Jesus Lopez stares straight ahead with an alluring look in his eyes, as a photographer rotates around him exclaiming, “Oh, that is a mood.”
He’s posing in a cowboy get-up for a calendar pin-up photo — a fundraiser for his union, Medieval Times Performers United. Lopez, a knight-in-training at the Buena Park castle, walked off the job with his fellow performers in February to demand stricter safety standards, higher pay, and better treatment of the show’s horses. The striking performers haven't collected a paycheck in eight months.
Even harder to take: how little progress they’ve made despite their sacrifice.
There was a lot of fanfare when the actors playing knights, squires, and royalty at Medieval Times first formed a union in November 2022. But as public attention has faded, progress has stalled. The union has been in a stalemate with management since their last meeting in September. Medieval Times did not respond to KCRW’s request for comment.
Delays like these are common. Sixty-three percent of unions fail to secure a collective bargaining agreement — the primary goal of labor organizing — in their first year, according to a 2018 study by the Industrial Relations Journal. By year two, it’s 40%. New unions must overcome considerable obstacles, including employers who are willing to spend millions on union-busting campaigns. And in high-profile union campaigns at Amazon and Starbucks, weak labor law has allowed employers to violate the right to organize with impunity.
“I feel that life is full of compromise,” says Lopez of the pay he’s lost in eight months of striking. “And that sometimes the right thing is far from the easiest thing.”
Workers like Lopez say they could really use a contract. He’s paid $17.75 an hour to perform a physically demanding job involving horses and dangerous stunts. It’s better than his last job in a tile factory, he says, and a dream to work with horses like his dad who used to break horses in Mexico. But it’s not enough to afford a comfortable life.
Almost one year into Lopez’s employment at Medieval Times, the cost of gas to commute from his mom’s home in Inglewood became a challenge. For six months he lived out of his car in the parking lot behind Medieval Times, only returning home every few weeks. Finally a few months into the strike, his co-workers discovered his situation, and they found him a place to stay with one of the strike captains. “I’m fortunate,” says Lopez.
Meanwhile, the union has faced significant challenges to their efforts. The National Labor Relations Board (NLRB) charged Medieval Times with illegal union busting in October for an attempt by management to get workers to withdraw their support for the union.
The company also sued the union organizers, saying their name, Medieval Times Performers United, was a trademark infringement. Because of the lawsuit, Medieval Times was able to get the union’s TikTok account taken down.
The NLRB has an ongoing investigation into that ban. The agency already charged Medieval Times with breaking the law in New Jersey, when it had the TikTok account of the local performers union banned there.
The loss of their social media presence was crippling, explains Erin Zapcic, a Buena Park strike co-captain and one of the show’s queens. “Here we are eight months later, and hundreds of people are still crossing our picket line every single day,” says Zapcic. “And they say, ‘I had no idea that you were on strike.’”
The law doesn’t do much to stop employers from delays in bargaining, and it imposes few penalties for breaking labor law, says Kate Bronfenbrenner, director of labor education research at Cornell University. She points out that the worst outcome for an employer with an unfair labor practice charge is a piece of paper from the NLRB warning the employer to not break the law again.
Bronfenbrenner says labor organizing becomes the challenge of “making the cost of not obeying the law greater than the cost of obeying the law.”
It’s been difficult for the striking performers at Medieval Times to do much financial damage to the company. Management hires replacement workers to keep the show going. As the months have worn on, it’s also become difficult to maintain picket lines. Many strikers needed to get second jobs to pay their bills, says Zapcic.
On a recent Friday before the 5:30 p.m. show, the picket consists of Zapcic and one other performer. They stand outside the entrance with banners and flyers about the strike. Zapcic informs visitors that tickets are refundable, and she directs them to other entertainment options in the area like Pirate Dinner Adventure or Knott’s Berry Farm. Dozens of people have listened to her appeal, and still decided to see the show.
“The thing that gets me the most is … they're betting that people just don't care,” says Zapcic of the company. “And it kills me that they're right.”
Finally, a unionized teacher and her husband visiting from New York City decide not to cross the picket line. Then a family of four. Zapcic walks over to a whiteboard, where the union keeps a tally of how many people honor the picket. She adds six marks to the board, which is more than their entire total last weekend.
“That makes it a little bit more palatable on days like today when it's really hard,” says Zapcic.