The worker is the slave of capitalist society, the female worker

Hear the words of James Connolly, martyr of labor and prophet of justice, who declared: “The worker is the slave of capitalist society, the female worker is the slave of that slave.” These words fall heavy as iron, for they do not merely speak of hardship, but of layers of bondage. They show us that where men suffer under the weight of exploitation, women bear a double burden—enslaved not only by the system, but also by the unequal order within that system. Connolly’s voice is both fire and lament, a cry that the chains of one half of humanity are doubled in weight upon the other.

The first truth here is the plight of the worker under capitalism. In Connolly’s time, factories roared with machinery, while men labored long hours for meager wages. Their lives were bought cheaply, their dignity ground into dust for the profit of the few. To him, the worker was not free but bound, a slave in all but name, shackled by poverty, debt, and the ever-looming threat of unemployment. This was the plight of millions, whose sweat built cities, whose blood fed empires, yet who lived in misery.

But Connolly goes further. He declares that the female worker is the slave of that slave, bound doubly. For she not only toils under the same crushing system of exploitation but also faces the oppression of gender—lower wages, fewer rights, less recognition. At work, she is exploited as labor. At home, she is often bound to unpaid domestic toil, serving both her employer and her family, her own ambitions silenced. In this way, her chains are heavier, her voice more easily dismissed.

History gives us many examples of this double bondage. In the textile mills of nineteenth-century Britain and America, women worked beside men, breathing dust and fumes, their fingers raw from endless labor. Yet they earned half the wage of their male counterparts. After the factory bell rang, many returned home not to rest but to tend children, cook meals, and keep households alive. They were the backbone of both economy and family, yet their worth was rarely acknowledged. Connolly’s words shine here like lightning, exposing the cruel paradox: the slave was enslaved anew within his own home.

And yet, from this suffering arose strength. In 1912, during the Lawrence textile strike in Massachusetts—“the Bread and Roses Strike”—it was women who led the marches, women who carried signs demanding not only fair wages but dignity. Their cry for “bread” symbolized survival, but their cry for “roses” symbolized the right to beauty, leisure, and humanity. Here we see the power of Connolly’s teaching: that the liberation of workers cannot be complete until the female worker too is free, no longer the slave of the slave, but equal partner in the struggle for justice.

The wisdom of this quote is that oppression is never borne equally. To fight injustice requires seeing its many layers. The man exploited at work may still hold power at home; the woman oppressed by both boss and husband carries a heavier load. Connolly calls us not to partial justice but to full justice, one that sees the worker and the woman, the exploited and the doubly exploited, and seeks liberation for all.

The lesson for us is clear: in every struggle, ask who bears the heaviest chains. Do not rest content when one group rises, if another remains bowed down. True freedom cannot exist while even one part of humanity remains enslaved. A society that liberates men but not women, workers but not mothers, is not free, but only half-redeemed.

Therefore, O listener, let your actions be these: stand with the workers, but never forget the female worker who suffers twice. Demand equal pay, fair rights, and shared burdens within home and labor alike. Teach your children that justice is not whole unless it is universal. For only when every chain is broken—whether forged by class or by gender—will the world know the true meaning of freedom. And in this struggle, let Connolly’s words be fire in your heart: do not fight only for the slave—fight also for the slave of the slave.