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

Photo of the Day | published on 02/08/17
GREECE-EU-MIGRATION-AFGHANISTAN-PROTEST

LOUISA GOULIAMAKI/AFP

ATHENS, GREECE - FEBRUARY 6, 2017: Migrants block the entrance of the Hellinikon camp in Athens in protest at poor living condition, during a visit of Greek Immigration Minister (unseen). The demonstration broke out at the former Hellinikon airport, near Athens, which houses hundreds of predominantly Afghan migrants who had announced a hunger strike hours earlier. A disused Olympic park, Hellinikon houses over 1,500 migrants who say the run-down stadiums are unsuited to long-term habitation. At the start of the major influx in 2015, Afghans were originally viewed as refugees and allowed to continue their journey from Greece to other countries in Europe. But many now face deportation -- despite growing insecurity that saw civilian casualties in Afghanistan hit a record high in 2016 -- after a disputed deal between EU and Kabul to send migrants back. Photo by LOUISA GOULIAMAKI / AFP

Photo of the Day, February 8, 2017

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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.
— Carl Sandburg

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