Talking of Dublin.
This is going to be a long and uninteresting post but if I don’t write it down now while I’m still a courier, I never will. Something I’d nearly forgotten – an uprising and a revolution and changing of the world and whatnot and did it ever amount to anything? Except being blacklisted in a number of Dublin’s courier companies?
Year 2001 2002 and working for Cyclone in Dublin – not quite the McDonald’s it has now become but already being steered that way. Although a good company to work for, good clients and enough of them, they did have the poor habit of trying to make the couriers out of their bonus whenever they could. And, of course, you had to wear a uniform. Which most of us didn’t really mind, we were new to the game and quite glad that the company provided the essentials, neon yellow tights and rain jackets and a plastic bag that would bang against your ankles as you cycled.
We were mostly rookies, with only few long term couriers – older couriers had all moved on and many held a grudge against Cyclone, which I only came to understand – and share – later. Cyclone was very much the company to start with, Conor there must have trained 90% of Dublin’s couriers over the years he’s controlled at Cyclone.
“Working Conditions”
Cyclone had had something of a courier uprising the previous year, when a core group of long term guys got together and pushed through a pay rise, the first one in the history of Cyclone, I seem to remember. One of the main people doing this was 01 James, a law graduate and a grass roots activist tightly involved in labor/socialist movement.
Coming from a Social-Democratic country with incredible level of social security and workers’ rights, I spent many a standing-by hour improving the world and society with James. I couldn’t quite understand where his deep dislike – I’d almost say hatred – towards Cyclone the courier industry was coming from, I was quite happy to be out cycling and being paid for the jobs I did and not worrying about things like pension, holiday pay, sick pay and the rest. Until I had an accident and had to discover the realities of couriering the hard way.
I had signed a paper, paper that I now passionately and quite irrationally hate, stating that I was an independent contractor. But that was the small print and anyway, didn’t mean anything to me. As far as I was concerned, I got a pay slip every week with tax and National Insurance deducted and assumed I had basic security – being somewhat naive and very careless, the lack of insurance cover never even entered my mind.
When I had my very first rub off with a skip truck, the first question the other couriers asked was “Did you get his license plates?” I was like, what? I couldn’t get it in my head that if something happened to me I’d have to chase up payment myself through the courts. Until the said accident, that is.
Being out of work, in quick succession I found out that although PRSI (N.I.) was deducted from my wages, it was only my half of the contribution. The other half should be paid by the employer, or in my case, by myself as I was an independent contractor – a technical term that only acquired meaning in my mind when I struggled and failed to pay my rent with a fractured knee cap and eventually had to go home to my family to recover.
Uprising.
Early autumn that year Cyclone revamped their uniforms and changed the rules for wearing it – previously you could get away without doing it but you wouldn’t get your bonus, which is what some of the older couriers opted for having issues about being branded and being a mobile advertisement board for the company. There was a lot of discontent and moaning at the wall where we sat waiting for work, and in the end we agreed to have a meeting to stand up against the company that was changing rules without consulting us.
Not so much unlike the situation that arose in my present company last year when job prices were cut without a warning and for a while the atmosphere in the Corner was ROTTEN. Although in another country, another company and another time, for me there were parallels that made me look back at the Cyclone action and look for an explanation of why I felt so uncomfortable around the issue this time in London.
In Dublin, in the first one or two meetings all the old heads were present (who, apparently, were branded “agitators” in the Cyclone offices). Then, mostly for reasons that I either can’t recall or never was aware of in the first place, a number of couriers left. One moved to Australia, James quit couriering and got another job (although stayed in touch and helped with everything), someone else went traveling. Somebody left once the pay rise planning got on the way – their plans for the future revolved around the Cyclone office and naturally they didn’t want be involved in anything to upset their future employer.
As a result, I was left being one out of a handful of “experienced” couriers in the fleet, and the one who was the most determined about not letting Cyclone get away treating their riders as they did.
At this point we had already formulated, signed and sent a letter to Cyclone explaining the issue and saying what we wanted. It was all tied around the new uniform and accepting it and detailed better pay, better bonus and fairer rules for getting the bonus. And we wanted a water dispenser for the office, who the hell it was who got that one included I unfortunately can’t recall.
We had had a meeting with Kevin Oliver and Simon and got back a plain response of “No, keep dreaming”.
After the initial letter and meeting, it seemed that practically the whole fleet had changed and the whole pay rise action was in my hands to keep it going, if I wished. I didn’t know what was the right thing to do, I suppose I didn’t know what it was that I wanted or what we wanted, but I started digging.
The Big Bad U.
There was something fundamentally wrong about how couriers were employed and how they were treated. I started taking days off to visit the labour courts, The Department of Work and Employment, to read up on cases in Employment Tribunals. We met up with Big Neal and James, it was Neal I think who set up a connection with the Communication Worker’s Union, who were first interested and soon enthusiastic about setting a subdivision for couriers.
Before I even knew, this thing in my hands had grown from a simple pay rise battle within one company into action potentially involving the labour courts and an attempt into unionizing the couriers to achieve better working conditions.
It was around this time that it begun to feel more serious and I started to feel the weight of it on me and my job being under threat.
The responses to unionizing from older couriers, especially from motor bikes were daunting. That’s been tried before. They (companies) will never let you do that. You’ll be sacked and nobody will hire you. You’ll be blacklisted. Don’t mention the Big U-word. Couriers are too transient a work force to be unionized. And anyway, we don’t want to be unionized – do you want to be licenced? Have a daily wage instead of a commission?
Someone told me the motorbikes had gone quite far in unionizing, but that in the end it fell apart, I think it had to do with paying the membership fees, or where the money went or something, and those that had been involved as central figures got into trouble.
I was adamant that it should be at least tried. From my perspective, the companies were exploiting the people on the road, it simply didn’t go with my concept of (social) justice that someone could get richer without ensuring that the basic needs of the people doing the actual work were looked after. Did I already mention being naive?
In my investications I discovered what the story was behind deducting tax and PRSI at source. Apparently nobody used to pay tax, until the Revenue went to the major companies, Cyclone being one of these, and more or less gave them a choice of either starting to deduct tax from their contractors’ pay at a flat rate of 20% or have the Revenue start investigations into the companies records. It is easy to see which option they would pick.
Somehow I managed to get hold of a signed and stamped statement from the Revenue that clarified my status as an employee. Staff at the Department of Work and Employment went through their information and guidelines and helped me tick boxes that were heavily weighing on the employee side.
Unionizing and getting ready to open a case in the Employment Tribunal had became the main objectives, but the pay rise battle continued on the side. Somehow all the new couriers were quite open to the idea of “rebelling” and thoughts and plans about possible avenues of action were in the air.
It seems to me that this was something Cyclone was not aware of at the time as all they knew was that myself together with nr10 would turn up in the office with a letter from the couriers, sometimes signed by everyone, but not always, and be crucified in the small office trying to hold defence agains two slick business men with power and experience.
It was my responsibility to produce the letters and have them signed by the couriers, and I never thought back to that until last year when I found myself holding a letter to my present company to be signed by the push-bike fleet and felt my hands shaking. All kinds of irrational fears run through my head and the paper more or less burned my skin – I remember saying to x that I couldn’t do it and I did explain why and later even regretted explaining, feeling that I could probably be sacked just on the grounds of what I had been involved in in Dublin.
Then someone else in the Corner made a remark about the working conditions and sick pay and getting organized and a Union… I just got really angry and told the person where they could stick their thoughts, that it can’t be done, why it can’t be done and to just shut up and keep that U-word under the carpet where it belongs before the wrong person over hears it and passes it on to the company together with the names of those who were heard talking about it.
A fine level of paranoia! Looking back though, my response was almost word for word what I was told in my time in Dublin.
So, finally the circulating of letters with Cyclone came to an end, Cyclone said they simply can’t afford any of the things we were asking for and we said that well, we are asking for them, though. Kevin and Simon called for a meeting after work on a Thursday clearly confident and certain of themselves.
At the wall words like wild-cat strike were ping-ponged between couriers – what were we to do if they said no? All call in with a puncture? All switch off at once? Could we trust each other? How could we trust each other when Conor starts ringing the rounds:
“Are you going to pick up this package — no? — you’re sacked.”
I remember Zippy stopping at the wall asking me:
“How’s the Revolution going?”
I said “Well”, and showed a brave face, but I was scared and uncertain. I was under a good bit of stress without realizing it. Talking about taking action at the wall had ballooned into action much bigger and much more serious – in my own and in Dublin’s courier world scale – than I had envisaged. On top of that, I didn’t really know what I was doing, or why I was doing it. It was something I’d stepped into and now had to keep on going.
Come that Thursday, it was already November I think, the whole autumn had gone in the process, I made my way to the offices very unsure and worried. Kevin and Simon seemed to think we didn’t stand a change, that, in fact, as the workforce had changed, nobody was interested except me and couple of others. It is weird but I don’t have a memory of the whole thing, I do remember sitting in the base facing Kevin, but not how I got there, whether there was anyone there before me or if the couriers were there first or if it was Kevin and Simon there first.
The meeting.
Everybody turned up. Every single courier, new and old sat in that room quiet and waiting. Everybody, without a word.
Somebody said to me later – “Did you see their faces? They didn’t think we’d be there.”
Having everybody in the room together changed it all. Individually, we were nothing. Together, we were a force to reckon with.
Every single thing we had asked for, we got. Except the water dispenser.
The next day I did 60 dockets for the first time. I cycled like a lunatic, like a prisoner who had just been released. Cycled it all out. Somehow I felt that Conor, my controller – and I could be totally wrong – was quietly happy with what we’d done and gave me the work that day.
Aftermath.
I was relieved and happy to leave it behind and never do it again, never have anything to do with the Big U, with organizing, with confronting employers, bosses, companies, never even think about unfair conditions or how to improve them. The work I had done for Unionizing, sourcing information and contacts, all meaningless. I didn’t want it anymore. I only wanted to do my work quietly and not be bothered.
I was sour, too. I had done something, we had done something, but it didn’t fix the problem. Nothing had changed. It was still the big boys and the small boys and no justice. Also, I still wasn’t clear about why I’d done it. Not for many more years.
Out of the disappointment grew the idea of leaving, going somewhere else to do the same job, job that I was only beginning to love. What was the obvious destination? London, of course.
I left all my union – labour law – employment material with Big Neal wishing him the best but not imagining much would really come out of it – not because he couldn’t do it, but because it seemed like an impossible task.
Nr 10 organized a big Christmas/ leaving/ DBMA party where Crazy Horse Conor turned up with a spade and used it as a bongo stick in the tiled toilets – there’s another pub where the couriers aren’t welcome back. We packed our stuff, I found a good courier to replace us and we moved to London.
Graham later told me that Cyclone took back the pay rise early the following year but I don’t remember the details of this. I’ve also been told that having learned their lesson they scared the next generation of “agitators” and “trouble makers” quiet, and although there was another uprising the following year for all I know they didn’t get results.
Consequences
Four years later nr10 rang Conor from Finland asking for work for us over the Christmas period. Conor said to ring back the next day. Next day the answer was:
“As much as I’d like to, NO.”
Not welcome back.
I got work with Securispeed instead, and although I didn’t regret, felt very sorry for not being able to go back with the company I’d started with. A year later in 2006 we were back in Dublin, to stay this time, and I was looking for work with Pony or someone.
“So you’ve worked as a courier here before?”
“Yes”
“Who were you with”
“Cyclone”
“Why don’t you go back with them?”
He knew about the payrise battle, Dublin is only small.
Luckily, there were still companies where it was a merit to have caused trouble with “The Enemy” as long as the U-word was safely kept out of the premises. I went back with Securispeed and stayed with them nearly until the time they were sold to – who else but Cyclone. They called it “a merge”, but quickly enough the good Securispeed dockets started going to the Cyclone bases, Securispeed staff were let go, and Securispeed couriers found themselves looking for work elsewhere.
But that’s beside the point. That’s just “I hate Cyclone and so do my friends”.
Amusingly, nr10 was still with Securispeed when it got swallowed by Cyclone in 2008. Through people in the Securispeed office I heard about the meetings around the merge “We had awful trouble with him and herself. And he wouldn’t wear the uniform.” To which the office manager of Securispeed was able to reply “Well, he put my uniform on for me.” Eventually nr10 left but he left with the Cyclone uniform that had sparked the whole thing off – without ever having to pay for it.
London.
2003 in London I had my first proper conversation with Bill and for some reason the pay rise came up. I said I regretted doing it and was never going to do it again.
The reasons for this only became clear to me when I was holding that letter to my company here last year. Again, I had got involved. I was being very vocal about how I felt about my company cutting the prices – and quite scared about being so vocal. I engaged in the conversation and planning and writing up a letter. I volunteered to do the minutes of the meeting.
I kept on questioning myself, what am I doing? Why am I doing it? Have I not learned my lesson? How is this going to be any different from Dublin? What kind of an idiot am I? Yet I couldn’t let it go, couldn’t let it be, couldn’t not do it.
What was happening with my company in London was, as far as I could see, that it was far too easy to pass on the loss of trade to the couriers, who were already suffering with the economic downturn. If we didn’t stand up and say no, it would happen over and over again as times would get tougher. It was about money, but not only about money (nor was Dublin, though). It was again the same principle of justice, and protecting the weaker, smaller, more vulnerable party.
Not only that. Last year, it was the rotten, angry, awful atmosphere at the Corner that needed an outlet and an expression. We could not go on moaning and cursing at each other, it was unbearable. It needed to come out and the manner in which it would come out needed to be moderated so as to avoid any harm to ourselves or to our company.
Once I’d figured out these answers for myself, I felt more comfortable to follow it up and do what I thought was needed. I felt relieved when it was over, but had no problems and no regrets.
In Dublin, as I understand now, and this doesn’t matter for anybody else except myself, there was an element of personal vendetta. I went after the company who didn’t look after me when I got hurt, it is as simple as that. As much as my motive was causing trouble to Cyclone and not the rights of the courier, I was doing the wrong thing.
In London last year, there was no personal vendetta, no revenge, no hatred. I didn’t really wish for a change nor did I expect one, and therefore felt no disappointment. I was simply involved in an expression of discontent and in mild resistance to further worsening of conditions.
The working conditions? I haven’t thought about them for years. I’ve accepted them as a state of affairs which is thus. Every time I’ve had to sign that piece of paper in a new company though… if the pen I was holding had feelings it would not want to go on living.
Uniforms? Nothing against them except the fact that you run a risk of getting a phone call after you from an angry driver/pedestrian.
Company vs. courier? Neaaaah. Who cares.
Union? Who would really want one.
Just deliver the packages and try not to ask too many questions.
Edit:
Workers’ Solidarity Movement on the Cyclone action.
More on Revolution: Maybe it is good to ask questions, after all.
Some More Tea For Two Four Tee 