Cm, bouzouki and vocals. Song by Lluis Llach, translation by anonymous internet contributor. Internationally famous song of resistance to dictatorship and fascism.

L'Estaca (English)

Kropotkin was buried in Moscow on 13th of February, 1921- barely two months after the leadership of the Revolutionary Insurrectionary Army in Ukraine were arrested and executed at a meeting with Red Army commanders, several years into the process of subordinating the workers' factory committees to top-down management, and just before the workers' strike in Petrograd demanding political freedoms for socialist parties and a redress of food supply grievances would lead to the Kronstadt Uprising. This winter was the last stand of the Russian anarchist movement, and it was a grim sign that in burying Kropotkin, the movement had to ask the government to release  their imprisoned comrades, and asked for permission to carry their anarchist banners and slogans critical of the state. In asking for such permission, the balance of power was already painfully clear. Anarchist prisoners, such as Aaron Baron, the co-editor of the Nabat paper in the Free Territory, were released from jail for this single day; after burying Kropotkin, they  would be interned into the prison system never to see freedom again. Others, such as Grigori Maksimov of the Anarcho-Syndicalist Federation of Russia, would flee in exile. Many of the architects of their demise, among the Old Bolsheviks, would themselves fall victims to the purge as their own rivals and enemies took power within the party.

Kropotkin's Funeral

Translation of a Yiddish partisan song celebrating the sacrifice of Itzik Vitnberg, who gave himself up to the Nazis to save the entire Vilna Ghetto from immediate extermination. Your people have outlived fascism, Itzik. 


Dm 
The soldiers have found us
Gm Dm 
Like wolves circle ‘round us
Bb A
My Mauser is coiled in my hand
Bb F
But wait! The Gestapo
Gm Dm 
Through the darkness is dragging
F A Dm 
In chains, our brave commandant

The flash of the lightning
‘Round the Ghetto is tightening
A howl through the streets seems to haunt
Our comrades have risen,
Flying free from the prison
And vanished with our commandant

Night passed, cold and storming
Death hangs in the morning
The face of the Ghetto is gaunt
Tired brows knit and fret
At the Gestapo threat-
Choose death or your commandant!

Itzik then spoke
Words that struck us awoke
“For my sake, I never should want
That your lives be delivered
To the hands of those killers
To his death, strode our Commandant!

The soldiers have found us
Like wolves circle ‘round us
My Mauser is coiled in my hand
May the flash of my muzzle 
Light the path through the the struggle
Death, you are my Commandant!

Itzik Vitnberg

This translation of Dan Berglund's Swedish song for those killed in the workplace is dedicated to Björn Söderberg, murdered by fascists for exposing their infiltration of his local union. The struggle is against both the paramilitary violence of the fascists, and the daily structural violence of capitalism.

Key of Bm, performed on a bouzouki, D pennywhistle, and bodhran.


Bm A Bm 
I ate my oats, and read the morning news
D A
Kissed my wife goodbye, and then put on my boots
F#m A Bm 
Underneath the stars my footprints in the snow
Bm A Bm 
Marked the road that 13 years have seen me come and go

On that day, the north wind blew around
We were welding on a platform, 30 meters off the ground 
I heard a crash, and someone shouted Sven
It disappeared in blood and fire and darkness fell again

As I woke up, in a box made out of pine, 
I figured I’d be damned, it’s the end of the line 
My wife’s was pale as ice and tears fell from her eyes
While the priest prayed unto god with his nose turned to the sky

And I was lowered into my simple hole
Twiddling my thumbs in the midnight of my soul
“Dear Comrade and Corpse”, some distant voice there said
Welcome to the Free Republic of the Murdered Dead 

And there in the rocks, roots, sand, and soil
People lay in rows, the whole ground was full 
Of women and men who’d worked on everything
And the earth shook from their voices as they all began to sing 

We are the dead of the factories and the mines, 
Of fisheries and lumber mills, butchered like swine  
500 every years, bled out from the herd
And the greatest of the murderers in Jacob Wallenberg

We are the ones who ran the factory lines, 
Carried out like firewood and stacked up in the pines
We bowed before our killer and made sure his belly grew
While the parties and the unions were spit-shining his shoes 

Now we shout for revenge, so everyone can hear
Our bitter song in the roar of engines and of gears
In the whisper of the pines, and in the north wind’s breath
Demanding you to do your duty and avenge our death

We sing for you through the noise of the machines, 
Let every strike carve out for us the pathway to be free 
Class against class, that’s the battle we must fight
And we will rise in silence and be marching at your side

Free Republic of the Murdered

This is my demo for a song about the Jewish anarchist, Sholem Schwarzbard, avenging the murdered Jews of Ukraine by assassinating Petliura in Paris. The highly publicized trial shone light on the persecution of Jews in Eastern Europe and resulted in his release from prison, fined one franc to Petliura's widow. Schwarzbard, a watchmaker by trade and anarchist by conviction who had served in the French Foreign before being wounded and fighting as a revolutionary in Ukraine, would be known as "Ha'nokem", or The Avenger, for his actions that day in Paris. He wrote Yiddish poetry under the name Baal-Khaloymes, or The Dreamer. 

I wrote the tune while fooling around on the classical guitar I recently recovered from the family farm, and wrote the eight verses of lyrics in a single sitting earlier today. I'm thinking of being a bit more intentional about the tempo and beat, and making this work as a tango-style piece.

Since the initial upload, I overlaid a mandolin accompaniment in one take, and uploaded the version with this accompaniment. If you would prefer the file without the mandolin, contact me and I'll send it to you. 


Am Bm 
Your honor the judge and gentlemen of the jury, 
Dm C 
I do not deny the deed, but let me explain- 
G Am 
Boulevard Saint-Michel should never have seen such fury 
E Am 
This matter should have been settled back in Ukraine 
(repeat last two lines)

My Croix de Guerre, I earned in the Artois trenches 
As part of the Legion, my nation I had to forget 
But when in the Vosges, a bullet ended my service 
Reborn from my wounds, I yearned for my homeland yet

Black was the earth of the steppes and the little shtetls
Black was the flag of the anarchists, bringing new life 
And black was the smoke where the White Army columns came burning
Or where my people were cut by Petliura’s knife

I have walked in the ashes where families have burned together
Seen lovers and friends marched to die while soldiers there jeered 
Was hunted by men through the narrow streets of Odessa 
And escaped ‘cross the sea, my heart overflowing with tears

When the salt wind bit at my wound on the Black Sea rolling
It wasn’t the bullet where pain twisted ‘round like a screw
But fourteen holes in my breast for my family murdered, 
Fourteen stars in a sky full of our martyred Jews

As a worker in Paris, I let all my anger lie fallow
But news of Petliura’s arrival stole all of my peace
What terrible providence let him slip loose from the gallows? 
And escaping Ukraine, delivered this duty to me? 

Is not a Jew also chilled by a cold wind blowing?
Do not the same passions, our hearts either suffer or mend? 
If you should cut us, will not our blood come flowing? 
And if you wrong us, have not we the right to revenge? 

You honor the judge, and gentlemen of the jury 
I do not deny the deed, but this is my defense 
I have killed an assassin, the murderer of a nation 
A nation whose voice cried out through my gun for revenge

Sholem Schwarzbard

In memory of Amir Locke, and in solidarity with the struggle for justice after his murder. 

I wrote this song the night the video of Amir Locke's murder by the MPD came out. I struggled for several days to fit it to music- the initial melody I wrote it for did not sound right, emotionally, when I played it. The question of how a white artist approaches the subject of a black person's murder by the police or by racist vigilantes is difficult. We must present an unflinching and honest portrayal of the violence behind white supremacy and policing to a society that loves to make excuses for that violence, to avert its gaze from the brutal cost of enforcing white supremacy. At the same time, we must respect the dignity and personhood of the victim of the murder, and not treat their death in a voyeuristic way- black pain and death must not be commodified for anyone's consumption. We must also be aware that black artists are working to reflect on these same injustices, and be ready to make way for and help platform black voices. We must be conscious, also, of the trauma that the subject matter of these songs brings to the surface. 

All of these make the subject of police murders of Black people very difficult for white artists to make music about. Yet, through the decades, attempts have been made- Bob Dylan's "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carrol" and "The Death of Emmet Till", Sinead O Connor's "Black Boys on Mopeds", Abel Meropol's "Strange Fruit" stand as examples. Previously, I wrote "Trouble the Water", about the murder of George Floyd and the subsequent Minneapolis uprising, in collaboration with and for the voice of my bandmate, Jessica Garraway. 

I do not know if this song will sit right in the aftermath of Amir's murder. As a survivor of police brutality and as someone who has struggled and faced arrest by the MPD in fights against their racist violence, I have written it in a spirit of solidarity. I am open to criticism, to change, or to withdrawing it if it does not fulfill its purpose. 

I hope it works as a means to confront the listener with the reality of the violence and horror that a no-knock raid inflicts on its victims, and the impossible split-second choice Amir was forced to make when confronted with multiple armed intruders. Still being woken up from bed, Locke had a firearm in his hand, and did not point it at the police or put his finger on the trigger. A responsible gun owner, Amir Locke did not ready himself to fire his gun, as he was not able to positively identify the threat to him and what lay beyond it. In those few moments of terror, the police who had entered his home and kicked the couch he was sleeping on to wake him, shot him dead. He had no time to comply. Amir Locke was murdered.

“No Knock”, or the Murder of Amir Locke
Am C
No knock, just the shots, and the door was locked, 
G Am 
but the men were through the door 
Am C
The lights cut bright glaring in the night 
G Am 
And the boots pound over the floor 
F C G Am
No time to ask, no time to think or fight or run 
F C G Am
The boot kicked him awake and then the man fired the gun 
C G Am 
Nine seconds, since they came through the door

No knock, and the slide of a glock that shudders and rocks 
And it spits out the round 
It breaks through a body that shakes as he stutters awake,
Ears split by the sound
Wrapped in a blanket, like a burial shroud 
A pack of killers, did they make the city proud
In those nine seconds since they came through the door? 

No knock, just the shots, and the cops 
killed Amir Locke, still in his bed 
Another raid, one more early grave, 
Another poor kid dead
A warrant for a murder, that was their excuse this time 
He wasn’t on the warrant, he’s the victim of the crime
Just nine seconds since they came through the door

No Knock (Nine Seconds)

Reggae/oi! work in progress for the Stepping Razors, posted here for sharing with bandmates. 

Ivan Khutorskoy

Em 
Ivan was a good, good man 
Am Em 
He was the one to make a stand
Am Em 
But Ivan only raised his hand 
G B7
When he was defendin’
B7 Em 
Ivan wore the boots and braces 
Am Em 
He rumbled and he earned his laces 
Am Em 
Busting in the fascists’ faces 
G B7
He was the one to send in 

(Latinized: Vanya zaplital za svobodu, s'voyu krovyu. Druzhya, po-poem smert fashizmu, svobodu narodu)

(Trans.: Vanya paid for freedom with his blood. Friends, let's sing, death to fascism, freedom to the people!)

Chorus:
G Am 
Ваня заплатил за свободу 
Em B7
своей кровью
G Am 
Друзя, попоем: смерть фашизму, 
Em B7
Свободу народу

Ivan when they shot you down, 
That snowy night in Moscow town 
Who held the gun that fired the round? 
And who gave the order?
They couldn’t take you in a fight
With a boot or with a knife 
So they killed you in the night 
The bonehead’s a murderer. 

Chorus:
Ваня заплатил за 
свободу своей кровью
Друзя, попоем: смерть фашизму, 
Свободу народу

A couple of boot boys can beat 
The Nazi punk out in the streets,
But the men who fill the balance sheets
Are the suit-and-tie fascists
Oligarchs and siloviki
Mining bosses and the military
The Cosmonauts and FSB
Just boneheads with badges

Chorus

Ivan Khotorskoy Demo 1

A tribute to the Belarusians who are fighting against the invasion by cutting rail transport for the Russian army.

https://libcom.org/article/russia-and-belarus-successes-rail-war-and-not-only-part-3

Belarus Railroad War

Em Am B7 Em 
Night after night, the light through the forest marks out the trains on the track
D G Am B7
Bringing the soldiers off to the war, bringing the bodies back
C Em C Em
And the smoke rises up from the border, like the engine blows out its steam 
G Am D G
And the whistle that blows through the forest, the whistle that blows through the forest
C Em B7 Em 
The whistle that blows through the forest, cuts through the night like a scream

Out past the forest, out on the steppe, out where the Dnieper rolls on
Families, lovers, comrades, and friends caught in the rain of the bombs 
And the stars fall like clusters of thunder, and the ash turns to mud in the rain
And the trains roll on to the border, the trains roll on to the border
The trains roll on to the border, with missiles to drop in Ukraine

Deep in the forest, grandfather fought when the fascists burned through the land
And choked off the rails where the murderers moved- he and the partisan band
So light up the signaling cabinets, let the stock roll through no more 
There’s many bombs made for killing, there’s many bombs made for killing, 
There’s many bombs made for killing, but this one’s for stopping the war

And when they find you, when they arrest you, if they should take you alive
Go to the jail with a stride in your step, go with your head held up high
There’s many who live as a coward, and many who die still in chains
But you face your fate as a hero, you face your fate as a hero
You face your fate as a hero, Belarusian who struck for Ukraine!

The Rail War Partisan

འཁྲིད་མཁན། སེར་བྱེས་དགེ་བཤེས་ངག་དབང་སངས་རྒྱས། 
ཁྲིད་མཚམས། གནས་དྲུག་པ། 
ཁྲིད་གཞུང་གི་མཚན་ཆ་ཚང་། དམ་པའི་ཆོས་མངོན་པའི་མཛོད་ཀྱི་རྣམ་པར་བཤད་པ་ཐར་ལམ་གསལ་བྱེད་ཅེས་བྱ་བ་བཞུགས་སོ། །མཛད་པ་པོ།  རྒྱལ་བ་དགེ་འདུན་གྲུབ།༼༡༣༩༡-༡༤༧༤༽ བཀྲ་ཤིས་ལྷུན་པོ་དཔལ་གྱི་ཆོས་འཁོར་གླིང་བཏབ་ཅིང་། ལོ་ཉི་ཤུ་རྩ་བརྒྱད་ཀྱི་བར་བསྟན་པའི་བདག་པོར་མཛད་དེ་འཆད་མཉན་ནམ་ཡང་ཆག་པ་མེད་པར་གནང་། ༧རྒྱལ་བ་རིན་པོ་ཆེ་སྐུ་ཕྲེང་དང་པོ།

མཛོད་ཊཱིཀ་ཐར་ལམ་གསལ་བྱེད་གནས་དྲུག་པ། ༼༠༥༽

Gravitational Interaction

Folk musician, carpenter, and anarchist. Former member of the Wooden Shoe Ramblers. 
Website: https://edoylemusic.weebly.com/
Bandcamp: https://emmettdoyle.bandcamp.com/album/rust-belt-ballads
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/emmettdoyle
WSR: https://woodenshoeramblers.bandcamp.com/releases

No Knock (Nine Seconds)

Emmett Doyle

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