The Daily Worker Newspaper, June 7, 1924, Page 12

MAY DAY IN MOSCOW “To our brave Red Army a red Cos-Jin the times of Kolchak, he joined a (Continued from page 1.) “With the weapon of Leninism in our hands we shall overthrow’ the power of world reaction!” “Build life in wtnity with ledge!” “Hands off Bessarabia!” “Greetings to the workers of Asia!” “Greetings to the workers of Afri- ca!” “Greetings to the workers of Austra- lia!” “Greetings to the workers of Amer- ica!” Banners—banners—banners; red— red—gold and red—red and red. Faces happy—happy—happy. The holiday is abroad! The hour of supreme ex- pression of proletarian self! Radek has appeared on our plat- form. He is youthful, vivacious, full of fun. His five years old daughter is with him. He lifts her on the parapet to show her the marchers. ‘Kuroki appeared, the Commissar of Justice. Schmidt is also here. He is the Com- missar of Labor. And here is Pavlo- vitch, the great authority on imperial- ism. Each of them—a leader, a mast- er in his realm, a character figure that calls for an artist. The men on the platform greet each passing unit: “Greeting to the Red railway work- ers!” “Hurra!” is the loud and willing re- sponse of lusty voices. know- Greetings to the Red Army, the valiant protector of proletarian power!” “Hurra!” “Greetings to the red working wo- men!” “Hurra!” “Greetings workers!” “Hurra!” “Greetings to the proletarian stud- ents!” “Hurra! Hurra!” “Greetings to youth!” “Long—live—the—world—rev—o— lut—ion!” The words are timed to the beat of the marchers feet. They are earnest about their words, those Russian workers. They have proven it. And the youth! The young genera- tion! Sprinkled between units of adults are often units of youngsters. Child- ren’s battallions. Schools. Homes. “Pioneers”— red scouts. Sons and daughters of a working class that holds the government power. They feel they are free. They know their lands is different from other coun- tries. They are being raised in a new air. The rain is falling. The sun had ap- peared for a few minutes, then the rain resumed anew. But never fear. Nobody pays any heed. Whoever walked with unbuttoned blouse does not bother to button it up. Bare heads remain uncovered. Those Russian workers have seen greater discom- forts. They have gone thru hell. Now their shoes and boots are whole. What is to them a drop of rain. Young voices fill the air like the flutter of birds on a spring morning. An adults throws the question from above: “Pioneers, do you remember Lenin’s word?” “We remember!” “Pioneers, are you ready?” “Vsegda gotovy!” (Always ready!) Music plays. Many units came with their bands. The pioneers have drums. A little fellow marches at the head of the column, leading the rest. The children wear uniform clothes,— white or red or blue blouses over high leather boots. The children’s paces keep time. “Pioneers, are you ready?” “Always ready!” Litle arms are raised high, as if taking an oath. The Young Communists and _ the pioneers carry banners: “The fathers are in the R. C. P., the children, pioneers!” “We come to be the next shift.” “The work of our fathers we shall bring to a conclusion.” “When we grow up, we shall create a new world” . “Calls from the platform: to the fighting iron the Communist “To the young guard a red greet- ing!” Hundreds, thousands, tens of thou- sands of fluttering musical voices. “Long — live—pro—let—ar—ian- power—the—world—o—ver!” Banners—banners—banners—child- rens’ eyes —happy childrens smiles— children alternating with adults, child- ren mingled with adults—children and grown ups in one shining holiday— children, the hope of coming days, children of a liberated class. Red, red, red ... the ranks are den- ser, the streams of. banners higher. Faces crowded together, ribbons of faces, carpets woven of faces, multi- colored moving mosaic of happy smil- ing faces. Sing the song of liberation. A man is limping with a unit. He has a big head covered with bushy white hair. His coat is worn. His chest is decorated with a huge red bow. He has only one leg. His body leans heavily on crutches. Yet he marches bravely on. How can he stay home? An old Cossack appears on our plat- form. He is old as the hills. I learn his story. Thirty-five years ago he, a private, killed his Cossack officer. He was tried and sent to Siberia where he spent his life. Six years ago, sack greeting! Hurra!” In wild joy the youth responds to the veteran’s call: “Hurra!” “Long live our Red Re- yolutionary Power!” “From victory on the military front —to victories on the front of labor!” The mass of humanity is still mov- ing. The procession started at ten. It is after five now. New units con- tinue to pour into the Square. There are still thousands outside. How large is the total number of marchers? People who know tell me such de- monstration counts some six to seven hundred thousand. Has anybody compelled them to go on the street? One would laugh at me if I asked such a question. Why compel? What for? Isn’t it our holiday? Haven’t we been preparing for it 9 months in ad- vance? Would’t we feel miserable months afterwards if we could not go with the rest? It is our own proletar- ian day, a part of our new mode of living. Hail revolutionary proletarians! Long live our holiday! Let your banner, our banner, flame on and on! It is nearly six o’clock. The proces- sion is not yet finished. But let us Comrade Kalinin on Red Square ‘idasatel demonstration. But in his military uniform, tall, erect,;not wait any longer. Let us walk slender, he still looks a powerful man.|thru the streets. The streets are over- His step is firm. His voice, clear. Should necessity arise, I would join to-morrow the Red Army to de- fend power. A spark of youth appears in his old eyes, his yellow face assumes a red- dish hue. He turns to the marching columns and calls in the voice of a military command: crowded. Nobody goes home. It rains. Bolshevist partisan unit to fight for the power of the Soviets. He was then seventy-six. He is eighty-two now. with a cool distant air. Nobody’s voice will discourage. This is May Day. So it will be till midnight and even later. To-morrow the holiday con- tinues. In Russia, May Day is celeb- rated two days in succession. To- morrow is children’s day. On the second of May all Moscow will belong to the new generation. They will be the chief concern of all. This evening is best spent in an industrial suburb, in the workers club. There you will see the real face of revolutionary Russian proleta- riat. Let’s go then. The place is way out of town, in a locality called “Lenin’s Settlement.” The hall is packed to overflowing. Metal workers all, men and women. For the day of inter- national solidarity, all foreign Com- munists now in Moscow have been mobilized to speak to the Russian workers. The crowd is disciplined. The crowd is attentive. It does not stir when a foreign language is spok- en. It is eager to hear the transla- tion. It asks pertinent questions show- ing intelligence and a keen interest for the workers’ struggle the world over. When the official speeches are over, men from the ranks rise to tell of their May Day experiences of pre- revolutionary times. Hard times they were. May celebrations were under ban. Secret circles of workmen con- spired to defy automatic law. There were gendarms, Cossacks, brief ten minute demonstrations, persuit, whip- ping, arrests, trials, prison, Siberian exile. ... Now our militia protects our de- monstrations and keeps order for our sake. Eleven years ago I was lashed with a knout at a May demonstration, my coat was cut clear thru. and I subsequently spent three months un- dér arrest. I was glad the punish- ment was so light. The young workers smile. One worker rises. “Let’s stand firm in defense of our power. Even if our life is not easy toda¥® let’s n6t allow the grabbers to nslave our .future!” And there is steel and blood in A heavy sky hangs above our heads.|those simple words. Yet the streets are teeming with life, teething with life. The mass has be- come one great collective body. It is a family of men and women turned alike, striving towards the same goal. You may talk to everyone. Nobody is a stranger. Nobody will look at you = Penetrating Analysis! General Secretary of the Red In this book, published im March at sects, and measures the relation of =SUSUEUTIVOOUENUUAUVEREAUOOUEGEHESUOUOTVGEOAUHOEEOOO SOOO OREOAAOEEESUTUUAT OUT ESESUSUGAO AUGUSTA REAM EAA EAS Burning Criticism! THE NEW AND SIGNIFICANT BOOK ENTITLED The World’s Z Es Trade Union Movement : Sound Logic! By A. 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