Communist Party’s fight for Aborigines
DRAFT PROGRAM OF STRUGGLE AGAINST SLAVERY
Full Economic, Political and Social Rights
…The white workers in unions, and in other mass organisations, the intellectuals, scientists, and humanitarians must all unite with the Communist Party in a common fighting front against murderous, rapacious imperialism, and help win back for the natives of Australia part of their native country and common rights as human beings. The Communist Party, speaking in the name of white and black workers of Australia, demands:
(1) Full and equal rights of all aborigines—economically, socially, and politically—with white races…
(2) Absolute political freedom for Aborigines and half-castes; right to membership in, and right to organise, political, economic and cultural organisations, ‘‘mixed” or aboriginal. Right to participate in demonstrations and public affairs. Right to leave Australia as full citizens.
(3) Removal of all color restrictions on aborigines or half-castes, in professions, sports, etc.
Aboriginal intellectuals, school teachers, etc., not to be prevented from practising because of the “color line.”
(4) Cancellation of all licenses to employ aborigines without pay
(5) Prohibition of slave and forced labor
(6) Unconditional release from gaol of all aborigines or half-castes, and no further arrests until aboriginal juries can hear and decide cases.
(7) Abolition of Aborigines Protection Boards—Capitalism’s slave recruiting agencies and terror organisations against aborigines and halfcastes…
(8) Absolute prohibition of the kidnapping of aboriginal children by the A.P.B., whether to hire them out as slaves, place them in “missions,” gaols or “correction” homes…
(9) Full and unrestricted right of aboriginal and half-caste parents to their children…
(10) Aboriginal children to be permitted to attend public and high schools and to sit for all examinations
(11) Liquidation of all missions and so-called homes for aborigines…
(12) Full right of the aborigines to develop native culture…
(13) Unemployed aborigines to be paid sums not less than other workers as unemployment allowance…
…Workers, Intellectuals, humanitarians, scientists, anti-imperialists fight for these demands for the aboriginal race. Prevent Capitalism exterminating this race through bare-faced murder or slavery. Struggle with the aborigines against Australian Imperialism! Workers and oppressed peoples of all lands, unite! Smash Imperialism!
—Workers’ Weekly, 25 September 1931
* * *
Kruznetsov arrived at the Kiangse Road house in his employer’s Cadillac. It seemed the generous American woman was happy to contribute the use of her motorcar in aid of her chauffeur’s romantic ambitions. Assuming that Kruznetsov had once again been too eager to see Edna to wait for a more sensible hour, Rowland was not especially alarmed. He had, to be honest, forgotten that the Russian count had invited Edna to the pictures, an invitation into which he had insinuated himself. He suggested Kruznetsov take breakfast with them.
“I’m afraid we cannot linger, Rowly.”
Rowland glanced at his watch. “What time does the film begin?”
“Oh we’re not going to the film… I have a much better outing planned.” Kruznetsov smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Rowly. You were looking forward to seeing Charlie Chan in Shanghai—perhaps you do not wish to come now?”
Rowland groaned inwardly. Kruznetsov was obviously trying to rid himself of a chaperone. Clumsy as the attempt was, it did make it a little awkward to insist on accompanying the couple.
“Where are we going?” Edna came down the stairs in a sleeveless claret dress and a white cloche and kid gloves. “Should I change?”
Kruznetsov put his hand on his heart. “No, you are a vision. We visit Fengjing, a canal town. Ancient and very beautiful. People say it is the most romantic place in all of China.”
Wing intervened. “Fengjing! Why Mr. Sinclair, that was the town of which I spoke to you yesterday. How lucky that you are visiting it today!”
Rowland cringed. This was getting worse. He decided that honesty was the only vaguely dignified response. “Look, Nicky, it may be overprotective, but until Miss Romanova’s murderer is found—”
Kruznetsov bowed his head graciously. “I understand. Edna is a sister to you. I, too, would be protective.”
Edna rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you come along too, Mr. Wing? We might need a translator in the country. A girl can’t have too many brothers!”
* * *
Fengjing was on the very outskirts of Shanghai, about forty miles to the southeast. The urban congestion of sikumen gave way to sparsely populated country. Rowland sat forward as a tower came into view with what seemed to be a small city of tents at its base. The red, white, and black of the Nazi flags were distinct on the landscape. Kruznetsov noticed his gaze.
“It’s the German boys’ club, camping and outdoor activities. Singing too. It’s very popular with the Germans here.”
“How long has there been a Hitler Youth in Shanghai?” Rowland could see the boys lined up in military formation. There were scores of them.
“A year, maybe two. It is a very popular organisation. My little cousin wishes he were German so he too might sleep in a tent and play war games.”
“War games?”
“Yes, I’m told they teach the boys to shoot and skirmish. But what boy does not play soldier?”
Rowland said nothing. He remembered playing war as a child, until his brother Aubrey had fallen in France. He’d stopped then.
They arrived in Fengjing just before eleven. As Kruznetsov seemed to know little about the area but that it was “old” and a “water town,” Wing took over as guide. Canals, cut through and around Fengjing, formed streets of water. Ancient whitewashed buildings, which seemed to float on the water’s edge, were mirrored in a surface whose perfection was only occasionally disturbed by languid ripples. Locals sitting outside in the spring sunshine playing cards regarded the visitors without excessive curiosity. Wing led them through the town, pointing out the dynastic features in the architecture. Edna delighted in the wooden bridges that made the network of waterways navigable, running across and back like a child. Rowland stopped to sketch the reflected village, the children at play near the water, the boatmen on the canal with their wide-brimmed hats. At midday Wing took them to a restaurant that served the local delicacy of fried frogs’ legs along with many dishes which only he could identify. They ate outdoors, overlooking the water, trying unknown foods and speaking through Wing with locals.
Rowland took out his notebook again to sketch the old men walking their songbirds by the water. Long lines: robes, beards, wiry limbs holding ornate cages. Edna and Kruznetsov played cards and drank tea while they watched a gentler, slower China.
Rowland asked Kruznetsov how he came to be working for Du Yuesheng.
Kruznetsov shrugged. “The Chinese are masters of hand-to-hand combat, but Russians know how to shoot.” He formed his fingers into a gun and fired an imaginary bullet. “The Green Gang has many enemies, both Chinese and foreign. So Zongshi takes care.”
His bravado was possibly for Edna’s benefit. He did not know how much the sculptress loathed guns.
“And what exactly is it you do for him, Nicky?” she asked.
“Anything he wants.”
Edna frowned. “Would you have killed Mr. Wing if Mr. Du had asked you to?”
Rowland kept drawing. He was accustomed to Edna’s directness, but Kruznetsov was clearly caught off guard. Wing seemed both intrigued and uncomfortable.
Kruznetsov squirmed. “I did not know Mr. Wing was your friend then.”
“So that would have made a difference?” Edna persisted.
“Well, no.” He paused. “Master Du does not ask me to do anything. He tells me.”
“So if he told you to kill someone?”
“I am a soldier, Edna.” Kruznetsov fingered his collar uneasily.
“A dog cannot choose not to be dog,” Wing said coldly, “but he does choose his master.”
“The wisdom of your honourable ancestors?” Kruznetsov’s annoyance was unmistakable.
“No.” Wing shrugged. “Merely an observation.”
Rowland looked up from his notebook. “Mr. Du said he did not know Alexandra Romanova, that she did not owe him money,” he said. “Would he lie?”
“Oh yes. But about this, I don’t think he did.” Kruznetsov grabbed the opportunity to change the focus of the conversation from his own actions. “He is a ruthless man but not brutal. If Alexandra Romanova owed him money, he would have allowed her to pay off the debt in one of his sing-song houses. He would not have killed her.”
“You told me that you knew she wasn’t the tsar’s daughter,” Rowland said thoughtfully. “Was that common knowledge?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did anybody still believe she was the Grand Duchess Anastasia?”
“No one has believed that for a long time.”
“So the Communists would not believe her a threat?”
“The Communists are stupid, traitorous peasants! Who knows what they think?”
“It was not the Communists who were taken in by a girl pretending to be a princess!” Wing snapped.
“What are you saying, podonok?”
“Steady on, fellows.” Rowland stepped in before the exchange could escalate. Edna met Rowland’s eye and stood, holding out her hand to the count. “Come on, Nicky. I want to have a closer look at the water before we head back.”
Sullenly, Kruznetsov took her hand and walked with her down to the water’s edge.
Rowland stopped Wing before he could follow, though his eyes remained on Edna as she bent to look more closely at something in the river. Kruznetsov placed his arm around her waist in case she should fall.
Wing cleared his throat. “The Communists do not care, Mr. Sinclair.”
Rowland glanced back. “I beg your pardon.”
“Chinese Communists do not care about the Russian royal family.”
Rowland regarded his translator anew. There was something about the way that Wing spoke…more for the Communists than of them.
“You’re right, Mr. Wing. I was talking about the Bolsheviks.”
“They are not the same thing, I expect.” Wing glanced at Kruznetsov. “I apologise, sir. I forgot my place.”
“I take it you do not like Count Kruznetsov?”
Wing paused. “I wish to repay your kindness to me by protecting you against men who do not deserve your trust. Shanghai is not a place in which you can simply trust the face of a man.”
“I appreciate your efforts, but you do not need to protect me, Mr. Wing,” Rowland said carefully.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
“Are you also trying to protect me from Mr. Singh?” Rowland ventured.
Wing took a deep breath. “What do you really know about him, sir? He insinuated himself into your employ, and now his sister is running your household. I believe you should be more careful.” He straightened his tie nervously. “I do not trust him.”
Rowland smiled. The similarity between Wing’s concerns and Singh’s was not lost on him. “That much is clear.”
Wing regarded Rowland silently for a moment. “Are the Nazis a problem in Australia?”
“Not particularly, but I fear that if they are not stopped they will become a problem for Australia…and the rest of the world.”
Wing smiled. “The West perhaps. It is not all the world, Mr. Sinclair.”
“You’re right, Mr. Wing. It is not, but it seems the Nazis are here too.”
Wing shook his head. “China has more to fear from the Japanese.” He frowned, choosing his words carefully. “Every government oppresses some part of its people, Mr. Sinclair. The KMT persecutes the Communists, the Americans their Negroes, even your Australia legislates against the Chinese and disenfranchises its Aboriginal people. Why is it that the Nazis disturb you more than any other capitalist government?”
Rowland was caught off guard. He faltered. “I don’t know.”
Wing said nothing, giving him time to consider the question.
Rowland rubbed his face. Wing Zau seemed very familiar with world affairs, and nothing he said was untrue. “I can’t tell you, Wing. I don’t really know why this became my fight more than any other.”
“If you don’t mind my saying, Mr. Sinclair,” Wing ventured. “Your dislike of the Nazis seems…personal.”
Rowland shrugged. “Perhaps it is.” He tried to explain—to himself as much as Wing. “We were in Germany a couple of years ago—Munich. I came to the notice of the Brownshirts and…well…it all ended rather badly I’m afraid.” Rowland frowned, uncomfortable with the thought. “My brother believes I’ve become obsessed with the Nazis as a result.”
“Is he correct?”
“Perhaps.”
Wing nodded. “You must forgive my curiosity, Mr. Sinclair. I have an interest in what makes a man stand for one thing and sit quietly for others.”
Rowland blanched. “I don’t know, Mr. Wing. I never meant to do one or the other.”
“I am not critical, Mr. Sinclair, just curious.”
“What exactly did you study at MIT, Mr. Wing?”
“Philosophy.”
Rowland paused. “You know, Wing, it would not bother me in the least if you were a Communist.”
Wing nodded. “There are no Communists in Shanghai, Mr. Sinclair.”