To the Small Farmers of Ireland/Letter II
In my last letter I proved to you that, in the opinion of your rulers, there are at least one million of your class too many now alive upon this island, including women and children. That is a full million still, after all that the Famine, the Typhus, and the Law have already killed. I have explained to you the calculation by which the better classes’ and the English, between them, have determined, or very nearly, the exact numbers necessary to be slain ; showed you how their laws, their commissions, their boons and good measures have been working systematically to that end; and especially pointed out how the new Landlord and Tenant Bill is the most deadly weapon yet contrived for your plunder first, and slaughter afterwards insomuch that where the Famine slew thousands, the Bill will slay tens of thousands.
Their intention is to rob you, and to murder you, and to divide the spoil between the Irish landlords and the English Government. This is their intention; and you may as well look it steadily in the face at once.
What you have to do, we are now to consider; and the very nature of the peril itself suggests the method of resistance. For why are you surplus? Why must a million or more of you be slain? Why? It is not that Ireland does not produce enough to sustain all her people; it is not that you do not raise, with your own hands, far more than enough to support you and your families. It is because—and only because—out of your harvests and haggards the English claim a tribute, the, state claims taxes, and the landlords claim rent—all enormous in amount, and all prior to your claim for subsistence. You must pay them all before you touch a grain; they have ‘law’ for it.
The plain remedy for all this,—the only way you can save yourselves alive,—is to reverse the order of payment; to take and keep, out of the crops you raise, your own subsistence, and that of your families and labourers, first; to part with none until you are sure of your own living,—to combine with your neighbours that they may do the like, and ,back you in your determination,— and to resist, in whatever way may be needful, all claims whatever, legal or illegal, till your own claims are satisfied. If it needs all your crop to keep you alive, you will be justified in refusing and resisting payment of any rent, tribute, rates, or taxes whatsoever.
This is the true doctrine of Political Economy. All economists write that the rent of land, for instance, is the overplus, remaining after the cost of labour and the reasonable profit of the farmer.
The learned Malthus (no friend of yours, I can tell you,) defines it thus (Principles of Political Economy): That portion of the value of the whole produce, which remains to the owner of the land, after all the outgoings belonging to its cultivation, of whatever kind, have been paid.’
The chief outgoing belonging to cultivation is the subsistence of the cultivators,—and if anything be sought in the name of rent before that is provided for, it is not rent, but plunder and ought to be resisted.
In one word, whatever is needful to be done in order to enable you to consume, in security, as much of your own produce as will keep soul and body together that you must do.
But I am told it is vain to speak thus to you; that the ‘peace policy’ of O’Connell is dearer to you than life and honour—that many of your clergy, too, exhort you rather to die than violate what the English call ‘law,’—and that you are resolved to take their bidding. Then die—die in your patience and perseverance; but be well assured of this, that the priest who bids you perish, patiently amidst your own golden harvests, preaches the gospel of England, insults manhood and common sense, bears false witness against religion, and blasphemes the providence of God.
I will not believe that Irishmen are so degraded and utterly lost as this. The earth is awakening from sleep: a flash of electric fire is passing through the dumb millions. Democracy is girding himself once more like a strong man to run a race; and slumbering nations are arising in their might, and ‘shaking their invincible locks.’ Oh! my countrymen, look up, look up! Arise from the death-dust where you have been lying, and let this light visit your eyes also, and touch your souls. Let your ears drink in the blessed words, ‘Liberty! Equality! Fraternity!’ which are soon to ring from pole to pole.
Pray for that day: and preserve life and health, that you may worthily meet it. Above all, let the man amongst you who has no gun, sell his garment, and buy one.
References[edit]
- ↑ P. A. Sillard, Life of John Mitchel, James Duffy and Co. Ltd, 1908