*The Latest From The "SteveLendmanBlog"-Obama's Gulf Commission: Distortion, Obstruction and Whitewash Assured - A Guest Commentary

Click on the headline to link to the latest from the "SteveLendmanBlog"-"Obama's Gulf Commission: Distortion, Obstruction and Whitewash Assured."

Markin comment:

This blog is indispensable for those who need hard information about the subjects of pressing subjects of the day. Moreover, brother Lendman covers material that I either don't know much about or don't want to deal with, especially the perfidies of bourgeois politics here in America (and in Israel). Thanks.

*From The "Socialist Worker" Website- On The Tea Party

Click on the headline to link to a "Socialist Workers. org" Website entry on the latest on the Tea Party movement in America.

Markin comment:

Hearty and heartfelt thanks for this article since that means that I don't have to write on the subject. I think that I would rather, much rather, face the Stalinist prison camps and show trials that I am writing about in a review of Arthur Koestler's "Darkness At Noon" today than on the intricacies of bourgeois political techniques. Except to keep a very close watch on this movement not for what it stands for but for the madness and mad people that it will bring out in its wake. It will not be pretty if the results so far are any indication. On that, be alert.

*The Latest From The "Daily Kos" Website- Know Thy Enemy

Click on the title to link to the "Daily Kos" home page. This site is valuable, mainly, to get the polls and other technical information that major American bourgeois party politics thrives on.

Markin comment:

This site is for bourgeois techno-politicos. At one time I would have stayed up all night to read this stuff. Fortunately, serious politics by Marx, Lenin and Trotsky saved my young hide. Still, "know thy enemy" (and what he or she is up to) is a good political policy, no matter the times.

*The Latest From The "Green Left Global News" Blog- "The Fight Against The Right In American Politics"

Click on the title to link to the "Green Left Global News" blog for an entry on American bourgeois politics.


Markin comment:

Thanks "Green Left Global News" blog (and other such spaces) for providing coverage of the American bourgeois political scene. My hat is off to one and all who try to do such coverage. I tried to do so a couple of years ago and found it so boring, tedious, demoralizing, and essentially vacuous except to inside "pros" that I was happy to resume my real work of propagandizing for such little things as a workers party that fights for a workers government and the struggle for our communist future. Those propositions seem far less utopian (and more realizable) that the daily fare dished out by traditional bourgeois politics.

*Hands Off Roman Polanski!-A Guest Commentary

Click on title to link to "Workers Vanguard" article, dated October 9, 2009, concerning the recent arrest and attempts to extradite film director Roman Polanski.

Markin comment:

After reading the above linked article I noticed that I had been remiss in not having previously taking note in this space of this obvious travesty by the American government concerning the director Roman Polanski. I make special note that here is a case where the moral hypocrisy of the bourgeois state knows no bounds in a situation where, from the evidence, the question of effective consent was not at issue. This is the axis where we socialists draw our lines not some arbitrary statutory guidelines. I also note that the above linked article has an additional article attached from the original Roman Polanski persecution in the 1970s,“Stop the Puritan Witchhunt Against Roman Polanski!” which first appeared in WV No. 192, 10 February 1978. The political points in that piece are as relevant today as they were then, over three decades ago.

*Poet's Corner- Andrew Marvell's "Upon The Death Of Oliver Cromwell

Click on title to link to Wikipedia's entry for Andrew Marvell.

A Poem upon the Death of O.C.- Andrew Marvell

That Providence which had so long the care
Of Cromwell's head, and numbred ev'ry hair,
Now in its self (the Glass where all appears)
Had seen the period of his golden Years:
And thenceforth onely did attend to trace,
What death might least so sair a Life deface.
The People, which what most they fear esteem,
Death when more horrid so more noble deem;
And blame the last Act, like Spectators vain,
Unless the Prince whom they applaud be slain.
Nor Fate indeed can well refuse that right
To those that liv'd in War, to dye in Fight.
But long his Valour none had left that could
Indanger him, or Clemency that would.
And he whom Nature all for Peace had made,
But angry Heaven unto War had sway'd,
And so less useful where he most desir'd,
For what he least affected was admir'd,
Deserved yet an End whose ev'ry part
Should speak the wondrous softness of his Heart.
To Love and Grief the fatal Writ was sign'd;
(Those nobler weaknesses of humane Mind,
From which those Powers that issu'd the Decree,
Although immortal, found they were not free.)
That they, to whom his Breast still open lyes,
In gentle Passions should his Death disguise:
And leave succeeding Ages cause to mourn,
As long as Grief shall weep, or Love shall burn.
Streight does a slow and languishing Disease
Eliza, Natures and his darling, seize.
Her when an infant, taken with her Charms,
He oft would flourish in his mighty Arms;


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


-141-



And, lest their force the tender burthen wrong,
Slacken the vigour of his Muscles strong;
Then to the Mothers brest her softly move,
Which while she drain'd of Milk she fill'd with Love:
But as with riper Years her Virtue grew,
And ev'ry minute adds a Lustre new;
When with meridian height her Beauty shin'd,
And thorough that sparkled her fairer Mind;
When She with Smiles serene and Words discreet
His hidden Soul at ev'ry turn could meet;
Then might y' ha' daily his Affection spy'd,
Doubling that knot which Destiny had ty'd:
While they by sence, not knowing, comprehend
How on each other both their Fates depend.
With her each day the pleasing Hours he shares,
And at her Aspect calms her growing Cares;
Or with a Grandsire's joy her Children sees
Hanging about her neck or at his knees.
Hold fast dear Infants, hold them both or none;
This will not stay when once the other's gone.
A silent fire now wasts those Limbs of Wax,
And him with his tortur'd Image racks.
So the Flowr with'ring which the Garden crown'd,
The sad Root pines in secret under ground.
Each Groan he doubled and each Sigh he sigh'd,
Repeated over to the restless Night.
No trembling String compos'd to numbers new,
Answers the touch in Notes more sad more true.
She lest He grieve hides what She can her pains,
And He to lessen hers his Sorrow feigns:
Yet both perceiv'd, yet both conceal'd their Skills,
And so diminishing increast their ills:
That whether by each others grief they fell,
Or on their own redoubled, none can tell.
And now Eliza's purple Locks were shorn,
Where she so long her Fathers fate had worn:
And frequent lightning to her Soul that flyes,
Devides the Air, and opens all the Skyes:


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


-142-



And now his Life, suspended by her breath,
Ran out impetuously to hasting Death.
Like polish'd Mirrours, so his steely Brest
Had ev'ry figure of her woes exprest;
And with the damp of her last Gasps obscur'd,
Had drawn such staines as were not to be cur'd.
Fate could not either reach with single stroke,
But the dear Image fled the Mirrour broke.
Who now shall tell us more of mournful Swans,
Of Halcyons kind, or bleeding Pelicans?
No downy breast did ere so gently beat,
Or fan with airy plumes so soft an heat.
For he no duty by his height excus'd,
Nor though a Prince to be a Man refus'd:
But rather then in his Eliza's pain
Not love, not grieve, would neither live nor reign.
And in himself so oft immortal try'd,
Yet in compassion of another dy'd.
So have I seen a Vine, whose lasting Age
Of many a Winter hath surviv'd the rage.
Under whose shady tent Men ev'ry year
At its rich bloods expence their Sorrows chear,
If some dear branch where it extends its life
Chance to be prun'd by an untimely knife,
The Parent-Tree unto the Grief succeeds,
And through the Wound its vital humour bleeds;
Trickling in watry drops, whose flowing shape
Weeps that it falls ere fix'd into a Grape.
So the dry Stock, no more that spreading Vine,
Frustrates the Autumn and the hopes of Wine.
A secret Cause does sure those Signs ordain
Fore boding Princes falls, and seldom vain.
Whether some Kinder Pow'rs, that wish us well,
What they above cannot prevent, foretell;
Or the great World do by consent presage,
As hollow Seas with future Tempests rage:
Or rather Heav'n, which us so long fore sees,
Their fun'rals celebrate while it decrees.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


-143-



But never yet was any humane Fate
By nature solemniz'd with so much state.
He unconcern'd the dreadful passage crost;
But oh what pangs that Death did Nature cost!
First the great Thunder was shot off, and sent
The Signal from the starry Battlement.
The Winds receive it, and its force out-do,
As practising how they could thunder too:
Out of the Binders Hand the Sheaves they tore,
And thrash'd the Harvest in the airy floore;
Or of huge Trees, whose growth with his did rise,
The deep foundations open'd to the Skyes.
Then heavy Showres the winged Tempests dead,
And pour the Deluge ore the Chaos head.
The Race of warlike Horses at his Tomb
Offer themselves in many an Hecatomb;
With pensive head towards the ground they fall,
And helpless languish at the tainted Stall.
Numbers of Men decrease with pains unknown,
And hasten not to see his Death their own.
Such Tortures all the Elements unfix'd,
Troubled to part where so exactly mix'd.
And as through Air his wasting Spirits flow'd,
The Universe labour'd beneath their load.
Nature it seem'd with him would Nature vye;
He with Eliza, It with him would dye.
He without noise still travell'd to his End,
As silent Suns to meet the Night descend.
The Stars that for him fought had only pow'r
Left to determine now his fatal Hour,
Which, since they might not hinder, yet they cast
To chuse it worthy of his Glories past.
No part of time but bore his mark away
Of honour; all the Year was Cromwell's day
But this, of all the most auspicious found,
Twice had in open field him Victor crown'd
When up the armed Mountains of Dunbar
He march'd, and through deep Severn ending war.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


-144-



What day should him eternize but the same
That had before immortaliz'd his Name?
That so who ere would at his Death have joy'd,
In their own Griefs might find themselves imploy'd;
But those that sadly his departure griev'd,
Yet joy'd remembring what he once atcheiv'd.
And the last minute his victorious Ghost
Gave chase to Ligny on the Belgick Coast.
Here ended all his mortal toyles: He lay'd
And slept in Peace under the Lawrel Shade.
O Cromwell, Heavens Favourite! To none
Have such high honours from above been shown:
For whom the Elements we Mourners see,
And Heav'n it self would the great Herald be;
Which with more Care set forth his Obsequies
Then those of Moses hid from humane Eyes;
As jealous only here lest all be less,
That we could to his Memory express.
Then let us to our course of Mourning keep:
Where Heaven leads, 'tis Piety to weep.
Stand back ye Seas, and shrunk beneath the vail
Of your Abysse, with cover'd Head bewail
Your Monarch: We demand not your supplies
To compass in our Isle; our Tears suffice;
Since him away the dismal Tempest rent,
Who once more joyn'd us to the Continent;
Who planted England on the Flandrick shoar,
And stretch'd our frontire to the Indian Ore;
Whose greater Truths obscure the Fables old,
Whether of British Saints or Worthy's told;
And in a valour less'ning Arthur's deeds,
For Holyness the Confessor exceeds.
He first put Armes into Religions hand,
And tim'rous Conscience unto Courage man'd:
The Souldier taught that inward Mail to wear,
And fearing God how they should nothing fear.
Those Strokes he said will pierce through all below
Where those that strike from Heaven fetch their Blow.
Note: The remainder is supplied from Ms Eng.poet.d.49


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


-145-



Astonish'd armyes did their flight prepare:
And Cityes strong were stormed by his prayer.
Of that for ever Prestons field shall tell
The Story, and impregnable Clonmell.
And where the sandy mountain Fenwick scald
The Sea between yet henee his pray'r prevail'd.
What man was ever so in Heav'n obey'd
Since the commanded Sun ore Gibeon stayd.
In all his warrs needs must he triumph, when
He conquer'd God still ere he fought with men.
Hence though in battle none so brave or fierce
Yet him the adverse steel could never pierce:
Pitty it seem'd to hurt him more that felt
Each wound himself which he to others delt,
Danger it self refusing to offend
So loose an enemy so fast a freind.
Friendship that sacred versue long das claime
The first foundation of his house and name.
But within one its narrow limitts fall
His tendernesse extended unto all:
And that deep soule through every chanell flows
Where kindly nature loves it self to lose.
More strong affections never reason serv'd
Yet still affected most what best deservd.
If he Eliza lov'd to that degree
(Though who more worstly to be lov'd then she)
If so indulgent to his own, how deare
To him the children of the Highest were?


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


-149-



For her he once did natures tribute pay:
For these his life adventur'd every day.
And it would be found could we his thoughts have
Their griefs struck deepest if Eliza's last.
What prudence more then humane did he need
To keep so deare, so diff'ring mindes agreed?
The worser sort as conscious of their ill,
Lye weak and easy to the rulers will:
But to the good (too many or too few).
All law is uselesse all reward is due.
Oh ill advis'd if not for love for shame.
Spare yet your own if you neglect his fame.
Least others dare to think your reale a maske
And you to govern only Heavens taske.
Valour, Religion, Friendship, Prudence dy'd
At once with him and all that's good beside:
And rue deaths refuse natures dreg's confin'd
To loathsome life Alas are left behinde:
Where we (so once we us'd) shall now no more
To fetch day presse about his chamber door;
From which he issu'd with that awfull state
It seem'd Mars broke through Janus double gate:
Yet alwayes temper'd with an Aire so mild
No Aprill suns that ere so gently smil'd:
No more shall heare that powerfull language charm.
Whose force oft spar'd the labour of his arm:


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


-150-



No more shall follow where he spent the dayes
In warres in counsell, or in pray'r, and praise,
Whose meanest acts he would himself advance
As ungirt David to the Arks did dance.
All All is gone of ours or his delight
In horses fierce wild deer or armour bright.
Francisca faire can nothing now but weep
Nor with soft notes shall sing his cares asleep.
I saw him dead, a leaden slumber lyes
And mortall sleep over those wakefull eys:
Those gentle Rayes under the lidds were fled
Which through his lookes that piercing sweetnesse she
That port which so Majestique was and strong,
Loose and depriv'd of vigour stretch'd along:
All wither'd, all discolour'd, pale and wan,
How much another thing, no more thatman?
Oh humane glory vaine, Oh death, Oh wings,
Oh worthlesse worth. Oh transitory things.
Yet dwelt that greatnesse in his shape decay'd
That still though dead greater than death he lay'd.
And in his alter'd face you something faigne
That threatens death he yet will live againe.
Not much unlike the saired Oake which shoots
To heav'n its branches and through earth its roots:
Whose spacious boughs are hung with Trophees row
And honour'd wreaths have oft the Victour crown
When angry Jove darts lightning through the Aire
At mortalls sins, nor his own plant will spare


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


-151-



(It groanes and bruses all below that stood
So many yeares the shelter of the wood)
The tree ere while foreshorten'd to our view
When foln shews taller yet then as it grew.
So shall his praise to after times increase
When truth shall be allow'd and faction cease.
And his own shadow with him fall. The Eye
Detracts from objects then it selfe more high:
But when death takes them from that envy'd seate
Seing how little we confesse how greate.
Thee many ages hence in martiall verse
Shall th' English souldier ere he charge rehearse:
Singing of thee influme themselves to fight
And with the name of Cromwell armyes fright.
As long as rivers to the seas shall runne.
As long as Cynthia shall relieve the sunne,
While staggs shall fly unto the forests thick,
While sheep delight the grassy downs to pick,
As long as future time succeeds the past,
Always thy honour, praise and name shall last.
Thou in a pitch how farre, beyond the sphere
Of humane glory towr'st, and raigning there
Despoyld of mortall robes, in seas of cliyse
Plunging dost bathe, and tread the bright Abysse:
There thy greate soule yet once a world das see
Spacious enough and pure enough for thee.
How soon thou Moses hast and Josua found
And David for the Sword, and harpe renown'd?


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


-152-



How streight canst to each happy Mansion goe?
(Farr Better known above then here below)
And in those joyes dost spend the endlesse day
Which in expressing we our selves betray.
For we since thou art gone with heavy doome
Wander like ghosts about thy loved tombe:
And lost in tears have neither sight nor minde
To guide us upward through this Region blinde
Since thou art gone who best that way could'st fearn
Onely our sighs perhaps may thither reach.
And Richard yet where his great Parent led
Beats on the rugged track: He vertue dead
Revives, and by his milder beams assures;
And yet how much of them his griefe obscures?
He as his rather long was kept from sight
In private to be view'd by better light:
But open'd once, what splendour dos he throw
A Cromwell in an houre a Prince will grow.
How he becomes that seat, how strongly streins
How gently winds at once the ruling Reins?
Heav'n to this choise prepar'd a Diadem
Richer then any Eastern silk or gemme:
A pearly rainbow; where the Sun inchas'd
His brows like an Imperiall Jewell grac'd.
We find already what those Omens mean.
Earth nere more glad, nor Heaven more serene:
Cease now our griefs, Calme peace succeeds a war
Rainbows to storms, Richard to Oliver.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


-153-



Tempt not his clemency to try his pow'r
He threats no Deluge, yet fore tells a showre.

He's Got Them "Bourgeois Blues"- Kudos to Lead Belly

As today's commentary "The Times Are Out Of Joint" indicates I am in a peevish mood concerning the doings (or not doings) in Washington, D.C. I'll just take a note from Lead Belly, the old folk singer, and let him give the 'skinny' on this mood of mine.

Lead Belly - The Bourgeois Blues Lyrics

Lord, in a bourgeois town
It's a bourgeois town
I got the bourgeois blues
Gonna spread the news all around

Home of the brave, land of the free
I don't wanna be mistreated by no bourgeoisie
Lord, in a bourgeois town
Uhm, the bourgeois town
I got the bourgeois blues
Gonna spread the news all around

Well, me and my wife we were standing upstairs
We heard the white man say "I don't want no n----rs up there"
Lord, in a bourgeois town
Uhm, bourgeois town
I got the bourgeois blues
Gonna spread the news all around

Well, them white folks in Washington they know how
To call a colored man a n----r just to see him bow
Lord, it's a bourgeois town
Uhm, the bourgeois town
I got the bourgeois blues
Gonna spread the news all around

I tell all the colored folks to listen to me
Don't try to find you no home in Washington, DC
`Cause it's a bourgeois town
Uhm, the bourgeois town
I got the bourgeois blues
Gonna spread the news all around

Vote NO (With Both Hands) On The Obama Afghan War Budget

Commentary

Today the gloves can come off. This is the first ‘wake-up’ call in the fight against President Obama’s slippery road to escalation in Afghanistan. Get ready. I also note that some leftist intellectuals share my concern. They have already taken out a half page ad in the “New York Review of Books” entitled “Not This Time” (dated February 26, 2009, page 35) calling for, among other things, withdrawal of all troops from Afghanistan. While I might disagree with the thrust of the letter to the President as a tactic I stand in solidarity with their call for withdrawal. Below is a proposal for a more concrete form of opposition.


Down With The Afghan War- Down With The Afghan War Budget- For Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal of American/Allied Troops From Afghanistan (and Central Asia)! Hands Off Pakistan!

Praise be. Finally we can get down to brass tacks on this Obamian imperial presidency. As regular readers of this space will know last fall in the American presidential elections, as befits an anti-capitalist labor militant, I called for a NO vote on Obama, McCain, Nader (“Independent”?) and McKinney (Green) as an expression of opposition to the pro-capitalist parties, large and small. I at the same time, nevertheless, recognized that the immense popularity of the Obama victory would give him, if not from me, then from the masses of youth, blacks, Hispanics and old time ‘soft’ lefties from my “Generation of ‘68”, a protracted “honeymoon”. That possibility seemed all the more likely as the wreckage of the truly obscene and incompetent Bush administration, an administration that even by loose bourgeois political standards was a disaster, came to light after he left office. But now, as if to mock the wisdom of the political gods, even that supposedly protracted “honeymoon” is to go by the boards, at least for thoughtful political types.

Why is that honeymoon over? Well the money season, especially the military money season, is upon us as the political calendar churns on. That means, in practical terms, also money for Obama’s Afghan war funding. Politics is about careful selection of issues and timing. That little nugget of political wisdom is true whether you, like Obama, have been empowered by a 600 million dollar plus electoral campaign or, like me, are out in the “wilderness” as a left-wing political propagandist with a budget of six dollars. Obviously, thoughtful militants, and I like to include myself in that category, have been frustrated over the past few weeks looking for a cutting edge issue in order to gain some political leverage.

After the aura of the Inauguration festivities dissipated what did we have for an edge? The muffed Obama Cabinet selections? That was a yawner, except for ‘insiders’ and truly desperate political junkies. The fight around the bailout of capitalism by the ‘second-handout’ governmental actions generically called the “stimulus package”? Frankly, there is no leverage in those issues for leftists today. Sure we can furtively rail about the “bum of the month” club now known as Wall Street but that is tempered as an issue by some of the ‘goodies’ in the package that might actually help working people. Times are desperate enough that we cannot get a reasonable hearing on that one, at present. But now, with military appropriations coming up over the next few weeks, we have a banner to fight under.

And, moreover, we apparently are not alone here, at least among those few left-wing parliamentary Democrats that fought a losing battle against the various Bush Administration Iraq/Afghan war appropriations. Very early on in the fight against the Iraq war build-up I noted that, on the parliamentary playing field, the only serious question is YES or NO on war appropriations in the fight against any particular imperialist war move. That is as true today as it was then. I do not know where ex-Democratic presidential contender Ohio Congressman Dennis Kucinich, one of the few consistent “anti-war horses” (excuse the turn of phrase) on Iraq/Afghan war appropriations stands on opposition to Afghan war appropriations now but fellow “anti-war horse” Massachusetts Congressman James McGovern has, according to a recent article from the Associated Press (“Antiwar lawmakers wary of adding troops in Afghanistan” by Anna Flaherty, dated February 9, 2009), some ‘jitters’ about where things are heading there.

Well, Congressman McGovern here is the ‘skinny’. President Obama has already authorized an ‘intermediate’ troop escalation with more planned. He, moreover, has very publicly declared that Afghanistan, come hell or high water, is his signature war and has made Afghan policy a high priority. I have argued previously my belief that Obama intends to stake his administration, if not his place in history, on Afghanistan. In short, although he has proven he can raise fantastic sums of money for himself, since he is not going to pay for it personally he is coming to you looking for the loot. As the beginning of anti-war political wisdom therefore-“just say NO”. No money. Nada. I would urge every anti-war militant to sent e-mails, letters (does anyone do that anymore?) or call your representative and tell them the same thing. But here is the real anti-war ‘skinny’. Let’s get ready to, once again, go back into the streets and shout (and shout at least as loudly as we did at the unlamented Bush), Obama- Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal Of All American/Allied Troops From Afghanistan!

Note: In my introduction to this entry I noted that some leftist intellectuals shared my concern about Obama’s slippery slope in Afghanistan. I also noted that they have already taken out a half page ad in the “New York Review of Books” entitled “Not This Time” (dated February 26, 2009, page 35) calling for, among other things, withdrawal of all troops from Afghanistan. I placed myself in solidarity with that call, if not the tactic of the letter to the President. What I noticed in reading the list of signatories is that outside a few old hardened “soft lefties”, like the very fine ‘magical realism’ writer Russell Banks and academic radical gadfly Howard Zinn, there were not the usual heavyweight academic lefties that usually sign these things. While a fair number of such types, like Norman Mailer, have passed away recently and some of the names that I did not recognize are just beginning their letter signing careers I have a funny feeling that in the academy Obama is being given that protracted “honeymoon” I mentioned above. This is not a good sign.