Tuesday, 11 February 2025

List of my more radical books

 for young readers:

Dread Cat
This is our House
Send for a Superhero
The Bakerloo Flea and other stories
The Adventures of Gaston le Dog
the three Uncle Gobb books (series)
The Missing
On the Move
Please Write Soon
You're Thinking about Doughnuts
You're Thinking about Tomatoes (two short novels for children exploring the 'material' origins in exploitation and colonialism (!) - second one is now a graphic novel with Cole Henley ;
One Day.
Unexpected Twist (a new take on Oliver Twist, new setting)
The Wicked Tricks of Till Owlyglass
for teens or adults:
Don't Mention the Children,
Pebbles,
Many Different Kinds of Love,
Getting Better
Fighters for Life,
Mr Mensh,
I'm Listening to a Pogrom on the Radio,
The Advantages of Nearly Dying.
Non-fiction:
Shakespeare in his time for our time,
Book of Dissent (with David Widgery),
What is Play?

Non-fiction for younger readers:
What's Special About Shakespeare?
What's Special about Dickens?
The Disappearance of Emile Zola
Books on education:
Good Ideas: How to Be Your Child's (and Your Own) Best Teacher
Did I Hear You Write?
The two Boris Johnson satires:
St Pancreas Defendat Me,
Farce Majeur.
for younger readers (non-fiction):
What is Humanism? (with Annemarie Young),
What is politics? (with Annemarie Young),
What is Art? (with Annemarie Young),
What is Right and Wrong? (with Annemarie Young).
Who are Refugees and Migrants? (with Annemarie Young)
Two collections of historically radical stories for children
'Workers' Tales',
'Reading and Rebellion' (with Kimberley Reynolds and Jane Rosen) - both volumes bringing together radical stories over the last 150 years that haven't been published since - with commentary on sources.
Two collections of William Morris's poetry:
The Pilgrims of Hope
Poems of Protest
Radical take on language:
Rosen's Almanac.
An autobiography/memoir
'So They Call You Pisher!' (also on audio at Audible)
Forthcoming:
Poems on Education (poems from NUT and NEU newspapers)
The King and the Tutor.

Forthcoming book of poems:
Words United.

Saturday, 8 February 2025

The White Man's Burden and Gaza


Rudyard Kipling is best known
for the Jungle book:
Mowgli, Baloo, Bagheera, Akela and the rest
and (with the help of Disney)
the Bear/Bare Necessities,
also wrote about the White Man's Burden
a poem that urged America to
colonise the Philippines.
The burden in question was the moral duty
of the white man to civilise brown people
who, as he put it in the famous poem
about this 'Burden'
were 'new-caught, sullen peoples,/
Half devil and half child.'
The phrase
'white man's burden'
has also been used mockingly
to jeer at the 'burden' of pain and distress
the white man has carried
as he enslaved, exploited and genocided
his way across the world.
It's a phrase that has occurred to me
over the last year
as the death toll in Gaza has mounted
and the pictures of flattened apartment blocks
rows of shrouded dead bodies
naked prisoners
and limbs lying amongst air-raid rubble
have reached us,
and, more recently
the images of thousands of people
on long marches home
to homes that don't exist
while here there are some journals,
media shows and social media accounts
which have ignored this destruction,
mass killing, maiming and orphaning.
and focussed entirely on
Jewish pain,
which in theory, should be my pain too.
I have followed threads which
have meticulously reported on the personal strain
of being a Jew in London
the horror of reading signs that say
'from the River to the Sea'
the shock of seeing
the amalgamations of Stars of David with swastikas
the terror of knowing that
Jeremy Corbyn is free to speak in London,
the factual evidence in graphs that show a line
slanting upwards like the face of the Matterhorn
showing the increase in antisemitic incidents
(though whether these do or don't include
people swearing about Israel is not clear).
I've read articles
pleading the case that when the Chief Rabbi
referred to the Israeli army as
'our heroic soldiers'
we should most definitely not take that as reason
to blame him or anyone other Jew in Britain
for anything that the Israeli army is doing wrong
- not that the Israeli army is doing anything wrong,
they often add.
It's obviously antisemitic
they point out
to say that supporting Israel here
means we are responsible for anything
over there.
The old principle that antisemitism
is hating Jews because we are Jews
has slipped away.
Antisemitism now includes
hating Israel
or indeed caring too much
about the victims of Israel's army and airforce.
I've even checked myself
when I winced watching Israeli security forces
beating up 'Torah Jews'.
I realised I was unknowingly showing latent antisemitism
towards those security forces.
So I return to the newspaper columns
and social media posts
carefully mapping the pain of being Jewish
telling of the analogy
with what it was like to be Jewish
in Germany in 1938 at the time of Kristallacht
when 267 synagogues in Germany, Austria, and Sudetenland
were destroyed,
over 7,000 Jewish businesses were damaged or destroyed,
and 30,000 Jewish men were arrested and incarcerated in concentration camps.
and between one and two thousand Jews
were killed or committed suicide.
When the hostages from October 7th emerge
I read that this is like the survivors
from the concentration camps
and there is an audible shudder
at the analogy
with those pictures from Belsen, Auschwitz,
Buchenwald and the atrocious rest.
But then, as we can,
at the touch of a key on my computer
I can read, see and hear of the thousands of
mangled and incinerated bodies
in Gaza,
even if these don't appear on the social media
posts that talk of what should be my Jewish pain.
Then,
if I voice this,
a stern correction comes
which explains that these deaths in Gaza
are the people of Gaza's fault.
They are responsible for their own deaths.
And other people chip in explaining that
they're not really from Gaza anyway
and that they should all fuck off to Egypt.
Given that these posts are full of talk of
Krystallnacht
(or Tsarist pogroms that my father says
his grandfather used to play out on the kitchen table)
I look back at how the Nazis
in 1938
sold German families
lovely children's board games
where the pay off for your winning counter
was to send the Jew in his fur coat
'nach Palestäna'
'to Palestine'
so Germany could be 'judenfrei' (Jew-free)
or 'judenrein' (clean of Jews).
And there was a beautiful teutonic vision
of a pure Aryan 'Übermensch'
(super-people),
cleansed of the congenitally mentally or physically
disabled
cleansed of 'gypsies' and 'Jews',
and cleansed from German history too.
'No Felix Mendelsohn or Mahler now, grüss Gott').
And over the top of the thousands of corpses in Gaza
comes the voice of Trump and Netanyahu
Ben-Gvir and Smotrich
and indeed
the calm media voices explaining the nuances of meaning
in Trump's plans to 'clean out the whole thing'
(meaning Gaza)
and this glorious vision
of Jewish lands stretching
from the Mediterranean to the Jordan river
(not at all like that racist image of
'from the river to the sea', please God)
and people explain on social media
that there never was a Palestine,
the ancient mosques and churches
were just some kind of arbitrary
incursion by Ottomans or Crusaders
and now that they have been
(or will be, thanks to Trump)
flattened,
they will slide from history
like sandcastles in the sea.
My analogy with Rudyard Kipling is wrong though.
His 'burden'
I should remember was the pain of civilising brown people.
Now, I read,
that's not the task in hand.
Now,
the pain is having to hear people
going on and on about Gaza.
I read and must understand
that every photo of a dead Palestinian
is really Jew-hate.
With that sentence
I read that
the suffering of that Palestinian person's family
(if by luck or chance that family has survived)
is wiped away
and it's replaced by my suffering
of having to look at the photo.

5 star review of 'One Day' in Telegraph

 

Michael Rosen is one of our most popular children’s authors, beloved for such enchanting bedtime stories such as We’re Going on a Bear Hunt (1993), which to today’s child are as familiar as Winnie the Pooh. But he has never shied away from difficult themes. His Sad Book (2004) chronicled his grief following the death of his teenage son Eddie. The Missing (2020) was an account of his quest to find out what happened to his Jewish great-uncles Oscar and Martin – one a clockmaker; the other a dentist – who disappeared from France during WW2, and were presumed to have died in a concentration camp.

In One Day he returns to the subject of the Holocaust, using a 40-page picture book to tell the story of Eugène Handschuh, a Hungarian Jew working for the Resistance in Nazi-occupied Paris. Handschuh narrates the story in factual, unsparing prose. “We were fighting the Nazis. And the Nazis were hunting down Jews. Jews like us,” he begins.

Two pages on, he and his father have been arrested. “We were interrogated. That meant we were beaten. Then we were sent to Compiegne camp.” They remain there for two months, “breaking stones” while surviving on starvation rations.

Eventually, in 1943, Handschuh and his father are placed on a train convoy carrying 1,200 Jews from Paris to Auschwitz – but with the help of fellow passengers, they escape by jumping from a window. ‘There were 19 of us who jumped on that day. The rest went to Auschwitz. Only 29 came back.” In an afterword to the story, Rosen reveals that his own ancestors were among those who died. “My father’s uncle and aunt were on that very same train. They didn’t come back.”

These are not easy subjects to tackle in a book aimed at readers as young as six. But Benjamin Phillips’s illustrations cleverly evoke the privations of life in the camp, without focusing on the brutality. The text is similarly careful, with much of the emphasis on the internal: “Get through on one day and then on to the next. One day at a time. One day after another.”

Rosen has always been something of a rebel. He’s an outspoken republican and has turned down an OBE. But what stands out about this book is its gentle, almost understated tone. Here, as with The Missing, there is no anger, and no grand prose. Instead, the emphasis is on the human capacity for renewal. As he concludes simply in the afterword: “It’s very difficult to find any hope in the horror and catastrophe of the Holocaust. Even so, here and there, we hear of stories where people were able to help each other or escape, and it can give us a lift.”