Coming back to California after spending a winter in the UK is a bit like emerging from a bunker. There are a few of us who suffer from reverse seasonal affective disorder and find relentless sun an emotional burden. Summer used to drag on and on for me, a school nerd who could not wait to buy new notebooks and pens. The Fourth of July was the turning point. Once the fireworks were over, I knew the days would get shorter, the nights would begin to chill, and all the supposed summer fun would end, providing an excuse to hide away with my books and homework. So when the Oxford Mail informed me of the upcoming May Day celebrations, it brought back blissful memories of a May Day spent standing in the rain listening to the choir sing  Hymnus Eucharisticus from the Great Tower of Magdalen College.

I rode my bike to make it to the bridge before dawn, stuffing it among thousands of others, before joining the thousands of May Day celebrants, many who had spent the night drinking and who were unsuccessful in their attempts to jump off the bridge — a dangerous tradition often leading to serious injuries. As the church bells chimed, Morris dancers moved down Broad Street, rain streaming down their faces.

Speakers took turns ascending the box at the end of the street where they voiced opinions ranging from traditional workers’ rights to whimsical thoughts. May Day in Oxford is a wonderful lesson in how Oxford finds ways to meld Town with Gown.

Thinking of May Day in Oxford put me in mind of scones. There is a bakery in Berkeley where I love to go for scones. It is a good thing that visiting this bakery involves getting dressed at an earlier hour and overcoming my distaste for finding parking on Shattuck Avenue. Most mornings these deterrents lead me to a sensible breakfast of oatmeal and bananas. But once the idea is planted, buying scones becomes a single-minded task and everything else is set aside.

Hair combed and clean clothes donned, I found parking in front of the bakery, only to discover the doors locked in celebration of May 1 – International Worker’s Day.  Disappointment aside, the sign urged me to remember why we should celebrate May Day. My Master’s Thesis focused on Nineteenth-century French sweated labor (workers producing things like matches and clothing in dingy apartments or small shops) – workers who needed a unified voice for improving their working conditions. And yet, I’m just as guilty as other U.S. consumers of ignoring the despicable working conditions in off-shore garment sweatshops.

1911 Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire

Far too many people in the United States work for hourly wages without guaranteed hours or health care and no idea how many hours they will work each week. We depend on these workers and yet, we forget them. We scoff at their attempts to organize, forgetting that organization brought better working conditions to many workers. It is beyond this blog to argue for or against unions or whether they serve the greater good. But we must consider the plight of workers who have no power to change their working conditions and who cannot earn a livable wage.

I’m a middle Baby Boomer, coming of age in the sixties and living in a place where the John Birch Society thrived. Displaying a Peace sign on the window was tantamount to joining a commune. Spouting workers’ rights put you on the rolls of the Communist Party. It is different here in the Bay area where nursery school children participate in Peace Marches, singing “We shall overcome” alongside the ‘safe’ nursery rhymes that hide political agendas. They understand that a rainbow flag signifies inclusiveness. Historically all of these activities would point to Communist infiltration and the dissolution of American ‘values’.

As the bakery’s website points out, the USA has a long history of protests and movements which led to better working conditions and the eight-hour day, but we do not make May 1 an official holiday.

Work is the one thing uniting all of us. It is the cornerstone of our country’s values. Let’s take a moment and remember all the people who work without recognition to make our lives easier.