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John Pilger on the Dagan Plan and Gaza under fire

Every war Israel has waged since 1948 has had the same objective: expulsion of the native people. 

"When the truth is replaced by silence," the Soviet dissident Yevgeny Yevtushenko said, "the silence is a lie." It may appear that the silence on Gaza is broken. The small cocoons of murdered children, wrapped in green, together with boxes containing their dismembered parents, and the cries of grief and rage of everyone in that death camp by the sea can be witnessed on al-Jazeera and YouTube, even glimpsed on the BBC. But Russia's incorrigible poet was not referring to the ephemera we call news; he was asking why those who knew the why never spoke it, and so denied it. Among the Anglo-American intelligentsia, this is especially striking. It is they who hold the keys to the great storehouses of knowledge: the historiographies and archives that lead us to the why.

They know that the horror now raining on Gaza has little to do with Hamas or, absurdly, "Israel's right to exist". They know the opposite to be true: that Palestine's right to exist was cancelled 61 years ago and that the expulsion and, if necessary, extinction of the indigenous people was planned and executed by the founders of Israel. They know, for example, that the infamous "Plan D" of 1947-48 resulted in the murderous depopulation of 369 Palestinian towns and villages by the Haganah (Israeli army) and that massacre upon massacre of Palestinian civilians in such places as Deir Yassin, al-Dawayima, Eilaboun, Jish, Ramle and Lydda are referred to in official records as "ethnic cleansing". Arriving at a scene of this carnage, David Ben-Gurion, Israel's first prime minister, was asked by a general, Yigal Allon: "What shall we do with the Arabs?" Ben-Gurion, reported the Israeli historian Benny Morris, "made a dismissive, energetic gesture with his hand and said, 'Expel them'".

The order to expel an entire population "without attention to age" was signed by Yitzhak Rabin, a future prime minister promoted by the world's most efficient propaganda as a peacemaker. The terrible irony of this was addressed only in passing, such as when the Mapam party co-leader Meir Ya'ari noted "how easily" Israel's leaders spoke of how it was "possible and permissible to take women, children and old men and to fill the road with them because such is the imperative of strategy. And this we say . . . who remember who used this means against our people during the [Second World] War . . . I am appalled."

Every subsequent "war" Israel has waged has had the same objective: the expulsion of the native people and the theft of more and more land. The lie of David and Goliath, of perennial victim, reached its apogee in 1967 when the propaganda became a righteous fury that claimed the Arab states had struck first against Israel. Since then, mostly Jewish truth-tellers such as Avi Shlaim, Noam Chomsky, Tanya Reinhart, Neve Gordon, Tom Segev, Uri Avnery, Ilan Pappé and Norman Finkelstein have undermined this and other myths and revealed a state shorn of the humane traditions of Judaism, whose unrelenting militarism is the sum of an expansionist, lawless and racist ideology called Zionism. "It seems," wrote the Israeli historian Pappé on 2 January, "that even the most horrendous crimes, such as the genocide in Gaza, are treated as discrete events, unconnected to anything that happened in the past and not associated with any ideology or system . . . Very much as the apartheid ideology explained the oppressive policies of the South African government, this ideology - in its most consensual and simplistic variety - allowed all the Israeli governments in the past and the present to dehumanise the Palestinians wherever they are and strive to destroy them. The means altered from period to period, from location to location, as did the narrative covering up these atrocities. But there is a clear pattern [of genocide]."

In Gaza, the enforced starvation and denial of humanitarian aid, the piracy of life-giving resources such as fuel and water, the denial of medicines, the systematic destruction of infrastructure and killing and maiming of the civilian population, 50 per cent of whom are children, fall within the international standard of the Genocide Convention. "Is it an irresponsible overstatement," asked Richard Falk, UN special rapporteur for human rights in the occupied Palestinian territories and international law authority at Princeton University, "to associate the treatment of Palestinians with this criminalised Nazi record of collective atrocity? I think not."

In describing a “holocaust-in-the making”, Falk was alluding to the Nazis’ establishment of Jewish ghettos in Poland. For one month in 1943, the captive Polish Jews, led by Mordechaj Anielewicz, fought off the German army and the SS, but their resistance was finally crushed and the Nazis exacted their final revenge. Falk is also a Jew. Today’s holocaust-in-the-making, which began with Ben-Gurion’s Plan D, is in its final stages. The difference today is that it is a joint US-Israeli project. The F-16 jet fighters, the 250lb “smart” GBU-39 bombs supplied on the eve of the attack on Gaza, having been approved by a Congress dominated by the Democratic Party, plus the annual $2.4bn in warmaking “aid”, give Washington de facto control. It beggars belief that President-elect Obama was not informed. Outspoken about Russia’s war in Georgia and the terrorism in Mumbai, Obama has maintained a silence on Palestine that marks his approval, which is to be expected, given his obsequiousness to the Tel Aviv regime and its lobbyists during the presidential campaign and his appointment of Zionists as his secretary of state and principal Middle East advisers. When Aretha Franklin sings “Think”, her wonderful 1960s anthem to freedom, at Obama’s inauguration on 20 January, I trust someone with the brave heart of Muntader al-Zaidi, the shoe-thrower, will shout: “Gaza!”

The asymmetry of conquest and terror is clear. Plan D is now "Operation Cast Lead", which is the unfinished "Operation Justified Vengeance". This was launched by Prime Minister Ariel Sharon in 2001 when, with George W Bush's approval, he used F-16s against Palestinian towns and villages for the first time.

 

Why are the academics and teachers silent? Are British universities now no more than “intellectual Tescos”?

 

In that same year, the authoritative Jane's Foreign Report disclosed that the Blair government had given Israel the "green light" to attack the West Bank after it was shown Israel's secret designs for a bloodbath. It was typical of new Labour's enduring complicity in Palestine's agony. However, the Israeli plan, reported Jane's, needed the "trigger" of a suicide bombing which would cause "numerous deaths and injuries [because] the 'revenge' factor is crucial". This would "motivate Israeli soldiers to demolish the Palestinians". What alarmed Sharon and the author of the plan, General Shaul Mofaz, then Israeli chief of staff, was a secret agreement between Yasser Arafat and Hamas to ban suicide attacks. On 23 November 2001 Israeli agents assassinated the Hamas leader Mahmoud Abu Hanoud and got their "trigger": the suicide attacks resumed in response to his killing.

Something uncannily similar happened on 4 November last year when Israeli special forces attacked Gaza, killing six people. Once again, they got their propaganda "trigger": a ceasefire sustained by the Hamas government - which had imprisoned its violators - was shattered as a result of the Israeli attacks, and home-made rockets were fired into what used to be called Palestine before its Arab occupants were "cleansed". On 23 December, Hamas offered to renew the ceasefire, but Israel's charade was such that its all-out assault on Gaza had been planned six months earlier, according to the Israeli daily Haaretz.

Behind this sordid game is the "Dagan Plan", named after General Meir Dagan, who served with Sharon during his bloody invasion of Leba non in 1982. Now head of Mossad, the Israeli intelligence organisation, Dagan is the author of a "solution" that has brought about the imprisonment of Palestinians behind a ghetto wall snaking across the West Bank and in Gaza, now effectively a concentration camp. The establishment of a quisling government in Ramallah, under Mahmoud Abbas, is Dagan's achievement, together with a hasbara (propaganda) campaign, relayed through mostly supine, if intimidated western media, notably in the US, which say Hamas is a terrorist organisation devoted to Israel's destruction and is to "blame" for the massacres and siege of its own people over two generations, since long before its creation. "We have never had it so good," said the Israeli foreign ministry spokesman Gideon Meir in 2006. "The hasbara effort is a well-oiled machine."

In fact, Hamas's real threat is its example as the Arab world's only democratically elected government, drawing its popularity from its resistance to the Palestinians' oppressor and tormentor. This was demonstrated when Hamas foiled a CIA coup in 2007, an event ordained in the western media as "Hamas's seizure of power". Likewise, Hamas is never described as a government, let alone democratic. Neither is its proposal of a ten-year truce reported as a historic recognition of the "reality" of Israel and support for a two-state solution with just one condition: that the Israelis obey international law and end their illegal occupation beyond the 1967 borders. As every annual vote in the UN General Assembly demonstrates, most states agree. On 4 January, the president of the General Assembly, Miguel d'Escoto, described the Israeli attack on Gaza as a "monstrosity".

When the monstrosity is done and the people of Gaza are even more stricken, the Dagan Plan foresees what Sharon called a "1948-style solution" - the destruction of all Palestinian leadership and authority, followed by mass expulsions into smaller and smaller "cantonments", and perhaps, finally, into Jordan. This demolition of institutional and educational life in Gaza is designed to produce, wrote Karma Nabulsi, a Palestinian exile in Britain, "a Hobbesian vision of an anarchic society: truncated, violent, powerless, destroyed, cowed . . . Look to the Iraq of today: that is what [Sharon] had in store for us, and he has nearly achieved it."

Dr Dahlia Wasfi is an American writer on Iraq and Palestine. She has a Jewish mother and an Iraqi Muslim father. "Holocaust denial is anti-Semitic," she wrote on 31 December. "But I'm not talking about the World War II, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad [the president of Iran] or Ashkenazi Jews. What I'm referring to is the holocaust we are all witnessing and responsible for in Gaza today and in Palestine over the past 60 years . . . Since Arabs are Semites, US-Israeli policy doesn't get more anti-Semitic than this." She quoted Rachel Corrie, the young American who went to Palestine to defend Palestinians and was crushed by an Israeli bulldozer. "I am in the midst of a genocide," wrote Corrie, "which I am also indirectly supporting, and for which my government is largely responsible."

Reading the words of both, I am struck by the use of "responsibility". Breaking the lie of silence is not an esoteric abstraction, but an urgent responsibility that falls to those with the privilege of a platform. With the BBC cowed, so too is much of journalism, merely allowing vigorous debate within unmovable, invisible boundaries, ever fearful of the smear of anti-Semitism. The unreported news, meanwhile, is that the death toll in Gaza is the equivalent of 18,000 dead in Britain. Imagine, if you can.

Then there are the academics, the deans and teachers and researchers. Why are they silent as they watch a university bombed and hear the Association of University Teachers in Gaza plead for help? Are British universities now, as Terry Eagleton believes, no more than “intellectual Tescos, churning out a commodity known as graduates rather than greengroceries”?

Then there are the writers. In the dark year of 1939, the Third American Writers' Congress was held at Carnegie Hall in New York and the likes of Thomas Mann and Albert Einstein sent messages and spoke up to ensure that the lie of silence was broken. By one account, 2,500 jammed the auditorium. Today, this mighty voice of realism and morality is said to be obsolete; the literary review pages affect an ironic hauteur of irrelevance; false symbolism is all. As for the readers, their moral and political imagination is to be pacified, not primed. The anti-Muslim Martin Amis expressed this well in Visiting Mrs Nabo kov: "The dominance of the self is not a flaw, it is an evolutionary characteristic; it is just how things are."

If that is how things are, we are diminished as a civilised people. For what happens in Gaza is the defining moment of our time, which either grants war criminals impunity and immunity through our silence, while we contort our own intellect and morality, or it gives us the power to speak out. For the moment I prefer my own memory of Gaza: of the people's courage and resistance and their "luminous humanity", as Karma Nabulsi put it. On my last trip there, I was rewarded with a spectacle of Palestinian flags fluttering in unlikely places. It was dusk and children had done this. No one had told them to do it. They made flagpoles out of sticks tied together, and a few of them climbed on to a wall and held the flag between them, some silently, others crying out. They do this every day when they know foreigners are leaving, in the belief that the world will not forget them.

John Pilger, renowned investigative journalist and documentary film-maker, is one of only two to have twice won British journalism's top award; his documentaries have won academy awards in both the UK and the US. In a New Statesman survey of the 50 heroes of our time, Pilger came fourth behind Aung San Suu Kyi and Nelson Mandela. "John Pilger," wrote Harold Pinter, "unearths, with steely attention facts, the filthy truth. I salute him."

This article first appeared in the 12 January 2009 issue of the New Statesman, The destruction of Gaza

Sergey Fydorovich Sokolov/State Museum and Exhibition Centre Rosizo, Moscow/Bridgeman Images
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Fellow-travellers and useful idiots

Western apologists for the Soviet Union believed they were in the vanguard of history.

When the Soviet ambassador Ivan Maisky reported to Beatrice Webb that Winston Churchill had told him, “Better communism than Nazism!” she was not surprised. Views of this sort were not untypical of the British ruling elite. But Churchill did not really belong in that class. “Churchill is not a true Englishman, you know,” the celebrated social scientist said. “He has negro blood. You can tell even from his appearance.” Webb went on to recount to Maisky “a long story” about Churchill’s mother coming from the American South and her sister looking just like a “negroid”.

Possibly aiming to change the subject, Maisky mentioned Henry Stanley, the explorer of Africa. At this point Webb became “agitated”, and began talking about Stanley’s marriage to a “beautiful young girl” who came “from a very good family”, while Stanley was a “real upstart, a coarse, uncouth fellow”. In support of this judgement Webb appealed to her husband, Sidney, “whose expression and gestures indicated full assent”. Maisky concludes his account of the conversation with the comment: “The crux of the matter is that Stanley was a true plebeian, and this matters.”

Maisky recorded the episode in the journals he kept of his 11 years as ambassador to Britain, edited by Gabriel Gorodetsky and published as The Maisky Diaries: Red Ambassador to the Court of St James ­(1932-1943). Maisky was familiar with the quirks of the progressive mind. A former Menshevik, he was never trusted by the Bolsheviks, or by Stalin. Born in 1884 and growing up in the Siberian city of Omsk, where his Polish-Jewish father worked as a medical officer, he was the target of anti-Semitic prejudice both in Russia and in Britain. At the Foreign Office he was described as “that little Tartar Jew”, and not long before Stalin’s death in 1953 he was charged with involvement in a “Zionist plot” and imprisoned. Released in 1955, he spent his remaining years in obscurity and died in 1975.

If Stalin had lived longer, Maisky might have joined the millions who perished in Soviet labour camps. Stalin’s regime had been eulogised by the Webbs in their book The Soviet Union: a New Civilisation?, published in 1935, after visits to the USSR from which they returned gushing with enthusiasm. In this they were not unusual. Throughout the 1930s – the most savage and bloodstained period in the history of the Soviet state, though Stalin’s methods were only those of Lenin applied on a larger scale – streams of Western fellow-travellers went to the Soviet Union and came back convinced that it embodied humankind’s best hopes for the future. By way of testimony to this ardent faith, the Webbs removed the question mark from later editions of the book.

The Webbs, who founded the New Statesman, had never been communists and had no great sympathy with Marxism. Sidney, a founding member of the Fabian Society, became a Labour MP and served as secretary of state for the colonies in Ramsay MacDonald’s government. Beatrice, the daughter of a wealthy businessman, inherited a substantial private income and thought of herself as belonging to a class that “habitually gave orders”. The largest intellectual influence on her was Herbert Spencer, the prophet of laissez-faire capitalism, who visited her family’s home often and for whom she worked for a time as an assistant. An apostle of the idea of social evolution, Spencer believed the world was progressing towards individualism and minimal government; in his final years, when this failed to occur, he fell into depression. Sidney and Beatrice were also believers in social evolution, but for them it had a different direction. They had no doubt that Soviet collectivism represented the next phase in history.

The gaggles of bien pensant writers and journalists, liberal teachers and academics, radical aristocrats and businessmen who flocked to the Soviet Union and later Mao’s China went to these countries convinced that their own societies were stuck in the past. They believed that only a thinking minority – themselves – could see the outlines of a better future. Plainly, it was these advanced minds that could direct the new society that was coming into being.

The Webbs took it for granted that when socialism came to Britain, they and people like them would still be giving the orders. Anthony Eden – whom Maisky reports as saying that socialism was inevitable – assumed the same. A belief that they would form part of the coming ruling class inspired the Cambridge spies. Describing his recruitment as an agent of the NKVD (later KGB), Kim Philby wrote that he did not hesitate when offered “enrolment in an elite force”. Throughout his long exile in the Soviet Union, Guy Burgess wore an Old Etonian tie along with the Order of the Red Banner that he had received for his services to the Soviet state. For these and others in the upper reaches of British life in the 1930s, it was clear that British imperial power was in decline. Identifying themselves with the Soviet cause was a way of securing their place in the new world order.

Eugene Lyons, a left-wing American journalist who spent the early 1930s working as a Western correspondent in Moscow, wrote in his forgotten autobiographical masterpiece Assignment in Utopia (1937) that the Americans who visited the Soviet Union during those years fell into distinct groups. Some had “a professional interest” in being on amicable terms with agents of the state. Walter Duranty, the British-born Moscow correspondent of the New York Times, used his columns to ridicule the notion that there was famine anywhere in the Soviet Union, while confiding to officials at the British embassy that about ten million may have died of starvation. Described by Lyons as being “curiously contemptuous” of ordinary Russians, Duranty was provided by the Soviet state with a spacious apartment, a large car, sumptuous meals and the services of attractive women, “former persons” from the old regime who had been coerced into working for the secret police. For Duranty, fellow-travelling was a ticket to a kind of life he could not have enjoyed in a Western country.

Others used their visits to showcase their intellect and wit. Lyons reports how in 1931 George Bernard Shaw celebrated his 75th birthday at a banquet in Moscow, which he visited that summer with Nancy, Lady Astor. Giving a speech, Shaw recalled that when his friends heard he was going to the Soviet Union they loaded him with tinned food in the absurd belief that Russia was starving: “But I threw all their food out of the window in Poland before I reached the Soviet frontier.” He had been overstuffed ever since he reached Moscow, he joshed. Shaw’s listeners gasped, then managed a little forced laughter. Even the members of the Soviet elite who had been assembled to listen to the old prankster knew how scarce food had become. “At this gathering,” Lyons writes, “Shaw achieved the apex of cynicism. In any other man it might have been ignorance or stupidity; in Shaw it was a cold and calculating taunting of the audience.”

And yet the largest numbers of fellow-travellers coming to the Soviet Union were far from being cynics. Most belonged to the category Lenin is reputed to have called “useful idiots”: “Professors or liberal clergymen, they were deeply disturbed by the shattered economic and social orthodoxies in which they were raised; if they lost their compensating faith in Russia life would ­become too bleak to endure.” The Great Depression had destroyed their belief in the ideas that governed their own societies, and they desperately needed a surrogate creed. When they travelled to the Soviet Union, it was a pilgrimage of faith.

The great majority of these pilgrims closed their eyes to signs of brutal repression which – despite being cosseted guests of the Soviet state – they must have glimpsed at some point during their stay. Describing the fate of the peasants, Lyons writes:

A population as large as all of Switzerland’s or Denmark’s was stripped clean of all their belongings – not alone their land and homes and cattle and tools, but often their last clothes and food and household utensils – and driven out of their villages. They were herded with bayonets at railroad stations, packed indiscriminately into cattle cars and freight cars, and dumped weeks later in the lumber regions of the frozen North, the deserts of Central Asia, wherever labour was needed, there to live or die . . . The spectacle of peasants being led by soldiers with drawn revolvers through the streets even of Moscow was too commonplace to win more than a casual glance from the crowds on the sidewalks.

Somehow, most Western visitors seem not to have witnessed these everyday scenes – or if they did they soon managed to forget them. Impelled by a sense of honesty or shame, some later reported what they had seen. Arthur Koestler, who had turned to the Soviet Union as embodying a semi-mystical vision of order and a bulwark against fascism, recounted in The ­Invisible Writing (1954) what he had witnessed when travelling in Ukraine, where he lived for some months in 1932 and 1933 and where he saw the effects of the famine Stalin had engineered in that country:

The train puffed slowly across the Ukrainian steppe . . . At every station there was a crowd of peasants in rags, offering ikons and linen in exchange against a load of bread. The women were lifting up their infants to the compartment windows – infants pitiful and terrifying with limbs like sticks, puffed bellies, big cadaverous heads lolling on thin necks. I had arrived, unsuspecting, at the peak of the famine of 1932-33 which had depopulated entire districts and claimed several million victims.

Very few fellow-travellers recorded such scenes as Koestler did in his superb memoir. An “inner censor”, he believed, stood in the way. After all, what were these miserable peasants anyway? It was irrational sentimentality to waste one’s tears on these ignorant, superstitious and obsolete specimens when a new humanity was being fashioned. ­Koestler soon recognised that this was a fantasy and he left the British Communist Party in 1938. Other fellow-travellers persisted in their quest, some moving on to other countries to salvage their illusions.

More than any particular shift in allegiance, fellow-travelling is a frame of mind – an urgent need to believe that a new and far better kind of society is emerging in some other land. Not all progressive thinkers have succumbed to this weakness. When Bertrand Russell visited Russia to meet Lenin, he quickly perceived that the regime the Soviet leader was building was intrinsically despotic. Writing on his return in The Theory and Practice of Bolshevism (1920), a remarkably prescient book, Russell identified the chief source of Soviet repression as being not the exigencies of the civil war nor the continuing influence of tsarist authoritarianism, but Bolshevism itself: “A great part of the despotism that characterises the Bolsheviks belongs to the essence of their social philosophy, and would have to be reproduced, even if in a milder form, wherever that philosophy became dominant.” He concluded: “Bolshevism as a social phenomenon is to be reckoned as a religion, not an ordinary political movement.”

These observations did not make Russell popular with his fellow progressives, by whom he was mistrusted for many years. He was pointing to a fact that most progressives refuse to confront to this day: that the regime Lenin founded engaged in systematic repression from the beginning.

***

The Declaration of the Rights of the Toiling and Exploited Peoples, promulgated in January 1918 as one of the founding documents of the Soviet state, created the category of “former persons” – class enemies who were to be deprived of civil rights, including entitlement to food rations. These retrograde human types and anyone economically dependent on them – in other words, their families – had to be excluded from the new society that was under construction. The summary executions of landlords, priests, sex workers and other obsolete groups that followed served the same imperative. When Lenin ordered the execution of refractory peasants in his “Hanging Order” of August 1918, instructing that they be killed “in full view of the people”, so that everyone “for hundreds of miles around will see, tremble, know and scream out”, he had no doubt that this was a necessary condition of human progress.

So was crushing the large-scale peasant rebellion in the Tambov region several hundred miles south-west of Moscow in 1920-21. Peasant forces in the area had fought against the Whites during the civil war. This did not stop the Red Army destroying whole villages, using poison gas to flush out villagers from the forests where they had fled and herding women, children and old people who survived the attacks into camps, where many of them died. Accounts of these events were available in Russian émigré publications and occasionally surfaced in the Western press, but they failed to dent the image of the Bolshevik regime. If Western progressives were aware of such atrocities, they explained them as showing the new regime’s need to defend itself against the forces of reaction.

The ease with which fellow-travellers pass over the casualties of the regimes with which they identify is one of their defining traits. The most inveterate among them do not limit their enthusiasm to any single state. They are attracted by any large political experiment that seems to prefigure a new order of things. Not long after accompanying Shaw on his frolics in the Soviet Union, Nancy Astor emerged as a moving force behind the set of pro-Nazi appeasers that frequently gathered at her stately home in Cliveden, Buckinghamshire.

On the European continent, ­intellectuals who had been communist sympathisers found reasons in favour of the new European order that they saw emerging in the late 1930s. One of the precursors of post-structuralism, the French literary critic Georges Bataille, who some years earlier had been a member of a dissident communist group, delivered a lecture in 1939 in Paris entitled “Hitler and the Teutonic Order”. There is nothing to suggest Bataille was being ironic.

Fellow-travellers may sometimes look like opportunists, but it is opportunism of a particular kind – the belief that the regime with which they identify is being propelled by irresistible historical forces. Yet history mocks all such certainties. Those who embraced the Soviet cause in the 1930s did so in the conviction that capitalism was doomed, along with nationalism and religion. In the introduction to his 1968 account of his years as a Soviet agent, My Silent War, Kim Philby wrote complacently: “As I look over Moscow from my study window, I can see the solid foundations of the future I glimpsed at Cambridge.” Philby died in May 1988. Just a few years later, the solid foundations he admired from his study window had collapsed. Blending authentically Bolshevik methods of government-by-fear with crony capitalism, ethnic nationalism and resurgent religious Orthodoxy, the regime that emerged from the ruins would have been inconceivable to him.

Fellow-travelling did not end with the fall of communism. Many who had believed in the Soviet Union latched on to other states they supposed were in the vanguard of history. For some former Trotskyites, the United States became the emancipatory power they believed the USSR could once have been. According to the late Christopher Hitchens, the invasion of Iraq was only the first in a succession of revolutionary wars of liberation. Possessed by the fantasy that another new world was in the making, former leftist visionaries such as Hitchens became the Bush administration’s useful idiots.

As some of us warned in this paper before the invasion began, toppling Saddam Hussein would lead to the break-up of the state of Iraq and an explosive increase in support for radical Islamist forces. But Iraq was attractive to some who had been on the far left as a laboratory for a political experiment of a kind that had failed elsewhere. US-style democracy would be installed, not only in the Middle East, but in countries throughout the world. Since then, the United States has undergone an unexpected mutation. Today the standard-bearers of a new world order are chafing under the whimsical rule of a would-be despot. The US system of government is struggling to survive on its home ground.

***

Given the powerful psychological needs it serves, fellow-travelling is unlikely ever to disappear completely. True, there are not many candidates for a new civilisation at present. For some, “Europe” – the ethereal project, not the diverse and interesting continent – has replaced visions of socialism; but European institutions are in disarray, possibly disintegrating and at best stagnant and immobile. Some enlightened circles appear attracted by Norwegian petro-egalitarianism; but Norway is small, dull and lacking in the violence that fellow-travellers seem to crave. It may be no accident that many of them lost interest in Russia when the Soviet state became less repressive after Stalin’s death. Some transferred their allegiance to Mao’s China, where the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution answered to a need the Soviet Union no longer satisfied. When the frenzy that fuelled these upheavals passed, many lost interest in China as well.

Russia remains perennially fascinating. But those on the left who defend Vladimir Putin do so more through hatred of their own societies than any virtues they discern in the regime over which he presides, while liberals who rage against him seem more indignant about his crimes than they were about any perpetrated by his communist predecessors. Both groups seem to feel a certain nostalgia for the former Soviet Union,
which may have killed far more people but did so for, as they see it, progressive reasons.

A wistful yearning for revolutionary violence may be one reason for the rise of a later generation of fellow-travellers who identify with Islamism. Apart from the hereditary dictatorship that governs North Korea and a failed state in Venezuela, there are no revolutionary regimes left in the world. Islamist movements fill this gap by combining hatred of the West with Leninist methods of remodelling society by force – a mix that some on the left evidently find appealing. But the glory days of fellow-travelling are gone. One benefit of globalisation is that nobody can imagine any longer that a utopian society is coming into being in some remote corner of the planet.

No doubt there will be some who regret the passing of the large political hopes that fellow-travelling once expressed. But this loss afflicts the privileged groups from which fellow-travellers are commonly drawn more than the shadowy and mute figures for whom they claim to speak. The populations of the countries that fellow-travellers visited were as alien and unknown to them as the “negroids” whose ancestral traces the Webbs and others detected in Winston Churchill.

The principal goal of fellow-travellers has always been to sustain their own sense of having a special place in history. The millions whose lives were destroyed in the course of grandiose political experiments that led nowhere served a cause of which they were unaware – keeping up the spirits of the Western thinking classes.

John Gray’s books include “The Soul of the Marionette: a Short Inquiry into Human Freedom” (Penguin)

John Gray is the New Statesman’s lead book reviewer. His latest book is The Soul of the Marionette: A Short Enquiry into Human Freedom.

This article first appeared in the 04 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Russian Revolution

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