by NEO IWW | Sep 30, 2025 | Poetry, Reflections
By John Reilly
I am entering my twenty-fifth year, I’ve recently become comfortable openly identifying as queer.
Simultaneously our fellow countrymen democratically elected to do away with democracy and let come what may…. And what will likely come is more attacks against us for who and what we are. They’ve already been happening for years.
The tendency in all of human history has been towards liberation and liberatory efforts, towards lighting the darkness around us. We will survive, because together we are indomitable. Just as we always have and always will, we shall overcome. My queer family, we will not be moved nor brought to ground, because our existence is resistance.
I wrote this poem to capture some of my feelings regarding being queer in America right now.
The Longest Night
The sun has begun setting upon our backs.
As the sun sets and inky shadows nip at our heels;
as we hunker down and prepare for another long cold night,
always remember
All That We Have
Is Each Other.
We will build a fire to drive out the darkness and stave off the cold.
We will build a roof to keep the rain and snow from falling upon our brows.
We will build four walls to keep the driving winds from landing upon our backs.
We will build a floor so that none need sleep in the dirt,
a garden so none need go hungry,
a life so that all may live.
As the sun begins to rise again
and the radiance of the day once again suffuses us in her warmth
we will build a world in which we no longer need concern ourselves with fire or shelter.
A world of light and beauty and love.
A world without fear.
My queer family,
the sun will shine on us again some day…
Some day
We Shall Overcome.
Solidarity Forever.
by NEO IWW | Nov 21, 2023 | Fiction
Cyrus
Chapter III
Organizing
John and I both work in the factory. I’m more magically inclined, so they have me in the power station pumping magic into the boilers that spin our turbines. John is half-elf, so he’s better with his hands. They have him carve the strengthening runes into our equipment and into the final product. We don’t see each other during work except for our lunch break, but that hasn’t been happening lately.
We normally meet up in the break room for lunch and shoot the shit for a half hour while we eat. But lately we’ve been forced to work through our break. It’s been happening to the whole shop for about a month now. So I just kept working, John and I will just hang out at the bar after work to make up for it. Some of the other guys hang around the same bar after work too, I’ve been thinking about talking to them.
We finished our work for the day and met up by the exit. We live a block apart, so John and I usually cartpoole. We got in John’s cart and went to our respective houses to change into our street clothes and get cleaned up.
Then we met up at my place and chatted a bit before we left. “I don’t fucking get it, Cyrus. We do all of the work in that factory and we’re making pennies on the dollar compared to the bosses. I think we should talk with the other guys at the bar. They’ve been talkin’ union,” John complained.
I honestly agreed with him so I said, “I agree we need to unionize, we’re getting screwed over. They already took our lunch break, what else will they take?”
“You wanna try to get in with the others at the bar?” John asked.
“Yeah, let’s see if they’re willing to let us help out,” I said
That settled, we headed to the bar. On the way we mostly complained about work and the fact that we weren’t getting our lunch breaks anymore.
When we got there, we saw the others sitting in their booth and walked over. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a creep staring at us from the bar but didn’t think too much of it. I handled introductions ‘cause John can be… John.
“I’m Cyrus, this is my best friend, John. We work at the factory, and we’ve seen you around. We figured we’d introduce ourselves ‘cause it’s not gonna happen over lunch.”
Then they introduced themselves. There were three of them, a burly half orc-half dwarf, a gnome, and a human.
The half orc went first: “I’m Cedric, I work maintenance on the equipment. Pleased to meet you guys.”
The gnome went next: “I’m Jameson, but most people call me Jamie, I assemble the final product on account of me small hands.”
Last was the human: “I’m Alex, I do the turbine maintenance. You guys gonna stand there all night or sit down?”
After introductions we mostly just made small talk for awhile; they weren’t sure of us yet. John and I don’t usually hang around with any of our other co-workers, we’re content to do our own thing.
“We heard the brewery unionized, did you guys hear about that?” John said.
Alex replied, “Yeah, I heard they were getting dicked over by the shop manager. Being forced to work mandatory overtime, and the safety systems weren’t getting the maintenance they needed.”
Cedric chimed in, “I heard someone lost a fucking hand from one of the canning machines because the safety guard wasn’t on it!”
“Yeah, that whole incident is what ended up driving everyone to unionize for better pay and better safety. I’m surprised it took someone losing a hand for people to fight back, but I can’t say I blame them entirely. People don’t like rocking the boat.” Jamie added.
Then John said it and tension I hadn’t even noticed washed out like a wave.
“We hear you guys talking union over here sometimes– we’re tired of getting screwed by the bosses, can we join?”
“Shhh! Don’t talk so fuckin’ loud!” Cedric whisper-shouted.
“We’ll talk about this more, in private,” Jamie said and nodded to a guy sitting at the bar.
“Who’s that guy you nodded towards?” I whispered.
“Works for the boss, he’s a union buster” Jamie replied.
“Kneecap buster, too,” Alex muttered under his breath.
“There’s a private room in back that they’ll let us use. It’s next to the bathrooms. We’ll continue this conversation there. Don’t everybody get up at once, filter in over the next 10 minutes or so.” Cedric said quietly before getting up and walking in the direction of the hallway with the bathrooms.
Jamie went next under the guise of checking on Cedric. Followed shortly by Alex. Once Alex was clear and had made his way over, John and I went. We made a show out of how drunk John supposedly was, and how I was just helping him to the shitters to throw up.
I watched the union buster out of the corner of my eye while everyone else moved. He didn’t notice anyone going anywhere until John and I got up, but John actually was drunk so the show we put on got him to quit watching.
Finally we made it to the backroom relatively unhindered. We stepped in and sat down at a round table in the middle of the room.
There was a deafening silence. Once again John broke the silence. I swear he just doesn’t understand when it’s awkward.
“So, we want to talk union. We’ve had our lunch break taken from us, Bob from payroll let slip that they’re considering mandatory overtime, and frankly I just think our boss is a dickhead who won’t pay us what we’re worth.” John whispered to Cedric.
“I heard we can make more money with better and cheaper benefits, too.” I said.
“You know, normally we have to convince people of all of that, and you two just figured it out, which is a nice change of pace.” Cedric replied.
Alex jumped in: “What do you guys do at work? Like, what’re your job titles?”
“I pump magic into the boilers and John carves the runes. We’re the only ones that do our respective jobs for first shift.”
“This is the exact type of in we’ve been looking for!” Jamie whisper-shouted.
“So how do we wanna do this?” Cedric asked.
“I think we should shut the factory down ASAP, for as long as possible. If two of us stand guard over the boiler so a replacement for Cyrus can’t make it in, then we win. I was thinking you and me would be best suited: we do the least essential work so nobody will notice us missing. Alex can make our demands.” Jamie said.
“What are we talking about? I feel like there’s a conversation going on that I should probably be looped in on.” I said.
“Shutting down the factory until our demands are met. You and John are the only ones in the factory who do what you do. If you guys strike with us, the whole factory shuts down.” Cedric replied.
“What are our demands?” John asked.
“Bring back our lunch breaks, equal pay for everyone and a thirty percent raise across the board, backpay for the strike, and a larger winter harvest bonus.” Cedric said.
“When are we doing this?” I asked.
“In three days to give us time to hash out the plan in more detail. Let’s go for it when we’d normally have lunch though, for sure.” Cedric replied.
“Now that that’s settled let’s drink!” John declared. And drink we did.
Eventually we all stumbled our separate ways, and I ended up crashing at John’s place again.
We had grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner to help sober us up and prevent a hangover. After we ate, John went to bed and I went to the couch. We’d talk more about the plan in the morning.
by NEO IWW | Sep 29, 2023 | Poetry
THE GRIEVANCE
It’s Out of My Hands
The shop was like a sweat box,
The heat was ninety-three.
I had a little grievance,
As anyone could see.
I went to see the foreman
And called to him by name.
I asked him could he open up
That nailed-down window pane?
But my boss said, “It’s out of my hands.”
I asked to see my steward,
And the boss he did agree.
But for two more days, nor hide nor hair
Of either did I see.
I finally caught the foreman
As he was running by.
He said my message was delivered
To the proper guy.
And now it was out of his hands.
The steward, when I saw him,
Looked both shrewd and wise,
And told me how much more there was
Than seemed to meet the eyes.
He quoted several clauses,
Interpretations too.
Said that writing up a grievance
Was all that he could do.
Then it was out of his hands.
The Committeeman next came around,
Him I had never met.
The rest is strictly rumor
For I haven’t met him yet.
But the story, when I got it,
At third or second hand,
After many weeks of waiting,
I was made to understand-
It was out of his hands.
The next thing that I heard of,
Through the grapevine, tried and true,
It had reached the shop committee,
They’d see what they could do.
The days were getting shorter,
And fall was drawing near,
When the long-delayed decision I finally got to hear.
It was out of their hands.
I wish I could say
That this ended my ditty
But my case was referred
To the Screening Committee.
I was told I was lucky,
After months had gone by
That my grievance had not
Just been left there to die.
But it was now out of their hands.
The Umpire considered
And pondered and thought.
He was honest and upright
And could not be bought.
Of the one hundred grievances
We lost ninety-nine,
But the one that was salvaged
Turned out to be mine.
The window was opened
On a cold wintry day.
I shivered and shook
Till I thought I’d give way.
I went to the foreman
And called him by name,
And asked him to shut
That damned window pane.
But he said, “It’s out my hands.”
Martin Glaberman was an autoworker and Marxist historian. He wrote much about effective unionism based on his experiences in the workforce.
by NEO IWW | Sep 27, 2023 | Labor History, Reflections
I read a poem that blew my heart wide open like it was a balloon shot down by the Air Force. Would you let me tell you why?
In the 1880s, there were over five million immigrants to the United States. There were four million more the next decade. Across the threshold of Ellis Island rushed the huddled masses, yearning to breathe free. But though they were promised a new world, they discovered one crueler than the old. The lofty promises which drew them to these shores, made by businesses and politicians, were never kept. Their American dream evaporated every morning at the dark sound of the work bell.
By 1900, the U.S. had deceived and captured a massive foreign workforce, trapping them in major cities like Boston, Cleveland, New York, and Philadelphia. Government quotas were specifically designed for this purpose.
After shipping these immigrants in boats no better or safer than what had carried over African slaves— indeed sometimes the very same boats— the government and big business worked together to shuffle them into new open prisons, into slums they called “cities.”
People were promised the world and left with pennies. Too poor to escape, the vast majority merely suffered. Crowded together like caged animals, they fought with each other. All the torments of drugs and alcohol and violence that come with such pain began to dominate communities. Speaking of my own family, these scars still persist.
Americans helped control immigrants because of their nativism, leaving immigrants isolated and more vulnerable to the worst excesses of capitalism. Immigrants were the new slave labor force. (Making this even clearer is the Supreme Court’s treatment of the 14th amendment. Only a handful of cases citing it were about Black people— hundreds were about the rights of corporations, now legally recognized as “persons.” The new law ostensibly designed to protect equality was like its predecessors used against it.)
This backfired often but not enough to break the cycle.
Immigrants were hired as strikebreakers because they cost less to hire and couldn’t talk to white strikers. White strikers usually resented them and would react accordingly. And since immigrants lacked any pay equality, bosses could easily use them to replace white workers.
Bosses used this to fuel further resentment between the various racial groups, telling white workers that immigrants were a threat to their jobs. (Do you see it? I hope you do.)
In 1880, there were more than 1.1 million child workers in the USA. That’s one out of six kids under sixteen— most often far under sixteen— working the same backbreaking 10 or 12 or 16 hour shifts as their parents. Hundreds of thousands were kidnapped into forced labor, just like their parents. Families didn’t see each other anymore. They couldn’t— to survive.
Families became strangers because of the god we call “Work,” slaving their lives out for some bourgeois jerk.
And a pants presser named Morris Rosenfeld wrote a poem, “My Boy,” and as I read it the last scales of “the immigrant America,” the final bits of all that old myth about the American dream and the land of prosperity and immigrants being so welcomed and desperate to come… fell as so much rusted scaffolding.
I have a little boy at home,
A pretty little son;
I think sometimes the world is mine
In him, my only one.
But seldom, seldom do I see
My child in heaven’s light;
I find him always fast asleep…
I see him but at night.
Ere dawn my labor drives me forth;
‘Tis night when I am free;
A stranger am I to my child;
And strange my child to me.
I come in darkness to my home,
With weariness and-pay;
My pallid wife, she waits to tell
The things he learned to say.
How plain and prettily he asked:
“Dear mamma, when’s ‘Tonight’?
O when will come my dear papa
And bring a penny bright?”
I hear her words-I hasten out-
This moment must it be!-
The father-love flames in my breast:
My child must look at me!
I stand beside the tiny cot,
And look, and list, and-ah!
A dream-thought moves the baby-lips:
“O, where is my papa!”
I kiss and kiss the shut blue eyes;
I kiss them not in vain.
They open,-O they see me then!
And straightway close again.
“Here’s your papa, my precious one;-
A penny for you!”-ah!
A dream still moves the baby-lips:
“O, where is my papa!”
And I-I think in bitterness
And disappointment sore;
“Some day you will awake, my child,
To find me nevermore.”
I hear my grandfather’s voice, my great-grandfather’s voice, crying out in the wilderness. For today their voices continue in other tongues. Today, another grandfather and great-grandfather cry out, “My boy!” And their boy cannot see them.
But today Americans still cannot hear them. They are too insulated in their HOAs and do not speak those ‘foreign’ languages. They cannot hear fathers and mothers crying in the night. Over the din of the social circus, the acceptable white American does not hear the inconsolable voice of Rachel weeping for her children— “for her children are no more.”
One day, desperate to control newer and even less pale-skinned immigrants, the whites told my fathers that we too can be white. A bribe was offered. And white we became, forgetting just how unwelcome in whiteness we once were.
So for skin color and crumbs of privilege we have forgotten just who we are and what White America also did to us. Or that we are now doing it, too. That we are a part of it. We do not realize we are now the tools of greed and hate, repeating the very crimes committed against us.
We are the same! If you can only see it, how we are all the same. If I could reach out of the sky and pull it down for you, to show you, you would see, but I cannot. Have you seen it, too? Does it also make you shake?
The Emperor Constantine looked to the heavens for a sign and saw a flaming chi rho, a trophy burning with glory, but his eyes were blurred by the haze. I see no chi rho. There is no glorious fire above. I look at the sky and see a wicked gnarled cross, and my father is on it, my grandfather, and his father, and my mother and grandmothers, and their mothers and fathers, and each time ‘their boy’ stands at the foot to await his turn.
A fire burns not in the sky but in my belly. I think it will eat me up.
by NEO IWW | Apr 1, 2023 | Uncategorized
At its core, a union is a community of people who share similar goals and interests. The success of a union relies on the strength and support of its members. In this article, we will discuss the importance of community in building a strong union.
Building a Strong Foundation
Building a strong foundation is essential for any successful union. This involves bringing people together who share common goals and interests. By working together, members can achieve much more than they could alone. This sense of community creates a bond that can help sustain the union over time.
Collective Action
One of the primary benefits of a union is collective action. By joining together, members can negotiate for better working conditions, benefits, and wages. This collective bargaining power is only possible when members stand together as a united front. A strong sense of community within the union is critical in achieving this goal.
Networking Opportunities
A union can also provide networking opportunities for its members. This includes connecting with others in similar fields, sharing knowledge and resources, and building relationships. This network can be particularly beneficial for members looking for new job opportunities or seeking career advancement.
Advocacy and Support
A strong union community can also provide advocacy and support for its members. This includes advocating for fair labor practices and protections, as well as offering support for members facing challenges such as discrimination or harassment.
Conclusion
In conclusion, building a strong union requires a strong sense of community among its members. By working together, members can achieve much more than they could alone. This includes collective bargaining power, networking opportunities, and advocacy and support. By recognizing the importance of community, unions can build a strong foundation for success.
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