WEST VIRGINIA’S schoolteachers went on strike on Feb. 22. Although West Virginia has a proud labor history, the state’s two teacher unions (West Virginia Education Association and American Federation of Teachers-West Virginia) do not have the right to strike. After decades of labor movements failing nationally, the Trump age has not seemed like a prime moment for a revival. And West Virginia’s government is firmly in the hands of Republicans.
Fast-forward to March 7. Schools reopened after a statewide strike that lasted two weeks. Teachers procured a 5 percent raise, not only for themselves but for all state employees, from state police to highway maintenance workers to clerks at the DMV.
When schools reopened, the Charleston Gazette-Mail interviewed a woman dropping off her grandchildren at Horace Mann Middle School. She said the children wanted to support their teachers, who every day stood in the cold outside their school. “Every time we’d pass by the teachers [picketing] outside, they’d say, ‘Blow it, Nana. Blow the horn.’”
Nana wasn’t the only one blowing her horn. Or dropping off boxes of donuts and pizza for pickets. Most West Virginians have family members or friends who are teachers or are state employees. When teachers went out, other school workers—janitors, cooks, bus drivers—stayed out as well. People know that teachers are underpaid and often work second jobs, and that many other state employees qualify for food stamps.
The strategy of the Republican governor and legislature was to divide and conquer. They tried to entice teachers to look out for their own pay raise (of 1 percent) and ignore other state workers. They tried to play on the frustration of parents who were forced to scramble for childcare or who could not afford to substitute for the free meals their children receive at school. But the community stepped in. Churches and civic organizations provided meals and childcare.
The legislature was intransigent and union leaders got cold feet. The union asked teachers to go back to work, and forget pay raises for other state workers. But the teachers, cooks, and bus drivers carried on. Attorney General Patrick Morrisey called the strike unlawful. But county boards of education refused to order their teachers back to work. Not a single county broke the unified stand, so the point became moot. The governor and legislators caved, and state workers across the board received a 5 percent raise. A commission has been established to address problems with public employee health care.
My sister-in-law Cindy, who teaches special education, was one of those on the picket line and at the state capitol. She is a devout Christian with no previous political involvement other than to vote. Her experience was eye-opening, and moving. Watching legislators in chaotic action, she said, “I felt like I was sitting in a middle-school classroom.” But that was balanced by encounters with the public employees the teachers refused to leave behind, who showed “such gratitude.” She spoke of how the experience drew her colleagues together. She concluded, “I was blessed with all the public support. I believe that was what kept us so encouraged and motivated to stay the course.”
Observing the strike, I glimpsed those reign-of-God moments—the selflessness, the unity and community, the courage. And in the meantime, the energy is spreading to other places where teachers are devalued and disrespected. Kentucky teachers this spring are protesting a Republican governor intent on wrecking their pension plan. At a rally at the capital in Frankfort, a teacher held a sign that read, “Don’t make us go all WV on you.”
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