Union Protest at Serene Yale a Matter of Degree

They huffed and they puffed and they blew on their whistles, but Monday the racket of 4,000 pro-union marchers was barely heard within the storied walls of Old Campus, home to Yale’s graduation ceremony.

The demonstrators, who had a city permit to parade in the streets around the commencement site, were showing support for university dining hall employees, janitors and secretaries working with no contract since Jan. 22.

They walked arm in arm. They waved placards. They chanted, “No justice, no peace!” But the thick, red bricks of Old Campus’ 19th-century buildings, like adult hands over a child’s ears, kept the street noise from interrupting the serene proceedings in the grassy quadrangle.

Saucer-eyed parents, sitting beneath red oaks and American elms, searched for their young scholars amid the flutter of black gowns. College deans recited the formalities. The only rambunctious moment came when an honorary degree was given to singer-songwriter Paul Simon, prompting the Yale Concert Band to burst into a rendition of Simon’s “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard.”

“We made a deliberate, if controversial, decision to keep things from getting too menacing,” said Deborah Chernoff of the Yale locals of the Hotel Employees and Restaurant Employees. “We wanted to strike a balance--make our point without disrupting the handing out of diplomas.”

The pugnacious new leaders of the AFL-CIO had declared Yale to be a corporate outlaw, asking unions within a three-hour driving radius to send their members to a “People’s Commencement” in a rare show of solidarity.

The 295-year-old university made for a high-profile target, but even a re-energized labor movement lacked the voltage to make this a shining hour. The rally, while attracting several busloads of miners from Pennsylvania and electricians from New York, still drew thousands fewer than predicted.

“The dispute here is the same as everywhere: The employer wants unlimited rights to subcontract so he doesn’t have to pay union wages,” said miner Andy Kmetz. “No amount of profits is enough for the bosses these days.”

Some Yale officials had feared a melee within the halls of ivy, but both sides made efforts to keep one commencement separate from the other. Dozens of union marshals held their people in line while the university carefully checked every visitor for a ticket.

A few parents glowered at the protesters. “You know what this is about?” said Bill Barbieri, an accountant from Milford, Conn. “We’ve got have-nots here who want to take things from the haves. You can see this going on all across the country, and you’re going to see it a lot more. It’s outrageous.”

Many people went to one commencement but wished they were at the other. Several students wore big yellow pro-union signs over their gowns and then left the ceremony early.

When not marching, the protesters mainly stood on the New Haven Green. Al Accabo, a painter, was watching the lineup when, to his surprise, he saw one of his union’s officials among the well-dressed visitors.

“Hey, Bob,” he called out. “Bobby! Bobby!” Then he ran over toward the man. “Bobby, you’re going in there without even wearing a union sign?”

“I’m here for a relative’s graduation, nothing else,” said an irritated Bob, dressed in a blue blazer and shy about his last name.

Then Bob went inside, where the Yale Glee Club was about to sing, “Oh God, beneath thy guiding hand.”

Yale’s commencement ended about an hour before the People’s, the students and parents mostly gone when the union keynote speaker, the Rev. Jesse Jackson, finally faced the massive walls of Old Campus and pleaded: “Save the workers! Save the families! Keep hope alive!”