It has become a common place in the late twentieth century to remark on the persistence of difference and inequality among workers; as we all know, racial capitalism has been more likely to perpetuate visible distinctions between workers than to erase them. This recreation of difference among workers is true along lines of age and gender, but it is perhaps most evident in terms of race: The daily experiences of most workers have not been colorblind at any time in capitalism's history. As many analysts have pointed out, instead of the homogenized proletariat united by a common economic interest predicted by most early-twentieth century social theories, racial capitalism has been composed of institutions and relationships which are built on, and which recreate, racial differences within the working class—differences that continue to shape and be reflected in workers' understanding of themselves and others.

Some fifteen years ago in these pages, Emília Viotti da Costa noted a characteristic of Brazilian labor historiography that she could have applied to Latin America as a whole. “Historians rarely mention blacks or mulattoes…Clearly there is here a problem that deserves more attention. What role did blacks play in the working class? How did they relate to immigrants and vice-versa?… These are some questions waiting for answers.”

In its morning edition of April 22, 1900, Diario de la Marina examined figures released from the 1899 census, nothing what it considered to be its most important feature: One-third of population was colored. The columnist elaborated that this situation represented an obvious “danger” for “the white race” living in the island and claimed that the only way to avert a future catastrophe was to further stimulate white immigration to Cuba.

“Everyone knows,” observed W.E.B. DuBois, writing at the turn of the century, “that in a city like Philadelphia a Negro does not have the same chance to exercise his ability or secure work according to his talents as a white man.” Focusing on what he described as “the practical exclusion of the Negroes from the trades and industries,” DuBois highlighted the role of organized labor in maintaining Philadelphia's segregated economy whereby “each union steadfastly refuses to admit Negroes, and relies on color prejudice to keep up the barrier.”

During World War Two Alexander Saxton, the great historian of race and class, was a young activist working in the railroad industry. In a lengthy article for the Daily Worker he caught the complexity of racial discrimination among railway unions. The brotherhoods which organized railroad labor inculded several unions which had historically established the worst records of attempting to enforce what one commentator called the “Nordic closed shop” in their crafts. By the time Saxton wrote, however, the railwayunions had joined in campaigns against the poll tax and against lynching. What they avoided was agitation against “alleged” racism in their own workplaces. When the Fair Employment Practices Committee canceled hearings inquiring into discrimination in railroad employment, the unions rejoiced. Their newspaper observed that in any case such hearings would be illegitimate if African Americans joined in the deliberations. “Thereshould be on the Committee,” according to Labor, “no representative of any race or special interest.” Saxton added, “Apparently white men belongto no race.”

When 4,000 black workers at Volkswagen South Africa went on strike on the morning of June 16, 1980, their walkout and march through Uitenhage—twenty-five kilometers inland from the Indian Ocean city of Port Elizabeth—did far more than disturb the streets of a conservative industrial town. The Workers struct after an impasse in negotiations between the automobile companies and their union, the National Union of Motor Assembly and Rubber Workers of South Africa (NUMARWOSA) over the union's demand for a “living wage.” Within days the entire town was engulfed in a general strike. The South African Police declared Uitenhage a “security area,” effectively cutting it off from the outside world. The other strikes soon ended or were repressed, most fiercely at the American multinational Goodyear, where the work force was dismissed and then selectively reemployed under police guard. However, Volkswagen workers continued their action for more than three weeks before winning awage increase and returning to work with their jobs intact and their union strengthened (Plates 1, 2, 3).

On November 13, 1924, the first public announcements of white scion Leonard Kip Rhinelander's secret marriage to a working-class “colored” woman, Alice Jones, exploded across the front pages of New York newspapers. Although Rhinelander, a wealthy white socialite, ignored family orders and stayed with his wife through the first week or so of the scandal, few were surprised when he ultimately left her and filed an annulment suit. While New York did not outlaw interracial marriages, Leonard's suit reflected the extent of public sentiment against such marriages. Claiming he had not known Alice was black and would not have married her if he had, Leonard, acutely aware of his class station, nonetheless based his request to dissolve the marriage on prohibitions against interracial unions. It is perhaps surprising, therefore, that the jury of twelve white married men refused the Rhinelander heir his annulment and upheld the marriage, there-by accepting Alice's version of events and actions.