Thursday, August 01, 2024


Bay Area Reds


 
 August 1, 2024
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Image Source: Cover art for the book “San Francisco Reds” by Robert W. Cherny

The story of the US Left has been pretty much ups and downs, more downs than ups, something hardly surprising in world capitalism’s leading nation with a working class historically divided by race and ethnicity. Among the most startling cases is surely the California Story. Where else would a leading revolutionary of the 1880s also be a leader of the anti-Chinese movement (in San Francisco) and soon, the savant of a utopian colony in the Redwoods? Where else would a millionaire socialist, that is to say Gaylord Wilshire, publish a popular leftwing magazine and get a major city street named after him? And so on.

The California Socialist Party of pre-1920 days elected mayors, guided at least some craft unions, had quite a following among displaced Yankees and a scattering of ethnic groups. The rough conditions of what would one day become known as the Left Coast meanwhile prompted IWW-like, semi-anarchist labor activism. It is a bitter irony that Communists, the successor to all this, could not find their way until the middle 1930s, and that a major portion of the early failure falls upon their own blunders and those of Communists far away. In the end, they built quite a movement but not much of a Communist Party proper. There may be a moral here.

Robert Charny’s new book, San Franciso Reds: Communists in the Bay Area1919-1958, is narrowly cast around the CP structure, membership, tactics and projects. If the framework of this wonderful study leaves out much, it nevertheless offers insights in abundance. Research on personalities, some of it from the Moscow files recovered only in recent decades, is rich and dense. He offers a close look at people widely known, including LA leader Dorothy Healy and not-quite-communist ILWU champion Harry Bridges, about whom Cherny’s own biography is an outstanding contribution. He also offers a view of many Communists hardly known at all.

In doing so, he strays from the Bay Area of the book’s title across California, often usefully, albeit sometimes arguably stretching the narrative too thin. There is or could be so much more to say about the State party. Communist Hollywoodites, actors, writers and others once the source of damning headlines, play no role here, for instance. Missed here, most of all, is the way in which the Popular Front enabled a movement to grow far beyond its presumed natural borders.

One large insight hides behind the text and is not quite properly Charney’s subject at all: how different things were for the Left, East of California.  Repression hit everywhere during the First World War. The Wobblies were practically if not entirely wiped out by violent raids on their headquarters and arrests of their leaders. Socialist newspapers were banned by the neat trick of removing their mailing permits. That some erstwhile socialists joined in the global crusade of Woodrow Wilson, all but urging the repression of their erstwhile comrades,  did not help matters.

By contrast, in mostly but not entirely urban parts of the East and parts of the midwest,  immigrant groups especially but not only from Eastern and Southern Europe would bounce back strong in the 1920s, their newspapers and networks transferred from Socialist to Communist without much disruption. In factory neighborhoods where blue collar populations walked to work, the ethnic clubs built support through services, family entertainment and hopes for unionization. In New York but not only there, Leftwing Yiddish culture in the golden age of “Yiddish Broadway” prompted a vast network of leftish activities, speaking or singing to a population facing severe anti-Semitism. Calfornia was not so lucky.

The Syndicalism Acts of California in 1921, aimed at an IWW already repressed but with capabilities in agriculture, also hit the new Communist movement hard. The small collections of Communists, barely emerging from the 1919 spit in the Socialist Party, limped into the internecine wars of competing communist factions (not to mention the work of Bureau of Investigation operatives), and damaged themselves badly. The further sectarian impulse to separate Communists from the “merely” but often popular reformist socialists successfully separated them from a populistic sentiment symbolized in radical novelist Upton Sinclair. Later on, that bitter opposition cost them dearly.

From another angle, the New York leadership of the Communist Party repeated the lack of insight shown by the leadership of the earlier Socialist Party, from their Chicago headquarters, and for that matter the  New Left, Trotskyist and Maoist small-scale organizations later on. None could quite grasp the need for different approaches and the vast political opportunities in the complex and contradictory California scene. All expressed degrees of frustration, as if California leftists just couldn’t see what needed to be done.

Cherny beautifully explains the flawed, worse than flawed, internal logic of the CP toward its California faithful in the 1920s to the early 1930s and this takes up the first three chapters of the book. They could not win for losing, and every new opportunty seemed to present a lost opportunity. An elderly Communist explained to me, in the later 1970s, that after the Trotskyist and Lovestoneite (“Left” and “Right” so called deviations) had been expelled at the end of the 1920s, factionalism repeated itself as personality versus personality within the leadership, and this was abundantly clear when local and regional Communists tried to climb back from failed efforts.

In the California case, it was possible to rally large numbers behind Robert La Follette in 1924, but the national leaders went a different direction. By the early 1930s, California Communists launched major defense campaigns for imprisoned unionists, drawing in young actor James Cagney among others, but could not manage to create a “front.” Any more than they hold onto the Mexican-American agricultural workers, who had last supported the Wobbly efforts to organize them.

By mid-book, Cherny moves onward to the Popular Front years or rather to 1934, anticipating the Party’s golden age. The San Francisco “General” Strike, which effectively brought the Longshoremen from relative isolation into a union of great influence and Harry Bridges from obscurity to global fame, marked a turn in more ways than Communists abroad could easily grasp. Bridges himself sturdily denied affiliation with the CP, and it was as an influence within the ILWU (some would say control, others would say that local leadership could never be categorized in this fashion) that the Left moved forward. Membership did not surge forward in the expected European Communist fashion. Men and women in the Bay Area and far beyond, buillding the ILWU all the way to Canada and Hawaii, would fight to the point of laying down their lives and yet feel no urge to join (more likely, to stay in) a Communist organization.

That the same 1934 marked the CP’s running a candidate against Upton Sinclair marked a foolishness not repeated until 1948, when the CP seemed to have little  room to manuever. In between, especially through the unions but also in related campaigns of all kinds, including the brave support of racial minorities, the Party filled in many of its gaps of influence on labor and liberalism. Characteristic but not much discussed here is the Peoples Daily World, more lively, with better prose and illustrations, than the Daily Worker back in New York. Or consider the National Union of Marine Cooks and Stewards, the most openly gay union in the CIO and the most obviously Red, allied closely to the ILWU. Nothing in global Communist movements could have predicted this.

Or for that matter, the Communist chicken-farmers around Petaluma, north of San Francisco, rushing to help striking Mexican-American workers and risking their own livelihoods. As repression struck, they fell back upon their own Yiddish-based communal culture of music and literature, recalling the ghetto struggles a world and half a century away in Eastern Europe.

Leftwing Californians had some great human material to work with, including a dedicated cadre of screenwriters, a handful of them future Oscar winners, but also a wide-ranging and often unexpected cadre of members and supporters. A section of the middle class, Yankee and Jewish, had mostly held back from the CP until the Popular Front and then entered full flush. Fundraisers could be held in Charlie Chaplin’s mansion with Lucille Ball welcoming guests including plenty of high profile actors, labor leaders and liberal politicians. We can wince today at Ring Lardner’s quip that the CP had the smartest intellectuals and the prettiest girls in Hollywood, noting the “girls” were smart and active and given to asserting their own rights.

Cherny points to the repressive power of California conservaties and the State taking swift action at any sign of weakness. Following years of anti-fascist agitation, the CP entered isolationism 1939-41 and lost a lot of its support—regaining most of it, and more, after Pearl Harbor. But HUAC investigations, already begun in the “Pact Period,” would be back soon and more deadly than ever. That the Congressional “investigating” comittees were openly anti-Semitic helped discredit reactionary claims in advance, but future California politicians, greatly aided by the FBI (Ronald Reagan’s own brother was an agent), had already set a trap that Communists and their allies could hardly evade.

For my taste, writing as a social historian, the Party history pre-1945 is rather too thin in seven chapters, the history 1945-58 arguably too thick in the final two. So much social history exists in the former, so little in the latter, especially after 1948, when the California CP, like its national counterpart, pretty much falls apart. And yet even here, the ILWU as anti-racist unionism across California, the return of Communist veterans (perhaps no longer party members) to assisting the organization of farm workers, and the role of Communist-influenced Democrats in the California state legislature as well as local offices—all this “counted,” if not in CP terms.

Cherny is at his strongest when he offers insights from the personal angle, much about what leaving a hectic political life for a personal life meant. A recognition that the glorious era of the CP was really over, certainly, but also a sense, insufficiently expressed here, that the country had changed. The unionized part of working class had established a certain status, at least for a generation. Consumer goods, inexpensive automobiles, even blue collar suburbs could allow depoliticized leftwingers feel as if they could live “normal” lives, especially when FBI harassment had done its career-worst and left them alone.

The links with the movements of the 1960s-70s might have been developed suggestively, although this could logically be part of another book. A curious bit of research into the youth culture scene of LA during the 1960s has turned up nightclubs owned by savvy former CPers. Others of the fading generations hit the streets all the way up to Santa Cruz, where hundreds relocated in the 1970s-80s, leafletting and agitating for political and environmental causes as long as their legs could hold them.

Some of the many oldtimers still around, Japanese-American Communist Karl Yonenda most notably, became the subject of great admiration, considered kindly grandfathers and grandmoothers to the new generation, offering contacts, sympathetic advice and assistance. Another might become the documentary photographer of the Vietnam Day Committee in San Francisco, Harvey Richards, capturing demonstrations when the commercial press had not caught up (or not been allowed to catch up) with the new mass movements. Perhaps more than any other sector, aged Communists of color met up successfully with young activists in every possible venue, explaining things that had never been well understood within the “white” Left.

All that said: a good book, a necessary book.

Paul Buhle is a retired historian, and co-founder, with Scott Molloy, of an oral history project on blue collar Rhode Islanders.

Individual Responsibility in War: William Calley, Jr. and the Vietnam War


 
 August 1, 2024
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William Calley Jr. mugshot for charges involving the My Lai massacre.

William Calley (“United States v. William L. Calley, Jr.”) represented the Vietnam War as almost no one else did. During the period of his imprisonment, I recall a huge banner hung from a building in Bridgeport, Connecticut that read: “Help Free Calley.”

Calley died in Florida on April 28, 2024 (New York Times, July 30, 2024).

As a war resister to that war, and eventually a veteran, but not of the Vietnam War, but of the Vietnam era, I recoiled at how enough support could be generated to produce and sponsor a message such as the one noted above that flew in the face of everything that had been learned as a result of World War II and an individual’s responsibility in wartime to refuse orders that involved the murder of civilians and the gross immorality of attacks against civilians in war.

An untold number of war resisters countered the Vietnam War, perhaps as many as over 100,000 men and women.

Rumors of mass atrocities in Vietnam were common before William Calley led his men into My Lai and perpetrated a massacre that was only different from others in Vietnam by its magnitude. I found that Four Hours in My Lai (1993) covered the massacre in detail.

Seymour Hersh’s investigative reporting in “The Massacre at My Lai” (New Yorker, 1972), on the massacre and Calley’s role in it was groundbreaking!  Calley’s half-assed apology decades later could not begin to address the mass atrocity he led in Vietnam. His, and his men’s actions that day, were a reflection, but not a defense of, the demand for “enemy” body counts by senior commanders however those counts were achieved. If the helicopter pilot Hugh Thompson (The Forgotten Hero of of My Lai, 2014) had not intervened in that massacre, the death toll of women, children, and old men would have been greater.

The massacre at My Lai was made even more prominent by the massacre of unarmed students at Kent State and Jackson State in May 1970. Those protests were in answer to Richard Nixon’s ongoing war in Cambodia. The US was willing to do stateside what it had done in Vietnam on a lesser, but lethal scale. It was after those massacres that I became a war resister. I knew that the Nuremberg Principles, the Geneva Conventions, and the UN Charter banned the kinds of war crimes that were carried out in the mass hysteria of anticommunism that pervaded the US and the Cold War during the Vietnam War. That those crimes were sanitized by Ronald Reagan with his “noble cause” rhetoric only worsened the wounds left by the Vietnam War era and its mass atrocities.

As if the death of unarmed students did not soothe the US mass psyche for revenge against protesters, the mass beatings of protesting students on Wall Street and beyond four days after the Kent State massacre, as recounted in The Hardhat Riot (2020) by David Paul Kuhn, demonstrated that no amount of bloodletting was enough.

The Winter Soldier Investigation (1971) testimonies by veterans and later writing about atrocities during the Vietnam War such as are depicted in Nick Turse’s Tiger Force (2006) and NPR’s “‘Anything That Moves”: Civilians And The Vietnam War” revealed additional information about US conduct in that war. That no formal attempt was ever made to address these facts of atrocities tells much about militarism here and this nation’s and government’s absence of interest in any kind of honest assessment of the grotesque lack of adherence to any rules of engagement in Vietnam.

Perhaps it is a cliché, but the lessons not learned from the mass murder at My Lai and beyond were repeated in differing degrees and places.

Howard Lisnoff is a freelance writer. He is the author of Against the Wall: Memoir of a Vietnam-Era War Resister (2017).

Vietnam War's My Lai Massacre leader Lt. William Calley dead at 80


By Mike Heuer

July 30, 2024 


William Calley (pictured in 1969) was convicted in 1971 for his role in the My Lai Massacre during the Vietnam War. File Photo courtesy of the U.S. Army

July 30 (UPI) -- Former Army Lt. William Calley Jr., 80, died of natural causes Sunday at a hospice center in Gainesville, Fla., decades after being convicted of leading the infamous My Lai Massacre.

Then-2nd Lt. Calley on March 16, 1968, led his Army platoon into the My Lai village in the Son Tinh District near the central coastal area of what then was South Vietnam and initiated a massacre of hundreds of civilians.

Calley's platoon had recently sustained heavy losses during the 1968 Tet Offensive and had orders to search for and destroy members of the Viet Cong who might be operating in the area.

The Viet Cong were expert guerrilla fighters for North Vietnam and had led the attacks during the Tet Offensive.

Although Calley's platoon didn't find any Viet Cong soldiers, it systematically wiped out the village by killing most of its men, women and children in what is considered one of the U.S. military's darkest moments.

The U.S. military says Calley and his men killed 347 villagers during the massacre, but Vietnam records indicate 504 were murdered.

Calley allegedly followed an order by U.S. Army Capt. Ernest Medina, who witnesses said in a mission briefing ordered Calley and others to kill anything "walking, crawling or growling" because they were all believed to be members of the Viet Cong.

Witnesses said Calley radioed Medina on the morning of the My Lai Massacre and was ordered to kill all of the civilians and said it was OK to "wipe the place out" before continuing the mission searching for Viet Cong soldiers.

Medina later denied giving that order, but witnesses said Calley and another soldier started shooting civilians after talking to Medina.

Army Maj. Gen. Samuel Koster was accused of trying to conceal the massacre.

Calley was convicted of murdering at least 22 civilians and was sentenced to life in prison.

A Buddhist monk who was praying and a young boy who crawled out of a ditch were among those Calley was accused of murdering by shooting them.

Army photographer Ronald Haeberle documented the events with his camera and provided photos that were used to prosecute Calley and others during their respective court-martial trials.

Calley was the only person convicted of the massacre on March 29, 1971, after undergoing one of the longest court-martial trials in U.S. military history.

He served only three years for the massacre, most of them while confined at home.

Calley in 1976 moved to Columbus, Ga., and married a woman whose family owned a local jewelry store.

In 2009, he made a public apology and said he was remorseful for the Vietnamese civilians he killed and for the U.S. soldiers who became involved in the massacre.


US Supreme Court Reform: Why Not Go All the Way?


 
 August 1, 2024
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Photo by Nathaniel St. Clair

In a July 29 Washington Post op-ed,  president Joe Biden lays out a three-part proposal for reforming the Supreme Court.  With Biden in full-blown “lame duck” status  (he’s no longer seeking re-election), it’s better read as a “think piece” than as a real policy proposal with any chance of adoption. But it’s still food for thought, so let’s think.

Biden’s proposal comes in three parts:

First, a constitutional amendment to “make it clear” (as if it wasn’t already) that there is no immunity for crimes a former president committed while in office.

No such amendment should be necessary, nor is any amendment likely to garner 2/3 support in both houses of Congress and ratification by 3/4 of state legislatures at this time, nor would it likely matter anyway even if ratified. After all, the Supreme Court’s majority simply ignored the text, meaning, and history of the US Constitution to get the magical immunity outcome it wanted for former president Donald Trump. Why would we expect the court to respect a new amendment when it won’t respect the existing law?

Second, term limits of 18 years for Supreme Court justices. Biden doesn’t mention that those term limits would likewise require a constitutional amendment, or that they wouldn’t solve the court’s “politicization” problem (his proposal would still retain presidential appointment and Senate confirmation of justices).

Third, a “binding code of ethics” for the court.  But again, absent a constitutional amendment creating some other process, the court (or Congress, via impeachment) would themselves remain the ultimate arbiters of whether that code was violated.  Neither the court nor Congress has taken action on (for example) justice Clarence Thomas’s flagrant acceptance of bribes under the current system. How would a new “code” fix that?

The three proposals all fail right at the starting point. They’re not going to enjoy adoption before Biden’s retirement next January, if ever.

So why not aim for the stars instead and propose REAL reforms that would be just as difficult to pass but that might solve the biggest problems — the partisan/political nature of how the court is chosen and the lifetime tenure that gifts the justices with impunity for poor or corrupt decision-making?

My proposal:

First, one-year terms for a Supreme Court composed of an odd number of randomly selected US citizens (the process is called “sortition”) who, after their names are drawn, demonstrate a standardized test IQ of greater than 100. No conscription — any citizen can refuse to serve. No presidential appointments allowed and no Senate confirmation needed.

Second, sequestration from the beginning to the end of each term. The justices live in a barracks facility. No phones. No email. Recreational television, but no news programs. A well-stocked law library, with classic novels for recreational reading, but no current events punditry allowed.

One year in total isolation with no sensory input other than the Constitution, the law, and the filings to affect rulings. Then a new court takes over.

About as likely to pass as Biden’s proposals, but at least worth the effort.

Thomas L. Knapp is director and senior news analyst at the William Lloyd Garrison Center for Libertarian Advocacy Journalism (thegarrisoncenter.org). He lives and works in north central Florida.