The Post was an early and strong supporter of the movement. As early as 1836, the publisher William Cullen Bryant wrote: “Forbid the right of association for the sale of labor from the privileges of a freeman, and you may as well immediately bind him to a master.” New York hosted the first Labor Day parade, when 10,000 workers marched from City Hall to Union Square. As the movement grew, so did the parades and celebrations. But times have changed. Today, Labor Day is largely an occasion for sales, end-of-summer cookouts, and back-to-school preparations. Why; Because the movement has become as irrelevant to most Americans as the medieval guilds that preceded it — and too often a protector of the privileged rather than a force for the downtrodden. In 1954, more than one in three US workers belonged to a union. Now it’s just over 6% of private sector workers — but, in a huge shift, more than a third of public sector workers. Indeed, half of America’s 14 million union members today work for the government rather than the private sector, and that includes many “quasi-public” jobs in areas such as health care. Yet even a pro-union president like Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who did more than any other to expand the reach of organized labor, was certain that unions had no place in government agencies. As he wrote in 1937: “All civil servants must realize that the process of collective bargaining, as commonly understood, cannot be transplanted into the public service.” And civil servant strikes, he wrote, are “unthinkable and intolerable”. How FDR’s warning was missed is probably a major reason why public support for unions is declining—and why massive Labor Day parades are a distant memory. But a day of thanksgiving and a public salute is still due to all those working men and women who — in the words of one of the holiday’s creators, AFL co-founder Peter McGuire — “have rudely dug and carved all the greatness I see us.”
The WorkingmanFreeman Edwin Miller (1864-1951)
God bless the stout arms of toil, The kind hearts and royal hands, That plow the plain and sow the soil, And sprout the grain of the laughing lands! King in life’s blessed valleys Where perfect delights began, May blessings come with raptures to crown the humble laborer! His kingdoms wave with corn And meadows bright with fairy bloom, While his heart’s duties are born Where sylvan shadows hide the gloom. Sweet Nature fills his heart with health, While rustic warbles guide his soul Where river and fountain sing in secret And the breeze soft with roll of music. He lives where simple wishes throng, And gives satisfaction to his breast, While tender lullabies of song Bring angelic joy to his rest. No praise abides in his name Where in silence he labors apart, And honor never joins with fame The modest glories of his heart. He needs not the kiss of the royal crown to wield the ax or guide the plough, or charm the smiles of heaven to stick in clumps to his brow. But in love’s holy glow, With humble deeds he lives his days, And, drinking from the fountains above, Spreads joy in his streets. Proud monarch of the ragged waistcoat, Thy toil is filled with greater gains Than his that bleeds where the warrior’s banner Kills thousands on the fighting plains! Duty urges thee to build, to grow, The forest fell, the city plan And sow seeds of love below, Where art thou, O laborer!
