From 1928 to 1933, the Soviet Union underwent a radical metamorphosis. Almost overnight the economic order of N E P was abandoned in favor of an untested system of economic relations commonly referred to today as command planning. The magnitude of this transformation, the ideological passions it aroused, and the questionable character of official Soviet statistics during the First Five-Year Plan have all made it exceedingly difficult to conceptualize the process of Soviet industrialization in its entirety. As a consequence, most analyses of Soviet industrialization have been highly eclectic, predicated on assumptions which only appear plausible because they have not been interpreted from the standpoint of a closed model, or of an encompassing theory.

Professor Rosefielde makes at least two important points: some official Soviet physical output series really were (and are) exaggerated, and output expansion in the 1930s was not based on a surplus extracted from agriculture. But his valiant efforts lack a sense of proportion, and his exaggerated claims weaken his case.

His version of the “standard theory,” for example, appears to confuse intentions with actuality. It seems to me that informed Western consensus about events between 1928 and 1940 runs as follows: Soviet output increases were obtained through very large increments of labor and fixed capital, without much contribution from technological progress.

Steven Rosefielde’s article has two objectives: first, to display the major features and the “revolutionary implications” for Soviet economic history of evidence provided in Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago; second, to devise “a coherent and consistent countertheory to the prevailing interpretation of Soviet industrialization.” In pursuit of these objectives, he initiates “a complete reconsideration of the causes and consequences of the First Five-Year Plan.”

The basic line of reasoning in the excellent and thought-provoking article by Professor Rosefielde is: The Soviets claim and some Western scholars agree that from 1928 to 1932 the economy of the USSR grew dramatically, that, at the expense of an agricultural surplus, industry made a big leap forward “which virtually assured the success of future Soviet economic development.” A common belief of specialists (Professor Rosefielde included) is that although some value indicators, especially prices (price changes), could be distorted, in general, Soviet statistics are “not freely invented,” and “it is unlikely that the Soviets kept two sets of books.” Thus, some scholars have corrected the price basis of the calculation of the rate of economic growth during 1928-32 (instead of 1928 prices, the prices of 1937/50 were used) and obtained much less spectacular, but still very impressive, figures demonstrating growth of the economy, particularly in industry and construction.

Professor Rosefielde has supplied a controversial reassessment of the First Five- Year Plan. My comments will perhaps be disappointingly narrow, for I shall not comment on Rosefielde’s claim that the growth of heavy industry during the First Five-Year Plan was based to a surprising degree on the expansion of the GULag economy. This assertion ultimately depends upon Rosefielde’s estimates of the GULag labor force. Other participants in this forum, or readers of Soviet Studies, may choose to challenge Rosefielde, but this is a topic well out of my area of expertise.

The Russian ancien régime presents a paradox. Like other anciens régimes, it exhibited many signs of decay. The government had been unsuccessful in its major military enterprises ever since the Crimean War, its diplomatic defeats ranging from the Congress of Berlin to the Bosnian annexation crisis of 1909. Failure abroad was accompanied by signs of weakness within. The crisis of 1879-82 had shown the strength of internal opposition. In 1905, ignominious defeat at the hands of Japan proved to be the prelude to a revolution that shook tsarism to its foundations and clearly displayed its structural weaknesses. The last two “Autocrats of All Russia” were men of mediocre talent. The tsarist court, especially under Nicholas II, was ridden with scandals typical of a declining, unsure, and, indeed, frightened regime. Meanwhile, Russia’s ruling class, the hereditary landed nobility, improvident and debt-ridden, its landholdings reduced from 73.1 million desiatins in 1877 to a mere 43.2 million by 1911, was in headlong decline.