Category Archives: communists

One day the North Korean tyranny will fall

In 1989, Dalrymple embedded himself in a delegation to the World Festival of Youth and Students (run by the World Federation of Democratic Youth), which was then being held in Pyongyang.

In his 1991 book The Wilder Shores of Marx: Journeys in a Vanishing World (also published as Utopias Elsewhere), he observes closely some of his fellow delegates to the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, commenting thus about a female cadre:

A young woman of clearly middle-class origin, who wore only black shapeless clothes and had owlish round spectacles, was shocked how people who called themselves caring could eat meat.

She was

a person of very definite opinions, including a rather poor one of the male sex in general: when she signed her name, she appended a cross to the ‘o’ it contained, to turn it into the biological symbol for female.

Dalrymple describes a couple of male delegates:

They were hard-faced communists, who dressed tough and cut their hair short so that their heads should appear as bony as possible. I overheard one of them describing a demonstration he had attended in England, in which there had also been a member of Amnesty International with a placard. ‘I went up to him and said, “I don’t believe in that bourgeois shit,” and he said, “Do you think political prisoners should be tortured and killed, then?” “Too fucking right, I do,” I said.’ The person to whom he related this charming little exchange laughed.

Dalrymple’s disgust cannot be disguised even in this propaganda film

What Dalrymple found frightening about the pair

was that their faces were contorted with hatred even as they laughed, and when they talked of killing political prisoners they meant it. They were members of a little communist groupuscule for whom Stalin was a god, not in spite of his crimes but because of them.

Dalrymple reports that the Scandinavian guests,

to my great admiration, unfurled two banners, one asking why Amnesty International was not permitted to investigate conditions in North Korea, and another expressing solidarity with the Chinese pro­-democracy students who had been massacred in Tiananmen Square. Later, when the Scandinavian marchers returned to the body of the stadium, scuffles broke out as security men tried to wrest the banners away. A few of the Scandinavians were punched and kicked.

When these scuffles broke out,

I overheard some of my fellow delegates, the hard-faced communists, express a willingness, indeed an anxiety, to join in – on the side of the North Koreans, ‘to beat the shit out of them’.

Discussing among themselves the Peking scene when the single student (since executed) stood in front of the column of tanks and held them up by moral force alone,

one of them remarked that if he had been the tank driver he would have driven ‘straight over the bastard and squashed him’. And his face showed that he meant what he said.

Dalrymple refuses to stand for the entry of the Eternal President and mouths a version of Luther’s Hier stehe ich und kann nicht anders! Gott helfe mir, Amen!

The foreigners, caught up in the atmosphere of hysterical self-abasement, stood up and applauded as if to save their lives. I am not by nature brave, or even unconventional, yet in the moment of Kim Il-sung’s entry I decided that I would not stand, not if everyone in the stadium should hurl abuse at me. I was so appalled by the sight and sound of 200,000 men and women worshipping a fellow mortal, abdicating their humanity, that I should rather have died than assent to this monstrous evil by standing (my mother was a refugee from Nazi Germany). There I sat; I could do no other. The terrible obedience of the crowd, uncoerced at least in the immediate sense, indicated the power of the régime, a power that seemed absolute and limitless, that had entered the very recesses of minds, that had eradicated any countervailing force.
Yet the power that was so strong Screen Shot 2015-07-11 at 09.53.35
was brittle. It would only have taken 10,000 people not to have stood up for Kim Il-sung when he entered the stadium – the omission of one small act of obedience – and his power and mystique would have snapped like a twig, to remain broken and irrecoverable. My refusal to stand was a feeble, isolated gesture; but a tiny crystal thrown into a sea of saturated solution can cause an immense precipitate, and one day such a thing will happen in North Korea and everyone, wise after the event, will marvel that it didn’t happen sooner.

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American justice

Joe Jones, 1933. Columbus Museum of Art. Dalrymple writes: ‘There were Communists among the American artists in the 1930s who probably would have become socialist realists à la Stalin, if (as was, in reality, impossible) the US had turned Communist; but in the US political context, theirs was an art of protest, not unjustified in itself but ill-assorted with their blindness to the incomparably worse horrors of Soviet Russia. The working-class, self-taught Jones painted his powerful work to protest lynchings and the continued existence of the Klu Klux Klan. This was perfectly justified; lynchings, though not numerous given the size of the US population, must have exerted an influence far beyond their statistical importance, not unlike Islamist terrorism today; yet even lynchings were a minor phenomenon compared with the mass executions and starvation synonymous with Communism from its inception. Despite his obvious and sincere sympathy for the impoverished and downtrodden, Jones could not imagine that anything was worse elsewhere—least of all in his imagined utopia-on-earth.’

The Cheshire cat

The psychiatrist and communist fellow-traveller Reg Ellery, writes Dalrymple,

was of a type by no means uncommon, the intellectual who changes his mind but whose certainty is like the grin of the Cheshire cat, being what remains when everything else has disappeared.

Dalrymple adds:

I, of course, am not at all like that; at least, I don’t think that I am. No, no, I am quite certain that I am not.

Artful Albanian mass murderer

Dalrymple explains that the works of Enver Hoxha are

worth reading.

The late first secretary of the Party of Labour, chairman of the Democratic Front and commander-in-chief of the Albanian armed forces has in his writing, says Dalrymple,

a wonderful natural gift for poisonous invective and insult. As by the end of his life he had fallen out with everyone, he also had a lot of practice at it.

Dalrymple explains that Hoxha’s principle was

never to speak well of the dead, especially if he had killed them himself.

Richard Gott’s perverted KGB view of history

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Richard Gott: Guardian writer and onetime KGB agent

Richard Willoughby Gott, the upper-class English journalist and spy for the Soviet Union, was educated at Winchester and Corpus Christi College, Oxford. A communist, Gott was recruited by the KGB in the late 1970s and writes for the London Guardian newspaper.

Dalrymple observes that although Gott

accepted trips paid for by the KGB, that didn’t harm his journalistic reputation anything like taking them from the CIA would have.

The traitor Gott, Dalrymple points out, is

always on the lookout for a left-wing economic experiment to laud, preferably in the tropics,

screen-shot-2016-12-02-at-23-24-51and one of his

more recent enthusiasms was for the late Hugo Chávez, about whom he wrote a book. Chávez’s policies could have produced a shortage of saltwater in the Pacific.

As for Fidel Castro, Western intellectuals have long retained a soft spot for the Cuban dictator, and Gott is one of his leading European champions, being entirely uninterested in

the economic effects of Castro’s regime. When Castro seized power, Cuba was at the economic level of Italy, and richer than Spain. It had a poor peasantry, but so did Spain and Italy. Like Perón in Argentina, but even more dramatically, Castro undeveloped his country.

screen-shot-2016-12-02-at-23-23-58Nor is Gott interested in Cuba’s

  • mass emigration, or why it took place
  • executions
  • imprisonment of dissidents
  • censorship
  • constant surveillance
  • arbitrary arrest
  • omnipresent propaganda

Gott, says Dalrymple,

is now an elderly man, but he is still adolescent at heart, as so many intellectuals are.

A stalking horse for unfreedom

Dalrymple writes that the burkini affair

leaves me uneasy. There are two current demands in our societies: the right to mark ourselves out from others, and the right not to be discriminated against if we do so. These two rights are not logically incompatible, but if too strongly insisted upon simultaneously will destroy the cohesion of any society.

Moreover,

I cannot help but recall the words of Mr Erdoğan, well before he became as eminent and powerful as he has since become. Democracy is a train (or tram, in some citations) which is useful in getting you to where you want to go, and then you get off.

Could it be, asks Dalrymple,

that the demand for freedom is here a stalking horse for unfreedom, that a demand for freedom for oneself will end in a demand for the abrogation of the freedoms of others? This would not be unprecedented in recent history: the communists demanded full liberal-democratic freedoms in order later to be able to destroy them.

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Harley Street paved with gold

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Harley Street: view from Cavendish Square

Iatrophobia is a serious medical condition (focal sepsis is very often present), though it is sometimes highly treatable — and at the very least can be managed and palliated — if the patient is constrained to undergo a colectomy and adjuvant frontal leucotomy along with inguinal orchiectomy and Metrazol-induced convulsion therapy.

The psychotic delusional condition of iatromisia, on the other hand, though it can be treated with the above methods — applied perforce with much greater intensity and with the addition of comprehensive salvage insulin coma therapy (Insulinschockbehandlung) — is sadly not so tractable.

Harley Street: view from Cavendish Square

Harley Street: view from Cavendish Square

Indeed, writes Dalrymple, carcinoma iatromisia is metastatising,

not among the general public, which on the whole retains its respect for and trust in doctors (a fact borne out by all the surveys), but among the intelligentsia — literary folk, journalists and so on.

This kind of people,

perhaps because their own crafts are held in such low public esteem, believe that doctors should be taken down a peg or two.

Harley Street: view from Cavendish Square

Harley Street: view from Cavendish Square

Dalrymple says there are two main charges against doctors, particularly hospital consultants:

  • they are on the golf course most of the time
  • they are making a fortune from their private practices

These two complaints, Dalrymple points out,

are not strictly compatible. Doctors are often quite clever people, but even they have not mastered the art of being in two places at once, and the only way of making money out of private practice is to work very hard at it. Doctors are not paid for a birdie three or an eagle two.

On the part of journalists and the literati, Dalrymple observes,

141 Harley Street

141 Harley Street

the primordial antagonism towards doctors is not fully rational: it is a little like anti-Semitism.

Jews, to the anti-Semite, are simultaneously

  • capitalist plutocrats
  • communist agitators

In the same way, doctors, to the iatromisiac, are simultaneously

  • incredibly lazy
  • ferociously avaricious
Crœsus of consultants: Thomas Horder, 1st Baron Horder, lords it over his patients in his consulting-room at 141 Harley Street. Note the photograph of Neville Chamberlain on the mantelpiece

Crœsus of consultants: Lord Horder at 141 Harley Street. Note the framed photo of Neville Chamberlain

How fortunes are made effortlessly from private practice

The golf course is to iatromisia

what ritual murder is to the anti-Semite: a myth to keep a hatred warm.

Dalrymple explains that

doctors as a group are better than many groups of comparable size.

Of his own professional circumstances he writes:

I am on duty one night in five, and have been for years. I do no private practice, apart from some medico-legal work. I never refuse to get up in the middle of the night to see a patient, and if I do get up, I still have to go to work the following morning, however tired I may feel. My pay is adequate, and I do not complain about it: my wife, who is also a doctor, and I live well but not extravagantly. Certainly, many people with less strenuous lives earn much more than we do. As far as I am aware, I have not lost a single patient through carelessness in all those years.

Harley Street looking north from Weymouth Street

Harley Street looking north from Weymouth Street

And what Dalrymple does

is only what thousands of other doctors do.

To be told that he belongs to

an avaricious, power-mad, privileged and lazy cabal by people whose prerogatives are distinctly those of the harlot sticks a little in my throat.

Dalrymple does not claim to love humanity,

Harley Street looking north from Weymouth Street

Harley Street looking north from Weymouth Street

but I do get up at 3am if I am required to do so. It is far, far easier and less demanding to write an editorial; I know because I have done both.

Iatromisia, he points out,

coheres with governments’ increasing fear of professions that escape their complete control. Disproportionate criticism of the medical profession by journalists and authors serves governments’ goal of a totally managed society.

91 Harley Street. At left, the chauffeur keeps the Bentley engine running, ready to take the consultant to the golf course or the bordello at any time of the day

91 Harley Street. Note the parked Bentley. The chauffeur keeps the engine running, ready to take the consultant to golf course, club or bordello at any time of day

91 Harley Street

91 Harley Street

13 Harley Street

13 Harley Street

Consulting-room at 13 Harley Street. Note the painting of a young Margaret Thatcher

Consulting-room at 13 Harley Street. Note the painting of a young Margaret Thatcher

73

73 Harley Street. Architect: W. Henry White

73 Harley Street. Architect: W. Henry White. The French Loire style, brick with plenty of terracotta decoration on a small, playful scale (Pevsner)

73 Harley Street. ‘The French Loire style, brick with plenty of terracotta decoration on a small, playful scale’ of which there are several specimens in and around Harley Street, ‘characterised by heavy curved door canopies, shallow bay windows, Tudor mullions and transomes, steep gables’. (Pevsner)

83 Harley Street

83 Harley Street

Fireplace in a consulting-room at 83 Harley Street. The consultant stands before it, delivers a homily — with the patient maintaining a respectful silence — on bowel regulation or the virtue of broccoli ingestion, then it’s off to the links, his club or his mistress's Belgravia flat

Fireplace in a consulting-room at 83 Harley Street. The consultant stands before it, delivers a homily — with the patient maintaining a respectful silence — on bowel regulation or the virtue of broccoli ingestion, then it’s off to see the mistress in her Belgravia flat, or else to the links or the club. Yes, life is good

88 Harley Street

88 Harley Street

88 Harley Street

88 Harley Street

92 Harley Street

92 Harley Street

92 Harley Street

92 Harley Street

Harley Street viewed from Cavendish Square

Harley Street viewed from Cavendish Square

Involuntary headscarf adoption

Screen Shot 2016-03-07 at 09.01.24In some giant Western housing projects, writes Dalrymple,

young Muslim women who dress in Western clothing are deemed to be fair game, inviting—indeed, asking for—rape by gangs of Muslim youths. In such circumstances, it is impossible to know whether the adoption of Islamic dress by women in Western society is ever truly voluntary, and so long as such behaviour persists, the presumption must be against its being so.

Islamic extremists

use secularism to impose theocracy: a tactic that calls to mind that of the communists of old, who appealed to freedom of speech with the long-term aim of extinguishing it. As Moscow financed the communists, the Saudis finance many of the Muslim extremists.

Muslim women can be seen on the streets of Western cities

so completely covered that even their eyes are hardly visible through the slit in their headdress.

The women who appear in such costume

are often subject to forced marriage, and no one can tell whether they wear Islamic costume from choice or through brute intimidation.

Moreover,

they are members of a religion with a strong aggressive, proselytising, and imperialistic streak—a religion that ultimately recognises nothing but itself, not even the secular state, as a source of authority.

Muslim men bent on evil

Screen Shot 2015-11-15 at 09.09.26Those who become terrorist murderers cannot, of course, be satisfied with what Western society offers them, for they are, Dalrymple points out,

in the grip of a utopian ideology.

So were many successful people in the West once attracted to communism,

another ideology that would have destroyed their own freedom.

The Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse

Screen Shot 2015-10-02 at 07.47.53Can Africa survive Davidson?

Dalrymple explains that after Basil Davidson, the upper-class British communist fellow-traveller, wrote a book extolling Tito,

the dictator killed half a million people at least.

Screen Shot 2015-10-02 at 07.50.26Davidson then switched his attention to the East, writing a book extolling Mao called Daybreak in China. A more appropriate title might have been Nightfall in China, for within a short time,

the Great Leap Forward caused about 30m deaths.

Screen Shot 2015-10-03 at 09.31.26Most unfortunately for an already suffering continent, Davidson then turned Africanist, finding in Guinea-Bissau

the hope of the world.

In that country some of the most horrendous mass killings in the history of West Africa followed.

Screen Shot 2015-10-02 at 07.54.22Casting about, Davidson wrote The Fortunate Isles about Cape Verde under its enlightened communist government. But the isles, Dalrymple points out, had in truth emerged after independence as actually deeply unfortunate, and shortly after publication of Davidson’s book,

half the population emigrated.

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Lucky is the country about which Davidson has written nothing

Can Africa survive Basil Davidson?