Why Do We Strike

When workers lay down their tools and march out into the streets, they are doing something far more profound than merely asking for higher wages or better benefits. A strike, at its core, is not just an economic action—it is a philosophical declaration. It is a confrontation with systems of power, a public cry for recognition, and perhaps most importantly, a collective affirmation of human dignity.

At first glance, strikes seem to be about money—about fair compensation, safe working conditions, or job security. But these material demands are often just the visible surface of a much deeper unrest. Beneath the banners and chants lies a question that has haunted human beings since antiquity: What is a life worth? When workers strike, they are not only asserting their right to a living wage, but also declaring that they are not machines, not mere cogs in a profit engine. They are human beings with needs, dreams, and limits.

In Plato's Republic, justice is defined as each part of a society doing its proper role in harmony. But what happens when one part of society—the laboring class—is exploited or silenced? Harmony collapses. In this sense, a strike is a correction. It is a moment when the imbalance of justice becomes too great to bear, and the only way to restore equilibrium is through collective pause and resistance.

Striking is a form of speech, especially for those whose voices are often ignored. The philosopher Jürgen Habermas argued that communication is the basis of human society, but when open dialogue fails—when negotiation turns into coercion—then resistance becomes the only remaining language. A strike is not the absence of work; it is the presence of meaning. It says, “I matter. We matter. Our time, our health, our labor is not disposable.”

There is also something deeply existential about a strike. Jean-Paul Sartre might describe it as an act of radical freedom. When a person walks off the job, they are momentarily stepping outside the role that has been assigned to them by society. They are refusing to be defined solely by their economic function. In that moment, even if they suffer, they reclaim ownership over their existence. To strike is to say, “I am more than what I produce.”

Moreover, a strike is an act of hope. Hope that solidarity still has power. Hope that change is possible. Hope that the invisible will be seen. In a world increasingly driven by algorithms, automation, and market efficiency, striking is one of the last truly human acts. It resists the dehumanization of work and reasserts the centrality of people over profit.

Of course, striking is also an act of courage. It involves sacrifice. The immediate cost is real—lost wages, legal risks, and in some places, even violence. But that is precisely what makes it so meaningful. Courage, as Aristotle noted, is the virtue that lies between cowardice and recklessness. It is the choice to endure hardship for a greater good. And when people strike, they are often doing so not just for themselves, but for those who cannot—single parents, undocumented workers, the voiceless.

In the end, to strike is to draw a moral line. It is to say that there is a limit to what can be endured, a boundary that should not be crossed. It is to reclaim the narrative of one’s life from systems that often reduce individuals to output and efficiency. And that is a profoundly philosophical act.

So when we ask, “Why do people go on strike?” we must look beyond the immediate demands. We must see the human spirit in revolt, the quiet dignity rising, the ancient longing for fairness asserting itself in the modern world. Striking is not just about economics. It is about ethics. It is about identity. It is, at its deepest level, a testament to what it means to be human.