By Julius S. Peel
Heretofore, our great and glorious July 4th has been a day especially suitable to the swarms of politicians and windjammers who invest our fair land. These human bunches of mistletoe have used our national holiday whenever they could in order to explain to the gaping multitude what a great and glorious nation is America, what great deeds of wonder and heroism have fallen to local heroes, what a great future will be ours, and with eyes partly closed, and enjoying the sound of their own voices these same orators have told you in mighty words what great, patriotic and wise people they themselves happen to be. After which everybody is fairly warm and hungry, and a basket picnic or barbecue is next on the programme—everybody is happy—and what a wonderful day has been the Fourth.
July 4th, 1921, has been just a bit different from the usual cut and dried orations. The people are justly tired of hearing so much talk, talk, talk, and the public speakers, quick to catch the drift of the times, have been quick to make excuses when called upon to be the orator of the Day. They know that the days of Bull are rapidly passing and what the great American public wants to be shown.
The Republican Presidential Campaign was the greatest exploitation of meaningless words that we plain, defenseless citizens have had to bear in a long, long time. They told us in plain and fancy English that after the election of Mr. Harding and his friends that we would have “Normalcy”--just what that means we do not know—unless it means that the times would gradually grow worse, for such is the true state of conditions now existing as compared with the times one year ago when such great pledges were being freely offered in order to gain votes.
The Republican party has made a complete surrender to the negro contingent by the appointment of one of their number to a prominent national office. They have failed to give the country the much needed relief which is what everybody wants most of all, and they allowed the administration to fall into the hands of a few great benefactors of wealth.
The Congressional Record of last week showed through debate in the Senate that the Federal Reserve banks have loaned several hundred million dollars to four great New York banking institutions—more money than has been loaned in all the remainder of the country—and this same money was in turn borrowed by half a dozen high financiers and held there in New York for high rates of usury and in order to deflate the prices of commodities and force liquidation at a big sacrifice. This is murder in the first degree—and the many hundreds of prominent people all over the country who have committed suicide because they could not stand the strain is the direct result of too much Republicanism.
It was also shown that the Federal Reserve Banks have more gold bullion by far than at any recent period, and that the gold in the United States is far greater than the actual needs—but still the Reserve Banks are charging ruinous rates of exchange and discount, and are even now contemplating on the forcing of all farm loans throughout the country—this is heaping insult upon injury—and there is just so much the farming people of the United States is going to put up with, and after that, there will be a far greater outcry and evening up of things than was the case of the French revolution. The farmers practically own the country today—but they have no control over it. They are in the hands of the food gamblers and speculators, and the sooner they declare their declaration of Independence, the sooner this country again will be a fit place in which to live.
The Republican Congressmen are mopping their empty heads and wrangling over petty appointments to office during these hot summer days, and letting the great issues remain in the background. They are deaf and dumb when it comes to the glaring facts of dishonesty and disorder which surround us today, and the question now before the people is just how long are they going to stand for this sort of rule.
And the saddest words of all, our great Fourth of July bull Artists have nothing to talk about these days—for they cannot praise the administration, they cannot show any relief forthcoming for the present hard times, and they cannot talk about themselves too much, so a baseball game with a few home runs is the new midsummer thriller.
From the front page of The Enterprise, Williamston, N.C., July 5, 1921
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