Call it a tale of two airlines. WestJet reported another disappointing quarter last Wednesday, and its shares plunged. Two days later, Air Canada also announced a quarterly loss — but its full-year profit of $258-million was the highest for any Canadian airline in the past eight years.

Grappling with espionage lawsuits, executive turnover, and slim profits, WestJet’s lustre is fading, while Air Canada’s financial star is definitely on the rise.

There’s another interesting contrast between the two airlines. Air Canada is heading into wage bargaining this spring with its unions, where it will have to share some of those profits — and gradually repair the labour relations damage lingering from its 2003-04 restructuring. Down at the non-union WestJet counter, however, no one knows what kind of raise they’ll get this year. The company does not pay across-the-board increases; every employee’s pay depends on what the boss thinks of their personal performance.

WestJet also has a unilateral profit-sharing system: a chunk of pretax profits that’s paid out (at the discretion of the board of directors) in annual bonuses. This year’s payout has not yet been determined. Last year’s amounted to $2.9-million — $725 per full-time worker, or 35 cents per hour. Since 2000, as WestJet profits flagged in the face of overexpansion and killer competition, profit-sharing bonuses per full-time worker have shrunk by 93 per cent.

WestJet workers can also console themselves with the fact that they “own” the company — at least according to the company’s current ad campaign. These spots feature WestJet workers doing extraordinary things, because they are purportedly the airline’s “owners.” Most offensive is the one showing an attractive WestJetter who’s just spent two days chasing an equally attractive customer who forgot his cellphone on the plane. She sold his jet ski in the meantime (for more than the asking price), and seems almost ready to offer sex, as well. For anyone who actually earns their living trying to keep demanding customers happy, this scenario is as insulting as it is idiotic.

WestJet can’t say what proportion of its shares are owned by non-executive employees (purchased from their own salaries, matched by a company subsidy). The 4,300 workers certainly own less than 10 per cent, maybe less than five per cent. That’s dwarfed by the 15 per cent stake held by the nine men who sit on WestJet’s board.

And, like other shareholders, WestJet workers have taken a bath of late on this “investment”: The share price has tumbled almost 50 per cent in two years. Thanks, but no thanks. Working for Air Canada is no bed of roses. But the non-owners there make a much better wage, and at least they know what they’re getting paid.

I doubt that many WestJetters swallow the paternalistic claim that they actually own the firm. After 10 years in business, and still no pension plan, singing those cheery on-board ditties must definitely be losing its charm. But just in case anyone confuses tokenism with true empowerment, here are 10 good ways to determine whether — like the Remington man — you really do own the company you work for:

  • 10. The company limo pulls up en route to the annual shareholders’ meeting — and the driver asks you to fill it up with regular.
  • 9. You love the view from the top-floor executive suite, especially at night — which is when you empty the wastebaskets up there.
  • 8. The company presents you with a unique, personalized business card. You punch it into the time clock every morning when you get to work.
  • 7. You ask the receptionist to hold all your calls — and she says, “What calls?”
  • 6. Your quarterly dividend cheque reads, “Amounts under $2 will be neither refunded nor collected.”
  • 5. The real boss belongs to the Canadian Club and the Dominion Club. You belong to Club Z.
  • 4. You have a corner office, all right — the security hut, right in the corner of the parking lot.
  • 3. Fifty per cent of your dining and entertainment expenses are tax-deductible — as long as you keep the Tim Hortons receipt.
  • 2. You don’t have monogrammed cuffs on your shirt — but you do have your whole name (“Billy”) embroidered right there on the pocket.
  • 1. And here’s the No. 1 way to tell that you don’t really own the company: After a lifetime of service, your executive retirement package is called the CPP.

Jim Stanford

Jim Stanford is economist and director of the Centre for Future Work, and divides his time between Vancouver and Sydney. He has a PhD in economics from the New School for Social Research in New York,...