Living My Life - Emma Goldman [133]
The radical elements refused to be duped by the President’s interest, nor did they have greater faith in the sudden change of heart of the employers. They worked steadily to raise funds and keep up the spirit of the men. The heat had grown too oppressive for public meetings, which meant a lull in our efforts. Still we were able to canvass unions, hold picnics, and arrange other affairs to raise money. My return to public activity rejuvenated me and gave me a new interest in life. I was asked to undertake a lecture tour for the purpose of raising funds for the miners and the victims in Russia. [ ... ]
My tour was trying and strenuous, made more so by the necessity of speaking surrounded by watch-dogs ready to spring on me at any moment, as well as by being compelled to change halls at a moment’s notice. But I welcomed the difficulties. They helped to rekindle my fighting spirit and to convince me that those in power never learn to what extent persecution is the leaven of revolutionary zeal. [ ... ]
CHAPTER XXVI
The Anti-Anarchist Immigration Law was at last smuggled through Congress, and thereafter no person disbelieving in organized government was to be permitted to enter the United States. Under its provisions men like Tolstoy, Kropotkin, Spencer,1 or Edward Carpenter2 could be excluded from the hospitable shores of America. Too late did the lukewarm liberals realize the peril of this law to advanced thought. Had they opposed in a concerted manner the activities of the reactionary element, the statute might not have been passed. The immediate result of this new assault on American liberties, however, was a very decided change of attitude towards anarchists. I myself now ceased to be considered anathema; on the contrary, the very people who had been hostile to me began to seek me out. Various lecture forums, like the Manhattan Liberal Club, the Brooklyn Philosophical Society, and other American organizations invited me to speak. I accepted gladly because of the opportunity I had been wanting for years to reach the native intelligentsia, to enlighten it as to what anarchism really means. [ ... ]
My public life grew colourful. Nursing became less strenuous when several of my “charges” moved out of my apartment and thus reduced my expenses. I could afford to take longer rests between cases. It gave me the opportunity to do much reading that had been neglected for some time. I enjoyed my new experience of living alone. I could go and come without considering others and I did not always find a crowd at home upon my return from a lecture. I knew myself well enough to realize that I was not easy to live with. [ . . . ] I enjoyed the boon of retirement and the companionship of a few chosen friends, the dearest among them Ed—no longer jealously watching, possessively demanding every thought and every breath, but giving and receiving free and spontaneous joy.
Often he would visit me weary and depressed. I knew it was the growing friction in his home; not that he had ever spoken about it, but now and then a chance remark disclosed to me that he was not happy. [ ... ] To cheer him I would turn the talk into other channels, or ask about his daughter. At once his face would light up and his depression lift. One day he brought me a picture of the little one. I had never seen such a striking resemblance. I was so moved by the beautiful face of the child that unthinkingly I cried out: “Why don’t you ever bring her to see me?” “Why?” he replied, vehemently; “the mother! The mother! If you only knew the mother!” “Please, please!” I remonstrated; “don’t say anything more; I don’t want to know about her!” He began excitedly to pace the floor, breaking out into a torrent of words. “You must; you must let me speak!” he cried. “You must let me tell you all I have suppressed so long.” I tried to stop him, but he paid no attention. “Rage and bitterness against you drove me to