Jero as a town has been murdered. These were the haunting words delivered by MP Ellen Wilkinson to a crowd in Hyde Park London in 1936. A crowd that consisted of former steel workers and shipbuilders, skilled laborers of the working class, turned marchers and political activists seemingly overnight, trampled under the weight of the Great Depression and Britain's pitiful response to the country's overlapping unemployment, hunger and malnutrition crises, these men marching nearly 300 miles from towns like Jero to gather in Britain's cultural and parliamentary capital represents an unshakable force of working class solidarity. On the world stage with the singular hope that their cries for justice could finally be heard in unison by the British ruling class. But as is often the case throughout history, the cries of the downtrodden and disgraced would inevitably fall on deaf ears. In the many photos from the period we witnessed the crusaders in all their glory, the complexity of their character at once both hardened by the times and persevering through this display of triumphant unity, but none of these capture the march from the perspective of the ruling class, who after all were the recipients of their out cries. After that we must turn to paintings, like this one, by Thomas Cantrell Dougdale titled the arrival of the Jero marchers and London viewed from an interior. For a painting representing an arduous, a month long march, a political protest made of mostly blue collar working men were witnessing the event from a bit of an odd angle. From the interior of some upscale fancy domicile, rendered stunningly by the way, the painting is overwhelmed by a lavish gold hue that bathes the canvas objects and subjects alike. The decorative ornamentation shines with splendor, from wine, caravs and glasses in the interior to street lights impressionistically represented in the exterior. The subjects appear to be this upper-class couple, a lady dressed gorgeously in a white evening gown, gaudy earrings and kitten heels, leaning rather luxurious over a well-opposed couch. There are some wonderful details here, the interplay of her cigarette and its holder dancing between her fingertips. Next to her sits a man laying back on the couch calmly and cool, a cigarette in his hand as well, blown smoke rings undisturbed. We'd be forgiven for assuming this was a painting about the lifestyles of the rich and famous. After all, in all of its artistic glamour, it's pomp and circumstance, this painting does its true subjects a disservice. The title reignites our eyes and our minds towards this truth. Jossles are understandings back to the piece's central historical focal point, the Jero Crusaders arriving in London, the massive crowd seen gathering through the window pane, so numerous their party we can't make out a single individual figure. The group of 200 recently laid off men from the town of Jero and other surrounding areas, who marched some 300 miles to Parliament in protest of the wide scale unemployment and poverty that had struck much of Britain's working class. As the Great Depression and its universal severity, crushed working people on a global scale, within Britain one of the industries hit the hardest, where steel and shipbuilding, with cheap home labor undercut by even cheaper imports. Before this, Britain had enjoyed a monopoly on the shipbuilding trade as one of the major producers of naval equipment during the First World War, but as other countries invested in their own shipbuilding manufacturing, yards were shut down across Britain in droves, 37 and only a few short years. Palmer's yard in Jero, the largest of its kind in Britain, was number 38, and Jero was hit the hardest of all the areas, with unemployment skyrocketing to as high as 80% and child mortality the largest in the country. This would have been damning enough, but moreover, the National Shipbuilder Society, empowered by the federal government, forbade any prospective buyer from reopening works at the Palmer's site for at least 40 years, stopping any and all theoretical encroachment on the few factories that had been spared closure. With Jero now stripped of its largest employer, its lands practically salted by bureaucratic overreach, and no recompense made for the men and families affected, the town had all it needed for a powder keg level explosion, the kind of prerequisites that allow country-wide class consciousness to grow within the people in the most dire of straits. The final nail in the coffin was a 1936 petition, sent by the town representatives in Jero to the President of the Board of Trade, Walter Ronseman, who delivered a damning response back that borders on evil cartoon villainry, stating that Jero must work out its own salvation. It's easy to see now why people took to the streets in protest. In Doug Dale's painting, this lured vantage point represents the attitudes of people in positions of power like Ronseman, who left these people to suffer and fend for themselves, transforming them from the beaten and dejected to an angry but organized mob hell-bent on being heard. You can hear their screams and cries extend from the picture plane. They weren't completely on their own, however, led by Ellen Wilkinson, a former communist party member, standing less than five feet tall with more ferocity than others who loomed several feet taller. They marched 291 miles from Jero with a petition 10,000 signatures strong, detailing the plate of Jero in the forgotten areas, in a time of similar hunger marches and strikes organized by left wing parties across Britain. When Angle the Jero marchers stressed was emphasizing the non-political nature of their march, this was an important effort to maximize their support across the board, but also an attempt to separate themselves from the communist and socialist agitators of the time. Grant themselves a kind of legitimacy in the eyes of the political British ruling class. With 21st century radical hindsight, we can see much of the error in this line of thinking, where Doug Dale's painted faces are rendered unrecognizable. The photos of the marchers granted some extra context, gaunt and hunger stricken, faces as severe and hardened by the harsh times they had experienced, the disposition of men destroyed by a system that valued business relations and profit over human lives. This all culminated in the November 4th rally in Hyde Park. Ellen Wilkinson addressing a crowd of hundreds would have made the selfless journey and a petition delivered to the House of Commons. But as the painting reinforces, the marchers arrived to a city of indifference. No one in a position to help them really cared. In the end it was a meager event. Jero sympathies expressed but not really addressed in any meaningful way. Weeks of walking and months of poverty experienced, and a prime minister too busy to end up even meeting with them. The marchers returned back to their homes by train mostly to a hero's welcome, applauded for their courage but still as failed and defeated as they had been when they first set out. Their situations unchanged. If only they knew then what we know now. The indelible mark their protesting had on British history. It would be several years before a great change was born from their struggles. The welfare state created after the Second World War. Successful campaigns for starving children. The proliferation of a greater language of working-class expression in Britain. The protest in all of its many forms. But in Dougdale's painting we learn something even more profound and severe about the nature of working-class uprising. The thing that prevents actual radical change from being brought about is the attitudes of those in power. Those positioned above the forces of capital and economy that crush the many beneath them. Once to sit by in their comfort and safety, ignoring the cries and screams of those they've left in peril. Their indifference would be terrible enough, but Wilkinson's own chilling words reinforce their complicity as well. Jero as a town has been murdered. Not dying of its own accord of old age or natural sickness, but murdered in cold blood. Its perpetrators stylized as honorable members of polite society rather than the savage killers they are. Through Dougdale's painting, we also come to realize at least one of the central failures of the marchers. In an effort to distance themselves from the other radical movements of the time, they lost sight of one integral truth. That freedom from oppression isn't given freely by the ruling class. It's taken by those with nothing to lose, save their chains. Through Dougdale's unorthodox rendition, we're given access to a vantage point. The otherwise wouldn't be privy to. Physical access, not only into a space, but into a frame of mind. A depiction of upper-class apathy that alone is enough to radicalize the masses even further. And most importantly, his painting serves as a hopeful catalyst for future generations of agitators, resistors, and protesters, ones with an even greater understanding of the enemy they're dealing with. Looking with the knowledge of entire histories of civil disobedience, building on the voices of those who came before, a symphony that grows louder with each passing generation, until their cries and actions become completely and utterly unignorable. Myintheater is a solo effort produced by me, Aewakin Badet. For only $3 a month, you can support the show on Patreon. It really helps a lot. The link is in the description box below. Thanks for watching. I'll catch you next time.