Why there is a constant battle over the working day
In the opening passage of the Communist Manifesto, Karl Marx wrote of the “uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight” between rulers and ruled throughout history. Under capitalism, that fight is nowhere more evident than in the battle between bosses and workers over the length and intensity of the working day.
Anyone who has worked for a wage has participated, whether conscious of it or not, in this struggle. As workers, we generally want to limit the time we spend at work and reduce the intensity of our labour while there. Bosses want the opposite: they want us to work longer and faster. Most people have been told off by a manager for running late for a shift, taking too long on a break, going to the toilet too often or talking too much to co-workers.
Bosses don’t tell their employees off about such things just because they’re mean people. Many of them are no doubt arseholes—it is a common trait of those who exploit other people’s labour. However, their overriding concern isn’t to make other people’s working lives difficult just for the sake of it, but to maximise the profits being squeezed from them. Arsehole or not, every boss is, as Marx put it in Capital, “capital personified”. “His soul is the soul of capital ... which, vampire-like, lives only by sucking living labour, and lives the more, the more labour it sucks”.
A brief chat with a co-worker is a short relief from the stress and monotony of the working day. But the manager views it as money down the drain—because when it comes to work, time is money.
Profit is capitalism’s lifeblood and is derived from the “surplus value” produced by workers’ labour. Surplus value is the value of a company’s finished products or services minus the value of the ingredients or raw materials that went into them and minus the wages paid to the workers (the value of the “labour power” that went into creating them).
For example, take a barista working in a local cafe for $32 an hour. Assume that they make 60 coffees per hour, which the cafe sells for $5 each. For each hour worked, the cafe receives $300 in revenue. Of that, the worker gets $32, and the owner gets $268. Perhaps $220 of that $268 will pay the costs of the necessary inputs: the coffee beans, electricity and water, building rental, depreciation and maintenance of the coffee machine. What remains is surplus value.
So, of the new value created in each hour, the worker who created that value receives $32 and the boss $48—a rate of surplus value of 48/32 or 150 percent. Further deductions are required by the contradictions of capitalism—such as advertising and supervisors who keep the workers in line. After those bills are paid, what remains is the profit.
Capitalists want to minimise the portion of the total value produced that goes to workers’ wages and maximise the portion that ends up as profit. There are a few ways they can do this.
The simplest is to extend the length of the working day. The more hours spent making coffees, the greater the absolute sum of value going to the cafe owner at the end of each day. The barista working a five-hour shift will produce only five-eighths of the surplus value they could produce in an eight-hour shift. The longer the workday, the greater the sum of surplus value and the higher the profits after accounting for other costs. (While the owner will pay more for coffee beans and electricity, the rent will be the same regardless of the hours the cafe is open.)
It’s even more profitable for the boss if they can get you to work an extra half hour or so a day without paying for it. A 2023 Australia Institute report—Short Changed: Unsatisfactory working hours and unpaid overtime—found that, on average, Australian workers do 5.4 hours of unpaid overtime a week, amounting to $131 billion worth of unpaid labour a year.
Another common way to increase surplus value is by making you work harder or faster. If the barista who makes 60 coffees an hour can be forced to make 66 per hour, the effect is the same as increasing each work day by 10 percent with unpaid overtime.
The methods just described create what Marx called absolute surplus value. They have obvious physiological and social limits to their increase—people can’t be forced to work 24 hours a day every day.
A more important way to increase surplus value is through relative surplus value. This involves reducing the real value of what workers receive for their labour. Bosses are obviously always interested in reducing wages, but cutting them directly risks provoking mass resistance. Inflation has the effect of reducing real wages without creating such immediate resistance.
In our barista example, they agree to work for $32/hour because that is the best they can get through their negotiations with the boss. If the wages were any lower, they might look for a different job.
If the economy were to increase productivity such that our baristas could now live at more or less the same standard on a wage of $30/hour, they would have less reason to resist such a reduction. A general increase of prices while wages remain unchanged has much the same effect. It means that the benefits of greater efficiency in the economy go directly to the bosses. If the workers want a share of such increases, they have to fight for it.
Bosses are always trying to increase efficiency and productivity because every business is competing against others of the same type. And every national economy is competing again other economies worldwide. It’s a never-ending battle to maximise the surplus value (and therefore the profit) they squeeze from their workers.
More profitable businesses succeed and grow. They have more money to invest in new, productivity-enhancing machinery, to employ more workers and to organise the labour process to increase efficiency. From a capitalist perspective, it is a virtuous circle. The higher the profits, the greater the new investment, and the more surplus value is squeezed from employees each day.
These dynamics apply to every business, no matter how big or small. In the Woolworths distribution centres where workers have been on strike, the relationship of an individual worker’s labour to the value of the products they handle appears less direct than that of a barista to their coffee.
Nevertheless, all workers are part of a chain of production that contributes to the final value of goods—farm workers, manufacturing workers, pickers and packers, transport workers, power station workers and so on. At each point in the production process, the bosses’ goal is the same: maximise profits by getting workers to work as fast as possible for as long as possible.
Each worker in the chain will experience similar scrutiny and pressure from management to perform at 100 percent—or more—of their capacity. As soon as one productivity standard has been met, managers will consider how to increase it even further.
So, under capitalism, no amount of profit will ever be enough—which is why economists and politicians are always focused on economic growth. If they could get away with it, bosses would have us working like people in Marx’s time, before we won things like the eight-hour day and the weekend that are now taken for granted. It’s already like that in many places, and workers are sometimes literally worked to death.
As long as capitalism exists, the battle over the working day will never cease. To reduce work hours and reduce workplace stress, we need to organise collectively. The more we do this, the more we can push back against the bosses’ ceaseless productivity drive—making clear to them that we won’t accept being treated like the robots they would prefer us to be.
