The Cannery Boat/The Efficiency Committee
The Efficiency Committee
by
Naoshi Tokunaga
The Efficiency Committee
I
Rumble, rumble, rumble!
A truck which had taken copy to the rotary presses came bounding on its own momentum along the passageway of the K. Printing Works. The paved track was slippery and the truck was empty.
The boy in charge of the truck noticed a group of girl workers about twenty yards ahead and suddenly brightened up.
“Let’s have a shot at teasing the girls.”
Rumble, rumble, rumble!
The girls, who had left off sorting out used type, were skipping with a rope, singing the while. They had left their galley lying beside the track and were completely absorbed in the game. As the rope was turned faster and faster, the puffing girls bobbed lightly up and down.
“Oow! Look out!”
The truck came charging at them. The front girl, who was turning one end of the rope with her back to the truck, suddenly realized the situation and gave one piercing shriek. Holding on to the rope, she ran for dear life. The bodies and legs and red petticoats of the others got entangled.
“A–a–ah!”
Two girls tripped over the rails in their haste and fell.
“Oh, you bad boy!”
But, just as he had gauged it, the truck pulled up withing a hair’s breadth of them.
The girls picked themselves up and began stammering something, but the boy cut them short.
“You oughta look out, you fools,” he thundered, but there was a twinkle in his eyes; the girls, who resented being put in the wrong, flushed with anger.
“What a dirty trick to play, you red-nosed”
To be called “red-nose” was a sore point with the boy, and the girl who said it knew this very well. She had her hair done in Japanese style, and wore the red badge of a member of the works council.
“Just look there, you’ve made it all bleed.” One plump dumpling hauled herself up and, pulling up her apron and kimono, stuck out her leg and displayed her scraped knee to the boy.
“This fellow, he’s always playing some trick like this.”
“You red-nosed country lout!”
The girls, brave because of their numbers, surrounded the boy.
“You dog-gone”
One big, round-eyed girl stole round to the back and gave the boy a clout on the head with the end of the rope.
“Ow! Ow! That hurts!” He let out a loud yell and rubbed his head with his rough hands, but, realizing that he had gone a bit too far in his teasing, started grinning at them sheepishly.
“Say you’re sorry.”
“Go on, say it.”
Hands shot out triumphantly and shook him by the shoulder. Again he let out a wild yell.
“Get away, get away! It’s because people like you play round when you should be working that they go starting efficiency committees. Get away, I tell you.”
There was a burst of merriment from the girls.
“Efficiency committee, ha, ha, ha!”
Taking a chance while they were laughing, the boy dashed away merrily with the truck. The next minute one girl excitedly pulled the sleeve of the one who wore the council badge. “Look, Kimi-chan, the boss is watching us from upstairs.”
Sure enough, from a window directly above them, the bald-headed old boss, his face puffed up with anger like a melon after a shower, was glaring down at them.
“How would you like to begin some work?”
“Yes, we are” and every girl knelt down at her work again.
The dumpling with the scraped knee turned to Kimi-chan and said: “It doesn’t hurt to do a little go-slow when the dirty old boss treats us so rotten, and sends us out here to do the same old job every day. Listen Kimi-chan”
“But, Kimi-chan, if the efficiency committee is really formed, we won’t be able to take it easy like this, will we?” One girl with their hair waved in Western style bent over and asked.
But Kimi-chan was non-committal in her answer; she was thinking of her boy friend.
“There’s no need to be so frightened. If the worst comes”
“If the worst comes, we’ll fight and get the union to back us up,” said the dumpling, taking the words from her mouth. “You have nothing to lose but your chains!”
Kimi-chan tossed her head and began to sing and all the other girls joined in.
This was one of their ways of demonstrating against the boss. ····· Along both sides of the passageway, on the door of every shop, dozens of red and yellow posters were posted.
“Support the only Proletarian Party.” “Contribute to the Fund for a Rotary Press for the Workers’ Daily,” etc., etc.
The doors leading into the printing shops offered a really imposing spectacle. At the end of the passage, near the solid-looking rotary press shop, was one extra large poster with the slogan: “Prepare for the Attack of Capital.” ·····
Notice
On th, in Shop No. 1 of the Foundry, there will be a meeting to form an Efficiency Committee. Members of the Works Council of every department will assemble there on that date after work.
Five or six operatives were hanging round the notice-board outside the rotary press shop. There was still some time before their shift began.
“We workers” One dark-skinned young fellow, wearing a sports shirt smeared with various coloured inks, jumped up on to a big roll of paper. Waving his arms excitedly, he began to speak. His name was Tora-Ko and he was practising making a speech.
But the other men sat around or stretched out unsympathetically on top of rolls, without even deigning to look round at him.
“We workers”
He was a member of the works council and therefore was expected to say something at the efficiency committee meeting. The night before, at a meeting called by the union to discuss what measures they would take in regard to the efficiency committee, he had listened to the speech of Nagai, the head of the union executive.
“Well, what about us?” Some of the men, with their backs still turned, started to heckle him.
“We workers demand the right of managing the factory.” These words came out with a rush, as, in the manner of his idolized revolutionary fighter, Shingo Magara, he brought his right arm down to his side with a bang, but he could not find the words to say next.
“But—but”
The big words would not out. Compared with the men working in the foundry, the vocabulary of the men of his department was very small. He had understood the gist of what Nagai was saying quite well—that in their present condition, even if they gained control of the factory, it would be no use to them; the working class was far inferior in administrative ability; therefore they must fight through the works council or the efficiency committee. All this he understood, but to express it!
“But, even if”
Tora-Ko, his hand raised in the air, stood here dumb and confused.
“That’s the stuff; go it, delegate!” One old man squatting there gave him a little encouragement.
“Even if they gave us the factory, it’s no use to us!” Tora-Ko closed his eyes and with a mighty effort spat out the words.
“Hold on a bit, youngster—who’s likely to give it to us?” chipped in one man lying stretched near his feet. Tora-Ko was very put out, but the others gave big guffaws of laughter.
“Tora-Ko, just a minute!” A diminutive little fellow in overalls appeared. At first glance he looked like a small boy ready for any mischief, but if you looked closer you would see he might be about thirty.
“Come down here a minute.”
Tora-Ko lost his temper, but the others pulled him down by the sleeve. The little man was the factory organizer for their union.
“I want to talk to you,” he said, and, going off with him outside the shops, he stood on his tip-toes and whispered into Tora-Ko’s ear. When he had finished Tora-Ko asked, “What do you mean by a picketing squad?”
“Against those Right-Wing crowd I mentioned just now.”
The organizer looked round carefully on all sides and then added, “Fellows like Toyama … to keep an eye on their movements…”
“Toyama?”
“Yes, I’m telling you. In the past he was one of our best leaders, but lately he’s gone to the devil.” His voice became more excited as he went on. “Now is a mighty dangerous time, d’you get me? We must not get into our head the idea that it’s enough to belong to the union. The company feels the financial depression and is like a mad dog. They’re counting on two or three of the Right Wingers at this efficiency committee meeting, and if things go as they plan they’re hoping to make a split among us. So you see, at a dangerous time like this Toyama may turn against us.” Tora-Ko listened in silence.
“So you’re to let Nagai at headquarters know within five hours how many of that element there are in your department. D’you understand? The efficiency committee is going to break down for certain.”
“And then we get ready for a strike?”
“Yes! The company’s plan of an efficiency committee was made when they knew we were already determined on a strike.”
Revolutionary songs, mixed with the whirring sound of the machines, floated to them.
Tora-Ko answered in a roar:
“All right! Let them try it!”
II
The bell to start work rang through the clear air of the late autumn morning.
Two thousand workers, all in high spirits, streamed in through the north and south gates. In these works you would not find any trace of guards standing round the gates.
Instead, almost every morning, someone from the union was giving out red or yellow leaflets.
“Here, don’t you want to have a look at this leaflet?”
On being challenged, one man who was hurrying by, stopped and turned round.
“Here you are.”
The leaflet made clear the union’s attitude to the efficiency committee.
“We must not lower efficiency and thus give the company an excuse to begin counter attacks. Within certain limits, we must support the company’s proposal to establish an efficiency committee. But we must watch carefully what lies behind the proposal.”
The men slipped the leaflets into their pockets, and the girls stuffed them into their long kimono sleeves, as they crowded into the factory. The men all wore rather spruce-looking overalls, and a certain colour had come back into the girls’ cheeks. They had gained something since the great strike of 1924.
They were all fully alive to their strength. Brought up for two years in the cradle of the Left-Wing unionism, as members of the S. Labour Union which embraced 10,000 workers in the printing trades, they had been like a victorious army.
“Comrades, come rally!” Singing lustily, they pressed up to the time record. Their voices rose on a great wave as one after another they pushed their time-books into the big time-clock.
“And the last fight let us face.” The belts of the engines started flapping and all twelve shops were instantly drowned in noise. In the lulls resounded the spirited voices of the workers. ····· In the president’s room six officials were assembled; the heads of each department (accounts, business, works, and general affairs), the managing director and the vice-president.
Behind the great green armchair, reserved for the president, hung a “Graph of Production” like a holy Buddhist picture before an altar.
From the beginning of the year the red line representing production descended swiftly like a bird that has been shot, while the blue line of wages soared upwards like an aeroplane.
Of the six men the lean vice-president and the thick-set, florid, puffy-cheeked managing director stood out in vivid contrast. And this contrast was not only an external one, but bore a striking affinity to the actual situations of the two men at that time.
At noon the president was to arrive, and then the final plan would be decided on. That was the definite time limit allowed to Vice-President Arishima. His only salvation was to exert all his influence on two or three of the Right-Wing element who would wholeheartedly support the efficiency committee.
“How would it be to call Toyama?” the managing director asked, turning to Arishima, who was resting his head on his hands, plunged deep in thought. “While we were making a profit the president was not likely to complain whether it was co-operation between capital and labour, or Communism or any god-damned thing, but now” His spiteful eyes shot their gaze right at the vice-president’s side face as he mumbled under his breath, “I’m sorry for him”
Arishima was fingering one of the leaflets distributed that morning from the union, but it, too, offered faint hope. With sudden resolution he pressed the bell.
“Tell Toyama of Shop No. 2 of the foundry to come to the reception room downstairs.”
The vice-president had completely lost all his self-confidence. His earthly paradise of co-operation between capital and labour, despite his desperate efforts, was crumbling. The prohibition of night work, the enactment of a minimum wage, the establishment of a factory council—all these, in so far as lay in his power, had been used as a manure, but the flowers of his paradise, contrary to his hopes, proved to have thorns and the plants shot up spears.
The way in front was dark; it would be impossible for him to occupy that chair after to-day. Now his last hope, the successful launching of the efficiency committee, was very faint unless the union veered over to the Right.
“Toyama is here.”
With a jerk he raised his head. Toyama! He felt a faint gleam of light. That was the man; if only he would speak up—if he and the Right Wingers could be got to work together, surely the efficiency committee would be a success.
He rose and went downstairs. … Toyama had been neglecting union work lately; it was said that he was not on very good terms with the Left-Wing crowd, he mused.
Sitting on the hard chair of the reception room was a man of twenty-six or twenty-seven, in overalls, with a beard and a muddy complexion.
“How do you do, Mr. Toyama?” The vice-president forced a smile and sat down beside him. “I wonder if we’ll launch the efficiency committee successfully, what do you think?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” answered Toyama brusquely. He had the high cheek-bones and stiff beard of a Kushu man, but seemed to have lost all his vitality. At one time, as a leader of the 1924 strike, he had carried weight with all the workers; to-day his influence was gone. Younger men were taking his place.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of getting you to use your influence to make it a success?”
There was a note of entreaty in the vice-president’s voice as he scanned the other’s face. If this man were to wave the flag of revolt against the Left-Wing! To say the least, he was hopeful.
“I think you must appreciate that I have supported your demands, haven’t I, now? And I may presume that you realize the position I now find myself in?”
A girl brought in tea. Toyama was sitting there limply, as if thoroughly worn out.
“No one will listen to me any more.” He was obviously fed up with everything and everybody. “But anyhow, in the first place, take the constitution of the committee—isn’t it a fact that the workers haven’t the faintest idea what it is to be?”
The vice-president was silent. Just as Toyama was ignorant of the union’s real intentions, so the vice-president had no idea what tactics the company would resort to in the event of the original draft being scrapped. That was known only to the president and the managing-director.
The two men realized that they were both drifting away from the main streams of the coming struggle. There was about as much hope of a coalition between them as between the two halves of a broken oyster shell.
Arrest, fighting, poverty, imprisonment, flight, sickness—Toyama was weary of them all. He wanted to live in peace, working away at the trade he had mastered in his apprentice days. … He passed out into the corridor, a nervous wreck, pressing his aching head.
As he passed down the corridor several young fellows turned round and looked at him. He pretended not to notice them. He was going to pass by when one of them knocked against him.
“What d’ye think you’re doing, Tomi-Ko?” Toyama turned and shouted at the smart-looking young fellow.
“Hey, Toyama, who’ve you been talking to?”
Another whose face he did not know, but who looked like a student and might be one of the union secretaries, edged over towards him.
“What?” Toyama glared at him angrily. “What business of yours is it who I’ve been talking to? Who are you, anyhow?”
It looked as if it would develop into a row. Out of the shops on both sides a crowd, ignorant of what it was all about, came streaming. “What’s happened?” “Who wants a fight?”
“You’re one of Nagai’s hounds, are you? You son of a bitch.”
III
With the efficiency committee within sight, a clean-up was started. About twenty of the Right-Wing element were raided in the upstairs of a noodle restaurant near the works and beaten up by the picketing squad.
The pickets, like a gale, swept through all the neighbourhood of the factory and every corner of the workers’ tenements. The atmosphere there, even after nightfall, was menacing. ····· ”When I ask you not to” The girl clung on to the man’s arm and would not let go.
“You fool!” The man tried to get free from her, but she proved unexpectedly strong. “Do they say they’re going to beat me up? … They’ve got a damned nerve, the picketing squad or whatever they are. Let go, I tell you.”
The man wrenched away one of the girl’s hands, but in doing so he slipped.
“Don’t get so angry. Listen while I finish telling you. Why have you got so quick-tempered lately?”
They sat down on a bench. All was dark. They were in a little shrine on an open space at the back of the works. The girl was Kimi-chan and the man was her lover, Toyama.
“I suppose, then, if I was to go away from you for a bit, they’d say I’d taken to my heels and run … the damned fools.”
“There’s no need for you to get excited so quickly.” Kimi-chan never lost her presence of mind.
“You fool, can anyone help getting excited over a thing like this? You damned fool.” He tried again to rise, but she held him back.
“Don’t talk so loud, dear. You’ll have all the people coming to see what’s the matter,” said Kimi-chan. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t guess that you’re here and come after you, and then I’ll be hit too.”
“You?” His tone was full of sarcasm.
“Yes, me.”
But still he did not believe her sincerity.
“Don’t be silly! You? You’re the trusted comrade of all those youngsters, aren’t you? Don’t make me laugh!”
Toyama vented his despair on her, and then at his own words felt a fierce loneliness.
“Oh, you’re not fair.” Kimi-chan seemed very much hurt, and would say no more. He’s got so that he won’t even trust his lover, she thought.
“Listen, dear” after a little silence she said tenderly. “Listen dear, you’re worn out.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you’re just worn out, and that’s what makes you so quick-tempered,” she said quietly, without looking at him.
“There’s nothing worn out about me. Only the way those fellows go on makes me mad!”
“You’re just worn out, being so poor and having to fight all the time on top of your work in the foundry.”
They kept on contradicting each other, but little by little the man’s excitement died down.
“I’m not worn out, I tell you, but they’re all so infantile, and all so damned cocksure. What do they think they are doing, forming a picketing squad, and for no reason at all? Shadowing me, damn them!”
Toyama spat.
“That’s true, looked at from your own point of view you’ve done nothing to deserve being shadowed, or beaten up, the pickets have no right to do that, but”
“But what?”
“But, looked at from the standpoint of the movement as a whole, you can’t say you’re right. You must admit, as things are now, your present attitude is very suspicious.”
He listened in silence.
“Everyone—even Nagai—gives you full credit for your record as a leader since the 1924 strike, and as a fighter born and bred in the shops, and as a founder of the S. Union. For that very reason to-day, when you have given up every office, clashed with the union leaders over theory, and still go on as if nothing had happened, you can’t call it unreasonable if comrades become suspicious.”
“And so they reckon they’re going to beat me up?”
“Don’t take me up over every little thing, dear. But do you think in carrying out a general line of action they can go into everything? Even me, if they found me here with you like this now, they’d hit me too; of course they would whatever you think.”
“In that case, why don’t you hurry up and go away?”
“Oh, you’re too” she cast a hurt glance at him, but kept her self-control. “I trust you. I know you’re not the sort that turns renegade—but”
“But?”
“But you are still powerful. If you were to trump up a case in favour of the Right-Wing, and lead their forces, times being what they are, the union would be split in two.”
“You overrate me. I haven’t any strength left,” he muttered with a bitter smile.
“You have, you have, dear. You’re only very tired. Frankly, you want a rest. I know it. No matter what the others say, I understand you exactly. But” Kimi-chan did not finish.
“More ‘buts’? I suppose you’re going to say that people in the movement can’t have any rests? Ha, ha” His laugh was mirthless.
Kimi-chan lowered her head.
At last, Toyama, half yawning, started to speak. “ ‘To go forward, or else to perish,’ eh? That stuff”
A chilly wind swept over the slightly raised shrine grounds. Kimi-chan felt at the end of her resources; she did not know how to convince him. Suddenly he got up. “Righto, I’ll meet Nagai.”
“Oh, that’s fine!” Happiness rang in her voice. “Throw off your moodiness—and remember, Nagai used to be one of your oldest friends.”
Kimi-chan was rising to go with him, but in a voice still full of anger he detained her.
“I’m going by myself.”
IV
Toyama entered the union headquarters.
Several young members were in the hall arguing. When they saw him, they rose to their feet suspiciously.
“Is Nagai in?” he asked the young men. Their faces seemed to ask him what he was doing there.
“He’s upstairs,” one answered coldly.
Without a word, Toyama tramped up the stairs. The second room along the corridor was the leaders’. He banged on the door roughly.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Toyama. I want to see Nagai.”
“Oh, Toyama?”
The door opened a little and a tall figure became visible. He wore a black kimono; it was Nagai.
“I want to see you; I’ve got something to talk to you about.”
Nagai quietly tried to read the other’s expression: “All right,” he nodded and, coming out of the room, led the way into the next one. On the floor was a mimeograph, and printing paper was scattered all around.
The two men sat down facing each other on top of the scattered papers. Neither could make up his mind to speak. For the past six months they had been at daggers drawn. It must have been for seven or eight years that they were close friends, but then something had come between them.
The uncomfortable silence continued. The paper shutters behind them jolted as someone attempted to enter.
“You can’t come in,” Nagai raised his head and shouted. His pale, nervous face made him look older than Toyama. His consideration in not letting a third person in, even when the atmosphere was so strained, touched Toyama, but did not melt his stubbornness.
“What’s this picketing squad?” he asked in a hoarse voice, but the other was dumb.
“You’d planned to beat me up, had you?” His voice was bursting with anger now, but still there was not even a flicker of a response on the other’s pale face.
“Do you mean to say you’d set them on to your old mate?” he asked, edging up towards Nagai.
Then Nagai, with elation in his voice, spoke. “Yes, I would. As long as you’re not in our camp, you’re our enemy!”
“Say that again!” Toyama, clenching his fist, edged right up.
“I say, straight out, that as long as you keep your Right-Wing leanings you’re no friend of mine.”
Almost before he had finished speaking Toyama’s fist had grazed Nagai’s face. A thin trickle of blood from his nose flowed down his twitching lips, but Toyama was disappointed; Nagai was not to be roused. With a hand trembling slightly, he quietly reached out and picked up one of the sheets of paper lying near and wiped his bleeding nose with it. Toyama suddenly became abject. He was ashamed of the noise of his own agitated breathing. He started to get up.
“Wait,” Nagai stopped him. “You’re just like a moth trying to kill yourself, aren’t you?” Nagai was incredibly calm; there was even a smile on his face.
“You’re now struggling on the verge of going to pieces, aren’t you, Toyama?” The straight-flung words hit home, but Toyama remained obstinate.
“You used to be one of our best leaders. Who was it, I’d like to know, who led me, the happy-go-lucky unmanageable chap that I was, to where I am to-day?”
This dragging up the past was unpleasant for Toyama.
“Sit down, sit down when I tell you.” Unwillingly Toyama sat down again.
“Listen, Arishima was forced to resign at the directors’ meeting to-day.”
“Really?” Toyama was startled.
“At last capital has stripped off its mask and revealed its true self. There’s no room now even for the existence of a tiny bit of liberalism like his. It’s coming, it’s coming for sure!” Colour began to creep into his sallow cheeks. “You’re tired; you’re just like some dizzy moth. But now we can’t afford to let you or anyone else rest. Can we drag you into the fight, or must we smash you? It’s one or the other.”
Toyama gradually bowed his head.
“Come on, shake hands. And for the efficiency committee meeting to-morrow, come back to your old energetic self. Won’t you, comrade?”
Nagai looked for his hand. “Come on, give us your hand.” Toyama looked away as he gave it. “Thanks! That’s splendid, now I’ve shaken hands with you we’ve got nothing to fear any more.”
Toyama was afraid that tears of weakness would come to his eyes if he looked the other in the face. Nagai also turned away, saying in a forced brisk voice, “The enemy is only one, and the only death for us is fighting him.”
V
When the sound of the bell had died away the belts slowed down and stopped. A red board with a notice, “No overtime to-day,” was hung in every shop, and the workers cheerfully got ready for home and then crowded to the door. By the time they got in front of shop No. 1 of the foundry they were like a flood, but at last they all formed into one line and began to encircle the low one-storied building.
In another hour the long-awaited meeting about the efficiency committee was to be held. The procession gradually became wrought up, until the sound of revolutionary songs drowned their footsteps.
“Here, stop that, you’re not allowed to surround this place,” shouted the guards from a safe distance, but the workers did not stop until they had seen their representatives right inside the meeting-place.
As the procession went round, the representatives of the different shops disengaged themselves from it, and quickly filled up the chairs in the big room.
The works council was made up of forty-eight representatives from the employees and the same number from the company, including the heads of each shop and the chief clerk, and there was, in addition, a chairman with no vote.
Toyama was among the first to come and forced his way through until he captured a seat, second from the end in the front row. Then almost on the tick of seven, the set hour, Nagai’s lank form appeared at the back. The procession outside stopped, the singing died down and all became quiet. Minami, who had come as a representative of the Kanto Distict Council of Labour Unions, was standing in the procession, straining his eyes to see into the hall.
“What?” Toyama noticed with a shock the absence of two faces besides the vice-president’s, in the seats at the extreme right reserved for the office staff. Arishima’s two satellites, the superintendent and the chief accountant.
Nagai, too, noticed it. … The miserable extinction of liberalism. … Both sides had cleaned up their camps and were in readiness.
When the bell to start had stopped, the door on the right of the shop opened quietly and the president’s fat face appeared. Escorted by three or four officials, he entered the room, a great hulking pompous figure.
“Takashimaya!” from one corner of the employees’ representatives’ seats a voice yelled out the name of a popular actor, and the sally was greeted with a stamping of feet and roars of laughter.
“Silence, please!” snapped the thick-set managing director from the central platform. Then two printed sheets were handed round to everyone. They were the proposals—at last laid bare—and the balance sheet for the first half of the current year, together with a table of statistics of the average production per man in each department.
“I now declare the meeting open.” The deep, gruff voice of the managing director seemed to carry far into the darkness outside.
The workers’ representatives hurriedly scanned the papers and their eyes rested with amazement on article nine, dealing with the number of members that were to constitute the efficiency committee—the heads and assistant heads of each shop, twenty-four; employees’ representatives, twenty-four; and then, in addition, twelve members from the office. Clearly the company had an absolute majority. Wasn’t this a totally different arrangement from what had been announced before?
“If you gentlemen will examine the table of statistics and the balance sheet, you will understand that the company is in a very difficult predicament. The nation’s currency, which at the time of the great earthquake was greatly inflated, is now being deflated, and this has an enormous influence on this company. If you compare the balance sheet for the second half of 1923 with that of the first half of this present year, 1926, this will become obvious to you”
The director recited eloquently the two rows of figures, but from the ranks of the workers came a voice, “Don’t talk rot!” and they poked one another and grinned. … Wasn’t the boss’s missus, and his son—a mere school-kid—and even his new-born baby, all large shareholders? You could juggle figures anyhow to make things look all right.
But, at any rate, in the second half of 1923 the figure of net profit was 179,000 odd yen; taking the amount carried forward, they then paid a dividend of 10 per cent.; whereas in the first half of 1926, including what was brought forward from the last half year, they barely managed to pay 3 per cent., and that, according to the director, was only by breaking into their capital.
“And because of that, you reckon you’re going to dig up the old piecework system and pit us workers against one another like a lot of fighting cocks, do you?” a voice cried, and Kimi-chan, who was sitting near the front with five or six other girls, muttered so that those around could hear, “He’s just making a fool of us.”
“Moreover, in the second half of this year it will be quite impossible to make up for this.”
The officials, feeling their responsibility, looked very solemn before the president, but the employees maintained their firmness. They were enjoying better conditions now compared with the old days. It was because the piecework system had been abolished that the colour had to some degree come back into their cheeks and made them look human once more.
The terms of the company’s proposal were: (1) The abolition of the Works Council. (2) Reintroduction of a piecework system. (3) Reintroduction of night-work, etc., etc.
“What the hell’s this? Back to where we were before the 1924 strike!”
“You’re right. It’s a challenge!”
The sharp, piercing eyes of the president roamed continuously over the benches of the employees, where countless other eyes, sharp as needle points, stabbed back at him.
“As the balance sheet shows, production has suddenly dived right down. It is because you gentlemen have been more concerned with the efficiency of your union than with the efficiency of your work.”
Raising his voice, the director waxed sarcastic. From the central seats, occupied by the heads of the different shops, came clapping. At the same time in the workers’ block there was a buzzing as from a hive of bees.
“Dry up, your old bald head!”
“A lot of claptrap!”
“Come on outside!”
He stood there bewildered. “Mr. Chairman!” “Mr. Chairman!” The workers started their favourite trick for obstructing a speaker. They succeeded in shutting him up completely.
One man with a closely-cropped, bullet-shaped head stood up. He was Kondo, a representative of No. 1 printing shop.
“The managing director has shoved the responsibility for the company’s recent setbacks on to us workers, but is the unit price for printing and type founding the same as 1923?”
Very neatly he had forced the director into the defensive.
“No, since then it has fallen almost 30 per cent.”
Kondo was on to him at once. “Then the company’s business depression can’t have anything to do with our efficiency, can it?”
“But your wages have not been cut at all. To put the matter plainly, will you increase your efficiency until it balances your wages, or will you have your wages cut?”
The workers’ representatives opened their eyes. … The old devil, he’s getting worse and worse.
“Cut our wages? But the price of necessities hasn’t gone down at all,” shouted Kondo, red in the face.
“That is hardly the company’s fault,” came the complacent answer. It was admittedly a neat thrust. … But now the crowd was getting obstreperous.
“You old fool!”
While Kondo was standing there shouting, from the rear came a score of voices calling, “Mr. Chairman.”
“Why does the works council have to be abolished?” It was Toyama who had spoken. The director started to answer without standing up, but Toyama continued before he had time. “We don’t believe the lies of the director. Luckily, the president is here, so we can hear directly from his lips”
“That’s right, make the president speak!”
“Tell us why, president!”
Voices came from the darkness outside. Although the guards had attempted to drive the workers away from around the building, they stood firm.
“The reason is, Mr. Toyama,” the president arose, came down from the platform and, facing Toyama, glared at him, “that it would clash with the efficiency committee.” Having delivered this retort, he turned and prepared to move away, displaying as he did the nice creases down his striped trousers.
“Then why isn’t the voting strength distributed the same as in the council?”
The president’s attitude changed completely. Stopping, and turning just his head round, he tried to appear calm, but his voice was excited and instead of answering he cried “This company doesn’t belong to you. And I’m not going to let you make it the nest of that S. Union.”
“What?” Toyama blazed out. The pandemonium among the workers rose once more.
“Shut up!”
“You old tyrant.”
In a thundering voice Toyama yelled, “Then we oppose the efficiency committee!”
The president did not turn round. The workers stamped and yelled. From outside there came a storm of jeers.
“Down with the efficiency committee!”
“Fight against bringing back night-work!”
“Down with the piecework system!”
In the midst of all the bellowing and tumult, Nagai’s eyes were shining, but he did not lose his calm. … It’s come, but from the front. But what’s giving the president so much courage? … He stood up and obtained the floor.
“I have a motion!”
He proposed that a sub-committee consisting of seven representatives of the employees and seven from the company’s side should meet immediately to thresh out the whole question. Never for an instant did he take his eyes off the president’s face. … The old scoundrel, I wonder what he’ll say to that! …
The motion was carried by a big majority.
VI
Amid scenes of confusion and turmoil the members chosen as a sub-committee filed up to the council chamber on the second floor of the office. The employees’ representatives were Nagai, Toyama, Takagi, Kondo, and three others.
Just outside the door they stood making their plans. “Do you get that? We’ve got to keep cool. If we’re going to ferret out what they’re up to, we’ve got to force ourselves to be calm…”
“Look, what are they?” Kondo caught sight of something and gave Nagai a prod in the back. “Look, cops went in that room just now; I’ll swear I saw their sabres.”
They all looked round, but the door to which he pointed, leading into the president’s room, had shut tightly.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Nagai opened the door on the other side and strode in first. The company’s men, seven including the heads of each department and the managing director, were already lined up with their backs to the president’s room. The workers lined along the window side opposite. Then the president and a young “gentlemen” they did not recognize sat down a little apart from the rest.
“Who is that gentleman? If he has no business here I ask that he be requested to leave,” said Toyama roughly, from his seat. The man without any hesitation got up and spoke for himself.
“My name is Suzutani, I am vice-president of the Federated Printers’ Association. I ask to be allowed to watch the proceedings.”
There was a general movement of surprise. … Oho, so this was the fellow who’d been going round trying to make an agreement among the bosses of the twelve big companies!
Toyama spoke again: “Then we shall call a representative of our union to watch too.” upon the said gentleman with a sickly grin said, “I think that’s all right, that’s quite constitutional.”
Minami lumbered in. He looked a real peasant, rough and fierce, as he drew Nagai aside and whispered to him, “Suzutani’s here, isn’t he? Now it’s all clear. Don’t hesitate any more!”
The twelve companies’ agreement! The plan for an alliance between the bosses of the twelve biggest printing works in Tokyo. … Wage-cuts for the workers, proposals for price-fixing, the abolition of special rates for night work, etc., etc. … During the last six months, while the workers were working for ten or fifteen hours a day, behind their backs the gentlemen of these twelve big companies had progressed with the agreement until now it was almost ready for signing.
“I see” Nagai nodded his head, as across his mind flashed the question, like words across the screen, “What gave the president such courage?”
By this time the mass of the workers had advanced on the office. Again their cries floated through the window, “Down with night-work!” “Down with the piecework system!” Then, without warning, there arose a wild chorus of yells, followed by what seemed to be a great pushing and jostling.
“What’s that?” Minami first, and then two or three others standing nearest the window turned and looked out. Below them a big fight had started, centring around fifty or sixty police who were trying to arrest someone.
“They’ve got no right!” Young Kondo, changing colour, made to rush out.
“Wait, it’s no good being in a hurry.” The powerful Minami grabbed Sugiyama by the arms as in a low voice he uttered this restraint, “Don’t get excited. Our time’s later.”
Nagai, pressing back the indignation and impatience he felt rising up in him, began to speak in a very calm voice, “I want to make clear our views to you, the managing director. We support the plans of an efficiency committee, brought forward by the company, but with the following provisos: First, that the allotment of voting power be the same as in the present works council, and second, that all such questions as the abolition of the works council, and the reintroduction of the piecework system be held over until the formation of the efficiency committee, and then be decided at one of its meetings. That is all.”
The managing director looked over at the president, to see how he was taking it. But unexpectedly it was the gentleman next the president who, with gentlemanly deliberation, began shaking his head. The workers kept their puzzled eyes on the immaculately tailored figure.
“It amounts to the same thing in the end,” said the director at last.
“How does it? We’re in favour of the object of the committee,” said Toyama, resting one hand on the table, and sticking out his jaw.
“No compromises!” came a voice from outside. “Down with piecework!” The shouting workers had pressed back in another wave and started another battling.
“Mr. President,” called Nagai, standing up, “you are trying to fix all the blame for the company’s failure on to us. The proposal of the company is equivalent to a declaration of war against us. For instance, the reintroduction of the piecework system would soon bring in its trail the question of a surplus of workers. … Mr. President, I, as a representative of 2000 of your employees, ask you this: are you thinking of trying a lock-out?”
Nagai’s voice, with a slight quiver in it towards the end, echoed through the whole room. Two or three of the department heads left their seats flurriedly and clustered round the president as if to shield him. But words did not flow in a hurry from his lips. The director, half out of his seat, tried to speak. Just as he did so the aforementioned gentlemen deliberately got up and addressed the two of them in an intimidating voice.
“I regret to say that as the original plan of the company seems likely to be scrapped, there is nothing for me to do but to announce to my association that this company intends to stand out from the twelve companies’ agreement, for the present.”
The president seemed much shaken as he stood up. Then, with a face livid and contorted, he snarled at the workers’ representatives, “This company belongs to me. D’you get that? And nothing in the proposals is going to be withdrawn. D’you understand?”
Toyama and Kondo, losing all self-control, pushed forward in front of the president and shook their fists at him. “All right, it’s a strike!”
The managing director banged on the table and announced, “From to-morrow, all work is suspended!”
Minami pushed up to Suzutani. “All right, I’m going to announce this to the two-hundred thousand members of our All-Japan Council.”
Chairs were kicked over and, as the workers were flinging themselves into the next room, Nagai, who was in the vanguard, swayed and almost fell backwards. “Ah!” everyone cried. A great hand had clutched Nagai by the throat and was dragging him down.
“Oh! He—help! It’s—thugs!” The stifled words came from Nagai’s throat; with a leap and a bound Minami flung all his weight at that great arm, “You bastard!”
Toyama, stripping off his coat, rushed to the window, and straining his lungs yelled, “It’s a strike!”
From the mass of workers below, surging and seething like a thick liquid, arose answering battle-cries.
“It’s a strike!!!” he shouted once more and, whirling round, leapt right into the thick of the struggle where his comrades were battling with the thugs.