AMERICAN LEFT HISTORY

This space is dedicated to the proposition that we need to know the history of the struggles on the left and of earlier progressive movements here and world-wide. If we can learn from the mistakes made in the past (as well as what went right) we can move forward in the future to create a more just and equitable society. We will be reviewing books, CDs, and movies we believe everyone needs to read, hear and look at as well as making commentary from time to time. Greg Green, site manager

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

***The Roots Is The Toots-The Music That Got The Generation Of ’68 Through The 1950s Red Scare Cold War Night-Elvis' One Night With You -An Encore

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

–With “Joyce D., The Girl With The Faraway Eyes” In Mind

A while back when I was doing a series of scenes, scenes from the hitchhike road in search of the great American West night in the late 1960s, later than the time of Frankie’s early 1960s old working class neighborhood kingly time that I want to tell you about now, I noted that there had been about a thousand truck-stop diner stories left over from those old hitchhike road days. On reflection though, I realized that there really had been about three diner stories with many variations. Not so with Frankie, Frankie from the old neighborhood, stories. I have got a thousand of them, or so it seems, all different. Hey, you already, if you have been attentive to this space, know a few Frankie, Frankie from the old neighborhood, stories (okay, I will stop, or try to, stop using that full designation and just call him plain, old, ordinary, vanilla Frankie just like everybody else).

Yeah you already know the Frankie story (see I told you I could do it) about how he lazily spent a hot late August 1960 summer before entering high school day working his way up the streets of the old neighborhood to get some potato salad (and other stuff too) for his family’s Labor Day picnic. And he got a cameo appearance in the tear-jerk, heart-rendering saga of my first day of high school in that same year where I, vicariously, attempted to overthrow his lordship with the nubiles (girls, for those not from the old neighborhood, although there were plenty of other terms of art to designate the fair sex then, most of them getting their start in local teenage social usage from Frankie’s mouth). That effort, that attempt at coping his “style”, like many things associated with one-of-a-kind Frankie, as it turned out, proved unsuccessful.

More recently I took you in a roundabout way to a Frankie story in a review of a 1985 Roy Orbison concert documentary, Black and White Nights. That story centered around my grinding my teeth whenever I heard Roy’s Running Scared because one of Frankie’s twists (see nubiles above) played the song endlessly to taint the love smitten but extremely jealous Frankie on the old jukebox at the pizza parlor, old Salducci's Pizza Shop, that we used to hang around in during our high school days. It’s that story, that drugstore soda fountain story, that brought forth a bunch of memories about those pizza parlor days and how Frankie, for most of his high school career, was king of the hill at that locale. And king, king arbiter, of the social doings of those around him as well.

And who was Frankie? Frankie of a thousand stories, Frankie of a thousand treacheries, Frankie of a thousand kindnesses, and, oh yeah, Frankie, my bosom friend in high school. Well let me just steal some sentences from that old August summer walk story and that first day of school saga because really Frankie and I went back to perilous middle school days (a.k.a. junior high days for old-timers) when he saved my bacon more than one time, especially from making a fatal mistake with the frails (see nubiles and twists above). He was, maybe, just a prince then working his way up to kingship. But even he, as he endlessly told me that summer before high school, August humidity doldrums or not, was along with the sweat on his brow from the heat a little bit anxious about being “little fish in a big pond” freshmen come that 1960 September.

Especially, a pseudo-beatnik “little fish”. See, he had cultivated a certain, well, let’s call it "style" over there at the middle school. That “style” involved a total disdain for everything, everything except trying to impress girls with his long-panted, flannel-shirted, work boot-shod, thick book-carrying knowledge of every arcane fact known to humankind. Like that really was the way to impress teenage girls, then or now. Well, as it turned out, yes it was. Frankie right. In any case he was worried, worried sick at times, that in such a big school his “style” needed upgrading. Let’s not even get into that story, the Frankie part of it now, or maybe, ever. We survived high school, okay.

But see, that is why, the Frankie why, the why of my push for the throne, the kingship throne, when I entered high school and that old Frankie was grooming himself for like it was his by divine right. When the deal went down and I knew I was going to the “bigs” (high school) I spent that summer, reading, big time booked-devoured reading. Hey, I'll say I did, The Communist Manifesto, that one just because old Willie Westhaven over at the middle school (junior high, okay) called me a Bolshevik when I answered one of his foolish math questions in a surly manner. I told you before that was my pose, my Frankie-engineered pose. I just wanted to see what he, old Willie, was talking about when he used that word. How about Democracy in America (by a French guy), The Age of Jackson (by a Harvard professor who knew idol Jack Kennedy, personally, and was crazy for old-time guys like Jackson), and Catcher In The Rye (Holden was me, me to a tee). Okay, okay I won’t keep going on but that was just the reading on the hot days when I didn’t want to go out. There was more.

Here's what was behind the why. I intended, and I swear I intended to even on the first nothing doing day of that new school year in that new school in that new decade (1960) to beat old Frankie, old book-toting, mad monk, girl-chasing Frankie, who knew every arcane fact that mankind had produced and had told it to every girl who would listen for two minutes (maybe less) in that eternal struggle, the boy meets girl struggle, at his own game. Yes, Frankie, my buddy of buddies, prince among men (well, boys, anyhow) who kindly navigated me through the tough, murderous parts of junior high, mercifully concluded, finished and done with, praise be, and didn’t think twice about it. He, you see, despite, everything I said a minute ago he was “in.”; that arcane knowledge stuff worked with the “ins” who counted, worked, at least a little, and I got dragged in his wake. I always got dragged in his wake, including as lord chamberlain in his pizza parlor kingdom. What I didn’t know then, wet behind the ears about what was what in life's power struggles, was if you were going to overthrow the king you’d better do it all the way. But, see if I had done that, if I had overthrown him, I wouldn’t have had any Frankie stories to tell you, or help with the frills in the treacherous world of high school social life (see nubiles, frails and twists above. Why don’t we just leave it like this. If you see the name Frankie and a slangy word when you think I am talking about girls that's girls. Okay?)

As I told you in that Roy Orbison review, when Roy was big, big in our beat down around the edges, some days it seemed beat six ways to Sunday working-class neighborhood in the early 1960s, we all used to hang around the town pizza parlor, or one of them anyway, that was also conveniently near our high school as well. Maybe this place was not the best one to sit down and have a family-sized pizza with salad and all the fixings in, complete with family, or if you were fussy about décor but the best tasting pizza, especially if you let it cool for a while and no eat it when it was piping hot right out of the oven.

Moreover, this was the one place where the teen-friendly owner, a big old balding Italian guy, Tonio Salducci, at least he said he was Italian and there were plenty of Italians in our town in those days so I believed him but he really looked Greek or Armenian to me, let us stay in the booths if it wasn’t busy, and we behaved like, well, like respectable teenagers. And this guy, this old Italian guy, blessed Leonardo-like master Tonio, could make us all laugh, even me, when he started to prepare a new pizza and he flour-powdered and rolled the dough out and flipped that sucker in the air about twelve times and about fifteen different ways to stretch it out. Sometimes people would just stand outside in front of the doubled-framed big picture window and watch his handiwork in utter fascination.

Jesus, Tonio could flip that thing. One time, and you know this is true because you probably have your own pizza dough on the ceiling stories, he flipped the sucker so high it stuck to the ceiling, right near the fan on the ceiling, and it might still be there for all I know (the place still is, although not him). But this is how he was cool; he just started up another without making a fuss. Let me tell you about him, Tonio, sometime but right now our business to get on with Frankie, alright.

So there was nothing unusual, and I don’t pretend there is, in just hanging out having a slice of pizza (no onions, please, in case I get might lucky tonight and that certain she comes in, the one that I have been eyeing in school all week until my eyes have become sore, that thin, long blondish-haired girl wearing those cashmere sweaters showing just the right shape, please, please, James Brown, please come in that door), some soft drink (which we called tonic in New England in those days but which you call, uh, soda), usually a locally bottled root beer, and, incessantly dropping nickels, dimes and quarters in the jukebox.

(And that "incessantly" allowed us to stay since we were paying customers with all the rights and dignities that status entailed, unless, of course, they needed our seats). But here is where it all comes together, Frankie and Tonio the pizza guy, from day one, got along like crazy. Frankie, Francis Xavier Riley, map of Ireland, red-headed, fair-skinned, blue-eyed Frankie got along like crazy with Italian guy Tonio. That was remarkable in itself because, truth be told, there was more than one Irish/ Italian ethnic, let me be nice, “dispute” in those days. Usually over “turf”, like kids now, or some other foolish one minute thing or another.

Moreover, and Frankie didn’t tell me this for a while, Frankie, my bosom buddy Frankie, like he was sworn to some Omerta oath, didn’t tell me that Tonio was “connected.” For those who have been in outer space, or led quiet lives, or don’t hang with the hoi polloi that means with the syndicate, the hard guys, the Mafia. If you don’t get it now go down and get the Godfather trilogy and learn a couple of things, anyway. This "connected" stemmed, innocently enough, from the jukebox concession which the hard guys controlled and was a lifeblood of Tonio's teenage-draped business, and not so innocently, from his role as master numbers man (pre-state lottery days, okay) and "bookie" (nobody should have to be told what that is, but just in case, he took bets on horses, dogs, whatever, from the guys around town, including, big time, Frankie's father, who went over the edge betting like some guys fathers' took to drink).

And what this “connected” also meant, this Frankie Tonio-connected meant, was that no Italian guys, no young black engineer-booted, no white rolled-up tee-shirted, no blue denim- dungareed, no wide black-belted, no switchblade-wielding, no-hot-breathed, garlicky young Italian studs were going to mess with one Francis Xavier Riley, his babes (you know what that means, right?), or his associates (that’s mainly me). Or else.

Now, naturally, connected to "the connected" or not, not every young tough in any working class town, not having studied, and studied hard, the sociology of the town, is going to know that some young Irish punk, one kind of "beatnik' Irish punk with all that arcane knowledge in order to chase those skirts and a true vocation for the blarney is going to know that said pizza parlor owner and its “king”, king hell king, are tight. Especially at night, a weekend night, when the booze has flowed freely and that hard-bitten childhood abuse that turned those Italian guys (and Irish guys too) into toughs hits the fore. But they learn, and learn fast.

Okay, you don’t believe me. One night, one Saturday night, one Tonio-working Saturday night (he didn’t always work at night, not Saturday night anyway, because he had a honey, a very good-looking honey too, dark hair, dark laughing eyes, dark secrets she wouldn’t mind sharing as well it looked like to me but I might have been wrong on that) two young toughs came in, Italian toughs from the look of them. This town then , by the way, if you haven’t been made aware of it before is strictly white, mainly Irish and Italian, so any dark guys, are Italian period, not black, Hispanic, Indian, Asian or anything else. Hell, I don’t think those groups even passed through; at least I don’t remember seeing any, except an Arab, once.

So Frankie, your humble observer (although I prefer the more intimate umbrella term "associate" under these circumstances) and one of his squeezes (not his main squeeze, Joanne) were sitting at the king’s table (blue vinyl-seated, white formica table-topped, paper place-setting, condiment-ladened center booth of five, front of double glass window, best jukebox and sound position, no question) splitting a Saturday night whole pizza with all the fixings (it’s getting late, about ten o’clock, and I have given up on that certain long blondish-haired she who said she might meet me so onions anchovies, garlic for all I know don’t matter right now) when these two ruffians come forth and petition (ya, right) for our table. Our filled with pizza, drinks, condiments, odds and ends papery, and the king, his consort (of the evening, I swear I forget which one) and his lord chamberlain.

Since there were at least two other prime front window seats available Frankie denied the petition out of hand. Now in a righteous world this should have been the end of it. But what these hard guys, these guys who looked like they might have had “shivs” (yah, knives, shape knives, for the squeamish out there) and only see two geeky "beatnik" guys and some unremarkable signora do was to start to get loud and menacing (nice word, huh?) toward the king and his court. Menacing enough that Tonio, old pizza dough-to-the-ceiling throwing Tonio, took umbrage (another nice word, right?) and came over to the table very calmly. He called the two gentlemen aside, and talking low and almost into their ears, said some things that we could not hear. All we knew was that about a minute later these two behemoths, these two future candidates for jailbird-dom, were walking, I want to say walking gingerly, but anyway quickly, out the door into the hard face of Saturday night.

We thereafter proceeded to finish our kingly meal, safe in the knowledge that Frankie was indeed king of the pizza parlor night. And also that we knew, now knew in our hearts because Frankie and I talked about it later, that behind every king there was an unseen power. Christ, and I wanted to overthrow Frankie. I must have been crazy as a loon.

***A Tale Of Two Women- The Saga Of Sam Lowell

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

As she sat across the high-back café table at Rummy Jack’s up in Old Hampstead (that’s in New Hampshire not far from where she lived) Melinda Loring, without rancor (or maybe better with controlled rancor, yes, that would be a better way to put the matter) and without malice softly, as was her manner, told Sam Lowell that he had “two women now, whether he liked it or not, whether he recognized the situation or not.” And that short precise statement set the tone for that afternoon, and for the slippery slope downward that brought their affair to an end so that at last notice they had not spoken to each other, had not e-mailed each other in months. But we had better step back in this Melinda-Sam saga before we go forward where those words of Melinda will get more play than one Samuel Lowell, North Adamsville High School Class of 1964 could have imagined when he decided that he wanted in on his class’s 50^th anniversary reunion celebration.

Naturally one does not wind up at Rummy Jack’s having a late lunch with one woman (of that “spoken” two but more on number two later), one old classmate too boot, without some pre-history since this pair had not known each other back in high school (although he had given her many furtive glances in the corridors back then, had made something of a science out of those glance, she just ignored him, was clueless about who he was back then. That however never stopped those furtive glances of his then or later, no way). They had only recently connected via the class website established by the class reunion committee (of which Sam had become a part before he “met” Melinda). That class website “meeting” turned into a frantic furious exchange of e-mails when they found that while had not known each other back then they shared many academic, social, political, literary and personal connections. (Wondering aloud in those frantic e-mails, he had made her laugh with their urgency and once when he said that he hoped they would not run out of cyberspace, why the hell they had not met back then). The frantic e-mails led to frantic cellphone calls (she liked his voice, liked his soft-spoken-ness, he liked her fresh spirit, her organized sense of things) which naturally led to that first date where she called him (prematurely, very prematurely, as it turned out) her “forever” man and he, a little slower on the uptake was smitten with her after the second date. Well first date, second date, forever man, smitten all added up to going under the satin sheets together. All along those fierce devoted weeks (it seemed impossible that they could move so quickly, especially with her since she was organized one of the two). Then the other shoe fell.

See Sam was smitten, but he was also conflicted, was not sure where he wanted the relationship to go. Was not sure he and Melinda had staying power, Hell, was not sure about how he felt about Laura. Laura? Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you the name of the second woman before. Sam had had a long- time relationship with Laura, a companion whom Melinda was aware of and who Sam said to her had become, after having been lovers for a number of years, something like roommates. See they shared a house together down in Whelan (in Massachusetts which is where he lived and which was one of the points of contention between Sam ad Melinda since she wanted him to come up and live with her). Well that explanation is what he gave Melinda to believe but as the Sam-Melinda relationship developed he had confront the fact that he had stronger feelings for Laura than he let on to Melinda.

It does not take a great literary mind, a great knowledge of human psychology, or even a treasure trove of common sense, to know that nothing but trouble was brewing, brewing up a storm that would not subside until there was not common language that Sam and Melinda could speak to each other. Naturally Melinda a woman who had been twice divorced, twice divorced under trying circumstances where she had to initiate the proceedings and wanted only one “forever” man and her to be his forever woman. She had made it clear from the beginning that she was a “one man woman” and that she wanted no fling and no affair but the real deal with all the bells and whistles or nothing (although not married, not that institution which she had had enough of, thank you).

She worked her understanding of their relationship under that strategic imperative all through their few months together, pressing Sam as often as she could about when he was going to leave Laura (at one point suggesting that he just move out of Whelan and get a place of his own if he was not ready to live with her). See she had her plans for Sam and they did not include any kind of three-some (truthfully Sam did not want that either) or some such “modern” arrangement. Sam hemmed and hawed but as he got more interested in Melinda, got a better sense that she would be good for him, got more committed to leaving Laura since they had hit a very serious dry patch in their relationship and he said he was just waiting for an excuse to move on he would have recurring second thoughts. Melinda meanwhile was getting more and more anxious about putting a life for of them together (they after all were not sixteen, although they both laughed that in some ways they were acting like that) and time was an enemy. And that urgency on Melinda’s part brought them to Rummy Jacks’ after they had exchanged a couple of acrimonious e-mails and decided they needed to meet face to face to hash things out, or split if that was in the cards. And hence Melinda’s opening statement.

Sam, when he thought about, thought about it constantly for a while, had never been sure about the what or why of Melinda’s breaking off the affair shortly after that lunch (and after another series of acrimonious e-mails and cellphone calls). Was not sure at all on that subject beyond the tense arguments at the end and one ill-advised e-mail where he proposed that they become “friends” for a while. That bothered him considerable over the next few months while he absent-mindedly speculated that she might had decided to go back with man who she had dropped when she took up with Sam, might have had enough of the drama (as had he), or maybe just got her own version of wet feet but in any case she would at some point not answer his calls, answer his e-mails.

Melinda kept putting him off for a couple of weeks, told Sam they should be apart that long to see if she felt the same after that time and if so would close the whole thing off. But this is what really had (has) Sam more confused than anything because he had actually told Laura he was leaving her for Melinda during this period when Melinda was in the process of dumping him. Fortunately, or so he thought so later, he had hedged his bets with Laura and made that leaving of their joint household conditional on what Melinda’s final decision was to be.

Naturally Laura was not thrilled with Sam behavior. Hell, she was as angry as he had ever seen her since all along he had downplayed his affair with Melinda declaring one night when she confronted him that they were “just friends”). Almost hit him on another night when Sam burst out during one conversation that he had “two women” and unfortunately said it with a certain dramatic flair saying in such a way like “what is a guy to do with such good luck.” She would bring that remark up constantly to him when after Melinda’s decision became final and Sam in a desperate effort to salvage his long-time relationship with Laura and not face the old world alone begged her forgiveness they decided that they would stay together. She would bring the remark up to friends to embarrass him, to make him seem the fool having “left” Laura for, ah, a “never” woman. Made it plain that he only had only had one woman now. Or else.

But see that is where Laura was wrong, where the ghost of Melinda really had the last laugh. After Melinda dumped him he kept constantly thinking about her, tried to unsuccessfully contact her a couple of times before letting the efforts fade out. Still on many lonesome nights when he would be sitting with Laura talking over dinner he would be thinking of Melinda, thinking about how their thing had really been written in the stars after all and that he had made a mistake in not trying desperately to keep her when he had the chance. Would find himself thinking about Melinda in lots of situations and at strange times. Would get kind of swoony, would make up ways in his head about fantasy reconciliations. Yeah, so in the dark of night, some sweaty summer night when he could not sleep Sam knew, knew deep down that he still had “two women,” Melinda still had her hooks in him, and he was still missing his Linny.

***A Tale Of Two Women- The Saga Of Sam Lowell

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

As The 100th Anniversary Of The Beginning of World War I (Remember The War To End All Wars) Starts ... Some Remembrances-Poet’s Corner -Siegfried Sassoon's Glory Of Women

Glory of Women

You love us when we're heroes, home on leave,

Or wounded in a mentionable place.

You worship decorations; you believe

That chivalry redeems the war's disgrace.

You make us shells. You listen with delight,

By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled.

You crown our distant ardours while we fight,

And mourn our laurelled memories when we're killed.

You can't believe that British troops 'retire'

When hell's last horror breaks them, and they run,

Trampling the terrible corpses--blind with blood.

O German mother dreaming by the fire,

While you are knitting socks to send your son

His face is trodden deeper in the mud.

"You Know How To Whistle, Don't You?" Lauren Bacall Passes

Frank Jackman comment;

Bacall and Bogie-You know in To Have And Have Not this pair did some of the sexiest scenes two people could do-with their clothes on. Enough said-RIP

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Funny Man Robin Williams Passes On At 63

Frank Jackman comment:

Robin Williams was not the first, nor will he be the last, to be a walking bundle of human contradictions. Nor the first “celebrity” to create masterful works while living under some unknown (unknown to the audiences anyway) inner turmoils to work through the creative process. Heck, the guy was purely a mad monk high priest funny guy who made me laugh. Made me roar with his portrayal of an Army radio DJ in Good Morning, Vietnam because I ran into guys just like that goof DJ in the service. Hey, bringing laughter to a laughter-starved world, that’s the ticket. That too is a fine epitaph.

Saying Goodbye To Comic Master Robin Williams

https://onpoint.wbur.org/2014/08/12/robin-williams-death-memorial

The Courage To Resist –All Honor To The Heroic Israeli Draft Resisters And Soldier Who Have Refused To Take Part In The Bloodbath In Gaza

Frank Jackman comment:

A number of members of Veterans For Peace, an organization of veterans of the American government’s imperial adventures, now made up mostly of Vietnam War veterans as veterans of earlier wars pass on but increasingly veterans of the Iraq and Afghan campaigns, learned the hard way, and too late, like myself, that one could refuse to comply with the government draft and military campaign orders. We have come to appreciate the great courage that it takes to buck one’s government, one’s neighbors, one’s friends when the war drums beat out the marching orders and you are expected to join in lockstep. We salute those brothers and sisters in Israel who have either refused induction in the military or have refused to take part in the bloodbath in Gaza. One day when we live in a more peaceful world those sacrifices will find a well-deserved place of honor. Presente!!!

***********

Support Palestinian and Israeli war refusers

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11 Aug 2014 — HBrock

Related peace activists:

War Resisters' International supports nonviolent resisters in Palestine and Israel. We are in solidarity with conscientious objectors and those who refuse to participate in the Israeli army. Conscription is active in Israel for women and men, for Jewish Israelis and Palestinian Druze. As well as conscripting full-time recruits, reservists are also enlisted after their mandatory military service has ended. Many reservists have been drafted in 'Operation Protective Edge', the Israeli military assault on Gaza.
If you are subject to compulsory military service in Israel, and do not want to go, contact New Profile.

What you can do to support war resisters in Palestine and Israel

Disseminate the statement 'We are Israeli reservists. We refuse to serve.' (published 23 July 2014)
Send an email protesting the imprisonment of conscientious objector Udi Segal here.
Sign up to receive WRI's CO-Alerts. You will receive an email when conscientious objectors around the world are imprisoned or punished. You will be able to send an email to protest their persecution to the governments / authorities responsible
Read and distribute statement from WRI's Assembly WRI statement on the present Israeli assault on Gaza

News

Udi Segal, one of the 130 conscientious objectors who declared their refusal in a letter to the Israeli Prime Minister, was imprisoned on 28th July. Send an email protesting the imprisonment of conscientious objector Udi Segal here.
Listen to Udi explaining why he will not join the Israeli military:

Uriel Ferera, a conscientious objector in Israel, is in a cycle of call up to the military, imprisonment for refusal, and release. This video was taken at a support rally for Uriel outside the military prison that he is incarcerated in

In the film you will see Omar Sa'ad, a Druze Palestinian war refuser who was imprisoned six consecutive times for refusal to join the military.

Links

Check New Profile, WRI's affiliate in Israel, for news of conscientious objectors in Israel. Our Palestinian section, Jenin Creative Cultural Centre, can be contacted through their website. On facebook, Conscientious objectors against the occupation, Refusal to serve in the IDF are good sources of information on new refusers.
WRI affiliate Women Peacemakers Program have released a statement on violence in Gaza.
The European Network Against Arms Trade (ENAAT), in which WRI is involved, has released a statement calling on the European Union to end its military support for Israel.

The Courage To Resist –All Honor To The Heroic Israeli Draft Resisters And Soldier Who Have Refused To Take Part In The Bloodbath In Gaza

Frank Jackman comment:

Resistance Is Not Futile Wednesday, 06 August 2014 10:51 By Rory Fanning, Truthout | Op-Ed

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Udi Segal, a 19-year-old Israeli from Kibbutz Tuval in north Israel, was sent to jail for refusing to enlist in the Israeli military. (Screengrab via Vimeo)The numbers are small, but there are Israeli military resisters actively fighting the occupation of Palestine within the borders of Israel. These draft age teenagers face enormous pressure from their government, family and peers to perpetuate state racism and the siege of the occupied territories. Despite the pressure, these brave Israelis adhere to their conscience and stand for justice in a society that increasingly rejects it. In addition to supporting the boycott, divestment and sanctions movement, resisting the Israeli occupation of Palestine from outside Israel involves standing in solidarity with those Israelis who find the courage to say, "I refuse." It is also the responsibility of US conscientious objectors like myself, to see the struggle of Israeli military resisters as part of our own struggle against US imperialism here at home.
Udi Segal, a 19-year-old Israeli from Kibbutz Tuval in north Israel, was sent to jail last week for refusing to enlist in the Israeli military. Segal is tall and skinny, with intense, blue eyes and a long angular face. In an interview with +972 Magazine, his last before being sent to jail, he appeared composed and resolute in his decision, despite his confessed fear of his imminent jail sentence.
"We are using refusal as a tool against the occupation, to end the occupation," Segal said. He was referring to 50 other sarvanim - Hebrew for "refuseniks" - who are members of the group Breaking the Silence, that wrote a letter to Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu in early March 2014. In the letter, they expressed their collective "opposition to the military occupation of Palestinian territories," where "human rights are violated, and acts defined under international law as war-crimes are perpetuated on a daily basis." There are now over 130 signatories to the letter, according to Segal.
Segel revealed more about his decision in a prior interview, where he said he refuses to serve not only because of the Israeli occupation of Palestine, but because the military supports a nationalist and capitalist system which benefits only a few at the expense of the majority. Segel called on other "soldiers and reservists to refuse orders and not participate in the massacre."
Segal went to a mixed Jewish-Palestinian grade school and Israeli public high school. He said the transition from grade school to high school was difficult. His high school in Kibbutz Tuval has one of the highest percentages of graduates in the country who go on to enlist as combat troops in the IDF. His decision to refuse service was met with silence by his friends and harassment by his peers.
When asked how he felt about conscientiously objecting during Operation Protective Edge, Segal said, "I think that in these times, as the government and the media attempt to silence any critical voice that deviates even slightly from the belligerent mainstream, I think now, specifically, it is important not only to refuse, but to act against the occupation. Especially now when the destructive results of the occupation can be seen on TV right before our eyes."
According to +972 Magazine, when Segal reported to the draft office last week to declare his intentions, he was greeted by chants: "Go to Gaza! You're all traitors! Gaza is a cemetery! Go get f**ked in the a**!" He was also told that this was his "gay coming out party," and was called a "son of a whore," in front of his mother who was there with him. This response to Segal is revealing, particularly in light of Israel's claims that it is a "haven for the LGBTQ community."
Israel requires all citizens with the exceptions of Palestinians and Orthodox Jewish women to serve in the IDF. Men are required to serve three years, and women must serve two. Like the conscription requirements during the Vietnam era in the United States, Israelis can dodge the draft if they are enrolled in higher education.
Refuseniks are rare in Israel: There are only a handful each year, which is a testament to the high levels of propaganda Israelis are fed and the pressure they face to defend militarism in a country with a mandatory draft. Yonatan Shapira, a former Israeli captain and Air Force pilot, was one of the organizers of a 2003 letter signed by 27 Air Force pilots who refused to participate in Israeli military operations against Palestinians. In an interview with Democracy Now! Shapira said:

Today, we are a minority of a minority of activists in Israel. Of course there are more and more people, but we are still a very, very small minority. We have people that are going to jail. I have a friend who is going to jail for refusing to enlist with the army. . . . But overall, there is a disease in my country, and the disease is spreading very fast, and it's called fascism and racism. Fascism and racism is now the biggest threat of the Jewish people in the Middle East.

The Israeli government distinguishes between pacifists who reject the use of force for any reason and those with "selective conscience," or those who specifically refuse to fight because of the occupation in Palestine. The latter are treated much more severely and are more likely to receive a prison sentence.
We know that not all war resisters come to full consciousness of war, empire and occupation - which is why we should stand with all who resist war in the name of peace and justice, even as they sort out their sometimes contradictory rationales. Nevertheless, we can glean much from the way Israel distinguishes between mere pacifists and resisters who vocally oppose the occupation of Palestine in solidarity with the occupied.
Uriel Ferera, a 19-year-old student and social activist, with Orthodox sidelocks dangling below his ears, was jailed in May for refusing to enlist because of his objection to Israel's treatment of Palestinians.
After being released from prison (he expects to be sent back again soon) Ferera said:

Prison was difficult for me. They isolated me. The other prisoners didn't know why I was in here, and I didn't receive any letters - they probably didn't want me to know about all the support on the outside.
I didn't want to put on a [prison] uniform even though they yelled at me for "putting on a show." I couldn't stand up and began shaking; the only thing I could do was pray and recite from the Book of Psalms by heart. Despite everything, I didn't stop praying. They laughed at me. They claimed that God won't hear me because he was too busy to get me out of there. There I realized that if they are able to humiliate a Jewish person like them, one can only imagine what they do to Palestinian teenagers in the occupied territories.

There are a few organizations in Israel that support such refusers: New Profile is a leading organization and movement of feminists inside Israel struggling to demilitarize the country and end the occupation of Palestine. The group was formed following the second intifada in 2000, when 500 Palestinian and Jewish citizens of Israel stood united on the Wadi Road, where only a few weeks prior Israeli soldiers killed a group of Palestinians. The group of feminists marched despite warnings from Israeli officials who claimed the area was dangerous. Not a single Hebrew or English-language media outlet covered the protest. Through 2006, the group organized at least a dozen marches where thousands of Israelis and Palestinians took to the streets to protest the occupation and militarized Israel. The media turned a blind eye to every march.
In Israel the most vocal critics of the occupation have been feminists. New Profile realizes that liberating women in a militarized Israeli society is directly connected to the liberation of all Palestinians. Thus women aspiring to refuse conscription turn to New Profile to gain the confidence to move forward with their decision. You can support and learn more about the group here.
Yesh Gvul was established in 1982 in response to the Israeli invasion of Lebanon. According to their website, Yesh Gvul was created as a result of "growing numbers of soldiers [who] grasped that the campaign, with its bloodshed and havoc, was an act of naked and futile aggression in which they wanted no part." In 1982, 168 Israelis were jailed for refusing to invade Lebanon. The actual number of refusals was much greater, but the Israeli government hid these numbers out of fear of giving the resisters a platform that would inspire other Israelis to reject military service.
Yesh Gvul counsels soldiers who are struggling with the possibility of becoming a war resister. Those who do conscientiously object get moral and financial support. The group also holds vigils at the military prisons where the soldiers are held. On their Facebook page, they report on the often-muted stories of draft age Israeli men and women who reject service in the IDF.
Courage to Refuse is another Israeli organization that supports military resisters. The group was formed in 2002 after 51 soldiers and reserve officers drafted a letter that decried the Israeli occupation of Palestine. The letter was run in the Israeli daily Haaretz and would become known as "The Combatants Letter." By 2005, the number of signatories of "The Combatants Letter" had reached over 600. The founders of the group said they would always refuse to participate in any military action outside of the borders that existed prior to the 1967 Six-Day War. "We shall not continue to fight beyond the 1967 borders in order to dominate, expel, starve and humiliate an entire people. We hereby declare that we shall continue serving in the Israel Defense Forces in any mission that serves Israel's defense. The missions of occupation and oppression do not serve this purpose - and we shall take no part in them."
Breaking the Silence, the organization that drafted the letter that Udi Segal signed, also supports Israeli military resisters. The members of this group served in the Israeli military since the start of the second intifada in 2000. Their mission is to explain the brutal conditions the Palestinians are living under in the occupied territories, conditions the soldiers have witnessed firsthand, to the Israeli public. They have over 100,000 followers on Facebook.
The US government subsidizes the Israeli military with more than $3 billon in aid each year. The occupation of Palestine and the recent massacres in Gaza would not be possible without US support. As a former member of the US Army Rangers, I can personally attest that the US military trains with and greatly admires Israeli soldiers. Israeli soldiers have gotten so good at door-to-door combat that the US military flies troops to Israel to learn from soldiers in the IDF.
We know that ending war is possible. The Vietnam War came to an end as a result of the anti-war movement at home and abroad, the resistance of the Vietnamese, and US soldiers refusing to fight. As we struggle to end the Israeli occupation of Palestine we look to the boycott, divestment, and sanctions movement, and the resistance inside Palestine. What we need is large numbers of Israeli soldiers to put down their weapons the way US soldiers eventually did in Vietnam. This is why we should raise up and support the small minority of Israelis who do resist.
US soldiers who oppose occupation and colonialism, and stand for human rights and self-determination, should refuse to train with Israeli soldiers. There needs to be a broader realization that the occupation of Palestine in Israel is much the same as the US occupation of Afghanistan or Iraq. If we hope to stop these horrific massacres, endless occupations and the slow death of those living in occupied territories and countries, we must join together with Israeli soldiers who refuse to fight.

Defend The Palestinian People!- No U.S. Aid To Israel!- Down With U.S. Imperialism- No U.S. Aid To Egypt!- End The Blockade Of Gaza!-All Zionist Troops And Settlers Out Of The West Bank And East Jerusalem!

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