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If you're looking for evidence of just how confident, militant, and insufferably arrogant companies have become in recent years, look no further than the phenomenon of the lockout. A lockout is where a company closes its doors, refusing to allow its union employees to return to work until they accede to company demands--demands that typically call for staggering cuts in wages and benefits.
Unlike strikes--which, as the ultimate manifestation of employee dissatisfaction with management, are a universally recognized form of protest--lockouts are a form of extortion. A lockout represents an unambiguous threat, an ultimatum. Management figuratively places a gun to the employees' heads and says, Take it or leave it.
There was a time not long ago when strikes were a regular part of the American economic landscape, and when, conversely, lockouts were about as scarce as hen's teeth. In fact, lockouts were practically unheard of. But given that the business world has been recalibrated--and given the availability of replacement workers, part-timers and temps, coupled with the weakening of state and federal labor laws--strikes are now relatively uncommon, and, in a reversal, lockouts have become management's new weapon of choice.
Strikes have always had a distinctly schizoid nature, being both dreaded and embraced, glorified and vilified Traditionally, when workers in a viable facility (i.e., one making a healthy profit) reached the point in contract negotiations where the company refused to budge, they hit the bricks. They shut the place down, walked off the job, thereby depriving the company of the ability to make a profit, and, very importantly, sacrificing their own economic well-being by no longer earning a wage or receiving benefits.
Because the stakes are so high, strikes have always been rightly regarded as spooky, monumental undertakings. While some strikes have been successful, many--perhaps most--have not. But successful or not, strikes need to be recognized as labor's only real weapon. Depriving management of the opportunity to make money is the only bullet in the chamber; everything else is theatrics. Other than striking, what's a union going to do to get the management's attention--threaten to stand on the front lawn and scream insults through a megaphone?
Here's a true story. In 1983 I was part of a union negotiating team that called a strike against a major manufacturing company, an action that put more than 700 men and women out on the street. It was a chaotic scene. Even though we got a 96-percent strike authorization vote prior to the shutdown, once the real thing happened, and the hammer dropped, people were understandably frightened and anxious. The strike lasted 57 days.
Looking to nip any problems in the bud, we immediately contacted the company's HR rep and made clear our views regarding people crossing the picket line. Although we were a tight local, and didn't anticipate scabs, you never know what people will do in a crisis. We told the company that if they allowed scabs to cross, we would be forced to retaliate by taking out full-page ads in local newspapers, exposing the company's greed and stubbornness, and calling them bad names.
They didn't take our peremptory salvo well. The strike was barely four hours old, and tensions were already running high. They told us to shut up, mind our own business, and not presume to lecture them on how to run their operation. But they also informed us that they had no intention of allowing people to cross over, believing that allowing people to cross would create more problems than it solved. We believed them.
But within a week or two, a handful of our guys tried to do just that. They approached at night (it was a 24-hour operation) hoping they wouldn't be observed, and asked to be put to work. When the company refused, it occurred to them that being denied entry might very well constitute a "lockout." While it was a known fact that strikers weren't entitled to unemployment benefits, wouldn't "locked-out" employees be eligible?
They went down to the unemployment office and made their case. They told the duty officer that even though their union had called a strike, they themselves wished to continue working, but the company wouldn't let them. "Doesn't that mean that this is a lockout and not a strike?" they asked eagerly. The duty officer seemed puzzled. She thought about it a moment and answered: "What's a lockout?"
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If you're looking for evidence of just how confident, militant, and insufferably arrogant companies have become in recent years, look no further than the phenomenon of the lockout. A lockout is where a company closes its doors, refusing to allow its union employees to return to work until they accede to company demands--demands that typically call for staggering cuts in wages and benefits.
Unlike strikes--which, as the ultimate manifestation of employee dissatisfaction with management, are a universally recognized form of protest--lockouts are a form of extortion. A lockout represents an unambiguous threat, an ultimatum. Management figuratively places a gun to the employees' heads and says, Take it or leave it.
There was a time not long ago when strikes were a regular part of the American economic landscape, and when, conversely, lockouts were about as scarce as hen's teeth. In fact, lockouts were practically unheard of. But given that the business world has been recalibrated--and given the availability of replacement workers, part-timers and temps, coupled with the weakening of state and federal labor laws--strikes are now relatively uncommon, and, in a reversal, lockouts have become management's new weapon of choice.
Strikes have always had a distinctly schizoid nature, being both dreaded and embraced, glorified and vilified Traditionally, when workers in a viable facility (i.e., one making a healthy profit) reached the point in contract negotiations where the company refused to budge, they hit the bricks. They shut the place down, walked off the job, thereby depriving the company of the ability to make a profit, and, very importantly, sacrificing their own economic well-being by no longer earning a wage or receiving benefits.
Because the stakes are so high, strikes have always been rightly regarded as spooky, monumental undertakings. While some strikes have been successful, many--perhaps most--have not. But successful or not, strikes need to be recognized as labor's only real weapon. Depriving management of the opportunity to make money is the only bullet in the chamber; everything else is theatrics. Other than striking, what's a union going to do to get the management's attention--threaten to stand on the front lawn and scream insults through a megaphone?
Here's a true story. In 1983 I was part of a union negotiating team that called a strike against a major manufacturing company, an action that put more than 700 men and women out on the street. It was a chaotic scene. Even though we got a 96-percent strike authorization vote prior to the shutdown, once the real thing happened, and the hammer dropped, people were understandably frightened and anxious. The strike lasted 57 days.
Looking to nip any problems in the bud, we immediately contacted the company's HR rep and made clear our views regarding people crossing the picket line. Although we were a tight local, and didn't anticipate scabs, you never know what people will do in a crisis. We told the company that if they allowed scabs to cross, we would be forced to retaliate by taking out full-page ads in local newspapers, exposing the company's greed and stubbornness, and calling them bad names.
They didn't take our peremptory salvo well. The strike was barely four hours old, and tensions were already running high. They told us to shut up, mind our own business, and not presume to lecture them on how to run their operation. But they also informed us that they had no intention of allowing people to cross over, believing that allowing people to cross would create more problems than it solved. We believed them.
But within a week or two, a handful of our guys tried to do just that. They approached at night (it was a 24-hour operation) hoping they wouldn't be observed, and asked to be put to work. When the company refused, it occurred to them that being denied entry might very well constitute a "lockout." While it was a known fact that strikers weren't entitled to unemployment benefits, wouldn't "locked-out" employees be eligible?
They went down to the unemployment office and made their case. They told the duty officer that even though their union had called a strike, they themselves wished to continue working, but the company wouldn't let them. "Doesn't that mean that this is a lockout and not a strike?" they asked eagerly. The duty officer seemed puzzled. She thought about it a moment and answered: "What's a lockout?"
If you're looking for evidence of just how confident, militant, and insufferably arrogant companies have become in recent years, look no further than the phenomenon of the lockout. A lockout is where a company closes its doors, refusing to allow its union employees to return to work until they accede to company demands--demands that typically call for staggering cuts in wages and benefits.
Unlike strikes--which, as the ultimate manifestation of employee dissatisfaction with management, are a universally recognized form of protest--lockouts are a form of extortion. A lockout represents an unambiguous threat, an ultimatum. Management figuratively places a gun to the employees' heads and says, Take it or leave it.
There was a time not long ago when strikes were a regular part of the American economic landscape, and when, conversely, lockouts were about as scarce as hen's teeth. In fact, lockouts were practically unheard of. But given that the business world has been recalibrated--and given the availability of replacement workers, part-timers and temps, coupled with the weakening of state and federal labor laws--strikes are now relatively uncommon, and, in a reversal, lockouts have become management's new weapon of choice.
Strikes have always had a distinctly schizoid nature, being both dreaded and embraced, glorified and vilified Traditionally, when workers in a viable facility (i.e., one making a healthy profit) reached the point in contract negotiations where the company refused to budge, they hit the bricks. They shut the place down, walked off the job, thereby depriving the company of the ability to make a profit, and, very importantly, sacrificing their own economic well-being by no longer earning a wage or receiving benefits.
Because the stakes are so high, strikes have always been rightly regarded as spooky, monumental undertakings. While some strikes have been successful, many--perhaps most--have not. But successful or not, strikes need to be recognized as labor's only real weapon. Depriving management of the opportunity to make money is the only bullet in the chamber; everything else is theatrics. Other than striking, what's a union going to do to get the management's attention--threaten to stand on the front lawn and scream insults through a megaphone?
Here's a true story. In 1983 I was part of a union negotiating team that called a strike against a major manufacturing company, an action that put more than 700 men and women out on the street. It was a chaotic scene. Even though we got a 96-percent strike authorization vote prior to the shutdown, once the real thing happened, and the hammer dropped, people were understandably frightened and anxious. The strike lasted 57 days.
Looking to nip any problems in the bud, we immediately contacted the company's HR rep and made clear our views regarding people crossing the picket line. Although we were a tight local, and didn't anticipate scabs, you never know what people will do in a crisis. We told the company that if they allowed scabs to cross, we would be forced to retaliate by taking out full-page ads in local newspapers, exposing the company's greed and stubbornness, and calling them bad names.
They didn't take our peremptory salvo well. The strike was barely four hours old, and tensions were already running high. They told us to shut up, mind our own business, and not presume to lecture them on how to run their operation. But they also informed us that they had no intention of allowing people to cross over, believing that allowing people to cross would create more problems than it solved. We believed them.
But within a week or two, a handful of our guys tried to do just that. They approached at night (it was a 24-hour operation) hoping they wouldn't be observed, and asked to be put to work. When the company refused, it occurred to them that being denied entry might very well constitute a "lockout." While it was a known fact that strikers weren't entitled to unemployment benefits, wouldn't "locked-out" employees be eligible?
They went down to the unemployment office and made their case. They told the duty officer that even though their union had called a strike, they themselves wished to continue working, but the company wouldn't let them. "Doesn't that mean that this is a lockout and not a strike?" they asked eagerly. The duty officer seemed puzzled. She thought about it a moment and answered: "What's a lockout?"