International Labor and Working-Class History 77 opens with a special thematic feature, “Gendered Activism and the Politics of Women's Work.” In it, we include articles by Karen Hunt (Keele University), Julie Guard (University of Manitoba), Judith Smart (University of Melbourne and RMIT University), and June Hannam (University of the West of England), all of which were originally presented in 2008 at the international conference “Labouring Feminism and Feminist Labour History,” in Stockholm. Rounding out this section is a fifth essay by Kate Hardy (Queen's College, University of London), given first as a lecture at a spring 2009 symposium sponsored by ILWCH at Rutgers University.

It is often said that labor history is in decline. Yet other interpretations are possible. The flourishing of labor history from the 1960s to the 1980s could instead be regarded as exceptional and the situation during the last twenty years as the more typical state of affairs. A second interpretation, which I favor, is that labor history has, in fact, not declined. Rather, the content of labor history has shifted. There may be less scholarship on many of the traditional or original objects of research, but there is new research, in history and other disciplines, on topics that arguably fall under a new, expanded understanding of “labor history.” This second explanation is supported by the continued vitality of scholarship on women's work and women's activism.

In 1917 and 1918 violent cost-of-living protests, largely peopled by poor urban housewives, erupted across the world. Although Britain did not experience such dramatic events, a women's politics of food can be found in local neighborhoods that touched the lives of unorganized housewives on the wartime home front. The new local committees created to defend consumer interests in the face of food shortages proved to be permeable to some women, particularly those who already had some experience with women's politics. However, limits were placed on this participation and on the self-organization of housewives by the ambiguous understanding of who constituted a consumer and thus who could speak for the ordinary housewife as she battled the food queues. By exploring the women's politics of food at a local level, it is argued that working-class women's participation in Food Vigilance Committees or in local boycotts may have had longer lasting effects in Britain than the more dramatic cost-of-living actions elsewhere.

Consumer activists organizing in the 1930s against rising milk prices demonstrated the power of a strong grassroots movement to enlarge prevailing understandings of the political and to wring responses from an unwilling state. Their maternalism, combined with milk's emotional, social, and political meanings, attracted broad popular support and deflected criticism from the dairy industry, hostile public officials, and anticommunists. Their campaign for affordable milk became a synecdoche for broader demands that the state restrain business in the interests of consumers and protect ordinary people from the harsh injustices of the Depression. After winning immediate concessions, the Toronto Housewives Association failed to achieve their long-term goals, but their impact was nonetheless significant. Their campaign fueled and informed public debates about the political economy of food and government's responsibilities to protect citizens, pushing socialist policies onto the political agenda under the cover of maternalism. Participation in Housewives' campaigns transformed powerless victims into effective political actors. Housewife-activists challenged prevailing notions of normative feminine behavior, creating social space for ordinary women acting within their domestic roles to engage in direct political action.

The Housewives' Associations were the largest women's organizations in Australia during the interwar years and were the first consumer-watch agencies. This article examines the gendered economic identity they cultivated in successfully mobilizing women under the banner of free-market economics against the protectionism of the mainstream political parties and the labor movement. In challenging the dominant economic discourse, they asserted the claims of consumption to the same status and recognition in the functioning of the economic system as the overwhelmingly masculine forces of capital and labor. In the process, they also threw into question the relevance of class as a basis for women's political activism.

This article contributes to recent debates about the complicated ways in which women involved in the interwar British Labour Party negotiated their political identities through an examination of the activities and aims of a neglected group, the paid women organizers. It suggests that although they accepted the importance of women's work within the home, the organizers did not see women's lives as confined by domesticity. Instead, they argued that women in the home had the potential for collective political action. The article looks at the campaign for pit head baths to highlight the attempt by the organizers to develop a politics around issues such as dirt that concerned women in their daily lives. It was difficult to persuade the Labour Party to take these questions seriously, and the organizers experienced constraints as well as opportunities that came from their paid role, but it is argued here that they did carve a career that was woman-focused and sought to give women in the home a voice.

Sex workers in Argentina and beyond are making their histories visible through political action, often in the face of extreme and violent repression. Alongside two first waves of sex worker organizing, a third appears to be emerging from countries in the Global South, which has largely been neglected in academic commentaries. One such organization is Asociación de Mujeres Meretrices de la Argentina (AMMAR), the female sex workers' association of Argentina. This essay draws on questionnaire data, participant observation, and in-depth interviews with union and nonunion sex workers and members of the Central de Trabajadores Argentinos (CTA), the umbrella federation of which they are a part, across ten cities in Argentina. It traces the relationship between AMMAR and the CTA to examine how the two organizations have worked together to organize workers in an infamously exploitative, precarious, and vulnerable labor sector to achieve social and political change. The essay contributes to debates about the regeneration of the trade union movement and challenges the reigning wisdom that sex workers and trade unions are unlikely partners.

Frank Tannenbaum (1893–1969) was a man of many parts. He was brought up by immigrant parents on a New England farm, which may explain his sympathy for small farmers. At the same time, however, he embraced the cause of urban workers and became a Wobbly and an anarcho-syndicalist theorist. In fact, Tannenbaum first made a name for himself as an advocate for the unemployed, the homeless, and the imprisoned—the latter after being jailed for his role organizing those at the bottom of United States urban society. Yet he also studied with John Dewey at Columbia University and got a doctorate at the Brookings Institution with a thesis on the Mexican agrarian reform, inaugurating three decades of engagement with the Mexican Revolution. During this time Tannenbaum became the friend and adviser of ministers and presidents.

Frank Tannenbaum is best known for his studies of Mexican agrarian reform and for his contributions to the comparative history of slavery and slave societies. But as a young man he had made a name for himself as a notorious labor agitator, and he went on to publish two books on the US labor movement, which are worthy of reconsideration as important interpretations of independent trade unionism and political reform. The first volume appeared in 1921 and offered an original perspective on the popular syndicalism that formed such a large, positive element of the philosophy of the International Workers of the World (IWW), to the extent it had one, at the center of which lay the struggle for social recognition on the part of immigrant and (supposedly) unskilled workers. The second appeared thirty years later and provided a thoughtful defense of the private, employment-based welfare and industrial relations system that the New Deal established in the United States. Together the books offer a provocative account of the social and individual radicalism of US-style “pure and simple” trade unionism.

This article examines Frank Tannenbaum's engagement with Mexico in the crucial years following the Revolution of 1910–1920 and his first visit to the country in 1922. Invited—and feted—by the government and its powerful labor allies, Tannenbaum soon expanded his initial interest in organized labor and produced a stream of work dealing with trade unions, peasants, Indians, politics, and education—work that described and often justified the social program of the Revolution, and that, rather surprisingly, continued long after the Revolution had lost its radical credentials in the 1940s. Tannenbaum's vision of Mexico was culturalist, even essentialist; more Veblenian than Marxist; at times downright folkloric. But he also captured important aspects of the process he witnessed: local and regional variations, the unquantifiable socio-psychological consequences of revolution, and the prevailing concern for order and stability. In sum, Tannenbaum helped establish the orthodox—agrarian, patriotic, and populist—vision of the Revolution for which he has been roundly, if sometimes excessively, criticized by recent “revisionist” historians; yet his culturalist approach, with its lapses into essentialism, oddly prefigures the “new cultural history” that many of these same historians espouse.

Why is Slave and Citizen, Frank Tannenbaum's influential comparative book on slavery and race relations, still referenced by modern scholars? How is it that a book that is frequently described as flawed continues to inform contemporary scholarship on race and slavery? This article seeks to answer these questions by reconstructing some of the scholarly debates sparked by Slave and Citizen. Specifically, the article discusses how some of the central premises of Tannenbaum's approach continue to inform the work of current scholars. Three of these premises are discussed in some detail: first, that “Anglo” and “Latin” America constituted two separate entities; second, that race relations in each area were fundamentally different; and third, that differences in modern race relations could only be explained by their divergent “slave systems.”

None of the award-winning films reviewed in this article has a blissful tone. In these films, we watch young girls in assembly lines producing all sorts of commodities in China as well as four hundred Chinese workers disassembling a coking plant in Germany. We are immersed in people's personal stories, such as a peasant woman forced to leave her farm and her lone hut, located in the area due to be submerged by the Three Gorges Dam project, and a sixteen-year-old girl learning to labor on a cruise ship along the Yangtze River. In most of the films we also meet managers, Chinese or foreign, who are concerned with nothing but maximizing profit through intense exploitation of labor. These films document how the massive force of modernization in a globalized world affects lives of common people in China. Their struggles with poverty, corrupt officials, and greedy business owners are displayed in sharp contrast to both shining metropolitan glory and rural banality. In this regard, the Canadian photographer Edward Burtynsky's photographs of China, as shown in the film Manufactured Landscapes, seem emblematic enough: Modernization in China has altered the trajectory of people's lives as well as the landscapes of their nation. This article discusses the issues embedded in the stories the seven documentaries present: the impact of global capitalism; the relations between national development and globalization; the conflicts between corporate social responsibility and profit-making; and the predicament of migrant workers and their human agency.

On May 15, 2008, the Harvard Union of Clerical and Technical Workers (HUCTW) held its twentieth birthday celebration at the Agassiz Theatre in Radcliffe Yard. I was next door at Harvard University's Schlesinger Library, sleepily perusing my next fat folder of government documents. As the laughter and singing wafted its way across the quad, the choice of whether to stay or go was clear. I followed the trail of balloons to the theater, grabbed my complimentary union tote bag, smiled at all the lovingly crafted refreshments that awaited the revelers, and squeezed into a tiny space in the front as the lights went down. Long familiar with the upbeat and bold spirit of the union, I was still caught off guard when the lights came back up. Seated a few feet from me on the stage was a 1940s femme fatale who began to belt out “A Union Is a Girl's Best Friend.”

Editor's note: Kris Rondeau began her talk by showing a video with documentary clips of the union's 1988 election at Harvard. The video, HUCTW 20th Birthday, is accessible on YouTube.

Editor's note: The Pipets are the Harvard Union of Clerical and Technical Workers' singing group.