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“I would like to compose songs for the
revolution.”
— John
Lennon, in an interview with Robin Blackburn and Tariq Ali, 1971.
The U.S. government was not entirely wrong
about John Lennon. It made sense, from their point of view, to record his
statements, track his activities, and ultimately, try and deport him from
the country. For Lennon was more than a lovable moptop turned dewy-eyed
dreamer, some harmless mystic imagining peace and chanting in his bed
with Yoko Ono.
For a time in the early 1970s, Lennon was a friend and
ally of the radical movement in Britain and America. He was a child of
the working class and a self-described seeker of truth whose phenomenal
success in capitalist society deepened his sense of disgust and
alienation.
Instead of sitting contentedly on top of
the world, he wanted to help make a better one. From a youthful rebellion
that found its expression in American rock ’n’ roll, his instincts
matured into a political rebellion that merged music with social protest.
As a former Beatle, a celebrity of world
stature, Lennon had the potential to influence an entire generation and
spur on youthful rebels in every corner of the globe. He wrote popular
anthems of protest— “Give Peace a Chance, “Imagine,” “Power to the
People”—that were sung in marches and rallies everywhere.
What’s more, Lennon participated in
social struggles. He sang at benefits, spoke at antiwar rallies (the film
shows John and Yoko speaking under the banner of the National Peace
Action Coalition in New York City in April 1972), and contemplated
a national U.S. tour that would combine music and revolutionary politics.
There were even rumors, which Lennon denied, of organizing a protest at
the Republican National Convention.
In Nixon-era America, these activities
brought Lennon the nervous attention of government officials, including
the president. Nixon could always tell an enemy when he saw one.
“The U.S. vs. John Lennon” uses video
clips, television and news footage, and contemporary interviews, matching
these images with Lennon’s music. The fit is not always exact, but the
blend generally succeeds in creating a coherent narrative.
The opening scenes of the film focus on
“the Beatles are more popular than Jesus” fiasco and Lennon’s contrived,
unconvincing apology, when he tried to spin and deny the meaning of his
words. After that humiliation, it’s clear to see why he was determined
thereafter to speak his mind frankly, regardless of the consequences.
Also speaking frankly are G. Gordon
Liddy, of Watergate infamy, and former FBI special agents, who reveal the
inner workings of the spy operation against Lennon. Having concluded that
he was a threat to “national security,” the U.S. government decided to
deport Lennon based on a long-forgotten drug conviction.
From the government’s perspective, it was
a good plan. Even if the deportation effort failed, Lennon would be
overwhelmed with his case and thus unable to continue his political
activity. This strategy was successful, and Lennon withdrew from
politics, though the film puts greater emphasis on Lennon’s ultimate
vindication.
One significant failing of this
documentary is the effort to portray President Nixon as a villain without
precedent. The interviews with former Democratic Party presidential
candidate George McGovern and former New York Governor Mario Cuomo are
especially misleading.
Truly, Nixon was a despicable man, but to
portray the tricky Republican as a complete aberration ignores the many
years of spying and disruption carried out under presidents John F.
Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson, both Democrats. Cointelpro did not begin with
Richard Nixon (though with George Bush it is ready to be born again).
Toward the end of the 1970s, as the tide
of popular protest crested and fell, Lennon’s sympathies for the left
waned as well, and he turned to private life, fatherhood, and
family. In his last years, Lennon downplayed the most radical phase
of his life, though even at the end he called himself an “instinctive
socialist.”
Lennon was not a theoretician with
comprehensive, well-rounded ideas for social change. He was an artist
groping for the right way as an activist, responding to and partly
echoing whichever reformers or revolutionaries he encountered.
Essentially, Lennon was an idealist who
was convinced that reality could be transformed by the power of the
active imagination, that sheer belief in a better world would be
sufficient to summon it into being. This belief may be misguided, but it
is a utopian impulse that puts Lennon in the camp of the rebel left and
in opposition to the repressive state.
This film deserves to find an audience.
For the youth, who only know Lennon from a few songs played on the oldies
stations, the documentary reveals the frightened antagonism of a
reactionary administration, fearful of protest, lashing out maliciously
at an artist who sang for peace and a life free of humiliation, illusion,
and pain.
For the boomer generation who lived
through these exciting, turbulent years along with Lennon, the film is an
inspirational reminder, a worthy trip—pun intended—down Penny Lane.
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