BRITISH COMMUNISM’S CULTURE WARS
An exhibition at the People’s History
Museum, Manchester, 9th June to 28th
August, 2017
Reviewed by Jim Burns
Looking around this small, but fascinating exhibition in Manchester,
I was intrigued by one or two items that pointed to the Party’s
opposition, about 1950 or so, to the many aspects of American
culture which, in the eyes of the cultural commissars, were being
imported into Britain and consequently corrupting the young people
of the country. Comics, pulp fiction, films, jazz. To be fair, the
Party wasn’t alone in condemning them, and church leaders,
politicians of all parties, and other worthy people, all added their
voices to the clamour for controls on imports of suspect materials.
I was 14 in 1950 and I’d just discovered Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie
Parker, and bebop. It wasn’t a music looked on kindly by the Party.
New Orleans-style jazz and the performances of rural blues singers
were acceptable and could be related to black (“Negro” it would have
been then) culture, but bebop and the sort of urban rhythm and blues
that big-city blacks favoured were not acceptable. I carried on
regardless, spending the money from my paper round on what few bebop
records were then available, and avidly reading the
Melody Maker rather than
the Daily Worker.
When it came to films, I was at one or other of the town’s 16
cinemas, usually watching a Western, instead of attending a
Party-organised showing of
Battleship Potemkin or other Russian classic. As for books, I
did read Jane Austen, Shakespeare, and Milton as part of my
schooling, but outside it I was finding paperbacks by Ernest Haycox
in back-street bookshops. A little later, when I was 18 and joined
the army, I spent almost three years in Germany where American books
were easily available and I read Faulkner, Steinbeck, Hemingway,
Caldwell, James Jones,
Norman Mailer, and many more. And then it was Kenneth Rexroth, the
Beats and Abstract Expressionism. I suppose that, by the standards
of the Party stalwarts, my “Americanisation” and associated
corruption was complete.
That little exercise in nostalgia was, as I pointed out earlier,
triggered by some of the items in the exhibition I’m reviewing, and
I have to stress that there is much more to it than I’ve so far
indicated. But it did also strike me that the whole thing may well
be an exercise in nostalgia for many older people, as well as
providing a glimpse into a lost world for some younger ones. The
clothes, the causes, the people, the publications, the seriousness,
the solidarity; how strange they must seem to anyone under the age
of 40. And perhaps to many people over 40, unless at some point
they’d been involved in radical activity of one sort or another.
In its heyday, the British Communist Party had been culturally
dynamic, at least within the boundaries prescribed by the Party
hierarchy. I suspect that, outside the hierarchy, quite a few people
ignored the strictures about what to watch, read, or listen to.
There were surely Party members in the audiences when I saw John
Wayne in She Wore a Yellow
Ribbon at the Plaza Cinema in Preston,
and some who read Raymond Chandler crime novels.
The exhibition naturally focuses on aspects of culture that the
Party approved of. Folk music, socialist choirs, summer schools. By
the 1960s even some areas of pop culture were starting to seem
worthy of attention, especially as a tool towards bringing in
younger recruits. The Party supported magazines like
Arena and
Daylight, publishing
poetry, fiction, and commentary. I have a copy of the first issue of
Arena in front of me as I
write. It dates from 1950 and features work by Tristan Tzara, long
past his Dada phase, Paul Eluard, Albert Camus, and others.
Daylight (not to be
confused with an earlier publication, edited by John Lehmann) I’ve
never seen, but from the cover of one issue shown in the exhibition,
I’d guess it wanted to appeal to a wider readership than
Arena.
I never thought of joining the Communist Party, much as I was always
curious about its activities and read its publications. I recall
attending a couple of Party conventions held in Manchester in, I think, the 1970s or early
1980s. My curiosity was aroused, and in any case there were
bookstalls, and I’ve always been a collector of books and magazines.
And I knew about its early history. But I never have been much of a
joiner, even of the Boy Scouts when I was young. They, like the
communists, seemed to want to protect me from the pleasures of the
American films, music, books I liked so much, and either get me to
sing in support of the Empire, or think that life behind the Iron
Curtain was to be admired. It wasn’t when I visited East Berlin and Prague.
This has been a purely personal response to
British Communism’s Culture
Wars, and no matter what I’ve said I found it totally absorbing
and, in its way, quite moving. People were genuinely trying to
change things and make a better world. The dedication of the
rank-and-file members was only to be admired, even if the leadership
was doubtful. Many
years ago I worked with a man who had been a member of the Young
Communist League and, in the 1940s, had heard Harry Pollitt speak at
the Free Trades Hall in Manchester. He was long
past his days as a young revolutionary, as he would jokingly
describe himself, but he would sometimes get a little wistful about
his experiences. He once told me that, no matter what anyone said
about communism, there were a lot of good people in the Party.
I’m sure he was right.
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