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, its 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. Its 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 bank 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.
John Steinbeck-The Grapes of Wrath-Chapter 5