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By Emile Pouget and Arturo Giovannitti, a book every worker
should read. Paper, 25 cents, postpaid. Address The Voice of
The People, 335 Carondelet Street, New Orleans, La.. Or for $1.00
we will send you a copy of Sabotage and the Voice for 40 weeks. Get
wise! Do it now, TO-DAY.
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The I. W. W. Preamble
The working class and the employing class have nothing in common.
There can be no peace so long as hunger and want are found among mil
lions of working people, and the few, who make up the employing class,
have all the good things of life.
Between these two classes a struggle must go on until the workers of the
world organize as a class, take possession of the earth and the machinery
of production, and abolish the wage systeli..
We find that the centering of the management of industries into fewer
and fewer hands makes the trade unions unable to cope with the ever-grow
ing power of the employing class. The trade unions foster a state of affairs
which allows one set of workers to be pitted against mnother set of workers
in the same Industry, thereby helping defeat one another in wage wars. More
over, the trade urnions aid in employing class to mislead the workers into the
belief that the working class Lave interests in common with their employers.
These conditions can be changed and the interest of the working class
upheld only by an organization formed in such a way that all its members
in any one lndusti y, or In all industries, if necessary, cease work whenever a
strike or lockout on in any department thereof, thus waking an injury to
one an Injury to all.
Instead of the conservative motto. "A fair day's wage for a fair day's
work," we must inscribe on our banner the revolutionary watchword, "Abo
lition of the wage system."
It Is the historic mission of the working class to do away with capital
ism. The army of production must be organized, not only for the everyday
struggle with capitallsls, but also to carry on production when capitalism
shall have been overthrown. By organizing industrially we are forming the
structure of the zkw society with the shell of the old.
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Southern organs of the I. W. W., for
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We further offer you THE VOICE
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Lastly, we offer yu TIlE VOICE
OF TIl E I'EOP'LE and the "INTER
NATIONAL SO('IAI1ST. REVIEW,"
both for one year, for only $1.25.
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WATCHMAKER. JEWELER, AND OPTICIAN
We are Specialists on
Repairing Fine Watches
The Watcbcn.We Repair Keep Perfect Time
WATCH INSPECTOR St. L. I. . . & S RV.
10th and Jackson Sts. sear Union Station
I. W. W. SONG BOOK.
Send a dime to '"HE INDUSTRIAL
WORKER," Box 2129,-Spokane. Washington,
and get a song book. Forty-three songs.
Songs of Life. Songs of Hope. Songs of
Revolution. Songs that tell of Labor's
wakening. Send your dime today and learn
to sing the songs that arv being soag
around the world.
'The Trial of a New Society"
A fine hislr\ ,f th,.
Great Lawrence Strike
By JUSTUS EBERT,
who dues all things well, especially
PRICE, 75 CENTS.
Get it of the
I. W. W. PIUBLISHING BUREAU,
112 Ilamiltor Ave., Cleveland, Ohio.
Oil Swipings Fine.
"Crowley, La., Sept. 8.-The offi
cers of the Crowley Oil and Mineral
Company have again declared a divi
dend of 10 per cent on the company's
capital stock of $200,000. This makes
a total of 55 dividends of 10 per cent
each, or $1,100,000 paid in dividends
to its stockholders. This company
was organized by the I)uson Brothers
in the early development of the Evan
geline oil field."
Say you fellows slaving in the oil
fields, why not organize in the ONE
BIG UNION and put all the tremend
ous dividends declared from YOUR
TOIL on the backs and in the stoma
chs of YOURSELES, YOUR MOTH
ERS, WIVES AND CHILDREN?
Think it over, hard.
IN NOTIIFYIN;. TIA.\T YOU ARE
N'l RECE(IVIN; YOU'R PAPER.
I',LEASE STATE ON OR ABOUT
WIIAT I)ATE Y(O)U SUBSCRIBED.
TO WIIOM YOl' GAVE YOUR SUB..
.\AND FOR 11OW LONG IT WAS TO
'TIlE VOICL OF TIlE PEOPLE."
By Forrest Edwards.
The "Industrial Workers of the
World" as an economic organization
is committed to a program of "Direct
Action." It teaches the workers that,
through the use of "Direct Action"
they can force from the ruling class
higher wages, shorter hours and ul
timately the ownership of the natu
ral resources and the machinery of
production and distribution. That
Direct Action is the only logical
weapon of an economic organization,
the necessary product thereof, and
will protect the workers from the
fierce cross-fire of the ruling class,
their Bullpens, Bayonets and electric
chairs, their Court injunctions, Bul
lets of the Soldier's rifle and other
forms of violence peculiar to the pres
ent system of wage slavery,. goes
v. ,i aout saying.
What is "Direct Action ?" Unless
this qfuet.tlon is answered we cannot
proceed. We cannot allow the ruling
class to c eii'e our terms. We must
insist u.;poi doing that ourselves, just
as (;lharik: Iarwin and Karl Marx
claimed the right to define their
terms. It would be just as dangerous
for it, ,, .ut th . rulng class define our
tern's as it wtiht have been for
Charles Darwin to have let the Clergy
to define his.
)irect Actioi, is that action taken
by the organized working class
against the Capitalist Class without
boIthtring with the legal machinery
of the Capitalist State. It is the or
ganized action of the workers, guided
by education rather than prejudice,
prompted by an economic grievance
rather than hatred; it calls for organ
ized iintelligent action, rather than the
blind L.ction of the Mob; it seeks to
right the wrongs that exist rather
than carry on a campaign of destruc
tion vis i the case with the Mob.
'rThe Capitalist Class would be only
too glad it we would accept their defi
nitior, of Direct Action and Sabotage.
They could then proceed with their
set urrilous and inflammatory edito
rials, appealing to the savage instinct
of man, fomenting mob violence to the
end that they might disorganize our
forces, through the wholesale destruc
tion of property and physical injury
to men and women that would be left
in the tiail of the Mob. Mobs are
lnever prompted by any good motive,
and no good can come therefrom, yet
the "Law and Order" bunch when en
gaged in an industrial dispute, and
bafflled by the organized workers, al
ways, as' a last resort, appeal to the
Mob spirit of man, and it is precisely
this I'o'ition that the ruling class will
take on the eve of the revolution and
thus try to disorganize the workers.
Their success means our failure.
'Thl power of the workers lies in
their ability to start and stop the
wheels of industry. LABOR-POW
EIR, the physical energy of the work
ing class, THE LIFEBLOOD OF IN
I)USTRY, and without which indus
try would not operate, is bought and
sold on the open market by the high
est bilddler; and its price or wages is
determined like the price of all other
commodities, by supply and demand.
The workers then, to get a higher
price for their Labor Power, must or
ganize into a Union patterned after
the shop in which they work, and
then, by taking a common stand, they
can stop the wheels of industry, and
the industry will remain dead 'til labor
power is again applied and brings it
back to life.
The worker through his SHOP OR
(;GANIZATION assumes control of the
industry; in the same degree that la
bor controls industry through shop
organization, the control of industry
passes from the hands of the capital
ist and their governmental institu
tions to the workers to be managed
by them through their organization.
If, in tl:e every-day struggle for
higher wages and shorter hours, ac
tive members of this union should fall
into the clutches of the law, the work
ers, through their organized power
can force their release, by simply
stopping the wheels of industry, the
capitalist will take the matter up and,
from the standpoint of gold dollars,
decide whether it is cheaper for them
to railroad the men to the gallows, or
the pen, as the case may be, or wheth
er it will be cheaper to turn them
loose. To send them over the road
will be their ruination, to turn them
loose will mean that they can at least
do business a few years longer. The
organized action of the workers, guid
ed by intelligence, THAT ACTION,
prompted by some economic wrong,
can be called Direct Action, and we
refuse to admit that there is any
harm can come from this method of
warfare. We say to the workers that
DIRECT ACTION WILL GET THE
The capitalist class are in the habit
of creating riots and then saying to
the world: "Look, there is a sample
of Direct Action, do you want any
more of it?" We reply by asking,
"When have the I. W. W. ever advo
cated Mob violence? or Mob action ?"
No; we are just as much afraid of
mobs as any member of the capitalist
Class. We say to the workers: OR
GANIZE AND TAKE INTELLI
GENT ACTION." It is only by intel
ligent action that the workers can
ever protect themselves from the Mob
Violence of the capitalist class, and ul
timately emancipate themselves from
The Pale Laugh.
By K. E. Primus-Nyman in "The New
Hlow vividly can I yet remember the
first time I read Leonid Andreyev's
"The Red Laugh." I was but a child
then, but the Red Laugh became part
of my imagination; it became the
(;reat Drama of Life that I wanted to
see and to study and feel. The hor
rors of the Red Laugh did not fright
en me, they struck me by their in
tense power, and they appealed to my
mind by their melancholy.
I had plenty of chances both to see
and to hear the Red Laugh. Each
time I witnessed its violent outbursts
I was forced to rejoice at the volcanic
powers that lay hidden at the bottom
of the human soul and that could
burst out when you least expected
their appearance. For there is no more
impressive scene than when a human
soul is set aflame, and when it knows
not its owner, nor time, nor surround
ings. No acting, no painting, no mu
sic is greater than wild, unconscious
But I saw laughter that I could not
hear, laughter that I could not under
stand, laughter whose inner meaning
for a long time remained a mystery to
The Pale Laugh.
The first time I gave it this name I
was brought as a prisoner through a
large gallery in a Russian prison.
Many of my unhappy comrades, work
ing in the gallery, watched me closely
with their eyes. They were not al
lowed to say a word, or even to make
a sign, but as I passed them their lips
formed something that resembled a
smile. That resembled. * * For
it was only the muscles in their white
faces that were distorted into a ghast
The Pale Laugh. * * It was a
greeting of a prisoner, nay, the greet
ing of all the prisoners. ** A greet
ing that meant pity, mockery, and
The first prisoner I met smi'"d at
me in this way. I had never seen
him before, nor did he interest me, but
I felt how my lips formed like his.
Evidently I smiled to.
The Pale Laugh.
One night I was strolling around in
one of London's darkest slums in East
End. It was a narrow lane between
two rows of grey, mouldy houses.
Here and there the way was barred
bly old, broken furniture or rags that
had been thrown out into the street.
And there at their side sat dark, hu
man figures, praying, moaning, curs
ing. * * They had had no money
to pay for their filthy, little dens, no
more furniture or other belongings of
any value to pawn, no power to resist.
* * It was a late autumn evening,
and a damp, frosty wind whistled
through the lane, causing the people
to seek shelter behind old corners or
barricades of furniture. 'And there
they were sitting in the darkness,
their teeth chattering, and talking in
low whispers. But the wind carried
their moanings with it, and at the end
of the street it seemed to me that I
was listening to a hymn, arising out
of the lowest depths.
It was hideous to listen to that
hymn, it was hideous to view all the
misery of that lane, but at its end,
quite close to the river, where a yellow
mist rose'like an impenetrable wall,
the very worst sight met my eyes.
Leaning against a red brick wall sat a
thin, disfigured woman, trying to
shield a weeping baby under her
ragged shawl, too small even to give
her herself shelter against the cold.
All her belongings were stowed down
in a box, besides which she only pos
sessed the three-legged chair, upon
which she was sitting.
I had expected she would beg for a
coin as I passed her by. She said not
a word. She only drew the shawl
closer round herself and her baby. It
seemed to me as if she wanted to
show that they stood alon ina this
world. * * And when I lan down
a silver coin in her meagre, bony hand
she only stared at me for a few sec
onds. Perhaps she tried to speak
it is difficult to say,-but her lips
were drawn into a smile, disdainful
and appalling, although she only tried
to express her thanks.
It was a yellow, sickly smile-it was
the Pale Laugh.
We sat, one evening, a few buoyant
youths, at one of London's gayest va
riety theatres. From our side table
we had a good view of the "Prome
nade," where the stars amongst Lon
don's swell demimonrdes walked to and
fro. I do not remember how long we
sat there, criticising the extravagant
dresses, the swinging ostrich feath
ers, the gaily colored stockings, and
the small satin shoes of the demimon
des, when one of them suddenly
crawled up to our table. She was
dressed like the others, extravagantly,
tastelessly. But she had not red lips
like them, and her cheeks were white.
Red paint would only have shown off
her pale face with the deep, hollow
eyes. At the first glance you could
see that she was suffering from a dan
It was evident that she wanted to
join our table. But her look was ap
palling, and one of us cried out, scorn
"What do you want here? Go
away! You are ill !"
She remained standing, and she re
minded me of a whipped dog. Her
lips moved as if in a. whisper of de
fense, but when she saw our reluctant
looks she burst out into a short,
soundless laugh. It reflected, how
ever, all the horror, humiliation, and
submission to fate that must have
dwelt at the bottom of her soul.
The whole evening that same sick
ly smile remained on her lips. It
looked like the smile of Death, but it
was only the Pale Laugh.
Many faces have I seen lit up by
that devilish smile, but clearest of
them all I remember one smile that
never will go out of my memory.
It was early one morning at one of
London's night restaurants. At a
table some drunken people hail been
enjoying themselves since mlanight.
The clock was three when the) moved
For three hours a sleepy waiter had
been running to and fro between the
tables, trying to do his best to please
everybody. And he had come to this
place directly from another restau
rant, which closed at midnight. He
had a family to support, and he
worked bravely day and night for
their daily bread.
But every time he passed that ta
ble, where the drunken people reveled
the little waiter was insulted by one of
them, a big, fat, reddish man. And
when they finally went, and the wait
er was busy collecting the few coppers
they had left, the fat man spat him in
the face. I had expected a disturb
ance, but without a word of protest
the poor, little fellow wiped his face.
And when he nodded a last farewell
to them, a tired, subdued smile still
lay on his lips.
That time I understood the mean
ing of the Pale Laugh.
It is the laugh of the slave.