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February 5, 2008

What Do They Have to Lose?

Unions Need to Stop Being So Nice

By DAVID MACARAY

Should labor unions arbitrarily assume that any plan introduced by management will
likely have a negative effect on the workers? Should organized labor quit playing ball
with management? Should they stop cooperating? In a word, should unions just say
No to everything?
As cynical and profoundly adversarial as these questions may seem, recent history
more or less gives Yes as the answer.
Take, for example, the Democracy in the Workplace campaign of the 1980s. Using as
its template the Japanese employer-employee relationship (the one reputed to be
kicking our butts in the marketplace), American businesses urged unions to think
"outside the box," to open themselves up to a whole new philosophy regarding the
way we do business.
Dr. W. Edwards Deming, the statistician and ergonomics expert credited with having
"invented" the postwar Japanese business model, traveled the United States
conducting seminars and hawking his book ("Out of the Crisis") on how to save the
American economy. Japan was clearly on the ascendancy, and we were rapidly falling
behind.
Management gushed over Deming's innovative 14-point program for improving
efficiency, and unions were quick to buy in to his refreshingly pro-labor stance, where
workers on the floor were given an opportunity to participate in the decision-making
process, share in the profits, and be treated as "equals."
Of course, what happened was hideous and predictable. Management degraded
Deming's philosophy by implementing only those parts of it that benefited them in
the short-term, and rejecting anything that cost money or resembled "joint-
ownership" of the workplace. Because they'd always feared and resented unions,
they hoped that "going Japanese" would be an opportunity to neutralize them.
Democracy in the Workplace turned out to be more hype than substance. It took the
form of grassroots employee committees which, predictably (and with the company's
urging), ignored or sidestepped the elected union leadership. Not that there's
anything wrong with employee involvement; in fact, having a majority of the workers
genuinely involved in day-to-day activities is a positive force.
But in many cases these ad hoc committees were free-for-alls, with management
offering rewards to the weakest, most pliant workers on the floor as payment for
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supporting company initiatives. This was "democracy" in its least attractive form.
Ironically, when it came time for some really serious decision-making to be done,
even these company stooges were brushed aside, particularly when their suggestions
conflicted with management's master plan.
The mid-1980s and early 1990s turned out to be a period of huge layoffs. Because
cutting the workforce was now a priority, Deming's subtle managerial philosophy had
been clumsily reduced to an aggressive, unremitting drive to lower head counts. By
the time the smoke cleared, and the Democracy in the Workplace movement had
petered out, employee rolls had been slashed, unions had been weakened, and
company profits had soared.
And then, quite suddenly, the so-called "Japanese Miracle" was relegated to
yesterday's news. As other emerging Asian markets arrived on the scene and began
competing with Japan, the vaunted Japanese model lost a bit of its luster. Today, if
you suggest emulating Japanese techniques, you'll elicit yawns. China is the world's
new economic hero. Fortunately, its bizarre mixture of bureaucratic Communism and
rapacious turbo-capitalism isn't available for export.
Another example of a bad idea was NAFTA (North American Free Trade Agreement).
This treaty has been with us now for 14 years, and it's obvious that the wildly
optimistic predictions were mistaken. NAFTA was supposed to create jobs for
American workers; instead, nearly 3 million manufacturing jobs have been lost.
Additionally, NAFTA was supposed to help the Mexican economy to such an extent-
create so many new jobs in Mexico-that immigration into the U.S. would be reduced
to a trickle. Instead, not only has immigration to the U.S. increased, but Mexican
farmers have been devastated by U.S. government subsidies to agribusiness, and
workers at the maquiladoras (border factories) have been laid off or had their wages
drastically cut.
So who profited from NAFTA? No big surprise. It was the most powerful business
groups in the three countries privy to the arrangement: Canada, Mexico and the U.S.
President Clinton's chief economic advisor, Robert Rubin (formerly of the financial
giant Goldman Sachs), was a personal friend of Carlos Salinas, the wealthy former
president of Mexico. NAFTA was a classic "inside job," shoved through Congress by a
bipartisan coalition of Republicans and Democrats.
But the best (worst) example of a management enterprise that hurt unions was the
swapping of priorities in contract negotiations, which began in earnest during the
1990s and continues today. In order to hang on to their precious health care and
pension benefits, unions were persuaded to put off (or even give back) wage
increases. With benefits in jeopardy, unions were willing to sign contracts that
swapped short-term purchasing power for long-term security.
The central flaw in this strategy was that it had no brakes. Once the unions agreed to
forego wage increases in return for maintaining their benefits, management's next
move was swift and predictable: they came after the benefits. The unions' voluntary
waiver of wage increases served no purpose; health care and pension benefits
continued to be eaten away. In the end, unions wound up losing both wages and
benefits.
The same applied to the two-tier wage format. Reluctantly, unions agreed to sign
contracts that included two-tier wage structures (a configuration where new hires are
locked into a permanently lower wage schedule than senior workers) in return for
hanging on to their medical and pension coverage. A case of ideological integrity
being sacrificed for long-term stability.
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This "selling out" of future employees was an extremely tough call for the unions, a
trade-off they agonized over. To their credit, many locals refused to go along, even
though they were under enormous pressure to do so. For those who did agree, as
soon as management had that two-tier wage provision under their belt (and despite
assurances that it wouldn't happen), they began cutting into the very medical and
pension benefits the union had sold its soul to preserve. It was ugly.
So what's the answer? If going the extra mile, meeting management more than
halfway and expecting them to do the right thing, isn't the solution, then what is?
One suggestion might be that labor needs to move in the opposite direction. Instead
of détente and mutual cooperation, a harsher, more "primitive" approach may be
what's needed.
If accommodating management has lead to treachery and deceit, maybe resorting to
strikes, more strikes, lawsuits, and calling management's bluff at every turn would be
the more effective tactic. Something needs to be done to back them off. Even if that
means going to war. Given all the bitter medicine unions have been forced to swallow
over the last 25 years, what have they got to lose?

David Macaray, a Los Angeles playwright and writer, was president and chief
contract negotiator of the Assn. of Western Pulp and Paper Workers, Local 672, from
1989 to 2000. He can be reached at dmacaray@earthlink.net