Every generation of workers is told some version of the same story.
That the people across the street are the problem.
That immigrants are driving down wages. That public employees have it too easy. That manufacturing workers are overpaid. That teachers are asking for too much. That LGBTQ+ workers are asking for special treatment. That rural workers and urban workers have nothing in common. That younger workers don't understand commitment. That older workers are holding everyone else back.
The details change, but the strategy behind the message doesn't.
For as long as working people have organized, those with economic and political power have understood something fundamental: workers are strongest when they recognize their shared interests and workers are weakest when they can be convinced to see one another as the enemy. Division has always been one of the most effective tools for preserving unequal power.
History offers countless examples. Employers have used racial segregation to break strikes. They have recruited workers against one another based on nationality, gender, immigration status, and occupation. Politicians have redirected frustration away from concentrated economic power and toward vulnerable communities. Whenever workers begin building collective power, someone inevitably tries to convince us that our neighbor—not the system shaping our workplaces—is the real problem.
Sometimes those efforts succeed. But some of the labor movement's greatest victories came when workers refused that invitation.
When workers organized across racial lines in the industrial unions of the 1930s. When public employees built coalitions across professions. When farmworkers, civil rights organizations, faith communities, and labor unions recognized that their struggles were connected. When workers discovered that solidarity was not about pretending everyone had the same experience. It was about recognizing that none of us wins by leaving others behind. That lesson feels especially important today.
We are living through a period of deep political polarization. Many workers are feeling economic anxiety while also navigating rapid technological change, attacks on democratic institutions, uncertainty about immigration policy, and growing attempts to divide communities along racial, cultural, and ideological lines. These pressures are real. But they also create opportunities for those who benefit when working people stop organizing together.
Solidarity does not mean agreeing about everything.
It means recognizing that our ability to improve wages, working conditions, and democratic participation depends on our willingness to build relationships across difference. It means understanding that attacks on immigrants, LGBTQ+ communities, voting rights, racial justice, or academic freedom are not isolated political issues. They affect the ability of workers to organize, to participate fully in civic life, and to exercise collective power.
A labor movement that excludes people cannot build enough power to transform the economy. A labor movement that learns to organize across differences can build the power to transform our workplaces, our communities, and our democracy.
That work is never automatic. It requires spaces where workers can listen, learn, challenge one another, and build trust before conflict arrives. It requires leadership development that prepares people not only to negotiate contracts, but also to navigate difficult conversations, strengthen democratic organizations, and organize across communities that may not share identical experiences.
That is why labor education matters.
At the Center for Labor and Community Studies, we believe education is where solidarity becomes practical. Workers from different unions, industries, generations, and backgrounds come together not simply to gain new skills, but to build the relationships and shared analysis that make collective action possible.
This September, our Latina/o Workers Leadership Institute continues that tradition.
For decades, the Institute has helped develop Latino leaders who strengthen their unions, advocate for their communities, and expand worker power throughout Michigan. But it has never been intended only for Latino workers. The Institute is also a space for union members from every background who believe that stronger Latino leadership makes our entire labor movement stronger.
Participants learn practical organizing skills, deepen their understanding of the issues affecting Latino workers and communities, and build relationships across unions, industries, languages, and cultures. Together, they practice the kind of solidarity that makes collective action possible. Because when Latino workers have opportunities to lead, our unions become stronger, our workplaces become more democratic, and our communities become more resilient.
If solidarity is going to be more than a slogan, we have to practice it. We have to build it. And we have to keep choosing it, especially when division seems easier.
History has shown us, time and again, that when workers stand together across our differences, we do far more than protect one another.
We change what becomes possible.
In Solidarity,
Liz Ratzloff
Director, Center for Labor and Community Studies
