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vendredi, 22 juillet 2016

In Search of Fascism

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In Search of Fascism

Review:

Fascism: The Career of a Concept, Paul E. Gottfried, Northern Illinois University Press, 256 pages

Ex: http://www.theamericanconservative.com

The term “fascism” is employed with such regular enthusiasm by everyone from political activists to celebrities and academics that our pundits could be forgiven for assuming that fascists lurk behind every corner and at every level of government. MSNBC host Keith Olbermann accused the Bush administration of fascism. Thomas Sowell has called President Obama a fascist. A quick online search yields accusations that Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton are fascists. The term “Islamofascism” circulates widely, and groups as dissimilar as campus Social Justice Warriors and the leaders of the National Rifle Association have been dubbed fascist.

It’s clear why fanatics or dogmatists would label their opponents with the f-word: rhetorical play scores political points. But is there ever any truth behind the label?

Paul Gottfried enters the semantic fray with a clarifying and elucidating new book, Fascism: The Career of a Concept. His study is not based on new archival finds. It’s not narrative history. It’s instead a comparative study of different treatments of fascism in which Gottfried discloses his preferred methodologies and favorite historians. Despite the prevalence of allegations of fascism, Gottfried submits that the only indisputable example of fascism in practice is Mussolini’s interwar Italy.

“This study will examine the semantic twists and turns undergone by the word fascism since the 1930s,” Gottfried explains. “Like other terms that have changed their meaning, such as conservatism and liberalism,” he continues, “fascism has been applied so arbitrarily that it may be difficult to deduce what it means without knowing the mindset of the speaker.”

The term fascism, as it has gained currency in our radio-television lexicon, lacks a clear referent. Its use reveals more about the speaker than about the signified phenomenon: the context in which the term is used can determine the speaker’s place on the left-right spectrum. “Fascism” has become a pejorative and disparaging marker for views a speaker dislikes; it’s a name that relegates the named to pariah status, provoking censorship and shaping basic notions about political figures and policies. “Fascism now stands,” Gottfried says, “for a host of iniquities that progressives, multiculturalists, and libertarians all oppose, even if they offer no single, coherent account of what they’re condemning.”

Gottfried is frustrated by the vagaries and false analogies resulting from the use of “fascism” as rhetorical weaponry. He criticizes “intellectuals and publicists” who are nominally antifascist yet “feel no obligation to provide a historically and conceptually delimited definition of their object of hate.”

Tracing the evolution of the meanings and representations of this political ideology in the works of numerous researchers, Gottfried’s study can seem, at times, like an amalgam of book reviews or bibliographical essays—or like several synopses strung together with his own comparative evaluations. Academics more than casual readers will appreciate these efforts to summarize the field, although anyone wishing to acquire a surface-level knowledge of this deep subject will come away edified.

foro.jpgSo what exactly is fascism? This question, Gottfried insists, “has sometimes divided scholars and has been asked repeatedly ever since Mussolini’s followers marched on Rome in October 1922.” Gottfried presents several adjectives, mostly gleaned from the work of others, to describe fascism: reactionary, counterrevolutionary, collectivist, authoritarian, corporatist, nationalist, modernizing, and protectionist. These words combine to form a unified sense of what fascism is, although we may never settle on a fixed definition because fascism has been linked to movements with various distinct characteristics. For instance, some fascists were Christian (e.g., the Austrian clerics or the Spanish Falange) and some were anti-Christian (e.g., the Nazis). There may be some truth to the “current equation of fascism with what is reactionary, atavistic, and ethnically exclusive,” Gottfried acknowledges, but that is only part of the story.

“The initial momentum for locating fascism on the counterrevolutionary Right,” writes Gottfried, “came from Marxists, who focused on the struggle between fascists and the revolutionary Left and the willingness of owners of forces of production to side with the fascists when faced by revolutionary threats.”

Fascism is not necessarily a creature of the counterrevolutionary right, however. Gottfried maps an alternative tradition that describes fascism as a leftist collectivist ideology. Fascism promoted welfare policies and thrived on revolutionary fervor. In the United States in the 1920s and ’30s, the progressives more than self-identified members of the right celebrated and admired European fascism. FDR praised and imitated Mussolini. Such details seem to substantiate the claim that fascism was intrinsically leftist, at least in the eyes of U.S. citizens who were contemporaries of interwar fascism. But, Gottfried notes, “Fascism drew its strength from the attempt to oppose the Left while taking over some of its defining characteristics.”

Gottfried’s book may not be intended as an antidote for the less rigorous and nakedly polemical Liberal Fascism. Unlike the author of that work, Jonah Goldberg, who seemed genuinely surprised by his discovery of what was in fact a well-documented connection between fascism and the left, Gottfried is characteristically measured and careful as he compares research rather than selectively and pugnaciously repurposing it. Gottfried is taken seriously by those who reject his own paleoconservatism—including those on the left who find his views unpalatable or downright offensive—because he doesn’t smear opponents or resort to knee-jerk, grandiose claims to shock or surprise.

Gottfried concludes that fascism is right-wing after all, not left-wing, even if its concrete manifestations have been more militant than traditional conservatism. Like traditional conservatives, fascists did not believe that government programs could alter human nature, and they saw little value in the human-rights mantras extolling the individual’s capacity for self-government.

Today the managerial state carries out leftist projects on behalf of equality and diversity, but that was not true for interwar European governments. Fascism was a product of the 20th century in which conservative adoration for aristocratic hierarchy seemed anachronistic and pragmatically useless as a political stratagem. Without an established aristocracy in their way, fascists constructed an artificial hierarchy to control the populace: a mythical and symbolic hierarchy attracted to the aesthetics of high modernism. The interwar fascists colored brute force with nationalist iconography and aestheticized violence as a cathartic and regenerative force against decadence.

Probably all treatments of “fascism” as a cohesive, homogeneous philosophy held together by likeminded adherents are wrong, incomplete, careless, or dishonest. Gottfried believes that the term “fascism” has undergone unwarranted manipulation since the German historian Ernst Nolte conflated fascism and Nazism in a manner that enabled less astute critics on “the multicultural Left” to justify “their attack on their opponents as Nazis and not simply generic fascists.”

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The failure or refusal to distinguish between totalizing, exterminatory Nazism and other, less extreme forms of fascism may signal the intentional propagation of a political agenda. Gottfried cautions against such politicization of history. “History,” he warns, “is of immediate practical interest to political partisans, and this affinity has allowed a contentious activity to be sometimes grossly abused.”

The popular embrace of incorrect or highly contested notions of fascism has generated media sensationalism about an ever-imminent fascist threat that must be eradicated. The media trope of looming fascism has provoked demands for the kinds of censorship and authoritarianism that, ironically, characterize the very fascism that supposedly needs to be eliminated. Gottfried’s study is too particular, nuanced, and multifaceted to be reduced to simple correctives for these mass-media trends. It is, however, a model for the type of work that can earn the right a hearing from more attentive audiences. Critiques of fascism from the right must follow Gottfried’s lead, not Goldberg’s, to attain credibility.

Allen Mendenhall is an assistant attorney general for the state of Alabama and an adjunct professor at Faulkner University and Huntingdon College. Views expressed in this review are his own and do not reflect those of his employer.

vendredi, 27 mai 2016

Is Jonah Goldberg Right About Fascism?

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Is Jonah Goldberg Right About Fascism?

By

At the recent Scholars’ Conference (sponsored by the L von M Institute) I asserted that while anti-New Deal commentators between the two wars were not entirely wrong in their analysis of fascism, current attempts to identify fascism with the Left are rarely more than GOP rhetoric.  Since this point may have puzzled my listeners, it may be helpful to explain what my statement meant. My clarification may be all the more necessary since I said roughly the same thing on Tom Woods’s radio program, without going into details. In the 1930s and 1940s, such critics of the New Deal and FDR’s liberal internationalism as John T. Flynn, Albert J. Nock, Garet Garrett and Frank Chodorov were fond of associating the politics of the American government with European fascism. This criticism went back to the 1930s and in the case of Flynn, was originally aimed at the Italian fascist regime. Flynn and his followers feared that fascism, which like the New Deal offered a halfway house between capitalism and socialism, was more insidious for the West than Communism:  “A man could support publicly and with vehemence this system of the Planned Economy without incurring the odium of being too much of a radical for a polite and practical society.” Fascism with its “Planned Capitalism,” insisted Flynn, was the “direct opposite of liberalism.” (Flynn in this passage was using the word liberal in its true historical sense.) This newly conceived regime was “an attempt, somewhere between Communism and capitalism, to organize a stable society and to do it by setting up a state equipped with massive powers over the lives and fortunes of its citizens.”

The Roosevelt Myth_Flynn.jpgFlynn’s still highly readable The Roosevelt Myth includes accurate, well-phrased observations, however much they may overestimate the staying power of the fascist model. But in his assumption that the fascist state would have long-term appeal, Flynn was hardly alone. In 1933, FDR and his Brain Truster Rexford Tugwell thought that fascism would be here to stay, and as late as 1940, James Burnham viewed it as one of the several forms of the modern administrative state —and possibly the most successful form that it would assume in the course of the twentieth century.

I should also indicate at this point what Flynn and his confreres never said. They did not claim that fascists were leftists, at a time when New Dealers and the editorial board of the very leftist New Republic imagined that Mussolini was their ideological ally. Critics of the New Deal who discerned overlaps between Mussolini and FDR pointed to a shared managerial style of rule. They viewed fascist Italy and welfare-state America as related threats to a liberal society, and the fact that FDR in the early and mid-1930s, before Mussolini’s sudden about-face and alliance with Nazi Germany, expressed admiration for his Italian counterpart, seemed to prove the validity of Flynn’s comparison.  I would not hold it against Flynn, Garrett, and Nock that they failed to anticipate my own arguments about Italian fascism. From their historical position, they may not have seen this development as a make-believe revolutionary movement, which came to power largely as a check on the revolutionary Left.

This was not obvious to most American observers in the 1930s, who may have been more likely to have noticed the political resemblances between fascist Italy and New Deal America. The extensive labor legislation introduced in America in the 1930s looked at least on paper like the “Labor Charter” introduced by Mussolini’s government in 1926. The pump-priming efforts undertaken by both governments to deal with the Great Depression were noticeably similar. Nor was there any reason in the early or mid- 1930s or perhaps even later for an intelligent foreign observer to think that fascism would soon be on its way out. By the early 1930s, there was a “fascist international” that sought to compete with the Communist movement for support throughout the world.  Italian fascist journalists were then taking the side of indigenous populations against English colonialism. (The Italian fascist government generally viewed England as their main rival; however between 1933 and 1936 Mussolini’s hostility was transferred temporarily to Nazi Germany.)

godwinslaw.jpgWhile New Deal critics tried to understand fascism in their time, today’s GOP propagandists do not try to understand anything about this interwar movement. They make their living by labeling the Democrats “fascists” and then identifying fascism and the Democrats with the Left.  Jonah Goldberg’s best-selling pseudo-scholarship Liberal Fascism (2007) may be the most popular example of this propaganda technique but (alas) Goldberg’s nonsense is far from the worst of its genre. In researching my monograph, I unearthed so many abuses of the “f” word by GOP publicists and conservatism, inc., that I finally gave up cataloging them. I also discovered that no one (except perhaps for old-fashioned Habsburg monarchists) really believes that “fascism” was or is a leftist movement. When neocons start screaming about “Islamofascism,” I doubt that they’re suggesting that Muslim terrorists and multicultural Americans are ideological soulmates.

By this point fascism is not an ideological reference point but the verbal equivalent of a chair that one throws at one’s enemy’s head. Just a few minutes ago, I found this substantiated when neoconservative luminary Robert Kagan announced that “Trump will bring fascism to America.” Finally, I can’t believe that anyone but a total idiot would imagine that American affirmative action programs (when enforced by Democrats but supposedly not Republicans) resemble Hitler’s exclusion of Jews from professions and from German citizenship during the 1930s. When I encountered this comparison in Goldberg’s turgid screed, I remember saying to myself I hope he’s joking or simply lying to sell books to Dittoheads. Any other reason for his lunatic statements is too scary to consider.

In any case, I get exasperated by those who try to trace Goldberg’s opinions back to Flynn and other anti-New Deal critics of fascism. Contrary to what is suggested in the introductory chapter of Fascism: Career of a Concept Goldberg and his fellow-publicists in the GOP establishment are not offering an interpretation of fascism that goes back to the interwar American Right. These specialists in PR have never thought seriously about the “f” word and happily run together Italian fascism, German Nazis, Hillary Clinton and whatever else the GOP establishment is currently running against.  By contrast, Flynn and others of his time and persuasion were better-informed analysts. Their critical commentaries on the “fascist revolution” and its relation to the New Deal are still worth revisiting.

00:05 Publié dans Histoire | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0) | Tags : paul gottfried, fascisme, histoire, états-unis | |  del.icio.us | | Digg! Digg |  Facebook

mardi, 12 avril 2016

Robert Stark interviews Paul Gottfried about his book Fascism: The Career of a Concept

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Robert Stark interviews Paul Gottfried about his book Fascism: The Career of a Concept

Listen Here!

Robert Stark and co-host Alex von Goldstein talk to Professor Paul Gottfried about his latest book Fascism: The Career of a Concept

Ex: http://www.attackthesystem.com

pgfasccQXL._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_.jpgTopics include:

How Fascism is used as a pejorative to describe any opposing political movement

Defining Fascism and how most people who use the term cannot define it

Mussolini’s Italy as the truest form of fascism

How Hitler was not a generic Fascist and that

Franco in Spain was not a Fascist at all

Ernst Nolte‘s Fascism In Its Epoch and his view that fascism was a counter-revolutionary movement to socialism

Non European movements influenced by Fascism such as Black Nationalist Marcus Garvey, Zionist Ze’ev Jabotinsky, and the Hindutva movement in India

The de-Nazification process in postwar Germany and how it had a delayed effect

The Frankfurt School(Cultural Marxist) who have used anti-Fascism to shape the political discourse

Cultural Marxist versus Traditional Marxist and how the former abandoned economic issues

How mainstream conservatives also missuse the term (ex.Eco-fascism, Islamo-Fascism, Liberal Fascism)

The myth that fascism was on the left

How conservatives have adopted the values and rhetoric of the left

Paul Gottfried’s article Will a Trump Victory Actually Dislodge the Neocons?

dimanche, 13 mars 2016

Chronique de livre : Philippe Baillet "Le parti de la vie"

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Chronique de livre : Philippe Baillet "Le parti de la vie"

Ex: http://cerclenonconforme.hautetfort.com

Recension: Philippe Baillet, Le parti de la vie ; Clercs et guerriers d’Europe et d’Asie, Akribéia, 2015

2833559705.JPGLe nom de Philippe Baillet ne vous est peut-être pas inconnu : il est le traducteur français de Julius Evola mais également l’auteur de nombre d’articles et de quatre autres livres. Le parti de la vie se compose justement de huit de ses études, certaines déjà publiées, d’autres considérablement enrichies par rapport à leur première version. Deux d’entre elles (sur Yukio Mishima et Giorgio Locchi dont un texte inédit en français se trouve d’ailleurs en annexe) sont inédites.

Ces articles ont été rassemblés à dessein et explorent plusieurs aspects de ce que l’auteur nomme "le parti de la vie". Il le désigne comme suit : « ce vaste mouvement historique européen dont Nietzsche fut tout à la fois le fondateur, le penseur inaugural et, parfois, le poète. Il englobe donc l’œuvre de Nietzsche lui-même et tout ce qui s’inscrit vraiment dans sa postérité, dont notamment le phénomène national-socialiste [et] le fascisme historique ». L’ombre du philosophe au marteau plane donc plus que toute autre sur cet ouvrage.

Dans une préface éclairante, Philippe Baillet explique le but de son livre : donner les traits fondamentaux d’une vision du monde, d’une Weltanschauung, qui, à la suite de Nietzsche, se veut un rejet de ce monde moderne « voué au culte de la marchandise, à la fabrication de l’artifice et à l’attrait pour le difforme ». Face à des Européens affaiblis et perdant peu à peu leurs instincts essentiels, engoncés dans leurs pseudo-valeurs égalitaristes et humanistes, Le parti de la vie se veut un plaidoyer en faveur des éternelles lois de la vie, de la sélection, de la perfection, en un mot : de l’esthétisme.

Fort d’une culture et d’une érudition impressionnantes, l’auteur revient en détail sur plusieurs grandes figures chez qui l’on retrouve des qualités essentielles. L’historien italien du phénomène fasciste Renzo de Felice est par exemple loué, non pour ses opinions politiques mais pour la probité philologique de son œuvre, « signe de grande santé intellectuelle ». Plus loin, c’est Abel Bonnard en tant que « poète de l’ordre » et ennemi acharné de la laideur et de l’individualisme qui voit son œuvre (en particulier Les Modérés datant de 1936) décryptée par Baillet. Celui-ci analyse les aspirations profondes des figures qu’il présente et souligne ce qu’elles peuvent apporter à notre vision du monde. Ainsi Mishima et son « dépassement de l’individualité ». Comme l’indique le sous-titre du Parti de la vie, l’Asie tient une place réelle dans l’ouvrage en ce sens que les enseignements de sa pensée traditionnelle peuvent nous aiguillonner, nous Européens, vers la prise de conscience des impasses de l’intellectualisme. Des similitudes existent et il est souligné par exemple que, chez Lao-Tseu comme chez Nietzsche, on perçoit ce fil directeur qu’est la vitalité, fruit d’une « vision biocentrique de la vie ».

Alors que de nombreux mythes entachent la connaissance et la réelle compréhension du fascisme et du national-socialisme, Philippe Baillet revient sur plusieurs d’entre eux. Il met en lumière bien des faits méconnus ou incompris mais pourtant lourds de sens. La partie de l’ouvrage consacrée à Giorgio Locchi est, à cet égard, révélatrice. Même s’il est oublié aujourd’hui, Locchi demeure une référence fondamentale pour son analyse du phénomène fasciste en Europe. Pour lui, le phénomène fasciste, interprété de manière plus philosophique qu’historique, est « la première manifestation politique d’un phénomène culturel et spirituel : [le]« surhumanisme ». » Fruit d’une vision du monde où le mythe est primordial, on y retrouve, comme chez Nietzsche, cette idée de « sélection voulue, systématique et appliquée ». Par ailleurs, Locchi insiste sur l’origine nietzschéenne du système de valeurs du phénomène fasciste (donc de la Révolution Conservatrice et, par incidence, du National-Socialisme où se retrouve le « même univers de pensée »). Ce système de valeurs basé sur le surhumanisme et l’homme nouveau est singulièrement opposé à celui de l’égalitarisme qui comprend « le christianisme en tant que projet mondain, la démocratie, le libéralisme, le socialisme, le communisme. »

En à peine plus de 200 pages, Philippe Baillet remplit le but assigné à cet ouvrage : fournir des cartouches intellectuelles à notre vision du monde. Son livre est riche et, surtout, il est à méditer en ces temps incertains. Face au spectre des « guerres raciales et civilisationnelles, entrecroisées avec des guerres civiles » qui nous attendent, nous devons impérativement nous préparer avec une doctrine claire nous permettant de nous affirmer en tant qu’héritiers de la tradition européenne. Ce livre nous y aidera.

Rüdiger / C.N.C.

Note du C.N.C.: Toute reproduction éventuelle de ce contenu doit mentionner la source.

 

dimanche, 27 décembre 2015

Lawrence Dennis: 1893–1977

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Lawrence Dennis: 1893–1977

December 25, Christmas Day, is also the birthday of one of the most exotic and courageous thinkers ever to stride across the American political stage: Lawrence Dennis.

Now, there are three basic facts everyone learns about Mr. Dennis at the outset.

One: he was a leading Right-wing economic and political theorist of the 1930s and ’40s—an American fascist if you will. And he got caught up the the “Great Sedition Trial of 1944” (a trial that ended inconclusively when Judge Edward Eicher, a former Iowa congressman, suddenly dropped dead and no one cared to reconvene proceedings).

lawrfencedennisAmGJL._SX334_BO1,204,203,200_.jpgTwo: Lawrence Dennis was part African-American, a fact that was marginally believable at first glance, given his “swarthy” or “bronzed” complexion and short, wiry hair. Dennis could “pass for white” if he wanted to, and so he did for several decades. But this was mainly for reasons of convenience. During his years at Exeter, Harvard, the diplomatic corps, and Wall Street, talking about a mulatto heritage was just an unnecessary complication, and so he didn’t. At the end of the day there is no reason to believe he was ashamed of his mixed-race heritage; it is said that when he died in his eighties he was sporting an afro [2].

Dennis’s racial mixture, coupled with his radical-right politics, confounds political historians on the Left. They have no trouble dealing with the fact that W. E. B. DuBois, another light-skinned mulatto, went to Harvard and later joined the Communist Party USA. But to imagine another light-skinned man of Negro heritage was a fascist? And not only an American fascist, but former diplomat and famous diplomatic theorist. In 2007 a biography of Dennis was a published with the title of The Color of Fascism.[1] As one might expect from that lurid title, the publisher promoted the bio as a racial saga: a story of “deception” and hypocrisy and living in shame among virulent hatemongers.

But now we come to the third remarkable thing about Lawrence Dennis—maybe the weirdest fact of all. He had been a baby celebrity, a child preacher.

At the end of the 19th century, newspapers in New York and Chicago were fascinated by the something of this infant phenomenon, “Larney Dennis”—the Child Prodigy from Georgia, come to save yo’ souls!

Decades later, the whole notion of a colored moppet haranguing the sinners would become a routine item on the church-vaudeville circuit (Rev. Al Sharpton started out this way). But in the late 1890s this little hi-yaller preaching prodigy with the white frock and booming voice was one-of-a-kind, a huge drawing card:

“Pray! Pray! Down on yo’ knees and pray!”

A child’s quivering tones, yet instinct with power. Above a tiny form in shot white frock with a strange majesty in the upraised olive face and small commanding hand. Below a vast multitude of more than three thousand souls, curious, cynical, devout; yet all, believer and scoffer, alike, held in sway by this morsel of humanity.

In a word, Lawrence Dennis, the negro baby evangelist, was before his first New York audience at the Mount Olivet Baptist Church in West Fifty-third street this afternoon enacting one of the most remarkable scenes in the shifting life of the great metropolis.

Long before 4, the hour named for the service, the church was packed…

Little Lawrence shook the black curls confined at either side of his head with a pink ribbon and looked expectantly about.

“I am 5 years old,” in reply to the first query, “and I was bo’n on the 25th of December, Christ’s birthday.”

***

“Why are you here?” cried a negress from the middle of the house.

“To save New York,” ejaculated the preacher. “I’se got to save you goats.”

(Chicago Tribune, January 8, 1899)

lawrence-dennis.gifA most bizarre start in life for a diplomat, or Wall Street investment banker, or fascist economic theorist—all of which Dennis would be in the 1920s and ’30s.

It all seems mythical, this story of the white-frocked child evangelist;  so disconnected is it from Dennis’s adult careers. A bit like the Homeric story of Achilles on Skyros, disguised as a princess so he wouldn’t have to die in the Trojan Wars as prophecy predicted. (As you may recall, this experience gave Achilles such a tough hide that he went off and died in the Trojan Wars anyway.)

Lawrence Dennis’s break with his past came in his mid-teens, and it was drastic. He went to prep school at Philips Exeter and pretty much swept his childhood fame and negritude under the rug. He was a star debater at Exeter and then at Harvard College, where he crash-coursed an accelerated A.B. degree in two-and-a-half years. (This was rather less difficult than it sounds today: during the Great War, Harvard and Yale handed out course credits like doughnuts, so the boys could get to France, or come back and graduate without much effort.)

After that, it was the Foreign Service corps for Dennis, in Haiti, Romania, and Central America. It seems to be his time in Honduras and Nicaragua that radicalized this rising young diplomat. It became clear to him that Central America and the Caribbean—most of the Americas in fact—were the playthings, the game-board of the U.S. State Department and, ultimately, Wall Street. He tried to publish articles about revolutions in Honduras and Nicaragua in the Atlantic Monthly and Foreign Affairs, but Foggy Bottom embargoed them.[3]

Rather ironically, Dennis thereupon left the State Department and went to work for the Guaranty Trust Company for a while,[4] followed by the J. & W. Seligman investment bankers. Seligman sent Dennis to Lima, as their representative.

Dennis took one look and balked: the Wall Street loans to Peru were ill-constructed and predestined to fail. This was an old Wall Street trick, going back at least to the mid-19th century. The basic idea was that the investment bank would make loans to a Latin American country, which the country didn’t ever have a prayer of paying back. When the foreign government defaulted, the investment bank would demand that the US State Department and Treasury step in and guarantee the loans, by claiming assets or future revenues from the country.[5]

Lawrence Dennis quit Seligman and wrote some articles for The New Republic exposing these shenanigans in Peru. Thenceforth he was essentially barred from employment on both Wall street and the State Department. He didn’t much care. It was the height of the depression, 1932, and he wrote a well-received book, based on on diplomatic and banking experience, called Is Capitalism Doomed?[6]

The capitalism Dennis refers to here is not international banking per se, but rather the specific American brand of “Wild West” laissez-faire capitalism, with no governmental restraints and oversight. Drawing a parallel to Frederick Jackson Turner’s thesis about the closing of the American frontier in the 1890s, Dennis argued that the days of “Wild West” capitalism—arrant speculation, plutocratic strong-arming of Congress and weak foreign “republics”—were dead and gone.[7]

It was 1932, and there was no shortage of howls about the demise of capitalism. But oddball Dennis didn’t howl with the crowd. For him, the solution wasn’t some Bolshevik revolution that destroyed most existing structures of society and put an alien class on top. He proposed something much simpler: a nationalistic ethos that restrained the capitalists and put the American people’s needs into the driver’s seat. In other words, American fascism.

Is Capitalism Doomed? was mostly a reflection of Dennis’s diplomatic and Wall Street adventures. It took a few more years for him to articulate a cogent argument of why fascism, rather than bolshevism, was the proper replacement for freebooting Wall Street capitalism. This came with his 1940 treatise, The Dynamics of War and Revolution.[8]

Is Capitalism Doomed? had been published by Harper & Bros., as mainstream and old-line a New York publishing house as existed; but by the late ’30s Dennis’s fascist connections put him beyond the pale, and he had to distribute this through his own private imprint.[9]

Accordingly this Dennis book never got much distribution. But it is clear he was reaching the apogee of his political insight in such toothy passages as these:

Back in 1933 an 1934 I was one of the few writing Americans who saw that both socialism and nazism had to end in an extreme form of socialism by reason of the pressures of inevitable trends in social change. I derided the interpretations of Fascism and Naziism made equally  by the conservatives and the communists at the time. Incidentally, it is to be remarked the American communists and fellow travelers, who are as unsophisticated in politics as Wall Streeters or Mrs Roosevelt, helped both Mussolini no end in the early days by denouncing them as capitalist stooges. My book The Coming American Fascism, was treated my many critics as wholly irrelevant to Fascism because it did not accord with the the orthodox Moscow interpretation of this new phenomenon. On this point, the orthodox line of Union Square and the Union League Club was the same. . . .

To me in 1933-1936, as now, the idea then being advanced on Park Avenue and lower Third Avenue that the demagogue of a popular national socialist movement with a private army of the people under his orders could be the Charlie McCarthy of big businessmen was utterly preposterous. I have known intimately too many big businessmen to have any uncertainly as to the role they would be playing in any Charlie McCarthy act with a Hitler. Businessmen are socially the least intelligent and creative members of our ruling classes. . . .

Notes

dennissjwL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg1. Gerald Horne, The Color of Fascism: Lawrence Dennis, Racial Passing, and the Rise of Right-Wing Extremism in the United States (New York: New York University Press, 2007).

2. Ibid.

3. A more famous diplomat radicalized by similar experiences in Latin America was Sumner Welles, Undersecretary of State in the Cordell Hull years, who devoted a long book, Naboth’s Vineyard: The Dominican Republic 1844-1924 (New York: Payson and Clarke, 1928) to detailing the exploitation of that island nation by American banking interests.

4. Later Morgan Guaranty Trust; currently a segment of JPMorganChase.

5. Barbara Stallings, Banker to the third World: U.S. portfolio Investment in Latin America, 1900-1986 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987).

6. Lawrence Dennis, Is capitalism doomed? (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1932).

7. See Keith Stimely’s treatment of this topic, reprinted here [4] December 25, 2014.

8. Lawrence Dennis, The Dynamics of War and Revolution (New York: The Weekly Foreign Letter, 1940).

9. Justus Doenecke, “The Isolationist as Collectivist: Lawrence Dennis and the Coming of World War II” https://mises.org/library/isolationist-collectivist-lawre... [5]

Article printed from Counter-Currents Publishing: http://www.counter-currents.com

URL to article: http://www.counter-currents.com/2015/12/lawrence-dennis-1893-1977/

URLs in this post:

[1] Image: https://secure.counter-currents.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/lawrence-dennis.png

[2] sporting an afro: http://www.theguardian.com/world/2007/apr/04/usa.race

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[4] reprinted here: http://www.counter-currents.com/2014/12/lawrence-dennis-and-a-frontier-thesis-for-american-capitalism/

[5] https://mises.org/library/isolationist-collectivist-lawrence-dennis-and-coming-world-war-ii-0: https://mises.org/library/isolationist-collectivist-lawrence-dennis-and-coming-world-war-ii-0

 

vendredi, 30 octobre 2015

Le fascisme : un « étymon spirituel » à découvrir ?

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Le fascisme: un «étymon spirituel» à découvrir?

Sur le dernier ouvrage de Philippe Baillet

par Daniel COLOGNE

 

Note de la rédaction: Daniel Cologne rend ici hommage à Philippe Baillet qu'il a côtoyé notamment au "Cercle Culture & Liberté", structure qui a précédé la création de la revue évolienne "Totalité" (1977), dirigée ultérieurement par Georges Gondinet. Philippe Baillet, traducteur de Julius Evola, a été par la suite secrétaire de rédaction de "Nouvelle école", avant d'être évincé par le directeur de cette publication, qui pratiquait là son sport favori. L'intérêt du nouveau livre de Baillet réside surtout dans le fait qu'il rend hommage à Giorgio Locchi et poursuit la quête de ce dernier qui a donné à la "nouvelle droite" ses impulsions majeures avant d'être évincé de manière particulièrement inélégante par ce même directeur. 

 

* * *

 

Parmi les rencontres que j’ai faites durant ma période parisienne (1977 – 1983), celle de Philippe Baillet fut pour moi une des plus enrichissantes.

 

Co-fondateur de la revue Totalité, Baillet est l’un des principales artisans de la réception de l’œuvre de Julius Evola dans les pays francophones.

 

Sa maîtrise de l’italien lui permet de lire dans le texte original et de traduire avec fidélité de nombreux auteurs transalpins, dont l’énumération impressionne au chapitre 2 de la première partie de l’ouvrage ici recensé : Le Parti de la Vie. Clercs et guerriers d’Europe et d’Asie.

 

Il s’agit d’un recueil de textes initialement parus dans divers périodiques, dont Rivarol et Écrits de Paris, où j’ai moi-même collaboré entre 1977 et 1979.

 

Je reste reconnaissant à Philippe Baillet de m’avoir accordé son amical soutien, non exempt de critique toujours courtoisie, lors d’une conférence que j’ai prononcé en février 1979 au Cercle Péguy de Lyon. Dans la salle, il y avait une charmante et prometteuse étudiante nommée Chantal Delsol. Cette soirée rhodanienne demeure parmi les plus beaux souvenirs de mon séjour dans l’Hexagone.

 

L’émotion nostalgique s’efface devant la rigueur comptable de l’index, où Evola est cité douze fois, Guénon apparaît à trois reprises et Coomaraswamy ne récolte qu’une seule mention, en note infra-paginale.

 

Revenu à Nietzsche « comme référence essentielle » après « un très long détour (p. 15) » par le « traditionalisme intégral » des trois penseurs susdits, Baillet semble toutefois toujours considérer Evola comme inspirateur incontournable dans la perspective de La Désintégration du Système.

 

L’ouvrage de Giorgio Freda était abondamment commenté vers 1975 dans les milieux nationalistes-révolutionnaires. Il ne contenait rien d’original. Tout y était originel. Présents dans la préface du livre de Freda, les deux adjectifs s’opposent aussi dans la conclusion du recueil de Baillet.

 

Celui-ci évoque la haute figure de Lao-tseu : « Le vrai taoïste, lui, est insouciant de sa propre insouciance, qu’il ne donne pas en spectacle pour paraître “ original ”. Il est bien plutôt tourné vers l’originel (p. 233, c’est Baillet qui souligne). »

 

Quand on se rappelle que Révolte contre le monde moderne s’ouvre sur un extrait du Tao tö king, on peut conclure que l’ombre d’Evola plane sur ce florilège divisé en deux parties inégales, la première (six chapitres) relevant de la littérature et de l’histoire des idées, la seconde (deux chapitres) d’orientation plus nettement philosophique.

 

Le cloisonnement n’est toutefois pas étanche. L’auteur nous remet en mémoire l’œuvre littéraire de Mishima, extraordinaire en regard de sa courte existence : « Près de quarante romans, vingt recueils de nouvelles, dix-huit pièces de théâtre et quelques essais (p. 183). »

 

Parallèlement, quelques-uns des écrivains français analysés dans la première partie ont été attirés par l’Extrême-Orient. Même André Malraux, « un cabotin qui rêvait de s’inscrire dans la lignée des grands esthètes armés (p. 112) », connut une période japonisante, controversée, il est vrai. Rappelons aussi que La Condition humaine se passe en Chine.

 

En Chine : tel est précisément le titre d’un « ouvrage remarquable et devenu très rare (p. 79) » d’Abel Bonnard, dont Philippe Baillet se plaît à exhumer quelques brillantes phrases aux allures de maximes. « La Mort nous cache le regret de quitter le monde dans le bonheur de quitter les hommes (p. 108). »

 

Pierre Drieu connut aussi ce que le Belge Firmin Vandenbosch appelle « la tentation de l’Orient ». À l’auteur du Feu Follet, qui dirigea la Nouvelle revue Française sous l’Occupation, Baillet concède « l’élégance et l’honnêteté du désespoir ». Elles « forcent l’estime, voire l’admiration, que ne mérite sans doute pas l’œuvre, avec son ton trop souvent sentencieux, son style parfois médiocre, ses essais très inégaux, dans lesquels les meilleures intuitions s’arrêtent la plupart du temps au stade de l’esquisse (p. 111) ».

 

Étendues à Gabriele d’Annunzio et Ezra Pound, sommairement négatives en ce qui concerne Louis Aragon, les considérations d’ordre littéraire ne constituent pas l’essentiel du message délivré par Philippe Baillet.

 

Les amateurs de rapprochements inattendus goûteront celui effectué entre Nietzsche et Lao-tseu partageant « une vision biocentrique du monde (p. 202) ». Dans le cadre de cette étonnante parenté entre « deux univers de pensée » et en dépit de leur « éloignement racial, temporel, spatial et civilisationnel (p. 216) », Philippe Baillet redéfinit l’idée tant débattue de « volonté de puissance », « catégorie ontologique suprême (p. 218) », « sens originaire (p. 225) » non réductible au simple vitalisme bergsonien.

 

La « volonté de puissance » est synonyme de la « persévérance dans l’être ». Une filiation philosophique directe relie dès lors Nietzsche et Heidegger, et peut-être, en amont de l’histoire de la pensée européenne, le Wille zur Macht de Nietzsche et le conatus de Spinoza. En tout cas, la « volonté de puissance » s’affranchit de tout rapetissement tel que voudrait lui faire subir une certaine critique guénonienne en la confondant avec le jaillissement de « l’élan vital », avec « la création incessante d’imprévisible nouveauté », avec un vitalisme priapique et éjaculatoire.

 

Ailleurs dans l’ouvrage, certains guénoniens sont implicitement ciblés dans la mesure où ils jugent toute révolution anti-moderne impossible en raison des conditions cosmiques défavorables. Ce point de vue revient à catamorphoser le « traditionalisme intégral » en un mythe démobilisateur. L’Histoire n’est pas un progrès linéaire, mais elle n’est pas davantage une décadence unidirectionnelle. Comme le répétait souvent notre regretté ami Dominique Venner, elle a sa part d’imprévu, même si une véritable « astrologie mondiale », apte à saisir la respiration du mouvement historique, pourrait y introduire une frange de prévisibilité.

 

En l’occurrence, l’important est de ne pas « déserter la lutte pour la défense de la cité en raison du dégoût que celle-ci nous inspire (p. 104) ». Il ne faut pas « attendre que tout s’arrange grâce à la divine Providence (p. 105) », par une sorte de retournement automatique inscrit dans la marbre de la fatalité, par une espèce de choc en retour ou d’effet boomerang contre la pesanteur plurimillénaire de l’Âge Sombre (Kali Yuga).

 

À défaut de compter sur une improbable metanoïa de ce type, vers où convient-il de tourner le regard d’une espérance en une « régénération de l’Histoire (p. 133) », face au « mouvement irréversible » (François Hollande) que veut lui imprimer le finalisme égalitaire ?

 

Ce n’est ni du Front national ni des divers partis « populistes » européens qu’il faut attendre une salutaire réaction contre ceux qui souhaitent suspendre le vol du temps, non pas comme Lamartine sur les rives romantiques du lac du Bourget, mais au bord du bourbier social-démocrate perçu comme « horizon indépassable ».

 

Je partage totalement le point de vue qu’exprime Baillet dans les lignes qui suivent et dans son jugement sur le parti lepéniste.

 

« Je tiens évidemment pour acquis que les lecteurs auxquels je m’adresse ne nourrissent pas l’illusion de penser que les différents mouvements “ populistes ” qui engrangent des succès électoraux dans l’Europe d’aujourd’hui sont une résurgence du phénomène fasciste (p. 161). »

 

Quant au Front national, il « entretient désormais le comble de la confusion » en se présentant comme « le défenseur par excellence du républicanisme et du laïcisme (p. 101) ».

 

Philippe Baillet nous invite à rechercher « l’essence du fascisme », selon l’expression de Giorgio Locchi, dont une conférence est retranscrite (pp. 164 à 182) entre les deux parties du livre. Il s’agit en quelque sorte de trouver pour le fascisme l’équivalent de ce que le grand critique littéraire allemand Leo Spitzer, fondateur de la stylistique, veut faire surgir dans sa lecture des écrivains : un « étymon spirituel ».

 

Philippe Baillet s’interroge à propos d’un « nouveau regard (p. 21) » que la science et la recherche universitaires semblent porter, depuis quelque temps, sur le national-socialisme.

 

Johann Chapoutot affirme que le national-socialisme est porteur d’une Kulturkritik « prolixe et plus argumentée qu’on ne le dit (p. 22) ».

 

Plusieurs expéditions scientifiques en Amazonie, au Libéria et au Tibet, la reconversion de Leni Riefenstahl comme cinéaste du Sud-Soudan : voilà autant de faits avérés qui plaident en faveur d’une ouverture du nazisme au monde non européen. Ces réalités « sont encore largement méconnues dans nos propres rangs, quand elles ne sont pas purement et simplement ignorées (p. 247) ».

 

En revanche, on ne peut que constater l’hostilité de « beaucoup de hauts responsables nationaux-socialistes […] à la postérité d’Abraham, aux serviteurs de la Loi, de la Croix et du Livre, bref à tout l’univers mental du “ sémitisme ” au sens le plus large (p. 29) ».

 

Dans le sillage de Giorgio Locchi, Philippe Baillet diagnostique une « tendance époquale (p. 136) » dont nous subissons les effets pernicieux depuis deux millénaires : un sémitisme lato sensu, un judéo-christiano-islamisme, auquel doit s’opposer une « tendance époquale » surhumaniste.

 

Vie2.jpgRespectivement consacrés à Renzo de Felice et Giorgio Locchi, les chapitres 1 et 6 de la première partie posent les questions les plus fondamentales pour notre famille de pensée. Jusqu’où faire remonter la recherche de notre « moment zéro » (François Bousquet) ? Les étapes de la « tendance époquale » surhumaniste se succèdent-elles de manière continue ? Le fascisme lato sensu (dont le national-socialisme est provisoirement la forme la plus achevée) a-t-il été « prématuré (p. 142) », comme le laissent supposer certains passagers de Nietzsche prophétisant un interrègne nihiliste de deux siècles ?

 

Selon Locchi et Baillet, le « phénomène fasciste » de nature « transnationale et transpolitique (p. 136) » prend racine dans « la seconde moitié du XIXe siècle (p. 137) ». Baillet précise dès sa préface : « la grande réaction antirationaliste de la fin du XIXe siècle (p. 12) » marque l’origine du fascisme en tant qu’essence apte à « détrôner le cogito (p. 221) », cette formule finale soulignant la remarquable cohérence de l’auteur.

 

Mais pourquoi ne pas remonter encore plus loin, par exemple jusqu’à cet équivoque XVIIIe siècle qui préoccupe Renzo De Felice avant qu’il se spécialise dans la période mussolinienne ?

 

Car le siècle des prétendues « Lumières » et de l’Aufklarung ne fut pas seulement celui des philosophes néo-cartésiens instaurant « pour la première fois une culture de masse (p. 146) ». Il fut aussi celui des « illuminés » dont le « mysticisme révolutionnaire (p. 44) » fournit à l’historien l’occasion de réhabiliter « la dignité historiographique de l’irrationnel (p. 47) ». Le propos de De Felice est « d’insérer le “ fait mystique ” dans l’histoire, alors même que, selon lui, des tentatives dans ce sens n’ont été faites que par l’histoire littéraire à propos du Sturm und Drang et du romantisme (p. 44) ». Je rejoins Philippe Baillet dans son appel à compulser plus systématiquement les revues culturelles gravitant dans l’orbite du fascisme (allemand en l’occurrence) pour dévoiler certaines facettes d’un “ sens originaire ” ou d’un “ étymon spirituel ” chez Klinger, Lenz, Schiller, Herder, Hölderlin et Novalis, disait un jour Robert Steuckers cité en page 155. À titre anecdotique, je signale qu’un des plus brillants germanistes que j’ai croisés à l’Université libre de Bruxelles était d’origine togolaise et faisait une thèse de doctorat sur le Sturm und Drang.

 

Sur la « Révolution conservatrice », c’est bien entendu le travail de rassemblement d’Alain de Benoist (cité pages 134 et 155) qu’il faut saluer, tout en insistant sur un thème commun à Locchi et Baillet : la parfaite continuité de ce mouvement et du national-socialisme, même si certains « révolutionnaires-conservateurs (comme Armin Mohler, par exemple) ont « tenté de tourner les difficultés liées à cet incommode voisinage (p. 149) ».

 

Sous la forme du national-socialisme, la « tendance époquale surhumaniste » a-t-elle émergé trop tôt ? On peut le penser dans la mesure où la « tendance époquale » opposée, de nature « sémitique », n’était pas encore en état d’épuisement. Elle refait surface aujourd’hui dans « le panislamisme radicalisé », ses « formes exacerbées de ressentiment culturel » et sa « haine raciale patente (p. 161) ».

 

Le seul passage du livre de Baillet qui puisse laisser le lecteur sur sa faim est celui où l’islamisme est ainsi réduit à l’influence de facteurs psychologiques. Je conseille la lecture de l’analyse plus fine de François Bousquet, cité plus haut, dans la revue Éléments (n° 156, pp. 22 à 24).

 

Selon Bousquet, toute religion est coextensive d’un devenir historico-culturel et un exemple éloquent en est fourni par le Christianisme, qui peut être « interprété comme une métamorphose complexe de l’ancestrale religion païenne (p. 137) ». En l’occurrence, Baillet fait écho aux idées de Wagner, l’un des pôles de la « tendance époquale surhumaniste » (l’autre pôle étant évidemment Nietzsche).

 

Mais la mondialisation post-moderne favorise, par une sorte de mutation génétique, l’émergence de religions d’un type nouveau qui, à l’instar des « frères ennemis » de l’évangélisme et du salafisme, aspirent à renouer avec leur « moment zéro », leur origine immaculée, leur paléo-tradition non encore entachée par les vicissitudes de l’Histoire et les contraintes de ce que Charles Péguy appelle la nécessaire « racination » du spirituel dans le charnel.

 

À la lumière de l’article de Bousquet, le « panislamisme radicalisé » apparaît motivé par quelque chose de bien plus essentiel que la « haine » et le « ressentiment ».

 

Par ailleurs, une question mérite d’être posée : la recherche d’une essence fasciste « transpolitique » et « transnationale » (adjectif également utilisé par Bousquet dans son examen des « religions mutantes ») n’est-elle pas assimilable à la quête du « moment zéro », hors sol, hors temps et antérieur à toute « racination » ?

 

Rechercher l’essence du fascisme revient à découvrir son arché (le principe, l’origine) sans perdre de vue sa coextensivité à une genosis (le devenir).

 

C’est à dessein que j’emploie les termes inauguraux de l’Ancien Testament, car je ne suis convaincu, ni de la corrélation du « sémitisme » et de l’égalitarisme, ni de la désignation des monothéismes sémitiques comme ennemi global et principal.

 

Le mépris des Juifs pour les goyim, l’hostilité des Chrétiens envers les mécréants, l’aversion de l’Islam pour les infidèles sont analogues au dédain que peuvent ressentir les disciples de Nietzsche face aux « derniers hommes » qui se regardent en clignant de l’œil et se flattent d’avoir inventé le bonheur.

 

D’autre part, plutôt que « désigner l’ennemi », ne faut-il pas prioritairement identifier celui qui nous désigne comme ennemi ? À mes yeux, il ne fait pas de doute que c’est le laïcisme stupidement revendiqué par le Front national.

 

Quelle que soit l’étymologie basse-latine (laicus, commun, ordinaire) ou grecque (laos, le peuple, dont le pluriel laoi signifie « les soldats »), le laïcisme est à la fois égalitaire et profanateur.

 

D’un côté, il réduit les êtres humains à ce qu’ils ont de plus ordinaire en commun. De l’autre, il déclare une guerre permanente à tout ce qui relève du spirituel, du métaphysique, du cosmologique et du sacré.

 

René Guénon a très bien vu que l’égalitarisme ne serait qu’une première étape de la modernité. Dans un second temps sont appelées à émerger une « contre-hiérarchie » et une « parodie » de spiritualité. S’il faut éviter les pièges de l’apolitisme et du fatalisme tendus par certains guénoniens, il convient tout autant de garder en mémoire le message d’un maître à penser dont le diagnostic de « chaos social », entre autres analyses prémonitoires, se révèle d’une brûlante actualité.

 

Le mérite de Philippe Baillet est de dire clairement les choses : une révolution anti-moderne ne peut qu’être synonyme de rétablissement des valeurs d’ordre, d’hiérarchie et d’autorité. Je demeure réservé quant à l’adjectif « surhumaniste », trop nettement corollaire de la référence nietzschéenne, alors que la quête du « sens originaire » de la contre-modernité peut nous faire remonter au moins jusqu’au pré-romantisme, pour nous en tenir à l’aire culturelle allemande.

 

Nous autres révoltés contre le monde moderne devons poursuivre le combat contre la « tendance époquale » égalitaire qui est loin d’être épuisée. Mais il nous incombe aussi de nous préparer à l’affrontement décisif entre, d’une part l’élite « transnationale » de clercs et de guerriers tels que nous les présente Philippe Baillet, et d’autres part « l’hyper-classe mondialiste » (Pierre Le Vigan), dont il est encore aujourd’hui difficile de cerner les contours, mais qui incarnera davantage l’aspect profanateur du laïcisme que sa facette égalitaire, si tant est qu’il faille diviser l’action anti-traditionnelle en deux étapes successives. Égalitarisme et « contre-hiérarchie » apparaissent plutôt comme des phénomènes simultanés, dès qu’on y regarde d’un peu plus près.

 

Cet enchevêtrement complexe d’influences négatives rend d’autant plus urgente la tâche de redéfinir un fascisme essentialisé, capable de riposter aux formules lapidaires et diffamatoires – comme « l’islamo-fascisme » de Manuel Valls – qui visent à confondre dans la même brutalité tous les ennemis du Nouvel Ordre Mondial.

 

Mais une essence ne persévère dans l’Être que sous les conditions historiques, culturelles, géographiques, voire ethniques d’une substance qui, dans le livre de Philippe Baillet, hormis les pénétrantes ouvertures vers l’Extrême-Asie, épouse un vaste courant germanique continu : le Sturm und Drang, Nietzsche, Wagner, la « Révolution conservatrice » et le national-socialisme.

 

L’« étymon spirituel » de Leo Spitzer ne perdure qu’en s’incarnant dans « une race, un milieu, un moment », selon la formule d’Hippolyte Taine, qui fut également un grand critique littéraire.

 

À notre époque de désinformation calomnieuse, Philippe Baillet a le courage d’écrire que le national-socialisme est « la seule forme historique de révolte anti-égalitariste que le monde moderne ait connue (p. 15) ».

 

Le cadre limité de la présente recension ne permet pas de mettre au jour toute la richesse du livre de Philippe Baillet.

 

Il faudrait s’attarder davantage sur le chapitre consacré à Bernard Faÿ, dont l’itinéraire « conduit de l’avant-garde artistique et littéraire au pétainisme, des sympathies initiales pour Roosevelt à la collaboration avec des responsables de la SS dans le cadre du combat anti-maçonnique, d’un cosmopolitisme snob à la passion du redressement national (p. 116) ».

 

Il conviendrait de commenter plus en détail les pages remarquables qu’inspire à Philippe Baillet la lecture d’Abel Bonnard, pour qui « l’ordre est le nom social de la beauté (p. 92) ».

 

« Face à l’uniformisation croissante des modes de vie et des cultures, face à la laideur moderne qui s’étend partout, le clerc authentique est appelé à témoigner pour les valeurs de l’esprit, d’abord en se faisant le chantre de l’ordre et de la civilisation (p. 78) ».

 

Baillet décèle chez Bonnard un « penchant pour la poésie de l’ordre, que résumait si bien, au Japon, l’alliance du tranchant du sabre et de la pureté du chrysanthème dans l’âme du guerrier (p. 93) ».

 

La « ligne de force générale » que l’auteur a vu émerger, au fur et à mesure de la relecture et de la ré-écriture augmentée de ses articles initiaux, mériterait d’être approfondie.

 

Cette « ligne de force » ne renvoie « jamais, fondamentalement, à un discours, une spéculation, des concepts, des idéologies, une dialectique, mais à leurs opposés : un mythe, une vision du monde, des images, une esthétique (p. 12) ».

 

Ce culte de la Beauté, qui n’est pas sans rappeler la poésie d’Émile Verhaeren, pourtant compagnon de route du socialisme, cette nécessité de percevoir le Beau même « dans ce qui peut être tragique (p. 19) », cet esthétisme se combine à un « conservatisme vital (p. 199) », à une vigoureuse dénonciation du « caractère absolument suicidaire de toutes les idéologies prétendant faire abstraction des lois de la vie au profit d’un monde artificiel entièrement recomposé dans une perspective où l’homme est la mesure de toutes choses (p. 20) ».

 

La célèbre proposition de Protagoras fut vivement critiquée par Platon, dont La République et Les Lois figurent, comme le De Monarchia de Dante ou l’Arthashâstra indien, parmi les grands textes « qui ignorent superbement les anti-principes démocratiques (p. 85) ».

 

C’est également à ces sources antiques et médiévales que doivent s’abreuver tous les non-conformistes désireux de penser « par delà les clichés (p. 117) », de dépasser les clivages manichéens et de partir en quête d’une fascisme essentialisé, coextensif d’un mouvement historique bien plus ample que celui amorcé par les prétendues « Lumières ».

 

Philippe Baillet nous offre une chatoyante galerie de portraits de clercs et de guerriers dans un livre réunissant la cohésion de la pensée, la brillance de l’écriture et la magistrale organisation du savoir.

 

L’auteur a choisi de nous dévoiler le « versant ensoleillé (p. 24) » de la montagne au sommet de laquelle, sur un équivoque et périlleux chemin de crête, le fascisme a proposé un parcours politique et un itinéraire métapolitique.

 

Les voyageurs de haute altitude s’exposent fatalement à des chutes au fond du précipice, dans l’abîme de l’autre versant.

 

Philippe Baillet ne se voile pas la face lorsqu’il stigmatise, par exemple, « le traitement réservé aux prisonniers russes (p. 28) » par les nazis dans les territoires de l’Est occupés.

 

La caste médiatique aujourd’hui dominante aurait certes préféré d’autres illustrations des excès meurtriers où le fascisme allemand a basculé.

 

Mais ce livre ne s’adresse pas à cette caste experte en victimisation préférentielle.

 

Il interpelle plutôt tous les membres de notre famille de pensée conscients de ne pouvoir se permettre l’économie d’une étape intellectuelle en compagnie des régimes et mouvements anti-égalitaires du XXe siècle.

 

Daniel Cologne

 

• Philippe Baillet, Le Parti de la Vie. Clercs et guerriers d’Europe et d’Asie, Akribeia, Saint-Genis-Laval, 2015, 243 p., 22 € (à commander à Akribeia, 45/3, route de Vourles, 69230 Saint-Genis-Laval).

Article printed from Europe Maxima: http://www.europemaxima.com

URL to article: http://www.europemaxima.com/?p=4563

PhB_1.JPGLe Parti de la vie

 

Clercs et guerriers d’Europe et d’Asie

Philippe Baillet

Le « parti de la vie » est constitué de tous ceux en qui sont encore présents et actifs les éléments originaires du réel occultés par la modernité : la voix de la race et du sang, les instincts élémentaires de légitime défense et de protection des siens, la solidarité ethnoraciale, la grande sagesse impersonnelle du corps, le sens de la beauté conforme aux types. Qu’il s’agisse de réalités méconnues du régime national-socialiste ou de l’anti-intellectualisme fasciste, de l’ordre en tant que « nom social de la beauté » chez Abel Bonnard ou de Giorgio Locchi insistant sur le caractère nécessairement « mythique » du discours surhumaniste, de l’intimité possible de la chair avec les idées selon Mishima ou de la nature « biocentrique » de la vision taoïste du monde, etc. – tout ici renvoie à une esthétique incarnée, radicalement étrangère à la postérité d’Abraham, aux serviteurs de la Loi, de la Croix et du Livre, aux « Trois Imposteurs » (Moïse, Jésus, Mahomet). Apparemment inactuel, ce livre explore donc avec rigueur le « versant ensoleillé » d’une Cause diffamée, enracinant ainsi les convictions dans la dynamique même des lois de la vie.

Contient un texte inédit en français de Giorgio Locchi.

Index.

248 p.

Pour commander:

http://www.akribeia.fr/akribeia/1712-le-parti-de-la-vie.html

samedi, 17 octobre 2015

La rivoluzione nazionale di Filippo Corridoni

Filippo Corridoni_CCM.jpg

La rivoluzione nazionale di Filippo Corridoni

da Gennaro Malgieri
Ex: http://www.barbadillo.it

FilippoM849659.jpgIl 23 ottobre di cento anni fa Filippo Corridoni, giovane sindacalista rivoluzionario, già affermato agitatore politico, interventista, cadeva eroicamente all’età di 28 anni, dopo pochi mesi dall’entrata in guerra dell’Italia, nella cosiddetta «Trincea delle Frasche», nei pressi di San Martino del Carso. Il giovane soldato guidava un drappello di commilitoni cantando l’inno di Oberdan, avvicinandosi alle postazioni austriache. La sua «leggenda» fiorì immediatamente.

 

Il fascismo ne fece un precursore della «rivoluzione nazionale». Mussolini, che gli era stato amico e con lui aveva condiviso le battaglie sindacaliste e interventiste, s’impegnò personalmente nella costruzione del «mito». La città natale, Pausula, nelle Marche, prese il nome di Corridonia; un monumento venne eretto a Parma, teatro di alcune delle sue più significative «gesta» rivoluzionarie; in tutti i borghi e le città italiane gli venne dedicata una strada.

Come si conviene quando si tratta di un martire che è stato pure un precoce ideologo, oltre che attivissimo militante, nel rievocarne la figura generalmente si è più portati ad enfatizzarne il sacrificio piuttosto che a scandagliarne il pensiero. È questo il destino toccato a Corridoni la cui elaborazione culturale all’interno del movimento rivoluzionario social-sindacalista è restata sullo sfondo della sua azione lasciando incompresa la portata innovatrice della sua concezione «sovversiva» agli inizi del Novecento. La maggior parte degli scritti a lui dedicati tra le due guerre hanno infatti avuto quasi esclusivamente intenti apologetici. È indubitabile che questa «limitazione» abbia nuociuto alla diffusione delle idee corridoniane. Tuttavia, pur attribuendo all’immatura morte la ragione principale della notorietà di Corridoni, non è detto che essa non la si possa considerare come il punto più alto e conclusivo della sua stessa militanza rivoluzionaria e inquadrarla, pertanto, al di là delle oggettive valenze umane, come la «materializzazione» di una parola e di un pensiero coerenti con un’azione complessivamente dispiegata in funzione dell’affermazione di una visione del mondo e della vita che prevedeva anche il sacrificio supremo.

Filippo_Corridoni.jpgLa morte di Corridoni, quindi, ha tutto il senso di un «sacrificio liberatorio» sotto due aspetti: la rivendicazione dell’indipendenza nazionale e l’affermazione dello «spirito nuovo» che muoveva i rivoltosi degli anni Dieci del Ventesimo secolo reclamanti nuove solidarietà in vista del «bene comune» della nazione che pretendevano finalmente sottratta, anche moralmente, all’egemonia della borghesia che aveva fatto il Risorgimento.

Il corpus dottrinario corridoniano è tutt’altro che povero, oltretutto derivato dalla «lezione» di Georges Sorel, riferimento primario di tutti i sindacalisti rivoluzionari. Ecco perché aver legato la sua fama quasi esclusivamente all’impegno interventista e all’episodio bellico che lo vide tragicamente protagonista, sembra un’ingiustizia. Così come è ingiusto ritenere che l’aver trovato la morte in giovane età non abbia permesso a Corridoni di esprimere compiutamente una coerente concezione del sindacalismo che, caratterizzato da una perfetta adesione tra teoria e prassi rivoluzionaria, per quanto fosse acceso, passionale, romantico non si nutriva dunque soltanto di apriorismi filosofici, né di mera attività «sobillatoria». Esso era piuttosto il risultato della contemperanza tra l’elemento volontaristico-spirituale, mutuato dalla lettura precoce di alcuni testi di Friedrich Nietzsche, e delle ragioni materiali del proletariato italiano su cui si era a lungo esercitato frequentando la scolastica marxista. Da qui il suo tentativo di elevare le categorie lavoratrici attraverso il cosiddetto «sindacato di mestiere», fino a portarle al diritto di cittadinanza nel governo della produzione economica. Dunque, il sindacalismo di Corridoni, segnato da un processo formativo assai fecondo, teso a «spiritualizzare» e a «nazionalizzare» il proletariato italiano, lo si può definire «eroico» e come tale avente una particolare connotazione rispetto alle altre tendenze del sindacalismo del tempo ed in specie di quelle proprie del sindacalismo rivoluzionario nel cui alveo la dottrina corridoniana s’innesta.

Corridoni e Mussolini, che ritenevano la guerra l’occasione rivoluzionaria per eccellenza, nel maggio 1915 infiammarono Milano con riunioni e comizi. Il giovane «sovversivo» si arruolò volontario, insieme con altri compagni di lotta. Dopo un breve noviziato in trincea arrivò all’appuntamento con la morte. Il suo corpo non fu mai ritrovato. (da Il Tempo)

@barbadilloit

Di Gennaro Malgieri

mardi, 05 mai 2015

Eduardo Nuñez sobre Roberto Brasillach

brasillach.jpg

Eduardo Nuñez

sobre Roberto Brasillach

lundi, 06 avril 2015

Le Corbusier plus facho que fada

724646-lecorbusier.jpg

Charles-Edouard Jeanneret, alias Le Corbusier (en 1961) (AFP)

Le Corbusier plus facho que fada

 
 
Ex: http://www.liberation.fr

Cinquante ans après la mort de l’architecte, deux ouvrages évoquent son compagnonnage avec le fascisme.

1414394843.jpgAvertissement à nos lecteurs: nous sommes bien conscients que la prose de M. Peeters, ici, est celle qui convient à un journal parisien, conformiste, pharisien, haineux et inquisiteur comme "Libération"!

Les spécialistes le savaient, même s’ils tentaient parfois de le minimiser : la guerre de Le Corbusier n’avait pas été exemplaire. Cinquante ans après sa disparition, voici que les informations sur son parcours politique se multiplient. Les deux livres publiés ces jours-ci, Un Corbusier, de François Chaslin, et Le Corbusier, un fascisme français, de Xavier de Jarcy révèlent l’ampleur de sa part d’ombre.

L’homme de la Cité radieuse avait été l’un des modèles d’Eugen Robick, l’«urbatecte» de la Fièvre d’Urbicande, l’un de mes premiers albums avec François Schuiten. Dès cette époque, j’avais peu de sympathie pour le doctrinaire. Mais je n’imaginais pas l’ampleur de ses engagements et de ses compromissions. La tentation fasciste ne fut pas pour Le Corbusier une simple marque d’opportunisme : ses relations avec les idéologues de la droite nationaliste ont duré des décennies et marqué en profondeur sa pensée urbanistique. On pourrait dire que Le Corbusier fut à l’architecture ce que Martin Heidegger, son contemporain presque exact, fut à la philosophie : un géant fourvoyé.

Mépris. Né en Suisse, à la Chaux-de-Fonds, le 6 octobre 1887, il s’installe à Paris dès 1917, rêvant de jouer un rôle actif dans la reconstruction. Il devra attendre une guerre de plus. En attendant, il bâtit quelques remarquables villas, tout en multipliant les projets radicaux. L’Esprit nouveau qu’il promeut n’est pas loin de l’Ordre nouveau. Le Dr Pierre Winter, leader du Parti fasciste révolutionnaire, l’avocat Philippe Lamour, rédacteur en chef de la revue Plans, et l’ingénieur François de Pierrefeu, passionné d’occultisme, sont ses amis les plus proches. Tous appartiennent à la frange la plus dure de la droite française, celle qui descend dans les rues de Paris le 6 février 1934. Un jour qui, selon Le Corbusier, marque «le réveil de la propreté».

Classement, hiérarchie, dignité sont pour lui les valeurs suprêmes. Inspirées par les vues aériennes, les perspectives qu’il trace réduisent les hommes à des silhouettes interchangeables. Champion de l’ordre, il affirme que «l’animal humain est comme l’abeille, un constructeur de cellules géométriques». La standardisation qu’il prône a d’abord une valeur morale, que vient souligner l’emploi systématique du blanc : «On fait propre chez soi. Puis on fait propre en soi.»

Le Corbusier cache d’autant moins son mépris de la démocratie parlementaire qu’elle ne donne aucune suite à ses projets. Et c’est donc aux régimes autoritaires qu’il propose ses services : eux seuls pourraient agir à l’échelle qu’il souhaite. Mais Staline ne veut pas de lui à Moscou. Et Mussolini ne répond pas à ses appels. L’architecte, pourtant, ne ménage pas ses éloges : «Le spectacle offert actuellement par l’Italie, l’état de ses capacités spirituelles, annonce l’aube imminente de l’esprit moderne.»

Impétuosités. Le pire est à venir. La débâcle de juin 1940 apparaît à Le Corbusier comme «la miraculeuse victoire française. Si nous avions vaincu par les armes, la pourriture triomphait, plus rien de propre n’aurait jamais plus pu prétendre à vivre», écrit-il à sa mère. Quelques semaines plus tard, il se réjouit du grand «nettoyage» qui se prépare : «L’argent, les Juifs (en partie responsables), la franc-maçonnerie, tout subira la loi juste. Ces forteresses honteuses seront démantelées. Elles dominaient tout.» Le ton de certaines lettres est plus nauséabond encore : «Nous sommes entre les mains d’un vainqueur et son attitude pourrait être écrasante. Si le marché est sincère, Hitler peut couronner sa vie par une œuvre grandiose : l’aménagement de l’Europe.»

L’architecte se persuade que son heure est venue. «Il s’est fait un vrai miracle avec Pétain. Tout aurait pu s’écrouler, s’anéantir dans l’anarchie. Tout est sauvé et l’action est dans le pays.» Cela fait tant d’années qu’il voudrait construire autre chose que de belles villas, tant d’années qu’il rêve de villes édifiées ex nihilo. Alors, pourquoi ne pas faire confiance au Maréchal, même si rien dans le parcours du vieil homme ne le prédispose à accueillir ses impétuosités modernistes ?

Le Corbusier rejoint Vichy dès la fin de l’an 40. Bientôt nommé conseiller pour l’urbanisme auprès du gouvernement, il dispose d’un bureau à l’hôtel Carlton et commence à écrire l’Urbanisme de la Révolution nationale. Le 27 mars 1941, il rencontre Pétain, «celui qui a les pleins pouvoirs pour mettre en œuvre le domaine bâti de la France». Les publications se multiplient : Sur les quatre routes, Destin de Paris, la Maison des hommes et la Charte d’Athènes. Malgré les nombreuses relations que Le Corbusier compte à Vichy, les choses ne tardent pas à s’enliser. En juin 1942, son plan d’urbanisme pour Alger est rejeté. Début juillet, il fait ses adieux «au cher merdeux Vichy». Rentré à Paris, il devient conseiller technique à la fondation du docteur Alexis Carrel, le théoricien de l’eugénisme. Il n’en démissionne que le 20 avril 1944, «l’esprit régnant là ne me convenant pas», découvre-t-il soudain.

Amnésie. Après la guerre, la reconversion est instantanée : «La page tourne et il faut se décider à l’admettre !» Il n’est même pas question d’amnistie, mais d’une pure et simple amnésie. Le Corbusier toilette habilement sa biographie. Non content de gommer les traces de son long séjour à Vichy, il se fait passer pour une victime des pétainistes. Mais il restera fidèle jusqu’au bout à quelques-unes de ses amitiés les plus douteuses, et ne reviendra ni sur son taylorisme ni sur son mépris des «populations parasitaires» et des «habitants stériles».

Soutenu par Claudius-Petit, ministre de la Reconstruction et de l’Urbanisme, admiré par Malraux qui voit en lui le plus grand architecte du siècle, Le Corbusier peut enfin construire les tours et les barres qu’il dessine depuis les années 20. Le fasciste d’hier est désormais le «fada», tandis que la Charte d’Athènes devient la bible des urbanistes. Le mythe Le Corbusier se solidifie. Le 1er septembre 1965, quelques jours après sa noyade à Roquebrune, Malraux salue son «vieux maître» et son «vieil ami», faisant du bâtisseur de la Cité radieuse l’une des incarnations de la France gaulliste…

S’ils se recoupent sur bien des points, les deux livres qui paraissent aujourd’hui procèdent de manière très différente. Nombreux documents à l’appui, Xavier de Jarcy instruit avec rigueur le procès d’un «personnage aux rêves totalitaires, au cynisme en béton armé». Dans son ample Un Corbusier, débordant d’informations mais quelque peu chaotique, François Chaslin propose de son côté un portrait sans complaisance, doublé d’une évocation mélancolique du destin des Cités radieuses.

On ne pourra plus passer sous silence les engagements de Le Corbusier. On débaptisera sans doute quelques rues, on effacera son image de quelques billets de banque. Mais on n’est pas près d’en finir avec lui.

Paraît également «Le Corbusier, une froide vision du monde», de Marc Perelman (Michalon, 256 pp., 19 €).

François Chaslin, Un Corbusier ,Seuil, 524 pp., 24 €.

Xavier de Jarcy, Le Corbusier, un fascisme français, Albin Michel, 288 pp., 20 € (en librairie le 9 avril).

vendredi, 31 octobre 2014

«Il mio amico Pound ha ragione»

«Il mio amico Pound ha ragione»


di Adriano Scianca 
Ex: http://augustomovimento.blogspot.com
 
«“Ma qvesto”,
disse il Duce, “è divertente”
afferrando il punto prima degli esteti».
 
L’incipit del canto 41 in cui Ezra Pound rievoca il suo incontro con Benito Mussolini (the Boss, nella versione originale) avvenuto esattamente 80 anni fa costituisce da sempre un vero rompicapo per gli storici e i letterati. Se la “v” in “qvesto” sembra alludere in parte alla romanità e in parte al marcato accento romagnolo di Mussolini (un particolare, quest’ultimo, che viene sottolineato proprio per segnare ulteriormente la natura popolare e popolana del capo del fascismo e la conseguente distanza tra lui e “gli esteti”), il giudizio si riferisce, come noto, alla lettura, da parte del Duce, dei primi 30 Cantos. Ma facciamo un passo indietro.
 
Informazioni di prima mano su Mussolini, al di là di ciò che il poeta leggeva nei giornali e vedeva per le strade, Pound le aveva avute da Olga Rudge, che già nel 1923 aveva suonato il violino per il leader fascista, riportandone un’opinione lusinghiera: il Capo di Stato appariva alla musicista americana come un uomo politico illuminato, amante dell’arte, che sapeva a sua volta suonare il violino e sembrava molto competente della materia per essere un profano. Tali racconti dovevano aver fatto grande presa su Pound, che da sempre auspicava una politica più attenta al mondo dell’arte e della cultura. Nei primi anni Trenta il poeta, come detto in precedenza, cominciò a muoversi per cercare di incontrare Mussolini. Anni dopo cercherà di fare altrettanto con Roosvelt, senza riuscirci. Con Mussolini dovette insistere un bel po’, ma alla fine lo incontrò (ulteriore conferma, ai suoi occhi, della superiorità dell’Italia fascista sull’America democratica), precisamente il 30 gennaio 1933, alle 17.30.
 
Il poeta portò a Mussolini una copia dei canti 1-30. Il Duce li sfogliò, lesse per un po’, poi esclamò: «È divertente». Il commento appare a prima vista naif, superficiale, quasi irridente. Tale, almeno, è sembrato negli anni ai soloni della cultura. Non così all’autore dei Cantos, che proprio a questo episodio dedicherà l’incipit del canto 41 che abbiamo già visto precedentemente. Come spiegare l’entusiasmo di Pound? I più propendono per l’accecamento puro e semplice del poeta di fronte al suo eroe, ma forse che le cose stanno diversamente. Secondo Tim Redman, infatti, Mussolini era rimasto colpito da un passaggio in cui un personaggio dei Cantos parla in dialetto e aveva chiesto di cosa si trattasse. Dopo la spiegazione, il Duce si mise a ridere e disse che la cosa era divertente. Pound rimase folgorato e il perché ce lo ha spiegato di recente la figlia Mary: «Solo pochi giorni prima Joyce si era lamentato con mio padre perché nessuno gli aveva detto che l’Ulysses era divertente. Bisogna conoscere i retroscena». Antonio Pantano, invece, ha ricondotto il divertimento di Mussolini alla comprensione del metodo poundiano per eliminare le imposte, tassando direttamente il denaro con il ben noto meccanismo della moneta prescrittibile. Eliminare le tasse: quale governante non riterrebbe questo “divertente”?
 
Nello stesso incontro, comunque, pare che Mussolini e Pound abbiano discusso di cultura cinese e del concetto confuciano del “mettere ordine nelle parole” per mettere ordine nelle idee. Al che Mussolini, evidentemente molto ben ispirato, quel giorno, chiese al poeta perché mai volesse mettere ordine nelle sue idee, confermando a Pound l’impressione di stare parlando con un uomo geniale. Idea che molti commentatori hanno giudicato ingenua, anche se uno studioso non certo fascisteggiante come Hugh Kenner ha potuto scrivere: «Nel 1933 sembrava possibile credere che Benito Mussolini comprendesse queste nozioni. Forse, in un certo senso, era così». Anche il fatto che Pound lo chiamasse “the Boss” (ma altre volte utilizzava nomignoli come “Mus” o “Ben” oppure, curiosamente, lo appellava “il toro”) non va trascurata: Pound, evidentemente, riconosceva nel capo del fascismo anche il proprio capo.
 
La convocazione dell’udienza venne appesa nello studio di Pound, mentre sulla carta da lettere finì la frase mussoliniana «la libertà è un dovere», liberty, a duty. Nel 1945, nei primi interrogatori con il comando militare americano, ricostruirà ancora una volta l’incontro con Mussolini, sbagliando la data ma aggiungendo ulteriori particolari: «Intorno al 1929, ho avuto un’udienza con Benito Mussolini che era a conoscenza del mio libro “Guido Cavalcanti” che gli avevo presentato l’anno prima. Lui pensava di discutere di quello, ma io invece gli ho sottoposto una serie di domande di argomento economico molto incalzanti». Altre richieste di colloquio finirono invece nel vuoto, spesso bloccate sul nascere dalla segreteria del Duce, decisamente poco a suo agio di fronte alla prosa creativa dei testi che il poeta continuava a inviare a Mussolini. Eppure il nome di Pound ricorre più di una volta in un testo centrale per la comprensione del pensiero del capo del fascismo: i Taccuini mussoliniani di Yvon De Begnac. Come noto si tratta della mole sterminata di appunti che il giovane giornalista conservò in occasione dei suoi colloqui con Mussolini avvenuti fra il 1934 e il 1943. Da questi taccuini avrebbe dovuto infine nascere una biografia del Duce che non vide mai la luce per le contingenze storiche, mentre gli appunti vennero in seguito pubblicati così come erano, con lunghi monologhi privi di domande sugli argomenti più disparati. E in tutto questo, come detto, compare più volte il nome di Pound. La citazione più importante recita, fra l’altro:
 
«Il mio amico Ezra Pound ha ragione. La rivoluzione è guerra all’usura. È guerra all’usura pubblica e all’usura privata. Demolisce le tattiche delle battaglie di borsa. Distrugge i parassitismi di base, sui quali i moderati costruiscono le loro fortezze. Insegna a consumare al modo giusto, secondo logica di tempo, quel che è possibile produrre. Reagisce alle altalene del tasso di sconto, che fanno la sventura di chi chiede per investire nell’industria, e aumenta il mondo del risparmio, riducendone il coraggio, contraendone la volontà di ascesa, incrementandone la sfiducia nell’oggi, che è più letale ancora della sfiducia nel domani. Allorché il mio amico Ezra Pound mi donò le sue “considerazioni” sull’usura, mi disse che il potere non è del danaro, o del danaro soltanto, ma dell’usura soltanto, del danaro che produce danaro, che produce soltanto danaro, che non salva nessuno di noi, che lancia noi deboli nel gorgo dalla cui corrente altro danaro verrà espresso, come supremo male del mondo. Aggiunse in quel suo italiano, gaelico e slanghistico, infarcito di arcaismi tratti da Dante e dai cronachisti del trecento, che il potere del danaro e tutti gli uomini di questo potere regnano su un mondo del quale hanno monetizzato il cervello e trasformato la coscienza in lenzuoli di banconote. Il danaro che produce danaro. La formula del mio amico Ezra Pound riassume la spaventosa condizione del nostro tempo. Il danaro non si consuma. Regge al contatto dell’umanità. Nulla cede delle proprie qualità deteriori. Contamina peggiorandoci in ragione della continua salita del suo corso tra i banchi e le grida della borsa nelle cui caverne l’umano viene, inesorabilmente, macinato. Il mio amico Pound ha le qualità del predicatore cui è nota la tempesta dell’anno mille, dell’anno “n volte mille” sempre alle porte della nostra casa di dannati all’autodistruzione. La lava del denaro, infuocata e onnivora, scende dalla montagna che il cielo ha lanciato contro di noi, mi ha detto il mio amico Pound; e nessuno, tra noi, si salverà. Il mio amico Pound ha continuato con voi, come mi avete detto, nella casa romana dello scrittore di cose navali Ubaldo degli Uberti, l’analisi di come il danaro produce soltanto danaro, e non beni che sollevino il nostro spirito dalla palude nella quale il suo potere ci ha immerso. Non è ossessione la sua. Nessun uomo saggio, se ancora ne esistono, ha elementi per dichiarare esito di pericolosa paranoia il suo vedere, tra i blocchi di palazzi di Wall Street e tra le stanze dei banchieri della City, le pareti indistruttibili dell’inferno di oggi. I Kahn, i Morgan, i Morgenthau, i Toeplitz di tutte le terre egli vede alla testa dell’armata dell’oro. Pound piange i morti che quell’esercito fece. E vorrebbe sottrarre a ogni pericolo tutti noi esposti alla furia del potere dell’oro. Con il vostro amico Pound ho parlato di quello che Peguy ha scritto contro il potere dell’oro. Conosce quasi a memoria quelle pagine. Ne recita brani interi, senza dimenticarne alcuna parola. Il suo francese risale agli anni parigini in cui la gente di New York, di Boston, emigrata a Parigi, pensava ancora che l’occidente fosse fra noi. Illusa, quella gente, che scegliendo Parigi, il potere dell’oro sarebbe andato per stracci, almeno per questi migranti della letteratura. È, quel francese di Pound, come un prodotto del passato, come una denuncia del troppo che stiamo dimenticando, tutti noi che corriamo il rischio, o che già lo abbiamo corso, di finire maciullati dal potere dell’oro».

 

jeudi, 30 octobre 2014

Marx e Gentile: idealismo è rivoluzione

Marx e Gentile: idealismo è rivoluzione
 
 
Articolo pubblicato in «Il Primato Nazionale»
Ex: http://augustomovimento.blogspot.com
 
Il mondo non dobbiamo necessariamente accettarlo così com’è. L’uomo ha sempre la possibilità, grazie alla sua volontà creatrice, di trasformalo. È questo, in sostanza, il messaggio che ci viene dalla tradizione filosofica dell’idealismo. Ed è sempre questo il fil rouge lungo cui si dipana l’interessante volume di Diego Fusaro Idealismo e prassi: Fichte, Marx e Gentile (Il melangolo, pp. 414, € 35), uscito da qualche mese nelle librerie italiane.
 
L’autore, giovane filosofo torinese e ricercatore presso l’Università San Raffaele di Milano, è tra le altre cose il fondatore di filosofico.net, il sito internet in cui, volenti o nolenti, sono incappati quasi tutti gli studenti di filosofia. Fusaro inoltre, a dispetto dell’età, ha già dato alle stampe diverse e interessanti opere, come Bentornato Marx! Rinascita di un pensiero rivoluzionario (2009) e Minima mercatalia: filosofia e capitalismo (2012). Più in particolare, Fusaro appartiene a quella sinistra, purtroppo minoritaria, che ha come esponenti di punta il compianto Costanzo Preve e Gianfranco La Grassa. Quella sinistra cioè che, nell’epoca del dilagante trasformismo della sinistra «istituzionale», non ha rinunciato ai padri nobili della sua tradizione culturale e a una critica serrata dell’odierno capitalismo, ossia il capitalismo finanziario (o «finanzcapitalismo», secondo la definizione di Luciano Gallino).
 
Insomma il postcomunista Pd, rinnegando la sua storia, ha ceduto in tutto alle logiche del capitale, costituendone anzi una delle «sovrastrutture» ideologiche (per usare il linguaggio marxiano) con la sua bieca retorica del politicamente corretto e la paradossale difesa della legalità e delle regole (capitalistiche). Come direbbe Fusaro, si è passati da Carlo Marx a Roberto Saviano, da Antonio Gramsci a Serena Dandini.
 
Di qui la rivolta del giovane filosofo che, rileggendo Marx, offre una chiara interpretazione del pensatore di Treviri come nemico di ogni supina accettazione dell’esistente, ponendo in rilievo gli aspetti idealistici del suo pensiero. Di qui, anche, il rifiuto di ogni pensiero debole postmoderno e l’assunzione da parte della filosofia di una funzione interventista e attivistica. La filosofia, dunque, non più vista come mera erudizione estetizzante o come cane da guardia del «migliore dei mondi possibili», ma come strumento per trasformare la realtà. Una filosofia, insomma, che riacquista finalmente la sua dimensione epica ed eroica, come la intendeva Giovanni Gentile.
 
Diego Fusaro con il suo libro su Marx
Ed è proprio al filosofo di Castelvetrano e al suo rapporto con Marx che Fusaro dedica pagine importanti del suo nuovo libro, proponendo un’interpretazione certamente unilaterale del pensiero marxista, ma tutt’altro che illegittima. È in particolare il Marx delle Tesi su Feuerbach che emerge prepotentemente dall’opera di Fusaro: quel Marx che criticava il materialismo «volgare» dello stesso Feuerbach e che si concentrava maggiormente sul concetto di prassi – quella prassi che, contro ogni determinismo, era sempre in grado di rifiutare una realtà sentita come estranea per fondare un nuovo mondo. La prassi, quindi, come fonte inesauribile di rivoluzione.
 
Non è un caso, del resto, che sarà proprio Gentile a valorizzare il Marx filosofo della prassi, in quel famoso volume (La filosofia di Marx, 1899) che Augusto Del Noce indicò, non senza qualche evidente esagerazione, come l’atto di nascita del fascismo. Nonostante una ottusa damnatio memoriae che ancora grava su Gentile, ma che è già stata messa in crisi da molti autorevoli filosofi (Marramao, Natoli, Severino, ecc.), Fusaro riafferma la indiscutibile grandezza filosofica del padre dell’attualismo. Lo definisce giustamente, anzi, come il più grande filosofo italiano del Novecento. Non per una mera questione di gusto o di tifo, naturalmente, ma per un fatto molto semplice: tutti i filosofi italiani del XX secolo, nello sviluppo più vario del loro pensiero, si sono necessariamente dovuti confrontare con Gentile. «Gentile – scrive l’autore – sta al Novecento italiano come Hegel – secondo la nota tesi di Karl Löwith – sta all’Ottocento tedesco».
 
Fusaro, dunque, ricostruisce tutto quel percorso intellettuale che da Fichte, passando per Hegel e Marx, giunge sino a Gentile che, non a caso definito Fichte redivivus da H. S. Harris, chiude il cerchio. Di qui l’interpretazione dell’atto puro di Gentile alla luce della prassi marxiana, così come, per converso, la lettura di Gramsci come «gentiliano» che ha conosciuto Marx filtrato dal filosofo siciliano. Tesi, quest’ultima, tutt’altro che nuova (pensiamo anche solo ai recenti lavori di Bedeschi e Rapone), ma che ancora non ha fatto breccia negli ambienti semi-colti del «ceto medio riflessivo» che legge Repubblica, ripudia Gramsci e ha per guru Eugenio Scalfari.
 
Il Palazzo della civiltà italiana o della civiltà del lavoro,
comunemente noto come «colosseo quadrato» (Eur, Roma)
Ad ogni modo, non mancherebbero le obiezioni ad alcune tesi di Fusaro sul rapporto di Gentile con Marx, dal momento che l’autore non tiene nel minimo conto gli elementi mazziniani e nietzscheani del pensiero del filosofo attualista, così come manca qualsiasi riferimento alle correnti culturali del fascismo che provenivano dal socialismo non marxista e che non mancarono di influenzare Gentile. Mi riferisco, in particolare, al sindacalismo rivoluzionario (A. O. Olivetti, S. Panunzio) e al socialismo idealistico dello stesso Mussolini: quel socialismo, cioè, che aveva scoperto che rivoluzionaria non era la classe, ma la nazione. Mi riferisco, inoltre, alle giovani leve degli anni Trenta che volevano edificare la «civiltà del lavoro», glorificata dal fascismo con il cosiddetto «colosseo quadrato» che campeggia tra le imponenti costruzioni dell’Eur.
 
Senza Mazzini e gli altri «profeti» del Risorgimento, del resto, non si potrebbero comprendere gli elementi nazionali del pensiero gentiliano, così come il significato che Gentile dava al termine «umanità». Far discendere l’«umanesimo del lavoro» di Genesi e struttura della società (1946, postumo) da un «ritorno» di Gentile a un confronto con Marx, come fa Fusaro, è dunque possibile solo se si prescinde deliberatamente da tutto il dibattito che la cultura fascista sviluppò negli anni Trenta, con Ugo Spirito, Berto Ricci e Niccolò Giani. E in questo senso allora sarebbe anche possibile interpretare l’umanesimo gentiliano in senso egualitarista. Ma lo stesso Gentile, in alcuni importanti interventi, ha chiarito come intendeva l’universalità (e non l’universalismo), che doveva basarsi sul concetto romano di imperium e su una missione civilizzatrice dell’Italia (e qui ritorna Mazzini), come messo ben in evidenza da Gentile nel fondamentale articolo Roma eterna (1940). Un’universalità verticale, quindi, intesa come ascesa, e non un universalismo orizzontale e azzeratore delle differenze in nome di un’astratta concezione di uomo, avulsa da qualsiasi contesto storico e culturale concreto. In questo senso, dunque, l’umanesimo gentiliano è fondamentalmente sovrumanismo, come lo ha magistralmente descritto Giorgio Locchi.
 
Giovanni Gentile
Anche sul concetto di «apertura della storia», su cui giustamente insiste il Fusaro, bisognerebbe intendersi. D’altronde, già Karl Löwith sottolineò, nell’immediato dopoguerra, il messianismo intrinseco alla filosofia della storia marxiana. Secondo la teoria scientifica, infatti, il proletariato, ottenuta la coscienza di classe grazie allo sfruttamento capitalistico, avrebbe dovuto, per il tramite dell’azione del partito comunista, abolire le classi e lo Stato, ristabilendo le condizioni dell’Urkommunismus, sebbene in una forma «arricchita», con tutti i vantaggi, cioè, della moderna tecnologia. In questo senso, il marxismo lavorava anch’esso per l’uscita dalla storia che, invece di coincidere con la planetaria democrazia liberale di Francis Fukuyama, avrebbe istituito l’agognata società comunista e la fine di ogni volontà storificante dell’uomo.
 
Ad ogni modo, queste brevi e sintetiche obiezioni non vogliono in alcun modo sminuire l’eccellente opera di Fusaro, che è invece quanto di meglio si possa leggere oggi in un desolante contesto politico e culturale totalmente appecoronato alle logiche demoliberali, mondialiste e finanzcapitalistiche. La rilettura di Marx in senso idealistico, anzi, ha un innegabile merito: riportare al centro dell’azione politica la volontà creatrice dell’uomo, che scaturisce dalla sua libertà storica. È, in altri termini, il ritorno della filosofia a un approccio rivoluzionario alla realtà. Filosofia non più intesa come glorificazione dell’esistente, ma come motore di storia. Il che, si converrà, se non è tutto, è certamente molto.

mercredi, 29 octobre 2014

Yeats tra fascismo e aristocrazia

William_Butler_Yeats_by_George_Charles_Beresford.jpg

Yeats tra fascismo e aristocrazia

Lambert O'Manwel

Ex: http://nemicidelsistema.blogspot.com

« Che importa se le più grandi cose che gli uomini pensano di consacrare o esaltare, accolgono la nostra grandezza solo se unita alla nostra amarezza?». Così parlò William Butler Yeats nei suoi versi dedicati alle Case degli avi, nelle meditazioni in tempo di guerra civile. Alla sua amarezza composta, anzi alla sua «virile malinconia» dedicò un saggio giovanile Tomasi di Lampedusa, che anche nel suo Gattopardo subì il fascino di Yeats, quel gran cantore del Mitico Passato.

Sessant’anni fa, il ventotto gennaio del 1939, alla vigilia della seconda guerra mondiale, il poeta irlandese si spegneva all’età di 73 anni. Era nato in un decoroso sobborgo di Dublino da una rispettabile famiglia protestante anglo-irlandese, con le estati dell’infanzia trascorse all’ombra di croci celtiche e rovine di torri nel piccolo porto di Siligo, nella costa occidentale irlandese. Suo padre alternava le sue preoccupazioni «terrene» (era un agrario benestante) con i suoi sogni celesti di pittura. E il giovane Yeats, che a vent’anni aveva già acquisito una buona notorietà per le prime composizioni poetiche pubblicate sulla Dublin University Review, aveva ben presto rigettato lo spirito vittoriano del suo tempo per sposare la tradizione dell’antica Irlanda gaelica, cattolica e romantica.


Yeats può dirsi un tradizionalista lirico, un romantico che amava il mondo antico, un cultore della bellezza cresciuto sulle orme del neoplatonismo e della magia. Da giovane si dedicò in particolare all’occultismo. Fondò la Società Ermetica di Dublino, poi aderì alla società teosofica di Madame Blavatsky e infine fu ammesso all’Ordine del Golden Dawn. Due donne ebbero grande influenza su di lui: Maud Gonne e Lady Augusta Gregory. Ma dello Yeats poeta si conoscono già molte cose; decisamente meno si sa dell’impegno civile e culturale di Yeats in chiave nazionalista, protofascista e rivoluzionario-conservatrice. Un capitolo in ombra, che destò grande imbarazzo, anche perché Yeats era stato insignito del Premio Nobel per la letteratura. Era dunque sconveniente richiamare questa sua passione politica non-conformista.

Yeats sognava un’Irlanda affrancata dalla tutela britannica ed era diventato esponente del movimento radicale feniano della Irish Republican Brotherhood; sono gli anni della sua collaborazione a giornali cattolico-nazionalisti come The Irish Monthly e The Irish Fireside. Nel 1898, Yeats fu nominato presidente dell’associazione nata per celebrare il centesimo anniversario dell’insurrezione di Wolfe Tone. Successivamente Yeats noterà con preoccupazione l’ombra sempre più lunga del radicalismo religioso che si univa ad un nascente spirito cristiano-borghese. A quest’universo, Yeats opporrà una visione eroica, pagana e mitologica dell’Irlanda, un «delirio di valorosi».

La delusione per gli sviluppi del nazionalismo in Irlanda lo porterà a viaggiare, soprattutto in Italia. Fu un amore a prima vista per la civiltà rinascimentale, per Ferrara ed Urbino (due città che fecero innamorare anche Ezra Pound, che egli incontrò più volte in Italia). Da quel confronto con le città italiane, l’accusa agli inglesi e al mondo politico irlandese che aveva lasciato distruggere le grandi residenze di Aran e Galway, «simili ad ogni antica ed ammirata città italiana». Agli inglesi attribuiva la responsabilità di aver distrutto i tratti aristocratici del paesaggio di Connaught.

Yeats divenne successivamente senatore e sostenitore del governo legittimo dello Stato libero sud-irlandese, in seguito al trattato anglo-irlandese del 1921. In quegli anni Yeats teme una propagazione del comunismo in Irlanda, che egli vede come una conseguenza diretta della rivoluzione francese. E si avvicina alla lettura di un conservatore illuminato come Edmund Burke, un controrivoluzionario che era riuscito secondo Yeats a coniugare l’ordine con la libertà. Scrisse Yeats: «Il moto centrifugo che cominciò con gli enciclopedisti e che produsse la Rivoluzione francese e le vedute democratiche di uomini come Stuart Mill, è giunto alla fine... I movimenti che avevano come scopo la liberazione dell’individuo sono risultati alla fine produttori d’anarchia». Al timore di un’epoca di brutalità, massacri e regicidi nel segno della rivoluzione marxista, Yeats dedicò un breve poema, The Second Coming.


L’amore per la tradizione nazionale, la richiesta di ordine, comunità e anticomunismo, spinsero così Yeats sulle tracce del fascismo. Un secondo viaggio in Italia con un lungo soggiorno in Sicilia, lo rafforzò in questa convinzione. Era il 1925. Yeats, che aveva già avuto il premio Nobel, si avvicinò a Roma al pensiero di Giovanni Gentile, a cui si ispirarono molti suoi interventi nel Senato irlandese dedicati alla scuola e all’educazione nazionale. Tornò in Italia altre volte: a Rapallo nel 1928 (luogo nietzscheano e poundiano), a Roma nel 1928 e ancora a Rapallo e Roma nel ‘34.

Nel luglio del 1927 l’assassinio da parte dell’Ira di Kevin O’Higgins, ministro dell’Interno del governo conservatore di Cosgrave, rafforzerà Yeats nella convinzione di fronteggiare con ogni mezzo il bolscevismo e la sovversione. L’anno successivo Yeats lasciò il Senato, esprimendo disprezzo per la democrazia parlamentare. Successivamente espresse sostegno e simpatia per le Camicie azzurre del generale O’Duffy, nate per contrastare i repubblicani dell’Ira dopo la caduta del governo conservatore.


In particolare, Yeats sostenne la necessità di formulare una teoria sociale «da contrapporre al comunismo in Irlanda». Ma il movimento aveva un‘impronta impiegatizia, cattolica e piccolo borghese; mentre il poeta sognava un movimento aristocratico, antimoderno. L’unica vera riserva che Yeats avanzava verso Mussolini era del resto proprio quella: mancava al duce del fascismo un’ascendenza aristocratica. Troppo «popolano». Il suo ideale restava una specie di Repubblica di Venezia, con il governo del Doge e il consiglio dei Dieci.

Nell’ultima opera pubblicata tre mesi prima di morire, On the boiler, Yeats lancia un messaggio alla gioventù d’Irlanda all’insegna del libro e moschetto: educatevi con armi e lettere, esortava Yeats per «respingere dai nostri lidi le prone e ignoranti masse delle nazioni commerciali» (le «plutocrazie», avrebbero detto i fascisti). Poco prima, nella Introduzione generale alla sua opera, Yeats aveva scritto parole terribili di apologia dell’odio che a suo dire avrebbe prima o poi conquistato le menti più forti: «Un’odio indefinito che cova in Europa e che tra alcune generazioni spazzerà via il dominio attuale».

«Odiava la democrazia e amava l’aristocrazia. Per aristocrazia - scrisse di lui Lady Wellesley - egli intendeva la mente orgogliosa ed eroica. Ciò voleva dire anche una furiosa ostilità verso la meschinità, l’approssimazione e l’abbassamento dei valori. Egli si ribellava alla progressiva eliminazione della gente ben nata». Nelle sue idee si ravvisano tracce di Maurras ma anche suggestioni che sembrano appartenere ad Evola. Scriverà: «Io rimango attaccato alla tradizione irlandese... Le mie convinzioni hanno radici profonde e non si adeguano alle consuetudini». La crisi delle forme cerimoniali è per Yeats un segno dell’imminente distruzione del mondo. In questa sua concezione apocalittica prende corpo la sua visione eroica e bellica: «Amate la guerra per il suo orrore - scrive un personaggio delle Storie di Micbael Robartes - così che la fede possa mutarsi, la civiltà possa rinnovarsi». Qui il richiamo alla tradizione celtica, o a volte, sulla scorta di Renan, alla «razza celtica».

Nel cimitero degli antenati dove egli è sepolto, a Drumcliff, è riportata come epigrafe un celebre verso della sua ultima poesia: «Getta uno sguardo freddo su vita e morte. Cavaliere prosegui oltre!».

Alla sua morte, Auden gli intentò un processo sulla Partizan Review, per il suo filo-fascismo. Prese le sue difese George Orwell, nel 1943, che argomenta: «Yeats è sì tendenzialmente fascista ma in buona fede, perché non si rende conto degli esiti ultimi del totalitarismo». Più recentemente Connor Criuse O’Brian ha contestato la presunta ingenuità di Yeats, sostenendo che vi fosse una vera ispirazione fascista in Yeats, una consapevole adesione.

Yeats fu in realtà un viaggiatore onirico del nostro secolo. «Quanto a vivere, i nostri servi lo faranno per noi»

mardi, 28 octobre 2014

Schotse SNP heeft fascistische wortels

Karl Drabbe

'De vijand van mijn vijand is mijn vriend'

Schotse SNP heeft fascistische wortels

SC-Fasc.jpgEen recente historische roman over Londen en nazi-Duitsland loodst willens nillens naar een recente historische studie over fascisme in Schotland. Ook de SNP heeft fascistische wortels en hoopte via een overwinning van nazi-Duitsland Schotse onafhankelijkheid te bekomen.

Met Mist over Londen schreef C.J. Sansom recent een historische thriller die een wereldwijd succes werd. Eerder schreef hij over een vroegmoderne advocaat in het door Cromwell verscheurde Engeland en een historische roman die zich afspeelde tegen de achtergrond van de Spaanse Burgeroorlog. Mist over Londen is een what-if-roman; geromaniseerde counterfactional history: wat als de Britten in 1940 een pact zouden hebben gesloten met Hitler-Duitsland? Een moeizaam lezend boek, dat door zijn historische setting toch enkele wetenswaardigheden opwierp. Zoals het feit als zou de Schotse Nationalistische Partij SNP – de drijvende kracht achter het referendum straks op 18 steptember – niet onwillig geweest zijn voor de verleidingen en verlokkingen van het nationaal-socialisme. Pardon, dat in zijn geschiedenis erg linkse, zelfs trotskistisch geïnspireerde SNP dat flirtte met nazi-Duitsland? Les extrêmes se touchent? Of is het à la Mark Grammens: ‘de vijand van mijn vijand is mijn vriend’?

Het enige niet-vaderlandstrouwe element dat je op Wikipedia leest over de SNP is dat de toen jonge partij (opgericht in 1934) tijdens Wereldoorlog II campagne voerde tegen de conscriptie, de verplichte legerdienst om het Empire te verdedigen en Herr Hitler te bestrijden. 

Maar wie wat verder zoekt, leert dat de SNP wel wat vaker ‘fout’ was, zoals dat heet. Nu goed, ook de pacifistische verkozenen van Labour en de appeasement-politici van de Tories – die Hitler zijn gang lieten met Sudetenland en de Oostenrijkse Anschluss – zou je kunnen verdenken van enige sympathieën met het nationaalsocialisme. Anderzijds hebben (kopstukken van) die partijen later uitdrukkelijk afstand genomen van en hun verontschuldigingen aangeboden voor hun politiek voor het feitelijke uitbreken van de Tweede Wereldoorlog. Het ging meer om het toegeven van inschattingsfouten.

Van vreemde smetten vrij

Echter, van de SNP nooit enig woord, nooit enige verontschuldiging. Was dat dan niet nodig? De tweede voorzitter van de partij, Andrew Dewar Gibb (1934-’36), kan nochtans op z’n minst fascistoïde genoemd worden. Niet echt een antisemiet, bij gebrek aan joden in Schotland. Hij viseerde vooral de katholieke Ieren die tijdens het interbellum voor een nieuwe influx van proleten zorgde, gevlucht voor het terrorisme in Ierland, op zoek naar werk in de machtige industriestaat Groot-Brittannië. Andrew Dewar Gibb vond zelfs dat die Ierse inwijkelingen hun stemrecht moest worden afgenomen, en niet enkel omdat ze massaal voor het socialistische Labour stemden, maar omwille van hun vreemde afkomst. Zijn antisemitisme botvierde hij op de Communistische Partij, die volgens hem van oorsprong véél te joods was.

Tot op vandaag heeft de SNP nooit afstand genomen van Gibb. Zoals de partij in haar tachtigjarig bestaan er ook nooit veel aandacht aan heeft besteed. – Overigens, ook in het (prachtige) nationale museum van Schotland herinner ik me niets gezien te hebben over fascisme of nationaalsocialisme. Nochtans heeft de Schotse emancipatiestrijd er een hele zaal gekregen.

De vijand van mijn vijand …

Professor Gavin Bowd doceert Frans aan de befaamde Schotse St Andrews Universiteit. Zijn recente boek Fascist Scotland (Birlinn, 2013) geeft niet alleen een mooie inkijk in de niche van het politieke fascisme in Schotland. Het geeft ook een plaats aan het fascisme binnen de SNP ‘which make uncomfortable reading for its members,’ volgens een recensent.

In de jaren 1930 was de SNP nog niet de socialistische partij die ze later – vooral in de jaren 1960-’70 – geworden is. Bowd beschrijft hoe vele van de eerste generatie partijkopstukken landeigenaars waren met een meer dan bijzondere belangstelling voor Mussolini en Hitler. In diezelfde jaren sloot de ‘Scottish Union of Fascists’ zelfs en bloc aan bij de SNP.

In Fascist Scotland wijst Gavin Bowd erop dat er wel meerdere ‘Scot Nats’ waren die uitkeken naar een overwinning van nazi-Duitsland als een soort ‘opportuniteit’ om Schotse onafhankelijkheid te realiseren. De vergelijking met het activisme in de Eerste en de collaboratie in de Tweede Wereldoorlog in Vlaanderen ligt voor de hand. 

In januari 1939 al schreef SNP-voorzitter Douglas Young (1942-1945): ‘If Hitler could neatly remove our imperial breeks somehow and thus dissipate the mirage of Imperial partnership with England etc he would do a great service to Scottish Nationalism.’ In augustus 1940 schreef Young: ‘The Germans will look around for aborigines to run Scotland and it is to be wished that the eventual administration consist of people who have in the past shown themselves to care for the interests of Scotland.’

Professor Bowd: ‘Young thus showed the ambivalent, to say the least, attitude of Scottish Nationalists towards Fascism. Hatred of the English led to the downplaying of the Fascist threat to freedom and peace, while more radical Nationalists could be attracted to the authoritarian and xenophobic solutions offered by the Führer and the Duce.’

In mei 1941 werd ene Arthur Donaldson opgepakt door de Britse autoriteiten. Donaldson werd beticht van pro-nazi-sympathieën. De man was lid van de SNP. Guilty by association? Ongetwijfeld. Elke partij heeft gekken rondlopen. Maar doorgaans, als zoiets bekend wordt, distantieert een partij zich, verontschuldigt ze zich. En ze excommuniceert het lid. Zo niet de SNP.

In het verslag van de MI5-agent die Donaldson ondervroeg is te lezen: ‘We must, he declared, be able to show the German Government that we are organised and that we have a clear cut policy for the betterment of Scotland; that we have tried our best to persuade the English Government that we want Scottish Independence and that we are not in with them in this war. If we can do that you can be sure that Germany will give us every possible assistance in our early struggle. The time is not yet ripe for us to start a virile campaign against England, but when fire and confusion is at its height in England, we can start in earnest. He then went on to tell them that he had an idea in his mind for fixing up a wireless transmitting set in a thickly populated district in Glasgow or Edinburgh, in order to give broadcasts to the public.’

In mei 1941 was er nog een mogelijke Duitse overwinning – Endsieg – in zicht. Niet helemaal onbegrijpelijk dat er dus ook in het VK pro-nazi’s rondliepen, zeker niet als de partijleider het ‘goede voorbeeld’ gaf.

Ware het niet dat diezelfde man negentien jaar later, in 1960 werd verkozen tot … voorzitter van de SNP. Die taak vervulde hij tot 1969, toen hij werd opgevolgd door William Wolfe.

Tot op vandaag is er tijdens het jaarlijkse SNP-congres een 'Arthur Donaldson lecture'. De partij heeft dus nog steeds geen afstand genomen van haar ‘Duitsvriendelijke’  voorzitter.

‘Van vreemde smetten vrij’ (2)

Enkele jaren later, in 1982, toen paus Johannes Paulus II Schotland aandeed tijdens een van zijn vele wereldreizen, vond oud-partijvoorzitter Billy Wolfe het nodig de Schotten in te lichten dat het katholicisme – in Schotland beleden door afstammelingen van Ierse immigranten uit het interbellum – een ‘vreemde’ religie was en katholieken nooit ‘true Scots’ kunnen worden. Een vreemde exclusieve visie op identiteit, geef toe. Toch voor een partij die zich vandaag heel internationalistisch, sociaaldemocratisch en inclusief opstelt. Amper dertig jaar geleden was dat nog anders.

Vergezocht?

De SNP werd in 1934 opgericht als een samensmelting van twee oudere Schots-nationalistische partijen: de Scottish Party en de National Party of Scotland.

De gevierde Schotse dichter Hugh MacDiarmid (née Christopher Murray Grieve) was een van de stichters van de NPS. In 1923, amper een jaar nadat Mussolini na zijn Mars op Rome de macht greep in Italië, schreef de dichter  twee artikels waarin hij opriep tot een Schots fascisme dat onderdeel moest vormen van ‘een Schotse national revival en radicale sociale gerechtigheid doorheen heel Schotland’.

Naar fascistisch voorbeeld van andere nationalistische bewegingen in Europa, richtte MacDiarmid een ‘ondergrondse’ militantenorde op, de Clann Albainn. MacDiarmid evolueerde van een radicaal fascisme naar een nationaal-bolsjevisme. Hij omarmde het Sovjet-communisme en werd daardoor uit de SNP gezet. Jaren later gooiden de Schotse Communisten hem uit hun partij … omwille van zijn nationalistische standpunten.

Ook MacDiarmid zag ‘opportuniteiten’ in de mogelijke nazi-invasie op de Britse eilanden. 

Oordeel

Hoe vaak valt niet te lezen dat het Vlaams-nationalisme een ‘rechtse’ uitzondering is op het ‘linkse’ nationalisme elders in Europa? Een cliché van jewelste, want de grootste nationalistische partijen in Catalonië en Baskenland zijn centrumrechts, conservatief of liberaal. Van de succesvolle nationalistische partijen is de Schotse SNP de grote uitzondering. Maar dat was niet altijd zo.

Ook de SNP heeft, zoals de Bretonnen, de Welsch, de Vlamingen, Kroaten, Slowaken en zovele andere volkeren in Europa gerekend op een momentum. In een Duits Rijk zouden ze over ‘hun autonomie’ kunnen beschikken. Dat een en ander anders uitdraaide is niet alleen het lot van de geschiedenis. Het is ook moreel wijfelbaar. Bij monde van Frans-Jos Verdoodt heeft de Vlaamse Beweging haar historisch pardon hierover al uitgesproken in 2000. De SNP heeft nog niet de spons over haar verleden geveegd … 

dimanche, 27 juillet 2014

RHF n°32

RHF, nº 32

Sumario 

20140718114057-rhf32-portada02.jpg

Acaba de aparecer el número 32 de la Revista de Historia del Fascismo, correspondiente a los meses de junio y julio de 2014, con el siguiente sumario:

NEO-FASCISMO

Líneas doctrinales del neofascismo italiano (1945-1980)
Págs. 6-80

Sabemos cómo fue el fascismo: «unidad, ante todo». No existían fisuras, ni corrientes internas, apenas leves matices ideológicos. Sin embargo, después de 1945, el neo-fascismo se vio desgarrado por distintas posiciones políticas y doctrinales. En este artículo se examinan las distintas corriente ideológicas que aparecieron entre 1945 y 1980, un ciclo excepcionalmente rico desde el punto de vista doctrinal en el que florecieron personalidades como Enzo Erra, Adriano Romualdi, Giorgio Freda, Pino Rauti, mientras que Julius Evola se convertía en el máximo referente de la Derecha Nacional italiana a raíz de sus libros. Cada una de estas corrientes queda analizada en profundidad dentro de este ciclo de 35 años que terminó en 1980 cuando la represión y la desaparición física de la generación de la República Social se hicieron patentes.


ALEMANIA
La Revolución Conservadora. Introducciones y Capítulo I
Págs. 80-130

Publicamos los prefacios y el primer capítulo de la famosa obra de A. Mohler, La Revolución Conservadora, traducido por primera vez a lengua castellana, a partir de la edición francesa publicada por Editorial Pardès. Esta obra es doblemente interesante por la materia tratada y porque ha creado escuela. En efecto, en España apenas se conoce el fenómeno de la «Revolución Conservadora» alemana que, sin embargo, fue desde el punto de vista intelectual el equivalente a lo que el nacional-socialismo fue desde el punto de vista político. Política e intelectualidad, desde siempre se han llevado mal y esta no fue una excepción. Esta obra ha creado escuela y constituye la referencia imprescindible para todos los que han tratado la materia con posterioridad.


FASCISMO ITALIANO
Fascismo y esoterismo. Romanidad, neopaganismo, tradición, esoterismo y ocultismo en la Italia del Ventennio
Págs. 132-175

En 1960 Louis Pauwels y Jacques Bergier publicaban El retorno de los brujos dedicando casi una cuarta parte del libro a describir de manera fantasiosa e improbable el «esoterismo nazi». A partir de entonces, las fantasías y delirios de ambos autores fueron recogidos y ampliados en una miríada de obras menores que todavía siguen apareciendo y que establecen el falso teorema de que «la verdadera naturaleza del nazismo era de carácter esotérico». El fascismo italiano, en cambio, no tuvo su Retorno de los brujos… y, sin embargo, en su matriz si se encuentran elementos que remiten a distintas escuelas esotéricas y ocultistas de manera muy precisa y, por supuesto, a la tradición romana. La intención de este artículo es agotar la materia y estudiar las vinculaciones del fascismo con la simbología tradicional en tanto que «religión laica», con los movimientos neopaganos que buscaban renovar la romanidad antigua y las relaciones con movimientos ocultistas bien conocidos (teosofía, rosacrucianismo, antroposofía, etc). Al acabar los tres artículos que componen esta serie tendremos una visión muy precisa de los vínculos entre el fascismo y todas estas corrientes espirituales y neo–espiritualistas que confirman la primera impresión: en Italia existieron interrelaciones indudables entre fascismo y este tipo de tendencias, seguramente mucho más concretas que en el Tercer Reich.


FASCISMO ESPAÑOL
Fascistización de la Derecha Española durante la II República
Págs. 176-231

Reproducimos este texto escrito por Enrique González en el que se asume el concepto de «fascistización» y explica los niveles de «contagio» que aparecieron en las distintas formaciones de la derecha (centro-derecha populista, monárquicos alfonsinos y requetés carlistas) y hasta qué punto ese contagio llevo de la «fascistización» al «fascismo». Creemos que éste proceso fue de una intensidad superior a lo que plantea el autor, especialmente en el caso de sectores concretos de Renovación Española y de las JAP. 


LIBROS – ENTREVISTA
Ramiro Ledesma a contraluz. Otra forma de ver la vida y la obra de Ramiro Ledesma

Págs. 232-239

La recopilación de varios artículos publicados en la Revista de Historia del Fascismo y la elaboración de una conclusión sobre los rasgos del fascismo histórico y las similitudes con la obra de Ramiro Ledesma, componen este volumen titulado Ramiro Ledesma a contraluz, publicado como suplemento de la Revista de Historia del Fascismo, y firmado por Ernesto Milá con quien conversamos sobre este libro.


FICHA TÉCNICA

246 páginas
Tamaño 15x21 cm
Portada cuatricomía con solapas
Ilustrado
PVP.- 18,00 euros (50% de descuento para librerías y grupos)
Pedidos: eminves@gmail.com

 

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mardi, 20 mai 2014

Elementos 67, 68 & 69

ELEMENTOS Nº 69. EL MITO DEL FASCISMO: REVISIONES E INTERPRETACIONES (TRILOGÍA VOL. III
 
 

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Sumario

Interpretar el fascismo. Notas sobre George L. Mosse, Zeev Sternhell y Emilio Gentile, por Enzo Traverso
 
El misterio del fascismo, por David Ramsay Steele
 
El fascismo en positivo. Zeev Sternhell y la controversia en torno a un enigma, por Alvaro Ferrary
 
La ideología del fascismo entre pasado y presente, por Franco Savarino
 
El nacimiento de la ideología fascista, por Zeev Sternhell
 
Los rostros del fascismo, por Pedro Carlos González Cuevas
 
La revolución fascista, por Franco Savarino
 
Redefinición de fascismo, por Daniel Miguel López Rodríguez
 
 
Fascismo y modernismo, por Stanley G. Payne
 
Modernismo y fascismo, por Cecilia Morán
 
Impostores: Roger Griffin y el fascismo, por Jaume Farrerons

ELEMENTOS Nº 68. EL MITO DEL FASCISMO: REVISIONES E INTERPRETACIONES (TRILOGÍA VOL. II)

 



Sumario

La esencia del Fascismo como fenómeno europeo, por Giorgio Locchi,

El Fascismo nace a la Izquierda, por Erwin Robertson

Teorías del fascismo, por Stanley G. Payne

El Fascismo: Sindicalismo, Futurismo, Nacionalismo, por Ernesto Milá

Falange: Partido Fascista, por José Luis Jerez- Riesco

Para acabar con el Fascismo: Europa después del Fascismo, por Rodrigo Agulló

Julius Evola y la crítica al Fascismo, por José Luis Ontiveros

Las concepciones nucleares, axiomas e ideas-fuerza del Fascismo, por Joan Antón-Mellón

La idea marxista sobre la “esencia” fascista en el liberalismo, por Aníbal Romero

Fascismo revolucionario. Evolución del fascismo hacia la expansión ideológica exterior, por Erik Norling

El fascismo genérico. Hacia una comprensión histórica del fascismo, por Stanley G. Payne
 

ELEMENTOS Nº 67. EL MITO DEL FASCISMO: REVISIONES E INTERPRETACIONES (TRILOGÍA VOL. I)

 
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Sumario


¿Qué es el fascismo?, por Stanley G. Payne


La esencia del fascismo por Giorgio Locchi


El pensamiento mítico del Fascismo, por José Luis Monereo Pérez


El Fascismo visto desde la Derecha, por Julius Evola


El tiempo de los sargentos y de los poetas. Gabriele D’Annunzio y los orígenes del fascismo, por Adriano Erriguel


Una revisión del Fascismo: la corriente Evoliana o Tradicionalista, por Ernesto Milá


Sobre la interpretación del Fascismo por Ernst Nolte, por François Furet


Modernidad y Fascismo, por Roger Griffin


¿Fascismo en España?, por José Javier Esparza


Psicopatología del antifascismo. Análisis de una enfermedad del alma, por Ernesto Milá


Fascismo y Nazismo como Ideologías Míticas, por Aníbal Romero

 

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samedi, 15 mars 2014

Gabriele D’Annunzio y los orígenes del fascismo

GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO

 

por Adriano Erriguel

Hoy es difícil admitirlo, pero en sus inicios el fascismo italiano no hacía presagiar el rumbo funesto que terminaría tomando para la historia de Europa.

Surgido del caos como una oleada de juventud, el fascismo pertenecía a una época revolucionaria en la que, ante los viejos problemas, se vislumbraban nuevas soluciones. En su momento fundacional el fascismo italiano se presentaba como una actitud más que como una ideología, como una estética más que como una doctrina, como una ética más que como un dogma. Y fue el poeta, soldado y condottiero Gabriele D´Annunzio quien esbozó, de la manera más rotunda, ese fascismo posible que nunca pudo ser, y que terminó dando paso a un fascismo real que malogró sus promesas iniciales para embridarse, de la forma más obtusa, hacia el abismo.

Poeta laureado y héroe de guerra, exhibicionista y demagogo, megalómano e histrión, nacionalista y cosmopolita, místico y amoral, asceta y hedonista, drogadicto y erotómano, revolucionario y reaccionario, talento del eclecticismo, del reciclaje y del pastiche, genio precursor de la puesta en escena y de las relaciones públicas: D´Annunzio fue un postmoderno avant la lettre cuyas obsesiones se nos antojan asombrosamente contemporáneas. El incendio que contribuyó a provocar tardaría en extinguirse, pero después nada volvería a ser lo mismo. ¿Por qué rememorar, hoy en día, a este maldito?
Tal vez porque en una atmósfera monocorde de corrección política, de transgresiones amaestradas y de pensamiento desnatado figuras como la suya funcionan como contramodelo, y nos recuerdan que, después de todo, la imaginación, sí, puede llegar al poder.

Años incendiarios

Hubo una época de vitalidad incontenible que, sobrecargada de tensiones e ideas de alto voltaje, precisó de una guerra mundial para ventilar sus contradicciones. Los pocos años que median entre 1900 y 1914 conocieron un extraordinario incendio en el arte y en la literatura, en el pensamiento y en la ideología, que pronto se propagó a todo el mundo. Uno de los epicentros de ese incendio fue Italia – más en concreto el eje entre Florencia y Milán –, lugar donde prendió “el sueño de un futuro radiante que surgiría tras haber purificado el pasado y el presente por el hierro y por el fuego”.(1)

Esta piromanía artístico-literaria se alimentaba, en sus estratos más profundos, de una revolución filosófica y cultural cuidadosamente incubada durante la segunda mitad del siglo XIX: un vendaval ideológico que arremetía contra el positivismo racionalista de la triunfante civilización burguesa. Frente a la tabulación de la existencia por la economía y por la razón este nuevo vitalismo reivindicaba el poder de lo irracional, del instinto y del subconsciente, y frente al optimismo liberal en un mundo pacificado por el progreso oponía una concepción trágica y heroica de la existencia. En este clima intelectual surgió una apuesta que, por su radicalidad, bien podría calificarse de nuevo mito. Un mito destinado a cortar la historia en dos mitades.

El ensayista italiano Giorgio Locchi dio hace tres décadas el nombre de “suprahumanismo” a una corriente de ideas que encontró su formulación más acabada en la obra de Friedrich Nietzsche – en un plano filosófico –, y en la obra de Richard Wagner – en un plano artístico y mitopoético –. En su esencia, según Locchi, el suprahumanismo consistía en “una conciencia históricamente nueva, la conciencia del fatídico advenimiento del nihilismo, esto es – para decirlo con una terminología más moderna –, de la inminencia del fin de la historia”.(2)

Esencialmente antiigualitarista, el suprahumanismo se situaba frente a las corrientes ideológicas que configuraron dos milenios de historia: el “cristianismo en cuanto proyecto mundano, la democracia, el liberalismo, el socialismo: corrientes todas que pertenecían al campo igualitarista”. La aspiración profunda del suprahumanismo – que para Locchi no era sino la emergencia del inconsciente precristiano europeo al ámbito de la consciencia – consistía en proceder a una refundación de la historia, a través del advenimiento de un hombre nuevo. Con un método de acción: el nihilismo como única vía de salida del nihilismo, un nihilismo positivo que bebía la copa hasta las heces y que hacía tabla rasa para construir, sobre las ruinas y con las ruinas, el nuevo mundo.

Más que una corriente organizada el suprahumanismo se configuró como un clima intelectual europeo que impregnó, en grados diversos, el pensamiento, la literatura y el arte de comienzos del siglo XX, con Francia como laboratorio ideológico y con Italia como teatro de todos los experimentos. En la ebullición italiana de aquellos años se agitaban sindicalistas revolucionarios, vanguardistas, anarquistas, y nacionalistas, y todos llevaban, en grados diversos, la impronta suprahumanista. Pero el protagonista indiscutible entre todos los aspirantes a incendiarios era el movimiento futurista.

El futurismo fue la primera vanguardia auténticamente global, no sólo en el sentido geográfico sino en cuanto vehiculaba una aspiración a la totalidad.(3) Lejos de limitarse a ser una propuesta artística el futurismo se extendía al pensamiento, a la literatura, a la música, al cine, al urbanismo, a la arquitectura, al diseño, a la moda, a la publicidad, a la política. El futurismo portaba “la euforia por el mundo de la técnica, de las máquinas y de la velocidad” y empleaba “un nuevo lenguaje sintético, metálico, sincopado”. No desdeñaba “la apología de la violencia y de la guerra, exaltaba la raza entendida como estirpe – no como racismo vulgar – y sobre todo como promesa de una suprahumanidad futura”(4). Sus enemigos eran la burguesía, el romanticismo la tradición, el clero, las familias, todo lo viejo, en suma. El futurismo era la vanguardia por excelencia, la teorización radical de una voluntad pirómana. Algo que parecía estar, en principio, en las antípodas de D´Annunzio.

En el momento de apogeo de las vanguardias y del estallido de la primera guerra mundial Gabriele D´Annunzio – celebrado en toda Italia como Il Vate – era el escritor más famoso de la península, para muchos su principal poeta después de Dante. Pero para los futuristas su estilo – abundante en manierismos modernistas, decadentistas y simbolistas, en florilegios y en retórica ochocentista – podía ser considerado por derecho propio como el lenguaje de ese mausoleo al que ellos querían prender fuego.

Pero entre los futuristas y D´Annunzio se trataba más bien de amor y odio. En la estela de Byron, Il Vate pensaba que un poeta podía ser también un héroe. Al estallar la guerra mundial, y haciendo gala de la versatilidad que ya había mostrado en su carrera literaria, se tornó de poeta decadente en poeta combatiente. Y se invistió de una nueva misión, la de ejemplarizar el ideal suprahumanista y su aspiración máxima: la superación del mundo burgués y la llegada de un “hombre nuevo” que encarnase una nueva ética de la acción. El estilo es el hombre. Pocas figuras tan dispuestas como la suya para simbolizar los nuevos tiempos.

Florilegios para una masacre

La muerte está aquí…tan hermosa como la vida, embriagadora, llena de promesas, transfiguradora.
GABRIELE D´ANNUNZIO

Hoy es difícil comprender la pulsión suicida de una civilización que, en la cúspide de su poder, organizó su propio holocausto. El estallido de la primera guerra mundial fue celebrado como derroche de vitalidad, como catarsis y como regeneración moral. El entusiasmo belicista no conocía fronteras de ideología o de clase, y los artistas e intelectuales de toda Europa se aprestaron a convertirse en la voz de la nación. Ninguna otra voz cantó a la guerra con tanto arrebato como la de D´Annunzio. Ninguna otra oratoria preparó a tantos compatriotas, por la gloria y seducción de las palabras, para matar y morir. Ningún otro apóstol de la guerra se mostró tan ávido de asumir, en su propia carne, los efectos de lo que predicaba.

Cuando Italia anunció su entrada en guerra Il Vate se encontraba en la cúspide de su gloria. Celebrado en toda Europa, rodeado de lujos y cubierto de mujeres, todo le invitaba a contemplar la guerra desde una cómoda distancia. Pero con 52 años se alistó en los Lanceros de Novara, unidad con la que llegaría a participar en decenas de acciones. El ejército, consciente del potencial propagandístico de su figura, le permitió servir de la manera en la que el impacto público fuera más notable. Y le permitió utilizar la que sería su arma más letal: la palabra.

Durante cuatro años de guerra D´Annunzio habló y habló. Habló en las trincheras y en las retaguardias, en los aeródromos y en las bases navales, en los funerales masivos y en la hora de los ataques. Sus discursos eran sugestivos y magnéticos, destinados a ganar no el intelecto sino las emociones. En ellos las miserias físicas más crudas eran orladas de un nimbo de gloria, los combatientes eran héroes y mártires – tan nobles como los héroes de la antigüedad clásica o las legiones de Roma –, y la guerra era una sinfonía heroica en la que sus palabras repicaban como “oleadas hipnóticas de lenguaje: sangre, muerte, amor, dolor, victoria, martirio, fuego, Italia, sangre, muerte…” Aunque conocía de primera mano el horror de la carnicería continuaba predicando su fe en “las virtudes purificadoras de la guerra y diciendo a las tropas que eran sobrehumanas”. Hablaba de banderas ondeando sobre el cielo de Italia, de ríos llenos de cadáveres, de la tierra sedienta de sangre. No disimulaba la atrocidad de la guerra – a la que describía como las torturas que Dante nunca imaginó para su Infierno –pero a los soldados les decía que su sacrificio tenía un sentido, y les elogiaba de una forma en la que nunca se hubieran reconocido, y les repetía que la sangre de los mártires clamaba por más sangre, y que sólo por la sangre la Gran Italia se vería redimida. (5)<

Una apologética de la matanza que resulta, a cien años vista, difícil de digerir. ¿Se lo creía?

No es ésa la cuestión. Y parece insuficiente conformarse aquí con una lectura “no anacrónica”, o limitarse a señalar que “ése era el lenguaje de la época”. Tal vez sería más indicado proceder a una inversión de perspectiva. O a una lectura diferente, en clave suprahumanista.

La guerra como experiencia interior

La reputación que D´Annunzio adquirió durante la guerra se debe más a sus hechos que a sus palabras. Lejos de ser un “soldado de papel” no desperdició ocasión de poner su vida en peligro, y a lo largo de tres años llegó a combatir por tierra, mar y aire. Con un talento precursor para la publicidad sabía que los pequeños actos de terrorismo tenían más fuerza psicológica que los ataques masivos, y se especializó en acciones suicidas – aéreas y navales según los cánones futuristas – con valor simbólico e impacto mediático. Voló en numerosas ocasiones sobre los Alpes – en una época en la que eso era algo extraordinario – para bombardear al enemigo, ocasionalmente con hojas de propaganda. Y cuando los austríacos pusieron precio a su cabeza lideró una incursión suicida, en una torpedera con un puñado de hombres, contra el puerto enemigo de Buccari.(6) En una de sus misiones aéreas perdió la visión de un ojo y parcialmente la del otro, lo que ocultó durante un mes para seguir volando. Finalmente tuvo que permanecer varios meses inmovilizado para salvar la vista.

Suspendido de espaldas y entre dolores y pesadillas compuso su poema Notturno. La perspectiva de la ceguera era para él ocasión de superación, más que de abatimiento. Se confesaba feliz en la grandeza de su pérdida – los ciegos en acción eran considerados como la aristocracia de los heridos –y se recreaba en la agudización de sus sentidos del oído y del olfato. De creerle, esa sensación de felicidad nunca le abandonaría a lo largo de toda la guerra. (7)

El verdadero D´Annunzio se revela, más que en sus trompeterías patrióticas, en su correspondencia y en sus diarios. En ellos trasluce su actitud suprahumanista frente a la guerra. Si algo llama la atención en sus anotaciones es la “fluctuación constante entre lo espantoso y lo pastoral”. Todo se hace para él objeto de celebración, hasta los detalles más nimios: desde las explosiones y los ataques a la bayoneta hasta el brillo de una libélula en el barro o la aparición fugaz de un pájaro carpintero entre los árboles calcinados. De creerle, D´Annunzio fue feliz en medio del hambre, de la sed, del frío extremo, de las heridas y de los bombardeos, porque su entusiasmo omnívoro por la vida podía con todo ello, porque todo ello no era sino uno y lo mismo: la manifestación de esa vida que él consumía con un entusiasmo voluptuoso. ¿Qué era la guerra, sino un agujero en la vida ordinaria a través del cuál se manifestaba algo más alto?… “la vida tal y como debe ser, y que pasa ante nosotros, la Vida – en palabras de Ernst Jünger – como esfuerzo supremo, voluntad de combatir y dominar”.(8)

El paralelismo entre D´Annunzio y Jünger no es casual, ambos manifiestan una común actitud suprahumanista. La misma avidez de experiencias, el mismo desafío al azar, la misma preocupación estética, la misma ausencia de moralismo. Contrasta en el caso del prusiano – aparte de la objetividad acerada de su estilo – la práctica ausencia de cualquier nota patriótica. Pero cabe también pensar que en D´Annunzio la prosopopeya nacionalista no era el grano, sino la paja. Un arma de guerra como otras muchas. Cabe pensar que lo esencial para él era esa disciplina del sufrimiento de la que hablaba Nietzsche, ese Amor fati que no es sino un gran a la vida en toda su crudeza.

Más que de exaltación belicista se trata de una opción filosófica, muy distinta de la postura moralizante y lastimera de otros escritores. Cuando Wilfred Owen, Heinrich Maria Remarque o Ernest Hemingway denuncian y condenan la guerra indudablemente tienen razón, pero no por eso dejan de subrayar una obviedad. Ocurre que ellos viven la guerra desde la sensibilidad horrorizada del hombre moderno. Pero cuando Ernst Jünger escribe: “aquellos que únicamente han sentido y conservado la amargura de su propio sufrimiento, en lugar de reconocer en ella (la guerra) el signo de una alta afirmación, ésos han vivido como esclavos, no tuvieron Vida Interior, sino solamente una existencia pura y tristemente material”, lo que hace es expresar esa sensibilidad inmemorial que considera que el espíritu lo es todo. “Todo es vanidad en este mundo – continúa Jünger – sólo la emoción es eterna. Sólo a muy pocos hombres les es dado poder hundirse en su sublime inutilidad”. Amor fati. El lenguaje “moral” no tiene nada que hacer aquí. Si acaso, el lenguaje de La Iliada.

Otro elemento interesante es el uso que D´Annunzio hace del tiempo histórico. La dicotomía nuevo/viejo, un tema recurrente en su pensamiento, alcanzaría expresión plena en sus anotaciones bélicas. Siempre a la caza de analogías históricas “cada soldado de infantería le recordaba a algún episodio del glorioso pasado, cada campesino agotado a un intrépido marinero veneciano, a un legionario romano, a un caballero medieval, a algún santo marcial recreado en un cuadro renacentista. Su visión del pasado glorioso de Italia recubría el horrible conflicto de un velo teatral y rodeaba de glamour a los excrementos, a la basura y a los montones de muertos”.(9) Para el poeta de Pescara el armamento podía ser moderno, pero los hombres que lo manejaban – los jóvenes reclutas que asemejaba a héroes míticos o arquetipos – pertenecían a una tradición intemporal.

Esta confusión del pasado y del presente ilustra a su manera un elemento que Giorgio Locchi asociaba a la mentalidad suprahumanista: la concepción “no-lineal” del tiempo, la presencia constante del pasado como una dimensión que está dentro del presente junto a la dimensión del futuro. Es la idea revolucionaria – frente a las concepciones lineales, ya sean “progresistas” o “cíclicas” – de la tridimensionalidad del tiempo histórico: en cada conciencia humana “el pasado no es otra cosa que el proyecto al cual el hombre conforma su acción histórica, proyecto que trata de realizar en función de la imagen que se forma de sí mismo y que se esfuerza por encarnar. El pasado aparece entonces no como algo muerto, sino como una prefiguración del porvenir”.(10)

Locchi asociaba esta “nostalgia del porvenir” a la imagen “esférica” del tiempo esbozada en Así habló Zaratustra, así como a uno de los significados canalizados por el mitema nietzschiano del Eterno Retorno. Confusión del pasado y del porvenir, nostalgia de los orígenes y utopía del futuro: la concepción suprahumanista del tiempo – sentida de forma seguramente inconsciente por D´Annunzio y muchos otros – pone en primer plano la libertad del hombre frente a todo determinismo, porque el pasado al que religarse es siempre objeto de elección en el presente, así como objeto de interpretación cambiante. El momento presente “nunca es un punto, sino una encrucijada: cada instante presente actualiza la totalidad del pasado y potencia la totalidad del futuro”. (11) De manera que el pasado nunca es un dato inerte, y cuando se manifiesta en el futuro lo hace de forma siempre nueva, siempre desconocida.

Señala Hughes-Hallett que “la guerra trajo a D´Annunzio la paz”. Había encontrado una trascendental “tercera dimensión” del ser, más allá de la vida y la muerte. Partir en misión peligrosa era para él alcanzar un éxtasis comparable al de los grandes místicos. La guerra le trajo “aventura, propósito, una cohorte de bravos y jóvenes camaradas a los que amar con un amor más allá del que se dedica a las mujeres, una forma de fama, nueva y viril, y la intoxicación de vivir en peligro mortal constante”.(12)

Acabó la guerra reconocido como un héroe y cubierto de condecoraciones. Y entonces él y muchos como él – aquellos reclutas que a los que comparaba con los héroes míticos del pasado – debían volver a sus casas, a sus talleres, a sus matrimonios de conveniencia, a la monotonía de sus aldeas….

Comenzaba a nacer el fascismo.

¿Adiós a las armas?

La revolución victoriosa llegará. Pero no la harán las almas bellas, como la suya, la harán los sargentos y los poetas.
MARGARITA SARFATTI, en el film El joven Mussolini. 1993.

Cuando el 23 de marzo de 1919 un batiburrillo de futuristas, de ex arditi (tropas de asalto del ejército italiano), de sindicalistas revolucionarios y de antiguos socialistas fundaba en la plaza del Santo Sepulcro en Milán el primer Fasci di combattimento nadie sabía en realidad qué iba a resultar de todo aquello. Su cabeza visible era el ex sargento Benito Mussolini, un político maniobrero y posibilista recién expulsado del Partido Socialista italiano. Mussolini afirmaba que los fascistas evitarían el dogmatismo ideológico: “nos permitimos el lujo de ser aristocráticos y democráticos, conservadores y progresistas, reaccionarios y revolucionarios, de aceptar la ley y de ir más allá de ella”. Y añadía que “ante todo somos partidarios de la libertad. Queremos la libertad para todos, aún para nuestros enemigos”.(13) El primer programa fascista, visiblemente escorado hacia la izquierda, recogía la herencia intelectual del sindicalismo revolucionario.

Visto en perspectiva no cabe duda hoy de que el fascismo histórico fue un fenómeno ideológico completo. Pero en sus inicios parecía el fruto de una gran improvisación. Mussolini proclamaba entonces: el fascismo es la acción y nace de una necesidad de acción. En primer lugar recogía muchas de las aspiraciones urgentes de la “generación perdida” que había hecho la guerra, y que consideraba que el estado de Italia – un país pobre y atrasado, con desigualdades crónicas, sin coberturas sociales, con una victoria “mutilada” por los aliados y en proa a una guerra civil – hacía impensable una vuelta a la era de los partidos burgueses y a sus danzas electorales. Pero en un sentido más profundo – tal y como señala el historiador Zeev Sternhell – antes de convertirse en fuerza política el fascismo fue un fenómeno cultural, una manifestación extrema – aunque no la única posible – de un fenómeno mucho más amplio.(14)

El antecedente intelectual más inmediato del fascismo era la revisión del marxismo acometida por el sindicalismo revolucionario, una revisión en un sentido antimaterialista. Lo que estos herejes del marxismo recusaban de la doctrina era su pretensión científica, su infravaloración de los factores psicológicos y nacionales, su visión del socialismo como una mera forma racional de organización económica. Otra de sus motivaciones era el desencanto ante el valor del proletariado como fuerza revolucionaria: los proletarios eran normalmente refractarios a todo lo que no afectase a sus intereses materiales, o sea a su aspiración a convertirse en pequeños burgueses. Algo que los primeros fascistas constataron, así como también constataron que, entre el socialismo y el proletariado, la relación era meramente circunstancial. De lo que se deducía que la revolución no era ya cuestión de una sola clase social… lo que a su vez quebrantaba el dogma de la lucha de clases. La revolución pasaría a ser, pues, una tarea nacional, y el nacionalismo su hilo conductor… (15)

>Pero ¿qué revolución? Una revolución de móviles puramente económicos resultaba insuficiente para la cultura política que se estaba gestando: una cultura política comunitaria, antiindividualista y antiracionalista y que aspiraba a poner remedio a la disgregación social ocasionada por la modernidad. De hecho en economía el fascismo se manifestaba como posibilista y declaraba querer aprovechar lo mejor del capitalismo y del progreso industrial, siendo lo esencial que la esfera económica quedase siempre subordinada a la política. La cuestión subyacente era otra.

Lo esencial – siguiendo a Zeev Sternhell – era “instaurar una civilización heroica sobre las ruinas de una civilización rastreramente materialista, moldear un hombre nuevo, activista y dinámico”. El fascismo originario exhibía un carácter moderno y su estética futurista aguijoneaba la imaginación de los intelectuales – lo que explica la atracción que ejercía sobre la juventud – así como predicaba que una elite no es una categoría definida por el lugar que ocupa en el proceso de producción, sino la expresión de un estado de ánimo: la aristocracia forjada en las trincheras era una prueba de ello.(16) Y del marxismo tomaba la idea de la violencia como instrumento de cambio. Alguien definió una vez al fascismo como nuestro mal de siglo: una expresión que evoca una aspiración hacia la superación del mundo burgués. Más que un corpus doctrinario el fascismo original era una nebulosa, una fuerza rupturista de carácter inédito que aspiraba a la construcción de una “solución de recambio total”.

Lo que ocurría – dicho sea en términos Locchianos – es que el principio suprahumanista estaba pasando, de forma acelerada, de su fase mítica a su fase ideológica y política.(17) En el plano ideológico la llamada “Revolución conservadora” alemana era una sus manifestaciones. Y en el plano político el fascismo de Mussolini fue el brote que hizo fortuna. Pero no el único.

Y aquí es donde entra D´Annunzio.

Gabriele D´Annunzio y sus chicos, en Fiume

D´Annunzio y sus chicos, en Fiume

La ruta hacia el Rubicón

A comienzos de 1919 Mussolini era solo un líder político en ciernes, mientras que D´Annunzio era el hombre más célebre de Italia. Finalizada la guerra con una “victoria mutilada” – los aliados ignoraron las promesas territoriales hechas a Italia – el país se sumió en una espiral de caos político y social. Y entonces muchos de los que esperaban que un “hombre fuerte” tomara las riendas empezaron a mirar a D´Annunzio. Por su parte el poeta-soldado descubría lo difícil que le resultaba vivir sin la guerra, y al igual que muchos otros italianos rumiaba su amargura por la traición de los aliados.

“Vuestra victoria no será mutilada” – escribió D´Annunzio en octubre 1918. Un eslogan que hizo fortuna (como tantos otros que acuñó) y que era música en los oídos de todos los que esperaban una nueva llamada a las armas. Italia rebosaba de hombres acostumbrados a la violencia y que, en vez de recibir una bienvenida de héroes, eran tratados como huéspedes indeseables cuando no como bestias salvajes, abocados al desempleo y a los insultos de los agitadores de una revolución bolchevique en ciernes. Entre esos hombres destacaban los arditi, los soldados de élite, fieramente indisciplinados, acostumbrados a la lucha cuerpo a cuerpo y con dagas y granadas, ataviados con uniformes negros y con matas de pelo a veces tan largas como crines de caballo – los dandis de la guerra.(18) Su bandera era negra y su himno: Giovinezza (Juventud). Todos miraban a D´Annunzio como a un símbolo, y algunos de ellos empezaron a llamarse “dannunzianos”. Un héroe de guerra y un ejército de vuelta a casa: una conjunción fatídica para cualquier gobierno civil. Las autoridades comenzaron a temer a D´Annunzio. El Rubicón nunca había sido verdaderamente olvidado en Italia.

El poeta-soldado comenzó a multiplicar sus apariciones públicas, a escarnecer al gobierno que había aceptado la humillación de Versalles, a incitar a los italianos a rechazar a sus autoridades. En muy poco tiempo se vio en el centro de todas las conspiraciones y todos los grupos de oposición comenzaron a utilizar su nombre. Con los fascistas mantuvo las distancias, D´Annunzio los consideraba como “vulgares imitadores, potencialmente útiles pero lamentablemente brutales y primarios en su forma de pensar”.(19) Y entre todos los que volvían su mirada a D´Annunzio destacaban las comunidades italianas en la costa del Adriático que esperaban ser “redimidas” mediante su incorporación a la madre patria. D´Annunzio, por su parte, les prometió que estaría con ellos “hasta el fin”.

La ciudad de Fiume, puerto principal del Adriático, contaba con una mayoría de población italiana que en octubre 1918 reclamó su incorporación a Italia.(20) Pero los aliados reunidos en Versalles situaron la ciudad bajo una administración internacional. La ciudad se convirtió entonces en un símbolo para todos los nacionalistas italianos y grupos de ex arditi, al grito de “Fiume o muerte”, comenzaron a formar la “Legión de Fiume” dispuestos a “liberar” la ciudad. Y en medio de una espiral de violencia los italianos de Fiume ofrecieron a D´Annunzio el liderazgo de la ciudad.

El poeta-soldado había encontrado su Rubicón. Y su nueva encarnación: la de condottiero.

Fiume era una fiesta

El contagio de la grandeza es el mayor peligro para cualquiera que viva en Fiume, una locura contagiosa, que ha impregnado a todo el mundo
(EL OBISPO DE FIUME, EN UNA ENTREVISTA)

Cuando el 11 de septiembre 1919 D´Annunzio llegó a Fiume en un Fiat 501 seguramente no sabía que daba inicio a uno de los experimentos más extravagantes de la historia política de occidente: el sueño platónico del príncipe-poeta cobraba vida con dos milenios de retraso. Un vendaval de liberación dionisíaca se desencadenó sobre la ciudad adriática, un desmadre nietzschiano en la que se daban la mano la política y el misticismo, la utopía y la violencia, la revolución y Dadá. La era de la política- espectáculo había empezado, y D´Annunzio levantaba el telón.

La época de Fiume ha sido descrita como un microcosmos del mundo político moderno: todo se prefiguró allí, todo se experimentó allí, todos somos en gran parte los herederos. Un momento mágico, una bacanal de soñadores, una sinfonía suprahumanista y heroica en la que una sociedad hambrienta de maravillas – galvanizada por la guerra, hastiada de la insipidez de un siglo de positivismo – se encontraba con un líder a su altura y secundaba, a ritmo de desfiles multicolores y multitudes enfervorizadas, sus quimeras de César visionario.

La trayectoria política de la ciudad durante esos dieciséis meses fue, como no podía ser menos, errática. El primer programa – la anexión a Italia – era simple y realista, pero naufragó en un piélago de indecisiones y gazmoñerías diplomáticas. El segundo programa era de carácter subversivo: provocar la chispa que desencadenase una revolución en Italia. Pero había un tercer programa, incontrolable y radical: Fiume como primer paso, no hacia una Gran Italia, sino hacia un nuevo orden mundial.

Un programa que ganaba fuerza a medida que se disipaba – por la presión de los aliados y por la indecisión del gobierno italiano – la perspectiva de la incorporación a Italia. Impulsada por los revolucionarios sindicalistas que rodeaban a D´Annunzio, la “Constitución de Fiume” (la Carta del Carnaro) es el aspecto más interesante del legado de Fiume, por cuanto supone de contribución original a la teoría política.(21) La Carta del Carnaro contenía elementos pioneros: la limitación del (hasta entonces sacrosanto) derecho a la propiedad privada, la completa igualdad de las mujeres, el laicismo en la escuela, la libertad absoluta de cultos, un sistema completo de seguridad social, medidas de democracia directa, un mecanismo de renovación continua del liderazgo y un sistema de corporaciones o representación por secciones de la comunidad: una idea que haría fortuna. Según su biógrafo Michael A. Leeden el gobierno de D´Annunzio – compuesto por elementos muy heterogéneos – fue uno de los primeros en practicar una suerte de “política de consenso” según la idea de que los diversos intereses en conflicto podían ser “sublimados” dentro de un movimiento de nuevo cuño. Lo esencial era que el nuevo orden estuviera basado en las cualidades personales de heroísmo y de genio, más que en los criterios tradicionales de riqueza, herencia y poder. El objetivo final – básicamente suprahumanista – no era otro sino la aleación de un nuevo tipo de hombre.

La Carta del Carnaro contenía toques surrealistas como designar a “la Música” como principio fundamental del Estado. Pero lo más original – lo más específicamente dannunziano – era la inclusión de “un elaborado sistema de celebraciones de masas y rituales, designados para garantizar un alto nivel de conciencia política y de entusiasmo entre los ciudadanos”.(22) En Fiume D´Annunzio – ahora denominado “el Comandante” – comenzó a experimentar con un nuevo medio, creando “obras de arte en las que los materiales eran columnas de hombres, lluvias de flores, fuegos artificiales, música electrizante – un género que posteriormente sería desarrollado y reelaborado durante dos décadas en Roma, Moscú y Berlín”.(23) El comandante inauguró una nueva forma de liderazgo basada en la comunicación directa entre el líder y las masas, una especie de plebiscito cotidiano en el que las multitudes, congregadas ante su balcón, respondían a sus preguntas y secundaban sus invectivas. Todo el ritual del fascismo estaba ya allí: los uniformes, los estandartes, el culto a los mártires, los desfiles de antorchas, las camisas negras, la glorificación de la virilidad y de la juventud, la comunión entre el líder y el pueblo, el saludo brazo en alto, el grito de guerra ¡Eia Eia Alalá!(24) . Señala Hughes-Hallett que D´Annunzio nunca fue fascista pero que el fascismo fue inequívocamente dannunziano. Alguien escribió que, bajo el fascismo, D´Annunzio fue la víctima del mayor plagio de la historia.

Otro elemento pionero fue la creación de una Liga de Naciones antiimperialistas: la “Liga de Fiume”, proyecto de alianza de todas las naciones oprimidas que desarrollaba el concepto de revolución mundial y de “nación proletaria” teorizado por Michels, y que aspiraba a reunir desde el Sinn Fein irlandés hasta los nacionalistas árabes e indios. Alguien ha querido ver al Comandante como a un profeta del Tercermundismo, si bien sería más correcto ver aquí “la primera aparición de la temática de los derechos de los pueblos”.(25) Las potencias aliadas comenzaron a alarmarse. La empresa de Fiume perdía su carácter nacionalista y acentuaba su contenido revolucionario…

¡Haced el amor y haced la guerra!

¡Giovinezza, Giovinezza, Primavera di Bellezza!
CANCIÓN DE LOS ARDITI

Un Estado regido por un poeta y con la creatividad convertida en obligación cívica: no era extraño que la vida cultural adquiriese un sesgo anticonvencional.(26) La Constitución estaba bajo la advocación de la “Décima Musa”, la Musa – según D´Annunzio – “de las comunidades emergentes y de los pueblos en génesis… la Musa de la Energía”, que en el nuevo siglo debería conducir a la imaginación al poder. Hacer de la vida una obra de arte. En el Fiume de 1919 la vida pública se convirtió en una performance de veinticuatro horas en la que “la política se hacía poesía y la poesía sensualidad, y en la que una reunión política podía terminar en un baile y el baile en una orgía. Ser joven y ser apasionado era una obligación”.(27) Entre la población local y los recién llegados se propagó una atmósfera de libertad sexual y de amor libre, inusual para la época. Comenzaba la revolución sexual. Así lo quería el nuevo “Príncipe de Juventud”, tuerto y de cincuenta y seis años

No es de extrañar que la ciudad se convirtiera en un polo magnético para toda la cofradía de idealistas, rebeldes y románticos que pululaba por el mundo. Un País de la Cucaña en el que se codeaban protofascistas y revolucionarios internacionalistas sin que a nadie se le ocurriera algo tan vulgar como “entrar en diálogo”. Un laboratorio contracultural en el que brotaban grupos variopintos como el “Yoga” (inspirado por el hinduismo y por el Bhagavad-Gita), los “Lotos Castaños” (proto-hippies partidarios de una vuelta a la naturaleza), los “Lotos Rojos” (defensores del sexo dionisíaco), ecologistas, nudistas, dadaístas y otros especímenes de variada índole. El componente psicodélico estaba asegurado por una generosa circulación de droga bajo la tolerante mirada del Comandante, consumidor más o menos ocasional de polvo blanco.(28) Los años 60 comenzaron en Fiume. Pero a diferencia de los hippies californianos, los hippies del Comandante estaban dispuestos no sólo a hacer el amor, sino también a hacer la guerra.

Mientras tanto Roma miraba a Fiume con una mezcla de consternación y de pavor. En palabras de los socialistas Italianos “Fiume estaba siendo transformada en un burdel, refugio de criminales y prostitutas”. Lo cierto es que todo el mundo iba a Fiume: soldados, aventureros, revolucionarios, intelectuales, espías aliados, artistas cosmopolitas, poetas neopaganos, bohemios con la cabeza en las nubes, el futurista Marinetti, el inventor Marconi, el Director de orquesta Toscanini… Proliferaban la elocuencia y el dandismo, la personalidad del Comandante era contagiosa. ¡Condecoraciones, uniformes, títulos, himnos y ceremonias para todos! El estilo ornamental era de rigor. Y a su vez los nuevos visitantes se iban haciendo cada vez más marginales: menores fugados, desertores, criminales y otras gentes con asuntos por aclarar con la justicia…. muchos de estos elementos fueron reclutados para formar la guardia de corps del Comandante: la “Legión Disperata”, de rutilantes uniformes. D´Annunzio observaba a sus arditi comiendo cordero en las playas, en sus fantásticos uniformes resplandecientes a la luz de las llamas, y los comparaba con Aquiles y sus mirmidones de vuelta a su campamento frente a Troya. Es esa mezcla electrizante de arcaísmo y futurismo, tan propia de la sensibilidad suprahumanista. Sonaba tan antiguo, sin embargo era tan nuevo…

Presionado por sus compromisos internacionales el gobierno de Roma decretó un bloqueo contra Fiume, y la ciudad encontró un método para asegurar su subsistencia: la piratería. Organizados por un antiguo as de la aviación italiana, Guido Keller, los barcos de Fiume pasaron a adueñarse de cualquier buque que transitase entre el estrecho de Messina y Venecia. Y cada captura realizada por los uscocchi – así llamados por D´Annunzio en honor a los piratas adriáticos del XVI – era recibida en la ciudad como una fiesta. Las actividades ilícitas se ampliaron al secuestro – un comando de Fiume capturó a un general italiano que pasaba por Trieste – y a las expediciones para requisar provisiones en territorios vecinos. También a las ocupaciones simbólicas de otras ciudades próximas. El Comandante hizo bordar su lema Ne me frego (algo así como: “me la pela”) en una bandera que colgó sobre su cama.(29) Fiume era un Estado fuera de la ley, lo que hoy llamaríamos un Estado gamberro. Señala su biógrafa que D´Annunzio, como un nuevo Peter Pan, había construido una “Tierra de Nunca Jamás, un espacio liberado de las relaciones causa-efecto donde los niños perdidos pudieran disfrutar por siempre de sus peligrosas aventuras sin sentirse molestados por el sentido común”.(30)

Pero el problema de la niñez es que se acaba, y llega la hora de los adultos. El Tratado de Rapallo, firmado en Noviembre 1920, establecía las fronteras italo-yugoeslavas y llegaba a un compromiso sobre Fiume. D´Annunzio se quedó aislado, y hasta los fascistas de Mussolini le retiraron su apoyo. Tras una intervención de la Marina italiana y la resistencia de un puñado de arditi – que se saldó con varias docenas de muertos – D´Annunzio fue obligado a abandonar Fiume a fines de Diciembre 1920. En una ceremonia de despedida su último grito fue: ¡Viva el amor!

El poeta había concluido su revolución. Llegaba el turno del ex sargento.

El Fascismo sin D´Annunzio

Pasados los años un Mussolini ya en el poder celebraría a Gabriele D´Annunzio como al “Juan Bautista del fascismo”. Convertido en una leyenda el poeta pasaría sus dos últimas décadas recluido en su mansión de El Vittoriale a orillas del lago de Garda, donde Mussolini acudiría ocasionalmente para retratarse con él.

Hoy se considera a D´Annunzio como a un personaje del Régimen, pero lo cierto es que nunca fue miembro del Partido Fascista y sus relaciones con el Duce fueron mucho más ambivalentes de lo que se piensa. En privado Mussolini se refería a D´Annunzio como a “una caries, a la que hay que extirpar o cubrir de oro”, y se refería también al “fiumismo mal entendido” como a sinónimo de actitud anarquizante y de poco fiar. En realidad ambos personajes se observaban con sospecha: Mussolini consideraba que D´Annunzio era demasiado influyente e impredecible, y éste se abstenía de prestar un apoyo expreso al Duce. En realidad el poeta había recomendado a sus arditi mantenerse al margen de cualquier formación política, si bien muchos acabarían en el fascismo y algunos en la extrema izquierda o incluso en España en las Brigadas Internacionales.(31) Las únicas ocasiones en las que D´Annunzio trató de influir políticamente en Mussolini fueron para aconsejarle que se mantuviera bien alejado de Hitler (“ese payaso feroz”, “eserostroengominado e innoble”).

El poeta-soldado falleció en 1938 en su mansión del Vittoriale, en una atmósfera tan barroca como claustrofóbica, rodeado de espías italianos y alemanes. Con su muerte desapareció toda una época: la de los albores de ese fascismo que no pudo ser. El fascismo real recogió la puesta en escena y la liturgia de Fiume, pero las vació de libertad y las transformó en una coreografía burocratizada al servicio de un proyecto que llevó a Italia a la catástrofe. La historia es bien conocida. No obstante suelen pasarse por alto algunas cosas…

Normalmente se pasa por alto que ese primer fascismo formaba parte de un clima cultural vanguardista, sofisticado y plural, muy diferente del provincianismo obtuso que caracterizaba a los nazis y a su cursilería völkisch. De hecho, el pluralismo cultural de la Italia fascista – un país donde prácticamente no hubo éxodo intelectual alguno – no tiene parangón con el dirigismo impuesto sobre la cultura en la época nazi. Estudiosos como Renzo de Felice o Julien Freund han contrapuesto el carácter optimista y “mediterráneo” del fascismo – con su tendencia a exaltar la vida dentro de un cierto espíritu de mesura – frente al carácter sombrío, trágico y catastrófico del nazismo, con su inclinación germánica por el Raggnarokk. (32)Igualmente podría destacarse el carácter antidogmático – incluso artístico y bohemio – de ese primer fascismo, en contraposición a las ínfulas “científicas” de la dogmática nazi, basada en el racismo biológico y en el darwinismo social.

A lo que hay que añadir que el primer fascismo no tenía ningún atisbo de antisemitismo, sino más bien al contrario: muchos judíos fueron fascistas de primera hora e incluso tuvieron cargos importantes, tales como la publicista Margaritta Sarfati, amante judía del Duce y prima donna de la vida cultural del régimen. De hecho la política exterior del régimen mantuvo frecuentes contactos con el movimiento sionista. Y tras la llegada de Hitler al poder eminentes exiliados judíos encontraron acogida en Italia.

Se pasa también por alto que tras la “marcha sobre Roma” en 1922 Mussolini se presentó ante el Parlamento y obtuvo un amplio voto de confianza de la mayoría no-fascista. Se tiende a olvidar que la violencia de las escuadras fascistas, si bien muy cierta, no era exclusiva del fascismo: ése era el lenguaje político en buena parte de Europa. Y en Italia fue el fascismo, mejor organizado, el que finalmente se impuso. Se omite también que el fascismo colaboró con los socialistas y con otras fuerzas de oposición, y que ganó una mayoría de votos en las elecciones de 1924. Sólo entonces, tras el brutal asesinato del diputado socialista Matteoti y la negativa de la oposición a permanecer en el Parlamento, los energúmenos del fascismo ganaron la mano y se institucionalizó la dictadura.

En realidad 1924 marca el comienzo del declive. Los años posteriores son los de las grandes realizaciones del régimen: la edificación de un Estado social, las grandes obras públicas y la modernización del país. Logros que compraron la adhesión de buena parte de la población. Pero el fascismo ya estaba herido de muerte. Al traicionar aquella promesa de 1919 en la Plaza del Santo Sepulcro de Milán (“Queremos la libertad para todos, aún para nuestros enemigos”) el fascismo se transformó en una burocracia autocomplaciente y satisfecha, y Mussolini se fue apartando de la realidad para encerrarse en una megalomanía que resultó funesta.

Aún así durante algunos años el fascismo impulsó una política favorecedora de la paz y la cooperación internacional, como lo prueban los Acuerdos de Letrán en 1929 y las propuestas de desarme en la Sociedad de Naciones en 1932. En relación a la Alemania nazi hay algo que también suele olvidarse: Mussolini fue el impulsor del llamado “Frente de Stressa”, una iniciativa diplomática que en abril 1935, junto a Francia y Gran Bretaña, trataba de garantizar la independencia de Austria y el respeto al Tratado de Versalles, y por consiguiente frenar a Hitler cuando todavía era posible hacerlo. Dos meses después, en Junio de 1935, Gran Bretaña firmaba con la Alemania Nazi un Acuerdo naval que suponía la primera violación de ese Tratado. Mussolini se quedó solo.

El aislamiento se consumó a partir de la invasión de Abisinia y las sanciones que le fueron impuestas a Italia, y que abocaron a Mussolini a una alianza con Hitler. A partir de entonces, prisionero de una mezcla de temor y fascinación por el dictador alemán, el Duce se vio arrastrado hasta el abismo. En 1938 cayó incluso en la abyección de importar la legislación antisemita del Tercer Reich.

¿Hubiera sido posible otro derrotero, menos dictatorial y más “dannunziano”? Mussolini, al contrario de Hitler, nunca tuvo un dominio absoluto sobre el Partido, y dentro del fascismo siempre hubo línea contraria a los nazis y favorable a un entendimiento con Francia y Gran Bretaña. Su principal figura era el Ministro de Aviación Italo Balbo, héroe de guerra y escuadrista de primera hora: el auténtico prototipo del “nuevo hombre” exaltado por el fascismo. Pero un celoso Mussolini le nombró Gobernador de Libia para apartarlo de los centros del poder. Allí falleció en 1940, en un accidente de aviación poco claro. Los últimos restos de la oposición fascista fueron liquidados en 1944 en el proceso de Verona, con el ex Ministro de Exteriores Galeazzo Ciano y otros jerarcas ejecutados a instancias de los alemanes.

¿Un fascismo democrático?

A casi cien años de distancia D´Annunzio y su aventura en Fiume plantean todavía interrogantes. Hay uno especialmente provocador: ¿pudo haber sido posible un fascismo democrático?

Una pregunta que sólo tiene el valor que queramos darle a la historia-ficción. Porque la historia es la que es, y no se puede cambiar. Hablar de “fascismo democrático” es hoy un oxímoron, y eso parece irrebatible. No obstante demasiadas veces nos refugiamos en posturas intelectualmente confortables y moralmente irreprochables, y eso dificulta la comprensión de ciertos fenómenos. En este caso, el de la naturaleza del fascismo. La interpretación marxista clásica del fascismo como un instrumento defensivo del Capital se condena a no comprender nada, y deja sin explicar la amplia adhesión que obtuvo un sistema que sólo fue extirpado por la guerra, una guerra en la que los marxistas se aliaron con… el capitalismo. Esta interpretación ha sido superada hace ya tiempo, y hoy tiende a admitirse que, como señala Zeev Sternhell, el fascismo era una manifestación extrema de un fenómeno mucho más comprehensivo y amplio – ése que Giorgio Locchi denominaba suprahumanismo –, y como tal es parte integral de la historia de la cultura europea.

D´Annunzio no fue un ideólogo sistemático, pero su empeño prometeico y nietzschiano simboliza ese clima cultural suprahumanista del que brotó el fascismo. Fiume fue un momento mágico y necesariamente fugaz, no se puede ser sublime durante veinte años. Pero Fiume nos recuerda que la historia pudo haber sido diferente, y que tal vez esa rebelión cultural y política – llamémosla “fascismo” – pudo haber sido compatible con un mayor respeto a las libertades, o al menos evolucionar alejada de las aberraciones ya conocidas… Claro que entonces tal vez eso no sería ya fascismo, sería más bien otra cosa…

Si no tenemos en cuenta el fenómeno cultural del suprahumanismo no se puede entender el fascismo. Pero éste no fue su único retoño. Históricamente hubo otros dos. El primero fue un brote intelectual de gran altura, y que sigue hablando al hombre de nuestros días: la llamada “revolución conservadora” alemana. Y el segundo fue una planta venenosa: el nazismo. La cuestión que hoy podría plantearse es la de saber si ese humus cultural suprehumanista está definitivamente agotado, o si aún podría dar lugar a derivaciones inéditas. Al fin y al cabo – y según la concepción “esférica” del tiempo – la historia siempre está abierta, y cuando la historia se regenera lo hace de forma siempre nueva, de forma siempre imprevista.

Anarquismo de derecha

Denunciamos la falta de gusto de la representación parlamentaria. Nos recreamos en la belleza, en la elegancia, la cortesía y el estilo…queremos ser dirigidos por hombres milagrosos y fantásticos
FILIPPO TOMMASO MARINETTI

El arte de mandar consiste en no mandar
GABRIELE D´ANNUNZIO

Pero el interés de revisitar a D´Annunzio va mucho más allá de la pregunta sobre la naturaleza del fascismo. El poeta-soldado prefigura una forma de hacer política vigente hasta la actualidad: la política espectáculo, la fusión de elementos sacros y profanos, la intuición de que en último término todo es política. La Carta del Carnaro es un documento visionario en cuanto recoge preocupaciones, libertades y derechos hasta entonces relegados fuera del ámbito político, y que durante las décadas siguientes pasarían a ser integrados en el constitucionalismo moderno. De alguna forma D´Annunzio parecía poseer la clave de todo lo que iba a venir después. Todos somos en buena parte sus herederos, para bien y para mal.

Por eso sería un error menospreciar a D´Annunzio como a un esteta dilettante metido a revolucionario. O despolitizarlo y considerar – como parece apuntar su perspicaz biógrafo Michael A. Leeden – que lo importante de Fiume no es el contenido, sino el estilo, y que ninguna posición ideológica concreta se desprende de Fiume. Pensamos que mucho más acertado está Carlos Caballero Jurado cuando señala que: “Fiume no era un pedazo de tierra. Fiume era un símbolo, un mito, algo que quizá no pueda entenderse en nuestros días, en una época tan refractaria al mito y a los ritos. La empresa de Fiume tiene más de rebelión cultural que de anexión política”.(33) ¿Qué mensajes puede extraer el hombre de hoy en día, no sólo de Fiume, sino de toda la trayectoria de D´Annunzio?

En primer lugar la idea de que la única revolución verdadera es la que persigue una transformación integral del hombre. Esto es, la que se plantea ante todo como una revolución cultural. Algo que los revolucionarios de mayo 1968 parecieron entender bien. Pero lo que desconocían es que, en realidad, casi todo lo que proponían ya estaba inventado. La imaginación ya había llegado al poder, cincuenta años antes, en la costa del Adriático. La gran sorpresa es que el que así lo decidió – y esta es la segunda gran lección de Fiume – no era un utópico progresista, libertario y mundialista, sino un patriota, un elitista practicante de una ética heroica. Fiume es la demostración de que ideas como la liberación sexual, la ecología, la democracia directa, la igualdad entre hombres y mujeres, la libertad de conciencia y el espíritu de fiesta pueden plantearse no sólo desde posiciones igualitaristas, pacifistas, hedonistas y feministas, sino también desde valores aristocráticos y diferencialistas, identitarios y heroicos.

El gesto D´Annunzio implica además algo muy actual: fue el primer grito de rebeldía contra un sistema americanomorfo que en aquellos años empezaba a extender sus tentáculos, es el grito de defensa de la belleza y del espíritu frente al reino de la vulgaridad y el imperio del dólar.

El gesto de D´Annunzio fue también la reivindicación, surrealista y heroica, de una regeneración política basada en la liberación de la personalidad humana, y un grito de protesta frente al mundo de burócratas anónimos que se venía encima.(34)

Fiume es además la demostración de que sí es posible trascender la división derecha- izquierda, de que la transversalidad es posible. Valores de derecha más ideas de izquierda. La primera síntesis genuinamente posmoderna. Fiume es el único experimento conocido hasta la fecha de lo que podría ser un anarquismo de derecha llevado a sus últimas consecuencias.

Hay una última cuestión, y que tiene que ver con la actividad de D´Annunzio como predicador y exaltador de la guerra. Eso es algo que hoy nos parece indefendible – aunque no lo era tanto en aquellos años en los que la guerra todavía podía vivirse como una aventura épica –. Pero hoy sabemos que detrás de aquella retórica inflamada no había ninguna causa real que justificase tanto sacrificio. Y sin embargo…

Sin embargo es posible que aquellos hombres de retórica inflamada, en el fondo, esto también lo supiesen. Es muy posible que D´Annunzio y otros como él, por destilación de un nihilismo positivo, supiesen que a fin de cuentas es mucho mejor el patriotismo a la Nada. Hoy tenemos la Nada, y desde luego tenemos menos muertos. Pero cabe plantearse si gracias a eso, en comparación con aquellos hombres, estamos también más vivos.

La era de los años incendiarios quedó sumergida en el tiempo. Pasó la época en la que los sargentos y los poetas hacían revoluciones. Y como suele decirse, a los cuerpos los devoró el tiempo, a los sueños los devoró la historia, y a la historia la engulló el olvido. También dicen que los viejos guerreros nunca mueren, que sólo se desvanecen físicamente. Después de la catástrofe nos queda el recuerdo de la grandeza, y el de los hombres que la soñaron.

 

Video musical con la letra del poema de D´Annunzio: “la Canzone del Carnaro” (“Los treinta de Buccari”)

1 Marcello Veneziani, Anni Incendiari, Valecchi 2009, pag 7.

2 Giorgio Locchi, Definciones. Los textos que revolucionaron la cultura inconformista europea.

Ediciones Nueva República 2011, pags 280-281.

3 El futurismo estuvo presente en Rusia (Maiakovski), en Portugal (Pessoa), en Bélgica, en Argentina o en el mundo anglosajón con la fundación del Londres del movimiento vorticista por Ezra Pound y Wyndham Lewis.

4 Marcello Veneziani, Anni Incendiari, Valecchi 2009, pags 15 y 16.

5 Lucy Hughes-Hallett, Gabrielle D´Annunzio. Poet, seducer and preacher of war. Fourth State, edición Kindle, 2013.

6 En el bombardeo incluyó proyectiles huecos de goma que contenían mensajes líricos. Posteriormente celebró este hecho – conocido como La beffa di Buccari (La broma de Buccari) – en una famosa balada: La Canzone del Carnaro (“Los treinta de Buccari”): “Somos treinta hombres a bordo/treinta y uno con la Muerte…”.

7 Lucy Hughes-Hallett, Obra citada.

8 Ernst Jünger: Tres fragmentos de “La guerra, nuestra madre”, en Revista de Occidente nº 46, marzo 1985, pag 158.

9 Lucy Hughes-Hallett, Obra citada.

10 Giorgio Locchi: Definiciones, Ediciones Nueva República 2010. Pag 59.

11 Alain de Benoist: Lés idées à l´endroit. Avatar Éditions 2011. pags 54-55.

12 Lucy Hughes-Hallett: Obra citada.

13 Álvaro Lozano: Mussolini y el fascismo italiano. Marcial Pons Historia 2012, pag. 108.

14 Zeev Sternhell: El nacimiento de la ideología fascista. Siglo veintiuno editores 1994, pag 1. Nos ceñimos aquí a un análisis estricto del fascismo italiano, lo que excluye al nazismo. Señala el historiador israelí: “en modo alguno cabe identificar el fascismo con el nazismo (…) ambas ideologías difieren en una cuestión fundamental: el determinismo biológico, el racismo en su sentido más extremo…la guerra a los judíos (…) El racismo no es una de las condiciones necesarias para la existencia de un fascismo. Una teoría general que quiera englobar fascismo y nazismo chocaría siempre con ese aspecto del problema. De hecho, una teoría así no es posible”. (Obra citada, pags. 4-5).

15 En este sentido, los análisis teóricos de: Georges Sorel, R. Michels y Eduard Berth (Zeev Sternhell, Obra citada, pag. 182).

16 Zeev Sternhel: Obra citada, pag. 386.

17 Giorgio Locchi distinguía las fases mítica, ideológica y sintética como fases arquetípicas de las tendencias históricas. Así, en el caso del pensamiento igualitario su fase “mítica” se correspondería con la ecumene cristiana, la fase “ideológica” con la disgregación ocasionada por la reforma protestante y la aparición de diversas filosofías y partidos, y la fase “sintética” a las doctrinas de pretensiones científicas y universales (marxismo, ideología de los “derechos humanos”).

18 Lucy Hughes-Hallett, Obra citada

19 Lucy Hughes-Hallett, Obra citada.

20 Fiume es la actual Rijeka, en Croacia.

21 La “Carta del Carnaro” fue adoptada como Constitución de la “Regencia Italiana del Carnaro”, nuevo Estado independiente llamado así por el Golfo del Carnaro, lugar donde se encuentra Fiume. Su redactor principal fue el líder sindicalista- revolucionario Alceste de Ambris.

22 Michael A. Ledeen: D Annunzio, The first Duce. Transaction Publishers 2009, pags XIV y XV.

23 Lucy Hughes-Hallett, Obra citada

24 ¡Eia Eia, Alalá! era, según la leyenda, el grito con el que Aquiles llamaba a sus caballos. D´Annunzio lo acuñó durante la guerra como sustituto grecorromano al ¡hip hip, hurra! anglosajón.

25 Carlos Caballero Jurado: El Comandante y la décima musa. La fascinante historia de D´Annunzio en Fiume.

26 El Ministerio de Asuntos Exteriores de Fiume estaba dirigido también por dos poetas: León Kochnitzky y Henry Furst.

27 Lucy Hughes-Hallett: Obra citada

28 En los años previos a la guerra la cocaína, cuyos auténticos efectos no eran todavía bien conocidos, era considerada como un suplemento para la resistencia y el coraje. Personajes como Shackleton o Scott la llevaron en sus expediciones, y tampoco era infrecuente entre los pilotos de guerra. (Lucy Hughes-Hallett: Obra citada).

29 Años después Mussolini adoptó este lema como expresión del “estilo de vida” fascista.

30 Lucy Hughes-Hallett: Obra citada.

31 Muy significativamente el líder nacionalsindicalista y principal redactor de la Carta del Carnaro, Alceste de Ambris, pasó a la oposición radical contra el fascismo. Privado de la nacionalidad italiana, murió en el exilio en Francia en 1934.

32 Es curiosa a este respecto la excelente serie de televisión de la RAI “El joven Mussolini” (Gian Luigi Calderone, 1993), en la que el futuro Duce (interpretado por Antonio Banderas) aparece retratado, más que como un futuro dictador sanguinario, como un simpático tarambana.

33 Carlos Caballero Jurado: El Comandante y la décima musa. La fascinante historia de D´Annunzio en Fiume.

34 Una Historia de Europa: “de D´Annunzio a Van Rompuy”… (a ¿quién?).

00:05 Publié dans Histoire | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0) | Tags : histoire, gabriele d'annunzio, fiume, fascisme, italie | |  del.icio.us | | Digg! Digg |  Facebook

lundi, 24 février 2014

Marx y Gentile: idealismo es revolución

por Valerio Benedetti

Ex: http://paginatransversal.wordpress.com

El mundo no tenemos que aceptarlo necesariamente tal y como es. El hombre siempre tiene la posibilidad, gracias a su voluntad creadora, de transformarlo. Es este, en sustancia, el mensaje que nos viene de la tradición filosófica del idealismo. Y es siempre este el hilo conductor a lo largo del cual se desenvuelve el interesante volumen de Diego Fusaro, Idealismo e prasssi: Fichte, Marx e Gentile (Il melangolo, pp. 414, € 35), aparecido hace algunos meses en las librerías italianas.

El autor, joven filósofo turinés e investigador en la Universidad San Raffaele de Milán, es, entre otras cosas, el fundador de filosófico.net, el sitio de Internet en el que, se quiera o no, han recalado casi todos los estudiantes de filosofía. Además, Fusaro, a pesar de su edad, ya ha publicado diversas e interesantes obras, como Bentornato Marx!, Rinascita di un pensiero rivoluzionario (2009) y Minima mercatalia: filosofia e capitalismo (2012). Más en particular, Fusaro pertenece a esa izquierda, lamentablemente minoritaria, que tiene como exponentes de punta al llorado Costanzo Preve y a Gianfranco La Grassa. Es decir, esa izquierda que, en la época del creciente transformismo de la izquierda «institucional», no ha renunciado a los padres nobles de su tradición cultural y a una crítica afilada del actual capitalismo, es decir, del capitalismo financiero (o «finanzcapitalismo», según la definición de Luciano Gallino).

En definitiva, el postcomunista Pd (Partido democrático), renegando de su historia, ha cedido en todo a las lógicas del capital, constituyendo más bien una de sus «superestructuras» ideológicas (para usar el lenguaje marxiano) con su espantosa retórica de la corrección política y la paradójica defensa de la legalidad y de las reglas (capitalistas). Como diría Fusaro, se ha pasado de Karl Marx a Roberto Saviano, de Antonio Gramsci a Serena Dandini. De aquí la revuelta del joven filósofo que, releyendo a Marx, ofrece una clara interpretación del pensador de Tréveris como enemigo de toda supina aceptación de lo existente, poniendo de relieve los aspectos idealistas de su pensamiento. De ahí también el rechazo de todo pensamiento débil postmoderno y la asunción por parte de la filosofía de una función intervencionista y activista. La filosofía, por tanto, no vista ya como mera erudición estetizante o como perro de guardia del «mejor de los mundos posibles» sino como instrumento para transformar la realidad. Una filosofía, en suma, que readquiera por fin su dimensión épica y heroica, como la entendía Giovanni Gentile.

Y precisamente al filósofo de Castelvetrano y a su relación con Marx dedica Fusaro páginas importantes de su nuevo libro, proponiendo una interpretación ciertamente unilateral del pensamiento marxista, pero en absoluto ilegítima. Es en particular el Marx de las Tesis sobre Feuerbach el que emerge con fuerza de la obra de Fusaro: aquel Marx que criticaba el materialismo «vulgar» del propio Feuerbach y que se concentraba mayormente en el concepto de praxis –la praxis que, contra todo determinismo, estaba siempre en condiciones de refutar una realidad sentida como extraña para fundar un nuevo mundo. La praxis, por tanto, como fuente inagotable de revolución.

Por lo demás, no es casualidad que sea precisamente Gentile quien valore al Marx filósofo de la praxis en aquel famoso volumen (La filosofia di Marx, 1899) que Augusto del Noce indicó, no sin alguna evidente exageración, como el acto de nacimiento del fascismo. Pese a una obtusa damnatio memoriae que todavía hoy pesa sobre Gentile, pero que ya ha sido puesta en crisis por muchos filósofos autorizados (Marramao, Natoli, Severino, etc.), Fusaro reafirma la indiscutible grandeza filosófica del padre del actualismo. Más bien, lo define justamente como el más grande filósofo italiano del Novecientos. No por una mera cuestión de gusto o de partidismo, naturalmente, sino por un hecho muy simple: todos los filósofos italianos del siglo XX, en el desarrollo más variado de su pensamiento, se han tenido que confrontar necesariamente con Gentile. «Gentile –escribe el autor –es para el Novecientos italiano lo que Hegel –según la conocida tesis de Karl Löwith –es para el Ochocientos alemán».

Fusaro, por tanto, reconstruye todo aquel recorrido intelectual que de Fichte, pasando por Hegel y Marx, llega hasta Gentile que, no por casualidad definido Fichte redivivus por H.S. Harris, cierra el círculo. De aquí la interpretación del acto puro de Gentile a la luz de la praxis marxiana, así como, inversamente, la lectura de Gramsci como «gentiliano» que conoció a Marx filtrado por el filósofo siciliano. Tesis, esta última, que no es en absoluto nueva (pensemos aunque sólo sea en los recientes trabajos de Bedeschi y Rapone) pero que todavía no se ha abierto camino en los ambientes semi-cultos de la «clase media reflexiva» que lee Repubblica, repudia a Gramsci y tiene por gurú a Eugenio Scalfari.

De todos modos, no faltarían las objeciones a algunas tesis de Fusaro sobre la relación de Gentile con Marx, desde el momento en que el autor no tiene mínimamente en cuenta los elementos mazzinianos y nietzscheanos del pensamiento del filósofo actualista, así como falta cualquier referencia a las corrientes culturales del fascismo que procedían del socialismo no marxista y que no dejaron de influir a Gentile. Me refiero en particular al sindicalismo revolucionario (A.O. Olivetti, S. Panunzio) y al socialismo idealista del propio Mussolini: el socialismo que había descubierto que revolucionaria no era la clase sino la nación. Me refiero, además, a las jóvenes levas de los años treinta que querían edificar la «civilización del trabajo», glorificada por el fascismo con el llamado «coliseo cuadrado» que campea entre las imponentes construcciones del Eur.

Sin Mazzini y los otros «profetas» del Resurgimiento, por lo demás, no se podrían comprender los elementos nacionales del pensamiento gentiliano, así como el significado que Gentile daba al término «humanidad». Hacer que el «humanismo del trabajo» de Genesi e struttura della società (1946, póstumo) descienda de un «retorno» de Gentile a una confrontación con Marx, como hace Fusaro, es posible sólo si se prescinde deliberadamente de todo el debate que la cultura fascista desarrolló en los años treinta, con Ugo Spirito, Berto Ricci y Niccolò Giani. Y en este sentido, entonces sería también posible interpretar el humanismo gentiliano en clave igualitarista. Pero el propio Gentile, en algunas intervenciones importantes, aclaró cómo entendía la universalidad (y no el universalismo), que debía basarse en el concepto romano de imperium y en una misión civilizadora de Italia (y aquí vuelve Mazzini), como bien lo evidenció Gentile en el fundamental artículo Roma eterna (1940). Una universalidad vertical, por tanto, entendida como ascenso, y no un universalismo horizontal y anulador de las diferencias en nombre de una abstracta concepción del hombre, alejada de cualquier contexto histórico y cultural concreto. En este sentido, por tanto, el humanismo gentiliano es fundamentalmente sobrehumanismo, como lo describió magistralmente Giorgio Locchi.

También sobre el concepto de «apertura de la historia», sobre el que justamente insiste Fusaro, habría que entenderse. Por otra parte, ya Karl Löwith subrayó en la inmediata postguerra el mesianismo inherente a la filosofía de la historia marxista. Según la teoría científica, de hecho, el proletariado, obtenida la conciencia de clase gracias a la explotación capitalista, habría debido, a través de la acción del partido comunista, abolir las clases y el Estado, restableciendo las condiciones del Urkommunismus, aunque de una forma «enriquecida», es decir, con todas las ventajas de la tecnología moderna. En este sentido, también el marxismo trabajaba a favor de la salida de la historia que, en vez de coincidir con la planetaria democracia liberal de Francis Fukuyama, habría instituido la anhelada sociedad comunista y el fin de toda voluntad «historificante» del hombre.

De todos modos, estas breves y sintéticas objeciones no quieren de ninguna forma disminuir la excelente obra de Fusaro, que, por el contrario, es de lo mejor que se puede leer en un desolador contexto político y cultural totalmente bovinizado según las lógicas demoliberales, mundialistas y finanzcapitalistas. Al contrario, la relectura de Marx en sentido idealista tiene un innegable mérito: volver a situar en el centro de la acción política la voluntad creadora del hombre, que brota de su libertad histórica. En otros términos, es el retorno de la filosofía a una aproximación revolucionaria a la realidad. Filosofía ya no entendida como glorificación de lo existente, sino como motor de la historia, lo cual, se convendrá, si no es todo, ciertamente es mucho.

Fuente: AUGUSTO MOVIMENTO

(Traducción de Javier Estrada)

mardi, 07 janvier 2014

William Joyce

William Joyce

By Kerry Bolton

Ex: http://www.counter-currents.com

William_Joyce_politician-426x625.jpgWilliam Joyce, more infamously known to history as “Lord Haw Haw,” the epitome of a British Traitor, was hanged on the basis of a passport technicality on January 3, 1946. Like the name “Quisling” (see Ralph Hewin’s excellent biography Quisling: Prophet Without Honour) much nonsense persists about Joyce. 

The following is redacted from my introduction to William Joyce’s Twilight Over England [2] (London: Black House Publishing, 2013). The second part of the introduction, not included here, examines the primary points of Joyce’s book, the continuing relevance of which is its cogent criticism of Free Trade liberalism and international finance.

***

Twenty-five years ago I was told a little anecdote by a work colleague, a middle aged Englishman. He said that as a small lad in England he and his friends were one Christmas eve singing carols to earn some pocket money. One household they came to was particularly memorable for him during those Depression years. A gentleman answered the door, invited the children inside and gave them each not only a cake but also a shilling. What struck my work colleague all those years later, still, was not only the generosity of the amount each child had been given, but more particularly, that someone from the ‘middle class’, invited a group of working class children in to the household where they received their cakes and coins. Such lack of social snobbery was a rarity that my work colleague had never forgotten. My English friend concluded by stating that the kind benefactor was named William Joyce.

My English friend was no Nazi; not even vaguely ‘right-wing’. His anecdote on this humanity of William Joyce, enduringly hated as a traitor, whose very name, as ‘Lord Haw-Haw’, as he was dubbed by the Allied propaganda machine, is Britain’s equivalent to Norway’s Quisling, and America’s Benedict Arnold. Joyce, as a British ‘Nazi’, is automatically regarded as a rogue, a lunatic, an apologist for mass murder and aggression, a fool, or any combination thereof. Yet the anecdote from my English friend’s childhood betrays a human side to the likes of William Joyce that just maybe indicates the he was none of those things, but a man of entirely different character. For in Twilight Over England, written while Joyce’s beloved Britain – yes, beloved Britain – was at war with Germany, and while Joyce had made the fateful decision that siding with those who were fighting Britain was the greatest manifestation of that love of Britain, we have the testament of a man deeply anguished at the level to which his people had been reduced by a rapacious system. That this system of international finance and Free Trade is more fully enthroned today and over more of the world than in Joyce’s time shows the relevance of this volume for the present and foreseeable future. In Twilight Over England we might discern – if we open our minds, and for a little while at least, leave behind the prejudgements and the victor’s hateful propaganda – the historical circumstances, centuries in the making, that brought this Briton to a martyr’s death.

Indeed, J A Cole, as objective a biographer that one could expect, described Joyce as ‘intelligent, well-educated, dedicated, hardworking, fluent and sharp-tongued’.[1] Although critical of Joyce, Cole also described him as ‘so unlike the stereotype which fear and prejudice had created’.[2] As a paid broadcaster for the Germans during the war, Joyce retained a character devoid of egotism and vanity, living frugally, refusing pay raises and perks other than cigarettes, and only being persuaded with some difficulty to buy himself a smartly-cut suit.[3] How far away the reality of Joyce was from the character depicted, apparently without a shred of good conscience, by Rebecca West, who gloated at Joyce’s trial, referring to him as opening ‘a vista into a mean life’, always speaking ‘as though he was better fed and better clothed than we were, and so, we now know, he was’,[4] going so far as to describe Joyce as ‘a tiny little creature’,[5] presumably confident that such was the hysteria that nothing she wrote against him would be challenged. It is as though West, and a gaggle of lesser slanderers, took all that Joyce truly was and turned it on its head. However, anyone with an eye to fame or money can still write whatever junk they can contrive on certain events related to the Second World War, and seldom are they called to account for their humbug. Indeed, to expose the lies can render one a jail sentence in many states and the destruction of one’s reputation and career.[6]

Joyce was a rare combination in history: an activist, a revolutionary, and a tough fighter, scarred with a Communist-welded razorblade. He was not some sallow intellectual whose only battle was fought within the brain and with verbosity at a safe distance from one’s targets. He had been the Director of Propaganda for a mass movement, Sir Oswald Mosley’s British Union of Fascists, which like Fascist movements across the world in the aftermath of the First World War, attracted individuals of many types and classes in solidarity. In Britain these included the American expatriate poet Ezra Pound, a founder of modern English literature;[7] Wyndham Lewis, novelist, painter, philosopher and co-founder with Pound of the Vorticist arts movement; the British nature writer and Hawthorne Prize Winner Henry Williamson, who never repudiated his belief in the heroic virtues of Mosley or Hitler, even after the war and who, like many who joined Mosley, was a First World War veteran haunted by the prospect of another war, but also reminded of the Europe that might still be when on Christmas Eve 1914 Germans and Britons greeted each other in no-man’s land to play football, returning to slaughter one another the following day; the military strategist, General J F C Fuller, father of modern tank warfare; and many others of the highest intellectual and cultural calibre.

William was born in New York on 24 April 1906, his father, Michael Francis Joyce, a Catholic, having migrated from Ireland in 1892, and marrying Gertrude Brooke, daughter of a Lancashire physician. In 1906 the family returned to Ireland, Michael having done well as a builder, and now becoming a publican and a property owner. William was educated at Catholic schools, and at an early age threw himself with gusto into whatever he did: When assisting at a service in the chapel he swung the censer with such force that the glowing incense flew down the aisle. He received his broken nose not through a fist fight with a Communist during the 1920s or 30s, but with a boy at school who had called him an ‘Orangeman’, because of the Joyce family’s avidly pro-British sentiments at the time of Ireland’s tribulations. His nose was not properly attended to, and hence William always had a distinctively nasal tone to his voice. During the Republican rebellion Michael’s properties endured arson. Young William saw the body of his neighbour, a policeman, on the road, with a bullet through his head. On another occasion he witnessed a Sinn Feiner cornered and shot by police.[8]

In 1920 the British Government reinforced the Royal Irish Constabulary with the Black & Tan paramilitaries. At fourteen, William served as a spy for the authorities, keeping his eyes and ears open for snippets of information that might be of use, and ran a squad of sub-agents. With the truce of 1921, and the departure of the British, the Joyce family moved to England. At 15, eager to continue serving King and Empire, he enlisted in the army at Worcester, giving his age as 18, but his real age was soon discovered and he was discharged. At 16 he joined the Officer Training Corps at the University of London, and after graduating from Battersea Polytechnic, enrolled at Birbeck College, part of the University.

Of Joyce’s intellectual gifts, his lifelong friend and comrade, John MacNab related to Cole:

‘He kept no files, diaries or notes of any kind, but he could recall the date, place and circumstances of remote events and meetings with people. He never forgot a face or a name, and could give a full account, unhesitatingly, of almost anything that had ever happened to him. At intervals of years he would repeat the same account without the least variation. He could quote – always exactly – any poem he had ever read with attention, and even notable pieces of prose. As a Latin scholar his technical qualifications were inferior to my own, yet he was the one who could quote Virgil or Horace etc., freely and always to the point, not I’.[9]

MacNab stated that Joyce was a multi-linguist, gifted in mathematics and his ability to teach it. ‘He read widely in history, philosophy, theology, psychology, theoretical physics and chemistry, economics law, medicine, anatomy and physiology. When he broke his collarbone in 1936 while skating, he was able to set it himself due to his knowledge of physiology. He was a talented pianist’.[10]

British Fascisti

While pursuing a BA in Latin, French, English and History, in 1923 he joined the British Fascisti, founded that year by Miss R L Linton-Orman, a member of a distinguished military family who had served with the Women’s Reserve Ambulance during the Frost World War and had twice been awarded the Croix de Charité for gallantry for heroic rescues in Salonica.[11]

The first such body to be established in Britain, inspired by the assumption to power by Mussolini in 1922, and the destruction of Communism in Italy, there was not much ideological substance to the British Fascisti (later ‘British Fascists’), other than loyalty to ‘King and Empire’, a determination to form a paramilitary force to stop Communism in the event of revolution or strikes, and to maintain order at Conservative Party meetings when Communists and Labourites threatened violence. The membership was drawn mainly from the middle and upper classes, and included a good number of retired officers. The first president of the British Fascists was Lord Garvagh, who was succeeded by Brigadier-General Blakeney, later associated with both Arnold Leese’s Imperial Fascist League, a small but persistent anti-Semitic group; and Mosley’s British Union.[12] The present of such personalities indicates the impression that Fascist Italy was making on important sections of Britain, and that it could never be dismissed as the collective delusions of a ‘lunatic fringe’.

Despite the lack of ideological substance, many stalwart Fascists got their start with the British Fascisti, including those who were to play a prominent role in the British Union of Fascists (BUF). It was as leader of the ‘I Squad’ of the British Fascisti that on 22 October 1924 Joyce stationed his men at Lambeth Baths Hall in South-East London, to protect the election meeting of Jack Lazarus, Conservative party Parliamentary candidate for Lambeth North, from Communist attack. These were times in which electoral meetings not approved by the Left were subjected to attack from Communist and Labour party thugs armed with razors, often put into potatoes for throwing, and spiked sticks. Hence, the British Fascisti emerged at a time of a very real threat of violence by the Left against the Conservative and Unionist parties, regardless of the other shortcomings of the organisation as a serious political alternative.

The Communist assault on Lazarus’ election meeting was ‘vicious’.[13] A ‘Jewish Communist’, as Joyce described him, jumped on his back and tried to slash his throat with a razor, but only succeeded in cutting Joyce from mouth to ear, his neck protected by a thick woollen scarf. He did not realise he had been slashed until the crowd drew back aghast, and he attempted to stem the blood with a handkerchief given to him, then walked to the police station where he collapsed.

While active with the British Fascisti, Joyce was also president of the Conservative Society at Birbeck College, where he developed his oratory, seeing Conservatism as the upholder of ‘Anglo-Saxon tradition and supremacy’.[14] Meanwhile, 1926 proceeded with a General Strike that did not result in the threat of a Soviet Britain, and the British Fascisti went into decline. That year Joyce married Hazel Barr, while continuing to do well with his studies, and the following year obtained First Class Honours in English, but did not complete his MA. His attempts for several years to introduce the Conservative Party to ‘true Nationalism’ failed. Biding his time, as the several small Fascist groups that arose failed to impress him, Joyce taught at the Victoria Tutorial College, and then at King’s College.

The Red thuggery that the British Fascists had attempted to combat continued. A target was to be not a party from the Right but from the Left: the New Party, founded in 1931 by the Labour Party’s most promising young politician, Sir Oswald Mosley, after Labour Caucus refused to adopt Mosley’s bold plan for unemployment.[15] The New Party was regarded as traitorous by the Labour Party, and was subjected to violent attacks by Communists and Labourites. It was such violence that contributed to Mosley’s turning to Fascism and forming his Blackshirt squads to protect the meetings that he could not efficiently protect during the New Party electoral campaigns, although even then he had started forming a squad of stewards trained in boxing by Jewish boxing champion Ted ‘Kid’ Lewis. Mosley records that extreme Left reaction had been subdued until the promising results of the New Party vote came out in a by-election.[16] Mosley, referring to the General Election soon after, related: ‘All over the country we met a storm of organised violence. They were simply out to smother us, we were to be mobbed down by denying us our only resource: the spoken word; we were to be mobbed out of existence’.[17]

In 1932 Mosley visited Fascist Italy, and like many others was impressed by what he saw at a time when Britain continued to stagnate. Joyce read the news reports of Mosley’s visit with interest but, having long had an increasing animosity against Jewish influence in Britain, was more interested in the progress that the Hitler movement was making in Germany.[18] When Mosley re-established the New Party as the British Union of Fascists most of the adherents of other Fascist groups, particularly the British Fascists, joined him. Joyce joined the BUF in 1933,[19] and, fatefully, obtained a British passport by falsely claiming that he had been born a British subject, with the expectation that he might accompany Mosley on a visit to Hitler.

Joyce was soon noted in the BUF for his oratory skills, and he resigned his teaching post at Victoria Tutorial College and his studies at London University to become the BUF’s West London Area Administration Officer. He then became Propaganda Director, addressing hundreds of meetings. It was on hearing Joyce, then 28, speaking that ex-Labour MP John Beckett,[20] joined the BUF, and committed himself to National Socialism, having previously been impressed by what he had seen in Fascist Italy, declaring Joyce to be one of the greatest orators who had recruited thousands to Fascism.[21] Indeed, Joyce filled in for Mosley if the latter could not attend a function. Jeffrey Hamm, a young Mosleyite before the war, who became particularly active in Mosley’s post-war Union Movement, reminisced on Joyce’s oratory that ‘his wit and repartee were proverbial’. ‘On one occasion a buxom lady in the crowd was shouting abuse at him, culminating in an angry roar: “You bastard!” Quick as a flash Joyce gave her a cheerful wave, as he cried: “Hullo, Mother!”’[22]

Joyce divorced Hazel amicably in 1934. He had sired two daughters who were close to their father, despite his hectic life as a Fascist leader.

His BUF classes on Fascist ideology, held jointly with his closest colleague, John Angus Macnab, with whom he also established a private tutoring business, were used to propagate his own views on Fascism, and here he introduced the term National Socialism to the movement, which was renamed the British Union of Fascists and National Socialists in 1936.[23] Although Joyce believed that National Socialism was intrinsically based on the nation from which it arose, was more inclined to quote Thomas Carlyle than Hitler, and eschewed both the swastika and the fasces when creating his own movement, he saw Hitler as a closer example to consider than Mussolini, not least because Hitler dealt with the Jewish question head-on. It was Joyce who coined the BUF axiom: ‘If you love your country you are National. If you love your people, you are Socialist. Be a National Socialist’. The reader will find this phrase cogently explained in Twilight Over England.

Joyce met Christian Bauer, who represented Goebbels’ newspaper Der Angriff, in Britain, and at Bauer’s request, after his return to Germany, Joyce maintained contact with him,[24] although it transpired that Bauer was more important when in Britain than he was in Germany.

In 1937 Joyce married Margaret White, a Manchester BUF organiser, who had accepted his proposal at a party, even although the two hardly knew one another. It had been literally ‘love at first sight’ between the two, and a scholarly member of her branch remarked on the engagement that it ‘may be uncomfortable being married to a genius. And William is a genius, you know!’[25] On the first day of the year, the Public Order Act was introduced banning the wearing of uniforms at public political functions; i.e. the black shirt, prohibiting the effective stewarding of open-air meetings, and other measures designed to impinge on the BUF campaign. As previously stated, Mosley had adopted a black shirt uniform to establish a disciplined and recognisable formation to keep order at his meetings having experienced Red thuggery at New Party meetings, as had the Conservative Party many years. The banning of the uniform saw a considerable rise in disorder at BUF functions. Despite the great deal of nonsense that had been alleged about ‘Fascist violence,’ the Blackshirts always answered the razorblade and the cosh with fists when necessary. One of these great myths is that Lord Rothermere, proprietor of the Daily Mail, who had supported the BUF during the first few years, withdrew his support in 1934 because of such Fascist violence. In fact, as related by Randolf Churchill some thirty years later, it was due to ‘the pressure of Jewish advertisers’.[26]

By 1937, both Joyce and Beckett, editor of Action and The Blackshirt, had become increasingly critical of BUF administration. Matters were decided when Mosley was obliged through financial stringency to reduce the paid-staff by four-fifths. Among them were both Joyce and Beckett. Macnab, the editor of Fascist Quarterly, resigned in protest at Joyce’s dismissal. Macnab & Joyce, Private Tutors, was a now established to earn a modest income to offer tuition for university entrance and professional preliminary examinations, and to teach English to foreign pupils of sound character.

National Socialist League

Joyce’s concerns were directed towards forming a new political organisation that would more precisely reflect his view on British National Socialism. Joyce, Beckett, McNabb and a few others founded the National Socialist League. Despite Joyce’s admiration for Hitler, his organisation was based on British roots. That a front-group for the League was named the Carlyle Club after Thomas Carlyle, whom Joyce often cited as a precursor of British National Socialism, is indicative of the British character of his variation of National Socialism. After all the concept of the National and the Social synthesis is universal, and movements of such a type had been arising spontaneously and independently of one another since the immediate aftermath of the First World War. One might refer to the Legion of the Archangel Michael in Romania, the Hungarist movement in Hungary, National-Syndicalist Falangism in Spain, and many others throughout the world. The Israeli scholar Dr Zeev Sternhell provides a convincing argument for the emergence of proto-Fascism from a union of Left-wing syndicalist and Right-wing Monarchist theorists in France as early as the late 19th century.[27] Mosley’s ‘Fascism’ had been based on his Birmingham manifesto to cure unemployment through a massive public works programme that had been rejected as too radical by the Labour Government, not by reading Mein Kampf or Mussolini’s Doctrine of Fascism.

As for Joyce’s National Socialist League, it was surprisingly ‘democratic’ in structure, with leaders elected at branch level, and no fuehrer-complex being evident in either Beckett of Joyce. Nor was there a paramilitary complexion to the group.[28] The symbol was a ship’s steering wheel, the design of which is also suggestive of a Union Jack, below which was the motto: ‘Steer Straight’. A newspaper was published, The Helmsman. Funding came from Alec Scrimgeour, an elderly stockbroker, whom Joyce had known since the BUF, and who treated Joyce as a son. Cole mentions that one supporters ‘claimed to be the King of Poland’. This cannot be anyone other than the New Zealand poet Geoffrey Potocki de Montalk who, unlike his many contemporaries who were embracing to Communism, being a Monarchist, embraced the Right, then Fascism and National Socialism, and never recanted. Indeed, even in December 1945, Potocki printed an ‘Xmas card’, the ‘X’ in the shape of a swastika, with a poem that paid tribute to ‘our William Joyce’. As to his eccentric claim to the throne of Poland, it was as legitimate as any other, being descended from a Polish noble lineage. [29]

The primary ideological text of the League was National Socialism Now, published in September 1937. National Socialism Now is a cogent 57 pages defining the fundamentals of National Socialist ethos, method of statecraft, and type financial and economic systems. Joyce’s opening lines are that,

‘We deal with National Socialism for Britain; for we are British. Our League is entirely British; and to win the victory for National Socialism here, we must work hard enough to be excused the inspiring task of describing National Socialism elsewhere’.[30]

While National Socialism was forever linked with the name of Hitler, no matter where it arises it ‘must arise from the soil and people or not at all’.

‘It springs from no temporary grievance, but from the revolutionary yearning of the people to cast off the chains of gross, sordid, democratic materialism without having to put on the shackles of Marxian Materialism, which would be identical with the chains cast off’.[31]

Joyce returned to a theme that he had introduced to the BUF, that the synthesis of Nationalism and Socialism is a logical development; that ‘the people’ are identical with ‘the nation’, and anything else, whether called ‘nationalism’ or ‘socialism’, is a waste of time. It was Socialism that provided the foundation for class unity rather than class antagonism, which had been engendered by the dislocations caused by industrialism and usury. Such class division is aggravated rather than transcended by Marxism and other forms of materialistic socialism. Both Capitalism and Marxism are international. Indeed Marx pointed this out in The Communist Manifesto, and described anyone resisting this internationalising tendency of Capitalism as ‘reactionary’, because the historical process towards Communism is aided by Capitalist internationalisation, and what Marx called the ‘uniformity in the mode of production’ across the world.[32] Today we call this ‘globalisation’ and the process has been accelerating. What has emerged is not Communism, but a Capitalist ‘new world order’. Communism is not even anti-Capitalist, but an extension of it, and hence, as Joyce explains in Twilight, it is Nationalism, intrinsically based on Socialism, that not only opposes Capitalism, but transcends it. Equally, any Socialism that embraces internationalism is not only hopeless in combating Capitalism, but assists in its victory. We are now able with both hindsight and observing present-day events, to confirm that this indeed the case. Communism, and Social Democracy literally failed to ‘delver the goods’, and now Free Trade Capitalism runs rampant over the entire world, imposed by US weaponry where, where debt to international finance and the opiate of the shopping mall and MTV are insufficient. The Socialism of Joyce’s day, represented mainly by the Labour Party, did not oppose the system of international finance any more than the Conservative Party, that had long since forsaken its patriotic and rural origins, and both permitted a system of Liberal Free Trade that invested capital to build up cotton manufacturing in India for example, while allowing the mill workers of Lancashire to rot.[33] The same situation is visited upon us in recent years, with Tony Blair’s ‘New Labour’ in Britain, and in New Zealand, the Labour Party during the 1980s, being in the forefront of inaugurating ‘Free Trade’ in the name of ‘socialism’. Joyce saw it going on in his own day. We relive it today. The same old abandonment to Capitalism by Social Democracy, which had also obliged Mosley to resign from the Labour Party in disgust.

The weakness of Westminster parliamentary democracy allowed international finance to carry on unhindered. Joyce’s British National Socialism advocated the ‘leadership principle’, with authority to act, but in Britain’s case the symbol of unity within one personality had existed for centauries in the form of the Crown, and Joyce did not envisage a National Socialist Britain that need be under the dictatorship of a British ‘fuehrer’. Indeed, he advocated the corporatist or organic state that he had alluded to in his BUF pamphlet, Dictatorship. In NS Now Joyce pointed to the guilds of Medieval Britain, and outlined a corporate state based on the revival of the guilds as taking over many functions of the state. Both employers and employees would be represented in the same corporative organs, which was the method of successful industrial organisation that would be enacted in Germany in the Reich Economic Chamber. Parliament would hence be a corporative body with representatives elected from such guilds.

Joyce next turned his attention to the financial system. National Socialist banking reform is based the premise that money and credit should serve the people, and not master them. Hence, credit and currency should be issued by the state according to the production of the people, allowing the people to consume that production. Private financial interests should not issue credit and currency as a profit -making commodity. Currency and credit are only intended as a means of exchanging goods and services. That is the method that National Socialist Germany, Fascist Italy and Imperial Japan used and by which they flourished in the midst of the world Depression.[34] Again, there is nothing intrinsically ‘fascist’ or ‘nazi’ in such a banking system. The First New Zealand Labour Government had initiated the same type of policy, issuing 1% Reserve Bank state credit in 1935 for the construction of New Zealand’s iconic state housing project, which itself solved 75% of the unemployment rate.[35] Banking reformers around the world were demanding that the state assume its prerogative to issue the nation’s own credit and currency, without recourse to becoming indebted in perpetuity to international finance.[36] As Joyce was to emphasis in Twilight, it was this struggle between productive work and parasitism that led to the world war, the fact being that it was the Axis states that posed a deathly challenge to this parasitism the world over. New Zealand, despite the Labour Government measures in 1935, true to Social Democratic form, did not go beyond those limited measures, despite their success, and despite the promises the party had made in its 1934 election manifesto. Again, Social Democracy posed no real challenge to the system of world trade and banking that was – and remains – in the hands of a few parasites.

The League was ‘openly and unashamedly Imperialist.’ One of the primary aims of ‘Fascism’ was to create autarchic or self-sufficient economics states, or geo-political blocs. Of course, with Britain being the greatest imperial power, British Fascism or National Socialism sought to re-create the Empire as an autarchic bloc, where investments would be made only within the Empire, and not placed outside the Empire, only to undermine the manufacturing the agricultural sectors of the Empire peoples. Joyce pointed out that the system of international trade and finance was the enemy of both the British and the Colonial peoples; that both were equally exploited, and granting independence to India was not going to change that situation a jot. National Socialism would end usury and exploitation in India with the same methods as in Britain.[37] What Fascism was trying to address was the iniquitous system that is today called ‘globalisation’, whereby investments can be moved out of states and indeed entire industries shut-down and relocated to cheap labour pools, and currency speculators can make vast fortunes overnight by destroying entire economies. That is the system that won the Second World War against the Axis and that is the system that has driven the world to the present debt crisis, as it inevitably would. That is the system for which the Allied troops fought and died, just as the same plutocratic wire-pullers of ‘democracy’ declare war on states that are problematic to the ‘new world order’.

Finally, Joyce addressed the matter of foreign policy. Even then the war drums were being beaten against Germany, Italy and Japan. Joyce saw the keystone of world peace and order being an alliance between Britain and Germany with the assistance of Italy, which would form a bulwark against both international finance and Communism. From the 1920s, when Hitler wrote Mein Kampf, an alliance with Britain and Italy was envisaged as the cornerstone of Germany’s future foreign policy, Hitler definitively stating: ‘In the predictable future there can only be two allies for Germany in Europe: England and Italy’.[38] Was this mere cant, albeit dictated a decade before Hitler came to Office, while sitting in a jail following the abortive Munich putsch? Hitler in both public and private pronouncements always affirmed his admiration for the British Empire and the kinship that should have existed between the Third Reich and the Empire. Like Joyce, he believed that the two would be a great stabilising force in the world, and legitimate scholarship has only confirmed these views.

Captain A H M Ramsay, Conservative Member of Parliament for Midlothian and Peeblesshire from 1931 until his detention through 1940-1944, under Defence Regulation 18B along with Mosley and 1000 others, wrote after the war a volume much in the mode of Joyce’s Twilight and NS Now not only in regard to the war but also the takeover of Britain by international finance. Joyce had been a member of Ramsay’s Right Club that campaigned against war with Germany.[39] Like Joyce, Ramsay pointed to the Judaic character of the Puritan revolutionary zealots, whose armies ‘marched around Scotland, aided by their Geneva sympathisers, dispensing Judaic justice’.[40] Ramsay proceeds to consider the formation of the Bank of England with the encumbering of Britain with a National Debt; a matter that is dealt with in relative detail by Joyce in Twilight. Ramsay points out that the officialdom of ‘world Jewry’ had ‘declared war’ on Germany as soon as Hitler assumed Office. An ‘international economic boycott’ was declared by the World Jewish Economic Federation, headed by Samuel Untermeyer from the USA, who wrote in The New York Times of a ‘holy war’ against Germany, in which both Jew and Gentile must embark, while the Jews were the ‘aristocrats of the world’.[41] The Jewish leadership through its influence on politics, business and media the world over, hoped to economically strangle Germany. They could not ruin Germany through such means however, because the Hitler regime’s banking and trade reform not only withdrew Germany from the international finance system, but through barter proceeded to capture the markets of central Europe and South America. As Joyce was to emphasise in Twilight, this was the real cause of the world war; a conflict between two systems, one productive and creative, the other parasitic and exploitive.

It should be pointed out that Ramsay enjoyed the friendship and confidence of British Prime Minster Neville Chamberlain in the moths immediately preceding the World War. Ramsay alludes to Chamberlain’s guarantee to assist Poland in the event of invasion on the basis of a supposed Germany ultimatum that transpired to be fraudulent,[42] and that Germany had sought for months a negotiated solution for the return of Danzig and the ‘Polish Corridor’ to Germany, while Poland resorted to what today would be called ‘ethnic cleansing’ of the Germans within Poland; a matter which will be considered further.

Ramsay points out that Hitler had ‘again and again made it clear that he never intended to attack or harm the British Empire’. [43] Indeed, what is called the ‘Phoney War’ ensued, where no real fighting was taking place. The situation changed immediately Churchill became Prime Minister. Then the previous policy of only bombing military targets was reversed, and British Bomber Command was ordered to bomb civilian targets, a strategy that would eventually lead to the deaths of hundreds of thousands of German civilians by the end of the war, the fire-bombing of Dresden,[44] Hamburg, Berlin and other German cities going down in infamy as obliterating in deadly infernos more victims than the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Actions speak louder than words, as it is said, and Hitler on numerous occasions offered his hand of friendship, while still in a position of strength, indeed winning the war. One of the most notable occasions is that involving the British invasion of Dunkirk, around which much nonsense about British heroism continues to be spoken. Ramsay cites the pre-eminent official British military historian Captain Liddell Hart. This nonsense continues despite Hart’s book on World War II, The Other Side of the Hill, having been published in 1948, with chapter 10 entitled ‘How Hitler beat France and saved Britain’. Ramsay comments that the chapter would ‘astound all propaganda-blinded people… for the author therein proves that not only did Hitler save this country; but that this was not the result of some unforeseen factor, or indecision or folly, but was of set purpose, based on his long enunciated and faithfully maintained principle’. Hart details how Hitler halted the Panzer Corps on 22 May 1940, allowing the British troops to escape back to Britain. Hitler had cabled Von Kleist that the armoured divisions were not to advance or fire. Von Kleist ignored the order, and then came an ‘emphatic order’, according to Von Kleist, that he was to ‘withdraw behind the canal. My tanks were kept halted there for three days’.[45] Hart records a conversation between Hitler and Marshall Von Runstedt two days later (24 May):

‘He [Hitler] then astonished us by speaking with admiration of the British Empire, of the necessity for its existence, and of the civilisation that Britain had brought into the world… He compared the British Empire with the Catholic Church – saying they were both essential elements of stability in the world. He said that all he wanted from Britain was that she should acknowledge Germany’s position on the Continent. The return of Germany’s lost colonies would be desirable but not essential, and he would even offer to support Britain with troops, if she should be involved with any difficulties anywhere. He concluded by saying that his aim was to make peace with Britain, on a basis that she would regard compatible with her honour to accept’. [46]

Captain Hart comments on the above: ‘If the British army had been captured at Dunkirk, the British people might have felt that their honour had suffered a stain, which they must wipe out. By letting it escape, Hitler hoped to conciliate them’.[47] Hart alluded to the pro-British sentiments in Mein Kampf and the manner by which Hitler did not deviate from his desire for an alliance with Britain. As we now know, so far from the British people being cognisant of the equanimity of Hitler towards them, the propaganda machine merely used this to further inflame them toward war, and Dunkirk had ever since been portrayed as a great feat of British moral courage.

Even during the early 1920s, when Hitler was in jail dictating Mein Kampf he realised that any future goodwill between Germany and Britain relied on the question as to ‘whether the exiting influence of the Jews is not stronger than any understanding or good intentions and will this frustrate and nullify all plans’.[48] Mosley, Ramsay, Admiral Sir Barry Domvile and hundreds of others jailed under 18B, who sought peace with Germany, were aware of this also. However, there were still prominent people within Britain who were free, to whom Hitler might appeal for peace, and it is presumably with these in mind that Hitler kept open the prospect of a negotiated peace with honour.

However, eminent people who hoped for a negotiated peace with Germany were no match for the war party and its backers. Winston Churchill, whose drunken, opulent lifestyle had got him into debt, led the war party. He had personal reasons for assuring the destruction of Hitler, even if that also meant the destruction of the British Empire; which, of course, it did. By 1938 Churchill was bankrupt, and Chartwell House was about to be put on the market. A few days before however Sir Henry Strakosch, the South African Jewish mining magnate and financial adviser, came to the rescue and agreed to pay off Churchill’s debts.[49] Churchill had whored himself to international finance for the sake of £18,000, and in so doing doomed the lives of millions and the survival of the British Empire. Strakosch was financial adviser to General Smuts of South Africa, and in 1920 drafted the blueprint for the Reserve Bank of South Africa.[50] He has also served as adviser on setting up the Reserve Bank of India. Like the US Federal Reserve Bank and other central banks throughout the world, the reader should not be confused into thinking that these acted as state banks issuing state credit, even when they were, like the Reserve Bank of New Zealand, nationalised. These central banks were based on plans provided by individuals such as Strakosch, the Bank of England’s Sir Otto Niemeyer, and Warburg in the USA. The thraldom of most states to international finance, from which Germany, Italy and Japan had broken free, is the most significant cause of World War II, as explained by Joyce in Twilight.

Since the 1920s Churchill’s financial adviser for his stock market dealings had been Bernard Baruch, the international financier who had run the US War Industries Board during the First World War I, and had become the virtual dictator of the USA during the war years.[51] Nothing would or could divert Churchill from leading Britain into war with Germany.

To Germany

During the Munich crisis in 1938 Joyce foresaw the coming war, and the quandary that placed him as an avidly pro-British devotee of National Socialism and Anglo-German accord. He told Macnab that in the event of war, he could not fight against Germany in the service of international finance but neither could he be a conscientious objector and evade national service. He had already envisaged sending Margaret to Ireland with Macnab, while he would go to Germany, perhaps to fight the Russians[52].

Mosley’s answer was to immediately issue a call to his supporters to fully support the war effort once the war that he had vigorously campaigned against, had eventuated, while he and 800 of his followers were detained under Emergency Defence Regulation 18B. Mosley’s order stated that ‘Our members should do what the law requires of them; and, if they are members of the armed Forces or services of the Crown, they should obey their orders and, in every particular, obey the rules of the Service’. However, it was also a call to ‘stand-fast’ against the ‘corrupt Jewish money-power’ and ‘to take every opportunity within your power to awaken the people and to demand peace’.[53]

Among the first to die in the war were two Blackshirts, Kenneth Day and George Brocking, while on an RAF daylight bomber raid on Brűnsbuttel.[54]

While Joyce campaigned with his National Socialist League, and Mosley held meetings attracting the largest audiences ever seen in Britain to the very eve of war, Joyce also sought to widen his campaign. He was involved in an anti-war campaign with Lord Lymington, Conservative MP, and an early advocate of agricultural self-sufficiency and organic farming,[55] also a particular concern of both Joyce and the BUF.[56] Lord Lymington and Joyce created the British Council Against European Commitments. Lymington’s group joined with a similar organisation founded by Hastings William Sackville Russell, Lord Tavistock (later Duke of Bedford) and emerged as the British People’s Party (BPP), the policy of which not only included peace, but in particular advocacy of banking reform.[57] Joyce had confided in Beckett that he would probably go to Germany in the event of war, and Beckett left the League to become General secretary of the BPP. It is often commented that there was a fallen out between Joyce and Beckett, but, as will be seen, they remained steadfast friends.

As forebodings of war approached in 1939, one of the first to depart from Britain to Germany was Mrs Francis Dorothy Eckersley, a member of the BUF, whose son was at school there. Mrs Eckersley was to play a role in the Joyce’s settling in Berlin. Before Macnab visited Berlin, Joyce had asked him to take a message to Christian Bauer, asking whether Goebbels would arrange for the immediate naturalisation of Joyce and his wife, should they settle in Germany.[58] Defence Regulation 18B was about to be passed when Joyce received news from Macnab that naturalisation would be granted. He then received news from an MI5 agent to whom he given information on Communist activities, that it was likely he would be arrest under 18B within a matter of days.[59] The Joyce’s left for Germany on 26 August 1939, William convinced that imprisonment in Britain during the war would mean unbearable suffering for Margaret.

To the Joyce’s dismay, Christian Bauer did not have the influence in Berlin that had been assumed, and he had been ‘called up’. However, Mrs Eckersley did have connections with the Foreign Office, and Joyce was able to secure a part-time job as a translator of German scripts.[60] Within days, war had been declared by Britain against Germany, a declaration that was not met by the Germans with any more jubilation than it was met by the Joyces and many other Britons. In England, meanwhile Mosley was holding the largest rallies in British Union history, and just two months previously the biggest indoor hall in England had been filled with 20,000 people to hear Mosley.[61] Mosley was arrested under 18B on 23 May 1940, and his wife Diana on 29 June.[62] Captain Ramsay MP, and Admiral Sir Barry Domvile CB, founder of the Link, which had also campaigned for Anglo-German cooperation, were among the 1000 others.[63]

Mrs Eckersley’s friends had been at work to secure Joyce a position, and Dr Erich Hetzler, an official in the Foreign Office, who had studied economics in England, interviewed him. It is notable that during the interview Joyce explained he was a National Socialist and British, but that a National Socialist in Britain was not the same as in Germany.[64] Hetzler recommended Joyce to the English-speaking department of the Reich radio service. Norman Baillie-Stewart, a former Subaltern in the Seaforth Highlanders, headed the English news service, under the direction of Walter Kamm. Joyce’s first broadcast, reading a news bulletin, took place on 11 September 1939. He did well, but drew the immediately jealousy of Baillie-Stewart.[65]

The disparaging nick-name of ‘haw-haw’, which was to become synonymous with Joyce, first appeared in the Daily Express on 14 September 1939 where the columnist, the pseudonymous Jonah Barrington, commented on a broadcast from Germany: ‘A gent I’d like to meet is moaning periodically from Zeesen. He speaks English of the haw-haw, damit-get-out-of-my-way variety, and his strong suit is gentlemanly indignation’.[66] The name was picked up by British propaganda, and stuck, like the name of Quisling was to become synonymous with ‘traitor’.

Ironically, Barrington was describing Baillie-Stewart. Barrington and the media ran with the typically banal propaganda image, and ‘Lord Haw-Haw’ was introduced to the public as a figure of ridicule. Lord Haw-Haw soon became conflated with Joyce and stuck, since Joyce would become the leading British broadcaster, despite his own voice, affected by the broken nose he had since childhood, not being suggestive of the ‘Bertie Wooster’ type figure that Barrington was trying to portray.[67] Other half-witted attempts at satire by Barrington, with names such as The Whopper, Uncle Boo-Hoo and Mopey, fell by the way, while Lord Haw-Haw remained. It was Lord Donegal, writing for the Sunday Dispatch, who suggested that Lord Haw-Haw might be Joyce. However, the voice that he asked Macnab, then a volunteer ambulance driver, to hear, was Baillie-Stewart, and Macnab could reply honestly that it did not sound anything like Joyce.[68]

Joyce could now apply for naturalisation, and correctly recorded his birthplace as New York.[69] Margaret was employed writing women’s features for the radio network, and became known as Lady Haw-Haw. The broadcasts were widely listened to in Britain. The matter of the identities of Baillie-Stewart and William Joyce were soon resolved by the British, but ‘Lord Haw-Haw’ stuck with Joyce rather than with Baillie-Stewart,[70] another reflection of the puerility of British war propaganda. Comedians began to lampoon Lord Haw-Haw. The deaths of millions of Britons and Germans were such a whopping good laugh for those who could avoid service by larking about on the Home Front, while Mosleyites were among the first to enlist and die.

Interestingly, Cole discusses the insistence of ‘upper class’ origins for William Joyce by the British propaganda machine, and hence the maintenance of the ‘Lord Haw-Haw’ myth as an aristocratic ‘traitor’, perhaps also reminding audiences of Sir Oswald Mosley’s aristocratic birth, and the similar backgrounds of others who had sought conciliation with Germany and who had seen Fascism and National Socialism as a means of transcending class divisions. Cole writes: ‘The theme of the aristocratic traitor aroused such an immense public response that the jeering appeared to be directed as much at the traditional British upper classes as at an unknown traitor in Germany’.[71] The irony was that Joyce was the very antithesis of the character portrayed by British propaganda, as indicated by the opening anecdote of this introduction, and he lived simply and without thought of his material well-being.

A survey by the BBC concluded that Joyce was getting six million regular listeners daily, and 18,000,000 occasional listeners. The reasons for this included not only the mirth that had been directed at Lord Haw-Haw, but also that the broadcasts focused on ‘undeniable evils in this country… their news sense, their presentation’, making them ‘a familiar feature of the social landscape’.[72]

In early 1940 the Buro Concordia was formed under the direction of Dr Hetzler, which would focus on explaining National Socialism to English listeners. Joyce would lead the team and write the programmes. He refused insistent offers of a salary increase. The first programme was aired in February 1940, under the name of the New British Broadcasting Station, transmitting for half an hour from East Prussia, albeit under sparse conditions and resources.[73]

It was at this time, in February 1940, that Joyce was asked by the Foreign Office to write a book, Twilight Over England. While Joyce addressed a British audience, which would have few chances to read the book, the Foreign Office, had intended an English language testament for audiences in the USA and India. Twilight also went into German and Swedish editions, at least. The book as will be seen, is largely an indictment of the English system of Free Trade, the influence of Jews and the iniquity of international finance.

On hindsight, reading the volume today, one might be struck by its current relevance, as the world is plunged into what American strategists approvingly call ‘constant conflict’, in extending in the hallowed name of ‘Democracy’ the system of debt and exploitation which the Axis fought seventy years ago. As Joyce tried to explain, Westminster democracy and party government is a system that has not brought any meaningful benefits to the people who have lived under the ‘Mother of all Parliaments’ for centuries, let alone to tribesmen from the deserts of Afghanistan to the jungles of New Guinea, who are having this odd system born from the merchant class of England, imposed on them by force of arms. We still live under the same system that Joyce exposed, because international finance won the war.

By mid 1940 the British had ceased considering Lord Haw-Haw as a joke and were worried by what they thought was his inside knowledge of events in Britain. Other secret Anglophone broadcasting stations were planned under Buro Concordia.[74]. Meanwhile, Joyce’s commitment to Britain was indicated by his having defaced his British passport so that after it had expired it could not be used by German Intelligence, which was eager to obtain such passports.[75] So much for disloyalty.

In July 1940 Hitler made a peace offer to Britain, and Joyce was optimistic. On ‘Workers’ Challenge’, a broadcasting service pitched specifically to British workers, Joyce stated that British workers and German workers did not wish to fight each other. The British Communists had been saying that the war was between capitalist powers and was not a workers’ fight, until the party-line was reversed when Germany and the USSR came into conflict. ‘Workers’ Challenge’ called for a workers’ revolt against Churchill and a peace that would have nothing to do with the nazification of Britain. Of coursed, Churchill was committed to unconditional surrender, and the chance to save the Empire and Europe was rejected for the sake of Churchill’s ego, or perhaps mainly due to his £18,000 debt to Strakosch and his friendship with ‘Barney’ Baruch (?). As Joyce commented on his programme on 23 July, the rejection of peace would bring tragedy to England, and if Britons remained silent then it must be assumed that they consented to their own annihilation.[76] Joyce was prescient. Is there still doubt? While it might be a cliché to say that British won the war but lost the peace, that is beyond rational doubt. As for the impact of ‘Workers’ Challenge’, a BBC survey found that it had a ‘heavy following’, that ‘the following grows’, and that a lot of Joyce’s remarks ‘were true’.[77]

On 28 August the first air raid casualties in Berlin occurred. Both Joyce and the CBS foreign correspondent William Shirer, epitome of the anti-Nazi propagandist, were at the broadcasting house. Shirer, who had avoided meeting the ‘traitor’ for a year, noted in his diary that Lord Haw-Haw ‘in the air-raids has shown guts’.[78] Joyce went out to see the damage and was ‘profoundly moved’ by the devastation. Already there were comments on the civilian targets of the British, in contrast to the military objectives of the Luftwaffe, but could anyone in Germany have envisaged the criminal fire-bombing of defenceless German cities that was to become the speciality of Bomber Command?

Shirer, the inveterate anti-Nazi whose book The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich became a classic history,[79] nonetheless observed Joyce as ‘an amusing and even intelligent fellow’, ‘heavily built and of about five feet nine inches, with Irish eyes that twinkle’.[80] He noted that Joyce had a deep hatred of capitalism. ‘Strange as it may seem, he thinks the Nazi movement is a proletarian one which will free the world from the bonds of “plutocratic capitalists”. He sees himself primarily as a liberator of the working class’.[81]

Shirer’s quip about the ‘strangeness’ of Joyce’s view of National Socialism as a movement fighting capitalism is perhaps best explained by Shirer’s own ignorance as to the character of both National Socialism and the war.[82] The reader will see the anti-plutocratic character of National Socialism explained in Twilight, a copy of which Joyce gave to Shirer.

Twilight was published in September 1940, by Santoro, an elderly Italian who owned a Berlin publishing house, Internationaler Verlag, the English edition running to 100,000 copies.[83] They were distributed at POW camps, where there were efforts to recruit for a Legion of Saint George (also known as the British Free Corps) as a unit of the Waffen SS to fight on the Eastern Front (not against fellow Britons).[84]

After a year of delays, the Joyce’s were German citizens. In 1941 Joyce registered for military service and was put in a reserved category. Joyce was now permitted to reveal his identity and stated:

‘I, William Joyce, left England because I would not fight for Jewry against Adolf Hitler and National Socialism. I left England because I thought that victory which would preserve existing conditions would be more damaging to Britain than defeat’.[85]

On 11 May 1941 Deputy Fuhrer Rudolf Hess reached Scotland on his ill-fated peace mission. It was undertaken at a time when war between the USSR and Germany was approaching, and the German authorities were obliged to repudiate the Hess mission as the lone efforts of someone who had become mentally unhinged. Perhaps Hess was unbalanced if he thought he could overcome the war party led by Churchill, but there was still thought to be a prominent peace party within influential circles who aimed for a negotiated peace. Hess had flown to Scotland in the hope of talking with the Duke of Hamilton, who was thought to be among the peace party. It is known that Hess had long been discussing possibilities of a peace mission to Britain, with Hitler’s knowledge, and that Hess’ friend Albrecht Haushofer had been in contact with the Duke of Hamilton.[86] New evidence has come to light that Hess probably did fly to Britain with Hitler’s approval. British historian Peter Padfield states that Hess brought with him to Britain detailed peace proposals from Hitler. The proposals asked for Britain’s neutrality in a coming conflict with the USSR, in return for which Germany would withdraw from Western Europe and would have no claims on Britain or the Empire.[87] Of course, such proposals were perfectly in keeping with the foreign policy aims that Hitler had desired since the 1920s, as we have seen previously. The proposals from Hitler specified German aims in Russia and even stated the precise time of the German offensive. Padfield remarks: ‘This was not a renegade plot. Hitler had sent Hess and he brought over a fully developed peace treaty for Germany to evacuate all the occupied countries in the West’.[88] Padfield also remarks on a significant ‘negotiated peace’ faction in Britain, and the ruin that peace would have meant for Churchill’s career. There is also allusion to this peace faction including the Royal Family.

Joyce expected he would soon die, whether fighting the Russians, during an air-raid or hanged. Awarded the War Merit Cross 1st Class, a civilian medal, which meant little to him, he was called up to the home guard, the Volkssturm, and he started training with weapons.[89] During the course of an air-raid, confined in a shelter, he proceeded to teach a French journalist English songs, which drew the attention of an air-warden. When Joyce refused the order to quieten a scuffle ensued, Joyce received a cut lip, and the warden a black eye. The air-raid warden stated that Joyce would be reported. Bellowing with laughter at the absurdity of the situation, Joyce was duly notified that he was charged with ‘sub-treason’, and that the warden had been the personal chauffer of Freisler, president of the People’s Court. His employers warned him that the charge was more serious than he assumed. However, the court and all traces of the documentation as well as Freisler’s chauffeur were buried in rubble from an air-raid and so was the charge of ‘sub-treason’.[90]

At the suggestion that the Joyces obtain false papers with the view to escaping as the war drew to a conclusion, Joyce was furious and adamant that ‘soldiers cannot run away, so why should I?’[91] For Joyce, from boyhood to the end of his life, honour an integrity were paramount, courage an instinct.

With Berlin in ruins, the staff of Buro Concordia prepared to relocate. With the impending Russian occupation of the city, the staff of the English Language Services proceeded to Apen, a small town between Bremen and the Dutch border, although Joyce would have preferred the barricades with his Volkssturm colleagues.

Finale

On 30 April 1945 the staff were called together and told of Hitler’s death. Lord and Lady Haw-Haw made their final broadcasts that day. Joyce reiterated what he had always said:

‘Britain’s victories are barren. They leave her poor and they leave her people hungry. They leave her bereft of the markets and the wealth that she possessed six years ago. But above all, they leave her with an immensely greater problem than she had then. We are nearing the end of one phase of Europe’s history, but the next will be no happier. It will be grimmer, harder and perhaps bloodier. And now I ask you earnestly, can Britain survive? I am profoundly convinced that without German help she cannot’.

Is there any reader who is so ignorant or so naïve, other than the ideologically or ethnically biased, who can deny that Joyce has been proved correct? Britain lost her Empire, lost her markets, the Commonwealth and colonial peoples were detached from her and left to wallow in Third World poverty, or become colonies of a US led world order, and debt became more than ever the preferred method of economics.

Orders came from Goebbels, the first from the Reichsminister that had acknowledged them, that the Joyces were not to fall into Allied hands. However, attempts to get them to neutral Sweden via Denmark or to Eire, were abortive. They ended up in Flensburg, back in the crumbling and occupied Reich. Joyce, as was his habit, adopted a rascally attitude even now, and played what he called ‘Russian roulette’ by greeting British soldiers, to see if they would recognise his voice. On a stroll back from the woods he encountered two officers collecting firewood, and approached them offering some sticks. One of the officers, Lieutenant Perry,[92] a returning Jewish refugee serving as an interpreter, a type that was now swarming over Germany in the wake of the Allied occupation, recognised Joyce’s voice. They pursued Joyce in a vehicle, and Perry asked, ‘You wouldn’t happen to be William Joyce would you?’ Joyce reached for the less than convincing fake identity papers that had been given to him by the Germans and was shot by Perry, the bullet entering through Joyce’s right thigh and passing through the left.[93]

The_Capture_of_William_Joyce,_Germany,_1945_BU6910.jpg

The military authorities promptly called on Margaret Joyce at the lodging of an elderly widow, who was also detained, but quickly released, albeit not before her household food rations had been looted by the liberators.

Joyce’s first court appearance on treason charges was held at the Old Bailey on 17 September 1945. He entered a ‘not guilty’ plea. The main problem for the prosecution was in regard to whether Joyce was a British national under the protection of the Crown when he made his broadcasts in Germany. Joyce had never been a British citizen, and he had obtained a British passport for his move to Germany by making a false declaration. Two of the three charges could not be upheld. The case reached the House of Lords. However, Joyce was in no doubt that his hanging was required, and his defence team had even received death threats should he be acquitted. Joyce was hanged on the basis that because he had a British passport he was under the protection of the Crown when he started his broadcasts, and therefore committed high treason. The charge was dubious at best. He had never used his British status for protection at any time, and there is no reason to believe he would have in any circumstances. He moved to Germany with the intention of become a German citizen as promptly as possible, although German officialdom had been tardy in the process. Joyce was hanged on a passport technicality. Judgement was passed on 18 December 1945 to dismiss the appeal. Lord Porter dissented, stating that it was by no means clear that Joyce could have been considered to have owed allegiance to the Crown at the time of the broadcasts.[94]

Joyce on being told the decision wrote to Margaret that it was a relief the matter was over and that he found it undignified to have to plead for his life before his enemies, and to ‘observer their pretence at “fair play”’. Amidst the petty vengefulness of a befuddled and war-worn people, The Manchester Guardian nonetheless questioned the appropriateness of death sentences for Joyce and John Amery (whose trial had lasted eight minutes) for views that ‘were once shared by many who walk untouched among us’. Joyce appreciated the acknowledgment of his sincerity by the Guardian. His friends remained steadfast, and John Macnab was particularly active on Joyce behalf. Macnab, an avid Catholic, remarked on his last visits to Joyce that ‘being with him gave a sense of inward peace, like being in a quiet church’.[95] Some of his former teachers at Birbeck College, remembering the likeable and hardworking student, asked the prison Governor to relay their well-wishes to Joyce. He handed his brother Quentin his final message:

‘In death, as in this life, I defy the Jews who caused this last war: and I defy the power of Darkness which they represent. I warn the British people against the aggressive Imperialism of the Soviet Union.

‘May Britain be great once again; and, in the hour of the greatest danger to the West, may the standard of the Hakenkreuz be raised from the dust, crowned with the historic words “Ihr habt doch gesiegt”. I am proud to die for my ideals; and I am sorry for the sons of Britain who have died without knowing why’.

Joyce’s old friend, the one-timer Labour Party stalwart John Beckett, wrote to him in his final days: ‘Our children will grow up to think of you as an honest and courageous martyr in the fight against alien control of our country … That is how we shall remember you, and what we will tell our people’.[96] It has only recently been known that Beckett’s departure from the National Socialist League was for reasons other than a falling-out with Joyce. Beckett referred to this when writing to Joyce:

‘No one knows better than myself the sincerity of the beliefs which led to the course of action you chose. You remember we discussed the position in 1938, and the disagreement and respect I showed for your opinion then, remains’.[97]

Joyce replied in a letter that was intercepted and never given to Beckett:

‘Of course I remember, quite vividly, how we discussed the situation in 1938. I do not, in the most infinitesimal degree, regret what I have done. For me, there was nothing else to do. I am proud to die for what I have done’.[98]

Beckett in his farewell wrote to Joyce: ‘Goodbye, William, it’s been good to know you and there are few things in my life I am prouder of than our association. Yours always, John’.[99]

Joyce took holy communion, wrote to his wife and to Macnab, and at 9:00 am precisely he was taken from his cell by the hangman, Albert Pierrepoint and hanged.[100]

On the morning of 3 January 1946, the day of his execution, a crowd of 300 gathered outside Wandsworth prison; most to gloat but some to pay their final respects. Some of the crowd, on the notice of Joyce’s execution being posted up, set themselves apart from the crowd and gave the Fascist salute in Joyce’s honour.

Notes

[1] J A Cole, Lord Haw-Haw: The Full Story of William Joyce (London: Faber and Faber, 1987), 307

[2] Cole, 16.

[3] Cole, 212.

[4] Rebecca West, The Meaning of Treason (London: The Reprint Society, 1952), 3.

[5] Ibid., 4.

[6] One might recall the fates of Dr Robert Faurrison in France, Fred Leuchter in the USA, David Irving in England, Dr Joel Hayward in New Zealand, Ernst Zundel in Canada, et al.

[7] K R Bolton, Artists of the Right (San Francisco, Counter-Currents Publications, 2012), 97-119. Pound, stranded in Italy with his wife when the USA entered the war, broadcast for Italy on a programme called ‘Europe Calling’, analogous to Joyce’s broadcasts named ‘Germany Calling’. Handed over to US troops after the war by Italian partisans, Pound was confined in an animal cage under the scathing Pisan sun. The embarrassment of trying and hanging for treason one of the world’s greatest literary figures was avoided by declaring Pound unfit to stand trial, and he was confined to a mental asylum for thirteen years, after which, still undiagnosed or treated for any supposed ‘mental illness’, he was permitted to leave the USA and return to Italy.

[8] Cole, op. cit., 22-23.

[9] Ibid., 56.

[10] Ibid.

[11] Richard Thurlow, Fascism in Britain (London: Basil Blackwell, 1987), 51.

[12] Ibid., 53.

[13] Cole., op. cit., 30.

[14] Ibid.,  31.

[15] Oswald Mosley (1968) My Life (London: Black House Publishing, 2012), 294.

[16] Ibid, 295.

[17] Ibid., 297.

[18] Cole, op. cit., 39.

[19] Thurlow, op. cit., 98.

[20] In 1925 Beckett become the youngest Labour MP of his time, at the age of 30. Becoming increasingly radical, he was expelled from the Labour party and lost his seat in 1931, joining the BUF two years later.

[21] Cole, op. cit, 45.

[22] Jeffrey Hamm, Action Replay (London: Howard Baker, 1983), 151.

[23] Cole, op.cit., 57.

[24] Cole, op. cit., 59.

[25] Ibid., 65.

[26] Randolf Churchill in letter to The Spectator, 27 December 1963, cited by Mosley, My Life, op. cit., 363.

[27] Zeev Sternhell, Neither Left Nor Right: Fascist Ideology in France (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1986); The Birth of Fascist Ideology (Princeton, 1994).

[28] Cole, op. cit., 73.

[29] K R Bolton, ‘Geoffrey Potocki de Montalk: New Zealand Poet, “Polish King”, and “Good European”’, Counter-Currents Publishing, http://www.counter-currents.com/2010/08/count-potocki-de-montalk-part-iii/

[30] William Joyce, National Socialism Now, 1939, Chapter 1.

[31] Ibid.

[32] Karl Marx, The Communist Manifesto (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1975), 71-72.

[33] Joyce, NS Now, op. cit., Chapter 2.

[34] K R Bolton, The Banking Swindle (London: Black House Publishing, 2013), 103-120.

[35] Ibid., 96-100.

[36] Ibid, passim.

[37] W Joyce, NS Now, op. cit., Chapter 4.

[38] Adolf Hitler (1926), Mein Kampf (London: Hutchinson & Co., 1969), 570.

[39] Ramsay was one of the many veterans who had served in the First World War ‘with gallantry’ (Griffiths, 353) who were imprisoned under Regulation 18B. Members of the Right Club included Admiral Wilmot Nicholson (another First World War hero), Mrs Frances Eckersley, who was to assist the Joyce’s on their arrival to Germany; and the Duke of Wellington. Richard Griffiths, Fellow Travellers of the Right (London: Oxford University Press, 1983) 353-355.

[40] A H M Ramsay, The Nameless War (1952), 17.

[41] Ramsay, ibid., 54.

[42] Ramsay, ibid., 59-60.

[43] Ramsay, ibid., 62.

[44] David Irving (1966), The Destruction of Dresden (London: Futura Publications, 1980).

[45] Ramsay, op. cit., 67.

[46] Cited by Ramsay, ibid., 68.

[47] Ibid.

[48] Hitler, Mein Kampf, op. cit., 575.

[49] David Irving, Churchill’s War Vol. 1 (Western Australia: Veritas Publishing, 1987), 104.

[50] Stephen Mitford Goodson, Inside the Reserve Bank of South Africa (2013), 67-69.

[51] David Irving, op. cit., ., 14.

[52] Cole, op. cit., 77.

[53] Stephen Dorril, Black Shirt: Sir Oswald Mosley and British Fascism (London: Penguin Books, 2007), 466.

[54] Ibid.

[55] Griffiths, op. cit., 319.

[56] The BUF had its own notable agricultural expert, Jorian Jencks, author of BUF rural policies.

[57] Griffiths, op. cit., 352.

[58] Cole, op. cit., 82-83.

[59] Cole, ibid., 86.

[60] Cole, 103.

[61] Robert Skidelsky, Oswald Mosley, 440.

[62] Ibid., 449.

[63] Ibid., 455.

[64] Cole, op. cit., 108.

[65] Ibid., 113.

[66] Ibid., 115.

[67] Ibid.

[68] Ibid., 118.

[69] Ibid., 121.

[70] Ibid., 124.

[71] Ibid., 126.

[72] Ibid., 127.

[73] Ibid., 137.

[74] Cole, 159.

[75] Ibid. 161.

[76] Cole, 164.

[77] Cole, ibid., 182.

[78] Cited by Cole, ibid., 170.

[79] William L Shirer, The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich (Secker and Warburg, 1977).

[80] Recall the description of Joyce’s appearance by Shirer with that of Rebecca West.

[81] Cited by Cole, op. cit., 174-175.

[82] Shirer was listed as a Communist sympathiser in a 1950 US publication, Red Channels: The Report of Communist Influence in Radio and Television, based on FBI documents. Shirer had been a member of the Committee for the Prevention of World War III, founded in the USA in 1944, which lobbied for the elimination of Germany. Among its members were James P Warburg, ‘ideologue’ of the society and a scion of the influential Warburg banking dynasty. Did Shirer ever regard the alliance between plutocrats and Leftists against the Axis to be ‘strange’? For several years after the war the Committee’s aims were implemented under the so-called Morgenthau Plan, named after US Secretary of the Treasury Henry Morgenthau Jr., a supporter of the society. The Morgenthau Plan attempted to exterminate the German people through starvation, until being reversed by the Marshall Plan several years after the war, when it was realised that the Germans might be needed to fight the Russians, again.  See: James Bacque, Crimes and Mercies: The Fate of German Civilians Under Allied Occupation 1944-1950 (London: Little, Brown & Co., 1997).

[83] Adrian Weale, Renegades: Hitler’s Englishmen (London: Weidenfield and Nicolson, 1994), 36.

[84] Ibid., passim.

[85] Cole, op. cit., 190.

[86] Wolf Rudiger Hess, My Father Rudolf Hess (London: W H Allen, 1986), 66-67.

[87] Jasper Copping, ‘Nazis “offered to leave Western Europe for free hand to attack USSR”’, The Telegraph, 26 September 2013, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/history/10336126/Nazis-offered-to-leave-western-Europe-in-exchange-for-free-hand-to-attack-USSR.html

[88] Peter Padfield, Hess, Hitler and Churchill (Icon books Ltd., 2013), cited by Copping, ibid.

[89] Cole, 219.

[90] Cole, 221.

[91] Ibid., 222

[92] The large numbers of Jewish lawyers and interpreters who entered Germany with the Occupation forces were given false names. See Cole, op. cit., 247.

[93] Ibid., 246.

[94] Ibid., 287.

[95] Cole, 300.

[96] Cited by Beckett’s son, the author and journalist Francis Beckett, ‘My Father and Lord Haw-Haw’, The Guardian, 10 February 2005, http://www.theguardian.com/books/2005/feb/10/secondworldwar.world

[97] Ibid.

[98] Ibid.

[99] Ibid.

[100] Adrien Weal, op.cit., 195.

 


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mardi, 31 décembre 2013

RHF nº XXVI

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RHF n°XXVI

Acaba de aparecer el nº XXVI de la Revista de Historia del Fascismo correspondiente al mes de noviembre de 2013 que incluye los siguientes artículos:

Sumario:

DOSIER
Arde el Reichstag:
¿Cómo? ¿Cuándo? ¿Por qué?. Del 30 de enero al 5 de marzo de 1933: semanas decisivas

En la noche del 27 de febrero de 1933, cuando aún no se cumplía un mes del nombramiento de Hitler como Canciller, el Reichstag quedaba convertido en cenizas. Aun hoy subsiste en de­bate sobre quién incendió el edificio e incluso el autor material, Marinus Van Der Lubbe, ha sido rehabilitado en 1998. La respuesta del gobierno consistió en presentar una ley especial para la represión de estos actos de terrorismo que tuvo como consecuencia la prohibición del Partido Comunista Alemán (KPD) y sucesivas modificaciones legales que concentraron el poder en manos de Hitler. Presentamos la cronología de los acontecimientos y un análisis crítico del episodio.

NACIONAL-SINDICALISMO
Crónica de una frustración histórica
Las causas que impidieron el arraigo de un fascismo en España

La crónica del «fascismo español», esto es, del movi­miento nacional-sindicalista, es también la crónica de una permanente frustración que se manifestó ya desde los primeros momentos y que lo ha acompañado a lo largo de toda su historia. Debemos, pues, hablar de un «fascismo frustrado» mucho más que de una experiencia histórica consumada. Este artículo tiene dos partes, en la primera se aluden a las distintas causas que generaron esa frustración. En la segunda se describen las biografías de los dos principales exponentes de la «derecha falangista»: Onésimo Redondo Ortega y Julio Ruiz de Alda.

NACIONAL-SINDICALISMO
Dos biografías de la “derecha falangista”
Onésimo Redondo y Ruiz de Alda
(por Eduardo Núñez)

Después de esta introducción presentamos las biografías de los dos dirigentes falangistas más conocidos de su «ala derecha». Se trata de dos biografías sintéticas que nos sirven para situar a los personajes. Al lector le será sumamente fácil, con la introducción que hemos realizado, entender que situemos a estos dos personajes en la «derecha fa­langista». Vale la pena decir que, en el propio José Antonio, se percibe una evolución nítida a lo largo del año 1935 que lo va desplazando del «ala derecha», hacia nuevas posiciones. Esta evolución, por el contrario, no se percibe ni en Onésimo Redondo, ni en Julio Ruiz de Alda.

FASCISMOS INTERNACIONALES
Camisas doradas y el fascismo en México
(por Eduardo Basurto)

En el México insurgente del primer tercio del si­glo XX, tras las guerras cristeras (de las que León Degrelle fue un testigo excepcional) apareció el movimiento de los Camisas Doradas, rama militante de la Acción Revolucionaria Mexicanista, dirigida por Nicolás Rodríguez Carrasco, un movimiento que rechazaba a la democracia parlamentaria y el marxismo. Son considerados como el «partido fascista» mexicano más amplio y con una base más sólida. Su ciclo histórico fue breve pero aquí lo repasamos, desde sus orígenes hasta su extinción en el tiempo en el que la guerra ya había vuelto a prender en Europa.

NEOFASCISMO
Memorias de Stefano Delle Chiaie
Los años del exilio español

Reanudamos la traducción y publicación de las memorias de Stefano Delle Chiaie editadas en Italia con el título de El Águila y el Cóndor. Llega­mos a la dilatada etapa española en la que Delle Chiaie consigue crear, junto con el Comandante Borghese, una «santuario» en nuestro país cuya vigencia se prolongará hasta un año después de la muerte de Franco. Esta etapa es prolija en acontecimientos que están ligados en buena medida a las peripecias de la policía española de la época y que harán que el nombre de Delle Chiaie aparezca con mucha frecuencia en las primeras páginas de los medios de comunicación españoles durante la transición.

Formato 15x21 cm
232 páginas
Portada: cuatricomía, plastificada, con solapas
PVP: 18,00 €
Pedidos superiores a 10 ejemplares: 9:00 €

00:07 Publié dans Histoire, Revue | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0) | Tags : histoire, fascisme, revue, national-syndicalisme, espagne | |  del.icio.us | | Digg! Digg |  Facebook

samedi, 30 novembre 2013

Últimos escritos y discursos de Giovanni Gentile

Últimos escritos y discursos de Giovanni Gentile

Publicado por edicionesnuevarepublica

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Últimos escritos y discursos de Giovanni Gentile

NOVEDAD

«Últimos escritos y discursos de Giovanni Gentile.

24 de junio de 1943 – 15 de abril de 1944»

● Colección «Europa Rebelde» / 31

● Barcelona, 2013

● 20×13 cms., 148 págs.

● Cubierta a todo color, con solapas y plastificada brillo

PVP: 15 euros

Orientaciones

Cuando la noche del 15 de abril me fue dada la dolorosa noticia de que Giovanni Gentile había sido asesinado traicioneramente, la primera palabra que dije, tomado por una profunda angustia, a quien estaba, lejano, al otro lado del teléfono, fue: ¡No es posi­ble, no es cierto! ¡No debería serlo! Pero el enemigo había que­rido cometer una infamia sin nombre, había querido ensuciarse con uno de los más oscuros delitos que la historia recuerda. El enemigo no había vacilado al dar la orden de asesinar tam­bién a este italiano, consciente de la permanente grandeza de la nación y convencido, desde el primer día de la traición, de la necesidad de trabajar, con todas sus fuerzas físicas y espiri­tuales, para que el pueblo italiano se volviese a poner en pie, y marchase de nuevo hacia su destino. Así, las manos sacrílegas, que han golpeado hasta la muerte a Giovanni Gentile, han priva­do a la Nación de uno de sus ciudadanos más fieles, a la cultura italiana y europea de uno de sus más elevados representantes, a la escuela de su más grande Maestro, al mundo de un filósofo, entre los más profundos.

Cario Alberto Biggini (Filósofo, Ministro de Educación de la R.S.I.)

vendredi, 29 mars 2013

Fascism & the Meaning of Life

Fascism & the Meaning of Life

By Alisdair Clarke

Ex: http://www.counter-currents.com/

Roger Griffin
Modernism and Fascism: The Sense of a Beginning under Mussolini and Hitler [2]
Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007

grifffi22816791z.jpgRoger Griffin, Professor in Modern History at Oxford Brookes University, first introduced the idea of “Palingenesis” to the field of fascist studies over 15 years ago, making him immediately a leading figure in his chosen vocation. He isolated the syncretic fascist core as being palingenetic, populist ultra-nationalism, with overtones of a phoenix-like heroic rebirth. Since then he has extended and elaborated his theory that essential to the definition of the “fascist minimum” is the notion of national rebirth or renaissance — “myths that generated policies and actions designed to bring about collective redemption, a new national community, a new society, a new man…engineered through the power of the modern state.” — culminating in this masterwork which rightly places fascism at the centre of wider modernist movements.

Epiphanic versus Programmatic Modernism

Griffin’s insights have previously been recognized as audacious and perceptive, no more so than here. Part One of the book tackles the at first seemingly tricky concept of Modernism itself, which Griffin clarifies brilliantly. Modernism’s “common denominator lies in the bid to achieve a sense of transcendent value, meaning of purpose despite Western culture’s progressive loss of a homogeneous value system and overarching cosmology (nomos) caused by the secularizing and disembedding forces of modernization.” Modernization is experienced by those caught up in its slipstream as a relentless juggernaut unzipping the fabric of meaningful existence and leaving in its wake the abyss of permanently unresolved ambivalence. In short, Modernism is defined as a reaction against the decadent[1] nihilism of intellectual, societal and technical modernization.

While Marx, other Leftists and liberals consider modern man’s condition as one of angst and alienation induced by class warfare and industrial production, the Right sees anomie as both the cause and the principle symptom of our modern malaise. “It is the black hole of existential self-awareness in all of us, our fear of ‘the eternal silence of infinite spaces’ that so alarmed [Blaise] Pascal, which produces culture.”

This modern culture is further divided by Griffin into what might be called introvert and extrovert reactions: the introvert reaction is generally individualistic and in Griffin’s expression an “epiphanic modernism” — the path of the artist — while the extrovert, collective reaction is defined as “programmatic modernism.” The latter seeks to change the world and resolve the permanent crisis of modernity (“all that is solid melts into air” – Marx) by a collective act of “reconnection forwards” (Moeller van den Bruck). It is not difficult to make the short step from “programmatic modernism” to fascism; the transcendent politics proposed by van den Bruck at the beginning of the Twentieth Century are not so different from Guillaume Faye’s “Archaic Futurism” at its end. Both are, in the phrase of Guy Debord, “technically equipped archaism.”

roger_griffin.jpgAmongst the epiphanic modernists Griffin includes Nietzsche, Eliot, Joyce, Proust, van Gogh, Kandinsky, and Malevich, but perhaps the truth of Griffin’s argument is demonstrated by the man widely acknowledged as the greatest modern painter: Picasso. In his earlier cubist works, Picasso sought inspiration from the primitivism of African masks, and later in the archetypal Mediterranean symbols of horses and particularly bulls (which surprisingly Griffin doesn’t mention).

Gardening State

Following the exhaustive and enlightening dissection of modernism in Part One, Griffin explores the implications and applied politics in Part Two, where “modernity turbocharged by the conjuncture of the First World War, the Russian Revolution, the collapse of three absolutist regimes and a powerful monarchy, with an influenza epidemic that killed as many as 100 million people world wide had made the modernist drive to ward off the terror of the void — cultural, social and political — a phenomenon of mass culture. The new era would be a creatio ex profundis, an act of creativity defying the void.” Fascism aimed for a complete overhaul, in accordance with Emilio Gentile’s observation of totalitarianism as “an experiment in political domination undertaken by a revolutionary movement.”

Griffin introduces the idea of the pre-War Fascist and National Socialist regimes as “gardening states” striking a successful balance between idyllic ruralism and technocratic modernism, the “compelling new imperative” that it obeyed “to clean up, to sterilize, to re-order, to eliminate dirt and dust” (Frances Saunders). Or neatly, if flippantly, summed up by Lars Lindholm, “For example, the Aryans (i.e. Germans, the blond and blue-eyed) are direct descendants from the Atlantean root-race, whereas the Jews, Negroes, Slavs, and anyone else for that matter, are unfortunate mutants, further away from Homo sapiens than the snottiest gorilla. The reason for all the troubles in this world is the presence of these unsavoury species that the master race should mercifully do away with so that peace and quiet could be restored and life imbued with a bit of style” (PILGRIMS OF THE NIGHT: Pathfinders of the Magical Way [Llewellyn, St. Paul MN, 1993]). It was this same vision of hygienic modernity which inspired the building in London of bright new health centres in Peckham and Finsbury during the 1930s. But mild English pragmatism was no match for German determination, where public buildings were “an act of sacralization symbolized in the toned bodies of Aryan workers showering in the washrooms of newly built hygienic factories or playing football on a KdF sportsground, their camaraderie and zest for life expressing the hope for a young, healthy nation.”

Fascist Aesthetics

Included in the book are illustrations of art and architecture not usually associated with the pre-War Fascist and National Socialist regimes: from the soaring arch designed by Adalberto Libera for the aborted EUR ’42 exhibition in Rome (later ripped-off by Eero Saarinen for the St. Louis Gateway Arch), to the cool steel and glass structure designed by Morpugo encasing the Ara Pacis of Augustus, the 1933 blueprint for the new Reichsbank in Berlin by Gropius, or Baron Julius Evola’s painterly experimentations with Dadaism.

Goebbels is revealed as a fan of Edvard Munch and Fritz Lang, while Le Corbusier submitted plans for the new town of Pontinia in the recently-reclaimed Pontine Marshes. Fritz Todt celebrated Aryan technocratic power in his construction of autobahns and later the Atlantic Wall. Irene Guenther is quoted extolling “Nazi Chic” with fashion displaying “another countenance, one that was intensely modern, technologically advanced, supremely stylized and fashionably stylish” and the Bauhaus influence on the new, burgeoning market in consumer durables is emphasised.

Unlike previous historians of fascism with their simplistic and inflexible frameworks, Griffin admirably demonstrates that “fascism, despite the connotations of regression, reaction and flight from modernity it retains for some academics, is to be regarded as an outstanding form of political modernism,” encapsulating a “deadly serious attempt to realize an alternative logic, an alternative modernity and an alternative morality to those pursued by liberalism, socialism, or conservatism.”

Ambition

Griffin is well aware of the boldness and ambition of his arguments. “Post-modern” academia is notoriously hostile to transdisciplinarity, and historians today are loath to erect grand structures of interpretation and meaning. Few historians are less fashionable than Oswald Spengler, or even Samuel “Clash of Civilizations” Huntington. Griffin is well aware of this problem, and in the introduction he specifically places Modernism and Fascism within the context of “Aufbruch” (a breaking out of conventions). For this reason Griffin’s style is reflexive: he is conscious of the fact that in proposing a new syncretic historical worldview he is in some ways mirroring the dynamics of fascism itself.

Of course, European Identitarians and New Rightists will have no problem with the concept of evolutionary synthesis (it’s no accident that one of the principal English-language New Right websites is called Synthesis [3]), nevertheless Griffin is correctly keen to show and stress that his work is non-totalizing. Overall his style is extremely lucid, and arguments that may appear at first to be mere flights of fancy are revealed as having firm foundations, unlike the convoluted, almost impenetrable, and until recently-fashionable critical theory style of, say, Andrew Hewitt’s Political Inversions: Homosexuality, Fascism and the Modernist Imaginary (1996) or the late Lacoue-Labarthe’s Heidegger, Art, and Politics (1990).

“The sky is falling on our heads”

At the end of his book, Griffin draws attention to a BBC News report from September 1998. “The sky is falling” it announces dramatically (shades of Asterix and Obelix here) “The height of the sky has dropped by 8km in the last 38 years, according to scientists from the British Antarctic Survey. Greenhouse gasses like carbon dioxide are believed to be responsible for creating the effect.” He goes on to speculate, “Had Nietzsche been philosophizing at the beginning of the twenty-first century instead of the end of the nineteenth, amidst Swiss glaciers shrivelling under skies where the abstract art of vapour trails punctures illusions of transcending Good and Evil, maybe he would have ‘rethought all his ideas’ in a different, greener ‘framework’. Instead of railing against the advent of ‘nihilism’, ‘decadence’ and ‘the last man’, he might have realized that the time for any sort of ‘eternal return’ is rapidly running out in a literal, not symbolic sense.”

In the intervening 9 years since that ominous BBC report, our carbon emissions have escalated tremendously while our climate has deteriorated further, thanks to global capitalism, free market economics, liberalism, population increase, mass migration across borders, and above all the profound weakness and myopia in confronting the issue which is inherent to liberal democracies. We need to get a grip.

Note

[1] Not the frivolous, glamourized Sally Bowles Weimar “decadence” that the word conjures up in the minds of many gay men, but rather the very real awareness of decay; that all our greatest achievements as a civilization — the Renaissance, the Age of Discovery, the Moonshots — are behind us.

Source: http://aryanfuturism.blogspot.com/2007/08/fascism-and-meaning-of-life.html [4]


Article printed from Counter-Currents Publishing: http://www.counter-currents.com

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[3] Synthesis: http://www.rosenoire.org/

[4] http://aryanfuturism.blogspot.com/2007/08/fascism-and-meaning-of-life.html: http://aryanfuturism.blogspot.com/2007/08/fascism-and-meaning-of-life.html

00:05 Publié dans Histoire, Livre | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0) | Tags : histoire, esthétisme, roger griffin, fascisme, livre | |  del.icio.us | | Digg! Digg |  Facebook

dimanche, 24 mars 2013

Rivoluzionario e inimitabile, ecco chi era mio nonno: Gabriele D'Annunzio

 

dannunzio-divisa.jpg

"Rivoluzionario e inimitabile, ecco chi era mio nonno: Gabriele D'Annunzio"

Federico D'Annunzio, imprenditore col physique dell'intellettuale, racconta vita e opere dell'avo, nato esattamente 150 anni fa: "Il fascismo? Lui lo vedeva come un fumetto. La sua scrittura? Potenza assoluta. Fu un genio: oggi avrebbe milioni di followers"


Ex: http://www.ilgiornale.it/
 

Federico d'Annunzio, physique dell'intellettuale e ambizioni dell'imprenditore, romano di nascita e milanese di rinascita, è nipote legittimo del poeta-soldato Gabriele D'Annunzio.
Figlio di Gabriele jr. (1942-96, sposato a Patrizia dei conti dell'Acqua), a sua volta figlio di Ugo Veniero (1887-1945, marito di Luigia Bertelli), terzogenito del Vate, Federico d'Annunzio, 48 anni, tre matrimoni, tre figlie e un'azienda, è, oltre che uomo d'affari, uomo di Lettere.

Che ben conosce vita e opere del celebre bisnonno: il Comandante, che nasceva proprio 150 anni fa, oggi.

Federico d'Annunzio, tanto di parla, ancora oggi, di fascismo, di Regime e di rapporti tra intellettuali e Potere. Ma quali furono le relazioni di Gabriele con il fascismo?
«In Gabriele è forte lo slancio patriottico, che appare già nei suoi scritti "abruzzesi" di inizio Novecento. Dopo la verità positiva, naturale, raccontata dai "fotografi" letterari dell'epoca, d'Annunzio intesse la trama necessaria per vestire la nobiltà d'Italia. In seguito gli scritti e i discorsi interventisti, e la conquista di Fiume, confermano questo percorso. Ed è "sopra" d'Annunzio che il Fascismo costruisce le proprie fondamenta. Egli tuttavia non partecipa, ma è costretto a seguire il sogno creato dalla sua stessa poesia. Come avviene spesso per la figura femminile amata e poi respinta con pari violenza, così d'Annunzio assiste al cambiamento dell'ideale in realtà: la volontà superiore trasformata in silenzio, le parole vane, così come le costruzioni e le conquiste fasciste. Il fascismo agli occhi di d'Annunzio è un fumetto, una sacca vuota che non lascia nulla di sé».

Perché un ragazzo dovrebbe leggere d'Annunzio, oggi?
«Per l'uso sconvolgente e sperimentale che d'Annunzio fa della parola. In ogni suo scritto, in ogni poesia, nel mezzo di una descrizione o di un passaggio apparentemente piano, appare, sempre, in modo improvviso e ineluttabile, un capolavoro totale: sequenze di immagini luminose, contrastate, definite, di ombre, di sensazioni, di scintille irraggiungibili descritte con assoluta esattezza, rese vive, strappate da momenti così intimi, da non sembrare neppure intuibili, neppure visibili. E ecco invece tutto davanti agli occhi...».

Esempi?
«L'incipit di Forse che sì, forse che no. Quanta enorme distanza dalle Novelle della Pescara. Siamo in pieno Futurismo, azione, energia, morte, ricerca pura della velocità che sposi il linguaggio, per menti che non temono la fatica, la costruzione che si miscela come un arcano, semplicissimo e terribilmente potente, e in cima alla salita, il segreto, custodito in tutti gli scritti successivi: il d'Annunzio notturno. Che cresce negli anni seguenti sino al "Libro dei libri" di Gabriele, quel Diario Segreto che è il fuoco della letteratura e dello scrivere inimitabile».

Non le pare di esagerare?
«Dopo d'Annunzio è quasi impossibile scrivere, ed è quasi impossibile leggere. Al confronto molta letteratura sembra vaga, diluita, amatoriale. Non vi è ricerca felice e dolorosa della purezza, della tecnica, della linea che demarca la verità dell'immagine dal compiacimento solitario e inutile. In d'Annunzio tutto è dono, la scrittura è un dono: che le luci del Poeta, le favolose faville, possano passare, per qualche imperscrutabile magia, nel cuore e negli occhi del lettore, perché il candore senza protesta, la forza idiota, e ogni accostamento sino ad allora impossibile, possano vivere nella luce vera della parola, che trasporta un dono inarrestabile e involontario. Per Gabriele tutto è poetico e involontario, la scrittura non è un gesto d'amore, è dono perché consapevole, ma la volontà in tutto ciò è inutile. La fatica, la lotta, è con se stessi, cercare la perfezione ad ogni costo, per rendere il momento assoluto, dandogli vita eterna».

Non capisco.
«Prima di Joyce, d'Annunzio crea metaforme, plasmi, melodie di pensieri ravvicinati e soprapposti, fino ad allora solo intuiti. Essi tra essi trovano nuovi splendori, crescono in bellezza e ricchezza e appaiono più onesti e più grandi. Si assiste alla espansione del pensiero alla potenza dei suoi moduli sovrapposti, le nuove concatenazioni sono piante e fiori d'altri mondi, eppure comprensibili, solo difficili da raggiungere. Ci vuole forza per raggiungere questi confini, ma il premio è una consapevolezza di sé (senza confini). Sembra una verità parallela, eppure è così: tanta la sperimentazione, l'intuizione favolosa, tanto grande il respiro del pensiero dentro di sé. Nasce un orgoglio e una intimità con se stessi che si credeva avere perduto, se non mai posseduto. La gioia si nasconde dietro una frase, e dopo questa si vorrebbe chiudere il libro ed aspettare che questa carezza si esaurisca.

Ma la lettura di d'Annunzio è sempre così entusiasmante?
«Tutto il contrario. Alcuni momenti sono insopportabili, uno spregio per lo spettatore trattato a orpello, a scafo imbrattato di catrame, utile solo a trasportare la propria gloria, ma vergognoso di bellezza e di sentimento. Nasce l'odio per tanta arroganza, tanta presunzione tremendamente onesta e supportata da una superiorità inavvicinabile, nella facondia, nella sensualità, nella esattezza della vista e delle rime. Odio, soltanto odio, e un desiderio di schianto, immediato, senza speranza né pietà, che si fotta l'Inclito! Leggere d'Annunzio è anche questo».

Quale percorso consiglia per conoscere d'Annunzio?
«Comincerei leggendo il Giovanni Episcopo, che esprime un d'Annunzio maturo, dopo il Piacere e un periodo di sospensione creativa. Il racconto, e la dedica a Matilde Serao, disvelano tutto d'Annunzio, e la poetica successiva: la volontà di "invenzione", la tecnica della parola, l'analisi cruda di se stesso attraverso il racconto, con un linguaggio insolitamente composto e misurato. Godibile, leggibile, l'Episcopo è un buon inizio per conoscere Gabriele».

Non si parte dal Piacere?
«No, il Piacere va giustificato, quasi perdonato, attraverso la lettura degli scritti successivi. È un libro che mostra la umana debolezza del giovane Gabriele alla ricerca del successo. Il libro si avviluppa intorno a un estetismo ancora formale e immaturo, stupefacente, che ritrova invece una forma lirica e autentica nel Fuoco. Il Piacere mostra una parte marginale, debole, della sensibilità poetica di d'Annunzio, che è invece soprattutto interessato all'Uomo, alla sua complessità e al suo dialogo interiore».

Poi?
«La prosa e la poesia di d'Annunzio sono l'opera di un infaticabile ed appassionato sperimentatore, sorretto da una vena poetica inesauribile. Il celebre vivere inimitabile fu l'immagine utile, lo strumento di Gabriele verso la scrittura, l'unico suo vero destino. Leggere d'Annunzio è una esperienza che concede piaceri e drammatiche esaltazioni (e fatiche), ed andrebbe alternata con letture di altri autori, per godere appieno per contrasto della scrittura inimitabile. Per continuare la lettura suggerisco il Trionfo della morte, che raccoglie tracce di tutta la scrittura precedente e successiva. Vi è l'Abruzzo crudele e giusto, la famiglia, la Femmina assoluta (infine, la Nemica), e la Morte, un argomento quasi sconosciuto ma dominante per comprendere la poesia di Gabriele».

Altri libri...
«L'Innocente, illuminato dal contrasto tra il titolo e il testo. Figlio non figlio, padre non padre, protagonista è la colpa e la hybris, ridiretta e esposta, un viaggio al fondo del dolore, nelle profondità del Male. Una confessione che lascia stupiti, per giorni, o per sempre. Siamo noi così? Un libro indimenticabile, un ferro rovente nel cuore. E poi il Fuoco, capolavoro sull'onestà inevitabile della lirica e della poesia, l'Alcyone, il manifesto dello scrivere inimitabile, ed il teatro, con La figlia di Iorio e Il ferro. Ma proprio Il ferro, il nuovo teatro sperimentale, annuncia il periodo più raffinato e dolce della scrittura di d'Annunzio. Fioriscono il Notturno ed il Libro Segreto, diari intimi che concedono ai lettori "a fior di pelle" emozioni non raccontabili, che stanno solo nello spazio tra il Poeta e il Sé. E nel Libro Segreto un d'Annunzio terribile, che falcia la propria scrittura, e inventa, appena prima di morire, una nuova letteratura. Quest'ultimo, senza dubbio, il mio preferito.

Chi sarebbe oggi d'Annunzio?
«Uno scrittore, ancor più inimitabile. Avrebbe milioni di follower, scriverebbe in lingue diverse, cambierebbe le identità dei social networks, costringendoli a una nuova radicale modalità broadcast. Ed il mondo non potrebbe stancarsi di lui: saprebbe inventare, stupire e cogliere ancora di ciascuno la natura profonda».

samedi, 23 mars 2013

Quel Vate per tutti e per nessuno

Quel Vate per tutti e per nessuno

Creò la liturgia fascista senza essere fascista e disegnò una nuova estetica politica. Ma in fondo fu fedele solo a se stesso

dannunz.jpgGabriele D'Annunzio fu il più grandioso nocchiero che traghettò l'Italia dall'Ottocento al Novecento, dalla piccola borghesia di provincia alla nazionalizzazione delle masse, dalla Belle Époque alla guerra, dalla galanteria all'eros, dalla morale all'estetica, dal cavallo al velivolo e al sommergibile, dal culto romantico del genio e dell'eroe al culto moderno del superuomo, ardito trascinatore delle folle.

Restano in lui vivi i tratti del secolo in cui nacque, quel 12 marzo di 150 anni fa, e restano le tracce di quell'Italia provinciale che sognava il passaggio dalla piccola borghesia alla nobiltà imperiale di Roma o di Parigi, dal decoro alla gloria. D'Annunzio trasfigura quelle origini borghesi e ottocentesche nella modernità impetuosa e guerriera.
«In Italia ci sono soltanto tre uomini che possono fare la rivoluzione: Mussolini, D'Annunzio e Marinetti», disse il massimo intenditore di rivoluzioni, Vladimir Illich Ulianov, detto Lenin. Era finita da poco la prima guerra mondiale e il leader del comunismo mondiale aveva ricevuto a Mosca una delegazione socialista italiana. Ma nessuno dei tre indicati da Lenin era socialista e tutti e tre potevano definirsi, in varia misura, figli di Nietzsche più che di Marx. Ma gli altri due erano poeti e artisti... Questo spiega perché fu Mussolini a fare quella (mezza) rivoluzione. D'Annunzio fu il più famoso anticipatore del fascismo, il suo «san Giovanni Battista». Ma ne fu anche il più grande dissidente. Non si comprende il fascismo, l'estetizzazione della politica, il rituale fascista, il saluto romano, il culto della bella morte e la retorica militare e cameratesca, senza D'Annunzio. Non si può capire la sintesi tra radicalismo di destra e radicalismo di sinistra, tra sindacalismo rivoluzionario e nazionalismo eroico, senza passare per l'opera, i discorsi e la vita di D'Annunzio (che fu parlamentare di destra, poi passò a sinistra - vado verso la vita - e non fu rieletto).
La fusione tra paganesimo e cristianesimo della liturgia fascista è di stampo dannunziano; l'eja eja alalà, il discorso dal balcone, il superuomo affacciato sulle folle, gli arditi, il mito del duce (che D'Annunzio rilanciò nel 1912 in un saggio su Cola di Rienzo). D'Annunzio crea l'habitat in cui prende corpo la mitologia fascista e da cui attinge la sua maggiore fascinazione rispetto alla rivoluzione socialista. Il mito della guerra attraversa tutta l'epoca e permea le intelligenze più vive del tempo; ma D'Annunzio, tra le varie anime letterarie e militari che alimentano il fascismo, è quello che le incarna di più. Stretto è pure il nesso tra fiumanesimo dannunziano e sansepolcrismo fascista; e tracce di D'Annunzio si ritrovano nell'estremo fascismo di Salò, che risente non solo geograficamente della suggestione estetico-eroico-mortuaria del Vittoriale, ormai disabitato del suo capriccioso signore, morto nel '38. Certo, il fascismo fu anche molto altro, e D'Annunzio fu sicuramente molte altre cose, oltre che precursore del fascismo. Di estetica politica in D'Annunzio parlò Thomas Mann, poi Hofmannsthal che ne rimase incantato; ma sarà Walter Benjamin a cogliere l'estetizzazione della politica poi ereditata dal fascismo. Il suo conterraneo abruzzese Gioacchino Volpe, in un saggio sul D'Annunzio politico e combattente, lo considerò creatore di poesia totale, intesa come «arte eroica al servizio della nazione».

Il rapporto fra D'Annunzio e il fascismo-regime fu controverso, fatto di slanci e prove di amicizia ma anche di netto dissenso, a volte taciuto, a volte filtrato, fino alla tentazione antifascista. Che in alcuni dannunziani prese corpo con l'esperienza breve di Alleanza Nazionale (corsi e ricorsi onomastici). Il rapporto fra D'Annunzio e il regime non fu diverso da quello di un altro esteta e combattente famoso, Ernst Jünger, rispetto al nazismo. Jünger, più di D'Annunzio, non amò gli aspetti volgari e torbidi del nazismo, detestò Hitler e partecipò perfino alla congiura anti-hitleriana; ma la sua fama di precursore e scrittore di guerra, il suo prestigio come eroe di guerra (aveva avuto l'onorificenza militare massima) fermarono Hitler dal proposito di punirlo. O, se vogliamo cambiar tempo, luogo e versante ideologico, lo stesso rapporto di amore e timore tra il Vate e il Duce ci fu tra Castro e Che Guevara, anch'egli come D'Annunzio appellato «il Comandante»: la sua morte prematura fu una salvezza per Castro che diventò amministratore delegato del Mito e si liberò di un ingombrante Compagno scontento. Così accadde con D'Annunzio.

Ma l'ultimo D'Annunzio sostenne il fascismo dopo l'impresa africana e le sanzioni: i copiosi doni alla patria, la retorica della guerra che riaffiorava sulle sue labbra, la missione civilizzatrice italiana in Africa, la polemica con la «perfida Albione», il dono alla Patria della croce militare avuta dalla corona britannica. Nel '37 accettò di presiedere l'Accademia d'Italia. Non fu solo ipocrita il carteggio cameratesco e a tratti pomposamente cordiale con Mussolini. L'ultimo D'Annunzio non condivise l'alleanza con la Germania, non solo perché estraneo al razzismo e al fanatismo hitleriano, ma anche perché vedeva in Parigi la grande sorella latina e nei teutonici i grandi nemici dell'Italia irredenta. E in questo era perfettamente in sintonia con Mussolini, anch'egli di formazione filofrancese e antitedesco fino alle Sanzioni.

D'Annunzio non fu mai fascista e tantomeno antifascista, ma restò sempre dannunziano, egli amava se stesso e la propria opera sopra ogni cosa, non si può irregimentare in nessun regime ma solo farsi adorare, e non si sente intellettuale organico a nessun partito. La sua vera aspirazione fu elevare la vita al rango di opera d'arte. Il suo dissenso dal regime, notò Volpe, nasceva dalla sua riduzione da protagonista a testimone della Nuova Italia. Nutriva il polemico rimpianto che la rivoluzione italiana avrebbe dovuto farla lui. La sua impresa fiumana fu l'antefatto del Sessantotto: vitalismo, trasgressione e immaginazione al potere furono celebrati là, nella prima rivoluzione estetica. Quei ragazzi dai capelli lunghi di mezzo secolo dopo erano gli inconsapevoli nipoti di quelle teste pelate: D'Annunzio, Marinetti, Mussolini (e Lenin). D'Annunzio visse più vite in una sola e più epoche in una vita. Servì nella religione della parola e della vita, della patria e della bellezza, un solo dio: Imago sui, l'immagine di sé.

mardi, 12 mars 2013

Alessandro Pavolini

lundi, 29 octobre 2012

Quotation of Susan Sontag

 

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It is generally thought that National Socialism stands only for brutishness and terror. But this is not true. National Socialism—more broadly, fascism—also stands for an ideal or rather ideals that are persistent today under the other banners: the ideal of life as art, the cult of beauty, the fetishism of courage, the dissolution of alienation in ecstatic feelings of community; the repudiation of the intellect; the family of man (under the parenthood of leaders). These ideals are vivid and moving to many people, and it is dishonest as well as tautological to say that one is affected by Triumph of the Will and Olympia only because they were made by a filmmaker of genius. Riefenstahl’s films are still effective because, among other reasons, their longings are still felt, because their content is a romantic ideal to which many continue to be attached…

— Susan Sontag, “Fascinating Fascism”
 
http://sexorcismo.tumblr.com/post/33159923183/it-is-generally-thought-that-national-socialism
 

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