solidarity

by esme mcgowan

This year, the UK experienced a scale and quantity of strikes that have not been witnessed in decades. The recent surge is a collective rising-up of workers against poor wages, poor conditions, and poor management. Many people have hailed ongoing economic crises, or the coronavirus pandemic as causes for industrial action, however, while these more proximate causes are relevant, it is clear that a lot of what workers are fighting for has been at breaking point for at least the last ten years. Our political and economic system increasingly resembles a decayed bridge, creaking and splintering under the mounting pressure of more and more people. Everyday people are overworked and underpaid, in the face of silence, apathy and callousness from those with those who are supposed to be looking out for them.

I have found these strikes deeply moving, watching people of all backgrounds, all careers - nurses, teachers, rail workers, firefighters, tube drivers - standing up together for a mutual cause. This collectivism is what makes us strong, it is what makes movements successful, and it is what gives workers the courage to keep going in a situation of no pay and no say. Witnessing this feels like something rare. As a young person, I don’t have any personal memories of the Miners’ Strikes of the 1980s, nor the global solidarity movements of the 1970s. I can’t begin to imagine what those moments felt like and have no way of truly understanding them.

But as I stood in front of the Popular Music Archive at the University of Liverpool, I caught a glimpse. A glimpse of something that made me feel so proud of, so cared for, and so supported by a particular community of strikers from long in the past: British trade unionists. What I discovered in the archive were unions from the United Kingdom sending solidarity and well wishes to the people of Chile – a country halfway across the world, with a different language, a different culture, a different history, in other words, seemingly entirely disconnected lives. It didn’t seem to make sense. And yet, there it was, in the magazines in front of me: messages of support from  the Iron and Steel Trades Confederation, the Fire Brigades’ Union, the Tobacco Workers’ Union, the Transport and General Workers’ Union. All sending solidarity in the fight against oppression and fascism as part of a global union of workers. Despite the fact that Chileans were experiencing this oppression more directly, in the form of a military-authoritarian regime of state terror, British unionists saw this as a common struggle, shared by all. Such international support gave hope to the resistance movement in Chile, making them feel seen and giving them the strength of knowing that what they stood up for was right. Union solidarity also provided practical support, sending resources, assisting exiles, and leading awareness campaigns overseas. In some cases, the support was so strong that workers had a direct impact in the fight. For example, workers in a Rolls Royce factory in Scotland tampered with Chilean military jets so they could not be used. These actions are incredible, and the assistance provided to people thousands of miles away is commendable.

It reminds me that solidarity is not a noun, it is a verb. A thing done, a message sent, a hand held. Solidarity is the understanding that, although we may be facing entirely different circumstances, we are all in this together. In this, we are not isolated from each other, despite linguistic, cultural or geographical barriers, and who's to say that we won’t be next in line to face these struggles.  Although the current situation in the UK is different to that of 1970s Chile, the fight for workers’ rights remains. The ongoing struggle for better pay is a symbol of support to groups across the globe that our fight is one - the people are joined together as workers fighting the worldwide capitalist system, and by reflecting on the solidarity of the past, we can learn very important lessons about freedom and struggle moving forward. These messages of solidarity remind me that no one is an island. It is difficult to fight oppression without others, not only through the moral and practical support that makes us stronger, but in terms of rest and assurance of help from others when times get tough. This fight requires people who are hopeful and believe the world can be a better place, but I truly believe this requires us to provide rest and nourishment to those fighting oppression, in the words of Audre Lorde, remember that ‘joy is an act of resistance’. The struggle against oppression is a love letter to community, to mutual aid, to looking after those who need it. As politics in the UK continues to be fraught and polarising, I have found looking inside the box incredibly inspiring. This global community is possible; it has existed before. Reopening artefacts of solidarity from the past has reminded me of this, and with this new understanding I find myself asking: what's stopping us from uniting again?

El pueblo, unido, jamás será vencido.

Below, a recreation of two pages of a pamphlet from the Popular Music Archive at the University of Liverpool.