A Woman's Union Story

I did not grow up in a pro-union family. My parents and grandparents were old-school political conservatives, and it was expected that I would be one, too. In fact, the first vote I ever cast was for Ronald Reagan (Sorry, fam. I got better). My school experience was similar, with unions referred to, when they were referred to at all, as relics of the Great Depression. They were organizations which had once been useful, but had long since devolved into hotbeds of corruption and violence. It never occurred to me that unions, if they even still existed, would ever have anything to do with me. I came later to the cause of feminism, and while I was active in that arena for decades, and still am, unionizing didn’t strike me as being relevant to women’s rights specifically. I sort of compartmentalized my activism.

I was lucky to have an uncle who had married into the family. He was a union organizer, and he was patient with me when I finally asked him, one night at the dinner table, “Okay, but what do you… DO, exactly?” It seemed such a nebulous title at the time, with no information about what it represented. He wasn’t a doctor, or lawyer or even a salesman. I knew what those jobs entailed. He sat with me, drinking coffee and ignoring whatever adult conversation was going on in the other room. He answered my questions and told me stories about what he had fought for, what he had won and lost over the years, and the people he had met. In that moment, and for many moments after, it was primarily an intellectual exercise. Enjoyable, but ultimately irrelevant.

The state where I lived was firmly “right-to-work”, despite being traditionally progressive, and unions were nearly unheard of. Eventually, I started my first real job. I was a preschool teacher, and full of enthusiasm for my little students. This was and is a profession dominated by women. It didn’t take long to realize just what that meant: Punching a clock, no paid time off of any kind or any other benefits beyond a small but regular paycheck. And we had, of course, the potential of being fired at any time as our primary motivator. We all understood that women’s work, while permitted, was not valued in this country where families spent one-third of their income on child care. Time and again, I was forced out of work because there was no way to live on what I made. The only office job I ever had was an environment where I was so demeaned and bullied that I had a panic attack on my way to work one day and was never able to go back. I began to wonder then if a union rep could have made a difference, for me and so many others.

Then, there was my son. He was born of a short marriage, and it wasn’t long before I knew something about him was different. He didn’t play like other children, was easily overwhelmed and was unable to transition from one activity to another. His laser-like focus wasn’t considered an asset in his first-grade class, and I had bruises all over from his violent outbursts. The school he attended lost him entirely… twice.

By this time, I was back working retail, for something between $7 and $8 an hour. I was living with my mother, and probably could have made that income work IF I had been able to have full-time hours. But between my son’s ever-growing needs and a severe economic recession, my hours were cut again and again.

This was my life, always working, never having enough, relying on my mother’s or husband’s health insurance to see a doctor, contributing, but just barely, to the household income. My son had basic healthcare through his father, until he quit working a traditional job, and for nearly ten years, both of us were completely without benefits. It was a terrifying time. My son was diagnosed with Autism, and I had no way to provide the services he needed. Again, I wondered what a union might have been able to do. Wage protection? Guaranteed vacation? Money I could actually live on? Health care that at least covered our monthly prescriptions? A community of fellow workers and access to resources they knew about? So much time had passed, but it was still nothing but a thought experiment.

I found myself having to move my family from Colorado to Oregon. We downsized and planned for two years in order to be able to live in a place where services for my son would be accessible. Everything he needed was available in our hometown… But only if you could pay. And it was a LOT. I uprooted us all, including a dog and three cats, to our new hometown. We left everything and everyone behind.

We settled in our new house and set up our lives. There was so much care available for the lad that it took my breath away. Then we discovered that I could become his official caregiver and even have a small income. This was gift enough, and I was grateful. After signing on, I received the first communication from what would become MY union, SEIU 503. I got involved, because I can’t really help getting involved, and discovered, to my amazement, that they had already negotiated a pay raise, a hazard pay bonus and other protections for workers, necessary benefits that I would receive in the coming year. I heard stories from other members and organizers about the difference membership had made for all of them. Far from being the greedy and corrupt cash-grab I had been told about, this was a truly democratic organization that gave people like me a voice, a place, a community. It wasn’t just for men, either.

Women ALL need unions in the current economy, as much as we need feminism in this social climate. My union has given my son a way to contribute to our overburdened family. It has given him a way to have someone he trusts help him with his daily life, free of guilt. It has eased my family’s dependence on the kindness of strangers, friends and relatives, and allowed us to actually participate in the economy. We can even give back to our community.

Conversely, unions need women just as much, if not more. Women drive movements of all kinds, including this one. We give time, sweat and devotion to the communities and organizations that lift us up. We are the strongest links in every chain.

I struggle to articulate my answer when people ask, “What have unions done for you?” The Mighty 503 has helped me understand and believe that the work I do as a woman and mother has value. It has given me purpose, it has given me help, it has given me hope. My union means the world to me, as I know it does for the over 1.1 million members nationwide. No one listened to my family’s needs before I joined this organization, and I would have no control over my family’s fate without it.

What has a union done for me? Absolutely everything. I, as a woman, intend to return the favor.