CHAPTER XIV.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END

As early as January, 1913, Ernest saw the true trend of affairs, but he

could not get his brother leaders to see the vision of the Iron Heel

that had arisen in his brain. They were too confident. Events were

rushing too rapidly to culmination. A crisis had come in world affairs.

The American Oligarchy was practically in possession of the

world-market, and scores of countries were flung out of that market

with unconsumable and unsalable surpluses on their hands. For such

countries nothing remained but reorganization. They could not continue

their method of producing surpluses. The capitalistic system, so far as

they were concerned, had hopelessly broken down.

The reorganization of these countries took the form of revolution. It

was a time of confusion and violence. Everywhere institutions and

governments were crashing. Everywhere, with the exception of two or

three countries, the erstwhile capitalist masters fought bitterly for

their possessions. But the governments were taken away from them by the

militant proletariat. At last was being realized Karl Marx’s classic:

“The knell of private capitalist property sounds. The expropriators are

expropriated.” And as fast as capitalistic governments crashed,

cooperative commonwealths arose in their place.

“Why does the United States lag behind?”; “Get busy, you American

revolutionists!”; “What’s the matter with America?”—were the messages

sent to us by our successful comrades in other lands. But we could not

keep up. The Oligarchy stood in the way. Its bulk, like that of some

huge monster, blocked our path.

“Wait till we take office in the spring,” we answered. “Then you’ll

see.”

Behind this lay our secret. We had won over the Grangers, and in the

spring a dozen states would pass into their hands by virtue of the

elections of the preceding fall. At once would be instituted a dozen

cooperative commonwealth states. After that, the rest would be easy.

“But what if the Grangers fail to get possession?” Ernest demanded. And

his comrades called him a calamity howler.

But this failure to get possession was not the chief danger that Ernest

had in mind. What he foresaw was the defection of the great labor

unions and the rise of the castes.

“Ghent has taught the oligarchs how to do it,” Ernest said. “I’ll wager

they’ve made a text-book out of his ‘Benevolent Feudalism.’”[1]

[1] “Our Benevolent Feudalism,” a book published in 1902 A.D., by W.

J. Ghent. It has always been insisted that Ghent put the idea of the

Oligarchy into the minds of the great capitalists. This belief

persists throughout the literature of the three centuries of the Iron

Heel, and even in the literature of the first century of the

Brotherhood of Man. To-day we know better, but our knowledge does not

overcome the fact that Ghent remains the most abused innocent man in

all history.

Never shall I forget the night when, after a hot discussion with half a

dozen labor leaders, Ernest turned to me and said quietly: “That

settles it. The Iron Heel has won. The end is in sight.”

This little conference in our home was unofficial; but Ernest, like the

rest of his comrades, was working for assurances from the labor leaders

that they would call out their men in the next general strike.

O’Connor, the president of the Association of Machinists, had been

foremost of the six leaders present in refusing to give such assurance.

“You have seen that you were beaten soundly at your old tactics of

strike and boycott,” Ernest urged.

O’Connor and the others nodded their heads.

“And you saw what a general strike would do,” Ernest went on. “We

stopped the war with Germany. Never was there so fine a display of the

solidarity and the power of labor. Labor can and will rule the world.

If you continue to stand with us, we’ll put an end to the reign of

capitalism. It is your only hope. And what is more, you know it. There

is no other way out. No matter what you do under your old tactics, you

are doomed to defeat, if for no other reason because the masters

control the courts.”[2]

[2] As a sample of the decisions of the courts adverse to labor, the

following instances are given. In the coal- mining regions the

employment of children was notorious. In 1905 A.D., labor succeeded in

getting a law passed in Pennsylvania providing that proof of the age

of the child and of certain educational qualifications must accompany

the oath of the parent. This was promptly declared unconstitutional by

the Luzerne County Court, on the ground that it violated the

Fourteenth Amendment in that it discriminated between individuals of

the same class—namely, children above fourteen years of age and

children below. The state court sustained the decision. The New York

Court of Special Sessions, in 1905 A.D., declared unconstitutional the

law prohibiting minors and women from working in factories after nine

o’clock at night, the ground taken being that such a law was “class

legislation.” Again, the bakers of that time were terribly overworked.

The New York Legislature passed a law restricting work in bakeries to

ten hours a day. In 1906 A.D., the Supreme Court of the United States

declared this law to be unconstitutional. In part the decision read:

“_There is no reasonable ground for interfering with the liberty of

persons or the right of free contract by determining the hours of

labor in the occupation of a baker._”

“You run ahead too fast,” O’Connor answered. “You don’t know all the

ways out. There is another way out. We know what we’re about. We’re

sick of strikes. They’ve got us beaten that way to a frazzle. But I

don’t think we’ll ever need to call our men out again.”

“What is your way out?” Ernest demanded bluntly.

O’Connor laughed and shook his head. “I can tell you this much: We’ve

not been asleep. And we’re not dreaming now.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, or ashamed of, I hope,” Ernest

challenged.

“I guess we know our business best,” was the retort.

“It’s a dark business, from the way you hide it,” Ernest said with

growing anger.

“We’ve paid for our experience in sweat and blood, and we’ve earned all

that’s coming to us,” was the reply. “Charity begins at home.”

“If you’re afraid to tell me your way out, I’ll tell it to you.”

Ernest’s blood was up. “You’re going in for grab-sharing. You’ve made

terms with the enemy, that’s what you’ve done. You’ve sold out the

cause of labor, of all labor. You are leaving the battle-field like

cowards.”

“I’m not saying anything,” O’Connor answered sullenly. “Only I guess we

know what’s best for us a little bit better than you do.”

“And you don’t care a cent for what is best for the rest of labor. You

kick it into the ditch.”

“I’m not saying anything,” O’Connor replied, “except that I’m president

of the Machinists’ Association, and it’s my business to consider the

interests of the men I represent, that’s all.”

And then, when the labor leaders had left, Ernest, with the calmness of

defeat, outlined to me the course of events to come.

“The socialists used to foretell with joy,” he said, “the coming of the

day when organized labor, defeated on the industrial field, would come

over on to the political field. Well, the Iron Heel has defeated the

labor unions on the industrial field and driven them over to the

political field; and instead of this being joyful for us, it will be a

source of grief. The Iron Heel learned its lesson. We showed it our

power in the general strike. It has taken steps to prevent another

general strike.”

“But how?” I asked.

“Simply by subsidizing the great unions. They won’t join in the next

general strike. Therefore it won’t be a general strike.”

“But the Iron Heel can’t maintain so costly a programme forever,” I

objected.

“Oh, it hasn’t subsidized all of the unions. That’s not necessary. Here

is what is going to happen. Wages are going to be advanced and hours

shortened in the railroad unions, the iron and steel workers unions,

and the engineer and machinist unions. In these unions more favorable

conditions will continue to prevail. Membership in these unions will

become like seats in Paradise.”

“Still I don’t see,” I objected. “What is to become of the other

unions? There are far more unions outside of this combination than in

it.”

“The other unions will be ground out of existence—all of them. For,

don’t you see, the railway men, machinists and engineers, iron and

steel workers, do all of the vitally essential work in our machine

civilization. Assured of their faithfulness, the Iron Heel can snap its

fingers at all the rest of labor. Iron, steel, coal, machinery, and

transportation constitute the backbone of the whole industrial fabric.”

“But coal?” I queried. “There are nearly a million coal miners.”

They are practically unskilled labor. They will not count. Their wages

will go down and their hours will increase. They will be slaves like

all the rest of us, and they will become about the most bestial of all

of us. They will be compelled to work, just as the farmers are

compelled to work now for the masters who robbed them of their land.

And the same with all the other unions outside the combination. Watch

them wobble and go to pieces, and their members become slaves driven to

toil by empty stomachs and the law of the land.

“Do you know what will happen to Farley[3] and his strike-breakers?

I’ll tell you. Strike-breaking as an occupation will cease. There won’t

be any more strikes. In place of strikes will be slave revolts. Farley

and his gang will be promoted to slave-driving. Oh, it won’t be called

that; it will be called enforcing the law of the land that compels the

laborers to work. It simply prolongs the fight, this treachery of the

big unions. Heaven only knows now where and when the Revolution will

triumph.”

[3] James Farley—a notorious strike-breaker of the period. A man more

courageous than ethical, and of undeniable ability. He rose high under

the rule of the Iron Heel and finally was translated into the oligarch

class. He was assassinated in 1932 by Sarah Jenkins, whose husband,

thirty years before, had been killed by Farley’s strike-breakers.

“But with such a powerful combination as the Oligarchy and the big

unions, is there any reason to believe that the Revolution will ever

triumph?” I queried. “May not the combination endure forever?”

He shook his head. “One of our generalizations is that every system

founded upon class and caste contains within itself the germs of its

own decay. When a system is founded upon class, how can caste be

prevented? The Iron Heel will not be able to prevent it, and in the end

caste will destroy the Iron Heel. The oligarchs have already developed

caste among themselves; but wait until the favored unions develop

caste. The Iron Heel will use all its power to prevent it, but it will

fail.

“In the favored unions are the flower of the American workingmen. They

are strong, efficient men. They have become members of those unions

through competition for place. Every fit workman in the United States

will be possessed by the ambition to become a member of the favored

unions. The Oligarchy will encourage such ambition and the consequent

competition. Thus will the strong men, who might else be

revolutionists, be won away and their strength used to bolster the

Oligarchy.

“On the other hand, the labor castes, the members of the favored

unions, will strive to make their organizations into close

corporations. And they will succeed. Membership in the labor castes

will become hereditary. Sons will succeed fathers, and there will be no

inflow of new strength from that eternal reservoir of strength, the

common people. This will mean deterioration of the labor castes, and in

the end they will become weaker and weaker. At the same time, as an

institution, they will become temporarily all-powerful. They will be

like the guards of the palace in old Rome, and there will be palace

revolutions whereby the labor castes will seize the reins of power. And

there will be counter-palace revolutions of the oligarchs, and

sometimes the one, and sometimes the other, will be in power. And

through it all the inevitable caste-weakening will go on, so that in

the end the common people will come into their own.”

This foreshadowing of a slow social evolution was made when Ernest was

first depressed by the defection of the great unions. I never agreed

with him in it, and I disagree now, as I write these lines, more

heartily than ever; for even now, though Ernest is gone, we are on the

verge of the revolt that will sweep all oligarchies away. Yet I have

here given Ernest’s prophecy because it was his prophecy. In spite of

his belief in it, he worked like a giant against it, and he, more than

any man, has made possible the revolt that even now waits the signal to

burst forth.[4]

[4] Everhard’s social foresight was remarkable. As clearly as in the

light of past events, he saw the defection of the favored unions, the

rise and the slow decay of the labor castes, and the struggle between

the decaying oligarchs and labor castes for control of the great

governmental machine.

“But if the Oligarchy persists,” I asked him that evening, “what will

become of the great surpluses that will fall to its share every year?”

“The surpluses will have to be expended somehow,” he answered; “and

trust the oligarchs to find a way. Magnificent roads will be built.

There will be great achievements in science, and especially in art.

When the oligarchs have completely mastered the people, they will have

time to spare for other things. They will become worshippers of beauty.

They will become art-lovers. And under their direction and generously

rewarded, will toil the artists. The result will be great art; for no

longer, as up to yesterday, will the artists pander to the bourgeois

taste of the middle class. It will be great art, I tell you, and wonder

cities will arise that will make tawdry and cheap the cities of old

time. And in these cities will the oligarchs dwell and worship

beauty.[5]

[5] We cannot but marvel at Everhard’s foresight. Before ever the

thought of wonder cities like Ardis and Asgard entered the minds of

the oligarchs, Everhard saw those cities and the inevitable necessity

for their creation.

“Thus will the surplus be constantly expended while labor does the

work. The building of these great works and cities will give a

starvation ration to millions of common laborers, for the enormous bulk

of the surplus will compel an equally enormous expenditure, and the

oligarchs will build for a thousand years—ay, for ten thousand years.

They will build as the Egyptians and the Babylonians never dreamed of

building; and when the oligarchs have passed away, their great roads

and their wonder cities will remain for the brotherhood of labor to

tread upon and dwell within.[6]

[6] And since that day of prophecy, have passed away the three

centuries of the Iron Heel and the four centuries of the Brotherhood

of Man, and to-day we tread the roads and dwell in the cities that the

oligarchs built. It is true, we are even now building still more

wonderful wonder cities, but the wonder cities of the oligarchs

endure, and I write these lines in Ardis, one of the most wonderful of

them all.

“These things the oligarchs will do because they cannot help doing

them. These great works will be the form their expenditure of the

surplus will take, and in the same way that the ruling classes of Egypt

of long ago expended the surplus they robbed from the people by the

building of temples and pyramids. Under the oligarchs will flourish,

not a priest class, but an artist class. And in place of the merchant

class of bourgeoisie will be the labor castes. And beneath will be the

abyss, wherein will fester and starve and rot, and ever renew itself,

the common people, the great bulk of the population. And in the end,

who knows in what day, the common people will rise up out of the abyss;

the labor castes and the Oligarchy will crumble away; and then, at

last, after the travail of the centuries, will it be the day of the

common man. I had thought to see that day; but now I know that I shall

never see it.”

He paused and looked at me, and added:

“Social evolution is exasperatingly slow, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

My arms were about him, and his head was on my breast.

“Sing me to sleep,” he murmured whimsically. “I have had a visioning,

and I wish to forget.”