WELL-BEING FOR ALL
I
Well-being for all is not a dream. It is possible, realizable, owing to
all that our ancestors have done to increase our powers of production.
We know, indeed, that the producers, although they constitute hardly
one-third of the inhabitants of civilized countries, even now produce
such quantities of goods that a certain degree of comfort could be
brought to every hearth. We know further that if all those who squander
to-day the fruits of others' toil were forced to employ their leisure in
useful work, our wealth would increase in proportion to the number of
producers, and more. Finally, we know that contrary to the theory
enunciated by Malthus--that Oracle of middle-class Economics--the
productive powers of the human race increase at a much more rapid ratio
than its powers of reproduction. The more thickly men are crowded on the
soil, the more rapid is the growth of their wealth-creating power.
Thus, although the population of England has only increased from 1844 to
1890 by 62 per cent., its production has grown, even at the lowest
estimate, at double that rate--to wit, by 130 per cent. In France, where
the population has grown more slowly, the increase in production is
nevertheless very rapid. Notwithstanding the crises through which
agriculture is frequently passing, notwithstanding State interference,
the blood-tax (conscription), and speculative commerce and finance, the
production of wheat in France has increased four-fold, and industrial
production more than tenfold, in the course of the last eighty years. In
the United States this progress is still more striking. In spite of
immigration, or rather precisely because of the influx of surplus
European labour, the United States have multiplied their wealth tenfold.
However, these figures give but a very faint idea of what our wealth
might become under better conditions. For alongside of the rapid
development of our wealth-producing powers we have an overwhelming
increase in the ranks of the idlers and middlemen. Instead of capital
gradually concentrating itself in a few hands, so that it would only be
necessary for the community to dispossess a few millionaires and enter
upon its lawful heritage--instead of this Socialist forecast proving
true, the exact reverse is coming to pass: the swarm of parasites is
ever increasing.
In France there are not ten actual producers to every thirty
inhabitants. The whole agricultural wealth of the country is the work of
less than seven millions of men, and in the two great industries, mining
and the textile trades, you will find that the workers number less than
two and one-half millions. But the exploiters of labour, how many are
they? In the United Kingdom a little over one million workers--men,
women, and children, are employed in all the textile trades; less than
nine hundred thousand work the mines; much less than two million till
the ground, and it appeared from the last industrial census that only a
little over four million men, women and children were employed in all
the industries.[1] So that the statisticians have to exaggerate all the
figures in order to establish a maximum of eight million producers to
forty-five million inhabitants. Strictly speaking the creators of the
goods exported from Britain to all the ends of the earth comprise only
from six to seven million workers. And what is the number of the
shareholders and middlemen who levy the first fruits of labour from far
and near, and heap up unearned gains by thrusting themselves between
the producer and the consumer?
Nor is this all. The owners of capital constantly reduce the output by
restraining production. We need not speak of the cartloads of oysters
thrown into the sea to prevent a dainty, hitherto reserved for the rich,
from becoming a food for the people. We need not speak of the thousand
and one luxuries--stuffs, foods, etc., etc.--treated after the same
fashion as the oysters. It is enough to remember the way in which the
production of the most necessary things is limited. Legions of miners
are ready and willing to dig out coal every day, and send it to those
who are shivering with cold; but too often a third, or even one-half, of
their number are forbidden to work more than three days a week, because,
forsooth, the price of coal must be kept up! Thousands of weavers are
forbidden to work the looms, although their wives and children go in
rags, and although three-quarters of the population of Europe have no
clothing worthy the name.
Hundreds of blast-furnaces, thousands of factories periodically stand
idle, others only work half-time--and in every civilized nation there is
a permanent population of about two million individuals who ask only for
work, but to whom work is denied.
How gladly would these millions of men set to work to reclaim waste
lands, or to transform ill-cultivated land into fertile fields, rich in
harvests! A year of well-directed toil would suffice to multiply
fivefold the produce of those millions of acres in this country which
lie idle now as "permanent pasture," or of those dry lands in the south
of France which now yield only about eight bushels of wheat per acre.
But men, who would be happy to become hardy pioneers in so many branches
of wealth-producing activity, must remain idle because the owners of the
soil, the mines and the factories prefer to invest their capital--taken
in the first place from the community--in Turkish or Egyptian bonds, or
in Patagonian gold mines, and so make Egyptian fellahs, Italian
emigrants, and Chinese coolies their wage-slaves.
This is the direct and deliberate limitation of production; but there
is also a limitation indirect and not of set purpose, which consists in
spending human toil on objects absolutely useless, or destined only to
satisfy the dull vanity of the rich.
It is impossible to reckon in figures the extent to which wealth is
restricted indirectly, the extent to which energy is squandered, while
it might have served to produce, and above all to prepare the machinery
necessary to production. It is enough to cite the immense sums spent by
Europe in armaments, for the sole purpose of acquiring control of
markets, and so forcing her own goods on neighbouring territories, and
making exploitation easier at home; the millions paid every year to
officials of all sorts, whose function it is to maintain the "rights" of
minorities--the right, that is, of a few rich men--to manipulate the
economic activities of the nation; the millions spent on judges,
prisons, policemen, and all the paraphernalia of so-called
justice--spent to no purpose, because we know that every alleviation,
however slight, of the wretchedness of our great cities is always
followed by a considerable diminution of crime; lastly, the millions
spent on propagating pernicious doctrines by means of the press, and
news "cooked" in the interest of this or that party, of this politician
or of that group of speculators.
But over and above this we must take into account all the labour that
goes to sheer waste,--here, in keeping up the stables, the kennels, and
the retinue of the rich; there, in pandering to the caprices of society
and the depraved tastes of the fashionable mob; there again, in forcing
the consumer to buy what he does not need, or foisting an inferior
article upon him by means of puffery, and in producing on the other hand
wares which are absolutely injurious, but profitable to the
manufacturer. What is squandered in this manner would be enough to
double the production of useful things, or so to plenish our mills and
factories with machinery that they would soon flood the shops with all
that is now lacking to two-thirds of the nation. Under our present
system a full quarter of the producers in every nation are forced to be
idle for three or four months in the year, and the labour of another
quarter, if not of the half, has no better results than the amusement of
the rich or the exploitation of the public.
Thus, if we consider on the one hand the rapidity with which civilized
nations augment their powers of production, and on the other hand the
limits set to that production, be it directly or indirectly, by existing
conditions, we cannot but conclude that an economic system a trifle more
reasonable would permit them to heap up in a few years so many useful
products that they would be constrained to say--"Enough! We have enough
coal and bread and raiment! Let us rest and consider how best to use our
powers, how best to employ our leisure."
No, plenty for all is not a dream--though it was a dream indeed in those
days when man, for all his pains, could hardly win a few bushels of
wheat from an acre of land, and had to fashion by hand all the
implements he used in agriculture and industry. Now it is no longer a
dream, because man has invented a motor which, with a little iron and a
few sacks of coal, gives him the mastery of a creature strong and docile
as a horse, and capable of setting the most complicated machinery in
motion.
But, if plenty for all is to become a reality, this immense
capital--cities, houses, pastures, arable lands, factories, highways,
education--must cease to be regarded as private property, for the
monopolist to dispose of at his pleasure.
This rich endowment, painfully won, builded, fashioned, or invented by
our ancestors, must become common property, so that the collective
interests of men may gain from it the greatest good for all.
There must be EXPROPRIATION. The well-being of all--the end;
expropriation--the means.
II
Expropriation, such then is the problem which History has put before the
men of the twentieth century: the return to Communism in all that
ministers to the well-being of man.
But this problem cannot be solved by means of legislation. No one
imagines that. The poor, as well as the rich, understand that neither
the existing Governments, nor any which might arise out of possible
political changes, would be capable of finding such a solution. They
feel the necessity of a social revolution; and both rich and poor
recognize that this revolution is imminent, that it may break out in a
few years.
A great change in thought has taken place during the last half of the
nineteenth century; but suppressed, as it was, by the propertied
classes, and denied its natural development, this new spirit must now
break its bonds by violence and realize itself in a revolution.
Whence will the revolution come? how will it announce its coming? No one
can answer these questions. The future is hidden. But those who watch
and think do not misinterpret the signs: workers and exploiters,
Revolutionists and Conservatives, thinkers and men of action, all feel
that a revolution is at our doors.
Well, then,--What are we going to do when the thunderbolt has fallen?
We have all been bent on studying the dramatic side of revolutions so
much, and the practical work of revolutions so little, that we are apt
to see only the stage effects, so to speak, of these great movements;
the fight of the first days; the barricades. But this fight, this first
skirmish, is soon ended, and it only after the breakdown of the old
system that the real work of revolution can be said to begin.
Effete and powerless, attacked on all sides, the old rulers are soon
swept away by the breath of insurrection. In a few days the middle-class
monarchy of 1848 was no more, and while Louis Philippe was making good
his escape in a cab, Paris had already forgotten her "citizen king." The
government of Thiers disappeared, on the 18th of March, 1871, in a few
hours, leaving Paris mistress of her destinies. Yet 1848 and 1871 were
only insurrections. Before a popular revolution the masters of "the old
order" disappear with a surprising rapidity. Its upholders fly the
country, to plot in safety elsewhere and to devise measures for their
return.
The former Government having disappeared, the army, hesitating before
the tide of popular opinion, no longer obeys its commanders, who have
also prudently decamped. The troops stand by without interfering, or
join the rebels. The police, standing at ease, are uncertain whether to
belabour the crowd, or to cry: "Long live the Commune!" while some
retire to their quarters to "await the pleasure of the new Government."
Wealthy citizens pack their trunks and betake themselves to places of
safety. The people remain. This is how a revolution is ushered in.
In several large towns the Commune is proclaimed. In the streets wander
scores of thousands of men, and in the evening they crowd into
improvised clubs, asking: "What shall we do?" and ardently discuss
public affairs. All take an interest in them; those who yesterday were
quite indifferent are perhaps the most zealous. Everywhere there is
plenty of good-will and a keen desire to make victory certain. It is a
time when acts of supreme devotion are occurring. The masses of the
people are full of the desire of going forward.
All this is splendid, sublime; but still, it is not a revolution. Nay,
it is only now that the work of the revolutionist begins.
Doubtless there will be acts of vengeance. The Watrins and the Thomases
will pay the penalty of their unpopularity; but these are mere incidents
of the struggle--not the revolution.
Socialist politicians, radicals, neglected geniuses of journalism, stump
orators--both middle-class people and workmen--will hurry to the Town
Hall, to the Government offices, to take possession of the vacant seats.
Some will decorate themselves with gold and silver lace to their hearts'
content, admire themselves in ministerial mirrors, and study to give
orders with an air of importance appropriate to their new position. How
could they impress their comrades of the office or the workshop without
having a red sash, an embroidered cap, and magisterial gestures! Others
will bury themselves in official papers, trying, with the best of
wills, to make head or tail of them. They will indite laws and issue
high-flown worded decrees that nobody will take the trouble to carry
out--because revolution has come.
To give themselves an authority which they have not they will seek the
sanction of old forms of Government. They will take the names of
"Provisional Government," "Committee of Public Safety," "Mayor,"
"Governor of the Town Hall," "Commissioner of Public Safety," and what
not. Elected or acclaimed, they will assemble in Boards or in Communal
Councils, where men of ten or twenty different schools will come
together, representing--not as many "private chapels," as it is often
said, but as many different conceptions regarding the scope, the
bearing, and the goal of the revolution. Possibilists, Collectivists,
Radicals, Jacobins, Blanquists, will be thrust together, and waste time
in wordy warfare. Honest men will be huddled together with the ambitious
ones, whose only dream is power and who spurn the crowd whence they are
sprung. All coming together with diametrically opposed views,
all--forced to enter into ephemeral alliances, in order to create
majorities that can but last a day. Wrangling, calling each other
reactionaries, authoritarians, and rascals, incapable of coming to an
understanding on any serious measure, dragged into discussions about
trifles, producing nothing better than bombastic proclamations; all
giving themselves an awful importance while the real strength of the
movement is in the streets.
All this may please those who like the stage, but it is not revolution.
Nothing has been accomplished as yet.
And meanwhile the people suffer. The factories are idle, the workshops
closed; trade is at a standstill. The worker does not even earn the
meagre wage which was his before. Food goes up in price. With that
heroic devotion which has always characterized them, and which in great
crises reaches the sublime, the people will wait patiently. "We place
these three months of want at the service of the Republic," they said in
1848, while "their representatives" and the gentlemen of the new
Government, down to the meanest Jack-in-office received their salary
regularly.
The people suffer. With the childlike faith, with the good humour of the
masses who believe in their leaders, they think that "yonder," in the
House, in the Town Hall, in the Committee of Public Safety, their
welfare is being considered. But "yonder" they are discussing everything
under the sun except the welfare of the people. In 1793, while famine
ravaged France and crippled the Revolution; whilst the people were
reduced to the depths of misery, although the Champs Elysées were lined
with luxurious carriages where women displayed their jewels and
splendour, Robespierre was urging the Jacobins to discuss his treatise
on the English Constitution. While the worker was suffering in 1848 from
the general stoppage of trade, the Provisional Government and the
National Assembly were wrangling over military pensions and prison
labour, without troubling how the people managed to live during the
terrible crisis. And could one cast a reproach at the Paris Commune,
which was born beneath the Prussian cannon, and lasted only seventy
days, it would be for this same error--this failure to understand that
the Revolution could not triumph unless those who fought on its side
were fed: that on fifteen pence a day a man cannot fight on the ramparts
and at the same time support a family.
The people will suffer and say: "How is a way out of these difficulties
to be found?"
III
It seems to us that there is only one answer to this question: We must
recognize, and loudly proclaim, that every one, whatever his grade in
the old society, whether strong or weak, capable or incapable, has,
before everything, THE RIGHT TO LIVE, and that society is bound to share
amongst all, without exception, the means of existence it has at its
disposal. We must acknowledge this, and proclaim it aloud, and act up to
it.
Affairs must be managed in such a way that from the first day of the
revolution the worker shall know that a new era is opening before him;
that henceforward none need crouch under the bridges, while palaces are
hard by, none need fast in the midst of plenty, none need perish with
cold near shops full of furs; that all is for all, in practice as well
as in theory, and that at last, for the first time in history, a
revolution has been accomplished which considers the NEEDS of the people
before schooling them in their DUTIES.
This cannot be brought about by Acts of Parliament, but only by taking
immediate and effective possession of all that is necessary to ensure
the well-being of all; this is the only really scientific way of going
to work, the only way which can be understood and desired by the mass of
the people. We must take possession, in the name of the people, of the
granaries, the shops full of clothing and the dwelling houses. Nothing
must be wasted. We must organize without delay a way to feed the hungry,
to satisfy all wants, to meet all needs, to produce not for the special
benefit of this one or that one, but so as to ensure to society as a
whole its life and further development.
Enough of ambiguous words like "the right to work," with which the
people were misled in 1848, and which are still resorted to with the
hope of misleading them. Let us have the courage to recognise that
_Well-being for all_, henceforward possible, must be realized.
When the workers claimed the right to work in 1848, national and
municipal workshops were organized, and workmen were sent to drudge
there at the rate of 1s. 8d. a day! When they asked the "Organization of
Labour," the reply was: "Patience, friends, the Government will see to
it; meantime here is your 1s. 8d. Rest now, brave toiler, after your
life-long struggle for food!" And in the meantime the cannons were
overhauled, the reserves called out, and the workers themselves
disorganized by the many methods well known to the middle classes, till
one fine day, in June, 1848, four months after the overthrow of the
previous Government, they were told to go and colonize Africa, or be
shot down.
Very different will be the result if the workers claim the RIGHT TO
WELL-BEING! In claiming that right they claim the right to take
possession of the wealth of the community--to take houses to dwell in
according to the needs of each family; to socialize the stores of food
and learn the meaning of plenty, after having known famine too well.
They proclaim their right to all social wealth--fruit of the labour of
past and present generations--and learn by its means to enjoy those
higher pleasures of art and science which have too long been monopolized
by the rich.
And while asserting their right to live in comfort, they assert, what is
still more important, their right to decide for themselves what this
comfort shall be, what must be produced to ensure it, and what discarded
as no longer of value.
The "right to well-being" means the possibility of living like human
beings, and of bringing up children to be members of a society better
than ours, whilst the "right to work" only means the right to be always
a wage-slave, a drudge, ruled over and exploited by the middle class of
the future. The right to well-being is the Social Revolution, the right
to work means nothing but the Treadmill of Commercialism. It is high
time for the worker to assert his right to the common inheritance, and
to enter into possession of it.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] 4,013,711 now employed in all the 53 branches of different
industries, including the State Ordnance Works, and 241,530 workers
engaged in the Construction and Maintenance of Railways, their aggregate
production reaching the value of £1,041,037,000, and the net output
being £406,799,000.