The Cry for Justice: An Anthology of the Literature of Social Protest: The writings of philosophers, poets, novelists, social reformers, and others who have voiced the struggle against social injustice; selected from twenty-five languages; covering a period of five thousand years
General
The Cry for Justice: An Anthology of the Literature of Social Protest: The writings of philosophers, poets, novelists, social reformers, and others who have voiced the struggle against social injustice; selected from twenty-five languages; covering a period of five thousand years
Social justice; Social problems
I was glad the keepers were there, for I did not have on my
"seafaring" clothes, and I was what is called a "mark" for
the creatures of prey that prowled up and down. At times,
between keepers, these males looked at me sharply, hungrily,
gutter-wolves that they were, and I was afraid of their hands,
of their naked hands, as one may be afraid of the paws of a
gorilla. They reminded me of gorillas. Their bodies were small,
ill-shaped, and squat. There were no swelling muscles, no
abundant thews and wide-spreading shoulders. They exhibited,
rather, an elemental economy of nature, such as the cave-men
must have exhibited. But there was strength in those meagre
bodies, the ferocious, primordial strength to clutch and tear
and gripe and rend. When they spring upon their human prey they
are known even to bend the victim backward and double its body
till the back is broken. They possess neither conscience nor
sentiment, and they will kill for half a sovereign, without
fear or favor....
The dear soft people of the golden theatres and wonder-mansions
of the West End do not see these creatures, do not dream that
they exist. But they are here, alive, very much alive in their
jungle. And woe the day when England is fighting in her last
trench, and her able-bodied men are on the firing line! For
on that day they will crawl out of their dens and lairs, and
the people of the West End will see them, as the dear soft
aristocrats of Feudal France saw them and asked one another,
"Whence come they?" "Are they men?"
But they were not the only beasts that ranged the menagerie.
They were only here and there, lurking in dark courts and
passing like grey shadows along the walls; but the women from
whose rotten loins they spring were everywhere. They whined
insolently, and in maudlin tones begged me for pennies, and
worse. They held carouse in every boozing den, slatternly,
unkempt, bleary-eyed, and tousled, leering and gibbering,
overspilling with foulness and corruption, and, gone in
debauch, sprawling across benches and bars, unspeakably
repulsive, fearful to look upon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account