The old revolutionary and the modern revolutionary met one afternoon marching in different directions. The sun showed half its ember above the distant mountain range; the king of the day was sinking, sinking irretrievably, and as if conscious of his defeat at night, he reddened with anger and spat on the earth and on the sky his most beautiful lights.
The two revolutionaries looked at each other: the old man, pale, disheveled, his face without smoothness like a brown paper thrown into the basket, crossed here and there by ugly scars, the bones revealing their edges under the threadbare suit. The modern man, upright, full of life, his face luminous with the presentiment of glory, his suit also frayed, but proudly carrying, as if it were the flag of the disinherited, the symbol of a common thought, the password of the humble superb facts in the heat of a great idea.
"Where are you going?" Asked the old man.
"I am going to fight for my ideals," said the modern one; "And you, where are you going?" he asked in turn.
The old man coughed, spat on the ground angrily, glanced at the sun, whose anger at the moment he felt, and said:
"I'm not going; I am coming back."
"What do you bring?"
"Disappointment," said the old man. "Don't go to the revolution: I also went to war and you can see how I return: sad, old, a bad stretch of body and spirit."
The modern revolutionary shot a gaze that took in space, his forehead blazing; a great hope tore from the depths of his being and appeared on his face. He said to the old man,
"Did you hear what you fought for?"
"Yes: a villain had dominated the country; the poor suffered the tyranny of the Government and the tyranny of the men of money. Our best sons were locked up in the barracks; families, homeless, prostituted themselves or begged for alms in order to live. No one could see the lowest cop straight ahead; the slightest complaint was considered an act of rebellion. One day a good gentleman told us the poor: 'My fellow citizens, in order to put an end to the present state of affairs, there needs to be a change of government; the men in power are thieves, murderers and oppressors. Let's remove them from power, elect me President and everything will change .' Thus spoke the good lord; he immediately gave us weapons and we launched into the fight. We succeed. The evil oppressors were slain, and we elected the man who gave us the arms to be President, and we went to work. After our triumph we continued working exactly as before, as mules and not as men; our families continued to suffer from shortages; our best sons continued to be taken to the barracks; contributions continued to be collected accurately by the new government and, instead of decreasing, they increased; we had to leave the product of our work in the hands of our masters. Once when we wanted to go on strike, we were cowardly killed. You see how I knew why I was fighting: the rulers were bad and had to be changed for good. And you see how those who said they were going to be good, became as bad as those we dethroned. Don't go to war, don't go. You are going to risk your life to raise a new master. '
Thus spoke the old revolutionary; the sun was sinking hopelessly, as if a gigantic hand had clawed at it behind the mountain. The modern revolutionary smiled, and replied:
"Comrade: I'm going to war, but not like you were and those of your time were. I go to war, not to elevate any man to Power, but to emancipate my class. With the help of this rifle I will force our masters to loosen their grip and release what for thousands of years they have taken from the poor. You entrusted a man to make your happiness; I and my colleagues are going to make everyone's happiness on our own. You entrusted notable lawyers and men of science with the work of making laws, and it was natural that they did them in such a way that you would be caught by them, and, instead of being an instrument of freedom, they were an instrument of tyranny and infamy. Your mistake and those of who, like you, have fought, has been that: empower an individual or a group of individuals to undertake the task of making the happiness of others. No, my friend; we modern revolutionaries do not seek protections, or tutors, or manufacturers of fortune. We are going to conquer freedom and well-being for ourselves, and we begin by attacking the root of political tyranny, and that root is the so-called 'property right.' We are going to snatch the land from the hands of our masters, to give it to the people. Oppression is a tree; the root of this tree is the so-called 'property right'; the trunk, the branches and the leaves are the policemen, the soldiers, the civil servants of all kinds, great and small. Well, the old revolutionaries have given themselves to the task of cutting down that tree in all times; they tear it down, and it sprouts, and grows and strengthens; it is demolished again, and it sprouts again, grows and strengthens. That has been so because they have not attacked the root of the cursed tree; everyone has been afraid to take it out of the box and throw it on the fire. So you see, my old friend, that you have given your blood without profit. I am willing to give mine because it will be for the benefit of all my chain brothers. I will burn the tree at its root."
Behind the blue mountain something burned: it was the sun, which had already sunk, perhaps wounded by the gigantic hand that was drawing it into the abyss, for the sky was red as if it had been stained by the blood of the star.
The old revolutionary sighed and said:
The two revolutionaries looked at each other: the old man, pale, disheveled, his face without smoothness like a brown paper thrown into the basket, crossed here and there by ugly scars, the bones revealing their edges under the threadbare suit. The modern man, upright, full of life, his face luminous with the presentiment of glory, his suit also frayed, but proudly carrying, as if it were the flag of the disinherited, the symbol of a common thought, the password of the humble superb facts in the heat of a great idea.
"Where are you going?" Asked the old man.
"I am going to fight for my ideals," said the modern one; "And you, where are you going?" he asked in turn.
The old man coughed, spat on the ground angrily, glanced at the sun, whose anger at the moment he felt, and said:
"I'm not going; I am coming back."
"What do you bring?"
"Disappointment," said the old man. "Don't go to the revolution: I also went to war and you can see how I return: sad, old, a bad stretch of body and spirit."
The modern revolutionary shot a gaze that took in space, his forehead blazing; a great hope tore from the depths of his being and appeared on his face. He said to the old man,
"Did you hear what you fought for?"
"Yes: a villain had dominated the country; the poor suffered the tyranny of the Government and the tyranny of the men of money. Our best sons were locked up in the barracks; families, homeless, prostituted themselves or begged for alms in order to live. No one could see the lowest cop straight ahead; the slightest complaint was considered an act of rebellion. One day a good gentleman told us the poor: 'My fellow citizens, in order to put an end to the present state of affairs, there needs to be a change of government; the men in power are thieves, murderers and oppressors. Let's remove them from power, elect me President and everything will change .' Thus spoke the good lord; he immediately gave us weapons and we launched into the fight. We succeed. The evil oppressors were slain, and we elected the man who gave us the arms to be President, and we went to work. After our triumph we continued working exactly as before, as mules and not as men; our families continued to suffer from shortages; our best sons continued to be taken to the barracks; contributions continued to be collected accurately by the new government and, instead of decreasing, they increased; we had to leave the product of our work in the hands of our masters. Once when we wanted to go on strike, we were cowardly killed. You see how I knew why I was fighting: the rulers were bad and had to be changed for good. And you see how those who said they were going to be good, became as bad as those we dethroned. Don't go to war, don't go. You are going to risk your life to raise a new master. '
Thus spoke the old revolutionary; the sun was sinking hopelessly, as if a gigantic hand had clawed at it behind the mountain. The modern revolutionary smiled, and replied:
"Comrade: I'm going to war, but not like you were and those of your time were. I go to war, not to elevate any man to Power, but to emancipate my class. With the help of this rifle I will force our masters to loosen their grip and release what for thousands of years they have taken from the poor. You entrusted a man to make your happiness; I and my colleagues are going to make everyone's happiness on our own. You entrusted notable lawyers and men of science with the work of making laws, and it was natural that they did them in such a way that you would be caught by them, and, instead of being an instrument of freedom, they were an instrument of tyranny and infamy. Your mistake and those of who, like you, have fought, has been that: empower an individual or a group of individuals to undertake the task of making the happiness of others. No, my friend; we modern revolutionaries do not seek protections, or tutors, or manufacturers of fortune. We are going to conquer freedom and well-being for ourselves, and we begin by attacking the root of political tyranny, and that root is the so-called 'property right.' We are going to snatch the land from the hands of our masters, to give it to the people. Oppression is a tree; the root of this tree is the so-called 'property right'; the trunk, the branches and the leaves are the policemen, the soldiers, the civil servants of all kinds, great and small. Well, the old revolutionaries have given themselves to the task of cutting down that tree in all times; they tear it down, and it sprouts, and grows and strengthens; it is demolished again, and it sprouts again, grows and strengthens. That has been so because they have not attacked the root of the cursed tree; everyone has been afraid to take it out of the box and throw it on the fire. So you see, my old friend, that you have given your blood without profit. I am willing to give mine because it will be for the benefit of all my chain brothers. I will burn the tree at its root."
Behind the blue mountain something burned: it was the sun, which had already sunk, perhaps wounded by the gigantic hand that was drawing it into the abyss, for the sky was red as if it had been stained by the blood of the star.
The old revolutionary sighed and said:
"Like the sun, I too go to my sunset." And disappeared into the shadows.
The modern revolutionary continued his march to where his brothers fought for new ideals.
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