Strike!

I’m on strike.

Because of who my employer is, I am not supposed to talk about them online, so I will not. This blog is NOT about them. It’s about me; a lowly peon who only joined her first union less than a year ago and is now totally overwhelmed with the union machine and all its workings.

I’m on strike.

Way back in September when I took this job, I was told that we were without a collective agreement and had been for quite some time so one could say that all roads led to here. In the last months, talk from our union local ramped up and the talk of a strike vote was in the air. We all attended our mandatory strike training and then most employees did what the union was asking of us – provided a resounding yes to strike.

It still didn’t feel real. My colleagues and I went about our days serving our clients like we always do, day in, day out. Being so far removed from where negotiations are taking place, it felt like they weren’t happening. Then this week we all received an email saying that a decision would be made and an announcement made at a press conference late one evening.

As I stayed awake to listen to the press conference, I thought about all the ways a strike would affect my life; that of my family and that of all my colleagues. My essential service colleagues would be over worked. The non-essentials like me would be pounding the pavement. Our local only has 3 non-essential members. I pictured us on Main Street in our small town, just the three of us, with people hollering the obscene things I see strangers post all over social media. The untruths. The outright lies. The accusations. People think I don’t work; that I’m not entitled to an improvement in my work life cause I have it so good. I don’t have to work at all…I can stay home and hide while still collecting a pay cheque. It’s amazing what people will believe just to ensure that you are squashed and rolled and turned into the enemy.

The truth is, 100% of my day is tracked from the minute I log in at the start of my day until the minute I log out. I have quotas I’m expected to meet. I have regular meetings with my supervisor to ensure that I’m meeting those service requirements. There is no room for goofing off or playing around or sleeping or tv watching or whatever else the online keyboard warriors have come up with. The truth also is that most days I don’t even get a break, despite being entitled to 2 fifteen minute breaks like every other employee in this country who works a full day. Most of the time I get lunch but there have been days when I did not. Yet they say I don’t work.

I’m on strike.

When the president of my union announced this week, late at night, that I am on strike, I laid in bed sobbing wondering how on earth we were going to pay our bills. Wondering if we’d made a big mistake replacing our car THE WEEK BEFORE (but we’d had no choice, our only car between the two of us, a 14 year old clunker, had died and we live outside of town). I cried because for the first time in this new career I find myself in, I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know how things would go in the morning. It’s such a confusing time. Chaos and drama. I lay in my bed and sobbed.

I felt oddly embarrassed to be in this predicament. And then immediately angry with myself for feeling that shame. It’s not shameful to ask your employer to treat you fairly and with respect. The shame lies not with me but with those that choose to undervalue good workers and who expect that their financial situations can be improved simply by canceling their Disney Plus subscription.

I’m on strike.

I met my colleagues the following morning to create signs; put on a union apron and proceeded to the Main Street of my town where I walked the picket line for the first time in my life. I had braced myself because I was scared that the keyboard warriors from social media would be so mean to my face that i would spend the entire day crying on the sidewalk.

My two colleagues and I were pleasantly surprised to find out that we were not just three on strike. But, in fact, our number was 26 from various locals all picketing together. People from the same town; most of whom didn’t know each other but united in this terrible circumstance. Confidence is bolstered in numbers. I hoped that meant I’d cry a little less than I anticipated.

I’m on strike.

We were pleasantly surprised again when the vast majority of people were honking their support for us; hollering their support out the windows of their vehicles; waving their support. Countless honks, waves and visits were only countered with a handful of negative encounters (and truth be told, even the negative comments very clearly showed those individuals didn’t understand the strike). I didn’t cry once. I was bolstered by the energy of the other 25 people around me.

I’m on strike.

What I had not anticipated and what I was not prepared for was the LACK of support we faced. I don’t mean the nay sayers. I mean, the ones who couldn’t be bothered to even honk or wave. The neighbours and friends and family that all belong to their own unions so they should get this more than others! And yet I watched car after car after car of people I know who simply looked but tried not to make eye contact.

As someone who spent the first 40 something years of her life in NON Union roles, the learning curve has been steep. There will never ever be another picket line that I pass where I don’t, at the very least, honk my support. It doesn’t matter what they’re fighting for. You honk or wave to show that you support your friends and neighbours in their action; you support the fact that they’re standing up and asking for something better; you support people who have been willing to walk off their jobs in the middle of this economy where grocery costs have doubled in the last year – you recognize that there is not one single soul you WANTS to be on strike. But if those employees are willing to give up their income, there has to be a damn good reason for it. You support them. There will also never be another picket line in my town or county that I don’t visit and walk in solidarity.

I’m on strike.

Today, my friends who belong to a different union, showed up on sight with hot tea and coffee and muffins and donuts and a financial donation…before heading into work. At lunchtime another member of that union popped by to walk with us. 3 other members of a different union showed up to walk with us. Solidarity. I’m sobbing again, so overwhelmed that strangers with no dog in this race would give up their free time to walk with me; to walk with all of us.

Meanwhile friends, family and neighbours drive on by pretending not to see.

I didn’t talk about the strike on my social media but I did change my profile picture on one of the platforms. It was done as a sign of solidarity with my striking coworkers, not as a plea for attention, but I DID wind up being SHOCKED at who reached out or responded to it. And who didn’t.

I guess being on strike is much like being diagnosed with a serious illness. Just when you expect your near and dear to rally to support or when you need them the most, they scatter like the wind. I know, I know, to be fair, unless you’ve had to walk the line, you have no idea what it’s like. You don’t know the absolute devastation one feels. You don’t know the sleepless nights and the frantic juggling of money. You don’t know the absolute gutter sobs that come when no one is around…the fear, the anxiety, the humiliation, the rejection, the lack of respect, the lack of value…it all needs to come out. You don’t know the exhaustion of pounding the pavement. I’m tired. I’m scared. I’m heartbroken. And I’m so grateful for those that get it. You keep me sane. You help to squash my anxiety. You’re what will get me through this.

These are life lessons I never wanted or needed or chose to learn. And if we can get through this, I know I will be stronger for it. Prayers and thoughts and solidarity to all those on picket lines this night…may our employers bargain in good faith. May our union leaders bargain in good faith. May we wind up in a situation that makes life a little better for us all. And may we remember all those who stand up to support when we can’t do it on our own.

I’m on strike.