How Stalin Became Stalin: Stephen Kotkin on Revolution, Terror, and Why Communist Regimes Endure

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Overview

Stephen Kotkin, a senior fellow at the Hoover Institution, has published two of the three planned volumes of his Stalin biography: Paradoxes of Power and Waiting for Hitler. In this long conversation with the host, whom Kotkin addresses as "DK," Kotkin works through a set of linked questions. How repressive was the regime Stalin fought against? Why did the Bolsheviks win in a peasant country, and why were they then able to enslave the peasantry that helped bring them to power? Why did so many people take part in famine and terror, and why did no one inside the regime simply kill Stalin? The conversation then turns to China: how much credit the Communist Party deserves for the country's growth, and whether technology can rescue a Leninist system from its structural dilemmas. Kotkin's recurring theme is "perverse and unintended consequences," the pattern in which people fighting real injustice produce something worse.

31 min read

The tsarist dilemma: importing modernity without its politics

The host opens by asking how repressive the tsarist regime really was. Revolutionaries like Lenin and Stalin wrote manifestos calling for the regime's overthrow, lived in Siberian exile on government money, and still managed to publish. The host suggests this sounds more forgiving than many countries today.

Kotkin answers that the regime has to be judged by the norms of its own time, not against the 20th-century regimes that followed. He then describes the structural problem the regime faced. To compete in the international system, tsarist Russia needed a modern military, and that required modern industry: armaments, steel, chemicals. Industry required workers and engineers. The regime wanted workers to work, not to form labor movements or strike, and it wanted engineers to design and build, not to hold independent views on whether autocracy was the right form of government. It needed both groups "like oxygen," in Kotkin's phrase, yet both threatened it. So it repressed the very people it depended on.

Kotkin sees the same dilemma in Iran, China, the Soviet Union, contemporary Russia, and North Korea today: how to bring in tanks, airplanes, or AI while keeping out separation of powers, freedom, and property rights. In his view the tsarist regime was the quintessential case. He calls it a "vegetarian" regime next to "carnivores" like Stalin's and Hitler's, but insists the dynamic of being compelled to repress indispensable people is the same.

Modernization as geopolitics

The host picks up a point from Kotkin's first volume: modernization is not an inevitable sociological process but is driven by geopolitical competition. If another power has steel ships, you need steel ships too, or they will show up at your door "like we did to Japan." The host asks whether this still applies. It seems unthinkable, for example, that Germany would take over France if French AI fell behind.

Kotkin's answer is that the pressure is existential only for autocracies. France can compete or fail to compete, and nobody will call its political system illegitimate because someone else won in AI. The government might change, but the system survives. An authoritarian regime, like Peter the Great building a navy, needs officers, industry, and technical skill, yet must preserve an unelected hierarchy. The thing that gives you engineers also gives you political ideas, Kotkin says. They are two sides of the same coin.

Stalin the young revolutionary

Kotkin stresses that the tsarist regime's injustices were real and that the people protesting against it had legitimate claims. Its repression was severe by the standards of the day, though not the mass murder and deportation of the 20th century, which required different communications, transport, and ideological commitment.

Stalin, in Kotkin's telling, went into the underground to fight those injustices, not to seek power. He was an outstanding student in the seminary. He sang in the choir, got good grades, and was on track for social success. The seminary was the highest education available in the Caucasus, because the regime was afraid to permit a university there. Stalin gave it up, read forbidden literature, and learned about injustice analytically as well as from experience. From about age 17 or 18 until his late thirties, he had no job, no profession, and no income, and he was in and out of prison and Siberian exile. The regime he eventually built was far more unjust than the one he fought. For Kotkin this is the central irony of the story.

Lesser evils, Durnovo's warning, and the failed constitutional epoch

The host asks whether history teaches that one should embrace the lesser of two evils. In hindsight, Russian liberals perhaps should have cooperated with the reformers Stolypin or Witte. Yet in Germany, conservatives allied with Hitler to fend off communism, which seemed the greater evil. For every lesson, the host notes, there seems to be an opposite one.

Kotkin turns to the Kadets, the classical liberals who favored private property, constitutional order, and probably a British-style constitutional monarchy. They would lead the February Revolution of 1917. Pyotr Durnovo, the interior minister who crushed the 1905 revolution, had warned them that toppling the tsar would not produce constitutional order. It would produce chaos and a massive social revolution, mainly by the peasants but also by workers and national minorities. Durnovo told them they should side with the tsar against the Stalins of the world. Kotkin says Durnovo was proved right, and not only in Russia. Between roughly 1905 and 1925–26, constitutional revolutions in Mexico, Iran, China, Russia, and Portugal all failed. The constitutionalists held power briefly and were then swept aside by more leftist, socially oriented revolutions.

Kotkin explains the failure by timing. England, the United States, and in a more complicated way France introduced constitutional order before the mass age, when the franchise was restricted to propertied men. That created a "breathing space" to establish rule of law and later extend citizenship to non-propertied men, women, and former slaves. When a constitutional revolution happens in the mass age, with peasants, workers, and national movements already mobilized, rule of law alone does not satisfy many of them.

The host raises exceptions: Taiwan and South Korea industrialized under authoritarian governments and then became rule-of-law democracies. Kotkin adds West Germany and Japan under American occupation, and notes that Hong Kong was on a similar trajectory until it reverted to Beijing. But he calls these rare cases that have become misleading "guiding stars." The host then identifies a paradox: without regime change, entrenched stakeholders block reforms like land redistribution, which Chiang Kai-shek failed to carry out and Stolypin attempted with mixed results. Kotkin agrees that the core challenge of the modern world is bringing all levels of society into a polity as citizens with opportunity.

Some argue that without World War I, tsarist Russia might have evolved as Taiwan did. Kotkin's objection is that the autocracy wanted no part of evolution. In 1905, pressured by peasant revolt, strikes, and defeat by Japan, the tsar granted a quasi-parliament and quasi-constitution, regretted it almost immediately, and tried to reverse it once Durnovo had restored order. Kotkin points to France as a reminder of how hard the transition is even when it succeeds. It took more than a century of executed and restored monarchs, empires, a self-coup, and the Vichy regime, until de Gaulle imposed the Fifth Republic "from above."

Left and right overthrows, and a Russo-German paradox

Kotkin describes two 20th-century paths. In one, overthrow radicalizes toward the left. In the other, the traditional right invites the radical right into power to prevent Leninism, as in Italy and Germany, believing it can control fascism. It cannot, because the radical right institutionalizes itself once in power. Kotkin calls the two tendencies codependent, since each uses the threat of the other to consolidate dictatorship.

Then comes what he calls a fascinating paradox. Tsarist Russia had a massive radical right before Germany did. The anti-Semitic Protocols of the Elders of Zion originated there, and the Union of the Russian People was implanted in villages. Germany, meanwhile, had the largest socialist party in its parliament, a plurality rather than a majority. Someone living before 1917 or 1933 would have predicted socialism in Germany and fascism in Russia. The opposite happened.

Land hunger and the missing peasant army

Why was a leftist revolution inevitable in Russia, though not necessarily a Bolshevik one? Kotkin points to peasant land hunger. Many peasants worked others' land or held plots so small that bad weather brought them to the edge of starvation, and he describes subsistence agriculture as politically unstable. A stable order needs yeoman farmers, in the Jeffersonian or Stolypin mold, who have a stake in the status quo. The 1860s emancipation of the serfs, which followed defeat in the Crimean War, did not give peasants the land they might have received. The landowners were the autocracy's political base, and taking their land meant crossing a "valley of hell" in which one support was lost before a new one had formed.

In 1917–18 the peasants made their own revolution. It was not about Lenin or the socialist parties but about seizing land. Their radicalism became the platform on which urban socialists took and held power. In Germany, the Bavarian Soviet Republic and similar urban seizures were put down by the army, and the army was made of peasants with a stake in order. The same held in northern Italy and Hungary, much as with the Paris Commune of 1870–71. In Russia, Kotkin argues, the peasant army was itself the force seizing land, so there was no force of order to crush the urban left. Central European peasants still complained about land distribution, but relative to Russia and China they were doing well. China would later follow a variant of the Russian pattern.

The irony, in Kotkin's account, is that peasants helped bring the Bolsheviks to power, became de facto (not de jure) landowners in the 1920s, and were then violently re-enserfed by Stalin across Eurasia's eleven time zones. The host observes that this inverts Marx's prediction that socialism would follow industrial capitalism. Private property seems to buy peasants into the system.

Why collectivization didn't break the regime

The host presses further. If peasant grievances destabilized the tsar, why didn't collectivization, which enslaved some 100 million peasants and was far more destructive, break the Soviet regime?

Kotkin's first answer is the size of the repressive apparatus. The tsarist secret police, pejoratively nicknamed the "Okhranka," was tiny. It focused on a few thousand intellectuals (about 5,000 university students in the mid-19th century, when the term "intelligentsia" was coined). Its methods were surveillance, infiltration, and reading mail, a technique borrowed from French "black cabinets." It also practiced "Zubatovshina," planting police-controlled leaders in the labor movement. Its agents were often educated people who summarized Lenin's tracts and wrote rebuttals, "like AI would do now," Kotkin says. Lenin spent 15 of the 17 years between 1900 and 1917 in European exile. Kotkin notes that the archive of the Okhranka's Paris branch, which was supposed to be destroyed after the revolution, was secretly shipped to the U.S. and now sits at the Hoover Institution. The tsar's main instrument of repression was the army, not the police.

The Soviet secret police of thugs and torturers was built under Stalin in the very act of collectivization. Kotkin calls it a chicken-and-egg process: the regime needed a huge police to enslave the peasants, and enslaving them produced a huge police that could then do "everything and anything."

Believers, not just sadists

The host asks how to explain the "surplus of sadism": the 25,000 activists who took grain from starving families, and the hundreds of thousands of interrogators, torturers, and informants who must have known their victims were innocent.

Kotkin cites Lev Kopelev's memoir The Education of a True Believer. Kopelev took part in these actions, including in his native village, and later became a dissident exiled to Germany. Kotkin's central claim is that these people believed the ideology. We assume nobody could believe something so disproven, he says, but that assumption is wrong. They were young. World War I had killed millions of Europeans and colonial soldiers for what seemed to be imperialism and capitalism. The ideology promised to end war and exploitation, bring abundance, and make a small life "world historical." Pressed by the host about gulag interrogators specifically, Kotkin says they knew enemies existed, hidden behind professions of loyalty and ready to become a fifth column in war. Some of those arrested might be innocent, but to catch every real enemy one "overcompensates."

To illustrate how ideology persists against evidence, Kotkin brings up the candidate who, as he puts it, appears to have won the Democratic primary for New York mayor; the host names him as Mamdani. Kotkin argues that freezing rents inhibits new construction and so causes the housing shortage it aims to solve. He shares the goal of making the city affordable for immigrants and working families, noting that his own father worked in a factory. The candidate is bright and well-educated, Kotkin says, which is exactly the point: ideology can override empirical reality. He adds that he doesn't know the person and "maybe there's a more complicated story there."

Why Marxism-Leninism attracts intellectuals

The host notes a specific feature of Marxist regimes: an almost theocratic loyalty to the party. In 1924, facing condemnation, Trotsky told the party that it was always right. Why is this ideology so attractive to young people and intellectuals, even after its bloody record?

Kotkin gives two answers. First, it is a simple, total package promising quick transformation, and it frames any dissent as siding with capitalism, imperialist war, and landlords. Mistakes and costs are accepted because the alternative, imperialist war, is deemed worse. Second, and "even deeper," Marxism-Leninism empowers the intellectual class and what he calls the "lumpen-intellectual" class. In a market system, individuals decide whether to open a business or take a loan. Under Marxism-Leninism, intellectuals make those decisions, using the state as an instrument of social engineering without elections or a mandate. They claim to know better than workers and peasants suffering from "false consciousness." Kotkin says this is why the ideology appealed so widely in what used to be called the Third World. No private firm and no decentralized federal system could give them that kind of power. Social engineering is always coercive, he says, and the question is how much coercion one accepts.

Loyalists who didn't resist, and a system that survived its own terror

The host finds something still unexplained. The Old Bolsheviks were not weak men; they had faced down the tsar and endured exile. Khrushchev's Secret Speech later showed that some believed Stalin was betraying socialism. Why did those who knew they were doomed, the "dead men walking" still editing Pravda or commanding armies, not use a party plenum to denounce Stalin, since they would die anyway? The host notes the same puzzle with Liu Shaoqi under Mao. How many confessions were genuinely uncoerced?

Kotkin says there were a few such courageous people, whom he features in his book, and all were arrested and executed. On the psychology, he rejects binaries. Belief, suspension of disbelief, cynicism, and fear for family coexist in almost everyone, and humans hold contradictory thoughts easily. What surprises him more is that the system didn't collapse. Stalin murdered much of the upper officer corps, scientists, cultural figures, loyal party elites in the center and the provinces, and even the police who were carrying out the murders, and the regime came out the other side.

He contrasts this with Hitler, who retired rather than killed the officers he disliked, did not murder his Gauleiters, and mostly targeted real opponents. Stalin killed loyalists "who would walk through fire for him." On the question of belief, Kotkin cites Goebbels, who had a clubfoot and walked with a brace yet helped preside over the killing of disabled people. The lesson Kotkin draws from the declassified archives is that "the Nazis were Nazis and the communists were communists."

Socialism's civil war on the left

Kotkin then lays out a long argument about socialism. Communists sought to build socialism, which did not yet exist, so they defined it as the negation of capitalism: planning instead of markets, state property instead of private property, and the dictatorship of the proletariat instead of "bourgeois" parliaments. The result, he says, was not freedom, prosperity, or peace but total "state-ization": ration tickets and the gulag.

Revisionists like Eduard Bernstein and the Swedish Social Democrats broke with this approach. They accepted markets, private property, and democracy and sought redistribution within that framework. Kotkin calls the split a civil war on the left that is still going on. Some social democrats drift back toward "capitalism is evil" rhetoric, the right exploits the resulting confusion to paint all of the left as anti-capitalist, and the left has never, in Kotkin's view, definitively renounced anti-capitalism.

Against the argument that Marx wanted freedom and Stalin deformed him, Kotkin offers an analogy. Ordering generals to "nuke them, but nobody dies" does not absolve you when everybody dies. Once capitalism is abolished, he argues, some version of a Leninist system follows.

He also explains why exposure of the horrors did not discredit the system. Khrushchev's Secret Speech was never printed in Soviet newspapers but was discussed at party meetings everywhere. It denounced Stalin while keeping collective farms, state property, and planning intact, which gave believers a "second wind," the hope of doing it right without Stalin. Kotkin says that belief lasted through Gorbachev, "a Khrushchev-era baby." He sees the same pattern with Xi Jinping, whose family was purged and humiliated under Mao yet who chose to improve the system rather than dismantle it.

Does the CCP deserve credit for China's growth?

The host objects that China did reform, abandoning much of central planning. Kotkin qualifies this. In his account, the Cultural Revolution had unwittingly destroyed the planning apparatus by sending planners to the villages for manual labor and beating people for wearing glasses. (The host asks why Stalin's purges and World War II didn't have the same effect in the USSR; Kotkin replies that Deng never dismantled the political system or the ideology.) Communism, Kotkin says, can fail at everything and starve and kill people. It needs to do only one thing to survive: suppress political alternatives. Peasants resisting collectivization had nowhere to go but back to tsarism.

On China's economy, Kotkin argues that society, not the party, created the miracle. Peasants generated family businesses that grew into larger firms. Because party ideology treats a market-heavy base as a threat, the party tightened its grip. Jiang Zemin's "Three Represents" brought millionaires into the party, and Kotkin says it backfired: officials colluded with capitalists and expropriated property. Xi reversed course by inserting party officials into boards and management and making examples of uncooperative firms, including tech companies. "The Communist Party put those people into poverty," Kotkin says. The people lifted themselves out.

The host pushes back. Special economic zones, the national growth imperative, and Deng's Southern Tour, including Deng's reported threat to remove Jiang if he didn't keep opening up after Tiananmen, were deliberate policy choices. Kotkin counters that the decrees were grudging: onions but not potatoes, trade only on certain days, three employees per firm. He says the party, "flat on its back" after the Gang of Four, facing possible famine and per-capita GDP of around $200, lacked the capacity to reimpose control. He adds that communist economies already had vast black markets, even at the top of the military-industrial complex, where a factory allocated only 25% of its ball bearings had to find the rest illicitly. Legalization surfaced existing market behavior rather than inventing it.

The host responds that the same logic applies in the West: governments everywhere impose foolish policies and cede control only grudgingly, so "capitalist" countries are credited merely for not being maximally stupid. Kotkin concedes the point. He notes that the U.S. has held roughly 25% of global GDP with 5% of the population since around 1880 under every imaginable tax, tariff, and regulatory regime. Policy matters to those it favors, he says, but you can neither create nor strangle that wealth through policy alone.

Kotkin then names what he thinks the party genuinely deserves credit for, and says it rarely receives. On his early-1979 trip to Japan, before visiting Carter in the U.S. (and donning an oversized ten-gallon hat), Deng saw a Japan incinerated in the war becoming the world's second-largest economy while victorious China was destitute. His conclusion, in Kotkin's account, was that Japan partnered with America, not the Soviet Union. Deng reoriented China toward the U.S., gained most-favored-nation status in 1980, renewed annually until WTO accession around 2000–2001, and adopted the Japanese formula of manufacturing for the "insatiable" American middle class, as Taiwan and South Korea had done.

China also had assets the Soviet Union lacked. The first was British Hong Kong, a rule-of-law financial center allocating capital by risk and return. Kotkin says it exists only because Britain sent ships to retake Hong Kong after World War II, rather than letting Chiang's Nationalists accept the Japanese surrender there as Truman had announced. The others were overseas Chinese investors, a partitioned China whose Taiwanese capital flowed in through Hong Kong, and Japanese war guilt that brought investment and technology transfer. China started with t-shirts and climbed the value chain. The difficulty, Kotkin says, is that Japan was a former enemy turned ally, while China is a former partner turned adversary that mastered the same formula.

Stalin becomes Stalin in power

The host poses a counterfactual: if Stalin had lost the 1924 succession and sat on the periphery of another ruthless leader's regime, how would he have avoided the fate of Bukharin, Kamenev, and Zinoviev? Kotkin defends counterfactuals, saying historians who scorn them practice them whenever they make causal claims.

His main argument is that Stalin was not yet Stalin when he took power. The experience of building a dictatorship within the dictatorship made him who he became. He applies the same logic to Xi. Would Deng, alive today, pursue Deng's policies or Xi's? Kotkin frames it as a question of how much is personality and how much is system and circumstance.

On collectivization, Kotkin says every Bolshevik wanted to eliminate capitalist relations in the countryside, since Marxists held that the socioeconomic base determines the political superstructure, but most thought it could not be done. Stalin did it, created more destabilization than predicted, powered through famine and resistance, and succeeded. Most were grateful. Yet they had carped during the process, and Kotkin says this is where Stalin's paranoia and suspicion grew. A few years later he turned on them. The real question, Kotkin says, is whether anyone in that circle could have done what Stalin did and then been content with dictatorship rather than despotism.

Why didn't somebody just kill Stalin?

The host sharpens the question: by 1934, why didn't a Stalin-like figure in the Politburo act out of self-preservation? Kotkin notes that between 1923 and 1928, Stalin offered to resign six times, three in writing and three orally, and each time his colleagues begged him to stay. Within ten years almost all of them were dead. They did not know yet, Kotkin argues, because Stalin was not yet Stalin.

He poses the same question about current leaders. Why don't elites remove Putin, whose associates "fall out of windows"? Or Xi, who Kotkin says drove China's global favorability from about 75% to about 25%? Or Khamenei? It rarely happens, he says. The host points out that tsars, tsarist ministers, Hitler, and Mussolini all faced assassination attempts, but Stalin never did.

Kotkin offers several explanations. First, those around Stalin saw him as extraordinarily good at dictatorship. By the system's logic, not by humane values, he carried everything: liquidating kulaks, collectivizing agriculture, building industry, defeating Hitler. "They're pygmies and he's Stalin." Removing him might save their lives but lose the revolution and the radiant future. Second, there was a collective action problem. If one functionary proposes a plot, the other cannot know whether it is a provocation by Stalin to test loyalty, and so reports it. Drivers, maids, and phone lines all fed the secret police.

The host notes that tsarist assassins were ordinary outsiders. Why didn't a kulak try? Kotkin says the regime was walled off from the people. Stalin avoided public appearances, while Hitler's annual Munich speech was announced in the papers. That is how a working-class man planted a bomb that missed Hitler only because he left early, and military officers nearly killed him in 1944. Soviet insiders, by contrast, killed themselves rather than Stalin. The one incident presented as an attempt, shots fired at a boat carrying Stalin on holiday, was according to Kotkin border guards firing at an unregistered vessel, not knowing he was aboard. It was nonetheless publicized as an assassination attempt, and people were executed. Kotkin still calls the absence of attempts "mysterious."

Technology as an escape from reform: USSR and China

The host asks whether China today resembles the late Eastern Bloc, which borrowed heavily in search of a technological miracle to cure falling productivity, even though China has a trade surplus rather than a deficit.

Kotkin acknowledges large civilizational and systemic differences but sees the key similarity: a Leninist monopoly. He calls China undisputably Leninist, while whether its leaders, Xi included, truly believe in Marxism is contested and unknowable from outside. A Leninist system "can't be half-pregnant." If it allows debate within the party, someone will ask for another party, and the lid cannot be put back on. Political liberalization liquidated the system in Hungary in 1956, Czechoslovakia in 1968, and under Gorbachev. Kotkin speculates that without the Gorbachev example, China might have tried its own opening, or a crackdown far larger than Tiananmen. Instead, every cadre studies Gorbachev in party school as a lesson in suicide.

This leaves a narrow menu: open the economy too much and you get too many Jack Mas with independent power; close it too much and growth and jobs vanish. The Soviets in the 1970s–80s faced the same bind. They tried market incentives in 1965, which Kotkin says didn't work, and were frightened by the Prague Spring. What remained were "technological fantasies": the hope that computers could perfect planning and spare them structural reform. That failed. Kotkin sees China tempted by the same idea, with technology not only boosting productivity and managing a demographic crisis but perhaps making the dictatorship immune through all-encompassing surveillance. His objections are that it didn't work last time (a small sample, he concedes) and, more fundamentally, that it cannot produce political legitimacy.

Legitimacy and the political bank run

The host challenges this. Stalin had weak growth and simply doubled down on repression, while the tsar had about 2% growth and fell. Does legitimacy really matter? Kotkin cites Iran, which he estimates has perhaps 20% popular support and which Russia and China did not help under Israeli pressure. He calls the authoritarian partnership "a fake." Russia and China can supply missiles and dual-use technology, he says, but not legitimacy. The host responds that hard crackdowns historically seem to work.

Kotkin agrees that is why such regimes build huge repressive apparatuses. He dismisses the idea of a "bargain" of freedom for prosperity: citizens cannot sue when the regime fails to deliver, so it brings out batons, water cannon, and disappearances. But repression is performed by people, not machines or AI. In February 1917, elite units ordered to shoot striking workers, many of them women marching for bread, refused. The soldiers were peasants, and the workers had been peasants yesterday, some returning to the same villages at harvest time. Collectivization likewise depended on activists willing to act against their own villages. Stalin signed decrees; others carried them out or didn't.

Kotkin compares a repressive apparatus to a bank with neoclassical stone columns. It looks solid until everyone simultaneously doubts it and there is a run. A "political bank run" can happen anywhere along the chain of command, and what triggers such defection, he argues, is illegitimacy: people will not kill for a system they no longer believe in. Growth legitimated the CCP for 30 to 40 years, and technology might do so for another 30 to 40, but Kotkin says it has not happened yet and would never be permanent. Permanence comes from real citizenship, meaning the ability to vote and punish bad choices even when the candidates are poor. Stalin had legitimacy for a time from the promise of a new world; Khrushchev gave it a second wind; the attempt at a third under Gorbachev unwittingly destroyed the system. China and Russia, Kotkin concludes, are stuck: unable to reform structurally without losing power, and unable to keep power forever without legitimacy.

He ends by inverting Keynes. In the short run we could all be dead, because a U.S.–China world war would kill a multiple of World War II's 55 million (the low estimate), which was itself a multiple of World War I. In the long run, he believes, "we're all good because our system is better." The task is to elongate the short run: compete through a cold war rather than a hot one. China's bet on technology might work or might not, Kotkin says, but even if it does, it will not be permanent.