Wednesday, April 07, 2010

*On Coming Of Political Age In The 1960s - A Personal View

Click on the headline to link to a "Wikipedia" entry for the 1968 Democratic Party nominating convention in Chicago, a seminal event in increasing the leftist political consciousness for many in that generation, including this writer.

Over the past several years I have spent some time, sometimes an inordinate amount of time, thinking through and writing about the course of my political evolution. Hardly a unique pursuit among professional politicians or wannabes of all stripes, except that in America that political evolution is somewhat freakish, if not bizarre. In the land of hard, bitter-hard, at times irrationally and over the top hard, anti-communism, of a frosty post- World War II Cold War that had many believing, including those in my own household, that next week the bomb, some bomb, was coming, FOB, and that there would be no tomorrow or worst yet believing it was better to be “dead that red” my trajectory, circuitous as it was, was leading toward a life time devotion to the ideals of that self-same hated communism. I have filled up many a post with one or another detail of that experience. I have been asked to write it up in some kind of memoir form so the kids now and in the future will know what it was all about, and have rejected the idea. Nevertheless, I have not regrets, no regrets at all, about my choice. Except that we should have won, and we still need to. Let me tell you some more of my story, at least the story of my political coming of age.

How does one really know, except by reflection and certain introspection long, long after the event, when one comes of political age? If anybody really cares about asking such a question. But after a life time of political activity I have a gut instinct that more people than you might think have both thought about the question and have come to a decision about it. And frankly, many have made the decision to avoid politics at all costs and to not touch it with that proverbial ten-foot pole. Alas, that was not my fate. I was the guy pulling to get his greedy little hands on the pole.

There are little signposts along the way, some meaningful some not, like my over-weaning interest in political news in 1956 when I was excited by the Adlai Stevenson for President campaign and was crestfallen when he lost. That, however, was a mere episodic thing, and in fact I was more than happy to be selected by my teacher to write, in magic marker “Eisenhower Wins” on the daily bulletin that we kept up with in the hall next to our elementary school classroom. Hell, maybe I was just sucking up to the teacher, who I may, or may not, have had a crush on. Or maybe wondering what it was that Julius and Ethel Rosenberg did that was so bad. Or why Wisconsin Senator Joseph McCarthy was saying that there were “reds under every bed” in the Army. But this was all just passing noise to a growing boy’s real interest- how to get girls to like you. I swear half the political things I was interested in really came out of an attempt to appear sophisticated to the neighborhood girls. Why else would a young boy pore over a punishment paper for some infraction on democracy and what it means and insist, no demand, that he read it in front of the class. But again this is not really anything but a scatter-shot build-up to coming of age, politically.

Let's, maybe, take it from a difference perspective and see if it makes more sense. Having grown up in a dirt- poor working class family and living in those early days of the post- World War II “American Century” which promised unheard of prosperity after the trials and tribulations of the 1930s Great Depression and the World War II fight certainly made a deep impression on me. Living in an almost exclusively working poor/lumpen environment with all of its adverse pathologies, however, also can give one a much distorted world view. As I pointed out in a commentary last year it was a very long time before I knew that there was anything other than being poor, although I sensed it on the few occasions that I came up against middle class and rich kids. So early on I knew that there was an us, and them. And I definitely was with us-whatever that meant. But does that lead to political consciousness much less class consciousness? Given our few numbers today among those of my generation I think not. That is as much a prescription for lumpen criminal activity against the nearest and most vulnerable targets as of a desire to serve humankind.

So that is predicate-but how does that take us from what, in most cases, is a turning inward away from society rather than defiantly fighting the "monsters". That, my friends is not a simple story and do not believe those who give too quick an answer to how they developed their world views. It is a mix of impressions, understandings, misunderstandings and turning points. Hell, some of it is just happenstance, or at least it seems that way. How explain that in the heart of the Joe McCarthy-led “red scare” that I did not hate communists. I definitely did not, like others I knew, want to turn anyone I suspected of such views in to the government. In fact a quick run through of my political trajectory that I have made people laugh over is that when told that someone was a communist (meaning American Communist Party supporter) I said, in my best “family of the left” voice- "so what, that is one more for our side." When I finally did move left and was actively searching for those same communists to unite with I could only find them deep inside the Democratic Party. And when I seriously took up a Marxist worldview I dreaded running into them.

But enough of that. What do you make of this- In 1960 I distinctly remembered rooting for the Soviet Union to win more gold medals than the United States at the 1960 Rome Olympics. Or, being in a frenzy to get a copy of the “Communist Manifesto”, although for fairly long time as a political opponent of that world view. (Which I got by sending away to the Government Printing Office. The reason they offered it was that it was part of the ‘evidence’ from the famous 1960 San Francisco sessions of the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) that were also were demonstrated against as one of the first acts of the 1960s rebellion in the North or West.) Or being non-plussed when a high school history teacher called me a “Bolshevik” (I really wasn’t… then) for some minor disobedience. Those are all well and good examples but let’s leave it at this. All of this was the stuff that made up, helter-skelter, the development of my political class consciousness. I like to think that all of it was natural for a working class kid. Hey, a theory that says labor must rule should be like moth to a flame for such a kid. I have never regretted sticking with my class. And I never have regretted my “softness” for the Russian Bolshevik Revolution. And to 'prove' it let me finish strong- Forward to new Octobers

No comments:

Post a Comment