This series has been very negative so far. But teaching can be a great job for a range of different kinds of people. I didn’t ultimately have the energy or patience to stick with it, but here are some things I loved about teaching.
(1) Knowing loads of people
Teaching is one of the most sociable jobs you can do. In every school you’re going to meet hundreds of kids and dozens of staff. I still meet former students regularly, sometimes after a gap of nearly a decade. It’s extraordinary, seeing them grown into adulthood but still seeing the 12 year old underneath.
The teaching profession is a great reservoir of personality and eccentricity. Some colleagues can be immensely likeable and admirable, others… not so much, but at least they’re interesting.
(2) Getting to know people who are not like you
As a teacher you get to pick up dialect, including rude dismissals (like the Midlands phrase, “go ‘way from around me”); get some insights into the current youth lore, in-jokes and vulgarity (eg, “chungus” c 2018); and learn about different cultures (for example, that twins from some parts of Nigeria have a special pair of names, or how gender works in Lithuanian surnames).
(3) Appreciation
I’ve gotten cards and emails from former students telling me how much they benefited from my teaching. Other times I’ve just run into students randomly and they have told me the same. Naturally this produces a great feeling, even years after I stopped teaching.
(4) My subjects
I loved teaching English and History. Personally I got a lot out of approaching a poem or a novel from a new angle, from the perspective of trying to figure out how best to introduce a diverse group of young people to it. You see new things in old favourites, or explore entirely new stories.
(5) Elaborate games
Sometimes this meant coming up with far-fetched but fun ways to teach. I was teaching a 2nd year group about World War Two and that involved funny hats, role playing and moving different-coloured pins around on a map of the world. Probably sounds chaotic. Actually I prepared well so it went smoothly.
(6) Planning and preparation
When I had time to do it properly, which was rarely, planning and preparing lessons could be a lot of fun. I enjoyed making up my own resources and figuring out how a lesson plan could approach a subject from several angles at once: verbal, visual, interactive, etc. This creative aspect is something no chatbot can do – and even if they could, it’s fun, so let’s make sure it remains our job and not theirs.
(7) Reading
With a fairly chill and well-behaved class group, reading through a novel or play together can be really enjoyable. I had one fifth year who read for Macbeth for the entire year. He spoke with gravitas and in rich tones and knew how to skim over words he couldn’t pronounce. He liked to speak but was not big-headed. The Shadow of a Gunman, suitably abridged, was a very fun one to act out in class in a more physical way, with props and swaggering, threatening soldiers.
(8) Being the centre of attention
Some people get scared of talking in front of groups, or leading activities with a room full of people. I can relate to shyness but when it’s expected of me that I will run the whole show, I don’t have that. It’s enjoyable to have it all on my shoulders and to deliver. There’s messing, but most of the time it works out fine. Everyone’s different, but for me, when it’s going half-way well, and when the inherent problems in the system are not grinding you down, it is great fun and very satisfying.
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This week I’m taking a break from Miseducation Misadventures to let you in on what runs through my head when I watch Star Wars. Re-watching it as an adult, I notice little things that I can trace back to their source – like the scattered mentions of spice mines and spice freighters in the first movie. Any guesses which SF novel that’s a nod to?
Here are nine sources from which Star Wars drew key ideas. If I’ve missed any interesting ones, chime in down in the comments.
1: Reproductive Biology (2,000 million BCE)
The final battle in1977’s Star Wars involves a swarm of small starfighters approaching and seeking to penetrate the much larger orb of the Death Star. This looks a hell of a lot like a load of sperm trying to fertilise an egg, with zero-gravity space standing in for the liquid medium through which the little swimmers propel themselves. This was probably not deliberate – the imagery probably bubbled up from the filmmakers’ subconscious. It stands out all the more starkly against this pre-adolescent and mostly sexless galaxy.
2: Metropolis (1927)
And here we have a female version of C-3PO, in an experimental silent film from Weimar Germany.
3: Flash Gordon (Comic and movies, 1930s)
Star Wars took a few cues from Flash Gordon – most obviously the opening text crawl but also the general idea of a series about fun adventures in space.
4: World War Two (1939-1945)
In 1977 when Star Wars came out, World War Two was as recent as the collapse of the Soviet Union, or the first episode of The Simpsons, is to us.
And the movie helps the audience to grasp what is happening in space by using a visual language familiar to them: it has World War Two-era fighter planes in space. The Empire’s star destroyers resemble the warships of the mid-century. The Imperial officers dress like Nazis.
On the other hand, weirdly enough, Star Wars references the Nazi propaganda film Triumph of the Will. The final scene where the rebels have a rally and the human characters all get medals (a weird enough scene in itself) follows part of this notorious film very closely. An odd choice, having the good guys mimic the visuals of a genocidal regime, especially when the bad guys are clearly based on them.
5: Casablanca (1942)
In a colourful jazz bar full of diverse people, in a town full of thieves and refugees, in a desert land where an evil empire is tightening its grip, we meet a cynical smuggler who is secretly an idealist. Will he find it in himself to help the two desperate fugitives who are seeking passage to safety? Of all the cantinas in all the systems in all the galaxy…
6: Foundation by Isaac Asimov (1940s-1950s)
The story and themes of Star Wars and Foundation don’t resemble each other at all. But there are many little things which Asimov seeded in the science fiction genre which pop up in Star Wars:
Hyperspace travel
Weapons called blasters (much more lethal in Asimov)
A galactic empire
Space feudalism
A city which covers an entire planet (Trantor/Coruscant)
The wild outer rim of the galaxy
It goes right down to random names: Asimov’s Korellian Republic is echoed in the Corellian shipyards
Roguish traders who do the right thing in the end (Foundation has several Han Solos in it, who say things like ‘Never let your sense of morals prevent you from doing what is right.’)
But for Asimov, empires are fundamentally good, the roguish trader is an advertisement for a doctrine of enlightened self-interest, and mysticism is nothing but a charade. All this is at odds with the anti-authoritarianism and sincerity of Star Wars.
7: Akira Kurosawa (1930s-1980s, especially 1950s)
Japan’s most well-known film director had a huge influence on George Lucas and Star Wars. I haven’t seen The Hidden Fortress (1958) but apparently it involves two peasants who escape from a battle (like C-3P0 and R2D2) and meet a princess; there are sword fights, and in the end a bad warlord changes sides. But I’ve seen a few others, like Throne of Blood, Ran and Seven Samurai. Any of these great samurai films show themselves to be ancestors of Star Wars. There are the sword fights and the robes and Darth Vader’s helmet. In a western ear, names like Obi-Wan Kenobi have a Japanese ring to them, and the Jedi resemble an idealised version of the Samurai.
8: Dune (1965)
Frank Herbert’s Dune is riding high after Denis Villeneuve’s great film adaptation and I’ve written about it a few times before. Like Foundation, it provided a lot of ideas for Star Wars to pick up.
Dune is closer than Foundation to the themes of Star Wars. It is a text that was obviously written at the height of the anti-colonial struggles of the 1960s; it is pretty negative about empire; it is deeply sincere about religion and mysticism (even in charade form!).
The Jedi look like samurai, but they owe much to Dune‘s Bene Gesserit, an order of women who cultivate superhuman powers.
Both texts feature a harsh desert planet (Arrakis/Tatooine)
And giant worms,
robed nomad raiders,
smugglers,
and moisture-harvesting technology.
As noted above, scattered references to spice in the first Star Wars movie are another nod to Dune.
And once again we have space feudalism.
Foundation and Dune are the best examples I can think of, but they are stand-ins for a whole rich genre of mid-century science fiction without which Star Wars would not have existed.
9: The US War in Vietnam (1965-1973)
A few years ago Star Wars creator George Lucas confirmed in this interview that his story was fundamentally anti-colonial, that his heroic rebels were based in part on the Vietcong and that the evil empire was based on the United States – along with other past empires and freedom fighters throughout history.
Vietnam has featured just as heavily in other radically different readings of Star Wars, which is unsurprising as the war ended just a couple of years before the movie came out. I can’t remember who exactly wrote this, but the idea is that Star Wars was an infantilising nostalgic escape for a US public keen to avoid thinking about their country’s military and moral defeat in Vietnam. White people with American accents got to be the guerrilla heroes – though from the costumes to the names and decor, it is one of the strengths of Star Wars that it has never looked or felt ‘western’ (unless you mean spaghetti western, as there’s more than a hint of ersatz Mexico and Sergio Leone in there).
A last word…
The point of this is not to be like ‘Star Wars is a rip-off’ but to remind everyone that it’s just a movie, a cultural text rooted in its time. Today we have the corporate cynics for whom nostalgia is a currency and the toxic fandom for whom nostalgia and innovation are just different kinds of betrayal. The worst excesses of the fandom, I suspect, are boosted and incentivised by social media, and the back-and-forth whining and apologetics are increasingly astroturfed online by accounts which have harvested awesome volumes of engagement in the past from people bickering about fun movies, and who see the next big controversy as a payday. In all of it, Star Wars is reified, taken out of culture and history, put on a pedestal. One would think it feel from the sky. Actually the movie is a brilliant synthesis, and if Lucas had the precious and pious attitude on display in so much of the online commentary, it never would have been made at all.
At 12 or 13 they enter secondary school, where the older students look like adults to them; where far more of the teachers are men than in the primary school; where things seem at once more serious (the sackful of back-breaking textbooks, the timetable) and wilder (the smells of sweat and aftershave, the mass and velocity of the older kids when they mock-fight, the graffiti, the grossness of the graffiti, and the semi-secret places where smoking and vaping happen) and for a while the seriousness and the wildness hold the first year student in awe.
By the time they get into Second Year, the awe is mostly gone. What was serious is now a dull routine and what used to seem wild is now mostly normal. The kids have grown into this new world, have a sense of the pleasures and miseries it offers, what the rules are and which ones they can break. There has always been messing. Now it spreads, quickens.
Next post I’ll talk about what teachers can do to deal with messing. But for now, I’ll mention one of the least effective ways. I’ve caught myself responding to this messing with the same words my own teachers once said to me: ‘You’d better pay attention, because this will be on your Junior Cert.’
There is no appeal more meaningless to a second-year student. Junior Cert? If the second-year even has a clear idea of what that is, they know it’s nearly two years away. Their body will have changed by then. Their social life. Their brain chemistry. All their fantasies will surely have come true by then, elevating them to a state of happiness so perfect that they will not care about exams; or all their worst fears will have come true by then, and the exams will be the least of their worries. A year for a thirteen-year-old feels like a decade for a thirty-year-old.
(I think Classroom-Based Assessments are good, though I only overlapped with them for a few years. They don’t carry much weight in grades, but they do give kids something closer and more palpable to work towards than an exam.)
Second half of Third Year, maybe, you start to see the kids coming back around to you. A few get serious around exams, or just get more mature, or establish a rapport with at least some of their teachers. Through Transition Year, 5th Year and 6th Year, things tend to get better at an accelerating pace. I never had a sixth year class group that I didn’t enjoy teaching.
The most challenging type of student to have in front of you is a TY or a fifth-year who has only matured in the sense that they have gotten more sly, who has only been socialised into the school community in the sense that they know what they can get away with, who has only developed a relationship with teachers in the sense that they have developed a repertoire, an armoury, a tactical doctrine of doing shitty things and dodging the consequences.
Or they have gained immunity from prosecution (I suspect) due to being on a sports team, or (I was told by another staff member) due to secretly being a narc to management.
What is messing?
Let’s walk through some of the repertoire. Some of this is almost innocent and some of it is vile. I’ve thrown it all together to give you an idea of the range of the crap that comes flying at teachers.
Let’s start with second-year stuff: shouting, hooting, laughing weirdly loud; not working; singing; making sex noises; lying down on a row of chairs then ‘accidentally’ falling off; ignoring instructions; making repeated noises with a bottle, chair or pen; asking seven times ‘can we do a Kahoot?’; repeatedly dropping a book on the ground.
Then there’s what John Steinbeck described in Of Mice and Men as the ‘elaborate pantomime of innocence.’ Not content with doing an annoying thing, if the teacher tells the kid to knock it off the latter looks back with wide eyes – ‘Who? Me?’ – and tries to turn the class into a courtroom drama.
Let’s move on to stuff that some second-years will do, but which I associate more with older messers:
Using a watch to reflect a glare into someone’s eyes; saying the ‘F’ slur three times in one period; interrupting and making annoying noises; arriving 25 minutes late and waxing indignant at being asked why; chatting; messing with a phone; or messing with an empty phone cover to wind the teacher up into thinking there’s a phone.
That’s not all of it, I’m just pausing to breathe.
Giving a kid the finger, calling someone an asshole or a fat c*** (or that Polish word that everyone knows, or if you’re a Spanish Lad, hijo de p***); going to sleep or maybe passing out; throwing books; throwing water bottles; throwing a peach; damaging a computer mouse; saying ‘wank’ quietly, then louder, louder, louder; making eye contact with the teacher and silently miming oral sex; doing a racist imitation of another student; calling another student a ‘stupid foreigner’ twice in one class period; knocking over a table; standing up and shouting in the teacher’s face ‘I’ll break the head of ya’; speculating very loudly that a senior staff member is Jewish because of his facial features.
Then there are the various tag team routines – one kid loudly accusing, another loudly protesting innocence; one kid antagonising, another overreacting; sometimes both are in on it, usually only one is.
And there are the routines that come packaged in two halves, set-up and punchline: that one kid who ruins any fun activity you try to do with the class, then complains that the class is too boring; a kid who never does any work, but complains that the teacher is standing in front of the whiteboard (and has been standing there for all of three seconds); the kid who never pays any attention when the teacher introduces the class, then 20 minutes later demands in the most obnoxious tone, ‘what’s the point of this?’; the kid who takes a ‘toilet break’ and disappears for twenty minutes; next week he demands another ‘toilet break’ and when it is denied he thinks he’s Alexei Navalny; the kid who is constantly chatting, and complains that someone else is chatting, and demands that you punish them.
This is all stuff I’ve seen with my own eyes in TY and fifth-year classes. And some teachers will tell you ‘that’s nothing.’ But if you want to do something fun, you can selectively quote the above list, mentioning only the most trivial stuff, and make out teachers are whingers, etc.
The thing about some of the more trivial stuff is, the teacher doesn’t have to take any stern measures when it’s the odd isolated innocent thing. But there are students who will throw this stuff at you relentlessly. Most kids? Absolutely not. But enough that, I’d say in most classrooms, the atmosphere can be spoiled if the teacher isn’t working hard to counter it.
I have another fun suggestion for you: you can fantasise about the amazing, perfect and macho way you would have ‘put manners on those kids,’ implicitly judging me (and teachers generally) for ‘allowing’ any of this crap to happen in the first place. But what I did, and what worked and what didn’t, is a topic for the next post.
Why do kids mess?
Why do some students disrupt classes and start rows with teachers?
A good place to start: why did you mess in school? Everyone did. I messed badly in the last year of primary school – not sure what that was all about, in hindsight – probably hormones. In secondary school, I messed in Maths class – not working, drawing pictures, chatting – because I was terrible at the subject. I messed when those around me were messing. I chatted and joked when the kid sitting beside me wanted to chat and joke – I didn’t want to be a dick to teachers, but it would be rude to blank your friend. I mitched a bit towards the end of Third Year, through a lot of TY, and towards the end of Sixth year, because I had a sense that I wasn’t hurting anyone and wouldn’t be caught.
Moving on to what I’ve observed as a teacher. Why do kids mess?
A working-class or poor student sometimes resents the teacher as a representative of a state they instinctively (and correctly) feel is the property of the rich. They might have a fundamental lack of trust in state institutions, and schools in particular, because of their own or their parents’ experiences.
And the school is not just the state. It’s also the church. Of the seven or eight schools I taught in, only two were secular. The rest all had elaborately Catholic names, statues of Mary, crucifixes on the walls, school masses. This wouldn’t be too shocking to Spanish Lads or to Polish or Lithuanian students. But for others, it’s got to be strange and alienating.
[As an aside, I’m pure disgusted with Enoch Burke, a worse messer than the most challenging kids I ever taught. I’m an atheist since age 20, but I went to school masses and paused lessons for prayers over the intercom. I didn’t confront school principals, loosing spittle in their faces as I ranted about the ways the school mass or the picture of Jesus at the back of every classroom troubled my conscience. I can be a secularist while picking my battles, respecting other people’s religion and not making everything all about me. And Burke can nurse his conspiracy theories about ‘gender ideology’ without turning a child’s personal journey and a school community into a circus.]
That was how I understood things at first – that students are alienated from education for very good reasons. There’s plenty of truth in that. But I haven’t observed that non-Catholic students are more prone to messing. Likewise it would be extremely unfair to working-class students to say they are behind more than their share of the messing.
On the contrary, I have encountered kids who picked up from their parents a feeling of superiority to mere civil servants. There are kids who view their teacher as a person of humble origins who has landed a cushy job, and who deserves to be tormented on that account.
‘Imagine being paid less than a binman,’ a kid of sixteen or seventeen once said in my class. He obviously intended me to hear. ‘Starting-out teachers get paid less than a binman.’ I don’t know if that’s true and I’ve never checked because I don’t care. If it’s true, good for the bin collectors. But that remark gives an insight into that kid’s disgusting attitudes, and helps explain why he was one of the most obnoxious students I’ve ever encountered.
Gender is another angle. I won’t comment on the sexism that (no doubt) women experience in teaching, because I want to stick to my own experiences.
I did come up against macho bullshit rooted in ‘traditional gender roles.’ There are boys who appear to believe that if they follow instructions from another male it’s basically a public humiliation. I have absolutely no interest in being the ‘alpha male’ or whatever . But when everything you do is interpreted through a worldview that reduces everything to dominance hierarchies, learning is the last thing on the agenda.
Sometimes this helps produce kids who are on a hair-trigger. I imagine most of them end up expelled. But often it’s milder, taking the form of a skirmish with the male teacher. Let’s say the result is a draw. Honour is satisfied. The boy, having made it clear he can push back if he wants to, chooses now to co-operate. The teacher, who just wants to get on with the class, forgives even if he doesn’t forget.
Students who rebel against teachers are not all products of toxic masculinity. Sometimes teachers behave in unfair and cruel ways, and the kids are not wrong to push back. Sometimes a kid’s strong sense of justice can explain their behaviour.
I’m not qualified to say much about neuro divergence. But it appears to me that with some kids, their brains scream at them to seek attention, to move and make noise, to seek the dopamine rush triggered by transgression and conflict. Often kids are not diagnosed, or even if they have a diagnosis their teachers are not always told. You often find out about a diagnosis, whether it’s ASD, ADHD or a Learning Difficulty, randomly in staff room chat.
Kids with a diagnosis do usually get resource hours and SNAs. In the classroom the teacher might have prior experience, but does not always have basic information and usually doesn’t have any training with regards to particular conditions. It goes without saying that the teacher doesn’t get any extra time or resources. No wonder so many kids, even plenty who don’t have any specific condition, fall behind.
Social problems from outside school invade it all the time. Crime, drug abuse, domestic violence. Some students have terrible lives outside school, and they come in and use their teachers as emotional punching bags.
Some students will annoy you one day, and be your best friend the next. Sometimes it’s pure manipulation. Usually it isn’t. This is because human beings are funny, and being a teenager is very difficult.
Kids mess because they are bored or resentful. This can be the teacher’s fault for preparing dull lessons, or not preparing at all. But it’s a vicious cycle sometimes. You have a class whose behaviour is very challenging, so you don’t try to do anything fun or easy-going. You know there are five or six kids who will take advantage and just plunge the whole classroom into chaos. This leads to more boredom, more alienation. But I don’t know what else one can do.
Likewise, kids mess if they feel their teacher is arbitrary and unfair. But when you’re dealing with a very challenging class group, you might come across as arbitrary and unfair without meaning to. The cycle continues.
A teacher feels vulnerable writing about this stuff, leaving themselves open to being judged for not ‘controlling the class,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean. But it’s a massive issue in secondary education.
The system largely creates ‘messing.’ Education has come a long way since the early 20th Century. But even though progressive ideas have been layered on top, the foundation is the same: there is an expectation that the teacher can make twenty-five young people behave in a strictly regimented way. The problem is the ridiculous idea that two dozen fifteen-year-olds can be made to not mess by a single adult who does not possess superpowers and who is – thankfully – not allowed to assault kids anymore. The basic set-up pits kids and teachers against each other right from the start.
So, confronted with behaviour that makes it very difficult to do our jobs, teachers have few good options. Next time we’ll look at what teachers can do under the status quo, and explore how things could be different and better.
This is a violent, vicious, cursed book. It’s also deeply engrossing and at times it approaches real beauty in the descriptions of nature and exotic ways of life. It purports to be a true story, making it a historical source. It rings true and mostly corresponds to other sources I’ve read. But it can’t possibly all be true.
So, yeah, it’s a strange one.
Let’s try to sum up the story. Dmitri Alioshin is the son of a Russian merchant family in Harbin, China. He is a university student when the Russian Revolution takes place. He joins the White Armies to fight against the Red Army. He arrives at his frontline unit just on time to experience the decisive Red offensive and the collapse of White Siberia. Through wild adventures, some bloody, some farcical, he escapes at last to Mongolia. Here the remnants of the Whites fight on. He joins an armed band in raids against the Chinese and over the border into Soviet territory. His band is forced at gunpoint into the army of the ‘mad baron’ Ungern-Sternberg, and Alioshin bears witness to all kinds of unspeakable horrors in the course of one final campaign. After the defeat of Ungern, he escapes across the Gobi desert and back into China along with a small band of survivors. There is a final round of battles, both against the Reds and against White rivals.
You can get a taste of Alioshin’s book here, in this chapter of Revolution Under Siege where I quote him a lot. A lot of it is there in miniature: lyrical descriptions of nature and scenery; valuable first-hand accounts of war; absolutely ghoulish details like the cup made from the skull of a Red partisan. There is romance in how he describes the wilds of Asia and the people who live in it. He meets more than one picturesque old hermit. Many times he has to flee on foot across harsh and beautiful landscapes. He lives among the nomads of Mongolia, and gives us a powerful sense of what that was like.
Many times, he is within a whisker of death. Several times, he gives a frank account of himself killing someone with his bare hands; other times the reader doesn’t even need to read between the lines to figure out that Alioshin has participated in some unspeakable atrocity, such as forcing hundreds of people into a building and setting it on fire. Regarly he is a witness to atrocity – to men being burned or frozen, to the sack of a city, to a gang-rape.
You wonder if he’s making a lot of it up, if he’s credulous, if he’s pushing some agenda. Often he reports an atrocity second-hand, and this is a relief, because we have another degree of separation that allows us to say, ‘That’s probably bullshit. At least, I hope so.’ But sometimes it’s first-hand and there’s little comfort.
What really struck me was how benevolent the Reds come across in comparison to the Whites. He never stops saying that the ‘communists’ are terrible, and on occasion he gives examples of friends who were shot by the Red Army, or tells us that between Red and White neither side ever took any prisoners (It’s possible that this is true for the parts he experienced, but in relation to the whole it’s not accurate). But after the defeat of White Siberia, Alioshin disguises himself as a doctor, somehow becomes a major in the Red Army and then a high official in local civilian government. The Red soldiers he meets are kind, the officials less so. One nurse, an ‘exemplary communist,’ sees through his disguise (p 84), but she shrugs her shoulders and lets him go. The Reds are a soft touch!
How to begin to describe the depravity of the Whites, as recorded in these pages? Ungern is the worst, but he is only the most prominent star in a constellation of Colonels and Generals who are, variously, backstabbing, cowardly, incompetent, bloodthirsty, bigoted, sadistic and callous. Colonel Sipailov has his girlfriend serve drinks to a group of officers, then he takes her into the next room, strangles her to death, drags her body back into the room in a sack and proudly shows it to the officers (250). This Sipailov is only one of several officers who keep trying to ambush, poison or hang the young Alioshin. Why? Paranoia, office politics, casual cruelty.
Alioshin’s narrative is clear and sober – a contrast to the blood-drenched insanity he is describing. Explicitly, he only allows a hint of regret. But implicitly the older Alioshin seems to be telling us that he realises now what he didn’t realise then: that his cause was evil. Or else he’s just looking for money by refashioning his war stories into a sensational mix of ultra-violence and orientalist romance.
‘Seldon crises are not solved by individuals but by historic forces. Hari Seldon, when he planned our course of future history, did not count on brilliant heroics but on the broad sweep of economics and sociology. So the solutions to the various crises must be achieved by the forces that become available to us at the time.’
– Hober Mallow, ‘The Merchant Princes,’ Foundation by Isaac Asimov
A lot of what’s fresh and brilliant in Isaac Asimov’s Foundation, written as long ago as World War Two, have since become so common in the genre that they almost escape notice when you encounter them in these pages.
We have travel by hyperspace (‘hyper-space, that unimaginable region that was neither space nor time, matter nor energy, something nor nothing’); weapons called blasters; roguish but ultimately moral traders; cities which cover entire planets; galactic empires with a civilised core and a wild outer rim. We even have a planet called ‘Korellia’ which reappears as the shipbuilding world of Corellia in Star Wars.
A galaxy without women
The first thing that strikes the reader is that the characters are all male. From a Galactic population numbering – what did he say, a quadrillion? A quintillion? – there are almost no women the author believes are interesting enough for us to meet.
Here follows a list of female characters in Foundation:
A telephone operator (!)
A servant who tries on a gizmo
The Commdora of Corellia
And, if we really want to be generous:
Hober Mallow’s hypothetical mistress (Maybe I’m pushing it now)
Housewives are key to Mallow’s scheme to bring down the Korellian Republic (…That’s pushing it.)
The next thing that strikes you is that this book was apparently written as if Isaac Asimov had a very limited special effects budget. The first part contains compelling descriptions of space travel and the city-planet Trantor, but the rest is almost like a stage play: largely a series of conversations in rooms, mostly between seated men.
Discussing this with friends, I thought of radio dramas, a popular medium in the 1940s when Asimov was writing. He wasn’t writing with an eye to radio adaptation, as far as I know, but maybe he listened to a lot of them and they influenced his style. The 1970s BBC radio play of the Foundation series proves how well it translates to the medium.
A galaxy without ‘great men’
The lack of a balanced representation of humanity in the cast of characters is pretty awful. But I like the morality and the philosophy of history this story expresses – that it is not ‘great men’ but great impersonal forces that shape history. True greatness lies in predicting and adapting to the currents of history – not holding back the tide, but riding the wave. Real material relations are more important than ideas and words. Don’t be fooled by pomp and regalia; the empire is losing crucial technical skills. Don’t be intimidated by military thugs and their death machines; those machines must be operated by human beings, who can be influenced in clever ways.
The ‘greatest’ figures in Foundation history are not strutting macho types. Hardin and Mallow alike embrace a kind of humility and acceptance, as well as cunning and unscrupulousness.
Both Hardin and Mallow embark on too-clever-by-half plans that would, in reality, totally demoralise their own people long before they bear fruit. This is a common failing in fiction: the illusion that conflicts have to be solved by clever tricks in order to be narratively satisfying.
In fairness, the climaxes to ‘The Mayors’ and ‘The Merchant Princes’ are very satisfying. Defeat turns to victory in a matter of moments. These eukatastrophes are seamless and well-plotted.
Cynicism
They use religion to harness the Four Kingdoms to the chariot of the Foundation. But religion is superseded – by the time of Mallow, it is necessary to realise that trade is the new superweapon of Terminus. And trade itself will one day be superseded, become an obstacle:
‘So, then,’ said Jael. ‘You’re establishing a plutocracy. You’re making us a land of traders and merchant princes. Then what of the future?’
Mallow lifted his gloomy face, and exclaimed fiercely, ‘What business of mine is the future? No doubt Seldon has foreseen it and prepared against it. There will be other crises in the time to come when money power has become as dead a force as religion is now. Let my successors solve those new problems, as I have solved the one of today.’
The flip side of the novel’s cleverness is the smug attitude that comes through. You read this book and feel like you, Isaac Asimov and Salvor Hardin are the three smartest people in the universe, and all these trillions of people are stupid. It celebrates cynicism and manipulation. Hardin controls the press behind the scenes and takes power in a coup. This is to say nothing of the invented religion and how it brainwashes people. This is not moral, of course, but we are supposed to accept that it’s an example of ‘doing what’s right’ in spite of any silly ‘morality.’
A galaxy without violence?
We are told that ‘violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.’ The author’s distaste for violence is rare and refreshing. He’s just not interested in it. The novel is better because of this. But the novel’s philosophy does not renounce violence; it just puts violence in its place, as the enforcer and copper-fastener of things already established by culture, economics and politics. It is not the last refuge of the incompetent; it is a necessary, though subordinate, stage of conquest.
Consider the following exchange of dialogue:
Jorane Sutt: You’re a Smyrnian, born in Smyrno, one of the former Four Kingdoms. You’re a Foundation man by education only. By birth, you’re an Outlander and a foreigner. No doubt your grandfather was a baron at the time of the wars with Anacreon and Loris, and no doubt your family estates were taken away when Sef Sermak redistributed the land.
Hober Mallow: No, by Black Space, no! My grandfather was a blood-poor son-of-a-spacer who died heaving coal at starving wages before the Foundation.
This passage tells us a lot:
That the Foundation made war on Anacreon and Loris (two of the Four Kingdoms) some time in between the events of ‘The Mayors’ and ‘The Merchant Princes.’
That the Foundation has brought about a land revolution in the Four Kingdoms through the dispossession of the nobility. In other words, not just a war but a revolutionary war has taken place between two episodes. To cement in place and enforce the outcome of ‘The Mayors,’ war and revolution were still necessary.
That the resolution of the second Seldon Crisis was not the end of Sermak’s political career (Sermak was the leader of the pro-war party in ‘The Mayors’). In fact, Sermak was heavily involved in the subjugation of the Four Kingdoms, to the extent that the land revolution is attributed to him. The pro-war Actionist Party have their day after all.
People like Hober Mallow come from a background where before the Foundation they were denied any opportunities in life. The coming of the Foundation has been revolutionary, opening new opportunities for them.
All of this is between the lines. Foundation is short and well-paced, but in places there’s a depth and density to it. These lines remind us that even though the novel leaves violence to one side, the universe in which the novel is set is just as violent as ours. The worst ‘barbarism’ in the novel is that which the Empire carries out on Siwenna – atom-blasting the population in revenge for a rebellion which that population didn’t even support.
This brings us back to the points about how it’s written like a radio play. Of course, it was written for magazines and presumably each instalment had to be kept fairly short. Most of what happens in the novel happens through dialogue, but Asimov puts that dialogue to work. The dialogue is good as drama, but it really shines as worldbuilding. It’s nutritious stuff around which your imagination can sketch in the galaxy outside the four walls of the room where, inevitably, men are talking.
Hi folks. I’m going to dig deep into Cixin Liu’s The Three-Body Problem and its 2024 Netflix screen adaptation. This first post will look at the book’s most fascinating character, Ye Wenjie. The Three-Body Problem is really her story – how and why she betrayed humanity, and the consequences of that betrayal.
I enjoyed the TV show. If you’re looking for a big rant where I complain about every aspect of it, you will be disappointed. But its version of Ye lacks the novel character’s depth, doesn’t hit us as hard emotionally (Due to the script and not due to fine performances by Zine Tseng and Rosalind Chao). Mostly I’m not criticising so much as saying, ‘Look here – this is interesting what they did here and what effect it has.’
The writing in Cixin Liu’s trilogy (I’ve read the first two) is sometimes stilted or technical or slow. But there is great prose here, especially in the Ye Wenjie sections:
Page 294: ‘In the deep silence of midnight, the universe revealed itself to its listeners as a vast desolation.’ (a line repeated to great effect later)
Page 299: ‘Above her, the Red Coast antenna lay open, silently, like a palm toward the universe.’
The screen version lacks this prose but makes up for it with strong visuals. It’s held together by compelling characters who have natural dialogue and interactions. It’s slick enough that it got a lot of eyeballs onto screens; it was a success, and there’s a point past which you can’t argue with that. It brought the main gist of the book to a much wider audience. I’m glad more people got to experience this great thing.
Page and screen are autonomous, and I’m not going to judge one for deviating from the other. Nonetheless about some of these deviations I have plenty to say.
Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution – Tiananmen Square, Beijing, 1966
Cultural Revolution
The Three-Body Problem by Cixin Liu begins with a panorama of Beijing at the height of the Cultural Revolution, with factionists killing one another in street battles. Next we see a stage in a university square. Student paramilitaries denounce and beat a physics professor; they go too far and kill him.
The Netflix TV adaptation begins the same way. But the Netflix audience – and the western reader – mostly has no idea what the Cultural Revolution was. It’s not the business of the screenwriters to give you a history lesson. But western ignorance about China might leave many viewers with questions about this scene. For example, Jordan Peterson – who presents himself as very well-read and knowledgeable – thinks the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976) and the Great Leap Forward (1958-1962) were the same thing. His complete ignorance didn’t give him any pause for thought – he put out that claim in a published book, Maps of Meaning, and while he was at it he declared in passing that 100 million people died in this 18-year-long composite event.
I’m pretty ignorant about a lot of things too – never read Jung. But I’ve visited China and read a few books about the place. The Cultural Revolution took place twenty-odd years after the communist victory of 1949. The 1949 Revolution overthrew the landlord class and delivered a massive expansion of health and education; hence why students who were babies in 1949 are, by 1967, so keen on it and on its foremost leader, Chairman Mao Zedong. But Mao messed up with a campaign called the ‘Great Leap Forward,’ contributing to a terrible famine, and afterwards he was sidelined.
The Cultural Revolution began four years later. It was half a student uprising against government figures who were perceived as conservative or bureaucratic; half Mao’s power play to get back in full control. It was a mess that got way out of hand. The way it’s depicted on text and screen seems fair to me, but the original Chinese reader had more context than the Netflix viewer or western reader.
On the page and on screen we experience the same terrible episode: a teenage girl named Ye Wenjie watches as her father, a theoretical physicist, is publicly humiliated and killed. In the book, we are privy to her own thoughts and memories. Long ago, before the Revolution, her father met Einstein. Einstein pointed to a ditch-digger on the streets of Beijing and asked how much the guy earned. Instead of a deep discussion on the nature of the universe, Professor Ye’s only dialogue with Einstein consisted of telling him that the ditch-digger probably earned 5 cents an hour.
This is one example of an opening that is rich in contrasts; likewise it is bizarre and unsettling how a discussion on theoretical physics is combined with a scene of pseudo-revolutionary ritual persecution and public torture.
This is a moment of cruelty and hysteria, a moment when the human species comes across very badly. This does two things: it sets Ye Wenjie on a course to betray humanity, and in its depiction of a hysterical political rally it prefigures the later development of the Earth-Trisolaris Organisation. The first, at least, comes across clearly enough on the screen as on the page – the second, not so much.
‘Big-character posters’ bearing uncompromising political slogans, a hallmark of the Cultural Revolution, being pasted to a wall in 1967
Red Coast Base
After the worst excesses of the Cultural Revolution, the youth were rusticated en masse, sent out to the countryside to do hard labour and keep out of trouble. That’s where we next catch up with Ye Wenjie: with a logging crew in Inner Mongolia. She watches as ‘vast tracts of grasslands became grain fields, then deserts.’
Ye Wenjie sees the environmental destruction and concludes that humanity is to evil what an iceberg is to the sea – composed of the same material but just in a different form. Her dawning environmental consciousness is warped in this misanthropic direction by her previous experiences. To make matters worse, the first person she trusted since her father’s death, Bai Mulin, betrays her. Long before having any idea that she will one day communicate with aliens, she concludes that ‘To achieve moral awakening required a force outside the human race.’
She gets her chance when she is sent to the mysterious Red Coast Base. Pages 46-48, describing the mysterious dish in use, are very tense, exciting and mysterious. The climax is when the birds fall out of the sky. Here the TV show hews close enough to the book. Again, what we lose in interior monologue, we gain in strong visuals.
Ye Wenjie doesn’t like living at Red Coast base but it suits her. She seeks isolation after her experiences; it seems safer. But here, in her relationship with the commander and commissar, there is room for further betrayals, petty ones this time (pages 174-5).
The TV show hurries through the Red Coast portion of the book in a couple of flashbacks. This is a shame because, alongside the surreal videogame sequences, it’s the best part of the novel.
An example of what we lose: on pages 180-183 we get to see internal government documents where the top-tier Chinese communist leaders discuss how to contact aliens. The first draft is full of heated revolutionary rhetoric but it is dismissed as ‘utter crap’ – don’t send big-character posters into space! A more sober draft follows.
To its credit, the TV show keeps the part where Ye Wenjie figures out that the sun can be used as an amplifier for radio transmissions into space. The explanation in the book is too technical, but on screen it’s just right.
Her idea is dismissed, but she goes ahead in secret. She sends the transmission to the sun. In the book this is an awesome moment, even as Ye herself loses hope:
Ye saw the rest of her life suffused with an endless grayness. With tears in her eyes, she smiled again, and continued to chew the cold mantou.
Ye didn’t know that at that moment, the first cry that could be heard in space from civilization on Earth was already spreading out from the sun to the universe at the speed of light. A star-powered radio wave, like a majestic tide, had already crossed the orbit of Jupiter.
Right then, at the frequency of 12,000 MHz, the sun was the brightest star in the entire milky way.
As a plot point, this comes across clearly on the screen. But the sheer awesomeness of this moment is lost in translation. Likewise the moment, some years later, when she has a choice and betrays the human race. Everything has been leading up to this, but it’s still just enough of a leap that it shocks the reader. This is why Ye Wenjie is a great villain in the book.
The show leaves out some plot points too. In it, Ye has a baby with Mike Evans, her American collaborator. In the book, she has her baby with chief engineer Yang who works at Red Coast base. But in the book we see her commit an incredibly cold-blooded murder of commissar Lei. By an unhappy chance, killing Lei obliges her to kill her husband Yang at the same time. She kills them both – including the father of her child – without hesitating.
Our view of this character changes fundamentally at this point – her betrayal of humanity is made real and manifest. This betrayal is not mediated by a computer screen or a radar dish.
The Earth-Trisolaris Movement
Something crucial happens in the book: Ye Wenjie goes to a local village and lives with the farmers there to have her baby. They donate their blood to save her and house and feed herself and her baby. In return, she teaches their children. This is a lovely section of the book. It’s a rebuke to the anti-human attitude she has adopted. ‘Something finally thawed in Ye Wenjie’s heart.’ (316-321) We see Ye in a different setting and mood from the military-scientific base and the Cultural Revolution era. Her horrific experiences were not the full picture; most of us human beings, while we have our burdens to bear, live lives that are far happier than hers. We do not experience such repeated and concentrated doses of inhumanity. And if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have betrayed humanity. When we exploit and brutalise one another, we degrade humanity’s faith in itself, humanity’s integrity. When we harm a fellow human we harm ourselves as well.
Her next experiences set her back into her misanthropic groove. Her mother, who helped do the father to death, washes her hands of what she did, and even blames the dad for it. (324-5)
Ye Wenjie then meets the three Red Guards who killed her father – in the TV show, there is thankfully a version of this scene. After their revolutionary ardour was exploited for political ends by a faction in the state, the three teenage girls were doomed to years of hard labour. There’s nothing left in them but bitterness, and they have suffered too much to be remorseful. I found this interesting; the mother is unrepentant because she has moved up in the world, and the girls are unrepentant because they haven’t.
This entirely depressing experience counteracts all Ye’s tendencies toward ‘thawing.’ But we have seen that she has a soft side.
This is relevant when we fast-forward a few decades to the development of the Earth-Trisolaris Organisation (ETO), a political group which is determined to help the aliens to conquer Earth.
In the TV show it is not named as such, and we learn very little about it. This is a weakness of the screen version. Why would some humans wish to collaborate with aliens? What internal debates would such a movement have? These fascinating questions are explored and dramatized in the book but not on the TV show.
They call each other ‘comrade,’ evoking the Cultural Revolution, but this is not a movement of idealistic students. ETO is made up of people drawn from the political, technical and financial ‘elites;’ it is explained that their grasp of science and their knowledge of the darker side of humanity makes them willing recruits. This tracks – Mike Evans is the son of a billionaire and thus alienated from humanity (no pun intended). Efforts to recruit ‘common people,’ meanwhile, have failed due to their ‘instinctive identification’ with humanity. (344-5)
ETO funds all kinds of anti-science groups. This is touched on in just a single line in the show which is really a missed opportunity to say something very relevant to the post-Covid world.
ETO is divided into two factions:
The Adventists wish to eliminate the human race. They realise the Trisolarans might not be much better, but don’t care.
The Redemptionists, on the other hand, have developed elaborate fantasies about Trisolaran civilization, and think the aliens will save humanity from itself.
A new and small third faction, the Survivors, is drawn from the small number of recruits from among the ‘common people’ – they hope to survive the war by collaborating with the Trisolarans.
Much like the Red Guards in 1967 Beijing, the two factions are on the brink of an internal civil war. Ye Wenjie doesn’t much like any of the factions, who have departed from her original vision, but she especially hates the Adventists and plans to wipe them out.
I’ve been praising the book a lot, but it has problems. From a zoomed-out distance, the ETO is compelling. But when Liu tries to show it in real life and real time, it fails to convince. Wang Miao infiltrates the ETO with comical ease; he attends a casual introductory chit-chat in a café, and is immediately invited to a major conference. The events of the conference contain subtle echoes of the Cultural Revolution scene at the start, and culminate in a moment of dramatic action. But the whole thing is stilted. Take it from a seasoned activist: this is not how internal disputes within a revolutionary party work. You don’t just have one meeting where you bring up everything all at once, and then trash it all out on the spot. Political conflict can be dishonest, drawn-out, and dirty – or, to put it kindly, it is richer and more interesting than how it’s presented here.
Having said that, there’s proper drama in the showdown between the two factions, and that’s before the jackboot of the state kicks down the door and Da Shi and his men storm in. The TV show, by contrast, has a flattened ETO.
Until next time…
Next week I’ll look at the other major strand of the novel The Three-Body Problem: Wang Miao’s storyline set in the present day and concerning a flickering universe, a loutish and morally dubious cop, and a mysterious videogame. Of course, I’ll be comparing the original with how it was adapted for the screen.
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It’s not difficult to come up with a scenario where the Whites win the Russian Civil War.
Don’t get me wrong. The White regimes were all weak internally, riddled with corruption and absurd hierarchies, lacking not only support from the popular classes but much enthusiasm or initiative from the old ruling classes. They were determined to return the land to the landlords, the factories to the bosses, and the colonies and minorities to the yoke of ‘Russia, one and indivisible.’ They crushed their allies in the intelligentsia, and bickered with the Cossacks.
All the same, I can see how they could have won. Not by themselves being stronger, but by their opponents being weaker.
The strengths of the Reds did not emerge automatically. Building a Red Army capable of winning the war was actually not the path of least resistance. A lot of what the Soviet regime achieved in the early years would not have been considered the most likely outcomes at the time.
Baron Wrangel, in a White poster
There are a number of more ‘realistic’ scenarios, each of which on their own would dramatically impair the chances of the Red side in the Civil War.
A) ‘BROAD’ COALITION The Bolsheviks buckle to pressure immediately after the October Revolution. They kick out Lenin and Trotsky and go into coalition with the Mensheviks and Right SRs. The political compromises this entails (such as returning factories to the control of their old bosses, downgrading the Soviets) leave the working class and the pro-Soviet cohort of peasants confused and demoralised, and embolden the Kornilov movement.
B) WAR WITH GERMANY Instead of signing the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk, the Soviet regime fights the German military. Its fledgeling forces are decisively crushed and several major Russian cities and provinces are occupied by the Germans.
C) NO RED ARMY The Soviet regime does not build an army. The real reason is a lack of resolve, but the stated reason is that armies are by their nature authoritarian.
D) NO MILITARY SPECIALISTS The Red Army does not allow officers from the old Tsarist military to serve. Instead the army is run entirely by NCOs and revolutionaries.
E) ULTRA-LEFT LAND POLICY The Russian Communists, like their German, Baltic, Hungarian and Polish equivalents, place the nobles’ land under state control instead of allowing the farmers to share it out. The rural population are enraged at the Soviet regime. The army’s rank and file lose all enthusiasm.
F) CHAUVINISTIC NATIONAL POLICY In this scenario, the Russian communists refuse to accept the right to national self-determination. They are thus unable to win over minority groups from the Whites, and their advance eastward stalls as they step on the feet of one minority grpup after another. In the west, Poland, Estonia and Finland give decisive aid and support to Denikin and Iudenich in summer/autumn 1919, so that Petrograd and Moscow fall to the Whites.
So what would be the consequences of a White victory? That depends on which scenario or combination of scenarios we choose from among the above. (B), war with Germany, would change the very nature of the White movement, creating a whole cohort of German proxies, clients and allies.
Let’s take scenarios D through F and combine them. So the Soviets alienate the farmers and the national minorities, while building an army that lacks technically competent leadership.
Iudenich takes Petrograd, Denikin takes Moscow, and in the east Kolchak recovers and prevents the establishment of a new Soviet base in the Urals.
A banner of the Central Asian Basmachi guerrilla movement
REPRESSION
In real life (Original Timeline or OTL), when Iudenich was marching on Petrograd, the British minister Churchill felt the need to warn him not to let his troops engage in a massacre after taking the city. The same Churchill, when Denikin’s forces engaged in pogroms to the south, did nothing more than send a letter remonstrating with him. And it was not even a strongly-worded letter.
It’s safe to say that large-scale massacres, especially of Jews and politically active workers, would have accompanied and followed the capture of Moscow or Petrograd. Feeling keenly its own lack of support, the Whites would pander to all ultra-nationalist and ultra-religious tendencies. The bosses and landlords would demand the return of their factories and estates, entailing further violence, a wholesale scourging of the country.
At the same time, the resistance of the poor and of Soviet and Red Army remnants, the establishment or survival of new Red Army base areas on the periphery, the stubborn defence of this or that city, would prolong the war so that it would still be ongoing years later, including in European Russia itself. The Soviets had a far bigger base of support than the Whites, so the mopping-up phase of the war would take correspondingly longer. (Mawdsley even reckons that the Reds could have won the war even if they’d lost Moscow.)
FRAGMENTATION
Central Asia is independent. There is no way the Whites can bring it back into the fold the way the Reds managed to, and no way they can take it by force – though if they are foolish they might spend a decade or two trying. The region breaks away in several feudal regimes not at all corresponding to today’s borders.
There is inevitably a Polish- Russian War, even though earlier they cooperated against the Reds. It would be more bitter and prolonged than the Polish- Soviet war in OTL, because the White Russians would consciously inflame chauvinism instead of trying to tamp it down. There might also be Baltic wars, as White armies based in the Baltic states, with aid from German barons, drag the White Moscow regime into efforts to reclaim the old provinces.
Ukraine and Siberia remain hotbeds of partisan warfare for many years, and may even succeed in breaking away, especially if foreign powers (Japan in Siberia, Poland in Ukraine) have their way.
The irony is that in trying to hold onto ‘Russia, one and indivisible’ the Whites end up with a far smaller territory than the OTL Soviet Union. Within the truncated Russian land, mines, factories, forests, oil fields and railways are handed over to the Allies.
Fragmentation might even extend to the White camp itself, as the various White leaders and the disparate factions and contending foreign agents all struggle for power.
A Nazi German plane flies over Poland, 1939. In this scenario, how does a hypothetical Second World War turn out?
THE 20TH CENTURY
What would defeat in Russia mean for the international socialist movement? The prospects for revolution in other countries would be very dim for at least a couple of decades.
What would it mean for Russia in the 20th century? It’s impossible to say, because the White regime would be dynsfunctional and unstable to the point where you can’t predict how it would develop.
In the Indonesia scenario, the defeat of revolution means that Russia remains mired for decades in underdevelopment and crushing poverty under a tyrranical, genocidal regime.
In the China scenario, the defeat in the cities is the prelude to a long struggle in the rural expanse, culminating in the victory of a peasant-based radical movement.
We could consider a Spain, Germany, France or Italy scenario, but Indonesia and China are more to the point as countries suffering from underdevelopment. But a White victory would likely mean that fascism comes early into the world – and is known by a Russian name rather than an Italian, and its definition has secondary differences.
I think we’d be looking at a dysfunctional corrupt dictatorship whose economy is dominated by foreign capital. There would be a conflict between this neocolonial condition and the resentful imperialist designs of the regime and of its support base. Shiny hubs of foreign capital would contrast with brutal squalor all around. Resources are extracted, not developed. Russia would not industrialise as the Soviet Union did in the 1930s; it would be bled just slowly enough to keep it alive, and this process would be hailed as ‘investment.’ Reclaiming former glory would be the leitmotif of establishment politics.
You might wonder where this neocolonial fascist hellhole fits in to 20th Century history. But without the Soviet Union, the 20th Century as we know it doesn’t happen.
In this alternate timeline it’s still conceivable that a re-armed fascist Germany starts a Second World War to turn back the clock on the first. Would White Russia be its ally in grievance (kicking out the foreign capitalists, carving up Ukraine and Poland) or its victim? If the latter, a Russia which has not industrialised would be vulnerable to conquest. That is, unless the Allies consciously beef it up as a foil to Germany, allowing strategic to trump economic interests, like Taiwan or South Korea.
Regardless of how politics and war shake out in some alternate 20th Century, some things are certain, barring thermonuclear extinction. The 20th century was bound to be an era of anti-colonial resistance in Africa, Asia and Latin America, and of revolt by workers, women and minorities in Europe and North America. All these things were bound up in the Russian Revolution, but they were inherent in the global situation no matter how things went in Russia.
This is the Conclusion to Revolution Under Siege, a series about the Russian Civil War. In this first part of the Conclusion, we will ask: How did the Red Army win the war? What was the nature of Allied intervention? Were the White Guards fascist?
How the Red Army triumphed
The Soviet victory in the Russian Civil War has been summed up in all kinds of dramatic ways: ‘A People’s Tragedy’ or ‘the Death of Hope’ (no less!). Whatever picture you have of the Civil War in your own mind, the vanishing point, ‘the place where all the rays meet’ (as Tolstoy is supposed to have said) is October. If the October Revolution was legitimate and justified, then the struggle to defend it was inspiring. If the Revolution was a coup by conspirators bent on mass murder and insane social experiments, then each battle to defend it was just one more atrocity.
But since I am switching from narrative mode to conclusion mode, let’s not agree to disagree. The Allied intervention forces at first believed that the Bolsheviks were an isolated group who were out of their depth. If this had been true, the Whites would have had little difficulty in winning the war. If October really was an undemocratic coup, if the political programme of Lenin and Trotsky was a wild social experiment, then the outcome of the Civil War would make no sense.
The fact that the Reds controlled the part of Russia with the largest population, best transport links, most industry and largest military stockpiles was an important reason for their victory. But this fact was not an accident. The Whites and Reds did not draw cards at random for territory. In this logistically ‘central’ and majority working-class area of Russia, the Bolsheviks received large majority votes not only in the Soviet but in the Constituent Assembly elections.
Their support among the working class was very strong, and remained very strong through incredible hardships. Working from this powerful base, the Soviet regime drew into its orbit large swathes of the farming population along with the national minorities. Hence it was able to build an army which vastly outnumbered that of the Whites.
In 1918-9 the Whites secured base areas and foreign aid, and built large armies. If the Soviet leaders were only adventurers, and if the Red Army was only a mass of conscripts subjected to terror and crude propaganda, Kolchak and Denikin would have steamrolled them. But the Soviets’ internal collapse, on which every White general counted, never took place.
Western historians have approached this war in the footsteps of the interventionists of their own country. Like their grandads, they refer to the Red Army as ‘the Bolsheviks’ as if to fool themselves into thinking that they are only speaking about a crew of cranks. But they often come away with a wary respect for the Soviets:
‘Yet these despised creatures [the ‘Bolsheviks’], these subhumans, who according to the casualty figures were all but annihilated time and again in various sectors – for some unaccountable reason continued to appear in strength. Not only that; they fought back hard, and as time went by they developed an unmistakable military prowess…’ [1]
The interventionists and the Whites had to learn this wary respect too, but the hard way.
There is a perception that the Reds won through violence and propaganda. [2] But the Whites were not shy when it came to violence and, because many of them were military officers, they were much better at it. When the Civil War broke out, the Soviets had only very feeble military and security institutions. Besides, violence often backfired, as in the Don country in early 1919.
They did manage to turn a movement of factory militias into an army – under-supplied, wearing a motley collection of uniforms and with barely a single steel helmet between the five million of them; and leaking deserters like a sieve, especially at harvest time – but nonetheless an army capable of winning this war. 50,000-70,000 women served in it. It had no officers, no ranks – ‘company commander’, for example, was a job title held by a qualified soldier who wore the same uniform as the rank-and-file soldier. Corporal punishment was banned. The army was truly multinational in character: primarily Russian, Ukrainian and Belarussian, but also Finnish, Latvian, Chinese, Hungarian, Uzbek… Among them was the Senegalese Kador Ben-Salim, who came to Russia with a travelling circus, joined the Red Army, and later became a Soviet movie star. Education and political discussion were central in this new type of army – and they were sorely needed, since even many commanders had only three years of schooling and didn’t know arithmetic. But ‘by the end of 1920 there were 3,000 Red Army schools, 60 amateur theatres, and libraries with reading rooms in every soldiers’ club.’ [3]
Yes, the Reds were good at inflicting violence – in the sense that they were able to build a cohesive and large military force using democratic and socialist methods.
As for propaganda, the Whites had no qualms about churning out lurid anti-Semitic propaganda posters and forgeries like the ‘Zunder Document’ and the ‘Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion.’ But the Reds probably had more industrial printing facilities and paper stocks at their disposal. More importantly, they had an appealing political programme which enthused both the artists who created the propaganda and the people who consumed it. This propaganda had the great benefit of usually being positive and sincere.
The Allies put Wrangel in a cannon to shoot him at the Soviets. Like I said, usually positive and sincere
So in these limited senses, it was true that violence and propaganda were important.
But crucial to the Red victory were the innate qualities of the working class of the former Russian Empire: their capacity for self-sacrifice; their creative and technical skills; their courage and resourcefulness, for example in organizing a partisan movement in Siberia. Their social skills and political sophistication made a huge difference – they found ways to work with specialists from the former privileged classes, without handing power back to them; ways to neutralize or win over enemies like the Cossacks; ways to fraternize with interventionist troops such as the French and the Germans; ways to make friends of national groups who had been foes, such as the Bashkirs. On top of these innate qualities, they learned quickly and we can see the Red Army growing from a partisan and militia movement to an army with systematic workings. Ideas learned under fire, as Trotsky remarked, are learned for good.
These qualities would not have found expression without the channel provided by the programme and method of the Bolshevik Party. Without the latter leading the Soviets to power in October 1917, this revolutionary energy would have dissipated. But the Bolshevik Party itself would not have existed without a working-class support base and cadre. It was a product of its class.
‘Bolshevik’ prisoners being fed by Allied troops in North Russia
Were the Whites fascist?
The leading cadre of the Whites also showed courage, resourcefulness, endurance, military skill and valour. But by contrast with the Reds, the White movement was anti-democratic and unpopular. The White leaders openly despised the popular masses. Their contempt for ‘politics’ was in fact contempt for the burning demands of the people – silly political questions like land can be settled after the important business of flogging and hanging the revolutionaries.
Their harshness, fury and inclination to violence werr no surprise. They were gestated in the Tsarist military, an institution which was far harsher and more hierarchical than its peers in other European countries.
General Sakharov, a right-hand man of Kolchak, refused to serve in a particular military unit because it was associated with the ‘democratic spirit’ of the Komuch government. [4] Other White leaders challenged one another to duels or even assassinated one another over accusations of pandering to ‘the democracy.’ The White leaders never accepted the Constituent Assembly results, which they dismissed as popular madness and anarchy.
‘[They] aspired to re-establish ‘Russia One and Indivisible’, which meant suppressing ‘anarchy’ and restoring a strong state and the values of the Orthodox Church. What united them emotionally was a passionate detestation of Bolshevism, which they saw as a ‘German-Jewish’ conspiracy […] In White propaganda, the words ‘Jew’ (zhid) and ‘Communist’ were interchangeable. Naturally, they detested class conflict, and they feared and hated the revolutionary masses (that ‘wild beast’ […].’ [5]
The partner of the White officer was the Cossack. The Cossack, in contrast to the officer, was often mobilised by a popular demand for the autonomy of his particular host. Other motivating factors were a fear of the ‘aliens,’ their tenants; the desire of wealthier Cossacks to hold onto power; and the Cossack tradition of military service. The Cossacks were indispensable to the White war effort, and tens of thousands of them stuck out the Civil War to the end. But by mid-1920, Wrangel found that the Don and Kuban Cossacks did not have another rebellion in them. They too had learned certain ideas under fire.
Only episodically, and with disappointing results, did the Whites attempt to mobilize the population at large. In the words of Mawdsley, ‘their social and political programme was not one that bred spontaneous popular support.’
Many White leaders later embraced fascism. Around the time Mussolini marched on Rome, Sakharov claimed with pride that ‘the White movement was in essence the first manifestation of fascism.’ But Mawdsley scorns this claim – because ‘the Whites lacked the mobilization skills and relatively wide social base of the Italian or German radical Right’ [6].
Just to underline that point: the best argument for regarding them as not fascist is simply that they couldn’t mobilise mass support – not that they weren’t reactionary, or that they weren’t violent. To quote The Simpsons (and to paraphrase Mawdsley), they were never popular.
The Whites were a movement of the middle and upper classes which was pulled together over the course of the year 1917. Its origins lay soon after the February Revolution, when Denikin, Kornilov and their milieu reached a firm decision: in the words of Denikin’s memoirs, ‘Military power must be seized.’ The Kornilov Affair was the first attempt. After the October Revolution the same people created the White Armies, to fight the Soviet regime openly. They embarked on a civil war without popular support, in fact consciously ranging themselves against the will of the population. At first (October 1917 to April 1918) they failed miserably, though in the process they caused much destruction and suffering. Their failure (and the initial failures of Dutov, Semyonov etc) was due to the fact that massive numbers of workers and poor peasants mobilised against them whenever they raised their heads. But from Spring 1918, Allied and German help arrived in earnest, the Don Cossacks revolted, and the Civil War proper began.
Comparisons with Spain
Beevor compares the Whites to the Republicans in the Spanish Civil War because, like the Republicans, they suffered from internal divisions. [7] But to my mind the White Russians far more closely resemble the camp of Franco. Hitler and Mussolini drew popular support from the middle layers of society. Franco was called a fascist and called himself one, but unlike Hitler or Mussolini he was part of the establishment. The actual fascists (Falange and JONS) were only one component of his coalition. With their alliance of clerical, aristocratic, bourgeois and military elements, the Francoists and the White Russians were remarkably similar.
There are differemces. The Whites presented a ‘democratic’ face to preserve the Allies from embarrassment while Franco, having plentiful aid from fascist countries, had no need to hide. Another contrast is that Francoist terror was systematic, top-down and clearly aimed at extermination [8]. Maybe the Whites killed roughly as many people as Franco did (nobody knows), but in terror as in most things, they were not systematic.
In short, the Whites can be called proto-fascist, but only in the broad sense that the term ‘fascist’ would apply to Franco.
The key difference between the Spanish and the Russian civil wars lies in the position occupied by the professional middle classes (sometimes called the petty bourgeoisie or, in Russian terms, the ‘Intelligentsia’). In Spain, the workers and poor farmers generously permitted the professional middle classes to lead them (to defeat) in an alliance known as the Popular Front. In Russia, assertive workers’ representatives, in the form of the Bolsheviks, did not permit the intelligentsia to assume leadership of the Revolution. So the intelligentsia fled to the White camp where they strutted and fretted their hour upon the stage before they were overthrown by forces to their right.
If the Bolsheviks had gone into coalition with the Mensheviks and Right SRs on the terms demanded of them in coalition talks in November 1917, I think it’s likely the Russian ‘Pan-Socialist Coalition’ would have met the same fate as the Spanish Popular Front.
Intervention
The ugly things the early Soviet regime did (of which, more in Part 2) could only have happened in the context created by the military onslaught of the old ruling classes backed by the whole ‘civilised’ world. Nye Bevan, architect of Britain’s National Health Service, believed that the later development of Stalinism could be traced back in large part to the brutality inflicted on the early Soviet Union by the Allies:
I remember so well what happened when the Russian revolution occurred. I remember the miners, when they heard that the Czarist tyranny had been overthrown, rushing to meet each other in the streets with tears streaming down their cheeks, shaking hands and saying: ‘At last it has happened.’ Let us remember in 1951 that the revolution of 1917 came to the working class of Great Britain, not as social disaster, but as one of the most emancipating events in the history of mankind. Let us also remember that the Soviet revolution would not have been so distorted, would not have ended in a tyranny, would not have resulted in a dictatorship, would not now be threatening the peace of mankind, had it not been for the behaviour of Churchill, and the Tories at that time. [9]
To this day, writers in the English-speaking world write of their countries’ invasion of Soviet Russia as a silly farce. They dismiss the idea that intervention was a serious matter at all. The whole thing, we are assured, was blown out of proportion by Soviet historians.
But all I hear is, ‘Why are the Russians so angry about it? We only invaded them a little bit.’
Allied intervention was desperately sought and deeply appreciated by the Whites. When a White leader recieved the blessing of world empires and regional powers, it was a great boost to his prestige. But that was only a part of the package. It also included supplies – food, bedding, clothes, fuel – and vast quantities of weapons, enough to arm and equip every White soldier several times over (see the graphic below). The White leader had stable, well-trained Allied forces garrisoning his rear and guarding his railways. He had advisers at his side. He had financial credits. He had, at his back, the most powerful navies in the world waiting to evacuate him, his soldiers and their wives and children, just in case he still somehow managed to lose. The Whites had all that and the Reds had none of it.
And they tell us foreign intervention was a myth…
The interventionists also outright invaded. The Japanese government had 70,000 troops in Siberia at one point, engaged in full-scale war with Soviet partisans. Germany occupied a vast territory with a vast army in 1918. The French and Greeks sent in a force of 65,000 in 1919. The Czechoslovak Legion numbered around 50,000. All that is to say nothing of Poland in 1920. Other interventionists sent in troops by the thousand and not by multiple tens of thousands. However, the prospect of a full-scale Allied invasion no doubt helped encourage many young lads to enlist in the Whites who might otherwise have stayed home. The French invasion of Ukraine in 1919 was inhibited not by the qualms of the French government but by the mutiny of the French soldiers and sailors.
In North Russia, the interventionists had around 15,000 soldiers by summer 1918 – British, US, French, Italian, Serbs, Czechs and Poles. The local Whites could only muster 5 infantry companies, one cavalry squadron and one battery. [10] On this front it was not a question of intervention in war – the Allies were the war. Here more than elsewhere they fought directly with Soviet forces.
More galling still is the accusation that the Soviet regime was responsible for all deaths by famine and disease in these terrible years. [11] The country was hungry for years before the Revolution, ever since the economic demands of the First World War upset the delicate food supply system. The Tsarist army engaged in forced requisitioning. The German government looted Ukraine of foodstuffs. The Allies blockaded Russia, a repeat of a policy of artificial famine that was employed against the German people in the First World War. All the interventionists knew that in supporting the Whites they were disrupting exchange and production in an already half-starving country. When famine struck in 1921-2, no foreign government contributed to famine relief. The non-government American Relief Administration saved countless lives before future president Hoover withdrew it for political reasons. [12]
A Soviet poster giving public health advice to the population about the cholera epidemic
Trudell writes that ‘Foreign intervention also played a devastating role in the containment of the Revolution within Russia’s borders.’ Quoting Chamberlin, she adds that if Allied aid had ceased in November 1918, ‘the Russian civil war would almost certainly have ended much more quickly in a decisive victory of the Soviets. There a triumphant revolutionary Russia would have faced a Europe that was fairly quivering with social unrest and upheaval.’
The British leaders knew that the Soviet regime was popular and were well aware of the bigotry and corruption of the White forces. According to a July 1919 British government memo, ‘No terrorism, not even long suffering acquiescence, but something approaching enthusiasm’ could explain how the Soviet regime had held onto power. ‘We must admit then that the present Russian government is accepted by the bulk of the Russian people.’ [13] But the British government did not cease supporting the Whites until almost a year later.
Readers may find the vacillations of the Allies confusing. The explanation is this: there was a logic to supporting the Whites even if their defeat was certain; the war would weaken and contain the Soviet Union. In order to contain revolution, the Allied leaders prolonged this war by at least two years, condemning countless innocent people to death by starvation and epidemics.
‘We workers blamed our hunger on the counterrevolution, not on our regime,’ wrote Eduard Dune. [14] They were right.
My impression of the role of the interventionists is very far from the picture of well-intentioned bumbling that is often presented to us. I’m reminded of the words F Scott Fitzgerald would write a few years later in The Great Gatsby about a bourgeois couple in the United States: ‘They were careless people […] —they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made….’
Ironies
The vast numbers of poor and working-class people who supported the Soviet regime were denounced at the time as ignorant, savage, criminal and even animal. The people who were responsible for the First World War called them violent and irrational. But these supposed ‘illiterates’ were fighting for progressive and modern causes: against domination by kings, priests and landlords, against racism and empire, for women’s liberation, for workers’ rights, for the extension of democracy into the workplace. They legalised abortion and same-sex relationships many decades ahead of other countries.
Another irony: they entered upon this struggle with the perspective that they only had to hold out until other revolutions in more developed countries would come to their aid. But as things turned out, they had to fight not only their own ruling class, but the whole world. The early years of the new regime were spent in battle: fighting to stave off the bloody fate that had met the Paris Commune and the Finnish Soviet; fighting against hunger and disease; ultimately fighting, due to these great pressures, against the threat of social collapse and political and moral degeneration.
Soviet victory in the Civil War was remarkable. ‘It was amazing, given the massive forces – both internal, and those of Allied intervention ranged against them – that the Soviets managed to ride out such compressed storms of horror and emerge victorious.’ [15]
The regime that emerged, limping and traumatized, from the horror of the war fell far short of what the masses had set out to fight for in 1917. But this, at least, was neither ironic nor remarkable. The Soviet leaders had predicted that far worse would come to pass if the revolution did not spread westward. It was also the entirely predictable result of the devastation caused by the war. Speak with caution about the results of this ‘socialist experiment’ – the lab was set on fire by arsonists.
Next week we will look further into these issues. Stay tuned for Part Two of this conclusion.
[7] Beevor, Russia, ‘Conclusion: The Devil’s Apprentice’
[8] See Paul Preston, The Spanish Holocaust
[9] Quoted in Nye Davies, ‘At Last it has happened’: Bevan the Russian Revolution and the Soviet Union.’ Published on 31 Oct 2017 by Cardiff University: https://blogs.cardiff.ac.uk/thinking-wales
[10] Khvostov, White Armies, p 8
[11] Again, see Beevor, Russia, ‘Conclusion: The Devil’s Apprentice’ – but really this accusation, implicit and explicit, is everywhere.
[12] Trudell
[13] Ibid
[14] Dune, p 123
[15] Bainton, Roy. A brief history of 917, Russia’s year of Revolution. Robinson 2005, p 206