Books: The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

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They did not seem to really desire to discover the truth or to find
out the best way to bring about an improvement in their condition,
their only object seemed to be to score off their opponents.

Usually after one of these arguments, Owen would wander off by
himself, with his head throbbing and a feeling of unutterable
depression and misery at his heart; weighed down by a growing
conviction of the hopelessness of everything, of the folly of
expecting that his fellow workmen would ever be willing to try to
understand for themselves the causes that produced their sufferings.
It was not that those causes were so obscure that it required
exceptional intelligence to perceive them; the causes of all the
misery were so apparent that a little child could easily be made to
understand both the disease and the remedy; but it seemed to him that
the majority of his fellow workmen had become so convinced of their
own intellectual inferiority that they did not dare to rely on their
own intelligence to guide them, preferring to resign the management of
their affairs unreservedly into the hands of those who battened upon
and robbed them. They did not know the causes of the poverty that
perpetually held them and their children in its cruel grip, and - they
did not want to know! And if one explained those causes to them in
such language and in such a manner that they were almost compelled to
understand, and afterwards pointed out to them the obvious remedy,
they were neither glad nor responsive, but remained silent and were
angry because they found themselves unable to answer and disprove.

They remained silent; afraid to trust their own intelligence, and the
reason of this attitude was that they had to choose between the
evidence and their own intelligence, and the stories told them by
their masters and exploiters. And when it came to making this choice
they deemed it safer to follow their old guides, than to rely on their
own judgement, because from their very infancy they had had drilled
into them the doctrine of their own mental and social inferiority, and
their conviction of the truth of this doctrine was voiced in the
degraded expression that fell so frequently from their lips, when
speaking of themselves and each other - `The Likes of Us!'

They did not know the causes of their poverty, they did not want to
know, they did not want to hear.

All they desired was to be left alone so that they might continue to
worship and follow those who took advantage of their simplicity, and
robbed them of the fruits of their toil; their old leaders, the fools
or scoundrels who fed them with words, who had led them into the
desolation where they now seemed to be content to grind out treasure
for their masters, and to starve when those masters did not find it
profitable to employ them. It was as if a flock of foolish sheep
placed themselves under the protection of a pack of ravening wolves.

Several times the small band of Socialists narrowly escaped being
mobbed, but they succeeded in disposing of most of their leaflets
without any serious trouble. Towards the latter part of one evening
Barrington and Owen became separated from the others, and shortly
afterwards these two lost each other in the crush.

About nine o'clock, Barrington was in a large Liberal crowd, listening
to the same hired orator who had spoken a few evenings before on the
hill - the man with the scar on his forehead. The crowd was
applauding him loudly and Barrington again fell to wondering where he
had seen this man before. As on the previous occasion, this speaker
made no reference to Socialism, confining himself to other matters.
Barrington examined him closely, trying to recall under what
circumstances they had met previously, and presently he remembered
that this was one of the Socialists who had come with the band of
cyclists into the town that Sunday morning, away back at the beginning
of the summer, the man who had come afterwards with the van, and who
had been struck down by a stone while attempting to speak from the
platform of the van, the man who had been nearly killed by the
upholders of the capitalist system. It was the same man! The
Socialist had been clean-shaven - this man wore beard and moustache -
but Barrington was certain he was the same.

When the man had concluded his speech he got down and stood in the
shade behind the platform, while someone else addressed the meeting,
and Barrington went round to where he was standing, intending to speak
to him.

All around them, pandemonium reigned supreme. They were in the
vicinity of the Slave Market, near the Fountain, on the Grand Parade,
where several roads met; there was a meeting going on at every corner,
and a number of others in different, parts of the roadway and on the
pavement of the Parade. Some of these meetings were being carried on
by two or three men, who spoke in turn from small, portable platforms
they carried with them, and placed wherever they thought there was a
chance of getting an audience.

Every now and then some of these poor wretches - they were all paid
speakers - were surrounded and savagely mauled and beaten by a hostile
crowd. If they were Tariff Reformers the Liberals mobbed them, and
vice versa. Lines of rowdies swaggered to and fro, arm in arm,
singing, `Vote, Vote, Vote, for good ole Closeland' or `good ole
Sweater', according as they were green or blue and yellow. Gangs of
hooligans paraded up and down, armed with sticks, singing, howling,
cursing and looking for someone to hit. Others stood in groups on the
pavement with their hands thrust in their pockets, or leaned against
walls or the shutters of the shops with expressions of ecstatic
imbecility on their faces, chanting the mournful dirge to the tune of
the church chimes,

`Good - ole - Sweat - er
Good - ole - Sweat - er
Good - ole - Sweat - er
Good - ole - Sweat - er.'

Other groups - to the same tune - sang `Good - ole - Close - land';
and every now and again they used to leave off singing and begin to
beat each other. Fights used to take place, often between workmen,
about the respective merits of Adam Sweater and Sir Graball
D'Encloseland.

The walls were covered with huge Liberal and Tory posters, which
showed in every line the contempt of those who published them for the
intelligence of the working men to whom they were addressed. There
was one Tory poster that represented the interior of a public house;
in front of the bar, with a quart pot in his hand, a clay pipe in his
mouth, and a load of tools on his back, stood a degraded-looking brute
who represented the Tory ideal of what an Englishman should be; the
letterpress on the poster said it was a man! This is the ideal of
manhood that they hold up to the majority of their fellow countrymen,
but privately - amongst themselves - the Tory aristocrats regard such
`men' with far less respect than they do the lower animals. Horses or
dogs, for instance.

The Liberal posters were not quite so offensive. They were more
cunning, more specious, more hypocritical and consequently more
calculated to mislead and deceive the more intelligent of the voters.

When Barrington got round to the back of the platform, he found the
man with the scarred face standing alone and gloomily silent in the
shadow. Barrington gave him one of the Socialist leaflets, which he
took, and after glancing at it, put it in his coat pocket without
making any remark.

`I hope you'll excuse me for asking, but were you not formerly a
Socialist?' said Barrington.

Even in the semi-darkness Barrington saw the other man flush deeply
and then become very pale, and the unsightly scar upon his forehead
showed with ghastly distinctiveness.

`I am still a Socialist: no man who has once been a Socialist can ever
cease to be one.'

`You seem to have accomplished that impossibility, to judge by the
work you are at present engaged in. You must have changed your
opinions since you were here last.'

`No one who has been a Socialist can ever cease to be one. It is
impossible for a man who has once acquired knowledge ever to
relinquish it. A Socialist is one who understands the causes of the
misery and degradation we see all around us; who knows the only
remedy, and knows that that remedy - the state of society that will be
called Socialism - must eventually be adopted; is the only alternative
to the extermination of the majority of the working people; but it
does not follow that everyone who has sense enough to acquire that
amount of knowledge, must, in addition, be willing to sacrifice
himself in order to help to bring that state of society into being.
When I first acquired that knowledge,' he continued, bitterly, `I was
eager to tell the good news to others. I sacrificed my time, my
money, and my health in order that I might teach others what I had
learned myself. I did it willingly and happily, because I thought
they would be glad to hear, and that they were worth the sacrifices I
made for their sakes. But I know better now.'

`Even if you no longer believe in working for Socialism, there's no
need to work AGAINST it. If you are not disposed to sacrifice
yourself in order to do good to others, you might at least refrain
from doing evil. If you don't want to help to bring about a better
state of affairs, there's no reason why you should help to perpetuate
the present system.'

The other man laughed bitterly. `Oh yes, there is, and a very good
reason too.'

`I don't think you could show me a reason,' said Barrington.

The man with the scar laughed again, the same unpleasant, mirthless
laugh, and thrusting his hand into his trouser pocket drew it out
again full of silver coins, amongst which one or two gold pieces
glittered.

`That is my reason. When I devoted my life and what abilities I
possess to the service of my fellow workmen; when I sought to teach
them how to break their chains; when I tried to show them how they
might save their children from poverty and shameful servitude, I did
not want them to give me money. I did it for love. And they paid me
with hatred and injury. But since I have been helping their masters
to rob them, they have treated me with respect.'

Barrington made no reply and the other man, having returned the money
to his pocket, indicated the crowd with a sweep of his hand.

`Look at them!' he continued with a contemptuous laugh. `Look at
them! the people you are trying to make idealists of! Look at them!
Some of them howling and roaring like wild beasts, or laughing like
idiots, others standing with dull and stupid faces devoid of any trace
of intelligence or expression, listening to the speakers whose words
convey no meaning to their stultified minds, and others with their
eyes gleaming with savage hatred of their fellow men, watching eagerly
for an opportunity to provoke a quarrel that they may gratify their
brutal natures by striking someone - their eyes are hungry for the
sight of blood! Can't you see that these people, whom you are trying
to make understand your plan for the regeneration of the world, your
doctrine of universal brotherhood and love are for the most part -
intellectually - on level with Hottentots? The only things they feel
any real interest in are beer, football, betting and - of course - one
other subject. Their highest ambition is to be allowed to Work. And
they desire nothing better for their children!

`They have never had an independent thought in their lives. These are
the people whom you hope to inspire with lofty ideals! You might just
as well try to make a gold brooch out of a lump of dung! Try to
reason with them, to uplift them, to teach them the way to higher
things. Devote your whole life and intelligence to the work of trying
to get better conditions for them, and you will find that they
themselves are the enemy you will have to fight against. They'll hate
you, and, if they get the chance, they'll tear you to pieces. But if
you're a sensible man you'll use whatever talents and intelligence you
possess for your own benefit. Don't think about Socialism or any
other "ism". Concentrate your mind on getting money - it doesn't
matter how you get it, but - get it. If you can't get it honestly,
get it dishonestly, but get it! it is the only thing that counts. Do
as I do - rob them! exploit them! and then they'll have some respect
for you.'

`There's something in what you say,' replied Barrington, after a long
pause, `but it's not all. Circumstances make us what we are; and
anyhow, the children are worth fighting for.'

`You may think so now,' said the other, `but you'll come to see it my
way some day. As for the children - if their parents are satisfied to
let them grow up to be half-starved drudges for other people, I don't
see why you or I need trouble about it. If you like to listen to
reason,' he continued after a pause, `I can put you on to something
that will be worth more to you than all your Socialism.'

`What do you mean?'

`Look here: you're a Socialist; well, I'm a Socialist too: that is, I
have sense enough to believe that Socialism is practical and
inevitable and right; it will come when the majority of the people are
sufficiently enlightened to demand it, but that enlightenment will
never be brought about by reasoning or arguing with them, for these
people are simply not intellectually capable of abstract reasoning -
they can't grasp theories. You know what the late Lord Salisbury said
about them when somebody proposed to give them some free libraries: He
said: "They don't want libraries: give them a circus." You see these
Liberals and Tories understand the sort of people they have to deal
with; they know that although their bodies are the bodies of grown
men, their minds are the minds of little children. That is why it has
been possible to deceive and bluff and rob them for so long. But your
party persists in regarding them as rational beings, and that's where
you make a mistake - you're simply wasting your time.

`The only way in which it is possible to teach these people is by
means of object lessons, and those are being placed before them in
increasing numbers every day. The trustification of industry - the
object lesson which demonstrates the possibility of collective
ownership - will in time compel even these to understand, and by the
time they have learnt that, they will also have learned by bitter
experience and not from theoretical teaching, that they must either
own the trusts or perish, and then, and not, till then, they will
achieve Socialism. But meanwhile we have this election. Do you think
it will make any real difference - for good or evil - which of these
two men is elected?'

`No.'

`Well, you can't keep them both out - you have no candidate of your
own - why should you object to earning a few pounds by helping one of
them to get in? There are plenty of voters who are doubtful whet to
do; as you and I know there is every excuse for them being unable to
make up their minds which of these two candidates is the worse, a word
from your party would decide them. Since you have no candidate of
your own you will be doing no harm to Socialism and you will be doing
yourself a bit of good. If you like to come along with me now, I'll
introduce you to Sweater's agent - no one need know anything about
it.'

He slipped his arm through Barrington's, but the latter released
himself.

`Please yourself,' said the other with an affectation of indifference.
`You know your own business best. You may choose to be a Jesus Christ
if you like, but for my part I'm finished. For the future I intend to
look after myself. As for these people - they vote for what they
want; they get - what they vote for; and by God, they deserve nothing
better! They are being beaten with whips of their own choosing and if
I had my way they should be chastised with scorpions! For them, the
present system means joyless drudgery, semi-starvation, rags and
premature death. They vote for it all and uphold it. Well, let them
have what they vote for - let them drudge - let them starve!'

The man with the scarred face ceased speaking, and for some moments
Barrington did not reply.

`I suppose there is some excuse for your feeling as you do,' he said
slowly at last, `but it seems to me that you do not make enough
allowance for the circumstances. From their infancy most of them have
been taught by priests and parents to regard themselves and their own
class with contempt - a sort of lower animals - and to regard those
who possess wealth with veneration, as superior beings. The idea that
they are really human creatures, naturally absolutely the same as
their so-called betters, naturally equal in every way, naturally
different from them only in those ways in which their so-called
superiors differ from each other, and inferior to them only because
they have been deprived of education, culture and opportunity - you
know as well as I do that they have all been taught to regard that
idea as preposterous.

`The self-styled "Christian" priests who say - with their tongues in
their cheeks - that God is our Father and that all men are brethren,
have succeeded in convincing the majority of the "brethren" that it is
their duty to be content in their degradation, and to order themselves
lowly and reverently towards their masters. Your resentment should be
directed against the deceivers, not against the dupes.'

The other man laughed bitterly.

`Well, go and try to undeceive them,' he said, as he returned to the
platform in response to a call from his associates. `Go and try to
teach them that the Supreme Being made the earth and all its fullness
for the use and benefit of all His children. Go and try to explain to
them that they are poor in body and mind and social condition, not
because of any natural inferiority, but because they have been robbed
of their inheritance. Go and try to show them how to secure that
inheritance for themselves and their children - and see how grateful
they'll be to you.'

For the next hour Barrington walked about the crowded streets in a
dispirited fashion. His conversation with the renegade seemed to have
taken all the heart out of him. He still had a number of the
leaflets, but the task of distributing them had suddenly grown
distasteful and after a while he discontinued it. All his enthusiasm
was gone. Like one awakened from a dream he saw the people who
surrounded him in a different light. For the first time he properly
appreciated the offensiveness of most of those to whom he offered the
handbills; some, without even troubling to ascertain what they were
about, rudely refused to accept them; some took them and after
glancing at the printing, crushed them in their hands and
ostentatiously threw them away. Others, who recognized him as a
Socialist, angrily or contemptuously declined them, often with curses
or injurious words.

His attention was presently attracted to a crowd of about thirty or
forty people, congregated near a gas lamp at the roadside. The sound
of many angry voices rose from the centre of this group, and as he
stood on the outskirts of the crowd, Barrington, being tall, was able
to look into the centre, where he saw Owen. The light of the street
lamp fell full upon the latter's pale face, as he stood silent in the
midst of a ring of infuriated men, who were all howling at him at
once, and whose malignant faces bore expressions of savage hatred, as
they shouted out the foolish accusations and slanders they had read in
the Liberal and Tory papers.

Socialists wished to do away with religion and morality! to establish
free love and atheism! All the money that the working classes had
saved up in the Post Office and the Friendly Societies, was to be
Robbed from them and divided up amongst a lot of drunken loafers who
were too lazy to work. The King and all the Royal Family were to be
Done Away with! and so on.

Owen made no attempt to reply. and the manner of the crowd became
every moment more threatening. It was evident that several of them
found it difficult to refrain from attacking him. It was a splendid
opportunity of doing a little fighting without running any risks.
This fellow was all by himself, and did not appear to be much of a man
even at that. Those in the middle were encouraged by shouts from
others in the crowd, who urged them to `Go for him' and at last -
almost at the instant of Barrington's arrival - one of the heroes,
unable to contain himself any longer, lifted a heavy stick and struck
Owen savagely across the face. The sight of the blood maddened the
others, and in an instant everyone who could get within striking
distance joined furiously in the onslaught, reaching eagerly over each
other's shoulders, showering blows upon him with sticks and fists, and
before Barrington could reach his side, they had Owen down on the
ground, and had begun to use their boots upon him.

Barrington felt like a wild beast himself, as he fiercely fought his
way through the crowd, spuming them to right and left with fists and
elbows. He reached the centre in time to seize the uplifted arm of
the man who had led the attack and wrenching the stick from his hand,
he felled him to the ground with a single blow. The remainder shrank
back, and meantime the crowd was augmented by others who came running
up.

Some of these newcomers were Liberals and some Tories, and as these
did not know what the row was about they attacked each other. The
Liberals went for those who wore Tory colours and vice versa, and in a
few seconds there was a general free fight, though most of the
original crowd ran away, and in the confusion that ended, Barrington
and Owen got out of the crowd without further molestation.

Monday was the last day of the election - polling day - and in
consequence of the number of motor cars that were flying about, the
streets were hardly safe for ordinary traffic. The wealthy persons
who owned these carriages...

The result of the poll was to be shown on an illuminated sign at the
Town Hall, at eleven o'clock that night, and long before that hour a
vast crowd gathered in the adjacent streets. About ten o'clock it
began to rain, but the crowd stood its ground and increased in numbers
as the time went by. At a quarter to eleven the rain increased to a
terrible downpour, but the people remained waiting to know which hero
had conquered. Eleven o'clock came and an intense silence fell upon
the crowd, whose eyes were fixed eagerly upon the window where the
sign was to be exhibited. To judge by the extraordinary interest
displayed by these people, one might have thought that they expected
to reap some great benefit or to sustain some great loss from the
result, but of course that was not the case, for most of them knew
perfectly well that the result of this election would make no more
real difference to them than all the other elections that had gone
before.

They wondered what the figures would be. There were ten thousand
voters on the register. At a quarter past eleven the sign was
illuminated, but the figures were not yet shown. Next, the names of
the two candidates were slid into sight, the figures were still
missing, but D'Encloseland's name was on top, and a hoarse roar of
triumph came from the throats of his admirers. Then the two slides
with the names were withdrawn, and the sign was again left blank.
After a time the people began to murmur at all this delay and messing
about, and presently some of them began to groan and hoot.

After a few minutes the names were again slid into view, this time
with Sweater's name on top, and the figures appeared immediately
afterwards:

Sweater . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4,221
D'Encloseland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4,200

It was several seconds before the Liberals could believe their eyes;
it was too good to be true. It is impossible to say what was the
reason of the wild outburst of delighted enthusiasm that followed, but
whatever the reason, whatever the benefit was that they expected to
reap - there was the fact. They were all cheering and dancing and
shaking hands with each other, and some of them were so overcome with
inexplicable joy that they were scarcely able to speak. It was
altogether extraordinary and unaccountable.

A few minutes after the declaration, Sweater appeared at the window
and made a sort of a speech, but only fragments of it were audible to
the cheering crowd who at intervals caught such phrases as `Slashing
Blow', `Sweep the Country', `Grand Old Liberal Flag', and so on. Next
D'Encloseland appeared and he was seen to shake hands with Mr Sweater,
whom he referred to as `My friend'.

When the two `friends' disappeared from the window, the part of the
Liberal crowd that was not engaged in hand-to-hand fights with their
enemies - the Tories - made a rush to the front entrance of the Town
Hall, where Sweater's carriage was waiting, and as soon as he had
placed his plump rotundity inside, they took the horses out and amid
frantic cheers harnessed themselves to it instead and dragged it
through the mud and the pouring rain all the way to `The Cave' - most
of them were accustomed to acting as beasts of burden - where he again
addressed a few words to them from the porch.