The Washington times., 1923-03-09
STARVES
FORFREEDOM
ORDEATH
After Twenty-Five Days of
Fasting Condemned Slayer
Hopes for End.

on q charge of murder resulted II,
International complications from
riots, bomb throwing and attacks
upon American embassies IN Eu-
rope, is o1o the ta0enty-second day
of hunger strike for "Iibertu or
death" in the Norfolk county jail,
DedhGm, Mass.
Weak and e11snci0ted from his
prolonged fast, SGcco today die
tdted the following article to Inter
national News Service from his
cot IN cell II. IN it he tells of the
conclusions he reached after thirty
four months of brooding In the long
hours of has incarceration. "Jus-
tice is not for the poor" he con-
cLuded, and he decided to stnrve
himself to death since he cannot
find liberation otherwise.
HIS story follows:
BY NICOLA SACCO.
(written for and Copyrighted. 1929, by
International News ServieeD
NORFOLK COUNTY JAIL, DED.
HAM, Mass, March 81, who love
life so passionately, have chosen to
die, for we who are here are but
the living dead.
For twenty-five days / have not
tasted food. l lie on-my prison cot,
ghostly remnant of what I was.
with death slowly approaching, but
l shall welcome it gladly, for in the
grave ] shall find peace at last. /
shall no longer worry my loyal
friends who for three years have
fought desperately to save me from
death, knowing that / could not
have killed anyone.
Each Day Like a Year.
Each day in prison is like an end.
less year, and it seems like it was
ages and ages ago that / was ar.
rested, with my friend, Bartholomew
Vanzetti.
He was q fisherman and I shoe.
maker. We both read and thought.
and we saw that this world is hard
for the poor, and we tried to teach
our fellow.naen how they could bet.
ter their lives.
At first / did not know why I was
arrested. Then / learned that it
was for murder.
What a CHASTITY thought That
Vanzetti and /. both of whom would
gladIy lay down our lives for our
felloW-man, should be accused of
numbering, fellow-man! / could
not believe 1t. but long, dreary
years went by. and night came
and l was still in prison cell.
Branded As Murderer.
There was a trial MY lawyers
talked. Twelve men listened. The
Italian consul swore that l was
in his off ce at the time of the
murder, miles from the scene. But
the jury came in with that dread
full word Guilty
On me was branded that awful
word; Murderer"
For months l lay on the narrow
prison bed. wondering. thinking.
Spring, with all It's beauty and free.
dom of new life came-and pass
ed. Summer, autumn, winter-and
still l saw nothing OF the life my
soul ached for. was an outcast,
doomed
Around me always is silence, the
fate Of those who are buried alive
The soul had destroying silence Of
the sepulchre, the changeless white
washed walls. the spotlessness. the
mechanicalness of everything-just
like a part of the law that had
doomed me here, feeling less, in.
human inexorable silent.
Has Visions OF Family.
Like the law is this prison Of
lost souls" l thought to myself on
those long, endless nights. II am
dead, yet l live"
Constantly the visions of my dear
HHyif0 no nd
baby daughter appeared before me-
1 thought l should go mad. / could
no longer play with them, for be-
tween us was a silent mechanical
thing called the law which buried
me here.
And | thought. Those terrible
thoughts in those sleepless hours
when the brooding silence Of US who
live but are dead hung heavy over
everything. My head ached, my
heart swelled, and tears flooded the
prison pillow.
Life and love. They were con.
stantly before me. My loyal friends,
my dearest family. from whom cold.
steel bars forever separated me while
the mechanical thing called the law
twisted and. turned and waited to
decide whether they would march me
TO a chair, strap my hands, and burn
my soul from me.
Seeks Freedom in Death.
"How long must l endure"
cried to myself. And in the silence
of the prison, in the deep recesses
of my soul, ! said / would no long.
er endure-I, who am dead, I, who
being dead, still love life with every
fiber of my being, l who am in
nocent.
The law would not kill me. MY
friends would not let me die. Must
then forever rot in a cell, suffer
ing the tortues of the damned?
Better death by far-death. or
the freedom without which life is
nothing.
So / refuse to eat. They allow
me to eat. but while / am con-
scious | will not, for to eat means
but prolonging this living death.
My wife. my babies and my free
dom or-death. Is that not better?