Mayday! Mayday!

I left the office this evening to be greeted by a thin brown trickle of people marching down Broadway, one of many immigrant rights rallies that took place across the country. The participants seemed chipper enough, but turnout was not good. At that big April rally last year, Broadway was so crammed full of people that even I got caught up in the spirit and marched along. We were packed together like sardines; I spent the whole time worrying that the guy in front of me was going to poke my eye out with his miniature Ecuadorian flag. This year, protestors took up only half of a lane of traffic, and there were some unsightly pockets of empty space between the different civic organizations and groups of friends that marched together. If you know me, you know that gaps are the one thing I can't abide at a protest. I thought about joining in this year, but it was just kind of sad; I felt a little dispirited.

Still, even if the protest didn't whip the media into a frenzy, and even though I oh so hypocritically declined to contribute, the sight of the rally made me a little teary. I love civil disobedience, and what better day to petition for immigrants (workers!) rights than on May 1—May Day? In many parts of the world, including our fair country at one point in the not so distant past, May Day is a pinko celebration of labor, a day to advocate for rights for the working class. Sadly, nowadays we pretty well ignore it.

We don't care much for workers, or at least we don't pay much attention to whether they (we!) work under safe conditions and earn a living wage. Even in a so-called liberal city like New York, people are generally unsympathetic to the cause. Here, a perfect stranger will chide you for leaving your golden retriever tied up to a post for five minutes but will march straight through a picket line to eat at some Euro-trashy SoHo restaurant. You rarely hear about such protests in the news, but they do happen. The one group that receives consistent press is the New York Taxi Workers' Alliance. It seems to have real bargaining power, but maybe that's only because taxis are visible, in contrast to sweatshop workers or dishwashers who toil away behind the scenes. The NYTWA isn't even a union. We really despise unions! Do you remember some of the things people said during last year's MTA strike? Duh, I wish I could make that much money. Duh, I wish I could go on strike and get a raise. Maybe you should quit your cushy desk job and work construction in a very loud, dank tunnel. What could possibly go wrong down there?

Pardon my rant. Getting back to May Day... We Americans opted instead to promote Labor Day, May Day's toothless, insipid Septemberish cousin. Here's a day we commemorate by taking a little vacation or buying a refrigerator at an appliance sale, two activities that hardly put you in the mood to rail against the man. Even anarchists would feel compelled to tone down their behavior at a clambake.

Well, my friends, another May Day has passed without any improvement to our working lives. Toil, toil, toil... boo hoo hoo. I hope you devoted a fair portion of your day to cursing your job to hell. You know I did.