The Daily Worker Newspaper, June 7, 1924, Page 5

“The idea becomes power when it pene- trates the masses.” —Karl Marx. N they go. Row after row. Squad after squad. On they stream, rushing, unending, a torrent of men, ten-fifteen-twenty abreast. On they march, hour after hour, in the chilly air of a Northern spring. I am on the platform, in the midst of the Red Square. What luck! There are hardly a hundred in Moscow who have an opportunity to watch the holi- | day procession from this elevated | point. I can see the square from end to end. The early morning hours I spent wandering in the streets. From all sections, from the remotest suburbs, | organized masses moved to the Krem- lin. The main thoroughfares were closed for everyone but the proces- |blue and yellow jnation of workers. ithis holiday joy. SPECIAL MAGAZINE SUPPLEMENT THE DAILY WORKER. JUNE 7, 1924. May Day in Moscow - bodies, sparkling eyes, live moments,;holy is this austere structure, holy ; wet. —joy of life, drunken madness of life.;and red and flamingly alive in the nobody cares. A Red Army troupe: men like steel, | in heavy steel colored greatcoats, red, straps on their) sleeves, red stars on peaked helmets; | on they march, one and all, irresist- ible like fate. .. Masses are moving, revolutionary masses, a Forward they | march, the young and the gray, the} mature and the children. . | their hands; the crest of a red foamy | wave rises over their heads. Holiday | to them are veterans of revolution-|comradely faces. United-all! in their faces. -Holiday in their blood. | |is resumed. victorious |longingly on the glowing revolution- haired man in Caucasian attire. SECOND SECTION This magazine supple- ment will appear every Saturday in The Daily Worker, hearts of all who pass _ by. When they pass by, they lower their flags, they halt for a brief mo- ment. The mass becomes dence, New ranks press from behind. The march Eyes linger lovingly— ary grave. On the steps of the mausoleum we . Flags in|see the leaders of revolutionary Rus- guard!” sia: Rykov, Kalinin, Kamenev. Close ary movements in other lands, I re- (impressions) The sky is grey overhead. But The day is bright for the marchers. There is sun in their eyes. Look at the men. , Look at the wo- men. Read their faces. Healthy people. Unbent backs. Energy given free sway. On our platform is a white The |procession marches by. Voices from below, “Long live the old Bolshevist “Long live!” ... Voices join in a chorus.. Joyful voices. Happy | Read the legends on the banners. Here is a black streak, however, in| cognize Clara Zetkin and Felix Cohn.|The workers’ soul lives in the words. Here in the Square is the grave of Lenin. | The Square is like a huge cosy ' from above. “Hurra!” respond the marchers. “Long live the Russian Communist Party!” “Long live the The leader is dead.|“Hail the fighters!” call the leaders|The thought of Russia’s revolutionary | genes speaks thru the golden letters. “Greetings to all slaves of iter- ‘national capital!” LENIN MAUSOLEUM UNDER CONSTRUCTION sion. Red Army and_militiamen kept order. Thick serpents of marchers crept from everywhere to the heart of the sprawling city. The nearer to the Red Square, the thicker the streams, astir with bodies, alive with animated faces. A waye of red raised its crest above every stream, foam- like, flame-like. Red ...red... red. I am on the platform. Hours pass, yet time has stopped. Masses are moving. Happy masses marching swiftly, sturdily, sprightly. A steel workers’ group: tall wiry men, clad in leather from cap to boots; strong agile men, marching in close forma- tion, hammered together. A women workers’ group: red kerchiefs, red bows, red laughing faces, white teeth in laughing mouths, A _ student's group, girls and boys, young flexible Red Square—Moscow. enclosure. To your right, the reddish wall of the Kremlin, to your left, the grey mass of the Passage behind you. the Spasski Gate with its rotund squatting towers, in front of you, the wild magnificence of Vassili the Mad- men’s church. A wide expanse, a sweep, an extravagance of space is the Red Square, now palpitating with marching masses. On one side the human river pours into the Square, passes by the red wall, passes by the platforms, moves down to the other end by the bridge, moves along the side streets further on. Against the Kremlin wall Lenin’s temporary mausoleum. It is made of wood, tan colored, with borders and pillars of black, It is as simple as Lenin’s manner, and as Rus- rises world revolution!” “Long live the Communist International!” Ablaze is the Square with the red revolutionary flaming of banners, glowing of banners. From the tops of Kremlin spires, the old two-head- ed eagles, black and golden, look down on the living carpets of heads. From an old church clock floats the mellow chiming of bells, Ancient cathe- drals wonder at the sight. A dead heart is again pulsating somewhere in the depths of this centuries old clus- ter of structures. Hei, awake! A new time has come! A victorious working class is reigning here! This is its holiday! This is its glory! ... I see the moving mass from my vantage point. It has been cloudy since daybreak. Now it is drizzling. sian as the village log huts. Holy, | The pavement stones have become 1 Caen naa “Greetings to all oppressed people.” “Our call to the Soviet delegation in London: never yield revolutionary conquests to capitalist robbers!” “You have died, Ilyitch, but your advices remain, and with them we shall move ahead!” “Greeting to the fighters who pine behind prison bars!” “Clear the way for the youth of the workers and peasants, for they bring us our land a sunlit future!” “The Union of Socialist Soviet Re- publics is the stronghold of the world revolution!” “Long live the united front of work- ers against international robbers!” “Down with Fascism!” “Long live unity of city and vil- lage!” (Continued on page 8)