Workers of the world unite

The world's first truly international trades union looks set to be unveiled with a membership of mor

Several decades after their leaders blew their last chance the workers of the world have the opportunity to unite once again.

Or maybe that should be Unite - as the UK trade union of that name, and America's United Steelworkers (USWA) announce a formal alliance at the USWA annual conference.

And Unite has been extending its links in other directions too: there have been talks with the Australian Workers' Union (AWU), and the union is also in touch with several of its European counterparts. If all goes to plan, the new, as-yet-unnamed organisation, with a membership of over three million, will be the first truly international union since the heyday of the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW), more affectionately known as the Wobblies, in the 1930s.

According to Derek Simpson, Unite's general secretary, the aim is to create a union which is as global as the companies its members work for. Much of the plan is still at the broad-brushstroke stage; Simpson's explanation is that the agreed alliance between Unite and USW is “not exactly a merger".

"Effectively, we're setting up the shell of a global union, and eventually both organisations will transfer into it.” Unite and USW plan to have two co-chairmen and, if the AWU or European counterparts join, “the model is designed to expand”.

Overall reactions to the plan have been positive. Owen Tudor, the TUC's international relations officer, feels “it's hard to see a downside at a time when capitalism is globalised and working across national boundaries”. And he's unworried by the fluidity of arrangements between the unions so far. “They seem to be focused on the politics first, rather than on creating an organisational structure and fitting the politics around it. I think that's the right way to start out.”

Others, while showing general support for the idea, foresee difficulties. One issue is the structure of Unite, which was created last year by a merger between T&G and Amicus – a union which itself was an amalgamation of several smaller organisations.

“Part of the problem is that Unite covers everything and nothing, really. It doesn't have a lot of significant sector-level monopolies on members,” points out Richard Hyman, professor of industrial relations at the London School of Economics. So the planned global union would still have to negotiate common policies with other organisations. And since the unions were all created along national lines, “they represent distinctive, national interests. In many industries, there is an underlying international competition in terms of investment and so on. If one is then trying to bargain, competing interests will come to the fore.”

The more fundamental question is whether even a globalised organisation will be able to reinvigorate the fortunes of the trade unions. In the UK, unions now have just half the membership they did 25 years ago, with the financial difficulties that brings, and national mergers have arguably been a form of damage limitation rather than an attempt at meaningful structural reform.

Ian Greer, a research fellow at Leeds University, points out that the alliance between USW and Unite bears the hallmarks of this, as many of the markets Unite operates in are primarily European rather than global. “And the difference is that the European unions are strong - they're not losing members and they don't need to merge.” But Simpson has a different explanation for the partnership. “The US and UK have similar economic climates – they're relatively unregulated, with lots of flexibility to hire and fire labour. European countries work on a social partnership model involving government, employers and unions so alliances have been slower to develop.”

No matter how the global union functions, the chances that it will reprise the power the national unions once had are slim. But the move towards an international alliance is enough of an innovation to give them a fighting chance of survival. As Professor Hyman points out: “Traditionally, the development of these organisations has been nationally blinkered. So anything of this kind is a plus.”

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An English hero for the ages: Ian Botham at 60

Botham blends his sportsmanship and deep-seated passion for cricket with a lust for life.

Begging W H Auden’s pardon, it is possible both to honour and to value the vertical man, and in the case of Ian Botham, who turned 60 on 24 November, it is our bounden duty. No sportsman has given Britons so much to enjoy in the past half-century and no sportsman is loved more. Two decades after he retired from first-class cricket, his reputation as one of life’s champions remains unassailable.

No mere cricketer is he, either. Botham is a philanthropist, having raised more than £12m for various charities, notably Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research. In December, 30 years after his first walk from John o’Groats to Land’s End, he will set off again, in South Africa, where England are on tour. And he really does walk, too, not amble. As somebody who accompanied him on one of his dozen walks said: “You can’t keep up with him. The man is a phenomenon.”

Of all postwar sportsmen, only Bobby Charlton and, at a pinch, Henry Cooper come close to matching Botham’s enduring popularity. But Charlton, a shy man who was scarred by the Munich plane crash of 1958 (and may never have recovered from its emotional effects), has never comfortably occupied a public stage; and Cooper, being a boxer, had a solitary role. Botham, by contrast, spoke for England. Whenever he picked up his bat, or had a ball in his hand, he left spectators in no doubt.

Others have also spoken for England. Bobby Moore and Martin Johnson, captains respectively of England’s World Cup-winning football and rugby teams, were great players but did not reach out to people as naturally as Botham. Nick Faldo, Lester Piggott, Sebastian Coe and, to bring us up to date, Lewis Hamilton have beaten the best in the world, but they lacked those qualities that Botham displayed so freely. That is not to mark them down. They were, and are, champions. But Botham was born under a different star.

It was John Arlott, the great cricket commentator, who first spotted his uniqueness. Covering a match at Taunton in 1974, he asked the young colt to carry his bags up the rickety staircase to the press box, where Arlott, wearing his oenophile’s hat, pulled out a bottle of red wine and invited Botham to drink. Forty years later Botham is a discriminating wine drinker – and maker. Along with his friend and fellow England great Bob Willis, and their Australian wine­making pal Geoff Merrill, he has put his name to a notable Shiraz, “BMW”.

Arlott, with his nose for talent and good company, saw something in the young Botham that Brian Close, his captain at Somerset, was beginning to bring out. Later, Mike Brearley, as England captain, drew out something even more remarkable. As Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote, you’ve got to be carefully taught. And Botham, a fine team man as well as a supreme individual performer, has never withheld praise from those who enabled him to find his voice.

If sport reveals character, then cricket is the game that reveals it most clearly. In no other sport is the individual performance rooted so firmly in a team context. Every over brings a contest of skill and intelligence between batsman and bowler but only a team can win the match. “A cricketer,” as Arlott said, “is showing you something of himself all the time.”

Cricket also reveals national character more than any other sport. Football may be the most popular game in the world but cricket, and cricketers, tell us far more about England and Englishness. It is instructive, in this regard, to hear what Philippe Auclair, a French journalist and author long resident in London, has to say about Botham: “He is essentially an 18th-century Englishman.” In one! It’s not difficult to sense a kinship with Tom Jones, Fielding’s embodiment of 18th-century life, who began his journey, as readers may recall, in Somerset.

A country boy who played for Worcestershire after leaving Somerset, and who lives by choice in North Yorkshire, Botham is an old-fashioned Englishman. Although nobody has yet found him listening to the parson’s sermon, he is conservative with a small and upper-case C, a robust monarchist, handy with rod and gun, and happiest with a beaker in front of him. He represents (though he would never claim to be a representative) all those people who understand instinctively what England means, not in a narrow way, but through something that is in the blood.

Above all, he will be remembered for ever as the hero of 1981. Even now it takes some believing that Botham bowled and batted with such striking success that the Australians, who were one up after two Tests, were crushed. Some of us who were actually at Headingley for the famous third Test – thousands who claim to have been there were not – recall the odds of 500-1 on an England victory going up on the electronic scoreboard that Saturday evening.

Botham made 149 not out as England, following on, beat the Aussies by 18 runs. For three hours the country seemed to stop. In the next Test, at Edgbaston, Botham took five wickets for one run as Australia fell under his spell. Then, at Old Trafford, on a dank Saturday afternoon, he played the most memorable innings of his life and one of the greatest innings ever played by an Englishman: 118 magnificent, joyful runs. Joy: that’s the word. Botham brought joy into people’s lives.

Yet it was the final Test at the Oval, which ended in a draw, that brought from him a performance no less remarkable than those from before. He bowled 89 overs in that match, flat out, continuing to run in when others withdrew with injury. That was the team man coming to the fore. Little wonder his comrades thought the world of him.

Modest, loyal, respectful to opponents, grateful to all who have lent him a hand, and supported throughout a turbulent life by Kath, his rock of a wife, and their three children, this is a cricketing hero to rank with W G Grace, Jack Hobbs, Wally Hammond and Fred Trueman. A feature in the lives of all who saw him, and a very English hero. 

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State