Quote

Sometimes it seemed to me I could not look at those silent little figures that I must go north, to the grim coal fields, to the Rocky Mountain camps, where the labor fight is at least fought by grown men

Mother Jones

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Mother Jones
Age: 100 †
Born: 1830
Born: May 1
Died: 1930
Died: November 30
Human Rights Activist
Politician
Teacher
Trade Unionist
Union Organizer
Corcaigh
Mother Jones
Mary Harris
Men
Least
Grown
Fighting
Seemed
Littles
Silent
Rocky
Look
Mountain
Grim
Little
Labor
Coal
Looks
Figures
Camps
Sometimes
Fields
Fought
Must
Fight
North

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Men's hearts are cold. They are indifferent.
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Today the white child is sold for two dollars a week to the manufacturers.
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I nursed men back to sanity who were driven to despair. I solicited clothes for the ragged children, for the desperate mothers. I laid out the dead, the martyrs of the strike.
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I went West and took part in the strike of the machinists - the Southern Pacific Railroad, the corporation that swung California by its golden tail, that controlled its legislature, its farmers, its preachers, its workers.
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My address is like my shoes. It travels with me. I abide where there is a fight against wrong.
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I preferred sewing to bossing little children.
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I know that there are no limits to which the powers of privilege will not go to keep the workers in slavery
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The employment of children is doing more to fill prisons, insane asylums, almshouses, reformatories, slums, and gin shops than all the efforts of reformers are doing to improve society.
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Slowly those who create the wealth of the world are permitted to share it. The future is in labor's strong, rough hands.
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The militant not the meek shall inherit the earth!
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I want to hold a series of meetings all over the country and get the facts before the American people
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My teachers treated me as a diamond in the rough, someone who needed smoothing.
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Life comes to the miners out of their deaths, and death out of their lives
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I am not unaware that leaders betray, and sell out, and play false.
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I was born in revolution.
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God almighty made women and the Rockefeller gang of thieves made the ladies.
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Little girls and boys, barefooted, walked up and down between the endless rows of spindles, reaching thin little hands into the machinery to repair snapped threads
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Some day the workers will take possession of your city hall, and when we do, no child will be sacrificed on the altar of profit!
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My friends, it is solidarity of labor we want. We do not want to find fault with each other, but to solidify our forces and say to each other: We must be together our masters are joined together and we must do the same thing.
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But in Shimabukuro's hands, as he breaks out experimental jazz, lays down a steady blues train, or shreds on rock anthems, this little jumping flea becomes a melodic monster.
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