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"How many times can you say 'unbelievable'?" my wife asked the other
morning, as I was rattling the newspaper and again exclaiming over the
latest outrageous news from American capitalism. Maybe it was the story
about the CEO of Tyco International, a very wealthy and much admired
titan, being indicted for evading the New York State sales tax on his
art purchases. Perhaps it was the disclosure that the soaring market in
energy trading, a jewel of the new economy, was largely a fabrication
built on phony round-trip trades. Or the accusation that Perot Systems,
after designing California's deregulated energy-trading system, turned
around and showed the energy companies how to blow holes in it (and
generate those soaring electric bills for Californians).

It is unbelievable--what we've learned in the past six or eight
months about the financial system and corporate management. The
systematic deceit and imaginative greed--the sheer chintziness of
personal finagling for more loot--go well beyond the darkest hunches
harbored by resident skeptics like myself. Indeed, the Wall Street
system is now being flayed in the media almost daily by its own leading
tribunes. Listen to this summary of the scandals: "The failures of Wall
Street's compliance efforts are coming under intense scrutiny--part of a
growing awareness of how deeply flawed the US financial markets really
are. The watchdogs charged with keeping the financial world honest have
all lost credibility themselves: outside auditors who bend the rules to
please corporate clients, analysts who shape stock recommendations to
woo investment-banking customers and government regulators too timid or
overwhelmed to keep track of the frenzy." You might have read those
points in The Nation, but these words appeared on the front page
of the Wall Street Journal. A week later, another page-one
Journal story crisply explained the implications for global
investors: "Boasts about world-class corporate disclosure, bookkeeping
and regulation of American financial markets have become laughable in
the wake of Enron and Arthur Andersen scandals."

When radical critique becomes mainstream observation, change may be in
the air. In my view, this is a rare historical moment--conditions are
ripe for reforming and reordering the system, an opportunity unmatched
since World War II. How things really work is on the table, visible to
all in shocking detail, authoritatively documented by the torrent of
disclosures, with more to come. The libertarian ideology that colonized
economic affairs and politics during the past two decades (markets know
best, government is an obstacle, greed is good) has been pulled up
short. The conservative orthodoxy is vulnerable--actually breaking
down--because it has no good explanations for what we now understand to
be routine malpractice in business and finance. Political tinder is
spread all around the landscape, but who will strike the match?

The potential downside of this moment is also palpable and quite
ominous: Nothing will happen, nothing will change--nobody goes to jail,
no significant reforms are enacted. If so, the main result will be
confirmation of an already endemic public cynicism and the further
poisoning of American values. The revelations, instead of provoking a
sea change in political thinking, may be smothered by the alignments of
corporate-financial power, diverted into false reforms and complexified
to the point that media attention and public anger are exhausted. In
that event, the consequences for the country will be less obvious but
profoundly corrosive. The system would go forward in roughly the same
fashion (perhaps tarted up with public-relations rouge), and everyone
would understand that corruption is the system. In markets and in
the popular culture, the message would be: Forget that crap about
ethics--might as well take the low road, since that's how the big boys
get theirs.

The stakes are enormous, and it's much too early to predict the outcome.
But there's already abundant evidence that the business establishment
expects to ride out this storm and is working the usual political levers
to insure it. The politics resemble the S&L debacle in the late
1980s, when Congressional Republocrats put out lots of noise and smoke
but left the high-priced suits unruffled and stuck the public with the
bill. Our current galaxy of scandals is far more grave because it is
systemic. Anyone with courage among the Democratic presidential hopefuls
could seize this moment and reorder the agenda for 2004, but no one so
far has found the guts to break ranks with corporate power. Smoldering
public anger, however, may yet find a way to express itself, perhaps in
the fall elections, and rouse the reluctant politicians.

For now, the best hope seems to be that the bankers and business guys
will react to the fact that financial markets have been severely damaged
by the scandalous revelations, as have the high-flying moguls of
corporate America. Who can trust them? Who wants to pour more good money
after bad? In other words, this scandal stuff is bad for business,
especially bad for the faltering stock market. Henry Paulson Jr., chair
of Goldman Sachs, delivered that message recently in a sober speech
before the National Press Club and endorsed a number of useful reforms.
His remedies are insufficient (even the Journal editorial page
was happy to bless them) but are a fair start. A chorus of high-minded
anguish from elite circles might persuade Washington that this problem
does need fixing.

The scandals of Enron et al., unfortunately, must compete with another
story--the war on terrorism--that's more exciting, and threatening, than
dirty bookkeeping or the looted billions. The two crises are intertwined
in perverse ways. The smug triumphalism of Bush's unilateralist war
policy could be abruptly deflated by economic events--which probably
would be a good thing for world affairs, since Washington couldn't run
roughshod over others, but terrible for US prosperity. The financial
scandals have provided yet another chilling reason to be wary of the US
stock market, and if overseas investors decide to take their money home
in volume, the already declining dollar will fall sharply. Credit would
thus become suddenly scarce, since our debtor-nation economy relies
heavily on capital borrowed from abroad, and such a convergence would
trigger an ugly downdraft in the US economy. In that event, the
fashionable boastfulness about America, the only superpower, would
implode as swiftly as Enron's stock price.

Labor-backed politicians are being asked to return the favor in union fights.

Unions are gradually making fuller use of the Internet's capacities to
improve communication with their own staffs or members. But increasingly
they are also using the web to recruit new members or to establish
"virtual communities" of union supporters in arenas not yet amenable to
the standard collective-bargaining model.

Alliance@IBM (www.allianceibm.org) is an example of an effective
Net-supported minority union, operating without a demonstrated pro-union
majority and without a collective-bargaining contract at a traditional
nonunion company. The alliance provides information and advice to
workers at IBM through the web. A similar effort at a partially
organized employer is WAGE ("Workers at GE," www.geworkersunited.org), which draws on contributions from fourteen cooperating
international unions. The Microsoft-inflected WashTech
(www.washtech.org) and the Australian IT Workers Alliance
(www.itworkers-alliance.org) are open-source unions that are closer to
craft unions or occupational associations. Both are responsive to the
distinctive professional needs of these workers, such as access to a
variety of job experiences and additional formal education, and the
portability of high-level benefits when changing jobs.

The National Writers Union (www.nwu.org), a UAW affiliate, is another
example of a union virtually created off the Net. It provides
information and advice--including extensive job postings--to members,
and it lobbies on their behalf, most spectacularly in the recent Supreme
Court decision it won on freelance worker copyright rights. But most of
its members work without a collectively bargained contract.

In Britain, UNISON (the largest union in the country) and the National
Union of Students have a website that tells student workers their rights
and gives them advice about how to deal with workplace problems
(www.troubleatwork.org.uk). It is a particularly engaging and practical
illustration of how concrete problems can be addressed through Net
assistance.

Finally, for a more geographically defined labor community, take a look
at the website of the King County AFL-CIO (www.kclc.org), the Seattle
central labor council that uses the Net to coordinate its own business,
bring community and labor groups together for discussion and common
action, post messages and general information to the broader community,
and otherwise create a "virtual" union hall with much of the spirit and
dense activity that used to be common in actual union halls in major
cities.

Let's create "open-source unions," and welcome millions into the
movement.

Speech to The Democratic National Committee--Western Caucus
Saturday, May 25, 2002
Seattle, Washington

"Death Star," "Get Shorty," "Fat Boy"--the revelation of Enron's trading
schemes in California have turned the Enron scandals virulent again.
Just when the White House thought the disease was in remission and
relegated to the business pages, the California scams exposed more of a
still-metastasizing cancer of corporate corruption.

Internal Enron memos reveal that it and other companies preyed on
California's energy crisis, helping to manufacture shortages and using
sham trades to drive up prices. The somnambulant Federal Energy
Regulatory Commission (FERC)--headed by Pat Wood III, "Kenny Boy" Lay's
handpicked chairman--decided that its initial finding of no market
manipulation in California was inoperable and opened a broader
investigation. With stocks plummeting and lawsuits piling up, CEOs at
Dynegy and CMS Energy resigned, as did heads of trading at Reliant
Resources and CMS.

The Bush Administration was directly implicated as the White House's
Enron stonewall began to collapse. A reluctant Joseph Lieberman,
chairman of the Senate Governmental Affairs Committee, finally got
sufficient spine to issue subpoenas, stimulating the White House to
release more documents about its contacts with Enron. These showed that
the White House had lied to House investigators when it reported only
six contacts between Enron officials and the White House energy task
force. The incomplete White House submissions now admit four times that
number, with more surely to come.

Lay and the Enron executives were pressing Vice President Cheney not
only to influence the President's energy policy but also to oppose price
controls on electricity in California, even as they were gaming the
market. Cheney and Bush responded to their leading contributor by
publicly scorning price controls, while White House aides encouraged the
energy industry to organize an ad campaign in California against
controls. Cheney surely felt comfortable with Enron's shady side: As we
recently learned, when he was CEO of Halliburton and its profits were
declining, his accountants--the ubiquitous Arthur Andersen--suddenly
started counting as revenue a portion of payments that were in dispute,
without informing investors of the change.

The Administration has painted Enron as a business, not a political,
scandal. Now it is apparent that the scandal is political and
economic, showing the problems of a system with too little
accountability and too much corporate influence both in the White House
and on Capitol Hill. And with the United States having to import more
than $1 billion a day in capital to cover trade deficits, the scandals
are already a drag on investment, growth and jobs.

Neither the Administration, Congress nor the business lobby has yet
awakened to the perils. Bush retains as Army Secretary former Enron
executive Tom White, who claims no knowledge that his subsidiary was
involved in the sham trading schemes (although his own bonuses were
undoubtedly based in part on the inflated revenues that resulted). Big
Five accounting firms lobbyist Harvey Pitt remains head of the SEC, even
after repeatedly traducing elementary ethics by meeting privately with
representatives of companies under investigation by his agency. Wood
remains the head of FERC, even as legislators call on him to recuse
himself from the California investigation. Bush and House Republicans
continue to resist sensible reforms. The business and accounting lobby,
in a victory of ideology over common sense, has mobilized against
anything with teeth.

Beltway conventional wisdom dismisses the political fallout of the Enron
scandals. But Americans are furious at executives who betray their
workers and mislead small investors while plundering their companies.
Thus far their anger hasn't fixed on Washington, but it may if no one is
held accountable. It's long past time for Senate Democrats to rouse
themselves, demand the heads of White and Pitt and launch a scorching
public investigation of the Administration's complicity with Enron in
California and elsewhere. Any real reform will require displacing Enron
conservatives, with their mantra of "self-regulation" and their corrupt
politics of money. With the revelations continuing and elections coming
up, progressives should be mobilizing independently to name names,
exposing those who shield the powerful. If voters learn who the culprits
are, Enron may end up reflecting the "genius" not of capitalism but of
democracy--the people's ability to clean out the stables when the stench
gets too foul.

The re-education of former World Bank chief economist Joseph Stiglitz.

From Padua's Piazza Insurrezione, where I was standing at 11 in the
morning on April 16, the general strike--Italy's first in twenty
years--looked and sounded like a great success. More than 70,000 people
were already jammed inside the mid-sized square along with their broad
union banners and thousands of flags. Three immense vertical
standards--one for each of the labor confederations--loomed over the
crowd. The noise was deafening: drums, horns, gongs, a PA system on the
electronic equivalent of steroids and 70,000 voices cheering each
announcement:

"We're ten million strong! More than half the labor force is striking
against the antidemocratic policies of Silvio Berlusconi's center-right
government! Three-hundred thousand are marching in Florence, two-hundred
thousand in Rome..."

The demonstrators in Padua--a university town forty minutes west of
Venice--weren't just striking, they were celebrating. Gathering together
70,000 adversaries of Berlusconi in the heart of the miracolo del
nord-est
--the economic miracle of Italy's conservative northeast
where small- and mid-scale manufacturers have produced one of Europe's
greatest concentrations of wealth--was a miracle in itself. The union
banners identified the protesters: eyeglass assemblers from Santa Maria
di Salva, carpenters from Iesolo, leather workers from Verona (most of
them African immigrants), poultry processors from San Martino, hospital
workers and schoolteachers from Venice. But students, university
professors, insurance brokers and television producers also carried
union banners. Thousands of others--teenagers, homemakers, young
professionals--marched with family and friends.

The unions called the strike to protest a reform that would undermine
the 1970 Workers' Statute, the key guarantee of labor rights in Italy.
That's why Sabina Tonetto, a 26-year-old software consultant from the
town of San Donà di Piave, said she was in the piazza. Yet the
company she works for doesn't come under the statute's jurisdiction;
it's too small. And with her skills, she said, "I run no risk of being
laid off." She stayed away from work as a matter of principle: "Certain
things"--the Workers' Statute--"must not be touched. All of us have to
do our part."

Just a few blocks away, the stalls in the farmers' market in Piazza
della Frutta and the shops along Via Dante and Corso Garibaldi were open
for business. Well-dressed pedestrians perused the displays of
handcrafted shoes, silk scarves and designer jackets--variations of what
they were already wearing. The espresso bars were serving up sandwiches,
pastries and pricey chocolates. The streets were peaceful. Nothing in
the shoppers' demeanor, nothing in the merchants' conversation,
connected to what was happening nearby. The noise from Piazza
Insurrezione didn't carry. For anyone who wasn't right there, the
general strike might as well not have taken place.

That's Italy today. While much of Europe has been shifting rightward,
Italy tilted somewhat faster and farther and is now precariously poised,
its citizenry both evenly and deeply divided. About half voted
free-marketer Berlusconi into office in May 2001. His supporters include
the business elite and some workers disillusioned with the left, but
most are small and medium-sized manufacturers, store owners,
professionals and self-employed craftspeople. They are numerous in
Italy, prosperous and happy to have Berlusconi as long as he doesn't
raise their taxes. The other half of the citizenry is outraged by a
prime minister who aims to undermine the labor movement, dismantle the
public sector and foil the prosecutors who have indicted him for
corruption.

After nearly a year of collective depression and political paralysis,
anti-Berlusconi citizens are starting to mount a credible opposition,
coalescing around the left wing of the labor movement but reaching
beyond to include intellectuals, students, media figures and ordinary
people who are getting involved for the first time. Since January not a
week has gone by without a rally or march or strike bringing anywhere
from 3,000 to 2 million people into the piazzas. The protests are
uniting generations and social classes. So far they've remained loose
enough to attract independents and broad enough to incorporate both the
center and left.

According to Valentino Castellani, a left Catholic and former mayor of
Turin, "The healthy parts of society are finally saying, 'Enough! This
can't go on.'" For Luciano Gallino, a prominent sociologist, the social
protest movements that have sprung up in the last few months represent
"an awakening of civic passion."

Berlusconi provoked the uprising by refusing to modify a series of
"reforms" custom-designed to protect his vast business empire and shield
him (and several Cabinet members) from prosecution for corruption. The
naked self-interest, the almost outlandish specificity of the
legislation, was too much for many Italians to take. One law (already
passed by Parliament) decriminalized the falsification of financial
statements in the private sector. This let Berlusconi off the hook
because he was under indictment for that crime. A second law, also
enacted, makes it difficult for Italian prosecutors to use "letters
rogatory," the standard instrument for obtaining evidence from another
country. This conveniently sabotaged a case in which Berlusconi was
accused of bribing judges, a case that depended on evidence from Swiss
banks.

Another law, which has passed the Chamber of Deputies, states that
owning a business does not constitute a conflict of interest for a prime
minister as long as he or she does not run the business. Since
Berlusconi has turned over the administration of his enterprises to
members of his immediate family, he would not have to sell any of his
holdings, which include three of Italy's four private television
networks, the nation's largest publishing conglomerate, Mondadori, and
an advertising agency that dominates the national market.

Although the left unions have been fighting Berlusconi's policies from
the start, the spontaneous street protests began in response to a reform
that would allow the government to exert political pressure on the
judiciary. When judges and prosecutors staged a walkout, two professors
at the University of Florence called on citizens nationwide to support
them. The response was overwhelming and persistent. By February a rally
in Milan's Palavobis sports facility, which holds 12,000, drew a crowd
of 40,000. That same month, leftist film director Nanni Moretti (Caro
Diario
, The Son's Room) set off a political revolt when he
spoke to a rally in Rome's Piazza Navona organized by the center-left
Ulivo (Olive Tree) coalition. Instead of making the predictable rally
remarks, Moretti lambasted the coalition leaders, who were standing next
to him, for focusing on petty internal power plays rather than offering
an alternative to Berlusconi. He claimed that he no longer identified
with their politics. The crowd's wild applause and the ensuing debate,
which went on for weeks in the newspapers, embarrassed the Ulivo
leadership into admitting they had lost touch with their constituency.

In March the girotondi ("ring-around-a-rosy protests") began.
Resurrecting a feminist tactic of the 1970s, protesters, holding hands,
circle around a building that figures in one of Berlusconi's reforms. If
they are protesting his control over 90 percent of the airwaves, they
circle around the state broadcasting headquarters; if they are
protesting steps toward privatizing education or healthcare, they circle
around a school or hospital. Girotondi are taking place all over
Italy--often initiated by grassroots groups, announced just a few days
ahead of time, and advertised through leaflets and by word of mouth. In
addition to citizen protests against Berlusconi's reforms, there are
frequent demonstrations against corporate-led globalization and racist
treatment of immigrants.

According to Nicola Tranfaglia, dean of the humanities faculty at the
University of Turin and one of the opposition's prominent intellectuals,
"These movements don't trust the political parties. They are similar in
some ways to 1968, but then it was young people. Today you see people of
all ages."

What anchors this spirited civic engagement is the labor movement--more
precisely, the largest and most left-leaning of the three union
confederations, the Italian General Confederation of Labor, or CGIL. "In
just three months, the CGIL has pushed the center-left so there's a
tougher opposition and greater unity," Tranfaglia said.

If any one issue unites the opposition to Berlusconi, it is the attack
on the Workers' Statute. Berlusconi wants to drop Article 18, which
stipulates that if a judge finds that an employer has fired a worker
unfairly, that worker can choose to go back to his or her job or accept
a money settlement. Italians in the opposition see Berlusconi's move as
an attack on basic individual rights. L'articolo 18 non si tocca
("Article18 cannot be touched") has become the central slogan of the
protest movement.

Berlusconi and his allies in the most powerful business organization,
Confindustria, argue that Article 18 creates labor market rigidity; as
long as it stays on the books, they say, employers will refuse to hire
additional workers, the economy will produce no new jobs and investors
the world over will shun Italy. Sociologist Luciano Gallino thinks this
is nonsense. "Eliminating Article 18 has nothing to do with creating
jobs. It's the first step in labor market deregulation. It would open
the door to creating a class of the working poor"--a phenomenon that
Italians on the left see as typically American. Berlusconi's attack on
Article 18 serves another purpose: "He is trying to split the labor
movement," former Mayor Castellani said. Everyone in the opposition
would agree.

Italy has had three politically diverse and competing union
confederations since the onset of the cold war. Their ability to
cooperate is endlessly fluctuating. The Italian Confederation of Workers
Unions (CISL) is the second-largest confederation, the most willing to
compromise with Berlusconi's government and the least interested in
defending Article 18. The smallest confederation, the Italian Union of
Labor (UIL), was also inclined to bend on Article 18. But Sergio
Cofferati, secretary general of the CGIL, refused to budge an inch. He
ended up rescuing the entire opposition.

Cofferati is the new hero--patron saint says it better--of Italy's left.
When the other two confederations refused to support a protest march to
defend Article 18, Cofferati insisted that the CGIL hold the
demonstration by itself. Over a million people converged on Rome on
March 23 in the largest rally since the Second World War. Cofferati also
called for the general strike on April 16, and his March triumph
embarrassed the other unions into going along. By the time of the April
25 Liberation Day rallies and the May Day rallies, 200,000 people were
showing up wherever he spoke. The crowds chant "Sergio! Sergio!" no
matter who else is standing on the stage, senior citizens break through
the security lines and throw themselves into his arms, teenagers line up
for autographs.

Cofferati's second and, by statute, final term as head of the CGIL ends
in June. The opposition activists are begging him to lead the
center-left coalition of parties. But he has decided to return to
Pirelli, the giant rubber and tire company where he worked as a
technician two decades ago--to do what, he won't say. He claims that he
has no intention of withdrawing from politics. In April, he helped found
"Aprile," a group that will coordinate the work of the large left
faction within the party of the Left Democrats. But he'll make no bid,
yet, to lead the left formally.

Berlusconi may have made a mistake by going after Article 18. Two of the
several parties in his coalition--the National Alliance (the
ex-neo-Fascists) and remnants of the old Christian Democrats--have
criticized his hard line. Whereas Berlusconi considers himself a
conservative in the mold of Britain's Margaret Thatcher, the other two
parties are less ideologically pure free-marketers. It is difficult to
predict Berlusconi's next move. Some Cabinet members hint that he would
like to find a face-saving compromise on Article 18. His labor minister,
however, claims he will fight the unions to the end. If the reform
becomes law, the unions have vowed to collect signatures for a national
referendum. Organizing for a referendum to revoke the law on letters
rogatory has already begun.

With the right and far right in Europe gaining ground, the ongoing
protests in Italy look like a hopeful sign. But Berlusconi still has the
upper hand. He is the first head of government in post-Fascist Italy
ready and able to disregard "the piazza" and impose his will through his
solid majority in Parliament. "Berlusconi is setting up a regime for
himself. He's not a fascist. He's populist and authoritarian. A
Peronist. Liberal democracy in Italy is in danger," Nicola Tranfaglia
said.

On May 26, about 11 million Italians will vote in local and regional
elections. Although these contests do not necessarily mirror public
opinion on national issues, everyone will interpret them as a showdown
between Berlusconi and the opposition. The center-left has a chance to
improve its standing. The far-left Communist Refounding party has agreed
to cooperate with the center-left coalition--something it refused to do
in last year's election, thereby assuring Berlusconi's victory.

In the meantime, citizens are rallying in the piazzas, collecting
signatures and marching around buildings. As a result, most Italian
small-d democrats would agree with Luciano Gallino when he says, "I'm a
little less pessimistic."

As a Russian studies major at Yale in the 1970s, I observed Soviet
"elections" that were conducted more fairly than the 2002 Yale
Corporation's board of trustees election. Why is the Yale Corporation so
threatened by the candidacy of a prominent New Haven pastor who cares
about Yale and its workers?

The last time a prospective trustee was nominated by petition was almost
forty years ago, when William Horowitz became Yale's first elected
Jewish trustee. Back then 250 signatures were required for ballot
qualification; that has since been raised to 3 percent of eligible
alumni--some 3,200 signatures today. The Rev. Dr. W. David Lee, an
African-American pastor of one of New Haven's largest churches and a
graduate of the Yale Divinity School, gathered 4,870 signatures. If
elected, he would be the only New Haven resident other than Yale's
president to sit on the corporation's board.

But he is also supported by Yale's employee unions, and the
university--one of America's great institutions of higher learning--does
not like that. Normally, the Standing Committee for the Nomination of
Alumni Fellows of the Association of Yale Alumni nominates two or three
alumni to stand for election. This year, apparently threatened by Lee's
grassroots efforts, the committee nominated only one, Maya Lin, creator
of the Vietnam War memorial, around whom the Yale Corporation and its
allies could rally.

As an alumnus, I received no fewer than six mailings--from the alumni
organization, from wealthy Yale alumni, from former corporation board
members--all criticizing Lee for failing to identify who paid for his
mailing, for his "aggressive campaign" and for his "ties to special
interests, labor unions."

In a campaign flier (containing no disclosure of who paid for it), the
Association of Yale Alumni quoted comments from Lee critical of the
university. It is not surprising that a minister of a large church at
which many Yale employees worship might at times express substantial
differences with a university that pays many of those workers less than
a living wage.

As if the Yale Corporation had not already made its interests known,
even the ballot package--paid for by the university and sent to all
voters--was slanted in favor of the corporation's candidate. The
official publication intimates support for its favored candidate from
"over 700 alumni," including the Association of Yale Alumni, the
officers of Yale college classes and Yale clubs and other alumni
associations. The other candidate, the Yale Corporation stated in the
ballot package, was "nominated by petition"--(as though Lee's 4,870
signatures did not indicate the support of those alumni).

Reminiscent of elections conducted in one-party states, the corporation
refused to allow an observer to be present when the ballots are counted.
It is not in the Yale bylaws, he was told.

It is unfortunate that Yale, which has produced so many national
leaders, has earned a widespread reputation for its antiunion activities
[see Kim Phillips-Fein, "Yale Bites Unions," July 2, 2001]. To all but
declare war on Yale's workers and its union, and on an outstanding young
New Haven leader, can only exacerbate city-university tensions and roil
Yale's already troubled labor-management waters.

How could one pro-worker candidate who aspires to a lone seat on a board
of nineteen of America's most influential people unleash the fury of an
entire university hierarchy? Why do powerful people--the kind who sit on
Yale's board--feel so threatened by a local minister? Why can't one of
the world's most prestigious universities--with a multibillion-dollar
endowment--pay its workers a living wage?

For God. For Country. For Yale.

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