Monday, February 23, 2015


Out In The Black Liberation Night- The Black Panthers And The Struggle For The Ten-Point Program- Eight –No More Jail Cells   



Jesus, how did he, let’s leave him nameless at his request but his story is legion, legion in black ghetto America and brown Latino barrio America too ever since Mister and his damn cop justice system decided to go after drugs, small change drugs really, get caught up in the dragnet this time, just as he was starting to get things in his life under control, a little. His teenage years had been one hell after another once his father left, left rolling stone left with some woman not his mother and was down south somewhere according to his paternal grandmother and his mother had taken up, undivided attention taken up, with some Johnny Blade (not a bad guy really but not his father, no way, not a guy to talk to about his troubles since as he made plain his undivided attention was to his mother).

First thing was that first “clip” bust at thirteen (laughable when he thought about it now, some damn onyx ring, snagged under his shirt so cool he thought from over at Mister Earl’s  junk jewelry two- bit joint, a two-bit joint which had been in the neighborhood for as long as anybody could remember, even his grandmother over on Warren,  now with a big old monitor cruising the premises, that he just had to have for Shara’ s Valentine present, long gone and now forgotten Shara), then a couple more small robbery, burglary things (stealthy midnight creeps through back alleys and shimmied windows in the neighborhood apartments, close to home stealing ), then dropping out of school (that too to spent time with some Shara, although that was not her name, name now not remembered), then a “go to jail or go to the army, or else” thing from the that old whitebread judge who thought he was doing him a favor, getting him out of the hard streets harms’ way when he and two other confederates (who took the time, and had been taking time ever since for one thing or another) did one too many midnight creeps.  

The judge favor turned out being that he had two little purple hearts from two- tour Iraq courtesy of Saddam Hussein’s boys, or somebody nasty in Baghdad. Then back to the streets the down streets of Boston, really Roxbury, you know around Washington Street and Geneva his old home turf and its change from just a neighborhood, the ‘hood of child remembrance to something else, a free-fire zone of a different kind.           

And you know too that a guy, a black guy, even a purple heart black guy, without any real education, without some serviceable skill (nothing but a damn 11-Bravo to tout, nothing), and without some luck, real luck was up against it, up against it when the cops were always looking you up and down for just walking since he got back to the “real world” (he had been eye-balled and stopped twice right after he got back from Iraq and hell he was in uniform one time and they could see the damn purple hearts). So, you know, he took up “the life” again, the life this time meaning no small time Mr. Earl cheap jack jewel clips and midnight creep robberies (kids’ stuff) but working his way up the chain in the burgeoning local drug scene.

And he was doing okay for a while until one night they, and you know who the “they” was, came smashing down the door at the safe house over on Norfolk (somebody had snitched, somebody not alive right now if you want to know) and he was taken in. He did a year at South Bay for that one. It was there that he got “religion.” No, not some damn Black Muslim thing, or god holy roller thing, jesus, no, but, you know, wise to the hard fact that if he was going to make thirty (a milestone for a young black man according to some stuff he read from some report some foundation did while he was in and reading a magazine from the library after GED classes were over one day) his life flow was going against that prospect. And so he changed, changed a little, got a job through the VA, not much of a job, but steady, a short order cook and was moving along. Then this night of all nights he decided that he wanted to see a friend, not being exactly sure why but maybe a little wobbly on that straight and narrow,  from the old neighborhood, yes, bad move, the guy he visited related to the drug trade and he was just present when they came storming in. Thirty ain’t looking so good tonight…      

The original "Ten Point Program" from October, 1966 was as follows:[39][40]

 

1. We want freedom. We want power to determine the destiny of our black Community.

We believe that black people will not be free until we are able to determine our destiny.

 

2. We want full employment for our people.

We believe that the federal government is responsible and obligated to give every man employment or a guaranteed income. We believe that if the white American businessmen will not give full employment, then the means of production should be taken from the businessmen and placed in the community so that the people of the community can organize and employ all of its people and give a high standard of living.

 

3. We want an end to the robbery by the white man of our black Community.

We believe that this racist government has robbed us and now we are demanding the overdue debt of forty acres and two mules. Forty acres and two mules was promised 100 years ago as restitution for slave labor and mass murder of black people. We will accept the payment as currency which will be distributed to our many communities. The Germans are now aiding the Jews in Israel for the genocide of the Jewish people. The Germans murdered six million Jews. The American racist has taken part in the slaughter of over 50 million black people; therefore, we feel that this is a modest demand that we make.

 

4. We want decent housing, fit for shelter of human beings.

We believe that if the white landlords will not give decent housing to our black community, then the housing and the land should be made into cooperatives so that our community, with government aid, can build and make decent housing for its people.

 

5. We want education for our people that exposes the true nature of this decadent American society. We want education that teaches us our true history and our role in the present-day society.

 

We believe in an educational system that will give to our people a knowledge of self. If a man does not have knowledge of himself and his position in society and the world, then he has little chance to relate to anything else.

 

6. We want all black men to be exempt from military service.

 

We believe that black people should not be forced to fight in the military service to defend a racist government that does not protect us. We will not fight and kill other people of color in the world who, like black people, are being victimized by the white racist government of America. We will protect ourselves from the force and violence of the racist police and the racist military, by whatever means necessary.

 

7. We want an immediate end to POLICE BRUTALITY and MURDER of black people.

We believe we can end police brutality in our black community by organizing black self-defense groups that are dedicated to defending our black community from racist police oppression and brutality. The Second Amendment to the Constitution of the United States gives a right to bear arms. We therefore believe that all black people should arm themselves for self defense.

 

8. We want freedom for all black men held in federal, state, county and city prisons and jails.

We believe that all black people should be released from the many jails and prisons because they have not received a fair and impartial trial.

 

9. We want all black people when brought to trial to be tried in court by a jury of their peer group or people from their black communities, as defined by the Constitution of the United States.

 

We believe that the courts should follow the United States Constitution so that black people will receive fair trials. The 14th Amendment of the U.S. Constitution gives a man a right to be tried by his peer group. A peer is a person from a similar economic, social, religious, geographical, environmental, historical and racial background. To do this the court will be forced to select a jury from the black community from which the black defendant came. We have been, and are being tried by all-white juries that have no understanding of the "average reasoning man" of the black community.

 

10. We want land, bread, housing, education, clothing, justice and peace. And as our major political objective, a United Nations-supervised plebiscite to be held throughout the black colony in which only black colonial subjects will be allowed to participate for the purpose of determining the will of black people as to their national destiny.

 

When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume, among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

 

We hold these truths to be self- evident, that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That, to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed; that, whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute a new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly, all experience hath shown, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But, when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariable the same object, evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security.
Free Sundiata Acoli! Hands Off Assata Shakur!




Workers Vanguard No. 1061
 















6 February 2015
 
Free Sundiata Acoli!
(Class-Struggle Defense Notes)
 
The grotesque vindictiveness of the racist rulers against the courageous black radicals who joined the Black Panther Party decades ago knows no bounds. Like so many other militants, Sundiata Acoli was railroaded to prison, together with Assata Shakur (see “Hands Off Assata Shakur!” WV No. 1059, January 9). The two were framed up for killing a cop following a 1973 ambush by New Jersey state troopers, during which one of the cops died from his own revolver’s bullet. While Shakur escaped prison hell in 1979 and fled to Cuba, where she still resides, Acoli has been in prison for over 40 years.
Last September 29, a judicial panel ordered that Acoli—now 77 years old—be released on parole, reversing a 2011 parole board decision. In its order, the court noted that the parole board had “acted arbitrarily and capriciously” by dismissing evidence favorable to Acoli and ignoring positive psychological test results. Over the years, Acoli’s parole had been denied repeatedly on the basis of his radical political views and activities.
Acoli still rots in an American dungeon. Immediately after the court ruling, the New Jersey State attorney general and the parole board announced plans to appeal it, indefinitely postponing Acoli’s release. The Partisan Defense Committee demands: Freedom for Sundiata Acoli, now!
Greetings from the Class-War Prisoners-Partisan Defense Committee


Workers Vanguard No. 1061
 





6 February 2015
 
Greetings from the Class-War Prisoners
(Class-Struggle Defense Notes)
 

Many of the class-war prisoner stipend recipients wrote greetings to the PDC Holiday Appeal fundraisers, where they were displayed. We print below excerpts from some of those greetings, noting with sadness that MOVE member Phil Africa died on January 10.
Phil Africa
29 November 2014
I hope all are doing well and staying strong out there like I know yall are. Family & self are also all doing strong thanks to JOHN AFRICA. I just wanted to send a short greeting to let everyone know that we in THE MOVE ORGANIZATION sincerely appreciate all the hard work yall continuously do year round and for every one. From backing the dock workers who refuse to load or unload materials for this systems war machines, to giving a voice to the teachers who are gravely under paid and still give their all to teaching the children of the masses. Then there are the average workers who have to fight just to get a raise in the minimum wage so that they can care for families, while this empire spends billions of tax dollars on their war machine aimed at world domination! I use many of the Workers Vanguard & other PDC publications to help open the eyes of those behind these walls who are still blind to the crimes this system is guilty of and commits against them daily. MOVE understands the energy, the commitment it takes to be on the front line of struggle 24-7 and we give you all our “On The Move!” for the effort yall put into doing that work.
Jaan Laaman
[audio greeting]
3 December 2014
I am sending you these greetings from out here in the Sonoran Desert, at the US penitentiary in Tucson.
I am glad I can join with all of you at these events, even with just these words. I’d certainly love to be sitting there next to you, listening and participating. The PDC’s work, its solidarity and support for U.S. political prisoners, is significant and necessary. Each of you here tonight, your support for this work, your solidarity with those of us behind the walls, is important and we welcome your solidarity.
This past year the PDC increased the material support it sends and I will say, this has been a real help in my day to day life.
The killing of Michael Brown in Ferguson has fired up the issue of killer cops and government repression across the country. We may be, and I hope we are, witnessing the emergence of a new mass movement of popular resistance. The PDC, with its 29 year history of struggle against cops, the klan, prisons and more, is in a good position to participate and offer some insight and advice to this present activism.
Before I conclude, let me remind everyone to check out 4strugglemag, at www.4strugglemag.org, which is the primary voice of political prisoners in the U.S. Issue 24 is up now—we also print hard copies. 4SM will be going to a new print schedule (twice a year) in 2015, but we will be increasing our online editions.
Hugo Pinell
17 November 2014
Warm greetings, best of love and health. Since my last open statement to you, in Nov. of 2013, I was transferred to this SHU in New Folsom, in Jan. of 2014. For me, this place is better because it is closer to the Bay Area and it is easier for my mom, my daughter, my family and other true loved ones to visit with me on a more regular basis. The visits remain non-contact, but it is a true blessing to have my mom alive still, able to visit often as she has done for the 50 years I’ve been in the Calif. Department of Corrections.
I appeared before the parole board, in May, and they denied me 5 more years which shocked and hurt me deeply because I really expected to be released immediately or in one year. It’s been harder to shake these hurt feelings but, aside from the beautiful and powerful energies I receive from those above mentioned, I must also include your loving and caring energies, along with those from the Partisan Committee, for you have been with me for the last 28 years, and I use this tremendous force to stay healthy, all around, and to keep on pushing, growing, and enhancing the qualities of the new man I started building decades ago, when I joined the liberation movement. So, I’m doing and feeling better.
Ed Poindexter
17 November 2014
I turned 70 on November 1, and it reminded me that the PDC has been an avid and generous support for a number of years. Decades, in fact.
As my mental processes begin to slow down a tad, I still remain convinced that I can make a difference in this world. And I also remember who has been in my corner, and I extend my heartfelt gratitude for your continued support.
Oakland-Drop All Charges Against Black Friday 14!




Workers Vanguard No. 1061
 





















6 February 2015
 
Oakland-Drop All Charges Against Black Friday 14!
 
(Class-Struggle Defense Notes)
 
We print below a letter from the Partisan Defense Committee protesting the charges against 14 black activists who were arrested for temporarily stopping Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) trains at the West Oakland station. The action was part of nationwide protests on Black Friday against the non-indictment of the Ferguson cop who gunned down Michael Brown in broad daylight.
Hundreds, including representatives of the unions that organize BART workers, came out to a BART Board of Directors meeting on January 22 to demand that the charges be dropped. A supporter of the PDC read from a letter he had sent to the San Francisco Chronicle. Exposing BART management’s cynical claim that by going after the protesters they were protecting riders from “potentially dangerous actions,” the letter pointed to the coldblooded execution of a 22-year-old black man, Oscar Grant, by a BART cop on New Year’s Day 2009. It also raised the death of two of management’s own scabs, killed by a scab-operated train during the bosses’ offensive against the 2013 BART strike.
The Black Friday 14 are calling for people to rally outside their next court appearance—scheduled for 8:15 a.m. on February 4, at 661 Washington St. in Oakland—as well as at the February 12 BART Board of Directors meeting.
*   *   *
The Partisan Defense Committee demands an end to the vindictive prosecution of the Black Friday 14 who are being dragged through the court for participating in a November 28 protest at the West Oakland BART Station against police killings of black people. Outrageously, in addition to the charges of criminal trespass, these protesters also face having to pay up to $70,000 in “retribution” to BART management.
Tens of thousands of people across the U.S. have rallied in opposition to racist cop terror. Like the state’s witchhunt against demonstrators in New York City, the transparent purpose of the charges against the Black Friday 14 is an attempt to intimidate and silence any protest against rampant police repression. We demand that all the charges be dropped as well as efforts to extort tens of thousands of dollars in payment to BART management.
In Memory of Samiya (Goldii) Davis Abdullah-Mumia-Abu-Jamal's Daughter 



Workers Vanguard No. 1061
 



6 February 2015
 
In Memory of Samiya (Goldii) Davis Abdullah
(Class-Struggle Defense Notes)
 
It is with sadness that we inform our readers of the untimely death on December 17 of 36-year-old Samiya Abdullah after a protracted struggle with cancer. She was the daughter of Mumia Abu-Jamal, America’s foremost political prisoner, who has been incarcerated since he was framed up for the shooting death of a Philadelphia cop in 1981, when Samiya was just two years old. Samiya was a fighter for her father’s freedom. In a moving tribute, Mumia observed:
“For most of the activist world she was Goldii, a rapper and activist whose sweet voice could strike like bricks when she cracked into rap or sang a song. To us she was Sami, short for Samiya, a brilliant, sparkling young woman who never ceased to surprise us. She was many things: daughter, mother, student, activist, artist, orator, rapper, graduate and more. To us she was the baby, the youngest, and as such she had a special shine.”
— “Samiya Abdullah Makes Transition” by Mumia Abu-Jamal, 19 December 2014 (transcribed from Prison Radio)
He also spoke of Samiya’s incredible fortitude in graduating with a master’s degree while undergoing wrenching cancer treatment.
The PDC has sent a donation to Mumia’s wife Wadiya to help with expenses at this terrible time. Readers who want to assist the family in caring for Goldii’s two young daughters can send donations made payable to Wadiya Jamal to: P.O. Box 19404, Kingsessing Postal Station, Philadelphia, PA 19143-9998.
Free All Class-War Prisoners!-29th Annual Holiday Appeal-Partisan Defense Committee 





Workers Vanguard No. 1061
 






















6 February 2015
 
Free All Class-War Prisoners!
29th Annual Holiday Appeal
(Class-Struggle Defense Notes)
 
The Partisan Defense Committee’s 29th annual Holiday Appeal events raised many thousands of dollars to sustain the monthly stipend program for 15 class-war prisoners and provide holiday gifts to them and their families. Held over the last two months, fundraisers in Oakland, Chicago and New York, and smaller gatherings in Los Angeles and Toronto, drew longtime PDC supporters, youth activists and trade unionists. Notably, scores of workers in the Bay Area snapped up tickets to the Oakland fundraiser, while in Chicago the United Auto Workers civil rights committee presented a check to the PDC at that union body’s Martin Luther King Jr. tribute dinner.
The Holiday Appeal took place following the nationwide outpouring of protest against racist cop terror touched off by the refusal of grand juries to indict the cops who killed Eric Garner in New York and Michael Brown in Missouri. The Bay Area fundraiser was attended by a representative of the Black Friday 14, a group arrested while protesting the exoneration of Brown’s killer on November 28. Those activists had briefly stopped Bay Area Rapid Transit trains between San Francisco and Oakland (see page 9).
With the stipend program, which began in 1986, the PDC regularly sends money to the class-war prisoners, men and women locked up for their opposition to racist capitalist tyranny. The $50 monthly stipends are not charity but basic acts of working-class solidarity, a reminder to the class-war prisoners that they are not forgotten. The prisoners use these funds to buy basic necessities like food, or to pursue literary and artistic endeavors that help ameliorate the living hell of prison life.
The class-war prisoners have spent decades behind bars, singled out for standing up to the system of exploitation and oppression. Mumia Abu-Jamal spent three decades on death row, and now remains condemned to life in prison without parole. A former Black Panther Party spokesman, supporter of the MOVE organization and award-winning journalist known as “the voice of the voiceless,” Mumia was framed up for the 1981 killing of a Philadelphia police officer.
Other class-war prisoners include Leonard Peltier, the American Indian Movement activist framed up in the 1975 killing of two FBI agents, and Albert Woodfox, who has languished in solitary confinement for decades in retaliation for organizing a Black Panther Party chapter in Louisiana’s Angola prison and fighting the wretched conditions there. Jaan Laaman and Thomas Manning were part of the Ohio 7, a radical group that took credit for bank “expropriations” and bombings of symbols of U.S. imperialism in the late 1970s and ’80s. Ed Poindexter and Wopashitwe Mondo Eyen we Langa were leaders of the Omaha National Committee to Combat Fascism. Like so many other former Black Panther supporters, the two were targets of the FBI’s deadly COINTELPRO program, which left 38 Panthers dead.
Hugo Pinell, the last of the San Quentin 6 still in prison, is a militant anti-racist activist who led struggles for prisoner rights. A year ago, he was transferred from Pelican Bay solitary, where hunger strikes drew attention to the torture of such isolation. His daughter, Allegra Taylor, read a letter from Pinell to the Oakland Holiday Appeal (see page 9), and concluded: “It is my dad’s wish that every solitary confinement unit throughout the world, not just the state of California, be shut down.”
Several of the class-war prisoners took note of the recent anti-police brutality protests in their letters to the Holiday Appeal. Spartacist League and Spartacus Youth Club speakers at the events linked the struggles of the prisoners with those of today, seeking to educate a new generation of fighters in the lessons of the past. Above all is the vital precept that the capitalist state, with its repressive machinery of the police, courts and prisons, cannot be reformed to serve the interests of working people.
The PDC is guided by the class-struggle defense work of the International Labor Defense (ILD) of James P. Cannon, who went on to become a founder of American Trotskyism, in the 1920s. The ILD’s stipend program initially included over 100 class-war prisoners. Among them were California labor leaders Tom Mooney and Warren Billings, framed up for a bombing at the Preparedness Day parade in San Francisco during World War I in 1916, and Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti, immigrant anarchist workers executed in 1927 for a robbery/murder they did not commit. The list of ILD stipend recipients grew rapidly to include striking Passaic textile workers, as well as Illinois miners whose fights with the bosses over wages pitted them head-on against the KKK.
The prisoners in the PDC program are drawn heavily from the ranks of fighters against racial oppression, which is woven into the social fabric of this capitalist society. The PDC is prepared to defend, as was Cannon’s ILD before it, “any member of the workers movement, regardless of his views, who suffered persecution by the capitalist courts because of his activities or his opinion” (Cannon, First Ten Years of American Communism, 1962). Affiliated to the early Communist Party, the ILD fused the militant traditions of the Industrial Workers of the World (that popularized the injunction “An injury to one is an injury to all!”) with the internationalism of the 1917 Bolshevik Revolution. That revolution was made not just for Russian workers but for the workers and the oppressed of the entire world.
We stand unconditionally on the side of working people and their allies in struggle against capitalist savagery. As the SL speaker Marianne Clemens observed at the Oakland fundraiser: “The fight to defend these heroic class-war prisoners is integral to the fight to overthrow capital. In the end, our work links them with the struggle to forge the multiracial revolutionary Leninist party that can lead the workers to victory, open the prison doors and uproot this rotten, death-dealing capitalist system once and for all.”
With sorrow and bitterness, we reported in WV No. 1060 (23 January) that Phil Africa, a longtime stipend recipient, died at the State Correctional Institution in Dallas, Pennsylvania, on January 10. Phil had been incarcerated since he was framed up, along with eight other MOVE family members, for the killing of a Philadelphia police officer during the 1978 cop siege of MOVE’s Powelton Village home. We will keep Phil’s memory alive by continuing to fight for all class-war prisoners.
We were honored to welcome Lynne Stewart as a speaker at the New York Holiday Appeal on January 24. A leftist attorney who had for over three decades defended Black Panthers, left radicals and many others reviled by the capitalist state, Stewart herself was imprisoned in 2009, the victim of a “war on terror” show trial. She was convicted of giving material support to terrorism because she had communicated a client’s views to Reuters news service. That client was a blind Egyptian Islamic fundamentalist cleric who had been convicted in an alleged plot to blow up New York City landmarks in the early 1990s. Her conviction set a precedent for tearing up the basic right to counsel.
Diagnosed with terminal Stage IV breast cancer, Stewart had her sentence vindictively quadrupled at the instigation of the Obama administration. The 75-year-old Stewart remained unbowed and was finally granted a compassionate release from a federal prison hospital in Texas at the end of 2013. While in prison, she was a stipend recipient. Her husband Ralph Poynter, who joined her at the event this year, frequently spoke to her case at past Holiday Appeals. Her remarks at this year’s event are excerpted below, along with those of SL and SYC representatives.
To support the work of the PDC, send your contributions to: PDC, P.O. Box 99, Canal Street Station, New York, NY 10013; (212) 406-4252.
*   *   *
Max, New York Spartacus Youth Club
Many of the young activists who have been ignited in just outrage over cop killings are buying into the illusion of police reform. They look to the federal government to do the right thing and to punish the people who are doing its dirty work. Politicians and their reformist hangers-on lamely call for police body cameras. But Eric Garner’s death was captured on video, from the beginning of his harassment to his final words, “I can’t breathe.” Ramsey Orta, the man who filmed this execution, was thrown in jail on bogus charges. We say: Drop the charges against Ramsey Orta now!
Some demonstrators have called for “state and federal oversight of all police officers.” Eric Holder’s Justice Department went through the motions of a civil rights investigation, only to let Mike Brown’s killer off the hook yet again. This is the same federal government that tortures and rains death on thousands of people around the world. This government sent Chelsea Manning to rot in prison for exposing just a fraction of these crimes. Drop all charges against anti-police brutality protesters! Free Chelsea Manning! Free all the class-war prisoners!...
With black oppression rooted in this system of production for profit, cop terror is used by America’s rulers to maintain the forcible segregation of the black masses at the bottom of society. Efforts to reform the police cannot change its fundamentally anti-working-class and racist nature. The cause of black freedom will be a great driving force in the struggle for a socialist America and a great achievement of workers revolution. When those who labor rule, ripping the economy out of the hands of the capitalist rulers, and reorganize it on a socialist basis, only then will the wealth of this country be used for the benefit of those who produced it. Only then will it be possible to eliminate the material roots of black oppression through the integration of black people into an egalitarian socialist society.
There is no future for youth in the capitalist system, an irrational and inherently racist system based on the exploitation of working people at home and abroad. The only way out of this hell is through workers revolution. This will be achieved through the struggle of the multiracial working class, under the leadership of the revolutionary vanguard party.
The SYC fights for free, quality, integrated public education for all! For open admissions, no tuition and a state-paid living stipend for all students! We want to win the best of the militant black and multiracial youth, who think the chant “Hands up don’t shoot” doesn’t cut it. We say: “Fists up for class struggle!” We say to those fed up with con men, fed up with cold-blooded killings deemed “justifiable homicide,” to those looking for “justice”: you must start with the program of revolutionary Marxism, that is, Trotskyism. For black liberation through socialist revolution! Join the SYC!
Lynne Stewart
I want to say a very, very heartfelt thank you, thank you, thank you. It was the people who got behind me when I first arrived in a federal prison hospital, and made sure that they so intimidated the administration by all the mail I received—don’t forget to sign the cards [greetings to the prisoners]—that they moved me to a floor where I had much better care. I didn’t have to climb three flights of stairs just to eat every day, where I could go to the library, etc. But that was all due to the tremendous pressure that began and built from the people outside, of which you were a very, very strong part.
I know you made Ralph and me into a tag team. I would write the blog and he would accept the speaking engagement on any form of media that was available. But I can’t express to you what it meant when those petitions kept growing and growing and growing, demanding my release, on the basis of compassionate release, which it was, and which eventually, to the greatest surprise of Ralph and me, actually worked. Because we’ve been in this movement a long time, 50 years—well, he’s in longer than I am, but I’ve been in 50 years—and you keep on plugging, you keep on keeping your finger in the dike. And you do everything you can, and you just say, “Well, something’s gonna work someday.” And then when it does, it’s a revelation. That’s all I can say, it really is a revelation....
We have a lot to do, there’s no question about that. But I’m just glad I can step up again and do that. And of course, having been behind those walls, I understand how dehumanizing it is to be beset every day by what is arbitrary authority. Just as these young people were stopped by cops and confronted arbitrary authority, to their detriment, and ended up dead, so in jail every day that arbitrary authority wears on you. It’s a guard who says “A” on Thursday, and on Friday he’s saying “B.” And you say, “But you said,” and he says, “Don’t tell me what.” Anything and everything is operational. You can be written up for anything. And that is brain numbing and it is mind killing and it is heartbreaking.
And as I say, I have never met anyone who got out of jail who didn’t feel that the worst thing was leaving the people behind them, that you could not go back and somehow rescue all of them. Because so many of them deserve to be rescued, not necessarily because of the crime they committed, or they were innocent, or any of that, but because they were treated so badly by this system, which your young Spartacist so eloquently described, that this system betrayed them from the moment they were born, and that they have never gotten recompense for that....
When I was in jail, I got a poem that Ed [Poindexter] had written, which I actually distributed far and wide, among the women at Carswell. It was a poem about the use of the word “n---a” and how young people use the word n---er all the time: “he’s my n---a,” “let’s do that n---a,” and about how they just don’t get it. They don’t have the background to know what that word meant. And this poem just puts it so well, and I gave it to people and they’d come back and they’d say, “Thank you. I gave that to my friend, and we decided we’re not going to do that anymore.”
And I think that is the most remarkable thing: from behind the walls, these folks continue to operate politically; they continue to put out their thoughts. Jaan Laaman is another one. He puts out a magazine; he’s constantly in touch with Prison Radio. Now he’s a person, another name, you may not know real well. But they are worth getting to know, and I tell you, if you have the time to be a correspondent, to correspond with someone in jail is really a treat. It’s a wonderful thing, because it’s so important to the person in jail, and it can be so enlightening to all of us....
I have stories of women who died, literally almost before my eyes, and they died because of neglect. And so these places are death camps, as Ralph says. And it’s only us, the vigilance from people on the outside, that can save the people on the inside.
Paula Daniels, Chicago Spartacist League
Obama came into office trumpeting the myth of an end to racism, declaring that the civil rights movement had brought the country 90 percent of the way to racial equality. What crap. I need only mention the names Eric Garner and Michael Brown to explode the deadly lie of an alleged post-racial America. The Grand Jury exonerations of the killer cops expose the class nature of the capitalist courts.
In this same two-week period, 12-year-old Tamir Rice and 28-year-old Akai Gurley were blown away by cops less than 48 hours apart. The bourgeoisie has made clear that the essence of the words of U.S. Supreme Court Chief Justice Taney, delivered in the infamous Dred Scott decision nearly 160 years ago, is still very much alive. The black man has no rights a white man is bound to respect....
We are here tonight to honor a small handful of capitalism’s victims, locked away for taking a stand against racism, capitalist degradation, injustice—some locked up for much longer than the 29 years that we have been sending stipends to these fighters. I would be remiss if I didn’t pay tribute to the 45th anniversary of the murder of Black Panthers Fred Hampton and Mark Clark. Shot down just blocks from here almost to the day. Amid the blood and bullet holes (76 bullets from the cops, one from the Panthers), lay a copy of Lenin’s The State and Revolution on Hampton’s bed. There was no indictment for these killer cops either. The Panthers shared our desire to see capitalism smashed, though they looked toward the lumpenproletariat as the instrumentality rather than the organized working class as the agent for black freedom and socialism. For the most part, they were hunted down and imprisoned....
On the eve of the great revolutionary upheavals in Europe in 1848, British Lord Palmerston was speaking to the Austrian ambassador about the reactionary and repressive measures of the hated State Chancellor Prince Metternich. He said, “Your repressive and suffocating policy is also a fatal one and will lead to explosion just as certainly as a boiler that was hermetically sealed and deprived of an outlet for steam.”
We too live in a bit of a boiler of repression and contradictions today. Though not completely hermetically sealed—there are some built in outlets. The black Democrats and preachers help blow off some steam and the trade union bureaucrats keep a lid on class struggles. All of these are obstacles to the independent mobilization of the working class to fight in our own interests. Obstacles, but not foolproof. In Ferguson, Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton clearly had lost some credibility, receiving boos and catcalls from protesting youth. That’s a good thing. However, absent a class struggle perspective, this anger will only be recycled back into the dead end of pressuring the “powers that be” to behave in a more just and humane manner....
Help us build the multiracial revolutionary workers party dedicated to fighting for black liberation, women’s liberation, and lead the struggle to free the working class and the oppressed across the globe from the chains of exploitation, poverty, and imperialist war. Those who labor must rule!

As The 100th Anniversary Of The First Year Of World War I (Remember The War To End All Wars) Continues ... Some Remembrances-Writers’ Corner - 

In say 1912, 1913, hell, even the beginning of 1914, the first few months anyway, before the war clouds got a full head of steam in the summer they all profusely professed their unmitigated horror at the thought of war, thought of the old way of doing business in the world. Yes the artists of every school the Cubist/Fauvists/Futurists/Constructivists, Surrealists or those who would come to speak for those movements (hell even the Academy spoke the pious words when there was sunny weather), those who saw the disjointedness of modern industrial society and put the pieces to paint, sculptors who put twisted pieces of metal juxtaposed to each other saw that building a mighty machine from which you had to run created many problems; writers of serious history books proving that, according to their Whiggish theory of progress,  humankind had moved beyond war as an instrument of policy and the diplomats and high and mighty would put the brakes on in time, not realizing that they were all squabbling cousins; writers of serious and not so serious novels drenched in platitudes and hidden gazebo love affairs put paid to that notion in their sweet nothing words that man and woman had too much to do, too much sex to harness to denigrate themselves by crying the warrior’s cry and by having half-virgin, neat trick, maidens strewing flowers on the bloodlust streets; musicians whose muse spoke of delicate tempos and sweet muted violin concertos, not the stress and strife of the tattoos of war marches with their tinny conceits; and poets, ah, those constricted poets who bleed the moon of its amber swearing, swearing on a stack of seven sealed bibles, that they would go to the hells before touching the hair of another man, putting another man to ground or lying their own heads down for some imperial mission. They all professed loudly (and those few who did not profess, could not profess because they were happily getting their blood rising, kept their own consul until the summer), that come the war drums they would resist the siren call, would stick to their Whiggish, Futurist, Constructionist, Cubist worlds and blast the war-makers to hell in quotes, words, chords, clanged metal, and pretty pastels. They would stay the course.  

And then the war drums intensified, the people, their clients, patrons and buyers, cried out their lusts and they, they made of ordinary human clay as it turned out, poets, beautiful poets like Wilfred Owens who would sicken of war before he passed leaving a beautiful damnation on war, its psychoses, and broken bones and dreams, and the idiots who brought humankind to such a fate, like e. e. cummings who drove through sheer hell in those rickety ambulances floors sprayed with blood, man blood, angers, anguishes and more sets of broken bones, and broken dreams, like Rupert Brooke all manly and old school give and go, as the marched in formation leaving the ports and then mowed down like freshly mown grass in their thousands as the charge call came and they rested, a lot of them, in those freshly mown grasses, like Robert Graves all grave all sputtering in his words confused about what had happened, suppressing, always suppressing that instinct to cry out against the hatred night, and like old school, old Thomas Hardy writing beautiful old English pastoral sentiments before the war and then full-blown into imperium’s service, no questions asked old England right or wrong. Jesus what a blasted nigh that Great War time was.   

And do not forget when the war drums intensified, and the people, their clients, patrons and buyers, cried out their lusts and they, they, other creative souls made of ordinary human clay as it turned out artists, sculptors, writers, serious and not, musicians went to the trenches to die deathless deaths in their thousands for, well, for humankind, of course, their always fate ….   
 
 
 
 
Enlarge cover
Rate this book
Clear rating

The Road Back

4.29 of 5 stars 4.29  ·  rating details  ·  1,854 ratings  ·  49 reviews
After surviving several horrifying years in the inferno of the Western Front, a young German soldier and his cohorts return home at the end of WW1. Their road back to life in civilian world is made arduous by their bitterness about what they find in post-war society. A captivating story, one of Remarque's best.
Paperback, 352 pages
Published December 1st 2001 by Simon Publications (first published 1931)
      
 
 
Once Again On The 1960s Folk Minute-The Cambridge Club 47 Scene

 
 
 
 
I am not the only one who recently has taken a nose-dive back in time to that unique moment from the late 1950s to the mid-1960s when folk music had its minute as a popular genre. People may dispute the end-point of that minute like they do about the question of when the 1960s ended as a counter-cultural phenomenon but clearly with the advent of acid-etched rock by 1967-68 the searching for and reviving the folk roots had passed. As an anecdote in support of that proposition that is the period when I stopped taking dates to the formerly ubiquitous home away from home coffeehouses, cheap poor boy college student dates to the Harvard Square coffeehouses where for the price of a couple of cups of coffee, a shared pastry, and maybe a couple of dollars admission charge you could hear up and coming talent working out their kinks, and took them instead to the open-air fashion statement rock concerts that were abounding around the town. Some fifty years out in fits of nostalgia and maybe to sum up life’s work there have been two recent documentaries concerning the most famous Harvard Square coffeehouse of them all, the Club 47 (which still exists under the name Club Passim in a similar small venue near the Harvard Co-Op Bookstore).

One of the documentaries put out a few years ago (see above) traces the general evolution of that club in its prime when the likes of Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Tom Rush, Eric Von Schmidt, the members of the Jim Kweskin Jug Band (the forming of jug bands itself a part of the roots revival we were in thrall to), and many others sharpened up their acts there. The other documentary, No Regrets (title taken from one of his most famous songs) which I have reviewed elsewhere in this space is a biopic centered on the fifty plus years in folk music of Tom Rush. Both those visual references got me thinking about how that folk scene, or better, the Harvard Square coffeehouse scene kept me from going off the rails, although that was a close thing.        

Like about a billion kids before and after in my coming of age in the early 1960s I went through the usual bouts of teenage angst and alienation aided and abetted by growing up “from hunger” among the very lowest rung of the working poor with all the pathologies associated with survival down at the base of society where the bonds of human solidarity are often times very attenuated. All of this “wisdom” of course figured out, told about, made many mistakes to gain, came later, much later because at the time I was just feeling rotten about my life, my place in the sun, and how I didn’t have a say in what was going on. Then through one source or another mainly by the accident of tuning my life-saver transistor radio on one Sunday night to listen to a favorite rock and roll DJ I found a folk music program that sounded interesting (it turned out to be the Dick Summer show on WBZ, a DJ who is featured in the Tom Rush documentary) and I was hooked by the different songs played, some mountain music, some jug, some country blues, some protest songs. Each week Dick Summer would announce who was playing where for the week and he kept mentioning various locations, including the Club 47, in Harvard Square. I was intrigued.         

One Saturday afternoon I made connections to get to a Redline subway stop which was the quickest way for me to get to Harvard Square (which was also the last stop on that line then) and walked around the Square looking into the various clubs and coffeehouses that had been mentioned by Summer and a few more as well. You could hardly walk a block without running into one or the other. Of course during the day all people were doing was sitting around drinking coffee and reading, maybe playing chess, or as I found out later huddled in small group corners working on their music (or poetry which also had some sway as a tail end of the “beat” scene) so I didn’t that day get the full sense of what was going on. A few weeks later, having been hipped to the way things worked, meaning that as long as you had coffee or something in front of you in most places you were cool I always chronically low on funds took a date, a cheap date naturally, to the Club Blue where you did not pay admission but where Eric Von Schmidt was to play. I had heard his Joshua Gone Barbados covered by Tom Rush on Dick Summer’s show and I flipped out so I was eager to hear him. So for the price of, I think, two coffees each, a stretched-out shared brownie and two subway fares we had a good time, an excellent time (although that particular young woman and I would not go on much beyond that first date since she was looking for a guy who had more dough to spend on her, and maybe a “boss” car too.

I would go over to Harvard Square many weekend nights in those days, including sneaking out of the house a few time late at night and heading over since in those days the Redline subway ran all night. That was my home away from home not only for cheap date nights depending on the girl I was interested in but when the storms gathered at the house about my doing, or not doing, this or that, stuff like that when my mother pulled the hammer down. If I had a few dollars make by caddying for the Mayfair swells at a private club a few miles from my house I would pony up the admission, or two admissions if I was lucky,  to hear Joan Baez or her sister Mimi with her husband Richard Farina, maybe Eric Von Schmidt, Tom Paxton when he was in town at the 47. If I was broke I would do my alternative, take the subway but rather than go to a club I would hang out all night at the famous Harvard Square Hayes-Bickford just up the steps from the subway stop exit. That was a crazy scene made up of winos, grifters, con men, guys and gals working off barroom drunks, crazies, and… almost every time out there would be folk-singers or poets, some known to me, others from cheap street, in little clusters, coffee mugs filled, singing or speaking low, keeping the folk tradition alive, keeping the faith that a new wind was coming across the land and they, I, wanted to catch it. Wasn’t that a time.          
When Little Johnny S. Got “Religion”-Edward G. Robinson’s Brother Orchid  




DVD Review

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Brother Orchid, starring Edward G. Robinson, Humphrey Bogart, Ann Sothern, 1940

A lot of guys around New York City, a lot of guys on the island of Manhattan especially couldn’t figure it out, tough guys all in their own little “grift,” con, shake-down world, couldn’t figure out the how and why when they heard Little Johnny S., Little Johnny without the “S”  to guys in the know, yeah, just Little Johnny was enough to make a lot of guys, wise guys, yeah, all those wondering grifters, con-men, and leg-breakers sweat, wondered why he walked away from his kingpin crime boss job that was just minting dough after the hard times flaked away when the Great Depression hit and the, worse, worst of all, liquor became free and easy to get and that cut the tail out of that racket. Walked away mind you and not carried away by six guys and a hearse provided by some up and coming guy like Jack Buck who was his viper sidekick on the way up, walked away without “Uncle” laying a hand on him, getting him to sweat and fink to get out from under some heavy pall in Atlanta or the “rock,” nada, walked away, get this, so he could “spread the good word,” could do good deeds without reward, and really pay attention to this one, to get by with no dough, no dough of his own anyway. Yeah, Little Johnny S. sure got “religion,” sure bought that one-way ticket. And that, dear friends, is the central theme behind the film under review, Brother Orchid (the brother part is because he got all twisted up with a bunch of guys living poor, living real poor together under some religious drive, by choice on the outskirts of the city growing orchids for the market to make their small ends meet. That part at least made sense, the orchid part, the Johnny buy in part, Little Johnny S. always loved orchids, always loved to give his lady friends that flower to let them know he cared).           

Here is what I was able to gather from a few guys who knew Little Johnny S. better than I did, knew the ins and outs of the guy, and the ins and outs of what brought Johnny low (besides the obviously dame problem that has sent more than one guy to do screwy stuff, sent more than one guy screaming to high heaven, although they usually didn’t take the big step fall down to the skids like Johnny). Most of the information came from Willie “The Knife” so I know it has to be pretty close to the truth because Little Johnny and he were tight at the end and because Willie was telling his tale before his own big step-off, his own nickel to a dime up at Sing Sing and Flo, Flo Addams, you remember her right, Little Johnny’s old flame who wound up on easy street with a big time cattle rancher once Little Johnny saw her as spoiled goods, saw her as an impediment to his new “life.”

Here is what we cobbled together and it makes as much sense as the real story as what the guy did who we are talking about. No question, Little Johnny Sarto (yeah, that’s his real name, or was, before that Brother Orchid moniker got laid on him), played by the old time classic shoot-‘em-up-and-ask-questions-later gangster actor Edward G. Robinson, had grown up on some mean streets in the old city, old New Jack City when the immigrants flooded in a few, a Johnny few, played the percentages and tried to get off of cheap street in one generation. No question either that like every guy (and gal for that matter) who grew up on “the wrong side of the tracks,” grew up “from hunger” poor, had serious wanting habits and was not particular about how he moved up the organized crime food chain during his younger days as a “torpedo” for “Red” Rizzo’s crowd in Flatbush. Illegal liquor, drugs, serious drugs like heroin that guys would go through hell to get (and when it got to be getting off time going through that same hell, some of them anyway, the rest wound up face down in some needle alley), not that silly cocaine that you could buy at any drugstore and sniff your brains out, transporting women, pimping them off too, numbers, a few armed robberies and so on. And Johnny was smart, smart and tough, so he rose pretty swiftly up the chain until one day he was king of his own operation. All without spending day one in some cooped-up jailhouse. As he rose, and as the ways of criminal activity took different turns in the end he confined himself to the very lucrative and safe “protection” racket, you know, not busting up Mr. and Mrs. Jones’ mom and pop variety store or letting anybody else do so for a a little cash pay-off. Easy work, low overhead, out in the mean streets not paved with gold like mom and pop though.                           

But see, and this I know, know from personal experience, poor boys, poor street urchins, getting to the top of the rackets only goes so far and so Johnny got to thinking about getting the pedigree to be a high-class guy, a high-class guy who guys (and gals) looked up to just because he was high-class. Without sticking a gun, or some fists, in their face to prove the point. And that is what “The Knife,” ever-lovin’ Flo and I think was Little Johnny’s downfall.  

One day Johnny checked his bank account, thought he saw that he had more dough than he could use in a lifetime and just walked away from his organization, gone fishing, done. Of course in the rackets, the food chain rackets, leaving doesn’t mean that is the end of the rackets but rather that Johnny was leaving his operation to his lizard right hand man Jack Buck, played by tough guy gangster roles starting with Duke Mantee in The Petrified Forest Humphrey Bogart. Jack who came up the same way as Little Johnny except his way was meaner, tougher and more likely to use a little gunplay to settle any problems. (He was also tough on his women, not afraid to throw a punch or two to keep them in line according to Flo.) So Johnny fled the city for Europe, leaving everything, and everybody, including his longtime girlfriend, Flo, played by Ann Sothern, who was left in the lurch because, well, because she loved Johnny and expected him to marry her. Silly girl.       

Naturally a guy like Johnny from the mean streets figured he could buy class, buy that upscale thing with just enough money but here his instincts played him dirty. He did not know rule number one about how the rich and high class got that way, got there over a mountain of skulls, and so Johnny was an easy pick-off once it got around to the high-class grifters that he was in the “high-class” market. Poor sap, many a guy had been put face down in the East River, for doing less that those master thieves of Europe did to Little Johnny. So he busted out, went flat broke, and decided that he needed to get back to his own kind, get back to easy street, get back his old making money hand over fist operation. Good idea. And so he headed home.   

But Johnny had a problem, well, really two problems, kind of inter-related. First was one Jack Buck who had built up his operation far beyond the cheapjack operation Johnny ran and so he was not inclined, very much not inclined, to give it up just because some old-time hood, a has-been in the dog-eat dog world of big time criminal activity was making some noises, and second, Johnny with his soft living had lost a step or two and did not have the current capacity to strong-arm Jack out of his place in the food chain. Christ in the end all Johnny had was “The Knife” and while he was a good guy to have in a fight he was not enough to take on Jack’s wrecking crew, including a couple of new age “torpedoes” who shot first and asked questions later. So, one way or the other Johnny was on the lam.

That on the lam part is where things were hazy for Willie and Flo, the part about Johnny getting all shot up by Jack’s goons, being able to escape the worst of it, and finding sanctuary in that brotherhood monastery where he got his new moniker. I could understand where Willie and Flo would have trouble with figuring out Johnny’s new thing, it is hard to get inside a guy’s mind and see what he is up to, especially when he is on the lam and some guys, good guys but naïve is what he thought for a long time show him a different way of looking at life. It was not like Johnny went looking for something, he was just hiding out at the beginning, planning his Jack revenge and getting back on top. Well, he did get his Jack revenge in a funny way, funny since he got help from Flo’s rancher friend whom she wound up marrying and wound up on easy street as a result. Jack’s is now doing from one to ninety-nine at Sing Sing, Flo is married to her Big Sky rancher and raking in whatever she wants, Willie “The Knife” is doing the best he can. And Johnny, oops, Brother Orchid is up there in the woods working for nada, or maybe his soul. Poor sap.        

Sunday, February 22, 2015

When Women Sang The Blues For Keeps-With Ethel Waters In Mind




 

Lightning Hopkins the old Texas country blues player famously (or infamously depending on your perspective) once said when asked to define the blues that “the blues ain’t nothing but your good girl on your mind.” Personally more times than I can count that statement rang true, rang true about the blues too. Of course women can, and did, turn that around back in the days when black women dominated the  blues circuit by saying that some “no good” man was on her mind (although Bessie Smith turned that around on at least one song when she was moaning for her lost good man Hustlin’ Dan). All of this to say that blues, male or female was, is, a particularly important part of the American songbook and back in the 1960s folk minute along with the “discovery” of old male country blues singers like Lightning, Sleepy John Estes, Son House, Bukka White, Skip James and above all Mississippi John Hurt  and the reemergence of electric blues stars like Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf a whole galaxy of female black blues singers came in their own, again. The likes of Bessie Smith, a number of other last name Smith women, Memphis Minnie, Sippy Wallace, Alberta Hunter and the singer here Ethel Waters.                

Above I mentioned above these women came into again because back in the 1920s and 1930s these woman were headliners in their own right at a time when the blues, at least on the circuit, was more than likely to be sung by female singers, mainly in the barrelhouse style. And Ethel Waters held her own in that genre. But she was also able to sing Broadway tunes, torch songs, and a whole lot more, whatever was put it front of her it seemed. Of course despite all that ability some blacks, blacks who had the wherewithal, exiled themselves from America, exiled themselves from Mister James Crow then in its height and went like Josephine Baker famously did to Europe, mainly to Paris where they were probably treated the best although given France’s colonial power status especially in Africa that statement has to be qualified. But here or in Europe Ethel Waters showed her stuff.       

The best example I can give of that premise is a song from this album  Am I Blue made famous in the film adaptation of Ernest Hemingway’s To Have And Have Not where songwriter Hoagy Carmichael and Lauren Bacall do their version. Another version, a torchy one which gave me the feeling the person could actually be blue, had been by the legendary Billie Holiday. Ethel Waters’ take is to do a lively version shaking those old blues away, banishing them from her mind. Must have been that her “no good” man finally did right. Enough said.