Excerpt from : The Grapes of Wrath - 02

One  man,  one  family  driven  from  the  land;  this  rusty  car  creaking along  the highway to the west. I lost my land, a single tractor took my land. I am alone and I am bewildered. And in the night one family camps in a ditch and another family pulls in and the tents come out. The two men squat on their hams and the women and children listen.  Here  is  the  node,  you  who  hate  change  and  fear  revolution.  Keep  these  two squatting men apart; make them hate, fear, suspect each other. Here is the anlage of the thing you fear. This is the zygote. For here "I lost my land" is changed; a cell is split and  from  its  splitting  grows  the  thing  you  hate—"We  lost  our  land."  The  danger  is here, for two men are not as lonely and perplexed as one. And from this first "we" there grows a still more dangerous thing: "I have a little food" plus "I have none." If from  this  problem  the  sum  is  "We  have  a  little  food,"  the  thing  is  on  its  way, the movement has direction. Only a little multiplication now, and this land, this tractor are ours. The two men squatting in a ditch, the little fire, the side-meat stewing in a single pot,  the  silent,  stone-eyed  women;  behind,  the  children  listening  with  their  souls  to words  their  minds  do  not  understand.  The  night  draws  down.  The  baby  has  a  cold.
Here, take  this blanket. It's  wool.  It was  my  mother's  blanket—take  it  for  the  baby.
This is the thing to bomb. This is the beginning—from "I" to "we."
If  you  who  own  the  things  people  must  have  could  understand  this,  you  might preserve yourself. If you could separate causes from results, if you could know that Paine,  Marx,  Jefferson,  Lenin,  were  results, not  causes,  you  might  survive.  But  that you cannot know. For the quality of owning freezes you forever into "I," and cuts you off forever from the "we."