Michael Pugliese seems obsessed with dissecting leftwing writers' political genealogies, and rummaging through their personal laundry bins and trash heaps. I think this is silly, and contributes precious little to political debate, although it surely flaunts his passion for minutia (when he's right; sometimes he isn't [I pointed out to him that he had confused Debbie Nathan with Martha Nathan, M.D.], and in those instances it flaunts his own penchant for unsupported leaps). If the aim is to boast of being well-read in sectarian byways, I'd say my own hobbies are more interesting.
Here is my alternative view. The sixties and seventies were periods of insurgency and activism, to which intellectuals of many colors were honorably or opportunistically attracted, in hopes of joining and/or influencing the course of events. Some of their contributions were useful, and were embraced by the mass movements. Some were attempted, and found to be wanting, but were worthwhile experiments. Some were plainly wrong-headed, and were properly opposed. Some (perhaps useful as examples for the ongoing LBO-talk discussion on clarity) were impenetrably obtuse, and were ignored. Some were wacky, and were ridiculed.
Often early heroes were later sellouts. Sometimes early opportunists became later comrades. None of Michael's interventions acknowledge, let alone draw intelligent insights from, such biographical material; instead we are repeatedly treated to titillation packaged as marxicology.
How does Michael's own dedication and engagement measure up to Stokely Carmichael's leadership of SNCC and the AAPRP over two generations of struggle? or to the Rosenbergs' martyrdom? to take just two objects of his sneers as examples.
Over the course of time, nearly every real activist has written or said something she or he regrets upon reflection, or in the context of later events. These points are seized upon by demagogues (some of whom write for The Nation; others join the Spartacists), usually absent their contexts, as slippery forms of ad hominem, beneath which to impute undue honor and political wisdom to themselves.
To me, comradeship is not measured by the correctness of one's political line, nor by one's demonstrated political infallibility. A comrade is someone who is on our side when the chips are down, in person, and who can be relied upon to stand and fight, not to cut and run, and not to avoid engagement while explaining and defending higher truths.
Ken Lawrence