Strike could change Memorial for the better

After over 15 years of teaching at MUN, I dragged myself into this strike. Nothing could be changed. And perhaps nothing will change.

But something appeared during the week which totally surprised me. I have often said that it is not the case that MUN has no spirit. It has a spirit, an evil spirit, a spirit that makes people want to get home after work as quickly as possible, to count the days until the end of the semester and the years until retirement.

This past week, I discovered another spirit here, which is effectively repressed, marginalized, and for the most part, invisible. This week, this hidden spirit broke out into visibility.

In the blink of an eye, the campus was transformed. It was no longer a dreary place where people walked by each other as quickly as possible with eyes downcast. It had become a carnival.

On every corner, groups of faculty and students danced and sang and beat drums, waving signs at passing cars that honked their horns in support.

NAPE, the union representative of custodians and food service providers (who are not even on strike), set up fire barrels for us and a shelter on Prince Philip Drive.

Teams of smiling students circulated, bringing coffee, doughnuts, and pizza. Everywhere, people were out of their cell-like offices, talking and happy. A spirit had been summoned from a tomb, a spirit of love for this place, this vocation, these students, this legacy.

The spirit has united people who otherwise have no opportunity to meet each other. Negatively, we stand opposed to the managerial class who have seized this institution and countless others and imposed a grey spirit of technocratic compliance upon it. Positively, we are united in support of the good that is here and wants to grow and flourish.

The first day was rough. It poured rain, cold January rain that kills people. But we were only emboldened by it. It was interesting to meet my colleagues in that extreme situation. In rain gear, shivering and doing our best, we reminded each other of our common vulnerability. The following two days brought brilliant sunshine, and our spirits soared.

On Friday, Feb. 3, in the snowstorm, a rally was held in front of the Arts and Admin building, with all the unions present and representatives from other faculty associations across the country speaking and making donations. I joined a group of travelling bucket drummers who marched to the site from Prince Philip Drive with great fanfare and ceremony, gathering others as we went. Someone gave me a tambourine which I beat until I was no longer cold.

Anarchy, a medieval sense of festival, had broken out. The lower was in the place of the higher. The repressed had stepped forward into consciousness. Dionysus and his entourage were on the march. The artificial and constructed nature of our ordinary socialpolitical arrangement was revealed. At the rally, one speaker after another reiterated that this was the most motivated faculty strike anyone had ever seen. Possibility was in the air.

It was the first time I had felt joy, hope, and agency on this campus in fifteen years. At least for this fight, “I am proud to be a union man.”

Dr. Sean J. Mcgrath Holyrood Professor, Department of Philosophy, Memorial University Adjunct Professor, Religious Studies, Mcgill University Co-director, For a New Earth