Invisible Labour Day

Hi it's September, how did that happen? I mean if Henri Bergson was here he would say time is qualitative not quantitative. I guess the sad of that is what really has been the qualitative representation of the past 18 months? I cringe to think of the descriptors folk would use. 

As a union appreciating person (and member) who has done a lot of uniony type things in my life, like chairing subcommittees and wearing out shoes and pants on picket lines, and going to more rallies and demos than I can count, this Labour Day hits a bit harder than most. I have spent the last two weeks reading through my Twitter feed, witnessing the grief, the fear, the anxiety, all of it connected to education at both the K-12 level and in HigherEd. I sit here and try to resolve the kind of logic gymnastics it takes for someone in power to say, sure come be an educator in a space where your life and the life of your loved ones is at risk each day. Oh your whole neighbourhood is flooded, no worries school is still on and please hurry as I am sure the students will waiting for you in the non-socially distanced classroom. Oh need hybrid technology training, just watch this video, or click on these 5 links. 

This September 1st felt like no other September 1st in my life (including last year). Usually September 1st feels like second-hand corduroy pants with ironed on knee patches, or parental units telling you to wear your very heavy tights that were meant for fall or winter, but it is still 25C outside but we bought them for the first day so you better wear them. Global warming, meh, it's the 80s we don't know what that is yet. September 1st feels like leaves giving you the heads up to hurry up please it's time. It's evenings where that short sleeve sweater may need to be a 3/4 length sleeve. September 1st is usually a time of excitement and promise. New books never opened. Freshly sharpened pencils and pens whose ink has not leaked on your hands yet. It's chalk stains on your black blazer. It's double checking assignment instructions for typos. It maybe is a last nod to summer over a drink with friends.

This September 1st was none of that. It was probably the exact opposite of that for so many people as they try to figure out logistics for the term. It probably felt like a whole lot of insomnia and worry. It felt like all the work, all the labour that one does, labour that should be valued, maybe not by all of society, but hopefully by a large part of it, was being demonstrated to the world for what it is to those who hold the strings: capital, money, and playing probability with people's lives. 

I tried to figure out why and how. Why do so few people in the world value education and educational spaces as a real exchange of ideas and the creation of incredible possibilities. How higher education in particular had become simply a capitalist exchange of financial means and not intellectual or creative ones. I mean I should have seen the writing on the wall a long time ago when one of the colleges I used to work for named their Registrar's Office, "Customer Service" (I wish I was joking).

And the issue with this, with all of this, is the same issue that has been present since the beginning of the pandemic. Invisibility. The work done by educators is largely invisible. The work done in higher education spaces is measured in essay and project submission for grading coffee spoons. These are the markers of work. The kind of ableist framing that reinforces that only something that can be seen is something that counts apparently.

These markers are even more hidden for certain staff. If you work as a grounds worker and the grass is cut or not cut, that is a marker of work done or not done. When you work as an educational developer and put hours in to one-on-one consults, reviewing syllabi, assessments, and rubrics, all of the emails that are required to even put on just one event. All of that is invisible labour to the powers that be. They don't see it, they don't acknowledge it. Folk that work in Teaching and Learning Centres have been in this pandemic the pillars to make things work, but the work to make things work, institutional shrug. I feel like the Sara Ahmed line for that would be, "when you name the work, you name what and who does the work." (This is my very general paraphrase of the fabulousness of her rhetoric and analysis in all her books). 

There is also so many other levels of this invisible work going on in terms of emotional support, acknowledgement and validation, ensuring that the folk you are helping are well resourced. And we have talked so much about how that labour is so often the labour of marginalized folk, of racialized folk, of women, of queer folk. So maybe what we need do on Monday is have a celebration of Invisible Labour Day. A day where you send messages, call, text, email, and acknowledge the folk who have done invisible labour supporting you for the last 18 months. Maybe, we get creative, and we send emails to administrators highlighting the invisible labour that you have benefited from since March 2020. You know the labour that isn't readily measured in KPIs, the labour that is no where on an Excel sheet, the labour that lives in the liminal spaces of negotiating interdisciplinary work. The qualitative labour, not the quantitative labour (though often the quality work puts in a lot of quantity time). The kind of work Bergson would be proud of; that can't readily be measured, but knowingly lingers in memory. 

HAPPY INVISIBLE LABOUR DAY everyone! Now let's go make this right!