Showing posts with label labor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label labor. Show all posts

My Kind of News Day


Congress tightened control of interstate monkey sales (good) but forgot to include a provision for trained caupuchin helper monkeys (bad). One lonely strip club on Bourbon Street (the French Quarter being on high ground, remember) remains open in spite of the hurricane, but only at half-staff (Bada-BING!). And regardless of John McCain's fantasy life, the invasion of Iraq is still so FUBAR that the first major oil contract between Iraq and a foreign country went to China instead of the U.S.; this administration can't even do "Blood for Oil" right.

I'm recovering with coffee and a copy of Burne Hogarth's Drawing Wrinkles and Drapery after a week of extroversion: getting ready for school on Tuesday, out for live music almost every night including a terrific performance by E.C. Scott at the new 411 Blues Club in town and a life-changing performance by Zion Lion on the downtown mall, and finally an Obama/Biden rally in Battle Creek. But mostly I like confounding the search engines with an entry like this. Whoever typed 'strippers', 'helper monkey', 'Barack Obama', 'Burne Hogarth' and 'the blues' into Google-- I was born to love you.

If I Were a Carpenter, and You Were a Bag Lady


The most disgusting act of treachery against labor today must be the Brotherhood of Carpenters' practice of hiring homeless people to man picket lines instead of union members. Apparently their members can't be bothered; it's cheaper and more "convenient" to hire a desperate man at $8.00 an hour than ask a $20.00 an hour carpenter to walk his own damn line. And "the creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which."

The Mid-Atlantic Regional Council of Carpenters is supposedly the only national union to crawl so low, but you can bet this will used as a canard against unions by every anti-labor lickspittle from here to Canarsie.

Taking advantage of the poor is a job for management, not labor. A dirty little sliver of rationalization tells me that the street people working the picket line could really use the $8.00, and who's to begrudge them any pittance--? But that's the line of sophistry that lets the apologists of capitalism excuse the Mexican border factories, and the hypocritical exploitation of illegal immigrants on this side of the border, and the insult of a $5.85 minimum wage.

They best not come to my neighborhood; our homeless people are organized. It seems to be the American consensus that anyone dumb enough to fall under the wheels of the system probably deserves what happens to them, and geeking for the Carpenters is a better gig for the homeless than scrounging for bottle deposits. Thus shit is transmuted to sugar. But before I concede, and smile and wink at such a crime against the soul, let my bones turn to dust with Joe Hill's, and mix with the sawdust, and choke the sanctimonious throats of the too-proud to picket members of the Mid-Atlantic Regional Council of Carpenters.

LABOR DAY: The Self-Hatred of the Working Class


I am still puzzled (though no longer surprised) by how often workers identify with their bosses' interests instead of their own. Union meetings are spent on back-biting, complaints against other union members and fighting over crumbs, while the CEO still takes the biggest piece of cheese.

Administrative executives are given car allowances, golden parachutes, retirement packages, arbitrary power-- and they fight tooth and nail against every pittance that might be spent on the business instead of themselves. This is supposed to be evidence of the Invisible Hand: the marketplace wouldn't be paying CEOs these high salaries if they weren't worth it. Forbes reports in April of 2005 that "the heads of America's 500 biggest companies received an aggregate 54% pay raise last year. As a group, their total compensation amounted to $5.1 billion, versus $3.3 billion in fiscal 2003."

Never mind workers' wages-- I'd settle for investment in infrastructure, in an improved work environment. It was a mistake when workers took cash instead of a seat on the board. We traded a boat in the driveway for our birthright.

Why don't working people laugh out loud at the annual call to abolish the estate tax? Only about 2% of all estates will ever be subject to the tax. "Death tax", the Republicans are intructed to call it, as though the IRS were taxing the right to die.

Years ago, I asked Doc Clark why so many people were eager to turn against each other to do favors for the powerful. "I guess people like to hang out with rich people; they think some of it might rub off on them," he said. Maybe that's part of it: a desire to curry favor, like the knights who murdered Beckett because they thought it would please the king. In the feudal south, my father remembers poor whites defending the landowner's interests against black sharecroppers, though the crackers would never see a dime themselves.

I've seen a head waiter tyrannize the wait staff because he thinks he owns the restaurant. Imagine his disappointment when the owners pass him over in favor of a relative. There's some kind of class-warfare version of the Stockholm syndrome going on, where the captive over-identfies with the kidnapper instead of his rescuers.

In 2001 the top 1% of households owned 33.4% of all privately held wealth. The next top 19% held 51%. That leaves (let me take off my socks, so I can count on my toes) 15.6% for the rest of us to fight over.

You probably know the stories of outrageous compensation for administrators and executives, the examples of waste better than I, and yet it's union members who are attacked in ads sponsored by something called The Center for Union Facts out of Washington, D.C. -- as if the employees had a voice in spending priorities or work conditions! Thus the Chamber of Commerce shows its true colors.

American workers fantasize that they have more in common with their employers than with other working stiffs. They haven't learned that even though you love your job, the job does not necessarily love you.

The collapse of Ford and GM under the weight of the health care system might knock some sense into us. The New Yorker has a remarkably clear piece on something called the"dependency ratio" that explains what's really going on when a company can't keep its promises to its workers, why China, India and even Ireland are outpacing us.

Instead of letting workers invest in a centralized health care and pension fund, the big corporations insisted on private funding for their employees. Now, after decades of improvements in manufacturing and a growing pool of retirees, there are fewer workers than there are dependents. Simply put, our old fear of socialism is catching up to us.

As Malcom Gladwell puts it: "This crisis is sometimes portrayed as the result of corporate America’s excessive generosity in making promises to its workers. But when it comes to retirement, health, disability, and unemployment benefits there is nothing exceptional about the United States: it is average among industrialized countries—more generous than Australia, Canada, Ireland, and Italy, just behind Finland and the United Kingdom, and on a par with the Netherlands and Denmark. The difference is that in most countries the government, or large groups of companies, provides pensions and health insurance. The United States, by contrast, has over the past fifty years followed the lead of Charlie Wilson and the bosses of Toledo and made individual companies responsible for the care of their retirees. It is this fact, as much as any other, that explains the current crisis. In 1950, Charlie Wilson [the CEO] was wrong, and Walter Reuther [the union guy] was right."

It was the bosses that shot themselves in the ass. And Joe Hill, God bless him, has the last grim laugh.

"The Preacher and the Slave" by Joe Hill

Long-haired preachers come out every night,
Try to tell you what's wrong and what's right;
But when asked how 'bout something to eat
They will answer in voices so sweet:

CHORUS: You will eat, by and by,
In that glorious land above the sky;
Work and pray, live on hay,
You'll get pie in the sky when you die

And the Starvation Army they play,
And they sing and the clap and they pray,
Till they get all your coin on the drum,
Then they tell you when you're on the bum:

CHORUS: You will eat, by and by,
In that glorious land above the sky;
Work and pray, live on hay,
You'll get pie in the sky when you die

Holy Rollers and Jumpers come out
And they holler, they jump and they shout
Give your money to Jesus, they say,
He will cure all diseases today.

If you fight hard for children and wife-
Try to get something good in this life-
You're a sinner and bad man, they tell,
When you die you will sure go to hell.

Workingmen of all countries, unite
Side by side we for freedom will fight
When the world and it's wealth we have gained
To the grafters we'll sing this refrain:

You will eat, by and by,
When you've learned how to cook and how to fry;
Chop some wood, 'twill do you good
Then you'll eat in the sweet by and by.

Joe Hill, 1879-1915