It would be going too far to say that being on strike is kind of a profession of its own, but it certainly is something I have to think--and talk--about seven days a week. Much as being a librarian means a social life consumed by explaining what librarians actually do, being on strike means a social life consumed by talking about the strike. For instance, no, it is not a holiday and I am not "enjoying the break," in spite of what a couple of my in-laws have said, no doubt trying to cheer me up. No, there is no end in sight. Yes, I am doing picket duty. (And, over at city hall, so are other folks with university degrees and professional designations. It's not just the garbage collectors who are out, in spite of what some people seem to think.) And yes, for the record, I am even more willing than usual to let someone else buy this round.
Yesterday I ran into an old friend who used to work for the CBC. He remembers being on strike, and I was grateful for his sympathy. Last week another friend shared his horror stories about a strike on campus, where frat boys ran the picket lines with their cars. Luckily for us, I don't think anyone has physically threatened any library workers yet. And in my tiny social circle no one has told me (yet) that we're lazy bums and should just get back to work. (Although we do get that from some of the public, at least from the types who seem to be spoiling for a fight, and apparently think that library workers, being mostly female and presumably more brainy than brawny, are an easy target. I don't know if they try this with any of the City outside workers.)
The truth is, of course, that almost everyone who's involved with the strike is pretty much powerless. There are hundreds of us on the picket lines, and many, many thousands of residents and visitors who are being affected. But only a handful of people can actually end this.
I know I'm thinking about the strike tonight. I hope they are too.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Just try to stop us from working!
I've been thinking a lot about the nature of my job and how much it defines me. First, my title includes the word "manager"--although, as you might guess by the fact I'm on the picket line--I'm a union member. Lately I've been asking myself, is the job title just what I do when I'm at work (although maybe this should be in the past tense: "did when I was at work"), or am I really just a manager/supervisor type all the time?
The funny thing is that during the first couple weeks of the strike I was more than happy not to be in charge of anything. I interpreted not working as not managing anything or anyone. And it's great to see different people getting a chance to do different (and important) things, whether it's part-time library assistants taking charge as picket captains or the various workers getting inspired to use their time on the line to help others. (Some have even donated their strike pay to our local's hardship fund. Wow.)
But late last week, I started getting really twitchy. While I know replicating the structures of the library system would be a bit silly during the strike, I started to see opportunities for better communication, for less duplication of work, for division of labour, for collaboration, and all kinds of other things I would be looking out for if I was at work. And not only that, but I had to take it further and button-hole every picket captain and executive member I came across, offering up my (and--I must admit it!--other people's) services.
Okay, so I'm addicted to what I do, and I can't stop myself. (Which--let's face it--is probably why I ended up with the job I have.) But I notice that around now a lot of us are doing the same thing. A children's librarian I really admire is getting some child care organised. An bright and energetic librarian with excellent technical skills is putting together electronic resources. A fellow supervisor (another "manager", in quotes) is coming up with ideas for sharing workers around the different locations. And a nearby little gang of picketers today got very caught up in a discussion of--get this--fiction classification!
We love what we do. Just try to stop us.
The funny thing is that during the first couple weeks of the strike I was more than happy not to be in charge of anything. I interpreted not working as not managing anything or anyone. And it's great to see different people getting a chance to do different (and important) things, whether it's part-time library assistants taking charge as picket captains or the various workers getting inspired to use their time on the line to help others. (Some have even donated their strike pay to our local's hardship fund. Wow.)
But late last week, I started getting really twitchy. While I know replicating the structures of the library system would be a bit silly during the strike, I started to see opportunities for better communication, for less duplication of work, for division of labour, for collaboration, and all kinds of other things I would be looking out for if I was at work. And not only that, but I had to take it further and button-hole every picket captain and executive member I came across, offering up my (and--I must admit it!--other people's) services.
Okay, so I'm addicted to what I do, and I can't stop myself. (Which--let's face it--is probably why I ended up with the job I have.) But I notice that around now a lot of us are doing the same thing. A children's librarian I really admire is getting some child care organised. An bright and energetic librarian with excellent technical skills is putting together electronic resources. A fellow supervisor (another "manager", in quotes) is coming up with ideas for sharing workers around the different locations. And a nearby little gang of picketers today got very caught up in a discussion of--get this--fiction classification!
We love what we do. Just try to stop us.
Friday, August 10, 2007
What this post is not about, and what it is
Yesterday and today I had lots of ideas about what today's post would be about. Here are just three of them:
-managing a strike--insights into management that might come from trying to organise this many people in this many places during a strike
-what everyone's reading on the picket line where I spend my days
-them and us: how the branches and Central are still separate and different during the strike, even when it's different people in each place
***
But it's hard to think about those topics tonight. As everyone who works in our library system knows by now, today we had bad news. The most recent talks, which started on the long weekend, have broken down again. Now it's hard to imagine when we'll be back to work.
Now I'm realising just how much we've all been hoping that this strike was close to being resolved. Since both sides started meeting again, the Facebook posts have been optimistic, and we've been cheerier on the picket line. When our library patrons have asked us when we'll be back, we've been able to say (feeling pretty good about it), "Well, at least they're talking!" We've chatted about how the fact that both sides gave up their long weekend just proves that everyone's serious.
I wasn't in the room where the meetings happened, of course, and no one who was there is about to tell me what was actually discussed (at least not any time soon). But it's hard not to wonder, what the hell is wrong here? Doesn't *everyone* want the libraries to open again? Is there really someone out there who wants this to continue?
There will be people out there who are so angry about their garbage not being picked up that they will say awful things about all of us municipal workers. I know from listening to the radio that some folks would like us all to be fired and replaced with workers who are more compliant.
Today I talked with a library user who was worried about the books he returned to us just before the strike, which are now in some box in our central library instead of on their way to the owning library where he originally borrowed them. He's worried about those books, and about the fines that must be piling up in that other library system. We talked for a few minutes about some possible solutions, and it was really nice, almost like being at work. And for a moment I really remembered what it was like to be providing public service instead of denying it. It was a good feeling.
-managing a strike--insights into management that might come from trying to organise this many people in this many places during a strike
-what everyone's reading on the picket line where I spend my days
-them and us: how the branches and Central are still separate and different during the strike, even when it's different people in each place
***
But it's hard to think about those topics tonight. As everyone who works in our library system knows by now, today we had bad news. The most recent talks, which started on the long weekend, have broken down again. Now it's hard to imagine when we'll be back to work.
Now I'm realising just how much we've all been hoping that this strike was close to being resolved. Since both sides started meeting again, the Facebook posts have been optimistic, and we've been cheerier on the picket line. When our library patrons have asked us when we'll be back, we've been able to say (feeling pretty good about it), "Well, at least they're talking!" We've chatted about how the fact that both sides gave up their long weekend just proves that everyone's serious.
I wasn't in the room where the meetings happened, of course, and no one who was there is about to tell me what was actually discussed (at least not any time soon). But it's hard not to wonder, what the hell is wrong here? Doesn't *everyone* want the libraries to open again? Is there really someone out there who wants this to continue?
There will be people out there who are so angry about their garbage not being picked up that they will say awful things about all of us municipal workers. I know from listening to the radio that some folks would like us all to be fired and replaced with workers who are more compliant.
Today I talked with a library user who was worried about the books he returned to us just before the strike, which are now in some box in our central library instead of on their way to the owning library where he originally borrowed them. He's worried about those books, and about the fines that must be piling up in that other library system. We talked for a few minutes about some possible solutions, and it was really nice, almost like being at work. And for a moment I really remembered what it was like to be providing public service instead of denying it. It was a good feeling.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Complexities
Today was a holiday in BC, but we picketed, even though the library would have been closed anyhow. At my local branch, we fell into our usual laid-back routine of chatting, reading, and--in my case--playing guitar and singing, although with fewer picketers than usual, and without our crafting contigent. (The union blog had mistakenly listed the wrong picket times--later corrected--and it was supposed to be a long weekend, after all.) I guess on some level it makes sense that we should only get a long weekend if we've actually been working, but somehow this was yet another disappointment, to be at the library and yet not accomplishing anything on a statutory holiday.
This morning a few of us talked about how we are gradually getting used to the strange grey existence of being on strike. We talked about how we seem to have our mushy holiday brains, but nothing about our days on the picket line feels like a holiday. (Last night my father-in-law made the mistake of asking me how my vacation was going. Wow. I think I'm still recovering from that.) And although--in theory--I have several extra hours in the day, in reality the disruption of the usual routine of days off and shift times means that I have to rejig child care, and that I get fewer days with my family.
I don't think any of us are doing what we usually would these days. There were hardly any of us library workers in the Gay Pride Parade yesterday, and those who were--including me--just disappeared into the larger union groups that were there. Last night I went to the Odd Ball--another Pride event--and saw only three fellow library folks. (Last year I was pretty sure I was dancing with more than three at any one time.) I can't say whether it's because we're broke, our usual mass communications system (library email) isn't available to us, or whether we're just plain worn out and discouraged, but clearly it's not just our work lives that have become complicated and difficult.
***
The good news is that over the weekend our union executive and library management began talking to each other again. It may be too soon to start looking for a back-to-work date, but the mood on the picket line--and amongst my library Facebook friends--has visibly improved. Last week, when it looked as if the next possible meeting was still days and days away, it was hard not to feel discouraged. No, "discouraged" is far too mild a word. I felt insignificant and ignored. And it didn't help to realise that the delays were nothing to do with me (or us) personally, but were all about politics and other things happening on a larger scale and at a great distance--in fact that was exactly what made me feel so unimportant. I guess I've been lucky: in all my years at the library, even when I was an entry-level library assistant, I've always felt like an individual, with my own feelings and opinions and ability to affect the workplace (even when my colleagues and supervisors didn't agree with me). I understand that it is necessary for everyone in this dispute to--temporarily--lose our individual voices in order to stand together for our cause, but the fact that it's necessary doesn't make it any easier. Sigh.
This morning a few of us talked about how we are gradually getting used to the strange grey existence of being on strike. We talked about how we seem to have our mushy holiday brains, but nothing about our days on the picket line feels like a holiday. (Last night my father-in-law made the mistake of asking me how my vacation was going. Wow. I think I'm still recovering from that.) And although--in theory--I have several extra hours in the day, in reality the disruption of the usual routine of days off and shift times means that I have to rejig child care, and that I get fewer days with my family.
I don't think any of us are doing what we usually would these days. There were hardly any of us library workers in the Gay Pride Parade yesterday, and those who were--including me--just disappeared into the larger union groups that were there. Last night I went to the Odd Ball--another Pride event--and saw only three fellow library folks. (Last year I was pretty sure I was dancing with more than three at any one time.) I can't say whether it's because we're broke, our usual mass communications system (library email) isn't available to us, or whether we're just plain worn out and discouraged, but clearly it's not just our work lives that have become complicated and difficult.
***
The good news is that over the weekend our union executive and library management began talking to each other again. It may be too soon to start looking for a back-to-work date, but the mood on the picket line--and amongst my library Facebook friends--has visibly improved. Last week, when it looked as if the next possible meeting was still days and days away, it was hard not to feel discouraged. No, "discouraged" is far too mild a word. I felt insignificant and ignored. And it didn't help to realise that the delays were nothing to do with me (or us) personally, but were all about politics and other things happening on a larger scale and at a great distance--in fact that was exactly what made me feel so unimportant. I guess I've been lucky: in all my years at the library, even when I was an entry-level library assistant, I've always felt like an individual, with my own feelings and opinions and ability to affect the workplace (even when my colleagues and supervisors didn't agree with me). I understand that it is necessary for everyone in this dispute to--temporarily--lose our individual voices in order to stand together for our cause, but the fact that it's necessary doesn't make it any easier. Sigh.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Thoughts of the change of seasons; and Things I've discovered I can't really do on a picket line
The weather has been eerily good since the strike started, uncharacteristically hot and sunny for these parts. Until today, that is, when the temperature dropped around ten degrees and there were actually a few spatters of rain. Fortunately for us at the library where I've spent four days this week, the overhangs that have been sheltering us from the sun did a good job for the rain too. Unlike our neighbours, the clever and very well-organised community centre picketers, we don't have plastic coverings for our picket signs (let alone the sleepingbags and barbeques that they bring along). If we're still out when the rainy season comes, we'll have to get a lot more serious.
Of course in a way we are getting more serious already. There was more bitter talk today about the state of the bargaining process. And today--for the first time since the strike began--I got caught up in a philosophical discussion about the library's priorities and recent policy decisions. For a few minutes I found myself thinking the way I did back when I was employed: how could I apply these new ideas? how could I solve this new problem? how could I integrate this new information? But that moment of mental engagement passed quickly as I realised that I can't imagine when I'll be back at work. And so I slid back into the vague state of agitated fuzzyheadedness that is increasing as we spend more time on the picket line. Thank goodness a friend brought some copies of Nylon magazine!
Things I've discovered I can't really do on a picket line:
1. Read anything more intellectually demanding than a trashy magazine article.
2. Have too much fun. ('Cause after all we're on strike.)
3. Look stylish. (Not that I've really tried. Yet.) See also # 6.
4. Concentrate on a French placement test over the phone. (Yes, that happened today too.)
5. Accomplish anything that requires sustained thought. See also # 7.
6. Wear good-looking shoes.
7. Write.
8. Remain convinced that I've chosen the right profession.
9. Scowl. Even at people who seem determined to cross.
10. Stop thinking about work.
This blog will be taking the weekend off! See you next week.
Of course in a way we are getting more serious already. There was more bitter talk today about the state of the bargaining process. And today--for the first time since the strike began--I got caught up in a philosophical discussion about the library's priorities and recent policy decisions. For a few minutes I found myself thinking the way I did back when I was employed: how could I apply these new ideas? how could I solve this new problem? how could I integrate this new information? But that moment of mental engagement passed quickly as I realised that I can't imagine when I'll be back at work. And so I slid back into the vague state of agitated fuzzyheadedness that is increasing as we spend more time on the picket line. Thank goodness a friend brought some copies of Nylon magazine!
Things I've discovered I can't really do on a picket line:
1. Read anything more intellectually demanding than a trashy magazine article.
2. Have too much fun. ('Cause after all we're on strike.)
3. Look stylish. (Not that I've really tried. Yet.) See also # 6.
4. Concentrate on a French placement test over the phone. (Yes, that happened today too.)
5. Accomplish anything that requires sustained thought. See also # 7.
6. Wear good-looking shoes.
7. Write.
8. Remain convinced that I've chosen the right profession.
9. Scowl. Even at people who seem determined to cross.
10. Stop thinking about work.
This blog will be taking the weekend off! See you next week.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Passing the time (as the mood shifts), and too much sun
After yesterday's noisy, high-traffic (vehicles, not pedestrians!) picket location, today I decided to go back to the relatively idyllic library branch where I spent Monday and Tuesday. Quiet! Benches! Shade! The friendly presence of our fellow picketers from the community centre!
There were about twenty of us. Mostly we settled into routines that are quickly becoming familiar. One especially industrious (and generous) librarian brought a big Rubbermaid container full of craft supplies. People did knitting and even mending. A friend of mine brought the (very serious) Penguin Classic she's been working on reading, but was easily distracted by the Bust magazine I had in my bag. As for me, I unfolded my little wooden chair and brought out my guitar. I didn't do any workers' anthems this time, but only played quietly for myself. It just felt like that kind of day.
Certainly we are making the best of things, but today the mood felt a little darker. Bargaining is going slowly and we can't pretend we'll be back at work in a day or two. I heard little clusters of picketers around me making bleak comments about the process so far. I made a few myself.
One of the tired old jokes about librarians is that managing us is like herding cats. We like to think of ourselves as independent thinkers, as individuals. We're also pretty enthusiastic about collaboration--as active participants, I should add. Passively waiting for someone else to decide our fate isn't easy. (Okay, I acknowledge that it's not easy for anyone.) I'm also having a lot of trouble with the whole concept of collective bargaining as it seems to be happening. Silly and counterproductive as I know it sounds, I wish I could walk into the secret location where these meetings are and actually say and do something.
In the elaborate fantasy I've constructed, I go in there and somehow get everyone sitting at the table, and my gentle presence gets everyone feeling calm, and I manage to solicit everybody's real issues and interests and write them up on a whiteboard. The next thing we know, everyone is being honest about what they really want and what will work and what won't. We figure everything out, come to agreements that work for everyone, and then give a triumphant press conference. (Naturally there will be champagne, or at least a couple of beers, after.)
Yes, odd thoughts do come to me when I'm out in the sun for too long.
There were about twenty of us. Mostly we settled into routines that are quickly becoming familiar. One especially industrious (and generous) librarian brought a big Rubbermaid container full of craft supplies. People did knitting and even mending. A friend of mine brought the (very serious) Penguin Classic she's been working on reading, but was easily distracted by the Bust magazine I had in my bag. As for me, I unfolded my little wooden chair and brought out my guitar. I didn't do any workers' anthems this time, but only played quietly for myself. It just felt like that kind of day.
Certainly we are making the best of things, but today the mood felt a little darker. Bargaining is going slowly and we can't pretend we'll be back at work in a day or two. I heard little clusters of picketers around me making bleak comments about the process so far. I made a few myself.
One of the tired old jokes about librarians is that managing us is like herding cats. We like to think of ourselves as independent thinkers, as individuals. We're also pretty enthusiastic about collaboration--as active participants, I should add. Passively waiting for someone else to decide our fate isn't easy. (Okay, I acknowledge that it's not easy for anyone.) I'm also having a lot of trouble with the whole concept of collective bargaining as it seems to be happening. Silly and counterproductive as I know it sounds, I wish I could walk into the secret location where these meetings are and actually say and do something.
In the elaborate fantasy I've constructed, I go in there and somehow get everyone sitting at the table, and my gentle presence gets everyone feeling calm, and I manage to solicit everybody's real issues and interests and write them up on a whiteboard. The next thing we know, everyone is being honest about what they really want and what will work and what won't. We figure everything out, come to agreements that work for everyone, and then give a triumphant press conference. (Naturally there will be champagne, or at least a couple of beers, after.)
Yes, odd thoughts do come to me when I'm out in the sun for too long.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
It was only to be expected
If you've never been on a picket line, you might imagine it as a place that's loud with traffic noises, stinking with exhaust fumes, and generally unhappy, with lots of the passersby either pointedly ignoring or even abusing the picketers.
Well, after the relative *niceness* of yesterday, I'm not really surprised that things weren't so good today. I was at a library branch right on a busy street, and buses and big trucks kept going by--some, most depressingly, carrying live chickens on their last ride. One woman walked past and asked if we weren't ashamed to be denying services to children. (I noticed she didn't stick around for any kind of answer.) A man yelled at us out his truck window, telling us to get back to work. (This was actually kind of funny, because he was carrying glass, and--as one of my colleagues pointed out--people in glass trucks shouldn't throw stones.)
A couple of things I *didn't* say to the people who gave us a hard time:
"Well, I assure you that I didn't spend six years in university to walk
a picket line."
"Yeah?! And what have *you* ever done to promote literacy or help children?"
"Do you realise that every person you just slagged off has put
in untold hours of unpaid overtime to provide the best possible
service to people like you?"
It wasn't all bad. Two nearby fellow picketers got significant work done on their knitting today. A few others got to meet and hang out with colleagues who were utter strangers before all this started. I can't help thinking of all the--ahem--team-building that's happening out here.
But the worst part is knowing that time is ticking by, we're not working, our projects are not being done, deadlines are passing, and we aren't accomplishing the things that really matter to us. It's hard not to imagine the calendar marked with dates of programmes that now can't happen. It's hard not to think of the members of the public--the library users--we see every day at work. Where are they? What are they doing now?
I can only hope they'll be back.
Well, after the relative *niceness* of yesterday, I'm not really surprised that things weren't so good today. I was at a library branch right on a busy street, and buses and big trucks kept going by--some, most depressingly, carrying live chickens on their last ride. One woman walked past and asked if we weren't ashamed to be denying services to children. (I noticed she didn't stick around for any kind of answer.) A man yelled at us out his truck window, telling us to get back to work. (This was actually kind of funny, because he was carrying glass, and--as one of my colleagues pointed out--people in glass trucks shouldn't throw stones.)
A couple of things I *didn't* say to the people who gave us a hard time:
"Well, I assure you that I didn't spend six years in university to walk
a picket line."
"Yeah?! And what have *you* ever done to promote literacy or help children?"
"Do you realise that every person you just slagged off has put
in untold hours of unpaid overtime to provide the best possible
service to people like you?"
It wasn't all bad. Two nearby fellow picketers got significant work done on their knitting today. A few others got to meet and hang out with colleagues who were utter strangers before all this started. I can't help thinking of all the--ahem--team-building that's happening out here.
But the worst part is knowing that time is ticking by, we're not working, our projects are not being done, deadlines are passing, and we aren't accomplishing the things that really matter to us. It's hard not to imagine the calendar marked with dates of programmes that now can't happen. It's hard not to think of the members of the public--the library users--we see every day at work. Where are they? What are they doing now?
I can only hope they'll be back.
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