When did the labour fallen overboard? By Robert Perez
Once upon a time, before hashtags, influencers, and tax-free billionaires, May the First meant something. It was not about discounted garden furniture, techno parades, or politicians giving vague speeches in front of bored-looking union banners. It was a day of labour. A day to honour the sweat, struggle, and sacrifice of workers across the globe. A day born in blood and forged in solidarity. And yes, ironically enough, born in the United States of America.
Chicago, 1886. Workers marched not for cryptocurrency bonuses or ergonomic chairs, but for the simple, revolutionary demand: eight hours of work, eight hours of rest, eight hours for what we will. The powers that be responded the way they often do when confronted with dignity, they opened fire. The Haymarket affair turned May 1st into an international symbol of labour resistance, and in every corner of the planet, the day became sacred. Except, as irony would have it, in the country where it all began.
Fast forward to 2025 and what have we got? A world where Labour Day is either forgotten or warped beyond recognition. The United States doesn’t even celebrate it on May 1st perhaps out of shame or simply to avoid inconvenient historical truths. Instead, they park it conveniently in September, divorced from its radical roots, as though it emerged from a barbecue grill and not from the ashes of union martyrs.
But let’s talk about today’s workers the very people whose forebears fought and died for rights we now treat like expired coupons. Across continents, the modern working class is in crisis. Precarity, gig economies, zero-hour contracts, warehouse surveillance, wage theft, burnout, and exploitation more reminiscent of Dickens than democracy. In some parts of the world, workers literally risk death to meet profit margins. And in others, they’re told to smile more or be replaced by algorithms.
Now enter Donald Trump.
If irony had a face, it would probably be orange-tinted and shouting at a teleprompter while forgetting what state he’s in. Donald Trump, the man who rode a populist wave straight into the White House by pretending to be the saviour of the “forgotten worker” has done more to trample on the legacy of 1886 than perhaps any American president in modern history.
This is a man who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with billionaires while gutting union protections. A man who thought “blue-collar” was the name of a country club in Florida. A man who empowered corporate interests to such obscene heights that even robber barons from the Gilded Age might blush. And worst of all, he wrapped it all in the flag, while spitting metaphorically (and at times, near-literally) on the graves of the Haymarket martyrs.
Under his administration, environmental regulations were rolled back so fast they left burn marks. Worker safety? Shrunk. Labour board independence? Hijacked. Wages stagnated while CEOs bought their fifth yacht. And still, he tweeted things like “I’m the best jobs president God ever created,” as if God were running a LinkedIn profile.
Let’s be clear: Donald Trump is not the disease. He’s the symptom. The disease is neoliberalism’s unholy marriage to nationalism, turning workers into slogans while stripping their rights and dignity. Trump just said the quiet part loud. And millions applauded.
So what is May Day now?
It’s a ghost, haunting speeches, dusty museum exhibits, and the occasional anarchist street protest. But it doesn’t have to be. May Day can still be the worker’s day. But first, we must reclaim it from the rubble of hypocrisy and historical amnesia.
We must remember that Labour Day is not a commercial holiday or a PR opportunity for politicians who’ve never done a day’s manual work in their lives. It is a battle cry. It is a living reminder that every hard-won right was once a radical demand.
So this May 1st, let us not honour the legacy of labour with silence and shopping carts. Let us honour it by raising our voices, standing in solidarity, and demanding once again, eight hours of work, eight hours of rest, and eight hours for what we will.
Because the alternative is to let men like Donald Trump write the history of our future. And if that happens, the workers won’t just be forgotten. They’ll be buried, with no memorials, no martyrs, and no May Day.
Comments