(Oh, why does the title suddenly sound so strongly ‘Red’ in my opinion?)
January 9th, afternoon, the headquarters of the Paris General Labor Union.
This was a dilapidated building with peeling plaster revealing the red bricks inside; the windows were drafty, with gaps stuffed with rags.
But at this moment, it was packed with people, hot and filled with smoke.
The air was thick with the smell of sweat, tobacco, and despair.
Many had been unemployed for three days, their families unable to afford a meal, their eyes bloodshot, clutching shriveled cigarette butts in their hands.
This was the price of reform and the cruelty of the crisis.
The capitalists used the “Lockout” as a weapon, attempting to force the workers into submission through hunger and compel the government to retreat.
When Furina walked into the hall, everyone fell silent.
She noticed that in the eyes of these workers, there was not only hope but also a madness born of being pushed to the edge, like a trapped beast fighting for its life.
She did not walk onto the podium but instead walked straight into the crowd, shaking hands with every person.
Her hands were chafed sore by their rough calluses; some workers’ hands were icy, some Burning hot, and some were still trembling.
An old worker missing a finger held her hand, tears dripping onto the back of her hand:
“Madam President, I still have four children at home, the youngest is only three, and they haven’t had a full meal in three days…
Yesterday, my wife gave the last piece of bread to the children and drank a bowl of hot water herself…”
Furina’s heart felt as if it were being squeezed, but she remained calm on the surface, only squeezing the old man’s hand firmly, feeling the fragility of his bones:
“There will be bread tomorrow.
I promise.
And, there will never be days like this again.”
She walked to the center of the hall and stood on a wooden crate so she could be seen by everyone.
The lighting was dim, with only a few kerosene lamps flickering, casting her shadow long and thin.
“Everyone,”
she began, her voice low, as if coming from the depths of her chest.
“I know your days have been difficult lately.
Factories are shut down, unemployment has surged, and the food in your homes is dwindling by the day.
Some are blaming me, saying that it is because of my reforms that you have lost your jobs.”
Someone in the audience nodded, while others cursed:
“Those bosses say it’s you who caused them to shut down!
They say you’re a witch, that you don’t understand economics!”
“But I want to tell you the truth.”
Her voice became as hard as steel, striking against the walls.
“Those factory owners, those tycoons, they did not shut down because of the reforms.
They did it out of greed, because they are unwilling to give up their privileges.
Because they want to use your suffering to hold the entire country hostage and want to strangle the reforms we have just begun!”
She held up a document, the intelligence Lord Uther had brought back last night, a letter stolen from the de La Rochefoucauld estate, bearing the noble’s crest.
“This is a letter from the northern textile factory owner, de Montmorency.
On the day the Lockout Alliance was formed, he wrote to his accomplices:
‘Let those lowly peasants starve for three days, and they will understand who the master is.
Once they start rioting, the army will suppress them, and then we can take over everything in the name of “restoring order,”
A roar of anger erupted from the audience, like the howling of wild beasts, and someone smashed a bottle in their hand.
“They do not care about you,”
Furina’s voice pierced through the noise like water piercing through rock.
“In their eyes, you are just tools, just numbers, just trash that can be discarded at will.
But I care.
The Republican Party cares.
This newborn Republic cares!
We will never compromise with this kind of economic terrorism!”
She unfurled another document, the construction plan for the Public Works Revitalization Agency; the massive blueprint spread out across the wall.
“However, I want to tell you that we do not intend to sit around waiting for handouts, nor do we intend to kneel and beg them to open the factories.
We are going to take over!
We are going to do it ourselves!
Let their ‘lockout’ become their own funeral!”
“The construction plan for the Public Works Revitalization Agency.
Over the next four years, we are going to build five thousand kilometers of railway, ten thousand kilometers of highways, three hundred bridges, five hundred schools, and two hundred hospitals.
This requires a massive labor force, and it requires you!”
“More importantly,”
her gaze turned fiery, like two Burning flames.
“We are going to take over those shut-down factories.
Not to let the tycoons reopen them, but to have them taken over by the state and managed by the workers themselves!”
“Worker management?”
Someone asked, disbelieving, their voice trembling.
“We only know how to operate the machines; we don’t know how to keep accounts, sell things, or manage people…”
“You don’t know how, but you can learn,”
Furina said, her voice full of encouragement and trust.
“And we will send accountants and help you find markets.
The state holds ownership, but daily management is the responsibility of the worker committees.
What to produce, how to produce it, and how profits are distributed will be decided by the workers themselves!
Each factory will elect a committee, the committee will elect a factory manager, and the manager will be responsible to the workers, not to the shareholders!”
This was a memory she had brought from another world, a system known as “worker self-governance.”
In this other world, no one had tried it yet, but she believed it was the only way out and the most powerful weapon against the “lockout” crisis.
Duval stepped forward, his eyes shining as if he had seen a miracle:
“Madam President, are you saying that we should manage the shut-down factories ourselves?
Those machines, those raw materials…
all belong to us?”
“They belong to you, they belong to the working class,” The source of this chapter is g.com.
Furina said, her voice firm and warm.
“The state will provide startup capital, coordinate raw material supplies, and help find markets.
But how exactly you do it is up to you.
Furthermore, the salary of any manager elected by a worker committee cannot exceed three times that of an ordinary worker.
Most of the profits will be used for reproduction and worker welfare, with a small portion turned over to the state.
These are your factories, not the state’s, and certainly not the capitalists’!”
Duval turned to the crowd and shouted loudly, his voice hoarse with excitement:
“Brothers, did you hear that?
We no longer need those bloodsucking bosses!
We will do it ourselves!
We will be the masters!”
A warm response erupted from the crowd like waves crashing against a reef, shaking dust from the roof.
But Proudhon raised his hand, his expression still cautious, the gaze behind his glasses flickering like a vigilant owl:
“Madam President, this is a bold attempt.
But the problem is, those tycoons will not sit idly by.
They will sabotage, cause trouble, and try every means to stop us.
And, they have armed forces, mercenaries, and weapons.”
“I know,”
Furina said, her voice becoming calm and sharp.
“That is why we need your help.
Not just for production, but for defense.
Every factory must establish a worker self-defense force.
If anyone tries to sabotage production or seize the machines, you have the right to defend yourselves.”
She paused, lowering her voice, as if squeezing the words through her teeth:
“Furthermore, Gallieni has promised that the army will stand on your side.
If anyone tries to stop you with violence, the army will protect you.”
She looked at August, the radical youth leader.
“However, do not initiate violence.
Do not give the enemy an excuse.
What we want is production, not civil war.
We want to prove that without them, we live better, not that we are more brutal than they are.”
August nodded, his eyes Burning with fighting spirit, but also with a newfound sense of reason:
“I understand.
We will defeat them with production, not with blood.”
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Anyway, I think I should post the chapters by topic so you don’t have to wait and lose interest.
Please Praise Me (≧▽≦) !!!
Just kidding, writing these words gives me a strange feeling (//▽//)