Cities Stained With Blood.

        Every house, every road, every building, each ship ever launched, the trucks the trains and all the goods they carry, all stained with the sweat and blood of the ordinary people. Industrial disease, injury and death are the units of exchange to furnish our cities and towns. The shiny new car, the mobile phone, the shopping mall, all sanitized to hide their origin, trace them back to the earth they came from, and you'll find them nourished with blood.

 

The Road Builders

(“Who built the beautiful roads?” queried a friend of the present order, as we walked one day along the macadamized driveway of Fairmount Park.)

I saw them toiling in the blistering sun,
Their dull, dark faces leaning toward the stone, Their knotted fingers grasping the rude tools,
Their rounded shoulders narrowing in their chest,
The sweat dro’s dripping in great painful beads.
I saw one fall, his forehead on the rock,
The helpless hand still clutching at the spade,
The slack mouth full of earth.

And he was dead.
His comrades gently turned his face, until
The fierce sun glittered hard upon his eyes,
Wide open, staring at the cruel sky.
The blood yet ran upon the jagged stone;
But it was ended. He was quite, quite dead:
Driven to death beneath the burning sun,
Driven to death upon the road he built.

He was no “hero”, he; a poor, black man,
Taking “the will of God” and asking naught;
Think of him thus, when next your horse’s feet
Strike out the flint spark from the gleaming road;
Think that for this, this common thing, The Road,
A human creature died; ‘tis a blood gift,
To an o’er reaching world that does not thank.
Ignorant, mean and soulless was he? Well —
Still human; and you drive upon his corpse.

Philadelphia, 24 July 1900

Voltairine de Cleyre

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WORKERS, KNOW YOUR HISTORY, MARIUS JACOB.

         Today, 29 September, we celebrate the life and birthday of ALEXANDRE MARIUS JACOB (1879-1954) he was a French illegalist anarchist whose avowed mission was to steal back from the major thieves: commerce, the aristocracy, the state. Although a lucid and articulate thinker and polemicist, he soon learned to avoid political milieux and cut to the chase, working with common criminals. He was by all accounts a phenomenal burglar — he was a model for the “gentleman-cambrioleur” Arsène Lupin. He had, for example, the panache to leave at the scenes of his crimes a calling card in the name of “Attila.” He devised the trick, often enacted in movies, of breaking into an apartment from the floor above by poking an umbrella through the ceiling and using it to catch the plaster. At one point he bought a hardware store, where he could dismantle safes at his leisure. But he was also famously Robin Hoodesque, redistributing the bulk of his takes to the poor. When he discovered that an intended victim was choked by debts, he left her 10,000 gold francs, and when he found that another one was a writer, he put everything back and left money for damages. Caught and sent to forced labor in French Guyana in 1903, he attempted escape seventeen times, and authorities complained about having to bring in new guards at frequent intervals, since he regularly converted his jailers to his principles. He spent his last few decades as a market peddler in rural France. He died 9 August 1954.

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