New York Workers Have Surprisingly Mixed Feelings About Clinton and Trump

Throughout the 2016 campaign, the underlying narrative surrounding Donald Trump's juggernaut has been that the billionaire reality-TV star somehow has a mysterious connection to the working class. At his rallies, supporters, who The Donald has gushed over as "the uneducated," have cheered at their candidate's aggressive "fuck you" slogans about deporting Mexicans, banning Muslims, and taking on the Republican Establishment. They've clapped at his ability to "tell it like it is," as if it is a monster truck demolition derby. One of the most popular signs at his campaign events reads, "The Silent Majority Stands with Donald Trump."

But in Manhattan on Wednesday, outside a rally for Trump's likely general election opponent, Hillary Clinton, there was a gathering of another type of working folks, ones who are arguably more familiar with the real estate mogul from Queens than most Americans: New York City union workers.

The Democratic candidate had returned to her adopted home state after a strong Super Tuesday, hosting a public rally at the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center, the giant Midtown venue near the Westside Highway. Clinton's posse of Empire State backers — New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio, New York Governor Andrew Cuomo, and a handful of other elected officials—were on hand, joining her on the stage in a blue-state Establishment phalanx. In the stands, the organized labor forces who have provided the muscle to all of Clinton's campaigns, were lined up in battle positions.

The crowd wasn't exactly what we've come to expect from Clinton rallies: a herd of working-class, middle-aged men cheering on the most serious female candidate to ever run for the White House. Before the event, on the sidewalks outside, it felt more like a lunchtime construction site than a political affair: over pizza and cigarettes, the guys spent the remaining hours of their workday seemingly shooting the shit with one another, gathering with their respective cliques. One worker asked another where he should go to check in with his union local. "Over here," his friend yelled back. "We've got beer!"

That New York workers support Clinton isn't totally unpredictable. Labor unions have been a bastion of Democratic power in New York, and nationally, for decades, and most of the major labor organizations, including the AFL-CIO, have been behind Clinton's campaign almost since its inception. But in 2016, at least, rank-and-file workers—like the ones that filled the Javits Center Wednesday—are suspected to be quietly breaking ranks with their Clinton-loving, left-wing labor chiefs, and defecting to Trump.

Trump himself has propped up this idea. "I have tremendous support within unions, and I have tremendous support in areas where they don't have unions," he told a town-hall audience in New Hampshire last month. "I mean, my support is really with those workers, those people. That's it — the policemen, the firemen, the construction workers, the lathers, the sheetrock workers, the electricians, the plumbers. That's where my support is — every poll shows it." This was especially true in New York, Trump said, where, he added, "I've done very well with unions."

At this week's Clinton rally, though, workers I spoke to—most of whom were unable to give their full names due to union restrictions—expressed more nuanced views of the Republican front-runner, rooted in years of experience working with Trump on his business holdings in the city. "He's a bully," said Albert, a 53-year-old electrician. "[He] thinks he's so powerful that he can do anything he want."

Albert gave me an example: In the week leading up to the 2015 NBA All-Star Game, held at New York City's Madison Square Garden, several of the league's players were staying at the Trump SoHo, a hotel overseen by Trump and two of his children; at the time, Albert was working a job at a nearby building, and the crew had to close a portion of the block to complete the project.

"Our boss told us that Trump called the superintendent of the building, and said"—at this point Albert put on his best Trump impersonation—"'Why the fuck did you block my street?! Do you know who this is?'" When the crew returned the next day, Albert said, the superintendent had closed the building, effectively shutting down the project. "He's a bully," Albert added again, for emphasis.

Most of the workers I spoke to said they had, at one time or another, worked a job at a Trump property. And while most confirmed that, in business, Trump was known for bullying and intimidation tactics, they also said they see a divide between The Donald they worked for and The Donald on the campaign trail.

"I've worked for Donald a bunch of times," said Gilbert, a carpenter from Costa Rica who has lived in New York City for 38 years, "And I knew his dad, too. There was never a problem with the work. But everyone here will tell you," he continued, with a twirling finger-to-head gesture, "that what he's saying to these people across the country is crazy."

Inside the Javits Center, just minutes before the candidate took the stage, I spoke with a carpenter named Mike, who was handing out "Carpenters & Hillary" signs at the entrance. "He's a shrewd businessman," he told me, "and he's done a lot for the unions."

According to Mike, even the people cheering for Clinton on Wednesday are facing an internal debate about which presumptive candidate to vote for in November: Clinton, the Establishment New York Democrat who voices the pro-labor lines they want to hear, or Trump, the rich guy who promises to be "the greatest jobs president God ever created."

"They haven't made up their mind yet," Mike said. "There's a strong following for Trump, and there's a strong following for Hillary." When I asked him where he stands, he responded, "I'm still on the fence."

It's worth noting again that this was a man handing out pro-Clinton signs, at a Clinton rally—a fact that speaks to the problems the Democratic front-runner might have should she face Trump in a general election.

Soon after, Clinton took the stage to Rachel Platten's "Fight Song," a staple on her campaign playlist. This, indeed, was Clinton's victory lap. Barely mentioning her Democratic rival Bernie Sanders, she rattled off her achievements during her eight years as New York's junior US senator. And she sampled her anti-Trump sound bites, testing out a general election on the hometown audience. "America never stopped being great," she yelled. "We have to make America whole!"

Behind the stands, Junior Alexander, a 45-year-old carpenter, waved a miniature American flag, and watched the candidate from afar. A native of Trinidad, Alexander said the biggest debate within union rank-and-file has been over Sanders and Clinton—many of his friends, he said, had felt the Bern, but were now coalescing behind Clinton as the more electable of the two. The Donald, he said, was no favorite, at least among the people he knows.

"Trump is a bold businessman," Alexander said, "and his boldness works for him—from what I can tell, he cannot be bought, and so there's nothing the Republicans can really do to stop him."

"But he's spoiled, like a child is spoiled," he said. Then, as if appealing directly to Trump's fans, he added, "You have to understand: He just wants business." He paused. "They don't know Trump."

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