A writer for the New York Times editorial board argues
we don't yet fully understand the impact of warehouses. "Thanks to the rise of online shopping and the proximity to so many American doorsteps, warehouses have become a
major source of blue-collar employment," both in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania and beyond. "In Pennsylvania's Lehigh Valley, more than 19,000 people work in the warehouses that prepare our packages. Thousands more drive the trucks that deliver them."
But while the total number of warehouse-related jobs almost replaces
the jobs lost from the closure of a major steel plant, "the political power that blue-collar workers once wielded has not been replaced."
Despite their large numbers, their importance to the economy, and their presence in Northampton — a swing county in a crucial battleground state — warehouse workers don't form an influential voting bloc in the way that steelworkers did... It turns out that making stuff isn't the same as distributing it. Working in a steel mill is a communal act that lends itself to the pursuit of political power in a way that warehouse jobs do not. Steelworkers toiled alongside one another, forming lifelong bonds, bowling leagues and unions that delivered a reliable voting bloc. Back when thousands of workers streamed out of the gates of Bethlehem Steel at quitting time, "politicians would come out to shake our hands," Jerry Green, retired president of United Steelworkers Local 2599, told me.
Factories were so good at political mobilization, in fact, that some credit them for democracy itself. Women and working-class men won the right to vote in the United States, Western Europe and much of East Asia after about a quarter of those populations were employed in factories, according to recent research by Sam van Noort, a lecturer at Princeton. Warehouses, by contrast, have no such mystique. Nobody campaigns outside the Walmart distribution centers here. Workers tend to be hired by staffing agencies and many stay for only a few months. They work on their own and rarely socialize. They are notoriously difficult to organize. Alec MacGillis, author of "Fulfillment: America in the Shadow of Amazon," told me that the biggest challenge for labor organizers at Amazon warehouses was getting workers to stay on the job long enough to feel a sense of solidarity.
Malenie Tapia, who moved to Bethlehem from Queens, N.Y., five years ago and took a job as a "picker" in a Zara warehouse, explained why. For eight hours a day, she grabbed items off numbered shelves and delivered them to packers who packed them into boxes. Talking to co-workers was forbidden, she said, except during a brief lunch break. "Sometimes I would go to the section in the back, where there would be less eyes on you, and sneak in a little moment of conversation," she said.
Here's what happened when the reporter asked a pair of Latino workers about their political opinions:
Most of all, they fretted about being replaced by machines. They spoke with dread about a fully automated McDonald's and a robot that unloads container ships. They didn't seem to see themselves as part of a working class that could band together to demand protections for their jobs.
The hot political issue around warehouses isn't the workers at all; it's the traffic and loss of green space associated with them. Both the Democratic and Republican candidates in the race for a state representative seat in Northampton have vowed to stop the proliferation of warehouses, which some citizens' groups say destroys their rural way of life. If warehouse workers had a political voice, they might push back. But they don't, so they won't. Warehouses have been an economic boon. But politically, for workers, they are a loss.
