I work in a place where every employee is represented by a union. There are lots of them. In my office alone, there are employees in three bargaining units. I’m the only one in mine. And I’m not actually in it. The “represent” my interests theoretically and I pay a fee for that, but it’s less than I would pay if I was a member (card carrying or not). I still get mailings and the like.
At the risk of giving away where I work…
This union is threatening a strike. I was at a meeting yesterday where a colleague noted that “most of us are from union families.” He meant an us I was part of. And yet I am not. My family is not a union family. On the contrary, I come from a very non-union family. Not only are most of my relatives white collar folks, I also come from the Southeast, one of the least unionized parts of the United States. I don’t know of a single close relative (living or dead) who was a member of a union. My grandfather was a chamber of commerce executive who favored what he called “total community development.” I can assure you that t.c.d did NOT include unions.
When I was in graduate school, the teaching and research assistants (of which I was usually one or the other in any given year) tried to unionize. There were strikes and lots of talk. It worked eventually (well after I had finished my PhD) and they’re now unionized. I never participated. A lot of the rhetoric wasn’t about working conditions or the like, but about the need for the University to “recognize” us. Since I was in a marginal field in a program that was literally falling apart, the need for recognition seemed less urgent than whether I’d ever find a permanent job (that took eight years) in the field (nope) or whether the program would survive long enough for me to get a degree (yes). Union stuff? Not really my thing.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I can teach about unions, Marx, Engels, and the like. I understand it intellectually. It’s fun to teach about it. One of my favorite documentary films is about the struggle of Pullman Porters to unionize against the racism of mid-twentieth century American. Watch it sometime. It’s called Miles of Smiles, Years of Struggle.
But when it comes to me, things get muddy. This weekend I had brunch (yummy) with treecup who works at a different branch in the same system as me. We are, in other words, both represented by the union. She asked rather nonchalantly whether I was going to “walk out” if there is a strike. Without thinking much, I said “no” and asked if she would and she said “yes.”
I’ve been thinking a lot about it since brunch. (That is, when I’m not trying to teach Scout (the dog) to pee outside. Scout (the Honey) knows where to pee.) My job has me operating independently most of the time. There are no “comps” to me, unlike most folks, who are in departments with other faculty. I am totally flummoxed about how to feel and what to do. So, I thought I’d blog.
There’s a vote about the strike. I can’t vote unless I join the union.
“We’ll all be colleagues after it’s over,” our uni president has said. My dean reiterated those sentiments.
What I feel is mostly ambivalence. Should I join the union and vote no? Should I join and vote yes? Should I not join and come to work? Should I not join and not come?
I’m not asking anyone to tell me what to do. I am interested, however, in where others stand on unions. So share out in comments!
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