Today we share a review of Lines of Work, a collection of stories on organizing and life on the job, put together by fellow Recomposition editor Scott Nappalos, and which you can find here.
This review is by Garage Collective and it first appeared on their blog.
An introduction to Lines of Work by Scott Nappalos is also provided below.
Lines of Work: Stories of Jobs and Resistance
By Scott Nikolas Nappalos, ed. (Alberta, Canada: Black Cat Press, 2013)
Review by Jared Davidson, first published in LHP Bulletin 64.
Lines of Work is a fascinating, at times bleak and emotive volume of stories about work and its effect on our lives. How fitting then, that my review copy was waiting for me after my usual 20-minute trip home from work had stretched to four hours, thanks to the flooding in Wellington of 14 May 2015. Work (with a little help from the weather) had kept me away from my loved ones even more than it already does on a day-to-day basis. That period after clocking out was clearly not my own time, but that of capital.
The thirty-two stories in Lines Of Work explore similar examples of contemporary working life. It brings together texts originally published on “Recomposition”, an online publication run by a collective of worker radicals based in the US and Canada. Written between 2009 and 2011, we hear from a range of people in various jobs, including non-profit organisations (which are no different from the rest). The writers are not professionals, and rightly so—the purpose of Lines of Work stems from a desire to link and explore the everyday experiences of people who work as an organising tool. As we know, “the personal is political”, and Lines of Work is an example of a radical praxis that supports the power of discourse without drifting into a Foucauldian abyss.
“In the eyes of dominant culture and the opinions of political culture” writes editor Scott Nappalos in the Introduction, “stories play second fiddle. In political life, literature is at best an emotional tool for theory, something to motivate people around a cause or worse, simply pure entertainment.” Yet “looking at stories in that way is out of step with working life. The lives of working-class people are filled with stories people share every day about their struggles, perspectives, and aspirations” (p.1).
With this in mind, Lines of Work asks us to take a serious look at the way stories can help us build a better society. “There is something powerful in the process of someone who participates in struggle finding a voice to their experiences… reframing the role of stories requires us seeing this process as both part of being an active participant in social struggles, and as a way to participate” (p.2). In doing so a transformation can occur, opening “up space for deeper work” (p.2). Stories about work should be seen “not only for their beauty, tragedy, and motivating power in our lives, but also as a reflection of workers grappling with their world and creating new currents of counter-power autonomous from the dominance of capital and the State” (p.7). Stories of work, therefore, are a “part of workers’ activity to understand and change their lot under capitalism… through storytelling, [the stories] draw out the lessons of workplace woes, offering new paths and perspectives for social change and a new world” (blurb).
As another reviewer has pointed out, “a good amount of these jobs—finance, food service, clerical work, manufacturing bullets for imperialist wars—are not the seeds of a future society but a blight on the present one. There is no straight line from these jobs to a libertarian communist society, nor are most of them (except for the bullet factory, really), strategic ‘choke points’ of capital, as the present theories of circulation dictates that we seek out. A revolutionary struggle would be waged to eliminate these jobs, not to make them cooperative”. Yet this is not necesarily the point of the book. While it may lack the “what next” element some readers crave,Lines of Work is a welcome addition to the subjective aspect of working-class experience that is often missing from theoretical accounts of struggle.
In Lines of Work, the stories are organised into three sections: resistance, time, and sleep. The theme of “resistance” “gives accounts of trying to correct problems at work, and collective lessons that came out of those struggles” (p.7). What struck me about this section was the arbitrariness that so many workers have to deal with in their day-to-day work, from not being allowed to celebrate birthdays to managerial changes to a roster. These are not tales of general strikes or historic moments, but stories of little struggles: of the mundane yet important tasks that can either foster resistance or keep a workforce down. Some victories are shared, but so are many losses and regrets at what happened, or what could have been done differently.
“Time” was my favourite section and the largest in the book. It covers “the world of work, in all that it demands and takes from us” (p.7). What this means is spelled out in rare, intimate detail, and in a way that instantly resonates (well, for me at least). Travel to and from work, repetitive on-the-job tasks, shitty customers, shitty bosses, sexism and difficult workplace conversations, racism, identity, class, job control, poor health, despair—are explored across workplaces totally different yet unsurprisingly the same. I light-heartedly explained this to a friend as “the commonalities of crappiness”. But in all seriousness, what is great about this book is how the stories connect the common elements of working life, and place our own experiences of work into an international context.
The section titled “Sleep and Dreams” shares examples of how capital invades what is supposedly our “own” time: our sleep. Who hasn’t dreamed about work? Had a nightmare of turning up to work a job they quit years ago? “Awaking from a work dream only to find one’s work day only beginning is perhaps one of the banal horrors shared most widely by the entire worldwide proletariat”. These stories of dreams and (lack of) sleep are sad yet fascinating in their own right. But the underlining idea of un-free time and the reproduction of capital (in the form of what we do in between clocking out and signing in) is a strong critique of work as a separate activity of life—of alienation. It is the perfect way to end an engaging and highly readable expose of contemporary working life, and how unnatural the wage relation truly is.
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Below is an excerpt of the introduction to Lines of Work:
To tell a tale of toil and struggle: an introduction
Scott Nappalos
In the eyes of dominant culture and the opinions of political culture, stories play second fiddle. In political life, literature is at best an emotional tool for theory, something to motivate people around a cause or worse simply pure entertainment. Stories told are merely events: things that happen when people get drunk, examples to illustrate principles in trainings, and activist street cred to bargain with, assess, and trade. Maybe the idea here is that stories are outside of social and political life. We make and use them in the course of things but only really acknowledge them when they help us to get things done.
Looking at stories in that way is out of step with working life. The lives of working class people are filled with stories people share every day about their struggles, perspectives, and aspirations. .Working class life is woven together with the stories people share every day. We go over them on our rides home, we hold onto dear ones, share others’, and sometimes we become so passionate we try to give them new life in text, audio, or videos. Events are retold when sharing coffee before work starts, when an old hand mentors a rebellious youth, when a coworker comforts another after getting torn apart by a boss, and when we try to slow our pulse after work with our loved ones.
Working class experiences of story telling have not been taken seriously enough among those of us who try to organize and build a better society. On a human level, that world of story telling is a deep mine of culture and struggle that all of us should seek to understand, grapple with, and participate in (particularly if we are motivated by the belief that everyday people are the ones to solve society’s ills). Even further though is the idea that the act of telling our tales of work and struggle can change people.
Storytelling doesn’t happen after you think and feel, like a printing a file from a computer. The act of telling a story is an act of reflection and thoughts. That is, stories don’t simply reflect what we think, telling a story creates new thoughts and changes old ones. We all have probably felt a shift that happens when we recount something to other people. When arguing with a lover, we come to see another angle in our actions when listening to ourselves putting what happened into words. Being disciplined, our memory of a work incident makes mistakes and well-thought out moves appear in a different light. There is something powerful in the process of someone who participates in struggle finding a voice to their experiences.
These stories involve both things that happened and how we put them into words. In transforming memories into being, there is an imaginative and emotional shift that takes place. As a reader, the sensation of a great work can transport us, fill us with strange feelings and motivations, and expand our view of the possible and necessary. Reframing the role of stories requires us seeing this process as both part of being an active participant in social struggles, and as a way to participate. The transformations in our ideas, emotions, and imagination that happen through stories open up space for deeper work. Finding one’s voice is an element in the journey to becoming a revolutionary.