be driven into action under threat of shooting, and then broke up under fire, and a few other similar incidents were reported, but they are exceptional. A more insidious problem arose where conscripts and volunteers served together, for the volunteers distrusted the conscripts. One Savo unit reported, "Morale is low as long as we have among us the sort of people whom we cannot trust. Our volunteers wear themselves out in unnecessary guard duties because they fear that the conscripts will let the Reds through."43 After 18 February, Mannerheim clung stubbornly to his intention to recruit the field army from volunteers, then modified this to suggesting filling up the deficit with conscripts, but the problems of having units of volunteers and conscripts mixed together made this impractical. On 24 February, Torngren noted in his diary that he had made "a long report to the general, after which conscription was at last really to be put into effect," and he wrote to a friend in Sweden, "I think I can sa confidently that the revival of conscription, above all in the form in which it has happened, is our work," that is, the result of pressure from the Swedish staff officers. On 25 February orders were issued to levy 13,125 conscripts for front-line service; on 5 March there was a further levy of 14,975 men for the White Guard units and on 1 April a final levy of 8,000 men to provide replacement battalions for each regiment. These quotas were met, the first was the easiest, since once men realized 324

they must serve, and the upkeep of their families was assured, large numbers volunteered for active service, up to 60 percent of the first levy in some communes. Where selection was necessary, the younger men in the 21 to 25 age group were taken first, and unmarried men preferred before sole breadwinners or heads of families. Some communes that deliberately sent unsuitable material had up to a quarter of their men sent back as unfit for service, but most areas genuinely tried to send the best men. With the second and third levies, the quality naturally declined and more political unreliables had to be sent, but by then experience had shown that most of them were not dangerous. On the whole conscription worked astonishingly well, considering this was a civil war, and the whole scheme was legally dubious.44 There was resistance, some protests, mainly verbal at the initial registration, though usually armed White Guards were present to discourage this, and about 1,000 cases are known of refusal to report for active service. But resistance usually meant evasion of registration or flight; the dividing line between White and Red Finland could always be crossed by determined men, and some quite large groups did this. Nearly 300 men fled from Tainionkoski to Lappeenranta to evade conscription in early March, and there was refuge over the frontier in Russia or Sweden. Finally, concealment in the forest was possible, and was widespread enough to give rise to the phrase "forest guard" for this type of evasion. The scale of resistance usually related to the opportunity for success; 64 communes provided 6,100 draft evaders, the remaining 217 only 1,700, and nearly half of the 64 were either near the front-line or on the frontiers. The authorities tried to repress resistance and threatened "all the severity of the law" against evasion, but though rumors quickly spread that "if you do not go, you will be shot at once on capture," this was not the case. Generally open and active opposition would lead to arrest, and known escape routes were patrolled, but it was often beyond the capacity of the local authorities to arrest all who refused to register. On 29 March, Headquarters demanded full lists of evaders, with a view to taking proceedings, but most local authorities felt that when they had supplied the list, they had done enough. In fact, they could not do much legally; the conscripts were technically civilians and it was forbidden to use courts-martial against them, and this rule was not changed to cover men refusing military service until 2 May. So passive resistance usually did not entail serious consequences. In spite of the prevailing White Terror, only ten men seem to have been shot for refusing conscription, though another 30 to 40 were reported shot resisting arrest or trying to escape. The reason for the comparative mildness of the enforcement of conscription was undoubtedly the small scale of the resistance: at most, deliberate refusal of call-up amounted to 10 percent of those liable, and this did not prevent the smooth working of the system, nor deny the White army all the manpower it needed. The Swedish volunteer, Lieutenant-general Count W. Douglas wrote that all the fears expressed in advance about conscription "proved to a very large extent groundless: discounting the readily accountable exceptions, the conscripted soldiers did their duty towards the fatherland willingly and faithfully."45 Mannerheim had peculiar problems in finding officers for his army. At the beginning, apart from a handful of young Jagers, the bulk of the available officers either 325

had belonged to the old Finnish army, disbanded, in 1902, or had been in Russian service like Mannerheim himself. As a group they tended to be elderly, lacking in recent experience of active service, yet it is in the nature of the military profession that rank and age go together, so that Mannerheim found himself with an excess of seniors. As he said "it was not easy to find suitable posts for all these cadet and army comrades of the older generation." Mannerheim was a strong enough leader to stand firm against claims based only on seniority or old acquaintance: "When one has to choose men among the flames of war, who are fitted to lead military operations or carry out the organisation of an army under heavy pressure, political and other reasons must give way to simple competence." The limitations of choice that the available material imposed on Mannerheim was reflected in the unusual structure of his Headquarters. The key figure should have been the chief of staff, but after Wetzer left to command at Vilppula, his successor, Colonel K. Berg, proved unsatisfactory, and only at the beginning of March did Mannerheim find the man he wanted in Major-general G. Theslof. He had been trained as a staff officer, but had no recent experience, and his main role was as a conciliator, for he was "a flexible and civilised person . . . very suitable for smoothing out the frictions which in the difficult circumstances prevailing were unavoidable." He also had literary talents, and wrote or edited most of Mannerheim's speeches and manifestoes. The lack of modern military experience was unimportant, because Mannerheim used a chief of staff as a messenger and public relations officer, and kept the military decisions in his own hands. A second major figure at Headquarters was the quartermastergeneral, Major-general H. Ignatius, who was in charge of the operations section. He too had trained as a staff officer, but had left the service before 1914. However, Mannerheim did not value Ignatius for his military competence; in the operational section his role was psychological: "The fiery-minded quartermaster-general acted . . . as an incendiary," while the real professionals planned operations. Mannerheim said he chose Ignatius for his worldly experience, that he was "of those around me the best grounded in general affairs." Although the two men differed over foreign policy, for Ignatius was a strong Germanophile, they established a good relationship. Mannerheim described Ignatius as a man of "unlimited vitality," who "would always be faithful, in favourable and adverse circumstances, and . . . he would speak out his opinions honestly." 46 The third key figure at Headquarters was Major-general R. Walden, who had abandoned his military career at an early stage, and gone on to become a very successful industrialist. Mannerheim put him in charge of the commissariat and he did a magnificent job, and in the process consolidated a life-long intimacy with Mannerheim, becoming his chief link with the worlds of business and politics. Mannerheim wrote of Walden:47 He had to look after the greater part of all those things which, in normal circumstances, concern the ministry of defence, and the organisational and technical departments subordinated to it . . . it gave me a feeling of great security . . . the commissariat worked satisfactorily for the whole period of 326

the war. For this we have to thank Walden. He . . . earned my unlimited confidence . . . was my best assistant and friend. Walden's success underlined Mannerheim's personnel problem: Commissariat work is essentially civilian work, and competent civilians could be found to do it. But men like Theslof and Ignatius could not supply a comparable military competence. Both men had what Heinrichs called, tactfully, "their weaknesses." The report of a German agent suggested what these were, that Theslof "has no comprehension of military matters," and Ignatius "was completely drunk at an important military exercise." In fact, by 1918 both men were really civilians, and Mannerheim felt this; he told Torngren on 10 February that he was "tired of civilians." Torngren himself wrote, "Ignatius talks, or rather kicks up a row . . . he does not know in the least what organised work is ... everything is simply botched." Another observer recalled how:48 the style was such that whoever happened to be with the chief or nearby got to do anything, whether it was his concern or not. And that people rang up and asked what did this or that order mean, because they did not have the slightest idea about it. And that a document could disappear without trace, to surface some weeks later in some drawer, untouched and not put down in the books. It was claimed that Theslof gave important orders by telephone and did not write them down, and that "documents which concerned the relevant gentlemen were stuck into back pockets, without being entered in the books, and shown to cronies." In the early, small-scale, and primitive phase of the war, such defects mattered less than they might have done in different circumstances, but for the conduct of real military operations Mannerheim needed the help of professionals, and these could only be found abroad, effectively only in Sweden. On 28 January Mannerheim had sent the Prefect of Vaasa, T. Heikel, on a mission to Sweden to negotiate for the services of professional soldiers and the procurement of military equipment. Heikel had contacted Mannerheim's brother Johan, who was an influential businessman, and lobbied the foreign minister, J. Hellner, and the king. He found that although the king, the prime minister N. Eden, Hellner himself, the navy minister E. Palmstierna, and the Social Democrat leader H. Branting were all personally sympathetic to the cause of White Finland—as Hellner put it, "for my own part, personally, I was inclined to help him and the Finnish government as much as possible"—official Swedish government policy was reserved and unhelpful. Branting said that "he feels a moral imperative compelling him to help the Whites," but most of his socialist colleagues felt an opposite moral imperative. The socialist Speaker of the Lower Chamber asked Palmstierna, "How could you think that you could allow Finnish workers to be shot?" and even a moderate party member like Wigfors, who "from a general democratic position regrets the stand of the Finnish Social Democrats," was still absolutely opposed to Sweden helping the White cause. Since the Swedish government depended on socialist 327

support and was nervous of the reactions of the trade unions, it drew back from getting involved. Palmstierna noted on 5 February, "It seems the solidarity of the workers is overcoming everything," and Eden told a pro-White lobbyist on 18 February, "I should like to help the Finns as far as I can. . . . But in the opinion of the socialists the Finnish war is a class war." Even the king bowed to political realities, so that a disgusted Swedish conservative wrote, "The worst is that the king is on their side in many things, among others on the Finnish question."49 Not only the fear of domestic political repercussion prevented the Swedish government from giving open support to the Whites; there was the delicate question of Swedish neutrality, when the White government was openly patronized by Germany. In consequence, the Swedish government could offer only limited facilities to Mannerheim, but they did allow him to recruit skilled military manpower, which could be done by granting leave to Swedish servicemen who wanted to enlist in Finnish service. Even then, the Swedish government refused to facilitate this by undertaking that the volunteers' subsequent careers in the Swedish forces would not be prejudiced. However, the political appeal of the White cause and the prospect of experiencing active service were enough to produce a good supply of candidates. Already on 1 February Gripenberg had reported a number of spontaneous volunteer and asked permission to sign them on, while Heikel, with the help of Johan Mannerheim, was able to start recruiting at once. Mannerheim's policy was clear; he telegraphed Gripenberg, "All Swedish officers are welcome." He then sent Theslof to Stockholm to help sort out the applicants, and on 7 February Theslof and Gripenberg telegraphed that the first batch was leaving at once, and most important, they had hired a complete team of staff officers, Captains Torngren, Peyron, Douglas, Malmberg, and Petersen, and they would come with "full office equipment and books." Theslof added that "getting permission from the government has caused some difficulties," and had delayed them a little, but "enthusiasm among the Swedish officer corps is as great and admirable, as the attitude of the Liberal government to our struggle for freedom is deplorable."50 These men, all young and professionally trained, provided the backbone for Mannerheim's operational staff, and though nominally subordinate to Ignatius, they took over military planning, and imposed professional order on what to their eyes looked like chaos. Torngren wrote to a friend on 22 February:51 Before our arrival here there were great difficulties, since they were quite unused to systematic staff work: now the organisation of Headquarters forges ahead all the time—the system is ready, but is not fully working yet, though there are many able men here—your order-loving mind would certainly feel satisfaction if you could come and see our operations section. The work of the Swedes was made easier because Swedish was the working language at Headquarters, and because when Mannerheim organized fronts, he made three Swedish officers, Malmberg, Grafstrom, and Rappe, chiefs of staff to his front commanders, so there was a solid line of Swedish officers linking Headquarters to the commanders in the field. In addition, Mannerheim hired Swedish specialists like 328

Hamilton who took part in training the artillery, von Heijne who was a communications expert, and a number of field officers, notably Colonel E. Linder, who, though a Swedish officer, had been born in Finland and became one of Mannerheim's front commanders. In the end, 34 active service officers and 50 reserve officers were recruited from the Swedish forces. Their position, as described by Mannerheim, was not "easy or rewarding." The best aspect was described by Torngren, "Mannerheim has shown us unlimited confidence. . . . there really could not be a greater confidence shown towards foreign officers." But the native Finns often had a different view; they resented the foreigners. Some resented their Swedish language, and when the Jagers got back, with their pro-German attitudes, hostility to the Swedes increased. Nor was Mannerheim easy to work for: The ideal that the Swedes aimed at was uniformity and decentralization at Headquarters, but the departmental heads had to be Finns and, in consequence, as Torngren wrote, "were all inadequate. So General Mannerheim became in practice his own chief of staff: In his person was embodied the unity of the country's military leadership, not just in name, but in practice." 52 The Swedes often were unappreciated by their hosts, but their work was of inestimable value to the White victory. When the Swedes arrived at Seinajoki on 10 February, they first tackled the chaos at Headquarters; the actual headquarters train was fenced off, casual strangers excluded, and indiscriminate collective habits of working ended. The new order was embodied in instructions of 15 February for the organization of Headquarters. It was divided into four staffs: The general staff under Ignatius dealt with operations; the weapons staff under von Rehausen dealt with supply of arms and ammunition; the commissariat staff under Walden handled all other supplies, transport, and communications, police and engineering work; and the general inspectorate under von Gerich handled recruiting and training. The working routine was prescribed: All staff officers met for a situation report at 9:00 A.M.; then each section chief reported to the commander-in-chief at a fixed time; general working hours were 9 to 12, 1 to 5:30, and 7:30 to 10. The front commanders, who were in charge of operations, reported directly to Mannerheim. All othe officers had to go through the appropriate department first. Each department kept a numbered register of all documents going in and out, and the general aim was to achieve a division of labor and regularity of method that would insulate Mannerheim from petty details and distractions and leave him free to concentrate on what mattered. The war situation was analyzed twice daily, and the reports presented to Mannerheim at 9:00 A.M. and 9:00 P.M., after which the orders for the day were issued. 53 Once a working Headquarters had been established, it was possible to reorganize the actual army. First, on 17 February, Mannerheim issued an order dividing the country into a war zone and a rear zone. In the rear zone, military authority was vested in the District commanders of the White Guard; their functions, as defined in orders of 11 March, were primarily internal security and the administration of conscription. They organized the registration, selection, and transport of recruits, and the basic training of the men not needed by the field army. Then in a second 329

order Mannerheim organized the war zone into four fronts. Starting in the west was the Satakunta front, provisionally under Major W. Bergh; then the Name front, basically the Vilppula position under Wetzer; then the Savo front under Lofstrom, and finally the Karelian front under Sihvo. The tasks of the four front commanders were to stand on the defensive and repel enemy attacks, prepare for a future offensive, secure and pacify their rear areas, and collaborate with the White Guard command in building up the troops. They might draw on the White Guard troops for their own purposes, insofar as these were not already requisitioned for the field army. Each front commander had his Swedish chief of staff, except Karelia, which, as always, was peculiar. Mannerheim had tried to make a provisional division of function between Warnhjelm and Sihvo on 14 February, with Sihvo serving as "leader of the battalions defending the Antrea position, but not as commander-in chief." When Mannerheim went to Karelia, Sihvo complained of the ambiguity of his position, which Mannerheim acknowledged, but did not see how he could displace Warnhjelm in favor of the much younger and more junior Sihvo. So a special solution was adopted; in Karelia the division into zones did not apply: Warnhjelm was nominal commander-in-chief, with Sihvo provisionally in charge of operations, pending the appointment of a front commander, which never happened; Sihvo reported both to Warnhjelm and directly to Mannerheim. This displayed Mannerheim's talent for compromise—the uniformity of his reorganization was disrupted, but the peculiar command structure in Karelia worked well enough in practice, and he left it alone.54 Mannerheim also had wanted to purchase arms in Sweden, but the Swedish government dared not cooperate in this. Hellner told the German ambassador that they could not give official permission for the export of weapons to Finland, but indicated the government might connive at smuggling. Gripenberg was actually advised by Hellner to smuggle out anything he succeeded in buying, because the government could not risk incurring socialist and trade union hostility. In face of this situation, no substantial supplies of weapons could be obtained from Sweden, and finally, on 22 March, Mannerheim closed down his purchasing bureau in Stockholm. The result could have been fatal: Sweden was the only country from which the Whites could have got immediate deliveries of war material, and until the first German delivery on 17 February, Mannerheim faced a terrifying shortage of arms and ammunition. If the Reds had managed to launch a sustained attack before then, the prospect was that they must succeed when the White stocks of ammunition ran out. As late as 21 February, Mannerheim wrote to Johan that they might yet be reduced to fighting with knives and cudgels.55 Johan Mannerheim also had made a contribution of his own, when together with Activist student circles in Sweden he founded an organization called "The Friends of Finland"—Finlands vdnner, which began advertising on 10 February for recruits for a "Scandinavian Legion." On 21 February Mannerheim wrote to his brother to welcome the initiative, "it could form, together with the Swedish-speaking units here, a fine support force under some senior Swedish officer." The more Mannerheim thought about it, the more he liked the idea, especially for its political implications.

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He was always anxious to persuade outside opinion that his war was not just a Finnish civil war, nor a German-sponsored adventure, but part of an international struggle with Bolshevism. An international brigade, that had no connection with Germany, would help to establish the image he needed. Once he knew that a German intervention would take place, he became even more interested. Torngren wrote on 5 March, "the Swedish Brigade . . . is a vital condition for the internal relations between Sweden and Finland. Mannerheim burns with impatience, he must get it to come before the Germans. . . . the question is now more political than military." This is confirmed by Mannerheim's order of 7 March, "Mannerheim holds it especially important that the Brigade should be involved in action as soon as possible." On 13 March, a public announcement was made that "a three-battalion Brigade of trained Swedish volunteers is now assembling on Finnish territory and will soon be fighting in our ranks." The facts lagged behind the image, for the expected flow of volunteers never materialized, and in the end only 511 men were enlisted and had to be organized as one weak battalion under a Swedish artillery officer, Captain H. Frizell. But the title Swedish Brigade was retained, and they took a prominent role in the fighting for Tampere, but in Mannerheim's view, their real significance was always political.56 The attitude of the Swedish government toward assisting White Finland was obviously shaped by domestic considerations, but important international considerations were involved as well. Since Germany had entered on a policy of negotiating with the Bolsheviks, and was thereby inhibited from further open intervention in Finland, her leaders had been interested in urging Sweden to act on their behalf. A dispatch to the ambassador in Stockholm said "Sweden is, in foreign affairs, in a freer position than we are, because we are in peace negotiations with the Russians." During December there had been hints that a Swedish intervention in Finland might O be rewarded by the cession of the Aland islands to Sweden, and once the revolution broke out, the Kaiser personally lobbied the Swedish royal family on Sweden's duty to help hold back the Bolshevik menace. But the Swedish leaders had rejected all such approaches because, as Hellner said, it seemed obvious that if Sweden did intervene, whether alone or with Germany, it would tend to embroil Sweden with the Entente powers, and he supposed this was the real purpose of German policy. Even conservative Swedes could see the danger; the king supported them, telling the Kaiser's emissary that a Swedish intervention in Finland would antagonize the socialists at home, as well as Russia, the Entente powers, Norway, and Denmark. This did not, of course, mean that the Swedish leaders were not interested in secures ing the Aland islands, only that they would not take them as a gift from Germany. They were pinning their hopes on the inhabitants of Aland, where already a strong party favored union with Sweden.57 The White leaders in Vaasa were not in fact looking for official Swedish intervention. Mannerheim kept up a consistent position, set out in a letter to Johan on 21 February that "it seems to me, however, impossible and from the point of view of Finland's prestige unfitting, to ask for intervention. But if it is a question of getting volunteers for the Finnish army, buying arms etc. I ask the government to take 331

steps at once." The Vaasa government was also against Swedish intervention; Renvall wrote that they did not wish "any action on the part of the present Swedish government." Even so, a request for intervention was made, because on 3 February Gripenberg received a telegram, conveyed through the Swedish consul in Helsinki and said to be "from the government," that said that the position in south Finland was desperate, that "there is complete anarchy here, the strongest measures must be initiated to get Swedish and German intervention." The source of the message must be Svinhufvud, for he used almost identical wording in a letter he wrote on 15 February and had smuggled out of Helsinki. Gripenberg had every reason to think he had received an official instruction and, without consulting Vaasa, presented a formal request to the Swedish government that it should intervene in Finland, which was refused at once; instead, the Swedish government made its offer to mediate. This set off a sudden deterioration in the relations of White Finland and Sweden, for although the Vaasa government did not mind the refusal of an intervention it did not want, it was offended, as has been noted, by the offer of mediation. At the same time, Finnish indiscretion angered the Swedish leadership. Mannerheim had sent the old Activist lawyer, Jonas Castren to Stockholm, partly to get rid of a rather tiresome old man, and partly to "get an energetic press campaign going." Castren indulged in flagrant interference in Swedish domestic politics, and crowned a disastrous visit by giving offense to the king, Gustav V, during an audience. Johan wrote to Mannerheim, "By his tactlessness he is getting the government against us and is spoiling everything that has been done here for the cause." This was true; the king told the German leaders that "the Finns themselves are not especially esteemed here, since they are ungrateful, and besides are bad at working with one another." Gripenberg had been asked to work with Castren to influence opinion, and he then committed the blunder of sending a telegram to Vaasa that he would do all he could to influence the Swedish government's actions, forgetting that all such messages went through the Swedish state telegraph. The Swedish government refused to transmit the message, and as Hellner said, found the suggestion distinctly offensive. O Finally on 8 February, a delegation of Alanders came to Stockholm to beg for Swedish intervention to save them from the alleged excesses of the Russian garrison. The king told them, correctly, that he could not act without the consent of the Finnish government, but the Swedish press opened a campaign in favor of helping the Alanders.58 Then on 10 February the party of White Guards led by Fabritius arrived at o Kumlinge on the fringe of the Aland islands, and made contact with Gripenberg in O Stockholm. Gripenberg encouraged them to hold on in Aland, arranging to send a boat, the Hero, with a load of 250 rifles, and obtained the permission of the Swedish government. When Mannerheim heard on 13 February, he approved strongly of an attempt to secure Aland for the Whites, though he tried to assert control: "No operations can be commenced in Aland until I have approved the plan." Fabritius had not waited for orders; on 12 February, he intercepted a Russian cable to the Area Committee that the position of the garrison was untenable and they proposed to 332

evacuate to the mainland. Some posts had only 25 men left of an establishment of 150. So Fabritius advanced and over the next two days his men mopped up a number of Russian outposts, with almost no resistance, and took a considerable quantity of arms. At the same time, he sent an emissary, Dr. Alfthan, to the island capital, Mariehamn, to negotiate for a Russian evacuation. Then came a dramatic shift in Swedish policy, for the government, perhaps influenced by the press campaign, ordered three warships to proceed to Aland, on 13 February, to take off any of the inhabitants who wanted to leave; it empowered the commander to negotiate with the Russians for an evacuation; at the same time the government stopped the Hem from sailing. The reasons for this Swedish action are inscrutable, and probably the government and king were themselves unclear what they were trying to do. Their O humanitarian concern for the Alanders was genuine, and if they wanted to talk the Russians into leaving peacefully it made sense not to send more weapons to the White Guard. But it was also the aim of Swedish policy to persuade Fabritius and his men to leave, so that the way would be clear for Swedish forces to take over the protection of the islands. To achieve this, they abused their control of the telegraph to deceive Fabritius and Gripenberg, and to prevent Mannerheim from intervening in events.59 o On Aland, the Swedish warships arrived on 17 February and negotiations were begun with the Russians and the White Guard. A truce was arranged, with the Russians indicating their willingness to evacuate. This plan was upset, however, when the icebreaker Murtaja arrived from Turku with 200 Red Guards on board and Fabritius decided on an immediate attack; the attack led to a battle at Godby, followed by another truce on 19 February. This showed a realization by Fabritius that he would need help if he was to finish the job, but the balance of success was certainly with the White Guard so far; they had taken 300 prisoners and quantities of arms, for the loss of five casualties and seven prisoners. Fabritius' position was strong enough to compel the Swedes to use deception to induce him to leave. First, o a misleading series of messages from Aland to Stockholm suggested that the White Guard were defeated and in grave danger. On the strength of these, Palmstierna, the navy minister in charge of the operation, persuaded a reluctant Gripenberg to telegraph to Fabritius a recommendation that he allow the Swedes to evacuate his men. Gripenberg was so dubious that he then sent a second telegram telling Fabritius to use his own judgment, and this was suppressed by the Swedes. On 18 February, Palmstierna sent a message, to be shown to Fabritius, which was a deliberate deception. It ran "General Mannerheim himself last week asked the help of the Swedish government to transport the White Guard by sea from Aland, through Sweden to Finland. There cannot therefore be any doubt he would approve our offer." In truth, the opposite was the case: Mannerheim, as soon as he heard of the Swedish actions, sent instructions to Gripenberg to protest that the Swedish intervention was an unfriendly act and that Fabritius was to hold on at all cost. "If the White Guard can hold out until help arrives, it must unconditionally remain in position and disarm the Russians. I do not approve the conditions." As he told Johan in a

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letter on 17 February, it was a matter of Finnish prestige and morale; "nobody but us can send an expedition to Aland." His message to Fabritius had ended, "It is a matter of honour to Finland's young army to liberate Aland with its own forces."60 But Gripenberg did not get these instructions until 19 February, because they were first sent in the wrong cipher, and before he did, he had been subjected to severe pressure by Palmstierna and the king. Under this pressure he agreed to telegraph to Fabritius, "If your position seems untenable and there is no prospect of speedy assistance, I urge you most earnestly to go with the Swedish ships." But this was transmitted by the Swedes as "because your position seems untenable. . . ." which significantly altered the meaning. This was combined with a letter from the Swedish commander at Aland to Fabritius, which said that "General Mannerheim wants the White Guard to be transported to Finland as quickly as possible," and this broke his resistance. He agreed to be taken off by the Swedes, on the understanding that the Russians would leave within five weeks. As soon as the Finns were aboard, Swedish troops began to land on the islands. When Gripenberg got Mannerheim's orders on 19 February, he naturally tried to forward them to Fabritius at once, but Palmstierna simply blocked the message. He noted in his diary that he had done this on the direct instructions of the king, who told him "to stick Gripenberg's telegramme in his pocket and forget it. If you do not want to do that, I have O a big enough pocket." When Gripenberg asked to send a courier to Aland, Palmstierna agreed, but made sure he did not contact Fabritius. It is necessary to credit the Swedish leaders with a genuine humanitarian intention; they may even have persuaded themselves that the military position of the White Guard was precarious; certainly Palmstierna wrote in his diary that he suppressed Mannerheim's order because "I did not want the deaths of 600 Finns on my conscience." But there can be no doubt that they then yielded to the temptation to snatch a political advantage under cover of their humanitarian enterprise. This was revealed too in Palmstierna's diary, when he wrote that once the Russians and the Finns had gone, and the Swedes were in occupation, "then we will stay on with a strong protective force, against the possibilities that are coming." And the diary has one further clue, where Palmstierna wrote, "It is a joy to be involved where there is action." Leaders of small neutral countries, like the king and Palmstierna, are usually condemned to spending their lives reacting to the initiatives of others. This situation seemed to offer Sweden a rare opportunity to act, take the initiative, and dictate the course of events. Since they appeared to risk nothing but the anger of the Finnish governo ment, and might emerge at the end in possession of Aland, the opportunity was too good to be missed.61 The fury of the Finns, as they discovered what had happened, was unrestrained. On 22 February Mannerheim and the government sent an official protest to the Swedish government demanding that Sweden declare formally that she had no intention of claiming Aland for herself. On 26 February, Gripenberg held a press conference and revealed the whole series of deceptions. The Swedish government could say little in defense; Hellner had to declare that "there was not a trace of an intention of the government to use the situation for the permanent possession of Aland," 334

but he added, "it is not perhaps so surprising if suspicions of such an intention arose." The consequences for the relations of Finland and Sweden were deplorable. Mannerheim summed it up when he said to Torngren:62 The relations of Sweden and Finland have . . . been spoiled for decades. He said he feared that now there would ensue a complete pro-German orientation, instead of the hoped for Scandinavian orientation, and said that many, like Renvall for example, who had earlier been pro-Swedish, were now proGerman. It was very difficult for any Finn to avoid the conclusion of Renvall: "Sweden, O in the Aland question, took advantage of Finland's difficult position." But retribuO tion came swiftly, for on the same day that Sweden decided to send ships to Aland, the German leadership had decided to reopen hostilities against the Bolsheviks, and as part of their plans, to occupy the Aland islands. They rather suspected that the Entente might have inspired the Swedish action, and on 20 February, the German ambassador in Stockholm was told to inform the Swedish government of Germany's intentions and to suggest that it might be as well if the Swedish troops got out of the way. The Swedes were most upset: Palmstierna wrote, "Just as our pacification measures were concluded comes the news that the Germans intend to occupy Aland, in order to attack Finland from there. We were as though hit on the head by a log." The king protested and the queen wrote to the Kaiser; the Germans had second thoughts, suggesting that the Swedes might prefer to stay and collaborate with them. But the Swedish government saw the threat to their neutrality and despite the opposition of the king resolved on evacuation on 8 March. The last Swedish troops left on 25 March, and this brief flirtation with power politics came to a sad, inglorious end.63 It would be misleading to suggest that if Swedish policy had been different White Finland would not have relied on Germany for support. Clearly, the political situation in Sweden made the idea of Swedish armed intervention impossible. If the Swedish government had cooperated freely over the supply of weapons and volunteers, there still would not have been enough to meet Finland's requirements; Finland had to turn to Germany for the bulk of the military support that she needed. The most that can be said is, that if any chance had existed that, in spite of reliance on German support, White Finland would try and preserve a position of neutrality between the belligerent camps, that chance had been killed by the apparent duplicity of Swedish policy. Mannerheim never had any doubt that the success of his enterprise depended on German support: One of his first actions was to send an appeal to Berlin, "General Mannerheim asks . . . urgently for the despatch of two German General Staff officers to help him, and the transport of at least 10-20,000 rifles. . . ." On 2 February he renewed his appeal, "If enough ammunition and weapons are not sent to Finland, and the whole Finnish battalion, the situation will be almost hopeless. . . . the situation is dreadfully serious." Mannerheim was pushing on an open door, for as has been seen, once the revolution had occurred, the Germans quickly

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agreed to repatriate the Jagers and supply the weapons Finland needed. The ships were ready, and on 11 February Poseidon and Mira sailed from Danzig with most of the weapons and an advance party of Jagers, to be followed on 14 February by Arcturus and Virgo carrying the main body of the Jagers. Because of the theoretical danger from the Baltic Fleet, they traveled through Swedish territorial waters under the escort of Swedish warships, one of the few positive gestures of support for White Finland that the Swedish government felt free to make. The Finns in Berlin were jubilant; M. Gripenberg wrote on 2 February, "We have had great difficulties, but they have fortunately for the most part been overcome," while Thesleff telegraphed to Mannerheim on 3 February, "All clear here. Weapons delivery probably leaves 8 February. I am bringing the thousand men personally some five days later." The revolution also stimulated the Germans to carry out their previously unfulfilled promise to apply pressure on the Bolsheviks at Brest-Litovsk. Instructions went to the German delegation to raise the help being given to the Finnish Reds as "an offence against the spirit of the armistice agreement." Hoffmann delivered the protest on 10 February, and found Trotski defiant, claiming it was none of Germany's business what Russian troops did in Finland, "I am not, of course, sufficiently familiar with military points of view, but I understand that in Finland our troops are not in contact with German troops." How much further the Germans might have carried diplomatic pressure is unknown, for the talks at Brest-Litovsk were broken off the same day.64 The assistance that the German leadership authorized in late January fully met Mannerheim's requirements; he grumbled at the slowness of delivery, and did not get the staff officers, but as he acquired enough Swedes, that did not matter. What he did not know was that elements in his own camp were lobbying energetically for German support to be raised to a much higher level, by the dispatch of German troops. The telegram from Helsinki, which Gripenberg received on 3 February, had instructed him to seek both Swedish and German intervention in Finland, and when the Swedish government formally refused to intervene, Gripenberg sent a telegram to Hjelt in Berlin:65 The position in Finland precarious, students in uttermost danger, the bourgeois in Helsinki and other southern towns in danger of murder or death from hunger. Since there is no hope of rescue from here, Finland's hope rests on Germany alone, and further that Germany shall not conclude any peace treaty without . . . in the name of humanity and in the interests of civilization, raising and carrying through, as an unconditional stipulation, that the Russian soldiers leave Finland directly. Hjelt claimed later that this was a mandate for him to seek German armed intervention, though it is not obvious that it was; despite the emotional language, Gripenberg seems to call for diplomatic action only. On the strength of the telegram, Hjelt drafted an appeal to Ludendorff and the Chancellor, in the name of the Finnish government, asking for either German troops to be sent into southern Finland or diplomatic pressure on the Russians to withdraw. "In the name of the Finnish

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people and state, the legal government of Finland calls on the government of the mighty German Empire, through us, for speedy and effective help." In addition to the Gripenberg telegram, Hjelt cited two other messages that confer a kind of authorization on his request for a German expedition to the south. The letter that Svinhufvud smuggled out of Helsinki, written on 15 February, did specify the dispatch of troops by Germany as one way to save the situation; "as I said, the form of the assistance can be decided by those giving it, the main thing is that we get speedy relief in southern Finland." The second justification is a letter from Renvall, who was acting head of the government. This was written to Hjelt on 7 February, before Hjelt had presented his appeal to the Germans, though he did not get the letter until 19 February. Renvall wrote: 66 You have the right, if it seems appropriate, to enquire whether Germany would not consent to come directly and with arms to Finland's help. No large formations would be needed so far as can be seen. There are men and enthusiasm here, if only we can get officers and complete specialist units. . . . A landing would not meet any substantial difficulties. It is true this passage follows as an optional extra, after Renvall had specified the diplomatic and economic assistance that Finland needed, and it is apparent that what Renvall had in mind was an auxiliary force, rather than a full scale expedition. But it is difficult to deny Hjelt's claim that "it was left for me to decide whether an appeal for direct armed assistance should be made to Germany," and that "I could not come to any other conclusion than that German military help was not only longed for, but necessary."67 Hjelt delivered his appeal for a German military intervention on 9 February on the authority of the telegram from Helsinki, as transmitted by Gripenberg, and on 11 February, when he heard that the Brest-Litovsk negotiation had broken down, he hurried back to Sektion Politik to reinforce his appeal. Like all White Finns, he saw the ending of the peace negotiations as an advantage for Finland, a view which Mannerheim strongly shared. Torngren reported the jubilation at Headquarters when it became apparent that Germany would resume hostilities; Mannerheim remarked, "the ending of the armistice on the eastern front was an event worth many victories." He wrote to Johan on 21 February, "The fact that Germany renewed its attack helps our battle considerably." He expected that the Germans would drive for Petrograd, and the Bolsheviks be compelled to pull out their troops to defend it, and even hoped that Finnish forces might get there first, for in the end, "that is where we must go." Mannerheim misread the German intention, but in general the White Finns were correct: Although Hjelt complained that he had presented "Finland's position of need, but did not get much encouragement," which was true, it was only because he was impatient. It took the Germans a few days to consider their policy, and reverse the line they had followed so consistently since February 1917, that of not committing German troops in Finland.68 When Trotski had ended the negotiation at Brest-Litovsk on 10 February, by declaring Russia's unilateral withdrawal from the war, the Germans, who had no 337

precedents for dealing with such a situation, were left floundering; it was, in Hoffmann's famous remark, "unheard of." The civilians and military inevitably differed in their reactions: The latter had no doubt that hostilities must be resumed; as Hoffmann wrote in his diary, "these fellows will at once strike dead the Ukrainians, the Finns and the Baits, create a revolutionary army for themselves in peace, and spread swinishness all over Europe." In his view, it would be criminal folly to let the Bolsheviks have a breathing space and the armistice should be denounced at once; more important, this was also the view of Hindenburg and Ludendorff. The civilians saw things differently: Kuhlmann told the Chancellor that the situation left Germany in possession of all the territory she really needed, while to resume hostilities would risk unpleasant political repercussions among the German workers. The acceptance of the position would not rule out helping the Ukraine and Finland, since "as far as relations with Finland and the Ukraine are concerned, we ... have a completely free hand. Both are recognised by us as independent states, and we can handle our relations with them as suits us, without any regard for the Bolsheviks." So it would be best to accept the armistice line, concentrate on propping up sympathetic regimes in Finland and the Ukraine, and thus avoid the odium of appearing to launch a new imperialist aggression.69 It is apparent that either policy, the civilian or the military, could only be advantageous to White Finland. The conflict was resolved in a Crown Council held at Bad Homburg on 13 February: the Chancellor, von Hertling, and K u h l m a n n led for the civilians, Hindenburg and Ludendorff for the military. The civilian case was that a renewed advance east was a gamble; it might provoke Russian nationalist opposition, it was unnecessary, and it would be provocative to domestic opinion, which had been led to expect the end of war on two fronts. The military insisted that one quick blow could secure the line of the Narva river, and together with client states in Finland and the Ukraine, hold the Bolsheviks under permanent threat, while guaranteeing the food supplies that Germany so desperately needed. Further, if Germany left an anarchy in Russia, in the end the Entente would move in on the pretense of restoring order, and reopen the eastern front. As usually happened in Germany by 1918, the civilians bowed to the military and it was agreed unanimously to denounce the armistice from 17 February, and resume hostilities the following day. But it was the Kaiser himself who hit on the formula that would justify the German action and pacify domestic and foreign critics. Finland, the Ukraine, Livonia, and Estonia would issue appeals to Germany to save them from Bolshevik anarchy: The German advance would then become a humanitarian response to their appeals. The German historian F. Fischer has commented: 70 I n order to avert the odiu m of a new war, and avoid the assertion that Germany was changing its policy and would now pursue annexations, the Crown Council decided, punctually on 18 February, to secure "appeals for help" from Riga, from Finland and from the Ukraine. The "calls for help" came promptly as ordered and gave the possibility to characterise the whole as a police action and rendering of aid against Bolshevik "plunderers."

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So at last German policy on Finland changed in the direction that the Activists had always wanted; Germany would ask Finland to provide a cover for her policies by an appeal to Germany to do what the German leaders had in any case already resolved on. This answers the question of who was primarily responsible for the German intervention in Finland in 1918: It was the German leadership—they invited themselves into Finland. Hjelt and his colleagues were only responsible in the sense that their behavior until then had given the German leaders every reason to believe that the necessary appeal would be forthcoming, and because subsequent evidence shows that Germany would, nevertheless, have canceled the intervention in Finland if the Finnish government had declined the proffered assistance. Hjelt and his colleagues were responsible for so handling matters that the Finnish government had very little opportunity of exercising this option. The Germans wasted no time: On 14 February Ludendorff instructed von Hulsen to procure the necessary appeal from Finland. Hulsen summoned Hjelt and handed him a message from Ludendorff, asking that Finland "present an urgent call for German help in Finland's position of need." Hjelt went away, and consulted Erich, and between them they drafted the required appeal the same day. Hjelt made no attempt to consult any other Finnish authority; he undoubtedly believed that he was empowered to act in this way. The appeal was all that Ludendorff could have desired. It said:71 In Finland's extreme state of need, its lawful government, through its accredited representatives, begs for the speediest and most powerful German intervention in affairs, for the sake of the fatherland which is threatened with destruction . . . it is perfectly obvious that the sending of German troops to Finland would be the most effective way of saving the country: may we therefore be permitted to propose this form of intervention in the situation in the first place. Armed with this mandate, the German planners got to work, and on 18 February the plan was ready. Hjelt was invited to come to headquarters on 21 February, where he was received by Ludendorff and given lunch with Hindenburg. Ludendorff O explained that the navy would at once convoy a battalion to Aland and set up a base there, and then as soon as ice conditions permitted, a further five or six battalions would be sent, to land on the Finnish west coast at Rauma, from where they would advance rapidly up the railway into the interior. If the renewed hostilities with Russia ended in an armistice, "which the high command did not want," an immediate Russian evacuation of Finland would be a condition of the armistice, and the expedition could still go ahead, with the Finnish government making a new call for help in restoring order. Ludendorff asked how the Finnish people would react to O the landing on Aland, and Hjelt assured him "the Finnish people would greet the measure with the greatest joy." These meetings at Kreuznach, on 21 February, were one of those happy occasions on which everyone was satisfied. Hindenburg told Hjelt that "I am delighted that we now have the opportunity to help Finland. We would have done it long since, but it was not possible earlier." The occasion was s

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euphoric that Hjelt omitted to enquire what the price of this help would be. Ludendorff had remarked that all Germany wanted in return was to have first call on Finland's exports. Hjelt wrote later, "Ludendorff said nothing about what military ends of their own the high command intended with this action in Finland, and I had not wanted to broach this question, because it was of secondary importance to us." Since it turned out that Finland would have to pay a high price, this could be called naive or negligent on Hjelt's part. But he was a man obsessed with the conviction that only Germany could assure the independence of Finland from Russia, and that nominal independence without German protection was not worth having. Hjelt had pursued this aim for three years, and when it was offered he was not interested in the cost—to his mind the benefit conferred was priceless. He traveled back to Berlin a very happy man, on first-class rail tickets provided by the Germans.72 The first stage of the plan was carried out at once: A naval force consisting of two battleships, Westfa/en and Rheinland, with minesweepers, was put under the command of Admiral H. Meurer. A Jager battalion was embarked, and the expedition sailed on 28 February and arrived off Eckero on 5 March. They found the Swedish warships there, and after negotiations, the Germans disembarked on 7 March. The remaining Russians were preparing to leave for the mainland, but the Germans stripped them of their equipment and shipped the men home through Libau. The Germans then occupied the whole Aland archipelago and the first phase of their intervention had been concluded successfully.73 When Trotski broke off the negotiation at Brest-Litovsk on 10 February, he had been gambling on the Germans not daring to incur the odium of renewing hostilities; even when the Germans gave formal notice of renewal on 16 February, Lenin could still not persuade the majority of the Politburo that the Germans really meant to reopen the war. It was only after the German troops began to advance and the Russians melted away before them that Lenin could get a bare majority for making peace on German terms. The offer was dispatched on 18 February, but the Germans waited until 23 February, when they had occupied the territory they wanted, before replying with a 48-hour ultimatum, which Lenin got his colleagues to accept. The Russian delegation returned to Brest-Litovsk, and the peace treaty was signed on 3 March. The Germans had kept their word; the original ultimatum had demanded that "the Ukraine and Finland must be cleared of Russian troops and RedO Guards immediately." The treaty provided, in clause VI, that "Finland and the Aland islands will be cleared of Russian troops and the Russian Red Guard immediately, and the Finnish ports of the Russian fleet and of the Russian naval forces."74 But this very fact created a new problem, for the forces in the German government, and especially in the Foreign Office, that had opposed the intervention in Finland, could now argue plausibly that it was unnecessary. Ludendorff told Hjelt on 26 February that the Foreign Office claimed to have evidence that the Finnish government did not want German assistance, a telegram that Sario had sent to Hjelt on 23 February. The telegram, based on the optimism generated by the renewed German advance into Russia, read: "The position in Finland improves from day to 340

day. Our troops are advancing again. The Red Guard and the Russians are significantly weakened morally." It would have been Hjelt's duty to find out what Sario's telegram was supposed to mean in terms of government policy, but he made no such effort. On the contrary, he at once drafted a statement, in consultation with Hulsen, to be shown to the Foreign Office, declaring that "in the name of my government I hereby urgently request once more the military help from Germany which has already been promised." But Hjelt and the Sektion Politik had scarcely warded off this attack from the Foreign Office, when it was renewed on the basis of press interviews that Mannerheim had given to German journalists. On 17 February, Mannerheim talked to Dr. R. Ullrich of the Kolnische Zeitung, and he sent a report to the embassy in Stockholm. This said that Mannerheim's position was good, and that he had said he did not want the assistance of German troops: "We are a proud nation. We have a strong national identity, we would rather liberate ourselves with our own forces." This was forwarded by Lucius on 27 February with the comment that "the leaders of our expedition will have considerable difficulties with General Mannerheim." Then on 22 February Mannerheim gave another interview to Dr. Paque and von Schmidt, and they reported the same impression, saying they thought Mannerheim and his Swedish officers were basically anti-German and opposed to intervention. These reports did accurately reflect Mannerheim's opinion, although when he gave the interviews, he had no idea that a German intervention had been decided on.75 The opponents of intervention seized on this new evidence and supporters were puzzled; the Kaiser minuted on one of the reports, "but still they have cried out for help," and a harassed Ludendorff turned once more to Hjelt for clarification. Hjelt naturally replied that "it is inappropriate to attach importance to newspaper correspondents' reports," and went on:76 if the report about Mannerheim's view, that such help is not necessary, were true, I should have received a relevant telegraphic communication from him, or my government, I know nothing of any difference between Mannerheim and the Finnish government . . . the hopes of my government . . . are built on the realization of this help. It was true that Hjelt knew nothing of any differences between Mannerheim and the government over German assistance, for there had not been any; neither party knew about it. But when he implied that his government had positively approved the sending of a German expedition, he was lying, for he himself had insured that they knew nothing about it. When Hjelt returned to Berlin on 22 February, he sent a message to Vaasa announcing the German plan, and M. Gripenberg sent the same message to Mannerheim; but on the plea that the telegraph was unsafe, the messages were sent by courier, though Hjelt knew this could take up to 10 days and the messages actually came to Vaasa on 2 March. The basic reason for this course of action had been Ludendorff'sinsistance on 21 February that the news of the German landing O in Aland should be revealed only a few days before it took place, for obvious security reasons. But this had the result that when the Finnish government and Mannerheim 341

learned about it, it would be quite impossible to stop it. There would still be time to prevent the main expedition, but that would become very difficult politically. Hjelt had no illusions about what he was doing, he was forcing the hand of his government and was sure that he was right to do so. He told Renvall afterwards that "I could not have any doubt about my duty to try and promote a German intervention." Hjelt was not a politician but a visionary, who told a friend in April that "God has steered our destiny in wonderful ways. That Germany was His instrument not only in that, but in much else, is clear to me."77 Although Hjelt had not bothered to enquire what the price of German help would be he soon found out. On 28 February the Foreign Office presented drafts for a peace treaty between Germany and Finland—they had been formally at war— and for a commercial treaty. They contained clauses that even Hjelt felt to be repugnant, but he was unable to have them modified. The Finnish delegation "lacked special skills and were thrown back on their own resources," and were quite unable to cope with the skilled German negotiators. In any case Hjelt was afraid to press his objections: 78 I had to take some responsibility on myself because the military action depended on it, and I feared those forces which, in the Foreign Office and certain political circles, were working against German assistance. I would have communicated with home if that had been possible, but the German government wished to lay the Finnish treaty before parliament at the same time as the Russian. Therefore on 7 March Hjelt signed a treaty of peace, a commercial treaty, and a secret protocol. The peace treaty, while acknowledging Finland's independence, in fact restricted this by requiring that Finland must consult first with Germany over any concessions she made to third powers, giving Germany a quasi-protectorial status. The commercial treaty was apparently based on the principle of each country having equal rights in the other, which opened Finland to unrestricted exploitation by German business, particularly as the low, pre-war tariffs on German goods were to be retained. Further, for the duration of the war, Germany would supervise Finland's foreign trade, and have a right of preemption on all her exports. The secret protocol provided that Finland would not concede military bases on its territory to any third power, but would allow Germany to establish naval bases in Finland, and an observation post on the frontier with Sweden at Tornio. Thus the price of German assistance was that Finland became a client state of the German Empire, wide open to German economic colonization. Her new independence would differ little from her pre-war status; she would only have exchanged one great-power domination for another. The new masters might be more acceptable culturally to the Finns, but the superior economic potential of Germany made her a far more dangerous economic partner than backward Russia had been.79 The first concrete sign of German help had been the arrival at Vaasa, on 17 February, of Mira and Poseidon, which carried 44,000 rifles, 63 machine guns, 9 m i l l i o n cartridges, quantities of artillery, and 85 Ja'gers. This enabled Mannerheim, 342

within days, to arm all his active service units, send the first real help to the hardpressed Karelians, and step up the training program. The main body of the Ja'gers arrived in Arcturus on 25 February. Mannerheim had his plans ready for using them: He envisaged a future Finnish army of nine divisions, and planned to raise 27 battalions from which it could be developed. Since the Ja'gers were young, and had no experience of units larger than a battalion, these would be grouped in regiments, staffed by Swedish and ex-Russian senior officers. The plan was modified by Headquarters so that there would be 21 battalions of conscripts, officered by Ja'gers, which with the six battalions of paid regulars would make up the establishment Mannerheim had envisaged. Unknown to Mannerheim, Thesleff and the Ja'gers had drawn up a different scheme for their future use. The Ja'ger Battalion would be built up into a Brigade of six battalions from volunteers selected from the White Guard, with a strength of 10,000 to 12,000 men. There would be three regiments, each commanded by a German officer, and Thesleff himself would command. The idea was, as Thesleff wrote, to form "a strong storm troop which, in accordance with modern German military techniques would clear a path and shatter all resistance, leaving the White Guard troops to occupy important places, front lines and lines of communication." He claimed that such a force could have been ready for action within four or five weeks of landing, and could have launched its offensive at the end of March. He clearly supposed that one massive thrust would suffice to shatter resistance, and enable the White Guard troops to mop up and liberate the south.80 On 24 January Thesleff had revealed his plan to Jernstrom and asked him to work out the necessary appointments and promotions. Jernstrom was very willing, as he noted "the force has freedom of action and now, in the first place, must itself protect its interests. In any case there are no difficulties to be expected from the Finnish side against carrying out the plan."The resulting scheme provided that the 1,130 Ja'gers of the main force would become 13 majors, 41 captains, 66 first lieutenants, 126 second lieutenants, 157 ensigns, 238 warrant officers, and 489 NCOs, all within the proposed brigade structure. It did not concern them that Mannerheim might have other ideas. The "Russian," pro-Entente Mannerheim was no friend of theirs; he would be faced with an accomplished fact, Thesleff and his Brigade would win the war and take the credit, and Mannerheim would be relegated to the background. It was not certain that the Ja'gers would recognize Mannerheim as even nominal commander-in-chief, for a memorandum circulated in the Battalion by Jernstrom had said "collaboration with Finns who entered service with Russia in the war cannot come into question. An officer corps composed of two such different elements as German-Finns and Russian-Finns are, is a plain absurdity." Even if the Ja'gers consented to make an exception for Mannerheim, as they had done for Thesleff, the acceptance of their plan, and the scrapping of Mannerheim's own plans, would destroy all his authority as commander-in-chief. To be fair to Thesleff and Jernstrom, when they embarked on their planning, they did not know Mannerheim would be commander-in-chief, and sent a copy of their proposals to Svinhufvud for approval, but as it developed Thesleff, at least, was well aware of what 343

the situation would be, and took care to give Mannerheim no advance warning of what was intended.81 The storm did not break at once. On 26 February the newly arrived Battalion paraded in the market square of Vaasa in one of the great symbolic ceremonies of the civil war. They were inspected and formally welcomed by the government and the commander-in-chief, before a large crowd, and it was a highly emotional and satisfying occasion. Mannerheim wrote of his satisfaction at the sight of such "young, war-hardened, vigorous men, in whose eyes glowed a joyful determination and consciousness of their part in Finland's war of liberation." He pitched his own address on a suitably lofty level:82 Your guiding star has not led you astray. Finland's young and developing army sees in you its future leaders and teachers. . . . there now awaits you a great, but honourable task, to create for all of Finland an army which can liberate Finland, and make of our country a strong and powerful nation. On the next day, Mannerheim and Thesleff conferred and the meeting was a disaster for the future relationship of the two men. Mannerheim had learned to his fury that Thesleff had already issued contracts to the Ja'gers, confirming them in their proposed ranks, and as Thesleff noted in his diary, "in his opinion I had intervened in an area in which he had prior rights." Thesleff then compounded his offense by criticizing Mannerheim's enlistment of paid regulars as "ill-considered," and the result was that "the tension between us got even more intense: we shall see what comes of our collaboration." This set the mood for the meeting on 28 February between Mannerheim, Thesleff, and Jernstrom, at which Mannerheim rejected the whole idea of forming a storm troop. He wrote, "Although I could understand this idea, it was obvious that we could not afford to squander the valuable cadres which the Battalion offered us ... those who drew it up, did not understand those organisational problems which we had to solve." Thesleff for his part thought that Mannerheim had failed to grasp the idea behind his plan:83 Mannerheim wanted to disperse the whole unit as instructors around the country, and I held strongly to my proposal, that it should be expanded into a strong independent brigade, with which we could really do something, because on the whole front there is no fist with which to strike, and so it is impossible to get forward quickly. Thesleff claimed that he spent hours pleading with Mannerheim to accept his plan, "but General Mannerheim took the view that he could not and would not alter the decision he had made in this question." There was deadlock; Jernstrom was sent to explain the situation to his comrades. Thesleff was sure that Mannerheim's attitude was basically political, and wrote in his diary on 2 March:84 It has happened with General Mannerheim as I feared. Instead of taking a favourable attitude to the Ja'gers, who have the whole country on their side, he has tried to follow a policy which stinks of the tendencies of the Entente and the old Russians . . . everything is to be cobbled up together—Ja'gers, 344

former Russian and former old Finnish officers: no collaboration can grow from such. For three days now I have begged, prayed and threatened, that he would consent to our wishes, but in vain. Then a new issue arose that, combined with the argument over the Ja'gers, nearly tore the leadership of White Finland apart, and brought Mannerheim to the verge of resignation. On 2 March, Hjelt's courier arrived in Vaasa and the government realized that Mannerheim would take the news of the proposed German intervention badly. They decided to go to Seina'joki in a body, taking Thesleff with them. That same morning, the Ja'ger majors held a meeting and heard that Mannerheim had rejected their plans. The meeting was described as "temperamental" and completely rejected Mannerheim's alternative proposals. The Ja'gers objected emotionally to serving with Russian officers and to being dispersed after they had experienced so much together. As soldiers, they thought the proposed level of dilution would make the new units inadequate, and they feared that the decisive battles might be fought before they could be made ready. Politically, they felt they were being cheated of their destiny to lead the war of liberation by the intrigues of a Russified and pro-Entente clique at Headquarters. Mannerheim did not inspire confidence; "at the base of all this trouble was a powerful distrust towards the unknown commander-in-chief." There was wild talk of marching off by themselves to capture Tampere, and when they heard that the government was going to Seinajoki, they sent a delegation to the station. The ministers were mobbed by excited Ja'gers, who voiced their grievances while Renvall and Thesleff tried to dissuade them from precipitate action. They were pacified when Renvall promised to put their views to Mannerheim. Thesleff noted "the Battalion has today officially presented its ultimatum to Mannerheim through Renvall—either our wishes are accepted or we shall take things into our own hands."85 Mannerheim was mistaken in his later belief that Thesleff had presided over the meeting of Ja'gers, for he was not present, but his satisfaction with the outcome is very apparent. The ministers and Thesleff met Mannerheim in his coach at Seinajoki; when RenO vail told him that the Germans were about to land on Aland and would then send an expedition to the mainland, Mannerheim was furious, venting his anger on Thesleff, who was told to leave. He had to wait outside while Mannerheim talked to the ministers and put his familiar case against German intervention. Committing Finland to Germany would endanger the whole concept of Finnish independence: By calling in foreign troops in a civil war, they would exacerbate domestic divisions and be open to the very charge of relying on foreigners that they leveled at the Reds; it would destroy the moral character of the struggle. Renvall quoted him as saying, "The nation must fight its own war of liberation. In that way it will get the self-respect it needs, and besides will get for itself a completely different respect from the world." He then made it clear that he would resign if the German offer was accepted. Renvall and his colleagues were no match for an angry Mannerheim; they retreated until Renvall asked, "Is the general certain that we will get through with our own forces?" and Mannerheim replied, "I am absolutely convinced of that." This clinched the argument; the ministers agreed that the German expedition

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should be refused. Thesleff was called in and told to start at once for Berlin to convey the message. But he fought back: "I began to speak and presented quite contrary arguments." He claimed that Mannerheim could not train enough men in time to finish the campaign before the spring thaw, and there was the danger that the strength of the enemy would grow faster than their own. He doubted if they could win in O time, using only their own troops. Further, Finland had interests in Aland and eastern Karelia that could only be achieved with German support. Finally, any delay meant that south Finland would continue to languish under the Red Terror for longer than would otherwise be necessary. The ministers were sufficiently shaken to decide they should take time to reflect, and Thesleff's journey was put off for a day.86 Before dinner Renvall told Mannerheim he had another matter he must raise in private, and they retired to Mannerheim's compartment. There Renvall delivered the Jager ultimatum, and he says that Mannerheim "went pale with anger and said 'so the government trusts the Ja'gers more than me. Perhaps it would be better if I give up my post as commander-in-chief.'" Renvall hastened to assure him that he had their entire confidence and tried to soften him: "I know the general, not only as a soldier, but also as a man of the world. The conflict can be resolved by skill and diplomacy." He urged Mannerheim to receive a Jager delegation, and "without answering directly, he said he would think about the matter."The dinner that followed must have been grim; Mannerheim enlivened it by talking about resignation and suggesting Lofstrom as a successor, well knowing how unacceptable he would be, with all the disadvantages of Mannerheim's Russian background and none of the attractive personal qualities. The ministers traveled back to Vaasa knowing that if they went back on their decision, they would have to find a new commander-in-chief.87 It was 4:30 in the morning when they arrived, but during the journey Thesleff was able to develop his arguments, "and they decided to look at the decision next day. We came to Vaasa utterly exhausted." Yet they got little rest, for they met with Thesleff at 11:00 A.M. on 3 March, sitting in conference until 4:00 in the afternoon. The result was a foregone conclusion, once they got away from the dominant personality of Mannerheim.They had always been instinctively pro-German, and Thesleff was urging them to do what they felt was right. He wrote in his diary, "With regard to foreign policy, it was decided to accept German assistance and thus decisively take the side of the Central Powers. (So my opinion won handsomely)."They had had lingering doubts; when Renvall wrote to Hjelt on 15 March, he showed this by trying to blame Hjelt for forcing them into acceptance of German intervention, reciting Mannerheim's arguments:88 It must be remembered that foreign assistance will deprive our liberation struggle of its noble character, and cause the flames of class hatred to rankle deep in the nation's soul. For that reason the government wanted, as far as possible, to refrain from using this last resort. It is obvious that the civilians in Vaasa were not quite convinced by Mannerheim's claim that he could manage without help; they were disturbed by the attitude of Sweden, who seemed to be trying to take advantage of Finland's weakness, and they 346

were confident that Germany would win the war. Further, Thesleff too was a military expert, and he was telling them on military grounds that Mannerheim could not do it. It must have seemed safer in the end to choose the certainty offered by German intervention. The one thing that would have deterred them was Mannerheim's resignation threat, but Thesleff nullified this too, as he recorded in his diary: "It was decided that unless Mannerheim can see his way to working along with the Germans, he can resign his command, and the writer is being considered as a possible successor." Thus Mannerheim's ultimate deterrent was negated; he must accept the government's policy or go. The arguments over the decision have raged ever since, and the fact that Thesleff was right and Mannerheim wrong has been obscured, because of the basis on which their arguments rested. Thesleff and the government argued on the assumption that Germany must win the war, Mannerheim on the contrary assumption; and Mannerheim was of course proved right. But the immediate issue was whether Mannerheim could finish the war with his own resources in a reasonable time, and at an acceptable cost. The time factor was crucial; the decisive offensive must have succeeded before the thaw, otherwise the enemy would have time to consolidate and perhaps improve their military capacity. Even if this did not happen, a prolonged campaign might involve unacceptable damage on the south. Finally, the country might starve if the army were not demobilized in time for the 1918 harvest. Mannerheim was asking the government to take responsibility for a risk that they were justified in thinking excessive against a certainty.89 While the government deliberated in Vaasa, Mannerheim met the delegation from the Ja'gers in Seinajoki. Three senior majors, Jernstrom, Gadolin, and Heinrichs were invited and were in fact in a strong position, because Mannerheim knew, as he had told Renvall, that victory depended on the Ja'gers; "without the Ja'gers, however, nobody can do it." But they were young, inexperienced officers and no match for the worldly Mannerheim. He already had decided how to handle them, while they were in the most uncomfortable of positions, that of the mice chosen to bell the cat. In accordance with the old military custom, designed to keep juniors in their place, the Ja'gers had to speak first; they stressed that after three years of waiting they wanted to go into action at once, not spend weeks training reluctant conscripts, and insisted they could not serve under former Russian officers. Mannerheim jumped in to score a point; he was himself just as Russian as the officers they objected to. He went on to point out that only the Ja'gers could supply the instructors needed for the conscripts, and dwelt on the moral significance of conscription, and their chance to involve the nation as a whole in the liberation struggle, giving their role an almost missionary significance. Then he made his concession; it might be possible to arrange that they need not serve directly under Russian officers, and invited them to see Gerich, who had a new plan to propose. When this was explained to them, they accepted, and the orders to implement it were issued the same day. The acceptance is explicable, because Mannerheim appeared to have given in: He insisted that the Ja'gers must train conscripts, but otherwise he accepted their scheme for a Brigade of six battalions, incorporating their promotion scheme, and divided into three regiments. Each regiment would be commanded by a German officer, Colonels 347

E. Ausfeld, U. von Coler, and R. Stahel, who had come over with the battalion, so the Jagers would not be directly subordinate to Russian officers. Apart from accepting conscripts, only one other concession was required; when the Brigade went into action, some of the Jagers must stay behind to train three reserve battalions of replacements. The Jager artillery would be formed into special batteries, and their specialist sections into a communications battalion and a pioneer battalion.90 It must have cost Mannerheim a great deal to make this apparent surrender, for as he remarked "the disciplinary irregularity of the proceeding was, in itself, a great worry to an old soldier". But he blamed the trouble on Thesleff and excused the Jagers as guilty only of youthful indiscretion. It looked much more serious that Mannerheim had apparently accepted the wrecking of his scheme for an army of 27 battalions of uniform structure. Now the Jager battalions would be much bigger than the standard units of the rest of the army and would be an almost autonomous army on their own. Mannerheim could afford to swallow his pride because, in accepting the scheme, the Jagers had walked straight into a trap that Mannerheim had prepared for them. Acceptance meant that the Jagers would be dispersed immediately to nine different training centers scattered through the whole of Finland. Their capacity for further collective action was thereby destroyed and Mannerheim began systematically to withdraw the concessions he had made. He began when Colonel Ausfeld, the senior German volunteer officer, reported to Headquarters on 4 March. Mannerheim persuaded Ausfeld that his original plan had been better, and that to have units of unequal strength in one army would create unacceptable difficulties. Further, he appealed to Ausfeld, as a fellow professional, on the need to exercise firmness and discipline over the young hotheads among the Jagers. Ausfeld was appointed inspector of the Jager troops and circulated his fellow German regimental commanders on the importance of discipline. He had heard that there was "disaffection and distrust towards his Excellency, general Mannerheim. Since there is no cause for such distrust I turn to you regimental commanders and urge you to get to grips energetically with such thoughts and critical attitudes." With the Jagers scattered and defenseless, and the German mercenaries firmly on his side, Mannerheim advanced swiftly towards his original objectives. He modified the new scheme by ordering that the three reserve battalions be set up immediately, instead of waiting until the first six left for the front. Then from mid-March he began a series of moves to cut the Jager units down to the same size as the rest of the army and to use the surplus men to form new units. First he ordered the establishment of a fourth regiment, then on 19 March of two further regiments, while the pioneer and communications battalions were converted into ordinary infantry. Finally on 26 March, Jager companies were ordered to be reduced to the standard ISO-man size and the spare men redistributed. This left Mannerheim with six Jager regiments, composed of 18 battalions, with an additional four reserve battalions. Since Mannerheim's original plan had called for the Jagers to form 21 battalions of conscript troops, it can be seen that in the end he had got his own way, and imposed his idea on the Jagers. He had made only one real concession; the six regiments were formed 348

into three brigades, each commanded by a German officer, so that as far up as brigade level, the Ja'gers did not have to serve with or under Russian or Swedish officers. I n all else his will had prevailed. 91 In this way Mannerheim formed the field army he needed for victory from conscripts officered by Ja'gers. The plan was not fulfilled in all respects, since it had been intended to give the conscripts a full six weeks' training, but circumstances forced Mannerheim to use some of the Ja'ger troops prematurely. The first three regiments went into action with only three weeks' training; the rest got rather more. The quality of the Ja'ger troops left quite a lotto be desired. Some of the conscripts were unenthusiastic, though it was possible to weed out the worst elements. The Ja'gers themselves, ardent volunteers, tended to despise the conscripts for being conscripts; they applied the harsh training methods they had learned in the Prussian army, which were not always well suited to the native temperament, and in some units, considerable severity was needed to stamp out disaffection. Training was sketchy, little time was available for formal drill, and shortages of ammunition often cut down small-arms training, so that recruits went into action after having fired only six rounds in practice. Training was largely at company level, battalion exercises were rare, and regimental training virtually impossible, in addition to which the Ja'gers themselves were young and relatively inexperienced, having been promoted well above the levels they would have merited in a normal army. Mannerheim was so short of officers that he ruled that all Ja'gers could be considered qualified for a commission, though a considerable number had not been trained above NCO level. Yet with all their deficiencies, the Jager battalions, with their cadres of one Ja'ger to 12 to 16 conscripts, were incomparably the highest quality Finnish troops raised by either side during the war. Their rudimentary technical abilities, combined with the enthusiasm and enterprise of their leaders, made them the elite force of the Finnish battlefronts, giving Mannerheim a qualitative superiority that canceled out the near parity in numbers, and in some areas inferiority of equipment, of the White forces compared with the Red Guard. 92 Mannerheim won his conflict with the Ja'gers, but he lost the parallel conflict with the government over German intervention. Mannerheim had certainly intended to resign rather than accept a German expedition, but Thesleff, who might have been expected to encourage this, had urged Ignatius to influence Mannerheim against resignation. Ignatius, who was spurred on by his own pro-German views, spoke to Mannerheim of the call of duty, and appealed to his personal ambition: "I told him besides, that it was his duty to carry the war to a successful conclusion, because there was no one else who could be put in his place, and that he could not ruin his life's greatest undertaking," For his part Mannerheim, began to rationalize his instinctive desire to hold on to power. He described how: 93 Thoughts surged through my head, but in the end they began to clear up. If the Germans should land now, at the request of the Finnish government, then if I were no longer in command of the army, then who would avert the danger that the advice of a war-experienced German commander would be asked 349

on all important matters, and he would, in the end, become the leader of our war of liberation. The result would be that Germany would liberate Finland and this would be brought to the notice of the whole world. So duty and personal ambition coincided, and Thesleff's guess, recorded in his diary proved correct, "I am sure that Mannerheim will give way at every point, because he is too wise, and above all too ambitious, to give up without a struggle the position and the power, the like of which no other person in Finland has yet enjoyed." Mannerheim did not cease to think that German intervention was a misfortune, though he could see the practical arguments in its favor. He wrote to his aunt on II March:94 I believe we could have cleared up the country with our own forces, but of course it will go quicker with German help, and so a lot of lives will be saved. The knowledge that an unequal struggle had been won without the help of others would, however, have been most important and valuable for the future of the nation. What is easily obtained does not steel the community and steel is necessary if one wants to stand on one's own feet and compel others to recognise the newly achieved independence. But he was not a man who conceded defeat easily: "I had to be silent and clench my teeth." On 4 March the government telephoned its decision to Headquarters, confirming that the Germans probably already had landed on Aland and that they would then send troops into south Finland "to fight with us and drive out the riotous Russian soldiers and Bolshevik hooligans from there." Torngren was with Mannerheim when the message came, and wrote in his diary, "the German decision to land in Aland and 'suppress the insurrection in Finland' got Mannerheim into a rage. . . . the general, who had always wanted an orientation to Sweden and Scandinavia was in despair." But he had now resolved to stay and try to limit the damage, so he told the government they must set two conditions, that when the Germans did land they should come under Mannerheim's overall command, and that their stated purpose in coming should be "to rid the country of Russians, but not to suppress the revolt." The government agreed, but he rightly suspected that they might not press the points with sufficient vigor. For when Hjelt presented a request to the German government, it said only, "My government has expressed the hope that the supreme command of our war of liberation, in view of the prestige of our future army, shall be in Finnish hands as far as possible." So Mannerheim decided to make sure by sending a telegram to Ludendorff on 5 March. It began by thanking the Kaiser "for the help which has been sent to us, and without which we could not now carry on Finland's powerful and victorious struggle for liberation." This made the point that the further assistance that was being sent was probably superfluous. Then Mannerheim presented his requests, that the German force should operate under his command while in Finland, and that a statement be issued that Germany had no wish to intervene in Finland's internal affairs, but that the German troops had come to help Finland expel foreign forces from her territory. The telegram was well timed, for Ludendorff was still worried by attempts in civilian circles

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to cancel the expedition, and could not afford a dispute with Mannerheim that would give ammunition to its opponents. So on 10 March, Mannerheim received a gracious reply from Hindenburg himself, saying that the Kaiser had agreed to both points and adding his personal satisfaction that Finnish and German troops would be comrades in arms. The concessions were of no real consequence, except as window dressing for the historical record, but at least Mannerheim could feel he had rescued something from a policy that was repugnant to him personally, and which he stili felt was politically unsound.95 Once Mannerheim had consented to continue as commander-in-chief, the government decided on a gesture, and on 7 March Mannerheim was sent a letter recognizing his great services to date. It went on:96 On the grounds of these great and indisputable services, which you have tendered in your organisation of Finland's farmer-army and in your leadership of the battle for the liberation of Finland, the government, in the session it held today, has seen good to promote you, Mr. Lieutenant-general, to General of Cavalry from 28 J anuary 1918, and wishes you further success in our struggle for liberation until victory is achieved. Mannerheim showed some amusement at being made a General of Cavalry when there was scarcely any cavalry under his command, and could put his own valuation on the professions of loyalty from men who had been prepared to drop him if necessary. But the promotion had a practical side; as a full general, Mannerheim would equal in rank anyone the Germans might send to command their expedition, and this would facilitate his claim to overall command. With this, White Finland concluded its only major internal political crisis of the war period. The military leadership, the organization of the army, and the direction of foreign policy had been settled. The Jagers had returned and had been integrated into the war effort, and the promised German intervention put final victory beyond all doubt. There were those on the White side who shared Mannerheim's regrets at the way events had developed. E. Ehrstrom, the minister in Paris, who received a note breaking off diplomatic relations because of the acceptance of German assistance, thought the Vaasa government had gone out of its mind. The agent in London, R. Holsti, was ready to resign in despair at the damage that had been done to relations with Britain. Renvall acknowledged the harm done in Scandinavia when he wrote, "The unity of the Scandinavian countries is smashed for some time at least and Finland's action is being criticised in the whole of Scandinavia, even characterised as treason." Such people were oppressed by the sense that a wrong turning had been taken. Torngren wrote to friends in Sweden, "You surely understand, as well as I do, what opportunities Sweden has lost here. . . . one feels clearly here what could have been won," and W. Soderhjelm wrote, "I have often thought in these days how things would have been if Sweden had liberated us—that is what I wished for so much. . . . In any case this is a sad business." But such doubters were a tiny minority; most people in White Finland were sure that the only possible choice had been made, and that they need no longer have any doubts about the outcome of the decisive battles that were about to begin.97 351

Chapter 13

Red Finland

The Finnish Peoples' Deputation was announced as a provisional, revolutionary government. But in spite of the name it looked remarkably like its bourgeois predecessor, established itself in Government House, set up a similar departmental structure, and followed procedures that differed little from those of the old regime. The chairman was K. Manner, Y. Sirola took on foreign relations, E. Haapalainen and A. Taimi internal affairs, which included relations with the Red Guard, L. Letonmaki and A. Kiviranta took justice, O. Kuusinen education, J. Kohonen finance, J. Lumivuokko labour, E. Eloranta agriculture, 0. Tokoi food, K. Lindqvist transport, E. Elo posts and telegraphs, while M. Turkia was the procurator. The similarity was heightened by the dominance of bourgeois intellectuals in the government; apart from the two trade union members, Tokoi and Lumivuokko, there were only three genuine workers in the whole list. The official paper, Tiedonantaja, was defensive about this; "a few men qualified as university graduates, doctors and lawyers" had joined the government. But it claimed that the Deputation reflected the whole working class movement and "represented seasoned, tested strength, firm endurance and unwavering decisiveness." Still there was little in the outward appearences of the new regime to proclaim that a new era had been inaugurated. The changes that did occur in the pattern and style of administration were mainly those forced on them by the strike of civil servants. This was virtually complete; only a few individuals agreed to carry on. The socialists first tried persuasion on the strikers, but without success, and then resorted, reluctantly to coercion. Warnings were issued that the strikers would be dismissed and at last, on 20 February, a government decree ordered that all striking public employees were deemed to have resigned and forfeited all pay and entitlements. Even then it was done more in sorrow than in anger; Tyomies regretted the defection of the intelligentsia, and surmised that many were really neutral or even sympathetic, and that their inability to rise above class prejudice was a sign of the immaturity of the Finnish ruling class.1 Replacements were found from the ranks of the workers' movement; appeals went out to the party and the trade unions to rally round and provide substitute 352

administrators. The response was good, the organizations were willing to release their own staff for public service, particularly those with bookkeeping and secretarial experience, and there was an element of party members who disapproved of the revolution, but would serve in essentially nonpolitical capacities, often refusing pay. Thus K. Wiik agreed to help Sirola run foreign affairs, and E. Salin agreed to edit Tiedonantaja, though both were opposed to the seizure of power. The Deputation managed to recruit 107 new functionaries at executive level and a further 123 clerks and lesser officials, and its surviving archives testify to their capacity for generating official papers and maintaining the bureaucratic routines of their predecessors. The Finnish socialist movement had always been a very formal and bureaucratic organization, and it was not difficult for members to transfer their talents and experience to national government. Some loss of efficiency occurred, admitted in an order of the Deputation on 26 February, which required those having business with government departments to present it in writing, "because the Deputation's chancellory has not succeeded in getting the kind of staff who could receive all the persons applying to the different departments of the Deputation." But the hostile impression that the Deputation set up a swollen, unwieldy, and unskilled bureaucracy, based on allegations that the staff of the Deputation alone exceeded 1,000 persons, are gross exaggerations. The official return in late February for the staff of the Deputation and all its departments was 350. In addition, an attempt was made to introduce new forms of popular administration, for which the obvious model was the Russian system of Soviets and commissars, and this did represent a radical break with tradition, for Finnish administration had always been highly centralized and hierarchical. But the abdication of the former official class compelled the socialist regime to experiment with popular control. 2 The process can be seen best in the two public service industries whose continued functioning was a matter of life and death for the regime, the post office and the railways. I n both, a traditional division had existed between the bourgeois administrators and the various grades of manual worker, and at the revolution the administrators broadly obeyed the strike call, while the workers were loyal to the new regime, except that the engine-drivers trade union declared political neutrality an their willingness to work for both sides. When it became apparent that the post office administrators were on strike, the Deputation issued a decree on 3 February setting up a central soviet for the post office, consisting of a government commissar and four elected members representing the postal workers. The Deputation would continue to determine charges and wages, and appoint the senior administrative officials with the advice of the soviet. The lower levels of administration would be appointed by the soviet itself. The public interest was to be safeguarded by a larger soviet for "the most important business," consisting of another government commissar and three representatives each from the postal workers, the trade union movement, and the Supreme Council. The success of the scheme then depended on the response of the workers: Almost everywhere the administrators declined to recognize the new management and the manual grades came forward and took over their functions. Difficulties were 353

experienced; the post office savings bank remained closed and for a time deliveries were irregular. But the evidence is that a very reasonable service was restored quite quickly. The diary of the priest at Kirkkonummi, H. Hilden, shows that he was getting letters by 10 February and that they continued to come even when fighting erupted in the area. On 7 March he got a letter from Viipuri in two days, which represents a fair service under any conditions. The mass of letters in the archives of the regime is also witness to the continued working of the postal service, and shows how the Deputation had had success, owing to the loyalty and initiative of the manual workers, in breaking the attempts of the officials to sabotage the post.3 The railway system was even more vital to life in Red Finland and without it, the regime would have collapsed in a matter of days. Lindqvist, the Deputy for transport, was an engine-driver himself and on 30 January he announced that the railways would be put under a system of commissars and Soviets. The next day the seven-man central soviet had been nominated, all manual workers, and the first commissars appointed. On 2 February the new management moved into the offices at Helsinki railway station and found them deserted. The absent officials were told to return to work or face dismissal, but over 500 remained on strike. Those who did return to duty were rightly regarded as of doubtful loyalty; the inspector at Kirkkonummi told Hilden that he had stayed at his post to monitor Red Guard activity and pass on the information to the local White Guard. On 4 February the Deputation confirmed the dismissal of the railway strikers, and on 8 February the new railway administration was finalized, with the same pattern as that set up for the post office. The new management worked: Some 250 new staff had to be found, many of them with rather dubious qualifications, but with the loyal cooperation of the manual grades, regular services were organized, the long-distance train timetables were published on 8 February and local services shortly after. Industrial democracy was encouraged so that "in this way all can be involved in raising the structure of the new society." In spite of all the difficulties, the Red regime got the basic railway service it needed and made good the socialist claim that the bourgeois elements in society were largely redundant and that the organized workers could manage without them. 4 One problem in the new system was never satisfactorily resolved, and that was the determination of wages. The postal workers had an outstanding wage claim and on 15 February the Deputation decided to meet it and raise both wages and postal charges. Elo laid down the policy that "the postal service shall be, as far as possible, self-supporting."This sound bourgeois principle disappointed some workers, for the post office soviet appealed to the workers on 26 February to stop pestering it with pay demands. Other problems must have higher priority and the workers must make sacrifices for their revolution. The same principle was supposed to apply to the railways and there too workers were rebuked for agitating for pay increases when they knew "how small and constricted railway traffic is, so that the revenue is the same." They were further reproached for being over fond of taking sick leave. The Deputation, always desperately pressed for money, never did formulate a policy for public sector wages. The continued rumbling of discontent in the post office 354

and the railways over pay suggested that workers' control could not answer all the problems of running the public services.5 In local government, it was obvious that the former local authorities and their officials would refuse to work with the new government and on 31 January the Deputation issued a circular on the provisional organization of local government. It was based on the principle that "in time of revolution the workers' organizations are especially suited to fulfil the tasks of provisional communeand provincial government." SDP District Councils should assume power at the provincial level, and the town and commune SDPs do the same at their levels. This was defended on the grounds that the workers' organizations were "the only democratic institutions" available. The Deputation would appoint commissars to the bigger local authorities and called for regular reports "on how the workers' revolutionary movement in the country is progressing." A formal decree on local government was issued on 14 February: The old local authorities were abolished and would be replaced by collective institutions at each level. At the provincial level, the Prefect was replaced by a commissar, working with four elected members to form a provincial soviet. At all other levels, elected Soviets would become the governing authorities. Police functions were transferred to the new authorities, all local government offices were held on annual tenure, and all officers could be removed at any timeforgood cause.The new Soviets were urged to strive for simplicity of administration and seek to eliminate superfluous offices. They could assume that all existing laws that conflicted with "democratic principles, or conceptions of justice prevailing among the people" would be abrogated. The system was to be a highly decentralized and democratic form of government, though insofar as it rested on the organized workers only, it had elements of the dictatorship of the proletariat. 11 was intended that the new authorities should become financially independent and raise their own revenues locally. 6 What happened was not as tidy or as uniform as the decree envisaged. The larger towns had no difficulty in taking and consolidating power, and set up provisional local authorities based on the workers' organizations. The difficulties facing the new authorities could be formidable even so. In Tampere, the industrialists refused to reopen their factories, the teachers kept the schools closed, the firemen all enlisted in the Red Guard where the pay was better, and the striking officials would not hand over their records. As late as 24 February, these officials were still using their offices, removing papers and refusing to hand over keys to cupboards and safes. To crown these actions, they had succeeded in paying their own salaries in advance at a time when the new authority had no funds to meet the modest wages allotted to its members. Tampere had a workers' organization strong enough to overcome these problems in time, but in smaller places, the obvious difficulties of assuming responsibility for local affairs was a deterrent. 7 In Viipuri province there was often a well-founded lack of enthusiasm among the local workers' organizations. At Huopalahti it was reported that the former treasurer of the commune had fled; it had no income, only debts; the schools were shut and the teachers hostile and "everything is in the most deporable condition." Another 355

commune, where the former officials had absconded with the funds and records, had six teachers to pay and no food. The commune asked Viipuri soviet to nominate a local government for them, as it was beyond the capacity of the inhabitants to clear up the mess. When the Reds occupied Uusikaupunki and sought to set up a town government, it was reported "there are no competent personnel able to put the decision into effect." Thus a considerable time often lapsed before the workers nerved themselves or were persuaded to take over. Harjavalta held a meeting on 23 February, but did not get further than resolving "to take the affairs of our commune into the charge of the organized workers at the first opportunity." Even a town as large as Pori, with a strong and militant workers' organization, did not complete the formal transfer of power until 17 March. Yet, if Red Finland is taken as a whole, the machinery of SDP did provide an adequate provisional substitute for the old local authorities: The bureaucratic structure of SDP had provided a good training in administration and in most places cadres of men existed who knew how to run an office, maintain correspondence, keep records and accounts, and on the whole were able to cope with their new responsibilities.8 In one area the new government could not overcome bourgeois obstruction and sabotage, and that was the field of public finance. The public finances of Finland had never really been on a firm basis since March 1917, and even the Vaasa government depended wholly on the willingness of banks and businessmen to advance credit. The Deputation had no such resources; private credit was closed to them, and in addition the whole banking system, including the Bank of Finland, went on strike. Naturally a general tax-strike was put into effect by opponents of the regime, on top of a general cessation of economic activity, so that neither direct nor indirect taxation, customs revenues, nor local government taxation were making their usual contributions. Kohonen told the Deputation at the very beginning that the financial situation was so bad that he could not take responsibility for it alone, and a committee of Kuusinen, Eloranta, and Letonmaki was appointed to assist him. Then on 8 February, Gylling was persuaded to join the Deputation, and could contribute some financial expertise, for he had been a leading member of the parliamentary directorate of the Bank of Finland. The socialists had given no prior consideration to the problems of government finance, yet though they were denied all the credit facilities usually afforded to governments, not one member suggested a break with financial orthodoxy. The Deputation remained utterly committed to financial rectitude, maintaining a sound currency, respecting existing financial commitments, running a balanced budget, or at least covering deficits by orthodox public borrowing. On top of this, Finland in 1918 was still a strictly cash economy; the use of credit instruments such as checks in ordinary transactions was unusual. All payments and settlements involved handing over actual currency notes, so that even members of the government received their salary each month in the form of a packet of bank notes. People were mentally unprepared to accept checks or similar devices as substitutes for actual money, and the government therefore had to find enough currency to cover its current expenditures.9

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Four main categories of expenditure had to be met, the military costs of the war; the costs of central government, including public services like the railways; the costs of local government, which were mainly the expense of providing social service payments for the poor and unemployed; and the costs of maintaining and reviving economic activity. In the first category, the Deputation was lucky, because it did not have to pay for arms and ammunition; the Russians provided these without payment, though they did have the support costs of the Russian garrison, and after it left, the wages of the Russian volunteers who served with the Red Guard. But the serious cost was the monthly wages for the Red Guard, set at 450 marks plus family allowances on 5 February, and the expenses of the Commissariat. It was then assumed that for an establishment of 30,000, the monthly bill would be 27,800,000 marks, but on 27 February the estimate, assuming that 30 percent were married and had an average of two children, was raised to 31,800,000 marks. By 1 April, when numbers had risen, and including the Russian volunteers, two weeks' pay was estimated as 20,810,000 marks, plus another ten million for the commissariat. The Red Guard represented a huge and uncontrolled demand for cash, since it was in a condition of permanent and uncontrolled expansion, and no one at the center knew exactly how many men were on the books. Yet it was a demand that had to be met, because dissatisfaction developed very quickly if pay was not forthcoming. The Deputation adopted a system of making block votes of money for the Red Guard; on 21 March they voted a million marks for Helsinki Red Guard, another half-million for V i i p u r i , and a few days before half a million for Turku. These round figures reveal that the Deputation was not working on costed estimates, but on rough guesses about how much might be enough to keep things going: Rational financial provision was impossible in such circumstances. 10 By comparison the scale of civil government expenditure was modest, and some costs were reduced once the salaries of the striking officials were cut off, for their substitutes were paid at much lower rates. The members of the Deputation set a good example, for they refused a monthly salary of 2,000 marks, suggested by the Supreme Council, and settled for 1,200 with the same family allowances as the Red Guard. The Deputation resolved to honor existing public commitments, chiefly pensions, though they set a ceiling and reserved the right to withhold payment from known counterrevolutionaries. The biggest demand in this sector was the deficits on the public services; though the post office and the railways were supposed to be self-financing, both had to be supported: The railways began with a demand for 5 million marks for the J a n u a r y wages bill, and finished on 17 April with one for 6,500,000 marks for their immediate expenses.11 Local government had the same problem as the public services, heavy expenditure and very little revenue, so that their deficits had to be covered out of central funds. Many local authorities had been virtually bankrupt by January 1918, and where they had funds, these were often not available to the new authorities because hostile treasurers concealed or made off with them or they were locked in the strike-bound private banks. The position can be seen in the accounts of the major local authorities: 357

Viipuri provincial government had an expenditure of 2,818,208 marks and a revenue of 22,000 in February. The corresponding figures for Turku and Pori were 2,260,000 and 20,000 and for Uusimaa 1,221,523 and 10,000. In all cases the revenue was less than 10 percent of expenditure, though the latter was swollen by payments for the Red Guard, which was not strictly local government expenditure. The most serious genuine local burden was the cost of unemployment relief. This had been a serious problem before the revolution and was made worse by the economic dislocation that followed it, but a workers' regime could not neglect the plight of the poor and unemployed. So the Deputation had no choice but to save local authorities from bankruptcy by advancing them the money they needed. The sums involved ranged from the ten million marks demanded by Helsinki down to the fifteen thousand marks requested by the rural commune of Poytya. The situation was exacerbated because the new regime undermined the basis of local revenue collection: First, the Deputation issued a decree on 1 February exempting small income dwellers from paying local taxes, because it had long been a plank of SDP policy that the local rating system was unfair to the poor. Then the local authorities themselves embarked on ambitious rerating plans designed to produce an equitable basis for the future. So Turku informed the Deputation that they would need to manage on credit for two months, until they had reassessed the local rates and introduced "the strictest possible tax scheme, aimed especially at the bigger incomes." Poytya had the same liberal aim; "one of the first measures of the workers' revolutionary administration was the abrogation of the old local tax system, which burdened the working people so heavily."They too proposed to live on credit until this was done. The Deputation had to accept that local revenue would be inadequate temporarily, and though they haggled and moderated local demands, and generally gave less than was asked for, in the end they paid up.12 The fourth main area of expenditure was money advanced for reviving economic activity. The general economic dislocation was compounded by the employers' attempt at a general lockout. The government response to this in a decree of 15 February was to encourage the workers to reopen the closed factories and to offer government credits to get them started. Some of these credits were quite large, like the 500,000 marks advanced to the H. Borgstrom tobacco factory, employing over 600 workers, or the 200,000 for the Helsinki shipyard Helsingin Laivatelakka. The money was thought of as a loan to be repaid once production had started again, but in every case the hope of speedy repayment was disappointed. What usually happened was that the credit was used up in the payment of wages, while sales and receipts lagged far behind. In effect the Deputation was underwriting the wages bills of the reopened factories, and though in time the money might have been recovered, in the short term it was another heavy item of government expenditure.13 A normal government would have employed all the resources of public borrowing with the support of the banking system to bridge its deficits, but the Deputation did not have this possibility. The central problem was that at the revolution all the banks closed. The Deputation tried to negotiate for their reopening on 30 January, but the bankers would not even talk to them. On 31 January the government issued

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provisional banking regulations: The state issuing office, the Valtiokonttori, would be opened and those with money in the banks could make withdrawals through the Valtiokonttori, which would subsequently recover the money from their accounts. The government also formally ordered the banks to open and demanded an advance from the private banks of 60 million marks, but this met with blank refusal. On 1 February the Deputation briefly considered a decree to seize the banks, but their courage failed them, and instead they decided to reopen the Bank of Finland. The old board of management was dismissed, likewise the striking officials, and a new committee of management was appointed, and on 2 February the Bank of Finland was back in business.14 The formal arrangements were completed on 9 February, when E. Gylling was appointed chairman of the Bank of Finland and the old management system formally abolished. The Finance Department of the Deputation now issued orders to pay, which could be cashed at the Valtiokonttori, the money being drawn from the government accounts in the Bank of Finland. The private banks were dealt with by a decree of 8 February, which encouraged them to resume business: A government commissar would be appointed to ensure that their funds were not used to finance counterrevolution, but went for purposes that were "of use to the working class." If they remained closed, their customers could draw on their accounts through the Bank of Finland, which would levy a tax on such transactions of between 1 to 10 percent, half paid by the customer, half by the bank. An article in the press warned the private banks that if they remained closed they would destroy themselves and find they had lost their business permanently; it was claimed that in the interim, the Bank of Finland could provide an adequate substitute service. The bankers remained unmoved, since they were relying on an eventual White victory, and though in a few provincial places the private banks did open, of which Tampere and Kotka were the most important, they were exceptional; the amount of money released in consequence was disappointing. Obviously, the Deputation could have broken the resistance of the banks; a few arrests of leading bankers and officials, or the forcible seizure of premises and opening of safes would have worked wonders, but the rigid bourgeois financial orthodoxy of the Deputation meant that they never seriously considered taking such measures. The private banks were allowed to sabotage the economy with impunity;their premises and assets remained inviolable.15 The boast in the statement of 9 February that the government's alternative arrangements would be adequate was ill-founded. No doubt if the Red regime had proved durable the bankers would have bowed to the inevitable, but what in fact happened was that money was withheld from the banks, and hence from circulation. It was known that any currency issued by the Deputation would be repudiated by the White government, and the serial numbers of the prerevolutionary notes were public knowledge, so sensible people hoarded their prerevolutionary money, creating a severe shortage of money in circulation. By mid-March the Deputation knew that the policy was not working and on 14 March they resolved in principle that all accounts in private banks would be transferred to the Bank of Finland, and the banks would be compelled to open their books for this purpose. At the same

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time, the government would reduce its own need for currency by making all large payments to individuals in the form of checks drawn on the Bank of Finland. The local authorities were to enforce the new system by appointing inspectors to examine the books and safes of the banks, and of private businesses, with powers to confiscate any surplus stocks of currency they found and bring it to the Bank of Finland. The workers too would make sacrifices; the Red Guard would be paid mainly in government checks, and for the first fortnight of March would get only 25 marks in cash. They were assured that the checks would be just as good as money. But this brave new policy collapsed ignominiously in practice: In Helsinki the local authority certainly ordered that all surplus funds must be brought to the bank, and if this was not done, they "will commence to execute measures to ensure that businessmen and private citizens obey our order, with all the severity of revolutionary authority," but this was hot air, and the businessmen knew it. On 20 March a memorandum in the Department of Finance conceded that it had been impossible to get the keys of the private banks to inspect them, and the Department resolved that the most urgent measures be taken to solve the problem, but clearly had no idea what such measures might be. In fact nothing was done; the socialists' awe of the sanctity of money and property was too great. The other side of the policy also failed; the workers and Red Guards would not accept the new checks. The Commissariat reported on 3 April that when they began paying workers making shoes and clothing for the Red Guard in checks, production fell by half, and they proposed to resume cash payments; the Red Guard itself protested vigorously, and the Deputation had to make concessions. The whole scheme approved on 14 March was in ruins. 16 When the Deputation next reviewed the financial situation, on 2 April, it had simply got worse; places like Lahti were complaining that money had virtually disappeared, that they needed 20 million marks at once to pay the Red Guard for the second half of March, and all the government accounts in the Bank of Finland were overdrawn. They had no new ideas for meeting this crisis, but resolved to demand once more that the private banks advance 60 million marks to the government and the Bank of Finland advance 100 mill ion marks at 5 percent interest. What this really meant was that the Bank of Finland would print a further 160 million marks worth of banknotes to cover the immediate expenses of the government. Then final disaster struck, for when Helsinki had to be evacuated under German threat, they forgot to secure the note-printing machinery, and a desperate last minute attempt to retrieve it failed. After that, in the last chaotic days of the regime, they could think of no other policy than trying to get banknotes printed in Petrograd, and the end came before this could be implemented. The basic financial history of the Red regime was therefore very simple, and was exposed in a report made to the Deputation on 17 April. When they took power they had found 159 million marks in notes in the Bank of Finland, plus small sums in bullion and silver coins. They had used the notes and subsequently printed a further 150 million marks, being held to this figure by the limited capacity of the note-printing machinery. They recognized that a mistake had been made in continuing to issue the old, elaborate designs; they should have substituted a simpler design that could be printed quickly. In short, the Depu360

tation, having no revenue worth speaking of and denied normal credit facilities, lacking the imagination or the courage to adopt unorthodox solutions, had simply printed the money it needed, and when this facility was taken from it, was left with no resources at all. Yet as a short-term expedient, the printing of money sufficed to carry the government along; its work was not really impeded seriously by its financial difficulties. The Red government was headed for financial disaster from its very first days, but it did not survive quite long enough for this to have a decisive effect on the outcome.17 The problem of how to maintain economic activity, in conditions of political and social uncertainty, is one that all revolutionary governments face. The Deputation had the added difficulty that the Finnish economy was already on the verge of collapse when they took power. The virtual ending of trade with Russia during 1917, combined with the winding up of Russian military expenditures in Finland, in a situation where few alternative trading possibilities were available, had created a serious situation. Industry lacked both markets and sources of raw materials, political and economic uncertainty discouraged new enterprise, and the menacing growth of unemployment was the measure of approaching economic collapse. This background makes it difficult to evaluate the economic achievement of the Red regime, since so many of their troubles were due to circumstances beyond their control. But they certainly added to the existing economic problems the special problems of an avowedly socialist government, that is, how far they ought to go in seeking to transform the capitalist structures in a socialist direction. Their stated program committed them to running a mixed economy, or a managed capitalist system. Sirola explained what this meant to a meeting of young socialists when he said that the revolution had been forced on Finland prematurely, before native capitalism was "ripe" for overthrow. It must be anticipated that some capitalists would seek to undermine the new regime, but in most cases, the workers' supervision would suffice to meet the problems; immediate nationalization was not called for. External factors, the developments in the advanced capitalist worldLwould dictate the extent and speed of the socialization of the economy in Finland.-18' Two immediate obstacles blocked a speedy resumption of work once the initial general strike was ended: The first was the government decree of 2 February that employers must pay wages for the strike period from 27 January, and the second was the Employers' Union declaration of a general lockout. Some socialists would have been ready to meet the challenge headon. In Tampere the revolutionary committee proposed to send in the Red Guard, arrest recalcitrant employers and managerial staff, and treat them as counterrevolutionaries, but the Deputation ruled that this kind of action was not permitted, and Tampere desisted. The policy of the Deputation was issued as a decree on 4 February: If the employers refused to reopen their plant, or refused to pay wages for the strike period, the workers were to apply to the Revolutionary Courts for redress, and if the employers defied an order of the Court, then the workers could apply to the Deputation for authority to requisition the enterprise and run it under workers' control. The position was further defined after a debate in the Deputation on 11 February, over the refusal of Kone-ja siltara361

kennus OY of Helsinki, which made important railway equipment, to resume production. Haapalainen proposed that in this and in similar cases, where the Deputation decided that it was "financially and commercially useful to society," and the workers were prepared to run the plant, the Deputation should give permission directly for them to go ahead. Eloranta wanted a more radical approach; workers everywhere should be encouraged to take over enterprises and local authorities given the power to sanction this. A confused debate ensued, in which Kuusinen suggested it would be best to avoid laying down rules, and consider every case on its merits, but in the end the Deputation adopted Haapalainen's proposal and setup a committee to consider applications for the takeover of plants. The committee was set up in the Labour Department, which issued rules for takeovers. The workers should elect a committee and ask the employer to open his factory and pay wages for the strike period and if he refused, they should approach the Department. Provided the Deputation agreed, the plant would be inventoried and the workers assume control through an elected committee of shop stewards, though a managing director was also to be elected, and the government would appoint a commissar to represent the public interest. It had decided against a pure syndicalist approach and required a measure of public accountability. 19 From mid-February a steady flow of applications came in, in every case with a request for a government credit to get them started. This credit would be absorbed in settlement of wages, and then the men would come back for more credit to meet running costs. It is impossible to assess the working of the system, for it was not given time to show whether such enterprises could have become viable under workers' control. Sometimes it was not even possible to restart production, but there were some indications of success. At the Kymi OY paper factories, the major source of newsprint, a government commissar and an elected committee of management persuaded the managerial and clerical staff to resume work, and with a credit of 5 million marks from the government were able to produce newsprint at a time when it was desperately short. Some employers agreed to end the lockout, but with manifest lack of enthusiasm. The British-owned cigarette factory, Itamainen Paperossitehdas, expressed concern that the workers' committee might interfere with management and were assured by Sirola that it would "interfere with the management of the business only so far as is necessary." The factory reopened but almost at once the management was alleging that the railways would not take their goods for delivery and they might have to close again. There was an obvious suspicion that they were just looking for an excuse to fall in line with other employers. Some managements indulged in obvious sabotage, like the Pohjanlahden Verkatehdas, which laid off its workers on the grounds that they had run out of raw materials, when investigation showed that they had a two-months' stock. Yhdistyneet Villatehtaat at Hyvinkaa alleged Red Guard violence as their excuse for closing. The firm wrote to the Deputation on 12 February that the Red Guard had taken their key personnel, requisitioned part of their stocks, and so terrorized the supervisory staff that they dare not come to work. Negotiations were begun, but the employers insisted that "the dreadful murders which have happened in Hyvinkaa" made it impossible for 362

the management to carry on. Th is plant was taken over by the workers, and managed to resume production by 15 March. Not all employers were hostile, and in some areas prudence outweighed sentiment. In Turku the local employers collaborated with the Red authorities to keep production going, and the trade unions in Turku wrote to the Deputation, "We cannot fault the good-will of the employers in organising things with regard for the interests of the workers." 20 The same general principles were applied to agriculture, where many of the larger estates and farms were simply abandoned by their owners, who had some reason to fear for their personal safety, and the work was left undone and the workers unpaid. A decree of 18 February authorized the takeover of abandoned farms, and the regulations issued on 26 February were similar to those in industry, the workers would elect a committee of management and government appoint a commissar. They stressed the need to respect property, to keep careful accounts, and to avoid waste or dilapidation. The question of ultimate ownership was left open; the government stressed the advantages of large-scale farming, and urged the workers to eliminate only the negative factors in the old way of doing things. "It must be made clear to all the workers on a farm that it is now a question of looking after society's, that is to say, their own property." The rural workers proved less enthusiastic about taking over their farms than the industrial workers; on 20 March, the Agriculture Department noted the considerable number of deserted farms where the workers showed no interest in assuming control. The Department considered whether nationalization of the land might be the best solution, but decided against it. This in turn may have weakened the enthusiasm of the workers, for whom enlistment in the Red Guard was often a more attractive proposition than working land not their own, land that might yet revert to its absent proprietor. 21 The government was strongly interested in reviving foreign trade and the Finnish merchant marine, though since the ports were frozen and the Russian navy had requisitioned most of the merchant ships and all the ice-breakers, there was not much to be done immediately. A memorandum of 22 February proposed a state monopoly of import and export so that price levels and supplies could be controlled, though the actual trading would be left to private businessmen working under license. A start could be made by trying to recover the shipping from the Russians, as Sirola pointed out in a memorandum of 4 February, and on the following day, Tsentrobalt acknowledged that it did control most of the ships and was ready, in principle, to return them to Finland. The Deputation decided to go ahead, but the Russians proved evasive when it came to handing over any actual ships; a report of 4 March said that the Russians "showed unwillingness to give up the ships, creating all kinds of obstacles." A further report on 22 March showed that in spite of the treaty of 1 March, which stipulated that all the Finnish ships be returned, not one had been, and even by the end of the month only a very few, and they all proved to be useless until repaired. In this area the Deputation did contemplate direct state control of economic activity, though in spite of Lenin's stipulation that any ships handed back must be nationalized, the Deputation did not commit itself to a nationalized shipping industry. 22 363

One inescapable problem for any government that claims to represent the working class is labor discipline. The socialists had been teaching the workers for decades that employment was exploitation and the employer the class enemy, and it was not easy to explain why the attitudes that this had encouraged were no longer appropriate. Lumivuokko published an appeal on 7 February to "put an end to the habits of a degenerate period," such as deliberate idling. Full production must now be the aim of the worker, for even if the capitalists did retain ownership of industry, the new regime would tax off much of their profit, and society would be the ultimate beneficiary. He called for discipline and the reeducation of comrades who had developed bad working habits. The Labour Department noted:23 Alongside capitalist development, and an essential part of its nature, there develops in society, and not only among the upper class . . . a number of professional unemployed, who lack any sense of duty towards society . . . and do not ever want to work. Another memorandum in the same Department regretted the state of discipline on public works; "the idea easily gets hold among some people that in this kind of work, especially now when the workers themselves are in power, each one can behave how he likes." The regime never found a convincing answer; they relied heavily on pious exhortation. Tyomies told the workers on 26 February that they should be ready to sacrifice the 8-hour day, and that "now we must apply the principle that everybody works and that the work which is done is useful work." Workers who expected immediate improvements in wages and conditions were told they must wait. Sirola stated on 3 March that the recovery of full production was a prior condition for improving living standards. It seems clear that low productivity and rising expectations among the work force were a major problem for the regime, but that although the regime appeared to have no solutions, it did not survive long enough for the problem to become apparent.24 No reliable data is available from which the economic performance of Red Finland can be assessed: Its partisans claim that substantial progress was being made towards restoring normal economic life, its opponents paint a picture of economic chaos and disaster. But one reliable sign that conditions were not normal was the persistence of high unemployment. At the end of February Tampere had 700 men on public works, 180 more needingwork,and an unrecorded number of unemployed women and juveniles. Helsinki had 3,000 on public works, 2,000 more registered unemployed, and about 4,000 unemployed women, while even a small rural commune like Virolahti had 300 men on public works and another 150 idle. In the end the Red Guard took most of the men, but the employment of women remained a problem. On 2 March Helsinki Red Guard decided to discharge its married women employees and take on unemployed single women, and this produced a howl of protest from those affected. Things could work the opposite way; the unmarried women employees of Fiskars Anlag complained to the Deputation that their union was dominated by married women, who were pushing the unmarried out of employment. They complained that this was contrary to principles of socialist equality,

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and added that if the unmarried women lost their jobs, they and their children would starve. The persistence of unemployment among unskilled women workers in urban areas suggests strongly that economic activity was well below normal. 25 The Delegation and its agencies spent a lot of energy grappling with the problem of unemployment, and their favorite remedy was always relief works. A decree of 6 February set out regulations for such works, which allowed an element of worker control, but insisted on proper labor discipline. They had to allow for some cash relief as well, but tried to organize this exclusively through the trade unions, at least in the larger communities. On 18 February it was ruled that union members registered as being unemployed for a week were entitled to cash payments through the union. Where local authorities could not provide work, they were encouraged to distribute relief in kind, through soup kitchens. The obvious answer to male unemployment was to enlist the men in the Red Guard, but there were problems. Initially entry in the Guard was restricted to organized workers elected by their comrades, and it was felt that some among the unemployed were unsuitable. Helsinki noted there were men on its books "to whom a rifle could not be entrusted, because there is a danger they would misuse it." At the beginning of March, the Red Guard changed its policy, and announced that any able-bodied worker would be accepted. Once this happened, the answer to unemployment was easy, and in Helsinki and Uusimaa the local authorities quickly announced that able-bodied men on relief who did not enlist would be removed from the rolls. Then, during the last weeks of the regime, a real manpower shortage seemed to develop and plans were made to enforce general labor service on the whole population. 26 As usually happens in the end, war was the most effective cure for unemployment. The biggest real economic problem facing the Deputation was food supply, for they knew that the workers' fears about food had been a major element in causing the revolution, and that the workers expected them to improve on the performance of the old regime. They recognized that there was no way of increasing food production in the short term, and that they would have to combine redistribution of existing stocks, hoping that their allegations of massive hoarding were true, with the import of food from Russia. Thus on 29 January, Tokoi asked Tsentrobalt if an icecreaker could be sent to Reval to bring over potatoes, for the revolution would collapse if the food supply did not improve. The following day the Food Boards were empowered to take seed corn and use it, and Sirola and Tokoi asked the Executive of Helsinki Soviet for help. They put their basic need as about 100 wagonloads of grain a week. The Russians were sympathetic, and Seinman suggested that it might be possible to buy grain directly in the interior of Russia, if the Finns provided transport. The Deputation issued a statement that the country was almost bare of supplies, and "it must be clear that we must be prepared to suffer shortages and even hunger," but they would try to see that distribution was fair, and urged the workers to supervise the work of the Food Boards, and where necessary replace them. They would try to import food, and the statement went on: 27 Especially we appeal to our nearest neighbours and their revolutionary peoples whose aid we are hoping for. . . . the road we have set out on is hard and 365

demands suffering. The cause is also great . . . which in the end will compensate the suffering of the working class. On 31 January the powers of the Food Boards were extended to give them unlimited rights of search and requisition; on 3 February the Deputation ordered a general inventory of food stocks for the whole country on 20 February, and SDP was told that any Food Boards that did not cooperate must be replaced.28 Tokoi went on a mission to Petrograd in search of food and he was promised all possible assistance, Petrograd Soviet donated 10 wagons of grain as a token of goodwill, and a plan was worked out to send Finnish trains through to Omsk, where it would be possible to buy grain directly and bring it back to Finland. The Russian leaders showed the utmost friendliness, but in harsh reality Petrograd itself was on the verge of starvation, and local authorities defied government policy and obstructed the export of food. Tokoi sent a telegram to Lenin on12 February, complaining that supplies for Finland were being delayed and claiming that the Finnish revolution might collapse if the food did not come. This plainly did not work, for further telegrams to Lenin specified consignments that had been detained, and on 22 February the Food Department noted that "they do not seem to be letting grain go through Petrograd." It was the second half of March before local obstruction was worn down and food began to come over the frontier; on 29 March Tyomies expressed mild optimism, but these random purchases were no answer to the problem. A more immediately accessible source was the food stocks of the Russian garrison, and when evacuation was ordered on 18 February, food was included in the stocks that the garrison was to leave behind for the Finns. Viipuri obtained 19 wagonloads of food from this source during the first two weeks of March, and on 9 March the food began to be shifted from the magazines on Sveaborg for the use of the Food Department. The Finnish authorities watched carefully in case the returning soldiers tried to take food with them, on the grounds that "all Russian stores have been sold to us, so that consequently they belong to us." As long as the Russians remained in Finland, some of the food leaked onto the black market; Viipuri complained of the "uncontrolled speculative selling by the soldiers," but the bulk of the stocks came to the Finnish authorities, and were a useful boost to supplies, in addition the departure of the soldiers reduced general demand. 29 But the hopes of a real breakthrough rested onthe Siberian grain trains, and this required careful planning, which was on an ambitious scale. All Finnish rolling stock in Russia was inventoried, potential markets were investigated, and plans even wer made to set up purchasing commissions at Harbin and Vladivostock. The first train, of 49 wagons and passenger coaches for the crew and armed guard, left on 20 February. It was loaded with trade goods, matches, agricultural machinery, and newsprint, and the orders were to buy the maximum amounts of available food. The first train was a success, returning fully loaded to Helsinki on 31 March, to be given a public reception. The impression was given that the worst of the food crisis was over, but in fact this train had had constant trouble with suspicious local Soviets along the route, and would not have gone through without the armed guard; a second train was stopped on the way and the plan proved abortive. In any case the growing 366

anarchy in the Russian interior in 1918 soon would have restricted this source of supply. 30 Importation was one side of government policy; internal redistribution was the other, and this depended on the cooperation of the Food Boards. Most were wholly or largely bourgeois in membership, as were their administrative staffs, so their reaction to the new regime varied. In Helsinki and Tampere they agreed to continue, but in many places, as in most of rural Uusimaa province, they simply stopped functioning. The local workers' organizations were supposed to replace them, but were often slow to do so, for it was not always easy to find workers with relevant experience. The Deputation ordered the election of a three-man directory for food supply in each province, and of a commissar for food in each town and commune, who were to supervise the work of the Boards and enforce national policy, but a report from Turku in April showed that only 67 of 132 communes had yet elected a commissar, and only 11 of these were sending in regular reports. Where the bourgeois did consent to continue, they often ran up against the hostility of the Red Guard. Tampere Red Guard complained that the city food supplies remained under bourgeois control, and in spite of being told that their expertise was necessary, insisted that the Board be purged and given a socialist majority. It was not long after, on 16 March, that Tampere reported bread grain would be exhausted within two days, because the system of collection was "entirely lacking in organisation." The same was true of Helsinki, where the Food Board controlled a network of provincial purchasing agents, who directed the flow of food from the countryside into the city. But Helsinki Red Guard saw it as an affront that this bourgeois activity continued, and complained that the officials "do not treat the public, especially the workers, in the manner which is required of people who are in the service of society." The Red Guard demanded a purge, and on 20 February the Deputation had to explain that this was impossible; but by then the Food Board officials grew weary of being harassed and obstructed by hostile Red Guards, and on 23 February the bourgeois members of the Board and their senior officials resigned, leaving a very reluctant socialist minority to carry on as best it could. 31 I n these circumstances, it was very difficult to enforce a national food policy, as the inventory of stocks showed. I n Helsinki it went as planned on 23 February, when 600 inspectors in teams of four, two bourgeois and two workers, carried out a house to house search. But a Food Department circular of 15 March complained that many inventories were outstanding, and a few days later complained that many of the inventories it had received were incomplete. They suspected, with some justice, that "our local authorities are exercising policies based on self-interest, so that they are exceedingly mean in helping those in need." Places that had adequate supplies were not anxious to advertise the fact. The failure of the national inventory of food stocks meant that the Food Department never had the information needed to operate the planned redistribution and was never able to institute a proper, integrated rationing system.32 But an even bigger obstacle was the behavior of the Red Guard. The Guard had been authorized from the beginning to requisition what it needed, and this meant it was often living off the country. Sometimes they paid for what they took, sometimes 367

not. O. Setala reported that "it was a rare day they did not come to extort something. Sometimes weapons, sometimes boots or clothing, potatoes, corn etc." At Kuru a red guard recalled that while they paid cash for what they took from the people with whom they were billeted, they also foraged continually in empty farms and "at the end of our time we lived off the country like mercenaries in the Thirty Years' war." All armies live off the land if they must, but commanders know the danger to discipline if it becomes habitual. That was why the Red Guard had a Commissariat to control the feeding and clothing of the Guard. Each unit was supposed to have a commissariat committee, and all requisitioning was to be authorized and meticulously accounted for. In particular, all food taken was to be set against their regular entitlement to rations. What happened was that in addition to indiscriminate requisitioning by individual units, there was now large-scale requisitioning by the Commissariat, and together they threatened to wreck any attempt at an orderly distribution of food.33 On 12 February the Food Department wrote to the General Staff to suggest that in future all food requisitioned by the Red Guard must be handed over to the local Food Board for distribution. The Red Guard leaders were very ready to cooperate, and orders went out that the arbitrary requisitioning of food must stop, everything taken be handed to the Food Boards, and all interference with supplies in transit must cease. The reissue and strengthening of these orders on 23 February, 4 March, and 9 March showed how little regard was being paid to them.The order of 9 March appealed to the Guard to end the dangers of anarchy in food distribution; "remember comrades that the fallen regime left us, among other legacies, hunger which could knock the base from under the revolution, unless we realise in time that anarchy in coping with hunger is an enemy of the revolution." Tokoi was in despair, and on 23 February had threatened to resign unless an effective single authority for the distribution of food was established. He would be happy to let the Commissariat handle all internal distribution, for "dual activity is not, in our opinion possible." Haapalainen was not at all eager to assume such a responsibility, and countered with the suggestion that the Food Department and the Food Boards become the sole agencies for handling food. In the end, a new unified system was announced on 18 March: A new soviet for the control of food supply was set up, with members from the Red Guard, the Food Department, and the Finance Department, with threee sections, one for grain and vegetables, one for meat and fish, and one for all other foods. It would have a monopoly of procurement and distribution, and in the short time that it was able to function does seem to have been getting the situation under control; at least the complaints and appeals faded away.34 It is impossible to generalize about the food situation in Red Finland, because in the absence of a national rationing system, there were wide variations of experience. A lucky commune like Nastola could report in April that they had always had an adequate bread supply, when Koivisto reported on 21 March that they had had no bread for a month and that people were sickening from malnutrition. Fisherman in the Kotka area had so much fresh fish, and so little salt, that they sought permission to take it to Petrograd to sell. Lappeenrants was the only town to report in February

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that there had been no bread for two weeks and that actual starvation threatened, but a number of rural communes a Food Department circular of 17 April identified as "famine communes." Turku was nearly out of bread on 8 March, but by early April had been reprovisioned; Viipuri had no bread or potatoes at the beginning of March, but then improved. Helsinki announced "a frightening shortage" on 11 February, and by the beginning of March could offer only half the notional bread ration and 2 liters of potatoes a head, while on 10 March because of the need to put potato flour in the bread, they were uncertain if the potato ration could be kept up. The new food soviet announced that all bread rations would be cut by a quarter on 31 March, and all self-supporting households abolished and put on rations. That was the lowest point for Helsinki, for the Siberian grain train enabled the bread ration to be increased by half, and a stop was put to adulterating bread with potato flour. On 31 March Tyomies claimed that the food crisis in Helsinki was over, which it was for a brief period. Overall in Red Finland rations were meager and unreliable; in the cities hours of queuing were often necessary, and particular commodities would disappear for weeks at a time, so that the consumer was exposed to endless worry and frustration. But the enemy propaganda picture of Red Finland as sunk in starvation, with its population facing destruction, was untrue. If it is considered that Red Finland was a food deficit area, cut off from its supplies in northern Finland, it is apparent that in the end the Red regime muddled through quite creditably, and warded off the threatened collapse.35 One of the most difficult problems facing a revolutionary government is law and order, since revolution generally involves the destruction of the previous law-enforcement agencies. The Deputation was lucky in this respect, because this had already been done in the towns after March, and the militias were generally sympathetic. So the Deputation did not have to begin creating a new police force, though they did acknowledge that some of the earlier criticism of the militias was justified; a statement on 1 February said, "The militia has not fulfilled its tasks wholly satisfactorily and it should begin a more severe purge of doubtful elements in its establishment." The vexed question of militia pay was settled by laying down a national scale, 600 marks a month in Helsinki, considerably above the rate for the Red Guard. A problem remained in rural areas, where the old police had not been replaced, and had often fled, or were driven out after the revolution. It was not easy to find replacements because rural communes often had no funds for their pay; a report from Turku province suggested that some rural communes had not paid their militiamen for six weeks, and militiamen preferred to enlist in the Red Guard, where pay was reasonably se cure. Inevitable tension rose between the militia and the Guard, whose members tended to make unflattering comparisons between themselves and the militiamen, and this caused a crisis in Helsinki in March, because the Red Guard had insinuated that the militia was "indifferent to the success of the revolution," and Nyqvist invited his men to volunteer for the front and formed a special battalion. Both the Deputation and the city authorities were horrified at the prospect of losing their police protection; Nyqvist may not have been serious, but he hinted at provocation by those "who are opposed to every kind of social order and organisation," who wanted the

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militia out of the way so that they could "start disorders." The Deputation told the General Staff to cancel orders for the militia battalion to go to the front, "and urges the General Staff to impress on the minds of the commanders and men of the Guard that the civil and military government are still to be kept separate from one another." Wars and revolutions do sometimes have the effect of lowering crime-rates but this one did not, and the government was aware how precarious the structure of order was. On 7 March the Procurator had urged the militia and the courts to combat the crime wave and warned the criminals they would not be allowed to operate with impunity. Nyqvist had already told them he needed an extra 1,000 men, and he had recruited a special night patrol force of 200 armed men, "because of the audacious robberies that have occurred in the city." In the end, the war did compel the government to release 250 Helsinki militia for front line service, and in the last desperate days a proposal was made to replace the militia with women.36 The Red government was equally fortunate in being able to retain the services of the prison staffs; the Deputation noted with satisfaction on 31 January that they had stayed on duty, though some of the administrators were considered doubtful. There was no doubt that many prison staff sympathized with the Whites, but felt a duty to continue to protect society, and further, as the prisons filled with White detainees, the staff were in a position to offer them some protection. On 4 February all penal institutions were directed to elect a soviet and a commissar, and most seem to have complied, though the situation was delicate. At Turku the authorities unwisely tried to extract a written declaration of loyalty, and found 23 out of 55 prison staff declined, though they were ready to give verbal assurances of cooperation and this had to be accepted. Thus the Deputation had a working prison service, an the main problem was overcrowding, which naturally led the Deputation to consider an amnesty for ordinary criminals. But it was never true, as their enemies alleged, that they emptied the jails and let the criminals loose on society. The limited amnesty ordered by the Deputation was for socially harmless criminals to be released, and only on the recommendation of the prison staff. They always refused the proposals of some Red Guards for a general release of convicts.37 But if the Deputation inherited a working police and prison system, it was face with a total boycott by the judicial system; they had no courts, no judges, and no lawyers. This situation did not dismay them, since the socialists had been clear that the old legal system was an obstacle that would have to be removed. A decree of 1 February ordered the establishment of Revolutionary Courts with jurisdiction over all counter revolutionary and criminal cases. In each town and commune the workers' organizations would elect a Court consisting of a chairman and four assessors, with a public prosecutor to present cases. The militia would be their executive arm, and they would proceed on principles of common equity rather than on formal law, though defendants were entitled to legal representation. Penalties could be either fine or imprisonment. There would be a Superior Court in Helsinki to hear appeals, and this was appointed by the Supreme Council. The system was completed by a law of 13 March that permitted the Revolutionary Courts to take civil cases as well. The working rules issued by the Justice Department said the Courts could take all

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cases, irrespective of the time or place of the offense, except cases involving members of the Red Guard on active service, which would be dealt with by the Guard itself through Comrades' Courts. Both sides could call witnesses, and these were obliged to attend, but the aim was to settle all cases at a single sitting, and all appeals had to be lodged within 24 hours of sentence. The decision could be by majority vote, and the Courts were of course to be strictly impartial, "humane but not softhearted. . . . The Revolutionary Court will secure the confidence and respect of the nation by its fair-mindedness." The accused was always to have the benefit of any doubt, for "it is better that a guilty person be freed than that an innocent person be punished." The Revolutionary Courts were a radical experiment in laymen running a judicial system on principles of natural justice.38 The Deputation regarded the establishment of the Courts as of the utmost urgency, for "mob law and arbitrary justice must be brought to an end, and in their place be set up the use of the organised justice of the revolutionary workers." The actual establishment of the Courts depended on the zeal and enthusiasm of the local workers' organizations. Many communes, generally remote rural ones, never had a Revolutionary Court, and others took their time; a circular from Turku province on 14 February assumed that most communes still did not have one, and they were right-Pihlava elected its Court on 15 March, Harjavalta on 23 March, others even later. Even when the Court was elected, its activity depended on the quality of those chosen: At Pukkila they were "elderly leaders of the workers'organisations, who did not really understand what they were doing. They did not even know what they wanted." It was asking a lot of unsophisticated provincial working men, usually with very limited formal education, to set themselves up as judges and run a court. Yet a considerable body of surviving evidence shows that they did, over much of Red Finland. In all, 146 Revolutionary Courts are known to have existed, and records have survived from 118 of them, and they were typically like Turku, with three metal workers, a forest worker, and a carpenter as members, and a pipe fitter as prosecutor.39 But there could be no standard pattern of cases or activity, though over half the recorded cases are political, involving some element of counterrevolutionary activity. The commonest political offense was naturally membership of the White Guard, and in straightforward cases the common penalty was to be held as a prisoner of war for the duration, sometimes at their own expense. Generally the sentencing for political offenses was extraordinarily lenient: Muolaa Revolutionary Court, in an area that was virtually in the firing line, gave fines of 1,500 and 1,000 marks on two men convicted of passing information to the enemy and damaging telegraph lines, plus imprisonment for the duration. In any other legal system in the world they would have got death or very long terms of imprisonment; in White Finland, they would have been shot without trial. In Mantsala a man who said he had joined the White Guard without realizing what sort of organization it was got a fine of 500 marks and a suspended sentence; in Rauma a man caught out at night with an illegal firearm, on a night when a train was derailed in the vicinity, claimed total innocence and was released with a fine of 500 marks. It is notable that really severe penalties 371

were ordered mainly where the defendant was absent. At Virolahti, the former chairman of the commune got 2 years, after he had prudently fled; at Luumaki the local policeman, who had organized the White Guard there, got 31/2 years and a fine of 5,000 marks in his absence, while at Muolaa a shopkeeper, who bet a search party 20,000 marks that they could not find any hidden stocks and fled when they did, was ordered to pay the 20,000 plus 2,000 as a fine for hoarding. The mildness of the penalties for political offenses must be related to the tendency for notorious or especially obnoxious political opponents to leave the area or go into hiding. Almost no cases exist of prominent White leaders being brought to trial before a Revolutionary Court; E. Erkko, editor of Helsingin Sanomat, was a rare exception, so those condemned were rank and file supporters, the rude, and the careless. Most of the White Guard activists were rounded up in the first days of the revolution, and were treated as prisoners of war and did not come before a Court. Even when there were formal convictions, the penalties were not always levied. In Viipuri, prisoners charged with involvement in the January events in the city were allowed to plead poverty, and count the time they had been detained for a deduction from their fines. Afterwards the Superior Court ruled that a number of prisoners of war should be released if they paid their fines, which outraged Viipuri Red Guard, but shows that policy of leniency was not a quirk of local Courts, but the settled policy of the regime.40 Much less evidence of nonpolitical or civil cases is available, but they were dealt with, and on 28 February the Procurator publicly reminded the Revolutionary Courts of their obligation to deal with outstanding criminal cases.This seems to have been done on traditional lines; Muolaa gave a laborer 2 years for a theft committed before the revolution, clearly showing no class bias in the case, and calls for the release of convicted thieves, on the grounds that "we do not regard the taking of food by the hungry puts them morally or legally in the ranks of evil doers," were not well received. On the contrary, the rulers of Red Finland were committed to upholding the sanctity of property, repressing theft and plunder, as their many decrees and pronouncements showed, and their obsession with the need for accurate bookkeeping and accounts in every branch of activity. In the field of criminal justice, traditional concepts remained in force, as they seem to have done in civil cases; Muolaa Court was ready to enforce civil debts, just like any bourgeois tribunal. The Revolutionary Courts are one of the more creditable achievements of the regime. The members seem to have been conscious that the ideals of socialism were on trial in their activity, and were anxious to demonstrate the moral superiority of the new order in dealing with their political opponents. The difference between the attitude of the Revolutionary Courts and the repression exercised by the Whites is so great that it demonstrates how two different value systems were operating. It was therefore ironic that after the war, membership of a Revolutionary Court was automatic grounds for severe reprisal, and was literally fatal to many Court members who fell into White hands. The Whites reacted emotionally to the title of Revolutionary Court, with all that it has implied in European history since 1789, and blamed the Revolutionary Courts for the acts of political violence that had occurred in Red Finland, but which the government and the courts had steadily opposed.41 372

There were those in the Red Camp, especially in the Red Guard, who regarded the mildness of revolutionary justice as suicidal folly, and in Helsinki the feeling was so strong that it nearly disrupted the system. As soon as Helsinki Revolutionary Court began work on 8 February, Helsinki Red Guard expressed dissatisfaction with its sentencing policy, and it is not difficult to see why. The first case of a man accused of membership of the White Guard was acquitted, and others released with fines of 100 marks. The General Staff noted this, and resolved that "the sentences were too mild." Two days later, a meeting of commanders voted that the sentences were ludicrous, and demanded a suspension of the Court until something was done about it. They wanted half the assessors elected by the Red Guard, and automatic imprisonment for convicted White Guard members, and "those who belong to the so-called educated class, must be submitted to forced labour." This resolution expressed a class hatred far removed from the ideals of impartial justice ordered by the Justice Department. The Deputation discussed the problem on 11 February and decided that no special concession should be made to the Red Guard;their members would have the same rights as any other workers to participate in choosing the Revolutionary Courts. But this bold stand could not be enforced. Although on 13 January the Justice Department told the Revolutionary Court that Red Guard interference had been "caused by a mistake and an ignorance of matters" and urged the court to forget the incident "so that the matter shall not become an open scandal," it did suggest that additional sections might be set up for political cases and the Guard given special representation on them. This was done. The Helsinki special sections of the Revolutionary Court had half their assessors chosen by the Red Guard.42 This particular dispute was just one sign of the power structure of Red Finland, a dual one, in which the Red Guard and the civil authorities were in constant tension and conflict. The Red Guard was both an instrument of the workers' movement, and a constituent of it, and therefore entitled to a voice in determining policy. In their own sphere of action they were autonomous and democratic, thus they had the right to share in deciding what was to be done and then to determine by themselves how it should be done. When the Red Guard was taken into government service it made no difference; the members were all volunteers and members of the workers' movement and their pay was regarded only as compensation for lost wages; it did not make them the hired servants of the regime. The character of the relationship was evident in the controversy over the "special" or "intelligence" sections set up in the Red Guard at the beginning of the revolution to enforce internal security. Helsinki Red Guard had set up its "special affairs section" on 27 January, and it soon became apparent to the Deputation that the political murders that were occurring in the Helsinki area were often the result of its activity. On 5 February, Haapalainen ordered that all special sections must be disbanded, but a meeting of Red Guard commanders voted that Helsinki special affairs section should be continued under the new title of "Intelligence Section" of Helsinki Red Guard.43 The Intelligence Section acquired a sinister reputation under the leadership of I. Manninen and A. Oikarinen; it assumed the role of a national intelligence agency 373

that operated over all of Red Finland and was accused of much of the violence perpetrated against unarmed opponents. The Deputation did not like its activity but needed the Section, for the Red government was almost unique among revolutionary governments in never establishing its own political or secret police. Early in March the Deputation did try to disband the Intelligence Section and transfer its functions to the militia, but the Red Guard protested. The Deputation contented itself with writing to the General Staff on 18 March that "certain subordinate departments of the Red Guard are carrying out arrests, searches of homes and similar actions which cannot be regarded as belonging to their field of activity in anything like all the cases in question." The General Staff was instructed to stop the irregularities, but nothing was done. A government in a civil war is peculiarly dependent on force to uphold its authority, because the existence of a hostile internal population demands some coercive measures to compel its acquiescence. In the last resort, the Deputation was always dependent on the Red Guard, and had to pay careful regard to the wishes of its members. It was in fact extraordinary, considering how far the government depended on the Guard, how much obedience it could secure through the habits of obedience to constituted authority, the claims of solidarity of the workers' movement, and the moral and idealistic claim of the Deputation to be the elected leadership of the united workers' movement. The government could control the Red Guard up to a point, but its control always fell short of the level that a normally constituted government can exercise over its armed forces.44 When the General Staff wrote to the Deputation on 2 February to seek clarification of their relationship with the government, and suggested setting up a War Department, the Deputation decided to leave relations with the Guard to Internal Affairs. This worked well enough, since the two Deputies for Internal Affairs, Haapalainen and Taimi, were also members of the General Staff, and a fairly easy liaison was maintained. Even when a War Department was set up on 23 February it made little difference at first; Taimi became Deputy for War, but Haapalainen continued to be commander-in-chief of the Red Guard. It was generally accepted that the Deputation was the ultimate authority, and that it defined the areas within which the Red Guard was free to act. The basic principle was that confirmed by SDP Council on 4 February that military and civil affairs were to be kept separate, and "the activity of the Red Guard is to be restricted to purely military affairs as far as is possible." Thus the government was not seen as directing the conduct of the war, but as laying down the limits within which an autonomous Red Guard would conduct it. A flood of orders and regulations was issued by the Deputation and its Departments to this end, some very general, like the reminder that "our Red Guard is not entitled in any way to interfere in the country's civil affairs, once the organs which control those affairs have taken the situation under supervision," others quite specific, like the order to Nauvo Red Guard on 24 March to stop the plundering activity of its members, "because such behaviour is damaging to our whole action, and cultivates hatred towards the Guard in the civil population." The volume and the repetitive character of such orders alone showed that they were 374

not achieving satisfactory compliance, as confirmed by the flow of complaints at Red Guard behavior that came to the government. Kouvola reported that arbitrary arrests and killings continued, in spite of orders; Viipuri complained that the Red Guard would notrespectthemilitiaorallowthem to carry arms;Tampere complained that the Red Guard occupied the Workers' Hall, held all night dances in it, forced the Food Board to give them extra rations, stole the canteen cutlery, and had the habit of using the insulators on the electric power lines for target practice.45 The Red Guard, like any other mass army, contained a proportion of antisocial elements, with the difference that it did not have the usual brutal military discipline to keep them in check. It was certainly not true, as alleged in White propaganda, that it was dominated by professional criminals, not even true that criminal elements were significantly involved in the various acts of violence perpetrated by Guard members. In Tampere, where the membership has been analyzed, those with any kind of criminal record constituted less than 14 percent. There was an element, a normal part of Finnish society then, of young, unmarried laborers, with no settled roots, who had always lived near the margins of legality, and for whom petty theft and minor violence, usually associated with drinking, were part of a way of life. When men like that became red guards, got a rifle in their hands and some encouragement to think of the propertied citizens as legitimate enemies, they were well placed to indulge their propensities. What made such elements a threat and a nuisance was the patently obvious fact that the Red authorities, however much they deplored their behavior in public, found it impossible to take effective disciplinary action against offenders. 46 This was the crux of the problem: The evil was repeatedly and publicly acknowledged. Ha'me District Staff circularized all units with complaints of indiscipline, neglect of guard duty, looting, unauthorized requisitioning and careless damage, and declared that "troops are nothing but an empty threat" without discipline. Kouvola District Staff issued a public statement on 3 February that there had been "flagrant abuses among the troops and especially among the commanders," and specified such offenses as the looting of medical alcohol. The order was given to "institute such measures that discipline and order which is needed is restored among the troops." Protection rackets were a common abuse. In Turku two red guards turned up at the offices of the newspaper Sosia/isti and announced they had come "to prevent the butchers destroying the plant." After a few days they presented a bill for 1,800 marks, and when the management declined to pay, on the grounds that they had neither asked for, nor needed protection, "they said, rattling their rifle butts on the floor, that unless we paid by agreement, they would take it from the cashier themselves." They were eventually induced to leave on payment of half the sum demanded. Yet in none of these, or in many other well-authenticated cases of Red Guard misbehavior, is it possible to trace effective action being taken against the offenders. Public authority tended to label the perpetrators as "anarchist," as Haapalainen did in an order of 21 February, which spoke of "elements . . . who have deliberately adopted an anarchist stance, or are trying to use the opportunity to pursue their private interests." Tiedonantaja on 13 February spoke of the damage 375

being done by "the rejects of society," which every revolution tended to dredge up. In each case, the call to purge the ranks of such elements produced no action. 47 The misbehavior of the antisocial element in the Red Guard was only part of a broader problem of indiscipline, arising from the democratic structure and tradition of the Guard, and the amateur, civilian character of its members. When a party of Turku Red Guard came to Forssa, they requisitioned the contents of the town shops, and handed them over to the local socialists. This was not a case of plunder but a naive attempt at the redistribution of wealth; they wanted the goods distributed to the local proletariat, and the horrified Forssa socialists felt in the end that there was nothing else they could do with them. The margin between legitimate requisitioning and plunder was in any case narrow. When Lapp! Red Guard needed a watch, to help in setting guards, they sent armed men to the local priest to requisition his gold watch, and he yielded. From a White point of view this was simple plundering, but to a provincial red guard it might well seem a legitimate act of requisition. The Red Guard was jealous of its autonomy, and at times interpreted this in the broadest fashion. Thus on 14 March Uusimaa District Staff ordered the arrest of all bourgeois members of parliament, directly contrary to a specific policy decision of the Deputation, and an action that could have involved serious political consequences. They were prevented from carrying out the order, but that it could be issued at all measured the problems of control that the government faced. If the Red Guard felt that their legitimate rights of decision making were being interfered with, even by the government itself, they did not scruple to defy it. A Danish Red Cross worker, who had a government permit to travel in the war zone, was turned away by a local Red Guard. "One could hear on all sides, 'that devil Haapalainen, what is he doing making decisions, it is we who decide here.' " To the Dane they said, "What the devil are you doing here? You can go back to Denmark." 48 But the most dramatic and tragic illustration of the inability of the Red government to control the Red Guard was the Red Terror. A maximum of 1,649 people were murdered in Red Finland for apparently political reasons, though 95 of them are known to have been socialists, so that about 1,550 victims can be presumed to have been White sympathizers. The killings came in two distinct waves, 703 to the end of February and 697 in April, with only 205 in March. The pattern suggests that the killings were linked to the tensions, fear, and uncertainty among the Reds, the first wave representing the struggle to establish the new regime, and the April killings an expression of blind fear and rage in the face of catastrophic defeat. The slack period between may represent a temporary success for the efforts of the central authorities to restrain the local agencies reponsible for the murders. Superficially, the Terror seemed to spread throughout Red Finland; at least one murder occurred in 183 of the 236 communes and towns, but in reality it was a much more concentrated phenomenon, with a third of the localities involved being responsible for two-thirds of the killings. The rural areas of southwest Uusimaa, and southern Turku and Pori province saw very few murders, and more interesting, they were predominantly a rural phenomenon. Six murders took place in Tampere and three in Lahti, two in Turku, and Helsinki, Hamina, and Viipuri were the only urban 376

areas with substantial numbers of victims. It seems that rural society, with its antiquated social relationships and comparative immobility, was a more fertile ground for the kind of personal grudge that seemed to underlie many of the killings, for the murderers and their victims were often known to one another, at least by reputation. The rural bias showed in the pattern of the victims; 40 percent were farmers, and most of the businessmen killed were country shopkeepers. On the other hand, very few of the obvious targets for reprisal, the very rich, the leading political figures, the many teachers and clergymen living in Red Finland, were attacked. This suggests that the Terror does not represent the systematic pursuit of class-conflict, or any conscious attempt to liquidate the bourgeois elite. The one group that was perhaps in danger by virtue of its official position in society was that of the police and legal officials, which could indicate some settling of scores by criminal elements.49 It is probably mistaken to look for significant political patterns in the Red Terror, for it was purposeless, unplanned, casual, and largely unauthorized. It is often difficult to find out who, if anyone, ordered a killing or even who the killer was. Many incidents were clearly accidental; foraging expeditions by a local Red Guard could result in unplanned murder. In the Tampere area, a routine expedition out to requisition food and fodder came across four men and two women in a house. They interrogated the group, released the women and killed the men, probably because it was near the front, and the men were presumed to be trying to cross over. The lack of purpose was shown by the murder of Mannerheim's cousin, A. von Julin: He owned an estate at Koski that was visited by a party of Red Guards, who took him with them to Turku for questioning. His exact fate is unknown, but his corpse was discovered some days later. He was not killed because he was Mannerheim's cousin, nor for his money, for the corpse had not been robbed, nor as a notorious enemy of the people, for he had been known as a good employer. In this case, the murderers seem to have been strangers, who killed, in an utterly pointless act of brutality, to hit out at the old social order that he represented.50 In some areas where a large number of killings occurred, it is possible to identify persons or groups in authority who were clearly disposed toward terrorist methods. At Kalvola, where 14 people died, a local protest identified a group who were killing "unarmed, peaceful people" while the local Red Guard commander "makes not the least effort to stop it." At Huittinen, another protest alleged that "the very worst of anarchist elements" have got leading position in the Red Guard, and "have promised to kill all the bourgeoisie, and in an open public meeting drew up a list of those persons who are to be slaughtered." The last story is not likely to be true; none of the many tales of Red murder lists has been verified, and if Huittinen Red Guard did make up such a list, it was unique. Some individuals in high authority were personally involved in terrorist killing; the best known is H. Kaljunen, who rose to be a front commander in Karelia, and whose tendency to murderous rage when crossed is well documented. In Helsinki a group of men with the rank of battalion commander, like N. Davidson, I. Manninen, and E. Leino took part in killings, as did K. Salminen, who stood high in the Helsinki Red Guard. At Kouvola, V. 377

Saarinen headed the local "investigating committee," and in April he launched a comparative orgy of 101 murders in the area. The Red Guard command at Kouvola certainly knew of Saarinen's inclinations, but did nothing to impede his activity. But it remains true that the characteristic incident of the Red Terror was the shooting of a single prisoner, usually out of sight, or after dark, while being taken in for investigation. The identity of the killers is known in about two-thirds of the cases, and they were mostly very ordinary, rather young Red Guards, who usually had no instructions to kill, and acted on impulse. They were sometimes spurred on by loose talk, such as that recorded at Forssa when a party was sent out to make an arrest, "Don't bring that devil back here." In that instance the man was murdered on the way to interrogation; a lot of brutal conversation of this kind took place, though it is difficult to know if it was meant, or taken seriously.51 Some exceptions are known to the pattern of isolated, motiveless killing. One group of victims were the men caught trying to cross the line and join the Whites: about 2,000 to 3,000 made the attempt, and if caught by the Reds were usually shot out of hand. Some 142 victims fall into this category, and though deplorable, these killings had some kind of rationale behind them. A related tendency was to kill prisoners taken in action, about 184 in all, rather a high proportion of the prisoners taken: About 70 to 80 White Guards were murdered in this way during the operations in western Uusimaa in February, which produced the biggest tally of prisoners taken in battle. The killing of four hostages at Varkaus was a unique incident, that being the only place where the Reds took hostages and publicly threatened to kill them if attacked. Also a few group killings occurred, which took 182 victims altogether; an instance was the only public execution of prisoners, which involved 11 men taken during a raid by Red Guard troops and Russians from Pori. The worst of the group killings occurred as frenzied liquidations of prisoners in the chaos of defeat, like the massacre in Viipuri prison just before the city fell. The largest number to be involved in a group killing was 30. The Red Terror cannot be thought of with anything but repugnance, but it should be said that the added detail to the record of murders of torture, mutilation, and atrocity, prisoners burnt alive or buried alive, are all fictions of the White imagination.52 The essential tragedy of the Red Terror, apart from what is inherent in any series of murders, was its pointlessness. It may have served, unintentionally, to intimidate the bourgeois in Red Finland: They certainly were frightened by it, not least because its random and irrational character made it impossible to predict when, or at whom, it might strike. This state of affairs created the impression that the danger was much greater than it really was. The Terror had a wholly negative result for the Red cause. It horrified and alienated people both inside and outside Finland who might otherwise have inclined to support the Reds, and undermined the morale of the workers' movement by the internal dissent it caused. Above all it gave a huge free bonus to the White enemy, who used the reality of the Terror to project an image of Red Finland in the grip of barbarism on a terrifying scale. This was used to whip up the determination and fighting spirit of their supporters, to deter well-meaning foreigners from suggesting compromise or mediation, to excuse the 378

repressions in which they indulged, and to justify their appeal for foreign armed intervention as an essentially humanitarian exercise. The tragedy for the Reds is heightened by the fact that their movement as a whole condemned the Red Terror, denounced its perpetrators as criminals, and made efforts, however ineffective, to bring them to account. The evidence that most socialists repudiated the Terror is overwhelming, typified by the party member who wrote to Tokoi on 5 February that the ideals of the cause were disgraced "by the slaughter of peaceful, arrested people which the Red Guard has carried out this last week, here in the capital and its neighbourhood." N. Makelin wrote in Sosiaalidemokraatti that armed struggle was legitimate for socialists, but they must demonstrate their moral superiority and renounce cruelty and revenge, "even in the event that we were defeated for a time," for in the end the morally superior cause must win. Tyomies wrote on 3 February that although the behavior of the enemy might make it seem natural for the Red Guard to retaliate, "Stop. Think. All methods are not suited to you." The Red Guard was strong and had no need to resort to vicious behavior, so "away with revenge and the law of the jungle." The SDP Council summed up the official view when it declared "our opponents are always and everywhere to be treated justly. We must act with energy, but we must avoid needless bloodshed." The view was virtually unanimous; it has been possible to find only one instance of a socialist newspaper writing with approval of the use of terrorist methods.53 The Deputation has an absolutely clear record of condemning the Terror; its first order for action to stop the killings was on 1 February, on 10 February they published the rules of war and insisted they were binding on the Red Guard, and on 27 February they issued a statement condemning all atrocities, stating that the behavior of the enemy could never justify misconduct by the Red Guard. They concluded:54 We, of course, act with wholehearted enthusiasm in the common revolution of the proletariat, but we understand that it can only succeed when force does not trample right underfoot, and that the proletariat conquers its enemies both by its strength and by its moral superiority. On 7 March Turkia issued orders to the Revolutionary Courts and the Red Guard to use every effort to identify murderers and bring them to justice, and on 12 March the Deputation agreed to publish a protest from the foreign consuls against a list of outrages committed by the Red Guard, though they noted that the consuls had nothing to say about similar occurrences on the White side. The Red Guard command has an equally clear record. On 2 February the Helsinki Local Staff, which was rather a militant body, ordered that murders in the area must cease, and the General Staff issued a similar order for the whole Guard. On 12 February they insisted that the killing of prisoners taken in battle was not permitted, and on 21 February ordered the purge of anarchist elements and reminded all Red Guard commanders that they had no power to inflict the death penalty on anyone.55

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It has been argued that these declarations of intent were insincere, particularly because so little effective action seems to have followed from them. The Deputation itself was defensive about this, and when they discussed the Terror with a Swedish socialist deputation, on 5 March, they tried to convey an impression that the problem had been dealt with. Haapalainen said:56 There has been a change for the better among the Guard. Anarchist elements have been sifted out . . . the perpetrators of the earlier killings have been caught and brought before a Revolutionary Court to answer for the deeds . . . everything is quiet now in Uusimaa. This was untrue; not a single murderer had been brought to justice, and even in March, killings were proceeding at a rate of six a day. Haapalainen also spoke of the activity of Russian anarchists, implying that they were responsible for much of the trouble. The manifest evasiveness of the Finnish participants in this discussion could be a sign of their dishonesty, but it is not. They were baffled by a phenomenon for which their Marxism offered no theoretical explanation, and it was only human to try and make the foreigners the scapegoats; also, the situation was improving in early March, and they could plausibly believe that the worst was over. They knew that a real effort was being made; on 14 February the Deputation set up a committee to investigate the murders and track down the murderers, and the Procurator's Department has records showing that to the end of March it was pursuing a vigorous investigation of all the cases brought to its notice. Yet it is almost impossible to find any case in which this activity led to any concrete result. The nearest it got to success was a case reported in Tyomies on 15 March: The report said that Toijala Red Guard had purged its ranks of those "who have done the revolution the worst kind of disservice," and further had charged eight men before a Comrades' Court with robbery and murder. Yet the record shows that no progress was made; a report to the General Staff on 27 March concluded that the case would have to be suspended until "the war ends, or the persons named return from the front." This kind of dead end to an investigation appears to be typical. An early case investigated on the orders of the Deputation was the murder of A. Mikkola; the report of 15 February said that the man who had arrested him was at the front, and the Red Guard was opposed to recalling him. In the case of Schybergson, a doctor who was taken during the search of a hospital and murdered, causing a vociferous protest from the medical profession, the official report could say only that he had been killed by members of Helsinki Red Guard, but the men responsible could not be traced. It became apparent that the reason nothing could be done to stop the Terror by bringing its perpetrators to account was that the Red Guard would not permit it. They were supposed to nominate representatives to the general investigating committee set up on 14 February, but did not do so until 7 March, effectively preventing it from starting work. The committee on the Schybergson case had written, "indifference shown towards the work of the committee on the side of the Red Guard" had made its work very difficult. Most members of the Red Guard did not approve of or practice terrorism, but they would not allow overzealous 380

comrades who did to be harrassed by outsiders. They seem to have felt that there was a war to be fought, the victims were after all enemies in that war; also, it was increasingly known that the Whites did not scruple to kill defenseless enemies, so legal formalities could well wait until the war was over.57 The government believed that it had done what it could to stop the Terror, but its possibilities were limited, and this was admitted frankly in a message to the Supreme Council on 27 February. They declared that they condemned all violence, even in the face of enemy provocation, but:58 The Red Guard is a free, self-governing organisation in respect of its membership, for the most part. Thus it is its own business and duty to take care of preventing arbitrary behaviour in its own ranks. . . . We, the members of the Finnish workers' revolutionary government do not have the means of coercion at our disposal in this matter, and even if we did and were to employ them, it would not improve matters. The Deputation could indeed argue plausibly that in the end it could not coerce the Red Guard, which had the monopoly of armed force inside Red Finland, but this did not wholly absolve them from responsibility for what occurred. In leading a revolution, they had liberated destructive elements in society that would normally be controlled and repressed, and in doing so had made the Red Terror possible. But a historian of the Terror has remarked correctly that "examining the Red Terror as a whole, it is perceived that it is not justifiable to speak of an organised terror. The Peoples' Deputation and the leadership of the Red Guard must be acquitted of that accusation." It is to the credit of the socialist leaders that although they were leading a revolutionary government in a situation of civil war, they never yielded to the temptation to use methods of terror against their enemies. On the contrary, the repression of the internal enemy by the Red regime was suicidally lenient. Known White Guard activists usually were arrested and detained but were generally lodged in prisons where many of the staff were sympathetic, though in some places, like Helsinki and Viipuri, there was not enought accommodation, and White detainees were held in public buildings under Red Guard control. Usually the conditions of detention were mild; relatives could bring food and clothing, and the prisoners were left very free within the confines of their prisons, to such an extent that during the final operations at Viipuri, White prisoners broke out of confinement and seized part of the defenses. A contemporary commented that "the custody of the White prisoners on the part of the Reds was very humane." No clear orders were given on who should be detained, except the abortive instruction to arrest the Svinhufvud government. During March the Supreme Council attempted to define categories of persons who could be arrested as counterrevolutionaries, but all must be brought before a Revolutionary Court for their cases to be considered, and no attempt in fact was made to take in all those covered in the definition. The Deputation clung to the principle that people could be arrested only on evidence of active opposition to the regime, and not on grounds of class or status alone. The one general act of repression was the closing of the bourgeois press, and even this 381

was only provisional; "when the new order is consolidated, the Internal Affairs Department can give the suppressed newspapers the right to publish again." Their plant and premises were not touched, and the ludicrous situation arose where the socialist press was crippled for shortage of newsprint and ink, while stocks of both were idle in the premises of the bourgeois press. Yet when Turku Red Guard suggested to Sosialisti that it could relieve its shortages by requisitioning supplies, the majority of the managing board was appalled at the idea.59 In consequence life continued fairly normally for most of the bourgeois citizens of Red Finland. They were all subject to searches for food and weapons, which were the only general form of harassment, and in the cities had to live with a curfew, travel restrictions, and the closure of the theaters and cinemas. But the restaurants remained open and became the focal points of bourgeois public life, where they could meet openly and exchange news. The liberty that resulted can be seen from Hultin's diary. Although she was a well-known public figure, and a member of parliament, she and her colleagues were able to meet freely and discuss future developments. Social life was normal; she attended a friend's name-day party on 14 March and noted that there was plenty of coffee and white bread. She helped a group of ladies who organized comforts for White detainees and were allowed to arrange the catering for them, and Hultin remarked how they seemed to have plenty of meat. In the countryside, Hilden's diary shows the priest went unmolested through the entire revolution, as did friends and relatives of his in Helsinki and Viipuri, with one exception, who fell victim to the Terror. He could contact friends by telephone and letter, while his wife went to a sewing circle that made shirts for the White Guard. Perhaps the case of Mannerheim's sister, Sophie, is the most impressive measure of the immunity of the White population, since she was such an obvious target for repression. But Sophie Mannerheim was never in any danger; she lived openly in Helsinki and went about her work, at the same time organizing relief for distressed White gentlefolk. She could correspond with her brother, through Sweden, and though distressed by tales of the Terror, did not allow them to upset her routine; "it is best to put cotton-wool in your ears and work," she wrote.60 Naturally no appreciation or gratitude was felt by the bourgeoisie; on the contrary, they moaned endlessly about their sufferings, by which they usually meant difficulties over food, though it is evident that they suffered least of all. Money could buy restaurant meals, money had provided them with the secret hoards of provisions that made them so fearful of searches, and the black market continued to flourish, particularly while the Russians remained, for they would sell anything for cash. Dr. Hahl, in whose apartment Svinhufvud and Castren were sheltered, has told how it did not matter that they had no ration cards. His patients, in from the country, would often pay with provisions, and his Jewish business contacts could negotiate food from Russian stores. "It often happened that a horse and sledge, with two men in Russian uniform, accompanied by a Jew, drove into our courtyard at dusk, and two or three sacks of flour were taken from the load and carried to my kitchen." It was the familiar story; those who had money and contacts did not go short; rather it was the workers and their families who suffered hunger, even in Red 382

Finland, and in spite of government efforts to achieve a fair distribution. The real sufferings of the Whites came through their loss of status, the disappearance of some of their normal power and influence, the need to be careful of what they said and did in front of the servants, and the need to curb their tongues in public. They were oppressed too by fear of the Terror; precisely because it was arbitrary, all felt threatened, as hard news of the deaths of relatives or friends was augmented by endless exaggerated rumours of atrocity and massacre, which they had no means of verifying.61 Mental deprivation was probably the worst suffering of the bourgeoisie. They assumed correctly that the socialist newpapers, which they read for lack of any others, gave a distorted picture, though they often boasted afterward of their skill in reading between the lines. Svinhufvud claimed, "We could always work out a considerable part of the truth." Still they were left with a feeling of disorientation; they did not know when or how their rescue would come: When would Mannerheim advance? Were the Germans going to intervene? W. Soderhjelm wrote on 12 February:62 It is absolutely essential to get a little news of the north and of Mannerheim. We live here as in a sack, the situation gets worse from day to day . . . it is difficult for us to keep up our courage . . . we are wholly thrown onto our own resources . . . above all we crave facts. Sophie Mannerheim echoed this thought, "You understand how nerves are stretched and life is wearisome. . . . Nobody knows what is true." The mildness with which the Whites were treated did not go unnoticed, and some Reds thought it scandalous. They could see the class enemy apparently leading a comfortable, carefree existence, while workers suffered and died for the cause. A report from the front on the mood among Red Guard troops described their bitterness because "the enemy is pampered and protected, and prisoners offered conditions which the men at the front do not even dream of." The men were saying that when they got back, "We will first of all clear up the rear of Mensheviks who play at revolution, and the more dangerous butchers." On 4 March a meeting of Red Guard commanders in Helsinki demanded that White prisoners should get no better food and conditions than the Red Guard on active service, and there were press comments on the crowds of idle bourgeois haunting the streets and restaurants. The Labour Department commissioned a report on the problem that was forwarded to the Deputation for consideration on 9 March. The simple proposition was put forward that the bourgeois would have less time to make mischief if they were put to work, and it recommended the government to "bring into force a duty to work, because of counter-revolutionary sabotage." The idea was that anyone without a certificate of useful employment would be deprived of his ration card: "The plan is also humane, there is no trace of compulsion in it, everything is voluntary."This was true in that anyone would be free not to work if he was prepared to do without food. The Deputation approved the idea in principle, but it looks as though the problems of implementation prevented it being put into effect. The compulsory labor service

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that was brought in as an emergency measure in April was a wholly different idea. The Supreme Council also considered the idea of taking bourgeois notables as hostages for the security of socialists arrested in White Finland, and recommended a scheme to the Deputation, but they rejected the idea on 11 March and confirmed that people were only to be arrested "in those concrete instances where there is a real reason for it." 63 The possibility of repression was much reduced because the Red regime had no political or security police. Every Red Guard was supposed to have an intelligence section; orders for this were issued by the General Staff on 9 February, but the inefficiency of their security operations almost passes belief. They never succeeded in tracking down a single one of the White notables concealed in Helsinki. In the Mehilainen hospital, there were two ministers, Talas and Louhivuori, and a number of leading politicians, including Stahlberg, all disguised as patients. Also a number of genuine White prisoners were there, sent by the Red Guard, but although the Red Guard inspected the hospital regularly to check on these, they never detected any of the false patients. It is true that after the Schybergson murder, an agreement was made with the medical profession that limited Red Guard interference on medical premises; and after renewed protests, the General Staff confirmed on 26 March that no arrests could be made on such premises, which turned them into licensed sanctuaries. But apart from this, Red security measures were simply incompetent: Louhivuori was able to go into town, accompanied by a nurse, and conferred with Svinhufvud on three separate occasions. He remembered a house in view of the hospital and of the Red Guard checkpoint outside, which had a stream of young visitors carrying violin cases. "One could observe that what they were carrying was extremely heavy"; in fact they were smuggling arms into a White Guard magazine and strongpoint, but the Red Guard security men noticed nothing. The Whites made brilliant use of telephone monitoring, using friendly telephone staff, and the ubiquitous party-line system, yet the Red authorities made no systematic checks on telephone traffic; much less did it occur to them, until the very end, to cut the bourgeois subscribers off. The most vulnerable point in White security was the domestic servants, on whom they were wholly dependent; many of these were, of course, faithful family retainers, but there must have been significant numbers of disaffected servants who could have been used to monitor what went on in bourgeois households, but no effort was made to tap this obvious source.64 In these conditions the White resistance could operate with some impunity. The medical profession abused its i m m u n i t y to conceal fugitives or provide safe transport in ambulances or under the escort of medical personnel; the foreign consuls, who were usually native businessmen, used their consular status in partisan fashion to claim diplomatic immunity for their premises and communications. Viipuri Red Guard pointed out that the Belgian, Italian, and Norwegian consuls were all leading officials in the White Guard, but they were told to leave them alone. Tiedonantaja was justified in claiming, on 15 April, that the Consular Corps had persistently abused their immunities to help the government's enemies. The Swedish embassy did the same; the minister started making protests about Red Guard activities on 29 384

January, and kept it up thereafter; he used his diplomatic mail and ciphers to transmit messages for the Whites, and kept open a secure channel of communication between Helsinki and Vaasa. The embassy not only gave asylum to the leading Activist, O H. Akerman, which was legitimate, but allowed him to go on with his organizational work, which was not. It was noted that "the ambassador himself was known to be especially favourable to the White cause", though when it was proposed that Svinhufvud should move into the embassy, he did consult his government, which rejected the idea. But he did smuggle Akerman out of Helsinki on a diplomatic train. The ambassador's most notable service was to negotiate the surrender of the Uusimaa White Guard, so that they enjoyed special prisoner status, in conditions of considerable comfort under the formal protection of the Swedish embassy.65 Another major gap in Red security was the telegraph service, since this was operated by the Russian state and the Bolsheviks insisted that it should not be interrupted. The personnel were Finnish and sympathetic to the Whites, and had an unbeatable weapon in the threat to walk out if the Red Guard were allowed to interfere. It was Mannerheim's policy that the telegraph staff should stay on duty, and when on 3 March they asked Vaasa whether they could sign a declaration of loyalty to the Deputation, Mannerheim personally ordered that they should. Their services to the White cause were extremely valuable: Until 4 February a direct line was open from Helsinki railway station to Vaasa, and when this was discovered and closed, a link was set up direct from Russian headquarters in Helsinki. The staff there were able to pass on copies of all Russian cable traffic and could sometimes delay or suppress important messages. This link was discovered and closed on 12 March, but then the staff found a cable working to Reval, through which they could communicate directly with the Germans. The kind of information that was passed on included the immediate transmission to Mannerheim of Lenin's order of 18 February to the Russian garrison, to evacuate at once if the Germans landed; full details of how many men were being sent from Petrograd to fight on the isthmus; and Russian cables, exchanged between Helsinki and Petrograd about the frictions that arose between the Deputation and the Bolshevik authorities. Red troop movements were observed and reported, and when the Deputation held its discussion with the Swedish socialists on 5 March, an accurate account, in astonishing detail, was transmitted to Vaasa the same day. The Whites also had an agent on the clerical staff of the Red Guard command, and they claimed that he "can make a full report within days of any decision," and evidence shows that this was no empty boast.66 In general the White Guard was content to stay underground and make preparations for the day of liberation, continuing to buy weapons from the Russians and establishing arms dumps. There was sporadic sabotage of railways and telegraph lines, but experience suggested that if the White Guard exposed itself it was liable to be destroyed. White propaganda was steadily circulated, such as the official newssheet Vapaa Sana —free Speech—and pamphlets and manifestoes designed to keep up bourgeois morale. Occasionally some of those involved were arrested, but on the whole the Red authorities were remarkably indifferent; Tyomies noted without comment, on 9 February, that cyclostyled copies of Mannerheim's

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proclamations were circulating in Helsinki, and on 20 February actually printed the text of a White pamphlet telling the workers that the fight was hopeless and their leaders had betrayed them. The socialists were confident that in the battle for the minds of the workers, they had nothing to fear.67 The comparative passivity of the White Guard was deliberate; when they wanted to exert themselves, they showed formidable powers of organization and initiative. Their greatest triumph was the concealment, and eventual escape from Helsinki, of Svinhufvud and J . Castren. These two were safely lodged in various bourgeois apartments, though temporary problems arose, like the food inventory, when they had to be shunted from one apartment to the other and back again while the search was on, but they were never in serious danger.They could receive visitors like Louhivuori, or the Swedish von Stedingk, who discussed the possibility of mediation with Svinhufvud on 17 February. Still the two men were keenly conscious of being out of action and were keen to escape and resume their leading role. The first escape attempt was suggested by Finnish officers serving with the Russian fleet, who had contacts at the naval airfield. The Russians there were easily persuaded, in return for scarce spares for their motorcars, to allow two Finnish businessmen to go for a trial trip in an aircraft. The weather seemed suitable on 5 February and a Russian military car was sent to bring Svinhufvud and Castren to the airfield, since it was exempt from Red Guard controls. The two supposed businessmen were put on the plane and became airborne and the escape would have been a complete success but for an incompetent mechanic, who failed to put antifreeze in the motor, so that it failed. The pilot made a successful emergency landing and Svinhufvud and Castren were taken back in the Russian car to their hiding place. Svinhufvud's comment was "Remember now, I shall never go up in one of those Russian machines again." This farce showed up several weaknesses in Red security. There was no adequate liaison between the Red Guard and the Russians; each jealously repel led any attempts at interference by the other. Then many Russians, especially the officers, were either neutral or anti-Bolshevik and represented an additional security risk. And politics apart, most Russians and their facilities were openly on sale, whether it was food, weapons, or services—and the Whites had plenty of money.68 The second, successful, escape attempt depended on all these factors. The icebreaker Tarmo belonged to the Finnish state and had a Finnish crew, but it operated under the orders of the Russian navy and carried a guard of an officer and eight Russian marines. A group of WhiteGuards had been studying the possibility of seizing the ship and sailing her to White Finland. When the Germans occupied Reval on 25 February, the plan became more attractive because Reval was only a short voyage from Helsinki and once they reached the open sea, there would be little risk of pursuit. The ship's Finnish officers and the Russian guard commander were won over and the scheme looked so promising that it was decided to take Svinhufvud and Castren along. The Red Guard had wind of the plot, but the Russians would not let them put their own guards on the ship. The plan was to give the crew shore leave overnight and in their absence the officers would conceal the White Guard men aboard: The ship would sail in the morning and once on the open sea, the White 386

Guard would emerge and take over the ship. After one false start, the White Guard were smuggled aboard for a second time, and Svinhufvud and Castren brought in disguise to the ship. The Tarmo sailed on 2 March, and when the Red Guard on the dockside tried to stop her, the Russian guard commander persuaded his marines that this was Finnish interference and they insisted on leaving. Once the icebreaker was out of the harbor there were no further problems: The White Guard emerged while the Russian marines were eating breakfast and overpowered them without resistance. Then the crew were summoned on deck and, confronted with armed men, agreed to take the ship to Reval. The last obstacle was persuading suspicious German officials of the identity of the passengers; once the truth of their story had been accepted, Svinhufvud and Castren were taken to Berlin as the honored guests of the German government, and then traveled on to Vaasa.69 The rescue of Svinhufvud was the most important and spectacular coup by the White resistance, and it showed how damaging the hostility of bourgeois experts and technicians, whether Finnish or Russian, could be. Bourgeois officers, sea captains, navigators, engineers, telephonists and telegraphists, doctor and nurses, had to be employed if society was to continue, but none of them could be trusted to be neutral at moments of crisis. Only severe methods of repression could have overcome this menace to the security of the Red regime and it was not prepared to adopt such methods. They did not even learn from experience, for on 29 March the White Guard repeated their coup and seized another icebreaker from Helsinki, the Volynets, and sailed her over to the Germans. One other major success of the resistance deserves mention for its sheer audacity and scale. It too depended on exploiting the disunity and disaffection inside the Russian garrison and its failure to collaborate closely with the Finnish Reds. Mannerheim was always worried by the artillery of Sveaborg, since in competent hands it could both block the sea approache to Helsinki and intervene devastatingly in any land attack. And in the likely event of the city falling before the fortress, a desperate garrison could level the city as a final act of revenge. Mannerheim sent messages to the White Guard in Helsinki asking if they could somehow sabotage the guns and it happened that three engineers of the Kone-ja siltarakennus OY, which had done a lot of work for the Russians on Sveaborg, had been thinking about the possibility of removing the breech mechanisms. A. Staffans, an engineer with long experience of working at Sveaborg, was put in charge, but the plan only became possible after the treaty of Brest-Litovsk, for it depended on tricking the garrison into believing that the treaty required the guns to be disarmed. It would be a long operation, for there were over 200 guns scattered over a number of batteries on different islands. The first step was to get control of the fortress telephone exchange, so that isolated batteries could not ask awkward questions and raise suspicions, and this was done with the cooperation of Finnish postal officials and by bribing a unit of Polish troops to take charge of the exchange. The next step was to get a permit to visit the batteries and this was supplied by another sympathizer, the Russian colonel Balsam. He issued a pass for a Finnish engineer to take a party to the batteries, and left enough room on the paper for the Finns to type in an instruction authorizing the Finns to remove breech locks 387

and put them in the stores. When the operation began, on 6 March, Sveaborg ought to have been handed over to the Red Guard. But the garrison was reluctant to comply with this provision of the new Finnish-Russian treaty and would not allow Red Guards to move in, so that Steffans and his party of 18 assistants had only Russians to deal with. They started at I so Mjolo battery and their pass was accepted withou question, but the artillerymen objected to having their guns disarmed, so Steffans urged them to telephone; the collaborators on the telephone exchange convinced them that it was official policy. The rest was easy: The Finns, who were experts, took off the locks, packed them carefully into boxes, and took them to the battery stores. In the process they were able to break small components, so that even if the locks were replaced they would not function. It took nearly a month to complete the disarming of the batteries, and during this time White officials stimulated the garrison to refuse Red Guard demands to be admitted to the fortress and to be traine in the use of the guns. When the Red Guard did get formal control, at the beginning of April, the job was nearly complete.70 The coup had depended on intelligent exploitation of the chauvinism of the Russians, and their reluctance to hand over valuable installations to the Finns; on the breakdown of discipline within the garrison, so that no proper checks were made on the activities of the Finnish engineers; and on the treachery and venality of Russian officers and troops of the minority nationalities, who tended to be antiBolshevik. Yet the brilliance of this and other operations had to be seen in perspective, for they had little effect on the outcome of the war except the escape of Svinhufvud, which did have important political consequences. The flow of information was undoubtedly useful to the Whites, but the disarming of Sveaborg was probably superfluous. The difficulties that the Red Guard had in cooperating with Russians, and their own indiscipline and low technical ability made the chances minimal that they could be taught to operate the artillery of a complex modern fortification like Sveaborg. The damage inflicted on the Red cause by all the combined efforts of the White resistance movement was marginal by comparison with the self-inflicted damage, which arose from the Reds' basic political and military incompetence, and their inability to organize really effective collaboration with the Russians. The socialist government, unlike its opponent, had not only to try and win the war, but also was committed to establishing a new social order in Finland; in fact, the Deputation, since it left the conduct of the war largely to the Red Guard, tended to devote much of its effort to articulating the new society. The Deputation theoretically was only the executive committee of the Supreme Council, which represented the combined authority of the workers' movement. But in reality the members of the Supreme Council were secondary, provincial figures who were no match for the leadership in the Deputation, which remained firmly in control. In any case, by the time the Supreme Council met for its first session, on 14 February, many of the major reforming decrees of the revolution already had been issued and could hardly be repudiated. The Council elected V. Perttila as chairman, with K. Tuominen and A. Lehto as deputies, and the very choice of these dim, second-rank 388

figures reflects the low status of the body over which they presided. It tended to copy the old parliament, setting up committees on the constitution, finance,foreign affairs, war, the domestic economy, and justice. The members of the Deputation presented themselves for formal confirmation in office, which was done, and then the Supreme Council got down to the task of reviewing and confirming the legislative proposals of the Deputation. There is no sign that any major proposal by the Deputation was even modified, much less rejected by the Supreme Council, whereas the initiative of the Council to the Deputation were freely rejected.71 Probably little difficulty was experienced in the Supreme Council and the Deputation working together, though the surviving records of the Council are sparse. The recommended structure of the Supreme Council was challenged by Red Guard interests, who wanted the 45 members equally divided between the three wings of the workers' movement. V. Toikka urged that the trade unions were "as important agents in advancing the interests of the workers as the workers' political movement," and that since the Red Guard "carries the heaviest burden in this revolution," it deserved the same representation as the rest, but the majority upheld the views of the Deputation. The Council did make a bid to enhance its own power at the expense of the Deputation, for they were unhappy with the proposal that the Deputies could sit and vote in the Supreme Council and tried to insist that all decisions of the Deputation be submitted for confirmation immediately. They also insisted on the setting up of a separate War Department, and linked this with criticism of the work of Taimi. The Deputation took unkindly to what it saw as expressions of lack of confidence, and Kuusinen even threatened to resign. They told the Supreme Council that while they would agree to a War Department, all personal criticisms "must be withdrawn as unjustified" and any other changes should be deferred "until a rational organisation of work emerges." A joint committee of the two bodies was set up to reconcile differences, and on 11 March a package was agreed. Members of the Deputation would not vote in the Supreme Council, and in addition to the new War Department, the Labour and Transport Departments should be reorganized and a new Social Affairs Department established. This agreement looks like a genuine compromise, but all the evidence suggests that the Supreme Council accepted its subordinate status. Once they had worked through all the legislation, and approved the new constitution, they found little to do; on 28 March they resolved to sit only once a week, and empowered the Delegation to resolve all matters that arose while they were not in session. The Supreme Council made a brief reappearence when they issued a statement on the German landing, and a final appearence in Viipuri on 11 April, when they formally endorsed the decision to set up a dictatorship and voted to suspend their own activity indefinitely.72 Thus the Deputation remained the supreme authority in Red Finland, and their decisions defined the character of the revolution. The scope of their legislation wa wide, though some of it, like the abolition of the death penalty, of titles of nobility, of the security of tenure of public servants, of the establishment of the Lutheran church, and of religious education in schools, was of a kind thatany radical European government since 1789 might have passed. The laws to make the tax structure

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progressive, ordering a general revision of assessments in favor of the poor, proposing a progressive income tax, though with a modest maximum of 15 percent, relieving poor families of local tax burdens, were still measures that any liberal government might have proposed. They did put up radical labor legislation, enacting the 8-hour day for agriculture, repealing the oppressive master and servant laws; and they proposed a law on the right to work, under which local authorities could compel employers to take on labor, set wages, and forbid dismissals. There would be a national minimum wage, an obligation on employers to find accommodation for their workers, rent controls, and special taxes on rental income. These were advanced and progressive laws, but they could still have been accepted by a radical, liberal-capitalist government.73 The Deputation made a great issue of its torppari law, one of the first to be issued, on 30 January. This suspended all payments of rent or services by the torppari, or certain classes of cottager, though it did not transfer the land to them, and in theory the rent remained due to the state. As a permanent settlement they proposed to sell the land to the tenants at less than its value. This rather muddled law was pure expediency; it was meant to buy the support of the torppari class, who were told bluntly that if they wanted to benefit, they had better support the revolution. It was radical in the sense that it was expropriatory; no compensation would be paid, except to small landlords who could prove distress, but they had not taken the obvious step of basing their reforms on nationalization of the land. Instead their law would turn the torppari into small independent proprietors, and reinforce the place of private property in agriculture. The expropriatory provisions of the torppari law are unique in the legislation of the revolution; they were generally very careful of the rights of property, and their compulsory purchase law provided for full compensation to be paid, to be determined by independent arbitration. If the situation that this legislation would have created is seen as a whole, it becomes clear that there was no question of replacing the capitalist mode of production or attacking the basic structures of private property. It would have changed Finland from a rather backward capitalist society to a rather radical and progressive one, but the changes could hardly be called revolutionary. This was intended; Tiedonantaja affirmed this on 15 April when it wrote that the workers were fighting "not for Bolshevism, not even for pure social democracy, but for liberty and the equality of all citizens." They saw themselves as completing the bourgeois revolution on behalf of a backward and incompetent local bourgeoisie that had failed to complete its historic task.74 The Deputation claimed that in the end its work should be judged by the new draft constitution, which was largely the work of Kuusinen. This was reported to the Deputation on 20 February, approved there and passed on to the Supreme Council, which also approved it, with little debate. The preamble affirms that it is to be put to a referendum after the war, and "the majority of the Finnish people can show clearly whether it wants real democracy and how large a part of it still adheres to the deposed power of the masters." They were confident that the people would not prefer "the oppression of the half-foreigner Mannerheim or other parasitic

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gentlemen from the aristocracy." It was a simple constitution, based on the principle that all power derives directly from the people. They would elect a unicameral, sovereign legislature for a three-year term, during which only parliament itself could order extraordinary elections. The executive, still called the Deputation, would be elected afresh for each parliament, and would work under its close supervision, or that of an Inspectorate, when parliament was not in session, any two members of which could veto any proposed action of the Deputation. The chairman of the Deputation was also "the Principal of the Finnish Republic," but he could not serve two successive terms, and had no personal authority as head of state. Parliament appointed the Supreme Court and confirmed all other senior public appointments, which were for short, fixed terms. But the people, in addition to controlling the state through parliament, could also act directly through referenda and popular legislative initiatives, and could force public servants to face reselection. This was a radical constitution, but neither revolutionary nor socialist; indeed Kuusinen borrowed large parts of it from Switzerland, one of the most solidly bourgeois of countries. Two radical-sounding clauses, one giving the citizens the right to possess arms, and another giving the state the right "to confiscate the property of those who refuse to obey the law," were eliminated during the drafting.75 The new constitution was consistent with the rest of the Deputation's legislation; it was for a small, neutral democratic republic, with a liberal-bourgeois society. This was confirmed by the official commentaries on it. Tyomies wrote on 26 February that "the dictatorship of the proletariat thus creates the basisforafirm democracy," and it contrasted the prevailing regime with the democratic order that would replace it. Sirola told a meeting on 3 March that "many comrades may, on reading the Deputation's proposed constitution, have looked for socialism in it, and may have thought there is very little to be found. Quite right.There is not much there because socialism is to be achieved through the economic revolution." Manner told another meeting that the constitution only opened the way, "after the great achievements of the political revolution, the economic revolution will proceed step by step." Tyomies pointed to the article in the constitution that gave the state and local authorities "the right to own property and set up or take part in economic enterprises" as a key provision, which "gives to the nation the opportunity to strive towards a socialist society." Once the constitution was accepted, "the different classes of the nation want, within this framework, and without violent conflict, to begin to promote and safeguard their advantages." Thus the constitution would provide a class-neutral structure within which the workers could continue their class struggle by peaceful means.76 One vital question was left unanswered, which was what was to happen if at th referendum, or any subsequent election, the bourgeois parties won? On 21 March Tyomies implied that they would then be free to use their majority to pursue their class interests, though it assumed that it could only be a temporary situation, since the natural majority was bound to reassert itself. It was not taken as a serious possibility because the very existence of full democracy "strips the power from the owners of the great companies, the bank capitalists, big landowners, the bureaucrac 391

and the alien oppression of the nobility." But an article on 31 March introduced an ambiguous note, for it implied that a bourgeois majority could not really be democratic: 'The quality of the politics must be decisive. The achievement of a passing majority among the electors does not give the majority group the right to behave in any way it pleases." But the article then shied away from stating openly that a bourgeois majority would not be allowed to pursue its class interest by asserting that it could not happen, because the Left was always the majority; "only the Left parties can form a democratic parliamentary majority." The draft constitution itself had two provisions bearing on the point: one was a standard provision that if a minority group "begins to prepare a threatening uprising to overthrow this constitution," then parliament was empowered to take preventive measures. The other provision reflected the confusion and evasion in the minds of those who drafted it: It ran, "If it should happen, incredibly, that the parliamentary majority itself" should try to restore minority rule, "then let the nation rise up and dissolve that parliament." New elections would be held, but what would happen if they gave a renewed majority for restoring minority power was not explained; presumably the process could be repeated ad infinitum. 7 7 The sheer silliness of this constitutional provision showed that the socialists recognized a problem, but could not find a solution that was consistent with their proclaimed principles. They believed that a parliament, elected in free elections based on universal suffrage was the only source of legitimate power; as Manner said, "The will of the people is higher than the law, and it is expressed through the people voting." Yet they were also saying that in some circumstances a majority so produced could be overthrown. The Finnish socialists were the first Social Democrat party, pledged to build socialism on the basis of majority voting, who found themselves in power and then had to decide whether they could proceed without the unambiguous endorsement of the electorate, and whether they should be prepared to surrender power if the endorsement was not forthcoming. They never found an answer and ended up pledged to the absurd proposition that after a bloody civil war they would hold an election in which the vanquished could vote on equal terms with the victors, and if they won the election could reverse the verdict of the war. They were at least clear that their proposed constitution was not a socialist constitution, for they had stated explicitly that this was not the socialist revolution, and yet it was difficult to avoid the idea that if they were a government of socialists, they ought to be promoting a socialist society. In consequence they sometimes seemed ambiguous on this point. They told the Zimmerwald International that they would implement "a socialist action programme" and added that "the nationalisation of productive plant will be begun at once, wherever and whenever the common needs of the people clearly demand it." But usually the leadership insisted that the proletarian revolution lay in the future, for as Tyomies said on 25 February, it needed a fully developed capitalism to start from, and the proletarian revolution could not "be carried out solely by arms and manifestoes." Tiedonantaja promised that the socialist revolution would come, but 392

"not by leaps, but by carefully considered moves." Most of the movement was ready to accept this, but a minority were not. At the very beginning the revolutionary committee in Viipuri had called for the nationalization of land for distribution to the landless laborers, and the nationalization of basic industries. The workers of the Kymi valley were also dissatisfied with the published programs of the Deputation, and demanded a new one "which should move on the basis of the economic revolution." The Deputation ignored this demand, but on 7 February did accept a motion from Lumivuokko that there should be a committee on nationalization. Two days later, Letonmaki raised the whole question of what the Deputation was supposed to be doing. He wrote that so far they had only been "drawing up laws and proclamations, but have not begun to realise concrete reforms," and he argued that they should start out on the economic revolution.78 The debate in the Deputation on 11 February ended with agreement on Kuusinen's view that they must not force things, but should look at individual proposals for nationalization on their merits, and leave it to the relevant Departments to put up schemes. The Agriculture Department did draft a plan for the nationalization of land, and a proposal to nationalize the docks was put up, but the Deputation never got as far as even considering any nationalization proposal, much less implementing one. Their attitude was revealed when during the negotiations for a treaty with Russia, Lenin insisted that Finland be described as "the Finnish Socialist Workers' Republic." The Deputation opposed this, partly because they resented outsiders telling them what to call themselves, and partly because they did not see their Finland as either a socialist or a workers' state. They gave in to Lenin as far as the wording of the treaty went, but never in fact referred to themselves as anything other than the government of the republic of Finland. Thus although the Deputation and the socialist press sometimes may have used ambiguous language about socialism, they were fairly clear that they were not involved in a socialist revolution, but in the democratic revolution that was to precede it.79 It is much more difficult to discern what the ordinary workers thought about the revolution. Anna Wiik, who had no illusions herself, as an intellectual observer, thought "the great mass were to a high degree optimistic, believed that the dream of a socialist society would become a reality." Her impression can be supported by scattered evidence of a popular feeling that some decisive change had taken place. A group of Helsinki Red Guard members thought that at least this ought to be the case, "When the revolution began, we thought that all the institutions of the old order, and their personnel would be renewed." A socialist in Lapp! remembered how the replacement of the old bourgeois bosses changed the whole atmosphere in the commune, "even if the improvement remained so short-lived," and a Viipuri socialist recalled that "we were able to realise in practice that social policy which we had advocated for years in the name of the workers' ideals," and the beneficiaries "noticed the difference at once, when their own people took charge of affairs." Yet it is striking how little evidence exists of positive popular support for the revolution. True, it was winter, the material circumstances were bleak, and there is no tradition in Finnish society of uninhibited public rejoicing. Even so, this must

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have been one of the gloomiest popular revolutions on record; the whole official tone was stern and repressive. The Red regime was rigidly prohibitionist, and on security grounds closed most places of entertainment, though this was seen as good in itself. Frivolity had no place in their new order. The mood was not only repressive, but philistine. It is notable that not a single major contemporary artist rallied to the revolution. This is partly because Finnish culture was still deeply in its romantic nationalist phase, and the Reds were seen as betraying the national cause. Tiedonantaja commented on and deplored the indifference or hostility of the artists, who were not embracing the glorious freedom that the revolution offered them, but supposed that the prostituting influence of capitalism over them was still too strong. Popular revolutions have so often produced, if only for a time, a surge of life-enhancing, joyous creativity, expressing the sense of liberation, but in Finland this spontaneity seems to be absent. Just as the Finnish revolution produced no charismatic political leader, so it produced no artists; it always seems to have been seen as an ordeal to be endured rather than an opportunity to be seized.80 Significantly, the only common popular manifestations in Red Finland were the solemn funerals for the revolutionary dead. This is partly tradition; the record of all the wars in which Finns have fought shows a fanatical preoccupation with retaining or recovering the bodies of the fallen so that they might be brought home for burial. Such funeral solemnities clearly met a deep need; Anna Wiik thought "it witnesses that mankind has need for an elevated solemnity, and it witnessed that it is true that in spite of everything that is awful and cruel in this struggle, there lives behind it, among the masses, the feeling that they are fighting for a great aim and a high ideal." The press always gave generous coverage to these funerals, and they lived vividly in the memories of participants. At Forssa "the first burial of the fallen was an inspiring and solemn occasion." There were a cortege with flags, a brass band playing funeral marches, and a massive procession. Poems were read over the grave, some home-produced, others from Heine and similar romantics, whose work chimed in so well with the popular taste. At Lappeenranta it was the same storyred coffins, bands and flags, a mass turn-out. "This occasion lasted four hours, with a succession of orators declaiming speeches and poetry." The verse published in the socialist press has a parallel obsession with death, the dead hero, the willingness to die for the cause. The readiness to die, rather than the cause for which the sacrifice was to be made, seems to move the writers and presumably their audience. For an outsider to Finnish culture, the most evocative picture of the funereal preoccupations of the Finnish socialists can be found in an article in Tyomies, in which a war correspondent described how he visited a Red Guard canteen in Helsinki. While the men were eating, they were entertained by someone playing funeral hymns on the piano, "the same pieces that I have heard being played many times at the funerals of my comrades." It would be perverse not to recognize the strength that a dour and stolid sense of duty among the workers gave to the revolution. With magnificent solidarity, most of them gave a voluntary and unswerving allegiance to the cause of the working class. But the Dantonesque element of daring, dynamism, and vitality was absent from this revolution. The Finnish revolution never had much

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prospect of succeeding by any rational calculation, but history has demonstrated again and again how the element of revolutionary vitality, sparked off in the masses by imaginative and dynamic leaders, can transform situations and work miracles. But when the historic crisis of the Finnish workers arrived, no Finnish equivalent of a Danton, a Garibaldi, a Simon Bolivar, or a Lenin appeared to match the hour. From the Finnish revolution some vital spark was missing.81

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Chapter 14

The Civil War I

Once a state of civil war had developed, the government of Red Finland faced the same problem as Mannerheim, how to create an army capable of winning it, and where to find the outside assistance that would be needed. Although the Red Guard was both a voluntary and a selective force, and would enlist only organized workers, the initial enthusiasm produced an ample flow of recruits. Recruitment was usually a group decision by a trade union branch or the village workers' organization, so that many early Red Guard units were simply identified by the trade or workplace of the members. Under such conditions, a measure of compulsion obviously was involved, for it would not be easy for an individual to stand out against the group decision and in some cases refusal to serve would invite sanctions. Helsinki Local Staff ordered the Pasila engineering works to stop employing men who had been dismissed from other plants "because they do not want to be in the Red Guard." But with this reservation the Red Guard was a wholly voluntary force to begin with, and Tampere secured nearly two-thirds of its total enlistment through this method by the end of January. When the Guard was taken into public pay, a new factor influenced recruitment. Unemployment was severe and food was short, the Red Guard offered an attractive rate of pay and the prospect of regular meals. Workers began to join the Guard for the money; as one member recalled, "there was no problem about starting a Red Guard . . . people were generally idle and decided to take their bread from where it could be got."1 This second wave of recruitment caused some qualitative change in the membership of the Guard, for some at least of those who joined for material considerations were not enthusiastic about fighting for the cause. A report from Tampere on a unit that was showing reluctance to go to the front remarked "the greater part of the men are casual workers, who have taken up a rifle not to fight, but to get the regular wage. They have also elected a commander from the same type of casual labourer." This element increased as the war developed and a shortage of manpower began to be felt. On 1 March the Deputation ruled that non-party workers might be recruited and Haapalainen issued an appeal for all able-bodied men to join. Some 396

attempt at selection still was made; Uusimaa District Staff wanted the men to be "to some extent selected people," but by 18 March Turku District Staff was ready to enlist anyone who was not an actual counterrevolutionary, and the following day Uusimaa made a similar announcement. Any normal government soon would have resorted to conscription, but the Red government opposed this on principle. Viipuri, which always felt the worst manpower shortage, had begun forced enlistments early in March, but were told on 13 March that this was not only illegal, but "a counterrevolutionary measure," and they were ordered to release anyone recruited under duress. The stance was based on the principle that it was wrong to force people to fight against their convictions, and that to do so would degrade the purity of their cause. On 18 March the General Staff issued an order that in socialist Finland "there is not, and there cannot be compulsory military service in force." It was a noble principle, but it came under increasing pressure: In both Helsinki and Tampere in March, able-bodied men who refused to enlist were taken off the public relief rolls, which virtually compelled them to join. The qualitative change that this caused has been measured for Tampere Red Guard, and shows that the men who joined in the first wave tended to be older, settled family men, with long-standing membership of their trade union, while the later recruits had an increasing element of younger, unmarried casual laborers, whose membership of the workers' movement was quite recent.2 To the Finnish workers, whose womenfolk commonly labored with them in factory and field, it came naturally to recruit women as well. Women sometimes formed a significant proportion of the membership, as in Tampere, where there were 901 women against 5,094 men; and some of them got into the firing line, to the horror and disgust of the Whites. The General Staff ruled on 16 March that it was generally undesirable to use women for front-line service, though they recognized that it could be necessary on occasion, but saw nothing against the use of women for service in the rear. It became the standard practice, but the women were armed and took part in guard and patrol duties. In the last, catastrophic phase of the war, the Reds went further and introduced general labor service for everyone between 18 and 55, including women. This was done in Tampere under siege, and was authorized by a decree of the Deputation; even then it was not intended that people should be compelled to fight—the idea was to use conscript labor to release volunteers for the front. There is no doubt that in the process some unwilling recruits, even some bourgeois, found themselves forced to take up arms. But even so, it remains overwhelmingly the case that Red Finland fought the war with an army of volunteers.3 As yet, no accurate figures are available for the membership of the Red Guard; the General Staff certainly never knew what it was. Until recently, it has been accepted that membership of around 20,000 in January increased steadily to around 80,000 in April, which allowing for wastage of all kinds would mean that nearly 100,000 served in the ranks at some time. But projections based on the most recent local research suggest that this may be an underestimate, and a figure as high as 140,000 is not improbable. In any case, the Red Guard was always markedly more

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numerous than the enemy forces, and since it was voluntary the figures suggest a very high level of commitment among the working class to the struggle: In Tampere it looks as though about athird of themeneligiblefor service joined the Red Guard, a very high proportion by any standard. The numbers on the Red Guard rolls were not of course the same as the numbers of fighting men available, for the Red Guard, like any army, had both an administrative tail, and second-line troops who, by reason of age, physical condition, or state of readiness could not be used for active service at the front. In Tampere these noncombatant troops, employed on support services, or for guard and internal security work, comprised a little over half of the total enrollment, so that although about 6,000 people served in the Tampere Red Guard, its fighting strength was never much more than 2,000 at any one time. A report from Viipuri District Staff on 20 February, showed a similar situation; they had 8,090 men enrolled, of whom 3,200 were in the line, a further 1,200 were committed to guarding the railway to Petrograd, and the rest were in training or on other duty in the rear. In addition, during the first three weeks of the war, substantial numbers of potential fighting men were available for whom there were no weapons. On 12 February Turku reported nearly 1,000 men in the city waiting for arms, and a further 1,000 could be raised at any time, whereas in the rural area, 3,630 men had only 405 rifles between them, and another 1,500 could be enlisted. 4 Eventually the Red Guard obtained all the equipment it could use, and got it as a free gift from the Russians, although an accounting for it was supposed to be made after the war. But down to 18 February, when the enemy was desperately short of arms, the Red Guard was short too. They began the war with the Rahja delivery of 15,000 rifles and 30 machine guns, in addition to their pre-war stocks and such additional weapons as the garrison provided. It is possible that the Russians transferred as many as 15,000 additional rifles in the first days of the war, though the provision was erratic both in quantity and quality. At Tampere, where arms were desperately needed, the Russians could offer only 500 Berdan, single-shot rifles, unsuitable for front-line use. Yet when they evacuated Tampere at the end of February they handed over "several thousand rifles, about thirty machine guns and some small-calibre field guns," suggesting that they had in fact possessed substantial stocks but had chosen not to distribute them to the Red Guard. The Rahja arms and the additional weapons doled out by the Russians sufficed to establish the front and mount operations to clear the rear areas, but the Red Guard remained partly unarmed and immobilized for much of February. 5 One reason that the problem had not been tackled with greater urgency was the illusion of both the Red Guard command and the Russian commander, Svecnikov, that the Red Guard would not be needed for any serious fighting. It was 14 February before they had realized their error and drafted a plan to convert the Red Guard into a proper field army. A request was dispatched to Petrograd for 10 staff officers, 20 artillery officers, 20 engineer officers, and a supply of 50,000 rifles, 200 machine guns, and 50 three-inch field guns. This order came to Petrograd at a bad time, just as the Germans renewed hostilities, and the first major new supply came from inside Finland. By 18 February, the negotiators for a Finnish-Russian treaty had agreed 398

that Russian fixed assets in Finland, including barracks, fortifications, and other military installations should be handed over to the Finns. The General Staff, without waiting for completion of the treaty, ordered the Red Guard to take possession of such installations as soon as the Russians left them. But it was further agreed that Finland had a right of preemption over all the movable property of the Russian state in Finland, and so the General Staff began sending firm orders to the Area Committee and Tsentrobalt for a whole range of equipment, rifles, machine guns, mountain guns, binoculars, mortars, hand grenades, and guns for armored trains. On 25 February they submitted a second shopping list, and these orders were met, for on 18 February Lenin had instructed the Finnish garrison to evacuate and leave its weapons for the Red Guard. As a result, on 19 February consignments of rifles and other equipment were dispatched by the General Staff to Lahti, Tampere, Hameenlinna, and Pori, and more distributionsfollowed. In addition, the Deputation sent Taimi to talk to Lenin to see if the request of 14 February could be met: Taimi met Lenin on 22 February, and he agreed to the immediate arming of the Red Guard, and gave Taimi a note to the War Commissariat which said briefly, "Comrade Taimi's requests to be m e t i n full."On 25 February, Taimi issued a warrant to government agents in Petrograd to take delivery of the weapons, and two trainloads were dispatched at once, to be followed by two shiploads of weapons that came from Reval in early March. The situation was transformed in a matter of days: When the General Staff wrote to Radek, on 1 March, they were full of confidence; "a little more help from the Russian comrades in the form of arms, then the revolution is safe." On 3 March, Haapalainen told a meeting in Helsinki that the Red Guard now had all the equipment it needed to finish off the war, and shortages were a thing of the past. On 28 February Tampere Red Guard ordered all the Red Guard units in the District to come in to the city to receive weapons and training. It was their tragedy that this had happened just a month too late. 6 The feeding of the Red Guard did not present any insuperable problems, for in the last resort they had their armed force to requisition the food they needed. The Commissariat tried to enforce a policy of putting the Guard on normal civilian rations, to be procured through the local Food Boards and served in communal Red Guard canteens. In Helsinki the cooperative Elanto contracted to feed the Red Guard, and did so with professional efficiency, in return for prompt cash payment. In Tampere, the Red Guard Staff had a requisitioning department with a staff of 30, and they organized supplies from both the city and the countryside, sending expeditions to gather in the food. They ran three big canteens in the city, bakeries, and a sausage factory and employed a staff of 300. A visiting Helsinki Red Guard was impressed by the way in which he could eat his fill of soup and sandwiches in the Red Guard canteen. At Forssa they set up the canteen in the local fire station and kept pigs in the yard to supply it. There were problems; Riihimaki was the most important railway junction in Red Finland, but the canteen there complained that they were expected to feed trainloads of men at no notice, and since "the feeding was reduced to very little . . . the men when they left hurled abuse and obscenities at us," which seems to have upset the canteen staff severely. Where feeding 399

was locally organized, there was some reluctance to share with outsiders, Viipuri had to reprimand local units that had declined to share with the Helsinki troops sent to help them: "In the same billeting area everywhere they must be fed in common. . . . All special privileges are regarded as counter-revolutionary manifestations an a threat to our revolutionary work." The difficulties were most apparent when the troops were in the front line, or on the march away from the railways. On the move, they tended to be given sandwiches and left to fend for themselves, and in temperatures continually below freezing there was an acute need for hot drinks, for which they generally relied on civilian houses along the way. The Red Guard seems to have made no serious use of field kitchens, and in remote front-line positions were often left to their own resources. A Helsinki company at Kuru found the White inhabitants of their billet would supply milk and hot drinks for cash, but the local Staff did not supply any food, and they had to forage for what they needed.7 The workers who composed the Red Guard were used to poor and scanty food and seem to have been reasonably content with what was provided, though there was no lack of grumbles about specific inadequacies, and one underlying theme was the suspicion that the bourgeois were feeding better then they did. It was more difficult to provide adequate clothing and footwear, for there was a real shortage of supply. The Red Guard did not generally attempt to provide uniform, the men wearing red hat bands and arm bands that were supposed to carry the identity of their unit, but otherwise wore their ordinary working clothes. In the prevailing climatic conditions, men simply could not fight without adequate clothing, and at first the Commissariat tried to meet the demand by selling clothes to the men at special low prices. The result was unsatisfactory, and the clothing of the Guard often in wretched condition. The Helsinki men at Kuru had expected to get clothing issued at the front, but the local Staff had none, "although many of our men were in pitiable need," and the General Staff admitted on 13 March "our army suffers a great shortage of clothing and shoes." Requisitioning of existing stocks began at once; Tampere seized all boots and felt boots, and two-thirds of all shoe stocks on 2 February, and on the same day the General Staff ordered a national requisition of shoes and clothing. Soon the Guard began to manufacture supplies, though in a piecemeal fashion at first; Tampere mobilized private sewing machines, and operated them continuously on a shift system; Mustamaki Red Guard seized local wool supplies and got the women knitting gloves and undergarments; and some use was made of private contractors. On 13 March, the General Staff recognized that there must be central provision, and the following day orders went out to mobilize all tailors in Helsinki, Tampere, Viipuri, and Turku and to discharge those serving in the Guard; they were to work exclusively for the Commissariat until 8 April, producing a basic uniform clothing. The situation never became satisfactory, reports from all fronts in April complained of continuing problems, and it looks as though bad organization was the root of the matter. White Finland, with a much weaker industrial base, contrived in the end to provide its army with a crude but adequate uniform; it should have been possible for the Reds to do the same.8 400

Billeting the men was less of a problem: At the front enough empty farm buildings and cottages were available, in the rear were Workers' Halls and schools, and in any case the men tended to live at home. But armies have long recognized that for the men to live as civilians undermines discipline, and as Russian barracks became available, pressure was exerted to put the men into them and establish a proper barrack routine. A general order went out to move into barracks on 21 February, but it had to be repeated a month later, with the threat to withhold pay from men who lived at home. An article in Tiedonantaja on 6 April tried to explain the military thinking behind living in barracks, but the men were incurably civilian in outlook, as the resolution of a Tampere company showed:9 The Company has been put to live in barrack-style in the Alexander school, which in our opinion is both spiritually and physically harmful, so the men have decided to turn to the battalion commander and the Staff with the demand that they may spend their free time at home, so far as this does not cause harm to our activity. For an army that lacked any coercive discipline, this kind of attitude of mind presented grave problems. Medical services, too, were a real problem for the Red Guard, since the socialists assumed that bourgeois doctors and nurses would refuse their services, and even if they did not, could not be allowed near the fighting for "they could . . . act as spies for the bourgeoisie." So early offers of humanitarian help from the Swedish and Norwegian Red Cross were refused on these grounds, and the Red Guard had to improvise its own services. Each company was supposed to have a medical section of three men and four women, and a training course of first-aid lectures was given in Helsinki, provided by a medical student, that recruits were supposed to attend. There were also Red Guard hospitals, one of 250 beds in the Fennia hotel in Helsinki, and three hospitals in Tampere with a capacity of 500. But the Helsinki hospital had one regular doctor, and Tampere none and only one qualified nurse. The situation was saved by the Russian army medical service, which provided much of the equipment, and a number of doctors and 10 medical auxiliaries. The Red Guard's own first-aid detachments sometimes acquired a bad name; one socialist alleged that "many prostitutes from Petrograd . . . penetrated to the front as nurses. The consequence was the spread of venereal disease in the Red Guard."The last comment can be treated with reserve; Finnish socialists had a morbid obsession with venereal disease, as the frequent newspaper articles, peddling lurid horror stories about its extent and effects, testify. It was one more aspect of their general repressive morality. Some genuine accounts are given of medical units that were little better than campfollowers of the worst kind, but much more evidence of the courage and self-sacrifice of the Red Guard medical auxiliaries. The bourgeois doctors and hospitals did not in fact refuse treatment to Red Guard patients, on the same terms as any others, but the Red Guard medical provision would have been hopelessly inadequate but for the fact that in positional warfare casualties were few. The 2,000 Tampere Red 401

Guard suffered just 10 casualties during February. When the fighting flared up, the Red Guard was generally in retreat and had to abandon its seriously wounded, so that the medical facilities never had to cope with severe demands.10 The Red Guard had no general welfare services, and a report to the Deputation pointed out, on 27 February, how for city-bred troops, existence in the wilderness, "isolated from the rest of the world, soon becomes tedious." But the only kind of entertainment that recommended itself to the authorities was educational, and they tried to organize political lectures to raise morale. The men relieved the tedium with their own amusements, of which the commonest were card-playing and dancing, if women were available. The authorities opposed both; dancing "undermined military discipline and also bred indifference to the nearby enemy. The men were much more desirous to dance than to stand watch on a cold night." Playing cards for money was held to be equally pernicious, but was much more widespread; for one thing there was often nothing else to do with money but gamble. One Turku cavalry unit was said to ride out each day, settle down to cards in some empty farm, and return at nightfall with spurious reports of their supposed activity. The authorities at Viipuri ordered that "all kinds of gambling, dancing etc. in the billets is absolutely forbidden," and Tampere ordered the practice of playing cards for money to cease, but the order was useless when they could not offer any alternative relief for the tedium of active service; in particular they were totally unable to arrange a proper system of leave.11 A professional army would have arranged to rotate its units at regular intervals and provide comforts and entertainments in the rear, but the Red Guard leaders did not even recognize a need for this, partly because they were thinking in terms of a brief conflict, and further, they lacked the capacity. The concept of leave was recognized, though at first it was thought of as restricted to individuals on compassionate grounds; in Viipuri District even this was denied in orders of 12 March and 9 April. The result was a serious build-up of discontent in almost any unit on active service for a prolonged period away from its home base. Such units would routinely hold a formal meeting and pass resolutions threatening to go home, though the idea of opening the front to the enemy generally inhibited them from carrying them out. A member of a Helsinki unit remembered "we threatened to go on leave to get money and clean clothes, but we did not want to leave the front open." The provocation was often severe; a Helsinki unit serving in Karelia complained after being at the front seven weeks without relief: They had lost 270 men, "part by their own decision," and had only 100 left fit for duty. If an opportunity offered, units would go home without orders. One Helsinki company requisitioned the transport of a column of reinforcements that had come up for an offensive, and when the local command remonstrated, replied:12 We have been here for one and a half months for nothing, there has been no action . . . we have not got a penny of our wages . . . they have not even supplied a simple felt boot by way of clothing . . . now a whole, wellequipped battalion has come. 402

They were threatened with being disarmed, but laughed at the threat; "try it if you want," and since nobody did, went unimpeded on their way back to Helsinki. Eventually the Red Guard command acknowledged the problem, in late March Viipuri District Staff wrote of "agitation about transfer among the troops, which has acquired a threatening character," and instituted a scheme to give two days' leave to local troops and four days' leave for Helsinki troops, to be taken by companies in rotation. On 1 April the General Staff ordered a universal scheme of regular leave, rotating men between the front and rear, to be implemented but by then it was too late. Although the socialist movement was teetotal, the Red Guard had drink problems, as all armies do, but they were limited because in general alcohol was simply not available, nor were materials for making it. The Red Guard got drunk when they could, but opportunities were few. A unit at Taipalsaari, which plundered a church, consumed what must have been an unusually large stock of communion wine and got drunk on it; the Red Guard unit at Kellomaki, on 7 April, was unable to move as ordered, because "most of the Guard were so drunk, that the departure had to be put off." But such incidents of mass drunkenness were very rare. The peculiar drink problem of the Red Guard was that it was confined to commanders, who alone had ready access to such alcohol as there was, and the higher the rank, the worse the problem. The first two commanders of the Red Guard, Aaltonen and Haapalainen, and a chief of staff, Wesley, were all involved in public drink scandals. Wesley was accused on 20 March of "going round the city drunk," and was eventually demoted for this. Aaltonen was notorious for his drinking bouts; on a visit to Tampere "his tippling was unlimited," and he "disappeared with some gang of drunks and no use resulted from his activities." Haapalainen caused such scandal on a visit to the Tampere front, where he was "hopelessly drunk" that he was arrested and sent back to Helsinki. On 23 April Haapalainen, by then dismissed as commander-in-chief, appeared before a Comrades' Court charged with "drunkenness, unsuitable behaviour in a public place and careless handling of a loaded weapon." He was reduced to the ranks and ordered to the front, a drastic fall for a former war minister and commander-in-chief. The scandals were certainly spectacular, but it is not easy to pinpoint much concrete damage caused by drink in the Red Guard; the damage was psychological. The men in the line were genuinely scandalized by leaders who broke the movement's taboo on alcohol, or envious and contemptuous of commanders who were indulging in high living and enjoying relaxations denied to the fighting men.13 The most obvious distinction between the Red Guard and the opposing White forces was that the Red Guard had almost no professional officers and NCOs to train it and lead it in battle. It was commonly asserted that Aaltonen was the only commissioned officer to serve in the Guard, but there were a few others, a colonel K. Liikkanen, from the old Finnish army, at least three Ja'gers, and a lieutenant V. Nurmisto who ran training courses at Tampere. They were supplemented by a number of Russian and Estonian officers and NCOs who served as volunteers with the Red Guard. But these could not function efficiently, partly because of the 403

language barrier, though the Estonians could usually speak some Finnish, more because the ordinary Red Guard member would not give them his full confidence. There was a chauvinist refusal to accept aliens in positions of command and an element of class suspicion as well, so that at most the Russians had to serve as advisors to an elected Finnish commander. In effect, Russian officers and specialists could be used to good effect only at staff level, as technical instructors on training courses, and in specialist roles with the artillery or the armored trains.14 The absence of an officer corps meant that the Red Guard picked up its training where it could. The booklet issued to all members described some basic drill movements, and early operational orders often specified points of tactics and movement. Also, the newspapers published series, like that in Tyomies, "For a Red Guard's diary," which gave basic instructions about such things as how to mount guard. It is difficult to generalize about the training that the ordinary infantryman might receive; some got none, but most units found someone with experience of military service. A Tampere Red Guard member recalled that "our commander had been trained in the world war"; the Forssa Red Guard commander was a former policeman and NCO, and they hired the Cossack fiance of a local girl as instructor; at Kuhmoinen the commander "had served three years in the regular Russian army"; and Kulju had a commander with similar service in the old Finnish army. But such men were rankers, or at most NCOs, and all they could do was teach the men simple drill and marching and show them how to handle a rifle. Anything more advanced had to be read in manuals, or learned the hard way. The General Staff tried to fill the gap; its most serious contribution was the training courses for machinegunners and artillerymen run in Kallio school in Helsinki, and their Training Section, set up on 6 February under the Estonian volunteer Kalm, made and circulated translations of Russian military manuals. On 21 February each District Staff was required to set up a training course, and a syllabus was provided, covering such instructions as how to use the rifle, how to attack, how to set up outposts, how to deploy from the march. Some training courses were given, largely employing Russian instructors, at Viipuri, Tampere, Turku, and Kouvola. These must have had some effect, it is generally agreed that the Red Guard machine-gunners were good, and handled their weapons as well as the enemy. It was more difficult to train competent artillerymen, and right to the end of the war a lot of the artillery was commanded and partly manned by Russians and could not achieve the highest levels of efficiency or coordination with other arms. In only one area did the Reds have a decisive superiority, and that was in the use of armored trains. These had obvious limitations, but this was a railway war, and most major encounters took place along a railway line; there are repeated instances of decisive interventions by armored trains. Here the superior industrial capacity of Red Finland was felt, and the General Staff put a considerable effort into building and fitting out the trains, which had crews of 60 and carried four 75 mm guns. The armored trains too generally needed Russian volunteers to man the guns and direct the train.15 On paper, the organization of the Red Guard looked like that of a normal army; the men were enlisted in companies of 96 men, four of these formed a battalion, 404

and four battalions a regiment. Thus Helsinki Red Guard began as two regiments in January, and then added three more by the end of March. Viipuri raised 131 companies, all based on workplaces or villages, which formed nine regiments; Tampere, Turku, and Lahti all raised regiments. But the regiments and the battalions were administrative and record-keeping structures; the fighting unit was the company. Only on rare occasions is a battalion found operating as a fighting force. The Red Guard was therefore an army that consisted of hundreds of largely self-governing companies, of very uneven quality and size, and any effective operational orders had to be directed to the company level. Nobody at the time ever knew how many companies there were, or where they were located; no amount of exhortation could instill into the companies the habit of making regular reports of their strengths and activities. The basic instruction from the General Staff was that of 3 February, requiring all units to make regular reports, reinforced by the order of 9 February that put this duty on the intelligence section each company was to set up. Yet on 22 March Viipuri District Staff had to remind all units of the obligation to render a daily report, showing that after six weeks they still were not getting them. Tampere complained that the reports were not coming in on 6 February, repeated the complaint on 4 March, reminding all units they must keep a war diary, and repeated it again on 25 March, clear evidence that they were not being obeyed.16 Thus the command of the Red Guard lacked one prerequisite for running an army on campaign, precise knowledge of the strength and disposition of its troops; it also lacked another, even more important assurance, the knowledge that orders, once issued, will be transmitted to the appropriate level and acted on. For the Red Guard was a democracy and did not accept orders. This democratic structure was most obvious in the way in which the command was elective: Not only were the commanders at all levels appointed by popular choice, but they were liable to instant dismissal by the same popular demand. Exceptionally, commanders were appointed from above, and in time of emergency, like the disaster at Tampere on 18 March, the right of election was formally abolished, but in most cases it prevailed. Commanders could be dismissed for many reasons; a Viipuri artillery unit said "he cannot maintain discipline among the men . . . we have noted in him partiality and poor ability in arithmetic and writing." The Portu Battalion said its deposed commander "is unsuitable for the job, firstly because we cannot get clear orders from him, secondly that he is overbearing in his behaviour towards the men." Mustamaki dismissed a commander for bad bookkeeping, a Hamina company alleged cowardice—the commander would never have taken them into action "if the men had not forced him to it." In theory the popular election of commanders should have meant that they enjoyed the confidence of their men, but there were reasons that this was often not the case. Many units did try to select the best man available, preferably someone with military experience, but it was inevitable that "commanders chosen by the men are not by any means always suitable for the job. They are too much 'men of the people' . . .," or as one old soldier remarked, "a ready tongue caused many to become commanders when Red Guard companies were formed." This could produce the kind of commander found at Kellomaki, "a 405

lazy and careless man," who was entirely inactive, except in selling travel permits for cash. Enemy patrols moved freely through his area at night, for his men followed his own example and could "sleep all night in peace, while the butchers are on the move." There was another kind of commander "who is always busy about his own affairs, and cannot be found when he is needed." When men of this type were thrust into action, it created the much-noted phenomenon of desertion. "Company commanders and others often leave their troops in the lurch, without any leadership." Eva, the commander at Tampere, thought this was easily understood; it "derived from their feeling their incapacity, and therefore at decisive moments, they tried to draw aside, and did not dare accept responsibility for leadership in war, which was a quite unknown task for them."17 Such behavior may have been natural, but it did have pernicious effects on the confidence of the men in their leadership, as attested by the persistent stories about commanders who sold their men to the enemy. In fairly numerous instances, this practice was alleged to explain a defeat, but though some of them were investigated, none has been proved. In fact, it matters little whether or not the stories were true; their persistence shows they were believed, and thus exposes the underlying lack of confidence. This idea was a major factor in the mindless panics to which the Red Guard were prone in adversity. A Report from Pori on 11 March said "cowardice haunts the men, when they are attacking, the commanders vanish from the front, so that the men fall into disorder and often a general panic seizes our troops." Once the idea of betrayal had taken grip, the troops were subject to "powerful, quite needless terror," and those who tried to stop them found "we had to open the road to these pitiable heroes of ours." Salmela reported to the General Staff on 19 March, "there is general panic among the men. They come by companies . . . if you speak to them, they say they have rifles . . . they will show the dictators". Any troops will panic in sufficiently adverse conditions, but if the commanders have the confidence of the men, they can usually be rallied. In spite of the system of election, and partly because of it, many Red Guard commanders did not have such confidence and the consequences of a local defeat easily became an uncontrollable disaster.18 The leadership was well aware that an army in which the commanders cannot command was doomed to failure. Ha'me District Staff pointed out on 7 February that "the first condition for a good military force is above all to maintain good order and discipline in the ranks. . . . All manner of insolence and disobedience towards commanders is strictly forbidden." An article in Tiedonantaja pointed out that a workers' army needed the same kind of discipline as any other, and that "the front is not the right place for politics or the evaluation of orders that are given." The General Staff declared in an order of 31 March that:19 The men are to obey unconditionally the orders of the commanders they have themselves elected, because if everyone begins to command, or argue against the orders given, we are in general anarchy and our cause is lost. The diagnosis was faultless, but the root of the problem was exposed in the 406

threat that followed, that all who disobeyed "will be brought for condemnation before a military court, without pity." This was sheer hot air; everyone knew there were no military courts capable of enforcing such threats. The reality was that the Red Guard was riddled with chronic indiscipline. They carried out searches and arrests without warrant, they thieved and plundered, they disrupted the rationing regulations, they sold their government-issue clothes for profit, they had to be told not to take their rifles to the cinema, not to march along the pavements, not to perform guard-duty sitting propped against a wall, not to vandalize their billets. These are the sort of things the soldiers in any army will do, if they think they can get away with it, and in the Red Guard they could. All the delinquents had to fear was sermonizing: When the Helsinki Red Guard commanders held a meeting to discuss discipline on 26 March, they concluded that "good talk and advice were the best means of achieving a comradely spirit." There are few instances in history of brutal and licentious soldiery being restrained by talk and advice. Nevertheless, a genuine comradely spirit did exist, a sense of loyalty to mates, to class and to the cause, which held the Red Guard together in the absence of the usual military sanctions. But it was not always enough. Indiscipline behind the front was a nuisance that could be lived with, but it became quite a different matter on the battlefield, where no Red Guard commander could be certain his orders would be obeyed. The commander who went to Porvoo to lead the local Red Guard into a counterattack on the Germans had to wait most of a day while the Porvoo Staff debated the order, and then referred it to a general meeting of the Red Guard, before deciding to comply. A Russian commander at Kuru reported that he had ordered two companies up as reinforcement for the battle "but they left for Tampere. . . . The next morning one more company lef for Tampere on its own authority, leaving the front open to the enemy." He added, "I could not get these troops to understand the situation, even by the most earnest requests." A commander at Heinola reported of the action on 15 March:20 I gave the alarm and gave orders to the men to hurry to the help of the outposts. I explained to the men that unless we reached the outposts' positions over the fields before the White attack, our men in the outposts would be destroyed. Because of the grudging spirit among our men, we did not get moving in time. It has been remarked with justice that "when we tried to follow the rules of the democratic game, in front line conditions, with discussions, voting and compromises, it meant a fatal waste of time, and became a factor weakening discipline and order." The lack of discipline was probably the inevitable result of trying to fight a war by methods of democratic decision-making, yet, given the deep rooted habit in the workers' movement, it is not easy to see what else they could have done. When the Red Guard commander of the fortification at Uuras was told to put a stop to the holding of dances, which allowed unauthorized persons to wander around unchecked, besides being bad for morals, the commander replied that he had tried and the men would not obey. He asked the District Staff what he was supposed to do, 407

was he to start shooting his own men? In an ordinary army the ultimate answer to that question has to be yes; it is the final sanction on which all military discipline rests. In the Red Guard, there was no practical answer to the question. 21 It was an expression of the democratic basis of the Red Guard that it was commanded through committees, the collegiate principle of administration prevailed: 22 The Guard created for itself collective military leadership. . . . From this factor alone was born that broad network of staffs, which our Red Guard possessed in wartime. If you try to describe some kind of system for them, it breaks down. The term "staff" is rather misleading because of its military connotations, since most of these committees had nothing to do with military operations, but were concerned with organization and record-keeping at the rear. They were responsible for internal security, which involved organizing guards and patrols, and making searches and arrests, but these quasi-military functions were really police duties. The civilian character of most staffs was reflected in their membership, which tended to consist of the older party members, and the mountains of paper that they have left behind them show that they were mainly occupied in calculating pay, distributing food and clothing, arranging accommodation, and issuing endless permits and certificates. The term staff was also misleading because these bodies did not see themselves as the sources of executive authority, but as delegate bodies, elected by and responsible to the mass membership, so that all major decisions had to be referred to general meetings. Thus the Helsinki Local Staff, one of the most powerful in the whole Red Guard, put all major issues to meetings of commanders, and these were so frequent, especially during March, that the Local Staff itself was reduced to a very subordinate role. Basically, for every Red Guard there was a Local Staff, which corresponded with the civilian structure of the workers' movement, each local organization having its own Red Guard unit. It followed that some local Staffs, like Helsinki or Viipuri, were powerful and important; others were not. The Local Staff was subordinate to the District Staff, based on the national electoral divisions, and the whole structure was topped by the General Staff. But parallel with this was a structure of staffs developed from the actual fighting units. In each company there was a staff, consisting of the commander, the section leaders, usually a secretary, a quartermaster, and sometimes an intelligence officer. When companies were brought together for operations, the commanders and their staffs would elect delegates to form a Front Staff, which actually directed military operations, and was quite distinct from the Local and District Staffs. The whole structure was a recipe for confusion and frustration; the staffs overlapped dangerously, and each tended to try to carve out a sphere of influence for itself and exclude outside authority. This confusion was evident in the Helsinki area, where the Uusimaa District Staff and the Helsinki Local Staff largely coincided. The District Staff had the higher formal authority, and could issue orders to the Local Staff, but the Local Staff, which was the voice of Helsinki Red Guard, was possessed of more real power, and decided for itself how far it would comply. 408

However, on occasion the two staffs held joint meetings when they wanted to impose their views on the General Staff or the Deputation.23 The kind of structure that developed can be seen in Tampere, where there originally had been one elected staff for Tampere city Red Guard. On the outbreak of hostilities this was reorganized as a committee of regimental and battalion commanders, and was referred to indifferently as the Tampere Regimental Staffer the Tampere Local Staff. Its functions were wholly administrative, concerned wit pay, discipline, training, supplies, and internal security. After the Red Guard Congres a new body had been set up, the North Hame District Staff, with authority over the city and its rural hinterland. This was the official channel for orders from the General Staff and was responsible for the regimental organization of the Red Guard in its area. It too had administrative functions only, having a chancellery and sections fo information, statistics, intelligence, finance, billeting, and prisons. The operational staff for Tampere grew out of the liaison work of K. Eva, chairman of the District Staff, with the Russian officers of 106 Division staff. Eva was an ex-NCO, fluent in Russian, and was joined on 5 February by Taimi's brother, A. Vasten, also fluent in Russian, and they called themselves "the Red Guard command for Tampere and its front." During February they were joined by the Turku Red Guard leader, T. Hyrskymurto and A. Aaltonen, who was seconded to them by the General Staff. They then called themselves "the General Staff of the Field Army of the Finnish Red Guard" and later the "Northern Front Staff." This body was a military staff with sections for propaganda, maps, intelligence, weapons supply, and mobilization, though the actual military operations were planned by the Russian officers of 106 Division. In Tampere, this division of power between three parallel staffs working in roughly the same area seems to have worked reasonably well. 24 The overall direction of the Red Guard was vested in the General Staff, which in turn was subject to the authority of the Deputation. The latter was secured by the presence on the General Staff of two Deputies, Taimi, who concerned himself with supply and weapons procurement, and Haapalainen, who was made chairman of the General Staff and was styled Commander-in-Chief of the Red Guard. In spite of this it was the intention that the command should be collegiate; Haapalainen was supposed to have his orders endorsed by his colleagues. On 5 February the General Staff was enlarged and reorganized. Three Estonian officers with relevant experience, R. Kiiman, H. Kalm, and H. Triip, were added to it and it was divided into six specialist sections—each under a section chief—weapon supply, intelligence, training, communications, propaganda, and medical services. An operations section was to plan and direct all military activity, subject to the confirmation of its orders by the whole Staff, or by Haapalainen as Commander-in-Chief. 25 The operations section found it difficult to get a grip on operations in the field because of defective communications and on 11 February Taimi and Haapalainen proposed to move the General Staff to Tampere, to be close to the main fighting front. This was approved and then reversed on the grounds that only from Helsinki could the Staff maintain adequate communications with the whole country. Taimi was furious at the defeat of his proposal, and wrote an outspoken memorandum on 409

15 February, asserting that "the staff is ineffective, it was already ineffective before the revolution began. . . . The work of the Staff has been indecisive right from the beginning." The man who emerged from these embittered arguments as the leading influence was A. Wesley, who suggested as a compromise establishing fronts, each with its own operations staff, with the General Staff coordinating their work. His plan was adopted on 18 February: The General Staff was reshuffled; Haapalainen remained Commander-in-Chief, but Wesley became chairman, chief of staff, and head of the Propaganda Section. The Operations Section was renamed Executive Council, and Wesley, Eloranta, and Turkia were added to it. This action was meant to assert a firm collective control over Haapalainen's erratic interventions in the conduct of operations. Three fronts were established, each under its own operational staff—a Northern Front based on Tampere, a Central Front based on Kouvola, and an Eastern Front based on Viipuri.26 These new arrangements did not work well, for on 23 February a joint meeting of the General Staff and Uusimaa District Staff was held to consider complaints. It was said that Haapalainen was creating chaos by continuing to issue orders on his own responsibility and that the Russians in Petrograd were dissatisfied with the direction of the war: They were saying that "our Guard has poor leadership and they doubt they can risk giving arms here."This report almost certainly came through Taimi, who was dissatisfied with both Haapalainen and Wesley and was still pressing for a more vigorous direction of the war. The meeting yielded to the Russian criticisms and resolved to send a delegation to Petrograd "to turn to Dybenko or Krylenko to see if one of them could be procured to lead our revolutionary struggle, even for a short time." This resolution exposed the dilemma of the Red military leaders: They could see that collective leadership was not satisfactory, but there was no native Finn qualified to take charge. Since the treaty of Brest-Litovsk, with its prohibition on Russian intervention in Finland, made the idea of procuring a Russian leader abortive, the General Staff had to muddle along, with Wesley trying to steer the collective leadership. Haapalainen made a final bid to assert personal control in March, which resulted in his disastrous drunken foray at Tampere, followed by his offer of resignation. When it was accepted, the Deputation resolved that "the supreme command will be a three-man organ." Taimi, E. Rahja, and Eloranta were nominated, which gave the militants a chance to prove themselves, for Taimi and Rahja were Petrograd Bolsheviks and Eloranta was one of the most radical of the Deputies. The new command took over just as disaster struck at Tampere; they proved quite unable to get a grip on the situation. In face of their failure, Wesley made a last bid to effect a radical change in the direction of the war. He wrote a memorandum that was presented to the Deputation on 26 March, in which he claimed that the whole Red Guard was becoming demoralized by defeat and that "lack of united leadership from top to bottom" was the main cause. He went on:27 As far as the higher command is concerned, both at the front and at headquarters there has been much noted against it ... it has rained complaints, a lot of them fully justified. Generally there is no confidence in the leadership 410

. . . the three man directory is a fiasco and was from the start And by this I do not at all want to speak ill of the three comrades who compose it, quite the contrary . . . the confidence in the higher command which is needed cannot be produced by words: it must be implanted in the troops another way. Wesley's solution was a military dictator, endowed with full powers in military and civil affairs. Wesley has not had many defenders, but when sober he could face up to reality; "the war cannot be founded on democracy . . . democracy demoralised the Russian army and it will do the same to ours." The response of the Deputation suggests that they had not really understood what Wesley was arguing for; they ruled that the Executive Council might appoint one of their number chairman. A naive Marxist faith in the power of the collective and the unimportance of the individual, and their belief in the democratic method, closed their minds to what Wesley was saying. However, it was also true that even if they had agreed, no obvious candidate was available for the post of dictator. There were a few brutal, energetic men, who now had some experience of command, like Kaljunen, the Rahja brothers, and Hyrskymurto, but they tended to be abrasive personalities, and did not have the necessary political standing in the workers' movement. The one emergent Red Guard commander who might have filled the specification was H. Salmela, and he died in the battle for Tampere: The Finnish revolution was fated not to find its Bonaparte or its Trotski. The General Staff never was able to give the Red Guard the leadership that it so desperately needed. It went through the motions, for the Order Book of the General Staff, kept up until 12 April, after which it ceased to function, contains 1,070 orders, issued at a rate of 12 to 15 a day. But a proportion of these orders were ignored, defied, or frustrated, and the Red Guard did much else that the General Staff had not ordered nor, in many cases, had ever known about. The Staff had played a major part in procuring equipment, organizing training facilities, distributing supplies, and allocating manpower, but real positive control over operations always eluded them, and the Red Guard was never an army that responded to the will of a single directing mind. In fact, Red Finland never had an army, only the raw materials from which a very good army could have been fashioned by commanders who knew how and possessed the authority to command obedience. But the right kind of men were not available, and the whole political experience and instinct of the workers' movement stood in the way of the measures that were necessary. So Red Finland fought to the end of the war with the kind of civilian militia with which their enemies had begun it, and the failure of Red Finland to develop this militia into a proper army played a decisive part in their ultimate defeat. The attempt to develop an army showed at every stage how much Red Finland depended on the support of Bolshevik Russia, yet the relations of Red Finland with Russia were never simple relations of dependence and subordination. For Lenin and the Bolsheviks, obvious advantage existed in supporting Red Finland to the maximum extent. If it survived, they would have a friendly, instead of a hostile government on their northwestern border, and could keep hostile imperialist 411

interests a little further away from Petrograd. In addition, Red Finland had obvious propaganda value: The Bolshevik leaders, at this stage, believed they could not survive in Russia without a spread of the revolution to other countries. Finland was the example of such extension taking place, and provided a model on which to demonstrate what proletarian internationalism meant in practice. The position from the Finnish side was much simpler, the cultivation of good relations with the Bolsheviks was a question of sheer survival, even if they had not shared the theoretical commitment to the interdependence of the workers' movements of all countries. Yet there was a limiting consideration, for the leaders of Red Finland knew very well that they must not appear to do anything that might undermine the country's new-won independence. To survive at home they had to show that a socialist government would be just as vigorous in asserting national interests and national rights as any other. So that although the two governments had a mutual interest in supporting one another, there was always potential conflict between the demands of proletarian internationalism and those of Finnish nationalism. One other factor was crucial in determining the nature of the relationship: Red Finland could not survive without Bolshevik Russia, but the contrary was not the case. From the Russian point of view, Finland was expendable, and this meant that their mutual relations could never be on terms of equality. When Prosan brought the formal Bolshevik recognition to the Peoples' Deputation, he was careful to make the basic propaganda point:28 The socialist revolution . . . cannot be realised very far in a single country or with the strength of a small nation, but it must be international. Therefore it is always a joyful and encouraging event, when one more link of the bourgeois chain is broken. It is a fresh stimulus to the nations to enter into the socialist revolutionary struggle. Some evidence suggests that the thinking of the Bolshevik leaders about Finland saw the Finnish revolution as only a small, if valuable incident in a much greater international movement. They were paying little attention to the concrete situation in Finland: Lenin claimed publicly on 4 February that the revolution had already succeeded, "The victory of the Finnish workers' government is being rapidly consolidated, the counter-revolutionary White Guard troops have been pushed back in the north, and the workers' victory over them is certain." Lenin was simply not taking the situation seriously, as is shown by his careless approach to the future of FinnishRussian relations. Even before the revolution in Finland he told Lindhagen that Finland's separation from Russia was just bourgeois chauvinism, and that if the workers seized power, "the new regime will come back to Russia and seek federation with it." He was so sure of this that when he addressed the III Congress of Soviets on 31 January, he supposed it had already happened, because he said the Finnish workers had "sent in their expressions of loyalty to the world proletarian revolution." Lenin went on to say that the Finnish workers had declared "unflinchingdetermination to march with us along the path of the International. There is the basis of our federation, and I am convinced that more and more diverse confederations of free 412

nations will group themselves around revolutionary Russia."What Manner and Sirola had actually said in the name of the Finnish workers fell somewhat short of this; they had expressed "a hearty desire that in the struggle for the overthrow of capitalism, the closest solidarity will be created between the workers of Finland and Russia." They had said nothing about federation, and the thought was far from their minds.29 On 1 February the Deputation resolved to seek talks with the Bolshevik government on the future relation of Russia and Finland, and after Sirola and Tokoi had traveled to Petrograd, it was agreed to set up a mixed commission to settle the matter. It was at once clear that the Finns had no thought of federation: Their official instructions were to seek recognition of the independence and neutrality of Finland, under international guarantee. Any enthusiasm they felt for proletarian internationalism was outweighed by their anxieties about how long the Bolshevik regime would survive. They were so puzzled by whatTrotski had done at Brest-Litovsk that they feared some tacit understanding between the Bolsheviks and the Germans that might leave the latter a free hand in Finland. So Sirola and Tokoi were sent to Petrograd to find out and met Lenin, Trotski, and G. Cicerin on 15 February. The Bolshevik leaders were reassuring; they knew of no German plan to intervene in Finland and renewed their promises of full support for Red Finland. Lenin was clearly more interested in Sweden than he was in events in Finland. He had already told the Deputation, on 6 February, to mount a propaganda campaign in Sweden to counter interventionist influences there, and had been trying to stir up Tsentrobalt to take precautions against a Swedish move. Sirola got the impression that the supposed Swedish threat took first place in Lenin's thinking. Nothing was said at this meeting about a federation between Finland and Russia, though a treaty of alliance was discussed, and when Sirola went on to address the Bolshevik Central Committee he made a vigorous defense of the Deputation's insistence on independence. This would "strip from the hands of the Finnish nationalists their main weapon and fill the Finnish working class with growing fighting confidence and fighting enthusiasm." But he added that a common revolution would inevitably bind the fates of the two proletariats together.30 Up to this point the relations of the Deputation with the Bolshevik government had been casual and easy and seemed to bear out the idea that there need be no serious problems between two socialist states. Then the situation was dramatically transformed by the German renewal of hostilities on 18 February. At the evening session of the Bolshevik Central Committee, on 18 February, Lenin regained control and won a majority for an immediate peace on German terms, even if these hardened. The main argument of the opposition was that to make peace would be to betray the revolution in Finland and the Ukraine, and Lenin conceded the point, insisting that this was a sacrifice that must be made:31 We have nothing, we have not even got the time to blow up anything as we retreat. We have done our best to help the revolution in Finland, but now we can do no more. . . . If they want us to withdraw our troops from Finland, well and good—let them take revolutionary Finland. The revolution will not 413

be lost if we give up Finland. . . . I propose a declaration that we are willing to conclude the peace the Germans offered us yesterday: should they add to this non-interference in the affairs of the Ukraine, Finland, Livland and Estland, we should unquestionably accept all this as well. Lenin thus exposed the brutal truth that from the point of view of Russia, and of the world revolution as a whole, Finland was expendable: This had always been a fundamental weakness in the position of the Finnish Reds. The treaty of Brest-Litovsk required, in Article VI, that Russia should evacuate Finland immediately, and if conditions did not permit the warships to leave at once, they were to retain only skeleton crews until they could leave Finnish ports. In addition, the Bolshevik government undertook that all agitation against the government or institutions of Finland would cease, so that they could not even give propaganda support to the Finnish Reds. The terms were harsh, and Lenin had to fight to get them accepted by the VII Congress of the Bolshevik party on 7 and 8 March: To his argument that the treaty would win a breathing space for the revolution to be consolidated in its Russian base, until further world revolution came to the rescue, the opposition replied that the concept of a breathing space was un-Marxist, no pauses were possible in the struggle with imperialism, and by betraying Finland they would discourage revolution everywhere. Lenin could only appeal to harsh realities "Wars are not won by enthusiasm but by technical superiority. Have you got an army? Can you give me anything but blather and slogans?" He insisted they would continue to help Finland, "We do help the Finnish revolution. Of course we break the treaty, but we have already broken it thirty-forty times." As he said, consignments of weapons could always find their way to Finland by mistake. Lenin concluded:32 The allegation that we have betrayed Finland is just a childish phrase . . . everyone understands that by concluding peace with the Germans we do not stop rendering military aid: we are sending arms to the Finns. . . . We have not betrayed either Finland or the Ukraine. No class-conscious worker would accuse us of this. We are helping as best we can. There was substance in Lenin's argument: The Russians did continue to supply arms and a trickle of volunteers to Red Finland in defiance of the treaty terms, to such an extent that on 23 March, the German government, prodded by Vaasa, lodged a formal protest that the treaty was being violated—only to get a defiant reply on 27 March, "We should be very glad to know under which clause of the treaty it is forbidden to send weapons into Finland, and is not this prohibition binding on the other side?" The Finnish socialists were generally ready to accept Lenin's argument; Tyomies wrote on 24 February that the peace had been necessary, because the expected international proletarian revolution had not yet begun. Yet Lenin had overstated his case; Russian action had damaged the cause of Red Finland, for there was a significant difference, if only on the psychological plane, between furtive, undercover assistance and open co-belligerency. Much more important was that once 414

the Russian troops left Finland, there was no obstacle to German troops moving in, and the Russians no longer had any legal grounds on which they could object to German assistance to White Finland. The Finnish revolution had not been wholly betrayed by its Russian patrons, but it would not get the kind of support that its leaders had confidently expected. When Lenin spoke to the IV Congress of Soviets on 14 March, during the last stage of ratification, he did admit that something had been lost; they would continue to help Finland, but now that help might not suffice:33 It is our duty to tell the people the truth. The peace is a heavy one. The Ukraine and Finland are perishing, but we must accept the peace. . . . By concluding peace we have obtained what we gave our Finnish friends—a respite, help not destruction. The final effect was to thrust back on the Finns themselves the responsibility for the success or failure of their revolution, though in the short term, the treaty helped the Finns: Since the Russians had to evacuate at once, they had no choice but to leave their equipment behind, and since they could not fight off the White Finns themselves, they had every incentive to arm the Finnish workers to do it for them. This aid was realized in Lenin's orders from 18 February for the garrison to leave its equipment for the Red Guard, and the readiness with which he met Taimi's request for weapons; indeed, he urged Taimi to arm and mobilize the whole working class and undertook to see that they got the necessary weapons. Perhaps because of the sudden abundance of weapons, the Deputation failed to realize how its international position had been changed for the worse. Madame Kollontai visited the Deputation on 19 February, at the head of a Bolshevik propaganda mission headed for the West, and admitted that "the Russian proletariat will be forced, perhaps, because of the critical circumstances to sign the conditions of peace offered by Germany," but represented this as only a tactical pause before renewing the struggle in more favorable conditions, and affirmed the solidarity of the Russian and Finnish proletariats. Lenin was even more reassuring with Taimi, telling him "Finland was safe. Germany will not act against her, nor Sweden either." His argument was that since Germany was ready to make peace with Russia, she had no further interest in intervening in Finland, whereas Sweden would scarcely act on her own. Sirola confirmed later that the Deputation readily accepted Lenin's assurances and failed to appreciate what the treaty might mean for Red Finland, so that even when the German threat became manifest, they failed to take it seriously.34 Indeed, the Deputation was much more exercised over the unexpected difficulties that arose in concluding a formal treaty between Finland and Russia. The mixed commission had met in Helsinki on 16 February, and quickly agreed on the main points for a treaty: The Russians would withdraw their troops, and the two countries would exchange their fixed assets on one another's territory, while allowing the Finns a right of pre-emption over movable property of the Russian state in Finland. Russia would give Finland access to the Arctic ocean through Petsamo, which would 415

be ceded to Finland. But a series of issues proved too contentious to be settled; the Russians haggled over the terms of the Petsamo concession, insisted on retaining their cable links through Finland for 50 years, wanted to retain the fortifications at Ino, which were essential for the defense of Kronstadt, and wanted full political rights for Russian citizens resident in Finland. The Finns resisted all these as infringements of Finnish sovereignty, and pressed claims for the incorporation of parts of eastern Karelia into Finland. Such differences ought not to have arisen between fraternal socialist countries, and when the mixed commission could not resolve them, the negotiation was transferred to Petrograd, where Lenin could take a hand. The Russians stood firm on points that they saw as affecting their security, Ino and the cable links, and the Finns conceded these, whereas the precise detail of the Petsamo settlement seemed unimportant, and Lenin put an end to the haggling over it. Eastern Karelia was clearly more difficult, and it was agreed to leave it over for future consideration but the treaty did not rule out the prospect of territorial concessions there. The remaining points of difference showed that the two sides saw the treaty in quite different ways. The Deputation took it seriously as a definitive settlement between two sovereign states, in which the national interest must be jealously safeguarded. Lenin appreciated that in the circumstances, the treaty probably had no practical significance, and concentrated on making propaganda points that would be useful in influencing world opinion. The treaty was to be a model for a new style of relations between socialist countries. So he insisted that Finland be described as a "socialist workers' republic," that the shipping that Russia returned to Finland be taken into public ownership, and that workers of both nationalities enjoy full rights of citizenship when resident in the other country. When Gylling reported back that the "the Russians are clinging tightly and unanimously" to the demand, the Deputation insisted they could not give way. For Lenin, this was only a dramatic demonstration that the workers have no fatherland; he pointed out that "we are not asking you to give voting rights in Finland to Russian bourgeois, but to Russian workers, in exactly the same way as Finnish workers in Russia will have political rights where they work and live." Sirola, however, when he told Gylling to resist the demand, saw it in terms of old-style power politics; "it would give the bourgeoisie a favourable weapon to agitate against us, since they could show that in no other country in the whole world is there an independent state, in whose political elections a neighbouring great power can send participants." In the end a compromise formula was found; Finns in Russia, if they were workers or peasants, enjoyed full political rights; Russians in Finland would be offered "the easiest possible conditions for securing political rights." With this settled, the treaty was signed in Petrograd on 1 March.35 No real meeting of minds over the treaty had taken place: When Tiedonantaja published it on 4 March, the commentary said nothing about its socialist character, but stressed the national advantages won for Finland, the gain of Petsamo, the end of Russian occupation, the promise to consider the position in eastern Karelia. The commentary concluded "the treaty as agreed does not, of course, limit the independence of the Finnish republic." The history of this negotiation suggests that if Red 416

Finland had survived, it would have drifted into a relationship of dependency on Bolshevik Russia, not because the Finnish socialist leaders were Russian puppets, but because they did feel unqualified to handle international issues, and when they faced a problem almost instinctively sent to Petrograd to seek advice. But there was also, as Lenin remarked on a later occasion, a lot of bourgeois nationalism mixed up with their socialism. The ideological gaps between their thinking and that of Lenin were often considerable. The establishment of a truly fraternal relationship between a small, intensely nationalist people and their former imperial overlord, even when both were committed to socialist ideals was going to be fraught with difficulty, and in moments of stress, national self-interest was likely to prove stronger than socialist internationalism in determining action.36 In the circumstances of 1918 the formal relations of the Peoples' Deputation with the Council of Peoples' Commissars were of academic interest only. What mattered was the collaboration of Finns and Russians in the struggle with the White enemy. Colonel Svecnikov wrote of the February situation that "the battle for the working class against the Finnish White Guard was fought almost exclusively by Russian troops, and under the leadership of Russian officers, soldiers and sailors." This has too often been accepted uncritically by historians, for the evidence is that the first statement is manifestly untrue and the second needs to be qualified. Svecnikov's statements come closest to reality in Karelia. Joint action between soldiers and Red Guards in Viipuri had begun there even before the opening of full hostilities. A Russian staff was set up in Viipuri, referred to in March as the "Workers' and Peasants' Red Army Viipuri Staff." It took its orders from the Bolshevik government and the Red Army command in Petrograd but had a free hand to conduct operations in the Viipuri area. It is likely that ever since the appointmentof General Jeremeev as the commander of the new Red Army in the Petrograd area, on 31 January, the Viipuri staff had been under his orders. Certainly, when the command in Petrograd was reorganized on 21 February to meet the German attack, the fighting front on the Karelian isthmus was treated as part of the general defenses of Petrograd. It was therefore true of Karelia that operations were directed by a Russian staff in Viipuri taking its orders from the higher command in Petrograd, and that neither the Area Committee in Helsinki nor the General Staff of the Finnish Red Guard had much influence over them.37 But the central fronts in Savo, directed from Kouvola and Lahti, present an entirely different picture. A Russian adviser, with a handful of other Russian volunteers, was with the Red Guard District Staff at Kouvola. But except for the few days when a Latvian regiment was leading the advance up the railway from Kouvola towards Mikkeli, both the leadership and the manpower on the central fronts were overwhelmingly Finnish, even in February. Similarly, the operations against the White Guard in Uusimaa were commanded and carried out by Finnish Red Guards, with about 250 Russian volunteers assisting. But Svecnikov naturally was writing about his own experience on the northern front, based on Tampere. There he was certainly in command, by virtue of his appointment by Podvoiski as commander of all the Russian forces in western Finland, and the authority given him by Glazunov, 417

in the name of the Area Committee, on 1 February "to command the Red Guard at your own discretion and begin active operations." Svecnikov announced the setting up of a "Western District Staff" at Tampere, formed from the staff of 106 Division, and certainly assumed that the fighting would be done by Russian troops, with perhaps some support from the Red Guard as auxiliaries. As he discovered, this would not be possible because, as he wrote, "for defence I could use all the Russian forces, but for attack only the volunteers and Finnish Red Guards." And since the volunteers were too few, and the Red Guards "were still developing—nervous, with little endurance, and they were better at defence than attack," Svecnikov ordered on 7 February that the Russian volunteer units be topped up with a proportion of Finnish recruits. This scheme failed, the appeal for Finnish volunteers launched in Tampere on 9 February brought in only 310 men. Finnish workers were not willing to serve in the proposed mixed units. The result was that whatever his intentions, all Svecnikov's early operations were led by Russians, but a majority of the men involved were always Finnish Red Guards.38 By 15 February experience had shown that this kind of operation would not succeed and Svecnikov ordered an ambitious restructuring of his command. He divided it into five areas based on Tampere, Pori, Turku, Hameenlinna, and Helsinki. The two front line areas, Tampere and Pori, were to continue operations to advance to the north; the others would complete the clearance of the rear and build up strength there, so that a strategic reserve could be assembled at Hameenlinna. He said that "in all areas the fighting troops of the Red Guard are under my control, to be at the disposal of the district commanders," so that their role was still seen as auxiliary. Svecnikov's plan was quite unrealistic, for by that time there were nothing like enough Russian soldiers prepared to fight to implement it. It was also quite inconsistent with the plans being worked out by Wesley in the General Staff for reorganizing the Red Guard command, and it looks as though Svecnikov was ignorant of what the General Staff was doing. They intended that he would take command of their proposed Northern Front, which would be a Red Guard command, with Salmela and Vasten as his deputies. As it was, the order from Lenin of 18 February to evacuate Finland made Svecnikov's plan irrelevant; Svecnikov took the place assigned to him as commander of the new Northern Front, while remaining commander of all the Russian volunteers in Finland. When the General Staff was compelled to give up the idea of importing a prominent Russian to assume command of operations, they turned instead to Svecnikov. He was brought to Helsinki to take charge of operational planning in the General Staff, nominally as adviser to Haapalainen. His true position was explained in a letter from the General Staff to Radek on 1 March that said that "we have agreed that comrade Svecnikov is commander of the army's operations. He has his own staff consisting of Russian soldiers." In fact, he had three staff officers, two interpreters, and a clerical staff of 11 to run his operations section. On the Northern Front Salmela was moved into the position vacated by Svecnikov, with the Russian Colonel Bulatsel as his technical adviser.39 On 2 March the Area Committee ordered the final demobilization of the garrison and urged the men to volunteer for service in Finland. They would be paid by the 418

Finnish state, but regarded as on service with the Red Army and would remain under the direct command of Svecnikov, who was himself discharged from the Russian army and taken onto the payroll of the Red Guard. Svecnikov was inevitably blamed for the defeat at Tampere and demoted when the new three-man command was set up on 21 March, but the Red Guard needed his expertise. The Deputation informed the Bolshevik government that they wanted to keep Svecnikov's services and he remained as an adviser to the General Staff and commander of the Russian volunteers to the end. Thus it was true, at least until the end of March, that the planning and direction of the military operations of the Reds in Finland was predominantly, though not exclusively, carried out by Russian officers, even where the command was nominally Finnish.40 But the participation of the Russians in the actual fighting at the fronts was on a much more modest scale. The Bolshevik authorities who had so recklessly proclaimed their unstinted support for the Finnish revolution had found that most of the Russian rank and file did not share their enthusiasm. After the rather traumatic confrontation between Smilga and the Helsinki Soviet on 2 February, the Bolshevik leaders accepted that they could only operate with volunteer units. The Bolshevik leaders in the Area Committee and the Soviet believed that they were completely losing control to what they called anarchist elements, and that these anarchists were sabotaging their efforts to enlist volunteers. Already, on 28 January, they had accused anarchists of attacking the new Red Army, and described them as "this trash and poison, which at present burdens the radiant pathway to socialism."On 4 February the Area Committee told the Deputation they would bring in a disciplined Latvian regiment to deal with the anarchists, and telegraphed to Podvoiski that "anarchist hooligan groups use every means to claim that the Red Guards formed from military units in Finland are intended to oppress the workers." He went on to appeal for help: "We have some loyal units, but we need two or three armoured trains, then everything will immediately run in an orderly way." In fact, Glazunov and his fellow Bolsheviks were, ironically, in the grip of a "Red scare." There had been anarchists among the garrison ever since March, and they flew their black flag over the former naval officers' club in Helsinki. But though they were certainly contemptuous of the Bolsheviks, once the revolution began they issued a call for all workers to unite against the bourgeoisie. Glazunov was incapable of distinguishing anarchists from the minority of hooligans and demoralized soldiers, who did exist and occasionally set out on drunken plundering expeditions. In the end it was the Finns who acted; Helsinki Local Staff told the Area Committee that such elements "want to stir up brigandage and in this way set up conflict between the Red Guard and the soldiers" and asked the Area Committee to stop "provocations." But since by then the Area Committee had no power to do much against these undisciplined fringe elements, the Helsinki militia was turned loose on them; the militia began a policy of raiding their premises and making arrests to bring these criminal activities to an end, and the genuine anarchists were caught up in the repression.41 The apathy or hostility of the soldiers towards taking part in the Finnish civil 419

war was not the result of these dark forces, but the natural unwillingness of Russian peasant soldiers and sailors to risk their lives in a cause that was not seen as theirs. It is difficult to ascertain the exact numbers of the volunteers in western Finland, but they were numbered in hundreds, not in thousands. About 200 Russians from Turku garrison helped the Red Guard to pursue the White Guard to Uusikaupunki, and a similar number from Pori helped to establish Red control there, though the bulk of Pori garrison withdrew hastily to Hameenlinna, well out of the way of any fighting. Riihimaki garrison gave sporadic support to local security operations in the rear, but the most substantial volunteer unit was a regiment about 400 strong, which served under Stolbov on the Tampere front. Otherwise Russians served as instructors, or as individuals or small groups in mixed formations; about 154 of them served in that manner in the Tampere area. One other, short-lived, group participation was by 250 sailors from Helsinki, ironically anarchists, serving under the black flag, who came up to Tampere in mid-February. But after some days of hard fighting and heavy losses, they returned to Helsinki without orders and were not seen in the battle fronts again. By early March, Stolbov's 400 were the only organized Russian group engaged on active service on the Northern Front. So that even when these Russian groups took the lead in the action, as they often did, the fact remained, contrary to what Svecnikov suggested, that in western Finland the overwhelming majority of the fighting troops were Finnish Red Guard. With the general evacuation of the garrison many of the volunteers went too; as Svecnikov remarked, "Home-sickness conquered the inclination towards internationalism, even of men faithful to the Revolution . . . the seriousness of the fighting and the casualties caused many to think that the Whites were not going to be so easily defeated." By mid-March, when all the Russians had to serve in the Red Guard, though at special high rates of pay, Svecnikov reckoned about 1,000 Russians were serving in Finland altogether, which looks like a reasonable figure for Finland, excluding Karelia.42 In Karelia the Russian participation was on a somewhat different basis. The Viipuri garrison, with its high proportion of Ukrainian and Polish troops, and generally thought to be the most demoralized element in the Russian forces in Finland, was definitely inclined to neutrality and produced few volunteers. It has been estimated that down to 21 February, when Lenin appealed to the men to help the defence of Petrograd, there was only a handful, and even after the appeal, only about 200 came forward. The Russian contribution in Karelia came across the frontier from Petrograd. Petrograd Red Guard sent the first contingent of 200 men to Viipuri on 28 January, and on 1 February Petrograd District Staff appealed to the garrison for 1,000 volunteers. The response was not strong; the railway records show a total of 1,000 soldiers and Red Guard had left for Viipuri in the period 28 January-14 February, the largest single contingent being 206 men of the 6 Latvian Rifle Regiment who took their own train into Savo, but had returned to base by 13 February, discouraged by the stiff resistance. In this they were typical of these Petrograd volunteers, who fought bravely enough but had little staying power, tending to return home after a brief spell in action, so that there was a fairly rapid turnover 420

among the volunteer forces. Then on 16 February a comparatively large party of 890 men from a Siberian unit of the Red Army were sent into Finland, and the figures suggest that during the fighting in February and March on the Antrea front as many as 1,500 Russians may have been engaged at one time. This would be a third or a quarter of the total Red fighting force, and a much more substantial Russian presence than in western Finland. But the Russian participation in the fighting at Rautu must be added to this total. The fighting at Rautu was based directly on Petrograd, not on Viipuri, and began when on 26 February 600 Petrograd Red Guard were sent to join a small force of Finnish Red Guard in an attempt to force a crossing of the Vuoksi through Rautu. More detachments from the Red Army joined them on 3 and 4 March and in all about 1,500 Russians crossed the frontier. This produced a situation on the Rautu sector unique in the war, that half the Red fighting force was Russian. Viewed as a whole the available figures suggest that between 3,000 and 4,000 Russians engaged in combat with White forces during the war, two-thirds of them in Karelia, in addition to the Russians who served in the rear on staffs, as instructors and as technical specialists. The Russians can be estimated to have constituted some 10 percent of the Red front line troops at the time of their maximum participation in the war.43 In the right conditions this proportion of trained military men could have formed a cadre around which an effective army could have been built. But the conditions were not right, for all the evidence shows how chauvinist feelings on both sides combined with differences of language and culture to undermine effective collaboration. Sentiments of proletarian solidarity could not overcome this. Svecnikov wrote that "among the Russian troops, who were mostly Russian peasants, there appeared a considerable element of nationalistic chauvinism," and that the same feelings existed among the Finnish workers. Looking back on his experiences he concluded:44 The fact that Russian troops were involved in the fighting . . . estranged people from the common struggle, both a part of the workers and a considerable part of the petty bourgeoisie. . . . Therefore I feel personally convinced that a civil war, in those countries where there is a mood of nationalist excitement, should be conducted solely by the forces of the country's own working class. Eva wrote that at Tampere it was only in the final crisis that they came to appreciate the loyalty and services of the Russian volunteers. In general:45 The Red Guard distrusted all Russian commanders. . . . Decades of practicing anti-Russian agitation carried bitter fruits for the workers during the civil war. Those few Russian officers who kindly gave themselves to lead the fight could have achieved much more if they had been generally trusted. Everywhere there was a negative attitude towards things Russian: When the evacuation of the garrison took place in March, the Deputation, pressed by the Supreme Council, busied themselves setting up strict border controls to see that 421

none of them came back. Russians in Helsinki complained they could not move on the streets at night without being harassed by Red Guard patrols, and the Area Committee had to launch vigorous protests at the way the Red Guard molested and robbed Russian soldiers on the evacuation trains. A Red Guard staff that had been assigned Russian advisers complained that they were "demanding full power over the personnel" and told the General Staff, "unless the General Staff recalls them from here, then they will be driven out, in spite of the consequences." The Red Guard at Ruovesi told their superiors, "Do not send Russians to this front, they are no better as commanders than Finns." The worst recorded incident took place in Viipuri on 6 March when an unscheduled train arrived from Petrograd full of soldiers with machine guns. The Red Guard could not discover what the purpose was, and shunted it into a siding and threw a cordon round it. At some point firing broke out, and before it finished three Russians were killed and 30 wounded. A subsequent investigation failed to discover who the Russians were or what they were supposed to be doing in Viipuri, but the incident reflected the fear and mistrust that the Red Guard felt towards the Russians who were their only allies. It was not the kind of atmosphere in which fruitful cooperation could flourish.46 The process of transferring Russian equipment and property to the Finns caused a lot of bad feeling. The basic orders to the Russian garrison were clear enough, as in the demobilization order to 424 Regiment on 21 February and 421 Regiment on 22 and 28 February: As they demobilized, they were to transfer all their military equipment to the Red Guard. Yet there were cases, like that at Hanko, where the Finns complained on 18 March, that after nearly a month of waiting, the Russians would not admit the Red Guard to the batteries, and were sabotaging the guns rather than handing them over. This could be an instance in which national or regimental pride could not stomach surrendering guns to foreigners. At Kotka it was reported that not only were the Russian loading stores onto ships, but ships themselves should have been handed over, while at Viipuri the garrison protested that the stores were so valuable that at least some ought to be repatriated. On the other side were complaints that the Finns tried to detain property that could be properly taken out, like the Cossack troop that complained that the Red Guard was trying to detain their horses. Russian anger rose high; Sisko sent a message from Helsinki to Petrograd asking Seinman to hurry back to Helsinki at once, because the Finns were laying claim to everything. He reported to Petrograd that "the Red Guards here are confiscating all Russian property, so that we shall not even be left with air to breathe." Glazunov telegraphed to Petrograd for orders on 2 March, "because the Finns are thinking arbitrarily, as if they were already the masters of our riches. For some reason we meet with continuous misunderstandings in the way of evacuation." The Bolshevik leaders were angered at Finnish behavior; Radek told the Area Committee that "they must be very strict with the Reds. . . . The Area Committee must initiate the most drastic measures over evacuation." The Deputation had to intervene, and on 6 March issued orders that no obstacles were to be put in the way of the Russians evacuating legitimate stores or their personal effects; on the following day the General Staff decided to set up a joint committee with the Russians 422

for the transfer of fortifications, buildings, and stores, and ordered that every evacuation train should carry a Red Guard commissar to resolve any problems that might arise and prevent incidents. After this, although both sides traded protests about abuses said to be occurring, the dual process of evacuation and transfer was completed without serious incident. The Russians were in a hurry to get their men out, to satisfy the Germans, and they were wholly dependent on the Finns for transport and other facilities, so they were not in a strong bargaining position.47 Two special cases caused serious difficulties. One was the telegraph system, where the treaty allowed the Russians to maintain a cable link to Sweden under their own control, which clearly infringed Finnish sovereignty and was resented by the Deputation. The further problem occurred of how the Deputation was to exercise adequate supervision over the telegraph staff, who were notoriously White sympathizers. The Deputation tried to negotiate with the telegraph staff, but no acceptable scheme of supervision could be agreed, so on 13 March the Deputation ordered the Red Guard to take control of the telegraph offices. The staff turned to the Russians and threatened to strike; Seinman came to the Deputation and said the Red Guard must leave immediately, or "he cannot see how he can answer for the consequences, which could be very serious." The Deputation was shocked by this brutal collapse of fraternity and at Seinman's use of the language of great-power imperialism, but felt that "it was compelled to submit to the ultimatum that had been presented, protesting, however, that the withdrawal could cause serious harm to the Finnish, and also indirectly to the Russian revolution." The Finnish-Russian Liquidation Commission was asked to find a solution, and in the end a compromise was patched up allowing the Deputation some minimal supervision of the telegraph offices; it was in fact a surrender by the Deputation to the demands of the hostile telegraphists, backed up by the Russians. Enemy abuse of the telegraph system to pass information across the lines continued unchecked.48 The other problem was the transfer of the enormous complex of facilities at Sveaborg. The difficulty was in part psychological, for Sveaborg was the great symbol of Russian power over Finland, and the Russians did not find it easy to let go of it. Further, the fortress was so large and complex that the Red Guard lacked the competence to take it over and run it effectively, while the stores were so extensive and valuable that the Russians had hesitations about handing them over in their entirety. Finally it was the base of the Baltic Fleet, and until the ice permitted the ships to leave they needed the base facilities. The Council of Peoples' Commissars had ordered the fleet to move to Kronstadt on 17 February, and on 25 February Tsentrobalt endorsed the order, but the reason was fear that the Germans might come and seize the ships. On 5 March, orders were given to prepare both the ships and the fortress for destruction rather than allow it to fall intact into German hands, and this was done. The ice conditions and the loss of the Tarmo made it difficult to move the ships, but on 12 March the dreadnought battleships and three cruisers were sailed to Kronstadt, which still left a lot of the older and smaller ships in Helsinki. The Red Guard was indifferent to these considerations, and saw Sveaborg as an installation to which they were entitled. The Liquidation Commission 423

discussed the fortress on 9 March, and "there was a lively dispute between the two sides." It was agreed that transfer would have to be gradual, but the Finns continued to see the Russian attitude as sheer obstruction, and on 23 March the General Staff wrote directly to the Russian government to point out that no progress had been made. This did produce an agreement for a phased takeover by the Finns, to start with the landward installations and the outlying batteries on 1 April, and the rest to be evacuated when the fleet left, or in any case not later than 1 May. But the arrival of the Germans in Finland forced a sudden change of policy, and the Red Guard never did get control of Sveaborg.49 The history of the relations between the government of Red Finland and the Bolshevik government in Russia is the first instance of a relationship between two socialist states. In theory, their common ideology and the commitment to the cause of international socialism should have prevented any difficulties from arising; no real conflict of interests should exist between two proletarian governments. But the record showed that old attitudes, rooted in traditional nationalism and chauvinism, were not easily overcome. When it came to the practical details of their mutual relations, serious difficulties easily arose. This trial run for a socialist foreign policy suggested what most subsequent experience has confirmed, that if two socialist governments are genuinely independent of one another, they will have no less difficulty in solving conflicts of interest than any other governments; the commitment to socialist principles is always weaker than the pull of national self-interest. Similar problems were caused in the dealings of the Finnish socialists with the fraternal party in Sweden, which although it did not control the government of Sweden, was an essential partner in the ruling coalition. The Swedish workers' movement was divided over the Finnish revolution; only a radical minority, led by S. Hoglund, supported it unreservedly. The majority of Swedish socialists, even if they had doubts about the wisdom of what the Finnish comrades had done, knew that it was their proletarian duty to stop the Swedish capitalists from intervening on behalf of the Whites. To this extent the Finnish Reds benefited from their fraternal relationship with the Swedish socialists. When the Swedish Left-socialist, I. Vennerstrom, put down an interpellation in parliament on government policy toward Finland, the prime minister, Eden, had to state that government policy was one of neutrality. No arms from government stocks would be sold to either side, nor would the recruiting of armed formations on Swedish soil be allowed, though the government could not stop individuals from volunteering for service in Finland. The guiding principle of the government was "that there is no intention to interfere in Finland's internal battles, but only to watch over Sweden's own interests." The subsequent debate showed that a majority in the Swedish parliament approved this policy. This action greatly cheered the Deputation, which, alarmed by Lenin, had been enquiring about the activity of Sweden in Aland: Though they resented this activity and resolved to protest to the Swedish government at the infringement of Finnish sovereignty, Sirola concluded, in a report of 27 February, that the parliamentary debate gave grounds for being hopeful about Swedish policy.50 Both the Swedish coalition government and the Swedish socialists wanted to end 424

the conflict in Finland by mediation and compromise, because both feared the consequences of German intervention if it were prolonged. In addition the socialists, or the majority among them, believed that the Finnish workers had been mistaken in resorting to force, and suspected they had been manipulated by Bolshevik influences into taking an action that was seen as damaging to the image of the socialist movement in general, particularly in the light of the reported Red Terror. The Swedish party, encouraged by the government, sent a delegation to Red Finland to offer humanitarian aid and to explore the possibility of mediation. It consisted of K. Lindhagen, the mayor of Stockholm, the Swedish party secretary, G. Moller, the chairman of the Swedish trade union confederation, Thorberg, and a socialist editor, J. Bohmer. At a preliminary meeting with the leaders of the Deputation, the Swedes put forward their offer of government mediation as the only way to forestall a German intervention that would be a disaster for the Finnish workers. Moller affirmed that the Swedish workers would enforce a policy of neutrality on their government, and claimed that they had succeeded:51 in preventing the Swedish bourgeoisie from mobilising Swedish troops to help the Finnish White Guard, but it would be wrong to conceal that the view is general in the Swedish Social Democrat party that the Finnish revolution is wrong and unwise, and could harm Social Democracy in Europe generally. Because Finland had had a democratic political system, there was no need for the workers to take up arms, and if they were counting on the world revolution spreading, that was a miscalculation; certainly in Sweden "no revolution is possible." It was agreed that the Deputation would meet the Swedish comrades on 5 March for a general discussion. In the preliminary discussion within the Deputation it was clear that the Swedish criticisms were resented, and that the Swedish party was seen as guilty of unwarranted interference. They agreed that humanitarian aid could be accepted, but mediation would be rejected, formally on the grounds that since the Swedish government was a capitalist government, it would not be impartial. In fact, they did not want mediation at all, since they expected that the Red Guard offensive, to be launched within a few days, would win the war for them. It would undermine the fighting spirit of the troops if, by accepting mediation, they accepted that final victory was not possible. Even less could they afford to admit that the revolution had been a mistake, and it was decided to counterattack the Swedish comrades by accusing them of not preventing their government's intrusion into Aland. So the debate began with a distinct lack of fraternal warmth and degenerated into a bitter slanging match. It turned sour as soon as the Swedes raised the question of the Terror. The assertions by the Finnish spokesmen that it had virtually ceased, and had been largely caused by Russian elements, clearly carried no conviction with the O Swedes and they did not conceal this. When the discussion moved on to Aland, tempers flared. Kuusinen said it was obvious that the Swedish intervention was aimed at annexing the islands; when Lindhagen said that "when the population of Aland is guaranteed, the Swedish troops will be withdrawn," Kuusinen was scornful, saying that the Swedish workers had failed in their duty to denounce the 425

annexationist policy of their government. Moller was deeply offended, and said that the Finnish comrades ought to trust the Swedish workers "not to support policies of international plunder," but both Kuusinen and Tokoi made it clear that they scarcely believed Moller's assurances. Moller then went over to the attack by denouncing the resort to force, for any revolution "means minority power based on bayonets." The Finns claimed that their new constitution showed their commitment to democracy, and in any case the majority did support them, but Moller insisted that the ballot box was the only way to prove this; otherwise, "you are relying on assumptions." By the time the meeting got around to mediation, both sides were weary and bad-tempered; Thorberg expressed suprise that the Finns had not even troubled to indicate the lines along which a compromise might be possible in the civil war, but Kuusinen brutally cut the discussion short: "Your mediation is not a realistic possibility." This rejection was underlined in the published reply by the Finnish socialists to the mediation proposal, which insisted that it had not really been impartial, and told the Swedish socialists that they would do better to direct their energies into stimulating support for the Finnish revolution among the workers.52 With this incident the relations of the Finnish socialists with the majority trend among the Swedish socialists were virtually severed. Once more nationalism had proved stronger than socialism, for the most embittered exchanges had been about O Aland, but the debate clearly foreshadowed the coming division in the European socialist movement between the Social Democrat and the Bolshevik tendencies. In truth, the Finnish leaders were instinctive Social Democrats, which was why the Swedish criticisms of their actions had struck home, but they had now blundered into a revolutionary situation, which they had to live with and justify as best they could. In their own eyes the revolution was a calamitous misfortune that had been forced on them, but from whose consequences they could no longer escape, but when the Swedish socialists pointed this out to them, they could only respond with most uncomradely bluster and recrimination, for in their hearts they knew that the Swedes were right. One of the strongest arguments used by the Swedes for putting a speedy end to the revolution had been the danger of German intervention, and Manner conceded to Moller in private that if this happened then the Red cause would be lost. Yet this did not incline them to listen to the Swedish advice, for they had various grounds for discounting the danger. The basic one was set out in Tyomies on 9 February when it expressed confidence that the German workers would prevent any attempted interference by the German imperialists. The German government knew that Red Finland was no threat to them and so:53 Would the German government venture at present to begin such a game? Hardly, and if it did try, then what would the German working class have to say about it? Without a doubt, German Social Democracy would rise implacably against such an attempt. The leaders clearly believed this and were further confident that they could win the war before the ice melted in the Baltic and made a German intervention possible. 426

On top of this Lenin himself had told them that Germany would leave Finland alone, and this was an authority they trusted. It was a shock to the Deputation, therefore, when the Germans not only landed in Aland, as the Swedes had warned that they would, but published their intention to intervene on the mainland on the pretext of restoring order. The Deputation at once set Kuusinen to work on a manifesto to the German government and people, which would stress the respectability of the Deputation and its impeccably democratic program. The manifesto said:54 we are not the Deputies of a passing insurrection, or a gang of plunderers . . . we hope that the German government will give up its attack on our people, or if it does not give up, that the workers' movement and the expressed public opinion of Europe will condemn such an attack, and give powerful moral support to the struggle for liberation and self-defence of the Finnish democracy. This statement was the public position of the Deputation, but privately they were sufficiently shaken for Sirola to get in touch with the Germans on Aland, and ask if they would receive a deputation from the Reds. There was a slight chance of fruitful talks because of those elements in the German government that still wanted to avoid sending troops. So a message to the embassy in Stockholm on 13 March authorized the opening of talks, and Riezler, an embassy official, was briefed to travel to Aland for this purpose. What he would propose was that if the Deputation recognized the agreements made between Germany and the Vaasa government, then Germany would offer mediation in the civil war. The ambassador in Stockholm was told that "it would be to our advantage if we could, however, still get outaltogether from intervention in Finland, or we could restrict it to a minimum." However, O before the Germans were ready for formal talks a Red delegation appeared in Aland and were received by the German commander on the battleship Rheinland. They were told that Germany did not recognize the Deputation, but would listen to what O they had to say, which, after a formal protest at the German presence on Aland was to claim that the Russians had now left Red Finland, and that the workers were ready to lay down their arms if they were assured of their liberties. They were informed of the German conditions for undertaking mediation, and it was agreed that the Germans would receive a delegation for further talks.55 The Deputation was serious enough about these talks to prepare an offer for a compromise: They would recognize the terms of the treaty with the Vaasa government, and then suggested an armistice in the civil war, while a referendum determined which government enjoyed majority support. But when this proposal, drafted as a letter to the German government, came before the Deputation, they were evenly divided, and Manner gave a casting vote against proceeding with it. It was seen that the chances of a favorable German response were slight, it was obnoxious ideologically to beg favors from an imperialist government, and there was the insuperable objection to any compromise proposal; it implied that the struggle could not be won and would undermine the Red Guard. Riezler did travel to Aland on 25 March, but no Red deputation appeared to talk with him, and if they had it would have been a pure propaganda excercise for the Germans. For as soon as Hjelt and the 427

German military authorities got wind of the Foreign Office scheme, they acted to kill it by insisting that the Vaasa government would not countenance mediation in any form. Riezler's mission had been reduced to a formality designed to satisfy critics in German internal politics. On 19 March the Foreign Office had ordered that any future delegation from the Reds must be told that while the German government was prepared to listen to what they had to say, it could have no official dealings with the Peoples' Deputation.56 On 17 April, when the Deputation was in its last extremity, Kohonen suggested a new approach to the Germans to mediate in the struggle, and after some debate they resolved to turn the idea down:57 Such an action is offensive to the class-war principle of the proletariat, because then, the workers' government would take as its refuge and mediator the worst of its enemies, the imperial German government, which has done everything it can to repress the class struggle of the revolutionary workers. This was, in a curious way, a more realistic attitude than their previous flirtation with the notion of negotiating with the Germans. For in the game of international power politics, the government of Red Finland had no power, and was ill-advised to try and take part. Sirola had recognized this basic fact and as he remarked, without power "foreign policy seemed like a children's game." In these circumstances the most useful thing they could do was to try and demonstrate the superior moral virtues of a foreign policy based on socialist principle. It was unfortunate that their ingrained Finnish nationalism stood in the way of doing this with any consistency. Ironically, across the great gulf that divided the Peoples' Deputation from the White government in Vaasa, they shared two policies: one was to resist Swedish designs on O the Aland islands, and the other was to press Finnish territorial aspirations in eastern Karelia. They had not grasped, as Lenin had, that a principled foreign policy is one of the few luxuries that an impotent government can indulge. The sketchy line that separated White Finland from Red Finland had been more or less settled by the second week of February, but on both sides hostile forces were still trapped on the wrong side. The Reds still ruled in Varkaus, and their vigorous patrolling policy cowed a local population that "lets itself be terrorised," as Malm reported contemptuously from Kuopio. He wanted to give priority to eliminating Varkaus, rather than to defending Mikkeli from the attacks of the Kouvola Red Guard, but Mannerheim thought otherwise, and on 11 February when he appointed Lofstrom to command in Savo, his orders were to secure Mikkeli from the south. By 14 February Lofstrom judged his blocking position at Mantyharju was secure, and decided to deal with Varkaus. He made rather elaborate preparations because he overestimated the strength of Varkaus Red Guard, which had about 1,500 men but little more than a hundred military rifles for them. Lofstrom collected 850 men, with six machine guns and two field guns at Pieksamaki to the west of Varkaus, and another 200 men at Joroinen to the south, and his concentric advance could hardly fail. Even so, he fell into difficulties on the first day of the assault, 20 February, in face of fanatical resistance, shortages of ammunition on his own side, 428

and the incompetence of his gunners. But during the night fresh supplies came up, and the next day the Red Guard, accompanied by their women and children, were shut into the paper factories, which the artillery managed to set on fire. In this hopeless position, Varkaus Red Guard surrendered. They had done their duty as they had seen it; flight across the frontier to Russia would have been possible, but would have meant abandoning their families to the enemy, and this they would not contemplate. For many of them it was a fatal mistake: They had not only taken hostages, but the day before the surrender had murdered four of them. On the night of the surrender the prisoners were lined up and 50 were picked out of the ranks and shot, together with their commander, Autio. After this initial blood-letting, court-martial proceedings were begun, which led to the execution of a further 150 prisoners. Eventually Headquarters heard of what was happening, and sent a reminder to Lofstrom that court-martial proceedings against Red prisoners were forbidden. This caused a howl of protest from the local Whites that such legal squeamishness should prevent them settling their accounts, but it did check the slaughter. Varkaus Red Guard paid a high price for its valiant and lonely defiance. Still, by 21 February, the White rear was cleared of organized hostile forces, and Mannerheim could concentrate on defending his front. 58 The Red Guard took somewhat longer to deal with the corresponding problem on their side. While the mobile units of Helsinki Red Guard were engaged on the campaign to clear eastern Uusimaa, two concentrations of White Guards had developed in the Swedish-speaking rural areas southwest of the capital. At Siuntio some 200 men had assembled under a Swede, Lieutenant Ward. They had 150 rifles and began training with a view to breaking out north. Quite independently, another group of White Guards collected at K i r k k o n u m m i under a Lieutenant Liljeberg. They had very few weapons at first, but Red security was so slack that sympathizers inside Helsinki were able to buy weapons from the Russians and send them out. By 21 February, Liljeberg had 350 men, with 200 rifles and a machine gun. Being an artilleryman, Liljeberg decided to fortify the stone-built Sigurds manor house, and hold it until relief came from the north. From a military point of view, these two forces were relatively harmless, though they threatened railway communication between Helsinki and the west, and their presence so close to the capital was clearly unacceptable. For the moment, the local rural Red Guards had neither the weapons nor the inclination to take the initiative, and an uneasy truce prevailed. It was Red Guard from the west, Hanko, Karjaa, and Lohja, who made the first move, when they persuaded 100 Russians from Hanko to lead an expedition against Siuntio. Ward had ample telephone warning and drew his men into Svitia manor house, and there, on 10 February, he successfully repelled the enemy attacks, for even with machine gun support and Russian leadership, the Red Guard could not press home an attack against a fortified stone building, and after a day of abortive rushes and exchanges of fire, the Reds retired, baffled. Liljeberg had declined to leave his position and help the defense; instead he suggested that Ward's men join him at Sigurds, and on 15 February this was done, and Siuntio was abandoned. The General Staff was conscious of the problem but their men did not begin to 429

return to Helsinki from eastern Uusimaa until 13 February, and they had to be reorganized and redeployed before fresh operations could begin. On 18 February, Haapalainen issued an order to Helsinki Local Staff to mount an operation to clear the White Guard from western Uusimaa, beginning on 21 February. A plan, probably drafted by Aaltonen, provided for a concentric advance by 1,500 men, backed by an armored train, six machine guns, and two field guns. The General Staff's information was so poor that they did not know that Siuntio had been abandoned, and provided for a formal assault on the empty position, before turning on Kirkkonummi. Indiscipline and inexperience hampered the execution of the plan: The commander of the first battalion of I Regiment of Helsinki Red Guard reported that his men behaved "like bandits" and that "it was impossible for me alone to get order maintained." Another battalion had to be reminded that "we are fighting for liberty and are not a plundering expedition to gather in private property." One company spent seven days marching round the area, under conflicting orders, and never saw an enemy or fired a shot.59 Operations began in typical Red Guard fashion on 20 February, when the u n i t commanders met and debated the plan and finally voted to accept it. It was disrupted on 22 February, when a White raiding party surprised one of the columns and drove it off in panic; "they got a minor thrashing," as a neighboring unit reported. Finally on 23 February the ring closed round Sigurds. Liljeberg had expected his defenses to resist shell-fire, but he was overoptimistic; the enemy eventually brought up four guns, and slowly pounded the position to ruins, though infantry attacks were easily repelled. During the night of 25/26 February, when the Red Guard had, as usual, finished work for the day, the garrison slipped away and made for the coast. They tried and failed to seize a Russian coastal fort, and on 27 February found the Red Guard closing in once more, while the Swedish consul arrived and offered to negotiate a capitulation. Morale among the White Guard was now low, and 467 men agreed to surrender on terms, another 100 slipped away with Liljeberg into the outer archipelago, where they survived unmolested until the Germans arrived in April. The whole episode emphasized the military limitations of the Red Guard: the plan necessarily had been rigid and clumsy, since every detail had to be specified. Then indiscipline, lack of central control, and inability to cope with the unexpected so hampered progress that an operation supposed to be concluded on 21 February dragged on until 27 February. And it had taken four guns, firing undisturbed at point blank range, four days to demolish one complex of farm buildings, though they were plagued by intermittent failure of their ammunition supply. The infantry had been quite incapable of pressing an attack on an entrenched position. The White Guard had fought a useful campaign, for they had tied down the mobile forces of Helsinki Red Guard until the end of February, at a time when they might have intervened to some effect on the main fighting front. Nevertheless, the rear of the Red line was now cleared, they had won a victory, without much Russian assistance, and had a sizeable batch of prisoners to show for it; thus even a poorly conducted operation yielded valuable military experience. On balance, Red Guard morale was boosted by the operations in Uusimaa, and the Whites in Red Finland distinctly 430

depressed, for they could not easily appreciate how their local defeat had contributed positively to the campaign as a whole.60 During February the initiative lay with the Reds, for Mannerheim was content to hold his line while he built up a field army, and since he was inferior in numbers and equipment, this was the obvious strategy. In other circumstances it would have made sense for the Reds to do the same, and not initiate offensive operations until they had organized competent troops; this was the strategy suggested in Aaltonen's original memorandum. But there were important reasons that this strategy was not followed. First the Russians counted on their trained men being able to sweep aside Mannerheim's militia, and saw no reason to wait; on the contrary, they were anxious to forestall any German military intervention. And among the Finnish Red Guards, there was an intuitive realization that they must use their superiority in numbers to maintain the momentum of revolutionary advance. It was merely intuitive, for the Finnish socialists had given no advance thought to the problems of civil war. Lehen wrote:61 The Finnish working class movement and its leaders could not, when the moment of decisive struggle came, exercise the skills of revolt, when they had not been concerned with them in advance, and thus came inevitably to make many mistakes . . . they did not prepare for battle in time . . . they went into battle too late . . . it is a quite false idea that the oppressed class can, in the area of military organization, compete with the counter-revolutionary forces aroused by the revolt. The character of the fighting was dictated by the concrete conditions: The terrain was snow-covered and frost-bound, movement was only possible along roads and railways, and large-scale movement had to be rail-based. This meant that much of the front was in fact closed to serious military operations. Then the troops on both sides were raw civilian militiamen, with little capacity to fight on the move or press an attack. Most of the early "battles" consisted of men firing at one another from behind cover, consuming considerable quantities of ammunition, but inflicting astonishingly few casualties. Such troops were incapable of disciplined maneuver in the face of the enemy. On those occasions when some enterprising or lucky group got around the flank or rear of an enemy position, they could usually rely on the enemy breaking up in disorder. Militia troops were unnerved by the thought that their communications might be cut, whereas trained men would hold on, confident of eventual relief, or knowing that they could conduct a fighting retreat if necessary. So although most offensive operations were fruitless, an unexpected movement could produce quite disproportionate results. On the other hand, such successes were rarely exploited because the troops tended to feel that one victory was enough for one day. Generally a beaten enemy was not pursued; when he got over his panic he could be reformed. In these conditions, most factors favored the defense. In February the western end of the line, in Satakunta, was the most open and fluid. On the coast the Red Guard were firmly based on Pori, with the nearest substantial White force being Talvela's men at Kristiina, nearly 80 km distant. Inland 431

there were two concentrations of White Guards, 600 men at Kankaanpaa and 200 at Ikaalinen, both short of equipment and officers, and neither under any threat. They got on with training, leaving the hinterland open to Red Guard marauding. The Red Guard had first concentrated on securing the railway from Tampere to Pori, which gave them the major advantage of a lateral railway line close to the front. There were two operational Staffs, one at Pori and one at Tyrvaa, but the Red Guard too was short of weapons, and there was no north-south railway to advance along. So activity was left to local initiative, and the more enterprising Red Guards based on Hameenkyro and Kyroskoski foraged far to the north, reaching Parkano and Virrat, but without any strategic aim; they were just collecting food and any other valuables they could find. Thus in Satakunta the front line drawn on a map is meaningless; it represented only the mean distance between the bases of the two sides.62 The first real front lay to the east at Vilppula, where Colonel Wetzer commanded 950 men in early February and was developing the two flanking positions at Ruovesi on the west, under Jager P. Wallenius, and Manttatotheeast, under JagerY.Vainonheimo. Only at Vilppula itself was there continuous daily contact with the enemy, with skirmishing between infantry and artillery fire: The Red Guard were based on Lyly some distance south of Vilppula, and came out every morning to exchange fire with the Whites, and retired to rest each evening. One Red Guard soldier recalled "I was several times involved in attacks on Vilppula front, which had the peculiarity that at night we retired back to Lyly and in the morning set out again, like going logging." Another recalled how, when it got dark, "the troops leave the line, since we are used to an 8-hour working day. . . . at night we slept or played cards and in the morning, back to work again." The only serious problem for Wetzer was that his men became exhausted, lying out in the snow all day, and he reported to Mannerheim on 12 February that he needed 300 reliefs at once, that "many Lapua and Kauhava White Guard men have deserted the battle, and when that happens even with Lapua troops, the Staff must understand that quick rotation of men is a condition of success." Mannerheim agreed and minuted on the message, "relief of the men necessary."63 Then on 12 February Svetnikov made his second serious bid to break through: He assembled a force of volunteer soldiers, the anarchist sailors from Helsinki and some Tampere Red Guard troops, and sent 650 men under Lieutenant Stolbov to try to turn the flank of the position at Ruovesi. Wallenius commanded troops of the Lapua White Guard and the NCO trainees from Vbyri, and two days of fierce fighting ensued, including a classic encounter between the sailors and the Lapua men. The anarchists had plenty of courage and repeatedly rushed the White positions, but their losses mounted and during the night of 13 February they left the front and returned to Helsinki. The Vilppula position remained intact and lapsed into relative inactivity. Wetzer quietly built up his strength; he moved his command post from Haapamaki to Vilppula itself, and the Voyri men were sent back to complete their training, signs of growing confidence in the strength of the position.64 The country between the eastern flank of the Vilppula position at Mantta and 432

Lake Paijanne was the responsibility of the White Guard Staff at Jyvaskyla' on the one side, and Lahti Red Guard on the other. The Whites moved first, sending 500 men south from Jamsa, driving weak local Red Guards before them and taking up positions at Kuhmoinen and Evajarvi, from which they could block any attempt by Lahti Red Guard to intervene on the Vilppula front. But Lahti had sent its mobile forces into eastern Uusimaa for the campaign there, and was not ready to move north until 14 February, when they occupied positions around the southern tip of Paijanne at Hollola, Asikkala, Vaaksy, and Padasjoki, and sent a further detachment to secure the town of Heinola. There was no opposition of any consequence, and the Lahti men showed no inclination to advance further to make contact with the enemy. Their lethargy was in sharp contrast with the energy of the Kouvola Red Guard, who were responsible for the rest of Savo as far as Lake Saimaa. Their main thrust had been up the railway towards Mikkeli, and there they had been joined on 6 February by the Latvians and their armored train. On 7 February the Latvians led the attack on the White position at Mantyharju and reported "the White Guard put up a tough resistance at first, so that every step had to be fought for," but in the end, at the cost of 11 casualties, the Latvians broke in, and the Whites retired north of Hietanen. They were not pursued; the Reds had the excuse that the railway bridge at Mantyharju needed repair before they could advance. While they waited, Mannerheim had time to appoint Lofstrom to take command in Savo, with reinforcements brought from Pohjanmaa. The Latvians had already reported that they were not strong enough to take Mikkeli, and when they did advance again on 11 February, their enthusiasm was blunted by an all-day fight with men from Jyvaskyla White Guard and they resolved to go home, returning to Petrograd with their train. Kouvola Red Guard tried to carry on without them on 13 February but made no headway, and their morale fell quickly once the Latvians withdrew. Lofstrom now launched an ambitious counterattack with 1,400 men, designed to surround and destroy the Red Guard at Mantyharju, but his encircling movement proved beyond the capacity of his men, and the Red Guard was able to pull out from Mantyharju, retiring far down the railway to Mouhu, so that all contact was broken off. Lofstrom secured the position at Mantyharju, and led off the bulk of his force to deal with Varkaus. In eastern Savo, on the shores of Lake Saimaa, a road led north from Lappeenranta, through Savitaipale to Mikkeli, but the small White Guard at Savitaipale was left in peace, and the broad territory between Mantyharju and Saimaa formed another gap in the line, where the war had hardly begun for either side during February.65 During most of February Karelia fought its own separate war, where the basic strategic position was very different. The Reds there had no secure base area from which to operate; Viipuri itself had a large and militant White population, and in the rural hinterland Red factory villages were interspersed with White farming settlements. Distances were relatively short; Viipuri was only 30 km from the White headquarters at Antrea, and at some points the railway to Petrograd was only 15 km from the nearest White positions. This was one reason that the Viipuri Red Guard always complained of shortage of manpower; considerable forces had to be allotted for the internal security of Viipuri and the railway. Further, because of the neutralism 433

of the Viipuri garrison, there was a desperate shortage of arms in the early days. That was why Viipuri could not take advantage of the plight of the White forces: Their 950 men were organized in three battalions, one based on Imatra, the other two on Antrea, and they were crippled by a shortage of arms and ammunition, and plagued by the friction between Wa'rnhjelm, who was District Commander, and Sihvo and Hagglund who had charge of operations. South of Antrea were only scattered village White Guard units, of no use except as a reconnaissance screen, and the lower Vuoksi, with its unguarded crossings at Polla'kka'la, Oravaniemi, and Kiviniemi, was virtually open. Fortunately, the local Red Guard was unable to take advantage of this; they did not care to venture far from the security of the railway. The White position in Karelia was extremely vulnerable because of the capacity of Petrograd to feed in men and materials at very short notice. The Whites had no room to maneuver; if Antrea fell, they would have to abandon the Vuoksi line and fall back on Ka'kisalmi and Sortavala.66 Because of the neutrality of the Viipuri garrison it took the Red command in Viipuri nearly a week to bring in men and weapons from Petrograd and organize an attacking force, during which time the Whites set up a position at Kavantsaari, midway between Viipuri and Antrea. On 8 February a mixed force of Russians and Red Guard with artillery advanced up the railway from Viipuri, forced the Kavantsaari position, continued their advance, and on 11 February took Ahvola, the last important position covering Antrea. Wa'rnhjelm thought all was lost and ordered the evacuation of Antrea and the blowing up of the bridge over the Vuoksi, but Sihvo was alerted to this in time and countermanded the order. The very day he got back the guns he had lent for the reduction of Kuopio, he scraped up another 100 men from the rear, improvised a crude armored train, and managed to retake Ahvola on 12 February and hold it against new enemy attacks. By 14 February, the Reds had broken off the action and retired, abandoning some much needed rifles and ammunition in their retreat. Sihvo was able to widen the Ahvola position to take in Ora and Pullila, and the two sides settled down to positional warfare, of a far more desperate pattern than was practiced at Vilppula. The two sides operated in close proximity; there were daily encounters and significant losses were sustained. The struggle for Antrea during 8-14 February had been finely balanced. Mannerheim could hardly help at all; he offered 10,000 cartridges on 8 February, and raised this to 70,000, but that was all the assistance he could offer. However, he did remove Wa'rnhjelm from Sihvo's back by confirming him as District Commander but suggesting that he transfer his headquarters to Sortavala, "seeing that operational leadership and the work of a District Commander cannot be combined." Sihvo was encouraged and confirmed in his leadership: "You are appointed acting commander of the Karelian troops, and you will defend the position at Antrea by all means. Cartridges will be sent at once and rifles as soon as possible." Sihvo was an incurable optimist and signaled on 12 February that "we only lack arms and ammunition. Now that we can expect these shortly I hope that I can handle this critical situation and go over to the attack."67 The Red attack had come close to success, but it was hampered by the tactical 434

inadequacy of the improvised volunteer forces; they lacked a capacity for maneuver and improvisation and relied on mass frontal assaults. Further, they failed to exploit their successes; the men generally returned to billets at nightfall instead of trying to consolidate their gains. On 14 February a message from Viipuri to Petrograd stressed the need for more men and equipment, and deplored the indiscipline of some of the volunteers. Many had already left the front without orders. This behavior is consistent with that of the Russians at Mantyharju and Vilppula. The volunteers were capable of great bravery and fury in attack, but they lacked staying power in the face of adversity and heavy losses. When the fighting flared up again between 18 and 25 February, it left the main positions unaltered. However, the basic situation in Karelia was transformed when the first substantial arms deliveries reached Antrea 6,000 rifles on 20 February and another 7,000 a few days later. Sihvo could now arm his reserve manpower, extend his main position as far as Heinjoki, and send 550 men to guard the southerly crossing points on the lower Vuoksi. By 25 February the situation in Karelia had stabilized; the Red attacks had faded away but the poor success of attempted White counterattacks showed that the fighting spirit of the Reds was unbroken. Nevertheless, the performance of the Red troops in thes operations was distinctly more impressive than that of their comrades at Vilppula, suggesting that a higher level of Russian participation did produce a more effective conduct of military operations.68 In the last week of February the war began a new phase; the period of disjointed local initiatives drew to a close as, on both sides, the central command began to exert control and operations took on a more coordinated and purposeful character. The arrival in both camps of large new supplies of equipment enabled them to contemplate action on a bigger scale, and the quality of the operations could be improved. By 18 February, Mannerheim had his Headquarters working properly and had received the report of the mission he had sent to inspect the front, so that he had a fairly clear idea of what his resources and possibilities were. That same day he received a situation report from Peyron, whose main conclusion was:69 many factors tell against a too early offensive, and the main reason is, of course, the low level of the Finnish forces. We cannot mount a decisive offensive operation until we have got a bit further forward with training, and the organisation is established. Peyron had reports of an enemy offensive against Vilppula, and was uncertain whether it would hold, but came down against spoiling attacks to anticipate the enemy preparation. It was better to get on with training the field army and risk losing Vilppula, "otherwise the whole organisational work could be wasted, and the great results we are aiming for remain unrealised." Mannerheim was in basic agreement, but he could use his new weapons to strengthen the front, following his organization into front and rear zones and the establishment of the four front commands. He allocated 3,500 rifles and 18 machine guns to arm the White Guard inSatakunta: The men would be assembled at Kankaanpaa, Parkano, Virrat, and Ikaalinen, and the void in Satakunta would be filled. Then Jyvaskyla was allotted 2,500 rifles and 435

six machine guns to raise fresh White Guard troops who were to concentrate at Ja'msa', and on 20 February Lofstrom, in Savo, was allocated 2,000 rifles and ordered to establish a firm front running from Kalkkinen, through Heinola church village to Mantyharju and thence eastward to Ristiina. These orders were designed to close the gaps in the front, and form an impenetrable barrier behind which the training of the field army could proceed undisturbed. 70 But on 18 February Headquarters received news from Helsinki that caused some change of plan: They heard that Lenin had ordered immediate evacuation, following the German renewal of hostilities. The military professionals at Headquarters had always assumed that the Russians alone gave the Reds such fighting capacity as they possessed; Captain Douglas wrote, "during the conflicts that had taken place, the native Reds had nowhere made any impression other than as irregular auxiliaries to the Russians." The messages from Helsinki suggested a near panic among the Red leaders, and Headquarters assumed that evacuation was "a catastrophe for the Reds: It was not believed that they would be in a condition to carry on the war by themselves, and there was therefore an inclination to expect a resolution of the whole conflict to be near at hand." Mannerheim was not a man to be carried away by sudden enthusiasms and disliked modifying his plans, but he thought he saw an opportunity. He ordered the preparation of advances in what were taken as two "soft" sectors, Satakunta and Savo, both based on the concept of penetrating deep into the enemy rear and convoying arms for the White Guards trapped behind the lines, on the assumption that enemy resistance would be negligible. 71 The first order was issued on 20 February, when Colonel Linder was appointed to command the Satakunta front, with Captain Malmberg as his chief of staff. He was to use the newly mobilized White Guard troops to advance his positions to Lavia-Hameenkyro-Kuru. He would then be in position to take part in a possible operation against Tampere, which was the main objective of the move. But he was also to detach a column of 300 to 500 men to escort a load of 1,000 rifles for arming White Guard men assumed to be gathered in the Uusikaupunki area, which would involve penetrating 150 km deep into enemy territory. Indeed, Mannerheim soon had second thoughts, for on 24 February he suggested that if the operation seemed impractical, the force could be diverted into an attack on Pori, and on 27 February, when Mannerheim knew no White Guards were left in the enemy rear, he cancelled the expedition. The parallel order for Savo assumed that substantial White Guard elements were still at liberty in eastern Uusimaa and round Kirkkonummi. The Swedish Colonel Hjalmarson was to lead 650 men from Sysma, and escort a load of 3,000 rifles past Lahti, cut the strategic Helsinki-Viipuri railway, and set up a base deep in the enemy rear at Myrskyla, where the Uusimaa White Guard would be assembled and armed. The distance to be traversed by the convoy was 100 km, and the plan assumed that the enemy would be incapable of serious resistance. Mannerheim had fallen victim to poor information compounded by wishful thinking: First, the troops earmarked for the operation did not yet exist; Mannerheim assumed that because he had ordered their mobilization, this had been done - it had not. Then the White Guard forces who were to be relieved in the south did not exist either; 436

Mannerheim simply did not know this when he issued the orders. Finally he assumed that Russian evacuation would disorganize the enemy to the point where effective resistance would have collapsed. He was to learn by hard experience of the mistakes he had made.72 Mannerheim sought to complete the process of asserting central control when he traveled to Antrea on 23 February to sort out the command situation there and integrate the Karelian forces into the national war effort. He began with what was conceived as a shrewd psychological move to show he sympathized with the special interests of the Karelians. A manifesto was issued in which he declared that the liberation of Russian Karelia would be one of his war aims:73 I swear, in the name of the Finnish farmers' army, whose commander I have the honour to be, that I shall not sheathe my sword . . . until the last of Lenin's soldiers and hooligans has been driven both from Finland and further Karelia. Mannerheim had no shadow of a right, of course, to commit his army, and therefore his government, to a political program of this nature, and it has been suggested it was not a serious political commitment, but "an appeal whose purpose was to enthuse the fighting troops." Perhaps it was; Mannerheim wanted to bridge the gap between the Karelians and the rest of White Finland by assuring them that what he took to be their special interests would be pursued. It is certainly typical of the kind of rhetorical fodder that upper-class commanders in all European armies suppose will encourage the fighting spirit of their simple-minded soldiers. The manifesto made sense as an opening bid by Mannerheim to establish his personal authority as commander-in-chief over the Karelians, who had no liking at all for aristocratic "Russian" commanders of whom Mannerheim was the archetype. The extent of the problem showed when Mannerheim tried to persuade Sihvo to allow the enlistment of regulars in Karelia. He was told bluntly "I shall prevent enlistment in Karelia, which I regard as dangerous," and Mannerheim tacitly conceded the point; it had lost its practical significance once conscription had been decided on. The curious split command in Karelia between Warnhjelm and Sihvo was confirmed, and Sihvo left to get on with his campaign as he saw fit. Mannerheim was content to leave Sihvo in an autonomous position, because he had no plans involving the Karelian troops in a positive role for the near future. When he did, there would be time enough to reduce Sihvo and his Karelians to a proper subordination. In the meantime he pursued a policy of allocating minimum resources to Karelia, and ignored Sihvo's suggestions for positive action there, which kept Sihvo in his place, until the moment came to thrust him aside.74 The new round of centrally controlled operations began in Satakunta, where Svecnikov hoped to get the local Red Guards into action to support his next attempt on Vilppula. On 19 February he sent 1,000 rifles from Tampere to Pori, and on 21 February Pori Red Guard advanced northward up the coast road until they made contact with the enemy at Merikarvia and halted. P. Talvela, the White commander at Kristiina, responded by leading his men south to meet the threat. The Tyrvaa 437

Red Guard Staff ordered their force at Lavia to advance on Kankaanpaa, but after two days of fighting they retired back to Lavia in some disorder, leaving a machinegun and other equipment to the enemy. The initiative then passed to Linder, who was slowed up because the 3,500 men he was supposed to command had not yet assembled, and one of the assembly points, Parkano, had been threatened by the Red Guard. Linder secured Parkano on 24 February, but decided to begin his advance on the coast, and on 25 February, Talvela's men attacked at Merikarvia, while a parallel column moved inland on Pomarkku. The attack on Merikarvia ended badly with the Whites retiring in some disorder, and the attack on Pomarkku was bogged down. Mannerheim then intervened by ordering reserves south from Oulu, and these turned the scales. The Red Guard began to retire towards Pori, and then consolidated on a line from Ahlainen to Noormarkku, where the White advance on the coast was halted. On 27 February Mannerheim intervened further when he cancelled the planned expedition into the south, and directed the White Guard who had been repatriated from Aland to join Linder's command. Linder was now instructed to move forward to the line Lavia-Parkano with a view to future operations against Tampere. On 2 March, Linder's men advanced from Kankaanpaa and easily captured Lavia, the Red Guard there retiring to Suodenniemi. But the rest of his plan was disrupted by Hameenkyro Red Guard who advanced on Ikaalinen, and though they could not take it, kept it under severe pressure for several days, after which the fighting in Satakunta died down. On balance the Whites had clearly won; Manner heim's original, optimistic objectives were not gained, but Linder realized most of the revised tasks assigned to him. The Red Guard had been unable to coordinate its efforts, and success atone point was cancelled by failure elsewhere, whereas Mannerheim had twice been able to intervene from the center and swing the contest in his favor. His superior powers of organization and command had already yielded significant results.75 Svecnikov had planned to renew the attack on Vilppula on 17 February, combined with a Red advance in Satakunta, but his new attack did not open until 21 February. Wetzer's position had improved; on 20 February he reported a strength of 1,959 men, 11 machine guns and five field guns, with 500 men and most of the machine guns on his right flank at Ruovesi, while Vilppula itself largely relied on artillery for its defense. Svecnikov's plan was to maintain pressure along the whole front, while Stolbov led a new attempt, with his mixed force of Russians and Red Guards, to turn the flank of the position at Ruovesi. A general, largely futile exchange of fire took place along the front from 21-27 February, which fooled Mannerheim's Headquarters into thinking they were under attack from 5,000 men, a gross overestimate They scraped around desperately for reinforcements that were not needed, and the few they found mostly came too late. The only real threat came from Stolbov, who found a gap in the position at Enoranta, which his men occupied on 22 February. Wallenius reacted vigorously, and after two days of fierce fighting, the Reds retired from Enoranta and the Vilppula position remained intact. The encounter at Enoranta was the only serious fight during this round of activity, and it involved a mere 100 men on each side. By 27 February, Svecnikov conceded defeat and called off his 438

attacks. Mannerheim hoped that Wetzer's men might now go over to active defense and keep the enemy off balance, but Wetzer and his men were exhausted and felt they had done enough; the Vilppula front fell quiet.76 After 14 February, Lahti Red Guard had advanced cautiously up the western side of Lake Paijanne and had taken Padasjoki, where for once it was the White Guard that was surprised while holding a dance, and fled in disorder. Then on 18 February, the General Staff sent an order to step up the advance, and sent rifles, six machine guns, and three field guns to Lahti to support it. But this action came just too late, for on 17 February the White Guard at Jyvaskyla received a large delivery of weapons and reinforced their garrison in Kuhmoinen under the Ja'ger M. Rantasala. When the Red Guard advanced from Padasjoki on 21 February, the defense of Kuhmoinen was hard pressed, but it held; on 25 February H. Kalm brought up reinforcements and on the following day surprised and scattered part of the attacking force, capturing their supply column, after which the surviving Reds fled back almost to the vicinity of Lahti. The Red Guard had also dispatched forces to the east of Paijanne, and one column moved through Kalkkinen, reaching Sysma on 22 February without meeting serious resistance. The success may have made them careless, for when the Whites counterattacked Sysma, many of the Red Guard were caught in the sauna, and they fled in panic back to Kalkkinen. A third Lahti column advanced north through Heinolaand reached Onkiniemi without meeting the enemy. Having got that far, the column halted and debated the situation, the general mood being "Who the hell wants to stay in a strange village overnight?" so they retired back to Heinola. Thus far the campaigning record of Lahti Red Guard was lamentable; two columns had let themselves be taken by surprise and had fled in disorder, and the Heinola force had found an important gap in the enemy front, and willfully failed to exploit it.77 This state of affairs makes it easier to understand why Mannerheim supposed that Hjalmarson would have little difficulty pushing past Lahti Red Guard on his expedition into the south. When Lofstrom received orders to prepare this expedition, on 20 February, he was baffled because they supposed there were 2,000 White Guard recruits waiting to be armed in Savo, when in fact all he had were 450 men around Sysma and a similar number at Mantyharju, though more were coming in as the Varkaus expedition returned. Lofstrom and Hjalmarson met on 23 February, agreeing that Hjalmarson should use the Sysma forces and set off on 26 February. It was proposed to advance through Heinola, and they hoped to frighten the Reds into abandoning the town by combining a surprise attack with a threat of encirclement. On 28 February the White force approached Heinola, but found the Reds waiting for them. The encircling column lost its commander, the Swedish Major Glimstedt, and were stuck. During the afternoon, a Red Guard relieving force came up from Lahti, and the attackers were caught between them and the garrison. Hjalmarson's men were soon in a desperate plight; it was one of the rare occasions in this war when hand-to-hand fighting erupted, with the use of bayonets, and the Whites retired under cover of darkness after losing a machine gun and nearly a tenth of their men. The Red Guard did not pursue, but consolidated in Heinola, and pushed

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out an advance post to Heinola church village. Hjalmarson reported to Mannerheim that the proposed operation was clearly impractical, and Mannerheim accepted defeat The defense of Heinola on 28 February was one of the better military performances of the Red Guard in the war. It taught the professional soldiers, like Mannerheim and Hjalmarson, a Swedish regular officer, that it was not true that the Red Guard could not fight without Russian support and dangerous to assume that because their offensive operations had been uniformly feeble, they could not put up a vigorous defense. It was also a warning that even with professional leadership, the ability of militia troops to sustain mobile attacking warfare was limited.78 Kouvola Red Guard had been passive since they abandoned Mantyharju; they kept 1,000 men at Mouhu, and another 2,000 to 3,000 in Kouvola itself. The newly appointed Central Front Staff met to debate the situation on 18 February, agreed they must attempt to advance north again, but decided to await orders from Helsinki, so that their action could be coordinated with other fronts. They hoped that advances by Lahti Red Guard might secure the western flank of any new advance on Mikkeli, and that Lappeenranta Red Guard would cover the eastern flank by moving north through Savitaipale. But while they waited, Lofstrom decided to act: with the return of the Varkaus expedition, he had 2,500 men, with 13 machine guns and three field guns, and he had orders from Mannerheim to establish a front in Savo along the line Kalkkinen-Heinola-Varpanen-Ristiina. Lofstrom planned to destroy the enemy force by holding them at Mouhu by a direct advance down the railway, while a flanking force of 500 men, led by the Swedish Lieutenant, G. Cronstedt, made a wide sweep across country and cut the railway in the rear of the Red position. The Whites could then consolidate at Hillosensalmi, from where they could threaten Kouvola itself.79 The attack began on 3 March, and the advance down the railway went well, in spite of a Red armored train. Towards evening White shellfire forced the train to retire, and a Red battle report said many of the defenders then "left their positions and came with the train, in spite of prohibitions." Once this happend, a general retreat set in, and the White forces occupied Mouhu. Cronstedt's men had reached the railway, but they were exhausted by their long trek and some hard fighting; when Red reinforcements came out from Kouvola by train, Cronstedt decided he must retire. In fact he was in serious trouble; he could scarcely communicate with his Finnish-speaking White Guards, his supply train and rear guard had taken it upon themselves to retire without orders, and the Red Guard had been allowed to set up an ambush on the line of retreat. Cronstedt blundered into the ambush after dark, a sledge carrying explosives blew up, and his men scattered in wild panic. They had lost 80 men, and Cronstedt himself spent two days wandering over the countryside before he got back to Mantyharju. It was a disaster similar to Hjalmarson's; both resulted from over ambitious maneuvers beyond the capacity of White Guard militiamen, especially under alien Swedish officers. Lofstrom was nearly panicked into pulling his men back to Mantyharju, but as usual the Reds did not try to follow up their success and the Whites were left in possession of Mouhu; the Central Front Staff at Kouvola were confirmed in the view that they were not strong enough to 440

undertake any fresh advance. On the shore of Lake Saimaa the White Guard had held Savitaipale since the start of hostilities, unmolested by Lappeenranta Red Guard. On 26 February, Lofstrom sent Captain H. Tulander, with 200 rifles, to organize them, but the very next day Lappeenranta, under pressure from the Staff at Kouvola, sent 900 men with artillery and forced the evacuation of Savitaipale, the White force retiring to Suomenniemi. Tulander hurried to beg help, and Lofstrom sent a company with four machine guns under a German corporal, K. Miiller, who had impressed the Finns by passing as Lieutenant von Zedwitz. He was an adventurer of some ability, though his attack on Savitaipale was beaten off on 4 March. The Red Guard, however, were content with their achievement and made no further attempt to advance, and the position at Savitaipale remained unchanged until near the end of the war. The February campaigning in Savo ended in stalemate: Neither side had the kind of troops who could undertake long-range mobile operations or successfully assault an enemy in a prepared defensive position. But the Whites, who were inferior in numbers and equipment, and operated farther from their bases, had seized the initiative and their aggressive posture intimidated the enemy into a policy of passive defense.80 It was in Karelia that the February fighting took on a scale and intensity not seen on other fronts. The Reds now planned to combine new assaults on Antrea and Imatra with attempts to cross the lower Vuoksi, where they rightly assumed that the White defenses were minimal. They were stimulated to action by the belief of the Russian command in Petrograd that a plan was afoot for a joint operation by the Germans and Mannerheim's forces to capture the city. Soviet historians still assert that such a plan existed, though no evidence for it is available. Inconsequence of this belief, the Russians built up two new concentrations, one at Raasuli, on the Russian side of the frontier, from where there was a railway that led through Rautu, over the Vuoksi at Kiviniemi, and on to Kakisalmi. The force consisted at first of Finnish Red Guards, brought down to Petrograd and equipped there, and two companies of Petrograd Finns. The second force was developed around Kaljunen's Terijoki Red Guard and was assembled at Kivennapa. Recruits were drawn in from the various industrial villages on the isthmus and again equipped from Petrograd. It was typical of the open situation on the lower Vuoksi, and of the missed opportunities of this phase, that a local Red Guard was in possession of the river crossing at Pollakkala. But they had no proper weapons so on 18 February they marched off, 80 strong, to join Kaljunen at Kivennapa and left the Whites free to take over the Pollakkala crossing.81 As so often happened in Karelia, the timing proved crucial. The Raasuli force advanced on 21 February, and Kaljunen two days later. In both cases they were intimidated by the fierce resistance of inferior White Guard detachments, which held them up long enough for Sihvo to have received his arms delivery and send reinforcements. A coordinated defense of the lower Vuoksi was then established under the Jager V. Schonberg, who established his command post at Kiviniemi. The Reds did not get across the Vuoksi at any point, and the Raasuli force dug in at Rautu, where it was reinforced by Russian Red Guards from the arms factories at 441

Sestroretsk and by batches of Red Army men led by M. Prigorovski, who took command of the Reds at Rautu. The forces based on Viipuri also had been strengthened: The first major detachment of 1,000 Helsinki Red Guard arrived in Karelia with 1,200 fresh Russian volunteers. With these reinforcements the Red command had assembled 4,000 men and 20 guns for an attack on Sihvo's main position.82 The general Red offensive in Karelia opened on 26 February when Lappeenranta Red Guard advanced from Juotseno towards Imatra. They were easily discouraged by a vigorous defense and halted after one day's fighting. Two more attempts to advance were made on 2 and 6 March, but on neither occasion was the attack pressed, the Reds then lapsing into inactivity, while the Whites were quite content to leave them alone at Joutseno. Lappeenranta Red Guard was substandard even by the low standards then prevailing; they were isolated and neglected, had few Russians to help, and were consistently ineffective. On the Antrea sector things were very different. From 26 February, the Ahvola position was the scene of desperate and continuous fighting: Several observers noted the methodical character of the Red attacks; they began at 9:00 A.M. with heavy artillery fire, interspersed with mass rushes o the White positions. This was kept up until dusk each day, when they retired to their billets and often gave up any ground won. This meant that it was safe for the Whites to take their men into billets for the night where they could thaw out and rest. The critical day was 3 March, when the Reds surprised the enemy by making an early start and came very close to breaking through at Ahvola. Its 350 defenders lost nearly a tenth of their number that day and the men seemed on the brink of exhaustion. For the first time Sihvo sent out a call for more men. Mannerheim had been trying to send White Guard troops from Kuopio, but the Savo men refused to leave home to serve in such foreign parts as Karelia. Sihvo complained on 8 March he had got just 88 men from Kuopio instead of the hundreds promised and demanded, "Am I to receive assistance or not?" By then the crisis was nearly over; fresh men were found from the rear areas and the numbers at Ahvola were actually increasing, Sihvo had exchanged the last of his Berdan rifles for modern magazine models, and the enemy was clearly tiring. A heavy attack came on 7 March, and another on 11 March, in which Helsinki Red Guards played a notable part, breaking into the White positions at bayonet point, but they could not hold their gains, and it was the last serious attempt to break through at Ahvola. After that, heavy artillery fire was kept up, and cost Sihvo a lot of casualties, but infantry attacks ceased, and most of the Ahvola position was still in White hands.83 In a similar pattern of events, the enemy renewed the attack at Rautu after 27 February, with the Russians in the lead. On 3 March, the defense broke before a mass assault led by sailors, the Whites were short of ammunition, and a determined push would have taken the Reds across the Vuoksi; however, they too were exhausted, and retired back into Rautu as darkness fell, breaking off the action. Kaljunen's men had advanced too on 27 February, but they were repulsed at Valkjarvi, and did not try again until 5 March. This time it was the Red Guard that executed a successful flanking movement, and the defenders of Valkjarvi broke and fled back to Kiviniemi. For perhaps 24 hours the front was open, and the Red Guard could have rushed 442

Kiviniemi and taken the Rautu defenders in the rear, but Kaljunen's men reckoned they had earned a rest; they did not advance again until 8 March, by which time a new defense had been organized and they were repulsed. One of the Red soldiers commented bitterly on this characteristic failure after the breakthrough:84 "What did the Reds do then? They did not follow the butchers, they just took billets in the village . . . the conquest of the village . . . shows that the Reds could conduct local encounters successfully, but they could not continue their movement." This was not the only chance wasted by Kaljunen's men: On 25 February he had sent 200 men, with machine guns and artillery to Pollakkala, and on the following day they scattered the enemy, who retired over the Vuoksi. But the Red Guard did not follow the enemy across the river and gave Sihvo time to get reinforcements down. When the Red Guard did try to cross, on 5 and 12 March, they were driven back, and the Whites established a position at Malkala, on the Red side of the river, at a safe distance from the Pollakkala crossing.85 On 15 March, Sihvo signaled to Mannerheim that the Karelian front was quiet, and he had defeated the heaviest and most sustained Red offensive of the war. Yet the margin had been narrow. If the Reds had started two or three days earlier, or had concentrated more, and thrown more weight against the lower Vuoksi, they could surely have crossed the river in force. Yet it is doubtful if they could have exploited a success; the men lacked staying power and mobility, and no leaders had the competence and the authority to keep them moving and exploit openings when they occurred. On the tactical level, they had to use the only method open to untrained troops, the advance in massed columns, and a handful of defenders with machine guns will always repel such attacks, provided the ammunition lasts and the gun crews can be kept warm and awake. The White defense might have been broken by attrition, except that attrition affects both sides, and the Reds never had quite enough fresh forces to sustain their pressure long enough to break through. Finally, even if the Reds had forced the Vuoksi and compelled Sihvo to retire to HiitolaSortavala, it would not have changed the outcome of the war. The Reds would have won important local advantages in securing the isthmus, besides the boost to morale, but Mannerheim had already calculated, coldly, that the Vuoksi front was expend able, which is why he would not divert much of his resources to defend it. In truth, imperial Germany had already decided the issue. The importance of the Russian contribution to the quality of the Red war effort was made very apparent in Karelia. The contrast between the savage assaults at Ahvola and Rautu, where the Russians led, and the feeble operations by the Lappeenranta Red Guard and Kaljunen's troops, who were almost entirely Finnish, shows what a difference their participation could make. But the treaty of Brest-Litovsk was now signed, and the Bolshevik authorities would not dare to intervene again in Karelia, or anywhere else in Finland on such a scale. The power of Germany would easily have redressed any temporary advantages won by the Reds in Karelia in the February fighting. As it was, the Whites had won an impressive victory, their position, both morally and materially was much improved, whereas the Reds had been weakened and dispirited; they had put forth their maximum effort and had nothing to show for it. 443

Almost no territory had changed hands, but at the end the gaps in the defenses of the Vuoksi had been closed, and every crossing place was covered by a firm bridgehead position on the Red side of the river. In consequence, the city of Viipuri and the railway to Petrograd remained vulnerable to White attack. The new strength of the White forces was signaled on 13 March, when Sihvo converted his battalions into regiments. The forces on the lower Vuoksi became the I Karelian Regiment, commanded by Captain G. Elfvgren, with headquarters at Kiviniemi. It has a good complement of Jager officers, down to company commander level, and had 1,500 men in line and 500 in reserve. It held a sector thaton 20 February had been covered by 250 men. The II Karelian Regiment held the Antrea sector, from Heinjoki north to Lottola. It was commanded by Captain O. Kuula and there were 3,000 men in line and nearly as many again in the rear, and it had the highest complement of Jager officers. The III Karelian Regiment held the line from Lottola to Lake Saimaa. It was commanded by Major A. Stahlberg, with headquarters in Imatra, and had 1,700 men in line and another 2,000 in reserve, though its quota of Jager officers was lower than that of the other regiments. It is clear that these units did not conform with the uniform pattern that Mannerheim was trying to establish in his army; they were Sihvo's own creation. The swollen reserves show that a fourth regiment could easily have been formed, but he did not have enough officers.86 With the conclusion of the various offensive movements of late February and early March, the war entered a new phase. The front line had been filled in and no more open sectors were left. On both sides, the original anarchic structure of popular militias was being shaped into some semblance of a proper field army, and a central command structure was being imposed on them, though it was clear that in both respects the Whites had pulled far ahead of the Reds in the levels achieved and had thereby established a solid military advantage. All this meant that the war could no longer be decided, or even seriously influenced, by spontaneous local initiatives. It had ceased to be a popular insurrection, and had become a regular war between two rudimentary sovereign states, both of which had rejected the idea of a compromise settlement and were committed to total victory. The issue would have to be settled now by the normal methods of war and diplomacy.

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Chapter 15

The Civil War II By late February the Red leaders understood that victory depended on their using their current superiority in manpower and equipment for an immediate offensive, for time was working in Mannerheim's favor. Their strategy was made public in Haapalainen's statement of 3 March that the Red Guard was now fully equipped and ready for the decisive encounter. The General Staff had decided on 25 February that they would make their effort in Savo and Karelia, but when Svecnikov came back to Helsinki to take charge of operations, this decision was changed. He clung to the concept he had been pursuing since hostilities started that the key to victory was the capture of Haapamaki by an offensive based on Tampere. An article in Tyomies on 8 March explained how the capture of Haapamaki would sever the links between Vaasa and Antrea and break the back of the enemy communication network, and yet Haapamaki was only 30 km from the existing front line. Svecnikov's choice is easily understood: There were two strategic objectives the Reds could pursue, one to clear the Karelian isthmus and the other to break the Elisenvaara railway; he chose the latter because it offered the greater advantages in case of success. It was the peculiarity of the Karelian theater that while defeat there would be fatal to the Reds, Mannerheim could and did contemplate with equanimity a retreat to the Imatra-Hiitola line, which would be a setback, but not fatal to his cause. But the disruption of the Elisenvaara railway by the loss of Haapamaki could lose him the war and as professional soldiers both Mannerheim and Svecnikov appreciated this. 1 On 3 March the General Staff issued an order for an offensive based on Svecnikov's idea. It began: 2 All Finnish troops are ordered, for the period from 3-9 March, to prepare for an offensive, and on 10 March all are to begin a decisive attack to destroy the butchers and to conquer the Vaasa-Sortavala railway, particularly the Haapamaki-Pieksamaki line. The actual plan was not quite as general as the preamble suggested, for the focus of the attack was the Vilppula sector. Large additional forces would be concentrated 445

there and would be backed up by a new strategic reserve of 10,000 men to be assembled at Riihimaki. The advances in Satakunta and Savo were supporting attacks to tie down the enemy forces; if Haapamaki fell it would not matter if they failed to reach their prescribed objectives. The order included the Eastern Front but reflected the fact that Viipuri was not really controlled from Helsinki because the Eastern Front had the option of joining in, with a fresh attempt to force a crossing of the Vuoksi or of standing on the defensive. To find the fresh forces he needed, Svecnikov could not use the normal method of redeploying men from the less important fronts, for most of the Red Guard atthe front were locally based, and would not leave their home area. So the surplus Red Guard forces in Satakunta, Lahti, and Kouvola could not be transferred to Tampere; they had to be used where they were. The new forces must be collected from the rear, principally Helsinki and Turku, and by arming the unused manpower in the Tampere area. It is clear that a major effort was made: 5,000 Red Guard were in Tampere on 1 March and 8,000 by 10 March, and a return of 8 March showed that 3,647 men had already been sent forward to the front. Uusimaa District Staff had ordered the dispatch of 3,000 trained men to Tampere on 3 March, and the recruitment of new levies to replace them; Turku reported on 4 March that all the available men from the area had been sent up. On 8 March all the spare troops in Helsinki were ordered to gather at Riihimaki, but it never proved possible to assemble the proposed strategic reserve. Numbers alone are not a reliable indicator of the military potential of the troops that were assembled; their quality and willingness to fight varied enormously. Thus on 9 March the Staff at Tampere, refusing a request for reinforcements said: 3 We cannot send any: we certainly have 1,000 Turku men, but most of them such as have probably never even seen a rifle. I have tried in vain to get even some of them to leave, but they will not go, and we here do not have the armed force by which we could send them under duress. It was to be a feature of this battle that often Tampere seemed to be choked with Red Guards troops, yet the Red command could not find any units willing to go out and fight. The Northern Front was now commanded by H. Salmela, with Bulatsel as his principal Russian adviser, and E. Rahja, Hyrskymurto, and Aaltonen assisting. Salmela was already emerging as the dominant personality; his strength of character and integrity won him a measure of respect and obedience from subordinates, and professional commentators have seen in him an innate talent for military leadership. Salmela's stature and authority were to grow as the battle developed, until in its last stages he became a lone figure of heroic dimensions. He was in nominal command of all the Red forces between the coast and Lake Paijanne, though in practice the Staff at Pori, under Salminen, was virtually autonomous. By 10 March Salmela had nearly 15,000 fighting men gathered for the offensive: In Satakunta there were 1,500 men based on Pori, another 1,000 at Kullaa and Suodenniemi, and the best of the Satakunta troops, 1,500 men, based on Hameenkyro. Along the Vilppula front 3,000 men were based 446

on Kuru under Stolbov, and another 1,000 at Murole under the Russian Lieutenant Sorin, who covered the western sector of the front. The main force at Lyly, commanded by Karjalainen, had 5,000 men, and the eastern end was covered by 600 men based on Lankipohja under Hurri. The territory between Hurri's men and Pa'ijanne had 1,500 men in two groups, at Vehkajarvi and Padasjoki under the command of Gronroos. Salmela had some reserves available in Tampere of uncertain fighting value, and some in Hameenlinna. The Whites had 3,000 men under Linder in Satakunta, 3,000 at Vilppula under Wetzer, and 1,350 men under Wilkman, based on Jamsa and Kuhmoinen, in addition to which Mannerheim was concentrating further forces at Jamsa for his own offensive, but these were not to be used in the defense. The attackers had a superiority in numbers of about 2 to 1, which by normal military standards was not a large margin of superiority.4 Salmela's order for the offensive was issued on 6 March: The objective was defined as the capture of Haapamaki through a complicated set of individual movements. The left flank of the operation would be covered by northward attacks by Salminen's troops in Satakunta, and then on 10 March Leinonen would advance from Hameenkyro towards Ikaalinen and subsequently to Parkano. The right flank would be covered by an analogous movement by Gronroos, who would advance towards Petajarvi and Jyvaskyla. The assault on the Vilppula position also concentrated on the flanks: Stolbov and Sorin would move directly on Haapamaki through Virrat and Ruovesi, an Hurri would advance on Mantta and turn the Vilppula position on that side. Karjalainen would make holding attacks only; "there is not to be a direct frontal attack on the Vilppula position, but you are to wait until the wings have by-passed it." The orders were detailed and put great emphasis on coordinated movement, declaring all units must attach "the greatest importance to the careful guarding of their flanks," yet in parts they were disconcertingly vague. Almost no information was given about the strength and position of the enemy, and there were phrases like that in Gronroos' orders, "You must somehow or other make contact with the troops who are starting from Hameenlinna." It was a complicated plan, for it involved two diversionary movements on the outer wings, and a main attack divided between five different groups. Apart from the difficulty of keeping the various movements together, it meant a dispersal of effort instead of a concentration on one or two vital points. It is assumed this plan was forced on Salmela by the inability of the Red organization to direct and keep supplied large bodies of men in a limited area. They were also forced to give detailed movement orders in advance, even though this meant imposing a clumsy rigidity on the plan, because they knew that once the men began to move, there would be little or no opportunity for the central command to control them. All Salmela could do to influence the battle, once the action began, was to feed in the reserves. Salmela was re alistic about the I imitations of the troops: He issued a general instruction on tactics on 5 March that emphasized the responsibility of commanders "to inspire and develop boldness in the comrades under them, and coolness in battle," and reminded them that they "must never retreat without the permission of the Staff, except where there is no other possibility." These orders probably represent the best that Salmela and his Russian advisers could have done, given the characteristics of the troops at their disposal.5 447

Salmela originally had wanted Gronroos to begin his movement in advance of the main offensive, to shorten the front, and eliminate the danger of flanking attacks based on Kuhmoinen and Jamsa, which in view of what happened showed a good grasp of the strategic situation. But Gronroos could not organize in time and it was Salminen who started, on 9 March, with attacks along the coast, though the supposedly simultaneous advance from Suodenniemi on Lavia did not start until 14 March. The poor quality of the Pori troops prevented any success being gained here, though the enemy in Satakunta was not much better, and no disasters occurred. However, when Leinonen advanced from Hameenkyro, Linder had had advance warning and moved his only artillery and two extra machine guns to Ikaalinen. On 10 March he easily held off the Red assault, and in the evening the defenders mounted a flanking movement that caused the Red Guard to retire in panic. The rout was so complete that Salmela feared the enemy might sweep forward and cut the TamperePori railway, and he rushed out part of his reserve from Hameenlinna to plug the gap. It was an unpromising start for the main operation, and was compounded when something very similar happened to Gronroos on the other flank. His men managed to launch a strong attack on Kuhmoinen and nearly broke in, but again the Whites had got telephone warning of the Red approach, and had prepared a column to fall on the enemy rear once he was engaged. This maneuver, on the evening of 10 March succeeded in encircling the enemy for a time, and though the Reds broke out, they retired in complete disorder with considerable loss of equipment, and Salmela had to call in more reserves to steady them. Thus Salmela's offensive had suffered disaster on both wings within the first 24 hours, and much of his reserve had been committed to repair the damage.6 Stolbov's advance from Kuru towards Virrat made a better start, although he was moving into a White concentration, for Mannerheim had sent Hjalmarson to Virrat on 7 March to build up a new striking force for his own offensive. Hjalmarson met the advance at Vaskivesi, and a fierce struggle developed. The Reds had artillery and the Whites did not, and some of the raw White Guard troops were unsteady under shellfire. The defenders were lucky to have a Swedish officer, Captain E. Hallstrom, who had seen war service with the German army and showed how an experienced soldier could encourage and sustain inexperienced militiamen by personal example. Still, by 11 March the Vaskivesi position was shaken, though the Reds were plagued with difficulties. Lack of reconnaissance and inexperience led to the men being deployed too early, so that they had to struggle through deep snow for long distances before contacting the enemy; skis would have made a great difference, but they had no skis. The men grew discouraged and began to desert: "If a man explained to his commander that his socks had got wet inside his boots, that was a perfectly adequate reason for leaving the line." But it was more serious that there were immediate threats of group withdrawal; a call to Salmela on 11 March said they knew that Tampere was full of troops, and if help was not sent they would return to base. Salmela was in despair; he replied, "Good God, I have not got any men . . . if the men cannot achieve anything, and if you go away, I have not the time to start preaching to you." Salmela reported his problems with the Kuru men 448

to the General Staff, and showed he was ready to follow their example: "I have already told Rahja that I will pack my bag and say goodbye from the steps of the railway carriage to Tampere and this whole business." The only cheering news came from Karjalainen, who was harassing Vilppula itself with shellfire and an armored train: He telephoned to Tampere: 7 — Now the game has begun. They are shooting. . . . —So, you are already attacking with artillery cover? — It's going like the devil. . . . —Save the shrapnel, they cost 1,000 marks each. —Whatever they cost let them shoot. — I mean, we should not squander them senselessly. . . . This conversation between Karjalainen and A. Vasten told a lot about the Red Guard at war, with the mixture of childlike excitement at the novelty and prudent civilian horror at the extravagance. Wetzer reported that he had been under attack all day on 10 March, but since he also reported two casualties for the day's fighting, it would seem the Reds were getting little return for their prodigal expenditure of shells. Mannerheim could afford to ignore this kind of pressure, but Vaskivesi had to be held to cover his own offensive build-up, so when it showed signs of weakening he sent the Voyri training school to the front. The 700 men came up by sledge column on the evening of 11 March, and did not need to engage the enemy. The Red commander, J . Eslin, reported that the sight of the column was enough for his men; they began to retreat, and all his efforts to hold them in line failed. He managed to conduct an orderly retreat to Kuru, but now this attack too had broken down. 8 On 12 March Salmela suffered fresh setbacks, when Hurri began his advance on Ma'ntta. The enemy again had advance warning and were waiting for the Reds at Eva'jarvi: Hurri led his men in person and fell, mortally wounded, at an early stage. By the afternoon his men were beaten and calling for help. Rahja flew out to Lyly, and though he and Salmela could not find any reinforcements, Rahja managed to rally Hurri's troops and get them under control again. Only Karjalainen remained confident; he telephoned to Salmela on 12 March and suggested that "though we have not yet got that right wing quite clear, still I could lead the centre here at Vilppula as far as I can." Salmela agreed, "We must get Vilppula, then Ma'ntta," a complete reversal of his original plan. Karjalainen too had problems, but he had mastered them so far; "I gave the men firm orders, I talked to them myself. Anyone who does not obey loses his life." He complained about the Russian advisers; "these Russians are always quarrelling and then walking off. That is the cause we do not have real enthusiasm." But in spite of this he had his men in hand; they were the only undefeated force left, and the burden was transferred to them. From 13-15 March, Salmela, Karjalainen, and Rahja struggled simultaneously with the enemy and their own men, and built up the pressure at Vilppula. The main infantry effort was at Vaarinmaja, where some ground was won, though nothing essential to the defenses, while the most dramatic incident was at Vilppula station on 13 March. The Reds sent an unmanned train at full steam, pushing a wagon loaded with rocks 449

and explosive, hoping for a collision with the ammunition wagons in Vilppula station. It shattered the White barricade, but prompt action by the station staff secured the locomotive and rendered the train harmless. When the Red armored train followed soon after, it was driven off by shellfire. The incident suggested that if the Reds had risked a manned train to rush Vilppula station, they might have had a chance of breaking in. 9 Karjalainen was hampered by poor quality troops and an outbreak of what appears to have been dysentery and food-poisoning among the troops, so severe that rumors flew that the enemy had succeeded in poisoning the supplies. He reported back to Tampere: 10 It is surely the very devil with these hoboes, they are men on the city streets, but when it is a question of something real, they are no use . . . it would be good to send every one to heaven . . . the devils shit their trousers and have bellyache straight away, no wonder if we do not win with them. On top of this, Haapalainen arrived in Tampere to find out why the offensive was going so slowly, and he got Karjalainen on the phone and told him, "You have been in command there at Korkeakoski four weeks, and in that time you have been lounging on the sofa admiring your beautiful boots, unless you are in Vilppula tomorrow, I shall dismiss you." Karjalainen replied, "Do that. I tell you, devil take it, I have done all that any blessed human could. . . . Let (expletive) Haapalainen do it himself if he (expletive) thinks he can do it better." Salmela had to intervene to pacify Karjalainen, on whom he depended so heavily, and when Haapalainen became drunk and incapable, arrested him and sent him back to Helsinki. The pressure was kept up through 14 March; Salmela managed to get the Kuru men back into action, though Stolbov reported that some had to be driven with threats of shooting; and 1,000 fresh men were sent to Karjalainen, which sustained his attack into the following day. Rahja reported back that "that relief force did a power of good." Wetzer was now feeling the strain, his men were out in the snow all day, without proper cooked food, and they were wearying. On 15 March Mannerheim consented to send a reserve battalion to strengthen the position, so if the Reds were not winning much ground, the continuous pressure was beginning to have an effect on the enemy. The General Staff orders of 3 March had provided that Salmela's attack should be supported by an offensive by the Central Front in Savo, and on 7 March the Central Front Staff decided they would attack. They followed the current fashion; instead of moving up the railway on Mikkeli, they decided on two flanking movements, from Heinola towards Sysma, and from Savitaipale towards Ristiina. On 9 March a force from Heinola advanced and took Lusi, an important road junction, from which they could continue either westward to Sysma or eastward to Mantyharju. White resistance had been feeble, but then a familiar pattern of events followed. The Red Guard declined to move from Lusi until they were reinforced, and neglected to secure their position. Lofstrom summoned his German adventurer, Zedwitz, to lead what 450

reserves were available at Mantyharju and retake Lusi. Zedwitz caught the Red Guard by surprise on 13 March, and drove them back in panic flight to Heinola, leaving three machine guns behind. Zedwitz and the commander at Sysma, Tunzelman, decided for once to follow up, and attempted to rush Heinola on 15 March, trying to repeat Hjalmarson's encircling movement. But the Reds had brought in reinforcement from Lahti and a Russian officer took charge of the defense, discouraging those of the garrison who wanted to leave by setting up a machine gun on the only bridge out of the town. The White attack was beaten off, and they conceded defeat and retired. The parallel advance ordered from Savitaipale started late: On 14 March the Staff at Kouvola noticed that nothing had yet happened, and got the usual story that no advance was possible without reinforcements. It was 22 March before the Red Guard at Savitaipale were induced to venture an advance, and after a brief clash with the enemy gave up and retired to their starting point. From 20 March the Central Front launched further sporadic offensive movements, but none were pressed home, and by late March Lofstrbm was feeling strong enough to hit back. He planned a fresh attack down the railway towards Kouvola, with a repeat of the plan that had failed so badly on 4 March. When his forces moved off, on 5 April, the Red Guard was expecting the attack, and another disastrous failure ensued, after which operations in Savo died away. All this activity did nothing to impede Mannerheim nor help Salmela, nor indeed did it have any positive effect on the outcome of the war. Savo was the front that was never professionalized; the two forces of militia troops slogged away, but the slight technical superiority of the White leadership could not overcome the advantage in numbers and equipment of the Reds. Neither side was capable of sustained offensive activity and stalemate resulted —the war was decided elsewhere.11 Mannerheim's original conception of how he would win the war was to use his field army for an attack in Karelia, which would cut the Reds off from Russia by capturing Viipuri, after which a Red collapse could be expected. Allowing six weeks to train the field army after the return of the Ja'gers, this would mean a decisive battle in mid-April. Mannerheim's staff had been thinking of alternatives, and on 24 February, while Mannerheim was in Vaasa to receive the Ja'gers, Peyron filled in his time in a Vaasa cafe sketching a plan for an offensive aimed at Tampere. It was based on the proposition that Tampere was the base for the biggest enemy force outside Karelia, and its capture "Would make such an impression on the enemy leaders, and mood of the Reds in south Finland," that the war might be ended quite quickly. But the operation would have to aim at the encirclement and destruction of the enemy army; if they only forced an evacuation of Tampere it could be counterproductive; "the enemy retreating south from Tampere would become a considerable reinforcement for the troops in Helsinki." Mannerheim was attracted by the idea, and his order on 26 February to Linder to prepare to advance a force to Lempaala, and cut the railway linking Tampere with the south, showed he intended to adopt it. On 2 March the intended principal commanders, Wetzer and Wilkman, were told verbally of the plan, which would be an encirclement, with Wetzer holding the 451

enemy at Vilppula while Wilkman led a force from Jamsa to cut their retreat down the railway at Orivesi. The necessary movement orders were issued to assemble the attacking force by 7-8 March, which suggested 9 March as a possible starting date.12 The written orders for the operation, to Linder, Wetzer, Wilkman, and Lofstrbm, were issued on 5 March. The intention was "to seek a decision with the enemy north of Tampere." It would be in two stages, first the encirclement and destruction of Karjalainen's troops after cutting their line of retreat at Orivesi, and second, "when the Orivesi operation has been carried out successfully," the encirclement and capture of Tampere itself. Mannerheim never aspired to capture Tampere in one swift movement, but if Karjalainen were eliminated, and the railway to the south could be cut at Lempaala, preventing reinforcements getting up from Helsinki, the capture of Tampere should not be difficult. Going from right to left, Linder's troops in Satakunta would keep up general pressure, and from Parkano and Ikaalinen stop the enemy west of Lake Nasijarvi from intervening at Tampere. This part of Linder's task was a holding operation. His positive contribution would be to sever the railway communications from Tampere by advancing to cut the Tampere-Pori railway in the KarkkuKulovesi area, and then push forward a flying column to Lempaala. This meant that Linder had to move further and faster than any other commander, though he was furthest from a railway and had the worst logistical problems. Mannerheim must have supposed that Pori Red Guard, whose performance up to then had been unusually feeble, would be incapable of serious resistance. Wetzer was to be given an extra battalion to assemble at Virrat, and while his main force held the enemy at Vilppula, the Virrat force would work round the enemy flank and drive the enemy in on Orivesi, where Wilkman would be waiting for them. Heinrichs has commented that "Wilkman in Orivesi would constitute the anvil against which Wetzer would then strike." Wilkman got the best troops, the White Guard battalion at Jamsa, two battalions of paid regulars, and the cavalry. He would use the force at Kuhmoinen to protect his southern flank, dispatch a raiding party to demolish the railway south of Orivesi, and then attack west, from Jamsa, through Langelmaki to Orivesi, where he would block the railway. Lofstrom, in Savo, would put on pressure to stop the enemy there from withdrawing forces to intervene. No date was specified, but the operation would begin "within the next few days."13 Mannerheim was taking risks, not because of what the enemy might do—though he did insist on and achieve complete secrecy, since Salmela showed no awareness of the impending blow—but because of his own troops. An essential feature of the operation was that it would be conducted by the White Guard troops and the paid regulars: The new Ja'ger troops were not to be used; they would continue training for use in the campaign in Karelia, which would still be the decisive climax to the war. The White Guard troops were quite untried in offensive operations, but would be required to undertake long and complex maneuvers and maintain a difficult pattern of coordination with other units. The paid regulars had been trained nearer to the level expected of normal troops, but still had no uniform, were incompletely supplied with weapons, had very little communication equipment, and had at best three weeks training. Still, in this kind of warfare they were a kind of elite force, 452

which was why Mannerheim assigned two battalions to Wilkman, and kept two more in his strategic reserve that would be augmented by calling up a further seven battalions of White guard troops from the rear areas. Mannerheim knew the danger; he wrote, "The offensive capacity of the troops could, with good reason be subjected to doubt, but there was no other help but to shut our eyes to the deficiencies and dare."14 Mannerheim's whole history shows that he was never a dashing, daredevil commander, and since he knew the quality of his troops was deficient, he might well have chosen to wait a little longer and improve the training and equipment. He clearly felt compelling reasons existed for taking the risk, and these were both military and political. From a military point of view, the enemy force at Vilppula was a threat to Haapamaki, and as long as the threat existed it would be hazardous to go ahead with an operation in Karelia. If he won, he would not only eliminate the threat but also win a spectacular success in destroying one of the most powerful enemy concentrations and capturing a major industrial city and powerful Red base. The psychological effect would be enormous. From a political point of view, it was important for Mannerheim, as the White commander-in-chief, to be seen to have done something immediate toward the liberation of the south. As he himself put it, "The terror and hunger in the south incited to swift action and besides I knew that the opponent was carrying out desperate offensive preparations. . . . Spring was coming, and the thaw would soon be preventing the movement of troops. Once the ice had broken, the open waters would help the enemy defence." Then a new urgency was injected into his planning by the knowledge that a German expedition was coming. This news could have been a reason for waiting; it meant the war was won in any case, and since the Germans were coming against Mannerheim's better judgment, he could leave them to take the brunt of the fighting and spare his own men. In fact, it had the opposite effect, as Mannerheim explained: 15 Before the landing of the relief force, we had to get a decisive victory with our own forces, in other words fulfil by military means a task which was a political necessity. Only the knowledge that we ourselves could clean up our premises could give the people once more self-confidence, after the humiliations which the country had had to endure because of the events of recent times. I decided that the attack was to be put into execution by the middle of March already. Mannerheim's whole action in Finland in 1918 was always political: For him Finnish independence was never an end in itself; Bolshevism was the real enemy. Since the Germans were in some sense patrons of the Bolsheviks, and had deliberately refrained from destroying them when it was in their power to do so, a Finland liberated and then controlled by Germany could not play the anti-Bolshevik role Mannerheim envisaged. Further, he was sincerely persuaded how important it was, from the point of view of national psychology, that "the nation itself won liberation for itself. . . . A decision must be reached before the foreign troops arrived. Finland's army must bring it about." The soundness of Mannerheim's belief can be 453

argued indefinitely, but it was his settled opinion, motivating his action, and meant he could allow no delay, as his commanders discovered. Of the three commanders involved, Wilkman, a simple, bluff cavalry officer was content to play his allotted part, but Wetzer and Linder were not. Linder was an independent-minded Swede, and he wrote to Mannerheim on 7 March to tell him that the orders were impossible:16 When troops lack training in the hardships of life in the field, it is impossible for them to endure the efforts and the deprivations calmly. If long marches on foot are demanded and we can only offer rest in the open, and if the food supply fails, then everything will certainly break up. . . . We can always undertake some small attacks, lasting a few hours or a day, if there is sledge transport and good billets both before and after the battle, because the opponent is of poor quality. . . . Before we can begin anything of this kind, without a very great danger that the result will be a catastrophe, we need some weeks' training, organising and equipping. Mannerheim had sufficient respect for Linder to be unwilling to ignore his protest, so he called a conference at Kauhajoki on 8 March, which was attended by Linder, Wetzer, and four of Mannerheim's staff, Ignatius, Douglas, Peyron, and Torngren. It lasted two days and revealed much about Mannerheim's style of leadership, for basically he disliked the very idea of a conference, and said of this one afterwards, "it was utterly ghastly." He would not tolerate collective decision-making, and never allowed it in his own staff; he did not engage in debates on policy himself, and expected each member of his staff to deal privately with himself. Heinrichs wrote, after much experience, that "he had a habit of saying, if anyone made observations against this style of work, 'the synthesis belongs to me.' " Mannerheim wa an instinctive monopolist of power, and knew that divide and rule was the key to success, yet he also knew that it was better to manipulate than to compel, and this is what he did at Kauhajoki.17 The meetings on 8-9 March looked like a planning conference, but they were not, for Mannerheim took no part in the discussion, and never gave any indication that his decisions were in any way affected. He saw Linder alone and heard him state his case, but made no comment. Linder wrote, "He was, as is known, a master of speech, but he could also be a master of staying silent." He told Linder to put his ideas to the conference, and then attended as a silent spectator while a long and heated wrangle developed. But Wetzer was inclined to support delay, so he too was given a private audience and was won over by Mannerheim. The conference broke up with nobody knowing what had been decided; Linder thought his case for delay had been accepted, but Mannerheim always denied this; "although many weighty reasons were put forward for a postponement, I held to my decision." Since it is not known what date Mannerheim had in mind for the operation, his claim cannot be falsified. But where Linder had talked of needing weeks to get ready, the operation in fact began within six days of the ending of the conference, and Mannerheim is probably right that the date depended solely on the time needed to complete the 454

troop movements. The decision on a date was certainly his own; his subordinates had been maneuvered into making an open display of their disagreements and their impotence in his presence, while he manipulated them in private discussions, so that both Linder and Wetzer left believing that their views would be taken into account. The final orders were issued on 12 March for the offensive to begin on 15 March, though it was postponed a further 24 hours on 13 March after Mannerheim had visited the front and found preparations incomplete. Even then, as Linder wrote, "When the attack began, a considerable part of the artillery of the attacking army, as well as several infantry units, were many miles away from their intended starting points, from which it necessarily followed that the attack could not begin with sufficient force." Throughout the planning stage, the current Red offensive made no difference; rather it was welcomed as playing into their hands. Headquarters noted that "the planned encirclement has good prospects of success if the enemy attacks Vilppula. The operation there should go wholly according to plan: ifWetzer's group asks for reserves, there is no need to give them." By pressing forward on Vilppula, the enemy was simply wedging himself more firmly in the proposed trap.18 In one respect Mannerheim's planning failed him: He believed that the role of a commander-in-chief was to give general directives and leave subordinate commanders to decide how to carry them out. In professional armies, where common training has welded them into a team, the members can be relied on to interpret an order in the most appropriate way. Mannerheim wrote that he realized he lacked "trained troops and subordinates who had received a common training who would all have been able to enter into the spirit of my plan." He ought to have seen the need to be more specific in drafting his orders; though it was essential to his plan thatHjalmarson's force from Virrat should lead Wetzer's men in closing the trap at Orivesi, because they were comparatively fresh troops while the bulk of Wetzer's men had been fighting for weeks in defense of Vilppula, the orders for Hjalmarson were left vague. He would be under Mannerheim's direct command until Kuru was captured, after which he was to look to Wetzer for orders. But although Wetzer had been told that the operation was to be "an encircling attack towards Orivesi," his instructions to Hjalmarson were that he was to proceed from Kuru to Murole, and from there exert pressure southwards towards Tampere, when he should have been leading a dash eastward to Orivesi. The dynamic role assigned to Hjalmarson had vanished, and he became a passive flank guard for Wetzer's advance. Wetzer and Hjalmarson had clearly failed to "enter into the spirit" of Mannerheim's plan.19 In the final order of battle for the offensive, Linder had 1,000 men on the coast under Major Bergh and another 1,000 at Lavia under Major Schonberg, and these units had a purely holding function in the operation. Linder's striking force was 1,700 men under Lieutenant Colonel Appelgren at Ikaalinen, with the task of cutting the Pori-Tampere railway, and then pushing on to Lempaala. He was faced by 4,000 Red Guards, so the numbers on Linder's front were about equal. Hjalmarson had 2,100 men at Virrat and faced Stolbov at Kuru with 2,700 men. Wetzer's main force at Vilppula consisted of 2,875 men and was currently under attack by the 5,000 to 6,000 Red Guard under Karjalainen. Wilkman had 2,950 men at Jamsa, and in the 455

direction of his proposed advance, faced 1,300 Red Guard at Lankipohja, while his southern flank was covered by 800 men in Kuhmoinen, who faced 2,000 Red Guard based on Padasjoki, Luopioinen, Palkane, and Kuhmalahti. Mannerheim had two battalions of paid regulars at Haapamaki, and was in process of assembling a further seven battalions of White Guard troops for his reserve. The figures show that Mannerheim was in general inferior to the enemy in numbers, and was counting for success on local superiority gained by his bold concentration at Jamsa, and on the qualitative superiority of his forces in leadership and organization. The offensive got off to a shaky start on 15 March, when Appelgren advanced and ran into an enemy force also seeking to advance and was roughly handled and thrown onto the defensive. Hjalmarson did little better, although his opposition was sporadic; the men were shaky under fire and his guns became stuck in the deep snow. He managed to close up to the defenses of Kuru, but did not press an attack. The one clear success of the day was the raiding party that blew up the railway near Orivesi, though the Reds quickly repaired the line. Salmela, who had just managed to restart his offensive on the left, which was why Red forces had been advancing on Ikaalinen, seemed quite unaware of any danger. The next day was no better in Satakunta; the White forces sortied from Lavia to attack Suodenniemi and were severely repulsed, while Linder himself took charge at I kaalinen, and led a determined attack on the Red Guard at Kyroskoski. He battered away at this position until 20 March and then had to give up because his men were exhausted: His gloomy predictions about the offensive potential of his men had been fulfilled. Hjalmarson fought all day at Kuru, and at nightfall both sides drew back, but in fact the Reds were beaten. Stolbov reported that his Finnish troops were trying to flee to Tampere, and could only be stopped at Murole, "partly by earnest requests, partly by force." One Red Guard company reported that they had tried to leave, but at Murole, "we were told that machine-guns will open up on our ranks if we left," so they stayed for the moment. Relations between the Russians and the Finns in Stolbov's command had broken down under stress of defeat; each accused the other of having lost Kuru. Stolbov retired to Murole and set up a new defense there, but he could only rely on his Russians; the Red Guard all wanted to reach the supposed security of Tampere. 20 The battle was decided on 16 March when early in the morning Wilkman's troops approached the Red positions at Lankipohja. They came on in three columns, which threatened an encirclement, and Wilkman held back one battalion of regulars as a reserve. The Red Guard positions were well sited and tenaciously defended, so that the first assault was repulsed. M. Laurila, leading the Lapua White Guard, went to Wilkman to say that his men had had enough and wanted a rest day before trying again. Wilkman persuaded Laurila to lead his men back into the assault, but they were repulsed again, and both Laurila and his son were killed. Wilkman then led up his reserve battalion and their attack finally forced the enemy to retire, so that by early afternoon the Lankipohja position had been abandoned. It had been one of the hardest encounters of the war; the Whites suffered 125 casualties, and they took their revenge by shooting their prisoners. All accounts agree that the Red Guard had fought well against heavy odds, while the White attackers showed great persis456

tence in coming on repeatedly through deep snow in the face of discouraging losses. In the aftermath the Red Guard exposed its greatest weakness in mobile warfare, for once forced out of their prepared defenses, their morale collapsed; they fled in panic and could not be rallied. A telephone report to Tampere said that "all the troops have now fled to Orivesi . . . the butchers are said to have lots of men and they are certainly in pursuit. Today has surely been the devil of a hard day . . . the men cannot be held." The surest measure of the demoralization of the Reds was the widespread belief that they had been betrayed. There were many stories, some still retailed by survivors decades later, about commanders who had sold out, false guides who led units into traps, false orders given over the telephone, rations that had been poisoned by White agents. None of these stories can be verified, but their existence was evidence of an army that lacked confidence in itself and its commanders.21 Salmela could do nothing to control the battle: His attention was focussed on Kuru during 16 March. When he tried to redeploy some of the troops at Vilppula he was told, "Hell, you cannot take any men from here." A few men that he found in Tampere were sent to reinforce Stolbov, but they fell in with fugitives coming back from Kuru and returned to Tampere with them. Since Salmela could not maneuver his troops or reinforce them he had to sit in Tampere and watch the disaster develop, while his Russian advisers hastily devised plans for defending the city. Mannerheim had little more success in influencing the battle, for when he heard that Wilkman had broken through he tried to spur Wetzer and Hjalmarson forward to close the trap. Wetzer was obstructive and signaled that his men were worn out and he did not know what Hjalmarson was doing. Mannerheim sent a fresh battalion out of his reserve and ordered Wetzer to attack at Vilppula on 17 March, to take control of Hjalmarson's operations and integrate them into an advance on Orivesi. In spite of this, Mannerheim's plan began to break down on 17 March. Wilkman made steady progress against light opposition and by the evening he was poised to take Orivesi station; but Wetzer's men at Vilppula made little headway when they went over to the attack, and Hjalmarson, who had taken Kuru without a fight on the morning of 17 March, promised his men two days' rest. When Mannerheim got through to him and asked why he had not moved at once on Murole, Hjalmarson replied that his troops were in no condition to do this, and in any case he had no orders from Wetzer. When fresh orders did arrive for Hjalmarson early on 18 March, they stressed that "the success of the whole operation depends on a swift advance in the direction of Orivesi," but this did not shift Hjalmarson, whose troops took their rest and only advanced on Murole on 19 March, to find that Stolbov had abandoned it.22 Against professional opponents, the failure of Wetzer and Hjalmarson to drive forward energetically would have left Wilkman dangerously isolated and exposed to counterattack. But through 17 March, the Red commanders were struggling to prevent the total collapse of their army, for now Karjalainen's men too wanted to get back to Tampere. Karjalainen reported, "The Forssa men have arrived at Lyly with no blood or wounds, what shall I do with the devils?" Salmela was ready for stern measures: "Line them up and command them into position, and if they do not obey, shoot every one of the devils." Rahja traveled up to Lyly with an armored train and 457

360 fresh men, and he too advised stern measures: "Set up barbed wire at the main danger points, and machine-guns in suitable positions, then the devils will not get through." At Orivesi itself, the local commander, Vartiainen, said his men were holding protest meetings and refused to go back and face the enemy. By evening Karjalainen realized the danger he was in, and anticipating orders from Salmela, which only came the following day, began to pull his men back from Vilppula. That night the situation was most delicately poised, for there was still time for Wilkman to seize Orivesi station and block the retreat, but here the professionalism of the White command became an obstacle. Mannerheim's orders for 18 March stressed that "a concentric collaboration of all the groups is necessary for the carrying out of the operation," and Wilkman took this to mean he should not move further forward until firm contact was achieved with Wetzer, so he ordered his men to stop short of Orivesi and take up defensive positions. The extent of his error was shown, because the order failed to reach all the troops, and some continued their advance and easily took Orivesi station on the morning of 18 March. No doubt if Wilkman had sent all his troops forward, the railway could have been closed. Instead the honors of the day went to Rahja, who came out of Tampere with an armored train, and in conjunction with Karjalainen's armored train operating from the north drove the Whites out of Orivesi station after some hours of hard fighting, and reopened the line. Wilkman's men then watched helplessly while trains took Karjalainen's men south into safety. Mannerheim's Headquarters did not realize how close success had been; on the contrary, the evening situation report spoke of Wilkman's position as "rather critical . . . the enemy could easily use the situation and defeat Wilkman bit by bit." So Wilkman was ordered to pull even further back, to bring him into close contact with Wetzer. The White command did not appreciate that the enemy army had disintegrated; all the reports from the Red side speak of the retreat as a disorderly rout, with a minority of unbroken troops trying in vain to check the flood of refugees. At Murole, where the Reds had a good position that was not under attack, the Russian commander had to evacuate, because he could not stop his Finnish Red Guards leaving for Tampere. 23 What followed was an anticlimax: On 19 March Wetzer and Hjalmarson began to move into the empty space before them, and Mannerheim, who thought the enemy were still at Orivesi, ordered a final attack for 20 March, but the battle never took place—the enemy had gone. This ended the first round of Mannerheim's offensive, and the object of destroying the enemy army was not achieved; he wrote, "Out of the great catch we only got 700 prisoners and 10 guns." But it was still a great victory for the Whites; the enemy had been driven from their positions in total disorder and all threat to Haapamaki had been eliminated. The demoralization of the Red Guard was such that it is probable Mannerheim could have rushed Tampere on 19-20 March, for the mob of Red Guard fugitives in the city was incapable of any coherent defense; but as so often in war, this great opportunity was illusory, because Mannerheim's own troops were weary and disorganized, and he had no fresh troops near enough to make a rush for the city. 24 The disintegration in the Red ranks reached up into the commanding Staff; during 458

18 March Hyrskymurto fell into severe disfavor, and there was talk of arresting him, while A. Vasten went back to Helsinki; but against this background Salmelaemerged in his full stature as the man who pulled things together. Orders were issued that the election of commanders would cease, that in future Salmela would appoint them, and he set about organizing the refugees into a fighting force and deploying them in defense of the city. He was under no illusions about his task; as he reported to the General Staff on 19 March, "The men are in the grip of a general panic. They come in by companies. . . . I at least see things as so hellishly wretched that I cannot describe them." But he tried just the same, concentrating on building up the position at Kyroskoski, where the situation was steady, in order to keep Linder's men away from the railway to Pori, and trying to set up a defense along the railway from Orivesi. It was heartbreaking work. Salmela was ringing around the barracks for men: 25 Have you got men there to put into line, because there are a devil of a lot of ours coming here along the railway. We need to get even a few guards on the track—the butchers will soon ride straight into the city by train. But the response was poor; though the city was crammed with men, he was told "give your orders to the cellars and basements. . . . they have all sneaked into hiding there. You will certainly find more armed men there than from the billets under my control." On 20 March, Salmela closed the factories, and ordered universal service in the city and gradually order was restored. The local press warned the workers that the butchers would slaughter them all if the city fell, and the Deputation rushed out notables from Helsinki to help restore morale. First Kuusinen, Taimi, and Sirola appeared, then Manner and Letonmaki, to confer with Salmela and speak to the workers, though they did not linger too long. No miracles occurred, but Salmela no longer hesitated to use force on malingerers and his energy and drive produced enough reconstructed Red Guard companies to organize a proper defense, even if many of them were unreliable and disgruntled and the city remained full of deserters. It was enough to give Mannerheim an unpleasant surprise when he did move in to attack.26 Mannerheim wasted no time regretting lost chances, but moved vigorously to repair the situation. The objective was still the enemy army, and the first priority to stop it from escaping to the south. Linder's job was now reduced to cutting the railway to Pori by breaking through at Kyroskoski, so Hjalmarson was ordered to take the bulk of his men west, over the ice of Lake Nasijarvi, and help Linder to get moving again. Hjalmarson, who believed he was well placed at Teisko to rush Tampere from the north, ventured to query his orders, but was told firmly on 22 March to move west. Wetzer was to advance down the railway from Orivesi to the Nurmi-Frantsila line and prepare for an attack on the city. Wilkman once more became the striking force, for now it was his troops who were to advance to Lempaala and cut the railway to Helsinki there.On 21 March Wetzer's troops came up to Suinula, where they were held by the two Red armored trains, until they suffered a collision, and both retired to Tampere for repair. Then the Whites moved forward as far as 459

Vehmainen, while the remnant of Hjalmarson's command at Teisko, under Major Malmberg, made a bold advance from the north and linked up with Wetzer's troops. Wilkman pressed forward and while his main force broke the Red defense on the Kangasala-Vaaksy isthmus, his left flank forces cleared Kuhmalahti and approached the Luopioinen-Padasjoki line. This time Mannerheim was taking no chances with his subordinates: He moved his command up to Vilppula on 22 March and kept a close personal grip on operations. His orders made the priority clear: "It is of the greatest importance to prevent the enemy forces in Tampere from joining up with the enemy operating in south Finland." On 22 March, Wilkman was given two fresh battalions, detached from Wetzer, and told to advance on Lempaala the following day. The left flank, under Mannerheim's direct command, was detached and given the task of covering the enemy along the line Palkane-Asikkala, so that Wilkman could concentrate on the isolation of Tampere from the south. But Mannerheim underrated the difficulty of taking Lempaala and ordered the bulk of Wilkman's force to close in on Tampere from Kangasala. Only two battalions under Aminoff moved on Lempaala, while the other four prepared to join the assault on the city. During 23 March, Aminoff ran into heavy resistance and was stopped short of the railway, and Mannerheim moved quickly to correct his midjudgment. He travelled to Kangasala on 23 March to confer with Wilkman, and ordered that now the main force be directed against Lempaala and only after the line was firmly blocked should Wilkman turn on Tampere. 27 The Red command was slow to appreciate the extent of the new threat: Salmela had been feeding his reserves into Kyroskoski, while the Red Guard had fought well at Kangasala-Vaaksy on 21-22 March, and retired in good order on Tampere. Only on 22 March did Salmela send an armored train and 200 men to join the scattered Helsinki troops who were defending Lempaala, and these had sufficed to hold off Aminoff's attack on 23 March. But the following day, when Wilkman's main force came up, he quickly cut the railway north of Lempaala, and prepared a demolition to stop any sortie from Tampere, and then assaulted and captured Lempaala station and set up a defensive position facing south. The resistance of the Red Guard had been fierce at first, but in the familiar way, their morale cracked under pressure, and they retired in disorder, leaving three guns. Then Salmela woke to the peril and on 25 March sent an expedition from Tampere to reopen the line. He had tried to get it to go overnight, but the commander reported "the men will not go overnight, if there is such an emergency at Lempaala that there is not time to go during the day, then let the Staff go there." This typical act of indiscipline gave Wilkman a few hours to organize; he left two battalions facing south, and led the other four northward up the railway, where they clashed with Salmela's expedition. It was a hard fight, but at the end of the day the Red Guard were pushed back to Hatanpaa, about 2 km outside the city, though this success only occurred after the Red armored train ran out of shells and had to retire.28 The victory at Lempaala was Mannerheim's; his personal insistence had first pointed Wilkman towards it, and then ensured that it get the necessary priority. At the same time his redirection of Hjalmarson brought him victory on the other side 460

of the city. Hjalmarson took six companies over the ice and ran into the enemy at Viljakkala, which he captured after a hard fight on 23 March. Linder had hoped that with Hjalmarson's assistance he might trap the enemy in Kyroskoski, but the poor communications meant that he fought his own separate action on 23 March, and he won a spectacular success. It was a sudden reversal of fortune, for up to then the Red Guard had done well. The disaster was so sudden and complete that a persistent myth developed that a Red commander had been bribed to betray the position. But no such dramatic explanation is needed; the Red Guard at Kyroskoski were nervous after days of continuous fighting, and hearing all kinds of disturbing rumors about events elsewhere. One Red survivor told how on 23 March his company, which had been out all night, firing nervously in the darkness, wa called back into line from their billet and strung out in deep snow. They could not manhandle the machine gun through the snowdrifts, so they left it on a road in an exposed position. When Linder's men attacked, the machine gun was quickly overrun and turned on the defenders:29 That was too much for us: the line scattered and broke into flight. I admit that I was no braver than my comrades and it would have been in vain. Who knows what would have happened to us, if the machine-gun ammunition had not temporarily run out. We staggered through the scrub in a scattered flock, driven on by the noisy shots behind us. He found a place on a sledge as the defenders fled from Kyroskoski, and when the Staff at Hameenkyro tried to halt the refugees and get them to take up fresh positions, the men left the sledges and made their way on foot over the ice of a nearby lake until they came to the railway at Siuro. Yet when the company reassembled, they found 72 men had survived; only 18 been lost in action. This individual story probably reflects what went wrong at Kyroskoski. The men were tired and nervous, they could sense the enemy was getting stronger, they were poorly led and made tactical blunders, and their morale snapped under stress; they lacked the discipline and confidence in their leaders to rally and renew the fight after an initial setback. Kyroskoski was a major victory; 3,000 Red Guard were put to flight and abandoned 11 machine guns. Linder's men linked up with Hjalmarson and they advanced slowly towards the railway. Salmela tried to get the refugees to defend the Pori railway, but failed. The men insisted on coming back into Tampere. On 25 March Linder's men took Siuro, and the last link between Tampere and the outside world was cut, while Hjalmarson's men closed up to the western outskirts of the city30 The second phase of Mannerheim's offensive had gone better than the first; this time the objectives had been achieved, Tampere was isolated, and the enemy would not escape again. Mannerheim had reason to think that the city was ripe for capture; reports of the chaos within had come to Headquarters, and so "I had hoped that the concentrated advance of the columns would quickly penetrate the city, and force it to surrender without heavy bloodshed." The orders were issued on 24 March, and they were confident: "My intention is tomorrow, 25 March, to conquer Tampere." He was sure enough to issue other orders to prepare for the move of thejager 461

troops to Karelia for the next phase of the war, beginning on 27 March. Then on 25 March Mannerheim and his staff moved up to watch the attack, Douglas wrote, "Everyone expected that now we should march straight into the city." Mannerheim had miscalculated on two counts: The defense had not collapsed, Salmela's remedial measures had worked and the defenders bitterly contested their ground, with good artillery support, and the armored trains had a marked effect whenever they intervened. Second, the White forces were not in a position to deliver a concerted attack, for Linder and Hjalmarson were still moving up, and Wilkman was held outside the city. In effect only Wetzer's men attacked on 25 March, and though by evening they had cleared the suburb of Messukyla, there was no sign of the defense breaking. The attack was kept up next day, but still without success. Wilkman should have linked up with Wetzer, but came under heavy shellfire and sustained serious losses. When Wetzer tried to help, he found his troops increasingly unwilling to press their attacks, and when Hjalmarson tried to rush the western defenses, he sustained a severe repulse and retired to his starting point. The White command had to face the fact that the existing troops, mostly White Guard militia, could not cope with sustained offensive operations against a well-posted enemy, who enjoyed good artillery support. Peyron wrote in his diary, "We expected that the city would give up on the 26th, but it did not happen." 31 On the evening of 26 March Mannerheim faced one of his most testing crises of the war; as he wrote, "On the evening of 26 March the situation looked critical." He could see the city would not fall unless he brought in fresh troops, but the only accessible units were the Swedish Brigade, only 500 strong, and the conscripts of I and 11 J a'ger Regiments, training in Pohjanmaa. There were strong objections to using them. Their training was incomplete and they were reserved for the attack in Karelia. In effect, Mannerheim had to choose whether to persist in his attack on Tampere at the cost of delaying his decisive battle in Karelia. There was the additional complication that Sihvo in Karelia was under severe pressure again and was sending in alarmist reports. On 21 March, Mannerheim had told Sihvo that he was sure the brave Karelians would hang on a bit longer, but if they could not, they might retreat over the Vuoksi. This was Mannerheim at his best as a commander, unmoved by sentiment, prepared to sacrifice Sihvo and the Karelians if he must, rather than be deflected from his chosen strategy. On 24 March he had felt confident enough to promise Sihvo that massive reinforcements would soon be arriving, but on 26 March Ignatius had to tell Sihvo that he must wait a bit longer, depending on when Tampere fell. Sihvo told Ignatius, "I will do my best, let others answer for the consequences." So Mannerheim had to reckon whether he could risk a possible major setback in Karelia, and finally he had to appraise the signs that the enemy command was rousing itself to strike back.32 The General Staff had not intervened in the battle for Tampere, once it had issued the original orders for the Red offensive, though on 20 March they did make a major effort to get the Eastern Front to put on renewed pressure. On 18 March, when the extent of the defeat became clear, Haapalainen had presented a report on "the leadership of the revolution," which recommended separating the War Depart462

ment from the direction of operations and had led to the setting up of the new three-man supreme command, though it was intended to ask Jeremeev to join them as a fourth. Little record exists of how Taimi, E. Rahja, and Eloranta worked, but it looks as though Rahja in effect became supreme commander. This explains why he left Tampere for Helsinki; he did not desert Salmela, as so often alleged, but on the contrary threw all his considerable energies into organizing a relief operation. Despite a statement by the Red Guard commanders in Helsinki on 21 March that there were no spare troops in the city, Rahja managed to raise 21 companies within a few days. He built up a force at Lempaala that by the end of March numbered 2,000 men, with 15 machine guns and seven field guns, and it was still growing. On 25 March, the General Staff met with the Deputation chairman, Manner, to debate strategy. Manner wanted to evacuate Tampere and begin a general retreat eastward, for there was a good case that the Red Guard was overextended, and that they should build a firm base in Karelia, securely linked to Russia. But Rahja was vigorously opposed to the idea, with its acceptance of defeat, arguing that Tampere could be relieved from the south and the enemy defeated, and the majority supported him. On 26 March the Deputation approved, and authorized Manner to make a public statement. This admitted that a serious defeat had been suffered at Vilppula, and that the Red Guard were now defending Tampere, and fighting at Lempaala. But it continued to stress that setbacks do occur in war, and must not be allowed to impair morale. It went on :33 Toothless abuse and unproven accusations must cease. . . . On the Northern Front commanders trusted by the men have been elected to replace the untrustworthy. . . . One reverse must not depress our troops. Therefore go forward. That is the objective of the workers' struggle. Advancing means a better future. Retreating slavery and death. So the choice before the White commander on 26 March was either to call in fresh troops to attack Tampere and leave Sihvo to cope, while postponing the operation in Karelia, or to leave Tampere blockaded by the existing troops, confident that it could not hold out long, and seek a decision in the east. Mannerheim's staff was divided, but he did not hesitate for long; "the only acceptable alternative, in my opinion, was to reach a swift decision at Tampere. All available forces must be concentrated there." He tried to pretend that the reason was military, arguing that as long as Tampere stood, a theoretical danger to Haapamaki was present, but it is hard to believe he took this seriously. His motives were still political: "We had to get a decisive victory before the German relief force stepped on to the soil of Finland." 3 4 Mannerheim already had ordered the moving of the Swedish Brigade and the II Ja'ger Regiment to the Tampere area, and canceled orders to prepare for the move of the Ja'ger troops to Karelia. The reinforcements arrived late on 27 March, and he had tried to keep up the existing attack through the day, hoping that he might not need to use them, but it made little headway. That situation finally closed his options and he determined to throw the new units into the battle. It was a sign of the strain he was under that when, on 28 March, he found his staff officers were still working on plans to shift troops to Karelia, a major row erupted at Headquarters. Mannerheim 463

took it as an expression of doubt whether Tampere would be captured, and says "I was forced to repeat that to leave the operation unfinished could not come into question." Heinrichs thought the incident showed Mannerheim's inexperience of staff work at this level, that it was wholly proper for the staff to be working on contingency plans. Peyron too defended the staff officers: "The immediate target was of course the capture of the city, but there was another, bigger target: to gather forces as quickly as possible against Viipuri, and break the enemy communications with Russia." The staff was entitled to prepare against a possible failure of the assaul since the capture of Tampere was not so important; "the threat of the enemy to the railway junction at Haapamaki had been eliminated." To Peyron it seemed that Mannerheim had his priorities wrong, but when Mannerheim annotated his copy of Peyron's memoirs, he wrote, "I never had such doubts." Mannerheim was not only putting political above military considerations; he sensed a challenge to his authority. He did not want his staff even to consider alternative courses of action, except on his specific instructions, because in this way his personal power to make decisions might be circumscribed. A further reason belied his assertion that he had had no doubts. He had made a fuss because he really did doubt whether the attack would succeed, and knew that "an essential condition of success is confidence in the will of the leadership, and its ability to carry the operation to its conclusion," and he therefore reacted strongly against any action that might imply that "he had hesitated, doubted or pondered."35 He had reasonable grounds for confidence about the planned assault on 28 March, for reports from within the city indicated that the enemy was wavering. On 26 March Salmela had indeed proposed to his staff that they should surrender the city and avoid further useless bloodshed. A debate and a vote ensued, and it was resolve to fight to the end; "even if the city is shelled to the ground, we shall still not give up." Salmela then proved his quality as a man and a leader, by agreeing to carry on even though his opinion had been rejected, out of loyalty to his comrades. He was in fact desperately tired and discouraged, but confined his expression of this to a private letter sent out to Rahja:36 You must try to get the way to Tampere open with fresh forces, otherwise, as I said, our ammunition will be finished and then we are lost. . . . I am wearied since I alone have had to run this outfit, there is not anyone who could give me the least advice. My nerves begin to be almost finished. . . . I have not closed my eyes in sleep during the whole time of the encirclement. All have slipped off. . . . I do not know why and for what reason I was forced to take on this responsible task alone. Salmela exaggerated somewhat; he was not wholly alone—Aaltonen was still there, and the Pori commander Salminen and the Russian advisers, nor was the ammunition position as serious as he suggested. But it is easy to believe that he was physically and spiritually exhausted. On 27 March a courier got through from Rahja and said that the relief force was assembling at Lempaala and would soon bring help, if the defenders could hang on a little longer. Salmela sent him back with his last

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message, calmer than the letter of the previous day, "Speedy help is needed, salvation hangs on just a few hours. Try and bring help soon, we are holding the road to Lempa'ala open." Evidence suggests that morale in the city was still fairly good on 28 March: a Helsinki company, which was thinking in terms of escape, noted the Tampere Red Guards seemed confident that "they would defend the city, which would certainly endure encirclement, until Rahja . . . had time to collect more troops." But the best proof of high morale was the savage resistance that met Mannerheim's attack on 28 March. 37 The attack was delivered by Wetzer and Wilkman; Linder's men were supposed to join in but contributed little during the day. The Swedish Brigade and the II Ja'ger Regiment, commanded by Major G. von Bonsdorff, took the brunt of the attack and although by evening the defenders had been pressed right back to the eastern edge of the city, their resistance was unbroken and the attackers had suffered crippling losses. The Swedish Brigade lost its commander and a large proportion of its men, and the I I Ja'ger Regiment lost half its effectives, with losses especially high among the officers and NCOs, one battalion losing nine of 11 officers and 22 of 32 NCOs. The action showed that some of the conscripts were unreliable; about a fifth of the loss was due to desertion, and a least one attack was driven forward from behind by the officers. Mannerheim had come along for the second time to see Tampere taken, but at nightfall he returned to V i l p p u l a and concluded that in face of such losses, "the attacking troops were too weary to go on and break into the city at once, and for that reason they had to be given a rest." If he had known what had happened in the city he might have been tempted to persevere, for Salmela was dead. The basic facts of Salmela's death are not in dispute; he was in his office at the Technical High School and was being visited by Salminen. Somehow a pile of boxes of hand grenades was exploded and Salmela was killed, Salminen severely wounded. There agreement ends; some eyewitnesses were convinced it was an accident; others, including Salminen, say that Salminen came in and found a drunken debauch going on next to Salmela's room, and deliberately exploded the grenades in disgust. But Salminen told this story while he was a prisoner under sentence of death and it seems unconvincing. For Salminen is known to have held Salmela in high esteem, in contrast with the rest of the Staff, and it would be u n l i k e l y that he would include Salmela in any act of retribution. The truth will never be known, and it does not matter: The image of Salmela working alone, while his helpers caroused in the next room, rings true, and explains why his death was the death of the defense of the city. Aaltonen and Lehtimaki took over the leadership and managed to stay sober for the time remaining, but they could not inspire, and their leadership was self-satisfied and passive. The period from 29 March to 2 April, when there was little pressure from the enemy, could have been used to organize a more effective defense, but it was wasted. Their reports to the General Staff were complacent; on 1 April they described the situation as good, and the following day claimed the garrison was confidently awaiting the arrival of the relief force. With Salmela's death, the intelligent driving force behind the defense disappeared, and the Red Guard in Tampere waited in sullen passivity for relief, or the next enemy attack.38 465

Mannerheim was disappointed by the failure on 28 March, but in no doubt that he would make another effort to take the city before the Germans came. For this he required more men and needed to rest and refit the existing forces. So I Ja'ger Regiment was called up to Kangasala; the White Guard troops were reorganized, with decimated units being amalgamated and the rather serious desertion problem tackled by organized drives through the rear areas. The new attack also was to be better prepared. Mannerheim ordered that "the attack on Tampere is to be carried out so that each step forward by the infantry will be prepared by the artillery." A fresh shipload of artillery ammunition had just come from Germany and systematic bombardment of the city began on 30 March. Wetzer was put in command of the attack and was allowed to choose his time. The attacking front was divided into three sectors and telegraphic links established between the different staffs. Leaflets were dropped on the city calling for surrender, declaring in defiance of the facts that "we do not kill our prisoners as the Reds do." At the same time the threat from relieving forces was countered: Linder took action to drive the Pori Red Guard further from Tampere and by 4 April had pushed them back as far as Karkku, eliminating the danger of a relief expedition from the Pori direction. 39 The real danger point was Lempaala; Rahja had set up headquarters at Toijala and bombarded Helsinki with demands for men and equipment. Orders to the Uusimaa and Helsinki Local Staffs were strict; "act so that you mobilise all mobile forces and send them at once to the Northern Front at Toijala." A force of 2,000 men was built up, but with all Rahja's energy going into organizing reinforcements, the actual fighting was left to look after itself. A participant recalled, "The higher command had utterly inadequate contact with the fighting force-if indeed one can speak of contact at all in this instance." Companies simply were fed into the battle as they arrived and "each company commander led his men without direction from above." It was left to the men on the spot to improvise a command, and they held a meeting of company commanders and elected a Helsinki building worker, K.Jaakkola, as front commander. Despite lack of military experience, he divided the 17 km front into three sectors, appointed a commander for the artillery, and got the first concerted attack going, relying heavily on his 17 to 4 superiority in guns. Mannerheim had appointed Wilkman to take over this southern front, and assigned him the I Ja'ger Regiment, for Wilkman reported at once that the existing force could nothold, as indeed it could not, for it was falling back in face of the new Red attack. Then on 1 and 2 April, the Ja'ger troops came up and delivered a counterattack that broke the enemy offensive and secured the Lempaala position. Although Rahja built up his force to 3,700 men, and they slogged away at the White positions until after Tampere fell, they made no significant progress after 1 April—the threat of a relief of Tampere had been eliminated. 40 Wetzer was now ready; he divided his force into three columns, commanded by Major L. Malmberg on his right, the German Colonel E. Ausfeld in the center, and the Swedish Colonel E. Grafstrom on the left. The attack would be from the east, and the major problem was that Tampere was divided by a rapid running north and south, and the attackers must cross it before the defenders could retire behind it 466

and blow the bridges. Ausfeld suggested a night attack, particularly as artillery ammunition was not too plentiful, in the hope of rushing the bridges in the first wave. Mannerheim approved the plans on 2 April and the start was set for 3:00 A.M. on 3 April, after only 30 minutes' artillery preparation. Malmberg's column quickly broke in but then got bogged down in prolonged street fighting. Ausfeld's men sustained a direct hit by artillery and scattered and went for cover, and at daylight he pulled them back to regroup. Grafstrom's column was slow; at daylight they were caught in open country and halted. Thus although Ausfeld's renewed attack had captured the railway station by the afternoon, the conception of a quick dash to seize the bridges had not been realized. At dusk all the main White forces were east of the rapid and locked into slow frontal advances. Mannerheim, who had come forward for the third time to watch the fall of the city, found he had to wait once more. There had been one brilliant feat of arms on the White side: Ausfeld's leading company, under Captain G. Melin, had literally rushed into the city center, crossed the rapid over a narrow dam that could only be crossed in single file, raced up the western side of the rapid, and seized the museum building at Nasilinna, where he held out all day against enemy attacks. This created a maximum of confusion and dismay among the defenders, and by blocking the railway bridge over the rapid, kept the only serviceable Red armored train from crossing to operate on the east side. But Wetzer did not know of Melin's exploit, and after fighting all day without food and water, he slipped away under cover of darkness to rejoin the main force: His company lost 34 dead and 50 wounded. 41 At nightfall it looked as though an old pattern had been repeated and the attack had failed, but it was not so; the defense had cracked under the strain. Some Red Guards fought with desperate courage, but the weakness of central direction led to a steady deterioration in the effectiveness of the resistance. A Helsinki company, called out to fight Melin, first refused, and told the courier, "What can we do with 20 men. Go and find a bigger group, we are not going out to get ourselves killed." But they were shamed by their commander into turning out, only to see him fall almost as soon as they emerged onto the street. He was carried back into the billet and "the attack stopped there . . . we did not think it necessary to elect a new commander, the men were seized by the feeling let everyone save himself if he can. . . . Nobody came again to order us to the front." This account agrees with many other stories that showed the Red Guard losing the will to fight, and the central command virtually ceasing to attempt to control the battle. Toijala had heard on 4 April that "they can hold out at most two days, because the ammunition supplies in the city are finished, likewise the food. The Tampere troops are behaving badly, hiding in the cellars, from which the women go and fetch them." The phenomenon of the women taunting or shaming the men to go out and fight is well attested, as is the dire effect on morale as artillery ammunition ran out 42 So the resemblance to earlier assaults was deceptive and on 4 April Wetzer directed Malmberg to continue mopping up the eastern part of the city and Ausfeld to try once more to break in to the western part; Ausfeld decided to attempt to rush the railway bridge over which Melin's survivors had escaped. Early on 4 April, Ausfeld 467

was successful and reoccupied Nasilinna, and was then held for some hours by the armored train. During the afternoon, attacks by Linder's men on the west of the city caused the train to retire in that direction, and Linder's guns finally put it out of action. Ausfeld's men meantime began to penetrate along the west bank of the rapid, while Grafstrom's men too had advanced, and incredibly found the dam used by Melin still unguarded, and they too crossed, so that by nightfall most of the center of the city was in White hands. During the day, the signs of the Red defeat multiplied: refugees flooded west to Pispala and Pyynikki and one of the best-remembered incidents of the day was the free distribution of food stocks from railway wagons at Pispala. A Red Guard who was there during the afternoon recalled: 43 armed men came continuously from Tampere, to put it bluntly, in flight, and neither by speeches or force could they be got to return. . . . We were at a loss what to do, when everything was so confused. At last we decided to go home and have a look. He went past the railway sidings where "from food wagons they were giving out to people as much food as each one could take." An aircraft came over and dropped a message from Rahja, "Try to hold on a bit longer, for help is near," but a meeting of commanders during the afternoon decided to attempt a mass breakout during the night. After dark, a column set out over the ice of Pyhajarvi towards the south, but the Red Guard insisted on bringing their families with them; the Whites had been expecting the move, and the unwieldy column of fighting men and civilians fell victims to the White machine-gunners and was driven back in terror and confusion. Only the small advance guard got clear in the dark. 44 With that the battle was nearly over: On 5 April the center was mopped up; the Town Hall, garrisoned by women Red Guards and Russians, held out until late afternoon, but then there remained only a mob of refugees at Pispala. At 8:30 in the evening a delegation emerged under a white flag to ask for terms of surrender. Ausfeld replied and offered to cease fire at midnight, and said that at 6:00 A.M. the Reds must come out and surrender their arms. There was no pretense of treating them as prisoners of war: "Agitators, commanders and armed Russians will be shot, the fate of the rest will be decided by the Courts." During the night Aaltonen led a party of fugitives northwards over the ice of Lake Nasijarvi, and this group, estimated between 300 and 700, escaped. In view of the surrender terms, their decision was wholly reasonable; the previous night had shown that mass escape was impractical because the men would not leave their families. Ausfeld received no formal answer, and after waiting until 9:00 a.m. on 6 April, the Whites resumed their advance, but almost at once a white flag was hoisted over Pyynikki and the battle was over.45 Mannerheim had got his victory, though not quite before the Germans landed, which they had done on 3 April; still, the Germans had not achieved anything militarily, so the psychological and propaganda point had been made. Mannerheim had captured a major city, destroyed the enemy Northern Front army, killed over 2,000 468

of the enemy and wounded thousands more, and taken 11,000 prisoners, 30 guns, and 70 machine guns. It was much the biggest battle of the whole campaign, and cost the Whites over 600 dead. In strategic terms, the offensive capacity of the enemy had been removed, its morale shattered so that it never recovered, and the White army was free either to advance south or pursue its plans in Karelia. Mannerheim's campaign had not been a feat of military genius, not even a particularly brilliant action. But it had been basically well conceived, and his ability to push his plan through in face of several setbacks demonstrated his qualities as a commander who had the will to carry through what he intended, and who did not allow himself to be deflected or unbalanced by the difficulties he encountered. Mannerheim was well pleased and wrote afterwards: 46 Squeezed between the lakes, the liberating army had, step by step, forced the road to the plains of the south. The road to the liberty of Finland was open. The Finnish people had got back its confidence in its own forces. The grateful government sent its congratulations and awarded him medals: Wetzer, Wilkman, and Linder were promoted to Major-general. For the defeated Reds, it was very different. On 5 April, Mannerheim had renewed the order, first issued on 28 March, that captured Reds were to be regarded as prisoners of war: The troops were to "prevent excessive violence in the heat of battle . . . in no circumstances may prisoners be shot out of hand, but they must be legally investigated and condemned." Mannerheim knew what was happening, but was powerless to stop it; even Ausfeld's surrender terms were a breach of Mannerheim's order. During the fighting the Whites did not bother to take prisoners. An officer in the Swedish Brigade recalled, "Wherever we noticed faces, or something moving in the buildings, we immediately tossed hand-grenades through the windows and shutters . . . it paid to be careful because hidden snipers . . . were swarming. The treatment of all such snipers was brief." I n addition, individual Reds, denounced by the bourgeois inhabitants, were taken and summarily shot. But after 5 April there were masses of prisoners, held initially in warehouses at the railway station, and a series of executions took place, often watched by interested spectators on the station footbridge. One Swedish observer wrote, "It would be too painful to tell in detail about the executions, or rather slaughter, which happened here." Another Swede wrote, "The sight was unimaginably repulsive. There was already a heap of bleeding bodies lying on the ground." First, all the identifiable Russians were shot out of hand, in a simple act of genocide, together with those unlucky enough to be identified as agitators or commanders. No formalities were observed, and even after the transfer of the prisoners to the Russian barracks on 7 April, the killings continued until the first wave of vengeance was spent, and the authorities regained control of the situation. In the course of 9 days, nearly all the Russians were killed, but since nobody bothered to keep records of them, the number is u n k n o w n ; there were at least 200. The probable number of Finnish victims was 150. When it is considered that in Tampere city there had been no Red Terror, and even under the stress of siege all 469

the White prisoners in the city remained unharmed, these killings seem particularly distasteful. Whatever Mannerheim had intended, the reputation of his army was sullied by them, and as he was commander-in-chief, so was his own.47 While the battle for Tampere raged, the campaign in Karelia continued its almost independent course, and was to end, almost simultaneously with the fall of Tampere, with a significant White victory at Rautu. Sihvo now had sufficient infantry, even though on his front the intense positional warfare at Ahvola, the abundance of Red artillery, and his own aggressive spoiling tactics produced a high attrition rate. About 8,000 men served in the line under Sihvo, of whom 700 were killed and 1,600 wounded, a high casualty rate by any standards. His biggest weakness was in artillery; he had only 10 guns in mid-March, and these were so short of ammunition they were rationed to five shots per day. In spite of this, the men in the line found conditions much improved. A soldier who had gone off wounded from Ahvola in February was delighted to find on his return to duty on 26 March that he now got 12 hours off-duty for every 6 hours spent in the line, that the feeding arrangements were good and regular, that there was a sauna and regular changes of underclothes; "now existence seemed easy . . . life had turned more homely and comfortable." On the Red side, there was natural dissatisfaction with the failure of the offensive. A meeting of commanders on the Joutseno front on 12 March resolved that "Viipuri District Staff, through its neglect, has spilled the precious blood of comrades without cause, and allowed many favourable opportunities to slip out of its hands." On 15 March, the General Staff made one of its infrequent interventions in Karelia when they sent a directive to the Eastern Front Staff, which complained of poor performance so far, and demanded that "the confusion and disorder on the Eastern Front shall cease, and effective action begin. 11 depends on the men and commanders now at the front whether they really want to carry through the revolution, or is it just a game?" Viipuri was called on to overhaul its organizations and present plans for a new attack "in which the conquest of the Karelian isthmus by a flank movement—or through Antrea—is taken into account." These criticisms seem unbalanced and unfair; the Viipuri Red Guard and their Russian allies had a much more impressive fighting record than the Northern or Central Fronts. But Viipuri accepted the reproach, and a joint meeting of the Eastern Front Staff with the Viipuri District Staff on 16 March resolved they would get themselves properly organized. Success, however, was limited, for on 2 April they circularized all units with a reminder to send in regular returns of manpower and equipment "because the information is essential to us, if we want the result of our activity to be more advantageous to the carrying through of the revolution." After two months of campaigning, Viipuri had still not succeeded in imposing this elementary duty on the troops. They did manage to raise their strengths by the end of March to 2,100 men at Joutseno, 5,500 at Ahvola, 1,700 at Valkjarvi, and 2,200 at Rautu, with 40 machine guns and 50 field guns, but were weakened by their inability to build up reserves or operate an effective system of reliefs.48 In response to the demand of the General Staff the Eastern Front did launch a new offensive on 20 March. The Joutseno front made a major attempt to advance on 470

Imatra but it ended disastrously. The advance guard on skis lost touch with the main force, as least one company withdrew in the middle of the action to hold a meeting and elect a new commander, and when a machine gun broke down, there was a panic; in the end they returned to their starting point. Fortunately their enemies were no better; on 25 March the Whites counterattacked with the aim of capturing Joutseno but their troops too cracked under the strain of offensive action; three companies were badly mauled and after a day of fighting the Whites returned to base. They made three more vain attempts, in the last of which, on 14 April, they lost their regimental commander, Major Stahlberg. The Red Guard did not even attempt any further attacks. The front commanders resolved, on 27 March, that the troops must be rested and, on 18 April, that they would need 3,000 fresh men before advancing again. Militarily the Joutseno front was like the Savo front, a waste of effort by both sides, though happily since the forces were not in continuous contact, the casualties were low.49 At Ahvola the situation was very different: It was claimed that even on a quiet day the Whites could expend up to 70,000 rounds of small-arms ammunition and could expect to lose 12 men. When the Red offensive was resumed on 20 March with very heavy artillery support, conditions began to resemble the western front in France; gains were measured in a few hundred meters and fighting was close and continuous. The crucial position was the hill of Hauhianmaki, which the Reds took on 23 March, forcing the enemy to pull back his positions some 300 meters toward the village of Ahvola. The desperation of the struggle can be measured by the failure of the Whites to carry off their dead; generally they would make any sacrifice to avoid leaving corpses in enemy hands. On 26 March the Reds won some more ground, using ski troops and considerable numbers of Russians, which occasioned Sihvo's appeals for help to Mannerheim at his critical moment of decision over Tampere. In fact, the Reds had made their last serious effort, for after the attack of 26 March at Ahvola, they did not make another offensive move for the rest of the war.50 The Red command had come to the end of its resources: The General Staff had sent them one battalion of Helsinki Red Guard on 12 March and another on 27 March but that was all the help they got from the west. On 27 March, a new leave scheme was announced, which in itself was an obstacle to any renewed attack and on 28 March the Eastern Front Staff and Viipuri District Staff held a joint meeting to resolve that the offensive must be broken off. "The troops are in such a state that they absolutely need rest. Otherwise they will either become exhausted in their positions . . . or they will mutiny . . . more forces must be got by whatever means." Therefore they drafted an ultimatum to the Deputation; either they must have 6,000 fresh troops at once or permission to introduce conscription. Until this was done, the attack was suspended. The Eastern Front had made an honest effort to assist the general war; in sustained effort and will to fight they had far surpassed anything achieved by the Red Guard on other fronts, and had been at the point of breakthrough at Ahvola on 26 March when their resources ran out. A better organized command could have drawn men from the useless Joutseno front, or from Kaljunen's men, who had remained passive throughout, or a more efficient General Staff could 471

have directed the Central Front to release its considerable reserves for Karelia, but these were not realistic possibilities. And on the other hand, it seems unlikely that any effort in Karelia could have saved Tampere, for Mannerheim was determined not to be diverted by events there.51 Mannerheim had counted on Sihvo being able to hang on, but in the event he was able to do more than this. On 15 March, the White commander at Rautu, Laheniemi, was wounded and replaced by Major G. Elfvengren, who then commanded 650 men, four machine guns, and one field gun. The Reds had some 2,000 men, half of them Russian, with 40 machine guns and 15 field guns. General Jeremeev himself came up to Rautu to look at the position, and resolved to renew the attack on 26 March. The Whites learned of this plan, and Elfvengren obtained Sihvo's permission to try to forestall the attack. The plan was standard for the type of warfare; they would try to cut the railway in the enemy rear and then destroy the encircled troops. On 25 March, ski troops struck at the railway on the Russian side of the border, while a main force attacked Raasuli station. After initial successes, they were driven off the railway by an armored train on 26 March. Elfvengren's attempts to surround Rautu itself did not succeed, and he had suffered the crippling loss of 116 men. He had certainly frustrated the intended enemy offensive, but since the railway remained open, the enemy could reinforce quickly. On 27 March Elfvengren traveled to Antrea to persuade Sihvo that it was worth making another effort with fresh forces. Sihvo had just got some more artillery from Mannerheim, but more important, he succeeded in persuading Mannerheim to release a battalion of Jager troops, which arrived on 31 March. This action broke both of Mannerheim's policies, not to reinforce Sihvo and not to allow the premature use of Jager troops but Sihvo convinced him that a major success was possible; "it now seemed opportune to inflict on the enemy a decisive defeat." It would do more than that, for success would strengthen the flank of the proposed operations in Karelia and discourage any further "Russian desire to intervene in the game."52 Elfvengren did not wait for the Ja'gers under Captain K. Oesch, but renewed his assault on Rautu and directed Oesch to close the encirclement, which he succeeded in doing on 1 April. There was a pause while Oesch and Elfvengren quarreled, largely because of the arrogant attitude of the Jager officers towards the White Guard militiamen, but a general assault was mounted on 4 April, which ended in a costly repulse. However, the Reds, who had been quite content to sit inside their defenses and wait for relief from Petrograd, were now running out of ammunition and on 5 April they tried to break out. The Whites fell on the retreating column and it broke and scattered, abandoning all the heavy equipment. A Red Guard report said only 130 men got back to Petrograd, though there must have been more since the dead and prisoners only accounted for about 1,000 men. Even so it was a crushing victory; the Whites pushed forward to Raasuli and secured the frontier, while the Russian authorities in Petrograd accepted that direct intervention was unwise and unprofitable. The Whites had sustained 650 casualties and the Ja'gers lost half their men, but the gains seemed to justify the expenditure, for in Karelia too, the initiative had passed firmly into the hands of the Whites.53 472

Chapter 16

The Civil War III The German expedition to Finland landed somewhat later than anticipated. Ludendorff had thought originally that the expedition could embark on 10 March, but on that day Admiral Meurer came back to Danzig from Aland and reported that ice conditions ruled out a landing on the west coast. The expedition would have to land at Hanko and even then, because of the ice and the need for mine clearance, the earliest date of departure would be 27 March. Mannerheim does not seem to have known this when he sent a telegram to Thesleff on 20 March that told him that "it is his imperative duty to speed up the German relief expedition's arrival. . . . Speed upSampo and Arcturus. Delay fatal."Thesleff noted atonce how this message conflicted with Mannerheim's claim that he had neither wanted nor needed German assistance. He wrote in his diary,"! got a distress call from Mannerheim today which begs me with all my strength to hurry the affair. So, my friend, what would have happened if you had had your way and we had refused the assistance?" In his memoirs, Mannerheim wrote that he had been thinking of the sufferings of the population in the south; it was for them that the delay would be fatal and the message "was not affected by the situation at the front." This is plausible; Mannerheim knew by 20 March that the capture of Tampere was going to take longer than he had anticipated and he undoubtedly believed that the Whites in Red Finland were under threat. It is equally plausible that disappointment over Orivesi caused a temporary loss of confidence in Mannerheim, but if so, he recovered quickly, for he made no more calls for help. 1 I n fact, a flow of reports came to the German leadership from Vaasa and Stockholm to the effect that Bolshevik assistance to the Reds was still pouring in and that Mannerheim would not be able to cope. Most of these originated with the government in Vaasa or with Activist circles there and in Stockholm, with Svinhufvud playing a leading part. They were intended to put pressure on the Germans to intensify their intervention and they succeeded. Ludendorff compelled the Foreign Office to protest to Russia on 23 March about the continuing help for the Finnish Reds, which was a breach of the peace treaty. A rather flippant Russian reply on 27 March 473

misjudged the German mood. The answer was menacing: "Unless the Russian government can fulfil its treaty obligations, the German government will be compelled, regrettably, to take steps itself to secure the situation envisaged by the treaty." The stories about Russian assistance were exaggerations, but aid had continued to flow. As late as 31 March, Jeremeev promised to send 2,000 men to help rescue Tampere though they never came. This lack of action was partly because Lenin took alarm at the tone of the German protests, and on 1 April ordered the authorities in Petrograd to stop sending men to Finland, in part because the Russians were showing a growing unwillingness to volunteer. Speakers in Petrograd who urged soldiers to go and help their Finnish brothers found themselves being shouted down.2 Germany's diplomatic offensive on Finland's behalf expressed a frustration at the delays that affected the Kaiser himself. He let it be known on 24 March that "his Majesty personally desires the earliest commencement of the expedition." Goltz too fretted at the delay, which was upsetting his troops, but there was no arguing with ice and mines: the date had to be set back to 28 March and then 30 March. This did give time to reconsider the plans. Once Hanko was accepted as the landing place the Germans had intended to march on Riihimaki and cut the HelsinkiViipuri railway. The Reds would have to respond to this and a decisive encounter could be forced. This would also avoid a street battle in Helsinki and allow the Finns to liberate their own capital. On 24 March Ludendorff had second thoughts, deciding it would be better to march straight on Helsinki so that the fleet could support the advance, while a flanking force cut the railway somewhere between Helsinki and Riihimaki. The troops in Aland were now to advance over the ice and take Turku and then join the main force. Then a completely new element was added to the plan; Colonel O. von Brandenstein would take a brigade from Reval and land at Kotka, moving quickly on Kouvola so as to sever communications between Viipuri and western Finland. On 29 March Mannerheim was told to expect the German landings on 5 April, with the indication that a supporting attack towards Lahti would be helpful. But Goltz was not seriously looking for help from Mannerheim; he fully intended to handle the operation by himself and predicted he would be in Helsinki by 15 April.3 It had been agreed between Mannerheim and Hindenburg that Goltz would come under Mannerheim's command, but he evaded this with the hearty approval of Thesleff. Once Goltz had communicated his intentions to Mannerheim, he exercised an independent command. Mannerheim was realist enough to accept a situation he could not alter and sent no orders to Goltz during the first three weeks of the campaign. The other point agreed with Hindenburg was honored by the Germans. They had prepared a manifesto that said "we come as friends to help you, so that order, justice and liberty will again rule in your country. We are moved by the voice of humanity. We do not come as conquerors. . . ."An official statement by the Finnish government also instructed all officials, and the population generally, to cooperate with the Germans and give them every assistance. This too emphasized that the Germans did not wish to interfere in Finland's internal conflicts; they had 474

come "to fight together with us against the plague from the east and to destroy the Red terror."4 The coming of the Germans transformed the military situation, but it is still fiercely argued whether it was decisive in the sense that Mannerheim could not have achieved total victory without the help of German troops. Those who argue that he could not are an incongruous alliance of communists and pro-German conservatives. A Finnish Communist party history writes, "The intervention of regular German military forces really decided the result of the civil war in favour of the Whites." K. Donner, the Activist historian, wrote that "it would have been difficult, if not impossible, finally to conquer the enemy with our own forces." But Mannerheim always asserted that "the work of liberation could have been carried out by our own forces" and his leading biographers agree, though Jagerskiold conceded that "a definitive answer to this question cannot be given." By the beginning of April, the fighting at Tampere and in Karelia had been a fair trial of strength and in both cases resulted in decisive victory for the Whites. Nothing that happened after that suggests that subsequent encounters would end differently or that the Red Guard had the capacity to correct its military deficiencies. This evidence indicates that Mannerheim would have won in the end. The one imponderable is the time factor. Spring thaws would have held up operations for some weeks, and once the ice was off the rivers and lakes, they became formidable defensive obstacles. It was questionable whether the White army could be kept in the field for a summer campaign, since the farmers and laborers in its ranks needed to get home for the spring sowing or the nation would starve. So the possibility existed that if the Reds could organize the defense of their remaining territory, they could hold off the Whites long enough to compel them to make a negotiated settlement. This possibility was eliminated by the arrival of the Germans, which was in that sense decisive.5 However, the behavior of the Reds after the Tampere disaster makes it hard to believe that they could have recovered to the point at which the Whites would have been forced to compromise. Defeat had undermined morale and destroyed mutual confidence between the leaders and the rank and file. Hultin wrote how "all enthusiasm has disappeared and the ranks hold together only through fear and force."She recorded a conversation with the socialist H. Parssinen on 30 March, in which the latter "complained about the situation in tears, that the leadership has no influence and anarchy is spreading." Writing in socialist newspapers about the need to maintain morale and the damage done by wild rumors and careless talk betrayed the prevailing unease. Tyomies discussed possible German intervention on 20 March and conceded that if it happened then "destruction is at the door." Other articles wrote to the same effect, and a speech by Sirola on 30 March described the future of the Finnish proletariat as uncertain. The worker did not know "what his fate is to be. But his duty is clear. He must remain in position and fulfil his tasks."6 It was natural that Red morale would decline, but what was ominous was the inability of the leadership to counter it. The best measure of this failure was their resort to deliberate misrepresentations, intended to delude their followers. Even 475

before Tampere the socialist press often wrote nonsense about the war, but it was standard wartime silliness rather than deliberate fabrication. Claims were made that the low casualties of the Red Guard were due to the habit of White conscripts shooting wide, that the enemy was often drunk, that bad conscience spoiled their aim, or that the persistent use of dum-dum bullets ruined the barrels of their rifles. But by the end of March, deliberate deception was creeping in. Tiedonantaja told the public on 28 March that "looking at the military situation with the eye of a layman, it does not give cause for anxiety or unrest." On 2 April it said that "on the Northern Front the situation becomes more favourable to us day by day." Only on 5 April was it revealed that Tampere was surrounded, and it was 19 April before it was admitted that the city had fallen with the loss of several thousand men. The last issue of Tyomies on 12 April stated that Tampere was still in Red hands. 7 The phenomenon appeared most clearly in the handling of the news of German intervention, which was difficult, for the press had already admitted that such intervention would be fatal and claimed that the German workers would never allow it. On 5 April, it was stated that German ships had landed some White Guards at Hanko, and on 7 April the Supreme Council issued a statement, saying that "the stories that Germans have landed are beyond measure and deliberately exaggerated. The re is this much foundation for them, that the Whites, under cover of the name of Germans, have plundered and murdered unarmed, peaceful workers in those areas," and went on to reassert that the German workers would never allow it. Tyomies declared outright that "the story of a German landing at Hanko is completely without foundation." On 22 April Tiedonantaja wrote:8 If a few German volunteers have come into the ranks of the White Guard, what does it matter? . . . German armed forces are not opposing us. If Germany had officially challenged the Finnish workers, the high command would have given the information to the Red Guard. It would have been its duty, so it has not happened. No German peril, in the ordinary sense of the word, exists. All wartime governments tell their people lies, and it is always a sign of lack of confidence, but mendacity on this scale suggests that confidence had vanished. The military situation of Red Finland after Tampere was certainly serious, but not obviously hopeless. Their remaining armed forces consisted of 15,000 men on the Eastern Front, 6,000 on the Central Front, another 6,000 on the Northern Front, and 2,000 in Pori. These were the combatant troops, and at least 30,000 Red Guard were in the rear areas, though perhaps half of these were unfit for active service. But to use these resources to some effect needed energetic and purposeful leadership, and this the Deputation would not provide: They rejected Wesley's suggestion of a military dictatorship, but could not suggest any workable alternative; they rejected compulsory labor service as late as 27 March, only to adopt it on 2 April in face of the ultimatum from Viipuri. Rahja was allowed to strip the Helsinki area of all available troops for Toijala, with no attempt to mobilize replacements, or take account of the threat from the Germans. The Deputation played with the idea 476

of seeking a negotiated settlement of the war, but could not bring themselves to attempt it. Instead, they tacitly allowed others to make approaches for them. In mid-March a group of socialist members of parliament, organized by Valpas, contacted bourgeois politicians in Helsinki about a possible settlement, and they encouraged Valpas to draft proposals, which were passed to them on 28 March. The plan was for an armistice, during which parliament could meet and draft a constitution, or failing agreement, alternative drafts could be put to a referendum. There would be a general amnesty, mutual disarmament, and finally a general election. The scheme was attractive only on the basis that neither side could win outright, and by 28 March, with German intervention assured, the Whites knew they would win. Both Svinhufvud and Mannerheim rejected the very idea of negotiating with the Reds, and by 28 March the politicians in Helsinki had lost interest. Hultin discussed the Valpas proposal with Arokallio, but both agreed that "in the present state of affairs it would be a great folly to enter into any kind of negotiation." So Valpas got no answer.9 The Deputation had done nothing serious to avert the German intervention by negotiation, but it also did nothing to face it militarily. The expectation was that if o the Germans did come, they would come through Aland, and as early as 14 March, Turku Red Guard had garrisoned some of the outlying islands, and dared not send their reserves to Tampere for fear of a German attack. On 24 March the General Staff sent one of its Estonians, R. Kiiman, to look at the defenses of Hanko, but because the local Russians had refused to hand over the powerful coastal batteries there to the Red Guard, it was concluded that Hanko itself could not be defended, and in the event of attack, the Red Guard should assemble inland at Karjaa, a railway junction connected to Turku, Helsinki, and Hyvinkaa. Until the Germans took Karjaa, they were effectively bottled up in the Hanko peninsula. The basic decision was sensible, but nothing was done to follow it up by putting Karjaa into a state of defense: Turku Red Guard were preoccupied with the danger from Aland, Helsinki Red Guard were all being directed to Toijala, and since the Deputation would not reconstruct the Red Guard command, or sanction conscription to raise extra forces, nothing was done. The inability of the Red leaders to organize any defense against a German invasion that they knew to be imminent, suggests strongly that even before a single German had landed, the Red leaders were defeated and they knew it. Rahja's bid to relieve Tampere was the last positive attempt by the Red leadership to win the war, which is why its defeat by Mannerheim, and the fall of the city, can be taken as decisive.10 On 30 March, the Baltic Division embarked at Danzig: It had 368 officers, 9,077 men, 165 machine guns, and 18 field guns. They took along 350 White Guard refugees who had reached German territory and been armed and trained by the Germans. The convoy was escorted by a fleet under Admiral Meurer that included four battleships. Brandenstein was waiting at Reval with 2,500 men, and he too had 350 White Guard refugees to take along, while on Aland the German 14 Ja'ger Battalion had armed 250 local White Guard, and this force had pushed over the ice as far as Houtskar on 23 March and on to Korpo on 28 March. The Aland force was under orders to 477

move off towards Turku on 3 April, while the main expedition dropped anchor of Hanko at 4:30 A.M. on 3 April. The Red Guard began to evacuate the town at once, and the German landing party met little resistance; by nightfall it had driven the Red Guard out of Tammisaari, after a brief clash. The troops then landed and by 5 April the whole Division was ashore. The Aland force had a rougher passage: When they moved forward, they found it difficult to haul equipment over the ice, and on 4 April their advance was repulsed by units of Turku Red Guard and they halted.11 These events galvanized the Red leadership into a flurry of activity: The Deputation met and appointed an Executive Committee, consisting of Manner, Kuusinen, Letonma'ki, Haapalainen, Sirola, and Elo. The Executive met and decided to evacuate western Finland at once. Kiviranta was sent to Toijala, which would be the rallying point for the western forces. In Helsinki, a local dictatorship would be set up, with unlimited powers, and preparations were made to transfer the government to Viipuri. They considered sending a delegation to talk to the Germans, but postponed a decision on this. The power of harsh reality to concentrate the mind had never been better demonstrated. Measures of this kind had been contemplated before, but always deferred. Now they were acted on, but in circumstances that largely ruled out the possibility of their succeeding. The evacuation order was sent to Pori by Eloranta and met a flat refusal. Taimi recalled that the commander at Pori "was wholly enraged at the order, said it was treachery, we have excellent positions, in some places we are attacking successfully, and then you order withdrawal." It was a week, on 10 April, before Pori held a meeting of commanders, and agreed to implement the evacuation order. The same happened at Turku: Lundberg defied the order, and prepared to defend the city, though he did make some contribution by sending troops to Karjaa to fight the Germans. The hopelessness of the Red position was exposed; when the leadership did screw itself up to issue coherent and sensible orders, it could not secure compliance. In Helsinki the proposed dictatorship was setup, though it was, inevitably, a collective. The Helsinki Local Staff was reinforced by delegates from Uusimaa District Staff, from the Helsinki Workers'Council, and by F. Johansson, the commander of Helsinki Red Guard, and Nykvist, the police chief. The new agency had "unlimited powers of command in both military and civil affairs . . . the Staff is also the final court of appeal in all matters." An Executive Committee of five, headed by Johansson and Nykvist, were "fully empowered to give orders and take decisions." Orders went out to divert all troops destined for Toijala to Karjaa; all other mobile units must proceed there at once and all ablebodied men be taken off guard duties and replaced by invalids or women. General labor service for the war effort was to be enforced, and to aid mobilization all factories were to close.12 On 4 April the Deputation met, and after conferring with the General Staff and the leaders of Helsinki Red Guard, obtained their consent to move the government to Viipuri, and a statement was issued to this effect. They also decided to send Kuusinen and Sirola to ask the Bolshevik government what it thought of the idea of enlisting British help against the Germans, "which is not to be rejected out of hand in current circumstances." The leaders were nervous about leaving the capital; the 478

Executive discussed the details and were unclear how complete the transfer should be, or what kind of government structure to set up in Viipuri. They were acutely aware that some elements in the Red Guard opposed any move out of Helsinki, and might try to prevent it by force, so on 5 April a new official statement declared that the announced departure of the government had been a mistake, and the Deputation was still in Helsinki. This was not a change of policy, but a smokescreen to throw the opposition off the scent while the leaders got away. A perfectly sound case could be made for evacuating the government from a city likely to become the scene of military operations; the obloquy that attaches to the conduct of the Deputation arose from their inability to be honest with their followers about what they were doing.13 The unedifying conduct of the Deputation ran parallel with that of their Bolshevik allies, for whom self-preservation was the only thought. The capture of Hanko had meant that the Germans took over some Russian ships and installations, and the same fate threatened the incomparably more important concentration in Helsinki. The Bolshevik authorities took immediate steps to try and save their property. Smilga sent a letter to the German commanders, to ask "on what conditions breaches of the peace treaty can be avoided . . . having regard that there are warships in Turku and Helsinki." Cicerin sent a message to the Foreign Office on 5 April pointing out the danger of clashes, and assuring the Germans that the Russians were under orders to avoid incidents. The local Russians in Helsinki needed no orders; on 4 April a deputation of four officers and two sailor-commissars arrived at Karjaa and crossed the German lines. The officers did all the talking and made every effort to dissociate themselves from the Finnish Reds. They had to explain to the Germans why their ships had not been disarmed, as the treaty required, and said they had not dared do this for fear the Red Guard might seize the ships and installations, but would do so at once if the Germans would guarantee them protection. Agreement was reached on 5 April; the ships would be disarmed and left under skeleton crews, all shore establishments would be evacuated, and all ammunition and torpedoes loaded into transports together with the breeches of the guns. The Germans would guarantee the safety of the ships until ice conditions allowed them to leave. The agreement was carried back to Helsinki, and ratified by meetings of the sailors. The Russians then turned to the Finnish authorities with the demand that the Red Guard evacuate those parts of Sveaborg that had been taken over, so that they in turn could hand them over to the Germans. This proved too much for the Reds; Hausen, the Red Guard commander on Sveaborg, referred the matter to the General Staff, which ruled "they should not be given up." The ostentatious eagerness of the Russian comrades to dissociate themselves from the fate of the Finnish Reds provoked this last spark of defiance and resentment. The Finns had added cause to be bitter, since the persistent refusal of the Russians to transfer Sveaborg was a major factor that made Helsinki impossible to defend. The actual refusal was of slight practical significance, since the Red Guard held only a few outlying batteries, and was not able to work them. The Russians put little trust in German promises, for they tried to get their ships out before the Germans came; the big ships and some submarines managed 479

to leave for Kronstadt on 4 April, and only one old battleship, 38 smaller warships, and some transports were left in Helsinki to claim German protection.14 Goltz was ready to move on 5 April: He sent a reconnaissance party to Karjaa, O and decided to bring 14 Ja'ger Battalion by sea from Aland to Hanko, and sent Thesleff off with the White Guard troops to Kemio to cover this transfer by engaging Turku Red Guard. Thesleff was in some trouble until the battalion finally landed at Tammisaari on 10 April, by which time the main body of the Baltic Division was far to the east. The Red command managed to assemble about 1,000 men at Karjaa, backed by an armored train, and this small force, which reflected the pitiable inadequacy of the reserves, put up a good fight all through 6 April until compelled to retire. Goltz then turned his men towards Helsinki, sending a small screening force up the railway towards Hyvinkaa. No further serious contact with the enemy was made until 10 April, when the Germans reached the outer defenses of Helsinki at Alberga. By 1918, Helsinki was a modern fortress city, covered on the seaside by Sveaborg, and now, since 1914, by a series of modern defenses on the land side, with concrete pill-boxes, trenches, and wire, and Alberga was part of this. It has been pointed out that "if the fortress had been occupied by some reasonably good troops, it would inevitably have made any attack by the inconsiderable German assault force doomed to failure in advance." The Red dictatorship in Helsinki had had a week to try and prepare the defenses, but had squandered this time in pathetic indecision. Some effort was made to arouse the workers by the socialist press, playing on chauvinism—"We shall not sell out the country to foreign powers"—and on the moral superiority of their cause, which guaranteed final success—"it is a very common delusion that power is based on arms, money or some other visible symbol." There was also the campaign of mystification about the Germans, which had some effect, for when Goltz received a Red Guard delegation, they solemnly asked him if his troops were really German, and then if he was acting on behalf of the German government. Finally the theme was struck that this was the climactic struggle, "this is the last battle. . . . the workers cannot finally lose this battle. It only needs a moment's endurance." On 5 April, the members of the Deputation addressed their last mass meetings in the capital, which produced resolutions that the workers would fight on.15 The Deputation met in Helsinki for the last time on 6 April; the majority were determined on moving to Viipuri, but Haapalainen and Gylling favored staying in Helsinki. It was decided to go, but in a gradual and orderly manner, the political departments to go first, the economic departments to divide, leaving branch offices in Helsinki, while Haapalainen's War Department would stay altogether. They then issued an order for the "general mobilisation of the population for labour and military purposes" and adjourned; the Deputation did not meet again until 14 April in Viipuri, and the Red government had, in effect, abdicated in the moment of crisis. The demoralization of the leadership was shown further by the failure to implement their own decisions: There was no staged evacuation, everyone got out as quickly as they could, including Haapalainen and Gylling, who had been supposed to preside over the parts of the government left behind. This example was followed by the General Staff: They met in Helsinki on 6 April, and fell into bitter personal recrimi480

nations, from which Taimi and Eloranta emerged as dominant at the expense of Wesley and Haapalainen. A formal order for the evacuation of western Finland was issued; "the withdrawal will take place in good order and along a great arc starting from Pori and running through the Turku achipelago." Everything useful must be brought along if possible, otherwise destroyed. Then the General Staff too left the capital. Once the leaders were safely away, a statement was issued on 8 April that temporary military reverses made Helsinki unsuitable as the seat of government, and implying that it was Helsinki Red Guard that had wanted the government to leave. This was a further descent into the morass of deception, for Helsinki Red Guard, far from consenting, protested bitterly and sent a deputation to Viipuri on 9 April to demand that the General Staff at least should return, if only as far as Riihimaki, "the focal point of our fronts." They went on to say that "the eastward movement of all the leaders, to a place unknown to the troops gives birth among the men to bitterness, fear and confusion, which will have the wretched consequence, among other things, that Helsinki falls without a shot fired. "The leaders were advised bluntly that if they continued to skulk in Viipuri, they would be well advised to stay clear of their own troops, "because all thinking men know what a turmoil this flight has produced among the front-line troops." The effects were not confined to Helsinki; there was a general fall in morale at the news. A. Walden recalled that in Kouvola, when the men heard, "confidence collapsed among our troops." 16 In such an atmosphere it was natural that the orders of the General Staff that the local troops were "to defend the city as long as this is possible" had a mixed response; they would have carried more conviction if those who issued them had stayed to face the consequences. Instead the defense was uncertain and panicky; after Karjaa there was no coherent opposition to the German approach march. At Kirkkonummi Hilden diligently monitored the telephone traffic and noted that after 6 April the line was full of unanswered calls for instructions and help. By 9 April the Red Guard Staff at Kirkkonummi had vanished, "there is no command," and the Red Guard left in a hurry without waiting for the Germans; Hilden was safely liberated that evening. Within Helsinki an open agitation developed for a capitulation: Tyomies published a letter on 7 April that asked, "Where are the agents of peace and reconciliation?" followed by several more over the next few days on the theme "down with the guns, out with the ploughs, without delay." An organized group of socialists led by Tanner and Paasivuori, was working for a capitulation, and others, willing to continue the war, still wanted Helsinki evacuated; "the battle will be decided far from Helsinki, we should not vainly sacrifice Helsinki by putting up resistance." The dictatorship in the city was split and irresolute, torn between demands from Viipuri to fight, and their local knowledge that this was hopeless. The result was that leadership collapsed: when Louhikko was in the city on 9 April, he noticed that the offices of Tyomies were half-empty, and the morale of those who remained on the verge of collapse. On the following day Tuominen wandered into Government House, "the building was quite empty, though there were notices on the doors that 'the Peoples' Deputation has not left, in spite of rumours.'" He found a lone Red Guard commander, the only official in the place and "he sat ... and wrote his 481

name on passes. . . . to me it seemed awful. . . . the Red Army was living m ments of mortal struggle for country and people. The commander was hidden away in a little room in an empty building,"17 Helsinki Red Guard had decided not to defend the city; they would retire on Hyvinkaa' and try to keep the way open for the western Red Guard to pass through. Nykvist opposed, because to abandon the city would be "a shameful deed," but the majority favored an orderly evacuation, taking the military personnel and equipment, and distributing the remaining food to the civilians. The leaders in Viipuri worked desperately to overturn this sensible policy; on 9 April, Svecnikov appeared with a commission to organize the defense, but concluded that it was impossible unless Sveaborg was defended, and after trying in vain to talk the sailors into fighting, apparently ignorant of his government's orders from Petrograd, he prudently left again for Viipuri. The next day, Eloranta tried to persuade Nykvist to take over the defence: "Begin at once, with full dictatorial powers, to take control of the city of Helsinki. . . . The authority of all local and district staffs is terminated forthwith." But despite his views, Nykvist refused the commission, "because I am not a soldier." Taimi and Manner sent further orders to stop any evacuation or surrender and at the last moment empowered Rahja to take over in the city and suppress the capitulationists. But the result was chaos and collapse. On 9 April the Swedish consul contacted Goltz and received from him the message that if the city was surrendered the Germans would grant the lives of the defenders, subject to any later judicial proceedings. The following day Tanner and his group, encouraged by bourgeois politicians, contacted Nykvist and late on 10 April convened a conference between Nykvist, Johansson, and the consul, where it was agreed they would try to persuade the Red Guard to accept the German terms. On 11 April, while Goltz prepared to assault the Alberga position, the consul brought a Red Guard delegation to him and they were told the surrender terms, and allowed a short truce to report back to meetings of the Red Guard. This suited Goltz, since he could prepare his attack undisturbed. Both Nykvist and J ohansson, who knew they had only about 2,500 fightin men, now argued for surrender, but a new emissary from Viipuri, A. Kiviranta, turned up at the meetings, and persuaded the men to fight on. The consul carried this news to Goltz, who promptly assaulted the Alberga position and carried it, almost certainly helped by the absence of local commanders in the city.18 The confusion showed in the pages of Tyomies: on 11 April it had appealed to the workers to fight on without thought of compromise, but also published an article by Rantamala which said that "vain slaughter does not help anyone. Arms must be laid down in Helsinki when the moment comes." The last issue of the paper on 12 April announced the dismissal of Johansson for his capitulationist views, and the assumption of command by J. Jokinen, and Rantamala wrote in romantic mood in favor of a fight to the finish. But it was much too late to repair days of indecision. As Goltz's men pressed into the city, there was no organized defense, only scattered groups of Red Guards, and sometimes their women, putting up a series of heroic but futile local struggles. The assault opened with the Germans sendinga party north of the city to cut the railway to Riihimaki; they captured Tikkurila station, set up a 482

blocking position towards the north, and then pressed south into the city and stormed Malmi, capturing 10 guns. The main force advanced from the west in two columns, and was involved in sharp encounters at Huopalahti and Pasila station, before they could clear the way into the center. There resistance consisted of attempts to hold important buildings; in one, the Turku Barracks, the attackers set it on fire and shot down the defenders as they emerged. It probably contained a Red casualty station, which was unfortunate, but the Germans claimed that everywhere women fought alongside the men, and this included the Red Cross nurses.The German fleet entered the harbor late in the day and landed 400 men in the harbor area; by evening most of the Red Guard had been pressed back into the working-class quarters north of the Pitka'silta bridge, though there were still centers of resistance in the harbor area. Though the fighting had been fierce, it had been scattered, and Anna Wiik was actually able to go shopping on 12 April in the city and sit in a cafe. Late in the day an incident took place on the Pitka'silta bridge: Contacts had been made across the bridge about a possible surrender, and the Germans claimed that about 10:30 in the evening they released 300 prisoners and sent them over the bridge, because they had not the means of guarding them. It is beyond dispute that a large group of Reds, including many women, did try to cross and were fired on by the defenders, who thought the Germans were trying to rush the bridge under cover of the screen of civilians. The truth of the matter has never been unraveled, buta substantial number of Red civilians certainly died on the bridge that evening.19 On 13 April the Germans renewed the assault, using naval gunfire at very close range to break the remaining resistance; by afternoon large numbers were surrendering and by evening resistance had virtually ceased. The capture of Helsinki cost the Germans 200 casualties, and though some major buildings were damaged, the city was virtually captured intact. It was not marred by the kind of killings that took place at Tampere: Some individuals and small groups were killed after surrender in the heat of battle, but as long as the Germans were in control, the lives of the prisone were safe. It is generally agreed that on 13 April the defense had disintegrated; "there was no longer any leadership, there were no commanders, no advisers." A few snipers held out into 14 April, but Goltz was able to make a ceremonial entry into the city, and the four concealed members of the Svinhufvud government emerged to form a provisional civil government. On 16 April there was the solemn burial of the dead, where Talas declared, "The heart blood of these brave heroes had brought our country long hoped for freedom and happiness. Therefore eternal honour and gratitude to them." The Germans were overwhelmed by the enthusiasm and hospitality of the bourgeois populace, and Goltz sent a triumphant message to Mannerheim, "Helsinki taken by storm after bitter fighting in woods and streets. Rich war booty. The enemy put up desperate resistance. White prisoners free." On 19 April Mannerheim wrote to his sister, "I am unreservedly happy that Helsinki is free—even though it was not my troops that liberated it-and that you are safe." He could hardly help having mixed feelings, for the German operation looked dashing and brilliant, compared with his own capture of Tampere, and the liberation of a capital city always has a special significance.20 483

Yet despite the success of the Baltic Division it can be argued that the activity of Brandenstein's force from Reval did more to win the war. Brandenstein had to ferry his men over in several detachments, because he only had two transports, and the first echelon left Reval on 6 April, but held back to let the Russian warships from Helsinki make their way to Kronstadt. The first Germans landed at Valkom on 7 April and quickly seized Loviisa and made it their base. No resistance was offered; as one bitter Red Guard put it, "no one even got a black eye," because Lahti Red Guard, who were responsible for the coast, had done nothing to defend it. In theory Brandenstein's position was precarious, because until his second echelon arrived on 11 April, he could have been swept aside by the large Red Guard reserves at Lahti and Kouvola, who could have been brought down by rail in a matter of hours. But the Red command did not take Brandenstein seriously, and left it to local Red Guard to cope. These comprised a heterogeneous collection of companies, formed from men left behind for guard duty, and of poor quality. One of their commanders said, "We could easily be got by even a small detachment, the men took flight when the bullets began to arrive." When the Red command at Lahti realized their danger, it seems to have paralyzed them; the Lahti regimental commander said "they just come on, nothing can be done about it." A Red Guard commented, "In Lahti they lived in a 'let things be' mentality and then, when the situation got serious, they said 'we have got to the point where everyone must look after himself.' " 21 A few energetic individuals on the Red side were able to demonstrate that the situation was not beyond control. The Germans had the impression that Kotka was virtually undefended, and decided to transfer their base there, but Kotka Red Guard found a commander, Kuusela, with character and some experience. He led a defense against the Germans at Kyminlinna, with 36 men and six women, which held them off until the main force of 300 Kotka Red Guard arrived, after which the Germans gave up. When the second echelon had landed, Brandenstein felt able to move north: He ruled out an attack on Lahti or Kouvola as beyond his resources, and decided to cut the railway to Viipuri between Uusikylaand Kausala, east of Lahti. The Germans advanced in three columns, one directed to Orimattila, to secure them from the Lahti direction, the others directed on the railway. There was little resistance, Orimattila was taken, and then Uusikyla. Brandenstein had achieved his major objective, and cut the railway, but he was not strong enough to hold on to it. The Red Guard from Kotka were now attacking towards Loviisa, though they were fended off by the return from the archipelago of 350 White Guard refugees. Kouvola Red Guard began to stir and threaten Brandenstein's right flank, and then, on 14 April, M. Kokko and E. Karjalainen, former commander at Vilppula, collected some men and an armored train from Lahti and forced the Germans to pull back from the railway, demonstrating the value of armored trains in the right conditions. Brandenstein reported, "Alone, in the middle of enemy territory, he could not let himself be isolated from his base at Loviisa, it would have meant destruction." During the night of 15 April the Germans retreated and went over to the defensive. Kokko and Karjalainen, like Kuusela, had shown there was still good fighting potential in the Red Guard, even against Germans, if it was decently led. The repulse of Brandenstein 484

was an important victory, because he was a bigger strategic menace than Goltz at Helsinki: If he could cut the railway, then the bulk of the Red Guard retreating from western Finland and the Northern Front at Toijala would be cut off from their comrades on the Central and Eastern fronts. Brandenstein now waited until he could make radio contact with Goltz, which he did on 17 April, and until the last two parties of his force had landed, which they did on 15 and 18 April. This gave the Red command at Kouvola and Lahti about 48 hours in which they could have gathered their strength and tried to crush Brandenstein; instead they were content to have reopened the railway and left him undisturbed to prepare his next move.22 The first draft of a plan for an operation in Karelia had been made by Peyron and Torngren as early as 15 February, and it incorporated the two basic features of the final plan, a quick dash for Viipuri along the almost unguarded road leading from Heinjoki, and a covering operation on the left flank to cut the railway to Petrograd. In late March Ausfeld was sent to Karelia to look at the battleground and talk to Sihvo, who made it clear he would like to lead the dash for the city. Mannerheim knew that Sihvo, who had no experience of handling large forces in mobile warfare, was not qualified and that the only senior officer who was, was Lofstrom. This choice would raise difficulties, for Lofstrom was wholly "Russian" in background, and therefore unpalatable both to the Ja'ger officers who would have the leading role in the operation, and to Sihvo and the Karelian White Guard troops. The situation presented the kind of challenge at which Mannerheim excelled: After telling Lofstrom on 1 April that he would take command, he went to Antrea and tackled Sihvo personally. Mannerheim indicated that he recognized Sihvo's claim to command in Karelia, but "he asked whether I thought my little staff could cope with such a demanding task." It was clearly a question expecting the answer no and to ease the way, Mannerheim indulged a bit of deception, for he told Sihvo that three groups would operate under Lofstrom, and he would command the central group. Sihvo says that he assumed that''Mannerheim's intention was to give me the task of leading the main attack on Viipuri through Heinjoki," but he was wrong. The assumption was wrong, but Mannerheim did not correct it, and Sihvo agreed to accept a subordinate command. Mannerheim then went back to Lofstrom on 6 April, and told him what troops and subordinates would be assigned to him. As usual the meeting was not cordial; "Lofstrom was very hesitant, said he doubted it would achieve success and asked for time to think about it," but Mannerheim brushed his objections aside.23 Mannerheim's plan for the final phase of the war was embodied in orders issued on 7 and 8 April. The war had become too big for the old command structure, and he created two armies under his supreme command. The Western Army would be commanded by Wetzer, with the Swedish Colonel E. Grafstrom as his chief of staff, and as his principal subordinates Linder commanding on the right and Hjalmarson on the left. Wetzer's operational task was to clear the Tampere-Pori railway and build up his White Guard troops in preparation for an advance south towards Hameenlinna and Helsinki and a link up with the Germans. He also would have to mop up the west coast and the Turku area. Wetzer was assigned 4 White Guard regiments and 485

the paid regulars, who were now amalgamated with the Swedish Brigade and the Uusimaa Dragoons into a new Grenadier Division.24 The Eastern Army, under General Lofstrom, with the Swedish major A. Rappe as chief of staff, was to set up headquarters at Elisenvaara, and the three principal subordinate commanders would be Wilkman, Sihvo, and Ausfeld. Lofstrom was given the three Ja'ger brigades, Sihvo's Karelian troops, and was to organize a further three regiments of White Guard troops. This meant that Lofstrom had all the elite troops, most of the artillery, and 12 of the 18 regiments in the White army. The dividing line between the two armies was Lake Paija'nne, and it was clear that the role of the Western Army was secondary. Mannerheim marked the priority being given to the east by announcing the transfer of Headquarters to Mikkeli on 10 April. Lofstrom's operation orders were, after completing his deployment:25 To surround the enemy wing which has developed along the Joutseno-Naatala line and defeat the enemy, isolate him from Viipuri and try to conquer Viipuri by surprise. For the above mentioned purpose you are to tie down in good time the large enemy force in the Lappeenranta direction and cut the railways leading to Viipuri. The order reflected Mannerheim's experiences at Tampere; he did not want another prolonged and bloody siege, especially as Viipuri was a modern fortress, unlike Tampere, defended by abundant artillery. The stress was on destroying the enemy army outside the city, which would be the condition for Lofstrom to "try" to rush the city by surprise: The enemy army, not the city, was the priority target. Behind these plans lay a reorganization of the White Guard troops and their final incorporation into the regular army. In late March White Guard units were still of diverse shapes and sizes. A draft plan of 24 March sought to incorporate them into battalions and regiments of uniform pattern on a territorial basis, and the necessary orders were issued on 1,8, and 12 April. The standard regiment would consist of three battalions, made up of three rifle and one machine-gun company. There would be seven White Guard regiments, North and South Pohjanmaa, Vaasa, Pori, North Ha'me, and North and South Savo regiments. The first four were assigned to Wetzer, the last three to Lofstrom, together with Sihvo's three regiments, which were supposed to be reduced to the standard pattern. In the short period before operations began strict uniformity could not be achieved; some regiments had 28 officers and one only 8, but the norms had been laid down. Thus Mannerheim went into his second round of offensive action with a more manageable army; he had the elite Ja'ger brigades, professionally officered and trained up to some approximation to the normal standards of European infantry, and his White Guard militia troops were at least organized into units of battalion and regimental size of roughly equivalent value. The deployment and reorganization was held back by the chronic shortages of railway material on the White side, but was more or less complete by 20 April, when all the Ja'ger brigades were in their starting positions behind the Vuoksi.26 Mannerheim's preparations were undisturbed by enemy action, but ran into serious trouble from his own side. The government in Vaasa had always listened

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sympathetically to the flood of complaints that Mannerheim leaned on Swedish and "Russian" officers and discriminated against Jagers. Svinhufvud and Sario had expressed their sympathy with such complaints to the German minister on 24 March, and he reported a swell of grumbling resentment against Mannerheim among the pro-German politicians and the Activists. The appointment of Lofstrom to command the Eastern Army, and the realization that it involved reducing the role of Sihvo and his Karelians, was the last straw. The Karelians felt they were being cheated of their right to liberate Viipuri, and Sihvo noted that "in a short time feeling among the troops sank threateningly, above all among the officers." A delegation came to Sihvo carrying a letter of protest to the government, which said that if Sihvo could not have overall command, Ausfeld would be an acceptable alternative, "so that lieutenant colonel Sihvo would not need to serve under any other officers but Germans." Sihvo was firm and told the delegation to "keep your papers and go back to your men . . . as long as I obey, you will obey too." This did not stop them from forwarding their letter to Vaasa, with the implication that there would be mutiny in Karelia if Mannerheim persisted. Sihvo's attitude was the more honorable because he agreed with the attitude behind the protest, and had told Mannerheim to his face that he objected to serving under "Russians." When Mannerheim pointed out that he himself was "Russian," Sihvo had replied, "The general is an exception . . . the general's personality makes collaboration possible. But I could not say that of all the officers who have been in Russian service."27 Sihvo's loyalty was crucial because Mannerheim's position was precarious; he had very little internal political support. On 11 April Svinhufvud and Frey sent a letter to Mannerheim, which after the standard professions of loyalty, spoke of groups who were expressing dissatisfaction with his conduct of affairs. They denied encouraging such groups but:28 we look on it as our duty to bring them to your attention and ask that you would give them the most earnest consideration. The matter touches the general favouring of officers, formerly in Russian service, which has been apparent in the distribution of commands, promotions and decorations. They went on that the government realized that Mannerheim acted only on grounds of personal merit, "but when it is a question of feeling spread among the nation and of an army, which in a few months has sprung from the ground chiefly on the strength which was been generated by the hope, rooted in every heart over decades, of getting free of Russian oppression," they suggested it was not wise politically to ignore such feeling. Then the letter got down to particulars; Lofstrom was "persona ingrata among the troops, whatever merits he may have, when on the other hand major-general Wilkman would be popular," or Ausfeld might be appointed, so that Sihvo "would not be in direct subordination to other than German officers." They asked Mannerheim to reconsider the Lofstrom appointment. To a man with Mannerheim's views, it was utterly offensive and absurd that civilian politicians, who had clearly lent an ear to disloyalty and intrigue in the army, should tell the commander-in-chief what appointments he ought to make and to suggest 487

that popularity was a valid criterion for making them. Popular myth has Mannerheim screwing up the letter and hurling it across the room, though this is untrue. He did not deign to answer such a letter, but invited Svinhufvud to come to Headquarters in Mikkeli, which he did, accompanied by Frey and Renvall on 14 April. Mannerheim pointed out that Sihvo himself had acknowledged his unfitness for the supreme command, that the Jager officers were all young and inexperienced, and that Lofstrom was obviously the best qualified senior officer. He added that in any case he himself was ultimately in command, not Lofstrom. The politicians may have seen this as a kind of concession, though it was only playing with words; Mannerheim had no intention of making any concession to such an outrageous impertinence, as he showed by pointedly ignoring the suggestions about Wilkman or Ausfeld. When he had explained his choice, the matter was closed. It was perhaps fortunate that just then Crantz, the German liaison officer, came in with the news of the capture of Helsinki. Spontaneous demonstrations began on the street and the crowd called for Svinhufvud, and the meeting broke up without recording any conclusions. This was as well, for in effect Mannerheim had told the ministers they had been meddling improperly with matters they did not understand. They swallowed the rebuff, but the crowd wa calling for Svinhufvud, not Mannerheim, and the politicians may have thought that the time was not far off when the relative positions of the government and the commander-in-chief would be very different. Then they would not have to submit to being lectured to and dismissed like a bunch of provincial yokels, for Mannerheim's faultless aristocratic manners and regard for protocol did not disguise what he thought of his visitors and the actions that had occasioned the meeting.29 Mannerheim did not like Lofstrom but he judged him competent to do the job, and it fell to Rappe to prepare the detailed plans for the operations. He took seriously the risk that substantial forces of Red Guard might be brought back from the west to help Viipuri, so proposed a strong initial blow from Savitaipale to cut the railway west of Viipuri, and only then launch the attack from Heinjoki. On 11 April a conference was held at Mikkeli for Lofstrom and Rappe to explain their plans to Mannerheim's staff. Rappe explained that the blow at Viipuri should be concentrated, so he planned to cut the railway link to Petrograd close the the city, which would have the added advantage of keeping operations away from the frontier. The danger of provoking Russian intervention would be diminished, and there need be no dispersal of forces. Torngren then spoke to suggest it would be better to send a strong force along the frontier to seal it off, even if this meant weakening the force of the blow from Heinjoki; at that point Mannerheim intervened, not to argue or state a case, but simply to say he agreed with Torngren. It was a political judgment on his part; he thought that there was a serious danger of a Russian intervention from across the frontier, while Lofstrom and Rappe were ready to gamble that there was not. It happens that Lofstrom was right: Lenin had already forbidden sending any more Russians over the frontier, though on 9 April he had wavered. Faced with the obvious catastrophe of the Finnish revolution and the continuing German violation of the peace treaty in the Ukraine, he told Trotski, "Yes, we shall have to fight . . . though we have nothing to fight with. There does not seem to be any other way out." But 488

within quarter of an hour Lenin had recovered from this emotional fit, for when Trotski encountered him again he said:30 No, we must not change our policy. Military action on our part would not be able to save the revolution in Finland, but it would certainly ruin us. We will help the Finnish workers in every way we can, but we must do it without abandoning the peace. Lofstrbm's preference would have paid off; a stronger blow from Heinjoki could have given a quicker result, but nobody at the conference in Mikkeli could be sure. Mannerheim issued no fresh orders, but he did subtly emphasize his view next day when he held the III Jager Brigade at Hiitola under his personal command. This was a third of the main striking force, and gave Mannerheim a lever to control Lofstrom's planning options. He did intervene once more directly to suggest that German success in the south meant there was little danger from the western Red Guard, and the Savitaipale operation could be reduced to a demonstration. Lofstrom accepted this, and also indicated that he was now planning a strong attack in the vicinity of the frontier, and asked for more troops. Mannerheim then released III Jager Brigade to Lofstrom, he had got what he wanted. He also relieved Lofstrom of responsibility for Savo, making the two White Guard regiments there a separate command, under his own personal direction, with Tunzelman as commander. On 18 April, Lofstrom issued his final orders, which followed Mannerheim's wishes exactly. At Savitaipale there would be a demonstration, with 1,000 men under Captain Forberg, to hold the enemy forces. Sihvo, with 4,500 men and 15 guns, was to advance on Joutsenoand hold the enemy in position at Ahvola, and be prepared to advance through Kilpeenjoki to cut Viipuri off from the west when he got the signal. The main attack was under Wilkman from Heinjoki, with 7,300 men and 18 guns, all Jager troops. He was to advance on Tali to cut the enemy field army off from Viipuri, and at the same time rush Viipuri from the south side, and cut the railway to Petrograd. Finally Ausfeld, with 6,000 men and eight guns, would advance down the frontier, through Kivennapa, and seize the railway at Raivola. One regiment was held back as a reserve. To make sure there was no backsliding, Mannerheim insisted that Ausfeld move first, at least 24 hours before Wilkman, and was told that in fact Ausfeld would start that very day, 20 April, and Wilkman would move on the night of 23 April. Mannerheim then gave the necessary orders for the Savo troops; the Forberg force would try to reach Lappeenranta and link up with Sihvo's men, and the remaining forces in Savo try to take Heinola and link up with the Germans and otherwise advance where they could. On 22 April Lofstrom moved his headquarters train to Antrea, and the White army was set for the decisive battle.31 The leadership of Red Finland had virtually collapsed for a time after 6 April and the planned orderly transfer of the government to Viipuri had all the features of a panic-stricken flight, in which the useless got away safely and the essential was left behind. While the general supervisor of telephones announced his safe arrival in Viipuri, with two wastepaper baskets, two in-trays, two staplers, an ink bottle, blotting pad, and pen tray, a splendid example of the bureaucratic capacity for survival,

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they forgot to evacuate the vital note-printing machinery of the Bank of Finland. It was 11 April before enough of the leadership had arrived and drawn breath to enable them to consider what to do. In the morning the Executive Committee of the Deputation met with the General Staff and decided that "the only effective means of restoring discipline, order and the strength of the revolution in the country" was to set up a dictatorship. A larger and more representative meeting was summoned fo the evening in Viipuri railway station, and a resolution drafted for submission to it. This said that "to restore order and discipline in the army and to organise and direct the preservation and strengthening of the living forces of the revolution, there shall be given full, unlimited authority to a supreme commander."32 The meeting consisted of 65 Red leaders drawn from the Deputation, the Supreme Council, the General Staff, and various Red Guard commanders, like Kaljunen. Eloranta addressed them on the political situation, Tokoi on the position in Russia and abroad, and a lively debate followed; there was outspoken criticism of the decision to leave Helsinki, and Taimi stood out against setting up a dictatorship, but in the end there was consensus. The official statement said they agreed to fight on and develop "a renewed and united workers'revolution. . . . We must sacrifice every thing to achieve revolutionary discipline, order and fighting ability in our forces, without which the revolution is in danger." Kaljunen then moved that they set up a dictatorship, which was agreed with the proviso that "the civil power is entrusted into the hands of the dictator to the extent that it is directly connected with military affairs." Most present clearly wanted Manner to assume the dictatorship, though he tried to decline, and though other names were suggested the choice was formally unanimous. A staff was elected to assist him, consisting of Eloranta, E. Rahja, V. Rinne, and E. Hausen. A formal statement by the Deputation and the Supreme Council, published on 12 April, declared that Manner had full authority and called for confidence in his leadership, for "the great cause of the workers' revolution is the most valuable thing in the world to him." He had got an experienced staff to help him and could be trusted to do what was necessary for victory. They said that "this is not the time for holding long meetings, even the most important decisions must be made quickly." Nor could there be debating of orders, "that is only a peace-time practice. Now the leaders must direct and the others do their duty faithfully in accordance with it." But the idea of a total dictatorship was weakene for there was still to be a civil government under the Deputation. "The Peoples' Deputation will function for the time being in Viipuri, but with an administration more limited than before." The various governing Soviets would be reduced in size, and the Supreme Council itself would suspend its activity. The War Department was abolished, superseded by the dictatorship, and Haapalainen ceased to be a member of the Deputation.33 Manner's first general order as dictator made it clear that the leadership would now concentrate on prosecuting the war under a powerful and uninhibited central control. He said:34 The interest of our revolutionary struggle has demanded the reorganisation of the supreme command of the Guard. For a long time the real revolutionary

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fighters have wished for a greater concentration of leadership and activity, better order and discipline from top to bottom. The fight was not lost, under a revitalized leadership they would fight harder, and no one could now contract out; all opponents in the ranks must be regarded as traitors. Manner continued: an order is given so that it shall be obeyed. And an order is to be obeyed because the great cause of the working class demands it. Comrades in arms! I ask you, do you want to fight on this basis? If you answer by your actions that you agree, then together with you, on to new battles and to victory. The new arrangements did result in a more vigorous and centralized direction of the war. The new staff set up a "Military Activity (Operations) Section" to replace the defunct General Staff; the active members were all Russian or Estonian, headed by Svecnikov, and only the secretariat were Finns, J. Raila, T. Lehen, and A. Aaltonen, with E. Gylling, the most civilian of men, as an incongruous chief of staff. It was noted on 17 April that Manner, Eloranta, Taimi, and Kiviranta would not be able to attend meetings of the Deputation because they were wholly taken up with directing the war. Some time after the German landing a strategic plan had been prepared, probably by Svecnikov, for consolidating a new Western Front along the line ToijalaHameenlinna-Helsinki, with headquarters in Riihimaki. The Red Guard in western Finland would pull back behind this line, the Central Front would hold its present positions in Savo, and a new effort would be made to clear the Karelian isthmus, perhaps assisted by an irruption into the enemy rear from Russian Karelia. This would give a strong, consolidated base area where they could sit out the spring thaw and reorganize for a summer campaign. Orders to this effect had been issued to the Red Guard on 11 April; all current offensives were to be broken off because of "the temporary superiority of the enemy," and the Red Guard would go over to "active defense." The Central Front must look to the defense of the south coast against Brandenstein, and "it must be explained to the Red Guard that when the enemy attacks . . . they must make stern resistance. If on occasion they have to withdraw, it must be done slowly." But it was crucial to the new strategy that the western Red Guard should move quickly behind the new positions, and their stubborn disobedience to the repeated orders to withdraw gravely jeopardized its chances of success. At Turku, Lundberg finally issued orders to retire east on 10 April, and Turku Red Guard left by road and rail for Toijala and Hameenlinna. The Whites were content to follow up, occupying Turku itself on 14 April, and Uusikaupunkion 18 April, and only on 20 April did they turn in pursuit of the departed enemy, by which time the Turku Reds were safely behind the new lines. Pori proved even more reluctant; they got an imperative order from Manner, as dictator, on 12 April, which said "there can be no question of delay or argument," But there was; Pori staff pleaded the need to get the consent of the men, and the vote for compliance in the Pori District Staff on 12 April was only 13 to 9. Even then they took their time, on the plea that the retreat must be orderly, and proper demolitions carried out. However, the 491

enemy did not press them either, but was content to follow behind, and the Pori troops too had rejoined the main force by 19 April. 35 But the delay was enough to frustrate the efforts of the new leadership to get a grip on the conduct of the war. On 14 April Manner issued a revised general order, which took into account the time lost in waiting for the western troops and the threat from the Germans. It said that "the earlier plans for organising the front are no longer appropriate, but we must with haste begin a much bigger movement of the front and surrender of territory." All the western troops must now fall back to the Lahti-Kouvola area, and stabilize the Western Fronton the line of the Kymi river, transferring the surplus troops thus released to Karelia, where all resources must be concentrated to meet the enemy threat to cut communications with Russia, "that we cannot permit." If the western Red Guard had not reached Toijala by 15 April, they must be left to their fate, and the retreat to the Kymi line begun: "The salvation of the Red Guard troops in the country as a whole demands unconditionally the withdrawal of our troops eastward." This was undoubtedly the correct strategy in the circumstances, or would have been if it had been implemented. But the order of 14 April was ignored; the commanders at Toijala and Hameenlinna were under no immediate threat, and found the idea of abandoning the comrades still in the west unacceptable, and they made no attempt to comply. Nor was this the end of disobedience, for Manner's orders for the retreat stressed that only fighting men were to come, civilians and families must stay at home, and on 11 April it had been ordered that if they came in defiance of orders, they must be sent back. Yet the commander at Riihimaki reported that the first refugee trains from Turku consisted exclusively of civilians, and this was just one example of the universal disobedience to the order. The Red Guard would not leave their families; long columns of refugees on foot, or with horse and cart, loaded with household possessions, clogged roads and communications centers, and frustrated the whole point of the retreat, which was to collect fighting men for military operations in Karelia. In the circumstances, the active Red Guard were tied down to escorting and defending the refugees.36 The wanderings of the western Red Guard and their families left a vivid folk memory and was rightly characterized as "a road of suffering, terror and death." At Hameenlinna, "hundreds of horses and carts, full of old folks, women and children," passed through the town. 37 The refugees number thousands, all are begging a roof over their heads and ask for food and provisions. But there is no billeting organization and the barracks are packed out. The chaos is unheard of and the homeless wretches spend the night on the streets, yards and parks. On the floors of the carts, among the trunks, wrappings and hay, the deadly tired women and children lie . . . everyone is sneezing and coughing, and long queues wait outside the nearby chemists for relieving cough drops. In crude contrast with all this a Red band plays waltzes and other gay dance tunes. But this was only the beginning of the suffering; the full horror began when the columns came under attack from the pursuing enemy: 492

As the shooting increases, so does the panic and general confusion. Crowds of people gather along the main street in one mighty mass. . . . Red Guards are fleeing in wild disorder along the same road, the drivers whipping their horses and trying to overtake one another. Carts are overturned, horses slip to the ground, but the avalanche rolls forward unrestrainedly. These accounts were clearly a little colored for effect, but they are supported by innumerable individual accounts of the Red retreat, which was a genuine folk wandering, and an unmitigated military disaster for the Red cause. Not only were civilians brought along, but the evacuation or destruction of assets took place in a chaotic and unplanned way. Thus Lundberg ordered the evacuation or destruction of the Sosialisti printing plant in Turku, but the management refused categorically, and spent their energies touring the Red administrative offices trying to secure payment of their accounts. Lundberg's order to release all the convicts and enlist them in the Red Guard was frustrated by the prison staffs. Some ships were blown up in the harbor, but others survived because the demolition squad deliberately ignored them, "we did not do it, because we were much afraid of being caught." In the same spirit many bridges were left intact in the rear of the retreating columns. So that although the Reds did cause considerable damage as they retired, it was unsystematic, and accompanied by an unauthorized wave of plundering and killing. April was the worst month for the Red Terror, with 667 victims. Men settled old accounts as they left, or vented their fury at being defeated on any unfortunate White victims who came to hand. As the retreat passed through, many potential victims wisely sought refuge in the forests and backwoods. 0. Setala, a brother of the minister, wrote how on 11 April "we were told that bands of Pori Red Guard were coming . . . plundering everything. For that reason we hid some of the food supplies and other things for which we had time, and took refuge in the forest, where we remained for five nights." Such prudence saved many lives, yet murderous violence was sporadic and exceptional. The Red retreat could involve murder, looting, and arson, but it could also pass off quite peacefully, with the more militant socialists leaving, and the rest staying at home to take their chances of submission to the White authorities. But however it took place, the retreat did not conform with the orders of the Red command for an orderly evacuation of fighting men and essential materials and assets.38 The failure of the evacuation was not the only evidence that the new command was not succeeding in getting a grip on events. The general strategy ought to have been clear to all after 14 April, and the orders were repeated and elaborated on 18 April, yet on that day, O. Koivula, who was in command at Riihimaki, sent a courier to Manner to demand instructions:39 I request the quickest possible answer to the following questions. I. Since I have come here to fight to the end in command of these troops, I beg to ask how shall I proceed, do I fight or do I withdraw, because in no circumstances will I surrender to the enemy. 2. Shall I get help and when, there is no time for delay. 3. How much help shall I get and what kind of troops.

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It seems odd that Koivula did not know what the strategy was; Manner had spelled it out clearly enough. One possibility is that he had been getting conflicting orders, for in spite of the dictatorship, competing authorities continued to issue orders, and on 16 April A. Makinen, at Toijala, had complained that he was getting conflicting orders through four different channels and asked that this should stop.40 A crucial test of the new regime was its attempt to mobilize the available manpower. On 12 April Manner issued a general order that all the surplus Red Guard in rear areas were to go to the front, and additional men levied from party members who had not yet joined; there are a number of local orders to enforce this, but it is apparent that response was poor. Those who had failed to come forward to serve the regime in its more prosperous days were unlikely to want to get involved in its obvious catastrophe. So resort to compulsory labor service increased, which could involve conscription into fighting units. The local orders enforcing this varied —the Western and Central fronts ordered all men between 18 and 45 to report; Viipuri, on 21 April, included women as well. The level of enforcement is impossible to determine; the bourgeois populace naturally tried to resist by noncompliance or flight, and many socialists were unhappy about enforcing such a policy, like the Kotka militia, who protested about being used to round up resisters. Though many Red Guards said, after capture, that they had been forced into service, they had such an obvious incentive to claim this in the circumstances that their testimony is suspect. The acid test was whether in fact the authorities could get enough men, and the evidence is that they could not. In Karelia, where Manner was on the spot, a high level of success could have been looked for, but most sectors reported shortages of men; on Kaljunen's sector gaps were apparent in the front, with no defenders in position, and enemy patrols roamed freely. The most telling admission of impotence came from Manner himself when he wrote to Viipuri District Staff on 18 April. He recognized the efforts that had been made but "any day now the butchers, with their superiority, may break the road to Petrograd, so that they become masters of the situation, and then the game is played to its finish." He urged the District Staff to try and do something; his own Staff had done everything it could, "but that is not enough." In that phrase Manner revealed that in spite of the unlimited authority with which he had been vested, he could not accomplish what was necessary, and hoped that someone else might be more successful. 41 The patten that the evidence suggests is that in the last days of the Red regime, the rank and file of a movement did not respond to the orders of the authorities, and perhaps scarcely listened to them. For the leadership had a severe credibility problem, which meant that the ordinary Red Guard or worker had reason to doubt whether there was any point in what he was being asked to do. The problem was exposed by the contradictions that appeared in the socialist press. Sometimes the press suggested that a compromise peace was the aim: "Do the Finnish bourgeoisie intend to go on with the class war without offering the workers an honourable peace?" At other times, compromise was ruled out because the Finnish struggle was only a part of the international struggle, and in that there could be no peace and no compromises, so that "we could be forced by arms to move outside our own frontiers, but this 494

would not mean that we should be forced to give up the struggle." Similarly, some articles conceded that the local battle in Finland was lost; others argued it could still be won. These contradictions illustrated the problem for the leadership: They could not offer any picture of the near future that made the continuation of the fight worthwhile, because they could not credibly promise military victory, nor could they offer any way of ending the war except abject surrender. 42 In these circumstances, it was natural that some of their followers tried to find their own solutions. Muolaa commune virtually attempted to secede and declare neutrality on 16 April. A public meeting resolved that they had never recognized the civil war and would take no further part in it. Lappeenranta SDP held a meeting, which sent a deputation to Manner, "in the hope that we could get a speedy peace for our country . . . because our locality, and the workers of the whole country have such a great longing for peace." These civilian protests could be ignored; it was more serious when the troops on the main battlefront at Ahvola tried to open unauthorized peace talks. The Helsinki troops there, no doubt worried by the fate of their homes, sent a delegate under a white flag to ask for terms to end the fighting. The local White commander had no instructions on this, but contacts were continued on 10 and 11 April, when Sihvo drafted conditions that amounted to unconditional surrender. He would guarantee personal security to all who surrendered, subject to any legal proceedings which the government or parliament might order subsequently. He implied that those who had not been involved in criminal activity, or were not classed as agitators, might look for lenient treatment, and claimed "we are not fighting against decent Finnish working people, but to safeguard Finland's independence." The Red delegates took back these conditions, but there was no reply, and it must be supposed that the conditions were not attractive even to the discontented Helsinki troops. But the incident showed that these front-line troops realized the war was lost, and that there was no point in continuing the fight; also, by ignoring their own leaders in the process, they showed how little regard they had for them. 43 In fact, their own government no longer believed that the struggle could be continued successfully. The Deputation held its first formal meeting in Viipuri on 14 April, and adopted a major change of basic policy. They sent a resolution to Manner and the Red Guard that recognized that the war was lost:44 The forces of the revolution do not have the possibility of defending the area under the control of the revolutionaries. In order to preserve the living forces of the revolutionary movement, it is now necessary that the core of revolutionary fighters be transferred, in as good order as is possible, to such place of safety that it can be preserved, with its strength intact, for a future struggle. This was no sudden inspiration; the idea had been floated for some time. Sirola wrote on 21 April that he had begun preliminary talks with the Bolshevik authorities on the subject some weeks earlier. On 7 April, a meeting of Finnish socialists took place in Petrograd, at which various settlement plans were discussed, in the presence of Bolshevik officials, and on 10 April Sirola set up an office in Petrograd to look after the refugees who were already beginning to arrive. A "Finnish Affairs Committee" 495

was installed and began to issue directives about evacuation and pursued talks about a settlement site. On 12 April, S. Ma'kela in Petrograd drafted a memorandum that seems to be the basis for the resolution in the Deputation on 14 April, for it began by recognizing that "the army of the Finnish proletariat will suffer defeat. But that defeat must not for a moment discourage us, or slacken our activity." On the contrary, they must preserve the experience that had been won at such cost.45 The plan put forward by the Deputation on 14 April became official policy, and it had the merit of being realistic. The choices before the socialist leaders were unconditional surrender, a glorious fight to the finish in Finland ending in almost certain martyrdom, or a prudent withdrawal with a view to a future return. It was not a difficult choice to make, and did not mean, as their detractors had always claimed, that they were weak and cowardly men who betrayed their faithful but deluded followers. They were Marxists, and could see their defeat as only an episode in the class war, which always continued, and their duty was not to indulge in glorious gestures of defiance, but to persevere in the struggle. It was unfortunate that in the nature of the plan they had to practice deception on their followers. In hard reality, only a minority could or would want to settle in a foreign country for an indefinite period, but if the plan were announced, the majority would see no sense in fighting on so that a favored few could escape to safety. On the contrary, they had every reason to expect that their unsophisticated followers would see the plan as betrayal and desertion, and might seek to frustrate it. So there had to be an official pretense that the war could be fought in Finland with some prospect of success. Preparations went on openly in Petrograd, where by 19 April Sirola had arranged barracks accommodation for 10,000 refugees, and plans for dispersing them into the interior were well advanced. In Viipuri, the Deputation set up a Supply Department to handle the evacuation plans, but it was 20 April before a basic scheme had been drafted; until then, evacuation was chaotic and unplanned. Now all prospective emigrants would be required to make formal application, while the quantities and categories of goods to be evacuated were laid down. This plan could not be implemented: The railway to Petrograd was finally cut on 24 April, and the chaos in the Viipuri marshaling yard was considerable, while, as always, trains were liable to arbitrary Red Guard interference. Manner issued an order to stop the "general anarchy, in the shape of plundering, which is generally practiced all along the line," but to little effect. What was actually dispatched in the time available was whatever came to hand-machinery, petrol, window glass, chemicals. On 27 April a meeting of railway workers, after the final collapse, dreamed of what might have been. They had planned to assemble 300 locomotives and 30,000 wagons, all loaded with valuable supplies: "Then we should have had the power. Then we could have entered into negotiations with the butchers, and if they had not conceded our moderate demands, we could have left with our goods for Siberia, or somewhere else, and realised our model community." 46 The migration to Russia was the last positive policy set in motion by the Deputation, but for it to succeed the war had to be kept going long enough to cover the evacuation. The Deputation met again on 17 April, when only five Deputies were

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present; five were legitimately absent on military duties, but no less than nine were in Russia, and they noted, "Actually the Peoples' Deputation does not exist any more in Viipuri." They heard a report on the food situation, which was catastrophic, and on the military situation, described by Eloranta as "not the worst possible, but it seems the troops are beginning to tire and want to go home." Kohonen ventured to suggest that they should consider surrender, that "matters having come to this point, we should turn to the German government to procure mediation in Finland's internal class war," but nobody supported him. It was resolved that the war must go on, and they came up against the problem of finance. There was not enough money left to pay the Red Guard and the public services, and they had no means of printing more. Eloranta suggested that they abandon a money economy, seize the existing stocks of goods, and distribute them directly to the workers. His colleagues saw this as impossibly radical; "they held that to change to such a communist system was impossible, because it would lead to a total stoppage of business activity, and the concealment of the small remaining stocks." They resolved to have the money they needed printed in Petrograd. Even in this last extremity, the Finnish socialists could not bring themselves to contemplate truly radical solutions of their problems. Finally they resolved that "the class struggle will be continued as long as possible. For this end the front must be kept intact as far as possible. . . . We shall fight as we withdraw." To underline their seriousness they resolved that the Deputies and their staff must practice the use of arms, so that they took could take part.47 The next fully recorded meeting was on 20 April, when they adopted a settlement plan drafted by Tokoi. The site was to be in eastern Karelia, and should take up to 15,000 refugees. Tokoi suggested that it might be possible to obtain British protection for it if it were represented as a barrier to German penetration towards the Murmansk railway, but the Deputation rejected the idea; they would have no dealings with any brand of imperialism. The main business was a memorandum from Letonmaki on "the current demands on the Peoples' Deputation." It began with a strong criticism of the Deputation's work so far: "In my opinion the Deputation's divisions and degeneration must be brought to an end without delay . . . so that it shall turn its policy into a radical revolutionary one." Letonmaki submitted two resolutions. The first said:48 The Deputation shall begin to exercise its task as a revolutionary workers' government, with revolutionary zeal and energy, and direct the living forces of the revolution with an iron hand, and procure for itself, by its own acts and its working, the confidence of the revolutionary workers. The second resolution called on the Deputation to begin: in accordance with the circumstances, a fundamental reorganisation of the economic structure, in the way demanded by the revolution and society as a whole . . . and that the Deputation calls and leads the whole strength of the working class in vigorous efforts for the success of our struggle at this decisive moment.

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Thus Letonmaki was calling for a reinvigorated Deputation that would commit itself to a revolutionary socialist policy, and turn its back on moderation and compromise. He was demanding that the Deputation repudiate all the careful moderation that it had stood for to date and take on an entirely new character. They agreed to consider Letonmaki's proposals, but there was never the slightest chance they would adopt them. On 21 April the Deputation met in Viipuri for the last time. Letonmaki proposed that they preface the new policies with a firm commitment never to compromise with the enemy; indeed his whole program made no sense on any other assumption. But Airola moved an amendment to the preamble, which ran:49 The Deputation considers the achievement of a compromise impossible, for which reason it will not itself even try, but does not want to forbid the individual's right to enquire about the possibility of getting mediation for a peace negotiation. This amendment typified what had always been wrong with the Deputation, for it contained a formal contradiction and an evasion of any firm commitment. The amendment declares there can be no compromise and then tacitly encourages people to seek one. That is, they really wanted a compromise peace but dare not say so, and rather hoped someone else could arrange it for them. As a preamble to a policy intended to commit the Deputation to fighting on to the end, it was absurd. Gylling, who presided, had too good a mind to accept this fudged evasion of the issue, and said bluntly they should recognize that there was no point in fighting on. They could not win, nor could they safeguard a withdrawal; fighting "cannot even safeguard a retreat route, and the evacuation out of the reach of revenge for those troops who want it." He argued "there is no reason to leave unused those means which possibly may exist to get a tolerable peace for the workers' movement." So he proposed that the Deputation should seek directly to open negotiations, but on a vote, Airola's meaningless proposal was preferred, and carried as an amendment to Letonmaki's preamble. On this characteristic note, the Peoples' Deputation came to the end of its career as the government of Red Finland, evasive and ambivalent to the last While it had sat in Government House in Helsinki, the Peoples' Deputation, though it shared power in practice with the Red Guard, had been recognized by the great majority of the workers' movement as the sole source of legitimate decision-making in Red Finland: No other body had formally challenged its right to govern. But the flight from Helsinki had broken its authority. It had never recovered its political and moral leadership as the directing organ of the revolution. In Viipuri, it was a mere rump of the Deputation that had gone through the motions of being a government. Indeed this was true of the whole Red regime in its final, Viipuri period. Forces quite beyond its control carried events along; the workers' movement staggered into catastrophe, while those who were supposed to be in charge made ritual gestures that nobody heeded.50 Even after he had been driven off the railway, Brandenstein still represented the most immediate military threat to Red Finland. He was established in the heart of

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its territory, poised to strike once more and cut it in two by severing the only lateral railway l i n k between east and west. Yet Lahti Red Guard, who were immediately responsible for coping with the menace, made no effort to strike him while he was isolated and off balance. This inaction was in part because they were distracted by a remarkable act of insubordination in the White camp. Major H. Kalm commanded a battalion of White Guard troops at Padasjoki, and after the fall of Tampere was under orders to move to Mantyharju to serve under Lofstrom. Kalm was an energetic commander, popular with his men, and neither he nor they fancied service under the "Russian" Lofstrom. So he ignored a succession of orders and on 14 April advanced southwards towards Lahti. He ran into serious trouble at Vaaksy on 17 April, but was relieved by a force that advanced from Sysma, and by 20 April was just north of Lahti. Lahti Red Guard were so distracted by this menace from the north that they neglected the far greater danger that Brandenstein presented. On 17 April he had made radio contact with Goltz, who had already prepared a relief column to l i n k up with Brandenstein, and when he discovered his precarious position, advanced its departure 24 hours. Goltz also revealed that his own advance north from Helsinki would begin on 19 April, and Brandenstein decided that he could safely move forward once more, and this time he would make a direct attack on Lahti. The Germans left Orimattila on 18 April, swept aside a Red Guard force at Pennala, and stormed in to Lahti early on 19 April, capturing the railway station. One participant claimed that the Germans had simply marched in, while a demoralized and incredulous Red commander declined to open fire on the grounds that these could not be hostile troops. This sounds exaggerated, but several witnesses agree that Lahti was not defended properly, that there was disorder and panic among the Red Guard, some of whom declared "they were going, everything is finished because those are German troops there." The Germans blocked the railway to the east at Villahtee, and then worked westward and by 20 April had cleared the town and linked up with Kalm's men to the north. This made the insubordinate Kalm somewhat of a national hero, for his bold move made him the first White commander to l i n k up with the Germans. He made an insolent offer to resign his command, but Mannerheim was too wise to be provoked into trying to discipline Kalm, and left him to work with Brandenstein. In Lahti the Germans took 500 prisoners, 33 machine guns, and 12 field guns for the price of 26 casualties, which is the most solid evidence that the town had not been properly defended, and that the Red Guard had fled in panic. 51 Brandenstein had won one of the most important battles of the war: Provided he could hold on in Lahti, the western Red Guard was trapped and could not rejoin their comrades in the east. It was now up to Goltz' main force to advance north and join up with Wetzer and eliminate the western Red Guard altogether. Goltz had sent a detachment of the Baltic Division north along the railway on 19 April, under Majorgeneral Wolf, and on 21 April they took Hyvinkaa, after a sharp struggle —the defense was "extremely bitter, their leadership skilful" —and the next day took Riihimaki after another fierce struggle, some of the defenders retiring on Hameenlinna, others towards Lahti. Wolf had to rest and consolidate after Riihimaki, but now there was telegraphic communication between Goltz and Mannerheim, and 499

Goltz was informed that on 24 April Wetzer's army would advance to meet him. Wolf was then instructed to move northeast from Riihimaki to link up with Brandenstein. The Red command in the west had been under continuous pressure to retire eastward, Manner insisting they must pass Lahti by 24 April. Makinen, the commander of the Pori troops, who had gone to Viipuri for consultations, added his pleas for haste; "use all your strength to carry out our plan. The situation is very serious." The Central Front command at Kouvola, once they appreciated that Lahti had fallen, urged them to come around through Orimattila at any cost, to "abandon the heavy equipment and beat a way through." But the western Red Guard, burdened with their columns of civilian refugees, could not move quickly, and after the fall of Lahti faced three choices. They could try to go around the north, and push aside Kalm's men at Vaaksy, or they could try to go south and push the Germans out of Orimattila, or they could try and recapture Lahti and reopen the railway. This was the best route, and on 23 April a meeting of Red Guard commanders at Herrala decided to retake Lahti. They used 8,000 men and 10 guns, attacking intermittently from 24-29 April, but although Brandenstein left only 800 men to hold Lahti, and these were hard-pressed at times, they stood firm. Only one party of Red Guard succeeded in breaking through to the east and rejoined their comrades at Kouvola. 52 On 22 April Wetzer became alarmed at signs that the Red Guard might try to break out to the north, and told Mannerheim he would not be able to advance on 24 April as planned. So Mannerheim contacted Goltz on 23 April and asked if the Germans could advance on Hameenlinna, or as he put it, Goltz "got the order to advance on Hameenlinna." Wolf was therefore redirected northwest, and on 25 April resumed his advance, meeting little resistance, for the Reds were now in full retreat. Wolf took Hameenlinna on 26 April, and on the following day linked up with Wetzer's troops. The Germans now regarded the fighting as virtually over; Goltz told Mannerheim that the enemy were in flight, Wolf was ordered to consolidate, and Brandenstein ordered to advance westward from Lahti. The Red Guard had tried to break out north, as Wetzer had feared, and on 27 April they launched furious attacks at Alvettula, but were just held; by nightfall they had conceded defeat and turned back along the road to Lahti. The final wanderings of the western Red Guard was a fearful experience. The basic tragedy was the mass of civilian refugees, for whom the fighting men and women had to try and force a passage. As the enemy closed in, the refugees increasingly came under fire, causing scenes of panic and confusion, amid which the fighting force had to try and organize, while entangled with a mob of civilians. One participant observed "this herd of refugees, pressed into a small and ever diminishing area . . . had got into a situation where disciplined military operations were downright impossible." Another participant recalled: 53 The main road from Hameenlinna to Lahti was filled with people, goods and vehicles . . . the journey went very slowly. . . . Because of the confusion the line of carts stopped altogether, as if stuck fast. Despairing shouts of "forward, forward" could not get it moving. Along the edge of the road a courier

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was riding, his voice hoarse with shouting, yelling "into line, every man and woman bearing arms, into line." Yet under these appalling conditions, with no proper feeding arrangements and no sleep, the Red Guard fought some of its finest actions. It was natural for the Germans to suppose that these columns had lost all fighting capacity, and many certainly had. Some of the Red Guard were heroic, many others were not: "The number of the cowardly was legion. Young sturdy men skulked among the transport, hoarding . . . food in their bags. . . . With abundant provisions they spent their time in their hiding places, playing cards."54 Wolf dispatched two flying columns from Hameenlinna to harass and break up the Red force, a rather mixed collection of dismounted cavalry, cycle troops, and some mountain artillery, confident that this would suffice. Mannerheim too supposed that they were simply rounding up a defeated enemy. On 25 April he had indicated to Wetzer that he meant to take troops from him to use in Savo, and on 28 April asked Wetzer to release six battalions. But on that day, when Wolf's columns clashed with the Reds, they were badly beaten and could not stop them. The fighting was characterized by the despairing fury of the Red attacks, and both sides noted the leading role of women in these. One Red Guard commander reported such an attack: 55 Forward! The wildly stimulating command was repeated on the lips of the attackers. In the light of burning buildings and the explosions of artillery, they rushed towards the murderous fire of the butchers at a wild pace, a troop of women in the lead, who shouted in their clear, womens' voices the provocative — " Forward!" The night attacks that forced the Germans back from Syrjantaka were particularly savage, and the Germans abandoned their wounded and one of their guns, and at Hauho they lost another gun. If the Red Guard had shown a comparable offensive capacity in other and more favorable circumstances, they would surely have won substantial successes. For the tragedy of the fighting on 28 April was that all the courage and sacrifice was wasted; it did nothing to change the ultimate outcome, only taught the Germans a sharp lesson about underrating their enemy. Goltz now planned to finish the enemy off with a concentric attack on 30 April, and rushed a regiment of Guard Uhlans from Helsinki to support it. On the day Brandenstein attacked west from Lahti, Kalm closed from the north, the Germans from Orimattila advanced, and the Guard Uhlans moved in two columns from Jarvela towards Koski and Sairakkala, and by the evening the Reds had been cut in two. On 1 May the more easterly group collapsed as Brandenstein stormed their main position facing Lahti, capturing six guns and 30 machine guns, after which mass surrenders began, nearly 10,000 by the end of the day. It seems that the cumulative exertions and sufferings of the Red Guard had finally broken their will to fight. A Red Guard commander told of his vain efforts to continue the battle:56 We began to organise our troops again for an attack. It was an impossible 501

task. The companies had dissolved into the crowds of civilians and the general mood was that it would be best to surrender. . . . No force could have stopped us at Lahti, unless the quarrels and provocations from the civilians who came along with us had made the continuance of military operations impossible. He was not the only one who thought that a force of 20,000 fighting men, with plenty of equipment, ought to have been able to break out. Yet it is probably mistaken to assume that if the Red Guard had abandoned the civilians they would have succeeded. For the evidence suggests that the very fury of the Red attacks derived from the urge to get their women and children to safety. It was when the civilians urged their men to put an end to the slaughter that resistance collapsed. The more westerly group around Koski kept up savage attacks on the ring that had closed around them until 2 May, and then they too began to surrender. By the end of the day the whole western army of the Red Guard, some 20,000 fighting men and women, and unknown thousands of civilians, were prisoners.57 No formal surrender was made, for there was no central command able to negotiate terms; it was a cumulative process, deriving from local initiatives. A group of Turku Red Guards, at Hollola, on 2 May recalled: 58 We got to hear that in front they were talking about surrender. We never got clear how and by whom these negotiations had been started: but it is a fact that after some time there came the news that we were to organise in columns of four, with the women in front, and march to the Germans, to whom we could surrender our weapons. The negotiators also told us that we could no longer think of resistance, because we were completely surrounded, and even that the Germans had disarmed the Whites as well as the Reds, and that we should be sent home as soon as possible. This last was a common delusion among the Reds; another prisoner had the impression that "commanders, thieves, murderers and agitators only would be called to account, the others could go home." The Germans may have given this impression in good faith, believing this the policy of Mannerheim and the government. It certainly helped encourage surrender; "war-weariness was so great that the hope of going home, which they promised, raised the morale of the people enormously. Nobody reflected what it would cost to the leaders." The expectations were cruelly disappointed: Immediately after the surrender there was a systematic looting of all the prisoners' property by the German soldiers, not just watches and money, but footwear and clothing too. Numerous accounts of this plunder are given, and all agree that the Germans did not mistreat the prisoners, simply robbed them of everything worth taking. It seems that the soldiers who had come from the rigors of blockaded Germany regarded the personal possessions of these Finnish workingmen as luxuries. But then the prisoners found that far from being sent home, they were herded into the Hennala barracks complex at Lahti, and though the old men, and women with children, were released fairly quickly, the bulk of the prisoners entered on a new round of suffering and tragedy that must have made many repent 502

the decision to surrender. For death in action might well have seemed preferable to the living death, through starvation and disease, combined with the threat of summary execution, that prevailed in the prison camps.59 During its campaign, the Baltic Division, together with Brandenstein's men, had taken 20,000 prisoners, 50 field guns, and 200 machine guns, and destroyed nearly half the fighting effectives of the Red Guard after the fall of Tampere. They had struck a massive and fatal blow at Red Finland; the campaign, including the moral effect of the capture of Helsinki, had effectively sealed the fate of the Red cause. If any hopes had remained of a Red recovery, after the defeats at Tampere and Rautu, the Germans had destroyed them. They had done this with a force a little over 12,000 men, at a cost of 300 killed and 650 wounded, in a campaign that lasted exactly a month. The fear of the socialist leaders that a German intervention would be fatal to them had been well grounded. After 2 May, the German troops were deployed as a screen along the Kymi river, to contain from the west the only surviving Red Guard fighting force, the troops of the Central Front. 60 The Red command knew that Mannerheim was preparing for an offensive in Karelia, but they seem to have been unaware of the concentration offeree at Heinjoki; at least they made no dispositions to counter it, perhaps because Manner and his Staff were desperately short of men, and were banking on getting reinforcement from the western Red Guard. A letter from the Eastern Front Staff to Manner on 21 April showed that they were depending on being relieved by the withdrawal of troops from Toijala and Kouvola. The other source of fresh forces was Petrograd, and even though the Russians were immobilized by German threats, the Finnish community in the city still had resources. On 9 April, an order was issued for all Finnish men in Petrograd, aged between 18-50, to report for military service by 12 April. Efforts to enlist direct Russian assistance continued; Kaljunen had meetings with Jeremeev over this, and Kuusinen was empowered by Manner, on 13 April, to negotiate with the Bolshevik government for further aid. But it is difficult to trace much practical response: The Russians in Petrograd did supply another armored train on 9 April, and on 21 April Lenin gave E. Rahja a letter to Trotski, as Commissar for War, to help Rahja "with advice and action," but on the whole Lenin's order to stop Russian armed intervention over the frontier, confirmed by a resolution of the Petrograd Soviet on 22 April, was observed. Sirola reported on 21 April that while the Bolshevik authorities were being helpful in receiving refugees, all armed Red Guard who crossed the frontier had to give up their weapons, and release any White prisoners they brought with them. Two thousand Russian soldiers were at Raasuli, and another 3,000 at Lempaala, close to the frontier, but these made no move to intervene. 61 So in the end, the Red Guard in Karelia had to meet the offensive with their existing forces, reckoned at 18,000 fighting men —3,000 based on Lappeenranta and covering the Savitaipale and Joutseno fronts, 7,000 at Ahvola, 6,000 covering Valkjarvi, Kivennapa, and Terijoki, and a garrison of 2,000 in Viipuri, with hundreds of guns belonging to the fortress, for most of which there were no trained crews. The first blow was to fall on Kaljunen's command based on Terijoki, and the 503

reports in the Red Guard archives and the events of the battle showed that nothing effective had been done to meet it. Kaljunen was a brutal and energetic man, but a poor organizer, who was taken by surprise and then panicked. In the two quiet weeks that followed the end of the fighting at Rautu, Manner and the Eastern Front Staff could have tried to remedy the situation, for they got a stream of reports about the inadequate preparations on Kaljunen's sector, but he was left to his own devices, and apart from vain efforts to drum up support in Petrograd, Kaljunen waited passively for the enemy attack. 62 Ausfeld got the order to advance on 20 April, though he had begun to move on the previous day. He used only two of his 10 battalions to screen the frontier, so that his main force was enough to overwhelm the disorganized and scattered enemy resistance. The main obstacle to Ausfeld's advance was the thaw; the snow would no longer carry heavy weights, "the hungry horses could not pull their loads, but part of them had to be redistributed as an addition for the men to carry, although the men were utterly wearied." The most serious consequence was that the artillery could not keep up with the infantry, who had to try and do their job without it. This did not matter in the first phase; after some fighting with the Red Guard at Torpila and Kauksamo on 20 April, Ausfeld's force took the key road junction of Kivennapa on the following day. Red accounts of the fighting blamed Russian volunteers for the defeat, alleging they had left their positions without a fight, but the reality was that two isolated forces of Reds were overrun by greatly superior forces, that their communications with the rear had broken down, and that no attempt was made to send out reinforcements. Indeed the Red command had collapsed; Kaljunen was in Petrograd, and it was assumed he had deserted, for when he crossed back into Finland he was arrested and sent to Viipuri. He must have convinced the authorities there, for on 22 April a message was sent, "Kaljunen has been let off." It is likely that Kaljunen, who was no coward, had instinctively gone to Petrograd to look for help when he came under attack, but the result was undoubtedly that the Reds met Ausfeld's advance with an absentee commander, as reflected in a message fromTerijoki on 21 April, that "there is no kind of organisation here. Worse chaos than in destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah." The disaster was complete; a report from Raivola on the same day said, "our troops at Kivennapa beaten. The Whites threaten the railway, the last line of defence, which has 15 men, is Raivola." 63 Ausfeld felt strong enough to divide his force and fan out from Kivennapa in three columns on a broad front of 40 km. The right column aimed at Uusikirkko, the center at Raivola-Terijoki, and the left at Kuokkala. As his men moved on the railway, the defense fell apart. Terijoki reported, "All the commanders have left their positions, troops are without organisation, except for the Valkjarvi troops, from where the Staff is trying to organise a defence." Another report said that "the local Staff at Terijoki has gone to hell," and the garrison there threatened that if they were not reinforced, they would retire into Russia. The decisive day was 23 April, when Ausfeld's men fought hard for some hours to capture Raivola and Kuokkala stations. They had severe trouble with armored trains, since their artillery had not caught up, and at Kuokkala the garrison, supported by Kaljunen from an 504

armored train, fought almost literally to the last man. Rahja, in Petrograd, promised that "troops will be sent from here into the enemy rear," and Kaljunen got a promise of help from Jeremeev, but none came. By nightfall Uusikirkko, Raivola, and Kuokkala had fallen, and the railway to Petrograd was cut, though Kuokkala was briefly recovered during the night with the help of the armored train. But all further efforts to mount counterattacks from Russian territory were obstructed by the Bolshevik authorities, and Rahja reported bitterly, "The Russians have again caused a catastrophe." This was unfair; it was the Finns who had caused the catastrophe by their neglect of advance preparations, and the collapse of their command structure under pressure. On 24 April, Ausfeld finally secured Kuokkala and consolidated his grip on the railway. It had been a brilliant operation, and in retrospect it can be seen that Ausfeld could have managed with a smaller force, leaving more weight to be put behind the Heinjoki operation. But there had been grounds for Mannerheim's insistence on a strong concentration near the frontier; the threat of intervention from the Russian side had always been present, even though, in the event, it did not materialize.64 When it was clear that Ausfeld would succeed, the order went out to Wilkman to launch his attack from Heinjoki on the night of 23/24 April. He divided his force into three sections: Colonel von Coler, with five battalions, had the task of cutting the enemy field army off from Viipuri by advancing on Tali, after which he would turn towards the city and assist the assault. Lieutenant-colonel E.Jernstrom, with four battalions, would move on the railway at Sainio and Kama'ra, and rush Viipuri from the south. Major H. Savonius, with one battalion, was to cover the rear of the operation by advancing on Galitsina station. The essence of the operation was for Coler to keep the enemy field army away from Viipuri, while Jernstrom stormed the city, but the plan did not come off. Von Coler had no trouble in breaking through to Tali, though he had a severe encounter with an armored train, and some hand-tohand fighting, before Tali station was secured on the afternoon of 24 April. Jernstrom got bogged down in a fight for Kama'ra station, where he lost 123 men when his first assault failed, and it was late on 24 April before his men approached the Viipuri defenses; they had been so mauled in the fighting that there was no question of their rushing into the city. Savonius had a hard fight to take Galitsina on 25 April, but he carried out his part successfully. Jernstrom's failure was the worst; Mannerheim commented that he had "allowed his left attacking column to get bogged down in a secondary encounter." He ought to have sent the whole of his force by the shorter and easier route through Sainio. But Jernstrom was a young and inexperienced commander, and had found that the Ja'ger troops were still fairly raw and not operating as efficiently as had been hoped. The real blame lay with Wilkman for allowing excessive division of his force; he should have known better. Mannerheim had cause to complain that "a real centre of gravity had not been constituted in accordance with the commander-in-chief's orders." But Coler too had blundered: He also found the Ja'ger troops slow, and he was overstretched by being assigned two objectives, to hold off the enemy army, and to help in the assault on the city. He ought to have understood that the first objective had absolute priority, but it seems he did not. 505

The capture of Tali broke the railway back to Viipuri, but some roads were still open further west, along which the Ahvola and Joutseno Red Guard could retire into the city. Coler should have pressed on to block them, instead of which he turned down the railway towards Viipuri, and came up to the fortifications on the evening of 24 April. He ordered an assault for midnight, and if this had succeeded, he would have been fully justified, since Viipuri would have fallen before the Ahvola troops could get back. But Coler's subordinates reported that the fortifications were formidable, there was difficulty getting the guns into position, and then they learned that Jernstrom's men were not ready. Coler canceled the assault, and all chance of rushing the Viipuri defenses was lost.65 This failure was particularly unfortunate because the White Guard organization inside the city had sent a courier to Wilkman, and offered to rise up and seize the Kolikkoinmaki battery to assist his attack. Wilkman accepted the offer and indicated that they should act on the night of 23/24 April. This they did, and with the advantage of complete surprise and under cover of darkness, they seized the telephone exchange, released the White prisoners from the High School, captured a machine gun, and rushed the battery at 3:00 A.M. There they dug in and managed to get three of the guns working, but on 24 April the Red Guard recovered from its surprise and surrounded the White position, the machine gun broke down, and there was no sign of the promised attack from the outside. The Whites offered to surrender on promise of their lives, and this was granted and they were interned in Viipuri castle. The episode had been a model of boldness and enterprise by Viipuri White Guard, but a reckless gamble with their lives by Wilkman. It could have ended in an ugly massacre, and contributed nothing at all to the success of the White operation.66 During 24 April Mannerheim moved his headquarters' train to Antrea and parked it alongside Lofstrom's. Lofstrom was convinced that Mannerheim had come to take control of operations out of his hands, and said so in his memoirs. Mannerheim always denied this; he wrote on his own copy of Lofstrom's memoirs, "The right of the commander-in-chief to reveal his operational ideas to them, as in his opinion is useful. His duty to watch the progress of the operation, and intervene in it, if he holds it necessary." When he made the move, Mannerheim could not know how far his plans were being undermined by faulty execution; he probably wanted only to be on hand for what should be the climactic battle of the war. If he had not been restrained by professional convention from interfering with Lofstrom's conduct of his command, he might have prevented what he later called Lofstrom's mishandling of Sihvo and his troops, which he characterized as "difficult to understand." The situation called for the immediate and vigorous intervention of Sihvo in the battle. First, Forberg's men at Savitaipale, who had launched their attack on 22 April, and first met with stubborn resistance, were on the verge of breaking through and advancing south on Lappeenranta, and Sihvo's men ought to move west to link up with them. Second, Sihvo's orders were to mount attacks to prevent the enemy forces facing him from withdrawing, and then to move forward from Lottola on his right and cut off Viipuri from the north and west. Once Coler had reached Tali, it was high time to set Sihvo's men into motion. Lofstrom and Rappe may have been

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complacent after Coler's initial success, but beyond that they had shown persistent professional contempt for Sihvo and his troops, whom they did not suppose were capable of playing more than a secondary role. So they detached Sihvo's 111 Karelian Regiment and gave it the independent mission of l i n k i n g up with Forberg, and then did not order Sihvo to prepare his holding attack until late on 24 April. 67 The result was that Sihvo and his men remained idle spectators of the battle, while for once the Red command acted efficiently. Backman ordered the troops at Ahvola to retire into the city by road, and they carried out the order in exemplary fashion. All precedent would have suggested that once the railway had been cut at Tali, the Red Guard would break up and flee in disorder, but on the contrary they disengaged without loss, taking all their equipment with them. Sihvo wrote, "I grant respect and recognition to the Red leaders for their planned and well executed retreat on the night of 24/25 April and its excellent concealment." The consequence was that when Sihvo's men attacked, early on 25 April, they "struck a blow in the air." One of his soldiers described how, after they got their orders. 68 The guns fired with a fury which our guns had never shown before. . . . It was a moving sight, and let us believe that now we had the power. At the appointed time the artillery fire stopped and then the infantry began to advance. . . . the machine-guns and infantry fired at Hauhia, but no answer came from there. . . . Soon we came to the enemy line and then perceived that the enemy had gone away. The movement that began as farce nearly ended in tragedy: Sihvo's orders were now to advance to Juustila and Tienhaara, to block the exits from Viipuri on that side. His troops moved slowly, though without meeting significant resistance, until they came to the vital bridge over the Saimaa canal at Juustila, early on 26 April, and came under heavy fire. U n k n o w n to Sihvo, Wilkman had sent a battalion of Ja'ger troops from Coler's command to secure the bridge, and they took Sihvo's militia troops, in their civilian dress, for Red Guards. A lively fight developed and Sihvo's men suffered several casualties before the mistake was discovered. Sihvo and his men had some reason for t h i n k i n g that they had been disparaged by the way in which Lofstrom had handled them, and Sihvo wrote later, with some restraint, "I thought then, and t h i n k still that it was a mistaken way to conduct military operations." 69 It had been hoped to capture Viipuri on 25 April; one of Jernstrom's battalions, which had advanced without difficulty through Sa'inio, tried to rush the southern defenses and failed disastrously. Wilkman then regrouped his force, with a view to making a night attack, by transferring men from Coler to Jernstrom, but it took so long that it was daylight on 26 April when the next attack was delivered by four battalions, and it too failed. The enemy fought fiercely from behind the fortifications, and the Ja'ger troops suffered heavily; some units lost half their men, others came close to mutiny when led into the murderous fire, and then broke up under their losses. Von Coler's weakened force could only stand and watch, and at the end of the day the Whites conceded defeat and broke off the action. 70 507

It is apparent that the Red Guard defense of Viipuri was a much more creditable performance than the resistance of Kaljunen's troops against Ausfeld. The surprise attack by Coler's men on Tali had overwhelmed the defense, but thereafter the Red resistance had been tenacious and unyielding and had denied the enemy any easy successes. This did not alter the fact that Ausfeld's victory had made the position of Viipuri hopeless, and the successful defense of the fortifications on 25 and 26 April made no difference to this. The socialist leaders now had to decide whether to attempt to escape, and incur the moral reproach of leaving their men in a trap, or whether to stay and share their fate. The last issue of Tiedonantaja on 24 April, gave no hint of flight for Manner published an order of the day. This claimed that resistance was firm and called on the troops for "courage, firmness and comradely discipline." In fact, preparations for escape had begun on 19 April, when an order was issued setting up a "Finnish Red Guard Naval Staff," with M. Hjelman as commander and M. Popov as Russian adviser and chief of staff. The same day Comrade Popov was ordered to have a ship in constant readiness, armed with guns and machine-guns, and it is not difficult to guess what it was in readiness for. The details of the decision to leave are obscured by the unwillingness of those involved to talk about it afterwards, for they knew however much they rationalized their action, there was moral obloquy attached to it. But once it was known, on 24 April, that the railway was cut finally, no time was wasted. Manner summoned Louhikkoand sent him, with Eloand J. Raila, to round up wives and dependents and get them on the ship. Then a long conference was held in Viipuri castle in the evening between the political leaders, the Red Guard chiefs, and the Russian advisers, and around midnight a resolution was taken to go. They left the castle to join the ship, but at the gate Gylling announced that he was staying, "I am not leaving, someone must remain to direct the last struggle." Manner and the others tried to dissuade him, but Gylling was firm and went back inside the castle. The rest went on board ship and were carried safely to Petrograd. A clear and rational case could be made for the escape, yet it cannot conceal the fact that they had led their followers into catastrophe, and were now using their privilege as leaders to evade the consequences. They knew it was an ignoble thing they were doing, for they slunk away like thieves in the night, leaving no message or explanation. The lack of confidence that so many Red Guards had felt in their leaders had been amply justified. 71 Manner had appointed a veteran Red Guard commander, Rantala, as "commander of the Viipuri defences" and he presided over a meeting in Viipuri castle in the morning of 25 April. Gylling was present and Rantala told the meeting that "the Peoples' Deputation fled last night and left affairs in a most uncertain condition." Gylling urged that they try and negotiate peace terms, but the meeting felt they were still strong enough to break out, and attempt to restore communications with Petrograd. In true Red Guard fashion, new staffs were elected, with Gylling becoming chief of staff to Rantala, and orders were issued to secure the road south from Viipuri through Koivisto. But during the day the leaders began to have second thoughts about the chances of breaking out, and at an evening meeting Gylling won consent, by one vote, to open talks. He was given a document, dated 26 April, which 508

said that "the meeting of Viipuri front commanders hereby authorises Tuomas Raunio, Tuomas Kallio and Edvard Gylling to discuss the establishment of a ceasefire for peace negotiations." At midday on 26 April Gylling and his companions came out under a white flag and were taken to von Coler. Gylling asked for a 6-hour ceasefire in order to set up negotiations, but was told, "that is not acceptable, I demand unconditional surrender." Gylling asked whether, in that case, they would be treated as prisoners of war, and was told "the commander-in-chief and the government will decide that." An offer by Gylling to negotiate for the whole Red Guard, throughout the country, was met by the assertion "there is only Viipuri left to you. I advise you to surrender as quickly as possible, because if I enter the city by force, I shall show no mercy." When Gylling reported back, it was felt that such terms left no option but to fight on.72 However, to break out remained the only feasible policy, and during 27 April a force of 1,000 Red Guard launched fierce attacks that opened the road to Koivisto, and over a thousand Reds got out by this route, and then made their way by boat, or along side tracks to Russia. The other possible escape route would be to go north and west and join up with the only surviving Red Guard force, the Central Front at Kouvola, but during 27 April Sihvo's men blocked the railway at Hovinmaa and amused themselves sending messages down the telegraph to the unsuspecting Reds in Viipuri. The joke turned sour when an armored train came out and there was some sharp fighting before it was turned back. After dark, part of Sihvo's force slipped round to the west of Viipuri and set up a road block at Naulasaari, on the main road to the west: This made the encirclement of Viipuri complete. The next attempt to storm Viipuri had been set for the night of 27/28 April: Wilkman regrouped further to give Jernstrom seven battalions, leaving only four under Coler on the eastern side. More men could have been available but for a slightly comic incident involving Mannerheim and Lofstrom. Mannerheim had understandably come to the view that the capture of Viipuri was taking too long and proposed to give Lofstrom his reserve, the North Savo White Guard regiment, then at Tali. But when his staff tried to deliver the order they found that "Lofstrom had disappeare without telling me his new headquarters." During the night of 26/27 April, Lofstrom had moved his train from Antrea to Tali, to get nearer to the action, as he said, and then went off to visit the troops. Mannerheim retained a vivid memory of the incident, for he wrote to Torngren years later:73 Do you remember how general Toll organised a surprise for us in Antrea station by steaming away in his headquarters' train, without reporting anything, and thus broke communications both upwards and downwards. You surely remember the event and the grotesque situation when we came out of the carriage in the morning and could see no trace of Toll or his staff. Mannerheim was not the man to swallow what he took to be a deliberate act of insubordination. He sent a message after Lofstrom, "the move of the army staff to Tali seems inexplicable to me. You are to establish telegraphic communications at once. If this is not possible, then you are to move to some place where it does exist."

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When Lofstrom offered his explanation that he wanted to be nearer the scene of operations, Mannerheim replied, "You have been brought up for thirty years in the same military school as myself, and you know very well that that is not a decisive reason, and an army staff never moves, except on orders." Technically Mannerheim was wrong; Lofstrom had been entitled to move, though he should of course have told his superior officer in advance. He had not done this because he had wanted to put some distance between Mannerheim and himself, and feared that his proposed move would be vetoed. Both men brooded on the incident for years after, and it was one more illustration of the strong personal antipathy between the two men. In a more difficult military situation, the lack of sympathy between the commanderin-chief and his principal subordinate might have been damaging, but in this case it did not matter; the battle was won.74 After heavy artillery preparation the assaulton the nightof 27/28 April succeeded; the southern defenses were overrun after a night of bitter fighting, and Jernstrom's men broke into the city, but were held up by stubborn street fighting, so that a further concerted push was set for the following night. During the day, some of the Red extremists decided to settle old scores. Armed men broke in to Viipuri prison and separated the inmates into two groups. Those in prison uniform were released, the rest, assumed to be political prisoners, were set aside with the clear intention of killing them. One of the intended victims had a pistol, and a desperate resistance was organized, but at the end 26 White prisoners, including a boy of 15, and a few unlucky convicts who had been in civilian clothes, were dead. Another 20 intended victims escaped during the confusion. It was in many ways the worst atrocity committed by the Reds, completely senseless and unauthorized. The prisoners in Viipuri castle were under Gylling's protection and remained unharmed. When the troops of Jernstrom and von Coler surged forward again in the evening, under the password "Viipuri White—Victory certain," many of the defenders had left to join a column of several thousand Red Guard, with many women and children, that tried to break out along the road to the west. Sihvo had two battalions posted at Naulasaari, and throughout the hours of darkness the Red Guard tried to push them aside. The Whites were handicapped for a time, because in the confusion they lost track of their ammunition carts, and their machine guns on the road were repeatedly charged When morning came, the dead were heaped in front of them, and the sight of the carnage seems to have broken the will of the attackers, who began to surrender. Delegates came out with a white flag, and agreed to lay down their arms on promise of their lives, subject to any subsequent legal proceedings ordered by the government. About 6,000 Red Guard surrendered to Sihvo's troops during the morning of 29 April. The mopping up of the city itself lasted all day: The prisoners in Viipuri castle managed to overpower their guards and seize it, and Gylling disappeared into hiding. In the end 12,000 to 15,000 men surrendered, with 200 machine guns and 300 field guns and fortress guns.75 Mannerheim wrote to brother Johan on 29 April: 76 Today Viipuri fell, as the result of a splendid and in every way succesful operation. The war of liberation has in effect ended with this. Kouvola, 510

Kotka and Hamina are still left and a few other places here and there, but they are only greater or lesser swells from the uprising. The job is for the most part done and we must begin to organise the country's young army and create the strength which will secure and preserve the fruits of victory. On 30 April, Sihvo entered the city and reported to Lofstrom, and personal feelings were set aside as they drank champagne together in the Town Hall to celebrate the victory. On 1 May, Mannerheim arrived to hold a victory parade and to celebrate Te Deum in the cathedral; the Russians had been using it as a grain store, but it hastily cleaned out, and a bishop found to conduct the service. Mannerheim marked the occasion by one of those orders of the day in which he allowed his romantic streak full play. It is difficult to discern whether Mannerheim took such gush seriously, or merely used it because he felt that it was what people expected on such an occasion. The sentimentality and the chauvinism seem inconsistent with the character of this cool, calculating, and cosmopolitan man: 77 Now I have arrived in Viipuri, this ancient capital of Karelia and seen Torkkel's old castle, which over the centuries has received the assaults of the hordes which came from the east, . . . a feeling of joy and gratitude conquers my mind, because the flag of Finland flies over this castle, and now once more Viipuri will be the bastion which protects Finland . . . a great, independent, free Finland. Through your blood, brave army, Finland has now become equal with other European nations. Now the Finns, with their heads held high, step forth as masters of their own country. Perhaps Mannerheim knew what he was doing: The Finns of 1918 were an emotional people, soaked in romantic nationalism, and those on the winning side seemed to be living through the fulfilment of their dreams. When the ladies of Viipuri held a victory celebration in the Salama cinema, the high point of which was the presentation of a banner that they had been embroidering for Sihvo, that stern warrior was so moved "that he found it hard to make his speech in reply." 78 The defeated were undergoing a very different experience: On 1 May, a local White soldier noted:79 Long lines of prisoners dragged towards the city centre. This was a sorrowful May Day procession. . . . In the crowd were a few acquaintances, there were old and young men, even women. Silent and with all hope lost, they marched towards their fate. Truly it was not smiling on them. Indeed it was not; some prisoners never got as far as the prison camps. The men who surrendered at Naulasaari were herded into farm buildings for temporary custody. A White soldier reported, "Two men began to make inflammatory speeches. They said'this is not the end, but help is coming from Russia' . . . to preserve discipline these men were shot at once against the stone wall of the courtyard." The mood among the White troops was tense, and the scenes in Viipuri prison inflamed it; the same soldier remarked, "If I had previously grieved at the unhappy fate of the Reds, when I heard of this terrorist act, my feelings hardened and I could no 511

longer be moved to pity them." Lofstrom had already issued an order on 26 April that "Red leaders and Russian soldiers who fight are outside the law and can be treated accordingly." Some of Lofstrbm's officers and men needed no encouragement, and the occupation of Viipuri was followed by a minor pogrom.80 Among the outstanding incidents were the genocidal killing of Russians, which included several bourgeois sympathizers and the odd Pole and Ukrainian. There were 28 certain victims, and their monument in Viipuri cemetry read "We waited for you as liberators and you brought us death." The Red Post Office Soviet was found in Viipuri post office on 29 April by Jager troops. Their capture was reported to Captain Heinrichs, who "gave the order to lieutenant Backman, in my company to shoot the men. It was done.'1 The worst incident was the mass execution that took place in the ditch of the fortifications, some time between 29 April and 2 May: At least 50 victims were killed, probably by machine-gun fire. The town commandant wrote, "Conditions in Viipuri for several days after the conquest were anything but orderly . . . anyone who had a white band on his sleeve regarded himself as entitled to exercise the power which belonged to the commandant." The disorder was such that on 2 May Mannerheim intervened: "It has come to my knowledge that repeated serious breaches of order have occurred among the Eastern Army troops in Viipuri. . . . You are ordered herewith to set up an immediate inquiry and severe punishment of the guilty who are caught." All surplus troops were to be got out of the city and arbitrary proceedings stopped. It fell to Wilkman to deal with the situation; on 9 May he received an inquiry from Ignatius about reports that 200 innocent people, including women and children, had been killed. These were exaggerated, and order was being restored by then, but this was the obverse of the brave proclamations, the Te Deum, and the victory celebrations.81 Even so, Mannerheim had grounds for satisfaction. His Karelian campaign had not worked out quite as planned; the quality of the troops involved made it hard to realize his conception, even if the commanders from Lofstrom down had shown a better grasp of his basic idea. But, as Mannerheim wrote, "The Eastern Army had fulfilled the task given to it ... the ten-day final phase had faced the troops with severe trials, but they had gone through them brilliantly." He recognized that defective means of communication had had a lot to do with the poor coordination between Sihvo and the rest of the army, and that the general rawness of the troops slowed everything down. On 29 April the victory telegrams had announced the achievement to the public, and on the following day the Eastern Army was ordered to deploy to meet any possible counterattack coming from Russia. Mannerheim was already putting the civil war behind him, and looking to the next round of the struggle with the Bolshevik enemy.82 The war was not quite over, but Mannerheim had made his dispositions for ending it before Viipuri fell. In mid-April the Red Guard Central Front still stood intact, but with the attack on Savitaipale, which began on 22 April; there were signs that the Reds were in retreat; the evacuation of Heinola began on 24 April, and Savitaipale fell the following day. On 27 April Mannerheim detached Linder from Wetzer's command and moved him to Savo, together with three extra battalions, and he was 512

put in charge of liquidating the enemy Central Front forces. Forberg's men and the III Karelian Regiment, who had now taken Lappeenranta, and were pressing westwards towards Taavetti, were taken under Linder's command on 30 April. Linder's orders were to take Kouvola, clear the Kymi valley, and capture Kotka and Hamina.83 The Red Guard at Kouvola had done little to help Lahti, though they had taken over the defense of the Kymi river line against the Germans. On 22 April Eloranta came to Kouvola with orders from Manner: The Central Front forces were to retire immediately on Viipuri, and join the Red Guard there in an attempt "to break out eastwards to Russia." What followed was a minor repeat of the western evacuation: The command at Kouvola could not see any pressing need to withdraw and wanted to wait and see if the western Red Guard would succeed in breaking through to join them. It was 25 April before a meeting of Red Guard commanders in Kouvola decided not to wait any longer, but to comply with Manner's order. By then they were too late, the railway to Viipuri was about to be cut, and it was clear that Viipuri was no safe place to retreat to. When the meeting reconvened on 28 April, nothing had been done, the men were in any case refusing to move, and now A. Walden proposed that they retire down the Kymi valley. He reckoned there they had enough supplies to hold out for up to a month, and those who wanted could be evacuated to Russia by sea from Kotka and the rest try to slip back into civilian life. It was the only reasonable alternative to surrender, and was adopted by the meeting; but it met with resistance from the ordinary Red Guard, who saw it as a scheme for sacrificing them so that the leaders could getaway. Kotka Red Guard sent in a vigorous protest on 30 April; the idea of evacuating to Russia must be dropped:84 We cannot and we must not, for the sake of the masses, agree to such an evacuation, because we cannot answer to the masses for the consequences of that act, and you must understand what kind of a situation this will lead to among our already unsettled troops. Signs multiplied that Red authority was collapsing, the saddest being a flare-up of the Red Terror. The "Investigating Committee" in Kouvola, under J. Saarinen, began to call in White prisoners from Luumaki, Hamina, and the Kymi valley and murdered nearly 100 victims in the last days of Red power in Kouvola. But the clearest sign of disintegration was the attempt made to defy the command and negotiate a surrender. This was led by a group of socialists in Kotka, directed by K. Kari and the editors of the local newspaper, Eteenpain. They contacted the foreign consuls and published a statement on 4 May, calling for surrender, "we must recognise the plain truth that we have been conquered, and thus arrived at the point where further bloodshed and sacrifice of victims must be prevented." Walden and his staff tried to keep the fight going, but their troops were breaking up. The men were not responding to appeals from their leaders to hold together; a Red Guard soldier remembered that "there were rumours that the ordinary soldiers could go home, only the commanders would be punished . . . we surrendered without a fight."85 There was in fact no more serious fighting: Linder's men followed the retreating enemy into Kouvola on 3 May and proceeded almost unopposed down the railway 513

towards Kotka and Hamina. A resident of Hamina described how "Red horsemen with foaming horses, wet through, and long queues of carts with their exhausted drivers, and mixed up with them, infantrymen faint with weariness," poured through the town. Trains came south packed with refugees and the more prudent White inhabitants left town for the forests and islands. In Kotka there were said to be Red extremists prepared to burn the town down rather than leave it to the Whites, but if they existed, nothing came of it. The White forces entered Kotka on 4 May, just a few hours before three Russian steamers that had come to take off the refugees. These did not know the town had fallen, and they were seized by the Whites. The last Red Guard units surrendered on 5 May, and the final score for the Finnish and German forces in the Kymi valley was 9,000 prisoners, 120 machine guns, and 57 field guns. In this manner the campaign of the Kymi valley Red Guard, once the militant vanguard of the whole movement, ended with a whimper rather than a bang. Unlike the western Red Guard, they were not defeated in battle, for they had done well in their last organized actions, but had collapsed internally in face of the general catastrophe of the Red cause. On the whole, Kymi valley Red Guard had fought creditably, but they had always fought locally, and had not helped their comrades in the west, or obeyed the call to retire to the east. Like their comrades elsewhere they would not leave homes and families. The last issue of Eteenpain, probably the last issue of the old socialist press, appeared on 4 May, and was refreshingly realistic and dignified. The editorial spoke the obituary of the revolution.86 We stand now on the ruins of our revolution. . . . The road forward is—at least for the present—blocked. Withdrawal is impossible. . . . What is to be done? . . . We have already recognised that we have lost the battle. . . . There are no other means: lay down the weapons. We must give up resistance. It is bitter but we can do no other. The catastrophe of the revolution is now at that point. Although little fighting had taken place in the last days in the Kymi valley, there was killing and retribution after the surrender, understandable in face of the Red terrorism of the final phase. Linder himself tried to forestall it; he ordered subordinates to see that there was no illegality or violence, "which in itself could greatly damage the cause of White Finland," but he could not prevent it. Not much killing took place in Kotka, but at Kouvola and in the Kymi paper factories, there was considerable settling of accounts. About 280 prisoners were the victims of arbitrary executions during the 10 days that followed the end of the fighting. It was a reprisal comparable to that which followed the fall of Varkaus.87 The surrender of the last Red Guard troops in the Kymi valley was the end of the civil war, except that an eccentric item of business remained, for the Russians still held the fortifications of Ino. They very nearly lost it on 24 April, when, after the capture of Terijoki, a detachment of White cavalry appeared before the fortifications and demanded their surrender. Initially the Russian commandant was inclined to comply, but received strict orders from Moscow that Ino was to be held, though the garrison must not become involved in the civil war. Reinforcements were sent out 514

from Kronstadt, and the battleship Respublika anchored offshore. The White commanders agreed to a cease-fire, and on 30 April Mannerheim ordered that I no was to be recovered by diplomatic means, for the retention of I no by the Russians was clear breach of the treaty of Brest-Litovsk. When the attention of Ludendorff was drawn to the matter on 2 May, he stated "Ino is Finnish territory and must be evacuated. By sending additional troops from Kronstadt, the Russian government would commit a hostile act." Cicerin tried to argue that Ino was an essential part of the defenses of Kronstadt, and had been ceded to Russia by the Reds, and he offered to negotiate about it with White Finland. But the Finnish leaders knew they had a winner, and stepped up the pressure for unconditional evacuation, and the German military were happy to support them. The actual resolution came locally: The Finnish commanders at Ino complained of breaches of the cease-fire, and threatened an artillery bombardment. To avoid a conflict, the garrison evacuated the fortress, and as their last ships left, massive demolitions destroyed the fortifications. The ruins were occupied by Finnish troops on 15 May, and the war had finally ended.88

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Chapter 17

The Reckoning When the fighting had ended it was time to settle accounts and determine what the final outcome of the struggle would be. Defeat was an immense disaster for the Finnish working class, from which they and the cause of Finnish socialism still suffer after 60 years. It was natural that those socialists who had condemned and stood aloof from the revolution, like Tanner and Paasivuori in Helsinki, Huttunen in Viipuri, and Tainio in Kuopio, would come forward after defeat and offer the workers an alternative leadership. They could expect support from socialists like Makelin, Wiik, and Gylling, who had served the revolution out of a sense of solidarity with the workers, though they had regarded it as a mistake. Such men offered the chance to rebuild the working-class movement on constitutional, nonrevolutionary principles. The Helsinki group took the lead by contacting Goltz and offering to cooperate in pacifying the workers: The Germans were interested on purely pragmatic grounds; Goltz reported on 20 April that these revisionists might be useful. They were encouraged to publish a statement entitled "Proclamation to the Workers of Finland," dated 16 April and signed by 25 socialists of long standing in the movement. It claimed that SDP had always sought its ends by parliamentary means as long as these were open to it. A small unrepresentative clique of leaders, manipulated by the Bolsheviks, "and relying on Russian help, have irresponsibly led the socialdemocratic working-class movement in our country astray." The workers were invited to disown these leaders and return to their original principles. "So down with the weapons everywhere and let us return to western, social-democratic methods of struggle, let us return to constructive parliamentary work and unarmed organisationa activity."1 This document was the founding charter of the new Social Democratic party and trade union movement of post-1918 Finland. It called for repudiation of allegiance to Bolshevik Russia and the armed struggle and branded the revolutionary leaders guilty of "a multiple crime against the working class." Consequently it meant the division of the Finnish workers' movement. The leaders branded as criminal would have to be excluded from the reformed movement, but more important, those 516

workers who accepted the new socialist party were required to agree with the bourgeois class enemy that their revolution had been an unjustified and criminal adventure. For many of those who had fought and suffered for the revolution, whatever misgivings they may have had about it, this was too much to ask. Such workers would also be excluded, or feel bound to exclude themselves, from an SDP based on such a proposition. Those whom Tanner denounced as criminals commenced their exile in Russia in a state of shock. At one of their earliest gatherings in Petrograd, on 27 April, the disaster was variously blamed on the Russians, the western Red Guard, the panic created by the Germans, and the ineradicable indiscipline of the workers: "The masses have been taught to mutiny, and when the boss changed, they mutinied against their own people, since there were no bourgeois to revolt against." It was an empty, rambling debate, and T. Levanen pointed out, "It is in accord with human nature and proven fact of history, that in military defeats and lost causes, there is mutual recrimination and search for scapegoats." After a time there were more mature reflections. Manner and Kuusinen went to see Lenin early in May, and Manner recalled how apprehensive they had been; "we had been beaten. We saw and felt that we had made serious mistakes. We were also ourselves morally beaten." They expected Lenin would expose their mistakes to his characteristic, searching analysis. But Lenin wasted no energy on recrimination:2 comrade Lenin came to meet us with open arms, shaking our hands warmly. He did not reproach us or blame us. On the contrary he consoled us, "you must not lose confidence or let your minds be depressed. We must prepare and control the matter better on the next occasion." Thus encouraged the exiles began a calmer discussion of future policy. In Petrograd a moderate group emerged, led by Valpas, which took the line that the timing of the revolution had been wrong; Finland had not been ripe for it. They should therefore revert to a policy of seeking reform by legal means, while preparing the workers for revolution when the right time came. This faction, which included A. Huotari and Turkia, generally returned to Finland sooner or later, and made their peace with Tanner's revisionist SDP. But most of the exiles moved the other way: For the first time they became familiar with Lenin's ideas, and concluded that their mistake had not been in starting a revolution, but in failing to direct it in the appropriate manner. Kuusinen published a major self-criticism in October 1918 that recognized that they had fumbled their chance in November 1917, when the bourgeoisie was weak and unprepared, and followed deliberately ambivalent policies in the vain hope of preserving the unity of the movement. They went into the revolution in January unprepared either ideologically or organizationally, and made the mistake of seeking a compromise in the class war, as his own draft democratic constitution testified. They had been obsessed with the idea that Finnish capitalism was insufficiently developed for the transition to socialism, and had sought "to create abridge, a transitional stage from capitalism to socialism. But for that purpose, democratism was not sufficient." Instead they should have set up the full dictatorship of the 517

proletariat, as the Bolsheviks had done in Russia. From this kind of analysis it followed that their task now was to renew the revolution and this time carry it through properly.3 On 25 August, 1918, the exiles met in conference near Moscow: A minority present, while accepting the need for revolution, wanted to provide for peaceful, legal activity in the interim, but they were defeated and expelled by 74 votes to 16, The majority then constituted themselves the Finnish Communist party, with a program based on five principles. These were that the workers' movement would be exclusively prepared for an armed revolution; that only activity promoting revolution was legitimate; that in the revolution all power would be taken into the hands of the proletariat; that there would be an immediate expropriation of the capitalists; and that the new party would be a branch of an international revolutionary front, dedicated to the defense of the Bolshevik revolution. In consequence by August 1918 the old united movement of the Finnish workers had been irreparably split: Two rival sets of leaders competed for the allegiance of the working class, on tactical programs that were diametrically opposed. The split has remained up to the present day, and has to all appearances denied the Finnish workers a political supremacy in Finland that could hardly have been withheld from a united workers' movement. This division of the Finnish working class was one of the most important and enduring results of the revolution.4 In 1918 there is no doubt which of the two programs was most attractive to the workers, for the Communist call to renewed armed struggle met with a very poor response in Finland. But if Tanner's SDP was to build on this initial advantage it had to be able to show that a socialist party, pledged to constitutional methods, would be allowed to work freely, and on equal terms with other parties, within the political system. Very few White political leaders had any thought of permitting this. Tanner had published the first number of a new socialist newspaper, Suomen Sosialidemokraatti, pledged to revive the workers' movement, while repudiating Bolshevism, on 6 May. Anna Wiik was impressed; "I had feared that it would be . . . bourgeois, servile, afraid to argue with those who now have power, but to my inner joy, I found that it was a manly expression of what so many of us thought and felt in these times." It was immediately repressed, and repressed again when relaunched in September, and was only able to publish regularly from mid-December. When parliament met again on 16 May, Paasivuori took his seat as an SDP member, and Tanner pointed out in June that at least 14 other socialist members were wholly innocent of any complicity in the revolution, and ought to be admitted. Only one other socialist member, A. Koponen, was allowed to take his seat; the rest were deliberately excluded. These actions were just part of the government's general harassment of Tanner's new movement. On 16 May, the government had been voted powers "to initiate necessary measures in the country in consequence of the insurrection that has taken place," and in effect all constitutional safeguards were suspended. Not until after the downfall of the Svinhufvud regime in December was SDP able to hold a Congress, and in March 1919 to contest the parliamentary elections. Even then, the ruling bourgeois establishment in Finland made it clear by its 518

actions, right through to 1939, that the SDP had an ambivalent and inferior place in the political system. The party was tolerated, even admitted to government at times, but not really integrated on equal terms into the political life of Finland. So that even social democratic workers were made to feel that they were secondclass citizens in their own country, and despite their repudiation of revolution, were treated as having been responsible for it and inherently unreliable and disloyal.5 The pariah status accorded to Tanner's SDP in post-1918 Finland prolonged the alienation of the Finnish working class from the new Finnish state, and gave credibility to the Communist assertion that the armed class struggle was the only way in which the workers would ever win their rightful place in society. If Tanner's movement had been accorded full rights in the public life of Finland, the Communist appeal to the workers would have been limited to a minority of hard-core class war enthusiasts. Instead it contributed to make Finland one of the few western parliamentary states where the Communist party, though illegal, had an enthusiastic and voluntary mass following among the workers. However, the impact of the treatment of Tanner's revisionists was marginal by comparison with the impact of the White Terror that was unleashed on the whole working class in the wake of the White victory. This had three components, the White Terror proper —that is the extra-legal reprisals taken against the defeated —the legal repression carried out under forms of law, and the incidental sufferings and mortality experienced by the imprisoned Reds. The Terror constitutes an unhappy episode in Finnish history; it can be explained and understood, but hardly anyone would now venture to defend or justify it. It is a highly emotive subject, and best treated by letting the facts speak for themselves. The wartime terror has been seen as a regular feature of White behavior, with a steady flow of killings of unresisting opponents, punctuated by spectacular spurts in the aftermath of major victories, as at Varkaus, Tampere, and Viipuri. Even so, the number killed by the end of April was only 2,400. Then from 28 April to 1 June the number of illegal killings was 4,745, just over half of all such killings, and the peak period from 5-11 May saw executions average 200 a day. In total the illegal killings of captured Reds, or those taken to be such, totaled at least 8,380, which included 58 victims under 16, and 364 women. The method was a combination of simple arbitrary shooting, usually in the immediate aftermath of a battle, and the use of self-appointed tribunals, which appeared in almost every major population center in liberated Finland. Some victims were arrested locally, others were sought out in the prison camps, and either dealt with on the spot, or taken home to be disposed of. It was a joint endeavor between the army and the local bourgeois community leaders, who everywhere set up a local White Guard organization, whose Staffs were the main institutional agency in the selection of victims. The process was quite arbitrary; the victims were not necessarily the leading socialist activists or those guilty of perpetrating the Red Terror. The basis of the purge seems to be as much social as political; the bourgeois leaders, in their local communities, took the opportunity to get rid of known troublemakers and bad characters, and inevitably many personal vendettas were settled in the process.6 519

The illegality of the White Terror proper is beyond dispute: Mannerheim's circular of 25 February could be held to authorize the summary disposition of some categories of captured Reds, but from 13 March the orders to the army were clear, "all Red Guards are to be held as prisoners" and from 25 February all courtsmartial on captured Reds were forbidden. The series of orders issued by Mannerheim, down to 11 May, which repeated that "no executions can be put into effect," show that he knew his orders were being disobeyed. His feelings about this cannot be ascertained; it is certain that what he objected to was the illegality of the killings, not the application of the death penalty to captured Reds, after due process of law. There is no dispute that he thought death a proper penalty for convicted murderers, thieves, and arsonists, and also for "organizers" and "agitators" and those guilty of collaboration with the Bolsheviks. And the ultimate responsibility was his alone, for when Talas tried to get the control of the prisoners transferred to the Justice Department, Mannerheim insisted that they were exclusively under military jurisdiction. Mannerheim certainly knew about the killings, and in theory could have stopped them by asserting his authority. In fact, neither he nor anyone else in the White camp had enough authority to stop them. The mood in the White army, and among the bourgeois civil population, was that there should be retribution, and legal niceties should not stand in the way. Mannerheim's own legal officers reported on 12 May that "it was impossible, on the basis of existing laws, to get these people condemned as quickly as the matter requires," and recognized that if some special legal machinery were not provided, the populace would take the law into their own hands. Certainly once the Reds were helpless prisoners in White hands, nobody could have stopped the retribution that followed. Mannerheim was prudent enough not to put his personal authority at risk by concerning himself too closely with the extent to which his orders were being obeyed. 7 The government and the political leaders also knew what was happening, and that it was illegal. When parliament debated the law to set up special Courts to deal with offenses committed during the insurrection, A. Lagerlof spoke of prisoners dying of hunger and disease in the camps, and "dreadful rumours of illegal occurrences, of irresponsible persons exercising secret punitive measures." Wrede hoped that "the government would act so that there would be an immediate end to extralegal dispensation of justice, or rather criminal executions, which are still being carried out in many places." On 25 May a letter from H. Linder, once Mannerheim's brother-in-law, was published in Hufvudstadsbladet, which was even more outspoken: "What is happening in the country is deplorable. In spite of the commander-in-chief's prohibitions, the shootings continue uninterrupted. The Red madness has been followed by the White terror." The government therefore knew of the illegal killings, and knew it could not stop them directly; all it could do was to offer a legal process that might satisfy the demand for retribution. A law was passed on 29 May that set up special Courts to try offenses against the state. They would have five members, of whom two must be legally qualified, and one would be an army officer nominated by the commander-in-chief. There would be no appeal against their verdicts, except on points of law, though there could be appeals for clemency 520

against their sentences. These Courts would "decide according to their own convictions what is the truth of the matter." All those accused of participating in the insurrection would be investigated, and where appropriate brought to trial. It was hoped that by setting up legal agencies of repression, illegal repression could be brought to an end, and this happened. After the end of May killings fell off dramatically; only 5 percent of the victims met their fate after the law had passed.8 This ushered in the phase of legal repression of the defeated. In the end, 67,000 persons were convicted by the special Courts, and 555 death sentences passed, of which 265 were put into effect. It was a trifling addition to the toll of illegal killing, and the process was somewhat less arbitrary, though it is obvious from the number of cases processed that the formal investigations were perfunctory. The Courts were not bound by the usual rules of evidence, and the major factor in every case was a formal questionnaire on the accused sent to the White Guard Staff in his home community. This invited loaded comments on the past activities of the accused and provided an opportunity for the Staff to pronounce on the prisoners' deserts. The evidence supports a strong correlation between the opinions expressed in these reports and the decisions of the Courts. It can be argued that the Courts were unconstitutional, and the basis on which the charges were brought illegal, but they did represent some kind of due process of law; if the 265 confirmed death sentences had been the total for the insurrection, it would have represented a very mild repression. Thousands of prison sentences were given, usually accompanied by loss of rights of citizenship, though many of the shorter sentences were suspended, and the rest eventually reduced by successive amnesties. Imprisonment could still be a bitter ordeal for the prisoner, and perhaps even more for his family, but it did leave the possibility of a new beginning afterwards; it never had the emotional impact of the memory of the dead.9 The third aspect of the repression was distinct because it was not intended by those involved. The military authorities were left in May with about 80,000 prisoners, and as no preparations had been made to cope with such numbers, an appalling tragedy resulted. It started because many of the prisoners were ill-nourished, and often exhausted on capture. No adequate accommodation existed for them, and they were herded into improvised prisons, often grossly overcrowded, unsanitary, and lacking the most basic facilities. This occurred against a situation of near famine in the whole country, so that even with goodwill, it would not have been easy to keep such a mass properly fed. As it was, nobody on the winning side felt that the food shortages of the prisoners merited special consideration. The result was that over a period of four months, 11,783 of the prisoners died in the prisons, mostly of malnutrition and diseases associated with it, dysentery being the commonest. This appalling, unintended mortality more than doubled the number of Red victims of the repression. Almost certainly, it could only have been avoided by the rapid release of most of the prisoners to their homes; the resources of the Finnish state at that time were inadequate to house, feed, and keep in good health such a mass of prisoners. Yet they could not be released, because both military and civil authority insisted that these men were criminals who must be investigated and 521

brought to trial, and thousands had to be kept for months to await their hearings. Mannerheim tried to claim afterwards that it was the government that had insisted on this legalistic approach; "I proposed . . . that only those guilty of grave crimes should be brought before the courts, and the great, misled mass, even those caught in arms, should be set free." But if Mannerheim did make any proposal to this effect, it must have been verbal, for no trace of it can be found in the written record. Further as commander-in-chief in sole charge of the prisoners, it was within his power to order their release if he had thought that the proper thing to do. His responsibility for the tragedy is mitigated only by the fact that he ceased to be commander-in-chief at the end of May, before the prison mortalities reached epidemic proportions. It seems clear that in fact neither the civil, nor the military authorities ever considered any other policy than treating all captured Reds as criminals, that this ruled out the early release of the prisoners; and the mortality in the prisons was a natural consequence. It could have been reduced with goodwill, by observing elementary rules of hygiene, such as providing adequate drinking water and washing facilities, but the prisoners were regarded with ill will, a feeling that they deserved their sufferings. The wretched and squalid miseries and deaths of the prison victims left the most painful and lasting memory among the Finnish workers and their families. With such memories, many did not need much persuading that the class war was real, and would have to be fought to its bitter conclusion.10 Therefore the result of the Finnish revolution for the Finnish workers was that about 23,000 of them died from battle, execution, or death in prison, in addition to which tens of thousands suffered prison terms and the loss of their rights as citizens, followed even after release by the discrimination and oppression of hostile employers, the security forces of the state and its other agencies. This meant that independent Finland had to live with a working class, perhaps 40 percent of the total population, that nourished various degrees of resentment against the society that had been established. Scarcely a working class family in the land did not have some direct experience of repression or injustice at the hands of the victorious Whites. In such conditions, it was hard for a system of democratic politics to work, and the country came close to sliding into repressive authoritarianism when the world depression hit its economy. Only after 1937, when SDP was fighting its way back to a real share in power, did the rift begin to heal, and even then the substantial portion of the working class that gave its allegiance to the illegal Communist party remained implacably hostile. It was the repression that had given the Communist party its mass following. The workers of Finland knew, by first-hand experience, that the class war was no abstraction invented by Marx; they had lived through it. The independent Finnish republic started life as a political cripple because the repression of 1918 poisoned its political life, and even today the resentments and hatreds have not wholly vanished. But it has to be remembered that the White Terror was a popular, even a democratic phenomenon, in the sense that it represented what the minority of bourgeois activists wanted, and what the majority of rank and file White supporters were ready to approve. The repression was seen by them both as highly moral, the justified 522

punishment of evil-doers and as politically necessary. They must get rid of those perceived as "anarchists and hooligans," who had threatened the very fabric of society, and those "traitors and hirelings" who had conspired to undo Finland's new-won independence in favor of a revived Russian imperialism—doubly repugnant because it was both Russian and Bolshevik. This was how the ordinary White citizen saw the repression, and the scattered voices that pointed out the consequences of such a policy for the future of society, and urged conciliation and healing, were drowned out or dismissed with contempt. It would have needed a powerful and united leadership, endowed with the necessary vision and courage, to deny what the popular wisdom was united in demanding, retribution for the defeated. No such leadership was forthcoming, for while the Terror was at its peak, the White leaders were locked in a paralyzing internal conflict, and at the center of that conflict stood Mannerheim. In most comparable historical situations, Mannerheim would have ended the war in a position of total dominance as the Liberator—a Finnish Cromwell, Washington, or Bolivar. The basic reason why he did not was that throughout he had remained an outsider, an alien figure in a Finnish context. Because of this alienation, he could not get along with the government or the politicians, nor could he easily strike a response from the masses, for he could not really even speak Finnish in a society almost neurotically sensitive about language. The German minister, Bruck, noted that Mannerheim was not really "popular in the army, even if his energy and merits are recognised, and his fine military bearing admired." Therefore many who would normally have rallied to Mannerheim as the strong-man of the new state found him unacceptable as a leader. The conservative politician, E. Palmen, saw Mannerheim as representing Swedish-language interests, still essentially a Russian officer, and surrounded by people who combined both these obnoxious characteristics. E. Hjelt wrote to Svinhufvud from Berlin on 25 April to urge that Mannerheim must go. He acknowledged Mannerheim's many qualities but he was: n oriented to Scandinavia and indirectly to the Entente: he is not fighting Russia, but the Reds . . . the war of the Finnish people is a war against Russia, Russia such as it was, is and will remain. Finland wants and must be oriented to the Central Powers. Hjelt urged that Mannerheim be sent off as an ambassador, or if he remained to command the army, "It must be made clear that politics and the general orientation is exclusively for the government and parliament." The Swedish minister, C. Westman, observed:12 In this promised land of intriguers, baron Mannerheim has attracted much ill-will and criticism. . . . His position is clearly weakened by the fact that he is a Russian general, who has close relations with Russia, and he is very poorly informed about Finland's internal affairs. The Kaiser was so impressed by what he heard of Mannerheim's uncomfortable position in Finland that he personally suggested that "Mannerheim perhaps is suited 523

to restore order in Petrograd," and suggested that Germany might back him in such an enterprise. Both Hindenburg and Ludendorff thought this a promising idea, and though nothing came of it, it showed that contemporary observers did not see Mannerheim's future as essentially bound up with Finland. The return of the Ja'gers had greatly strengthened the clique at Vaasa that aspired to unseat Mannerheim, and had given it an implacable director in 0. Siven, who fancied Mannerheim had slighted him, and who was a dangerous intimate of Svinhufvud. Svinhufvud was sympathetic up to a point: Siven reported in April that Svinhufvud "has promised that the Russian system at Headquarters will end and that the best way of doing it is to change the leadership." By 6 May, Siven was confident, "Mannerheim and his whole Russian system will be overthrown, different men into the lead, that is our slogan." On two occasions while the war was still on, Svinhufvud went so far as to consult with German advisers about whether to replace Mannerheim, but in both instances the Germans urged caution. Still, Siven insisted that he had firm undertakings: "We demanded of Pekka S. that as soon as the country is cleared, the leadership will be changed, and Pekka S. has promised that on behalf of the government." Once Viipuri fell, Mannerheim's enemies abandoned all restraint. Thesleff noted in his diary on 3 May, "Intrigue against Headquarters and Mannerheim is in full flood, and in my view parliament and the government would not regret some small changes." Torngren wrote to deplore the situation on 7 May, "everything is chaotic. . . . There is no unity, only the advancement of party and private interests. They want to remove Mannerheim, the only real man." Mannerheim did have support—friends of the Entente, most big businessmen, many of the older and more conservative members of the bourgeois parties, and even most of the Jager officers. Siven was disappointed when, at.a conference with Heinrichsand Malmberg, representing the Jager officers, "they were of the opinion that Mannerheim must stay." The feelings of loyalty among brother officers, and the genuine professional respect that Mannerheim evoked, were stronger than merely political inclination.13 Mannerheim knew his position was precarious: he wrote to his brother on 29 April about the tasks ahead and said:14 The near future will show whether I shall carry out this task. I shall only do it in the event I feel I really enjoy the confidence of the whole nation, and can have the authority which success in the work requires. If this does not happen, I would rather leave the responsibility to others. In a letter to his sister he specified the root of his doubts; he feared a total predominance of Germany in Finland's affairs, which he regarded as a disaster for the country. The German attitude was naturally crucial for his future. Svinhufvud and most of the bourgeois politicians saw Finland's future as dependent on German patronage and protection. They wanted protection against Russia, and hoped that in return for loyalty, Germany would support their expansionist aims in eastern Karelia. They saw Mannerheim as an obstacle to close collaboration with Germany, but it was only with German support that Svinhufvud and the politicians would dare to get rid of him. 524

The German position in Finland was very strong, and it would have been natural if the Germans had exploited their power and influence to the maximum extent, but they chose not to. For German priorities in the east had not changed; the overriding consideration was to uphold the peace of Brest-Litovsk and maintain the Bolsheviks in power in Russia, so as to avoid any reopening of an eastern front. So the aspirations of the White Finns to pursue territorial expansion in Karelia, or even overthrow the Bolshevik regime in Petrograd, did not have German support. They prevented the White authorities from breaking the Hanko agreement by seizing as war booty the remaining Russian shipping in Helsinki, while Goltz was ordered not to get involved in any operations in eastern Karelia. "Penetration into east Karelia can only happen in pursuit of Russian detachments that are not immediately disarmed in east Karelia. International law must be taken seriously. . . ." The German leaders also had decided that the German troops in Finland must not clash with the Entente troops based on Murmansk. The Bolsheviks must be induced to get the Entente forces to leave. Some Germans were still against any long-term commitment in Finland, Bruck thought it unnecessary; the Whites would almost certainly set up a German monarchy —"the whole army favours a monarchy"—and Mannerheim would not object. Bruck thought Germany could afford to win a valuable propaganda point by withdrawing her troops; "if the troops leave now, it will be clear to the whole world that Germany has helped Finland out of pure friendship." Ludendorff was not prepared to go as far as that, but he was ready to limit the German role in Finland. Ludendorff met the German Chancellor in Spa on 11 May, and was asked what his Finnish policy was. He replied that the main thing was to build a Finnish army on the German model, which was what the Finns wanted too. In this way "an ally against Russia will be won. The White Guard is too weak, therefore we have acceded to Mannerheim's request to help him with a competent force." Ten battalions of German troops could stay until the Finnish army had been built up. He said he was aware that the Finns had aspirations in Karelia, but the German command would not give any support to them. In the longer term there might be advantage in launching Finnish forces against the Murmansk railway, but that was speculative. For the moment, German policy had limited aims: It would help to consolidate the White regime and encourage its tendency to look to Germany for support, but at present they had no other positive aims in Finland.15 This meant that although the German leaders were well aware that from their point of view, Mannerheim was politically unreliable, there was no urgent need to displace him. The Germans feared embarrassing political repercussions if Mannerheim were forced out through their influence, for they did not want to appear to be interfering in Finland's internal affairs. So the anti-Mannerheim clique was disappointed by the lukewarm German attitude, while Mannerheim himself was very careful to cultivate correct relations with the Germans. Despite his Entente preferences, he was realist enough to see that for the immediate future Finland needed German support. He maintained excellent relations with Bruck, and Crantz and his German officers, and even managed to remain polite to Goltz. Mannerheim's dislike of Goltz is beyond question; he called him "a political and intriguing general," and resented 525

the way in which Goltz, aided by Thesleff, had evaded Mannerheim's nominal command over him. But Mannerheim knew how to control feelings, and on 10 May Goltz was invited to Headquarters at Mikkeli. All the proper politeness was shown, and Goltz was impressed. He described Mannerheim as surrounded by a most elegant staff, from which Mannerheim was distinguished both as a presence and a personality. "He was slender, refined, reserved but a flexible man of the world." Thesleff noted the cordiality of the outward display, but added "there was no inner sympathy on either side." The visit was returned on 15 May, when Mannerheim went to Goltz' headquarters at Riihimaki: In speeches both generals praised their comradeship in arms, and emphasized the contribution the other had made to their joint campaign. Medals were exchanged, but cordiality remained absent. The dislike between the two men was mutual, but Goltz knew that he should not show hostility towards Mannerheim, for he reckoned that Mannerheim had enough domestic enemies to neutralize him.16 With the end of hostilities the White leadership was torn by both a power struggle, and a difference over policy. Svinhufvud was under heavy pressure either to remove Mannerheim or reduce his power and authority, while Mannerheim was bent on retaining a dominant position, and would not consent to become a mere agent of the politicians, whom he rather despised. Svinhufvud was ready to commit Finland wholly to German protection, but Mannerheim believed that the Entente would win the war, so while they must currently work closely with Germany, they must keep other options open. He believed that Finland's need for security against Russia and her aspirations in Karelia might be better met by a policy of anti-Bolshevik intervention in Russia, designed to restore the Russian monarchy, and under the patronage of the Entente powers. Svinhufvud and Mannerheim came in time to develop a working relationship based on mutual respect, but in May 1918 they scarcely knew one another, and their brief dealings to date had not been easy. Yet Svinhufvud and his colleagues in the government were not looking for a confrontation with Mannerheim, as Siven and the Activists were, but were seeking a revised working relationship. They were willing to have Mannerheim as a partner in the government, provided he would respect the ultimate sovereign authority of governmentand parliament in all spheres, including military affairs. On 29 April Akerman had brought Mannerheim a memorandum on the government's view about post-war policies. Parliament should meet and elect a provisional head of state to exercise the powers of the former Grand Duke until a new constitution was enacted. Parliament would then complete the institutional structures of the new state, including the structure of the defense forces. Special Courts would be set up to deal with the consequences of the insurrection. On 3 May the Vaasa ministers met Mannerheim at Haapamaki, and in a long and uncomfortable session lasting from 6:00 A.M. until 2:00 P.M., they discussed the outstanding problems. Mannerheim made it clear that he had views of his own on most questions, and Akerman thought that he had dominated the ministers. He also announced his intention of holding a formal victory parade in the capital, a thoroughly political move, designed to emphasize that it was Mannerheim and his army that had won the war, and was now entitled to voice in shaping 526

the peace. It would be a bid for public support, designed to reduce the politicians, and by implication the Germans, to a properly secondary position. Mannerheim was serving notice on the government that he and his army were an independent force to be reckoned with.17 Svinhufvud was not intimidated; the following day he had a conference with Goltz at Riihimaki, in itself a snub to Mannerheim, who regarded Goltz as his subordinate, which technically he was, and Svinhufvud should only have contacted Mannerheim's subordinates through the commander-in-chief. Goltz and Svinhufvud discussed the future of the German troops in Finland, and their role in building up a Finnish army, and Svinhufvud canvassed German support for operations in eastern Karelia, but got no encouragement. No decisions were made at the meeting on 4 May, but it symbolized Svinhufvud's readiness to look to German advice and support in his power struggle with Mannerheim. When Svinhufvud got back to Helsinki and the whole government was reunited, it issued a victory statement on 6 May, ascribing the victory "to the incomparable bravery of the sons of the motherland and the powerful assistance of the German troops, who arrived at the request of the government." The contribution of the commander-in-chief was not mentioned at all; it was the government that "had collected all the forces of the country to fight for the final liberation of Finland from centuries of Russian oppression and the terrorist regime of the rebels." The ommission of any reference to Mannerheim, much less any expression of gratitude, and the claim that the government, not the commanderin-chief, had rallied the nation, was a blatant snub and a challenge to Mannerheim.18 The resolution of the conflict was postponed while Mannerheim organized his victory parade, set for 16 May. Heinrichs has remarked that "it was not just a parade; it was —one can say—a demonstration." Every major unit in Mannerheim's army was represented, but the Germans were pointedly not invited to join in: Only Goltz and his officers were asked to be present at the review. The march has acquired a legendary quality; it was a magnificent piece of theatre, the weather was fine, the streets were packed with enthusiastic crowds, and emotions were unrestrained: "a relieved joy shone from every face. They shouted and hurrahed, white flowers were thrown in our path." Jagerskiold has written, "The purpose was to draw attention to Finland's army and it did not fail." Mannerheim had issued an order of the day in which he thanked all who had contributed to the victory, and specifically included "the brave men of Sweden and Scandinavia" and nowhere mentioned Germany or the Germans. He concluded with a pointed statement about the future, "Now as before the great questions will be decided by blood and iron. To protect our freedom our army must stand ready . . . without unity a strong army cannot be created, and only a powerful nation can safely advance towards the future." Thus Mannerheim staked out the claim of the army to play a central role in the future of Finland, a point he was to make again later in the day.19 Mannerheim, who was a magnificent horseman, led the parade and focussed attention on himself as the man who had created and led the army that followed him. The first overt demonstration came when the burgomaster of Helsinki welcomed him, and was told pointedly that the citizens "did not need to be protected any 527

more by the German comrades in arms." But the great set-piece demonstration came when Mannerheim went to meet the government in Government House. In the lobby an official reminded Mannerheim that the government wished to receive him alone:20 The general took this instruction very badly. His face darkened and he turned quickly round and urged his followers to come with him, and then he and his entourage, which—according tohiscustom —wasnotsmall in number, stepped into the room where the ministers, with Svinhufvud at their head, were awaiting his arrival. Mannerheim then delivered a blunt, almost discourteous lecture on what the army expected of the government, he said himself that "I spoke harsh words to the ministers—it was no watery gruel." He began ominously with the statement that "I stand here today at the head of Finland's young, victorious army," whose achievement had been in no way diminished by "Germany's generous contribution to our liberation struggle." He recalled their humiliation in January, when the ministers:21 of necessity were powerless against robbery and plunder, and had been compelled to watch helplessly as Finnish citizens were murdered, until they were at last stripped of the last shadow of power and the members forced to flee or hide away. The army now expected that the government would ensure that nothing like that could ever happen again: The army holds that the only guarantee against danger is that the Finnish ship of state shall be entrusted to strong hands, beyond the reach of party wrangling, and which have no need to make compromises and bargains over the powers of the government for trifles. In the ranks of the White Army stands every loyal man, in the belief that in the era which is beginning, his hopes will not be disappointed. Thousands of the white crosses in cemeteries through the distant Finnish countryside, speak their silent language. The dead demand that the sacrifice has not been in vain. Thus the government was reminded that while they had been helpless refugees, he and his army had saved the nation, and now they were lectured in public, like a class of backward schoolboys reprimanded by a headmaster, and told they must do better in future. And by implication they were told that Mannerheim and his army would see to it that they did. What Mannerheim meant by a government above party politics has been much debated: It is often taken as a call for a strong monarchy, or it could be a hint that he himself represented just such a source of authority above party politics. It certainly demonstrated Mannerheim's distaste for the processes of democratic government, which is essentially a permanent quest for the acceptable compromise. Whatever he meant, the ministers resented it and their determination hardened to master the commander-in-chief and reduce him to a proper subordination to the civil power. Talas wrote of the incident, "Mannerheim showed, on this occasion, the manners of a dictator, which were not appropriate to a commander-in-chief. 528

He had served in Russia the greater part of his life and there learned habits that were not suitable in a democratic country." Theslof had warned Mannerheim in advance that he was going too far: after such a public challenge, the struggle for authority between the government and the commander-in-chief would have to be fought until one or the other gave in. But Mannerheim either overestimated the strength of his position, or he no longer cared and had decided, in face of what he took to be the government's hostility and ingratitude, to go for victory on his own terms or accept defeat. Svinhufvud, who was not a meek or long-suffering character, declined to be provoked: He simply declared, "In the name of the fatherland, the government gives you, mister general, hearty thanks for all that you have done to save the fatherland, and bids you welcome to the nation's capital." 22 When he came out of Government House, Mannerheim met the Speaker and members of parliament, and told them that "only a nation which is able to help itself can look to the future with confidence. The future of Finland as an independent state depends on its army, and that army on the support which you, the representatives of Finland, give to it." Then the notables all went to church and emerged to review the parade. Once more emotion broke loose; one soldier recalled: 23 We looked straight into the commander-in-chief's eyes, and it felt as though the general noticed each one of us ... from windows and balconies it rained white flowers like snow. . . . The public were everywhere that people could get, and in every place they threw white flowers. After the parade the troops were fed at the railway station, and Mannerheim attended the feast with his sister. This was a happy occasion, unlike the formal dinner offered by the government, where, as Bruck reported, Mannerheim was seated unhappily between Svinhufvud, who virtually ignored him,and the Speaker, Lundson, with whom Mannerheim was manifestly ill at ease.24 On 18 May, parliament voted Svinhufvud provisional head of state and the final phase in the struggle began. When Siven lobbied Svinhufvud on 13 May, he found him undecided how to proceed, and to demands that Mannerheim be dismissed, "Svinhufvud answered evasively." Then on 20 May Mannerheim wrote formally to the government and said that his immediate task as commander-in-chief was concluded, and asked to resign. It is generally agreed that he did not want to resign, but that the letter was an invitation to the government to negotiate the terms on which he would be prepared to carry on. The government still wanted to avoid a break; Renvall told Ahlstrom on the following day that "the government supports Mannerheim," and Westman, in conversation with Svinhufvud, heard the latter praise Mannerheim and declare that the question of his future was still open, though Westman thought that Svinhufvud really wanted to be rid of him. On 23 May Estlander thought that Mannerheim "will remain in place and approve the scheme for reorganising the army, drawn up by the government." The key to the situation was held by Goltz, with whom Svinhufvud was in regular contact, through Frey andThesleff. On 20 May Goltz and Svinhufvud agreed on a seven-point program, to which Mannerheim would be invited to adhere. It was connected with a formal request to the 529

German government for German troops to remain in Finland, which was granted. Mannerheim was not opposed to this plan; he had told the government on 21 May that "from a military point of view, the presence of German troops here cannot be considered absolutely necessary, but these troops being here would offer, however, full security during the period of organisation." So there was no dispute over this. The debate between Mannerheim and the government concerned the seven points in Svinhufvud's memorandum. 2 5 First there was to be an army of about 30,000 men in peacetime, which implied two years' military service, and there was no disagreement about this. Second, "the army [was] to be organised according to German models, with the help of the necessary number of German officers," which would have to be agreed with the German military authorities. Mannerheim could accept much of this; it was inevitable that the army should follow German models, because of its Jager officer corps, but Mannerheim had reservations about letting the Germans decide how many instructors there should be and of what rank. This he wanted to determine for himself. The third point was that in the army only Finnish or German officers should be employed, and the existing officers of other nationalities should be discharged. Mannerheim certainly objected to this, not as a general principle, but because of the ingratitude involved in dismissing the Swedish officers who had made sacrifices to serve in the Finnish army, and because it infringed his right, as commander-in-chief, to select his own subordinates. However, this issue was negotiable; Mannerheim later denied that the negotiation had foundered over this point. The fourth point was that until the constitution was settled, the granting of commissions would belong "to the commanderin-chief (that is to the highest authority)." If this meant, as it seemed to do, that Svinhufvud, as head of state, would issue commissions, Mannerheim could not accept. He believed that the power to determine the grant of commissions and make promotions was essential to the authority of a commander-in-chief. The fifth point concerned the old problem of a ministry of war: It was proposed to establish a minister and the relations of the minister to the commander-in-chief "are to be determined." Mannerheim could no longer object to the setting up of a war ministry, but he would want a very clear and unambiguous definition of what its functions were to be. The sixth point stimulated his fears on this, for it said that "the war minister is to be ranked with the commander-in-chief." It was unclear what this meant, but if it implied some system of joint or shared authority over the armed forces, Mannerheim could never have accepted. Finally the memorandum called for "continued operations only in agreement with the Germans: The proposal to help the Russian monarchists in their plans depends on whether the Ob. Heeresleitung agrees to it." This was objectionable to Mannerheim: He was thinking about a possible campaign in eastern Karelia, or alternatively an intervention in Petrograd in collaboration with Russian Whites, who would in return for assistance cede eastern Karelia to Finland. Mannerheim did not want to make the realization of such plans wholly dependent on German consent. This would rob him and the government of the element of flexibility that he considered essential. 26 The memorandum defined the arena of conflict, and there was scope for negotia530

tion on all the issues. Historians have been unable to determine which issue was, in the end, decisive. Between 20-27 May was a week of scrappily documented talks between Mannerheim, the government, Goltz, and the politicians. In these a number of mediators, including Jernstrom, K. Donner, and T. Svedlin, in spite of their activist opinions, tried to find ways of keeping Mannerheim in command of the army. A further issue emerged over the structure, though not the size, of the peacetime army: Mannerheim had a plan for an army of 27 regiments, which would form nine divisions. Only a third of the men would be on service, but the staffs, equipment, and arms for nine divisions would exist, ready for general mobilization. Goltz recommended an army of three divisions, the same peace strength, but without the capacity for speedy enlargement. In effect Mannerheim's plan would enable Finland to mobilize all her manpower to form an army big enough for independent action, while Goltz' scheme might give a more highly trained and professional force, but limited in size, and really only suitable for an auxiliary role alongside the Germans.27 On 23 May a three-hour meeting between Mannerheim and the ministers took place, at which Mannerheim presented his views on the principal questions. He insisted that as commander-in-chief, he alone must have the power to grant commissions, that the war ministry must be confined to questions of supply and finance, so that the minister could well be a civilian, that although he would let most of the Swedish officers go, he wanted to retain about twelve of them for his own staff. As for German officers, he alone would decide how many to employ and in what ranks, and in no circumstances would he accept a German as his chief of staff. He though talk of operations in eastern Karelia was premature, but recommended collaboration with the White Russians in a seizure of Petrograd. The gap between Mannerheim's world outlook and that of the politicians was made very apparent over this, for the politicians were horrified at the idea of associating with Russians, and did not believe that if the scheme succeeded, they could trust the Russian Whites to honor their undertakings over Karelia. Mannerheim replied that these Russians were aristocrats and men of honor, not Bolsheviks. He saw collaboration between an independent Finland and monarchist Russia as one of the more promising ways of ensuring Finland's future; to them, the idea was an abomination. After this meeting, the government was certain that it would let Mannerheim go rather than accept his terms in full.28 Before the next formal discussion, Mannerheim had replied to Svinhufvud's memorandum and narrowed his conditions to what amounted to the preservation of his personal authority over the running of the army. He required that "the right to promote, reward, nominate foreign and Finnish officers" should be his alone. In addition, "no discussions with my subordinates behind my back: also no discussion with foreigners about military matters: the war minister can only be nominated on the basis of principles approved by me. Intrigues must be suppressed." This would ensure that Mannerheim was in full control of the army, and that German control and influence would extend no further than he chose to permit. The Germans were still reluctant to become involved openly, but to Goltz, Mannerheim's terms were unacceptable, and his influence was now used to ensure that Mannerheim should be 531

maneuvered into resigning. At a meeting on 25 May, Mannerheim stuck to his positions, and then Goltz struck, through the government, by suggesting that Thesleff become minister of war. It must have been supposed that Mannerheim would never agree to work with Thesleff, but if he did, then German influence would be firmly entrenched in the ministry of war. Yet although Mannerheim hated and despised Thesleff, whom he regarded as a turncoat who had dishonored his profession, and a subordinate who had been consistently disloyal and a political intriguer as well, he did not let the suggestion provoke him into immediate resignation. Provided that Thesleffs powers as minister of war were defined as Mannerheim required, he was prepared to work with him. Steinwachs told the German General Staff that he thought Mannerheim would accept, provided his own power over appointments was secured. 29 But that gave his enemies the weapon they needed, for it quickly became clear that Mannerheim's other conditions would not be met, and he hardened his stand. In no circumstances, would he have Thesleff as minister of war; indeed he wanted him out of the country as ambassador to Berlin. Then he insisted that the Swede, Colonel Grafstrom, should be his chief of staff. The government replied that they had now chosen Thesleff as minister of war and that the chief of staff must be a German officer. As a result, on 27 May, Mannerheim submitted his final resignation. The letter said that he did not object to using German officers and German methods in the army, nor was he opposed to the current orientation of the government's foreign policy towards Germany. The issue had been one of the personal authority of the commander-in-chief, and in his view the government "does not want to create for the supreme military leadership those conditions, under which I would regard myself as able to carry responsibility for the decisions on great issues which are ahead." In a letter to Torngren in 1923, Mannerheim made the same point, but gave it a less personal, more national slant when he wrote: 30 My departure was a protest against the Finnish commander-in-chief being subordinated to the directions of v.d.Goltz and the German General Staff . . . beside this, all the other causes influencing the matter were trifles. . . . I thrust aside those questions and made the sacrifice of independence the question of confidence. Frey told the party leaders on 27 May that German supervision over the army was the reason for Mannerheim's resignation; "he did not want to remain a mere signboard, and would not commit himself to that organisation." The Germans were well satisfied that the issue was going their way without their having to appear to be directly involved. Steinwachs reported: 31 It is now certain that it is an issue of power between Mannerheim and Svinhufvud, representing the Entente oriented bank-business and intellectual circles and the German oriented Finns. A new cold-shouldering of Thesleff now means a rejection of Germany's friends in Finland, and of the Baltic Division. Therefore an intervention from our side on behalf of Mannerheim is no longer possible. 532

Thesleff himself, when he wrote in his diary on 27 May, seems to have had twinges of conscience, for he denied that it was the intrigues of himself and others that had brought Mannerheim down. The issue had been bigger than personalities; "this is once more a struggle between Germany and the Entente. Although M. has pretended friendship and understanding towards the Germans, at bottom he has not changed, and in these times he cannot really hunt two rabbits at the same time." ButThesleff recognized that things were more complicated than that, for he added that "his wish to carry on as dictator of the country" was intolerable, and his open enthusiasm for collaboration with a monarchist Russia quite unacceptable.32 In face of the evidence it would be vain to try and isolate the one factor which was the real cause of Mannerheim's resignation. Mannerheim believed sincerely, and as it turned out correctly, that because Germany would lose the war it was vital for the future of Finland not to be wholly committed to Germany. He could therefore rationalize his sacrifice of power as a public demonstration against such a policy. But Thesleff was right too: Mannerheim was an authoritarian person, power-sharing was never congenial to him, he would never have agreed to continue as commanderin-chief without the freedom to exercise the office as he saw fit. He wanted full control over the army, and in view of his speech on 16 May it cannot be doubted that as commander of that army, he would expect the government and the politicians to accept his concept of the national interest. In effect, when Mannerheim said that either Thesleff or himself must go, he was challenging the government to choose between himself and Germany as their guide and protector. And although a few politicians, including men as eminent as Stahlberg, thought at the time that a wrong choice had been made, the ministers had the overwhelming support of parliament, and of opinion among the White community, for their decision. It had been intended that the break should be seemly and dignified. The government proposed on 27 May to give Mannerheim a life annuity, and planned some additional gift as a token of public esteem. He was to meet the government on 30 May and discuss with them his views on the organization of the army, and to take part in a formal farewell ceremony, at which the government would express its appreciation of his services. But the plan went astray, and instead there was an extraordinary scene. The discussion between Mannerheim and the ministers on army organization began quietly enough, until Frey grasped that Mannerheim did not realize that the government was already fully committed to implementing Goltz' plans. So he intervened, and according to Mannerheim said:33 perhaps we should say straight out to general Mannerheim how things are. It has been seen as desireable that the final organisation of the army be carried out with the aid of German experts and under German direction. We had thought that the commander-in-chief would have a German general-staff officer beside him, who would draft and present all the necessary proposals touching organisation, training and equipment of the army, and then the commander-in-chief would sign the orders and they would be issued in his name. 533

It is difficult to believe that Frey would have been quite so blunt and tactless as Mannerheim represents, but that was how Mannerheim remembered it, and he took what Frey said as a massive personal insult. He wrote: Nobody could have imagined that I, who had created the army from the ground, and led the almost untrained, defectively armed and equipped troops to victory . . . would have submitted now to confirming with my signature those orders which the German military commission regarded as necessary. Mannerheim cut short the discussion; he told the government that he regretted this had not been made clear to him before, "and then saved it and me from painful and pointless debates: I only want to add that I am giving up my command this evening and travelling abroad tomorrow. I request the government to choose my successor at once—otherwise I shall leave the command to my nearest subordinate. Goodbye, gentlemen." It was a splendid rebuke, but he could hardly complain, as he did, that "as I left the room, no member of the government had a word to say and nobody got up to give me his hand." They must have been struck totally speechless and motionless by the awesome spectacle of Mannerheim in a fury. He actually left Finland for Stockholm on 1 June, and traveled as a private citizen, accompanied by General Linder; he had spurned the proposed farewell ceremonies.34 It seemed an extraordinary reversal of fortune. Thesleff remarked on 27 May how "on the 16th of this month, Mannerheim rode ceremonially into the capital, he was feted like a king and treated with respect as in a Roman Triumph, and now, after only a few days, the man is lost and has permission to give up his post."35 Yet history was to play a strange trick: What looked like the premature and graceless end of a great career proved to be the best thing that could have happened for Mannerheim and Finland. For when Imperial Germany collapsed, in November 1918, and Finland's whole official policy collapsed with her, there was Mannerheim, his prestige and reputation wholly dissociated from the disaster, ready to step in and provide the leadership that would rescue his country from the consequences of Svinhufvud's miscalculations. He replaced Svinhufvud as head of state and guided Finland successfully back into the good grace of the victorious powers. The history of Finland from March 1917 to May 1918 tells of a difficult and dangerous situation converted into a catastrophe by a combination of external forces beyond the control of Finland's leaders, and their own human failings and those of their supporters. In theory it would have been possible for Finland to gain independence in 1918 with the blessing of the foreign powers and the democratic consent of her people. This state would have been a pacific, neutral, Scandinavian-type democracy with a good potential for economic, social, and cultural development. It would have enjoyed the benevolent goodwill of all the major powers and of both sides in the world war. Instead, the Finland of May 1918 was a society ravaged by bitterness and hate, both between workers and bourgeois and between factions in both the victorious and the defeated camps. Independence had been proclaimed, fought for, and then willfully cast aside, for Red Finland would have been a satellite of Soviet Russia, and White Finland had become a dependency of imperial Germany.

534

Certainly most White Finns, and many others, regarded a German overlordship as preferable to that of Russia, but still what they had got was a mockery of an independent state. The victory of the Whites had proved hollow. Yet contemporary Finland, some sixty years later, is a pacific, neutral, Scandinavian-type democracy and has certainly realized her potential for economic, social, and cultural development—is indeed one of the more successful developed countries of the western world. This Finland does enjoy the benevolent goodwill of all the major powers. Only the years in between have witnessed savage internal divisions, disastrous foreign war, and some moments when Finland seemed close to real catastrophe. However long the historians may labor and discuss, it will never be determined whether the eventual happy outcome could have been realized thirty or forty years earlier, without the sufferings and the harrowing experiences that the Finnish people have gone through since 1918. The bare possibility that things could have worked out differently justifies returning to the record of these few months, when so much of the future of Finland was determined. There must be lessons there from which all could profit, though in the end the individual must decide for himself what they are. The historian can only articulate the possibilities.

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References and Bibliography

Abbreviations VA

Valtionarkisto (State Archive), Helsinki

SA

Sotaarkisto (War archive), Helsinki

TA

Tyovaen arkisto (Workers' archive), Helsinki

KA

Kansan arkisto (People's archive), Helsinki

References Chapter 1: The Background to 1917 1. Y. K. Laine, Suomen poliittisen tyovaen historic, Helsinki 1946, I, 274. 2. K. Tornudd, The electoral system of Finland, London 1968, 146 fll. 3. O. Tokoi, Maanpakolaisen muistelmia: isa'nsa muistiinpanojen perusteela kirjoittanut Irene Tokoi, Helsinki 1959, 154-8. 4. T. Lehen,Punaisten ja valkoisten sota, Helsinki 1967, 24; Laine, op. cit., 111-2. 5. Ibid., lll,152;Lehen,op. cit., 27-9. 6. H. Gummerus, Jagere och aktivister, Helsinki 1927, 9; T. Y\u\tin,Paiva'kirjani kertoo 19147975, Helsinki 1938,17. 7. Ibid., 48. &.lbid., 122. 9. Tyomies (hereafter cited as TM) 28.8.1 7. 10. Hultin, op. cit.,49, 57: A. Luhtakanta, Suomen punakaarti, Helsinki 1938, 9; L. Vilenius, Eraan tyomiehen pa'ivakirjasta, Helsinki 1971, 50. 11. M. Menger, Feuer Uber Suomi: Finnlands Rote Garde in Kampf genen Weissgardisten und deutsche Militaristen, Berlin 1962, 9; J. Paavolainen, Poliittiset vakivaltaisuudet Suomessa 1918. I Punainen terror!, Helsinki 1966, 42. 12. Luhtakanta,op. cit., 24, 32; TM, 13.3.17. 13. Hultin, op. cit., 110; W.Graf Lynes, ed., Deutsche Kriegszie/e 7974-7975,24,26, 32. 14. Gummerus, op. cit., 15-9; A. Pakaslahti, Suomen politiikkaa maailmansodassa, Helsinki 1934,1, 14,17-8; H. Ignatius, Fran ofardsar till sjcilvstandighet, Helsinki 1927,102-5. 15. K. Donner, Th.Svedlin, H. Nurmio,eds., Finlands Frihetskrig skildratav deltagare, Helsinki 1921, (hereafter cited as Frihetskrig} I, 74-82; Y. O. Ruuth, Sjalvstandighetspolitiken och Jffgerrorelsens uppkomst, Helsinki 1919, 35-42, 65-100; O. Lagus, Dagbok 7975-76, Helsinki 1918, 3-8; Gummerus, op. cit., 30-40; Pakaslahti, op. cit., 38-41; E. Hjelt, Fran handelsrike 8r; upplevelser och mrnnent Helsinki 1920,1, 34-6. 16. Pakaslahti, op. cit., 45-155; Frihetskrig, I, 86-94; Gummerus,op. cit., 107-10; Lagus,op. cit., 69. 17. Ruuth, op. cit., 130-48; Frihetskrig, I, 96-108, 127-33; N. V. \\em\o,Suojeluskuntien historia: I Puolustustahtoinen kansa, Lahti 1955, 1 30-2; Lagus, op. cit., 85. 18. Frihetskrig, 1,94-9; Ruuth,op. cit., 126-7; Pakaslahti, op. c/Y.,51-3; Hjelt, op. c/f.,41. 19. Pakaslahti, op. cit., 103-8; Lagus, op. cit., 109, 152, 165; Gummerus, op. cit., 198-219; Frihetskrig, I, 134-55.

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20.Lagus,op. cit., 211, 229; Frihetskrig, \, 148-58; Pakaslahti,op. cit., 190-204, 218-43, 25578; Gummerus,op. cit., 234-71.

Chapter 2: The Revolution Comes to Finland 1. T. Polvinen, Vena'jan vallankumous ja Suomi, Helsinki 1967, I, 14; "Fevralskaja revoljutsija v Baltiiskom flote (Iz dnevnik I. N. Rengartena)," Krasnyi Archiv 32(1/1929), 58 fll. 2. Polvinen,op. cit., 15. 3. Krasnyi Archiv, loc. cit. 4. Izvestija Gelsingforskogo Soveta Deputatov Armii, Flota i Rabofich Sveaborgskogo porta (hereafter cited as /Z), 9/223.17, 11/24.3.17, 30.3/12.4.17, 31.3/13.4.17. 5. Polvinen,op. cit., 32. 6. Helsingin Sanomat (hereafter cited as MS), 18.3.17, 20.3.1 7; VA, Karl Wiik kokoelma, K. H. Wiik dagboks anteckningar frSn Iren 1917 och 1918 (hereafter cited as WD) 2; Tokoi, op. c/f.,165. 7. WD, 2-5;Hultin,op. c/Y.,184; 77W, 27.3.17; R. P. Browderand A. F. Kerenski, eds., The Russian Provisional Government, Stanford 1961, I, 334; Polvinen, op. cit., 25. 8. Browder,op. cit.,loc. cit. 9. L. Ehrnrooth, Frdn ett skiftesriket liv: minnen, Helsinki 1947, 272. 10.WD,5-8. 11. TA, 329(471 )5 1917,SDP Neuvoston poytakirjat 1917 (hereafter cited as SDPN), 19-24.3.17. 12./0/01.; WD, 10. 13.SDPN,23.3.17;WD,12. 14. SDPN, 19.3.17. 15. Kansanlehti 23.5.17, 26.5.17; TM, 26.3.1 7, 29.3.17. 16. SDPN, 20.3.17. 17. Ibid., 19.3.17. 18. TM, 20.3.17, 22.3.17, 23.3.17. 19. TM, 19.3.17; I. I. Sjukiainen, "Gelsingforskii seim rabo£ich organisatsii v 1917-1918 gg.," Skandinavskii Sbornik, V, 1962, 116; I. I. Sjukiainen, Revoljutsionnye sobytija 1917-1918 gg v Finljandii, Petrozavodsk 1962,46-7; KA 16339 Jussi Tuominen-Kokoelmat, 121. 20.SDPN,21.3.17. 21. Ibid., 21.3.17, 23.3.1 7; WD, 12. 22. WD, 14; 77,21.3/3.4.1 7; V. Tanner, Kuinkase oikein tapahtui, Helsinki 1948,41; TM, 31.3.1 7. 23. MS, 8.4.17,11.4.17; TM, 18.3.17,28.3.17. 24. H. So\kkaner\,Kansa/aissota dokumenteina, Helsinki 1967, I, 15-7;TA 323(471) 1917. 25. TM, 5.4.1 7, 7.4.1 7. 26. TM, 12.4.1 7.

Chapter 3: Parliament, the Parties, and the Issue of Autonomy 1. Ehrnrooth, op. cit., 279; Tanner, op. c/t.,44-8>7Q;Ensimmaiset Valtiopalva't 1917:poytakirjat (hereafter cited as EP /), I, 1 26. 2. Tanner, op. cit., 47. 3. Ibid., 42; Tokoi, op. cit., 180-1; TM, 10.5.17; VA, Syytta'jiston arkisto (hereafter cited as SA), F k 1. 4. WD, 15; Tokoi, op. cit., 31; O. Talas, Ei se niin tapahtunut: vastaus Vaino Tannerille, Helsinki 1948, 15; Ehrnrooth, op. cit., 28. 5. VA, Senaatin arkisto, talousosaston poytakirjat 1917-1918, 7.4.17; J. Paasivirta, Suomen itsenaisyyskysymys 1917, Porvoo 1956, I, 155-7. 6. WD, 12, 14; SDPN 23.3.17, VA,SA F k 1. 7.C. tnckQ\\,Poliittiset muistelmani, Porvoo 1956,1, 75; WD, 17; Browder, op. cit.,336.

550

8. Enckell,op. cit., I, 180. WD, 22; VA, SA F k 1.

9. Paasivirta,op. cit., 1,83,104. 10. VA, Suomalaisen puolueen arkisto, 4. 11. VA, Nuorsuomalaisen puolueen arkisto, 4. 12. Paasivirta,op. cit., I, 124-8. 13. A. j. Mznen,SanteriAlkio, Helsinki 1976,432-3. 14. VA, Nuorsuomalaisen puolueen arkisto 4; HS, 15.4.17. 15. WD, 14,-f/ 3 /, I, 11, 16. 16. V. Rasila, "Suomen tyovaenliikkeen orientoitumuskysymys maaliskuun vallankumouksen \z\keen,"Historiallinen Aikakauskirja, 1966 No. 4; TM, 12.4.17;WD, 19-20. M.EPI, I,45;WD, 25-6; Soikkanen, op. cit., I, 109. 18. Ignatius, op. cit., 128; Browder, op. cit., 338; Ehrnrooth, op. cit., 281; Tanner, op. cit., 114-6;WD,26. 19. Hultin.op. c/f.,201. 20.Tokoi,op. cit., 180; Uusi Paiva, 15.5.17. 21.WD,23-6. 22. 7"yW, 10.5.1 7; WD, 30. 23. Polvinen.op. cit., I, 56. 24. Velikaja Oktjabrskaja Sotsialiteskaja Revoljutsija. Dokumenty i materialy, (hereafter cited as VOSR), Moscow 1957-62, I, 109;WD,29; TM, 10.5.17; V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Moscow 1963, X X V , 184. 25. Lenin, op. cit., XXIV, 297; Polvinen,op. cit., \, 64-6, 302;Sed'maja (Aprel'skaja) Vserosiiskaja Konferentsija RSDRP (b), Moscow 1958, 208-27. 26. Lenin,op. cit., XXIV, 335. 27. M. M. Koronen, Finskie internatsiona/isty v bor'be za vlast' sovetov, Leningrad 1969, 44, 61, 79-80; P. E. Dybenko, Mjatetniki (iz vospominanii o revoljutsii), Moscow 1923, 32. 28. A. Taimi, Sivuja eletysta, Petrozavodsk 1954, 208-9; SDPN, 21.3.17; Polvinen, op. cit., I, 41-3; VOSR, I, 129, 738, II, 56, 110, 111, 17; Y. P. Frolov, "Fevral'-Oktjabr 1 1917 goda v Baltiiskom flote i v Finljandii (vospominanija morskogo vrzcz)," Skandinavskii Sbornik, V, 1962,1 68; Dybenko,op. cit., 32; IZ, 21.3/3.4.1 7. 29.Perepiska Sekretariata TsK RSDRP (b) s mestnimi partiinymi organizatsijami (Mart-Okjabr' 7977), Moscow 1957,132. 30. Dybenko, op. cit., 33; IZ, 24.3/6.4.17, 29.3/11.4.17, 30.3/12.4.17,18.4/1.5.17. 31. IZ, 20.4/3.5.1 7, 18.4/1.5.17, 3/16.5.1 7, 4/1 7.5.17, 6/19.5.1 7. 32. D. A. £ugaev, ed., Protokoly i postanov/eni/a tsentral'nogo komiteta Baltiiskogo Flota 797 77975, Moscow 1963,8-11,35,39; Dybenko,op. cit., 39-40,51. 33. IZ, 13/26.5.17,16/29.5.17. 34. TM, 1 6.5.17, 27.5.17; £Y>/, I, 173,232. 35. D. G. Kirby, Finland and Russia 1808-1920: from autonomy to independence, London 1975,1 64; VA, Ministerivaltiosihteerin viraston arkisto, 1917 asiakirjat. 36. Enckell,op. cit., I, 82; Paasivirta,op. cit., I, 164; Tanner,op. cit., 120; EP I, 309. 37. Paasivirta, op. cit., 165-9; VA, Senaatin arkisto, talousosaston poytakirjat 1917-18,4.6.17; VA, Ministerivaltiosihteerin viraston arkisto, 1917 asiakirjat; Uusi Pa'iva', 4.6.17, 5.6.17, 11.6.17; TM, 27.5.17,10.6.17; Kirby, op. cit., 166-7. 38. HS, 13.4.17, 18.4.17, 19.4.17; TM, 19.4.17, 20.4.17. 39. 7VW, 29.4.17. 40./7S, 1.6.17,5.6.17,7.6.17,15.6.17,16.6.17, 17.6.17. 41. IZ, 1/14.6.17,9/22.6.17,10/23.6.17, 14/27.6.17,21.6/4.7.17. 42.EPI, 1,450; Uusi Paiva, 19.6.17,20.6.17. 43. TM, 29.4.1 7. 44.EPI, I, 132fll., 159;Soikkanen,op. cit., I, 31-6. 45. HS, 23.5.17, 24.5.17; £/>/, I, 359fll.; Soikkanen, op. cit., 1,29-31. 46./V5, 6.6.17;7/W,6.6.17;Sjukiainen,5/eoA7o'/A7c7i/5/?/7S6om//?,V, 1962,120-31.

551

47.UusiPa'iv//, 53fll.; VA, K. H. Wiik kokoelma, Dagbok, 10.11.17. 18. Ibid.; EP II, 73fll.

19. VA, K. H. Wiik kokoel-ma, Dagbok, 11.11.17; VA, SA, C a 9; VA, Tekla Hultinin kokoelma, L I. 20. Cholodkovskii,op. cit., 14; Lenin, op. cit. X X X V , 325. 21. Polvinen,op. cit., I, 123; Raikkonen, op. cit., 16; WD, 74. 22. WD, 73a, 73b; TA, 331.88.471.1916-17 (Ammattijarjeston edustajakokous 1917); VA, SA, C a 9; Raikkonen, op. cit., 16; TA, SDPR, 12.11.17; EP II, 89. 23. TA, 331.88.471.1916-17. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid.

26. Ibid.; TM, 13.11.17; Raikkonen,op. cit., 16-8. 27. WD, 74; TA, SDPR, 13.11.17; VA,Tekla Hultinin kokoelma, L I; Hultin,op. cit., 225; EP II, 98fll. 28. TA, 331.88.471.1916-17; WD, 74. 29. TM, 20.11.17; Tyovaen Vallankumouksellisen Keskusneuvoston Tiedonantolehti, 14.11.17; Sjukiainen, Skandinavskii Sbornik, V, 1962, 125; TA, 323(471)1917; Soikkanen, op. ci 1,233.

30. Lehen, op. cit., 84; Tiedonantolehti, 14.11.17; Soikkanen, op. cit., I, 232-4;TA, 323(471) 1917. 31. VA, E. N. Setalan kokoelmat, kirjekokoelmat 78;Aatteetja aseet, 77; VA, VA, 105a. 32.TA, 323.471(Kuopio) ^9'^; Aatteet ja aseet, 6 1 ; V A , S A , E l 11; TM, 20.11.17, 22.11.17. 33. Lehen, op. cit., 89; VA, SA, E I 11; KA, 525/69,14. 34. VA, VA, 130b;7/W,21.11.17,23.11.17;FA-//7ef5/?A-/#, I, 398402; Kiemettila, op. cit., 67-70; V A , S A , C a 9 , E I 11 ;/Z, 3/1 6.11.1 7. 35. Soikkanen, op. cit., I, 241; Taimi, op. cit., 228-9; Ignatius, op. cit., 176-7. 36. S. Markov, "Grazdanskaja voina v Finljandii 1918 g.," Krasnyi Archiv, 99(1940), 15-51; I. I. Rengarten, "Oktjabr'skaja revoljutsija v Baltiiskom flote," Krasnyi Archiv, 25/6(1927), 34-95 ;/Z, 4/17.11.17; VA, SA, E M I ; SA, Vapaussodan historian komitean arkisto (hereafter cited asSA, VHK), A.III.1; MS, 20.11.17. 37. KA, 1139/58, ^6339;WD, 74; Tiedonantaja, 15.11.1 7; Sjukiainen, op. cit., 116-9. 38. TA, SDPR, 14.11.17; Huttunen, op. cit., 41-5; WD, 76; VA, Tekla Hultinin kokoelma, L I. 39. TA,SDPR, 14.11.17;WD, 76. 40. KA, 16339; Sjukiainen, op. cit., 120;WD,77. 41. EP II, 120. 42. VA, Tekla Hultinin kokoelma, L I;WD, 77; TA, SDPR, 15.11.17; EP II, 119fll. 43. WD, 77; EP II, 147. 44. Ibid., 146-66. 45. V A , S A , C a 9 ; W D , 78; Tiedonantaja, 17.11.17. 46. /£>/(/.;WD, 80. 47. Tiedonantaja, 16.11.17, 17.11.17;WD, 79. 48. Sjukiainen, op. cit., 124; KA, 1139/58; Jalander, op. cit., 219-21; Raikkonen, op. c/Y.,24; Tiedonantaja, 17.11.17; Sjukiainen, Skandinavskii Sbornik, V, 1962, 126-7. 49. W D , 8 3 ; T A , SDPR, 16.11.17; VA, Tekla Hultinin kokoelma, L l;Hultin,op. cit., 229. 50. Hersalo, op. cit., I, 221-3; Ignatius, op. cit., 178-83; SA, Pikkukokoelmat 637; Luhtakanta, op. cit., 62. 51. KA, 11 39/58; TA, SDPR, 1 7.11.1 7; WD, 83; EP II, 220, 256. 52. VA, Tekla Hultinin kokoelma, L I; Hultin.op. cit., 231;TA, SDPR, 17.11.17; WD, 83. 53. Paavolainen, op. cit., I, 72; Sjukiainen, op. cit., 125, 129-30; KA, 1139/58; Soikkanen, op. cit., I, 252; Sjukiainen, Skandinavskii Sbornik, V, 1962, 128; Taimi, op. cit., 230.

558

54. WD,85;VA, S A , C a 9 .

55. Sjukiainen, op. cit., 126-7; S\uV.\3\nen,Skandlnavskii Sbornik, V, 1962, 127-8. 56. WD, 89; TA, SDPR, 18.11.17; Sjukiainen, op. cit., 128; Soikkanen, op. cit., 1,248; VA, SA, C a 9; Tiedonantaja, 18.11.17. 57. Ibid.; Soikkanen, op. cit., 1,248-52. 58. WD, 91; VA, SA, C a 9; KA, 1139/58; Sjukiainen, op. cit., 128; Tiedonantaja, 18.11.17; Raikkdnen, op. cit., 32. 59. TA, SDPR, 19.11.17;77W, 20.11.1 7; KA, 1139/58, 16339, 150; VA, SA, C a 9. 60. TA, SDPR, 19.11.17; VA, Tekla Hultinin kokoelma, L I;WD, 94. 61. TM, 20.11.17, 22.11.17; Paavolainen, op. cit., I, 72-4; Hersalo, op. cit., I, 236; Aatteet ja asset, 62-4; HS, 23.11.17. 62. Paavolainen, op. cit., I, 69-71; Hersalo, op. cit., I, 306-8; HS, 24.11.17; Aatteet ja aseet, 63. 63. Soikkanen, op. cit., I, 265-8; Uusi Pdiva, 21.11.17, 22.11.17, 23.11.17; HS, 20.11.17, 21.11.17,22.11.17,23.11.17,24.11.17. 64. TM, 21.11.17, 24.11.1 7. 65. Soikkanen, op. cit., I, 272; HS, 24.11.17. 66. 77M, 21.11.1 7;//S, 21.11.1 7; WD, 95; TA, SDPR, 20.11.17. 67. TA, 323.471 (Vaasa). 1917; 7717,21.11.17;VA,SA,E 1 11; Hultin,op. cit., 236. 68. WD,98;Huttunen,op. cit., 74-9; SA, VHK, B.III.9. 69. WD, 103. 70. lbid.;TM, 24.11.17; Sjukiainen, op. cit., 1 31; HS, 22.11.17, 24.11.1 7. 71. TM, 23.11.17, 24.11.17, 28.11.17; Paavolainen, op. cit., I, 87-9; Klemettila, op. cit., 70; HS, 24.11.17, 25.11.17; Hersalo, op. cit., I, 360; Sihvo, op. cit., I, 188. 12. HS, 25.11.17; UusiPaiva, 26.11.1 7; VA, Tekla Hultinin kokoelma, L I; Hultin,op. c/Y.,240. 73. Raikkonen,op. cit., 29, 35. 74. Ibid., 36, 40. 15.EP II, 181-2. 76. Ibid., 184fll.; Hultin,op. cit., 238. 77. WD, 105; VA, SA, C a 9 (SDP:n puoluekokous, 25-27.11.17, poytakirjat, asiakirjat); A. Huotari, Poytakirjaselostus sosialidemokraattisen puolueen kymmenennesta ylimaaraisesta puoluekokouksesta 25-27.77.77, Helsinki 1925;Huttunen,op. cit., 80-1; Tanner op. c/Y.,208. 78. 7Af, 26.11.17; VA, SA, C a 9. 79. Ibid., Huttunen, op. cit., 81. 80. VA, S A , C a 9 . 81./6/01. 82. /6/a1.; 7714,28.11.17. 83. VA, SA, C a 9; TM, 28.11.17. 84. VA, SA,C a 9; Huttunen, op. c/Y.,83-7. 85. Tanner, op. cit., 207. 86. Paavolainen,op. cit., I, 76;EP II, 197fll.

Chapter 8: Independence 1. Enckell, op. cit., I, 141; Paasivirta, op. cit., II, 178; Raikkonen,op. cit., 63. 2. Ibid., 63; Enckell, op. cit., I, 142, 148-50. 3. TA, SDPR, 27.11.17; Tanner, op. cit., 219-21. 4. Soikkanen, op. cit., I, 324; EP II, 309; Enckell, op. cit., I, 146. 5. Raikkdnen, op. cit., 70, 73; Soikkanen, op. cit., \, 326; EP II, 366. 6. WD, 110; Soikkanen, op. cit., I, 321; TA, SDPR, 5.12.17; VA, Tekla Hultinin kokoelma, L \;EP II, 366. 7. lbid.,HS, 8.12.17; Alanen, op. cit., 499. 8. Polvinen,op. cit., I, 138-40.

559

9. Ibid., 141; Die Aufzeichnungen des Genera/majors Max Hoffmann, Berlin 1932, II, 189-90; Dokumenty VneSnei Politiki SSSR, Moscow 1957,1, 26-8. 10. Y. Nurmio, Suomen itsenaistyminen ja Saksa, Helsinki 1957, 11,14; FOL, 6383/H 56559; Hjelt, op. cit., 53, 56-9; VA, Edvard Hjeltin kokoelma, I 1, 1 3a; Kirby, op. cit., 204; Paasivirta, op. cit., II, 167. 11. VA, Edvard Hjeltin kokoelma, I 13a, B 24; VA, Donnerin sukuarkisto, B 1; Nurmio, op. cit., 12-3; Enckell, op. cit., I, 155; Hjelt, op. cit., 57-9; Kirby, op. cit., 205; Polvinen, op. cit., I, 143. 12. Ibid., I, 174. 13. Ibid., I, 155; Dokumenty Vnefnei Politiki, \, 14-5; 7Z, 23.11/6.12.17; Lenin, op. cit., XXVI, 341; Nurmio, op. cit, 21, 36; FOL, 6383/H 56604,56615. 14. Lenin, op. cit, XXVI, 341; Polvinen, op. cit, I, 155; TA, 329.471.5.328(1917); 7Z ?/ 20.12.17; WD, 124; S. S. Kilpi, Lenin ja suomalaiset, Helsinki 1957,124; VA, E. N. Setalan kokoelmat: asiakirjainkokelma 7. 15. Uusi Pa'iva, 15.12.17. 16. Gummerus, op. cit., 391; Cholodkovskii, op. cit., 63; IZ, 7/20.12.17. 17. SA, JA, 3846(10, 14, 92, 65), 479; Polvinen, op. cit, I, 197. 18. SA, JA, 3846, 2188,479. 19. Lenin, op. cit, XXVI, 442. 20. VA, Senaatin arkisto, talousosaston poytakirjat 1917-18, 5.12.17; A. Pakaslahti, Suomen itsenaisyyden tunnustaminen: asiakirjakokoelma, Helsinki 1937, 5; Enckell,op. cit., I, 158; Kirby, op. cit, 203. 21. Hjelt, op. cit., 61-2; Pakaslahti, op. cit, 25; Nurmio, op. cit., 15-6; Enckell, op. cit, I, 163. 22. Pakaslahti, op. cit, 34, 36, 37; Hjelt, op. cit, 62-3,70; FOL, 6383/H 56593,56611, L261/ L080436, L080461, 6383/H 56602, 56606-8; Polvinen, op. cit, 1,174-5. 23. Pakaslahti, op. cit, 37-40; Hjelt, op. cit, 65-70; Nurmio, op. cit, 29-32, 37; VA, E. N. Setalan kokoelmat: asiakirjainkokoelmat 7; ldman,op. cit, 183. 24. WD, 107, 115;TA, SDPR, 5.12.17, 11.12.1 7; Soikkanen, op. cit, I, 340; IZ, 21.11/4.12.1 7, 28.11/11.12.17, 30.11/13.12.17; Uusi Pa'iva, 3.12.17; HS, 8.12.17, 9.12.17, 12.12.17, 15.12.17; VA, Senaatin arkisto, talousosaston poytakirjat 1917-18, 11.12.17; EP II, 448. 25. ldman,op. cit, 194; TA, SDPR, 9.12.17. 26. HS, 14.12.17; Raikkonen, op. cit, 78; Polvinen, op. cit, I, 170;TA, 329.471.5.328(1917); Idman, op. cit., 196-8. 21. Ibid., 201, 208; HS, 15.12.17, 29.12.17; Raikkonen, op. cit, 83; IZ, 7/20.12.17; VA, Senaatin arkisto, talousosaston poytakirjat 1917-18, 14.12.17; EP II, 519. 28./Z, 6/19.12.17, 7/20.12.17. 29. Raikkonen, op. c/f.,86; ldman,op. c/f., 200; WD, 115, 119; EP II, 569. 30. 76/0*., 594, 759; 775, 23.12.17; Enckell, op. cit, I, 169; Polvinen, op. cit, I, 178; Raikkonen, op. cit,96;Perepiskasekretariata TsK RSDRP(b), II, 359; TM, 30.12.17; WD, 124. 31. HS, 1.1.18;WD, 124-5; Polvinen, op. cit, I, 181. 32. Ibid., I, 178; Raikkonen, op. cit, 93; Enckell, op. cit, I, 166; ldman,op. cit, 206-7. 33. Ibid., 208-18; Pakaslahti, op. cit, 21; VA, Senaatin arkisto, talousosaston poytakirjat 191718,29.12.17; Enckell, op. cit, I, 1 69-70; Kirby, op. c/f., 210. 34. Enckell, op. cit., I, 170-2; Polvinen, op. cit, I, 183-4; Idman, op. cit, 218-20; Raikkonen, op. cit, 102-3. 35. Ibid., 103-7; Enckell, op. cit, I, 172-3; Polvinen, op. cit, I, 184-5; Idman, op. cit, 221-2; Kirby op. cit, 210-12; Pakaslahti, op. cit., 23. 36. Enckell, op. cit, I, 173; Raikkonen, op. cit., 107; Polvinen, op. cit, I, 185-7; I. Steinberg, Als ich Volkskommissar war, Munich 1929, 18-9. 37. Idman, op. cit, 222, 224-6; Enckell, op. cit, I, 173-4; Polvinen, op. cit, I, 187-9; J. V. Stalin, Works, IV November 1917-1920, Moscow 1953, 23; Raikkonen, op. cit., 110-1. 38. Ibid., 114-5; Pakaslahti, op. cit, 28-9.

560

39.Ibid., 16-7; Raikkonen.op. cit., 116-8;J. Paasivirta, The victors in World War I and Finland, Helsinki 1965, 13-4; J. Paasivirta, Suomi vuonna 1918, Helsinki 1957,35-6. 40. Polvinen, op. cit., \, 150, 176; Pakaslahti, op. cit., 50; VA, Edvard Hjeltin kokoelma, I, 17; Hjelt, op. cit., 66-72, 81; FOL, L261/L080557, 558, 559-62; Nurmio, op. cit., 31-2,55-6; Raikkonen.op. cit., 121. 41. HS, 6.1.18. 42. Uusi Paiva, 5.1.18, 7.1.18; Soikkanen, op. cit., I, 376, 379-80; Hultin, op. cit., 248, 250. 43. EP II, 789; HS, 9.1.18.

Chapter 9: The End of Parliamentary Politics 1.TA, SDPR, 27.11.17,4.12.17, 5.12.17; £/>//, 266, 365; VA, Tekla Hultinin kokoelma, L 1. 2. EP II, 424fll.,499fll., 591fll. 3. WD, 107; TM, 1.12.17; J. Lehtosaari, ed., Punakaarti rintamalla; luokkasodan muistoja, Leningrad 1929, 24, 106; SA, VHK, B.III.7, A. 111.1; Taimi, op. cit., 231; HS, 1.12.17, 2.12.17; VA, VA, 130 b; Klemettila, op. cit., 64. 4. 77^,9.12.17. 5. VA, VA, 130b; VA, SA, E 1 11; SA, VHK, A.I 11.1; TM, 30.11.1 7, 12.12.17. 6. Klemettila, op. cit., 51-3. 7. TA, 323.471.1917; HS, 7.12.17, 11.12.17; TM, 2.12.17, 5.12.17, 12.12.17, 13.12.17; EP II, 879. 8. TA, 323.471.1917; Sjukiainen,op. cit., 142-4;WD, 109,113; HS, 4.12.17, 5.12.17, 6.12.17, 7.12.17,8.12.17. 9. Sjukiainen, Skandinavskii Sbornik, V, 1962,1 30; Sjukiainen, op. cit., 144-5;12, 11/24.11.17; Jalander,op. cit., 232-42; TM, 4.12.17, 6.12.17; HS, 3.12.17,4.12.17. 10. Frihetskrig, II, 152; Ignatius, op. c/Y., 184-5;7"Af, 16.12.17, 19.12.17; VA, Donnerin sukuarkisto, 17,22. 11. EP II, 605, 610, 659, 602-7; VA, SA, E l 11; TA, 123.471.1917; HS, 29.11.17, 30.11.17, 2.12.17, 6.12.17, 10.12.17, 12.12.17, 13.12.17; TM, 29.11.17, 1.12.17, 4.12.17, 7.12.17, 8.12.17,9.12.17,11.12.17, 13.12.17, 15.12.17; VA, VA, 130b. 12. EP II, 601, 605, 614; 7/W, 15.12.17; VA, SA, E I 11; HS, 18.12.17; Soikkanen, op. cit., I, 329-35; HS, 19.12.17. 13. WD, 120, 122a, 123, 124; TM, 19.12.17, 21.12.17, 22.12.17; HS, 18.12.17, 20.12.17, 21.12.17,22.12.17, 23.12.17; VA, SA, E c 1. 14. £/>//, 601 fll., 659fll.;MS,22.12.17;i/ws/ Pffivti, 18.12.17; Soikkanen, op. cit., 1,332. 15. Ibid., I, 332-3; HS, 1 7.1 2.1 7; EP II, 665, 605,610,692. 16. Ibid., 605, 695; Soikkanen, op. cit., I, 335. 17. VA, Donnerin sukuarkisto, B 1; SA, Pikkukokoelmat 637. 18. Frihetskrig, I, 265, 349-66; Hersalo, op. cit., I 192-5; Lauermaa, op. cit., 788-91; Ignatius, op. cit., 198. 19. SA, Pikkukokoelmat 637,510; VA, Donnerin sukuarkisto, B 1; Hersalo, op. cit., \, 198, 201; Frihetskrig, I, 325-30, 333-7, II, 148; Lauermaa,op. cit.,793,795;Sihvo,op. cit., 1,196-202. 20. Hersalo, op. cit., I, 186, 312-3, 444; Frihetskrig, 1,338,340,360,11,73, 103, 117;SA, JA, 2188; HS, 15.1.18; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 50-1; VA, VA, 187/8. 21. Frihetskrig, I, 363-72, II, 149; Hersalo,op. cit., I, 392,545. 22. Ibid., I, 198, 238, 297-305, 309-12, 354-5, 362, 374-8, 426-38; SA, Pikkukokoelmat 637; Frihetskrig, II, 99-100, 104-6, 124-30, 82-6, 48-68. 23. S. Jagerskiold, Mannerhelm 1918, Helsinki 1967, 27; E. Heinrichs, Mannerheim Suomen kohtaloissa, I Valkoinen kenraali 1918-19, Helsinki 1957, 22; C. G. Mannerheim, Muistelmat, Helsinki 1951, I, 248; Frihetskrig, II, 155-7; Jalander, op. c/Y.,249. 24. SA, Pikkukokoelmat 637; Ignatius, op. cit., 205-6; Frihetskrig, I, 155. 25. Jalander, op. cit., 248; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 32-3; VA, MK, Kansio III; SA, Pikkukokoelmat 637; Mannerheim, op. cit., I, 250.

561

26. Ibid., I, 249, 251; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 21-2; Heinrichs, op. cit., 16; Enckell, op. cit., II, 332; Ignatius, op. cit., 206-8; Jalander, op. cit., 249-50. 27. Ibid., 252; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 252; Heinrichs, op. cit., 27; Mannerheim, op. cit. \, 252; Frihetskrig, II, 155-7; Ignatius,op. c/f., 208-9. 28. TM, 1.12.17; W5, 3.12.17; Lehtosaari, op. cit., 106, 111; TA, 323.2.471.1918; /Z, 14/ 27.12.17, 15/28.12.17. 29. Polvinen,op. cit., I, 203; Koronen, op. cit., 81, 83-7, 90-1; Lehtosaari, op. cit., 259-61. 30. Ibid., 109-13, 195-6, 265-7; Koronen, op. cit., 98; Uusi Suometar, 1.12.17; HS, 1.12.17; TM, 2.12.17; Soikkanen, Varkauden Historia, 630; Cholodkovskii, op. cit.,49; IZ, 20.12/ 2.1.18. 31. Koronen, op. cit., 80; Taimi, op. cit., 228-9. 32. Lehtosaari, op. cit., 107; Sjukiainen, op. cit., 166; Tanner, op. cit., 231-3; TM, 17.12.17; KA, 525/69, 16-9. 33. TM, 19.12.17; KA, 525/69, 18; Taimi, op. cit., 232-4; Sjukiainen, op. cit., 166-7. 34. KA, 525/69, 18. 35.S\uk\a\ner\,SkandinavskiiSbornik,V, 1962, 131; HS, 23.12.17. 36. Taimi, op. c/f., 235; Sjukiainen, op. c/Y., 166; Lehtosaari, op. cit., 25, 108, 164. 37. V A , S A , E I 11; TA, 323.471.1917. 38. G. Aminoff and S. Niemela, Kapinaliikkeen alkuvalmistelut, sen kehitys ja leviaminen tammikuun 31.paivaa'n 1918, 55-9; Lehtosaari, op. cit., 24; SA, VHK, B.III.6, 7; TA, 323.471.1917. 39./6/o'.;VA, VA, 130b. 40.SA, VHK, B.III.6, 7;VA, VA, 130 b; VA, SA, E I 11. 41. TA, 323.471.1917; TM, 19.12.17. 42. TM, 19.12.17, 31.12.17, 4.1.18; EP II, 948, 972. 43. VA, SA, E c 1; WD, 125; TM, 8.1.18, 15.1.18; HS, 2.1.18, 13.1.18, 15.1.18, 16.1.18, 20.1.18. 44.WD, 117. 45. HS, 9.1.18; Lehtosaari, op. cit., 25; Sjukiainen, op. cit., 167; Jalander, op. cit. ,243-7, 2534;/Z, 30.12/12.1.18. 46. Raikkonen, op. cit., 128; Sjukiainen, op. cit., 168; TM, 13.1.18; TA, 323.471.1917; TA, SDPR, 9.1.18;Soikkanen,op. cit., \, 370. 47.1'bid. 48. WD, 130;77W, 11.1.18;£/> //, 1050. 49.Gummerus, op. cit., 391-2; SA, JA, 2188; Frihetskrig, II, 57; Hersalo, op. cit., I, 404-5; Ilkka, 29.12.17; Sjukiainen, op. cit., 162; Raikkonen, op. cit., 88; IZ, 15/28.12.17, 16/ 29.12.17; Cholodkovskii, op. cit., 69; Paavolainen, op. cit., \, 81. 50. W5, 6.1.18, 10.1.18; £/>//, 863. 51. ibid., 837; Raikkonen, op. cit., 123-4; Soikkanen, op. c/Y., II, 36; VA, Senaatin arkisto talousoston poytakirjat 1917-18,9.1.18. 52.£/ 3 //,791fll. 53. /6/e/.,843fll.; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 42; VA, Tekla Hultinin kokoelma, L I. 54.£P//,843fll. 55. Ibid.

56. Ibid., 902fll., 946. 57./&/}ukia\nen,SkandinavskiiSbornik, V, 1962, 1 32. 67. VA, SA, E I 10; Suomen ja Venaja'n valisten Tartossa pidettyjen rauhanneuvottelujen pd'ytakirjat: heind'k.12.p:std'-lokak.l4.pna 1920, Helsinki 1923 (hereafter cited asSVRP), 326. 68. Lehtosaari.op. cit., 228-31. 69. VA, SA,Toimeenpaneva komitea: Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 53. 70. Enckell,op. cit., I, 228, 233; Raikkonen,op. cit., 203-4; Idman, op. cit., 266. 7 l . l b i d . , 268;Cholodkovskii, op. cit., 70. 72. Raikkonen, op. cit., 205-11; VA, Lauri Ingmanin kokoelma, B2:3; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 68;Hultin,op. cit., 267-8; WD, 157-8. 73. Jagerskiold,op. cit., 44; Raikkonen, op. cit., 210, 227. 74. Ibid., 2114; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 57; V A, S A, Toimeenpaneva komitea. 75. Jagerskiold, op. cit., 54-5;SA, YP, 9; Heinrichs,op. cit., 54; J. O. Hannula,Suomen vapaussodan historia, Helsinki 1956, 59; Mannerheim,op. cit., \, 261, 263. 76. Ibid., I, 263-4; Frihetskrig, II, 175-8; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 55-9; Heinrichs, op. cit., 55-9; Mannerheim, op. cit., I, 2634; Raikkonen, op. cit., 234-9. 77. Ibid.,236-7; Frihetskrig, II, 194-7; Hannula,op. cit., 61; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 55-6.

564

7&. Ibid.,57.

79. Ibid., 60. 80. J. H. Hodgson, Edvard Gy/ling ja Otto W. Kuusinen asiakirjojen valossa, 1918-20, Helsinki 1974,43. 81. Lauri Ingmanin kokoelma, B1:1 ; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 70. 82. Ibid., 11,93-5.

Chapter 11: Finland Divides ']. Frihetskrig, II, 208-36; SA, YP,8; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 67; Mannerheim,op. cit., 1,267. 2.Ibid., I, 262, 266; Heinrichs, op. cit., 85; Raikkonen, op. cit., 323-4; Soikkanen, op. cit., 11,74. 3. Ibid., 11,87-9. 4. Ibid., II, 71-2, 74; SA, YP, 6, 8; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 66; J. Hellner, Minnen och dagbocker; med inledning och kommenter utgivna af Wilhelm Odelberg, Stockholm 1960, 410-1. 5. KA, 525/69,19-23; S A, YP, 6; Frihetskrig, 11, 252-5. 6. Ibid., II, 245-50; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 76-9. 7. SA, YP, 6, 8, 9; Lehtosaari, op. cit., 270-4; Frihetskrig, II, 264-266. S.lbid., II, 258-64, 313-22;SA, YP, 6,9. 9. Ibid., 6,8; Lehen, op. c/f., 180; Lehtosaari, op. cit., 54, 56, 59-62; SA, J A, 3895; Svecnikov, op. cit., &5-9; Frihetskrig, II, 466-74. W.lbid., 11, 473-83; SA, YP, 6. 11. Lehtosaari, op. c/t, 202-5. 12.SA,YP,8;Lehen,op. c/Y., -\ 86,194; Frihetskrig, 11,32846. 13. ibid., ll,441-2;Lehen,op. cit., 190; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 68; SA, YP, 6. 14. Ibid.; Frihetskrig, II, 353-65; Lehen,op. cit., 195. 15. Ibid., 197-8; Soikkanen, Varkauden historic, 632-7. 16. Frihetskrig, II, 422-9; Lehen,op. c/r., 202. 17.SA, YP,8,9;Sihvo,op. c/t., I, 225-56; Jagerskiold, op. c/Y., 72. 18. Frihetskrig, II, 134-40,148-62; SA, YP, 8. 19. Raikkonen, op. c/Y., 254-6; VA, Lauri Ingmanin kokoelma B2:3; Soikkanen, Kansalaissota dokumentteina, II, 75. 20. TM, 28.1.18;Louhikko,op. cit., 1 31; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 54. 21. Ibid., II, 56-7; VA, Kansanvaltuuskunnan arkisto, Kansanvaltuuskunnan poytakirjat (hereafter cited as VA, KP), 28.1.18. 22. TM, 30.1.18; Sjukiainen,op. cit., 189; VA, Kansanvaltuuskunnan arkisto (hereafter cited as VA, KA), Kanslia; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 62-3. 23. Ibid., II, 58; TA, 323.471.1918; Lehtosaari, op. cit., 37; Luhtakanta, op. cit., 70-2; TM, 30.1.18;VA,SA,E c 1. 24. V A , S A , E I -\Q;SVRP, 324-6; SA, TO. 25. Polvinen, op. cit., \, 231, 235; SVRP, 342-5; VA, KP, 29.1.18; Markov, Krasnyi Archiv, 2(99), 1940; VA, SA, E I 10; Svec'nikov, op. cit., 85-9; FOL, L261/080816, 080027; SA, TO;Cholodkovskii,op. cit., 127-9. 26. TM, 29.1.1 8; VA, KP, 29.1.18, 30.1.18. 27./&/, 342; Cholodkovskii, op. cit., 127-8; Polvinen, op. cit., 1,233. 36.SVRP, 343; SA, TO. 37.SA, JA, 11945; Markov, Krasnyi Archiv, 2(99), 1940; Lehtosaari, op. cit., 54, 61-2; VA, SA, E I -\Q;SVRP, 347;Cholodkovskii, op, cit., 130-1. 38. VA, KA, Kanslia; Sjukiainen.op. cit., 190; VA, KP, 2.2.18; TM, 3.2.18;Suomen kansanvaltuuskunnan Tiedonantolehti, 1 2.2.18; VA, VA, 31-34. 39. TM, 3.2.18, 4.2.18, 6.2.18; Suomen kansanvaltuuskunnan Tiedonantaja (hereafter cited as K7"), 6.2.18; Tiedonantolehti, 12.2.18. 40. VA, SA, C a 10, Ea 1; VA, VA, 29-30, 31-34, 35-39; Lehtosaari, op. cit., '\19;Luokkasota, 97;Soikkanen,op. cit., \\,215-6;Frihetskrig, 111,47-63. 41. VA, VA, 3-34; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 59. 42. Ibid., II, 2'\4;Frihetskrig, III, 67-90; Lehtosaari,op. cit., 120-1; Lehen, op. cit., 166-8. 43. VA, KP, 1.2.18;Sjukiainen,op. cit., 190;/C7, 2.2.18,4.2.18; TM, 4.2.18. 44. TM, 29.1.18; Tiedonantolehti, 12.2.18;TA, 329.471.5.1918;Tanner, op. cit., 250-1. 45. TA, 329.471.5.1918; Soikkanen, op. cit., 11,96-9. 46. Ibid. 47 .Ibid., 11,99-100; TM, 5.2.18; V A, KA, tyovaen paaneuvosto. 48. TA, 329.471.5.1918. 49. Ibid. 50. 77W, 5.2.18.

Chapter 12: White Finland \.Frihetskrlg, IV, 8-16; Soikkanen,op. cit., II, 88; Raikkonen, op. cit., 325. 2.lbid.,444;Frihetskrig, IV, 14; FOL, L263/L081888-92; L081899, L081900. 3. Frihetskrig, IV, 23-4, 27-30; Raikkonen,op. cit., 338;VA,Senaatin arkisto, Vaasan Senaatin poytakirjat, 2, 3, 10, 23, 50, 61, 82. 4. Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 89; VA, Senaatin arkisto, Vaasan Senaatti, sisaasiaintoimikunta, 4; O. Ma.nn\nen,Kansannousustaarmeijaksi, Helsinki ]974,34;Frihetskrig, IV, 22: Mannerheim, op. cit., I, 278; Heinrichs,op. cit., 68. 5. Ibid., 133-4;SA, YP, 6,9. 6. Jagerskiold,op. cit., 87; Raikkonen, op. cit., 344. 7.SA,YP,6,9. 8. Jagerskiold,op. cit., 80-2,105; VA, VA, 187/88;Sihvo, op. cit., 1,413; Raikkonen, op. cit., 343; Heinrichs,op. cit., 106-7. 9. Ibid., 1104. 10. Manninen, op. cit., 20-1; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 87; Raikkonen, op. cit., 339; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 177. 11.Paavolainen,op. cit., II (Valkoinen terror!}, 32, 106-7, 129-30, 133. 12. Ibid., 11,33. 13./&/, 329, 337; VA, SA, E I 10; SA, JA, 3133; Lehtosaari, op. cit., 206; Fraiman,op. cit., 79. 38.Tanskanen, op. cit., 87, 131, 135; Kukkunen, Tiede ja Ase, 10, 20; SA, TO; VA, SA, E I 10; Svecnikov,op. cit., 92, W4;SVRP, 339, 343; SA, JA, 11954; Klemettila, op. cit., 83-4. 39. SVRP, 339; VA, SA, C a 10, E I 10; Tanskanen, op. cit., 125; VA, VA, 29-30, 31-34; VA, KP, 1.3.18;SA, JA, 11954. 40. VA, SA, E I 10;SA,TO;SA, JA, 2962, 3848; VA, KP, 20.3.18, 26.3.1 8. 41./Z, 23.1/5.2.18, 14.2.18; SA, TO; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 200; VA, VA, 35-39; Luhtakanta, op. cit., 237; Markov, Krasnyi Archiv, 2(99), 1 940; TM, 8.3.1 8; VA, PO, 1 7. 42. Tanskanen, op. cit., 125, 127,131, 135; Cholodkovskii, op. cit., 130-1; Polvinen, op. cit., I, 236; Svecnikov, op. cit., 105-7; Markov, Krasnyi Archiv, 2(99), 1940. 43. Ibid.', Fraiman, op. cit., 42, 44-6, 94; Cholodkovskii, op. cit., 134-5; VA, VA, 31-34; VA, SA, E I 10; Tanskanen, op. cit., 142-4,203,205. 44. Svetnikov, op. cit., 150-1. 45. Lehtosaari, op. cit., 39. 46. VA, KP, 6.3.18; VA, VA, 31-34; Luhtakanta, op. cit., 75, 237; Soikkanen, op. cit., 11,201; Tanskanen, op. cit., 95. 47. VA, Donnerin sukuarkisto, C 4; VA, SA, E I 10; SA, PO, 17; Markov, Krasnyi Archiv, 2(99), 1940; VA, VA, 29-30, 31-34; VA, KA, kanslia; VA, KP, 6.3.18; KT, 7.3.1 8. 48. VA, KA, Posti-ja tiedotusosasto D; VA, KP, 13.3.1 8; Cholodkovskii,op. cit., 153-4; Finljandskaja Revoljutsija; Sbornik State!, Moscow 1920, 47. 49. Cugaev, op. cit., 419, 455; SA, JA, 3133, 3227, 3228; Polvinen, op. cit., I, 283; VA, SA, E I 10; VA, VA, 31-34. 50. VA, KP, 27.2.18, 1.3.18; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 148-9. 572

51. Ibid., II, 144; VA, KP, 4.3.18; SA, PO, 17. 52. VA, KP, 4.3.18, 5.3.18; KT, 1 8.3.18; Soikkanen, op. cit.,\\, 147-53,286. 53. Ibid., II, 145; VA, KP, 23.2.1 8, 4.3.1 8; TM, 9.2.1 8. 54. V A , K P , 7.3.18; FOL,L263/L081866;7M, 12.3.18;/CT, 12.3.18; RSikkenen.op. c/Y.,432-3. 55. VA, KP, 10.3.18; Nurmio, op. c/Y., 142-3, 161; FOL, L263/LO81862-5; TM, 20.3.18, 21.3.18;Polvinen,op. cit., I, 278-9. 56. Ibid., \, 279; VA, KP, 16.3.18, 25.3.18; FOL L263/LO81 823, LO81 845; Paasivirta Suomi vuonna 1918, 94-6; Nurmio, op. cit., 144. 57. Soikkanen, op. c/Y., II, 141; VA, KP, 17.4.1 8; Luokkasota, 40. 58. SA, PO, 17;SA, YP, 9; Paavolainen, op. c/Y., II, 73-74; Frihetskrig, II, 368-70,401. 59. Ibid., 111,92-106; Hannula, op. c/Y., 117; VA, SA, Ca 10; VA, VA, 29-30.

60. VA, VA, 29-30. 61. Luokkasota, 303. 62. SA, YP, 9; Frihetskrig, IV, 434. 63.Ibid., IV, 414; Hannula, op. c/Y., 85-8; SA, YP, 9; Luhtakanta, op. cit., 112; Aatteet ja aseet, 109-11; SA, PO, 17. 64. Tanskanen, op. cit., 123-5;SA, PO, 17; Hannula, op. cit., 89; Frihetskrig, 11,491-9. 65. Ibid., II, 345-50, 368-70, 454-63; Lehen, op. cit., 1 8 6 ; V A , S A , E I 10; SA, YP, 6, 9; Luokkasota, 102; Hannula, op. cit., 86-94. 66. Ibid., 96; Fraiman, op. cit., 42; Frihetskrig, II, 428-33, IV, 295; Sihvo, op. cit., I, 274. 61. Ibid., I, 258-64; Hannula, op. cit., 96-7; SA, YP, 6, 9; VA, VA, 187/88; SA, PO, 17; Frihetskrig, U, 434-5. 68. Ibid., II, 436-8, IV, 294-6, 301-3; Hannula, op. cit., 97; Sihvo, op. cit., I, 269, 291-4. 69. SA, PO, 14; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 130. 70. Ibid., 130; SA, PO, 14; SA, YP, 9; Frihetskrig, V, 9, 11. 71. Ibid., V, 15-18;SA, PO, 17. 72. Hannula, op. cit., 130; SA, PO, 14; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 134; Frihetskrig, IV, 351-5. 73. Jagerskiold, op. c/Y., 130-2; Heinrichs, op. cit., 137-8; Sihvo, op. cit., I, 284. 74. Ibid., I, 283, 285-6; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 131; Heinrichs, op. c/Y., 137. 75.SA.PO, 14; Hannula, op. cit., 130; Frihetskrig, IV, 435-57. 16. Ibid., IV, 417-34, V, 15, 23-9; Douglas, op. c/Y., 74-5; Hannula, op. cit., 129; SA, PO, 17, 14; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 1 38. 77. Lehen, op. c/Y., 186; Hannula, op. cit., 130, 137; VA, VA, 29-30, 31-34; Lehtosaari, op. c/Y., 128; Aatteet ja aseet, 162, 164; Frihetskrig, IV,425-31. 78. Ibid., IV, 355-65;SA, PO, 14; Aatteet ja aseet, 1 65; Jagerskiold, op. c/Y., 134. 79. Hannula, op. c/Y., 140; Frihetskrig, IV, 376-81; Lehtosaari, op. c/Y., 125; VA, SA, E 111. 80. VA, VA, 29-30; Frihetskrig, IV, 378-92, 394-9; Hannula, op. c/Y., 140-3. 81. Ibid., 145; Fraiman, op. c/Y., 238-9; Polvinen, op. c/Y., I, 274; Frihetskrig, IV, 318-19,344. 82. Ibid., IV, 319-22; Sihvo, op. c/Y., 1,327-31; Fraiman, op. c/Y., 240-51; SA, PO, 17; Hannula, op. c/Y., 150. 83. Ibid., 150-2; Frihetskrig, IV, 297-9, 303-12; SA, PO, 1 7,14; Tanskanen, op. c/Y., 144; Sihvo, op. c/Y., I, 295-8. 84. Ibid., I, 329-31; Hannula, op. c/Y., 149; Lehtosaari, op. c/Y., 234-43; Frihetskrig, IV, 344-7. 85. SA, PO, 17. 86. Sihvo, op. c/Y., 1,315-7,318-9.

Chapter 15: The Civil War II 1. TM, 3.3.18, 8.3.18; V A . V A , 31-34. 2. Heinrichs, op. c/Y., 145; Svecnikov, op. c/Y., 113; Douglas, op. c/Y., 83; Hannula.op. c/Y., 167. 3. Ibid., 168; VA, VA, 35-39; VA, SA, E a 1; Kukkunen, Tiedeja Ase, 10, 35; SA, PO, 14; SA, TO, 23.4.

573

4. Kukkunen, Tiede ja Ase, 10, 22; Douglas, op. cit., 85-6; Hannula, op. cit, 171,1755. Ibid., 169-70; Frihetskrig, V, 43-7; VA, V A, 125;VA, SA, E l 11; SA, VHK, B.III.7. 6. VA, SA, E I 11; VA, VA, 29-30; SA, PO, 17; Frihetskrig, V, 46-7; Douglas, op. cit., 87Kukkunen, Tiede ja Ase, 10,42-5; Hannula, op. cit., 172, 175. 7. /o/o1., 172; Kukkunen, Tiede ja Ase, 10, 42; Douglas, op. cit., 89; Lehtosaari, op. cit., 69; SA, TO, 23.4; Frihetskrig, V, 64-73. 8. /6/W., V, 73; Hannula, op. cit., 173. 9. Kukkunen, Tiede ja Ase, 10, 45-8; Hannula, op. cit., 173; Frihetskrig, V, 48-9, 94-7; S TO, 23.4;Soikkanen,op. cit., 11, 226. W.lbld., II, 210; SA, TO, 23.4; VA, SA, E I 12; SA, PO, 17; Kukkunen, Tiede ja Ase, 10, 50. W. Frihetskrig, IV, 395-410, VI, 136-70; SA, PO, 17; VA, SA, E l 11. 12. SA, PO, 14; Jagerskiold,op. cit., 137-8. 13. Ibid., 140; Heinrichs, op. cit., 148;SA, PO, 14. 14. Mannerheim, op. cit., I, 305. 15. Ibid., 1,297. 16. Ibid., I, 303; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 140-2; Heinrichs, op. cit., 152-3. 17. Ibid., 150; Mannerheim,op. cit., I, 303. 18. Ibid., I, 303, 313; Heinrichs, op. cit., 151-7, 171-3; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 145-6; Frihetskrig, V, 99-103; SA, PO, 14; Douglas, op. cit., 106-9. 19. Heinrichs,op. cit., 173, 179. 20. Douglas, op. cit., 107-14; Hannula, op. cit., 185, 187, 191; Frihetskrig, V, 112-6, 146-53; VA, SA, E I 12;SA, TO, 23.4; Luhtakanta, op. cit., 152. 21. Jagerskiold, op. cit., 148; Paavolainen, op. cit., II, 87; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 229; SA, TO, 23.4; VA, SA, E a 1. 22. SA, TO, 23.4; Heinrichs, op. cit., 160, 174, 177; VA, Donnerin sukuarkisto, C4;Frihetskrig, V, 134-6; SA, PO, 14, 17; Hannula, op. cit., 192; Mannerheim, op. cit., I, 312; Douglas, op. c/Y.,114-5. 23. SA, TO, 23.4; Kukkunen, Tiede ja Ase, 10, 54; Soikkanen, op. cit., II, 204; Frihetskrig, V, 222-37, 243; SA, PO, 14, 15, 17; Heinrichs, op. cit., 193; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 150; Luhtakanta, op. cit., 152-3; V A, Donnerin sukuarkisto, C 4. 24. Hannula,op. cit., 194; Mannerheim, op. cit., 1,312-3. 25. Kukkunen, Tiede ja Ase, 10, 60, 62; Frihetskrig, V, 300. 26. Luhtakanta, op. cit., 161; TM, 22.3.18; VA, KP, 19.3.18; Hannula, op. cit., 214. 27. Ibid., 200; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 152-3; Mannerheim, op. cit., I, 316; Frihetskrig, V, 230-6, 240-88; Douglas, op. cit., 122-8; SA, PO, 15, 19; VA, SA, E I 12. 28. Luhtakanta,op. cit., 166; Hannula,op. cit., 207; Frihetskrig, V, 336-9. 29. Ibid., V, 289-99; Hannula, op. cit., 2Q3;Aatteetjaaseet, 182-95. 30. Ibid., 193-5; Frihetskrig, V, 399; Hannula, op. cit., 208. 31. SA, PO, 15, 19; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 156-7; Mannerheim, op. cit., I, 317. 32. Ibid.; SA, PO, 15, 17. 33. SA, VHK, B.III.7; VA, SA, E a 1, E I 12; VA, KP, 18.3.18,20.3.18,26.3.18; TM, 18.3.18, 22.3.18; KT, 18.3.18, 22.3.18; Heinrichs, op. cit., 162; VA, VA, 31-34; Hannula, op. cit., 221; Lehtosaari, op. cit., 89, 95; Luhtakanta, op. cit., 181. 34. Mannerheim, op. cit., I, 218, 320; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 157; Heinrichs,op. cit., 1 35. Ibid., 166;SA,PO, 15; Douglas, op. cit., 135-6; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 160. 36. Hannula, op. cit., 215; Frihetskrig, V, 401-2; VA, SA, E I 12; Luhtakanta, op. cit., 262; Heinrichs, op. cit., 178;SA, VHK, B.I 11.2; Hannula, op. cit., 216. 37. lbid.;Aatteetjaaseet, 212; Luhtakanta, op. cit., 262. 38. Ibid., 265-6; Frihetskrig, V, 370-88; Hannula, op. cit., 217; Aatteet ja aseet, 206; Mannerheim, op. cit., I, 318-9; Heinrichs, op. cit., 178, 165; VA, VA, E l 12; Jagerskiold, op. cit., 159. 39. SA, PO, 15,19; Frihetskrig, V,425-36; Douglas, op. cit., 136-40; Hannula, op. cit., 219, 22 40. Ibid., 223; VA, VA, 29-30; Lehtosaari, op. cit., 79-97.

574

41. Hannula, op. eft., 224; jagerskiold, op. cit., 160; Mannerheim, op. cit., I, 321; Heinrichs, op. cit., 169; Frihetskrig, V, 443-4, 451-80; Douglas, op. cit., 141;SA, PO, 19. 42. VA,SA, E a 1, E I 12;Aatteet ja aseet, 219. 43. Ibid., 226-7; Soikkanen,op. c/f., II, 233-4. 44. Ibid.; Frihetskrig, V, 505. 45. Ibid., V, 500-9; Hannula, op. cit., 230-1. 46. Jagerskiold,op. c/f., 162. 47. /6/a1., 259; Paavolainen, op. cit., 88-93. 48. Frihetskrig, VI, 7-15,1 33-5; Sihvo,op. c/f., I, 314-5, 318-9; SA, PO, 19; SA, PY, 2; V. Siro, Se/i/