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The story of the "Ellensburg 6" almost seems scripted for Hollywood. Almost. Six union linemen at a small utility in the eastern shadow of the Cascades face down an employer determined to outsource their jobs by making them miserable enough to quit. Morale is at rock bottom. Their safety is at risk. So is the central Washington town that counts on its trusted, year-round crew to keep the lights on. Then, as icy contract talks drag on, a movement erupts. "I stand with the Ellensburg 6" becomes a rallying cry. Residents and union brothers and sisters far and wide flock to social media. Yard signs pop up everywhere. Shopkeepers line windows with placards. Farmers offer land to pitch jumbo signs along the road. A billboard on wheels rolls up and down the streets. Hundreds of people clamor for virtual seats at a City Council meeting. Drivers honk their salutes as supporters picket City Hall in campaign T-shirts and face masks. Solidarity and kinship are abundant. In two months' time, the linemen have a new three-year contract with raises the city had bitterly refused. That's where moviemakers would roll the credits. The reality is more complicated for Seattle-based Local 77, its Ellensburg crew, and beleaguered members at other public utilities where turnover at the top has swept in rabidly anti-union managers. In late 2019, the Kittitas County Public Utility District succeeded at browbeating its linemen to the exits and contracting out their jobs. With the same tactics in play in Ellensburg, the county seat, Local 77 pulled out the stops to avoid an encore. The linemen won their community's hearts, but the city is still waging war. Now, a new front has opened up 95 miles southeast in Richland, where managers treated their dispirited, underpaid line crews with even more rancor during the COVID-19 pandemic. |
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