An item in the Hollywood Reporter caught my eye this week: Lindsay Dougherty has been re-elected Secretary-Treasurer of Teamsters Local 399, winning nearly 71 percent of the vote. Her entire slate swept the election, cementing her as one of the most influential labour leaders in the American entertainment industry.
Dougherty represents some 5,700 Hollywood workers—drivers, casting professionals, caterers, mechanics and more. She’s also the Director of the Teamsters Motion Picture and Theatrical Trade Division and a Western Region Vice President of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters, the first woman to hold that post.
In her statement after the election, she wrote:
“It’s no surprise to industry workers that these last several years have been difficult. The work to stabilize our industry alongside our strong members, and Hollywood Unions and Guilds, continues. Nothing moves without the Teamsters.”
That last line struck me: nothing moves without the Teamsters.
It’s an echo of an earlier era when the union card wasn’t just a formality—it was a shield. And it reminded me of that rousing 1973 anthem by The Strawbs, “Part of the Union.” With the recent passing of its writer, David Cousins, I found myself humming the lines again:
“You don’t get me, I’m part of the union /
Until the day I die.”
“And though I’m not hard, the sight of my card /
Makes me some kind of superman.”
That image—of a modest worker transformed by the confidence of collective strength—is as stirring now as it was fifty years ago. In Britain then, union membership was a badge of belonging. The song reached number two on the UK charts. Today, in both America and South Africa, it feels more like an artefact from another age.
South Africa’s Uncertain Shield
Closer to home, the mood could not be more different. Retrenchment has become a grim corporate routine. One reader commented on my recent article about the merger of Premier Foods and RFG Foods:
“The South African economy tends to create particularly large organisations in the interests of shareholders, which force small businesses out of the market… As competition decreases, the price increases. That which is not mentioned is the number of jobs that will be lost.”
It’s an uncomfortable truth. Mergers create shareholder value but can destroy livelihoods. The Citizen reported this week from Soweto that most residents interviewed were unemployed or scraping by through menial work. The township, they said, has changed little in thirty years.
In this climate, the union card feels like thin armour—but it’s still something.
During my years managing staff from several unions, one organisation stood out: Solidarity. Their model is a pragmatic one—membership at a relatively small monthly fee, and legal assistance when you need it most. But as they wisely remind members: join before you need us. When that retrenchment letter lands, it’s too late to find protection.
The New Face of Unionism
South Africa’s labour landscape has always produced strong personalities. Today, Irvin Jim of the National Union of Metalworkers of South Africa (NUMSA) is perhaps the most recognisable figure. Outspoken, combative, and unwavering in his defence of workers, he stands in the long line of unionists who shaped politics—from the factory floor to the national stage.
In the film and stage industry, NUMSA recently issued a joint statement with the South African Guild of Actors (SAGA), following the death of veteran actress Mam’ Nandi Nyembe. The two organisations called for genuine transformation and better protection for creative professionals — a reminder that, much like Hollywood, South Africa’s entertainment workers also rely on collective action to secure fair treatment and dignity.
But even unions have evolved. Managers—once firmly on “the other side”—are now signing up themselves, particularly through organisations like Solidarity. As companies flatten hierarchies and trim middle management, everyone has become expendable. The old distinction between “labour” and “management” has blurred.
And this brings us back to Lindsay Dougherty and her Teamsters in Hollywood. She’s fighting automation and corporate consolidation in her own industry—warning that nothing moves without workers.
Lindsay Dougherty is fighting to keep drivers behind the wheel, not replaced by driverless trucks, is a stand for every worker who fears being automated out of existence. “Nothing moves without the Teamsters,” she said — and she means it.
In South Africa, where jobs vanish quietly through mergers and restructuring, we might need that same assertive spirit again.
A Chorus That Still Echoes
The Strawbs’ chorus keeps playing in my mind:
“You don’t get me, I’m part of the union /
Until the day I die.”
Half a century later, that defiant pride has faded, replaced by anxiety and precarity. Yet the principle remains: solidarity is still the only real superpower most workers have.
The card may no longer make you a superman—but in an age of relentless retrenchment, it might still be the only shield worth carrying.
Who’s Lindsay Dougherty?
• Born in Detroit, 1983–84, into a union family. Her father, Pat Dougherty, was a Teamster for 40 years.
• Joined Local 399 in Los Angeles over 20 years ago.
• Held posts as business agent, recording secretary, and lead organiser before election to top roles.
• Re-elected Secretary-Treasurer of Teamsters Local 399 in October 2025 with 71% of the vote.
• Director of the Teamsters Motion Picture & Theatrical Trade Division and Western Region Vice President of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters.
