Saturday, April 26, 2014

From The Pen Of Leon Trotsky- On The 70th Anniversary Of His Death (2010)-

Markin comment:

The name Leon Trotsky hardly needs added comment from this writer. After Marx, Engels and Lenin, and in his case it is just slightly after, Trotsky is our heroic leader of the international communist movement. I would argue, and have in the past, that if one were looking for a model of what a human being would be like in our communist future Leon Trotsky, warts and all, is the closest approximation that the bourgeois age has produced. No bad, right?

Note: For this 70th anniversary memorial I have decided to post articles written by Trotsky in the 1930s, the period of great defeats for the international working class with the rise of fascism and the disorientations of Stalinism beating down on it. This was a time when political clarity, above all, was necessary. Trotsky, as a simple review of his biographical sketch will demonstrate, wore many hats in his forty years of conscious political life: political propagandist and theoretician; revolutionary working class parliamentary leader; razor-sharp journalist ( I, for one, would not have wanted to cross swords with him. I would still be bleeding); organizer of the great October Bolshevik revolution of 1917; organizer of the heroic and victorious Red Army in the civil war against the Whites in the aftermath of that revolution; seemingly tireless Soviet official; literary and culture critic: leader of the Russian Left Opposition in the 1920s; and, hounded and exiled leader of the International Left Opposition in the 1930s.

I have decided to concentrate on some of his writings from the 1930s for another reason as well. Why, with such a resume to choose from? Because, when the deal went down Leon Trotsky’s work in the 1930s, when he could have taken a political dive, I believe was the most important of his long career. He, virtually alone of the original Bolshevik leadership (at least of that part that still wanted to fight for international revolution), had the capacity to think and lead. He harnessed himself to the hard, uphill work of that period (step back, step way back, if you think we are “tilting at windmills” now). In that sense the vile Stalinist assassination in 1940, when Trotsky could still project years of political work ahead, is not among the least of Stalin’s crimes against the international working class. Had Trotsky lived another ten years or so, while he could not have “sucked” revolutions out of the ground, he could have stabilized a disoriented post-World War communist movement and we would probably have a far greater living communist movement today. Thanks for what you did do though, Comrade Trotsky.

The Class Struggle Continues...In Boston  


The Class Struggle Continues...In Boston  

The Class Struggle Continues...In Boston  


The Class Struggle Continues...In Boston  

The Class Struggle Continues...In Boston 
 
 


The Class Struggle Continues...In Boston  

The Class Struggle Continues...In Boston 
 
 

On The 39th Anniversary Of The Fall Of Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City)-Vietnam At The End-An Uncounted Causality Of War- The Never-Ending Vietnam War Story

 

 
From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Sometimes a picture is in fact better than one thousand words. In this case the famous, or infamous depending on one’s view, photograph of the last American “refugees” being evacuated from the American Embassy in Saigon (now, mercifully, Ho Chi Minh City) tells more about that episode of American imperial hubris that most books. Recently I reviewed Frank Snepp’s book about Vietnam at the end of the war, Indecent Interval , where I noted “as is the case with this little gem of a book, ex- CIA man Frank Snepp’s insider account of that fall from the American side, it is nice to have some serious analytical companionship to that photo. Moreover, a book that gives numerous details about what happened to who in those last days in a little over five hundred pages. Naming names about who the good guys and bad guys really were (from the American imperial perspective). Especially now, as two or three later generations only see Vietnam through the hoary eyes of old veterans, both military and radical anti-war, from that period like me (a veteran in both senses) to tell the tale.”

And such histories, memoirs and remembrances help to get a fix on that Vietnam episode in the lives of many of the young in that time. Sometimes though the story of war, about what happened before the whole edifice came crashing down, can be told another way, in a more personal way. Who knows in one hundred years the story below may be the more important story.

THERE IS NO WALL IN WASHINGTON FOR KENNY-BUT, MAYBE THERE SHOULD BE

This space is usually devoted to ‘high’ politics and the personal is usually limited to some experience of mine that has a direct political point. Sometimes, however, a story is so compelling and makes the point in such a poignant manner that no political palaver is necessary. Let me tell the tale.

Recently I returned, while on some unrelated business, to the neighborhood where I grew up. The neighborhood is one of those old working class neighborhoods where the houses are small, cramped and seedy, the leavings of those who have moved on to bigger and better things. The neighborhood nevertheless reflected the desire of the working poor in the 1950's, my parents and others, to own their own homes and not be shunted off to decrepit apartments or dilapidated housing projects, the fate of those just below them on the social ladder. While there I happened upon an old neighbor who recognized me despite the fact that I had not seen her for at least thirty years. Since she had grown up and lived there continuously, taking over the family house, I inquired about the fate of various people that I had grown up with. She, as is usually the case in such circumstances, had a wealth of information but one story in particular cut me to the quick. I asked about a boy named Kenny who was a couple of years younger than I was but who I was very close to until my teenage years. Kenny used to tag along with my crowd until, as teenagers will do, we made it clear that he was no longer welcome being ‘too young’ to hang around with us older boys. Sound familiar?

The long and the short of it is that he found other friends of his own age to hang with, one in particular, from down the street named Jimmy. I had only a nodding acquaintance with both thereafter. As happened more often than not during the 1960’s in working class neighborhoods all over the country, especially with kids who were not academically inclined, when Jimmy came of age he faced the draft or the alternative of ‘volunteering’ for military service. He enlisted. Kenny for a number of valid medical reasons was 4-F (unqualified for military service). Of course, you know what is coming. Jimmy was sent to Vietnam where he was killed in 1968 at the age of 20. His name is one of the 58,000 plus that are etched on that Vietnam Memorial Wall in Washington. His story ends there. Unfortunately, Kenny’s just begins.

Kenny took Jimmy’s death hard. Harder than one can even imagine. The early details are rather sketchy but they may have involved drug use. The overt manifestations were acts of petty crime and then anti-social acts like pulling fire alarms and walking naked down the street. At some point he was diagnosed as schizophrenic. I make no pretense of having adequate knowledge about the causes of mental illnesses but someone I trust has told me that such a traumatic event as Jimmy’s death can trigger the condition in young adults. In any case, the institutionalizations inevitably began. And later the halfway houses and all the other forms of control for those who cannot survive on the mean streets of the world on their own. Apparently, with drugs and therapy, there were periods of calm but for over three decades poor Kenny struggled with his inner demons. In the end the demons won and he died a few years ago while in a mental hospital.

Certainly not a happy story. Perhaps, aside from the specific details, not even an unusual one in modern times. Nevertheless I now count Kenny as one of the uncounted casualties of war. Along with those physically wounded soldiers who can back from Vietnam service unable to cope with their own demons and sought solace in drugs and alcohol. And those who for other reasons could no adjust and found themselves on the streets, in the half way shelters or the V. A. hospitals. And also those grieving parents and other loved ones whose lives were shattered and broken by the loss of their children. There is no wall in Washington for them. But, maybe there should be. As for poor Kenny from the old neighborhood. Rest In Peace.

             
The Class Struggle Continues... May Day 2014 In Boston

 
 
 
NATIONAL DAYS OF ACTION
NO KILLER DRONES!  NO SPY DRONES!
 
TUESDAY, MAY 6, NOON – 2:00 PM
 
MIT MAIN ENTRANCE, 77 MASSACHUSETTS AVE., CAMBRIDGE
 
Thousands of innocent people have been killed by U.S. drones.  We will read the names of victims and speak out against the new forms of warfare and the surveillance state.  We are gathering at MIT, a major center of drone research.
Spread the word and
JOIN US
 
Eastern Massachusetts Anti-Drone Network & Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom
 

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***The Roots Is The Toots-The Music That Got The Generation Of ’68 Through The 1950s Red Scare Cold War Night – Doris Troy’s Just One Look

 
 
From The Pen Of Frank Jackman
 
I have recently been on a tear in reviewing individual CDs in an extensive Time-Life Rock ‘n’ Roll series. A lot of those reviews have been driven by the artwork which graced the covers of each item, both to stir ancient memories and reflect that precise moment in time, the youth time of the now very, very mature (nice sliding over the age issue, right?) baby-boomer generation who lived and died by the music. And who fit in, or did not fit in as the case may be, to the themes of those artwork scenes. The one for the 1963 CD compilation is a case of the former, of the fitting in. On that cover, a summer scene (always a nice touch since that was the time when we had at least the feel of our generational break-out) we are placed at the drive-in, the drive-in movies for those of the Internet/Netflicks/YouTube generations who have not gotten around to checking out this bit of Americana on Wikipedia, with the obligatory 1950s-early 1960s B-movie monster movie (outer space aliens, creatures from the black lagoon, blobs, DNA-damaged dinosaurs, foreign-bred behemoths a specialty) prominent on the screen.

Oh sure, everyone of a certain age, a certain baby-boomer age, a generation of ’68 age, has plenty of stories to tell of being bundled up as kids, maybe pre-set with full set pajamas on to defend against the late sleepy-eyed night, the sleepy-drowsy late movie night, placed in the car backseats and taken by adventurous parents (or so it seemed) to the local open air drive-in for the double feature. That usually also happened on a friendly summer night when school did not interfere with staying up late (hopefully keeping awake through both films). And to top it all off you got to play in the inevitable jungle jim, see-saw, slide, swing set-laden playground during intermission between the film while waiting, waiting against all hope, for that skewered, shriveled hot dog, rusty, dusty hamburger, or stale, over the top buttered popcorn that was the real reason that you “consented” to stay out late with the parents. Ya, we all have variations on that basic theme to tell, although I challenge anyone, seriously challenge anyone, to name five films that you saw at the drive-in that you remembered from then-especially those droopy-eyed second films.

In any case, frankly, I don’t give a damn about that kid stuff family adventure drive-in experience. Come on, that was all, well, just kids' stuff. The “real” drive-in, as pictured on that cover art just mentioned is what I want to address. The time of our time in that awkward teen alienation, teen angst thing that only got abated by things like a teenage night at the drive-in. Yeah, that was not, or at least I hope it was not, you father’s drive-in. That might have been in the next planet over, for all I know. For starters our planet involved girls (girls, ah, women, just reverse the genders here to tell your side of the experience), looking for girls, or want to be looking for girls, preferably a stray car-full to compliment your guy car-full and let god sort it out at intermission.

Wait a minute. I am getting ahead of myself in this story. First you needed that car, because no walkers or bus riders need apply for the drive-in movies like this was some kind of lame, low-rent, downtown matinee last picture show adventure. For this writer that was a problem, a personal problem, as I had no car and my family had cars only sporadically. Fortunately we early baby-boomers lived in the golden age of the automobile and could depend on a friend to either have a car (praise be teenage disposable income/allowances) or could use the family car. Once the car issue was clarified then it was simply a matter of getting a car-full of guys (or sometimes guys and gals) in for the price of two (maybe three) admissions.

What? Okay, I think that I can safely tell the story now because the statute of limitations must have surely passed. See, what you did was put a couple (or three guys) in the trunk of that old car (or in a pinch one guy on the backseat floor) as you entered the drive-thru admissions booth. The driver paid for the two (or three tickets) and took off to your parking spot (complete with ramp speaker just in case you wanted to actually listen to the film shown on that big wide white screen). Neat trick, right?

Now, of course, the purpose of all of this, as mentioned above, was to get that convoy of guys, trunk guys, backseat guys, backseat floor guys, whatever, to mix and moon with that elusive car-full of girls who did the very same thing (except easier because they were smaller) at the intermission stand or maybe just hanging around the unofficially designated teen hang-out area. No family sedans with those pajama-clad kids need apply (nor would any sane, responsible parent get within fifty paces of said teens). And occasionally, very occasionally as it turned out, some “boss” car would show up complete with one guy (the driver) and one honey (girl, ah, woman) closely seated beside him for what one and all knew was going to be a very window-fogged night. And that was, secretly thought or not, the guy drive-in dream. As for the movies. Did they show movies there? Enough said.

Oh, except that at said drive-in, before the first show started at dusk, between shows and on the way home, girl-matched or not, you were very liable to hear many of the songs in that CD on the old car radio. The stick outs included: Heat Wave (not as good as Dancing In The Streets but good), Martha and the Vandellas; Just One Look (make that look my way, please, even if you are munching on popcorn) Doris Troy; Wild Weekend (just in case you wanted to dance during intermission rather than watch the screen clock ticking off the time until that next film began), The Rockin’ Rebels ; and, Don’t Say Nothin’ Bad About My Baby (yeah, you have got that right, sisters), The Cookies.

***Dashiell Hammett’s Nick And Nora Charles To The Rescue- Yet Another Thin Man





DVD Review

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Another Thin Man, starring William Powell, Myrna Loy, Asta, very roughly based on Dashiell Hammett’s original crime detection story, 1939  

The following paragraphs are taken from a recent review of the Dashiell Hammetts’s crime detection novel The Thin Man which the original source for the successful series of films starring William Powell, Myrna Loy and Asta, including the film under review, Another Thin Man.    

“Dashiell Hammett, along with Raymond Chandler, reinvented the detective genre in the 1930's and 1940's. They moved the genre away from the amateurish and simple parlor detectives that had previously dominated the genre to hard-boiled action characters who knew what was what and didn't mind taking a beating to get the bad guys. And along the way they produced some very memorable literary characters as well. Nick Charles (and wife Nora), Sam Spade and Phillip Marlowe are well known exemplars of the action detective. Hammett, on the way to creating these literary works of art did journeyman's work at the detective genre in various pulp detective magazines. Moreover, in the beginning he hid his detectives behind the anonymous, although not faceless or without personality, average detectives of a national detective agency, the Continental Op series(shades of his own past). One of those efforts is an early almost totally unrelated version of The Thin Man that those who have read the later version (or know Nick, Nora and Asta only from the film series) would not recognize.

Dashiell Hammett is perhaps better known for creating the classic modern proto-typical detective, one Sam Spade the detective-hero (or anti-hero, if you prefer) of the literary (and film) noir The Maltese Falcon. With The Thin Man he took a different tack in providing a model detective- the urbane Nick Charles, his side-kick society wife, Nora, and their ever present faithful dog companion, Asta.”

The story line here centers on solving the apparently “perfect” murder of Nora’s estate’s financial manager, a little rich girl’s financial manager (if a rather nice little girl and by the time of this film a mother too).There is an elaborate, too elaborate attempt, to make the deed seem to the work of a disgruntled former employee who took the fall when the investigators saw the books were cooked. An excellent reason to seek revenge, especially after doing a dime’s worth in stir. But as with all such thing that was just a diversion. As usual Nick and Nora followed the dough, or rather who would benefit most from the financial manager’s demise. That’s why Nick and Nora get the big bucks, or the kudos.   
***Out In The Be-Bop Be-Bop 1960s Night- When Sammy Russo Ran The Skee Ball Lanes



 
 
 

From The Pen Of Peter Paul Markin

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of The Shirelles performing their classic Tonight’s The Night

Scene: Brought to mind by one of the snapshot photos that graced each CD compilation in a rock and roll series that I recently reviewed here. The then newly built Gloversville Amusement Park created out of farmland just west of the old home town, Clintondale. Of course it had all the latest rides, including two Ferris wheels, two different-sized roller coasters (one for the faint-hearted, the other for the brave, or fool-hearty) refreshment stands seemingly without end, and other refinements, including for our particular purposes not one by two game pavilions anchored by rows of skee lanes. Skee lanes that Sammy Russo ruled (that‘s would be the the guy eating the proffered popcorn in the photo I am referring if you could see it) and claimed kingship over and over which Patty Smith (the popcorn profferee in said photo) sought to be his queen. If she could handle the gaffe.

***********

“Christ, Patty how many of these damn, god awful kewpie dolls do you need anyway?,” yelled Sammy Russo, the King Of The Skee Ball night at Gloversville Amusement Park and also a 1960s king hell king of a corner boy at Doc Sweeney’s Drugstore (said store complete with soda fountain, naturally, and a juke box too else why be a corner boy there, or anything else) out in the Clintondale be-bop night to his wanna-be sweetie, Patty Smith. And it was a question that he expected an answer to, a prompt, no sass answer, newness wearing off or not, newness of their “steady” hood-ness, that is.

See, Patty got big eyes for Sammy right here at the FUNland game pavilion (no that is not a typo that is the way the name in front of the game pavilion read) at the beginning of summer, right after school let out. School, of course, being North Adamsville High in the year of our lord nineteen hundred and sixty if anybody asks you, and they might. And, for that matter, how else would I know of the Sammy-Patty love story, I ask you, if that wasn’t so. I am one of Sammy’s Doc’s Drugstore corner boy, uh, associates.

Gloversville proper, by the way, is too new and rural raw to have its own high school so kids from Gloversville come over to North Clintondale where there is some extra room just now. But Gloversville kids, farm boys and girls mainly, are strictly squaresville. No dispute. The only reason that anybody from North Clintonville High, any corner boy (or his girl) would even set foot in Gloversville for one minute, no, one second, was to pass ever-loving Main Street (really Route 16) through to the edge of town seeking the newly built Gloversville Amusement Park. And that is the reason why Sammy and Patty were standing there in front of the FUNland skee ball lanes having their first “argument.” Well, kind of an argument.

Patty was either in some high funk, or did not hear Sammy the first time over the din of the Gene Daniel’s A Hundred Pounds Of Clay followed immediately by The Chieftains Heart And Soul, blaring over the loudspeaker. A loudspeaker that we finally figured out was used by the management to juice up the pinball/skee ball/games atmosphere so no one could think and just drop coins in steadily whatever games were being played. The noise was so loud that Sammy was forced to repeat himself. And Patty faux-demurely answered (as was her way when Sammy got this, well, this Sammy Doc’s corner boy way)-“Until I get the whole set of twelve, and not before.” [Markin: For those who are breathlessly on the edge of their seats waiting to know why there are twelve it is simple. There are twelve kewpies representing twelve different nations/major ethnic groups, naturally, they had that part of the soft sell down easy] “Christ,” said Sammy under his breathe, “We will be here all night.”

All night skee-ing when Sammy, king of the skees or not, had other things, other wrestling in some secluded spot out back by the artificial lake that formed one of the edges of the park things, on his mind. With one Patty Smith, of course. And that would not be the first time, the first wrestling time. Funny, just then the newest Shirelles' hit came over the speaker, Tonight’s The Night. But just now he knew deep in his bones, knew as if he had been married to Miss Smith for fifty years, that tonight was not going to be the night if she did not go home with not ten, not eleven, but exactly twelve f—king kewpie dolls.

Now this skee thing, on an average night is nothing but a sure thing when Sammy has his motor running. When his mind is on skees, okay. But playing enough games to “win” twelve dolls, or for that matter twelve rabbits’ feet or twelve leis (lesser prizes in the skee universe) requires a certain perseverance and good aim.

[Markin: For those who do not know skee it is like bowling, candle-pin bowling (small balls for those not from New England) in that you roll the bowl up a short lane and like darts or rifle target shooting in that you have a target. The idea is to get as many points (and hence coupons) with nine balls as possible. The points convert to coupons which are dispensed near where you place your money to start a game. Get enough coupons and you win prizes from those lame leis to kewpie dolls. Simple.]

But, like I said, Sammy’s mind had been elsewhere, especially when Patty, yes, Patty brought up the subject of wrestling down by that lake if things worked out at skee. And as if to punctuate her sentence Brenda Lee’s You Can Depend On Me came on while these “negotiations” were in progress.

But this night Sammy, king hell corner boy is whipped, just plain whipped by the task before him. It is almost closing time (11:00 PM) and Sammy has won exactly five dolls. And Sammy, while he can be as smooth as any Doc’s Drugstore corner boy, except maybe Fritz Gentry, or as cold as any hard-boiled Hell’s Angel motorcycle corner boy from the Blarney Bar &Grille in the hard-night part of Clintondale is ready to explode at Patty. Not for her foolish girl desire for the damn dolls. That is how girls are and what makes them tick. No, Sammy is fed up that his prowess at skee had to be put in play by Patty’s silly notions.

So come eleven o'clock and defeat Sammy, cold as ice, says to Patty, “Okay, we are finished, I’ll take you home now but I have had it.” So they walked, walked pretty far apart for two people on the same planet, back to Sammy’s father’s car and he did not even open Patty’s door for her. Bad news, no question. She got in and as the car radio heated up wouldn’t you know in a night filled with omens and portents that just then the local all-night rock ‘n’ roll station would be playing Connie Francis’ Breakin’ In A Brand New Broken Heart. And both Sammy and Patty were absolutely quiet while that song was being played.

 

Friday, April 25, 2014

On The 39th Anniversary Of The Fall Of Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City)-Vietnam At The End- The American End- An Insider’s Story- Frank Snepp’s “Decent Interval”- A Book Review

 

Book Review

Decent Interval: An Insider’s Account Of Saigon’s Indecent End Told By The CIA’s Chief Strategy Analyst In Vietnam, Frank Snepp, Random House, New York, 1977

Sometimes a picture is in fact better than one thousand words. In this case the famous, or infamous depending on one’s view, photograph of the last American “refugees” being evacuated from the American Embassy in Saigon (now, mercifully, Ho Chi Minh City) tells more about that episode of American imperial hubris that most books. Still, as is the case with this little gem of a book, ex- CIA man Frank Snepp’s insider account of that fall from the American side, it is nice to have some serious analytical companionship to that photo. Moreover, a book that gives numerous details about what happened to who in those last days in a little over five hundred pages. Naming names about who the good guys and bad guys really were (from the American imperial perspective. Especially now, as two or three later generations only see Vietnam through the hoary eyes of old veterans, both military and radical anti-war, from that period like me (a veteran in both senses) to tell the tale.

Naturally, a longtime CIA man who in a fit of his own hubris decided, in effect, to blow the whistle on the American fiasco, has got his own axes to grind, and his own agenda for doing so. Bearing that in mind this is a fascinating look at that last period of American involvement in Vietnam from just after the 1973 cease-fire went into place until that last day of April in 1975 when the red flag flew over Saigon after a thirty plus year struggle for national liberation. For most Americans the period after the withdrawal of the last large contingents of U.S. troops from combat in 1972 kind of put paid to that failed experiment in “nation-building”-American-style.

For the rest of us who wished to see the national liberation struggle victorious we only had a slight glimmer that sometime was afoot until fairly late- say the beginning of 1975, although the rumor mill was running earlier. So Mr. Snepp’s book is invaluable to fill in the blanks for what the U.S., the South Vietnamese and the North Vietnamese were doing, or not doing.

Snepp’s lively account, naturally, centers on the American experience and within that experience the conduct of the last ambassador to Saigon, Graham Martin. Snepp spares no words to go after Martin’s perfidious and maniacal role, especially in the very, very last days when the North Vietnamese were sweeping almost unopposed into Saigon. But there is more, failures of intelligence, some expected, others just plain wrong, some missteps about intentions, some grand-standing and some pure-grade rancid anti-communist that fueled much of the scene.

And, of course, no story of American military involvement any place is complete without plenty of material about, well the money. From Thieu’s military needs (and those of his extensive entourage) to the American military (and their insatiable need for military hardware), to various American administrations and their goals just follow the money trail and you won’t be far off the scent. And then that famous, or infamous, photograph of that helicopter exit from the roof of the American Embassy in just a nick of time makes much more sense. Nice work, Frank Snepp. The whistleblower’s art is not appreciated but always needed. Just ask heroic convicted whistle-blower Private Chelsea Manning or exiled Edward Snowden.
***In The Time Of The 1950s Be-Bop Baby-Boom Jail Break-Out




I have recently been on a tear in reviewing individual CDs in an extensive Time-Life Rock ‘n’ Roll series. A lot of these reviews have been driven by the artwork which graces the covers of each item, both to stir ancient memories and reflect that precise moment in time, the youth time of the now very, very mature (nice sliding over the age issue, right?) baby-boomer generation who lived and died by the music. And who fit in, or did not fit in as the case may be, to the themes of those artwork scenes. This The ‘60s: Rave On is a case of the latter, of the not fitting in. On this cover, a summer scene (always a nice touch since that was the time when we had at least the feel of our generational breakout), a summer night scene, a lovers’ lane summer’s night scene, non-described as such but clearly “boss” Corvette car scene spells it all out for this car-less teen, no car soon in sight teen, and no gas money, etc., etc. even if I had as much as an old Nash Rambler junk car. But not to speak bitterness today, I do want to talk car dream, Corvette car dream, okay.

I have ranted endlessly about the 1950s as the “golden age of the automobile” and I am not alone. As perceptive a social critic and observer as Tom Wolfe, he of Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and many other tribal gathering-type book screeds, did a whole book on the California car culture, the California post World War II teen car culture that drifted east and “infested” plenty of young working class kids in that time, the time of white tee-shirts, jeans, maybe a leather jacket against life’s storms, and of endless grease monkey tune-up to get that engine revved just right. Moreover, nostalgia-driven George Lucas’s American Graffiti of 1973 is nothing but an ode to that good-night teen life, again California-style.

Sure, and as it drifted back east Sammy the local wizard, car wizard, had all the girls, all the good-looking girls hanging around his home garage just waiting to be “selected” for a ride in Sammy’s latest effort, usually some variation off a ’57 Chevy. And Sammy, believe me, was nothing but very average for looks. But get this, old bookish reviewer, old two-thousand facts and don’t stop counting reviewer, got exactly nowhere even with the smart girls in Sammy-ruled land. Ya, get away kid, ‘cause Sammy is the be-bop daddy of the Eastern ocean night. And books and book-knowledge, well you have old age for books but a ’57 Chevy is now. And here is the unkindest cut of all-"go wait for the bus at the bus stop, boy. Sammy rules here."

But a man can dream, can’t he? And even Sammy, greased up, dirty fingernails, blotched tee-shirt, admitted, freely admitted, that he wished, wished to high heaven that he had enough dough for the upkeep on a Corvette the ding-daddy (his word) “boss” (my word) car of the age and nothing but a magnet for even smarter and better looking girls than the neighborhood girls that “harassed” him. ( I found out later that this “harassed” was nothing but a nothing thing because come Friday or Saturday night he had more than his fair share of companions down by the seashore-every thing is alright night.) Still Corvette meant big dough and as the scene in this CD indicates, probably big “new money” California daddy rich kid dough to look out at the Hollywood Hills or Laguna Beach night. Ya, that’s the dream, and that window-fogged night part too.

And whether you were a slave to your car (or not as with this writer), be it ’57 Chevy, Corvette or just that old beat down, beat around Nash Rambler you had that radio glued, maybe literally, to the local rock station to hear the tunes on this CD. Although truth to tell this writer listening to his be-bop little transistor radio would not have gone crazy over the mix presented here. This is a second compilations of ‘60s hits but it seems to have run out of steam so the few stick-outs here include: Let’s Have a Party (a great rockabilly tune by one of the few woman in that genre, Wanda Jackson; Chains (great harmony by this group that also did backups on a ton of other material), The Cookies; and, If You Need Me (his heyday and much under-appreciated as an early soulful singer except, of course, when they played him as last dance and you got the courage to ask that certain she you had been eyeing all night to dance, thanks S.B.), Solomon Burke.
Urgent Medical Appeal for Ex-Political Prisoner Lynne Stewart





Workers Vanguard No. 1041
 















7 March 2014
 
 
 
Seventy-four years old and suffering from Stage IV breast cancer, radical lawyer Lynne Stewart may have only months to live. The government is dedicated to making that time as painful as possible. After being denied compassionate medical release for nearly a year, Stewart was finally let out of prison on December 31 by a U.S. district judge who cited her “terminal medical condition and very limited life expectancy.” Stewart, whose cancer has metastasized to her back, lung, bones and lymph nodes, discovered after her release that she had been stripped of Medicare coverage while in prison. She will not be enrolled again until July. Medicaid will not cover her because Stewart and her husband’s combined Social Security benefits exceed the monthly income limit. She must now pay the sky-high costs of treatment and medication herself—or go without!
Stewart should never have spent a day in prison. In 2005, she was convicted of giving material support to terrorism for her vigorous defense of an Egyptian Islamic fundamentalist cleric who had been imprisoned for an alleged plot to blow up New York City landmarks in the early 1990s. Stewart’s purported “material support” was to communicate her client’s views to Reuters news service. Her Arabic translator Mohamed Yousry and paralegal Ahmed Abdel Sattar were also convicted. These watershed convictions gave the capitalist government a green light to prosecute lawyers as co-conspirators of their clients—a frontal attack on the Sixth Amendment right to counsel. In 2010, at the instigation of the Obama administration, a federal appeals court instructed the judge who had originally sentenced Stewart to reexamine her sentence. Appeasing his superiors, the judge jacked up the original 28-month sentence to ten years.
Lynne Stewart dedicated her adult life to keeping Black Panthers, radical leftists and others who are reviled by the capitalist state out of the clutches of its prison system. Tens of thousands worldwide supported Stewart’s fight for a medical release. She must not face this new attack alone. The Lynne Stewart Defense Committee has issued an appeal for funds for Stewart’s medical needs. The Partisan Defense Committee, a class-struggle defense organization associated with the Spartacist League, has contributed funds. We urge our readers to contribute now! Make checks payable to “Lynne Stewart Organization” and mail to: Lynne Stewart Organization, 1070 Dean Street, Brooklyn, NY 11216.



Please contribute to Lynne's Immediate Medical Needs! As Valentine's Day approaches, show your continued love and support for Lynne Stewart and her tireless efforts to fight for justice. And if you donate now, your gift will be matched dollar for dollar by a generous friend of the fight for justice for Lynne Stewart.

TO DONATE GO HERE: http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/lynne-stewart-s-medical-fund
From The Marxist Archives -The Revolutionary History Journal-Paolo Casciola-Blasco’s People
 
From The Pen Of Leon Trotsky- On The 70th Anniversary Of His Death (2010)-

Markin comment:

The name Leon Trotsky hardly needs added comment from this writer. After Marx, Engels and Lenin, and in his case it is just slightly after, Trotsky is our heroic leader of the international communist movement. I would argue, and have in the past, that if one were looking for a model of what a human being would be like in our communist future Leon Trotsky, warts and all, is the closest approximation that the bourgeois age has produced. No bad, right?

Note: For this 70th anniversary memorial I have decided to post articles written by Trotsky in the 1930s, the period of great defeats for the international working class with the rise of fascism and the disorientations of Stalinism beating down on it. This was a time when political clarity, above all, was necessary. Trotsky, as a simple review of his biographical sketch will demonstrate, wore many hats in his forty years of conscious political life: political propagandist and theoretician; revolutionary working class parliamentary leader; razor-sharp journalist ( I, for one, would not have wanted to cross swords with him. I would still be bleeding); organizer of the great October Bolshevik revolution of 1917; organizer of the heroic and victorious Red Army in the civil war against the Whites in the aftermath of that revolution; seemingly tireless Soviet official; literary and culture critic: leader of the Russian Left Opposition in the 1920s; and, hounded and exiled leader of the International Left Opposition in the 1930s.

I have decided to concentrate on some of his writings from the 1930s for another reason as well. Why, with such a resume to choose from? Because, when the deal went down Leon Trotsky’s work in the 1930s, when he could have taken a political dive, I believe was the most important of his long career. He, virtually alone of the original Bolshevik leadership (at least of that part that still wanted to fight for international revolution), had the capacity to think and lead. He harnessed himself to the hard, uphill work of that period (step back, step way back, if you think we are “tilting at windmills” now). In that sense the vile Stalinist assassination in 1940, when Trotsky could still project years of political work ahead, is not among the least of Stalin’s crimes against the international working class. Had Trotsky lived another ten years or so, while he could not have “sucked” revolutions out of the ground, he could have stabilized a disoriented post-World War communist movement and we would probably have a far greater living communist movement today. Thanks for what you did do though, Comrade Trotsky.


Click below to link to the Revolutionary History Journal index.

http://www.marxists.org/history/etol/revhist/backissu.htm


Peter Paul Markin comment on this series:

This is an excellent documentary source for today’s leftist militants to “discover” the work of our forebears, particularly the bewildering myriad of tendencies which have historically flown under the flag of the great Russian revolutionary, Leon Trotsky and his Fourth International, whether one agrees with their programs or not. But also other laborite, semi-anarchist, ant-Stalinist and just plain garden-variety old school social democrat groupings and individual pro-socialist proponents.

Some, maybe most of the material presented here, cast as weak-kneed programs for struggle in many cases tend to be anti-Leninist as screened through the Stalinist monstrosities and/or support groups and individuals who have no intention of making a revolution. Or in the case of examining past revolutionary efforts either declare that no revolutionary possibilities existed (most notably Germany in 1923) or alibi, there is no other word for it, those who failed to make a revolution when it was possible.

The Spanish Civil War can serve as something of litmus test for this latter proposition, most infamously around attitudes toward the Party Of Marxist Unification's (POUM) role in not keeping step with revolutionary developments there, especially the Barcelona days in 1937 and by acting as political lawyers for every non-revolutionary impulse of those forebears. While we all honor the memory of the POUM militants, according to even Trotsky the most honest band of militants in Spain then, and decry the murder of their leader, Andreas Nin, by the bloody Stalinists they were rudderless in the storm of revolution. But those present political disagreements do not negate the value of researching the POUM’s (and others) work, work moreover done under the pressure of revolutionary times. Hopefully we will do better when our time comes.

Finally, I place some material in this space which may be of interest to the radical public that I do not necessarily agree with or support. Off hand, as I have mentioned before, I think it would be easier, infinitely easier, to fight for the socialist revolution straight up than some of the “remedies” provided by the commentators in these entries from the Revolutionary History journal in which they have post hoc attempted to rehabilitate some pretty hoary politics and politicians, most notably August Thalheimer and Paul Levy of the early post Liebknecht-Luxemburg German Communist Party. But part of that struggle for the socialist revolution is to sort out the “real” stuff from the fluff as we struggle for that more just world that animates our efforts. So read, learn, and try to figure out the
wheat from the chaff. 

******** 

Paolo Casciola-Blasco’s People

We present here brief biographical sketches of some of Pietro Tresso’s Italian co-thinkers who are mentioned in the previous article.





Mario Bavassano

MARIO BAVASSANO (also known under the pseudonyms of Mario Ferrero, Nelluno, Giacomi, Rey) was born in Alessandria on 29 August 1895. During the First World War he was captured and deported to Germany. Back in Italy, he worked as a ‘saddler’ (a worker who made leather seats for cars) at the Fiat factory in Turin. A member of the Turin Federation of the Italian Socialist Party (PSI) from 1919 on, he collaborated with Gramsci’s L’Ordine Nuovo. He was elected to the Fiat factory council, and actively participated in the factory occupations in September 1920. After joining the Partito Communista d’Italia (PCd’I) on its inception, he was elected as a Communist member of the municipal council in Moncalieri in October 1921. Owing to this, in the December of that year he moved from Turin to Moncalieri, where he led the local Chamber of Labour and the local branch of the Lega Proletaria dei Mutilati e degli Invalidi di Guerra (Proletarian League of the War Wounded and Disabled). In September 1922 he took part in an ambush of a group of Fascists, and later avoided arrest by clandestinely emigrating to France, where he was a member of the Paris Central Committee of the Italian Anti-Fascist Federation. In December 1923 he left for the Soviet Union. In Petrograd he attended the Internatsionalnaia Shkola (Comintern School) together with a whole group of Italian Young Communists. On request from Umberto Terracini, and with Trotsky’s agreement, starting from the spring of 1924 until the summer of 1925, together with other Italian militants, he attended the courses of the Voienny Politichesky Institut Tolmachev (Tolmachev Political-Military Institute), led by the Old Bolshevik Mikhail Nikolaevich Pokrovsky. There he became an officer-interpreter in the Red Army, and specialised in making double-bottomed suitcases for underground work. In October 1925, following the dropping of the legal proceedings against him due to an amnesty, he returned to Italy and worked in the PCd’I’s underground apparatus. In the December of that year he was arrested in Rome, where he represented the party ‘Centre’ in the PCd’I’s Federation of Latium as a regional secretary. Forcibly moved to Turin and released, he disappeared after a few days. Until the middle of 1926, together with his companion Gaetana Teresa Recchia, he lived in Viareggio, where he acted as the PCd’I’s regional secretary for Tuscany. Later on he was made secretary for the Venice region, and moved to Padua, where he stayed from mid-1926 until March 1927. Having been reported to the Fascist Tribunale Speciale (Special Court), he was put on trial in November 1926, and sentenced in absentia to five years imprisonment. In the spring of 1927, together with Recchia, he clandestinely emigrated to Switzerland and subsequently to France, where he was a leader of the Italian section of International Red Aid. Expelled from the PCd’I’s apparatus in April 1930, and from the party itself in the July of that year, due to his opposition to the Stalinist ‘Third-Period’ turn, he was amongst the founders of the Nuova Opposizione Italiana (NOI). In October 1933, together with Recchia, he quit the NOI and the French Ligue Communiste in order to take part in the founding of the Union Communiste. In 1935-36 he came close to the ‘Giustizia e Libertà’ movement, and in the summer of 1936 he joined the Maximalist PSI. Later on, he was elected to the main leading body of that party. After the merging of the reformist PSI and the Maximalist PSI into the Federazione di Francia del PSI in January 1944, he was a member of the Executive Committee of Paris branch of the PSI’s French federation. After 15 July 1945 he was a member of the latter’s Leading Committee. He died on 14 July 1964 in Vincennes (Val-de-Marne). See also Louis Bonnel, Giacomi, in Jean Maitron and Claude Pennetier (eds.), Dictionnaire biographique du mouvement ouvrier français, Volume 29, Les Éditions Ouvrières, Paris 1987, pp. 332–3.





Giovanni Boero

GIOVANNI BOERO was born on 15 September 1878 in Villanova d’Asti (Asti), and, as a very young boy, he worked in Turin and in Marseilles in France, where in 1899 he contributed to the ‘intransigent’ Socialist paper for the Italian émigrés L’Emigrato. Back in Turin, he was one of the main spokesmen of the ‘intransigent’ wing of the Turin PSI – within which he was a member of the far left tendency, the so-called ‘rigid’ tendency – and participated in agitation against the First World War. In 1918 he became the secretary of the Turin branch of the PSI and at the party’s Fifteenth National Congress, which was held in Rome on 1-5 September of that year, he sharply criticised the reformist wing, and proposed that the PSI leave the Second International. At the beginning of 1919 he oriented toward abstentionism, and he later voted for the motion moved by Bordiga’s tendency at the Sixteenth National Congress of the PSI (Bologna, 5–8 October 1919). But Boero differentiated himself from Bordiga’s tendency insofar as he supported the movement of factory councils in Turin and contributed to the paper of the group around Gramsci, L’Ordine Nuovo. In October 1920, after the defeat of the wave of factory occupations, he and his abstentionist comrades in Turin called for an immediate departure from the PSI – a proposal which was rejected by Bordiga. At the Leghorn Congress of the PSI in January 1921, Boero sided with the Communist minority, and was amongst the founding members of the PCd’I. Four months later he ran in the general political elections, but was not elected as a PCd’I MP. In April 1923 he left for France, where he opposed the Stalinist ‘turn’ of 1929–30, and took part in the formation of the NOI, of which he was one of the leaders. After his experience in the Union Communiste together with Bavassano and Recchia, he came closer to the Italian Trotskyist organisation in 1936, and two years later he joined the Maximalist PSI. During the Second World War he fought as well as he could against the German occupation in Ivry, and he was on the barricades at the moment of the liberation of Paris in August 1944. In the 1940s he sent articles to the organ of the Italian Partito Operaio Comunista (POC), which it published even after its own expulsion from the Fourth International. In a book review Leonetti gave us some information about Boero’s death. According to Leonetti, ‘disheartened and disillusioned, he committed suicide with gas on 16 May 1958, at the age of 79, in his home ... at Ivry-sur-Seine, out of protest – as he wrote – against Stalinism and De Gaullism, two forms of dictatorship having one and the same matrix, that is, counterrevolution. In his testament, he also asked to be buried wrapped up with a red banner.’ (A. Leonetti in Belfagor, Volume 32, no. 1, 31 January 1977, p. 110)





Pia Carena

PIA CARENA was born on 14 September 1893 in Turin. As a very young girl she was influenced by her brother Attilio, who was a friend of Gramsci, and oriented herself toward Socialist ideas. From late 1917 onwards she worked at the Turin editorial office of the Socialist papers Avanti! and Il Grido del Popolo, and in May 1919 she passed to Gramsci’s L’Ordine Nuovo. She became Gramsci’s companion, and was a member of the PCd’I from its foundation in January 1921. Under the blows of Fascist violence, she was amongst those who ensured the issuing of the underground L’Ordine Nuovo in 1922, and in the following year she moved to Trieste to work for the Communist daily Il Lavoratore, which was outlawed in August. Pia then worked for the PCd’I’s new paper l’Unità , which was launched in February 1924 in Milan, and in the period following her painful personal break with Gramsci in June 1924, she became the companion of Alfonso Leonetti. Being members of the PCd’I’s apparatus, they both went into the underground after the passing of the Fascist special legislation in November 1926, and were part of the PCd’I ‘Centre’ in Quarto, near Genoa. They later emigrated to Switzerland and France, where they opposed the Stalinists’ Third Period policy in 1929–30, and were amongst the founders of the NOI. It was Pia who technically produced the NOI’s mimeographed bulletin in 1931–33. She left Paris together with Leonetti after the entry of the Nazi troops, and again in the summer of 1942, when they both settled in Le Puy (Haute-Loire), where they participated in the French Resistance movement until 1945. Unlike Leonetti, however, Pia did not join the French Communist Party (PCF), nor did she follow him when he entered the ranks of Togliatti’s party in February 1962. After the end of the Second World War she worked for the Emigration Bureau of the Italian Embassy in Paris, and subsequently agreed to collaborate with the activity of the French branch of the Unione delle Donne Italiane (UDI) – the women’s organisation of the Italian Communist Party (PCI) – and to become the managing editor of the UDI’s paper, Noi Donne. She went back to Italy together with Leonetti in November 1960, and she lived in Rome until her death on 9 October 1968. Whilst in Rome, Pia wrote a book on the rôle of the Italians in the French Resistance (Gli italiani del maquis, Cino del Duca, Milan 1966), where she devoted only a four-line footnote to Tresso, stating that ‘although it is sure that Tresso reached the FTPF [Franc-Tireurs et Partisans Français, also known as FTP] maquis of Meygal, at the present state of the research we have nothing but hypotheses on his death in April 1944’ (p. 95). One year after her death a book of reminiscences on her life was published which includes several of her articles and novels (Cesare Pillon [ed.], Pia Carena Leonetti. Una donna del nostro tempo, La Nuova Italia, Florence 1969).





Angiolino Luchi

ANGIOLINO LUCHI (also known under the pseudonyms of Metallo, Maurice, Robert) was born in Galluzzo (Florence) on 16 June 1903. A goldsmith by trade, he was also known under the nickname of Ciolo during the 1920s. He was arrested in October 1929 on a charge of being a member of the PCd’I and of having carried out Communist propaganda, and was imprisoned in Rome from January 1930; he was tried by the Fascist Special Court on 24 June of that year, and was acquitted (see Giovanni Verni [ed.], Pericolosi all’ordine nazionale dello stato. I nemici di Mussolini in provincia di Firenze, La Pietra, Milan 1980, p. 58; and Orazio Barbieri, La fede e la ragione. Ricordi e riflessioni di un comunista, La Pietra, Milan 1982, pp. 16, 22). Luchi emigrated clandestinely to France in June 1931. Within the party he organised an opposition grouping in the Var department, and was expelled on 6 February 1934 because of his criticisms of the ‘Third Period’ policy. He joined the Italian section of the ICL and later the dissident Gruppo Nostra Parola led by Di Bartolomeo. In April 1935 he entered the PSI together with the other five founding members of that group. He subsequently broke with Trotskyism and remained in the PSI even after the Trotskyists left it. On 27 September 1939 he was arrested by the Italian Fascist police when trying to return to Italy. On 21 October of that year he was sentenced to five years deportation to Ventotene, where he arrived on 6 December after having married, in the Florence prison, his companion Ida Ghezzi (Lena) (born on 11 March 1913 and died on 24 December 1988 in Florence) who was also a founding member of Di Bartolomeo’s group. On 14 February 1940 he addressed a letter to ‘His Excellency Benito Mussolini’ in which he repudiated his revolutionary past and proclaimed his return to Italy ‘in order to work, to serve my Fatherland, to serve our Law’. Despite this declaration of good intentions, his imprisonment was turned into an admonition only some two years later in December 1942. After the war he divorced and married Virginia Menegatti. He subsequently worked as a goldsmith in Florence, where he died on 18 October 1975.





Matteo Renato Pistone

MATTEO RENATO PISTONE (also known under the pseudonyms of Lorenzo Stefani, Stellio, Stelio Erst, Stelvio, Henry Benaroya) was born in Grottole (Matera) on 14 September 1910. He came into contact with Bordigism and Trotskyism while in Belgium, and in 1934 he joined the Gruppo Nostra Parola in France. When that group entered the PSI, he declared for ‘entry, but not immediately’. In 1936 he was a member of the tiny Italian Trotskyist group around Tresso, and three days after the events of 19 July in Spain, he arrived in Barcelona. He claimed to have been sent to Spain both by the POI – of which he had also been a member since 1935 – and by the International Secretariat; ‘on the evening that preceded my departure for Spain I first met Pierre Naville ... and then Trotsky’s son, Sedov, at the home of Pietro Tresso, in the presence of the latter’s companion Barbara Stratieski [Debora Seidenfeld]. Jean Rous, Sabas and David Rousset (the latter being responsible for the contacts with the Moroccan nationalists [of the Comité d’Action Marocaine] in Barcelona) caught up with me on 5 August, after I had sent to Paris my first report on the general political situation [which may be the same as the unsigned article published under the title La Spagna al bivio, in Bollettino d’Informazione, no. 2, 1 August 1936, pp. 2–5], and established relations with both Bartolomei [Nicola Di Bartolomeo] ... and the POUM leaders (Andrés Nin, Andrade, Gorkin).’ (M.R. Pistone, letter to P. Casciola, 5 December 1987) In the same letter he also stated that he had served as a liaison between the Barcelona leading committee of the Trotskyist group and the Bolshevik-Leninist militiamen in the Columna Internacional Lenin of the POUM. According to Di Bartolomeo, Pistone played a factionally dubious rôle in Spain. [1] Broué repeats the same charges: ‘The Italian Stellio [Pistone] ... stole a letter addressed to Molinier from Fosco’s [Di Bartolomeo’s] writing desk, said that Blasco had sent him to look after Rous, and complained that the POUM leaders threatened to execute him’ (in L. Trotsky, La révolution espagnole (1930–1940), Éditions de Minuit, Paris 1975, p. 314). Back in France in September 1936, Pistone continued to be a member of the POI, took part in the activities of the few Italian Trotskyists, and was in touch with Tresso until the Nazi entry into Paris; in 1941 he made a trip to Italy (M.R. Pistone, interview with P. Casciola, Rome, 8 May 1988). In May 1942 he established a contact with the Italian Fascist embassy in Paris to let it know that, as a journalist for several French local newspapers in the Seine-et-Marne department, he was supporting the politics of the Axis and the collaboration between Pétain’s France and Nazi Germany. He further claimed that he was working in close contact with the Nazi propaganda bureau in Melun, and that he was ready to put himself at the service of Fascist Italy (Archivo Centrale dello Stato [Rome], Casellario Politico Centrale, dossier Matteo Renato Pistone). Despite all this, during the final stages of the war he reached Naples, where in 1944 he was the main builder of a dissident leftist group, the Frazione di Sinistra dei Comunisti e Socialisti Italiani, which enjoyed the support of Bordiga.





Cristofano Salvini

CRISTOFANO SALVINI (also known under the pseudonym of Tosca) was born on 7 September 1895 in Casole d’Elsa (Siena). A member of the PSI, in 1920 he was elected a town councillor for that party, and in 1921 he joined the PCd’I. He worked as a day labourer. Persecuted by Fascism, in November 1923 he emigrated to France, where he continued to be a Communist. In 1934 he was one of the founders of the Gruppo Nostra Parola, and in April 1935 he entered the PSI. In August 1936 he went to Spain, where he joined the Barcelona Bolshevik-Leninist group, and later on was a member of the Grupo Le Soviet. He fought on the Huesca front as a militiaman of the Columna Internacional Lenin of the POUM. In February 1937, after the seizure of Monte Aragón, he wrote a letter which was published in Le Soviet, no. 5, September 1937, (reprinted as Le Soviet au front de la guerre civile du Front Aragón, La Commune, no. 139, 5 August 1938), and it seems that he subsequently joined a CNT unit in Teruel. On 18 March 1937 he also drafted an open letter to the Italian militiamen of the Stalinist-sponsored Garibaldi battalion, which was published in Le Soviet, no. 7 on 3 April 1937, and reproduced in the organ of the French Molinierite PCI (Lettre du camarade Tosca: aux camarades du bataillon Garibaldi, La Commune, no. 141, 19 August 1938). At about this time, that is the spring and summer of 1937, his comrades lost contact with him, and thought that he had been killed by the Stalinists in the aftermath of the 1937 ‘May Days’. Thus in the above mentioned issue of 5 August 1938, La Commune published his obituary under the title La guerre civile en Espagne, and in February 1939 Di Bartolomeo’s companion declared that ‘Tosca’ had been ‘assassinated by the GPU in Barcelona’ (Sonia [Virginia Gervasini], La cause de la débâcle d’Espagne: absence du parti révolutionnaire dans la guerre civile, La Vérité, no. 3 [New series], 15 March 1939, p. 20). But fortunately they were wrong. Back in France, he was interned in a prison camp, and enlisted in the militarised labour units that had been created in France to build blockhouses, outposts and other military buildings. He was captured by the Germans at Dunkirk, and sent to a concentration camp. There he told the Nazi occupiers of France that he was an Italian; he was then released and sent to Brussels, where the Italian consul repatriated him. On 25 June 1940 he was arrested on the Italian border, and was later sentenced to five years confino (deportation) in the penal settlement of the Tremiti Islands off Apulia, where he arrived on 2 August 1940. There he took part in the creation of a Trotskyist nucleus around Di Bartolomeo. Released in August 1943, he went back to his native town, where he worked as a mason. He was known to his friends as ‘Ricci’, and died on 23 November 1953.





Debora Seidenfeld

DEBORA SEIDENFELD (also known under the pseudonyms of Ghita, Barbara, Lucienne Tedeschi, Blascotte) was born in a German-speaking Jewish family in Makò, in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, on 17 May 1901. During her childhood she lived in the Rijeka (Fiume) region, and towards the end of the First World War she entered a Socialist youth organisation. In 1921, at the time of the founding of the PCd’I, she joined that party. A couple of years later she ceased studying medicine, as the party decided to sent her to Moscow to work for the Communist Youth International. It was in November 1923, during her journey to the Soviet Union, that she first met Tresso in Berlin, who had been working for the Red International of Labour Unions (RILU) in Moscow and was on his way back to Italy. From late 1923 onwards she lived for several months in Moscow. Together with Tresso, who had become her companion, ‘Barbara’ actively participated in underground Communist work in Fascist Italy. During 1924 she worked for the PCd’I’s underground apparatus as a liaison agent, and in 1925–26 she helped reorganise the clandestine PCd’I ‘Centre’ in Recco, near Genoa, where she collaborated with Tresso in the press and propaganda bureau. A short time after Tresso’s emigration to Switzerland she caught up with him, and in the autumn of 1928 they both moved to Paris, where they lived throughout the 1930s. Before Tresso’s break with the PCd’I, she made several underground journeys to Italy to re-establish contacts in Northern Italy, and to organise a distribution network for l’Unità , which was the party’s clandestine organ. In Naples she recruited a group of young intellectuals (Emilio Sereni and others) who played a prominent rôle in the PCI after the Second World War. After Tresso’s expulsion from the PCd’I in June 1930, the party offered her an important post in Moscow if she would dissociate herself from the positions of her companion. But she rejected this offer, and joined the NOI and the French Trotskyist organisation, thus remaining by the side of Tresso for more than a decade, even from the political standpoint. On 9 January 1937 she married Elioz Stratriesky in a ‘mariage blanc’ (fictitious marriage), to enable her to remain in France; for that reason, she was also known under his family name. Tresso’s ‘mysterious’ disappearance hit her very heavily. For more than three decades she unsuccessfully tried to find out who had killed Tresso, and where he had been buried. Back in Italy after the end of the Second World War, during 1946 ‘Barbara’ was the co-founder – together with her Swiss friend Margherita Zoebeli – of the Centro Educativo Italo-Svizzero in Rimini, which functioned as a summer camp for war orphans, and later became a proper school where advanced pedagogical methods were used. During the 1970s her French friends – Marcel Pennetier being the most active amongst them – founded the Comité de Solidarité Blasco to help her financially. She died in Rimini on 3 November 1978. See her obituaries in Il Militante, no. 16, 1978, p. 11, and in the 9 November 1978 issue of Lotta Continua (the latter was drafted by Attilio Chitarin); see also Jean Maitron and Claude Pennetier (eds.), Dictionnaire biographique du mouvement ouvrier français, Volume 41, Les Éditions Ouvrières, Paris 1992, pp. 432–3.





Veniero Spinelli

VENIERO SPINELLI (also known under the pseudonyms of Spartaco Travagli, Mario Spinelli, Stenelo) was born in Rome on 18 September 1909. A member of the PCd’I, he moved to Turin to work in Fiat, where he was arrested in July 1931, and on 25 January 1932 the Fascist Special Court sentenced him to six years imprisonment. On 11 November 1932 he was released from the Civitavecchia prison due to an amnesty for the tenth anniversary of Mussolini’s ‘March on Rome’, and on 22 May 1933 he was admonished because he was ‘dangerous to the political order of the state’. He emigrated clandestinely to France early in October 1933, and was expelled from the PCd’I in February 1934. He then joined the Italian Bolshevik-Leninist organisation and later the dissident group led by Di Bartolomeo, and it was as a member of the latter that he entered the PSI. On 28 July 1936 he left for Spain, where he fought as a machine-gunner in the Spanish squadron of the republican air forces. Under the battle name of Juan Rodríguez Torrete, he took part in several air missions in French Potez 540 bombers before going back to Paris in late September 1936. After the outbreak of the Second World War he enlisted in the French Foreign Legion, and after the Nazi invasion of France he fled to Casablanca, in Morocco, where he took ship for the United States (see Angelo Emiliani, Italiani nell’aviazione repubblicana spagnola, Edizioni Aeronautiche Italiane, Florence 1981, pp. 85–6). According to a different source, it was the Turin reformist Socialist Francesco Frola, then living in Mexico, who succeeded in obtaining a Mexican visa from the Mexican consul in Marseilles for Spinelli as a political refugee, via President Lázaro Cárdenas (see F. Frola, Ventun anni d’esilio 1925–1946, Quartara, Turin 1948, p. 246). In the USA he was reported as having become an Anarchist (see ACS [Rome], Casellario Politico Centrale, dossier Veniero Spinelli). Though he was not an American citizen, he was allowed to join the US army in 1942, and in 1943 he returned to Italy as an American soldier. He later reached Rome, and quit the US army to join the Resistance movement. According to his brother Altiero – who after breaking with the PCd’I was the principal founder of the European Federalist Movement – after the end of the war Veniero ‘was unable to wait until demobilisation, deserted and continued his turbulent life in Rome until his death’ (A. Spinelli, Come ho tentato di diventare saggio, Il Mulino, Bologna 1988, p. 187). He died on 28 October 1969.





Tullo Tulli

TULLO TULLI was born on 23 November 1903 in Bergamo, where he joined the Gruppo Andrea Costa, a revolutionary student group. After the imprisonment of his brother Enrico – a PCd’I cadre who was detained in the same prison as Gramsci in Turi di Bari – he started collaborating with the PCd’I and GL movement. As a journalist for the anti-Fascist Milan daily L’Italia, he was arrested several times under Mussolini’s regime until his last arrest in August 1930, after which he was soon released. Later that year he emigrated to Paris, where he subsequently was a member of the NOI for some time before finally entering the GL. After the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War he ‘participated in the organisation and activity of the Italian column on the Aragon front’ in August-September 1936 (T. Tulli, letter to Camillo Berneri, 20 November 1936, in C. Berneri, Epistolario inedito, Volume 1, Archivio Famiglia Berneri, Pistoia 1980, pp. 144–5; in this autobiographical letter, however, he did not mention his joining the NOI).





Note

1. Cf. Di Bartolomeo’s The Activity of the Bolshevik-Leninists in Spain and Its Lessons, Revolutionary History, Volume 4, nos. 1–2, pp. 229–30.