From the point of view of the sociologist an accurate statistical
measure of the child-labor problem would be a most valuable gain, but to
most people such figures mean very little. If they could only see the
human units represented by the figures, it would be different. If they
could only see in one vast, suffering throng as many children as there
are men, women, and children in the state of New Jersey, they would be
able to appreciate some of the meaning of the census figures. Even so,
they would have only a vivid sense of the magnitude of such a number as
1,752,000; they would still have no idea of the awful physical, mental,
and moral wreckage hidden in the lifeless and dumb figures. If it were
only possible to take the consumptive cough of one child textile worker
with lint-clogged lungs, and to multiply its volume by tens of
thousands; to gather into one single compass the fevers that burn in
thousands of child toilers’ bodies, so that we might visualize the Great
White Plague’s relation to child labor, the nation would surely rise as
one man and put an end to the destruction of children for profit. If all
the people of this great republic could see little Anetta Fachini, four
years old, working with her mother making artificial flowers, as I saw
her in her squalid tenement home at eleven o’clock at night, I think the
impression upon their hearts and minds would be far deeper and more
lasting than any that whole pages of figures could make. The frail
little thing was winding green paper around wires to make stems for
artificial flowers to decorate ladies’ hats. Every few minutes her head
would droop and her weary eyelids close, but her little fingers still
kept moving—uselessly, helplessly, mechanically moving. Then the mother
would shake her gently, saying: “_Non dormire, Anetta! Solamente pochi
altri—solamente pochi altri._” (“Sleep not, Anetta! Only a few more—only
a few more.”)
[Illustration:
JUVENILE TEXTILE WORKERS ON STRIKE IN PHILADELPHIA
]
And the little eyes would open slowly and the tired fingers once more
move with intelligent direction and purpose.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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