Friday, January 25, 2019

Those Who Fought For Our Communist Future Are Kindred Spirits-HONOR LENIN, LUXEMBURG AND LIEBKNECHT- THE THREE L’S-Honor Russian Bolshevik Leader Vladimir Lenin! -How the Bourgeoisie Utilises Renegades (1919)

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EVERY JANUARY WE HONOR LENIN OF RUSSIA, ROSA LUXEMBURG OF POLAND, AND KARL LIEBKNECHT OF GERMANY AS THREE LEADERS OF THE INTERNATIONAL WORKING CLASS MOVEMENT. HERE’S WHY WE HONOR VLADIMIR LENIN
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V. I. Lenin
How the Bourgeoisie Utilises Renegades


Written: 20 September, 1919
First Published: September 1919; Published according to the manuscript
Source: Lenin’s Collected Works, 4th English Edition, Progress Publishers, Moscow, 1965, Volume 30, pages 27-37
Translated: George Hanna
Transcription/HTML Markup: David Walters & Robert Cymbala
Copyleft: V. I. Lenin Internet Archive (www.marx.org) 2002. Permission is granted to copy and/or distribute this document under the terms of the GNU Free Documentation License


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Our wireless stations intercept messages from Carnarvon (Britain), Paris and other European centres. Today Paris is the centre of the world imperialist alliance and its wireless messages are therefore often of particular interest. A few days ago, on September 13, the government wireless station in this centre of world imperialism reported the publication of a new anti-Bolshevik book by Karl Kautsky, the well-known renegade and leader of the Second International.

The millionaires and multimillionaires would not use their government wireless station for nothing. They considered it necessary to publicise Kautsky’s new crusade. In their attempt to stem the advancing tide of Bolshevism they have to grasp at everything—even at a straw, even at Kautsky’s book. Our heartfelt thanks to the French millionaires for helping Bolshevik propaganda so splendidly, for helping us by making a laughing-stock of Kautsky’s philistine anti-Bolshevism.

Today, September 18, I received the September 7 issue of Vorwärts, the newspaper of the German social-chauvinists, the murderers of Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg. It has an article by Friedrich Stampfer on Kautsky’s new book (Terrorism and Communism ) and cites a number of passages from it.[1] When we compare Stampfer’s article and the Paris wireless message we see that the latter is in all probability based on the former. Kautsky’s book is extolled by the Scheidemanns and Noskes, the bodyguards of the German bourgeoisie and murderers of the German Communists, by those who have joined the imperialists of the Entente in fighting international communism. A highly edifying spectacle! And when I called Kautsky a lackey of the bourgeoisie (in my book The Proletarian Revolution and the Renegade Kautsky), our Mensheviks, those typical representatives of the Berne (yellow) International, could not find words strong enough to express their indignation.

But it is a fact, gentlemen, despite all your indignation. The Scheidemanns of Vorwärts and the Entente millionaires are certainly not in collusion with me when they praise Kautsky and hold him up as a weapon in the struggle against world Bolshevism. In relation to the bourgeoisie Kautsky—even if he did not realise and did not wish it—has proved to be exactly what I described him to be.

Some of the more “thunderous” of his accusations against the Bolsheviks will show how far he has gone in his apostasy from socialism and the revolution, apostasy that hides behind the name of Marxism.

“Kautsky describes in detail,” Stampfer writes, “how the Bolsheviks always, in the end, arrive at the very opposite of their avowed aims: they were opposed to the death sentence, but are now resorting to mass shootings. . . .”

First, it is a downright lie to say that the Bolsheviks were opposed to the death sentence in time of revolution. At the Party’s Second Congress in 1903, when Bolshevism first emerged, it was suggested that abolition of the death sentence be made one of the demands in the Party programme then being drawn up, but the minutes record that this only gave rise to the sarcastic question: “For Nicholas II too?” Even the Mensheviks, in 1903, did not venture to call for a vote on the proposal to abolish the death sentence for the tsar. And in 1917, at the time of the Kerensky government, I wrote in Pravda that no revolutionary government could dispense with the death sentence; the question was against which class a particular government would use it. Kautsky has so far forgotten how to think in terms of revolution and is so steeped in philistine opportunism that he cannot visualise a proletarian revolutionary party openly acknowledging, long before its victory, the need for capital punishment in relation to counter-revolutionaries. “Honest” Kautsky, being an honest man and an honest opportunist, quite unashamedly writes untruths about his opponents.

Secondly, anyone with the least understanding of revolution will realise that here we are not discussing revolution in general, but a revolution that is developing out of the great imperialist slaughter of the peoples. Can one conceive of a proletarian revolution that develops from such a war being free of counter-revolutionary conspiracies and attacks by hundreds of thousands of officers belonging to the landowner and capitalist classes? Can one conceive of a working-class revolutionary party that would not make death the penalty for such attacks in the midst of an extremely cruel civil war, with the bourgeoisie conspiring to bring in foreign troops in an attempt to overthrow workers’ government? Everyone, save hopeless and ludicrous pedants, must give a negative answer to these questions. But Kautsky is no longer able to see issues in their concrete historical setting in the way he formerly did.

Thirdly. If Kautsky is no longer capable of analysis and writes lies about the Bolsheviks, if he cannot think, or even present the problem of distinctive features of a revolution arising out of four years of war—he could at least take a closer look at what is going on around him. What is proved by the assassination of Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg by army officers in the democratic republic of Germany? What is proved by the escape from prison of these officers, who were given preposterously lenient sentences? Herr Kautsky and his whole “independent” party (independent of the proletariat but very much dependent on petty-bourgeois prejudices) evade these issues and resort to snivelling condemnation and philistine lamentations. That is precisely why more and more revolutionary workers the world over are turning away from the Kautskys, Longuets, MacDonalds and Turatis and joining the Communists, for the revolutionary proletariat needs victory over counter-revolution, not impotent “condemnation” of it.

Fourthly. The question of “terrorism” is, apparently, basic to Kautsky’s book. That is evident from the title, also from Stampfer’s remark that “Kautsky is doubtlessly right in asserting that the fundamental principle of the Commune was not terrorism, but universal suffrage”. In my Proletarian Revolution and the Renegade Kautsky I cited ample evidence to show that all this talk of a “fundamental principle” is a sheer travesty of Marxism. My purpose here is a different one. To show what Kautsky’s disquisitions on the subject of “terrorism” are worth, whom, which class, they serve, I shall cite in full a short article by a liberal writer. It is a letter to The New Republic (June 25, 1919), a liberal American journal which, generally speaking, expresses the petty-bourgeois viewpoint. However, it is preferable to Kautsky’s in not presenting that viewpoint either as revolutionary socialism or Marxism.

This is the full text of the letter:

MANNERHEIM AND KOLCHAK
Sir: The Allied governments have refused to recognise the Soviet Government of Russia because, as they state:

1.; The Soviet Government is—or was—pro-German.

2.; The Soviet Government is based on terrorism.

3.; The Soviet Government is undemocratic and unrepresentative of the Russian people.

Meanwhile the Allied governments have long since recognised the present whiteguard Government of Finland under the dictatorship of General Mannerheim, although it appears:

1.; That German troops aided the whiteguards in crushing the Socialist Republic of Finland, and that General Mannerheim sent repeated telegrams of sympathy and esteem to the Kaiser. Meanwhile the Soviet Government was busily undermining the German Government with propaganda among troops on the Russian front. The Finnish Government was infinitely more pro-German than the Russian.

2.; That the present Government of Finland on coming into power executed in cold blood within a few days’ time 16,700 members of the old Socialist Republic, and imprisoned in starvation camps 70,000 more. Meanwhile the total executions in Russia for the year ended November 1, 1918, were officially stated to have been 3,800, including many corrupt Soviet of officials as well as counter-revolutionists. The Finnish Government was infinitely more terroristic than the Russian.

3.; That after killing and imprisoning nearly 90,000 socialists, and driving some 50,000 more over the border into Russia—and Finland is a small country with an electorate of only about 400,000—the white guard government deemed it sufficiently safe to hold elections. In spite of all precautions, a majority of socialists were elected, but General Mannerheim, like the Allies after the Vladivostok elections, allowed not one of them to be seated. Meanwhile the Soviet Government had disenfranchised all those who do no useful work for a living. The Finnish Government was considerably less democratic than the Russian.

And much the same story might be rehearsed in respect to that great champion of democracy and the new order, Admiral Kolchak of Omsk, whom the Allied governments have supported, supplied and equipped, and are now on the point of officially recognising.

Thus every argument that the Allies have urged against the recognition of the Soviets, can be applied with more strength and honesty against Mannerheim and Kolchak. Yet the latter are recognised, and the blockade draws ever tighter about starving Russia.

Stuart Chase

Washington, D.C.

This letter written by a bourgeois liberal, effectively exposes all the vileness of the Kautskys, Martovs, Chernovs, Brantings and other heroes of the Berne yellow International and their betrayal of socialism.

For, first, Kautsky and all these heroes lie about Soviet Russia on the question of terrorism and democracy. Secondly, they do not assess developments from the standpoint of the class struggle as it is actually developing on a world scale and in the sharpest possible form, but from the standpoint of a petty-bourgeois, philistine longing for what might have been if there had been no close link between bourgeois democracy and capitalism, if there were no whiteguards in the world, if they had not been supported by the world bourgeoisie, and so on and so forth. Thirdly, a comparison of this American letter with the writings of Kautsky and Co. will clearly show that Kautsky’s objective role is servility to the bourgeoisie.

The world bourgeoisie supports the Mannerheims and Kolchaks in an attempt to stifle Soviet power, alleging that it is terrorist and undemocratic. Such are the facts. And Kautsky, Martov, Chernov and Co. are only singing songs about terrorism and democracy in chorus with the bourgeoisie, for the world bourgeoisie is singing this song to deceive the workers and strangle the workers’ revolution. The personal honesty of “socialists” who sing the same song “sincerely”, i.e., because they are extremely dull-witted, does not in any way alter the objective role played by the song. The “honest opportunists”, the Kautskys, Martovs, Longuets and Co., have become “honest” (in their unprecedented spinelessness) counter-revolutionaries.

Such are the facts.

An American liberal realises—not because he is theoretically equipped to do so, but simply because he is an attentive observer of developments in a sufficiently broad light, on a world scale—that the world bourgeoisie has organised and is waging a civil war against the revolutionary proletariat and, accordingly, is supporting Kolchak and Denikin in Russia, Mannerheim in Finland, the Georgian Mensheviks, those lackeys of the bourgeoisie, in the Caucasus, the Polish imperialists and Polish Kerenskys in Poland, the Scheidemanns in Germany, the counter-revolutionaries (Mensheviks and capitalists) in Hungary, etc., etc.

But Kautsky, like the inveterate reactionary philistine he is, continues snivelling about the fears and horrors of civil war! All semblance of revolutionary understanding, and all semblance of historical realism (for it is high time the inevitability of imperialist war being turned into civil war were realised) have disappeared. This is, furthermore, directly abetting the bourgeoisie, it is helping them, and Kautsky is actually on the side of the bourgeoisie in the civil war that is being waged, or is obviously being prepared, throughout the world.

His shouting, groaning, weeping and hysteria about the civil war serve to cover up his dismal failure as a theoretician. For the Bolsheviks have proved to be right; in the autumn of 1914 they declared to the world that the imperialist war would be transformed into civil war. Reactionaries of every shade were indignant or laughed; but the Bolsheviks were right. To conceal their complete failure, their stupidity and short-sightedness, the reactionaries must try to scare the petty bourgeoisie by showing them the horrors of civil war. That is just what Kautsky as a politician is doing.

To what absurd lengths he has gone can be seen from the following. There is no hope of a world revolution, Kautsky asserts—and what do you think he used as an argument? A revolution in Europe an the Russian pattern would mean “unleashing (Entfessellung) civil war throughout the world for a whole generation ”, and moreover not simply unleashing a veritable class war, but a “fratricidal war among the proletarians ”. The italicised words belong to Kautsky and are—admiringly of course—quoted by Stampfer.

Yes, Scheidemann’s scoundrels and hangmen have good reason to admire them! Here is a “socialist leader” scaring people with the spectre of revolution and scaring them away from revolution! But, curiously enough, there is one thing Kautsky overlooks; for nearly two years the all powerful Entente has been fighting against Russia and thereby stirring up revolution in the Entente countries. If the revolution were even to begin now, even if only in its compromising stage and in only one or two of the Entente Great Powers this would immediately put an end to the civil war in Russia, would immediately liberate hundreds of millions in the colonies, where resentment is at boiling-point and is kept in check only by the violence of the European powers.

Kautsky now obviously has another motive for his actions in addition to the foulness of his servile soul that he demonstrated throughout the imperialist war—he is afraid of protracted civil war in Russia. And fear prevents him from seeing that the bourgeoisie of the whole world is fighting Russia. A revolution in one or two of the European Great Powers would completely undermine the rule of the world bourgeoisie, destroy the very foundations of its domination and leave it no safe haven anywhere.

The two-year war of the world bourgeoisie against Russia’s revolutionary proletariat actually encourages revolution aries everywhere, for it proves that victory on a world scale is very near and easy.

As far as civil war “among the proletarians” is concerned, we have heard that argument from the Chernovs and Martovs. To assess its utter dishonesty, let us take a simple example. During the great French Revolution, part of the peasants, the Vendée peasants, fought for the King against the Republic. In June 1848 and May 1871 part of the workers served in the armies of Cavaignac and Galliffet, the armies that stifled the revolution. What would you say of a man who took this line of argument: I regret the “civil war among the peasants in France in 1792 and among the workers in 1848 and 1871”? You would have to say that he was a hypocrite and defender of reaction, the monarchy and the Cavaignacs.

And you would be right.

Today only a hopeless idiot could fail to understand that what has taken place in Russia (and is beginning or maturing in the rest of the world) is a civil war of the proletariat against the bourgeoisie. There never has been, and never can be, a class struggle in which part of the advanced class does not remain on the side of the reactionary forces. That applies to civil war too. Part of the backward workers are bound to help the bourgeoisie—for a longer or shorter period. But only scoundrels can use that to justify their desertion to the bourgeoisie.

Theoretically, this is a refusal to understand what the facts of the development of the world labour movement have been screaming and shouting about since 1914. The break away of the top strata of the working class, corrupted by a middle-class way of life and opportunism and bribed by “soft jobs” and other bourgeois sops, began to take shape on a world scale in the autumn of 1914 and reached its full development between 1915 and 1918. By disregarding this historical fact and blaming the Communists for the split in the movement, Kautsky is only demonstrating, for the thousandth time, his role of lackey of the bourgeoisie.

For forty years, from 1852 to 1892, Marx and Engels spoke of part (i.e., the top strata, the leaders, the “aristocracy") of the workers in Britain becoming increasingly bourgeois, owing to that country’s colonial advantages and her monopolies.[2] It is clear as daylight that the twentieth-century imperialist monopolies in a number of other countries were bound to create the same phenomenon as in Britain. In all the advanced countries we see corruption, bribery, desertion to the bourgeoisie by the leaders of the working class and its top strata in consequence of the doles handed out by the bourgeoisie, who provide these leaders with “soft jobs”, give crumbs from their profits to these upper strata, shift the burden of the worst paid and hardest work to backward workers brought into the country, and enhance the privileges of the “labour aristocracy” as compared with the majority of the working class.

The war of 1914-18 has given conclusive proof of treachery to socialism and desertion to the bourgeoisie by the leaders and top strata of the proletariat, by all the social-chauvinists, Gomperses, Brantings, Renaudels, MacDonalds, Scheidemanns, etc. And it goes without saying that for a time part of the workers by sheer inertia follow these bourgeois scoundrels.

The Berne International of the Huysmanses, Vanderveldes and Scheidemanns has now taken full shape as the yellow International of these traitors to socialism. If they are not fought, if a split with them is not effected, there can be no question of any real socialism, of any sincere work for the benefit of the social revolution.

Let the German Independents try to sit between two stools—such is their fate. The Scheidemanns embrace Kautsky as their “own man”. Stampfer advertises this. Indeed, Kautsky is a worthy comrade of the Scheidemanns. When Hilferding, another Independent and friend of Kautsky’s, proposed at Lucerne that the Scheidemanns be expelled from the International, the real leaders of the yellow International only laughed at him. His proposal was either a piece of extreme foolishness or a piece of extreme hypocrisy; he wanted to parade as a Left among the worker masses and, at the same time, retain his place in the International of bourgeois servitors! Regardless of what motivated this leader (Hilferding), the following is beyond doubt—the spinelessness of the Independents and the perfidy of the Scheidemanns, Brantings and Vanderveldes are bound to result in a stronger movement of the proletarian masses away from these traitorous leaders. In some countries imperialism can continue to divide the workers for a fairly long time to come. The example of Britain is proof of that, but the unification of the revolutionaries, and the uniting of the masses with the revolutionaries and the expulsion of the yellow elements are, on a world scale, proceeding steadily and surely. The tremendous success of the Communist International is proof of it: in America, a Communist Party has already been formed,[3] in Paris, the Committee for the Re-establishment of International Contacts and the Syndicalist Defence Committee[4] have come out for the Third International, and two Paris papers have sided with the Third International: Raymond Péricat’s L’Internationale[5] and Georges Anquetil’s Le Titre censuré (Bolshevik?). In Britain, we are on the eve of the organisation of a Communist Party with which the best elements in the British Socialist Party, the Shop Stewards Committees, the revolutionary trade-unionists, etc., are in solidarity. The Swedish Lefts, the Norwegian Social-Democrats, the Dutch Communists, the Swiss[6] and Italian[7] Socialist parties stand solid with the German Spartacists and the Russian Bolsheviks.

In the few months since its organisation early this year, the Communist International has become a world organisation leading the masses and unconditionally hostile to the betrayers of socialism in the yellow International of the Berne and Lucerne fraternity.

In conclusion, here is a highly instructive communication that casts light on the part played by the opportunist leaders. The conference of yellow socialists in Lucerne this August was reported by the Geneva paper La Feuille [8] in a special supplement appearing in several languages. The English edition (No. 4, Wednesday, August 6) carried an interview with Troelstra, the well-known leader of the opportunist party in Holland.

Troelstra said that the German revolution of November 9 had caused a good deal of agitation among Dutch political and trade union leaders. For a few days the ruling groups in Holland were in a state of panic especially as there was practically universal unrest in the army.

The Mayors of Rotterdam and The Hague, he continues, sought to build up their own organisations as an auxiliary force of the counter-revolution. A committee composed of former generals—among them an old officer who prided himself on having shared in the suppression of the Boxer rebellion in China—tried to mislead several of our comrades into taking up arms against the revolution. Naturally, their efforts had the very opposite result and in Rotterdam, at one time, it seemed that a workers’ council would be set up. But the political and trade union leaders believed such methods premature and confined themselves to formulating a workers’ minimum programme and publishing a strongly worded appeal to the masses.

That is what Troelstra said. He also bragged a good deal, describing how he had delivered revolutionary speeches calling even for the seizure of power, how he realised the inadequacy of parliament and political democracy as such, how he recognised “illegal methods” of struggle and “dictatorship of the proletariat” in the transition period, and so on and so forth.

Troelstra is a typical specimen of the venal, opportunist leader who serves the bourgeoisie and deceives the workers. In words he will accept everything — workers’ councils, proletarian dictatorship and whatever else you wish. But actually he is a vile betrayer of the workers, an agent of the bourgeoisie. He is the leader of those “political and trade union leaders” that saved the Dutch bourgeoisie by joining forces with them at the decisive moment.

For the facts revealed by Troelstra are perfectly clear and point in a very definite direction. The Dutch army had been mobilised, the proletariat was armed and united, in the army, with the poor sections of the people. The German revolution inspired the workers to rise, and there was “practically universal unrest in the army”. Obviously, the duty of revolutionary leaders was to lead the masses towards revolution, not to miss the opportune moment, when the arming of the workers and the influence of the German revolution could have decided the issue at one stroke.

But the treasonable leaders, with Troelstra at their head, joined forces with the bourgeoisie. The workers were stalled off with reforms and still more with promises of reforms. “Strongly worded appeals” and revolutionary phrases were used to placate—and deceive—the workers. It was the Troelstras and similar “leaders”, who make up the Second International of Berne and Lucerne, that saved the capitalists by helping the bourgeoisie demobilise the army.

The labour movement will march forward, ousting these traitors and betrayers, the Troelstras and the Kautskys, ridding itself of the upper stratum that has turned bourgeois, is misleading the masses and pursuing capitalist policies.

N. Lenin

September 20, 1919

P.S. Judging by Stampfer’s article, Kautsky is now silent on the Soviet political system. Has he surrendered on this cardinal issue? Is he no longer prepared to defend the banalities set forth in his pamphlet against The Dictatorship of the Proletariat ? Does he prefer to pass from this chief issue to secondary ones? The answer to all these questions must await examination of Kautsky’s pamphlet.


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Endnotes
[1] Vorwärts (Forward )‹a daily newspaper, Central Organ of the German Social-Democratic Party. In accordance with a decision of the Halle Congress of the party, it was published in Berlin from 1891 under the name of Vorwärts Berliner Volksblatt as a continuation of the newspaper Berliner Volksblatt issued since 1884. Engels used the columns of this paper to combat all manifestations of opportunism. In the late nineties, after the death of Engels, Vorwärts was controlled by the Right wing of the party and regularly published articles by opportunists. During the First World War Vorwärts took a social-chauvinist stand; after the Great October Socialist Revolution the paper carried on anti-Soviet propaganda. It was published in Berlin till 1933.

Lenin refers to Friedrich Stampfer’s article “Kautsky gegen Spartakus” published in Vorwärts No. 457 of September 7, 1919.

[2] See record of Karl Marx’s speech on the Barry Mandate (Minutes of the Hague Congress of 1872 , Madison, 1958); Engels’s Preface to the English edition of The Condition of the Working Class in England, Preface to the second German edition of The Condition of the Working Class in England ; Engels’s letters to Marx of September 24, 1852 and of October 7, 1858; letters by Engels to Sorge of September 21, 1872 and of October 5, 1872; Marx’s letter to Sorge of August 4, 1874; Engels’s letter to Marx of August 11, 1881; Engels’s letters to Kautsky of September 12, 1882 and to Sorge of December 7, 1889.

[3] In 1919 two Communist Parties were founded in the U.S.A. Their core was the Left wing of the Socialist Party. The Communist Labour Party headed by John Reed, James P. Cannon. It was based on, and oriented to, native born American workers, the majority of the US Working class. Support to the the CLP came also from the Jewish Federation of the Socialist Party which joined the CLP. The Communist Party of the United States was headed by Charles Ruthenberg and Louis Friana, with the support of the majority of the foreign born workers federations of the Socialist Party such as the Italians, Finns and Russians. The two parties had no serious programatic disagreements. Both parties passed decisions at their inaugural congresses on affiliation to the Third International. In May 1921 they united to form one Communist Party.

[4] The Committee for the Re-establishment of International Contacts was formed in January 1916 by French internationalists. This was the first attempt to set up in France an internationalist revolutionary organisation of socialists to counterbalance the social-chauvinist organisations. Lenin regarded the Committee as a factor in rallying the internationalist forces; he proposed that Inessa Armand participate in the Committee.

Under the influence of the October Revolution in Russia and the growth of the French labour movement, the Committee became the centre of the revolutionary internationalist forces in France, and in 1920 merged with the Communist Party of France.

The Syndicalist Defence Committee was formed in autumn of 1916 by a group of syndicalists who broke away from the Committee for the Re-establishment of International Contacts because they rejected parliamentary activity. In May 1919 it resolved to join the Communist International.

[5] L’Internationale— a weekly newspaper of the French syndicalists, organ of the Syndicalist Defence Committee, appeared in Paris from February to July 1919; edited by Raymond Péricat.

[6] The Social-Democratic Party of Switzerland (known as the Socialist Party) was founded in the 1870s and affiliated to the First International; a new party was founded in 1888. The party was strongly influenced by opportunists, who took a social-chauvinist position during the First World War. In the autumn of 1916 the Right wing broke away from the Party and founded its own organisation. The party majority, led by Robert Grimm, followed a Centrist social-pacifist policy. The Left wing adhered to the internationalist stand. After the October Revolution in Russia the Left wing became much more influential. In December 1920 the Left withdrew from the party and in 1921 merged with the Communist Party of Switzerland.

[7] The Socialist Party of Italy was founded in 1892 and from the very start was the scene of a sharp struggle on all basic political and tactical issues between the opportunist and revolutionary trends. At its Congress in Reggio-Emilia (1912), the more outspoken reformists, who supported the war and co-operation with the government and the bourgeoisie (Ivanoe Bonomi, Leonida Bissolati and others), were expelled from the party under pressure from the Left. Prior to Italy’s entry into the First World War, the party opposed war and advocated neutrality. In December 1914 it expelled a group of renegades (among them Mussolini) for supporting the imperialist policy of the bourgeoisie and urging Italy’s entry into the war. In May 1915, when Italy did enter the war on the side of the Entente, the party split into three distinct factions: (1) the Right wing, which helped the bourgeoisie prosecute the war, (2) the Centrists who made up the majority of the party and pursued the policy of “non-participation in the war and no sabotage of the war”, and (3) the Left wing, which took a more resolute stand against the war but failed to organise a consistent struggle against it. The Lefts did not realise the necessity to convert the imperialist war into a civil war, or to break resolutely with the reformists. The Italian socialists held a joint conference with the Swiss socialists in Lugano (1914), took part in the international socialist conferences at Zimmerwald (1915) and Kienthal (1916), where they sided with the Centrist majority.

After the October Soclalist Revolution in Russia the Left wing of the Italian Socialist Party became more influential. The 16th party congress, held October 5-8, 1919 in Bologna, passed a decision to join the Third International. The I.S.P. delegates took part in the Second Congress of the Communist International. After the Congress, Serrati, head of the delegation and a Centrist, declared against the break with the reformists. In January 1921, at the 17th party congress in Livorno the Centrists who were in the majority refused to break with the reformists and to recognise all the terms of admittance to the Communist International. On January 21 the Left-wing delegates left the congress and founded the Communist Party of Italy.

[8] La Feuille— a daily newspaper published in Geneva from August 1917 to 1920. Its editor was Jean Debrit. The newspaper did not formally belong to any party, but in fact it adhered to the positions of the Second International.


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Thursday, January 24, 2019

The Roots Is The Toots: The Music That Got The Generation Of ’68 Through The 1950s Red Scare Cold War Night-Billie’s Fifteen Minutes of Fame-With Bill Haley And The Comet’s Rock Around The Clock In Mind

The Roots Is The Toots: The Music That Got The Generation Of ’68 Through The 1950s Red Scare Cold War Night-Billie’s Fifteen Minutes of Fame-With Bill Haley And The Comet’s Rock Around The Clock In Mind






Rock Around The Clock
recorded by Bill Haley
written by Jimmy DeKnight and Max Freedman 


G
One two three o'clock four o'clock rock

Five six seven o'clock eight o'clock rock

Nine ten eleven o'clock twelve o'clock rock
                 
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight


Put your glad rags on and join me hon
           G7
We'll have fun when the clock strikes one
            C
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight
            G
We're gonna rock rock rock 'til broad daylight
            D7                               G
We're gonna rock gonna rock around the clock tonight


When the clock strikes two three and four
If the band slows down we'll yell for more
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight
We're gonna rock rock rock 'til broad daylight
We're gonna rock gonna rock around the clock tonight

When the chimes ring five six and seven
We'll be right in seventh heaven
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight
We're gonna rock rock rock 'til broad daylight
We're gonna rock gonna rock around the clock tonight

When it's eight nine ten eleven too
I'll be going strong and so will you
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight
We're gonna rock rock rock 'til broad daylight
We're gonna rock gonna rock around the clock tonight

When the clock strikes twelve we'll cool off then
Start a rocking round the clock again
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight
We're gonna rock rock rock 'til broad daylight
We're gonna rock gonna rock around the clock tonight

I, seemingly, had endlessly gone back to my early musical roots in reviewing a commercially- produced classic rock series over the past few years. And while time and ear have eroded the sparkle of some of the lesser tunes it still seems obvious that those years, say 1955-58, really did form the musical jail break-out for my generation, the generation of ’68, who had just started to tune into music.

And we, we small time punk in the old-fashioned sense of that word, we hardly wet behind the ears elementary school kids, and that is all we were for those who are now claiming otherwise, listened our ears off. Those were strange times indeed in that be-bop 1950s night when stuff happened, kids’ stuff, but still stuff like a friend of mine, not Billie who I will talk about later, who claimed, with a straight face to the girls, that he was Elvis’ long lost son. Did the girls do the math on that one? Or, maybe, they like us more brazen boys were hoping, hoping and praying, that it was true despite the numbers, so they too could be washed by that flamed-out night.

Well, this I know, boy and girl alike tuned in on our transistor radios (small battery- operated radios that we could put in our pockets, and hide from snooping parental ears at will) to listen to music that from about day one, at least in my household was not considered “refined” enough for young, young pious you’ll never get to heaven listening to that devil music and you had better say about eight zillion Hail Marys to get right Catholic, ears. Yeah right, Ma, like Patti Page or Bob Crosby and The Bobcats (not Bing, not the Bing of Brother, Can You Spare A Dime? anyway) were supposed to satisfy our jail break cravings.

In many ways 1956 was the key year, at least to my recollection. And here is why. Elvis may have been burning up the stages, making all the teenage girls down South sweat, making slightly older women sweat and throw undergarments too, and every guy over about eight years old start growing sideburns before then but that was the year that I actually saw him on television and started be-bopping off his records. Whoa. And the same with Bill Haley and the Comets, even though in the rock pantheon they were old, almost has-been guys, by then. And Chuck Berry. And for the purposes of this particular flash back, James Brown, ah, sweet, please, please, please James Brown (and the Flames, of course) with that different black, black as the night, beat that my mother (and others too) would not even let in the house, and maybe not even in our whole white working- class neighborhood. But remember that transistor radio and remember when rock rocked.

Of course all of this remembrance is just so much lead up to a Billie story. You know Billie, Billie from “the projects” hills. William James Bradley to be exact. I told you about him once when I was reviewing a 30th anniversary of rock film concert segment by Bo Diddley. I told the story of how he, and we, learned first-hand down at the base, the nasty face of white racism in this society. No even music, and maybe particularly not even music, was exempted then from that dead of night racial divide, North or South if you really want to know. Yes, that Billie, who also happened to be my best friend, or maybe almost best friend we never did get it straight, in elementary school. Billie was crazy for the music, crazy to impress the tender young girls that he was very aware of, much more aware of than I was and earlier, with his knowledge, his love, and his respect for the music (which is where the innocent Bo Diddley imitation thing just mentioned came from although that story was later than the story I want to tell you now).

But see we were “projects kids,” and that meant, and meant seriously, no dough kids. No dough to make one look, a little anyway, like one of the hot male teen rock stars such as Elvis or Jerry Lee Lewis. Now this “projects” idea started out okay, I guess, the idea being that returning veterans from World War II, at least some vets like my father, needed a leg up in order to provide for their families. And low-rent public housing was the answer. Even if that answer was four-family unit apartment buildings really fit for one family, one growing three boy family anyway, and no space, no space at all for private, quiet dreams. Of course by 1955, ‘56 during the “golden age” of working- class getting ahead (or at least to many it must seem so now) there was a certain separation between those who had moved on to the great suburban ranch house dream land and those who were seemingly fated to end up as “the projects” fixtures, and who developed along the way a very identifiable projects ethos, a dog-eat-dog ethos if you want to know the truth. It ain’t pretty down at the base, down at the place where the thugs, drifters, grifters, and midnight sifters feed off the rough-edged working poor.

That didn’t stop Billie, or me for that matter, from having our like everybody else dreams, quiet spaced or not. In fact, Billie had during his long time there probably developed the finest honed-edge of “projects” ethos of anyone I knew, but that came later. For now, for the rock minute I want to speak of, Billie was distractedly, no beyond distraction as you will see, trying to make his big break through as a rock performer. See Billie knew, probably knew in his soul, but anyway from some fan magazine that he was forever reading that old Elvis and Jerry Lee (and many of the rockers of the day, black and white alike) were dirt poor just like us. Rough dirt poor too. Farm land, country, rural, shack, white trash, dirt poor which we with our “high style” city ways could barely comprehend.

And there was Elvis, for one, up in big lights. With all the cars, and not junkie old fin-tailed Plymouths or chromed Fords but Cadillacs, and half the girls in the world, and all of them “hot” (although we did not use that word then), or so it seemed. Billie was hooked and hooked hard on that rock star performer fantasy. It consumed his young passions. And for what purpose? If you answered to impress the girls, “the projects” girls right in front of him, hey, now you are starting to get it. And this is what this little story is about.

This was late 1956, maybe early 1957, anyway it’s winter, a cold hard winter in the projects, meaning all extra dough was needed for heat, or some serious stuff like that. But see here old Billie and I (as his assistant, or manager, it was never clear which but I was to be riding his star, no question) had no time for cold, for snow or for the no dough to get those things because what was inflaming our minds was that a teen caravan was coming to town in a few weeks. No, not to the projects, Christ no, but downtown at the high school auditorium. And what this teen caravan thing was (even though we were not officially teens and would not be so for a while) was a talent show, a big time talent show, like a junior American Bandstand television show, looking for guys and girls who could be the next teen heartthrobs. There were a lot of them in those days, those kinds of backwater talent shows and maybe now too.

This news is where two Billie things came into play so you get an idea of the kind of guy he was back then. First, one night, one dark, snowy night Billie had the bright idea than he and I should go around town and take down all the teen caravan announcement advertisements from the telephone poles and other spots where they were posted. We did, and I need say no more on the matter. Oh, except that a couple of days later, and for a week or so after that, there was a big full-page ad in the local newspaper and ads on the local radio. That’s one Billie thing and the other, well, let me back up.
When Billie got wind of the contest he went into one of his rants, a don’t mess with Billie or his idea of the moment rant and usually it was better if you didn’t, and that rant was directed first to no one else but his mother. He needed dough to get an outfit worthy of a “prince of rock” so that he could stand out for the judges. Moreover the song he was going to do was Bill Haley and The Comet’s Rock Around The Clock. I will say he knew that song cold, and the way I could tell was that at school one day he sang it and the girls went crazy. And some of the guys too. Hell, girls started following old Billie around. He was in heaven (honest, I on the other hand, was indifferent to them, or their charms just then). So the thought that he might win the contest was driving him mad (that same energy would be used later with less purpose but that story is for another day)

Hell, denim jeans, sneakers, and some old hand-down ragamuffin shirt from an older brother ain’t going to get anyone noticed, except maybe to be laughed at. Now, like I said, we were no dough projects boys. And in 1956 that meant serious problems, serious problems even without a damn cold winter. See, like I said before the projects were for those who were on the down escalator in the golden age of post-World War II affluence. In short, as much as he begged, bothered and bewildered his mother there was no dough, no dough at all for the kind of sparkly suit (or at least jacket) that Billie was desperate for. Hell, he even badgered his dad, old Billie, Senior, and if you badgered old Billie then you had better be ready for some hard knocks and learn how to pick yourself up off the ground, sometimes more than once. Except this time, this time something hit Old Billie, something more than that bottle of booze or six, hard stinky-smelling booze, that he used to keep his courage and television-watching up. He told Mrs. Billie (real name, Iris) that he would spring for the cloth if she would make the suit. Whoopee! We are saved and even Billie, my Billie, had a kind word for his father on this one.

I won’t bore you with the details of Mrs. Billie’s (there you have me calling her that, I always called her Mrs. Bradley, or ma’am) efforts on behalf of Billie’s career. Of course the material for the suit came from the Bargain Center located downtown near the bus terminal. You don’t know the Bargain Center? Sure you do, except it had a different name where you lived maybe and it has names like Wal-Mart and K-Mart, etc. now. Haven’t you been paying attention? Where do you think the material came from? Brooks Brothers? Please. Now this Bargain Center was the early low- rent place where I, and about half the project kids got their first day of school and Easter outfits (the mandatory twice yearly periods for new outfits in those days). You know the white shirts with odd-colored pin-stripes, a size or two too large, the black chinos with cuffs, christ with cuffs like some hayseed, and other items that nobody wanted someplace else and got a second life at the “Bargie.” At least you didn’t have to worry about hand-me-downs because most of the time the stuff didn’t wear that long.

I will say that Mrs. B. did pretty good with what she had to work with and that when the coat was ready it looked good, even if it was done only an hour before the show. Christ, Billie almost flipped me out with his ranting that day. And I had seen some bad scenes before. In any case it was ready. Billie went to change clothes upstairs and when he came down everybody, even me, hell, even Old Billie was ooh-ing and ah-ing. Now Billie, to be truthful, didn’t look anything like Bill Haley. I think he actually looked more like Jerry Lee. Kind of thin and wiry, lanky maybe, with brown hair and blue eyes and a pretty good chin and face. I would say now a face that girls would go for; although I am not sure they would all swoon over him, except maybe the giggly ones.

So off we go on the never on time bus, a bus worthy of its own stories, to downtown and the auditorium, even my mother and father who thought Billie was the cat’s meow when I brought him around. Billie’s father, Old Billie of the small dreams, took a pass on going. He had a Friday night boxing match that he couldn’t miss and the couch beckoned (an argument could be made that Old Billie was a man before his time in the couch potato department). However all is forgiven him this night for his big idea, and his savior dough. We got to the school auditorium okay and Billie left us for stardom as we got in our rooting section seats. A few minutes later Billie ran up to us to tell us that he was fifth on the list so don’t go anywhere, like out for a cigarette or something.

We sat through the first four acts, a couple of guys doing Elvis stuff (so-so) and a couple of girls (or rather trios of girls) who did some serious be-bop stuff and had great harmonies. Billie, I sensed, was going to have his work cut out for him this night. Finally Billie came out, prompted the four-piece backup band to his song, and he started for the mike. He started out pretty good, in good voice and a couple of nice juke moves, but then about half way through; as he was wiggling and swiggling through his Rock Around The Clock all of a sudden one of the arms of his jacket fell off and landed in the front row. Billie didn’t miss a beat. This guy was a showman. Then the other jacket arm fell off and also went into the first row. Except this time a couple of swoony girls, girls from our school were tussling, seriously tussling, each other for it. See, they thought it was part of Billie’s act. And what they didn’t know as Billie finished up was that Mrs. Billie (I will be kind to her and not call her what Billie called her) in her rush to finish up didn’t sew the arms onto the body of the jacket securely so they were just held together by some temporary stitches.


Well, needless to say Billie didn’t win (one of those girl trios did, and rightly so, although I didn’t tell Billie that). But next day, and many next days after that, Billie had more girls hanging off his arms than he could shake a stick at. And you know maybe Billie was on to something after all because I started to notice those used-to-been scrawny, spindly-legged, pigeon-toed giggling girls, their new found bumps and curves, and their previously unremarkable winsome girlish charms, especially when Billie would give me his “castoffs.” So his losing was for the best. My “for the best.”

Upon The 50th Anniversary Of The Death Of Lowell-Bred Writer Jack Kerouac-“The King Of The Beat”-From“The Lonesome Hobo” Series- The Lonesome Hobo-In Honor Of Ti Jean Kerouac’s “Lonesome Traveler”

Upon The 50th Anniversary Of The Death Of Lowell-Bred Writer Jack Kerouac-“The King Of The Beat”-

“Advertisements for Myself”-Introduction by Allan Jackson, a founding member of the American Left History publication back in 1974 when it was a hard copy journal and until 2017 site manager of the on-line edition      

[He’s back. Jack Kerouac, as describe in the headline, “the king of the beats” and maybe the last true beat standing. That is the basis of this introduction by me as we commemorate the 50th anniversary of his untimely death at 47. But before we go down and dirty with the legendary writer I stand before you, the regular reader, and those who have not been around for a while to know that I was relieved of my site manage duties in 2017 in what amounted to a coup by the younger writers who resented the direction I was taking the publication in and replaced me with Greg Green who I had brought on board from American Film Gazette to run the day to day operations while I oversaw the whole operation and planned my retirement. Over the past year or so a million rumors have, had mostly now, swirled around this publication and the industry in general about what had happened and I will get to that in a minute before dealing with Jack Kerouac’s role in the whole mess.

What you need to know first, if you don’t know already is that Greg Green took me back to do the introductions to an encore presentation of a long-term history of rock and roll series that I edited and essentially created after an unnamed older writer who had not been part of the project balled it all up, got catch flat-footed talking bullshit and other assorted nonsense since he knew nada, nada nunca and, about the subject having been apparently asleep when the late Peter Markin “took us to school” that history. Since then Greg and I have had an “armed truce,” meaning I could contribute as here to introductions of some encore and some origin material as long as I didn’t go crazy, his term, for what he called so-called nostalgia stuff from the 1950s and 1960s and meaning as well that Greg will not go crazy, my term, and will refrain from his ill-advised attempt to reach a younger audience by “dumbing down” the publication with odd-ball comic book character reviews of films, graphic novels and strange musical interludes. Fair is fair.

What I need to mention, alluded to above, is those rumors that ran amok while I was on the ropes, when I had lost that decisive vote of no confidence by one sullen vote. People here, and my enemies in the industry as well, seeing a wounded Allan Jackson went for the kill, went for the jugular that the seedy always thrive on and began a raggedy-ass trail on noise you would not believe. In the interest of elementary hygiene, and to frankly clear the air, a little, since there will always be those who have evil, and worse in their hearts when “the mighty have fallen.”  Kick when somebody is down their main interest in life.

I won’t go through the horrible rumors like I was panhandling down in Washington, D.C., I was homeless in Olde Saco, Maine (how could that be when old friend and writer here Josh Breslin lives there and would have provided alms to me so at least get an approximation of the facts before spinning the wild wooly tale), I had become a male prostitute in New York City (presumably after forces here and in that city hostile to me put in the fatal “hard to work with” tag on me ruining any chances on the East Coast of getting work, getting enough dough to keep the wolves from my door, my three ex-wives and that bevy of kids, nice kids, who nevertheless were sucking me dry with alimony and college tuitions), writing press releases under the name Leonard Bloom for a Madison Avenue ad agency. On a lesser scale of disbelief I had taken a job as a ticket-taker in a multi-plex in Nashua, New Hampshire, had been a line dishwasher at the Ritz in Philadelphia when they needed day labor for parties and convention banquets, had been kicking kids out of their newspaper routes and taking that task on myself, and to finish off although I have not given a complete rundown rummaging through trash barrels looking for bottles with deposits. Christ.

Needless to say, how does one actually answer such idiocies, and why. A couple of others stick out about me and some surfer girl out in Carlsbad in California who I was pimping while getting my sack time with her and  this one hurt because it hurt a dear friend and former “hippie girl” lover of mine, Madame La Rue, back in the day that I was running a whorehouse with her in Luna Bay for rich Asian businessmen with a taste for kinky stuff. I did stop off there and Madame does run a high-end brothel in Luna Bay but I had nothing to do with it. The reason Madame was hurt was because I had lent her the money to buy the place when it was a rundown hotel and built it up from there with periodic additional funds from me so she could not understand why my act of kindness would create such degenerate noise from my enemies who were clueless about the relationship between us.
I will, must deal with two big lies which also center of my reluctant journey west (caused remember by that smear campaign which ruined by job opportunities in the East, particularly New York City. The first which is really unbelievable on its face is that I hightailed it directly to Utah, to Salt Lake City, when I busted out in NYC looking for one Mitt Romney, “Mr. Flip-Flop,” former Governor of Massachusetts, Presidential candidate against Barack Obama then planning on running for U.S. Senator from Utah (now successful ready to take office in January) to “get well.” The premise for this big lie was supposedly that since I have skewered the guy while he was governor and running for president with stuff like the Mormon fetish for white underwear and the old time polygamy of his great-grand-father who had five wives (and who showed great executive skill I think in keeping the peace in that extended family situation. The unbelievable part is that those Mormon folk, who have long memories and have pitchforks at the ready to rumble with the damned, would let a sinner like me, a non-Mormon for one thing anywhere the Romney press operation. Christ, I must be some part latter day saint since I barely got out of that damn state alive if the real truth were known after I applied for a job with the Salt Lake Sentinel not knowing the rag was totally linked to the Mormons. Pitchforks, indeed.    

The biggest lie though is the one that had me as the M.C. in complete “drag” as Elsa Maxwell at the “notorious” KitKat Club in San Francisco which has been run for about the past thirty years or so by Miss Judy Garland, at one time and maybe still is in some quarters the “drag queen” Queen of that city. This will show you how ignorant, or blinded by hate, some people are. Miss Judy Garland is none other that one of our old corner boys from the Acre section of North Adamsville, Timmy Riley. Timmy who like the rest of us on the corner used to “fag bait” and beat up anybody, any guy who seemed effeminate, at what cost to Timmy’s real feelings we will never really know although he was always the leader in the gay-bashing orgy. Finally between his own feeling and Stonewall in New York in 1969 which did a great deal to make gays, with or with the drag queen orientation, a little less timid Timmy fled the Acre (and his hateful family and friends) to go to friendlier Frisco. He was in deep personal financial trouble before I was able to arrange some loans from myself and some of his other old corner boys (a few still hate Timmy for what he has become, his true self) to buy the El Lobo Club, his first drag queen club, and when that went under, the now thriving tourist trap KitKat Club. So yes, yes, indeed, I stayed with my old friend at his place and that was that. Nothing more than I had done many times before while I ran the publication.                   

But enough of this tiresome business because I want to introduce this series dedicated to the memory of Jack Kerouac who had a lot of influence on me for a long time, mostly after he died in 1969 
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All roads about Jack Kerouac, about who was the king of the beats, about what were the “beats” lead back to the late Pete Markin who, one way or another, taught the working poor Acre neighborhood of North Adamsville corner boys what was up with that movement. Funny, because we young guys were a serious generation removed from that scene, really our fathers’ contemporaries and you know how far removed fathers were from kids in those days especially among the working poor trying to avoid going  “under water” and not just about mortgages but food on tables and clothing on backs, were children of rock and roll, not jazz, the beat musical medium, and later the core of the “Generation of ‘68” which took off, at least partially, with the “hippie” scene, where the dying embers of the beat scene left off. Those dying embers exactly the way to put it since most of our knowledge or interest came from the stereotypes-beards before beards were cool and before grandfather times -for guys, okay, berets, black and beaten down looks. Ditto on black for the gals, including black nylons which no Acre girl would have dreamed of wearing, not in the early 1960s anyway. Our “model” beatnik really came, as we were also children of television, from sitcom stories like Dobie Gillis with stick character Maynard G. Krebs standing in for all be-bop-dom.        

So it is easy to see where except to ostracize, meaning harass, maybe beat up if that was our wont that day, we would have passed by the “beat” scene, passed by Jack Kerouac too without the good offices, not a term we would have used then, if not for nerdish, goof, wild and wooly in the idea world Markin (always called Scribe for obvious reasons but we will keep with Markin here). He was the guy who always looked for some secret meaning to the universe, that certain breezes, winds, metaphorical breezes and winds, were going to turn things around, were going to make the world a place where Markin could thrive. Markin was the one who first read Kerouac’s breakthrough travelogue of a different sort novel On The Road.

Now Markin was the kind of guy, and sometimes we let him go on and sometimes stopped him in his tracks, who when he was on to something would bear down on us to pay attention. Christ some weekend nights he would read passages from the book like it was the Bible (which it turned out to be in a way later) when all we basically cared about is which girls were going to show up at our hang-out spot, the well-known Tonio’s Pizza Parlor and play the jukebox and we would go from there. Most of us, including me, kind of yawned at the whole thing even when Markin made a big deal that Kerouac was a working-class guy like us from up in Lowell cut right along the Merrimac River. The whole thing seemed way too exotic and moreover there was too much homosexual stuff implied which in our strict Irish-Italian Catholic neighborhood did not go down well at all -made us dismiss the whole thing and want to if I recall correctly “beat up” that Allan Ginsberg character. Even Dean Moriarty, the Neal Cassidy character, didn’t move us since although we were as larcenous and “clip” crazy as any character in that book we kind of took Dean as a tough car crazy guide like Sonny Jones from our neighborhood who was nothing but a hood in Red Riley’s bad ass motorcycle gang which hung out at Harry’s Variety Store. We avoided him and more so Red like the plague. Both wound up dead, very dead, in separate attempted armed robberies in broad daylight if you can believe that.    

Our first run through of our experiences with Kerouac and through him the beat movement was therefore kind of marginal-even as Markin touted for a while that whole scene he agreed with us that jazz-be-bop jazz always associated with the beat-ness was not our music, was grating to our rock and roll-refined and defined ears. Here is where Markin was always on to something though, always had some idea percolating in his head. There was a point where he, we as well I think, got tired of rock and roll, a time when it had run out of steam for a while and along with his crazy home life which really was bad drove him to go to Harvard Square and check out what he had heard was a lot of stuff going on. Harvard Square was, is still to the extent that any have survived like Club Passim, the home of the coffeehouse. A place that kind of went with the times first as the extension of the beat generation hang-out where poetry and jazz would be read and played. But in Markin’s time, our time there was the beginnings of a switch because when he went to the old long gone Café Nana he heard folk music and not jazz, although some poetry was still being read. I remember Markin telling me how he figured the change when I think it was the late Dave Von Ronk performed at some club and mentioned that when he started out in the mid-1950s in the heat of beat time folk singers were hired at the coffeehouses in Greenwich Village to “clear the house” for the next set of poetry performers but that now folk-singing eclipsed poetry in the clubs. Markin loved it, loved the whole scene of which he was an early devotee. Me, well, strangely considering where I wound up and what I did as a career, I always, still do, hated the music. Thought it was too whinny and boring. Enough said though.                   

Let’s fast forward to see where Kerouac really affected us in a way that when Markin was spouting forth early on we could not appreciate. As Markin sensed in his own otherworldly way a new breeze was coming down the cultural highway, a breeze push forward by the beats I will confess, by the folk music scene, by the search for roots which the previous generation, our parents’ generation, spent their adulthoods attempting to banish and become part of the great American vanilla melt, and by a struggling desire to question everything that had come before, had been part of what we had had no say in creating, weren’t even asked about. Heady stuff and Markin before he made a very bad decision to quit college in his sophomore years and “find himself,” my expression not his, spent many of his waking hours figuring out how to make his world a place where he could thrive.

That is when one night, this is when we were well out of high school, some of us corner boys had gone our separate ways and those who remained in contact with the brethren spent less time hanging out at Tonio’s, Markin once again pulled out On The Road, pulled out Jack’s exotic travelogue. The difference is we were all ears then and some of us after that night brought our own copies or went to the Thomas Murphy Public Library and took out the book. This was the spring of the historic year 1967 when the first buds of the Summer of Love which wracked San Francisco and the Bay Area to its core and once Markin started working on us, started to make us see his vision of what he would later called, culling from Tennyson if I am not mistaken a “newer world.” Pulling us all in his train, even as with Bart Webber and if I recall Si Lannon a little, he had to pull out all the stops to have them, us, join him in the Summer of Love experience. Maybe the whole thing with Jack Kerouac was a pipe dream I remember reading about him in the Literary Gazette when he was down in Florida living with his ancient mother and he was seriously critical of the “hippies,” kind of banged on his own beat roots explaining that he was talking about something almost Catholic beatitude spiritual and not personal freedom, of the road or anything else. A lot of guys and not just writing junkies looking for some way to alleviate their inner pains have repudiated their pasts but all I know is that when Jack was king of the hill, when he spoke to us those were the days all roads to Kerouac were led by Markin. Got it. Allan Jackson    


















Million word Jack (nee Jeanbon, nee Ti Jean, nee everyman, every man, and every woman with the fire in the belly to write) bellowed out in the good earth night, bellowed out in the night from the womb, bellowed about loneness, loneness in crowds, and sign of the age loneness. Not loneliness, not on the surface, not with Acre kidding corner boys crowding around (mostly French-Canadian boys who set the tone of the town, adieu this and that, but some Irish and Greek boys too, especially mad monk poet Sammy, hanging around Leclerc’s Variety Store), Jack-crowding, small-breasted F-C loves (oohing ,aah-ing in the dark- haired angle man thought )swaying to Benny on the be-bop 1930s night and tossing and turning over Ti Jean words and clowning arounds (and secret Irishtown girl love spoken of before and now done), Jack-crowding, Adonis full field, full football field heroics, crowds cheering against bread and roses fed arch –rivals, Jack-crowding, Village cafes, full, chock full of the hip, the want-to-be hip, the faux hip, waiting, waiting on some dark-haired golden boy to rescue them from the little box night, Jacking-crowding, ditto Frisco, ditto New Jack City redux, ditto Jack-crowding.

So not loneliness he but lonesome cosmic wanderer from youth as partner to the crowds, up in small, immensely small twelve-year old bedrooms playing full- fledged leagues of solo jack baseball, sitting solo in fugitive Lowell libraries reading up a storm from Plato to kinsman Voltaire (via Acadian Gaspe dreams), sitting solo in some sigma phi dorm room munching chocolate bars, vanilla puddings, great greasy sugared crullers after hearty beef meals, as companion pouring over tales of greek gods and Homer, sitting solo (hard to do, believe me ) astern ships on big wave oceans ready to devour man, beasts and ship whole, sitting solo in midnight slum New Haven rooms, small hot stove, coffee pot percolating, ditto later in Frisco town, ditto in big sur town, ditto in Tangiers town, ditto down in mere Florida town, ditto solo.

Ditto too solo adventures on west coast work ship piers, solo sweaty dusty south of the border Mexican nights adventures, solo brakeman of the world trackless night adventures, solo sea sick sailor going to fugitive night adventures, solo weird New Jack City 1950s beat scene adventures, solo big rock candy mountain and the void adventures, solo stumble around Europe on a dollar a day adventures, and solo mad cap late night chronicler of the hobo jungle world vanishing adventures. And hence crowded solo lonesome karmic writings and big word blasts, and smiling, smiling, maybe Buddha-like, at the connected-ness of it, of the one-ness of it, of the god-like symmetry of it. And a Ti Jean kindred tip of the hat.

Those Who Fought For Our Communist Future Are Kindred Spirits-Honor Italian Communist Leader Antonio Gramsci -Red Ink (1919)

Markin comment:

Every January, as readers of this blog are now, hopefully, familiar with the international communist movement honors the 3 Ls-Lenin, Luxemburg and Liebknecht, fallen leaders of the early 20th century communist movement who died in this month (and whose untimely deaths left a huge, irreplaceable gap in the international leadership of that time). January is thus a time for us to reflect on the roots of our movement and those who brought us along this far. In order to give a fuller measure of honor to our fallen forbears this January, and in future Januarys, this space will honor others who have contributed in some way to the struggle for our communist future. That future classless society, however, will be the true memorial to their sacrifices. This year we pay special honor to American Communist party founder and later Trotskyist leader, James P. Cannon, Italian Communist Antonio Gramsci, and German Left Communist Karl Korsch.

Note on inclusion: As in other series on this site (“Labor’s Untold Story”, “Leaders Of The Bolshevik Revolution”, etc.) this year’s honorees do not exhaust the list of every possible communist worthy of the name. Nor, in fact, is the list limited to Bolshevik-style communists. There will be names included from other traditions (like anarchism, social democracy, the Diggers, Levellers, Jacobins, etc.) whose efforts contributed to the international struggle. Also, as was true of previous series this year’s efforts are no more than an introduction to these heroes of the class struggle. Future years will see more detailed information on each entry, particularly about many of the lesser known figures. Better yet, the reader can pick up the ball and run with it if he or she has more knowledge about the particular exploits of some communist militant, or to include a missing one.
*******
Antonio Gramsci 1919

Red Ink

Source: Avanti!, 4 April 1919;
Translated: by Michael Carley;
CopyLeft: Creative Commons (Attribute & ShareAlike) marxists.org 2011.


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The balance of Soviet Russia is negative, cruelly negative. “Momento” weeps for it like a little calf, “Momento” suffers for it with all its Franciscan soul. Think, think: 13,700 people executed as counter-revolutionaries on the first of January 1919, without counting those condemned “on intuition”; think, think, the same Commissar Lissoflski has declared it. And a deficit of seventeen billion, think, think, weep, weep, oh little hearts of butter lodging in the candy floss breasts of the tender Order of Perpetual Adoration or the curates of feeling. Vade retro, oh communism, here the holy water against the Soviet; cruel and most base apocalyptic monsters, never will you tempt the most tender Order, never will you hear the Te Deum in your glory.

When has there ever appeared on the immaculate earth a slaughter machine, a scourge destroying lives and billions, so horrifying as the Soviet Revolution? What was the slaughter of the Albigensians? A children's garden game: and, please, do not think for a moment that Pope Innocent was a precursor of “intuition,” when he preached of killing, of killing, so much so that the Merciful Lord might, in his omniscience, divide the white lamb from the worm-ridden sheep; you would only show yourself up as an anticlerical vulgarian, without a rudiment of theology or catechism.

What was the war of the peasants in Germany? A Nuremberg toy, even if it be affirmed that it destroyed twelve million human lives. What were the destructions of the Flemish, the Incas, and of the boors carried out by the most Catholic kings of Spain? They were services to the holy faith, most devoted corvées of vassals of Our Omnipotent Lord Jesus Christ. What are the ten million dead and ten million invalids and injured, heritage of the war which His Holiness Benedict called “useless slaughter,” but which “Momento” believes most useful, though His Holiness is Pontiff of the Catholic Church, while “Momento” is only the organ of the Partito Popolare Italiano.

What are the twenty million dead of grippe or Spanish flu, or pulmonary plague, that is war plague, caused and propagated and cultivated by the conditions created and left by the war? What are the thousands and thousands of human creatures who die every day of hunger, scurvy, exposure in Romania, in Bohemia, in Armenia, in India, to note only those countries friends of the Entente.

What is the eighty billion deficit in the Italian accounts, the one hundred and twenty billion in the French accounts, the two hundred billion in damages caused by the war?

What are the one hundred and fifty million Russians exterminated by the Czarist government in the repression of the Soviets in 1905? What would the twenty million Russians do who would be exterminated if the counter-revolution of Generals Krasnof, Denikin and Kolchak triumphed, the friends of the Entente who impale and expose for three days one worker in ten in the towns they manage to reconquer, the friends of the Entente who send armoured wagons full of Soviet soldiers cut to pieces to Petrograd.

What are they, what are they? Trifles, nothings, magnanimous actions compared to 13,700 executed and a deficit of 17 billion. The social revolution is a scourge, the apocalyptic monster. What is a proletarian life, what is it worth compared to a bourgeouis life? You study economics, surely: a bourgeouis is worth at least ten proletarians; so the 13,700 shot by the Soviets are worth 137 million proletarians and they are not 137 million proletarians which international capitalism has bled for its affairs, to fertilize its masses.

Weep, weep, then, most tender Order and most delicate curates of Piedmont, and do not allow yourselves to be tempted by communism, by Soviets, by the social revolution.

From The American Left History Blog Archives (2007-08) - On American Political Discourse – A Model Anti-Warrior-Karl Liebknecht of World War I Germany (2007)


Markin comment:

In 2007-2008 I, in vain, attempted to put some energy into analyzing the blossoming American presidential campaign since it was to be, as advertised at least, a watershed election, for women, blacks, old white anglos, latinos, youth, etc. In the event I had to abandon the efforts in about May of 2008 when it became obvious, in my face obvious, that the election would be a watershed only for those who really believed that it would be a watershed election. The four years of the Obama presidency, the 2012 American presidential election campaign, and world politics have only confirmed in my eyes that that abandonment was essentially the right decision at the right time. In short, let the well- paid bourgeois commentators go on and on with their twitter. I, we, had (have) better things to do like fighting against the permanent wars, the permanent war economies, the struggle for more and better jobs, and for a workers party that fights for a workers government . More than enough to do, right? Still a look back at some of the stuff I wrote then does not a bad feel to it. Read on if you like
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A Model Anti-Warrior

I recently received a comment from someone whom I took earnestly to be perplexed by a section of a commentary that I had written where I stated that the minimum necessary for any anti-war politician was to vote against the Iraq war budget in a principled manner. Not the way former Democratic presidential candidate Massachusetts Senator John Kerry’s (and others) dipsy-doodled votes for and against various war budgetary requests in 2004. And certainly not the other variations on this theme performed recently by aspiring Democratic presidential candidates Senators Obama and Clinton in the lead-up to 2008. Nor, for that matter, the way of those who oppose the Iraq war budget but have no problems if those funds were diverted to wars in Afghanistan, Iran , North Korea, China or their favorite‘evil state’ of the month. What really drew the commenter up short was that I stated this was only the beginning political wisdom and then proceeded to explain that even that would not be enough to render the politician political support if his or her other politics were weak. The commenter then plaintively begged me to describe what politician would qualify for such support. Although I have noted elsewhere that some politicians, Democratic Congressman James McGovern of Massachusetts and presidential candidate Democratic Congressman Dennis Kucinich stand out from the pack, the real anti-war hero on principle we should look at is long dead-Karl Liebknecht, the German Social-Democratic leader from World War I. Wherever anyone fights against unjust wars Liebknecht’s spirit hovers over those efforts.

Below is a commentary (edited) written last year that relates to this same subject and does not do nearly enough justice to the figure of Karl Liebknecht.

Hold Their Feet to the Fire

The election cycle of 2006-2008 has started, a time for all militants to run for cover. It will not be pretty and certainly is not for the faint-hearted. The Democrats smell blood in the water. The Greens smell that the Democrats smell blood. Various parliamentary leftists and some ostensible socialists smell that the Greens smell blood. You get the drift. Before we go to ground let me make a point.

The central issue in the 2006 elections is the Iraq quagmire. As we enter the fourth year in the bloody war in Iraq many liberals, and some not so liberal, in Congress and elsewhere are looking to rehabilitate their sorry records on Iraq and are having a cheap field day. As militants we know that the only serious call is- Immediate, Unconditional Withdrawal of all U.S. and Allied Forces. Many politicians have supported a pale imitation of this slogan-now that it safe to do so. These courageous positions range from immediate withdrawal in six months, one year, six years, etc. My personal favorite is withdrawal when the situation in Iraq stabilizes. Compared to that position, Mr. Bush’s statement in May, 2003 that the mission in Iraq was accomplished seems the height of political realism. Hold on though.

After the last slogan has faded from the last mass anti-war demonstration, after the last e-mail has been sent to the last unresponsive Congressman, after the last petition signed on behalf of the fellowship of humankind has been signed where do we stand in 2006. When the vast majority of Americans (and the world) are against the Iraq war and it still goes on and yet the “masses” are not ready for more drastic action we need some immediate leverage.

The only material way to end the war on the parliamentary level is opposition to the continued funding for the occupation. For that, however, you need votes in Congress. Here is my proposal. Make a N0 vote on the war budget a condition for your vote. When the Democrats, Republicans, Greens, or whoever, come to your door, your mailbox , your computer or calls you on the telephone or cell phone ask this simple question-YES or NO on the war budget.

Now, lest I be accused of being an ultra-left let me make this clear. I am talking about the supplementary budget for Iraq. Heaven forbid that I mean the real war budget, you know, the 400 billion plus one. No, we are reasonable people and until we get universal health care we do not want these “leaders” to suffer heart attacks. And being reasonable people we can be proper parliamentarians when the occasion requires it. If the answer is YES, then we ask YES or NO on the appropriations for bombs in the war budget. And if the answer is still YES, then we ask YES or NO on the appropriations for gold-plated kitchen sinks in the war budget. If to your utter surprise any politician says NO here’s your comeback- Since you have approximated the beginning of wisdom, get the hell out of the party you represent. You are in the wrong place. Come down here in the mud and fight for a party working people can call their own. Then, maybe, just maybe, I can support you.

I do not believe we are lacking in physical courage. What has declined is political courage, and this seems in irreversible decline on the part of parliamentary politicians. That said, I want to finish up with a woefully inadequate political appreciation of Karl Liebknecht, member of the German Social Democratic faction in the Reichstag in the early 1900’s. Karl was also a son of Wilhelm Liebknecht, friend of Karl Marx and founder of the German Social Democratic Party in the 1860’s. On August 4, 1914, at the start of World War I the German Social Democratic Party voted YES on the war budget of the Kaiser against all its previous historic positions on German militarism. This vote was rightly seen as a betrayal of socialist principles. Due to a policy of parliamentary solidarity Karl Liebknecht also voted for this budget, or at least felt he had to go along with his faction. Shortly thereafter, he broke ranks and voted NO against the war appropriations. As pointed out below Karl Liebknecht did much more than that to oppose the German side in the First World War. THAT , MY FRIENDS, IS THE KIND OF POLITICAN I CAN SUPPORT. AS FOR THE REST- HOLD THEIR FEET TO THE FIRE.

One of the problems with being the son of a famous politician is that as founder of the early German Social Democratic Party Wilhelm Liebknecht's son much was expected of Karl, especially on the question of leading the German working class against German militarism. Wilhelm had done a prison term (with August Bebel) for opposition to the Franco-Prussian War. As for Karl I have always admired that famous picture of him walking across the Potsdam Plaza in uniform, subject to imprisonment after lost of his parliamentary immunity, with briefcase under arm ready to go in and do battle with the parliamentary cretins of the Social Democratic Party over support for the war budget. That is the kind of leadership cadre we desperately need now. REMEMBER HIS FAMOUS SLOGANS- ‘THE MAIN ENEMY IS AT HOME’-‘NOT ONE PENNY, NOT ONE PERSON (updated by writer to reflect the changed status of increasing numbers of women in the military) FOR THE WAR’. Wilhelm would have been proud.

The Other Thin Man-Ginger Rogers And William Powell’s “Star Of Midnight” (1935)-A Film Review


The Other Thin Man-Ginger Rogers And William Powell’s “Star Of Midnight” (1935)-A Film Review




DVD Review

By Sam Lowell

[Although Sam is formally retired he has expressed a desire to help out when we have several films to review and not enough hands to do the tasks. He has graciously taken time away from his hot pursuit of why one very famous California ex-public cop turned private eye named Lew Archer, yes, that Lew Archer who solved the very important Galton, Turner and Hallman cases, that last one a real twister where the wife turned out to be the serial murderer never made the P.I. Hall of Fame despite a very promising start. He is following so far successfully the trail of sexual impotence as a key factor. That sex business, flirting with danger by messing with some hot maybe not so innocent femme on the way to closing down the case at least for old time P.I.s part of the package if you wanted to move up the food chain. Good luck. Since Sam is very familiar with PIs in general and with The Thin Man series in particular which as here had starred William Powell as the suave Nick Charles (and Myrna Loy as Nora) who did have the qualities to make the Hall he was the natural choice to cover this film. Thanks, Sam-Greg Green]

Star of Midnight, starring Ginger Rogers, William Powell, 1935 

One of the problems a few actors have had is to be type-cast into a certain cinematic persona. That was generally the case with William Powell, the male lead in the film under review, Star of Midnight where he plays a smart, sophisticated urban (New York City of course) man about town very similar to the role that he played in The Thin Man the year before this film was released (and would go on to star with Myrna Loy in six sequels, ouch) except here he is a high-priced lawyer, Dal, and not an ex-cop private dick Nick Charles. 

The play is the same though although the romantic interest is Donna a young smitten, smitten by Dal, played by Ginger Rogers who is not his boon companion as Myra Loy as Nora Charles was. Here a friend of Dal’s is looking for him to find his missing paramour who blew Chic town (okay, Chicago) a year before without leaving a forwarding address. (Forget it buddy, rule number one is when they don’t leave a forwarding address that means they don’t want to be found, move on, and that isn’t even high-priced legal advice.)  The plot thickens when the three of them attend a play and nobody but a masked girlfriend is on the stage. The guy yells out Alice. Bad move though since she is on the lam from somebody trying to silence her after she witnessed a murder in, ah, Chicago. Somebody has reason to silence her to cover up his own dastardly deeds so he let out that he was looking for Alice too. Don’t worry even though Dal was accused of killing a source killed in his own apartment he was left by the coppers to figure the whole thing out. And you know just like Nick (and Nora) he does. By the way Dal won’t be lonesome anymore. Donna snagged him. The killer: well grab the film and check it out. It could have been one of several people as usual.