MINDLESS MUSINGS

My first few jobs were non-union and while they weren’t slave labour conditions (thanks to industrial relations laws fought for and won by the union) we were much more at the whim of our supervisors and managers. Unions do not make assholes disappear, but they do restrain the damage and frustration they can wreak.

I had already been in the workforce for about 6 years before my first encounter with the union movement. I had been working at this place (non-union) for about a year and the supervisor who replaced the cool one who was there when I arrived was a nightmare; amazing how one person can change sunshine into rain. I do not know who called the union, but I remember the main grievances:

• All employees were casual. No permanent part or fulltime.
• This means no job security, no holiday or sick pay and no minimum hours.
• The law stated that they had to pay you a minimum of four hours for a shift and there were often scattered short shifts during quiet times. However, there were often days when you just didn’t get a start at all.
• Some people had been there for over ten years with these unstable conditions and received no long service leave as an added insult.
• With only the pay increases granted by the government raising of the minimum wage, people obviously wanted a pay rise too.

The union sent an organiser and plenty of employees vented their anger. The organiser was from the Storemen and Packers Union. Most of us had heard of them and they had a tough reputation, so we were feeling somewhat emboldened. I have since learned that this was an amalgamated and diluted variation on the firebrand original, although I doubt the outcome would have been any different either way.

The organiser took our demands to the owner and was given a swift ‘no way!’. When he reported back people were a mixture of disappointed acceptance and righteous anger. I believe most of us thought the boss would be intimidated by the bad ass union and back down. We had much to learn.

The organiser recommended strike action and suddenly people weren’t so staunch.

“Who’s gunna feed my kids?”

“Who’s gunna pay my rent?”

Etc. etc. etc.

A negotiation meeting between the organiser and the boss was arranged where we could watch and ask questions. I’ll never forget the boss walking in and telling us all how disappointed he was with us – prick!

The organiser listed our grievances and demands. I remember his leg going up and down as he tapped his foot. The boss sat very stiff and just shook his head with a bewildered smile. He just said “no” every now and then with a few sprinklings of “I can’t afford it”. When the organiser was done the boss simply said, “I can’t afford this, I’d rather shut the gates.” He still had that fucken smile on his face. The organiser turned to us with an ‘I told you so’ look.

The boss left and spirits were low. The organiser explained the cold truth. He had done all he could do to no avail; we would have to make a show of solidarity and strength – in short, strike. The union would help us choose the best time for maximum effect, make sure we stayed within the law and didn’t forfeit our jobs, and ensure that our legal rights were protected.

It was already over.

The same questions flew from the very mouths of those people who seemed the angriest and most determined way back at the start. When a show of hands in favour of strike action was called for, the answer was clear – status quo. The organiser tried in vain to explain how this thing works, but it was over. We went back to work and that was that.

I remember lots of talk about cowards and idiots. I’m not sure if the ones throwing these accusations had their hands up at the crucial moment or not. It doesn’t matter. I had my hand up, but I still lived at home and had no kids. I was willing to back my coworkers up, but I didn’t have as much to lose. At that age I would have been keen just for the excitement. It’s ridiculous to compare bravery between people who are taking on differing degrees of risk.

My main talking point during these conversations was always the lesson I learned that day. It was probably a cliché I had heard somewhere before, but now I truly understood it: “we are the union!”. A union is only as strong as its members. Or at the very least as strong as they can appear to the bosses. The organiser has no power unless the boss is convinced that the union will act if they must.

Two men sat at the table that day and placed their bets. It was bluffing in the sense that both tried to act that they had a strong hand. The game was Texas Hold ‘Em though, so each man could only see part of their final hand. We were community cards that made or broke the hand. Or maybe we were the wild cards. This metaphor is getting fucked up. Anyway, we folded before the organiser could even place another bet.