GOVERNMENT MOTORS AND THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION
by Alan Stang
June 16, 2009
[Announcement: Did you know Alan Stang has a new radio show? Click here for details.]
Remember Brian Deese? He quit law school last year to join the presidential campaign of Mrs. Billy Bubba Slime. The day she faded, he signed up with Mr. Also Known As. With the inauguration of affirmative action pretend President Big Ears, he entered the White House. Nicholas was the only Czar in Imperial Russia. Imperial America is overrun with them. Also Known As named Brian Deputy car czar.
His job was to dismantle General Motors and “rewrite the rules of American capitalism.” Brian Deese probably can drive a car but when he was crowned he had yet to set foot even once in a car plant. He probably can shave himself but he is all of 31 years old. Not bad for his first government job. Deputy car czar Brian has helped decide what happens to thousands of auto workers and investors. Such fun, eh, Brian? Even better than Legos!
I remind you of Brian because now here comes the man Also Known As has named to put together General Motors after Brian has dismantled it. He is Edward E. Whitacre, Jr. Ed is a wholesome sixty seven and built AT&T Inc. into the biggest U.S. provider of telephone service over a 43-year-career. The trouble is that Ed Whitacre says he knows nothing about the auto industry.
“I don’t know anything about cars,” Whitacre, 67, said in an interview after his appointment. “A business is a business, and I think I can learn about cars. I’m not that old, and I think the business principles are the same.” Thank the Lord Mr. Big Ears didn’t name Ed Chief of Surgery at Bethesda. Why would Mr. Big Ears name a man who knows nothing about cars to reassemble the General Motors Brian has dismantled, when Detroit is teeming with men who are available and know everything about cars? Because this way is more fun!
We know that Mr. Big Ears is a Communist and that he is installing the Communist program. He is even doing it the same way. The government is seizing control of everything Bush and Clinton overlooked. As the plot unfolds, I am reminded again and again of my first novel, The Highest Virtue, set in the so-called “Russian Revolution.”
You can be sure the history in that novel is entirely accurate because I read on the subject for ten hours every day for two years in the New York Public Library before I wrote a word. When I began to think I had been physically present in Petrograd in 1917 and had witnessed the Revolution myself, I knew it was time to write. It is important to remember that The Highest Virtue was published in 1974, when life in this country was still at least superficially normal.
Here is an excerpt. Ivan Danilov is the founder of Danilov Agricultural Machinery. For many years he has contributed generously to the Communist Party. Danilov is not a Communist; he is the opposite of a Communist. He has contributed to the Party because he believes its assertions that it will humanely solve the many problems and end the many injustices in Russian society at the time.
Now the victorious Communists are rewarding his generosity by kicking him out of his company, “expropriating the expropriators.” He is in his office for the last time, cleaning out his desk. He tries to take some personal letters. But Kolodsky is there. “No!” he says, pointing. “You may take no papers. You have been told.” Kolodsky has worked at the factory for Danilov. Now he is a minor factotum for the Cheka, the Soviet secret police. The joy of kicking his former employer out is intoxicating.
. . . But someone was coming down the hall. Danilov heard squeaking shoes. Kolodsky scurried to the door and opened it. A stocky figure stood on the sill. At the top, on a thick neck, a small walnut head appraised the room. Small eyes stared with suspicion. It was a very unusual personage. It was well dressed, but with a strange effect, as if a bear had been stuffed into an evening suit. It was dangerous and at the same time comical, almost clownish.
The unusual figure entered the room, suspicious, distant, head nodding critically, eyes searing everything in appraisal. Its mouth opened and sounds came out.
“Hm . . . yes . . . of course . . . I see.”
Danilov was truly startled. What in the world . . . ?
“You have the honor to be addressing comrade Volkov,” said Kolodsky, “your successor as factory manager of the People’s Agricultural Machinery Works.”
With the mention of the name, Danilov recognized the man. Volkov had until recently been his night watchman. Could it be possible? A night watchman had been chosen to run the factory?
Danilov stared. “Volkov . . . ? The night watchman . . . ?”
Volkov came forward, slowly, critically, mouth disdainful, covered with hauteur. Unlike Danilov, who always wore work clothes at the plant, Volkov was dressed like a gentleman. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, as Danilov always did when solving a problem.
He thrust himself up toward Danilov’s face. “You wish to argue?” Volkov said.
Danilov smiled. “Not at all.”
“That is good,” said Kolodsky. “Comrade Marchenko himself made the choice.”
Volkov walked suspiciously around the room and removed his gloves. “Hm,” he said. “Yes . . . of course . . . I see.” He saw everything. He understood everything, even before it was there. He saw into your very soul. “It’s small,” he said. “Too small. But it will have to do.” He looked knowingly at Danilov. “I am here, of course, to obfuscate the machinations.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said I am here, of course, to obfuscate the machinations. You wish to argue?”
“Certainly not. You’re here, of course, to obfuscate the machinations. Nothing in the world could be more obvious.”
For the first time, Volkov smiled. He sat at the desk. He opened a drawer and removed a file, opened the file and looked through it. He knew that when you sat at the desk you looked through a file. He had seen Danilov do it many times, through the glass door of his office, late at night after the others had gone.
But it was a disappointment. It was boring. All he found was sheets of paper covered with numbers. He could not understand them. They made no sense. Comrade Volkov threw the file down.
“Naturally, citizen Danilov,” he said, “I intend to introduce many alternative factors into the concepts of machination. Inferior bourgeois methods will be replaced.”“It goes without saying, comrade Volkov,” said Danilov. “I have long been aware that you bear within you the seeds of great obfuscation.”
Danilov turns the knob and leaves the office. Volkov calls after him, “All property is theft – stolen from its rightful owners, the people.”
Danilov makes his way through what had once been his machines. They were still whirring, whirring in a death rattle, not in production. Workers politely appeal to him. At the factory gates, an old man takes his sleeve. “We have not been paid, your honor. Please. Forty kopecks for a biscuit. Eggs, three rubles. Butter, fifty. How are we to eat?”
“All property is theft,” said Danilov, “stolen from its rightful owners, the people.”
Danilov pushes through the shouting, pleading men, through the factory gate. Volkov’s voice booms out behind him. “All right you loafers, back to your work. You act as if you own the place.”
The Highest Virtue won five stars – top rating – from the then West Coast Review of Books (which gave five stars in only 1% of its reviews), and a smashing review in the Los Angeles Times. Its publishing history is a revealing story in itself, a remarkable example of literary censorship. To read it, go to my web site, alanstang.com. You can order a copy there, if you like.
Again, as I read about car czar Brian Deese, who had never set foot in a car plant, and Ed Whitacre, who is learning how to make cars on the job, I cannot help but think of Comrade Volkov, former night watchman soidisant agricultural machinery manufacturer. Hey, Brian, Is Communism great stuff, or what? What will you dismantle next?
[Announcement: Alan Stang’s radio show, The Sting of Stang, airs from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. Central, M-F, via Republic Broadcasting Network. Call him on the air at (800) 313-9443. To listen, go to republicbroadcasting.org and click on Listen Live. If you can’t listen at that time, do so via the archives. I’ll be talking about the various manifestations of the conspiracy for world government, its tactics, such as the illegal alien invasion, its purposes and its players, from Jorge W. Boosh on down.]
© 2009 Alan Stang – All Rights Reserved
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Alan Stang was one of Mike Wallace’s original writers at Channel 13 in New York, where he wrote some of the scripts that sent Mike to CBS. Stang has been a radio talk show host himself. In Los Angeles, he went head to head nightly with Larry King, and, according to Arbitron, had almost twice as many listeners. He has been a foreign correspondent. He has written hundreds of feature magazine articles in national magazines and some fifteen books, for which he has won many awards, including a citation from the Pennsylvania House of Representatives for journalistic excellence. One of Stang’s exposés stopped a criminal attempt to seize control of New Mexico, where a gang seized a court house, held a judge hostage and killed a deputy. The scheme was close to success before Stang intervened. Another Stang exposé inspired major reforms in federal labor legislation.
His first book, It’s Very Simple: The True Story of Civil Rights, was an instant best-seller. His first novel, The Highest Virtue, set in the Russian Revolution, won smashing reviews and five stars, top rating, from the West Coast Review of Books, which gave five stars in only one per cent of its reviews.
Stang has lectured in every American state and around the world and has guested on many top shows, including CNN’s Cross Fire. Because he and his wife had the most kids in Santo Domingo, the Dominican Republic, where they lived at the time, the entire family was chosen to be actors in “Havana,” directed by Sydney Pollack and starring Robert Redford, the most expensive movie ever made (at the time). Alan Stang is the man in the ridiculous Harry Truman shirt with the pasted-down hair. He says they made him do it.