The Daily Worker Newspaper, January 3, 1931, Page 4

fn en Page Four i ee —-— DAILY WORKER, NEW YORK. SATURDAY, JANUARY 3, 1931. R Sy OR acl aa eh RTA ess een By VALENTINE Y. KONIN IKE phantom mountains of purple smoke, New York skyscrapers rear their mighty heads against the white Gensenessof the morning mist. Over their “pate, slender outlines, electric Nights shimmer like drops of golden dew. ‘Wall street wakes up in the morning with its nervous sistible throbbling. Office ¢: with painted cheeks, wrapped up like advertise- ments in- their imitation fur coats, click their pointed heels over the moist sidewalks. Bosses emerge from their aytgmobiles frowning and petu- lantly pressing the turned-down cor- ners of their over-fed lips. The streets vibrate with noise and hurry. The blackened figures of cherubs over the Municipal building soften and partly vanish under the white dust of the fog. ing itself, like soldier of cap’ , with its out stretched _ li: and immobile stands like a defiant barrier between the lives of t rs and the lives of the oppresse: The streets change abruptly on the other side of the Municipal buildir ‘This is where the workers live. The crudely woven structure of the ele- vated bridge, like a monstrous black crocodile stretches its rigid belly over the steep -vigzagging roads paved with crooked ‘cobblestone. Rusty rooftops creep upon each other in stifling in- timacy. Trains roar over the window with lwoken panes. Pitifully-torn clothes bang down from the fire ¢ capes. With hungry eyes and sallow complectiphs, little kids in soiled over alls sas’aer over the cobblestone, like starved kittens wandering in search of food. In the school building that hides behind thé grey panels of the church a school teacher was reading a story of Santa'Claus to her pupils. Chil- dren sat’ quiet and tense, with their |, sig burnifig eyes following every twist wf the old expressionless mouth. She was reading them a story of Christ- nas dinner with plum pudding and gilded nuts; and the thirty-five little yodies, most of whom had left home hat morging without breakfasts and vithout ~ceats, were living over with thildish wholeheartedness the warmth wd joy of someone else's Christmas dinner.- The old woman had come © @ part where Santa Claus was siving out presents. Her sharp voice, maccustemed to naturalness with children,- was trying to reproduce vith hyppcritical sweetness the in- vonations;of Santa's speech. TT was then that the class room door | ‘opened and Fernando Rodr he bad boy of the class, walke: efiantly. He was often late, and was Iways @irty—and the teacher was ceustoméd to seeing him walk in in fae middle of the lesson, with his right bldck eyes shining impudently ‘arough the entangled mass of his Jack hair. But today there was in- Mence and grimness in his move- vents that was too obvious not to ‘ause interest. Children turned their ' sads toward the door, and the teach- «+ laid the magazine down “Why are you late, Fernando Rod- guez?” she asked in a provocative me. Fernando's customary resort to the testion had always been one of the ‘any varieties of his facial contor- ‘ons which set the rest of the chil-} Sky-Scrapers * | Chri ane B readlines [dren rolling on their sea with| "THE sound of his own voice fright- |laughter. But today the cl was ened him. In his confusion he lost disappointed. Fernando looked sul-| the thread of his thought and stopped }lenly at the floor and did not an-|short. The old woman was already swear. at his desk. “Take your seat, Fernando Rodri-| “Come here, young man,” she said guez, and you shall explain to mej pulling him by his sleeve. “You when school is over shall be sorry for that.” nando shuffied his feet deliber-| Fernando drew back with sudden ately, and dropped himself upon the | ferceness. The old cloth of his shirt seat with such ferocious determina-|tore at the neck. tion that the wood creaked with a| ,,, ee 2 . pitiful moan. The children burst into|, “ou leave go off mel” he cried | Satighte in his usual high pitched voice. § : ‘ “You've got no right to tear my | PerpencosHacrgnes!” yelled te shirt. I can say whatever I damn teacher in exasperation. “If you don't come up here this minute and apol- | ogize to me, you shall go to the prin- cipal, and you shall not hear the story about Santa Cla With malicious curiosity, thirty-five pair of eyes focused on the seven- year old vill “I don't n. hoa I don't believe in Santa Claus anyhow. It’s all a lot of bolo- His voice broke in nervous expecta- tion of a counter attack. But the silence that more tense “I doh't care, lessly and hoa: you send me to the principal. I don’t care... You can do anything to me. | There ain’t any Santa Claus. . And then, suddenly seized with fear that he wouldn't be allowed to go on, he began to jumble his words and skip parts of sentences in order to pour out as completely as possible all the bitterness and hatred that was crowding within him for the first time in his life. “I have just come from the armory - We went there to get food for Ve got up et nicht It was pitch black, and outside wet ... My hands got froze and mr feet hurt like anything and the baby was cryin’ and I had to hold him when ma’s hands got tired .. . My pa’s been out of work all the time. He said to me last night: ‘You gotta play Santa Claus to me, son. Help you ma bring Xmas dinn “So we stood out there on the street for ‘ever so long . . . The cops kept pushing us all the time . . . Then they gave us a bag with some cans in it and some toys .’. . And when we was goin’ home and my hands were hurting me something awful, I followed left him even he went on br | A wonderful please, I don’t care what you do to me, I ain't afraid of you anymore. You are all a lot of boloney!” He was insensible to blows that she was showering upon his head and face. There were too many new emo- ns crowding within him this mor- ing. He was now conscious only of stible desire of rebellion swelling within him, out of his ear- lier feeling of bitterness and hatred. ed the old woman with his to escape from the r bony hands. his eyes -fell upon the face of Charlie Daly, h older than himself, and th of the boys’ gang in the ¢ rohood. Jack was dumb in H so much hining s! selling papers, to help out his mother at home. But Charlie was a good leader and a good fighter. His was not only strength, but organization as well Hey strugg cried Fernando, the old woman's} Charlie,” with ng hands, “Let's show her that she 1s not the boss around here. Let’s show her! | | feeling of solidarity communicated throughout the class- room. Boys jumped upon their desks, | and like monkeys let loose of their! cages surrounded the old woman in| gleeful anticipation of their power and revenge. So You Say I Can’t Have Food eh? Well, Gentlemen, We Will See! Something F unny, Eh? By JOHANNA REED. LL you could see was his head and arms lying heavily on the long, book-laden table. All around him | neat, bespectacled men and smartly- | jumped up and shouted in broken | English: “I’ve seen people stay here |for over two hours and sleep. You | didn’t put them out, It’s alright. | I'll fix you yet. Ill fix you yet.” | dressed co-eds were poring over! And shaking his fist at him he left The old woman became frightened | hooks and jotting down notes. The|the room. She was new in this neighborhood, | and she imagined that the boys were | going to kill her. She did not try/ tain quiet—a condition necessary for | the delicate thought-process of the -”| “All right, boys, what is the matter | “gentle readers.” | And so he lay, his dirty-blonde to defend herself. with you?” she said in a voice quiv-| ering with false friendliness. “Sit down, and I won't do anything to you. You may sit down too, Fer- nando.” Her face and neck were splashed with pink stains, and she could not} control her breath. It was obvious| that the boys were victorious. | On her way home, in the after- | neon, she ‘recounted the episode to/| y|a@ group of her colleagues. On the | street, shabbily dressed women were hobbling from corner to corner. Un-| shaven, sullen men were hiding their | red faces in the upturned collars of | their coats. The massive chimney of | a closed factory cut with its black- | ness the moist whiteness of the el And in the distance, the skyscrapers were fading into the sky. | “You know, they nearly killed me,” | the old woman was whispering indig- nantly. “You would not beli these kids stick up for each other | against us. We'll have to do some-| library attendants were striding im- portantly through the room to main- hair covering the frayed collar of his lumber jacket, his arms encircling a ponderous book. He lay for several had not slept for days, oblivious to the gnawing of his stomach, to his reeling headache, to his burning eyes. But this delight was short- | lived. A library attendant, looking | just like a teacher's pet who always does the proper, dutiful thing, came up to him and shook him. ‘The head leaped up from the table; and the small eyes blinked at the librarian repentingly. He grabbed some paper and a pencil, which he stuck in his mouth, and with his bandaged fingers began laboriously to scribble notes from the opened book which had just served as his pillow. But the library attendant did not | leave. The unemployed worker went eve how] on scribbling notes for all he was| worth. But still the attendant did not leave. The attendant scrutinized seen a Santa Claus walk out of a/thing. Why, it was a regular riot.) the man suspiciously, his rumpled store with toys and lights, and every- | Goodness knows what these children! hair, his unshayen, hollow cheeks, his thin’. But I know there ain't no} Santa ... because... because .. a will grow up into. Criminals probably, or maybe even Reds.” By?S. BUGOSLAVSKY USSIAN folk art was accessible in the past only to a limited circle | amateurs, learned ethnographers | xd poorly attended museums. Least | all it received attention and was | lued by its creators—the various stionalities. The building of new | tial forms, new life and culture} yich commenced after the October | wolution also affected the art of | e peoples. The independence of the national * inorities! brought about a desire for tural” independence. Each people | seovered in itself creative power; | powerfu} genial artist awoke in the | asses. A great fountain spurted from e soureg of the national folk songs, iich it had seemed was completely hausted} The folk music of the) ople, the most emotional of the} ts and {so closely interwoven with| ily ii came to life from un-| uched.dead archives, exciting the | ought,zpd emotions. This {was greatly aided by the ‘act music plays a great role a the: elebration of proletarian B $iand became a component vart o! ry demonstration, meet- ing congress. It had been Hy cultivated in workers’ ‘lubs and by the end of 1928 there | ‘rere 10,000 musical circles and | bout poo such circles in the vil- ‘ges. | | * There is a general tendency to col- * :t, register and immediately turn er to the masses the musical wealth ored up for centuries; to reflect the 1 of freedom and deliverance in w also the new constructions od life; and to compose new sym- sonic, gehamber, opera and ballet asic on the basis of the old musical ~ Iture. =} Museum collections, song albums | reworking for the “few” no r observed anywhere. The "mg hagjagain become the “truth”, «life aB it was picturesquely defined | * - an old peasant woman of the Nov- | ict. ite Russian people, who ics of their “sound the cities, have neverthe- oF pune materials between city and village is very typical in modern Russia. | Such composers as the well known | symphonist Andrei Pashenko, Lenin- Grad, Davidenko, and many in Moscow, gladly make use of White Russian song material and form, their mass revolutionary songs instrumental compositions. for | and | 'HE workers of the cities have be- come very fond of peasant chor- uses with soloists, the orchestras of national instruments, the balalaika and harmonium. The former melan- vholy melodious village song has gi en way to the popular “tschastushka, a rapidly sung couplet very often composed from city waltz motives, polkas or pure peasant songs. The text is of four lined rhymes, composed as they go along, with absorbing, merry tunes. The propaganda of this form of vocal composition is success- fully carried on by the able Leningrad chorus. The process of collection, propa- ganda and reworking of the musical wealth is most intensively found in the Ukraine. There is the splendid | chorus the “Dumka,” well known in Western Europe, and in Kiev is found an ensemble of singers, restored from the 17th century, who play the many stringed “kobze.” A large group of youthful composers in Kharkov and Kiev are continu- ously furnishing from the material of folk songs, operas, ballets, cham- ber compositions and symphonies. A similar process, slightly less forceful is found in White Russia, in the cap- ital Minsk. There, too, state choruses with cymbal accompaniment have been organized. : Of unquestionable novelty in the world of musical culture is the re- birth of the national music of the Soviet East, especially of national- ities which prior to our era had a finely developed melody culture—the Arabs and Persians. ‘The Arabian and Persian colorful music has been pre- served in even greater purity of com- plex melodies and rhythms by the | songs, art-folk songs. | These Eastern national composers | |not only teach a technique of melody | composition but also how to entrench | |how new musical methods can ex- press human experiences. The Kirgis, for example, sing at the most serious business meetings, they establish a} | betrayer by a special song; their fun- leral songs are a clear major and) |separations are portrayed in dance} | rhythms. The Turkmen, Uspensky relates, listened to their singers, in a small crowded hut standing from six in the jevening until 2 at night. Their at- | titude to music is reflected in their saying: “Singers hasten on galloping |horses to a happy people, to an un- |happy people the czar comes with soldiers.” One Turkmen singer re- |fused hf honorarium for singing with the words: “I sing—this is my gift to the people.” |"PHE musical culture of Georgia and |* Armenia grow on a large Euro- |pean scale but with unchanged ties with folk songs. In Tiflis, the Geor- \gian Opera has developed splendidly, (well-known works of Arakishviki, Paliashvili), the conservatories are graduating well trained young musi- cians, the Tiflis radio station is pro- pagating music by broadcasting and |there are several village choruses in | Tiflis which collect and rework songs. |The well known blind Armenian |composer Nicolai Tigranov is still at work and the gifted composer Stsen- darov, pupil of Rimsky-Korsakov, re- cently died, leaving his opera “Al- mast” and an orchestral reworking of Armenian folk music. Gifted Ar- menian youths have already come to take the place of the old workers. | The national minorities do not lag behind in the tempo of musical de- velopment. The Chuvash, ‘Tatars, |Lower Volga and Crimean peoples, the Bashkirs, already sing their own have music notes, musical schools and choruses, The Tatars in Kazan have form: *. wo, cia theatre. Azerbaijan’ Turks, The latter have now evganized their own operr ++ and have their own ‘ties, byt they have not cophed [not a sole pm IN conclus’ -.1 It is necessary to point ot +4 development of musical culture of separate nm nal peaked chin,’ his torn lumberjacket and his bandaged finger. ‘What was he doing here, anyway, in this sanctum of learning? His dirt and rags were an insult to these refined, supersensitive souls. Such an outrage. No white collar, no tie. What did he want with books? the peasantry. The exchange of song, from the original of their musical| He's here to sleep, not to read, He thinks he’s sly, thinks he’ll deceive us, eh? Well, out with him. Thé thin-lipped attendant . bent over the man’s shoulder and whis- others music in the very depths of life and | Pered instructions to leave. The man serve a continuous exchange by means of visits of national choruses, instrument players, opera troupes and exchange of music notes. Radio, and there are radio stations in all the Republics of the Union, carries the songs of the nationalities over the entire Union. The time is not far distant when there will be sound music, sound photography of the peoples of the U. S. S. R. on gramophone records (many are already so registered), and with the development of the tone film, there will be sound pictures. It will then be possible to listen to the songs and instruments of the, dif- ferent nationalities and witness the dances and games of the peoples of the Soviet Union. This will furnish material not only interesting for cinema pictures but valuable scienti- fic material for the scientists, musi- cians and social workers. It will re- place the costly expedition and will be a book of live national creativeness. i smartly-dressed, _lipsticked turned from their books. What's | this? Such loud talking, such yell- ing in the library? Condescending smiles and contemptuous smirks |glided over their faces. Some were amused; some were indignant. | One tall, mustached man rushed | minutes unmolested, sleeping as he over to the attendant: “Over there in | the corner is another one. He’s been | | sleeping there for two hours.” And | the attendant rushed over to the des- ignated corner to continue his sacred duty to culture. The lovers of learning shook their | heads! Horror of horrors! Those unkempt, jobless creatures, they dare to invade, to pollute our sanctum of learning, to disturb us in our ex- ploration of the “higher things” of life. Those horrible creatures, ugh, they are so material. All they think of is eat and sleep. But really it was rathah amusing, don’t you know? So, you genteel, educated people, you think it’s quite funny when a jobless man is kicked out of a place because he snatched some sleep. | Something funny, eh? You were dis turbed in your pursuit of culture, eh? But that’s only a minor disturbance. Wait—one of these days you will really be “disturbed” by us and that'll be something funny, eh? | brush up on my poker.” The ‘Socialists’ | Begin the | New Year “Mental concentration? is the latest All the neat, bespectacled men and | activity of the Socialist Party’s own | co-eds | representative here on earth. . . He| says so himself (The New York | Telegram: Wednesday, December 31, 1931). Heywood Broun has now de- cided to cut gut all speeches (for the Party’s benefit, of course) and “to In addition, he outlines for the workers just what he will do for them in 1931 to carry on his traditions as their god and protector: “I shall have to go to more night clubs. Speakeasies deserve a \large portion of my time. In other | words, 1931 is going to be for me a year of great mental. concentration and less waste motion.” of the 900,000 unemployed workers in New York City of whom one in eigh- teen gets a handout of weak soup and dirty coffee, there is no question of the great benefits which this great benefactor will do if he carries out his word when he says, “My chief resolution is to be much more lazy.” How can any freezing worker, who watches his children bullied in the lieve that Broun will not do a great deal of good during the next year... for Broun. Broun for Broun says Broun...The Socialists for the So- cialists, and let the workers starve until next election. REVOLUTION WAS Review By MYRA PAGE. \VERTURE,” the play by William Bolitho, now running at the Longacre Theatre, deals with in- cidents which supposedly occurred in 1920 in Herfeld, a small mining town in western Germany, in the revolu- tionary upheavals which took place in this region during that time. ‘The workers, rejecting the demand of the bankers and mine owners that “for the good of Germany,” they ac- cept a twelve-hour day and a cut of 50 per cent in pay, drive their rulers from the ¢erritory and set up their own local government. However, in- stead of following a Communist lead- ership and plan of action the workers allow themselves to be misled by a Captain. Ritter and his hangers-on, one of whom is editor of a social democratic paper. Ritter, a former captain in the Kaiser's imperial army, has been led by his post-war dis- illusion with the old order and his schoolboyish romantic idealism to desert his own class and champion the cause of the workers. This cap- tain, whom Bolitho makes the “hero” of the hour and through whom the author evidently speaks, is a confused sentimentalist, whose compromising wavering tactics inevitably lead the workers to defeat. If correctly handled, the subject of “Overture” has both great political and dramatic possibilties.. But the author’s treatment is not that of a clear-eyed evolutionist, but of a muddle-headed liberal -who, like Rit- ter, has been shaken loose from his old moorings by post-war develop- ments, and trembles before the grow- ing conviction, that the choice now | les between fascism and communism. The play is like a despairing plea to the capitalists, “See what you're heading for, and compromise while there's time,” and to the working class,” Realize the price of revolu- tion, before it is too late.” In other words, the play, in final analysis, is a counter-revolutionary ‘one. Moreover, since the author chose events of NEVER LIKE THIS! characters and episodes with few ex- ceptions, do not carry the conviction of reality. This applies especially to his delineation of Maxim, the Com- munist workman who is a member of the workers’ leading committee of which Ritter is chairman. Maxim does not take the part of a real Com- munist, but acts as the author, from a safe distance, imagines Communists must think and act! In one respect alone has the author been true to life:—Maxim is shown to be dom- inated by one great purpose and ruthless in his furthering of the workexs’ cause. (The contrast of Maxim's surety to Ritter’s indecision is one of the few good spots in the play). But what Maxim really stands for is veiled in obscurity. Furthermore, the author makes Maxim a passive creature who is content to drift along with events, disagree with Ritter’s policies in committee, and let it go at that. Maxim has no organic re- lation whatsoever to the other work- ers on the committee or to the masses. It is obvious that Maxim is not a life and blood Communist, as ever seen on earth, but a simple device of the author, mouthpiecing a few revolutionary ideas, (and, incidental- ly, mouthpiecing quite a few ideas that are anything but revolutionary). ‘The character of Maxim is made even more insufferable by the actor who plays the part in the Longacre production. This man acts like a Broadway dilletante who wanders around the stage in a bored and aim- less fashion, and successfully muffs his lines so that the occasional sparks which might light the performance are smothered under s wet blanket of stupdity. Another tribute to the deep conception which the Long- acre producers and cast has of rev- olutionary events is portrayed in the scene where the working masses to protest aaginst the twelve-hour masses, on the verge of revolution, ‘are content to After such heroic efforts in behalf | Salvation Army breadline daily, de-| day and cut in pay. These desperate | express their fervor | ° sep epscy me tpetatnmrepenenre ema nr te ey tet Waiting in Line on New Year’s Eve for a Hand-out By GROVER SHOHOLM O= the subway grating in the sidewalk the line begins to form before seven o’clock. The lights of Times Square shudder fitfully in the cold this Christmas Eve. Crowds ort Jeither side along the sidewalks | gather to stare at the jobless men | ing exposed to the gaze of everyone, and exposed to the wind that cuts | across-the square. ~ Foul air—buit is a little warm— |rises through the ventilator shaft from the subway. “I walked around this morning in the rain and slush, and got my feet wet. Now they're cold.” A great tree rises before us, its | branches hung with lights of yellow | and green and blue, Beyond, the moving sign on the Times building crosses steadily, word after word. A voice in the crowd says, worked three days for that overcoat.” Another says, “I went to the War Veterans and they gave me a ticket for a meal, and two nights’ flop.” The Paramount clock shows a long | wait ahead. “A guy got an awful shellacin’. He was bumming on the Square here and two dicks spotted him. He got an awful beatin’. He could hardly walk. They won't arrest you.” “Naw, then they’d have to feed ya ’n give ya a flop, in jail.” The talk is of the various lines. “After all that praying and sing- |ing, the beans were only half baked | or burned!” “This morning and yesterday they were standing in the Thirty-first St. line in the rain at six o’clock in the morning; waiting ’till ten for a nickle and a cup of coffee. What do you think of men like that?” | ACROSS the street the florist shop windows are banked with flowers. Cafeterias vie in a display of roasts |and pastries. ‘The theatre crowd hurries on. It is nearing eight. “Why do we have to freeze here? Couldn't they find some warm place where we could wait?” “It’s the publicity they want.” | A woman's voice comes softly over the radio. Into the hymn she puts every seductive feminine appeal. The remarks of the crowd are not rever- ent. Sometimes a passer-by will give his pack of cigarettes to someone, and they are passed around. | Old workers in the crowd, on the | breadlines now since industry turned the moff, have come with the idea | that on Christmas Eve some kind hearted person might, as happened once before, pass out a dollar bill to each man. They are going to be dis- appointed. The line extended entirely around the triangular plot, three and four abreast. They merge, one side turn- ing about to form a solid phalanx. There is edging up to get hetter places. Finally all are packed in a dense mass. “Where you gonna flop tonight?” who to get a little to eat are stand-| “| “I don’t know. Subway.” Some were well-dressed. A few were unshaven. Many were sunken eyed and tense. The army truck, arrives at eight. What is all the-damn delay? Are they just standing us up here for ad- vertising purposes?. .Well, what can we do? A limousine: comes along with the “big shots.”..\The coffee urns are set in place. The paper bags are. being filled. The line. moyes a few inches, The cops are trying to form a single file. The radio plays a weird air from Tchaikowski. Now a shove from the cop's gloved hand and you are getting your coffee, It is a good hand out for a bread line; three sand- wiches, a sugared doughnut, an orange and an apple, a piece of mince pie. A woman in a velvet coat stands near the truck supervising the | distribution. Not only have the. people bread; they also have .cake! | A heavy -barvage..of charity has | been laid down this Christmas, to | stem the unemployed revolt. But | here and there in the crowd can be j}seen men.;reading the “Daily | Worker.” ‘The group-is breaking up. A red | motor cycle with a side-car sputters by. A man with a frayed su't, hold- | ing a box half full of chocolate bars | that he has.been.trying to sell ali day remarks: ‘ “Gees, did you see the cop with the machine gun?” , Seo Frey Vos i 2 4 The Day After Xmas By JERGER IMPERIAL STORY OF THE IMPERIAL VAL- LEY, by Frank Spector; intro- duction by John Dos Passos, In- ternational Labor Defense. Price, 5 cents. ‘ * * 6 Frank Spector is a prisoner in San Quentin, California, and known on the ledger as No. 46868. He is serv- ing a sentence, along with seven others, of from 3 to 42 years for or- | ganizing workers in the Imperial Valley, a terrible place to work in, } where the temperature rises to 120 | degrees in th shade. In the past, when men, rebels, went | to prison and wrote, it would usually be little poems about their own per- sonal reactions to their own private affairs. Or, men wrote autobio- graphies, or fiction, but always about things that would make them escape | reality, But when Spector sat down | on his prison stool to write, he con- tinued his everyday life and the struggles of the workers against capi- talism. As he fought on the out- side with the Imperial Valley work- ers, so on the inside he is still bat- tling with them. In this pamphlet, written in prison, called the “Story of the Imperial | Valley,” Spector has outlined in | simple, working-class: language the background of that huge fruit and vegetable factory. He tells how the workers live in company-owned tents and shacks under intolerable condi- tions, of race discrimination against Mexican, Filipinos and Negro work- em FRANK SPECTOR’S STORY OF THE VALLEY STRIKE ers, the past sell-outs of the fake labor leaders, and finally the coming of the Trade Union Unity League | and how the. workers flocked under the banner of that. militant organiza- tion. ‘Then came’the raid on the hall in El Centro, when so many of the work- ers were arrested and herded into | huge trucks, chained like wild beasts and lodged in the local jail. Spector tells all these things and of the trial that followed, the deportations of many Mexican workers, the frame- up, and the appearance of Lieutenant Hynes, the famous red hunter, at the trial with many stool-pigeons as wit- nesses against. them and the convic- tion and sentence of eight workers to terms of up. to 42 years in prison. ‘The continuity of Spector's life as a militant in’prison’ and the writing of a story so realistic and detached from his personal, wounds as a pris- oner, facing-@-life sentence, is the best symbol of the new and great revolutionary: movement that is grow- ing in the United States. This pam- phlet, written in ‘prison, is another evidence that we are entering a new period in the. militant movement here, that is,reality to the core. ae CRO A movement for a general amnesty of all working-class prisoners is tak- ing root now ‘and “will shortly ex- press ‘itself. through a mass move- ment sponsoréd "by the International Labor Defense. John Dos Passos, in the introduction, the pamphlet says: “This situation must be faced. A decade of protests has not been enough to get Billings and Mooney out of their California jails. ‘The workers of America must be made to feel that each,.time the bosses pitch an organizer into jail, the next time the frame-up js that much eas- jer.” That is exactly the task that militant and wide-awake workers are now undertaking, .In the past under the leadership of the liberals, the A. F. of L. and soft-hearted pacifists, the Mooneys. remained in their pris- ons, But now,.the, workers in Amer- ica are ready to fight, and DEMAND, They are not begging. -Now through mass action they, speak a language that is very Well understood by the bosses in America, and feared. And this is the only method I that will back. side, the militants. who are in prison. pears ea re ee