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Showing posts with label Transcriptions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Transcriptions. Show all posts

Friday, 1 May 2026

The Two Nations : A May Day Message

 The Two Nations; A May-day Message.


NOTE: This is one of the four speeches which Guy Aldred recorded on tape. It was not the first to be recorded, though it is the first to be printed. The other three speeches are being transcribed and printed. The publication date will be announced shortly. Donors and Subscribers will receive these pamphlets as they appear. Please order extra copies, and help the circulation.


Printed and published in United Kingdom by The Strickland Press, Glasgow C. 1.



GUY A. ALDRED


THE TWO NATIONS


A May-Day Message


The text of a Speech delivered on May 5th 1963 in Central Halls Glasgow.


First Published 1968



Guy Aldred, November, 1962

We do change the world. One generation merges into another. The hopes of yesterday’s heroes and martyrs become the inspiring slogans of the martyrs and heroes of today, and by them are passed on to the heroes and martyrs that will be tomorrow. An unchanging yet changeless logic of development.


—The Word; January 1961


Foreword

This speech was recorded at Guy A. Aldred’s home address on the afternoon of Friday, 3rd May, 1963. It had been his intention to speak in person at the May Day meeting which would be held in the Central Halls on the following Sunday; but his doctor, and his close associates, prevailed upon him to make a recording instead.


Commenting on this, Guy Aldred said: “I am opposed to doing so, as it seems to me that a recorded speech lacks the verve and originality of a speech spoken direct from the platform. I feel this very much as a restriction, because I believe in extemporary speech—not in prepared speeches. I am afraid, however, that my strength may not permit me to speak with the vigour and the continuity that is necessary to the successful meeting. So I have prepared this recorded speech as a possible alternative to the original speech. In any case, I will attend the meeting, and if I am unable to speak I will hear it played to the audience. I will then answer questions as they arise. The audience can depend upon my reply to questions.”


In the event that is what happened. Guy Aldred sat on the platform while the speech was relayed; then he answered questions and replied to discussion.


He delivered several more public speeches, both by tape and in person, before he died on the 16th October, 1963.


This speech has been transcribed from the tape by Ben Mullin who has also written an Introduction.


JOHN TAYLOR CALDWELL.


Introduction

This speech, recorded by "Guy Aldred close to the end of his life, represents a contribution to the general discussion on the fundamental problem facing the working class movement, namely, that of unity. That there is need for such discussion goes without question. Unless the conscious elements within the working class movement make some attempt to come to a general understanding, we will make no progress.


Guy Aldred was an uncompromising Anti-Parliamentarian, and this speech does reflect the Anti-Parliamentary position. Anti-Parliamentarism has been systematically misunderstood by the whole left-wing movement. We. of the left-wing movement," are broken into innumerable sects and groups. Each group conducts a hate campaign against comrades in other groups, at times our activity of slander against our comrades exceeds our activity against the system. It does not matter now how this has come about. it is a fact and it is a fact that must be overcome. This short speech sets out to tackle this problem of division within the working class movement.


When we come to consider that, regardless of what group or party we belong to, we are members of the working class movement and that the working class movement has a tremendous history stretching back as far as we can go, we get some perspective of our own position in relation to the working class struggle. We should realise that our group is but a dot against this greater background. Groups and parties have passed away, and will pass away, but the struggle will go on. Our loyalty should not be to the group. right or wrong. our loyalty should lie with the working class movement and with the overall struggle of the workers. The working class struggle has passed through every chapter in history, it has adopted many names and causes, it has been used by power-seeking groups, but it does represent a continuous history of struggle. There are many similarities between the early Christians in their "struggle against the ruling hierarchy of their time and the present day socialist movement in their struggle against current State and Monopoly Capitalism.


The early Christian movement was destroyed by the Deification of Jesus. It was destroyed when it turned its discussion to Theology and Mysticism. It was destroyed by fragmentation as a result of theoretical differences between this or that individual who then created his own little sect. It was finally destroyed when it was adopted by the ruling hierarchy and absorbed into the ruling class culture. All this has happened to the socialist movement.


The fact that the early Christian movement was destroyed did not mean that the working class movement had ended, indeed, it went on to blaze even more dramatic episodes across the pages of history. It is not my job here to retell the brilliant episodes in the history of the working class movement, but it is essential to stress that there is a connecting link between all the chapters in history, between all groups, they all represent an expression of the overall working class movement. The working class struggle encircles the globe. As I have already pointed out, its history goes back to earliest times. Against this broad background our group, or our party, is really a tiny fragment of the whole picture. This is essentially the Anti-Parliamentary position.


Anti-Parliamentarism is not a mania about the British Parliament. The term was first used to emphasise the difference between the traditional socialist struggle and the breakaway groups who became orthodox and concentrated their efforts and their resources on getting into Parliament. Many of the groups who went over to Parliamentarism became so involved in that activity they lost sight of the struggle. They became so involved in becoming respectable, in becoming accepted by the ruling class; in electioneering; in raising funds; in becoming ‘fit’ to govern, that they created a breed of people who know nothing of the original cause of the struggle. The final development in this line of thought is to be found in the fact that the Labour Party now employs professional advertising agencies to sugar their palliative pills.


Anti-Parliamentarism is in reality the whole struggle of the working class movement. It believes in keeping the cause of the struggle well to the forefront of our activity. It is determined that we do not substitute the struggle between groups, for power or popularity, for the real struggle for working class emancipation. Anti-Parliamentarism does not confine its activity to one particular sphere or one particular area. The working class will fight on every front, this gives rise to the various groups. But we must be loyal to our comrades, it does not matter what faction they belong to. We must be loyal to our comrades in industry, we must be loyal to our comrades who work at the political level, we must be loyal to our comrades who concentrate on propaganda and we must be loyal to our comrades who are imprisoned or executed, who are ill-treated at the hands of the Capitalist State.


This is the message of this speech, which I ask you to read fairly with an open mind. Do not approach it from a sectarian position with a view to finding faults. You will find faults. Guy Aldred recorded this speech at the end of his life during a period of great suffering. It is remarkable that he still grappled with working class problems and was not overcome with personal anguish. I ask the reader to be as impersonal, and as impartial, in his consideration of this speech. And I further urge him to make its subject-matter a topic for discussion in his own group or party, or in any circumstance where such an important matter may be considered.


BEN MULLIN.


Glasgow, 1967.


MAY DAY


Preliminary Note


May Day is an expression of pure nature worship. Its celebration connects up, naturally. with the class struggle and the economic interpretation of history; Without doubt. its traditions are those of working class struggle and celebration. They support the call of Spring to those who toil, they relate the harmony of nature to the toil and suffering of those who dwell on the Earth and suggest the need for escape. Hence the May month is one of inspiration to break free from bondage. "Slavery gives way to freedom. and a new atmosphere comes into the lives of the people. Much of the inspiration is mystical--but it is also a very real and true harmony that makes for battle and the struggle for justice. Finally, the tendency towards social freedom is established.


Thus May begins a new dance for the slaves, the dance of the apprentices. The old fashioned dance of a half-hearted and a half-witted sense of joy gives way to a true joyous exaltation in" social freedom. Men and women become adult in an atmosphere of true youth, and so the new social system is born. The very name of the month suggests the purpose of the month. May is so called from the goddess Maia. The name under which the Earth was worshipped at this season of the year. The first of the month has always been an important date in the religion of nature-worship. The famous 17th century poet, Spenser, salutes May as the sovereign month of man’s happiness. the “fairest maid of all the year.” It is characteristic of the enthusiasm with which the arrival of the month was welcomed. Yet the symbolism seems to have been a little overworked, and man, dwelling in slavery, must have found the joy extremely transient.


G. A. ALDRED.


Glasgow, May Day, 1963.


THE TWO NATIONS


A May-Day Menage


It is fifty-nine years since I mounted the public platform on May Day, in London, as an avowed socialist. I called myself a Social Democrat, but the Social Democratic definition was very temporary. I used more often the term--Socialist, and I thought as a socialist and I considered that I belonged to the great socialist movement. I did not differentiate between Social Democrats, Communists or Anarchists. Indeed, at that time I did not know very much about Anarchism. It is true that at that very moment I was not actually a member of ' the Social Democratic Federation. I did not join that organisation till a few months later, but I was very active in its ranks and very active among its comrades and I looked upon the S.D.F. as a great socialist body. In a way I dare say it was, particularly in London, where it seemed to have most root.


The Social Democrats differed from the I.L.P. and from the Labour Party. despite what the members of , either of these parties would have you believe to-day, and despite the fact that -some of the Social Democrats of that time became leading members of the Labour Party. They differed in this great respect, the chief characteristic of the Social Democrats was their proletarian language, their proletarian bearing and their proletarian association. I was a strong total abstainer and non-smoker, but I look back with amusement to the fact that the Social Democrats always met above public houses and usually had a drink of beer on the table at their branch meetings. The I.L.P. usually met in very careful coffee rooms, what we now term and what we termed in some places then-cafes. Their fare was always tea or coffee and cakes, not so that of the Social Democrats. I. of course, only took lemonade, but at the same time the proletarian atmosphere of the Social Democrats pleased me much more than the respectable atmosphere of the I.L.P. meeting. I think this difference between assumed intellectuality and a bogus respectability, and the fustian. rustic attitude of the Social Democrats, represented the difference between socialism, whether correctly understood or not, and the respectable parliamentarism of the other factions.


I very soon broke with parliamentarism and began my activities as an anti-parliamentarian. My sympathies were with those who stood for direct-action, though I did not always agree with their protest. I remember speaking once for an S.D.F. branch in Regents Park. It was about the time of some direct-action activity, an act of assassination in Europe, by some alleged anarchist. It does not matter now whether the person was actually an anarchist or not he claimed to be. His act represented a protest by the very poor, the very downtrodden, against those who are established in wealth and in high position. I do not agree, and I did not agree, when a person sets himself up as prosecutor, jury and public executioner, as obviously the man who engaged in political assassination sets himself up to occupy all three positions in one person. To me, that savours of dictatorship. I remember this meeting, because the speaker before me went out of his way to denounce the Anarchist. He never analysed the position that made for this protest. He never analysed the economic condition that pervaded the misery of the man who was guilty of the act. He never analysed the position of the people who were responsible for judging him, nor the journalists who condemned him merely for the sake of their bread and butter. He merely went all out to denounce this representative of the poor who had been guilty of this action. While I did not sympathise with this action, I sympathised still less with the cant and the humbug of the condemnation, and when I mounted the S.D.F. platform I said so plainly and directly.


The result was a furor, and a great antagonism to me for daring to express this point of view. Nevertheless, I thought that an explanation of why a person commits an get of direct action was due. Also, I thought the action was less reprehensible than it seemed to be, though it was reprehensible. because the poor who are guilty of such acts of condemnation, by direct action, by assassination, were after all defenders of their own rights, protesting against some great injustice. Their enemies took the chance of using an entire state machinery. an economic power to destroy them, and smilingly went their way feeling how good they were, because they had killed nobody. Nevertheless. the evidence is there of the existence of this method of killing and crushing the lives of the people. When war comes they rejoice in the thousands they send to their deaths. Such humbug I do not understand and such humbug, as a socialist, I condemn.


I remember that before I spoke as a Social Democrat in favour of May Day, on May Day itself-that the previous May Day I spoke as a boy preacher. My concept of Christianity did not bother very much about whether Jesus was god or not, indeed it resented the idea, My approach historically towards this theological question was that of Unitarianism, although the first Unitarians were aristocrats and too respectable for my liking. I felt that original Christianity represented the revolt of the slaves and that it represented the uprising of the masses against the masters. From that point of view I viewed May Day before I became an actual socialist. There was a great deal of mystical error in my approach and I don’t suppose I said much about the immediate class struggle, but I do remember that I spoke historically about the struggle of the common people and I co-related that speech to the struggles of the peasants and to the struggle of some of the historic events of the great reformation and to the renaissance period.


Subsequently, I found myself mixing among the anarchists. Here I found a note that gives birth to tonight’s speech, and that has played a part in my thinking ever since. I found myself among a small group of sectarians, mostly non-English speaking, in the East End of London. Many of their ideas I agreed with and much of their courage I admired, but their great anti-Marxism, their severe criticism of the materialistic conception of history, I did not understand. These people were more anti-Marxist than they were anti-capitalistic. They certainly preached direct action, but even direct action can be reformist and tends to lead to trade unionism, just as trade unions tend to become the basis of parliamentarism. This fact in both stages of its development was well illustrated in the case of John Turner of the Shop Assistants’ Union. He organised the shop assistants and rendered them a great deal of service. As a member. he became the leader of his union and as the leader of his union he had to support parliamentarism and the idea of representatives of the shop assistants sitting in Parliament. It is true that he refused to stand himself and could easily have got a seat. but he did support parliamentarism because the economic interests of his union compelled him to do so. That seems to me to point to the fact that. within class society, you have the workers themselves divided economically because there are different economic interests. The workers serve under the social system of capitalism and are controlled by it. Inevitably, politically, they were controlled by the division into nations; and you had born a patriotism that found working class support, and it found this working class support down to the very period of the first world war. That division seemed to me to be fatal to the working class struggle.


During the years since then. I have still realised that the method of anti-parliamentarism-even when it boycotted the ballot box. a natural thing to do, or when it made some such protest at the ballot box like those I have made on several occasions. criticised by my comrades and ridiculed by the capitalist press-never acted as a definite anti-parliamentary activity but acted purely and simply as a parliamentary activity. Even although anti-parliamentarism has tended to destroy a great deal of the call of parliamentarism and the actions of the parliamentarians has brought home. again and again. the great truth of anti-parliamentanism. The right to vote means the right not to vote. Not voting under capitalism is, after all, taking a part just as much as voting under capitalism. In the end it has to accept. on certain occasions, the conclusions supported by the parliamentary state. Hence, you have parliamentarism still triumphant even although it is destroyed by the voice of the people and is not supported outside parliament by the people. except at times of elections. My puzzle has been how this should be overcome.


When I first became a socialist there was a body in existence which still exists (somewhat different from what it was then. in my opinion) called the Socialist Party of Great Britain. That was a very small party and it certainly has not grown as a party. That party believed in pure parliamentarism. It rejoiced in being a Marxist party, but its Marxism really consisted in supporting the theories and the publications of Karl Kautsky. In 1904, I remember three pamphlets published by Kautskv and translated from the German. in which Kautsky puts forward his particular views on social democracy and in which the S.P.G.B. praised him as being a Marxist. Lenin afterwards destroyed the Marxist claims of Kautsky and pointed out that Kautsky was really anti-Marx and in many respects anti-socialistic. He was a reformist and certainly not a revolutionary. Ignoring this fact, the S.P.G.B. still pretends to be a Marxist party. still speaks in a narrow little sectarian way and will still not bring the workers anywhere near their social emancipation.


About the same time as the S.P.G.B. was born in Britain. the S.L.P. was imported from America. Its great founder was Daniel De Leon, who was in many respects a great propanandist. He hated the anarchists because in many ways he supported the same ideas and preached the same ideas. He claimed to be a Marxist and the S.P.G.B. ridiculed his alleged Marxism. Daniel De Leon's criticisms of the social system were excellent very often. and he must have had played a tremendous part as a socialist educator of the people. but nevertheless he has built no organisation, his organisation is in its death throes and all that remains is the classical education left behind by his pamphlets. There is no doubt about the sincerity, no doubt about the vigour of Daniel De Leon, but at the same time there is no doubt about the failure of his propaganda. We have today the spectacle of a few groups of S.P.G.B. supporters and a few groups of S.L.P. supporters attacking each other, sometimes slandering each other but each claiming to be the true Marxist party.


Actually it does not matter what Marx taught. It is absurd for any party to claim to be the true Marxist party, we do not know what Marx would have done on a certain occasion, we can only speak in the terms of his general education, his general concept and his general knowledge. What specifically Marx would have done on this particular occasion or that particular occasion it is absolutely impossible to say.


In addition to these two socialist groups we have the anarchists, divided into individualists and communists. Let us take the communists as being the true expression of anarchism for, alter all, that does represent the working class approach. The Communist Anarchists spend more time hating Marx and admiring Bakunin than they do in preaching actual socialism or trying to organise the working class. Their one cry is direct action, but direct action cannot represent the action of all the people or cannot represent affective action on the part of a minority that will effect all the people and bring all the people into action against the system, it is, after all, very indirect action and a failure. Now that means we have three left wing groups divided into sectarian organisations thoroughly opposed to a united working class movement.


Against this we have brought into existence by the Russian Revolution. the Communist Party. This party is a ‘yes-man’ party. It sometimes tells the truth, it sometimes does not tell the truth. It does not function really and truly as a party in Britain, arising out of British conditions or the economic conditions of the workers here. It functions purely and simply as a satellite of the Russian Revolution, and whoever happens to be in power in the Kremlin. the Communist Party hails and supports that particular individual, or that particular group, as being the last word. In turn, it has supported Lenin who, after all, is outstanding. It has supported Trotsky, a lesser man to bruit. It has supported Stalin who, after the triumph of the revolution and after the successful activity of Lenin, turned his attention to destroying his own group for the sake of power. The Communist Party today supports Khurschov, who represents an entirely different policy from that of Stalin and, to my mind, really represents the struggle towards peace and communism. However, it is not because Khruschov may be right, it is not because his policy tends to be the policy towards freedom with the minimum of suffering, it is purely and simply because he is in power in the Kremlin that the Communist Party in this country supports him. That is a ‘yes-man’ policy and it can no more be tolerated than a ‘yes-man’ policy under Stalin, who, after all, destroyed his own comrades and certainly was responsible for bogus trials.


Now we have the Labour Party. The Labour Party represents parliamentarism arising from the ranks of the working class, carrying on the traditions of the great struggle for parliamentary representation and, really the trader and the merchant style, for the control of finance so that there should be no absolute monarchy. At the same time, this parliamentarism represents, not the organisation of the working class, for the working class can have no power under the parliamentary system, but merely a control of the working class elements by the state system of capitalism. It never intends to get beyond that system, it never intends to inaugurate-—really and truly—socialism, its aim is purely and simply to organise the nationalisation of industry and of credit, etc., at the very highest. This is not socialism, this does not give emancipation to the working class. Unless you have emancipation coming from and directed by and controlled by the workshops, you have no emancipation of the working class.


The point is, what can we do? This May Day I want to direct my thoughts to the question of what can we do to emancipate the people from the thralldom of economic partisanship, economic domination and political subsideriness to the interest of the capitalist state. That is the problem before all of us today. Let us analyse what we are. The capitalist state speaks about freedom of the press and freedom of speech, this claim is not quite correct but it makes a show of believing in it and its laws seem to suggest it on certain occasions. But why is the capitalist class able to talk about freedom of speech and freedom of the press, yet at the same time speak about sedition, speak about treason and shoot and execute people from time to time for alleged offences of treason—very often high class patriotism ——and also imprison them for offences of freedom of speech which goes too far. I he explanation is quite simple, it is because we live under a capitalist state and because the capitalist class constitute the political expression of the nation. Therefore, we have got to see what we can do to bring about the control of the political expression of the working class movement by the working class movement. We have to define accurately and impartially and scientifically the working class movement, we have to define directly and scientifically the working class nation and we have to understand exactly what socialism stands for.


THE KEY TO THE SOLUTION


I think that the key to the solution of this problem of working class organisation for genuine and effective social action is to be found in a statement made by Lord Beaconsfield. He defined the two nations that existed within every so-called nation. He defined the struggle between these two nations as the real struggle. He spoke of the nation of the rich and the nation of the poor, and I think that in our approach to the question we have to bear in mind this definition. The nation of the rich and the nation of the poor, and from this angle we must create our concept of loyalty and disloyalty. The nation of the rich being in power, has a right to impose upon us from the standpoint of power and from the standpoint of power only, its definition of sedition and its definition of treason. We must elevate the nation of the poor to the position of the nation of the rich, we must make it the supreme nation and we must define sedition and treason as offences against the unity of the nation of the poor as distinct from the nation of the rich. This is a true political expression of the class struggle, one to be remembered and one to be put into effect.


In the international field today we have loyalty to sects —not loyalty to nations, loyalty to parties--not loyalty to class, but it is the class loyalty we have to consider. The working class must create its own nationhood. It must accept the fact that so long as we live under the capitalist system we are divided into economic classes or subdivisions. We are carpenters. we are joiners, we are electricians, we are labourers, we are motor drivers, etc., and we think in the terms of our own particular trade or industry, particularly in times of threatened unemployment. This is why among compositors we deprive women of the right to act as compositors or linotype setters, even though they are quite capable of doing such work. It is a restriction on labour supply because of the economic condition. All this must be wiped out—but it has to be accepted at the moment. Above all this class distinction and craft division or industrial division within the nation of. the poor, we have overhead the one great economic fact that there is a nation of the poor that lives in insecurity, lives in misery, lives by selling its labour power--by whatever shape or form it does so—and does not live as the possessor of the wealth or the right to control wealth. Against them is the other class who live on their backs, who live as the controllers of wealth produced by the poor and who constitute the nation of the rich and the governing class in society. Between these two nations there exists an interminable conflict, a conflict that can only be ended by the triumph of the poor and the utter defeat of the rich. Our business is to ring about an end to this division, and an end to this struggle within the working class movement, and bring about a unity which will utterly defeat the ruling class movement.


This unity is defeated by the faction of schism[1] as well as heresy,[2] and by schism much more than by heresy. The schism consists in all these political parties fighting against each other in the name of labour. The schism consists in the economic struggle which again divides the workers on the industrial field, thinking it is right for one section of the workers to go without whilst another section should occupy a position of superior control of wealth and superior share of wealth. The schism consists in the distinction between the skilled and the unskilled worker, forgetting that there is no such thing as skilled and unskilled workers but that there is only such an institution as the worker. In this great struggle, particularly in its political expression and in the tendency towards careerism created by the economic division, you have this question arising of who splits the vote, who divides the worker?


It is assumed that the majority movement is the right movement of the working class and that in the majority movement there is no such thing as schism, no such thing as treachery. It is assumed that the only people who have no right to exist are those who belong to the smaller groups and sects and that they play no useful part in the struggle. This is sheer nonsense, pure sectarianism of the worst description. Sometimes the smaller groups are useless, and they act in a useless fashion and they do tend to destroy the unity of the working class, but let us remember that when they do, in the main, except from some standpoint of vanity, they do so from a sincere belief in the cause of the struggle. The larger groups, the groups that arise from the trade unions—the group that arises from the economic interest within the struggle—the groups that find their expression in the Labour Party, also have their tendency towards schism. Its members are moved not by a desire to serve the people, not by a loyalty to abstract principles, but by a loyalty to their own personal interests and their own status under capitalism. Quite definitely, whilst they arise from the ranks of labour, whilst their base is in the workshops, whilst their feet are in the mire of the slums and the mire of suffering, they belong—so far as their heads are concerned— to the capitalist class and they think in terms of the capitalist class. This is treason—and this is the one treason we must destroy. This treason can only be destroyed by establishing, somehow or other, a fundamental nation of the poor to which all power should belong. It should be our anti-parliamentary task, whether we are aroused by anti-parliamentarism or not, to create this definite organised nation of the poor, including all sections of the poor and creating free speech among the poor—just as the ruling class have established a nation of the rich.


Now our nation of the poor should enjoy the same right of free speech, governed by a loyalty to its own class interests and a loyalty to the economic struggle of the workers, as the nation of the rich has a right to create a state governed by its loyalty to the ruling class interests of the rich. Once this is understood, we have then two definite nations confronting each other throughout the world and standing for the great struggle for working class emancipation and finally for a free world everywhere.


We have another problem—the problem of recognising the place that theory and education has in this struggle. Education should be taken away from the hands of the rich and placed in the hands of the poor. Only complete working class organisation—technical as well as educational. technical as well as prophetic, technical and scientific as well as visionary—can bring this about.


In mv opinion the Russian Revolution has represented a tremendous change in the history of the world, and also the great Chinese Revolution has represented a tremendous change. I think when we come to analyse the Russian Revolution we will discover the great importance of Lenin. Not merely as a disciple of Marx, but as a practical disciple of Marx and as a practical scientific socialist. It may be that history will place Lenin in an even higher position than Marx is placed, because Marx, after all, although he laid the basis of scientific socialism, destroying utopian socialism, was but a kind of John the Baptist. Lenin was far more probably the Christ of the movement than Marx. Because Lenin did try to put into practical effect the ideas of Marxism, and the idea of scientific socialism and created a state which, despite its errors—its terrible errors—did tend towards the new social order and historically belonged to the social order of socialism. Stalin can pass out of the picture. Trotsky, despite his brilliant writing, was a much inferior man to Lenin and I do not think he would have hesitated to have agreed to that himself.


In Khruschov, it seems to me, we have a man next great in importance to that of Lenin, but certainly a man of our time who has made a stand politically and diplomatically for the establishment of socialism. Accepting defeat and moving forward to victory, moving with his times, moving in front of his times, determined to save the world from slaughter, determined to make the world possible for revolution. What I have said about the ‘yes-men’ of the Russian Revolution. what I have said disparaging these people who claim to be the disciples of Khruschov and who now applaud Khruschov as they once applauded Stalin, is not meant to represent any degradation of Khruschov. I have a tremendous respect for Khruschov and a tremendous respect for the work he is doing—this is not a ‘yes-man’ respect. I am quite prepared to criticise Khruschov, as I am quite prepared to criticise Marx, as I hope others will be prepared to criticise me, and as I am prepared to criticise myself. Nevertheless, the great debt that history owes, the great debt that the working class owe as regard their future development. to the work of Khruschov—to my mind can never be over-estimated. This May Day I believe in mentioning this as a part of my tribute to the importance of May Day.


There are two other things I want to say. First of all. I have drawn attention already to the fact that this May Day should be celebrated with particular energy and enthusiasm because it was on 5th May that Karl Marx was born. It is not merely a celebration of May, the vernal month of working class emancipation. it is also a celebration of the birth and the struggle in poverty of a very great pioneer of socialism, a very great pioneer of liberty——Karl Marx.


May Day. I believe my memory serves me rightly and I speak only from memory at the moment without any notes, May Day really came into importance about the year 1889. It was really established as a day of labour by the French labour movement and it did not include or exclude any particular branch. it was the movement of all the working class factions. May Day used to be like that in Glasgow, but the Labour Party with the connivance of various factions, some of whom later went to the Communist Party, succeeded in destroying the universal aspect of May Day and made it more and more just a parliamentary celebration. We have evidence of that in the last meeting addressed in Queen’s Park by the late Mr. Gaitskell when, obviously, the Labour Party platform was captured and the whole spirit of May Day was destroyed by the interests of one party, that claimed because it was the majority party to be the party of the entire working class and very little protest was made against this seizure and usurpation.


THE CHICAGO ANARCHISTS


In any case, May Day, 1889, was established under the shadow of the May Days that had more or less been celebrated in the past, but not with universal acclamation, in various parts of the world but dissociated from each other. In May Day, 1886, we had the demonstration in Chicago for the Chicago martyrs. They were arrested for what took place and a year later they were executed as the martyrs of the working class movement. Their spirit overshadowed for a number of years the celebration of May Day and, as you know, we had an outstanding governor of Illinois who departed entirely from his class and proclaimed that they were victims of a police frame-up and he brought about the release of those still in prison, regretting that he could not give back the lives of those who had already been executed. In the shadow of that great tragedy, the working class May Day was celebrated and held for a number of years. It came down to the time when we introduced the recognition of the suffering of Ferrier in Spain, and then today we meet under the shadow of the murder, by Franco, of Grimaud.[3]


Grimaud has been murdered for his loyalty to communism and to the working class. His murder should be remembered by all of us and it should unite the entire working class movement. Division by sectarian grouping will destroy that possible stand that can overthrow this “man of no mercy,”[4] this enemy of the working class, Franco. It is no use telling me that we must be loyal to abstract principles of socialism, after all I have walked the fools’ parade in prison, I know what it is like to be suffering imprisonment and, understanding that, I know how important it is to have a united movement to bring about one’s release. Apart from the terrible, shocking and disgraceful execution of Grimaud, we have the terrible suffering of Ambatielos in Greece and we witness the scene in connection with the heroic defence of Tony Ambatielos by his wife Betty. This should call us to strong protest against fascism, which after all is the extreme and last word of reactionary capitalism. This should call us to extreme unity and bring about a practical unity as well as make for theoretical discussion and understanding. Therefore, I am for a working class movement that should be open to a discussion of all. But a working class movement should not just end in discussion, it should try to take definite steps forward towards a complete unity of its anti-parliamentary and parliamentary factions and bring about one great working class movement for action and for working class emancipation.


I say comrades—unite, rally round and think, above all think for yourselves, and in thinking for yourselves we will develop a richness of unity and a richness of understanding which will give power and classic authority to the working class nation. The nation of the poor will soon become the nation of the free in a richer and a freer world.


About Guy Aldred


He served a total of eight years in prison for his beliefs, and, true "to his principle, died in poverty.


Guy Aldred was a materialist in philosophy. He had no belief in the supernatural. To him “the mortal soul of Man is the only intelligent lord of matter.” Yet many of his writings and speeches were imbued with a spirituality that raised them .above the ephemeral utterances of most political speakers. What he had to say had relevance, not merely to the moment, but to the epoch. He edited many socialist papers, among them: “Herald of Revolt,” “The Spur,” “The Commune,” “The “Council,” “The New Spur,” and “The Word.” His autobiography, “No Traitors’ Gait!” was issued in supplements and was unfinished at the time of his death.


[1] A schism ‘is a division, or breach of unity among people of the same beliefs.


[2] A heresy is a doctrine or set of principles at variance with the accepted ideas of a group or sect.


[3] Julian Grimaud: A member of the Spanish Communist Party. He was executed by Franco in May, 1963, for his part in the Civil War 25 years earlier. The sentence of death was carried out despite world-wide protests.


[4] “Man of No Mercy." The Sunday Citizen description of the Spanish dictator, Franco, 1n its report of the “judicial murder” of Julian Grimaud.

Tuesday, 3 March 2026

Statement by Iran Labour Confederation - Abroad / کنفدراسیون کار ایران - خارج از کشور on the Ongoing War and the Urgency of Revolutionary Action

 


Statement by Iran Labour Confederation - Abroad / کنفدراسیون کار ایران - خارج از کشور on the Ongoing War and the Urgency of Revolutionary Action

 Statement sourced from here

The killing of Ali Khamenei, alongside a number of senior figures from the IRGC and the ruling apparatus, is an exceptional development in Iran’s current trajectory. It is a decisive blow to the heart of the repression machine and the backbone of the Islamic Republic. For millions in Iran, the death of a man who for decades symbolised massacre, suppression, poverty, militarism, and rule through blood has triggered a moment of release — a mix of long-contained rage and explosive relief.

People’s presence in the streets and the broader social reaction reveal the depth of hatred that years of crime and slaughter have accumulated inside society.

This is not joy in war. It is not joy in bombardment or in the killing of children. It is not joy in foreign intervention. It is the grim relief of seeing cracks appear in a monster that only two months ago, in Dey, drenched the country in blood — gunning down and crushing tens of thousands and turning society into an ocean of grief and anger.

The people who are breathing today are the same people who yesterday were beaten, shot, and thrown into prisons.

Still, we must state the reality plainly: this blow to the top of the state has taken place within a war launched from above and outside the people’s will. A war that threatens lives, turns cities into zones of death, and seeks to paralyse society through fear and ruin.

The United States and Israel have played a direct role through their military attacks, and they must be condemned unconditionally. No “rescue” narrative and no “defensive” framing can launder the killing of civilians.

At the same time, it must be said clearly: the Islamic Republic and the IRGC are not the victims of this war, they are among its principal architects. A state that for years has used society as a shield for its military and nuclear projects is now paying the price for those policies through internal collapse.

Khamenei’s death does not mean the crisis is over, but it does show unmistakably that this system can no longer reproduce its former authority. A structure whose leader has been removed, which is now at war, and which faces a society saturated with anger and hatred has entered a phase of irreversible instability.

We must also be alert to a crucial fact: a rupture at the top does not automatically mean the people’s will is being realised. It is precisely in moments like this that projects designed to contain society become active, “controlled transition,” reshuffling of elites, and the promotion of top-down alternatives meant to hijack the revolution and take the direction of events out of the people’s hands.

Backroom deals, reproducing the same structure with a new face, or imposing client governments under the slogans of “stability” and “transition” are all attempts to neutralise revolutionary momentum and block direct popular power. These scenarios do not represent the end of the Islamic Republic; they represent the continuation of the same repressive order in a new form. The only force capable of blocking this outcome is independent, nationwide, bottom-up organisation.

In a moment like this, the central question is not merely “opposition to war.” The real question is whether society can consciously use the opening created by the rupture at the top to advance revolutionary overthrow. War is meant to frighten society and suspend the revolution; the people’s answer must be to rebuild and organise their social power right in the middle of this crisis.

Workers, wage earners, youth, women, and all social forces must understand one basic truth: no foreign power is going to deliver freedom. The only force that can bring this system down for good is an organised society. Joining existing social organisations, strengthening independent labour organisations, and building councils, local committees, and mutual-aid networks is not a “choice” today — it is an urgent necessity, both to protect human lives under wartime conditions and to take collective control of society’s future.

The Islamic Republic is wounded and unstable. This is not a moment for spectatorship or hesitation; it is a moment for action. The real end of this war will not come through agreements between states, but through the revolutionary overthrow of an order that has turned life itself into a field of death.

We call on people worldwide, labour movements, and freedom-loving forces to stand with the people of Iran — not with states and war machines. Real solidarity means supporting the people’s right to overthrow the Islamic Republic and to build an order that is humane, free, and equal.

The struggle has entered a new stage. Repression has cracked, fear has been shaken, and the possibility of advancing has opened. A society that has paid so much in blood has the right — and the duty — to build its own future.

Iran Labour Confederation – Abroad 

 

  تحولات ایران است. این اتفاق، ضربه‌ای تعیین‌کننده به قلب ساختار سرکوب و ستون فقرات جمهوری اسلامی است. مرگ کسی که دهه‌ها نماد کشتار، سرکوب، فقر، جنگ‌طلبی و حکومت با خون بود، برای میلیون‌ها نفر در ایران، لحظه‌ای از رهایی، خشمِ فروخورده و شادی انفجاری بوده است. حضور مردم در خیابان‌ها و واکنش‌های اجتماعی، بیانگر عمق نفرتی است که جمهوری اسلامی طی سال‌ها جنایت و کشتار در دل جامعه انباشته کرده است.

این شادی، شادیِ جنگ نیست. شادیِ بمباران و مرگ کودکان نیست. شادیِ دخالت قدرت‌های خارجی نیست. این شادی، شادیِ دیدن ترک برداشتن هیولایی است که همین دو ماه پیش، در دی‌ماه، با گلوله و سرکوب ده‌ها هزار انسان را به خاک و خون کشید و جامعه را به دریایی از داغ و خشم بدل کرد. مردمی که امروز نفس می‌کشند، همان‌هایی هستند که دیروز زیر باتوم، گلوله و زندان له شدند.

با این‌همه، واقعیت را باید بی‌پرده گفت: این ضربه به رأس حکومت، در دل جنگی رخ داده که از بالا و خارج از اراده مردم آغاز شده است. جنگی که جان انسان‌ها را تهدید می‌کند، شهرها را به میدان مرگ می‌کشاند و می‌کوشد جامعه را زیر سایه ترس و ویرانی فلج کند. آمریکا و اسرائیل با حملات نظامی خود در این جنگ نقش مستقیم دارند و باید بی‌قید و شرط محکوم شوند. هیچ روایت «نجات‌بخش» یا «دفاعی» نمی‌تواند کشتار مردم را تطهیر کند.

اما هم‌زمان باید تأکید کرد: جمهوری اسلامی و سپاه پاسداران، نه قربانی این جنگ، بلکه از معماران اصلی آن‌اند. حکومتی که سال‌ها جامعه را سپر پروژه‌های نظامی و هسته‌ای خود کرده، امروز بهای همان سیاست‌ها را با فروپاشی از درون می‌پردازد. مرگ خامنه‌ای به‌معنای پایان بحران نیست، اما به‌روشنی نشان می‌دهد که این حکومت دیگر توان بازتولید اقتدار پیشین را ندارد. ساختاری که رهبرش حذف شده، درگیر جنگ است و با جامعه‌ای سرشار از خشم و نفرت روبه‌روست، وارد مرحله‌ای از بی‌ثباتی برگشت‌ناپذیر شده است.

هم‌زمان باید هوشیار بود که شکاف در رأس قدرت، لزوماً به‌معنای تحقق اراده مردم نیست. درست در چنین لحظاتی است که پروژه‌های مهار جامعه فعال می‌شوند: «گذار کنترل‌شده»، جابه‌جایی مهره‌ها و لانسه‌کردن آلترناتیوهایی از بالا که قرار است انقلاب را مصادره و مسیر تحولات را از دست مردم خارج کنند. توافق‌های پشت‌پرده، بازتولید همان ساختار با چهره‌ای جدید، یا تحمیل دولت‌هایی دست‌نشانده تحت عنوان «ثبات» و «گذار»، همگی تلاش‌هایی برای مهار انقلاب و جلوگیری از اعمال اراده مستقیم مردم‌اند. این سناریوها، نه پایان جمهوری اسلامی، بلکه تداوم همان نظم سرکوبگر در شکلی دیگر است.

تنها نیرویی که می‌تواند این روند را خنثی کند، سازمان‌یابی مستقل، سراسری و از پایین جامعه است.

در چنین لحظه‌ای، مسئله اصلی جامعه فقط «مخالفت با جنگ» نیست. مسئله، استفاده آگاهانه از شکاف ایجادشده برای پیش‌برد سرنگونی انقلابی است. جنگ قرار است جامعه را بترساند و انقلاب را معلق کند؛ پاسخ مردم باید این باشد که درست در دل این بحران، قدرت اجتماعی خود را بازسازی و سازمان دهد.

طبقه کارگر، مزدبگیران، جوانان، زنان و همه نیروهای اجتماعی باید بدانند که هیچ نیروی خارجی قرار نیست آزادی را به ارمغان بیاورد. تنها نیرویی که می‌تواند این حکومت را برای همیشه به زیر بکشد، جامعه‌ای سازمان‌یافته است. پیوستن به تشکل‌های اجتماعی موجود، تقویت تشکل‌های مستقل کارگری، و ایجاد شوراها، کمیته‌های محلی و شبکه‌های همیاری، امروز نه یک انتخاب، بلکه یک ضرورت فوری است؛ هم برای حفاظت از جان انسان‌ها در شرایط جنگی و هم برای به‌دست‌گرفتن سرنوشت جامعه.

جمهوری اسلامی زخمی و متزلزل است. این لحظه، لحظه تماشا و تعلیق نیست، لحظه اقدام است. پایان واقعی جنگ، نه در توافق دولت‌ها، بلکه در سرنگونی انقلابی نظمی رقم می‌خورد که زندگی را به میدان مرگ تبدیل کرده است.

ما از مردم جهان، جنبش‌های کارگری و نیروهای آزادی‌خواه می‌خواهیم که در کنار مردم ایران بایستند؛ نه در کنار دولت‌ها و ماشین‌های جنگی. حمایت واقعی، حمایت از حق مردم برای سرنگونی جمهوری اسلامی و ساختن نظمی انسانی، آزاد و برابر است.

مبارزه وارد مرحله‌ای تازه شده است. سرکوب ترک برداشته، ترس شکسته و امکان پیش‌روی گشوده شده است. جامعه‌ای که این همه خون داده، حق دارد و باید آینده را خودش بسازد.

کنفدراسیون کار ایران – خارج از کشور
۱۰ اسفند ۱۴۰۴
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Sunday, 1 March 2026

1886: Expropriation an Essay by Kropotkin

 

 


 

Expropriation
An Essay by Kropotkin 

Published in La Revolte in 1886 
Translated by Henry Glasse 


No Social problem is more important for Revolutionists than that which deals with the expropriation of the rich in favour of the people, and the appropriation of all wealth by the latter. We invite all our comrades to study this problem under all its aspects, and to disenss it unceasingly, in view of its realization, which must sooner or later force itself upon us, as the definite success or temporary failure of the Revolution depends upon the manner in which this expropriation is applied.


As a matter of fact, no Socialist can doubt that any revolutionary effort is condemned in advance if, it does not correspond with the interests of the great majority, and find means for satisfying its requirements. It is not enough to have a noble id al: man cannot live on great thoughts and lofty discourses alone; he requires bread; the stomach has more rights than even the brain, for it is the stomach which sustains the whole organism. If, on the morrow of the Revolution, men do not see by the force of evidence as clear as daylight that the situation has been totally changed to their advantage—if the upset ends merely in a change of persons and formulas, nothing will have been done, and once more we shall have to set ourselves to the thankless task of Sisyphus ceaselessly rolling his massive rock uphill. In order that the Revolution may be something more than a name, and that a reaction may not bring us back on the morrow to the situation of the day before, it is necessary that the conquest of the day should be worth defending, it is necessary that he, who was wretched yesterday should no longer be miserable to-day. After the Revolution of 1848, simple-minded Republicans placed “three mouths of misery” at the disposal of the Provisional Government. The offer was accepted with enthusiasm, and, when the appointed time came, those who had accepted it did not fail to render payment for the three months, but they did so with volleys of grape-shot and wholesale transportation. The unfortunate people had hoped that those painful months of waiting would have sufficed for the enactment of the salutary laws which they expected would make them free men, and secure to them work and their daily bread. In place of asking, would it not have been better to take? Instead of making a parade of their misery, would it not have been preferable to put an end to it? Not but what devotion is a grand and beautiful thing, but it is not devotion, it is treason to abandon to their unhappy lot all those who march along with us. Let combatants die —Good! but let their death be of some use! Let devoted men sacrifice themselves-Quite right! but let the masses profit by the self-sacrifice of those valiant ones!


A general expropriation alone can satisfy the multitude of sufferers and oppressed. The matter must be made to pass from the domain of theory into that of practice: but, in order that expropriation may correspond with its principle, which is the suppression of private property and the restoration of all to all, it ought to be accomplished in vast proportions. On a small scale it would seem only vulgar pillage, on a large scale it would be the commencement of the Social Revolution. Of course we should be altogether ignorant of the laws of history, if we were to imagine that all at once a whole vast country could become our field of experience. Europe and the world will not become anarchist by a sudden transformation, but we know that on the one hand the madness of the ruling classes, together with their ambitions, their wars and their bankruptcies, and, on the other hand, the unceasing spread of our ideas, will have as their consequences great upheavals, that is to say, revolutions. It is at such times that we can act. How many times already have Revolutionists been taken by surprise, and allowed events to pass without taking advantage of them, and so have left propitious destiny still unattained!


Well, when these opportunities arise—and it is for you, comrades, to hasten their coming—when a whole district, or when large towns with their environs shall have shaken off their rulers, our work will be clearly traced out for us; the whole stock of instruments of labour must return into the possession of the community, and the wealth detained by private individuals must be restored to its true master -everybody- in order that each may be able to have his ample share in consumption, that production may be continued in respect to all matters necessary and useful, and that our social life, far from being interrupted, may he renewed with greater energy. Without the gardens and fields which afford us the articles indispensable to life; without the granaries, stores and warehouses which contain the accumulated products of labour; without the manufactories and workshops which supply the stuffs, the wrought metals, the thousand objects of industry and of art, together with the means of defence, without the railways and other means of communication which will enable us to exchange our products with the free communities in our neighbourhood, and to combine our efforts for resistance and attack: without all these we are condemned beforehand to perish, and to be stifled like the fish out of water, which cannot breathe, though bathed in the immense ocean of the air. Let us remember the great strike of railway servants which took place in America some years ago. The great bulk of the public recognized that their cause was just, everybody was weary of the insolence of the railway companies and rejoiced to see them at the mercy of their servants; but when the latter, having made themselves masters of the locomotives and railways, had neglected to make use of them; when the interchange of commodities continued interrupted, and food and articles of all descriptions had doubled in price, then public opinion changed sides, and people began to cry out, “Let us rather have the companies that rob us and break our limbs than these fellows on strike who starve us.” Let us never forget that it is necessary that all the interests of the people be protected, and that its needs as well as its instinctive love of justice be fully satisfied. 


Nevertheless it is not sufficient to recognise the principle, we must also apply it. Our opponents say to us, “Venture to touch the peasant’s plot of ground or the mechanic’s cottage, and see how they will receive you.” Very well! But we shall not interfere with the plot of ground nor with the cottage. We shall take good care not to attack our best friends, who without knowing it to-day, will certainly be our allies to-morrow. The expropriation will be to their advantage. We know that there is an average of means below which men suffer want, and above which they have a superfluity. In each town, in each country this average differs, but the popular instinct will not err, and without there being any necessity for drawing up lengthy statistics on paper, or for filling a whole series of volumes with figures, the people will know how to recover what is its own. In our beautiful existing society, a feeble minority lays claim to the bulk of the national wealth, has town and country houses built for itself, and accumulates in banks the coin, notes and documents of all sorts which represent the wealth produced by labour. All this we must seize, and by one and the same blow we shall set free the unhappy peasant whose plot of ground is burdened by a mortgage, the small shopkeeper who lives in constant dread of bankruptcy, and all that wretched crowd of persons who have not enough bread for the morrow. All this multitude may have been indifferent on the eve of the Revolution, but when the day of expropriation comes, how can it fail to see that it depends upon itself whether it is to remain free or to fall again into misery and eternal anxiety? Or, indeed, instead of freeing itself by itself, will it again have the simplicity to appoint a provisional government consisting of individuals with supple fingers and glibly wagging tongues, nor be contented until it has set up new masters in place of the old? Let it do its own work if it is to be done; let it confide it to representatives if it wishes to be betrayed!


It is not enough that the interested parties should come to recognise their interest, which is to live without continual anxiety respecting the future, and without the humiliation of having to serve masters, it is also necessary that ideas should change with regard to property, and that corresponding ideas of morality should be modified in consequence. We must understand and admit without hesitation or reserve that all the instruments and products of human labour are due to the united labour of all, and have but one proprietor – Humanity. We must clearly see that private property is a conscious or an unconscious theft of that which belongs to all, and we must be prepared to sieze all with alacrity for the common use and benefit so soon as ever the hour of redress shall sound. Take, waste not, for all is yours, and you have need of it. But destroy without delay all that has to be destroyed; the forts which are built to overawe the towns, the prisons, and those unhealthy quartes in which you have so long breathed an atmosphere loaded with poison. Take up your abode in the palaces and mansions, and make a bonfire of the piles of bricks and rotting wood which were your unwholesome dwellings. The instinct of destruction so natural and so just, because it is at the same time the instinct of renovation, will find ample room for satisfaction. How many antiquated obstructions there are to be done away with! Everything has to be re-modelled-- houses, cities, agricultural and industrial appliances, and, in short, the entire social apparatus.


To each great historical event there corresponds a certain evolution in human morality. It is certain that the morality of equals will not be the same as that of the charitable rich and the grateful poor. For a new world a new law is necessary, and it is indeed a new world which is giving notice of its near approach. Our adversaries themselves repeat unceasingly: “The gods are vanishing, the kings are going, the prestige of authority is disappearing.” And what is there to take the place of the gods, the kings, and the priests, if not the free individual relying on his manhood? Blind faith takes flight! Make way for Science! Gracious pleasure and Charity disappear! Make room for Justice!

P. Kropotkin

Thursday, 9 October 2025

Before reaching the Stars By Wat Wanlyangkun

 


Before reaching the Stars


By Wat Wanlyangkun


Mother walked slowly away from the abbot’s residence, past the sandy courtyard and the shade of the pikun tree, towards the rear of the central shrine, One hand carefully supported a water-bowl, while the other held a rattan basket used for carrying the things needed for merit-making. A horned owl moaned softly from a dark corner of the shrine’s eaves. The sweet scent of frangipani blossoms drifted towards he with the breeze and the gentle waving of the flowering grass. Mother sank wearily down in front of the mortuary containing her dead son’s body1. With its oblong shape it looked like a coffin, except that it was made of cement-- and the smell of fresh cement still lingered in the air. There were other, identical mortuaries stretched out in a long row. The empty ones looked like dark caverns. And adjacent to the mortuaries little memorial stupas ringed the central shrine, whose dingy white walls were crumbling away in places from sheer age.


Mother carefully laid down a tray, on which she’d placed white porcelain cups filled with rice, kaeng som phak krajiap, fried salted fish, chiffon- and sticky layer-cakes2. The smell of the kaeng som wafting into her nostrils reminded her of him so much that the tears welled up in her eyes. Roy had loved it ever since he was a little boy, especially with fried salted fish, and he’d eat up rice like no one else. The soft, fluffy, pink chiffon-cake looked so tempting to the touch, while the sticky layer-cakes had the red of blood. So Roy used to tell her. Sobs formed a choking lump in her throat. She had never dreamed that her son’s life would come to a bloody end as two bullets pierced his tender flesh. Roy must have suffered, but her suffering was still worse. A pain not visible to the eye, but experienced in the heart, in the feeling, above all in the feeling of a mother. She didn’t understand how some people could be so cruel as to devour the flesh and blood of their fellow men… Softly Mother muttered his name… “Child, come and eat your food…”3 Then she pushed forward the engraved water-bowl, which still had a few grains of well-cooked rice stuck to it here and there, dipped her forefinger into the water, murmured prayers4. And, as she slowly closed her eyes, clear drops trickled from the corners down the wrinkles on her cheeks.


Before she’d rowed the boat away from the temple-jetty, the abbot had been kind enough to come and talk to her, and speak to her about her son. The words that still rang in her ears were: “Roy was a good boy, dear lady, well-behaved, quiet, and serious. Who could have had the heart to do him harm?… These days people have become so cruel…”


Mother had heard praise of this kind ever since Roy was a little boy. And when she heard it repeated now, she couldn’t help feeling proud and happy. When Roy had grown up to be a young man and had gone off to study in Bangkok, he remained her own adorable son, unchanged. When she said that students didn’t have to wear their hair long, he cut his short. It got to the point that she felt hesitant to scold him. If she wanted to give him some advice, she had to think it over very carefully before she brought it up: so much so that Ro, her youngest boy, used to tease her by saying that she had a saint for a son.


There was only one thing she couldn’t stop him doing-- when he broke the news to her that he probably wouldn’t be able to finish college in four years because he had to devote part of his time to “activities”. Mother later came to understand that these “activities” meant politics.


“Politics aren’t what I’m really after. I’m using my time to study and learn about the problems of the poor, who are so much poorer than we, who don’t eat three meals a day, and who have to do heavy work as manual laborers, hiring themselves out for low wages. When they demand fair pay, and appeal for help, how could you have me stand idly by, Mother? Or when the peasants demand justice, sometimes to the point of having to make demonstrations, I can’t possibly rest comfortably through it all. I’m concerned about our poor, not about politics. But politics concerns itself with me. So we can’t escape it…”


But no matter what reasons he gave, Mother loved him too devotedly to accept them. The very word “demonstration” pierced her to the quick. She couldn’t bear to look at the photos of the young men and women gunned down on the streets during October 19735. Worse than that, her thoughts would fly ahead in so many directions: if there was a mass demonstration, and someone threw even a single bomb, rows of people would be killed or wounded. She urged him to hurry up and finish his studies, hurry and get a job and settled down like his older brothers and sisters, so she could stop worrying about him… Roy couldn’t explain and get his mother to accept his reasons; so he’d just keep silent, listening quietly to her advice. But as the days passed, she had to recognize with a sigh that he was not following that advice. After that, Roy gradually drew away from his mother. Only once in a long while would he come back to visit his riverside home, even though it was really not that far from Bangkok. The one thing that deeply pleased his mother, though, wast Roy finally graduated, even though he took longer than usual to complete his studies.


She’d written to congratulate him. Yet in the letter she’d used the words “obstinate child”. For, no matter what, she remained just as concerned as ever, and urged him to hurry up and find a job.


“It won’t be many years now before Ro finishes high-school, and we’d like him to continue his schooling in Bangkok. If you can get a job with a salary befitting your education, it’ll mean you’ll have got settled, and won’t have to go on being a burden to your uncle. Your little brother can depend on you from then on, and I won’t have to worry any more. Now that you’ve graduated, you won’t get involved with those demonstrations any more, will you? It was all well and good while you were still a student. I’m sure someone like you, Roy, won’t take more than a few years to get settled. It’ll be much better if you set your mind to establishing yourself first. I’ve never been disappointed in your elder brothers and sisters. They’ve all done well, every one of them. Just two weeks ago, in fact, your elder brother Rong bought me a radio-tape recorder set, boasting that he got it in Japan. I think his company must have sent him there-- his boss must like him a lot. I feel very happy for him. And it looks like your little brother’s crazy about this present. Ro listens to it day and night, and pays no attention to his books, so I’ve had to put my foot down”.


Mother tied the boat to the bridge and scooped up some water to rub her face clean of the dirt and dust of her grief. The samun-tree by the water’s edge was beginning to change its leaves to welcome the cool season. Little Ro, wearing nothing but a pair of khaki shorts, was lying prone on the floorboards reading a newspaper. By his side lay the brand new radio-tape recorder set, playing a song.


“Any news today?” Mother asked, picking up the betel-tray from inside the rattan offering-basket.


“They say Elder Brother’s case is still a mystery. They have to interview the people close to the case, but so far they haven’t been able to track them down. And the bullets taken from his body aren’t any use in solving the riddle. Another paper makes it out to be an affair with some woman. It also says he was an extremist and a troublemaker. So I didn’t buy that one. I was afraid you’d be upset”.


She was struck dumb. She sighed and shook her head without a word.


A moment later she told her youngest son to get the cassette, murmuring very softly “I’d like to hear it one more time. I miss him so much”.


She still remembered very well that after she’d sent the letter congratulating Roy on his graduation and urging him to hurry up and settle down, she’d heard nothing more from him. He seemed to have vanished as silently as a needle dropped into the sea, until one day he sent her two cassette tapes through the mail. The one with a dove on the outside was simply filled with songs; the other contained a recorded message for her from Roy.


“Dear respected Mother, I received your letter a long time ago. The reason I’ve been so long in answering isn’t because I don’t care about the family, but because I’ve been very busy with my work. Then, when I heard that Elder Brother Rong had bought you a radio-tape recorder, I waited till I had enough money to spare to buy a cassette. The other tape has songs on it that I want Ro to hear….


“I understand your love and concern, and I’ve been turning over in my mind for a long time how I could best express myself to you, so that we can really understand each other. Right now, I’m a reporter for a little newspaper. The salary isn’t very high, but I’m satisfied, because the paper takes its stand on the truth. It speaks for the poor and attacks those who take advantage of the great majority and sell out the country and the people. The truth is, I’ve been at this job since before I graduated. I didn’t dare tell you then. I was afraid you’d be upset. I hope you aren’t angry with me, Mother! If I’d waited till graduation to join the movement for justice, I’d have proved to be the kind who thinks first of himself-- and it would have been too late. So I joined in before I finished school. It was a golden opportunity for someone who believes danger for sure, especially for investigative reporters. I’ve seen poor, pitiful peasants murdered, one after the other, like fallen leaves. I’ve seen women workers bravely resisting the clique of savages. Sometimes they’ve been cruelly mowed down. If you’d met them, if you’d seen them, if you’d understood them, you wouldn’t be able to stand it either, Mother….


“Your love for your child may be so great that it prevents you from seeing things as they truly are. You’re afraid that your child will get hurt, get wounded by a fragment of an incendiary bomb, or be gunned down. I feel a deep warmth in my heart whenever I think of your loving concern. Yet I’d like to pass on to you something a friend of mine who works here with me once said. He said that death is a common thing and comes to everyone without fail. But before we die, we have three choices as to how to spend our lives. The first is just to drift along worthlessly, seeking only our own safety, and in the end dying in oblivion. The second way is to seek meaning in life, struggling against the oppression of the many by the few, working with a heart brimful of good intentions for our fellow-men, not as a sacrifice but as a duty. The last way is to live by seizing everything in sight for ourselves, to live without conscience, wallowing in selfish pleasures over the blood and tears of others, before dying to the sound of curses. Mother, which road would you want your son to take?….


“So it’s no wonder that sometimes we have to risk danger. Right now I’m investigating a case of some Thais who are conniving with the Americans to swindle our people out of a huge quantity of the nation’s priceless resources, destroying what ought to be for the people’s benefit. The accomplices of the farang are all bigshots with a lot of political and bureaucratic influence. The profits they’re making in this case are so enormous that we guess that any attempt to expose them will certainly be blocked. A modest step would be to shut down the markets to prevent the public reading the newspapers. The decisive step, though, could be shedding blood. Right now. We’re getting death threats on the telephone. But I won’t choose money or bullets, because I have my own right choice already. If such persecution develops, Mother, don’t be frightened; be proud that your son hasn’t lived in vain….


“Please tell Ro that the songs I’ve sent are songs with real substance and value, because they tell about the vast numbers of people who live in darkness and utter despair. I’m sure Ro will like the first song. The words are a kind of vow by someone who is ready to sacrifice even his life to help win peace and happiness for the mass of his fellowmen…


We ask to be corpses turn by turn,

piled on top of one another like a staircase,

high enough to reach the sky,

bringing the stars down to the earth.

If we make this world beautiful, and make the people in it happy and equal,

this world will be a star…


“Mother, in your life you’ve found some happiness. You’ve had enough over to give food to the monks every morning, while so many others have nothing, not even something to eat. They drown in the swelling flood of their debts. If you were ever really to experience all these things, I know that someone with your sense of justice wouldn’t be able to stand for it, and you’d see the need to join the struggle.


“I tried to communicate my thinking to the girl I used to love. I tried to get her to understand my work. But she left me. I’m sorry about it, of course, but it was unavoidable. We always went separate ways. She had no love to give to anyone else, not even to the pitiful and the starving. She saw only herself and me. She was trying to enter a framework from which I was escapiing. I’ve already lost one person that I loved. Don’t let me lose you too, Mother…”


The days passed smoothly by like the flow of water in a stream. Every evening, when her youngest son sprang up out of the outboard riverboat, she would poke out her head and ask right away whether there was any word of Roy. From this daily routine, she came to experience the sale of lies on the pages of newspapers. The more she insisted that Ro buy every newspaper that had any news of Roy, the more she was able to make comparisons, beginning with the investigating of Roy’s background. There were two papers which tried to show that Roy was a despicable character, with a deep inferiority complex. They also included an interview with a police officer to the effect that her son’s activities showed he was involved with the “ideology of the other side”. On the other hand, there was almost no interest in his unsolved murder-- to the point that the paper which had so often smeared Roy finally went so far as to say that his exposure of the giant mining swindle had sabotaged the national economy, made foreign countries afraid to invest their capital, increased unemployment, and led to chaos, following the blueprint of the “ideology of the other side”.


Mother put the ricebowl and the metal cooking-pot away in the rattan basket. She knelt respectfully before the abbot and then took her leave. She cast a glance at yesterday’s newspaper lying against the veranda of the abbot’s residence. The moment she could distinguish the color of the ink, she shuddered with disgust6. The abbot spoke up:


“Are you in a hurry to go and feed your boy”? She answered softly in the affirmative, and so he continued:


“When he was a boy your son seemed such a good lad. It’s only now I realize how mistaken I was. Who’d have thought that as he got older he’d turn into one of those extremists who are destroying the country. Too bad! Must have gone around with some fine friends, I suppose….” the abbot went on sarcastically. “That’s why these extremists don’t live long. Keep a close eye on little Ro; watch out or he’ll follow in his elder brother’s footsteps. Ah, the young people these days, they’re no good at all…” and he shook his head.


Mother’s face went burning red, her heart beat violently, and huge beads of sweat suddenly bathed her forehead. She quickly took her leave, unwilling to take any time to dip up water for the memorial libations. However, she didn’t want to blame the abbot either.

1Hollow cement structures for the storing of bodies prior to cremation. When “occupied,” their apertures are sealed with new cement.

2 Kaeng som phak krajiap a simple dish made of fish, okra, hot spices and tamarind. The sticky layer-cakes are made of flour, coconut cream, sugar, and coloring, usually constructed in alternate red and pink layers, and steamed before serving.

3It is a Thai custom to bring offerings to “feed” the deceased before cremation. Mother here is speaking to her dead son.

4She follows the traditional ritual for making offerings to the dead.

5A reference to the violent repression attempted against the mass demonstrations in Bangkok in early October 1973, which ultimately led to the fall of the Thanom-Praphat dictatorship on October 14th.

6Thai dailies typically print their front pages with a particular brightly-colored ink, allowing easy identification from a distance.

Tuesday, 30 September 2025

The railway hamlet - Chatcharin Chaiwat

 

 


The Railway Hamlet by Chatcharin Chaiwat


The sky was an orange glare. The firewood, piled high as three men standing on top of one another, and stretched out in a long line, hid the living-quarters of the railway employees from sight, and let us see only one jagged half of the sun. when struck by its rays, the pile of rotting logs loomed like an ancient mountain. The children of the railway clerks and the other employees liked to run and play on it. Once in a while one heard that some railwayman’s baby boy had slipped and fallen off.


The sight of the orange April sun and the different colors of the children’s kites, swooping and darting through the grey smoke of the train hurtling in towards the station, was a delight to the eye. It meant that the railwayman’s wives would now be stepping out onto their porches and telling their older children to put away their kites and run to meet their fathers off the train. And the younger kids would be scrambling up onto the porches and peering out over the pile of firewood, watching their fathers waving from within the incoming coaches.


As the kites were put away and the sound of the train gradually died down, the children would run to take their fathers by the hand, put on their big railwaymen’s hats-which would flop loosely down, completely covering their eyes-hoot with laughter, pick up the fruit and toys, and race each other down the red-earth road.


“Peng” was the smallest of them all and rarely got the chance to do what all the others did. He’d been fatherless for a while now. Before that, he’d always raced us for his father to watch. His father had worked on the same train as mine. “Peng”, for all his tiny size, was a mischievous lad, every inch the son of his hard-drinking father.


He had two younger siblings, aged seven and three, and a mother whose hair was always a tangled mess. In those days we all smiled scornfully at “Peng”, because we knew he had no father any more. He’d stand there, picking the dried snot out of his nose, and watch us walk back from the train hand in hand with our fathers. Sometimes he’d run after us, cling to my father’s shirt and stare into his eyes for a long time. Sometimes he’d run to carry things for Father, and even have the nerve to call him “Daddy”.


That was why I got into a fight with “Peng” the day the railway put on a film-show down at the station. I was furious with him because he called my father “Daddy,” and Father in turn seemed so sorry for him. Sometimes, too, he’d make so bold as to carry the toys I should have been the one to get from Father and bring home. He could run faster than I and he’d always bring things to my mother before I could.


On the evening of the film-show at the station, we fought till I gave him a bloody nose. I called him names till a grown-up came to put a stop to it, and smacked me hard on the bottom. Everyone said how sorry they felt for him… “Damn him!” I’d say to myself, “I love my father too. He’s got no right to take him away from me”.


Everyone knew that the father of “Peng” was my father’s subordinate. His job was coupling the coaches to the locomotives.


He was also a ticket-collector and porter- what they call a ham lo1.


We children remembered that day very well. The orange sky of the past few days had deepened into red. The train had come to a halt more quietly than usual, so quietly that even the children sensed something queer was up. There was an indescribable languor in the air. The kids were very tired that day, and were slow to run off to the station. “Peng” ran ahead of all the others, for today his father was coming home.


Not long after I’d brought Father’s things back to the house, to give him a bit of a rest, I realized something unusual had happened. All the people in the railwaymen’s quarters were clustered together, sitting and talking to one another, and staring at little “Peng”, who stood there picking his nose. Some muttered “How pitiful! His kids are still so young…” “Peng” came back to play with us as usual, but he seemed very quiet. Now, long afterwards, the word spread through the railway hamlet that as his father was coupling the coaches he’d been struck and dragged along the tracks through two stations, without anyone in the train noticing. I stood there staring at the corpse and “Peng”. It looked like meat chopped into jagged pieces. Most likely “Peng” couldn’t recognize his father either, for he didn’t cry, just stood there silent and impassive. My friends and I yelled at him that he was an ungrateful son for not crying when his father died.


The little kid had never been one to give in. Even though I was bigger than he, and taller by several spans, he fought me till my lips were split.


On the day of the funeral the whole railway hamlet seemed in a stupor. The children were all so scared that none of them dared to go out to take a bath that night. They were terrified that the ghost of the dead father would come to spook them. As soon as the drum began to thud, the sound of chanting monks could be heard throughout the hamlet. The children sat huddled in a group, all with their legs drawn up to their chests2. It was even scarier at my house, for Father and Mother had gone to help with the funeral ceremonies. We kids wouldn’t let ourselves be separated from one another for a moment. We drew our legs up till our knees were stiff and sore. And when darkness fell, not a single streetlamp gleamed. All the roads had turned pitch-black. The sweet, sad music of the pi and so3 made several of us start crying in spite of ourselves. Not long afterwards there was a tap at the door, and the sound of a childish voice:


“Please open up! Mother’s sent me over with some curry”. Everyone immediately recognized the voice as that of “Peng”, but no one dared to open the door. Only one was brave enough to stretch out his hand and slide back the bolt. “Peng” poked his nose in the doorway, a mirthless smile on his lips. It made me see his father’s face in his.


“Put the curry down, and get out! Who knows, maybe your father’ll come after you to spook us!” I shouted at him. “Peng” smiled and left at once, with a firm step.


Not long afterwards my father moved to another province, and I came to grow up on Bangkok, climbing steadily through the school system. At the time we moved, “Peng” had become a young pushcart-vendor, selling water from door to door, at 5 baht a cartful. His mother sole khao yam4 at the railway station.


When I was full grown, with a deeper voice and a higher education, I went back to inspect the piece of land that Father had bought in the hamlet. Some of the older railway people I’d known were still around, though they’d aged. Some who where still young girls when I’d lived there, and attractive enough to have young men hanging round them all the time, now sold fried bananas or sticky rice along the footpath beside the railroad tracks. When I went back to visit them, some of the railway old-timers would greet me saying:


“Hey! When did you get back? You’re Old So-and-so’s boy, aren’t you? You’ve sure turned into a real Bangkok kid!”


I felt even more proud that my clothes were quite different from those of the other young men in the hamlet, and my accent, had completely changed from what it used to be. When I spoke, in fact, many of them had to cock their heads to catch what is was saying. They couldn’t stop expressing their admiration-- though actually it was nothing special. I looked different from them only because I’d had a chance to live in Bangkok for a while and had had a better education. Father had made some money by doing business from province to province, so my status immediately seemed far removed from theirs.


I walked farther and farther out along the road. Some women who’d been my playmates in the old days followed me on their bicycles in a straggly line. The stamp of a Bangkok kid must have been displayed conspicuously on my chest. The dust-choked red-earth road was exactly the same as it had always been. It was still a road I ought to tread on proudly: I’d had more opportunities than it, and that made me its “better”.


Soon afterwards I ran into my old friend “Peng”. There was no dried snot in his nose like there used to be. But he was still undersized, just as in the old days. His wife was very pretty, and they’d had two children. “Peng” now worked as a station employee, through the patronage of the new station-master for whom he’d worked as a houseboy earlier on. His hair was now smoothly combed. The minute I reached his house, “Peng” clutched my hand tightly, and held it for a long time without uttering a word. His manner was very deferential, not at all the way it had once been. When I settled into a chair, he lowered himself to sit down on the floor, even though it was his own house. “Tell me how long you’re staying, so I can make something for you to eat on the way back.” “Peng” spoke with a strong rural accent, and smiled so broadly that I could see all his black cigarette-stained teeth.


The truth is I felt pretty uncomfortable, for in the old days we had been equals. Our fathers had had almost the same rank at work. Even though his father had been no worse than mine. He’d often treated me-- and fought with me-- without any inhibitions. Inwardly puzzling how and why two people, who came from the same place, whose way of life had been so similar, could become so unequal, I leaned back, chatting casually. There was something that made me want to dash over and embrace him as a dear old friend; yet something else held me back –I couldn’t say exactly what. I only remember thinking that his sitting lower down made it difficult for me to jump up and hug him to my heart’s content.


I was staying at a hotel in town and had become a sort of local glamor-boy. All kinds of people cycled up and down by my hotel. Old friends came crowding in to visit. And the rich kids, who used to ignore me, now came to take me out. So I didn’t get a chance to follow up the invitation from “Peng” to go have a drink at his house.


The last time I saw “Peng” he spoke to me just as respectfully and deferentially as before. “Won’t you come and have a drink at my house? Please do, I’ve got everything prepared. And I’ve wrapped up some nam phrik5 for you to eat on your journey back.” I had stopped in once at his house. But when I saw the food he’d prepared, I lost interest. He’d set out a big gurami with some liquor, kung yam6, stir-fried leafy vegetables—and plain water. So this time I excused myself rather feebly, and went off to drink with some other friends at a restaurant on the beach.


That day, as I was walking home late in the afternoon, my face felt strained and an indescribable sensation flashed through my body, for once again the sky was an orange glare, deep almost to the point of red. The long bank of firewood was a dull grey. I rubbed my eyes, thinking maybe it was drink that made my face feel tight. Inside, a sudden pang knifed through my heart. The atmosphere in the hamlet revealed the pattern right away. The people on the platform sat in huddles, deathly silent. I saw his 5-year-old kid standing there stark naked, holding a piece of bamboo and scraping it back and forth through clots of blood…


Fragments of flesh were still stuck to the railway tracks. The smell of the blood, smeared about like the tears on the cheeks of his wife, was nauseating. Stiffened feet, streaked with crusted blood, protruded from under the stretch of the drab-white covering-sheet…. Another station old-timer was dead. He’d caught his leg in the coupling, and had been struck and hurled aside by the train. The white sheet, bulging according to the shape of the body underneath, looked ghastly, as ghastly as the day when “Peng” poked his nose in and set the curry down in front of the door of my house. It was the station-master who bought coffin into which the corpse was slowly lowered. The sky grew dark, crumpled horribly. The sound of the train’s whistle moaned like someone in his death throes. Many people couldn’t hold back their tears.


Once again the drum thudded insistently, just as on the day when the father of “Peng” had died. But this time it was “Peng” himself who was lying in the coffin. The so played in short, sharp beats, as before. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. My chest felt burning hot and suffocatingly tight. The long, towering pile of firewood looked like the wall of hell. And the jagged rim of the sun, which had almost vanished into the pile, seemed to be pointing out something over and over, as though it were a satanic spirit with the power to trample down and crush little people….


I stared at the sun so long that I felt dazed. And when it disappeared behind the firewood pile, my vision blurred. Everything I looked at turned red and purple. Not until someone brought me a handkerchief to wipe the tears from my eyes did I realize that I was crying, crying hard. My old friend’s eldest boy was still running about playing with his kite, as before. But when he ran close to the stroller of the station-master’s baby, he stopped still, stood looking at it and then stretched out his hand to touch it. Whereupon he was roughly shoved to the ground by the stationmaster’s servant, who grabbed the chubby, cuddly baby by the hand and hurried it into the house.


Watching this scene, I felt I had no tears left to weep. The long railway tracks extended into our little hamlet in parallel lines which never met, even at the station’s end. The little station-worker was never given the opportunities we had. All he could do was wait and scramble for any chance that might come by. No one had ever given “Peng” and his children any security in life. I felt certain that what had happened to “Peng” would be forgotten before long. There’d still be people selling sticky rice on the station platform. There’d be a new young worker in his place—who might well be his own son. And so it would go, on and on, over and over. People would always say: “Don’t brood over such a trifle. It’s not worth it.”


My friends were urging me to leave, when some said exactly these words, insisting that I not get too involved. After all, he said, everyone dies some day. It must have been because the sun had just disappeared that I was confused enough to say out loud: “You know, he’s not really dead at all. Do you see his two little kids? Do you see his wife? Do you see their future? That’s just it, no one sees. Where will those two kids end up? It’s not over yet. I know for sure that it’s not over yet. It’ll happen again, over and over, because no one gives a damn about these little people”.


I remember bursting into the most racking sobs at that funeral.

1An all-purpose term for unskilled railway laborers.

2In many parts of Siam, it is believed that ghosts like to seize children by their feet.

3The pi is a kind of oboe, the so a kind of vio.

4Khao yam is a Southern Thai dish made of rice, vegetables, and a spicy sauce.

5Nam phrik is a condiment made of shrimp paste, lime-juice, hot pepper, and garlic.

6Kung yam is a dish made of prawns, lemon-juice, and hot pepper.

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