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Students who live in Broadway hand their student IDs to the same security guards every day, but few know the conditions of guards’ employment. The security guards stationed in off-campus dorms are employed by Summit Security, which has signed an independent contract with Columbia. Currently, its employees are in the process of unionizing—in January, they will be organized under the auspices of the Service Employees International Union Local 32BJ. When I asked a security guard in the Broadway dorm to describe her employment benefits, she shrugged her shoulders: “Zero. We have zero benefits.” Luckily, she says, she’s heard that 32BJ will mean a better package: “Good benefits, good pay. We’re going to get a $3 raise.” A new shot at unionization means hope, she says. “Everybody’s waiting for it in January, so let’s see what happens.”

While SEIU may promise the guards improved conditions, their efforts prompt reflection on the University’s turbulent and often antagonistic labor history. Columbia is frequently seen as the most left-leaning of the Ivies. There is a disconnect, though, between the political inclinations of Columbia’s faculty and student body and those of the administration. There’s also a conflict between Columbia’s role as an institution of higher learning and as a wealthy, enterprising corporation. Few here realize that Columbia has often demonstrated a hostile attitude toward labor. A look at the University’s labor relations offers a striking counterpoint to its liberal face.

While Columbia students have responded loudly to other contentious topics on campus, such as academic freedom and the Manhattanville expansion, they haven’t been particularly active on the issue of labor—or given much thought to it at all. I spoke to several Columbia students, none of whom knew anything about the school’s labor history. “I’ve never heard anything” says Monica Landrove, a sophomore at Barnard, when asked about unions here. Landrove’s response is typical. It’s echoed by Aditi Chatterjee, a second-year law student at Columbia, who says she “never heard of any at Columbia.”

While chatting about the issue, a friend of mine guesses that Columbia’s labor history falls in line with its political image. “It didn’t really cross my mind that we have labor unions at Columbia,” he says. “But I’d assume, based on our history, that it [Columbia] would be pretty liberal about it.” Columbia students have, however, been active in union matters in the local community. The Spectator recently covered labor disputes at a Columbus Avenue construction site; in 2007, Students for Environmental and Economic Justice called for a boycott of Tomo Sushi and Columbia Cottage, two eateries that contracted with a noted anti-union corporation. Still, students seem to show little concern for labor unions on campus, perhaps because they assume Columbia would take a generous approach to matters of budget and employment.

In fact, Columbia’s history casts a shadow of doubt on that assumption. Columbia has signed contracts with seven union locals, which together represent most of the University’s clerical, administrative, cafeteria, and maintenance workers, along with CU Public Safety and employees at Harlem Hospital and the Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory. Those who are not unionized include laboratory research technicians, officers of administration (who hold supervisory and managerial positions), IT workers, adjunct faculty, and graduate student teachers and research assistants. Columbia professors are not unionized; however, the tenure system offers professors the job security benefits unions usually seek. Columbia also has contracts with non-union firms, such as Summit Security, or hires non-union employees on a temporary basis (limited to 560 hours per year).

Columbia’s first unions date back to the 1940s when maintenance and security workers unionized with the Transit Workers’ Union. According to Sharon Kurtz’s 2002 account of Columbia’s labor relations, “Workplace Justice,” cafeteria and library workers and employees of Columbia Presbyterian Hospital signed contracts with Columbia in the early 1970s, unionizing with the Drug, Hospital, and Health Care Employees union.

However, Columbia’s clerical workers—office employees who support University departments and programs—faced significant opposition from the University in their efforts to organize in the mid ’80s and early ’90s. In “Workplace Justice,” Kurtz details United Auto Workers District 65’s difficult battle to unionize Columbia’s clerical workforce. Three-fourths women and two-thirds black and Latino, the workers of District 65 (now UAW Local 2110) noticed dramatic discrepancies between their own salaries and those of unionized, primarily male maintenance workers. Kurtz points to a $2,000 gap in the hiring minimums between clericals at Columbia and those across the street at Barnard, who were already unionized by the mid-’80s, as a primary motivation for wanting unionization. Columbia put up a strong fight against the unions. When District 65’s election was held in 1983, Columbia challenged 97 ballots; in 1984, the University cut back health care, including 150-percent increases in deductibles.

Taking inspiration from the clerical and technical union at Yale, which launched a 10-week strike in 1984, District 65 launched a strike in October 1985. As Maida Rosenstein, a founder and current president of Local 2110, describes it, University administration never thought this largely female group of organizers would actually strike: “Michael Sovern [University president in 1985] was in Low Library meeting with trustees at the time, assuring them that there would be no strike. Then the strikers marched right beneath his window. It was amazing.” Sovern, now Chancellor Kent Professor at the Law School, was not available for comment for this article. At the time, unions here were generally male-driven. District 65’s fight for unionization challenged alleged employment discrimination at Columbia and helped to change the face of organized labor on campus. The fight, in part, reflected the developing belief that workers in traditionally female occupations deserved collective bargaining rights too.

Despite the University’s opposition, 1985 marked the clericals’ first contract victory, which, among other achievements, resulted in the creation of a $125,000 fund designed to combat racism, favoritism, and sexual harassment. Still, the union local continued to put forward grievances. In 1991, Kurtz writes, District 65 reported a $1,100 average pay gap between white and minority workers. Health care discrepancies, lack of protections for senior workers, and an underfunded child-care plan (a particularly important issue for the largely female union) led District 65 general organizer Rosenstein to launch a new contract campaign in 1991 and 1992. On Halloween in 1991, 200 members marched up and down the Low Library steps, many sporting colorful Michael Sovern masks.

District 65’s strikes were met with a harsh reaction from the University, which cut off automatic payroll deduction of union dues. Quoted in an October 1991 Spectator article, Sovern claimed “there is nothing to” the union’s allegations of racial and gender discrimination in the workplace: “Don’t let the simplicity of the charge beguile you into thinking there’s something to it,” he said. When Sovern reminded the Spectator that all senior members of the University administration were “taking a substantial discount from what he or she could make,” union member Hazel Todman replied, “Gee, I bleed for them. … On that salary, three-and-a-half percent may be fine, but on our salaries it’s not even $20 a week.” Despite the sarcasm of Todman’s remark, her words reveal the bad blood between the union and the University administration.

Finally, in February 1992, the University acceded to District 65’s health care demands. By March, membership had voted in the new contract.
In writing District 65’s history, one cannot separate the traditionally “pink collar” clerical workforce—comprised of what were historically women’s professions—from issues of gender and racial bias. Kurtz quotes a white, female worker speaking in 1986: “I hate to sound biased, but the men all seem to get the promotions, and the ladies were bypassed. And when you applied for something, they sort of told you … ‘Maybe a woman couldn’t handle it.’” Another clerical activist said, “Most technical jobs … [good] computer jobs were white, not minorities. … No one thought this was an accident.”

In the ’90s, Columbia took significant steps to resolve the issue of discrimination in the workplace. The new 1992 District 65 contract increased the wages of the lowest-paid workers, who were mostly black and Latino, and increased the child care subsidy to $50,000. Columbia also incorporated blacks and women into its 1992 contract negotiating committee, in a move toward greater diversity. The University continues to adhere to an equal employment opportunity policy and an affirmative action plan, which, according to the Office of Equal Opportunity and Affirmative Action’s Web site, “addresses the history of under-representation among certain groups in higher education.”

While Columbia has certainly made strides to rectify some employment grievances, relations between the administration and unions remain contentious. Since the clerical workers’ battle of the early 1990s, Local 2110 has held several strikes to protest what it has deemed inadequate job security and health care provisions—including a two-week strike in 1997 that resulted in a new wage progression system and enhanced health care and child-care benefits.

The most recent strikes to hit the Morningside campus, however, were not led by the clericals or any other union local, but rather by graduate students. In 2005, over 1,000 graduate student teachers and research assistants coordinated five-day strikes at Columbia, Yale, and NYU to demand increased stipends, tuition and fee remissions, and 100-percent health care coverage. Demonstrations included the erection of a 15-foot inflatable plastic rat—a traditional symbol of union protest—in front of the University gates. At the time, graduate students were paid an annual stipend of $18,000 and received few health benefits. All three universities refused to negotiate. Columbia spokesperson Alissa Kaplan Michaels defended the University’s position in a 2005 article in the New York Times, describing graduate students’ relationship to Columbia as one of education and collaboration. “Teaching is an integral part of preparing for a teaching career,” she stated. In the last four years, Columbia has not altered its position.

Political science professor Dorian Warren, who teaches a class on labor in American politics, explains Columbia’s position on graduate student unionization. During the Clinton administration, the National Labor Relations Board required all American universities to recognize the right of graduate students to collectively bargain. Warren says when Graduate Student Employees United held elections in 2004, “Columbia got an injunction to impound the votes. They were never counted. … Meanwhile, the Bush administration reversed the NLRB ruling.” The timing was perfect—Columbia stalled the unionization process just long enough to take advantage of a new rule that only requires public universities to recognize graduate students as employees.

Heavily involved in this push against unionization was Columbia history professor and former provost Alan Brinkley. Brinkley, who was unavailable to comment for this article, wrote in an April 2004 memo to then-Senate Minority Leader David Paterson of graduate students’ discontent: “Students are free to join or advocate a union, and even to strike without retribution.” But in February 2005, Brinkley alerted faculty via memo that they could report teaching fellows who participated in the strike and that disciplinary action would be necessary to “discourage teaching fellows from abandoning their instructional responsibilities” and “reduce the possibility of future strikes.” The memo suggested that the University halt monthly salary payments to graduate student teaching fellows who strike and disqualify them from summer stipends and special awards. Jennifer Washburn of The Nation, who broke the story in 2005, described the contents of the memo as “profoundly illiberal and undemocratic … union-busting tactics that go well beyond anything an academic institution should contemplate.”

Michaels said to the Village Voice at the time: “The NLRB is an officially recognized entity. The university is in line with the NLRB.” When Tom Robbins, who covered the strike for the Voice, pressed as to whether the University might feel “a little funny being protected from its own students by the GOP,” Michaels responded, “I don’t think we look at it that way.”

While Columbia currently does not recognize graduate students’ right to bargain collectively, it no longer challenges Local 2110’s existence. Still, the University has not put its conflict with organized labor to rest. Currently, Local 2110 is working to resolve two grievances at Columbia. Rosenstein, who was herself a clerical worker at Columbia before committing to the union full-time, outlines the local’s complaints. “First,” she says, “the University is not committed to the workers here. It needs to commit to not throwing employees out on the street in a bad economy.” Recession or not, Columbia can afford to curb union layoffs, she argues.

But Jeff Scott, executive vice president of student and administrative services, has a different perspective on the matter. In an e-mail, he writes: “Columbia, like most institutions of higher education, had to reduce operating costs as a response to the downturn in the economy. As we have said in the past, our primary strategy was to focus on containing costs in ways other than reducing our employee headcount.” But, in light of the poor economy, Scott admits the University may cut costs through attrition, by “not filling many open positions across the University as people voluntarily moved on.”

A related complaint is the local’s allegation that Columbia disregards seniority in union layoffs. Booker Washington, Local 2110 vice president, tells me: “At Columbia, the longer you stay, the more of a liability you are. You’re not an asset.” While Scott notes that all layoffs are done in accordance with the collective bargaining agreement made between the local and the University, Local 2110 is currently fighting what it sees as unwarranted layoffs through the University’s grievance procedure. Rosenstein, though, would rather promote full-scale policy changes. “The University should see layoffs as a last resort,” she says.

At the very least, Rosenstein’s complaints highlight a discrepancy between the politics espoused by Columbia faculty and the reality of the University’s budgetary concerns. “The University is seen as an institution of higher education,” says Warren. “Columbia puts that myth to rest. It is also a major private employer with incredible real estate operations. Columbia needs to be a good employer—it doesn’t get off the hook.” Warren is certainly right about one thing: Columbia is a big, booming business. It is one of the largest landowners in New York City and, according to a 2009 memo from Executive Vice President for Research David Hirsch, it is also the city’s seventh largest non-governmental employer.

And as a business, perhaps Columbia’s corporatist attitude toward unions makes sense. Jagdish Bhagwati, University Professor of economics, offers an explanation for the apparent inconsistency in Columbia’s politics. “Most universities like Columbia are taken up with fundraising and see unionization as a drain on their budgets,” he writes in an e-mail. “They behave in the NIMBY (Not in my Backyard) fashion and pretend that as non-profits they should not have to permit unionization.” That is, while Columbia’s liberal image might fall in line with pro-union politics, the University prioritizes budget needs over a commitment to a particular political philosophy. Bhagwati shares Warren’s sentiments: “I believe that even corporations must put a high priority on labor relations and on respecting the right to unionize,” he says. “Why should non-profits be exempt from these obligations?” Columbia may share a vision with many non-profits, but its significant wealth complicates its positions in both the non-profit and corporate worlds.

Rosenstein’s second grievance is Columbia’s eagerness to employ outside of the union. “Columbia erodes union jobs by taking what were union jobs and making them non-union,” she claims. The University does this, Rosenstein says, by “calling people managers who really aren’t managers,” and by hiring temporary and contracted workers for an extended time period. Local 2110’s most recent victory came when Columbia agreed to hire union members as audio-visual technicians in event management rather than temporary workers. According to Rosenstein, a few of these temporary employees had worked in event management for three or four years. But the administration denies a significant change in staffing. “The overall number of union employees,” writes Scott, “has remained at approximately 3,400 throughout these very difficult economic times.”

If the University is shaving off some union jobs, Warren wouldn’t be too surprised. “Columbia is doing what Walmart would do,” he says. “It’s indicative of a national trend among private sector employers.” However, Washington and Rosenstein point out that Barnard and Teachers College—albeit, much smaller institutions—do not behave like Columbia. “Teachers College’s administration views long-term workers in a more positive way,” says Rosenstein. “Barnard is somewhere in between TC and Columbia.” While Rosenstein has met with TC President Susan Fuhrman and Barnard President Debora Spar, she has never had the opportunity to speak with Lee Bollinger in his seven years as president. Rosenstein does communicate with Sheila Garvey, assistant vice president of labor relations, and Senior Executive Vice President Robert Kasdin. Scott writes that “the University’s goal has always been to connect union leadership with the senior officers who can deal most directly with the union’s questions.” For Rosenstein, however, that Bollinger hasn’t met with anyone from Local 2110 or any other Columbia-affiliated union simply indicates lack of concern for the University’s relations with its employees.

To be fair, Columbia isn’t the only Ivy League school to have experienced turbulent labor relations. In March 2003, Yale was effectively shut down when thousands of unionized employees went on strike to protest stalled negotiations. Harvard, however, offers a less confrontational alternative to Columbia’s history of hostility. Under the slogan “We can’t eat prestige,” office and laboratory workers at Harvard won their battle for unionization in the late ’80s. Organized as the Harvard Union of Clerical and Technical Workers, these workers employed a very different strategy from that of Local 2110—the union won its battle with peaceful marches and rallies and never seriously contemplated a strike. Harvard President Derek Bok launched a union-busting campaign, filing objections to the 1988 elections, but the NLRB ruled in the union’s favor.

W. Bentley MacLeod, professor of economics at Columbia, suggests that the difference between Harvard’s and Columbia’s labor practices may have less to do with ideology than with money. “We’re in New York City,” he says. “Costs for the University are higher, and costs for the workers are higher.” As a result, employees have greater demands—and the University is more limited in its resources. According to the Council for Community and Economic Research, the cost of living in New York is 29 percent higher than in Boston; accordingly, Columbia’s minimum salary for Local 2110 members is almost $4,000 more than Harvard’s minimum for HUCTW employees, according to the universities’ human resources Web sites. “At a wealthy university, everyone feels they can get more from this wealthy pot,” says MacLeod. But that may be less true at Columbia, where a dollar doesn’t go so far.

Over the past decade, Harvard students have been more involved in campus labor relations than their counterparts at Columbia. Harvard’s Living Wage Campaign, spearheaded by the Harvard Progressive Student Labor Movement, staged a sit-in in 2001 to protest the inadequate wages of dining hall, janitorial, and security staff. The movement, which was chronicled in the documentary “Occupation,” continued until 2002, when dining hall workers’ wages were raised by almost $2.

Their activism underscores the degree to which Columbia students are apathetic about labor. While many students have something to say about gay rights or environmentalism, few take up labor as a social cause.

Derek Turner, a sophomore in Columbia College and director of communications for the Columbia University College Republicans, recognizes the importance of labor as an issue, but he is critical of the effect unions have on the University’s finances. “There is a place for unionization as long as unionization is beneficial to everyone,” he says. To Turner, “everyone” includes students, Columbia’s “paying customers.” Turner wants his “money to be used as efficiently as possible.” He believes that “when unions take over to a great extent, everybody loses.” He proposes that student councils take on the labor issue so students have some control over where their money goes.

While Avi Edelman, a junior in Columbia College and vice president of the College Democrats, doesn’t necessarily think that responsibility should lie with student councils, he says, “Undergrads do have a stake in this.” He’d like to see students take more of an active role. Columbia, he says, shouldn’t “fix budget problems on the backs of workers.”

Organized labor may admittedly have slipped from a place of prominence on even the most progressive agendas in recent decades, but unions continue to play substantial roles in many peoples’ lives. Given that students’ commitment to social issues ranges from on-campus activism to international involvement, their ambivalence, even ignorance, regarding labor concerns perhaps highlights this change in priorities. However, just a quick look around campus and the community should encourage consideration and even engagement.

The issue of labor at Columbia isn’t too distant from a question that has had students up-in-arms—the Manhattanville debate. Both affect a similar demographic. Both pit the working class against the private university elite. The labor issue, however, is less visible to students than Manhattanville. It makes less noise; there are no students hunger-striking on South Lawn, no signs on buildings screaming “Shame on Columbia.” For Columbia students, a walk through Manhattanville is a stark reminder of the impact this University has on real people’s lives. We don’t feel the same way about eating a meal in John Jay or swiping into Broadway. But maybe we should.