Tuesday, November 29, 2016

President Obama Pardon Chelsea Manning-Sign The Petition Now-She Must Not Die In Prison

President Obama Pardon Chelsea Manning-Sign The Petition Now-She Must Not Die In Prison    




Happy Birthday
CHELSEA MANNING!
Free her now!
International Actions, 17 December 2016
Organise a protest, a vigil, a party, send Chelsea a message/birthday card! Tell us and we will publicise it!  Take a photo and send to her (as well as us).  Sign the new petition to free her.  Circulate this invitation to your contacts.
Actions planned so far
London 12.30-2pm Vigil on the steps of St Martin in-the-Fields, London WC2N 4JJ
Philadelphia  Plans in progress
Oakland  Plans in progress
Chelsea Manning will be 29 years old on this day.  She is the trans woman, ex-military analyst, who leaked hundreds of thousands of documents to Wikileaksexposing the truth about US, UK and other governments’war crimes and corruption in AfghanistanHaitiIraq,Israel & the Palestinian Authority, PeruVenezuela . . . 
CHELSEA NEEDS OUR SUPPORT URGENTLY!  She has twice tried to commit suicide in prison, the second time after being thrown into solitary confinement for her first suicide attempt.  One of her lawyers, Chase Strangio said: “She has repeatedly been punished for trying to survive and now is being repeatedly punished for trying to die.”  We must send a strong message to the US military and Obama that their torture of Chelsea must stop.  We must get her out!
Chelsea was first imprisoned in 2010, and in 2013 she came out as a trans woman. For six years an international movement has been supporting her struggle in prison, winning significant victories:
·        April 2011: released from Quantico, Virginia, US, where she had been held for months under torturous conditions;
·        August 2013: whilst sentenced to 35 years, the court had to drop the charge of “aiding to the enemy” which carried a possible death penalty 
·       June 2014: Chelsea elected Grand Marshal at San Francisco Pride 2014
·       February 2015: she won “hormone therapy” after 30 organizations from US, UK, Germany and Italy signed a letter in support of her demand
·       May 2016: she lodged an appeal against her conviction
·       September 2016: after a 5-day hunger strike, the Army agreed to provide the gender reassignmentsurgery she is entitled to, a decision that may benefit a great number of trans prisoners.
 However, the army has continued to harass her. 
·       In August 2015, she was threatened with indefinite solitary confinement for possession of expired toothpaste and deprived of her privileges. 
·       In July 2016, when she attempted to end her life the army threatened her with indefinite punishment which, after a public outcry, was limited to 14 days (7 suspended). 
·       In October, she made a second attempt to end her life. 
Chelsea is part of a great movement of thousands of whistleblowers who have revealed abuses and demanded their rights. From prison Chelsea has written against police killing young people of colour in the US, and insupport of immigrants and refugees – including queer and trans people. 
For the last six years, every time she was under threat, people in many countries have organized vigils and protests: petitions reached over 100,000 signatures in a matter of days. We call on the anti-war, anti-racist, anti-sexist, LGBTQ movements, whistleblowers, war veterans, and everyone who stands for justice and against poverty and the arms trade to campaign to Free Chelsea Manning now!
Chelsea is now appealing to Obama “to commute her sentence to time served”.  Sign the petition, read Chelsea’s moving statement and the letters of support from Daniel Ellsberg, Glen Greenwald and David Morris.
Donations to her legal fund are needed also.
Write to Chelsea – Keep her spirits up!For more info: Chelsea Manning Support Network
Last year’s birthday pics
Berlin
Boston
Brisbane
Bucharest
Crescent
Detroit
Dublin
Frankfurt/Mainz
London
Oakland
Philadelphia
Rome
Vancouver
Wales

Shakespeare In Love-Or In Love With Shakespeare-With The 400th Anniversary Year Of The Bard’s Death In Mind

Shakespeare In Love-Or In Love With Shakespeare-With The 400th Anniversary Year Of The Bard’s Death In Mind

 




Who knows at this point how many expressions, terms, words, playwright ideas, throwaway ideas, mousy idea, idle chatter, barroom fisticuffs, flights of fancy, lost hours of imitative work, faded romance, ill-fated romance, bewitched love-craft, homages, just sayings, bon mots, revels, idle chatter, oops I already said that, murderous intentions, incestuous desires, kingly horses, betrothals, beheadings, beddings, binges, oops same as barroom fisticuffs, groundling up-swells, pixie midnight madnesses, rancorous reconnoiters, plough and stars séances, heterosexual dalliances, homosexual dalliances(remember all those boys in girls’ uniforms, philogists banter, etymological discoveries, runes, druid pithiness, and shear humbug can be laid at the Bard of Avon’s door after 400 plus years but no question plenty can. And in the next one hundred solemn years about ninety percent of the items expressed above things will continue to be thrown at that self-same door. So be it. We are richer by some nth magnitudes for the works.        

Adding their two pence worth is a series on Shakespeare’s influence on the development and neglect of language-the English language mainly but the not unimportant fact that at one time “the sun never set on the British Empire” makes that a much bigger historical fact than a simple national language the British Broadcasting Company (BBC) has been running an episodic year-long project about the Bard’s effects.

Here’s the link-and get ready for 2116 now.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/shakespeare/

*****Looking For The Heart Of Saturday Night, Christ The Heart Of Any Night-Elegy For Tom Waits

*****Looking For The Heart Of Saturday Night, Christ The Heart Of Any Night-Elegy For Tom Waits



From The Pen Of The Late Peter Paul Markin who fell by the wayside, fell to his notoriously monstrous “wanting habits” accumulated since childhood looking too hard, looking to hard in the wrong places down among the weeds in Mexico, looking for train smoke and dreams if you really thought about the matter, looking for his own heart of Saturday night-RIP, Brother-RIP.     

 

If you, as I do, every once in a while, every once in a while when the norms of today’s bourgeois-driven push, bourgeois a better term than capitalist or imperialist if you are in America since it gives a better view of the unhindered social norms, the ethos rather than the sheer grab for filthy lucre; you know grab goods, grab the dough, grab every cheap-jack convenience like it was God’s own gold, grab some shelter from the storm, the storm that these days comes down like a hard rain falling, to get ahead in this wicked old world have to step back and take stock, maybe listen to some words of wisdom, or words that help explain how you got into that mess then you have come to the right address, the address of Mister Tom Waits if you missed the headline or missed who is writing this thing (or better "wrote" since this piece is being edited posthumously by Zack James who found this and three companion pieces in the attic of Josh Breslin's Olde Saco family house in Olde Saco, Maine when they were looking to dispose of whatever could be disposed of in preparation for selling the place so Josh and Lana could move in smaller quarters and Josh told him the long and at the end the sad story about Josh's and Markin's meeting out in San Francisco in the summer of love 1960s times and about Markin's awful fate down in Mexico. That story drove Zack to the editing job in order that a genuine mad monk writer could some forty years after his death receive a small recognition of his ambitious talent.) 

Okay, okay on that bourgeois-driven today thing once I describe what was involved maybe it didn’t just start of late. Maybe the whole ill-starred rising went back to the time when this continent was, just like F. Scott Fitzgerald said way back in the 1920s when he made up the Jazz Age and reeled back in dismay once he saw how those coupon-clippers devoured all good sense and sober ethos, just a fresh green breast of land eyed by some hungry sailors some hungry Dutch sailors who took what they wanted back the homeland and made a grave attempt to fatten their own chests. Just check out any Dutch master painting to see what I mean.

Going back to Calvinist Puritan avenging angels times with John Winthrop and the Mayflower boys and their city on the hill but you best ask Max Weber about that since he tried to hook these world-wise and world weary boys no longer worrying about novenas and indulgences against some netherworld to the wheel of the capitalist profit. Profit (grab the dough, grab the goods, grab stuff cheap) for "you at the expense of me" system with the new dispensation coming out like hellfire from Geneva and points east and west. The eternal story of the short end of the stick if you aren’t ready for sociological treatises and rely on guys like Tom Waits to wordsmith the lyrics to set you right about what is wrong. But you get the point.

If all that to-ing and fro-ing (nice touch, right) leaves you wondering where you fell off the edge, that edge city (edge city where you danced around with all the conventions of the days, danced around the get ahead world, grab the dough, grab the goods, grab stuff cheap,  with blinkers on before you got stuck in the human sink that you have still not been able to get out of) where big cloud outrageous youthful dreams were dreamt and you took risks, damn did you take risks, thought nothing of that fact either, landed on your ass more than a few times but just picked yourself up and dusted your knees off and done stick around and listen up. Yeah, so if you are wondering,  have been pushed off your saintly wheels, yeah, pushed off your sainted wheels, and gotten yourself  into some angst-ridden despair about where you went off that angel-driven dream of your youth, now faded, tattered, and half- forgotten(but only half, only half-forgotten, the wisp of the dream, the eternal peace dream, the figuring out how to contain that fire, that wanting habits fire in your belly dream sisters and brothers), and need some solace (need some way to stop the fret counting the coffee cups complete with spoons to measure that coffee out as the very modernist poet once said making his modern statement about the world created since the turn of the 19th century that while away your life). Need to reach back to roots, reach back to roots that the 1950s golden age of America, the vanilla red scare Cold War night that kicked the ass out of all the old to make us crave sameness, head down, run for cover, in order to forget about those old immigrant customs, made us forget those simple country blues, old country flames, Appalachia mountain breeze coming through the hills and hollows songs, lonely midnight by the fire cowboy ballads, Tex-Mex big ass brass sympatico squeezes Spanish is the loving tongue, Irish desperate struggles against John Bull  sorrows and cautionary tale Child ballads, plucked out early by a professor over on Brattle Street back when the Brahmins very publicly ruled the roost, or Cajun Saturday night stewed drunks that made the people feel good times), reach back to the primeval forest maybe, put the headphones on some Tom Waits platter [oops, CD, YouTube selection, etc.- “platter” refers to a, ah, record, vinyl, put on a record player, hell, look it up in Wikipedia, okay-Zack James] and remember what it was like when men and women sang just to sing the truth of what they saw and heard.

If the norms of don’t rock the boat (not in these uncertain times like any times in human existence were certain, damn, there was always something scary coming up from the first man-eating beast to the human race-eating nuclear bombs, brother even I Iearned early that it was a dangerous world, yeah, learned very early in the Adamsville projects where you got a very real taste of danger before you got too much older than five or six), the norms of keep your head down (that’s right brother, that’s right sister keep looking down, no left or rights for your placid world), keeping your head down being an art form now with appropriate ritual (that ritual looking more and more like the firing squad that took old Juan Romero’s life when he did bad those days out in Utah country), and excuses, because, well, because you don’t want to wind up like them (and fill in the blank of the “them,” usually dark, very dark-skinned like some deathless, starless night disturbing your sleep, begging, I swear, begging you to put that gun in full view on the table, speaking some unknown language, maybe A-rab or I-talian, maybe gibberish for all you know, moving furtively and stealthily against your good night) drive you crazy and you need, desperately need, to listen to those ancient drum beats, those primeval forest leave droppings maybe, that old time embedded DNA coda long lost to, oh yes, civilization, to some civilizing mission (think of that Mayflower gang and that fresh green breast of land  and that city on a hill that drove them cross-eyed and inflamed or ask Max Weber, he footnoted the whole thing, put paid to any idea of otherworldly virtue), that spoke of the better angels of your nature when those angel dreams, half-forgotten but only half-forgotten remember, ruled your days. Turn up the volume up another notch or two on that Tom Waits selection, maybe Jersey Girl or Brother, Can You Spare A Dime (can you?), Hold On, or Gunn Street Girl.

If you need to hear things, just to sort things out, just to recapture that angel-edge, recapture the time when you did no fear, you and everybody else’s sisters and brothers, that thing you build and from which you now should run, recapture that child-like wonder that made you come alive, made you think about from whence you came and how a turn, a slight turn this way or that, could have landed you on the wrong side of the fence. And I have the list of brothers and sisters who took that wrong road, like that time Jack from Carver wound up face down in some dusty back road arroyo down Sonora way when the deal went bust or when she, maybe a little kinky for all I know, decided that she would try a needle and a spoon, I swear, or she swore just for kicks and she wound up in Madame LaRue’s whorehouse working that sagging bed to perdition and worse losing that thing she had for sex once she started selling it by the hour. Hey, sweet dreams baby I tried to tell you when you play with fire watch out.

So if you need to sort things out about boozers (and about titanic booze-crazed struggles in barrooms, on beaches, in the back seats of cars, lost in the mist of time down some crazed midnight, hell, four in the morning, penniless, cab fare-less night), losers (those who have lost their way, those who had gotten it taken away from them like some maiden virginity, those who just didn’t get it frankly in this fast old world taken in by some grifter’s bluster), those who never had anything but lost next to their names, those who never had a way to be lost, dopesters inhaling sweet dream snow in solitary hotel rooms among junkie brethren, gathering a needle and spoon in some subterranean dank cellar, down in dark alleys jack-rolling some poor drunk stiff out of his room rent for kicks (how uncool to drink low-shelf whiskeys or rotgut wines hell the guy deserved to be rolled, should feel lucky he got away with just a flipped wallet), out in nighttime canyons flame blaring off the walls, the seven seas of chemical dust, mainly blotter, maybe peyote (the sweet dreams of ten million years of ghost warriors working the layered canyon walls flickering against the campfire flames and the sight of two modern warriors shirtless, sweaty, in a trance, high as kites, dancing by themselves like whirling dervishes   ready to do justice for the white man's greed until the flames flickered out and they fell in a heap exhausted) if that earth angel connection comes through (Aunt Sally, always, some Aunt Sally coming up the stairs to ease the pain, to make one feel, no, not feel better than any AMA doctor without a prescription pad), creating visions of long lost tribes trying, trying like hell, to get “connected,” connected in the campfire shadow night, hipsters all dressed in black, mary mack dressed in black, speeding, speaking be-bop this and be-bop that to stay in fashion, hustling, always hustle, maybe pimping some street urchin, maybe cracking some guy’s head to create a “new world order” of the malignant, always moving, fallen sisters (sisters of mercy, sisters who need mercy, sisters who were mercifully made fallen in some mad dash night, merciful sister feed me, feed me good), midnight sifters (lifting in no particular order hubcaps, tires, wrenches, jacks, an occasional gem, some cheap jewelry in wrong neighborhoods, some paintings or whatever is not saleable left in some sneak back alley, it is the sifting that counts), grifters (hey, buddy watch this, now you see it, now you don’t, now you don’t see your long gone John dough, and Mister three card Monte long gone too ), drifters (here today gone tomorrow with or without dough, to Winnemucca, Ogden, Fresno, Frisco town, name your town, name your poison and the great big blue seas washing you clean out into the Japan seas), the drift-less (cramped into one room hovels, shelters, seedy rooming houses, hell, call them flop houses, afraid to stay in-doors or to go outside, afraid of the “them” too, afraid to be washed clean, angel clean), and small-time grafters (the ten-percent guys, failed insurance men, repo artists, bounty hunters, press agents, personal trainers, need I go on). You know where to look, right.

If you need to be refreshed on the subject of hoboes, bums, tramps (and remind me sometime to draw the distinction, the very real and acknowledged distinction between those three afore–mentioned classes of brethren once told to me by a forlorn grand master hobo, a guy down on his luck moving downward to bum), out in the railroad jungles in some Los Angeles ravine, some Gallup, New Mexico Southern Pacific  trestle (the old SP the only way to travel out west if you want to get west), some Hoboken broken down pier (ha, shades of the last page of Jack Kerouac’s classic), the fallen (fallen outside the gates of Eden, or, hell, inside too), those who want to fall (and let god figure out who made who fall, okay), Spanish Johnnies (slicked back black hair, tee shirt, shiv, cigarette butt hanging from a parted lip, belt buckle ready for action, leering, leering at that girl over there, some gringa for a change of pace, maybe your girl but watch out for that shiv, the bastard), stale cigarette butts (from Spanish Johnnie and all the johnnies, Camels, Luckies, no filters, no way), whiskey-soaked barroom floors (and whiskey-soaked drunks to mop the damn place up, for drinks and donuts, maybe just for the drinks), loners (jesus, books, big academic books with great pedigrees could be written on that subject so let’s just let that one pass by), the lonely (ditto loners), sad sacks (kindred, one hundred times kindred to the loners and the lonely but not worthy of study, big book academic study anyway), the sad (encompassing all of the above) and others at the margins of society, the whole fellahin world (the big mass of world sweated field braceros, sharecroppers, landless peasants and now cold-water flat urban dwellers fresh from the played out land, or taken land) then Tom Waits is your stop.

Tom Waits is, frankly, an acquired taste, one listen will not do, one song will not do, but listen to a whole record [CD or download okay-Zack] and you won’t want to turn the thing off, high praise in anyone’s book, so a taste well worth acquiring as he storms heaven in words, in thought-out words, in cribbed, cramped, crumbled words, to express the pain, angst and anguish of modern living, yes, modern living.

See he ain’t looking for all haloed saints out there, some Saint Jerome spreading the word out to the desert tribes, out on the American mean streets he has pawed around the edges, maybe doesn’t believe in saints for all I know, but is out looking for busted black-hearted angels all dressed in some slinky silk thing to make a man, a high-shelf whiskey man having hustled some dough better left unexplained that night going off his moorings feeding her drinks and she a liquor sponge (who left him short one night in some unnamed, maybe nameless, gin mill when she split, after she split her take with the bartender who watered her drinks, hell, the thing was sweet all she needed to do when he leaned into her was grab his sorry ass and get the damn wallet). Looking too, a child of the pin-up playboy 1950s, for girls with Monroe hips (hips swaying wickedly in the dead air night, and enflaming desire, hell lust, getting kicked out of proper small town hells by descendants of those aforementioned Mayflower boys for promising the world for one forbidden night), got real, and got left for dead with cigar wrapping rings. Yeah, looking for the desperate out there who went off the righteous path and wound up too young face down in some forsaken woods who said she needed to hold on to something, and for all the misbegotten. 


Tom Waits once you get the habit gives voice in song, a big task, to the kind of characters that peopled Nelson Algren’s novels (The Last Carousel, Neon Wilderness, Walk on the Wild Side, and The Man with the Golden Arm). The, frankly, white trash Okie/Arkie Dove Linkhorns and Frankie Machines of the world who had to keep moving just for the sake of moving something in the DNA driving that whirlwind, genetically broken before they begin, broken before they hit these shores (their forbears thrown out of Europe for venal crimes and lusts, pig-stealing, deer-pouching, working the commons without a license, highwaymen, ancient jack-rollers, the flotsam and jetsam of the old world, damn them, the master-less men and women, ask old Max about them too), having been chased out, cast out of Europe, or some such place. In short, the people who do not make revolutions, those revolutions we keep hearing and reading about, far from it, the wretched of the earth and their kin, the ones who the old blessed Paris communards were thinking of when they hanged a sign saying “Death to Thieves” from the Hotel de Ville balcony, but those who surely, and desperately could use one. If you want to hear about those desperate brethren then here is your stop as well.

If, additionally, you need a primordial grizzled gravelly voice to attune your ear to the scratchy earth and some occasional dissonant instrumentation to round out the picture go no further. Hey, let’s leave it at this- if you need someone who “feels your pain” for his characters you are home. Keep looking for the heart of Saturday night, Brother, keep looking.

31st Annual Holiday Appeal Free the Class-War Prisoners! Featured NYC Speakers: Albert Woodfox and Robert King of the Angola 3

Workers Vanguard No. 1100
18 November 2016
 
31st Annual Holiday Appeal
Free the Class-War Prisoners!
Featured NYC Speakers: Albert Woodfox and Robert King of the Angola 3



“The path to freedom leads through a prison....
“In one sense of the word the whole of capitalist society is a prison. For the great mass of people who do the hard, useful work there is no such word as freedom. They come and go at the order of a few. Their lives are regulated according to the needs and wishes of a few. A censorship is put upon their words and deeds. The fruits of their labor are taken from them. And if, by chance, they have the instinct and spirit to rebel, if they take their place in the vanguard of the fight for justice, the prisons are waiting.”
— James P. Cannon, “The Cause that Passes Through a Prison,” Labor Defender, September 1926
As the Partisan Defense Committee mobilizes for its 31st annual Holiday Appeal to raise funds for monthly stipends and holiday gifts to class-war prisoners, the capitalists’ jails are being filled with hundreds of young activists who have protested the election of racist demagogue Donald Trump, adding to the many more who have been jailed for protesting racist cop terror over the past couple of years.
At this year’s New York City benefit, featured speakers will be Albert Woodfox and Robert King, who along with Herman Wallace were known as the Angola 3. These intransigent opponents of racial oppression spent decades in prison, victims of a state vendetta for forming a Black Panther Party chapter in Louisiana’s notorious Angola prison. Woodfox and Wallace were falsely convicted of the 1972 killing of prison guard Brent Miller. King, who was framed up for the killing of a fellow inmate in 1973, was released in 2001, and dedicated himself to fighting to prove the innocence of his imprisoned comrades. Wallace was released in October 2013—just three days before dying of liver cancer! Despite seeing his conviction overturned twice, Woodfox spent nearly 44 years in solitary confinement—the longest stint of any prisoner in the U.S.—before being released this past February, on his 69th birthday.
The PDC stipend program is a revival of a tradition of the International Labor Defense (ILD) under its first secretary, James P. Cannon (1925-28), an early leader of the Communist Party who went on to become the founder of American Trotskyism. Like the ILD before us, we stand unconditionally on the side of the working people and the oppressed in struggle against their exploiters and oppressors. We defend, in Cannon’s words, “any member of the workers movement, regardless of his views, who suffered persecution by the capitalist courts because of his activities or his opinion” (First Ten Years of American Communism [1962]). In its early years, the ILD adopted 106 prisoners—socialists, anarchists, union leaders and militants victimized for their struggles to organize the working class and for opposition to imperialist war.
The PDC started our class-war prisoner stipend program in 1986, during the Reagan years, a period of rampant reaction. Those years were marked by vicious racist repression, brutal union-busting, anti-immigrant hysteria, malicious cutbacks in social services for the predominantly black and Latino poor as well as government efforts to equate leftist political activity with “terrorism.” Over the decades since, we have supported dozens of prisoners on three continents, among them militant workers railroaded for defending their unions during pitched class battles—including coal miners in Britain and Kentucky.
The 1980s were a time of waning class and social struggle, but the convulsive battles for black rights in the 1960s and ’70s still haunted America’s capitalist rulers, who thirsted for vengeance. Among the early recipients of PDC stipends were members and supporters of the Black Panther Party, the best of a generation of black radicals who sought a revolutionary solution to black oppression—a bedrock of American capitalism. Other early stipend recipients were members of the largely black Philadelphia MOVE commune. Among those prisoners to whom we continue to provide stipends are Mumia Abu-Jamal, America’s foremost class-war prisoner, and Ed Poindexter, a leader of the Omaha, Nebraska, Committee to Combat Fascism, whose comrade and fellow stipend recipient Wopashitwe Mondo Eyen we Langa died in March after 45 years in prison.
There is every reason to believe that the period we are entering will be no less reactionary than the one we faced 30 years ago. Class-struggle legal and social defense, including support for class-war prisoners—those today behind bars and any militants who join them—is of vital importance to labor activists, fighters for black rights and immigrant rights and defenders of civil liberties. In a small but real way, our prisoner stipend program expresses the commonality of interests between black people, immigrants and the working class. The struggle to free the class-war prisoners is critical to educating a new generation of fighters against exploitation and oppression—a schooling centered on the role of the capitalist state, comprising at its core the military, cops, courts and prisons. Join us in generously donating and building our annual Holiday Appeal. An injury to one is an injury to all!
The 12 class-war prisoners receiving stipends from the PDC are listed below.
*   *   *
Mumia Abu-Jamal is a former Black Panther Party spokesman, a well-known supporter of the MOVE organization and an award-winning journalist known as “the voice of the voiceless.” Framed up for the 1981 killing of a Philadelphia police officer, Mumia was sentenced to death explicitly for his political views. Federal and state courts have repeatedly refused to consider evidence proving Mumia’s innocence, including the sworn confession of Arnold Beverly that he, not Mumia, shot and killed the policeman. In 2011 the Philadelphia district attorney’s office dropped its longstanding effort to legally lynch Mumia. In a significant development in the decades-long battle for his freedom, on August 7, attorneys for Mumia Abu-Jamal filed a new petition under Pennsylvania’s Post Conviction Relief Act (PCRA). Mumia’s application seeks to overturn the denial of his three prior PCRA claims by the Pennsylvania Supreme Court. If successful, he would be granted a new hearing before that court to argue for reversal of his frame-up conviction. In the meantime he remains condemned to life in prison with no chance of parole. Mumia also faces a life-threatening health crisis related to active hepatitis C, which brought him close to death in March 2015. On August 31, eight months after oral argument in Mumia’s lawsuit to obtain crucial medication, a federal judge rejected his claim on the pretext that the lawsuit should have been directed against the members of the state’s hepatitis committee—a secretive body which Mumia’s attorneys had no way of knowing even existed at the time the suit was initiated! The Pennsylvania prison authorities have adamantly refused to treat his dangerous but curable condition.
Leonard Peltier is an internationally renowned class-war prisoner. Peltier’s incarceration for his activism in the American Indian Movement has come to symbolize this country’s racist repression of its Native peoples, the survivors of centuries of genocidal oppression. Peltier was framed up for the 1975 deaths of two FBI agents marauding in what had become a war zone on the South Dakota Pine Ridge Reservation. Although the lead government attorney has admitted, “We can’t prove who shot those agents,” and the courts have acknowledged blatant prosecutorial misconduct, the 72-year-old Peltier is not scheduled to be reconsidered for parole for another eight years. Peltier suffers from multiple serious medical conditions and has received a confirmed diagnosis of an abdominal aortic aneurysm—a life-threatening condition which the federal officials have refused to treat. He is incarcerated far from his people and family and is currently seeking executive clemency from Barack Obama.
Seven MOVE members—Chuck AfricaMichael AfricaDebbie AfricaJanet AfricaJanine AfricaDelbert Africa and Eddie Africa—are in their 39th year of imprisonment. After the 8 August 1978 siege of their Philadelphia home by over 600 heavily armed cops, they were sentenced to 30-100 years, having been falsely convicted of killing a police officer who died in the cops’ own cross fire. In 1985, eleven of their MOVE family members, including five children, were massacred by Philly cops when a bomb was dropped on their living quarters. After nearly four decades of unjust incarceration, these innocent prisoners are routinely turned down at parole hearings. This year Eddie, Debbie, Janet and Janine were all denied parole.
Jaan Laaman and Thomas Manning are the two remaining anti-imperialist activists known as the Ohio 7 still in prison, convicted for their roles in a radical group that took credit for bank “expropriations” and bombings of symbols of U.S. imperialism, such as military and corporate offices, in the late 1970s and ’80s. Before their arrests in 1984 and 1985, the Ohio 7 were targets of massive manhunts. The Ohio 7’s politics were once shared by thousands of radicals but, like the Weathermen before them, the Ohio 7 were spurned by the “respectable” left. From a proletarian standpoint, the actions of these leftist activists against imperialism and racist injustice are not crimes. They should not have served a day in prison.
Ed Poindexter is a former Black Panther supporter and leader of the Omaha, Nebraska, National Committee to Combat Fascism. He and his former co-defendant, Wopashitwe Mondo Eyen we Langa, were victims of the FBI’s deadly COINTELPRO operation, under which 38 Black Panther Party members were killed and hundreds more imprisoned on frame-up charges. Poindexter was railroaded to prison and sentenced to life for a 1970 explosion that killed a cop, and he has now spent more than 45 years behind bars. Nebraska courts have repeatedly denied Poindexter a new trial despite the fact that a crucial piece of evidence excluded from the original trial, a 911 audio tape long suppressed by the FBI, proved that testimony of the state’s key witness was perjury.
All proceeds from the Holiday Appeal events will go to the Class-War Prisoners Stipend Fund. This is not charity but an elementary act of solidarity with those imprisoned for their opposition to racist capitalism and imperialist depredation. Send your contributions to: PDC, P.O. Box 99, Canal Street Station, New York, NY 10013; (212) 406-4252. For more information about the class-war prisoners, including addresses for correspondence, see: partisandefense.org.

From The Labor Archives-In Honor of a Revolutionary Labor Militant Stan Gow 1928—2016

Workers Vanguard No. 1100
18 November 2016
 
In Honor of a Revolutionary Labor Militant
Stan Gow
1928—2016
Stan Gow, a lifelong socialist and trade-union activist, co-founder and editor of Longshore Militant and member of the executive board of Local 10 of the International Longshore and Warehouse Union (ILWU) from 1974 to 1986, died in July at the age of 88. Stan had been a supporter of the Spartacist tendency from its inception. Though we had lost touch with him in the last decades of his life, when he also suffered the devastating effects of Alzheimer’s disease, we mourn his passing and honor his contributions to our movement and to the ILWU. He was an exemplar of a revolutionary socialist working-class militant.
Comrades who knew Stan well overwhelmingly described him as patient, gentle, solid. He was a big man, over six feet tall, with an unassuming, aw-shucks demeanor that masked a keen intelligence. After a hard upbringing in coastal Maine, he joined the Air Force shortly after WWII. Later, he attended UC Berkeley on the GI Bill, receiving a degree in biochemistry. It was at Berkeley at the height of the McCarthy witchhunt that Stan was won to Marxism, defying the stultifying conformity and pervasive anti-communism of that era. Initially a supporter of Max Shachtman’s Independent Socialist League (ISL), he was part of the left wing, centered in the ISL’s student-youth group, which opposed the organization’s rightward trajectory and eventual liquidation into the American Socialist Party in 1957. Rejecting Shachtman’s anti-Sovietism, this left wing came over to the then-Trotskyist Socialist Workers Party (SWP). As the SWP politically degenerated in the early 1960s, Stan went on to support the politics of the Revolutionary Tendency which, expelled from the SWP in 1963, went on to found the Spartacist League.
After receiving his degree, Stan got a job as a chemist in the C&H Sugar refinery in Crockett, on the northern San Francisco Bay. He hated the smug white-collar managers who were his co-workers and he jumped at the chance to join the ILWU in 1959. Stan told comrades how much happier he was to occasionally work at C&H as a longshoreman, unloading the sugar boats. He maintained his interest in science and, with the ability to explain complicated concepts (whether scientific or political) in simple language, he was a powerful educator. When he wanted to emphasize a point, he would incline his head, squint slightly and speak firmly. Making good use of his chemical knowledge, Stan became known for his attention to on-the-job safety, especially regarding the dangerous materials longshoremen often had to handle.
Stan campaigned against U.S. imperialism’s dirty war against the Vietnamese workers and peasants and called for the labor movement to take up the fight for black rights. In an open letter to Bay Area longshoremen, Stan took the ILWU’s Dispatcher to task for its blanket condemnation of “violence”—equating police repression with the protest actions of black and Latino youth. Stan argued that systematic cop violence was at the root of the ghetto rebellions then sweeping the nation. He concluded:
“Both the economically exploited working-class and the oppressed color minorities must join together to form a new political party responsive to the needs of both and opposed to the policies of their exploiters, the capitalist class. We don’t need a Peace party, or a Civil Rights Party, or an expanded Poverty Program Party, or even any combination of these, but a party that starts with a drive for the centers of power in our economic-political structure.”
Distributed as a leaflet on the waterfront, Stan’s letter was reprinted in Spartacist (No. 11, March-April 1968) under the headline “How Does Violence Start?” The fight to break the labor movement from its abject prostration to the capitalist Democratic Party and take up the fight for black liberation and a revolutionary workers party was at the center of Stan’s work in the ILWU. He was one of the editors of Workers’ Action, an early and trial effort of Bay Area Spartacist supporters to address the working class. (The journal was later transferred to New York and subsequently incorporated into Workers Vanguard.) One comrade recalled that Stan revealed himself as a firebrand during the 1969 Berkeley People’s Park protests, grabbing the crowd’s attention as he roared out over the bullhorn the need for the students to link up with the power of the working class.
Stan entered the longshore workforce as containerization was just being introduced. He was one of the first “B-men,” a new category established by the Harry Bridges leadership. Having no union rights or benefits, B-men only worked during peak periods when all the A-men who wanted to work had been dispatched. This provision was central to the 1961 Mechanization and Modernization Agreement (M&M), which allowed the shippers of the Pacific Maritime Association (PMA) to slash jobs and working conditions while supposedly insuring a guaranteed income to remaining longshoremen (PGP or Pay Guarantee Plan). As work became scarcer over the following two decades, many B-men—unable to get much work and given only paltry PGP—were forced to leave the industry. Others were deregistered (lost their right to work as longshoremen) for minor infractions.
Stan was one of those who made it to A status. But he never ceased to see the second-class B category as a threat to the union and the hiring hall, where union dispatchers equalize work opportunity by distributing jobs on the basis of rotating lists of available longshoremen. He firmly opposed the lawsuit filed against the union by some of the deregistered men, organized by Stan Weir, a former ISL comrade of his. The suit, which threatened ILWU Local 10 with financial ruin, wound its way through the courts for 17 years and was eventually thrown out. Opposition in principle to bringing the capitalist courts into the affairs of the union movement was a central plank in the program on which Stan and fellow Local 10 member Howard Keylor ran for office in 1974. So too was the demand, “Full A status for B-men, now” as well as the call to abolish the “steady man” provision which Bridges forced through in the second M&M contract in 1966 (allowing heavy equipment operators to work directly for individual PMA companies as opposed to being dispatched out of the hiring hall).
These demands were touchstones of the program of Longshore Militant, which grew out of Gow and Keylor’s joint fight against the 1975 contract—yet another link in Bridges’ long chain of M&M betrayals. Longshore jobs coastwide had been cut by two-thirds, with the Bay Area hit particularly hard as container work migrated to the bigger ports in Los Angeles and Long Beach. While the shippers were tripling their tonnage and raking in profits, A-men in San Francisco counted themselves lucky to work three days a week. Their supposed guaranteed income was continually cut back, and the proposed contract allowed an arbitrator to cancel it as punishment for any “unauthorized” work stoppage. The ILWU membership rejected this sellout twice, and Bridges only forced it through on the third vote because many despaired of him negotiating anything better.
Longshore Militant was the only opposition grouping to call for ousting the discredited Bridges bureaucracy by building elected strike committees. Such committees were needed to run a solid coastwide strike to abolish the steady man clause and fight for a shorter workweek at no loss in pay in order to spread the available work among all longshoremen. Over the next decade, Longshore Militant continued to counterpose this class-struggle perspective to the M&M contracts brokered by Bridges and his heirs. Gow and Keylor were repeatedly re-elected to the Local 10 executive board, running on a platform that called for a revolutionary workers party to fight for a workers government. Stan was elected as a Local 10 delegate to ILWU conventions in 1979 and 1983.
Longshore Militant published some 70 issues between 1975 and 1986 and worked in solidarity with the Militant Caucus of ILWU Local 6, which published Warehouse Militant. The warehouse division was also hemorrhaging jobs as the distributors fled to low-wage Nevada. Both the Militant Caucus and Longshore Militant fought for an aggressive campaign to follow the runaway houses and organize the unorganized. Arrested with several other militants on a Local 6 picket line during the 1976 warehouse strike, Stan was slapped with the all-purpose charge of assaulting a police officer. The charges were later reduced and Stan received a 30-day suspended sentence. He gave a minority report on warehouse to the union’s 1979 convention.
The Fight for Genuine Labor Solidarity
In the ILWU, the influence of the Stalinist Communist Party (CP)—an early and uncritical backer of Harry Bridges—remained strong into the 1990s. Anyone familiar with the union’s history knows that its leadership’s rhetoric of labor solidarity was most often belied by inaction and abject class collaboration in practice. Stan was known above all else for his persistent fight to marshal the ILWU’s significant social power not just in words, but in solidarity action.
Over the years he fought for hot-cargoing military goods to the bloody Pinochet regime in Chile; for honoring picket lines set up at West Coast ports during strikes by the East and Gulf Coast International Longshoremen’s Association (ILA); for a 24-hour work stoppage in defense of the 1978 U.S. coal miners strike; and for a solidarity strike to defend the PATCO air traffic controllers union against President Ronald Reagan’s union-busting in 1981. The criminal refusal of the AFL-CIO bureaucracy to use its power to shut down the airports in defense of PATCO was a watershed, opening up a series of labor defeats, which went along with Reagan’s renewed Cold War offensive against the Soviet Union. It was at this time that Keylor cowardly deserted Longshore Militant and the Militant Caucus which had recently been formed in Local 10.
Stan continued the fight. In 1983, when Reagan announced a major military escalation of his dirty war to prop up the military junta in El Salvador, Stan initiated the call (signed by 23 other ILWUers) for a 24-hour port shutdown. The call was so popular that the Local 10 executive board was forced to recommend it to the ILWU convention, where International President Jimmy Herman (who had taken the reins when Bridges retired in 1977) did a full-court press to squash it. With protests over El Salvador filling the mall in Washington, D.C., Stan and his supporters tried to spark union action by picketing an El Salvador-bound ship. The Local 10 leadership ordered ILWU longshoremen to work the ship, then brought Stan up on charges of “conduct unbecoming a union member” in June 1983. The Local 10 trial committee, which refused to hear most of Stan’s witnesses, delivered a guilty verdict. But it was overturned at the membership meeting, as angry members turned out by the hundreds to shout, “No! No! No!” The attempt to muzzle Stan was defeated by a ten-to-one margin.
Two days before his sham trial, Stan and other union members had attempted to stop the loading of the Nedlloyd Kimberley, bound for South Africa, in protest against the execution of three anti-apartheid fighters. Once again, the Local 10 leadership ordered longshoremen to cross the picket line and work the ship. But they didn’t dare bring Stan up on charges for this action, understanding that the largely black membership of Local 10 strongly identified with the struggle against apartheid in South Africa.
Longshore Militant had been fighting to put teeth in the bureaucracy’s empty anti-apartheid resolutions since 1976. In the fall of 1984, with tens of thousands of black workers in South Africa on strike and anti-apartheid struggle exploding, Stan again issued urgent calls for Local 10 to boycott all ships to and from South Africa. He had been severely injured in an on-the-job accident the previous June, requiring several operations and years of recuperation during which he was unable to work. But that didn’t stop him. The bureaucrats at the head of Local 10 were feeling the heat, and when the Nedlloyd Kimberley docked at Pier 80 in late November they undertook a one-shot action, with a policy to work the ship but not the South African cargo.
Stan was there, fighting to throw the full weight of the ILWU behind the action. But the Local 10 leaders (with the active assistance of Howard Keylor and CP supporter Leo Robinson) refused to give official union sanction even for this token action. Longshoremen were left to go it alone, dispatched to the ship where they refused to work South African cargo and were fired for the day. In the guise of protecting the union from sanctions by the PMA and the courts for an “illegal” work stoppage, the bureaucrats purveyed the fiction that the ILWU members implementing the boycott were carrying out individual “acts of conscience.” But, as Stan pointed out, “Maybe we’re not real smart. We thought it was the job of the union to protect its members, not the members’ job to protect Herman’s cozy relationship with the PMA.” (For the full story, see “The Truth About the Nedlloyd Kimberley Boycott,” WV No. 873, 7 July 2006.)
The spineless attempt to “hide” this union action didn’t fool anyone—least of all the PMA and the capitalist courts, which slapped the union with an injunction. The ILWU leadership immediately caved in, calling off the boycott after ten days. Even this token use of union power won the ILWU international acclaim. How much more powerful if Stan’s program had won and the union had boycotted all South Africa-bound ships, defying court injunctions and Taft-Hartley threats—an action with the potential to strike a blow against hated anti-labor laws and galvanize similar actions by unions around the world.
Stan’s injuries were debilitating, and when he came back to the job he transferred to clerks Local 34, from which he eventually retired. In one of his last actions in Local 10, in April 1986, he presented the following motion calling on the Local’s executive board to protest Reagan’s terror bombing of Libya:
“ILWU Local 10 supports the cause of Libyan independence and territorial integrity against assaults by U.S. imperialism. We condemn U.S. imperialism’s policy of anti-Soviet provocation and its act of aggression, criminal assassination and mass terror against Libya.”
The motion passed, punching a hole in the anti-Soviet stance which the ILWU had taken under Jimmy Herman, who sought to line the union up behind U.S. imperialism’s renewed Cold War drive in the early 1980s. This was a sharp break with the ILWU’s pro-Moscow Stalinist stance under Harry Bridges. The CPers in the union hadn’t raised a peep when Herman threw the ILWU behind the U.S.-backed mullahs in Afghanistan and hailed Polish Solidarność, the reactionary movement that eventually led the capitalist counterrevolution in Poland. It was left to Longshore Militant to explain that it was in the interests of the working class to militarily defend the Soviet Union and the other states in which capitalism had been overthrown, despite their treacherous Stalinist misrulers. Stan had been won to defense of the gains of the 1917 Russian Revolution when he quit Shachtman’s ISL as a young man. He well understood that those who refuse to defend the past gains of the working class will never win new ones.
Stan can have no better epitaph than the one Longshore Militant published to draw the lessons of the sabotage of the Nedlloyd Kimberley boycott:
“For a long time, Stan Gow has been arguing that there are two counterposed political programs at work in the ILWU and other unions. Stan and the Militant Caucus have fought for the program of militant class struggle and political action independent of the capitalist parties, courts and government. This program is based on the fact that the bosses own the government, and together they are the enemies of working people and always will be until the working people take over society. The other program, represented by the International officers and the revolving door of Local 10 ‘leaders’, is class collaboration, a legalistic strategy that says there is a partnership between labor and the bosses, and that the government can be pressured to be a friend of the working man—as long as we obey its laws. This is a lie.”
After decades of defeats with labor misleaders bowing and scraping before the capitalists’ anti-labor laws, insisting that the election of some Democratic “friend of labor” is the only possible road forward, many union activists today despair of anything else even being possible. Stan Gow and his Longshore Militant fought for a different path. His life is rich with lessons that can and will be carried forward by a new generation of labor militants.