From the Banks of the Waikato

Maoriland Worker, Volume 3, Issue 91, 13 December 1912, Page 12

From the Banks of the Waikato

THE STRIKE IS OFF—THE STRUGGLE IS ON. THE NEW AGREEMENT BETWEEN BOSS AND SCAB. POLICE AND VIOLENCE. "The strike is off!" Some of us have lived long enough and toiled hard enough to have heard that phrase more than once, twice and thrice. The feelings that such a phrase creates are ever in accord with the interests of the individuals who hear it. Some are jubilant', some relieved, some depressed. But there are some who, hearing the phrase, realise that though "the strike is off," the struggle is still on, and their hearts yearn for the time when such a phrase as "the strike is off" will give place to the triumphant chorus of universal exultation in the loudsounding anthem "the struggle is o'er." Myriads of us have stood at- the graveside of companions and seen them lowered into their narrow bed, to the accompaniment of some such words a* "the struggle is o'er" suggests, but we are not satisfied to be buried to realise those words, and some aie not convinced that burying the individual person performs the function of freedom. What we are convinced of is that when we can sing in harmony from the ends of the world "the struggle is o'er" the last sod will be piled on the grave of wage-slavery and the funeral notes of such a burial will be the triumphant echoes of a free people—a free race rejoicing in the fullness, of true life—because wagedom will-be interred beyond hope of redemption or resurrection. "The strike is off!" "The struggle is on!" Keep struggling, my fellows; we will yet be jubilant at a glorious funeral, "Now, 'Bruit,' how goes the struggle in Huntly?" All right, Mr. Editor. I'm not forgetting Huntly, or "Little Russia," as a prominent man called it the other day. But it will never do, Sir, for us to be so much of a microcosm that the place wherein we dwell becomes our world, our all, our only vision. "We must think imperially," a distinguished politician in England once said. (By the way, it was an insignificant wage-worker, who distinguished himself by making a certain screw that caused the politician to become distinguished. The politician was tho workers' boss, the worker made tbe screw, the boss took the credit, and incidentally the brass or cash the making of screws produced; the cash did the trick, the boss became distinguished, the worker as usual extinguished.) But to the phrase, "Think imperially." Fellow-workers, think, think, think, but don't restrict your thinking to towns, countries, or empires. Think of the struggling mass of humanity in the whole world of different color, creed and race, who have ono thing in common with you—they are workers of the working-class and the struggle for each is the struggle of all. See to it that you hamper not the struggle or hinder the victory by your own petty, selfish aims.. Hera's to Huntly now. The preservers of property, peace and propriety are still in our midst, reminding us by their presence of the proximity of the struggle ; but things are very quiet here —not even a dog-fight to disturb the dullness —yet the class struggle, was never keener or crueller than the one going on in this little mining town today. The renegades among our class who went to Auckland at the bosses' bidding to draw up an agreement (to bind over

Notes on the Class Struggle at Huntly

450 men who have not agreed) for a period of three years to terms dictated by the bosses, returned to Huntly on Saturday, .November 30. Five returned on Saturday. They bunched together with downcast eyes and guilty looks. Criminals could not have presented a more damning exterior, while to heighten the coloring of the scene they were met and escorted down the platform by a sergeant of police, six constables being on duty as well. What irony! Can irony be sublime? Surely the scene; witnessed on Huntly station platform that day was such.

Five men returning from a compact with the employers -n behalf of 500 men, of whom they were five, should have been met by 495 men with shouts of acclamation and exultation. They should have been carried shoulder-high and applauded, because they had done their duty to their'fellows. But not They arrived like they departed—like criminals under police surveillance. If they had done a noble deed, why the police guard ? If they had done no evil, why the dread, and what did thay dread? If they had conformed even to law and order, why guarded by the police? No: these men had done an ignoble act, an evil act; they had outraged decency and common fairplay, and because they had done so, Sergeant Kelly and his men (who are, in my estimation, worthy to be called men) have to mount guard over them for fear the outraged feelings of the men they betrayed might find vent in violence. No! Inspector Mitchell, Sergeant Kelly and all the police'at present hi Huntly or New Zealand can rest assured that we are not going to soil our hands, smirch our characters or damage our cause by resorting to violence. Not that we are cowards or that there is not a sufficient supply of animal life in us to relish a fight. No; if fighting physically would forward our cause then that would be our method; but we realise its futility. Force in that direction is almost unless. The struggle is one of wits—our brain against the bosses' brain. To fight with fist 3or other weapons is to play tbe bosses' game, and when wits combat who holds the sponge? The poltee can leave when they like. If 8 been very dull for them here; my one regret is that circumstances prevent us making their stay among us pleasanter. They can only be regarded as accidents in the scenery, and we are certain they will never be actors in a drama with our consent or connivance. That there has been an award drawn up is true, and that certain of its clauses are drastic in the extreme is too true; but that such an abortion, such a caricature, such a reproach upon all the principles of democracy can become law and binding upon the vast majority of men in an industry without their consent is in the nature of things beyond comprehension, and would only prove conclusively that law as enacted in New Zealand under Massey's regime is but a travesty which may evolve into tragedy. ■ But they who live longest learn the most, providing they are prepared to learn. Patience is a virtue possessing vast potentialities. Laughter is music to some ears and is madness in other ears. Laugh on, ye men, whom men call masters; laugh at our tears, our groans, our sighs; laugh on. Your laughter may us madden, but he who laughs last laughs best, and we will reserve our laughter. But when we lamrh it will be music to our class and madness for yours. Meanwhile, fellowtoilers, until our laugh comes, keep smiling.—BßUlT.