Witte was not deceived by appearances. Not only was the government unable to reassert authority, but Russian society was in the grip of a psychosis that had it convinced “things cannot go on like this.” He thought all of Russia was on strike.91
And, indeed, a nationwide strike was in the making.
The idea of resorting to a general strike to force the government to its knees had been placed on the agenda of the Union of Unions shortly after the Tsushima debacle. At that time, the Union’s Central Bureau took under advisement the resolutions of two of its more radical affiliates—the Union of Railroad Employees and Workers and the Union of Engineers—to organize a general political strike. A committee was formed to look into the matter,92 but little was done until early October, when the center of political resistance once again shifted to the universities.
As the opening of the new academic year drew near, the government made unexpectedly generous concessions to the universities. On the advice of Trepov, rules were issued on August 27 allowing faculties to elect rectors and students to hold assemblies. To avoid confrontations with the students, Trepov ordered the police to keep out of university precincts: responsibility for maintaining discipline was given to faculty councils.93 These liberalizing measures went far in meeting objections to the unpopular 1884 University Statutes. But they had the opposite of the anticipated effect: instead of mollifying the students, they provided the radical student minority with the opportunity to transform universities into arenas of worker agitation.
In August and early September 1905, the students were debating whether to resume studies. They overwhelmingly wanted the schools to reopen: a vote taken at St. Petersburg University showed that those favoring this course enjoyed a seven-to-one plurality.94 But being young and therefore sensitive to charges of selfishness, they struck a compromise. A nationwide student conference in September representing twenty-three institutions of higher learning rejected motions calling for a boycott of classes. It did agree, however, as a concession to the radicals and proof of political awareness, to make university facilities available to non-students for political rallies.95
This tactic had been formulated the preceding summer by the Menshevik Theodore Dan in the pages of the Social-Democratic organ Iskra. Dan urged the students to return to school, not to study, but to make revolution:
The systematic and overt violation of all the rules of the police-university “regulations” [rasporiadok], the expulsion of all kinds of disciplinarians, inspectors, supervisors, and spies, opening the doors of the lecture halls to all citizens who wish to enter, the transformation of universities and institutions of higher learning into places of popular gatherings and political meetings—such should be the students’ objective when they return to the lecture halls which they have abandoned. The transformation of universities and academies into the property of the revolutionary people: this is how one can succinctly formulate the task of the student body … Such a transformation, of course, will make the universities into one of the centers for the concentration and organization of the national masses.96
Trepov’s rules inadvertently made such revolutionary tactics possible.
The militant minority immediately took advantage of this opportunity to invite workers and other non-students to political gatherings on university grounds. Academic work became impossible as institutions of higher learning turned into “political clubs”: non-conforming professors and students were subjected to intimidation and harassment.97 The workers were slow to respond to the invitation of student militants but curiosity got the better of them. As word got around that the students treated them with respect, increasing numbers of workers turned up. They listened to speeches and soon began to speak up themselves.98 Similar scenes took place in other university towns, including Moscow. It was an unprecedented spectacle to have radical students incite workers to strike and rebel without police interference. Trepov’s hope that his relaxed rules would allow students to “blow off steam” had completely misfired. In Witte’s view, the university regulations of August 27 were a disaster: “it was the first breach through which the Revolution, which had ripened underground, emerged into the open.”99
At the end of September a new wave of strikes broke out in central Russia. Although economic in origin, they became rapidly politicized thanks to the efforts of the Union of Unions and the radical students who followed its lead.
The strikes which were to culminate in the general strike of mid-October began with a walkout of Moscow printers on September 17. The dispute, which began peacefully, was over wages, but university students soon gave it a political coloration. The strikers clashed with the police and Cossacks. Other workers joined in the protests. On October 3, St. Petersburg printers struck in sympathy.100 Until the formation of the St. Petersburg Soviet on October 13, the universities served as coordinating centers for the strike movement because they were then the only institutions in Russia where it was possible to hold political meetings without police interference.101 Their lecture halls and other facilities were taken over for political rallies, attended by thousands. Trubetskoi, the rector of Moscow University, was determined not to allow his institution to be turned into a political battleground and ordered it closed on September 22. (It was his last act, for he died suddenly a week later: his funeral in Moscow was an occasion for a grandiose political demonstration.) But St. Petersburg University and the St. Petersburg Technological Institute stayed open and this allowed them to play a critical role in the events that led to the general strike.
Industrial unrest in Moscow and St. Petersburg assumed a national dimension when the railroad workers joined in. It was noted previously that the All-Russian Union of Railroad Employees and Workers, an affiliate of the Union of Unions, had been discussing since the summer of 1905 the possibility of a general political strike. The railroad action began with a minor incident. In late September the authorities convened a conference to discuss with railroad representatives questions connected with their pension rights. On October 4–5 false rumors spread that the workers attending this conference had been arrested. The Railroad Employees and Workers Union used this opportunity to execute its plan. On October 6, the Moscow railroads struck, isolating the city. The strike spread to other cities, soon joined by communication and factory workers and white-collar employees. In all instances, the Union of Unions and its affiliates made certain that the strikers posed political demands, calling for the convocation of a Constituent Assembly elected on a “four-tail” franchise (universal, direct, secret, and equal ballot). Partly spontaneous, partly directed, the movement headed toward a complete work stoppage. On October 8, the Union of Unions instructed its members to join in support of the railroad workers and set up strike committees throughout the country. The stage was set for a general strike.*
On October 6, as the movement was gathering momentum, Witte requested an audience with the Tsar, which was granted three days later. Witte, who in the past was inclined to tell the Tsar what he wanted to hear, was now brutally frank. He told Nicholas that he had two choices: appoint a military dictator or make major political concessions. The rationale for the latter was outlined in a memorandum which he brought along.* Nicholas almost certainly told his wife what had transpired, for Witte was requested to return to Peterhof the following day, October 10, to repeat his arguments in her presence. Throughout the encounter, Alexandra never uttered a word.