We Communists have long since exposed the lie that law can be universally applied. If A. exploits B., then equal freedom for A. and B. means that A. will continue to exploit B.
This is why we require a new socialist legality to overcome bourgeois legality.
Law is the instrument of the working class.
It has not always been this way. It will not always be this way. Socialist legality is dynamic. But in the first stage, removal of the bourgeoisie, law must found itself on dictatorship of the proletariat. After the old regime’s exploiters have been rendered entirely extinct, socialist legality will have done with violence and move to the second stage, a single-tiered legality for an entire people, a people now led without question by the working class, as for instance in our beloved Soviet Union.
And how do we achieve this second stage? Comrade Benjamin knows the answer: Develop the best forces of the people.
By 1946 she’d become the leading influence in the Central Administration of Justice. She was still slender then. I’ve seen her gripping the foliage-hung rim of the lectern at a women’s conference; she wore a dark dress. Wasting not a moment, she began training people’s judges and people’s prosecutors—for example, the slender, pale yet steady old man in the leather cap who sat every day on a stool by the courtyard, scraping the dead mortar off salvaged bricks; his workbench was a plank stretched across three towers of bricks, and he never looked up. When we called on him, he looked up then; when we raised the issue of class hatred he began to grin. The Red Guillotine grinned back; she flattered him that he belonged to the truly revolutionary element. He didn’t need to study the essence of jurisprudence in order to be a people’s judge!
She began to be called first the woman without mercy, then the Red Hilde of Wedding, and soon, the Red Guillotine.
Explaining to us that law must correspond with the progression of civilization, she began to apply our Constitution’s Article Six, Paragraph Two against corporate criminals and imperialist agents.
Once upon a time, Comrade Margot Feist, bearing flowers, congratulated the worker Wilhelm Pieck on his presidency, and we progressed happily ever after. The fruit trees of Potsdam were bearing again; the stagnant waters of the Spree Forest were no longer troubled by artillery shells. We’d kept the church at Neuzelle open. A drunk with a beer belly watched it for us. All the same, conditions for building socialism remained sub-optimal. For instance, the Constitution still looked backward, not forward. Moreover, we’d classified eighty-nine percent of the industries of Leipzig as inoperative. (This meeting has nothing to do with dismantling.) And the food supply would be erratic for at least the next two years. After all, what had been sown in our fields but land mines and artillery shells? Workers accordingly deserted their places of labor to hunt for something to eat. What choice did we have, but strictness?—A woman gets six years for selling eggs in West Berlin—another victory for Party-minded justice. Spectators dare to express their pity. But the Red Guillotine explains that to achieve socialism we must eliminate so-called “civil rights.”
All magic spells fail without belief. We enforced belief. In place of ruins we offered the wide white monumentality of Stalinallee, arched, windowed, black and white, fading magnificently into the East.
Thanks to the losses justly inflicted upon German Fascism, in our new zone we found ourselves burdened with a female-to-male ratio of one point three five to one. The result: sexual exploitation. The remedy: uncompromising legal struggle, enacted by our own Red Guillotine, to bring about absolute equality for women. It seemed to her more than ever that the only hope, not merely for her—what did one being matter?—but for all of us, lay in some realm of future dawn, and that to find her way there she must dynamite her way out of the past.
But at a meeting when we were discussing the necessary changes which must be made in the Constitution itself, a delegation of doctors dared to interrupt us with the demand that we permit German women raped by the Red Army to obtain abortions. Comrade Ulbricht replied: The Germans should have thought about that before they launched Operation Barbarossa.
Comrade Benjamin, you’re a woman; surely you can understand! We appeal to you!
I stand by Comrade Ulbricht, replied the Red Guillotine.
But, Comrade Benjamin, you were there yesterday when those two Mongolians raped Resi Nordlund in the street. We saw you pass by! And you feel nothing?
My feelings are of no relevance, said the Red Guillotine contemptuously.
She was only eleven years old! Are you aware that she died? And all that Russian officer did was fire into the air…
We brought it on ourselves. I refuse to discuss this case any further.
That child brought it on herself?
I have nothing to say about the individuals involved in this case. As Communists we must be realistic. Legislation follows the Party, doesn’t it? The Party follows Comrade Stalin, doesn’t it? Do you think that Comrade Stalin’s in a mood to let us accuse the Red Army of anything?
(The Russian officer had run out of bullets, shrugged and turned his back. The Red Guillotine looked on for a moment. She passed the test; she retained her reputation for impartiality.)
And so we stood firm; that was the only practical way to build the future. Our new zone became a vista of rubble-hills bristling with workers! We organized labor parties; we got the water mains working again. The Red Guillotine spoke at another rally before the bulletpocked pillars of a Nazi shelclass="underline" a great banner, an upraised hand, the words FOR FREEDOM AND HUMANITY, AGAINST THE REVANCHISM OF BONN! Her watchword: Thorough cleansing of the entire public sphere.
On 20.9.47, in the German State Opera House, we played Beethoven, and then the Second Party Congress of the Socialist Unity Party commenced. Our future: toasts to international friendship, long lines of flag-armed tractors in our German fields, laughing Pioneers running downhill in triple file, white smoke from our new factories and smiling delegates.
In the spring of 1948, our Soviet oracles announced that denazification had been completed in the East German zone. We were happy then! Perhaps the Red Army would go home. But in September, revolutionary realism, explicated by the big black telephone, compelled us to dismiss the pipedream of a so-called German road to socialism. Some argued with this just and necessary decision. The Red Guillotine proved them to be implicated in the American-rooted Slansky-Rajk conspiracy. As her legend so prettily puts it, she showed the ability to continually evolve in accordance with her ever-increasing responsibilities while simultaneously shaping the new judicial system of our socialist state. And what if denazification hadn’t quite been completed after all? Among her circle, love was disdained; at best it expressed itself silently. Georg Benjamin had been a good man; she’d trusted him; he believed in what she did and therefore understood her; wasn’t that sufficient? But after they’d reduced him to an inky skeleton which grimaced at the electric wire it sizzled on, he haunted her as one lover haunts another. She could not save him, but she could punish them.
She mobilized the Party Control Commissions to sift out traitors: Titoists, revanchists, etcetera. The only ones who weren’t traitors were the men with shovels, the women clambering on brickheaps. As the Red Guillotine explained it to her people’s judges: Since man develops his personality primarily in work, in addition to the right to work there also exists the right to a job which corresponds to one’s talents and abilities. Which job might that be? Whichever one we assign to you.