The moment that the capitalist class of one nation determines to rob the capitalist class of another nation, the machinery for inflaming the public mind is set in motion. This machinery consists of tongues and printing presses. Tongues and printing presses immediately begin to foment hatred. Every man in each country is made to feel that every man in the other country is his personal enemy. But that is stating it too mildly. Every man in each country is made to feel that every man in the other country is as much worse than a personal enemy as a nation is greater than an individual. Fervent appeals are made to “patriotism.” “The flag” is waved. It is not “sweet to die” for Cecil Rhodes, for Rothschild or any one else—“It is sweet to die for one’s country.” And thousands of men take the bait. They bid farewell to their homes. They embark upon transports. They sail strange seas. They disembark upon strange shores. They see strange men. Men whom they never saw before. Men against whom they have no possible sort of grudge. Men who never harmed them. Men whom they never harmed. Common workingmen, like themselves. But they shoot these men and are shot by these men. They spill each other’s blood. They break each other’s bones. They break the hearts of each other’s families. And, when one army or the other has been crippled beyond further fighting, there is peace. The peace of the sword! The peace of death! The peace that leaves the working classes of both countries poorer and the capitalist class of only one country richer. Was it not a great victory? Yes. It was a great victory for the capitalists of the world who lent money to both belligerents. (But it was not a great victory for the workingmen of both countries, who, through weary, weary years, will be shorn of part of their earnings to pay the interest upon the war bonds.) It was a great victory for the capitalist group who plunged for plunder and got it. (But it was not a great victory for the capitalist group that lost its plunder.) It was a great victory for the generals, who, from a safe distance, directed the fighting. (But it was not a great victory for the workingmen who, at close quarters, fell before the guns and were buried where they fell.)