The Daily Worker Newspaper, August 6, 1927, Page 10

Organizing the Unorganized (Continued from Page 5) tice however, go much further than any of the laws. Fascist anti-labor methods practiced under cover are becoming the vanguard and are being practiced against militant labor with the collusion and even OPEN SHOP open support of the A. F. of L. leadership. Witness Matthew Woll’s activities in New York and as act- ing president of the Civic Federation. The workers in the big industries are over ripe for organization. This has been shown by the ac- tivities of the small number of groups inside the big industries that have been formed thus far. The outstanding examples are the groups in the Detroit automobile plants, which after a few months work now publish plant papers with a total circulation of 35,000. Amongst these workers, who are the most exploited by the over-lords and autocrats of industry is the real volcano of proletarian discontent and struggle that has not been even tapped as yet by our activity. But the group activities inside the plants as stra- tegic and important as it is can only bring the de- sired results if a broad political movement can be developed that will bring this tremendous proletarian industrial army striving for better conditions and organization into a broad political stream to restore the rights to organise, strike and picket and to re- store civil liberties. Many sections of the petit bourgeoisie, particularly the farmers, could be brought into a united front on such issues. In many of the typical industrial farms of the U. S. there are no labor unions and those that are, in many in- stances dominated by the stool pigeons and agents of the bosses, will not go into a political movement against the old parties and towards a Labor Party. Yet it is quite clear that the political oppression of labor has made the situation quite ripe for political expression and political organiaztion, based on the present conditions of the workers’ economic, political and ideological. In many instances political organi- zation and activity offers greater opportunities of mass organization and open agitation than direct attack dh the economic bastiles of the trusts, and offers opportunities to draw the intelligensia of all the various categories of labor, petty bourgeois, ete. into the struggle and leadership against the ever increasing oppression of imperialist capitalism. There must be political protection in order to en- able labor to organize and prevent its organizations once established from being crushed by the police club of capital. The work in the factories must be protected, supplemented and encircled by a whole series of supporting and complimentary organiza- tions of which the political is the most important, also cooperatives, fraternal and sport organizations, that even under the iron heel of imperialist capital- ism can still operate with relative freedom. In the establishment of such organizations and in support of our great task amongst the unorganized the work and experience of the left wing in the existing la- bor unions inside and outside the A. F. of L, will be of great aid. Any effective work amongst the un- organized is sure to still the imagination of labor. This was demonstrated in striking form in the Pas- saic struggle, which was supported by hundreds of A. F. of L. locals despite the denunciation of Green, Woll and Company. Effective work amongst the unorganized is the key to the American labor move- ment, the road to the defeat of reaction in the labor movement and the road to the victory of the Amer- ican workingclass. Let all militants get ready for this the greatest of our tasks. The Actress A Story. The name of the revolutionary actress, Anna Rein- gardt, wad popular in the factory districts, her fame arising from her interpretations of anti-religious roles. Her new pantomime, “Insurrection,” at each performance aroused.the noisy delight of her au- dience. The people never called this small golden- haired woman other than “our actress.” In no one else could they find such truth and sincerity. Once the mistress of a large estate and a rich mansion, during the years of revolution she had passed through all stages of hardship and now, hav- ing once charmed her guests with her voice and grace, she decided to employ her talents to earn bread and avert a death by starvation. The value of money, however, fell before her arrival and for two or three roubles she sang three performances a night in cheap cabarets and, for lack of dressing rooms, awaited her turn in a dirty little corridor be- hind the stage. She could not adapt her self-respect to these peo- ple who had lost all conscience, who were entirely indifferent as to how they earned their living. Earn- ing sometimes two and a half roubles a week, she reached the stage where she dreaded meeting ac- quaintances and never went out in the street to avoid passing the bakeries with their bold displays of pastry. At last she had no powder left. With a feeling of shame she used tooth;powder instead and, unable to send her clothes to a laundress, she carefully locked the door and washed her lingerie in a soup tureen. When she had only one chemise left, she clumsily made herself another from a pillow case. The use of tooth-powder instead of face powder, however, caused her more suffering than hunger and lack of clothes. She did not know why herself. Her chief consolation in this trying time was religion. Such is her recent past. When told that the old life would never return, that she must somehow adapt herself to the new, she could feel nothing but horror. What would it mean—to adapt oneself to the new life? It would mean not to believe in God, to spit on the floor, to have dirty finger nails and to take other people’s mansions away. No, better death than that. What could be attractive in this life, which required neither the tender elegies of Tschaikowsky, the delicate feminine hands developed by centuries of care, nor that appealing helplessness which had captivated her friends in the old days. She could offer nothing as a substitute for this; she could not, though she might wish it with all her heart, which was a kind and loving one. Then a sudden change. A black hairy man gave her a pantomime called “Insurrection” and from that time success smiled upon her. She did not know herself why her acting aroused such enthnasiasm. She acted as simply and naively as she lived. She did not know any other way. But inyariably she felt every person in the hall hold his breath when she appeared. Perhaps it was because she expressed her mood not in words but in movements. Perhaps she made a deep impression bause this small woman had: a frail tender body and the innocent, truthful eyes of a child. Perhaps, both together. The fact remains that the impression produced ‘by her acting was always ineffaceably deep. Such a transmission of mood to others could be effected only by one who had experienced all she was pertraying. Working people are sensitive to execution. They immediately detect falsity and insincerity when a cultured actor pronounces their ordinary words in his trained, cultivated tones, words which in reality are used by them who have voices not at all cul- tivated. In such interpretations they sense artificial- ity. But a working class audience is also conde- scending. It laughs and applauds generously even when everything is not going well. That’s what the stage is for; it isn’t really happening so we can’t take it seriously. “Still, they try to please us.” And so they are generous to the poorest performer. When, however, someone gives them genuine art, they recognize it at once and there is a different ring to their applause. In the hall, all who had not yet seen the new play, were wondering, how this small woman would, with her dancing, interpret the insurrection. You would think that a whole crowd would be required. How could she do it aione? The curtain goes up. The program begins. First came the singers, in peasant costume, with new bast shoes. They sang, swinging their arms, dancing their national dances, during which the di- shevelled red wig of the peasant boy in the unnat- urally clean shirt and new, unworn shoes, slipped off, showing black hair at the back, and because he did not notice it—it was very funny. His earnest endeavors aroused the pity of the audience. “It isn’t easy for him to earn his living,” thought each. Then came a story-teller, also in a red wig and bast shoes, with stories of the people’s lives, the point of which was the wrong pronounciation of words, such mistakes as he supposed would be made by the common people. The audience might have been insulted but applauded goodnaturedly—Bread. The curtain was lowered. The chairman came out Per; (ponies helplessly on the stone floor. Translated from the Russian of P. Romanov by VERA and VIOLET MITKOVSKY and spoke loudly, as one speaks of what has been long and impatiently awaited. “Anna Reingardt will perform her new number, ‘Insurrection.’ ” All sounds were hushed. In a second came the sound of music, faint, half-heard, as though coming through thick gloomy walls. The curtain went up quickly and noiselessly, The scenery represented a prison, the corner of a thick grey stone wall with splashes of whitewash, a heap of straw on the floor and a small square window with thick iron bars. In the other corner stood an altar, covered with red fustian, and on it a wooden cross and the New Testament. ss All eyes were fixed on the open prison with stone steps leading upward. What would appear there? The music sounded an abrupt chord like the break- ing string of a violin and at the same time, down the stone steps, as if thrown down by a cruel push from the jailer, rolled a frail body. A shudder passed through the audience, then all was still. It is she. Her tiny body, crouched into a ball, lay Then she slowly raised her head and, standing on her knees, with an ex- pression of throbbing pain from dhe blow, gazed with innocent, childish fright at the walls, at the straw on the floor, the barred window. Her eyes showed none of that exaggerated horror and suffering usually affected on the stage. Her face was the face of a child whose tears at some sorrow have not yet dried but whose attention is already distracted by new surroundings, The surroundings are distressing: a heap of straw and a barred window. She understood. The sudden realization of her position evidently pierces her brain. She jumps up, throws herself against the door, hangs on its heavy knob, beats against it, bites her hands in a frenzy of despair. For her the audience does not exist. For her there is no crowd of people sitting in the hall at her back. She is alone before that door which has closed forever, which nothing can open, against whose heavy wood she can only beat her head and bite Her hands to dull the pain of consciousness of being buried alive. « There is only one thought among those hundreds of people sitting in the hall: to throw themselves against that door. Not only the door but the wall would go down before hundreds of strong work- men’s shoulders. Suddenly something flashed across the face of the small suffering woman, her glance fell on the red altar and the cross. To her that red cloth is the symbol of her blood, which will be spilt perhaps to- day, perhaps tomorrow. Her wide-open eyes are full of a silent wordless horror, then the horror changes into an intense pious humility. With arms stretched forward, with tears streaming down her pale cheeks, she crawls to the altar on her knees. One feels such horror and pity for her that each member of the audience repeats to himself that all this is not true, it is only a play. Suddenly she- raises her head as though struck by a new thought, looks intently at the altar, at the cross, rises, approaches with the curiosity of a newly-wakened consciousness, examines the things, touches them and passes her hand over her eyes. In the hall all is still; there is only the hushed breathing of a hundred breasts. Then she listens, her ears have caught some sound outside. She shud- ders. With the cross in her hand, she goes to the door, The sounds draw nearer, she can clearly hear the revolutionary hymn and the running of many hundred feet. “Victory!” Her eyes flash from the door to the window, a change passes over her face. It is lifhted by a new hope and the entire audience unconsciously reflects shat smile of joy and triumph. She is no longer a small, miserable slave. She seems to have straightened out, grown, her eyes have become large and radiant. She suddenly breaks the cross in half, spurns it with her feet, tears the red covering off the altar and carrying it like a vic- torious banner, rushes toward the prison door which swings open to triumphant shouts— In the hall they shout, rattle their chairs, wave to her, and she, once more‘the small, helpless woman, comes out on the stage and, stretching out her arms in a child-like manner, bows and smiles a touched and grateful smile. P The performance is over. In the dressing-room she stands before the mirror, rubbing off the make- up with a bit of cotton, closes her little suitcase and, receiving her ten rubles, leaves the hall. Ar- riving at home, she unlocks her room. In it is a large old-fashioned bed, two portraits of ancestors in generals’ uniforms, near the wall a table with a coffee-pot. Now she eats bread with caviar, drinks coffee and milk. ‘ It is late. She undresses and standing on the carpet by her bed, in her nightgown, with little bare feet, she prays long and earnestly to the crucifix over her bed. She asks god to try to understand and pardon her, as it is necessary to her acting, that she is still faithful to him with all her heart. But tooth- powder instead of face powder! That is too much.