Monday, July 22, 2013

Cornel West: Obama’s Response to Trayvon Martin Case Belies Failure to Challenge "New Jim Crow"
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For a response to President Obama’s comments on the acquittal of George Zimmerman and racism in the United States, we’re joined by Dr. Cornel West, professor at Union Theological Seminary and author of numerous books. On Obama’s remarks comparing himself to Trayvon Martin, West says: "Will that identification hide and conceal the fact there’s a criminal justice system in place that has nearly destroyed two generations of precious, poor black and brown brothers? [Obama] hasn’t said a word until now — five years in office and can’t say a word about a 'new Jim Crow.' … Obama and [Attorney General Eric] Holder — will they come through at the federal level for Trayvon Martin? We hope so — [but] don’t hold your breath. There’s going to be many people who say, 'We see this president is not serious about the criminalizing of poor people.'"

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From The Marxist Archives- Trotskyist Opposition to World War II

Workers Vanguard No. 894
8 June 2007


TROTSKY


LENIN

Trotskyist Opposition to World War II

(Quote of the Week)



Writing shortly after U.S. imperialism’s entry into World War II following the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor, James P. Cannon, leader of the then-Trotskyist Socialist Workers Party, issued a 22 December 1941 statement, which we excerpt below.

The considerations which determined our attitude toward the war up to the outbreak of hostilities between the United States and the Axis powers retain their validity in the new situation.

We considered the war upon the part of all the capitalist powers involved—Germany and France, Italy and Great Britain—as an imperialist war.

This characterization of the war was determined for us by the character of the state powers involved in it. They were all capitalist states in the epoch of imperialism; themselves imperialist—oppressing other nations or peoples—or satellites of imperialist powers. The extension of the war to the Pacific and the formal entry of the United States and Japan change nothing in this basic analysis….

This characterization of the war does not apply to the war of the Soviet Union against German imperialism. We make a fundamental distinction between the Soviet Union and its “democratic” allies. We defend the Soviet Union. The Soviet Union is a workers’ state, although degenerated under the totalitarian-political rule of the Kremlin bureaucracy. Only traitors can deny support to the Soviet workers’ state in its war against fascist Germany. To defend the Soviet Union, in spite of Stalin and against Stalin, is to defend the nationalized property established by the October revolution. That is a progressive war….

We are the most irreconcilable enemies of the fascist dictatorships of Germany and Italy and the military dictatorship of Japan. Our co-thinkers of the Fourth International in the Axis nations and the conquered countries are fighting and dying in the struggle to organize the coming revolutions against Hitler and Mussolini.

We are doing all in our power to speed those revolutions. But those ex-socialists, intellectuals and labor leaders, who in the name of “democracy” support the war of United States imperialism against its imperialist foes and rivals, far from aiding the German and Italian anti-fascists, only hamper their work and betray their struggle. The Allied imperialists, as every German worker knows, aim to impose a second and worse Versailles; the fear of that is Hitler’s greatest asset in keeping the masses of Germany in subjection. The fear of the foreign yoke holds back the development of the German revolution against Hitler….

Our aim is to convince the majority that our program is the only one which can put an end to war, fascism and economic convulsions. In this process of education the terrible facts speak loudly for our contention. Twice in twenty-five years world wars have wrought destruction. The instigators and leaders of those wars do not offer, and cannot offer, a plausible promise that a third, fourth and fifth world war will not follow if they and their social system remain dominant. Capitalism can offer no prospect but the slaughter of millions and the destruction of civilization. Only socialism can save humanity from this abyss.

—James P. Cannon, “A Statement on the War,” Fourth International, January 1942

 
 

James P. Cannon

A Statement on the War

December 21, 1941

Written: 1941
Source: Fourth International, New York, Volume III, No. 1, January 1942, pages 3-4.
Transcription\HTML Markup: David Walters
Copyleft: James P. Cannon (www.marx.org) 2005. Permission is granted to copy and/or distribute this document under the terms of the GNU Free Documentation License
December 22, 1941
The considerations which determined our attitude toward the war up to the out break of hostilities between the United States and the Axis powers retain their validity in the new situation.
We considered the war upon the part of all the capitalist powers involved—Germany and France, Italy and Great Britain — as an imperialist war.
This characterization of the war was determined for us by the character of the state powers involved in it. They were all capitalist states in the epoch of imperialism; themselves imperialist—oppressing other nations or peoples—or satellites of imperialist powers. The extension of the war to the Pacific and the formal entry of the United States and Japan change nothing in this basic analysis.
Following Lenin, it made no difference to us which imperialist bandit fired the first shot; every imperialist power has for a quarter of a century been “attacking” every other imperialist power by economic and political means; the resort to arms is but the culmination of this process, which will continue as long as capitalism endures.
This characterization of the war does not apply to the war of the Soviet Union against German imperialism. We make a fundamental distinction between the Soviet Union and its “democratic” allies. We defend the Soviet Union. The Soviet Union is a workers’ state, although degenerated under the totalitarian-political rule of the Kremlin bureaucracy. Only traitors can deny support to the Soviet workers’ state in its war against fascist Germany. To defend the Soviet Union, in spite of Stalin and against Stalin, to defend the nationalized property established by the October revolution. That is a progressive war.
The war of China against Japan we likewise characterize as a progressive war. We support China. China is a colonial country, battling for national independence against an imperialist power. A victory for China would be a tremendous blow against all imperialism, inspiring all colonial peoples to throw off the imperialist yoke. The reactionary regime of Chiang Kai-shek, subservient to the “democracies,” has hampered China’s ability to conduct a bold war for independence; but that does not alter for us the essential fact that China is an oppressed nation fighting against an imperialist oppressor. We are proud of the fact that the Fourth Internationalists of China are fighting in the front ranks against Japanese imperialism.
None of the reasons which oblige us to support the Soviet Union and China against their enemies can be said to apply to France or Britain. These imperialist “democracies” entered the war to maintain their lordship over the hundreds of millions of subject peoples in the British and French empires; to defend these “democracies” means to defend their oppression of the masses of Africa and Asia, Above all it means to defend the decaying capitalist social order. We do not defend that, either in Italy and Germany, or in France and Britain—or in the United States.
The Marxist analysis which determined our attitude toward the war up to December 8, 1941 [i.e. up to the Pearl Harbor raid] continues to determine our attitude now. We were internationalists before December 8; we still are. We believe that the most fundamental bond of loyalty of all the workers of the world is the bond of international solidarity of the workers against their exploiters. We cannot assume the slightest responsibility for this war. No imperialist regime can conduct a just war. We cannot support it for one moment.
We are the most irreconcilable enemies of the fascist dictatorships of Germany and Italy and the military dictatorship of Japan. Our co-thinkers of the Fourth International in the Axis nations and the conquered countries are fighting and dying in the struggle to organize the coming revolutions against Hitler and Mussolini.
We are doing all in our power to speed those revolutions. But those ex-socialists, intellectuals and labor leaders, who in the name of “democracy” support the war of United States imperialism against its imperialist foes and rivals, far from aiding the German and Italian anti-fascists, only hamper their work and betray their struggle. The Allied imperialists, as every German worker knows, aim to impose a second and worse Versailles; the fear of that is Hitler’s greatest asset in keeping the masses of Germany in subjection. The fear of the foreign yoke holds back the development of the German revolution against Hitler.
Our program to aid the German masses to overthrow Hitler demands, first of all, that they be guaranteed against a second Versailles. When the people of Germany can feel assured that military defeat will not be followed by the destruction of Germany’s economic power and the imposition of unbearable burdens by the victors, Hitler will be overthrown from within Germany. But such guarantees against a second Versailles cannot be given by Germany’s imperialist foes; nor, if given, would they be accepted by the German people. Wilson’s 14 points are still remembered in Germany, and his promise that the United States was conducting war against the Kaiser and not against the German people. Yet the victors’ peace, and the way in which the victors “organized” the world from 1918 to 1933, constituted war against the German people. The German people will not accept any new promises from those who made that peace and conducted that war.
In the midst of the war against Hitler, it is necessary to extend the hand of fraternity to the German people. This can be done honestly and convincingly only by a Workers’ and Farmers’ Government. We advocate the Workers’ and Farmers’ Government. Such a government, and only such a government, can conduct a war against Hitler, Mussolini and the Mikado in cooperation with the oppressed peoples of Germany, Italy and Japan. Our program against Hitlerism and for a Workers’ and Farmers’ Government is today the program of only a small minority. The great majority actively or passively supports the war program of the Roosevelt administration. As a minority we must submit to that majority in action. We do not sabotage the war or obstruct the military forces in any way. The Trotskyists go with their generation into the armed forces. We abide by the decisions of the majority. But we retain our opinions and insist on our right to express them.
Our aim is to convince the majority that our program is the only one which can put an end to war, fascism and economic convulsions. In this process of education the terrible facts speak loudly for our contention. Twice in twenty-five years world wars have wrought destruction. The instigators and leaders of those wars do not offer, and cannot offer, a plausible promise that a third, fourth and fifth world war will not follow if they and their social system remain dominant. Capitalism can offer no prospect but the slaughter of millions and the destruction of civilization. Only socialism can save humanity from this abyss. This is the truth. As the terrible war unfolds, this truth will be recognized by tens of millions who will not hear us now. The war-tortured masses will adopt our program and liberate the people of all countries from war and fascism. In this dark hour we clearly see the socialist future and prepare the way for it. Against the mad chorus of national hatreds we advance once more the old slogan of socialist internationalism: Workers of the World Unite!
New York, December 22, 1941
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Sunday, July 21, 2013

***From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- The Blues Is…, Part II



Killing Floor

CD Review

Chess Blues Guitar: The Chess 50th Anniversary Edition: Two Decades Of Killer Fretwork, 1949-1969, various artists, 2 CD set, Chess Records, 1998

The blues ain’t nothing, nothing at all but a good woman on your mind, all curves and cuddles, all be my daddy, daddy,build for comfort not for speed just like your daddy, your real daddy, not your long gone daddy just now serving a stretch, a nickel’s worth for armed robbery up in Joliet for some Southside heist that went sour, hell, you told long gone daddy that guns didn’t make the play any better but long gone was just a little too long gone on that twinkle dust and so when Danville Slim called the shots, long gone was long gone, told you about when you were knee high and needing instruction about who, and who not, to mess with when you got your wanting habits on. Stay away from big women, like the song, the blue blue blue song says, don’t forget, they will wear you out, ditto, long thin gals with wanderlust eyes, and twinkle dust noses, itching, checking out every daddy, every daddy that came by her eyes, flashing five dollars bills and another twinkle line,ditto, god’s girls, Sunday morning moaners, smelling of gin, washtub gin, and juke joint slashes, some mean mama cut her up when she wrong- eyed mean mama’s daddy, now Sunday looking for, can you believe it, forgiveness, and trick, getting it, stick with curves and cuddles, an easy rider, she’ll treat you right and no heavy overhead, and no damn "where have you been daddy" questions.

She, Miss Lucy she, all cuddles and curves she, an easy rider, yah, a sweet and low easy rider, to make a man, well, to make a man, so far away, so far from uptown downtown Chi town, far down in sweaty delta Mississippi, maybe still in Clarksville like you left her that night, that moonless 1942 night, when you had to break-out from delta sweats, from working sunup to blasted sundown for no pay, for chits, Christ what are you supposed to do with company chits when you had your Miss Lucy wanting habits on, needed, no craved, some of Sonny Boy’s honey liquor, from the Mister on his ten thousand acre cotton boll plantation (selling every last boll too, good or bad, to the U.S. Army, for, for what else, uniforms), and strips from the Captain, for, for sassing, and grab that bus, that underground bus, out on Highway 61, and head, yah, head north following the north star, following the migrant trail up-river. Maybe a quick stop at Memphis to see if any of the guys, B.B. (no, not the one you are thinking of), the Slim, Delta Dark, Bobby Be-Bop, Big Joe, Muddy (yes, that Muddy slumming down river and on the low from some Chi town wench whose man was looking, knife looking, for the guy who messed with his baby and left her blue, real blue. True Muddy story.) and if not straight to Chi town and work, work in the hog butcher to the world, work in the Casey steel driving hammering foundry to the world , work in the grain elevator to the world, work in the farm machinery equipment factory to the world , good, steady, sweaty work, five day work and done, five day work, maybe overtime, glad-handed overtime on Saturday,and done, no Captain’s strips, except maybe some rough Irish cop night stick but, mainly, just hell work, and then off to bumbling squalid three decker hovel, overcrowded, over-priced, under heated, damn, nothing but a cold water flat with about six different nationalities chattering on the fetid Maxwell connected streets.

Home, home long enough to turn overalls, sweated blue overalls, into Saturday be-bop blues master, all silk shirt, about five colors, blue blue, green green sun yellow, deep magenta, some violent purple, all fancy dance pants, all slick city boy now shoes (against that po’ boy Clarksville no shoe night to make daddy, real daddy cry, and mama too), topped by a soft felt hat, de riguer for Saturday prances. For a while singing and playing, he, mainly playing that on fire(electric)guitar first learned from daddy, real daddy, down the delta when he was from hunger and he and daddy Saturday juked for whiskey drinks (for daddy) and sodas and ribs for him, for nickels and dimes with his long gone daddy (gone daddy previously mentioned tired of nickels and thus plugging an ironic nickel’s worth) out behind Maxwell Street(only the prime guys, the guys Chess, or Ace, Or Decca, or, some race label were interested in, for a while, got to play the big street, the big attention, the big sweep, everybody else behind for nickels and maybe an off-hand stray piece, a joy girl they called them, hell he called them when he had his wanting habits on, not all black or mixed either, a few white joys looking for negro kicks, looking for kicks before Forest Lawn stockbrokers, or futures traders make their claims, looking over the new boys in order to say that they had that, had that before they headed out to Maxwell Street glare or sweet home, yah, sweet home Joliet. And Miss Lucy waited, waited down in some lonesome Clarksville crossroad, dust rolling in, sun beginning to rest, watching the daily underground bus heading north, north to her Johnny Blaze, Johnny quick on that amped-up guitar and the stuff of dreams.

The blues ain’t nothing, nothing at all but a bad woman on your mind, a woman walking in your place of work, your stage, your Carousel Club, you just trying to get that damn guitar weapon, baby, mama, sugar, main squeeze, in tune, the one just off of Maxwell Street, mecca, with her walking daddy, eyeing you that first minute, big blond blue eyes, and even walking daddy can feel the heat coming off her, animal heat mixed up with some Fifth Avenue perfume bought by the ounce , feel that he was going to spend the night on a knife’s edge. The Carousel Club got a mix, got a mix on Friday nights when the be-bop crazy white girls, not all big blond blue eyes but also mixed, decided that be-bop jazz, their natural stomping grounds, over at places like the Kit Kat Club was just too tame for their flaming 1950s appetites and so they went slumming, slumming with a walking daddy, a black as night walking daddy, make no mistake in tow just in case, in case knives came into play.

She had her fix on him, her and that damn perfume that he could smell across the room, that and that animal thing that some woman have, have too damn much of like his daddy, his real daddy, told him to watch out for back when he was knee-high and working the jukes for cakes and candies (and daddy for Sonny Boy’s honey liquor). Just what he needed, needed now that he had worked his way up from cheap street playing for nickels and dimes (and, okay, an off-hand piece once the joy girls, some of them white like this girl, looking for negro kicks, badass negro kicks and then back to wherever white town, heard him roar up to heaven on that fret board) to backing up Big Slim, yah, that Big Slim who just signed with Chess and was getting ready to bring the blues back to its proper place now that it looked like that damn rock and roll, that damn Elvis who took all the out of any other kind of music had run its course.

Then it started, she sent a drink his way, a compliment to his superb playing on Look Yonder Wall according to Millie the waitress, then another, ditto on The Sky Is Crying, walking daddy was not pleased and she looked like she was getting just drunk enough to make her move (hell, he had seen that enough, and not just with these easy white girls). No sale tonight girlie that bad ass negro really does look bad ass, bad ass like long gone daddy whom he started on these mean streets with and still finishing up his nickel at Joliet. She makes her way to the stage as the first set ends. Pleasant, hell they are all pleasant, in that  polite way they have been brought up in for about four or five generations, but still with that come hither perfume and that damn hungry look. No sale, no sale girlie, not with bad ass looking daggers in his eyes. And that night there wasn’t. Next Friday night she came in alone, came in and sat right in front of him. Didn’t say a word at intermission, just sent over a drink for a superb rendition of Mean Mistreatin’Mama , and left it at that.

After work she was waiting for him out in back, he nodded at her, she pointed at her car, a late model, and they were off. They didn’t surface again for a week. The blues is…
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***Out In The 1940s Crime Noir Night-The Corner Boys Grow Up- Richard Widmark’s "The Street With No Name."



Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the 1940s crime noir The Street With No Name.

DVD Review

The Street With No Name, starring Richard Widmark, 1948

No question I am a film noir, especially a crime noir, aficionado. Recently I have been on a tear reviewing various crime noir efforts and drawing comparisons between the ones that “speak” to me and those that, perhaps, should have been better left on the cutting room floor. The classics are easy: films like Out Of the Past, Gilda, The Lady From Shang-hai, and The Big Sleep need no additional comment from me as their plot lines stand on their own merits. Others, because they have a fetching, or wicked, for that matter, femme fatale to muddy the waters also get a pass, or as in Gilda a double nod for the plot and for the femme fatale. (Be still my heart, at the thought of Rita Hayworth, ah, dancing and singing, okay lip-synching, and looking, well, fetching while doing those difficult tasks.).

Some, like the film reviewed here, The Street With No Name, starring well-regarded bad guy character actor Richrad Widmark, while classified as crime noir are no more than propaganda films. In this case a paean to the FBI, to its so-called scientific effectiveness, and gritty no-nonsense crime fighting personnel, and to its unlamented (for civil libertarians, anti-fascists, and just plain, garden variety believers that the cops, local, state and federal need to be reined in) founder and long time chief, J. Edgar Hoover. Interspersed throughout the film, including an introduction that had an early docu-drama quality to it, are various pieces of footage touting the efficiencies of the organization in the battle against crime, in this case street crime, not the more notorious “red scare” political crimes that it was infamous for, and that its efforts helped cause a political ice age in America in the 1950s

Without addressing the propaganda aspect of the film further, after all in the end every crime noir is about some aspect of how crime does not pay, this one is saved by three things, Richard Widmark’s performance as a tough post-World War II gangster on the make trying to parlay those organizational skills learned in the war-time military. You know, standing around and waiting, here for the next criminal caper, acknowledgement of hierarchy, here Widmark is the max-daddy boss, and, oh yes, how to use weapons, and use them to deadly purpose.

The long and short of it was that just after World War II there was no shortage of corner boys looking to make a score. I know of corner boys from back in my own working class neighborhood later, in the 1950s, but their stuff was penny-ante compared to the serious massed armed robberies (of the Mayfair swells, mainly) that Widmark planned and executed. The plot thus evolves around a cat and mouse game to break up this gang after a spree of murder and mayhem that draws the FBI in. Of course bringing in an agent-informer, having him win Widmark’s confidence (for a while), putting him in right in the center of harm’s way, and also, in the end, winning against the mob finishes the story. Oh, except, crime does not pay. Yes, we get it.
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***Hats Off To 50 for The North Adamsville Class Of ’63- Ouch!

Peter Paul Markin, North Adamsville Class Of 1966, comment:

Recently I have been getting a stream of “guestbook” and “add to friends” visits from members of the North Adamsville Class of 1963 at my profile page here. I am not altogether sure why this is so since the members of this class would have been preparing to go out the door and entering the “New Frontier” (although that word was not widely in usage at the time even though we all were, at least those of us who had a strain of Kennedy Irish Catholic brethren in us and they were legion in this old suburban Boston working-class stronghold, charter members) while I was entering the sophmore at North from Adamsville Central Junior High (now Middle School). The only thing that I can think of, off-hand, which connects us, is that those members and I are marking the same year anniversaries, their 50th anniversary graduation from North and my 50th from one of the feeder junior high schools.

Moreover I am befuddled by the get on my bandwagon response from those lofty and fear-inducing now senior seniors since back in day, back in the real light of day back in the day, those of us who entered North in 1963 were seen as, used as, or forgotten as mere sophomores and therefore subject to the whims of any upperclassmen (or women) who needed a convenient mat to wipe their shoes on, literally at times. Now I am not one to harbor a grudge, not a fifty years later grudge anyway, but here are a few things that make me wonder if maybe those now senior seniors are not a bit, well, forgetful.

On Day One, at freshman/sophomore orientation (some students had entered North in 1962 from another junior high school that only had room for seventh and eighth-graders and then pushed them out in the hard, cruel high school social world, “the bigs,” before their time, their knowing what was what real world time), it was made very clear to us freshmen/sophomores by said seniors who “guided” us around the school that we were only, boys or girls as the case may have been, to use certain “designated” lavatories under penalties of extreme harassment, abuse, and possible physical duress. Needless to say the second floor boys’ lav, the one that was out back, had several huge windows to release the smoke from quick between classes cigarettes, and was the repository of local folklore about who was “hot,” who was not, and, most importantly, importantly to the seniors anyway, who was “doing it,” or could be coaxed into “doing it.” Of course that meant the subject was girls in all those categories of hotness and doing-ness and no freshmen/sophomore wimp boys need apply.

This I do know. I will never forget the time one Homer Bigelow, by mistake no question, because Homer was just stupid enough to do this, walked into the second floor boys’ lav on some dismal Monday morning before school when the talk was heated about who "did," or did not do what, or some other lies or half-lies over the weekend, just to “take a leak.” Two minutes later, maybe less, one Homer Bigelow, Class of 1966, was “escorted” by Jack Winn and Bill Callahan, Class of 1963, minus his pants (in other words, in his underwear) through the second floor corridor, down the back stairway and out in the frosty November day for his troubles. Of course, when some twerp named Joe Reilly, Class of 1969, tried that same stunt, tried using the second floor boys’ lav stunt that is, a few years later one Francis X. Riley and one Peter Paul Markin, both members in good standing of the Class of 1966, “escorted" said victim minus his pants (in other words, in his underwear) out that same second floor corridor and down that same back stairway and out into the not so cold April morning (see we were more “humane” than those savage ‘63ers).

And, christ, the senior girls were worst. See, the tradition, meaning that the practice went on so far back nobody remembered when it started, was that they, junior and senior girls, had their own special “lounge” to “make their faces,” or whatever the term was in use then to look school day schoolgirl beautiful and get the guys so tongue-tied and “hopped-up” that, of course, the guys would jump at the chance to take them out on weekend dates and spend dough (allowance dough, or hard shoulder-to-the-wheel working part-time dough, it did not matter as long as it was there to be spent). Of course, just like the guys the place was useful for a quick “puff” (strictly tobacco cigarettes in those days, I think) out those huge back hall windows, and, most importantly, on Monday mornings for who was “cute” (read: sexy), who was not, who tried every trick in the book to get who to “do it,” who did or didn’t, and other assorted lies and half-lies.

Naturally, in a school with a few hundred students, some girl, some non-junior or senior girl, in this case Penny Smith, by mistake I am sure because Penny was nothing but a whiz at Math and English, walked in one morning (I don’t remember the day of the week and that is not important here because, as I found out later, the girls talked every morning before school about who was cute, and who was not, not just on Monday morning) because she desperately needed to use the bathroom. No problem, Penny. Except that poor Penny, Class of 1966 Math and English whiz or not, was locked into a bathroom stall for most of the day before someone took pity on her and let her out. No guy would ever do anything so cruel. Needless to say when Penny’s day came and some unsuspecting underclass woman, Bessie Kiley, made a similar “error” Penny became the “high sheriff" of the bathroom stalls and locked her in. I think, and someone can refresh my memory on this, Bessie was in that stall all day and only got out when the janitress was cleaning up at the end of the day.

I won’t even go into the details of the other “off-limits” first floor boys’ lav where the “bikies, bad-ass corner boys, and their slutty “mamas” hung out across from the woodworking shop (christ, let’s call it a mens’ lav-some of those guys were maybe twenty-somethings, or maybe were getting ready to go on Social Security or something like that). The hoary story there was even regular-guy second floor corner boy seniors and flinty girls’ lounge girls didn’t go near that place, period. The legend was that once, in the dead-of-nights early 1950s some square boy, or anyway no be-bop boy, tried to go in, again to “take a leak” and for his efforts got thrown through one of those wood-working shop windows for his troubles.

But rigid class segregation on the bathroom question was maybe the least of it. At every school dance, whether you were cute or not for a boy, schoolgirl beautiful or not for a girl, we did all the leg work to get the place in order for the big Saturday night school dance and then were not invited. Well not invited until junior year when, of course, every thing was different. Or at the Thanksgiving rally we were used as the "platform” on which the football team stood, literally. (There was a sophomore exception here for exceptional sophomore football players a couple of them who, as we later found out with a couple of winning seasons, could “eat” most of the senior boys for lunch, maybe even a couple of those bad-ass corner boys down in wood-working).

Ya, I could spill the beans on plenty of injustices, including when a couple of guys, maybe non-Irish Protestant guys for all I know, but definitely 1963 seniors, waylaid me and threw me in the showers in the boys’ gym locker room just because they heard that I had gone to a nuclear disarmament demonstration (a small one, by the way) on Boston Common sponsored by the Catholic Worker movement (you know, Dorothy Day and the social gospel message that appealed to me then and that I have written about elsewhere). They called me a Bolshevik and they damn well knew I wasn’t one, then. They said Coach Doyle (the football coach) sent them.But see, that was then and now we are all together under the big Raider red tent oneness. At least long enough to wish the North Adamsville Class of 1963 well, except maybe those crazy guys who threw me in the showers.

....and a trip down memory lane.

MARK DINNING lyrics - Teen Angel

(Jean Surrey & Red Surrey)

Teen angel, teen angel, teen angel, ooh, ooh

That fateful night the car was stalled
upon the railroad track
I pulled you out and we were safe
but you went running back

Teen angel, can you hear me
Teen angel, can you see me
Are you somewhere up above
And I am still your own true love

What was it you were looking for
that took your life that night
They said they found my high school ring
clutched in your fingers tight

Teen angel, can you hear me
Teen angel, can you see me
Are you somewhere up above
And I am still your own true love

Just sweet sixteen, and now you're gone
They've taken you away.
I'll never kiss your lips again
They buried you today

Teen angel, can you hear me
Teen angel, can you see me
Are you somewhere up above
And I am still your own true love
Teen angel, teen angel, answer me, please
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Trayvon Martin-Never Forget!

Video/Photos-US Out of Syria/Justice For Trayvon Martin Rally-Boston

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0_DG32Ld1c&feature=youtu.be
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Video/Photos-US Out of Syria/Justice For Trayvon Martin Rally-Boston

by Michael Borkson
Email: nosanctions (nospam) yahoo.com (unverified!)		21 Jul 2013
July 20, 2013- Boston,Mass.:
There was a joint rally to protest US military
involvement in Syria as well as to demand justice
for murdered youth Trayvon Martin.
Syria-Trayvon 7-20-13 2.jpg
July 20, 2013- Boston,Mass.:
There was a joint rally to protest US military
involvement in Syria as well as to demand justice
for murdered youth Trayvon Martin.
Despite the oppressive heat, there was a good turnout
for this rally at Park St. on Boston Common. Speakers
made the clear connection linking the US wars abroad
against the poor in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and now Syria,
to the domestic US wars at home against the poor and people
of color, as in the Trayvon Martin case and the congressional
"sequester" cuts to vital social programs; while mega-billions
are appropriated for the US war machine and NSA surveillance
on innocent Americans.
A wide range of anti-war and social justice organizations
helped put this rally together: UNAC, A.N.S.W.E.R., the
International Action Center, United For Justice with Peace,
Veterans For Peace, the Committee For Peace and Human Rights,
and others I may have omitted.
Here are links to a video and photos I took at the rally:
VIDEO:
http://youtu.be/w0_DG32Ld1c

PHOTOS:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/protestphotos1/sets/72157634718859841/detai

Next sat. July 27 at 1pm at Park St. in Boston there will be a rally to free
military wiki-leaks whistleblower Bradley Manning; as his military
trial continues.
Other relevant links are:
www.justicewithpeace.org

www.UNACpeace.org
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Syria-Trayvon 7-20-13 6.jpg
Syria-Trayvon 7-20-13 8.jpg
Syria-Trayvon 7-20-13 7.jpg
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