Cold Light

by Frank Moorhouse

  ‘Pollitt?’

  ‘Yes, Pollitt.’

  ‘Don’t be such a Freudian, Edith,’ Janice said, coolly. ‘But there are stories about Hill’s nerves and that was why he’s stayed overseas so long. He didn’t say anything in the piece he wrote for the Guardian and Trib. There’s another development: Jimmy Staples – a young Sydney lawyer at the NSW Attorney-General’s Department and a Party member – has roneoed copies of this so-called secret speech. He’s been circulating copies to Party members, especially at the universities. There’s uproar about it. Someone told Frederick that a member of the Liberal Party – a person named Barton – paid for it to be printed, which makes it all rather suspicious. Staples is for the chop.’

  ‘How is it really possible to stop discussion in the Party? The whole world is talking about it. Or does the CP membership close itself off from the outside world, like the Amish?’

  There was silence and then Janice said, ‘No.’ Another silence, and then she said in her Party voice, ‘Edith, you understand that in the Party we do not trust the Western press – it is manipulated and owned by people opposed to communism. We all know from personal experience that they purposefully distort reports about strikes about the Soviet Union and about the labour movement generally. Look at their misreporting of the Lowe Royal Commission and the Petrov Royal Commission. So why believe them on this? Sharkey described it as “hell’s brew from the sewers of the gutter press”.’

  ‘He could improve on his imagery.’

  ‘Grow up, Edith. We’re not in English 1 now. You’ve seen the cartoonists drawing the communists as rats.’

  Janice was right about the misreporting of the Royal Commissions – the newspapers were shockingly biased. If she were a communist she wouldn’t believe the newspapers.

  While they spoke, Edith had second thoughts about Janice coming to her office in Parliament House. ‘Given the nature of the times, Janice, it might be best if you and I met somewhere and I gave you a copy of the report. Just to be safe.’ Then, humorously, she added, ‘Would not do for you to be traipsing in and out of Parliament House.’

  ‘I understand. But it is the People’s House and I’m a citizen.’

  Edith had to also face that she was ashamed of her office and did not want Janice to see how small it was. There had been promises that she might soon get a larger place to work.

  They met at the Blue Moon in Civic, and she handed Janice Ambrose’s copy of the secret speech, but without the cover sheet indicating where it had come from. Janice had more news. Turner, Staples, Murray-Smith and other intellectuals were demanding open analysis of the secret speech within the Party. ‘There are unauthorised membership meetings breaking out all over the place. We’re having a discussion at the university here next month. Turner, Palmer and some of the other Melbourne people might come to Canberra.’

  ‘You sound as if you’re not happy about this meeting?’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense to waste time discussing something that might be bogus. I’ve tried to get Fred to head off premature discussion. But the Canberra comrades – especially the university comrades – are undisciplined and want to barge off and discuss it. They want to discuss everything.’

  ‘That’s what university people do – they discuss.’

  ‘Their discussion isn’t always politically useful. There’s a big difference between questioning, suggesting – legitimate criticism – and the forming of factions and gangs within the Party. It’s reformism. There’s no point in these people being in the Party, wasting its time. They belong in another party. I think that these admissions by Khrushchev mean that the Party has returned to the correct line.’

  ‘What’s wrong with reformism?’

  Tiredly, Janice said, ‘In the Party, it means re-forming the Party. It’s counter-revolutionary. It would be admitting that there’s something fundamentally wrong with the historical Party and that the revolution was a mistake. And to listen to those who want to abandon internationalism and accept national differences would be to accept that communist theory differs from country to country. The Party is not about fixing up things in capitalism here and there, trying to conform to whatever is happening in the Labor Party. I would’ve thought you’d have realised by now that we are not just a competing political movement within the so-called democratic system – communism is an entirely different way of seeing the world and working politically. How many times do I have to tell you?’

  There was a new strength in Janice’s way of speaking to her, which she found queerly attractive. It wasn’t a strength coming from desperation at all. ‘Frederick and I are going to a cadre meeting in Sydney to discuss the correct handling of this. We should not be arguing about what the New York Times and the State Department of the US thinks we should be talking about.’

  ‘I’d like to come to the meeting at the university.’

  ‘Why would you?’

  Edith made a face. ‘To hear how you handle it all.’

  ‘It’s out of the question. It’ll be for Party members only. And the meeting hasn’t been approved by the Party, which worries me. Worries me a lot. We’re describing it as a birthday party for Bob Gollan.’

  ‘Please,’ she said. ‘I want to come.’

  Janice looked at her and shook her head. ‘This is not an entertainment, Edith. And it will probably be watched by the ASIO – you could get into trouble.’

  Edith doubted that.

  ‘I did look after some of the Party records for you during the referendum. And Ambrose sent you the secret speech.’

  Edith hid her blushing as she remembered that Ambrose had been through the records in the tackroom. And so had she.

  She went on, ‘I did go to the meeting at the Causeway. And to Melbourne to celebrate the High Court victory.’

  Janice stirred her coffee, and weakened. ‘Because it’s disguised as a birthday party, it might not be watched. Hope the ASIO doesn’t check his birth date. And because it’s not an approved meeting, perhaps you could come and sit quietly at the back. And it is true that some non-Party members could turn up. There’ll be some drink and eats.’

  ‘Party hats?’

  Janice ignored the joke.

  Edith felt a great curiosity to see how the Party people would handle this catastrophe – a catastrophe that they were still trying to deny. She wanted to see how her brother would handle it.

  Janice said she would clear it with Frederick.

  The so-called party was held in an accommodation suite at University House. There were about twenty or more crammed into the two bedrooms, the balcony and the main room of the suite – the usual bearded academics drinking from beer bottles, and a sprinkling of women, some also drinking from bottles of beer, but most drinking wine from paper cups. The men wore jackets and some wore ties, but she thought that their beards were fancier this year. Less like Marx or Lenin beards. She knew some of them from the social life of Canberra.

  Frederick tried to delay the drinking until after the Party business, but no one took notice of him.

  Cubes of cheese and onions and some salami and biscuits were piled on plates.

  She knew from Janice that there were to be two parties: one for the local Communist Party members to discuss seriously the secret speech – called for 6 pm – and the cover party called for 8 pm. Janice admitted that the cover party was not really to fool the ASIO but to fool the Central Committee in Sydney, because it was not a sanctioned meeting.

  Edith refused a bottle of beer, and a glass was found for her and some wine from a half-gallon flagon. She had to put her glass on the floor and use two hands to pour from the flagon. She thought the flagon wine was quite acceptable as a vin ordinaire and didn’t understand why people looked down on it. She suspected that quite a few had not drunk much wine in their lives and would hardly be judges of what was a good enough wine and what was ‘rough’. However, she never served the flagon wine at home, even though Richard had suggested it.

  When Janice ha
d cleared her to attend the real meeting, she had instructed her not to contribute to the discussion and not to mention that she had ever passed on the British Foreign Office version of Khrushchev’s speech to them. ‘We don’t want it getting around that we’re receiving documents from the British FO.’

  Regardless of Frederick’s planning, word had got around about the birthday party among the left-leaning academics and students and fellow travellers and hangers-on, and these people began arriving earlier than expected, which disconcerted Frederick and Janice and the hard-liners of the Party. Frederick turned away the outsiders and told them to come back at 8 pm.

  It was the first time Edith had been in the accommodation rooms at University House. She admired the Fred Ward furniture – honey-stained wood, scholarly desks, desk lamps with flexible stands, chairs, bookcases – all intended for serious study, but pleasing.

  She said hello to the Gollans. He had been an angry student when last they had met. She had told him she had thought his name then had been Follan. They all laughed. ‘I used various names back then,’ he said.

  Turner came over shortly after she and Janice arrived, and they laughed again about the night of the football match in the Causeway Hall.

  When she asked what he was doing now back in Melbourne, he said that the Party had made him a book publisher, putting him in control of the Australasian Books Society. ‘You should subscribe. The only book publisher in the country run by writers.’

  ‘And the Party.’

  ‘And the Party.’

  ‘I thought you ran the peace movement for the Party.’

  ‘I did – now I run publishing.’ He laughed. ‘Murray-Smith runs peace. He also runs the literary magazine for the Party – Overland. You should have come to Melbourne for the Games. We entertained the visiting comrades. I took the Peking Opera cast – all those doll-like actresses – to see The Magic Flute. I found explaining The Magic Flute to the Chinese more difficult than I did the Peking Opera to the Australian comrades. Found both bloody hard to explain. We even had a proper ball: the Australian–Soviet Friendship Society Ball. The communist teams were there in their blazers – the gold-medal gymnasts; wonderful athletic women and men – incredible.’

  Edith said, ‘I read that the Hungarians and Russians fought in the water-polo match. The pool water was red with blood. Oh, sorry, that’s a sour note to introduce.’

  Janice said the newspapers exaggerated that, ‘as usual’.

  Turner said, ‘For God’s sake, one Hungarian got a black eye. That can happen in any water-polo match.’

  Edith said, ‘Richard and I watched some of the Games on television. A set’s been installed in the press gallery. We all crowded in.’

  Janice had gone to the Games to join with some Young Communists, who formed a cordon picket at the Soviet ship where the teams lived – to protect them from attack.

  Edith continued to play the provocative guest. ‘Is it true that more than fifty Hungarian athletes defected – half the team?’

  ‘I doubt that,’ Janice said.

  As she drifted from one cluster of people to another, remaining quiet, she heard Rex Mortimer, who she knew to be a rising star in the Party, say in a lowered, serious voice to Turner and Frederick that Hill had written a confidential letter saying that the secret speech did occur and the report was reliable. Mortimer glanced at her when he realised that she was listening. She smiled and held out her hand. ‘I’m Frederick’s sister,’ she said and he relaxed.

  So, it was no longer to be passed off as a hoax.

  Frederick asked Mortimer if he should tell this to the meeting.

  Mortimer thought so.

  Frederick said, ‘Well, if you’re sure?’

  Mortimer nodded.

  Frederick said, ‘It’s time we started business.’ He called for attention and suggested that people sit on the floor during the discussion. ‘I can’t position myself so that you in the bedrooms can see, but you should be able to hear.’ They did, and as chair he remained standing. He then reminded them that this was not a branch meeting or a cadre meeting. It was an exchange of ideas among comrades – something I would only condone because, well, Canberra is different.’

  There was laughter.

  Frederick, with his charming smile, added, ‘Lenin: On the Handling of Canberra.’ There were some smiles. ‘The Canberra Question: What Is to Be Done?’ He was smiling and enjoying teasing the local Party members. ‘Remember, just because you’re brainy in some area of study, doesn’t mean you’re right in all matters. I think in the coming year I will have to introduce a little more discipline into the local organisation.’

  Some laughter.

  He wasn’t smiling.

  Having allowed himself these joking remarks, he returned to his Party voice and a business-like face. ‘This is a get-together to put you in the picture, and I now assume you know what that picture is. Officially, discussion of the 20th Congress and the secret speech has closed. Officially, this meeting is not happening. It is a birthday party for Bob Gollan.’

  Laughter.

  ‘There will be no resolutions or motions. Despite the official closure of discussion with the Party, there have been calls from some comrades for more analysis.’

  He told the gathering that Hill had confirmed confidentially to the leadership in writing the veracity of the New York Times report.

  There was a serious silence in the faces of those present. Then someone said furiously, ‘Oh, shit.’

  Someone else said, ‘Why didn’t he put that in his report in Tribune?’

  ‘I’ll come to that,’ Frederick said. ‘The issue now is that a correct reading be made of the secret speech.’

  Someone asked if Hill had an officially translated copy of the speech.

  Mortimer, who had captured one of the three chairs in the room, said that he didn’t think so. ‘The foreign delegates had to hand back their copies after the Congress.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ someone said sarcastically.

  To Edith’s surprise, someone made a blurting noise. Frederick chose to ignore it.

  Frederick went on, ‘I shouldn’t have to tell you that freedom to criticise does not mean that factionalism can be tolerated. Nor does it mean freedom to propagate disruptive anti-Party views. The facts never speak “for themselves”; they only speak through analysis – correct analysis – and when we’ve reached a correct analysis, then we decide how to use that analysis strategically.’

  From her seat on the floor, Janice added, ‘And when to use it and if to use it.’

  Frederick, without looking at her, said, ‘Precisely.’

  There was some restlessness when he said this.

  ‘We all know that some members were unbalanced by the rumours of the secret speech – that analysis was slow to come from the leadership, and as a consequence some members left and some were expelled. Well, those members who left were invited by the Political Committee to apply for readmission to the Party, and some have been accepted back.’

  Someone asked if this invitation was still open.

  Frederick thought for a moment. ‘Readmission is closed, but applications will be considered.’

  Someone said sarcastically, ‘What about the Soviet invasion of Hungary? May we discuss that, sir?’

  Frederick ignored this at first, but the person persisted. ‘Are you going to answer?’

  Frederick said that it was now known that the Americans were fomenting the unrest in Hungary and funding it, and could well send troops. ‘The Soviet has come to the aid of an allied communist state.’

  Someone said, ‘Bullshit.’

  Frederick tried to smile, then shook his head and said, ‘Canberra intelligentsia.’ Then he added, ‘Seriously, let’s keep the discussion orderly.’

  He continued, ‘The important thing is the correct handling of this within the interests of the Party. Which does not mean endless debates at all levels of the Party. We do not want to go back to the 1920s and argue all those mat
ters that were resolved then about the dangers of wrecking and factions and the need for Party discipline. The leadership has acknowledged the problem of the cult of the individual.’

  Someone, addressing the gathering rather than talking to Frederick, said, ‘And continue to practise it.’

  Laughter. But some of those seated on the floor told the interjector to shut up.

  Someone said, ‘But what about the rest of the secret speech?’ This student rose to his feet then began reading from the New York Times report. It looked to Edith like Staples’ roneoed copy. Frederick broke in and said that the student could remain seated. ‘We can all hear you from there.’ The student almost obeyed and then remained standing and continued his reading. ‘ “When asked by a Congress delegate what he, Khrushchev, was doing while Stalin was committing these crimes against the Russian people, Khrushchev snapped, ‘Who said that?’ Silence. ‘Well,’ Khrushchev replied, ‘that is what I was doing, too – keeping silent.’?” ’

  There was clapping.

  The student sat back down.

  Someone said, ‘At least Khrushchev has a sense of humour.’

  Someone else said, ‘Gallows humour.’

  Someone else said, ‘Stalinist humour.’

  The people seated on the floor were now talking among themselves.

  Frederick raised his voice to regain control. ‘We need to reaffirm our belief in the Party structure as the only way of formulating policy. Let me put it this way: the Party is a scientific instrument for reaching the proper course of action. It can’t come from drunken discussions in pubs by young university students who think they know everything. No offence. This may come as a shock to you university people, but I remind you that individual IQs alone don’t matter. The Party is smarter than any one IQ. It is smarter than any one individual member. The leadership is the collective mind of the Party. The leadership synthesises the collective intelligence of the Party, including the minds of you intellectuals – from zone committees, to branch, to district, to the Central Committee and so on. I also remind you that Lenin taught that “only those who believe in the people, who submerges himself in the fountain of the living creativeness of the people – workers, peasants and intelligentsia – will win and retain power”.’