Under the Boot of U.S. Imperialism Haiti: Mass Revolt and State Terror For a Workers and Peasants Government! For Socialist Federation(s) of the Caribbean!

Workers Vanguard No. 1165	15 November 2019

Under the Boot of U.S. Imperialism

Haiti: Mass Revolt and State Terror

For a Workers and Peasants Government! For Socialist Federation(s) of the Caribbean!

Haiti has been in upheaval against the notoriously corrupt regime of President Jovenel Moïse for nearly a year and a half. Moïse, Washington’s man in Port-au-Prince, has unleashed his cops and paramilitary gangs against protesters, killing scores and wounding hundreds. Underlying the revolt is a simple fact: Life for most Haitians has become ever more unbearable in this deeply impoverished country amid food and fuel shortages, power outages, mass unemployment and rampant inflation. Such inhuman conditions are a direct result of neocolonial domination by the U.S. imperialists, under Democratic and Republican administrations alike, and their partners-in-crime, especially in Canada and France.

The protests began in July 2018, when Moïse sharply raised prices for gasoline and other fuel in response to edicts by the U.S.-dominated International Monetary Fund. The imperialist vultures had demanded an end to fuel subsidies as part of conforming to the 2016 Paris climate agreement. While the gas hike was shelved, the protests flared up again. In November, paramilitary thugs, with the aid of top government officials, carried out a particularly hideous massacre in La Saline, an impoverished neighborhood of Port-au-Prince where many protesters lived. Some 73 men, women and children were tortured, hacked with machetes and set on fire.

The revolt intensified in February, as schools, small businesses and public transportation were shut down in what became known as peyi lòk (country lockdown). Thousands blocked roads, stoned officials, burned vehicles and ransacked businesses. Since mid September, demonstrations have taken place almost daily. Workers have joined the protests, from health care workers to textile workers in the free trade zone sweatshops.

Some protesters have directed their fury against the imperialist powers that stand behind the president, as well as the United Nations, under whose auspices Haiti had been militarily occupied for the last 15 years. Demonstrators threw rocks and Molotov cocktails at the French and Canadian embassies in Port-au-Prince last month, and a U.S. flag was burned in Cap-Haïtien. On October 24, a Radio Canada reporter noted: “The walls of Port-au-Prince are covered with graffiti against the UN and also against what everyone here knows as the ‘Core Group,’ a group of donor countries including Canada, the U.S., European Union and Organization of American States, without whose support no Haitian president can long remain in office.”

A particular focus of anger is the disappearance of billions of dollars from the PetroCaribe development fund established by Venezuela, which Haiti signed on to in 2006 under then president René Préval. Under its terms, Venezuela supplied cheap oil at low interest rates to free up resources to shore up Haiti’s grossly inadequate infrastructure, agriculture, education, sanitation and health care systems. But the money was siphoned off by government officials and business owners, or simply squandered.

Haiti’s involvement in PetroCaribe effectively ended two years ago, after Washington’s ever-tightening sanctions against Venezuela made it impossible for that country to continue its oil exports or for Haiti to send payments to Caracas. Haiti was forced to buy oil from U.S. companies at world market prices, which quickly led to spiraling debt, blackouts and gas shortages. Schools and hospitals have been forced to close for lack of electricity.

The U.S. has long sought to overthrow the bourgeois-populist Venezuelan government, today led by Nicolás Maduro, and install a subservient regime. Moïse’s puppet regime was the only Caribbean government to endorse a U.S.-engineered resolution at the Organization of American States (OAS) that labeled Maduro’s rule “illegitimate,” further enraging the Haitian masses. The OAS vote was part of Washington’s preparations for the failed coup in Caracas this past April (see “Venezuela: Down With U.S. Sanctions, Military Threats!” WV No. 1155, 17 May).

The U.S. ruling class sees the Caribbean basin as an American lake, a private preserve for profiteering and exploitation. Its ravaging of neocolonies like Haiti and current drive to overthrow the Venezuelan regime have been accompanied by stepped-up attacks on Cuba, the one country in the hemisphere that was wrested from the grip of imperialism through a social revolution nearly 60 years ago. Though deformed by the rule of a nationalist bureaucratic caste and strangled by the ongoing U.S. embargo, the Cuban Revolution has brought huge gains to the Cuban people, notably in education and health care. The contrast to Haiti could not be starker. We stand for Cuba’s unconditional military defense against imperialism and counterrevolution, while advocating a political revolution to oust the Stalinist bureaucracy and install a revolutionary internationalist regime based on workers councils.

A History of Neocolonial Dispossession

Haiti was born of a great slave rebellion against the French colonial overlords from 1791 to 1804, out of which emerged the first black nation-state of the modern era. To this day, the language of the former slave masters, French, is imposed by a tiny elite upon the vast majority of Haitians, who speak only Creole, a language that is treated as second-class at best. For over two centuries, the vengeful U.S. rulers, initially including the slavocracy, and other capitalist powers have never forgiven the Haitian masses for having overthrown racist colonial rule. Haiti was forced to pay “compensation” to France until 1947 for having ended the slave order.

Over the last 100 years, the country has been subjected to repeated imperialist military occupations. The first lasted from 1915 to 1934, during which U.S. troops drowned an anti-imperialist revolt in blood. Washington subsequently installed and backed a series of ruthless dictators, including “Papa Doc” Duvalier. His son, “Baby Doc,” was driven from the country by a mass uprising in 1986, and others in his cabal took over. The social discontent led to the election of the populist priest Jean-Bertrand Aristide in 1990. Seven months later, he was overthrown by the military in a U.S.-backed coup.

In 1994, following a starvation embargo imposed by Democratic president Bill Clinton, U.S. Marines invaded to quell growing turmoil. The U.S. returned Aristide to power on the condition that he agree to a drastic austerity program. But Washington wasn’t satisfied. In 2004, “peacekeeping” troops, led mainly by the U.S., Canada and France, landed in Haiti, and Aristide was whisked out of the country. This latest UN occupation force was reinforced after the devastating 2010 earthquake, only finally leaving last month. The U.S. seized on the natural disaster to send over 20,000 additional troops. The UN occupation brought cholera to the country, infecting Haitians en masse and killing over 9,000. UN troops were accused of multiple rapes of women and children and repeatedly backed violent assaults on protesters and poor communities.

Almost all of the U.S. military operations in Haiti have been carried out by Democratic Party administrations, with “progressive” Bernie Sanders endorsing the 1994 invasion. The UN “interim reconstruction commission” headed by Bill Clinton after the 2010 earthquake is a prime example of how the imperialists have plundered Haiti to line their pockets. A huge majority of contracts to rebuild the country went to U.S. firms, which proceeded to vastly inflate costs, including for “danger pay,” and throw money at luxury hotels and the like. Meanwhile, nearly a half billion dollars of Washington’s “relief aid” for Haiti went to the U.S. Department of Defense to pay for combat troops. The result of the U.S.-run “reconstruction” is that Haiti is worse off than ever.

Washington has attempted to develop low-wage garment factories in Haiti as a source of cheap labor for U.S. and other capitalists, a course notably pursued by the “philanthropic” Clinton Foundation. As president, Clinton forced the country to all but abolish import tariffs, deepening existing U.S. policy. Haiti was flooded with cheap American-grown rice, and masses of ruined farmers and their families were pushed out of the fields and into sweatshops (or unemployment). Haiti, once self-sufficient in production of rice, must now import up to 90 percent of this staple food. All of this shows how the imperialist system is rooted in the subjugation, oppression and exploitation of the peoples of the world.

For a Revolutionary Workers Party!

Some protesters are calling on “progressive associations” in the U.S., Canada and France to put pressure on Washington to force Moïse’s removal. Others seek support from the UN, that imperialist den of thieves and their victims, even after the recent brutal occupation. Such calls promote deadly illusions in the very imperialist powers responsible for the neocolonial rape of Haiti.

Worried about the depth of the current revolt, some Haitian bourgeois figures have broken with Moïse, trying to come up with an alternative acceptable to the imperialists. One of the main “opposition fronts” counts in its leadership two former close Moïse allies infamous for their own corruption. For their part, several dozen Haitian trade unions recently cosigned a “Joint Declaration for a Government of National Salvation” with prominent bourgeois groups, including local Chambers of Commerce.

Haiti’s history shows that for the workers and poor to ally with one or another imperialist agency or capitalist politician means disaster. If Washington decides to pull the plug on Moïse, it will only be to install someone less overtly tainted to do its bidding. The workers must pursue a class perspective, leading the peasant toilers, urban slum dwellers and other oppressed in the struggle to sweep away capitalist rule. That requires forging a revolutionary leadership: a Leninist-Trotskyist vanguard party that intervenes into social protest to direct it toward a fight for a workers and peasants government.

The U.S. and other imperialists would seek to strangle a socialist revolution in Haiti from birth. It is essential to fight for the extension of workers revolution throughout the region, resulting in one or more socialist federations of the Caribbean, and crucially for workers rule in the North American imperialist heartland. A workers government in the U.S. would provide resources to address the burning needs of the Haitian masses.

Haitians in the neighboring Dominican Republic make up a sizable component of the proletariat, while enduring racist abuse. Haitian workers in the U.S., Canada and Quebec, many of whom are organized in the unions, can serve as a human bridge linking the struggles in Haiti for social emancipation and an end to neocolonial pillage with the fight for workers revolution in the imperialist centers. The working class in the U.S., Canada and Quebec must defend Haitian immigrants who face police terror, and oppose deportations under both the overtly racist Trump administration and the fake-progressive Trudeau government in Canada. Full citizenship rights for all immigrants!

The goal of the International Communist League is the building of vanguard parties around the globe, part of reforging the Fourth International, world party of socialist revolution. To shatter the imperialist order, such a party would work to rally the workers of the world around a revolutionary, internationalist program and perspective.

The “Cold” Civil War Rages In America-In The Third Year Of The Torquemada (Oops!) Trump Regime- Immigrants, Trans-genders, DACAs, TPSers, Media People, Leftists, Hell, Liberals Know Your Constitutional Rights-It May Save Your Life

The “Cold” Civil War Rages In America-In The Third Year Of The Torquemada (Oops!) Trump Regime- Immigrants, Trans-genders, DACAs, TPSers, Media People, Leftists, Hell, Liberals Know Your Constitutional Rights-It May Save Your Life     

By Frank Jackman

Over the first year of the Trump regime as this massive control freak regime has plundered right after right, made old Hobbes’ “life is short, brutish and nasty” idea seem all too true for a vast swath  of people residing in America (and not just America either) I have startled many of my friends, radical and liberal alike. Reason? For almost all of my long adult life I have been as likely to call, one way or another, for the overthrow of the government as not. This Republic if you like for a much more equitable society than provided under it aegis. This year I have been as they say in media-speak “walking that notion back a bit.” Obviously even if you only get your news from social media or twitter feeds there have been gigantic attempts by Trump, his cronies and his allies in Congress to radically limit and cut back many of the things we have come to see as our rights in ordinary course of the business of daily life. This year I have expressed deep concerns about the fate of the Republic and what those in charge these days are hell-bend of trying to put over our eyes.

Hey, I like the idea, an idea that was not really challenged even by the likes of Nixon, Reagan and the Bushes in their respective times that I did not have to watch my back every time I made a political move. Now maybe just every move. This assault, this conscious assault on the lives and prospects of immigrants, DACAs, TPSers. Trans-genders, blacks, anti-fascists, Medicaid recipients, the poor, the outspoken media, uppity liberals, rash leftist radicals and many others has me wondering what protections we can count on, use to try to protect ourselves from the onslaught.

I, unlike some others, have not Cassandra-cried about the incipient fascist regime in Washington. If we were at that jackboot stage I would not be writing, and the reader would not be reading, this screed. Make no mistake about that. However there is no longer a question in my mind that the “cold” civil war that has been brewing beneath the surface of American society for the past decade or more has been ratchetted up many notches. Aside from preparing politically for that clash we should also be aware, much more aware than in the past, about our rights as we are confronted more and more by a hostile government, its hangers-on and the agents who carry out its mandates.

I have been brushing up on my own rights and had come across a small pamphlet put out by the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), a good source for such information in these times. I have placed that information below.

As the ACLU disclaimer states this information is basic, should be checked periodically for updating especially the way the federal courts up to and including the U.S. Supreme  Court have staked the deck against us of late. In any case these days if you are in legal difficulties you best have a good lawyer. The other side, the government has infinite resources, so you better get your best legal help available even if it cost some serious dough which tends to be the case these days with the way the judicial system works.

Most importantly when confronted by any governmental agents from the locals to the F.B.I. be cool, be very cool.  

“The Last Of The Beats”- Frank Jackman’s In Search Of Todo el Mundo-A Critical Review

“The Last Of The Beats”- Frank Jackman’s In Search Of Todo el Mundo-A Critical Review

Book Review by Professor V.E. Grant, Chair, Creative Writing Workshop-University of Wisconsin-Racine   

In Search Of Todo el Mundo, Frank Jackman, Black Dog Press, Boston, 2014     

In Search of Todo el Mundo (hereafter Todo) is Mr. Frank Jackman’s first longer work since he received some acclaim several years ago for his compilation, Ancient dreams, Dreamed, including from this reviewer who saw in that effort a turning away from his earlier, there is no other way to put it, self-indulgent jabs at the world in his prior short story compilations. More than that move away from self-indulgence though was a turn toward a, for a lack of a better expression, more karmic sense of the universe, a more spirited work which broke some new ground in reflecting on the condition of humankind in the last third of the 20^th century among those who had come of age in the generation before mine, what he called the generation of ’68, those who came of age in the 1950s post-World War II baby boom. A generation whose reflections we will be inundated with as that generation takes stock of itself and its follies now that it will have more time on its hands and access to more self-publishing outlets.

[The good professor has hit the nail on the head since over the past couple of years during my tenure first as day to day operations manager and now has site manager the number one kind of works, generally unsolicited, seeking publication, are from that very demographic finding time apparently to take infinite “nostalgia” trips back to those times, those 1960s when as one of the prospective writers put it quoting early Wordsworth-“to be young was very heaven.” Since any publication can only bear the weight of some many pieces of a similar kind most ate rejected, including the piece that had the Wordsworth quote. Greg Green]   

Unfortunately, Mr. Jackman has reverted back to that former incessant self-indulgence in this short tale of his addictions, mainly but not exclusively drugs, back in the 1980s when he went to Todo on the Central California coast in a failed bid to “dry out” thinly veiled and explored through his main character, Josh Breslin, in this short work.  (A work which he has called a sketch, although it reads more like a short novella and probably could have been judiciously trimmed to a longish short story). Perhaps it is the distaste that I have for the current seemingly endless wave of post-addiction cautionary tales that the reading public favors if the best-seller charts are any indication which has colored my take on the work but this one that could have been left in Mr. Jackman bottom drawer until he had some other trimmed short stories with which to surround it.

[The good professor has also, perhaps accidentally, hit upon another aspect of that nostalgia business mentioned in the bracketed comments above which is driving many, many of those still standing and coherent, of the confessional tales being submitted of late. Centrally concerning their own over the top drug experiences back when, according to Si Lannon, you couldn’t go into a room in most young adult apartments and communes without grabbing a big whiff of second-hand marijuana smoke. Later or current problems with addictions are not discussed, or hopefully have been overcome or at least suppressed. G.G.]
                
The eminent cultural critic, Stanley White, a man who has imparted  many very important insights about the writers of the so-called “beat” generation which surfaced in the 1950s and to avoid any additional generation-naming Mr. Jackman’s subsequent “generation of ’68” put the problem, put my problem with the book, in perspective when he wrote in the introduction the following:       

“It is always hard to fathom at this remove, a remove now of well over fifty years, what effect writers and poets like Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Gregory Corso, Gary Snyder, William Burroughs and the lesser lights associated with publicizing that cultural phenomenon, known collectively as the “beat” generation (Jack’s coined word meaning beaten down, beaten around, from hunger beat, from unsated wanting habits beat, from Zen-like karma angel-dream beatitude beat all meshed in one and hence all misunderstood by a rush to judgment world) had on the subsequent generations other than the obvious romance of the road that most young people associate with that term.  And hard as well to fathom the effect characters created by and lives led by the beats such as attractive-repulsive fugitive figures like William Burroughs, Neal Cassady, his various wives and mistresses, and the winos and wistfuls who populated the Route 66, or whatever route, roads and the way that mass culture was shaped for a period by such personalities. In a sense the answer to that question will determine whether this nifty little work by Frank Jackman will have a shelf-life or will be submerged by an onslaught of more pressing and expressive post-modern literary movements.”

I had asked that very question myself long ago about those who influenced my own youth, a youth influenced by those writers two generations before mine, the hard shell, no nonsense razor-like writings of Ernest Hemingway in his best novels and short stories, the flight of metaphoric language by F. Scott Fitzgerald, all bow down before Jay Gatsby, in describing the ebb and flow of the Jazz Age, the rugged cross adventures portrayed by John Steinbeck in his classic tales of American uprooted-ness The Grapes Of Wrath and down in the depths skid row Cannery Row, and, of course, Thomas Wolfe and his sagas of a nation turning in on itself and which came up short of the promised land once that damn frontier stopped at Western ocean’s edge.

I grew up not doubting in the least the influence those writers exercised on me including my exercise books filled with little pieces “cribbed” from their handsome books. But I also had an uneasy feeling then that Mr. Jackman must have had when he wanted to extend the life of the beat generation beyond its “sell by” date. I found that it was not accidental, if somewhat mystifying, that he fashioned himself in Todo (through that main and only non-stick character Josh Breslin the other characters being mere foils for his jabs) as he put it in in one of his earlier  short sketches “the last of the beats,” much as I had in my youth fancied myself as the “lasts of the modernist realist school writers” (although unlike Mr. Jackman I never made that declaration in any published work putting such words in the mouth of some character that I created in order for future doctoral students to be able to titter at and to make erudite remarks and endless footnotes about what I was referring to). Such are our vanities, and our debts.

But in the writer’s world there is a need to move on and not keep on re-packaging the same old material which in the end is what Mr. Jackman had left us with, faded beat-ery. Faded beat-ery owning a huge debt to Jack Kerouac’s lightweight alcohol addiction book, Big Sur. I often wondered about the purpose of that incessant sameness, that incessant re-packaging of some small beat ideas while reading this work and had been surprised when I read in Literary Age that Mr. Jackman had said in an interview that to be candid he thought the “beats” had become “old-fashioned” by the time he began to appreciate their virtuous writings. Join the club brother, join the club but why the continual re-hash and the failure to move on if you had enough insight to know that these days nothing but nostalgia publications and workshops lean on the major “beats” works, and less so the other lesser lights. (Although I do not intend this remark to bolster my argument very rarely these days does the writing institute I am associated with and other workshops with which I am familiar accept applicants who claim their muse is say Jack Kerouac or William Burroughs unless they have some stronger credentials, very much stronger credentials, going for them.)  

That tension between the “old-fashioned” beat epiphany and the jail break- out that their writings represented to those who came of age in the post-World War II period is more than evident in this work, this admittedly Mr. Jackman’s most ambitious work to date that pays at least fleeting homage to the beats who enchanted his youth. One can see almost from the first pages that he is satisfied with some vapid post-beat anthologizing, some pallid re-rerun of the Kerouac/Cassady/Ginsberg/Burroughs gas-fueled, pedal- floored, thumb-stuck out bologna sandwich, coffee and bennies run across cultural America in the immediate post-World War II period. Strangely satisfied to my mind for the simple reason that he was not formed by the Great Depression and the sloughing through World War II that formed the pool for their social facts, formed their generation, and the same hard fact that had precluded me from totally understanding what drove those writers two generations before me like Hemingway to prostration and Fitzgerald to the bottle in the aftermath of the glow of the gilded Jazz Age back in the 1920s.

Frankly though I have felt more alienated from the beats, mainly from their manic antics, and from their fudgy flinging of language as the be all and end all of literary life at the expense of coherent narrative, who were in the cohort a generation before mine than the Jazz Age writers since I had worked the more traditional avenues of writerliness in the 1980s being much closer to the “other” 1950s New York writers like Norman Mailer, Gore Vidal, Jim Jones, and Bill Styron.   

And I feel that same sensation, that same sense of off-key alienation from the direct heat of the beats in Mr. Jackman’s efforts. For one thing his sketch has more interior dialogue than anything the explosive self-publicizing beats ever tried to do. Of course addiction writing, either under a powerful opiate like that which sustained old Sam Coleridge searching for some modern Xanadu or post-addiction writing which is in favor in this confessional age complete with a happy ending and plenty of cautionary tale which actually withers into the maudlin has a long and cherished history so that Mr. Jackman has tapped into a well-versed literary genre. With this difference that he offers this short sketch from the perspective of some thirty years after the events and sensations described in the narrative so his claim to some studied spontaneity which was a hallmark of the beats runs dry. He, on the facts known to me about his life from his biographical information, was not looking for any particular Xanadu (on the contrary he was just looking for his next eight-ball), and he emphatically was not providing us with some cautionary tale. So while Mr. Jackman owes much to the “beat” rhythm, the “beat” pacing of the drama he has failed to move on past that, tellingly, as he told a reporter for the Boston Globe once in a review of his beat-etched short stories he did not believe that he was breaking new ground, was not doing an exercise in spontaneous writing (which he did not believe was either possible or a good thing since every writer likes to tinker with what he or she has written and if they did not then the damn editors and copyists would when they grabbed  hold of any manuscript).             

But enough of  searching Searching For Todo el Mundo for its niche in the literary pantheon because what is good, what is exquisite if I may use that old-fashioned word, what is essential in the sketch although it cannot save it is that shift of voice and person that floats through the eighty some pages. Use of such literary devices has not been unheard of but they are rarely used now especially in a short piece where it is hard enough to develop a character and a narrative never mind switching up voice and person. Yet the piece would disastrously fall apart if there were no such shifts. Mr. Jackman in an interview with Jerry Gomes of radio station WMEX mentioned that he had originally tried to tell this story strictly from the vantage point of the main character Josh’s experience in the 1980s when he went to Jack K.s cabin in the canyon at Todo el Mundo to dry out from his rather severe addiction to cocaine, nose candy he called it then, although there are a plethora of names out in the junkie world for it that the reader may be more familiar with. He told Mr. Gomes that he was unsuccessful in that effort since he did not have the advantage of writing the sketch under the influence of drugs and that his remembrances of the events back then needed to be fortified by the introduction of Josh’s (his) friend Sam Lowell’s recollections.

At first reading I thought that having Sam introduce the drug problem, put the problem in the distant past only to be dragged up again in later years after they had reconnected with each other would work. When I started reading though, once I got past the first pages where Sam set the story up, basically from the point where Josh in all his desperate struggles to get through from one day to the next takes over the story line there is a sense of incompleteness, a falling off of the power of the sketch to convey that sense of isolation, physical, mental, and social that was driving Josh crazy back then and which made it a very close thing that he would ever survive the experience if Sam had not set us up for what was to  follow. Although I was glad that Josh in the end grabbed that rainy day ride out of the canyon I felt empty of any emotion that he did not get the “cure” on that trip. Or that thirty years later Mr. Jackman thought he would be able to stir us about the experience. Too bad.          

Upon The 50th Anniversary Of The Death Of "King Of The Beats" Jack Kerouac-**Out In The Be-Bop 1950s Night- In The Time Before The Rock ‘n’ Roll Jailbreak –They Shoot CD Players Don’t They-A CD Review

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Sammy Kaye and his Orchestra performing Harbor Lights

**Out In The Be-Bop 1950s Night- In The Time Before The Rock ‘n’ Roll Jailbreak –They Shoot CD Players Don’t They-A CD Review
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7AMuM5ExqOo

CD Review

The 1950s: 16 Most Requested Songs, Volume II, various artists, CBS Records, 1986

Some people ask; although I am not one of them, if there was music before 1950s classic rock ‘n’ roll. Of course there was and I have taken some pains to establish the roots of rock back to Mississippi country blues, electric blues as they traveled north to the heartland industrial cities, jazz as it got be-bopped and took to swing, certainly rhythm and blues, north and south and rockabilly as it came out of the white small town South. What it owes little to, or at least I hope that it owes little to is that Tin Pan Alley/ Broadway show tune axis part of the American songbook. That seems to me a different trend and one that is reflected in this CD under review, The 1950s: 16 Most Requested Songs, which is really about the 16 most requested song before the rock jailbreak of the mid-1950s. Let’s be clear about that.

I have along the way, in championing classic rock as the key musical form that drove the tastes of my generation, the generation of ’68, contrasted that guitar-driven, drum/bass line driven sound to that of my parents’ generation, the ones who survived the Great Depression of the 1930s and fought World War II, and listened to swing, jitterbuggery things and swooned over big bands, swings bands, Frank Sinatra, the Andrews Sisters and The Mills Brothers, among others. In other words the music that, we of the generation of ’68, heard as background music around the house as we were growing up. Buddha Swings, Don’t Sit Under The Apple Tree, Rum and Coca-Cola, Paper Dolls, Tangerine, and the like. Stuff that today sounds pretty good, if still not quite something that “speaks” to me. That is not the music that is reflected in this compilation and which, I think rightly, I was ready to shoot my CD player over once I heard it as I announced in the headline.

No, this is music that reflects, okay, let’s join the cultural critics’ chorus here, the attempted vanilla-zation (if such a word can exist) of the Cold War Eisenhower (“I Like Ike”) period when people were just trying to figure out whether the Earth would survive from one day to the next. Not a time to be rocking the boat, for sure. Once things stabilized a bit though then the mad geniuses of rock could hold sway, and while parents and authorities crabbed to high heaven about it, let that rock breakout occur and not have everything wind up going to hell in a hand basket. But this music, these 16 most requested songs were what we were stuck with before then. Sure, I listened like everyone else, everyone connected to a radio, but this stuff, little as I knew then, did not “speak” to me. And unlike some of that 1940s stuff still does not “speak” to me.

Oh, you want proof. Here is one example. On this compilation Harbor Lights is done by Sammy Kaye and his Orchestra. This was cause one for wanting to get a pistol out and start aiming. Not for the song but for the presentation. Why? Well, early in his career Elvis, while he was doing his thing for Sam Phillips’ Memphis Sun Records operation, covered this song. There are a myriad of Elvis recordings during the Sun period, including compilations with outtakes and alternative recordings of this song. The worst, the absolute worst of these covers by Elvis has more life, more jump, dare I say it, more sex than the Kaye recording could ever have. And it only gets worst from there with incipient things like Frankie Lane’s I Believe, Johnny Mathis’ It’s Not For Me To Say, and Marty Robbins’ (who did some better stuff later) on A White Sports Coat (And A Pink Carnation). And you wonder why I ask whether they shoot CD players. Enough said.
*******
Harbor Lights Lyrics
(words & music by H. Williams - J. Kennedy)

I saw the harbor lights
They only told me we were parting
Those same old harbor lights
That once brought you to me.

I watched the harbor lights
How could I help it?
Tears were starting.
Good-bye to golden nights
Beside the silvery seas.

I long to hold you dear,
And kiss you just once more.
But you were on the ship,
And I was on the shore.

Now I know lonely nights
For all the while my heart keeps praying
That someday harbor lights
Will bring you back to me.

The Centennial Of Pete Seeger’s Birthday (1919-2014)- *In Pete Seeger's House- "Rainbow Quest"-Donovan

*In Pete Seeger's House- "Rainbow Quest"-Donovan

A YouTube's film clip of Pete Seeger's now famous 1960s (black and white, that's the give-away)"Rainbow Quest" for the performer in this entry's headline.

Markin comment:

This series, featuring Pete Seeger and virtually most of the key performers in the 1960s folk scene is a worthy entry into the folk archival traditions for future revivalists to seek out. There were thirty plus episodes (some contained more than one performer of note, as well as Pete solo performances). I have placed the YouTube film clips here one spot over four days, November 10-13, 2009 for the reader's convenience.

Legend-Slayer Will Bradley Rides Yet Again-Pulls The Hammer Down On The Action Junkies Of The So-Called "Justice League"-Drops Batman, Flash-Aqua-man, Wonder Woman and Assorted Other Dopes Down Into The Abyss (2017)- A Film Review, Of Sorts

Legend-Slayer Will Bradley Rides Yet Again-Pulls The Hammer Down On The Action Junkies Of The So-Called "Justice League"-Drops Batman, Flash-Aqua-man, Wonder Woman and Assorted Other Dopes Down Into The Abyss (2017)- A Film Review, Of Sorts

By Will Bradley

No question with this third straight debunking of overblown, fake or undeserved so-called legends assignments I have now found my niche in this business. (see the “reviews” of Man of the West the laying bare of the legend of stone-cold killer Link Jones and The Man In The Iron Mask the ripping asunder of the legend of one D’ Artagnan and his three drunken comrades of the Musketeer outfit that protected “sainted” Louis XIV for the other two anchors of this trifecta) Now have, since he gave me the assignments and go ahead in the first place the confidence of site manager Greg Green in case of any blowback. In case in our wicked divide age and society any diehard aficionados of the various legends that I have, documents and other proof in hand left totally deflated (with the  one sour exception of so-called aviation pioneer Johnny Cielo which has baffled me no end and which will be analyzed below since finishing this nefarious Justice League gang will be short work) decide that they have to do bodily harm of some sort to the messenger, to me and those who are starting to cohere around me in this on-going crusade against fakers from every age.

So, generally, I am feeling very well now that I will have covered the old-time legends that haunted a lot of the generation of ’68 dreams as kids, according to Si Lannon. Although for the life of me a couple of very wide generations removed from those dope-addled bastards who are crying to the high heavens for Greg to move the operation back to Boston so they can suck up all the dope in the world, or what is available now that Massachusetts has weed up the ying-yang, I don’t know why. Nor do I know why one of the older writers, Si, Sam, Seth, couldn’t move away from the bong long enough to have taken a stab at breaking down the encrusted press agent, publicity house bull built up around genuine bad guys like Sherlock Holmes and his dear friend Doc, Robert Locklear aka Robin Hood, Old West stone- cold killer Link Jones and the others I have knocked for a loop. (By the way I am not claiming I have dented, not yet anyway,  the ancient Greek and Roman bastards who had serious guys like Homer, Ovid, Virgil running their press operations but I am working on that as I write the problem, a big one, is that the documents have either blown away with the wind or are inconclusive so al we have going is to break down the Homer-Ovid-Virgil press agent noise not as easy as it sounds.) Maybe since it required no heavy lifting but merely a sharp pen some newer ones. Given their total default I am here to top off in this latest trifecta of assignments Greg threw my way a modern, very modern set to debunk the silly costume characters who call themselves, self-described is I guess the best way to put it as the Justice League made up of junkies and con artists, with a sleigh of hand artist thrown in.    

Maybe I am making too much of it, certainly some fellow reviewers have thrown a jaded eye my way, but these successes in waking people up to what in the end is basically not matter what time period some press agent, some publicity maven’s free fall fantasy about whoever those pros were being well-paid to hype. Still it is nice to be able to take credit for putting a bastard like Robin Hood down, crack Don Juan’s totally fabricated exploits with the ladies, ditto one Johnny Casavova, turned around slave-trade Captain Blood on his heels, blasted cheapjack humdrum PI Sherlock Holmes or whatever name he is using these days and his dear friend Watson, Wadkins, or whatever he finally decided his name was and took down Old West legend Link Jones without a struggle.

Still, and I have had fellow reviewer eyes gaze up when I even mention this name these days, the legend of Johnny Cielo which I fully admit I have not been able to put the slightest dent into which has me concerned not only about people’s ability to swallow alternate facts completely but since Johnny’s case is relatively new makes me wonder about how I will do against the Justice League mystique which has had a massive build-up by their handlers. Bear with me a bit as I think out loud about that bastard Cielo who has some pretty ardent if weird devotees. The latest insult to anybody’s intelligence is the Friends of Johnny Cielo fan club I guess you would call it have rounded up some campesino, some peasant from the foothills of the Sierra Madre who claims that as a young man, a boy he remembers seeing a Beechcraft plane flying low overhead going toward the higher elevations where Fidel and the hermanos (and hermanas, lo siento for failing to mention them in  a previous review). As far as any records that I know of Johnny Cielo never piloted a Beechcraft only Piper Clubs like on that last fateful trip taking those well-heeled passengers to Naples from Key West down in Florida so unless they have something more than some vague recollections of a besotted peasant who some sixty years later suddenly comes up with this cock and bull story I rest my case for now. Although not breaking this silly legend still bothers the hell out of me.         

But forward. The last person, as least in the West, Western Civilization, as far as I knew to come back from the dead was Jesus Christ. And even in his case there was, is still plenty of controversy around the event witnessed only by his mother, some whore and a few drunken Roman soldiers who by most estimates were sleeping off hangovers when this resurrection supposedly occurred. So one really has to suspend disbelief when a guy named Superman, a caped crusader he calls himself when he is not on his day job as a reporter for some high circulation sensation rag in a place called Gotham, aka Metropolis which to my mind, and that of others I have talked to looks a lot like New York City comes back from the dead to do battle with a bunch of other freaks against an old man, a guy named Steppenwolf (not to be confused with the guy in a book by Herman Hesse or a 1960s rock group who played loud rock and roll around themes like denigrating the pusher man and desperately seeking parental help against the monster, against the government’s ’t all-out war against the Vietnamese and in the end against its own young). 

Five, count them five, cretins, five so-called bad asses, not including the previously mentioned Superman, the criminally insane and probable sexual predator Batman, some nerd on speed named Flash, a guy called Cyborg who was some kind of bionic man, a woman named Wonder Woman who had some great moves and lets leave it at that and a totally worthless geek named Aqua-man get in line to beat up on this poor old man, this Steppenwolf, who is looking for what must have been the fountain of youth, something like that and got nothing but grief for his efforts. Of course as usual with guys and here for the first time I get to take down a legendary woman they all have aliases, all trying to duck the law when all is said and down so we will just use their monikers and leave it at that. The story, at least the story on the police blotter when they were rounded up for harassing an old geezer was that he, “Step” was working for some criminal syndicate and so they had to snuff him out to purify the Earthian air. Yeah, right. Old Step though should be filing an age discrimination suit any day now and if there is any justice in this wicked old world he, or his estate, should win against this vicious mob of geeks and losers. Should send this unworthy tribe back to red state Kansas (Superman), the bat cave and dear Alfred (Batman), deep dark Amazon, mother of the mother of rivers (Wonder Woman), college (Flash), some hospital for a tune-up (Cy Borg) and that flaming disaster Aqua-man to downtown Atlantis where they belong not out here in the streets where things happen, happen when you don’t expect them to.     

The Proletariat in Underdeveloped Countries

Workers Vanguard No. 1166 29 November 2019 TROTSKY LENIN The Proletariat in Underdeveloped Countries (Quote of the Week) In a manifesto adopted by the 1940 Emergency Conference of the Fourth International, revolutionary leader Leon Trotsky underlined that in neocolonial countries, liberation from imperialism and the local bourgeoisie requires that the proletariat stand at the head of the oppressed masses as the driving force of socialist revolution. This perspective requires building revolutionary workers parties, as part of a reforged Fourth International, to lead the workers to power and to link their struggles in backward countries with those in the imperialist centers. Only under its own revolutionary direction is the proletariat of the colonies and the semicolonies capable of achieving invincible collaboration with the proletariat of the metropolitan centers, and with the world working class as a whole. Only this collaboration can lead the oppressed peoples to complete and final emancipation, through the overthrow of imperialism the world over. A victory of the international proletariat will deliver the colonial countries from the long-drawn-out travail of capitalist development, by opening up the possibility of arriving at socialism hand in hand with the proletariat of the advanced countries. The perspective of the permanent revolution in no case signifies that the backward countries must await the signal from the advanced ones, or that the colonial peoples should patiently wait for the proletariat of the metropolitan centers to free them. Help comes to him who helps himself. Workers must develop the revolutionary struggle in every country, colonial or imperialist, where favorable conditions have been established, and through this set an example for the workers of other countries. Only initiative and activity, resoluteness and boldness can really materialize the slogan “Workers of the world, unite!” —Leon Trotsky, “Manifesto of the Fourth International on the Imperialist War and the Proletarian World Revolution” (May 1940)

Searching For The American Songbook- When The Fight To Turn The World Upside Down Was In Full Flower- With The Doors The Unknown Soldier In Mind

Searching For The American Songbook- When The Fight To Turn The World Upside Down Was In Full Flower- With The Doors The Unknown Soldier In Mind 

Wait until the war is over
And we're both a little older
The unknown soldier

Breakfast where the news is read
Television children fed
Unborn living, living, dead
Bullet strikes the helmet's head
And it's all over
For the unknown soldier
It's all over
For the unknown soldier
Hut, hut, hut ho hee up
Hut, hut, hut ho hee up
Hut, hut, hut ho hee up
Comp'nee, halt
Present, arms
Make a grave for the unknown soldier
Nestled in your hollow shoulder
The unknown soldier
Breakfast where the news is read
Television children fed
Bullet strikes the helmet's head
And, it's all over
The war is over
It's all over
War is over

Well, all over, baby
All over, baby
Oh, over, yeah
All over, baby

Ooh, ha, ha, all over
All over, baby
Oh, woah, yeah, all over
All over, heh

Songwriters
Robbie Krieger;John Densmore;Jim Morrison;Ray Manzarek

From The Pen of Frank Jackman

There was no seamless thread that wrapped the 1960s up tightly. A thousand things, or it seemed like a thousand things, came together in pretty rapid succession to draw down in flames, for a while anyway although none of us though it would on be for only a while just as we thought that we would live forever, or at least fast, the dread red scare Cold War freezes of our childhood. But you could traces things a little, make your own “live free” categories of the events that chipped away the ice of those dark nights.

Start in with the mid-1950s if you like with the heat of the black struggle for some semblance of civil liberties down South with fearless ladies refusing to go to the back of the bus (and some sense for equality up North with students and young people mainly wondering what to do and getting an idea of how deep the racial divide was then as now when they started doing solidarity work for the freedom riders and standing tall picketing Woolworth’s telling them to let black people eat at their freaking lunch counters if they wanted too, if they couldhanlde the food is what I though), the first break-out of music with the crowning of rock and roll as the wave of the future (black rhythm and blues, scat, rockabilly mixed all stirred up), the “discovery” of teen alienation and angst exemplified by movie star James Dean, who lived fast, and died fast a metaphor that would work its way through youth culture over the next generation. An odd-ball mix right there. Then start to throw in the struggles against the old authority, the old certitudes that had calmed our parents’ lives in places like Frisco town where they practically ran the red-baiters in the HUAC out of town, but of course the biggest event that opened the doors for liberals, radicals, hell even thoughtful conservatives was the sweet breeze coming down the road from Boston with the election of Jack Kennedy.    

That event opened up a new psychological twist (twist since Smilin’ Jack was not exactly Lenin or Trotsky or guys like that who really shook up the old order), that it was okay to question authority, whatever the limitations and shortness of the Camelot times with the struggles against some hoary things like segregation, the death penalty, nuclear proliferation, the unevenness of life which would get propelled later in the decade with fight for women’s liberation, gay liberation, and the fight against the draft, the damn war in Vietnam that drove a nail into the heart of the generation. There were more things, cultural things and experimentations with new lifestyles that all got a fair workout during this period as well.     

Plenty of us in retrospective would weigh the various combinations of events differently in figuring out how the uprising started just as plenty of us have our specific dates for when the tide began to ebb, when the mean-spirited and authoritarian began their successful counter-offensive that we still live with today for not taking the omens more seriously.

And then we have a mind's eye photograph to grace this short screed. This  photograph is almost impossible to imagine without some combination of that hell broth mix stirred up in the 1960s. Think this-three self-assured women comfortable with the loose and individualistic fashion statements of the day from floppy hats to bare legs, bare legs that would have shocked a mother who all corseted up dreamed a World War II dream of nylons, and would do quite a bite to get her hands on such womanly finery. Uncomfortable about the damn Vietnam war that was eating up boyfriends, brothers, just friends at a heavy rate and they unlike their mothers who came through World War II waiting patiently and patriotically for their military heroes to come home, come home in one piece, have a very different sense of the heroic. A sense of the heroic going back to ancient times when one group of women demanded that their men come home on their shields if they had to rather than speak of defeat and others providing a distant echo for these three women pictured here who refused their soldier boys any favors if they went off to war. That says it all enough said.                     

Legend-Slayer Will Bradley Rides Yet Again-Don’t Believe All That Alexandre Dumas Nonsense About “One For All, All For One”- Leonardo DeCaprio, Jeremy Iron, Gerard Depardieu and Gabriel Byrne’s “The Man In The Iron Mask” (1998)- A Film Review, Of Sorts

Legend-Slayer Will Bradley Rides Yet Again-Don’t Believe All That Alexandre Dumas Nonsense About “One For All, All For One”- Leonardo DeCaprio, Jeremy Iron, Gerard Depardieu and Gabriel Byrne’s “The Man In The Iron Mask” (1998)- A Film Review, Of Sorts

By Will Bradley

Recently I started back on my now seemingly etched in stone niche of slaying undeserved, false or overblown legends like Robin Hood, Don Juan, early aviator Johnny Cielo and what I consider my greatest achievement, taking down the stinking rank Old West’s desperado bank robber and stone-cold killer Link Jones,  although it still remains to be seen if I can break the spell that the Old West has on the American imagination. I have admitted that I while I have made significant inroads into breaking my following, breaking the general public a little too from the responses our site manager has received, from most of these fakes I have been stalled, have been bush-whacked to use a term I used in the Link Jones piece in the case of Johnny Cielo, the so-called early aviation innovator and test pilot, whose spell still lingers.

The Cielo legend still lingers over the crowd that believe that Johnny hustled guns and supplies to Fidel and his band of hermanos in the hills of Cuba when it counted in the late 1950s and refuse to believe that he was nothing but a two-bit bush pilot and tourist guide. Maybe it is because the demographic of this publication, the now hallowed (and fading) generation of ’68 as Sam Lowell calls his brethren cut its teeth on Johnny’s legend linked together with their starry-eyed admiration for Fidel and Che in the old days watching according to that same ancient Sam Lowell on black and white television those guys riding into Havana on New Year’s Day, 1959. I am far too young to have even heard of Johnny Cielo until a free-lance reporter friend of mine who having been stood up by some people on another story found some guy who knew Johnny in Key West and bought his bull hook, line and sinker. Took the Johnny exploits whole based on some rummy’s DTs story that had so many holes in it that I almost didn’t have to do research on it. For example, I was able to grab the still extant copy of Johnny’s manifest on his last flight which showed him attempting to fly well-heeled passengers from Key West to Naples in Florida before the plane, a Piper Club, fell down in the Gulf of Mexico). Case closed if not the legend.

Now I have I found addition information that part of my problem for not making any inroads in the Cielo legend is that the rummy, Billy Bradley, had been interviewed by Mike Thomas, yes, that Mike Thomas who has interviewed everybody who is anybody somehow read either my reporter friend’s fluff piece on Johnny or my slash and burn on the Cielo legend and decided to investigate (or really have his people do the legwork as far I know he hasn’t done any such work for years since his ratings went from zero to a million when he exposed the famous actor Lenny Grove as a two-bit ex-convict who hustled his ass on the street to make his coffee and cakes before he hit Hollywood ). The problem for me is that letting that rummy spout his bull on the Mike Thomas Show put things up in the air, put “may or maybe not” in play rather than what really happened with documentary proof. It would not be the first time such things have obscured the truth.   

I will keep at it although I have been asked by more than one colleague why I am so intent, other than that holding on to that niche which in this cutthroat business of “you are only as good as your last piece” is not unimportant as even they recognize, on breaking myths, legends and alternative facts. Fortunately, I have another assignment today busting up an old legend that also has refused to die, the baloney about the three musketeers and their supposed exploits and their admittedly clever slogan “one for all, all for one.” Their press agent or publicity people hit pay-dirt on that gem making it that much harder to legend-bust.  That “supposed exploits ” though should alert the reader to more revelations about this crowd of fakers although as usual with this business some people will gladly keep to their silly illusions and believe the legends until the bitter end.    

This musketeer stuff is beautiful, is tailor-made to be busted. I don’t know about the reader but in high school we were required to read this Dumas stuff, The Man In The Iron Mask stuff although it had a different name and was not so unbelievable as the actual legend that has grown since that time. All the musketeers, all four, D’ Artangan (not his real name which would have conveyed the idea that he was some kind of noble, of the sword or of blood, but Jean Rous, a farmer's son in Brittany, plus three other drunks and rowdies, Artemis, Arthos, Porthos which were apparently their real names according to the records of what then was the Ministry of Interior, the cops, were sworn to serve the King of France, and not just any king in their time but the well-known autocrat Louis XIV, the so-called Sun King, philander, despot and grinder of the peasantry whose work kept him in over the top lavish luxury.  And for a long time this quaded (sic)brethren feasted off the crumbs from the king’s larder, his wine cellar mainly. This is the king, this is the crowd in a more democratic time we are supposed to root for, supposed to pay homage to their stellar defense of king, country and wine cellar with a few tavern wenches and off-hand ladies-in-waiting thrown in. Give me a break.   

Apparently though the three underling musketeers had a falling out with Lou, had been cut off from access to the wine cellar and milady’s palace bedrooms and so began the long process of staging something like a palace revolt against the monarch under a banner of “free wine, free wenches” although they masked this in some plebeian “give alms to the people and be nice.” Usual plot, and usual trick up to create that legend. That in this case “all for one, one for all,” which became the exclusive copyright of the three underlings when D’Artagnan decided to stick with the king for his own purposes. For as it turned out filial duties but more on that in a moment.

We all know what a bastard Louis XIV was, how his policies and appetites started the long train wreck that would wind up in the glorious French Revolution later in the next century. How could you possibly defend that bum of the month. That is where the iron mask deal comes in. According to legend Louis’ mother had twins one dying in childbirth leaving only bastard, bastard in more ways than one, ugly Lou. What these musketeers, Artois mainly, figured was to get a guy who looked like Lou and do a bait and switch. As it turned out Lou did have a brother Phil who looked enough like him to pass in the dark although they were not twins. Not satisfied that Phil would play along he found a guy from Brittany who was the spitting image of Lou and so after a little off-hand swash-buckling with Lou’s loyal personal guard the switch was made.

The kingdom prospered, or rather the king and his courtesans prospered, although the new Lou was as much a son of a bitch and as nasty as old Lou. The main thing is that the three musketeers took at the credit for the coup, D’Artangan stuck with the king almost to the end then realizing what a bastard Lou was switched sides. Here is the funny part, Lou was his son as it turned out since he has been going under the sheets with the Queen Mother back in the day and took a hard thrust to the heart for his majesty, his new his majesty, Phil, the rest of the guys had full access to the wine and women under the new monster. Yeah, one for all, all for one. Bullshit.      

Upon The 50th Anniversary Of The Death Of "King Of The Beats" Jack Kerouac-*A Nod From The Be-Bop To The Hip-Hop Generation- Tupac Shakur's-"Rebel Of The Underground"

Rebel Of The Underground lyrics
Tupac Shakur

Rebel.. rebel.. REBEL
Rebel.. rebel..

[2Pac]
They just can't stand the reign, or the occasional pain
from a man like me, who goes against the grain
Sometimes I do it in vain, so with a little bass and treble
Hey Mister! It's time for me to explain that I'm the rebel
Cold as the devil
Straight from the underground, the rebel, a lower level
They came to see the maniac psychopath
The critics heard of me, and the aftermath
I don't give a damn and it shows
And when I do a stage show I wear street clothes
So they all know me
The lyrical lunatic, the maniac emcee
I give a shout out to your homies
And maybe then, the critics'll leave your boy alone, G
On the streets or on TV
It just don't pay to be, a truth tellin MC
They won't be happy till I'm banned
The most dangerous weapon: an educated black man
So point blank in your face, pump up the bass
and join the human race
I throw peace to the Bay
Cause from the Jungle to Oaktown, they backin me up all the way
You know you gotta love the sound
It's from the rebel -- the rebel of the underground

Rebel he's a rebel, rebel of the underground [4X]

[2Pac]
Now I'm face to face with the devils
Cause they breedin more rebels than the whole damn ghetto
And police brutality
shit it put you in the nip and call it technicality
So you reap what you sow
So reap the wrath of the rebel, jackin em up once mo'
Now the fox is in the henhouse, creepin up on your daughter
While you sleep I got her sneakin out
[From: http://www.elyrics.net/read/t/tupac-shakur-lyrics/rebel-of-the-underground-lyrics.html]
Tupac ain't nuttin nice
I'll be nuttin how I wanna, and doin what I'm gonna
Now I'm up to no good
The mastermind of mischief movin more than most could
So sit and slip into the sound
Peep the rebel -- the rebel of the underground

Rebel he's a rebel, rebel of the underground [4X]

[2Pac]
They say they hate me, they wanna hold me down
I guess they scared of the rebel -- the rebel of the underground
But I never let it get me
I just make another record bout the punks tryin to sweat me
In fact, they tryin to keep me out
Try to censor what I say
cause they don't like what I'm talkin bout
So what's wrong with the media today?
Got brothers sellin out cause they greedy to get paid
But me, I'm comin from the soul
And if it don't go gold, my story still gettin told
And that way they can't stop me
And if it sells a couple of copies, the punks'll try to copy
It's sloppy, don't even try to
I'm a slave to the rhythm, and I'm about to fly through
So yo to the people in the ghetto
When ya hear the bass flow, go ahead and let go
Now everybody wanna gangbang
They talkin street slang, but the punks still can't hang
They makin records bout violence
But when it comes to the real, some brothers go silent
It kinda make you wanna think about
that ya gotta do some sellin out, just to get your record out
But 2Pacalpyse is straight down
So feel the wrath of the rebel -- the rebel of the underground

Tupac is a rebel, rebel of the underground [8X]

From The Marxist Archives On The 100th Anniversary Year Of Their Deaths-For the Communism of Lenin, Liebknecht and Luxemburg

From The Marxist Archives On The 100th Anniversary Year Of Their Deaths-For the Communism of Lenin, Liebknecht and Luxemburg

Workers Vanguard No. 1147 18 January 2019 TROTSKY LENIN For the Communism of Lenin, Liebknecht and Luxemburg (Quote of the Week) One hundred years ago, on 15 January 1919, Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg were murdered in Germany at the behest of the capitalist government run by the Social Democrats, which unleashed the fascistic Freikorps to crush a workers uprising. After receiving news of the assassinations, V.I. Lenin, leader of the October 1917 Russian Revolution, heaped further scathing condemnation on the social-democratic betrayers of the proletariat, including the wing led by Karl Kautsky, in the letter excerpted below. Upholding the revolutionary tradition of the early Communist International, this month we commemorate the “Three L’s”—Liebknecht, Luxemburg and Lenin himself, who died in January 1924. The foundation of a genuinely proletarian, genuinely internationalist, genuinely revolutionary Third International, the Communist International, became a fact when the German Spartacus League, with such world-known and world-famous leaders, with such staunch working-class champions as Liebknecht, Rosa Luxemburg, Clara Zetkin and Franz Mehring, made a clean break with socialists like Scheidemann and Südekum, social-chauvinists (socialists in words, but chauvinists in deeds) who have earned eternal shame by their alliance with the predatory, imperialist German bourgeoisie and Wilhelm II. It became a fact when the Spartacus League changed its name to the Communist Party of Germany. Though it has not yet been officially inaugurated, the Third International actually exists.... Against Liebknecht are the Scheidemanns, the Südekums and the whole gang of despicable lackeys of the Kaiser and the bourgeoisie. They are just as much traitors to socialism as the Gomperses and Victor Bergers, the Hendersons and Webbs, the Renaudels and Vanderveldes. They represent that top section of workers who have been bribed by the bourgeoisie, those whom we Bolsheviks called (applying the name to the Russian Südekums, the Mensheviks) “agents of the bourgeoisie in the working-class movement,” and to whom the best socialists in America gave the magnificently expressive and very fitting title: “labour lieutenants of the capitalist class.”... The foregoing lines were written before the brutal and dastardly murder of Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg by the Ebert and Scheidemann government. Those butchers, in their servility to the bourgeoisie, allowed the German whiteguards, the watchdogs of sacred capitalist property, to lynch Rosa Luxemburg, to murder Karl Liebknecht by shooting him in the back on the patently false plea that he “attempted to escape” (Russian tsarism often used that excuse to murder prisoners during its bloody suppression of the 1905 Revolution). At the same time those butchers protected the whiteguards with the authority of the government, which claims to be quite innocent and to stand above classes! No words can describe the foul and abominable character of the butchery perpetrated by alleged socialists. Evidently, history has chosen a path on which the role of “labour lieutenants of the capitalist class” must be played to the “last degree” of brutality, baseness and meanness. Let those simpletons, the Kautskyites, talk in their newspaper Freiheit about a “court” of representatives of “all” “socialist” parties (those servile souls insist that the Scheidemann executioners are socialists)! Those heroes of philistine stupidity and petty-bourgeois cowardice even fail to understand that the courts are organs of state power, and that the issue in the struggle and civil war now being waged in Germany is precisely one of who is to hold this power—the bourgeoisie, “served” by the Scheidemanns as executioners and instigators of pogroms, and by the Kautskys as glorifiers of “pure democracy,” or the proletariat, which will overthrow the capitalist exploiters and crush their resistance. The blood of the best representatives of the world proletarian International, of the unforgettable leaders of the world socialist revolution, will steel ever new masses of workers for the life-and-death struggle. And this struggle will lead to victory. —V.I. Lenin, “Letter to the Workers of Europe and America” (21 January 1919)