This Friday we leave Maxie’s story, just for one chapter, to visit old Christo Rylee, as Capitalism begins to collapse and the workers take over.

***********

Act One

Chapter eight

Christo joins the Anarchists

-‘Hey here comes the old lap dog himself.’-

It was after seven by the time Christo Rylee left his office in the old transport Works and made his way slowly down the steep concrete steps, across the yard and out the big iron gates.

            The gatekeeper mouthed an obscenity, in place of his usual smile.

Christo walked on, ignoring him. His firm step and straight back belying his sixty four years. A big bluff smiling man, but a hard one. He had worked here for fifteen years and done his time as a blacksmith. Before rising to full time union official..

And he had prospered in that position. A man of transparent principle. The workers knew and trusted him, the warm smile, the camaraderie. Then the sudden flashing insight into people and situations.

Over the years he had risen in the Union, and his name had become a byword in the vast  sprawling works.  He had that knack of conveying that each person was somehow noticed and special to him.

            But now an early group of night shift workers passed him by. Greeting the grand old man with hostile glances. Barely concealing their sneers.

 

The management too had come to like and respect Christo Rylee. For after the displays of power and the fiery rhetoric he would bring the various parties to a workable compromise. He had become an important cog in the institution. For in truth there had been a little leeway here, during and even after the good years, in the age old battle between Capital and Labour.

Christo’s mind was diving into the past. How could the bastards do this to him?

 

A job in the Works had once been considered a lifer, so that when parts of it closed down, there was only tighter competition for jobs. The rest of the economy might go, but we believed the Works would remain.

By the time he reached his middle fifties Christo was famous. Game for anything, sound as a bell. He’d helped negotiate complex disputes up and down the country. The bus and lorry drivers, the electricity engineers and postal workers…

But times had changed, irrevocably, as the private sector collapsed, and the State itself tottered towards bankruptcy. He was asked to do the impossible. The industrial workforce was slashed and chopped again, to cut back corporate losses

Christo realized he had no umbrella, as a squall of wind and rain swept up the street.

 

A line of redundancy deals, productivity agreements and doubled up jobs.

We struck at last, and lost, and took voluntary wage cuts. And struck and lost again and the power of the Unions was broken. Christo and his fellow officials had to be paid by the State.

But he stayed put, working against the tide, and still respected. Families with one member working could still survive, pooling the diminishing wages with the dwindling pittance of the dole.

A gang of yunkers were walking behind him. Were they just laughing? No no, they were openly mocking him now.

People had flocked to the cities, the population surged and poverty had been half forgotten in the wasteful decades of the boom. A century of predator capitalism had devastated the planet.. Now the foreign owned companies had vanished and the locals were closing down.

It was only the Co-Op Pools that saved people from penury, with their self-help social services, usurped housing and money-free goods.

Profits dried up. Shipping routes were becoming impassable. The switch to renewables and Ammonia had come too late, the climate and costs made only losses possible. There was no new investment and markets shriveled up. The vicious circle went round the world and back.          {Ref 1a/ Glossary}

 

Diving for refuge, seeking out selected memories.

 

            It was Christo himself who negotiated the deal, whereby the Pools had taken control of the redundant North West Works, and leased the plant and equipment there.

But they had moved in and never paid a cent for rent or hire. Had transformed the place, with an apparently thriving business. Repairing and adapting their fleets of CO2-free ammonia and air powered vehicles. Factory and farm machinery, scrap metal foundries. Dozens of specialist workshops. Plus a De-School center, and a big part of the engineering faculty of the Free Uni.                    {glossary}

            Economic nonsense. Yet the abandoned yards had sprouted permaculture gardens. Monster murals, windmills and play centers. Music, theater and manic activity.

It only worked because they hardly paid people, of course. Offering instead free food, some goods and protection. In fact it was a racket! Plus they voted on almost anything… with those weekly computer elections.             {References 7, 16. Glossary ‘CoOp Pools’}

Christo disliked them, they were everywhere, like an invading plague. They took what was not theirs, and there was no room for the likes of him in their scheme. Their ideas had caught on like a virus, as a practical way of avoiding destitution.

Their biggest trick was the Pools free credit card… What a mafia!.

He knew that at least two of his own family had joined up. This black economy was easily the biggest employer in the area.

 

The rain had eased off, but a fierce wind was gusting up leaves and litter. Whirling clouds between the blocks of flats. Christo pulled down his cap and gritted his teeth. He would never cry.

 

And now the Free Union! Mushrooming overnight within the Works themselves. Demanding the impossible, trebled wages! Refusing negotiation and building to a strike. Putting enormous pressure on Christo to come up with the goods.

Cowboys. Extremists, he would fight them all the way. So that today, as always he carried a briefcase of papers on his walk home. Down the potholed street behind the occupied flats. And not a hooligan nor a mugger would dare touch him. For he was Christo Rylee and they knew it.

He had never believed the Management would totally betray him.  Would they abandon the railways altogether? Would they really throw out men of forty years’ service with no pension, and just a few months’ pay?

Yet today that final blow has fallen. The Works and nearly all the rail lines will close completely.

The logic of Capital has caught up with us at last.

***

Christo Rylee walked straight, as always, but his step was not quite firm, and his mind was reeling. Something had snapped inside of him when he opened the hand delivered letter.

Sitting blank at his desk, gazing out his filthy cracked window at the dismal yard beyond.

So it was left to his colleague, Paul Durfy, to get the last ditch redundancy campaign under way.

He was shocked, and in truth afraid.

For the first time he was afraid and ashamed to face the workers.

-‘They can’t do it. They can’t do it.’- he muttered again, as he entered the shady permaculture gardens of Green Street Pool.

He just wanted to get home. It wasn’t far now, but there, by the playground, stood three angry looking yunkers, aggressive in Clan Warrior gear, bare chested in leather shorts, mili-caps and snarling dog tattoos.            {Glossary: Clans. Yunkers.  De-School..}

-‘Hey here comes the old lap dog himself.’- the woman jeered.

-‘Hey Rylee you ancient bastard. Where are your promises now?’-

Christo walked ahead, ignoring them, but just then the other young fella bounded across to block his path.

And then the woman had pushed him. He was staggering back.

Tensing himself to fight, banishing his exhaustion and aching back.

-‘Too high and mighty to talk to us now are you?’-

            -‘No, no, no.’- he blurted. –‘I’m really sorry I never thought they’d do it.’-

            -‘You knew!’– the first young fella snarled. –‘You’ll get your pension all right you scabby bastard.’-

            He didn’t reply. They had in fact offered him a minimal pension.

A crowd of kids had come running, and Sheila from the Playground Pool.

-‘Ah leave the old wanker alone.’- she said, arms folded.

-‘I will fucking not! This man is a two faced boss licking scab!’–

As the shouting began the De-School project kids moved in closer, suddenly one of them grabbed and twisted the briefcase from Christo’s hand, was off, dodging, followed by his friend.

–‘Hey give that back!’- He ran a few useless steps, white hair flying, then stopped, suddenly dizzy, and had to bend over, head in hands.

-‘Are you all right Mister Rylee?’-

Sheila was holding his arm. Nodding and gesticulating to the Clanners.

-‘Oh all right then.’- said the first lad. –‘We’ll get your bag back, if that’s okay with…’-

            -‘Christo. Christo?’-

-‘Is he hurt? Did they hurt him?’-

He heaved himself erect, tears streaming, and pushed himself clear of the little crowd, walking quickly, back straight, towards his home.

***

            Coming to the little gate a memory struck him, from half a century back, a smaller kid had beaten him up and he had run home crying.

The exact same helpless shame, helpless fury!

He grimaced, laughing through his tears and feeling in his jacket for the door-key. Hoping to avoid Pauline in the kitchen.

But she must have been watching out for him. The door opened in his face.

-‘Christo. Oh dearest what happened to you?’-

He was going to go past her, brush the old woman aside.

Then he embraced her, suppressing a shuddering sob.

-‘They’re closing the Works’– he said. –‘and the kids have robbed me bag.’-

He managed to get through to his study and slumped down heavily at the desk, where he supped the hot, sweet tea that Pauline brought him.

Slowly his senses returned. The briefcase arrived at the doorstep, with apologies from the boys, he took out the letter again. Shit, the papers were disordered, maybe they’d seen that he had, in fact, been informed of the closure before the workers, but hadn’t believed it.

Christo read through the final letter again, warily looking for an angle, like the old campaigner he was. But there was just no way to fight on. His duty was to negotiate a redundancy deal, but no, he thought, even this chore would be denied him.

For now the Free Union would have their day. The pathetic redundancy payments could not defuse it, the remaining workers would no longer be divided. No no, they would call one of their Assemblies, and occupy the Works in league with the CoOp Pool robbers. The place must be worth millions, even as scrap at today’s prices.            [ref. 27. anarchism in action}

The police might have to attack. God knows what would happen then.

Christo was coming out of his shock. His thinking coming hard and clearer and his conclusions logical at least. He was out of the fight and his type of top down Union was dead as a dodo.  Both sides would blame him of course.. a convenient scapegoat, impotent, powerless!

Yet still his mind was racing. He had to resist!

***

A low knock came to the door. It was his wife, Pauline, smiling but scared and worried.

-‘Sasha’s here to see you. I said you weren’t well but she says it’s important.’-

Sasha was his favourite granddaughter. An unlikely flirting friendship had grown up between them. He had always tried to keep in touch with the youth and he found her quick, sharp and sympathetic.

Sasha’s friends respected her glamorous grandad, even while scorning him as a patriarch.

-‘Thanks, you can send her in, I need a bit of cheering up.’-

She walked in without knocking, and his spirits lifted at the sound of her voice.

The sight and swish of her long black hair.  Sensual, and springy in Clan Eagle style, with a black feathery skirt, bird of paradise tattoos and green militia flying cap.          {glossary}

-‘Yes thanks Granny.’- she was saying –‘But why won’t you come in and join us?’-

He half lifted himself.

-‘Siddown pardner.’- she said. A hand in his white shock of hair, then peering into the watery blue eyes.. –‘You survived so.’-

-‘Of course I did.’- He was grinning already. –‘You’re much too early for the wake.’-

-‘Very funny.’- Sasha had sat cross legged on the carpet. –‘I wanted to see you anyway, but as it happens I do have an offer for you, from the Free Union. Everyone’s raging over what happened.’-

Christo groaned. Turned his head away. There was a silence. Then the wind was rising with a long moan.

-‘They got to you too then.‘- he said at last.

-‘C’mon Grandpa you know I was always in with them. The Pool not the Union.’-

            -‘Same difference.’- he said, looking down. –‘A crowd of bloody hooligans.’-

The low knock came again. There was a tense silence as Pauline brought in more tea and cake.

-‘Don’t go away.’- said Sasha. Rolling to her feet and taking the tray.

-‘No no, I’ve things to do in the kitchen.’- She backed out, pulling the door closed.

-‘The way you treat that woman is disgraceful.’-

There was another pause. Both of them were irritated.

–‘You can’t teach an old horse to jump hoops.’- he said, predictably.

At that moment the door opened again. No knock. And Pauline spoke loudly..

-‘Now Christo you just behave yourself dear and listen to Sasha.’- And she had left again before he could reply.

Christo’s mouth fell open. Sasha was laughing, then she kissed him on the cheek and went to pour herself tea.

-‘So that’s it Christo it’s your own decision of course. You were always the smart guy so I’m sure you see how things stand.’-

            She put down the teacup and went on, suddenly fast and violent..

–‘You’re washed up Grandpa, kaput. Your Union’s smashed and now they propose to crucify you. After twenty five fucking years pacifying their workers for them.’-

            -‘More like thirty years.’-

            -‘So you just gonna play dead, like, sit round and dig your garden and, and die of boredom and frustration!’- She stopped, her face flushed, her voice had risen to a shout.

He was taken aback, by Pauline more than Sasha, but his mind was running ahead. He knew this game backwards after all, only this time the negotiating issue was himself. He waited till Sasha squatted down.

-‘I had thought about the garden.‘– he said. –‘It is in a bad state.’-

Sasha laughed and told herself to cool it, rolling over on her tummy, feet in the air.

-‘That’s fine then. You’re afraid to fight back. Grand so..‘-

            -‘I couldn’t say if I’ll fight or not?’-  he said. -‘Till I hear all of your proposal.’-

-‘Okay here we go.’- She folded into a kneel, palms out. –‘The offer is this, two in fact. First, part time work, training young people. Five hours a week.’-

            -‘What? In what? I’m redundant for Christ’s sake.’-

            -‘You’re a blacksmith.’-

            -‘I haven’t been a blacksmith in twenty years!’-

            -‘It’ll be a basic introduction, no problem to you. And part two, you’re invited to work with us. Organizing the takeover. We need your knowledge of the Works, and you being in it would swing a lot of older people our way.’-

-‘You want me to just change sides, after all that’s happened!’- He threw up his arms.

-‘You’ll have to change your ideas as well. We work with teams and Assemblies… no power structure, no leaders. No more patronizing and constant Shit-Ons. No more fucking Patriarchy!

Silence again. Both fidgeting. The wind still whining away.

–‘If you need time to decide.’- She was scratching an itchy armpit, sniffing her fingers  –‘Oh shit I think I’ve got a flea…’-

            -‘I need more information. Takeover you say, what takeover? I mean. I figured they’d occupy the place, rob what they could get away with for scrap and.. ‘-

            -‘You’re a year out of date Daddio.’-

            -‘What can you do with a bankrupt redundant train and bus Works?’-

            -‘Between you and me and the shithouse wall..

             Cross your heart and hope to die roaring.’-

             Sasha rapped from the Floppy Willies hit.

–‘Okay but..’–  He was smiling despite himself. –‘but I’ll be dead soon enough at any road.’-

            -‘If things work out with the bus and rail workers, or what’s left of them, and the Pools Federation, um, .. ‘-

            -‘Yes yes..’-

            -‘We’ll be taking over the lot, the lines, the rolling stock, converted NH3 engines, the stations, the buses. There’s a lot of talk of opening disused lines. Now we have cheap local CO2-free fuel. -‘There’s an advanced plan to move the biggest supply depot there, Merca-Pools. ’-  {ref 3 anarchist workers}

            -‘You’re joking. They can’t do that!’-

            -‘The rail worker’s want it. And the buses, they’ve been on strike for months, this Works closure couldn’t have been timed better for us. If it had to happen at all.’-

            -‘But it’s ridiculous. The cost!..’-

            -‘It’s happening Christo. The country’s bankrupt. Even the banks went under, with all the credit scams and the debt and mortgage strikes, or got gobbled up and stripped down. Capitalism is just a huge fraud, everyone knows it. The government had to borrow from the Pools Credit Unions for God’s sake. They’re denied more loans for not paying even part of the interest on what they owe.’-       [ref.29 zeitgeist]

            -‘But how can you do it, really?’-

            -‘We need your help. It’s the same all over, with health, with education. It’s happening right now! Either we make something good from what’s left or it just stops.. Including food, or housing, even the legal system and.. ‘-

             Christo scratched his itchy two day beard.

            -‘The police, or the army, they’ll stop you.’- he said. But Sasha laughed.

            -‘Maybe they will all right, but those porkies are scared shitless of us right now. And the  army..’-  She shrugged –‘They’re hardly being paid any more, and the Free are in the army too you know.’-

            -‘Okay even if I grant you that. You know the railways lose millions every year. You can’t finance heavy industry on community spirit. It’s just silly.’-

            -‘You’re not listening. Clean out your earholes. My bet is the Capitalist war economy is a helluvalot sillier.’-

            -‘What do you mean?’-

-‘We don’t even believe in money. But as it happens we got plenty of it. All those millions that were written off as bad debt in the last crash.’-

            -‘You’re joking, the Credit Union is small time stuff.’-

            -‘Maybe baby. But we got endless free energy and friends multiplying all over the planet. Course we lack resources, so we have to trade for some things, and it’s amazing what you can find in the meantime.’-

            -‘Or take over!’-

Sasha was still jigging to the catchy tune in her head.

            -‘There’s warehouses packed full of essential goods in this town, because only a handful of wealthy people have money to buy.’-

            -‘Of course there are’- He leaned forward to pour more tea. –‘I didn’t realize the conspiracy had gone so far, that’s all.’-

-‘Maybe you didn’t really want to know.’- she paused. –‘Anyway it’s up to yourself now. Our proposition stands.. You’ve always seen yourself as working for the people of this area. You could’ve been a big union boss downtown.

That stands to your credit. But now if you really want to fight on, and I know you do, you just gotta swallow your pride and listen to me and Pauline. We’re organizing ourselves now, it’s hard, but we still need you. Nobody knows the Works so well they say.’-

Christo Rylee paused to survey his other options. He didn’t find any.

The good negotiator- he thought- knows when to submit tactically and attack on completely different ground.

And just like that he made his decision.

-‘Okay’– he said at last. -‘I’ll work with you.’-

Sasha was bouncing onto her feet hugging him and slapping his back.

-‘Granny come in.’- she called. –‘Great stuff I imagine that cost you. Now that’s settled, the Works Assembly is tomorrow morning at eleven in the old canteen. You can speak if you like, as an ordinary worker of course.’-

He nodded, his mood lifting as various possibilities started flashing into his mind.

-‘And the Takeover begins immediately after?’-

            -‘With or without the rail and bus workers who have their Assemblies tonight.’-

Christo shrugged and smiled.

-‘It does make a sort of sense to me I suppose.’- Then he laughed out loud and thumped the desk. –‘I will speak. Of course I’ll bleeding speak, pardon my French. And I’ll support the takeover, which is what you want of me. Those slimy bastards will regret the day they double crossed us!’-

            -‘Right then.’- says she. –‘There’s fighting talk for you. Listen, um, I’d like to talk more but I need to leave. I’m supposed to be at another meeting at..‘-

He leaned back in his frayed leather chair and breathed deep. Just enjoying his granddaughter. She produced a new cellphone, tapped a few keys and spoke, bouncing on the sofa.

-‘Hello Barreler yes yes yes…  that’s okay he’s with us and he’ll speak in favour tomorrow.. yes.. yes of course.’-  Now she was over with her arm around him. –‘Yes I told you he would, right, see you then.’-  And she giggled.

-‘You know something.’- said Christo. –‘You’re a terrible bleeding manipulator.’-

            -‘Runs in the family I think.’-

            -‘That’s for sure.’-

            -‘Listen you just relax, your speech will be five minutes maximum. I’ll come to your office in the morning and go to the meeting with you, like, moral support.’-

            -‘You don’t have to.’-

            -‘But I’d like to anyway. We’re gonna have fun!’-

            -‘Round ninety two..Christo Rylee joins the anarchists.’- hegrinned. –‘Well I suppose the yard can wait, the snails will get another reprieve.’-

            -‘Okay great, sorry to rush off. No don’t get up I can find my way out.’–

She had already kissed him, and was sidling backwards out the door, waving madly.

****************

NEXT EPISODE HERE  Serial The Free, Ch 9 Sliding Thru Walls

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