Friday, March 10, 2017

*****This Land IS Your Land- With Folk Troubadour Woody Guthrie In Mind

*****This Land IS Your Land- With Folk Troubadour Woody Guthrie In Mind         

          
      








By Bradley Fox









Back in 2014, the summer of 2014 to hone in on the time frame of the story to be told, Josh Breslin the then recently retired old-time alternative newspaper and small journal writer for publications like Arise Folk and Mountain Music Gazette who hailed from Olde Saco, Maine was sitting with his friend Sam Lowell from Carver down in cranberry bog country out in Concord in the field behind the Old Manse where the Greater Boston Folk Society was holding its annual tribute to folksinger Woody Guthrie he had thought about all the connections that he, they had to Woody Guthrie from back in the 1960s folk minute revival and before. He mentioned that orphan thought to Sam whom he queried on the subject, wanted to know his personal take on when he first heard Woody. And as well to Laura Perkins, Sam’s long-time companion who had been sitting between them and whom Josh had an on-going half flame going back who knows how far but who had made it clear to Josh on more than one occasion that she was true blue to Sam although she had thanked him for the attention compliment. Sam was aware of Josh’s interest but also of Laura’s position and so he and Josh got along, had in any case been back and forth with some many collective wives and girlfriends that attracted both of them since they had similar tastes going back to ex-surfer girl Butterfly Swirl that they just took it in stride.  Here is what Sam had to say:   




Some songs, no, let’s go a little wider, some music sticks with you from an early age which even fifty years later you can sing the words out to chapter and verse. Like those church hymns like Mary, Queen of the May, Oh, Jehovah On High, and Amazing Grace that you were forced to sit through with your little Sunday best Robert Hall white suit first bought by poor but proud parents for first communion when that time came  complete with white matching tie on or if you were a girl your best frilly dress on, also so white and first communion bought, when you would have rather been outside playing, or maybe doing anything else but sitting in that forlorn pew, before you got that good dose of religion drilled into by Sunday schoolteachers, parents, hell and brimstone reverends which had made the hymns make sense.




Like as well the bits of music you picked up in school from silly children’s songs in elementary school (Farmer In The Dell, Old MacDonald, Ring Around Something) to that latter time in junior high school when you got your first dose of the survey of the American and world songbook once a week for the school year when you learned about Mozart, Brahms, Beethoven, classic guys, Stephen Foster and a lot on stuff by guys named Traditional and Anonymous. Or more pleasantly your coming of age music, maybe like me that 1950s classic age of rock and roll when a certain musician named Berry, first name Chuck, black as night out of Saint Lou with a golden guitar in hand and some kind of backbeat that made you, two left feet you, want to get up and dance, told Mr. Beethoven, you know the classical music guy, and his ilk, Mozart, Brahms, Liszt, to move on over there was a new sheriff in town, was certain songs were associated with certain rites of passage, mainly about boy-girl things.




One such song from my youth, and maybe yours too, was Woody Guthrie surrogate “national anthem,” This Land is Your Land. (Surrogate in response to Irving Berlin’s God Bless America in the throes of the Great Depression that came through America, came through his Oklahoma like a blazing dust ball wind causing westward treks to do re mi California in search of the Promise Land). Although I had immersed myself in the folk minute scene of the early 1960s as it passed through the coffeehouses and clubs of Harvard Square that is not where I first heard or learned the song (and where the song had gotten full program play complete with folk DJs on the radio telling you the genesis of a lot of the music if you had the luck to find them when you flipped the dial on your transistor radio or the air was just right some vagabond Sunday night and for a time on television, after the scene had been established in the underground and some producer learned about it from his grandkids, via the Hootenanny show, which indicated by that time like with the just previous “beat” scene which scared the wits of square Ike American that you were close to the death-knell of the folk moment).




No, for that one song the time and place was in seventh grade in junior high school, down at Myles Standish in Carver where I grew up, when Mr. Dasher would each week in Music Appreciation class teach us a song and then the next week expect us to be able to sing it without looking at a paper. He was kind of a nut for this kind of thing, for making us learn songs from difference genres (except the loathed, his loathed, our to die for, rock and roll which he thought, erroneously and wastefully he could wean us from with this wholesome twaddle) like Some Enchanted Evening from South Pacific, Stephen Foster’s My Old Kentucky Home, or Irving Berlin’s Easter Parade and stuff like that. So that is where I learned it.




Mr. Dasher might have mentioned some information about the songwriter or other details on these things but I did not really pick up on Woody Guthrie’s importance to the American songbook until I got to that folk minute I mentioned where everybody revered him (including most prominently Bob Dylan who sat at his knee, literally as he lay wasting away from genetic diseases in Brooklyn Hospital, Pete Seeger, the transmission belt from the old interest in roots music to the then new interest centered on making current event political protest songs from ban the bomb to killing the Mister James Crow South, and Ramblin’ Jack Elliott who as an acolyte made a nice career out of continued worshipping at that shrine) not so much for that song but for the million other songs that he produced seemingly at the drop of a hat before that dreaded Huntington’s disease got the better of him.


He spoke in simple language and simpler melody of dust bowl refugees of course, being one himself, talked of outlaws and legends of outlaws being a man of the West growing up on such tales right around the time Oklahoma was heading toward tranquil statehood and oil gushers, talked of the sorrow-filled deportees and refugees working under the hot sun for some gringo Mister, spoke of the whole fellahin world if it came right down to it. Spoke, for pay, of the great man-made marvels like dams and bridge spans of the West and how those marvels tamed the wilds. Spoke too of peace and war (that tempered by his support for the American communists, and their line which came to depend more and more on the machinations of Uncle Joe Stalin and his Commissariat of Foreign Affairs), and great battles in the Jarama Valley fought to the bitter end by heroic fellow American Abraham Lincoln Battalion International Brigaders in civil war Spain during the time when it counted. Hell, wrote kids’ stuff too just like that Old MacDonald stuff we learned in school.     




The important thing though is that almost everybody covered Woody then, wrote poems and songs about him (Dylan a classic Song to Woody well worth reading and hearing on one of his earliest records), affected his easy ah shucks mannerisms, sat at his feet in order to learn the simple way, three chords mostly, recycled the same melody on many songs so it was not that aspect of the song that grabbed you but the sentiment, that he gave to entertain the people, that vast fellahin world mentioned previously (although in the 1960s folk minute Second Coming it was not the downtrodden and afflicted who found solace but the young, mainly college students in big tent cities and sheltered college campuses who were looking for authenticity, for roots).                 




It was not until sometime later that I began to understand the drift of his early life, the life of a nomadic troubadour singing and writing his way across the land for nickels and dimes and for the pure hell of it (although not all of the iterant hobo legend holds up since he had a brother who ran a radio station in California and that platform gave him a very helpful leg up which singing in the Okie/Arkie “from hunger” migrant stoop labor camps never could have done). That laconic style is what the serious folk singers were trying to emulate, that “keep on moving” rolling stone gathers no moss thing that Woody perfected as he headed out of the played-out dustbowl Oklahoma night, wrote plenty of good dustbowl ballads about that too, evoking the ghost of Tom Joad in John Steinbeck’s’ The Grapes Of Wrath as he went along. Yeah, you could almost see old Tom, beaten down in the dustbowl looking for a new start out in the frontier’s end Pacific, mixing it up with braceros-drivers, straw bosses, railroad “bulls,” in Woody and making quick work of it too.      








Yeah, Woody wrote of the hard life of the generations drifting West to scratch out some kind of existence on the land, tame that West a bit. Wrote too of political things going on, the need for working people to unionize, the need to take care of the desperate Mexico braceros brought in to bring in the harvest and then abused and left hanging, spoke too of truth to power about some men robbing you with a gun others with a fountain pen, about the beauty of America if only the robber barons, the greedy, the spirit-destroyers, the forever night-takers would let it be. Wrote too about the wide continent from New York Harbor to the painted deserts, to the fruitful orchards, all the way to the California line, no further if you did not have the do-re-mi called America and how this land was ours, the whole fellahin bunch of us, if we knew how to keep it. No wonder I remembered that song chapter and verse.             



Songs For Our Times-Build The Resistance-Barry McGuire's "Eve Of Destruction

Songs For Our Times-Build The Resistance-Barry McGuire's "Eve Of  Destruction    





During, let’s say the Obama administration or, hell, even the Bush era, for example  we could be gentle angry people over this or that notorious war policy and a few others matters and songs like Give Peace A Chance, We Shall Overcome, or hell, even that Kumbaya which offended the politically insensitive. From Day One of the Trump administration though the gloves have come off-we are in deep trouble. So we too need to take off our gloves-and fast as the cold civil war that has started in the American dark night heads to some place we don’t want to be. And the above song from the 1960s, another tumultuous time, makes more sense to be marching to. Build the resistance!      

BARRY MCGUIRE LYRICS

Play "Eve Of Destruction"
on Amazon Music
"Eve Of Destruction"

The eastern world it is exploding
Violence flarin', bullets loadin'
You're old enough to kill but not for votin'
You don't believe in war but whats that gun you're totin'?
And even the Jordan River has bodies floatin'

But you tell me
Over and over and over again my friend
Ah, you don't believe
We're on the eve of destruction

Don't you understand what I'm tryin' to say
Can't you feel the fears I'm feelin' today?
If the button is pushed, there's no runnin' away
There'll be no one to save with the world in a grave
Take a look around you boy, it's bound to scare you boy

And you tell me
Over and over and over again my friend
Ah, you don't believe
We're on the eve of destruction

Yeah my blood's so mad feels like coagulating
I'm sitting here just contemplatin'
I can't twist the truth it knows no regulation
Handful of senators don't pass legislation
And marches alone can't bring integration
When human respect is disintegratin'
This whole crazy world is just too frustratin'

And you tell me
Over and over and over again my friend
Ah, you don't believe
We're on the eve of destruction

Think of all the hate there is in Red China
Then take a look around to Selma, Alabama
You may leave here for four days in space
But when you return it's the same old place
The pounding of the drums, the pride and disgrace
You can bury your dead but don't leave a trace
Hate your next door neighbor but don't forget to say grace

And tell me
Over and over and over and over again my friend
You don't believe
We're on the eve of destruction
Mmm, no, no, you don't believe
We're on the eve of destruction

The Max Daddy Of The Jazz Scene -When Chet Baker Held Forth In The Be-Bop Night

The Max Daddy Of The Jazz Scene-When Chet Baker Held Forth In The Be-Bop Night  





Lenny Gorman comment:

Jazz was/is a sometime thing with me but when you keep running up against the name Chet Baker in every important study of the subject you have to check out the "daddy." So here we are-be-bop-be-bop -listen to the guy blow those high white notes... 

From the Archives of Marxism-“Communism and the Family”-by Alexandra Kollontai

Workers Vanguard No. 1086
25 March 2016
From the Archives of Marxism-“Communism and the Family”-by Alexandra Kollontai





We print below excerpts from a 1918 speech by Alexandra Kollontai delivered to the First All-Russia Congress of Working Women. This translation is taken from a pamphlet titled “Communism and the Family,” published in London by the Workers’ Socialist Federation sometime between 1918 and 1920. At the time, Kollontai was a leading Bolshevik, though she later fell into line with Stalinism. She was the only woman on the Bolshevik Central Committee on the eve of the October Revolution. Kollontai served in the first workers and peasants government as Commissar of Social Welfare and was a leader of Zhenotdel, the department that oversaw party work among women.
In her speech, Kollontai vividly described the early Soviet workers state’s perspective to eradicate women’s oppression, which is based on the institution of the family. She pointed to the immense possibilities for the emancipation of women in a communist future in which socialized domestic services as well as collectivized care and responsibility for all children would liberate woman and child alike from the chains of the family.
Bolshevik legislation provided women with a level of equality and freedom that had yet to be attained in advanced “democratic” capitalist countries, freeing them from the medieval grip of the Russian Orthodox church and rigid patriarchal hierarchy. The Bolsheviks sought to implement the promise of women’s emancipation and bring women into full participation in economic, social and political life. But at every step their efforts were confronted with the grim poverty and social and economic backwardness in mainly peasant Russia. In addition, the country’s economy had been devastated by World War I and by the Civil War (1918-1920), in which the Bolshevik regime fought against the armies of counterrevolution and imperialist intervention. As Leon Trotsky explained:
“The real resources of the state did not correspond to the plans and intentions of the Communist Party. You cannot ‘abolish’ the family; you have to replace it. The actual liberation of women is unrealizable on a basis of ‘generalized want.’ Experience soon proved this austere truth which Marx had formulated eighty years before.”
The Revolution Betrayed (1936)
Recognizing that the full emancipation of women is only possible on the basis of material abundance, the Bolsheviks looked to the extension of the revolution to the advanced capitalist countries, especially Germany. In 1923, the Communist International (Comintern) leadership and the German Communist Party failed to seize a revolutionary opportunity, ignominiously calling off a planned insurrection, after which demoralization swept Russia. By 1923-24, the failure to extend the revolution, the evisceration of the Russian working class in the Civil War and continuing economic scarcity enabled a bureaucratic caste, headed by Stalin, to usurp control of the Bolshevik Party, the workers state and the Comintern.
Through its futile pursuit of accommodation with imperialism, the Stalinist bureaucracy abandoned the fight for international revolution. The equality of women as envisioned by the Bolsheviks never fully came about as the Stalinists ultimately abandoned the communist fight for women’s liberation. In 1930, announcing that the woman question had been officially resolved, Zhenotdel was liquidated. The revised Family Code of 1936 criminalized abortion, made divorce more difficult to obtain and the bureaucracy called for a “reconstruction of the family on a new socialist basis.” (For more details, see “The Russian Revolution and the Emancipation of Women,” Spartacist [English-language edition] No. 59, Spring 2006.)
While the parasitic bureaucracy undermined the revolution, the USSR remained a workers state with a collectivized economy, and the gains achieved by Soviet women could not be wholly erased. Capitalist counterrevolution in the USSR in 1991-92, the door to which had been opened by Stalinist misrule, ushered in untold misery for the peoples of the former Soviet Union, not least women.
In this speech, Kollontai loosely used the term “Communist State,” sometimes in reference to the Soviet workers state and other times referring to a future communist society. The Marxist understanding of a workers state is one, like the Soviet Union, in which capitalist rule has been overthrown and replaced by the dictatorship of the proletariat. To speak of a “communist state” is erroneous because under communism, a classless global society of material abundance based on generations of economic and social development, the state (and also the institution of the family) will have withered away.
*   *   *
The Woman No Longer Dependent on the Man.
Will the family be maintained in the Communist State? Will it be just as it is today? That is a question which is tormenting the women of the working class, and which is likewise receiving attention from their comrades, the men. In recent days this problem has particularly been agitating all minds among the working women, and this should not astonish us: Life is changing under our very eyes; former habits and customs are gradually disappearing; the entire existence of the proletarian family is being organised in a manner that is so new, so unaccustomed, so “bizarre,” as to have been impossible to foresee. That which makes women at the present day all the more perplexed is the fact that divorce has been rendered easier in Soviet Russia. As a matter of fact, by virtue of the decree of the People’s Commissaires of December 18th, 1917, divorce has ceased to be a luxury accessible only to the rich; henceforth the working woman will not have to petition for months, or even for years, for a separate credential entitling her to make herself independent of a brutish or drunken husband, accustomed to beat her. Henceforth, divorce may be amicably obtained within the period of a week or two at most. But it is just this ease of divorce which is a source of such hope to women who are unhappy in their married life, which simultaneously frightens other women, particularly those who have become accustomed to considering the husband as the “provider,” as the only support in life, and who do not yet understand that woman must become accustomed to seek and to find this support elsewhere, no longer in the person of the man, but in the person of society, of the State.
From the Genetic Family to the Present Day.
There is no reason for concealing the truth from ourselves: the normal family of former days, in which the man was everything and the woman nothing—since she had no will of her own, no money of her own, no time of her own—this family is being modified day by day; it is almost a thing of the past. But we should not be frightened by this condition. Either through error or through ignorance we are quite ready to believe that everything about us may remain immutable while everything is changing. It has always been so, and it will always be so. There is nothing more erroneous than this proverb! We have only to read how people lived in the past, and we shall learn immediately that everything is subject to change and that there are no customs, nor political organisations, nor morals, which remain fixed and inviolable. And the family in the various epochs in the life of humanity has frequently changed in form; it was once quite different from what we are accustomed to behold today. There was a time when only one form of family was considered normal, namely, the genetic family; that is to say, a family with an old mother at its head, around whom were grouped, in common life and common work, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. The patriarchal family was also once considered the sole norm; it was presided over by a father-master whose will was law for all the other members of the family; even in our days, such peasant families may still be found in Russian villages. In fact, in those places the morals and the family laws are not those of the city worker; in the country there still are a large number of customs no longer found in the family of a city proletarian. The form of the family, its customs, vary according to race. There are peoples, such as, for instance, the Turks, Arabs, Persians, among whom it is permitted by law for a husband to have many wives. There have been, and there still are at present, tribes which tolerate the contrary custom of permitting a wife to have several husbands. The habitual morality of the present-day man permits him to demand of a young girl that she remain a virgin until legitimate marriage; but there were tribes among whom the woman, on the contrary, made it a matter of pride to have had many lovers, decorating her arms and legs with rings to indicate their number.... Such practices, which could not but astonish us, practices which we might even qualify as immoral, are found among other peoples to have the sanction of holiness, peoples who in their turn consider our laws and customs to be “sinful.” Therefore there is no reason for our becoming terrified at the fact that the family is undergoing a modification, that gradually the traces of the past which have become outlived are being discarded, and that new relations are being introduced between man and woman. We have only to ask: “What is it that has become outlived in our family system and what, in the relations of the working man and working woman and the peasant and peasant woman, are their respective rights and duties which would best harmonize with the conditions of life in the new Russia, in the worker’s Russia which our Soviet Russia now is?” Everything compatible with this new condition would be maintained; all the rest, all the superannuated rubbish which has been bequeathed to us by the cursed epoch of servitude and domination which was characteristic of the landed proprietors and the capitalists, all this shall be swept aside together with the exploiter class itself, with these enemies of the proletariat and of the poor.
Capitalism Destroyed the Old Family Life.
The family in its present form is also simply one of the legacies of the past. Formerly solid, compact in itself, indissoluble—for such was considered to be the character of marriage that had been sanctified by the priest in person—the family was equally necessary to all its members. Were it not for the family, who would have nourished, clothed, and trained the children, who would have guided them in life? The orphans’ lot in those days was the worst that could befall one. In the family such as we have become accustomed to it is the husband who earns and supports wife and children. The wife, on her part, is occupied with the housekeeping and the bringing up of the children, as she understands it. But already for a century this customary form of the family has been undergoing a progressive destruction in all the countries in which capitalism is dominant, in which the number of factories is rapidly growing, as well as other capitalist enterprises which employ working men. The family customs and morals are being formed simultaneously with the general conditions of the life surrounding them. What contributed most of all to change the family customs in a radical manner was without doubt the universal spread of wage labor on the part of woman. Formerly, it was only the man who was considered to be the support of the family. But for the past fifty or sixty years we have beheld in Russia (in other countries even somewhat earlier) the capitalist regime obliging women to seek remunerative work outside of the family, outside of the house.
30,000,000 Women Bearing a Double Burden.
The wages of the “providing” man being insufficient for the needs of the family, the wife in her turn found herself obliged to look for work that was paid for; the mother was obliged also to knock at the door of the factory offices. And year by year the number of women of the working class who left their homes in order to swell the ranks of the factory, to take up work as day labourers, saleswomen, office help, washerwomen, servants, increased day by day. According to an enumeration made before the beginning of the world war, in the countries of Europe and America there were counted about sixty million women earning a living by their own work. During the war this number increased considerably. Almost half of these women are married, but it is easy to see what sort of family life they must have—a family life in which the wife and mother goes to work outside of the house, for eight hours a day, ten if you include the trip both ways! Her home is necessarily neglected, the children grow up without any maternal care, left to themselves and all the dangerous risks of the street, in which they spend the greater part of their time. The wife, the mother, who is a worker, sweats blood to fill three tasks at the same time: to give the necessary working hours as her husband does, in some industry or commercial establishment, then to devote herself as well as she can to her household and then also to take care of her children. Capitalism has placed on the shoulders of the woman a burden which crushes her: it has made of her a wage-worker without having lessened her cares as a housekeeper and mother. We therefore find the woman crushed under her triple, insupportable burden, forcing from her often a swiftly smothered cry of pain, and more than once causing the tears to mount to her eyes. Care has always been the lot of woman, but never has woman’s lot been more unfortunate, more desperate than that of millions of working women under the capitalist yoke to-day, while industry is in its period of greatest expansion.
Workers Learn to Exist Without the Family Life.
The more widespread becomes the wage labor of woman, the further progresses the decomposition of the family. What a family life, in which the man and wife work in the factory in different departments; in which the wife has not even the time to prepare a decent meal for her offspring! What a family life when father and mother out of the twenty-four hours of the day, most of which are spent at hard labor, cannot even spend a few minutes with their children! It was quite different formerly; the mother, mistress of the house, remained at home, occupied with her household duties and her children, whom she did not cease to watch with her attentive eye—to-day, from early in the morning until the factory whistle blows, the working woman hastens to her work, and when evening has come, again, at the sound of the whistle, she hurries home to prepare the family’s soup and to do the most pressing of her household duties; after an all too scant sleep, she begins on the next day her regular grind. It is a real workhouse, this life of the married working woman! There is nothing surprising, therefore, in the fact that under these conditions the family ties loosen and the family itself disintegrates more and more. Little by little all that formerly made the family a solid whole is disappearing, together with its stable foundation. The family is ceasing to be a necessity for its members as well as for the State. The ancient forms of the family are becoming merely a hindrance.
What was it that made the family strong in the days of old? In the first place, the fact that it was the husband and father who supported the family; in the second place, that the home was a thing equally necessary to all the members of the family; and in the third and last place, that the children were brought up by the parents. What is left of all this to-day? The husband, we have just seen, has ceased to be the sole support of the family. The wife, who goes to work, has become the equal of her husband in this respect. She has learned to earn her own living and often also that of her children and her husband. This still leaves us as the function of the family the bringing-up and the support of the children while very young. Let us now see whether the family is not about to be relieved also even of this task just mentioned....
The Dawn of Collective Housekeeping.
The individual household has passed its zenith. It is being replaced more and more by collective housekeeping. The working woman will sooner or later need to take care of her own dwelling no longer; in the Communist society of tomorrow this work will be carried on by a special category of working women who will do nothing else. The wives of the rich have long been freed from these annoying and tiring duties. Why should the working woman continue to carry out these painful duties? In Soviet Russia the life of the working woman should be surrounded with the same ease, with the same brightness, with the same hygiene, with the same beauty, which has thus far surrounded only the women of the richer classes. In a Communist society the working woman will no longer have to spend her few, alas, too few hours of leisure, in cooking, since there will be in Communist society public restaurants and central kitchens to which everybody may come to take his meals.
These establishments have already been on the increase in all countries, even under the capitalist regime. In fact, for half a century the number of restaurants and cafes in all the great cities of Europe increased day by day; they sprang up like mushrooms after an autumn rain. But while under the capitalist system only people with well-lined purses could afford to take their meals in a restaurant, in the Communist city, anyone who likes may come to eat in the central kitchens and restaurants. The case will be the same with washing and other work: the working woman will no longer be obliged to sink in an ocean of filth or to ruin her eyes in darning her stockings or mending her linen; she will simply carry these things to the central laundries each week, and take them out again each week already washed and ironed. The working woman will have one care less to face. Also, special clothes-mending shops will give the working women the opportunity to devote their evenings to instructive readings, to healthy recreations, instead of spending them as at present in exhausting labor. Therefore, the four last duties still remaining to burden our women, as we have seen above, will soon also disappear under the triumphant Communist regime. And the working women will surely have no cause to regret this. Communist society will only have broken the domestic yoke of woman in order to render her life richer, happier, freer, and more complete.
The Child’s Upbringing Under Capitalism.
But what will remain of the family after all these labors of individual housekeeping have disappeared? We still have the children to deal with. But here also the state of the working comrades will come to the rescue of the family by substituting for the family; society will gradually take charge of all that formerly was on parents. Under the capitalist regime, the instruction of the child has ceased to be the duty of the parents. The children were taught in schools. Once the child had attained school age, the parents breathed more freely. Beginning with this moment the intellectual development of their child ceased to be an affair of theirs. But all the obligations of the family toward the child were not therefore finished. There was still the duty of feeding the child, buying it shoes, clothing it, making skilled and honest workers of them, who might be able when the time came to live by themselves and to feed and support their parents in their old age. However, it was very unusual when a worker’s family was able to fulfil entirely all these obligations towards their children; their low wages did not permit them even to give the children enough to eat, while lack of leisure prevented the parents from devoting to the education of the rising generation the full attention which it demanded for this duty. The family was supposed to bring up the children. But did it really? As a matter of fact, it is the street which brings up the children of the proletariat. The children of the proletarians are ignorant of the amenities of family life, pleasures which we still shared with our own fathers and mothers.
Furthermore, the low wages of the parents, insecurity, even hunger, frequently bring it about that when hardly ten years of age, the son of the proletarian already becomes in his turn an independent worker. Now, as soon as the child (boy or girl) begins to earn money, he considers himself the master of his own person to such an extent that the words and counsels of his parents cease having any effect upon him, the authority of the parents weakens and obedience is at an end. As the domestic labors of the family die out one by one, all obligations of support and training will be filled by society in place of the parents. Under the capitalist regime the children were frequently, too frequently, a heavy and unbearable burden to the proletarian family.
The Child and the Communist State.
Here also the Communist society will come to the aid of the parents. In Soviet Russia, owing to the care of the Commissariats of Public Education and of Social Welfare, great advances are being made, and already many things have been done in order to facilitate for the family the task of bringing up and supporting the children. There are homes for very small babies, day nurseries, kindergartens, children’s colonies and homes, infirmaries, and health resorts for sick children, restaurants, free lunches at school, free distribution of text books, of warm clothing, of shoes to the pupils of the educational establishments—does all this not sufficiently show that the child is passing out of the confines of the family and being placed from the shoulders of the parents on those of collectivity?
The care of children by the parents consisted of three distinct parts: (1) the care necessarily devoted to the very young babies; (2) the bringing up of the child; (3) the instruction of the child. As for the instruction of children in primary schools and later in gymnasiums [European secondary school] and universities, it has become a duty of the State, even in capitalist society. The other occupations of the working class, its conditions of life, imperatively dictated, even to capitalist society, the creation for the purposes of the young, of playgrounds, infants’ schools, homes, etc., etc. The more the workers became conscious of their rights, the better they were organised in any specific State, the more society would show itself to be concerned with relieving the family of the care of the children. But bourgeois society was afraid of going too far in this matter of meeting the interests of the working class, lest it contribute in this way to the disintegration of the family. The capitalists themselves are not unaware of the fact that the family of old, with the wife a slave and the man responsible for the support and well-being of the family, that the family of this type is the best weapon to stifle the proletarian effort toward liberty, to weaken the revolutionary spirit of the working man and working woman. Worry for his family takes the backbone out of the worker, obliges him to compromise with capital. The father and the mother, what will they not do when their children are hungry? Contrary to the practice of capitalist society, which has not been able to transform the education of youth into a truly social function, a State work, Communist society will consider the social education of the rising generation, as the very basis of its laws and customs, as the corner-stone of the new edifice. Not the family of the past, petty and narrow, with its quarrels between the parents, with its exclusive interests in its own offspring, will mould for us the man of the society of to-morrow. Our new man, in our new society, is to be moulded by Socialist organisations such as playgrounds, gardens, homes, and many other such institutions, in which the child will pass the greater part of the day and where intelligent educators will make of him a Communist who is conscious of the greatness of this sacred motto: solidarity, comradeship, mutual aid, devotion to the collective life.
The Mother’s Livelihood Assured.
But now, with the bringing up gone and with the instruction gone, what will remain of the obligations of the family toward its children, particularly after it has been relieved also of the greater portion of the material cares involved in having a child, except for the care of a very small baby while it still needs its mother’s attention, while it is still learning to walk, clinging to its mother’s skirts? Here again the Communist State hastens to the aid of the working mother. No longer shall the child-mother be bowed down with a baby in her arms! The Workers’ State charges itself with the duty of assuring a livelihood to every mother, whether she be legitimately married or not, as long as she is suckling her child, of creating all over maternity houses, of establishing in all the cities and all the villages, day nurseries and other similar institutions in order thus to permit the woman to serve the State in a useful manner and simultaneously to be a mother.
Marriage No Longer a Chain.
Let the working mothers be re-assured. The Communist Society is not intending to take the children away from the parents nor to tear the baby from the breast of its mother; nor has it any intention of resorting to violence in order to destroy the family as such. No such thing! Such are not the aims of the Communist Society. What do we observe to-day? The outworn family is breaking. It is gradually freeing itself from all the domestic labors which formerly were as so many pillars supporting the family as a social unit. Housekeeping? It also appears to have outlived its usefulness. The children? The parent-proletarians are already unable to take care of them; they can assure them neither subsistence nor education. This is the situation from which both parents and children suffer in equal measure. Communist Society therefore approaches the working woman and the working man and says to them:
“You are young, you love each other. Everyone has the right to happiness. Therefore live your life. Do not flee happiness. Do not fear marriage, even though marriage was truly a chain for the working man and woman of capitalist society. Above all, do not fear, young and healthy as you are, to give to your country new workers, new citizen-children. The society of the workers is in need of new working forces; it hails the arrival of every newborn child in the world. Nor should you be concerned because of the future of your child; your child will know neither hunger nor cold. It will not be unhappy nor abandoned to its fate as would have been the case in capitalist society. A subsistence ration and solicitous care are assured to the child and to the mother by the Communist Society, by the Workers’ State, as soon as the child arrives in the world. The child will be fed, it will be brought up, it will be educated by the care of the Communist Fatherland; but this Fatherland will by no means undertake to tear the child away from such parents as may desire to participate in the education of their little ones. The Communist Society will take upon itself all the duties involved in the education of the child, but the paternal joys, the maternal satisfaction—such will not be taken away from those who show themselves capable of appreciating and understanding these joys.”
Can this be called a destruction of the family by means of violence? Or a forcible separation of child and mother?
The Family a Union of Affection and Comradeship.
There is no escaping the fact: the old type of family has seen its day. It is not the fault of the Communist State, it is the result of the changed conditions of life. The family is ceasing to be a necessity of the State, as it was in the past; on the contrary, it is worse than useless, since it needlessly holds back the female workers from a more productive and far more serious work. Nor is it any longer necessary to the members of the family themselves, since the task of bringing up the children, which was formerly that of the family, is passing more and more into the hands of the collectivity. But, on the ruins of the former family we shall soon behold rising a new form which will involve altogether different relations between men and women, and which will be a union of affection and comradeship, a union of two equal persons of the Communist Society, both of them free, both of them independent, both of them workers. No more domestic “servitude” for women! No more inequality within the family. No more fear on the part of the woman to remain without support or aid with little ones in her arms if her husband should desert her. The woman in the Communist city no longer depends on her husband but on her work. It is not her husband but her robust arms which will support her. There will be no more anxiety as to the fate of her children. The State of the Workers will assume responsibility for these. Marriage will be purified of all its material elements, of all money calculations, which constitute a hideous blemish on family life in our days. Marriage is henceforth to be transformed into a sublime union of two souls in love with each other, each having faith in the other; this union promises to each working man and to each working woman simultaneously, the most complete happiness, the maximum of satisfaction which can be the lot of creatures who are conscious of themselves and of the life which surrounds them. This free union, which is strong in the comradeship with which it is inspired, instead of the conjugal slavery of the past—that is what the Communist Society of to-morrow offers to both men and women. Once the conditions of labor have been transformed, and the material security of the working women has been increased, and after marriage such as was performed by the Church—this so-called indissoluble marriage which was at bottom merely a fraud—after this marriage has given place to the free and honest union of men and women who are lovers and comrades, another shameful scourge will also be seen to disappear, another frightful evil which is a stain on humanity and which falls with all its weight on the hungry working woman: prostitution.
No More Prostitution.
This evil we owe to the economic system now in force, to the institution of private property. Once the latter has been abolished, the trade in women will automatically disappear.
Therefore let the woman of the working class cease to worry over the fact that the family as at present constituted is doomed to disappear. They will do much better to hail with joy the dawn of a new society which will liberate the woman from domestic servitude, which will lighten the burden of motherhood for woman, and in which, finally, we shall see disappear the most terrible of the curses weighing upon women, known as prostitution.
The woman who is called upon to struggle in the great cause of the liberation of the workers—such a woman should know that in the New State there will be no more room for such petty divisions as were formerly understood: “These are my own children; to them I owe all my maternal solicitude, all my affection; those are your children, my neighbour’s children; I am not concerned with them. I have enough to do with my own.” Henceforth the worker-mother, who is conscious of her social function, will rise to a point where she no longer differentiates between yours and mine; she must remember that there are henceforth only our children, those of the Communist State, the common possession of all the workers.
Social Equality of Men and Women.
The Workers’ State has need of a new form of relation between the sexes. The narrow and exclusive affection of the mother for her own children must expand until it embraces all the children of the great proletarian family. In place of the indissoluble marriage based on the servitude of woman, we shall see rise the free union, fortified by the love and the mutual respect of the two members of the Workers’ State, equal in their rights and in their obligations. In place of the individual and egotistic family, there will arise a great universal family of workers, in which all the workers, men and women, will be, above all, workers, comrades. Such will be the relation between men and women in the Communist Society of to-morrow. This new relation will assure to humanity all the joys of the so-called free love ennobled by a true social equality of the mates, joys which were unknown to the commercial society of the capitalist regime.
Make way for healthy, blossoming children; make way for a vigorous youth that clings to life and to its joys, which is free in its sentiments and in its affections. Such is the watchword of the Communist Society. In the name of equality, of liberty, and of love, we call upon the working women and the working men, peasant women and peasants, courageously and with faith to take up the work of the reconstruction of human society with the object of rendering it more perfect, more just, and more capable of assuring to the individual the happiness which he deserves. The red flag of the social revolution which will shelter, after Russia, other countries of the world also, already proclaims to us the approach of the heaven on earth to which humanity has been aspiring for centuries.

Exclusion Redux-On The 75th Anniversary Of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s Executive Order Rounding Up Japanese-Americans For The Concentration Camps

Exclusion Redux-On The 75th Anniversary Of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s Executive Order Rounding Up Japanese-Americans For The Concentration Camps



And just in case you think today's arguments are new here's a little government propaganda piece...




By Frank Jackman
   

History is sometimes a mischievous muse. It was 75 years ago that another President of the United States (POTUS in tweet speak), a wild man left-wing Democratic to hear the American-Firsters of that day tell it signed an executive rounding up another minority of the myriad that have passed through this country. And 75 years later … (hey you know) 

For All The Girls Who Waited By The Midnight Phone- Janis Ian’s Song “At Seventeen”


For All The Girls Who Waited By The Midnight Phone- Janis Ian’s Song “At Seventeen”





Lance Lawrence comment;

A lot of guys, guys like me at seventeen, hung around the midnight phone, forlornly hung around the midnight phone waiting, two or three hour waiting for that call that was supposed to come at eight for me to pick up some date by nine-if she was ready- if she was available-if she didn’t have a date with Harry and his “boss’ Chevy the pick of the liter in our working class neighborhood-if she didn’t have anything else to do-the next day’s excuses.

But this is Women’s History Month and while hanging by the midnight phone or being ugly in some fool’s blind eye may not be the highest priority for what anybody would call oppression at seventeen as the song presented here notes it does mean just that, means it big time with a bow around it. So listen up all you seventeen midnight by the phone girl dreamers-all you seventeen girl dreamers who worry to perdition about your weight, your shape, your “figure” and whether some benighted fool (or fools) call you ugly either to your face or behind your back. This song will tell you that you are not alone-and you will survive.  


*******

"AT SEVENTEEN"

By Janis Ian

I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear skinned smiles
Who married young and then retired
The valentines I never knew
The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful
At seventeen I learned the truth...
And those of us with ravaged faces
Lacking in the social graces
Desperately remained at home
Inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say "come dance with me"
And murmured vague obscenities
It isn't all it seems at seventeen...

A brown eyed girl in hand me downs
Whose name I never could pronounce
Said: "Pity please the ones who serve
They only get what they deserve"
The rich relationed hometown queen
Marries into what she needs
With a guarantee of company
And haven for the elderly...

So remember those who win the game
Lose the love they sought to gain
In debitures of quality and dubious integrity
Their small-town eyes will gape at you
In dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received at seventeen...
To those of us who knew the pain
Of valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
the world was younger than today
when dreams were all they gave for free
to ugly duckling girls like me...

We all play the game, and when we dare
We cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone
Repenting other lives unknown
That call and say: "Come on, dance with me"
And murmur vague obscenities
At ugly girls like me, at seventeen...

A View From The Left- Milo Yiannopoulos: Right-Wing Provocateur Targets Campuses

Workers Vanguard No. 1106
24 February 2017
 
Milo Yiannopoulos: Right-Wing Provocateur Targets Campuses
Milo Yiannopoulos revels in being an in-your-face pig. A leading voice of anti-immigrant and anti-Muslim reaction, he has smeared Black Lives Matter as a “terrorist organization,” condemned transgender people as “mentally ill,” launched a mob of racist Twitter trolls against black Saturday Night Live comic Leslie Jones, celebrated the sexual harassment of women as something they enjoy and described abortion as “one of the great horrors of civilization.” Most recently, in what he calls his “Dangerous F----t” tour, Yiannopoulos has been on a nationwide campaign on campuses inciting bigotry and spewing provocations against anyone he considers an affront to “Western culture.”
Described as “a crusader in a righteous cause, opposing the cultural tyranny of the Left,” Yiannopoulos and the Republican frat rats sponsoring him aim to intensify an atmosphere of intimidation and ideological conformity on campus. Parading in flamboyant attire, the openly gay Yiannopoulos is promoted as the “hip” face of the “alt-right,” which includes forces ranging from racist ideologues to outright fascists. His powerful connections lead straight into the White House, particularly with Trump’s chief advisor, Steve Bannon, the former boss of Breitbart News and poison pen of “white nationalism.” Not surprisingly, his appearances attract bona fide fascists.
Now, many of his allies are railing against Yiannopoulos for speaking positively about consensual gay relationships between teenagers and older men, about the only unobjectionable thing he has said. The Conservative Political Action Conference has rescinded his speaking engagement, and he has resigned as a senior editor of Breitbart News. As Marxists, we oppose “age of consent” laws, which give the capitalist state the authority to determine at what age youth can engage in sex—the only guiding principle should be mutual effective consent. It is a measure of what a hot button intergenerational sex is for the forces of reaction that some of them have pulled the plug on Yiannopoulos, who otherwise has served as an asset in promoting their racist agenda and bashing protesters on campuses around the country.
Outside Yiannopoulos’s event at the University of Washington on January 20, an anti-racist protester was shot in the stomach by a Trump supporter and critically wounded. The cops let the shooter walk free, claiming he had fired in self-defense. A week earlier, Yiannopoulos had been scheduled to speak at UC Davis together with his “Pharma Bro,” Martin Shkreli. A former pharmaceutical company CEO, Shkreli is infamous for hiking the price of an essential drug for AIDS and cancer patients from $13 to $750. The Davis event was called off by the campus Republicans, who claimed protesters were endangering the lives of the cops who were mobilized to defend the event.
On February 1, Yiannopoulos was scheduled to appear at UC Berkeley to kick off a campaign against “illegal” immigrant students by demanding the withdrawal of federal funds from “sanctuary campuses” and the prosecution of university officials. His partner in this witchhunt is David Horowitz’s “Freedom Center.” A racist ideologue and rabid Zionist, Horowitz has a long track record of provocation—from calling to purge leftist and liberal professors, to grotesque smear campaigns against pro-Palestinian students.
More than 2,000 people came out to protest Yiannopoulos at Cal, and in the end his event was shut down by Black Bloc demonstrators. Yiannopoulos should be protested, exposed and refuted as part of defending the ever-dwindling free speech rights of all those targeted by this provocateur and his band of campus witchhunters. But those who shut down the meeting, amid bonfires and shattered glass, fell right into Yiannopoulos’s trap, handing him the flag of “freedom of speech” to wave like a bloody shirt.
Portraying himself as the victim of “totalitarian” liberals and leftists, Yiannopoulos whined that “the Left is absolutely terrified of free speech and will do literally anything to shut it down.” On Twitter, Trump threatened, “If U.C. Berkeley does not allow free speech and practices violence on innocent people with a different point of view—NO FEDERAL FUNDS?” The media railed against anarchist Black Bloc “violence,” a chorus joined by none other than the International Socialist Organization (not a first). Opining that “this small group of adventurists was doing about as much to provoke the police to attack as I’ve ever seen,” a member writing for Socialist Worker online (8 February) praised the cops for showing “remarkable restraint”!
In fact, the cops originally fired pepper balls and rubber bullets at the protesters. Now they are working with the FBI in a witchhunting investigation into the protest. Thus, far from a victory against the forces of reaction and repression, the result of shutting down this creep was to strengthen them. However dim and misguided the anarchists’ actions were, we nonetheless call to defend the Black Bloc and other anti-Yiannopoulos protesters who get snared in the FBI and cops’ manhunt.
Free Speech, Racist Ideologues and Fascist Terror
In the weeks leading up to the Cal protest, a letter from faculty members appealed to UC Berkeley chancellor Nicholas Dirks to cancel Yiannopoulos’s event, arguing that it would “violate the codes of conduct that operate to keep the campus a harassment-free space.” Anyone who has set foot on American campuses in the past few decades knows they are far from “harassment-free” oases—much less havens of radical liberalism, not to say Marxism. With the shredding of affirmative action programs and skyrocketing tuition fees driving out black, Latino, working-class and poor students, colleges and universities are increasingly becoming “free spaces” for right-wing and retrograde elements who think they can act with impunity.
Liberals and putative leftists appeal to campus administrations to enforce restrictive “speech codes” and “sensitivity training” as the means to supposedly combat racism, sexism and anti-gay bigotry. Slogans like “Hate Speech Is Not Free Speech,” which was chanted at the Cal protest, amount to pleading with the capitalist rulers and their campus representatives to regulate what people can say. In fact, Zionist forces have repeatedly wielded claims of “hate speech” to try to shut down student organizations defending the Palestinian people by grotesquely equating criticism of Israel with “anti-Semitism.” Policing speech serves to strengthen the forces of repression, like the cops in riot gear at the Cal Yiannopoulos protest, which can and will be used against leftists, blacks and immigrants. Calls to restrict speech also help pave the way for the likes of Yiannopoulos and Horowitz to posture as defenders of “freedom of speech.”
Groups like the Revolutionary Communist Party as well as the anarchists argue that Trump, Yiannopoulos and Horowitz are fascists. This characterization only serves to disarm people in the face of the genuine Nazis and other race-terrorists who have been emboldened by Trump’s victory. Fascism is not a question of speech. Fascists are paramilitary action gangs whose purpose is the obliteration of the workers movement and racial genocide. And in America, that means they have black people in their sights. Homegrown American fascism, the KKK, was born out of the bloody reaction in the South following the defeat of the slavocracy in the Civil War. No less than the Klan, the fascist vermin crawling in the “alt-right” today represent a threat to the very right of black people to exist. The fascists must be crushed in the egg by mobilizing the power of the multiracial working class to smash them in an elementary defense of itself and all the oppressed.
Yiannopoulos, Horowitz and their ilk are not fascists. They are reactionary provocateurs and ideologues. The filth that they spew is fed by the reality of capitalist class rule in America, which is rooted in the vicious racial oppression of black people, as well as anti-immigrant racism and sexist bigotry. Contrary to the “fight the right” protests against Trump, which look to the Democrats to save the day, the Democrats are as much the defenders of this capitalist order as are the Republicans.
Anyone who wants to see the real face of fascism should look no farther than the murderous assault on anti-fascist protesters in Sacramento last June by the white supremacists of the Traditionalist Workers Party and the Golden Gate Skinheads. Dressed in swastika T-shirts and giving “Seig Heil” salutes, these race-terrorists came armed to carry out, in their words, a “fight to the death.” Eight anti-fascist protesters were viciously stabbed and slashed, with several hospitalized. Having faced knife-wielding Klansmen in Anaheim, California, a few months earlier, Progressive Labor Party reported that its members came armed with long poles to fend off and beat the fascists in Sacramento. That was smart. However, the end result of the demonstration overall was unfortunately not a victory. In the aftermath, the white-supremacist stormtroopers gloated that they had prevailed in grievously bloodying several protesters.
Expressing solidarity with these Nazis was suit-and-tie fascist führer Richard Spencer, head of the innocuous-sounding National Policy Institute, whose avowed aim is the creation of a white “ethno-state” in North America. At a meeting to celebrate Trump’s election at the Ronald Reagan building in D.C. in November, Spencer and his followers were videoed giving a Nazi salute as he declared: “Hail Trump! Hail Our People! Hail Victory!” This was followed by the Nazis of the Daily Stormer website threatening to march through the streets of the small town of Whitefish, Montana, on Martin Luther King Day armed with “high-powered rifles.” Enraged by a town proclamation denouncing Spencer, who lives part time in Whitefish, the Nazis particularly targeted Jewish residents.
Among those in the Daily Stormer’s sights is none other than Milo Yiannopoulos, whom they describe as the “single greatest threat our movement has at this time.” Complaining that Yiannopoulos is “taking our brand, our symbols, and turning them against us for a neocon-Jew conservative agenda,” they threatened: “Real Nazis are going to show up at every show and confront him.” These fascist stormtroopers know the difference between their program of racist murder and a reactionary creep who grooves on racist provocations. And anyone who wants to stop the genuinely fascist vermin that are crawling out from between the toes of the Trump administration had better know it too.
The race-terrorists must be smashed through the mobilization of the social power of the working class standing at the head of all the opponents and intended victims of the fascists. We are proud of our record of initiating and carrying out successful united-front, multiracial mobilizations, based on the power of the trade unions, which stopped cold the Klan and Nazis in cities like Boston, Washington, D.C., San Francisco, Philadelphia and elsewhere.
As for the likes of Yiannopoulos, our aim as communists is not to ban his meetings or shut them down, but to protest and expose his reactionary ideology. In the early 2000s, when David Horowitz launched his McCarthyite “Freedom Tour” promoting the despicable lie that black people benefited from slavery, the Spartacus Youth Clubs initiated united-front protests exposing this racist ideologue from UCLA to UC Berkeley and the University of Chicago.
Black oppression is the bedrock of American capitalism and anti-black racism is the touchstone for all manner of social reaction. Our protests against Horowitz sought to win a new generation of youth to an understanding that the fight for black freedom in this country is central to the liberation of the working class and all the oppressed from the bondage of capitalist class rule.
We seek to forge a revolutionary workers party that acts as the tribune of the people, fighting every manifestation of the tyranny and oppression of this decaying capitalist order. It is by joining the fight to build such a party that radical students, young workers and others will find their place in the struggle for genuine equality and human freedom in a socialist America.

Look At The Envelope-Stupid-Audrey Hepburn And Cary Grant’s “Charade” (1963)-A Film Review

Look At The Envelope-Stupid-Audrey Hepburn And Cary Grant’s  “Charade” (1963)-A Film Review



DVD Review

By Film Critic Sam Lowell

Charade, starring Audrey Hepburn, Cary Grant, Walter Matthau, directed by Stanley Donen,  1963

I, like most film critics, professionals and probably amateurs alike, to be able to pigeonhole film into certain genre which allows us to then compare our film under review with selected our genre with previous efforts in the category. Strictly a matter of choice and convenience usually, Then you come up against the film like the one under review here Charade which contains equal possibilities as a romance, somewhat dark comedy, and a thriller.  Of course coming up against that trifecta one could pass. But that would be a serious mistake since whatever genre you want to pigeonhole the effort in you would miss being brightened up by the performance of Audrey Hepburn, and if not the performance then just by her ingénue beauty and smile.     

Charade is the perfect title for this vehicle since right up until the end we have every central character twisting the truth of their personas every which way-living to play whatever charade advances their agenda. That is everybody but Reggie, the role played by Ms. Hepburn. She is the only one, naively at times, who plays the whole deal straight. Here’s how it played for her, played straight. Her husband was found dead on the side of railroad track in Paris while she was on holiday in the mountains and after she returned to an empty apartment was informed of such by a police inspector assigned to the case. After a morgue identification Reggie was given his last effects which are important to the plot line, especially a letter addressed to her..          

All well and good since she was going to divorce the cad anyway but them her world gets very weird. She was summoned to the American Embassy to talk to a CIA operative, played by Walter Matthau. He told her a story that she could hardly believe even though she did not know much about her late husband’s doings. It seems he and four other soldiers s during World War II were assigned to deliver $250, 000 in sweet sugar gold to the French Resistance (I know just walking around money now but big dough in the 1940s and maybe in the 1960s too). Instead of giving the money to the Resistance they decided to steal it. No problem except they were ambushed by a German patrol and one of their number was killed, Dyle. Moreover her husband had double-crossed his comrades and grabbed the whole thing. So only three guys are left. But they want the dough. And the U.S. government wants the dough too. All eyes are on Reggie since logically she is the only one who would know where the dough was. So they take aim, dead aim at her.

Enter suave, sophisticated and funny Peter (we will call him Peter throughout although in his part of the charade he had several names), played by Cary Grant, whom she had met on that ski holiday to the rescue. After a million subterfuges and false leads Reggie found out that Peter was nothing but a no good thief looking for that dough on his own hook. That however does not stop the dewy-eyed Reggie from going for Peter romantically against all good reason-except he is her knight gallant against the other three villains of the piece. At least until he can figure out whether she really does know where the dough is.

As the film moves along each one of those three pursuers winds up dead, very dead. Reggie suspects against all good reason that Peter is the murderer (all good reason because everybody in the audience knows the suave Grant is not cast as the villain in films but as the good guy). But if it not Peter who is it? And where is the dough? Then before he passes into the shades one of the villains finally has an epiphany (although he probably didn’t have any idea that was what it was called) at the weekly stamp festival that he was staking out since that was the last place Reggie’s husband had in his appointment book. The lightbulb went on that his old comrade had converted the money to stamps, very rare stamps which were attached to the letter to Reggie.  (Now you don’t have to be a serious philatelist, you know a stamp collector, to know that putting rare stamps, hell, any stamps lose a great deal of value if you adhere them to an envelope but we will let that pass). That same lightbulb hit Peter and subsequently Reggie. 

The chase was on once Reggie found out that her friend’s son, an avid philatelist, (come on how many times do I get to use that word in a review so indulge me for using it twice especially since I explained to the clueless that it is just stamp-collecting) had grabbed them off the letter to Reggie from her late husband. Then thing got very dicey for Reggie once she had the stamps in her possession as she was ready to turn them over to that helpful CIA operative. Guess what he too was playing a charade. He was the one of the five, the one who was “killed” in that German ambush. Except he was only severely wounded and spent time in a German POW camp. So you could have excused him if he wasted those other four comrades who left him behind.  Naturally when it came to gun play to save Reggie’s bacon Peter did his duty and killed that fake CIA operative. As for who Peter really was check out the film. I am going to call this a thriller, okay.                     



What Makes An Effective Protest-The Risen People?-May Day 1971-Build The Resistance

What Makes An Effective Protest-The Risen People?-May Day 1971-Build The Resistance 

Here is a take from NPR on how earlier protest movements affected policy.

http://www.wbur.org/hereandnow/2017/02/23/effective-protest-movement


Click on the headline to link to an entry for May Day 1971 in Washington, D.C.

http://libcom.org/library/ending-war-inventing-movement-mayday-1971


Endless, dusty, truck heavy, asphalt steaming hitchhike roads travelled, Route 6, 66, maybe 666 and perdition for all we knew, every back road, every Connecticut highway avoiding back road from Massachusetts south to the capital for one last winner-take-all, no prisoners taken show-down to end all show-downs. And maybe, just maybe, finally some peace and a new world a-borning, a world we had been talking about for at least a decade (clueless, as all youth nations are clueless, that that road was well-travelled, very well- travelled, before us). No Jack Kerouac dharma bum easy road (although there were dharma bums, or at least faux dharma bums, aplenty on those 1971 roads south, and west too) let her rip cosmic brakeman Neal Cassady at the wheel flying through some wheat field night fantasy this trip.

No this trip was not about securing some cultural enclave in post-war (World War II so as not to confuse the reader) break-out factory town Lowell or cold water tenement Greenwich Village/Soho New Jack City or Shangri-La West out in the Bay area, east or west, but about mucking up the works, the whole freaking governmental/societal/economic/cultural/personal/godhead world (that last one, the godhead one, not thrown in just for show, no way) and maybe, just maybe sneaking away with the prize. But a total absolute, absolutist, big karma sky fight out, no question. And we are, he is, ready. On that dusty road ready.

More. See all roads head south as we and they, his girlfriend of the day, maybe more, maybe more than a day, Joyell, but along this time more for ease of travelling for those blessed truck driver eye rides, than lust or dream wish and his sainted wise-guy amigo (and shades of Gregory Corso, sainted, okay), Matty, who had more than a passing love or dream wish in her and if you had seen her you would not have wondered why. Not have wondered why if your “type” was Botticelli painted and thoughts of butterfly swirls just then or were all-type sleepy-eyed benny-addled teamster half-visioned out of some forlorn rear view mirror.

Yah, head south, in ones, twos, and threes (no more, too menacing even for hefty ex-crack back truckers to stop for) travelling down to D.C. for what many of them figured would be the last, finally, push back against the war, the Vietnam War, for those who have forgotten, or stopped watching television and the news, but THEY, and we knew (know) who they were, had their antennae out too, they KNEW those who were coming, even high-ball fixed (or whiskey neat she had the face for them) looking out from lonely balconies Martha Mitchell knew that much. They were, especially in mad max robot-cop Connecticut, out to pick off the stray or seven who got into their mitts as a contribution to law and order, law and order one Richard Milhous Nixon-style (and in front of him, leading some off-key, off-human key chorus some banshee guy from Maryland, another watch out hitchhike trail spot, although not as bad as Ct., nothing except Arizona was). And thus those dusty, steamy, truck heavy (remind me to tell you about hitchhiking stuff, and the good guy truckers you wanted, desperately wanted, to ride with in those days, if I ever get a chance sometime).

The idea behind this hitchhiked road, or maybe, better, the why. Simple, too simple when you, I, they thought about it later in lonely celled night but those were hard trying times, desperate times really, and just free, free from another set of steel-barred rooms these jailbirds-in-waiting- were ready to bring down heaven, hell, hell if it came down to it to stop that furious war (Vietnam, for the later reader) and start creating something recognizable for humans to live in. So youth nation, then somewhat long in the tooth, and long on bad karma-driven bloody defeats too, decided to risk all with the throw of the dice and bring a massive presence to D.C. on May Day 1971.

And not just any massed presence like the then familiar seasonal peace crawl that nobody paid attention then to anymore except the organizers, although the May Day action was wrapped around that year’s spring peace crawl, (wrapped up, cozily wrapped up, in their utopian reformist dream that more and more passive masses, more and more suburban housewives from New Jersey, okay, okay not just Jersey, more and more high school freshman, more and more barbers, more and more truck driver stop waitresses, for that matter, would bring the b-o-u-r-g-e-o-i-s-i-e (just in case there are sensitive souls in the room) to their knees. No, we were going to stop the government, flat. Big scheme, big scheme no question and if anybody, any “real” youth nation refugee, excepting, of course, always infernal always, those cozy peace crawl organizers, tried to interject that perhaps there were wiser courses nobody mentioned them out loud in our presence and we were at every meeting, high or low. Moreover we had our ears closed, flapped shut closed, to any lesser argument. We, rightly or wrongly, silly us thought “cop.” 

So onward anti-war soldiers from late night too little sleep Sunday night before Monday May Day dawn in some vagrant student apartment around DuPont Circle (He, we, thought, but it may have been further up off 14th Street, Christ after eight million marches for seven million causes who can remember that much. No question though on the student ghetto apartment locale; bed helter-skelter on the floor, telephone wire spool for a table, orange crates for book shelves, unmistakably, and the clincher, seventeen posters, mainly Che, Mao, Ho, Malcolm etc., the first name only necessary for identification pantheon just then, a smattering of Lenin and Trotsky but they were old guys from old revolutions and so, well, discounted) to early rise (or early stay up cigarette chain-smoking and coffee-slurping to keep the juices flowing).

Out into the streets, out into the small collectives coming out of other vagrant apartments streets (filled with other posters of Huey Newton , George Jackson, Frantz Fanon, etc. from the two names needed pantheon) joining up to make a cohorted mass (nice way to put it, right?). And then dawn darkness surrounded, coffee spilled out, cigarette bogarted, AND out of nowhere, or everywhere, bang, bang, bang of governmental steel, of baton, of chemical dust, of whatever latest technology they had come up with they came at us (pre-tested in Vietnam, naturally, as I found out later). Jesus, bedlam, mad house, insane asylum, beat, beat like gongs, defeated.

Through bloodless bloodied streets (this, after all, was not Chicago, hog butcher to the world), may day tear down the government days, tears, tear-gas exploding, people running this way and that coming out of a half-induced daze, a crazed half-induced daze that mere good- will, mere righteousness would right the wrongs of this wicked old world. One arrested, two, three, many, endless thousands as if there was an endless capacity to arrest, and be arrested, arrest the world, and put it all in one great big ironic (past ironic) Robert F. Kennedy stadium home to autumn gladiators on Sunday and sacrificial lambs this spring maypole may day basket druid day.

And, as we were being led away by one of D.C.s finest, we turned around and saw that some early Sunday morning voice, some “cop” voice who advised caution and went on and on about getting some workers out to join us before we perished in an isolated blast of arrests and bad hubris also being led away all trussed up, metal hand-cuffs seemingly entwined around her whole slight body. She said she would stick with us even though she disagreed with the strategy that day and we had scoffed, less than twenty-four hours before, that she made it sound like she had to protect her erring children from themselves. And she, maybe, the only hero of the day. Righteous anonymous sister, forgive us. (Not so anonymous actually since we saw her many times later in Boston, and Peter Paul almost would have traded in lust for her but he was still painted Botticelli-bewitched and so I, he, let the moment pass, and worked on about six million marches for about five millions causes with her but that was later. We saw no more of her in D.C. that week.)

Stop. Brain start. Out of the bloodless fury, out of the miscalculated night a strange bird, no peace dove, these were not such times even with all our unforced errors, and no flame-flecked phoenix raising but a bird, maybe the owl of Minerva came a better sense that this new world a-bornin’ would take some doing, some serious doing. More serious that some wispy-bearded, pony-tailed beat, beat down, beat around, beat up young stalwart road tramps acting in god’s place could even dream of. But that was later. Just then, just that screwed-up martyr moment, we were longing for the hot, dusty, truck driver stop meat loaf special, dishwater coffee on the side, road back home even ready to chance Connecticut highway dragnets to get there.