I AM not a Bolshevik. Moreover, I am an enemy of the Bolsheviks, having fought them with a rifle in my hands as well as in the field of ideas. Nor am I a monarchist. I do not favor a restoration of the pre-revolutionary order of things. I fought the Tsar's Government also, with ideas as well as other instruments. Further, I am resolutely set against all those, whether emigrées or foreigners, who maintain that Russia is dead, that it is only a cemetery where shadows of men wander about, dreaming of the past, hating the present, and looking toward the future with anguish in their souls. But I also reject the exaggerated claims of the communists and of other foreigners who maintain that in the whole world it is Russia only which has found the true road toward the Golden Age of humanity, when war will be no more, when man will not oppress his fellow-men, when all will live like brothers or, still better, like gods. I belong to those who try to examine the various tendencies of my country, rejecting nothing that is healthy and progressive. Thus I rejoice at every success, whatever the form -- the dam of Dnieprostroy, the new novel of a Soviet writer, a successful expedition into the Arctic Ocean -- even a successful move of Soviet diplomacy. And I also suffer in sympathy with my people who bear the great burdens imposed upon them by a militaristic state.
This much of a sketch of my personal background seems indispensable before I turn to the subject of this article -- the objects, tendencies and mistakes of Russian and Japanese foreign policy in the Far East.
All through the centuries, life for the Russians has been hard -- unremitting struggle against the warlike tribes cast out from Asia into Europe, and a no less hard struggle with a harsh and scanty nature. Only recently have the riches of the eastern steppes and plains,
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