Cant and culture. (1914)

From the November 1914 issue of the Socialist Standard

Rheins, Louvain, Statuary and Architecture! Art, Science, and Culture! How extremely interested our masters are in the defence of art! And what interest, too, the workers have evinced in these remarkable relies of medieval craft!

Lives are being lost—workers’ lives. Blood and tears are being shed—the blood of working men and the tears of working women. Children cry for bread; deep despair numbs the brain of wife and sweetheart; hospitals are filled with the maimed and the crippled, but we must steal oar hearts to such things as these, for such is the toll of war.

But “our” churches and “oar” cathedrals are being destroyed and desecrated by the unholy hand of the hated Hun. The German has dared to eat his filthy sausage from the sacred altar, and to use the statue of the Holy Virgin as a peg upon which to hang the washing.

This is indeed s matter to call for the immediate attention of the working class. We can stand the lose of life—there are plenty more workers. The bereavement of the husband can be borne (there are others). The loss of a limb—well, there are crutches, and, as in the past, our generous masters will come forward to our aid with a licence to sell matches. With calm and philosophic mind we can tighten our belts when we are hungry, but rob us of our art treasures, and like enraged tigers we, the working men of Britain, will slay the despoilers, or, as at Deptford recently, break the windows sod smash the furniture of peaceful civilians whom the authorities have taken the precaution previously to disarm. The workers are, above all, lovers of art.

There are works of art in London, and it is surprising how few of these lovers of art visit them. Some, it is true, attract attention if well advertised —the crown jewels for instance, the greatest pleasure from which is derived by estimates as to how much they are worth. Certain palatial buildings, too, are visited mainly because they belong to the King, or possibly did belong to some other royal gentleman; and such artistic delights in architecture as the bank of England will hold in awe the twenty-four-bob a-week toiler because of the gold in its vaults. But of the real art treasures and rare buildings in London, how many are known to the average worker? Of the proletarian visitors to the Abbey, St. Pauls, the Galleries and Museums, how many can appreciate their beauties ?

Why should we, and if honest, how can we, generate a feeling of indignation at the destruction of those things that, however beautiful they may have been, we would never have seen, and possibly would not have appreciated if we had seen ? Why join in the howl of holy horror at their destruction, while dumb to the greater crime ever being perpetrated upon the toilers by the destruction of their powers of appreciation? Have the toilers time to develop culture?

The German, we are told, lacks culture. Perhaps this is true, but have we “anything to write home about" in that matter? Is the smashing of windows and the looting of shops a sign of culture?

Rolls of toilet paper are bring sold in the streets of London, upon each slip of which is a photo of the Kaiser, and the hawker’s cry of: “ What to do with the Kaiser,” raises a grin on the faces of passers-by. Is this culture ? or is the cry of “German Kultur” just cant?

The Socialist deplores the uncultivated mind of the worker, and is conscious of the intellectual satisfaction lost thereby; but who are we to blame for the loss?

The monuments of art and skilled craftmanship in this country stand untouched by the hands of the destroyer, but they might as well be a heap of ruins as for as the average worker is concerned. Our board-school education stopped at the “three r’s,” with the possible extension to some technical training that would be of use to our masters. So soon as the child of the toiler is old enough to learn and understand he is hauled off to the field and factory to sweat for an employer. He is “educated" enough to pull a lever so many times a minute, to label jam jars or work s machine to stamp oat blacking tins, until he becomes exhausted; or maybe he views London architecture fourteen hours a day while hanging on to a strap behind a carrier's cart. And the magnificent wage of seven shillings per week does not allow him to cultivate his mind by trips to the Continent of Europe in search of “old masters."

In short, the horrible grind from morn till night, with occasional intervals of “rest," seeking for a master; the constant petty worries as to how to make ends meet on twenty-four bob a week, banishes for the working man all desire for intellectual advancement, and the few standing out from the rest find little encouragement in the surroundings and conditions of a toiler's life.

To talk to the worker of saving art treasures is as intelligent as to expatiate to the deaf on the beauties of music. The labourer who at a meeting held to debate the question of whether the earth is spherical or flat, sized up the situation when he said: “Let us get hold of the world first, and then it might be interesting to know whether it is round or not” That labourer was wise. The world is not the workers' world, neither are art treasures for the workers. Their domain is the factory and the slum. Their art is the poster hoarding and the prints in the ½d. illustrated or “Pears Annual”. How can we get excited about art treasures ?

And as to culture, how is the following as a specimen; this too, in times of peace? It is from the report of Roger Casement, British Consul in the Congo, and relates to the “Domains de la Couronne,” Belgian Congo, published 1904.

“I asked them (the natives) why they had left their homes . . . All, when the question was put, women as well as men, shouted: ’On account of the rubber tax levied by the [Belgian] Government posts.’ . . . ‘ How much pay did you get?’ ‘We got no pay. We got nothing. It used to take ten days to get twenty baskets of rubber (twenty baskets of rubber had to be delivered four times a month). We were always in the forest, and when we were late we were killed. We had to go further and further into the forest to find the rubber vines, to go without food, and our women had to give up cultivating the fields and gardens. Then we starved . . . When we failed and our rubber was short, the soldiers came up to our towns and shot us. Many were shot; some had their ears cut off . . . Our chiefs were hanged . . . The white men [Brave Belgians] told their soldiers ‘You kill only women: you cannot kill men.’ So when the soldiers killed us’ (here he stopped and hesitated and then, pointing to the private parts of my bulldog—it was lying asleep at my feet) he said, ‘then they cut off those things and took them to the white men, who said’: ‘It is true you have killed men.’ ‘You mean to tell me that any white man ordered your bodies to be mutilated like that, and those parts of yon carried to them?' (All shouting) ‘Yes. many whits men.’ ‘You say this is true? Were many of you so treated after being shot?’ (All shouting) ‘Ukoto! Ukoto!’ (Very many; very many.)”

German, British, and Belgian “culture” are much the same pattern when profits are at stake. Atrocities are denounced when committed by the enemy, but the foul and fiendish slaughter of the worker in the Congo, and the equally bloody murder by British capital in Peru; the Russian butchery on the Lena Goldfields in 1912; the outrages of Paris in 1871; the many and various deeds of shame and brutality perpetrated by the Capitalists of all countries when profit is to be made or territory to be annexed, when property is to be defended or stolen: all these things are to be forgotten, and we, the workers, upon whom fall all the evils and horrors of modem mass murder—we are to cheer and wave our sweaty caps, and shake the bloodstained fiat of the erstwhile allies of our slave-drivers.

The Socialist cannot do it if he would. He remembers that these deeds have been done in the interest of the Governments of the various countries. Governments representing the interests of the master-class, our enemy. He- keeps in mind the Class Struggle, and is determined to fight it to the bitter end.

Twel.