Let’s Talk Unions (A Lefty Perspective)

On June 27, the Canadian Government legislated the members of the Canadian Union of Postal Workers (CUPW) to return to work after a rotating strike followed by a lockout by Canada Post. The terms in the legislation were less than the terms Canada Post had last offered the CUPW, which the union had rejected. Though those whose businesses depend on an efficient postal service will be happy, the fact that the government interfered with negotiations between an employer and its employees, and appeared to simply be punishing the CUPW for striking (when in fact it was the employer (Canada Post) and not the postal workers who were responsible for the total cessation of mail delivery) doesn’t sit well with me.

It is this that caused me to join in a lively discussion/argument about the postal strike. Of course, as soon as anyone starts to talk about any given union, all unions are soon thrown into the mix and the recent actions taken by the Saskatchewan Teachers’ Federation were ripped apart, because “teachers get two months off in the summer.” Being the child of Saskatchewan teachers, and knowing how hard my parents work (good teaching is so much more than just “stand and deliver” repetition of the textbook), I stood my ground for as long as I could (it was mostly a two against one debate and I was the solo party).

The fact is, I don’t have many facts, either about the recent postal strike or about the situation facing the STF. What I do know is that many unionized workers, for example teachers and nurses, care very deeply about those they work for (children and patients, respectively), and that striking is a last resort that weighs heavily on the conscience of the striker.

The argument allowed me a chance to engage with people whose views and experiences are very different from my own. Both of my main “opponents” worked in the oil industry at demanding and dangerous jobs. Both had been seriously injured on the job and both “sucked it up and went back to work”. Too much pride for WCB, apparently. Given the risks involved in their job and their 60-70 hour work weeks, I am not surprised that they expressed a lack of sympathy for workers who appeared to be doing less and asking for more. There was also some hypothesis that if oil workers were unionized and the government was in charge of the industry, we’d all be paying $3/litre for gasoline.

I am familiar with the above positions and though they aren’t my cup of tea they’re nothing I haven’t heard before. While it was actually quite an enjoyable debate with fairly civil “opponents”, I was understandably frustrated and there are a few fallacies within their arguments I would like to address:

  1. That there is some particular virtue to not being part of a union, and to just keeping your head down and doing your job without complaining. – Just because you do not want to demand more from your employer (i.e. you won’t file with the WCB when you’re injured), it does not mean that other people should not have a right to, or that they are weak or wrong to do so. Contrary to being a virtue, the only people you are benefiting by refusing to demand better treatment in your workplace are your employers; you, your loved ones, and your coworkers certainly aren’t any better off for it.
  2. That the position of unions are that their employees deserve good treatment because their employees are “better” than other employees, or work harder. – I have not yet seen this to be true. The position of the STF certainly isn’t that teachers work harder than everyone else, and therefore deserve more. Clearly, teaching isn’t as dangerous or as physically intense as working in the oil industry up in Fort MacMurray. The STF isn’t pretending it is. The point of a union is that employees should be treated well by their employer. This means all employees (regardless of whether they are unionized) deserve job security, vacation, and pensions. The fact that some employees are unionized allows them to demand this better treatment. A demand for better treatment by a union is not a snub to other workers.
  3. That unionizing means putting your business or industry under government control. – While many unionized workers are employed in the public sector, unionized employees and government employees are not one and the same. An example would be auto workers unions, strong labour unions whose members are employed by large corporations like Ford or General Motors, not the government. To the idea brought up of $3/litre gas resulting from unionizing and government control of the oil industry, firstly, unionizing of oil workers would not necessarily result in government control of the industry, and secondly, Tony Clement has recently told media that the Government will be working to lower the lately inflated gas prices (even without ownership of any oil companies). I highly doubt that oil companies currently have any interest at all in keeping prices (and profits) low.

Being a teachers’ daughter, and current member of a CUPE local myself, I do realize that my point of view comes from a very specific place. I do understand that not everyone feels they are in a position to make demands to their employer, especially if doing so could lose them their job (a job they may desperately need to support themselves and their families). What I am saying is that this is a shitty state of affairs. No one should be afraid to speak up about mistreatment in the workplace. Keeping employees in fear and living on a meager salary that does not allow them the freedom to better their position or enjoy their life amounts to servitude, not employment.

Despite this, I do not believe every worker should be part of a union, or that every business needs to be unionized. A business owner or employer who takes good care of their employees, providing decent salaries and benefits, and incentives for their employees to invest in their own retirement, should not need to unionize their employees to ensure this happens. I have seen small businesses that treat their employees like family, giving them flexibility, security, and a level of personal attention not often seen in larger businesses. Sadly, these employers are few and far between, and there are many corporations and industries more interested in their bottom line than in the well-being of the people whose work allows them to maintain a profit (i.e., their employees).

I also cannot say that I have supported every union strike I’ve ever read about in the media. The optics of some of the unions’ demands compared to the realities facing many Canadian families (and my own unemployed status) during the recession, for example, were not very beneficial to the profile of unions in Canada. This does not mean I do not support unions as an employment structure or their right to demand what they believe is fair for their members.

For many, myself included, discussions surrounding labour unions tend to be emotional, rather than intellectual. Those within them defend them fiercely, those who are not unionized disparage them. The difference, as it often is in politics, stems from different ideas of what people see as fair. I have no answers, and so far in my career have not been faced with many tough decisions. I’m just full of piss and vinegar and I do love to sink my teeth into a good argument every once in a while.

If anyone has some cold hard facts for me, from either side of this debate, I’d love to hear from you. In the meantime, I guess I’ll just try to be pleased that I’ll be getting mail again (yay!), despite the actions that brought it about.

Jessies 2011: Nifty Reports for Hummingbird604.com

The Jessie Richardson Theatre Awards are held each year to recognize and honour outstanding contributions to theatre in Vancouver. This year, I was there, attending as media and covering the event for my friend Raul Pacheco-Vega and his blog, Hummingbird604.com.

For my coverage of the 2011 Jessies, please visit Hummingbird604.

I bought this dress for $5 from a naked hippie on Wreck Beach!

Because I tried to keep my post a little more professional (keeping in mind that I am a guest on Raul’s site), I’ll use my space on NiftyNotCool to express just how totally jazzed I was. I was totally jazzed. I did my hair. I put on dangle-y earrings. And heels. And a sparkly dress that I think is just a bit cheeky. Red lipstick. Hooray.

I had a great night. I was inspired and educated (there is still so much theatre I need to see, and so many companies whose work I want to be more familiar with) and just plain ol’ JAZZED to be there.

The lovely Lois Dawson and me. LOVE that blue!

I also got to boogie down with Lois Dawson and the Pacific Theatre crew, whose season I was able to enjoy mostly through Lois’ generosity. Everyone was fabulous. Theatre people are the best dancers.

Furthermore, theatre people clean up well. Since I spend most of my theatrical time in rehearsals in sweat pants, or onstage in some crazy get-up, I sometimes forget what a fine-looking bunch theatre people really are. Damn. We are a fine-looking bunch. Don’t believe me? Come to the Jessies next year and cut a rug with us.

Want more information about what happened at the 29th Annual Jessie Awards? Read all about it at Hummingbird604.com.

Of course I must give a huge THANK YOU to Raul at Hummingbird604 for sending me to the ceremony on his behalf. Being able to cover the 2011 Jessies was a lovely end to a great season of Vancouver theatre.

Procrastination Makes It Happen

Stop your distracting dancing, Devil! I'm trying to write a paper!

I’m supposed to be writing a paper. For my Early Modern Literature course. The due date for this paper was made plain as day on the syllabus I received in May. More detailed instructions were given to us two weeks ago, complete with helpful paper topic ideas.

I have no paper. I have no paper topic. I am feeling a little screwed. The worst part about this situation is that, like a hangover, I know it’s all my fault.

Actually, no. It’s not. Maybe it’s this blog’s fault because I simply couldn’t concentrate on anything paper-related until I fulfilled my self-inflicted, Internet-based responsibilities. And of course I couldn’t blog until I thought of something to blog about. My inability to find anything to blog about is, of course, the fault of the Vancouver Canucks, who, let’s be serious, have pretty much overwhelmed the hearts and minds of Vancouverites and I’m not sure any of us can be asked to think or do anything until the Playoffs are over.

Obviously, the fact that the Canucks have to go to Game 7 tonight instead of finishing with a Stanley Cup win last Friday like I wanted them to is the fault of the Boston Bruins. To sum up, my paperless situation is the direct result of a “house-that-Jack-built” series of events, and the blame rests entirely with the Boston Bruins. There was simply nothing I could do.

Unfortunately, life’s not fair. And even though the fact that I haven’t started my paper yet is ALL BOSTON’S FAULT, I’m pretty sure the writing of this paper is going to fall to me. Boo.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had to write a university paper, and I’m not sure I remember how to. I’m also not at all sure I am an expert in Early Modern Literature. Perhaps, like Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, I can exchange my soul for knowledge. Maybe I can move to the country described in Thomas More’s Utopia and live a very communist (albeit very monastic and Catholic) life free from concerns of personal academic glory.

Hey Marlowe! I bet you know a LOT about Early Modern Lit. If you weren't dead you'd write a great paper about it, I'm sure.

Hey, did you know that Christopher Marlowe (who wrote Doctor Faustus) was killed at the age of 29 by a knife wound to the eye sustained in a tavern fight? And that maybe he was an Elizabethan spy? And that other people in the tavern that day were maybe spies too? Suspicious. And exciting.

But I digress (a lot). Ahem. Paper-writing. First thing’s first: are there dirty dishes in my sink? Because if there are, I’m going to have to take care of them right away. I can’t be expected to work in a messy environment. Once taken care of, and now that I’m in the kitchen, I’m feeling a little hungry. Having been exposed to continuous cries from bleeding heart liberals who say lunch programs in schools help kids think better, I am certain my paper writing will go a lot more smoothly if I have a snack. Making and eating a snack obviously dirties more dishes which need to be washed and set in the drying rack. And now, I sit down at my computer. As I settle into my chair I am presented with the niggling feeling that I need to go to the bathroom.

Throw in paper-writing music, impromptu dance parties (caused no doubt by the music), and visits to Twitter to complain about aforementioned paper, and you can see I’m well on my way to unravelling the mysteries of Early Modern Literature in a concise, convincing, and intelligent manner.

Salt Spring 3: Nifty Takes Flight

The first weekend in June dawned bright and beautiful and my TC and I took off (quite literally) for another dream-like weekend on Salt Spring Island. Instead of sailing on the slow pokey ferry, we enjoyed a gorgeous 25-minute flight with Salt Spring Air.

I’m not gonna lie: what masquerades as a blog post this week will actually be my attempts to make everyone jealous of my awesome life by sharing photographs of my splendid adventure.

Salt Spring Air - cutest planes in the west

Burrard Inlet - Look at all my boats!

Aerial view of the Lions Gate Bridge

Pacific Ocean - more boats!

YVR - Ever seen a plane taking off from above? I have!

Gulf Islands ho! (Nearing our destination....)

Helloooooooooooo Salt Spring!

Upon our arrival (and a very smooth touchdown) in Ganges, we promptly dined with my TC’s family at a quaint little restaurant just off the marina called “Cafe Auntie Pesto’s” (250-537-4181). Punny name notwithstanding, Auntie Pesto’s is actually a very fine (and slightly pricier) establishment. The service was excellent (our server was attentive and prompt without being annoying) and my Muscovy duck confit (with asparagus, spinach, and Gorgonzola ravioli) was excellent too. Magnifique.

Our first morning on Salt Spring was a scorcher (compared to the very cold spring we’ve had on the West Coast this year) so we made good use of sun screen before visiting the Saturday Market. I avoided buying myself anything (I tell myself I don’t need anything!), but I did have the pleasure of sitting on the grass in the sun eating a fabulous Ukrainian smokey (and the yam fries belonging to my TC’s four-year-old cousin). For dessert, I decided to consume a daunting creation called a “Dough Boy” which is essentially dough fried in hot hot oil and covered in sugar and cinnamon. My arteries cried but my taste buds were delighted.

Dough Boy: A heart attacky snack

Not surprisingly, I reserved much of the rest of the afternoon for napping and sitting.

Time flies when one is having fun, and alas, alack, our Sunday morning came too soon. Luckily, we didn’t take wing again until 5 o’clock so my TC and I were able to take in some capital-N Nature courtesy of the neighbourhood walking trails. TC took all the photos of the nature excursion. I just used my eyeballs.

Salt Spring sunshine breaking through the canopy

The trees are so big and I am so small!

We wandered off the trail and frolicked in the woods. I pretended I was a dinosaur, naturally.

TC thought it would be a good idea for me to climb this tree. And it was. Until I tried to get down.

I would like to tell you more about my latest adventure in the Gulf Islands, but I don’t believe I can be more eloquent than these images can be. If a picture is truly worth a thousand words, let’s just say you’ve just finished reading a 12 000-word post about my weekend.

And that makes you a good friend.

Internet Fatigue (and the burden of Insta-Love)

The Internet is a powerful, benevolent sorceress, providing me with seemingly countless ways to connect, share, be informed/educated, debate, communicate, and take action. The Internet is also a time-sucking witch, providing me with seemingly endless ways to procrastinate and act like a crazy person. When I signed up with Facebook in 2007, I never expected “Facebook creeping” to become not only a verb all its own, but an acceptable way to pass the time when bored at work, home, or on your smartphone (I feel like prior to Facebook’s inception, going through someone’s photo albums without being explicitly granted permission would be, well, creepy).

In so many ways, of course, the Internet has made my life faster and easier. Internet banking. Google maps. Buying tickets online. E-mail. But it has also added tasks to my daily routine: checking my e-mail (all three accounts, though I actually have four active, not counting the one I check at work), checking Facebook for anything amusing, checking Twitter for mentions, checking my WordPress stats to see if people actually read my blog or whether I’m just shouting into the darkness.

Checking. Always checking. It’s not an action with a clear purpose, like “Buy groceries and then you’ll have food” or “Pay your utility bill and you’ll continue to enjoy electricity.” It’s just….checking. To see. If there’s something I should pay attention to. Mostly, for the little hit of insta-love I feel every time someone mentions me on Twitter or likes something I’ve said/done/posted on Facebook. Somehow not quite ever satisfied that I’m liked enough to last me the next twenty minutes.

Facebook and Twitter give us an easy and tangible way to measure whether or not we (and our thoughts/actions) have the approval of our friends and acquaintances, and to share our enjoyment and approval of our friends with them. But the flip side of this instant love is instant failure. When we post something on Twitter that we think is especially funny/clever/important, and no one responds, we feel a loss. When we post on someone’s Facebook wall and they don’t reply, we feel bad. Instead of the little hits of insta-love I’ve come to savour, I feel the anxious prickles of insta-failure.

I assume I am not the only one who feels this, or has noticed the coping mechanism many of us seem to use. We distance ourselves from our online personas to the point that we become a brand of ourselves. Our successes and failures online aren’t the successes and failures of us personally, but only of the version of ourselves we’ve chosen to share. I myself consider my Twitter account to be an extension of some entity called “NiftyNotCool” which is a part of me, but usually not enough of me to make me feel personally vulnerable. Even under this persona, of course I prefer to receive insta-love.

Before you diagnose me as someone with poor self-esteem who depends on the approval of the Internet to feel good about herself, let me assure you that I’m not. I think I have the average healthy amounts of confidence and humility that make me, hopefully, not a total chore to be around. But there’s no denying that having people respond to you in a positive manner feels good, and being ignored does not. While the Internet provides us with so many more ways to respond and be responded to, it also provides us with more ways to be ignored. Though the emotional toll this insta-love/insta-failure takes on me is minor, its constant presence in my life is wearing me out.

Which is why I’ve been taking a partial break from my Facebook and Twitter identities. With so many things I want to learn and do and share, it feels good to shut out the noise and take some time to appreciate the aspects of my life that aren’t online. Brunch with friends. Reading in the sun. A nice walk through an East Van neighbourhood in full bloom.

Which is not to say that I haven’t gained enormously from reaching out online. My world has become so much larger since I embarked on this “nifty not cool” adventure last fall. I’ve met amazingly talented, warm, and generous people. I got to blog the PuSh Fest, see some great performances with people I met on Twitter, and eat possibly the best beer-butt BBQ chicken I have ever had (courtesy of Candice at Baked In Vancouver). Every time somebody tells me they have read or enjoyed a post of mine, I feel so flattered and grateful and tickled pink that I know my enthusiasm cements my “not-cool” status forever.

Internet fatigue or no Internet fatigue, as long as we have electricity, our online lives are here to stay. As much as I complain, I am happy to know every single one of the great people I’ve met in the past six months, and to them, I say this: you guys are awesome. The conversations we’re having are great. But the idea of another night with my laptop makes me want to throw it in the Inlet. The sun is starting to shine on Vancouver, and I’d rather hang out with y’all on a patio. Whaddaya say?