Sunday, June 24, 2018

Resisting War: Military Recruiting Station Shutdown Courage to Resist

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Resisting War: Military Recruiting Station Shutdown
Did you hear that we shut down the Marine Recruiting Center last month in Berkeley, CA? That successful action in coordination with CodePink was aimed squarely at ending the entrapment of military recruiting. And we learned once again that yes, we have significant power when we stand together.
Our history shows that hindering the availability of recruits heavily impacts the armed forces' plans and right now the demand is for more soldiers. And we know that our people-power strategy is both politically effective and strengthening for those involved. Join us now in pushing forwards when it most matters.
We need to raise $25,000 by the end of July and we have $550 in challenge grants available this week to double your money! Major shout outs go to this week's leaders Ken A. of Veterans for Peace(Marshall, NC) $300, and Damon Lane (Burlingame, VT) $250. Can you be a matching challenge donor, either publicly identified or anonymously, of $100 or more? If so, please reach out to anya@couragetoresist.org
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When Marvel Comics Said Something About The Condition Of The World Today-About The Desperate Search For Some Rough Justice In This Wicked Old World-Marvel Studio’s “Black Panther” (2018)-A Film Review


When Marvel Comics Said Something About The Condition Of The World Today-About The Desperate Search For Some Rough Justice In This Wicked Old World-Marvel Studio’s “Black Panther” (2018)-A Film Review




Link to a NPR Christopher Lydon Open Source show on the on the social significance of the massive blockbuster Marvel Comics Studio creation Black Panther:

http://radioopensource.org/the-world-of-wakanda/


DVD Review

By Leslie Dumont    

Black Panther, starring Chadwick Boseman, Michael B. Jordan and a host of black actors who have made their respective marks in Hollywood, directed by Ryan Coogler, 2018

Hey, I wasn’t trying to rain on anybody’s parade when I mentioned at a staff meeting that I did not think that the latest creation out of Marvel Comics Studio the financial blockbuster Black Panther was that interesting a story line given the hype created around the production and the astronomical box office numbers. I wasn’t even attempting to deal with the significance the film might have as the work of an almost totally black cast, black director and set in the virginal non-colonial land of Wakanda which had the added bonus of producing AND keeping its own vital raw resources, or resource is probably a better way to put it. All I knew was that for an over two hour film, seemingly all these Marvel productions need to be over two hours or are not worth the effort despite the hard fact, which is true here as well, that except for the advanced cinematic action technology on display they all could have used a bit more cutting in the editorial offices.    

Maybe it is because I was never, ever a devotee of comic books or of films based on them, not even Superman if you can believe that, that I was somewhat cavalier with my comments. Nevertheless, for my blasphemy I was made to walk the plank. Bart Webber who revels in all things comic book and who has over the years done a stellar job of reviewing these Marvel cinematic productions was originally assigned by site manager Greg Green to do this review. But between my frankly merely off-hand comments and Greg’s having listened to a Christopher Lydon NPR Open Source hour on The World Of Wakanda where the old man had every academic he could squeeze in give their views of the world-historic significance of the first serious black comic superhero my number came up.

Since I have already alluded to the story-line weakness, which I do not think overcomes whatever black self-identity and self-worth it may impart on the audiences that watched the film, I will just run with that and let you check out the over-arching social and academic views by checking out the Open Source link above. Meaning I will take my own counsel on letting those factors get decided by time and history about who was right or wrong on the world-historic nature of a certain comic book character. You already know this is about a mystical African land named Wakanda which European imperialism was not able to exploit over the centuries it was in the killing fields of Africa trying to satiate its overweening greed.  No mean task to have done, no question, but which by keeping quiet and keeping it valuable resource hidden from global view was able to prosper.

The minute you say that though you know the dramatic tension is going to be between those who want to get at the “gold” and those who want to keep the damn thing for their own internal use. That drama gets played out big time after the current Wakanda head of state got blown away and caused what amounted to a succession crisis between the legitimate son who wanted to keep to the old ways and the adopted son who wanted to use the Wakanda resources to bring down the neo-imperialism which was retarding post-colonial societal development. And by the way enrich and empower his own ambitions.

Naturally, real or fiction such tensions get a serious workout with first the legitimate son T’Challa (aka Black Panther) gaining the throne through the traditional rites of passage and then the pretender, the “bad guy” N’Jakada, (aka Killmonger) stepping up and asserting his rights also through combat and a preliminary victory. Sounds familiar even if two black guys are running the game this time. Just as naturally after a little time under N’ Jakada and his Pan-African dreams the Wakandans back T’Challa after the requisite number of mock battles and mortal combat between the pair. If I seem to have condensed the storyline too much well I have just done so to show that this is really something that guys could go crazy about, black or white. World-historic it is not and Greg Green and Christopher Lydon’s gushings are not going to change my mind on this one. The only virtue here is if Greg publishes this review he will think twice about not letting Bart Webber go through his paces and drag the story line out like he was being paid by the word.    

The Story The Congress Party (And Apparently Every Other Party As Well)-The Out-castes Of India- iberation of Dalits: Key to Indian Workers Revolution "Ants Among Elephants" For a Leninist Party to Fight Caste Oppression! A Review

Workers Vanguard No. 1132
20 April 2018
 
Liberation of Dalits: Key to Indian Workers Revolution
Ants Among Elephants
For a Leninist Party to Fight Caste Oppression!
A Review
In modern India, with its gleaming IT centers and manufacturing hubs, there are widespread illusions that untouchability is a thing of the past. Nothing could be further from the truth. Untouchability is at the core of the caste system, which has been perpetuated and entrenched within every sphere of Indian capitalist society. Sujatha Gidla’s 2017 book, Ants Among Elephants: An Untouchable Family and the Making of Modern India, shatters many of the myths that serve to make untouchability invisible. Her book is a sharply drawn picture of caste oppression and of her family’s unending struggles against it. It is a compelling read and has been widely acclaimed by reviewers.
Untouchability is not simply a condition of poverty that can be overcome by education and social mobility. As Gidla matter-of-factly states: “I was born into a lower-middle-class family. My parents were college lecturers. I was born an untouchable.” She uses the word “untouchable” rather than “Dalit” because it emphasizes the reality of what it means to be part of that population. Untouchability was formally abolished by the constitution of India, which gained its independence from Britain in 1947, and since that time much has changed in the country. But little has changed for the vast majority of India’s 220 million Dalits, for whom freedom from the yoke of caste oppression is yet to come.
Ants Among Elephants is both a family memoir and a political history of the author’s uncle, K.G. Satyamurthy (1931-2012), who became a famous leader of a Maoist guerrilla group. As such, the book shines a harsh spotlight on the atrocious record of India’s Stalinist parties on the question of untouchability. The Communist Party of India (CPI) and its offshoot the Communist Party of India (Marxist) (CPI[M]) reject the fight for proletarian independence, and thus the fight for socialist revolution. Instead, they subordinate the interests of the oppressed and exploited masses to an alliance with the national bourgeoisie. From its inception, the CPI has acted as an appendage of the Congress Party, which has always been permeated with brahminical (high-caste) Hindu nationalism. Both the CPI and CPI(M) have utterly refused to fight against caste oppression, falsely counterposing such a fight to the class struggle. This is the opposite of Leninism. We stand on the tradition of Bolshevik leader V.I. Lenin, who insisted that the revolutionary workers party must champion the cause of all the oppressed in society, acting as the “tribune of the people.”
Untouchability is a form of special oppression that is not simply reducible to class exploitation, though it overlaps with it. A classic example of special oppression is the subjugation of women, which is a key prop of capitalist rule; a working-class woman, for example, bears the double burden of her oppression as a woman and as a worker. India is permeated with myriad forms of oppression, including those based on religion, language, ethnicity and nationality. In heavily Muslim Kashmir, which is divided between India and Pakistan, the Indian army this month gunned down twelve people in one day.
For Marxists, addressing the oppression of Dalits is a matter of strategic importance. Without a program for the liberation of Dalits, there will be no socialist revolution in India. Dalits are a central component of the working class. To date, there is nohistory or tradition of genuine Leninism as applied to caste oppression. As part of the struggle to forge a genuinely Leninist party in India, we Marxists of the International Communist League (Fourth Internationalist) are committed to the fight to end the caste system and for the liberation of Dalits.
The Indignities of Caste Oppression
The age-old caste system is historically rooted in India’s rural village economy. The wealthy upper castes dominate the lower castes and the countless subcastes, each one bowing their heads to those above and grinding the faces of those below. But none of these caste divisions is as fundamental, or as envenomed, as the chasm between caste and outcaste. A special place in hell is reserved for “untouchables,” who are forcibly segregated, socially and often physically, beneath all castes. As Gidla writes:
“The untouchables, whose special role—whose hereditary duty—is to labor in the fields of others or to do other work that Hindu society considers filthy, are not allowed to live in the village at all. They must live outside the boundaries of the village proper. They are not allowed to enter temples. Not allowed to come near sources of drinking water used by other castes. Not allowed to eat sitting next to a caste Hindu or to use the same utensils. There are thousands of other such restrictions and indignities that vary from place to place. Every day in an Indian newspaper you can read of an untouchable beaten or killed for wearing sandals, for riding a bicycle.”
In Gujarat last year, a Dalit man was thrashed by upper-caste thugs for “sporting a moustache.” In late March, a Dalit youth was bludgeoned to death for owning and riding a horse.
Gidla’s great-grandparents, tribal forest dwellers, were born in the late 1880s. They were not Hindus but worshipped their own deities. The family was driven out of its dwellings by the British colonial rulers in order to clear the forests for teak production. Her forebears worked an unused area of land and grew crops, only to be forced to pay revenue to the hated zamindar (landowner), who collected taxes on behalf of the British. The family was driven into debt and forced to surrender its land to the zamindar, and they became landless laborers. The enslavement of tribal people (the adivasi) continues to exist to this day.
Gidla’s family converted to Christianity and Sujatha, the author, grew up in a Dalit slum in what was then part of the state of Andhra Pradesh, where being Christian is synonymous with being “untouchable.” She “knew no Christian who did not turn servile in the presence of a Hindu” and “knew no Hindu who did not look right through a Christian man standing in front of him as if he did not exist.” It was only at the age of 15 that Gidla discovered, to her great shock, that there are Christian Brahmins—the Nambudiripad caste, which exists mainly in Kerala.
So entrenched is the caste system in the Indian subcontinent that it is practiced by virtually all religious groups in the region, including Muslims, Christians, Sikhs and Buddhists. India’s Muslims are in their vast majority regarded as “untouchable” and targeted for communal violence. This month, protests of outrage erupted over the torture, rape and murder of an eight-year-old girl, Asifa, from a nomadic Muslim family—a depraved and calculated act of terror by Hindu chauvinists in Kashmir. In Bangladesh, outcastes include the Rohingya, many of whom have been massacred in Myanmar. Pakistan’s impoverished Christians, who face Muslim-chauvinist terror, including for “blasphemy,” are also overwhelmingly deemed outcastes. Oppression based on caste is rife in Nepal as well as in Sri Lanka, where it is practiced by both Tamils and Sinhalese. Gidla, who lives in New York and works as a conductor in the subway system, points out that caste prejudice is rampant among Indians living in the U.S.
Gidla’s grandparents were allowed to attend a school run by Christian missionaries. Education enabled them—and their children—to rise above the unspeakable poverty that afflicts the vast majority of Dalits. But the family could not escape the burden of their untouchability. The story of the author’s mother, Manjula, a central character in the book, gives a sense of the oppression that Dalit women face: blatant caste and sex discrimination. Manjula and the other women in the family had to clean, cook and care for the extended family. Her older brother chose Manjula’s husband, who beat her to appease his own mother. Overcoming these immense obstacles, Manjula acquired a postgraduate degree.
Gidla’s family lived in the city and was thus spared the most heinous violence that is intrinsic to the caste system in the villages. Women are particularly targeted for sadistic crimes by upper-caste men who use rape as a means to humiliate both the woman and her caste. At the same time, inter-caste relationships are deadly dangerous. In February, a 20-year-old woman writhed in agony for hours before dying of poison that her father, assisted by the mother, forced down her throat. The father told the police that this was “just punishment for loving a man outside the community,” i.e., a Dalit.
In the city, one’s caste is less obvious. But by tradition everyone has the right to know, and if you lie, countless clues would give your caste away. In the universities, Dalit students are entering citadels of brahminism. In 2016 Rohith Vemula, a Dalit student at Hyderabad Central University, was hounded to death in a witchhunt spearheaded by Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s Hindu-chauvinist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) government. Vemula’s suicide note said: “My birth is my fatal accident.” This February in Uttar Pradesh, a Dalit university student, Dileep Saroj, was beaten to death for having accidentally touched a caste Hindu. As Gidla put it: “Your life is your caste, your caste is your life.”
On average, every 15 minutes a crime is committed against Dalitswho have been facing increasing attacks since the BJP came to power in 2014. On April 2, Dalits staged an enormous bandh (shutdown protest) across India against a court ruling that weakens the Prevention of Atrocities Act, which ostensibly facilitates the prosecution of crimes committed against Dalits. Protesters were met with massive repression by the police, who killed at least twelve people, injured dozens and arrested thousands. While the legislation does little to protect Dalits from being murdered and maimed with impunity, the court ruling gives the green light to caste-chauvinist gangs for even more violent attacks. Indeed, upper-caste politicians and spokesmen have long been howling to repeal the law.
Stalinism: A Rotten Tradition on Caste
Sujatha Gidla’s uncle, K.G. Satyamurthy, who is a focus of Ants Among Elephants, was a college student when he was drawn to the Congress-led Quit India campaign against British rule. Quickly disillusioned with Congress, Satyamurthy decided to join the Communist Party of India. In so doing, he accepted the view that “one was supposed to think only in terms of class and not of caste. When the class struggle was won, discrimination based on caste would disappear.” With this rotten line, India’s Stalinist parties have tarnished the banner of communism on the question of caste, as they have on every other question of revolution. The deep caste chauvinism prevalent in society constitutes an enormous obstacle to forging the unity the working class needs in its struggles against capital. The struggle for socialist liberation in India requires the building of a Leninist vanguard party to lead the proletariat in the fight against the oppression of the Dalit masses.
Satyamurthy joined the CPI because—unusually for the Stalinists—the party joined a revolt of the oppressed in Telangana (which was then part of Andhra Pradesh). The Telangana struggle (1946-51) was an insurrection against the monstrous rule of the Nizam of Hyderabad. The Nizam’s rule was reinforced by the British, providing a textbook example of how colonial rule strengthened the caste system. As Gidla writes: “There were systems of servitude in every part of India, but none was as ruthless as the vetti system in Telangana, the heartland of the Nizam’s kingdom of the Deccan.” Under the vetti system, “every untouchable family in the village had to give up their first male child as soon as he learned to talk and walk.” The child would become a slave in the household of the dora, the Nizam’s local agent. Similarly, all the women of the village were the property of the dora. Gidla notes that if the dora “called while they were eating they had to leave the food on their plates and come to his bed.”
The CPI in Andhra Pradesh became involved in the Telangana armed struggle and built a guerrilla army that soon controlled large areas of the countryside. In 1948, the ruling Congress Party under Jawaharlal Nehru dispatched the army to Telangana. The Nizam had initially refused to bring his kingdom into the newly independent state of India, but quickly surrendered his “princely state” to the Indian army, which then turned to its main mission: crushing the Communist-led rebellion. Over the next three years the army massacred untold numbers of Muslims, peasants and tribal people. In the wake of the slaughter, the CPI reverted back to its historic role as an appendage of Congress, which had previously ordered that Communists be hanged from trees. Gidla bitterly notes that the CPI leadership “gave in to Nehru without even demanding amnesty for the ten thousand party members who were rotting in detention camps.”
Satyamurthy was devastated that the CPI abandoned the armed struggle and even more shocked to discover that the turn was sanctioned by Stalin. In 1964, the CPI split into pro-Soviet and pro-China wings. Satyamurthy sided with the pro-China faction that would become the CPI(M), hoping that the “Chinese path” would mean following the example of Mao, who had led a peasant army to victory. But the CPI(M) voted at its first conference to follow the parliamentary road.
When the CPI(M) became part of a capitalist government in West Bengal in 1967, a layer of party cadre split and launched an armed uprising in Naxalbari, becoming known as Naxalites. The split attracted a large portion of CPI(M) members in Andhra Pradesh, including Satyamurthy and many veterans of the Telangana struggle. Both the CPI and CPI(M) drew a blood line against the Naxalites. In the 1970s, the CPI supported their ruthless suppression at the hands of Congress leader Indira Gandhi. In August 1971, CPI(M) cadre joined with Congress goons in a massacre of Naxalite suspects and sympathizers in Calcutta.
And when it came to crimes against Dalits, the CPI(M) during its decades in power in West Bengal mirrored the Indian ruling class. In 1979, the CPI(M)-led government massacred hundreds of Dalit Hindu refugees from Bangladesh who were living on the island of Marichjhapi. In 2007, in Nandigram, West Bengal, CPI(M) goons joined cops in a massacre of perhaps 100 people who were protesting against land-grabbing for capitalist enterprise.
In 1980, Satyamurthy cofounded the People’s War Group (PWG) in Andhra Pradesh with Kondapalli Seetharamayya, a caste Hindu who was a veteran of the CPI and the Telangana uprising. The PWG, which became one of the best-known Naxalite groups—and the Naxalites in general—won significant support among Dalits, for whom the armed guerrillas offered a much-needed measure of protection against the brutal violence of the upper-caste landlords and the state. However, the Maoist program offers no way forward. The Maoists have no political program other than to look for “progressive” bourgeois allies, invariably sacrificing the interests of the poorest peasants to unity with “broader forces.” According to the Naxalites, Dalits must unite with the “intermediate” castes in a struggle against the “feudal” large landowners. In reality, the “intermediate” castes are often bitterly and violently hostile to Dalits and tribal people owning land.
While the Naxalites traditionally drew their support largely from Dalits (and today mainly from among the adivasi people), they have refused to politically address the question of untouchability. The issue exploded inside the PWG in 1984 when young Dalit party members complained to Satyamurthy of caste-chauvinist practices in the functioning of the party: comrades of the barber caste were assigned to shave other comrades; those from the washer caste to wash clothes; Dalit members were told to sweep floors and clean lavatories.
Satyamurthy, who had personally experienced caste chauvinism from his comrades, scheduled a Central Committee meeting to discuss the issue. The party leadership responded by having him “expelled on the spot for ‘conspiring to divide the party’,” as Gidla reports. In refusing to even discuss caste prejudice in its own ranks, the Maoist PWG was true to its political roots in the CPI.
M.N. Roy’s Distortions of Leninism
Ants Among Elephants brilliantly exposes the political bankruptcy of Indian would-be Marxists on the question of caste oppression. The task that genuine communists face is to outline a Bolshevik perspective for India. Marxists must address the daily oppression of Dalits and adivasi people up to and after the victory of socialist revolution. The ICL looks to the lessons of the first four congresses of the Communist International (CI). We seek to forge a party in India armed with a program of permanent revolution, the program that laid the basis for victory in the Bolshevik-led 1917 October Revolution. Under the leadership of Lenin and Trotsky, the Bolsheviks established the dictatorship of the proletariat with the support of the poorer peasantry and downtrodden ethnic minorities. The Soviet government issued far-reaching decrees, granting the right of self-determination to the oppressed nations, full legal equality for women and land to landless peasants.
In 1920, Lenin drafted a set of theses on the agrarian question, which could have been written for India today. As opposed to the Maoist strategy of peasant war divorced from the struggles of the working class, the theses stipulate that “there is no salvation for the working masses of the countryside except in alliance with the Communist proletariat.” The theses continued: “The industrial workers cannot accomplish their epoch-making mission of emancipating mankind from the yoke of capital and from wars if they confine themselves to their narrow craft, or trade interests, and smugly restrict themselves to attaining an improvement in their own conditions.”
The founder of the Communist Party in India, M.N. Roy, brought a distortion of Leninism to the subcontinent and put the nascent movement on a course of capitulation to bourgeois nationalism. As early as 1922, Roy drafted a manifesto for the bourgeois-nationalist Congress Party urging the organization to put itself at the head of the working-class and peasant masses. Under Roy’s guidance, the CPI set out from its founding in December 1925 to build a Peasants’ and Workers’ Party in Bengal. Rather than fighting to build a proletarian party that could lead the peasant masses, Roy sought to build a two-class party (i.e., a bourgeois party) where the interests of the working class would necessarily be subordinated to those of the petty-bourgeois peasantry.
Roy’s political program was contrary to the perspective outlined at the 1920 Second Congress of the CI, which Roy himself attended. Lenin insisted: “The Communist International must enter into a temporary alliance with bourgeois democracy in the colonial and backward countries, but should not merge with it, and should under all circumstances uphold the independence of the proletarian movement even if it is in its most embryonic form” (“Preliminary Draft Theses on the National and the Colonial Questions,” 1920).
When the CI came under the bureaucratic leadership of the nationalist Stalinist bureaucracy, Roy acted as Stalin’s representative in China in 1927. On Stalin’s instructions, the Chinese Communist Party remained within the bourgeois-nationalist Guomindang even as its leader, Chiang Kai-shek, staged a coup in April 1927 and disarmed and massacred tens of thousands of Communist-led workers in Shanghai (see “M.N. Roy, Nationalist Menshevik,” Spartacist [English-language edition] No. 62, Spring 2011). The slaughter in China was the bitter fruit of the Stalinist program of subordinating the proletariat to the bourgeois nationalists. Two decades later, the Indian Stalinists reaped the reward for their support to the Indian nationalists in the bloody suppression of the Communist-led peasant uprising in Telangana at the hands of Nehru and his home minister, Vallabhbhai Patel, known as the “Iron Man of India.”
The CPI’s capitulation to brahminical chauvinism precluded their fighting against the oppression of Dalits. This was evident in the late 1920s when Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, the historic Dalit leader, led mass protests against untouchability in the state of Maharashtra. During that period, the Communists had acquired significant support among the combative proletariat in the Bombay textile mills, where Dalit workers were forbidden from working in the higher-paying weaving department and forced to drink water from separate pitchers. A Leninist party would have fought tooth and nail to win all workers to demand an end to untouchability in the workplace and for equal pay for all.
But CPI leaders would not carry out such a fight and did not even mobilize for the protests against untouchability. An exasperated Ambedkar disdained the CPI leaders as “mostly a bunch of Brahmin boys.” He concluded: “The Russians made a great mistake to entrust the Communist movement in India to them. Either the Russians didn’t want Communism in India—they wanted only drummer boys—or they didn’t understand” (quoted in Selig S. Harrison, India: The Most Dangerous Decades[1960]).
Amid the growing drive for Indian independence from British rule, the CPI grotesquely dismissed the fight against caste oppression as a diversion from the “anti-imperialist” struggle. Moreover, in the wretched tradition of Roy, the CPI ceded the leadership of the anti-colonial struggle to the bourgeois nationalists led by Mohandas (“Mahatma”) Gandhi. By turning a deaf ear to the struggle against untouchability, the CPI drove many Dalits into Ambedkar’s dead-end framework of reforming capitalism.
In 1931, the British masters of “divide and rule” offered Ambedkar a separate electorate for the “depressed classes,” as they had granted to Muslims. This would have allowed Dalits, who are geographically dispersed, to form a single electoral bloc. Astutely recognizing that Ambedkar’s followers might unite with Muslims to form a counterweight to Congress, Gandhi declared a “fast to the death” against the British proposal. In opposition to Ambedkar, Gandhi proclaimed himself to be the leader of those he patronizingly labeled “harijans” (children of God). Though he campaigned against certain aspects of untouchability—demanding, for example, temple entry—Gandhi was a staunch supporter of the brahminical caste system.
For his part, Ambedkar fostered illusions that the British could be used as a bulwark against the upper-caste Indian nationalists. With the outbreak of World War II, he supported the imperialists and joined the Viceroy’s Executive Council. In this, he was not unique. Gandhi, too, supported the British at the beginning of the war, though he could not win the Congress leadership to his position. It was not until 1942 that Congress launched the Quit India movement. As for the CPI, the Indian Stalinists also supported the “democratic” imperialists from the time of Hitler’s invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941 onward, betraying the interests of the colonial masses.
Following independence, the ruling Congress Party agreed to reserve seats in Parliament for “scheduled” tribes and castes and co-opted Ambedkar to draft the new constitution. In addition to banning untouchability, the written document promised many freedoms, including for women, but they remained largely a dead letter. Ambedkar himself later noted: “The same old tyranny, the same old oppression, the same old discrimination which existed before, exists now, and perhaps in a worse form.”
For a Trotskyist Perspective
India’s transition from preindustrial society did not lead to the dissolution of caste relations. The British colonial rulers—backed by the large landowners and nascent local bourgeoisie—preserved, manipulated and reinforced rural backwardness and the caste system. The post-independence period has shown that the Indian capitalist rulers are incapable of solving basic democratic questions. The land reforms introduced by Congress largely restricted redistribution to those within the landowning castes.
To this day, Dalits who manage to buy land are often attacked by mobs, and the legal transfer of ownership is routinely bogged down in wrangles for years. The proportion of landless people in rural India has increased from 28 percent of the rural population in 1951 to nearly 55 percent in 2011. And it continues to rise.
Indian capital is dependent on imperialist finance capital. Almost 70 percent of the population lives in small villages. However, the rural areas are no longer the main source of capital accumulation for the dominant rural castes, who are increasingly investing in industry. This fact underlines that the fight to expropriate the landlords—and provide land to the landless masses—is inseparable from the fight to expropriate the bourgeoisie as a class.
Side by side with its rural backwardness, India is now the fifth-largest manufacturer in the world. The Indian proletariat is small relative to the rural population, but it has the social power to lead the peasant masses and all the oppressed in a fight to overthrow capitalist exploitation. To exercise that power will take a struggle to overcome the insidious caste divisions in the working class.
As Leninists, the ICL fights to build a vanguard party that imbues the proletariat with the understanding that the struggle against Dalit oppression is in the interest of the entire working class of India. A case in point would be to mobilize to free 13 imprisoned union leaders from the Maruti Suzuki plant at Gurgaon-Manesar near Delhi. In 2012, a supervisor attacked a Dalit worker with casteist slurs. The union defended the worker. But the company, which has long sought to crush the union, hired thugs who provoked an altercation, after which the union leaders were outrageously framed up on a murder charge. Last year, the 13 unionists were sentenced to life in prison (see “India: Free Maruti Suzuki Union Leaders!” WV No. 1112, 19 May 2017).
The workers movement should also take a stand in defense of the Bhim Army, a Dalit rights organization that has been subjected to fierce repression by the BJP government in Uttar Pradesh. The Bhim Army’s leader, Chandrashekhar Azad, is being held in prison under the draconian National Security Act, despite having been acquitted of all the (bogus) charges against him. The unions and organizations of the oppressed must demand: Free Chandrashekhar Azad now!
Sujatha Gidla’s Ants Among Elephants powerfully illustrates the central role caste oppression plays in Indian society. The liberation of the Dalit masses requires the forging of a revolutionary workers party dedicated to fighting all forms of oppression. In turn, Marxists committed to building such a party must fight to overcome the shameful legacy of Stalinism by planting the banner of the Trotskyist program of permanent revolution. This program is thoroughly internationalist, aiming for proletarian revolution not only in India and the rest of South Asia but also in the imperialist centers of North America, West Europe and Japan. The true Leninist party that we aim to build will be composed in its majority of Dalits as well as oppressed minorities. Winning the trust of the Dalits and adivasi people will require special demands and forms of organization. A Leninist-Trotskyist party in India, section of a reforged Fourth International, will open up the possibility of a way out of the endless cycles of brutal oppression, injustice and poverty.

English Pyscho-Ingrid Bergman’s “Gaslight” (1944)-A Film Review

English Pyscho-Ingrid Bergman’s “Gaslight” (1944)-A Film Review




DVD Review

By Sandy Salmon

Gaslight, starring Ingrid Bergman, Charles Boyer, Joseph Cotte n, 1944

Lowering gaslights (indicating pre-electric light times, 19th century times), strange noises from the attic and deep London fog which aids in nefarious work. All the ingredients for a full-blown old-time example of a suspense film without any gore or pyrotechnics. Oh yes, and a mad man obsessed by something which is driving him beyond the edges of rationality. This is what drives this first-rate classic Gaslight which garnered the beautiful and talented Ingrid Bergman last seen in this space playing the loyal wife, well kind of loyal wife, of Nazi-resister Victor Lazlo in the film Casablanca her first Oscar.          

Here’s why beyond her beauty and the depth of her performance in the part. Paula, Ms. Bergman’s role, is a sensitive and reserved young woman having had her famous opera singer aunt whom she lived with as a young girl murdered for unknown reasons. Paula follows in her footsteps or tries to. Then love enters the scene. The love of a pianist, Gregory, or whatever his real name was as we shall find out, played by Charles Boyer (whom I do not recall having mentioned in this space previously) who sweeps her off her feet. They marry and return (at his request) to the London house where Paula came of age.

Then the craziness begins. Craziness egged on by our boy Gregory who has an ulterior motive for attempting to undermine Paula’s sanity. A goodly portion of the film is spent on detailing the many vulgar and nefarious ways Gregory plays out his hand. He almost had her over the edge (with help from that noise in the attic, the London fog and those damn flickering gaslights-and a little help by the snooty housemaid played by a very young Angela Lansbury).     


Naturally this torture can’t, or won’t, go on forever, because of a chance encounter with one Inspector Cameron, played by Joseph Cotton, last seen in this space hunting down like a dog his old friend Harry Lyme in Vienna who had gone over his own deep end. The Inspector had been an admirer of Paula’s aunt as a child and wondered about the craziness going on between Paula and Gregory. Once he stepped in you knew it was curtains for the dastardly Gregory. Yeah, the mad monk Gregory had in his younger “wanting” habits days killed the aunt with the idea of grabbing her precious jewels and living the high life instead of being a stumblebum pianist for budding students. The whole ruse was to get control of that London house so he could grab the jewels hidden somewhere up in the attic in peace. All he will get in the end will be the hangman’s noose. A little loose in places and some of Ms. Bergman’s emoting seemed overdrawn but a very good suspense film without like I said gore or bells and whistles.          

A Ghost Of A Chance-Gene Tierney And Rex Harrison’s “The Ghost And Mrs. Muir” (1947)-A Film Review

A Ghost Of A Chance-Gene Tierney And Rex Harrison’s “The Ghost And Mrs. Muir” (1947)-A Film Review




DVD Review

By Film Critic Sandy Salmon

The Ghost And Mrs. Muir, starring Gene Tierney, Rex Harrison, George Sanders, directed by Joseph Mankiewicz, 1947

Excuse the jokey headline for this review but it rather concisely makes the point about what will happen in this film under review director Joseph Mankiewicz’s film adaptation of R.A Dick’s novel The Ghost And Mrs. Muir. After all if you want to have film about the relationship, a quasi-romantic relationship between a young widow and a long gone sea captain then you have to draw the conclusion that such a relationship cannot be consummated this side of the grave.    

Despite the obvious problems that one must overcome to suspend disbelieve in order cheer on a happy ending this is a quality film from the time when the lead actors Gene Tierney who plays Mrs. Muir (last seen in this space being hunted by a smitten detective played by Dana Andrews and a compulsive/obsessive older man played by Clifton Webb with murder and lust in his heart in the classic film Laura) and Rex Harrison who played the deceased Captain Gregg (last seen here chasing evil-doing Nazis for His Majesty in The Last Train To Munich) were emerging as major stars.     

As to the problems well Captain Gregg ran afoul of the pitfalls of being on land and not at the friendly sea and died in an accident. Mrs. Muir after years of being under the thumb of her late husband’s family decided to make a jailbreak from that scene. She wound up at the ocean-side town where the good Captain was killed and where he was currently in ghostly residence at his “haunted” house trying to keep the flux of turnover tenants from staying. He was rather easily able to scare the wits out of all previous dwellers but Mrs. Muir, along with her daughter, was made of sterner stuff. Therefore there will be a test of wills, an unequal test as it turned out, after they declared a truce (and after they were half in love with each other which you could see would be a problem given their respective conditions). And after the good Captain seeing that Mrs. Muir needed real life love lets her go and pursue love left the house for parts unknown.     


Obviously the lonely Mrs. Muir wanted and needed love, or thought she did but she ran in the wrong direction out once she had a real live gentleman caller, one Uncle Neddy. She was ready to go to the altar with him except for one little problem. She found out that this cad, played by George Sanders, was already married. Once burned she decided to leave the romance business alone. After that rude awakening the rest of the film details her growing older and more pensive alone. Growing older until her own end when the Captain returned and they were reunited that side of the grave. The woman friend I saw this one with called it a “chick flick” although I don’t think that term was used back in the 1940s. But it fits.       

When Lady Day Chased The Blues Away-“The Quintessential Billie Holiday (Volume 3-1936-37)

When Lady Day Chased The Blues Away-“The Quintessential Billie Holiday (Volume 3-1936-37) 




CD Review

By Music Critic Seth Garth

The Quintessential Billie Holiday, Volume 3, 1936-37

Everybody, at least the everybodies who came of age in the 1950s and 1960s, had at least heard the sad life story and junkie death of the legendary blue singer Billie Holiday. Knew that information either from having read her biography, the liner notes on her records (vinyl for those who have not become hip to the beauties of that old-fashion way to produce recordings), newspaper obituaries, or from the 1970s film starring Diana Ross (lead singer of Motown’s Supremes). So everybody knew that Lady Day (I believe that the Prez, the great saxophonist Lester Young, who backed her on many recordings and in many a venue gave her that name and it fit her as did that eternal flower in her hair) had come up the hard way, had had a hard time with men in her life and had plenty of trouble with junk, with heroin.      

Yeah, that is the sad part, the life and times part. But if you listen to this CD under review, the third volume in the series you will also know why in the first part of the 21st century guys like me are still reviewing her work, still haunted by that voice, by that meaningful pause between notes that carried you to a different place, kept your own blues at bay. That last statement is really what I want to hone in on here since Billie Holiday is an acquired taste, and a taste which grows on you as you settle in to listen to whole albums rather than a single selection. Here is my god’s honest truth though. Many a blue night when I was young, hell, now too, I would play Billie for hours and my own silly blues would kind of evaporate. Nice right. Here is the not nice part. Once a few years ago I was talking to some young people about Billie and they, maybe under the influence of the film or from their disapproving parents, kind of wrote her off as just another junkie gone to seed. I shocked them, I think, when I said if I had had the opportunity I would have given Billie all the dope she wanted just for taking my own blues   away. That is why we still listen to that sultry, slinky, sexy voice today. 


Is everything in this CD or in her overall work the cat’s meow. No, toward the end in the 1950s you can tell her voice was hanging by a thread under the strain of all her troubles, legal and medical. But in the 1930s, the time of her time, covering Tin Pan Alley songs which seem to have almost been written just for her she had that certain “it” which cannot be defined but only accepted, accepted gratefully. Check out Pennies From Heaven and I’ve Got My Love To Keep Me Warm and you will get an idea of what I am talking about.     
In Honor Of The Late Folksinger-Songwriter  Rosalie Sorrels Tell Me Utah Phillips- Have You Seen Starlight On The Rails?




If I Could Be The Rain I Would Be Rosalie Sorrels-The Legendary Folksinger-Songwriter Has Her Last Go Round At 83

By Music Critic Bart Webber

Back the day, back in the emerging folk minute of the 1960s that guys like Sam Lowell, Si Lannon, Josh Breslin, the late Peter Paul Markin and others were deeply immersed in all roads seemed to lead to Harvard Square with the big names, some small too which one time I made the subject of a series, or rather two series entitled respectively Not Bob Dylan and Not Joan Baez about those who for whatever reason did not make the show over the long haul, passing through the Club 47 Mecca and later the Café Nana and Club Blue, the Village down in NYC, North Beach out in San Francisco, and maybe Old Town in Chicago. Those are the places where names like Baez, Dylan, Paxton, Ochs, Collins and a whole crew of younger folksingers, some who made it like Tom Rush and Joni Mitchell and others like Eric Saint Jean and Minnie Murphy who didn’t, like  who all sat at the feet of guys like Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger got their first taste of the fresh breeze of the folk minute, that expression courtesy of the late Markin, who was among the first around to sample the breeze.

(I should tell you here in parentheses so you will keep it to yourselves that the former three mentioned above never got over that folk minute since they will still tell a tale or two about the times, about how Dave Van Ronk came in all drunk one night at the Café Nana and still blew everybody away, about catching Paxton changing out of his Army uniform when he was stationed down at Fort Dix  right before a performance at the Gaslight, about walking down the street Cambridge with Tom Rush just after he put out No Regrets/Rockport Sunday, and about affairs with certain up and coming female folkies like the previously mentioned Minnie Murphy at the Club Nana when that was the spot of spots. Strictly aficionado stuff if you dare go anywhere within ten miles of the subject with any of them -I will take my chances here because this notice, this passing of legendary Rosalie Sorrels a decade after her dear friend Utah Phillips is important.)

Those urban locales were certainly the high white note spots but there was another important strand that hovered around Saratoga Springs in upstate New York, up around Skidmore and some of the other upstate colleges. That was Caffe Lena’s, run by the late Lena Spenser, a true folk legend and a folkie character in her own right, where some of those names played previously mentioned but also where some upstarts from the West got a chance to play the small crowds who gathered at that famed (and still existing) coffeehouse. Upstarts like the late Bruce “Utah” Phillips (although he could call several places home Utah was key to what he would sing about and rounded out his personality). And out of Idaho one Rosalie Sorrels who just joined her long-time friend Utah in that last go-round at the age of 83.

Yeah, came barreling like seven demons out there in the West, not the West Coast west that is a different proposition. The West I am talking about is where what the novelist Thomas Wolfe called the place where the states were square and you had better be as well if you didn’t want to starve or be found in some empty arroyo un-mourned and unloved. A tough life when the original pioneers drifted westward from Eastern nowhere looking for that pot of gold or at least some fresh air and a new start away from crowded cities and sweet breathe vices. A tough life worthy of song and homage. Tough going too for guys like Joe Hill who tried to organize the working people against the sweated robber barons of his day (they are still with us as we are all now very painfully and maybe more vicious than their in your face forbear)Struggles, fierce down at the bone struggles also worthy of song and homage. Tough too when your people landed in rugged beautiful two-hearted river Idaho, tried to make a go of it in Boise, maybe stopped short in Helena but you get the drift. A different place and a different type of subject matter for your themes than lost loves and longings.  

Rosalie Sorrels could write those songs as well, as well as anybody but she was as interested in the social struggles of her time (one of the links that united her with Utah) and gave no quarter when she turned the screw on a lyric. The last time I saw Rosalie perform in person was back in 2002 when she performed at the majestic Saunders Theater at Harvard University out in Cambridge America at what was billed as her last go-round, her hanging up her shoes from the dusty travel road. (That theater complex contained within the Memorial Hall dedicated to the memory of the gallants from the college who laid down their heads in that great civil war that sundered the country. The Harvards did themselves proud at collectively laying down their heads at seemingly every key battle that I am aware of when I look up at the names and places. A deep pride runs through me at those moments)

Rosalie Sorrels as one would expect on such an occasion was on fire that night except the then recent death of another folk legend, Dave Von Ronk, who was supposed to be on the bill (and who was replaced by David Bromberg who did a great job banging out the blues unto the heavens) cast a pall over the proceedings. I will always remember the crystal clarity and irony of her cover of her classic Old Devil Time that night -yeah, give me one more chance, one more breathe. But I will always think of If I Could Be The Rain and thoughst of washing herself down to the sea whenever I hear her name. RIP Rosalie Sorrels 

Commentary

I have been on a something of a Utah Phillips/Rosalie Sorrels musical tear lately but I want to pay separate attention to one song, Phillips’ “Starlight On The Rails", that hits home on some many levels- the memories of bumming around the country in my youth, riding and living free (or trying to), my on and off love affair with trains as a mode of transportation, and, of course the political struggle to fix what ails this country. And as Utah acknowledges below in introducing the song (from the Utah Phillips Songbook version) we get a little Thomas Wolfe as a literary bonus. Utah and I, in the end, had very different appreciations of what it takes to do this political fixin' mentioned above but we can agree on the sentiments expressed in his commentary and song.

Utah, aside from his love of trains as a form of personal transportation when he was “on the bum”, also was a vocal advocate for their use as mass transportation. He originally argued this proposition at a time when the railroads were losing passengers in droves to the great automobile explosion. Utah wrote a song for one of his sons “Daddy, What’s A Train?” on the demise of this more people-friendly form of getting around. Since then there has been, due to the mercurial economics of oil and some conscious social and environmental policy planning, something of a resurgence of the train as a means of transportation.

Nevertheless the saga of the train in this writer’s imagination remains more of a boyhood memory than an actuality today. I can still see those historic old names: Union Pacific, Southern Pacific, B&O, and Boston & Maine. I can still hear the whistle blow as the train comes into the station. The conductor’s yell of “All, aboard” or the station’s name. Those rattling sounds of wheels hitting the metal of the rails. But, mainly, I think of the slower times, the time to look at the scenery as the train ambles along and to understand the how, if not the why, of the contours of the way America sprouted up as it out moved in all directions from its Eastern shores.

I noted in a review of a PBS American Experience documentary, “Riding The Rails” (see archives, “Starlight On The Rails, Indeed”, November 4, 2008) growing up in the 1950’s I had a somewhat tenuous connection with trains. My grandparents lived close to a commuter rail that before my teenage years went out of service, due to the decline of ridership as the goal of two (or three) car garages gripped the American imagination in an age when gas was cheap and plentiful. In my teens though, many a time I walked those then abandoned tracks to take the short route to the center of town. I can still picture that scene now trying to hit my stride on each tie. As an adult I have frequently ridden the rails, including a cross-country trip that actually converted me to the virtues of air travel on longer trips.

Of course, my ‘adventures’ riding the rails is quite different than that the one looked at in the American Experience documentary about a very, very common way for the youth of America to travel in the Depression-ridden 1930’s, the youth of my parents’ generation. My own experiences were usually merely as a paying passenger, although when down on my luck I rolled onto a couple of moving trains. An experience not for the faint-hearted, for sure. But this was mainly slumming. Their experiences were anything but. The only common thread between them and me was the desire expressed by many interviewees to not be HERE but to be THERE. I spent a whole youth running to THERE. But enough of this- let Utah tell his story about the realities, not the romance of the rails.

Guest Commentary

Starlight On The Rails- Utah Phillips

This comes from reading Thomas Wolfe. He had a very deep understanding of the music in language. Every now and then he wrote something that stuck in my ear and would practically demand to be made into a song.

I think that if you talk to railroad bums, or any kind of bum, you'll see that what affects them the most is homelessness, not necessarily rootlessness. Traveling is all right if you have a place to go from and a place to go to. It's when you don't have any place that it becomes more difficult. There's nothing you can count on in the world, except yourself. And if you're an old blown bum, you can't even do that very well. I guess this is a home song as much as anything else.

We walked along a road in Cumberland and stooped, because the sky hung down so low; and when we ran away from London, we went by little rivers in a land just big enough. And nowhere that we went was far: the earth and the sky were close and near. And the old hunger returned - the terrible and obscure hunger that haunts and hurts Americans, and makes us exiles at home and strangers wherever we go.

Oh, I will go up and down the country and back and forth across the country. I will go out West where the states are square. I will go to Boise and Helena, Albuquerque and the two Dakotas and all the unknown places. Say brother, have you heard the roar of the fast express? Have you seen starlight on the rails?

STARLIGHT ON THE RAILS
(Bruce Phillips)


I can hear the whistle blowing
High and lonesome as can be
Outside the rain is softly falling
Tonight its falling just for me

Looking back along the road I've traveled
The miles can tell a million tales
Each year is like some rolling freight train
And cold as starlight on the rails

I think about a wife and family
My home and all the things it means
The black smoke trailing out behind me
Is like a string of broken dreams

A man who lives out on the highway
Is like a clock that can't tell time
A man who spends his life just rambling
Is like a song without a rhyme


Daddy What's A Train

Most everybody who knows me knows that I'm a train nut. In Dayton, Ohio, when I was 12 years old during the Second World War, there was a railroad that went close by Greenmont Village. A bunch of the kids and I built a fort out of old railroad ties, half dug in the ground and half above the ground. We let a bum sleep in there one night - I think he was the first railroad bum I remember meeting - came back the next day and it had been burned down. He'd evidently set it on fire or started it accidentally.

Playing around in that fort we'd see the big steam engines run by. The engineers would wave, and the parlor shack back in the crummy - that's the brakeman who stays in the caboose - would wave, too. Put your ear down on the rail and you could hear the trains coming. We'd play games on the ties and swing ourselves on the rails. Also we'd pick up a lot of coal to take home. I understand that during the Depression a lot of families kept their homes warm by going out along the right of way and picking up coal that had fallen out of the coal tenders.
This song is written for my little boy Duncan. His grandfather, Raymond P. Jensen, was a railroad man for over 40 years on the Union Pacific, working as an inspector. There's a lot of railroading in Duncan's family, but he hasn't ridden trains very much.



(sung to chorus tune)
When I was just a boy living by the track
Us kids'd gather up the coal in a great big gunny sack,
And then we'd hear the warning sound as the train pulled into view
And the engineer would smile and wave as she went rolling through;

(spoken)
She blew so loud and clear
That we covered up our ears
And counted cars as high as we could go.
I can almost hear the steam
And the big old drivers scream
With a sound my little boy will never know.

I guess the times have changed and kids are different now;
Some don't even seem to know that milk comes from a cow.
My little boy can tell the names of all the baseball stars
And I remember how we memorized the names on railroad cars -


The Wabash and TP
Lackawanna and IC
Nickel Plate and the good old Santa Fe;
Names out of the past
And I know they're fading fast
Every time I hear my little boy say.

Well, we climbed into the car and drove down into town
Right up to the depot house but no one was around.
We searched the yard together for something I could show
But I knew there hadn't been a train for a dozen years or so.

All the things I did
When I was just a kid-
How far away the memories appear,
And it's plain enough to see
They mean a lot to me
'Cause my ambition was to be an engineer.

Copyright ©1973, 2000 Bruce Phillips

When Rock And Roll Rocked The Known World-John Lennon’s Rock And Roll-A CD Review

When Rock And Roll Rocked The Known World-John Lennon’s Rock And 
Roll-A CD Review





CD Review 

By Josh Breslin

Rock And Roll, John Lennon, 1974-5

I really wish my long departed old friend, Peter Paul Markin, met in San Francisco in the Summer of Love, 1967 could have reviewed this CD. He was just enough older than me at the time to have been able to appreciate the influence that the classic age of rock and roll, what he calculated as between 1955 and 1965, had on a poor street tough (just look at the cover and you will see what I mean) from the depths of Liverpool had on John Lennon. Made me appreciate this stuff that growing up in Podunk Maine I was not really that familiar with at the time. See Markin (everybody called him the Scribe when he was growing up poor on the tough streets of America but I knew him first under the moniker the Be-Bop Kid on that first long ago meeting) came to his blessed rock and roll music the same way. Let the beat seep into his brain just like Lennon.

While Markin had no particular musical skills he had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of what rocked his kindred on those mean streets (and not just the denizens of the mean streets either). What Markin also knew was that along with the quintessential American black-centered blues that rock and roll was being revered and played in the back alleys of England long after those genre were being by-passed by what Markin called the musical counter-revolution that got sprung on the teenage world in the late 1960s and would not be broken through until guys like John Lennon, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards crossed the Atlantic in the British invasion of the mid-1960s.       


So what you have with this production is John Lennon, post-Beatle John Lennon, going back to the roots. Going back to what kick started his young street tough brain. Are the individual songs performed here the best covers ever done on the classics from the 1950s. No. Does this production even in remastered form give uniformly quality values. No. Does this thing make you want to get up and dance even in your shadowed AARP-worthy life. You bet. Yeah, Markin would have given you why and what for on individual covers like Be-Bop-A-Lula, Stand Be Me, and Sweet Little Sixteen and told you to grab this thing with all your hands as a prime example of what it was like when people played rock and roll for keeps. I agree. 

When Studs Terkel Spoke Truth To Power In A Sullen World -A Tribute From NPR’s Christopher Lydon’s “Open Source”


When Studs Terkel Spoke Truth To Power In A Sullen World -A Tribute From NPR’s Christopher Lydon’s “Open Source”


A link to an NPR Christopher Lydon-hosted Open Source program on the style and effect of the late great ordinary folks interviewer Studs Terkel:  


radioopensource.org/sound-of-studs-terkel/



By Si Lannon



It was probably Studs Terkel via a series of book reviews of his interviews trying to get a feel for the soul of the American from Sam Lowell that I first heard the expression “speaking truth to power.” Maybe I am off a bit and it was not Studs but if it was not him then it was certainly the way that he conducted himself in the world, in the attempt to give what Si Lannon always has called “giving voice to the voiceless,” the small everyday people who filled Studs’ ears. Spoke that message to a sullen world then, back in the day when people would queue up to have their say (and mostly although not always in a civilized manner, especially around race the bedrock on which America was founded and has not found a way to get away from except to attempt to flee from it at every opportunity). Unfortunately since that time the world had not gotten less sullen. Nor has the need to speak truth to power dissipated since Studs passed from this mortal coil of a world that he did so much to give ear and eye to. The problem, the real problem is that we in America no longer produce that pied piper, that guy who will tell the tale the way it has to be told. Something about those gals and guys who waded through the Great Depression, saw firsthand in the closed South Side Chicago factories when people lusted to work but were unceremoniously shut out that something was desperately wrong with the way society operated. Then slogged through World War II and didn’t go face down in the post-war dead ass could war night spoke of grit and of a feeling that the gritty would not let you down when the deal went down. When Mister (Peabody, James Crow, Robber Baron you name it) called the bluff and you, you alone maybe with family but not more, stood there naked and raw.        



Fellow Chicagoan writer Nelson Algren (he of The Man With The Golden Arm and Walk On The Wild Side) put the kind of gals and guys Studs looked around for in gritty urban sinkhole lyrical form but Studs is the guy who found the gritty unwashed masses to sing of. (It is not surprising that when Algren went into decline, wrote less lucid prose Stud grabbed him by the lapels and did a big- time boost on one of his endless radio talks to let a candid world know that they were missing a guy who know how to give voice to the voiceless, the people with small voices who are still getting the raw end of the deal, getting fucked over if you really want to nitty-gritty truth to power). Check this Open Source link with Christopher Lydon out to see what it was like when writers and journalists went down in the mud, went deep into the recesses to get to the spine of society.