Right and wrong in Massachusetts

by Maria Weston Chapman

All, then, was true; the boast of Mr. St. Clair, that if he were treacherous, then was Stanton and every agent of the Massachusetts Society treacherous too; the declaration of Mr. Torrey—“we four!” No need now, of a conservator of pronouns: the mask was thrown off.

Mr. Garrison indignantly repelled the charge brought against him. “Am I recreant to the cause? who believes it?” “No! No!” burst forth from the crowded aisles and galleries. “Let me ask him a question;” said Mr. Stanton. “Mr. Garrison! do you or do you not believe it a sin to go to the polls?”

The indignant audience did not cry “shame!”—they were too deeply moved for utterance. They were silent in breathless astonishment. Was this Massachusetts? Was it at a meeting of her free-souled sons and daughters, from a platform of toleration so broad that every human being, laboring for immediate emancipation, might stand upon it, that a man presented a creed-measure to his brethren, with the threat to brand every brow as unworthy, that overtopped that little span? Was it in prophetic fear of this disgraceful scene that Massachusetts abolitionists had so early renounced the doctrine of racks and thumb-screws—the idea of reproach for opinion? The same indignant thoughts thronged up for utterance in every heart. Quakers, Calvinists, Unitarians;—Whigs, Democrats, and Non-Resistants;—men of every religious opinion and every political theory—this question insulted them all. Might the believer in the religious duty of voting claim authority to summon to the confessional, all whom he chose to mark for exclusion from the cause, and enter into discussion and condemnation of their belief? Then might every other sectary do the same. The Baptist might banish the Friend—the Methodist might proscribe the Independent—the white man reject the man of color—the women vote that men were disqualified—or men assert the same absurdity with respect to women. If the precious time of a thousand friends of the slave, met to devise measures for making every voter an abolitionist, was to be consumed in making every abolitionist a voter, men felt that a change in their point of agreement—a change in the constitution and the principles that made the constitution, must be effected. The common pass-word must no longer be “immediate emancipation” alone, but every sectarian or partizan must shout his own, and draw his weapon upon every abolitionist who heeded it not. Hatred, wrong, and bondage, unmasked their hideous faces to love, right, and freedom, in the question that so roused every soul in that assembly.

Mr. Garrison promptly answered it, so as not to deny his principles, nor yet to take up the gauge of the non-resistance conflict, which Mr. Stanton had thrown down:—“Sin for me!” “I ask you again,” persisted the infatuated questioner, “do you or do you not believe it a sin to go to the polls?” “Sin for me”—was the same imperturbable reply.

This treacherous interrogatory,[5] fit act of a familiar of the holy office to a heretic, but ineffably disgraceful from the Secretary of the National Anti-Slavery Society to the man on whose motion the National Anti-Slavery Society came into existence, stirred the souls of the abolitionists as if they had seen the slave-driver stand suddenly forth with his scourge and manacles, in visible embodyment of the spiritual tyranny they now felt.

A scene of tempestuous conflict followed, as the whole scope and bearing of the work that had been going on in the Commonwealth under the auspices of the “four,” became apparent. They stood like him who has tampered with the embankments that toil and sacrifice have built between the devouring ocean and a level and fertile land. The indignant feeling of the audience rose to an almost uncontrollable pitch; yet they did restrain it; for the winnowing-time had come, and they must take careful note of men’s conduct now, that they might know who to trust hereafter. Painful and unexpected it was to see Scott, Codding and Geo. Allen swept away, as the whirlwind of debate went on. The resolutions before the meeting were respecting a new paper. But the arguments by which they were sustained, demanded not only a new paper, but new principles—a new constitution—a new society—new officers. Was the true and original test of membership—not an acknowledgment of the justice and necessity of immediate emancipation, but a belief in the religious duty of voting at the polls? Then would those arguments require the dissolution of the Massachusetts Society, another set of men as managers of a new one, and the utter destruction of the Liberator. Yet those who brought forward those arguments, and who, if sincere, were bound by them to destroy the worthless instrumentalities of which they complained, uniformly declared, with the same breath, that nothing was further from their intention than to injure the Liberator, or to cast any imputations against the Board of Managers.

Ellis Gray Loring rose in reply. “On the question of the need of a new paper, I do not wish to speak. A need may exist which I do not perceive. Brethren tell me that there is such a need. I only say that to make such a paper the organ of the Society, and to sustain it at the expense of the Society, over the head of the Liberator would have a tendency to injure the latter. I do not say that gentlemen mean it. They tell us they abjure such a thought. But it is a maxim in law, that the purpose of a man’s acts must be presumed to correspond with their manifest tendency.”

Wendell Phillips argued earnestly against the first resolution. The second was so manifestly a mockery that it was scarcely noticed. The spirit of the meeting rose against the whole intolerant contrivance submitted to its decision. The “four,” when they perceived it, strove, by every parliamentary device, to delay judgment. They strove to divide the resolutions—to refer the matter to a committee—to adjourn the meeting. In vain. The spirit that filled the Marlboro’ Chapel that night, refused to be conjured into a committee-room, or to leave its work unfinished. “Vote it down,” “vote it down,” was the reply to every proposition; till Mr. Loring moved an indefinite postponement, which was almost unanimously carried.

While the fate of the new paper was pending, a doubt was raised by Mr. Phelps and Mr. St.Clair, as to the right of women to a voice in the decision. The question was hardly a debateable one in a society whose constitution welcomed all persons to an equal seat, and whose resolutions had proclaimed that, in the cause of philanthropy, all persons, whether men or women, have the same duties and the same rights. The decision was therefore referred to the President.