Artist's Protest (1936)

The poem below is a dramatic recreation of a incident in which WPA artists protested the dismissal of nearly 2000 of their ranks from WPA projects in NYC. As we enter into a new era in which a progressive social agenda has once again come to the fore, we must remember that the victories won during the New Deal, the spread of industrial unionism, the establishment of Social Security and later during the 1950s and 60s the civil rights, woman's and anti-war movements came about because people fought in the streets and the halls of justice, forcing their elective officials to respond accordingly. Read the contemporary newspaper account at the end of this post to get a flavor of the times when the poem was written.

Artist's Protest (1936)
-- Eugene V. Etler

There we were more than four hundred of us
Waiting to be received
So we could lay down our demands.

We should have known they wouldn’t see us
Well, we kind of expected it –
So we made up our minds to stay
Until we would be seen –
That was about four in the afternoon.

We made up our minds to stay the night thru
And the next day too –
We made up our minds to stay until we would be seen.

And somebody, some big shot or other,
He stood on a table and looked down at us –
And I felt like spitting in his eye.
For he looked down at us
With a sneer in his eye –
And when he spoke I felt like taking his neck in my hands
And stopping the words that seemed to push their way out of his neck.
For the words that he spoke
The words that he spoke to us
Us – who are trying to keep our jobs –
Fighting to keep our jobs – so we can keep ourselves
From falling into the dung heap of the jobless march.
The words that he spoke –
‘Why don’t you go home –
‘Nobody’s going to see you –
‘So it ain’t going to do you no good to hang around.
‘Go on home like good boys and girls –
‘And if you don’t – I’m warning you
‘That if you’re not out in an hour or two
‘I’m going to call the police.’

And the word police went stumbling thru the crowd
And somebody from the crowd yelled out –
‘Oh, yeah, well, policemen are sissies!’
And we all laughed and the man on the table
He turned all green and white
And his lips closed tight
Seeing that we were prepared to fight
For our jobs – our lousy jobs – our twenty-three eighty-six jobs.
And the minutes went by
And we linked our arms together into a human chain.
There the four hundred of us
Women and men
Chained together
In one united thought
Together we’ll fight for our jobs to keep our jobs.

And the minutes went by
And as the minutes went by
We began to chant a song of demand –
A song of demand
Which seemed to toss sand
Upon the wounds of the man
That stood on the table.
For he suddenly cried out –
“I warned you – I did.”
And we yelled back –
‘Why don’t they see us!
‘We’ll stay and only leave
‘When all pink slips are rescinded!
‘That we demand!’

And so there we stood as the minutes crept by
Armed together by a common thought
That we’d stand together
For we knew that thru unity
And only thru unity
Could we make administrators
people
a city
a nation
a world
See that we mean to keep our jobs
Because we need our jobs
To keep us from falling
Into the dung heap of the jobless march.

So closely knit together
Together we stood
Four hundred stood
Perched upon the eighth floor of a building
That stood a challenge to our jobs.

And then from below we heard the eerie song
Of sirens singing a song
Of police coming their way

And we knew the time had come
When we four hundred were to show
Our militancy
To an unsuspecting world.

‘We’ll stick together!’
We quoted to ourselves –
‘We won’t leave!’
We shouted to ourselves –
‘Policemen are sissies!’
We comforted ourselves –
‘Let them come!’
We defied them to ourselves –
We shall not be moved!’
We challenged ourselves.

And they came
Streaming into that room
Bluecoats streaming into that room
And we looked at them as one would look at an enemy –
And we tightened our grips amongst ourselves
Strengthening a human chain
A human chain made up of emotions
Far stronger than fists or clubs.

And the mouth of a bluecoat opened
And it tossed words out at us –
‘Why don’t youse go home,’ it said.
‘Why don’t youse be nice,’ it said
‘Youse is only makin’ trouble,’ it said.
‘Go home,’ it said.

And one of us in reply yelled, ‘We ain’t!’

And that about summed it all up in a nut shell.

‘Don’t youse know you’rse breakin’ the law,’
The mouth of the bluecoat opened and closed.
‘The W.P.A. only rented this place from nine to six
‘And your stayin’ here after six when you’rse told to leave
‘Only make youse breakin’ the law.’
Opened and closed the mouth of the bluecoat.

‘We’re not going to leave
‘We’re not going to leave
‘Until pink slips are rescinded!’

And above our chanting we heard a whistle
And we felt the warmth of bluecoats
Surging toward us!’
We linked our arms closer, tighter together
Welding ourselves solidified into a more forbearing human chain.

And then they tried to pull us one by one out of that chain
But we wouldn’t be moved.
We’ll show them our strength
Not the strength of brutality
But the strength of unity –
We won’t be moved!

They talk of Spain
And the terrors of fascism.
They condemn a Hitler
And act shocked
At the playful games
A Mussolini
Plays with the rights of a people.

And they tell us – American citizens
That we should be proud and glad
That we live in such a democracy
As America – the land of the free.

Well, those who talk
If they were but eye witnesses
To the goings-on – on the eighth floor
In a room surrounded by four walls and one door
A room enclosing four hundred souls
Brutally attacked by New York’s finest.

For clubs were being wielded
And fists were being used
And men were throwing curses
To the steady drip of worker’s blood.
And women were screeching defiance
To the steady beat of Cossack’s clubs.

Oh, yes, blood washed the floor
Blood – of workers’ blood washed the floor
Cleansing it of the trampled prints the police left.
And the cries of the men and women
Which re-echoed against the walls
Will remain to haunt those
Who had no desire to see
Men and women who demanded jobs.
Those men and women who remained
To meet the clubs of the law
As the clubs of the law
Met the bones of the people
Fighting for jobs.

And the curses of the cops
Intermingled with the defiant cries of workers
Spelt the doom of American democracy
For the smell of fascism stank its way thru that room
And the forceful clubs beat a wooden tattoo
Upon the skulls and bones of innocent workers.

The room that we entered was no more the same.
For desks were overturned
And typewriters battered to a pulp.
Papers spewed red by workers blood
As triumphantly cops dragged us out
And down the elevators
Into the yawning mouths
Of Black-Mirias.

Triumphantly cops marched us out
The brave bluecoats of New York’s finest –
They fought us with fists and clubs
While we fought together
Welded together
Into a human chain.
No, we were not defeated
We have just begun to fight.

So tossed into wagons
To be driven to stations
Battered and slaughtered by the fists and clubs
Of brutality
We struck a new note for freedom
And together we sang – America’
As deep in our hearts we knew
That the words betrayed us.

(Click on link to view NY Times article pdf))