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.
This is a premium article
You must be a logged in Foreign Affairs subscriber to continue reading. If you wish to continue reading this article please subscribe , or activate your online account to get full online access.
Log In
Buy PDF
Buy a premium PDF reprint of this article.Related
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.
NO student of the internal structure of the Soviet power can overlook the way in which every part of the Soviet Government machine is paralleled in the machine of the Communist Party. The supreme organ of the Soviet Union is the General Congress of Soviets, which elects the Central Executive Committee, which in turn elects from among its members the Praesidium, de facto the highest executive organ of the Union. The Communist Party pyramid is similarly constructed.
On Novy Swiat, a main downtown street in Warsaw, there is a women's lingerie store called Bardotka, a diminutive for the surname of the celebrated French actress. To a Western resident of Moscow (or most other East European capitals) where such establishments tend to have names like Wearing Apparel Store Number Six, the Polish whimsy is remarkable. The observation, however, is not nearly so lighthearted as it may seem at first. There is a growing divergence between the Soviet Union and its largest ally that is understandably a matter of the utmost sensitivity for both countries. Profound differences in the way Poles and Soviets order their worlds in the 1970s start with superficial points of style, but they extend increasingly to fundamental issues of politics, economics and ideology.

Sign-up for free weekly updates from ForeignAffairs.com.