On se laisse sur des images :

Official website - Niamh Kavanagh

En el siguiente vídeo [YouTube, 03:50] puede verse una recreación virtual:

Vía: [digg]

[+] WilkinsonEyre Architects

[+] Galería fotográfica de Ros Kavanagh

Technorati Tags:ingenieria, bridge, puente, peatonal, irlanda, limerick, universidad, university, ciempies, centipede, diseño, organico, wilkinson, eyre, architects, ros, kavanagh

Anyway, It felt great to come home to a great blog post from Alex Thompson's Westside BikeSIDE! sharing some experiences he has had with Police in Los Angeles:

Police: Ignorant of Bike Laws? Make Them Up!!

I'm sick of police officers who are ignorant of the law. If you're a police officer who wants harass cyclists you presume to be breaking the law, be damn sure you know what you're talking about. Cyclists, if you're sick of it too, join me in complaining, as explained later.A perfect example of police ignorance arose on the 3rd Venice Critical Mass (which was a blast!) An officer of the LA County Sheriff's department berated riders for leaving the bike lane when riders from the rear were overtaking riders at the front. "Ride single file in the bike lane and stay out of the road" she repeated over loudspeaker.

California Vehicle Code 21208 enables cyclists to leave a bike lane in several circumstances, including "when overtaking and passing another bicycle". There isn't anything in the vehicle code about riding single file.

The Sheriff's ignorance of the law is similar to Santa Monica PD's (SMPD) ignorant bullying of cyclists during Santa Monica Critical Mass (SMCM). One SMPD officer cited a cyclist for leaving the bike lane to pass a car inching along in the bike lane. The cyclist was legal, the motorist was violating the law, so SMPD cited the cyclist. Another officer cited a rider for walking his bike on the grass without lights. Worse, in the photo below, SMPD cited Alex Cantarero for "no front lights", while 50 witnesses stood hypnotized by the dual front lights mounted on his pegs. This same bike cop was earlier joy riding with his lights off, and when confronted about his hypocrisy argued "police don't have to adhere to the law." INDEED.

(photo courtesy of Gary Kavanagh)

While SMPD enthusiastically generates the record for a class action lawsuit the madness isn't restricted to the Westside. Bike activists Stephen and Enci Box were thrown in hand cuffs when Stephen insisted that police record his wish to file charges against a bus driver who pushed him WITH THE BUS. Beverly Hills Officer Prenesti called a cyclist an idiot and cited him after the cyclist stood up to a motorist who nearly killed him.

I'm sick of it, and I've called the LA Sheriff's department at 800-698-8255, and 310-482-6000 to to express my displeasure with their officer. Please pile it on by calling yourself.

If SMPD targeted you unfairly, on Critical Mass or off, complain with this form. For you, filing a complaint is painless. For SMPD it entails a investigation of the complaint that must be reviewed by the Chief of Police.

Cover his desk.

(SMPD Chief Jackman does a handless skid at the Bicycle Film Festival, faux photo courtesy of Midnight Ridazz)

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As you can see from the RSS Holloway has started in advance to get the players in and out. We have made an offer for Sunderland goalie Marton Fulop (who is currently on loan with us) and veteran midfielder Graham Kavanagh."The offer has been made for both players. We like Marton a lot but Sunderland are making some noise that they might take him back."We are close to completing a deal for Graham," Mandaric told City's website. Ian also has his eye on another veteran Barry Hayles from Plymouth, you can see the connection here! He is a striker and has scored 131 goals in 342 games. And last but certainly not least, is the Derby County striker Steve Howard, who has agreed a three and a half year deal with the Foxes. Rumors around both clubs say that the fee is expected to be in excess of £1 Million. "Steve and Barry scored a total of 33 goals between them last season, while off the field they are two of the best characters in the game," said Holloway.

On Grafton Street in November
We tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine
Where can be seen
The worth of passion's pledge
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts
And I not making hay
Oh I loved too much
And by such and such
Is hapiness thrown away

I gave her gifts of the mind
I gave her the secret sign
That's known to the artists
Who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint, I did not stint,
I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair
Like clouds over fields of May.

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet
I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should
A creature made of clay
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose
His wings at the dawning of the day.

(The confusion caused by the two titles of this song can be traced back to the different previous history of the tune on one hand and the words on the other.

Kavanagh's poem led a forlorn existence on dark bookshelves until Patrick Kavanagh and Luke Kelly of The Dubliners, at that time novices in the music scene, treated each other with their talents during a joyful pub session somewhere in the 1960's.
The exact course of this gathering is vague. Some assume that Kavanagh recited his poem Dark Haired Myriam Ran Away and that Kelly set it to O'Connellan's air. Others, among them Luke Kelly himself, state that Kavanagh already had set the poem to the air. Anyway, Patrick was impressed by the musical talents of Luke Kelly and he gave him permission to use the song. For some reasons The Dubliners didn't use the original title of the poem and because there was already a song entitled The Dawning of the Day they came up with On Raglan Road.)

PRIMERA PARTE, El VERANO

Capìtulo I, Invisible

"Camino sobre espejos que repiten mi imagen destrozada,

piso dìas, instantes caminados, piso los pensamientos de mi sombra,

piso mi sombra en busca de un instante"

Octavio Paz

Jueves 11 de Noviembre de 1999

Suspirò sin fuerzas, me mirò fijamente, creì adivinar cierta tènue sonrisa, cerrò los pàrpados, y simplemente, se dejò llevar...

Sin enfermeras, sin mèdicos, sòlos a no ser por la presencia de algùn punga curioso de paso asomàndose inocentemente por la cortina que a modo de puerta presidìa la casilla. Muriò aquì porque asì estaba decidido, porque ella asì lo habìa querido. No tuve en èse instante làgrimas para llorarla. Me parè, la vì, tomè distancia para abarcar todo su cuerpo, la observè detenidamente hasta comprender que con ella, yo comenzaba a desandar los ùltimos tramos del camino, intentè llervarme en la memoria renuente cada gramo de carne vacìa, cada gota de sudor seca, cada pelo, cada hueco, cada mueca apagada...Corrì la cortina, busquè el cielo estrellado, me alcè con la mirada por encima de la Villa (01) dormida, me cobijè en la inmensidad de la noche, sin tiempo, sin razòn, inmisericorde...Me fuì.

Busquè a Jacinto, le paguè lo acordado y caminè sin ganas entre las vìas y los fondos de las casitas amontonadas, monòtonas sombras negrogrises multiformes y cansadas. A mi derecha, detràs de los rieles y los alambrados, una realidad, la ciudad que nunca duerme, brillantemente iluminada, donde nadie puede ser infelìz, aùn a su pesar; a mi izquierda, otra realidad, la ciudad oculta a la vista de todos, una ciudad vergonzante, enquistada en el corazòn de la orgullosa Reina del Plata (02) donde nadie puede siquiera intentar la parodia de la felicidad. Alejàndome, hice equilibrio en la frontera, caminando entre ambas, sintièndome ajeno a las dos.

Rumbo al destierro escuchè como una letanìa lastimera, una voz àspera y artificialmente empalagosa de algùn ignoto locutor que ya habìa vendido su dulce acento provinciano a cambio de la promesa de efìmeras glorias que nunca terminaràn por alumbrar, vociferando desde una radio mal sontonizada, las mismas noticias condensadas en la madrugada, oìdas ya tantas veces...No me buscan...pensè sin inmutarme con cierto alivio inconducente; nadie en su sano juicio podrìa malgastar su tiempo en buscarme...Me crucè con tres putas resignadas cargando las urgrencias reiteradas de los ùltimos deshauciados...Vì sin interès a una piba de mediana edad yendo a laburar de sierva. Entendì sin animarme a compartir, la bronca de cinco obreros con sus bolsitos marchando hacia alguna obra a jugarse la vida por unos pocos pesos...Pasè bajo la autopista asentada en brutales pilares de hormigòn siempre gris, hincados entre las precarias casillas que los abrazan sin convicciòn; no pasò ningùn coche.

Dejè atràs la somnolienta tierra de la Villa, pisè el asfalto falsamente tibio del mundo oficial. Caminè por las veredas eternamente sucias frente a los enormes edificios de las tres terminales de ferrocarril (03) flanqueadas por gran cantidad de puestos de venta ambulante de contrabando todavìa ocultos bajo trozos encubridores de plàstico negro mal cortado. Obedientemente esperè la apariciòn del hombrecito blanco invitàndome a cruzar la senda peatonal desdibujada, observè mecànicamente, por costumbre, a ambos lados, esperè sin apuro el paso de un colectivo rezagado abusando de la inconstante neutralidad del amarillo. La avenida quedò atràs, y con ella gran parte de mi vida. Las campanadas del reloj de la torre (04) anunciaron la hora, escuchè, no mirè, subì por una de las escalinatas que abrazan el monumento por los caìdos en Malvinas (05), busquè un banco vacìo; todos estaban vacìos. Detràs del Kavanagh (06), colàndose entre los àrboles, la luz que nacìa, me encandilò. Me sentè, llorè...

Necesito del tiempo, la mañama avanza sin sentido, la vida se desgrana sin sentido, arrastro el cansancio de màs de veinte años de bùsqueda, estoy tan abrumado...por Elisa, por Damiàn, por mì...Dejè el banco, y las làgrimas, deambulè en busca de sombra, elegì otro banco, el que bordea al gomerombù gigante y a otro màs chico...

Desde aquì, por encima del caño curvo que sostiene las hamacas y debajo de las hojas del gomerombù que me protejen del calor ya intenso de la media mañana, puedo ver el tiempo materializado, necesito de èse tiempo al que ignorè y despreciè por tantos años...La torre me muestra el reloj imperativo, redondo, blanco en el fondo, de impecables nùmeros romanos negros; faltan, ahora, exactamente tres minutos para las doce del mediodìa, en èste instante, exactamente a tres minutos para las doce del mediodìa, me adueño sin remordimientos del tiempo, en èste instante, exactamente, a tres minutos para las doce del mediodìa, decidì habitar la tierra de la desolaciòn; adoptè la resignaciòn, renunciè a la lucha y me abandonè a la plaza...
Elisa vive en mì, Damiàn ya estaba, los dos me acompañan en el antepenùltimo escalòn previo al descenso pòstumo.

El abandono comenzò a acentuarse cuando arrastrè a Elisa a seguirme en mi obsesiòn por encontrar al Capitàn. A mi abandono siguiò el forzado de ella. Juntos emprendimos la huìda hacia adelante en busca de respuestas que intuìamos no alcanzarìan...Elisa, sin proponèrselo, màs tarde, tambièn me abandonò.

Al atardecer tirè los documentos en uno de los tachos de plàstico azul, conservè la credencial del Incucai (07). Me deshice de las tarjetas, de todo lo que llevaba encima. Sòlo conservo una mochila color caqui de la Guerra Civil Española (08) donde me empecinè en acumular el material con que muchas de nuestras vivencias estàn hechas; aleatoriamente me servirà de almohada. Me quedè, ademàs, con un billete de diez pesos y noventa centavos en monedas. Borrè mi identidad. Comenzè la cuenta regresiva...

La primera noche es la màs difìcil. Sabìa que si me quedaba èsa noche ya no tendrìa fuerzas para intentar el retorno...Ya habìa pasado por algo similar una vez, fue en Liniers, durante cuatro dìas que culminaron en la celebraciòn del aniversario del Patrono del Trabajo (09); en èsa ocasiòn me rescatò una puta a la que herèticamente santifiquè...

El clima càlido de Noviembre me ayudò a romper con todo. Odio el frìo, en Invierno, quizàs, no me hubiera atrevido. En pocos dìas cumplo 45 años.

En Diciembre asumirá Fernando de la Rúa la Presidencia de la Nación. Se va Carlitos. Para muchos es un alivio…para otros tantos, Fernandito, un incógnita.
Estoy con lo puesto, un jean gastado, una remera gris de cuello redondo y manga corta, zapatillas. No tengo reloj, hace tiempo que no uso reloj, el de la Torre es suficiente.
La noche está en calma, yo nó. Me siento incómodo, intento dormir sobre un banco de madera, sigo con uno de piedra…el pasto. Duermo sobre el pasto.
Con el monótono transcurrir de los primeros dias, fui aprendiendo, por necesidad, las más sofisticadas técnicas de supervivencia urbana, encontrar el lugar más adecuado para dormir sin ser molestado, sigo prefiriendo el pasto, el arte de buscar comida en las bolsas de residuos sobre la peatonal, el McDonald´s de Florida (10) a metros de la plaza es el mejor proveedor, tiene basura de mejor calidad que Burger King y más abundante, en ocasiones, quizá por remordimiento del viejo Mc, tiran panes enteros, hamburguesas mal cocidas enteras, restos respetables de McPollo, ensaladas a medio comer, vasos con tapas plásticas y pajitas corrugadas que permiten ángulos de 90° con hielo picado en el interior, rescatados justo antes del paso al estado líquido. Se chupan con la esperanza de descubrir alguna gota dulzona, en especial los pibes creen adivinar cierto sabor a Coca Cola aguada.
Los pocos pesos que hago mendigando, los invierto en bebida, generalmente cerveza. Lo suficiente como para embotarme sin llegar a la borrachera…denme tiempo, recién empiezo. Todo llega, con perseverancia todo llega…
Todavía no crucé una sóla palabra con nadie. He caído, o me he sumergido por propia voluntad, en una especie de autoautismo impuesto como castigo o como coraza protectora. La relación más cercana que entablé con un ser humano, fue con Rintintrucho. Los perros de la plaza, repiten los tics de sus hermanos mayores humanos. Los rebaños de perros que arrastran a los cuidadores, están formados en su gran mayoría por animales de raza, Terrier, Dálmata, Dogo, Husky Siberiano…En el extremo inferior de la pirámide deambulan los indocumentados, mestizos y callejeros, sarnosos y parasitados. Entre éstos últimos, hay uno muy particular, es una cruza rara de pastor alemán con no se que otra cosa…Insiste en quedarse conmigo, tal vez vea a un semejante. Es muy arisco con los otros pordioseros. Yo soy novato en éste ramo. Tal vez él también. Nos respetamos mutuamente. Soy aprendíz en la Universidad de la Calle…curso el CBC (11) de los cirujas, soy un proyecto mal parido de pordiosero que ni siquiera se permite invocar a Dios sin sentir culpa. Secretamente le elegí un nombre…no estoy en mi período más creativo, es casi casi…más o menos, parecido al de la televisión de mi infancia, pero argentino. Rintintrucho nunca usa su nombre prestado porque nunca lo llamo; si quiere y está de humor duerme a mi lado. Si está stressado se autoexilia por un tiempo, no viene. Yo nunca lo llamo, pero se llama Rintintrucho…
El reloj me muestra las horas en interminable y monótona sucesión, las separo en dìas, trato de averiguar, generalmente por los restos de algùn diario, el dìa exacto, no sè si lo logro…Hace mucho calor, el crepúsculo modera el agobio. Llegan tres pibes con sus respectivas bolsitas…aspiran, tienen la mirada perdida, ninguno supera los diez años, ninguno tiene posibilidades de llegar a los quince entero, en otra época me hubiera acercado, los habría llevado a algún refugio. Se sientan los tres juntos, como protegiéndose unos a otros, por simple contacto, en uno de los dos bancos de piedra frente al gomerombú más grande al lado del chico. Aunque conocen la plaza están perdidos, pasa el cochecito eléctrico de la policía N° 6973, color azulceleste policía. No le dan pelota a los pibitos, tal vez sea mejor así, no intentan nada, ni ayuda, ni indiferencia…Los tres pibes juntos cambian de banco, los veo como tantos otros, los veo pero no miro, han alcanzado el grado de invisibilidad, la gente pasa sin mirarlos, sin detenerse, están allí para no ser mirados, que importa tres entre cientos, que importa tres entre miles...al rato se van a mendigar a la estación, bajan la loma, caminan sobre el pasto que parecen no tocar, cruzan la avenida, se mezclan entre la gente que no los nota, se suman a otros tantos, bajan quince de los trenes, salen diecinueve de la boca del subterráneo, muchos más los esperan en el Hall Central de Retiro, forman manadas, jaurías silenciosas dopadas sin rumbo, cientos de miles de bolsitas son aspiradas al unísono, una gran convención de aspiradores patrocinada por PoxiRan (12).
Que importan unos cientos entre miles, que importan unos miles entre cientos de miles; si son invisibles, si no los miramos, si no existen que importan tres, uno, tan sólo uno?, estadísticamente irrelevante, por debajo del error de muestreo. Aleluya!!! no existen. Subimos al tren sin remordimiento, llegamos a casa sin remordimiento, miramos a nuestros hijos y agradecemos al Señor, sin remordimiento, que no tengan la necesidad de vagar entre nosotros sin ser mirados. Horario de protección al menor, felices y sin remordimientos los mandamos a la cama para que mañana podamos madrugar sin remordimientos!!!…miramos un poco de TV, CNN en español (13), vemos a los chicos huérfanos de Kosovo, a los chicos famélicos de Etiopía, lagrimeamos, moderadamente, por los chicos huérfanos de Kosovo; realmente y con profundo pesar dejamos escapar otra làgrima…”alcanzáme otra milanesa vieja...” por los chicos famélicos, “más papas fritas...” de Etiopía. Zaping, Gol de Boca!!! “que boludo!!!, me estaba perdiendo el partido” el mundo gira igual; lágrimasonrisas, que podemos hacer? “nada” paciencia la vida es así. Mañana cuando arribemos nuevamente al Hall Central de Retiro volveremos a pasar sin mirar, a correr sin detenernos, gol de Bocaaaa!!! repiten los televisores en el andén, zaping, el Ministro agradece a la población el esfuerzo por el último y más progresista ajuste transitorio, zaping, gol de Boc…zaping, el Presidente agradece al Ministro por su patriotismo y coraje demostrado al tomar las medidas del último, ésta vez sí, y más progresista ajus…zaping, gol de B…zaping, MinistroPresidenteBocGolZapi…
Uno de los pibes dejó tirada la bolsita, es rosa, el pegamento casi seco se empecina en pegotear infinitos pliegues, la levanto del suelo y aspiro…con calma, me siento al pie de la palmera y aspiro…recuesto la cabeza en el tronco y aspiro…lentamente aspiro una y otra vez…Como quién se deshilacha me voy desdibujando, una pierna primero, la otra, el torso, los brazos, las manos…se acerca un perro, levanta la pata, me mea…Soy invisible...

(01) Villa: Villa Miseria o Villa de Emergencia, asentamiento precario e informal de grupos de personas, generalmente cercanos o dentro de las ciudades màs populosas donde las condiciones de vida son paupèrrimas; en èste caso en particular se hace referencia a la Villa 31 en Retiro, Ciudad de Buenos Aires. Tales asentamientos reciben diversos nombres en distintos paìses: Favela en Brasil, Barrio de Chavolas en España, Poblaciòn Callampa en Chile, Ciudad Perdida en Mèxico, Cantegrill en Uruguay.

(02) Reina del Plata: Uno de los tantos apelativos de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires, originado en la letra del Tango Buenos Aires (1923), letra de Manuel Romero y mùsica de Manuel Jovès: "...Buenos Aires, la reina del Plata / Buenos Aires, mi tierra querida, / escuchà, mi canciòn, / que con ella va mi vida..."

(03) Terminales de Ferrocarril: Tres edificios cabezera de las Lìneas Mitre (inaugurada en 1915), Belgrano y San Martìn. Al conjunto de lo conoce como Estaciòn Retiro.

(04) Torre de los Ingleses: Inaugurada en 1916 en ocasiòn de los festejos del centenario de la Independencia. Fue donada a la repùblica por los residentes ingleses. El nombre oficial es el de Torre Monumental, ubicada en el centro de la Plaza Britania, contigua a Plaza San Martìn.

(05) Monumento a los Caìdos en Malvinas: En conmemoraciòn de los soldados argentinos muertos durante la Guerra de las Malvinas contra Inglaterra en 1982. Ubicado en la Plaza San Martìn sobre la Avda. del Libertador. Hemiciclo que alberga 25 placas de màrmol negro con 649 nombres.

(06) Kavanagh: Edificio inaugurado en 1936, en su època elmàs alto del mundo construìdo en hormigòn armado. Ubicado en la calle Florida 1065, sobre Plaza San Martìn.

(07) Incucai: Instituto Nacional Centro Unico Coordinador de Ablaciòn e Implantes.

(08) Guerra Civil Española: Conflicto fraticida español llevado a cabo entre los años 1936 y 1939.

(09) San Cayetano: referencia a la celebraciòn popular catòlica en el Santuario homònimo del Barrio de Liniers en el Oeste de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires.

(10) Calle Florida: la peatonal màs famosa y popular de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires; en su tramo exclisivamente peatonal se extiende desde la Avda. Rivadavia hasta Plaza San Martìn. Desde 1913, algunos tramos son exclusivos para transeùntes; recièn en 1971 se modifica el solado eliminando los cordones y agregando mobiliario urbano.

(11) CBC: Ciclo Bàsico Comùn, curso de nivelaciòn para ingresar a las distintas carreras dictadas en la Universidad Nacional de Buenos Aires.

(12) Poxi-ran: Marca de pegamento de contacto utilizado para la uniòn de materiales flexibles. Actualmente fabricado sin tolueno; sustancia adictiva, entre muchas otras, aspirada, en general, por los chicos de la calle, que significa el primer paso hacia tòxicos màs peligrosos.

(13) CNN en español: Cadena de noticias norteamericana para el pùblico de habla hispana.

While Chris Kavanagh, who has told fellow Berkeley Rent Stabilization Board members that his frequent stays in Oakland were at his girlfriend’s cottage, not his, that was news to his former landlady. Not only does Nancy Lee say the embattled commissioner’s is the only signature on the lease, but his girlfriend wasn’t even allowed to reside there.

“No, he did not have permission to have anyone living there according to his lease,” Lee said. “He never asked and I never knew.”

Lee, who lives in Encinitas, said she hasn’t been to Oakland in over a year, since she’d placed the property at 338 63^rd St. on the market. In May, she sold the property, including the rear cottage she had leased to Kavanagh, to Patrick and Lynn Tidd. The Tidds have been fighting to evict him ever since, though they say the couple has now moved out - at least physically.

Nancy Yudelson Lewellen, Kavanagh’s attorney in the eviction case, told The Berkeley Connector Monday that Anna Lee had lived at the property with the previous landlord’s permission for several months before the Tidds took over.

Kavanagh, who was arrested Sept. 21 on charges of living in Oakland while serving on the Berkeley board, hasn’t moved from his position.

"I have been and continue to be in compliance with the requirements of the city of Berkeley to hold public office,” he told The Berkeley Connector on Tuesday.

But Lee said the lease Kavanagh signed on June 26, 2001 was for single occupancy only, and she hadn’t made an exception for the man she described as “a thorn in my flesh.”

According to Lee, eviction threats are nothing new for the rent board commissioner. While they had agreed on month-to-month terms, Kavanagh’s $950 rent payments seldom arrived accordingly – and when they did, she said they were “under the wire.”

“I had trouble getting rent from him from day one,” she said. “He was close to eviction many, many times.”

The last payment she received came shortly before the property was sold – and after she threatened Kavanagh with a 3-day notice to quit. Two of his usual money orders – he never had a checking account, said Lee – arrived in amounts of $500 and $250. The latter, she said, Kavanagh canceled as stolen before she could cash it.

She took the $500 anyway.

“I decided if I took him to court, I might not get anything,” Lee said. “This was better than nothing.”

She admits she didn’t “micro-manage” as closely as she should have, and said she often accepted less than the full rent from Kavanagh.

The Tidds say they’ve never received a rent payment at all.

Kavanagh has been twice elected to the rent board, where he had served since 2002 until taking a three-month leave of absence Oct. 2. Addresses he has given to back up his Berkeley residency include an apartment he rented on Dwight Way and, most recently, a post office on Webster Street. He now faces criminal charges of voter fraud, perjury and grand theft.

Kavanagh is scheduled to appear in Alameda County Superior Court Friday at 9 a.m. before Judge Morris Beatus to set a preliminary hearing.

Read more Berkeley Connector coverage of this story.

This article was first published at North Gate News Online on Oct. 22, 2007.

Old communist indicts Comintern, declares Fourth International upholder of Marxism-Leninism

Jack Kavanagh, the author of the statement which follows, has been associated with the working-class movement in Canada and Australia for the last 32 years.

From 1908 to 1925 he held high official positions in both the trade union and revolutionary movements of Canada. In the majority of cases, these positions were of an honorary nature.

He was a Central Committee member of the Socialist Party of Canada from 1912 until the split in 1921, and was a foundation member and first chairman of the Central Committee of the Workers (Communist) Party of Canada, in addition to being the national organiser.

Shortly after arriving in Australia he was co-opted on to the Central Committee of the Communist Party, and was its leader until 1930.

<hr /> 

After almost six years of relative inactivity in the revolutionary working-class movement — six years in which I hoped that the membership of the Communist Party would become aware of the manner in which it was being led from the revolutionary path of Marxism-Leninism — I am forced to the realisation that the Communist International and its sections can no longer be depended on to lead the working class in its struggle for the overthrow of capitalism and the introduction of socialism.

Because of this I am seeking membership in the Communist League of Australia, section of the Fourth International.

I was expelled from the Communist Party in January 1931 on the basis of lying charges brought by the then general secretary, H.J. Moxon (since expelled on the grounds of vacillation, desertion and careerism). This action was taken because of my criticisms of the economic and political ineptitude manifested by the Central Committee under the direction of H. Moore, CI representative then in Australia.

I was readmitted to the party in July 1931, and was again expelled in May 1934 on the grounds that I was a Trotskyist. This arose out of a statement made at a lecture at the Friends of the Soviet Union, to the effect that "I did not consider Trotsky to be a counter-revolutionary". I had at this stage been on probation for two years and 10 months.

From May 1925 until the time of my expulsion in 1931 I had been a leading member of the Communist Party, and from 1928 to 1930 organiser of the NSW Labor Council. Prior to coming to Australia I had been a leading member in the trade union and revolutionary movement in Canada from 1908 until leaving for Australia, being national organiser for the Workers (Communist) Party of Canada at the time of leaving for this country.

At the time of my expulsion in 1931 the symptoms of that metamorphosis from democratic centralism to centralised bureaucracy, which has taken place in the CI, was very much in evidence. The theory of the infallibility of the leadership was put forward simultaneously with the theory that the leadership must not be exposed to danger. The vacillations between ultraleftism and the extreme right, such as recently manifested in relation to the imperialist war, were demonstrated in the party attitude to the trade unions and the ALP.

The theory of socialism in one country eliminated world revolution from the de facto program of the Communist International. Independent working-class action was discarded in favour of demands upon capitalist governments. Collective security by the alliance of capitalist states took the place of collective action by the international working class. "World peace" movements, composed of heterogeneous bourgeois and pacifist elements, containing the taint of class peace, were substituted for working-class anti-imperialist-war organisations. The defence of democracy (the democracy of Chamberlain, Daladier, Roosevelt, Menzies) was put forward as a means to preserve peace for the Soviet Union. The Popular Front of "good" bourgeois elements of diverse political affiliations, and of the working class, was put forward in place of the united front of the working class. In line with this the Workers Weekly, organ of the Communist Party, had a rebirth as a democratic "people's" paper, the Tribune.

This continued degeneration found its final expression in the support given to the imperialist war by the Central Committee of the Communist Party, a position reversed on the receipt of instructions to the contrary from overseas.

The cult of leadership, so subserviently developed during the past decade, has so confused the leadership of the Communist Party, has so far removed them from the basis of the class struggle, that they were unable to adjust themselves to the diplomatic moves made by the Soviet Union.

It was either a realisation of the weakness of the Comintern or a disregard for the revolutionary movement, plus fear of Hitler and the imperialists on the part of the Soviet bureaucracy, which led to the situation in Finland — a situation which has provided the imperialists with the excuse for an attack upon the Soviet Union; an opportunity they have been hoping for during the past 22 years.

The growth of bureaucracy in the CPSU and in the Communist Parties has weakened the defences of the Soviet Union.

Realising that the Soviet Union must be defended at all costs, that the gains of October must be defended against the bureaucracy as well as against the imperialist aggressors, that revolution in some of the major powers must be achieved in order to allow the gains of October to be fully developed. I am joining the Fourth International to assist in preserving and carrying out the program of Marxism-Leninism.

Sydney, February 15, 1940