Isaac Deutscher’s three-volume biography of the great Russian Bolshevik leader Leon Trotsky

THIS YEAR MARKS THE 73rd ANNIVERSARY OF THE ASSASSINATION OF LEON TROTSKY-ONE OF HISTORY’S GREAT REVOLUTIONARIES. IT IS THEREFORE FITTING TO REVIEW THE THREE VOLUME WORK OF HIS DEFINITIVE BIOGRAPHER, THE PROPHET ARMED, THE PROPHET UNARMED, THE OUTCAST.

Isaac Deutscher’s three-volume biography of the great Russian Bolshevik leader Leon Trotsky although written over one half century ago remains the standard biography of the man. Although this writer disagrees , as I believe that Trotsky himself would have, about the appropriateness of the title of prophet and its underlying premise that a tragic hero had fallen defeated in a worthy cause, the vast sum of work produced and researched makes up for those basically literary differences. Deutscher, himself, became in the end an adversary of Trotsky’s politics around his differing interpretation of the historic role of Stalinism and the fate of the Fourth International but he makes those differences clear and in general they does not mar the work. I do not believe even with the eventual full opening of all the old Soviet-era files any future biographer will dramatically increase our knowledge about Trotsky and his revolutionary struggles. Moreover, as I have mentioned elsewhere in other reviews while he has not been historically fully vindicated he is in no need of any certificate of revolutionary good conduct.
At the beginning of the 21^stcentury when the validity of socialist political programs as tools for change is in apparent decline or disregarded as utopian it may be hard to imagine the spirit that drove Trotsky to dedicate his whole life to the fight for a socialist society. However, at the beginning of the 20^th century he represented only the one of the most consistent and audacious of a revolutionary generation of mainly Eastern Europeans and Russians who set out to change the history of the 20^thcentury. It was as if the best and brightest of that generation were afraid, for better or worse, not to take part in the political struggles that would shape the modern world. As Trotsky noted elsewhere this element was missing, with the exceptions of Rosa Luxemburg, Karl Liebknecht and precious few others, in the Western labor movement. Deutscher using Trotsky’s own experiences tells the story of the creation of this revolutionary cadre with care and generally proper proportions. Here are some highlights militant leftists should think about.

On the face of it Trotsky’s personal profile does not stand out as that of a born revolutionary. Born of a hard working, eventually prosperous Jewish farming family in the Ukraine(of all places) there is something anomalous about his eventual political occupation. Always a vociferous reader, good writer and top student under other circumstances he would have found easy success, as others did, in the bourgeois academy, if not in Russia then in Western Europe. But there is the rub; it was the intolerable and personally repellant political and cultural conditions of Czarist Russia in the late 19^th century that eventually drove Trotsky to the revolutionary movement- first as a ‘ragtag’ populist and then to his life long dedication to orthodox Marxism. As noted above, a glance at the biographies of Eastern European revolutionary leaders such as Lenin, Martov, Christian Rakovsky, Bukharin and others shows that Trotsky was hardly alone in his anger at the status quo. And the determination to something about it.

For those who argue, as many did in the New Left in the 1960’s, that the most oppressed are the most revolutionary the lives of the Russian and Eastern European revolutionaries provide a cautionary note. The most oppressed, those most in need of the benefits of socialist revolution, are mainly wrapped up in the sheer struggle for survival and do not enter the political arena until late, if at all. Even a quick glance at the biographies of the secondary leadership of various revolutionary movements, actual revolutionary workers who formed the links to the working class , generally show skilled or semi-skilled workers striving to better themselves rather than the most downtrodden lumpenproletarian elements. The sailors of Kronstadt and the Putilov workers inSaint Petersburgcome to mind. The point is that ‘the wild boys and girls’ of the street do not lead revolutions; they simply do not have the staying power. On this point, militants can also take Trotsky’s biography as a case study of what it takes to stay the course in the difficult struggle to create a new social order. While the Russian revolutionary movement, like the later New Left mentioned above, had more than its share of dropouts, especially after the failure of the 1905 revolution, it is notably how many stayed with the movement under much more difficult circumstances than we ever faced. For better or worst, and I think for the better, that is how revolutions are made.

Once Trotsky made the transition to Marxism he became embroiled in the struggles to create a unity Russian Social Democratic Party, a party of the whole class, or at least a party representing the historic interests of that class. This led him to participate in the famous Bolshevik/Menshevik struggle in 1903 which defined what the party would be, its program, its methods of work and who would qualify for membership. The shorthand for this fight can be stated as the battle between the ‘hards’ (Bolsheviks, who stood for a party of professional revolutionaries) and the ‘softs’ (Mensheviks, who stood for a looser conception of party membership) although those terms do not do full justice to these fights. Strangely, given his later attitudes, Trotsky stood with the ‘softs’, the Mensheviks, in the initial fight in 1903. Although Trotsky almost immediately afterward broke from that faction I do not believe that his position in the 1903 fight contradicted the impulses he exhibited throughout his career-personally ‘libertarian’, for lack of a better word , and politically hard in the clutch.

Even a cursory glance at most of Trotsky’s career indicates that it was not spent in organizational in-fighting, or at least not successfully. Trotsky stands out as the consummate free-lancer. More than one biographer has noted this condition, including his definitive biographer Isaac Deutscher. Let me make a couple of points to take the edge of this characterization though. In that 1903 fight mentioned above Trotsky did fight against Economism (the tendency to only fight over trade union issues and not fight overtly political struggles against the Czarist regime) and he did fight against Bundism (the tendency for one group, in this case the Jewish workers, to set the political agenda for that particular group). Moreover, he most certainly favored a centralized organization. These were the key issues at that time. Furthermore, the controversial organizational question did not preclude the very strong notion that a ‘big tent’ unitary party was necessary. The ‘big tent’ German Social Democratic model held very strong sway among the Russian revolutionaries for a long time, including Lenin’s Bolsheviks. The long and short of it was that Trotsky was not an organization man, per se. He knew how to organize revolutions, armies, Internationals, economies and so on when he needed to but on a day to day basis no. Thus, to compare or contrast him to Lenin and his very different successes is unfair. Both have an honorable place in the revolutionary movement; it is just a different place.

***Out In The 1950s Film Noir Night- With Robert Mitchum And Jane Russell’s Macao In Mind

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Sometimes a guy, a guy on the lam, a guy wanted elsewhere for this and that, or just a restless guy, a guy who has seen his share of the world’s woes without even looking for them, has got to do what a guy has to do. Ditto with a gal, ditto on that on the lam, or just restless, gal has got to do what a gal has to do theme. And sometimes, not by accident I am sure, that restless guy longing for some stability meets up with that restless gal, ditto on the stability meet up, meet up in Macao (although that is not the only locale where such perhaps star-crossed meetings could take place, not by a long shot). Macao will do just as well as any other locale when the restless need the background of an open city, an exotic city, a no holds barred city, a place to not be from city, a place that is not wherever your last port of call was. That was Macao back the wild west days when Robert and Jane met up, met up to find some stability and to see if they were indeed star-crossed, or something.

Naturally a story goes with it, or rather stories when you are talking about male and female waifs, about drifters, grifters and midnight sifters (and in Macao that last category was full to the brim with candidates for the jobs). Him, Robert, a big rough, tough guy, a guy who could take a punch and throw one, who you would not mind having in your corner when the bad stuff comes down, no, who you want right behind your back on those occasions, as it will eventually come to in a wide open town, where rough-hewn guys, or guys who think they are rough-hewn guys, life is cheap in the Orient, come a dime a dozen, maybe cheaper. A guy with some trouble hanging over him back in the States, probably some woman (or women) trouble, and in any case a guy who was footloose and like a lot of guys who saw heavy service during the war (World War II for those who are asking) had trouble settling down to some nine to five niche waiting for the other shoe to drop. Her, Jane, a knock-out brunette, all woman, all woman enough for any man to handle, even rough-hewn guys, a woman who could handle herself in the clinches, or be handled in those same clinches, depending on her mood, and she too of indeterminate means and where froms. She called herself a singer like a lot of white girls on the loose did in those days, and not just in Asia, a lot of girls trying to avoid the whorehouses and the pawings, trying to hit the high notes like Peggy Lee did when she grooved with Benny Goodman or the sultry Billie Holiday low and sweet did always but never having that just right mix of slavery times and hard times to pull it off. But with enough eye candy appeal to have the customers, the male customers, in any clip joint gasping for air. Yah, she had done a few round-heel things in her time to get by, just like any girl would. But working the whorehouses, the clubs, or working some rich sugar daddy she was her own woman. And she could always sing a little. So they met, met sliding one afternoon into Macao, and what of it.

The what of it was that the town was sewed up, sewed up tight by Vince, Vince Halloran, yah that Halloran, the one who ran everything from numbers, hookers, illegal liquor on up to high- grade opium like Macao was his private plantation. And it was. Everything, everything worth owning anyway was signed, sealed and delivered to Vince. And nobody, nobody alive squawked. There was the rub though the because international police were very interested in Brother Vince, very interested in taking him down a notch. They were on to something until one of their own took a Vince-inspired knife in the back. They then responded like cops everywhere do when one of their own goes down, good or bad, and the cop they had working the case was already in Vince’s right (or was it left) pocket. So they put on the heat. Sent another cop in to bust one Vincent Halloran for good.

But even an edgy, cagy, nervous guy like Vince is not going to crumble over an off-hand murder of a cop, not in Macao anyway. And not when Jane showed up at his door looking for a job (as his mistress, a singer in his Kit Kat Club, or to work in his high-end whorehouse, take your pick, she came to Macao broke) to break his concentration. And not when, cagy and all, clever guy and all, Robert turned up at same door looking, looking for something. And Vince decided two things, first, he was going to have at Jane no matter what, and no matter who he has to step over to get her in his bed full-time, and second, he decided, erroneously not having been back in the States for a long time and seen restless guys like Robert hanging off every street corner, that Robert smelled of cop. Robert had to laugh at that one.

Despite, or maybe because of, the hazards of those two driving schemes in the end guys like Vince try to stretch it too far, try to think just because they own some two-bit city that they own everything and everybody passing through. Jane did not, repeat did not tumble to Vince, not her kind, not rough-hewn enough after she eyed Robert, and not rich enough to keep her holed up like some pet in Macao. She would be the first to tell you, like she told Robert when he tried move in too fast on her, she was good in the clinches either way and she dropped Vince the first way like a piece of dirt. And Robert, reaching back into some old-fashioned memory bank remembered that he had done his military service to rid the world of the Vinces. And while one Vince in the world more or less was not going to change things it might change the balance just a little. And so Vince was served up, served up to those international police, and Vince will have many a starless night to think where his judgment went wrong. Yah, and that Jane, according to Robert, proved pretty good in the clinches… both ways.

In Honor Of The 142^nd Anniversary Of The Paris Commune-On The Barricades- Theresa Dubois’ Journey.

She had heard that they needed help over on Rue Martin, that the barricade work there had gone slowly and that if that barricade was breeched before completion then the whole northern front of Paris was in danger, was in danger from either the gruesome Germans, or worse, the vanquished Theirs government if it ever got its act together and tried retake Paris, retake their Commune, with or without German help. So she, Theresa Dubois, all of sixteen, all of sound working- class background, all of bright-eyed idealism and all of, well, all of fetching, fetching in non-revolutionary times when more than one stout-hearted working class gallant would take dead-aim at that fetching manner of hers. But these were revolutionary times, or Theresa acted on that premise and attempted, foolishly attempted, to hide that beauty beneath shabby boys clothing and unkempt hair. And nobody, no man young or old, at the Rue Moulin barricade tried to do more that out- do each other in showing one Theresa Dubois what a great barricade builder he was.

But revolutionary fervor, revolutionary elan, and revolutionary idealism would all go for naught if that Rue Martin intersection did not hold and so Theresa and her younger sister, Louise, also dressed in boys clothing slipped away to the other desperate location. Along the way, along the fifteen or twenty blocks it would take to reach Rue Martin before dark the sisters talked, mostly sisterly talked, girl talk in low voices about this or that young man who did, or did not, measure up on the barricade work at Rue Moulin but also as they drew nearer about what they expected, what they hoped for once they had secured their Commune. That got them to thinking about the new schools that were being talked about, the new schools where girls, girls like them, would be encouraged to learn, book learn, or trade learn as the case might be, and about the right to vote for women that seemed unbelievable just the previous year, and about having time to just sit along the Seine and daydream. [They also talked about whether the new government, or the doctors assigned to the problem, would be able to find a way so they didn’t have to deal with their “period” a cause of painful troubles for both girls. They weren’t sure that the government would be able to do anything about it. In any case they both agreed that they were too modest to ask anybody to anything about it even if they could.]

Upon reaching the Rue Moulin fortifications they were appalled by the sloppy and incomplete work previously done there. They immediately, with all the fervor of young revolution, went hither and yon to move the several young men who were dallying around the spot to get moving. And something in the manner of the young women (or the age- old sight of two women, young and fetching, in a man’s world) got the men moving.

Now barricades, at least in Paris, at least since the revolution of ’89 of blessed memory were something of an art form, something that in the best cases not only protected what they were intended to protect against unwanted intruders from whatever source but were hospitable as well. And so the sisters, Theresa in the lead, set about showing the young how to make their “new home” a new home. Logs and paving stones out front, varies wires, pickets, and ropes to retard any offensive advance from the opponent and behind overhangings to protect against all weathers. And then the furnishings (the young men had foolishly thrown many chairs helter-skelter on the pilings and were sitting on stumps) to make the place reasonable to while away the sentry duty hours.

When dusk settled in they stopped for the evening and one of the young men made some stew, which they all ate greedily. While sitting around the campfire that night to keep warm, Theresa noticed a young man, Laurent, a young man who had done much work strengthening the barricades once the two sisters took charge, was looking in her direction. And she flushed, was looking back…

In Honor Of The 142^nd Anniversary Of The Paris Commune –Jean-Paul Roget’s Fear

Jean-Paul Roget frankly was exhausted after coming out of the three hour meeting of the sectional committee of the Paris Commune that had just been declared a few days previously and was desperately in need of organization now that the Theirs government had fled to Versailles leaving the city to the “people.” And that idea of organization, damn, the desperate need for organization, first and foremost of the food supplies and military defense of the city against an attack by either forces loyal to Theirs or from the dreaded Prussians who just that moment had most of the capital surrounded and squeezed in was needed right then. What had Jean-Paul exhausted was not the daunting tasks of organization in front of him and his comrades, tough as they were, but that the three hour meeting that had just finished produced not resolve and purpose but only reams and reams of hot air.

Now that that people of Paris were masters of their own house every dingbat orator, lawyer, crackpot radical and not a few dandies saw their opportunity to wax and wane endlessly about the beautiful struggle that had taken place, that a new day was aborning ,and ill-witted material like that. Take Varlin, a Proudhonist who had been, in the old days back in ’48 quite the radical figure, had been seemingly on every barricade and who in the aftermath of the June Days bloodbath been transported (exiled). This day however he felt the need, and felt it for hours, to push the notion of artisan cooperatives at a time when Paris was losing that segment of the population to the every-devouring factories that were in fact more efficient in the production of goods. Moreover dear Varlin was captivated by the notion that now that Theirs had fled (and good riddance) there was no reason to pursue his troops and disband them as agents of potential counter-revolution.

Certainly Varlin had forgotten the harsh memories of’48 but he was not the worst offender against the urgency of the times. The old windbag Capet, jesus, was he still alive thought Jean-Paul when he heard that name announced from the podium, went on and on about the glory days, the glory days of ’89 like life had stopped in that blessed time. In the same vein (maybe vain) as well Dubois, an old time working-class radical, a semi-follower of Marx from over in England, kept harping on the need to take over the banks in order to finance the new affairs of the Commune. Jean-Paul himself merely a tanner, and a good one, laughed when that idea was announced for where would he, or anyone else, get the money for their daily personal and business needs. A couple of other speakers went on and on as well about how great the peoples’ needs were without however coming up with one solid working idea. At least Jean-Paul had suggested setting a maximum on the price of bread that could help the people but that was merely “taken under advisement” And so ended a day, a fruitless day by Jean –Paul’s lights in the life of the Commune…

***Out In The 1940s Crime Noir Night- Ernest Hemingway’s The Killers- A Film Adaptation

DVD Review

The Killers, starring Edmond O’Brian, Burt Lancaster, and Ava Gardner, based on a short story by Ernest Hemingway, 1946
As I have mentioned before at the start of other reviews in this genre I am an aficionado of film noir, especially those 1940s detective epics like the film adaptations of Dashiell Hammett’s Sam Spade in The Maltese Falconand Raymond Chandler’s Phillip Marlowe in The Big Sleep. Nothing like that gritty black and white film, ominous musical background and shadowy moments to stir the imagination. Others in the genre like Gilda, The Lady From Shang-hai, and Out Of The Past rate a nod because in addition to those attributes mentioned above they also have classic femme fatalesto add a little off-hand spice to the plot line, and, oh yah, they look nice too. Beyond those classics this period (say, roughly from the mid-1940s to mid-1950s) produced many black and white film noir set pieces, some good some not so good. For plot line, and plot interest, femme fataleinterest and sheer duplicity the film under review, The Killers, is under that former category.

Although the screen adaptation owes little, except the opening passages, to Ernest Hemingway’s short story of the same name this is primo 1940s crime noir stuff. Here, although Hemingway left plenty of room for other possibilities in his plot line, the question is why did two professional killers, serious, bad-ass killers want to kill the seemingly harmless “Swede”(played by a young, rough-hewn Burt Lancaster). But come on now, wake up, you know as well as I do that it’s about a dame, a frill, a frail, a woman, and not just any woman, but a high roller femme fatale. In this case that would be Kitty Collins (played by sultry, very sultry, husky-voiced, dark-haired Ava Gardner) as just a poor colleen trying to get up from under and a femme fatalethat has the boys, rich or poor, begging for more.

As I have noted recently in a review of the 1945 crime noir, Fallen Angel, femme fatales come in all shapes, sizes and dispositions. But, high or low, all want some dough, and man who has it or knows how to get it. This is no modernist, post-1970s concept but hard 1940s realities. And duplicity, big-time duplicity, is just one of the “feminine wiles” that will help get the dough. Now thoroughly modern Kitty is not all that choosy about the dough's source, any mug will do, but she has some kind of sixth sense that it is not the Swede, at least not in the long haul, and that notion will drive the action for a bit. And if you think about it, of course Kitty is going with the smart guy. And old Swede is nothing but a busted-up old palooka of a prize fighter past his prime and looking, just like every other past his prime guy, for some easy money. No, no way Kitty is going to wind up with him in some shoddy flea-bitten rooming house out in the sticks, just waiting for the other shoe to fall.

Let’s run through the plot a little and it will start to make more sense. You already know that other shoe dropped for Swede. And why he just waited for the fates to rush in on him. What you didn’t know is that to get some easy dough for another run at Ms. Kitty’s affections he, Swede, is involved along with Kitty’s current paramour, “Big Jim”, and a couple of other midnight grifters in a major hold-up of a hat factory (who would have guessed that is where the dough, real dough, was). The heist goes off like clockwork. Where it gets dicey is pay-off time. Kitty and Big Jim are dealing the others out, and dealing them out big time. And they get away with it for a while until an insurance investigator (yah, I know, what would such a guy want to get involved in this thing) trying to figure out why Swede just cast his fate to the wind starts to figure things out. And they lead naturally to the big double-cross. But double-crossing people, even simple midnight grifters, is not good criminal practice and so all hell breaks loose. Watch this film. And stay away from dark-haired Irish beauties with no heart, especially if you are just an average Joe. Okay.

Note: This is not the first Hemingway writing, or an idea for a writing, that has appeared in film totally different from the original idea. More famous, and rightly so, is his sea tale, To Have Or Have Not, that William Faulkner wrote the screenplay and that Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall turned into a steamy (1940s steamy, okay) black and white film classic.

PLEASE JOIN THE STAND OUT AGAINST ISRAELI APARTHEID!
When: Friday, March 22 at 5:30 to 7:30 PMWhere: Harvard Square in front of Au Bon Pain
This event is being held to mark the international 2013 Israeli Apartheid Week (IAW).
Boston has so many events scheduled that March is Israeli Apartheid Month –
see the list at http://boston.apartheidweek.org/

PLEASE MARK YOUR CALENDARS AND SPREAD THE WORD!
Sponsored by the Boston Coalition for Palestinian Rights (bcprights.org)

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Anniverary of Iraq War, and on June 1st, attend the rally at Fort Meade

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June 1: Rally for Bradley Manning at Fort Meade By exposing the truth, Bradley Manning helped end a war based on lies. Join us June 1, 2013 to rally in support of Bradley Manning at Fort Meade. A still from the Collateral Murder video which exposed the murder of two Reuters journalists This week, pundits across the political spectrum are searching for meaning in the tenth anniversary of the United States’ invasion of Iraq. The decade-long campaign of bombings and occupation left hundreds of thousands of Iraqis dead and millions wounded, displaced, or scarred. Justified with lies about biological and chemical weapons that never existed, the senseless war cost U.S. tax-payers more than 3 trillion dollars, and far more in blood and shame. Tens of thousands of US soldiers were wounded or killed, and to this day, $490 billion is owed to veterans. Many credit President Obama with the decision to withdraw U.S. troops from Iraq, and almost none mention the fact that it was cables provided by Bradley Manning and published by WikiLeaks that made Obama’s attempt to keep troops there past the 2011 deadline impossible. As CNN reported in October of that year, [Iraq and U.S.] negotiations were strained following WikiLeaks’ release of a diplomatic cable that alleged Iraqi civilians, including children, were killed in a 2006 raid by American troops rather than in an airstrike as the U.S. military initially reported. Obama had wanted to keep troops beyond President Bush’s 2011 deadline, but required the condition that all U.S. soldiers be guaranteed legal immunity for their actions. Upon reading the WikiLeaks-released cables, the Iraqi government refused. By revealing the hidden realities of the Iraq War, Pfc. Bradley Manning achieved his noble goal of sparking domestic debate, and he helped begin the end of an aggressive, violent, and counterproductive war. Rally at Fort Meade, June 1. Here are a few of WikiLeaks’ revelations about the U.S war in Iraq: 15,000 more Iraqi civilians had been killed than were reported in any other count U.S. soldiers were formally commanded not to investigate reports of torture committed by the Iraqi Federal Police with whom they cooperated The American occupation of Iraq has failed to stabilize the widespread violence and corruption that has escalated following the destruction of Iraq's infrastructure Embarrassed by the exposure of its failures, the military is seeking to make an example of Bradley Manning, and for this reason we must thank, support, and defend him. The government has chosen to pursue all 22 counts, amounting to a life sentence without parole, against Bradley when his court-martial trial finally begins on June 3. We’re calling on supporters to descend in droves to Ft. Meade, MD, on June 1, 2013. President Obama and Gen. Martin Dempsey have already deemed Bradley guilty, pressuring Judge Denise Lind to follow suit, making it impossible for Bradley to receive a fair trial. The military court has failed to repudiate Bradley's unlawful torture and the violation of his right to a speedy trial. It has significantly hindered the defense's ability to discuss both Bradley’s motive to expose wrongdoing and the fact that no harm has come from WikiLeaks’ publications. So we must support Bradley both inside and outside the courtroom. We must express our outrage at the government’s attempts to send this generation’s Daniel Ellsberg to jail for life. Bradley Manning put his life and liberty on the line to inform his fellow Americans about a disturbing war’s darkest secrets, and on June 1, we must return the favor. Learn more about organizing a van or bus to Ft. Meade — grants are available. If you can’t make it to Fort Meade, organize a solidarity event in your own community. Help us continue to cover 100% of Bradley's legal fees! Donate today.

Victor Serge’s The Case Of Comrade Tulayev

 

Normally I do not read novels as I have enough on my plate in reading all the history books I need to read. However, every once in a while a novel comes along that illuminates a historical situation better than a history and begs for some attention. Victor Serge’s political parable falls in that category.  His subject is a fictional treatment of the Great Terror highlighted by the Moscow Trials in the Soviet Union of the 1930’s. This Great Terror liquidated almost the whole generation of those who made the October Revolution of 1917 and administered the early Soviet state as well as countless other victims. Adding a personal touch, as an official journalist of the Communist International he knew many of that generation. The political and psychological devastation created by this catastrophe is certainly worthy of novelistic treatment. In fact it may be the only way to truly comprehend its effects. Serge is particularly well placed to tell this story since he was a long time member of the Trotsky-led Left Opposition in the Soviet Union and barely got out of there at the height of the Terror as a result of an international campaign of fellow writers to gain his freedom. The insights painfully learned from this experience place his book in the first rank.  

The plot line is rather simple- a disaffected Russian youth of indeterminate politics, as an act of hubris, kills a high level Soviet official in the then Stalinized Soviet Union and sets in motion a whirlwind of governmental reaction. As if to mock everything the Russian Revolution had stood until that time this youth goes free while a whole series of oppositionists of various tendencies, officials investigating the crime and other innocent, accidental figures are made to ‘confess’ or accept responsibility for the crime with their lives in the name of defending the Revolution 9read Stalin).

While the plot line is simple the political and personal consequences are not, especially for anyone interested in drawing the lessons of what went wrong with the Russian Revolution. The central question Serge poses is this- How can one set of Communists persecute and ultimately kill another set of Communist who it is understood by all parties stand for the defense of the same revolution?  Others such as Arthur Koestler in Darkness at Noon, Andre Malraux in Man’s Fate and George Orwell in several of his books have taken up this same theme of political destruction with mixed success and ambiguous conclusions. In any case, aside from the tales of obvious bureaucratic obfuscation in turning the crime to a political vendetta which Serge treats masterfully the answer does not resolve itself easily.

What Serge  concludes, based I believe on his own personal trial of fire in that same period, and makes his novel valuable is that one must defend ones revolutionary integrity at all costs. His own conduct bears this out. The history of the period also bears this out not only in the Soviet Union but in Spain and elsewhere. For every Bukharin, Zinoviev or out of favor Stalinist factionalist who compromised himself or herself there were many, mainly anonymous Left Oppositionists and other such political people who did not confess, who did not abandon their political program and went to exile and death rather than capitulate. History may have not absolved them yet. However, those courageous fighters need no good conduct certificate before it, the reader of these lines or me.   

 

Victor Serge (With Natalia Sedova- Leon Trotsky’s Widow) –The Life And Death Of Leon Trotsky

As far as I know Victor Serge’s biography of Leon Trotsky was the first comprehensive evaluation from a left-wing perspective of the Bolshevik leader’s life and work after his death. From that perspective it is valuable for two reasons. Serge himself was a secondary Communist leader after the Bolshevik seizure of power in Russia in 1917 and witnessed many of the events described in the book. Moreover, for a long period of time he was a member of the Trotsky-led Left Opposition to the rise of Stalinism which formed in the Russian Communist Party and the Communist International in the 1920’s. Additionally, Serge wrote this book in collaboration with Trotsky’s widow, Natalia Sedova who provides many of the personal insights into Trotsky’s life, work and behavior that round out Serge’s historical narrative. This is a task she also performed in Trotsky’s memoir My Life and there is some overlap of the material used. Most importantly this biography fills out the last ten years of Trotsky’s life not covered in his memoir. If a reader wants a rewarding insider’s view of the whirlwind of Trotsky’s life from prophetic rise to leadership to subsequent fall and isolation for his steadfast beliefs I would recommend reading both books.

The main task Serge sets himself here is to place the dramatic and ultimatelyfateful events of Trotsky’s life in the content of his role in the peaks and valleys of the Russian revolutionary movement from the turn of the 20^thcentury under his assassination in 1940. Those included his leadership of the defeated Revolution of 1905, his internationalist fight against World War I, his organizing the October Revolution, his creation of the Red Army in the Civil War against the Whites, his various positions as a Soviet official, the defeat of the Left Opposition led by him by Stalin and his henchmen and his failure to create a viable leftwing alternate Stalinist rule in exile. Just to summarize the highlights of his career above indicates that we are dealing with a very big task and a very big historical figure. Although Serge had broken politically with Trotsky several years before this biography was written he senses this and mainly lets Trotsky’s accomplishments and mistakes speak for themselves.

As I noted in my review of Trotsky’s My Life many of the events depicted in this biography such as the seemingly arcane disputes within the Russian revolutionary movement, the very real attempts of the Western Powers to overthrow the Bolsheviks by force of arms in the Civil War after their seizure of power and the struggle of the various tendencies inside the Russian Communist Party and in the Communist International in the 1920’s discussed in the book may not be familiar to today's audience. Nevertheless one can take the measure of the man from the strength of Trotsky's commitment to his cause and the fight to preserve his personal and political integrity against overwhelming odds. As the organizer of the October Revolution, creator of the Red Army in the Civil War, theorist, orator, writer and fighter Trotsky was one of the most feared men of the early 20^th century to friend and foe alike. Today, the natural audience for the book, especially those trying to find a way out of the impasse that the international labor movement as the victim of a one-sided class war finds itself in, needs to critically assess Trotsky’s life and times. This book will help.

Victor Serge - The Russian Revolution  

I have read several books on subjects related to the Russian Revolution by Victor Serge and find that he is a well-informed insider although history writing is not his strongest form of expressing his views. This book can be profitably read in conjunction with other better written left-wing interpretations of this period by Sukhanov (for the February period), Leon Trotsky and John Reed.   The task Serge sets himself here is to look at the dramatic and fateful events of first year of the Russian Revolution. Those included the seizure of power, the dispersal of the Constituent Assembly and the struggle by the Bolsheviks against other left-wing tendencies in defining Soviet state policy, the fight to with former allies and current enemies to end Russian participation in World War I and, most importantly, the beginnings of Civil War. In short, he investigates all the issues that will ultimately undermine and cause the degeneration of what was the first successful socialist seizure of state power in history.

Serge's history is partisan history in the best sense of the word. It is rather silly at
this late date to offer an argument that historians must be detached from the subject of
their investigations. All one asks is that a historian gets the facts for his or her argument
straight. Serge worked under the assumption that the strategic premise of the Bolshevik
leaders Lenin and Trotsky was valid. That premise was that Russia as the weakest link in
the capitalist system could act as the catalyst for revolution in the West and as a
consequence take the road to socialism. The failure of that European development, the
subsequent hostile encirclement by the Western powers and the seeds of degeneration
implicit in a revolution in an economically undeveloped country that was left to its own
resources underlies the structure of his argument.         __

Although Serge was not present during the first year of the Russian Revolution the time of the events depicted in this book and therefore was not an actual eyewitness to the events and the book itself was not written until 1930 he brings and informed although critical insiders slant on the dramatic unfolding of events. Underlying his selection of events is a formation of a theory of degeneration of the revolution and while it is true that the Bolsheviks appear to have had enough cadres to make and consolidate state power they did not have enough to extend the revolution to socialism

The Russian revolution of October 1917 was the defining event for the international labor movement during most of the 20^th century. Serious militants and left -wing organizations took their stand based on their position on the so-called Russian Question. At that time the level of political consciousness in the international labor movement was quite high. Notwithstanding the demise of the Russian Revolution in 1991-92 and the essential elimination of the Russian Question as a factor in world politics and the subsequent corresponding lowering of political consciousness anyone who wants learn some lessons from that experience will find this book an informative place to start.

 

Victor Serge's Year One Of The Russian Revolution

I have read several books on subjects related to the Russian Revolution by Victor Serge and find that he is a well-informed insider on this subject although the novel rather than history writing is his stronger form of expressing his views. This book can be profitably read in conjunction with other better written left-wing interpretations of this period. Sukhanov's History of the Russian Revolution (for the February period), Leon Trotsky's History of the Russian Revolution and John Reed's Ten Days that Shook the World come to mind. The task Serge sets himself here is to look at the dramatic and eventually fateful events of first year of the Russian Revolution. Those included the Bolshevik seizure of power, the dispersal of the Constituent Assembly and the struggle by the Bolsheviks against other left-wing tendencies in defining Soviet state policy, the fight to end Russian participation in World War I culminating in the humiliating Brest-Litovsk treaty with Germany and, most importantly, the beginnings of Civil War against the Whites. In short, he investigates all the issues that will ultimately undermine and cause the degeneration of what was the first successful socialist seizure of state power in history.

Serge's history is partisan history in the best sense of the word. It is rather silly at this late date to argue that historians must be detached from the subject of their investigations. All one asks is that a historian gets the facts for his or her analysis straight. And try to stay out of the way. Serge passes this test. Serge worked under the assumption that the strategic theory of the Bolshevik leaders Lenin and Trotsky was valid. That premise stated Russia as the weakest link in the capitalist system could act as the catalyst for revolution in the West and therefore shorten its road to socialism. The failure of that Western revolution, the subsequent hostile encirclement by the Western powers and the inevitable degeneration implicit in a revolution in an economically undeveloped country left to its own resources underlies the structure of his argument.

The Russian revolution of October 1917 was the defining event for the international labor movement during most of the 20^th century. Serious militants and left -wing organizations took their stand based on their position on the so-called Russian Question. At that time the level of political class-consciousness in the international labor movement was quite high. Such consciousness does not exist today where the socialist program is seen as Utopian. However, notwithstanding the demise of the Soviet state in 1991-92 and the essential elimination of the Russian Question as a factor in world politics anyone who wants learn some lessons from the heroic period of the Russian Revolution will find this book an informative place to start.

***Out In The 1950s Rockabilly Night –With Bill Riley And The Little Green Men's MyGirl Is Red-Hot In Mind

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

No question Eddie Jackson was vain. No, not about his personal aspect, not at all, for such considerations were beneath the dignity of a newly minted hot-rod king of the night who had just converted his first Hudson no account car into a souped-up dandy that had blown Slim Jacob’s Packard sedan off the “chicken run”road out on Highway 61 on the outskirts of Memphis one sultry summer night a few weeks back. He rated, to the extent that it mattered, that he was only average for looks, a little too thin and wiry for he-man appearances and a funny gait too although he, as was the uniform of the times, decked himself out in the apparel of the hot-rod night white tee- shirt, denim jeans, wide black buckled belt (which doubled as a convenient weapon when unexpected trouble reared its head) and thick engineer boot, buckled as well, topped off by an ever dangling cigarette, a Camel, unfiltered, just barely hanging from the corner of his mouth. He knew, moreover, that his looks did not matter as long as he was the walking daddy of the hot-rod night for the girls would practically take of their underpants, and maybe more, just for the chance to sit in that Hudson front with him. And he had the scratches on his back to prove that statement.

No Eddie was vain about the appearance of his girlfriend of the time (not to be confused with that horde one or more who might have produced those scratches on Eddie’s back). The one who sat next to him at Jimmy Jack’s Shack, the local drive-in restaurant where he hung out waiting for the night to develop and, more importantly, the one who would ride with him down that lonely stretch of Highway 61 heading south on a “chicken run” when some goof who hadn’t heard he was the king of the walking daddy night and ill-advisedly threw down some god forsaken challenge. His last girl, Wanda, no question and all around agreed even some of the married guys, or maybe especially the married guys, was a fox, all slinky, all curvy and full of bumps in the right places, in her Capris and cashmere sweater, long and blonde (real or not he did not ask, no guy did and just assumed not in those Marilyn-etched years). But she had moved away to Chi town and the big lights and he had been left alone.

Alone except for those sweaty women ready to take off undergarments just to ride with him. And that is where his problem came in. He got interested in one of them, Sheila (although she had not, strictly speaking, been one of the offerees but had been standing outside Jimmy Jack’s Shack eying his vehicle and had badgered him into letting her take a ride with him), who he had figured for nothing but a one night stand, maybe two and then flee. She was funny and made him laugh and told him some stuff about the old days and that (old Pharaoh times and Babylonians and Cretans and stuff which she found interesting and that made him think she was screwy at first but which kind of grew on him although don’t tell her that, either about the screwy or kind of grew on him part). See she was a senior in high school who was going to college at Memphis State in the fall and while she had been just as clawing as any not going to college girl looking to ride with Eddie she was different and he liked that, liked that a lot. Plus she had a few things, a few hot sexual things, different, that she had read about, read about in a book called the Kama Sutra whatever that was, that she would do for him when they were over at Lookout Peak, the local lovers’ lane.

(Sheila had made him laugh once when they had done one of the positions illustrated in the book in the backseat and afterward she said that if he was still pining for Wanda she, all bumps and curves, would not have been able to do what they had just done so chalk one up for skinny no breast girls. She also said don’t be fooled by smart girls like her and girls from good homes too who liked sex just as much, maybe more, that those hot Wanda girls, except they kept it under the sheets and didn’t spread it around town. And he had to privately agree, having had to endure many a Wanda headache night, or not into it night, or it hurts too much night. Still Wanda was a fox and looked good, real good in that front seat and that meant a lot.)

What Sheila was not though was beautiful, foxy, hot, and certainly not red hot. And that bothered him, or rather it bothered him that the guys over at Jimmy Jack’s Shack would make a point out of teasing him about her, about his plain jane girlfriend when their honeys were almost uniformly hot, and where Wanda’s essence was still felt around the joint. Yah, it bothered him, bothered him that even a king of the hot-rod night needed to keep up appearances, needed to have fox in that front seat when the deal went down. Bothered him that he was going to have to ditch Sheila sometime despite the fact that she made him laugh, and read all that stuff that got him hot. See, yah, he was starting to figure that she was red-hot in her own way whatever the guys said. Just then he thought maybe she would ditch him come fall when she went off to college and found some joe really interested in Pharaoh times and stuff like that and that would be the end of it. Till then he figured she could ride with him, ride with him just fine…

Out The 1950s Film Night- Robert Mitchum and Rita Hayworth’s Fire Down Below

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Naturally a woman came with it, came with the story, or it probably would not have been worth the telling. And not just any woman, some housewife from Cleveland (although that category has some tales to tell, some spicy tales once you get them out of Cleveland, out of the women’s club, and away from hubby for a few days, but later on that), or some New York City professional woman (ditto on the tales, except they involve getting away from that damn office, and ditto the later too) but a femme fatale. A little older femme although one who would still have guys looking hard and figuring what they could do to get next to that, older though that a guy would like in a femme story where young buds who don’t know every single rotten thing to pull on a guy make things, well, interesting.But she was nothing but the real thing from that first look through the cigarette haze and the scotch neat sitting in front of her all enflamed red-head and looking like she just came out of some society magazine. See here is where you can learn a few things in life, important things, femmes, don’t retire or fade out they just kind of keep being femmes until they stop drawing breathe, maybe later, and will rattle guys just as bad, maybe worse since they know the score, as the young femmes all filly firepower and that wicked perfume as they enter the room. Once you've heard this story then you will know what I mean.

Yah, she was the real thing alright, Rita, Rita from somewhere, Rita from nowhere by name (let’s dispense with road monikers and call our crowd, the ones that count,by their real names or at least by the names they gave the cops or immigration when they alit from that somewhere or nowhere), a dazzling red head who had given up her virtues, given them up gladly up for whatever it was that she really wanted , a very long time ago and had been working off of that hard fact of life ever since, and making it stick, and making guys, rough guys, punks, and pussycats snap to without a murmur. Someone said (and she would embellish the stories as she went along, all plausible, all with an ounce of truth and all, in the end, worthless, worthless in trying to figure her out) she had started out in Europe, maybe before the war, World War II if anybody was asking, had moved fast on both sides of the line, had to flee one thing or another there, headed to North Africa with either some on the run Nazi general or some old communist partisan fleeing with the party funds, these things are hard to pin down. From there to South America running wild with senor this and mister that’s dough, and them not saying a peek-until she snuck out of some hotel room with a fistful of diamonds and wound up in San..., well, let’s leave it as in the Caribe with some pussy cat from Detroit. And didn’t work up a sweat all those fifteen or so years she was on the run. Some guy was always there to provide a soft landing. And glad to be run over. You had to say that about her, whatever she did for the guys, or to them, they never squawked about it. Beautiful.

Just then though, just out in that Caribe night, she was stateless, persona non grata, no papers, no way to get papers (yet) and no prospects since that pussy cat had a very waiting wife in Detroit and so he slipped her over to Robert and Jack, two guys who knew their way around the Caribe and around women, even a femme or two in their travels. So they thought. Rita practically licked her lips when she saw this pair, one, the older one, Robert, kind of rough-hewn, kind of an old salt whom she had eyed as the tougher of the two, weary, wary of the world, easy, easy in her hands, the younger one, strictly a college boy on a lark, learning a few things but still just on a lark, easier still. She would have them paired off against each other before a few days were done, especially if they could be coaxed into helping her, greased by some dough, to get to where she wanted to go next on their trawler, their fishing boat. All she had to do was look helpless, not school girl helpless but maybe a few nights under the sheets if they helped helpless. They both had that look although the younger guy looked like it would not take even that much to hook him, hook him bad.

And it worked, worked for the who knows, the fiftieth or sixtieth time in her crowded life, worked like a charm. Worked too that she had them at each other throats within forty-eight hours of getting on board that wreck of a trawler.See Robert knew, knew damn well, that she had her hooks into the soft young Jack and while he said, said like they all say, he was just keeping his young companion out of the clutches of a flash dance scheming woman, she knew he had flamed eyes for her. Especially after that night she went “native” on him at some island Marti Gras port stop where she practically replicated some Kama Sutra sex act in front of him, make him drink her in, and drink a few more rums to try to forget that sight. He would have some restless hours over that one. And so they, Jack and Robert fought, fought to the death, at least Jack did, or was ready to. See he had big plans, marriage and stuff like that. Yah, she had her hooks into him. Her, she just licked her lips.

But see water seeks its own level and so while Jack was ready to die for her she had already made up her mind that she would go with the survivor-type, her own kind, Robert and one night she snuck into his bed, and well that was that. Well not quite since that afternoon she had agreed to marry Jack and he was waiting for her the next morning like the dew outside her door. As they headed to the town hall to do the wedding deal they were stopped by an island cop, a big brute of a black man, who asked for their papers. She had none, although she did not mention that to the cop (or to Jack previously). And as things developed that question did not come up. Jack showed his papers first and while doing so a few bindles of heroin fell from his pocket. He had not explanation, none, for that as the copper led him away and left Rita to her own devises.

It did not dawn on Jack until later, until he had been in that stinking jail for a couple of weeks that he had been set up, set up either by Robert , by her, or by the both of them. He swore if he ever got out he would kill Robert if it was the last thing he did. Her, well maybe they could still work something out. And it might have been, might have been the last thing he did, since Robert and Rita had taken off for parts unknown. And had left no forwarding address. Robert did note that as they were ready to cast off a couple of days after the heroin incident, along with a passenger , a paying passenger, a businessman from Miami he said looking to head there, all dressed in white and wearing a Panama hat against the day’s sun that Rita was making some eye contact with that guy.Yah, that Rita was a piece of work, a real piece of work…

The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Machem- Keeping The Irish Eyes Alive

The following review is being used to comment on several of the Clancy Brothers with Tommy Machem recordings. The obvious musical skills, talent and commitment to craftsmanship of this group during its history need no comment by me. Nor does their commitment to keeping alive the Irish folk tradition. Thus, the criterion for review is whether the works represents the political traditions associated with the historic struggle for independence from the English.

A word. As I developed a quasi- leftist political consciousness in my youth I also, in an unsystematic and for the most part then unconscious manner, developed an interest in what is today is called roots music. Initially this was reflected in my first love-the Blues. During the early sixties, under the influence of Dave Van Ronk at first, then Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie and the rest I developed an interest in folk music, then at the height of its revival. It is through this process that I came to appreciate the work of the artists under review. This is odd, and I will explain why. I was actually reared on the material presented here by my maternal grandfather, a great supporter of the Irish Republican Army. I gained from him my own romantic attachment to the exploits of the IRA in 1916 and beyond until independence. Although my own political evolution since then has led me away from political support to the IRA I still love the old songs which represent the spirit of Irish national identity and aspirations for national liberation historically suppressed by the bloody English.

A word about the songs presented here. The liner notes included with the CD are helpful here. The songs range in subject from ‘The Rising of the Moon’ at the time of Wolfe Tone and the United Irishman, probably the last time that a united, independent, non-sectarian single Irish state was possible, to ‘Kevin Barry’ and ‘Sean Treacy’ just before the partition in 1921, creating the mess that still confronts us politically today. That said, as these lines are being written we are approaching the 90^thAnniversary of the Easter Uprising of 1916. The vision that James Connolly and others of a Social Republic proclaimed at the General Post Office still waits. In short, there is still work to be done, North and South, united or as independent states. Listen to these songs to understand where we have come from and why we still need to fight.

Leon Trotsky On The Spanish Civil War 1936-39

I have been interested, as a pro-Republican partisan, in the Spanish Civil War since I was a teenager. My first term paper was on this subject. What initially perked my interest, and remains of interest, is the passionate struggle of the Spanish working class to create its own political organization of society, its leadership of the struggle against Spanish Fascism and the romance surrounding the entry of the International Brigades, particularly the American Abraham Lincoln Battalion of the 15^l Brigade, into the struggle.

Underlying my interests has always been a nagging question of how that struggle could have been won by the working class. The Spanish proletariat certainly was capable of both heroic action and the ability to create organizations that reflected its own class interests i.e. the worker militias and factory committees. Of all modern working class uprisings Spainshowed the most promise of success. Russian Bolshevik leader Leon Trotsky's writings on this period represent a provocative and thoughtful approach to an understanding of the causes of that failure. Moreover, with all proper historical proportions considered, his analysis has continuing value as the international working class confronts the one-sided class war being waged against it today.

The Spanish Civil War of 1936-1939 has been the subject of innumerable works from every possible political and military perspective possible. A fair number of such treatises, especially from those responsible for the military and political policies on the Republican side, are merely alibis for the disastrous policies that led to defeat. Trotsky's complication of articles, letters, pamphlets, etc. which make up the book reviewed here is an exception. Trotsky was actively trying to intervene in order implement a program of socialist revolution most of the active forces on the Republican side were fighting, or believed, they were fighting for. Thus, Trotsky's analysis brings a breath of fresh air to the historical debate. That in the end Trotsky could not organize the necessary cadres to carry out his program or meaningfully impact the unfolding events in Spainis one of the ultimate tragedies of that revolution. Nevertheless, Trotsky had a pretty good idea of what forces were acting as a roadblock to revolution and had a strategic conception of the road to victory.

The central question Trotsky addresses throughout the whole period under review here is the crisis of revolutionary leadership. That question entails, in short, a view that the objective conditions for the success of a socialist program for society had ripened. Nevertheless, until that time, despite several revolutionary upheavals, the international working class had not been successful anywhere except in backward Russia. Thus it is necessary to focus on what condition is missing that would assure success or at least put up a fight- witness the failure of the German Revolution in 1923). This is a continuation of an analysis that he developed in earnest in his struggle to fight the Stalinist degeneration of the Russian Revolution in the mid-1920's. It is a question that still remains to be resolved. The need to learn the lessons of the Russian Revolution and to extend the revolution internationally was thus not a merely a theoretical question. Spain, moreover, represented a struggle where the best of the various leftist forces were in confusion about how to move forward. Those forces could have profitable heeded Trotsky's advice.

Trotsky's polemics are highlighted by the article 'The Lessons of Spain-Last Warning", his definitive assessment of the Spanish situation in the wake of the defeat of the Barcelona uprising in May 1937. They center on the failure of the Party of Marxist Unification (hereafter, POUM) to provide revolutionary leadership. That party, partially created by cadre formerly associated with Trotsky in the Spanish Left Opposition, failed on virtually every count. He had no illusions about the roadblock to revolution of the policies carried out by the old-time Anarchist, Socialist and Communist Parties. Unfortunately the POUM did. Moreover, despite being the most honest revolutionary party in Spainit failed to keep up an intransigent struggle to push the revolution forward. The Trotsky - Andreas Nin (key leader of the POUM and former Left Oppositionist) correspondence in the Appendix makes that problem painfully clear.

The most compelling example of this failure - As a result of the failure of the Communist Party of Germany to oppose the rise of Hitler in 1933 and the subsequent decapitation and the defeat of the Austrian working class in 1934 the European workers especially the younger workers of the traditional Socialist Parties started to move left. Trotsky observed this situation and told his supporters to intersect that situation by entry into those parties. Nin and later the POUM failed to do that. As a result the Socialist Party youth were recruited to the Communist Party en masse. This accretion formed the basic for its expansion as a party and key cadre of its notorious security apparatus that would after the Barcelona uprising suppress the more left ward organizations. For more such examples of the results of the crisis of leadership in the Spanish Revolution read this book.