Never shall I forget the night when, after a hot discussion with half a dozen labour 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 labour 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 labour. Labour 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
‘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 labour, of all labour. 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 labour. 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 labour 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, ‘of the coming of the day when organised labour, defeated on the industrial field, would come over on to the political field. Well, the Iron Heel has defeated the labour 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 subsidising 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 for ever,’ 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 favourable 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 civilisation. Assured of their faithfulness, the Iron Heel can snap its fingers at all the rest of labour. 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 labour. 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 Farley3 and his strikebreakers? 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 labourers to work. It simply prolongs the-fight, this treachery of the big unions. Heaven only knows now where and when the Revolution will triumph.’
‘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 for ever?’
He shook his head. ‘One of our generalisations 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 favoured unions develop caste. The Iron Heel will use all its power to prevent it, but it will fail.
‘In the favoured 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 favoured 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 labour castes, the members of the favoured unions, will strive to make their organisations into close corporations. And they will succeed. Membership in the labour 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 labour 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 labour 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
‘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