Yachtbuilding

Before I start telling stories of the past, I think I need to explain and describe my present. If this becomes a long series of whine festivals and navel gazing, there is no point to publishing; there is already plenty of that to be found.

I work for a company that builds megayachts. I won’t say where or who, for reasons that will become apparent. To describe it as neutrally as possible, these are 120’ - 200’ boats - or ships if you prefer - that are built as waterborne occasional homes for those who have adopted - or inherited - the yachting lifestyle. They are built with varying levels of luxury, but be assured that the cost of upkeep alone requires such a significant investment that only the very wealthiest of the wealthy in this world can afford to own one.
The design and construction of these ships is a major industrial undertaking. Even the line built ones - those with a minimum of custom outfitting - take 2-3 years to build. The highest end custom boats can take as much as 5 years or more from concept to delivery. It takes a vast amount of knowledge and a highly trained and educated cross disciplinary team of engineers and designers to develop the designs; it takes a highly trained and coordinated industrial workforce from many disciplines to make them a reality.
My particular role for most of the last three years has been as a cabinetmaker and joiner: that is, I am one of about 30 or so others who create the finished furniture and trim for the interior and exterior of the yacht. The work I have been a part of has won industry awards for design and execution. I say all this not to brag, but to underscore the irony in my situation.

Here’s the thing:

In a time when just having a job to go to is getting to be considered good fortune, in a job that many in my field would kill to have, in a field that has been especially hard hit by the current economic downturn: if I could afford to, I would quit tomorrow. While the work itself can be, at its best, challenging and rewarding, everything else about this place is diametrically opposed to most of the ideals that I have developed and held dear over my years of work.
While any of the particulars of this would make complete posts in themselves, I will try to explain this with a couple of examples:

I have had, from childhood, had a deep appreciation and respect for nature; although I have lost touch with the habits and opportunities of enjoying that experience, I still retain the feeling. Although, by its very nature, woodworking involves the destruction of trees, it is possible to treat the material with respect and to be conservative and creative and minimally wasteful, to give the tree a new life in what you create.

The level of production required to build the interior of a yacht, however, prevents any such practices. The amount of lumber we throw out as waste or reject for its inconsistency and ‘flaws’ could keep an army of hobbyists happy. To add insult to injury, we are not allowed as employees to salvage any of this ourselves, lest we start ‘creating’ waste specifically for our own benefit.

The treatment of the employees is another issue. In my other attempts to not be self employed, I have worked in a variety of small to medium size woodworking businesses. While I have experienced a broad range of business models and management (and mismanagement) styles, there has generally been an appreciation and respect for the skill and productivity of the workers, if not necessarily a level of compensaton to match. Here, while lip service is occasionally given to the level of craft necessary to create these designs, the apparent perception of us by management falls somewhere between irresponsible children and potential criminals.

The level of consumption that these boats represent by their very existence gives me pangs of conscience. I admit to a strong strain of class prejudice, based on my sense of justice; but even when I try to be objective about it, there is still something offensive about this level of luxury for the few when there are so many with little or nothing and many who are losing what they do have. I don't feel guilty for having a job; but I can't help feeling I am incurring some sort of karmic debt by contributing, even in my small way, to the lifestyles of those who have so much.

I have to believe that somewhere there is a place where the relationship between the client, the employer, and the worker, skilled or unskilled, is one of mutual respect for the various qualities that each bring to the table. I have even experienced that in my previous career; I just know we don’t have it here, or at least that it is certainly not the dominant culture. There are people I work with that I have a positive and constructive professional relationship with; maybe even a friend or two, although it is difficult to tell; that is what I use to help me get through the day.