What was to be done? On the gas workers labor union picket line

 

It was dark, before sunrise, before 6am.  We drove to the labor union picket line with revolutionary news papers and leaflets supporting the gas worker's strike.  I thought I felt a tension in the car.  We were going to a picket line with mostly white workers who were relatively well paid and not know to favor hard left wing views or opposition to the Democratic Party.  So of the comrades in the car had spent more time at anti-war rallies on Boston Common than time at factory gates in the early morning.  

We were on the street in front of the Boston Gas facility and joined about a hundred labor union members on the sidewalk.  The team captain went up to the union official who was the picket line captain and introduced herself and showed an issue of the paper and a leaflet while explaining that we were there to support the strike and walk the picket line.  We were allowed to join the action and got into the picket line now moving from sidewalk to sidewalk in front of a roadway coming out of the facility.  

I walked with the newspaper on a clipboard under my arm.  Other activists walked next to a picketer and showed the paper and spoke.  I am not a member of the newspaper staff, and I am not an official representative of the group.  If the crowd is small enough I just let the members speak to people as they probably will encounter everyone.  At a larger demonstration I walk around and offer the paper, but try not to talk to much and let the paper speak for itself and the organization's ideas.  

This strike action by the gas workers labor union was the first one against Boston Gas in decades.  Many of the younger workers may never have been on a picket line, or even to a demonstration.  

The labor union leaders see politics as mostly about schmoozing with Democrats and getting deals done with the elite leaders of society.  Most labor unions spend much more helping Democrats get elected than they ever would helping striking workers.  

The picket line moved slowly in the dark with no one saying a word.  One hundred people in twos and threes walking in a line in front of the driveway silently.  

A truck appeared coming out of the building in the distance.  The vehicle driven by a 'replacement worker' scab moved slowly toward the picket line.

No one said a word.

It wasn't my place, I'm not a member of the gas workers union.  I'm not a member of the revolutionary workers newspaper staff.  I'm nobody.  

But... Something had to be done.  Something had to be said. I was the only one moved to shout out a challenge to the scab vehicle approaching the union picket line.  

The air was cold and carried the sound.

"Stop the scabs!" I shouted at the top of my voice.  Others joined in and the entire picket line took up the chant. 

I had felt a reluctance to speak first, would the labor union leaders be opposed to an outsider starting a chant?  Would my friends with the working class newspaper be against my initiating an action?  But... somebody had to say the obvious.  Things were so bad that they needed me to shout out what should have been the first thing on everyone's lips when we saw the truck in the distance.  

The labor union misleaders stepped up to make sure the picket line parted for the scab gas company truck.  The police did not have to do anything as the labor misleaders acted for the police.