“On this May Day, let us stand upright and be counted!”

by Eugene V. Debs

May 1, 2014

On the occassion of May Day, the powerful message of Eugene V. Debs still speaks to us as a voice of revolutionary socialism and a beacon of sanity in a world that is as insane now as it was then, and even closer to self-destruction. May it be an inspiration to all our movements!

On this May Day, in this wonderful year of
1919, the doors of a Federal prison yawn wide
open for me and for my comrades, who have stood
true to the cause of Socialism during the bloody
holocaust of the war. But what says the song of
my comrade and fellow comrade Rose Pastor
Stokes?

“Our prison doorway is the gate
Whereby the new day enters;
Each tyranny but serves to make
New rebels of dissenters.”

Jail has no terrors for me. I have been in jail
before. Twenty-four years ago I was sentenced to
six months in prison for the crime of contempt of
court, because I was using “persuasion” to further
the organization of the railroad employees.
Twenty-four years ago! And now we find the railroad employees of the whole country, united in
four great Brotherhoods, first forcing a universal
eight-hour day from the government by the threat
of a general strike, and then calmly proposing to
take over and run all the railroads themselves, because the government has failed and private own-
ership has failed to conduct them efficiently and
well.

It took twenty-four years to bring them to
this stage of self-confidence and solidarity. But now
things are moving with such wonderful rapidity
that twenty-four hours often seems sufficient to
bring about a new revolution. The hour of the
people draws near. And if my imprisonment can
aid in any way to bring nearer the striking of that
hour in this land then I welcome imprisonment,
I glory in it, I rejoice in it. A thousand — ten
thousand times I would rather spend my remaining days under lock and key than to betray or retard this great cause.

So far as I am concerned it does not matter
much. The margin is narrow, the years are few,
between now and the sunset. My only care, so far
as I am concerned, is to preserve to the last the
integrity of my own soul, and my loyalty to the
only cause that is worth living for, fighting for,
dying for.

And in what a glorious company do we
stand, who are privileged to bear for you the hate
of the foes of life and honor. Twenty centuries ago
the Man of Galilee spoke to the common people,
and they heard him gladly. He was brought before the Scribes and the Pharisees, and the priests
and the doctors and the lawyers and the judges.
They said, “He is preaching dangerous doctrines.
He is a Bolshevik!” They hung him on a cross
near Jerusalem as a warning to the centuries. But
ever since that time the cross on which he was
hung has been the emblem for which tens of thousands have gone gladly to their death.

And ever since men and women of moral
courage have dared to speak the truth as they saw
the truth; they have been maligned and persecuted,
they have been stoned and burned at the stake,
their ashes have been scattered to the four winds.
But these are remembered, and they who wrought
their deaths are buried in the obloquy of forgetfulness and of shame. Remember that George
Washington was denounced as an unprincipled
scoundrel; Jefferson was said to be a violent fanatic; Samuel Adams a dangerous character;
Patrick Henry was called an incendiary. But the
cause which they championed triumphed, and
their names today are revered.

A little later there was a group of abolitionists who fought against the institution of slavery,
which had existed in this country for 250 years.
Abolitionism was the Bolshevism of that day, for
it struck at the root of an evil thing, instead of
compromising with it, on the ground that “the
time is not ripe.” Those men were ridiculed, denounced, imprisoned, and killed; but today they
are honored, while their persecutors are forgotten
and their very memories reviled.

And shall we fear or be ashamed to join such
company? You and I, comrades, who are reviled
and hated for the cause, are richer than any millionaire. How poor is Rockefeller! Millions of
dollars, but not a comrade! But as for us, we love
humanity; our good depends upon the good of
all humanity.

And now the people of all the nations of the
world are beginning to believe this thing, to find
it true; and the earth is beginning to shake. The
common man is beginning to think. That is Bolshevism! That is the beginning of the end of capitalism — and the end of the beginning of Socialism. And because we bid the people to think, they
are putting us in jail. Can they stop thought by
this means? Can a thought be imprisoned? Remember what the Scripture says; that Paul was
put in prison, but there came an earthquake
shortly after, and the prison doors were opened.
People began to think, and the walls of the Bastille were torn down. Can prison doors stop
thought? If the Bastille fell, will Leavenworth, will
Atlanta, will the Moundsville prison stand forever?

I am going to speak to you as a socialist, as a
revolutionist, as a Bolshevist. What is this thing
that the whole world is talking about? What is it
that the ruling class power is denouncing, upon
which they are pouring a flood of malicious lies
— what is it? It is the rise of the workers, of the
common men, the peasants, the soldiers — who
for the first time in history are saying unitedly,
“We have made what there is, we produce wealth;
now we will take what we have produced for it is
ours.” Do you remember what the Psalmist says
— “The sea is his, for he made it.” So the worker
is beginning to say “All wealth is mine, for I made
it.” And for the first time since ages began, he
stands erect, his bowed head lifted; in his grim
strength he begins to shake off him manacles, to
straighten himself in the sunlight. He opens his
eyes, he begins to see for the first time. He asks:
“Why may I press my rags closer to my body, while
I may not touch the costly robes my own hands
have produced?” — “Why must I walk in alleys,
while I am forbidden to enter the great palaces
which my hands have built? Why must I set the
table for all the banquets of the world, when I am
forbidden to eat of the crumbs which fall from
the rich man’s table?”

And to stop him from thinking thus, they
are going to put me and my comrades in jail. With
every drop of my blood I defy their law, and I
despise them. I am appealing to you, to the common people; I care nothing about the Supreme
Court, corporation lawyers every one of them. The
Supreme Court is not the court of last resort; the
people are.

Sixty years ago the Supreme Court decided
that a black man was not human; that he had no
rights which his master was bound to respect. By
that decision they imagined that they had made
chattel slavery secure for all time. But Lincoln was
elected President after a campaign in which he
poured scorn upon that Supreme Court’s decision.
Within five years the Dred Scott decision was
swept from the land with a torrent of blood. How
great a cost! How terrible the price we paid!

Like Wendell Phillips, I say to you, “When
they pass that kind of law, trample it under your
feet.” It is not a law, it is an acto of violence. Such
is the Espionage Law. Why, even the Supreme
Court dared not pronounce that law constitutional. They evaded the issue. They dared not put
that decision upon record. And why not? Read
the law, and read the Constitution, and you will
see. The amendment to the Espionage Law makes
it a crime to criticize crime; it rivets a fetter upon
your lips, it binds a gag tight in your mouth. It
destroys what was left of democracy in this land.
Do I — can I — respect a law that destroys all
liberty, that places this country where Russia was
under the Tsar? No! I despise it, and so does every
other man or woman with decent blood in their
veins and the light of honesty in their eyes.

For what does that law tell you? It is a crime
to criticize any official of the government. But what
did the government itself say, in the Federal Industrial Relations Commission report? What did
it say? Why, this: “A government which can be
maintained only through the suppression of criticism ought not to be maintained.” Remember
what the Scripture says again, “They love darkness rather than light because their deeds are evil.”
Why this muzzling of criticism? What are they
afraid of? We were forbidden to criticize war, and
now we are forbidden to criticize peace. For peace
is often as terrible as war. Who is it that made
war? The ruling class. You have never made war.
You have no cause for war. You pay all the bills,
shed all the blood, make all the sacrifices; they receive all the gains. You must not say a word. Have
your limbs shot off, your eyes gouged out, your
lungs gassed, come back in fragments, and look
for a job so that you can make enough money to
pay the taxes which will meet the expenses of the
war. But — you must say nothing about the causes
of the war, and the peace which is to follow the
war will be made by your masters, and you must
say nothing about that either. The Attorney General [A. Mitchell Palmer] has just announced that
one of his first jobs will be to secure the passage of
an extension of the Espionage Law which will prevent all lawless and seditious agitation; by which he evidently means that labor must not ask for a
realization of the promises that were made to it,
or labor will be punished for treason.

Who is it that is making the terms of peace?
Is it not strange that the great common people
who shed their blood, who fought the war, who
made all the sacrifices — is it not strange that they
should have no voice in the making of the terms
of peace? The working class form the victims of
all the wars of all the ages. Across all the centuries
I can see them. In ancient Rome they were slaughtered for the amusement of patrician loungers on
the benches of the Coliseum; through all the
Middle Ages the serfs were killed for the profit
and glory of the knights. And today, you who were
dragged and hurled into the war, you who shed
your blood like water, you who suffered agony that
no human mind can imagine nor tongue describe
— you have no voice in the Peace Conference that
is settling the destinies of the world; no voice —
except the voice of Gompers. And that is not the
voice of labor.

No voice, did I say? Yes, you have one —
but it is not speaking in Paris. There where the
elder statesmen gather, where the four old men
are parcelling out the world among them, the voice
is the voice of capital. They are planning a League
of Nations there as the last desperate stand of Capitalism. It is the final expedient of the exploiting
classes, the commercial and economic big thieves
to retain their supremacy. But even while they plan,
their eyes are not on their work, and their ears do
not listen to what they themselves are saying. No,
for out of Russia there comes a Voice, and out of
Russia there shines a Light, which claims their fearful attention even while they pretend to be draft-
ing a constitution for the world. It is no longer
Wilson, it is Lenin who dominates the Peace Conference. They have listened to Wilson’s words, and
were captivated for a while by the exquisite rhetoric which he exudes; but beneath this shining fabric of words they found no substance of truth.
When Lenin spoke, it was to tell the truth, and
the working class of every nation in the world responded to his utterance with a mighty shout. The
Voice of Labor sounds at Paris as an echo from the
mighty utterance of Nikolai Lenin; and the whole
word hearkens when he speaks.

There is much talk now about recognizing
Russia. Raymond Robins is demanding that the
United States recognize Russia. There are two sides
to that question. Suppose Russia should refuse to
recognize us? Suppose Russia should say, “We will
buy your supplies because we need them, and you
will take our gold because you want it, but we,
Soviet Russia, will not recognize the United States
until from your flag is wiped the foul blot of Political Persecution; until the United States of
America becomes a civilized nation by releasing
all political and industrial prisoners. Then, and
not till then, will sovereign Soviet Russia acknowledge that the United States is fit to be our com-
rade.”

Great movements are shaking the foundations of all the countries of the world. In England
the Triple Alliance of Railroad Men, Miners, and
Transport Workers are quietly planning to overthrow Lloyd George and establish a Labour man
as Prime Minister, with all the dictatorial powers
which Lloyd George now possesses, for the nationalization of all mines and railroads and socially
necessary industries. In Germany, the Ebert and
Scheidemann Socialists are already tottering to
their fall; in France, in Italy, Labor is uniting its
strength for the establishment of Soviet republics.
Hungary has done so; the spirit of Kossuth finds
its answer in the spirit of Bela Kun. All of Central
Europe plans to follow.

In every previous revolution it has been said,
“The working class is not ready.” And so in Russia
Kerensky tried to tell the working class that it was
not ready. But Lenin and Trotsky said, “If you do
not begin your will never learn,” and so they be-
gan, and in the months since the dictatorship of
labor was established they have made more progress
and did more in constructive work than all the capitalist governments have ever dared to do. They
have refused to compromise. They have established
an absolute qualification for citizenship, a
qualification of service. They have said, “No voice
in the government without useful labor.” And for
that they have been denounced and vilified with
every infamous lie that the foul imagination of a
capitalist tool could invent. But the working class
of the world is not swallowing these lies; they are
preparing to follow their example.

On this May Day let us stand upright and
be counted. We need to be united. We need to
get together. We need to feel the common touch.
The world will always be against us if we are not
for ourselves. You who produce everything, you
who really create, you who are conserving civilization — how can you endure to think that you
are the bottom class, the lower order? When you
go for a job to the master class you work upon
conditions which they prescribe. You depend upon
them for tools, you work for their benefit.

But now — look into the eyes of your
brother and see the new light that is shining there.
We have endured, we have been oppressed, we
have suffered; now let us unite and stand together
against capitalism. Let us unite industrially. Let
us establish the service qualification for industry.
What they are calling “Dictatorship of the Proletariat” simply means “no work, no vote.” Unless
one serves society he cannot enjoy the protection
and comfort of society. Let us as workingmen establish the absolute rule that since Labor creates
all wealth, all good things of right belong to those
whose labor has produced them.

The doors of the prison may clang shut upon
our bodies, but they cannot imprison our souls.
A few of us may fall, a few of us may die, but the
great movement goes gloriously on. It cannot be
long now before it shall triumph. Our emancipation, the emancipation from the power of the ruling class, cannot long now be delayed.

On, comrades, with renewed resolution,
with courage mounting ever higher. We are right,
and the right will win.