“Bread and Roses”
August 31, 2014
Isaiah 58:1-6; Matthew 10:29-32; Galatians 3:28
Rev. Dr. Deborah L. Clark
As we come marching, marching in the beauty of the day,
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray,
Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses,
For the people hear us singing: “Bread and roses! Bread and roses!”
As we come marching, marching, we battle too for men,
For they are women’s children, and we mother them again.
Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
Hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses!
As we come marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing their ancient cry for bread.
Small art and love and beauty their drudging spirits knew.
Yes, it is bread we fight for — but we fight for roses, too!
As we come marching, marching, we bring the greater days.
The rising of the women means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler — ten that toil where one reposes,
But a sharing of life’s glories: Bread and roses! Bread and roses!
In 1911, James Oppenheim, inspired by the words of New York City labor activist Rose Schneiderman, wrote this poem about women workers rising up and demanding not only a living wage but also dignity. Bread and roses.
A year later, twenty thousand workers went out on strike in Lawrence, Massachusetts. The vast majority of them were women, mostly first generation immigrants, from 51 different countries.
The strike was precipitated by a new law that shortened the work week by two hours, which led to a corresponding cut in pay. For the workers struggling to feed their families, the cut was devastating–three fewer loaves of bread for their children. The strike exposed brutal working conditions. The mechanization of the textile industry led to a dramatic increase in the pace of work. Many workers were children; in the American Woolen Company’s mills, more than half were girls between the ages of 14 and 18. The living conditions were almost as bad as the working conditions. Lawrence had one of the highest infant mortality rates in the nation. 36% of mill workers were dead by the age of 25.
The strike defied everyone’s expectations. Even the established labor unions didn’t think it was possible to unite poor, undereducated women who came from such diverse places as Quebec, Italy, Syria, and Portugal. When the AFL and the United Textile Workers declined to support the women, the more controversial Industrial Workers of the World (the wobblies) stepped in.
The strike, which began in January, lasted two months, through a hard winter. Mill owners, with the support of the local militia, turned fire hoses on the picketers; leaders were arrested for trumped-up murder charges. When the strikers sent their children to stay with families in New York City for the duration of the strike, city authorities grew alarmed at the bad national press. They sent police to physically prevent another group of 100 children from going to Philadelphia. Reporters witnessed mothers and children being dragged to jail.
Eventually, the strike caught the attention of the nation–including Helen Taft, the First Lady–and exposed the conditions in the Lawrence Mills. The owners ultimately agreed to a 15% wage hike and some improved conditions. Within a few years, people began to associate the phrase “Bread and Roses” with the Lawrence strike. The name stuck.
On this Labor Day weekend, we tell the story of the Bread and Roses strike as we honor the courage and sacrifice of all people who have stood up for workers’ rights and human rights. Here in church, we tell this story because it points us toward important principles of our faith.
In our Hebrew Bible reading, the prophet Isaiah excoriates people who act pious while undermining the dignity of other human beings. “Look, you serve your own interest on your fast-day, and oppress all your workers.” That, he says, is not what God wants. God doesn’t care very much about your acts of supposed piety; God cares about how you treat others, including, maybe even especially, your workers.
Our gospel reading comes at the same truth from a different angle. God numbers every hair on your head–and on each head. Every human being is precious to God. Each human being deserves to be treated with dignity. Bread and roses.
The Lawrence s strike points us to another principle of our faith. When we refuse to allow our differences to divide us, when we claim our shared values and come together, we can do more than anyone ever thought possible. Mill owners and labor organizers alike assumed it was not possible for the new immigrants–who spoke different languages, worked in different mills, came from vastly different cultures–to come together. They were wrong. The women recognized that what they shared in common–their yearning for bread and roses, food and dignity–was enough to overcome barriers of language and culture.
That principle is reflected in the early history of the church. The first Christian communities struggled with differences that threatened to tear them apart–Jew and Gentile, rich and poor, slave and free. Some of the most beautiful writings in the New Testament reflect the effort to address that struggle. The church, Paul writes, is like a body–many different parts working together. When we are brought together by Christ, he continues, all those divisions fall away: “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”
Two powerful principles: God calls us to honor and uphold the dignity of every human being. When we come together, we can do so much more than we ever thought possible.
These principles depend on each other. If we cannot find ways to work together, our efforts to uphold human dignity don’t go very far. And without an explicit and rigorous commitment to dignity for all, our capacity to come together quickly devolves into group think and abuse of power. One of these principles without the other is either ineffective or dangerous. When we hold these two principles together, we are part of ushering in the realm of God.
The Lawrence strike of 1912 made labor history, in part because of the appalling conditions it exposed, in part because it showed that diverse communities really can come together to promote human dignity. A hundred and two years later, another Massachusetts labor action has made national news, with the dramatic and highly unusual Market Basket boycott. Has Massachusetts once again made labor history?
As with any such movement, the Market Basket boycott was complicated and costly, with many sides to many stories. The ultimate impact remains to be seen. Certainly, though, it brought together a unique coalition of diverse people–truckers, hourly store employees, managers and customers. At its best, the movement was an affirmation of human dignity, from workers who want to be sure they continue to be treated with dignity, from customers who care about the people who bag their groceries. In a world where the gap between rich and poor is increasing at a frightening pace, the action was a bold insistence that it is possible, desirable, and even profitable to run a company that values employees.
Might this movement give an encouraging boost to companies that already have a commitment to the well-being and growth of their employees? Perhaps it will prompt other companies to rethink their assumptions about profitability and treatment of workers. I hope it will stimulate a broader societal conversation about how businesses can promote the common good. I pray it will inspire people from all walks of life to organize ourselves in the service of human dignity.
On the Labor Day weekend, as we remember events from a hundred years ago, as we reflect on what has happened in recent weeks, let us reaffirm our commitment to these two inextricably linked principles of our faith:
God calls us to actively uphold the dignity of all God’s beloved. God calls us beyond our difference to work together to usher in the realm of God.
May we respond to God’s call. Amen.