In November 1920, after Bolshevik armies had smashed White Russian forces in eastern Siberia, three young Mongolians went to Moscow to ask help against the recently reimposed Chinese control of Outer Mongolia. Vladimir I. Lenin received them. He advised them that the Soviets would help establish a separate state of Mongolia and it should be a Marxist one. "With the aid of the proletariat of advanced countries," Lenin had recently told the Comintern and paraphrased to his visitors, "backward countries may make the transition to the Soviet system and ... to Communism, bypassing the capitalist stage of development."
In November 1920, after Bolshevik armies had smashed White Russian forces in eastern Siberia, three young Mongolians went to Moscow to ask help against the recently reimposed Chinese control of Outer Mongolia. Vladimir I. Lenin received them. He advised them that the Soviets would help establish a separate state of Mongolia and it should be a Marxist one. "With the aid of the proletariat of advanced countries," Lenin had recently told the Comintern and paraphrased to his visitors, "backward countries may make the transition to the Soviet system and ... to Communism, bypassing the capitalist stage of development."
Few places were more backward than Outer Mongolia, or less touched by capitalism. Once a remote province of China, it had been allowed to fall into decay after modern firearms reduced the importance of its mounted warriors to the Manchu empire. Chinese merchants, living in the nearest thing Mongolia had to a city, the monastery settlement at Urga, and traveling among the herdsmen, provided the only commercial interests in a practically self-sufficient, low-level subsistence economy. Most Mongolians, who totaled perhaps 550,000 sharing more than 600,000 square miles with some 100,000 Chinese settlers, lived from the livestock that they followed in seasonal migrations, fearing the blizzards and pasture icing that every four years or so cut back the herds' natural increase and sometimes brought famine to men and beasts. Some 40,000 men were directed to the monastic life.
Since Tibetan Buddhism was established in Mongolia in the sixteenth century the lives of lamas and laymen had changed little. Neither modern medicine nor modern agriculture had penetrated the roadless range. Diseases were rife and life short, but malnutrition was not a problem. Some travelers thought the nomadic Mongolians more prosperous than the average Chinese farmer, but it was a rugged life based on an economic pattern established before the time of Genghis Khan, seven centuries earlier. A Russian traveler, Ivan M. Maisky, found "a decay-fostering spirit of resignation and indifference."
The contrast with the Mongolian People's Republic of today is sharp. The 1,230,000 people still live simple and often rugged lives, close to the bleak weather and the inhospitable soil, but they are healthy, well doctored and, by the standards of less developed countries, fairly prosperous.
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A new conventional wisdom is forming on the Cold War, but the records do not support its hard line. The Soviet Union did not aim at world conquest. It was afraid, and its clients got out of hand. The U.S. and U.S.S.R. share responsibility.
The possibility that the world will awake with surprise one morning to a radical change--whether hoped for or feared--in the Soviet system of government is so remote that we can only wonder that the prospect continues to tantalize us, provoking a recurrent international concern. Perhaps it is because we are all too aware of the vulnerability of our analyses and hypotheses as they apply to even the most "open" and flexible of political systems that we do not cease to marvel at the opaque intransigence of the "closed," rigid, "perfect" system of the Soviet Union, and its indisputable reality in our time.
THE development of the West European sovereign state in the early modern period was an important innovation in the art of political organization. The most successful states of earlier times had either been large empires which were militarily strong but which failed to enlist the loyalty and active support of their subjects, or small kingdoms and city-states which secured loyalty and participation but which were militarily weak. In the great empires, only a small core of military-political leaders had any real interest in preserving the state. When their position was threatened, either by internal dissension or external pressure, the bulk of the population passively accepted the collapse of the political structure, as in the case of Rome. The little states were far more effective in using their human resources, but they seldom flourished for more than three or four generations. Sooner or later a powerful neighbor swallowed them up and their citizens sank back into apathy, as in the case of Athens. The West European sovereign state combined the strengths and avoided many of the weaknesses of its predecessors. It was large enough to generate the military strength necessary for survival; it was small enough and homogeneous enough to attract the loyalty and participation of an increasing number of its subjects.
