If one views the classic 1993 Claude Berri film Germinal one can see what 19th century feudalism was all about. It took place in a mid-century Northern France mining region. Here in the USA we had John Sayle’s 1987 film Matawan, which portrayed the 1920 Matawan, West Virginia miner’s strike. Both films gave viewers a taste of how feudalism operates. Well, hang on gang because Amerika 2024 is fast approaching the evil of Capitalism on steroids.
We have less than 10% of private sector workers here in unions, and about half of our states have what are called Right to Work laws. In a nutshell, this allows workers at a company to NOT join the union at that workplace, and still get ALL the benefits from collective bargaining agreements between the union and the company. Thus, you can refuse to join a union and still get ALL the benefits the union contract accomplishes. In 2018, the right-wing dominated Supreme Court allowed public sector AKA government workers to get the same benefits from union contracts WITHOUT having to join or pay union dues. Yes, the MAGA baseball cap should be MAFA (Make America Feudalist Again). Getting back to the private sector for a minute, just imagine that 90+ % of those workers don’t even have a union to represent them! So, the former cleaning lady we knew had a husband who was a highly skilled carpenter who worked at a local cabinet company — of course non-union. He and his three other cabinetmakers colleagues were really at the mercy of the owner, with no guarantee of sick days, paid vacations or health coverage paid by the company. The icing on the cake was when the owner decided to purchase new BMWs for himself, his wife, and their two kids — who were all on the books for great tax write-offs.
In the winter of 1973, I was getting ready to finish my last year of college and was engaged to be married. I decided to look for a management trainee job and found one in the good old Sunday Times. My first day on the job, the sales manager of this linen supply company took me for a tour of the plant. First, we went into the humongous area where the dirty linens were washed and dried. This was mid January in a very cold and snowy Brooklyn, NY. That area of the plant had a number of massive dryers, which made that area heat up like one was in the subtropics. I looked at the workers and every single one of them was Afro American, the men dressed in white pants and shirts and the women looking honestly like the Aunt Jemima character from the pancake box. I was told later that these folks were non-union hourly waged employees. The sales manager, a sweaty, too fat for his tight suit Italian American like myself, leaned over to me as the terribly loud noises of the washers and dryers made it almost impossible to talk. He said, “Kid, the more we save the company the more we get in bonuses!” He then turned me over to the plant manager for more training.
The next week, I was directed to spend it with a different delivery driver each day. I had to be there at 6 AM, and the truck garage was as cold and damp as the January winter would extend. I found out that these guys were actually in a union, but repeatedly each one of them told me how this was a ‘Sweetheart Union’ which did not do much for them. Sitting in an old truck that seemed to have arthritis, with a terrible heater and obviously balding tires I could see that point. These drivers did not just stop at a pickup at some bakery, butcher or supermarket, run in, drop off the new linens and run out with the old, dirty ones. No sir! I went in with each guy on each day and saw for myself how disgraceful this job was. We went into our first stop, a butcher in the Bronx. The owner said that he didn’t have time to have the dirty linens in a pile for pickup, so we had to go and find them. When we went down the dark, squeaky stairs to the basement, I could see a few sets of eyes peering at me in the darkness. The driver laughed. “They’re rats, they won’t bother you if you don’t go too close. Part of the job kid.” This seemed to be the same on just about every stop. We had to search for the linens just about every time. The rear or basement of these stores all looked like they needed an intensive cleaning.
I quit the job after my third day on the trucks. Each driver told me how the company paid as little as possible in benefits and bonuses — and these guys had a union! Some union! The only caveat was that they could not get fired so easily because of the union. And, they got two or three major holidays off with pay. A one-week paid vacation and maybe a handful of paid sick days a year. They had to contribute towards their health coverage, and that insurance had high deductions, very high. When I found out what these guys were earning for the **** they had to go through, I couldn’t believe it! Driving a dinosaur in freezing cold weather with a terrible heater, or in the hot 90+ degree summer with NO AC, I really felt for these guys.
Well, whenever the Amazons or Wal-Marts decide to squeeze their workers a bit more, that linen company in ’73 would look like Nirvana. How about the tens of millions of small businesses nationwide with no support at all for the workers? Do we have to continue to hope for the kindness of the bosses, and overlook the fleet of BMWs for family while many of us are treading the economic waters? You decide.