Picketing

The GEO - the Graduate Employees Organization - went on strike yesterday for fairer wages, better healthcare, and equality for international GSIs, among other issues. I cancelled class since I don't believe that picket lines should be crossed. I also volunteered to join the picket line for two hours, a feat for me since I'm usually apathetic. However, I am a GSI, after all, and this may also be my one chance to be part of a picket line.

My MFA program-mate, Derek, was planning to picket as well so we met in the afternoon and got ourselves two pickets. Derek made his own sign but I was a little late so I chose one made by someone else. We posted ourselves at one of the smaller entrances outside the Language building. The four main corners were rather crowded and we could hear the GSIs chanting and cheering. Pickup trucks and cars drove by honking and cheering, and spirits were high. A small group of GSIs played bongo drums, walking from building to building - something I wish I could do. Derek and I shook our picket sticks, waved at folks, shouted the occasional, "Support your GSIs!" but mostly, we talked about graphic novels, writing, agents, and his upcoming trip to Chicago with his girlfriend. I forgot to bring my camera so I could only rely on the little camera-phone to snap a picture of him with both the picket sticks, and one of me holding mine. We both didn't feel very strongly about most issues, and even disagreed with one, but we wanted to show our support, our solidarity, so those two hours weren't wasted.

Perhaps we were the only two who didn't burst into loud cheers every few minutes - we were, after all, just a party of two - but I'm sure the students noticed the signs. One Gothic-looking girl, replete with nose ring and kohl-lined eyes, asked me, "Isn't your sign rather ironic? Don't we have a right to learn too?" The person who made my sign had written "Give us the right to teach, to learn, to live." I wanted to say that I didn't make the sign, but I replied, "All of us do, that's why we're on strike." It was a poor answer; I shoud have told her that we weren't against the students, just the powers of the university, and that going on strike is the only way to force them into negotiations. In any case, she turned away and said, "I want my money back." And I couldn't help but shout back, "Get it from the university." As far as my class is concerned, the students don't really miss a lesson. I'm making it up next week since one of the lessons was scheduled to be cancelled for individual conferences. So now I'm teaching that day and having conferences too.

We didn't stop any students from entering the building since they can't help having professors who don't care a whit about GSIs or who couldn't reschedule tests. In any case, Derek and I had to enter a building ourselves because the MFA prospective students were visiting and waiting to meet other writers at the Hopwood tea. So Derek and I trudged into the Hopwood room with our pickets and everyone greeted us with amusement. The director was just pleased we showed up since the picket lines were keeping many away from school.

And now I'm staring at my picket, which is leaning upside down against my living room wall. I'm glad I went to the lines yesterday. I'm grateful to the university for an opportunity to teach and a means to support myself; but I've never been part of a union before and am grateful too to the people passionate and courageous enough to fight for mine and other instructors' rights.