– Ilya Ehrenburg, 1949 –
When he heard that his armies had been defeated, King Philippe IV ordered the sundials on his Palace walls to be covered up. “I see the end of my reign in a moving shadow,” he said.
I am thinking of our enemies — of those who boast of a majority at the various diplomatic conferences and yet fear the voice of their peoples, of those who juggle with votes at the polling booths, of the little Fausts in their secret laboratories, of the people who trade in canned meat and human flesh, of the sleek and well-groomed who reiterate that they get on fine together and that they would like to be on good terms with the world at large.
Of course they get on well together — the oil magnate and the steel tycoon, the Northern Republican and the Southern Democrat, the White House butler and Premier Spaak, General Clay and Dr. Schacht, the French Socialists and Mr. Green’s cheque book, General Franco and the Statue of Liberty.
There is harmony between dividends and hangmen, Leon Blum and the Turkish janissaries, the “Declaration of Human Rights” and the Greek “democrats” who decorate their guns hot from the American conveyor belt with the scalps of mutilated girls. They are in harmony with everybody. But they are out of joint with time. Were it in their power they would smash all the clocks, burn all the calendars and declare that time no longer existed.
They know how to present a smiling countenance when the odds are against them; they will greet 1949 with a forced gaiety — they have the champagne, not to mention the hired musicians and the stooge audiences to give an air of jollification. But it is doubtful whether they will wish each otter a new year, that is, a really new year.
I am not speaking of Chiang Kai-shek who is in no mood for congratulations, nor of Tsaldaris who is listening for the thunder of guns rather than for the striking of the clock. I am not speaking of the frightened Punchinellos who must laugh when they want to weep, nor of M. Jules Moch — this cheap post-war edition of Noske — who shudders superstitiously every time he sees Frenchwoman in mourning, nor of Signor Scelba who has been trying to catch his breath ever since the summer storm when the cities of Italy bristled with wrath.
I am not speaking of the dictators and semi-dictators of Latin America, mass produced in Washington, who are only too aware of the volcanic nature of their territories. I am speaking of the masters.
They, too, are quaking with fear, the Democrat lynchers and Republican bullies, the gentlemen with the appetites of a polecat and the habits of a tiger, owners of atomic piles who are preparing to destroy mankind and suspiciously look at every bel hop and every passer by — for, who knows, he might be a communist.
I am speaking of the all-powerful imperialists who dream of seizing planets but are at the moment busily ferreting out unreliable filmstars; of millionaires who dream of becoming multi-millionaires: of multi-millionaires who have nightmares about Micky Mouse caught up in un-American activities, about “Black Fridays,” at about being strangled in a noose shaped from their white evening ties. They are only too grateful to have come through another year. They are happy about their balance sheets and their dividends. And when they wish one another a happy new year they fervently hope that the old year might be prolonged a little. It makes them feel good to hear preachers promise eternal life, but for themselves they ask much less: that death might be staved off for a while longer.
The past year has not been an easy one. If you look back you will understand the resentment and wrath of the people; recall the joy with which Parisians greeted freedom while the barricades were still standing, the jubilation of the Italians when they burned the effigy of the Duce, how mothers the world over trustingly clasped their children to their breasts, how people smiled with relief believing that peace, work and happiness lay ahead. Was this so very long ago? Only some three or four years back.
What did the old year give the world?
It opened with endless talk about the “danger of war,” and closed with the same abominable words. These words are sent out from America on all wave-lengths, they are set by compositors of all newspapers, taken down by stenographers at all meetings, sessions and conferences. These words are uttered with hypocritical sighs, and with precious hopes: the doomed world of money, brutality and lies, is seeking to prolong its existence by using the suspense of a threatened war to make people lose their heads.
Let us recall the history of the past year, a year of intrigue and hatred. Uncle Sam was dressed up to look like Father Christmas. But the tinsel lost its lustre and the people of Europe saw that together with the maize bread and bad braces, Uncle Sam had other surprise presents: plans for military bases, notifications about new taxes, unemployment and tear gas, army uniforms for the British, German threats for the French, gold for 90-year old Sophoulis and lead for the young shepherd of Thessaly.
Before the eyes of stunned peoples, the American imperialists began to build bases and draw up mobilization plans. Congressman Mundt declared that the bombs would soon began to fall and like the experienced charlatan he is, added that the United States had a 73 to 83 per cent chance of winning the war.
Admiral Zacharias murmured bashfully: We possess a weapon which can wipe out people, animals and plants on any territory. Atomic expert Professor Oppenheimer related his dream: All I have to do is to push a button and within 24 hours I can destroy seventy million people. Americans are accustomed to the expression: “push a button.” Before he shot himself George Eastman, founder of the Kodak firm smeared all the hoardings in America with camera advertisements saying: “Push the button, we do the rest.” The United States imperialists know well that Professor Oppenheimer is fascinated by the image of Tartarin: they exhort the countries under their patronage: “We’ll push the button and you’ll do the rest — you will go over the top, burn in the sky, drown in sea and freeze on the earth; we push the button, you do the dying.”
Not satisfied with the countries already brought into line the American imperialists continue to recruit landsknechts. Mr. Farley, owner of the Coca-Cola firm and one of the chiefs of the Democratic Party recently visited Spain where he conducted negotiations with General Franco. This time Farley was not selling his drink — he was buying the blood of Spaniards. Said Mr. Farley: Five hundred million dollars a year, Franco, the butcher, replied with a smile: Five hundred thousand men under arms. They consider a thousand dollars per soldier to be most generous.
In the meantime Field Marshal Montgomery, on the authorization of his American chiefs, is negotiating a military alliance with General Baros Rodriguez everything comes in handy in a well-run household… even Portuguese soldiers.
During the past year the countries of Latin America have lost the last vestige of independence. Washington bought up the dishonest and brought down the scrupulous. The President of Chile, Gonzalez Videla, elected by the broad masses, came to an arrangement with the Yankees. He filled the prisons with his electors and placed the defence of the country in the hands of foreigners.
President Gallegos of Venezuela was not to be bribed. Seventy per cent of the electorate cast their vote in favour of this honest democrat who is a fine writer and a man of courage. So the “democrats” of Washington who noisily proclaim over the radio waves — short and long — their respect for the will of the people and the right of small nations, calmly overthrew Gallegos.
An acquaintance once told me of a visit he paid to a mental home where an unknown man came up to him and introduced himself as the head doctor. He thereupon led my acquaintance from ward to ward, explaining: “Here you have a schizophrenic, this one suffers from megalomania.” This went on until until real doctor came on the scene, and said: “Be careful, this man is a dangerous paranoiac. He thinks he is a doctor.” I recall this story when I hear how the race-baiters of Mississippi are curing the race-baiters of Bavaria and how the friends of Parnell Thomas are re-educating the friends of Joseph Goebbels.
Incidentally, the comedy of denazification is nearing the final curtain. The Ruhr magnate are aglow with satisfaction: they got off lightly. General Clay recently pardoned the executioner Ilsa Koch, who became notorious as the woman who used human skin for her lampshades. This was not the sentimental whim of a manly general. If anything it was done deliberately.
The Catholic journal “Esprit” declared quite correctly: “You cannot fight the fascists without coming to an agreement with the communists and you cannot fight the communists without relying on the fascists.” The American imperialists preparing their new “crusade” are hunting high and low for “crusaders”… and who knows, Ilsa Koch may come in handy. One of the stars of the Third Reich’s Reichswehr, General Halder, recently held a press conference at his estate near Frankfurt. He offered his service to the Americans — he has considerable experience in burning Russian towns and villages. Halder was in a fighting mood: “The Western Powers must attack — this is the best defence.” Nor was he chary of giving advice. “It would be best to operate from bases in Iran or on the Black Sea.” What should we add to this? Maybe the threatening words of the “Social Democrat” Euchler: “If Breslau and Köningsberg are not returned to us, a third world war is inevitable.” Or the “national democrat” Karl Schaefer demand for Strasbourg and Metz?
“We are in a certain sense Americans,” General Franco recently stated. He was thinking of the murdered communists and the promised dollars when he said that, Ilsa Koch, reading the latest issue of the “Frankfurter Rundschau” by the cosy light of a lamp shade covered with human skin can also say “I, too, to a certain extent, am an American.”
The report of the U.S. Secretary for War frankly outlines the role at the countries now in the grip of the new pretenders to world domination. They are like chess pawns covering the king. The pawns’ chances are pretty dim, but since they are on the spot and since they cover him, the king can consider himself safe. And poor Mr. Bevin — he is trying so hard to speak with the voice of a great power. But it is no good. He is merely told he is not even a bishop but a mere pawn.
The peoples bartered and betrayed by their blind or dishonest rulers tasted sorrow in full measure during the past year. In France the capitulators of yesterday decked themselves out as victors: each month they proclaimed themselves “victorious” over the un-armed workers. They sent tanks against the miners and in an effort to eclipse Stulpnagel drenched the streets of French towns in French blood. Blood also flowed in Italy where the people, enraged at the neo-fascists and old traitors, American nuncios and hunger at home, more than once rose to defend their violated rights.
Tourists in Greece used to say that even the soil seemed pink under the scorching sun. It is scarlet now, scarlet with blood. America’s henchmen, not in the least perturbed by all the talk about the “rights of man,” killed, en masse, teachers and workers, students and shepherds — killed them in the mountains and in the cities, in battle and in prison, killed them with good “democratic” American bullets.
German fascists, SS men, the butchers of Oradour and Lidice, in the uniform of the French Foreign Legion, murdered the defenceless people of Vietnam and a French poet dedicated a poem to the murderers. Throughout the year, blood flowed in Palestine, India and Malaya.
This blood, whether French, or Indian, Jewish or Chinese, Greek or Italian, was shed at the behest of America and for the glory of America.
But what did this year of unrest give America itself? A professor of the Paris Catholic University, Abbe Boulier writes:
“Panic reigns in the United States — a panic artificially created, fabricated and advertised. War is peddled there just like shaving soap.”
Yes, fear has taken possession in America of the deceived and the deceivers.
The rulers of America see the indignation of the peoples, the hunger and wrath or devastated Europe: they see the storm breaking over awakening Asia; they see the grim tranquillity of the Soviet people; they also see the confusion of the average American, his bewilderment which is growing into mistrust, his concealed, unvoiced alarm. Fear is gripping people who are regarded as being all-powerful. Fear is making them lose their heads, making them deliver bellicose speeches, brandish the atom bomb. It blinds them so that they see “reds” everywhere — in Venezuela, in Hollywood and even under the bed.
Panic-stricken, they are holding medieval inquisitions in their skyscrapers; invoking Magna Charta, they are preparing trials which would have been the envy of Hitler. Communists are brought to trial on the sole charge of having a Marxist outlook. That the U.S. Government has dared to stage the “Trial of the Twelve” is a sign not of its strength but its animal fear.
They are afraid of everything: of Soviet harvests and of Howard Fast’s novels; of Chilean miners and Charlie Chaplin, of communists in France and crisis in America, of the Soviet proposal to reduce armaments and strikes in Detroit. They call for war — yet they fear war. They swear that they are defending peace — yet they dread peace more than war. Don’t think, reader, that I am carried away by contrasts. Take the prosaic telegram of the “Economic and Finance Agency” sent on November 10 from New York that: Prominent representatives of the financial world do not preclude the possibility of 1949 becoming a year of “peace scare.”
Looking back at the outgoing year we can say: it was a difficult year, but it worked for us — for the people of the future. It was a year of bloodshed and of tears, a year of great sorrow, but it drove our enemies to despair while it consolidated and tempered our ranks, giving us strength. Slanderers would have the world believe that the working people of France have been beaten. They are celebrating their “victory” over the miners. They do not want to understand that the struggle has brought the people of France together, has exposed the strike-breakers and traitors and given rise to new wrongs and new hopes. In France the miners are called “black faces.” And Jules Moch fears these black faced men just as much as the Mississippi plantation owner fears the black-skinned men there.
Nor has proud Italy been tamed. When scoundrels raised their hand against Togliatti a storm of indignation swept the country — and its rulers, devotees of the “Roman Catholic Church Militant” and of the Washington militant sect, looked anything but militant. They knew the storm that would break if they dared raise a hand against the honour and conscience of Italy.
At the end of the summer the American broadcasting stations told the world that all the Greek rebels had been wiped out. Two months later they had to broadcast the despatch from the oppressor’s general headquarters that the “exterminated” rebels had launched an offensive.
Is there any need to mention what the past year has given the American sheriffs in China? Though they are well accustomed to sweeping rhythm, to racing cars and races on the screen, the American diplomats can hardly see the heels of their retreating Chinese administrators.
In the new democracies the grand offensive of the State Department merely resulted in insignificant trials. The Wall Street gentlemen learnt that the peoples are not congressmen: dollars cannot buy them. In Czechoslovakia the power of the working people entrenched itself, whereas Washington was left with dubious trophies — some more hangers on.
Neither the regeneration of Warsaw and Wroclaw, the fine harvest in Romania, nor the new factories and railroads in Bulgaria can be counted among the victories of the American imperialists.
There is no need for me to speak of what is happening in the Soviet Union: by its very nature our state is driving the trans-Atlantic kings to despair. They hoped to infect us with their panic. Instead we are carrying on, building cities, writing books and educating our children. To all talk of the atom experts that all they have to do is “push the button” we replied with a sweeping plan to combat drought. The rehabilitation of our country, devastated by the war, is not an easy matter. We still have little time for leisure, but looking back we see that we are stronger today than we were a year ago. We have won yet another year. We are not like Philippe IV — we love time because it moves forward.
In the United States itself, this year has brought about many changes. The average American has a poor understanding of world politics, but he is intelligent and he has a heart. He has shown that he has no love for the slogan “just push the button,” that it is difficult not only to push him toward war but even to the polling booth with talk of war. The average American is not, as yet, well versed in affairs, but he is a hundredfold more cultured than a Thomas, and he has shown that medieval grillings or tribunals in Inquisition fashion are not to his liking.
There was some confusion among the bellicose imperialists toward the close of 1948. Time and again they reiterated that communists in the government of one or another country were a threat to peace. We recall how they blackmailed the hungry Italians and Frenchmen. But the chief representative of the American usurers, Mr. Hoffman, publicly announced that it would be useful to have communists in the Chinese Government. Whence such liberal ideas in the head of Mr. Hoffman? Their origin lies in the retreat of the American hirelings.
They have to go back on their word not only in China but at home as well. They have “postponed” the trial of the Communist Party leaders, giving Foster’s ill health as the reason. This gentlemanly gesture can deceive nobody: it is not a question of Foster’s health but of the disgust of every honest American for the coming trial.
I certainly have no objection to such withdrawals. Indeed, they are far more decent than all the talk about destroying seventy million people or the activity of the Un-American Committee. For that matter I have no objection to 1949 becoming a year of “peace scare” for the American imperialists. The more they tremble in fear of peace, the more tranquilly will the mothers of the world watch their children at play.
Who knows, maybe the same Mr. Hoffman will have to make many an unexpected statement not only in China but also in Europe? Who knows, maybe the Americans will begin to be ashamed not only of Thomas and Mundt but of Mr. Dulles as well? Why, even if all the clocks are destroyed, time will nevertheless keep moving on.
In his latest poem “The Awakening of the Wood Cutter” Pablo Neruda writes:
“In three rooms of the ancient Kremlin
Lives a man, who is called Joseph Stalin,
And far into the night a light burns in his window…”
Like a beacon, this window spread its light through the year, a light that shone through the blood-stained mist, through the dark night of America. Its light is burning on the threshold of the New Year. It inspires us with confidence. We well know that the new year will work for us, we know that time is on our side.
(“For a Lasting Peace, For a People’s Democracy!,” No. 1 (28), January 1, 1949)