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Stop Making People Go Back to Work During the Lockdown

"Building luxury flats isn't saving anybody."
Midsection of male carpenter holding hardhat at construction site
Photo: Tyler Olson / Alamy Stock Photo

Every Thursday, households across the UK clap for the frontline heroes who are risking their life to protect others. But some British workers who are still heading into work think that the public should save their applause.

“No one's clapping for us, you know what I mean? Because there is no need to – we should not be at work. Building luxury flats isn't saving anybody,” says Bruce, who was classified as a key worker by his company so he could keep working on a building site in Birmingham.

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He asked to be furloughed, citing his partner’s pregnancy, but the company initially told him to come to work or go on unpaid leave. Bruce isn’t alone in facing this choice: a concerning number of Britons still travel to their workplace during lockdown, even though the government is still advising people to work from home if they can.

VICE spoke with a number of key workers trying to desert the battles they don’t believe in. “When the war was around, you'd be putting yourself at risk for freedom or for protecting your family’s life,” Bruce explains. “But now I'm putting my family's lives at risk by going to work. Provisional ONS data highlights a high rate of death involving COVID-19, with approximately 200 victims working in the construction industry in England and Wales up to 20 April 2020.

At first, Bruce thought that he could manage it. From the outside, the site looked like it was safe, but inside people were working in groups and no PPE or hand sanitiser was provided. He confronted the company but was met with a shrug: “It is a very dog eat dog industry. Managers are trying to shine as the ones who got the lads back to work at any costs, so they have a promotion.”

TfL bus driver Tom, who would normally be working 10 hours a day, refused to drive in early April and cited section 44 of the Employment Act over fears for his safety. “Bus drivers are forgotten heroes – [our] starting salary is £12 an hour, and some companies allow sick pay after five years,” he says. “A colleague said he wants to do his bit for the country now, but what did the country do for us?”

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Tom would return if his employers Go-Ahead provide full PPE, including a mask, and ensure drivers don’t have to change buses on shift. Go-Ahead told VICE that “the health, safety and wellbeing of our colleagues is our utmost priority”, while TfL says these demands cannot be met – any significant changes to the way drivers work would mean the company wouldn’t be able to ensure the service, and the storage of thousands of additional buses is almost impossible in London. The government has also ruled out providing PPE to bus drivers.

TfL Director of Bus Operations Claire Mann told VICE: “The safety of London’s bus drivers, who are all playing a vital role in helping other critical workers tackle coronavirus, is our absolute priority. We have enhanced the cleaning of all buses including using an anti-viral cleaner on ‘touch points’ every night, improved social distancing for drivers and have made their cabs better protected. All drivers also have access to hand sanitiser so they can be assured their cabs are safe to use every time they start their shifts.” Tom believes this isn't enough – he has chosen to take unpaid leave and take out a loan to survive.

Not every bus driver feels able to choose between opting out or enlisting in the army of heroes. Metroline driver Pete is still going to work, but the decision weighs heavily: at least 31 bus drivers in London have died of coronavirus, and one of them was his colleague.

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VICE spoke to him the day after the burial. He said he was so nervous he could barely keep control of his bus. “There are cowards like me, who clean everything they touch. There are also heroes: they are not afraid, they don’t respect social distancing in the garage. We both are stupid – the smart ones are those who don’t come to work.” Instead, he is given a pair of disposable gloves per day by Metroline and has a mask that a nurse friend smuggled out of hospital for him.

Drivers like Pete believe that too many people are taking public transport and putting their lives at risk. But some workers are reluctant passengers – like cleaning staff at Goldsmiths University, whose orders are to keep coming to work on a rota even though the premises were shut some time ago.

“Some people travel from far, taking two three buses. How are we being protected by entering public transport? The campus is closed!” says Stephen, a cleaner worried about the situation. “They are bullying us to work.” He says cleaners fear the consequences of not obeying boss requests: their contracts only guarantee 20 hours’ work a week – their salary depends on managers assigning overtime.

A spokesperson for Goldsmiths said: “As our campus is now closed, with the exception of student accommodation, there is a much-reduced need for any on-site cleaning with only 3 percent of cleaning staff on campus each day. All our cleaners, and other essential workers, are trained in the use of PPE and are provided with the equipment that are relevant for their tasks and follow PHE guidance. We have always had supplies of this equipment. All Goldsmiths employees, including cleaners, security staff, and other essential workers, are receiving the full pay for their contracted hours.”

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Other universities’ workers have outsourced contracts with employers who have tried to redeploy them to the frontline of the pandemic. Sodexo describes itself as a strategic government supplier. Its regional chair Sean Haley has said it “applauds colleagues… for moving across to use their skills in a hospital or other healthcare environments… Today, we are all working together to help in the effort to fight COVID-19”.

The wartime rhetoric might sound rousing, but workers describe this as more like involuntary conscription. Outsourced employee Tony worked as part of a catering team at City, University of London. When the uni closed, staff asked about the Government Job Retention Scheme. Instead, management offered them jobs at hospitals.

Such redeployment was rejected collectively. “In summer time, when the university is quiet, the company simply turns their back on zero hours’ contract when they could help by giving them another job,” explains Tony. “But now there is a global pandemic and all of a sudden it is okay to redeploy us at hospitals!”

After support from the caterers' union and several MPs, City intervened to guarantee zero-hours employees their expected salary. Sodexo furloughed all staff by the end of April. A spokesperson told VICE they waited until it was clear that the UK Government Job Retention Scheme also applied to casual workers to include them in the arrangements.

UNISON rep Daniel Shannon-Hughes believes it was possible for the company to engage with the regulation earlier: “Big organisations like Sodexo should be taking care of their staff, particularly the most vulnerable ones, even if it is getting mixed messages from the government. At the moment the staff have been told [they are furloughed] until the end of May, and then it will be reviewed.”

Tony, who barely took a day off in many years of service as he doesn’t get sick pay, felt betrayed by the time it took to get there: “Sodexo make billions. When you look at us, the small people, the money that we make is nothing. That somebody else had to tell you to do the right thing and pay your loyal staff – it is sad.”

Meanwhile, Stephen and their colleagues are still being asked to clean an empty university. He said some of them have been in quarantine with symptoms of COVID-19. Bruce has finally been furloughed, but he says it was only because he wasn't needed on the construction site any longer. Tom managed to enrol in the Job Retention Scheme in early May: TfL private contractors haven't agreed to top up their employees’ wages, so he’s eating once a day to save up. Peter is still driving the bus around London to pay his rent.

The interviewees asked VICE to keep their names anonymous for fear of job reprisals. They don’t see themselves as national heroes – more like soldiers sent to war by untrusted generals. With lockdown set to lift, this army of conscripted workers is only likely to increase.