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Title: Voluntary Slavery Author: Ricardo Flores Magón Date: january 21st, 1911 Language: en Topics: Mexico Source: Retrieved on May 2013 from http://www.non-fides.fr/?Voluntary-Slavery Notes: « La esclavitud voluntaria », from Regeneración number 21, dated January 21st, 1911.
Juan and Pedro came to age at the precise age to start working to
survive. They were sons of workers, who died not having the opportunity
to acquire formal education to free them from the chains of salary. But
Juan was spirited. He had read in newspapers how some men, born from
humble beginnings, had come to be, with work and thrift, become
financial kings, and dominate, with the power of money, not only in the
market place, but in the world. He had read thousands of anecdotes of
the Vanderbilts, the Rockefellers, the Rothchilds, the Carnegies, and
all of those whom, according to La Prensa, and some school reading
books, with the stupidities of our contemporary childhood, are abreast
of world finances, not because of anything else,-oh, despicable lies-but
the dedication to work and the devotion to save.
Juan tenaciously threw himself into his work. He worked a year, and
found himself as poor as the first day. At the turn of the following
year, he found himself in the same circumstances. He kept on working
more, without dismay, without rest. Five years went by, and he found
that, at the cost of sacrifices, he had saved some money-not too much.
To save those coins, he had to minimize the expense of his nourishment,
lowering his strength, dressed in rags, with the torment of hear and
cold weather, his system wore out too; he lived in miserable shacks, and
the unsanitary environment contributed to his weakness. But Juan kept on
saving, saving money at the cost of his health. For every penny he was
able to save, he lost strength. So in order to not pay rent, he bought a
lot, and built a small home. Later, he married a young girl. The court
and the priest took away a big chunk of his savings, saved with so much
sacrifice. Some years passed, but work was not steady, debts started to
stress poor Juan. One day one of his children got sick, the doctor did
not want to assist him since he had no money, and in the public
dispensary, he was given such poor attention that the poor child died.
Juan, however, did not give up. He would remember the writings he had
read about the famous virtues of being thrifty and other foolishnesses
of the kind. He had to be rich because he worked so hard, and saved.
Didn’t Rockefeller, himself, Carnegie and others, before millions, drool
unconscientiously? Meanwhile, basic necessities were costing more,
making him worried. Groceries were costing more, and extremely limited
the home of the innocent Juan, and, much to his concern, bills were
increasing, and he could not save a penny. To add pain to injury, the
owner, that morning, fired him from work. Occupying their places were
new slaves, who, like the ones before, would dream with accumulated
wealth, by hard work and savings. Juan had to pawn his home, with the
hope to keep his dreams, but he was going down, sinking without help. He
could not pay his debt, and had to leave it at the hands of the sharks,
all the product of his sacrifice, that small lot saved for with his
blood. Obstinate, Juan wanted to save more, but it was in vain. This
deprivation to which he subjected himself, so he could save, the hard
work he labored the best years of his life, had destroyed his vigor.
Everywhere he asked for work, he was rejected, and there was no work for
him. He was a machine to produce money for his employer, but very worn
out. Old machines are seen with disdain. And, meanwhile, Juan’s family
suffered hunger. In the dark shack, there was no heat, no covers to
protect them from the cold; the children plead for bread with fury. Juan
would go out everyday to look for work, but who wanted to hire tired old
arms? And after walking all the city and the fields, he returned home,
where they were waiting, sad and hungry, those loved ones, his wife,
children, those loved ones who once dreamt about the wealth of the
Rockefellers, the fortune of the Carnegies.
One afternoon, Juan stopped to contemplate the automobiles passing by,
driven by fatty drivers, imagining the satisfaction of having a life
without worries. Women chatting happily, and men, flattering syrupy and
insignificantly, attending to them with mellifluous phrases that could
make other women yawn with boredom if they had not been those
bourgeoisie.
It was cold; Juan shivered, thinking about his family, what they could
expect inside that dark shack, that mansion of misfortune. How could
they shiver in that cold weather, that very moment; suffering the
indescribably torture from famine; how bitter the tears shed those very
moments! The elegant parade continued. It was the perfect moment for the
rich to show off, just from whom Juan had learned “to work and save,”
like the Rothchilds, like the Carnegies, like the Rockefellers. A great
gentleman was coming in a luxurious car. His presence was magnificent.
Gray hair, but his face looked young. Juan cleaned his eyes, rubbing
them, worried to be a victim of an illusion. No, no, his old and tired
eyes did not fool him; that great man was Pedro, his childhood comrade.
“How much had he worked and saved,” thought Juan, “so he could get out
of his misery, and reach such a level, and gain so much distinction.”
Oh, poor Juan! He has not been able to forget the imbecilic stories
about the vampire of humanity; he could not forget what he had read in
school books, in what conscientiously stupefies the population.
Pedro had not worked. A man without scruples. And with great malice, he
had become aware that honesty is not a fountain of wealth, so he started
cheating his fellow man. As soon as he pooled some savings, he installed
a shop and hired cheap labor; so he went up, up. He widened his shop,
and hired more help, more and more, and he became a millionaire and a
great man, thanks to the many “Juans” who carefully took the advise from
the bourgeoisie.
Juan continued watching the parade of the lazy and the indolent. At the
next corner a man was preaching to the townsmen. There were a few
people, really, but this orator, who was he? What did he say? Juan went
to listen:
“Comrades,” exclaimed the man, “the time has come to reflect.
Capitalists are thieves. Only by bad tricks can one become a
millionaire. The poor drop down, working, and when we cannot work
anymore, we are fired by the bourgeoisie, as leaving a tired and old
horse from service. Let’s bare arms to conquer our welfare and for our
families!”
Juan saw the man with disdain, spit on the floor with anger, and walked
to the obscure shack, where his loved ones waited sad, hungry, and cold.
He could not let his idea die, that saving and work make the man
virtuous. Not even the undeserving, who deserved misfortune from his
fellow man, could make the miserable soul educated to be a slave, nor
could he recognize his mistake.