Today is International Workers’ Day — also known as May Day — a day of remembrance born in the streets, not in the halls of power.
Where I come from, we don’t celebrate May Day with brunches and speeches.
We remember it with blood in the soil.
From Blair Mountain to Harlan County, our ancestors faced down company thugs and strikebreakers with nothing but grit and union cards.
At Paint Creek they dug trenches. At Matewan, they stared down a corporate army. In Brookside, it was women on the line — blocking trucks and facing riot cops head-on.
They buried our heroes in unmarked graves. They banned our unions, jailed our leaders, and tried to break our spirit with Pinkertons and propaganda.
But they couldn’t erase what we knew in our bones — that our labor built this country, and our solidarity could change it.
And I’ll be damned if I sit by while the MAGA crooks try to erase that history — or gut everything we fought to win.
So let me be clear: I’m not just pro-labor. I am labor.
Back in 2018, I helped organize a teachers’ strike that kicked off a seven-state strike wave. We locked arms with bus drivers and classroom aides, cafeteria workers and janitors — and won better wages and safer working conditions for educators and school support personnel across the country.
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