Governor Walker exempted police and firefighters from his union-busting Budget Repair Bill—unlike other state workers, they can keep their unions (for now!). This seems to have been strategic, since police and firefighter unions lean conservative, whereas teachers’ unions lean liberal.
But if it was supposed to drive a wedge between them and the rest of us, that hasn’t happened at all! Police and firefighters have been among the protesters since the beginning, along with many others who aren’t yet directly affected by the bill. There are steelworkers and other private trade union members, and there are people like Ron and me, who aren’t unionized at all but still value worker rights.
The firefighters have been one of the highlights of the protest. They march through on an hourly basis; their procession consists of a formal bagpipe band, followed by 50 to 100 formally-uniformed firefighters, then another 50 or so that are out of uniform.
I can’t tell you how electrifying it is to see them here, even though they’ll lose nothing (yet!) from the bill. I think there’s a sense that a threat to one union is a threat to all unions, and a sense of camaraderie among us all as public employees.
Here is a moving video featuring firefighters, police, and others talking about why they’re supporting the protest:
Among the police, it’s not only the officers who’re officially here to protest. Those on duty are with us, too!
In the last couple days, as I’ve wandered and chanted my way through the crowds at the Capitol, I’ve begun stopping to ask questions of the cops manning the protest. I’ve now gotten into conversations with four of them. All have reiterated the same things: they’re impressed with the protesters, and they’re on our side.
The first police officer I talked to was working inside the Capitol midday yesterday, the second Tuesday of the protest. He was standing by a pillar, and I asked him for directions then struck up a conversation with him.
I found out he’s among the many officers here from out of town—he’s originally from Wausau. There was a noisy drumming and chanting session in the rotunda, and we had to yell our conversation because of the noise bouncing off the marble walls.
“What do you think of it here?” I asked him.
“Oh, it’s great! I’m really glad to be a part of it!”
“Really?” I commented that it was pretty loud, and he laughed.
“Usually I have earplugs!” he shouted.
“Is it this loud all day?” I asked.
“All day long!” He was smiling.
“I’ll bet you’re feeling antsy to get back to your normal job?”
“A little. I’m using up my overtime being here!”
“Do all the police generally feel like you, glad to be a part of it?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, we’re all glad to be here—it’s so easy—the protesters are kind, peaceful, polite, clean… It’s a walk in the park…”
There are a lot of police—and state troopers, and wardens, you name it—stationed all around the Capitol, with absolutely nothing to do. They stand in pairs or groups, chatting and smiling, a bit bored.
Last night, a large group of friends and I were looking for a quiet place in the Capitol to have a conversation about the issues. In the rotunda at the center of the spectacular building, loud drumming and chanting were going on as always, and it was hard to speak in anything but a yell in the whole place.
We ventured up to the fourth floor, where three officers were hanging out and chatting at the top of the broad staircase. One was a forty-something woman with short hair and a cheerful expression, seated on a rolling desk chair.
She casually rolled closer to us and asked, “Can I help you?” She said we weren’t allowed on the fourth floor.
My friend Peter asked her, “So, has anyone brought you pizza? There’s free pizza downstairs.”
“No, not for us,” she said wryly; “Maybe the officers downstairs.”
“Oh, they should bring you some!” we said.
“No, no,” she said. “That pizza is for you. We want you to have it. We’re glad you’re here. We can’t protest with you, so you’re our voice!”
