On Dialectics: sources!

MARIPOWER716 at aol.com MARIPOWER716 at aol.com
Tue Jul 15 08:02:34 MDT 2003


The recent issue of dialectics raised on Marxline - which apparently travels
a cycle, led to reviewing ancient material produced by the various Marxist
groups I had been associated with, primarily as a founding member. For reasons of
my own Marxist development "Dialectical and Historical Materialism" by J. V.
Stain was reread, along with "The ABC of Dialectic" by Mr. L. Trotsky as well
as literature from decades old philosophic seminars we once held.

The Encyclopedia of Marxist definitions (recommended by a comrade) was
reviewed and reread along side Tom Bottomore's "A Dictionary of Marxist Thought" -
which tends to turn my stomach, along with a review of several sources
recommended by various writers.  All of this literature is dated for me, but it
exists.

Then I considered math as a framework of dialectics, which I discard because
we are not dealing with "6" but conceptual frameworks riveted to "10" and I
have grown tired of the same discussion.

I searched to no avail to fine the Study Guide of Marxism we published a
couple of decades ago to gage historical accuracy and made a decision to contact
some old comrades to see if any of them have a copy somewhere in their
basement.

Every individual encounters Marxism as an individual on a very intimate and
personal level. The first Marxist book I ever read happened to be "Ludwig
Feuerbach and The End of Classical German Philosophy" by Frederick Engels and its
impact altered me forever. The circumstance leading to this contains its own
logic to "grand" for me to make sense of it. All I remember is that the 1967
Rebellion in Detroit changed everything and I was deeply frustrated because the
Station Manager did not show up for us to get our copies of the Detroit News to
deliver to our customers.

I was fifteen years old and had been delivering the "News" after school and
the "Freepress" - the morning paper, before going to school for several years
or what seemed a lifetime. It was inconceivable that my father could be a man
and get up and work everyday and my older brother could have three paper routes
and I do nothing to manifest manliness. I was jealous of my older brother and
love him dearly. He had a "Free Press" route, the "Detroit News" and the
"Shopping News" where we made our real money, because the "Shopping News" was
based on territory distribution. I loved working for big brother because he had
more quarters in his can in the pantry than father/farther ever had in his pants
pockets. Big brother was almost like father . . . he just was not the daddy
but the brother.

At fifteen, I did not know why the city was in flames to be exact but I knew
we were tired of not being treated right. I did not know why this had
something to do with our paper station manager - who was white. "How can you not have
a paper everyday and what do you tell the customers? Tomorrow the paper will
have something about the city burning down so why don't we have a paper today,
so that the people will know what is going on?"

*****************
Mother worked in the home but had been threatening to get a job as a nurse at
the local hospital, which would emotionally destabilize the family every time
she mentioned her desire.

"Why ma? Have we not taken care of you and love you beyond comprehension?"
Mother did not iron our clothes because father liked the way the Chinese
laundry would do his shirts, loved Chinese food and anything less than a military
crease in ones pants was just being lazy and wanting someone else to do your own
work, so all of the five boys and one girl - except the girl, learned how to
iron our own clothes at an early age and polish our shoes like father was
taught in the military. No one was lazy enough to use liquid polish and we would
laugh at the kids at school with liquid polish on their shoes because it made
them crack and not last a long time. Dad even taught us how to oil our baseball
mitts using the oil from the empty cans thrown away at the gas stations
because the cans were not really empty. A little bit of oil was always in them and
with a good rag one could oil their glove and keep it soft and broke in. When
brother stole a can of oil to oil all the gloves in the neighborhood, father
found out and was upset and whipped him and made him go to the gas station
manager and pay for it.

I asked brother, "How come you did not give the gas station man some of the
quarters in your can?" Brother would say, "fu8ck them mutherfuc88rs."

Why sister never had to do what we did, just did not make any sense, but
sister was different because she was a girl. I shall never forget our horror at
watching mother change her diaper. We ran from the room into the room with the
two bunk beds. Mother entered our room about thirty minutes later because she
said we were "to quite" and all of us were still crying.

"What is wrong with you boy?"

Older brother said nothing. Mother always had a way with words. "Why are you
sitting in the goddamn dark crying?" Being the second born I knew that lot
fell on my shoulders to tell mother and ask why she did not take her back.
Fighting back the tears, I stated in my strongest voice, "take her back."

"Take who back baby," mother stated.

"Sister!"

"Take sister back where?"

"To the hospital!!!"

"Goddammit, ya'll been in here talking to yourself. What are you talking
about? Why should sister be taken back to the hospital?"

"Fighting back the tears I told mother they made a mistake and left off
sister's penis and she would not have a way to pee-pee. I told mother we hated the
people in the hospital because you cannot forget to put a persons penis on."

Mother laughed until tears came out of her eyes and we did not understand why
she was laughing and crying at the same time. The injustice done to sister
was too horrible to bear.

***********************

Ten years later when mother wanted to leave the home it did not make any
sense, because we can take care of you and go to work.

"Momma, you don't have to wash or iron clothes and we know how to cook."

"All of us got our jobs and we will clean up the house."

Mother would threaten to go away and say things that did not make sense, like
"I should have crossed my legs on all you little mutherfu*kers."

We would surround mother and let her know that father had already told us
that girl supposed to sit with their legs crossed and in a group effort cross
mothers legs with pride and straighten out her dress. Why she would tell her
women friends who came by the house to drink and listen to our record player - the
only good one in the city, that she could kill all of us made no sense.

We had our stereo before we moved to Highland Park and was living in the
Jeffries Project. The Jeffries Project was the first of its kind build under the
Roosevelt administration and Eleanor - the Presidents wife, had come to Detroit
to crown this achievement of the Roosevelt work program.

We had the first stereo because father was an electrician and made it from
the magazines with the instruction on how to make things. It was no different
from the instructions that came with your plastic airplane that tells you how to
assemble it. Stereo was just bigger and plugged into the wall. One had to be
stupid or was trying to make people believe they could read, when they could
not, in order not to understand instructions. You have to kook at the pictures
and put the glue on the parts on the instructions. Big brother said he had
read enough instructions to not have to look at the pictures and knew where to
put the glue and assemble the part of the model airplanes just by looking at
them.

I was not jealous or angry but wanted to badly be like big brother and not
have to look at the instructions to know where to put the glue and assemble the
model airplanes. I also wanted to be able to oil all the gloves in the
neighborhood without taking the station manager oil, because that made father real
mad.

>From the absurd to the less absurd is the logic of mother and history. From
the naive dialectic to the more conscious or less naive dialectic is the
movement of cognitive functioning. Definitions of anything - including dialectics,
are by definition,  - limited, and because the abstract logic that establishes
the qualitative and quantitative boundary of what you are talking about is
being described.

For instance, fifty years ago the concept called "capitalism" could not have
been overthrown. Today some Marxist are over throwing this concept in favor of
what is called "the value producing system" and "bourgeois property
relations."  The value producing system identified as capitalism in the past century
was actually the industrial mode of production, which in itself is a specific
qualitative and quantitative configuration of the productive force, as it sits
on bourgeois property relations.

It gets deeper. Capitalism is not a mode of production. This is cutting edge
shit. Mode of production is not defined on the basis of an "ism." The "ism" is
a political manifestation of a mode of production and not the mode of
production itself. This requires one to think.

The question is not if one has or had an apocalyptic vision of the demise of
capitalist production, but the specific boundary in the evolution of the value
producing system and what causes it to undergo qualitative reconfiguration.

Any chump - sucker, can shoot fish in a barrel, especially if the barrel is
of a historical nature. A dissertation into dialectics is not a question of
"how does one apply dialectics," but rather under what conditions is the
dialectic unfolded. Today antagonism is pronounced.

On this basis we can get it on.

Melvin P.

Eye ay -
I against I
Flesh of my flesh
And mona my my

Two of a kind
But one won't survive

My image is reflect in the enemies eye
And his image is reflect in mine the same time.

Eye - aye
I against I
Flesh of my flesh
And mona my my

Two of one kind
But one won't survive

Right here is where the end gonna start at.

Conflict, contact, call back.
Fight a sin where the land is marked at.
Settle the despite about who the livest.

Free world answer is whoever survive this.

Only one of us can arrive forever
So you and I can't ride together
Can't live or can't die together
All we can do is collide together.
So I skillfully apply the pressure
Won't stop until I am forever.

One.

A doorstep where death never comes
Spread across time till my time never done
And I'm never done
Walk tall why and every run
And when they moveth I ever come.

Eye ay -
I against I
Flesh of my flesh
And mona my my

Two of a kind
But one won't survive

My image is reflect in the enemies eye
And his image reflect in mine the same time.


(Most Def from the Soundtrack Blade II. Title: "I Against I" or Massive
Attack)


Melvin P.


 .

.



More information about the Marxism mailing list