I WAS A CHILD SPY: LIFE WITH THE COMMUNIST HORDES

Both corporate media interests and the ACLU have welcomed this recently released photo of journalist Claire O’Brien at age three, as vindication of their campaign to oust O’Brien from the industry. O’Brien (front row , far L) is pictured with a small cell of communist spies, including her parents, operating out of a rural base in western Massachusetts. (Her father is not shown here)

 THIS POST WILL BE CONTINUED SUBSTANTIALLY, SO PLEASE COME BACK SOON

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My siblings and I began belting out our favorite Commie song when we were six  or so. I felt very sophisticated about Harry as I  turned eight, for by then I understood that the song was something of an inside joke – and I was able to sort of  get  the joke on its most elementary level. As well, my brothers and I were  big hams, and the roars of  laughter and applause that greeted our renditions of Harry would have kept us singing all night if we had not  been ordered to bed at what we considered to be an outrageously early hour.

THE BALLAD OF HARRY  POLLITT

Harry Pollitt was a workman, one of Lenin’s lads

But he was fouly murdered by those counter-revolutionary cads.

So Harry went to heaven, he reached the Gates with ease,

Said, “May I talk with Comrade God?  I’m Harry Pollitt please.”

“Who are you‘?  said Saint Peter, “Are you humble and contrite?”

“I’m a friend of Lady Astors.”   “Well, OK. that’s quite alright. “

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Lenin (center), some of his lads, and his wife Nadezhda, Kashino, Russia, 14 November 1920. Artist: Anon

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They put Harry in the choir, but the hymns he did not like

So he organized the angels and he led them out on strike

One day when God was walking round heaven to meditate,

Who should he see but Harry chalking slogans on the gate?

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May Day, 1922

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They brought him up for trial before the Holy Ghost

For spreading disaffection amongst the heavenly host.

The verdict it was guilty, Harry said “Oh, well’

He tucked his nightie round his knees and he drifted down to Hell

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1912_Lawrence_Textile_Strike

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Seven long years have passed, Harry’s doing swell:

They just made him First People’s Commissar of Soviet Hell.

Bread and Roses

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Well the moral of this story is an easy one to tell:

If you want to be a Bolshevik, you’ll have to go to Hell

You’ll have to go to Hell, you’ll have to go to Hell!

If you want to be a Bolshevik,  you’ll have to go to Hell.

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Woolen Mill, Ware, Massachusetts /Google Images

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My father painted the entire chimney of this woolen mill – all by himself

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This world that’s owned by parasites is ours and ours  alone

It is ours, not to slave in, but to master and to own.

In our hands we hold a power greater than their  hoarded gold.

We can bring to birth a new world from the ashes of the old.

_From Solidarity Forever_

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