American Gandhi. Leilah Danielson
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BROOKWOOD GREW, so did Muste’s stature in the labor movement. By mid-decade, he was firmly established as a central figure within labor’s progressive wing. Among a myriad of other honors and activities, he was called in to advise and mediate strikes, particularly those involving textile workers; invited to speak on workers’ education and other topics to unions and central labor bodies throughout the country; elected a vice president of the AFT and as vice president of the National Association for Child Development; served as a member of the Central Trades and Labor Council of Greater New York and as a member of the executive board of the Workers’ Education Bureau; and served on the editorial board of Labor Age.1 He also published widely, with articles appearing in Labor Age, the Survey, the Nation, the World Tomorrow, the New Leader, the International Trade Union Review, the American Federationist, and the Modern Quarterly, among other publications.
During this period, Muste’s primary allegiance was to the labor movement, and his pragmatic approach makes it difficult to discern the dedicated Christian pacifist of the war years. Still, he remained committed to nonviolence and civil liberties; he served on the executive committee of the national FOR, chairing that committee from 1926 through 1929, and continued to serve on the national committee of the ACLU.2 His political agenda in the 1920s can also be interpreted as an expression of his pacifism, as he focused on promoting mutual understanding between radicals and conservatives in the labor movement and engendering a pragmatic spirit; labor must approach its problems ‘‘calmly, objectively, ready to cast aside old ideas and methods and to adopt new ones if necessary, willing to experiment,’’ Muste frequently asserted.3 His refusal to engage in ad hominem attacks offers further evidence of his pacifism, and it served to attract those who were eager to transcend the increasingly divided political culture of the labor movement and the left in the 1920s.
Descriptions of Muste from this period describe him as ‘‘happy’’ and even-tempered, a ‘‘square shooter’’ whose modest, unassuming manner endeared him to the hardscrabble workers who attended Brookwood. At the same time, he was clearly a force to be reckoned with; as a militant in the labor movement, and as an independent on the left, sometimes he was ‘‘shot at from both sides. From the hierarchy of the American Federation of Labor. From the Hell-for-leather Communists. And just when the air is thick with critical bullets, you will find A. J. grinning a most winning grin and shooting right back, straight and hard.’’4 This characterization of Muste as someone who exuded ‘‘moral authority’’ and equanimity, while also being shrewd and strategic, echoes descriptions of him as a minister and as a leader of the ATWA. As we shall see, they would be repeated again and again in his long career; as David McReynolds would recall of his mentor, he was both a saint and as ‘‘sly as a fox.’’5
Though Muste worked hard throughout the 1920s to reconcile right and left elements within the labor movement, by the end of the decade he found himself attacked as a ‘‘labor fakir’’ by the Communists and red-baited by the AFL.6 On one level, the conflict between Muste and the AFL was about competing visions of unionism—a struggle between those advocating industrial unionism, militancy, and political engagement and those advocating labor-management cooperation, voluntarism, and nonpartisanship, or between what we might call progressive and conservative unionism. But on a deeper level the conflict was cultural and generational. Muste and other labor progressives had adopted a modern worldview that frowned upon dogmatism and orthodoxy of any kind and viewed adaptation and flexibility as virtues in a rapidly changing world. Their supporters were a new generation of working-class youth who were more self-confident, modern in their outlook, and more invested in the United States than their immigrant parents. Union leaders, on the other hand ‘‘were ideological prisoners of the past.’’7
BY mid-decade, Muste had become more confident and assertive. He continued to espouse loyalty to the AFL, but he lost the deferential tone of the early 1920s and spoke as an authority. His publications generally sounded two interrelated themes. First, he believed that the ideological splits in the labor movement had to be healed, and he offered insights into the causes and consequences of these divisions, and suggestions for their remedy.8 Second, he called for the modernization of the labor movement; it had to ‘‘adapt’’ to the realities of the new capitalism or die. This latter project was intimately related to the former for it entailed incorporating the younger and more militant members of the labor movement and recognizing that modern developments had rendered older methods of trade union organization archaic.
In an influential series of articles on ‘‘dissenters’’ in the labor movement, for example, Muste assumed the role of an impartial observer, noting that unions often responded in a ‘‘primitive’’ manner to outbreaks of dissent and radicalism rather than ‘‘scientifically’’ and ‘‘impersonally’’ inquiring into their origins. Drawing upon the fields of sociology and social psychology, he pointed out that all organizations had some level of internal strife, and that such strife sometimes indicated that a movement was a ‘‘living’’ one. Unions were particularly prone to internal strife because of their dual role as both ‘‘army and town meeting.’’ On one level, the union assumes the character of an army, with the right to conscript and the right to tax, and during strikes, its struggle was replete with ‘‘generals,’’ battles, spies, and enemies. At the same time, however, the union was a democratic institution, with the membership enjoying the democratic right to elect its leaders. This tension between the union’s ‘‘two and incompatible functions’’ was further complicated by the union’s contradictory position of, on the one hand, having a vested interest in society through its role as a collective bargaining agent and, on the other, its opposition to the present order.9
While some internal dissension was inevitable, Muste maintained that certain conditions gave rise to the ‘‘serious problem’’ of factionalism—such as an economic depression, an industry undergoing transition, or lack of union control over an industry. Thus, when a union faced discord, the correct response was to inquire into industrial conditions rather than try to quash oppositionists; an economic depression, for example, was often a sign ‘‘that the time has come when the union must work out a new program of action, that the conventional tactics will no longer do.’’10 The real question was not, then, what was wrong with the ‘‘lefts’’ or ‘‘rights’’ but rather ‘‘what measures the union must take to adapt itself to those changes.’’ ‘‘Oppositions do not make crises,’’ Muste concluded, ‘‘they are created by them.’’11
In these articles and others, Muste suggested that one reason why unions were unable to intelligently and calmly deal with problems such as internal strife was that organizers often had little training or experience for their roles, and he suggested that unions adopt fairly uniform criteria in selecting their organizers, much like modern businesses did. Organizers should, first of all, possess certain personal qualities such as energy, public speaking ability, a fighting spirit, good judgment, a thick skin, and charisma—‘‘He must have the quality variously described as magnetism, personality, ‘sex appeal,’ which enables him to approach people and to hold them.’’ And yet, Muste cautioned, unions did not want ‘‘salesmen,’’ but rather committed and experienced trade unionists; it was essential that organizers have an intimate knowledge of their craft, their union, and their industry; an ability to keep records; and some knowledge of psychology, since ‘‘an organizer needs to know himself and to know others.’’ These qualities could be cultivated through organizational experience, consultation with others in the movement, and, more to the point, courses in workers’ education.12
Another reason for the sorry state of the labor movement was that it had failed to utilize young people. It was natural that older people feared the young; ‘‘young people are inexperienced, often hasty, unorthodox, critical, rebellious, great nuisances. The good God or Nature . . . has fixed that. It’s no good whining about. We have simply to accept the situation and deal with it.’’ Moreover, ‘‘any organization is in constant need of new blood, if it is not to stagnate and die’’; young people often had that ‘‘spark’’ of ‘‘idealism’’ that kept movements alive. At the same time, he