The Mob

I am the people—the mob—the crowd—the mass.

Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me?

I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world’s food and clothes.

I am the audience that witnesses history. The Napoleons come from me and the Lincolns. They die. And then I send forth more Napoleons and Lincolns.

I am the seed ground. I am a prairie that will stand for much plowing. Terrible storms pass over me. I forget. The best of me is sucked out and wasted. I forget. Everything but Death comes to me and makes me work and give up what I have. And I forget.

Sometimes I growl, shake myself and spatter a few red drops for history to remember. Then—I forget.

When I, the People, learn to remember, when I, the People, use the lessons of yesterday and no longer forget who robbed me last year, who played me for a fool—then there will be no speaker in all the world say the name: “The People,” with any fleck of a sneer in his voice or any far-off smile of derision.

The mob—the crowd—the mass—will arrive then. (end)

“I am the People, the Mob” by Carl Sandburg (1878-1967) was published in 1916.  His poem provided foreknowledge of the poet's later support for the Civil Rights Movement.  It spoke to his belief in the power of the common masses.

Then again there are mobs that bring scapegoating and death.  Jesus faced a mob that chose his death.  

Mobs can be created and those within played for fools.  Politicians are especially adept at that using fools to further their agendas.

What mob are we?  Are we one seeking justice or one that terrorizes and splatters more than a few red drops, such as the one on January 6,

Deacon David Pierce