I 

sat in the Michigan Union 
one 
snowy 
Wednesday 
morning, looking out on 
the picket line. After months 
of 
unproductive 
talks 
with 
the University of Michigan, 
the 
Graduate 
Employees’ 
Organization finally gave up 
on negotiations in favor of a 
strike. You’ve probably heard 
union members chanting as you 
walk down State Street: “No 
contract, no grades!” or “What’s 
disgusting? Union busting!” You 
may have even been accosted on 
your way to class.
Demanding a roughly 60% 
pay increase, reforms to campus 
security and a variety of other 
socially oriented policy changes, 
GEO is asking for too much, 
and they are unlikely to get 
all of it. But they’ve already 
accomplished part of their goal: 
We see them, and we know their 
value.
As I sat in my comfy chair in 

the well-heated Union lounge, 
I 
scrutinized 
the 
graduate 
students marching outside. They 
shivered in the cold, turned their 
shoulders to the wind, but never 
lessened in vigor or quit their 
slogans. They showed admirable 
determination, 
although 
my 
awe disappeared when they 
stopped me on my way to lecture 
to explain their platform. I was 
running late.
While GEO’s strike is certainly 
the closest to home, it is not the 
only example of growing worker 
frustration in America.
In 
California 
last 
month, 
teachers and service employees 
for the Los Angeles Unified 
School District chose to cancel 
their classes and suspend school 
maintenance in pursuit of higher 
wages. The two participating 
unions 
eventually 
achieved 
their aim, with the drastic 
step bringing their discontent 
into the national spotlight. At 
several 
Michigan 
Starbucks 
sites, disgruntled baristas have 
walked away from their coffee 
presses and picked up picket 

signs, joining over 100 other 
stores across the country.
Their outrage is genuine and 
requires 
our 
understanding. 
Profits 
and 
compassion 
are 
not mutually exclusive, and 
people in power should stop 
treating them as such. Last 
year, Starbucks CEO Howard 
Shultz opted to shut down a New 
York location moving toward 
a union. And to clear up any 
remaining confusion about why 
his employees were upset, he 
said the company was “assaulted 
in many ways by the threat of 
unionization.”
But it’s not just the C-suite 
that 
has 
lost 
touch 
with 
common 
people. 
With 
a 
potentially disastrous rail strike 
looming 
last 
December, 
the 
Biden 
administration 
signed 
legislation preventing freight 
union members from walking off 
the job. Scranton Joe, a supposed 
union man, sided with corporate 
and kept supply lines open. But 
what about the workers? They 
didn’t get the paid sick leave 
they were bargaining for, and 

their anger will not disappear 
anytime soon.
Negligence 
in 
Washington 
and on Wall Street has real 
consequences. 
We 
will 
feel 
them soon if nothing changes. 
My message to Biden, Congress, 
Shultz and everyone else who 
needs to hear this: Stop treating 
everyone who can’t write you 
a check like they’re invisible. 
They’re not. They make the 
country 
work. 
This 
doesn’t 
mean giving in to unreasonable 
demands. It means listening and 
showing genuine care for those 
further down the economic 
ladder. It means giving workers 
your ear, not a strong arm.
Let the protests in France be 
our warning of what happens 
when elite indifference goes too 
far. French President Emmanuel 
Macron 
drove 
a 
widely 
unpopular pension reform bill 
through 
Parliament 
without 
a vote, raising the retirement 
age from 62 to 64. Discussing 
the controversial measure in 
an interview, Macron placed 
his hands under the table to 

remove the luxury watch he 
was wearing, further widening 
the chasm between himself and 
the working class. He bypassed 
the legislative body meant to 
represent his people. Now his 
people are lighting buildings on 
fire.
If we want to avoid suffering 
the same fate as France, our 
political and financial leaders 
cannot behave with the same 
pomposity. Vulgar displays of 
riches spread quickly on social 
media. The only thing that 
spreads quicker is the backlash. 
This 
dangerous 
dichotomy 
combined with a larger wealth 
gap than at any other point in 
modern U.S. history seriously 
raises the risk of unrest.
This country has always had 
significant financial inequality, 
but never before has it been so 
noticeable. To the millions of 
Americans barely able to pay 
the bills, the countless images of 
CEOs and politicians on yachts 
and private jets represent an 
American Dream they haven’t 
shared 
in. 
And 
now, 
with 

several of the world’s richest 
men funding their own trips 
to space, there literally exists a 
world of difference between the 
prosperity of the rich and the 
strife of the poor.
Capitalism 
cannot 
survive 
such dissonance. The strikes 
sweeping the nation have shown 
us where workers are at. The 
apathetic responses from the 
elite show us their detachment. 
But capitalism remains the best 
existing financial system, and it 
has created more growth than 
any other alternative. The costs 
of a societal breakdown like 
we’re seeing in France would 
hurt everyone.
The wealthy must reconnect 
with the rest of the country — 
and fast. Show the skeptics and 
the struggling what capitalism 
can do. Let workers unionize, 
and don’t look at it as a threat. 
Look at it as an opportunity 
to hear what the vast majority 
of Americans are saying, and 
show them that the free market 
works for more than just the one 
percent.

Opinion

America is on strike. Here’s what it means

michigandaily.com — The Michigan Daily
 Wednesday, April 19, 2023 — 11

JACK BRADY
Opinion Columnist

T

hey rested their head on 
their desk. Outside, the 
chirping birds, the longer 
days and the budding trees were 
signs of hope and optimism for 
most of the University of Michigan 
community, but for our colleague, 
springtime was a recurring trigger 
of clinical depression. 
A full professor, they had made 
their way through the ranks of 
the academy battling bouts of a 
debilitating 
depression, 
which 
once even landed them in the 
hospital. Despite their struggle 
with mental illness, they were a 
respected scholar in their field 
with 
numerous 
teaching 
and 
service awards. 
Today, their depression had 
become too heavy for them to 
work. Only one thing prevented 
them from leaving campus and 
taking refuge in the darkness of 
their bedroom. They eventually 
managed to write the dreaded 
email: 

“Dear All: I apologize, but I’m 
feeling under the weather today. 
I am canceling our committee 
meeting 
scheduled 
for 
this 
afternoon. I’ll follow up later 
today by email.”
On their way home, they 
bumped into a co-worker, also 
an administrator. 
“I just saw your email. Under 
the weather, eh? You look great 
to me. Got a cold or something?”
Our colleague didn’t want 
to be prodded any further. 
They just wanted to get home. 
They had not disclosed their 
depression to their department.
“I’m just a little unwell today.”
Not breaking eye contact, 
the administrator said, tersely, 
“Well, I hope you feel better.” 
They couldn’t tell whether 
the hint of sarcasm in the 
administrator’s 
voice 
was 
real 
or 
imagined, 
another 
microaggression or the product 
of 
their 
imagination. 
They 
chalked it up to the latter, but 
they would never know for sure. 
The colleague in this story, 
like us, is one of many faculty 
and staff on this campus who 
identify as disabled or with 
disabilities. 
We 
experience 
daily 
microaggressions, 

offensive 
remarks, 
constant 
challenges 
with 
accessibility, 
a lack of guidance to navigate 
the disability accommodation 
process and a general lack 
of support within an ableist, 
individualistic campus culture. 
Our 
colleague’s 
clinical 
depression 
qualifies 
as 
a 
disability and is protected under 
the Americans with Disabilities 
Act. However, unlike programs 
for students, the University has 
no effective structure on campus 
to support faculty and staff. 
Worse, the University often 
relies on obscure procedures 
to deny faculty and staff the 
accommodations 
they 
need 
without 
possible 
recourse. 
The result is an inequitable 
accommodation process. Those 
with invisible disabilities have 
a greater burden of proof to 
show the University, and the 
pervasive racial and gender 
biases that endure in the medical 
establishment, and parts of U-M 
administration make the process 
all the more difficult to navigate. 
In addition to the problems 
with formal procedures, some 
facets of our cultural climate 
are just plain unwelcoming. 
During 
the 
COVID-19 

pandemic, 
the 
University 
relaxed rules on masking while 
our 
immunocompromised 
colleagues risked their well-
being to teach in person. Then 
came the rule forbidding us 
from requiring masking in our 
classrooms. We are still in a 
pandemic. U-M health policies 
threaten the health and well-
being of all members of the 
community, especially people 
with disabilities. 
We chose to work and would 
like to continue working for the 
University in a climate that is 
inclusive and supportive. Moving 
forward, we expect a workplace 
that embraces disability: not one 
that grudgingly complies with the 
ADA, but exceeds its standards. 
As productive and successful 
members of this University, we 
believe disability culture has 
a place and a role here at the 
University.
Aligned with ethnic, gender 
and racial justice, disability justice 
requires 
intentional 
cultural 
transformation on campus. We 
seek a path forward through 
building community, confronting 
structural barriers and creating 
a transparent accommodations 
process for staff and faculty.

We suggest expanding the 
LSA’s 
Disability 
Navigators 
Pilot Program, a successful pilot 
program that promotes disability 
justice and supports employees 
with 
disabilities 
across 
all 
sectors on campus through a 
lens of Diversity, Equity and 
Inclusion. We enthusiastically 
support converting DEI 1.0 
rhetoric into DEI 2.0 actions 
and 
implementation 
plans 
that are radically equitable, 
inclusive 
and 
meaningful. 
We 
support 
building 
upon 
the recommendations of the 
Student 
Inclusion, 
Diversity, 
Equity and Accessibility Board, 
a committee that was organized 
within the Office of Diversity, 
Equity and Inclusion. 
One such recommendation 
we fervently support is the 
establishment of a Disability 
Culture Center at the University. 
Additionally, we would like 
to see an active critique to 
address ableist language in the 
Standard 
Practices 
Guides, 
training 
requirements 
for 
unit 
administrators 
and 
a 
reevaluation 
of 
profoundly 
ableist U-M policies. 
Working 
in 
partnership 
with 
Disability 
Culture 
at 

the University of Michigan, 
we 
formed 
the 
Disability 
Justice Network to provide 
support and foster a discussion 
forum for staff and faculty 
and 
cultivate 
change 
on 
campus. Initially funded by 
the 
University’s 
ADVANCE 
Program, the Disability Justice 
Network seeks to broaden its 
network of allies to include 
administrators, 
faculty 
and 
staff. Anyone wishing to be a 
part of the conversation can join 
the Disability Justice Network 
MCommunity 
listserv 
here: 
disabilityjustice@umich.edu. 
Although the Americans with 
Disabilities Act was passed 
over 30 years ago, paving the 
way for people with disabilities 
to become protected members 
of the workforce, the campus 
disability 
community, 
like 
other 
marginalized 
groups, 
has not been fully recognized 
and 
valued 
within 
our 
larger 
academic 
community. 
We 
extend 
to 
all 
U-M 
administrators, and especially 
University President Santa Ono, 
an open invitation to explore 
how we might transform U-M 
policies and practices that fully 
support people with disabilities. 

Op-Ed: President Ono, is there a place for people 
with disabilities at UMich? 

EMMANUELLE MARQUIS, 
REMI YERGEAU, 
ROBERT ADAMS, 
VIVIAN CHEUNG & 
ANN JEFFERS
Opinion Contributors 

Hammocks

Cartoon by Cassidy Brimer