The Politics of Power: Freeport in Suharto's Indonesia Book

In 1961, when I was eight years-old, two older, seemingly cooler cousins from New Jersey taught me a parody which, at the time, I thought was the funniest thing I had ever heard:

Krushchev, the bald-head Russian,
Had a very shiny head.
And if you ever saw it,
You would even say he's Red.

All of the other Russians
Used to laugh and call him names.
They never let poor Krushchev
Play in any Russian games.

...and so on.

I memorized that and sang it non-stop on my return home, probably annoying all of my friends. It did not annoy Sister Clemenza, however. I was taught by a rather small but violent sect of Italian nuns. Not sure why we drafted Italian nuns. But Sister Clemenza was my second-grade teacher. Her English was limited. Usually (but not always) prophylactically, she would drive her fingers into our foreheads to make a disciplinary point. Anyhow, in addition to being a molder of youth, she was also an ardent, bug-eyed anti-Communist.

I sang the Krushchev song for Sister Clemenza. It resonated in her John F. Kennedy-loving, Red-hating soul. I think she viewed me then more as a Vessel of Liberty than an off-key smart-aleck, which is what I actually was. Not taking a modest "no, please" as an answer, she made me write out the song on the blackboard in front of the whole class so that everyone could copy and memorize it to assist in the glorious fight for freedom. Which I did, precocious little shit that I was.

Everyone was able to copy this new anthem....except that is for Michael B. who was what they called at the time "slow". There were only eight students in that class, but the next year there were only seven. Michael B. "disappeared", kind of like Communists who didn't toe the party line "disappeared" back in those days. I felt oddly responsible.

K Blows Top captures the odd logic of those times and brought back many memories: the fear, the satire and the incongruities.

Come back, Michael B. Have a seat. And I'll shut up.