Friday, April 25, 2014

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.

 

***Out In The 1940s Screwball Comedy Night-Cary Grant’s My Favorite Wife   

 


 
 
 
 


DVD Review

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

 

My Favorite Wife, starring Cary Grant, Irene Dunne, directed by Garson Kanin, MGM , 1940

Not all 1930s and 1940s black and white screwball romantic comedies were born equal, even when the same actor (here Cary Grant) starred in both vehicles being compared here. Recently I gave a big thumb’s up to Grant’s performance in 1940’s The Philadelphia Story (Katherine Hepburn and Jimmy Stewart’s as well) where the wit and facial expressions exploded a so-so story line into a great film (little Miss Rich Girl gets her comeuppance and gets the gold ring too). The same cannot be said for the film under review, 1940’s My Favorite Wife, which stretches a small idea well beyond even Cary’s capacity for elegant slap-stick humor.

 

Here Cary is inundated by the thinness of the story line. Cary, a lawyer with two children needing a mother, played by Irene Dunne, a mother who left on sea-borne photography assignment which got shipwrecked and left Cary believing for the required seven years that she was dead. As a result he filed papers in court to have her declared legally dead. The idea was so he could marry another. Funny thing though just as he gets that decree and actually gets remarried Irene shows up. Irene who was stranded on an island all that time (with a good-looking guy to boot). Naturally she uses her feminine wiles to try to sabotage the new marriage to get her man back. She does so by putting Cary through many hoops in the process. Too many to sustain the plot-line. See what I mean.        

 

 

 

"He Could Have Been The Champion of The World"-Rubin "Hurricane" Carter Passes  At 76


The best story I ever heard about Rubin Carter was when he would go to South Africa during apartheid and bring weapons for the ANC liberation fighters in his sachets. Righteous. RIP

He Could Have Been The Champion of The World"-Rubin "Hurricane" Carter Passes

Rubin (Hurricane) Carter, Boxer Found Wrongly Convicted, Dies at 76


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Hurricane Carter, Ferocious Boxer and Cause Célèbre

Hurricane Carter, Ferocious Boxer and Cause Célèbre

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Rubin (Hurricane) Carter, a star prizefighter whose career was cut short by a murder conviction in New Jersey and who became an international cause célèbre while imprisoned for 19 years before the charges against him were dismissed, died on Sunday morning at his home in Toronto. He was 76.
The cause of death was prostate cancer, his friend and onetime co-defendant, John Artis, said. Mr. Carter was being treated in Toronto, where he had founded a nonprofit organization, Innocence International, to work to free prisoners it considered wrongly convicted.
Mr. Carter was convicted twice on the same charges of fatally shooting two men and a woman in a Paterson, N.J., tavern in 1966. But both jury verdicts were overturned on different grounds of prosecutorial misconduct.
The legal battles consumed scores of hearings involving recanted testimony, suppressed evidence, allegations of prosecutorial racial bias — Mr. Carter was black and the shooting victims were white — and a failed prosecution appeal to the United States Supreme Court to reinstate the convictions.
Mr. Carter first became famous as a ferocious, charismatic, crowd-pleasing boxer who was known for his shaved head, goatee, glowering visage and devastating left hook. He narrowly lost a fight for the middleweight championship in 1964.
He attracted worldwide attention during the roller-coaster campaign to clear his name of murder charges. Amnesty International described him as a “prisoner of conscience” whose human rights had been violated. He portrayed himself as a victim of injustice who had been framed because he spoke out for civil rights and against police brutality.
A defense committee studded with entertainment, sports, civil rights and political personalities was organized. His cause entered the realm of pop music when Bob Dylan wrote and recorded the song “Hurricane,” which championed his innocence and vilified the police and prosecution witnesses. It became a Top 40 hit in 1976.
Mr. Carter’s life was also the subject of a 1999 movie, “The Hurricane,” in which he was played by Denzel Washington, who was nominated for an Academy Award for the performance. The movie, directed by Norman Jewison, was widely criticized as simplistic and rife with historical inaccuracies.
A more complex picture was provided in accounts by Mr. Carter’s relatives and supporters, and by Mr. Carter himself in his autobiography, “The 16th Round,” published in 1974 while he was in prison. He attracted supporters even when his legal plight seemed hopeless, but he also alienated many of them, including his first wife.
With a formal education that ended in the eighth grade in a reform school, Mr. Carter survived imprisonment and frequent solitary confinement by becoming a voracious reader of law books and volumes of philosophy, history, metaphysics and religion. During his bleakest moments, he expressed confidence that he would one day be proved innocent.
“They can incarcerate my body but never my mind,” he told The New York Times in 1977, shortly after his second conviction.
Troubled From the Start
Rubin Carter was born on May 6, 1937, in Clifton, N.J., and grew up nearby in Passaic and Paterson. His father, Lloyd, and his mother, Bertha, had moved there from Georgia. To support his wife and seven children, Lloyd Carter worked in a rubber factory and operated an ice-delivery service in the mornings.
A deacon in the Baptist church, his father was also a disciplinarian. He put Rubin to work cutting and delivering ice at age 8, and when he learned that Rubin, at 9, and some other boys had stolen clothing from a Paterson store, he turned his son in to the police. Rubin was placed on two years’ probation.
A poor student and troubled from the start, Rubin was placed in a school for unruly pupils when he was in the fourth grade. At 11, after stabbing a man, he was sent to the Jamesburg State Home for Boys (now called the New Jersey Training School for Boys). He said he had acted in self-defense after the man had made sexual advances and tried to throw him off a cliff. At Jamesburg, guards frequently beat and abused him, he wrote in his autobiography.
After six years in detention he escaped and made his way to an aunt’s home in Philadelphia, where he enlisted in the Army. Recruitment officers apparently accepted his word that he had grown up in Philadelphia and made no inquiries in New Jersey, where he was wanted as a fugitive.
Thriving in the Army, Mr. Carter became a paratrooper in the 101st Airborne Division in Germany and put on boxing gloves for the first time. He found he enjoyed associating with boxers. “They were strong, honest people, hardworking and equally hard-fighting,” he recalled. “There were no complications there whatsoever, no tensions, no fears.”
He won 51 bouts, 35 by knockouts, while losing only five. He became the Army’s European light-welterweight champion.
Mr. Carter also took speech therapy courses and overcame his stutter. He became interested in Islamic studies. Although he never formally converted, he sometimes used the Muslim name Saladin Abdullah Muhammad. Honorably discharged, he returned to Paterson in 1956 and took a job as a tractor-trailer driver. But the authorities tracked him down and arrested him for his escape from the reform school before he had joined the Army. He was sentenced to 10 months at the Annandale Reformatory for youthful offenders.
Shortly after his release, in 1957, he was charged with snatching a woman’s purse and assaulting a man on a Paterson street. He said he had been drinking. He served four years in Trenton State Prison, where “quiet rage became my constant companion,” he wrote. He also rekindled his interest in boxing and attracted the attention of fight managers.
On Sept. 22, 1961, a day after his release from prison, he fought his first professional fight, winning a four-round decision for a $20 purse. “I was in my element now,” he wrote. “Fighting was the pulse beat of my heart and I loved it.”
Mr. Carter was an instant success and became a main-event headliner. With a powerful left hook, he was more of a puncher than a stylist, winning 13 of his first 21 fights by knockouts.
Showman in the Ring
Promoters capitalized on his criminal record as a box-office lure, suggesting that prison had transformed him into a terrifying fighter. One promoter nicknamed him Hurricane, describing him in advertisements as a raging, destructive force.
Mr. Carter was a showman in the ring. Solidly built at 5-foot-8 and about 155 pounds, he would enter in a hooded black velvet robe trimmed with metallic gold thread, the image of a crouching black panther on the back.
He also made sure he was noticed on the streets of Paterson, where he had returned to live. He dressed in custom-tailored suits and drove a black Cadillac Eldorado with “Rubin Hurricane Carter” engraved in silver letters on each side of the headlights. In 1963 he married Mae Thelma Basket.
Mr. Carter’s biggest victory came in Pittsburgh in December 1963, when he knocked out Emile Griffith, the welterweight champion, who was trying to move into the middleweight division for a crack at its world title. A year later, at the peak of his career, Mr. Carter battled the reigning middleweight champion, Joey Giardello, for the title in Philadelphia, Mr. Giardello’s hometown. He lost a close decision.
Mr. Carter received unfavorable attention when an article in The Saturday Evening Post in 1964 suggested that he was a black militant who believed that blacks should shoot at the police if they felt they were being victimized. He denied he had expressed that view. It was around this time that the police began harassing him, he said. One night, when his Cadillac broke down in Hackensack, he was jailed for several hours without being charged with a crime.
Before bouts, the police compelled him to be fingerprinted and photographed for their files on the ground that he was a convicted felon. He discovered that the Federal Bureau of Investigation had opened a file on him and was tracking his movements.
On the night of June 16 and the early morning of June 17, 1966, while his wife and their 2-year-old daughter, Theodora, were at home, Mr. Carter visited several bars in Paterson, winding up at one called the Night Spot.
A half-mile away, about 2:30 a.m., two black men entered the Lafayette Grill and killed two white men and a white woman in a barrage of shotgun and pistol blasts. The police immediately suspected that the shootings were in retaliation for the shotgun murder that night in Paterson of a black tavern owner by the former owner, who was white.
Mr. Carter had encountered John Artis, a casual acquaintance, that night and was giving him a lift home when they were stopped by the police. They said Mr. Carter’s leased white Dodge sedan resembled the murderers’ getaway car. Except for being black, neither Mr. Carter nor Mr. Artis matched the original descriptions of the killers. They were released after both passed lie detector tests and a patron who had been wounded in the Lafayette Grill failed to identify them. But they remained under suspicion.
On Aug. 6, 1966, in Rosario, Argentina, Mr. Carter lost a 10-round decision to Rocky Rivero. It was his last fight. His record would remain 27 wins (20 by knockout), 12 losses and one draw. Two months later, he and Mr. Artis were charged with the three murders.
Burglars Testify
At their trial in 1967, three alibi witnesses placed them elsewhere at the time of the killings. They were nonetheless convicted, primarily on the evidence of Alfred P. Bello and Arthur D. Bradley, two white prosecution witnesses with long criminal records. Mr. Bello testified that he saw both defendants leave the tavern with guns in their hands; Mr. Bradley identified only Mr. Carter.
Both witnesses admitted that they were in the vicinity of the Lafayette Grill at the time of the murders because they were trying to burglarize a factory nearby.
The prosecution offered no motive for the slayings.
Facing the possibility of death sentences, Mr. Carter received 30 years to life and Mr. Artis 15 years to life. Their appeals were denied unanimously by the New Jersey Supreme Court.
Back in prison, a defiant Mr. Carter refused to wear a uniform or work at institutional jobs. He ate in his cell, sustained by canned food and soup that he heated with an electric coil. He scoured the trial record and law books and typed out unsuccessful briefs for a new trial.
Mr. Carter also lost his vision in his right eye after an operation on a detached retina, a condition he attributed to inadequate treatment in a prison hospital. His celebrity boxing background and his outspoken contempt for prison rules made him a hero to many inmates. The prison authorities credited him with trying to calm down rioters at Rahway State Prison in 1971, and one prison guard reportedly said Mr. Carter had saved his life.
Witnesses Recant
By 1974, Mr. Carter’s prospects for a new trial seemed hopeless. But that summer the New Jersey Public Defender’s Office and The New York Times independently obtained recantations from Mr. Bello and Mr. Bradley. Both men asserted that detectives had pressured them into falsely identifying Mr. Carter and Mr. Artis.
Moreover, it was revealed that the prosecution had secretly promised leniency to the two witnesses regarding their own crimes in exchange for their cooperation in the Carter case.
Based on the recantations and the new information, the New Jersey Supreme Court overturned the guilty verdicts in 1976. Overnight, Mr. Carter was hailed as a civil rights champion, with a national defense committee working on his behalf and fund-raising concerts headlined by Mr. Dylan at Madison Square Garden and the Houston Astrodome; the Garden concert also included Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez and Roberta Flack. Muhammad Ali attended a pretrial hearing in Paterson in 1976 to show his support for Mr. Carter.
At a second trial, in December 1976, a new team of Passaic County prosecutors resuscitated an old theory, charging that the defendants had committed the Lafayette Grill murders to exact revenge for the earlier killing of the black tavern owner. Mr. Bello resurfaced as a prosecution witness and recanted his recantation. He was the only witness who placed Mr. Carter and Mr. Artis at the murder scene.
After being free for nine months on bail, Mr. Carter and Mr. Artis were sent back to prison and deserted by most of the show business and civil rights figures who had flocked to their cause. Mr. Carter’s second child, a son, Raheem Rubin, was born six days after the two men were found guilty.
Racial Revenge Theory
Over the next nine years, numerous appeals in New Jersey courts failed. But when the issues were heard for the first time in a federal court, in 1985, Judge H. Lee Sarokin of United States District Court in Newark overturned the convictions on constitutional grounds. He ruled that prosecutors had “fatally infected the trial” by resorting, without evidence, to the racial revenge theory, and that they had withheld evidence disproving Mr. Bello’s identifications. Mr. Carter was freed; Mr. Artis had been released on parole in 1981.
When the prosecution’s attempts to reinstate the convictions were rejected by a federal appeals court and by the Supreme Court, the charges against Mr. Carter and Mr. Artis were formally dismissed in 1988, 22 years after the original indictments.
During his second imprisonment in the case his wife had sued for divorce, after learning that he had had an affair with a supporter while he was free on bail awaiting trial.
Information about his survivors could not immediately be learned.
On his final release from prison, Mr. Carter — with a full crop of curly hair, clean-shaven and wearing thick eyeglasses — moved to Toronto, where he lived with a secretive Canadian commune and married the head of it, Lisa Peters. He ended relations with her and the commune in the mid-1990s.
He founded Innocence International in 2004 and lectured about inequities in America’s criminal justice system. His former co-defendant, Mr. Artis, joined the organization. In 2011 he published an autobiography, “Eye of the Hurricane: My Path From Darkness to Freedom,” written with Ken Klonsky and with a foreword by Nelson Mandela.
In his last weeks he campaigned for the exoneration of David McCallum, a Brooklyn man who has been in prison since 1985 on murder charges. In an opinion article published by The Daily News on Feb. 21, 2014, headlined “Hurricane Carter’s Dying Wish,” he asked that Mr. McCallum “be granted a full hearing” by Brooklyn’s new district attorney, Kenneth P. Thompson.
“Just as my own verdict ‘was predicated on racism rather than reason and on concealment rather than disclosure,’ as Sarokin wrote, so too was McCallum’s,” Mr. Carter wrote.
He added: “If I find a heaven after this life, I’ll be quite surprised. In my own years on this planet, though, I lived in hell for the first 49 years, and have been in heaven for the past 28 years.
“To live in a world where truth matters and justice, however late, really happens, that world would be heaven enough for us all.”
***Out In The Be-Bop Night- In Defense Of The  Blue-Pink Great American Western  Night "Deviation"- An Introduction




This post is a response to a young reader and co-worker who has been curious about, and somewhat mystified by, my recent references to search for a blue-pink great American West night. Here, slightly abridged is my response. Whee!

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There is no question that over the past year or so I have been deep in remembrances of the influences, great and small, of the 1950s “beats” on my own sorry teen-aged alienation and teen-aged angst (sometimes they were separate anguishes, sometimes tied together like inseparable twins, mostly the later) and the struggle to find my place in the sun, to write in bright lights my own beat plainsong. Of course, that "beat" influence was blown over me second-hand as I was just a little too young, or a little too wide-world unconscious, to be there at the creation, on those first roads west, those first fitfully car-driven, gas-fuelled, thumb hanging-out, sore-footed, free exploration west roads, in body and mind. And of that first great rush of the adrenal in trying to discover, eternally discover as it has turned out, the search for the meaning of the great blue-pink American West night. Ah, pioneer-boys, thanks.

I just got a whiff, a passing whiff of that electric-charged air, the sweet “be-bop”, bop-bop, real gone daddy, cooled-out, pipe-filled with whatever, jazz-sexed, high white note blown, howling in the wind plainsong afterglow. Moreover, somewhat tarnished, a little sullen and withdrawn, and media-used up by my time. More than one faux black chino-wearing, black beret’d, stringy-bearded, nightshade sun-glassed, pseudo-poetic-pounding, television-derived fakir crossed my path in Harvard Square in those high stakes early 1960s high school days. And a few real ones, as well. (A couple, whom I still pass occasionally, giving a quick nod to, have never given up the ghost and still haunt the old square looking for the long-gone, storied Hayes-Bickford, a place where the serious and the fakirs gathered in the late night before dawn hour to pour out their souls, via mouth or on paper. Good luck, men.). More to the point, I came too late to be able to settle comfortably into that anti-political world that the “beats” thrived in. Great political and social events were unfolding and I wanted in, feverishly wanted in, with both hands (and,maybe,feet too).

You know some of the beat leaders, the real ones, don’t you? Remembered, seemingly profusely remembered now, by every passing acquaintance with some rough-hewn writing specimen or faded photograph to present. Now merely photo-plastered, book wrote, college english department deconstruction’d , academic journal-debated, but then in full glory plaid shirt, white shirt, tee shirt, dungarees, chinos, sturdy foot-sore cosmic traveler shoes, visuals of heaven’s own angel bums, if there was a heaven and there were angels and if that locale needed bums.

Jack, million hungry word man-child sanctified, Lowell mills-etched and trapped and mother-fed, Jack Kerouac. Allen, om-om-om, bop, bop, mantra-man, mad Paterson-trapped, modern plainsong-poet-in-chief, Allen Ginsberg. William, sweet opium dream (or, maybe, not so sweet when the supply ran out), needle-driven, sardonic, ironic, chronic, Tangiers-trapped, Harvard man (finally, a useful one, oops, sorry), Williams S. Burroughs. Neal, wild word, wild gesture, out of ashcan all-America dream man, tire-kicking, oil-checking, gas-filling, zen master wheelman gluing the enterprise together, Neal Cassady. And a whirling crowd of others, including mad, street-wise, saint-gunsel, Gregory Corso. I am a little fuzzy these days on the genesis of my relationship to this crowd (although a reading of Ginsberg’s Howl was probably first in those frantic, high school, Harvard Square-hopping, poetry-pounding, guitar-strummed, existential word space, coffee, no sugar, I’ll have a refill, please, fugitive dream’d, coffeehouse-anchored days). This I know. I qualified, in triplicate, teen angst, teen alienation, teen luddite as a card-carrying member in those days.

More recently that old time angst, that old time alienation and a smidgen of that old time luddite has casted its spell on me. I have been held hostage to, been hypnotized by, been ocean-sized swept away by, been word ping-pong bounced off of and collided into by, head over heels language-loved by, word-curled around and caressed by the ancient black night into the drowsy dawn 1950s child view vision Kerouac/Ginsberg/Burroughs/Corso-led “beats” homage to the great American West night. (Beat: life beat-up, fellaheen beat-down, beat around, be-bop jazz beat, beatified church beat, howl poem beat, beat okay, anyway you can get a handle on it, beat.). The great American West “beat” breakout from the day weary, boxed-in, shoulder-to-the-wheel, eyes forward, hands to the keyboard, work-a-day-world, dream-fleshed-out night. Of leaving behind on the slow-fast, two-lane, no passing, broken-lined old Route 6, or 66, or 666, or whatever route, whatever dream route, whatever dream hitchhike gas station/diner highway beyond the Eastern shores night, of the get away from the machine, the machine making machines, the “little boxes” machine night, and also of the reckless breakout of mannered, cramped, parlor-fit language night. Whoa!

This Kerouacian wordplay on-the-road’d, dharma-bummed, big sur’d, desolation angel’d night, this Ginsberg-ite trumpet howl, cry-out to the high heavens against the death machine night, this Burroughs-ish languid, sweet opium-dreamed, laid-back night, this Neal Cassady-driven, foot-clutched, brake-pedaled, wagon-master of the to and fro of the post-World War II American West night, was not my night but close enough so that I could touch it, and have it touch me even half a century later. So blame Jack and the gang, okay and I will give you his current Lowell, Massachusetts home address upon request so that you can direct your inquiries there.

Blame Jack, as well, for the busting out beyond the factory lakes, corn-fed plains, get the hell out of Kansas flats, on up into the rockiesmountainhigh (or is it just high) and then straight, no time for dinosaur lament Ogden or tumbleweed Winnemucca, to the coast, come hell or high water. Ya, busting out and free. Kid dream great American West night, car-driven (hell, old pick-up truck-driven, English racer bicycle-driven, hitchhike thumbed, flat-bed train-ridden, sore-footed, shoe-beaten walked, if need be), two dollar tank-filled, oil-checked, tires kicked, money pocket’d, surf’s up, surf’s crashing up against the high shoulder ancient seawalls, cruising down the coast highway, the endlessly twisting jalopy-driven pin-turned coast highway, down by the shore, sand swirling, bingo, bango, bongo with your baby everything’s alright, go some place after, some great American West drive-in place. Can you blame me?

So as for that comrade, that well-respected young comrade, what would he know, really, of the great blue-pink American West night that I, and not I alone, was searching for back in those halcyon days of my youth in the early 1960s. What would he know, for example, except in story book or oral tradition from parents or, oh no, maybe, grandparents, of the old time parched, dusty, shoe-leather-beating, foot-sore, sore-shouldered, backpacked, bed-rolled, going-my-way?, watch out for the cops over there (especially in Connecticut and Arizona), hitchhike white-lined road. The thirsty, blistered, backpacked, bed-rolled, thumb-stuck-out, eternally thumb-stuck-out, waiting for some great savior kindred-laden Volkswagen home/collective/ magical mystery tour bus or the commandeered rainbow-marked, life-marked, soul-marked yellow school bus, yellow brick road school bus. Hell, even of old farmer-going-to-market, fruit and vegetable-laden Ford truck, benny-popping, eyes-wide, metal-to-the-petal, transcontinental teamster-driving goods to some westward market or kid Saturday love nest, buddy-racing cool jalopy road. Ya, what would he know of that.

Of the road out, out anywhere, anywhere west, from the stuffy confines of worn-out, hard-scrabble, uptight, ocean-at-you-back, close-quartered, neighbor on top of neighbor, keep your private business private, used-up New England granite-grey death-chanting night. Of the struggle, really, for color, to change the contour of the natural palette to other colors brighter than the New England leafy greens and browns of the trees and the blues, or better blue-greens, or even better yet of white-flecked, white foamed, blue-greens of the Eastern oceans. (Ya, I know, I know, before you even start on me about it, all about the million tree flaming yellow-red-orange autumn leaf minute and the thousand icicle-dropped, road strewn dead tree branch, white winter snow drift eternity, on land or ocean but those don’t count, at least here, and not now)

Or of the infinite oil-stained, gas-fumed, rag-wiped, overall’d, gas-jockey, Esso, Texaco, Mobil, Shell stations named, the rest lost too lost in time to name, two dollar fill-up-check-the-oil, please, the-water-as-well, inflate the tires, hit the murky, fetid, lava soap-smelled bathrooms, maybe grab a Coke, hey, no Hires Root Beer on this road. This Route 66, or Route 50 or Route you-name-the route, route west, exit east dream route, rolling red barn-dotted (needing paints to this jaded eye), rocky field-plowed (crooked plowed to boot), occasionally cow-mooed, same for horses, sheep, some scrawny chickens, and children as well, scrawny too. The leavings of the westward trek, when the westward trek meant eternal fields, golden fields, and to hell with damned rocks, and silts, and worn-out soils absent-mindedly left behind for those who would have to, have to I tell you, stay put in the cabin'd hollows and lazily watered-creeks. On the endlessly sulky blues-greens, the sullen smoky grey-black of mist-foamed rolling hills that echo the slight sound of the mountain wind tunnel, of the creakily-fiddled wind-song Appalachian night.

Or of diner stops, little narrow-aisled, pop-up-stool’d, formica counter-topped, red (mostly) imitation leather booth, smoked-filled cabooses of diners. Of now anchored, abandoned train porter-serviced, off-silver, off-green, off-red, off any faded color “greasy spoon” diners. Of daily house special meat loaf, gravy-slurp, steam-soggy carrots, and buttered mashed potato-fill up, Saturday night pot roast special, turkey club sandwich potato chips on the side, breakfast all day, coffee-fill-up, free refill, please, diners. Granddaddies to today’s more spacious back road highway locales, styled family-friendly but that still reek of meat loaf-steamed carrots- creamed mashed tater-fill. Spots then that spoke of rarely employed, hungry men, of shifty-eyed, expense account-weary traveling men, of high-benny, eyes-wide, mortgaged to the hilt, wife ran off with boyfriend, kids hardly know him, teamsters hauling American product to and fro and of other men not at ease in more eloquent, table-mannered, women-touched places. Those landscape old state and county side of the highway diners, complete with authentic surly, know-it-all-been-through-it-all, pencil-eared, steam-sweated uniform, maybe, cigarette-hanging from tired ruby red lips, heavily made-up waitress along the endless slag-heap, rusting railroad bed, sulphur-aired, grey-black smoke-belching , fiery furnace-blasting, headache metal-pounding, steel-eyed, coal dust-breathe, hog-butcher to the world, sinewy-muscled green-grey, moonless, Great Lakes night.

Or of two-bit road intersection stops, some rutted, pot-holed country road intersecting some mud-spattered, creviced backwater farm road, practically dirt roads barely removed from old time prairie pioneer day times, west-crazy pioneer times, ghost-crazy-pioneer days. Of fields, vast slightly rolling, actually very slightly rolling, endless yellow, yellow–glazed, yellow-tinged, yellow until you get sick of the sight of yellow, sick of the word yellow even, acres under cultivation to feed hungry cities, as if corn, or soy, or wheat, or manna itself could fill that empty-bellied feeling that is ablaze in the land. But we will deal with one hunger at a time. And dotted every so often with silos and barns and grain elevators for all to know the crops are in and ready to serve that physical hunger. Of half-sleep, half hungry-eye, city boy hungry eyes, unused to the dark, dangerous, sullen, unknown shadows, bed roll-unrolled, knapsack pillowed, sleep by the side of the wheat, soy, corn road ravine, and every once in a blue moon midnight car passings, snaggly blanket-covered, knap-sack head rested, cold-frozed, out in the great day corn yellow field beneath the blue black, beyond city sky black, starless Iowa night.

Or of the hard-hilled climb, and climb and climb, breathe taken away magic climb, crevice-etched, rock-interface, sore-footed magic mountain that no Thomas Mann can capture. Half-walked-half-driven, bouncing back seat, back seat of over-filled truck-driven, still rising up, no passing on the left, facing sheer-cliff’d, famous free-fall spots, still rising, rising colder, rising frozen colder, fearful of the sudden summer squalls, white out summer squalls. Shocking, I confess, beyond shocking to New England-hardened winter boy, then sudden sunshine floral bursts and jacket against the cold comes tumbling off. And I confess again, majestic, did I say majestic and beats visions of old Atlantic ocean swells at dawn crashing against harmless seawalls. Old pioneer-trekked, old pioneer-feared, old rutted wheeled, two-hearted remembrances, two-hearted but no returning back (it would be too painful to do again) remembrances as you slide out of Denver into the icy-white black rockymountainhigh night.

Of foot-swollen pleasures in some arid back canyon arroyo, etched in time told by reading its face, layer after layer, red, red-mucked, beige, beige-mucked, copper, copper-mucked, like some Georgia O'Keeffe dream painting out in the red, beige, copper black-devouring desert night. Sounds, primal sounds, of old dinosaur laments and one hundred generations of shamanic Native American pounding crying out for vengeance against the desecrations of the land. Against the cowboy badlands takeover, against the white rampages of the sacred soil. And of canyon-shadowed, flame-shadowed, wind swept, canteen stews simmering and smokey from the jet blue, orange flickering campfire. Of quiet, desert quiet, high desert quiet, of tumbleweed running dreams out in the pure sandstone-edged, grey-black Nevada night.

And then... .

the great Western shore, surf’s up, white, white wave-flecked, lapis-lazuli blue-flecked ocean, rust golden-gated, no return, no boat out, lands end, this is it coast highway, heading down or up now, heading up or down gas stationed, named and unnamed, side road diners, still caboose’d, ravine-edged sleep and beach sleeped, blue-pink American West night.

Yes, but there is more. No child vision but now of full blossom American West night, the San Francisco great American West night, of the be-bop, bop-bop, narrow-stepped, downstairs overflowed music cellar, shared in my time, the time of my time, by “beat” jazz, “hippie’d folk”, and howled poem, but at this minute jazz, high white note-blown, sexed sax-playing godman, unnamed, but like Lester Young’s own child jazz. Smoke-filled, blended meshed smokes of ganja and tobacco (and, maybe, of meshed pipe smokes of hashish and tobacco), ordered whisky-straight up, soon be-sotted, cheap, face-reddened wines, clanking coffee cups that speak of not tonight promise. High sexual intensity under wraps, tightly under wraps, swirls inside it own mad desire, black-dressed she (black dress, black sweater, black stockings, black shoes, black bag, black beret, black sunglasses, ah, sweet color scheme against white Madonna, white, secular Madonna alabaster skin. What do you want to bet black undergarments too, ah, but I am the soul of discretion, your imagination will have to do), promising shades of heat-glanced night. And later, later than night just before the darkest hour dawn, of poems poet’d, of freedom songs free-verse’d, of that sax-charged high white note following out the door, out into the street, out the eternity lights of the great golden-gated night. I say, can you blame me?

Of later roads, the north Oregon hitchhike roads, the Redwood-strewn road not a trace of black-dressed she, she now of blue serge denim pants, of brown plaid flannel long-sleeved shirt, of some golfer’s dream floppy-brimmed hat, and of sturdy, thick-heeled work boots (undergarments again left to your imagination) against the hazards of summer snow squall Crater Lake. And now of slightly sun-burned face against the ravages of the road, against the parched sun-devil road that no ointments can relieve. And beyond later to goose-down bundled, hunter-hatted, thick work glove-clad, snowshoe-shod against the tremors of the great big eternal bump of the great Alaska highway. Can she blame me? Guess.

Ya, put it that way and what does that young comrade, a dreamer of his own dreams, and rightly too, know of an old man’s fiercely-held, fiercely-defended, fiercely-dreamed beyond dreaming blue-pink dreams. Or of ancient blue-pink sorrows, sadnesses, angers, joys, longings and lovings, either

UNAC
  (please forward widely)
 
 
Celebration of Life and Struggle
Free Mumia Abu-Jamal!
Celebrate Mumia's 60th Birthday!
Welcome Home Lynne Stewart!
 
Free all political prisoners! End racist mass incarceration! Abolish the death penalty! Stop police brutality and murder!
 
East Coast Event: 
Saturday, April 26th, 10 am to 6 PM

a Constitutional Protest through the Arts

Church of the Advocate, 18th & Diamond, Philadelphia
West Coast Event:
Sunday, May 4th, 6 pm reception, 7 pm rally

Humanist Hall, 390 27th St. Oakland

There will also be other events around the Bay Area
For more information on the East & West Coast events, Please click here: http://nepajac.org/mumia1.html
 
TAKE ACTION Against Obama's Visit to Japan, South Korea, the Philippines & Malaysia!
On Friday April 25, 2014
 
protest the U.S. military build-up and simultaneous push for the Trans-Pacific Partnership in the Philippines and throughout the Asia Pacific!
 
President Obama plans to visit the Philippines, Japan, South Korea, and Malaysia  to secure the use of their sovereign land for U.S. military bases and their cooperation with the U.S.-led free trade agreement, the Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP). People’s organizations throughout the Asia Pacific are mobilizing to oppose the U.S.’ rampant militarism in the region and its economic hegemony through the sinister implementation of the TPP, or “NAFTA on steroids.” The expansion of U.S. militarization in the region will lead to increased human rights abuses, violence against women and children, pollution and environmental destruction, while costing US tax-payers millions of dollars.  It also aims to squash anti-imperialist people’s liberation movements–including the national democratic revolution of the Philippines, the longest running national liberation struggle in Asia.
Tell Obama: People of the Pacific don't want your drones, nukes, bases, troops or multi-national corporate criminals! US OUT now!
CALLS:
·  US Out of the Philippines and all Asia Pacific
·  Stop the Trans Pacific Partnership Agreement
·  Junk the Visiting Forces Agreement and New Military Access Agreements
·  End the Aquino regime’s puppetry to US imperialism
·  Uphold Philippines sovereignty
·  Build international solidarity against US intervention, militarization and aggression
·  Send US troops back home!  Fight Imperialist intervention in the Philippines and Asia. Fight the imperialist war and  plundering!
 
Take Action:
1.Join local actions in your area, or organize an action in your area!
U.S. Cities:
Los Angeles
@ 6pm
Wilshire Federal Building 11000 Wilshire Blvd, LA 90024
New York
@ 6:30
Meet us at the U.S. Armed Forces Recruiting Station in Times Square
 
Seattle
@ 8pm
Kadasig: Philippine Exposure 2013 Reportback Show
Columbia City
Southside Commons
3518 S Edmunds St, Seattle, WA 98118
 
San Francisco Bay Area
@ 5:30
San Francisco Federal Building
90 7th St,
San Francisco, CA
 
 
     UNAC to join May Day March and Rally in New York
Please join UNAC at the Mayday Coalition for Worker and Immigrant Rights march and rally on Mayday, May 1, 2014 starting at Union Sq., NYC.  The various countries represented by the immigrant communities throughout the New York area are countries that have a US military presence and /or are under economic pressure by US imperialism.  Workers throughout the world and in the US are feeling the brunt of the world crisis of capitalism.  Therefore, UNAC will help organize an antiwar contingent in this important demonstration for worker and immigrant rights.  Please join us.
We will gather  during the afternoon of May 1st starting at 12 noon at Union Square (14th & B’way, NYC).
We will form our contingent and march to various locations in lower Manhattan starting at 5:30 PM.  Please join us for as much of the day as you can.
 
• We demand Legalization for All, End to Deportations and Detentions, and an End to militarization of our borders.
• We demand a $15 Minimum Wage.  Everyone deserves a living wage.
• We demand immediate contracts for all city employees. No concessions! No givebacks! Full retro pay!
• Housing, Healthcare, Education and Jobs for All
• End U.S. Wars, Bring the Troops Home
• Stop Racist War on Black Community and All People of Color (POC) • Climate Justice Now
• Abolish the Prison Industrial Complex
• International Solidarity, No to TPP
• Stop the violence against Transgender POC, and all LGBT Communities
• End Common Core
• Gentrification of our Communities
 
Some other possible slogans for our contingent:
 
No war on workers at home,
No war on workers in Ukraine!
 
International Mayday! /
"Endless War Steals from the Poor"
 
Mayday 2014:
No war on Immigrants, or workers ANYWHERE! /
No War on Syria, Iran, Ukraine, Russia
 
Money for Jobs, Not for War!
 
UNAC will have some signs, please also bring your own in English and Spanish or other languages.
 
For more information, call Joe at 518-281-1968
 
Chicago Campaign Against drone manufacturer Boeing

As part of the continuing effort of the antiwar movement against drones and the spring anti-drone actions, UNAC supporter and Chicago Anti-War Committee member Kait McIntyre will be running for the board of Boeing.  There will also be a protest at the Boeing Stockholder Meeting on April 28th.  Please sign the Anti-War Committee's petition here: https://antiwarcommitteechicago.wufoo.com/forms/zqtccbx0znm21r/ and view Kait McIntyre's campaign video here: http://antiwarcommitteechicago.blogspot.com/2014/04/boeing-campaign-video.htmlYou can get more information on the protest on the same site as the video.


The United National Antiwar Coalition (UNAC) Demands "US Hands off Ukraine"
It has been announced that the US is sending troops to Poland and the Baltics
Click here to sign the petition against US intervention in Ukraine.
 



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