Trump: Damaged and Unpredictable
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Monday, April 17, 2017
From Socialist Alternative -Trump: Damaged and Unpredictable
The Dim-Witted Ghost Of Davey Jones’ Locker-Johnny Depp’s “Pirates Of The Caribbean: At World’s End” (2007)-A Film Review
The Dim-Witted Ghost Of
Davey Jones’ Locker-Johnny Depp’s “Pirates Of The Caribbean: At World’s End” (2007)-A
Film Review
DVD Review
By Associate Film Critic
Alden Riley
[As regular readers of
this space now are probably painfully aware when Sam Lowell the longtime film
critic here retired from the day to day grind of reviewing films, old and
young, his old-time friend and competitor from American Film Gazette days Sandy Salmon took over the chores. Sandy
himself is in the process of retiring at some point in the near distant future
and thus he hired me, Alden Riley, to do some of the leg work with the idea of me
taking his place when the time comes for him hang up his hat. Apparently until
then I am to take every deadbeat film, every stinker to put the matter more
succinctly, like the film below that Sandy doesn’t want to touch with a
ten-foot pole. Okay Sandy but my day will come.]
Pirates of the
Caribbean: At World’s End, starring Johnny Depp, Orlando Bloom, Kiera Knightly,
2007
Sometimes Hollywood goes
too far with a good thing. Tries to squeeze more than that last ounce out of
one of its productions, one of its ideas that cannot sustain a battering in sequel
land. Not always as the Star Wars and
Lord of the Rings trilogies testify
to in a big way. Going the other way the prequel to the original Star Wars and The Hobbit trilogies and the film under review here the third
installment of the Pirates Of The
Caribbean trilogy, or what was then billed as a trilogy, At
World’s End lacked reason to go the trifecta distance. (Needless to say
films four and five of the series suffer exponentially from that same overdone
malaise but they will be reviewed at another time). Despite my love for Johnny
Depp in almost everything he has done on screen since Edward Scissorhand, my secret crush on Kiera Knightly and admiration
of the work of the dashing Orlando Bloom this one gets a decided thumbs down
notwithstanding that at the time it made Disney a bazillion dollars.
The sinner is the
plotline mostly, mostly confusing, and not well thought out once the managerial
decision was made to go for broke with a third film. The “late” Captain Jack
Sparrow, Depp’s role, long gone to Mister David Jones’ locker, long gone beyond
the pale to pirate heaven (or hell is maybe more like it) is in need of
resurrection. In need of taking human form again since his services are needed
to keep the pirate community from extinction at the hands of the military
commander of the dastardly British East India Company which is ready to do major
hell-raising with the resources of the sub-continent of India. Dear Jack is
needed to show up at an appointed place, Shipwreck Cove, where a great decision
needs to be made by the pirate kings, the live pirate kings in high dungeon Brethren Court about how to
fight to the death against the East India commander at the behest of those
pirates who faced their last before the hangman’s noose.
Needless to say an
uneasy alliance between the fetching even for a pirate leader Ms. Elizabeth
Swann, Knightly’s role, Will Turner, Bloom’s role, and the nefarious Captain
Barbossa needs to be consummated all with their own agendas else we would have
a very short but maybe mercifully short film (at two and one half hours with a
thin plotline a length a legitimate criticism). Needless to say as well they
spring Jack and then the serious swashbuckling begins as alliances are made and
unmade, treachery abounds, and yesterday’s allies can turn sullen on a dime.
Through all of this Liz and Will are making very serious eyes at each other
(they will be wedded by Captain Barbossa, a questionable legal choice under the
circumstances, while beating off, no swashbuckling their way out on yet another
set of problems.) Oh yeah, through some bizarre machinations (and a bid to seem
democratic and pro-women to modern sensibilities) Liz is made the “king” of the
pirates. That will not stop them from being parted for ten years while Will is
the middleman in the passage from life business. No problem as they have sex
and Liz gets pregnant out of that encounter, very pregnant. Ho hum. Thankfully
this is the last of the muddled adventure series. Not
Songs Of The Old Sod- The Traditional Irish Singer/Storyteller Joe Heaney
Songs Of The Old Sod- The Traditional Irish Singer/Storyteller Joe Heaney
CD Review
The Road From Connemara: As Told To Peggy Seeger and Ewan MacColl, Joe Heaney, Topic Records, 2002
Over the past couple of years I have spilled plenty of ink harking back to the American side of the folk revival movement of the early 1960s in which a whole generation it seemed, the generation of my youth, could not get enough of traditional music from many different sources: the mountains of Virginia and Kentucky; the swamps and bayous of Louisiana; the Mississippi delta and the North Carolina piedmont to name a few. And as part of that revival, of course, a renewed interest in songs from the old country, Ireland, which formed the backbone along with England, Scotland and Wales of the core of many trans-Atlantic versions of old time music, especially from the Scotch- Irish who populated those eastern mountain regions.
Furthermore, I have recognized as part of that spilled ink on the subject of the folk revival the names of the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, and to a lesser extent, The Dubliners, as having been pivotal in the renewed interest in Irish music beyond the patented Saint Patrick’s Day classics of “My Wild Irish Rose and “Danny Boy” that were carted out every year on that date, at least here in the American Irish diaspora.
Of course, that input begs the question of where the lads mentioned above got their source music from, and that is where the likes of all-Irish champion a capella singer/storyteller Joe Heaney comes in, via a connection with some familiar names from the American folk scene, Peggy Seeger (fame folklorist Pete Seeger’s half-sister) and folk historian and songwriter Ewan MacColl. This compilation of songs and stories is an excellent primer for getting a handle on the music that our grandparents, or great-grandparents, heard and listened to back in the old country.
Moreover some of the songs are sung in Irish (a real treat and the source of some of Heaney’s best renditions on this compilation). There are songs of love, young and old, misused and abused love, laments for lost and couldn’t be love. Also the British occupation and what it did to the formation of the Irish psyche and the national liberation struggle as it was brought to fruition. Heaney does a great job as well of telling the stories behind many of the songs. So if you are a little behind in your knowledge of the Irish folk tradition, the real tradition, here is a way to catch up fast.
CD Review
The Road From Connemara: As Told To Peggy Seeger and Ewan MacColl, Joe Heaney, Topic Records, 2002
Over the past couple of years I have spilled plenty of ink harking back to the American side of the folk revival movement of the early 1960s in which a whole generation it seemed, the generation of my youth, could not get enough of traditional music from many different sources: the mountains of Virginia and Kentucky; the swamps and bayous of Louisiana; the Mississippi delta and the North Carolina piedmont to name a few. And as part of that revival, of course, a renewed interest in songs from the old country, Ireland, which formed the backbone along with England, Scotland and Wales of the core of many trans-Atlantic versions of old time music, especially from the Scotch- Irish who populated those eastern mountain regions.
Furthermore, I have recognized as part of that spilled ink on the subject of the folk revival the names of the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, and to a lesser extent, The Dubliners, as having been pivotal in the renewed interest in Irish music beyond the patented Saint Patrick’s Day classics of “My Wild Irish Rose and “Danny Boy” that were carted out every year on that date, at least here in the American Irish diaspora.
Of course, that input begs the question of where the lads mentioned above got their source music from, and that is where the likes of all-Irish champion a capella singer/storyteller Joe Heaney comes in, via a connection with some familiar names from the American folk scene, Peggy Seeger (fame folklorist Pete Seeger’s half-sister) and folk historian and songwriter Ewan MacColl. This compilation of songs and stories is an excellent primer for getting a handle on the music that our grandparents, or great-grandparents, heard and listened to back in the old country.
Moreover some of the songs are sung in Irish (a real treat and the source of some of Heaney’s best renditions on this compilation). There are songs of love, young and old, misused and abused love, laments for lost and couldn’t be love. Also the British occupation and what it did to the formation of the Irish psyche and the national liberation struggle as it was brought to fruition. Heaney does a great job as well of telling the stories behind many of the songs. So if you are a little behind in your knowledge of the Irish folk tradition, the real tradition, here is a way to catch up fast.
Stop Continuing To Let The Military Sneak Into The High Schools-Down With JROTC And Military Recruiter Access-What Every Young Woman Should Know
Stop Continuing To Let The Military Sneak Into The High Schools-Down With JROTC And Military Recruiter Access-What Every Young Woman Should Know
Frank Jackman comment:
One of the great struggles on college campuses during the height of the struggle against the Vietnam War back in the 1960s aside from trying to close down that war outright was the effort to get the various ROTC (Reserve Officer Training Corps, I think that is right way to say it) programs off campus. In a number of important campuses that effort was successful, although there has been back-sliding going on since the Vietnam War ended and like any successful anti-war or progressive action short of changing the way governments we could support do business is subject to constant attention or the bastards will sneak something in the back door.
To the extent that reintroduction of ROTC on college campuses has been thwarted, a very good anti-war action indeed which had made it just a smidgen harder to run ram shot over the world, that back door approach has been a two-pronged attack by the military branches to get their quota of recruits for their all-volunteer military services in the high schools. First to make very enticing offers to cash-strapped public school systems in order to introduce ROTC, junior version, particularly but not exclusively, urban high schools (for example almost all public high schools in Boston have some ROTC service branch in their buildings with instructors partially funded by the Defense Department and with union membership right and conditions a situation which should be opposed by teachers’ union members).
Secondly, thwarted at the college level for officer corps trainees they have just gone to younger and more impressible youth, since they have gained almost unlimited widespread access to high school student populations for their high pressure salesmen military recruiters to do their nasty work. Not only do the recruiters who are graded on quota system and are under pressure produce X number of recruits or they could wind doing sentry guard duty in Kabul or Bagdad get that access where they have sold many young potential military personnel many false bills of goods but in many spots anti-war veterans and other who would provide a different perspective have been banned or otherwise harassed in their efforts.
Thus the tasks of the day-JROTC out of the high schools-military recruiters out as well! Let anti-war ex-soldiers, sailors, Marines and airpersons have their say.
Sunday, April 16, 2017
When Rockabilly Rocked The Be-Bop 1950s Night- “Rock This Town-Volume 2”- A CD Review
When Rockabilly Rocked The Be-Bop 1950s Night- “Rock This Town-Volume 2”- A CD Review
Rock This Town, Volume 2, various artists, Rhino Records, 1991
The bulk of this review was used to review Volume 1 as well:
The last time that I discussed rockabilly music in this space was a couple of years ago when I was featuring the work of artists like Elvis, Johnny Cash, and Jerry Lee Lewis who got their start at Sam Phillips’ famed Sun Records studio in Memphis. Part of the reason for those reviews was my effort to trace the roots of rock and rock, the music of my coming of age, and that of my generation, the generation of ’68. Clearly rockabilly was, along with country and city blues from the likes of Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, and Ike Turner and rhythm and blues from the likes of Big Joe Turner, a part of that formative process. The question then, and the question once again today, is which strand dominated the push to rock and rock, if one strand in fact did dominate.
I have gone back and forth on that question over the years. That couple of years ago mentioned above I was clearly under the influence of Big Joe Turner and Howlin’ Wolf and so I took every opportunity to stress the bluesy nature of rock. Recently though I have been listening, and listening very intently, to early Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee Lewis and I am hearing more of that be-bop rockabilly rhythm flowing into the rock night. Let me give a comparison. A ton of people have done Big Joe Turner’s classic rhythm and bluish Shake, Rattle, and Roll, including Bill Haley, Elvis, Carl Perkins, and Jerry Lee. When I listen to that song as performed in the more rockabilly style by them those versions seem closer to what evolved into rock. So for today, and today only, yes Big Joe is the big daddy, max daddy father of rock but Elvis, Jerry Lee, and Carl are the very pushy sons.
And that brings us to this treasure trove of rockabilly music presented in two volumes of which this is the second; including material by those who have revived, or kept the rockabilly genre alive over the past couple of decades. I have already done enough writing in praise of the work of Sam Phillips and Sun Records to bring that good old boy rockabilly sound out of the white southern countryside. There I noted that, for the most part, those who succeeded in rockabilly had to move on to rock to stay current and so the rockabilly sound was somewhat transient except for those who consciously decided to stay with it. Here are the examples that I used for volume one and they apply here as well:
“…the best example of that is Red Hot by Bill Riley and his Little Green Men, an extremely hot example by the way. If you listen to his other later material it stays very much in that rockabilly vein. In contrast, take High School Confidential by Jerry Lee Lewis. Jerry Lee might have started out in rockabilly but this number (and others) is nothing but the heart and soul of rock (and a song, by the way, we all prayed would be played at our middle school dances to get things moving).” Enough said.
Stick outs here on Volume 2 include: C’mon Everybody, Eddie Cochran (probably better known for his more bluesy, steamy, end of school rite of passage Summertime Blues, a very much underrated performer whose career was cut short when he was killed in a car accident; Let’s Have A Party, Wanda Jackson (one of the few famous women rockabilly artists in a very much male-dominated genre); Red Hot ( a cover of the famous one by Bill Riley featured in Volume 1), Robert Gordon and Link Wray; Rock This Town (title track from the group that probably is the best known devotee of the rockabilly revival), The Stray Cats.
Rock This Town, Volume 2, various artists, Rhino Records, 1991
The bulk of this review was used to review Volume 1 as well:
The last time that I discussed rockabilly music in this space was a couple of years ago when I was featuring the work of artists like Elvis, Johnny Cash, and Jerry Lee Lewis who got their start at Sam Phillips’ famed Sun Records studio in Memphis. Part of the reason for those reviews was my effort to trace the roots of rock and rock, the music of my coming of age, and that of my generation, the generation of ’68. Clearly rockabilly was, along with country and city blues from the likes of Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, and Ike Turner and rhythm and blues from the likes of Big Joe Turner, a part of that formative process. The question then, and the question once again today, is which strand dominated the push to rock and rock, if one strand in fact did dominate.
I have gone back and forth on that question over the years. That couple of years ago mentioned above I was clearly under the influence of Big Joe Turner and Howlin’ Wolf and so I took every opportunity to stress the bluesy nature of rock. Recently though I have been listening, and listening very intently, to early Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee Lewis and I am hearing more of that be-bop rockabilly rhythm flowing into the rock night. Let me give a comparison. A ton of people have done Big Joe Turner’s classic rhythm and bluish Shake, Rattle, and Roll, including Bill Haley, Elvis, Carl Perkins, and Jerry Lee. When I listen to that song as performed in the more rockabilly style by them those versions seem closer to what evolved into rock. So for today, and today only, yes Big Joe is the big daddy, max daddy father of rock but Elvis, Jerry Lee, and Carl are the very pushy sons.
And that brings us to this treasure trove of rockabilly music presented in two volumes of which this is the second; including material by those who have revived, or kept the rockabilly genre alive over the past couple of decades. I have already done enough writing in praise of the work of Sam Phillips and Sun Records to bring that good old boy rockabilly sound out of the white southern countryside. There I noted that, for the most part, those who succeeded in rockabilly had to move on to rock to stay current and so the rockabilly sound was somewhat transient except for those who consciously decided to stay with it. Here are the examples that I used for volume one and they apply here as well:
“…the best example of that is Red Hot by Bill Riley and his Little Green Men, an extremely hot example by the way. If you listen to his other later material it stays very much in that rockabilly vein. In contrast, take High School Confidential by Jerry Lee Lewis. Jerry Lee might have started out in rockabilly but this number (and others) is nothing but the heart and soul of rock (and a song, by the way, we all prayed would be played at our middle school dances to get things moving).” Enough said.
Stick outs here on Volume 2 include: C’mon Everybody, Eddie Cochran (probably better known for his more bluesy, steamy, end of school rite of passage Summertime Blues, a very much underrated performer whose career was cut short when he was killed in a car accident; Let’s Have A Party, Wanda Jackson (one of the few famous women rockabilly artists in a very much male-dominated genre); Red Hot ( a cover of the famous one by Bill Riley featured in Volume 1), Robert Gordon and Link Wray; Rock This Town (title track from the group that probably is the best known devotee of the rockabilly revival), The Stray Cats.
Big Sky Country Before The Fall- Brad Pitt’s “ A River Runs Through It” (1992)-A Film Review
DVD Review
By Sandy Salmon
A River Runs Through It, starring Brad Pitt, Craig Sheffer, Tom Skerrit, directed by Robert Redford, based on the memoir of writer Norman Maclean, 1992
There has been a substantial amount of talk around town of late about running the clock back to the so-called golden age of America when working stiffs had a chance to get ahead in the 1950s. Of course not all boats rose at that time, especially among blacks and white Appalachian hillbillies like my family who never even got close to the boat, but we will let that ride for now. If one really wanted to look at something like latter day Eden in the American experience then perhaps one needed to go West, go out to Big Sky country where they took their religion, their work ethic and their, uh, fly-fishing seriously in the early part of the twentieth century if the plot-line of this film under review Robert Redford’s adaptation (and narration) of Norman Maclean’s memoir A River Runs Through It.
What this film looks at is a kinder, gentler time out among the big rocks and the fast running western rivers as seen through the eyes of Norman Maclean, played by Craig Sheffer, looking at his coming of age and growing up adventures along with his wilder younger brother Paul, played by younger wilder Brad Pitt, up against the stern Jehovah out of the wilderness father figure minister father, played by Tom Skerritt who took both his religion and his fly-fishing seriously. The early part of the film aside from serious breathe-taking looks at the Montana wilds involves the usual boys coming of age stuff including defying the cloying family home life befit a minister’s sons. Later after some time away from college in the East Norman came back for a time before setting out for a career as a professor. In Cain and Abel fashion (without the murderous impulse) Paul stayed home, stayed in bedrock Podunk Montana working as a newspaperman after college but more to the point living the high life as a gambler, fist-fighter, heavy drinker and woman chaser, including having a Native American girlfriend (and just to prove that those times were perhaps a little less edenic for Native Americans she faces as much Anglo hostility as blacks faced in the that golden age 1950s).
A lot of the latter part of the film dealt with the romance (and eventual marriage) of Norman and local belle, Jessie, played by Emily Lloyd, whose stand-off-ishness drove Norman crazy before he got his chance at a professor’s job at the University of Chicago and she agreed to marry the guy. It also dealt with the demise of Paul who seemed to have been stricken with the mark of Cain and was eventually murdered and left to die in some back ally for what could have been any number of reasons from serious gambling indebtedness to drinking to hanging around with Native American women. So maybe in the end the only thing idyllic back then were those beautiful rivers and the joy some took in fly-fishing against the hard realities of human existence. Excellent film though with a good ensemble cast and great cinematography. Robert Redford did good, did very good on this one.
Big Sky Country Before The Fall- Brad Pitt’s “ A River Runs Through It” (1992)-A Film Review
Big Sky Country Before
The Fall- Brad Pitt’s “ A River Runs Through It” (1992)-A Film Review
DVD Review
By Sandy Salmon
A River Runs Through It,
starring Brad Pitt, Craig Sheffer, Tom Skerrit, directed by Robert Redford,
based on the memoir of writer Norman Maclean, 1992
There has been a
substantial amount of talk around town of late about running the clock back to
the so-called golden age of America when working stiffs had a chance to get
ahead in the 1950s. Of course not all boats rose at that time, especially among
blacks and white Appalachian hillbillies like my family who never even got
close to the boat, but we will let that ride for now. If one really wanted to
look at something like latter day Eden in the American experience then perhaps
one needed to go West, go out to Big Sky country where they took their
religion, their work ethic and their, uh, fly-fishing seriously in the early
part of the twentieth century if the plot-line of this film under review Robert
Redford’s adaptation (and narration) of Norman Maclean’s memoir A River Runs Through It.
What this film looks at
is a kinder, gentler time out among the big rocks and the fast running western
rivers as seen through the eyes of Norman Maclean, played by Craig Sheffer,
looking at his coming of age and growing up adventures along with his wilder
younger brother Paul, played by younger wilder Brad Pitt, up against the stern
Jehovah out of the wilderness father figure minister father, played by Tom
Skerritt who took both his religion and his fly-fishing seriously. The early
part of the film aside from serious breathe-taking looks at the Montana wilds
involves the usual boys coming of age stuff including defying the cloying
family home life befit a minister’s sons.
Later after some time away from college in the East Norman came back for a time
before setting out for a career as a professor. In Cain and Abel fashion
(without the murderous impulse) Paul stayed home, stayed in bedrock Podunk
Montana working as a newspaperman after college but more to the point living
the high life as a gambler, fist-fighter, heavy drinker and woman chaser,
including having a Native American girlfriend (and just to prove that those
times were perhaps a little less edenic for Native Americans she faces as much
Anglo hostility as blacks faced in the that golden age 1950s).
A lot of the latter part
of the film dealt with the romance (and eventual marriage) of Norman and local
belle, Jessie, played by Emily Lloyd, whose stand-off-ishness drove Norman
crazy before he got his chance at a professor’s job at the University of
Chicago and she agreed to marry the guy. It also dealt with the demise of Paul
who seemed to have been stricken with the mark of Cain and was eventually murdered
and left to die in some back ally for what could have been any number of
reasons from serious gambling indebtedness to drinking to hanging around with
Native American women. So maybe in the end the only thing idyllic back then
were those beautiful rivers and the joy some took in fly-fishing against the
hard realities of human existence. Excellent film though with a good ensemble
cast and great cinematography. Robert Redford did good, did very good on this
one.
In Honor Of Russian Revolutionary Vladimir Lenin’s Birthday (April 1870-Janaury 1924)-The Struggle Continues-Ivan Smilga’s Political Journey-Take One
In Honor Of Russian Revolutionary Vladimir Lenin’s Birthday (April 1870-Janaury 1924)-The Struggle Continues-Ivan Smilga’s Political Journey-Take One
From The Pen Of Frank Jackman
For a number of years I have been honoring various revolutionary forbears, including the subject of this birthday tribute, the Russian Bolshevik leader Vladimir Lenin architect (along with fellow revolutionary Leon Trotsky) of the October Revolution in Russia in 1917 in each January under the headline-Honor The Three L’s –Lenin, Luxemburg , Liebknecht. My purpose then was (and still is) to continue the traditions established by the Communist International in the early post-World War I period in honoring revolutionary forbears. That month has special significance since every January
Leftists honor those three leading revolutionaries who died in that month, V.I. Lenin of Russia in his sleep after a long illness in 1924, and Karl Liebknecht of Germany and Rosa Luxemburg of Poland in 1919 murdered in separate incidents after leading the defeated Spartacist uprising in Berlin.
I have made my political points about the heroic Karl Liebknecht and his parliamentary fight against the German war budget in World War I in which he eventually wound up in prison only to be released when the Kaiser abdicated (correctly went to jail when it came down to it once the government pulled the hammer down on his opposition), on some previous occasions. The key point to be taken away today, still applicable today as in America we are in the age of endless war, endless war appropriations and seemingly endless desires to racket up another war out of whole cloth every change some ill-begotten administration decides it needs to “show the colors”, one hundred years later in that still lonely and frustrating struggle to get politicians to oppose war budgets, to risk prison to choke off the flow of war materials.
I have also made some special point in previous years about the life of Rosa Luxemburg, the “rose of the revolution.” About her always opposing the tendencies in her adopted party, the German Social-Democracy, toward reform and accommodation, her struggle to make her Polish party ready for revolutionary opportunities, her important contributions to Marxist theory and her willing to face and go to jail when she opposed the first World War.
This month, the month of his birth, it is appropriate, at a time when the young needs to find, and are in desperate need of a few good heroes, a few revolutionaries who contributed to both our theoretical understandings about the tasks of the international working class in the age of imperialism (the age, unfortunately, that we are still mired in) and to the importance of the organization question in the struggle for revolutionary power, to highlight the struggles of Vladimir Lenin, the third L, in order to define himself politically.
From The Pen Of Frank Jackman
For a number of years I have been honoring various revolutionary forbears, including the subject of this birthday tribute, the Russian Bolshevik leader Vladimir Lenin architect (along with fellow revolutionary Leon Trotsky) of the October Revolution in Russia in 1917 in each January under the headline-Honor The Three L’s –Lenin, Luxemburg , Liebknecht. My purpose then was (and still is) to continue the traditions established by the Communist International in the early post-World War I period in honoring revolutionary forbears. That month has special significance since every January
Leftists honor those three leading revolutionaries who died in that month, V.I. Lenin of Russia in his sleep after a long illness in 1924, and Karl Liebknecht of Germany and Rosa Luxemburg of Poland in 1919 murdered in separate incidents after leading the defeated Spartacist uprising in Berlin.
I have made my political points about the heroic Karl Liebknecht and his parliamentary fight against the German war budget in World War I in which he eventually wound up in prison only to be released when the Kaiser abdicated (correctly went to jail when it came down to it once the government pulled the hammer down on his opposition), on some previous occasions. The key point to be taken away today, still applicable today as in America we are in the age of endless war, endless war appropriations and seemingly endless desires to racket up another war out of whole cloth every change some ill-begotten administration decides it needs to “show the colors”, one hundred years later in that still lonely and frustrating struggle to get politicians to oppose war budgets, to risk prison to choke off the flow of war materials.
I have also made some special point in previous years about the life of Rosa Luxemburg, the “rose of the revolution.” About her always opposing the tendencies in her adopted party, the German Social-Democracy, toward reform and accommodation, her struggle to make her Polish party ready for revolutionary opportunities, her important contributions to Marxist theory and her willing to face and go to jail when she opposed the first World War.
This month, the month of his birth, it is appropriate, at a time when the young needs to find, and are in desperate need of a few good heroes, a few revolutionaries who contributed to both our theoretical understandings about the tasks of the international working class in the age of imperialism (the age, unfortunately, that we are still mired in) and to the importance of the organization question in the struggle for revolutionary power, to highlight the struggles of Vladimir Lenin, the third L, in order to define himself politically.
Below is a first sketch written as part of a series posted over several days before Lenin’s birthday on the American Left History blog starting on April 16th of a young fictional labor militant, although not so fictional in the scheme of the revolutionary developments in the Russia of the Tsar toward the end of the 19th century and early 20th century which will help define the problems facing the working-class there then, and the ones that Lenin had to get a handle on.
*******
Ivan Smilga, “Big Ivan” to his friends, called so since childhood in the rural neighborhood, really a village, where he grew up, and rightly so since he was large, six feet six and two hundred and sixty pounds. So large by Russian hunger standards in the winter of 1893 when he had come out of the Ukrainian farmlands, come out of the miniature hamlet of Vresk, not many miles outside of Odessa to Moscow when he had heard that John Smythe and Sons, the big English textile firm had been given a license by the Tsar, by the Ministry of Commerce, to set up a factory in that city to produce cloth for the home market.
The farm life had been so barren, so desolate, so worked out by his father and really by the farmer who had worked the land before and moved east, east toward Siberia where the frontier now lie ahead, that Ivan had walked on foot or taken a sleigh ride most of the way that hard winter in order to as he said (roughly and politely translated from the Russian although the English is almost too gentile for a what a rough-hewn peasant boy not civilized by city ways and what Miss Primrose’s etiquette books would tolerate would thunder when riled) “get the stink of country life blown out of his nostrils.” He was not alone on that first day when the first Smythe plant went on line. Thousands of young farm boy Ivans (although perhaps none quite as large) were standing impatiently in line in front of the main office building for a chance at employment. And more than one farm boy was crestfallen to see that if he had to compete against thousands of Ivans there were that many more thousands of Ivanas, young farm girls, girls as always attracted to textile work in every budding capitalist country in order to get off their own desolate family farms and make their ways in the world before marriage. (Ivan would later find, find out among a lot of things that the idyll textile dewy-eyed factory girl of British and American legend was just that, a legend but that did not stop them or later generations from coming when they heard the spindles roaring). Although perhaps they would be too polite and pious to use the words that Ivan used to indicate his reasoning for getting off the land, and not look back.
Fortunately Ivan, with his bulk and strength, was chosen very quickly by a savvy watchful Russian foreman who knew what he needed and it was staring him right in the eye, needed the strong back and mitt-like hands of a young man who could lift the rolls of fabric and balance then on his back as they came off the machines. And so Ivan started his new life, or part of his new life as a working-man, as a man of the city. For about a year things went well, although he worked many long sixteen hour days six days a week being young he was capable of doing the work. And loved to pocket his wages at the end of the week (extra wages, a few kopeks more, as it turned out later since that foreman had told the English superintendent that Ivan was something of a superman. Moreover he had the grudging respect of other men (and the eye of a few of the girl operators) so it was best to piece him off before he found out about trade unions and such. Nice maneuver, divide and conquer right on the factory floor). Being somewhat frugal (as he had been taught in the peasant manner) Ivan was able to save for his dream of owning a small shop, maybe a blacksmith’s shop, to service the needs of the fine horses that he saw daily on the streets of Moscow. Ivan also sent, as a dutiful son, kopeks home to his family to help tide them over as the grain harvest that year was sufficiently short to bring the threat of severe hunger, maybe famine it was not unheard of , back to the Smilga door once again.
In the spring of 1895 all that changed though. Ivan had worked his way up to head hauler, directing others to load and unload the rolls of fabric produced from the never-ending machines. He had a good reputation among his fellow workers, although not a few saw his dreams of a little shop as somewhat awry (but who would dare tell Ivan Smilga, even later the hardest toughest street Bolshevik from Georgia, he could not have his dream this side of paradise). Moreover he was a moderate drinker by Russian and Ukrainian standards, no more than a bottle at ta sitting, and so the young women of the factory floor would flirt, or at least cast an eye his way, especially Elena Kassova, who worked one of the machines which Ivan was in charge of keeping up to speed by rapidly get the rolls off the end of the line. Then one day James Smiley, the company owner’s son and manager of the plant announced to young Ivan Smilga that his services (and that of the crew who worked under him) were no longer necessary since the company had purchased a machine that would automatically take the rolls from the machine and place them on a wagon, a wagon so simple to operate that one of the girl machine-tenders could do it periodically as needed while still tending her machine.
So there Ivan was, out in the cold, without a job, and with no particular prospects. Ivan stewed over his plight for about a week, maybe ten days, with solace only from uncharacteristic endless bottles of vodka. Then one night he rounded up his now unemployed work crew, a group of four young farm boys who like Ivan did not want to go home to that desolate farm land, and explained to them his plan to get his and their jobs back. Of course each crew member had also sought solace in the bottle and so collectively their minds may not have been quite as sharp as they should have been when Ivan unfolded his scheme. To hear Ivan tell the story the plan was simplicity itself. They would sneak into the factory on Saturday night when the machines were shut down and smash that hauling machine to smithereens. Then the Smileys, father and son, would have to hire them back, maybe give them higher wages to boot.
Needless to say greedy for work and plied with liquor the crew bought into the plan with every hand and foot. That very next Saturday night they pulled off the caper. Snuck into the factory undetected by a dozing night watchman to do their nefarious work (that night watchman, Orlov, would subsequently be fired for being drunk and asleep on the job and Ivan would not see him again until he saw him on the barricades in Moscow when the Bolsheviks were trying to subdue the local branch of the Provisional Government after November 1917). All day Sunday the working-class quarters of Moscow were abuzz with the news, spread by the night watchman Orlov who claimed he had been knocked out by whoever did the dastardly deed, that parties unknown had smashed the machinery. There were newspaper reports that the culprits would be momentarily apprehended. That the “Luddites” would be captured and dealt with summarily. (Nobody knew exactly what a Luddite was but they all knew it could not be good to be one, or, worse, accused of being one) Of course they never were. On the other hand come that Monday morning as Ivan and the crew waited around in front of the factory doors expecting to be re-hired coming up the road on a horse-drawn wooden flatbed carriage was an exact replica of the machinery destroyed the previous Saturday night.
In Boston (Everywhere)-Build (and Nourish) The Resistance!-Introducing The Organization Food For Activists
In Boston (Everywhere)-Build (and Nourish) The Resistance!-Introducing The Organization Food For Activists
Chelsea Manning Welcome Home Fund, and Final Reflections
Chelsea Manning Welcome Home Fund, and Final Reflections
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This will likely be the final email from the former Chelsea Manning Support Network. We hope that you'll help Chelsea restart her life by contributing to the Welcome Home Fund, and helping exceed the $100,000 goal. It’s still hard to believe that we won Chelsea’s freedom (only 80 days to go!).
We are extremely proud to have served as fiscal manager for the Chelsea Manning Defense Fund for nearly seven years. Those funds provided Chelsea a legal defense team at trial, funded most of her appeals, supported hundreds of events worldwide, and in the end, was immensely important to winning Chelsea’s freedom.
Who Killed John F. Kennedy?-A Film Review-1988
Once Again -Who Killed John F. Kennedy?-A Film Review-1988
DVD REVIEW
By Frank Jackman
The Men Who Killed Kennedy, 1988
Those of us who are interested in history often come across situations where we have to defend the notion that there are conspiracies in history but not all history is a conspiracy. In modern times, with the possible future exception of 9/11, the ‘mystery’ of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in November 1963 has played into the hands of those who see history merely as a conspiracy. I have read more than my fair share of books on the subject, most recently the late Norman Mailer’s book on Oswald, and here I review a documentary from 1988 that, in essence, merely adds fuel to the fire of that controversy. At this remove however, in 2008, I think it is clear that the conspiracy mongers have had their day on the subject and have come up short. Not through lack of trying, though.
Given my leftward political trajectory since the time of the assassination one would think that I would be amenable to some theory of high-level governmental, corporate or criminal conspiracy. As a teenager I campaigned for Kennedy in 1960. I was shocked and dismayed by his murder, throwing away a political notebook that I kept and swearing off politics forever. That resolve obviously did not last long. I am, moreover, more than willing to believe that governmental officials, corporate officers and criminal masterminds are willing to do anything to keep their positions of power. However, it just does not wash here. Part of the problem is there are just too many theories to fit the facts.
The real problem with the various conspiracy theories is that they ask us to suspend disbelieve for their theories even greater than the botched up job that the Warren Commission provided. These theories inevitably work between the lines of that report.
I think the classic example in this documentary, that can stand for my opinion in general, is when one of the conspiracy theorists very calmly states his propositions about how the Warren Report botched things and then, as calmly cites four possible groups of conspirators who could have done the deed, anti-Castro Cubans, disgruntled CIA rogue elements, disgruntled militarists and Mafia-types. Well that narrows the field considerably, doesn’t it?
But here is the kicker- I am convinced that Lee Harvey Oswald was capable of doing the murder by himself, that he did it and that he stands before history as having done it. Grand conspiracy theories that deny the role of the individual in history do so in this case for no apparent reason. That ‘theory’ may not be sexy enough for some but Oswald should have his fifteen minutes of fame. Unless someone produces the ‘smoking gun’ missing in all other theories-in short, a real named person (or persons) who did the deed let us leave it at that.
DVD REVIEW
By Frank Jackman
The Men Who Killed Kennedy, 1988
Those of us who are interested in history often come across situations where we have to defend the notion that there are conspiracies in history but not all history is a conspiracy. In modern times, with the possible future exception of 9/11, the ‘mystery’ of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in November 1963 has played into the hands of those who see history merely as a conspiracy. I have read more than my fair share of books on the subject, most recently the late Norman Mailer’s book on Oswald, and here I review a documentary from 1988 that, in essence, merely adds fuel to the fire of that controversy. At this remove however, in 2008, I think it is clear that the conspiracy mongers have had their day on the subject and have come up short. Not through lack of trying, though.
Given my leftward political trajectory since the time of the assassination one would think that I would be amenable to some theory of high-level governmental, corporate or criminal conspiracy. As a teenager I campaigned for Kennedy in 1960. I was shocked and dismayed by his murder, throwing away a political notebook that I kept and swearing off politics forever. That resolve obviously did not last long. I am, moreover, more than willing to believe that governmental officials, corporate officers and criminal masterminds are willing to do anything to keep their positions of power. However, it just does not wash here. Part of the problem is there are just too many theories to fit the facts.
The real problem with the various conspiracy theories is that they ask us to suspend disbelieve for their theories even greater than the botched up job that the Warren Commission provided. These theories inevitably work between the lines of that report.
I think the classic example in this documentary, that can stand for my opinion in general, is when one of the conspiracy theorists very calmly states his propositions about how the Warren Report botched things and then, as calmly cites four possible groups of conspirators who could have done the deed, anti-Castro Cubans, disgruntled CIA rogue elements, disgruntled militarists and Mafia-types. Well that narrows the field considerably, doesn’t it?
But here is the kicker- I am convinced that Lee Harvey Oswald was capable of doing the murder by himself, that he did it and that he stands before history as having done it. Grand conspiracy theories that deny the role of the individual in history do so in this case for no apparent reason. That ‘theory’ may not be sexy enough for some but Oswald should have his fifteen minutes of fame. Unless someone produces the ‘smoking gun’ missing in all other theories-in short, a real named person (or persons) who did the deed let us leave it at that.
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