The daily worker. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1924-1958, 1930-08-29

butter to see something like that
happen to the skyline? And isn't t
"our factory?" So moves the
mighty plan ever forward with
strides invincible, writing itself in
the new architecture against
medieval skyline.
So one gradually lives onself into
the spirit and tempo of this pro-
letarian universe. Everywhere he
great process of building goes on:
no only factories and office build
ings, but men and women being
built Schools everywhere; books
being read. If ever a renaissance
of learning took place, it is here.
The old inferiorities and complex
es are incredibly gone. 1t is no dis
grace here to be a horny-handed
son of toll. Quite the contrary, ones
best recommendation is a union
card. The worker is the citizen
of this new world. The paunchy
people of upper class are gone. Only
one supreme class exists: the work
ing class.
In the Bolshoi Theatre the former
royal opera-box is nightly filled with
workers and peasants. In univer-
siCies the sons of workers study.
Every administration office is filled
by men who once toiled in shop and
mill. And the women work, for
women are the equals of men, and
receive equal pay for equal work.
In factories the director is not
terrific man with beer-grown belly
and a row of chins, functioning
in an office remote from smell of
men and machines. He is a blue
shirted, big-fisted worker, who re-
fers to everybody as "Tovarish," and
is Familiarity addressed by every
worker. Every phase of Russian
life is the same, the working class
supreme everywhere. How can
the mine worker or shop mechanic
from another country visit Russia
and not feel that this is his" world
just as everybody's here? For there
is no Russia for the Russians:
boundary lines are incidental geo.
graphical demarcations. Here is
only the Russian part of the great
oppressed working masses of the
world building their socialist COM
monwealth where life instead of
things will become the supreme con-
sideration. The first output of the
inevitable world revolution.
VIII.
And one gets a sense of plan
Everywhere charts and maps. Rus
sia's progress is studied and
schemed. Everybody moves upward
a definite goal at a definite pace.
There is something to live for in
this vast world electrified by its
noble idealism.
In the moment the capitalist ma
tions are stricken with acute indi-
gestion. They cannot absorb their
excess production, without bursting
their bellies. Hard times brood over
cities of idle men. This is signifi-
cant. One beholds wildly the chaos
and disorder of anarcho-capitalism
which brags so much of ''the boil
shevik menace" No wonder they
are brewing a sullen storm against
the U.S.S.R. How can they endure
if Russia comes through with her
giant schemes?
Russia challenges the future with
life instead of death; with hope in
stead of despair. "Overproduc-
tion?" they smile, "Our social sys-
tenn can never know such a thing.
How is overproduction anywhere
possible when people are still lack
ing things?"
Sundayless the world grinds on,
earnestly gripping it's mighty task.
Rationalizing the country with ra-
tionalization that will be itself ra-
tional. Already the five-day week
gives every worker one day off out
o. every five. The seven-hour day
spreads. Wages rise year after
year.
Factories are not mechanical mon
sters one finds in capitalist coun-
tries, where workers learn to hate
the plant and its machines. Fac
tories are part of life, like the
theatre or the park. Every factory
has its club, its restaurant. The
workers share in it's management.
They share praise or blame for its
operation. Everyone is filled with a
ense Of responsibility in which he
takes pride. >.
No wonder factory smoke does not
cause ones sense of disgust of life;
and the ceaseless clangor of its ma
cFinery., singing its song of produc-
ton, is like a hymn in ones ears
hymn of future plenty fir all. :.
One gasps amid this new world
pushing forward with indomitable
courage and will. Who will dare
predict its mighty future?
No wonder those Polish soldiers
looked so menacingly grim as we
approached the border! They sus-
pected it was more than border,
the poor chaps.