Those who forget the past...

Are doomed to repeat it.

Today, in my gender and labor class (please refrain from making any childbirth jokes, thanks), I gave a presentation about women in trade unions and their work to organize for better working conditions. It's very interesting seeing how our society has really progressed in a century. I was talking about how the female unionists faced hostility in the workforce (which was dominated by men) and harassment in the unions (which were controlled by men), giving them a huge battle to fight. My professor then asked me, "What are some events that you think may have helped or hindered their cause?"

My immediate answer to that was, of course, the horrific Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire. About half the class looked confused, and one undergrad tentatively asked, "What was the Triangle Fire?"

Now, I'd known about this event since I was in grade school, and being the history buff, I explained what it was. For those of you readers who don't know, the Triangle Fire was a fire that engulfed the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory in New York in 1911. Hundreds of young female workers were busy putting together garments, and the doors to the factory were locked from the outside, preventing them from leaving work early. Because the doors were locked, the women could not get out of the building as it burned. As the minutes ticked by as they waited for help, many of the women jumped out the windows of the highrise and the rest of them perished in the fire.

The Triangle Fire is the reason behind a lot of protective labor laws, such as having mandatory fire escapes in businesses, windows in doors, and generally, a way out if disaster struck. As I was telling the story, my classmates stared in shock. "That really happened?" asked one girl. "I have such a scary image in my head of those women jumping out the windows--how awful for them!" added another. The lone guy in the class pulled up a picture of the fiery factory on his smartphone and added, "Says here it was one of New York's deadliest disasters." I was glad that I got to educate the class about this very important topic but felt a little sad that they didn't know about it before.

Then I got to thinking that, maybe, things might not have changed as much as we would have liked since the Triangle Factory burned. We unfortunately still live in a very class-segregated society. Sure, the laws passed since then certainly help to prevent a similar incident from happening, but I am aware that in many sweatshops that serve American companies, the doors are locked and workers may not leave. This so begs the question, whose safety do we value? At one time in our country's history, the young, single, and immigrant women doing the piecework in the factories or cleaning up after their employers were considered expendable and not worth the labor protection. In sweatshops, it's primarily women and children who have no other resources.

Who do we want to be safe? And how much have we really learned from that event?

An open letter for the dude at R&B Night

Dear dude at R&B Night,

All right, I don't remember what you said your name was, and I'm not sure you heard what mine was over the music at R&B Night. You know, you were pretty polite and a decent dancer, which I'm not complaining about. I was more than OK with dancing with you and making small talk with you. You didn't act obnoxiously or entitled or in like any of the annoying guys I've had to fend off in the past. And you didn't drop me when you tried to dip me. That's a big plus! Can't tell you how annoying it is when a guy mis-judges his ability to support you and drops you on your butt!

However, dude at R&B night, here's where my compliments stop. You happened to step on my foot and wound up breaking my nail! That is SO not cool, random dude! I didn't even notice till I returned to my place and spent the rest of the night with a bottle of nail glue and the rest of today after work at J Beauty trying to find the perfect kind of topcoat to fix the broken nail.

Next time I see you, random dude, you better not make that mistake again. You can dance horrendously or sing off-key along with the band. But you cross the line when you mess up my pedicure! Forget the drink, you're buying me a new pedicure if I ever see you again.

And I mean it.

Still fuming among the nail glue fumes,

Revel