Martyrs of the Labor Movement: The Haymarket Riot

On the evening of May 4, 1886, Chicago’s Haymarket Square became the epicenter of one of the most consequential events in the history of the American labor movement.

What began as a peaceful gathering in support of workers’ demands for an eight‑hour workday ended in tragedy when a homemade bomb detonated amid a contingent of police officers, leaving seven dead and dozens wounded.

In the aftermath, eight labor activists—later known as the “Chicago Eight”—were arrested, tried in a trial riddled with prejudice, and ultimately convicted on the basis of conspiracy rather than concrete evidence of bombing. Their executions and the controversy they spawned reverberated far beyond the city limits, galvanizing labor struggles worldwide and helping to forge May Day as International Workers’ Day.

By the mid‑1880s, industrial America was in the throes of rapid growth and transformation. Factories proliferated, mechanization accelerated, and urban centers swelled with waves of immigrants seeking employment. Yet working conditions were often brutal: ten‑ to twelve‑hour workdays, six‑day workweeks, meager wages, child labor, and hazardous environments were commonplace. Labor unions and radical organizations—many influenced by socialist and anarchist ideas imported from Europe—began to coalesce around a simple, resonant demand: the eight‑hour workday.

In Chicago, a city emblematic of American industrial dynamism and social inequality, labor agitation was especially pronounced. The Knights of Labor, the Federation of Organized Trades and Labor Unions (predecessor of the American Federation of Labor), and various anarchist groups found fertile ground among the city’s diverse workforce.

Tensions between workers and both employers and law enforcement escalated through a series of local strikes and clashes, setting the stage for the momentous events of May 1886.

On May 1, 1886, in a coordinated action that drew tens of thousands of workers nationwide, Chicago’s labor community observed May Day with a general strike and mass demonstrations in support of the eight‑hour day. Processions wound along Michigan Avenue, accompanied by banners proclaiming solidarity.

This peaceful outpouring united skilled tradespeople, factory hands, immigrant laborers, and political radicals, demonstrating the breadth of the movement. Employers responded with a combination of lockouts, recruiting strikebreakers (“scabs”), and enlisting private Pinkerton guards. Although May Day itself passed without violent incident, the underlying conflict simmered, leaving both sides bracing for renewed confrontation.

On May 3, the violent flashpoint arrived at the McCormick Reaper Works. As non‑union workers attempted to cross picket lines during a shift change, strikers surged forward, pushing through factory gates. Police officers, summoned to uphold order, intervened with clubs and revolvers. Within moments, several strikers lay wounded and at least two were dead. Witnesses reported officers firing indiscriminately into the crowd, while strikers claimed they had been driven to defend themselves.

Among the onlookers was August Spies, editor of the radical Arbeiter‑Zeitung (Workers’ Newspaper). Outraged by what he perceived as unjustified police brutality, Spies drafted a fiery leaflet titled “Workingmen, to Arms!” A typesetter later appended the word “REVENGE” in bold letters. Though intended as a call for protest, the leaflet’s militant tone would later be invoked as evidence of a broader conspiracy.

In response to the McCormick violence, anarchist leaders organized a rally at Haymarket Square for the evening of May 4. Between 1,300 and 2,000 people—workers, activists, and curious spectators—gathered beneath a chill wind and light rain. Speeches were delivered from atop a hay wagon by prominent figures such as August Spies and Albert Parsons, decrying both the factory shootings and the broader capitalist system.

Chicago’s mayor, Carter Harrison, attended the rally to assess its atmosphere and, finding no imminent threat, ordered police to stand down. Inspector John Bonfield, however, interpreted later speeches—especially Samuel Fielden’s exhortation to “Throttle it. Kill it. Stop it.”—as justification for dispersal. At about 10:30 p.m., roughly 175 officers advanced on the dwindling crowd, ordering an end to the meeting. As Fielden conceded and stepped down, an unknown assailant hurled a dynamite bomb into the police lines.

The explosion’s orange flash and deafening blast threw officers and bystanders to the ground. Panic ensued; witnesses variously described police opening fire furiously, protesters brandishing revolvers, and chaos engulfing the square. When the smoke cleared, seven officers were dead and more than fifty people—both police and civilians—were wounded. The identity of the bomb‑thrower remained—and remains—unknown.

Within weeks, eight anarchists were indicted for conspiracy to murder: August Spies, Albert Parsons, Samuel Fielden, George Engel, Adolph Fischer, Michael Schwab, Louis Lingg, and Oscar Neebe. The prosecution’s strategy hinged on the claim that their speeches and writings had incited the bombing, despite no evidence that seven of the eight had taken part in the rally, and only Lingg possessing any direct link to explosives.

Commencing June 21, 1886, the trial was marred by anti‑immigrant sentiment, prejudiced jurors, and sensationalist media coverage branding the defendants as foreign radicals intent on America’s destruction. Judge Joseph Gary allowed widespread prejudgment, permitting testimony about anarchist ideology rather than concrete involvement in the Haymarket events.

In August, the jury convicts all eight men after mere hours of deliberation. Neebe received fifteen years; the other seven were condemned to death.

In the months following the verdict, an international movement for clemency mobilized labor unions, intellectuals, and political figures. Two defendants—Michael Schwab and Samuel Fielden—appealed to Governor Richard Oglesby and had their sentences commuted to life imprisonment. The remaining four—Spies, Parsons, Engel, and Fischer—refused any plea for mercy.

On November 11, 1887, they were hanged in Chicago’s Cook County Jail. The night before, Louis Lingg, facing the gallows, took his own life with a smuggled dynamite cap. News of the executions reverberated across Europe and Latin America: newspapers, socialist clubs, and labor halls dedicated memorials to the “Haymarket martyrs.” In 1893, Governor John Peter Altgeld, upon reviewing the trial record, granted pardons to the surviving defendants, denouncing the proceedings as a miscarriage of justice.

The Haymarket affair’s resonance extended far beyond Chicago. It crystallized for many the struggle between labor and capital, between free expression and state repression. In 1889, the Second International—a federation of socialist and labor parties from across Europe—declared May 1 as International Workers’ Day in honor of the Haymarket martyrs. Over the ensuing decades, May Day would become a focal point for demonstrations, collective bargaining campaigns, and struggles for social welfare reforms worldwide.

In the United States, the riot and trial prompted a hardening of employer and governmental attitudes toward radical labor movements, fueling periods of red‑scare repression. Yet it also inspired the consolidation of more moderate unions, led eventually to federal labor legislation—such as the Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938—and the enshrinement of the eight‑hour day as a legal right.

More than a century later, the Haymarket Square Riot invites us to reflect on the enduring tensions at the heart of democratic societies. Workers’ rights, freedom of speech, and the boundaries of lawful protest remain contested terrain.

In today’s gig economy, debates over livable wages, workplace surveillance, and collective bargaining recall the struggles of 1886. Meanwhile, the question of how law enforcement engages with protestors—whether on factory picket lines or urban streets—continues to evoke charges of excessive force and calls for reform.

The Haymarket affair underscores the dangers of allowing fear and prejudice—especially nativism and anti‑immigrant sentiment—to override due process. The trial’s verdict, and the subsequent pardon, serve as cautionary lessons about the rule of law and the perils of conflating ideology with criminal responsibility. As modern movements challenge systemic injustices, the legacy of Haymarket prompts advocates to pursue transparency, legal safeguards, and broad coalitions that transcend narrow affiliations.

The Haymarket Square Riot stands as both a tragic flashpoint and a catalyst for change. From the bomb’s unknown origin to the impassioned speeches atop a hay wagon, from the murky verdict to the lofty ideals that animated labor’s martyrs, the episode reveals the complex interplay of ambition, fear, and solidarity in the pursuit of social progress.

As 21st‑century societies grapple with economic inequality, workers’ rights, and the boundaries of lawful dissent, the echoes of Haymarket remind us that the struggle for dignity in labor is neither new nor fleeting. Rather, it is a forward‑looking endeavor that demands vigilance, empathy, and an unwavering commitment to justice—principles for which the Haymarket martyrs paid the ultimate price.