COMMUNIST HISTORY |
Introduction
Welcome to issue 13 of the Newsletter. This issue includes summaries provided by the three paper-givers at the 2002 Communist History Network Seminar held, in conjunction with the International Centre for Labour Studies, at the University of Manchester in November. We extend our thanks to John Callaghan, Allison Drew and Sobhanlal Datta Gupta for their papers, and to all who attended the seminar. We would like to express further thanks to Sobhanlal Datta Gupta for allowing us to republish, in this issue, an article based on his research into the relationship between the Communist Party of India and the Comintern — which will be of particular interest to historians of British communism. The Newsletter continues to be made available in three formats: a print-version; an e-version (Word PC file attachment); and a web-version. The deadline for submissions to issue 14 is 30 April 2003, and contributions are welcomed. Editors CHNN ContentsEditors' introduction Announcements
AnnouncementsTHE CPGB AND BENGALI IMMIGRANTS: Sarah Glynn is researching ‘immigrant politics in London’s East End and would like to speak to any Bengali CPGB members of the British Communist Party and any ‘CPGB members who remember working with East Pakistani immigrants in the 1950s, 1960s or 1970s or even with Bengali lascars before the war’. This research also aims to ‘learn more about CPGB links with other black or Asian immigrants in the East End.’ If you think you could help, please e-mail SarahRGlynn@hotmail.com. COMMUNIST STUDIES ON-LINE: Published by the European Workshop of Communist Studies, the International Newsletter of Communist Studies provides information on ‘historical studies related to history of the communist movements and ideas, for scholars and publicists, archivists and librarians.’ With contributions in a variety of European languages, the 124-page fifteenth issue of the Newsletter is now available to view on-line (in the Adobe Acrobat pdf format) at: http://www.mzes.uni-mannheim.de/projekte/JHK-news/Newsletter/Newsletter.htm. PATHÉ DIGITAL NEWS ARCHIVE: British Pathé News, most famous for its cinema ‘newsreels’ of the 1930s-1950s, has begun to make available on-line digital versions of some of the 3,500 hours of celluloid footage (both silent and sound) in its archives — stretching from the 1890s to the Spring of 1970. A wealth of material of interest to historians of the international communist movement is accessible. Footage of particular interest to historians of British communism includes: a 1942 speech in Glasgow by Harry Pollitt calling for the opening of a ‘second front’; and a complete 1945 CPGB election broadcast. Available soon will be film shot at the CPGB headquarters in 1948, featuring Pollitt, Willie Gallacher and Phil Piratin; and (unbroadcast) footage of Gordon McLennan and Soviet embassy officials laying wreaths at Karl Marx’s tomb in Highgate Cemetery in 1968. ‘Preview’ files may be downloaded for free, and played back using one of the many variants of Windows Media Player. Higher quality copies, for use in educational presentations, may be purchased on-line. VHS video copies of selected stories may also be ordered. All footage will carry a Pathé ‘watermark’. To search the archive and to register to download files, visit: http://www.britishpathe.com. Seminar Summaries: ‘The Comintern and the Colonies’A Communist History Network seminar, Manchester, November 2002 On Friday 15 November 2002, the Communist History Network — in conjunction with the Manchester University International Centre for Labour Studies — organised an afternoon seminar at around the theme ‘The Comintern and the Colonies’. The paper-givers were John Callaghan, Allison Drew and Sobhanlal Datta Gupta. Here John Callaghan summarises his paper: ‘Comintern Colonial Politics’. Comintern Colonial PoliticsThe Soviet Union was still largely an isolated state in 1928. In Europe recognition was withheld by Spain, Portugal, Belgium, Holland, Switzerland, Luxemburg, and much of the eastern half of the continent. Relations with Britain and China were broken in 1927 and did not exist in any formal sense with most of the Americas, Mexico and Uruguay excepted. Neighbouring states such as Poland, Latvia, Esthonia, and Finland were deeply suspicious of Russia’s revanchiste ambitions, while almost all states continued to regard it as subversive in intent. The Soviet constitution of July 1923 depicted a bipolar world and provided evidence for this perception. The camps of socialism and capitalism were portrayed as fundamentally antagonistic; it was only a matter of time before renewed attempts would be made by the capitalist powers to crush socialism. Soviet diplomacy was designed to delay this for as long as possible and to play off one capitalist state against another by exploiting everything which divided them (the war settlement, the colonial division of the world, economic rivalries and so on). The USSR imagined itself, in this same constitution, if it survived for long enough, as the nucleus of a future world federation of soviet republics as these emerged around the globe. The Comintern was perceived by the foreign powers as the principal device which Russia had designed to achieve this ambition. The Comintern’s failures in Europe by 1924 simply drew attention to the growing importance of the colonial possessions of the capitalist powers in Asia in the Comintern’s calculations — particularly when Moscow concluded a treaty with China in that year. Just as the Soviet Union expected to benefit from the antagonisms of the Great Powers and from the class struggle which divided each of them, so did it expect to gain from the conflict between imperialism and the colonial peoples. In this most ideological of states, it was important that the founding genius of communism had made these connections long before 1917. On paper at least the Second Congress of the Comintern promoted the national liberation struggle in the colonies to a position of importance it had never before attained. The discussion was continued at Baku in September 1920 where the Comintern convened a Congress of Peoples of the East. Many ambiguities were left unresolved by these early discussions. The most obvious was the question of who were the real revolutionaries? Communists could be counted only in hundreds in the whole of Africa and India in 1920, and Latin America and Asia were little better off from the Comintern’s perspective. Real revolutionaries existed among the nationalists but many of them were doubtful allies. They often preached ideologies hostile to Communism — not just religious obscurantisms but also militantly secular ideas such as those of the Kemalists in Turkey. It was unclear how the Comintern would deal with this problem. The Second Congress expressed hostility to pan-Islamism, contradicting an earlier Bolshevik tactic of seeking to make use of it in the Russian colonies of central Asia. Complaints were later voiced at the Fourth Congress of the Comintern that this belated hostility had damaged opportunities for building communist influence within the Indonesian national movement Sarekat Islam. But such complications were inevitable. The abstractions of the Comintern’s colonial theses offered very little guidance when set against the sheer range and complexity of the conditions found in the colonies. The very social categories employed by the Comintern — drawn exclusively from European experience — were often only rough approximations to the socio-economic realities it set out to comprehend, and sometimes not even that. Where was the proletariat, the bourgeoisie, or the feudal landowner in sub-Saharan Africa, for example? What constituted the nation? How were the communists to cope with the reality of numerous ethnic, religious and linguistic identities and the possible rivalries between them? Appeals to a class consciousness which did not exist would have limited value. Where would the communists stand, if there were two or three or more competing national voices — a likely outcome given the arbitrariness of colonial boundaries? How were the small groups of communists — drawn disproportionately from the educated urban minority — to penetrate the villages: 500,000 of them in India alone? Many of these questions were not even asked at the Second Congress. But the discussion highlighted a further complication in that considerations of Soviet state interests were identified as an element in the Comintern’s calculations:
Though Lenin in 1920 was insistent that proletarian internationalism demanded that the Soviet state shall ‘make the greatest national sacrifices in order to overthrow international capitalism’, the opposite was also true; proletarian internationalism demanded ‘subordination of the proletarian struggle in one country to the interests of the struggle on a world scale’. Since Lenin himself had characterized world politics as being concentrated on the central point of struggle between the world bourgeoisie and the Soviet Republic, it would be an easy matter to convince Communists to support policies which the Russians demanded — on the grounds that these represented the central ‘contradiction’ of the world struggle — even if they were of dubious value to national ‘sections’ of the Comintern, or actually destructive of local political opportunities. This was no hypothetical problem. Thus a policy already riddled with inconsistencies and contradictions was made worse when the Soviet factor was added to the mix. The myth of ‘Soviet’ development in the backward territories of the former Tsarist empire — that is, social, political and economic progress unheard of in the colonies of Western imperialism — entered the picture to further befuddle the Comintern’s analysis in 1922. Russian experience, argued the Fourth Congress, indicated another way forward for the colonies:
The many facets of the Comintern’s colonial theses thus offered numerous opportunities for changes of emphasis as circumstances dictated and we have already seen that the changing requirements of Soviet foreign policy provided one of the main motivations for so doing. This factor — what was good for Soviet Russia — grew in importance as the Soviet state survived in isolation and the European communist parties failed to meet the Comintern’s original expectations. The Russian state needed allies in the world and sometimes nationalists — particularly those with a real prospect of power — were attractive candidates for this position. By the Fifth Congress in 1924 the dominant view in Moscow was that the national bourgeoisie was the best hope the Russian state had for finding such useful friends. The colonial national bourgeoisie was, once again, also perceived as the main thorn in the side of Russia’s principal enemies — Britain and France — at a time when Russian foreign policy was also cultivating links with Germany, the other principle ‘revisionist’ power in Europe, which had lost its colonies under the terms of the Treaty of Versailles. Changing circumstances clearly influenced this political arithmetic and one of the most compelling was the emergence of a friendly nationalist movement in crisis-torn China which the Bolshevik leaders under Stalin perceived as a serious contender for power in that country. While the number of communists in the whole of Asia amounted to a paltry 5,000 or so, an alliance with the nationalists could move millions. The Soviet state’s policy in China backfired badly when the Kuomintang — which Stalin had ultimately wanted to ‘squeeze like a lemon’ while subordinating the Communists to it in practice — turned on its communist allies in the massacres of April 1927. The Sixth congress of the Comintern attempted to cover up this debacle and in so doing reduced communist colonial policy to total incoherence. The ultra-leftist turn isolated the national sections nearly everywhere and the recovery of the party in China owed nothing to Comintern strategic thinking and nearly everything to the local situation. With this exception, communists could still only be counted in hundreds and thousands in the colonies when the Comintern was dissolved in 1943. John Callaghan, University of WolverhamptonBolshevizing Communist Parties — the Algerian and South African experiencesOn Friday 15 November 2002, the Communist History Network — in conjunction with the Manchester University International Centre for Labour Studies — organised an afternoon seminar at around the theme ‘The Comintern and the Colonies’. The paper-givers were John Callaghan, Allison Drew and Sobhanlal Datta Gupta. Here Allison Drew summarises her paper: ‘Bolshevizing Communist Parties — the Algerian and South African experiences’. The establishment of the Communist International (Comintern) inaugurated a period in which socialism was promoted as a path of development that could be exported and implemented through a general, scientific model. This model, according to the Comintern, could be applied to all societies and was believed to be the one means of making an effective revolution. Yet, this general model was applied in a variety of social conditions and refracted through diverse perspectives, inevitably producing distinctive reactions and outcomes. This research addresses the problem of why a general policy — specifically, the policy of bolshevization propagated by the Comintern in 1924 and 1925 — had strikingly diverse consequences in two African settler societies: Algeria and South Africa. A goal of bolshevization was the creation of mass-based communist parties. In settler societies this necessarily meant that the local communist party should aim to be demographically representative of the entire population. While the Communist Party of South Africa (CPSA) was successful in this goal of indigenization, becoming an overwhelmingly black organization by the end of the 1920s, in Algeria, the Communist Party remained predominantly European in composition in the 1920s and 1930s. A standard explanation for the failure of indigenization in the Algeria case refers to the paternalistic and even racist attitudes of the numerically dominant European members. Yet, by comparison with the CPSA, it is difficult to sustain this argument. A comparative analysis shows that the difficulties in indigenizing faced by the Communist Party in Algeria were more complex than this claim suggests. How then do we explain the differential success rates in Algeria and South Africa with regards to indigenization? This research examines four variables: the patterns of working class formation; the socialist tradition of each country; the relationship between the Comintern and the two affiliates; and the level of repression against communists in both societies. The cumulative weight of the variables in the Algerian case helps to explain why communist activity — including the Communist Party’s ability to indigenize — was far more difficult in Algeria than South Africa. In broad strokes, Algeria and South Africa show striking parallels in their political economies. Yet, they also show striking contrasts in their patterns of proletarianization and urbanization, notably, Algeria’s displaced proletariat and South Africa’s migrant labour force. Classical marxist theory, on which these early communists largely based their analyses, assumes the primacy of the urban working class in social change. Whatever the difficulties faced by South African communists in this regard, the conditions facing communists in Algeria were more difficult. Their country was less urbanized than South Africa at comparable points in time, and a critical section of the Algerian working class had migrated to France. The contrasting patterns of proletarianization and urbanization in these two cases posed constraints both on the immediate prospects for organizational development in the respective working classes and, in turn, on the perceptions and attitudes of local communists. South Africa’s lack of a well-rooted pre-existing socialist or social-democratic tradition may well have made the tasks of early communists very difficult and also made them more open to the Comintern’s influence. Nonetheless, the two revolutionary traditions inherited by communists in Algeria — that of France and that of the Bolsheviks — were a heavy burden. The two traditions loomed large in the local communist organ, Lutte Sociale. Its pages were weighted down with their influence, leaving little space for Algerian issues. In terms of creative editorial experimentation to attract the urban indigenous working class, Lutte Sociale lagged behind its South African counterpart, South African Worker, in those years. The existence of a social-democratic alternative in the form of the Socialist Party also presented difficulties for communist organizers in Algeria. Despite its minute size, the Socialist Party presented a credible left-wing alternative for European workers in Algeria that could also lay claim to the French revolutionary tradition. The Comintern’s relationships with communists in Algeria and South Africa also differed markedly, posing serious challenges for the uni-dimensional ‘centre-periphery’ framework that has dominated communist studies. The Comintern prioritized those countries and regions that it believed to be of international geopolitical significance. This necessarily included the French Communist Party, whose relationship with the Comintern was frequently tense. The Comintern intervened in Algeria far earlier than it did in South Africa, and the impact of its policies was felt much sooner. Although Eurocentric and paternalistic views could be found amongst both European communists in Algeria and white South African communists, the Comintern made an example of the former in no small part to criticize the French Communist Party. Moreover, the Comintern’s increasing emphasis on assisting national liberation struggles was felt first in Algeria, coinciding with the first few years of bolshevization and with an intensification of state repression against communists. The CPSA, by contrast, confronted the issue of national liberation in 1928, after the party had made significant progress with indigenization; even then, national liberation was conceived in terms of full equality and never in terms of transformation of the state’s territorial boundaries. Communist activity in Algeria in the mid-1920s took place during a repressive climate; in turn, it undoubtedly led to an intensification of repression. By all indications, the onslaught of repression against communists in Algeria was greater than in South Africa, reflecting both French colonial control and the geopolitics of the Rif War. Certainly, the different degrees of repression experienced by communist activists in Algeria and South Africa goes some way in explaining the contrasts in the abilities of the two parties to indigenize. In sum, communists in the two countries experienced each of these four variables differently. The cumulative weight of the variables in the Algerian case helps to explain why in the middle and late 1920s communist activity — including the Communist Party’s ability to indigenize — was far more difficult in Algeria than South Africa. Allison Drew, University of YorkThe Comintern and the Hidden History of Indian CommunismOn Friday 15 November 2002, the Communist History Network — in conjunction with the Manchester University International Centre for Labour Studies — organised an afternoon seminar at around the theme ‘The Comintern and the Colonies’. The paper-givers were John Callaghan, Allison Drew and Sobhanlal Datta Gupta. Here Sobhanlal Datta Gupta summarises his paper: ‘The Comintern and the Hidden History of Indian Communism’. It is an irony of history that the official versions of Indian communism as provided by the two communist parties of India and the studies made by the liberal bourgeois scholars on the history of Indian communism converge on one point regarding the relationship between the Comintern and the shaping of communism in India. Both sides basically argue that the Communist Party of India (CPI) virtually accepted uncritically the Comintern position on India throughout its life. The only difference is that while the leaders of the communist parties defend this toeing of the Comintern line and are proud of their loyalty to it, the liberal bourgeois historians ridicule this loyalty. In other words, both the viewpoints present the relationship between the Comintern and the CPI as a kind of meta narrative which recognised no dissent, difference or alternative voice in this relationship. The opening up of the Comintern archives to researchers, however, has completely blasted this myth, and it is now possible to reconstruct the secret — the untold — history of Indian communism by arguing that, during the Comintern period beneath the layer of the official version, there was an unofficial, suppressed, alternative discourse of Indian communism, unrecognised and unknown until now. To have an understanding of this alternative version, what is necessary is to periodise the history of Indian communism during the Comintern period according to the following structure : (a) From the Second to the Sixth Congress: It is generally believed that M N Roy was the sole spokesman of Indian communism in the Comintern in this period, who primarily upheld the line of a strong opposition to the forces of nationalism in India and argued that India was ripe for a socialist revolution, since it was populated by an industrial working class, thanks to industrialisation generated by British imperialism. The documents in the Comintern archives reveal that the ‘Berlin group’ of Indian revolutionaries, represented by Virendranath Chattopadhyay, Maulana Barakatullah, Bhupendranath Datta and others, in their documents submitted to the Comintern (which, however, were never discussed) put forward an alternative unerstanding of the strategy of anti-imperialist struggle, which was sharply different from Roy’s position in the sense that they looked upon nationalism from a positive angle and considered India primarily as an agrarian country. (b) From Sixth to the Seventh Congress: This period was marked by two features, not mentioned in the official Comintern documents. First, after M N Roy’s exit from the Comintern and his subsequent association with the Thalheimer-Brandler group of the German Communist Opposition, there was a total shift in the theoretical position of Roy which had striking similarities with the position of Bukharin and Thalheimer on the Comintern after 1927, when Bukharin came to be associated with the ‘Right’. Basically, they argued in their suppressed documents that it was wrong for the Comintern under Stalin to direct that all communist parties would have to follow one undifferentiated strategy as framed by the Comintern, since what was necessary was to allow the individual communist parties to formulate their own strategies in conformity with their local conditions. Second, this was the period which witnessed the rise of the Communist Party of Great Britain (CPGB) as virtually the mentor of Indian communism, with the consequence that the Indian communists increasingly became dependent on the CPGB’s perception of Indian communism in the formulation of their strategy and tactics. At the same time, it is now evident from a number of documents available in the Comintern as well as the CPGB archives, that within the Communist Party of India there was a section which felt that the CPGB was on many occasions acting like ‘a big boss’. At the same time within the CPGB at the leadership level it was repeatedly admitted that the CPGB as a party was not sufficiently aware of the importance of the colonial question, that the average Party member was still infected by the Empire consciousness and a kind of Eurocentrism. (c) Between the Seventh Congress and 22 June 1941: This was a period which espoused the ‘united front’ strategy without ever admitting that the acceptance of this line meant a rejection of the sectarianism of the Third Period. This created very serious problems within the CPI. From a number of inner-party documents now available in the Comintern archives it is evident that it was extremely difficult for the leadership of the CPI to persuade its ranks to accept the new line, since in their perception the position of the Sixth Congress was still in force. The silence of the Comintern on the position of the Sixth Congress after the adoption of the Dimitrov thesis led to an absurd situation which implied that the positions of both the Sixth and the Seventh Congress were equally valid and correct. This confused and contradictory understanding very seriously affected the CPI’s united front strategy, especially its relation with the Congress Socialist Party, since the sectarianism of the Third Period continued to dominate the minds of the party ranks. (d) The period after 22 June 1941: It is now quite clear from the documents of the Comintern archives as well as the documents in the archives of the CPGB that the Comintern had issued a clear directive to the CPGB that — as the ‘imperialist war’ had now become a ‘people’s war’ — henceforth the primary task of every communist party would be to unconditionally uphold the cause of the USSR and thereby help the Allied war effort. This line was communicated by the CPGB to the CPI which the latter accepted after acrimonious debates. During this period, when the nationalist leaders were languishing in jail, the CPI’s support of the British war efforts, following its legalisation — coupled with the fact that the CPGB leadership sharply condemned the Quit India movement (launched by the Indian National Congress in August 1942), and hailed the CPI for aiding the British government — severely compromised the position of the CPI, although the latter defended its policy in the name of the Comintern and internationalism. This, then, is the secret history of Indian communism in a nutshell. What follows from this presentation is this: had these facts and the suppressed viewpoints been known to us, there could have been debates and controversies within the CPI itself and outside the sphere of the party. This could have perhaps fundamentally changed the destiny of communism in India. Sobhanlal Datta Gupta, Calcutta UniversityResearch NotesA note on James BarkeIn his review of A Weapon in the Struggle (CHNN No 9), Victor Kiernan wrote (of James Barke): ‘He joined the [Communist] Party [of Great Britain] in 1932 or 1933, and stayed in it until his death in 1958.’ Victor Kiernan relied on the information given in H. Gustav Klaus’s chapter on Barke; and I note that Andy Croft also referred to Barke as ‘…James Joyce writing about Glasgow with a Communist Party card in his pocket’ in Red Letter Days (London, 1990, 277). My research in the Barke papers in the Mitchell Library, Glasgow, leads me to a different conclusion. In a letter to J Lennox Kerr, another novelist, dated 3 March 1936, Barke wrote:
Max Goldberg is shown in a CP photo of the 1930s, reproduced on the cover of Scottish Labour History, Volume 31, 1996. In a letter to Hugh MacDiarmid, dated 9 February 1939, Peter Kerrigan — at that time, Secretary to the Scottish District Committee of the CP — wrote:
In another letter to J Lennox Kerr who had written, ‘[r]umour has it that you are proceeding to America’, Barke replied, on 1 August 1946:
When Geoffrey Wagner, an American scholar wrote to Barke, on 12 June 1950, to ask him if he had wrotten about Lewis Grassic Gibbon in the Daily Worker, Barke noted in the margin of the letter: ‘I most definitely did not write here’. In an undated draft reply to Wagner, he wrote: ‘In so far as the Daily Worker and Our Time are concerned, I wouldn’t touch Our Time with a barge pole!’ [Our Time had ceased publication in the previous year.] (Box 1). Notes made in a diary, on 5 and 6 August 1932, of a talk with Independent Labour Party (ILP) leader James Maxton, show that Barke indeed became disenchanted with Maxton at this time. (Box 5) In a long letter to Grassic Gibbon, dated 5 September 1933, Barke wrote:
In 1936 Barke contributed articles on ‘Lewis Grassic Gibbon’ and on ‘The Scottish National Question’ to Left Review. My conclusion is that Barke was a fellow traveller of the Communist Party in the 1930s. By 1946 he described himself as: ‘Not having any political affiliations’ (ibid). He remained in friendly correspondence with William Gallacher until his death. Gallacher and MacDiarmid both spoke at his funeral. John MansonManuscripts are quoted by permission of the Mitchell Library and the National Library of Scotland. Editorial note: Though it is not conclusive either way, readers may be interested in Harry McShane’s description of an ‘extended’ meeting of the CPGB’s Scottish committee in the late 1930s to discuss a statement supporting the idea of a Scottish parliament, previously approved by the party’s national executive.
Any reader able to shed any further light on this matter is invited to do so. FeaturesSchizophrenia at SachsenhausenThe Sachsenhausen concentration camp was built in the summer of 1936. It was the first new camp to be opened by Heinrich Himmler when he was appointed Chief of the German Police in addition to his position as Reichsführer-SS. Located in the Berlin suburb of Oranienburg the camp was designed by the SS’s own architects, and the central office of the Nazi concentration camp system was located there. In consequence, Sachsenhausen — with its high brick walls, concrete ‘roll call’ area, offices and lines of huts — had a more planned and permanent look than many other concentration camps of the 1930s, which were largely the outcome of improvisation following the Nazi seizure of power carried out in the wake of the Reichstag fire of 1933. The camp has been preserved as the Sachsenhausen Memorial and Museum and is administered by the Brandenburg Memorial Foundation. It is open to visitors and on the day I visited the camp in September 2002 there were several parties of school children being shown around the site as part of their education in citizenship. But what was the content of the lessons they were being taught? The exhibitions of photographs, documents and other items, together with the plaques and memorials erected on the site, suggest that the message was blurred. The horrors of the camp — the execution pit, torture chambers and mass graves — were obvious enough, but because of the history of the camp the political message was schizophrenic. Let me explain. In August 1945 the camp was taken over by Soviet forces. Nazi war criminals awaiting trial were held there, but the camp was also used to imprison enemies of the communist regime then being consolidated in, what was then called, the Soviet Zone of Germany, and which became the German Democratic Republic (GDR) in 1949. Over 200,000 people were imprisoned in Sachsenhausen between 1936 and 1945, and 60,000 between 1945 and 1950. In 1950 the Soviets closed the camp as a centre for war criminals and political prisoners, and for the next ten years the buildings were used as barracks by Soviet forces and the GDR’s People’s Police. In 1961, the camp was designated the Sachsenhausen National Memorial by the Government of the GDR, which built various memorials and set up exhibitions outlining the history of the camp from foundation until its liberation by the Red Army in 1945. However no mention was made of the use of the camp by Soviet special security units in the period 1945-50. After the reunification of Germany in 1990 the camp was administered by the Brandenburg Ministry of Science, Research and Culture, and three years later control was transferred to the Brandenburg Memorial Foundation. The Foundation has added exhibitions on the period 1945-50, revealing certain facts previously concealed from the public. Thus the GDR and post-GDR exhibitions now coexist on the same site, with the GDR exhibitions covering the Nazi period and the post-GDR bracketing the Nazi and Communist years as a period of unbroken dictatorship. The Brandenburg Memorial Foundation is carrying out a review of the Sachsenhausen site and has commissioned several research projects on the history of the camp. The outcome of this work is intended to provide an established interpretation that will be presented to the public. Until then the former GDR and post-GDR interpretations will continue side by side. It has been said that history is written by the victors and, without sounding too cynical, not much of the GDR’s interpretation of events is likely to prevail. Yet, in my opinion, some aspects of the GDR interpretation do deserve to survive any revisionist versions. Over 100,000 Germans were killed by the Nazis between 1933-39. Most of these were left-wing opponents of the Nazi regime, and many of them were communists. Surely they have earned their place in history? Relatively few Jews were killed at Sachsenhausen. It was a ‘protective custody’ and not a death camp, although some Jews were incarcerated there after the Kristallnacht pogrom of November 1938 and held at the camp until their dispatch to the gas chambers of Auschwitz in 1942. The Holocaust was a terrible event and is, rightly, the subject of much historical research, but those who suffered and died at Sachsenhausen at the hands of the Nazis do not deserve to be marginalised and it is to be hoped that the German historians working on the Brandenburg project do them justice. Shortly after German reunification there was a campaign by private property developers to be allowed to bulldoze Sachsenhausen to the ground and build a housing estate and supermarket on the site. Fortunately this was rejected and whatever the outcome of the Foundation’s review the survival of Sachsenhausen concentration as a memorial seems assured. In the meantime research by individuals is encouraged: there is a library and archives office on the camp open to anyone wishing to research the history of Sachsenhausen and its place in Hitler’s Germany. Archie PottsThe Comintern
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1. | See the report prepared by Horace Williamson covering the period until January 1935, published in Ashoke Mukhopadhyay (ed), India and Communism. Secret British Documents (Calcutta: National Book Agency, 1997). |
2. | M A Persits, Revolutionaries of India in Soviet Russia. Mainsprings of the Communist Movement in the East (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1983) and ‘The Formation of the Communist Movement in Asia and Revolutionary Democracy in the East’, in R A Ulyanovsky (ed), Revolutionary Democracy and Communists in the East (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1990). |
3. | See for example A B Reznikov, ‘The Strategy and Tactics of the Communist International in the National and Colonial Question’ in R A Ulyanovsky (ed), The Comintern and the East. The Struggle for the Leninist Strategy and Tactics in National Liberation Movements (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1979) and ‘The Comintern and Eastern Sections’ in A Reznikov, The Comintern and the East. Strategy and Tactics (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1984). |
4. | See, for example the general introduction in G Adhikari, (ed), Documents of the History of the Communist Party of India. Vol. I: 1917-1922 (New Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1971), pp1-75. |
5. | RGASPI, 495-68-9. |
6. | RGASPI, 495-68-9. |
7. | RGASPI, 485-68-19. |
8. | RGASPI, 495-68-45. |
9. | RGASPI, 495-68-45. |
10. | RGASPI, 495-68-21. |
11. | RGASPI,495-68-21. |
12. | RGASPI, 495-68-46. |
13. | RGASPI, 495-68-37. |
14. | RGASPI, 495-68-91. |
15. | RGASPI, 495-68-172. |
16. | RGASPI, 495-68-165. |
17. | RGASPI, 495-68-69. |
18. | RGASPI, 495-68-203. |
19. | RGASPI, 495-68-205. |
20. | RGASPI, 495-68-207. |
21. | RGASPI, 495-68-205. |
22. | RGASPI, 495-68-31. |
23. | RGASPI, 495-68-45. |
24. | RGASPI, 495-68-37. |
25. | RGASPI, 495-68-37. |
26. | RGASPI, 495-68-37. |
27. | RGASPI, 495-68-64. |
28. | RGASPI, 495-68-186.
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29. | RGASPI, 495-68-186. |
30. | RGASPI, 495-68-207. |
31. | For Roy's Original Draft Supplementary Theses and the version, adopted with Lenin's amendment, see Adhikari, Documents, pp156-205. |
32. | RGASPI, 490-1-6. |
33. | In M N Roy, Memoirs (Bombay: Allied, 1964, p529) he observed that his experience in Central Asia in the early 1920s gave him the opportunity to come into contact with a cross section of the Indian masses and 'dispelled some of (his) earlier illusions and gave (him) a realistic view of the latter'- that the Indian revolution was a long way off, that arms and money would not make revolution and that the army of revolution should be trained politically'. |
34. | I have examined this question in 'M N Roy's Critique of the Comintern: an Exercise in Bukharinism?', Calcutta Historical Journal, 16, 1 (January-June, 1994). |
35. | RGASPI, 495-68-64. |
36. | RGASPI, 495-68-260. |
37. | RGASPI, 493-1-550. |
38. | For details of all the positions that Roy enjoyed in the Comintern's Executive, see Vilem Kahan 'The Communist International, 1919-1943: the Personnel of its Highest Bodies', International Review of Social History, Vol. 21, 1976. |
39. | RGASPI, 495-68-19. |
40. | RGASPI, 495-68-37. |
41. | RGASPI, 495-68-69. |
42. | RGASPI, 495-68-37. |
43. | RGASPI, 495-68-12. |
44. | RGASPI, 495-68-31. |
45. | RGASPI, 495-68-162. |
46. | See Leonid Mitrokhin, 'A Triple Trap. Story of Three Indian Comintern Activists in the Years of Stalinist Terror' (part 2), Soviet Land, 44, 5 (May, 1991), p22. |
47. | RGASPI,495-16-41. |
48. | Mitrokhin, 'A Triple Trap'(part 1), Soviet Land, 44, 4 (April, 1991), p30. |
49. | RGASPI, 493-2-1. This secret document, partly in English and partly in German, shows that B.N. Chatterji was the pseudonym of S V Ghate and D A Naoroji (not Naoradji) was the code name of Sikander which, again, was the pseudonym of Shaukat Usmani. It is intriguing that although Usmani attended the Sixth Congress there is no evidence that S V Ghate, one of the secretaries of the CPI in its early years, was ever involved in the Comintern's work in Moscow. |
50. | Protokoll. 10 Plenum des Exekutivkomitees der Kommunistischen Internationale, Moskau, 3 Juli 1929 bis 19. Juli, 1929 (Hamburg-Berlin : C.H. Nachf, 1929) p592. |
Vida Henning, Woman in a Shabby Brown Coat: Ellen May Cooper 1907-1974, Green Cottage Publishing: Havant, 2000; Len Goldman, Brighton Beach to Bengal Bay: The Adventures of a Young Man in Thirties London and Wartime India, Leonard Goldman: Brighton, 1999; Len Goldman, Back To Brighton: Return to That Lovely Shore, Leonard Goldman: Brighton, 2002; Ralph Russell, Findings, Keepings: Life, Communism and Everything, Shola Books: London, 2001; Helen Tomkins, Mr Lewisham: A Life of Les Stannard, Lewisham Pensioners Forum: London, 2001.
Helen Tomkins, an activist in the Lewisham Pensioners’ Forum, has written Mr Lewisham, a biography of one of the leading members of that forum, Les Stannard, who was earlier an ETU (the electricians’ union) and Communist Party activist. Vida Henning, herself a lifelong communist, records the experience of growing up with communist parents in Woman in a Shabby Brown Coat, a biography of her mother Ellen May Cooper. In Brighton Beach to Bengal Bay and Back to Brighton, two volumes of autobiography by Leonard Goldman, we hear of communism, time in London, India, Leipzig and of course Brighton. The final volume under review here is Findings, Keepings Life, Communism and Everything, the autobiography of Ralph Russell — another communist who from the 1950s taught Urdu at the School of Oriental and African Studies.
Russell, is by his own admission only well know amongst Urdu scholars. Given his perceived unimportance he begins by explicitly posing the question of why he was writing his autobiography. He responds in part with the suggestion that ‘every human being is important.’ Perhaps more substantially he suggests that for those who have ‘thought seriously about how they want to live’ can learn by sharing their experiences with others. To an extent, these suggestions provide a guide to reading all these biographies and autobiographies.
What we learn from these varied lives depends on how we view them. With this in mind each individual may appear to be a representative of a wider population. Les Stannard comes across as a hard-working trade union communist who joined the CPGB at the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War. Len Goldman’s story is that of a Jewish communist who emigrated to communist East Germany. Ellen Cooper appears in many way the archetypal communist woman — married to a fellow communist, working steadily and largely in the background for the Communist Party at local level, and taking exclusive responsibility for bringing up five children. The Cambridge and public school educated Russell, by way of contrast, may seem a typical member of the 1930s student generation. In describing these generic characteristics, in some of the books, the individual becomes subsumed in a collective narrative. To take only one example amongst many, in some places, the history of the ETU becomes synonymous with the life of Les Stannard.
Yet those features which appear to mark off individuals as ‘typical’ are undercut at every turn by the distinctive character of each person’s life. It is these unique and deeply personal elements that appear much more instructive. Ellen Cooper comes across as a powerful person who joined the Communist Party in spite of — rather than because of — her communist husband. Indeed, she had to stand up to domestic violence, which belies the rather cosy image often given of communist families. Despite her humble background she was engaged as an equal in political activity with Oxford academics. Cooper was also prepared to stand up and have her views counted in public, even at the risk of public scorn. She also attempted to transform her political surroundings, organising, for example, an afternoon sub-group in Oxford which, because of when it met, acted as an effective forum for women’s discussion. Len Goldman carefully presents a picture of his life which is far from one-dimensional. Politics plays its due part, but stress is placed not only on politics, work and family, but also on friends and a social life which sometimes had a non-political theme, but which often, as with his activity in the Unity Theatre, overlapped with political interests. Les Stannard, although clearly in the mould of a trade union communist, born and brought up in inauspicious surroundings, was also committed to his family — idolising his mother and grandmother — and also to his locality. In addition to his political activity in East London, he was a devoted supporter of Milwall Football Club. As Helen Tomkin’s testimony indicates he had the presence and integrity to change the way that others understood the world. Ralph Russell, also presents a rounded portrait of his life. There is nothing, he declares at the outset, which he regards as too ‘private’ to have written about. The text bristles with fascinating details about locations, feelings and especially the music which he remembers accompanying events. Of particular interest, both in itself and because of the impact it had of Russell’s later life, is his account of his time in India from 1942, his relationship with the Indian army, with Indian communists and his increasing mastery of Urdu.
Asking why these biographies are worth reading returns the reader to Russell’s initial questions. His first answer — that every life is important — does not indicate what, if anything, we have to gain from these specific life stories. Russell also suggests the importance of the ‘reflective life’ as a motivation for both the reading and writing of biography. Inevitably, in these narratives there are a number of different ‘reflections’ on the nature of communism. The authors show the difficulties in approaching this subject, but in most cases the discussion seems peculiarly disengaged from the rest of the individual’s life. A little more can be said in defence of reading these books as an insight into the historical events in which the individuals participated. However, it is not the shapers or even the participants in the events of some grander historical narrative which makes these lives particularly interesting. The key to these books’ interest is that they are part of the important process of recreating the lives of rank-and-file political activists without reducing those lives to one-dimensional stereotypes — indeed without always placing activism at the centre of the life.
Ordering Details: Mr Lewisham may be purchased by sending a cheque for Ł4.99 (payable to ‘Lewisham Pensioners’ Forum’) to: The Co-ordinator, LPF, 120 Rushey Green, Catford, London SE6 4HQ. Findings, Keepings is distributed by: Shola Books, 33 Theatre Street, Battersea, London. Woman in a Shabby Brown Coat, is published by: Green Cottage Publishing, 23 Park Lane, Bedhampton, Havant, Hampshire PO9 3HG. Leonard Goldman’s books may be ordered directly from him at: 26 Westfield Crescent, Brighton BN1 8JB.
Stephen Woodhams, History In The Making: Raymond Williams, Edward Thompson and Radical Intellectuals: 1936-1956, London: Merlin Press, 2001, 221 pp.
There is some interesting material in this book, based mainly on secondary sources but with some minimal some archival work. However, its scope does not match the ambition of its title. One thread that runs through the work is Raymond Williams and the debates about the relation of his early work to the formation of a New Left after 1956. However, this theme is not dealt with as clearly as it needs to be, since Williams drifts completely out of focus in too many places. The title also suggests a concern with the emergence of a ‘collective’ of historians — with E.P. Thompson and Williams acting as the catalysts for this new radical, intellectual milieu. However, this is another theme that is not consistently pursued in the pages that follow. Also I automatically associated the main title History In The Making with the collection of documents edited by Dona Torr, mentor of the Communist Party Historians’ Group. She is ignored, and those four books are not even mentioned. For any book purporting to be, at least in part, about Thompson, the lack of analysis of his relation with the avowed ‘co-author’ of his major book from this period, William Morris (1955) is a problem. But when we delve into it, this study is not really about Thompson at all.
Williams is a more central figure, and it here that the book’s most significant contribution may lie. The assumption is made of a considerable background knowledge of Williams and his times. However, some details remain unclear. Since Williams had ‘not applied’ (p. 82) for a Cambridge job, the means by which he secured one is left as a mystery. Though both were at Cambridge (at different times), Williams’s very brief sojourn in the Communist Party (CP) provides only a tenuous connection to Thompson, who unlike Williams was a dedicated activist in the Communist Party Writers’ Group and an official in his party district. Their being linked in the title seems teleological: they were in the New Left, so despite their having such diverse paths to that destination they constitute ‘a pair’.
Detracting from any focus is a real tendency to drift. Indeed almost the whole of chapter three, focusing on the Second World War, is a lengthy digression. It was obviously a shared (if separate) experience for Williams and Thompson, but — apart from that generational experience — how this is relevant for the purpose of the book is never made clear. Several parts of other chapters are similarly unfocussed: for example, George Orwell pops in here and there (pp44ff & 88ff), but why is unclear. . Likewise, the section on Welsh and Cypriot activists in the chapter on the internal culture of the Communist Party, is an interesting summary, but again seems unrelated to the book’s central themes. For the rest, much of the material presented is not new and seems overly reliant on Raphael Samuel’s ‘Lost world of British communism’ essays from New Left Review. The problem with this is that several former party members have said to me that they thought Samuel’s experiences were so at odds with theirs that they felt they had been in a different party. Samuel’s claims about ‘non-conformity’ as some sort of key to the inner life of the party is too easily relied on as a given. Although it may have some merits, there were a great many other party members with Jewish, Catholic, or even atheist backgrounds. Indeed, perhaps Samuel’s experiences and observations are partly formed by his Jewish background, but he is not used as a source for London’s Jewish members. The idea of party branch meetings being marked by ‘civility’ (p103) ignores the many members who were grilled in nightmarish ‘self-criticism’ sessions. These are vividly described by Bob Darke in The Communist Technique in Britain (1952). Similarly, the account presented in Joe Jacobs’s memoir Out of the Ghetto (1978) does not altogether fit the claim of ‘decorum’ (p104) as he details street riots, and the Battle of Cable Street.
The sections on the Left Book Club are very reliant on John Lewis’ 1970 book. Other studies which have appeared since, such as Ruth Dudley Edwards’ biography of Victor Gollancz (1987) might have been consulted. The discussion of the issue of why a sense of community faded away in the later 1940s is weakened by the failure to even mention the impact of television. Indeed the BBC — radio or TV — is not dealt with at all. Doris Lessing’s autobiography gives a vivid sense of how TV killed much social life — even if Lessing exaggerates her case it is too important an argument to ignore in this debate.
Certain factual errors should be noted. For example, Victor Kiernan went to Trinity in 1931, not in 1934 as suggested here (p37). I would also like a source for the claim that Eric Hobsbawm was in the CPGB Writers’ Group (p40). Of an article by Henry Collins, Woodhams finds it ‘suggestive’ of a ‘party intellectual’ (p89), but we know that Collins was in the Historians’ Group. More importantly, the typesetting and proof reading is amongst the most careless I have seen in a book. There is some sort of mistake every few pages. Some may be minor, but others are confusing or leave ambiguities. For an academic text the referencing is also inadequate — just a perfunctory reference provided for quotations. There are many instances where a source is really needed, but not even hinted at. Even the bibliography is weak: archival material is listed with all the secondary materials, and it is not always clear that some items are drawn from the archives. Despite some interesting material on Williams, it cannot really be said that this book lives up to its ambitions.
Matthew Worley, Class Against Class: The Communist Party in Britain between the Wars, London: I B Tauris, 2002, ISBN 1-86064-747-2, pp352, hbk, Ł39.50.
This is a volume that not only specialists in the history of the British Communist Party (CPGB) but anyone interested in the twentieth century communist movement is obliged to read; it brings fresh illumination not only to the career of the CPGB during this period but to the operating methods of the Communist International as well. Although it does not quite overthrow the received interpretation of the party’s strategy and actions between 1928 and 1933, summarised by the author as, ‘...Stalin moulded communist policy, the CPGB did as it was told; the party became alienated from the British working class’ (p13), this volume certainly modifies that interpretation very substantially.
As that quote emphasises, the consensus, shared by both hostile and sympathetic historians (including myself) held that the ‘Third Period’ or ‘Class against Class’ or the ‘New Line’ was an unmitigated disaster for the Comintern and all its constituent parties, including the British — where membership collapsed, positions of strength in the labour movement were lost, the party was torn with internal division, and antagonisms were created with other left-wingers that were never subsequently forgiven. With the deployment of massive documentary evidence drawn from the local, national and international spheres, Worley demonstrates that matters were rather more complex and nuanced. The standard interpretation, as indicated, also holds that the ‘Class against Class’ strategy was forced upon a reluctant CPGB by Comintern (ie, Soviet) diktat — this volume demonstrates that that, too, is at least an oversimplification.
It becomes perfectly evident that if the ‘New Line’ was a disaster (and the eventual judgement, however modified, must be that this was the case) then it was a disaster waiting to happen and most certainly did not fall out of a clear sky. Even the most notorious aspect of Class against Class — the accusation of ‘social fascism’ levelled against any left winger not wholly compliant with the CP — though wholly unforgivable, was not quite what it seemed, for among British communists at any rate, a sharp distinction was made between ‘social fascists’ and real ones (p260).
The evidence leaves no doubt that there was in the CPGB by 1928 a very strong current which enthusiastically welcomed the New Line and viewed it as a confirmation of their experience on the ground. While it is impossible to know, these might even have constituted a majority of the then existing members. Party membership had fallen severely in the aftermath of its surge during the General Strike and miners’ lockout, (from 7,909 at the beginning of 1927 to 2,350 in mid-1930) and while much of this was down to decline in the industries where its strength was concentrated, some of it was also due to the intensifying persecution the party met with from the official labour movement in both its political and trade union forms. When Class against Class was launched, only the most determined and committed were left and they were increasingly anxious to confront uncompromisingly their TUC and Labour Party enemies. Similar points have already been made by other historians of the Party, especially Noreen Branson and Mike Squires, but Matthew Worley produces the detailed chapter and verse. Without any doubt the CP leadership had much more trouble from British members who accused them of dragging their feet than from those who doubted the applicability of the New Line, and Pollitt and his colleagues frequently had to call the Comintern leadership to justify their interpretations and applications of the strategy against vociferous demands for more intense sectarianism. Worley concludes, ‘In such a context, we must regard the CPGB’s adoption of “class against class” as and understandable, if evidently unsuccessful, attempt to adapt itself to the changing conditions in which it sought to forge the revolution.’(p44).
This last issue leads on to a further consideration. There was plenty of scope for interpretation in how Class against Class should actually operate — it was not a monolithic, inflexible requirement that dotted every ‘i’ and crossed every ‘t’ like a set of military orders. It was combined with a programme of establishing united fronts ‘from below’ — though no doubt it increased the difficulty of achieving such ambitions. The party appears to have been genuinely convinced of the correctness of the strategy and was puzzled and dismayed when the presumed upsurge of revolutionary sentiment — in whose reality it had every confidence — failed to produce the concrete results that were expected. Certainly its attempts to lead industrial struggles were failures at best (Scotland), more often fiascos (London, Lancashire, North-East England) and this record was compounded by the constant barrage of criticism to which it subjected its one considerable trade union leader of the time, Arthur Horner of the Welsh miners, on account of his barely concealed scepticism regarding the policy — even going so far as to invent an ideology of ‘Hornerism’.
Yet even here there are ambiguities. Worley suggests that these failures, like the more general ones of evaporating membership, the decline of the Minority Movement into insignificance, the extinction of the National Left Wing Movement (which united communists and dissident Labour Party members) were due as much to circumstances over which the party had no control — such as that seventy per cent of its membership was unemployed — as to its own errors. He argues this persuasively, though in this instance perhaps a little less convincingly than elsewhere. Nevertheless the record was far from one of total failure. The CP’s great success was its leadership of the National Unemployed Workers’ Movement, (pp281-6) though this might have been greater but for the sniping at its leader Wal Hannington because of his suspicious coolness towards the New Line.
Moreover, the attempt arising from the analysis of Class Against Class to establish class alternatives to forms of bourgeois popular culture, while it did not achieve any great breakthroughs, attained modest successes, with theatre and film groups, ramblers, and sporting leagues. ‘While not forging a conspicuous alternative to “professional” or “capitalist” sport the BWSF [British Workers Sports Federation] represented a remarkable expression of British communist initiative and dedication.’ (p213). The party’s own intensive political and theoretical education of its members must also stand on the credit side. Most unanswerably no doubt, membership (5,400 in early 1933) was rising again by 1932 and passed that of the highest figures previous to 1926, and the party by then had, in the teeth of immense difficulties, successfully established a daily newspaper.
Indeed by 1932 there was a growing appreciation within the party and its leadership of the sectarian errors which had been committed and their invidious results:
a world poised for revolution had been proclaimed, class enemies had been delineated and abused, and a dwindling membership had displayed a militancy that alarmed even those, such as Rust and Dutt, who sought to guide the CPGB towards the ‘correct interpretation’ (p143).
Consequently greater emphasis began to be laid upon the ‘left danger’, the enthusiasm of the hottest partisans of the New Line both local and national to be curbed, and those leaders who had been censured for insufficient zeal to be regarded more favourably. It is interesting to note that the Balham Group, the original nucleus of British trotskyism, split away from the party because of its passionate attachment to Class against Class — which Trotsky at the time was denouncing with all his might. Certainly it is important to realise that, ‘Taken as a whole, the Third Period passed through a series of stages and should not be considered as an unchanging era of untrammelled sectarianism’ (p314, emphasis added).
Nevertheless he emphasises that he ‘does not propose to turn history on its head’ (p17), and that ‘The Comintern did insist on the CPGB’s adoption of “class against class” and the CP functioned within strict theoretical and practical guidelines sanctioned within the Comintern in Moscow’ (ibid). However the conclusion which seems to emerge from this meticulously researched account — though Worley does not quite say so — is that the foundations for the acclaimed era of the Popular Front in the later thirties were laid during the despised years of Class against Class. That remains contentious; would the CP not have done better, despite all the objective difficulties if it had pursued a less sectarian and isolationist strategy? I continue to think so, and also think that the role of Stalin and the situation in the USSR is somewhat underplayed here; but what is indisputable is that after the publication of this volume our traditional conceptions will have to be substantially revised and that Class against Class, at least so far as the CPGB was concerned will now have to be understood in a very different light from formerly.
It is regrettable that Matthew Worley has not been well served by his publishers on this occasion. It has emerged that in a number of the published copies fifteen pages (pp103-118) are missing. The index is a name index only and not a subject one, and is not always accurate. In addition, the blurb on the back cover is seriously misleading in its claim that this is ‘the first major study of the Communist Party of Great Britain between the wars’ — something that L J Macfarlane and Kevin Morgan would be astonished to discover. None of that, however, should detract from the excellence of the text itself
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