Trego's Mountain Ear

"Serving North Lincoln County"

Tag: Communism

  • The Ballad of Lenin’s Tomb

    I hope everyone is familiar with Robert Service – the man who wrote “The Cremation of Sam McGee” and “The Shooting of Dan McGrew.” Watching the film of Chavez’ tomb in Caracas blowing up last weekend brought another Robert Service poem to mind. It was written in 1930 – and is reputed to be the reason his poetry was never translated into Russian – kind of like Kipling losing any chance of becoming poet laureate of England after Queen Victoria read his poem “The Widow at Windsor.” The Ballad of Lenin’s Tomb is readily available online – and I’m fairly sure its in the public domain – so until someone writes a ballad of Hugo Chavez’ Tomb, we have this Robert Service poem to remind of us the immortality of communist leaders:

    The Ballad Of Lenins Tomb

    By Robert William Service

     This is the yarn he told me
 As we sat in Casey's Bar,
 That Rooshun mug who scammed from the jug
 In the Land of the Crimson Star;
 That Soviet guy with the single eye,
 And the face like a flaming scar.

Where Lenin lies the red flag flies, and the rat-grey workers wait
To tread the gloom of Lenin's Tomb, where the Comrade lies in state.
With lagging pace they scan his face, so weary yet so firm;
For years a score they've laboured sore to save him from the worm.
The Kremlin walls are grimly grey, but Lenin's Tomb is red,
And pilgrims from the Sour Lands say: "He sleeps and is not dead."
Before their eyes in peace he lies, a symbol and a sign,
And as they pass that dome of glass they see - a God Divine.
So Doctors plug him full of dope, for if he drops to dust,
So will collapse their faith and hope, the whole combine will bust.
But say, Tovarich; hark to me . . . a secret I'll disclose,
For I did see what none did see; I know what no one knows.

I was a Cheko terrorist - Oh I served the Soviets well,
Till they put me down on the bone-yard list, for the fear that I might tell;
That I might tell the thing I saw, and that only I did see,
They held me in quod with a firing squad to make a corpse of me.
But I got away, and here today I'm telling my tale to you;
Though it may sound weird, by Lenin's beard, so help me God it's true.
I slouched across that great Red Square, and watched the waiting line.
The mongrel sons of Marx were there, convened to Lenin's shrine;
Ten thousand men of Muscovy, Mongol and Turkoman,
Black-bonnets of the Aral Sea and Tatars of Kazan.
Kalmuck and Bashkir, Lett and Finn, Georgian, Jew and Lapp,
Kirghiz and Kazakh, crowding in to gaze at Lenin's map.
Aye, though a score of years had run I saw them pause and pray,
As mourners at the Tomb of one who died but yesterday.
I watched them in a bleary daze of bitterness and pain,
For oh, I missed the cheery blaze of vodka in my brain.
I stared, my eyes were hypnotized by that saturnine host,
When with a start that shook my heart I saw - I saw a ghost.
As in foggèd glass I saw him pass, and peer at me and grin -
A man I knew, a man I slew, Prince Boris Mazarin.

Now do not think because I drink I love the flowing bowl;
But liquor kills remorse and stills the anguish of the soul.
And there's so much I would forget, stark horrors I have seen,
Faces and forms that haunt me yet, like shadows on a screen.
And of these sights that mar my nights the ghastliest by far
Is the death of Boris Mazarin, that soldier of the Czar.

A mighty nobleman was he; we took him by surprise;
His mother, son and daughters three we slew before his eyes.
We tortured him, with jibes and threats; then mad for glut of gore,
Upon our reeking bayonets we nailed him to the door.
But he defied us to the last, crying: "O carrion crew!
I'd die with joy could I destroy a hundred dogs like you."
I thrust my sword into his throat; the blade was gay with blood;
We flung him to his castle moat, and stamped him in its mud.
That mighty Cossack of the Don was dead with all his race....
And now I saw him coming on, dire vengeance in his face.
(Or was it some fantastic dream of my besotted brain?)
He looked at me with eyes a-gleam, the man whom I had slain.
He looked and bade me follow him; I could not help but go;
I joined the throng that passed along, so sorrowful and slow.
I followed with a sense of doom that shadow gaunt and grim;
Into the bowels of the Tomb I followed, followed him.

The light within was weird and dim, and icy cold the air;
My brow was wet with bitter sweat, I stumbled on the stair.
I tried to cry; my throat was dry; I sought to grip his arm;
For well I knew this man I slew was there to do us harm.
Lo! he was walking by my side, his fingers clutched my own,
This man I knew so well had died, his hand was naked bone.
His face was like a skull, his eyes were caverns of decay . . .
And so we came to the crystal frame where lonely Lenin lay.

Without a sound we shuffled round> I sought to make a sign,
But like a vice his hand of ice was biting into mine.
With leaden pace around the place where Lenin lies at rest,
We slouched, I saw his bony claw go fumbling to his breast.
With ghastly grin he groped within, and tore his robe apart,
And from the hollow of his ribs he drew his blackened heart. . . .
Ah no! Oh God! A bomb, a BOMB! And as I shrieked with dread,
With fiendish cry he raised it high, and . . . swung at Lenin's head.
Oh I was blinded by the flash and deafened by the roar,
And in a mess of bloody mash I wallowed on the floor.
Then Alps of darkness on me fell, and when I saw again
The leprous light 'twas in a cell, and I was racked with pain;
And ringèd around by shapes of gloom, who hoped that I would die;
For of the crowd that crammed the Tomb the sole to live was I.
They told me I had dreamed a dream that must not be revealed,
But by their eyes of evil gleam I knew my doom was sealed.

I need not tell how from my cell in Lubianka gaol,
I broke away, but listen, here's the point of all my tale. . . .
Outside the "Gay Pay Oo" none knew of that grim scene of gore;
They closed the Tomb, and then they threw it open as before.
And there was Lenin, stiff and still, a symbol and a sign,
And rancid races come to thrill and wonder at his Shrine;
And hold the thought: if Lenin rot the Soviets will decay;
And there he sleeps and calm he keeps his watch and ward for aye.
Yet if you pass that frame of glass, peer closely at his phiz,
So stern and firm it mocks the worm, it looks like wax . . . and is.
They tell you he's a mummy - don't you make that bright mistake:
I tell you - he's a dummy; aye, a fiction and a fake.
This eye beheld the bloody bomb that bashed him on the bean.
I heard the crash, I saw the flash, yet . . . there he lies serene.
And by the roar that rocked the Tomb I ask: how could that be?
But if you doubt that deed of doom, just go yourself and see.
You think I'm mad, or drunk, or both . . . Well, I don't care a damn:
I tell you this: their Lenin is a waxen, show-case SHAM.

 Such was the yarn he handed me,
 Down there in Casey's Bar,
 That Rooshun bug with the scrambled mug
 From the land of the Commissar.
 It may be true, I leave it you
 To figger out how far.

  • Thinking Karl Marx

    I suspect that today’s average leftist or socialist has left a bunch of Karl Marx’ writings unread.  The big thing to remember is that Karl spent a lot of years studying capitalism, identified a lot of systemic inequities, then proposed communism as an alternative.  Since the closest thing to his proposed communism at the time was the utopian socialist agenda, and utopian socialism wasn’t a major player, he didn’t have a lot of examples of the inequities that occur under socialism.

    I tend to look at things from a demographic perspective – and I do use Marx’ Social Conflict Paradigm.  As we look at Marx’ terms, and attempt to fit them in with today’s political parties, we find a spot where his structure doesn’t match today’s parties.

    Karl had divisions among the Bourgeoisie – the haute bourgeoisie and the petit bourgeoise.  Marx expected the concentration and centralization of capital would, sooner or later, put the petit bourgeoisie into the ranks of the working class (like the peasants would become the proletariat regardless of their attachment to the land.  The petit bourgeoisie basically hired laborers and worked alongside them.  The haute bourgeoisie on the other hand, didn’t work alongside the wage slaves they hired.

    So if I look at the folks who drive the game, Soros, Gates, Musk, Zuckenberg, Dorsey, Pelosi, etc. qualify as haute bourgeoisie, while Rand Paul as an MD is a great example of the petit bourgeoisie.  I think Donald Trump might be a better fit as a petit bourgeoisie than as one of the haute bourgeoisie – the top cutoff line is definitely well above a million dollars.

    The difference between the proletariat and the lumpenproletariat is the difference between the skilled and semi-skilled workforce and the chronically unemployed.   Marx studied capitalism – but, born in Prussia in 1818, lived under the late stages of feudalism instead of something more similar to our system where votes select the leadership.  The university system at the time was just beginning to break away from church dominance – Marx hypothesized about a more ideal social system during a time of tremendous social change.  There is a bit of irony in the fact that Karl Marx could complete a Ph.D. but never hold a job other than journalism.  We live in a time when many, like Marx, are highly educated but do not find particularly great employment.

    Marx saw the haute bourgeoisie, the petit bourgeoisie, the proletariat, and the lumpenproletariat.  He didn’t foresee the emergence of a highly educated class that crossed into all those four groups.  That intelligentsia with minimal capital is a fifth group that screws up Marx’ hypothesis – largely by taking jobs in the bureaucracies of government and education.  Max Weber studied bureaucracies after Marx died.  To understand Marx, we need to remember he wrote hypothetically of a world that he understood largely from his studies of capitalism.  The new educated class may not have the property to fit well with the petit bourgeoisie, but they give orders and make good incomes.

    So if we look at today’s politics, we see the left, the left – as home to an alliance of haute bourgeoisie and the lumpenproletariat – something that Marx’ dialectic did not predict.  While Karl did see the petit bourgeoisie learning that their best interests were shared with the proletariat, he never saw the petit bourgeoisie allying with the working class proletariats to become the dissatisfied republican voters.  The educated class that Marx didn’t consider can either give orders like the petit bourgeoisie, follow orders like the proletariat workers, or be fundamentally as hard to employ as the lumpenproletariat – but they tend to identify with the left. 

    Some of Marx’ writings and thoughts created a solid foundation for my own work.  I appreciate the good work he did.  On the other hand, he died 140 years ago.  There are many things he did not foresee – and a college educated proletariat subgroup is one of them.  The college educated lumpenproletariat was likely even harder for Marx to envision. 

  • Karl Marx Condensed

    I notice a bunch of folks claiming to know the difference between socialism, communism, and fascism – and some of the explanations suggest they never read the manifesto.  So ride along with me for a condensed version of the manifesto.

    First of all, Karl Marx studied capitalism – and saw that more and more capital wound up owned by very few people.  Glance online, and see the cheerful pictures of Bezos, Gates, Zuckerberg, etc.  It’s hard to argue with that observation.  For sociologists, Marx came up with the basis of social conflict theory – he based it on economic class.

    The ten points of the manifesto are:

    1. Abolish private ownership of land and apply all land rent to public purposes.
    2. A heavy progressive or graduated income tax.
    3. Abolish all rights of inheritance.
    4. Confiscate the property of all emigrants and rebels.
    5. Centralize credit with a national bank with State capital and an exclusive monopoly.
    6. Centralize State controlled means of communication and transport.
    7. Extend factories and means of production (State owned);  bring wastelands into cultivation, and improve the soil in accord with a common plan.
    8. Equal liability of all to work. Establish industrial armies, especially for agriculture.
    9. Combine agriculture with manufacturing industries; gradually abolish the distinction between town and country by a more equitable distribution of the population.
    10. Free education for all children in public schools. Abolish child factory labor.

    It’s important to remember that Karl Marx studied early capitalism and examined its flaws.  He theorized that communism would eliminate those flaws.  The contemporary socialism of the time was French Utopian Socialism – far different than today’s versions of socialism, and, with the relatively recent French Revolution, recognizing the concept of social conflict.

    We could go farther – graduate seminars go into a lot more detail – but this is a condensed version, just to provide enough background to be able to call BS on the ignorant ideologues.

  • Prairie Communists and Rhubarb Pie

    The communism you encounter in Montana and the Dakotas is generally based on Acts 2:44 “And all that believed were together, and had all things in common.”  On the prairies of Montana and the Dakotas, communal ownership and living is not Godless communism, it is based on that verse from the New Testament.

    They’re Hutterites – and not all Hutterites are the same.  Historically, they aren’t even all communal – when the Hutterites came to America, the 1880 Census showed 443 Hutterites living on four colonies, while 825 (called the Prairieleut) lived non-communally.  By 1952, all the non-communal Hutterite churches became Mennonite.  It appears that the faith requires communal living to survive.

    In the Ukraine,  communal living was abandoned in 1819, and reinstituted under the leadership of Schmide (blacksmith) Michael Waldner.  Darius Walter led a second group’s return to communal living in 1860.  Janzen summarized the differences between the communal and non-communal Hutterites: “In Ukrainian Russia, communal and non-communal Hutterite groups had been virtually indistinguishable except for the differences in economic arrangements.  In America, a vibrant spirit of assimilation had caused the two groups to become radically different from one another” . . . (1999:177).  One of my colleagues at SDSU confidently stated that his family was never Hutterite – despite a surname (Tschetter) that shows up only among Hutterites.  He might have more accurately said that his family was never communal Hutterite, at least in North America.

    A couple of recipes for rhubarb pie might show the differences:

    Jeeta Kant’s Hutterite Community Cookbook:

                4 cups fresh cut-up rhubarb (½ inch pieces)|
                2 cups sugar
                3 Tbsp cornstarch
                1 double unbaked 9-inch pie crust

    1.  Mix all filling ingredients together and let stand overnight.
    2. Place in an unbaked pie shell and cover with a top crust and seal.
    3. Bake at 425 for 10 minutes, then at 325 for 30 more minutes.

    Opposed to the recipe from Pots of Gold from Hutterian Kitchens:

    About 5 pails cut up rhubarb               72 egg yolks

                1 ½ c. flour                                          72 egg whites

                24 c. sugar                                           5 ½ c. sugar

                12 c. sweet cream                              72 egg whites

    Place 3 cups cut up rhubarb in unbaked pie shells.  Beat egg yolks.  Stir in 24 cups of sugar, flour and cream; mix well.  Pour over cut up rhubarb.  Bake at 350 until done; cool.

    Beat egg whites with a little salt.  Add 5 ½ cups sugar, put on top of pies and brown in oven.