Living My Life - Emma Goldman [299]
One by one we were taken into an inner office and examined about our “Bolshevism.” I informed the official that, though I was not a Bolshevik, I refused to discuss the subject with him. He evidently realized that it was useless to threaten or coax me, and he ordered me taken to another room, for later disposition. [...]
On the second day I was taken downstairs for examination. A youth in his twenties was my inquisitor. He demanded to know about our secret Bolshevik mission in Europe, why we had stayed in Riga so long, with whom we had associated, and what had become of the important documents he knew we had smuggled into the country. I assured him he still had much to learn to achieve fame and fortune as an interrogator of such an experienced criminal as he had before him. I would not take him into my confidence, I told him, even if I had any information that he might want. [...]
The day before Christmas he came to my cell to inform me that “it was an unfortunate mistake.” I started at the familiar phrase. “Yes, an unfortunate mistake,” he repeated, “and the fault is with your friends the Bolsheviki, not my Government’s.” I scorned his insinuation. “The Soviet Government gave us passports and permitted us to depart. What interest could it have to land us all in your jail?” I demanded. [...]
The guard did my Christmas shopping for me, bringing me fruit, nuts, cake, coffee, and a can of evaporated milk. Luxuries they were, but I was anxious to prepare a Christmas feast for my friends in the adjoining cells. In return for a tip the old guard’s heart softened and he permitted me the use of the kitchen situated on the same floor. I took my time and found excuses for going back and forth to my cell, humming all the time: “Christ has risen, rejoice, ye heathen!” and finding a chance to whisper a few words to my invisible companions. Two neatly wrapped packages and a large thermos bottle of steaming coffee were carried by the guard to the two desperadoes next door in return for a little Christmas gift to his family.
We were finally released with profuse apologies. [...]
At last, on January 2, 1922, we departed from Reval, Esthonia. To avoid a repetition of our Riga adventure we went directly to the steamer, though the boat was not to leave until the following morning. We made good use of the free day to see the quaint town, much older and more picturesque than Riga.
Our reception in Stockholm was fortunately unofficial. Neither soldiers nor workers were ordered out to meet us wsith music and speeches, as on our arrival in Belo-Ostroy. Just a few comrades genuinely glad to see us. [ ... ]
Letters from Berlin explained the sudden change of heart on the part of the German Consul in Riga after he had led us to believe that the visa would be issued to us. He had been warned by a Chekist that we were dangerous conspirators on a secret mission to the Anarchist Congress in Berlin. This also shed a light on the insistence of the Lettish officials that “our friends the Bolsheviks” had been behind our trouble in Riga. [ ... ]
Our Swedish anarchists and anarcho-syndicalists were certain we could remain in their country as long as we pleased. We might as well live there as anywhere else and carry out our plan of writing about our Russian experiences. [...]
No sooner had our first article appeared in the Arbetaren than Mr. Branting had his secretary notify the Syndicalist Committee that had obtained our visa to Sweden that “it was inadvisable for the Russians to appear in print.” [ ... ] He would not drive us out, of course, his secretary assured our people, but we should try