Root for the Bears

I am urging the vast readership of this blog to root for the Chicago Bears today. Yes, I know that almost everyone from Bob Herbert to D'artagnan Martin is rooting for the Saints because of the whole Hurricane deal. Well, so was I until I found out on Friday that the Saint's coach, Sean Payton, was a scab during the 1987 players' strike. I'm too lazy to write a full entry describing what I think of scabs, so I'm pasting in an essay I wrote in the summer of 2005 during the Northwest mechanics strike. I submitted it to the New York Times as an op-ed piece, but it didn't go anywhere. So, with apologies to Bivian Lee:

WHY I WON’T FLY NORTHWEST

The ongoing strike by Aircraft Mechanics Fraternal Association, the Northwest Airlines mechanics union, recently thrust me into a crisis of conscience. To cross or not to cross their picket line – that was the question I wrestled with for the better the week leading up to a Northwest flight I had booked a few days before the mechanics went on strike.

The purpose of the trip was to attend a memorial for a dear uncle who had passed away several weeks earlier. Although not especially concerned with the choice of carrier, I was just as happy to be flying Northwest, an airline I’d found efficient and pleasant in the past.

As soon as the mechanics went out, I knew I had a problem. But the problem wasn’t getting to the memorial. News reports immediately made clear that, despite some glitches, Northwest was adhering reasonably, and safely enough, to its schedule. If I stayed with my Northwest flight, the chances were that I’d get where I was going when I needed to be there.

My problem, rather, was of an existential nature. I grew up in a staunchly union household. My parents, in fact, met when my father was a merchant seaman during World War II, actively recruiting for the National Maritime Union aboard his many trans-Atlantic births. At the time, my mother was secretary to the union’s vice president. There was a strict rule in our home, one I’ve carried into adulthood: never cross a picket line. To be honest, the inviolability of picket lines has the quality of a religious tenet for me.

Writing in 2005, in post-industrial America, I’ll concede that this rule has an almost quaint sound, even to my own ear. There is every sign that the great industrial and service unions of the past are precipitously on the decline. Subtract government workers belonging to unions and the rate of union membership in this country dips into single digits. The recent defections by several prominent organizations from the umbrella AFL-CIO suggests a movement at war with itself over a bounty of crumbs. From where I sit, the state of organized labor in the United States borders on pathetic.

So what was the big deal? Why not get it over with and take the Northwest flight? None of the mechanics’ sister unions have honored the picket line; why should I? I went back and forth on that question for several days as my trip approached. I wasn’t anxious to incur the added cost of rebooking my flight on another airline so close to my departure, but money wasn’t the issue for me. The issue was right and wrong.

Five simple words made the decision for me: “Which side are you on?” In the union movement of the past, these words packed the power of a biblical commandment cast in the form of a question. It wasn’t really a question so much as a challenge to be union, even at the risk of severe personal disadvantage. Ultimately, as I agonized over the decision, I realized that standing with the union still mattered to me.

I have no illusions about where the Northwest strike is headed. By all reports, the mechanics are going to lose no matter what the outcome. The fight seems to be over the magnitude of the pay cut they’ll sustain in their next contract. With a network of replacement workers in place, there may never be another contract or even a mechanics union when the dispute is over. However, the point for me wasn’t weighing the wiseness of the strike or the merits of the company’s asserted financial woes. Those issues weren’t relevant to my decision. The only thing that mattered was the principle of “Which side are you on?”

I wrestled with my conscience and my conscience won. I flew another airline and the trip went smoothly, as it probably would have on Northwest. My wallet is a few hundred dollars lighter, but I’m convinced that I did the right thing and feel good about it. And I’m glad to have reminded myself which side I’m still on.