Tar and feathers

by Victor Rubin

“It’s the same all over. All over. Yes, sir,” Mr. Pinkney cut in. “But we’ll crush the unions. They’ve no place in a free government. They’re un-American.”

“Un-American” was one of the most frequent words in Mr. Pinkney’s vocabulary and it took the place of argument. It was enough to call a thing un-American to condemn it immediately. Thus he never said that labor unions are a bad thing because they interfere with freedom of contract, or because they tend to form a monopoly of labor under the control of a few men, or because they engender class consciousness. He never raised arguments, even bad arguments, against them! They were simply un-American.

Socialism was not even discussable, because it “bore the stamp ‘Made in Germany,’” and was moreover the theory of a Jew. It was so un-American that its mere mention caused him to turn purple with rage. And having decided that Socialism was un-American, there was a whole category of other institutions that were tabooed as Socialistic. He had viewed with alarm the control by the government of the railroads during the war, “because it was Socialistic.” He never argued that it expedited or delayed the transportation of men and materials to the sea-board. He never argued that it raised or lowered freight rates. He never argued that it increased or lowered the morale of the workers. He never argued that it aided or hindered the financial condition of the roads. Not he. No, sir. With a single word he knocked down the fallacy of all government ownership. It was socialistic.

Foreign language papers were per se un-American and the use of a foreign language an open insult. No matter whether the offender had been imported into this country only a few years before, had been working too hard in the steel or textile mills to learn English and was gaining his conceptions of Americanism through the foreign papers and in a foreign tongue, or whether he had lived in this country thirty years. It was un-American.

Un-American, Hamilton perceived, as Mr. Pinkney rattled on, were the meetings of labor unions and the speeches made there. Mr. Pinkney had not attended them, the idea, sir, and he had no intention of doing so, but he knew that no good could come of them. Drinking in a saloon as the foreigners did and drinking beer with their meals were un-American, although partaking of beverages in one’s club or drawing room was proper. The graduated income tax with its damnable surtaxes was confiscatory, Socialistic and un-American. The tariff, except on cotton, certain kinds of lumber and a few articles in which he was interested, was un-American. Even the Republican party was a party of nigger-lovers and foreigners, an un-American institution, foisted on the nation by the North and to which no gentleman of standing belonged.

Mr. Pinkney’s tirade amused Hamilton. It was what he had heard in his father’s drawing room and at his club before the war, only stronger than ever. The war had liberalized his own ideas, but evidently it had increased the conservatism of those who had remained at home. He had accepted the Germans for the time being as a foe, but as a worthy foe and one to be treated according to ideas of chivalry traditional with white civilization. Here they held an exaggerated hatred for things not only German, but even foreign. Hamilton recalled with a smile Levin’s description of the hundred per centers who remained at home and refused to eat German fried potatoes.

In Paris, too, he had heard Socialism discussed on every hand. He was not a Socialist. The persons who discussed it were divided in their opinions. Some were bitter opponents. Others were ardent supporters. Still others believed in a modified Socialistic program. It was the same way with other ideas—with Bolshevism, with the League of Nations, with post-impressionism, with vers libre. Men and women discussed these subjects animatedly on both, sides; but he had never heard anyone condemn an institution or an idea simply because it was un-French or condemn the discussion of it.

Of course, Paris had its Bourbons, but even they did not seem quite so intolerant.

In Paris, in fact, he had witnessed an excess of liberality—in morals, in art, in literature, as well as in political philosophy. It had even made Hamilton uncomfortable. He felt that in contrast Mr. Pinkney’s philosophy was sound. It had, at least, the soundness of conservatism—the unwillingness to change what time has proved to be good, for the new and untried. There was no danger that a city of Pinkneys would ever tolerate any of the shocking spectacles that he had seen in the Paris concert halls. There was no danger that a city of Pinkneys would ever hold ideas of free love. It was inconceivable that any Pinkney would ever aid in razing a bastile or setting up a commune or a system of soviets. It was inconceivable even that a state of Pinkneys would attempt to operate public cotton mills, as some Socialistic western state was trying to operate grain elevators. Pinkney was certainly safe and sane—so insanely sane. Come what might he would forget nothing of his principles of Americanism. And would never learn anything.

Hamilton mildly expressed the view that practically every inhabitant of the United States was as American as even Mr. Pinkney would have him. The exceptions were so few that one could disregard them. But the holding of a different opinion on political, economic or even social questions did not at all interfere with their Americanism. If the opinion was wrong, full discussion of it, even a little experimentation of certain theories, would prove them wrong.