{PDF EPUB} WHO the HELL IS STEW ALBERT by Stewart Edward Albert Stew Albert - Stew Albert
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Read Ebook {PDF EPUB} WHO THE HELL IS STEW ALBERT by Stewart Edward Albert Stew Albert - Stew Albert. Stewart Edward "Stew" Albert (4. december 1939 - 30. januar 2006) var et tidligt medlem af Yippierne , en anti-Vietnamkrigspolitisk aktivist og en vigtig skikkelse i New Left- bevægelsen i 1960'erne. Født i Sheepshead Bay- sektionen i Brooklyn , New York, til en medarbejder i New York City , havde han et relativt konventionelt politisk liv i sin ungdom, skønt han var blandt dem, der protesterede mod henrettelsen af Caryl Chessman . Han dimitterede fra Pace University , hvor han studerede politik og filosofi og arbejdede et stykke tid for City of New York velfærdsafdeling. I 1965 forlod han New York til San Francisco , hvor han mødte digteren Allen Ginsberg i City Lights Bookstore . Inden for få dage var han frivillig i Vietnam Day Committee i Berkeley, Californien . Det var der, han mødte Jerry Rubin og Abbie Hoffman , med hvem han medstifter Youth International Party eller Yippies. Han mødte også Bobby Seale og andre Black Panther Party- medlemmer der og blev en politisk aktivist på fuld tid. Rubin sagde engang, at Albert var en bedre underviser end de fleste professorer. Blandt de mange aktiviteter, han deltog i med Yippierne, var at smide penge fra balkonen på New York Stock Exchange , Pentagon's eksorsisme og præsidentkampagnen fra 1968 af en gris ved navn Pigasus . Han blev arresteret ved forstyrrelserne uden for Den Demokratiske Nationale Konvention i 1968 og blev udnævnt som en uindikeret medsammensvorne i Chicago Seven- sagen. Hans kone, Judy Gumbo Albert, hævdede ifølge hans New York Times nekrolog, at dette var fordi han arbejdede som korrespondent for Berkeley Barb . Senere ville han arbejde tæt sammen med Berkeley Tribe underjordiske avis og boede på Tribe's kommune, når han ikke rejste til politiske engagementer. I 1970 løb han for lensmand i Alameda County, Californien , i hævn for "at få mine bolde sprøjtet med varme, smertefulde kemikalier som en velkomst-til-fængsels sundhedsforanstaltning" efter at blive arresteret i 1969. Selvom han tabte til den siddende, Frank Madigan , Albert fik 65.000 stemmer i et ironisk twist i et løb med sheriffen, der havde overvåget sin tidligere fængsling under Vietnam Day-komiteens anti-draft protester i Oakland centrum . Efter Weather Underground hjalp Timothy Leary med at flygte fra et fængsel i Californien, hvor han var blevet fængslet for at have LSD , hjalp Albert med at arrangere, at Leary blev hos Eldridge Cleaver i Algeriet . I 1971 blev han indkaldt til flere store juryer, der undersøgte den politiske bombning af det amerikanske Capitol af Weather Underground i marts 1971, samt en sammensværgelse af Piggy Bank Six for at bombe flere grene af First National City Bank på Manhattan året før. Han blev ikke anklaget i begge tilfælde. I begyndelsen af 1970'erne sagsøgte han og hans kone FBI for at have plantet en ulovlig aflytning i hans hus. De vandt en forlig på $ 20.000, og i 1978 blev to FBI-tilsynsmænd fyret for denne handling. I 1984 flyttede han og hans kone til Portland, Oregon . De medredigerede en antologi, The Sixties Papers: Documents of a Rebellious Decade , der samlede materiale, der stammer fra borgerrettighedsbevægelsen , studerende for et demokratisk samfund , antikrigsbevægelsen , modkulturen og kvindebevægelsen . Hans erindringsbog, Who the Hell is Stew Albert? , blev udgivet af Red Hen Press i 2005. Han ledede Yippie Reading Room, indtil han døde af leverkræft forårsaget af hepatitis i 2006. To dage før sin død skrev han på sin blog: "Min politik har ikke ændret sig." I 2000-filmen stjæler denne film! Albert spilles af Donal Logue . Stirring the Pot: Remembering Stew Albert — 1939-2006. Stew Albert had one of his smart, funny ideas when he was thinking about a name for his memoir. “My Sixties,” he said was going to call it. He was in his late fifties when we kicked this one around and I thought the irony was sublime. He knew the book wouldn’t be out until he had turned the numerical corner. Stew didn’t call his book “My Sixties” — the title is still out there, if someone with a lifetime of movement cred wants to grab it. Instead, he called it Who The Hell Is Stew Albert? Who indeed? The title is a quote from Howard Stern, who once responded with that question when one of his on-air gang started talking about Stew as if everyone in the world knew who he was. Stern didn’t, but that was his loss: it always seemed to me that Stew knew everyone and everyone knew Stew. Nobody was more devoted to the idea of the Sixties. If you want to see what I mean, visit his Web site. He worked hard to translate Sixties values to a new generation of political activists. He kept in touch with a wide array of movement veterans, loyal and engaged, blogging his thoughts and poems every day — right up until his penultimate day. Younger activists adored him. He died January 30th. Stew had the look, but it wasn’t the look of a Jewish kid from Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, which is what he was. He was big, barrel-chested, with curly blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Losing Stew — he was 66 when he fell to liver cancer — creates a huge personal, political, and emotional hole for me, as I know it does for so many others, especially his wife Judy “Gumbo” Clavir Albert and his daughter Jessica Pearl. The Alberts’ post 1960s peregrinations — Bay Area, Hudson Valley, back to the west coast — finally landed them in Portland, Oregon, where they have lived for many years. Years of fighting various ailments kept Stew close to home, and close to his computer where he became one of the most successful Sixties radicals I know at moving to online activism (most of my emails were answered within minutes). Whenever we met, we spent hours catching up on the latest gossip about the doings of various old Panthers, Yippies, and Weathermen. And then we would plot and scheme, mostly about how to support the young activists that our mutual optimism always believed would emerge to lead a new generation of resistance to racism, environmental catastrophe, and Bush’s oil wars. How I met Stew says something about who he was. That is, I don’t remember how I met him. I remember the first time I met the other Yippie founders: Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, and Paul Krassner. But Stew just appeared in my life one day, and he never left. To one degree or another, the founding Yippies were all nuts. It was their strength, their weakness, their charisma, and their charm. For Abbie, in particular, it was also his doom. Stew was different. He always had a strategy and a plan. He managed the campaign of Pigasus the Pig for president in 1968 and ran for sheriff of Alameda County in 1970 (he lost, but carried the city of Berkeley). More than anyone, he helped Abbie and Jerry give definition to the Yippie movement. It has gone years without comment, but without his ability to broker their competitive egos and channel their ideas into strategy, what is passing into history as the Yippie story would have been different, definitely diminished and possibly disregarded. The Sixties were filled with political tendencies: anarchism, communism, socialism, the working-class, armed revolution, Panthers, Weathermen, Maoism. It wasn’t easy to find one’s way and keep one’s head. The lineup may be different today, but it’s not any easier. In this political stew, Stew Albert was a cultural radical with a political ideology. We bonded because I was a political radical struggling to blend New Left ideology with the cultural power of young people. We found ourselves speaking the same language, and stayed friends to the end. Along the way we had some adventures. When the Weathermen helped Timothy Leary escape from a California prison and make his way to an uncertain reception at Panther Eldridge Cleaver’s expatriate compound in Algeria, Stew went over to help with the introduction. Long before today’s Bush-era wiretaps, Stew and Judy were being watched and tailed by the FBI. After the Weather Underground bombed the US Capitol in 1971 to protest the Vietnam War, they famously declared: “We didn’t do it, but we dug it.” Throughout their lives, Stew and Judy were always standup — courageous and uncompromising. And they always did a great job telling the stories: there is no better text for those who are interested than The Sixties Papers, Documents of a Rebellious Decade , which they edited and published in 1984. We last spoke New Year’s day. That was just after his email arrived letting his many friends know that doctors had just found the cancer and that it was bad. His daily blog told the unfolding story of his fading hopes for a cure, his joyful, if tiring, visits with friends. Daughter Jessica came home from law school to be with him, and his happiness grew having her near. Two days before the end, he blogged to the world that “my politics have not changed.” No deathbed conversions or regrets for a life lived radically and well, in constant resistance to a government and political system he abhorred. As Stew slipped away, he posted his final words — “It’s still me. It’s still me.” A memorial service in Portland used music to tell Stew’s story. It began with Mr. Tambourine Man , included his good friend Phil Ochs’s I Ain’t Marching Anymore , and ended with the emotional minyan joining in on Paul Robeson’s Joe Hill .