When progress is finally achieved, radicals who provoked that progress are quietly written out of the history books. You read American history as it has been taught, and it seems for all the world that the worker’s rights were blessings handed down by the rich and powerful motivated by Christian conscience and civic virtue. We are expected to blubber with gratitude for what was always ours.
The path to those legal recognitions and power, however abused, were paid for with pain, blood and tears. Grudgingly, and after bitter struggle. Men risked their lives and, more important, risked their families. When they struck they knew there was a good chance they would lose, and a good chance that, somewhere along that road, they would put their children to bed hungry. What is a bullet compared to that?
For myself, I am a political radical, I demand change as I demand justice. Radicals have a long and proud American tradition, going back to Tom Paine, the airbrushed founding father. Radicalism is more American than apple pie, which is what you ought to expect of a nation born of revolution.
Whazzat Ghandi? “First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they jail you, and then you win”? Preach it, brother.
Now it may be as claimed, that unions have no purpose, no utility now that we are all so socially enlightened that greed and exploitation are banished forever. Well, that may be true, from your lips to God’s ears. But until I’m sure, would you mind if I kept my union cleaned and oiled, here in my holster? You know, just in case you’re wrong?