THE PEOPLE'S AMERICA
At his evening meetings on the street, Jake Vodell with stirring
oratory kindled the fire of his cause. In the councils of the unions,
through individuals and groups, with clever arguments and inflaming
literature, he sought recruits. With stinging sarcasm and withering
scorn he taunted the laboring people--told them they were fools and
cowards to submit to the degrading slavery of their capitalist owners.
With biting invective and blistering epithet he pictured their employer
enemies as the brutal and ruthless destroyers of their homes. With
thrilling eloquence he fanned the flames of class hatred, inspired the
loyalty of his followers to himself and held out to them golden
promises of reward if they would prove themselves men and take that
which belonged to them.
But the Mill workers' union, as an organization, was steadfast in its
refusal to be dominated by this agitator who was so clearly
antagonistic to every principle of American citizenship. Jake Vodell
could neither lead nor drive them into a strike that was so evidently
called in the interests of his cause. And more and more the agitator
was compelled to recognize the powerful influence of the Interpreter.
It was not long before he went to the hut on the cliff with a positive
demand for the old basket maker's open support.
"I do not know why it is," he said, "that a poor old cripple like you
should have such power among men, but I know it is so. You shall tell
this Captain Charlie and his crowd of fools that they must help me to
win for the laboring people their freedom. You shall, for me, enlist
these Mill men in the cause."
The Interpreter asked, gravely, "And when you have accomplished this
that you call freedom--when you have gained this equality that you talk
about--how will your brotherhood be governed?"
Jake Vodell scowled as he gazed at the man in the wheel chair with
quick suspicion. "Governed?"
"Yes," returned the Interpreter. "Without organization of some sort
nothing can be done. No industries can be carried on without the
concerted effort which is organization. Without the industry that is
necessary to human life the free people you picture cannot exist.
Without government--which means law and the enforcement of
law--organization of any kind is impossible."
"There will have to be organization, certainly," answered Vodell.
"Then, there will be leaders, directors, managers with authority to
whom the people must surrender themselves as individuals," said the
Interpreter, quietly. "An organization without leadership is
impossible."
The agitator's voice was triumphant, as he said, "Certainly there will
be leaders. And their authority will be unquestioned. And these leaders
will be those who have led the people out of the miserable bondage of
their present condition."
The Interpreter's voice had a new note in it now, as he said, "In other
words, sir, what you propose is simply to substitute _yourself_ for
McIver. You propose to the people that they overthrow their present
leaders in the industries of their nation in order that you and your
fellow agitators may become their masters. You demand that the citizens
of America abolish their national government and in its place accept
you and your fellows as their rulers? What assurance can you give the
people, sir, that under your rule they will have more freedom for
self-government, more opportunities for self-advancement and prosperity
and happiness than they have at present?"
"Assurance?" muttered the other, startled by the Interpreter's manner.
The old basket maker continued, "Are you and your self-constituted
leaders of the American working people, gods? Are you not as human as
any McIver or Adam Ward of the very class you condemn? Would you not be
subject to the same temptations of power--the same human passions?
Would you not, given the same opportunity, be all that you say they
are--or worse?"
Jake Vodell's countenance was black with rage. He started to rise, but
a movement of Billy Rand made him hesitate. His voice was harsh with
menacing passion. "And you call yourself a friend of the laboring
class?"
"It is because I am a friend of my fellow American citizens that I ask
you what freedom your brotherhood can insure to us that we have not
now," the Interpreter answered, solemnly. "Look there, sir." He swept,
in a gesture, the scene that lay within view of his balcony porch.
"_That_ is America--_my_ America--the America of the _people_. From the
wretched hovels of the incompetent and unfortunate Sam Whaleys in the
Flats down there to Adam Ward's castle on the hill yonder, it is _our_
America. From the happy little home of that sterling workman, Peter
Martin, to the homes of the business workers on the hillside over
there, it is _ours_. From the business district to the beautiful farms
across the river, it belongs to _us all_. And the Mill
there--representing as it does the industries of our nation and
standing for the very life of our people--is _our_ Mill. The troubles
that disturb us--the problems of injustice--the wrongs of selfishness
that arise through such employers as McIver and such employees as Sam
Whaley, are _our_ troubles, and we will settle our own difficulties in
our own way as loyal American citizens."
The self-appointed apostle of the new freedom had by this time regained
his self-control. His only answer to the Interpreter was a shrug of his
thick shoulders and a flash of white teeth in his black beard.
The old basket maker with his eyes still on the scene that lay before
them continued. "Because I love my countrymen, sir, I protest the
destructive teachings of your brotherhood. Your ambitious schemes would
plunge my country into a bloody revolution the horrors of which defy
the imagination. America will find a better way. The loyal American
citizens who labor in our industries and the equally loyal American
operators of these industries will never consent to the ruthless murder
by hundreds and thousands of our best brains and our best manhood in
support of your visionary theories. My countrymen will never permit the
unholy slaughter of innocent women and children, that would result from
your efforts to overthrow our government and establish a wholly
impossible Utopia upon the basis of an equality that is contrary to
every law of life. You preach freedom to the working people in order to
rob them of the freedom they already have. With visions of impossible
wealth and luxurious idleness you blind them to the greater happiness
that is within reach of their industry. In the name of an equality, the
possibility of which your own assumed leadership denies, you incite a
class hatred and breed an intolerance and envy that destroy the good
feeling of comradeship and break down the noble spirit of that actual
equality which we already have and which is our only salvation."
"Equality!" sneered Jake Vodell. "You have a fine equality in this
America of capitalist-ridden fools who are too cowardly to say that
their souls are their own. It is the equality of Adam Ward and Sam
Whaley, I suppose."
"Sam Whaley is a product of your teaching, sir," the Interpreter
answered. "The equality of which I speak is that of Adam Ward and Peter
Martin as it is evidenced in the building up of the Mill. It is the
equality that is in the comradeship of their sons, John and Charlie,
who will protect and carry on the work of their fathers. It is the
equality of a common citizenship--of mutual dependence of employer and
employee upon the industries, that alone can save our people from want
and starvation and guard our nation from the horrors you would bring
upon it."
The man laughed. "Suppose you sing that pretty song to McIver, heh?
What do you think he would say?"
"He would laugh, as you are laughing," returned the Interpreter, sadly.
"Tell it to Adam Ward then," jeered the other. "He will recognize his
equality with Peter Martin when you explain it, heh?"
"Adam Ward is already paying a terrible price for denying it," the
Interpreter answered.
Again Jake Vodell laughed with sneering triumph. "Well, then I guess
you will have to preach your equality to the deaf and dumb man there.
Maybe you can make him understand it. The old basket maker without any
legs and the big husky who can neither hear nor talk--they are equals,
I suppose, heh?"
"Billy Rand and I perfectly illustrate the equality of dependence,
sir," returned the Interpreter. "Billy is as much my superior
physically as I am his superior mentally. Without my thinking and
planning he would be as helpless as I would be without his good bodily
strength. We are each equally dependent upon the other, and from that
mutual dependence comes our comradeship in the industry which alone
secures for us the necessities of life. I could not make baskets
without Billy's labor--Billy could not make baskets without my planning
and directing. And yet, sir, you and McIver would set us to fighting
each other. You would have Billy deny his dependence upon me and use
his strength to destroy me, thus depriving himself of the help he must
have if he would live. McIver would have me deny my dependence upon
Billy and by antagonizing him with my assumed superiority turn his
strength to the destruction of our comradeship by which I also live.
Your teaching of class loyalty and class hatred applied to Billy and me
would result in the ruin of our basket making and in our consequent
starvation."
Again the Interpreter, from his wheel chair, pointed with outstretched
arm to the scene that lay with all its varied grades of life--social
levels and individual interests--before them. "Look," he said, "to the
inequality that is there--inequalities that are as great as the
difference between Billy Rand and myself. And yet, every individual
life is dependent upon all the other individual lives. The Mill yonder
is the basket making of the people. All alike must look to it for life
itself. The industries, without which the people cannot exist, can be
carried on only by the comradeship of those who labor with their hands
and those who work with their brains. In the common dependence all are
equal.
"The only equality that your leadership, with its progress of
destruction, can insure to American employers and employees is an
equality of indescribable suffering and death."
The old basket maker paused a moment before he added, solemnly, "I
wonder that you dare assume the responsibility for such a catastrophe.
Have you no God, sir, to whom you must eventually account?"
The man's teeth gleamed in a grin of malicious sarcasm. "I should know
that you believed in God. Bah! An old woman myth to scare fools and
children. I suppose you believe in miracles also?"
"I believe in the miracle of life," the Interpreter answered; "and in
the great laws of life--the law of inequality and dependence, that in
its operation insures the oneness of all things."
The agitator rose to his feet, and with a shrug of contempt, said,
"Very pretty, Mr. Interpreter, very pretty. You watch now from your hut
here and you shall see what men who are not crippled old basket makers
will do with that little bit of your America out there. It is I who
will teach Peter Martin and his comrades in the Mill how to deal with
your friend Adam Ward and his class."
"You are too late, sir," said the Interpreter, as the man moved toward
the door.
Jake Vodell turned. "How, too late?" Then as he saw Billy Rand rising
to his feet, his hand went quickly inside his vest.
The old basket maker smiled as he once more held out a restraining hand
toward his companion. "I do not mean anything like that, sir. I told
you some time ago that you were defeated in your Millsburgh campaign by
Adam Ward's retirement from the Mill. You are too late because you are
forced now to deal, not with Adam Ward and Peter Martin, but with their
sons."
"Oh, ho! and what you should say also, is that I am really forced to
deal with an old basket maker who has no legs, heh? Well, we shall see
about that, too, Mr. Interpreter, when the time comes--we shall see."