even when most plans proved – year in, year out – to be completely irrelevant in the shortest order.
“We produce nothing in an industrial sense,” continued Comrade Wyner. “We’re under attack because someone in the new government hates us.”
This, too, seemed to Alan to be very likely.
“It’s important to understand what is happening here, Comrade Wyner,” said Burgoyne, patiently. “We happen to be enmeshed in the classic symptoms of exploitative productive relations: conflict and antagonism between, on one hand, the controllers of the means of production and, on the other, the overburdened, downtrodden workers.”
“Twaddle,” said Comrade Wyner.
Alan silently agreed. He didn’t think there was much in the way of conflict and antagonism in day-to-day relations with management – resigned compliance was the usual state of affairs – and he didn’t think of himself or his colleagues as, on average, 'unduly overburdened'.
“Now is the time, comrades, for us to rise up and throw off the yoke of capitalist exploitation,” Burgoyne continued. “Now is the moment for us to seize the means of production from the property-owning classes and dispense with the tyranny of commodities.”
“Poppycock,” said Comrade Wyner.
Alan didn’t think there was much to be gained by the seizure of desks, files and in-trays, and, in consequence, found himself in agreement, once again, with Comrade Wyner.
“Then,” Burgoyne continued, “under the systematic organisation of communism, man – using the term in its broadest non-gender specific sense – will emerge as the conscious Lord of all nature, no longer dominated by things – and it is things, comrades, yes, things, which are the greatest impediment to our mastery of our destiny, as a class.”
“Bollocks,” said Comrade Wyner.
“Comrade chair,” said the intense young woman, “what has our organiser, Angry Eric – Comrade Nesbitt – had to say about this morning’s announcement …. and what does he propose to do about it?”
“And shouldn’t we be finding out what the journalists are going to do, with a view to unity and solidarity?” asked the cross-eyed man.
“The journalists are puppets of the capitalist expropriators,” said a woman with a huge nose: “unrepentant agents of hegemony.”
“Comrades,” said Burgoyne, “I hadn’t yet got to the bits of my opening address about unity and solidarity but I was, I can assure you, on my way there.”
“I move that we take industrial action,” said the woman with the huge nose, “to let those management running dogs know how serious we are and to show them we aren’t going to take this lying down.”
For some reason Alan’s mind wandered to the old saying about the consequences of snuggling up to canines.
“I move that we take immediate industrial action,” said the woman with the huge nose.
Everybody present seemed to have a view about this proposition; hardly anyone was silent.
“Order, order,” said Burgoyne, tapping his teaspoon against his flute.
“In answer to the question put to me by Comrade Bright, I am able to tell you that Comrade Nesbitt, our organiser, is almost speechless with rage. He has told me that he will not tolerate the loss of so much as a single job. He is – not to put too fine a point on it – livid, and he is talking to the secretary as we speak.”
‘Angry’ Eric Nesbitt was infamous both for his temper tantrums and the unmitigated depravity of his vocabulary. Alan wasn’t the only person in the room to feel sorry for the secretary.
“A point of order, chair,” said the cross-eyed man. “There is at least one motion before the meeting, proposing industrial action.”
“I think that you’re referring to things that were more suggestions regarding ways ahead than formal motions, Comrade Sidcup. And, in any event, they employed emotive language entirely inconsistent with scientific socialism and they failed to specify what sort of industrial action should be taken.”
“I was carried away with revolutionary zeal,” said the woman with the huge nose. “I withdraw the motion or both motions but still think we ought to be sticking it up the management pigs.”
“Thank you,” said Burgoyne. “Motion or motions withdrawn and, in answer to the question directed to the chair about joint action with our journalist comrades, I’d say that on past form it may be some days before the position of their union becomes clear.”
“The double-dealing deviationists,” said the intense young woman.
“Then I formally move that we withdraw our labour immediately,” said the woman with the huge nose, “until such time as management guarantees there will be no terminations of any staff, permanent or temporary.”
“But I want to be made redundant, comrade chair,” said one of the two young men named Adrian from the Business Management Unit.
“And so do I,” said the second Adrian.
“We have entrepreneurial aspirations,” said the first Adrian.
“Selling books and music by computer?” said a woman Alan couldn’t see, prompting widespread amusement.
“Bottled water, actually,” answered the first Adrian, prompting even more hilarity.
“I call the meeting to order,” said Burgoyne.
“Why would people buy bottled water when they can get perfectly good water straight from the tap, for free,” said Morton from the third row. “It makes no sense.”
“It’s an idea that only a public servant could come up with,” said someone to the far left.
“Water, coffee and bread are the high-volume consumer commodities of the future,” said the second Adrian, to uproarious laughter.
“Do I have a seconder for the motion before the chair,” asked Burgoyne, “for the motion that we strike with immediate effect?”
No one indicated support for the motion and Alan suspected that imminent Christmas bills had something to do with their silence.
“Why can’t we do something like ban overtime, to send a shot across their bows,” said someone from the left-hand side of the room.
“Because we never get any overtime,” said someone from the right.
Multiple voices sounded at once, proposing bans on punctuation, on photocopying, on the preparation of ministerial correspondence and on a range of other activities, including, at last, thinking.
Burgoyne called for order.
“Why should we bother with industrial action at all?” asked the cross-eyed man. “It never does any good. And anybody for the high jump who wants to stay will be able to swap with someone whose job is safe, anyway.”
“The motion lapses for want of a seconder,”
