Over many years, academic journals on both sides of the Atlantic have carried articles debating the current state and future direction of labor historiography. One area of continuing discussion, central to the notion of a division between an “old” and a “new” labor history, is the importance of unions. As a consequence, historians of different persuasions are now more openly making judgments as to the value of the extensive body of industrial relations literature. This essay is a contribution to that particular discussion and an attempt to give it a more directed focus.

Transnational labor migration is one of the most visible features of our globalizing world. The International Organization for Migration estimates that there are 214 million migrant workers crossing national borders in the world today. Migration both in and to the Middle East constitutes an important part of this movement of laborers and has deep roots. In the mid-fifteenth century, workers across a broad spectrum of occupations, including stevedores, boatmen, and bakers, trekked from areas in eastern and central Anatolia to the new imperial Ottoman capital, Istanbul, where they lived and worked for months and even years. Workers from outside the Middle East also have been part of the fabric of life in the region for several centuries, the slave trade from sub-Saharan Africa, which long supplied labor for a variety of purposes, being one of the most notable. Migrant workers took on new significance in the twentieth century, especially after the oil price hikes of 1973. Today the nations on the Arabian Peninsula, the destination for most workers, have the highest ratio of migrants to locals in the world.

The article presents a narrative of technological change, privatization, and globalization as they have affected Brazil's telecommunications industry. It is divided into three parts: A) A brief account of process of privatization in the telecom industry in Brazil; B) An analysis of the changes in work and employment relations in the industry; and C) A discussion of the implications of these changes for unions, focusing on problems they face and the strategies they are adopting to overcome their difficulties. A final section presents the implications of the article's findings, which are based on semistructured interviews with industry managers and workers and published company and union documents.

The novelty of the new millennium proved too tempting for most to pass without offering some reflections on the waning century or speculations for the future, and the 114th annual meeting of the American Historical Association (AHA) was no exception. The tone was set early by the announced theme of the conference (“History for the Twenty-First Century: Continuity and Change”) and its opening panel, which promised to consign the twentieth century to history. There were also sessions on “Scholarly Publishing in the Twenty-First Century” and “Interviewing in the Job Market in the New Millennium.” By my count there were no less than eight panels at the conference that adopted an explicitly millennial theme. Not to be outdone, labor historians added their musings with a roundtable entitled “Labor History at the Millennium: International Capitalism and the Comparative Historical Dimension.”

What is the lived experience of routine wage labour? Why does it matter? In the mid-1970s, Miriam Glucksmann/Ruth Cavendish, committed as a socialist and feminist and frustrated at the political isolation of academia from working class life, went to find out. She worked in a factory, and while not originally intending to write about it, ended up producing a rich ethnography: Women on the Line. Why was it important, and does it remain so? In the preface to The Making of the English Working Class, E. P. Thompson explained his choice of title: “Making, because it is the study in an active process, which owes as much to agency as to conditioning.” It is this interaction between agency and structure that is important to understanding how consciousness, identity, and action work—including the possibilities of challenging the status quo. Glucksmann gained the insight into what it felt like to “work on the line”; how work felt, the memories, experiences, everyday realities of her work colleagues; the control of the labour process, class and gender relations and collectivity; how wage exploitation operated; and resistance, including unionization, a dispute, division, and defeat.

Comparative studies of social policy usually portray the French welfare state as lagging behind most of its counterparts in Western Europe during the first decades of the twentieth century. The sheer complexity of the French system, moreover, with its baroque mixture of separate private, government and quasi-public funds, made it exceptional as well. Yet tardiness and complexity by no means prevented the French from expanding social insurance at an especially rapid clip in the decades following the Second World War. By 1980 France spent more on social security as a percentage of Gross Domestic Product than any country in Europe except Denmark, Sweden and the Netherlands. Today the French are among Europe's most stalwart defenders of publicly funded pensions and health insurance. Given its unimpressive beginnings, how did the French welfare state become such a heavyweight?

Analogies between the rise of Donald Trump in the United States and populist leaders in Latin America are an emblematic case of misleading comparative analysis. They hide the ideological core of Trumpism, which undermines collective action and its emblematic institution, organized labor, dismantling the protections it attained during the twentieth century. In particular, references to Argentina's Juan Perón obscure Trump's emphasis on individual economic freedom, property rights, and the naturalization of inequality, values engrained in American political thinking. They also distort the populist legacies in Latin America. Populist leaders in the postwar years challenged liberal democratic thinking by posing that social rights and collective prerogatives for excluded groups should prevail over individual citizenship in order to expand political democracy. That legacy is not only alien to Trumpism; it might also be the main weapon to fight against it.

The Ten Hours Movement of the 1830s and 1840s in Britain was the first large-scale working-class struggle to challenge the impact of industrial capitalism upon working-class family life. Yet its discourse on family has been relatively neglected by historians of the movement. This article examines the nature of the movement's critique, the vision of family life that it tried to realize, and the challenge that this posed to the emerging bourgeois order and, on this basis, to reconsider its contribution to the gender ordering of working-class family life.

Eric Hobsbawm, who died on October 1, 2012, was one of a handful of extraordinary labor historians who emerged from the British Communist Party Historians' Group in the 1940s and 1950s. Today he is widely acknowledged as one of the great historians of our era. His influence is truly international. For a long time, a significant limitation on the extent of his renown was the USSR where, during the era of “actually-existing socialism,” his works were never translated or published. This was ironic since he was a card-carrying member of the Communist Party of Great Britain (CPGB) from 1936 until its dissolution in 1991.