Be

Food rots in Spain today but
only Franco’s friends eat well

red wine, “Try this,’ he said. When I took
“Things are not what they seem, believe me.”
_ Thus began my trip through Spain in a_ third-class
Spanish border town of Port-Bou and Barcelona.
tion, no room. The old, the young, Se ubiquitous civil guard piled themselves in like

‘na is'in agony,” whispered an old man on my left,

so much baggage. There was
silence except for short spas-
modic outbreaks of talk. Then
it Was as if the story that was
telling itself in the faces of the
peasants, in the belligerent un-
rest of the soldiers, in the sor-
rowful anger in the faces of the
women, rose suddenly to the
surface and erupted.

_ An old woman, wearing the in-
evitable black of mourning,
peeled an orange carefully.

“TI hear food is srpenaive, sae k

said tentatively,
“For those who have money—
they can buy anything,” she
answered, Faces turned towards
They began to whisper
among themselves. My question
had released a unifying curios-
ity, as well as hostility, among
them.

“What do these filthy tourists
know about what happens to
us?” said one, ‘

“We can’t last another year
and they ask us if food‘is ex-
pensive,” said another. —

The old fellow offered me his
bottle of wine again. He whisp-
ered: “We weren't liberated. If
- you look, you'll see what is
: oe,” —
; The woman had finished . her
_ orange.

“We can’t buy olive oil,” she
began, “in this country of olive
trees, or oranges, even though

_ FRIDAY, MAY 16, 1947

1

By ERNEST CAPP

they eo ‘in the streets. I paid
three pesetas for a kilo this
morning, That is a day’s salary
for most of us. Once a week
I can buy them. We are all
hungry, all‘the time. Try this
bread.” a

The bread was still damp.
Cardboard could not have pro-
duced the intensity of the
cramps I felt an hour later.

The black hats of the Civil -

Guards against the windows

obscured the view of the coun-

tryside, but despite them I saw
the hills rising slowly, the sun
flattening on the olive trees, the
curious appearance of softness
that the land held.

The old man fell asleep, his

wine bottle held between his -

knees. He began to snore. A
ripple of laughter went through
the people who sat near him.

“Better to. sleep,” said a
young girl.

The old woman still holding
the orange peels stretched out
her old legs.

“My feet,” she sighed, shaking
her head, “I have to
much.” She shook her head then
turned toward me with sudden
intensity. ;

“Do you know,” she paeiec

“that we must pay 12 pesetas

a kilo for black market bread?”
Again talk started. It was not

loud. I never heard once any-

* gee,

walk so

He held out a bottle of

the wine he WEisprred again:

train ruming between the

There was no ventilation, no sanita-

one speak loudly in Spain save
for the soldiers. The civil guards
Moved uneasily. Silence again.

1
co)

EN I
Barcelona, my  train-mates
nodded to me. The old woman
put her hand on my shoulder.
‘Don’t be fooled by what these
devils tell you. They’ll say to
you we are a Seid people.
But you'll see.”

The next morning I barn to
Barcelona revealed itself
as a giant slum; its misery em-
phasized by the unashamed

wealth and newness of govern-

ment buildings and churches.
I walked through the market

places—found myself confronted

with mountains of black olives,

pale citrus, every kind of vege-.

table. Could there be a food
shortage? When I looked in the
‘street I saw the denial of any

doubts I had. A wretched, apa-.

thetic army of beggars- scaveng-
ed in the gutters for bits of gar-
bage. ay
An old woman leaning on a
fruit stall. muttered at me:

“Ty Suppose you think we

_ should be fat with such reget
Well, who can buy it, who can.
pay 11 pesetas for 12, eggs? —

_ Eleven pesetas is a day’s wage
for a skilled worker.”

1

left the train at

curried away from the stall by
a breeze, mingling with the other
smells of Barcelona's gutters,
The food was rotting in the
sunlight. There was no one who
could buy it.
@ /
Qn the waterfront in the
shadow of ships and giant
derricks were dockers wearing
the blue berets. Some were bare-
foot. They were all pitifully
thin. One came toward me.
“You want to ride around the
harbor? Very chedp for you,” he
said mechanically. His words
were rote. His apathy was deep-

ly meaningful.

I discovered he earned two
pesetas a day. ‘How do you ee
I asked.

“I steal what food I can, or”
and he pointed toward a nar-
row beach whose shores were
lumpy with garbage, “I do as the
children do.”

On, the beach, the sun-black-
eued, swollen children rooted
among the orange peels. A little

boy, wearing .only a man’s rag-

ged jacket, lifted his hand tri-
umphantly. In it he held the
oil-covered remains of. &@ fish.
With hunger’s desperation, his
friends began a flanking move-

ment. He fled away from the-
into —
Barcelona’s worst slum district _
of Barriochino.

beach and _ disappeared ©

_ “Traitor,”
him,

they
“Coward!”

3

| FOLLOWED him, seeing at

first only a hill of crumpled

called after

cardboard and wooden slats piled -

crazily to form shelters. Clothe
lines hung with dirty
formed a connection betwe

erty, garbage, urine,

were intensified by, the strong
sun and dust rose from. the un-
paved streets.

Underneath a strip of cant
board held upright by [two —
stakes, sat a family of four.
A child lay on her back in the
middle of the road. Near her
cheek was a smashed orange. e
She moved her legs  feebly.
Everywhere were old women
moving silently and crablike, |
poking in trash piles, looking
for bread. of

Watching a dog wrestle with ae
a bone was a ragged man whose
hands were flattened on 2 fe
knees. His skin was green; 20
unbelievable burning green.

“How long since you've eat
en?’ :

“I don’t know,” he said turn- .
ing his face from me. ea

“Can't you get work?”

A sick rage was apparent in
his eyes: »
“Me? There’s no work for
any of us. We fought for the
Republic. Do you think hee

will give us jobs?”

‘That question was answered
throughout Spain in a way i
which no denial is possible. The
beggars were not professional
nor were they only the inevit
able counterpart of capitalist —
society.

In Spain, they are a major-
ity of the people—the working
class.

Revolt against Bevin

By FRANK PITCAIRN

—LONDON.
REIGN MINISTER Ernest

Bevin and his advisers know
well enough that if they main-
tain their present attitude to the
Anglo-Soviet Treaty they are due
to encounter very tough opposi-
tion indeed within the Labor
Party.

There are reports from ordin-
arily good sources that several
members of the cabinet are
sharply critical of the line Bev-
in has been taking on this issue.

It would not be surprising.
For, even on the most cynical
calculation, it is going to be
‘to be very difficult to explain
this line to the British people.

We are offered a strengthen-
ing of the alliance—and we turn
it down on the fantastic ground
that we want to be friends with
the Soviet Union but at the

“same time refuse to bind our-

selves not to take part in an
anti-Soviet bloc.

: Bevin and his American men-

tors spent ten aays in elabor-
-ating a remarkable propaganda

_ campaign designed to distort the

meaning of the Soviet position.
Leakages to newspapers, re-

ports on the BBC, were care-

fully built up in order to im-
press upon the British mind one

large-scale lie—that the Soviet

Union is seeking to ‘detach’ us
from the United ‘States, or to

break down our friendship with

that country, *
When Pravda put the simple

facts of the case it was clear

to everyone that if these facts
were allowed to speak for them-
selves the vast: majority of labor
people Would heartily accept the
Soviet viewpoint. each

‘Official quarters’ immediately
sought to drown the voice of
the facts by letting off a scream
_ of alarm and indignation.

They said it was ‘unprecedent-
ed’ that one ally should bind
itself not to take part in direct
or indirect action against an-
other.

- They made up, ‘for the benefit
of the newspapers, a series of
fantastic ‘hypothetical situations’
supposed to! indicate the ‘perils’

7

I then noticed a TORE smell into which Na would be

’

drawn by accepting such condi- —
tions.

It became clear, however, that
the simple sense of the Soviet
viewpoint was not so easily ie:
be shouted down. ke

‘Official circles’ began to take —
a slightly different line.

They said that of course they
had never meant to declare that

_ they were 100 percent oppose

in principle to promising not to

participate in anti-Soviet blocs:

(For people were asking “If
you do not have that intention,
why are you so angry at being
asked formally to renounce it?”)

They declared that it was real
ly all a question of ‘definition’—
what exactly is a direct or ifr —
direct action against an ally and
so on.

e
Bet these evasions are not
likely to prevent for very
long a real’ showdown in the
Labor Party and perhaps within
the cabinet, on this great issue.

Foreign observers — American
and French—who claim to have
been in touch with Sir Stafford
Cripps recently, take it for grant- —
ed that he is moving definitely
into the position of a cabinet

‘rebel’ against Bevinism.

I do not know whether they
are right or merely drawing _
more or less logical conclusions —
from Cripps’ general position Te
garding economic policy. ; :

What is certain is that the t
appalling effects of Bevinist —
foreign policy in terms of the
drain on our dollar reserve —
have at last become a central
topic of more or less acrimoni-
ous discussion both ‘on the high-
est’ levels’ and among high de"
partmental officials.

The ‘reply’ to the onsale
reply all too obviously an offi-—
cial stereotype—is beginning to
become monotonous. -. ¥

It is that we cannot change
our foreign policy, and we must,

at home, pursue the Conserva- —

tive policy, represented by Dal-
ton’s budget, because these are
necessary — to “impress. ‘American ;

~ opinion. Ns os of u

_ And the reason for this oe
mination to impress Americ:
opinion at all costs is that the —
negotiations for a new loan havey,
already begun: 3 1 hac ei le

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