Tyranny and the Volstead Act

The Futility of Enforcing Laws Which Arc at Variance With the Life of the People

CLARENCE DARROW

PROHIBITION continues to supply us with a fruitful topic of conversation, even if temperance, as a subject, docs not admit of temperate discussion. Whether two or three percent of alcohol, by volume, is intoxicating or not, may be a matter for discussion, but any percent is stimulating enough to make calm argument impossible.

As to the merits of the Volstead act, everyone has an opinion, and is usually not only willing but anxious to express it. Volsteadism is not an economic question; it is not a political question; it is merely a question of whether or not people of this country believe in prohibition.

Now, the reason that the subject of prohibition arouses so much belligerency is because it began here as a religious question. It docs no good to remind the Christian prohibitionists that Christ's first miracle was the making of wine for the wedding-feast, or that Jesus was called a "wine-bibber" by the Pharisees with whom he lived. It does no good to quote St. Paul to them or numerous other biblical precepts and incidents. The Christian prohibitionist only feels that all that is only so much the worse for the Bible. Even the "fundamentalist" is not disturbed by the Bible texts which approve of the use of alcohol.

There is needed a certain background for understanding why prohibition began as an essentially religious phenomenon. Long before the subject interested America at all it had become a burning topic in England. The temperance campaigns were carried on there in the same manner as the old fanatical religious revivals. The campaign was, in fact, a religious revival. The Protestant churches associated the public-house with sin. At heart, the Puritan Protestants were always opposed to pleasure. Whether the pastime was in the theatre, dancehall or inn, it mattered not. All pleasurable emotions, they said, turned the mind away from the serious thought of saving the sinner's soul. Life on earth was only a preparation for the next world. It should never be anything but a stern and serious pilgrimage which the elect must undertake on their way to heaven.

The American prohibition movement had the same background and the same spirit as the English. Its home was in the Protestant churches. It flourished in the country—in the sparsely settled districts—the habitat of the remaining Puritans in America. It was marked by all the intolerance and bigotry that usually haunt the farms and fastnesses of American rural life. There were no theatres in the country towns. The usual place of assemblage was the church. The barrenness of the surrounding country houses was enough to drive the whole community to the place of worship. The churches were never used except for religious or semi-religious gatherings.

Thus it was that the church became the home of the early prohibition movements in America. Religion and total abstinence went hand in hand. Both movements were solemn, serious and drab; both were protests against pleasure in all its forms; both had their stern eyes steadily set upon heaven. Still, even these unworldly gatherings gave the country people a little relief from the gloom of their own homes.

IN the winter, when the farmer's work was done, the revivalist brought along his bag of tricks and opened it for the dull eyes and vacant countenances of the men and women who lived only to work on the farms; whose only fear was Hell and whose only hope was Heaven. The revivalists and temperance lecturers were as brothers. Both appealed to the same moronistic, vacant faces—men and women, boys and girls, whose starved lives made any emotion, even a prohibition lecture, seem like an oasis in a desert of gloom. The church revival and the temperance revival also furnished a chance for these dumb people to open their mouths and speak. It was a chance which they never neglected. The converts were carried away with their lurid and joyous confessions of sins. I remember how, as a boy, it amazed me to hear of the wickedness of my companions and how I wondered that I had not suspected their shady careers until I heard them loudly and joyously confess them and acknowledge their evil deeds.

Although the religious revivalists confined their operations chiefly to the winter months, prohibition was never forgotten. Every small town had its temperance societies, its Good Templars, and its W. C. T. U. Prohibition speakers generally held forth on Saturday night, when the audiences were always urged to sign the pledge. The great reputations of the early lecturers were usually made in the temperance field. No one ever dreamed that there was another side to the question. The Francis Murphys, the McConnells, the Goughs, the Livcrmores, were all well known figures in the long crusade for prohibition. All the ills in the world, they told us, came from liquor. All crime was the result of drink; all crime would disappear if drink could only be banished from the land.

Alcohol was always called "rum". The word, when spoken by the zealots, took on a wicked sound that was almost a temperance lecture in itself. Although no one drank rum, or knew what it tasted like, it was still a word to conjure with. No one disputed the statements or the position of any of these crusaders, who continued talking indefinitely. And still the people attended these meetings, for there was nowhere else to go. No one who heard John B. Gough could ever forget his dramatic lecture. Like all the rest of them, he believed that temperance did not mean the moderate use of liquor but never taking a drink.

TO allow a drop to pass the lips was certain to lead to destruction and death. Over and over again lie pictured—as they all did—that wonderful young man who was lolling lazily about in his boat just above Niagara Falls. On both banks there was an excited crowd shouting to him to come ashore. Over and over again they called, "Young man, the rapids are before you!" But lie did not heed the warning until it was too late. He was, it need hardly be explained, carried headlong over the Falls to his tragical death. The inference was plain; the rapids were directly before any man who took a single drink.

These Christian prohibitionists went very little to the theatre, but the home dramatic clubs were everywhere encouraged to present such thrilling dramas as Ten Nights in a Bar-Room, which play was supposed to be a true and telling description of the sorrows that were certain to be visited upon the man who took a drink. The school readers were filled with invectives against "rum"; and tobacco was often put under the same taboo. As the prohibitionists grew stronger, laws were passed compelling school-books to relate horrible examples of the effect of rum on the human body. These stories were often accompanied by pictures giving us a telling little glimpse of the inside of a drunkard's stomach. Where the reformers procured those ghastly pictures, no one ever knew.

More than half a century of such persistent and painstaking effort brought the inevitable religious conviction that, to take liquor in any form, was a sin. During most of this period America was a sparsely settled agricultural area. Most men of middle life today have seen a marked change in the character of our population. Most Americans, who are past middle life, grew to maturity in the rural communities when religion and prohibition were deemed almost synonymous emotions. 'Then the sudden development of trade and industry created, miraculously, our vast, seething cities and thickly populated districts. This development also brought to the United States a horde of immigrants from continental Europe, who had never been taught that joy was an interchangeable term for sin. These foreigners believed that man was not made for the Scotch Sabbath alone, or for a week of gloom, and that there was a wide difference between the temperate use of beer and light wines, and the drunkenness which the prohibition spell-binders were always talking about.

Now we have seen that the early temperance movements were marked by zeal and fine language. Prohibition was still an emotional manifestation. To bring together the ideas, latent prejudices and abundant zeal of the early crusaders, the Anti-Saloon League was formed. The early temperance societies had remained unorganized propaganda associations, while the Anti-Saloon League was an army of trained sharp-shooters. It was well organized and drilled, and the members of it were taught to shoot to kill. Every candidate for public office came within the range of their guns. No Senator or Congressman was safe under their ban. To them, no qualifications for office were important unless the candidate could prove himself "dry". Similarly, they thought that no other qualification was needed for public office. Political candidates were systematically intimidated. Even if they lived "wet", they all felt forced to vote "dry".

FINALLY, under the cover of the War, the prohibitionists turned their masterly trick, and prohibition was written into the Federal Constitution and into the Laws of the Nation and the States! In spite of the fact that the Church was cooperating with prohibition, a very large portion of the population of America never accepted the doctrine. This was especially true in the large cities and other populous centers.

The Volstead Act, be it remembered, was passed (in October, 1919) over the veto of the then President of the United States. Be it also remembered that only a minority of the voters in the United States had voted "dry". A-majority of our people had voted "wet", and, during the past six years, this wet majority has been increasing at an astonishing rate. It is generally conceded that 66% of our total population is now unmistakably "wet". Remember, too, that prohibition was forced, by the so-to-speak rural States, upon States like Massachusetts, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Ohio, Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Missouri, Louisiana and California, all of which remained "wet". It is in these and other "wet" States that most of our great cities lie. It is in these wet States that the major part of our population is to be found.

The strength of the prohibition sentiment remained, therefore, with the rural people. It was the product of an isolated life and of narrow surroundings. In the cities and other congested quarters, prohibition came as a direct and deadly blow to personal freedom. America had long boasted of its ideal of individual liberty, so that men began to ask themselves what was the meaning of freedom, if it did not include the right of a man to choose what he could eat and drink.

The Volstead Law, and other statutes of a similar nature, provided severe penalties for personal conduct that had always been clearlv within the right of the individual to control. As a matter of course the passage of the Volstead Act did not bring to any person a consciousness of sin for the crime of drinking wine. In fact, many people who never cared for intoxicating drinks resented very strongly the plain invasion of personal rights by fanatics who had forced their own views upon entire communities by means of criminal statutes. They began to drink because they felt that they had been imposed upon.

OUR people have now had ample time in which to become accustomed to the prohibition laws. The legislation was widely resented when it was passed. Experience shows that the resentment has been growing ever since. Every effort has been made to enforce the laws. Ministers have preached Volsteadism. Social workers have talked about it. Physiologists have said that all alcohol is a poison, (look at France, if you want disproof of that statement). Politicians, between drinks, have protested their allegiance to the law. Courts have ordered hotels and rooming-houses to close their doors. The tax-payers have spent tens of millions of dollars in a vain endeavor to break down the spirit of the people, and make them subservient to these obnoxious statutes. Millions more have been taken in fines and in the confiscation of property. Prisons have been filled to overflowing with men who have shown so little sense of wrong, that they have technically violated the Volstead Act. But the people still remain steadfast in their defiance of the law.

A really democratic government, in the face of this popular defiance, would have sought to find out the true view's of the people, and then try to conform the laws to their views. Instead of that, every new protest against Volsteadism is met by greater oppression, greater tyranny, and greater violation of individual rights. This is not law enforcement; it is tyranny and oppression, and meant to break down the independence of the citizen; to make cowards of self-respecting men.

Here we must repeat that the attitude of the prohibitionists can only be understood when it is remembered that the whole drink movement was originally a religious crusade, carried on with the fiery zeal always to be met with in religious enthusiasts. Drinking liquor, they said, was not only wasteful and extravagant and injurious to the health; it was wickedness and sin and must be banished, just as any other form of mortal sin must be banished.

ONLY by attributing prohibition to fanaticism can we account for these so drastic penalties; the double jeopardy; the denial of jury trials; the arbitrary methods; the violation of long recognized constitutional rights; the endless number of officers and spies; the demand for the use of the army and navy; the fierce propaganda and the present readiness to make the prohibition laws still more drastic.

In spite of the fact that a dry Congress (composed of wet members), and dry State Legislatures (made up of men who drink), arc always contriving new means of tyrannizing the people into obedience to the Volstead Act, the people still will not submit.

It is safe to say that practically no one who was in the habit of drinking before prohibition, has stopped drinking since, except those who are too poor to pay for their liquor. It is common knowledge that a million or more people who never thought of drinking before, arc drinking today. Everyone knows that at most social gatherings, among the class who can afford it, liquor is expected. They know, too, that it is generally served in a more prodigal manner than it was ever served before. Everyone knows that the amount of grapes raised in the United States has increased enormously, and that the price of them has gone up steadily with the demand; and everyone knows that these grapes arc made into wine. It is common knowledge that large numbers of our people make their own liquor. It is common knowledge that liquor is imported from all parts of the world.

What, then, will be the fate of prohibition? It is obvious that the Eighteenth Amendment cannot be repealed. But constitutional provisions do not enforce themselves. Indictments arc not founded on constitutions, but upon laws. The repeal, or amendment, of the Volstead Act would necessarily repeal or amend the law. This is not only possible but very probable. It needs only an awakening sense of duty in our legislative bodies.

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But let us ask ourselves another question. Is there not a way of ridding ourselves of the prohibition law without changing the Constitution and without repealing the Volstead Act? History answers this question very plainly. It is well enough for people to declare that laws must be enforced simply because they are on the statute books, but everyone who is familiar with history knows that laws are not enforced simply for that reason. They never have been and they never will be. And that for the simple reason that the public moves a good deal faster than its legislative bodies. Again, legislative bodies are always mindful of large, powerful and cohesive organizations, and the promoters of prohibition have been well and thoroughly organized for years.

When a man says that every law should be enforced simply because it is on the statute books, he is usually thinking of some particular law which he, personally, wants to see enforced. This is, often enough, the prohibition law.

No one obeys every law or wants every law obeyed. To support the virtue of obedience to law, General Grant is reported to have said, on one occasion: "The way to get rid of a bad law is to enforce it". He may have said it; but history is silent as to where lie heard the authority for it. He certainly did not hear a historian, or a philosopher, or a wise man, say it. Because a law is best got rid of when it is not enforced. A real law is a part of the life of a people, and not a dead thing that may have once had something to do with it. Our statute books are filled with useless, forgotten rudimentary laws (just as our bodies are filled with rudimentary organs of whose very purposes we are no longer aware). It is not worth while to kill such bad laws; they are already dead.

There are thousands of pertinent instances of this fact in history. The teaching of the Christian Religion was forbidden, in the Roman Empire, by the sternest laws. Thousands of people were put to death for teaching it, many in the most horrible ways; and still there continued to be Christians, and still they went on teaching their doctrine. The Christians of that time did not say that such Roman laws must be enforced simply because they were on the statute books.

The laws against witchcraft, which claimed tens of thousands of victims, and which persisted until nearly two hundred years ago, were rendered innocuous not only because the people protested against them, but because juries would no longer convict witches.

For centuries, heresies of all sorts were punishable by the most terrifying tortures, and yet brave people proclaimed their religious views, and died for them, until a more enlightened public had grown up and refused any longer to enforce such barbaric laws. Inquisitors continued to be elected, and to hold office, long after the custom of torturing a "heretic" was dead. Their only duty was to draw their salaries. A large part of the criminal code of England which, up to the beginning of the last century, punished some hundred and fifty offenses with death, was rendered non-effective because English juries simply would not convict. Many of the old blue laws of New England have not been taken from our statute books, but they have nevertheless died a natural death, for the simple reason that the people refused to pay any attention to them. They were so little a part of the life of the people that they did not need repealing.

In the same way, it is interesting to read the statutes for Sunday observance in the various states of the Union, and see how few of them are obeyed today! These statutes forbid pleasure trips in automobiles, picnics, golf, baseball games—in short, any and all sorts of pleasure, or games, on the Sabbath day. These laws are all on the statute books today, but they have been repealed in the best possible way, not by legislation or law, but by the will of the people. Similarly, the constitutional amendments which guaranteed the rights of negroes were followed, in most of the states of the Union, by laws expressly providing that negroes should have every right, in any public place, that is accorded to the whites, but there is no place in the United States where they have really been granted these rights.

Finally, the experience of the last six or seven years ought not only to convince fair minded Americans that the prohibition law cannot be enforced but that it should not be enforced.

The law is an imposition upon individual freedom. It is Tyranny masquerading under the disguise of Law.