Event
Date
by Andrew Clark
Presented at the Judah Waten National Story Writing Competition, 2 November 2000
This is a shortened version of an address given by Andrew Clark to the Judah Waten National Story Writing Competition, run by the Whitehorse Manningham Regional Library Corporation, which was held at the Box Hill Town Hall on November 2 last year [i.e. Nov 2000].
Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for inviting me to this great occasion, the fifteenth Judah Waten national story-writing competition. Asking a journalist to address an event that celebrates fiction-writing reminds me of one of Judah's more earthy sayings. He likened critics to eunuchs in a harem: know how but can't do.
But I can claim one qualification for this task. I knew Judah Waten. He left an indelible impression - as vivid today as when I first met him, more than 40 years ago. There was the smile of welcome, jokes, anecdotes, winning repartee. Judah could tell a story like no other. He had wonderfully expressive hand movements as he spoke, and a chuckle that was wickedly infectious. He was also a courtly man, capable of great generosity, particularly to young writers. And Judah was a writer, a person who respected the worth of his calling. Among his many works is Alien Son, a collection of stories that explore the immigrant experience. It has been described as one of the "greatest of all Australian books."
As my father, the late Manning Clark, who knew him well, would say, there was at the heart of Judah a great question. In these post Cold War days of the global market, internet, mobile phones and multimedia, finding a satisfactory answer to this question seems even more difficult. The question is this: how can a man who was so charming, intelligent, urbane, canny and capable, and a great writer, be a life-long communist when the scales were being pared back from communism's edifice, exposing the gulags, liquidations, and show trials? How could a man of such courage, who passionately espoused the cause of peace, cling to the Soviet Union as the hope for humanity?
To find an answer to this question I spoke to a writer friend who has made a special study of left wing figures in the Australian arts scene. He compared Judah Waten to Egon Kisch, the left wing Czech writer who was such an outspoken supporter of the Soviet Union in the 1930's. Kisch had his 15 minuteÍs of local fame when he jumped onto the wharves from a ship in defiance of a Lyons Government attempt to prevent him from landing in Australia. According to my friend, Kisch was a man who had gone so far with his pro-Soviet line, even after he knew the terrible truth, that there was no way back.
I prefer the explanation provided by June Factor, who has addressed an earlier Judah Waten national story-writing competition awards ceremony, and whose father had been a friend and political ally of Judah. They both hailed from similar, eastern European jewish refugee backgrounds, both later lived in this Box Hill area, and both were committed members of the Communist Party. Factor senior, who joined the Australian Army to help take the wartime fight up to fascism, later opened a modest clothes shop in Swan Street, Richmond. At the back of the shop he had a small room, which became a great meeting place for the left in Melbourne in the 50's and 60's.
When Judah rang his friend they would speak in Yiddish. June recalls the opening sentence from her father in these phone calls would invariably include the Yiddish word chaverl which has the dual meaning of friend and comrade. The first question would be something along the lines of: "Well little friend-comrade, how are things?" As those who knew him can attest, Judah was anything but little. June believes that as more deserted the communist cause people like Judah and her father became staunch in defence. They also cast doubt on the personal strength and integrity of the defectors.
In 1958 Judah and my father were part of a group chosen by the Fellowship of Australian writers to visit the Soviet Union. During his time there my father wrote lengthy letters to my mother, Dymphna Clark. She persuaded him to excise the personal parts from the letters and use what was left as the basis for a series of articles he wrote for The Age. These articles were further expanded into the book, Meeting Soviet Man. Recently the book has been reviled, particularly by prominent figures from Quadrant, the right wing Congress of Cultural Freedom, and the Sydney Institute, as being too pro-Soviet.
The irony is that it was during the time of publication that my father's relationship with Judah was most strained, and the point of conflict was over the content of the book. Judah attacked Meeting Soviet Man for being too sympathetic to the west, and too critical of the Soviet Union. I recall one particularly tense meeting at Judah's house. To lighten up the atmosphere he spent the first hour regaling us with colorful stories about the professional boxing bouts he attended in Melbourne's old Festival Hall. Then he and my father retired to another room to talk the issue out. I could tell from the grim expressions as they emerged that there had been no resolution of their differences.
But at the same time it was Judah's fierce sense of political commitment, and his unusual - for the period - origins, which helped give his writing such a distinctive character. Judah was different, but as someone who was different he was also, therefore, part of that wayward tradition in Australian fiction writing, one which includes Henry Lawson and Henry Handel Richardson - who at one time lived not that far from the Factors' Swan Street clothes shop.
A sense of continuity from that wayward tradition emerges when reading the winners of last year's Judah Waten National Story writing competition. The winning story, Clootie's Craft, by Robert Dalvean, refers to Henry Lawson in its first page. The second placegetter, A New Beginning, by Jim Ditchfield, is largely set on a farm.
At first blush the locale of this second story may not seem exceptional or wayward. After all, the great theme of early Australian fiction was the bush. But again the post Cold War world of literature has changed. This broader range reflects the increased significance that institutions like the Judah Waten National Story writing competition command in today's Austra¯lia. As the role of the university as a crucible for the exchange of ideas recedes, and the independent vitality of student life is subsumed in an ever more strident push for high marks, international benchmarking and credentialing - in other words, faculties take on a more corporate persona - it is this sort of competition, together with the various writers' festivals, which are moving into that more traditional role of the university, where ideas and creativity remain the key currency of exchange.
There are countless illustrations of this point, but I would like to refer to one experience I had at the 1998 Adelaide Writers' Festival. The standout success was Ray Monk, an English philosopher and biographer of Bertrand Russell and Ludwig Wittgenstein. The key to his success was that he spoke about interesting, complex ideas in a clear and engaging way. During one Ray Monk talk it was an extremely hot day, but inside the marquee you could have hearfd a pin drop.
Later I spoke to Ray Monk and this is what he said: "There is a demand for ideas that challenge you to think. Given that that demand exists and that it isn't being satisfied by most of the mass media where do people go? So what' s opening out is a market for serious, challenging but accessibly written books."
The South African writer Nadine Gordimer once remarked that the perfect short story should be coiled like a snake. Australian novelist and journalist Susan Johnson, says Gordimer's comments mean a perfect short story must have grace, sinuous energy, and a certain capacity for stealth.
Peter Ward