Source: Sunday Morning Globe
Source type: newspaper
Document type: editorial
Document title: “Our Excerpt”
City of publication: Washington, DC
Date of publication: 15 September 1901
Volume number: 1
Issue number: 20
|“Our Excerpt.” Sunday Morning Globe 15 Sept. 1901 v1n20: p. 5.|
|McKinley assassination (personal response); Michael W. Louis; Leon Czolgosz; Marcus Hanna; James B. Parker.|
|Abel; Cain; Leon Czolgosz [misspelled once below]; Marcus Hanna; Michael W. Louis [misspelled below]; William McKinley; James B. Parker.|
|The identity of the “white brother Irishman” referred to below cannot be established. Most probably, however, the author is referring to Francis P. O’Brien.|
On Czolgosz the Assassin of the President.
THE NEGRO AND IRISHMAN
Bulwarks Sufficient to Guard the Flag and the President without the Aid of
Panic Treason Laws—Mark Hanna’s Chickens Come Home to Roost—
Put the Negro Parker on Guard and Let Us Have Peace.
It is, of course, but a mere coincidence that the anarchist assassin of President McKinley, Leon Czolgosz, is a countryman of “Mickey” Lewis, superintendent of the supply division of the Postoffice Department. This unpronouncable [sic] Polish Jew name is not, however, any more barbaric than Mickey Lewis wore when he first touched the soil of this free country and before he caught on to the “graft” there was in being an adopted American citizen of Polish Jew birth and ancestry. The Globe does not want, however, anybody to reflect on Mickey Lewis because his fellow countryman shot the President, nor for that matter, does The Globe desire to reflect on the race or religion of the countrymen of Czolgosz, for an assassin has, as a matter of fact, neither race, country, nor God, since Cain, our elder brother, slew Abel, our best beloved. And never, we venture to state, was there a more atrocious assassination [of] a human being less deserving of such a violent fate than William McKinley, since Cain slew his brother and offended all heaven and made even hell shudder at the crime!
It appears that this youthful assassin is a native-born product, and that he is an anarchist of the lurid red type. Mr. Hanna and men of his stamp who imported to this country, some years ago, the offal of European races to take the place of American workmen, have had their “chickens brought home to roost.” We recall Mr. Hanna’s exploitation of cheap European labor and its settlement in an ideal town of his own. And the Czolcosz’s [sic] are residents of Cleveland, Mr. Hanna’s own city. Americans, of middle age, going back retrospectively in their experiences, will recall the time when there were few strikes and no foreign-born citizens but Irish and German. These, with the Negro (we now spell it with a capital N) comprised the citizens outside the pale of social but not legal equality, except where the few Caucasians among the imported of the Germans and Irish became distinguished and were admitted to full brotherhood. But the “protected” American manufacturer and labor employer of the Hanna type wanted a different and more degraded class of whites than the bogs of Ireland or the marshes of Germany could furnish. And they got ’em—anarchists, imbruted peasants of miserable princelings and starving wretches from the slums of continental Europe. Every emigrant ship was forced to partition these off from the English, the Irish, and the decent German immigrant. Like a horde of hungry wolves they were dumped upon our shores, and Hanna and his [ilk?] grew rich off their ill-paid labor. They were many shades lower in the living scale than the Chinese of the Pacific slope, against whom we were forced to erect barriers by Congressional action.
Now, this is all truth and plain history, and because these almost less than human beings have failed—even in the second generation—to assimilate with our population, there is Mark Hanna and his kind in the foreground demanding that Congress enact laws as unconstitutionally wild as they will be found ineffectual to prevent the Czolgosz type of animal from committing murder.
Meanwhile, an Irishman and a Negro—the
latter more prominent than the former—are bowing from their pedestals as the
great American people cheer their heroism in saving the life of the American
President. The Negro is a type of the one we recently presented to our readers
as having sacrificed his life in Indianapolis to save that of a white man of
family. But one of the two could escape from the boiler filling with steam,
and the Negro stepped back to death and immortality while he bade his white
brother ascend to safety, wife and family! This Negro, who has made the American
people his debtor, and whose name will go down side by side with the exalted
personage whose life he tried to save, to the remotest history, should be rewarded,
and that reward should be prompt, generous, lasting and conspicuous. Let him
and not the white man, whose duty it was to guard the life of the President,
be constituted the President’s bodyguard, and the American people will sleep
more quietly in their beds and go about their daily avocations less nervously
if they know that “Parker is on guard!”
To make assurances doubly sure, place his white brother Irishman within supporting distance, to disarm the assassin when the brawny arm of the Negro knocks down the murderer as Parker knocked down Czolcosz [sic], and we will want no special or unconstitutional laws to suppress that which Russia, Italy, Germany and France have failed to stamp out with the sternest and most repressive measures, and before which they tremble at this moment from London to St. Petersburg and from Rome and Paris to Berlin.
We want no forced and untenable and un-American laws of trumped-up treason! Put Parker on guard and support him with a member of that race which, since the first shot at Lexington to the last shot on San Juan Hill, fell nearest to the foe.
The Negro and the Irishman furnish neither anarchists nor assassins; they are at all times ready to die for the Republic and uphold its flag, and no imported Hanna serf from the purliens [sic] of continental Europe, whether anarchist or organ-grinder, can or dare meet the flash of their eyes or the sweeping blows of their sinewy arms. We want no panic laws; the climate of the United States is fatal to cowardice in man or beast.