The bodies have been placed in coffins. The mourners have draped themselves in black.
It was one of the deadliest industrial accidents in history. Over 100 people died in that clothing factory.
It made headline news all across the world. Surely you’ve read about it by now.
When they tried to escape, the factory workers found the doors locked. It was standard practice at the sweatshop. The managers didn’t want the workers to take unauthorized breaks.
So they burned alive.
Louis Waldman happened to be nearby when the fire started. He followed the sound of pandemonium until he reached the blazing factory. He told the New York Times what he saw: “Horrified and helpless, the crowds — I among them — looked up at the burning building, saw girl after girl appear at the reddened windows, pause for a terrified moment, and then leap to the pavement below, to land as mangled, bloody pulp. This went on for what seemed a ghastly eternity. Occasionally a girl who had hesitated too long was licked by pursuing flames and, screaming with clothing and hair ablaze, plunged like a living torch to the street.”
You probably think I’m talking about the garment factory in Bangladesh, where 112 people died last weekend. But I’m not.
I’m talking about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory in Greenwich Village, New York.
The date was March 25, 1911. One hundred forty-six people died that day.
New York City wouldn’t experience another disaster of that magnitude for another ninety years. That date would be September 11, 2001.
It’s hard to believe that such an atrocity happened right here in our own backyard. We’ve become so accustomed to workplace regulations and civil negotiations that we’ve forgotten what factory life was like before the Great Depression.
Back then, labor unions were even rarer than they are today. Most strikes ended at the barrel of a gun. The company would call the governor, and the state militia would send soldiers to force the strikers back to work. It wouldn’t be uncommon for them to kill and imprison dozens who stood in their way.
The history of our great nation is littered with epic labor battles. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of Americans died defending their right to negotiate as one union rather than as helpless individuals.
It doesn’t take a PhD in economics to see that an individual worker doesn’t stand a chance of a fair negotiation with a $237 billion corporation like Wal-Mart, especially when unemployment is high. The corporation has so many applicants to choose from. It has all the power.
It’s that kind of power that allowed the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory to lock the doors and trap its workers.
That sort of thing doesn’t happen in America anymore, but it’s not because corporations had a change of heart. It’s because the Great Depression motivated Congress to stand behind workers who wish to form labor unions. It’s because the federal government stopped sending soldiers and started sending election supervisors. It’s because they investigated factory conditions and created laws to prevent the loss of innocent life.
This is what our government does. It’s what sets us apart from the destitute places of the world, where good, hard-working people have no protection from the warlords and factory bosses.
In the depths of the Great Depression, Americans watched the Congressional investigation of Wall Street with horror, as the wretched abuses of unregulated banks came to light. The great columnist Walter Lippmann summed up the national mood when he wrote, “No set of men, however honorable they may be, and however good their traditions, can be trusted with so much private power.”
Something to remember when the One Percent refuses to pay the taxes they paid in the booming 1990s, or when they blame the demise of the Twinkie on unions who took pay cuts while executive compensation was soaring.
The 99 Percent isn’t asking for a lot. An hourly wage that doesn’t leave their family in poverty would be nice. A guarantee that Social Security and Medicare will still be there when it’s their turn to retire. Maybe a few public schools that aren’t crumbling to the ground.
You know, the things that separate us from the Bangladesh’s of the world.
This op-ed was published in today’s South Florida Sun-Sentinel.