And now the squatting men stood up angrily. "Grampa took up the land, and he had to
kill the Indians and drive them away. And Pa was born here, and he killed weeds and
snakes. Then a bad year came and he had to borrow a little money. An’ we was born
here. There in the door—our children born here. And Pa had to borrow money. The
bank owned the land then, but we stayed and we got a little bit of what we raised."
"We know that—all that. It’s not us, it’s the bank. A bank isn’t like a man. Or an owner
with fifty thousand acres, he isn’t like a man either. That’s the monster."
"Sure," cried the tenant men, "but it’s our land. We measured it and broke it up. We
were born on it, and we got killed on it, died on it. Even if it’s no good, it’s still ours.
That’s what makes it ours—being born on it, working it, dying on it. That makes
ownership, not a paper with numbers on it."
"We’re sorry. It’s not us. It’s the monster. The bank isn’t like a man."
"Yes, but the bank is only made of men."
"No, you’re wrong there—quite wrong there. The bank is something else than men. It
happens that every man in a bank hates what the bank does, and yet the bank does it.
The bank is something more than men, I tell you. It’s the monster. Men made it, but they
can’t control it."
The tenants cried, "Grampa killed Indians, Pa killed snakes for the land. Maybe we can
kill banks—they're worse than Indians and snakes. Maybe we got to fight to keep our
land, like Pa and Granpa did."
And now the owner men grew angry. "You’ll have to go."
"But it's ours," the tenant men cried. "We—"
"No. The bank, the monster owns it. You'll have to go."
"We'll get our guns, like Granpa when the Indians came. What then?"
"Well—first the sheriff, and then the troops. You'll be stealing if you try to stay, you'll be
murderers if you kill to stay. The monster isn't men, but it can make men do what it
wants."
http://www.cbe.wwu.edu/dunn/rprnts.steinbeck.pdf