Tuesday, April 12, 2016

The Garden of What We Know: Thin Grounds for Sacco's 'Guilt'



            For thirty years anybody who knew anything about the Sacco and Vanzetti case contended that the two were innocent of the crime they were accused of and executed for -- the April 15, 1920 daylight robbery of a Braintree shoe factory payroll and the murder of two payroll officials. Then, in the anti-Communist Cold War fifties and sixties, the reaction set in. In fact, some theorists alleged, despite all that bleeding heart liberal sentiment to the contrary, the two Italian anarchists were actually guilty of these cold-blooded killings. Or, the more widely shared assertion, Sacco was guilty, though Vanzetti was not.
            Revisionist theories that appear to undermine settled, conventional views always win some converts.
            But after closely analyzing everything that Italian radical spokesman Carlo Tresca said or might have said about the Sacco-Vanzetti case over the course of 30 years, historian Nunzio Pernicone in his essay "Carlo Tresca and the Sacco-Vanzetti Case," published in "The Journal of American History," concluded that arguing for the guilt of Sacco on the basis of Tresca's unsubstantiated one-sentence remark in the early 1940s  amounts to "a serious misuse of the historian's craft."
            Why is this important? Because the revisionist theory that Sacco and Vanzetti were not innocent after all, and were not the sort of peaceful "philosophical anarchists" many supporters made them out to be, has been based almost entirely on what Tresca reportedly said to the American one-time socialist Max Eastman.
            A 'half-point' must be granted here. Sacco and Vanzetti were not simply "theoretical" believers in the political, social and economic philosophy of anarchy, which calls for the abolition of the state, the church, and all forms of institutional authority. They believed in taking action as well. They supported strikes, but not labor unions, believing that workers (and everyone else) should be free to form voluntary cooperatives to support one another's subsistence. Further, anarchists who were part of the same Italian-speaking network as Sacco and Vanzetti mailed and planted bombs to government officials and major capitalists in the year preceding their arrest. In fact, the widespread belief of native-born Americans that these two Italian-speaking radicals were just the sort of people seeking to promote revolution by planting bombs is probably the reason a jury of white, English-speaking, native-born men so quickly convicted them of the Braintree crime on evidence that was far from convincing.
            Almost nobody today -- or at any time in the almost century-long reconsideration of the case -- defends the notion that Sacco and Vanzetti received a fair trial.
            Historian Paul Avrich sums it up this way: "The trial, occurring in the wake of the Red Scare, took place in an atmosphere of intense hostility towards the defendants. The district attorney conducted a highly unscrupulous prosecution, coaching and badgering witnesses, withholding exculpatory evidence from the defense, and perhaps even tampering with physical evidence. ... He played on the emotions of the jurors, arousing their deepest prejudices against the accused. ...The judge in the case likewise revealed his bias... He made remarks that bristled with animosity toward the defendants [including] "Did you see what I did with those anarchistic bastards the other day?" When a verdict of guilty was returned, many believed that the men had been convicted because of their foreign birth and radical beliefs, not on solid evidence of criminal guilt."
            However, despite the trial's inadequacies, a number of voices in articles and books have maintained that one or both of the defendants were guilty -- as if the prosecution, despite lacking evidence pointing in their direction, had somehow stumbled on to the right men to charge with a heinous, high-profile, outrageous crime.... exactly the type of crime both the police and the public really like to see solved.
            Carlo Tresca, an Italian-American newspaper editor, orator, and labor organizer who played a prominent part in the Industrial Workers of the World, often served as the go-to guy for Italian radicals accused of crimes -- such as speaking out against American participation in World War I or the draft, actions that in 1917-18 constituted crimes. But although Tresca himself was Italian by birth and familiar with the Italian speakers who were members of the radical left, including anarchists, it does not follow that Tresca was intimate with members of these groups, knew their secrets, or held their trust. Anarchists who followed the teachings of theoretician and orator Luigi Galleani -- a network that included Sacco and Vanzetti -- may have sought Tresca's public support when needed, but they did not trust him or regard him as a true comrade. In fact Galleani's disdain for Tresca and his pro-union views was pronounced, and in the two decades that followed Galleani's deportation to Italy, his followers' attacks on Tresca and those whose ideology differed from the own grew increasingly bitter.
            After examining this history, Nunzio Pernicone concludes that believing that Carlo Tresca was likely to know some "inside story" about the crime at the origin of the Sacco-Vanzetti case amounts to a confession of ignorance of the anarchist and Italian left-wing movement. Tresca was at one time a member of the Sacco and Vanzetti Defense Committee "and frequently spoke in their defense at rallies [in New York City, where he was based] and in articles." At these rallies he declared without the slightest hesitation or doubt that Sacco and Vanzetti were entirely innocent of the crime they were charged with. This remained his position throughout the 7-year case and the following years.
            Pernicone then examines the theory of Francis Russell, and those who follow him that Sacco took part in the Braintree crime. Russell, who initially wrote an extensive study of the case back in the 50s, concluding at its end (along with almost everyone else who examined it) that Sacco and Vanzetti were not guilty. Russell then changed his mind, in an article and then an entire second book (ludicrously titled "Sacco and Vanzetti: The Case Resolved"), based largely on rumor and suspicion.
            The initial suspicion comes from a statement by Upton Sinclair, who researched the case for his novel about it, "Boston." After talking to the Brini family, with whom Vanzetti lived in Plymouth, and finding them wholly open to his intentions, he was surprised by the cool reception given him by Sacco's widow, Rosina Sacco, who was not eager to speak to him. Personally, I can think of dozens of reasons why Rosina, an Italian speaking woman with two children who suffered the trauma of losing her husband to a miscarriage of justice, would not wish to review her tragedy yet again with an American reporter. Frankly, she may not have known who Sinclair was. Nevertheless, Sinclair's impression that Sacco's widow had something to hide apparently drove him to other suspicions. 

            The single publicly stated claim that Sacco was guilty of the Braintree crime comes from Max Eastman's report that Tresca told him, "Sacco was guilty, Vanzetti innocent." Eastman was a radical in the early decades of the 20th century who moved to the right during the Stalinist period. Like other socialists, he was dismayed by what the USSR had turned socialism into.
            After analyzing how little Tresca actually said to Eastman, Pernicone concludes that Russell "greatly exaggerated and misunderstood" Tresca's importance to Italian anarchists, assuming incorrectly that Tresca became the godfather of the Italian anarchist movement after Galleani's deportation. Given Galleani's "condescension and disapproval" of Tresca, Pernicone state, it is "unthinkable" that his followers would choose Tresca for a leader after Galleani's removal.
            Again, after analyzing the attitudes of anarchists toward stealing money for revolutionary purposes, Pernicone concludes that anarchists were loathe to commit acts that could not be distinguished from those of ordinary criminality. Pernicone writes that it is "inconceivable that Tresca would have inside knowledge" of an anarchist plot to rob a factory payroll for money.
           Examining the reliability of Tresca's claim of Sacco's guilt, Pernicone states that Tresca's close associate and partner in publishing ventures Luiggi Quintiliano asserted that Tresca did not believe that Sacco was guilty during the case or the immediate years after. Quintiliano himself visited Sacco in prison, who told him bluntly, "Continue to assert our complete innocence."
            But somewhere in the years to follow, Pernicone concludes, Tresca told at least two people something different. His own focus had changed from defending radicals to combating Italian fascists in America for leadership of the Italian community. In fact Tresca's murder in1943 is sometimes attributed to his fascist enemies.
            Why would Tresca, who had widely asserted Sacco and Vanzetti's were innocent in the 20s and thirties, change his view and tell Eastman that Sacco was guilty? Since no new "first-hand information" was available, and no evidence came to light to explain his change of mind, Pernicone attributes the change in his view to the impact of the deep personal attacks on him by the anarchists of the Galleani faction. Slandering one of theirs, that is, was a way of getting back at them.
            And, finally, Pernicone offers this assessment of Tresca's personality:  "He had a great need to be in the spotlight."

[Here's the link for Pernicone's article:
http://www.umass.edu/legal/Benavides/Fall2005/397G/Readings%20Legal%20397%20G/4%20Nunzio%20Pernicone.pdf]





Sunday, April 10, 2016

The Garden of Theater: For Tom Stoppard 'Arcadia' is Close to Perfect



            In the play "Arcadia," written in 1993 by the cleverest, if not simply the best of contemporary playwrights, Tom Stoppard has his characters more than once mouth a famous classical tag: "Et in Arcadia ego..." A phrase translated, by general consent, as "Even in Arcadia I," which sounds harmless enough.
            In a play so full of allusions to both the world of mathematics and science, as well as to literature (and for that matter to landscape gardening), it's hard to fasten on any one such reference as containing the work's ultimate meaning. But this one stopped me, because my background is literature, rather than science or math. And even in the world of literature, while I'm not terribly fond of the principal figure Stoppard's contemporary characters are fighting over -- Lord Byron -- I'm troubled that I can't quite recall the point of this classical allusion.
            I knew it was Virgil, but my high school Latin sequence stopped before we got to Virgil (after our teacher, hopeless at controlling a classroom, was fired for coaching some students through the Regents exam), and so may familiarity with the great poet of the Roman world is patchy at best.
            I'll come back to this point -- "Arcadia" is after all the name of the play -- but first, if you have never seen this play, you have a chance to do through May 1 at the Central Square Theater in Cambridge, MA. And I would strongly recommend it. It's an intellectual mystery, or series of interlocking riddles, set both in early 19th century and the contemporary day. Let me draw on the program notes by director Lee Mikeska Gardner, to sketch a few of the play's rich and complex outlines.
            Arcadia is "the grandmother of what we call Science Plays, weaving human foibles and passions between the lines of math and science and philosophy, not to mention literature and art," Gardner tells us. In short, almost everything that matters.
            If you can follow the explanation provided by one of the play's genius characters (there's a pack of them) of the importance of "iterated algorithms," so much the better. If not, it's good to bring along a PhD in mathematics, as my wife and I were fortunate to do Saturday night, to explain it during intermission. The play posits that another of the play's 19th century geniuses (a barely adolescent girl) intuits this possibility, but can't work out a "proof" since progress in this direction required the invention (as a 20th century math whiz tells us) of the electric calculator.  
            All right, so much for the Newtonian universe, the law of irreversible heat loss, and the consequent likelihood of entropy (the end of everything) in a closed system universe. (For further elucidation of these points your Google is as good,or better, than mine.)
            But, as Gardner happily points out, there is so more to contemplate. For instance, tutor Septimus Hodge -- near enough to genius to appreciate his young charge's mathematical insights -- astonishingly moving justification of the March of Time. Weep not over the burning of the Alexandrian library, and the subsequent loss of scores of Greek tragedies, and who knows how much Aristotle, he tells the girl (and us) because what we have lost is bound to come back in some other form. Instead, cherish what we have.
            What we don't have -- to plunge us into the contemporary story, set in the same old English estate where our 19th century figures quarrel over adultery, poetry, landscape architecture (and, on occasion, Newton's deterministic universe) -- is any proof that George Gordon Lord Byron ever visited this great old English estate and there fought a duel, killing a minor English poet after tupping his wife.
            We do have a contemporary scholar who is studying the plans to alter an already Romantic English Garden to bring it line with currently fashionable (and even more bizarre) notions, such as building a "hermitage" along with spotting the landscape with various ersatz "ruins." This female scholar ultimate confesses that she hates the whole "wild, Romantic garden" movement that, as she sees it, destroyed the more natural harmony of the Enlightenment plan for a balanced, reasonable "natural" landscape better suited to contemplating the golden mean.
            These two opposing present-day scholars, both mining the same period for discoveries to make their name -- the spokesman for the Byronic notion of poetic genius, and the spokesman for "reason" and balance (and for the women seduced and abandoned by Byron) -- battle things out in brilliantly comic fashion. Nobody has more words than Stoppard. And he doesn't spare any of them in this multi-layered, intellectually challenging (and engaging) feast of language, ideas, human types, and their typical foibles.
            So why is the play called "Arcadia"?
            Arcadia, I find, is an actual piece of terrestrial geography "celebrated as an unspoiled, harmonious wilderness." Virgil writes of it, at least glancingly, in one of his major works know as the "Eclogues." Since everything in Roman culture goes back to the Greeks, "eclogue" refers to the Greek word for a perfect rustic place. And Arcadia, the epitome of all such places, is actually a region in the Greek Peloponnese. (More on this some other time.)
           So possibly "Arcadia" would be your naturally beautiful landscape if nobody had 'artistic' or 'cultural' designs to improve it with fashionable alterations (think McMansions).
            Ah, but the phrase "Et in Arcadia ego..." as it appears in Virgil's eclogue is written on the funeral monument to the shepherd Daphnis, who is himself the perfect human epitome of this perfectly harmonious natural place. These words appear to be a eulogy to an admirable figure lost too soon.
            And because they are written on a tombstone, it us supposed that the "ego" ("I") stands for death (though the word 'death' does not appear in the poem). Remember, these words warn (in the interpretation given them by later ages), that even in the most perfect and beautiful of places, death still rules our fate.
            This phrase can be applied in so many ways to the Stoppard's play that the head spins.
            If the deterministic Newtonian universe, plus the law of irreversible heat loss, means that everything in the universe will run down in the end... then death is everybody's fate. It's the answer to all the play's questions. Human progress? Byron? The design of your garden? What they all mean in the end is not very much.
            And yet, though as I confessed in the beginning I am no Virgil scholar, I do know that Virgil's great works celebrate Rome. The "Aeneid" celebrates Rome's birth from the ashes of fallen Troy. The Eclogues themselves, I understand, move to a prediction of a golden age of empire ushered in by Octavius (favored by Jove) who rules as the emperor Caesar Augustus.
            Yes, "even in Arcadia." But the meaning may be that since we can all foresee our end of days, isn't it time for us to be getting on with things that matter?