From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- FromThe "Ancient Dreams, Dreamed" Sketches-"Tales From The 'Hood- The Endless Road?"

Peter Paul Markin comment:

This was the fifth and final story about growing up in the 1950’s, the childhood period of the generation of ’68 and of my own. This series got its start as a spin-off from a previous series entitled “History and Class Consciousness- A Working Class Saga” that came from a look back at the trials and tribulations of a family from my old working class neighborhood where I came of political age. The stories here go back to an earlier time and different location to that of the housing project where my family first started out. They are motivated by a search to find out the whys and wherefores of how consciousness of being poor gets implanted early in life. The poor really are different from you the reader. The “what to do about it” part I have discussed discuss, ad infinitum, elsewhere.

As I wrote this final piece a line from a song was going through my head, Jerry Garcia’s Ripple-“There is a road, no simple highway, between the dawn and the dark of night” That idea of the road, as I will discuss below, very neatly sums up the situation here. Some of this tale is meant as obvious metaphor, other parts are the real deal. In any case here is the central axis of this story line. In this series of sketches I  have been talking about growing up in the 1950’s. This was quintessentially the 'golden age' of the automobile in America. You know the vast possibilities of the open highway – the road-and the promise of adventure-fast and effortless.

The hard fact for the Markin family was that through most of this period we did not have that automobile to break out with. When we did this writer remembers mainly “clunkers” with their inevitable breakdowns in odd and foreboding locations. But, mostly, we had no car. Even in a housing project there was a social dividing line between those with automobiles who could get out and those who were stuck. We were, forever it seems, dependent on the kindnesses of neighbors. Or, usually, walking, public transportation in that isolated location then, as now, being haphazard. I learned to dread the weekly walk to get groceries, etc. Ouch, I can still feel those hot summer roads baking my feet.

Okay, so you can now say that walking is good for you. Fair enough. But here is where the tale gets weird. I have mentioned on several other occasions another wealthy peninsula (detailed in the first tale – “A Story of Two Peninsulas”) that abutted the peninsula where my housing project was located. I have also mentioned that I had been stopped, young as I was, in that locale by the local constabulary who asked where I was from and what was my purpose in being there. Hell, all I wanted to do was to walk along the streets that paralleled the ocean there. The tip-off for the police, apparently, was that I had entered the area on foot (as opposed to having been driven there like ‘normal’ people, I suppose) and they took it from there. When cops start infringing on your right to walk in public space wherever and whenever you feel like then you know that you are in a very class- bound society-at least in these neighborhoods. In short, I was guilty of walking while poor. Enough said.

What have I tried to present here? Clearly, not all class struggles are limited to the visible ones of the picket line or the barricade. Certainly the working class struggles that I have noted here fall well below the radar of history but they also point some hard facts about why we have so little working class political class-consciousness. Putting up with their class hatred of us, their social humiliation of us, the mere fact of being poor, of being constantly on the edge of violence, and of facing the hazards of life in a dysfunctional family that as detailed in these stories are all impediments to political class consciousness. And that is before we even get to the streets. Remember though “there is a road, no simply highway”-the class struggle road.

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- From The "Ancient Dreams, Dreams" Sketches- "Growing Up Absurd"

Peter Paul Markin comment:

This was the fourth of a short series of stories about growing up in the 1950’s, the childhood period of the generation of ’68 and of my own. This series got its start as a spin-off from a previous series entitled “History and Class Consciousness- A Working Class Saga” that came from a look back at the trials and tribulations of a family, the Callahans, from my old working class neighborhood where I came of political age. The stories here go back to an earlier time and different location to that of the housing project where my family first started out. They are motivated by a search to find out the whys and wherefores of how consciousness of being poor got implanted early. That the poor, the edge of society poor, the working poor mixed in with all the other flotsam and jetsam down there, really are different from you, the reader. The “what to do about it” part I have discussed, ad infinitum, elsewhere over the past forty years or so.

The previous tale in this series that you may have just read , “A Piece of Cloth,” about my less than heroic misadventures as an up and coming square dancer (apparently in preparation for an career on the Grand Ole Opry)  set the tone for this story. In that tale I was subjected to a poor working class mother’s rage for cutting up one of my precious few pairs of pants in order to impress a girl, a rich girl, well rich compared to us. I learned then, if more painfully than was necessary, the hard lesson that the Markin family was poor, dirt poor, in this wicked old world.

Those kinds of incidents involving my mother and I (and my brothers, as well), although generally more severe and less amiably subject to public treatment than that bittersweet tale of pants and love lost, were standard fare in the Markin household. Such incidents are, moreover, well documented in literature and the media and would be merely cumulative if discussed here. Only the reality is grimmer than anything portrayed in book or film. Not physically, there was thankfully little of that in our household, but the psychological warfare was almost as devastating. Let me nevertheless try to put this thing in some perspective now, although Lord knows I was incapable of that as I was going through it.

I have mentioned elsewhere some of the small details of my parent’s struggle for survival. I have also mentioned that their life profiles fit into a familiar pattern similar to others who survived the Great Depression of the 1930s and fought or endured World War II. I still feel no need to go into great detail about that here. I however find that I need to mention that my mother married my serviceman father just out of high school and quickly became a teenage mother. Moreover, she had great difficulties with the births of my brothers and me. The three of us furthermore were only separated by a year or so each. In short, a handful.

Those facts along with my father’s continual and constant difficulties in holding onto the unskilled jobs that he was forced into meant a very, very tough existence for a woman who was something a princess (a working class one, to be sure-there is a different but a princess nevertheless) to her parents and brothers. The woman’s respond to her conditions was to be in a constant rage. It was not pleasant. We called it, among us boys, the Irish “shaming” routine. In short, what is apparent here is that the nuclear family structure was far too narrow a basis for her and us to survive under the circumstances. I survived. My brothers did not.

Sherry my invaluable ‘hood historian has related some of the same kind of stories to me about her family life except her family was larger, her mother died when she was a teenager, and she found herself as the oldest girl taking care of the household. Others survivors of ‘the projects’ have related very similar stories, almost monotonously so. We need not even speak here of such things as the effects of alcoholism, and later, drugs, and other social maladies on this fragile nuclear family structure.

To be sure, even under socialism, it will take a massive reallocation of funds to right these kinds of situations. Moreover, and here is the hard part for many to understand today, rich or poor, the nuclear family structure is just too narrow a setting to free up the potential energies of humankind. It needs be replaced.

Despite all the pains of growing up poor, despite all the dislocations of psyche that I have dealt with over lifetime to fight the good fight for socialism it has still been worthwhile if only for the promise that some future generation will not have to go through my childhood experiences. Although I will not live long enough to see the replacement of the nuclear family with something better and more attuned to human potentialities I am satisfied with that. On reviewing this piece I find that it was not really a story after all but one of my political screeds. However, remember that mother’s impotent rage against her fate. That is the story.

Peter Paul Markin comment:

This was the fourth of a short series of stories about growing up in the 1950’s, the childhood period of the generation of ’68 and of my own. This series got its start as a spin-off from a previous series entitled “History and Class Consciousness- A Working Class Saga” that came from a look back at the trials and tribulations of a family, the Callahans, from my old working class neighborhood where I came of political age. The stories here go back to an earlier time and different location to that of the housing project where my family first started out. They are motivated by a search to find out the whys and wherefores of how consciousness of being poor got implanted early. That the poor, the edge of society poor, the working poor mixed in with all the other flotsam and jetsam down there, really are different from you, the reader. The “what to do about it” part I have discussed, ad infinitum, elsewhere over the past forty years or so.

The previous tale in this series that you may have just read , “A Piece of Cloth,” about my less than heroic misadventures as an up and coming square dancer (apparently in preparation for an career on the Grand Ole Opry)  set the tone for this story. In that tale I was subjected to a poor working class mother’s rage for cutting up one of my precious few pairs of pants in order to impress a girl, a rich girl, well rich compared to us. I learned then, if more painfully than was necessary, the hard lesson that the Markin family was poor, dirt poor, in this wicked old world.

Those kinds of incidents involving my mother and I (and my brothers, as well), although generally more severe and less amiably subject to public treatment than that bittersweet tale of pants and love lost, were standard fare in the Markin household. Such incidents are, moreover, well documented in literature and the media and would be merely cumulative if discussed here. Only the reality is grimmer than anything portrayed in book or film. Not physically, there was thankfully little of that in our household, but the psychological warfare was almost as devastating. Let me nevertheless try to put this thing in some perspective now, although Lord knows I was incapable of that as I was going through it.

I have mentioned elsewhere some of the small details of my parent’s struggle for survival. I have also mentioned that their life profiles fit into a familiar pattern similar to others who survived the Great Depression of the 1930s and fought or endured World War II. I still feel no need to go into great detail about that here. I however find that I need to mention that my mother married my serviceman father just out of high school and quickly became a teenage mother. Moreover, she had great difficulties with the births of my brothers and me. The three of us furthermore were only separated by a year or so each. In short, a handful.

Those facts along with my father’s continual and constant difficulties in holding onto the unskilled jobs that he was forced into meant a very, very tough existence for a woman who was something a princess (a working class one, to be sure-there is a different but a princess nevertheless) to her parents and brothers. The woman’s respond to her conditions was to be in a constant rage. It was not pleasant. We called it, among us boys, the Irish “shaming” routine. In short, what is apparent here is that the nuclear family structure was far too narrow a basis for her and us to survive under the circumstances. I survived. My brothers did not.

Sherry my invaluable ‘hood historian has related some of the same kind of stories to me about her family life except her family was larger, her mother died when she was a teenager, and she found herself as the oldest girl taking care of the household. Others survivors of ‘the projects’ have related very similar stories, almost monotonously so. We need not even speak here of such things as the effects of alcoholism, and later, drugs, and other social maladies on this fragile nuclear family structure.

To be sure, even under socialism, it will take a massive reallocation of funds to right these kinds of situations. Moreover, and here is the hard part for many to understand today, rich or poor, the nuclear family structure is just too narrow a setting to free up the potential energies of humankind. It needs be replaced.

Despite all the pains of growing up poor, despite all the dislocations of psyche that I have dealt with over lifetime to fight the good fight for socialism it has still been worthwhile if only for the promise that some future generation will not have to go through my childhood experiences. Although I will not live long enough to see the replacement of the nuclear family with something better and more attuned to human potentialities I am satisfied with that. On reviewing this piece I find that it was not really a story after all but one of my political screeds. However, remember that mother’s impotent rage against her fate. That is the story.

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- From The "Ancient Dreams, Dreamed" Series-"Tales From The 'Hood- A Piece of Cloth"

Peter Paul Markin comment:

This was the third of a short series of stories about growing up in the 1950’s, the childhood period of the generation of ’68 and of my own. This series got its start as a spin-off from a previous series entitled History and "Class Consciousness- A Working Class Saga" that came from a look back at the trials and tribulations of a family from my old working class neighborhood where I came of political age. The stories here go back to an earlier time and different location to that of the housing project where my family first started out. They are motivated by a search to find out the whys and wherefores of how consciousness of being poor got implanted early. The “what to do about it” part I have discussed, ad infinitum, elsewhere in other ways of the past forty years or so.

The question posed above concerning how working class consciousness gets instilled is important to know, especially for ‘politicos’ trying to organize working people in order that those who labor can rule this society. So, how does one become conscious that one is poor, comes from a poor family, and lives in poor housing in a poor neighborhood when one is, say, ten years old, the time frame for the story I want to tell here? This requires some reflection because, without exterior prompts, it is not immediately obvious to a ten year old; at least it was not to this ten year old.

Is it the run down school that one goes to? Is it the garbage-strewn unkempt yards? Is it the constant screaming of kids, parents, or anyone who has a voice and wants someone in this sorry and wicked old world to listen? Is it your father home on a workday because he has no work? Or is it that very much smaller portion of Christmas presents under the tree than one had wished for? Well, all of those things are certainly candidates but follow me here and I will tell you exactly how I learned the elemental social facts of life in this society. Moreover, Sherry, my invaluable ‘hood historian (and fellow classmate at old Adamsville South Elementary School where this sketch takes place) for this series was there to witness my baptism of fire. Listen up:

At some point in elementary school a boy is inevitably supposed to learn to do two intertwined socially-oriented skills- the basics of some kind of dancing and also  be paired off with, dare I say it, a girl in that activity. I can already hear your gasps, dear reader, as I present that scenario. In my case the dancing part turned out to be the basics of square dancing (go figure, for a city boy, right?). Not only did this clumsy young boy have to do the basic “swing your partner” but I also had to do it while I was paired, for this occasion, with a girl that I had a “crush” on. That girl, moreover, was not from the ‘hood but from that other peninsula, the rich one, that formed the backdrop for the first story in this series- “A Story of Two Peninsulas.” I will not describe her, although I could do so even today, but let us leave it that her name was Rosalind. Enchanting name, right? There is nothing special about the story so far though. Just your average “one of the stages of coming of age” story. I wish.

Well, the long and short of it was that we were practicing this square dancing to demonstrate our prowess before our parents in the school gym. Nothing unusual there either. After all there is no sense in doing this type of activity unless one can impress one’s parents. I forget all the details of the setup of the space for demonstration day and things like that but it was a big deal. To honor the occasion, as this was my big moment to impress Rosalind, I had, earlier in the day, cut up my dungarees to give myself an authentic square dancer look.

I thought I looked pretty good. That is until my mother saw what I had done to the pants. In a second she got up from her seat, marched over to me and started yelling about my disrespect for my father’s and her efforts to clothe me and about the fact that since I only had a couple of pairs of pants how could I do such a thing. In short, airing the family troubles in public for all to hear. That went on for what seemed like an eternity. Thereafter I was unceremoniously taken home and placed on restriction for a week. Needless to say my father heard about it when he got home, and I heard about it for weeks afterward. Needless to say I also blew my ‘chances’ with dear, sweet Rosalind.

Now is this a tale of the hard lessons of the class struggle that I am always more than willing to put in a word about? Surely not. Is this a sad tale of young love thwarted by the vagaries of fate? Maybe. Is this a tale about respect for the little we had in my family? Perhaps. Was my mother, despite her rage, right? Well, yes. Did I learn something about being poor in this wicked old world? Damn right. That is the point. But, ah, Rosalind…

From #Un-Occupied Boston (#Un-Tomemonos Boston)-What Happens When We Do Not Learn The Lessons Of History- The Pre-1848 Socialist Movement-From The Pens Of Karl Marx And Friedrich Engels-The Struggle For The Communist League-Letter by Wilhelm Weitling to Moses Hess (1846)

Click on the headline to link to the Occupy Boston General Assembly Minutes website. Occupy Boston started at 6:00 PM, September 30, 2011.

Markin comment:

I will post any updates from that Occupy Boston site if there are any serious discussions of the way forward for the Occupy movement or, more importantly, any analysis of the now atrophied and dysfunctional General Assembly concept. In the meantime I will continue with the “Lessons From History ’’series started in the fall of 2011 with Karl Marx’s The Civil War In France-1871 (The defense of the Paris Commune). Right now this series is focused on the European socialist movement before the Revolutions of 1848.
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An Injury To One Is An Injury To All!-Defend The Occupy Movement And All Occupiers! Drop All Charges Against All Occupy Protesters Everywhere!

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Fight-Don’t Starve-We Created The Wealth, Let's Take It Back! Labor And The Oppressed Must Rule!
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A Five-Point Program As Talking Points

*Jobs For All Now!-“30 For 40”- A historic demand of the labor movement. Thirty hours work for forty hours pay to spread the available work around. Organize the unorganized- Organize the South- Organize Wal-Mart- Defend the right for public and private workers to unionize.

* Defend the working classes! No union dues for Democratic (or the stray Republican) candidates. Spent the dough instead on organizing the unorganized and on other labor-specific causes (good example, the November, 2011 anti-union recall referendum in Ohio, bad example the Wisconsin gubernatorial recall race in June 2012).

*End the endless wars!- Immediate, Unconditional Withdrawal Of All U.S./Allied Troops (And Mercenaries) From Afghanistan! Hands Off Pakistan! Hands Off Iran! U.S. Hands Off The World!

*Fight for a social agenda for working people!. Quality Healthcare For All! Nationalize the colleges and universities under student-teacher-campus worker control! Forgive student debt! Stop housing foreclosures!

*We created the wealth, let’s take it back. Take the struggle for our daily bread off the historic agenda. Build a workers party that fights for a workers government to unite all the oppressed.

Emblazon on our red banner-Labor and the oppressed must rule!

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Markin comment:

This foundation article by Marx or Engels goes along with the propaganda points in the fight for our communist future mentioned in other posts in this space.

Marx/Engels Internet Archive-The Communist League

A congress of the League of the Just opened in London on June 2, 1847. Engels was in attendance as delegate for the League's Paris communities. (Marx couldn't attend for financial reasons.)

Engels had a significant impact throughout the congress -- which, as it turned out, was really the "inaugural Congress" of what became known as the Communist League. This organization stands as the first international proletarian organization. With the influence of Marx and Engels anti-utopian socialism, the League's motto changed from "All Men are Brothers" to "Working Men of All Countries, Unite!"

Engels: "In the summer of 1847, the first league congress took place in London, at which W. Wolff represented the Brussels and I the Paris communities. At this congress the reorganization of the League was carried through first of all. ...the League now consisted of communities, circles, leading circles, a central committee and a congress, and henceforth called itself the 'Communist League'."

The Rules were drawn up with the participation of Marx and Engels, examined at the First Congress of the Communist League, and approved at the League's Second Congress in December 1847.

Article 1 of the Rules of the Communist League: "The aim of the league is the overthrow of the bourgeoisie, the rule of the proletariat, the abolition of the old bourgeois society which rests on the antagonism of classes, and the foundation of a new society without classes and without private property."

The first draft of the Communist League Programme was styled as a catechism -- in the form of questions and answers. Essentially, the draft was authored by Engels. The original manuscript is in Engels's hand.

The League's official paper was to be the Kommunistische Zeitschrift, but the only issue produced was in September 1847 by a resolution of the League's First Congress. It was First Congress prepared by the Central Authority of the Communist League based in London. Karl Schapper was its editor.

The Second Congress of the Communist League was held at the end of November 1847 at London's Red Lion Hotel. Marx attended as delegate of the Brussels Circle. He went to London in the company of Victor Tedesco, member of the Communist League and also a delegate to the Second Congress. Engels again represented the Paris communities. Schapper was elected chairman of the congress, and Engels its secretary.

Friedrich Lessner: "I was working in London then and was a member of the communist Workers' Educational Society at 191 Drury Lane. There, at the end of November and the beginning of December 1847, members of the Central Committee of the Communist League held a congress. Karl Marx and Frederick Engels came there from Brussels to present their views on modern communism and to speak about the Communists' attitude to the political and workers' movement. The meetings, which, naturally, were held in the evenings, were attended by delegates only... Soon we learned that after long debates, the congress had unanimously backed the principles of Marx and Engels..."

The Rules were officially adopted December 8, 1847.

Engels: "All contradiction and doubt were finally set at rest, the new basic principles were unanimously adopted, and Marx and I were commissioned to draw up the Manifesto." This would, of course, become the Communist Manifesto.
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Letter by Wilhelm Weitling to Moses Hess

This personal letter was written by Wilhelm Weitling, to Moses Hess, the day after the meeting of the Communist Correspondence Committee. Present at this meeting were: Weitling, Marx, Engels, Philippe Gigot, Louis Heilberg, Sebastien Seiler, Edgar von Westphalen (Marx’s brother-in-law), Joseph Weydemeyer, and Pavel Annenkov.


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Brussels, March 31, 1846
Dear Hess!

Last evening we met again inpleno. Marx brought with him a man whom he presented to us as a Russian [Annenkov], and who never said a word throughout the whole evening. The question was: What is the best way to carry on propaganda in Germany? Seiler posed the question, but he said he could not go into further detail now, since some delicate matters would have to be touched upon, etc. Marx kept on pressing him, but in vain. Both became excited, Marx violently so. In the end, the latter took up the question. His resume was:

An examination must be made of the Communist party.
This can be achieved by criticizing the incompetent and separating them from the sources of money.
This examination is now the most important thing that can be done in the interest of communism.
He who has the power to carry authority with the moneyed men also has the means to displace the others and would probably apply it.
“Handicraft communism” and “philosophical communism” must be opposed, human feeling must be derided, these are merely obfuscations. No oral propaganda, no provision for secret propaganda, in general the word propaganda not to be used in the future.
The realization of communism in the near future is out of the question; the bourgeoisie must first be at the helm.
Marx and Engels argued vehemently against me. Weydemeyer spoke quietly. Gigot and Edgar did not say a word. Heilberg opposed Marx from an impartial viewpoint, at the very end Seiler did the same, bitterly but with admirable calm. I became vehement, Marx surpassed me, particularly at the end when everything was in an uproar, he jumping up and down in his office. Marx was especially furious at my resume. I had said: The only thing that came out of our discussion was he who finds the money may write what he pleases....
That Marx and Engels will vehemently criticize my principles is now certain. Whether or not I will be able to defend myself as I would like to do, I don’t know. Without money Marx cannot criticize and I cannot defend myself; nevertheless, in an emergency it may not matter that I have no money. I believe Marx and Engels will end by criticizing themselves through their own criticism. In Marx’s brain, I see nothing more than a good encyclopaedia, but no genius. His influence is felt through other personalities. Rich men made him editor, voila tout. Indeed, rich men who make sacrifices have a right to see or have investigations made into what they want to support. They have the power to assert this right, but the writer also has the power, no matter how poor he is, not to sacrifice his convictions for money. I am capable of sacrificing my conviction for the sake of unity. I put aside my work on my system when I received protests against it from all directions. But when I heard in Brussels that the opponents of my system intended to publish splendid systems in well-financed translations, I completed mine and made an effort to bring it to the man [Marx]. If this is not supported, then it is entirely in order to make an examination. Jackass that I was, I had hitherto believed that it would be better if we used all our own qualities against our _enemies_ and encouraged especially those that bring forth persecutions in the struggle. I had thought it would be better to influence the people and, above all, to organize a portion of them for the propagation of our popular writings. But Marx and Engels do not share this view, and in this they are strengthened by their rich supporters. All right! Very good! Splendid! I see it coming. I have often found myself in similar circumstances, and always things turned out for the best....

Yours,
Weitling

Veterans For Peace Demand Peace And Justice- October 7, 2012- New York City

Click on the headline to link to the Veterans For Peace website.

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At 10 p.m. on May 1,2012, the New York Police Department closed the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, driving out members of the Occupy movement who were holding a nonviolent General Assembly. Eight members of the Veterans Peace Team and two members of Occupy Faith were arrested for standing their ground. A small metal sign has been posted at the park stating that it closes at 10 p.m. This was Vietnam vet Paul Appell's reaction:

"Plato wrote 'only the dead have seen the end of war.' War veterans, loved ones of the fallen, and certainly those living in war ^ones do not have the option of closing down their memories at 10p.m. There is a good reason why suicide is an attractive option for many. It is truly the only sure way of ending the memories. For a memorial to shut down at some convenient time for the city is an insult to all those who do not have the luxury of shutting down their war memories at a specific time. I know that many want us war vets to go out of sight and nof bother them, except when we are needed for some parade. Some of us are not going away at 10 p.m. or any other time. If they do not like it, maybe they should have thought of that before they sent us to war."

From the Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin-Tales From The 'Hood- "The Romance of the Gun"

From the Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin-Tales From The 'Hood- "The Romance of the Gun"

 Joshua Lawrence Breslin comment:

He, Peter Paul Markin, had spent his early childhood in an all-white public housing project, an unremarkable feat in those days and maybe today too although he did not think so unless you went to deep hill country in some Appalachia coal patch. That fact, that hard desperate white working poor fact in 1950s golden age America, drives this sketch, although only partially explains it.  His later childhood, the time of his time, of his coming of age time, of his will he turn right or left, good or bad, up or down, or just get caught up in things like a lot of corner boy guys did was spent in a poor all-white working class neighborhood filled with small, cramped single-family homes packed in closely together with little yards and few amenities. Places where one could almost hear one neighbor snoring in the night or another screaming, usually at anyone, or no one, at any time. And those were the good days. Jesus.

In adulthood time he had  lived in poor white neighborhoods, mixed student neighborhoods, the black enclaves of Oakland, Detroit and Washington, D.C., and, back in the days, in an integrated urban commune (for those who do not know that is a bunch of unrelated people living on the same premises by design). He had even, during the few times that he had had rich girlfriends, lived in the leafy suburbs. He now lives in a middling working class neighborhood. In short, he has have been all around the housing question. This story from the ‘hood (okay, okay “the projects” just to keep a little literary consistency) deals with the relationship between where you live and crime. More particularly the tolerance for the culture of crime, really, the 'romance' of crime, if you will, that is inherent in living down at the bottom of society. Make no mistake, my friends, that is indeed a dangerous place.

More than one sociological survey has noted the correlation between low income and high crime rates, although I note that they tend to come up short, very short on what to do about it. That is, however, a point for another time. More importantly now is this question-where, dear reader, is that correlation closer than in the housing projects- down there in the mean streets of America, the streets of busted dreams, or no dreams? Peter Paul’s housing project did not start out as a haven for hoodlums. As he explained it to me initially the place was a way station, due to the extreme housing shortage, for returning World War II veteran like his father (and mine too if there had been such a thing up in poor proud Olde Saco in Maine in those days). But, in the nature of things, as those who were going to make it in post-war society moved on and the rest of us (yes, my family too) were left behind that is the reputation that it started to develop well before it was converted to a subsidized low-income housing project in the 1960's. His family had left by that point, but not without the scars.

In conversation with Sherry (his late invaluable ‘hood historian mentioned in an earlier sketch and an elementary school classmate) Peter Paul had asked about the fate of a number of his classmates, mainly boys that he had hung around with. Without exaggerating their numbers to buttress my point here, it appears to me, from her very detailed knowledge of their fates that an extraordinary number of boyhood friends wound up serving prison sentences for aggravated crimes, or died from unnatural causes early as a result of that life. Sherry related a number of such cases in her own family, including one younger brother still imprisoned, through several generations, not without a sense of embarrassment. Down among the desperate working poor the line between respectability and the lure of the lumpen lifestyle is, indeed, a very, very close thing.

Peter Paul, one dark time barroom night when he was in an expansive mood noted that this sociological fact was true, if a little less so, for the neighborhood where he came of age.  He shocked me , moreover, when he  confess to me  that one of his  own brothers spent considerable time in state prison for a laundry list of offenses, and another was in and out the county jails for many years for a host of petty crimes (mainly against property). I did not know that he even had brothers as he had never spoken of them and I had known him for many years then going back to the yellow brick road summer of love San Francisco 1960s days. His own brushes with the law have been for political offenses (except for one silly hitchhiking offense in Connecticut way back when, but you know how that state is on hitchhikers, or was) so those do not count. I guess that made Peter Paul the ‘good’ son just like Sherry was the good survivor. What gives here?

Part of the headline of this piece is titled “Romance of the Gun” and with reason. The gun, whether I am using this term here as a metaphor for toughness and a lumpen existence or actual guns, was central to ‘the projects’ culture. Not that he and the other younger boys ever had one (as far as he knew) but he knew older boys and men who did and did things with them. Things like gas station stickups, robbing taxis or the like. Those who were capable of that or, at least, had that reputation were looked up to, if not idolized (with a little fear thrown in). These things did not occur every day nor did they include police shoot-outs, drive-bys or anything dramatic but the thrill of learning about such exploits was palpable. It was like the air he breathed he said.

If imitation is a form of flattery then the lumpen existence of the older boys and men set the standard. The main thing was that they seemed to always have money in contrast to, let us say, his poor father who lived from check to check with hungry young mouths to feed and who constantly feared been laid off from the little work that he was able to obtain. No hero there for young boys, right? His brothers could not resist the draw of the lumpen life style and eventually were drawn into that life, as a way of life. But that is not where lumpen influence ended.

Even for a ‘good’ boy like Peter and some of the boys that he hung around with there were certain rituals to prove ‘manhood’. This inevitably entailed stealing things, at first from grocery stores, then department stores, and ultimately jewelry stores. He did it for a while but the glamour wore off soon enough and he retreated to the library and adventures of the mind. Some others, however, took it seriously and form part of the statistic of the ‘hood mentioned above but for him it was just too much work. But he was in the minority and took more than one physical beating for his nerdishness from the ‘boyos’. Still, he said those ‘hard boys’ were something to wonder at.

Well, I can end this story by trying to draw a few conclusions. One of the things that drew me to working to defend the Black Panthers (at the times when they would cooperate with white leftists) and later the Irish Republican Army (Provos) in the old days were the simple facts that they, as least the street cadre, were from their own ‘hoods like mine, knew the busted dream scheme of life by heart just as I did, and were not afraid to pick up the gun to defend themselves, if necessary. I did not need to glorify the lumpen proletariat as the vanguard. I did not need to read Frantz Fanon’s Wretched of the Earth to theorize about the purifying nature of violence against the oppressor. I did not need to justify every idiotic criminal act as a revolutionary act. All I needed to do was remember those ‘hard boys’ Peter described, including his brothers, from his youth and what happened to them without a political perspective. So much for the “romance of the gun.” And Peter Paul Markin agrees.

 

Let’s Redouble Our Efforts To Save Private Bradley Manning-Make Every Town Square In America (And The World) A Bradley Manning Square From Boston To Berkeley to Berlin-Join Us At Veterans Square (Corner Adams Street and Dorchester Avenue )-Fields Corner- Dorchester –Tuesday October 9, 2012 From 4:00-5:00 PM

Let’s Redouble Our Efforts To Save Private Bradley Manning-Make Every Town Square In America (And The World) A Bradley Manning Square From Boston To Berkeley to Berlin-Join Us At Veterans Square  (Corner Adams Street and Dorchester Avenue )-Fields Corner- Dorchester –Tuesday October  9, 2012 From 4:00-5:00 PM  

<b>Markin comment:

</b>

The Private Bradley Manning case is headed toward a mid- winter trial. Those of us who support his cause should redouble our efforts to secure his freedom. For the past several months there has been a weekly stand-out in Greater Boston across from the Davis Square Redline MBTA stop (renamed Bradley Manning Square for the stand-out’s duration) in Somerville on Friday afternoons but we have since July 4, 2012 changed the time and day to 4:00-5:00 PM on Wednesdays. This stand-out has, to say the least, been very sparsely attended. We need to build it up with more supporters present. Please join us when you can. Or better yet if you can’t join us start a Support Bradley Manning weekly stand-out in some location in your town whether it is in the Boston area, Berkeley or Berlin. And please sign the petition for his release either in person or through the <i>Bradley Manning Support Network</i>. We have placed links to the <i>Manning Network</i> and <i>Manning Square</i> website below.

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Bradley Manning Support Network

http://www.bradleymanning.org/

Manning Square website

http://freemanz.com/2012/01/20/somerville_paper_photo-bradmanningsquare/bradleymanningsquare-2011_01_13/

http://www.standwithbrad.org/

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News has reached us that some of the folks at the Dorchester People for Peace (DPP) are having a stand-out for Private Manning to be held October 9,  2012 at 4:00 PM at the Veterans Square location (corner of Adams Street and Dorchester Avenue) in Fields Corner Dorchester (just up from the Fields Corner Red Line stop). Please join them on that day.  

Honk Fest Oct. 7- Harvard Square- Cambridge, Ma -October 7th

Sunday, Oct 7th Noon – 2:00p:

HONK! PARADE to “Reclaim the Streets for Horns, Bikes and Feet” featuring HONK! bands and community groups, from Davis Square to Harvard Square’s Oktoberfest celebration. The parade leaves Davis Square at 12 noon, travels down Elm Street, then Beech Street onto Massachusetts Ave to Harvard Square.

2:15 – 6:00: HARVARD SQUARE OKTOBERFEST HONK! bands perform at the Harvard Square Oktoberfest (www.harvardsquare.com).

Loads more starting Oct 4th see schedule: http://honkfest.org/schedule/

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- FromThe "Ancient Drems, Dreamed" Sketches- " A Tale Of Two Penisulas"

There was something, something weird about growing up poor, hell growing up dirt poor, certified dirt poor, and about growing up in the 1950s, the “golden age America” childhood period of what he would later call, and maybe would be called too by some smug sociologists but with a smirk, the generation of ‘68. Peter Paul  couldn’t put his finger on it just then and that hard fact bothered him. Yes he was at it again, thinking those old memory thoughts, thinking that came from a look back at the trials and tribulations of a family from his old working class neighborhood that he had just heard about from its original source. Some, after reading this, might claim that it was really his family that he was talking about, thinking about, but, no, it was, strange as it seems, another family caught up just like his in a downward spiral while all around them that golden age was a-borning. 
For the benefit of the two or three people in the world who do not know, hell he wrote about it enough in half the damn unread radical periodicals and progressive journals in the country when such stories were the rage, his own family had started life and he had grown to young manhood in the housing projects, at that time not the notorious hell holes of crime and deprivation that they later became (and which he wrote many investigative reports about) but still a mark of being low, very low, on the social ladder at a time when others were heading to the nirvana of the newly emerging outer suburbs.

The housing project that he grew up in, officially the Adamsville Housing Authority apartments just outside of Boston, was originally meant to serve as a way station for returning veterans from World War II caught up in the post war housing shortage. Thus, his family of five were actually the first tenants in their unit, although it did not take long for the place, small and cramped, of shoddy construction befitting the low bid mentality of the construction company and the political judgment that this was strictly temporary, to seem old. Needless to say as well this project was all white, reflecting the population of city, Adamsville, at the time. Although he was not sure of the city’s current population break-down he had checked to find that that still very existing projects was about 20% minority, mainly Asian-American, reflecting the city's population change.

A recent trip back to the old homestead revealed that the place was in something of a time warp. The original plot plan consisted of a few hundred four-unit two-floor apartment complexes, a departure from the ubiquitous later high-rise prison-like hellholes at least. It looked, structurally, almost the same as in the 1950’s except that it was dirtier, much less kept-up and he believed that the asphalt sidewalks and streets have not been repaved since his family left in the late 1950s to move a quarter- step up the poor rung from dirt poor to just poor as church mice. A very visible police substation was the only apparent addition to the scene. That told him all he needed to know about the doings now. (Although in the old days he had thrilled, vicariously thrilled, to hard-bitten tales of local desperadoes holding up gas stations, robbing liquor stores and, occasionally pulling an armed robbery.)

This housing project is located on what, as local lore had it,  was an isolated, abandoned piece of “ghost” farmland on a peninsula that juts out into a bay and is across from various sea-going industrial activities. This complex of industrial sites and ocean-related activity mars the effect of being near the ocean here. Certainly no Arcadian scenes come to mind. Moreover, he recalled (and on that return trip he swore he could almost smell the stuff) the smells and sounds from those activities were nauseating and annoying at times. A particularly pungent smell of some soap product filled the air on many a summer’s evening. Ships unloading, with their constant fog horns blowing, provided the sound effects.

A narrow two-lane, now deeply pot-holed, road was (is) is the only way in or out of this location. Over fifty years later the nearest shopping center or even convenient store is still several miles away requiring an automobile or reliance on haphazard and still infrequent public transportation. In short, and he had asked other people about this, one could live within shouting distance of the place and not know where it was. In short, a very familiar concept of public welfare social planning that he had endlessly railed against-out of sight, out of mind?

The ‘projects” were, in any case, where he passed his early childhood, including elementary school, Adamsville South. The elementary school was, however, located not in the projects but up that narrow one way out road previously mentioned some distance away at the beginning of another peninsula. That other peninsula, with its unobstructed views of the open ocean and freedom from the sight and sound of those industrial complexes, had many sought after old money, old fashioned Victorian houses and a number of then recently constructed upscale colonial-type houses favored by the up and coming middle class of the fifties. The place might as well have been in another world. The school nevertheless, at least in the 1950s, serviced the children of both peninsulas.

He thought hard before realizing that he never had one friend from that other peninsula. Sure he talked to the Jimmy Prescotts but always in school, not outside. Later conversations with others, who also grew up in the housing project, concurred with his observation. He blushed as he thought about the couple of times that he had wandered over into that other peninsula and of his being stopped by the local constabulary, even at that young age, and asked where he was from and what he was doing there.

This is as good a place as any to introduce what he called the ‘hood historian, Sherry. As part of his memory search he connected, by use of various resources including the Internet, with a number of people. One of them was Sherry, who is the real narrator here, and is the source for many of the observations and physical details that fill out this story. He and Sherry went to elementary school together. He remembered her as pretty, a working class pretty that would fade with the effects of childbirths and the toils of motherhood and other sorrows.

Sherry and her family, after his family left, stayed in the projects for almost thirty years so that she saw the place as it evolved from that previously mentioned way station for hard-pressed returning World War II veterans to the classic “projects” of media notoriety. She knew “the projects.” Moreover, from what he had gathered about her, although she did not have a political bone in her body, she now wore her working class background on her face, in her personality, and her whole manner. Not in abject defeat, however, but as a survivor. That too tells a tale.

As they reconnected the obvious place for them to start was a little trip down memory lane to old school days. Naturally, since he had an ulterior motive and had a fierce sense of class society, he wanted her opinion on the kids from the other peninsula. Sherry then related, in some detail, what she had to tell about her life in elementary school, not without a tear in her eyes even at this remove. She spend her whole time in that school being snubbed, insulted and, apparently, on more than one occasion physically threatened by the prissy girls from the other peninsula for her poor clothing, her poor manners and for being from “the projects.” 

He said that he would spare the reader the details here, although if you have seen any of the problematic working class ‘coming of age’ movies or suburban teenage cultural spoofs the episodes she related are the grim real life underlying premises behind those efforts. You know the unkind, hell, cruel, snubs about hair not being “permed” just right, about wrong color (for the minute) dresses, or old style (for the minute), about not attending Miss Prissy’s (sic) after school dance classes, etc.  Hell, even about her father being the janitor at one of the girls’ father’s shipyards. Moreover, she faced this barrage all the way through to high school graduation as well, including a nasty incident at her prom where one girl threw (or tried to throw) a drink on her hard fought for (and hard paid for too) dress. Jesus

It was painful for him to heard Sherry retell her story, and as he said, not without a few tears. Moreover, it was hard for him to hear because, although he did not face that other peninsula barrage then, he faced it later when his family moved to the other side of town and kids taunted him when they found out he was from “the projects.”  Things like about his hand-me-down clothes, about his family not having a car most of the time, about his constant walking around town (rather than being “chauffeured” by mom), about his bringing his lunch rather than buying it at school (if you can believe that). And it got worst later when he went “beat” (well, imitation beat).  

Now were the snubs and hurts due to Sherry’s (or his) personality? Maybe. She can be, now anyway, a little abrupt although he remembered a polite young girl.  Is this tale a mere example of childhood’s gratuitous cruelty? Perhaps. Is this story the childhood equivalent of the working class battles at their nastiest on the picket lines of a strike? Hell, no. But the next time someone tells you that there are no classes in this society remember this story. Then remember Sherry’s tears. Damn.
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In The Time Of The Great English Revolution- Professor Ivan Roots’ View- A Book Review

In The Time Of The Great English Revolution- Professor Ivan Roots’ View- A Book Review http://simple.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oliver_Cromwell
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/17/Cooper%2C_Oliver_Cromwell.jpg

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the 17th Century English revolutionary Oliver Cromwell.

Book Review

The Great Rebellion-1642-1660. Professor Ivan Roots, Billing &Sons Ltd., London, 1966

There isno question that for those Western political activists today who look to past social movements as a guide to action that the French Revolution is the logical point of reference. That classical revolution, as more than one political commentator has pointed out, still two hundred plus years later has something to say to us. Moreover the main gains derived from that revolution are still in need of completion in many parts of the world. Not taking anything away from the importance of the French Revolution and its lessons, I would here like to argue for, since the book under review, The Great Rebellion-1642-1660, details the earlier English Revolution, a kind of “great rebellion” exception to the French example. And the basis for that exception is nothing more (although not less either) than having grown up in New England with its myriad historical references to the old mother country and the struggle of the Puritans and others to create some new social order so that I am keenly aware of the debt that the French Revolution (and the American as well) to the that earlier explosion of struggle to find a new way of organizing society.

After reading Professor Roots’, an acknowledged authority on the parliamentary struggles in mid-17th century England, now old time narration of the events (and others in the field from Trevor-Roper to Christopher Hill) I am more confirmed in my opinion. Professor Roots takes pains to explore the various tendencies from arch-monarchist to “fifth monarchists” who were contending for power during this period. Although by the cast of his narration Professor Roots appears more than a little shocked by the thought that the plebeian (meaning everybody from the emerging bourgeois urban types to the yeoman who defended the parliamentary order through it all) masses of that time could upend the king and the kingdom. But aside from his various off-hand remarks he presents a very well-written and fast moving narrative of the events that make up the period of the English Revolution proper. This is done by looking at the various contending power centers (royalist, great landowners, rising and declining, the Scots and the other nationalist movements, religious orders, urban bourgeois types, army cadre, etc.) their reaction to events and, in the end, the movements, while it was not pre-ordained that Charles II would reclaim the throne, that made that possible. The good Professor, other than in passing, does not like Professor Hill dwell on underbelly of the revolution, on those groupings like the Levellers, Diggers, Fifth Monarchists, shakers, quakers, ranters, ravers and what not who make this such a historically colorful time.

As Professor Roots noted Charles I made every possible mistake in the book in dealing with his political opponents, his religious opponents, and even some of his quasi-supporters. Of course this trait is common when revolution is in the air but probably more that later times Charles seemed to go out of his way to alienate anybody who did not buy into his version of “divine right of kings.” And in the end he paid for that fault with his head. Along the way there were various political, but more importantly military turning points, which spelled his demise. The most important was the parliamentary New Model Army which emerged when things were stalemated. That army in concentrated form expressed both the new “democratic” spirit that animated the plebes and put forth many new leaders who would also make their mark in civilian society, notably Oliver Cromwell who rise to Lord Protector was almost totally as a result of his military prowess in using that army and as a lever in the political struggles in the republican period.

The most interesting part of Professor Roots book is his study of the various pro-parliamentary groupings, military and civilian, in the republican period when everyone was trying to get some combination that would make governing in a non-monarchial society possible. That mighty task had many ups and downs from the bright days of the Levellers and army agitators to the very close to dictatorial rule by Cromwell. However, in the end, the republican project was not sustainable at that time. Nevertheless the issue of parliamentary primacy was decisively established. That is the major lesson we take from the English Revolution. To get a better idea of the ins and outs of that struggle at the governmental level read Professor Roots important basic book.

SEIU Wokers Reach Tentative Contract- Victory To SEIU LOcal 615!

Click on the headline to link to the SEIU Local 615 website for details of the tentative contract agreement. Markin comment: Victory to the janitors!/b>

In Defense Of Bradley Manning-From The "Boston Phoenix"

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- From The "Ancient Dreams, Dreamed" Sketches- "Children Of Darkness"

“Okay, Peter Paul you’re going to cover me while I ‘clip’ that onyx ring for Sheila the one I told you about yesterday that I saw in Sam’s Jewelry Store, okay?,” slyly whispered one Billie Bradley (not Billy, no way, not some billy- goat name, not for Billie Bradley, no way), the king hell king of the Adamsville projects, junior division, junior division being twelve and under in that fast grow up project small time thief night. And later that day, that hot drawn out summer day, a day heaven-make for larcenies, big and small, Peter Paul, if for no other reason that he was just then in thrall to the prospects of the free and easy small- time hood night, stood his guard eyeing Sam, Sam James, owner of Sam’s Jewelry up the Square to see if he was looking Billie’s way. He wasn’t and Billie, once again, made the ‘clip’ like he did a million times before, or at least that is the number he gave Peter Paul any time he asked. Probably inflated, Billie inflated, but not by much.

 

Up the Square for those not in the know by the way was (is)  nothing but hokey old  Adamsville Square, heart of  the old time granite city (from the massive quarries, now depleted, that gave work and shelter to many working men and their hard-scrabble families back in the day), city of presidents, some guys named Adams that were presidents, big time United States Presidents if you want to know , back when they just hung out in Washington and did a little of this and a little of that. Not small time grifters like Billie and he from what Peter Paul remembered from school. But maybe they didn’t need to grift, or maybe they didn’t have some lady friend who needed an onyx ring (and as it later turned out on further Billie inspection an onyx ring with a diamond chip in the center).

 

Funny thing is that Shelia, Shelia McCabe for those who are also not in the know about who was foxy and who was not, junior division, twelve and under in that same fast growing Adamsville projects girl night, could have cared less about onyx rings, even onyx rings that turned out to have  diamond chips in the center. She was, let me use a coy word here,  smitten, smitten to hell and back by one Billie Bradley, king hell king of the junior varsity night from day one a few months back when she arrived here from poor town somewhere, oh yah, Peter Paul remembered, Lowell up the other end of Massachusetts from Adamsville.

 

If you can believe this she just wanted him, well, to herself. See Billie, and don’t take this the wrong way, was nothing but a girl trap and the other reason besides thralldom that Peter Paul Markin, late of trusted friend guard duty up the Square, hung with and on Billie was that maybe, just maybe one of his “rejects” would notice this awkward boy that Billie has taken pity on in order to learn the “trade.” The trade for those not in the know, well you already know what the trade is from what happened above.         

 

What Sheila didn’t know, and for that matter neither did Peter Paul, was that Billie was, well let me be coy again, smitten with Sheila and thought that in his little larcenous heart he had to shower her with things or else she would up and leave him for another guy. And Billie, king hell king of the night or not, was not a guy who would take to being “given the air” by any frail (his, Billie’s word, his ever-using word picked up from watching too many double feature 1940s crime noir repeats at the old Stand Theater on Saturday afternoons after a fit of off-hand larceny to pay for the ticket).

 

So about once a week or so, Billie got the “urge,” and he and some confederate moved out of the safety of the projects and headed for where the jewels were. It used to be George H, then Ronnie B., then Slim P., and now Peter Paul ( Peter Paul, not Peter, or damn, not, P.P. , like his mother called him). I am, by the way, using no last names on those earlier confederates just in case the coppers are still looking for “fall guys” for those up the Square capers, I ain’t no snitch, no way. And Billie, kind of superstitious like a lot of sneaky guys, professional sneaky guys not just guys who are sneaky to be sneaky, always took the same route (or that is what he told Peter Paul once) through the marshes up to C Street, then cross to Main and then on to Adams (yah, the town is hoopy for naming everything for those old guys, those president guys) until he and his pal of the moment got to the square proper.        

 

From there it was nothing but stealthy and shadow boxy  moves, no stopping for fear that someone who swore they saw someone just like Billie coming out of (or going into it did not matter) some store and coming out with stuff (no better description that that), might yell copper, and make it stick. And then where would our boy have been, more importantly, where would he stand then in Sheila’s eyes. His creep work was made easier by the set-up of the square all no trespass standing, low-slung granite buildings everywhere, granite steps leading to granite doors leading to granite gee-gad counters, I told you already about the granite that made the city work so you shouldn’t be surprised. 

 

Then when Billie had “selected” his target of the day he went silent (and his confederate had better not have said anything either, or else). Then Billie’s eyes, deep pool blue eyes that some of the older girls, not the junior division girls, not even Sheila, called “bedroom eyes” went stone cold like the granite that was found everywhere as he built up some imaginary hatred for some misbegotten small shop owner who was made to pay for society’s giving Billie, or rather Billie, Senior a raw deal and life in the projects. Yes, that hatred, no name hatred, low-head hatred, drove Billie once he made his move, after waiting slyly, standing back on heels, for the right moment . The, in a flash, going in furtively, hand signals driving the moves to his partner in crime, coming out ditto, presto coming out with a gold nugget jewel.

 

All this madness for some no carat, no russkie Sputnik panel glitter for his efforts. Such is the grab of young lumpen crime, project distorted values, no value, no look, just grab, grab hard, grab fast, grab get yours before the getting is over, or before the dark, dark  night comes, the dark pitched-night when the world no longer is young, and dreamed dreams make no more sense that this bodily theft. And Peter Paul for that minute before he ditched that life (although not Billie, or Billie friendship, no that would takes many long, long days) of silly crime for crime books, or just books, loved every minute, every moves just because it was Billie who made those moves, made the cheap glitter dance.

 

And what of Shelia, or rather of Sheila and her family.  Well, one week-end when Billie was away visiting some distant grandmother, they, not having paid rent from about day one, just flew the coop without a word. And Billie never heard from her again. But get this she left that onyx ring, that onyx ring complete with diamond chip in the center, with Peter Paul to give back to Billie, and with a kiss. See, as she explained to Peter Paul, she really was smitten with Billie, just Billie. And Peter Paul knew exactly what she meant.  

No, No Damn It- Not Obama's Twenty Months But Nine (Oops! Ten)Long Years In Afghanistan -Troops Out Now!-March Against The Wars October 7th

No, No Damn It- Not Obama's Thirty-Two Months But Ten (Oops! Eleven) Long Years In Afghanistan -Troops Out Now!- A Repost On The 11th Anniversary Of The Afgan War

Markin comment:

Apparently I can just keep reposting the entry from a couple of years back as long as Obama is in charge. And if someone else takes over in 2013 well then we will just delete and change the name. Except I have a better idea. Let's end this thing our way- Immediate Uncondtional Withdrawal From Afghanistan, Period!
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October 7, 2010

No, No Damn It- Not Obama's Twenty Months But Nine Long Years In Afghanistan -Troops Out Now!

Markin comment:

No, old Markin has not gotten lazy, at least not too lazy, in his old age and just casually reposted last year's commentary on this the anniversary (9th) of the American occupation of Afghanistan. When I went to read it over, in the main, it seemed a perfect fit, again. Except, of course, do the math-add 12 months to the eight and add an additional year. It will however take more than a calculator to get Obama out of Afghanistan! Let's get moving- I don't want to have to add another twelve to that twenty and a one to that nine. For the rest read below (except for General McChrytsal, that's old news now).
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Wednesday, October 07, 2009

* No, No Damn It- Not Obama's Eight Months But Eight Long Years In Afghanistan


Click on title to link to my September 4, 2009 blog entry of National Public Radio's report on September 1, 2009 of the musings of Afghan top commander, General Stanley "Search and Destroy first and let god sort it out)" McChrystal, about (another) future troop escalation in Afghanistan. Well,boys and girls, the time for Obamian illusions is over. It is time to settle up. The streets are not for dreaming now. Get the poster boards, the old bed sheets, magic markers, paint and cell phones ready. Obama-Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal Of All U.S./Allied Troops From Afghanistan ((And Iraq And Pakistan Too!)

Markin comment:

I really am, after a long political life, usually non-plussed by bizarre remarks from liberals and from those even further to the right, who I do not even bother rebutting these days, but a recent remark from one such liberal specimen after I made a comment about Obama’s Afghan war policy and troop escalations has got “my dander” up. It seems the rules of war, or at least of calculating the lengths of such wars, have changed in the “Age of Obama”. Apparently this person has been steeped in the educational philosophy of John Locke and his theory of tabula rasa. The logic of this position in terms of Obama’s innate Afghan War policy is that we should not count the war times under former President George W. Bush against newly-minted current President Obama.

A follow up discussion on that logic indicated that this person believed that one could, and should, draw a sharp distinction between Bush’ s “war of choice” and Obama’s “war of necessity” and give the President a break. No, no a thousand times no. But just to prove I do not remain forever with my “dander” up here is what I will do. Prior to 12 o’clock noon on January 20, 2009 Bush- Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal of All U.S./Allied Troops From Iraq and Afghanistan! After 12 o’clock noon on January 20, 2009 Obama- Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal of All U.S./Allied Troops From Iraq and Afghanistan! There, now let’s do the math starting from the bombing of Afghanistan- eight long ……years. Enough.

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Every once in a while (more frequently than I would like but today seems like a very appropriate time) old Pete Seeger's song about his World War II adventures that served as a parable for President Lyndon Johnson and his constant Vietnam escalations, Waist Deep In The Big Muddy just seems appropriate. This is one of those occasions. Just switch "Big Poppy" for "Big Muddy" and you will have it just about right.

Waist Deep In The Big Muddy-Pete Seeger

It was back in nineteen forty-two,
I was a member of a good platoon.
We were on maneuvers in-a Loozianna,
One night by the light of the moon.
The captain told us to ford a river,
That's how it all begun.
We were -- knee deep in the Big Muddy,
But the big fool said to push on.

The Sergeant said, "Sir, are you sure,
This is the best way back to the base?"
"Sergeant, go on! I forded this river
'Bout a mile above this place.
It'll be a little soggy but just keep slogging.
We'll soon be on dry ground."
We were -- waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool said to push on.

The Sergeant said, "Sir, with all this equipment
No man will be able to swim."
"Sergeant, don't be a Nervous Nellie,"
The Captain said to him.
"All we need is a little determination;
Men, follow me, I'll lead on."
We were -- neck deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool said to push on.

All at once, the moon clouded over,
We heard a gurgling cry.
A few seconds later, the captain's helmet
Was all that floated by.
The Sergeant said, "Turn around men!
I'm in charge from now on."
And we just made it out of the Big Muddy
With the captain dead and gone.

We stripped and dived and found his body
Stuck in the old quicksand.
I guess he didn't know that the water was deeper
Than the place he'd once before been.
Another stream had joined the Big Muddy
'Bout a half mile from where we'd gone.
We were lucky to escape from the Big Muddy
When the big fool said to push on.

Well, I'm not going to point any moral;
I'll leave that for yourself
Maybe you're still walking, you're still talking
You'd like to keep your health.
But every time I read the papers
That old feeling comes on;
We're -- waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.

Waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.
Waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.
Waist deep! Neck deep! Soon even a
Tall man'll be over his head, we're
Waist deep in the Big Muddy!
And the big fool says to push on!

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- Svengali Redux- “Fear In The Night”- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the B- film thriller Fear In The Night DVD Review Fear In The Night, starring Paul Kelly, DeForest Kelley, Paramount Pictures, 1947

Yah, every crumb bum criminal always says he (or she) is as innocent as a lamb, wouldn’t touch somebody else’s dough for all the money in the world, wouldn’t knock off a guy who bothered him for an equal amount, and certainly wouldn’t get-trigger happy over some little misunderstanding with a dame. No way. Yah, that’s what they all say, and say it loud and often. We have been through that song and dance before and the alibi that the guy, the seemingly Walter Mitty guy, Vince (played by a young DeForest Kelley of Star Trek fame) who is on the hook in this film under review, Fear In The Night, stinks to high heaven. No way did his story made sense, no way even to a cop relative (played by Paul Kelly) who plays it by the book. No way he didn’t knock a guy and dame off just for kicks or some other perversion so forget going to the bother of looking for some clue that might get him off the hook. The kid is a weirdo, maybe a little flighty, maybe on dope, maybe just trying to put together some bizarre insanity plea. Sweat this boy, sweat him hard to get the truth, and get it quick before he caves in totally.

    Yes, I had this B-film thriller figured early. No question Vince did it and did it mean and rotten. How else did he know about the keys, about a button, and about a funny farm mirrored room? Yah, hang him, hang him high. But wait a minute it turns out this guy, the Vince fall guy, actually was innocent of murder anyway if not bad acting as he tried to make us get all tensed about his dilemma. As it turned out the pair that were murdered were bleeding some big time doctor dry, one way or another. Moreover the woman was, ah, married to the big time doctor. So rather than taking matters into his own hand and risk swinging from some high gallows ropes dear old Doc makes Vince the patsy. How? Easy, the power of suggestion, hypnosis, get it. The oldest gag in the book. Sorry Doc, your ticket has been punched.

As for Vince and this B-beauty you get what you pay for. If you want Alfred Hitchcock suspense that has you gnawing at your finger nails then look elsewhere, you know stuff like Strangers On A Train, Psycho and what not. If you want a low- budget black and white movie that looks like it was shot in about three days in somebody’s back yard wrapped around a twist and turns Cornell Woolrich story line then you are home. I still Vince should be doing a little time for letting Doc put him under his whammy. But I am just sore this guy really was innocent when I had him tagged as a lamester from square one. Enough said.

From #Un-Occupied Boston (#Un-Tomemonos Boston)-What Happens When We Do Not Learn The Lessons Of History- The Pre-1848 Socialist Movement-From The Pens Of Karl Marx And Friedrich Engels-Marx/Engels Internet Archive-The Communist League- An Introduction

Click on the headline to link to the Occupy Boston General Assembly Minutes website. Occupy Boston started at 6:00 PM, September 30, 2011.

Markin comment:

I will post any updates from that Occupy Boston site if there are any serious discussions of the way forward for the Occupy movement or, more importantly, any analysis of the now atrophied and dysfunctional General Assembly concept. In the meantime I will continue with the “Lessons From History ’’series started in the fall of 2011 with Karl Marx’s The Civil War In France-1871 (The defense of the Paris Commune). Right now this series is focused on the European socialist movement before the Revolutions of 1848.
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An Injury To One Is An Injury To All!-Defend The Occupy Movement And All Occupiers! Drop All Charges Against All Occupy Protesters Everywhere!

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Fight-Don’t Starve-We Created The Wealth, Let's Take It Back! Labor And The Oppressed Must Rule!
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A Five-Point Program As Talking Points

*Jobs For All Now!-“30 For 40”- A historic demand of the labor movement. Thirty hours work for forty hours pay to spread the available work around. Organize the unorganized- Organize the South- Organize Wal-Mart- Defend the right for public and private workers to unionize.

* Defend the working classes! No union dues for Democratic (or the stray Republican) candidates. Spent the dough instead on organizing the unorganized and on other labor-specific causes (good example, the November, 2011 anti-union recall referendum in Ohio, bad example the Wisconsin gubernatorial recall race in June 2012).

*End the endless wars!- Immediate, Unconditional Withdrawal Of All U.S./Allied Troops (And Mercenaries) From Afghanistan! Hands Off Pakistan! Hands Off Iran! U.S. Hands Off The World!

*Fight for a social agenda for working people!. Quality Healthcare For All! Nationalize the colleges and universities under student-teacher-campus worker control! Forgive student debt! Stop housing foreclosures!

*We created the wealth, let’s take it back. Take the struggle for our daily bread off the historic agenda. Build a workers party that fights for a workers government to unite all the oppressed.

Emblazon on our red banner-Labor and the oppressed must rule!

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Markin comment:

This foundation article by Marx or Engels goes along with the propaganda points in the fight for our communist future mentioned in other posts in this space.
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Marx/Engels Internet Archive-The Communist League

A congress of the League of the Just opened in London on June 2, 1847. Engels was in attendence as delegate for the League's Paris communities. (Marx couldn't attend for financial reasons.)

Engels had a significant impact throughout the congress -- which, as it turned out, was really the "inaugural Congress" of what became known as the Communist League. This organization stands as the first international proletarian organization. With the influence of Marx and Engels anti-utopian socialism, the League's motto changed from "All Men are Brothers" to "Working Men of All Countries, Unite!"

Engels: "In the summer of 1847, the first league congress took place in London, at which W. Wolff represented the Brussels and I the Paris communities. At this congress the reorganisation of the League was carried through first of all. ...the League now consisted of communities, circles, leading circles, a central committee and a congress, and henceforth called itself the 'Communist League'."

The Rules were drawn up with the participation of Marx and Engels, examined at the First Congress of the Communist League, and approved at the League's Second Congress in December 1847.

Article 1 of the Rules of the Communist League: "The aim of the league is the overthrow of the bourgeoisie, the rule of the proletariat, the abolition of the old bourgeois society which rests on the antagonism of classes, and the foundation of a new society without classes and without private property."

The first draft of the Communist League Programme was styled as a catechism -- in the form of questions and answers. Essentially, the draft was authored by Engels. The original manuscript is in Engels's hand.

The League's official paper was to be the Kommunistische Zeitschrift, but the only issue produced was in September 1847 by a resolution of the League's First Congress. It was First Congress prepared by the Central Authority of the Communist League based in London. Karl Schapper was its editor.

The Second Congress of the Communist League was held at the end of November 1847 at London's Red Lion Hotel. Marx attended as delegate of the Brussels Circle. He went to London in the company of Victor Tedesco, member of the Communist League and also a delegate to the Second Congress. Engels again represented the Paris communities. Schapper was elected chairman of the congress, and Engels its secretary.

Friedrich Lessner: "I was working in London then and was a member of the communist Workers' Educational Society at 191 Drury Lane. There, at the end of November and the beginning of December 1847, members of the Central Committee of the Communist League held a congress. Karl Marx and Frederick Engels came there from Brussels to present their views on modern communism and to speak about the Communists' attitude to the political and workers' movement. The meetings, which, naturally, were held in the evenings, were attended by delegates only... Soon we learned that after long debates, the congress had unanimously backed the principles of Marx and Engels..."

The Rules were officially adopted December 8, 1847.

Engels: "All contradiction and doubt were finally set at rest, the new basic principles were unanimously adopted, and Marx and I were commissioned to draw up the Manifesto." This would, of course, become the Communist Manifesto.

Let’s Redouble Our Efforts To Free Private Bradley Manning-President Obama Pardon Bradley Manning -Make Every Town Square In America (And The World) A Bradley Manning Square From Boston To Berkeley to Berlin-Join Us In Davis Square, Somerville –The Stand-Out Is Every Wednesday From 4:00-5:00 PM

Let’s Redouble Our Efforts To Free Private Bradley Manning-President Obama Pardon Bradley Manning -Make Every Town Square In America (And The World) A Bradley Manning Square From Boston To Berkeley to Berlin-Join Us In Davis Square, Somerville –The Stand-Out Is Every Wednesday From 4:00-5:00 PM

http://www.standwithbrad.org/

Click on the headline to link to the Private Bradley Manning Petition website page.

Markin comment:

The Private Bradley Manning case is headed toward a mid- winter trial. Those of us who support his cause should redouble our efforts to secure his freedom. For the past several months there has been a weekly stand-out in Greater Boston across from the Davis Square Redline MBTA stop (renamed Bradley Manning Square for the stand-out’s duration) in Somerville on Friday afternoons but we have since July 4, 2012 changed the time and day to 4:00-5:00 PM on Wednesdays. This stand-out has, to say the least, been very sparsely attended. We need to build it up with more supporters present. Please join us when you can. Or better yet if you can’t join us start a Support Bradley Manning weekly stand-out in some location in your town whether it is in the Boston area, Berkeley or Berlin. And please sign the petition for his release either in person or through the Bradley Manning Support Network. We have placed links to the Manning Network and Manning Square website below. ********
Bradley Manning Support Network http://www.bradleymanning.org/

Manning Square website http://freemanz.com/2012/01/20/somerville_paper_photo-bradmanningsquare/bradleymanningsquare-2011_01_13/


Remarks From The Pardon Bradley Manning Rally At Downtown Boston Obama Headquarters-September 6, 2012

Welcome one and all and I am glad you could be here for this important struggle. The Smedley Butler Brigade of Veterans for Peace proudly stands in solidarity with, and defense of, Private Bradley Manning and his fight for freedom from his jailers, the American military. Now usually when I get before a mic or am on a march I am shouting to high heaven about some injustice. Recently I was called strident by someone and when it comes to the struggle against this country’s wars, the struggle for social and economic equality, and for freedom for our political prisoners I am indeed strident. But I am looking for something today something personally important to me and so I will try to lower my temperature a bit- I want, like you, for President Obama to pardon Bradley Manning so I will be nice, or try to be.

Bradley Manning is in a sense the poster person for all of us who have struggled against the wars of the last decade. He stands charged with allegedly leaking information about American war crimes and other matters of public concern to Wikileaks. We, and we are not alone on this, do not see whistleblowing on such activities as a crime but as an elemental humanitarian act and public service. Private Manning has paid the price for his alleged acts with over 800 days of pre-trial confinement and is now facing life imprisonment for simple acts of humanity. For letting the American people know what they perhaps did not want to know but must know- when soldiers, American soldiers, go to war some awful things can happen and do. He has also suffered torture at the hands of the American government for his brave stand. We have become somewhat inured to foreign national being tortured by the American government at places like Guantanamo and other black hole locales. We have even become somewhat inured to American citizens being tortured and killed by the American government by drones and other methods. But we know, or should know, that when the American government stands accused of torturing an American soldier for not toeing the war line then we private citizens are in serious trouble.

Why does Private Manning need a pardon? Did he give away the order of battle or the table of organization for American military operations in Iraq and Afghanistan? No. Did he give away the design for drones and such weapons? No. He simply blew the whistle on something that is a hard fact of war- war crimes by American soldiers through release of the Collateral Murder tape and what have become known as the Iraq and Afghan War logs. This is what the American government had tried with might and main to cover up. And what needed to be exposed. All talk of bringing democracy, or national building, or having a war to end all wars, and the million other lame excuses for war pale before the hard fact that in the heat of war the real strategy is to kill and burn and let god sort out the innocent from the guilty. That is what Private Manning exposed.

I, and I am sure many other veterans from previous wars who saw or knew of such things and did nothing about it, are glad that such things were exposed. If for no other reason Private First Class Bradley Manning deserves presidential pardon for his service. To insure that event we urge everybody to ramp up their efforts in behalf of Bradley by signing here or online at the Bradley Manning Support Network site the petition to the Secretary of the Army for his release and to call the White House, the telephone number is listed on the flyer we are handing out, and demand that President Obama pardon Private Manning. Today’s event is the start of our fall campaign of behalf of Private Manning who at this time is expected to go to trial next February. We want to build toward that trial, assuming President Obama (or President Romney) has not pardoned him by then. We have been holding weekly stand-outs in Davis Square in Somerville outside the MBTA Red Line stop Wednesdays from 4:00to 5:00 PM and urge you to join us. Or better yet start a Free Bradley Manning stand-out in your own town square. Thank you