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503 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1931
I was to speak on the futility of the struggle for the eight-hour workday, now again much discussed in labour ranks. He pointed out that the eight-hour campaigns in '84, '85, and '86 had already taken a toll far beyond the value of the "damned thing." "Our comrades in Chicago lost their lives for it, and the workers still work long hours."History does not make one money. If I had a dollar for every time I heard the subject popularly reviled, I wouldn't need to work a second job. It isn't engineering, or science, or a career in medicine, and the fact that a potentially equally lucrative career in law, closer to history than all the others, is not commonly passed around between the education portfolios of egregiously eager parents is rather telling. Without history, we train bourgeoisie children into bourgeoisie child adults that take their existence for granted, chafing at taxes and politics while indulging in their lunch break, their eight-hour workday, their overtime, their weekends, their Title VII, their legal protections, all won on the bloody backbone of unions, anarchists, and the other historically erased when it comes time to cover US history, especially at the late nineteenth and early turn of the 20th century. Many of these child adults become bourgeoisie voters, a few here and there become bourgeoisie politicians, even fewer become the bourgeoisie president, and the federal funding for public schooling trickles down with an emphasis on the grades, the improvement percentages, the STEM, rather than the knowledge of one's rights, the appreciation of how those rights came to be, the skill set to recognize when those rights are being violated, and the commitment to assert those rights in concert with others in the public scene.
Of what avail are lofty ideals, I wondered. The government clerk who dares put himself above the hod-carrier; the respectable pillar of society, to whom free love is only a means for clandestine affairs—both readers of Reitzel, the brilliant rebel and idealist!It is collective action that is the most threatening to the established status quo, so the police brigades that met Goldman across the states and the 'First Amendment Zones' that encountered incipient Black Lives Matter efforts should be expected, yes? Same with the systematic devaluing of unions and Human Resources, promotion of literature that focuses on the single fire bomber and ignores the Pinkertons and militias both government and corporate, and a general reorienting of employee frustrations that devolve into many an amusing, if desperate, railing against capitalism that would be an awakening if it weren't so mired in fawning bootlicking. I deserve rights, and those rights will be magically handed down at the appropriate time just as all the other were, regardless of the histories of my own country and the present legal states of others. As we know, the current United States is the best, and any communal effort to learn from each other and from history across the world and put it into direct action is whiny at best and terrorism at worst. So, when it comes to history, why bother?
The British bourgeoisie has good reason to fear the spread of discontent, and political liberties are the best security against it.
I was sure that no one, be it individual or government, engaged in enslaving and exploiting at home, could have the integrity or the desire to free people in other lands.This is the first volume of Emma Goldman's autobiography. The entire work weighs in at a tad more than a thousand pages, but my experience with similarly sized works of literature that have all been packaged in a single tome lets me know that it is the content, not the length, that shears off near 400 pages off of the pretty Penguin Classics edition, which on this site has twice the ratings of this unabridged Volume One and and 93% of the ones for the supposedly 'complete' edition. Reading this at my age, it'd be easy to feel intimidated by the difference in my accomplishments by the age of twenty-eight compared to that of Goldman. However, the worth of this text is the author's honesty, and I can observe in fine detail the severe differences in situation, motivation, ability, and, honestly, sheer luck that divided Goldman's living her life and my reading about it.
The steel-foundries belched huge flames that reflected the Allegheny hills blood-red and filled the air with soot and smoke. We made our way past the sheds where human beings, half man, half beast, were working like the galley-slaves of an era long past. Their naked bodies, covered only with small trunks, shone like copper in the glare of the red-hot chunks of iron they were snatching from the mouths of the flaming monsters. From time to time the steam rising from the water thrown on the hot metal would completely envelop the men; then they would emerge again like shadows. “The children of hell,” I said, “damned to the everlasting inferno of heat and noise.”I can pick and choose what is useful and what is not for my own purposes and pass along my judgments accordingly, measuring on a historical ruler what I expected and what I didn't from a person of this time, sometimes qualifying Goldman on being Jewish and a woman, sometimes not. Every so often I recognize a personage, such as Emily Homes Coleman, writer of The Shuttering of Snow and editor of Goldman's work, or Nellie Bly, disparaged by Goldman as lacking the "better intellect" and "finer social feeling" of her journalistic contemporary, Katherine Leckie. The latter especially drives home how history, even when emphasized, will carefully appraise the proper ratio of famous non-white boy personas to a particular segment of history: taking women for an example, one white one will do for the entirety of the pre-18th century, a couple more here and there up until the twentieth, which receives its baker's dozen and a token non-white for the effort. Goldman herself had a particular pattern of pointing out "Negroes" as actively benefiting from white liberal capitalism in at least two instances in this section of her autobiography, and her relegating Lucy Parsons as the "mulatto wife" who occupies a mere few pages during the course of her husband's memorial may have been due to their disagreement over free love as part of anarchistic principle, maybe not. Those 'children' Goldman describes above were composed of more than a few black men as attested to by Attaway's Blood on the Forge , and other than a commentary on being asked to avoid the 'race question' when speaking in the South, the post-Civil War, post-Reconstruction area of government-reviled social movements is surprisingly European. An indication for me to do further critical reading, then.
[N]ot being puritanical does not always mean being free.Outside of some criticisms, we have a vital, credible, and exhaustive record of the sociopolitical heartbeat of a settler state, half a century after its outlawing of slavery and however many centuries before its payment of reparations in forms both monetary and revolutionary. Goldman is no coward, and her following her conscience, and every so often her heart, causes ripples in the international landscape that are sometimes surprising, always extremely informative, and every so often recognizable when comparing the government's of yesteryear to the United States democratic republic/authoritarian oligarchy of today. I haven't yet reached the World War I era, and Goldman does not survive the World War II era, so I have not been able to rely on my customary learning crutches when imbibing all that happened since 1889, when a twenty-year-old Emma Goldman, soon to be Emma Kushner, soon after that to be Emma Goldman once again, stepped off the walkway of a ship and onto the soil of the United States. The fact that I am witnessing firsthand the normalization of eugenics and selective, passive euthanasia in mainstream consciousness, the natural result when a pandemic strikes a society where unthinking worship of capitalism and voting are the heights of human collaboration, didn't help my comfort levels either. However, disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed, yes? If only I didn't have so many good reasons for finding other human beings so draining to deal with.
The description by some of the anonymous writers of what they would do to me sexually offered studies in perversion that would have astounded authorities on the subject. The authors of the letters nevertheless seemed to me less contemptible than the police officials. Daily I was handed stacks of letters that had been opened and read by the guardians of American decency and morality. At the same time messages from my friends were withheld from me.
[B]etter people die on the gallows than in palaces.Onto Volume Two.
No doubt that is the reason why you all feel so sympathetic to the dead. You know you'll never be called upon to make good your protestations.