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Kids' Corner: March of the Mill Children
Mary Harris Jones, better known as "Mother Jones," was an Irish immigrant to the United States who dedicated her life to fighting for workers' rights and ending child labor. She helped lead strikes and demonstrations, including a famous march in July 1903 of children who worked unbearably long hours in harsh conditions in a Pennsylvania mill. What follows is an excerpt from the chapter in Mother Jones's autobiography about what she saw at the mill and what she did about it. Some of the details are graphic and disturbing, but they are the sad truth about child labor in the 1800s and early 1900s in the United States.
In the spring of 1903 I went to Kensington, Penn., where 75,000 textile workers were on strike. Of this number at least 10,000 were little children. The workers were striking for more pay and shorter hours. Every day little children came into union headquarters, some with their hands off, some with the thumb missing, some with their fingers off at the knuckle. They were stooped things, round-shouldered and skinny. Many of them were not over 10 years of age.
I asked the newspapermen why they didn't publish the facts about child labor in Pennsylvania. They said they couldn't because the mill owners had stock in the papers. "Well, I've got stock in these little children," said I, "and I'll arrange a little publicity."
We assembled a number of boys and girls one morning in Independence Park and from there we arranged to parade with banners to the courthouse. I put the little boys with their fingers off and hands crushed and maimed on a platform. I held up their mutilated hands and made the statement that Philadelphia's mansions were built on the broken bones, the quivering hearts and drooping heads of these children. That their little lives went out to make wealth for others. That neither state nor city officials paid any attention to these wrongs. That they did not care that these children were to be the future citizens of the nation.
The officials of the city hall were standing by the open windows. I held the little ones of the mills high up above the heads of the crowd and pointed to their puny arms and legs and hollow chests. They were light to lift. The officials quickly closed the windows, as they had closed their eyes and hearts.
The reporters quoted my statement. The universities discussed it. Preachers began talking. That was what I wanted: Public attention on the subject of child labor.
The matter quieted down for a while ... and I decided
that the children and I would go on a tour. The children carried knapsacks on their backs (with) a knife and fork, a tin cup and plate. We took along a wash boiler in which to cook the food on the road. One little fellow had a drum and another had a fife. That was our band. We carried banners that said, "We want more schools and less hospitals." "We want time to play." "Prosperity is here. Where is ours?"
The children were very happy, having plenty to eat, taking baths in the brooks and rivers every day. I thought when the strike is over and they go back to the mills, they will never have another holiday like this. Farmers drove out to meet us with wagonloads of fruit and vegetables. Their wives brought the children clothes and money.
Everywhere we had meetings, showing up with living children, the horrors of child labor. At one town the mayor said we could not hold a meeting because he did not have sufficient police protection. "These little children have never known any sort of protection, your honor," I said, "and they are used to going without it." He let us have our meeting.
I called on the mayor of Princeton, N.J., and asked for permission to speak opposite the campus of the university. I said I wanted to speak on higher education. The mayor gave me permission. A great crowd gathered, professors and students and the people; and I told them that the rich robbed these little children of any education of the lowest order that they might send their sons and daughters to places of higher education.
"Here's a text book on economics," I said pointing to a little chap, James Ashworth, who was 10 years old and who was stooped over like an old man from carrying bundles of yarn that weighed 75 pounds. "He gets 3 dollars a week and his sister who is 14 gets 6 dollars. They work in a carpet factory 10 hours a day while the children of the rich are getting their higher education."
This excerpt only covers part of the children's extraordinary march. Not long afterwards, the Pennsylvania legislature passed a law that barred children from working in factories until they were 14 years old. You can find Mother Jones's autobiography at bookstores and online booksellers, and you can read chapters of it online, too, at various websites. Just use your search engine and you'll have no trouble learning more about this remarkable labor movement pioneer.
Helping Today's Child Laborers
Thanks to Mother Jones, the Pennsylvania mill children and other brave activists who fought for change, child labor is outlawed in the United States. Individual states have different laws about what age, as teenagers, children can go to work and what kind of jobs they can do. But the long, hot, dangerous days children faced in the 1800s and early 1900s are history—here.
Sadly, that's not true in many countries around the world. Children, some as young as 5 years old, are forced to spend 10, 12, even 16 hours a day in factories, fields, mines and mills. They suffer crippling injuries and illnesses, and risk being beaten if they don't work hard enough or if they complain.
There's a website we've told you about before that's an especially good resource for learning more about child labor and what you can do to help. It's from the organization Free the Children, started in 1995 by Craig Kielburger of Canada when he was 12 years old.
After reading a newspaper story about a boy his age in Pakistan who was killed for speaking out against child labor, Craig decided he had to do something. He gathered his young friends together and they founded Free the Children. Today it has branches in 35 countries that help children go to school, get medical care and fight for their rights. To learn more or get involved, check it out online at www.freethechildren.org.
In the spring of 1903 I went to Kensington, Penn., where 75,000 textile workers were on strike. Of this number at least 10,000 were little children. The workers were striking for more pay and shorter hours. Every day little children came into union headquarters, some with their hands off, some with the thumb missing, some with their fingers off at the knuckle. They were stooped things, round-shouldered and skinny. Many of them were not over 10 years of age.
I asked the newspapermen why they didn't publish the facts about child labor in Pennsylvania. They said they couldn't because the mill owners had stock in the papers. "Well, I've got stock in these little children," said I, "and I'll arrange a little publicity."
We assembled a number of boys and girls one morning in Independence Park and from there we arranged to parade with banners to the courthouse. I put the little boys with their fingers off and hands crushed and maimed on a platform. I held up their mutilated hands and made the statement that Philadelphia's mansions were built on the broken bones, the quivering hearts and drooping heads of these children. That their little lives went out to make wealth for others. That neither state nor city officials paid any attention to these wrongs. That they did not care that these children were to be the future citizens of the nation.
The officials of the city hall were standing by the open windows. I held the little ones of the mills high up above the heads of the crowd and pointed to their puny arms and legs and hollow chests. They were light to lift. The officials quickly closed the windows, as they had closed their eyes and hearts.
The reporters quoted my statement. The universities discussed it. Preachers began talking. That was what I wanted: Public attention on the subject of child labor.
The matter quieted down for a while ... and I decided
that the children and I would go on a tour. The children carried knapsacks on their backs (with) a knife and fork, a tin cup and plate. We took along a wash boiler in which to cook the food on the road. One little fellow had a drum and another had a fife. That was our band. We carried banners that said, "We want more schools and less hospitals." "We want time to play." "Prosperity is here. Where is ours?"
The children were very happy, having plenty to eat, taking baths in the brooks and rivers every day. I thought when the strike is over and they go back to the mills, they will never have another holiday like this. Farmers drove out to meet us with wagonloads of fruit and vegetables. Their wives brought the children clothes and money.
Everywhere we had meetings, showing up with living children, the horrors of child labor. At one town the mayor said we could not hold a meeting because he did not have sufficient police protection. "These little children have never known any sort of protection, your honor," I said, "and they are used to going without it." He let us have our meeting.
I called on the mayor of Princeton, N.J., and asked for permission to speak opposite the campus of the university. I said I wanted to speak on higher education. The mayor gave me permission. A great crowd gathered, professors and students and the people; and I told them that the rich robbed these little children of any education of the lowest order that they might send their sons and daughters to places of higher education.
"Here's a text book on economics," I said pointing to a little chap, James Ashworth, who was 10 years old and who was stooped over like an old man from carrying bundles of yarn that weighed 75 pounds. "He gets 3 dollars a week and his sister who is 14 gets 6 dollars. They work in a carpet factory 10 hours a day while the children of the rich are getting their higher education."
This excerpt only covers part of the children's extraordinary march. Not long afterwards, the Pennsylvania legislature passed a law that barred children from working in factories until they were 14 years old. You can find Mother Jones's autobiography at bookstores and online booksellers, and you can read chapters of it online, too, at various websites. Just use your search engine and you'll have no trouble learning more about this remarkable labor movement pioneer.
Helping Today's Child Laborers
Thanks to Mother Jones, the Pennsylvania mill children and other brave activists who fought for change, child labor is outlawed in the United States. Individual states have different laws about what age, as teenagers, children can go to work and what kind of jobs they can do. But the long, hot, dangerous days children faced in the 1800s and early 1900s are history—here.
Sadly, that's not true in many countries around the world. Children, some as young as 5 years old, are forced to spend 10, 12, even 16 hours a day in factories, fields, mines and mills. They suffer crippling injuries and illnesses, and risk being beaten if they don't work hard enough or if they complain.
There's a website we've told you about before that's an especially good resource for learning more about child labor and what you can do to help. It's from the organization Free the Children, started in 1995 by Craig Kielburger of Canada when he was 12 years old.
After reading a newspaper story about a boy his age in Pakistan who was killed for speaking out against child labor, Craig decided he had to do something. He gathered his young friends together and they founded Free the Children. Today it has branches in 35 countries that help children go to school, get medical care and fight for their rights. To learn more or get involved, check it out online at www.freethechildren.org.