When I think of Herma, I do not first think of the long arc of her political biography—though it is immense, and though she devoted her entire adult life to the struggle for Trotskyism. I think instead of the quiet moments in which her character revealed itself: the way she listened, the way she explained, the way she made younger comrades feel that they were part of something serious, principled, and profoundly human.
I met Herma on numerous occasions during my early life in the party. Those encounters were not dramatic; they were not marked by grand speeches or sweeping gestures. They were marked by her presence—calm, steady, patient, and deeply committed. She had a way of making you feel that the work you were doing mattered, that your questions were worth answering, that your uncertainties were part of a process she herself had lived through decades earlier.
The Educational Camps
My fondest memories of Herma come from the educational camps
organised by the BSA and later the SEP. These camps were formative experiences
for many of us: intense days of lectures, discussions, reading groups, and
political debates, punctuated by shared meals, late-night conversations, and
the sense of being part of a living international movement.
Herma was always there—never at the centre, never demanding
attention, but always present. She had a gift for creating an atmosphere of
seriousness without heaviness, of discipline without rigidity. You could sit
with her after a lecture, perhaps over a cup of coffee or during a break in the
afternoon, and she would speak with a clarity that made complex historical
questions feel accessible.
She never rushed. She never dismissed a question as naïve.
She understood that young comrades were not simply learning facts; they were
learning how to think politically, how to orient themselves in history, how to
understand the world in order to change it. And she took that responsibility
seriously.
Herma’s Warmth
There was a warmth to Herma that is difficult to describe
without risking sentimentality. It was not the warmth of someone who tries to
be liked or who seeks emotional closeness for its own sake. It was the warmth
of someone who genuinely cared about the development of younger comrades, who
wanted them to succeed, who wanted them to understand the political tasks
before them.
She had a gentle humour—quiet, understated, but always
present. She could laugh at the absurdities of daily life, at the bureaucratic
madness of the post office, at the petty hypocrisies of official politics. But
she never laughed at people. Her humour was never cruel. It was part of her
humanity.
Herma’s Political Depth
What struck me most, even as a young comrade, was the depth
of her political understanding. She did not speak in slogans. She did not
repeat formulas. Her grasp of Trotskyism was lived, experiential, rooted in
decades of struggle, study, and reflection.
When she spoke about the Frankfurt Auschwitz Trial, she
spoke not as someone recounting historical facts, but as someone who had lived
through the moral shock of discovering the truth about fascism in a society
that wanted to forget. When she spoke about the split with the WRP, she spoke
with the seriousness of someone who had endured the crisis and participated in
the re‑armament of the movement. When she spoke about internationalism, she
spoke with the conviction of someone who had travelled, studied, and fought
alongside comrades from around the world.
Herma’s Quiet Strength
Herma’s strength was quiet, but it was unmistakable. She was not easily discouraged. She did not waver. She did not retreat into private life when confronted with illness or hardship. Even in her final years, when cancer made every day a struggle, she continued to attend meetings, participate in educational work, and discuss political developments with comrades. She believed deeply that the principles she had adopted in her youth were becoming more relevant than ever. And she was right.
What She Leaves Behind
Herma leaves behind more than a political legacy. She leaves
behind a memory of what it means to be a revolutionary in the fullest sense:
principled, disciplined, generous, and humane. She leaves behind the example of
someone who devoted her life to the working class without ever seeking
recognition or reward. She leaves behind the imprint she made on younger
comrades—comrades like me—who learned from her not only the history of the
Fourth International, but the meaning of commitment.
Herma was a comrade in the truest sense of the word. Her
presence enriched the movement. Her example will continue to guide those who
follow.
I will always remember her with affection, respect, and
gratitude.
