Unions in the Time of Revolutions: Government Restructuring in Alberta and Ontario 9781442682924

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UNIONS IN THE TIME OF REVOLUTION: GOVERNMENT RESTRUCTURING IN ALBERTA AND ONTARIO

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Yonatan Reshef Sandra Rastin

Unions in the Time of Revolution Government Restructuring in Alberta and Ontario

U N I V E R S I T Y OF T O R O N T O PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

www.utppublishing.com University of Toronto Press Incorporated 2003 Toronto Buffalo London Printed in Canada ISBN 0-8020-8753-1

Printed on acid-free paper

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Reshef, Yonatan Unions in the time of revolution : government restructuring in Alberta and Ontario / Yonatan Reshef, Sandra Rastin. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-8020-8753-1 1. Employee-management relations in government - Alberta. 2. Employee-management relations in government - Ontario. 3. Government employee unions - Alberta. 4. Government employee unions - Ontario. I. Rastin, Sandra II. Title. HD6527.R48 2003

331'.0413517123

C2003-903011-3

This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Aid to Scholarly Publications Programme, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP).

Contents

Preface vii Abbreviations xvii 1 Alberta and Ontario: Industrial Relations and Their Contexts 2 Revolutions, Canada-style 17 3 Collective Action: Conceptual Framework

31

4 Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 53 5 Teachers: Protecting the Profession, Defending the Union Organization 86 6 Sins of Commission and Sins of Omission: The Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta 133 7 Sleeping with the Devil: Strategic Voting in the 1999 Ontario Election 166 8 Revisiting the Collective-action Model 183 9 Additional Thoughts on Collective Action 209 Epilogue. The Morning After: The Post-revolution Years 228 Notes

233

References 247 Index 263

3

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Preface

The 1990s will likely be remembered as a most challenging decade for unions in Ontario and Alberta. Rarely during the post-Second World War era had these unions' capacities to protect their organizational and member interests been more seriously tried. At the heart of the challenge were two ambitious government campaigns popularly known as the Common Sense Revolution (in Ontario) and the Klein Revolution (in Alberta). Both constituted a blitzkrieg on budget deficits and provincial debts, with the heavy artillery being public-sector restructuring and reduced investment in social services.1 The campaigns were guided by a philosophy stressing leaner and more efficient governments with significantly reduced service-provider roles. Unionization levels in the Canadian public sector are high, and Alberta and Ontario are no exceptions. In 1993, the year the Klein Revolution began, the level of public-sector unionization in Alberta was at 69.5 per cent (Statistics Canada 1999a). In 1995, when the Common Sense Revolution was launched, the Ontario public sector unionization rate was 76.9 per cent (ibid.). Consequently, in both Alberta and Ontario, union members were to bear the brunt of the revolutions' fallout. In theory, the high degree of public-sector unionization should have rendered unions too powerful to be ignored during the governments' efforts to balance their budgets and eliminate their debts. Still, in both provinces unions were excluded from the development of new policies and from most of their implementation, and little consideration was given to the unions' concerns. Understanding the behaviours of the Ontario and Alberta unions vis-a-vis the challenges created by the Common Sense Revolution and the Klein Revolution is the task of this book.

viii Preface

The two revolutions introduced dramatic changes into the unions' environments. Given the pace and magnitude of the changes and their long-term implications for union organization and members, the Alberta and Ontario unions could not afford to trap themselves in a bystander role by adopting a wait-and-see strategy. In both provinces unions declared their intentions to flex their muscles and act collectively to counteract government behaviors that threatened their vested interests in organizational and job security. Union collective action, the focus of this book, is a form of protest unions can employ to express their dissatisfaction with the government of the day. We propose that unions mobilize their human and non-human resources for collective action in order to counteract government behaviours that jeopardize the unions' capacity to adequately represent their members. Collective actions are a manifestation of a political rather than an economic discontent that often, but not always, exceeds the boundaries of a specific workplace or bargaining unit. At the centre of the discontent are not management's right to manage and a limited, collective bargaining agenda but rather a government's sovereignty and definition of the public interest. In Alberta, despite their initial militant rhetoric and promises for province-wide collective actions, unions remained docile during the 1993-7 period, the heyday of the Klein Revolution (Reshef 2001a, 2001b). In contrast, in Ontario, the Common Sense Revolution sparked large demonstrations by labour and community groups in several cities, the first civil-servant job action in Ontario history, and an illegal walkout by some 126,000 teachers in the public-education system.2 The contrast between the behaviours of the Alberta and Ontario unions in the face of seemingly similar predicaments raises several questions, both empirical and theoretical: 1 How do politically excluded unions respond to government policies that endanger the unions' vested interests? 2 What set of circumstances is most likely to facilitate/hinder union political collective action? 3 What are the building blocks of the collective-action process? 4 Can unions influence the prevailing political discourse when they are excluded from the provincial policy-making? 5 What are the costs and benefits of acting, or not acting, collectively to defy hostile government behaviours? 6 What are the costs and benefits to policy-makers of excluding unions from policy-making that threatens the unions' existence?

Preface ix

In addressing these research questions, we have organized the book as follows. Chapter 1 provides a background to the study by exploring the environments of the Alberta and Ontario industrial-relations systems. Because an industrial-relations system is embedded in a particular culture, and to an extent reflects it, the discussion emphasizes the political culture in the two provinces. Because of their relevance to union behaviours, the chapter also addresses the legal and economic environments of the Ontario and Alberta unions as well as their effects on the levels of union density. It is difficult to comprehend the events we describe in this book without some understanding of the contexts in which they occurred. Chapter 2, therefore, sets the context of the study by exploring the relevant features of the Klein and Harris revolutions. While the Alberta section focuses on the zenith of the Klein Revolution, from 1993 to 1997, the Ontario narrative spans the 1995-2001 Harris years and the five preceding years. During the 1990-5 period, Premier Bob Rae and his New Democratic Party (NDP) governed Ontario. An account of the Rae era is required owing to its far-reaching implications for events that unfolded during the Harris administration. Chapter 3 outlines the conceptual model. In its original form, the model accounts for social-movement collective actions. Since unions do not squarely fit the definition of social movement provided by students of the phenomenon, we have modified the initial model based on the available knowledge about modern trade-union behaviours. The model highlights the political dimension of collective action, points out its major components, and outlines their determinants and internal relationships. The model is revisited and modified in chapter 8. While some may consider the development of a model of union political collective action to be tedious, abstract, and perhaps too academic, we believe it is both necessary and timely. The Common Sense and Klein revolutions have attracted significant research attention, which has resulted in several books, book chapters, and articles by academics, practitioners, and journalists. We have covered most if not all of the sources that were available at the time of our writing. These influential sources have not used any of the cases discussed here to advance the theoretical understanding of union political behaviours. Our book addresses this omission. By adopting a model-building approach, we set our study apart from other books that deal with the two revolutions, make an important contribution to a neglected area, and lay the foundation for future research. Chapters 4 through 7 analytically discuss the case studies that consti-

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tute the empirical core of the book. Each of these chapters presents contexts for the relevant case studies, analyses the cases, and concludes with lessons from the comparative analyses. Chapter 4 contrasts the 1996 Ontario Public Service Employees Union (OPSEU) collective action with the more passive behaviour of the Alberta Union of Provincial Employees (AUPE). Chapter 5 focuses on teachers and their unions. It compares the collective action undertaken by the five Ontario teachers' unions to protest Bill 160 with the placid position of the Alberta Teachers' Association during the Klein Revolution. This chapter also discusses the more recent action of the Ontario secondary school teachers to change the sections of Bill 74 that proposed to make teachers' participation in extracurricular activities mandatory. The chapter briefly considers the current dispute between the Ontario teachers and the recently created Ontario College of Teachers. Chapter 6 pitches the eleven Days of Action that the Ontario unions organized between 1995 and 1998 against the two best opportunities to launch collective actions the Alberta unions had, namely, the 1995 laundry workers' strike in Calgary and the Klein government demand for 5 per cent wage rollbacks in the public sector. Chapter 7 explores a unique variant of collective action, the strategic voting campaign several Ontario unions undertook before the 1999 provincial elections in an effort to unseat the Harris government. This chapter provides no comparative discussion since strategic voting had never been widely, formally, and systematically practised in Alberta. It is included as another instance of collective action by the Ontario unions, and works to develop further our conceptual model. Chapter 8 revisits the collective-action model and modifies it based on findings drawn from the preceding case-study analyses. Chapter 9 provides additional insights into the method of collective action and union behaviours in a hostile political environment. An epilogue discusses recent developments in Alberta, Ontario, and British Columbia against the backdrop of our discourse. An account of how we went about our work is in order at this point. In 1992, Reshef commenced a study of union responses to a total quality management (TQM) effort in a major hospital in Edmonton, the capital of Alberta. Originally, management opted for TQM to improve poor labour relations, service quality, and financial performance. However, the election of Ralph Klein in 1993 and the ensuing Klein Revolution spoiled the original plan. Upon election, Premier Klein and his Progressive Conservative government began to fulfil their campaign promises

Preface xi

with an across-the-board reduction in provincial funding to all healthcare facilities. Almost overnight, cost containment became the focus of TQM, marginalizing its other two original foci, the improvement of labour relations and customer service. The events that unfolded have been reported by Reshef and Lam (1999). The study has demonstrated that once management in a publicly funded workplace is hit with severe budget cuts, there is little workplace unions can do to counteract the measures taken to accommodate the cuts. The evidence has indicated that local unions are poorly positioned to pursue a fight that is political in nature using the labour-market institutions of collective bargaining and strikes. Fights geared to redressing government policies must be carried out within the political arena by the much betterequipped provincial unions. The target of this fight must be the policymaker - namely, the government - rather than the agents of policy implementation - that is, managers. Moreover, given their exclusion from policy-making, unions should seriously contemplate the use of collective action if they are to countervail those government behaviours that threaten the unions' representational capacity. Following the 1993 election of Klein, it seemed that provincial union leaders had come to a similar conclusion, as several prominent provincial union leaders used militant rhetoric to describe the political strife that, arguably, was about to engulf the province. For the first time in the post-1945 era, the possibility of widespread union collective action appeared credible. The failure of this possibility to materialize became, in 1996, the focus of a research project that has come to constitute the core of the Alberta case reported in this book. The Alberta study covered the period between 1993, when Klein was elected premier, and 1997, when the Klein government formally ushered in a period of reinvestment that continued until the end of 2001. The major research interest was the origins of labour quiescence, a stark contradiction to union leaders' militant rhetoric that welcomed the newly elected Klein in 1993. Versions of this research were presented at the 36th Annual Meeting of the Canadian Industrial Relations Association in Sherbrooke (1999), and were published in Journal of Labor Research (Reshef 2001a) and in Swimmer (ed. 2001). Obviously, this study focused on unions that did not act collectively to defy adversarial government policies and behaviours. It lacked the much-needed information on unions that directly confronted a hostile government in order to influence its definition of what is the public interest and the choice of means to its achievement. Events that were unfolding in

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Ontario during the latter half of the 1990s merited the reorientation of research attention eastward from Alberta. In 1999 Rastin joined the project, which evolved into a comparative study of union responses to public-sector restructuring in Alberta and Ontario. At that time, the Common Sense Revolution was well under way. It became clear to us that in contrast to their Alberta counterparts, the Ontario unions were much more active in their opposition to Mike Harris's neo-conservative agenda. The principal question we asked ourselves was 'why?' That question underlies the present study. Data were collected from archival material and through face-to-face interviews with union personnel. We conducted 38 interviews with union leaders (i.e., presidents and vice-presidents) and officers (e.g., research, communication, and education union employees) in Ontario and 45 interviews with similar union personnel in Alberta. On average, each interview lasted 45 minutes. We focused on the union leadership because the decisions of whether, how, and when to respond to hostile governments and how to deploy union resources to countervail government policies are executive decisions. According to our data, on the rare occasion when the rank and file had initiated a local action to protest a government's decision, such as the privatization of a public service, subsequent leader behaviours determined whether or not it would evolve into a full-fledged collective action. In Alberta, our interviewees came from public-sector unions. Given that public-sector employees bore the brunt of the Klein Revolution, their unions were at the centre of the neo-conservative storm and their leaders should have led the countervailing struggle that never happened. In Ontario, the situation was different. Private-sector unions were involved in several collective actions either directly or by providing support to protesting public-sector unions. Consequently, we conducted seven interviews with private-sector union leaders whose decisions were critical to the behaviours of their, and probably other, unions during the period under study. The interviews were conducted in a manner that allowed respondents to talk about their experiences in their own terms. We were as unobtrusive as possible, interjecting only when discussion took off on an extreme tangent, and then phrasing questions and other remarks in only the most general, non-directive manner possible. To this end, questions did not supply the terms of the responses, and introductory questions were non-directive in nature, introducing the subject of

Preface xiii

inquiry without leading the respondent. Once these types of questions had been posed and responses started flowing, conversation was easily sustained for the remainder of the interview. The manner in which textual data were analysed was also an important process to understand, for poor analysis of theoretically useful data will make little theoretical contribution (Eisenhardt 1989). First, all interviews were transcribed verbatim. Second, transcripts were read while we simultaneously listened to the interview tape, verifying the accuracy of the transcription and detecting pauses, hesitations, and changes in intonation that would not be evident from reading transcripts in isolation. Third, an initial pass through the transcripts was made to identify the most evident broad categories that could organize the data. Interpretation and analysis of data began as the first interview was taking place, and continued long after the last interview was completed. The literature review and examination of personal experience formed the starting point for the interviews, preparing the interviewer for what was expected. From the first interview there were issues and themes that arose for which one could never prepare. As a result, the types of questions being asked were constantly updated and the order in which they were asked changed. In essence, interpretation and data collection occurred simultaneously, which, in some cases, necessitated the re-interviewing of respondents who had been interviewed early in the process in order to hear their thoughts on topics that arose in later stages. As a preliminary stage in our interpretation of these data, text units were coded according to the preliminary coding scheme, which was developed as interviews were conducted and transcripts read. As underlying conceptual categories that explained the events and feelings that had been recounted during the interviews arose, they were recorded and used as an organizing framework for subsequent analysis. We used several 'mini' case studies to compare union responses to government policies and behaviours in Ontario and Alberta. As noted by Eisenhardt (1989), given the limited number of cases that can usually be studied, it makes sense to choose cases in which the process of interest is clearly observable. The resulting case pairs (excluding the case of strategic voting for which there is no Alberta equivalent) compared situations in which the Ontario unions mobilized collective actions, whereas the Alberta unions did not. In the cases of civil servants and teachers, we compared the behaviours of corresponding

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unions. The case of Days of Action, for which there were no comparable events in Alberta, required a different approach. We compared the Days of Action to the best opportunities for collective actions the Alberta unions had, namely, the government demand for wage rollbacks and the 1995 laundry workers' strike in Calgary. The question that served as the unifying theme for this analysis was, Why did unions fail to use these events as a springboard for province-wide collective action? Overall, this non-random sample has enabled us to shed light on several under-researched aspects of union collective behaviour, test the merits of the collective-action model, and refine it to provide a better fit to the industrial-relations reality that emerged during the Klein and Harris regimes. A great many people in Ontario and Alberta helped us research and write this book. Most we cannot identify by name, since they were promised anonymity when they agreed to be interviewed. Their willingness to share with us valuable information, verbal and written, is a testament to their support of this project. Of course, none of them are responsible in any way for our interpretation of the information they gave. We are grateful to Alan Levy and Ruth Consenheim who generously read and commented on earlier drafts of this manuscript. Three anonymous referees had meticulously read the manuscript and made an admirable effort to make it better. We are grateful to them. During various stages of this project Nancy Cranston, Nicole Lyotier, and Gregory Scott provided us with invaluable research assistance. We benefited greatly from their unbridled motivation, insatiable curiosity, and fathomless resourcefulness. Greg's contribution Was especially valuable and deserves special recognition. We owe a deep gratitude to the manuscript's copy-editor, Mr John St James: a rigorous hunter of split infinitives, scourge of meandering sentences, and sensitive healer of overly creative metaphors. Reading through the copy-edited version was a humbling experience we will not forget easily. Data collection was made possible through a Nova Fellowship and a J.D. Muir Grant, both provided by the University of Alberta School of Business. The writing of this book was done while Reshef enjoyed the privilege of having a teaching-free year owing to a University of Alberta McCalla Professorship. We thank the University of Alberta and its School of Business for their generosity and unwavering commitment to research.

Preface xv

Finally, a debt of gratitude is in order to those whose collective actions constitute our families. Sandra Rastin would like to thank Peter and Paris for being more than she ever imagined. Yonatan Reshef would like to thank Nurit, Amir, and Maya for being who they are. Nothing is worth anything without them.

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Abbreviations

ADLC AEFO ALRA AMAPCEO ATA AUPE BCPSEA BCTF BPS C4LD CAAT CALURA CAW CECBA CLC CSAO CUPE DOA ESSA ETFO FWTAO LFS MDOA

Alberta Distance Learning Centre Association des enseignantes et des enseignants francoontariens Agricultural Labour Relations Act Association of Management, Administrative and Professional Crown Employees of Ontario Alberta Teachers' Association Alberta Union of Provincial Employees British Columbia Public School Employers' Association British Columbia Teachers' Federation Broader Public Sector Citizens for Local Democracy Colleges of Applied Arts and Technology Corporations and Labour Unions Returns Act Canadian Autoworkers Union (National Automobile, Aerospace, Transportation and General Workers Union of Canada) Crown Employees Collective Bargaining Act (Ontario) Canadian Labour Congress Civil Service Association of Ontario (now OPSEU) Canadian Union of Public Employees Days of Action Education Services Settlement Act Elementary Teachers' Federation of Ontario Federation of Women Teachers' Associations of Ontario Labour Force Survey Metro Toronto Days of Action

xviii Abbreviations

MLA MPP NDP NUPGE OECTA OEN OFL OPS OPSEU OSSTF OPSTF OTF PC PLP PSAC PSERA RTW TQM UNA USWA

Member of the Legislative Assembly (Alberta) Member of Provincial Parliament New Democratic Party National Union of Public and General Employees Ontario English Catholic Teachers' Association Ontario Election Network Ontario Federation of Labour Ontario Public Service Ontario Public Service Employees Union Ontario Secondary School Teachers' Federation Ontario Public School Teacher's Federation Ontario Teachers' Federation Progressive Conservatives Professional learning program Public Service Alliance of Canada Public Service Employee Relations Act (Alberta) Right-to-work legislation Total quality management United Nurses of Alberta United Steelworkers of America

UNIONS IN THE TIME OF REVOLUTION

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CHAPTER ONE

Alberta and Ontario: Industrial Relations and Their Contexts

Rich with natural resources, Canada's most populous province, Ontario, is Canada's industrial heartland. It has more than eleven million inhabitants, who have turned this prosperous province into a powerhouse in federal politics. With 103 representatives in the 301-seat federal parliament in Ottawa, Ontario can ensure that national policies reflect its interests. Not surprisingly, the province has been referred to as 'the keystone province/ or a 'region state' (Dyck 1996; Courchene and Telmer 1998). The western province of Alberta is 'the home of fabulous wealth, gorgeous mountain scenery, and smoldering Western alienation' (Dyck 1996: 495). It is a rich province whose citizens enjoyed, in 2000, the highest standard of living in the nation (Beauchesne 2000). In that same year, Ontarians had the second-highest standard of living in Canada. Petroleum dominates the Alberta economy and a large proportion of people is employed in resource industries. In 2000 Alberta's population was just under three million. With only twenty-six representatives in Ottawa, Alberta exerts much weaker leverage than Ontario in national politics. Until the early 1990s, Alberta and Ontario had stable industrial-relations systems. In both provinces industrial-relations institutions evolved gradually. Although both had their share of industrial conflicts, some even highly violent, the participants generally abided by the established rules of the game and successfully used them to protect and advance their interests. Ontario and Alberta trade unions, however, operated within different contexts and enjoyed different status levels in their respective political climates. The following overview, which is summarized in table 1.1, sketches the main contours of these contexts by

4 Unions in the Time of Revolution TABLE 1.1 Alberta and Ontario background Alberta

Ontario

Government • 1935-71: Social Credit history • 1971-present (2003): Progressive Conservatives

• 1943-85: Progressive Conservatives • 1985-90: Liberals • 1990-5: New Democrats • 1995-present (2003): Progressive Conservatives

Economic policies

• Designed to support the business community and 'urban middle class'

• Designed to support business interests while working to balance these with labour's

Industrial relations

• Labour laws considered the most employer friendly in Canada • Civil servants do not have the right to strike

Economy

• Driven by the oil and gas industry with its emphasis on rugged individualism, paternalism, and laissez-faire ideology. In 1999, 5.66% of the non-agricultural labour force were employed in this industry. • Very small manufacturing base relative to Ontario (8.65% of total labour force in 1999)

• Labour laws historically considered 'moderately progressive,' with the emphasis on balancing the interests of business and labour. • The NDP tilted the balance by introducing Bill 40, which was pro-labour. • Harris's PCs tilted the balance back toward business; the Alberta and Ontario labour legislation now more similar than ever; a main exception is that Ontario's 'non-essential' civil servants have the right to strike. • Driven by manufacturing (18.6% of total labour force in 1999), especially the auto industry • Oil and gas industry makes up 0.39% of the labour force (1999).

Trade unions • Union density is the lowest in Canada. • Unions have never been involved in government policymaking. • Unions hold modest public support.

• Union density second lowest in Canada. • Goods-producing industry has twice the union density as Alberta's, and the density in the manufacturing industry is at least 10% higher than in Alberta.

Alberta and Ontario: Industrial Relations and Their Contexts 5 TABLE 1.2

Alberta: A tale of three elections 1993 a

Seats Popular vote a b c

1997 b

C

2001

PC

LIB

ND

PC

LIB

ND

PC

LIB

ND

51 44.5

32 39.7

11.0

63 51.2

18 32.8

2 8.8

74 61.8

7 27.3

2 8.1

Progressive Conservatives Liberals New Democrats; in the rest of Canada called the New Democratic Party

discussing the political cultures, labour legislation, and economies, and their effects on the levels of unionization in Alberta and Ontario. Political Culture Alberta

Alberta's conservatism, a widely acknowledged phenomenon, rests on several traditions (Elton and Goddard 1979; Dyck 1996: 512; Ponak, Reshef, and Taras 1998). The first one is the single-party domination of the legislature over extended periods of time. There is little disagreement among scholars that elections are the single most important aspect of mass political disposition (Elton and Goddard 1979: 349). After the Second World War, only two parties have dominated the Alberta political system. In 1971 the right-wing Progressive Conservative Party succeeded the Social Credit Party, a political party further to the right, which had held power continuously since 1935. The 1993 election brought Ralph Klein, a former mayor of Calgary who had never lost an election, to the pinnacle of provincial power.1 Immediately thereafter, the winds of neo-conservatism began swirling the Klein Revolution throughout the Alberta prairies. The 1997 election cemented a twenty-six-year hold on power by the Progressive Conservative Party. This victory, a landslide, came in the wake of the Klein Revolution and thus should be seen as a vote of confidence in the government and its direction. On 12 March 2001 the Alberta Tories extended their dynasty in an election victory that was staggering even by Alberta standards. As table 1.2 shows, of the 83 seats, the Conservatives took 74, their best performance since 1982. The

6 Unions in the Time of Revolution

Tories' eleven-seat gain was at the expense of the Liberals, who, with seven seats, just managed to cling to their official party status (which requires four seats). Thus Klein, after snatching the sagging Progressive Conservatives from the jaws of oblivion in 1993, led the party to its biggest landslide in almost twenty years. Klein himself best captured the journey from near political demise to almost complete domination of the legislature. He had commenced his 1993 victory speech with, 'Welcome to the miracle on the Prairies' (Cernetig 1993). The 2001 speech began on a more euphoric note with 'Welcome to Ralph's world' (Thomson 2001b). In this world, the paucity of dissenting political players likely means that a pluralist socio-political system will continue to be elusive. Conformity is the second tradition of Alberta's conservatism. Notwithstanding all the rhetoric of individualism and entrepreneurship, 'most Albertans when faced with a crisis are more comfortable with being one of the cattle' (Harrison 1995: 120). Describing the collective reaction of Albertans to the Klein Revolution, Van Herk (2001: 239) concurs: 'In typical Alberta political style, the people of the province were behaving like one big herd of lemmings.' It is thus understandable why deference to authorities - the business, financial, and government elites - has been identified as a third tradition within Alberta's socio-political culture (Harrison 1995; Harrison and Laxer 1995). Generally, Albertans are more interested in results, and are less concerned with how their political and economic leaders will realize them (Dyck 1996: 509). The tendencies towards conformity and deference have been fostered by an impression, long cultivated by the provincial elites, of a general Albertan interest that has to be guarded against external intruders. The consequent 'western alienation' - the fourth tradition refers to a feeling of exclusion from the national decision-making centres that are often depicted as hostile to the province's general interest (Dyck 1996: 510; Harrison 1995:120; Gibbins 1979). In 1987, the Reform Party, the most right-of-centre of the federal political parties, originated in Alberta. It was created 'to bring the West into national decision-making.' In their first gathering, on 29-31 May 1987, some 300 delegates used 'The West Wants In' as their conference motto (Harper 1987). Over the years, the Reform Party did well in western Canada but was not able to penetrate the east. In early 2000, in an effort to improve its performance in the east, the party decided to change its name and adopt a somewhat more moderate platform. On 25 March a new right-

Alberta and Ontario: Industrial Relations and Their Contexts 7

wing Canadian Alliance rose from the ashes of the Reform Party. Still, the results of the November 2000 federal election showed that the changes had not yet produced the much-anticipated performance improvement.2 Caution, distrust, uncertainty, and conformity, which underpin Alberta's conservatism, have bred a population that is impelled to pull together to protect its interests against outside threats. It has been argued that, over the years, the Alberta government has acted to promote the private sector and to 'benefit the province's business community and urban middle class' (Chandler 1983: 62). Yet the need to defend Alberta's interests has stifled internal dissent and questions as to whose interests are really served (Harrison 1995:120). Naturally, Alberta's conservatism is manifested in government policies. For example, following the Klein Revolution, the province had the fourth-lowest minimum wage in Canada (after New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, and Prince Edward Island), the third-lowest per capita spending on health care (after Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick), and the lowest per capita spending on social services; and it took pride in having the lowest taxes in the country, particularly in the absence of a provincial sales tax (Ponak, Reshef, and Taras 1998:1). Ontario Although Ontario political culture has also been characterized as conservative, it is of a different breed than that in Alberta (Dyck 1996: 310). Between 1943 and 1985, six Progressive Conservative governments ruled Ontario. Successive Tory regimes sought to achieve stability and order using a 'softball' style that emphasized 'a balanced approach to economic and social policies' (Rose 2001: 66). The Ontario Tories understood that the pursuit of economic success required 'the continuous balancing and rebalancing of interests' (Noel 1997: 64), which became one of modern Ontario's key operatives norms. Therefore, while they developed economic policies in line with business interests, the Tories pursued a social agenda that satisfied labour interests. They even developed close ties with union leaders, 'Based on the belief that stable labour relations were essential to attracting business investments'(Rose 2001: 66). A plausible explanation for the divergent strains of conservatism practised in each province is the relative viability of the New Demo-

8 Unions in the Time of Revolution

cratic Party (NDP) in Alberta and Ontario. It is perhaps ironic that the precursor to the labour-oriented NDP was born in Alberta. On 1 August 1932 a number of western radicals, socialists, and labour reformers met in Calgary and created the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation (Morton 1982), which in 1961 was reincarnated as the New Democratic Party. The New Democrats have never thrived in Alberta. Their first, futile attempt to gain a foothold on the local political scene occurred in the 1963 provincial elections. The party's first Member of the Legislative Assembly (MLA) was elected in 1971. The 1986 and 1989 elections were the most successful in the New Democrats' history. Following each, the party sent sixteen representatives to the eighty-three-seat legislature. But their political success was short-lived. In 1993 the party was obliterated from the legislature. The New Democrats' electoral performance improved somewhat in recent elections: the party managed to send two MLAs to the legislature following each of the 1997 and 2001 elections. The NDP faired much better in Ontario. Its inaugural electoral appearance was in the 1963 elections, which brought the party seven seats in a 108-seat legislature. Since then, the party has become a bona fide player in Ontario's politics. The 1985 elections were a milestone in the annals of the Ontario NDP. Following these elections, the NDP signed a two-year accord with the Liberal Party, which finished second to the Progressive Conservatives at the polls. Consequently, the Liberals formed the government, and the 'NDP was able to put into place more of its agenda in two short years than ever before' (Walkom 1994: 44). In the 1990 elections the NDP captured 74 seats in a 130-seat legislature and formed the government in Ontario for the first time. Thereafter, the party lost much of its political power, managing seventeen and nine seats in the 1995 and 1999 elections respectively. Yet, until 1995 the Ontario NDP was a force to reckon with. Perhaps merely by its vibrance, the NDP successfully prodded several governments to adopt a comparatively subdued type of conservatism that heeded the interests of both business and labour. No such effect was ever exercised by the New Democrats on any government in Alberta. Beginning in 1995, the Harris Conservative government broke with tradition by straying from the norm of balance, which required that governments would at least try to consult with and accommodate divergent interests, however difficult that may be. As explained later, this regime represents a major shift to the right of the Ontario political spectrum.

Alberta and Ontario: Industrial Relations and Their Contexts 9 Labour Legislation

Alberta Although Alberta labour laws generally follow prevailing Canadian models, they are more employer-friendly than in other provinces (Reshef 2001a). A 1986 national survey of some 10,000 entrepreneurs deemed Alberta the province with the least pro-labour legal system in Canada (Languedoc 1986). In November 1988, following a violent sixmonth strike at the Gainers meat-packing plant in Edmonton, the government overhauled the Labour Relations Act that had governed industrial relations in the private and quasi-public (i.e., municipal, health, and primary and secondary education) sectors. The new Labour Relations Code required a representation vote in a union bid for certification. Thus, even if the union applying for certification could demonstrate significant majority support through signed membership cards, a vote still had to be held. Section 114(a) presented another significant departure from past practice. It empowered the lieutenantgovernor to direct the Alberta Labour Relations Board to revoke the certification of a trade union that caused or participated in an illegal strike. Thus, whereas previously unions involved in illegal strikes could be heavily fined only, such unions now faced the danger of decertification. Several important protections for workers and unions were also introduced. Section 88 provided that, notwithstanding the hiring of replacement workers, striking/locked-out employees were entitled to have their jobs back once the strike/lockout was over. Section 128 extended the life of a collective agreement during collective bargaining, notwithstanding any termination date in the agreement, until a new collective agreement was concluded, the right of the union to represent the employees was terminated, or a strike/lockout commenced. Further, according to section 146(a)(ii), employers were not allowed to interfere with the representation of employees by a trade union. Prior to these changes, the restriction was more limited - employers were not allowed to contribute 'financial or other support' to a trade union. The comprehensive legislation governing industrial relations in the civil service, the Public Service Employee Relations Act (PSERA), came into effect on 22 September 1977. The act was generally patterned upon the Alberta Labour Act as it pertained to certification and unfair labour practices. The primary difference was that the PSERA prohibited

10 Unions in the Time of Revolution

strikes and lockouts and provided for binding arbitration of interest disputes. Until 1994 section 55 of PSERA stipulated three criteria that arbitrators had to consider in rendering a decision: wages and benefits in private, public, and unionized and non-unionized employment; the continuity and stability of private and public employment; and 'any fiscal policies that may be declared from time to time in writing by the Provincial Treasurer.' The last stipulation implied that collective bargaining in the Alberta civil service was constrained by economic parameters set by the government. In 1994 the government relaxed this constraint. Now, an arbitrator had to heed 'the general economic conditions of Alberta' when handing down an award. PSERA upheld the right of management to make staffing decisions based on merit rather than the seniority criterion preferred by most unions. Specifically, section 48(2) forbade negotiation over employee selection, appointment, promotion, transfer, or training. In the broader public sector, Alberta required interest-dispute arbitration for firefighters, police officers, civil servants, hospital employees, and employees in government enterprises, granting only primary and secondary teachers and civic employees the right to strike. This situation was recognized as the most restrictive in Canada's public sector (Gunderson and Hyatt 1996: 253). In 1982 the government extended the ban on strikes and lockouts. In the wake of several strikes by nurses, the government introduced the Health Services Continuation Act. It made any strike or lockout involving nurses illegal and called for an arbitration tribunal to prepare a binding collective agreement. In 1983 the government introduced the Labour Statutes Amendment Act (Bill 44), which repealed the Health Services Continuation Act. Bill 44 prohibited strikes and lockouts by any employee/employer group in approved hospitals, introduced compulsory arbitration to deal with impasses in negotiations between hospitals and their employees, and established criteria for determining wages and benefits under compulsory arbitration. These criteria, stipulated in section 99, replicated the constraints put on arbitrators by the PSERA. In addition, Bill 44 stipulated that if hospital employees commenced a strike, an employer could suspend deduction of union dues or other fees to the bargaining agent for a period of six months. Notwithstanding Bill 44, on 25 January 1988 the United Nurses of Alberta (UNA), representing some 11,400 registered nurses in 104 hospitals, began an illegal strike. This event deserves attention since it stands in stark contrast with the union's behaviour during the Klein

Alberta and Ontario: Industrial Relations and Their Contexts 11

Revolution. The nurses demanded a wage increase of $1.50 an hour over a fifteen-month contract and improvements in vacations and health-care benefits. They also wanted changes covering the health, safety, and professional responsibility of nurses. At least one representative of the employer association, the Alberta Hospital Association, claimed that the union called the strike to pressure the government to rescind the 1983 strike ban (Ferguson 1988). The strike ended on 12 February. During the nineteen-day walkout, the union was fined twice for criminal contempt of court for refusing to stop an illegal strike ($250,000 on 4 February, and $150,000 on 18 February). One local in Calgary and some 100 nurses, who had been randomly picked from across the province, were also fined. In the end, the new agreement gave the nurses an 8 per cent increase over twenty-seven months, with an additional 2.9 per cent for nurses with more than six years' experience. The increase gave nurses an extra $1.16 to $1.36 an hour, with senior nurses receiving an increase of $1.82 an hour. The ban on strikes by health-care employees in approved hospitals was still in effect at the time of writing. It should be noted that during the strike, the University of Alberta Hospital in Edmonton, a 1000-bed facility, stayed open because another union, the Staff Nurses Association of Alberta, represented its nurses. Furthermore, rural nurses were more likely to cross the picket lines owing to strong pressures in close-knit local communities (Adell, Grant, and Ponak2001:156). Ontario In comparison to Alberta, labour legislation in Ontario has been recognized as more progressive and balanced. In an interview (Monahan 1995: 96-7), Buzz Hargrove, national president of the Canadian Autoworkers (CAW), said that 'David Peterson [the Liberal premier of Ontario, 1985-90] talked in 1990 about Ontario as having the most progressive labour legislation in North America. And he was right... We've never had the kind of atmosphere that they had in British Columbia or in Manitoba, where you'd have an NDP government, they'd bring in good legislation, and then you'd reverse it when the Tories or the Social Credit got elected. We had always moved ahead progressively on our issues.' Labour legislation in Ontario was balanced, never blatantly favouring business or labour interests, and thus avoided the legislation swings to which Hargrove alluded. This approach would change with the ascendance to power of Bob Rae and the NDP in September 1990.

12 Unions in the Time of Revolution

Several labour-relations initiatives of the NDP government, and of its Tory successor, politicized the labour-relations framework of Ontario in an unprecedented way (Burkett 1998). In 1992 the Rae government introduced Bill 40 (An Act to Amend Certain Acts Concerning Collective Bargaining and Employment in Ontario), which contained significant pro-labour amendments to Ontario's labour legislation (Jain and Muthuchidambaram 1995). It is unnecessary to describe all of these amendments since they were eliminated less than three years later by the newly elected government of Mike Harris. However, a sample of the bill's key provisions include: 1 Prohibition of the use of strike replacement workers 2 Protection for striking employees, including continuation of benefits during a strike or lockout and return-to-work provisions based on employee seniority 3 Automatic access to first-contract arbitration 4 The right of unions to picket or organize on private property to which the public normally has access (e.g., shopping malls) 5 Authorization for security guards to be represented by a union that represents other employees Under this legislation, Ontario unions enjoyed a progressive legal environment comprising privileges their Alberta counterparts could only fantasize about. For example, as noted in the preceding list, Ontario's labour legislation included (and in 2002 still did), a provision for the settlement of a first collective agreement by arbitration. According to section 43(1) of the Ontario Labour Relations Act, 1995: 'Where the parties are unable to effect a first collective agreement and the Minister has released a notice that it is not considered advisable to appoint a conciliation board or the Minister has released the report of a conciliation board, either party may apply to the [Ontario Labour Relations] Board to direct the settlement of a first collective agreement by arbitration.' The act empowered the minister of labour to make an application for contract settlement to the Ontario Labour Relations Board after the release of a 'No Board' notice. In addition, until 1995 Ontario unions enjoyed 'automatic certification.' Unions could establish their representative character for certification by demonstrating simple evidence of membership as given, for example, by the signing of cards. If the Ontario Labour Relations Board was satisfied that more than 55 per cent of the employees in the proposed bargaining unit had accepted

Alberta and Ontario: Industrial Relations and Their Contexts 13

the union as their bargaining agent, it would certify the union without a secondary, representation vote. After the Tories repealed Bill 40, in October 1995, certification procedures in Alberta and Ontario became similar. According to section 8(2) of the Labour Relations Act, 'If the Board determines that 40 per cent or more of the individuals in the bargaining unit proposed in the application for certification appear to be members of the union at the time the application was filed, the Board shall direct that a representation vote be taken among the individuals in the voting constituency.' Probably the most controversial section of Bill 40 dealt with replacement workers. That section significantly reinforced union organization by placing restrictions on the employer's ability to replace striking workers during the course of a labour dispute. Even bargaining-unit members who may wish to cross the picket lines and work during the strike were prohibited from doing so. In this particular case, 'the government, with clear knowledge of deeply-felt management resistance, forged ahead without adequate study of either the necessity for or the impact of a blanket ban on replacement workers' (Burkett 1998:172). Another seminal piece of pro-labour legislation was the Agricultural Labour Relations Act (ALRA). Until 1994 agricultural workers were excluded from Ontario's labour-relations regime. On 23 June 1994 the Rae government extended trade-union and collective-bargaining rights to agricultural workers under the ALRA. Harris repealed the ALRA and terminated certification of trade unions and collective agreements that had been obtained under the act. Once again, agricultural workers were excluded from the labour-relations regime, this time under section 3(b) of the Ontario Labour Relations Act, 1995. On 20 December 2001, after several years of appeals, the Supreme Court of Canada, in Dunmore v. Ontario, struck down section 3(b), ruling it unconstitutional. In so doing, the court ruled that agricultural workers had the right to organize. At a minimum, the court's decision required a regime that gave agricultural workers the protection necessary to allow them to organize, as well as the protection necessary to make organization meaningful, such as freedom to assemble. However, in a ruling consistent with previous Supreme Court decisions, these workers were not guaranteed the rights to engage in collective bargaining and to strike. The Crown Employees Collective Bargaining Act (CECBA), passed on 30 May 1972, governs industrial relations in the civil service. Originally, the CECBA and PSERA were fairly similar. Like its Alberta

14 Unions in the Time of Revolution

counterpart, the CECBA ruled out negotiations on many workplace issues, excluded middle managers, and denied civil servants the right to strike (Roberts 1994: 147). In 1993, however, the NDP government of Ontario granted the right to strike to those civil servants who were not designated as essential. Interestingly, the Harris government did not rescind this right. Perhaps the new masters of Ontario politics did not expect OPSEU to exercise its newly earned right to strike so soon. Or perhaps they did anticipate a walkout in the civil service and wanted to confront OPSEU directly, free of the burden and cost of compulsory arbitration. Economy Alberta Alberta lacks a significant manufacturing base, the traditional bastion of trade unionism. In 1999 the manufacturing sector employed 8.65 per cent of the total labour force while the service-producing sector employed 72.83 per cent. This sector is the largest employer, heavily dependent on the petroleum industry. To a large extent, the fortunes of the oil and gas industry dictate the well-being of the whole province. This industry, with its culture of rugged individualism, paternalism, and laissez-faire ideology, has played an important role in shaping the province's conservative climate (Harrison and Laxer 1995; Ponak, Reshef, and Taras 1998). In 1999, this industry employed 5.66 per cent of the non-agricultural labour force in Alberta (Statistics Canada, 2000b). Ontario Ontario's gross domestic product is roughly 40 per cent of Canadian GDP (Dyck 1996: 300). The economy in Ontario is more diversified than that in Alberta, even though it is also dominated by the service-producing sector (Courchene and Telmer 1999:11). Originally, Ontario's economy was based on the abundance of agriculture, mining, and forestry. Over the years, employment in the agriculture and other primary resource-producing sectors slipped from 4.8 per cent (1977) to 2.7 per cent (1999) of total employment; employment in the gas and oil industry amounts to 0.39 per cent of the non-agricultural labour force (White 1998: 84; Statistics Canada 2000c, 2000d). Manufacturing in Ontario

Alberta and Ontario: Industrial Relations and Their Contexts 15

constitutes about 55 per cent of Canada's total production (Dyck 1996: 303). Automobiles are by far the main manufactured product (Dyck 1996: 303). This industry provides over 110,000 jobs, making up over 43 per cent of the province's international merchandise exports (Ontario Management Board Secretariat 2000). Still, between 1977 and 1996, employment in manufacturing declined from 24.3 per cent to 18.6 per cent of the provincial workforce (White 1998: 84). As in Alberta, the largest employer is the service-producing sector, which, in 2000, employed 72.7 per cent of the total labor force, up from 68.7 per cent ten years earlier (Statistics Canada 2000c, 1999b). Trade Unions Alberta's political culture and industrial makeup were not hospitable to trade unions. It is thus not surprising that trade unions had never been significantly involved in government policy-making, and commanded only modest public support. Since the early 1980s union density in Alberta had been the lowest in Canada. In 2000 unionization reached its lowest level, 21.2 per cent, since its 1983 peak of 32.3 per cent (Gait 2000; Statistics Canada 2001). In the first half of 2001 unionization in Alberta inched upward to 22.5 per cent (Statistics Canada 2001). Interestingly, Ontario unions, operating within a less conservative environment and more diversified economy, did not fare much better. During the 1980s unionization in Ontario was the third lowest in Canada (after Prince Edward Island and Alberta). Throughout most of the 1990s union density in Ontario was the second lowest in Canada. In 2000 the level of unionization in the province was 27.3 per cent, second lowest after Alberta; it dropped to 26.1 per cent in the first half of 2001 (Statistics Canada 2001). Table 1.3 provides some information on union density in the two provinces. The major difference concerns the goodsproducing industries, where the Ontario union density was more than twice the Alberta level of unionization. In summary, until the early 1990s the political, legal, and economic environments of Alberta and Ontario unions were relatively stable. Even though those of Alberta unions were more conservative and restrictive, they had never seriously jeopardized the unions' vested interests in job security and organizational well-being. As a result, Alberta unions were able to use established industrial-relations institutions to protect and advance member interests. During the 1990s, in both provinces, this stability would be upset by the onslaught of neo-conservatism.

16 Unions in the Time of Revolution TABLE 1.3

Union density in Ontario and Alberta (per cent)3 1992b

1997

2000

Industry

Ontario

Alberta

Ontario

Alberta

Ontario6 Alberta'

Goods producing Manufacturing Service producing Public administrations

34.3 30.9 67.0

22.7 27.5 84.9

33.2 32.7 25.6 61.3

14.5 19.0 24.7 58.6

30.3 29.3 25.2 60.7

14.4 15.1 23.5 59.4

Total

31.6

26.2

27.6

22.1

26.6

21.2

a

0

d

There are two main sources for data on union membership in Canada. Statistics Canada collects both series. The Corporations and Labour Unions Returns Act (CALURA), introduced in 1962 and discontinued in 1995, relied on reports by unions about their membership rather than on reports by individual workers about their union status. It did not record membership data from unions with fewer than 100 members. In 1997, Statistics Canada's redesigned Labour Force Survey (LFS) began collecting data on union membership on a monthly basis. LFS is based on interviews with workers, with no limits on the size of a union. CALURA and LFS data can produce somewhat different results. b Statistics Canada, 1990 and 1992. c Statistics Canada, Labour Force Survey, special tabulation, November 2000. d Alberta Labour, March 1998. e Statistics Canada, 2001. ' Statistics Canada, special tabulation. 9 Provincial, municipal, and federal governments.

CHAPTER TWO

Revolutions, Canada-style

During the early 1990s, governments the world over were trying to balance their budgets and eliminate their debts. Canada was no exception. Between 1988 and 1993 every provincial government experienced a growing budget deficit. This reflected the business cycle, falling tax revenues, and increasing social-welfare expenditures, results of the 1990-1 recession. To make matters worse, federal grants to the provinces for social programs were reduced by $6 billion (or 37 per cent) between the 1995-6 and 1997-8 fiscal years (Swimmer 2001: 3). The 1990s also witnessed mounting accumulated debt levels across all provinces, a result of a decade of government deficits and high interest rates. As Swimmer observed, 'provincial debts climbed steadily between 1988 and 1996, with big jumps between 1992 and 1994, reflecting the large deficits in that period' (ibid.). Table 2.1 presents the absolute and relative size of the budget deficits and debt in Alberta and Ontario in 1993 and 1995, the years that ushered in, respectively, the Klein Revolution and the Common Sense Revolution. The need for fiscal restraint was obvious to Ralph Klein and Mike Harris. They chose to tackle it head-on by decreasing expenditures rather than raising taxes. In the early 1990s many viewed Klein as a trailblazer who paved the way for Harris's neo-conservative transformation (Farnsworth, 1995; Fund 1995). Internationally, however, the intellectual foundations of the Klein Revolution can be traced back to the Thatcher era. Margaret Thatcher, the prime minister of the United Kingdom from 1979 until 1990, was determined to reform British government by reducing the autonomy of the civil service from the political arm of the government, making government operations more economical and efficient, and enhancing the freedom of individual

TABLE 2.1

Indicators of the financial situation of Ontario and Alberta, 1993 and 1995

Indicator

1993

Government deficits or surpluses ($ millions) -3,855 Government deficits or surpluses as a percentage of gross domestic product —4.96 Government debt ($ millions) 7,646 Government debt as a percentage of gross domestic product 9.83 Source'. Swimmer 2001: 4-7. Unweighted average of the 10 provinces.

a

ProvincialI average3

Ontario

Alberta 1995

1993

1995

714 0.84 8,i513 10.03

-12,109 -4.20 63,797 22.11

-8,737 -2.78 86,045 27.40

1993

1995

-3.30

-0.61

33.12

37.82

Revolutions, Canada-style 19

citizens (Aucoin 1995: 1). To facilitate these reforms, the Thatcher government introduced major changes in the organizational design and managerial practices of the public sector. These changes have crystallized into a new managerial paradigm, known among academics as the 'new public management.' The paradigm emphasizes a leaner, more efficient public sector, reflecting a government that focuses on policy formation and regulation and is much less involved in service delivery. In addition, this management model seeks to inject the rationality of the market into what remains of the public sector (Leeb 2002). This gospel underpinned the Klein Revolution, which, in turn, served as a model for the Common Sense Revolution. Interestingly, neither our interviews nor available archival sources indicate that Klein or Harris directly or deliberately took a leaf from Thatcher's book. Klein differed from Thatcher in two closely related respects. First, he did not have her strong ideological drive. For Klein, a leaner government was but a tactical imperative on the road to achieving the 'financial bliss' of balanced budgets and a zero deficit. Second, an important building block of Thatcherism was a profound anti-union sentiment, articulated in Thatcher's campaign slogan 'Who rules Britain?' This sentiment was acted upon in a series of labour laws that were geared to undercutting the unions, and then were followed by a bitter one-year dispute with the National Union of Mineworkers. Klein, by contrast, was never driven to challenge the unions. Admittedly, he did not have to do so since the Alberta unions had never posed a serious political challenge in the post-1945 era. Nonetheless, not being a doctrinaire, Klein was not impelled to inflict long-term damage on the unions simply because of what they stood for. Thatcher's ideological zeal may have been absent in Klein, but that was not the case with Harris. Ontario's premier, being more of an ideologue, tried to undercut unions in several ways. Despite this, our information indicates that, if anything, he used Klein's agenda, not Thatcher's, as a platform for his program of change. Thus, although Klein and Harris did not overtly use Thatcherism as a template for their own ideas and actions, if Thatcherism had not existed and created a favourable ideological atmosphere, one doubts that either politician would have had such resonance with their parties or voters in general. The Klein Revolution began in 1993, with the election of Ralph Klein as the twelfth premier of Alberta, and ran its course by the end of 1997, with the Growth Summit.1 The Common Sense Revolution commenced in 1995, with the election of Mike Harris as the twenty-second premier

20 Unions in the Time of Revolution

of Ontario. Whereas the Harris government accomplished many of the targets it had set for itself before the next election in 1999, in several respects this revolution was still flickering at the time of Harris's resignation in October of 2001. A year later, following the first budget of the new premier, Ernie Eves, the Common Sense Revolution was considered dead (Urquhart 2002). The following discussion addresses the main elements (summarized in table 2.2) of the two campaigns as they pertain to industrial relations and trade unions. The discussion of the Ontario case is not limited to the Harris period. It covers the five-year period before Harris's ascent to power when the New Democratic Party, under Premier Bob Rae, governed Ontario. It is difficult to understand the behaviours of the Ontario unions during the Common Sense Revolution without a discussion of events that occurred during the Rae administration, so that is where we begin. Alberta: Ralph's World Upon election in June 1993, Premier Ralph Klein and his Progressive Conservative government embarked on an ambitious plan to balance the budget within four years without raising taxes, and eliminate the provincial debt by 2010. In the absence of higher taxes, the attack on the budget deficit required a cut in spending that was estimated to be about 20 per cent. In February 1995 the government presented the first balanced budget in ten years and was well on its way to achieving the second target using two main policy tools - budget cuts and publicsector restructuring. Between 1993 and 1996 the budget for education was cut by 12.4 per cent, advanced education and career development by 14.2 per cent, health care by 17.7 per cent, and family and social services by 18.3 per cent (Mansell 1997: 58). To reach the 20 per cent target, the budgets in most other areas were cut by considerably more. Consequently, between 1993 and 1996, Alberta brought provincial spending to an exceptionally low level, 'by a considerable measure, the lowest per capita in Canada' (McMillan 1996:15). In its battle to put the province back on solid financial ground, the government enacted in 1993 the Deficit Elimination Act, which saw Alberta's deficit wiped out in less than three years. In 1995 the government tightened its grip on its fiscal tiller by enacting the Balanced Budget and Debt Retirement Act. This legislation forbade the government to bring down a budget that planned for deficit spending. Section 2 of the act provided that' [expenditures during a fiscal year must not be more than revenue.' The act outlined procedures the budget planning

Revolutions, Canada-style 21

process must follow to prevent unplanned deficits. In addition, it required that any surplus the government realized must be directed at paying down the provincial debt. The act did not, however, sanction any penalty if the government strayed from the above course of action. In early 1999, to guarantee the elimination of Alberta's accumulated debt, the government passed the Fiscal Responsibility Act, which called for Alberta's accumulated debt to be wiped out in twenty-five years, and set five-year milestones to ensure progress towards that goal. To facilitate the deficit-elimination process, in October 1993 the government asked all health-care employees to voluntarily take a 5 per cent pay cut followed by a two-year wage freeze. In November 1993 the government announced that the salary budgets for health, education, advanced education, and public administration were being cut by 5 per cent. Consequently, all public-sector employees were expected to take the 5 per cent wage rollback followed by zero wage increases in each of the two succeeding years. Unions were expected to voluntarily negotiate the -5,0,0 scheme with their respective employers, and most complied. Arbitrators imposed the scheme in the few cases where unions had refused its negotiation. A comprehensive restructuring of the civil service was a major component of the Klein Revolution. This thrust had been driven by a business planning approach, privatization of government services, and human resources management (HRM) innovation. Following the 1993 budget, each government agency developed a three-year business plan that indicated its needs, goals, achievement tactics, and performance measures. The business plans were meant to reflect the government's commitment to 'transparency' and 'accountability.' By defining concrete goals and clearly describing strategies for their achievement, the plans ideally make it possible for the public to evaluate the government's performance. In addition, the business plans were to have facilitated the government's scheme to minimize its role in the marketplace, or in Klein's parlance, to 'get out of the business of being in business' (Martin 2002: 124). Before the Klein Revolution drew to its end, the Alberta government privatized several services, such as liquor retailing, road maintenance, automobile licensing and registries, boiler inspections, and some financial transactions (such as loans, investments, and mortgages). As a result of the restructuring campaign, between 1993 and 1997, the number of government employees dropped by 23.5 per cent, from 27,705 to 21,193, which was a milestone on the government's road to becoming leaner and more efficient (Alberta Personnel Administration Office 1995,1996, and 1997).

TABLE 2.2 Alberta and Ontario: The revolutions Klein Revolution (1993-7)

Common Sense Revolution (1995-)

Goal

• Balance budget in four years without raising taxes. • Eliminate provincial debt by 201 0. • Principal policy tools to meet the goals: budget cuts and restructuring

• Eliminate the provincial deficit within five years. • Reduce government expenditures by 20%. • Reduce personal income tax rates by 30%. • Implement 'workfare' and 'learnfare.' • Repeal the NDP's pro-labour Bill 40. • Principal policy tools to meet the goals: budget cuts, restructuring, and legislation

Budget cuts

• Average cuts of up to 20% depending on the area • In 1993-4, public-sector employees took a 5% wage rollback, with zero wage increases in the following two years.

• By 1 999/2000 budget cuts of up to $4 billion had been made. • In 1996, no wage increase to civil servants for 2 years

Restructuring: civil service

• 6512 (23.5) full-time-equivalent civil service positions were cut between 1993 and 1997.

• Over 14,000 (17.2%) full-timeequivalent public service positions were cut.

Restructuring: education

• 146 school boards were restructured down to 62. • School Amendment Act was introduced in 1 994 to strengthen the role of the education minister and remove local taxation powers. • Number of teachers was reduced by 1500 (5% of 1993 number).

• 1 29 school boards were restructured down to 72. • Bill 160 • By 1996/7 the number of elementary and secondary school teachers had dropped from 1 25,334 to 1 1 5,740, while the number of students increased by 40,000.

TABLE 2.2

(concluded) Klein Revolution (1993-7)

Common Sense Revolution (1995-)

Restructuring: health care

• About 200 hospital boards were replaced by 17 regional health authorities. • Health-care workforce was reduced by 21.2% between 1993 and 1995 (65,51 2 to 51 ,639).

• By 1997 the number of hospital employees was reduced to 158,400, from 176,000 (10%) in 1993.

Differences

• Used roundtables and surveys to solicit opinions from 'ordinary Albertans' on how to shape policies.

• Did not use consultation and debate, so as to move quickly and without hindrance from an opposition. • Used legislation to impede union input into policy-making, as well as to change industrial-relations rules, making it difficult to contest the restructuring legally. • When the Harris PCs were elected, the labour movement was in a weakened and divided state owing to the Social Contract introduced by the preceding NDP government.

24 Unions in the Time of Revolution

It is worth noting that in 1993 the Alberta government was large relative to other provincial governments. The number of civil servants per 1000 population increased significantly between 1974 and 1984, from 24.2 to 28.7 (Mansell 1997: 40). By 1990 (the last year for which comparable data are available), the number was 28.6, the fourth highest among the ten provinces (Ontario's ratio, 13.1, was the lowest). In education, 62 new school boards replaced 146 boards (in 2002 the number of boards increased to 64). More importantly, in 1994 the government enacted the School Amendment Act to strengthen the role of the education minister at the expense of local, especially public, school boards by removing their taxation powers, which now resided with cabinet. The effort to restructure the education system included a reduction of the teaching workforce. By early 1997 there were about 1500 (approximately 5 per cent of the 1993 teaching workforce) fewer teachers than three years earlier (Johnsrude 1997). According to Alberta Teachers' Association (ATA) officials, attrition, not layoffs, were the means used to obtain this reduction. Early retirement incentives were central, as was the non-renewal of temporary and probationary contracts. The latter method applied almost exclusively to teachers in their first or second year of employment with a school board. In health care, a regionalization process was carried out to promote the integration of institutions and services within a regional structure and to refocus decision making (Alberta Health Planning Secretariat 1993). Consequently, seventeen regional health authorities replaced some two hundred hospital boards. Every hospital was incorporated with all, or most, other health-care facilities in its region, and the formerly site-based decision-making process assumed a regional focus. Following regionalization, sometimes, different groups of employees under different collective agreements performed similar work for the same employer. Occasionally, members of similar bargaining units would work side by side, a situation known as 'intermingling.' To resolve the problem, the Alberta Labour Relations Board provided the following rule: if one, or the only, union represented between approximately 20 and 80 per cent of employees in the consolidated unit, the board would conduct a representation vote to determine employees' wishes on representation. A union representing less than 20 per cent of the unionizable workforce would not be included on the ballot for the vote. Thus, where health-care services were merged across existing bargaining-unit boundaries, some unions lost their bargaining rights without a representation vote if they represented less than 20 per cent of a bargaining unit. If one union represented more than 80 per cent of

Revolutions, Canada-style 25

the workers in the consolidated unit, it became the bargaining agent for the consolidated unit without a vote. In addition, to cope with budget cuts, between 1993 and 1995, the Alberta health-care workforce was trimmed by 21.2 per cent, from 65,512 to 51,639 employees (Alberta Health 1994 and 1995). During this period, the total province-wide loss of employed registered nurses was estimated at almost 8275, or 43 per cent of all employed nurses in Alberta (Taft 1997: 29).2 As a result, the number of registered nurses employed in nursing per 10,000 Albertans dropped from 80.3 in 1994 to 74.0 in 1996 (Canadian Institute for Health Information 2002). The above developments were important landmarks in the Alberta government campaign to promote the 'Alberta Advantage/ which implied that deregulation, a low-tax environment, fiscal conservatism, and low overall labour costs were an effective industrial strategy. This agenda and associated implementation tools challenged the Alberta unions' capabilities to protect their vested interests against the onslaught and resolve of the Klein government. Ontario: Harris's Common Sense Paradoxically, the plight of Ontario unions had begun in 1990 when the left-of-centre New Democratic Party took power. Before 1990 the relationship between the NDP and organized labour had not been tested in Ontario. Once the NDP was in power, however, the necessity to govern on behalf of the entire Ontario population, and do that during a severe economic downturn, would lead to strain between the government and some unions. The early period of the NDP regime bode well for the unions. In 1992, less than two years after leading his party to its historic victory, Premier Bob Rae tabled Bill 40, which introduced several prolabour amendments to the Labour Relations Act. In Rae's words, Bill 40 'made it easier for employees to unionize, and harder for an employer to break a union. It brought cases to the labour board faster, allowed for the reinstatement of workers found to be unfairly harassed by an employer, and prevented the use of replacement workers during the course of a legal strike' (Rae 1997: 266). Bill 40 came into force in January 1993. In hindsight, it was an anomaly, marking 'one of the few times the government didn't cave in to business' (Walkom 1994: 130). Later that year, the government introduced significant amendments to the Crown Employees Collective Bargaining Act (CECBA), which governed industrial relations in the civil service. These were the first significant amendments to the act since its passage

26 Unions in the Time of Revolution

in 1972. Among other things, civil servants were granted the legal right to strike, but the parties were required to negotiate essential service agreements in the event of a work stoppage. Further, collective bargaining rights were extended to some 8500 formerly excluded professional and clerical employees. This resulted in the creation of a new bargaining unit in the Ontario public service that opted for its own bargaining agent, the Association of Management, Administrative and Professional Crown Employees of Ontario (AMAPCEO). These amendments came into force in February of 1994 (Rapaport 1999:28,70). The Rae government did not stop there. As we explained before, in 1994 it extended trade-union and collective bargaining rights to agricultural workers under the ALRA. Ironically, on 14 June 1993, the day the government tabled the amendments to the CECBA, it also introduced Bill 48, the Social Contract Act. During the 1990 election campaign, the incumbent Liberal government had been projecting a balanced budget for the 1990-1 fiscal year. However, by the time the NDP took office, on 6 September 1990, Ontario had already entered its worst prolonged economic downturn since the Depression (Cameron and White 2000:13). In their 10 September briefing for the premier, Treasury officials had estimated the deficit for the 1990-1 year at $700 million; three weeks later they revised their estimate to $2.5 billion; and by the end of that year, the estimate ballooned to over $3 billion (Monahan 1995: 45). In 1993, facing declining revenues, soaring social-welfare costs, and a mounting provincial debt, Rae entered what he called 'the Social Contract Tunnel of Doom' (1997: 243). And while he knew how to enter that tunnel, figuring out how to exit it was quite a different story. The gist of the Social Contract effort was getting public-sector management and unions to address the need for restructuring and savings, and to achieve these savings without dramatic reductions in service or layoffs of public-sector employees (Rae 1997: 238). Union leaders were asked to participate in the design and implementation of the plan. Failing to convince the unions to accept a deal voluntarily, the government forced the issue through legislation. On 7 July 1993 the Social Contract Act was passed. Fryer has summarized the important elements of the act as follows: The legislation set timelines for achieving a $2 billion annual savings in the public sector payroll [through collective bargaining] for the three years ending March 31,1996. A deadline of August 1,1993 was set [for the negotiating parties], after which the so-called 'fail-safe' provisions of the

Revolutions, Canada-style 27 Act would impose settlements on the following eight sectors: The Ontario Public Service Sector; the Health Sector; The Community Service Sector; The Schools Sector; The Colleges Sector; The Agencies, Boards, and Commissions Sector; The Municipalities Sector ... [I]f the three-year wage freeze was still insufficient to meet the Minister's call for reductions in the sector concerned, then employers could require employees to take up to 12 days' unpaid leave in each of three years. (1995: 358)

The act provided job-security guarantees and exempted all publicsector workers making less than $30,000 per year from wage concessions. Some 900,000 public-sector employees suffered a 4 per cent reduction in wages, which was partially offset by their taking about six days off work without pay. Of particular note about this situation is that it represented a shift for the government from a search for consensus through consultation to a strategy of coercion (Rose 2001: 73). Politically, the Social Contract was a disaster and its repercussions were still reverberating throughout the Ontario labour movement in the late 1990s. The Ontario public-sector unions would not forget that it was the party of labour that led the province's first successful attack on public-sector collective bargaining (Hebdon and Warrian 1999; Ibbitson 1997: 209). The Social Contract created a rift within the Ontario labour movement, with public-sector unions and the CAW on one side and the NDP and its supportive private-sector unions on the other. In the early 2000s, the future of the NDP-labour relationship was debated by some union leaders who felt that they could no longer rely upon their erstwhile political allies for influence over government policy-making (Hunter 2000). Squeezed from the left by disenchanted unions but also from the right by a business community seething over pro-labour legislation and ballooning deficit, the NDP looked mainly for respectability in the next, 1995 election. In June 1995, led by Mike Harris, the Progressive Conservative Party returned to power after a ten-year hiatus. In May 1994, Harris had made an unusual move when he unveiled his Common Sense Revolution (CSR) in a document so titled. Patterned after the Klein Revolution, the CSR agenda advocated the elimination of the deficit over five years along with 13,000 government jobs; a cut of 20 per cent in all government expenditures except health, law enforcement, and classroom funding; a reduction in the personal income tax rate of 30 per cent; a reduction in welfare benefits to 10 per cent above the national average, with mandatory 'workfare' and 'learnfare' for all except lone parents with young children; and the repealing of Bill 40 (Ontario PC Party 1994;

28 Unions in the Time of Revolution

Dyck 1996: 361). It should be stressed that a reduction in the personal income tax rate and changes to existing labour legislation were major deviations from the Klein template. (The Klein government did lower taxes but only after the Klein Revolution had wound to its end in 1997.) In 1999-2000 the Harris government achieved its balanced-budget target. As promised, the road to this destination was paved with budget cuts to the tune of $4 billion, reduced welfare benefits, the elimination of employment equity and its quotas,3 and a significant reduction to the public-sector workforce. For example, the government cut over 14,000 out of 81,251 full-time-equivalent public service positions (Canadian Business 1995:15; Courchene and Telmer 1998:175-6). Contrary to prior promises, cuts were made to the education and health-care budgets. Workforce adjustments in other branches of the public sector promptly followed. In education, in 1992-3 there were 125,334 teachers in Ontario's elementary and secondary schools.4 The comparable figure for 1996-7 was 115,740 (Statistics Canada 2000e; Dare 1997:20-6). At the same time, the number of students grew over the same period by close to 40,000 (Ontario Ministry of Education 1996-7). According to an Ontario Teachers' Federation official, the workforce reductions between 1993 and 1997 were the result of the Rae government's social-contract agreement with the unions, which required a 4.25 per cent reduction in the number of teachers over a four-year period. When the Conservatives were elected, they left that understanding unchanged and made some further funding reductions. Most, if not all, of the reductions were achieved by attrition rather than layoffs. In health care, in 1993, Ontario hospitals employed 176,000 employees, whereas in 1997 the figure dropped to 158,400 (Statistics Canada 1998). The number of registered nurses employed in nursing decreased from 81,301 in 1994 to 78,197 in 1999 (Canadian Institute for Health Information 2002). Consequently, the number of registered nurses employed in nursing per 10,000 Ontarians declined from 72 in 1995 to 67.5 in 1999 (ibid.). According to an official with the Ontario Nurses' Association, these reductions were achieved using a mixture of early retirement incentives and involuntary layoffs. From an industrial-relations perspective, the Common Sense Revolution differed from the Klein Revolution in two main respects. First, the Harris government agenda represented a major ideological shift to the right. Being a radical break with the past, it had to be implemented quickly in order to prevent any opposition group from mounting an effective counter-offensive. Thus, consultation and debate were eschewed. The goal, according to one of Harris's advisers, was 'implemen-

Revolutions, Canada-style 29

tation not debate' (Cameron and White 2000: 109). Klein, in contrast, made it clear that he was open to suggestions from 'ordinary Albertans' regarding the content of his agenda and its implementation (see chapter 4). His government actively sought the public's input using provincewide roundtables and mail and phone surveys. Given the heavy unionization rate of the Ontario public sector, union opposition to the budget cuts and associated public-sector restructuring was a real prospect. How did the government heed the union concerns? Rose's conclusion on the implications of the Common Sense Revolution to unions and labour relations is worth repeating at length: The Harris Government represents a departure from the past in three important respects. First, consultation with organized labour and the search for consensus have been abandoned. Second, accommodating organized labour is no longer deemed essential to attracting business investment. There has been a major shift in emphasis - labour relations is no longer considered a [sine qua non] for attracting investment. Third, pragmatism has given way to a doctrinaire approach to labour reform and economic adjustment. It should be noted that the Harris Government has not limited itself to reducing public expenditures and restructuring the broader public sector. A number of initiatives have rescinded union rights that have been in place for decades (e.g., card-based certification and successor rights). In the process, the province's rich tradition of promoting harmony and cooperation has been replaced by confrontation with organized labour. (1998: 48)

Harris probably anticipated that those unions that opposed 'their own' party's Social Contract would likely doubly resist his revolution. Therefore, perceiving unions as a potential barrier to smooth implementation of his agenda, and likely being ideologically opposed to them, he decided to directly confront and undercut them. The means to achieving this objective were emasculation through exclusion from policymaking and hostile legislation - the other main difference between the Klein and the Common Sense revolutions. Second, then, the Harris government used extensive legislation to alter long-established industrial-relations rules of the game, thereby undermining union capacities to derail the restructuring campaign by working within the system using conventional industrial-relations institutions (Dare 1997). The following briefly reviews one important law; more will follow later when we discuss the cases of education and the civil service.

30 Unions in the Time of Revolution

In October 1995 the government passed Bill 7, the Labour Relations Employment Statutes Law Amendment Act, which restored the status quo ante by repealing the NDP labour-law amendments (Bill 40). Among other things, Bill 7 removed the prohibition of the use of strike replacement workers; protection for striking employees, including continuation of benefits during a strike or a lockout and return-to-work provisions based on employee seniority; automatic access to first contract arbitration; and the right of unions to picket or organize on private property to which the public normally had access (e.g., shopping malls). While Bill 7 targeted all unions in Ontario, it had special implications for civil servants and their union, the Ontario Public Service Employees Union (OPSEU). The bill removed from the CECBA civil servants' successor rights, which maintain the bargaining rights of unionized employees whose work has been transferred to a new employer. They had been granted to Ontario civil servants in 1975 under the Crown Transfer Act (Rapaport 1999:46). Their elimination was to pave the road for efficient privatization of government services. In addition, to ensure the smooth reorganization of government offices and agencies, Bill 7 removed civil servants' arbitration rights in job classification disputes. In contrast to Harris, as we demonstrate later, Klein was much less concerned by the possibility of having his agenda upset by unions. Like Harris, he never seriously involved unions in policy-making. But in Alberta this was merely a continuation of the previous union-government relationship. Unlike Harris, Klein never tried to render unions ineffective through debilitating legislation. On one occasion, he even involved them in the making of the Klein Revolution through collective bargaining. To survive the revolutions and remain a viable force in society, the Ontario and Alberta unions had to cater to their members' needs for protection and defend their own organizations by influencing policymaking and implementation. Being excluded from the political arena, the unions had to adopt alternative means of influence and apply them from outside the political system. In both provinces, union leaders understood the risks involved in trapping themselves in a bystander role by adopting a wait-and-see strategy, and considered collective action a viable option for defying their single-minded governments. In Alberta, despite their initial militant rhetoric, unions never applied this option; in contrast, the Harris government assault on the budget deficit and provincial debt prompted Ontario unions to mobilize several collective actions.

CHAPTER THREE

Collective Action: Conceptual Framework

A strike is probably the best-known form of union collective action. By and large, the strike is a weapon unions use to express their dissatisfaction with employers and protect, or improve, working conditions. In the public sector, a strike can become a political matter if it disrupts a heavily used public service for which there is no alternative. Yet even then, the primary target of the strike is the employer, and its focus is wages and working conditions. In this book, we study a particular variant of collective action, whereby unions apply their organizational might to defy a government as a sovereign entity entrusted with the duty of making policies and laws. This instance of collective action can include strikes wherein the aim of the unions is to challenge the regime, but as we demonstrate in this study, it can include other activities as well. Political protest is the prime purpose of the collective actions we explore here. These actions are likely to occur outside the boundaries of a particular workplace or bargaining unit, enabling participants to challenge the government agenda and protect public goods that may be associated with their work. This is why they are not viewed 'so much as real tests of economic strength as symbolic displays of political energy and resoluteness. And the people whom these displays are intended to impress are ... the political authorities of the land' (Shorter and Tilly 1974: 343). We do not mean to imply that unions cannot use political protests to improve working conditions, or that a political protest must occur outside the structure of a legal strike. Collective-action targets, such as austerity policies or a new labour law, may significantly bear upon the working conditions of union members. Legal strikes can be the vehicle

32 Unions in the Time of Revolution

of choice to protest a hostile policy collectively when, for example, the government sets the collective-bargaining parameters even though it is not the direct employer. The emphasis here is on collective actions that unions mobilize to challenge the prevailing political discourse and protest government policies and implementation tools. We use the terms collective action, political protest, and collective protest interchangeably. Collective action is the result of an extensive, complex process of mobilization. Such mobilization indicates an increase in an organization's resources and its control over them (Tilly 1978: 54). A mere increase in resources does not mean that mobilization has occurred: 'The change in the capacity to control and to use assets is what is significant' (Etzioni 1968: 389). One aspect of labour mobilization involves the control of non-human resources by union leaders. Another concerns the human resources - namely, union members. Regarding the latter, mobilization embodies union leaders' capacity to gain the members' commitment to collective action and control their behaviours before and during the action. A political approach to collective action is notably absent from industrial-relations research. In North America, research on union behaviours has focused on how unions use established industrial-relations institutions, namely, grievance procedures, strikes, third-party intervention, and collective bargaining, to advance their organizational and member interests. These institutions are a part of a broader arrangement, referred to as the 'labour accord,' that solidified in the decade following the end of the Second World War (Edwards and Podgursky 1986). Consisting of institutional, economic, legal, and political relationships, the accord constitutes the 'rules of the game' in industrial relations. Labour-management discord and accommodation are played out within the confines of these rules, and the role of the state in this model is limited. What union and business leaders want from the state is freedom to work out satisfactory arrangements. Theoretically, as long as the parties abide by the accord, the economic and political spheres should remain separate (Murray and Reshef 1988). That union collective action to protest hostile government policies has received only meagre research attention does not mean that unions are not involved in politics, or that the relevant research field is completely barren. Unions' involvement in politics is important to successful representation of member interests, a fact that has been noted by several industrial-relations specialists, both classical and recent (Webb 1897; Kochan 2000). For one thing, government policies influence the

Collective Action: Conceptual Framework 33

practices of management in both the public and private sectors (Godard 2002). Unions would like, therefore, to gain a voice in policymaking to protect their members. In addition, union leaders are not oblivious to the limit of collective bargaining. 'We can solve a good many things around a collective bargaining table/ explained Bob White, former president of the CAW, 'but we can't do anything there about a rise in price of prescription drugs, or the lack of support for day care, or the damage that free trade will bring' (White 1987: 375). This is why, although they are primarily collective-bargaining organizations, North American trade unions have always paid attention to politics. In the public sector, unions' involvement in politics is probably inevitable given their location within public organizations and their proximity to policy-makers (Johnston 1994). Whether they want it or not, they are involved in the contest over the shape of the public agenda. Consequently, 'public sector unions can be and often are very large thorns in the side of government' (Leeb 2002:15). Public-sector unions employ lobbying, electoral politics, and publicity campaigns as part of their efforts to protect and improve working and living conditions as well as the administrative framework within which they operate (Woods 1968: 155-6; Anderson and Delaney 1990; Kearney 2001). For the most part, however, these unions prefer bargaining to politicking (Masters and Delaney 1985; Anderson and Delaney 1990). They will follow the political route when they have no alternatives available. In other words, public-sector unions' political activities are complementary to their bargaining function, and are used to strengthen their representational functions (Chandler and Gely 1996). Unions will resort to political protest when the more orthodox means of action have proved futile. Seen this way, collective action to defy hostile government policies is probably the ultimate political activity, an act of last resort by unions that desperately seek, and are effectively denied, a voice in policy-making. Perhaps this is why it has seldom been used and remains under-researched. A body of research, which draws on European experiences, has introduced a political dimension to the study of union behaviours by emphasizing the implications that the type of governing party has for unions and industrial relations (Pizzorno 1978; Reshef 1986). The thrust of the research is that leftist governments and national unions are willing to trade certain assets in order to perpetuate a labour government. The unions are expected to mediate between grassroots interests and the government's need for national support for its socio-

34 Unions in the Time of Revolution

economic policies. The government, in turn, is expected to consult with labour leaders during policy-making and heed their agendas. In practice, what the government usually gets through these relations is a promise from the top labour leaders to abide by its socio-economic policy. The union leaders achieve both personal benefits - in terms of higher political status, honour, and power - and collective benefits, such as real wages, employment opportunities, and economic growth schemes that they deliver to their stakeholders. Neither the North American nor the European research explains the effects on union behaviours of a conservative government whose policies jeopardize the viability of trade unions. In general, in countries such as Canada where unions have not been heavily involved in policy-making, as long as conservative governments respect the aforementioned labour accord and do not undermine unions' vested interests, the unions should not break with institutionalized behaviours that have served them well. But what happens when a government promulgates policies that threaten the unions' vested interests in job and organizational security, and at the same time shuts the unions out of the political decision-making system? How unions cope with such a challenge is the core of this study. The responses to hostile policies of politically excluded unions range from a passive, wait-and-see attitude to all-out, general protests. The determinants of these responses, however, are not well researched and understood. Given the paucity of industrial-relations research on union behaviours during such trying circumstances, one has to look elsewhere for the theoretical contours of the phenomenon. For that, we turn to socialmovement theory. Social-movement Collective Action Several social-psychological theories have been used to explain an individual's decision to participate in collective actions - rational choice, social identity, attribution, and frustration-aggression. In industrial relations, these theories have been used to explain individual members' participation in unions (Klandermans 1986; Kuruvilla et al. 1990; Frege 1996). The theories suffer from two shortcomings vis-a-vis the current research focus. First, they overlook the political dimension of union collective action. We consider such actions battles between a government and unions battles over ideas and definitions of what the public interest is and how

Collective Action: Conceptual Framework 35

it should be attained. Unions, in other words, organize collective actions in response to unaccepted government behaviours and policies. Consequently, the protesting unions challenge a government's sovereignty or capacity to govern. In addition, collective actions are embedded in interand intra-union power relations. Internally, to carry them out, union leaders must convince the membership to pull together in a particular direction. Contrary to conventional strikes, however, the champions of collective action likely deal with many union members who have endorsed the socio-economic vision of the government the collective action seeks to undercut, or even unseat. Often, the action choice of particular union leaders is related externally to the action preferences of other union leaders, and frequently depends on their support. Some unions may be too small to take on a government on their own. Even bigger unions may need their counterparts' support to pressure a government effectively and to impress upon the public consciousness the legitimacy of their demands, thereby hopefully gaining public approval and becoming independent of a special-interest-group status. A second shortcoming of social-psychological theories is their focus on individual attitudes, motives, and behaviours. Consequently, 'all that is unique about industrial relations - the institutions and their relations with each other and with individuals - is ignored because these aspects all exist above the individual level' (Cappelli 1985: 104). In other words, labour collective action depends not only on a kind of cost-benefit calculus engaged in by prospective participants but also on important industrial-relations, cultural, and structural factors that are internal and external to a particular union organization. These factors must be heeded if we are to understand better the process of union collective action. Outside of industrial-relations research, several students of collective action have gone beyond an individual's decision to participate, emphasizing organizational and political contingencies (Tarrow 1986). At the centre of this research are social movements, the agents of collective action. One student of social movements who, like us, treats collective action as a political process that is used to challenge governments is McAdam (1982). His model serves as the initial conceptual framework for this study. There is not a widely accepted definition of a social movement (Tarrow 1986: 156). Tilly, one of the main proponents of the political-process model, defines a social movement as 'a sustained challenge to state authorities in the name of a population that has little formal

36 Unions in the Time of Revolution

power with respect to the state' (1988: 1). According to McAdam, a social movement embodies 'rational attempts by excluded groups to mobilize sufficient political leverage to advance collective interests through noninstitutionalized means' (1982: 37). Both definitions imply a potential for disruptive behaviours stemming from actions that may not be sanctioned by the state. Others have been more explicit on this point, defining social movements as 'collective challenges to existing arrangements of power and distribution by people with common purposes and solidarity, in sustained interaction with elites, opponents, and authorities' (Meyer and Tarrow 1998: 4). The 'sustained interaction' is expected to be contentious, disruptive, and frequently violent. Modern unions do not squarely fit the main characteristics of social movements. On the one hand, many union leaders deeply care about social-justice issues (White 1987: 86, 372). Research findings suggest that, in Canada, most federal and provincial unions have policies on workplace equality for women and visible minorities in areas such as pay and employment equity, affirmative action, sexual harassment, and violence, and that a growing number even pursue equity objectives through lobbying government (Hunt 1997). Several even preach and practise 'social unionism,' which is shorthand for unions that advocate a broad social agenda, try to address everything that affects the members in their communities, and attempt to overcome sectional divisions by harmonizing the interests of members and non-members (White 1987: 86; Roberts 1994: 182). On the other hand, unions as a matter of course advance fairly limited economic agendas using institutionalized means of action. Moreover, by and large, unions' existences have long ceased to be marked by a sustained strife with the powers that be. Still, social movement is not the only way of mounting collective claims, or the sole agent of collective action. As shown below, unions are also capable of orchestrating collective actions to protect collective interests against government threats. We use the McAdam model because it treats collective action as a political process that puts the state at the centre of political contention, outlines the collective action's main elements, and proposes some of their interrelationships. As such, the model provides a useful initial conceptual framework for the current analysis, with a caveat - certain modifications are introduced to heed current industrial-relations circumstances and union behaviours. The McAdam model has three main parts: structure of political opportunities, indigenous organizational strength, and cognitive liberation.

Collective Action: Conceptual Framework 37 Structure of Political Opportunities

A key concept in the political-process model is that to effect change, social movements require more than a capacity for the mobilization of resources - they require an opportunity to act. Normally, excluded groups face great difficulties in their efforts to advance their interests. After all, a major reason why they are excluded from political decisionmaking processes is because they are weak relative to the political establishment. Still, these groups do have opportunities to engage in collective action. These opportunities manifest themselves when the existing power structures become unstable owing to dramatic events and processes. As a result, 'over time, any given challenging group can expect to confront a political system that varies a great deal in its vulnerability to organized protest activity. In one era, the political forces aligned against the challenger may make collective action a near impossibility. In another, shifting political alignments may create a unique opportunity for successful political action by, or on behalf of, the same group' (Marx and McAdam 1994: 84). It follows that 'protest is a sign that the opportunity structure is flexible and vulnerable to the political assaults of excluded groups. As such, protest signifies changes not only among previously quiescent or conventionally oriented groups but also in the political system itself (Eisinger 1973:28). According to McAdam, the relationship between destabilizing events, such as wars or industrialization, and protest is not short-term. Instead, protest comes in the wake of a long-run transformation of the structures of power: social movements 'emerge over a long period of time in response to broad social, economic, and political processes that afford insurgents a certain structural potential for collective action' (1982: 60). The above scenario is critical to understanding the context for socialmovement protest behaviour. Yet it does not correspond to the industrial-relations reality. Unions do not have to wait for political instability before they pursue collective interests on behalf of their constituents. They are fortunate enough to have at their disposal a host of statesanctioned institutions, such as collective bargaining, grievance procedures, and strikes, that they can apply to perform their representational duties. After years of successfully acting within the system, using these institutions to promote their members' interests, unions are not lying in wait for political instability to advance a radical agenda. Unions, in other words, are not smouldering volcanoes waiting to erupt under the right circumstances. We will show that when unions do engage in col-

38 Unions in the Time of Revolution

lective action it is to protest government policies, and policy-implementation tools, that pose a fundamental risk to the unions' servicedelivery capacities, or threaten hard-won bargaining and employment rights. Governments, thus, are the starting point of union collective action. During the 1990s, measures to reduce labour costs were part and parcel of government restructuring efforts. With respect to unionized employees, Swimmer (2001) concludes that governments can implement these measures either by cooperation with labour, adversarial bargaining, or legislation. These options are not mutually exclusive. A government can be cooperative, working together with unions to define problems, design and implement solutions, and compensate workers for the effects of the restructuring. This approach is slow and comes with no guarantee of union support. A government can use adversarial, or hard, collective bargaining to extract concessions from the unions. To enforce its demands, the government can threaten that it will contract out programs, privatize services, or lay off workers if the union refuses to give in to the government's demands. The major benefit of this approach is that it preserves the collective-bargaining process. Later, the process can be used to recoup some of the rights and benefits the union has lost. This approach can take a long time to produce needed results. In addition, it can produce some unintended short-term outcomes such as political protests. In the long term, the union-management relationship may deteriorate, rendering future bargaining even more antagonistic. Finally, a government can change compensation and working conditions unilaterally through legislation. As the Webbs observed over a century ago, legislation is fast, dependable, and 'uniformly and impartially applied' (1897: 804). Again, a possible immediate effect of hostile legislation is union collective action. We will show that, directly or indirectly, hard bargaining and legislation were responsible for the collective actions reported here. Although our theorization begins with government actions, it is helpful to have some understanding of their determinants. This provides a context for the government behaviours, and helps distinguish between neo-conservative regimes that at first glance may look alike in their disposition toward labour and its concerns. According to Swimmer (2001), the choice of policy implementation tools depends on, first, the government ideology. A pro-labour government is more likely to pursue the co-operative approach. In Ontario, the pro-labour Rae gov-

Collective Action: Conceptual Framework 39

ernment assumed this approach during the early stages of its deficitcutting efforts. When the unions did not embrace its efforts, the government resorted to legislation; hence the 1993 Social Contract Act. A conservative government is more likely to use the legal method, which is quicker to implement and produce expected results. The Harris government's massive use of legislation corroborates this assumption. Conversely, the Klein government does not support this argument, for it pursued financial stability using only hard bargaining. The second policy-implementation factor is the severity of the fiscal problem. Swimmer proposes that a severe fiscal situation calls for a legal approach, because then it is 'easier to sell the legislative option to the public' (2001: 26). Swimmer uses relative debts and deficits (reported here in table 2.1) as indicators of the severity of the fiscal problem. With respect to Alberta and Ontario, the explanatory power of this factor is modest. As expected, Alberta, with a lower-than-average debt level, relied on hard bargaining. Yet Alberta also had a higherthan-average relative deficit, a situation that arguably called for legislation. In Ontario, the NDP government used co-operative bargaining and then legislation despite its relatively favourable debt position. During the early stages of the Common Sense Revolution, the Harris government was in a worse financial situation than Alberta, but fared better than the national average vis-a-vis the relative debt size. In 1995 the size of its relative deficit was better than Alberta's during the early days of the Klein Revolution (it was the worst in Canada in 1993), but worse than the national average. The Harris government simultaneously used hard bargaining and legislation. The above does not reveal that governments pursuing legislation and/or hard bargaining can apply these tools differently. Legislation can vary in duration, frequency, and content. Collective-bargaining processes can be similarly adversarial in style but differ in agenda and scope. We propose that a source of these differences, and another determinant of government choice of policy-implementation tools, is past union behaviours. We have suggested that union reactions to the Social Contract gave Mike Harris ample evidence of what he could expect once the wave of his revolution started rolling throughout Ontario. To keep the unions at bay, he used a combination of adversarial bargaining and aggressive legislation. Ralph Klein, by contrast operated within a different industrial-relations environment, where political protest had been anathema to the unions' 'personality.' Consequently, in its dealing with unionized workers, the Klein government

40 Unions in the Time of Revolution

could have facilitated its neo-conservative transformation relying only on bargaining. We will revisit the differences between the Klein and Harris policy-implementation behaviours in the following chapters. We have started this section by pointing out that unlike social movements, unions do not await political instability in order to articulate pent-up grievances through collective action. The latter is a reaction to a government's choice of hostile policies and the means to their achievement, specifically hard bargaining and harsh legislation. Therefore, collective action is likely a defensive behaviour geared to protect the status quo the government is trying to alter. Thus, we perceive union collective action to be an ad-hoc, episodic event that does not enjoy long gestation periods. These sporadic episodes punctuate extended spells of union quiescence during which unions use familiar institutions to protect and promote their organizational and member interests. Collective actions thus reflect union responses to 'critical moments/ when government policies seriously threaten such union vested interests as job security, income levels, working conditions, pensions, and the well-being of the union organization. The following three examples illustrate these arguments. Example 1

Between 1968 and 1985 public-sector collective bargaining in Quebec was highly centralized (Tanguay 1993). Each round of negotiations involved a Common Front representing anywhere from 200,000 to 300,00 workers in public-sector unions. In 1982 Premier Rene Levesque and his Parti Quebecois government began a campaign to counter an economic downturn. In June of that year, when the Common Front unions, the Confederation of National Trade Unions' affiliates, and the Quebec Federation of Labour baulked at the idea that they reopen the existing collective agreement and renegotiate the salary increases and generous benefits they had received in 1979, the government passed Bill 70.1 The bill effectively banned strikes for 353,767 public-sector employees, extended their collective agreements, and lowered their salaries by 18.85 per cent for three months, from January to March 1983 (Lem 1982). These measures would allow the Levesque government to claw back $521 million of nearly $900 million in salary raises that the same workers were to receive on 1 July 1982. These austerity measures came in addition to year-long salary freezes to 40,000 public-service managers and more than 12,000 doctors. The government expected to save another $120 million through these measures.

Collective Action: Conceptual Framework 41

In December 1982 the Quebec government passed Bill 105, which further extended all public-sector collective agreements through to December 1985. Under the new legislation, the government modified the wage rollbacks, but would still take back more than $400 million from its workers between January and April 1983. Some 160,000 lowpaid workers would face smaller cuts than the original 18.85 per cent, or none at all. For 1984 and 1985 the government offered salary increases amounting to the rate of inflation minus 1.5 per cent, with a possible adjustment upward if the economy had improved by then (Globe and Mail 1982). Bill 105 also made public-sector strikes illegal until 1985, with fines ranging from $25 to $100 a day for union members; $1000 to $10,000 a day for union leaders; and $5000 to $50,000 a day for unions. On 26 January 1983 about 12,000 junior-college teachers and nonteaching professionals touched off a general illegal strike in the Quebec public sector. Within days, some 200,000 employees in the civil service, hospitals, and other public services joined them. Eventually, the province stood its ground and the general strike collapsed. The teachers were the last group to settle, and went back to work on 21 February. Interestingly, on 2 December 1985 the government was voted out of office in favour of the Liberals, who won 99 of the available 122 seats in the legislature. However, the available evidence does not establish an unequivocal relationship between the 1983 events and the results of the 1985 election. Example 2

During the same period when Quebec encountered the above-mentioned events, British Columbia experienced its own labour unrest. On 7 July 1983 a newly re-elected premier, Bill Bennett, and his Social Credit government introduced a new 'ultra-conservative' provincial budget. To meet its budgetary targets, the government aimed, among other things, to cut the number of civil servants by 25 per cent by the next September. It also intended to cut an unspecified number of teachers and sell off several government enterprises. To facilitate these austerity measures, the government introduced an array of twenty-six bills (Globe and Mail 1983), which represented a direct attack on trade unions, severely undermining their capacity to represent and defend their members. For example, the Public Service Relations Amendment Act (Bill 2) removed the right of the British Columbia Government Employees Union to negotiate anything but wages. However, Bill 11

42 Unions in the Time of Revolution

(the Compensation Stabilization Amendment Act), limited wage bargaining according to employee productivity and the employer's ability to pay. Bill 3 (the Public Sector Restraint Act) allowed all public-sector employers to terminate employees without cause when the collective agreement covering them had expired (this clause was later removed from the bill's final version). Unprecedented layoffs of public-sector employees followed. On 15 July 1983 representatives of some 500,000 BC unionized workers met and agreed on a countervailing program called Operation Solidarity. The plan was to use a series of demonstrations and rallies to pressure the government to rescind its massive legislation package. Should the government not change the legislation, Operation Solidarity was to culminate in a general strike. The unions orchestrated several large-scale demonstrations, and were preparing for a general strike in the public sector. On 1 November 1983 some 35,000 civil servants represented by the British Columbia Government Employees Union went on a province-wide strike to protest the termination of 1000 (the initial number was 1600) employees in the civil service. Within days, other groups of workers joined them. However, a fullfledged general strike was pre-empted by an agreement between the government and a central union leader that was signed on 13 November. By and large, the Bennett government achieved most of what it set out to accomplish. The tough restraint program remained intact, the legislative plans were unchanged, and the battle to trim the publicservice bureaucracy was won. In October 1986 a new Social Credit government was elected, winning 48 seats in a 69-seat legislature. Sometimes, the lines separating a typical strike over an interest dispute and collective action can become blurred when unions engage in protests against a government-cum-employer. The following example illustrates this point. Example 3

In early 1972 one of Canada's largest mass walkouts occurred in Quebec during an intense bargaining drive by a common front of three labour federations representing 210,000 government workers, teachers, and other public-sector employees. According to one reporter, the Quebec government of the day experienced the 'biggest crisis since the terrorism of 1970' (Cleroux 1972b). The walkout was a result of the government's refusal to succumb to union demands for hefty wage increases. The unions' principal demands were an average wage increase of

Collective Action: Conceptual Framework 43

8.3 per cent over three years, with 8.7 per cent increases for the lowestpaid workers currently earning no more than $100 weekly, and 6.5 per cent for the most highly-paid workers. In addition, they wanted all wages brought up to a minimum $100 a week. The unions also asked for a single bargaining table for all of them, rather than diversified talks, which had kept the unions at a disadvantage with government negotiators. When the Liberal government rejected these demands, the unions defied a court injunction and held a one-day collective protest on 28 March 1972. Almost all union members supported the action, giving some credibility to the Common Front leaders' promise that they would 'break the system and bring about socialism and democracy in Quebec' (Cleroux 1972a). Although facing the biggest walkout in Quebec's history, the government would not budge on the unions' demands. As a result, two weeks later, on 11 April, the unions went out again. More than five hundred hospitals and clinics were reduced to offering only emergency services, roads were blocked, schools were closed, and radio and television stations were occupied. On 21 April the government introduced Bill 19, which ordered the workers back on the job and gave the government the power to impose a settlement if negotiations failed by 1 June. The legislation included a conciliatory offer according to which returning employees would get an average increase of 5.3 per cent retroactive to the expiration of their last contract, twelve to fifteen months in most cases. The strikers narrowly voted to return to work. But then, on 8 May three of the highest-profile leaders were sentenced to a year in jail for counselling union members to disobey court injunctions and walk out of their jobs on 11 April. Two days later, without explicit directives from the union leadership, an unprecedented wave of illegal walkouts began. Thousands of private-sector workers joined in, closing hundreds of docks, mines, mills, auto plants, news outlets, and construction projects around the province in violation of their own collective agreements. After about ten days, the three leaders were set free and the protest subsided as workers returned to work. The event left the Quebec house of labour sharply divided between the central leaders, who recommended ending the walkout, and the more militant leaders, who blamed the former for concluding the fight to 'break the system' prematurely and in panic. The foregoing complex case suggests that union collective action to protest unpalatable government actions might begin as an interest dispute. Over time, however, it can evolve into a full-fledged collective

44 Unions in the Time of Revolution

action. Identifying the exact point separating the regulated strike from political collective action may prove elusive. In summary, we propose that a necessary, yet insufficient, condition for union collective action is a government's assault on union vested interests, such as a union's capacity to represent its members adequately, its organizational well-being, and its members' job security. In other words, union-driven collective action is a defensive, and most likely organized countervailing measure rather than a spontaneous popular uprising. This argument supports a territorial-rights-andboundaries basis for union collective action. The concept of territorial rights and boundaries - the breadth of influence and relative power of groups within an organization (Daft and Becker 1978; Shephard 1967) has been used to explain the inertial influences of group status, security, and resources on organizational innovation. According to this perspective, groups that perceive that their vested interests might be affected negatively by an innovation will resist its implementation. The level of resistance will be a function of the concerned groups' breadth of influence and relative power. Accordingly, we perceive union collective action to be a defensive behaviour. It is motivated by unions' desires to protect their organizational status and security or, in other words, by unions' territorial-rights-and-boundaries concerns with government hostile policies. Thus, a government's assault on union territorial rights and boundaries constitutes a precondition for collective action, and as such it is the starting point for studying union leader decisions to mobilize members for collective action. In other words, to trigger the process of collective action trade unionists, and leaders in particular, need to interpret government actions as a threat to their territorial rights and boundaries. Only then would leaders consider the option of collective action as a means to counteracting an adversarial government. A brief note on the process of interpretation is in order. Interpretation is one of an organization's most important functions because 'almost every other organizational activity or outcome is in some way contingent on interpretation' (Daft and Weick 1984: 293). Interpretation is a sense-making process by which human beings use pre-existing convictions in order to attach meanings to events. The processes by which union leaders interpret what makes certain government policies more or less threatening to union vested interests is not different. The calculus that determines union leaders' decisions about collective action, therefore, depends on the interaction between events that occur in the leaders' operational environment and their general beliefs and

Collective Action: Conceptual Framework 45

values about the feasibility and merits of collective action. The beliefs and values of union leaders regarding action serve as screens, or interpretive filters, that mediate between government actions and the meanings union leaders give them. When union leaders believe that government actions pose a threat to their vested interests, they are more likely to consider collective action as a possible countervailing measure. Yet even if the leaders believe that collective action is a reasonable means of action, it does not mean that collective action is inevitable. Once the leaders have deemed collective action to be a valid response, then they will have to decide whether or not they should pursue it. Indigenous Organization Strength A threatening political environment is a necessary yet insufficient condition for union collective action. Even if it prods union leaders to consider collective action, the action's eventuality depends upon the following four factors. Members Social-movement participants are recruited along established lines of interaction (McAdam 1982: 44). It is usually the mass base, through the existing organizations of minority groups, that provides the resources needed to form a movement. In industrial relations this means that the original members' decisions to participate in any union action requires direct member contacts with their workplace or local unions. These contacts can be achieved through various means such as newsletters, meetings, and electronic communications. However these contacts are secured, members are the most critical resource that union leaders have at their disposal, and gaining their commitment to a particular collective action is the epitome of union leadership. Occasionally, this could prove a daunting task. Union leaders and members sometimes interpret similar events differently and, consequently, strive for different courses of action. This is a result of 'different structural positions in the system of representation [which leads] to differences, sometimes conflicts, of interest - even though all the interests can be seen as serving the ends of improving the standards of living of workers' (Crouch 1982:179). In terms of political protests, differences of opinion within unions might also be a result of different political outlooks. Some union members may support a gov-

46 Unions in the Time of Revolution

ernment's austerity measures and others may think that, as responsible citizens, they ought to contribute to the collective good as defined by the government. Yet if they are to mobilize their members to collective action and retain their authority and position of power, eventually the leaders will have to earn their members' commitment to participate in the action. If they have managed to accomplish this task, then the leaders will have to gain control over their members' protest behaviours. First, the leaders will have to convince the members to walk down the likely unknown path of collective action. Second, they will have to sustain the resolve of the protesters over the time it takes to realize the action's goals. Established Structures of Solidarity Incentives

The rewards that provide the motive for participation in collective actions should overcome the free-rider problem. This refers to the difficulties leaders encounter in trying to convince potential participants to pursue goals the benefits of which they will reap even if they did not participate in the action. In industrial relations, union leaders will have to struggle for their members' resources (e.g., trust, commitment, time, money, energy), overcoming their self-interested notion that there is little reason to engage in collective action, since an individual's participation cannot make a noticeable difference. Olson (1971) has proposed that the solution to the problem lies in the provision of selective, or individual, benefits. Contrary to Olson, the evidence suggests that the provision of selective benefits might not be necessary. Apparently, people often recognize that gaining collective goods that are important to them, such as quality education, can only happen by making personal sacrifices (Schwartz 1976:167; Klandermans 1984: 597). A collective good can prompt people to participate in collective action if they expect that others will also participate. Selective benefits would be unnecessary in existing organizations because '[t]hese organizations already rest on a solid structure of solidarity incentives which insurgents have, in effect, appropriated by defining movement participation as synonymous with organizational membership' (McAdam 1982: 46). The many incentives that have drawn members to an existing organization or group should simply be transferred to the emerging social movement. Once again, however, unions are a collectivity apart. Union members are notoriously known for their apathy toward participation in union activities. Many years ago, Hoxie observed that to

Collective Action: Conceptual Framework 47

maintain internal democracy union meetings were held regularly and members were free to go and determine the conduct of affairs, but that the members were 'lax about attendance' (1921:178). Others have similarly remarked that 'apathy of the [union] members is the normal state of affairs' (Lipset, Trow, and Coleman 1956: 111). Because of this, and the aforementioned possible member-leader discord, one should not assume an automatic relationship between membership in a union and a commitment to collective action. This relationship is likely stronger when union leaders are able to promote collective action by fostering a common cause, a belief that collective action is required to change a situation, and a shared perception of the likelihood of success. Structures of solidarity incentives range from those that are specific to the particular needs and concerns of participants in a given collective protest to broader ones that might be of interest to the public at large. Union leaders, for example, can convince their membership that collective action is the best remedy to personal concerns such as the loss of job security, deteriorating work conditions, losing union protection due to privatization, and loss of income due to wage rollbacks. On the other hand, leaders can choose to fan the fires of protest by 'dangling' broader issues, such as the deteriorating quality of public education, as the primary incentives for solidarity. Communication Network It is difficult to overemphasize the importance of the communication infrastructure to successful collective action. Both the failure of a new social movement to grow and the rapid spread of collective action have been credited to the presence or absence of such a solid communication network. McAdam (1982: 47) further explains that since social movements are new cultural phenomena, they must rely on existing organizations - namely, social-justice groups - of the aggrieved population. By providing the initial contact opportunities for the aggrieved population, these organizations serve to link those who constitute the principal base for the movement. The greater the number and variety of such organizations, the faster mobilization into conflict occurs. Unions, however, are not a new organizational phenomenon. All of the unions under study have existed, in one form or another, throughout most of the post-Second World War era. All have developed sound communication infrastructures that, union leaders are well aware, are important to the success of collective action. The major challenge to leadership is to utilize the available means of communication to articu-

48 Unions in the Time of Revolution

late a collective grievance and then convert it into an organizational campaign of collective protest. Leaders

The importance of leadership to the success of collective action is well established. McAdam emphasizes that in the context of 'widespread discontent there still remains a need for the centralized direction and coordination of a recognized leadership' (1982: 47). Here, we view union leaders as responsible for articulating a collective grievance and converting it to collective action. Put differently, without the leaders' active involvement the likelihood of collective action is small. Shorter and Tilly's seminal study of political strikes in France (1974) captures this point. The scenario they trace is worth repeating: Waves of strikes and of disturbances do not blossom forth because wages are low, living costs high (although such economic factors might widen the networks which the contending organizations control); strikes and violence do not erupt because for some reason - structural or adventitious - those who participate in them suddenly feel 'alienated/ 'frustrated' or 'aggressive': perhaps some of the personnel are in fact angry, yet others will surely be of moderate disposition, at peace with themselves and with the world ... [M]ajor accumulations of strikes and disturbances eventuate when it becomes apparent to the working classes as a whole that a point of critical importance is at hand in the nation's political life, and when the latticework of organization suffices to transform these individual perceptions of opportunity into collective action. (1974: 344-5; authors' emphasis)

Shorter and Tilly thus argue that, if there is a broad political sense of a 'critical moment,' then those who are disenfranchised, or politically excluded, from intervening in any other way will be ready to demonstrate their views through collective action, provided there is an available organizational vehicle to organize and legitimate the action. Here, unions and their leaders are expected to fulfil these functions. They should be the agents who coordinate, within and across unions, a collective response to government policies and legitimize it in the eyes of the members and, hopefully, the public at large. We thus view union leaders as the critical agents of collective action. To achieve mobilization success, the leaders should effectively manage two processes. Through consensus mobilization leaders try to obtain

Collective Action: Conceptual Framework 49

member support for their viewpoints and plans by fostering favourable predispositions toward collective action (Klandermans 1984). This process, known also as cognitive liberation, is discussed below. Through action mobilization leaders motivate union members to participate in the collective action (ibid.). Action mobilization is the endpoint of member decisions to participate in a given collective action. Cognitive Liberation

Unstable political systems and the availability of organizational resources do not produce collective action. Mediating these elements are people and the meaning they ascribe to their situations. For collective action to occur, people must collectively define their situations as unjust and subject to change through collective action. McAdam calls this process 'cognitive liberation' (1982: 48). Shifting political circumstances affect mobilization potential by supplying the necessary cues that can trigger the process of cognitive liberation. Existing organizations, such as unions, provide the setting within which that process is most likely to occur. Others have called the process 'consensus mobilization/ or 'framing/ and emphasized the role of movement leaders in facilitating it (Klandermans 1984; Snow and Benford 1988). The movement leaders should interpret relevant events and conditions in ways that can mobilize potential constituents and garner public support for collective action. Government policies that threaten individual workers' livelihood and quality of work life are likely to result in disgruntled individuals. To transform inchoate individual dissatisfaction into a coherent collective grievance and use it as a platform for collective action, union leaders should convince members that collective action is a viable option for changing their lot. By nature, union members are not prone to collective action as a means to countervailing government policies that jeopardize their livelihood. It takes a high degree of courage for unionized, or non-union, workers to defy their government, especially one that has been elected by a popular majority. They are shackled to inertia by various factors such as fear of their employers' retaliation, the hope that if they 'lay low' their jobs will be spared, the uncertain consequences of collective action, and even support of the government agenda (Reshef 2001b). Moreover, many union members and leaders lack collective protest experience; some may have never experienced an ordinary strike because of legislation that forbids workers to under-

50 Unions in the Time of Revolution

take such an action. In Alberta, government employees were (and still are) not allowed to strike. In Ontario, they were granted the right to strike in 1993, but never exercised it until 1996. Other public-sector unions may be more experienced but still lack the tradition of struggle found in some of private-sector unions. It thus may be a formidable task for public-sector union leaders to mobilize their members against the employer/government in such circumstances. The union leaders will have to liberate their members by convincingly arguing that their situation is not given and can be redressed through collective action. Our methodology and data do not provide information on why people participated in the collective actions under study. We do not know whether they participated because they believed that the actions would breed desired consequences, because of overwhelming peer pressure, or simply because they did not want to remain on the sidelines (i.e., passive peer pressure). The only thing we can determine with certainty is whether enough union members answered their leaders' calls to protest the government behaviours, and thus were successfully mobilized for collective action. Still, regardless of the reason, the ability to 'put people on the street' speaks volumes about the leaders' capabilities to manage the above processes successfully and mobilize their members for collective action. So far we have argued that unions use collective action as a defensive tool to maintain or restore the status quo by discrediting the government and its new agenda. Available data, although meagre, suggest that, nowadays, this is what one should expect from union collective action in Canada. Theoretically, however, union leaders may wish to use collective action as a tool for social change by advancing a new socio-economic agenda. These leaders will have to develop an alternative vision of the desired socio-economic state, and mobilize members' hearts and minds to support that state. They should use various means of communication to reinforce the thoroughness and thoughtfulness of the new vision. The leaders must make the argument for the new vision so convincing as to complete the separation of union members in particular, and the public in general, from the dominant, government vision. Only then will the new vision be independent of the unions' special-interest-group status, thereby receiving broad legitimacy. Still, the likelihood of unions awaiting propitious political circumstances in order to advance a new social order using the method of collective action is slim. This breed of collective action, therefore, is not discussed in this book.

Collective Action: Conceptual Framework 51

In summary, collective action implies a transformation of consciousness within a significant segment of an aggrieved population. Before collective action can begin, people must collectively define their situations as unjust and likely to change through the action. This transformation is facilitated by several conditions. Shifting political opportunities supply the necessary signals capable of triggering the process of cognitive liberation. In the current context, we substitute territorial-rightsand-boundaries concerns for political opportunities. The former concerns are expected to trigger the cognitive cues required to stimulate union leaders to consider collective action. Existing organizations, unions, provide potential protesters with the necessary setting within which mobilization should occur. Thus, collective action is expected to reflect the favourable confluence of three sets of factors. Territorialrights-and-boundaries concerns combine with organizational elements to afford members the 'structural potential' for successful collective action. This potential is, in turn, transformed into an actual protest through the process of cognitive liberation. One advantage of this modified model is its emphasis on the political dimensions of the mobilization process. At the centre of the process is the union-government relationship. Unions engage in collective action to influence the political discourse by pressuring the government of the day to change its socio-economic agenda and the means to its implementation. The government has the ability and means to facilitate or repress the collective action. In addition, the model draws attention to union politics. It should be recalled that the essence of mobilization is the leaders' control of resources, and that members are the foremost resource the leaders have at their disposal. Convincing members to partake in collective action is embedded in union politics, even if the leader-member interaction does not degenerate into an explicit power struggle. The political future of the union leaders depends on how they manage the mobilization process and the ensuing collective action. Another advantage of the model is its focus on the mechanisms of collective action. It provides a useful means of conceptually mapping the elements of collective action in pragmatic terms. Consequently, the model enables its users to understand the practicalities of mobilization, education and communication, and strategic interaction in pursuit of collective goods (Carroll 1997: 14). By attending to the various elements of mobilization and their relationship with each other, the model helps open the 'black box' that explains why union leaders and

52 Unions in the Time of Revolution

members behave as they do in the face of government restructuring and political exclusion. In the next four chapters, we will look at how the confluence of shifting political conditions, the unions' indigenous organizational strength (members, established structures of solidarity incentives, communication network, and leaders), and the process of cognitive liberation have facilitated or operated against union collective action. Following each discussion, we will examine how well our model fits the evidence and, subsequently, what modifications should be introduced in order to improve the fit of the model to current circumstances.

CHAPTER FOUR

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE

In 1993 union leaders in Alberta promised an aggressive response to the incipient Klein Revolution. Given the enormity of the public-sector unions' collective muscle and deep presence in government, health care, and education, labour militancy was a real prospect. Yet the Alberta unions, including the largest, the Alberta Union of Provincial Employees (AUPE), never mobilized their members to protest any of the Klein government policies or actions. By contrast in Ontario/in 1996, the Ontario Public Service Employees Union (OPSEU) organized the first strike in the annals of the Ontario civil service. At first glance,OPSEU's strike can be seen as traditional job action stemming from a deadlocked collective-bargaining process. However, the evidence suggests that the event was a political protest, a collective response to the Harris government assault on OPSEU and its members. Understanding the differences between the OPSEU and AUPE responses to their respective governments' restructuring efforts is the goal of this chapter. ONTARIO Ontario Public Service Employees Union The Ontario Public Service Employees Union was founded in 1911 as the Civil Service Association of Ontario (CSAO). The Association was incorporated under the Corporations Act of Ontario in 1927. Over the years, a need for a trade-union approach to labour relations had steadily increased, and with it a will to restructuring the organization to parallel more closely the aims and forms of other Canadian unions. Beginning in 1950, the CSAO took several steps toward becoming a

54 Unions in the Time of Revolution

full-fledged trade union. In that year, it conducted and won a referendum to join the Trades and Labor Congress, a predecessor of the Canadian Labour Congress, which is Canada's main national labour body. In 1966 the CSAO took a further step forward when it registered as a trade union for the purpose of organizing new bargaining units (Rapaport 1999: 21). Then, in October 1969 the CSAO won the right to automatic dues check-off and became the sole bargaining authority for civil servants in Ontario. The present name of the union was adopted in 1976. But the more important change was the beginning of confrontational bargaining between a full-fledged union and management in the Ontario public service (Roberts 1994:170). OPSEU is divided into three sectors - Colleges of Applied Arts and Technology (CAAT), the Broader Public Sector (BPS), and the Ontario Public Service (OPS). In early 1996 there were about 15,000 members in the CAAT sector, which consists of two bargaining units - academic and support staff. The BPS had about 25,000 members in some 450 bargaining units. OPS, the focus of our discussion, is the largest of the three sectors. In 1995 it had some 67,000 members in 267 locals. Most of the members worked directly for a ministry of the Ontario government (Rapaport 1999: 17-18, 114). In the OPS sector, OPSEU represented seven bargaining units. Six of them were occupationally based (e.g., office administration, technical, operation and maintenance). Each of these bargaining units negotiated its own collective agreement for compensation issues such as wages, overtime, and shift premiums. The seventh was a central bargaining unit that covered all OPSEU members in the OPS. The central unit negotiated a collective agreement covering working conditions (e.g., posting of vacancies, layoff and recall, grievance procedures) and benefits (e.g., sick leave, vacations, holidays). Unlike union members in OPS, those in the colleges and most of the BPS membership had long had the right to strike, and had exercised it several times (Rapaport 1999:18; Roberts 1994). The main exception is the health-care sector. Its collective bargaining was governed by the Hospital Labour Disputes Arbitration Act, which prohibited strikes and lockouts in hospitals. As mentioned before, OPSEU was granted the right to strike by the NDP government in 1993. Since then, the OPSEU members had become a more critical factor in their leaders' performance at the bargaining table. In theory, the leaders can push their bargaining agenda only to the extent that they can secure a strike vote and then, if necessary, lead an effective strike.

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 55

The first real test of the leaders occurred three years after the union had won the right to strike. On 26 February 1996 OPSEU's leadership demonstrated substantial resolve by successfully mobilizing their inexperienced membership to its first-ever walkout under trying economic (i.e., a limited strike fund) and weather conditions and against a strong reaction from the Ontario police. On 18 March baton-wielding riot police (the Crowd Management Unit of the Ontario Provincial Police) pushed, shoved, and beat picketers and demonstrators who had gathered to greet MPPs returning to the legislature. At least one person was seriously injured. This assault did not, however, put an end to the walkout, which continued for another two weeks. In the end, the OPSEU members walked the picket lines for five weeks until the protest was officially over, on 31 March. A Strike or Collective Action? At first glance, the OPSEU walkout can be seen as a legal interest dispute that was carried out by a union defending the employment rights of its members. The Ontario neo-conservative stalwarts wanted to smooth the way to privatization of several government services by, among other things, removing successor rights from the relevant legislation. Failing to recover through collective bargaining what the government had clawed back through legislation, OPSEU resorted to a legal walkout. OPSEU's response was, however, more than an institutionalized job action to defy an intransigent employer. It was a protest against the Harris government's use of its sovereignty to undermine the union's capacity to adequately represent and protect its members. In his excellent account of the event, Rapaport (1999: 56, 162) maintained that 'the strike was about more than a better contract. It was about being against Mike Harris and the Common Sense Revolution ... It symbolizes resistance to the Common Sense Revolution, and support for it was thus a tangible expression of opposition in the wider community. This support added a political and a social dimension for strikers.' Similarly, our interviewees conceded that the strike was at one and the same time an attempt to get 'a better language in the collective agreement/ and a political statement about 'standing up to this guy' (Mike Harris). One union official believed that 'the strike showed that the public sector unions in Ontario were not going to simply lay down and allow this government to do whatever it wanted, but that there was going to be resistance, and that resistance would be quite strong

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and quite severe/ Implicit in this statement is that another political purpose of the action was to provide OPSEU with a voice in policymaking. Indeed, during the action the union president declared, '[T]his government and its managers are not going to be calling the shots on their own. With the power that we've got now, they're not going to be making changes without talking to us' (Ticket Lines,' 29 March 1996). Collective action is a battle over ideas, visions, and agendas, and the OPSEU action is no exception. In its essence, it embodied a clash between two philosophies. One deemed much of what the union stood for - job protection, collective-bargaining rights, employment rights, worker welfare, consultation - to be a drag on the Ontario ship's smooth sailing to the promised land of a balanced budget, zero deficit, and prosperity. The other considered these elements the ship's necessary ballast, and expected the union to ensure that when this ship set sail every Ontarian would be aboard. At a different level, it was an existential clash between the right of a democratically elected government to define an agenda and make appropriate policies to implement it and the union's deep-seated need to protect its territorial rights and boundaries. The Context of the OPSEU Collective Action The OPSEU collective action broke out after the parties had reached an impasse during collective bargaining. The bargaining round began in 1995, during the last months of the NDP administration. As the 1995 election was drawing closer, OPSEU's leadership had realized that life under Harris, if he were elected premier, would not be the same. According to one officer, '[Y]ou had a pretty clear understanding from what Harris had campaigned on, that before very long he was going to be coming after the public service, one way or another.' Not surprisingly, then, the recently elected OPSEU president, Leah Casselman, asked Premier Rae to conclude an agreement before the upcoming election. Rae refused, explaining that he could not tie the hands of whoever formed the next government (Ibbitson 1997:157). The pre-election concerns of the OPSEU leaders were to be quickly justified. Soon after the 1995 election, the government passed Bill 7. As explained before, the bill removed the union's successor rights from the Crown Employees Collective Bargaining Act, as well as its arbitration rights in classification disputes. In addition, on 8 July 1995 the Harris government passed an order-in-council exempting itself from

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 57

the 'pension-grow' provision. In Ontario, there existed a provision in the pension legislation that protected older workers and workers with long service from losing their pensions in case of a large layoff. The Ontario Pension Benefits Act had guaranteed that a laid-off worker whose years of service plus age equalled at least 55 could 'grow into' an early retirement package, where one existed, without penalty (Rapaport 1999: 47). OPSEU responded to the July 1995 orderin-council by suing the government. Anticipating it would lose the case, on 29 November 1995 the government introduced legislation ending the grow-in pension provisions for OPS workers (Schedule L of Bill 26, Amendments to the Public Service Pension Act and the Ontario Public Service Employees' Union Pension Act). Thus, in the latter half of 1995 OPSEU resumed the negotiation process within a markedly altered political reality, one dominated by the onslaught of the Common Sense Revolution. Soon after restarting the bargaining process, the OPSEU negotiators understood that the Harris government did not intend to give back the successor rights it had just legislated away in Bill 7. Rather, the government intended to claw back even more. For example, under the existing agreement, the province had to give a six-month notice to lay off a worker. If it was laying off more than twenty workers, the notice period was extended to eleven months. But the threatened worker could then bump another worker with less seniority, and a layoff notice had to be given to that worker. It could take up to two years to actually lay off an employee. Yet the government did not have that much time. One of the lessons the Harris government learned from the Klein Revolution was that to be successful it had to 'cut fast and cut deep,' because the more time a government took to study an issue, the less likely it was that real change would occur (Bruce, Kneebone, and McKenzie 1995). The government wanted to speed up the public-sector restructuring process by stripping bumping rights from the new OPSEU contract. Facing an obstinate employer, OPSEU's leadership, if it were to protect its members and its own representational capacity, had to look for recourse outside the structure of collective bargaining. From a later vantage point, a job action seems an obvious option. Generally, OPSEU had an infrastructure for a province-wide job action. Several college strikes probably had provided the OPSEU staff with the necessary experience. But in 1995, in OPS, OPSEU was a tractable, conservative union whose members did not have any strike experience. As one industrial-relations expert explained, the long-term reliance on the

58 Unions in the Time of Revolution

arbitration system carried a price: 'We were following other unions. We never set trends. The process is conservative. We did well and got decent awards over the years, but you don't build a union that way' (quoted in Rapaport 1999: 26). Indeed, the union's right to strike in OPS was accepted with hesitation and only after a heated internal debate. According to Rapaport (1999:26-8), many OPSEU activists and leaders wanted to keep relying on the arbitration system that had served them well since 1973. Some thought that if the number of designated employees performing essential services was set at a high level, OPSEU would not be able to carry out an effective strike. Given this outlook, the leaders' decision to call a strike and their ability to mobilize the members and sustain their commitment and solidarity for five weeks is intriguing. The OPSEU Collective Action: 26 February - 31 March 19961 By June 1995 the new government's plan for public-sector restructuring had been publicly known for more than a year. Once in office, the government did not waste time and quickly demonstrated its commitment to the plan's implementation. Meanwhile, the OPSEU leaders realized that the government was determined to weaken their collective-bargaining rights and protections and began planning for a confrontation. According to one union official, 'The issue was going to be job security; we knew it. They needed to downsize; they announced how many they wanted out; they were going to come after us. So it was pretty obvious, if you're a unionist then they're coming after you. And how were you going to back that up? It's going to have to be a strike.' Another officer succinctly conveyed a similar insight: 'We knew right when they were elected in 1995 that we were going to have a strike on our hands in the next six months.' Following the 1995 election, then, the OPSEU leadership quickly recognized that a collective action was their only option to protect their vested interests in organizational and job security. Harris's immediate reaction to the idea of a public-service strike was condescending. Instead of addressing the issues responsible for the union's frustration, he compared the right to strike to a forbidden candy civil servants were eager to taste once it had become available: 'I think they were given this candy, this new tool, by Rae and they're determined to, you know, to go and use it and try it and I'm not so sure there was anything we could have done to stop them' (quoted in Mittelstaedt and Rusk 1996). The attitude of Harris, however, was the least

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 59

of the OPSEU leaders' problems. In fact, it is possible that Harris's statement added fuel to the fire, provoked the rank and file and, as a result, helped the leadership to mobilize more effectively. To stand any chance of winning a protracted walkout, the leaders had successfully to accomplish consensus and action mobilization. These processes are always a leadership challenge, but they are doubly so when the potential strikers are novices with zero strike experience. Throughout the preparation period for the action, and during the action itself, the OPSEU leaders did not promulgate an alternative vision of Ontario society, a vision that would compete with Harris's Common Sense Revolution. Perhaps they did not want to alienate those members who had endorsed the Harris plan for a new Ontario; perhaps they did not feel that they could successfully compete with the government's neo-conservative gospel that had appealed to so many Ontarians. Instead, as the following sample demonstrates, OPSEU's leaders were resigned to the government restructuring agenda. Consequently, they focused their struggle on gaining a say in the plan's implementation that would guarantee workers a fair deal: We know that some cuts will happen. We are fighting to make sure that all of us are protected when they do. (Ticket Lines,' 26 February 1996) Public-service workers recognize that cuts will be made. But we want to be treated fairly. ('OPSEU Fax/ 22 February 1996) We know the Tories want to sell off most public services to their friends in business. We don't like it, but if it happens, some of us should go with our work. The rest of us should get severance pay ... If they're going to privatize everything, we want to be part of the deals. ('On Strike/ no date)

OPSEU's leaders had some six months to strategize the action, lay out its logistics, and, most important, convince a quiescent, inexperienced, and intimidated membership to endorse and execute it. One union officer concisely summarized the efforts of the leaders to gain the members' commitment to a job action: 'We communicated. We motivated. We provided a framework through which people could understand what was happening in bargaining.' At the centre of the leaders' efforts was a communication blitz that carried several messages. First, the government wanted to accomplish its Common Sense Revolution agenda quickly. To this end, it was seeking to rapidly rid the public sector of thousands of workers. The union,

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which wanted to protect the members, was facing blocked political channels and a futile collective-bargaining process. In other words, the government had no intention of engaging in bona-fide consultation, or negotiation, with the union: The Harris government is planning to lay off 13,000 to 27,000 workers. ('The OPSEU Strike and You/ no date) This Harris government isn't normal. They are out for blood. Our blood, and yours. ('On Strike,' no date) If we'd accepted the [government] offer, we all could have been laid off by now. The government's short-term layoff proposal could have sent us packing by last Monday. ('On Strike,' no date) Our objective is to preserve jobs and we want to bargain. But the government is not interested in bargaining. ('OPSEU Fax,' 28 November 1995) The government is forcing a confrontation, and the union will be ready. ('Picket Lines,' 11 December 1995)

Fruitless collective bargaining combined with political exclusion meant that OPSEU would have to call a strike if it were to defend the membership against the belligerent Harris government. Second, OPSEU's leaders sensed that many members were afraid to go on strike. Some feared the unfamiliar uncertainty any strike involves, let alone a first strike in the union's history; others dreaded the pay loss they would incur; and several members were anxious about their employers' retaliation. The leaders acknowledged such feelings and used them to build up the membership's determination: We're all afraid. We've never been on strike before. But that doesn't mean we can't do it. That doesn't mean we can't win. (OPSEU Fax,' 11 January 1996) We're afraid, and when one's afraid, the fight or flight reflex kicks in ... Don't forget that even though I am afraid, I've chosen to fight. (Ticket Lines/ 6 February 1996) We're not lambs to the slaughter, (ibid., 12 March 1996)

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 61

Moreover, to allay member anxieties about possible job and financial losses, the union president promised that '[i]n order to have it effective, it's going to be short and in order to be short we're going to have as many people out and cause as much pain for the employer as possible' (Mittelstaedt 1996). But soon, as the next point shows, the OPSEU leaders would have to revise their diagnosis, since the government was not going to surrender suddenly to their pressure. Third, less than two weeks into the protest, the OPSEU leaders realized that the government was not going to give up quickly, thereby losing face and political clout. To achieve success, therefore, the leaders had to adapt the thrust of their communication, focusing now on sustaining the members' staying power: Never give up. (Ticket Lines/ 7 March 1996) The stronger the picket lines, the more protection we can achieve for workers. (Ticket Lines/ 9 March 1996) Our strength on the lines is what keeps our Team strong at the bargaining table ... Now we have the real test in front of us. In order to get the deal that treats workers fairly. Now is the time to maintain strong lines. (Vincent 1996) We are in control of events. We can choose to stay out and win. We can choose to go back and lose. (Ticket Lines/ 23 March 1996)

Perhaps to enhance the members' fortitude, fourth, during the fifth week of the strike, the leadership introduced the notion that the government was set on destroying the union, evoking a new sense of urgency to keep the action's momentum: 'This government is out to bust the union ... The government can play all the games they want, but this is one union they're not going to bust' (Ticket Lines/ 29 March 1996). It follows that if the members were to protect their union, the protest must go on. Finally, in 1995, results of an internal poll of four hundred OPSEU members revealed that 21.8 per cent of the respondents had voted for the Tories, the highest level of support any of the contending parties received in the sample (Rapaport 1999: 222). To the chagrin of the OPSEU leaders, Harris seemed to have enjoyed a substantial following among their membership. Perhaps because of that, and also to win the

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public over to their cause, the leadership wove a broad context for the collective action, one that transcended a narrow economic agenda. The protest, claimed the leadership, was about justice (hence the principal slogan 'No Justice, No Peace'), fairness, respect, and service quality, as Ticket Lines' made clear: Our strike is about respect, pensions and seniority. (27 February). The strike is about everything we value in life - our hopes, dreams, goals for ourselves and our families. (28 February) In large part the strike is about preserving the jobs that protect public safety, now and in the future. (29 February) The strike is about fair treatment of government workers. (8 March) It is clear that OPSEU members are not only defending their rights, but the rights and quality of life for all in this province. (9 March)

The action commenced on Monday, 26 February 1996. Before then, between 15 and 17 February, 66.5 per cent of the membership voted in favour of a strike; the overall turnout was 71 per cent. One union official mused about the relatively low approval rate: Different people would have different reasons for opposing the strike. One is that they don't like confrontation. Another is they don't like having to make decisions of that sort, and they resent being forced to make those decisions. Some people were fearful for other reasons [e.g., losing their jobs, having no previous strike experience, a meagre strike fund]. And other people really liked the employer and supported Harris. In 1995 a lot of people had bought into [Harris's] simple messages, and a lot of people thought that when Harris was talking about laying off public sector employees, he didn't mean them.

To improve the likelihood of winning a protracted walkout, the leadership implemented an elaborate administrative infrastructure (for a detailed account see Rapaport 1999: 137-60). For example, picket-line captains were selected and trained in picket-line administration; local finance committees administered the strike pay; communication committees distributed newsletters; rallies were organized and advertised; occasionally, picket lines had to be reinforced by a special 'flying

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 63

squad'; and given the cold weather, hot food had to be provided and fire barrels stoked around the clock. According to an OPSEU officer, '[i]t was the administration that held the strike together' (quoted in Rapaport 1999:140). Another officer told us, 'Basically, it was the logistics system that enabled 65,000 people to have a sense of joint purpose for however long they were going to be out. It involved having money to pay them, it involved connecting with them, it involved getting messages to them. It was a fairly intricate network of resources that had to be put in place.' On the first day of the strike, about 55,000 union members walked off the job, beginning a five-week province-wide collective action. Another 12,000 members were declared essential and thus had to stay on the job. Whereas the provincial leadership spearheaded the strike, the rank and file 'micro-managed' it with the help of the local leadership. One OPSEU executive observed: As things developed, especially from the week before the strike right until the end of the strike, it really became a member-driven action. We had 267 locals at the time of the strike. So you had individual strike headquarters for those locals. You had presidents and other elected people in the locals who were providing the leadership in terms of the most basic things, like getting the office set up, having a strike trailer, getting picket signs, getting a-hold of buttons from central, telling people why we're out on the picket line, and stuff like that.

Apparently, the OPSEU campaign provided a sufficient number of members with the mettle necessary to combat the inertia rooted in fear, confusion, hesitation, and a no-strike history. Enough members were convinced that 'their house was on fire,' as one leader put it, and that only a strong united front could counteract the government's assault on their livelihood and union. Judged by their ability to 'put people on the streets,' the leaders' capacity for mobilization and ability to maintain the members' commitment to the protest for five weeks was remarkable. Their achievement was all the more impressive given that this was the first-ever job action by union members in the OPS. Action Success: In the Eye of the Beholder How successful was the OPSEU collective action? According to Rose (2001: 83), the strike did not produce a clear winner or loser. OPSEU did not regain the successor rights it lost through legislation, and it

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was forced to give up most of its bumping rights. The union gave up on its right for joint determination of job classifications. Salaries were to remain frozen until the next bargaining round. On the other hand, appendix 9 ('Employment Stability') of the new collective agreement included a provision requiring the government to make 'reasonable' efforts to ensure that employees whose services had been privatized were offered jobs under similar terms of employment by the new employer. According to section l(a) of appendix 9: The employer will make reasonable efforts to ensure that, where there is a disposition or any other transfer of bargaining unit functions to the private or broader public sectors, employees in the bargaining unit are offered positions with the new employer on terms and conditions that are as close as possible to the then existing terms and conditions of employment of employees in the bargaining unit, and, where less than the full complement of employees is offered positions, to ensure that offers are made on the basis of seniority.

In addition, if the new employer was not prepared to offer 85 per cent of the employee's salary or to recognize and credit the employee's seniority and service, the employee could exercise rights pursuant to the redundancy provisions of the collective agreement. The 'reasonable effort' provision could not have stopped the publicsector restructuring. A year later, the government had already eliminated some 11,500 jobs (Ibbitson 1997: 117). However, arbitration awards in 'reasonable efforts' grievances slowed down the government progress on the privatization front (Rose 2001: 85; Leeb 2002: 26). Thus, although the walkout did not stop the government restructuring plan, it blunted the sharp edge of its progress. One union officer concurred: 'The protections that we got in the collective agreement made it much more difficult for the province to arbitrarily privatize services. The hoops that they're obliged to jump through in providing our members with a measure of job security before they're forced out the door are a direct result of the strike.' The experience of OPSEU demonstrates that even if a union is able to obtain a contractual guarantee to protect the jobs of employees in privatized services, the government retains the ultimate ability to privatize. Yet it is possible that from the outset of this particular confrontation OPSEU sought only to mitigate the negative effects of privatization upon the membership rather than stop it altogether.

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 65

Success can also be measured against the effect of the protest on the organization. According to several observers, the action had a positive impact on the union as an institution and on its image within the Ontario labour movement. Gord Wilson, president of the Ontario Federation of Labour, explained: 'We could declare a victory. We had been able to hold the government off, and we had made people feel better about the labor movement. For private-sector unions, OPSEU had arrived at a higher plateau. It had joined the fold' (quoted in Rapaport 1999:167). Interviewed OPSEU union officers agreed: What we were successful in is proving that we could do it. We could carry on a strike with 2,500 picket lines. The second thing is that we proved that we could change [the government's] agenda; at least we slowed down the downsizing ... It kind of showed the Tories that there was an opposition out there ... No one, no one in the labour movement and certainly in the government thought that this group of workers who had never had the right to strike would vote for a strike, which they did; would actually go out on strike; which they did; and actually stay out on strike, which they did - that was five weeks of people who had never done this before in the middle of winter.

In actuality, whether and how the 1996 collective action had influenced OPSEU's ability to represent its members and position in the Ontario labour movement remained to be seen. Six years after their first strike, the OPSEU members in OPS sent a message that insofar as the government was determined to teach them a hard lesson, it had failed. In early 2002, 88 per cent of the union members in OPS voted to reject a contract offer from the provincial government and to give their union leadership a strike mandate. The comparable figure for the 1996 action was 66.5 per cent. In both cases, the turnout was 71 per cent. At issue were wages, the government demand to clamp down on the union pension plan, job security, and benefits. About 33,000 public-service employees (compared with some 55,000 in 1996) walked the picket lines, with some 12,000 (the same figure as in 1996) staying on the job as essential employees.2 The legal strike, which ended on 5 May, lasted 54 days. It was the longest publicservice strike in Ontario's history. In 2002, apparently, public-service workers were more at ease with using the strike weapon to advance their interests. The OPSEU case provides initial evidence that success in collective

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action is not a clear-cut, unidimensional concept that can easily be measured against objective standards. Rather, at least in the short term, it is a subjective notion, the definition of which depends on the action agents' choices of benchmarks. ALBERTA Alberta Union of Provincial Employees AUPE was formed in 1919 as the Civil Service Association of Alberta. For years, the Association was highly restricted regarding membership and could do little to advance their interests. On 22 September 1977 the comprehensive provincial legislation governing industrial relations in the civil service, the Public Service Employee Relations Act, came into effect. The act created a single bargaining agent for all civil servants. Section 99(2) of the act stipulated that AUPE was the sole, or exclusive, bargaining agent of 'each unit of employees on behalf of which it is, on the date this section comes into force, a party to an agreement under the Public Service Act or The Crown Agencies Employee Relations Act/ Later that year, in November, at a historic convention, members of the Association established the AUPE. The Public Service Employee Relations Act was generally patterned upon the 1947 Alberta Labour Act as it pertained to certification and unfair labour practices. The primary differences were a limitation on the scope of collective bargaining, as well as the prohibition of strikes and lockouts and provision for binding arbitration. As we have explained before, section 48(2) of the act forbids collective bargaining over such issues as the organization of work, the assignment of duties, and the system of job evaluation. Interest disputes must be resolved using arbitration. However, arbitrators are restricted in their awards. According to section 55 of the act, arbitrators must consider the following elements in rendering a decision: first, wages and benefits in private and public and unionized and non-unionized organizations; second, the continuity and stability of private and public employment; and third, the province's general economic conditions. The Public Service Employee Relations Board had been responsible for administering the act, until it merged with the Alberta Labour Relations Board and ceased to exist on 1 September 1994. AUPE drew its membership from four sectors of the Alberta public sector - general government services (i.e., civil service), health care,

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 67

education, and municipalities, boards, and agencies (e.g., Alberta Research Council, Alberta Treasury Branch). The civil-service sector, the focus of this discussion, is the largest of the four. In December 2000 17,000 members were in the civil service; 16,500 in health care; 6500 in education; and 3000 in boards and agencies, for a total of 43,000 members.3 These members belonged to over thirty local unions, with ten (twelve until 1996) of those representing civil servants. As mentioned above, the Alberta civil servants do not have the right to strike. In the past, however, two groups of workers did not hesitate to walk off the job when they thought that illegal strikes would bring forth concessions the employers had been reluctant to make at the bargaining table. In May 1990 some 1600 social workers, child-care councillors, and psychologists (out of a total of 2100 workers employed by the social-services department) walked out, demanding to handle fewer cases. The strikers also sought wage parity with their counterparts in other government departments. A social worker attached to the solicitor-general's department, for example, earned $7500 more per year than a person with the same qualifications and job description in the social-services department. The strike ended on 22 May. On 10 May some 1200 jail guards, probation officers, parole officers, and case and youth workers walked off the job (at that time, there were close to 1800 workers in these groups). They wanted a better pension plan, pay increases, and smaller cuts to levels of staffing and special-needs programs. This strike ended on 20 May. Notably, even though both groups had been engaged in illegal strikes, and although workers in both groups had disobeyed injunctions ordering them back to work, the province agreed to not discipline any of the strikers or the AUPE.4 In health care, section 94(1 )(b) of the Alberta Labour Relations Code barred employees in 'approved hospitals' from taking strike action. According to section l(l)(b) of the Hospitals Act, an approved hospital means 'a hospital designated by the Minister as an approved hospital.' In the absence of clear criteria for determining approved hospitals, the Minister of Health had designated all hospitals in Alberta as such. Still, in recent years, AUPE called several short-term illegal strikes in the health-care sector. The most recent one occurred in May 2000. The three-day strike involved more than 12,000 employees in 159 hospitals and long-term-care facilities across Alberta.5 The union was found guilty of civil contempt of court and was fined $400,000. The judge in the case said that he would have considered jailing the AUPE president, but decided against it because the Provincial Health Authorities

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of Alberta, which had sought the contempt ruling, did not ask for a jail sentence (Thomas 2000). Almost a year later, in April 2001, the Alberta Labour Relations Board further punished the union, ruling that the province's health authorities could stop collecting dues on behalf of the union for two months. This ruling could cost the union up to $500,000 if all 12,000 members who participated in the 2000 strike declined to voluntarily submit their dues to the union. An interesting aspect of the 2000 strike was Klein's involvement. It seems that the premier was willing to use his political clout to give the striking workers the raise they deserved. Before the end of the strike, he had said that the AUPE president, Dan McLennan, and the people he represented were 'good people who had earned a raise' (McFaul 2000). The enthusiasm of Klein for the AUPE leader did not stop there. In early 2001 the AUPE was expelled from the national Canadian Labour Congress and the Alberta Federation of Labour on charges that it had 'raided' members from the Canadian Union of Public Employees (CUPE). Once again, the premier did not hesitate to throw his weight behind MacLennan: 'I sort of agree with Dan on this whole point. He's a different sort of union organizer, to say the least ... Dan's the man' (Edmonton Sun 2000). The involvement of Ralph Klein in that strike defied the essence of neo-conservatism. However, it was not the first or last time that Klein got involved 'in the business of business,' which he so emphatically had asked his government to abandon during the early days of his revolution. Two other relevant cases that we discuss later are the 1995 laundry workers' strikes (chapter 6) and the 2002 teachers' strike (chapter 5). In 1993, however, the AUPE was a union that, by and large, had abided by the rules of the game. This was especially true for the civilservice sector of the union, which never experienced a collective action as defined here. Moreover, few of the AUPE members had any jobaction experience. At the same time, the union leadership had never confronted a challenge as overwhelming as the Klein Revolution. AUPE during the Klein Revolution: The Battle That Never Happened On 16 June 1993, the day after Albertans handed a majority mandate to Ralph Klein, union leaders were confident that in the coming months workers across the province would unite against Klein's policies, 'the government would cave in and the labor movement would rise as a

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 69

major political force in Alberta' (Feschuk and Mitchell 1994). The newly elected president of Alberta Union of Provincial Employees (AUPE), the largest union in Alberta, declared, 'You are headed for one of the biggest labor battles that you've ever seen in this province' (Coulter 1993). In the coming months, the Klein government would provide AUPE with several opportunities to act upon the president's pledge. The announced labour battle, however, was never waged. In 1993, when the Klein Revolution was in its infancy, AUPE represented 48,246 members, 29,786 of whom were civil servants. Until December 1996 the latter workers were represented by twelve bargaining units (e.g., administrative and support services, trades and related services, social services). Since then the number of bargaining units has dropped to ten. Between 1994 and 1997, the zenith of the Klein Revolution, the number of full-time-equivalent civil servants was reduced by 23.5 per cent, from 27,705 to 21,193 (Alberta Personnel Administration Office 1995, 1996, 1997). In 1997 AUPE's membership in the civil service dropped by 28.6 per cent, to 21,281 workers. Recall that, in November 1993, the government announced that the salary budgets for health, education, advanced education, and public administration were being cut by 5 per cent. Consequently, all employees were expected to take a 5 per cent wage rollback followed by a zero wage increase over the next two years. Like most other unions, AUPE voluntarily negotiated the -5,0,0 scheme with the respective employers. In 1994 AUPE's three-year collective agreement contained a 2.3 per cent rollback of wages. Another 1.2 per cent reduction was obtained by employees taking three days off without pay, and an additional 1.6 per cent reduction was obtained by employees taking four unpaid statutory holidays. The agreement contained a 'sunset clause' which stated that the 1.6 per cent wage reduction would be restored on 1 September 1997. Given the AUPE president's initial rhetoric and the ensuing blows to the union organization and members, the lack of any concerted union response is puzzling. Why did the biggest union in Alberta never mount any collective action to sway the political discourse, the government's policies, and its choice of implementation methods? The answer to this question spans factors that are internal and external to the union organization.6 In its early years, Alberta was at the vanguard of labour radicalism (Geddes 1990). Over the years, however, business unionism competed with and defeated radicalism to achieve dominance in the mainstream

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of Alberta's labour movement. A major assumption underlying business unionism is that the economic and political spheres are, and should remain, separate (Murray and Reshef 1988). Indeed, the relationship between AUPE and the fading Alberta New Democrats had been tenuous. The union's president, Dan MacLennan, admitted that at least half of his members voted Tory (Edmonton Sun 2001). Thus, for AUPE, and indeed all other Alberta unions, most of the dialogue between union leaders and employers occurred in the labour market, using traditional institutions such as collective bargaining. This situation was not conducive for the pursuit of novel modes of behaviours such as collective action, which represented a dramatic break with past behaviours. This history partially explains why during the Klein Revolution, the union leaders did not seriously consider collective action as a means to counteracting the Klein government. They never promulgated an alternative scenario for the cause of the deficit and the means to its elimination - a scenario that would challenge the government line, emphasize a labour perspective, and give the unions a unique presence in society. For its part, the Klein government never undermined established employee or union rights through legislation. The government had a fiscal problem to resolve. This problem had several roots, yet unions were not, at least explicitly, identified as one of them. They were perceived as an interest group with some potential to sabotage implementation of the Klein Revolution. As such, they had to be harnessed, not busted. The AUPE leaders, then, never interpreted the government policies as a threat to their territorial rights and boundaries, a threat that was likely to spur them to consider collective action to protect the union's vested interests. Moreover, the AUPE leaders perceived themselves mainly as administrators, rather than prophets or agitators who strived to lead their organization through new realities using unorthodox actions. They had, therefore, chosen to confront the aftermath of Klein's policies rather than the policies themselves, and to do so mainly in the familiar setting of the bargaining table. Interviewed AUPE, and other, union leaders were unanimous that they did not have any other choice. During the turbulent years of the Klein Revolution, most union leaders felt that their best efforts should have been directed toward maintaining their organizations by working within the existing system; not against it. 'During this exact period of time,' observed one union executive, 'I think the unions were just trying to maintain the membership base,

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 71

protect the members' jobs and that's about it.' Another AUPE executive added that union leaders were 'trying to bring some of the downside of the Alberta Advantage to the public. Right now, that's probably the biggest role that labour is playing and can play/ Lacking the necessary spirit and experience, an alternative vision, and an issue that could serve as a rallying point for action mobilization, such as Harris's Common Sense Revolution document or the debilitating Bill 7, the AUPE leaders could not easily inspire willingness to protest in themselves, let alone in their members. It is noteworthy that a few AUPE leaders, deeply frustrated with their own docile behaviours during the Klein Revolution, condemned themselves for having 'neither the resources, nor the skills, nor the motivation to mount a sustained campaign of any kind' to derail the Klein Revolution. However, given the basic conservatism of Albertans in general and many of their members in particular, the AUPE leaders' quiescence might be justifiable. By and large, the AUPE membership was not disposed to collective action. Witnessing the torrent of layoffs around them, employees quickly became fearful for their own job security. The first thing you have to remember,' recalled an AUPE officer, 'is that the political climate in Alberta in 1993, and I don't think it is overstating it, was hysteria.' Members' fears for their own, colleagues', and relatives' jobs and livelihood significantly undercut the abilities of the leaders to mobilize for collective protests. Several AUPE officers confirmed this notion: When the general membership, their number one priority is keeping their jobs, it's very difficult to go to the bargaining table and say, 'My people are going to walk/ because everybody knows they're not ... One [thing] that [fear] does is reduce any chance of member militancy; it is off the agenda now ... People don't want to make waves because, in spite of the economic conditions in Alberta and how Alberta seems to be held up as a model for the rest of the country to follow, people are still worried about job security and concerned about keeping a job. That is still people's greatest concern.

Furthermore, influenced by the spirit of the day, some union members felt that it was their civic duty to contribute to the collective effort to restore fiscal order to the house of Alberta. As one provincial union leader admitted:

72 Unions in the Time of Revolution Well, the Klein propaganda is a very effective piece of propaganda. They do their PR well, and they won that debate. And we still have members saying to us that they don't want the 5.0 per cent [pay cut] back, because they don't think that the economic circumstances are justified, in spite of the fact that the government this year [1997] is going to bring in somewhere near a $3 billion surplus when everything is counted ... With the deficit, and the debt, and everything else ... the right wing has been pumping that particular message out. And the [public] bought into it. There was a deficit, and they felt that 'we've got to tighten our belts, and we have to do this.'

Finally, as one AUPE officer succinctly explained, 'there is no question that union members in Alberta are Albertans and so they have the same culture and political background as the rest of the province/ Since 1993 most Albertans, including many union members, accepted the government's argument that Alberta had an expenditure rather than a revenue problem and endorsed the prescribed remedies. At the end of the day, union leaders faced the unenviable task of catering to two very different interest groups, one that was very upset with the government agenda and another that supported it. Under such circumstances union solidarity, a cornerstone of collective action, became elusive. And recall that AUPE could never avail itself of an unambiguous mobilization focal point in the form of a document such as the Common Sense Revolution, or confrontational legislation such as Bill 7, that attacked established union and employee rights. As an officer from the National Union of Public and General Employees (NUPGE), an umbrella organization of public-sector employee unions such as OPSEU and AUPE, pointed out, the Ontario situation was different than Alberta's. A straight job cut, as difficult as it is, is a different thing [than hostile legislation]. What we were seeing in Alberta was a number of job cuts, and that particular round of bargaining where they said, 'you're going to lose five per cent [of wages].' There's no question that Klein could have [legislated] it. He had a huge majority in the legislature and could have legislated the 5 per cent rollback. It wouldn't have been out of keeping with the times. But in Ontario the fight was not simply about money - it was about responding to a frontal assault through legislation that was taking away employment rights from people.

Not only did AUPE suffer from internal barriers to mobilization,

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 73

potential mobilization was further eroded by a number of external difficulties. First, civil servants were not allowed to strike. It is difficult to know how many members would have agreed to break the law and participate in a political protest against a highly popular government, had one been recommended by the union leadership. The survey evidence presented in table 4.1 suggests that, in hindsight, the majority of Albertans, union members as well as non-union workers, would not have supported a province-wide action as a means to influencing socio-economic policies. Nor would the majority of the public have supported a province-wide strike as a means to forestall the Klein Revolution.7 Interestingly, however, the majority of respondents believed that unions should participate in government decision-making on reinvestment. Note that even in the sub-sample of union members, there is no support for a province-wide strike, which is of course but one form of collective action. Second, the Alberta union movement was plagued by inter-union conflicts. Paradoxically, during the Klein Revolution, while the survival imperative rendered union cooperation essential, it simultaneously fuelled union competition and rivalries. Several local presidents lamented this and conceded that if we were more unified we could have done something about our circumstances, but certainly that's not the case today. We're fragmented and driven apart, and put on a competitive footing ... The nursing unions aren't even on speaking terms ... Sometimes we're our own worst enemies. We spend a lot of time - perhaps righting with each other is too strong a word - but we spend a lot of our time defending what we perceive to be our sector against other unions, and in cases like with CUPE and the AUPE in health care, there is constant friction ... We turn our guns inward and fight against each other, which I think is really sad.

This rivalry was not new, but it was exacerbated by the government's policy of merging bargaining units in several sectors of the broader public service. We will return to this issue soon. Moreover, unions of professional employees considered themselves unique relative to other unions. As a president of a local teachers' union argued: If we compare the Alberta Teachers' Association to [non-professional] workers and their unions: We are professionals; we have university train-

TABLE 4.1

Attitudinal survey, December 1997 (n1 = 1207; n2 = 151) Disagree4 (%)

Neutral5 (%)

Agree6 (%)

Item3

Full sample

Union members

Full sample

Union members

Full sample

Union members

A province-wide strike will speed up reinvestment.

59.5

42.3

10.2

16.4

30.3

41.3

I would support a province-wide strike.

65.0

49.4

7.4

8.5

27.6

42.1

Public sector unions are special interest groups.

40.9

61.5

16.0

14.6

43.1

23.9

Public sector unions should be involved in government decisions about reinvestment.

33.0

21.7

15.8

16.8

51.2

61.5

Source: Population Research Laboratory, University of Alberta 1 Full sample 2 Union members 3 The four items cover 7-point scales where '1 ' is 'Strongly Disagree' and '7' is 'Strongly Agree.' See note 7 for the full text of the items. 4 An aggregate sum of categories 1-3. 5 The fourth category. 6 An aggregate sum of categories 5-7.

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 75 ing; we have an association that provides professional development, that provides discipline on our members if they were to breach our professional code. So I see our position as being much, much different than the [non-professional] unions. In addition, two union officers detected tensions between unions that are affiliated with the Alberta Federation of Labour and non-affiliated unions:8 There are some other associations on the scene who don't affiliate with the House of Labour, and they have no morals, no scruples. They'll just attack, attack, attack and make it inconvenient for you, and have the people fighting amongst themselves rather than turning the barrel against the employer and the government... But I believe that those associations that are not a part of the House of Labour do not believe in working together. They're just out to protect their own little empires. Third, government policies and public-sector managers' practices exacerbated the union rivalries. For example, in health care, regionalization (see chapter 2) pitted unions against each other as they were bidding employers to facilitate, or avoid, bargaining-unit consolidation within the newly created regional health authorities. Two senior provincial union executives reflected on the effects of regionalization and the 20/80 rule on the unions: I think that [the 20/80 rule] has stressed relations to some degree ... For some unions, it just heightens the competition frenzy. I see big winners and I see big losers. When it comes to, I might term it 'union wars,' nobody comes up the winner. And if the employer tries to settle labour relations through this process [run-off certification votes], in fact, they will generate real malcontent and poor labour relations within their own working environments ... Our unions are far too busy fighting amongst themselves when the real fight is against the employers, and more specifically, against government policy. I think that the politicians and the employers have been very successful in diverting our attention from the real place where we need to put our energies. They have us fighting over who is going to be representing what group of workers. It's most unfortunate, and a huge waste of time. Moreover, on several occasions, managers demanded more than the

76 Unions in the Time of Revolution

stipulated 5 per cent wage rollback as a quid-pro-quo for job security. This action also pitted unions against each other as, notwithstanding pressures from their stronger counterparts, weaker unions succumbed to employer and member pressures to sign a deal - a result that, in turn, provided employers with the legitimacy to pressure other unions with similar demands. One provincial union president reminisced: Then you get to the bargaining table, and the employers are saying, 'well, the Premier said 5 per cent but our budgets are such that 5 per cent is not going to do,' and that's why huge concessions [were extracted] out of groups such as CUPE ... Therefore, then, you have to give up your benefits and even more of your layoff and your recall rights and all of that kind of stuff. It wasn't limited to 5 per cent ... This gave far more to the employers than government ever publicly admitted they were seeking.

In short, union rivalries and competition over membership, commonplace before 1993, were intensified during the Klein Revolution. Fourth, Klein's message to the public was highly effective. In the end, as several union leaders admitted, most of the public accepted Klein's argument that Alberta had an expenditure problem and not, as the unions were arguing, a revenue problem. A top AUPE executive conceded that, in 1993-4, 'there was a very important debate that took place, and we lost that debate lock, stock, and barrel. And that was the debate over the debt and deficit. What they were and what they meant/ The government used roundtables to spread and popularize its message. Participants from all walks of life were expected to advise the government on where and how much to cut, restructure, and streamline. Critics have suggested that the roundtables were orchestrated and their outcome was a fait accompli (Lisac 1995: 144-59; Van Herk 2001: 279). One provincial union president considered the roundtables a farce: 'There was no intent by the government to structure them in any way that the feedback would be representative. They were strictly to present a front by the government, so that they could say they were listening to Albertans.' 'What this [roundtable process] did was create a mythic voice of Alberta - a united, one-dimensional Alberta' (Lisac 1995: 145). Whenever union leaders tried to challenge this voice, they were labelled 'special-interest groups.' As one union president noted: 'I think that the Klein government has done a very good job at making it seem ... that somehow if it is the unions that are speaking up, then it is only out

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 77

of self-interest.' As a special-interest group, unions felt that they were de-legitimized, their views rendered irrelevant, and their message marginalized. Finally, the blueprint for the Klein Revolution was drafted, at least partially, by Roger Douglas (1993; see also Schwartz 1997 and Dabbs 1995: 110).9 As minister of finance in the fourth Labor government of New Zealand, Douglas presided over some of the most far-reaching structural reforms that country has ever experienced. Among other things, he suggested that '[vjested interests seeking to preserve vast privileges will always argue for a slower pace of change. It gives them more time to mobilize public opinion against the reforms ... If you take your next decision while opponents are still struggling to mobilize against the last one, you will continually capture the high ground of national interest and force them to fight uphill' (1993: 223, 225). The Alberta government took this advice to heart. An AUPE officer, relaying what she heard from a government's executive, provided some evidence that the pace of the Alberta government reforms was well planned: He said, 'We were told we would have strikes, massive strikes. There were no strikes. We were all amazed, so we kept going.' And he said, 'But when we examined why this was so effective, what we saw was you hit them fast, you purposely exclude special-interest groups or anyone who's going to be making noise, and you move fast enough so that your opposition can never get a breath enough to come back at you. And then by the time when they do, you say, well it's done now.' And that's why the government was so effective.

Indeed, in 1993 'no one was prepared for the fast, furious, and severe assault on the public sector that transpired' (Taylor 1995: 313). Union leaders were no exception. Like other stakeholders, they failed to anticipate that the government had both the resolve and the public support to make fundamental and rapid changes, and the determination to 'not blink' in imposing this agenda.10 As an Alberta Federation of Labour officer admitted: 'I don't think we were well prepared. No, not entirely. Certainly we didn't see it to the extent that it took place ... The cuts came so fast that they left many unions with their heads spinning. They weren't prepared for the scope and the pace of the change.' Other union officers concurred and emphasized the effect the government strategy had on the membership:

78 Unions in the Time of Revolution Was our membership prepared for it? Absolutely not. There was total unwillingness to accept it. I recall very clearly in the fall of '93 when we set our proposals for bargaining for '94, my membership was even less accepting of this coming along, less accepting of that possibility than I was ... Part of the philosophy and agenda of this government was to hit 'em hard and hit 'em fast. And hit them so hard and hit them so fast that they just scatter. And that's exactly what happened and for the most part it would be fair to say that most working people ran for cover, in fear of raising their heads because they'd get shot off. And if I sit over here and don't say anything, maybe they'll forget I'm here.

A provincial union president captured the situation concisely: 'For one thing, I think they're trying to keep us running in all directions.' Running in all directions made it difficult for AUPE, as well as for other public-sector unions, to cope with the pace and scope of the changes. Union members hoped that by keeping quiet they would be able to protect their jobs. Meanwhile, caught up in the whirl of restructuring and having to put out many consecutive and simultaneous local fires, union leaders' capabilities to organize any concerted response to the Klein Revolution evaporated. LESSONS We have proposed that union collective action is a defensive behaviour that is sparked by government actions. Unions do not lie low, waiting for an opportunity to act upon bottled-up grievances by flexing their collective muscles. They have at their disposal various institutions they can use to iron out differences they might have with managers or government personnel. But when union leaders, who are excluded from policy-making, perceive government behaviours as a fundamental threat to their vested interests, or territorial rights and boundaries, they are likely to consider the possibility of collective action. The 1996 OPSEU walkout constitutes a collective action, or a political protest. Even though it occurred after the parties had been deadlocked during collective bargaining, the walkout was in essence a protest against the Harris government's attack on established employment and bargaining rights, an attack that undercut the union leaders' representational capacity. Mindful of the possible damage to their union, and perhaps to their own political future, the OPSEU leaders could not ignore the crippling combination of massive layoffs, elimina-

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 79

tion of successor and bumping rights, and changed pension rules. Once it had become clear that the government would not surrender through bargaining what it had taken away using its sovereign powers, collective action became a real possibility. Thus, the OPSEU strike was more than a job action taken by a disgruntled union trying to bend an uncompromising employer. It was also, and perhaps mostly, a clash between two raison d'etres, namely, the government's sovereignty versus the union's existence as a power to be reckoned with. The government provides the cues that prompt union leaders to consider the option of collective action. But what factors facilitate the pursuit of this option? Indigenous organization strength, the next component in our model, provides part of the answer. It includes four factors - members, leaders, structures of solidarity incentives, and communication network. To overcome the free-rider problem, the leadership is expected to employ education and communication and establish structures of solidarity incentives that will encourage all, or most, members to participate in collective action. The OPSEU leaders were successful at that. Throughout the mobilization campaign, the leaders emphasized, and effectively exploited, the direct relationship between the government policies and the looming erosion of their members' vested interests in job security, the quality of work life, and the wellbeing of the union. The leaders therefore focused their mobilization efforts on concrete issues that were very close to the hearts of individual members, namely, their own as well as their union's future. Thus, the leaders established a reason, and provided incentives, for the members' partaking in the collective action. These were the only incentives for participation the leaders could have provided to potential protesters. Apparently, issue relevance, clarity, and specificity were essential to this successful mobilization campaign. The above factors are instrumental for gaining the commitment of union members to collective action and inspiring them to act upon this commitment. Once the collective protest begins, these factors are also necessary to enhance the resolve of participants. Using communication and established structures of solidarity incentives, the OPSEU leaders kept the members off the job for five weeks, with very few of them crossing the picket lines before the official ending of the walkout. This is an impressive accomplishment at the best of times, let alone when the walkout is the first job action ever taken by union members who faced a popular and indignant premier, tough economic and weather conditions, and a violent reaction from the Ontario provincial police. It

80 Unions in the Time of Revolution

is a tribute to the OPSEU leaders' capacity to lead that they inspired this kind of commitment among the rank and file. An important element in our model is cognitive liberation, or the leaders' ability to convince potential participants that they share a similar situation, that it is unjust, and that it can be remedied through collective action. We do not have individual-level data that can confirm the extent to which the OPSEU members shared a common grievance before they walked off their jobs. Clearly, however, the leaders secured their members' commitment to the collective protest, and successfully maintained this commitment until the leaders decided to end the protest. Therefore, we conclude that the leaders managed to liberate participants from fear, apathy, and free-rider tendencies, which militate against collective action by breeding resignation and inaction. The leaders convinced their members that collective action was necessary to redress their grievances, and successfully controlled their behaviours before and during the actual protest. Turning now to the AUPE case: based on our model, the reason for AUPE's quiescence should be attributed to a lack of a perceived threat to the union's territorial rights and boundaries from the Klein government. Put differently, the AUPE leaders did not interpret the Klein government agenda and actions as a threat to their vested interests, thus rendering collective action unwarranted. Why? The Klein government never singled out AUPE, or any other union for that matter, as a target for a direct attack. Practically speaking, unions were not defined as a root of the province's financial calamity. Ideologically, Klein did not perceive trade unionism as a burden on society, a cloud that must be blown away to let the Alberta Advantage shine. Already having in place restrictive labour laws and enjoying a weak parliamentary opposition and widespread popular support, the Klein government avoided controversial legislation that could have fuelled collective action, or at least its serious consideration. Consequently, the government denied union leaders a clear-cut pretext for mobilization. Interestingly, the Klein government did have several convenient opportunities to deal a severe blow to the unions. A propitious occasion to undermine the unions presented itself in 1995. Following the sustained lobbying of several citizen groups, Alberta MLA Gary Friedel (Peace River) introduced a private member's Motion 503: 'Be it resolved that the Legislative Assembly urge the government to initiate a study to examine the implementation of right-to-work (RTW) legislation in the Province of Alberta' (Ponak, Reshef, and Taras 1998). RTW

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 81

legislation would have prohibited unions and management from negotiating and concluding collective agreements that enforce universal union membership at a given workplace, or compulsory dues deductions. The motion was passed by a vote of 32 to 31, with 12 cabinet ministers supporting it. Then the minister of labour, Stockwell Day, who did not vote for the motion, responded by striking a committee of the Alberta Economic Development Authority to study the feasibility of the RTW legislation. At the same time, Day repeatedly maintained that there was no need for any significant change in labour law. Premier Klein was not an active participant, in the debate that ensued. Unexpectedly, the majority of Alberta employers and employer groups who responded to the call for submissions were opposed to RTW. For example, construction employers' associations argued that the introduction of RTW would destroy labour-relations stability in the industry and reverse the many positive union-management achievements of the previous decade. The committee reviewed the evidence, concluded that there were few economic benefits to be garnered by RTW, and suggested that RTW legislation would disrupt labour relations in Alberta. Later we will show that RTW was not the only opportunity to undermine the unions the government chose to bypass. Thus far we have attributed the behaviours of OPSEU and AUPE leaders to the actions of their respective governments. This is a fairly deterministic proposition, which credits to governments, and to them only, the union leaders' decisions about collective action. However, the evidence suggests that there was more to these decisions than government behaviours. First, the Ontario and Alberta union leaders had different beliefs and values regarding such things as the roles of unions in society and how these roles should be performed. Second, the leaders operated within a complex environment, or context, that exposed them to a host of influences that bore on their understandings of the feasibility of collective action. We thus propose that the government influence on the leaders' collective-action decisions was moderated by the leaders' beliefs and values, and by their operational context. Union leaders operate under different philosophies that, to an extent, reflect the political culture of their society. In the more conservative province of Alberta, the separation of unions from politics had been much more pronounced than in Ontario. On the one hand, Alberta governments had never seriously sought union input into policy-making. On the other hand, the AUPE had been dominated for years by a conservative business-unionism philosophy, which advo-

82 Unions in the Time of Revolution

cated the pursuit of a limited economic agenda using standard industrial-relations institutions (e.g., collective bargaining, arbitration). This history, as one AUPE officer acknowledged, had rendered the option of collective action highly unlikely: 'One of the things business unionism does is it creates a culture in which union leadership voluntarily gives up the particular kind of weapon of mass protest and massive industrial action. [Consequently,] the union lacks any political or social dimension.' Being devoid of a prominent socio-political dimension, business unionism is not conducive to collective action. This is perhaps why another AUPE officer adopted a near fatalistic view of the prospects for union collective action: I have not seen an instance where - and I've been twenty years working for a trade union movement - a trade union leader has successfully mobilized anything. I know that sounds audacious, but I challenge anyone to give me an instance where that has happened ... So I don't think that [names of two former presidents of provincial unions in Alberta] or the trade-union movement is capable of mobilizing anything in this province. What they can do is certainly influence events, and usually it's with slowing down or cooling off things. We don't have a history or legacy of radical trade unionism, at all. And one reason is a very clever collectivebargaining regime that was instituted in North America.

Operating within a conservative environment, coupled with long-time reliance on institutionalized means of conflict settlement, had rendered the AUPE leaders unlikely candidates for leading a province-wide political protest. In contrast, before 1995 the Ontario unions had been much more involved in politics, a phenomenon that reached a peak with the ascent to power of the NDP in 1990. They never confined themselves to acting within the labour market in order to protect their vested interests. In addition, union leaders operate within a complex context, the elements of which are external and internal to the union organization. The leaders, therefore, are exposed to a host of influences from sources other than the government when deciding whether to pursue collective action. Compared with AUPE, OPSEU benefited from a more 'enabling context,' that is, a context that was more conducive to labour mobilization. First, the walkout was legal. Interestingly, the Harris government never revoked OPSEU's right to strike. Perhaps the government did not believe that the union would dare to exercise it, or

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 83

thought that even if the leadership called for a strike, the inexperienced meek members would not answer that call. It is also possible that the government preferred to confront the union head-on, thereby obviating the mandatory involvement of a third party, who might have granted the union some of its demands. It is hard to believe that the inexperienced OPSEU members would have been as committed to, and determined to see through, an illegal walkout. OPSEU's president Leah Casselman admitted that an illegal action 'would have made it doubly harder to get our members out' (quoted in Ibbitson 1997: 157). Second, OPSEU enjoyed the support of many private- and public-sector unions, such as autoworkers, steelworkers, and teachers, who provided generous interest-free loans and moral support (Ibbitson 1997: 166; Rapaport 1999: 221). Third, the government never legislated the union members back to work, the main reason being that the protest did not cause a significant disruption to the public, and the government was not interested in testing, and perhaps even fuelling, the strikers' resolve. Meanwhile, the members were saved the dissonance of, and internal debate on, how to respond to back-to-work legislation. Fourth, the union and its supporters had gained some experience and confidence in organizing a collective protest during the action that took place in London on 11 December 1995. This event is discussed in chapter 6. It must be stressed, however, that the OPSEU leadership successfully overcame one major hurdle on their way to a province-wide walkout that has not yet been mentioned. Fearful for their livelihood, uncertain about government retaliation, completely inexperienced, and perhaps supportive of Harris, about a third of the OPSEU membership were opposed to the idea of a job action (Rapaport 1999:103). Still, the leadership's steadfast commitment to collective protest as a means to counteracting the government prevailed. AUPE, in contrast, operated within a more 'crippling context.' This context is marked by a restrictive legal system, a conservative political culture, a membership and leadership with almost no job-action experience, a divided membership, and an acrimonious inter-union relationship. These factors, together with the leaders' conservative paradigm and the government's lack of ostensible hostility toward the union, produced collective quiescence. In the end, the AUPE leaders who welcomed the Klein Revolution on a highly belligerent note, watched compliantly as it rolled throughout Alberta. The preceding analysis gives rise to three possible modifications to

84 Unions in the Time of Revolution

the initial model. First, the Indigenous Organization Strength component originally comprises four factors - leaders, structures of solidarity incentives, communication network, and members. We propose that the first three, together with cognitive liberation, are the embodiment of leadership and should be subsumed under this term. The leaders are the foremost agents of collective action. They interpret the cues sent by the government, and by other environmental factors, and decide whether to consider and pursue collective action. Should they decide in the affirmative, they have to mobilize the members using various means of communication and by creating structures of solidarity incentives. Once the action has been initialized, the leaders will have to use these leadership activities to sustain the participants' resolve. Members, on the other hand, constitute a different element. They are the foremost resource leaders have at their disposal, because without members there will be no collective action. Members, however, pose a unique challenge to the leaders - they are independent of the leaders' needs and wants and therefore cannot be mobilized at will. Thus, unlike non-human resources, members are not simply subject to leaders' actions; they also are, as the AUPE case has demonstrated, a source of influence on the leaders' decisions and behaviours. As such, members provide an internal context for the leadership. Second, the OPSEU collective action could not have sustained itself on leadership rhetoric alone. It was also the product of a meticulous planning process that resulted in a solid administrative infrastructure. Thus, another leadership activity that is critical to mobilization success is the development of the collective action administrative infrastructure, or logistics. Without it the OPSEU protest might have foundered. An administrative infrastructure, together with the other leadership elements, or activities, mentioned above, is used to foster participant commitment to collective action and participant resolve during the action. Third, the initial model suggests that the process of collective action commences with government behaviours. The greater the threat of these behaviours to union territorial rights and boundaries, the more likely are union leaders to consider, and eventually organize, collective protest. Whereas the process of collective action begins with union leaders' interpretation of government actions, other factors determine the leaders' final decisions. These factors (e.g., labour law, inter- and intra-union politics) constitute the leaders' contexts, which are external and internal to the union organization, and their beliefs about the feasibility and merits of collective action.

Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 85

In summary, government actions provide the necessary cues that initiate the process of collective action. If union leaders perceive government actions as a threat to their vested interests, they are likely to oppose them. When the leaders are denied access to the policy-making system, they are likely to consider collective action. Their final decision depends on their values and beliefs and on how they interpret signals sent by their external and internal environments. If they decide to mobilize union members for collective action, the leaders should engage in four activities - communication, cognitive liberation, the creation of structures of solidarity incentives, and the establishment of an administrative infrastructure. These activities fulfil two functions: first, they are used to mobilize union members to collective action; and second, they sustain their resolve and solidarity for the time it takes to force the hand of the government.

CHAPTER FIVE

Teachers: Protecting the Profession, Defending the Union Organization

The public education system did not escape the fury of the neo-conservative storm in both Ontario and Alberta. Deep budget cuts were followed by a loss of teachers and support staff, deteriorating working conditions, and a real threat to the quality of education. In both provinces, union leaders considered the use of collective action to protect their members' interests and their own organization against the onslaught of neo-conservatism. Yet whereas the Ontario teachers' unions mounted a concerted action to protest the Harris government's behaviours, their Alberta counterpart remained inert throughout the Klein Revolution. ONTARIO Context Until 1998 the Ontario public education system had five teachers' unions and one umbrella organization, the Ontario Teachers' Federation (OTF). The Association des enseignantes et des enseignants franco-ontariens (AEFO) (Ontario French Teachers' Association) was formed in 1939 as a francophone professional association representing Catholic and French-speaking teachers in Ontario (Muir 1968: 43). In 1944 the Ontario English Catholic Teachers' Association (OECTA) was formed to promote the interests of English-speaking teachers in the separate school system. In the 1990s about two-thirds of the membership taught in elementary schools, the rest in secondary schools. The Ontario Secondary School Teachers' Federation (OSSTF) was created in 1919. It represented non-Catholic teachers in the secondary school system. Until their recent merger, the Federation of Women Teachers'

Teachers: Protecting the Profession, Defending the Union 87 TABLE 5.1

Ontario teacher unions' membership

Year

AEFO

FWTAO

OPSTF3

OECTA

OSSTF

1988 1997 1998 1999

5,597 6,480 6,320 7,460

31,110 41,000 41,000

19,000 30,000 33,800

24,000 32,790 35,800 30,000

35,722 50,580 49,480 51,440

52,350b

Source: Workplace Information Directorate, Directory of Labour Organizations in Canada (Ottawa: Human Resources Development Canada, 1988, 1997, 1998) a

b

The figures for the OPSTF are substantially higher than the figures used by the Federation and the Ontario Teachers' Federation (OTF) in their official publications. Just before the 1998 merger, the official figure was 13,016. This difference probably has to do with the difference in the count of members and full-time-equivalent members. The OPSTF also had a substantial number of voluntary members in the form of women who wanted to be full-fledged members, but by statute were required to belong to the FWTAO. In addition, the OPSTF also represented occasional teachers, who were not included in the OTF count. The membership figure is taken from Workplace Information Directorate, Directory of Labour Organizations in Canada (2000); Internet edition: http://labour.hrdc-drhc.gc.ca/ doc/wid-dimt/eng/dlo.cfm

Associations of Ontario (FWTAO) and the Ontario Public School Teachers' Federation (OPSTF) represented female and male elementary teachers, respectively. The FWTAO was founded in 1918 at a time when it was customary to pay lower salaries to women than to men. The OPSTF was established in 1920 as the Ontario Public School Men Teachers' Federation for the purpose of representing male elementary teachers. On 1 July 1998 the two elementary teachers' unions merged and spawned a new organization, the Elementary Teachers' Federation of Ontario (ETFO). (See table 5.1 for the membership composition of these various unions, 1988-99.) In June of 1944, following the passage of the Teaching Profession Act, elected representatives of the five unions met to organize the OTF. It was agreed that the former voluntary five organizations should retain their individual autonomy within the OTF. As a result, each teacher in Ontario had membership in one of the affiliates as well as in the umbrella organization. Until 1997 this situation also applied to principals and vice-principals. Each affiliate operated within its own constitution, negotiated its own collective agreements, and sent representatives to the OTF board of governors. The five Ontario teachers' associations gained union status in July

88 Unions in the Time of Revolution

1975, when the School Boards and Teachers Collective Negotiations Act (Bill 100) became law. The act regulated the collective-bargaining process and granted teachers the right to strike and employers the right to respond to strike action by lockout or closure. It also created the Education Relations Commission to administer the law by '(1) monitoring teacher-board negotiations; (2) appointing third-party neutrals (e.g., factfinders and mediators); (3) conducting and supervising last-offer and strike votes;... and (4) maintaining a comprehensive data bank on teachers-board collective agreements' (Rose 2002: 103). In addition, during strikes, when the Commission thinks that students' education is in jeopardy, it must report to the Ontario cabinet, which will then decide whether or not to legislate the teachers back to work. By 1997, in 13 decisions since 1975, the Commission concluded that the school year was in jeopardy anywhere from 27 to 73 days into a strike (Girard 1997). All teachers, as defined by the Teaching Profession Act, were required to belong to the OTF. Until 1997 this requirement included principals and vice-principals. Put differently, membership in the OTF was a condition of teaching in the publicly funded schools in Ontario. In 1944, the OTF devised elaborate bylaws to delineate and govern . union jurisdictions. Using these bylaws, the OTF assigned each teacher to a specific affiliate.1 Still, these rules had not prevented jurisdictional disputes. The longest and most bitter dispute pitted the unions representing male and female elementary teachers against each other over the course of three decades. The story is worth telling since it exposes some of the internal politics of the teachers' unions, and highlights some of the tensions that had plagued these unions and, to an extent, undermined their 1997 collective action. The Ontario Public School Men Teachers' Federation and the Federation of Women Teachers' Associations of Ontario were incorporated in 1921. Until they merged in 1998, an OTF bylaw required women who did most of their teaching in public elementary schools to be members of the FWTAO, and their male colleagues to join the men teachers' federation. Since the late 1960s, the much smaller men's group had persistently tried to merge with its female counterpart. The latter, however, had been determined to keep its autonomy and rejected numerous overtures from the men's federation for amalgamation. The women's group felt that it needed a separate federation to protect the unique interests of female teachers. Over the years, the men's federation had become more aggressive.

Teachers: Protecting the Profession, Defending the Union 89

In 1972 it opened its ranks to female teachers by creating a voluntary membership category. Ten years later, it had more than 1000 members in this category. In 1977 the women's federation countered by putting a moratorium on discussing a possible merger with the men's union. In an effort to demonstrate its gender neutrality, in 1984 the men's group changed its name to the Ontario Public School Teachers' Federation. The women's union challenged this move in court and lost (Claridge 1984). The same year, the OPSTF elected a woman as president for the first time in its history. The men thus communicated that they had accepted that if the two groups merged, the much larger women's faction would likely dominate the new union. Still, the FWTAO would not relent. The dispute between the two unions re-entered the legal domain in 1986. A principal from Windsor, Margaret Tomen (now Couture), started a legal challenge to the OTF's use of gender as a basis for professional membership. She argued that the bylaw that required her to belong to the FWTAO was sexist and should be invalidated because it offended the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. The case dragged on in the courts for almost ten years. Both the Divisional Court and the Supreme Court of Ontario ruled against Tomen, saying that the OTF bylaw did not violate the Charter. In 1991 the Supreme Court of Canada refused to hear the case. But Tomen took her case to the Ontario Human Rights Commission, where she was more successful. On 31 March 1994 the Commission's board of inquiry concluded that there was 'a rational basis for finding that there was discrimination against the complainants on the basis of gender which offended their dignity or interests' (Claridge 1995). More than a year later, on 21 June 1995, Ontario's Divisional Court upheld the board of inquiry ruling and quashed the OTF requirement that the province's male and female public school teachers belong to different unions. Writing for the majority, Mr Justice Alvin Rosenberg said that 'affirmative action for women can be carried by FWTAO whether every woman is forced to become a member or not' (Duffy 1995). Soon thereafter, in August of 1996, the whole issue became moot following the decision of women's union to 'retire with dignity' and create a new union with the maledominated federation (Gait 1996). The actual merger occurred in July 1998, with a woman, Phyllis Benedict, becoming its first president.2 The election of a majority Conservative government on 8 June 1995 presented the teachers' unions with unprecedented challenges. The Harris government would dramatically alter the rules of the game in

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education and, concomitantly, undercut the unions' freedom to shape these rules using collective bargaining and consultation. Still, in 1994 the Tories' plans for education, should they be elected, were vague. The blueprint document for the Common Sense Revolution stated: 'Total "non-priority" spending will be reduced by 20% in three years, without touching a penny of Health Care funding. Other priority areas of law enforcement and classroom funding for education will also be exempt' (Ontario PC Party 1994: 3). Yet five pages later the tone changed: 'Classroom funding for education will be guaranteed. This does not mean that savings cannot be found elsewhere in the education system. Too much money is now being spent on consultants, bureaucracy and administration. Not enough is being invested in students directly ... Education reform is essential if Ontario's next generation is to find high-paying, productive jobs in increasingly competitive markets' (ibid., 8). Over the five years following the 1995 election, the Harris government employed a three-pronged strategy - budget cuts, legislation, and the creation of the Ontario College of Teachers - to restructure the $14.04 billion public education system and, concomitantly, achieve the twin aims of cutting the system's total spending while maintaining, if not improving, its quality. Budget Cutbacks The first move was swift. Taking a leaf from Ralph Klein's book, the Harris government adopted a 'machine gun' approach to its policy making and implementation. The tactic was to hit as many areas, and as fast as possible, in order to overwhelm interest groups and defuse potential opposition. With just over a month in office, the government announced the first round of budget cuts that would chop $1.9 billion of spending. 'Without this quick and decisive action, which caught all the pressure groups fully unprepared, the Common Sense Revolution would have had a much more difficult ride' (Courchene and Telmer 1998:181). The $14.04 billion school system was not exempt. By the end of 1995 the government cut grants to school boards by $1 billion over a full year; to community colleges by $120 million; and to universities by $280 million (Mittelstaedt 1995b; Dare 1997). Consequently, in June of 1999 the Ontario Teachers' Federation reported that it was collecting fees from over 2700 fewer teachers in 1998-9 than in 1997-8. Citing Statistics Canada's Quarterly Report on

Teachers: Protecting the Profession, Defending the Union 91 TABLE 5.2

Education legislation passed by the Harris government

Legislation

Date passed

Title

Bill 104

23 April 1997

Fewer School Boards Act

Bill 136

29 October 1997

Public Sector Transition Stability Act: 1. Public Sector Labour Relations Transition Act 2. Public Sector Dispute Resolution Act

Bill 160

1 December 1997

Education Quality Improvement Act

Bill 62

28 September 1998

An Act to Resolve Labour Disputes between Teachers' Unions and School Boards

Bill 63

7 October 1998

An Act to Amend the Education Act with Respect to Instructional Time

Bill 74

23 June 2000

Education Accountability Act

Education (March 1999), the OTF showed that since 1996, Ontario had lost 3600 teaching positions. At the same time, student enrolment in Ontario's publicly funded elementary and secondary schools had increased by more than 40,000 (OTF 1999). According to the government of Ontario, between 1994-5 and 1998-9, student enrolment in the publicly funded school system grew by 41,633, whereas the number of teachers declined by 1030 (Ontario Ministry of Education 2000). Legislation

To facilitate the reduction of total education spending and cope with its consequences, the education system had to be restructured. In order to shield the process from possible union interference and ensure that the unions and the public school boards would not be able to use collective bargaining to restore the situation, even in part, to the status quo ante, the rules of the industrial-relations game had to be altered fundamentally and the changes secured by law. As a result, the changes to the education system were erected upon a six-legged legal stool (see table 5.2). (Interestingly, all of the following acts were passed after the OPSEU strike. The possibility of a relationship between these events cannot be substantiated yet is intriguing.)

92 Unions in the Time of Revolution Bill 104

On 17 February 1997 the government tabled Bill 104, the Fewer School Boards Act. The legislation, which was passed on 23 April of the same year, cut the number of school boards from 129 to 72; reduced the number of trustees from almost 1900 to about 700; capped the trustees' pay at $5000 per year (compared with between $3000 and $48,000 before); banned school-board employees and spouses from running to be trustees anywhere in the province; made school advisory councils mandatory; and set up the Education Improvement Commission as a powerful body to oversee the transition process over the next few years. The government estimated that the changes would save $150 million in reduced administration and other costs (Lewington 1997). Several union officers we interviewed thought that this legislation significantly reduced the number of public-education advocates who worked for the system, and with it much of the potential insider opposition to education restructuring a la Harris. Bill 136

On 3 June 1997 the government introduced a bill to govern labour relations during public-sector restructuring. Bill 136, the Public Sector Transition Stability Act, applied to some 450,000 workers in municipalities, hospitals, and district school boards, with relevance to specified restructuring events.3 It consisted of two new acts. The Public Sector Labour Relations Transition Act established a framework for resolving labour-relations disputes resulting from the restructuring of municipalities, school boards, hospitals, and other broader public-sector employers. The Public Sector Dispute Resolution Act reformed the interest-arbitration processes that applied to police, firefighters, and hospitals employees. The government felt that Bill 136 was needed to deal with potential union battles over jurisdiction, and fights with new employers for first contracts that would be expected as school boards were merged, municipalities were amalgamated, and hospital services were consolidated. For this purpose, the government would set up a Labour Relations Transition Commission that would oversee such issues as which union, if any, would bargain with the new employer, be it a school board or a municipality. Bill 136 would suspend the right to strike for the affected workers during the four-year period following its passage. In addition, it would establish a Dispute Resolutions Commission that would decree a new

Teachers: Protecting the Profession, Defending the Union 93

contract where the union and the employer were unable to reach an agreement. In so doing, the Commission could limit wages and staffing levels according to what the employer said it could afford. Moreover, the bill encouraged adopting 'best practices that ensure the delivery of quality and effective public services that are affordable to taxpayers.' Public-sector union leaders warned that this would legally require the Labor Relations Transition Commission to consider turning public services over to the private sector where private companies could offer to provide these services below the cost being paid by the public agency (Mackie 1997). The public-sector unions did not pull their punches in the face of the bill's challenges. The Ontario Division of the Canadian Union of Public Employees (CUPE), representing some 180,000 workers who might have been affected by the legislation, and the five teachers' unions created a united front and campaigned intensively against the proposed legislation. The teachers' unions held a province-wide membership vote, which by a massive majority empowered the leadership to call for and organize province-wide 'job actions' (Flexer 1997). The Ontario division of CUPE conducted local-by-local strike votes in hospitals, municipalities, and school boards. They also held a one-day emergency convention empowering the leadership to initiate industrial action 'up to and including a province-wide illegal strike of all its units' (ibid., 9). Other public-sector unions were also mobilizing their memberships for the fight. On 28 July 1997 the Ontario Federation of Labour (OFL) held a one-day emergency convention, the first in its forty-year history, to discuss labour's response to Bill 136. Many unions not affiliated with the OFL, such as the teachers' unions, the Ontario Nurses' Association, the firefighters' and police associations, participated. An action plan entitled The Last Straw' was adopted. According to point 13, collective action in defiance of Bill 136 was a real possibility: Direct and bold political protest actions are required at public-sector workplaces and in workplaces affected by the legislation. We have no choice. These political protests will include job actions such as coordinated and complete work stoppages; the timing and duration of which will be individually determined by the affiliates and non-affiliates ... These forms of political protest may take place by sector, by city, by region, or on a province-wide basis, as the affiliates and other organizations determine. (Ontario Federation of Labour 1997)

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Bill 136 was passed on 29 October 1997. However, to appease the unions and avoid major disruptions to public services, the final version had been significantly diluted. Bill 136 did not impose any restriction on the right to strike; the proposed Dispute Resolutions Commission was eliminated; and employees were allowed to select their own union by secret ballot.4 The Ontario CUPE president, Sid Ryan, summarized the successful campaign in which CUPE played a key role: CUPE members and staff campaigned hard against the legislation for ten months. They lobbied municipal, school board, and provincial politicians; helped to create the OFL common front of unions, lobbying employers, [and supporting] workplace actions, demonstrations, an emergency convention, media communications, and radio and print advertising. This campaign worked because CUPE members were willing to go on strike to stop this legislation. (CUPE 1997)

Between Mike Harris's election in 1995 and resignation in 2001, the Bill 136 modifications represented the most significant concessions the Ontario forces of neo-conservatism made to mollify the unions. The fight against Bill 136 indicates that collective action can take on more than one form. The OPSEU protest is an example of a more visible expression of collective action, whereby people walk off the job in order to disrupt public life, thereby pressuring a government into reconsidering policies. The case of Bill 136 demonstrates that people do not have to walk out in order to defy a government. Sometimes the mobilization of a collective threat is sufficient to bring forth a change in government plans. We revisit this issue in chapter 8. Bill 160

Bill 104 and Bill 136 restructured the administrative shell of the industrial-relations system in education but left its core, working conditions and the teaching process, intact. It is also noteworthy that these two bills did not attack directly any of the teachers' unions. This, however, would change soon. On 1 December 1997 the government passed Bill 160, the Education Quality Improvement Act, which repealed Bill 100 and placed teacher bargaining under the Labor Relations Act, effective 1 January 1998. Bill 160 was a direct attack on the unions' capacity to regulate the teaching process using collective bargaining. The bill gave sweeping new powers to the minister of education at the expense of the unions' bargaining rights. The minister was now empowered to

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make regulations dealing with the school year, school terms, school holidays, instructional days, examination days, and professional activity days; class size, which was now capped at twenty-five students in elementary and twenty-two students in secondary schools; teaching and non-teaching time; and non-teaching positions and duties.5 The right to strike was maintained, but the act empowered the minister to make regulations 'to prevent disruption in the education of pupils.' Yet not only did Bill 160 undercut the unions' representational capability, it also dealt a direct blow to their organization by removing some 7500 principals and vice-principals from the labour fold.6 This move affected not only the membership size but also the union purse. According to one estimate, the excluded group made up 11 per cent of the unions' membership, but accounted for 17 per cent of their dues (Mackie and Lewington 1997b). Interestingly, in its preliminary discussions of Bill 160 the government had mentioned its plan to remove the principals and vice-principals from the union fold. But later, in a conciliatory move, the government removed this edict from the bill's first two readings. By the end of October 1997, however, upset by the teachers' walkout (discussed below) and the principals' and vice-principals' support of it, the government reintroduced the removal of that group from the teachers' unions in the bill's final reading. Government officials explained that the principals and their lieutenants should fill the management role in the schools. Not surprisingly, the teachers viewed the government as being vindictive (ibid.). A key issue in the debate over Bill 160 had to do with section 170.2(3), which dealt with minimum teaching time in secondary schools. It stated: 'Every board shall ensure that, in the aggregate, its classroom teachers in secondary schools are assigned to provide instruction to pupils for an average of at least 1250 minutes (during instructional time) for each period of five days during the school year.' This figure represented an average increase of 30 minutes per day for each secondary school teacher. This was achieved, in part, by reducing the number of professional-development days for teachers during the school year from nine to a maximum of four. One of the most controversial sections of Bill 160 was the removal of the power to levy taxes from the province's seventy-two new and amalgamated school boards. The boards now received money in the form of grants from the provincial government. The government contended that the new funding system would be more evenly balanced because it was based on an equal per-pupil scheme for students in both

96 Unions in the Time of Revolution

public and separate schools regardless of where they were located in Ontario. Unions, however, saw it as yet another move that enhanced the government's control over the public education system at their, and the boards', expense. Without the right to levy taxes, school boards lost much of their control over the education system and the collectivebargaining process. For example, beyond a certain point, applying pressure on board members to improve their last financial offer to teachers might be futile, for they no longer controlled the public purse. One possible consequence of the new situation was the growing politicization of the public education system. As the government assumed greater powers over the system, unions that wished to influence it would have to do so through direct interaction with the government. Bills 62 and 63

Bill 160 never clearly defined how the 1250 minutes should be allocated between instructional time and other teaching activities. This issue became the focus of contention during the 1998 bargaining round, the first one following the passage of Bill 160. Generally, the teachers resisted any increase in the number of classes and students (on average, teachers spent six out of eight daily periods in class). Teachers wanted to avoid additional classes because they meant more preparatory work and more students. They begrudgingly accepted the requirement to put in additional instructional time (i.e., minutes), as long as it involved duties other than teaching additional classes. The school boards felt that the teaching of additional classes and students was necessary to accommodate Bill 160 and reduced funding. A few collective agreements were reached late in the fall that allowed teachers to reach the required 1250 minutes by spending an additional 25 minutes per day in guidance, library, special education, and cooperative education. But in some cases, school boards unilaterally imposed higher workloads that, in turn, led to strikes, lockouts, and work-torule campaigns (Rose 2002). When the strikes and lockouts lasted into the third week of the new school year, public pressure mounted. The government, therefore, decided to enter the fray and end the turmoil in education. On 28 September 1998 the Ontario government introduced Bill 62, An Act to Resolve Labour Disputes between Teachers' Unions and School Boards. The bill was passed the same day. Originally, Bill 62 would order teachers back to work and would define 'instructional time' under section 170.2 of the Education Act. However, Bill 62 was subsequently

Teachers: Protecting the Profession, Defending the Union 97

split into two parts, the first dealing with back-to-school legislation, the second, Bill 63, dealing with the definition of instructional time. Bill 62 ended labour disputes at eight school boards and referred all unresolved issues to mediation-arbitration. In addition, the new law severely constrained arbitrators' decision-making freedom by, among other things, stipulating that awards could not result in school-board budget deficits (section 17[4]) and requiring them to consider the new definition of instructional time (section 17[2]) as amended by Bill 63. Bill 63, An Act to Amend the Education Act with Respect to Instructional Time, also introduced on 28 September was passed on 7 October. This law tightened the definition of instructional time so that it included only instruction in classes, courses, and programs. The law did not cover collective agreements that preceded its passage, perhaps because the government did not think it would be able to enforce such a diktat (section 2[1]). Bill 74

All of the above developments could not stay the hunger for tinkering with the education system of the Ontario knights of the free market who, on 23 June 2000, passed Bill 74, the Education Accountability Act. This bill closed the loophole in the definition of instructional time, requiring secondary school teachers to teach 6.67 credited or eligible courses. Before the act was passed this figure had been negotiable, and the majority of secondary school teachers had taught six courses. Bill 74 thus had increased the secondary teachers' workload without any compensation while eroding their capacity to redress the situation through collective bargaining. Even willing school boards could not help out. Sections 230.12(2), (3), (4), and (5) imposed severe penalties on trustees and school-board employees who disobeyed the new law. For example, the elected officials, whose pay had been capped by Bill 160 at up to $5000 per year, were subject to fines of up to $5000 if they refused to comply with the law. The most contentious clause of Bill 74, however, was likely the one that sought to alter the status of teacher extracurricular activities. Before the act was passed, these activities had been voluntary and most teachers already performed them. But because of their voluntary status, extracurricular activities were sometimes used as a bargaining chip during collective bargaining and interest disputes between the school boards and the teachers' unions. In the words of then Minister of Education Janet Ecker (2000), 'we have seen teachers' unions hold students

98 Unions in the Time of Revolution

and parents hostage by threatening to withdraw, or actually withdrawing, their participation in these activities.' To end this practice, the act reclassified extracurricular activities as 'co-instructional' activities, and required school boards to provide them. Section 7.2(2.3) specified: It is the exclusive function of the employer to determine how co-instructional activities will be provided by elementary [secondary in section 7.2(2.4)] school teachers and elementary [secondary in section 7.2(2.4)] school temporary teachers and no matter relating to the provision of coinstructional activities by elementary [secondary in section 7.2(2.4)] school teachers and elementary [secondary in section 7.2(2.4)] school temporary teachers shall be the subject of collective bargaining nor come within the jurisdiction of arbitrator or arbitration board.

Principals had the responsibility to plan and implement a co-instructional program on a school basis, with input from the school council (a body that included, along with the principal, representatives of parents and students, teaching and non-teaching staff, and the community). The principals had the authority to assign teachers to these activities, if required. Refusal to perform co-instructional duties would now be considered a strike action. Interestingly, and uncharacteristically, the government did not enact the sections of Bill 74 that made teachers' participation in extracurricular activities mandatory. Some within the government thought that enacting these sections would violate labour and constitutional laws. Others believed that mandatory participation in extracurricular activities would be difficult, perhaps even impossible, to implement. It is also possible that the government tarried in order to gauge the teachers' reactions to this clause. Naturally, the teachers did strongly oppose the new requirement. By the end of 2000 some two-thirds of Ontario's public school boards settled contracts with the high school teachers' union. Yet extracurricular activities had either been sharply curtailed or eliminated altogether as teachers protested the increasing workloads by withdrawing their voluntary services in this area (Urquhart 2000). By May of 2001, almost one year after the passage of Bill 74, about 75 per cent of students in the public high-school system had been without extracurricular activities since September 2000, whereas in the separate school system about a third of the students had not been offered a full scope of extracurricular activities (Mackie 2001b). Bill 74 gave the government the legal authority to end the work-to-

Teachers: Protecting the Profession, Defending the Union 99

rule practice by enacting the co-instructional section and then ordering all teachers to supervise extracurricular activities. Those teachers who continued to shirk their extracurricular duties would have been engaged in an illegal strike. The government, however, chose to avoid confrontation. On 7 May 2001 the minister of education announced that the unproclaimed co-instructional clause would be repealed, giving back to the teachers and their unions some of their former authority over the definition of teaching time. In addition, the government provided an additional $50 million in funding to public school boards, this in addition to $310 million announced by Ecker on 12 April of the same year. The minister also announced a cut of one-quarter of a course for secondary school teachers. Apparently the mutinous teachers were able to force the government to change an aspect of its education restructuring policy using guerrilla warfare that consisted of individualized protests. Following the minister's decision, a proud Earl Manners, the president of the Ontario Secondary School Teachers' Federation, stated (2001): 'When 32,000 members were individually empowered, they made a collective decision that showed Bill 74 was unworkable, unprofessional and detrimental to doing the best you can in the job you are paid to do - teach/ The teachers benefited from the support of parents and the general public as well as from the recommendations of the government's own task force on extracurricular activities. It also helped that the premier they challenged had significantly changed since 1997. In early 2001 Harris was a less popular premier and a more cautious man than he had been four years ago, a man who had restricted himself to initiatives he believed could be achieved with a minimum of turmoil (Ibbitson 2001; Mackie 2001a). For example, in June 2001 poll results found that six out of ten decided voters surveyed said it was time for another party to take office in Ontario (Mackie 2001c). Two months later, Harris was the only premier who garnered more negative than positive responses when people were asked for their opinions of the ten provincial leaders. In Ontario, 46.6 per cent said they had a negative opinion of him, whereas 41.1 per cent had a positive opinion (Mackie 2001d). Not surprisingly, in the fall of 2001 Harris resigned as premier of Ontario. Still, the secondary school teachers did not make significant headway in their struggle to reduce their teaching load to its pre-Bill 74 level, and elementary education remained under-funded according to union leaders. As part of its May compromise, the government cut

100 Unions in the Time of Revolution

one-quarter of a credit course for secondary school teachers. However, the overall workload remained the same and teachers would still be responsible for supervision, replacing absent colleagues, and increased remedial help resulting from provincial testing. This situation brought Jim Smith, president of the Ontario English Catholic Teachers' Association, to argue that '[t]he cautious optimism we felt two weeks ago [when Ecker made her announcement] has evaporated' (OECTA 2001). Phyllis Benedict, president of the Elementary Teachers' Federation of Ontario, was also disappointed with the little consideration the May compromise had given to redressing the problems of elementary school teachers: 'There is nothing in today's announcement that will help elementary students and teachers. The so-called "flexibility" is all at the secondary level' (ETFO 2001). It should be noted that as far as secondary school teachers were concerned, it was not yet clear how soon they would once again provide the former level of extracurricular activities. As stated above, increased the teaching workload was still a sore issue for these teachers. Even in its modified version, Bill 74 did not restore to them their previous workload levels. Also, in her May announcement, Minister Ecker clarified that the government would be asserting the section of Bill 74 that required school boards to develop and implement a plan for the provision of extracurricular activities at the secondary school level. The effects of this decision on the secondary school teachers remain to be seen. Owing to its unique form, a discussion of the teachers' campaign to repeal the section in Bill 74 that would turn voluntary extracurricular activities to mandatory duties is warranted. The protest encompassed many teachers, yet manifested itself through individual rather than group behaviours. This does not mean that the teachers acted in complete isolation from each other. Anecdotal evidence suggests that throughout the mobilization process teachers were in touch with each other and with their unions. According to one interviewee, 'peer pressure was the greatest factor for teachers' noncompliance with the principal demands for extracurricular activities.' Union leaders, for their part, were aware and supportive of the practice. 'The teachers' unions,' recalled one union officer, 'encouraged the teachers to refuse to do extracurricular activities because their teaching load had already been expanded. The message was that you couldn't expect teachers to teach an extra period and then give all the time for extracurricular activities.' Still, it is possible that in this particular case union leaders did not

Teachers: Protecting the Profession, Defending the Union 101

actively mobilize the teachers. Perhaps they did not have to, since the indignant teachers were self-driven to deter the government. Theoretically, however, there is nothing that precludes union leaders from championing a mobilization campaign that produces individualized, guerrilla protest behaviours similar to those displayed by the Ontario teachers. The case of the protest against Bill 74 does not permit generalization, yet it does provide some preliminary evidence about the strengths and weaknesses of such a protest. For example, the organizers of the protest did not have to invest heavily in establishing an elaborate logistics system. Because the protest did not entail complex coordination, and because the economic burden of the protest was minimal, the protesters could extend their protest over almost a full academic year. On the other hand, a shortcoming of this form of individualized protest is the lack of protective anonymity a group offers. Acting on their own, each protesting teacher had to bear the consequences of being exposed to principals, students, and parents. This action's weaknesses and strengths aside, at this point it is important to bear in mind that in industrial relations, mobilization for collective action does not have to culminate in a group behaviour. Ontario College of Teachers

The Ontario College of Teachers was conceived by the NDP government of Bob Rae. In May 1993 this government established a Royal Commission on Learning and asked it to report on several broad areas, such as accountability of the school system to public demands for education standards and the organization of the education system. On 26 January 1995 the five commissioners submitted their report to the minister of education. They recommended creating a new college of teachers that would monitor the profession by, among other things, accrediting teacher education programs, accrediting and re-certifying teachers every five years, and monopolizing the right to discipline teachers. Until then, the ministry of education had accredited teachers, and the Ontario Teachers' Federation had disciplined them. The five teachers' unions were split in their reactions. Four unions expressed varying degrees of support for the college idea, which they considered recognition of teachers' professionalism. However, the president of the Ontario Secondary School Teachers' Federation viewed it as 'nothing more than another attempt by this government to diminish teacher

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unions and educators in general ... It is designed to control, weaken and divide the teachers' (Van Rijn 1995). Because the Commission's recommendations were submitted in the twilight of its regime, the NDP government did not have the time it needed to follow up. The Harris government picked up the issue where the NDP had left off. On 12 June 1996 the government passed Bill 31, the Ontario College of Teachers Act, which established the new College. The College had the authority to license teachers, accredit teacher education programs, and investigate and discipline teachers for professional misconduct. As mentioned before, the latter had been the responsibility of the OTF. Our interviewees expressed various degrees of resentment toward the College. They lamented its existence for various reasons: They put a College of Teachers to say, 'Here is the professional end. From now on, the unions represent just the bargaining interest/ Well, we never did that. We represented the whole spectrum, and we still do. That separation, I think, is beginning to increase in the public's mind, and it's really fostered by the government. I think this is just another case that shows that they [the government] are more than willing to attack what they see as an opposition group ... The NDP government began the process of putting their stamp on [the College], and the Tories basically finished the process. What we didn't recognize was the fact that they never ever thought about a 'college of teachers'; they were thinking about a 'college of discipline/ which is what this thing has become.

Others were resigned to the College's existence, explaining that 'the College is not a body that represents teachers - it is a disciplinary body, so I don't see it as a political organization/ It is too early to assess the long-term industrial-relations implications of the College. However, events unfolding since late 2001 have provided evidence of budding acrimony between the College and the teachers' unions. In April 1999 the government announced that all Ontario teachers would be required to participate in a testing program and take and pass regular recertification examinations. The College, however, advised the government against the testing initiative and provided alternative advice, which the government accepted. On 28 June 2001 the Ontario government passed Bill 80, the Stability and Excellence in Education Act, which required all teachers certified in Ontario to complete a program of professional learning in order to maintain their licence to teach in publicly funded Ontario schools. Every certified

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Ontario teacher must now complete a professional learning program (PLP) of fourteen courses every five years. Each course must be at least five hours long. Individual teachers were responsible for the cost of these courses. If at the end of five years a teacher had not completed all the requirements, the teacher's teaching certificate would be suspended and the teacher would not be able to hold a teaching position in Ontario's publicly funded schools until the teacher completed the requirements and the College reinstated the teacher. If the teacher did not complete the requirements within ten months of being suspended, the teacher's certificate would be cancelled. Section 63.1(2) of Bill 80 stipulated: 'Before September 1, 2001, the College shall select by statistical random selection 40,000 members from its members who are teaching in a classroom in Ontario.' These teachers would constitute the first group to go through PLP. In October of 2001 the first cohort of 49,454 teachers (including some 8000 teachers who were first certified in Ontario in 2001) received letters informing them that they were part of the first group to undertake PLP and of the steps they had to follow. According to a College official, by the end of next February, 23.8 per cent had returned the letters unopened. The strong reaction was not unexpected. The unions had made it amply clear that PLP was unacceptable and would be strongly resisted. The OSSTF had informed its members that it was totally opposed to the program and urged them to 'take a firm and collective stand opposing recertification' (Clark 2001). The OECTA had asked its members 'to withhold alumni donations to universities that remain providers for recertification purposes' (OECTA 2002). The president of the ETFO, Phyllis Benedict, wrote to her membership that 'by avoiding professional learning courses approved by the College for recertification purposes, you are sending a strong message to the College and to the government that the recertification program is unsupportable and not viable' (Benedict 2002). This brief case provides another example of collective protest that was prompted and guided by unions, yet executed by individuals acting outside a group structure. The protest's pros and cons were similar to those associated with the action against Bill 74. This time, however, the recalcitrant teachers risked losing their teaching certificate, and with it their source of livelihood. Yet by acting en masse they challenged the College to suspend and, if necessary, decertify thousands of teachers, thereby turning the Ontario public education landscape into a wasteland. In late 2002 the case was in limbo.

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Fighting Bill 160: 27 October - 7 November 1997 Getting Ready for Action

By the time the government began its discussions over Bill 160, it was obvious that the balance of power in the Ontario education system had shifted from the school boards to Queen's Park, where the Ontario legislature sat. Consequently, as one leader of the teachers' unions observed, the teachers had become the main, if not the sole, group left to advocate on behalf of the public education system against those government actions that were eroding the quality of the system: The school boards have become a mere shell of what they once were. The government has negated one of the most vocal opposition groups to government policies, the school boards. And, for the most part, parents aren't politically active or have enough knowledge of the political components of the government, or the ability to access the information to find that out and heavily influence the government's agenda. That leaves one other group with a legitimate voice to be raised in education, and it's the teachers.

The teachers could either trim their sails to the new political winds or fight them. They had chosen the latter option, recognizing that any opposition to Bill 160 would be futile if directed at the school boards, which did not wield any influence over provincial policy-making. A change in Bill 160 could be achieved only by applying direct pressure on the policy-makers. Given that the government had banished unions from the corridors of power, union collective action was a potent option. Even before the first reading of Bill 160, some union leaders had realized that they would have to exercise this option if they were to take a stand and protect their vested interests. As some explained: The [teachers' unions] had decided many many months before [the introduction of Bill 160] that it was going to come to some kind of full withdrawal of services. That it would be necessary to do that to highlight the real damage that was being done because of the cuts to education, and to try and stop some of the more insidious legislation that this government was introducing ... Bill 160 seemed to be the piece of legislation through which the government was going to make the most dramatic changes to the educational system. [By resisting it] we could try and highlight not only the cuts but also those responsible for those cuts at the provincial

Teachers: Protecting the Profession, Defending the Union 105 government, and make a stand. We weren't going to fight amalgamation of school boards. We learned from Alberta and other provinces that most of the public felt that there could be some rationalization there, rightly or wrongly, so don't fight that... We had a choice. We could either do nothing, or we had to stand up and fight. We chose that we were going to stand up and fight to protect public education. It wasn't something that happened quickly. It took us over a year and a half ... I would really say that what happened in Ontario was a unique series of circumstances that came together, and basically forced our hand because we couldn't afford to be quiet. They put a gun to our heads.

In mid-1997, after the government had begun outlining Bill 160, the leadership of the teachers' unions agreed that they must react to Bill 160, do so collectively, and win over the public, parent groups in particular. As one union executive reflected: We watched what happened in Alberta. We watched how we slipped to the right. Just like Klein, Harris was a Klein clone basically. We took a look at that situation, and we said, 'What would our strategies be that perhaps would be more effective than those that had already been employed before us, in fighting this.' We believed that the fight had to be a public fight. It had to be based on a strong media campaign - we were fighting for the hearts and minds of the people of the province of Ontario.

At their annual meeting, on 19-21 August 1997, the board of governors of the Ontario Teachers' Federation 'reaffirmed their resolve that the teachers of Ontario will be united in their response to the government. The action plan calls for a meeting of all affiliate presidents once the legislation is tabled in the House' ('Communique/ 26 August 1997).7 In the months leading to the October-November protest, the leaders of the five teachers' unions, together with the OTF executive, would concentrate their efforts on establishing a united front, developing the protest's administrative and support structures, building up the membership's resolve, and reaching out to parent groups. Quickly it became apparent that most, but not all, of the leaders were interested in a concerted province-wide protest, even though such an action would be illegal. Some were inspired by the 1996 OPSEU action and viewed it as 'an example of why it's important to stand up for what's right.' Others felt, as stated before, that they could not afford not to react to Bill 160 and still maintain their integrity with their members

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and the public. Still, several leaders thought that a collective action would be futile, for there was no way they would be able to change Harris's mind. In the end, the minority went along with the majority decision to conduct the biggest illegal walkout by teachers in Ontario history. Bill 160 prompted the teachers to consider, and then organize, something they had never done before - an illegal, province-wide shutdown of the public education system. The only previous occasion the Ontario teachers had launched a province-wide political protest was twentyfour years earlier. On 18 December 1973 Ontario teachers walked out of their jobs for a one-day province-wide work stoppage to protest Bill 274, which forced some 7800 teachers to withdraw their resignation letters. In the end, the Conservative government of the day withdrew the bill.8 In 1997, however, the opponent was more formidable, and significantly more confrontational, with a demonstrated capacity for changing the long-established rules of the industrial-relations game and enduring any protracted province-wide walkout that ensued. The decision to launch a collective action to protest Bill 160 was the main thing the action proponents had agreed upon. Other critical components of the action strategy proved to be more controversial, and some were never dealt with. An OTF executive who participated in several executive planning meetings reflected on this point: I think, in fact, that the leaders were not particularly clear beyond 'We want to stop them.' There were some that thought that bravely trying to stop the government was an end in itself. I remember a meeting in which some people said that their objective was to try to make sure that teacher collective bargaining rights were protected, or that they kept the principals and vice-principals in the unions. Other people said that, 'I want to know that if we go down, we'll go down fighting...' There was not terrific clarity within the group about what was possible, or what the goal was other than doing everything they could to try to make whatever it was, in some general sense, not happen. There was even less clarity about how they would know [if the protest was successful]. Actually the group that I was part of, at one point said: 'What are your goals? How will you know if you've won?' We never got that question clearly answered ... Some said, 'We'll know that when we get there.'

Once the union executives had agreed to act in unison, they turned their efforts toward developing the protest's administrative and sup-

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port structures. Throughout September and October of 1997 the OTF produced detailed instructions regarding how to prepare for and carry out the collective action, including how to establish communication trees or pyramids, select picket captains, deal with the media, and organize outreach activities. For example, Two days before the commencement of the provincial protest action, the provincial structure will be used to initiate the phone pyramids prior to midday. Local presidents will use their phone pyramids to ensure that all members are informed personally of the commencement of the provincial protest action' (Action Plan, October 6,1997). Another example outlines the duties of picket-sign committees: 'Each affiliate should designate a group to prepare, distribute and store picket signs, banners, slogans, and other preparations for the political protest. The picket captains could assume these tasks if necessary' (ibid.). As the beginning of the protest was drawing closer, more effort was directed at building up the members' resolve and solidarity: Unless [then Education Minister] John Snobelen moves off his legislative agenda on Bill 160, every school in the province will shut down ... Now is not the time to flinch or fall back. Bill 160 represents the biggest money and power grab ever visited upon the classrooms and the teachers of Ontario ... We will stand up for the rights of our members and in so doing we stand for the futures of our students and for the future of the province. Together we are a formidable force - together we are unstoppable together we will go forward to our teachers, to our communities, to the greater public and together we will win. ('Communique/ 26 September 1997)

Throughout the action, the OTF circulated a special newsletter entitled 'Solidarity.' The OTF used this outlet to, among other things, communicate to the rank and file supportive gestures that had been made by public figures, other unions, and the general public. Union leaders put a strong emphasis on managing the attitudes and expectations of important stakeholders in their immediate environment. Foremost among them were parent groups, whose support the leadership considered critical. The leaders worked with parents and their representatives, explaining to them why an illegal walkout was necessary to defend the public education system against the government's restructuring onslaught. To this end, OTF distributed several communications, such as 'What Parents Should Know about Bill 160'

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('Action Plan/ 17 October 1997). After a synopsis of the bill, the OTF sent a succinct, straightforward message: Bill 160 had nothing to do with improving the quality of the public education system, but had a lot to do with squeezing more money out of it. The end result of the bill would be an erosion of education quality. The unions 'are protesting now to defend quality public education in Ontario' ('Key Messages/ 2 November 1997). The OTF message received unexpected support from Harris himself. On 23 October he admitted that Bill 160 would facilitate the slashing of 4 to 5 per cent, or between $560 million and $700 million, of the total education spending of $14.04 billion (Mackie, Lewington, and Rusk 1997). Overall, the teachers secured substantial parent support. According to an Angus Reid poll, in Metro Toronto 59 per cent of the population who had children supported the teachers' protest (Walkom 1997). On The Streets The teachers' collective action started on Monday, 27 October 1997, and lasted ten working days. It involved some 126,000 teachers and kept about 2.1 million students at home. On 31 October, four days after the protest had commenced, the government rushed to court to seek an injunction forcing the teachers to end the walkout. On 3 November Mr Justice James MacPherson ruled against the government-requested injunction. Among other things, he said: The Attorney General has not established that the teachers' strike has caused irreparable harm in its first week ... Teachers have never engaged in a province-wide strike. They are typically law-abiding people. They are deeply committed to the education of their students and they have behaved in an entirely peaceful fashion throughout this first week of the strike. Moreover, they believe this strike is lawful ... When they point to serious problems in Bill 160, they say they do so in the public interest. (Globe and Mail 1997)

Many teachers saw the ruling as a moral boost. On the other hand, one of our interviewees suggested that for some union leaders it was a missed opportunity to end the conflict without losing face. These leaders must have been disappointed with Mr Justice MacPherson's opinion that the government had sought an injunction too early. He pointed out that the Education Relations Commission, mentioned ear-

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Her, had concluded that a school year was in jeopardy anywhere from twenty-seven to seventy-three days into a strike. As previously explained, when the Commission thinks that students' education is in jeopardy, it must report to the Ontario cabinet, which then decides whether or not to legislate the teachers back to work. As the ruling indicates, the judge thought that the action could last for, at least, another three weeks before the court should order the teachers back to work. We should mention in passing that the evidence suggests that the ability of the five teachers' unions to maintain a united front for such a long time was, at best, questionable. Early in the second week of the protest, the leaders of three unions entered into an exchange about ending their protest. The Association des enseignantes et des enseignants franco-ontariens, the smallest teachers' union, and the two elementary teachers' unions, the Federation of Women Teachers' Associations of Ontario and the Ontario Public School Teachers' Federation, indicated that they would end the action on Friday, 7 November. In contrast, the Ontario English Catholic Teachers' Association and the Ontario Secondary School Teachers' Federation wished to keep the protest alive. However, over the weekend of 8-9 November they changed their minds and ended their protests as well. Ending the protest was a difficult moment for the leadership. One union president reflected on this aspect of the protest and explained why some union leaders felt that they had to go back: I call it one of my saddest moments; from such a tremendous high to that type of a low. We went back because we actually had areas of the province where the teachers were told by parents, 'If you don't open on Monday, our children are going to the school across the road/ and in small rural areas that [can have] a devastating impact. The secondary teachers, both in the public and the separate [school system], were still out. But basically, once the unity had been sundered, that was the end of it.

Some leaders deplored the lack of a coherent strategy for how to end the action, and lamented that the group [of union executives] was not able to get to the question of how to [end the protest]. Every time they tried to talk about it, the two people who didn't want to talk about it would manage not to be there ... so they couldn't have the discussion, and finally the three, after two and a half

110 Unions in the Time of Revolution days of this, said 'We're going to make a decision on our own/ Then they were accused of selling out everybody else. I would say everyone is to blame for the whole thing. They should have had a much fuller discussion about [how to end the protest].

Others adopted a more fatalistic view about the prospects for outstaying the government: The government was quite prepared to wait us out, because this was something that was questioning the ability of the government to legislate. In a sense, we were much more fundamentally challenging their ability to govern than the five-week OPSEU strike, which means that they're going to be much less likely to concede anything ... The day you're out on an illegal strike is the day your bargaining room is gone, because if you can't get it before you go, the [government] sure as hell can't give it to you once you're out there.

While these comments might be perceived as an after-the-fact justification for what was for some a premature decision, it should be remembered that not only did the government not show any signs of giving in, but two days into the protest it did not hesitate to fan the protest fires by removing the principals and vice-principals from the teachers' unions (Mackie and Lewington 1997a). Facing the consequences of its action without flinching, it is likely that the Harris government could have endured a few more weeks of the teachers' collective protest. The Aftermath In the end, the government passed Bill 160 on 1 December 1997. Since then, the unions have challenged some of its sections in court. In July 1999 the Ontario Court of Appeal struck down a section that barred spouses of teachers and other employees of school boards from becoming trustees. The Ontario English Catholic Teachers' Association challenged the highly controversial section that removed taxation powers from school boards. The union argued that Roman Catholics in Ontario had the right to a separate school system. Removing the boards' taxation powers had seriously challenged the autonomy of the system. Ironically, the Catholic trustees had been happy with this particular section since it increased financing for the separate school system. On 23 July 1998 the Ontario Court's General Division sided with the

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union. Mr Justice Gumming argued that by denying the minority separate-school system the ability to levy taxes on Roman Catholics to support the system, the government had taken away its independence. However, on 27 April 1999 the Ontario Court of Appeal ruled that Bill 160 had given many Catholic schools more money than before, guaranteed equal treatment with the public school system, and did not undermine their independence. Still, the union did not give up, and referred the case to the Supreme Court of Canada. On 8 March 2001 the Court ruled that the Harris government had acted within its rights when it centralized power over education through Bill 160 (OECTA v. Ontario). Therefore, Bill 160 did not violate the constitutional rights of Ontario Catholics to control their own school system by, for example, hiring Catholic teachers and setting a curriculum based on Catholic values. The unions emerged from the protest with less money, fewer members, and diminished bargaining power. Moreover, the relationship between the three unions that were the first to declare an end to the action and the more militant unions representing secondary school and Catholic teachers had been strained. An OPSTF executive recalled: 'Some teachers went back to school right on Friday; some didn't go until Monday. But the worst happened the following morning. As we sat in our offices the calls came in and they were brutal. And the language was brutal. The abuse came from the secondary and the English Catholic teachers who were angry that the elementary teachers sold out. They were very, very bitter. There needs to be some real rebuilding going on.' In addition, it had become apparent that the Ontario teachers had a limited capacity to influence their intransigent government from inside or outside the political system. Several union leaders acknowledged this notion: So we went from trying to influence [the government] behind the scenes [during the NDP administration] to becoming very public. And I will say that we have come back to the point where we have to appreciate the fact that you're not going to influence this government by taking to the streets and beating the drums. And you can protest until the cows come home with this government, they wouldn't give a damn ... We've attempted to influence the government. We've done lots of things. But from what I'm sensing, even though I'm not in a leadership role in the organization now, the outcome will be no different than the outcome we found through our previous means [i.e., the collective protest over Bill 160]. You're either

112 Unions in the Time of Revolution going to get to their position, or they're going to get there without you, but we're all going to end up at the same point.

One should not, however, dismiss the institutional gains the unions had achieved by protesting Bill 160 through an illegal action involving six different organizations (the five unions and the OTF). Several union leaders highlighted these achievements: I think the protest was successful in that we were the only sector that continued to fight back against this government's initiatives throughout their first term [1995-9]. I think because of the political protest, the public recognized that it wasn't just the union that was speaking; it also was the individual teacher, or support staff member in a school in their community that was speaking out ... It was an important opportunity for our members to directly influence the public thinking and that influence never waned ... It gave hope to a whole group of people that had been demoralized and attacked by this government ... It was important to show that people could stand up to them and be proud of it, and that never goes away. There's never been that many people involved in a protest for that long since the [1919] Winnipeg general strike ... We certainly didn't get what we wanted. We didn't get money back. We didn't get decentralized decision making. We lost principals and vice-principals. But in terms of convincing teachers that they could do something, probably it was important ... Did we succeed in changing the government's mind? No! But when you are faced with people who have extraordinary power to influence your life, you can either be a carpet and let them walk all over you, or you can at least try to make their life as miserable as possible while they're doing it.

In late 2002, the long-term implications of Bill 160 to industrial relations within the education system were still unknown. One point of interest for future research is the evolving relationship between teachers and principals/vice-principals. Now that the two groups are separated by a clearly defined group affiliation, management versus union, will the relationship between them change? Our anecdotal evidence suggests that it may be deteriorating: 'You have to understand that the vice-principals and principals are out of the federation and relations have not been the same. There was a lot more collegiality when principals and vice-principals were inside the federation. Now it's sort of management and teachers, and the teachers just say "Hey, to heck with this. I've put in my day, I've put in my hours, I'm not going to do it/"

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More evidence is needed, however, before we can confirm that the relationship between the two groups has indeed become worse. In addition, researchers may wish to explore the industrial-relations consequences of the possible politicization of the education system. Given the diminished powers of school boards, it is likely that the teachers' unions will have to interact more and more with the government to resolve issues that cannot be dealt with within a structure of collective bargaining. If this is the case, then how the increased politicization of the education system will play itself out remains to be seen. ALBERTA Alberta Teachers' Association The Alberta Teachers' Association (ATA) was registered and incorporated on 24 June 1918 as the Alberta Teachers' Alliance (Kratzmann 1963: 36). The drive to organize was fuelled by the exigencies of the times, including meagre salaries, lack of security of tenure, professional isolation, rural indifference to education and teachers, poor living and working conditions, and the paternalistic attitude of the department of education (Barnett 1940, 1941). Sixteen years later, in 1934, the Alliance's annual general meeting made one of the most important resolutions in the history of the ATA. A referendum of all member and non-member teachers of Alberta was taken to determine whether they favoured legislation giving their organization full professional status with compulsory membership of all teachers employed in Alberta's schools (Kratzmann 1963: 59). Facing an overwhelmingly high approval rate of 98 per cent, the government passed, in 1935, the Teaching Profession Act. The act constituted the newly named Alberta Teachers' Association as the single teachers' organization in Alberta. However, as a result of strong opposition from members of other professions who were also members of parliament, the compulsory membership clause was deleted. Later in 1935, a provincial election gave power to the Social Credit party for the first time in the province's thirty-year history. The new government party included ten teachers, with one being the party leader and premier, William Aberhardt, who also assumed the portfolio of minister of education. Backed by a supportive premier, the ATA struggle for legitimacy culminated in the passage of an amendment to the Teaching Profession Act that provided two significant provisos (Barnett 1940: 4):

114 Unions in the Time of Revolution 4 All persons carrying on the profession of teaching in the Province of Alberta under the jurisdiction of the Department of Education of the province of Alberta shall, as a condition of their employment, be members of the Association9... 6 The Association in general meeting may pass by-laws not inconsistent with the provisions of this Act or of any Act or Regulation of the Province of Alberta respecting discipline, including the suspension or expulsion of members.10

Thus, the ATA had become a professional organization that should protect students and the public against illicit acts of any member of the profession. In addition, however, the ATA sought to become a fullfledged union that would fight on behalf of its members for better working conditions. The final stamp was put on this effort in 1941, when the Social Credit government amended the Industrial Conciliation and Arbitration Act, which governed industrial relations. Now, an 'employee' was to include a teacher under the School Act, and an 'employer' was to include a school board under the same act. Teachers were thus permitted to bargain collectively with school boards, and were among the first of the non-industrial workers to do so (Barnett 1941; Alberta Labour 1987: 35). The bylaws of the ATA allowed locals to bargain with school boards on behalf of the ATA. Thus, bargaining was done by a local committee unless the local teachers voted to have the provincial body bargain on their behalf (Muir 1968: 33-7). In accordance with the act, when engaged in interest disputes, the ATA could call strikes and the employers, that is, school boards, could lock teachers out. The ATA, then, was charged with two responsibilities. As a union, it should fairly represent its membership using typical industrial-relations institutions, such as collective bargaining, strikes, and grievance procedures. In 2001 the ATA had fifty-one local unions, which between them negotiated sixty-two collective agreements on behalf of more than 30,000 teachers. As a professional association, the ATA was responsible for its members' professional conduct, and for promoting the quality of education in Alberta. Between Little Things and the Big Picture: The ATA during the Klein Revolution In 1994 the Klein government planned to reduce total education spending by 12.4 per cent over the following three years. To facilitate its new spending priorities, the government felt it needed to restructure the

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education system. Consequently, it reduced the number of school boards from 141 to 62, and cut the number of trustees from 1169 to 452 (Dempster 1995; Olson 2001). From an industrial-relations perspective, the most important step was taken on 31 May 1994 with the enactment of Bill 19, the School Amendment Act. A controversial section of the act dealt with the education system's new funding scheme. The act limited the school boards' spending jurisdiction in areas such as administration. For example, school-board administrative costs were capped at 4 per cent of total expenditures. School boards were allowed to raise additional money for special projects through a tax levy, but that tax must be approved in a referendum and could not exceed 3 per cent of a board's budget. Section 191(2) of the act stipulates that this special school tax levy may be approved for a period of not more than three years. Perhaps most importantly, however, the act strengthened the role of the education minister at the expense of local, especially public, school boards by removing their taxation powers, which now resided with Cabinet. According to section 157.3 of the School Act, 'The Government of Alberta is a taxing authority for the purpose of applying property tax rates against the equalized assessment of a municipality.' The government insisted that only a central authority could ensure that each student received the same amount of education dollars and the same quality of education. This is why the government henceforth would collect the tax money and distribute it on a per-student basis, thus reducing the discrepancy between boards in richer urban centres and those in less affluent rural areas. Thus, the province ended a situation whereby the quality of education available to students depended on the tax wealth of a particular area of the province. Section 157.1 of the act granted the separate school boards the right to opt out of the new funding plan. But these boards must hand over to the government any money they collected above the per-student amount given to each public school board. On 12 June 1995 the Public School Boards' Association of Alberta, the Alberta School Boards Association, and the Alberta Catholic School Trustees Association challenged the changes made to their taxation privileges. They argued that public school boards should be allowed to opt out of the new tax-collection system like their counterparts in the separate school system. Section 17(2) of the 1905 Alberta Act prohibited the provincial government from discriminating against 'schools of any class' in the way it distributed and gave money. On 28 November 1995 the Alberta Court of Queen's Bench took the side of the school

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boards, ruling that public school boards had the same right as the Catholic boards to collect and spend local school taxes. Mr Justice V. W. Smith dismissed arguments that the government takeover of the public school boards' taxation powers violated their rights implied in the Alberta Act or the Canadian constitution. Still, he ruled that the debate that raged inside the legislature just before the passage of the Alberta Act on 24 March 1905 indicated that public and Catholic school boards were intended to have the same rights and privileges in Alberta. On 31 March 1998, however, the Alberta Court of Appeal overturned that decision, ruling that while Catholic school boards were protected under the Constitution, the same could not be said of public school boards. The case went to the Supreme Court of Canada, which, on 6 October 2000, decided that the Klein government had every right to pass legislation taking away authority from the school boards to levy their own taxes and make spending decisions. 'Alberta may alter education institutions within its borders/ wrote Mr Justice John Major. 'The new [funding] scheme therefore/ he added, 'does not violate a constitutional principle or convention of reasonable autonomy' (Public School Boards' Association of Alberta v. Alberta). The Alberta Teachers' Association did not play a major role in this dispute. During the Klein Revolution, the 30,000-member ATA had elected to operate within government-set parameters.11 Its reaction to the government's demand for the 5 per cent wage rollback illustrates this point. The details of the case are well summarized by Taylor (1995: 308-9). Recall that, in November 1993 the government had announced that the salary budgets for health, education, advanced education, and civil servants were to be cut by 5 per cent. Public-sector employees were expected to take an immediate 5 per cent pay cut followed by a two-year wage freeze. .As with other unions, the ATA's initial reaction was confrontational. Soon thereafter, an anti-cuts Quality Education Coalition was formed, with representatives from all levels of education, comprising workers ranging from school caretakers to university professors. The rhetorical response from this group, particularly from the ATA, was defiant. The ATA president, Bauni McKay, called the government demand for a 5 per cent rollback 'a selective tax on publicsector workers, noting that it was equivalent to a 35 per cent tax increase based on a teacher's average taxable income' (Taylor 1995: 308). The Coalition leaders vowed that they would never accept rollbacks, an attitude that is hard to reconcile with their subsequent behaviours.

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In February 1994 Mackay proposed an exchange to the government. She would recommend to her membership that they accept the -5;0;0 wage-rollback scheme. In return, the government would grant a 300day reprieve in school funding cuts in order to give Albertans a greater say in the cuts; a guarantee that class sizes would not increase; and a guarantee that during the 300-day period only certified teachers would teach students. The Klein government rejected the proposal. Subsequently, school boards negotiated the -5;0;0 deal with local unions. Why did the ATA, a single labour organization with the right to strike over interest disputes, never capitalize on its highly strategic position in society and mobilize its members to collectively protest the -5;0;0 scheme and accompanying budget cuts that it found so appalling? Several factors account for the ATA's quiescence. First, the teachers perceived themselves as professionals. As such they put a premium on their ability to deliver quality service to their students and maintain their professional status. According to several ATA executives, as long as teachers did not perceive these vested interests to be seriously compromised, they were likely to be reluctant to engage in what they defined as 'trade unionism': Teachers on the whole are not a group that [engage in collective actions]. That doesn't preclude that from happening at any point in the future, but they have to be pushed really hard ... The aggressive political stance with the picket signs and marching bands isn't something that our own members approve. Not because they're trying to be polite; they just don't have a feel for it. It's just not part of their background. It's not there for them ... We're a professional association, not a union. Whereas we do have a strong union function, our policies preclude us from some things that unions can get away with. Our membership, for example, wouldn't be very happy about some sort of a general strike. They wouldn't want that to happen, whereas other unions would see that as very much a strategy to take ... I can see two things [that can prompt teachers to engage in collective protests]: I can see classroom conditions eroding to the point where teachers can no longer do their jobs; and I can see another, that is if their association was attacked in some way. This would further devalue them as professionals. I don't see them protesting for [getting more] money in their own pockets. The catalyst will be the classroom conditions and the devaluing of the profession.

It follows that the Alberta teachers did not feel that their ability to

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deliver quality service and protect their professional status had been compromised by the Klein government's policies so as to warrant a collective response. At the same time, being professionals, they did not feel comfortable with applying their collective muscle to protect deteriorating working conditions. In addition, trying hard to portray itself as a professional organization, the ATA never established close links with other Alberta unions (Taylor 2001: 175). This contributed to the balkanization of the Alberta labour movement that we discuss below. Second, in 1994 the ATA leadership was certain that the Alberta government was planning to privatize schools. 'The government plan/ wrote then-president Bauni Mackay, 'is to privatize - along with liquor stores - schools, jails, hospitals, seniors' lodges and parks and to levy user fees, which will automatically deny some people access' (MacKay 1994). Mackay also feared that other provincial governments would follow in Klein's footsteps. To the ATA leadership, the 5 per cent pay cut was secondary to the prospect of having education services privatized. Therefore, throughout the Klein Revolution, the ATA had to remain focused on the main issue, protecting public education in Alberta and elsewhere, and not let itself be dragged into a debilitating fight over the lesser issue of wage rollbacks: Taking the 5 per cent [pay cut, was the right thing to do because we] recognized that the real agenda here was to privatize education. And [we should not] in any way [have] allowed the attention of the public to be deflected from the big issue of what was happening to public education by setting up labour unrest, which is exactly what the government was counting on us doing. And we fooled them in that we pulled back. We said to our members, 'Take the damn cut because that's the least of your worries right now. And instead, let's focus on what's happening to public education, what that means in terms of a democracy.' And it worked; I think it really worked.

Third, the organizational structure of the ATA was two-headed, since the ATA functioned as both a union and a professional association. On the one hand, this structure granted the ATA a monopoly over teacher representation and discipline. On the other hand, the desire to protect the organizational status quo was tantamount to having a Damoclean sword held by the government over the heads of the ATA union organization and professional entity. The ATA had to keep its union head low in order to protect its professional head. Whereas membership in the union was voluntary (i.e., the ATA could be de-cer-

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tified in any given district), membership in the Association was mandatory. In reality, the ATA represented the entire teaching work force in the public and separate school systems. The Association leaders wished to protect the status quo, and thought that if they were involved in collective action, the government would retaliate by splitting the two functions of the Association. This, in turn, would require the union arm to invest heavily in maintaining its membership. The fear of hostile legislation was not unsubstantiated. On 2 September 1993 a private member's bill (Bill 212, the Teaching Profession Amendment Act) proposed that membership in the ATA be made voluntary, thereby permitting teachers to opt out of membership in the union arm of the Association (Mackay and Flower 1999: 38; Western Report 1993; Edmonton Journal 1995). As MLA Gary Severtson (InnisfailSylvan Lake), who sponsored the bill, explained, this could be achieved by dividing the professional and bargaining functions of the ATA. The bill was withdrawn in November 1993, and was reintroduced as Bill 210 on 15 February 1995. On 3 May 1995, in its second reading, the bill was defeated by a vote of 56 to 12 (Alberta Hansard 1993,1995). This was another break given to the government that seriously undercut a major public-sector union. In line with its response to the right-to-work debate, the government also sidestepped this opportunity. It is thus not inconceivable that the ATA's hybrid structure had diluted its militancy. A local president elaborated on this possibility: If we were to split into two arms, like [registered nurses], we would have a group that would negotiate, that would be far more militant than what currently exists. I believe the professional side - professional-development side, the policy-setting side, the lobbying side - tempers the union side, the negotiating side. If they were separated, the union side would not have the people that were concerned more with professional development. They would just be your negotiators. And I think that then perhaps we would see, we could see, teachers becoming a little more militant in the way they do things.

If this argument is correct, then the union arm of the ATA was, at least partially, tamed by the ATA's dual structure, and this might explain why the government preferred to keep the structure of the ATA intact. Fourth, like other unions in Alberta, the ATA is not a politically homogeneous body. As a top ATA executive confirmed: 'Obviously with the [1993 and 1997] mandates, the large majorities that the Klein government got, teachers were voting for the Klein government. And I

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would say that at least 50 per cent of our members were/ This situation had created a problem for the ATA leaders, who faced the daunting task of representing two very different political camps, as one ATA executive related: 'So on one end you've got the people who definitely are just terribly upset by what they see as this far right-wing agenda. And then you have the other people who are very much in support of it. And you represent all of them and all of them pay fees so you walk this very fine line and that's partly what has driven us in taking the approaches that we have taken.' A divided union would have rendered mobilization for collective action a daunting challenge. Fifth, all ATA interviewees argued that fear was an important factor in discouraging mobilization: Why do I think [collective protests] didn't occur? I think that we were living, and continue to live, in a climate of fear and intimidation. We recognize that this is a powerful government. That it is a government that is vengeful. And I think that people were just so overwhelmed by the intensity and immensity of the government's actions that it was like 'Woah! This is Alberta - what is happening?' So a shock and disbelief [set in]. I mean people were afraid.

One top ATA executive linked member's reluctance to 'rise up and march' to membership gender and a unique mentality: We also are really at a disadvantage in our profession because we're hugely female. [The proportion is] about 70 per cent in all of Canada. Alberta stands out with the teaching profession being the most feminized. I think we're sometimes victimized because we are a feminine profession. Also, we have huge numbers out there that are farmers' wives, they're second income, fairly wealthy people. But even if their spouse isn't wealthy, their spouse [has] probably got a particular political philosophy which kind of would say, 'You don't do these things.' So you're really battling that mentality as well. It's not like we can say to our people this is wrong and we're going to rise up and march.

Finally, one ATA executive pointed out a general, organizational problem that had long weighed down the Alberta unions: The labour movement in Alberta does not have a long history of successful organization. It's very small, there's a lot of bickering that goes on. It

Teachers: Protecting the Profession, Defending the Union 121 doesn't have a lot of resources. I think in the Alberta labour movement, there are too many players. Its capability of calling meetings and giving a month's notice is almost impossible because it couldn't plan a month ahead of time. It tends to act on a spur of the moment: 'Oh there's a good idea. Let's do that.' That's no way to deal with well-organized governments. It is honest, it's conscientious, but it's naive.

In short, the Alberta labour movement was too divided to be able to create a united front. To illustrate, on 10 March 1994 the ATA was invited to join with other unions and community groups in establishing a Common Front, the purpose of which was to mount a fight-back campaign to protect public services. The organizers decided to establish community-action teams across the province to register and react to local concerns about the government agenda. The program did not evolve as expected, and the ATA withdrew from the organization in February 1995 (Mackay and Flower 1999: 54-5). One ATA executive who participated in this program explained what happened: We [tried to create] a Common Front coalition, which never happened. Unions which belong to the Alberta Federation of Labour, which of course we're not, can't even get along. There's a friction between the public-sector unions and the private-sector unions. But we tried. We got all the unions together with church groups and senior groups and various social agencies and we worked on this Common Front coalition. The ATA put gobs of money into that. But it all fell apart in the end.

In passing, it should be mentioned that the balkanization of the Alberta labour movement was most prevalent in the health-care sector. According to Wetzel (2000), during the Klein Revolution registered nurses were represented by two unions, auxiliary employees by five, paramedical technical staff by one, paramedical professionals by two, and general-service support employees by seven trade unions. In all, no fewer than twelve unions represented the health-care workforce. Some of these unions had been competing for years over the same pool of potential and actual members. This point is important, because in Alberta the health-care-sector unions, and especially the United Nurses of Alberta (UNA), which represented registered nurses, were expected to provide the leadership for collective action (Reshef 2001a). A blend of political, organizational, and cultural factors operated against a teacher collective protest during the heyday of the Klein Rev-

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olution. Still, on 4 October 1997 the ATA proved that it could organize a large-scale protest. On that day, some 12,000 teachers held the biggest rally in ATA history at the legislature in Edmonton to 'celebrate public education' (Chambers 1997). The basic message was that public education had suffered from the government's long fight to reduce the deficit, and the time had come for the government to consider reinvestment. This was possibly also an attempt to show that the ATA was alive and capable of mobilizing its members. Shortly after the rally, an ATA executive, discussing the strategy behind the Association's behaviour during the Klein Revolution, suggested that [t]he ATA did not fight the little things, if you call [the -5;0;0 scheme] a little thing, but kept the big picture in mind always. We tried to get our whole membership to buy in to this, to the extent that we could. Then some fortuitous things happened in terms of the timing of the Growth Summit, the October rally, and so on. All of those things happening together have brought us to this point in a relationship [with the government] that at least allows for the communication to continue. The government, now, is much more likely to listen to us than they would if we'd been fighting them all the way instead of trying to work with them.

It should be noted that the teachers' rally happened just after the political discourse in Alberta had shifted from spending cuts to reinvestment. Specifically, the message that the education system needed more money had already been out. Four days before the teachers' rally, on 29 and 30 September 1997, the government-organized Growth Summit formally ushered in the post-deficit era by calling on the Klein government to make education its highest priority. The Growth Summit process, which began in January, culminated with the two-day summit. Hundreds of Albertans participated in more than forty mini-summits held to discuss reinvestment priorities and policies. The September summit brought together 102 delegates for two days of information exchange and a debate over reinvestment in the public sector. Originally, ten union representatives were invited to participate. Alberta Federation of Labour and its constituent unions, such as the AUPE, rejected the invitation. After the earlier experience of the roundtables they felt that these events were 'rigged' to ensure the outcomes and reports that the government wanted. Instead, they held their own Conference on Alberta's Social and Economic Future. Representatives from non-affiliated unions, such as the ATA, did participate in the Growth

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Summit, yet obviously could not speak on behalf of Alberta labour. Following the summit, the government announced $110 million in new education and health spending. The 2002 Strike In early 2002, facing different economic circumstances and a different public mood, the teachers did not hesitate to follow trade-union traditions in order to 'put more money in their pockets.' In that year, the ATA represented 32,180 active teachers who taught 544,458 students. On 4 February the ATA managed an unprecedented feat. For the first time in history, the union coordinated a series of strikes across nineteen of Alberta's sixty-two school districts. The walkout of 14,538 teachers kept 250,196 students at home. Two weeks later, as the strike activity spread to three more school districts, the number of striking teachers rose to 20,947. At that point, the strike affected 356,845 students. The strike, which lasted thirteen working days, ended on 21 February. A discussion of this strike is necessary in order to understand the effect of the Klein Revolution on the politicization of the industrialrelations system in the broader public service. In February of 2001 Alberta's doctors had become among the highest paid in Canada after accepting the province's offer of a 22 per cent fee increase. On 3 March of that year, only nine days before the provincial elections, the United Nurses of Alberta, representing some 18,000 registered nurses, and the Provincial Health Authorities of Alberta reached an agreement that increased the salaries of nurses by 17 per cent over two years. The nurses also received increases to overtime rates, vacation pay, and oncall premiums. These rich settlements raised expectations among other public-sector workers who were about to enter negotiations with their respective employers. On 5 April 2001, shortly after his landslide victory, Premier Klein raised the teachers' expectations even more by saying that 'there is no doubt Alberta teachers were part of the (economic) solution a few years ago ... We'll make sure that our teachers and instructors and professors are fairly compensated and given as good a work environment as they can have so that they know how much they are appreciated' (Thomson 2001b). To those asking for more details, Klein would only say that they would have to wait for the next budget. Less than a week later, it became known exactly how much the province appreciated its teachers. The government set aside money for school boards to give

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teachers a 4 per cent raise in September 2001, with an additional 2 per cent increase a year later. The ATA expected no less than a 30 per cent raise over two years. Lacking real bargaining power over wages, the boards had to carve a middle ground between the government's tight fiscal target and the teachers' lofty financial aspirations. By the end of 2001 the ATA reduced its wage demands to less than 20 per cent over two years. The union also demanded improved classroom and teaching conditions. In most of the fifty-two districts that were involved in the dispute, the parties quickly reached an impasse. On 29 November teachers in various districts voted to strike. The only way to avoid a job action was by pressuring the government to step in with a more generous financial offer, but the government, represented by Alberta Learning Minister Lyle Oberg, refused to stray from its original four and two scheme. After a failed mediation process, a strike commenced on 4 February 2002 in nineteen school districts. On 21 February Oberg declared the largest teachers' strike in the province's history an emergency and ordered the teachers back to work. The teachers complied and returned to the classroom the following day. On 1 March Court of Queen's Bench Chief Justice Allan Wachowich struck down the government order. The chief justice ruled that the government had failed to prove that there was an emergency causing an unreasonable hardship for students across the province. However, the ATA decided not to resume the strike. In the wake of this show of good will, Premier Klein, who had been on a foreign trade mission throughout most of the strike, agreed to meet with ATA president Larry Booi and discuss options to end the dispute. The two met on 5 March for thirty minutes. Booi asked the premier for a fair arbitration process, embedded in legislation, to resolve the teachers' position on salary increases, class size, and teaching conditions. After the meeting, the two men appeared optimistic that a solution was within reach. Upon leaving the meeting, Booi informed reporters, 'What I heard today was a genuine willingness on the part of the Premier to try to find solutions that would work for all of us. If that's the case, I believe we're going to find it' (Thomson 2002). Klein, however, had to convince his caucus to accept the arbitration scenario. Two days later, it appeared that the early optimism was short lived as caucus rejected the options the premier presented. Instead, the government now wanted an arbitration panel that would only consider salaries, and would do so under strict guidelines set by the government. Klein inflamed the situation even further by suggesting that sal-

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ary increases would be limited to what local school boards could afford to pay. He insisted that the ATA president had agreed that arbitration would deal exclusively with salaries, whereas the more complex issues, such as working conditions, were to be discussed by a stillundefined review commission. An exasperated Booi reacted by saying that 'every negative thing that happens, every problem that emerges from this point on, is the direct result of the school boards' and government's betrayal of teachers' good will' (Russell and Thomson 2002). On 11 March the Alberta government introduced legislation to establish an arbitration process. Bill 12, the Education Services Settlement Act (ESSA) outlined a process to enable the parties to reach settlements. Any school district that had not reached a negotiated settlement would be referred to a three-member panel for binding arbitration. Section 23(1) of the ESSA stipulated that [n]o collective agreement between the parties that is entered into on or after March 11, 2002 may contain any provision that establishes or in any manner deals with: (a) the number of students in a class; (b) pupil-to-teacher ratios or student-to-teacher ratios; (c) the maximum time a teacher may be required to instruct students.

Until the ESSA expires, on 31 August 2003, the ATA cannot call strikes and the school boards are banned from lockouts. On 27 July 2002 the tribunal submitted its awards in the first six test cases. With one exception, the awards gave teachers a raise of 6.25 per cent retroactive to 1 September 2001, with an additional 3.75 per cent (compounded) increase effective 31 August 2002, for an end-rate for 2001-2 of 10.23 per cent. For 2002-3, teachers would receive an additional 3.5 per cent effective 1 March 2003, for an overall end-rate of 14.09 per cent over two years. LESSONS In 1997 the five Ontario teachers' unions along with their peak organization, the OTF, acted in concert to protect their territorial rights and boundaries against the eroding effects of Bill 160. As in the OPSEU case, the teachers' collective protest was a defensive behaviour prompted by the Harris government's actions. Union territorial-rights-

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and-boundaries concerns pertain to the union leaders' vested interests in protecting the union and members' job security. In this case, however, there was more to the union action than protecting these vested interests. First, to gain public legitimacy, the union leaders pitched the event as an act in defence of the public education system against the harmful consequences of Bill 160. In so doing, the unions embedded their protest in a broader context, one that exceeded a narrow, interestgroup agenda. Second, in the previous chapter we argued that a philosophy of action that links the narrow economic interests of union members in job security and working conditions to the inevitability of collective action is likely to facilitate consensus mobilization and then action mobilization. In both Ontario and Alberta, teacher reactions to government behaviours suggest that when professional employees are involved, the ability to regulate the work process and protect the profession may outweigh 'narrow economic interests' as a motive for collective action. This does not mean that working conditions were not on the teachers' minds when they deliberated whether or not to walk out. Recall, however, that the main attack on the teachers' working conditions, the increase in workload, applied only to secondary school teachers. On their own, therefore, economic interests might have been insufficient to catapult Ontario teachers into the orbit of collective action. They were not enough to propel the Alberta teachers to act collectively during the Klein Revolution. We thus propose that the Ontario teachers and their unions took to the streets not only to defend economic working conditions but also, perhaps primarily, to protect their capacities to regulate the teaching profession and process and the quality of education through collective bargaining. The union leaders' ability to pull off this massive walkout is impressive. Cognitive liberation and the establishment of structures of solidarity incentives are essential means to successful mobilization, and the Ontario teachers' action is no exception. The union leaders used extensive communication to motivate teachers to take to the streets in defense of their vision of the education system and its regulatory framework. The unions were resigned to the government diktat that the total amount of education spending had to be trimmed, and that the deep budget cuts required the restructuring of the education system. But the parties differed on implementation. Before and during the protest, union leaders developed several amendments to Bill 160 but, in most cases, failed to convince the government of their merit.12 For

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example, on 9 September 1997 the five provincial union presidents wrote: 'Recognizing that the government's second goal was fiscal, we demonstrated how to make significant savings while protecting what is at the heart of our educational system: the classroom' ('Backgrounder,' 5 November 1997). The government, however, never responded, rendering collective action to defend education and teacher interests an attractive option. Like their OPSEU counterparts, then, the leaders of the teachers' unions secured the commitment of the membership to a defensive collective action rather than to promoting a new political discourse. Whereas this strategy was, at least in the short term, instrumental in generating teacher, and public, support for collective action, it did not attract other community and/or worker groups to the fray. Because the action was specific to teachers it could not serve as a stepping stone for a general strike. Throughout the ten-day protest, the leaders of the teachers' unions never asked other unions to join them in organizing a general protest. As one union president explained, 'I don't think there was ever any indication of a willingness of any of the other unions to go for a general strike ... It was clear that labour was not going to mess with wildcat strikes for these issues.' In a newspaper interview, Marshal Jarvis, then president of the Ontario English Catholic Teachers' Association, confirmed that there was never an intention to develop the teachers' protest into a general strike (Mackie and Lewington 1997c). Thus, the success of the action depended on the abilities of the five teachers' organizations to outlast the government's capacity to endure a province-wide walkout. To maximize the likelihood of success, then, the leaders needed to create and sustain a solid five-union coalition. This was not an easy feat given these unions' history, and given that a major pretext for the proposed collective action, the increase in instructional time, applied only to secondary school teachers. To achieve their goal, the union leaders had to develop a unifying agenda and agree on the means to its attainment. Yet satisfying the interests, expectations, and egos of five different groups of union leaders was a formidable challenge. Perhaps this is why several key strategic issues were left ambiguous and why some were never dealt with. For example, the purpose of the action was never clearly defined. Did the Ontario teachers protest to make a point, prevent the passage of Bill 160, or force its modification? The leaders never discussed at what point the protest should end. Neither were they prepared for the possible removal of the principals/viceprincipals from the union ranks, a prospect that was hovering above

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the unions since the inception of Bill 160. The upshot is that the union leaders did not develop a clear action strategy comprising a concrete set of goals and a detailed road map to their achievement. Consequently, the purpose of the action was unclear, there was no agreement on the circumstances that would merit ending it, and the unions did not know how to respond to the government's retaliatory removal of the principals and vice-principals from their bargaining units. An Achilles heel of this collective action was its multi-union structure. This protest provides evidence that sometimes too many cooks can spoil the broth. Lacking a solid united front, coherent strategy, and the spirit required for a protracted fight, the union coalition became unhinged only a few days into the action. Apparently, in the case of a multi-union industry, maximizing the scope of mobilization does not necessarily guarantee action optimization. A multi-union mobilization process brings together different interests, expectations, egos, and agendas that are likely to compete for prominence, thereby creating fertile ground for an internal rift. When several unions are involved, therefore, mobilization maximization may contain the seeds of the action's own demise. Teacher solidarity was also undercut by the nature of the action participants. Teachers, like nurses or social workers, are professional service providers who monopolize a highly valuable public good. When they decide to withdraw their services, teachers leave their clientele with little or no alternative. Then, to achieve success in collective action they, like other professionals, must tackle two fundamental challenges that become more and more overwhelming as time progresses. First, the pressure that teachers put on policy-makers by walking off the job is indirect. The success of their action depends on how much pressure the general public, parents in particular, puts on the government to end the action by giving in to the protesters' demands. The teachers thus help their cause if they win over the public and gain legitimacy for their action. To do so, they must paint themselves as defenders of the public interest rather than as a self-driven interest group. In Ontario, the leaders of the teachers' unions had recognized the importance of appealing to the general public and invested time, energy, and money in communicating with their most important stakeholders, the parents, to gain their support. While their efforts bore fruit, it was not long lived. According to anecdotal evidence, parents became impatient with the teachers within one week of the protest. Second, the protesters must have the tenacity to suspend their services

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for as long as it takes to outlast their opponent. Our data indicate that after about five days of staying off the job, some teachers began to feel guilty for abandoning their students. We assume that had the protest continued beyond ten days, these two constraints likely would have become much more conspicuous, exerting an ever-growing pressure on the teachers' solidarity and resolve. One more organizational factor that undercut the teachers' endurance should be noted. During the ten-day protest most of the teachers did not receive any pay or benefits because the walkout was considered, at least from the unions' point of view, a political protest rather than a strike. Instead, the unions set up hardship funds to which needy teachers had to apply with proof of their exigency (e.g., both partners in a family were teachers). This sacrifice, noble as it was, did little to bolster the teachers' staying power. Given all the hurdles they had to overcome, it is remarkable that so many union leaders pulled together in the same direction for ten days. Still, notwithstanding the aggressive reaction of the teachers' unions to its behaviours, the Harris government demonstrated that it was possible to legislate fundamental changes to an existing industrial-relations system and survive the subsequent union ire. In Alberta, the ATA leaders never seriously entertained the possibility of collective action because the government did not send the cues necessary to trigger the process of collective mobilization, a process that begins when union leaders interpret government actions as a threat to their territorial rights and boundaries. The Klein government never provided the ATA leaders with a clear issue that could have prompted them to consider widespread mobilization. Klein had an agenda to accomplish, and the unions, like other pressure groups, had to be contained, not busted. Unlike its Ontario counterpart, the Klein government left the core of the industrial-relations system in education, namely, the teaching profession and the teaching process, intact. There is no evidence that Klein was after the ATA, or any other public-sector union. On the contrary, when the opportunity (Bills 212 and 210) to afflict the ATA with long-term damage did occur, Klein eschewed it. Enjoying a comfortable majority in the legislature and widespread public support, Klein could have goaded enough of his caucus to vote in favour of Bill 210. But he had chosen not to do so and the bill was defeated. Thus, although during the Klein Revolution Alberta spent less money per capita on education than five other provinces, fewer

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teachers were available to teach a growing number of students, and teachers were slapped with the -5;0;0 wage-rollback scheme, the ATA leaders never felt that a province-wide collective action was warranted to counteract the government's agenda (Harrison and Kachur 1999: 78, 184). The leaders believed that as long as the teachers could deliver quality service to their constituents, they were unlikely candidates for adding a new chapter to the Alberta annals of labour strife. It is important to emphasize that the effects of restructuring on the employees was profound. Some jobs changed radically and working conditions deteriorated for district administrators, principals, and teachers (Olson 2001). Still, because the government did not legislate the changes, it denied the teachers a focal issue that could have served as a rallying point for a collective protest. Moreover, since the changes in working conditions were not embedded in law, there was hope that over time the education system could gravitate to its old self through union-board-government consultation, collective bargaining, and reinvestment. Indeed, in the late 1990s, capitalizing on surplus budgets and a renewed spirit of spending, the ATA used collective bargaining to improve teacher salaries and ask for more funding to ease overcrowding and improve classroom conditions. The above analysis suggests that teachers, and perhaps other professionals, may be less prone to collective action if only economic working conditions are at stake. This notion, however, begs qualification. After all, in chapter 1 we have shown how the United Nurses of Alberta combined a political protest against Bill 44 with a fight for better wages. Are nurses inherently more likely than teachers to use the method of collective action to advance a narrow economic agenda? We could not find any evidence that this is the case. Did a different environment condition the two groups' behaviours? Until further evidence is available, we think it did. During the Klein Revolution, the ATA quiescence was, in part, a result of the government's success in establishing the spirit of neo-conservatism, with its emphasis on individual sacrifice as a means for a better future, as the dominant moral climate of the day. At a time when almost every public-sector employee experienced a pay cut and job insecurity, collective action to protect wages and jobs was socially unacceptable and a political liability. The nurses' behaviour during this period was no exception. In 2002, however, once the political discourse had changed and the recouping of previous wage concessions gained legitimacy, the ATA leaders demonstrated a will to act collectively to pursue narrow economic interests.

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We propose that during the Klein Revolution the ATA could not use the method of collective action to promote a limited economic agenda owing to external and internal constraints. Externally, like every other union in Alberta, the ATA operated within a highly conservative environment. It is hard to believe that the leadership would have been able to win over the public at a time when so many other workers were willingly bearing the brunt of the Klein Revolution. Also, there were no signs that the ATA could have relied on any support from other unions. In contrast, operating within a different political culture and buoyed by their successful experience in several Days of Action (see chapter 6), the Ontario teachers' unions felt that collective action was feasible, and that public support was within reach. Internally, the ATA faced fractured membership. Some teachers supported the government; some did not believe that professional employees should engage in 'trade unionism'; and many, like other Albertans, were afraid for their jobs, hoping that inaction would breed job security. Yet perhaps more debilitating was leadership's desire to maintain the ATA's dual status as a union and a professional association, as well as the belief that collective action and the attention it would generate would fracture this duality. Had the ATA been divided into a union and a college of teachers, membership in the ATA could have become voluntary, rendering the ATA's existence more precarious. Another strong leadership belief that militated against collective action in Alberta was the notion that teachers were professional service providers who would not take to the streets for 'little things,' such as wage rollbacks. In the absence of 'big things,' namely, government actions that would compromise the teachers' abilities to deliver a quality service, the leaders were reluctant to engage in a risky confrontation with their members and a popular government. We have argued that this belief was not inherent in a unique culture of professionalism, but was embedded in the dominant ideology of the time. In the end, the ATA leaders chose to survive the Klein Revolution by avoiding full confrontation with the government. Organizationally, this was a savvy decision that helped the ATA emerge from the Klein Revolution with minimal damage. Politically, however, it provided further evidence that the Alberta government could produce and implement controversial policies without invoking serious union retaliation. How does the evidence presented in this chapter influence the initial collective-action model? The model sheds light on what triggers the

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mobilization process, and how the champions of the action, union leaders, should mobilize participants for collective action. It does not, however, explain what should be done in order to sustain an action until it is brought to fruition. In fact, action sustainability was a critical issue for the Ontario teachers. The OPSEU case has emphasized the importance of communication and administrative structures as a means to maintaining long-term solidarity within a single union. The Ontario teachers' case casts light on a multi-union situation, where success is founded upon intra- and inter-union solidarity. Thus, a model of union collective action should also cater to the uniqueness of multi-union protests and the challenge of maintaining inter-union solidarity. The latter, a core contingency of an action's success, depends on astute leadership and deserves special research attention.

CHAPTER SIX

Sins of Commission and Sins of Omission: The Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta Between December 1995 and June 1998 the Ontario union movement organized eleven collective protests called Days of Action (DO A). With the exception of the Metro Toronto Days of Action (MDOA), each event lasted either one day (Friday or Monday) or two days (Friday and Saturday or Sunday and Monday). A typical DO A consisted of workplace shutdowns, marches, and a big rally. The rallies featured several speakers from unions, community groups, and social-justice coalitions, and, sometimes, singers. No comparable collective actions were ever staged in Alberta during the Klein Revolution. Yet the Alberta unions did have two opportunities they could have parlayed into province-wide, or at least region-wide, collective actions, namely, the 1995 laundry workers' strikes in Calgary and the Klein government's demand for wage rollbacks in 1993-^1. The unions, however, failed to act upon these opportunities. The two Alberta cases are similar to the Ontario DO A, which were the best opportunities the Ontario labour movement had for an all-out collective action. Whereas the OPSEU and teachers' protests were never pitched as movement-wide actions, the DOA were highly inclusive in terms of participants and issues. Still, they never evolved into anything bigger than localized, short-term shows of defiance. Thus, in both provinces, unions had chances for province-wide collective actions, yet they failed to act upon them. In this chapter we explore these cases and cast additional light on the difficulties of escalating localized, at times highly impressive, protests into large-scale collective actions.

134 Unions in the Time of Revolution The Ontario Days of Action

A Divisive Social Contract Union behaviours during the Ontario Days of Action were rooted, to an extent, in events that had occurred during the reign of the Rae government. Events surrounding the Social Contract legislation, which until 1995 'represented the largest-ever confrontation between an Ontario government and its public service,' deserve attention (Ibbitson 1997: 210). From its inception in early 1993, the concept of a social contract drew the ire of several major public-sector unions, such as CUPE and OPSEU. This probably came as no surprise to the government, since members of these unions would have to bear the brunt of the scheme. Yet once the frustrated public-sector unions were joined by the powerful, confrontational, and much more ideological Canadian Autoworkers Union (CAW), the disagreement between a few unions and their employer degenerated into a schism within the Ontario labour movement. The ramifications of this rupture were still reverberating throughout the Ontario labour landscape when Harris took power. Recall, from chapter 2, that the core of the Social Contract was the abrogation of existing collective agreements and the negotiation of various wage concessions to save $2 billion. By attacking collective bargaining, however, the Rae government struck at the heart of an institution that unions eminently cherish and jealously protect. Canadian researchers agree that, by and large, unions adhere to an adversarial framework for the labour-management relationship that emphasizes the sanctity of collective bargaining and the provisions of an existing agreement (Kumar 1995; Reshef 2001a). In 2000 the Ontario Health Services Restructuring Commission (2000: 88) frustratingly acknowledged this truism, conceding that 'unions and their members considered their current collective agreements as sacrosanct and resisted processes that attempted to supersede collective agreement provisions.' Thus, when a government formulates a policy that undermines collective bargaining, it should expect an aggressive response from unions trying to preserve their capacity to regulate working conditions through their foremost industrial-relations institution, collective bargaining. Initially, the unions tried to separate Premier Rae from his party. In March 1993 the Ontario division of CUPE announced that it would continue to support the New Democratic Party's policies but not the premier (Powell 1993). This changed quickly. In June of that year, after

Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta 135

the second reading (approval in principle) by the Ontario legislature of the Social Contract legislation, Gordon Wilson, then-president of the Ontario Federation of Labour, warned the government of an upcoming fight (Gait 1993b). And once the CAW closed ranks with the fuming public-sector unions, the prospects for a union-government debacle became real. With more than 220,000 members, the CAW was the biggest industrial union in Canada - a militant union with a penchant for direct action. The CAW national president, Buzz Hargrove (1998: 556), has written about the importance of fighting for union survival: 'What we are talking about is power. If you don't fight, you lose ... A union's survival depends on how it uses the power it has ... If your union is sitting back and not putting the pressure on at every opportunity, the company is quietly winning.' The CAW leadership could not sit idle, watching a government, let alone 'labour's own' party, undermining one of the principles 'working people have fought long to achieve: ... the right to collective bargaining ... What the Rae government did was violate the trust of members of the labour movement. It took labour's money and support - without which many of its MPPs would never have been elected and then slapped a virtual tax on public sector workers' (Hargrove 1998: 160). Thus, a serendipitous alliance, based more on convenience and less on a common philosophical foundation, developed between the grieving public-sector unions and the vigilant CAW. The publicsector unions were unhappy with their employer, which happened to be the NDP government. The CAW, by contrast, had a philosophical problem with a government that was trying to improve Ontario's financial situation on the backs of the unions instead of by 'taxing wealthy individuals and profitable corporations' (ibid., 187). On another occasion, Hargrove lamented that 'nothing has done more damage to the cause of social democracy in Canada than the Rae government ... The election of the NDP turned out to be the worst of all worlds' (Urquhart 1998c). The CAW's response to the Social Contract was as belligerent as the rhetoric of its president. The Social Contract, declared Hargrove, Violated provincial employees' basic right to bargain collectively and offered their unions the worst choice possible: accept wage rollbacks or expect compulsory wage cuts' (1998:138). The CAW loathed both options and did not hesitate to retaliate. On 20 August 1993 the CAW announced that it was withdrawing its support from Ontario's NDP government, and would reduce its contributions to the provincial party to the bare minimum

136 Unions in the Time of Revolution needed to maintain membership. The move was not a trifle. In 1990, for example, the national office of the CAW contributed $50,000 and staff to the NDP's successful provincial election campaign. Its locals contributed additional support (Gait 1993c). It did not take long before what had been an animosity between several unions and the government spilled over into the Ontario labour movement as a whole. On 24 September 1993 the Ontario Federation of Labour executive board narrowly voted to present a policy paper to the November biennial convention calling for a fundamental change in Ontario labour's relationship with the NDP. At the convention, a majority of the delegates voted in favor of a motion stipulating that no money, volunteers, or other resources would be made available to the party in the next provincial elections unless the social contract legislation was repealed (Ontario Federation of Labour 1993): The passage of the Social Contract Act (Bill 48) by the NDP government in our province has ensured reassessment of our relationship with the New Democratic Party. The legislative agenda of the first New Democratic Party government in Ontario has resulted in a profound sense of betrayal... The Rae government has initiated the most anti-worker intrusion into free collective bargaining in Canadian history, while at the same time legislating the most progressive labour legislation in North America. The labour movement has supported the NDP in opposition and they have ensured that labour's voice is heard in the Legislative Assembly. The implementation of the social contract legislation has caused a reexamination of this approach to political action. The Ontario Federation of Labour Calls upon Our Affiliates to: Increase the involvement of labour activists in the nomination process and ensure that the 66 members of the NDP Caucus that supported Bill 48 are challenged at nominations meetings. The OFL will not support the NDP in the next provincial election unless Bill 48 is repealed. The labour movement must develop broad based coalitions to ensure all governments are responsive to our agenda. The Ontario Federation of Labour and affiliated unions will increase our involvement in provincial coalitions supporting progressive policies. This shift in our resources to grassroots mobilization will maintain pressure on present and future governments so they will respect our positions. We will increase the resources we allocate to political action outside the New Democratic Party and build a strong community based social movement linking users and providers

Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta 137 of services. This will serve as a vehicle to challenge the corporate agenda and mobilize grass root actions to provide for real progressive change.

Still, the OFL's resolution was by no means unanimous. Twelve private-sector unions wanted to preserve their relationship with the NDP and opposed the resolution. During the furor that developed over the Social Contract, these unions expressed their differing position in a manifesto entitled 'Political Action and Ontario Labour/ Because the manifesto was printed on pink paper, the dissenting unions came to be known as the pink-paper, or simply pink, unions. The pink unions included, among others, the United Steelworkers of America; United Food and Commercial Workers Union; International Association of Machinists and Aerospace Workers; Amalgamated Clothing and Textile Workers Union; Communications, Energy Workers, and Paperworkers Union; and the Service Employees International Union. These unions acknowledged that the Social Contract was an affront to unions. Still, perhaps reciprocating Rae's sincere and successful efforts at improving labour legislation and saving thousands of jobs in places such as Algoma Steel and de Havilland Aircraft, or perhaps believing that even if it had erred the NDP was still their best emissary in provincial politics, these unions were unwilling to tear down the government in the process of fighting it.1 As the following excerpts from their manifesto show, the pink unions favoured promoting their agenda through a traditional electoral approach centred on support for the NDP: The passage of Bill 48 (The Social Contract) is cited as the central breaking point in the relationship between the labour movement and our political arm. While all of us share the anger of our union brothers and sisters in the public sector over this legislation and call on the Rae government to repeal the bill, we cannot support a policy which we believe will be disastrous for the future of the Ontario labour movement. The fracturing of the labour-NDP alliance and the likely electoral result will be deeply appreciated by our real enemies on the right. It is our conviction that public sector workers, indeed all working people, will be the losers if the Rae government is replaced by one of the business-financed parties. That's why the leadership and delegates of several unions affiliated to the Federation are issuing this alternative statement. We believe that a government which has expanded organizing rights, outlawed scabs, introduced Canada's highest minimum wage, supported worker-ownership initiatives, invested massively in training and adjustment, created close to

138 Unions in the Time of Revolution 20,000 child care spaces, and introduced employment equity, among other initiatives, is a government worth defending. ... We do not support a shift of scarce resources away from our party and toward other groups. We will not cooperate with a redirection of our per-capitas as called for in the proposed Federation policy. ... [We should embrace] policies which will pick up our battered party, restore its health, re-connect it to its most consistent base of support, and then go forward with courage and boldness to fight our real enemies in the towers of privilege.

It took the OFL and its affiliates exactly two years to revive their ties with the NDP. The revival should be credited to the Common Sense Revolution and its swift onslaught on the Ontario industrial-relations scene. Yet whereas the ties with the political organ of the movement had been renewed, the ill feelings between the pink unions, on the one side, and the public-sector unions and the CAW, on the other, smouldered. A new opportunity for a clash would soon present itself as the OFL began deliberations over possible responses to the Harris government. At the November 1995 OFL convention the two groups were at odds over two strategic orientations for dealing with the Harris government. As before, the pink unions argued for parliamentary strategy. They opposed mass mobilizations and collective protests, which they argued were illegal and could turn public opinion against the unions and the NDP. The CAW together with the public-sector unions (i.e., the teachers' unions, CUPE, OPSEU, and PSAC) favoured mass mobilizations and anti-government protests. To bridge the two camps a compromise resolution was drafted. The resolution, entitled Fight Back, called for mass mobilizations against the government, but made no mention of the NDP. Yet in order to satisfy the pink unions, it was agreed that an amendment committing the OFL to support the Ontario NDP would be moved from the floor. The result was the near-unanimous adoption of the Fight Back resolution, including the amendment restoring unconditional support for the NDP. The convention then proceeded to unite behind the first Day of Action, to take place on 11 December 1995 in London, Ontario. Days of Action: Infrastructure A community-based protest was a compromise decision brokered by the Ontario Federation of Labour. By the time the OFL convention

Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta 139

decided about the first Day of Action, the CAW had already been planning a collective action to protest the Harris government's policies. Eventually, this initial CAW plan became a template for eleven DOA. A CAW executive described the birth of the DOA, and why London was chosen as the venue for the first event: The labour movement was dragged into this protest kicking and screaming. The vast majority wanted to do nothing except just to educate our members to vote NDP the next election. That was, more or less, the consensus. But we had a strong sense that that wasn't going to work. We started out thinking that we could organize a Day of Action and build it up to three or four or five events. But it was absolutely clear that we couldn't get the majority of the unions, both public and private, on side, and that it would be a challenge for us. It [i.e., a community-based protest] was actually [then-OFL president] Gordie Wilson's idea. As we were trying to get the people to agree on a provincial action, Gordie said, 'Let's do a community; let's just start it at some community and see what kind of response we get.' I grabbed on to it like a drowning man who grabs the branch of a tree, 'cause there wasn't much else we were able to get through our consensus politics in the/ labour movement. Gordie was smart enough to know that if you're going to make it successful the CAW had to lead it. So he told me that he would support whatever community we selected. We looked at London because it had to be a place where we could mobilize; it had to be one that we could come out of it with credibility.

Once the parties had agreed on the location and date of the first DOA, they set to contemplate its logistics. Soon, there emerged a certain division of labour among the OFL, provincial unions, local labour organizations, and community groups. The OFL poured money into the communities and also helped with human resources. Each union was in charge of mobilizing its own membership. The local labour councils and social-justice coalitions were in charge of the local logistics. For each DOA, coordinating committees were set up, consisting of representatives of local unions, women's groups, anti-poverty organizations, social-service associations, and other organizations that wanted to take part in the protests (Munro 1997). These committees were co-chaired by the president of the local labour council and a representative of the social-justice groups. A typical event consisted of

140 Unions in the Time of Revolution political shutdowns of all, or most, unionized workplaces in the community, combined with a massive march and a rally. The coordinating committees had full authority over almost all aspects of the DOA held in their areas. They decided, for example, on the route of the march, the rally location, and the speakers. The unions had to mobilize their members and coordinate the workplace shutdowns. A CUPE officer who was involved in organizing several DOA explained their logistics: First of all, each union dealt with its own organization to ensure that there were materials and sensitization activities within the workplace; that we had a structure to deal with the passing of information, whether it was through the formation of telephone trees, news letters, communiques in the press, all forms of media, or membership meetings. We were, as well, raising issues in the political sphere through ongoing media events. We were encouraging our members to participate in the DOA, and explained to them the meaning of not participating. We had somewhere in the range of 50,000 members in Toronto only. We had to communicate with many other ethnic groups in other than the English and French languages. I think we developed materials in more than a dozen languages. To coordinate local meetings, we had set up regional coordinators across Ontario. We had our coordination equally broken down to respective jurisdictional groups, health care, municipal, social services, etc. We were pretty quick in getting the information out as well as receiving it. Basically, we just kept mobilizing the people and raised the spirits of the individuals. A major effort focused on coordination of transportation for buses. A particular DOA was not limited to the individuals within that community. A great number of personnel and people from outside of the community and other activists were flowing in on a constant basis. The workplace shutdowns posed a special challenge to the unions. Although the unions meant them to be a political statement, the workplace shutdowns were considered illegal strikes. The unions employed two tactics to protect the members who would walk off the job from their employers' possible retribution. First, whenever possible, prior arrangements were made with employers. For example, at Lear Seating Canada Ltd, which produced seats for use in several car plants in North America, management and the CAW made a deal whereby the

Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta 141

seats that would have been produced during the Waterloo DOA were made earlier (Rusk 1996). And in Hamilton, two of the city's main employers, Stelco Inc. and Westinghouse Canada Inc., allowed employees to work a holiday earlier in the week in exchange for a day off on Friday, the first of a two-day DOA (Shecter 1996). Second, protesters frequently did not picket at their own workplaces. This method, known as cross-picketing, ensured both that participants could not be accused of striking illegally, and that people who had chosen not to participate in a given DOA would not have to cross a picket line set up by their co-workers. The Days of Action were non-partisan, with most having no speakers representing political parties on the platforms at the rallies. There were two main reasons for that. The first goes back to the conflict between the pink unions and their more militant counterparts. The latter did not consider the NDP as their ally, and wanted to distance themselves from the party that had betrayed them. Second, community groups were wary of being labelled 'NDP fronts/ thus risking their government funding (Flexer 1997; Walkom 1996). At protest after protest, local organizers turned down demands to allow NDP leaders to address the crowd. On several DOA they were not even allowed on stage. This made the NDP-backing pink unions furious. Still, until the end of 1996, throughout five DOA, the Ontario unions managed to sustain a united front. It would begin to unravel soon thereafter. Days of Action: Screaming without a Message? According to Wayne Samuelson, president of the Ontario Federation of Labour, 'Mike Harris has done more to unite the labour movement and bring us together with allies than any government in the history of this province' (Girard 1998a). On the face of it, the Days of Action are a testimony to and prominent manifestation of this newly found harmony. But are they? Beginning with the London event in December 1995, the Ontario unions, together with social-justice coalitions, organized eleven DOA over a period of about two and a half years. Table 6.1 provides basic information on each event. (It should be noted that the wide spread in participation estimates for Hamilton, Toronto, and North Bay likely is due to the fact that in each case the first day of the event took place on a Friday, the second on a Saturday.) How successful were they? What did they achieve? Did the events have any influence over the relentless Harris government? In the end, did the

142 Unions in the Time of Revolution TABLE 6.1

The Ontario Days of Action

City

Date

March/rally participation

London Hamilton Waterloo Region0 Peterborough Toronto Sudbury Thunder Bay North Bay Windsor St Catharines Kingston

11 December 1995 23^ February 1996 19 April 1996 24 June 1996 25-6 October 1996d 21-2 March 1997 28 April 1997 26-7 September 1997 17 October 1997 1 May 1998 8 June 1998

7500-15,000a 25,000-100,000b 15,000 5000-12,000a 75,000-250,000a 3000 1500 3000e; 8000-30,000' 10,000 4000 3000

a b

c d e f

The lower number is a police estimate; the higher number is a union estimate. The lower number reflects participants in the first day's rally; the higher number is participation in the second day's rally. Both figures are based on police estimates. Waterloo, Kitchener, and Cambridge. Marches and rallies held on the second day. Note, these DOA started on 22 October. March and rally held on the first day. March and rally held on the second day. The lower number is a police estimate; the higher number is a union estimate.

Days of Action amount to anything more than screaming without a message? The answers to these questions are inconclusive, in part because a 'grand/ overriding reason for holding the DOA was never clearly articulated by the unions or their allies. Our evidence suggests that the purpose of the DOA combined a desire to demonstrate to the government that the unions would not pull their punches while the government was ramming its anti-labour agenda through the province, and a wish to discredit the Tories and defeat neo-conservatism. The unions demonstrated their capacity to protest by mobilizing a substantial number of members on several occasions. Politically, however, the final score on the unions' efforts favours the Harris government. In the 1995 election the Tories won 82 seats in a 130-seat legislature with 44.9 per cent of the popular vote. In the 1999 election they won 59 seats in a 103seat legislature with 45.1 per cent of the popular vote. Were the DOA, then, a failed exercise in mobilization for collective action? Most of our interviewees did not dismiss the DOA as a complete failure. While admitting that the Harris government survived the events,

Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta 143 they credited the protests with such institutional achievements as building team spirit among individuals and groups who had never before worked with each other; educating protesters about the importance of acting together; building the skills necessary to carry out largescale collective actions; establishing a communication infrastructure that would be used in the future; and politicizing many individuals who until then did not make a connection between government politics and their quality of work and life. Here is a sample of the arguments: People who never really had worked together before were all of a sudden working together on the same issues, and they were all anti-government public-sector workers losing their jobs, parents upset about their school, health care workers upset about the cuts to the hospitals ... It left behind a group of people that never worked together before and are still working together today on a lot of community issues. It strengthened their communities. It certainly strengthened the union when the leadership of the locals and the staff had to go into every workplace and debate the issues with the workers ... It didn't make a difference in the outcome of the [1999] election, but it did make a difference in the ongoing politicizing of women. It did make a difference in the ongoing links we make with those organizations ... Can I point to specific policies that were successful in being reversed or changed? Not a lot. But in terms of the kind of complacency or sense of desperation that people were feeling around what the government was doing, and around having no input, I think that [helping lift the spirits of many people] was a victory and success in that vein. Some thought that the biggest triumphs of the DOA were establishing the unions' capacity for mobilization and setting in place the foundations for future collective actions: It's not a question of overturning the government because we are having demonstrations. But we achieved success in many ways - success in mobilization of the members, in ensuring that there are solid communication systems in place, that every one of our members was aware of the situation. We managed to contact every single one, which was an achievement... We left a structure in place to deal with the ongoing communication needs that are necessary during these times in terms of mobilization. We have tried to establish a sound footing on the whole question of mobilization. In the past we always found ourselves having to restart the engine without having any structure of collective action in place. We

144 Unions in the Time of Revolution needed to ensure that we have a vehicle we could drive. We feel confident at this particular point in time that we do have that vehicle in place. CAW officers articulated two reasons why direct confrontation with employers using methods such as the DOA was important. First, employing a physiological metaphor, they argued that mobilization kept the union alive and alert: If you don't use it [the capacity for mobilization], you'll lose it. If you have your arm in a cast for two years or whatever, it's not going to work very well when you want it. Mobilizing and organizing for a trade union is like a body using its limbs. Mobilizing keeps people aware of their capabilities, and the organization aware of how much strength it has and where its weaknesses are. The ability or inability of certain organizations to bring their membership out, to mobilize them, has to do with maybe our arm being in a cast for a couple of years, or maybe ten years, or maybe twenty, who knows how long some of these organizations have been without exercising their mobilizing capacity, and sometimes they haven't ever. It doesn't mean that they don't want to; it doesn't mean that their leadership wouldn't want to go there; but it often means that the institutional memory isn't there, the ability, the people in the room that have done this before aren't there, and it makes it hard. So, at the most critical level, you can have leadership of trade unions pound the table and say very good things. But if they haven't used any of their capacity, if they can't deliver what they say they're doing, it's not a great thing. And, the leadership says we're going to strike and we're going to do this and we're going to do that, but it never happens. Then, the leadership can sow the seeds of its own demise. Second, mobilization, even if it only disrupted the orderly production of goods and services, bred employer and government respect. This, in turn, enhanced the union's deterrent power: We're having some influence on the government by virtue of our ability to mobilize, and the fact that we do know that they know that our members will follow us on everything but [political] voting. If we say we're going to shut down a workplace, the employer takes us seriously. I think there were about 310 workplaces in 15 different communities that we shut down during the Days of Action, and every one of those was done by a vote. It wasn't unanimous, but the vote was to shut it down. So the

Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta 145 employers know that we have the ability to do that. Now the Harris government knows that we have the ability to do that. They know we can't translate that into over half of the people voting against the Tory government, or voting for one particular party in a three-party system, which means we can elect them. But they certainly respect our ability to disrupt an otherwise pretty prosperous opportunity for the employers and they don't want that - that's been our greatest effect. Whether or not the DOA impressed the government is questionable. Yet, given the number of unions involved, the engagement of community groups, the elaborate logistics, and the severe weather conditions protesters faced on several DOA, the unions' demonstrated capacity for mobilization was remarkable. Interviewees from OPSEU and the teachers' unions admitted that the experience they had gained from the DOA helped them significantly when they mounted their own collective protests in 1996 and 1997 respectively. The DOA experience was especially valuable to the OPSEU members, who had never walked out before: The Days of Action, beginning in December '95, really became the testing ground for the OPSEU strike in '96 because our members had no real experience with picketing other than support picketing, and had no real experience in walking out of the workplace and challenging the employer. We had always had fairly good labour relations, so with the London Day of Action in '95, we were actually able to give our members some experience with making choices that involved taking some risks, and they really had to think about whether it was worth hitting the streets on this one, knowing that possibly they could be reprimanded at work. So [the London DOA] was a testing ground for us, and we did that quite well. I think that that gave our members a sense that, first, they were not alone because the rest of the labour movement was involved in the Days of Action; and second, that leaving the workplace, or standing outside the workplace, was not necessarily the worst possible thing that could happen. As the Days of Action progressed and their number grew, it became apparent that not everyone in the Ontario labour movement had embraced them. To the right of those unions that looked favourably upon their DOA experience was a group of unions that increasingly grew critical of the DOA as a protest strategy. Towards the end of 1996

146 Unions in the Time of Revolution the pink unions, never completely enamoured with the DOA notion, became more and more vocal in their criticism of the events. With the government showing no signs of relenting, the pink-union leaders began to question the wisdom of spending scarce union resources on the DOA. For example, in early 1997 a letter was sent by a USWA executive to the United Steelworkers of America (USWA) local presidents and staff representatives in Ontario. The first part of its message merits quoting in full: Last November the Steelworkers and twelve other unions announced that they would not be participating in future Days of Protest. Your locals were informed by mail about this decision in the form of the news release we had sent to all news media. Two months have passed and I've had the opportunity to consider our decision and talk to many of you about it. All in all, I am convinced more than ever that pulling out of the Days of Protest was the right thing to do. Here's why: 1) Can we really say that we're getting a bang for our buck? These Days of Protest have cost the organizations involved (mostly Unions) millions of dollars. Yet the most recent poll of Ontario shows the Tories still riding high in the polls, and their 'approval' rating is high as well. So, what kind of lasting impact could they have had? 2) The Days of Protest try to cover too many issues and themes. And that means the rallies end up being unfocussed and less effective. 3) The shutdowns, and especially the rallies and demonstrations, obviously have some educational and team building value. But, for most participants, this is a limited and transitory experience. It feels great for a day or two but it doesn't seem to have much momentum in workplaces or neighborhoods afterwards. 4) At the end of the day, when each Day of Protest is over, what clear direction have the demonstrators been given? Defeat the Tories. But what is the constructive alternative? Vote Liberal instead? NDP? Or maybe (and this is what I fear most about the 'don't trust any political party' attitude of some) don't vote at all? A few months later Harry Hynd, USWA director of District 6 (Ontario and Atlantic provinces) wrote (1997: 20): 'Giving up on electoral politics won't get rid of Mike Harris, Ralph Klein or the more apologetic versions represented by the Liberals. Neither will street protests and demonstrations. They may anger the government. They may embar-

Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta 147

rass them and may make all of us who take part feel better. But there is only one way to get rid of right-wing governments: Defeat them at the polls/ Other pink-union executives were even more critical in their analysis of the DOA: The problem with the DOA, as wonderful as they were, and I was out there on almost every one of them myself, was that the day after they were over the Harris government just continued on its way. There were some people who harboured illusions that this simple show of putting thousands of people on the streets would frighten the Harris government and back them off their right-wing agenda. [The pink unions] never believed from day one that that would be the case ... It was a large, huge dramatic gesture that was bound not to have any impact and make the labour movement's impotence show, which, in my view, is what it did.

Consistently, Hynd and other pink-union leaders thought that the fight against the Harris government should be played out within the confines of the political arena, and that its foremost vehicle should be the Ontario NDP. To the left of the CAW and the public-sector unions stood a group of intellectuals who were also critical of the DOA, albeit for a different reason. Their frustration stemmed from the fact that the events never evolved into a more radical, province-wide collective protest. Bryan Palmer, a well-known proponent of this view, argued that 'nothing less than a general strike will even make Harris sit up and take notice, let alone offer serious concessions' (1998: 20). He went on to lament that '[t]he "Days of Action" were of course never anything but empty symbolism unless they were meant to lead up to a general strike' (ibid., 11). Flexer, expressing a similar sentiment, has written: 'What is required is to escalate these struggles to the level of a general strike to bring down the government and force an election' (1997:11). Indeed, the protests were episodic, discrete events. They were not linked to one another by a coherent long-term strategy. Therefore, they had little long-term impact on the government or on the individual and institutional participants. Several union executives and officers concurred and added that there was never any discussion of how we can keep the momentum going. Or, would it now be time to try to arrive at consensus on a shortlisted agenda, an opposition agenda? ... There wasn't a focal point, and I

148 Unions in the Time of Revolution think a huge problem was that there was a real void at the provincial leadership level ... I didn't ever feel, and I complained a lot about this to the leadership of [the union], that there was really [little] strategic thinking and direction coming from the provincial level to the movement. You can't sustain a movement without support from the grassroots, but also you can't sustain it without leadership ... The leaders discovered that it's not working. [During a given DOA,] it was just this tremendous spirit. But on Monday, normal activity resumed and that was it. And I think that with each Day of Action, this started to raise questions in people's minds of what was the point; it was not doing anything; Harris wasn't changing his mind. Moreover, as Flexer (1997) has aptly pointed out, the union leaders never developed concrete demands around which the protests could coalesce. Our interviewees agreed and used the issue of the DOA speakers to illustrate the point. To begin, selecting the speakers was a political challenge unto itself: So you came to the point - how did you deal with speakers? And it became quite political at some point because everybody wanted to speak. Dozens of organizations were involved in terms of community groups, in terms of the labour movement, and everybody wanted a speaker. There was that political motivation to be able to show that the leadership was there at the forefront of the protest. A lot of jockeying took place in the back rooms to try to come down with a reasonable amount of speakers. It became extremely difficult and sensitive in terms of coming up with an acceptable list as to who the speakers would be ... There were activists within each community group, and then you looked at the union movement - how many public-sector union speakers did you need? And then, how many industrial union speakers did we need? Once the organizers had decided on the speakers, the latter had to deliver their messages from the stage. Some expected the speakers to connect the mobilizing and organizing that we were doing around the political agenda directly to the issues that our members were facing at the bargaining table. Because that was what, ultimately, workers cared most about. And they knew that actually the one thing that they had the most control and influence over was what was in their collective agreement. But the speakers, by and large, spoke in very general terms and

Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta 149 avoided a clear, concise message: You had twenty speakers at each of these things. They would go on and on forever. There was no clear message. You had labour leaders out there screaming out their message, saying different things, with no particular clear message coming through. So and so would scream about this, and so and so about that and not really talking about, in many cases, what the solutions were. It just was not worth the money. It needed to be thought through more carefully ... The message was never clear.

In fairness to the speakers, concentrating on specific collective-bargaining issues would probably have diminished the likelihood of building a broad-based coalition with community and social-justice groups. It was unrealistic to expect the speakers to deliver much beyond a general statement that would deride the government and fan the fires of the protesters. They could not afford to focus on issues that represented the narrow interests of only a few protesting groups. Leaders and protesters, therefore, spoke about and demonstrated for a wide range of issues such as 'Coming together for our community before it's too late; Save our schools; Demonstrate for democracy; or Stand up for our children's future' (Pietropaolo 1999). The largest event, the Metro Toronto Days of Action, is a case in point. The chief slogan of the MDOA slogan was the inclusive yet blunt 'Organize, Educate, Resist.' The protest started on 22 October 1996, with several events that culminated in a citywide shutdown on 25 October, and marches, rallies, and a large demonstration on 26 October. The organizers argued that the 26 October demonstration was the largest in Canada's history. Many union leaders addressed the crowds during several rallies. Here are a few vignettes from their speeches (Working TV 1996): We are standing up, taking back this city for the people of this province and the people of this city, and we are standing shoulder to shoulder with community action groups, social action groups, religious groups, everyone who now understands that [Harris] is wrong. And we are going to stand and shout and demonstrate until we've got everyone on side who understands that if we want a decent place to live and a decent place for our families to grow up in, we have to stand and fight. (Leah Casselman, president, OPSEU) Are we going to allow the government of Ontario to open the door to charter schools like in the United States, like in New Zealand, and like in

150 Unions in the Time of Revolution Alberta, and allow private companies to run our school system? Are we going to allow this government to keep taking teachers and education assistants out of the classroom and destroying the futures of our children? ... I think the answers are very, very clear and we are only beginning today to build the most powerful movement of protest that this province has ever seen, and we will not be finished. (Judy Darcy, national president, CUPE) This is not a narrow labour rally. The signs you have here about health care, and education, and social solidarity are part of a movement, are part of our lives. We are here today to raise our voices loud and clear. We refuse to accept that we live in a society in which corporations make enormous profits ... We refuse to accept that we can no longer afford goodquality public services, good universal health care, good childcare, good public education, good support for the seniors. Never have we seen a group in power who are so mean-spirited, so divisive, so exclusionary. And they have to understand - until we get justice there will be no peace. (Bob White, then-president, Canadian Labour Congress)

The speakers acted cogently by not unveiling an untested strategy for action emphasizing concrete issues. The crowd, comprising a host of interest groups, was probably too heterogeneous to be willing to endorse specific agendas and implementation actions. In other words, in all likelihood, the hodgepodge of participants rendered general and ambiguous speeches and protest agendas more appropriate for the occasion. The broad addresses did not cater to the specific interests of particular interest groups, yet at the same time were sufficiently poignant to have attracted participation from a broad spectrum of social activists. Still, several speakers did mention the possibility of building up a movement that would continue to fight. Although it was not obvious how exactly these speakers expected the movement to fight against the Harris government, we read them as expecting some form of collective action, perhaps a general strike. From DOA to General Strike

Until 1997, there had never been a formal decision to use the DOA as a stepping-stone to a province-wide general strike. However, as one union executive offered, 'There had always been informal discussions about a province-wide general strike, and that the Days of Action

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would be a buildup to a general strike.' In November 1997, for the first time since Mike Harris had come to power, the notion of a general strike burst onto the agenda of the OFL biennial convention. In the convention, representatives of some 650,000 unionized workers in Ontario voted unanimously to stage a province-wide general strike to protest the Harris government's social and labour policies. Emergency Resolution number 6 stipulated that the OFL Executive Board develop a political action plan, inclusive of more Days of Action, to build the solidarity of working people and our community allies against the Harris government and its policies; The OFL Executive Board shall call a one-day province-wide political protest and strike before the end of 1998; In the upcoming provincial election the OFL and all its affiliated unions and our allies work to defeat the Harris Conservatives and elect an NDP government. (Ontario Federation of Labour 1999)

Yet the determination of the OFL to launch a one-day general strike was fleeting. By mid-1998, it was clear that the DOA had run out of steam, their sharp edge blunted by sagging union support. Attracting an ever-decreasing number of participants, the events had become less and less noticeable to the public and politicians. The unions seemed to have lost the spark necessary to touch off collective protests, so much so that the CAW leaders, those staunch supporters of collective action and the engine that propelled the first DOA, felt that the events had become, to an extent, a single-union show. Consequently, they had grown reluctant to keep carrying the torch of protest alone: There were a lot of people involved in the Days of Action. But at the end, a lot of time it became really a CAW affair. An awful lot of the unions either couldn't or didn't deliver membership and people. The idea is not just to have a rally, but also to actually strike, to shut down workplaces. A lot of other unions did not shut down their workplaces. And eventually we had decided that we couldn't or won't work with just ourselves. So the idea of a province-wide shutdown kind of fizzled, which was unfortunate. But the rationale was, it was better to take the success of what we've done than to go for something that is not going to work.

Under these circumstances, calling for a province-wide general strike would have likely exposed and augmented the organizational fissures that the first few DOA had concealed, but the latter ones began

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to show. In July of 1998, during a meeting of the OFL executive board, the CAW demanded a full commitment to a general strike from major private- and public-sector unions, such as USWA, United Food and Commercial Workers, OPSEU, and CUPE. Without their commitment, the CAW would not commit any resources towards future collective actions. As no such commitment was forthcoming, the OFL executive board suspended all plans for a general strike. The senior union leaders concluded that staging a general strike would consume resources that should better be spent trying to build a solid opposition to the government through electoral politics. Some union leaders wished to avoid a general strike, for they feared that the action would bring upon the unions the government's ire in the form of more anti-labour legislation, such as in the area of the right to work. As enthusiasm for the Days of Action waned, the unions shifted their attention to the upcoming 1999 election, which would offer a highly visible opportunity for a concerted campaign to dislodge the Harris government. As the focus of the Ontario unions was shifting from street and labour-market actions to acting within the political arena proper, seemingly, the pink unions' preference for fighting the government through electoral politics was bound to win the day. Yet as the next chapter shows, not uncharacteristically, the CAW and its public-sector union allies had their own idiosyncratic ideas about how to confront the new challenge. Alberta: Between Living on Your Knees and Dying on Your Feet Wage Rollbacks Recall that, in 1993, the Alberta union leaders' initial reaction to Ralph Klein's proposed austerity policies was defiance. Some explicitly mentioned the possibility of a province-wide collective action. Given the organizational might of the unions, a collective action by the more than 150,000 unionized employees in the broader public sector was not inconceivable.2 However, when facing the government's demand for wage concessions, the union leaders elected to walk the well-trodden path of collective bargaining. It should be stressed that unlike Bob Rae in Ontario, Klein pointed out repeatedly that implementation of the wage rollbacks would be voluntary. In other words, the government did not intend to force the issue through legislation (Schuler and Crockatt 1993). At first glance, this fact renders the unions' eventual

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compliance even more puzzling. Why would union leaders voluntarily yield 5 per cent of their members' wages and salaries and accept zero wage increases in each of the two subsequent years? For starters, notwithstanding the Klein government's formal position, several union leaders thought that the government would legislate the rollbacks should they fail to negotiate them. Consequently, they felt that they had no choice but to bargain with the employers, thereby maintaining some control over the rollbacks' implementation. Others assumed that concession bargaining would obviate layoffs. This was a logical assumption, since the only other immediate way to cope with reduced transfer grants from the government to the various public sector employers was through workforce attrition. According to a local president: 'The reason why we buckled under the pressure to take that 5 per cent [pay cut] was because we were promised at the time that more members would not lose their jobs. We were told over and over again by a well-oiled provincial machine that we were in big trouble financially and that we had to take this rollback. So, we said, O.K. we better help out the province. We don't want to get other members fired.' As mentioned in chapter 4, trading wage concessions for increased job security was attractive to many union members. One union officer commented that 'people were being stampeded or trampled by their rush on the way to the door to sign the 5 per cent rollback, because people actually believed that if they did so, their jobs would be secure and that they would not be screwed around.' Several union leaders specifically attributed their own willingness to accept wage concessions at the bargaining table to their members' hopes for such a tradeoff. One leader recalled that 'in the end of 1993, many members started thinking that it was okay to accept the 5 per cent [wage rollback], by the spring/summer of '94, it was "Please accept," almost "we demand that you accept the 5 per cent regression to save jobs." Thus, it was very difficult to go to the bargaining table and say, "My people are going to walk," because everybody knew that they were not/ While some workers were paralysed by fear, others, inspired by the tenor of the time, felt that helping the province to improve its financial situation was the morally correct thing to do. According to an Alberta Federation of Labour officer, 'When the labour leaders say that they felt that their members wanted them to accept the rollback, that's probably true. A lot of the members were saying, "Yeah, something's got to be done. This is my part."' Probably, many were inspired by Ralph

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Klein's own sacrifice. His administration scrapped the generous MLA Pension Plan, with Klein himself returning to the public some 28 per cent in salary and benefits (Martin 2002: 136). The pension plan was revived in August 2001, when 82 out of 83 MLAs voted themselves a severance package so that every member who quit or was defeated would get three months of her/his highest earnings for every year of service. In addition, most Albertans, including many union members, accepted the government's argument that Alberta had an expenditure rather than a revenue problem, endorsed the subsequent remedies, maintained their faith in the government, and were reluctant to endorse collective action as a means to influencing provincial politics. In a 1997 survey of 1207 Albertans that included 164 (13.6 per cent) union members, 52.9 per cent of the latter group claimed that they would vote for the Progressive Conservatives if an election were held immediately (Drixler 1998). The Liberals would have received 24.9 per cent, whereas the labour-oriented New Democrats would have garnered only 8.3 per cent of the labour votes. Union respondents were also split in their attitudes towards collective action, with 49.4 per cent reporting that they would not support a province-wide strike to influence government policies, and 42.3 per cent saying that such an action would be ineffective. Still, there is more to the leaders' responses than government threats and member fears and diverse agendas. Wittingly or unwittingly, Klein was savvy in offering the unions the negotiation option. By so doing he created a zone of comfort that catered to the leaders' business-unionism paradigm and established modes of operation. It was an offer they conveniently embraced. By getting the unions to bargain over the cuts, the Klein government had charted for them short- and long-term paths that would render collective action an ever-fading option. In the short term, unions would focus their attention, energies, and dwindling resources on negotiating new collective agreements. Being bound up in the tangled knot of bargaining, the unions quickly lost focus on the government and its policies. As one AUPE officer observed: 'What it [i.e., negotiating the wage rollbacks] did was put the battle at the bargaining table. The battle was not the fight that probably could have been against the provincial legislators. It went down to the bargaining table, and it was a scrap between the union and the employer/ 'I wish we could have forced them to legislate it,' added an AUPE executive. '[I]t would have been great because then

Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta 155

we would have had a Bill to point to and we never did. Instead, we had a contract that we had ratified/ In the long run, the government had all but guaranteed that during the next bargaining round the unions would be thrown into another bargaining vortex, this time to recoup the 1994-5 wage losses. Once again, policy design and implementation would not be on the unions' agenda. Yet not only did wage bargaining divert the attention of unions from the Alberta government policies, it also helped the government secure union consent to its policies. As one CUPE local president laments, 'One of the evils of our collective bargaining process is that it manufactures consent. People who are ostensibly involved in the rule making process feel somehow morally obligated to follow those rules, which is why voluntarism is a pillar of our collective bargaining system. So public policy is made by unions doing their business/ Put differently, instead of defying the government, union leaders inadvertently became implicated in the making of the Klein Revolution. Klein had not been oblivious to this fact. A few years later, in early 2001, in response to the Alberta Teachers' Association demands for a hefty pay raise in the face of another surplus budget, he would admit that 'the teachers were part of the solution' to Alberta's earlier fiscal troubles, a statement that can easily be extended to all other public-sector unions (Thomson 2001 a). In addition to the political profits he reaped by channelling union vigour and energies into bargaining, Klein also benefited from not tinkering with the bargaining process itself. Unlike Harris or Bob Rae before him, Klein did not directly attack bargaining and employment rights. Consequently, whereas working conditions for public-sector workers changed profoundly, the structure of the bargaining process remained intact, and the process itself was handled by the usual protagonists. Thus, Klein ensured that the myriad concession-bargaining processes would assume their natural rhythm and flow. Perhaps even more important, he ascertained that the media would not interfere with the process, and thereby push the parties to harden their positions. Indeed, overall, the series of concession negotiations was uneventful.3 Did unions whose competency lay in bargaining possess the tangible and intangible resources necessary to enact the novel actions that unorthodox collective protests require? How had years of adherence to business unionism influenced union abilities to quickly reconfigure resources and activities in response to unprecedented environmental

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challenges? How likely was a fragmented union movement to mobilize against the prevailing political current? The 1995 laundry workers' illegal strikes shed light on these questions. The Laundry Workers' Strikes The most opportune occasion for collective action occurred in November 1995, during the ten-day illegal strikes by laundry workers in two Calgary hospitals. The strikes involved 120 laundry workers who were, more or less, equally divided between two bargaining units represented by AUPE and CUPE. After conceding wage rollbacks of up to 28 per cent during the previous bargaining round, the laundry employees were told that they would soon lose their jobs to two private companies. On 14 November, frustrated and realizing that they had nothing to lose, the CUPE laundry workers at Calgary General Hospital called in sick, in effect starting an illegal strike. As one CUPE officer explained, Tor the laundry workers in Calgary, they had nothing to lose. Their jobs were going to be gone, so for them there was no risk. It was time! [They had to decide whether] they were going to live on their knees or die on their feet. It was time!' The following day, the AUPE laundry workers at Foothills Hospital joined them. Interestingly, in terms of industrial relations, Albertans' general conservatism was laced with local populism, which manifested itself during the laundry workers' strikes.4 The strikers enjoyed extraordinary public support; a public-opinion poll had 72 per cent of Calgarians supporting them (McGrath and Neu 1996). This is all the more impressive given that Klein's electoral riding is located in Calgary. During the strikes, more than 2500 workers from six hospitals and nine nursing homes walked off the job for shorter time periods. AUPE, CUPE, and other public-sector unions tried to capitalize on the remarkable public support these strikes attracted and translate the laundry workers' particular adversity into a province-wide political protest. Several unions launched work-to-rule campaigns in support of the strikers. However, for reasons explained later, the strikes never evolved into a collective protest. The government's reaction was swift and effective. After ten days, it intervened with a financial package that made it possible for the Calgary Regional Health Authority to agree to an eighteen-month moratorium on contracting out, and to the precedent of providing severance pay to the laundry workers once the moratorium was over. The two

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locals quickly signed new agreements. Neither the strikers nor the unions were ever fined, or otherwise punished, for their illegal industrial actions. The last of these laundry jobs was eliminated in February 1998. This was the first occasion that the Klein government strayed from its 'no blink' policy. It was also the biggest concession a group of employees had extracted from the Alberta government during the Klein Revolution. The event signalled the beginning of the revolution's end. Later, conceding that 'We're taking a bit of a detour/ Klein announced that the government was cancelling a scheduled $53 million cut in health care (Maclean's 1995: 41). Slowly, the Klein government was turning away from budget cuts to reinvestment. Since 1993 the laundry workers' strikes had been the best opportunity to launch a collective action by the Alberta unions to protest the Klein government agenda and actions. For ten days, the strikers enjoyed unprecedented labour, public, and media support. One union officer who took part in the strike supported this observation, and provided two explanations for why the two strikes never exceeded their narrow local boundaries: The interesting thing [about the strikes] was the response from the public. I've been involved in unions for some time and tried to work with the public on different issues. To me, what was most surprising is how the public supported the [strikers]. They had call-in shows in the area and things like that and the response was so overwhelming that it took me by surprise, to be very, very honest with you. It was almost like the David and Goliath syndrome - the laundry workers were the David. Unfortunately, we didn't fell the lion or Goliath in this case. The public supported them so much because they were low-paid people, and because they had taken a great sacrifice. I believe this is what happened. And a lot of it was also a result of the fear of what was happening with health care itself and the lack of faith in the Regional Health Authority and what they were doing. This was the opportunity that the public had to say, 'This is wrong and this isn't fair and you aren't being fair with these laundry workers and health care.'

Still, the union leadership did not convert that local economic grievance into a collective protest. A top executive with the Calgary Regional Health Authority (RHA) revealed that health-care managers were surprised that the unions were not more militant during and after the strikes:

158 Unions in the Time of Revolution I was very surprised that [the unions] weren't more militant at the time of the laundry strike, when Ralph [Klein] blinked ... There was some concern on the [Edmonton RHA] board that that [blink] would give the unions an opportunity to drive a wedge into the whole restructuring process and become very militant, but they didn't. And it surprised me that they didn't. I think that that was a time when [the unions] should've [been more militant], but they weren't. Being frustrated with what they saw as a missed opportunity to stand up to the Klein government, several CUPE and AUPE officers blamed themselves and their fellow union leaders for mishandling the strikes and getting the strikers a 'second-rate' settlement: In fact, [the members] were demobilized. And I know, because I was part of the process of demobilization. People wanted to walk out and strike, so we went out and held strike votes. Even though the Alberta Labour Relations Board had already told us they're illegal. We went and held strike votes at [several hospitals in Edmonton], and there were also strike votes being held by CUPE in all sorts of other hospitals. And in each case we held strike votes the members wanted to go out. And then [the leaders] literally held them in saying, 'You can't go on strike because it's not part of the plan.' In my opinion, the real unfortunate part of what had happened and the end result of the negotiations is that there wasn't a laundry worker at the [bargaining] table. It got sort of swept away into the leadership of the unions doing it. And my opinion is that if it had been the workers doing it, it may have been a better outcome. I am not taking anything away from the leaders' ability. But I personally was not happy with how it ended. I don't think that the leadership was there. If you take a look at the laundry workers' strikes in Calgary, that was the first time that Ralph Klein really blinked. And he blinked on his health-care policy. And those were strikes that were wildcat strikes, led by a group of workers, by themselves. Then later, the unions came in and in a typical fashion [facilitated the end of the strikes]. It's the paradox of trade unions - they're also peacemakers. They have to harness member action and energy into this safe harness. Indeed, once they had agreed to join the employers at the bargaining table, union leaders had little choice but to call off the strikes once their demands had been met: The people at the bargaining table did not think about a province-wide

Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta 159 effort. They did not think about changing the world. What they thought about was getting the best possible deal for the members. And when they went to the table they had certain preconditions that had to be met before they could agree to a settlement. And once the government stepped in, and promised another $50 million for health care, the Regional Health Authority was able to meet those conditions. So the negotiators, those people negotiating for AUPE and CUPE, were really left with very little alternative. Because the conditions that they had set for settlement had been met, it would have been irresponsible for them not to accept the agreement on the hope that maybe [the strikes] would escalate. That's not their job.

Several union officers attributed the unions' slow reaction to their balkanized structure and political nature. They had to conduct strike votes and coordinate a common front across several unions with dozens of bargaining units. Some officers were more blatant and attributed the lack of a united front to the leaders of specific health-care unions: 'United Nurses of Alberta chose not to lead the membership out. Many of their members wanted to come, but didn't want to defy their own leadership ... The Canadian Health Care Guild didn't show anyway ... Health Sciences was there in spirit and in body and were beginning to walk with us. But the support at one point in time just didn't occur.' A United Nurses of Alberta executive counter-argued that the membership was not interested in spearheading a general strike: 'I don't think we were terribly cohesive at the time the laundry workers went out and we didn't have the political will to be cohesive ... And quite honestly there was not the will there amongst at least [United Nurses of Alberta's] membership to go for a general strike. Perhaps if things had continued to go, it may have resulted in it. But you don't have one group go out on strike and end up in a general strike the next day. It takes time to build.' Other union leaders explained that the agenda of the laundry workers was too narrow to spark a wider protest: I think that [to mobilize other union members for collective protest] everyone else would have to see what he or she would have to gain. But we didn't have any sort of cohesive position on things ... I don't even think we would have gotten people out because we wouldn't have known what it was we were going out for, other than supporting the laundry workers. If we're not going to get anything out of it, and we're not sure how we're going to get our people back in, why do it?

For their part, the low-paid laundry workers had no intention of being

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on the vanguard of a province-wide political campaign. They settled as soon as the government 'blinked/ The above case begs the question of how the lowly laundry workers forced Klein to blink so fast. Answers can be found by looking into Klein's political persona. Klein is a populist pragmatist who 'rides with the prevailing public mood. If it changes, so will he' (Walkom 1995; see also Edmonton Journal, 1997). The David-and-Goliath nature of the laundry workers' struggle captured the hearts and minds of many Albertans, and as one AUPE executive observed: 'If you are a populist, you are in trouble when that starts happening.' Fearing public reprisal, and perhaps the spread of the strikes throughout the province, Klein had to appease the public and the strikers, and do so fast. Second, a former mayor of Calgary, Klein had his electoral riding in that city, which by and large voted Progressive Conservative. In the 1993 elections the Conservatives won 51 seats in an 83-seat legislature. They all but swept the Calgary area, winning 17 out of the available 20 seats. The Liberals took all 18 seats in Edmonton. In all likelihood, Klein had to act in a manner perceived as fair by Calgarians in order to keep his own, and his party's, grip on Calgary. Third, allegations about Klein's involvement in a stock-share scandal were unfolding at the time of the laundry strikes. In December 1993 Colleen Klein, the premier's wife, acquired 10,000 shares of MultiCorp, a software company, from a former company director. Under Alberta's securities law, directors of a company who sell shares were required to file an insider trading report with the Alberta Securities Commission. In this case, no such document had been filed. Mrs Klein acquired the shares at $1.00 per share, plus 10 per cent interest per year, at a time when they were selling on the market for $1.62. The shares were bought in an arrangement that allowed Mrs Klein not to pay for them until they were sold. Other members of the Klein family and some of Klein's senior staff and associates also bought the Multi-Corp stock. The question raised in 1995 was whether the premier's family and senior staff and associates had access to insider information before they had the opportunity to act in concert by buying a hot stock, a stock whose performance potential was enhanced as the premier was talking up the company in the presence of potential investors. During the height of the controversy the Kleins gave the $39,000 profit they made on the stock to charity. Eventually, they were cleared of any wrongdoing. It is not unreasonable to assume that Klein could not

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afford to appear to be enjoying the fruits of a sweetheart deal while denying the poorly paid laundry workers a break. The laundry workers' strike exposed the organizational weaknesses of the Alberta unions and their leaders' limited capacity for mobilization. At the same time, it provided evidence about the pragmatic, comparatively less-confrontational nature of the Klein government, which once again sidestepped an opportunity to take on the unions. Notwithstanding the illegal status of the strikes, Klein preferred to quell them by throwing money at the strikers, even though it contradicted the prevailing political discourse. In the end, he secured industrial peace and ensured that his neo-conservative agenda would not be upset or delayed. Lessons The Ontario Days of Action are a tribute to the union leaders' proficiency at mobilization, that is, putting people on the streets and controlling their behaviours throughout the events. They also are evidence that a series of disjointed mobilization episodes, impressive as they are, do not guarantee a victory at the ballot box, nor are they sufficient to pressure a government into reconsidering its underlying principles; the reason being, there is more to successful collective action than effective short-term mobilization, as Turk aptly observes: 'The issue is not primarily the number of people at a rally. The days of protest must grow in militancy of resistance, breadth of involvement, and determination to stop the government and its corporate backers. Unless this happens, the days of protest will prove not a strategy for change but only a diversion: one-day shows of force that lead nowhere but to despair. They can either roll forward or backward. There is no standing still' (1997:176). Still, those unions and community groups that lavished so much money, time, and energy on 'making a point,' might have been gratified by their efforts. They had shown the government, as well as other stakeholders, that they were capable of successfully mobilizing their members and subjecting their behaviours to a preconceived plan. They might also have cherished the institutional gains they had derived from the eleven experiences. Premier Harris might have learned that unions would not sit idly on the sidelines while he and his cabinet were trampling all over their territorial rights and boundaries. Yet he had also learned that the damage these unions could inflict upon him

162 Unions in the Time of Revolution

and his government by acting collectively was manageable, and did not require a considerable political adjustment. Those unions and community groups that partook in the DO A, wishing to undercut, or perhaps even unseat, the Harris government, were likely disappointed. As a strategy for political change, the DOA were short of target. They did not generate the public uproar required to undercut the government, or at least force it to reconsider its neoconservative gospel and the means to its realization. Instead, the DOA evolved into disconnected ceremonial events, disjointed celebrations of collective disapproval that followed a well-scripted course. Soon, the government realized that within some forty-eight hours of a protest's inception life would return to normal. The government, therefore, was under no serious pressure to rethink its political truisms. And as the 1999 election demonstrated, the DOA did not convince enough of the public to withdraw its electoral support from the government. Apparently, more than a series of episodic protests, however well executed, is needed to get rid of an intransigent yet popular government. Why did the unions fail to parlay their local organizational successes into political change? Why did the series of fairly popular protests remain bounded within its parochial perimeter? One major reason was the events' comprehensiveness, which bred watered-down agenda and an inchoate, short-term strategy for action. The events, while being a response to government behaviours, neither addressed a particular issue nor raised a specific demand. They were an embodiment of collective discontent. Being broad in scope, the DOA suffered from a built-in critical contradiction: whereas collective-action inclusiveness is essential to having clout and to shunning special-interest-group status, it can render an action ineffective if the participants are too diverse to coalesce around a specific grievance and pursue it in unison for the long run. The DOA were conceived as community events, not to be owned by a single union or any other particular group. Naturally, then, they intertwined a tapestry of labour and social-justice groups that were held together by a deep-seated dislike of the government. Yet because this shared sentiment was embedded in many differing grievances, it could not become the bedrock for a protest movement. Somehow, the DOA had to reconcile a multitude of interests and concerns, or at least not privilege some over the others. A compromise agenda was the easy way out of this conundrum. Such an agenda denounced Harris and called for the election of a new government, yet avoided laying any

Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta 163

concrete demands at Harris's doorstep. Thus, the events became a means to venting frustration with the political system, with little prospect of changing it. On the other hand, a watered-down agenda was probably needed to attract a large number of diverse participants. It is unlikely that the multitudes from outside, and perhaps even from within, the labour movement would have joined forces to protest a specific labour concern such as Bill 160, which was perceived even by staunch unionists as a narrow, teachers' issue. More generally, it is unlikely that the social-justice groups would have participated in protests against the government assault on union territorial rights and boundaries. Labour grievances would likely have been too limited to attract the smorgasbord of stakeholders that made up the DOA. The case of the laundry workers' strike in Alberta further illustrates how difficult it is to spark a collective protest by striking a single match. Notwithstanding the unparalleled support their strikes commanded, the laundry workers could not (and indeed never tried to) serve as the beacon for a province-wide labour protest. An inchoate agenda was not the only weakness of the DOA. They also suffered from the union leaders' limited capacity to act in concert, a capacity that was undermined by a conflict predating the launch of the first DOA. Since 1993, the Ontario labour movement had been divided into two camps that even a formidable foe such as Harris could not unite for too long. One camp comprised the radical CAW and public-sector unions. This group favoured direct confrontation with the Harris government. The second camp included the pink unions that preferred electoral politics as a means to fight the government. Thus, the two groups put a premium on political action as a way of responding to the Common Sense Revolution, but differed markedly in tactics. As the two factions could not agree on the one best way of challenging the government, a compromise response, communitybased DOA, had been forged. For more than two years, the unions maintained their commitment to this compromise, unable, or unwilling, to escalate it or abandon it altogether. Eventually, the looming 1999 election provided the unions with a graceful way out. It was time for the struggle against the government to shift from the streets to the ballot box. The above analysis supports our previous observation that, as the extent of collective action exceeds a single union, its focus might be dulled by the need to accommodate numerous interest groups with as

164 Unions in the Time of Revolution

many different agendas, interests, expectations, and viewpoints. Success in collective action thus does not automatically follow the maximization of the action's scope. Whereas union leaders in Ontario mobilized eleven collective actions to protest the Common Sense Revolution, their Alberta counterparts did not spearhead even one during the Klein Revolution. To challenge Ralph Klein, union leaders had to develop an alternative vision about the source of the deficit and its elimination and mobilize wide support for it. This would render the vision independent of the unions' special-interest-group status and perhaps pressure the government to enter a debate over its direction. Yet during the Klein Revolution, Alberta union leaders did not accomplish such a feat. As one union leader aptly noted, 'If you can't convince people that they can act upon the world and succeed, then you can't lead them.' Consequently, members and leaders resorted to institutionalized means of action, conventional strikes and collective bargaining. However, these institutions are not suitable to deal with government policies. In fact, collective bargaining to implement the wage rollbacks furthered the government's cause. The laundry workers' strikes might have a similar effect, as a CUPE research officer admitted: 'Many employers see [strikes] as an opportunity. If they had cutbacks in funding, they see a three-month strike, or whatever, as an opportunity to balance their books and save money.' For its part, the government successfully eroded union solidarity, a key to collective action. In doing so, it sapped the unions of any vitality and resolve they might still have had to carry collective action. Some union members supported the government's new political discourse and others thought that, as responsible citizens, they ought to contribute to the collective good as defined by the government. For many other members, layoffs and pay cuts created deep-seated economic uncertainty that fixed their attention on daily survival. The overwhelming need to survive had left them little disposed to collective action. Apparently, fear created a well-disciplined workforce, undercutting union leaders' capacity for mobilization. Our analyses have two implications for the model presented at the outset. First, union leaders' decisions to launch collective action to protest an adversarial government are fuelled by the latter's intentions, policies, and actions. Yet, neo-conservative governments do not adopt a cookie-cutter approach to industrial relations. A government can perceive unions as an opposition force that has to be contained during the

Ontario Days of Action and Missed Opportunities in Alberta 165

implementation of its agenda. In contrast, a government can also view unions as a destructive force on the road to a brave new world, a force whose detrimental potential must be repressed. Each conception, or paradigm, will bear differently on the government's behaviours and on the subsequent government-union relationship. This, in turn, will have different implications for considerations of union territorial rights and boundaries and for the ensuing proclivity of union leaders to collective action. Thus, an effective model of union collective action should treat a government's union paradigm as an antecedent of union leaders' mobilization decisions. Note, this contingency should not be confused with those factors, such as existing legislation, jurisprudence, and public attitudes, that make up the leaders' external environment. They all are important to understanding collective action, yet they are secondary to the role that governments play in union collective action. Second, the evidence provides additional support to the previously proposed effect of inter-union relationship on a collective action's success. As the boundaries of collective action exceed a single union, interunion solidarity becomes critical, and elusive. This appears to be true whether or not the participating unions belong in the same industry, such as education. As the number of included unions grows, so does the likelihood for internal dissent owing to diverging expectations, interests, and capacities for staying power. As a general rule, then, the likelihood of sustaining a long-term collective action is inversely related to the number of participating unions. In other words, multiunion collective actions enjoy a relatively narrow window of opportunity to attain their goals.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sleeping with the Devil: Strategic Voting in the 1999 Ontario Election

Before the 1999 election, several Ontario unions endeavoured to act in concert in order to bring an end to the Harris government. This time, however, they shunned street action in favour of electoral politics and the method of strategic voting. For these unions, the election was another avenue by which collective action could be exercised. Proponents of strategic voting beseeched trade unionists to cast their ballots in favour of candidates who were most likely to win in their ridings, as long as they were not Progressive Conservatives. In so doing, union leaders hoped to avoid splitting anti-Conservative votes, thereby increasing the likelihood of unseating the incumbent government. Strategic voting raised unique challenges to union leaders and members. For example, in several ridings, union leaders pleaded with members and officers to vote for Liberal candidates, a union heresy during earlier elections.1 Fred Lamonte, vice-president of a CAW Windsor local, aptly captured the predicament in which this move had placed some voters: 'I understand that sometimes you have to sleep with the devil to get what you want. I don't like the taste of this but I'm a realist' (Girard 1998b). However, not everyone was ready to surrender to the leadership's passionate pleas to vote strategically. During the Klein Revolution, the Alberta unions did not adopt an official electoral policy comparable to strategic voting. In a single-party province, such as Alberta had been since its inception in 1905, such a policy likely would have been a futile exercise in wasting precious union resources. The AUPE, the largest union in Alberta, did have an unofficial voting policy that focused on each candidate's approach to labour issues rather than party affiliation. In January 2001, for example, during the union's 24th annual convention, president Dan MacLennan

Strategic Voting in the 1999 Ontario Election 167

recommended that members vote in the upcoming March election for candidates who had a record friendly to labour (AUPE 2001). Fittingly, delegates to the convention voted strongly to reject a motion calling for affiliation with the labour-oriented New Democrats. This chapter, therefore, focuses on strategic voting during the 1999 election campaign in Ontario. It explores the reasons behind employing this unique variant of collective action as well as its challenges and implications for unions and their members. Usually, strategic voting comes under the academic rubric of 'game theory' and is a subject for political scientists (e.g., Colman 1995). When researched, it is typically viewed from the social-psychological perspective of individual motivation, and the analysis focuses on what distribution of votes will generate varying outcomes. In keeping with the gist of this book, we have ventured away from this style of analysis. We have also chosen not to evaluate the outcome of the strategic voting objectively and empirically, although we summarize how others have evaluated it. Instead, we have detailed how the specific instance of strategic voting advocated by several unions before the 1999 Ontario election can be considered another exercise of union collective action, how it differs from the examples discussed in the previous chapters, and what it teaches us about both collective action and the state of the labour movement in Ontario. Our analysis is based on the collective-action model presented in chapter 3. With its focus on the need to engage in cognitive liberation and the necessity of establishing structures of solidarity incentives and a solid communication network, the model offers useful insights into understanding the strategic-voting experience. Context Before the 1999 provincial election, a 'loose coalition' of unions and community organizations calling themselves the Ontario Election Network (OEN) asked their members to 'vote strategically.' The OEN comprised pressure groups such as Citizens for Local Democracy (C4LD), and unions representing teachers (OSSTF, OECTA, ETFO, OTF), nurses (Ontario Nurses' Association), the building trades (Construction Trades Council), provincial public servants (OPSEU), and the CAW. The leaders of these unions advocated that members vote for the candidate in their riding that was most likely to oust the incumbent Tory member or prevent the Tory candidate from obtaining the

168 Unions in the Time of Revolution

seat. While this strategy did not oppose voting for NDP candidates, it did mean that, atypically, many Liberal candidates received union endorsements. The potential efficacy of the strategic-voting method is a result of Canada's plural party system, whereby it is possible for a party to form the government with less than a majority of the popular vote. In 1995 the Harris government was elected with 44.8 per cent of the popular vote (82/130 seats in the legislature), meaning that 55.2 per cent of the voters did not want the Conservatives in office. However, that 55.2 per cent was divided among the other parties running for office, primarily the NDP and the Liberal Party. The theory behind strategic voting was that if those 55.2 per cent of voters did not split their votes between the other parties, as they had done in the 1995 election, the Harris government would not be re-elected. To the coalition, any government was perceived as being more palatable than the PCs. In order for the coalition to be successful, they had to prevent Tory candidates from winning in 52 of the newly created 103 ridings.2 The coalition ultimately identified 29 'swing ridings' in the province; ridings where the elected candidate had historically vacillated among the various parties.3 The electorate in these ridings was expected to be more open to voting strategically rather than along devoted party lines. The decision of some unions to advocate strategic voting was, and still is, very contentious for the Ontario labour movement. With the exception of CUPE, the line dividing the strategy's proponents and opponents ran between the pink unions, on one side, and the CAW and public-sector unions, on the other. Not surprisingly, the CAW was one of the strongest advocates for parting with traditional voting patterns as a means to remove Harris and his Conservatives from office. In 1998 CAW president Buzz Hargrove acknowledged the cancellation of the previously mentioned general strike and then made the following statement: 'We should now move into political action and put our resources into defeating the government of Ontario' (Lu 1998). Strategic voting would become the cornerstone of that political action. On 11 December 1998 60 per cent of the 750 delegates at the CAW convention in Toronto endorsed strategic voting (Girard 1998b). The delegates declared: '[W]e need to focus, above all, on toppling this government and supporting the NDP in ridings where they have an opportunity to win [and therefore,] we will not provide resources where the NDP has no chance' (CAW 1998). The delegates then endorsed the following strategy for the 1999 election (ibid.):

Strategic Voting in the 1999 Ontario Election 169 1 Defeating as many Harris Tories as possible with the objective of defeating the government. This will mean tough anti-Harris canvasses and messaging with the knowledge that this may bolster the Liberal campaign in that riding. 2 Identifying winnable ridings and electing as many NDP candidates as possible. This means concentrating our resources in those ridings only and not resourcing NDP campaigns without a chance.

Within the labour realm, the formal decision to deviate from traditional patterns of partisan support was unprecedented. It required an unconditional commitment from the union leaders, who, in turn, had to convince many members to deviate sharply from traditional voting patterns. The leaders did not waste time and quickly began to communicate to their members the expected political behaviour - vote against rather than for a particular party. Hence Hargrove's call (1999) upon the CAW membership: 'For the first time in our history, strategic voting [sic]. Vote for the candidate who's most likely to defeat the sitting Tory member or to stop an aspiring Tory member in any riding in this province.' Similarly, OPSEU's president, Leah Casselman, pleaded with her members: 'Tell your friends, neighbors, and relatives how you have decided to vote strategically. Urge them to do the same' (1999). Naturally, not all Ontario unions were swept up by the strategic-voting current. Several unions rejected the idea and considered it selfdefeating. Among public-sector unions, the CUPE leaders initially supported strategic voting, but changed their minds upon reconsideration. Sid Ryan, the CUPE Ontario president, saw the 1999 election as the labour movement's opportunity to remove the Tory government from office and, as such, an opportunity to succeed where the Days of Action failed. Still, Ryan recommended to his union members not to support strategic voting, and to maintain their traditional support of the NDP at the polls. He and other CUPE officers were concerned about the harm that might befall the NDP as a result of strategic voting. They were worried that the NDP would lose too many seats to the Liberals and, thereby, their official party status, leaving the legislature without a truly opposing voice. Eventually, this is what happened. Immediately after the election, Ryan would write, 'Perhaps the most benign way to look at strategic voting is as a misguided plan, based on good intentions ... Moving to the political center is a shallow, opportunistic response' (Ryan 1999). The CAW aside, private-sector unions opposed strategic voting,

170 Unions in the Time of Revolution

with the USWA being on the forefront of the opposition. In a news release, the USWA asserted: 'This is a foolhardy strategy which betrays the fundamental interests of the working people of Ontario. You never make progress by simply being against someone' (Canada NewsWire 1999). After the election, Lawrence McBrearty (1999), the USWA national director for Canada, denounced the role 'one major union' played in the strategic-voting affair: 'One major union has received a lot of attention for supporting so-called 'strategic voting/ which would push NDP voters over to the Right and into the arms of the Liberal Party. At the same time, the same union calls for the NDP to forget about any new thinking and go sharply into the arms of the Liberal Party. The first strategy would decimate the party; the second would keep it in a policy straightjacket.' One of our interviewees further criticized the CAW for lacking a clear political compass, a malady of which strategic voting was but one symptom: It just seems to me to be lunacy for autoworker chieftains to be calling for the defeat of the one and only NDP government they ever had, then to call for mass protests on the street to protest the result of their own political advice, and then a few years later to say, 'Well, let's try something else, let's suggest supporting the Liberals.' Those of us who have remained simplemindedly steadfast and loyal to the NDP at least have the virtue of consistency. I have not seen that the tactics advanced and practiced by the autoworkers have had a single positive effect on the lives of working people in Ontario.

Across unions, then, strategic voting constituted a divisive move that added fuel to the deepening inter-union controversy surrounding the union-NDP relationship. In addition, anecdotal evidence suggests that the decision to sanction strategic voting was controversial even within some of those unions that made up the Ontario Election Network: We actually represent the staff in the NDP offices. So you can imagine the tensions within that group as we strategically said, 'You know, we're not going to support the MPP that you report to.' It was very difficult within this office. A number of my staff officers have had a history, a strong history, of working for the NDP government. My deputy secretary, for example, worked with the former premier of Ontario, Bob Rae, and is a staunch NDP supporter. It was interesting to watch those folks put their political preferences aside and do what they thought was the best for everyone.

Strategic Voting in the 1999 Ontario Election 171

Advocates of strategic voting thus faced the daunting task of convincing voters to change their voting habits for perhaps the first time in their lives. This task was all the more difficult given the absolute lack of any concrete mechanisms, save moral suasion, union leaders might have had at their disposal for controlling their members' behaviours at the polling booth. The decision to advocate strategic voting was one that unions were both pushed and pulled into making. They were pushed by their disillusionment with the NDP government, which goes back to the Social Contract. 'I can't see the CAW supporting an NDP that is prepared to tear out its roots every time the Chamber of Commerce or the Business Council on National Issues comes calling/ declared Hargrove (1998: 189). Public-sector unions shared a similar sentiment about a supposedly labour-oriented government that dared to desecrate the sanctity of their collective agreements. Unions were pulled towards strategic voting by the perceived need to ensure that the Harris government did not get re-elected. 'Since job security was not achieved in this round of bargaining, we must concentrate our efforts on the task of removing the Tories because they have done the most damage,' announced Casselman, the OPSEU president (CAAT News 1999). The CAW interviewees, demonstrating the two effects, explained that defeating Harris was an obligation they owed their membership, and that the road to its accomplishment bypassed blind support of the NDP: In 1999 we took a whole different approach regarding our support of the NDP. We were so frustrated with the NDP because we couldn't get them to move from where they were heading, which was a centre right. The Rae government was the most conservative moderate government they had had here since Bill Davis [1971-85]. In 1999, it was clear that if we wanted to defeat Harris, we couldn't do it if we just simply endorsed the NDP - this had to be done differently. So we started looking at certain select ridings. If you strategically targeted those ridings and said, 'Okay, who do we best vote for to beat the Tory/ then it was pretty clear that we could end up with a minority government. We had debated this internally through all of our structures. It was a gut-wrenching debate. And then, we went to our council to five-hour debate at our major leadership thing, and it was endorsed by 60 per cent of the delegates. That was done because it was pretty clear to us that the most important thing we could do for the people we represent, the under-

172 Unions in the Time of Revolution privileged, the working people, the people without power or voice, was to defeat the Harris government.

Paradoxically, resenting the recent NDP rightward shift, the CAW leadership had decided to prod some of their members to cast their ballots in the exact same political direction. With their decision to endorse candidates who showed the most promise of defeating the Tory in their ridings, the public-sector unions broke with a long tradition of remaining non-partisan. Simultaneously, the CAW broke with a long tradition of supporting the NDP. It should be recalled, however, that 1999 was not the first time that members of the CAW indicated their frustration with the NDP-CAW link. In 1993, rank-and-file members of Local 222 in Oshawa, Ontario, made a move to break ranks with their political ally. A Committee against Political Affiliation, consisting of non-NDP supporters, did not want portions of their dues being contributed to the party. As a result, they spearheaded a move to separate the CAW from the NDP. At that time, an exasperated Hargrove called the move 'an expanding right-wing attack by Reform Party advocates' (Gait 1993a), and the committee was unsuccessful in its bid. Despite supporting each other in the decision to recommend strategic voting to their members, the coalition between the public-sector unions and the CAW was far from cohesive. The Ontario Election Network was frequently described in newspaper accounts as being a 'loose coalition' (Urquhart 1999a). Its 'looseness' was evidenced by the general lack of agreement among the unions regarding which candidates to support in the targeted ridings. In many cases, different unions endorsed different candidates, either because they did not agree on which candidate was stronger, or because they had other loyalties to a particular office hopeful (e.g., the teachers' unions wanted to endorse candidates who were teachers). Only days before the election, one reporter stated that 'the coalition appears badly split by internal fights/ and made a point of noting that the CAW was not present at the press conference where the final twenty-nine endorsed candidates were announced (Ferguson 1999a). In the same article, the reporter quoted a member of the Construction Trades Council, John Cartwright, as saying that, '[different people have taken a different approach/ This is followed by a quotation by Buzz Hargrove denying that there was a split in the coalition, but stating that 'some of our people have identified different [swing] ridings/ The reporter also noted that the

Strategic Voting in the 1999 Ontario Election 173

nurses' and the teachers' unions were backing different candidates, indicating that it was not only the private-sector unions that were dissenting over the strategic-voting tactics. An interesting, and most likely unintended, effect of the strategicvoting campaign was the reactions of the three main parties. Unwilling to be marginalized, the NDP candidates changed their campaign tactics to begin attacking the Liberals and their policies (Boyle 1999a). Their leader was upheld to be 'Harris Lite' (Urquhart 1998a). The Liberals, by contrast, began consciously wooing the labour vote, attempting to 'co-opt the idea [of strategic voting] by telling everyone that a strategic vote was a vote for them, even in ridings where the coalition was recommending support for the NDP candidate' (Urquhart 1999b, 1998b). And the Tories, most interestingly, began praising the NDP on occasion, knowing that support for the NDP would help keep the majority of the popular vote split between the two parties, thus facilitating their re-election (Ruimy 1999). While the Liberals hoped to gain votes from the union membership as a result of the vocal support of the union leadership, they also certainly gained, not necessarily directly, by way of financial and human resources (Urquhart 1999a). The Ontario Nurses' Association, for example, was 'spending thousands of dollars in four ridings where the Tories are considered weak or vulnerable' (Baglole 1999). The Association encouraged its 45,000 members to campaign and vote against the Tories, and even developed an 'emotional video' entitled 'Risky Business: Being a Patient in Ontario.' The video discussed the current state of the province's health-care system, from the perspective of nurses and health-care professionals (ibid.; Daly 1999), which was shown at allcandidate debates, given to television stations, and distributed to 20,000 households in four of the Association's targeted ridings. Combined, three teachers' unions (OSSTF, OECTA, and ETFO) budgeted $3 million to support strategic-voting efforts. The OSSTF budgeted $1 million for the strategic-voting campaign, with 700,000 of those dollars going towards ads, and the remaining $300,000 sponsoring all-candidate debates on education (Baglole 1999). Money from the teachers' unions also went towards paying wages for teachers who chose to work full-time on the campaign. Teachers were also encouraged by their unions to volunteer at the campaign offices of endorsed candidates (Talaga and Chamberlain 1999). 'Strategic voting' is a term that evokes an image of a unified coalition working within a clear and well-defined plan. As this discussion

174 Unions in the Time of Revolution TABLE 7.1

Results of the Ontario 1995 and 1999 elections 1995a

1999b

Party

PC

Liberals

NDP

PC

Liberals

NDP

Seats" Popular vote (%)

82 44.8

30 31.1

17 20.6

59 45.1

35 39.8

9 12.6

a b

In 1995 the legislature had one independent MPP. In 1999 the number of legislative seats was reduced to 103 from 130.

highlights, however, the mobilization process itself was anything but consensual; and as we demonstrate below, there is just as little agreement on the success of the collective-action efforts. The Outcome of Strategic Voting On 3 June 1999 Mike Harris and his Progressive Conservative Party were re-elected as a majority government. The last Ontarian politico who could boast such a feat was John Robarts, who won back-to-back majorities in 1963 and 1967. The last two elections also marked the first time the Tories surpassed 40 per cent of the popular vote in consecutive elections since 1971. Table 7.1 provides information on the 1995 and 1999 election results. Compared with the 1995 election, the PC party received almost the same amount of popular support, while the Liberals gained at the NDP's expense. The latter, with only nine seats, fell short of the twelve seats needed to gain official-party status in the legislature, turning in its worst performance since 1963.4 The outcome of strategic voting was evaluated by the media with little consensus. Gray (1999) considered the strategy (which he called a 'gangup') mostly ineffective. He argued that the failure of the Ontario Election Network to topple the Conservative government was not the result of a flaw in the strategy itself, but of the genuine will of the people of Ontario to have more of the same Harris regime. Others considered the strategy to be a qualified success. Tanguay contended that strategic voting to influence the election outcome did have a modest effect. Putting strategic voting in context, Tanguay explained that this modest effect 'is nevertheless in marked contrast to many of the campaigns at the federal level organized by such interest groups as the National Citizens' Coalition and Campaign Life, which

Strategic Voting in the 1999 Ontario Election 175

have had either a negligible or a perverse effect (when candidates targeted for defeat actually did better than they otherwise would have done)' (2002: 155). Barber (1999) considered the 'targeted voting' to have been a success within Toronto proper. While the Tories had won a narrow majority of Toronto's seats in the 1995 election (sixteen of the thirty seats that existed before the Tory government redistributed them), they won only eight of the twenty-two seats that existed after the redistribution. Barber attributed the Tories' loss of seats to gains made by the Liberals as a result of the strategic-voting effort.5 A month after the election, Monahan (1999) made a similar argument, which he based on research by a government-relations firm. He argued that G.P. Murray Research Ltd's analysis of voting results indicated that in 1995 the Conservative government would likely have won twenty-five or twenty-six of the 1999 coalition-targeted seats. In actuality, as table 7.2 reports, they won only fifteen of the targeted seats in the 1999 election. Others pointed to the success of strategic voting in unseating some key members of the Conservative government. Education Minister Dave Johnson, Culture Minister Isabel Bassett, and Agriculture Minister Noble Villeneuve were considered particularly 'high-profile victims' (Ferguson 1999b; Tanguay 2002). The defeat of Johnson might have had an added consoling value to the unions since he had been especially reviled for having masterminded Bill 160, the Education Quality Improvement Act. For those who felt that the majority of the population truly did not want the Harris government to stay in power for a second term, there are several speculations as to why the strategy did not succeed in its ultimate goal of ousting the Conservatives from office: the unions did not communicate their strategy and their choices well enough;6 they often did not endorse the same candidate in a given riding; they only targeted their members and did not inform the general public of the strategy; they waited to release their official list of endorsed candidates until only days before the election; NDP supporters were 'touchy' about backing Liberals and could not detach themselves from their long-established partisan allegiance; the non-endorsed candidates refused to give up without a fight, causing the Liberal and NDP candidates to battle each other directly; and, finally, many voters (and media reporters) interpreted 'strategic voting' to mean 'vote Liberal' (McKinley 1999; Ferguson 1999b; Urquhart 1999b). This last problem was made particularly evident in a newspaper article published less than a month before the election, which defined

176 Unions in the Time of Revolution TABLE 7.2

Electoral performance of candidates endorsed by Ontario Election Network

Riding Bramalea-Gore-Malton Brant Chatham-Kent-Essex

Don Valley East Eglinton-Lawrence London West Mississauga East Mississauga West Mississauga Centre Northumberland Prince Edward-Hasting St Paul's Stoney Creek Stormont-Dundas Beaches-East York Cambridge Etobicoke-Lakeshore Etobicoke North Hamilton Mountain Hamilton West London Fanshawe London North Centre Niagara Centre Oshawa Scarborough Centre Scarborough South West

Endorsed party

'99 vote

'95 vote

Net change

Winning candidate

Liberal Liberal Liberal Liberal Liberal Liberal Liberal Liberal Liberal Liberal Liberal Liberal Liberal Liberal NDP NDP NDP NDP NDP NDP NDP NDP NDP NDP NDP NDP

38.8 47.0 56.0 50.5 56.8 44.3 39.0 38.0 40.3 44.0 45.1 50.6 40.0 48.0 45.9 19.4 14.7 23.9 22.4 37.8 24.6 36.5 44.4 22.6 19.9 23.2

38.3 34.8 40.7 37.2 39.4 25.8 34.4 38.1 41.8 35.6 34.5 36.0 34.3 46.2 36.1 31.8 22.0 29.3 27.3 33.2 34.2 25.7 34.4 27.4 27.8 32.1

0.5 12.2 15.3 13.3 17.4 18.5 4.6 -0.1

PC Liberal Liberal Liberal Liberal PC PC PC

-1.5

PC

8.4 10.6 14.6 5.7 1.8 9.8

PC PC Liberal Liberal PC Liberal NDP

-12.4 -7.3

-5.4 -4.9 4.6

PC PC

PC Liberal NDP

-9.6

PC

10.8 10.0 -4.8

PC NDP PC

-7.9

PC

-8.9

PC

Source: Tanguay (2002: 152). Note: According to Tanguay, the Toronto Star initially reported that 29 ridings were targeted, but the election post mortem published by the OSSTF lists only 26. Monahan (1999), drawing on the unpublished study conducted by G.P. Murray Research Ltd, also refers to 26 swing ridings. The three ridings dropped from the target list - HaldimandNorfolk-Brant, Huron-Bruce, and York North - were all won by the Tories.

strategic voting as a block vote for the preferred alternative to the incumbent government party: 'Disgruntled Ontarians would decide at some point in the campaign which party is most capable of forming a government to replace Harris's Conservatives and then vote en masse for that party, regardless of who their local candidate is' (Walker 1999). A reader of this article would be led to conclude that she or he should

Strategic Voting in the 1999 Ontario Election 177

vote Liberal. However, the voting strategy was not about voting for a particular party; it was about voting for individual candidates who stood a good chance of beating the Tory candidate in their riding. It was about getting rid of the Tory government, seat by seat, rather than en bloc. Ultimately, it is possible that the campaign for strategic voting did influence how a certain number of voters cast their ballots. Still, it is extremely difficult, if not utterly impossible, to estimate the net effect of the union strategic-voting campaign on voter behaviours without directly surveying the voters and disentangling the impact of intervening variables. For example, in several of the swing ridings the endorsed candidates were also the incumbents. It is possible that rather than strategic voting, the incumbency effect was the reason for the re-election of some of these incumbents.7 Moreover, even with refined data, it will be difficult to tease apart the effects on voters of the unions and other groups that were preaching a similar message. There are many cogent reasons for the Harris government to have won reelection, whether related or not to the strategic-voting campaign. Evaluating the reasons for the successful re-election of the Harris government would be a valuable research project, particularly in its appraisal of the efficacy of the strategic-voting campaign. In our final analysis, strategic voting likely damaged the NDP's capacity to represent labour adequately and voice its concerns in parliament. Clearly, it did not prevent the Conservatives from attaining a second majority government. In the aftermath of the election, the leader of the NDP, Howard Hampton, went so far as to argue that the strategic-voting process assisted the Conservatives in obtaining another majority government - a deeply ironic outcome (Roberts 1999a). He specifically blamed strategic voting and Buzz Hargrove, as one of its chief instigators, for his party's poor electoral performance (Mackie 1999). It was not easy to campaign, said Hampton, when a union leader was saying, 'The NDP is irrelevant and don't waste your vote' on that party (Boyle 1999b). While the CAW leadership and the NDP had strained relations going back to the Rae government and the Social Contract, the 1999 election appears to have exacerbated the situation, with Hargrove and Hampton having a rather public feud soon afterwards, a feud in which the CUPE leader, Sid Ryan, came to the defence of the NDP leader (Mallan 1999).8 Shortly after the election, on 25 September, some three hundred NDP activists at a post-election meeting of the executive council debated

178 Unions in the Time of Revolution

whether to expel Hargrove from the party. The debate was a result of a letter submitted by one delegate who accused Hargrove of 'treachery' (Urquhart 1999c). In the end, the executive decided to present a resolution that condemned strategic voting, but said that those who had supported it would not be disciplined (Canadian Press 1999). Lessons Strategic voting represents a unique case of collective action. This variant is a greater leadership challenge than the protest methods discussed thus far and, from the outset, stands a low chance of delivering what its champions explicitly set out to achieve. First, collective-action success depends on a fundamental principle - that ultimately union leaders can mobilize, that is, control, their members. Lacking this capacity, there will be no collective action. It has long been argued that unions cannot mobilize their members to vote for the NDP en masse. More than ten years ago, Archer argued that 'the NDP lack of electoral success can be attributed to the inability of union locals to either deliver more votes to the party or to stimulate higher rates of affiliation with the party' (1990: 63; see also Archer 1995). Likewise, more recently, Hargrove has acknowledged that '[a] sizeable proportion of our members have taken a liking to the Reform [now called Canadian Alliance] Party or even the Conservatives federally, or the Liberal Party provincially, as their political alternative' (1998: 185). In Alberta, citing an unpublished national poll, AUPE's president Dan MacLennan pointed out that in the November 2000 federal election, 41 per cent of union members voted Liberal, 37 per cent voted Alliance, and fewer than 15 per cent supported the NDP (Lakritz 2001). On another occasion, he emphatically stated that union 'members are capable of thinking for themselves, that unions are not monoliths and that membership in them should not be synonymous with bloc voting' (ibid.). An industrial union interviewee from Ontario concurred that 'there is no question that we have lost whatever ability we've had to influence attitudes, at least political and voting attitudes, among working people/ By and large, the results of strategic voting have corroborated these arguments. In short, union leaders cannot control their members' voting behaviours, a reality that union advocates of strategic voting knowingly attempted to defy.9 Second, the unions' difficulty in 'delivering the votes' is, at least partially, a consequence of the mechanics of democratic voting, which pre-

Strategic Voting in the 1999 Ontario Election 179

vent a direct link between the agents of collective action and the subjects of their mobilization efforts at the most critical moment of the campaign. Union leaders could have mobilized various resources in order to preach their political message, spread it, and make sure that it reached their members. They could even have created effective administrative structures for ensuring that members would present themselves at the polling stations. But this was the limit of their capacity to control member-as-voter behaviours. Controlled voter behaviours is, at least in democracies, an oxymoron. There can hardly be a political behaviour that is more individualized than a secret vote in a government election. The union leaders could only hope that a sizeable number of the membership had internalized their message and would act upon it at the ballot box; hope, because during the most important chapter of the strategic-voting campaign, as voters disappeared behind the screens at polling stations, the union leaders became involved in 'phantom mobilization/ for they were completely separated from the subjects of their mobilization efforts. At that moment the leaders lost whatever unmediated grip they might have had over the rank and file. At the most critical moment of this action direct mobilization, according to its definition, essentially ceased to exist. All those mechanisms that usually generate and sustain a demonstration or a rally, such as leaders' rhetoric, peer support and pressure, public debates, the media, the festive ambience, and the presence of law-enforcement forces, are antithetical to the essence of the secret voting process. In 1999, if such influences ever existed, they vanished when an individual approached the ballot box to execute the mundane, solitary act of voting. At that point, the success of strategic voting depended on the mobilization momentum the leaders had been able to generate. Third, as in previous collective actions, strategic voting involved leader efforts at cognitive liberation. This time, however, the challenge the leaders faced was different. They did not endeavour to liberate members from fears of employer or government retaliation or anxiety about participating in an unfamiliar activity. Instead, the leaders had to liberate many members from deep-seated loyalties to a particular party. It is possible that, just as CUPE and the private-sector unions (except the CAW) could not detach themselves from the NDP, individual voters found strategic voting a bitter pill to swallow. It is not unreasonable to assume that old political allegiances die hard, even against the wishes of respected union leaders.

180 Unions in the Time of Revolution

Fourth, solidarity incentives are an important building block of the processes of consensus and action mobilization. A very important solidarity incentive that proponents of strategic voting should have used was a coherent argument about why a Harris-free Ontario was in labour's best interests. Yet the champions of strategic voting did not provide any compelling reason for voting against Harris. The mantra 'Harris must go' was not a substitute for a cogent definition of labour's, and the general public's, ultimate goals. It was not clear at all that life for workers and their representative organizations would be significantly better under a Liberal government. As Hamilton has aptly pointed out, '[strategic voting couldn't supply voters with a program or set of policies to stand in opposition to the Harris agenda because the underlying premise of strategic voting was that policy discussion was secondary to defeating Harris... [strategic voting was as paternalistic and anti-democratic as anything dreamt up by Mike Harris's inner circle' (1999: 17). In 1999, the champions of strategic voting faced a daunting challenge because, for the first time in history, they should have explained to union members why labour would be better off electing a non-labour-oriented government. At the same time, they failed to articulate a distinct social vision that could compel union members to vote strategically. Compared with the previously discussed types of collective action, strategic voting appears to be more nebulous, the main reason being that, for years, it has been well known that union leaders possessed only a limited capacity to 'deliver the votes' or, in our language, to inspire a willingness to act among voters. In other words, from the outset, the ability of union leaders to achieve cognitive liberation and separate union members from old party allegiances has been limited. This limitation is related to the mechanics of the voting process, which prohibits a direct connection between union leaders and members at the point of execution, when the latter are about to cast their votes. Cognitive liberation became all the more difficult given the absence of a clear motivational message that could serve as a solidarity incentive. Given these limitations, it appears that, overall, strategic voting is more prone to fail than the formerly discussed variants of collective action. Our theoretical model aside, the strategic-voting initiative has taught us lessons about the Ontario labour movement in general. Strategic voting brought the fight to displace the Harris government to the electoral arena, the preferred playground of the pink unions. Still, it did little to amend the sour relationships that had plagued Ontario

Strategic Voting in the 1999 Ontario Election 181

unions since the days of the Social Contract. Instead, the 1999 strategicvoting campaign established that within the Ontario labour movement a significant camp existed for which labour interests were not synonymous with, or conditioned by, the political success of the NDP. How this controversy will resolve itself is yet to be seen. In mid-2001 it appeared that the union-NDP tension was spilling over into federal politics. At that time, a union-driven movement was mobilizing to create a new left-wing party in Canada. The group, which called itself the New Politics Initiative, called upon the NDP to dissolve itself in its November 2001 convention and be replaced by a new party with fresh policies and a new leader. CAW economist Jim Stanford, one of the group's high-profile supporters, explained that 'the new party would move further to the left, with two key objectives: promoting the environment and combating corporate globalization' (MacKinnon 2001). Supporters have since backed away and have instead suggested that the party needs a wide-ranging policy review before anything new evolves. Importantly, the dispute between the CAW and the pink unions was not merely tactical. Differences in the preferred response to the Harris government were a manifestation of a deeper, paradigmatic disagreement. In this instance, a paradigm is a set of internally consistent assumptions held by the union leadership about a union's raison d'etre and the means to its actualization. The dispute between the pink unions and the CAW revolved around the definition of labour's vested interests, allies and enemies, and the use of power and direct confrontation for organizational and political purposes. For the CAW, labour's allies were those who unconditionally and irrevocably accepted the labour agenda and respected unions' hard-won institutions and bargaining and employment rights. The enemies were those who assaulted labour's institutions and rights. Commitment to one-time labour allies, therefore, was not a holy alliance, but was likely to change depending on the allies' behaviours. When this happened, unions should not stay passive, but rather should exert themselves to protect their vested interests. Even if their efforts remained unsuccessful, the union organization would benefit from such resistance. This paradigm starkly contrasts with the pink unions' alternative. Simply put, their perspective was that labour had one undisputable political ally - the NDP. The labour-NDP alliance was cemented long ago and should not be questioned, even when the party erred. The way to fight labour's enemies was either through electoral politics, using a

182 Unions in the Time of Revolution

strong, viable NDP, or through labour-market actions, using longestablished industrial-relations institutions. In summary, the cumulative effect of the Ontario Election Network did not produce the expected result. Ultimately, the unions and their allies failed to achieve their prime objective, the defeat of the Tory government at the polls. Still, they did demonstrate that they were not willing to sit idle, being mere spectators in Harris's theatre. And even if this was all that was left after the election dust had settled, the realization that the Ontario unions were outspoken, vibrant, and resourceful was a valuable message.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Revisiting the Collective-action Model

In chapter 3 we presented a preliminary model of collective action that is based on the social-movement literature. From the outset we have contended that, and explained why, modern unions do not fit the definition of a social movement provided by students of the phenomenon. Therefore, based on what is known about unions and their collective behaviours, we have modified the model so that it better accounts for the available parameters of union collective action. The previously discussed case studies offer additional modifications to the initial collective action model. It is time to synthesize these ideas into a revised model that explains union leaders' decisions to pursue collectiveaction as well as some of the action's fundamental mechanics. The modified model we discuss below spans three facets that are presented in three figures. Figure 8.1 highlights the role of government in collective action. As we have proposed throughout the book, government behaviours and policies that are perceived as a threat to union territorial rights and boundaries are expected to prompt union leaders to consider the possibility of collective action. The union-leader decision about whether or not to mobilize members for collective action is the focus of figure 8.2 (p. 195). This decision is a result of a cost-benefit analysis that, in turn, is the product of the union leaders' perception of the degree of the government threat, the leaders' beliefs about the merit and feasibility of collective action, and contextual contingencies that are internal and external to the union organization. Once union leaders decide to act collectively, they should engage in four core activities in order to, first, mobilize the membership for collective action and, second, sustain the participants' resolve and solidarity throughout the action. Figure 8.3 (p. 203) diagrammatically presents this argument.

184 Unions in the Time of Revolution Government ideology

Severity of fiscal problem

Government agenda and policy tools

Past union behaviours

Union beliefs of strategic decision-makers

Territorial rights and boundaries concerns

Union leaders are prompted to consider collective action. Figure 8.1 The role of government in collective action

Revisiting the Collective-action Model 185 The Role of Government in Collective Action From the outset we have argued that union collective action is an ad hoc defensive behaviour that unions organize to protect themselves from hostile government behaviours and policies. Unlike social movements, unions do not lie in wait for favourable political circumstances in order to vent collective grievances they have accumulated over a long period of time. In industrialized countries, such as Canada, the industrial-relations system offers unions, and management, a host of institutions to regulate labour conflicts, thereby reducing the likelihood of their buildup and eruption during critical political circumstances. During labour-management conflicts, the relevant actors can resort to these well-established institutions and apply common routines to reach compromises. As long as the actors adhere to these institutions, they are likely to follow a well-paved path to conflict resolution. Industrial conflicts have thus become institutionalized, or bounded. The parties that follow institutionalized, repeatable dispute-settlement processes recognize familiar patterns as well as potentially dangerous deviations that can lead to industrial-relations instability and uncertainty. Such a deviation is likely to occur when government policies, first, jeopardize the union organizations and, second, undermine the union leaders' representational capacity by rendering ineffective the use of familiar institutions to protect labour's vested interests. Selfprotection may then become an immediate leadership imperative. If they are to actively protect themselves and countervail the government's hostile actions, union leaders may have to resort to unconventional means of action. Collective action is one such unorthodox behaviour that is available to those unions for which traditional institutions have been rendered futile by an adversarial government. Union collective action stems from government behaviours. Different governments can use different austerity policies and policy tools to eliminate budget deficits and accumulated debts. These policies and tools, in turn, should bear differently on union territorial rights and boundaries, and therefore on the likelihood of collective action. The determinants of a government's choice of means to redress its fiscal woes are thus the antecedents of union collective action. Consequently, understanding these factors is paramount for the study of union collective action. We propose that government quests for fiscal stability are informed by the confluence of the government's fiscal situation, government ideology, the union beliefs (e.g., about unions' capacity to

186 Unions in the Time of Revolution

mobilize members for collective action and disrupt public life) of strategic decision makers such as the premiers of Alberta and Ontario, and past union behaviours.1 During most of the 1990s, the Ontario and Alberta governments had to deal with serious budget deficits and provincial debts. The governments of Bob Rae, Mike Harris, and Ralph Klein tried to restore financial stability through innovative policies and legislation. Policies aimed at balancing budgets and eliminating provincial debts can bear on union territorial rights and boundaries in an indirect or direct way. Indirectly, although such policy tools as restructuring, budget cuts, and privatization of government-owned enterprises may not be directed at workers and unions, they are highly likely to influence the size of the workforce, mix of skills, wage structures, and work design. Given the heavy presence of unions in the broader public sector, they were in the eye of the storms that swept through Alberta and Ontario during the 1990s. Unions suffered membership losses, decertification, and even elimination through mergers. Directly, unions can be severely damaged by hostile legislation, which probably is the most efficient method a government has at its disposal to dampen unions' potential to derail implementation of its agenda, and to marginalize them for the foreseeable future. The Ontario and Alberta governments differed markedly in their use of legislation to regulate union behaviours, with the Ontario government during Mike Harris's days employing it significantly more frequently and aggressively. This difference is likely a symptom of a more fundamental distinction that underlies governments' behaviours, namely, their innate ideologies. The case studies here have demonstrated that governments of different political ideologies (e.g., NDP vs PC government) are liable to take different roads to reach the coveted 'fiscal bliss' of balanced budgets and zero deficits. Labour-oriented governments would try harder to shield workers from the adverse effects of austerity measures. Also, they might be less prone to exclude unions from the decision-making processes for policy development and implementation. Interestingly, however, even governments with a similar ideological disposition can develop diverging policies to deal with fiscal difficulties. Two governments can share the core of neo-conservative thought, preach a similar gospel of restructuring and cutbacks, and hold a similar outlook towards the role of unions in a neo-conservative transformation. At the same time, these governments can pursue their agendas using different policy tools.

Revisiting the Collective-action Model 187

Both the Klein and Harris governments promoted a neo-conservative vision emphasizing a new model of leaner and more efficient government that should limit its service-provider role and minimize its involvement in the marketplace. In Klein's parlance, the government should 'get out of the business of business/ The main policy tools used to this end included unprecedented budget cuts and public-sector restructuring. These tools worked to abolish most of the government's social programs, 'which took money from people who earned it and gave it to people who had not' (Ibbitson 1997: 31). In addition, believing that they should let the market reward winners and punish losers, both regimes privatized a host of government-owned businesses. The Ontario government also cut taxes in order to stimulate spending. Generally, then, Klein and Harris espoused a similar political discourse. Both worked diligently to create a business-friendly environment that, in turn, was expected to generate jobs and wealth throughout the two provinces. Klein and his government emphasized the 'Alberta Advantage,' which would come in the wake of already low taxes and zero provincial sales tax, and a provincial government that interfered as little as possible with the operation of the free market. Similarly, the Harris government wanted to open Ontario for business. 'There are a number of things that we can send out to the business community large and small, to the investment community, that Ontario is and will be a better place to do business in the future/ the premier said only days after his 1995 election victory (Mittelstaedt 1995a). Yet in contrast to Klein, who did not widely publicize a concrete plan of how to meet his goals, Harris had an elaborate, formally documented program.2 The Common Sense Revolution document was launched on 3 March 1994. Ibbitson (1997: 72) reported that the party spent $1 million on its publication and distribution (according to our copy, which is from the 7th printing, more than 2,000,000 copies had been distributed). The document became the yardstick against which Harris's performance was assessed. In other words, Harris was elected to accomplish a concrete 'to-do list' and had little patience for groups that stood in his way. Apparently, Harris identified unions as a stumbling block on the road to the promised land of business prosperity. In contrast, Klein never felt that unions were a serious opposition force to reckon with. Why? Our twofold explanation emphasizes past union behaviours and the union beliefs of the two premiers. The evidence suggests that government policies and implementation tools were also influenced by past union behaviours. Only two short years before Mike Harris was elected, Ontario had been struggling with

188 Unions in the Time of Revolution

an unprecedented economic slowdown. The labour-oriented NDP government's efforts at fiscal restraint involved intensive consultation with unions and the legislation of the infamous Social Contract. The inhospitable reactions of several major unions to 'their' government's efforts must have given Harris a premonition of what he should expect from the unions once his much more austere agenda started rolling throughout the province. Consequently, it should not have come as a surprise that Harris would try to restrain the unions during the implementation of his Common Sense Revolution. Yet what set Harris apart from Klein was the extra step he took beyond mere union containment. Being much more the ideologue than Klein had ever been, Harris was guided by a deep-seated belief that unions were a long-term burden on business. Thus, Harris set out to inflict lasting damage upon the unions by significantly changing the long-established informal and formal rules of the industrial-relations game. The foremost methods of achieving this goal involved excluding the unions from the political arena and from legislation. Harris abandoned the prevailing norm of a balance of interests, which required that governments would at least try to consult with unions and accommodate divergent interests, however difficult that may be. But probably more devastating to unions was Harris's crusade of anti-labour legislation, which prompted one industrialrelations expert to conclude that 'among the most egregious violators of international human rights norms is the Conservative government of Mike Harris in Ontario' (Adams 2002:125). Harris cast a densely woven anti-union legislative net in order to both hinder the unions' efforts to derail his revolution and damage their long-term representational capacity and organizational well-being.3 Bills 7,74, and 160 are examples that have already been discussed. More recently, Bills 22, 139, and 25 dealt additional blows to the unions in Ontario. Bill 22, An Act to Prevent Unionization with Respect to Community Participation Under the Ontario Works Act, was passed on 24 November 1998. The act denied workfare participants the rights to join a trade union, to bargain collectively, and to strike.4 According to thenMinister of Community and Social Services Janet Ecker: The goal of the Ontario Works program is to get people on welfare into paid jobs as quickly as possible. The program allows welfare recipients to give something back to their community, provides them with work skills, and contacts for future employment. Some union representatives have threatened to unionize workfare participants and have tried to intimidate the very community agencies that are trying to help people get back to

Revisiting the Collective-action Model 189 work. This government will not allow our welfare reforms to be hijacked. (Ontario Ministry of Community and Social Services 1998)

After the introduction of Bill 22, an exasperated Ontario Federation of Labour said in its submission to the Standing Committee on Justice (1998: 11): Workfare figures prominently in the political agenda of this government. It allows this government to indulge in schoolyard bully tactics. Their friends in the employer community are promised a pool of conscripted labor. This pool of labor is cheap and can be used as a potential threat (you can easily be replaced) against other workers. It allows for the continuing scapegoating of the 'undeserving' - the poor and the labor movement. The Orwellian logic of the government is that they hope Bill 22 will allow them to portray themselves as friend and defender of the poor against the threat of the labor movement.

Bill 139, the Labour Relations Amendment Act, was passed on 20 December 2000. The minister of labour, Chris Stockwell, explained that the legislation would enhance workplace democracy and make union leaders more accountable to their members: 'We promised to expand the rights of individual employees and give them a say on how they are represented. Our actions would make union leaders more accountable, allowing individual workers to exercise their rights while creating an environment that enables Ontario's businesses to be more competitive' (Ontario Ministry of Labour 2000). Among other things, the act extended the open periods (i.e., the last months of a collective agreement) for decertifying or changing unions from two to three months; ensured that information on decertification is made available so that all employees will understand their rights; required separate questions on ratification and strike votes in first-contract situations; required the Ontario Labour Relations Board to consider a decertification application before considering an application for first-contract arbitration; and imposed a one-year bar on further certification applications by any union following an unsuccessful application. The Ontario Federation of Labour counter-argued that the act weakened worker freedom of choice about unions and favoured employers. The OFL was particularly cynical about the government's invoking 'worker democracy' and then 'implementing' it by making it harder to certify new unions and easier to enable employer-driven union decertification (Ontario Federation of Labour 2000).

190 Unions in the Time of Revolution

On 30 April 2001 the Harris government took an important step towards becoming more flexible and efficient with the introduction of Bill 25, An Act to Amend the Public Service Act and the Crown Employees Collective Bargaining Act, 1993. The bill was passed on 29 June of the same year. According to Management Board Chair David Tsubouchi, The changes will help us respond to the government's evolving business needs by modernizing human resources in the public service. These proposed changes support our commitment to establish a multi-skilled, flexible workforce that will better respond to customer expectations' (Ontario Management Board Secretariat 2001). The proposed legislation emphasized efficiency and flexibility by, among other things, allowing ministries to recruit specialized contract workers for time-limited, project-specific work for up to three years (the current limit was one year) with the possibility of renewal; allowing the 2500 Ontario Provincial Police civilian employees, many of whom were currently OPSEU members, to choose to be represented by the Ontario Provincial Police Association or their current bargaining agent; giving authority over Ontario Public Service employees to private operators or managers in other ministries; and allowing the latter to change workplace rules that, in the past, could only be changed by the Ontario cabinet. The response of OPSEU, which according to its officials had not been seriously consulted before the bill was introduced, was far from enthusiastic. Whereas the exact implications for OPSEU and its members of Bill 25 are yet to be evaluated, the union warned its members of the bill's harmful potential. The changes, argued the union leaders, 'do not override the current collective agreement, [but] they do set the table for the next one' (OPSEU 2001; emphases in original). During the next bargaining round, OPSEU may have to deal with more contract employees who were hired for a longer period of time, and with private managers who had been empowered to make important human-resource-management decisions. Theoretically, these developments could weaken the union's grip on working conditions and work design. Organizationally, OPSEU may lose those members who would elect to quit it and join the Ontario Provincial Police Association. The union could also lose members if ministries chose to replace those who voluntarily quit work with temporary workers. By contrast, Ralph Klein was a populist pragmatist rather than a staunch, dogmatic conservative. He never had a formal detailed plan similar to Harris's Common Sense Revolution. In 1993, he had only a general idea of the face he wanted Alberta to wear in the wake of his revo-

Revisiting the Collective-action Model 191

lution. He knew he wanted to balance the budget and eliminate the provincial debt, but did not have a clear idea of how to achieve it. Courchene and Telmer have aptly observed that 'Klein's platform was rather general and he ended up being led by popular opinion in terms of how far he would or could go ... In an important sense, therefore, the Klein Revolution was and is more populist driven than mandate driven' (1998:178-9; emphasis in original). In a recent biography Klein acknowledged that his 'ideology is the money. Period ... If we have a huge surplus and are able to do one-time spending and address some problems that need to be addressed, then we do it. If there's a serious decline in revenues and we don't have the money to do the kind of things people expect, then we bite the bullet and say no' (Martin 2002: 209, 238). This is perhaps why one reporter has bemoaned that, in essence, Klein was not a conservative: 'The thing about Ralph Klein that most people forget is that he is a liberal, not a conservative. He never was a conservative. He doesn't like conservatives, and he detests their issues' (Byfield 1998). In another contrast with Harris, Klein was never overly concerned with the prospects of having his agenda spoiled by unions. Throughout the 1990s, and commensurate with past behaviours, the Alberta unions did not establish themselves as a serious opposition force. Moreover, there was nothing in their past behaviours that would raise such a concern among Alberta's Tory politicians. Therefore, throughout the heyday of the Klein Revolution, from 1993 to 1997, the Klein government opted to contain the unions and minimize their capacity to interfere with policy implementation. There is no indication that for Klein the long-term emasculation of the unions was an ideological imperative. Klein effectively buffered the neo-conservative transformation from the unions using administrative organs, such as the newly created Regional Health Authorities and the recently merged public school boards. Meanwhile, the basic industrial-relations institutions were not tinkered with. More than that, in a stark contrast with Harris, Klein did not hesitate to harness collective bargaining to his neo-conservative bandwagon, rendering the unions part of the solution to Alberta's fiscal woes. This is what happened when he decided to not legislate the 5 per cent wage rollbacks and let the unions negotiate them with their respective employers. With this decision, he prudently channelled the unions' energies and attention away from fighting government policies to overseeing the implementation of the wage rollbacks by walking the well-trodden path of collective bargaining. Moreover, when the opportunities presented themselves, Klein

192 Unions in the Time of Revolution

refrained from inflicting unnecessary pain upon the unions. When the laundry workers went on illegal strikes, he intervened quickly to end the strike peacefully by granting the strikers severance packages, thus appeasing them while maintaining the general integrity of his agenda. Notably, the laundry workers were never punished for their illegal actions. Controversial issues such as the right-to-work legislation and the splitting of the Alberta Teachers' Association into a union and a professional body were pragmatically shelved. Perhaps most importantly, Klein ended his revolution in October 1997 with the Growth Summit, which has ushered in a period of reinvestment. In its 1999-2000 budget, the Alberta government increased its spending on health, education, and other services by $1.6 billion. The 2000-1 budget had a surplus of $6.4 billion. In that year, the government planned on spending a record $21 billion, an increase of $4.1 billion, or 24 per cent, from the previous year. The government would hire 1200 new staff to work in children's services. Overall health spending would increase by 13.5 per cent, or $737 million. Education spending would increase by 7.7 per cent, or $343 million, in 2001-2, including funds earmarked to allow at least a 6 per cent increase to teachers' salaries over two years. The surplus for the 2001-2 budget was projected to be $817 million (Thomson 2001b). Unfortunately, however, the economic downturn following the events of 11 September 2001 in the United States forced the government to trim its richest budget in history and reconsider its projected spending. In October 2001, less than six months after the presentation of the new budget, the Alberta government announced a new round of budget cuts. This was the first time the Klein government had resorted to budget cutting since the days of the Klein Revolution. That month, the government trimmed $1.3 billion from the original budget. More than half that amount came from deferring $735 million in construction projects. A month later, Premier Klein said that the province faced a $300 million deficit unless further cuts were made. Since law prohibited a deficit budget, ministers were ordered to trim 2.5 per cent from expected spending for the impending April 2002 budget. Health-care insurance premiums went up for the first time since 1995, from 11 per cent to just under 13 per cent of the $6.8 billion in total health care and wellness spending. To encourage Albertans to stop smoking, the tax on tobacco increased by $2.25 a pack. Increases in liquor markups, motor-vehicle fees, highway traffic fines, and various other fees found their way into the new budget, and the public service was reduced by 1.2 per cent, or 298 positions.

Revisiting the Collective-action Model 193

In comparison, in May 2001 Ontario introduced its third consecutive balanced budget, which was Harris's last (Ontario Ministry of Finance 2001). The slowing economy slashed growth from a high of 5.5 per cent in real terms the year before to a projected 2.2 per cent in 2001-2. Overall revenues were projected to decline by more that $650 million in this budget year over the last. Still, the budget announced that $3 billion would be used to pay down the provincial debt, a record reduction, and finance a series of tax cuts and credits. For example, there would be cuts to personal income taxes, but the first phase, effective 1 January, would have a maximum benefit of $67 for a single taxpayer in the next year. Corporate taxes would be cut by $2.2 billion annually once all reductions were completed in 2005. Parents who sent their children to private schools would be eligible for tax credits worth up to $3500 per child annually once all reductions were phased in over the next five years. Capital spending was held down to $1.9-billion, the lowest in about fifteen years. The Harris and Klein governments operated within different political cultures and industrial-relations environments. Overall, the Alberta political culture and industrial relations scene was more conducive to a neo-conservative upheaval. Operating within a highly restrictive legislative system and a conservative environment, the Alberta unions had never posed a serious political challenge to the provincial government. For example, civil servants and most public-sector employees were not allowed to strike; public-sector unions had been fairly docile, lacking a union, like the CAW, that was capable of facing up to the government and inspiring a will to protest among other unions. In Alberta, the union that should have provided such leadership, the United Nurses of Alberta, was in no mood to assume the role. Thus, it is understandable why the Klein government did not have to take special measures to keep the unions at bay, let alone attempt to weaken them. Maybe the weakness of Alberta labour turned out to be its strength. Still, to reiterate our former point, Harris went well beyond erecting a buffer between the unions and his agenda. With actions such as the removal of principals and vice-principals from the teachers' unions and changing certification procedures, he damaged the unions for the foreseeable future, and perhaps even beyond. Notwithstanding their policies and choices of policy tools, in the final analysis governments obviously do not make the crucial decisions of whether or not to mobilize union resources and members for collective action. The ultimate decision rests with the union leaders,

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who are also charged with the responsibility of executing the decision to act collectively. Therefore, we now turn our attention to the union leaders' decisions to act collectively, and to subsequent activities that should culminate in, and sustain, collective action. The Decision to Act Collectively Throughout this book we have treated union leaders as the primary agents of collective action. This of course does not mean that the rank and file are incapable of initiating collective action to protest government behaviours. In chapter 3, example 3 illustrates this possibility. Briefly, in May of 1972, in Quebec, three union leaders were sentenced to a year in jail for encouraging union members to disobey court injunctions and walk out of their jobs. Two days later, public-sector union members sparked an unprecedented wave of illegal, spontaneous walkouts with thousands of private-sector workers joining in. This, however, was the rare act of a grassroots-initiated protest. The act of defiance was touched off by the government's retaliatory action against the three leaders who had been admired by thousands of union members. This rarity aside, we maintain that, generally, even if the rank and file set off a political protest, it is probably local in scope and not likely to evolve into a broader collective action without the active support and involvement of the union leadership. Lacking the leaders' active participation, a grassroots action cannot feed on its own fires for too long. The success of collective action depends on the union organization and its capacity to provide the resources necessary to sustain the action (Shorter and Tilly 1974). Here, the union leaders are the embodiment of the union organization. They control vital union resources and they decide if, when, and how to deploy them. In other words, union leaders are the agents most capable of mobilizing union resources for the purpose of a large-scope extended collective action. The 1995 laundry workers' strikes in Calgary illustrate this point. The two illegal strikes were initiated by small groups of workers who felt that they had nothing to lose. Whereas their strikes did not constitute a political protest, several union officers felt that these events provided their best opportunity to launch a collective protest in defiance of the Klein Revolution. However, the union leaders were slow, or perhaps simply unwilling, to capitalize on the opportunity. Some interviewees even lamented that the leaders 'demobilized' the strikers by quickly negotiating new collective agreements. In the end,

Revisiting the Collective-action Model 195

Internal context: • Member fears • Member political support • Union divisions

External context: • Labour law • Labour market • Political culture

Leader cost-benefit analysis

Degree of government threat

Leader collectiveaction beliefs

Leader decision to act collectively Figure 8.2 The decision to act collectively

the government granted the strikers some of their demands, thereby ending the strikes. Interestingly, between 1993 and 1997, no other group of workers, or unions, tested the Klein government's commitment to its 'no blink' principle. In the final analysis, then, it is the leaders who control, and therefore can marshal, those resources that bear directly on the collective action and its outcomes. In what follows we discuss the components of the union leaders' cost-benefit analysis in which they, implicitly or explicitly, weigh the pros and cons of collective action. The outcome of this analysis is a decision to pursue or avoid such action. Figure 8.2 illustrates, in simplified form, the process and its elements. Degree of Government Threat A necessary precondition for union collective action is that union leaders interpret government policies as a threat to the unions. Still, the evi-

196 Unions in the Time of Revolution

dence shows that not every government action that, at least initially, is perceived as a threat to unions generates the momentum necessary to fuel collective action. On several occasions we have pointed out significant differences between the Harris and Klein industrial-relations policies and behaviours, differences that bore differently on the likelihood of collective action in the two provinces. Unlike Harris, the pragmatic Klein barely tinkered with the industrial-relations institutions as a means to undermining unions. He did not have to. The Alberta unions remained docile in the face of worsening working conditions, layoffs, membership losses, and wage rollbacks. Apparently, these developments were not enough to propel the leaders to initiate a mobilization process. But recall that, early on, the Alberta union leaders considered the Klein government policies an existential threat and publicly predicted an all-out labour protest. Later, however, it became apparent that 'little things' (i.e., layoffs and wage rollbacks) failed to provide the thrust necessary to fuel collective action. What might drive union leaders to mobilize for collective action in Alberta? According to some leaders, nothing short of a direct attack on the unions' raison d'etre, such as right-to-work legislation, would propel unions to such action. The Ontario cases support the notion that, indeed, union leaders are more likely to strike back at a hostile government through collective action when they perceive the actions of the government to be a threat to the union's existence and viability. The ultimate decision of leadership on whether or not to embark on a collective-action campaign is thus a product of a complex cost-benefit analysis. The territorial-rights-and-boundaries threats that government actions pose to unions figure prominently in this calculus. Since these threats are perceived, they are by definition subjective, their level a matter of degree. In this regard, union leaders who interpreted government policies and behaviours as a threat to the union organization, bargaining and employment rights, and their own representational capacity were more likely to consider employing collective action to counteract these behaviours than leaders who faced only the perils of layoffs and wage rollbacks. Notwithstanding its critical role in the collective-action process, however, the perceived degree of the government threat is not the only factor shaping the decision-making process about collective action. Sometimes, different unions react differently to similarly perceived government threats. For example, both the CAW and USWA leadership operated in a similar socio-economic environment, similarly interpreted

Revisiting the Collective-action Model 197

the Common Sense Revolution as a frontal assault on unions, and equally reviled the Harris government. Nevertheless, they responded to its neo-conservative campaign in different ways, the reason being that the union leaders used different interpretive filters when attaching meaning to a similar reality and considering the means to deal with it. Provoked by their government, then, different union leaders may apply distinct beliefs about the merits and viability of collective action. We expand on this point below when discussing the leaders' collectiveaction beliefs. Second, whereas the above discussion highlights the message and its interpretation as a critical determinant of collective action, the nature of the messenger should also be given due consideration. The way the Ontario unions reacted to the NDP government's Social Contract suggests that the nature of the government itself can play a role in the union leaders' interpretation of what is a threat to their territorial rights and boundaries and in their choice of an effective response. The Social Contract was not a component of any calculated effort to undermine the unions. Still, it constituted a direct attack on union bargaining rights by a government that was heavily supported by the unions. Yet the Social Contract did not engender any collective action by the offended unions. Instead, the infuriated unions chose to retaliate against the NDP, a decision that carried significant implications for unions during the Harris days. Would the unions themselves have engaged in collective action had another, Tory or Liberal, government introduced the Social Contract? If yes, would they have become so splintered? What would the nature of their collective actions have been? Would there ultimately have been a general strike? Leader Collective-action Beliefs

Understanding the leaders' collective-action beliefs is imperative in order to appreciate the different reactions of the Alberta and Ontario union leaders to the Klein and the Common Sense revolutions. The difference is all the more glaring given the similar leader interpretations of the essence of the two governments' agendas. An important determinant of the leaders' decisions about the feasibility of collective action is their beliefs about such things as their own mobilization capacity, possible government retaliation, their ability to end the action on their own terms, and the long-term consequences of the action. In Alberta, most of our interviewees believed that collective action was not a via-

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ble response to the Klein Revolution. Here is a sample of their thoughts: Unions have neither the structure, nor the skills, nor the motivation to mount a sustained campaign of any kind. One of the easiest things to do is to take people out to the streets. Almost anyone can do that; but the really difficult thing is getting them back in, and you've really got to know how you will do that before you take them out. And there are a lot of people who don't want to take that chance because they're fooling around with people's lives, in a very mean society. [A decision to act collectively] is not one that is ever made from the top down; it always comes from the grassroots. I am a believer that you do not call strikes - you build them. I would love to see it [a general strike]. I don't see much point though, in a sense that once again we're talking about a really broad-based revolution. It would be a revolution in thinking as much as anything else. And, it would be brutally suppressed. No doubt about it. To pull off a general strike, you have to find an issue that would pull everybody out, because you have to have the support of all of your members. We have a lot of work to do yet before we can call a general strike. If, for example, the provincial government decides to bring in right-to-work legislation, then there is at least a 50/50 chance you would see a general strike.

Compare these remarks with how several Ontario union leaders perceived the use of power as a means to dealing with the Harris government: Union leaders can choose to not do anything [in response to hostile government policies] - to not organize, not mobilize, not try something. But if they do something, they keep the institutions moving, they keep people aware of their capabilities. Also, the organization is aware of how much strength it has and where its weakness is. The inability of certain organizations to bring their membership out, to mobilize them is, metaphorically, like having your arm being in a cast for a couple of years. You can have leadership of trade unions pound the table and say very good

Revisiting the Collective-action Model 199 things, but if they haven't used any of their mobilizing capacity, if they can't deliver what they say they're doing, it can separate the leadership from the membership. What happens to people's minds if they've never done it [engaged in collective action]? They're afraid. They're always told the world is going to end; you'll be out of a job; this place is going to close down; it's awful; heaven forbid. And then they actually do it; they win something, maybe not a lot, but they survive and settle a contract and then they come back, and they're not afraid anymore the next time. You may say that right now it's not the best environment to be making gains by going full force and trying to lead a charge. But you have to keep in mind that if you don't keep doing something, then when the opening comes, when it's time to actually get something done, you won't be able to do it. So in that sense, I think you have to go a little bit farther than what's comfortable. The employers know we have the ability to shut down individual workplaces and that we will do it, regardless of the law. The fact that we're facing such an aggressive government, so confrontational, is forcing us to change our own work practices internally. Ironically that is having a positive effect, because we are challenging all of our work practices to be as effective as possible. We've got to have great communications with our membership, and we need to be able to mobilize.

These quotes demonstrate a fundamental difference between the collective-action beliefs of the Alberta and Ontario union leaders. The Alberta leaders did not believe that they could, or even should, mobilize their members for collective action; that if they did, they might have difficulty ending the action according to a preconceived plan because the government would quash it quickly and forcefully; and that during the Klein Revolution there was not a single issue that could have served as a rallying point for mobilizing the membership. Consequently, the Alberta union leaders chose not to put any resources into collective action. For the Ontario union leaders, foremost among them the CAW executives, action of any sort was, if nothing else, a way of 'making a point' and breathing life into the union organization, thus making it worth the effort. For these leaders, inaction bred organizational atrophy, and eventually irrelevance. Therefore, if you acted, you existed! Thus,

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whether or not the government would be impressed with the union action and modify its policies was not essential for mobilizing collective action. Sometimes union leaders, who are powerful enough to orchestrate collective action, can differently perceive the merit of the effort as a means for dealing with a hostile government. In Ontario, the pink unions preferred education and electoral politics to direct confrontation with the Harris government. This is why they did not wholeheartedly support the Days of Action, with some condemning the tactic altogether as a waste of scarce union resources. However, during the first events, they had succumbed to the collective will of the more militant unions. In other words, even if different union leaders interpret similar government actions as a threat to their organizations, some leaders can view collective action as the best answer to this threat, whereas others might perceive it as a useless exercise in throwing away precious union resources. The latter leaders presume that a democratically elected, single-minded government will not be deterred by union-organized political protests. By contrast, the more militant leaders may agree, yet endeavour to demonstrate to the government, and perhaps to other stakeholders, that there are consequences to anti-union behaviours and that unions are a force to reckon with. Still some leaders sincerely believe that collective action may force the government to rethink its agenda. We have related these differences to the leaders' differing sets of beliefs about the value and viability of collective action as a way of effectively influencing the political discourse of the day, or just demonstrating and perpetuating the union vitality. In all likelihood, however, these beliefs are related to the contexts in which the leaders operate. Internal and External Contexts

These contexts comprise circumstances and contingencies that are internal and external to the union organization. The external context includes such elements as labour law, the labour market, and the political culture. The internal context consists of factors such as union organizational structure, inter-union relationships, and members' political leanings, fears, and degree of solidarity. In Alberta, the confluence of the contextual elements operated against collective action. The Alberta union leaders viewed the combined effect of such factors as restrictive labour legislation, a conservative political culture, inter-union rivalry,

Revisiting the Collective-action Model 201

and members' fear and support of the government as an overwhelming obstacle to collective action. Eventually, the leaders concluded that given such circumstances they could not inspire their members to act collectively against the government. Nor could they compete over the hearts and minds of Albertans with the popular government vision of a new Alberta, a vision that was borne up on the two strong shoulders of balanced budgets and a zero deficit. The government-espoused image of a collective house that was in financial disarray had touched a nerve among Albertans. Many embraced the simple yet effective message that financial order must quickly be restored for the benefit of, if not themselves, their children and grandchildren. The unions, in turn, did not have any appealing alternative. Overall, during the Klein Revolution, the Alberta unions showed continuity with their past behaviours, for they had never been known for their political involvement or militancy. Although in the past decade several public-sector unions, such as the Alberta Union of Provincial Employees and the Canadian Health Care Guild, did organize illegal strikes, the unions used them to pursue limited economic rather than broad political issues. In Ontario, more aggressive union leaders felt that collective action was their last resort in their efforts to counteract the Harris government's agenda. Thus, for example, the OPSEU leaders mobilized an inexperienced workforce for an impressive five-week political protest. In contrast with their Alberta counterparts, these leaders enjoyed a supportive legal environment, unified membership, and generous financial support from other unions that shored up OPSEU's limited finances. Still, legislation did not prevent an illegal strike by five teachers' unions whose leaders successfully coordinated a province-wide collective action. In these cases, as well as in all other collective-action cases, the union leaders were convinced that a clash with the Harris government was needed to protect their territorial rights and boundaries, and did not let inhospitable contextual factors (e.g., labour legislation, no strike funds) deter them. In summary, a government assault on union territorial rights and boundaries can be expected to stimulate collective-action considerations among union leaders. The perceived extent of the assault, coupled with union leaders' beliefs and contextual contingencies, determine the likelihood of collective action. In practice, the determinants of the process maintain complex relationships with one another; their ultimate outcome is not easily predictable.

202 Unions in the Time of Revolution The Collective-action Process

Once union leaders have decided to mobilize for collective action, they should engage in four mission-critical activities. These activities, presented in figure 8.3, need to serve two basic functions: they should 'put people on the streets,' and should then sustain the solidarity and staying power of individual and institutional participants throughout the action. Cognitive Liberation In chapter 3 we explained that collective action requires people to collectively define their situations as unjust yet subject to change through collective action. Government actions provide the signals that prompt union leaders to consider collective action. These signals are filtered through the leaders' set of beliefs about their ability to carry out collective action and the latter's merits and viability. If the leaders decide to rally union members for collective action, they will have to embark upon the challenging process of consensus mobilization. Government actions, such as budget cuts and restructuring, are likely to threaten individual workers' livelihood and quality of work life. Consequently, workers are prone to develop individual grievances against their employers, who are charged with enacting government policies, and perhaps against the government itself. To transform individual dissatisfaction into a coherent collective grievance and then use it as a springboard for collective action, union leaders will have to convince their constituents that they share a similar predicament and that collective action is a practical and effective option for redressing their plight. This is a formidable, yet not insurmountable, challenge. It should be borne in mind that modern unions are not intended to serve as vehicles of insurgency. Most exist to pursue narrowly defined economic agendas using familiar institutions, such as collective bargaining, grievance procedures, and strikes. Being members of such conservative organizations, trade unionists cannot be expected to easily embrace collective action as a means to countervailing government policies that jeopardize their livelihood. They are more likely to give in to inaction owing to inertia, fear of their employers' retaliation, a hope that if they 'lay low' their jobs will be spared, the uncertain consequences of collective action, and even support of the government agenda. The protagonists who should shake them out of their stasis are

Revisiting the Collective-action Model 203 Leader decision to act collectively

Administrative structures

CCommunication network

: :

Structures of solidarity incentives

L

Cognitive liberation

Participant solidarity Participant resolve

Union members

Unions

Figure 8.3 The collective-action process

the union leaders, who will have to inspire willingness to act among the members through the cognitive-liberation process. Theoretically, the leaders should liberate their members from the anchors that attach them to inaction by convincingly arguing that their situation is not irreversible and that it can be redressed via collective action, a process also known as consensus mobilization or framing. Throughout the process, the leaders should present their members with an alternative vision that they can struggle to enact through collective action. Then they will have to mobilize members' commitment to that vision. The leaders will have to use various means of communication to reinforce the thoroughness and thoughtfulness of their vision. The challenge the leaders face is ensuring a separation of union members in particular, and the public in general, from the prevailing government vision. Only then will the new vision be independent of the unions' special-interest-group status, and thereby stand a chance of receiving broader legitimacy. In practice, in both Ontario and Alberta, this process proved a daunting task. We have defined union collective action as a defensive political behaviour. Consequently, in the cases examined here, there was, from the start, a low probability of having union leaders mobilize members by promulgating an alternative socio-economic vision. Indeed, the

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Ontario and Alberta union leaders did not use alternative visions as catalysts for collective mobilization. This can be justified given the widespread public appeal that neo-conservatism commanded in both provinces. Instead, the leaders focused their countervailing efforts on four fronts: First, they wanted a say in policy implementation. The 'reasonable effort' clause, which was introduced to the OPSEU collective agreement following the 1996 action, was the major relevant concession the unions extracted from the Harris government using a walkout-based collective action. Second, unions targeted the policies themselves when they suspected that the policies undermined the industrial-relations rules of the game, that is, the set of industrial-relations understandings, arrangements, and institutions that had long served the unions' vested interests. The fights against Bills 136, 160, and 74 illustrate this point. Third, in order occasionally to generate public support, the unions provided a broad context to their action. Thus, during the OPSEU action and the teachers' fight against Bill 160, the unions professed to act on behalf of the public as defenders of a general interest in service quality. Fourth, generally, but by no means always (the Days of Action are an exception), cognitive-liberation processes linked member interests in job security and working conditions to the imperative of collective action. Defending the union organization, getting a voice in policy implementation, and protecting public and individual interests were the main planks in the leaders' cognitive-liberation campaigns. Yet it is one thing to liberate members from those factors that fetter them to acquiescence and convince them to walk out of their jobs; it is quite another to keep them on the streets for the time it takes to achieve success. The other essential element of the cognitive-liberation process, then, is solidarity mobilization, or sustaining participants' resolve and commitment. This process targets both individuals and organizations, such as unions and community groups that are involved in a collective action. Throughout the various cases, we have illustrated the steps union leaders took to maintain intra- and inter-union solidarity. Success varied among the cases. For example, OPSEU's leaders were significantly more successful than the leaders of the teachers' unions in keeping members off the job until extracting a significant concession from the government. And the Days of Action, a series of short collective protests, began to falter after the Metro Toronto protests. We have outlined two factors that leaders can manipulate to rein-

Revisiting the Collective-action Model 205

force participant resolve. First, organizationally, the leaders should strive to keep the scope of the action to a necessary minimum. Compared with single-union actions, multi-union events are likely to disintegrate before reaching the expected finish line. The reason is that multiple unions carry with them myriad interests and expectations that, over time, are likely to clash with each other. Consequently, longterm coordination and solidarity becomes more elusive. The more, in this case, is not necessarily the merrier. Second, issue clarity and specificity provides union members with an obvious motive to engage in collective action. Commitment to achieving a well-defined target should increase the likelihood of keeping protesters off the job for the time it takes to realize the target. For reasons explained before, multiunion participation undermines efforts to develop a coherent action strategy that is based on specific issues. In short, the process of cognitive liberation becomes increasingly unwieldy as collective action grows in scope. The Days of Action illustrate this point. The events were well attended, yet failed to advocate a concrete set of demands. In the end, they did not make a noticeable dent in the Common Sense Revolution. Structures of Solidarity Incentives Cognitive liberation implies a transformation of consciousness within a significant segment of the union membership (McAdam 1982: 51). Structures of solidarity incentives refer to the rewards leaders can offer to stimulate the motive for participation in collective action. These rewards are provided to overcome the 'free rider' problem, which discourages potential participants from taking part in collective action the benefits of which would be reaped not just by participants but also by those who do not participate in the action. According to McAdam, in existing organizations there is no need for such incentives, because established organizations 'rest on a solid structure of solidarity incentives which insurgents have, in effect, appropriated by defining movement participation as synonymous with organizational membership' (1982: 46). We have argued that while this may accurately describe social movements, unions face a unique solidarity challenge. Union members tend not to participate in union activities that do not directly bear on their livelihood. Thus, membership in a union does not guarantee grassroots support for leaders' decisions to act collectively to protest government actions. To mobilize their membership for

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collective action, therefore, union leaders have to establish structures of solidarity incentives that are specific to a particular collective protest and to the individuals who should carry it out. Hence, we have argued that a philosophy of action that links the vested interests of the members (i.e., job security and working conditions) to the inevitability of collective action is more likely to produce consensus and action mobilization than a more general agenda, such as calling for the replacement of the incumbent government. This was the case with the OPSEU action and the campaigns against Bills 136 and 74. In contrast, an action agenda that calls for the replacement of the government may still stir enthusiasm for participation among the union members, but this enthusiasm is likely to be relatively short-lived. The case of the Days of Action, which suffered from an inchoate strategy and a vague agenda, illustrates this point. Whereas unions did not mobilize for this collective action in order to pursue narrow economic interests, they were more likely to mobilize successfully when they tied their action to the livelihood of union members. Once on the streets, it seems an appeal to stay on course is more likely to evoke the desired response if the objectives of the proposed action are kept close to the core needs of the protesters. There were other incentives that the Ontario union leaders used to create and sustain member solidarity: For example, the protection of union well-being and education's quality, as well as a hope of unseating the government. However, as we have argued before, whereas union leaders were able to use different incentives to mobilize members for collective action, their ability to make them pull in the expected direction (e.g., the strategic-voting effort) deteriorated once the action agenda did not bear directly on the members' economic and/or professional interests. Communication Network Without a solid communication network collective action is doomed to fail. The critical processes of cognitive liberation and establishing structures of solidarity incentives are embedded in extensive communication within and across unions. Via this network, the message of the leaders about the need for and the merits of collective action is disseminated to, and indeed entrenched in, the participants' minds. Once the action has been initiated, the leaders must use the communication network to bolster the participants' staying power.

Revisiting the Collective-action Model 207

In every case of collective action reported here, union leaders made broad and sophisticated use of communication. They used oral, written, and electronic communication to control participants' commitment and behaviours before and during the protests, thus improving the probability of the action's success. Yet whereas no collective action can be carried out without a first-class communication network, communication cannot on its own reinforce inter- and intra-union camaraderie and commitment to an action's success. To accomplish this goal, unions must establish solid administrative structures. Administrative Structures By administrative structures we mean the logistics that deal with the applied details of collective protests - their 'hows.' Collective action, even a short one, requires an administrative infrastructure that parlays the leaders' intangible resources, such as energy and vision, into concrete actions. Throughout the case analyses we have provided examples of administrative structures and demonstrated their essentiality to the success of collective action. Bussing, feeding, providing financial support, and organizing picket lines are among the building blocks that constitute action logistics. The administrative structures, then, enable union leaders to deploy tangible organizational resources in pursuit of collective mobilization. Once the collective action has commenced and workers have taken to the streets, the union leaders should use the administrative structure to sustain the protesters' stamina. To recap, unlike social-movement collective protest, union collective action is not a spontaneous popular uprising whereby an aggrieved population takes advantage of changing political circumstances to vent pent-up grievances it has accumulated over a long period of time. In the cases we have reviewed, union members were not galvanized to collective action by a critical event that had destabilized the political system, thus presenting them with a long-awaited opportunity to act upon repressed aspirations. Here, collective action is a calculated ad hoc response to hostile government policies. The champions of collective action are the union leaders who, by virtue of their positions in the union structures of power, are responsible for the decision of whether or not to seek collective action. The leaders' ultimate decision is a result of a cost-benefit analysis that, in turn, is a product of the perceived degree of the government threat, leader's collective-action beliefs, and

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relevant contextual contingencies. Once the leaders have decided to mobilize their membership for collective action, they are expected to engage in four critical 'maintenance' activities: cognitive liberation, communication,, creation of structures of solidarity incentives, and the establishment of administrative structures. These leadership activities fulfil two functions: first, they spur union members to endorse the leaders' decisions to act collectively and do whatever it takes to carry out the action; second, these four activities foster inter- and intra-union solidarity and commitment to the action until it ends according to the leaders' original plan.

CHAPTER NINE

Additional Thoughts on Collective Action

The foregoing discussion has focused upon the process of collective action. We have argued that governments provide the stimuli that spur union leaders to consider using collective action as a means to countervail government behaviours and defeat policies that threaten unions. The leaders' ultimate decision of whether or not to mobilize for collective action is a result of a cost-benefit analysis of the merits and viability of such action. The latter process, in turn, is constrained by perceived degree of the government threat for the leaders, their relevant beliefs, and their interpretation of contextual cues. Those leaders who decide to pursue collective action will then have to engage in the process of cognitive liberation, form communication networks, create solidarity incentives, and establish administrative structures to handle the details of the action. These activities are essential for inspiring a will to protest among the membership by facilitating consensus and then action mobilization. Once the union members have been mobilized, the leaders will have to sustain the members' fighting spirit until the leaders decide to end the collective action. The discussion here raises several ancillary yet important questions that have not been systematically dealt with: What is the political value of union collective action? What constitutes collective-action success? Is collective action a unidimensional phenomenon? To these questions we now turn our attention. The Political Value of Collective Action According to our definition, collective action is an expression of unions' dissatisfaction with government behaviours that jeopardize the territo-

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rial rights and boundaries of the unions. Can unions pressure a government into rethinking, perhaps even modifying, a hostile policy or legislation by applying the tactic of collective action? Based on our data, a negative answer is in order. We have argued that the likelihood of an action's success grows if the union leaders develop a coherent strategy that clearly articulates the goals of the action and the means to their achievement; makes this agenda relevant to the participants' economic and professional interests; motivates participants to pull in the desired direction and sustain their commitment for a long time; and forges a solid, united front when other unions or community groups are involved. Still, notwithstanding the importance of these factors, at the end of the day the single most important determinant of an action's success is the government's capacity to endure a collective action. The greater the government's capacity for endurance, the greater is the pressure on the protesting unions to prolong and escalate their action. The evidence suggests, however, that the government's capacity for endurance generally outstrips the unions' staying power. This is probably a pessimistic message for union supporters and a gratifying one for governments wishing to use a neo-conservative discourse to unilaterally change long-established industrial-relations rules and institutions. Facing collective action, governments, particularly if they have been elected to accomplish a specific agenda such as a neo-conservative transformation, are much better situated to humble the unions than vice versa. If they consider collective actions, especially when they are illegal, a threat to their sovereignty, governments are likely to go to a great length before succumbing to protesters' demands. In our research, the governments of Ontario and Alberta never substantially changed a policy or legislation because of union protests. The Ontario government showed a remarkable degree of resolve and stamina in the face of various collective actions. In one instance, during the teachers' protest, it did not hesitate to retaliate by removing principals and viceprincipals from the unions, demonstrating that it did not shy away from head-to-head battles. At best, collective actions helped unions gain some voice in policy implementation. Generally, then, collective action in Ontario fell short of enabling unions to tilt the balance of political power in their favour. Compared with its Ontario counterpart, the Alberta government adopted a less confrontational tack when faced with the possibility of collective action. To achieve its planned 5 per cent wage rollbacks, for example, the government involved the unions in policy implementa-

Additional Thoughts on Collective Action 211

tion, thereby redirecting their energies away from collective action to the highly regulated process of collective bargaining. On another occasion, in 1995, the Klein government conceded to striking laundry workers a generous severance deal, thus quickly quashing a potential political protest. Nevertheless, in tandem with its Ontario counterpart, never did the Alberta government modify an existing policy to placate the seething unions. To repeat our previous proposition, a government's capacity to endure union collective action is a critical determinant of unions' abilities to influence government behaviours by using collective action. The cases of Ontario and Alberta suggest that a single-minded government's capacity for change can outstrip the unions' efforts to derail it. Recent evidence from British Columbia lends support to this proposition. On 16 May 2001 Gordon Campbell led his Liberal Party to a landslide victory in the BC provincial elections. With 77 seats in a 79-seat legislature, the Liberals triumphantly ended the NDP's 10-year rule as well as their own 49-year political drought (the last Liberal premier, Byron Johnson, was in power from 1947 to 1952). Campbell was well positioned to serve British Columbians his own concoction of neo-conservatism. It should be noted that despite their name, the BC Liberals are not typical Liberals. They were described as 'a broad, heterogeneous coalition of conservatives, many of whom used to support the Social Credit and BC Reform parties' (Globe and Mail 2001). Campbell inherited a $3.4 billion deficit, which was projected to grow to $4.4 billion by 2003. Before his election, he promised to balance the budget by 2004—5 using the now proven cocktail of budget cuts, layoffs, legislation, and restructuring. Tax cuts also figured prominently on his election platform. Campbell began to deliver on his campaign promises as soon as he started his new job. On his first official day in office, he announced a 25 per cent across-the-board income tax cut. But the gist of the Liberal government plan was announced in January 2002. British Columbians learned then that in the next three years some 11,700 public servants would be laid off, thus shrinking the 34,000 strong public-sector labour force by almost a third. In addition, eight jails and 24 out of 68 courthouses would be closed. Total government spending would be reduced by $1.9 billion, an 8 per cent cut over three years. Later that month, the 77 Liberal MLAs voted themselves a 5 per cent pay cut and three-year wage freeze. They also legislated to cut ministers' salaries by 20 per cent if they did not meet their budgets. There was no plan to roll back salaries in the BC public sector.

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Taking a leaf from Mike Harris's book, the Campbell government capitalized on its political momentum and quickly passed legislation to undermine the unions and dilute their resistance power. On 16 August 2001 the government passed Bill 18, the Skills Development and Labour Statutes Amendment Act, which restored secret-ballot voting for union certification. Now, when the Labour Relations Board is satisfied that at least 45 per cent of the employees in a bargaining unit are members of the union in good standing, the board must order that a representation vote be taken among the employees in that unit. Education was a prime target for restructuring. To keep in check the militant BC teachers, Bill 18 designated education, not just teaching, an essential service, reversing a 1993 decision made by the NDP government. Consequently, the labour minister could direct the Labour Relations Board to designate school support staff, facilities, or services as essential if a labour dispute threatened school programs. Like its Ontario and Alberta counterparts, the BC government also planned major changes to health care. To smooth the process, on 27 January 2002 the government passed Bill 29, the Health and Social Services Delivery Improvement Act. The act annulled 'sweetheart deals' made by the NDP with health unions, making it possible to contract out thousands of 'non-clinical' health-care jobs, such as laundry, maintenance, food and technology services, to the private sector. Responding to the protests of public-sector unions, the minister of health services, Colin Hansen, snorted: 'We are not a job-creation program' (Sullivan 2002). The public-sector unions did not sit and watch idly. During the last weekend of February 2002, fourteen anti-government rallies, the largest attended by some 20,000 people in the province's capital, Victoria, were held across British Columbia. The government, however, did not stray from its original course, reaffirming its resolve and commitment to the new discourse it had displayed a few weeks before when confronting the BC teachers. The BC teachers were one of the first groups of public-sector employees who felt the fallout of the 2001 political upheaval. Among other challenges Campbell inherited from the NDP government was a deadlocked wage-bargaining process between the province's 45,000 teachers, represented by the BC Teachers' Federation (BCTF), and the BC Public School Employers' Association (BCPSEA).1 When this bargaining round began in March 2001, the BCTF demanded a 34 per cent wage increase over three years. The BCPSEA offered about one-fifth of

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that figure, 7.5 per cent over three years. A stalemate was unavoidable. Over the next few months, the teachers revised their wage demand to a 16 per cent raise over three years plus a 6 per cent market adjustment. The BCPSEA stuck to its initial proposal. As the teachers were contemplating their next move, they were hit by Bill 18, which designated education an essential service. The BC teachers welcomed the 2002-3 school year by withdrawing all extracurricular services. Later, a Labour Relations Board ruling clarified that the teachers could indeed withdraw from most extracurricular activities such as sports and music programs. The teachers also could, and did, refuse to supervise students or meet with parents outside class hours, or meet with administrators. In January 2002 the government lost its patience and decided to intervene in the dispute. On 27 January, the same Sunday it passed Bill 29, the BC government passed two additional bills. Bill 27, the Education Services Collective Agreement Act, imposed the employers' first and only offer. Bill 28, Public Education Flexibility and Choice Act, dealt a major blow to the union's bargaining capacity. The act narrowed the scope of collective bargaining by eliminating key bargaining provisions that teachers had negotiated over many years. Staffing levels, caseloads, and teaching loads were removed as permissible subjects of bargaining, as were class size limits, which would now be dealt with in the School Act on an average system. Class size limits for primary students were increased province-wide. Kindergarten class sizes went up from 20 to 22 students (the average per district was set at 19), and grades 1 to 3 went up from 22 to 24 students (the average was now 21). The average for the rest of the classes was set at 30 students. The teachers' reactions were swift. On the following Monday, 28 January, thousands of teachers staged a one-day walkout and about forty rallies across the province, affecting some 600,000 students. The government, however, remained steadily on course. The cases of Ontario, Alberta, and, more recently, British Columbia demonstrate that a government's capacity to endure union collective action is a critical determinant of the outcome of collective action. This is true when unions abide by the rules of the game and employ legitimate modes of collective action, and even when they venture into more radical and less orthodox protest behaviours. Recently, Hargrove has lamented that 'Canadian governments seem to have decided that they do not need to talk to the labour movement or take its views into account. They have tested the political waters and feel confident they

214 Unions in the Time of Revolution

can ignore the labour movement, even alienate it, without fear of wide reprisals' (1998:77). Nowadays, then, governments seem to hold the key to unions' role in policy-making and implementation. On their own, politically excluded unions can do little to break a government's monopoly over national agendas and the choice of means to their attainment. Briefly, it should be noted that this situation is not the lot of Canadian unions only. In recent years, it also has befallen their European counterparts, some of which enjoyed an effective voice in socio-economic policy-making for many years. 'Friendly governments and political parties/ explain Ross and Martin, 'are no longer willing and able to deliver what unions once could expect from them. Beyond this, European unions are now less effective at pressuring governments and parties' (1999: 386). If collective action is not an effective method to influence government policy-making and national agendas, is there any recourse for unions that are excluded from the political arena yet do not want to limit themselves to collective bargaining? For one, unions can try and penetrate the decision-making system through consultation and negotiation. Facing a hostile policy, unions may wish to approach its makers and try to exert influence by working with, rather than against, them within the parameters set by the policy-makers. Union leaders pursuing this alternative are likely to face several challenges. They will have to convince the excluding government that it vitally needs what they have to offer. In addition, the leaders will have to walk a fine line between protecting their independence and labour's vested interests and (being perceived as) assisting in government policy-making. It is likely that to maintain their political integrity, union leaders will have to convince their membership that consultation and negotiation are necessary to deal with an adversarial government, because taking the high road of resistance may prove futile. Finally, in some cases, unions might have to adopt, or at least suspend, long-held assumptions about how they should react to a hostile government. Those union leaders who have grown accustomed to responding aggressively when under attack will have to swallow hard before agreeing to work with a hostile government such as Mike Harris's. Still, this may be their best chance of alleviating the effects of a hostile policy on their constituents. The other obvious way to achieve a voice in national or regional decision-making systems is through electoral politics. Unfortunately for unions, they suffer from a few critical weaknesses vis-a-vis this

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approach. First, to influence a government's socio-economic agenda, union leaders should develop an alternative vision and mobilize sufficient popular support for it. So far, union leaders have been unable to provide an inspiring alternative to the neo-conservative dogma. At the same time, leaders have been reluctant to become part of the solution, as defined by the political establishment, of the twin problems of deficit budgets and provincial/national debts. Consequently, the possibility of becoming politically isolated, and perhaps even irrelevant, is looming. Second, during the late 1990s, like their British and German counterparts, Canadian unions witnessed the moving of 'their party/ the New Democratic Party, rightward towards the centre of the political map in search of a wider constituency. We have discussed at some length the controversy surrounding the Social Contract in Ontario. Several years later, in August 1999, during the national NDP policy convention, delegates approved the party's new way, which allowed it to include in its policies approval for balancing federal budgets over the business cycle. They also approved of tax relief for middle- and lower-income Canadians, and supported a quickened pay-down of the national debt, although not through excessive taxation. The NDP had traditionally supported spending revenue on social programs rather than pushing for tax relief, and balanced budgets never were a large part of its platform.2 In the first years of the new millennium, union leaders were groping for a coherent response to this development. It was not unlikely that the rift between the provincial NDP and some of the major Ontario unions would spill over into federal politics. Meanwhile, Rose and Chaison have asserted that new ways to revive unions' capacity for political influence should place less emphasis on traditional party alliances and focus more on creating coalitions of 'like-minded organizations for grass-roots and community-based mobilization of members and other workers' (2001: 57-8). We agree with the first part of the argument but, based on our data, foresee difficulties in accomplishing the second part, such as agreeing on a unifying agenda and course of action, leadership, and resource allocation. Time will tell if we are being unduly pessimistic. Third, and perhaps most challenging, is a reality that we have mentioned before - union leaders' capacity for shaping member voting behaviours is limited. Both the NDP and union leadership have acknowledged this challenge. Following its disappointing perfor-

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mance in the 2000 federal elections, when it garnered only 8.5 per cent of popular support and won thirteen seats in the House of Commons (a significant drop from the twenty-one it had won in 1997), the federal NDP created a steering committee to plot a course for the party's future. After a year-long soul search, the committee presented its report, which acknowledged: 'Both the NDP and the labour movement recognize that there are not only definite strengths but also serious weaknesses in the present relationship. The significant political, financial and organizational support of the CLC and some unions provided to the NDP does not translate into high-levels of electoral support from union members' (NDP 2001: 62). Union leaders concurred and, moreover, acknowledged that they themselves did not posses a homogenous political animus. The recent CAW Taskforce on Working Class Politics (2001) has cogently captured both points: This crisis in working class politics has played itself out in two particular ways within our union. First, there is an obvious gap between the political positions taken by our leadership/activists, and the positions taken by a majority of our membership. And second, even within our leadership and activists, there is a great deal of uncertainty and even confusion about where we are going politically' (emphases in the original). Likewise, at its 2002 convention, the CLC affirmed that labour's political activism must include a political party, yet admitted the difficulty in converting union support of the NDP into members' backing of the party: 'The labour movement was a founding partner in establishing the NDP and has supported the party politically, organizationally and financially. The ties have been strong but labour's official support has translated neither into union members joining the NDP nor into solid support at election time. That fact is a fundamental challenge for both partners.' Apparently, unions face a daunting educational and mobilization task ahead. So far, when it comes to political behaviour, there has been a gap between the interests of many members and the union as an organization. Whereas we propose that unions that are excluded from political decision-making will have to find ways other than collective action if they are to influence policy-making, this does not mean that collective action is without merit. Unions can achieve some institutional gains from collective action. But for the purpose of influencing government agendas and countervailing policy-making, collective action seems to fall short of the desired outcomes. Some government personnel might, viewing things from the wrong end of the telescope, construe the fore-

Additional Thoughts on Collective Action 217 going discussion as an invitation for an open season on unions. After all, the evidence suggests that given the unions' lack of an effective defence, unwavering governments can change long-established rules and institutions of the industrial-relations system ad libitum. In the long run, however, this premise can prove costly for several reasons. First, an attack on bargaining and employment rights can ultimately destabilize the industrial-relations system beyond the government's original intention. Government anti-union policies may undermine the capacity of union leaders to cater to their member's interests using traditional industrial-relations institutions. According to an interviewee from a teachers' union: We are facing a horrible dilemma, one that we have to struggle with how do you balance the following two extremes? If you're seen as being philosophically opposed to where [the Ontario Conservatives are going], they close all the doors and windows and they never want to hear from you again. But if you want to maintain their ear, you have to subjugate yourself before them, and then you lose your organization. Then how do you represent the members? What happens when you call upon them to follow you, because you need their support, and they say, 'You never stood and fought for us before, why would we follow you now?' So a dilemma exists - it always will. At what point in time do you accept the fact that you can no longer influence the agenda? And if you ever accept that fact, what is your relevance to the members that you represent? Bob White, past president of the CAW and Canada's national labour organization, the Canadian Labour Congress, has also noticed that [i]n the public sector today, it's really difficult to be a union leader because on the one hand, you have an enormous amount of insecurity, while on the other hand, you have governments as employers taking away the very thing that unions are about, which is dealing in bargaining and dealing in restructuring and dealing with the problems of the workforce they're confronting. They make it more difficult for a union leader to build credibility with the membership. It is very difficult to be a good union leader when you don't get a chance to do the things you're there to do. (Kumar and Downie 1995: 7) Consequently, union leaders may find that adopting a more aggressive stance towards management and policy-makers is their best chance of

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maintaining their credibility with the membership, thus securing their political future as union leaders. It is not improbable, therefore, that regaining lost bargaining ground over issues such as class size and teachers' workloads, or restoring procedures such as union certification to their former status, will constitute the election platforms during upcoming union leadership races in Ontario. If this is the case, then issues that are currently being suppressed by law, fear, and behavioural conventions may become a source of industrial-relations contention. Second, in both Ontario and Alberta, at least in the education system, restructuring is likely to intensify the politicization of industrial relations. Following the removal of taxation powers from the school boards, it is likely that the teachers' unions will have to interact more and more with the government to resolve issues that cannot be dealt with within a structure of collective bargaining. The case of the ATA 2002 strike (chapter 5) provides initial support for this scenario. Third, it is probable, although not highly likely, that down the road a hostile government may seek union support for a specific policy. When a good-faith relationship exists, union support is more likely. But when the union-government relationship is damaged, unions may be less than forthcoming to provide such support. For example, in February 2001 the Harris government announced a plan to eliminate tribunals that ruled on everything from human-rights complaints to labour disputes and replace them with a single 'mega-tribunal' of full-time adjudicators. According to then Minister of Labour Chris Stockwell, 'The objective is to create an efficient, effective and accessible process for resolving workplace-related disputes and for delivering workplacerelated services' (Ontario Ministry of Labour 2001). Stockwell anticipated union criticism, because 'whatever we do, we'll be suspected by unions' (Urquhart 2001). He knew what he was talking about, as the unions did indeed suspect a hidden agenda. The tribunals, so surmised the unions, had proven troublesome to the government because they had refused to toe the government's anti-union line. The new restructuring endeavour enabled the government to turf incumbent recalcitrant adjudicators, and then reappoint the ones it found more amenable. In response, the Ontario Federation of Labour stated bluntly: 'Given the government's past record of interference in labour relations matters, we have no confidence in their capacity to carry out such a radical restructuring in an impartial and fair manner' (Ontario Federation of Labour 2001). Finally, the effects of government restructuring on workplace perfor-

Additional Thoughts on Collective Action 219

mance are yet to be fully understood. At the end of the day, the extent to which the Ontario and Alberta governments became more efficient and more effective depended on how civil servants and workers in the broader public sector performed their new duties in their restructured work environment. Whereas this is still an unknown, recent Canadian evidence has indicated a significant negative impact on overall employee satisfaction and the labour climate as a result of workforce reduction, which is often one major aspect of workplace restructuring (Wagar 2001). In summary, our point is simple. By being swift and determined, governments that are single-minded in the pursuit of an agenda emphasizing a dramatic change can achieve its successful implementation. Yet such a short-term triumph is not necessarily the end of the neo-conservative, or any other, major transformation. More likely, it is the end of one chapter in a book that, in the cases of Alberta and Ontario, is still being written. Collective-action Success At first glance, it is tempting to assess the success of a given collective action against its explicit objectives. In Ontario, the original goals of the various collective actions were the protection of unions from the government assault on the industrial-relations status quo and/or the discrediting of the Harris government out of office. Judged against these objectives, by and large, the Ontario unions failed to accomplish their missions. In retrospect, collective action did not help the unions upset the Common Sense Revolution in any significant way or dislodge the Harris government from the throne. At best, some unions managed to nudge policy implementation off its original course by flexing their collective muscles. For example, the OPSEU protest and the campaign against Bill 136 slowed down the restructuring of the Ontario civil service and the broader public sector. The campaign against Bill 74 was successful in that it secured the voluntary status of teacher extracurricular activities. However, it is yet to be seen whether it has had any real effect on overall teacher workloads. All these achievements, rewarding as they may be, are tactical rather than strategic accomplishments. No collective action pressured the Harris government into substantially changing any of its policies or original intentions, as published in the Common Sense Revolution document. Therefore, gauged against the indicator of keeping, or restoring, the

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status quo ante in industrial relations, the Ontario unions' collective actions should be deemed a disappointment. The results of the 1999 election, another attractive indicator of action success, invite a similar verdict. One might conclude, then, that collective action seems unlikely to deter a democratically elected government that is single minded in the pursuit of its agenda, an agenda that, in this case, constituted the government's election platform. Still, using the initial explicit goals of a given collective action as the sole criterion for assessing the success of that action might be too narrow an approach. It disregards potential long-term benefits that unions can accrue, or costs they can incur, from acting collectively, benefits and costs that do not manifest themselves immediately upon the execution of the action. We propose that success in collective action has a temporal dimension, for it is likely to evolve and assume different nuances and values over time. In the short term, one can employ only a tentative yardstick to measure the concept. Not only can some action outcomes emerge long after the action is over but also, according to our evidence, in the short term, different observers can employ different measures of success, thereby arriving at conclusions that are at odds with one another regarding the overall merits of a given action. Probably, some of these measures are based on wishful thinking rather than objective data, and hence can eventually prove inaccurate. In chapter 4 we proposed that, in the short term, action success should be what the agents of collective action define as success. We still adhere to this notion, yet wish to emphasize its temporariness. The assessment of an action's success should become more objective and methodical as more and more effects of the action surface and can be accounted for. We suggest that a systematic measurement of action success should span three cost-benefit analyses - financial, political, and institutional. At the outset it should be stressed that each one of these analyses is likely to suffer from methodological challenges, and is bound to be afflicted by inaccuracies. The following discussion is based on known and tentative information. Financially, it is possible to cost out tangible elements such as busing, feeding, information dissemination, and the financial support provided to an action's participants. These factors come with objective, measurable price tags. For example, Rapaport has reported that the five-week OPSEU strike cost the union a total of $23 million, of which close to $17 million was paid out to the picketers (1999: 25,140). Similarly, the loss of members due to collective action,

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such as the removal of principals and vice-principals from the teachers' unions, is measurable in dollars and cents. What is perhaps more difficult to measure is how many members might wish to leave, or actually voluntarily left (if this is at all possible), their unions in reaction to the action; or whether potential members are reluctant to join the union because of such an action. The financial benefits unions can accrue from engaging in collective action are more subtle. Theoretically, unions can become more attractive to non-unionized workers, whose appreciation for unions might have grown following a collective action. In practice, however, some trade unions such as those of the teachers and civil servants have already organized most, perhaps even all, of their potential membership. A political cost-benefit analysis is also warranted when evaluating the success of a particular collective action. The Alberta and Ontario unions were incapable of applying collective action in order to significantly influence government policies and behaviours. They also failed to swing enough of the popular vote against the incumbent government on two occasions in Alberta (1997 and 2001), and once in Ontario (1999). The case studies demonstrated the limits of collective action as a means of influencing a resolved government that consistently excludes unions from policy-making. Only the OPSEU protest resulted in some long-term measurable success for the union, via the inclusion of the 'reasonable effort' provision in the new collective agreement. Recall that this provision slowed down the government's restructuring of the civil service. OPSEU benefited from a clear, coherent strategy and its effective implementation. The OPSEU leaders and members agreed on what they wanted to achieve and how they were going to accomplish it. The leaders managed to sustain the members' solidarity and resolve until they extracted that concession from the government. However, it is difficult to overemphasize the importance to OPSEU of the fact that this protest occurred within the well-institutionalized boundaries of a legal interest dispute. As such, this bounded conflict did not challenge the sovereignty of the Harris government, nor ever question its autonomy to govern. Consequently, the government as a policy-maker did not lose face by agreeing to the 'reasonable effort' language. This was not the case during the teachers' illegal walkout and the eleven Days of Action, which involved several illegal workplace shutdowns. These cases directly challenged the capacity of a democratically elected gov-

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ernment to govern. The government was impelled to outlast the protesters in order to establish unequivocally who ruled Ontario. Note, these cases are significantly different from the 1995 laundry workers' strike in Alberta, where the strikers did not challenge the privatization of the laundry services, but its implementation. Ralph Klein promptly extinguished the fires of the strikers by providing the employers with enough money to ease the pains of the workers' dislocation. The political cost of the unions' inability to force the hand of the government using collective action is not readily measurable. However, it might be considerable. Several Ontario interviewees explained that, if nothing else, collective action was a way of demonstrating to the government that the unions would not roll over and watch passively as the Common Sense Revolution was unfolding throughout Ontario. In the short run, however, making the point successfully may have little practical merit. The Harris government demonstrated its capacity to endure various union 'point making' efforts. The Klein government was able to avoid union collective action altogether. In the long run, other premiers may take their cues from Harris and Klein, and may conclude that a determined government that acts swiftly and unwaveringly on its pre-election promises can wage a direct, or indirect, assault on trade unions and survive the subsequent wrath of the unions. They may, therefore, dare attack long-established union rights and industrial-relations institutions, assuming that the cost of union resistance is affordable. On the other hand, less ideological and more pragmatic governments may wish to heed union concerns, as Klein did during the 1995 laundry workers' strike, in order to avoid collective protests and the disruption they may cause to the public. Institutionally, the evidence points to various positive effects that the collective actions might have had on unions. For one, it has provided them with a useful experience and a script for action they will be able to apply in the future. As an example, OPSEU members in the Ontario Public Service who until 1996 did not have any job-action experience have discovered the benefit of legal strikes. Their very long 2002 strike demonstrates that they learned that the skies did not fall about them when they walked out. Similarly, the teachers' protest against Bill 74 might not have been possible without their 1997 experience. Furthermore, unions might have learned how to cooperate better with each other and with community groups. An infrastructure has been laid down for future collaborative, or even single-union, actions. The logistics of collective action are now better understood and perhaps can be

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handled with greater efficiency. Still, the better understanding that the Ontario unions gained regarding the logic of collective action does not mean that they emerged from the Common Sense Revolution stronger and in a better position to take on a hostile government. Unfortunately for unions, collective actions might also entail institutional costs. Across unions, inter-union relationships may have deteriorated following the infighting that plagued some multi-union collective actions. The rift between the pink unions and the CAW and public-sector unions in Ontario is a case in point. It became pronounced during the Rae administration, and even Harris's unprecedented anti-union disposition could not heal it. A possible (but perhaps only short-term) division might have afflicted the teachers' unions following the controversial ending of their 1997 political protest. Within unions, it is interesting to see how responsive union members will be to future calls from their leaders for collective action. Members who found the 1990s experiences unrewarding might be reluctant to embrace new collectiveaction initiatives. The foregoing analysis emphasizes several possible consequences to unions of collective actions. Yet, it is silent about the likely effects of collective action on the unions' core mission, namely, servicing their members. Has the collective-action experience turned a given union into a better, or worse, service organization? Can the leaders of collective actions transform whatever institutional benefits they might have gained into actual contract improvements for their members? Are union members in Ontario, or in British Columbia, better off than their Alberta counterparts because their unions responded more aggressively to government restructuring? The available evidence indicates that several Ontario and BC unions emerged from their collective campaigns smaller, poorer, and weaker, their bargaining territory clipped and future organizing drives hampered. In contrast, the docile Alberta unions also lost ground, especially in terms of membership, but not because of a government edict. In the long run, therefore, they might recover their losses by continuing to operate within the labour market. Passivity during the 1990s did not cost these unions their capacity to successfully protect and promote their members' interests using traditional industrial-relations institutions, as demonstrated by the 2000 AUPE and the 2002 ATA strikes. Is it possible that their quiescence during the Klein Revolution was the Alberta unions' strength? Was their passivity a strategic or merely a default behaviour? Should other unions facing similar circumstances lay low until the storm of change subsides?

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The above three cost-benefit calculi are difficult to operationalize, and may never yield agreeable concrete results. Some elements of the computations are tangible and hence measurable, whereas many others are more nebulous and therefore cannot be easily quantified. Moreover, because some effects of an action surface only in the long run, it may be impossible to relate them to the collective events that might have bred them. Hopefully, over time it might become possible to arrive at a more meaningful and objective measurement of action success. The Dimensionality of Collective Action According to social movement theorists, the repertoire of collective actions available to any given group is wide ranged. Hence Tilly's observation that '[a]t different times, political pressure, sabotage, demonstrations, and occupations of the workplace all become alternatives to striking' (1978: 166). Collective action, in short, can take on more than one form. The evidence supports the notions that union collective action is a matter of form, and that a repertoire of collective forms is available to protesting unions. Figure 9.1 presents the forms of collective action used by unions in Ontario during the Harris era. To begin, protest behaviours can be individualized or occur within a group structure. Individualized collective action, an oxymoron on the face of it, indicates a political protest that is orchestrated by trade unions, but is executed by individual members whose behaviours are independent of each other. Whereas during a rally, demonstration, or walkout the protest takes place within a group structure, here the protest behaviour happens on an individual basis. At the extreme, the protestors might be completely divorced of one another at the climactic moment when they act upon their grievance and carry out their protests. Strategic voting is one example of an individualized collective protest. This unique variant involved 'phantom mobilizing,' since at the most critical moment of the event, when the protesters-cum-voters were about to demonstrate their dissatisfaction with the Harris government, they were completely cut off from each other and from their union leaders. The latter, being unable to control the members' voting behaviours, were left only with the hope that their members voted in the expected direction. The teachers' campaign to repeal the section in Bill 74 that would turn voluntary extracurricular activities into mandatory duties represents another example of individualized collective protest. Importantly, then, mobilization for collective action does not

Additional Thoughts on Collective Action 225

Collective action

Individualized collective action

Group collective action

Single-union action

Multi-union action

Single industry

Multi-industry

Figure 9.1 Forms of collective action

have to culminate in group action. The actual act of protest can manifest itself through group or individualized behaviours. Group-based collective actions can assume a single- or a multi-union form. Several of the cases reported here involved multiple unions. We have discussed the special logistics they required and argued that a coalition of unions is likely to confront unique political and organizational challenges. Multi-union protests can occur within a single industry, such as education, or cut across several industries, as was the case in the Days of Action. Yet there is more to the dimensionality of collective actions than the individualized/group distinction. Collective actions can also be distinguished by how the agents of the action choose to express their collective dissatisfaction with the government. The case studies have revealed several possible modes of expression. For example, the OPSEU, teachers' (during their fight against Bill 160), and Days of Action events dis-

226 Unions in the Time of Revolution

played a combination of walkouts and demonstrations/rallies. This hybrid is independent of such contingencies as those relating to the action's agenda and the scope, duration, and location of the action, or the type of unions involved. By and large, this mode of expression was typical of unions that used their collective strength to strike against employers. Thus, in protesting government policies, some unions transferred to the political arena traditional collective behaviours that had long been practised, although not necessarily by all unions (e.g., OPSEU), in the labour market. Collective action can occur in other ways as well, such as mass resignations or working to rule or, as the campaign against Bill 136 demonstrated, merely in the form of a threat. Generally, then, collective action can assume different modes of expression depending on the purpose of the protest, the provoking behaviours of the government, the number of organizations involved in the action, and the ingenuity of the union leaders and members. So far we have proposed that collective action is a matter of the action's structural form and mode of expression. Yet collective action is also a matter of degree, for its characteristics can assume different levels of intensity. Public support and leaders' control of protester behaviours are two relevant examples. Unlike strikes that are geared to impress employers, collective actions target the government as a policy-maker. The collective action, however, is expected to pressure a government into changing its behaviours in an indirect way, through its effects on the public. The public thus becomes, if perhaps unwillingly, a protagonist in the action. First, typically, collective action renders public life inconvenient. If the public is sympathetic to the unions, there is a greater probability that the government will surrender to the union demands, thus ending the union's disruptive behaviours. Second, provided that the public endorses the union agenda, the government will not easily be able to paint the unions as special-interest groups whose exclusive interests are at odds with the government's definition of the public interest. In the long term, the public might be convinced to join forces with the unions and 'dethrone' the government at the polls. Therefore, the unions should make an effort to win over public support, or in other words gain legitimacy for their agenda and implementation tools. Leaders' control of member behaviours during collective action is critical to an action's success. A characteristic of most of the Ontario protests was the tight control that union leaders exercised over their mem-

Additional Thoughts on Collective Action 227

bers' behaviours. The leaders' control was one reason why some protests, such as the Days of Action, were predictable and hence endurable. In fact, the leaders' efforts to cooperate with management in guaranteeing peaceful workplace shutdowns, as well as their rhetoric during the rallies, are a testimony of their painstaking attempts to ensure that the events would not get out of hand. Similarly, in Alberta, not only did union leaders not use the laundry workers' strikes as a catalyst to collective action, they even dampened any possibility for such an action by quickly negotiating new agreements. This, however, does not mean that every collective action was perfectly contained and scripted. A case in point is the violent clash in Ontario, on 18 March 1995, between the riot police and OPSEU's demonstrators at Queen's Park. A side, yet relevant, question is whether the Ontario union leaders erred in adopting an aggressive yet relatively non-violent disposition during the Common Sense Revolution. We think that, overall, union leaders in both provinces were savvy in controlling the behaviours of their members during the various events. By protesting peacefully they increased the likelihood of gaining public support, reduced the costs associated with government retaliation, and made it possible for the Klein and Harris governments to make a few concessions without losing face. In summary, collective action is a matter of structural form, mode of expression, and level of intensity. Unions, like other groups, are not constrained to one particular form or mode of expression when they act collectively. Moreover, a given form of collective action (e.g., group) that is expressed in a particular manner (e.g., demonstration) can evolve in many different ways, because certain contingencies (e.g., public support, leader control) assume differing levels of intensity. It is this complex variability within and between the elements of collective action that allows similar circumstances, such as those found in Ontario and Alberta during their respective 'revolutions,' ultimately to spawn very different union responses to the politics of the day.

Epilogue. The Morning After: The Post-revolution Years

During the 1990s, the discourse of neo-conservatism permeated the provinces of Alberta and Ontario and acquired a powerful ideological as well as analytical dimension. It became the language of policy-makers and other change agents seeking to justify restructuring of the government, moderation in wages, and greater flexibility in work organization. The neo-conservative discourse captured the imagination of enough of the electorate to sustain the campaign architects in power for more than one term. Yet implementation in Alberta and Ontario did not proceed along similar lines. In the next few years, how may this influence the evolution of industrial relations, and especially union behaviours, in the two provinces? In Alberta, the Klein Revolution ended with the 1997 Growth Summit, which ushered in a period of reinvestment that continued uninterrupted until September 2001. In industrial relations, those basic rules and institutions that had governed the system before the Klein Revolution were not tampered with in any significant manner.1 The collectivebargaining institution thus continues to provide unions with the best means to improving their members' working conditions and maintaining their own organizational viability. This, however, does not mean that significant changes in human-resources management had not been introduced to the Alberta broader public sector (Reshef 2001b). Nor do we imply that unions did not feel the effects of government restructuring. Some unions suffered significant membership losses, two have disappeared altogether (the Canadian Health Care Guild was absorbed by the AUPE and the Staff Nurses Association of Alberta by UNA). But the main reason for these unions' plight was that during the 1993-7 period they were caught in the crossfire of management

Epilogue 229

restructuring efforts. From institutional and legal perspectives, the Klein Revolution made but a small impression on a fairly monotonous industrial-relations landscape. As in the past, since the end of the Klein Revolution public-sector unions had operated within government-set financial parameters. By 2001 these unions had recouped their mid-1990s wage rollbacks and were now trying to reap the benefits of several surplus budgets and achieve real wage increases. Between 1997 and September 2001, a serious challenge the Alberta union leaders were facing was how to adapt their behaviours to a new era of prosperity and deliver real wage increases to their members. After several years of rearguard efforts to minimize the damage of the Klein Revolution, they had to demonstrate to their members that the sacrifices they had made between 1993 and 1997 were not in vain, and that they were going to yield muchdeserved returns. Yet even before the recent economic slowdown, notwithstanding several surplus budgets, the government was not always forthcoming. It responded inconsistently to demands for higher wages, the main bargaining target of public-sector unions. On the one hand, in early 2001 the government approved significant wage increases to registered nurses and doctors. On the other hand, in early 2000, it had refused the AUPE demands for smaller pay increases to other workers in health care, and allocated only 6 per cent wage increases over two years to teachers. However, following the AUPE strike in 2000 and the teachers' strike in 2002, union leaders might have learned that the likelihood of gaining wage increases improved when the government was prodded into the collective-bargaining process. Public-sector unions pursuing wage improvement thus might have to engage in confrontation with their respective employers and hope that the government steps in and let them access the public coffers. Consequently, the unions might become more and more restless, and strikes, legal and illegal, are a real possibility in the near future. The situation in Ontario is quite different. Recall that Klein and Harris behaved in a profoundly different way vis-a-vis industrial-relations traditions. The premier of Alberta operated within the existing consensus and skilfully exploited it to advance his agenda. His Ontario counterpart broke a long-established tradition of consultation and compromise in order to carry out his Common Sense Revolution. In an interview, CAW president Buzz Hargrove stressed the importance of the stability unions had enjoyed during the 1980s. Up to that point, unions had never faced the dramatic legislation swings that resulted

230 Epilogue

from having an NDP government that brought in pro-labour legislation followed by a Tory government that reversed it. Labour legislation in Ontario had been a balancing act, hence its stable evolution: 'In bringing in [labour] legislation/ explained Hargrove, 'both the Liberals and the Tories recognized that each time there had to be a little piece for the business community in there. And we'd sit down and we'd work it out in advance' (Monahan 1995: 97). This changed to some extent with the ascent to power of Bob Rae, and then more profoundly with the Common Sense Revolution offensive. The Harris government pierced the industrialrrelations panoply that protected union and member interests. In so doing, this government changed the labourmanagement equilibrium in a profound way. For how long will unions be able, and ready, to accept the new reality? Mike Harris was not able to emulate Ralph Klein's political popularity and longevity. On 16 October 2001 Harris announced that he would step down as soon as his Progressive Conservative Party chose a new leader. On 23 March of the following year the party named Ontario's former finance minister Ernie Eves as the premier of Ontario. At the time of his retirement announcement, the latest political popularity survey had found Harris to be Canada's least-liked premier in his home province; Alberta's Klein was the most liked (Mackie 2001 d).2 What roles will unions be asked to play, and choose to play, in provincial politics in the coming post-Harris years? It is not improbable that in the near future, a more forthcoming government will invite the unions to play a much more meaningful role in policy development and implementation. Yet it is also possible that the political exclusion of Ontario unions will continue, perhaps to a lesser degree, even under a new regime. Regardless of their future roles in the political system, however, it is plausible that in the long run the Ontario unions will be impelled to embark upon concerted, or disparate, efforts to reclaim the territory they lost during the Harris era. In other words, in coming years, unions' collective behaviours may gravitate towards the model of collective action advanced by social-movement theorists. The unions will wait for the right opportunity to act upon those pent-up grievances they accumulated during the Harris years. How and when unions will do that and how successful they will be in their attempts to restore the Ontario industrial-relations system to its former self is unknown. Until then, the Ontario unions should adapt their behaviours to the changing parameters of their industrial-relations system, and carefully design the next chapter in their quest to regain a meaningful voice in Ontario politics.

Epilogue 231

The political legacy of the two main characters of our treatise Ralph Klein and Michael Harris - is intriguing. For how long will their neo-conservative discourse linger? Will they be remembered as trailblazing statesmen who possessed great insight into their constituents' innermost social expectations, and acted upon them with unbridled resolve? Will they be remembered as right-wing zealots who reached the promised land of financial bliss by displaying, at times, considerable disregard for labour? Will they go down in history as the twosome who confronted organized labour and prevailed? Regardless of the answers, Harris, Klein, and their homegrown revolutions will likely provide fertile ground for intriguing research and lively debate in the coming years.

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Notes

Preface 1 According to Statistics Canada, the public sector, or broader public sector, includes education and related services, hospitals and related health care, urban transit, welfare organizations, public administration, civil service, publicly owned broadcasting, telecommunications, and utility services. Here, however, we emphasize the education, health-care, and civil-service sectors of the broader public sector. Public administration denotes provincial and local government employees. Civil service refers to provincial government employees. 2 Throughout the book we refer to the teachers' action as both an illegal strike and a collective action/political protest. This reflects the mixed views of our interviewees. The action did take place during collective agreements, making it an illegal strike. At the same time, it was a political protest directed at the government rather than school boards. The Ontario government went to court, but failed to get an injunction. Later, there was no attempt to recover damages, a response that is associated with illegal strikes. During the ten-day protest the vast majority of the teachers did not receive any pay or benefits because the walkout was considered, at least from the top leaders' point of view, a political protest rather than a strike. Chapter 1. Alberta and Ontario: Industrial Relations and Their Contexts 1 Klein's predecessor, Don Getty, announced his resignation on 9 September 1992. Klein won the ensuing leadership race and became Alberta's twelfth premier on 5 December of that year. He won his first provincial election on 15 June 1993.

234 Notes to pages 7-24 2 According to some commentators, the results of the November 2000 elections exemplify the western alienation notion. Following the elections, the federal parliament's 301 seats were distributed as follows: Liberals, 173; Canadian Alliance, 66; Bloc Quebecois, 37; Conservatives, 13; New Democratics, 12. The province-by-province breakdown demonstrates a clear division between the western (Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta, British Columbia) and eastern (Ontario, Quebec, Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Newfoundland) provinces in regard to political voting patterns. Federal elections results, 27 November 2000: Seats won by the Liberal Party and the Canadian Alliance Western Canada (Alberta) Liberal Alliance Total3

a

14 (2) 64 (23) 88 (26)

Eastern Canada (Ontario) 159 (100) 2 (2) 210

(103)

The Northwest Territories, Yukon, and Nunavut have one seat each.

Chapter 2. Revolutions, Canada-style 1 The 1997 watershed event of the Growth Summit formally separated the Klein Revolution from the upcoming period of reinvestment. However, the beginning of the revolution's end occurred in November 1995, when Klein stared 120 angry laundry workers in the eyes and blinked (see chapter 6). This event was followed by reinvestments in health care and home and community care. 2 It should be noted that public-sector retrenchment started during the administration of Klein's predecessor Don Getty who became premier in 1985 (Taft 1977; Martin 2002:133). Owing to plummeting oil prices, the Getty government implemented cuts in public services in the late 1980s. By fiscal year 1991/2, Alberta had dropped from being the highest spender in the nation, in the early and mid-1980s, to below the national average. Layoffs of public-sector employees were an immediate result. For example, from 1990 to 1992 almost 1000 nursing jobs were eliminated province-wide.

Notes to pages 28-65 235 The number of provincial employees declined by the equivalent of 4400 full-time jobs (Taft 1997:22). 3 In mid-1992, the NDP government introduced the Employment Equity Bill (Bill 79) to the legislature; it was passed in September 1993. The act aimed to improve the lot of four target groups - women, racial minorities, the disabled, and aboriginals. All government agencies were covered plus private firms with more than fifty employees. In all, some 17,000 employers were required to draw up plans to ensure that racially, sexually, and in terms of able-bodied versus disabled persons, their workforce mirrored the community around them. The employers had to come up with acceptable plans within three years. The maximum penalty for a firm that contravened the law was set at $50,000. Upon being elected, Harris declared that he would repeal the act, which imposed discriminatory racial quotas and prevented equal opportunity in hiring based on the merit system. In October 1995, the government introduced Bill 8 (An Act to Repeal Job Quotas and to Restore Merit-Based Employment Practices in Ontario), and passed it the following December. 4 Teachers at the elementary-secondary level include all teaching and nonteaching academic staff (principals, vice-principals, department heads, and subject supervisors). Those on leave are excluded. Chapter 3. Collective Action: Conceptual Framework 1 The 1979 bargaining round took place at a crucial time for the Levesque government, because it occurred just months before a provincial referendum on the future of the Quebec-Canada relationship. For political purposes, then, it was imperative that the government conclude the negotiations as expeditiously as possible, so that the referendum would not be jeopardized by a highly publicized labour dispute. This political context explains the finance minister's remarkable generosity toward the Common Front unions. Chapter 4. Revolutionizing the Civil Service: OPSEU and AUPE 1 This section draws on information from the following unpublished OPSEU communications: 'On Strike/ 'Picket Lines/ 'The OPSEU Strike and You/ and 'OPSEU Fax.' 2 In May 2002, the number of OPSEU members in the OPS was 48,313. Of these, 43,185 were paying union dues. This represented an overall decrease of about 15,000 members in the OPS since 1996. However, many of these

236 Notes to page 67 remained OPSEU members working in 'downloaded' agencies in the Broader Public Sector. Overall, due to an aggressive organizing strategy, OPSEU roughly maintained its 1996 size - 100,000 members. 3 Personal communication with an AUPE officer. 4 On 19 June 1990 the jail guards ratified a new collective agreement. While the guards had to accept the same basic 10 per cent raise over two years that they had rejected before the strike, the deal improved their position on the pay grid, giving them another $70 to $77 extra per month. The agreement stipulated a union-management committee be set up by 1 August to study the pension issue and develop a transition plan. The guards demanded a new pension plan, providing full retirement benefits after 25 years of service, instead of the present 35-year requirement. The social workers accepted a new collective agreement on 7 July 1990. However, the story of their contract's ratification is more complex than the preceding. Briefly, after the strike was over, a major rift developed between the social workers and the leaders of their local union, Local 6, and the AUPE provincial leaders. The latter went over the head of the local leaders and signed a tentative contract with the government. Linda Karpowitz, head of Local 6, explained that 'the president of AUPE overstepped her authority by instructing paid staff (negotiator Ron Roy) to sign an agreement against the wishes of our bargaining committee and our provincial council' (Aikenhead 1990). In retaliation, the Local 6 bargaining committee called for a boycott of the ratification vote. Consequently, only 38 per cent of 2100 mail-in ballots were returned to the union headquarters, and only 54 per cent of those ballots favoured the deal. The agreement gave social workers a 10 per cent salary increase over two years, and established a mechanism to study caseloads. 5 The May 2000 strike involved four bargaining units. One of them, representing some 1900 mental-health employees in Alberta Hospital Edmonton and Alberta Hospital Ponoka, was in a position to call a legal strike. However, on 22 May, two days before the strike began, the Minister of Human Resources and Employment had appointed a one-person Dispute Inquiry Board. This procedure renders any strike action illegal until at least 10 days after the minister notifies the parties of the Board's recommendations. The Board has 20 days to produce a settlement, or make recommendations to the minister. If a strike occurs after the Board has been appointed, the strike is illegal. Once the mental-health employees had gone on strike, their strike became illegal. Whereas the explicit reason for the strike was winning a better contract, there was another, more subtle purpose for it. For several years before the strike, AUPE had been trying to synchronize its several bargaining pro-

Notes to pages 69-88 237 cesses in the health-care sector, thereby enhancing its bargaining power. The union had taken several steps in this direction, including a few shortterm strikes in 1998. The May 2000 strike was the successful culmination of the process. During the next bargaining round, the union will bargain on behalf of thousands of health-care workers. Even if the bargaining process is conducted at several bargaining tables, the likelihood of coordinated bargaining is high. 6 This discussion draws heavily on Reshef 2001a and 2001b. 7 This is the full text of the four survey items: a. A province-wide strike by public sector unions will speed up reinvestment in public services such as health care and education in Alberta. b. I would support a province-wide strike by public sector unions to speed up reinvestment in public services such as health care and education in Alberta. c. Public sector unions are special interest groups that do not represent my interests. d. Public sector unions should be directly involved in government decisions about reinvestment. 8 According to the constitution of the Canadian Labour Congress (CLC), Canada's national labour body, all national and international unions and regional and provincial organizations affiliated with the CLC must require their local unions and branches to join chartered federations at the provincial level. Also, all local unions chartered directly by the CLC must affiliate with the provincial federations of labour. 9 In November 1993 Douglas visited Alberta and presented his thoughts on government restructuring to the architects of the Klein Revolution. 10 'Don't blink, public confidence rests on your composure' is the eighth principle in Douglas's recipe for change (1993). Chapter 5. Teachers: Protecting the Profession, Defending the Union Organization 1 Union membership is governed by a complex set of by laws and depends on several factors. The following are the basic rules (the rest are available at http://www.otffeo.on.ca/wtt/wtt-frameset2.html): 1) A statutory member, as defined in the Teaching Profession Act, of the Ontario Teachers' Federation shall be a member of an affiliated body, and the appropriate fee shall be forwarded thereto, except in cases where the membership has been suspended or cancelled by an affiliated body.

238 Notes to page 89 Subject to Section 2(d) below: 2) a. Teachers teaching all or a major portion of their assignment in an elementary public school or classes shall be members of ETFO; b. Teachers teaching all or a major portion of their assignment in a separate school or classes shall be members of OECTA; c. Teachers teaching all or a major portion of their assignment in a public secondary school or classes shall be members of OSSTF; d. Teachers teaching all or a major portion of their assignment in a French language school or French language classes in a French language school board shall be members of AEFO. A school authority shall be considered a district school board. Notwithstanding Section 2: 3) A teacher whose assignment qualifies equally for membership in more than one affiliate shall be: a. a member of the affiliate to which the teacher belonged before the assignment, or b. in the case of a newly employed teacher, a member of the affiliate of the individual's choice, with the retention of such membership as long as the assignment continues. 2 A recent event provides more evidence of the discordant relationship among the Ontario Teachers' Federation affiliates. In the summer of 2001, the teachers' unions faced another internal conflict. In 1997, the Harris government had passed Bill 160 which, among other things, took away the right of the OTF to collect its own fees from its members, and gave that right to the affiliates. The latter were supposed to forward the appropriate fee to the OTF. To ensure compliance with this procedure, the OTF board of governors passed a bylaw that spelled out what would happen in the case of any affiliate not forwarding its fee. The OTF fee, which was set by the board of governors each year at the annual meeting, included within it the fee for the Canadian Teachers' Federation (CTF). In 2001, the fee was $48.70 per member, of which $18.30 was forwarded by the OTF to the CTF. In late 2000, the OSSTF had taken a decision that it would no longer be a member of the CTF. The reasons were varied, but included concerns over lack of service for dollars, lack of proportional representation, and an unwillingness by the CTF to represent support-staff members. But the fee paid to the CTF was bundled with the OTF fee. From the OTF perspective, neither an individual teacher nor an entire affiliate could choose to opt out

Notes to pages 92-5 239 of certain budget lines included within the OTF fee structure. It would be the same as an OSSTF member deciding that he or she would only pay certain parts of their dues, or withholding a portion of the amount they were supposed to pay, because they did not agree with a specific activity of the organization. In October 2000, the OSSTF had decided to hold back the CTF portion of the fee. On 14 December the OTF executive, guided by the procedures outlined in the new bylaw (which had been agreed to by all affiliates, including the OSSTF), suspended the OSSTF from all voting and participation rights. In response, the OSSTF decided to withhold the entire OTF fee. 3 The provisions of Bill 136 were triggered by restructuring events specified in the legislation, which included: (a) amalgamation or other specified types of restructuring of municipalities and/or local boards; (b) the restructuring of the City of Toronto and the Toronto Hydro-Electric Commission pursuant to the City of Toronto Act, 1997; (c) the assumption by a district school board of the jurisdiction of two or more school boards or their minority-language sections; (d) the amalgamation of two or more hospital corporations, and, if ordered by the Ontario Labour Relations Board, certain other specified types of hospital restructuring. 4 In those workplaces where some or all of the workforce was unionized, bargaining units for the new employer were to be defined by agreement between the new employer and all or a subset of the affected unions, or by order of the Ontario Labour Relations Board. If an application was made to the Board, the Board was to determine what bargaining units were appropriate for the new employer's operation. Once the bargaining units had been determined, there were two ways to choose the bargaining agent(s) that would represent employees in those units. If the parties had agreed on the bargaining unit, and fewer than 40% of employees in that unit were non-union, the affected unions could agree on which of them would represent the unit. Where no agreement could be reached or 40% or more of the employees were non-union, the Ontario Labour Relations Board was to order a vote to select a bargaining agent. Where 40% or more of the employees were non-union, the ballot had to include a 'no union' option. The voting was to be conducted so as to ensure that one of the choices on the ballot ultimately received more than 50% of the votes cast. 5 Class sizes were not allowed to rise beyond their current levels. Based on an average determined across each school board that meant 25 students per class in elementary schools and 22 in secondary. Any future changes to

240 Notes to pages 95-106 class size and preparation time would have to be done through legislation introduced, debated, and passed by the Ontario legislature. 6 Before Bill 160, the total number of principals and vice-principals in the public education system was 8095. The Ontario principals and vice-principals had until the end of March 1998 to decide whether they wanted to keep their current jobs, or resign from them and return to full-time teaching, thereby remaining union members. Fewer than 200 exercised the latter option. (These data are based on personal communication with the OTF.) 7 Most communications concerning the protest over Bill 160 were produced by OTF. They are bound in a volume entitled Provincial Protest 1997: Campaign against Bill 160. The volume includes the following communications: 'Action Plan,' 'Backgrounder/ 'Communique/ 'Facts & Issues/ and 'Solidarity.' 8 On 30 November 1973 some 7800 teachers in the public school system of Ontario submitted letters of resignation to 16 school boards. The resignations, effective 31 December, meant that these teachers would not show up for work after the Christmas holiday. Salary increases were the main bone of contention. The resignations were a protest against the slow pace of school trustees in resolving the pay issue. The negotiations had started around February that year. The Conservative government reacted quickly. On 10 December, it introduced the emergency Bill 274, which imposed compulsory arbitration to forestall the threat of the January teacher strikes. Arbitrators would be constrained in their decisions by expenditure ceilings set by the government. The bill declared void the 30 November letters of resignation, and provided for fines of not less than $200 and not more than $500 for each teacher for each day a strike lasted. In short, the government did not want teachers to use resignation as a bargaining tactic. The teachers' unions and the Ontario Federation of Teachers opposed any legislation that deprived teachers of the right to resign. Within two days of the bill's introduction the union's leaders were calling for their members to close all Ontario schools for one day and participate in Ontario's first one-day general strike by teachers. On 18 December most of Ontario's 105,000 teachers in the public education system did not show up for work. Thousands took part in a series of marches and rallies in Toronto, Ottawa, and elsewhere in the province. The government reacted by giving Bill 274 its second reading.

Notes to page 114 241 On 20 December the government and the unions reached an agreement that stipulated that voluntary arbitration agreed upon by local teachers' unions and school-board trustees would not be bound by any financial ceilings. Further, Bill 274 would not be passed unless the parties failed to sign agreements by the end of January 1974. 9 The ATA's representational monopoly was challenged in 1995 by the Alberta Union of Provincial Employees (Alberta Union of Provincial Employees v. Pembina Hills Regional Division #7). The case involved twenty-nine teachers with the Alberta Distance Learning Centre (ADLC) in Barrhead. Until 2 June, when it was officially privatized, the ADLC, a correspondence school serving all of Alberta by mail and computer, had been run directly by Alberta Education. Until the end of the previous school year, the teachers were members of the AUPE, not the ATA, and had a collective agreement between their union and the government of Alberta. When the school was privatized, it was absorbed into the Pembina Hills school district. However, the local school board refused to recognize the employees' AUPE contract, arguing that the School Act required all teachers to be members of one ATA bargaining unit. The school board was backed by the ATA, which argued that the Teaching Profession Act made their association the sole bargaining agent for all teachers in Alberta. The AUPE lawyer countered that the 1935 Teaching Profession Act did not confer any such exclusivity. Indeed, there was no way the act could have done so, since there was no collective-bargaining legislation in place at that time. He further argued that provincial labour law gives employees an unrestricted right to choose their union. On 15 July 1997 the Alberta Labour Relations Board sided with the Pembina Hills school board, agreeing that all the district's teachers must indeed be in one bargaining unit. However, the Board also concurred with the AUPE argument that the bargaining unit did not necessarily have to belong to the ATA. The ADLC teachers became ATA members under the ruling because the ATA held the union certificate with Pembina Hills. But in the future, school boards would be able to bargain with any union that might represent ATA-certified teachers. The teachers in any one school district could now decide to leave the ATA's union arm and join, or form, another union. 10 Bylaws relating to discipline become valid and take effect only after approval by the lieutenant-governor (Barnett 1940).

242 Notes to pages 116-55 11 The ATA has several membership categories. In February 1997 the membership breakdown looked like this: Membership category

Members

Full-time fee-paying members Part-time fee-paying members Substitute teachers Life members (retirees) Students Associate member Teachers on leave

25,595 3,896 3,207 7,749 2,928 860 671

Total

44,906

Source: Personal communication

12 One union-backed amendment that the government did introduce concerns the use of non-certified teachers in the classroom. In its original form, Bill 160 allowed for people with 'minimum qualifications' to teach. The minister of education's amendment said that non-certified teachers would be used 'to complement, not replace' teachers in areas such as guidance counselling. Chapter 6. Sins of Commission and Sins of Omission 1 In 1991-2, Premier Rae helped broker a deal that saved some 5000 jobs at Algoma Steel in Sault Ste Marie. In 1990-1, he helped save some 3000 jobs at de Havilland Aircraft in Toronto (Rae 1997:169-81). 2 There is no information on the number of unionized employees in the broader public sector in Alberta for 1993. However, according to Alberta Human Resources and Employment (1996), in mid-1996 there were 151,433 unionized employees covered by 500 collective agreements in that sector. We assume that in 1993 the comparable figures were probably higher. 3 Compare this 'non-event' to the bumpy bargaining over the Social Contract in Ontario. At one point, the Ontario government insisted on a central table for government, public-sector employers, and unions, where agreements on central elements would be reached and sent off to sectoral tables for fine-tuning. Participants would have to work out a deal for almost one million employees in the broader public sector. The government itself assembled a 60-member negotiation team, all of whom were outsiders, with very little experience in negotiation (Monahan 1995:185-215).

Notes to pages 156-75 243 4 Although, according to a national poll, Albertans are the most accepting of the right of managers of profitable companies to lay off employees and outsource in-house operations (Maclean's 1996/7: 26, 27), in practice Albertans do not automatically support profitable companies pursuing greater profits at the expense of employees. In May-June 1997, the United Food and Commercial Workers mobilized 10,000 Safeway workers to strike the company's 75 stores. Though the stores remained open during the 75-day strike, customers largely stayed away and sales revenue fell by more than half. Chapter 7. Sleeping with the Devil 1 It should be noted that this was not the first time that public-sector unions acted together to promote strategic voting. In the 1990 provincial election, the OSSTF and the OECTA worked together to advocate a '"minorityresponsive" government, without regard to political-party coloration' (White 1998:197). The unions were protesting teacher pension legislation that had been passed by the Peterson Liberal government in 1989. However, this was a less focused effort conducted on a much smaller scale in comparison with the 1999 campaign. In no way could the election of the Rae government be credited to it. 2 In the first four years of its mandate, the Harris government revamped the ridings in Ontario such that the number of legislative seats decreased to 103 from 130. 3 Over the course of the media's coverage of the election, this number was usually given as 25 or 26 targeted ridings. It was not until the Ontario Election Network came out with its official list of endorsed candidates, only days before the election, that the number of targeted ridings was raised to 29. 4 Parties in Ontario require a minimum of 12 seats to hold official-party status, which allows them to obtain research and travel financing as well as support staff (Roberts 1999a). 5 The Liberal gains and strategic voting were also considered to have been the reason the NDP lost official-party status (Roberts 1999b). 6 Given the urgency in disseminating the voting strategy, it is interesting that the Globe and Mail carried only a few articles about the tactic, while the Toronto Star amply covered the process from its inception, and even published its own list of endorsed candidates a day before the election (Toronto Star 1999). Whether the Star's list reconciled with the unions' lists is unknown. However, the Star's and the Ontario Election Network's lists shared 12 ridings, for which the two lists endorsed the same candidates.

244 Notes to pages 177-88 7 In 1999, the Conservatives re-elected 52 of the 69 incumbent MPPs running for them. The Liberals re-elected 26 out of 27 of their incumbents. The NDP re-elected 9 of their 14 incumbents (Hamilton 1999). 8 On 8 June 2002, only three days after stepping down as leader of the national NDP, Alexa McDonough let the public know how she felt about Hargrove. In an interview on The House, a CBC radio program, freed from the shackles of the NDP leadership, she lambasted the CAW president as a 'gutless and destructive force' who had rendered the labour movement dysfunctional. McDonough denounced his politics, which 'just became theatre/ and asked, 'Has anyone done a thoughtful analysis of the amount of damage that Basil Hargrove has done to the trade union movement?' 9 According to Elections Ontario's voter turnout data, which begins in 1975, the 1999 election produced the lowest voter turnout in years (58.3%). Only in 1981 was voter turnout lower (58%). Although it is unknown how many of those who actually voted were the apostles of the strategic-voting champions, these data call into question the union leaders' ability to stir a significant 'election excitement' among their members. Chapter 8. Revisiting the Collective-action Model 1 The 'fiscal situation' factor emerges from Swimmer's analysis (2001), which is reported in chapter 2. We use it tentatively because our data preclude a comparison of fiscal situations that are significantly divergent to allow meaningful conclusions. Further research is needed to substantiate the proposed relationship between the severity of a government's fiscal situation and its choice of means to redress its budget deficit and accumulated debt. 2 This does not mean that before the 1993 election Ralph Klein was completely silent about the economic and institutional reforms he planned to implement during his first full term in office. He mentioned elements of these reforms on several occasions in 1992 (Lisac 1995: 65; Kneebone and McKenzie 1997). Several weeks before the 1993 election, Klein released a document, entitled Seizing Opportunity (1993), wherein he outlined a strategy to ensure that Alberta remained competitive in a rapidly changing global economy. He argued for novel methods of generating wealth; a new role for the government that called for innovative ways to design, deliver, and finance social programs; and new decision-making processes to encourage consensus and public support for these fundamental changes. Yet unlike the Common Sense Revolution document, Seizing Opportunity was a collection of 'motherhood' statements that was released only shortly before the 1993 election, was not widely distributed, and did not provide concrete details about the practical meaning of the proposed changes. Per-

Notes to pages 188-230 245 haps the strategies and details of how to accomplish the broad objectives outlined in the document were not in place before Klein became premier (Mansell 1997: 46). 3 The main exception to this anti-union legislative campaign was OPSEU's right to strike in the Ontario civil service. Oddly enough, the Harris government did not revoke this right that had been granted to the union by the NDP government in 1993. Perhaps the Harris government did not expect OPSEU to exercise its newly gained right during its regime, or assumed that should a strike occur, it would easily be able to withstand the consequences and get its way without having to be subjected to a third-party involvement. 4 The United Nations Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights condemned Bill 22 as a clear violation of article 8 of the 1976 U.N. Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (Toronto Star 1998). Chapter 9. Additional Thoughts on Collective Action 1 On 7 June 1994 the NDP government had passed the Public Education Labour Relations Act, which established BCPSEA as the accredited bargaining agent for all school boards and the BCTF as the certified bargaining agent for all public-school teachers in the province. The Act also established, in general, the scope of teacher bargaining, with all cost provisions to be negotiated at the provincial level. 'Cost provisions' were to include provisions relating to '(a) salaries and benefits (b) workload, including, without limitation, class size restrictions, and (c) time worked and paid leave that affect the cost of the collective agreement' (section 4). 2 Following their disappointing performance in the 2000 elections, the federal New Defnocratics had embarked on a renewal process. In the fall of 2001, an Environics poll showed that NDP supporters were evenly split on whether the party should be a mainstream alternative or adopt a more radical stance (Lawton 2001). Epilogue. The Morning After: The Post-revolution Years 1 Nevertheless, we stand by our former statement that collective bargaining in education has been politicized since the school boards lost their taxation powers. Consequently, the likelihood of government intervention in wagecentred interest disputes has significantly grown. The effect of this development on industrial relations is vividly illustrated by the 2002 teachers' strike.

246 Note to page 230 2 In the mid-1990s, Klein was not the only, or even the first, premier to have balanced the provincial budget. However, the ability to cut budgets without raising taxes and enjoy soaring popularity was unique to him. This phenomenon deserves its own study.

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Index

Aberhardt, William, 113 accountability of Klein government, 21 Act to Amend Certain Acts Concerning Collective Bargaining and Employment in Ontario 1992. See Bill 40 Act to Amend the Education Act with Respect to Instructional Time 1998 (Ontario). See Bill 63 Act to Amend the Public Service Act and the Crown Employees Collective Bargaining Act 1993 (Ontario). See Bill 25 Act to Prevent Unionization with Respect to Community Participation Under the Ontario Works Act 1998. See Bill 22 Act to Repeal Job Quotas and to Restore Merit-Based Employment Practices in Ontario 1995. See Bill 8 Act to Resolve Labour Disputes between Teachers' Unions and School Boards 1998 (Ontario). See Bill 62 action mobilization. See mobilization 'Action Plan/ 107-8, 240n7

Adams, Roy}., 188 Adell, Bernard, 11 adjudication of labour disputes, 218 administrative infrastructure, 62—3, 84,105-9,132,138-41,179, 203f., 207 Agricultural Labour Relations Act 1994 (ALRA, Ontario), 13, 26 Aikenhead, Sherri, 236n4 Alberta Act 1905,115-16 Alberta Advantage, 25, 71, 80,187 Alberta Catholic School Trustees Association, 115 Alberta Distance Learning Centre, 241 n9 Alberta Education, 241n9 Alberta Federation of Labour, 68, 75 Alberta Hansard, 119 Alberta Health (statistics), 25 Alberta Health Planning Secretariat, 24 Alberta Hospital Association, 11 Alberta Hospital Edmonton, 236n5 Alberta Hospital Ponoka, 236n5 Alberta Labour, 114 Alberta Labour (statistics), 16 Alberta Minister of Human

264 Index Resources and Employment, 236n5 Alberta Personnel Administration Office, 21, 69 Alberta School Boards Association, 115 Alberta Securities Commission, 160 Alberta Teachers' Alliance, 113 Alberta Teachers' Association, x, 24, 73,113-14,116-25,129-31,155, 192,218, 223, 241n9, 242nll Alberta Union of Provincial Employees, x, 53, 66-73, 76-8, 80-4,122, 154,156,158,160,166-7,178, 201, 223, 228-9, 236n4, 241n9 Alberta Union of Provincial Employees v. Pembina Hills Regional Division #7, 241n9 Algoma Steel, 137, 242nl Amalgamated Clothing and Textile Workers Union, 137 Amendments to the Public Service Pension Act and the Ontario Public Service Employees' Union Pension Act 1995 (Ontario). See Bill 26 Anderson, John C., 33 Angus Reid poll, 108 anonymity, xiv arbitration, 58, 64, 66, 97-8,124-5, 240-ln8; cost of compulsory, 14; first contract, 30 Archer, Keith, 178 Association des enseignantes et des enseignants franco-ontariens (AEFO, Ontario French Teachers' Association), 86-7,109,238nl Association of Management, Administrative and Professional Crown Employees of Ontario (AMAPCEO), 26

attitudinal survey, 74 Attorney General (Ontario), 108 Aucoin, Peter, 19 'Backgrounder,' 127, 240n7 Baglole, Joel, 173 Balanced Budget and Debt Retirement Act 1995 (Alberta), 20-1 Barber, John, 175 Barnett, John W., 113-14, 241nlO Bassett, Isabel, 175 Beauchesne, Eric, 3 Becker, Selwyn W., 44 Benedict, Phyllis, 100,103 Benford, Robert D., 49 Bennett, William, 41-2 Bill 2 (Public Service Relations Amendment Act 1983 British Columbia), 41 Bill 3 (Public Sector Restraint Act 1983 British Columbia), 42 Bill 7 (Labour Relations Employment Statutes Law Amendment Act 1995 Ontario), 30, 56-7, 71,188 Bill 8 (Act to Repeal Job Quotas and to Restore Merit-Based Employment Practices in Ontario 1995), 235n3 Bill 11 (Compensation Stabilization Amendment Act 1983 British Columbia), 41-2 Bill 12 (Education Services Settlement Act 2002 Alberta), 125 Bill 18 (Skills Development and Labour Statutes Amendment Act British Columbia 2001), 212-13 Bill 19 (School Amendment Act 1994 Alberta), 24,115 Bill 22 (Act to Prevent Unionization with Respect to Community Par-

Index 265 ticipation Under the Ontario Works Act 1998), 188-9, 245n4 Bill 25 (Act to Amend the Public Service Act and the Crown Employees Collective Bargaining Act 1993 Ontario), 188,190 Bill 26 (Amendments to the Public Service Pension Act and the Ontario Public Service Employees' Union Pension Act 1995), 57 Bill 27 (Education Services Collective Agreement Act 2002 British Columbia), 213 Bill 28 (Public Education Flexibility and Choice Act 2002 British Columbia), 213 Bill 29 (Health and Social Services Delivery Improvement Act 2002 British Columbia), 212 Bill 31 (Ontario College of Teachers Act 1996), 102 Bill 40 (An Act to Amend Certain Acts Concerning Collective Bargaining and Employment in Ontario 1992), 12-13, 22, 25, 27, 30 Bill 44 (Labour Statutes Amendment Act 1983 Alberta), 10,130 Bill 48 (Social Contract Act 1993 Ontario), 23, 25-7, 29, 39,134,1367, 171,177, 181, 187,197, 215, 242n3 Bill 62 (Act to Resolve Labour Disputes between Teachers' Unions and School Boards 1998 Ontario), 91, 96-7 Bill 63 (Act to Amend the Education Act with Respect to Instructional Time 1998 Ontario), 91, 96-7 Bill 70 (1982 Quebec), 40 Bill 74 (Education Accountability Act

2000 Ontario), x, 91, 97-101,103, 188, 204, 206, 219,221, 224 Bill 79 (Employment Equity Bill 1992 Ontario), 235n3 Bill 80 (Stability and Excellence in Education Act 2001 Ontario), 102-3 Bill 100 (School Boards and Teachers Collective Negotiations Act 1975 Ontario), 88, 94 Bill 104 (Fewer School Boards Act 1997 Ontario), 91-2, 94 Bill 105 (1982 Quebec), 41-2 Bill 136 (Public Sector Transition Stability Act: 1. Public Sector Labour Relations Transition Act, 2. Public Sector Dispute Resolution Act 1997 Ontario), 91-4, 204, 206, 219, 226, 239n3 Bill 139 (Labour Relations Amendment Act 2000 Ontario), 188-9 Bill 160 (Education Quality Improvement Act 1997 Ontario), x, 22, 91, 94-7,104-8,125-S, 163,175,188, 204, 225, 238n2, 240n7, 242nl2 Bill 210 (1995 Alberta), 119,129 Bill 212 (Teaching Profession Amendment Act 1993 Alberta), 119,129 Bill 274 (1973 Ontario), 106, 240-ln8 Booi, Larry, 124 Boyle, Theresa, 173,177 British Columbia Government Employees Union, 41-2 British Columbia Public School Employers' Association (BCPSEA), 212-13, 245nl British Columbia Teachers' Federation (BCTF), 212, 245nl Broader Public Sector (BPS), 54, 236n2

266 Index Bruce, Chris, 57 budget cuts: and balanced budget in Alberta, 20-1, 69,114-15,157,192, 245n2; and balanced budget in British Columbia, 211-12; and balanced budget in Ontario, 27-8, 901,193; unions' response to, xi, 135 bumping rights, 57, 64, 79 Burkett, Kevin M., 12-13 Business Council on National Issues, 171 business planning approach, 21 business unionism, 69-70 Byfield, Link, 191 CAAT News, 171 Calgary General Hospital, 156 Cameron, David R., 26,29 Campaign Life, 174 Campbell, Gordon, 211-12 Canada NewsWire, 170 Canadian Alliance. See Reform Party Canadian Auto Workers (CAW), 11, 27, 33,134-6,138-40,144,147,1512,163,166-72,177,179,181,193, 196,199, 216-17, 223, 229, 244n8 Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC): The House, 244n8 Canadian Business, 28

Canadian Health Care Guild, 159, 201, 228 Canadian Industrial Relations Association (36th annual meeting), xi Canadian Institute for Health Information, 25, 28 Canadian Labour Congress (CLC), 54, 68,150, 216-17, 237n8 Canadian Press, 178 Canadian Teachers' Federation (CTF), 238n2

Canadian Union of Public Employees (CUPE), 68, 73, 76,93-4,134, 138-40,150,152,155-6,158-9,164, 168-9,177,179 Cappelli, Peter, 35 Carrol, William K., 51 Cartwright, John, 172 Casselman, Leah, 56,83,149,169,171 Cernetig, Miro, 6 certification/decertification, 9,1213,186,189, 218 Chaison, Gary N., 215 Chamberlain, Art, 173 Chambers, Allan, 122 Chandler, Marsha A., 7 Chandler, Timothy D., 33 Charter of Rights and Freedoms (Canada), 89 child-care councillors, 67 Citizens for Local Democracy (C4LD), 167 City of Toronto Act 1997 (Ontario), 239n3 Civil Service Association of Alberta, 66 Civil Service Association of Ontario (CSAO), 53-4 Claridge, Thomas, 89 Clark, Rosemary, 103 Cleroux, Richard, 42-3 cognitive liberation, 36,49-50,80,84, 179-80, 202-5 Coleman, James, 47 collective action: coherent strategy, 163,210; contexts of, 200-2; definition of, viii, 31-2, 203, 209-10; failure of, 145,147-8,175; forms of, 224—7; and local unions, xi, 157-8; by membership, 101,103, 194, 224; motivations for, 40-4,

Index 267 154-6,194-7; and multi-union structure, 128; as political protest, 31-3, 55-6,145-8,162-3; process of, 203f.; and role of government, 184f., 185-94; success of, 64-6, 7885,112,122,127-8,142-5,164,21617, 220-4. See also mobilization; model of union political collective action collective bargaining: adversarial approach to, 38,134; and co-opting by government, 191; for healthcare sector, 54; limits to, 33,158-9; maintenance of, 228; manufacturing consent, 155, 210-11; and mergers, 24, 73; and professionals (Alberta), 73, 75,117-19; and professionals (Ontario), 25-6; protections during, 9 collective protest. See collective action Colleges of Applied Arts and Technology (CAAT), 54 Colman, Andrew W., 167 Common Front (Alberta), 121 Common Front (Quebec), 40, 235nl Common Sense Revolution, 71-2, 90, 187,190, 219, 244n2 Common Sense Revolution (Ontario): attitude of unions to, 55, 59,163-4,198-200, 219-20; attitude to unions, 30, 57, 244n3; blueprint for, 90; capacity to endure, 222-4; communication of, 28-9; the end of, 229-30; goals of, 27-8,90-1; and labour movement unity, 141, 177-8; overview of, 22-3; speed of, 57, 59-60, 90. See also Harris, Mike communication network, 47-8, 50,

59-61, 79,132,140,175, 203f., 2067, 243n6 Communications, Energy Workers, and Paperworkers Union, 137 'Communique,' 105,107, 240n7 Compensation Stabilization Amendment Act 1983 (British Columbia). See Bill 11 Confederation of National Trade Unions (Quebec), 40 Conference of Alberta's Social and Economic Future, 122 conformity, 6 consensus mobilization, 48, 202-3 Constitution, the, 116 Construction Trades Council, 167, 172 Co-operative Commonwealth Federation, 8 Corporations Act of Ontario 1927, 53 Corporations and Labour Unions Returns Act (CALURA, Canada), 16 cost-benefit analysis, 183,195f., 196, 207-8, 220-4 Coulter, Diana, 69 Courchene, Thomas J., 3,14, 28, 90, 191 Court of Appeal (Alberta), 116 Court of Queen's Bench (Alberta), 115,124 Couture, Margaret. See Tomen, Margaret Crockatt, Joan, 152 Crouch, Colin, 45 Crown Agencies Employee Relations Act (Alberta), 66 Crown Employees Collective Bargaining Act 1993 (CECBA, Ontario), 13-14, 25-6, 30, 56

268 Index Crown Transfer Act 1975 (Ontario), 30 Gumming, Mr Justice, 111 Dabbs, Frank, 77 Daft, Richard L., 44 Daly, Rita, 173 Darcy, Judy, 150 Dare, Bill, 28-9, 90 Davis, Bill, 171 Day, Stockwell, 81 Days of Action (MDOA, Toronto), 133,149 Days of Action (Ontario) (DOA), x, 139-48,150-2,161-3,169,200, 204-6, 220, 225, 227; analysis of, xii-xiv; background to, 133-4; experience of, 131; numbers participating, 142,144 Days of Protest (Ontario), 146 debt/deficit levels, 17,18, 26 decision to act collectively, 195f. deference to authority, 6 Deficit Elimination Act 1993 (Alberta), 20 de Havilland Aircraft, 137, 242nl Delaney, John Thomas, 33 Dempster, Lisa, 115 Department of Education (Alberta), 114 Depression, the, 26 Dispute Inquiry Board (Alberta), 236n5 Dispute Resolutions Commission (Ontario), 92, 94 Divisional Court (Ontario), 89 Douglas, Roger, 77, 237n9 Downie, Bryan, 217 Drixler, Cathy, 154 Duffy, Andrew, 89

Dunmore v. Ontario, 13 Dyck, Rand, 3, 5-7,14-15, 28 Ecker, Janet, 97, 99-100,188 Economic Development Authority (Alberta), 81 economy: effect on policy implementation, 17-20, 26, 39,185-6; and Klein Revolution agenda, 244n2; overview of, 14—15 Edmonton Journal, 119,160 Edmonton Sun, 68, 70 education: budget cuts, 86, 89-90; budget cuts (Alberta), 20,114-15, 129-30; restructuring in Alberta, 21, 22, 24,114-23; restructuring in British Columbia, 212-13; restructuring in Ontario, 22,28, 91-100. See also politicization Education Accountability Act 2000 (Ontario). See Bill 74 Education Act (Ontario), 96 Education Improvement Commission (Ontario), 92 Education Quality Improvement Act 1997 (Ontario). See Bill 160 Education Relations Commission (Ontario), 88,108-9 Education Services Collective Agreement Act 2002 (British Columbia). See Bill 27 Education Services Settlement Act 2002 (ESSA, Alberta). See Bill 12 Edwards, Richard, 32 Eisenhardt, Kathleen M, xiii Eisinger, Peter K., 37 Elementary Teachers' Federation of Ontario (ETFO), 87,100,167,173, 238nl 11 September 2001,192

Index 269 Elton, David K., 5 Emergency Resolution (Ontario), 151 employment equity, 28 Employment Equity Bill 1992 (Ontario). See Bill 79 entrepreneurship, 6 essential service agreements, 25, 58, 63

Etzioni, Amitai, 32 Eves, Ernie, 230 experience, 49-50,57,59,83,145,201, 222 'Facts & Issues,' 240n7 Farnsworth, Clyde H., 17 fear, 153-4,164,195f., 200-1, 218 Federation of Labour (Alberta), 75, 77,121-2,153 Federation of Labour (Ontario), 65, 189 Federation of Labour (Quebec), 40 Federation of Women Teachers' Associations of Ontario (FWTAO), 86-9,109 Ferguson, Rob, 11, 172, 175 Feschuk, Scott, 69 Fewer School Boards Act 1997 (Ontario). See Bill 104 Fight Back (Ontario Federation of Labour), 138 Fiorito, Jack, 34 Fiscal Responsibility Act 1999 (Alberta), 21 Flexer, Joe, 93,141,147-8 Flower, David J., 119,121 Foothills Hospital (Alberta), 156 France, 48 free-rider problem, 46, 79, 205 Frege, Carola M., 34 Friedel, Gary, 80

Fryer, John L., 26 Fund, John, 17 Gallagher, Daniel G., 34 Gait, Virginia, 15, 89,136,172 game theory. See strategic voting Geddes, Elaine F., 69 Gely, Rafael, 33 Getty, Don, 233nl, 234n2 Gibbins, Roger, 6 Girard, Daniel, 88,141,166,168 Globe and Mail, 41,108, 211,243n6 Godard, John, 33 Goddard, Arthur M., 5 government: capacity for endurance, 210-14; influence of collective action on, 144—5; role in collective action, 184fv 185-93; sovereignty challenged, 35,56,112, 166, 210, 221; as a threat, xi, 154, 195f., 195-6, 217; and union solidarity, 164. See also labour legislation; policy-making G.P. Murray Research Ltd, 175-6 Grant, Michel, 11 Gray, John, 174 gross domestic product, 14 Growth Summit, 19,122-3,192, 228, 234nl guerrilla protest, 99,101 Gunderson, Morley, 10 Hamilton, Doug, 180,244n7 Hamilton, Ontario (DOA), 141 Hampton, Howard, 177 Hansen, Colin, 212 Hargrove, Buzz, 11,135,168-9,1712,177-8, 213, 229-30, 244n8 Harper, Tim, 6 Harris, Mike: attitude of unions to,

270 Index 171-2; attitude to unions, 56, 58-9, 78,187-8; concessions to unions, 94, 98, 227, 242n3; election of, 1920,27,142,152,163,167-8; election results, 174, 220, 244n7; legacy of, 231; popularity of, 204,230. See also Common Sense Revolution (Ontario) Harrison, Trevor, 6-7,14,130 health care: and 'approved hospitals' (Alberta), 67-8; number of workers (Alberta), 24-5; number of workers (Ontario), 28; regionalization of (Alberta), 24-5; restructuring in British Columbia, 212; and strategic voting, 173; unions representing workers in, 121 health-care spending: and budget cuts (Alberta), 20,192; per capita, 7; salaries, 123, 229 Health Services Continuation Act, 10 Health Services Restructuring Commission (Ontario), 134 Health and Social Services Delivery Improvement Act 2002 (British Columbia). See Bill 29 Hebdon, Bob, 27 historical background, 4, 5-8 Hospital Labour Disputes Arbitration Act (Ontario), 54 Hospitals Act (Alberta), 67 House of Commons (Canada), 216 House of Labour, 75 Hoxie, Robert Franklin, 46 Human Resources and Employment (Alberta), 242n2 human resources management, 21 Hunt, Gerald, 36 Hunter, Justine, 27 Hyatt, Douglas, 10

Hynd, Harry, 146 Ibbitson, John, 27, 56, 64, 83, 99,134, 187 ideology: and fiscal policies, 186-8, 244nl; major shift in (Ontario), 28; and policy implementation, 38-9, 80,188-9, 222; of Thatcherism, 19; of unions, 134 illegal strike, 43,67,93,140,156-7; by membership, 194—5; penalty for, 9, 161; in public sector, viii, 41,93,201 individualism, 6,14 Industrial Conciliation and Arbitration Act 1941 (Alberta), 114 industrial relations: differences between Alberta and Ontario, 2830, 82,193,196, 229-30; European experiences of, 33-4, 214; evolution of, 3-14; and labour's enemies, 181-2 instructional time, 97-8 International Association of Machinists and Aerospace Workers, 137 interpretation of policies, 44—5,197200 Jain, Harish C, 12 Jarvis, Marshal, 127 job security, 27, 58, 64-5,153,171 Johnson, Byron, 211 Johnson, Dave, 175 Johnsrude, Larry, 24 Johnston, Paul, 33 Journal of Labor Research, xi Kachur, Jerrold L., 130 Karpowitz, Linda, 236n4 Kearney, Richard C., 33 'Key Messages,' 108

Index 271 Klandermans, Bert, 34, 46, 49 Klein, Colleen, 160 Klein, Ralph: attitude to unions, 68, 80,124-5,187; blinked, 157-8,160, 195, 234nl, 237nlO; concessions to unions, 155,227,242n3; election of, 5-6,19, 68-9,123,233nl; legacy of, 231; mayor of Calgary, 160; own sacrifice, 153-4; political ideology of, 190-1; popularity of, 204, 230; stock-share scandal, 160-1. See also Klein Revolution (Alberta) Klein Revolution (Alberta): attitude to unions, 30, 68, 70,129-30,157; attitude of unions to, 197-200; beginnings of, 5-7; blueprint for, 77, 237n9; capacity to endure, 2224; communication of, 28, 76-7,122; end of, 229; overview of, 22-3; popularity of, 72, 76,119-20,191; speed of, 57, 77-%; unions docile during, viii, xi, 30, 71,117-21,130, 164,196, 223-4; unions implicated in, 155. See also Klein, Ralph Kneebone, Ron, 57, 244n2 Kochan, Thomas A., 32 Kratzmann, Arthur, 113 Kumar, Pradeep, 134, 217 Kuruvilla, Sarosh, 34 'labour accord,' 32 Labour Force Survey, 16 labour legislation: Alberta and Ontario compared, 83; and donations to political parties, 136; and education (Alberta), 113-16,119, 125; and education (Ontario), 8890, 91-101; and fundamental changes, 129; hostile to unions, 186,188-91, 212-13; injunction to

end walkout, 108-9; as motivation for collective action, 154-5; overview of, 9-14; and pensions, 57; and public-sector restructuring, 38, 41-3, 70, 72-3. See also individual legislation Labour Relations Act (Alberta), 9 Labour Relations Act (Ontario), 25, 94 Labour Relations Amendment Act 2000 (Ontario). See Bill 139 Labour Relations Board (Alberta), 9, 24, 66, 68,158,241n9 Labour Relations Board (British Columbia), 212-13 Labour Relations Board (Ontario), 189, 239nn3-4 Labour Relations Code (Alberta), 9, 67 Labour Relations Employment Statutes Law Amendment Act 1995 (Ontario). See Bill 7 Labour Relations Transition Commission (Ontario), 92 Labour Statutes Amendment Act 1983 (Alberta). See Bill 44 Lakritz, Naomi, 178 Lam, Helen, xi Lamonte, Fred, 166 language, 139 Languedoc, Colin, 9 'The Last Straw,' 93 laundry workers' strikes (Calgary), 156-61,163; collective-action opportunity of, 133; Klein involvement in, 68,192,211, 222; use of by union leaders, 227 Lawton, Valerie, 245n2 Laxer, Gordon, 6,14 learnfare, 22, 27

272 Index Learning Minister (Alberta), 124 Lear Seating Canada Ltd, 140 Leeb, Gavin, 19, 33, 64 legislation. See labour legislation Lem, Hail, 40 Levesque, Rene, 40, 235nl Lewington, Jennifer, 92, 94,108,110, 127 Liberal Party (Ontario): benefits from strategic voting, 168,170,173-4, 177, 243n5, 244n7; and New Democratic Party, 8 Lipset, Seymour Martin, 47 Lisac, Mark, 76, 244n2 London, Ontario POA), 83,139,141 Mackay, Bauni M., 116-19,121 Mackie, Richard, 93-4, 98,108,110, 127,177, 230 MacKinnon, Mark, 181 Maclean's, 157 MacPherson, Justice James, 108 Major, Justice John, 116 Mallan, Caroline, 177 Manners, Earl, 99 Mansell, Robert L., 20,24,245n2 Martin, Andrew, 214,234n2 Martin, Don, 21,154,191 Marx, Gary T., 37 Masters, Marick R, 33 McAdam, Doug, 35-7,45-9,205 McBrearty, Lawrence, 170 McDonough, Alexa, 244n8 McFaul, Bruce A., 68 McGrath, Anne, 156 McKenzie, Ken, 57,244n2 McKinley, Steve, 175 McLennan, Dan, 68, 70,166,178 McMillan, Melville L., 20 Meyer, David S., 36

minimum wage, 7 Minister of Health (Alberta), 67 Ministry of Education (Ontario), 28, 94-5 Mitchell, Alanna, 69 Mittelstaedt, Martin, 58, 61, 90,187 mobilization: advantages of, 143-5; incentives, 205-6; limited capacity for, 161; motives for, 126; proficiency at, 161; rallying point for, 71,79; of teachers, 100-1,107-8; as a threat, 94. See also collective action model of union political collective action: advantages of, 51; description of, 35-7; indigenous organization strength, 36,45, 79, 84; justification for, ix; McAdam model, 36; modifications to, 83-4, 131-2,164-5; and political exclusion, 230-1; processes, 203f.; role of government in collective action, 184f.; and strategic voting, 179-80. See also cognitive liberation; communication network; solidarity incentives Monahan, Patrick, 11,26,175-6,230, 242n3 Morton, Desmond, 8 Muir, Douglas J., 86,114 Multi-Corp, 160 Munro, Marcella, 139 Murray, Allan I., 32, 70 Muthuchidambaram, S., 12 National Citizens' Coalition, 174 national politics: federal election results, 234n2; provincial participation in, 3, 6 National Union of Mineworkers, 19

Index 273 National Union of Public and General Employees (NUPGE), 72 neo-conservativism, 164-5,191,193, 197, 204, 211, 228, 231 Neu, Dean, 156 New Democratic Party (NDP), federal, 181, 215-16, 245n2; and labour movement, 244n8 New Democratic Party (NDP), provincial: and Alberta unions, 70; background to, 7-8; donations from labour, 136; as employer, 135-6; and labour movement (Ontario), 25-7,138,157-88, 235n3, 244n8; labour relations (British Columbia), 212; labourrelations initiatives (Ontario), 1112; official party status, 169,174, 243nn4-5; as party of labour, 147, 167, 215; and policy implementation (Ontario), 39. See also Rae, Bob; strategic voting New Politics Initiative, 181 'new public management/ 19 Noel, Sid, 7 'No Justice, No Peace,' 62 North Bay, Ontario (DOA), 141 nurses: number of (Alberta), 24-5, 234n2; number of (Ontario), 28; and strategic voting, 173; strikes by, 10-11. See also individual nurses' organizations Oberg, Lyle, 124 OECTA v. Ontario, III official party status, 169,174, 243nn4-5 Olson, Corliss, 115,130 Olson, Mancur, 46 'On Strike,' 59-60, 235nl

Ontario College of Teachers, x, 90, 101-2 Ontario College of Teachers Act 1996 (Ontario). See Bill 31 Ontario Court of Appeal, 110-11 Ontario Election Network (OEN), 167,170,172,174,182, 243n6; results of campaign by, 176 Ontario English Catholic Teachers' Association (OECTA), 86-7,100, 103,109-10,127,167,173, 238nl, 243nl Ontario Federation of Labour (OFL), 93-4,136-9,141,151-2,189, 218; biennial convention (November 1997), 151 Ontario French Teachers' Association. See Association des enseignantes et des enseignants francoontariens Ontario Human Rights Commission, 89 Ontario Labour Relations Act 1995, 12-13 Ontario Labour Relations Board, 12 Ontario Management Board Secretariat, 15,190 Ontario Minister of Community and Social Services, 188 Ontario Minister of Education, 97 Ontario Minister of Labour, 218 Ontario Ministry of Community and Social Services, 189 Ontario Ministry of Education, 91 Ontario Ministry of Finance, 193 Ontario Ministry of Labour, 189 Ontario Nurses' Association, 28, 93, 167,173 Ontario Pension Benefits Act, 57

274 Index Ontario Provincial Police, 55, 79, 93, 190 Ontario Provincial Police Association, 190 Ontario Public School Men Teachers' Federation, 87-8 Ontario Public School Teachers' Federation (OPSTF), 87, 89,109, 111 Ontario Public Service (OPS), 54, 578, 63, 65,190,221,235n2; statistics on, 65 Ontario Public Service Employees Union (OPSEU), x, 14, 30, 53-65, 78-S4,91,105,125,127,132-4,138, 145,152,167,169,171,190, 201, 204, 206,219-22, 225-7,235n2, 244n3; statistics on, 54 Ontario Public Service Employees' Union Pension Act, 57 Ontario Secondary School Teachers' Federation (OSSTF), 86-7, 99,101, 103,109,167,173,176, 238n2, 243nl Ontario Teachers' Federation (OTF), 28, 86-91,101,105-8,112,125,167, 237nl Ontario Works, 188 Operation Solidarity (British Columbia), 42 'OPSEU Fax,' 59-60,235nl 'OPSEU Strike and You,' 60, 235nl 'Organize, Educate, Resist,' 149 Palmer, Bryan, 147 Parti Quebecois, 40 paternalism, 14 pensions, 57, 65, 67,154 Peterson, David, 11,243nl phantom mobilization, 179 picket lines, 62-3,107,141

'Picket Lines,' 56,59-62, 235nl Pietropaolo, Vincenzo, 149 pink unions / pink paper unions, 137-8,146-7,152,163-4,168,1802, 200, 223 Pizzorno, Alessandro, 33 Podgursky, Michael, 32 policy-making: gaining a voice in, 33-4, 38-40, 59, 61-2,111-12, 21011,214-15, 230-1; influence through elections, 137-8,146-7, 166-7, 214-16 (see also strategic voting); and school boards, 104; and social-movement protest behaviour, 37; tools of, 186-8; unions excluded from, vii-viii, 15, 29-30, 33, 60, 78, 81-2,129, 204, 214, 221 'Political Action and Ontario Labour/ 137 political culture: of Alberta, 5-7, 71, 81-2,130,156,166-7,187,193, 243n4; of Ontario, 7-8,187,193 political-process model. See model of union political collective action political protest. See collective action politicization, 12-14, 32, 96,113,123, 218, 245nl Ponak, Allen, 5, 7,11,14, 80 Powell, Martin, 134 principals and vice-principals, 95,98, 110,112,127-8,193,210,221,240n6 prison workers, 67,236n4 private member's Motion 503 (Alberta), 80-1 privatization of government services, 21, 55, 64 professional learning program, 103 Progressive Conservative Party: election numbers (Ontario), 142; post-

Index 275 Second World War, 5-8; and strategic voting, 173,175 Provincial Health Authorities of Alberta, 67-8,123 Provincial Protest 1997: Campaign against Billl60,24Qn7

psychologists, 67 Public Education Flexibility and Choice Act 2002 (British Columbia). See Bill 28 Public Education Labour Relations Act 1994 (British Columbia), 245nl Public School Boards' Association of Alberta, 115 Public School Boards' Association of Alberta v. Alberta, 116

public sector: definition of, 233nl Public Sector Dispute Resolution Act 1997 (Ontario). See Bill 136 Public Sector Labour Relations Transition Act 1997 (Ontario). See Bill 136 Public Sector Restraint Act 1983 (British Columbia). See Bill 3 public-sector restructuring: in British Columbia, 41-2; effects on employees, 130, 219; implementation of, 38-9, 58; in Quebec, 40-1; and 'reasonable effort' provision, 64, 221; reduction of workforce (Alberta), 21-2, 24, 234n2; reduction of workforce (Ontario), 28; and Thatcherism, 19. See also education Public Sector Transition Stability Act 1997 (Ontario). See Bill 136 public-sector unions: alliance with private-sector unions, 135; background of (Alberta), 66-7; bargaining authority of, 54; in British

Columbia, 212-13; first strike by, 53, 55, 60, 63; non-partisan policy of, 172. See also individual unions Public Service Act (Alberta), 66 Public Service Alliance of Canada (PS AC), 138 Public Service Employee Relations Act 1977 (PSERA, Alberta), 9-10, 13,66 Public Service Employee Relations Board (Alberta), 66 Public Service Relations Amendment Act 1983 (British Columbia). See Bill 2 public support: of collective action, 49, 74,104,107-8,128-9, 226-7, 237n7; for government, 204; for illegal strike, 156-7, 243n4 Quality Education Coalition (Alberta), 116 Quebec, 40-3, 235nl Queen's Park, 104, 227 Rae, Bob: and labour relations, 25-7, 56,134-5, 223, 242nl; and policy implementation, 38-9; and right to strike, 58; and strategic voting, 170-1. See also New Democratic Party (NDP), provincial Rapaport, David, 26, 30, 54-5, 57-8, 61-3, 65, 83,219 Rastin, Sandra, xii 'reasonable effort' provision, 64,221 recession (1990-1), 17 Reform Party, 6-7,172 Regional Health Authorities (Alberta), 191 Regional Health Authority (Calgary) (RHA), 156-7,159

276 Index Regional Health Authority (Edmonton), 158 regionalization, 75-6 registered nurses. See nurses replacement workers, 9,13, 30 research, x-xii; case studies, xiii; into industrial relations, 32-5; interviews, xii-xiii; questions, viii-ix, xii, xiv Research Council (Alberta), 67 Reshef, Yonatan, viii, x, xi, 5, 7, 9,14, 32-3,49, 70, 80,121,134, 228, 237n6 riding boundaries, 243n2 right to strike, 10-11,40-1, 58-9, 67, 236n5,244n3; of civil servants, 25, 50, 54-5, 73, 82,117,125; suspension of, 92-3 right-to-work (RTW), 80-1,119,152, 192,196 'Risky Business: Being a Patient in Ontario,' 173 Robarts, John, 174 Roberts, David, 177, 243nn4-5 Roberts, Wayne, 14, 36, 54 Rose, Joseph B., 7,27,29,63-4,88,96, 215 Rosenberg, Alvin, 89 Ross, George, 214 roundtables, 28, 76-7,122 Roy, Ron, 236n4 Royal Commission on Learning, 101 Ruimy, Joel, 173 Rusk, James, 58,108,141 Russell, Charles, 125 Ryan, Sid, 94,169,177 Samuelson, Wayne, 141 School Act (Alberta), 115, 241n9 School Act (British Columbia), 213

School Amendment Act 1994 (Alberta). See Bill 19 school boards: number of (Alberta), 21,115; number of (Ontario), 92; penalties on trustees, 97; power of, 104; taxation powers of, 24, 95-6, 110-11 School Boards and Teachers Collective Negotiations Act 1975 (Ontario). See Bill 100 Schuler, Corinna, 152 Schwartz, Herman M., 77 Schwartz, Michael, 46 Seizing Opportunity, 244n2 separate school system, 86-7,100, 103,109-11,115-16,127 Service Employees International Union, 137 Severtson, Gary, 119 Shecter, Barbara, 141 Shephard, Herbert A., 44 Shorter, Edward, 31, 48,194 Skills Development and Labour Statutes Amendment Act 2001 (British Columbia). See Bill 18 Smith, Jim, 100 Smith, Justice V.W., 116 Snobelen, John, 107 Snow, David A., 49 social activists, 150 Social Contract Act 1993 (Ontario). See Bill 48 'Social Contract Tunnel of Doom/ 26 Social Credit Party, 5,41-2,113-14, 211 social-justice issues, 36 social movements: and model for collective action, 40,183, 224,230; new cultural phenomena, 47; theory of, 34-7

Index 277 social services: and budget cuts (Alberta), 20; and budget cuts (Ontario), 28; and federal grants, 17; spending per capita, 7 social unionism, 36 social workers, 67, 236n4 'Solidarity/ 107, 240n7 solidarity incentives, 46-7, 79, 84, 132,164-5,180, 203f., 205-6 solidarity mobilization, 204 speakers at Days of Action, 148-50 stability: and business investment, 7, 29; of political environment, 15; and protest, 37, 49, 92-3,185, 217, 230 Stability and Excellence in Education Act 2001 (Ontario). See Bill 80 Staff Nurses Association of Alberta, 11, 228 Statistics Canada, vii, 14-16, 28, 233nl; Quarterly Report on Education (1999), 90-1 Stelco, Inc., 141 Stockwell, Chris, 189, 218 strategic voting: analysis of, 167; as collective action, 178, 224; decision to advocate, 171; election turnout, 244n9; historical, 243nl; media coverage of, 243n6; and NDP, 1701,173-4,177, 244n7; outcome of, 174-5,176; targeted ridings, 243n3; unions' endorsement of, 168-9; unions' opposition to, 169-70; unions' support of, 173 strikes: costs to unions, 220-1; in France, 48; general, 41,127,147-8, 150-2,168,194; May 2000, 236n5; protection of employees, 30; transportation, 140; uses of, 31-2. See also collective action; illegal strike

structure of political opportunities, 36-7,40,230 successor rights, 55, 57, 63-4 Supreme Court of Canada, 13, 111, 116 Supreme Court of Ontario, 89 Swimmer, Gene, xi, 17-18, 38-9, 244nl swing ridings, 168,172,177 Taft, Kevin, 25, 234n2 Talaga, Tanya, 173 Tanguay, Brian A., 40,174-6 Taras, Daphne, 5, 7,14, 80 Tarrow, Sidney, 35-6 Taskforce on Working Class Politics (CAW), 216 tax: income, 7,20,22,193,211; power to levy, 24, 95-7,110-11,115-16, 218, 245nl; on tobacco, 192; unions' attitudes to, 215; wage rollbacks as a, 135 Taylor, Jeff, 77,116 teachers: class sizes, 95, 239n5; definition of action, 233n2; discipline of, 101; and extracurricular activities, 97-100, 213, 219, 224; illegal strike (Quebec), 41; illegal walkout by (Ontario), viii, 93, 105-10, 221, 240n8; motivation for collective action, 126-7; as professionals, 73, 117-19,128; as public defenders, 204; reduction of workforce (Alberta), 24; reduction of workforce (Ontario), 28, 90-1, 235n4; salaries of, 123-5, 229; and strategic voting, 172-3; strike (2002 Alberta), 68,123-5; and teaching load, 99-101; unions representing (Alberta), 113-14, 241-2nnlO-12;

278 Index unions representing (Ontario), 869, 237-8nnl-2. See also education Teaching Profession Act 1935 (Alberta), 113, 241nlO Teaching Profession Act 1944 (Ontario), 87-8, 237nl Teaching Profession Amendment Act 1993 (Alberta). See Bill 212 Telmer, Colin R., 3,14, 28, 90,191 territorial rights and boundaries, 24, 44, 56, 70, 78, 84,125-6,165,186, 196-7, 201, 209-10 Thatcher, Margaret, 17,19 Thomas, Don, 68 Thomson, Graham, 6,123-5,192 Tilly, Charles, 31-2, 35-6,48,194 Tomen, Margaret, 89 Tories. See Progressive Conservative Party Toronto Hydro-Electric Commission, 239n3 Toronto Star, 176,243n6, 245n4 total quality management, x-xi Trades and Labor Congress, 54 trade unions. See unions transparency of Klein government, 21 Treasury Branch (Alberta), 67 Trow, Martin, 47 Tsubouchi, David, 190 Turk, James, 161 union dues, 10,68,90, 111, 221,238n2 unionization levels, vii, 16 union leaders: as administrators, 701; Alberta and Ontario compared, 81^; beliefs of, 197-200; control of member behaviours, 226-7; and credibility with members, 217-18; and decision to act, 58, 79,106-7,

126,144,193-4,195f.; and decision to end action, 109-10; elections of, 218; focus of study, xii; importance of, 48-9, 63, 80; interpretation by, 45,197-200; and members' commitment, 45-6,107,204-5; militant rhetoric, xi, 30, 53, 68-9,116-17, 135; mishandling of strikes, 158; planning for collective action, 5963,105-8,127-8; and policy-making, 34; and political mobilization, 179-80; punishment of, 43,194; role in collective action, 203f.; and self-protection, 185; and social-justice issues, 36; and ties to political leadership, 7; and voluntary pay cuts, 153-4; as women, 89 union membership: collective protest by, 101,103; laws governing, 237nl; losses to, 186,190,228-9; numbers in Alberta, 24,67,69,114, 242n2; numbers in Days of Action, 141,142; numbers in Ontario, 28, 90-1,95,135,140,235n2; numbers on strike, 63, 65,108,123,151; participation in activities, 205-6, 209; political affiliations of, 61-2,11920,141,154,175,178-9, 215-16; response to collective action, 45-6; reticence to strike, 60-1, 71-3, 83, 131; of teachers, 87; as voluntary, 118-19; and women, 120 unions: agendas of, 202; density by province, 15,16; divided, 43, 73, 75-7,101,106,118,121-2,159,1634,170; electoral policy of (Alberta), 166-7; fighting for survival of, 135; and manufacturing, 14; members' selection of, 94,239n4; organizing on private property, 30; and politi-

Index 279 cal involvement, 32,137-8,210. See also individual unions United Food and Commercial Workers Union, 137,152, 243n4 United Nations Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights 1976, 245n4 United Nurses of Alberta (UNA), 10, 121,123,130,159,193, 228 United Steelworkers of America (USWA), 137,146,152,170,196 University of Alberta Hospital, 11 University of Alberta Population Research Laboratory, 74 Urquhart, Ian, 20,172-3,175,178, 218 Van Herk, Aritha, 6, 76 Van Rijn, Nicolaas, 102 Villeneuve, Noble, 175 volunteer pay cuts: collective-action opportunity (Alberta), 133; of public-sector employees (Alberta), 21, 69, 75-6,116-17,130, 152-3 Wachowich, Chief Justice Allan, 124 Wagar, Terry R, 219 wage rollbacks: in public sector

(Alberta), 153-4,156; by Rae government, 152-3; recouping of, 155. See also volunteer pay cuts Wakabayashi, Mitsuru, 34 Walker, William, 176 Walkom, Thomas, 8, 25,108,141,160 Warrian, Peter, 27 Waterloo, Ontario (DOA), 141 Webb, Beatrice, 32, 38 Webb, Sidney, 32, 38 Weik, Karl E., 44 western alienation, 6, 234nl.2 Western Report, 119 Westinghouse Canada Inc., 141 Wetzel, Kurt, 121 'What Parents Should Know about Bill 160,' 107 White, Bob, 33, 36,150 White, Graham, 26,29 White, Randall, 14-15, 243nl Wilson, Gordon, 65,135,139 Winnipeg general strike (1919), 112 Woods, H.D., 33 workfare, 22, 27,188-9 Working TV, 149 Workplace Information Directorate, 87