Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Happy Labor Day, Now Get Back to Work

Ah, Labor Day.

That magical three-day weekend when America collectively remembers that workers exist.

We barbecue. We buy mattresses. We sit in traffic. We watch football. We complain that summer is over. We take one last trip to the lake before everything becomes pumpkin spice and Christmas decorations in approximately 11 minutes.

And somewhere between the hot dogs and the retail sales, we are reminded that Labor Day is supposed to be about labor.

You know… workers.

The people who actually make the economy happen.

Which makes the modern celebration of Labor Day just a little fucking ironic.

Because some of the loudest people celebrating the holiday are the same people who seem to have developed a profound philosophical objection to the concept of organized labor.

Labor Day wasn’t invented because somebody thought Americans needed an extra Monday to recover from drinking beer on Sunday.

It came out of the labor movement.

In the late 19th century, American workers were putting in brutal hours under dangerous conditions for wages that barely kept families alive. Twelve-hour days weren’t unusual. Six-day workweeks were normal. Child labor was commonplace. Workplace safety was basically a charming suggestion.

And if workers didn’t like it?

Well, there were plenty of other workers waiting outside the factory gate.

That’s the part of American history we tend to polish up a little.

We like to tell ourselves that American prosperity simply appeared because Americans were exceptionally industrious and our entrepreneurs were exceptionally brilliant.

But workers had something to do with it.

They organized.

They went on strike.

They demanded shorter hours, better wages, safer workplaces and the ability to collectively bargain.

And sometimes the response from management and government wasn’t exactly, “Thank you for bringing these concerns to our attention.”

It was police.

Private security forces.

Pinkertons.

National Guard troops.

Arrests.

Violence.

People died fighting for things we now consider completely fucking normal.

The eight-hour workday didn’t descend from heaven on a golden tablet.

Workers fought for it.

The weekend didn’t just happen because somebody in Washington decided Americans deserved more leisure.

Workers fought for it.

Overtime protections, workplace safety regulations, minimum wages, child-labor restrictions, paid leave in many workplaces, the right to collectively bargain—all of these things exist in a historical landscape where workers organized because individual workers had virtually no bargaining power against enormous companies.

And here’s where the modern version of the American workweek gets particularly fucking interesting.

We’ve technically decided that forty hours is enough.

Forty hours.

That’s the line.

Work more than that and, under federal overtime law, you’re generally supposed to receive overtime pay if you’re a covered nonexempt employee.

Sounds pretty reasonable.

Except somewhere along the way, we forgot to make forty hours of work actually sufficient to live a reasonably secure life.

We’ve built an economy where the theoretical full-time workweek and the practical full-time workweek aren’t necessarily the same fucking thing.

Forty hours might be the legal baseline, but for a growing number of working people, it doesn’t cover the baseline of life.

Rent.

Utilities.

Food.

Transportation.

Insurance.

Healthcare.

Childcare.

Student loans.

Credit cards.

The endless parade of shit you need simply to remain alive and functional in modern America.

So what happens?

You work more.

Fifty hours.

Sixty.

Seventy.

You pick up overtime.

You get a second job.

You drive for an app after your regular shift.

You work weekends.

You answer emails after dinner.

You take work home.

You sacrifice sleep.

You sacrifice family time.

You sacrifice the very leisure that the labor movement spent generations fighting to create.

And then we have the audacity to call that freedom.

Because technically, nobody is forcing you to work seventy hours.

You’re choosing to.

Of course, when the alternative is eviction, homelessness, unpaid medical bills or an empty refrigerator, that’s a fascinating definition of choice.

It’s the same kind of freedom as telling somebody they’re free to leave their job while knowing damn well their mortgage payment is due on Friday.

The eight-hour day was supposed to mean something.

Eight hours of work.

Eight hours of rest.

Eight hours for yourself.

That was the idea.

Not eight hours of work followed by two hours commuting, another hour answering messages, three hours of side-hustle work and whatever sleep you can squeeze into the remaining space between obligations.

We didn’t necessarily repeal the eight-hour workday.

We simply made it economically insufficient.

And perhaps that’s one of the greatest ironies of modern Labor Day.

We celebrate the victory of workers who fought to reduce the workweek while simultaneously building an economy where millions of people need to work more than that just to maintain a basic standard of living.

We didn’t abolish the twelve-hour workday.

We just made it optional.

“Nobody is making you work twelve hours.”

Right.

And nobody is making the rent increase faster than wages.

Nobody is making groceries cost more.

Nobody is making healthcare expensive.

Nobody is making childcare cost more than a car payment.

Nobody is making housing unaffordable.

Nobody is making wages fail to keep pace with the cost of living.

It’s all just one enormous coincidence.

And if you’re exhausted because you’re working sixty hours a week to afford the privilege of being alive, apparently the problem is your attitude.

Maybe you need better time management.

Maybe you need a side hustle.

Maybe you need to “work smarter.”

Because apparently the solution to an economy that requires people to work more hours is… more work.

Which brings us to today.

Because somehow we’ve managed to turn Labor Day into a celebration of labor while simultaneously spending decades telling workers that unions are evil.

We’re told unions are greedy.

We’re told unions are corrupt.

We’re told unions destroy businesses.

We’re told workers should simply negotiate individually with their employer.

Which sounds fantastic until you remember that “individual negotiation” between a person who needs a paycheck to keep a roof over their head and a corporation with lawyers, accountants, executives and a human-resources department isn’t exactly an even playing field.

It’s like telling a guy with a butter knife that he should negotiate individually with a tank.

“Just know your worth, bro.”

Meanwhile, some of the same politicians who will be standing in front of an American flag this weekend wishing everyone a Happy Labor Day have spent their careers supporting policies designed to weaken organized labor.

They’ll celebrate the American worker while opposing the mechanism through which American workers have historically gained power.

They’ll praise the middle class while supporting policies that make it harder for workers to organize.

They’ll talk about “hard-working Americans” while complaining about workers demanding higher wages.

And they’ll tell you that unions are unnecessary because workers are free to leave.

Sure.

And you’re free to leave your apartment if your landlord raises the rent.

You’re free to leave your health insurance if the premiums become unaffordable.

You’re free to leave your job if your boss decides your paycheck isn’t worth what it used to be.

Freedom is a wonderful thing when you have options.

For millions of workers, the choice isn’t between a shitty job and a better job.

It’s between a shitty job and unemployment.

And that’s precisely why collective bargaining mattered.

Labor Day is also a reminder of something we’ve become remarkably good at forgetting:

The economy isn’t a machine. It’s people.

Corporations don’t stock shelves.

Corporations don’t drive trucks.

Corporations don’t pour concrete.

Corporations don’t teach kindergarten.

Corporations don’t nurse your mother back to health.

Corporations don’t repair power lines at two in the morning during a monsoon.

People do.

Workers do.

And somehow we’ve spent decades convincing ourselves that celebrating the people who actually perform the work is somehow an attack on the people who own the company.

It isn’t.

There’s nothing inherently anti-business about believing the people generating the value should receive a reasonable share of it.

In fact, you could argue that’s one of the most fundamentally American ideas imaginable.

Because here’s the thing about capitalism:

Capitalism doesn’t require workers to be poor.

It doesn’t require executives to be obscenely wealthy.

It doesn’t require a company to squeeze every last penny out of its employees simply because it can.

Those are choices.

And we’ve spent a remarkable amount of time pretending they’re laws of nature.

So this Labor Day, by all means, enjoy the three-day weekend.

Fire up the grill.

Drink something cold.

Watch some football.

Take the kids somewhere.

Buy the ridiculously overpriced mattress that has apparently been “70% off” since 1987.

Enjoy the last unofficial weekend of summer.

But maybe take a second to remember what we’re actually celebrating.

We’re celebrating workers.

We’re celebrating people who stood up and said, Maybe working twelve hours a day until we’re dead isn’t actually the American Dream.

We’re celebrating people who understood that one worker has very little power—but workers together have a voice.

And maybe, just maybe, we should be a little suspicious of the people who suddenly become enormous fans of labor every September while spending the other 364 days explaining why labor shouldn’t have any power.

Because if your idea of Labor Day is:

“Thank you, workers! Now get back to work.”

…you may have missed the fucking point.

Happy Labor Day.

Enjoy your three-day weekend.

You know, the one workers had to fight for.