Raised Fists, Raised Voices: How the Union Gave Me My Power Back
I still remember the first rally I ever attended. The air was cold, but the crowd was electric. I was standing shoulder to shoulder with people I’d only known for a few months, yet it felt like we’d been fighting alongside each other for years. Red flags waved above us, chants echoed down the street, and then—almost in unison—our fists went up.
Before that day, I’d never been part of anything bigger than myself. I’d been working a dead-end job in Cleveland, just trying to get by. The hours were unpredictable, the pay barely covered rent, and management seemed to think we were disposable. I didn’t know much about unions back then—just that they were something from history books or news clips from decades ago.
That changed when a co-worker pulled me aside and told me we could do better. She talked about organizing, about having a contract, about being able to demand the dignity we deserved. At first, I was skeptical. But little by little, I learned what solidarity really meant.
We met in coffee shops, in living rooms, and sometimes in the alley behind the workplace when no one else was looking. We shared stories about unfair treatment, lost wages, and impossible schedules. Those conversations turned into action.
The day we won our election, it felt like the ground shifted. Suddenly, it wasn’t just me against the company—it was us. We negotiated for better pay, fair scheduling, and real protections. And when the boss tried to push back, we pushed harder—together.
Over time, I became more involved, eventually taking on the role of shop steward, then organizer. I found myself traveling to other cities, talking to workers who were right where I’d once been—tired, underpaid, but ready for change. I saw their faces light up when they realized they weren’t powerless after all.
The rally in that photo? That was one of our biggest wins. Hundreds of us gathered in the streets, fists raised high, showing the world that we weren’t going anywhere. That moment wasn’t just about protest—it was about pride. It was about claiming the voice I didn’t know I had and helping others find theirs.
The union didn’t just change my job—it changed me. It gave me confidence. It gave me purpose. It gave me a community that refuses to back down.
Now, whenever I see a raised fist in the air, I know exactly what it means. It means you’re not alone. It means you’re ready to fight. And it means you’re part of something that’s bigger, stronger, and more unshakable than anything one person can build alone.