NCCnovel Chapter 301 Independent Workers' Mutual Aid Association
Chapter 301 Independent Workers' Mutual Aid Association
(Thanks to "I am Mrs. Yorktown's dog" for the expert certification! Thanks to "Identity V Heavy Addict to xx" for the expert certification! Two chapters today~)
Early September 1990, Tokyo.
The autumn rains of typhoon season brought an early end to the city's summer heat. At Shinjuku Station in the early morning, commuters with transparent umbrellas crowded at the zebra crossing. They walked silently, their faces showing anxiety, without speaking to each other.
After all, the Ministry of Finance's order to cut off loans had been in effect for months. The crazy era of people scrambling for taxis on the streets with 10,000 yen bills was over. The government said things would recover, but the number of bankruptcies was increasing every day.
However, today, this gloomy commuting flow has clearly stalled at the newsstands at major subway entrances.
Everyone passing by is drawn to the morning newspapers prominently displayed. The front pages of mainstream media outlets like the Yomiuri Shimbun and Asahi Shimbun are entirely dominated by several columns of large, bold, lead-type text.
[Prime Minister personally oversees operations! Business leaders launch unemployment relief program, Saionji Group injects 10 billion yen in cash!]
[Seibu Group, in partnership with Fuji Bank, invests 15 billion yen to overcome the current difficulties!]
Mitsubishi Group announces the establishment of a 20 billion yen special fund to recruit 5,000 unemployed workers!
[Mitsui and Sumitomo issued statements overnight, bringing the total amount pledged by the business community to over 60 billion yen!]
The bold, black ink font stood out starkly against the gloomy autumn rain.
To ordinary people, these astronomical figures with countless zeros are the only sparks of light in this economic winter.
"So there really is welfare money..."
A middle-aged man in an old trench coat clutched the newspaper, his eyes red as he stared at the details.
However, for the 230 unemployed workers hiding under the Ueno Park overpass, this nationally sensational charity event carried a weight a thousand times greater than the printed words in the newspapers.
Ueno Park, under the overpass.
A corner of the tarpaulin was lifted by a gust of cold wind that swept into the bridge arch, and raindrops drifted into the dim space. The pungent smell of mildew, the stench of rancid food scraps, and a few suppressed coughs mingled in the damp and murky air.
Yamada stepped through the muddy puddles and entered the bridge arch.
He was carrying a heavy black canvas bag in his hand, and had a morning newspaper he had just bought from the newsstand tucked under his arm.
Following behind Yamada were four of the most burly foremen. They had all been with Yamada since their hometown and could be considered his "trusted men".
They stood on either side of Yamada and behind him, each holding a scaffolding steel pipe with rust on it upside down.
As they stepped deeper into the bridge arch, the unemployed workers around them, wrapped in tattered cardboard boxes and shivering, all looked up. Hundreds of eyes, slightly greenish from prolonged hunger, focused on the bulging black canvas bag.
Heavy breathing could be heard from the crowd. Several starving young workers, supporting themselves on their hands, tried to crawl forward on their knees.
"when--"
A foreman standing to Yamada's left slammed the steel pipe in his hand heavily against the concrete block beside him. The crisp metallic clang was amplified by the amplifying effect of the bridge arch.
The other three foremen stepped forward slightly and raised the steel pipes in their hands.
The unemployed crowd that had been pushing forward was abruptly brought to a stop. Those in the front row stared fearfully at the blunt, rusty objects, making soft, swallowing noises.
Yamada walked to a load-bearing concrete pillar in the center of the bridge arch.
He pulled the Yomiuri Shimbun from under his arm and laid it flat on the surface of the concrete pillar. Then he took a thumbtack from his pocket, aimed it at a corner of the newspaper, and pressed it down hard.
After doing this, Yamada turned around and placed the heavy black canvas bag on the old wooden tray on the ground.
The zipper was pulled open in one go.
Bundles of Japanese yen cash, sealed with bank stamps, were exposed to the dim light from the underpass.
The coughing inside the bridge arch completely disappeared.
Two hundred and thirty workers, who looked pale and sickly, stopped what they were doing.
"Brother Yamada..." At the front of the crowd, an elderly worker with gray hair stared intently at the cash. "This is... for us? The people from Chiba Bank didn't take this money?"
Yamada took a step back and pointed to the front page of the newspaper behind him.
"Everyone can read." Yamada's voice echoed in the bridge arch, hoarse from a sleepless night. "This is today's morning paper. Last night, those big bosses raised over 60 billion yen at a hotel in the port area."
Yamada tapped the Mitsubishi Group header line twice with his finger.
"Look carefully. Mitsubishi says it's going to spend 20 billion yen to hire 5,000 more people. It sounds great, but that's for skilled workers with technical expertise in shipyards and machine shops. We roughnecks who only know how to tie steel bars and pour cement are not even qualified to work there."
He moved his finger aside and pointed to the Saionji Group's title.
"Only here. The Saionji family published a notice in the newspaper, bypassing the corporate entity, and directly distributed relief to workers who had receipts for unpaid wages."
"Only the Saionji family actually pays us cash! This cash is part of our owed wages!"
The old worker stretched out his mud-covered hand and trembled as he touched the nearest bundle of banknotes. Then his legs gave way and he collapsed to his knees in the mud.
"There's hope... Misaki's medical expenses can be covered..." The old worker covered his face with his hands and wailed.
A long-suppressed sob and rapid breathing suddenly erupted from the crowd.
"The Saionji family really did give out money..."
"Thank God!"
"I can finally send money home for living expenses..."
Hearing the chaotic cries and shouts around him, Yamada lifted his foot and stood on an overturned, abandoned wooden crate.
"Don't rush to cry."
The crowd below stopped crying and looked up at Yamada, who was standing on the wooden crate.
"President Matsuura jumped off a building. The existing company union didn't dare utter a sound, let alone go to the bank to help us get our money back." Yamada pointed to the cash on the ground. "We can fill our stomachs and pay off our debts with this money today. But what about next month? The economy is still laying off workers. If we go to work on other construction sites and encounter bosses and banks like this again, who will protect us?"
The crowd below stopped crying and looked up at Yamada, who was standing on the wooden crate.
"From today onwards, the old union is defunct in name only." Yamada raised his voice. "We are going to establish an 'Independent Labor Mutual Aid Association.' This money will be distributed to everyone in full. But those who receive this money must henceforth obey the orders of the Mutual Aid Association."
Yamada took out a liability waiver and mutual assistance agreement that had been drafted by the legal staff at the hotel the night before and placed it next to the newspaper.
"The Saionji family is willing to provide us with legal support. In the future, when we work on any construction site, the mutual aid association will sign contracts with the employers. If anyone dares to withhold our wages, the Saionji family's legal team will help us get justice."
Yamada's gaze swept over each of his coworkers in the front row, his eyes reddening.
"Brothers, this life-saving cash was transferred to us by a benefactor of the Saionji family... who risked having their account seized by the bank and the court." Yamada's voice trembled with emotion, his fingers gripping the seams of his work pants tightly. "This person is a complete stranger to us and originally had no need to care about our lives. This kindness is something we 230 men owe."
He raised his clenched fist and pounded his chest hard.
"The world outside has changed. Big banks are pressing for repayment everywhere, and big bosses are laying off employees. Those of us who only know how to sell our labor have been scattered, and in this winter, we're worse than stray dogs."
Yamada looked down at his fellow workers, whose faces were streaked with tears.
"If you think that taking this money will allow you to return to your hometown peacefully, or if you want to go out and work on your own, you can leave now after you collect your wages. I, Yamada, will not stop you."
Two hundred and thirty people stood in the mud, huddled together, and no one moved an inch.
"But if you still consider me your foreman, and still want to survive this brutal winter together," Yamada raised his voice, his hoarse voice echoing under the bridge, "we must stick together! We must huddle together for warmth, and no one should leave anyone behind! If we establish a mutual aid society, then when the Saionji family needs our help in the future, we will repay this kindness with our lives, even if it costs us our lives!"
There was silence inside the bridge arch for a few seconds.
A young steelworker with an old scar on his face squeezed forward two steps. He vigorously wiped his face, which was wet with rain and tears, with the back of his hand and shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Brother Yamada is right! The original union was nowhere to be seen when we were starving! It was the Saionji family who gave us a way to survive! From now on, wherever the mutual aid association goes, we'll go!"
"Yes! Let's all stick together!" "We will never forget the kindness of the Saionji family!"
Hunger, the pressure of survival, and gratitude for being saved ignited the emotions of the 230 workers. A chorus of shouts echoed beneath the bridge, even faintly drowning out the sounds of wind and rain outside.
The workers spontaneously formed a long queue.
Yamada pulled a cheap red plastic inkpad from his work pants pocket. He pried open the lid and pressed it flat against the cement pillar next to the contract.
The young steelworker at the front of the line took the bundle of ten thousand yen bills from Yamada, his hands trembling as he stuffed it tightly into his pocket. Then he extended his right thumb and pressed it firmly into the red inkpad, before pressing a circular fingerprint heavily into the blank space on the mutual aid contract's list.