The Daily Worker Newspaper, July 9, 1927, Page 6

(Continued from Page One) farmers are concerned, Lowden is an incomparably hetter candidate for them than Coolidge. But how about the middle, the poor and the work- ing farmers? What do they stand to gain by Low- ~ den as against Coolidge? This is the important ques- tion. And the snswer to it is: Nothing. Lowden’s agrarian program, assuming that he is a sincere adherent of the principles of the McNary-Haugen bill, would at best serve the interesis of the rich and partly of the middic farmers. The great mass of those farmers that are uffering from the effects of the 2 iid not be re- lieved at all by the er c of Lowden. This must inevitably happer not only | use of the total inadequacy of the measures umpioned by Lowden personally but also because he is 2 prom- inent politician of the republican party—-the party of capitalists---which to permit the strengthening of the farmers’ position with respect to the grain speculators and big bankers. The poor and working farmers must look for farm relief elsewhere. Neither Ceslidge nor ‘Lowden, neither the republican nor the democratic party, are agencies fi the job of aiding the poor farmers. The way to tual agrarian relief is the way of organized political struggle of the farming masses themselves, through their own organizations, and in alliance with the workingclass organized in a party of its own, : 4 iS- Nd g — *x * * HERE is one good thing—and only one—about the three power “disarmament” conference in Geneva. It offers a splendid demonstration of the fact that the imperialist interests of the capitalists of the United States and England cannot be recon- ciled, that sooner or later, unless a successful, pro- letarian revolution intervenes in the meanwhile, these two capitalis€ powers will come to an arméd clash precipitating a new world war. In the conduct of the British delegation at the Geneva conference there is nothing particularly new except perhaps an unusual amount—unusual for the cool and composed British aristocracy—of heated emotionalism, caused undoubtedly by the desperate state of affairs of the declining British imperialism. The ruling classes of the British Empire seem to find it very hard to become accustomed to the fact that England no longer holds the first place in world imperialist politics. There is still a good deal of imperialist illusion in the minds of English capi- talists. But these illusions are being knocked out pretty ‘fast by the realities of the world situatien and by the aggressiveness and militant self-asser- tion of American imperialism. Study the conduct of the American delegates to the Geneva conference and you will find the other side of the present world picture-—the growing ascendancy of American imperialism, These Amer- ican delegates, comparatively unimportant and little known persons by themselves, speak the powerful and arrogant voice of American big monopolistic capital. This voice has already made its will known in Geneva quite plainly. It is that American im- perialism is out to dominate the world and in order to accomplish this aim it is determined to become as strong a sea power as England and later on even stronger. The technical discussion among the experts as to the present relative naval strength of America, England and Japan is of course important. It shows that none of these eapitalist powers really abided by the so-called Washington agreement which es- tablished the 5:5:3 ratio for capital ships. Each one was trying to cheat the other two. The party which proved particularly guilty in that respect was Eng- land. That is why the United States government initiated the Geneva conference. And that is also why the American imperialists are so militant in their present attempt to reduce England’s naval strength and to increase their own. Those who expected real disarmament, or even a reasonable limitation of naval armaments, are-bound to be severely disappointed. The Geneva conference is nothing more than another phase in the struggle between American and British imperialism for sea power and world domination. The best that can come out of it is some sort of a fake understanding under cover of which each of the parties concerned will continue to cheat the others until such time as American imperialism finds the moment opportune to step out from under cover and take charge of the situation by sheer force of arms. The American workingclass, the American farm- ers and all those exploited by the ruling class of the United States must face the present situation frankly and honestly. More pacifism of the old tra- ditional style will not do any more. It is more than futile to expect big monopolistic capital to give up the struggle for world domination* “merely” because it leads to war which some pacifically inclined per- sons do not like. Nor will the cry against the Cool- idge imperialism accomplish anything substantial—- a cry in which even the sponsors of Lowden’s can- didacy are indulging somewhat—unless this cry is backed by real mass organization of workers, farm- ers and poor middle classes of the cities, waging a consistent and militant fight of a serious political nature not alone against Coolidge but also against all those forces whose will Coolidge is putting into effect. . EDITOR'S NOTES) The Letter in the Cement Barrel A Story—By HAIAMA TOSAKI. (Translated By Vera and Violet Mitkovsky). yersePe TODZO’S work was opening barrels of eement. On opening the barrel, he measured the cement into boxes which a machine picked up and shot down a wooden slide. The machine waited for no man, and for eleven hours each day, this man stood between the boxes.and barrels with a shovel in his hands; eleven hours in clouds of cement dust. Matsudo Todzo was an ordinary laborer and dur- ing the eleven hours of his working day he had but one desire, to free his nose from dust. His head, shoulders and eyelashes and moustache were covered with cement dust, and in the nose the dust formed a sort of hard iron ore. He found no time to blow his nose. The machine spits out cement ten times per second and he must not miss a single time. At mid-day there was a half.hour interval, occupied in consuming a handful of rice, cleaning the ma- chine, and, what could not be called rest, that in- stant when his numbed hands could reach his nose. The cement penetrated through the nese to the lungs, blood, the whole bedy. So it was everyday, so it was today; but today, shoveling the cement from a barrel into a box, Matsudo Tedzo saw a small box. “Odd,” he thought, but there was no time to think more, the machine waits for no man. He picked up the box. It was light. He shoved it into the pocket of his apron and continued to shovel. The day seemed long, and knocking out the bot- toms of barrels of cement, crawling towards him on a belt, he reflected that there could be no money in the box, and so forgot all about it. At sunset, the concrete was finished, the machine slowed down, the working day was ended.: In the stream of a hese which supplied the machine with water Matsudo Todzo washed the dust from his hands and face, knotted the furosiki round his neck, a kerchief in which he carried his meagre lunch, and set out to walk home—with precious thoughts of eating, drinking and sleeping. The power house on which he was working would be finished soon, and then he would have to look for work again. In the twilight, lifting its snows to the sky, loomed the majestic Enaiama. At its feet, boiling and roar- ing, foamed the Kisogara Nature, the same now as a thousand years ago. The evening cool chilled the tired body of Matsudo Todzo. The grandeur of nature made him think bitterly of the seventh child which his wife would shortly present to him, that it would come, not considering anything, in the coldest part of the year, as if to spite him, that his two yens would. not buy enough rice, that he was tired of everything, that—that The thoughts of Matsudo Todzo were sombre, his spirits low. Then he remembered the little box which lay in his pocket. He took it out and wiped it on his trousers. It was firmly fastened with nails and bore no address or inscription. Matsudo dashed the box against a stone, but. it did not break. He swore, and in that temper when one wants to trample the whole world underfoot, he kicked the little box violently. The box fell open and rolled off. From it Matsudo took some old rags, and wrapped in them, found a folded paper. This is what was written on the paper: “I am a working woman in the cement factory where I sew sacks for the cement. My husband, my beloved, worked at the grinder, shoveling broken stones. On the morning of the seventh of Novem- ber, he was lifting a large stone into the machine when he slipped and fell into the machine together with the stone. The machine was not stopped. He was buried in the stones and the machine chopped his body into pieces, and spit out bloody fragments. This machine passed the pieces of his body on to another, where, between stecl blades, and in a ter- rific roaring, his body was ground to powder. His flesh, his bones, and his soul became cement dust. He became cement, he, my beloved. Only the rags of his working clothes remained. I gathered these rags and wrote this letter and buried them in the barrel of cement which you have opened today. “Are you a worker? If you are, have mercy and answer me. I want to know what happens to the cement of my husband’s bones. Are you. a stone mason or a Carpenter? I want to know if my hus- band will become a theatre corridor or a prison wall? You are a worker, do not use this cement for such buildings. “Write and tell me, where is my husband? In the West or in the East? Far or near? Where is he in cement, and how will he resurrect? “These pieces of his working clothes are a gift to you. They are saturated with sweat and stone dust, such sweat as yours, and such dust as that in- which you work.” Matsudo walked on. The sky had grown almost black and Kisogara roared in darkness. Only Enai- ama dreamed among the stars. Subway Chant Facial lines obliterated Under sweat-ooze, i Pushing, grunting, trampling bedies, Male and female, Merged into one monstrous body, Centipedal, .. Caterpillar in its motions. Slothful furor Breathings thick and warm and flavored Dankly mingled, Were sucked in, then exhalated Freshly tainted, To be breathed again and issue Evil-odored. Tight-embracing men and women Wedged together Faint with beast-heat; swayed together As the long train Tunnel-thundered ; rocked together, Soft and hard flesh. The discomforting contortions Of taut torsos Eestacised the primal surge Erogenously ; A fantastic rite of Phallic Seet of zealots. —LAURENCE S. ROSS. ee ae } TO | USSR