Saturday, October 26, 2013

***From the Marxist Internet Archives- The 'May Days' in Barcelona 1937



Commentary

This is the second of a projected series of occasional commentaries on documents found on the Internet site-Marxist Internet Archives (MIA). For those not familiar with that site it features an incredible range of material by virtually any leftist, or anyone with leftist pretensions, who has put pen to paper over the last one hundred and fifty plus years. Today’s offering is a short article by well-known French Marxist historian and Trotsky biographer Pierre Broue concerning the events of May 1937 in Barcelona, the last chance to save the Spanish Revolution. It is fitting that as we approach the end of the year of the 70th Anniversary of that event we once again draw the lessons of that failed effort. Broue’s represents an orthodox Marxist view of the situation and of the role of the POUM, the most honest party on the scene. Despite it numerous defenders, then and now, the POUM, in the end was an obstacle to revolution. I have added below as my commentary on that situation parts of a review of Trotsky’s book on the Spanish Revolution posted in 2006. Read it and weep.


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

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

Trotsky's polemics in this volume are highlighted by the article ‘The Lessons of Spain-Last Warning’, his definitive assessment of the Spanish situation in the wake of the defeat of the Barcelona uprising in May 1937. Those polemics center on the failure of the Party of Marxist Unification (hereafter, POUM) to provide revolutionary leadership. That party, partially created by cadre formerly associated with Trotsky in the Spanish Left Opposition, failed on virtually every count. Those conscious mistakes included, but were not limited to, the creation of an unprincipled bloc between the former Left Oppositionists and the former Right Oppositionists (Bukharinites) of Maurin to form the POUM in 1935; political support to the Popular Front including entry into the government coalition by its leader; creation of its own small trade union federation instead of entry in the anarchist led-CNT; creation of its own militia units reflecting a hands-off attitude toward political struggle with other parties; and, fatally, an at best equivocal role in the Barcelona uprising of 1937.

Trotsky had no illusions about the roadblock to revolution of the policies carried out by the old-time Anarchist, Socialist and Communist Parties. Unfortunately the POUM did. Moreover, despite being the most honest revolutionary party in Spain it failed to keep up an intransigent struggle to push the revolution forward. The Trotsky - Andreas Nin (key leader of the POUM and former Left Oppositionist) correspondence in the Appendix makes that problem painfully clear.
The most compelling example of this failure - As a result of the failure of the Communist Party of Germany to oppose the rise of Hitler in 1933 and the subsequent decapitation and the defeat of the Austrian working class in 1934 the European workers, especially the younger workers, of the traditional Socialist Parties started to move left. Trotsky observed this situation and told his supporters to intersect that development by an entry, called the ‘French turn’, into those parties. Nin and the Spanish Left Opposition, and later the POUM failed to do that. As a result the Socialist Party youth were recruited to the Communist Party en masse. This accretion formed the basic for its expansion as a party and the key cadre of its notorious security apparatus that would, after the Barcelona uprising, suppress the more left ward organizations. For more such examples of the results of the crisis of leadership in the Spanish Revolution read this book.



The ‘May Days’ of 1937 in Barcelona, Pierre Broue

from Revolutionary History magazine, Vol.1 No.2, Summer 1988. Used
by permission.

This article first appeared in the January 1988 issue of La Verite and is translated by John Archer.

Every workers' revolution in the twentieth century bears the characteristic mark that a situation of duality of power appears at its beginning. This is between the old organs of the state, whether rejuvenated or not, which have generally passed into the control of a government of 'conciliators' with the first phase, and the organs of the mass movement, organisations of struggle which have become the organs of a new power.

Our readers will know the analyses which Trotsky made on this matter in the History of the Russian Revolution, about the duality of power created by the first revolution in February 1917, between the old state, with the Provisional Government at its head, and the new workers' state in the process of formation, that of the Soviets.

The appearance of the duality of power marks only the beginning of the struggle between them, the struggle which ends in the victory of either the revolution or the counter-revolution, through the victory of one power or the other. Study of the revolutions in the period since October 1917 reveals the decisive role of the general staffs on the side of the revolution, of their party, of the party which fights for the victory of the new power. That party has neither provoked nor engineered the revolution, any more than it can stop it, without joining the counter-revolution. The authority of the party may be widely recognised, even by a majority of the masses, but it enables it only to act as a brake on an offensive which may be premature or isolated - this was the case of the July Days of 1917 in Petrograd - or, on the contrary, to clear the way for the final assault, by helping the masses to overcome the obstacles on their road to power. This is the case of the insurrection of October 1917 in Russia. *

What has been called the 'May Days of 1937' in Barcelona are an event of this kind, independently of the fact that the event took place within one of the two opposing camps in the course of a civil war, the Spanish Civil War. In fact, the duality of powers began in July 1936, with the victorious counter-stroke of the workers in a number of large cities, including Barcelona, against the military coup d'etat of General Franco.

In May 1937 it was the Popular Front government of the Generalidad of Catalonia - under the pressure of the Stalinists in the PSUC - which took the counter-offensive. It tried to seize a telephone exchange, which was in the hands of the militia of the anarcho-syndicalist CNT. The latter resisted, arms in hand, and the workers in Barcelona replied to the attempt by a general strike. Several days of street fighting followed in the Catalan capital.

The supporters and agents of Stalin speak of a 'Fascist putsch'. Other elements in the Popular Front speak of a 'tragic misunderstanding'. The Trotskyists agree on the general significance of what happened, but are divided in their appreciation of the incident itself. Trotsky believed that victory was possible and that, therefore, we have here an 'October' which failed, because there was no revolutionary leadership which wanted to fight to win. His comrade, the Italian Blasco (Pietro Tresso), regarded the event as 'July Days' ending badly for lack of a firm leadership, which could have prevented the retreat from turning into a rout.
In this month of May 1937, the atmosphere was tense. In the last days of April there had been violent incidents at Molins de Llobregat, where a PSUC leader was killed. Eight CNT militants were killed at Puigcerda in the course of an attack by armed police to recover control of the frontier for the government. On 1 May the government prohibited street demonstrations, which might provoke the outburst of workers' anger which it feared, or might give to that anger the means to bring them together to hit back.

At the Telephonica

The explosion came on 3 May. That afternoon the Barcelona police chief, an active member of the PSUC named Eusebio Rodriguez Salas, presented himself in front of the central telephone exchange, the Telephonica, in the Square of Catalonia in Barcelona. The exchange belonged to the American Telegraph and Telephone Company; it had been seized during the revolutionary days, and was under the control of a committee and of members of the CNT militia. It is located in the heart of the Catalan capital, and what happened to it came to be a symbol for the fate of the revolution and the workers' positions. The initiative by Rodriguez did not get a green light from the government, which had not been consulted, but it had the approval of the government's public order adviser, who, as everyone knew, was completely devoted to the PSUC.

The police chiefs escort got into the building by surprise and disarmed the militiamen whom it caught unawares on the ground floor. The militiamen on the upper floors were warned and began to resist this unexpected attack and to fire on the attackers. Two senior police officers, members of the CNT named Asens and Eroles, were warned at once and rushed to the Telephonica to stop the shooting. They did their utmost to convince their comrades not to keep up their resistance, which, they said, would only make things worse. In response to their persuasion, the militiamen agreed to vacate the Telephonica, which remained in the hands of the police.

But the peace-making efforts of the two mediators were in vain. The sound of shots had alerted the people of Barcelona, who were in a state of extreme tension and were, in fact, expecting some move to be made, if not by the government, at any rate by the extremists of the PSUC. The news of the attack on the Telephonica spread like a trail of gunpowder. The workers went on strike in order to paralyse the advance of the counter-revolution. They erected barricades to prevent the government's forces of repression from moving freely around. The branches of the CNT at its base, particularly its 'defence committees' were also there, and their members were armed.
George Orwell, in his book Homage to Catalonia, bears witness to having experienced the early hours of these 'Days' as acts of aggression against the working people of Barcelona, carried out by those whom he calls by their old name, the 'Civil Guard', former policemen who had been integrated into the new police forces which their chiefs were now throwing into attacks on the workers' barricades in Barcelona. The Barcelona workers were led by the elements organised in the 'control patrols' - the last vestiges of the workers' militias for maintaining order in the rear - and by the defence committees. They counter-attacked and came out of the workers' districts. The battle raged in the centre of the city against the forces of order, which had their headquarters in the Karl Marx barracks of the PSUC. Their spearhead, directed towards the Ramblas, was located in the Hotel Colon, in Square of Catalonia, at the top end of the Ramblas.

Several victorious attacks were directed against the police strong-points in the Exhibition Palace and the American cinema. The Anarchists even found some tanks, which enabled them to break the encirclement of the workers' fighting nuclei.
The leaders of the CNT maintained their policy of pacification, while at the same time they defended the militants, who, they said, were the victims of an act of aggression and of provocation. The same evening, 3 May, there was a meeting of the leaders of the CNT, the POUM and their youth organisations. One of the POUM leaders, Gorkin, declared:

Either we place ourselves at the head of this movement to destroy the enemy within, or the movement will collapse, and this enemy will destroy us.
No one denies that the situation was favourable for liquidating the undertaking and the forces of the PSUC. However, despite the enthusiasm of its youth section (Young Libertarians), the CNT maintained its waiting stance of 'protestation', and the POUM did not want to be isolated from it.

The fighting continued on 4 May, with sudden silences following brutal outbursts. La Batalla, the newspaper of the POUM, spoke of 'the provocations with which the counter-revolution is testing the pulse of the ability of the working masses to resist' and 'the preparations for a thorough-going attack on the conquests of the revolution'. The article goes on:

But the counter-attack by the proletariat could not be more powerful. Thousands of workers have taken to the streets, arms in hand. Factories, workshops and shops have ceased work. The barricades have gone up again in every part of the city. The majority of places in Catalonia have copied the gesture of its capital. The working class is strong and will know how to crush every effort by the counter-revolution. We must live on the alert, rifle in hand. We must maintain the magnificent spirit of resistance and of struggle, which guarantees our victory. We must prevent counter-revolution from raising its head again.

The POUM journal also demanded that Rodriguez Salas be dismissed, that the decrees be annulled, that 'public order be in the hands of the working class' and that a workers' revolutionary junta be formed, with the creation of 'committees to defend the revolution in every quarter, every place and every workplace'.
All the evidence goes to show that in this article we have a policy made up on the spot. Victor Alba, the historian of the POUM, assures us that this is not what the POUM wanted to do, but only what it could do, bearing in mind that it was determined not to cut itself off from the CNT! Indeed, the leader of the CNT, Garcia Oliver, appealed on the radio for a ceasefire; he called on people not to speak any more about 'provocations' or to 'go on about the dead'.

Companys, the president of the Generalidad, called for calm. He denounced the initiative of Rodriguez Salas, but he demanded that the workers must leave the streets and return to their homes before peace could be restored. The regional committee of the CNT, between two attacks by the forces of order on its premises, called for a truce and for calm. All the personalities of the 'left' of the Popular Front rushed to its help on the radio.
State terror

On 5 May the forces of order mounted what was nothing less than a terrorist attack. Armed groups of men in uniform arrested the Italian Anarchist, Berneri, who criticised the policy of class collaboration of his Anarchist comrades with the Popular Front. His dead body was found the next day. But, during this time, the CNT was working with the UGT (the reformist trade union federation) to issue a joint appeal for work to be resumed, explaining that the cessation of industry in 'these moments of anti-Fascist war is equivalent to collaborating with the common enemy by weakening ourselves'.

The Friends of Durutti, an organisation of dissident Anarchists, who had opposed the absorption of the militias into the army, issued an appeal for the formation of a 'revolutionary junta' to include the POUM. It criticised the leaders of the CNT who called for a ceasefire, and demanded that the 'provocateurs' be executed. Every leading organ of the CNT repudiated this declaration and the organisation which issued it, in extremely violent terms. Barcelona was vibrating with rumours. The 29th Division, commanded by the Anarchist Jover, and the 26th, under the POUMist Rovira, were forbidden to march on the capital. In fact these commanders had thought of doing so, but were dissuaded by their organisations. Leaders of the JCI (Jeunesses Communistes Internationalistes) and the committee for defence in north Barcelona organised a column, based on officer-cadets from the military academy, to seize the central headquarters of the PSUC and of the Generalidad. It was the POUM leader, Andres Nin, who put a stop to this operation. British warships were anchoring in the roadstead.

Federica Montseny, the Minister for Health in the Popular Front government at Valencia, which was headed by Largo Caballero, protested against the fact that all the ceasefire negotiations took it for granted that the Telephonica had been taken over by the forces of order. The UGT in Catalonia decided to exclude from its ranks all those members of the POUM who did not expressly repudiate their comrades who were taking part in the insurrection!

The death of another minister, a member of the PSUC and of the UGT, named Antonio Sese, who was shot by unknown murderers as he was going to take up his appointment, perhaps gave the central government a pretext for taking public order out of the hands of the Catalan Generalidad. From that time onwards, public order was entrusted to General Pozas, a professional soldier, former head of the Civil Guard, who appears to have been linked to the PSUC by connections of a hardly political nature. There was total confusion. Both the arrival of troops sent by the Valencia government and a possible foreign intervention were expected. The new government included none of the PSUC people who had played a role in the provocation.
On 6 May the body of Berneri was found; he had been well and truly assassinated. The workers who followed the CNT were disorientated by the disorder and confusion, as well as by the appeals from their leaders. They began to desert the barricades in large numbers. The POUM, in its own way, buried the movement, with comments about 'these three magnificent days' and 'this tremendous experience'. It put on record that it had been with the masses in the streets at the beginning, and observed that 'under the repeated injunctions of their leaders, the masses have begun to withdraw from the struggle'. Yet it presented the result as being largely positive:

Beyond any doubt it [the proletariat] has won a great, partial victory. It has defeated the counter-revolutionary provocation. It has won the dismissal of all those who were directly responsible for the provocation. It has struck a serious blow at the bourgeoisie and reformism. It could have won more, much more, if those in the leadership of the organisations which stand at the head of the working class of Catalonia could have risen to the level of the masses.

On 7 May the police took over the abandoned barricades, which were to be demolished amid great publicity by girls belonging to the PSUC. The trams began to run again. Two hundred militants were freed from jail. Shots were fired at the car of Federica Montseny, the Anarchist minister. The issue of La Batalla for 8 May once again urged a return to work. At the same time, the local committee of the POUM in Barcelona sharply criticised the executive of its party, which it accused of having 'capitulated' in the course of those days, in the face of the counter-revolution, under the pressure of the conciliatory leaders of the CNT.
Little by little we are now uncovering the long list of revolutionary militants with whom the specialised groups in the service of Stalin settled their accounts in the course of these 'days' - Berneri and his friend Barbieri, Alfredo Martinez, the leader of the Libertarian Youth, and the German Trotskyist Freund, known as Moulin, who was the link between the small group of Trotskyists and the Friends of Durutti - and 'disappeared'. This was only the beginning of the repression.

POUM nonsense

There can be no doubt that La Batalla was publishing complete nonsense on 6 May, when it presented the May Days as having turned out positively. These days were the first stage in the unfolding of a counterrevolution, the first victims of which, a few weeks later, were to be the POUM itself and, in particular, its principal leader, the old revolutionary, Andres Nin.

How can this mistaken appreciation be explained if we consider the extraordinary strength which the huge movement of the working class of Barcelona had revealed a few days, indeed a few hours, earlier?

The fresh memory of that movement hovers over the discussion which opened within the POUM in the following days, in preparation for a congress which the Stalinist repression prevented from ever being held.

We have little information about the attitude of the right wing in the POUM, apart from an editorial of 15 May in its Valencia newspaper, El Communista. This condemned the workers in Barcelona and even the leaders of the POUM on the grounds that 'one cannot swim against the stream with impunity' and denounced, 'after the provocateurs', 'those who played their game and cleared the ground in front of them'. We also know that the POUM organisation in Sabadell issued a manifesto condemning the action of the workers in Barcelona, and that Luis Portel, a member of its executive, judged the attitude of the leadership during these May Days to have been 'adventuristic'.

The thesis of the executive was drafted by Nin. He drew a parallel with the 'July Days':

In July 1917 the workers in the Russian capital took to the streets arms in hand, rising up against the policies of the democrat, Kerensky. The Bolshevik Party considered this movement to be ill-timed and dangerous. None the less, the Bolsheviks played an active part in it, placed themselves at its head, led it and guided it in such a way as to prevent it from becoming a disaster for the revolutionary proletariat.

Nin started from the provocation by the forces of the police. He declared that the workers had defended the interests of the proletariat in the streets. As to the policy of his party, he wrote:

If it had all depended on us to start things off, we would not have given the order for insurrection. The moment was not favourable for a decisive action, but the revolutionary workers, rightly indignant at the provocation of which they were the victims, flung themselves into battle, and we could not leave them to their fate. To act otherwise would have been an unpardonable betrayal.

Nin declared that the activity of the POUM aimed at 'canalising a movement which, because it was spontaneous, had many chaotic aspects, and to avoid its transforming itself into a fruitless putsch, which would have fatal consequences for the proletariat. It was necessary to provide limited slogans for the movement.'
A third position, that of J. Rebull and of Cell 72, reproaches the leadership of the POUM for having 'run after the events' and having 'once again waited on the opinion of the opportunist elements in the confederal leadership'. Their counter-theses declared:

The first results of the workers' insurrections are a defeat for the working class and a new victory for the pseudo-democratic bourgeoisie.

Trotsky's verdict

Trotsky devoted a number of writings to the Spanish Revolution and several times discussed the May Days. He conceded to the defenders of the policies of the POUM that there was a superficial resemblance between the movement of the masses before the July Days in Petrograd and that of May 1937 in Barcelona. However, he was concerned in particular to emphasise the deep differences between the two — according to him, the essential differences lay in the fact that in 1937 the Spanish masses had a more serious experience of their revolution than those had in Russia in 1917. Trotsky wrote:

In Spain, the May events took place not after four months, but after six years of revolution. The masses of the whole country have had a gigantic experience. A long time ago they lost the illusions of 1931, as well as the warmed-over illusions of the Popular Front. Again and again they have shown to every part of the country that they were ready to go through to the end. If the Catalan proletariat had seized power in May 1937 - as it had really seized it in July 1936 - they would have found support throughout all of Spain. The bourgeois-Stalinist reaction would not even have found two regiments with which to crush the Catalan workers. In the territory occupied by Franco not only the workers but also the peasants would have turned toward the Catalan proletariat, would have isolated the Fascist army and brought about its irresistible disintegration. It is doubtful whether under these conditions any foreign government would have risked throwing its regiments onto the burning soil of Spain. Intervention would have become materially impossible, or at least extremely dangerous.

Naturally, in every insurrection, there is an element of uncertainty and risk. But the subsequent course of events has proved that even in the case of defeat the situation of the Spanish workers would have been incomparably more favourable than now, to say nothing of the fact that the revolutionary party would have assured its future (L Trotsky, A test of ideas and individuals through the Spanish experience,
The Spanish Revolution 1931-1939, New York, 1973, p278-279)

In Trotsky's opinion, it was a revolutionary party which was lacking in May 1937. This is the reason for his ferocious criticism, not merely of the Anarchists but also of the policies of the POUM, and what he calls its 'indecision, its equivocations, its hesitations and its lack of a clear programme', which prevented it from providing for the masses 'the revolutionary leadership without which victory was not possible'.

Perhaps a little more light can be shed on Trotsky's position on the insurrection, which failed in May 1937 for lack of a revolutionary party, and on his divergences with his comrade Blasco, which were never expressed in writing in a direct debate, if we look back to his preface to Volume Three of the Russian edition of his works, which we know under the title The Lessons of October.

There we find that Trotsky directed precisely the same criticisms against what he called the 'right wing' of the Bolshevik Party, Zinoviev and Kamenev, who opposed the insurrection which Lenin proposed, as those which he directed against the POUM in 1937 or the German Communist Party at the time of its failed insurrection in 1923:
A party which has been carrying on revolutionary agitation for a long time, tearing the proletariat little by little from the influence of the conciliators, and which, once it is lifted to the height of events by the confidence of the proletariat, begins to hesitate, to look for midday at two o'clock, to turn its back and to tack about, paralyses the activity of the masses, provokes disappointment and disorganisation among them and leads the revolution to defeat...

He analysed the position of the 'Old Bolsheviks', who advanced against Lenin in April 1917 the old formula of 'the democratic dictatorship of the proletariat and peasantry', which they counterposed to that of the dictatorship of the proletariat and the struggle for Soviet power: Their method ... consisted in exerting on the leading bourgeoisie a pressure which did not go outside the framework of the bourgeois democratic regime. If this policy had been victorious, the development of the revolution would have proceeded outside our part y, and we would have, in the end, had an insurrection of the masses of workers and peasants which was not led by the party, in other words, July Days on a vast scale, that is, a catastrophe.

It seems to us that this formula permits conclusions to be drawn about the May Days by settling at least the ambiguities which may have survived in the historic debate about the analogies with the Russian Revolution. About these ambiguities, Trotsky himself took pleasure in emphasising that he himself had not introduced them, though he was often blamed for doing so, and he made clear that, for his part, he had been very deeply convinced that 'Spain was not Russia', a conclusion which did not in the slightest justify the policy which led to catastrophe.

Pierre Broue
***Out In The 1950s Film Night- Marilyn Monroe’s Don’t Bother To Knock- A Film Review

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

 
 
 
 

DVD Review

 Don’t Bother To Knock, starring Marilyn Monroe, Richard Widmark,  1952  

You know how your mother, when you were ready to go out on your own, set up your own household and family, always harped at you to make sure to get references when you hired anybody for a service. Well maybe that advice was not so far-fetched. Maybe better references would have stopped things from going awry in the film under review, a minor Marilyn Monroe black and white film, Don’t Bother to Knock.  In any case one should not rely on the recommendations of a sniveling hotel elevator operator trying to get a wayward niece gainful employee. And the minute that I saw that the referring party here, the elevator guy, was Elisha Cook, Jr., last seen as a no –account cheap gunsel in the 1941 film adaption of Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon I knew mother was onto something.       

Here’s the skinny. A couple staying in a New York hotel, not the Plaza from the look of it, needed a baby-sitter for the night in order  for hubby to receive some newspaper award. Presto. Elisha volunteers his niece, Nell (played by a young not blonde, Marilyn Monroe), and the deal is done. No problem right. Wrong, wrong about six different ways. I will not get into the issue of baby-sitters getting a bad rap in film, either as social monsters or as incompetents, but this Nell as it turned out had just come east from a three year stay at a mental institution. Reason; terrible parents and devastation over the loss of her World War II flyboy lover killed in a crash out in the deep.

As the film progresses Nell acts more and more erratically especially when cross-court neighbor Jed, a commercial pilot, comes a courting after a certain amount of telephone and window flirtation. Acts more erratically toward the helpless if precocious child, Bunny, in her care. Jed is strictly on the rebound since his honey, a torch-singer (played by Anne Bancroft) playing downstairs at the lounge, has called the whole thing off, saw him as just another love ‘em and leave ‘em guy and she wanted something more. So Jed is gloomy although once he copped to Nell’s condition, or at least that he wanted no part of someone who was that disturbed he decided to flee back to his torch-singer, and that something more she was talking about. But not before Nell tried to vicariously seduce Jed thinking he was her dead flyboy, bopped the nervous Elisha on the head when he checked up on her, tied up the poor child, had a fight with the child’s mother when she checked up, and then tried to do herself in with razorblades before she is checked and taken away (that was not her first time with the blades she had it out West and got that three year stay for her efforts). So you can what I mean about that reference thing.

Oh yah, Marilyn’s performance seemed strictly out of that method acting school she belonged to, a little wooden, coming out of the blocks. A little wooden like the storyline and action of this film. If you want Monroe at her height then you had better see Some Like It Hot or The Misfits this one is strictly a rising star learning her craft.          
From The Marxist Archives-In Honor Of The Anniversary Of The John Brown-Led Raid On Harpers Ferry- Those Who Labor Must Rule! 


STRIKE THE BLOW-THE LEGEND OF CAPTAIN JOHN BROWN

Reclaiming John Brown for the Left

BOOK REVIEW

JOHN BROWN, ABOLITIONIST, DAVID S. REYNOLDS, ALFRED A. KNOPF, NEW YORK, 2005

From fairly early in my youth I knew the name John Brown and was swept up by the romance surrounding his exploits at Harpers Ferry. For example, I knew that the great anthem of the Civil War -The Battle Hymn of the Republic- had a prior existence as a tribute to John Brown and that Union soldiers marched to that song as they headed south. I was then, however, neither familiar with the import of his exploits for the black liberation struggle nor knew much about the specifics of the politics of the various tendencies in the struggle against slavery. I certainly knew nothing then of Brown’s (and his sons) prior military exploits in the Kansas ‘proxy’ wars against the expansion of slavery. Later study filled in some of those gaps and has only strengthened my strong bond with his memory. Know this, as I reach the age at which John Brown was executed,I still retain my youthful admiration for him. In the context of the turmoil of the times he was the most courageous and audacious revolutionary in the struggle for the abolition of slavery in America. Almost 150 years after his death this writer is proud to stand in the tradition of John Brown.

That said, it is with a great deal of pleasure that I can recommend Mr. Reynolds’s book detailing the life, times and exploits of John Brown, warts and all. Published in 2005, this is an important source (including helpful end notes) for updating various controversies surrounding the John Brown saga. While I may disagree with some of Mr. Reynolds’s conclusions concerning the impact of John Brown’s exploits on later black liberation struggles and to a lesser extent his position on Brown’s impact on his contemporaries, particularly the Transcendentalists, nevertheless on the key point of the central place of John Brown in American revolutionary history there is no dispute. Furthermore, Mr. Reynolds has taken pains to provide substantial detail about the ups and downs of John Brown’s posthumous reputation.

Most importantly, he defends the memory of John Brown against all-comers-that is partisan history on behalf of the ‘losers’ of history at its best. He has reclaimed John Brown to his proper position as an icon for the left against the erroneous and outrageous efforts of modern day religious and secular terrorists to lay any claim to his memory or his work. Below I make a few comments on some of controversies surrounding John Brown developed in Mr. Reynolds’s study.

If one understands the ongoing nature, from his early youth, of John Brown’s commitment to the active struggle against slavery, the scourge of the American Republic in the first half of the 19th century, one can only conclude that he was indeed a man on a mission. As Mr. Reynolds’s points out Brown took every opportunity to fight against slavery including early service as an agent of the Underground Railroad spiriting escaped slaves northward, participation as an extreme radical in all the key anti-slavery propaganda battles of the time as well as challenging other anti-slavery elements to be more militant and in the 1850’s, arms in hand, fighting in the ‘proxy’ wars in Kansas and, of course, the culmination of his life- the raid on Harpers Ferry. Those exploits alone render absurd a very convenient myth by those who supported slavery or turned a blind eye to it and their latter-day apologists for his so-called ‘madness’. This is a political man and to these eyes a very worthy one.

For those who like their political heroes ‘pure’, frankly, it is better to look elsewhere than the life of John Brown. His personal and family life as a failed rural capitalist would hardly lead one to think that this man was to become a key historical figure in any struggle, much less the great struggle against slavery. Some of his actions in Kansas (concerning the murder of some pro-slavery elements under his direction) also cloud his image. However, when the deal went down in the late 1850’s and it was apparent for all to see that there was no other way to end slavery than a fight to the death-John Brown rose to the occasion. And did not cry about it. And did not expect others to cry about it. Call him a ‘monomaniac’ if you like but even a slight acquaintance with great historical figures shows they all have this ‘disease’- that is why they make the history books. No, the ‘madness’ argument will not do.

Whether or not John Brown knew that his military strategy for the Harper’s Ferry raid would, in the short term, be defeated is a matter of dispute. Reams of paper have been spent proving the military foolhardiness of his scheme at Harper’s Ferry. Brown’s plan, however, was essentially a combination of slave revolt modeled after the maroon experiences in Haiti, Nat Turner’s earlier Virginia slave rebellion and rural guerrilla warfare of the ‘third world’ type that we have become more familiar with since that time. 150 years later this strategy does not look so foolhardy in an America of the 1850’s that had no real standing army, fairly weak lines of communications, virtually uninhabited mountains to flee to and the North at their backs.

The execution of the plan is another matter. Brown seemingly made about every mistake in the book in that regard. However, this is missing the essential political point that militant action not continuing parliamentary maneuvering advocated by other abolitionists had become necessary. A few more fighting abolitionists, including Frederick Douglass, and better propaganda work among freedman with connections to the plantations would not have hurt the chances for success at Harpers Ferry.

What is not in dispute is that Brown considered himself a true Calvinist avenging angel in the struggle against slavery and more importantly acted on that belief. In short, he was committed to bring justice to the black masses. This is why his exploits and memory stay alive after over 150 years. It is possible that if Brown did not have this, by 19th century standards as well as our own, old-fashioned Calvinist determination that he would not have been capable of militant action. Certainly other anti-slavery elements never came close to his militancy, including the key Transcendentalist movement led by Emerson and Thoreau and the Concord ‘crowd’ who supported him and kept his memory alive in hard times.

In their eyes he had the heroic manner of the Old Testament prophet. Now this animating spirit is not one that animates modern revolutionaries and so it is hard to understand the depths of his religious convictions on his actions but they were understood, if not fully appreciated, by others in those days. It is better today to look at Brown more politically through his hero (and mine, as well) Oliver Cromwell-a combination of Calvinist avenger and militant warrior. Yes, I can get behind that picture of him.

By all accounts Brown and his small integrated band of brothers fought bravely and coolly against great odds. Ten of Brown's men were killed including two of his sons. Five were captured, tried and executed, including Brown. These results are almost inevitable when one takes up a revolutionary struggle against the old order and one is not victorious. One need only think of, for example, the fate of the defenders of the Paris Commune in 1871. One can fault Brown on this or that tactical maneuver. Nevertheless he and the others bore themselves bravely in defeat. As we are all too painfully familiar there are defeats of the oppressed that lead nowhere. One thinks of the defeat of the German Revolution in the 1920’s. There other defeats that galvanize others into action. This is how Brown’s actions should be measured by history.

Militarily defeated at Harpers Ferry, Brown's political mission to destroy slavery by force of arms nevertheless continued to galvanize important elements in the North at the expense of the pacifistic non-resistant Garrisonian political program for struggle against slavery. Many writers on Brown who reduce his actions to that of a ‘madman’ still cannot believe that his road proved more appropriate to end slavery than either non-resistance or gradualism. That alone makes short shrift of such theories. Historians and others have also misinterpreted later events such as the Bolshevik strategy which led to Russian Revolution in October 1917. More recently, we saw this same incomprehension concerning the victory of the Vietnamese against overwhelming American military superiority. Needless to say, all these events continue to be revised by some historians to take the sting out of there proper political implications.

From a modern prospective Brown’s strategy for black liberation, even if the abolitionist goal he aspired to was immediately successful, reached the outer limits within the confines of capitalism. Brown’s actions were meant to make black people free. Beyond that goal he had no program except the Chatham Charter which seems to have replicated the American constitution but with racial and gender equality as a cornerstone. Unfortunately the Civil War did not provide fundamental economic and political freedom. That is still our fight. Moreover, the Civil War, the defeat of Radical Reconstruction, the reign of ‘Jim Crow’ and the subsequent waves of black migration to the cities changed the character of black oppression in the U.S. from Brown’s time. Black people are now a part of "free labor," and the key to their liberation is in the integrated fight of labor against the current one-sided class war and establishing a government of workers and their allies. Nevertheless, we can stand proudly in the revolutionary tradition of John Brown (and of his friend Frederick Douglass). We need to complete the unfinished democratic tasks of the Civil War, not by emulating Brown’s exemplary actions but to moving the multi-racial American working class to power. Finish the Civil War.
**************
Workers Vanguard No. 989
28 October 2011
TROTSKY
LENIN
Those Who Labor Must Rule!
(Quote of the Week)
Emerging in the first half of the 19th century as a mass independent workers movement, the British Chartists advanced revolutionary republican principles while leading the workers in class struggle. James Bronterre O’Brien, an Irish-born leader of the movement, gave voice to the need for the working class to fight in its own interests instead of begging its oppressors.
I hate long discussions and disquisitions upon the rights and privileges of the oppressed. I hate such arguments as go to prove that hawks should not prey upon doves; wolves on lambs; or the idlers of society upon the productive classes; I hate all appeals to the morality of monsters....
We have had enough of moral and learned strictures upon abstract rights and duties, which have left the respective parties in statu quo—the one plundering, the other being plundered....
My motto is...“What you take you may have.” I will not attempt to deal with the abstract question of right, but will proceed to show that it is POWER, solid, substantial POWER, that the millions must obtain and retain, if they would enjoy the produce of their own labour and the privileges of freemen.
—James Bronterre O’Brien (1837), quoted in Dorothy Thompson, The Chartists: Popular Politics in the Industrial Revolution (1984)
 
***The Roots Is The Toots- The Music That Got Them Through World War II-Peggy Lee Backed By The Benny Goodman Band- From Deep In The American Songbook-Rodgers And Hart’s Where Or When


...and memories of that girl (or guy) who got away, or who was married to another, or who had another girlfriend (or boyfriend, or today mix and match, and then too come to think of it), or one of a thousand other reasons for parting, some good, some bad but in misty future time regret, sheer regret for that maybe first love and why things hadn’t worked out. Or maybe thinking, thinking too hard for the times, looking out over some Eastern or Western harbor about that guy coming back, coming back in one piece to take up their dream. And he in some muddied trench, some dank cave, some frozen beach-head thinking whether she will be waiting, waiting alone, for him. Thus this song to get one by on that cold, lonely remembrance night.

**********
Over the past several years I have been running an occasional series in this space of songs, mainly political protest songs, you know The Internationale, Union Maid, Which Side Are You On, Viva La Quince Brigada, Universal Soldier, and such entitled Songs To While The Class Struggle By. This series which could include some protest songs as well is centered on roots music as it has come down through the ages and formed the core of the American songbook. You will find the odd, the eccentric, the forebears of later musical trends, and the just plain amusing here. Listen up-Peter Paul Markin

Additional Markin comment for this series:

Whether we liked it or not, whether we even knew what it meant to our parents or not, what sacred place it held in their youthful hearts, this is the music that went wafting through the house of many of those of us who constitute the Generation of ‘68. Those of us who came of age, personal, political and social age in the age of Jack Kennedy’s Camelot, and who were driven by some makeshift dream, who in the words of brother Bobby quoting from Alfred Lord Tennyson were“seeking a new world.” Those who took up the call to action and slogged through that decade whether it was in civil rights/black liberation struggle, the anti-Vietnam War struggle or the struggle to find one’s own identity in the counter-culture before the hammer came down. And that hammer came down quickly as the decade ended and the high white note drifted out into the ebbing tide. But enough of that about us this is about forbears and their struggles, and the music that they dreamed by on cold winter nights or hot summer days.

This is emphatically the music of the generation that survived the dust bowl, empty bowl, no sugar bowl street urchin hard times of the 1930s Great Depression, the time of the madness, the time of the night-takers, the time of the long knives. Survived god knows how by taking the nearest freight, some smoke and dreams freight, Southern Pacific, Union Pacific, B&O, Illinois Central, Penn Central, Empire State, Boston and Maine, or one of a million trunk lines to go out and search for, well, search for…Search for something that was not triple decker bodies piled high cold-water flat with a common commode and brown stained sink, rooming house, hell, call it what it was flop house stinking of perspiration and low-shelf whiskeys and wines, or tumbled down shack, window pane-less, tarpaper siding, roof tiles falling, and get out on the open road and search for the great promised American night that had been tattered by world events, and greed.

Survived the Hoovervilles, the great cardboard, tin can roof, slap-dash jerry-built camp explosions along rivers, down in ravines and under railroad trestles when the banks, yeah, the banks, the usual suspects, robbed people of their shacks, their cottages, their farm houses, robbed them as an old-time balladeer said at the time not with a gun but with a fountain pen, but still robbed them. Survived the soap kitchens hungers, the endless waiting in line for scrapes, dreaming of some by-gone steak or dish of ice cream, and always that hunger, not the stomach hunger although that was ever present, but the hunger that hurts a man, hurts his pride when he has to stick his hand out, stick it out and not know why. Out of work, or with little work waiting for that day, that full head of steam day in places like Flint, Frisco town, Akron, Chicago, hell, even in boondock Minneapolis when the score gets evened, evened a little, but until then shifting the scroungings of the trash piles of the urban glut, the rural fallow fields, and that gnarring hungry that cried out in the night-want, want that is all.

Survived too the look, the look of those, the what did FDR (Franklin Delano Roosevelt for the young, or forgetful) call them, oh yeah, the economic royalists, today’s 1%, who in their fortified towers tittered that not everybody was built to survive to be the fittest. That crowd fought tooth and nail against the little guy trying to break bread, trying to get out from under that cardboard, tar paper, windowless soup kitchen world along with a hell of a lot of comrades, yes, comrades, kindred in the struggle to put survival of the fittest on the back-burner of human history, to take collective action to put things right, hell, made the bosses cry bloody murder when they shut down their factories, shut them down cold until some puny penny justice was eked out.
Survived but took time out too, time out if young perhaps, to stretch those legs, to sway those hips to a new sound coming out of the mist, coming out of New York, always New York then, Chicago, Detroit, and Kansas City, the Missouri K.C. okay. The sound of swing replacing the dour Brother, Can You Spare a Dime, no banishing it, casting it out with soup lines, second-hand clothes (passed down from out the door brothers and sisters), and from hunger looks, because after all it did not mean a thing, could not possibly place you anywhere else but squareville (my term, not their), if you did not have that swing. To be as one with jitter-buggery if there was (is) such a word. And swing a fade echo of the cool age be-bop that was a-borning, making everybody reach for that high white note floating out of Minton’s, Big Bill’s Jimmie’s, hell, even Olde Saco’s Starlight Ballroom before it breezed out in the ocean air night, crashed into the tepid sea. Yeah.

Survived, as if there was no time to breathe in new fresh airs, to slog through the time of the gun in World War II, a time when the night-takers, those who craved the revenge night of the long knives took giant steps in Europe and Asia trying to make that same little guy, Brit, Frenchie, Chinaman, Filipino, God’s American, and half the races and nationalities on this good green earth cry uncle and buckle under, take it, take their stuff without a squawk. And so after Pearl, after that other shoe dropped on a candid world Johnnie, Jimmie, Paulie, Benny too, all the guys from the old neighborhood, the guys who hung around Doc’s hands in their pockets, guys from the wheat fields fresh from some Saturday night dance, all shy and with calloused and, guys from the coal slags, down in hill country, full of home liquor, blackened fingernails and Saturday night front porch fiddlings wound up carrying an M-I on the shoulder in Europe or the Pacific. Susie, Laura, Betty, and dark-haired Rebecca too waiting at home hoping to high heaven that some wayward gun had not carried off sweetheart Johnnie, Jimmy, Paulie, or young Benny. Jesus not young Benny.

Survived the endless lines of boys heading off East and West, some who could hardly wait to get to the recruiting office others, well, other hanging back, hanging back just a little to think things over, and still others head over heels they were exempt, 4-F, bad feet, you see. All, all except that last crew who got to sit a home with Susie, Laura, Betty and even odd-ball Rebecca waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the ships to sail or planes to fly, hanging in some corner drugstore, Doc’s, Rexall, name your drugstore name, sitting two by two at the soda fountain playing that newly installed jukebox until the nickels ran out. Listened to funny banana songs, rum and coca cola songs, siting under the apple tree songs to get a minute’s reprieve from thoughts of the journey ahead.

Listened too to dreamy, sentimental songs, songs about faraway places, about keeping lamp- lights burning, about making a better world out of the fire and brimstone sacrifice before them, about Johnnie, Jimmie and the gang actually returning, returning whole, and putting a big dent in their dreams, hell, about maybe the damn wars would be over sooner rather than later. Listened and as old Doc, or some woe-begotten soda jerk, some high school kid, told them to leave he was closing up, they made for the beach, if near a beach, the pond, the back forty, the hills, or whatever passed for a lovers’ lane in their locale and with the echo of those songs as background, well, what do you think they did, why do you think they call us baby-boomers.

It wafted through the large console radio centered in the living room of my house via local station WDJA in North Adamsville as my mother used it as background on her appointed household rounds. It drove me crazy then as mush stuff at a time when I was craving the big break-out rock and roll sounds I kept hearing every time I went and played the jukebox at Doc’s Drugstore over on Walker Street down near the beach. Funny thing though while I am still a child of rock and roll (blues too) this so-called mushy stuff sounds pretty good to these ears now long after my parents and those who performed this music have passed on. Go figure. 

*******
Songwriters: HART, LORENZ/RODGERS, RICHARD
When you're awake, the things you think
Come from the dream you dream
Thought has wings, and lots of things
Are seldom what they seem

Sometimes you think youve lived before
All that you live to day
Things you do come back to you
As though they knew the way

Oh the tricks your mind can play

It seems we stood and talked like this, before
We looked at each other in the same way then
But I can't remember where or when

The clothes you're wearing are the close, you wore
The smile you are smiling you were smiling then
But I can't remember where or when

Some things that happened for the first time
Seem to be happening again

And so it seems that we have met before
And that we laughed before, also loved before
But who knows where or when
 


She Stoops To Conquer- With The 1950s Film Some Like It Hot In Mind –Take Three     

 
 

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

He did not think that he could keep on living a lie.  He, John Samson to give him a name, although the particulars of his condition could apply to many more than one would think, maybe not numberless but let’s leave it at more than one would think, think out in the closeted, red scare, cold war early 1960s night when to be different in any of about twelve different ways drew the night-takers to one’s door, drew the night of the long knives in your direction. No John did not think he could keep on letting the whole wide world think he was just a reclusive oddball, a quirky nut- case.

Especially when old time friends, high school guys who thought they knew him a little, thought he was just one of the guys hanging around Doc’s Drugstore over on Walker Street in growing up hometown North Adamsville talking about slipping it, you know IT to some passing pretty, or double-dating down at Adamsville Beach with some girl classmate breathing all over him asked why he wasn’t like them, carrying a married ball and chain and kids on the way. Jesus the hell he went through back then just to get through the night without screaming. Or later guys at work, guys at the warehouse over in Southie, tried to date him up with women, usually but not always their sisters, or their sisters’ friends and he begged off with some very lame excuses, headaches, stuff like that just like a woman, yes, just like a woman he thought with a chuckle. But what was person like him to do in the year 1961 with the whole world arrayed against him, and his kind. His kind being a, uh, cross-dresser, a transvestite, hell, call him the way they described his kind, a flaming drag queen. His instinct, his survival instinct said keep your head down, keep to your secret world, keep the wolves of society away, and mainly keep his parents in the dark for as long as possible. And so he did, although who knows at what psychic cost.

That secret world of his was caught up in midnight dates with guys who liked to swing with drag queens, liked the idea of being with a “woman” without the hassle of being with a woman, without the forms dictated by a straight society.Guys who   got their kicks that way, guys who were willing to at least keep him company, play to his girlish vanity, in anonymous locations, usually far, very far, from his North Adamsville digs. Or later when he felt able to do so without blushing putting on silly little come-on-boys titter shows for strangers down in closed door social clubs in the South End of Boston, occasional wild side trysts in New York City, mainly the Village, and in summer, sweet summer down in Provincetown with all its delights.

No, he could not keep going on that way. His parents were becoming increasingly suspicious, suspicious enough to inquire incessantly every time they could about why he didn’t settle down with some nice girl. They were suspicious that he has no girlfriends, none, not even for public show to keep people at least guessing. They would be crushed to know that he had no interest in girls if he was truthful with them, was uncomfortable around them and always as far back as he could remember felt that way, and thus had no freaking desire to be interested in girls unlike two of his brothers who were raising broods to terrorize an unknowing world. What he was interested in was cross-dressing, wearing female attire and to be, frankly, admired as a girl, as a woman, to be a femme as he liked to call himself in his lonely minutes. So no girls as his parents called them, good or evil, crossed his path, and were moreover to be treated as competition, or to be asked for beauty tips, stuff like that.

His parents with whom he had lived at home off and on the previous several years after he had graduated from high school in 1957, usually after some unsuccessful affair went sour, or he got kicked out of some rented digs for being, well, odd, or some no-nonsense landlord’s idea of being odd, were beginning to speak to neighbors and relatives that Johnnie was “different” from their three other sons. Especially those two blooming brood-growing sons. Although the youngest, not yet married, a college kid, Albert, and maybe a little more worldly-wise that his parents and other brothers having broken out of the cloistered small town mainly Irish Catholic enclave unlike them, seemed to sense what John was all about, although he never said anything about it to him, never even later when he came out of the closet, and became famous.     

[We will hereafter use not this male name John, or Johnnie, bestowed, no what do they call it now, assigned at birth to him by his family and convention in the year of our lord 1939, the year of his birth, but his secret world name, Jackie, and use feminine pronouns to avoid any further confusion on the point of identification of one Jackie Samson.]

They, her parents, Delores and Paul to give them names, would say that Jackie had always been sort of a loner, sort of liked to look at the world differently from the other boys. Always had her nose in a book, unlike the sports-driven other boys. Those books and her secret hide-away public library visits from such things as sports and school dances and made up “dates”  unless absolutely unavoidable were what saved her lots of harassment on that score although she was not particularly interested in academics and had been a middling student, at best. Little did Delores and Paul know as well how different Jackie was from her siblings. How early on Jackie was fascinated by her girl cousins’ things, frilly girl things, when they came to visit or she went there and, naturally, her mother’s things, rummaging through her bureaus when she was home alone,  and abhorred sports, dirty boy talk, and male swagger in general.

That fascination with women’s things, especially frilly things hit home to her at first when she had, alone and secretly in downtown Boston, seen Some Like It Hot, and almost had an orgasm when she saw Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis dressed in drag even though they were just using it as a ruse, using it to avoid some unpleasant bad guys who were hunting for them back in bootleg Chicago gangster days. (She would see that film several more times at that time, as well as later, and have that same reaction).  Moreover little did they know what she herself had begun to realize that she liked, really liked, to dress like a girl (woman) hard as that was for her to understand at first. She would always be confused by those feelings because while she loved to dress up she didn’t necessarily feel like a girl (later woman) like some of her friends, her secret friends, who were almost praying they could be women and were always talking about some kind of expensive and experimental operation to do just that being performed over in Europe some place. One friend, Lucy Love, was actually saving money to go to Europe and have the operation.   

She had Georgette (birth name, name assigned at birth, okay, George Sampas) to thank for helping her break down her confusion about her feelings. Jackie had previously thought she was just weird, weird even by South End, Village, Provincetown conventions, when she wanted to assert her girl-ness without dreams of being transformed like some fairy- tale princess into a woman. Most of the homosexuals she knew turned her down when they found out her inclinations, couldn’t understand why she was not attracted to them like other men in a manly man to man way. That misunderstanding had exploded in a previous relationship when Clip (she preferred not to use his real name since he has a very big public position as head of an international company so Chip) flipped out when Jackie started to see a straight man occasionally who was willing to treat her like a woman, treat her like the real woman she felt inside even though no science, no medical advances could help align her body with her soul. Once she met one such straight guy, Clint, she knew that her affair with Chip, who never really accepted her girl-ness except when it came to sex, would soon be over although she really could have used a friend and a place to stay so she wouldn’t have to move back home and face that whole “different” song and dance. But see Clint had been dependent on his wife’s money, serious trust money and not to be sneered at according to Clint, and that wife would have flipped out and divorced him if she ever found out about his relationship with Jackie. Would take the kids, the house, the dough and all. So while Jackie clung to him (and he to her) she would, in the end, have to make her own way in the world elsewhere.                             

That is where Georgette came in and kind of saved her, kind of made her more comfortable with her feelings. They had met at Sally’s down in the Village (Sally, the owner, of course being not some girl Sally but the stage first name of the owner, ex-drag queen Judy Garland impersonator, Salvatore Domino) where Georgette sat at a table one night by herself in high fashion- pompadour blonde wig, fluttering black eyelashes, ruby red lips, and a gorgeous dress from one of the better New York fashion houses. She was in short in full drag regalia as befitted a queen of the night. Jackie, still too shy to go all out in drag even in such friendly environs, went up to her and remarked on her splendid attire. Georgette, maybe with a few too many drinks in her at that point in the evening, kind of snickered at that sentiment and asked what the hell Jackie thought she was doing looking like some housewife from Jersey in high tone Sally’s (Jersey where Georgette was from so she knew).

Jackie blushed and was flustered thinking, feeling anyway that she looked pretty good, brown wig, skirt and blouse, and sensible make-up, an outfit that Clint would have been  happy to take her out in. Georgette sensing she had been a little unkind mentioned some tips, better eye-liner, a little more lipstick to give a fuller look to the lips and, no question, get rid of that 1930s hair-do wig that was her real complaint. They talked a while and Georgette softened up and could be quite charming (although later Jackie found she could be just as unkind sober as drunk). That night Georgette took charge of Jackie’s look, for good or evil. And that started their friendship, their life together.                

After a couple of weeks Jackie was comfortable enough to wear fashionable dresses and accessories out in the streets, the hard bitten early 1960s New York streets (although for a long time not alone but always in Georgette’s company). At that point Jackie moved in with Georgette in her garret in deep Soho, then mostly abandoned warehouses but with cheap, very cheap rent.    That done though she, they, had hit a wall. Neither were working, Jackie finding it impossible to dress up at night and then work in some ill-begotten warehouse over on Seventh Avenue by day and Georgette was struggling to make a “career,” a vague sense that she could become like Sally, a high-shelf impersonator. She was then working on some Peggy Lee material and practicing her mannerisms.  

But, truth, they had no dough, no prospects of dough and a landlord who was not happy, and made his unhappiness well known, to have two drag queens a couple of months behind in their rent, cheap or not, mooching off of him. That is when Georgette put together the idea of a drag sister singing act rather than a solo career.  As it turned she had a great silky smoky female voice reminding one and all of late 1940s sulky Billie Holiday on bluesy numbers and Peggy Lee when she fronted for Benny Goodman on the sentimental stuff. Jackie was not bad on harmony as long as she did not try to hit the high range notes. After a few weeks they decided that they would go to Sally’s Monday audition night where the “girls” could get on stage and show their stuff in front of an audience, a mixed audience of drag queens and straight, a typical Village crowd, that Sally’s always drew on any given night. A tough slow Monday night after a drunken weekend Monday night audience though. Georgette decided they should go with Blues In The Night to play to the crowd. Georgette was in high-gear that night, had her come hither moves down pat, Jackie a little more wooden in her moves and a tad off in the voice department nevertheless held her own. The crowd loved it, and better, Sally saw something in them something worth giving them Thursday nights for a trial period. They thereafter became the talk of queer New York.        

And so for several years in all the drag haunts of New York City, P-town, Frisco town and some foreign ports they had a following and kept the wolves from their door. Eventually they each got a segment of the show Georgette doing torchy stuff, you know Billie, Peggy, a wicked Dinah Washington, a foxy Eartha and Jackie honed a presentable Judy Garland (which made Sally cry when she first performed it solo at Sally’s). Then they would do a final set together and done. But like all fashion, or all beauty for that matter, things fade. Middle age did nothing for them, weight problems, too much booze, too many cigarettes, too much dope when dope was cool and one was not cool if one did not get dope high, too many parties, hell, maybe too many lovers.The list they compiled to take stock one night could go and go. Moreover those guys who were crazy for Billie, Peggy or Judy were being replaced by an audience that was clueless about those legendary singers and who wanted Barbra Streisand, Christ, Barbra, or Bette Midler. Or after Stonewall and Harvey Milk wanted to get up there themselves. Welcome to the new age.

So as Georgette and Jackie got older they were in less demand, playing smaller venues in out of the way places, small gay social clubs who hired them for a night’s entertainment. One night somebody in the crowd called on “the blimps to retire and get facelifts while you are at it.” That was a kind of watershed. They eventually abandoned the act and opened a small bar in Frisco, a friendly town for their kind, any different kind. And it is still there, Jackette’s, including their own Monday night auction program for new talent, in that golden town although now under new management.          

The mention of new management part is not accidental. About fifteen years ago Georgette passed away and Jackie ran the place herself for a while. Then she too passed away a few years later, about ten years ago. The way I came across this story though, not a story usually on my radar, was that my old time high school friend, Peter Paul Markin (although we always called him just Markin, forget that stupid three name upper-crust Peter Paul stuff for a working poor kid), grew up across the street in North Adamsville from the Samsons. Although Markin was several years younger than Jackie he had heard stuff about a Jackie Samson, the famous drag queen, who had grown up and lived right across the street for him when he lived in California. Jackie’s parents had passed on by then, embarrassed and hurt that the son that they had tried to raise as a good Catholic boy had turned out, turned out the only word they would use to describe her, “different.” The three brother continued to raise their broods, or two of them did anyway, cursing their faggot brother and disowning her. Albert, for his own reasons, lived, lives with a women companion and they decided not to have children. He never did talk about the “difference” with Jackie just kind of accepted it with a sense of resignation, and maybe sorrow for his parents.

Markin investigated the story, filled in some of the details some time later. He was interested in Jackie’s career, how she felt, what it was like back in the day when queerness was beyond the pale, especially in their old neighborhood. Funny how times have changed I remember, and Markin does too, when our mothers, maybe Mrs. Samson too, would warn us away from The Shipwreck a bar located on a cove on the outskirts of my hometown, Hullsville, across from the Paradise Amusement Park because drag queens performed there like it was some kind of disease. I also remember times, and Markin does too, when a rite of passage for straight boys in our towns was to go to P-town and gay-bait the faggots, queers and dykes. Jesus.

One time a few years before Jackie died while Markin was on a trip to San Francisco after he moved back East he went into Jackette’s, introduced himself, and told Jackie that he was curious for the real story of Jackie’s life not the crude stuff that had gone around the neighborhood and how she survived it all that he later related to me.  They chatted for a couple of hours that day and on several other occasions. That first day though Jackie had invited Markin over to her apartment. That night they watched a DVD of Some Like It Hot on Jackie’s television, a favorite film of Markin’s as well, had a few drinks, and Jackie put on her old regalia and sang Cry Me A River for him. What do you think of that my friends.         

 

 

Friday, October 25, 2013

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Bradley Manning Support Network

Attorney David Coombs addresses FAQs

David Coombs
Chelsea's lawyer David Coombs

Earlier this week, Private Chelsea (formerly Bradley) Manning's lawyer David Coombs answered some questions on his blog about Chelsea and her condition in prison. These questions have been frequently posed to Mr. Coombs by both public and press.
1) Is Chelsea still going through the indoctrination process?
No. Chelsea has successfully completed her indoctrination process at the United States Disciplinary Barracks (USDB). After completing her indoctrination, the facility placed Chelsea in general population. Being held in general populations means that Chelsea does not have any special limitations or restrictions. She is able to participate in all vocational and educational opportunities at the USDB and is able to receive visitors and correspondence. All mail received at the USDB will be inspected upon receipt. Any mail that is considered detrimental to security, good order, discipline, or the correctional mission of the USDB will be rejected.
2) Can I write to Chelsea?
Yes, you may write to Chelsea by addressing your letter to the following address:
Bradley E. Manning
89289
1300 N. Warehouse Road
Fort Leavenworth, Kansas 66027-2304

Alice Walker writes letter of support for Chelsea: Urges Convening Authority to grant clemency

Alice Walker (click for source)
Alice Walker has written a letter in support of Chelsea Manning's clemency application.
As commander of the Military District of Washington, Major General Jeffrey S. Buchanan has the power to reduce Chelsea Manning’s 35-year prison sentence to time served.
Hundreds have already written letters to Maj. Gen. Buchanan, explaining why Manning deserves clemency. This week we received a letter from Pulitzer Prize-winner Alice Walker, author of The Color Purple. She praises Manning's humanism. Peter Van Buren, State Department whistle-blower, has published his letter of support as well.
Read here for more information on how to lend your support for Chelsea Manning with a letter to Maj. Gen. Buchanan.
Click here to read Alice Walker's letter.
Mass demonstration October 26. Washington DC.

How we crowd-sourced transcripts of the entire Manning court martial

By Rainey Reitman, Freedom of the Press Foundation. Originally published at pressfreedomfoundation.org.
Supporters raised more than $80,000 to cover the costs of a stenographer at Manning's trial, providing the only transcript available!
On May 9, 2013, we made a bold claim on this website. We promised to crowd-fund enough money to hire independent court reporters to provide transcripts of the entire Manning court martial.
We knew that it was vital that the public have a virtual seat in Chelsea Manning’s trial1. A public record of the court proceedings could fuel better, more accurate, and more frequent news coverage of the trial and could hold the government to account for its actions during the court martial. The government had forbidden tape recorders or cameras from entering the courtroom, so the only way to get an accurate accounting of the proceedings was sending in someone to take notes by hand.

Help us continue to cover 100%
of Pvt. Manning's legal fees! Donate today.



***Honor Civil War Union General William Tecumseh Sherman



DVD REVIEW

Sherman's March, General Sherman and his boys, History Channel, 2004


The ultimate outcomes of the American Civil War of 1861-65 were both the preservation of the Union and the abolition of slavery. Both were worthy historical outcomes from the perspective of today’s militant leftists. The Civil War, however, went through various twists and turns socially, politically, morally and militarily before final victory. The docu-drama under review here presented by the History Channel takes a look at a big and decisive slice of the military aspect (and a little of the moral and political aspects as well along the way) - Union General Sherman’s “total” war march through Georgia (and then north through the Carolinas to join up with General Grant before Richmond) in order to break the will of the Southern population to continue the fight.

Needless to say even today there are still some very deep emotions drawn out concerning this military strategy, North and South. As my sympathies lie with the North the title of this entry pretty much says it all- Honor the General’s work. Why? As presented here the fundamental problem on the battlefield was to end the stalemate as quickly as possible by a military breakthrough. Head to head bloody encounters between the armies in the field were indecisive. That the South would at some point run out of resources, men and materials, could be projected. But at what cost in Union men and materials. Moreover a struggle to the bitter end would make political settlement that much harder (which turned out to be the case anyway). Under those circumstances bold actions like the seizure of the military and industrial depot that was Atlanta and a run to the coast at Savannah cutting off Southern supply lines (rail lines, really) was the beginning of wisdom.

Of course in Southern hagiography this strategy was beyond the pale and southerners, and particularly southern politicians from that time to this have made that point. Ironically Sherman’s own personal feelings about blacks and slavery were not that far from the southerners but as a Union man and a military man he needed to take a bold move against the odds. Moreover, his policy of having his army ‘live off the land’
(foraying, in the etiquette of the day) could be justified on purely military grounds. Any competent commander will tell you that one way to keep army morale up is to have it do useful work with few causalities unless necessary. After many, too many, bloody encounters for seemingly nebulous objectives here was an army that was basically kept intact through the Georgia campaign and then later up through the Carolinas. Nice work, “bummers”.

Much has been made, and I think correctly, that Sherman’s efforts were the first serious application of the notion of “total” war with which we have over the last century and a half become all too familiar. Simply put, this is the notion that militarily virtually nothing is off limits, including civilian populations, in the pursuit of the military/political objectives of a campaign. The real question becomes then not for or against such strategies in principle but whether the cause is just. America’s total war against the Vietnamese people in the 1960’s and 70’s is an example of the unjust use of that concept. Sherman’s use, though, is a just example. Hail General Sherman and “Uncle Billy’s boys”.
*******

MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA

LYRICS


Bring the good ol' Bugle boys! We'll sing another song,
Sing it with a spirit that will start the world along,
Sing it like we used to sing it fifty thousand strong,
While we were marching through Georgia

Hurrah! Hurrah! We bring the Jubilee.
Hurrah! Hurrah! The flag that makes you free,
So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea,
While we were marching through Georgia.

How the darkeys shouted when they heard the joyful sound,
How the turkeys gobbled which our commissary found,
How the sweet potatoes even started from the ground,
While we were marching through Georgia.

Yes and there were Union men who wept with joyful tears,
When they saw the honored flag they had not seen for years;
Hardly could they be restrained from breaking forth in cheers,
While we were marching through Georgia.

"Sherman's dashing Yankee boys will never make the coast!"
So the saucy rebels said and 'twas a handsome boast
Had they not forgot, alas! to reckon with the Host
While we were marching through Georgia.

So we made a thoroughfare for freedom and her train,
Sixty miles of latitude, three hundred to the main;
Treason fled before us, for resistance was in vain
While we were marching through Georgia.
***The Working Class Buries One Of Its Own

Commentary

This space is usually devoted to ‘high’ politics and culture thus the personal is usually limited to some experience of mine that has a direct political point. Sometimes, however, a story is so compelling and makes the point in such a poignant manner that no political palaver is necessary. Let me tell the tale. But first, as always, let us have a little historical context for this commentary.

In the 20th century January was traditionally the month to honor fallen working class leaders such as Lenin, Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg. That tradition still goes on, however, more in the European working class movement than here. January can and should, however, also be a time to honor other working class people, those down at the base, as well. Over the last year I have posted a couple of such stories (See Hard Times in Babylon and An Uncounted Casualty of War in the May 2007 archives.) Here in its proper place is another about a fallen daughter of the class who died this January.

In An Uncounted Casualty of War (hereafter, Uncounted), written last May, I noted that I had then recently returned to the old working class neighborhood where I grew up. Maybe it is age, maybe it is memory, maybe it is the need at this late date to gain a sense of roots but that return has haunted me ever since. I have gone back a couple of times since then to hear more of what had happened to those in the old neighborhood from a woman who continues to live there and had related the above story to me. This one is about the fate of my childhood friend Kenny's (the subject of the Uncounted commentary) mother Margaret. Read it and weep.

As I mentioned in Uncounted our little family started life in the housing projects, at that time not the notorious hell holes of crime and deprivation that they later became but still a mark of being low, very low, on the social ladder at a time when others were heading to the Valhalla of the newly emerging suburbs. By clawing and scratching my parents saved enough money to buy an extremely modest single-family house. The house was in a neighborhood that was, and is, one of those old working class neighborhoods where the houses are small, cramped and seedy, the leavings of those who have moved on to bigger and better things.

The neighborhood nevertheless reflected the desire of the working poor in the 1950’s, my parents and others, to own their own homes and not be shunted off to decrepit apartments or dilapidated housing projects, the fate of those just below them on the social ladder. That is where I met Kenny and through him his family, including his mother Margaret. She seemed like a nice woman although I never got to know her well.

As I also mentioned in Uncounted in my teens I had lost track of Kenny who as he reached maturity took the death of a friend who died in Vietnam very hard. Harder than one can even imagine. The early details are rather sketchy but they may have involved drug use. The overt manifestations were acts of petty crime and then anti-social acts like pulling fire alarms and walking naked down the street. At some point Kenny was diagnosed as schizophrenic. I make no pretense of having adequate knowledge about the causes of mental illnesses but someone I trust has told me that such a traumatic event as his friend’s death can trigger the condition in young adults. In any case, the institutionalizations inevitably began. And later the halfway houses and all the other forms of control for those who cannot survive on the mean streets of the world on their own. Apparently, with drugs and therapy, there were periods of calm but for over three decades poor Kenny struggled with his inner demons. In the end the demons won and he died a few years ago while in a mental hospital.

Needless to say Kenny’s problems were well beyond his mother and father’s ability to comprehend or control. His father, like mine, had limited education and meager work prospects. In short, there were no private resources for Kenny and he and they were thus consigned to public institutionalization schemes. The shame of this, among other things, led to his father’s early death many, many years ago. His mother, strong Irish Catholic working class woman that she was, shouldered the burden by herself until Kenny’s death. The private and public horrors and humiliations that such care entailed must have taken a toll on her most of us could not stand. Apparently in the end it got to her as well as she let her physical appearance go down, became more reclusive and turned in on herself reverting in conversation to dwelling on happier times as a young married woman in the mid-1940’s.

Kenny’s woes, however, as I recently found out were only part of this sad story. Kenny had two older brothers whom I did not really know well because they were not around. Part of that reason was they were in and out of trouble or one sort or another and were not around the neighborhood much. My neighborhood historian related to me that at some point both sons had dropped out of sight and had not been seen by their mother for over thirty years. They are presumed to be dead or that is the story Margaret told my historian. In any case, since Kenny’s death Margaret’s health, or really her will to live went down hill fairly rapidly. Late last year she was finally placed in a nursing home where she died this month. Only a very few attended her funeral and her memory is probably forgotten by all except my historian friend and myself in this poor commentary.

I am a working- class political person. That is the great legacy that my parents left me, intentionally or not. Are there any great political lessons to be learned here? No, but I swear that when we build the new society that this country and this world needs we will not let the Kennys of the world be shunted off to the side. And we will not let the Margarets of the world, our working class mothers, die alone and forgotten. As for Kenny and Margaret may they rest in peace.