January 18



1689


Charles Louis Secondat, Baron de La Brède et de Montesquieu, born today, at Château de La Brède, a rather aristocratic commune in the Gironde department of Nouvelle-Aquitaine in southwestern France.



"Les Lettres Persanes" was on the curriculum as part of the B.A. French Literature course at my Polytechnic (oui, polytechnique, dans l'ancien monde, il y a très longtemps, presque l'époque de Montesquieu), but without really being told anything about the man. I took him for a satirist in the manner of Voltaire and Molière, and only later, studying the Jewish Haskalah, did I realise how significant a contribution he had made, with Locke, Hume, Rousseau, Spinoza et al, to the European Enlightenment, but also, indirectly, to that beacon of democratic idealism the American Constitution.

Having now re-read "The Spirit of Laws" in the wake of nearly forty years of post-student experience, it is not hard to see why 
Voltaire fell out with him: for all his liberality, he was by birth, by conviction, and by intellectual stance aristocratic, and while I share his view that a hereditary monarchy fenced round with safeguards is much better than a political Presidency, I am not convinced that he and I really mean the same thing by this. He wanted the monarchy for its own sake, because it supported, indeed required the aristocracy; I want it because it prevents the Presidency: better a Queen Elizabeth who does nothing political but apogees the tourist economy by prodiving pageantry, than a self-important demagogue with megalomaniacal tendencies who can't stop interfering with his absurd and usually undemocratic ideological idealisms. 

What Monsieur le Baron has to say about Spinoza requires more space than I have here; except to observe that he is wrong, that you can espouse Spinoza's views and also be a Deist, that in fact it was the common position of most left-wing religious intellectuals in the 20th century, and a good few of the atheists as well, and still is in the 21st: Spinoza wished to overturn religion in favour of human law and humanist morality, which is an existentialist position, not necessarily an atheistic one, and Spinoza to the last insisted that he was not an atheist.

This portrait of Montesquieu is quite magnificent. If you were shown it in a quiz and asked to guess, you would probably go for Marcus Aurelius or Pericles or some austere Greco-Roman general. Aristocratic to his very bone structure - and not simply in the class sense of that word.

There is no greater tyranny than that which is perpetrated under the shield of the law and in the name of justice.
To become truly great, one has to stand with people, not above them.
The tyranny of a prince in an oligarchy is not so dangerous to the public welfare as the apathy of a citizen in a democracy.

That last paragraph in particular, one of the sources of my notion of "Passive Complicity" and "Victimhood Collaboration", the worst sins performed, and daily, by most of the human race.

For much more on who he was and especially what he thought, click here.




Amber pages:


1535, Francisco Pizarro González founded Lima in Peru


1778, James Cook "discovered" the Hawaiian Islands ("found for Europeans"; the native population had long before worked out that they were there, and where "there" was), and named them the Sandwich Islands (not to be confused with the South Sandwich Islands)


1788, first convicts at Botany Bay


1867, birthday of Félix Rubén García Sarmiento (Rubén Dario), the poetical equivalent of Cervantes in the history of Spanish literature, though he was Nicaraguan, so a slightly different dialect of Spanish. The father of Modernismo, and the reason why Sergio Ramirez et al later on have made Nicaragua a rival to Colombia as the great land of literature among the Americas north and south. You can read some of his poetry here.


1919: opening of the Versailles conference


1943: end of the siege of Leningrad


1966: 
Indira Gandhi became Prime Minister of India





You can find David Prashker at:


Copyright © 2018/2024 David Prashker
All rights reserved
The Argaman Press



January 17

1863, 1942


Two of the modern world's greatest heavyweight actors, born on the same day.


Cassius Marcellus Clay Junior, in Louisville, Kentucky, in 1942 - named, like his father, or so I presume, for, or at least after, Cassius Marcellus Clay, abolitionist, (see Oct 19); and then self-renamed Cassius X when he first joined the Nation of Islam; finally Muhammad Ali... and I mean what I have just said, because I can think of few who met the standards of "Method Acting" better than Ali, off-stage as well as on - sometimes even better off-stage, like those memorable pre-fight verbal sparring sessions in which his mostly brain-dead opponents hadn't a clue what he was jibing, teasing and generally mocking about them, though in the end it was he who died of brain-death, pummeled into a refusal to submit by the white racists of America, who tried to take his title away by conscripting and then jailing him - not the first black heavyweight to suffer that fate... but eventually pummeled by Joe Frazier, and then finished off by George  Foreman, into a state of such severe Parkinson's...*

* that's James Parkinson, who described the shaking palsy known in Latin as paralysis agitans; not Michael Parkinson, in whose company Ali had one of both of their greatest triumphs

(see Oct 29 for his first fight)




Konstantin Sergeyevich Alekseyev (Stanislavski was his stage-name), born in Moscow, today in 1863. An actor by profession, he specialised in creating characters so well that audiences wondered who the actor was, rather than instantly recognising the same-old same-old stars, who delivered the lines in exactly the same way, regardless of whether they were dressed up as Hamlet or Hannibal Lectern, Cordelia or Cinderella. His ability to do this was the source of his fame, his book "An Actor Prepares" giving the game away before you even read a line; and the two books that followed, "Building A Character" and "Creating A Role", likewise.

Stanislavski didn't call it "Method Acting"; that was Lee Strasberg's American take, and there were some minor variations, but very minor, unlike the actors whom the system, or the method, produced: Brando, Hoffman, De Niro, Day-Lewis, and an even longer list here of the women of Method.

I first came across Stanislavski as a drama student, and used him in my own amateur and semi-pro acting attempts; but mostly as a writer, because writers too need to prepare in exactly the same way.

January 10

Amber pages




Arrival of first tea from India. Date? 1610. And it wasn't England - it was Holland. And they brought it from China, not India (though via India), so why wasn't it called Cha, rather than Tay?



The first underground railway opened in London, today in 1863: the Metropolitan Line, between Paddington (then called Bishop's Road) and Farringdon Street


The League of Nations came into being, toay in 1920; presumably the next was chosen deliberately to coincide


The first meeting of the United Nations General Assembly, in London (England, not Ontario), today in 1946. The charter had been signed the previous June 26th. The building in New York opened on August 21st 1950

January 9

1923


Katherine Mansfield Beauchamp's deathday - New Zealand's other Germaine Greer, though you probably know her without her surname. 


She once wrote, and it is a very dangerous thing for a writer to hold out such open invitations to posterity:
"I imagine I was always writing. Twaddle it was too. But better far write twaddle or anything, anything, than nothing at all."
Before he fell out with her, D.H.Lawrence admired her, even adored her, and that is recommendation enough for me. They shared the T.B. too of course. Her last words would last forever, if they were inscribed on her gravestone:
"I love the rain. I want the feeling of it on my face."
She also went further, much further; through the rain to the illusion of sunshine:

The Storm

I ran to the forest for shelter,
Breathless, half sobbing;
I put my arms around a tree,
[‘round’ in the original: the added syllable is my correction]
Pillowed my head against the rough bark.
"Protect me," I said. "I am a lost child."
But the tree showered silver drops on my face and hair.
A wind sprang up from the ends of the earth;
It lashed the forest together.
A huge green wave thundered and burst over my head.
[sloppy, that line]
I prayed, implored, "Please take care of me!"
But the wind pulled at my cloak and the rain beat upon me.
Little rivers tore up the ground and swamped the bushes.
A frenzy possessed the earth: I felt that the earth was drowning
[better without ‘that’]
In a bubbling cavern of space. I alone -
Smaller than the smallest fly - was alive and terrified.
Then for what reason I know not, I became triumphant.
"Well, kill me!" I cried and ran out into the open.
But the storm ceased: the sun spread his wings
And floated serene in the silver pool of the sky.

[dreadful cliché - the poem maimed
I put my hands over my face: I was blushing.                     
[but then redeemed]
And the trees swung together and delicately laughed.   
[by ‘delicately laughed’]




Amber pages


Marco Polo, traveller and ghost-memoirist (the book was actually written for him by 
Rustichello da Pisa), died yesterday in 1324. I would much rather put this on his birth date, but no one knows when that was, not even the year for certain, though the scholarly consensus has decided 1254; but as to an actual month, let alone an actual day... And anyway, the point about Marco Polo isn't the life so much as the journey, and this date most definitely marks the end of the journey, so let's go with it.

China Daily has an interesting article (click
here) about the publication of his will, apparently "proving" what scholars have long questioned (click here), that he ever went to China in his life ... but 
Marco Polo is to travel literature what Shakespeare is to English drama - the man who couldn't possibly have done what he is said to have done, even though it's right there before our eyes, unneeding of proof. The Everyman Library edition of Marco Polo's travels - click here - for example, contains extensive footnotes, longer than the book itself, which could win an international award for the most insulting, patronising, condescending and defamatory footnotes ever written, a continuous argument against absolutely everything Polo claims to have seen, based on the editor's certainty that anything written in anybody else's book on the subject can be taken as veracious, even if it was written centuries after Polo had been and seen.



Simone Lucie Ernestine Marie Bertrand de Beauvoir, born today in 1908. Apparently "The Second Sex" was suggested by her next-door neighbour Jean-Paul Sartre (for whom see April 15), and she thought it might be a good idea for a short article for a newspaper; until she started researching it, and it grew, not just into 2-volumes and over a thousand pages, but into the most important work in the feminist catalogue.*


Joan Chandos Baez, born today in 1941.


1969: The Concorde jetliner made its first test flight (Bristol). Or maybe not. The BBC History page insists it was March 2; elsewhere I have found January 19... clearly this needs more research...



* From my diary for March 2024, many years after I posted her birth-date:

Coming out of Moorfields eye hospital after my check-up had gone much better than I feared it might - all men are mortal, even if I am no longer in the prime of life - the drops they put in my eye for their scans had rendered any more reading or writing existentially impossible, but going for a long walk along the left bank of the canal absolutely essential. Force of circumstance - a fracas on a houseboat on the Angel side had caused one man a very easy death and spilled the blood of several others - sent me eastwards, towards Dalston and Hackney, along the north side of Shoreditch Park, and no it wasn't going to prove a huit clos, because this was not Sartre territory, though the two were inseparables. De Beauvoir town - I have no idea if she ever came to stay here - named for Simone's ancestor Richard de Beauvoir of Guernsey, who acquired Balmes House in the 1680s...

you can read the full tale of the family's continued ownership here, and the rest of my visit will be in Prashker's London when I finally get around to publishing it; oh, and I leave you to work out how many of her book-titles and key concepts I managed to squeeze like the juice of mandarins into that diary-paragraph in order to capture at least an overall image of her.

And of course, according to the rules I set for this blog, there should have been a cartoon of a traffic light to indicate the follow-up to the asterisk at the end of her first entry. But "De Beauvoir Town is a low-traffic neighbourhood (LTN) and is characterised by an almost complete lack of traffic lights within the residential grid. Traffic is primarily managed through traffic calming measures like bollards and modal filters, rather than traffic lights." And conservation green for this paragraph as well. I think Simone would have applauded it unhesitantly.



You can find David Prashker at:


Copyright © 2018/2024 David Prashker
All rights reserved
The Argaman Press



February 6

"Bootsteps on the Camps"
2018


From the world's media:

Polish President Andrzej Duda signed Poland's controversial new Holocaust bill late Tuesday ahead of it being assessed by the country's Constitutional Tribunal.

The law would make it illegal to accuse the nation of complicity in crimes committed by Nazi Germany, including the Holocaust.

The bill, which passed with 57 votes to 23 (with two abstentions) early Thursday morning, also bans the use of terms such as "Polish death camps" in relation to camps such as Auschwitz, which were located in Nazi-occupied Poland.

The legislation criminalizes any mention of Poles “being responsible or complicit in the Nazi crimes committed by the Third German Reich.” The harshest penalties are reserved for those who refer to Nazi-era concentration camps such as Auschwitz as “Polish death camps.”




Scenario 1

You are sitting on a bus minding your own business, and a man comes over to you and tells you to move, you can't sit here, there are rules about where you can sit, and you are breaking them. What do you do?

a) You move - this I call "passive complicity"*

b) You take the man's advice and become the advocate to the other "rule-breakers", encouraging them to move as well, helping them to do so - this I call "collaboration in one's own victimhood".

c) You say "My name is Rosa Parks and I ain't moving" - this the whole world calls heroism, and quite rightly, because it is also the most personally dangerous.


* The theme of "passive complicity" can also be found under 1961 on the January 11 page. The Rosa Parks story is told on February 4, and especially December 1.


Scenario 2

You are sitting in your stibl in Praszka, and a man in a black uniform with swastika armbands tells you to move, you are being deported to the Lodz Ghetto. What do you do?

a) You get on the train ("passive complicity")

b) You become a senior member of the Judenrat, like my great-great uncle Bernard (Boruch) Praszkier*, and help out with the organisation and running of the ghetto ("collaboration in your own victimhood")

c) It’s Warsaw not Lodz, and you become a senior member of Lochamei ha Getaot, leading the Zionist Youth group, like my cousin Jakub Praszkier, who died in the Uprising (the "Rosa Parks" option)


* You can read his story in full in my collection of "Tall Tales & Short Stories"; click here to purchase a copy; or in brief on 
April 19


Always three options for the victims.

But what about the perpetrators?


Scenario 3

A gang of youths approaches you in the school playground, their leader making clear he wants your lunch.

Phase a: You give him your lunch. And the next day. And the next... ("passive complicity")

Phase b: By the fourth day he is telling you what he wants for lunch and you are getting your mother to shop accordingly, while spending what little pocket money you have on a secret second lunch which you eat in the toilet during lessons so that nobody will know ("collaborating in your own victimhood")

Phase c: The gang-leader no longer wants your lunch; he wants your obedience, and for you to do his dirty work for him. And the dirty work in question is that kid over there's lunch from now on, and you to ensure he gets it. So you go over to the kid, and you tell him to hand over his lunch, and he takes option 3, the Rosa Parks resistance-refusal option. But the gang are watching, so you slap him. He starts to run, so you trip him. You drag him upright and punch him, hard in the stomach. The gang are smiling approvingly. You take his lunch from him and head back to the gang, but in the moment of reaching into his bag everything changed: the gang has vanished, and what is standing there is the school Principal, the teacher on duty in the playground, and two student witnesses. They have the whole thing filmed on CCTV. The police and your parents are being summoned. Expect to be suspended, at the very least. You did what you did. Forced or unforced, you did what you did ("Polish death camps")





On March 26th 1963, the American world featherweight boxing champion Davey Moore died from injuries sustained in a fight. Bob Dylan lamented his death in a ballad, which I have borrowed to offer my own lament to the Polish President and Parliament:


Listen to Dylan singing "Who Killed Davey Moore" here
Or read his original lyric here
The full text of the original of "Cock Robin" can be found at the end of this blog-page


"Who Killed Six Million Jews - I guess it must have been Cock Robin"


Who Killed Six Million Jews?
Not I, says the ex-Nazi
Don’t point your finger at me
They made me join the Hitler Youth
That’s the Gott-in-Himmel truth
They made me learn to shoot a gun
They’d have shot me if I tried to run
It’s too bad what happened to the Jews
But me or them, I had to choose
It wasn’t me who had the Fall
You can’t blame me at all
Who Killed Six Million Jews?
I guess it must have been Cock Robin

Who Killed Six Million Jews?
Not us, say the Catholics
We only carry out Holy Writ
Easter Sunday, pogrom time
But this comes down from God on high
You killed Jesus, you must pay
That’s what the Holy Scriptures say
Get in your ghettoes, may you rot
You and Judas Iscariot
You’re the ones who had the Fall
So you can’t blame us at all
Who Killed Six Million Jews?
I guess it must have been Cock Robin

Who Killed Six Million Jews?
Not me, says the Parliamentarian
With his new-passed law code in his hand
You look at my country all askance
You forget about the Resistance
And there were Poles who rescued Jews -
Well not that many, that is true -
But in their name, our dignity
We’re decent Poles, we’re not Nazis
It wasn’t us who built the camps
Who set the fire in those eternal lamps
We’re doing this to heal our pain
And to redeem our good people’s name
It wasn’t us who made the Fall
You can’t blame us at all
Who Killed Six Million Jews?
I guess it must have been Cock Robin

Who Killed Six Million Jews?
Not us, says the President
Signing the Law of National Innocence
We were bullied just like you
This was what they made us do
Our pride, our honour, all of it, lost
Making us host the Holocaust
It wasn’t us who built the ramps
You can’t call them Polish Death Camps
Who Killed Six Million Jews?
I guess it must have been Cock Robin

Who Killed Six Million Jews?
Not me, says the retired camp chief
Whose questioning was rather brief
Who never went to Nuremburg
To get what surely he deserved
Just doing my job, you stupid fools
Obeying orders, following rules
And the dead in the camps weren’t only Jews
And we had heroes, martyrs too
The western front murdered my dad
And my brother died at Stalingrad
Who Killed Six Million Jews?
I guess it must have been Cock Robin

Who Killed Six Million Jews?
Not me? asks the man in the street
Ashamed of his grandparents’ defeat
Ashamed in the world to be a Pole
With all that trauma in his soul
I need redemption, I need cure
But this law’s not what I’m looking for
Let’s face up, let’s admit,
We chose to do the things we did
Passive complicity, that’s the phrase
And it can never be erased
Truth and Reconciliation - that’s our need
Accept the facts, make that our creed
Accept that what we did was wrong
Deal with it, and then move on
Who Killed Six Million Jews?
We did, that’s who. We did.



illustration courtesy of Carolyn Trant and Parvenu Press

"Who killed Cock Robin?" "I," said the Sparrow,
"With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin."
"Who saw him die?" "I," said the Fly,
"With my little eye, I saw him die."
"Who caught his blood?" "I," said the Fish,
"With my little dish, I caught his blood."
"Who'll make the shroud?" "I," said the Beetle,
"With my thread and needle, I'll make the shroud."
"Who'll dig his grave?" "I," said the Owl,
"With my pick and shovel, I'll dig his grave."
"Who'll be the parson?" "I," said the Rook,
"With my little book, I'll be the parson."
"Who'll be the clerk?" "I," said the Lark,
"If it's not in the dark, I'll be the clerk."
"Who'll carry the link?" "I," said the Linnet,
"I'll fetch it in a minute, I'll carry the link."
"Who'll be chief mourner?" "I," said the Dove,
"I mourn for my love, I'll be chief mourner."
"Who'll carry the coffin?" "I," said the Kite,
"If it's not through the night, I'll carry the coffin."
"Who'll bear the pall? "We," said the Wren,
"Both the cock and the hen, we'll bear the pall."
"Who'll sing a psalm?" "I," said the Thrush,
"As she sat on a bush, I'll sing a psalm."
"Who'll toll the bell?" "I," said the bull,
"Because I can pull, I'll toll the bell."
All the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing,
When they heard the bell toll for poor Cock Robin.