1932: Playing with the Japanese Communist Party with a doll

Most anarchism in Spain is slightly different from that elsewhere, often appearing to be more radical than radical communists:

They are hostile to all regimes, capital, religions, and rich people equally, regardless of whether they are good or bad, and they advocate that everyone except the proletariat should be completely eliminated.

Therefore, after a moderate reformist on the other side coldly replied, "I am not a proletarian," he was completely enraged and immediately planned to beat him up:

"You damned class enemies!"

Moderates are called "moderates," but they are not really "moderate" enough to be without temper. They just hate the anarchists' attitude of wanting to overthrow everything at any time.

As a result, companions from both sides rushed forward, pushing and shoving each other. Seeing that a physical fight was about to break out, a representative of the "Soviet faction", Carlos Gonzalez, slammed the table and shouted angrily:

"Enough! Comrades! Is this what you call unity? Is this the consciousness of the proletariat and the left comrades?"

Compared with those radical and loose anarchists, the members of the Spanish Communist Party have more or less organizational discipline and a sense of the overall situation.

On the one hand, they knew that as "comrades of the proletarian revolution," these anarchists undoubtedly possessed considerable power and must be united;

On the other hand, those who currently hold power in the government are also these moderate reformists and a large number of anarchists, and it would be bad if there were too much conflict between them.

The whole hall fell silent.

Backed by the Soviet Union, the Spanish Communist Party still had considerable prestige within the Spanish left, so everyone decided to stop arguing for the time being. However, Carlos' next words angered them again:

"...What we need is unified leadership, not endless infighting and division! I suggest that we immediately merge to form a unified left-wing party and implement democratic centralism. Only in this way can we form a powerful revolutionary force!"

This time, the entire hall fell into deathly silence.

Damn the Russians, they're still thinking of this! An anarchist immediately mocked in public:

"Then what should we do? Will we always obey your orders? Then, will you treat everyone who disagrees with you as a 'counter-revolutionary' and execute them all like they did in the Soviet Union?"

That Trotskyist just now also added fuel to the fire:

“Yeah! Just like expelling and assassinating our great mentor!” “We don’t need your leadership! We have our own path!” “Fuck you!!!”

The scene fell into a fierce quarrel again.

Communists accuse socialists of being too moderate, always hoping to achieve fairness and justice through gradual reform;

Socialists accuse communists of being too radical and refusing to acknowledge that society is a class system with contradictions.

Anarchists say that both factions are too conservative, why not just kill the people and the conflicts together?

Some moderate left-of-center figures attempted to mediate, but were attacked by several factions simultaneously for one or two inappropriate remarks...

In short, it is full of vitality...

This situation was very common before the emergence of similar ideas such as the "Three Represents".

Filling your stomach is not as important as route disputes!

The argument quickly escalated into a physical altercation, and the meeting room turned into a large-scale brawl.

Tables, chairs and leather shoes flew everywhere, elbows and fists were thrown at the same time, and the air was quickly filled with a strong smell of blood and gunpowder. The portrait of Lenin on the wall was also torn into pieces in the fight.

After this fight, not only did anarchists, socialists and communists part ways with each other, but many nationalists, representatives of workers and peasants and moderate leftists who could not stand the anarchists publicly declared their withdrawal from the "Left Alliance".

The left was completely divided.

516 What should we do if the left and the right take each other's scripts?

“…This is Barcelona…”

A middle-aged man in his 40s stepped off a Mediterranean cruise ship. The air was filled with the salty smell of seawater and the aroma of flour. In the distance, the long echo of church bells could be heard.

He looked at the mountains of supplies and the busy crowds at the dock, stretched himself, his eyes full of joy and anticipation.

Ms. Field really does what she says, she is worthy of being our Saint President!

Next to him, a little boy of about 10 years old was holding onto the stone pillar of the pier, groaning sickly:

"Dad, I want to vomit..."

"Oh, it's okay, it's okay. We've already gotten off the boat. Just squat there and spit into the sea. It will be fine in a while."

While stroking his son's back to try to make him feel more comfortable, the man was thinking about his next itinerary.

Interviewing the survivors of the village, interviewing the "flatbread factory", interviewing the bishop of the local church, going to the Vatican, interviewing Mussolini...

After all this is over, should I go to Africa or stay in Spain?

Hunting and fishing are what men want; helping the poor and providing relief are also what men want; but if one cannot have both, what should one do? The middle-aged man was in a dilemma.

His name was Ernest Miller Hemingway, a famous American journalist and writer, and later the author of "The Old Man and the Sea".

There is no need to mention this person's famous name. This time he came to Spain, just like Lyndon Johnson and others, he was inspired by Springfield and left the United States to do "something beneficial to the future of mankind."

Of course, since he was already in his forties when Springfield took office and had a family, he was not so easily fooled, so he had to wait until today to finally persuade his ex-wife to bring his son out to see the world.

Forget it, let’s finish the trip to Spain first! The first stop is the village of Bernard Edith.

"...We did kill the local landlords, but that was because we simply couldn't survive!"

The survivors sat in a cement house that had just been repaired by church personnel. When Hemingway asked them about the massacre a few months ago, expressions of helplessness, anger, fear, and gratitude remained on their faces:

"...They stormed into the village and killed everyone they saw... They claimed we were rebels, but we really just wanted a piece of land, but the landowner refused to give it to us and threatened to send the police to arrest us..."

"...The landlords killed us, the police killed us, the army killed us... If it weren't for the relief food sent by the Holy Lady Pope, if she hadn't upheld justice for us, we would have all died long ago..."

6

Although the massacre had been reported in newspapers countless times, Hemingway still discovered many unknown details after talking with the people involved.

For example, although the order to suppress the massacre came from the Barcelona nationalist government, it was the "Combat Police Squad" established under the auspices of the Azaña left-wing central government that actually carried out the massacre.

For example, the group of "anarchists" who led the uprising immediately surrendered or fled after the arrival of the military and police, and were not subsequently held accountable due to their extraordinary backgrounds.

For example, the group of villagers who were killed were not completely "innocent" - some of them not only killed the landlord, but also raped his daughter to death...

"Dad, why did they kill people?"

Hemingway's son, John Jr., held his father's hand tightly, his eyes wide open.

3

them?

Neither side of the massacre was entirely innocent, but the question is, who caused the situation to become like this?

A greedy landlord?

Is it the army that carried out the massacre? Is it the incompetent government? Is it the ignorant and out-of-control peasants?

Or are they a group of anarchists who only know how to shout slogans and cause trouble?

Hemingway stroked his son's hair in silence. He couldn't explain it clearly for a moment, but having participated in World War I and witnessed the tragedy on the battlefield, he became more and more certain of one thing:

Human nature that lacks the right goals, disregards reality, and loses control will create the cruelest darkness in the world.

The next day, Hemingway took his son to an old industrial plant on the outskirts of Barcelona, ​​which was mainly funded by the church and built and renovated by an American construction company.

Previously, on the streets of Barcelona, ​​Hemingway had taken his son to taste this food, which was affectionately called "Saint Virgin's Cake" by the locals.

How should I put it? It's very hard and tastes average, so coarse that it's almost unpalatable; however, if you drink some water after eating it, you'll be able to keep yourself from getting hungry. The most important thing is that it's extremely cheap and the price is stable, so even a beggar on the street can afford it after begging for a day.

It is said that no one has starved to death in Barcelona since this kind of flatbread began to be sold on a large scale.

Although there are not many sales outlets, people have to queue up to buy, and the quantity is limited, the pancake factory is still the most important facility in the eyes of the local poor people, without a doubt.

When Hemingway arrived at the factory's outer gate and explained his purpose, he was surprised to find that the person who came out to greet him was his interviewee for tomorrow's interview.

"Bishop Joseph?"

Looking at the old man in front of him with gray hair and a white face, wearing a smock and a mask, who looked no different from an ordinary worker, Hemingway found it hard to associate him with a distinguished local archbishop.

Even though the reputation of the Catholic Church has been ruined, Catholicism is still Catholicism after all.

"it's me."

Bishop Joseph wiped his hands on his smock;

"Mr. Hemingway, I thought you wouldn't come until tomorrow." "I'm sorry, Bishop, I did plan to visit you tomorrow..."

After a few pleasantries, Bishop Joseph decided to personally accompany Hemingway and his son inside for a tour. They chatted as they walked along the road.

"Bishop, what are you doing here? Why are you dressed like this?" "Preparing yeast."

"Preparing yeast?"

"Yes, it's the yeast used for making bread." "You... actually need to do this kind of thing yourself?"

"I'm old now, and my physical strength doesn't allow me to do other heavy work, so I can only do this."

Compared to the last time when he knelt before Springfield and begged for forgiveness, Bishop Joseph was much more energetic this time. His eyes were shining as he spoke:

"Her Highness the Saint said that only by personally participating in labor can one truly understand the suffering of the poor, comprehend God's will, and truly become a saint recognized by the Chi."

"That church thing..."

"It's no longer just a place for worship. Doctors, nurses, and teachers have become the new owners. Of course, an old-fashioned person like me will be kicked out!"

Bishop Joseph made a little joke:

"Besides, this factory often needs to receive outsiders like you. Since I have nothing to do, I have no choice but to stay here."

"Ha ha ha ha..."

Hemingway laughed twice, but he was shocked in his heart.

He had been to many places in the United States and Europe, but apart from some small churches, this was the first time he had seen a high-ranking clergyman like Joseph who personally went into the factory and worked with the workers.

Is he just like that, or is Ms. Field just too contagious? Let's keep walking.

The factory is divided into several areas, each busy and orderly. As you step in, you are greeted by the rich aroma of flour and yeast.

In the dough kneading area, there are more than a dozen electric or foot-operated rotary dough kneading machines imported and modified from the United States. There is a worker standing in front of each machine, operating it skillfully.

"...for every 100 kilograms of flour, 60 liters of water and an appropriate amount of local yeast are used. While the ratio is precise, it often relies on the workers' experience..."

"...We mainly use flour or wheat imported from the United States, and then mix it in with some local bran or grains. This way, although the taste is a little worse, it can effectively reduce costs..."

Joseph introduced himself skillfully, as if he had been asked similar questions before, and quickly added:

"Actually, reducing costs is secondary. The main reason is that if the taste isn't worse, the poor won't be able to buy these cheap relief pancakes..."

Hemingway nodded slightly.

After so many years of traveling, he certainly understood the reason—the excessively refined and delicious relief pie would create a huge profit margin, leaving no room for the poor.

The soldiers who killed the enemy with bread in the mud pits of the trenches during the last European war must have felt this deeply.

The kneaded and fermented dough is cut into uniform balls, each weighing about 300 grams. Then dozens of women and strong men manually flatten and shake the dough until it becomes a pancake about 40 cm in diameter.

Next, the pancakes are sent to the baking area, where the stokers skillfully control the temperature of more than 30 traditional brick ovens to ensure that the pancakes are baked at the optimal temperature.

"...We mainly use local wood as fuel. Although it is not as efficient as coal, it is cheaper and can also employ local people and bring in some income..."

Although Hemingway was not very familiar with industrial production, he had spent so much time in the United States that he could smell a familiar "American flavor" in this factory.

“The operation of this factory...”

"Well, a manager sent from your side in the United States is in charge."

No wonder.

Although the entire pancake manufacturing process is simple, it has a considerable degree of industrial production order, which is definitely not something that the Barcelona industry, which is still generally at the handicraft workshop stage, can possess.

After the flatbreads are initially baked, they are transferred to the cooling and loading areas. The work here is relatively simple and boring, but Hemingway was still shocked.

Because, the "coolies" who were stacking the flatbreads with long-handled wooden shovels, packing the flatbreads into boxes, and carrying the boxes onto the carriages were obviously not ordinary people! At least they were definitely not ordinary workers!

This kind of extraordinaryness is not just about something as mysterious as "temperament". The simplest thing is to look at the appearance - white and slender fingers and skin without any calluses can tell a lot;

Not to mention, this group of people were wearing uniform work clothes, but their every move revealed an elegance and composure engraved in their bones. Even when they were carrying the flatbreads, their movements appeared to be particularly sophisticated.

Ordinary workers?

Ordinary workers would have been fired long ago if they worked like this.

"They are..."

“Oh, they’re volunteers.”

Bishop Joseph pointed at the "workers" and introduced them, his tone carrying a hint of complexity:

"That one is a retired military officer... That one is Baron Silma's son... That one is the daughter of a local factory owner... That one is... They work here for no more than four hours every day..."

""