Latest / Ramses the Great: Egypt's Most Powerful Pharaoh — Fexingo History / Ramses II and the First Labor Strike in Egypt
Transcript
- Lucas: If you've been stepping into history with us episode by episode, you know we usually focus on the towering figures—the pharaohs who built empires and the generals who drew battle lines. But today, I want to take you to a quiet village near Thebes, where the real story isn't about conquest, but about showing up for work. Luna: A village? That sounds surprisingly modern for ancient Egypt. Lucas: It does, doesn't it? We're talking about Deir el-Medina, the Royal Workmen's Village, home to the artisans who carved and decorated the tombs in the Valley of the Kings. For decades, these men lived in a closed community, protected by the state, but they were also dependent on it for their survival. Lucas: By the late thirteenth century BCE, during the reign of Ramses II, the system was starting to crack. The pharaoh was building everywhere—Abu Simbel, Karnak, Per-Ramesses—and the supply chains were stretched thin. The workers expected their monthly grain rations, which were the only thing keeping their families fed, but the deliveries started arriving late, then stopped altogether. Luna: So they just stopped working? Lucas: They did something even more radical. They didn't just quit; they went on strike. And not a vague protest, but an organized walkout. They left their tools, walked out of the necropolis, and gathered at the nearby mortuary temple of Queen Hatshepsut at Deir el-Bahari to make their demands known. Lucas: This happened around year thirty-nine or forty of Ramses II's reign. It's often called the world's first recorded labor strike, and it’s preserved for us because one of the workers, a man named Paneb, wrote down exactly what happened in a document known as the Petition of Paneb. Luna: Wait, they actually got paid? Lucas: Eventually, yes. But the process was messy. The workers sent representatives to the vizier, the highest official under the pharaoh, demanding their back wages. At first, the administration tried to ignore them, assuming the fear of divine retribution would keep them in line. After all, they were working on tombs for the gods and the king. Lucas: But the workers pointed out a theological loophole that changed everything. They argued that if the state failed to provide for them, then Amun-Re himself was failing to provide for his priests and servants. By linking their livelihood directly to the god's favor, they made striking a religious duty rather than a rebellion. Luna: That is a brilliant political move. Lucas: It was genius. They essentially said that if Amun-Re wasn't getting his due through the workers' sustenance, then the tombs wouldn't be built correctly, and Ma'at, the cosmic order, would collapse. The vizier had no choice but to intervene. He couldn't risk offending the high priest of Amun. Lucas: The grain shipments resumed, and the workers returned to their chisels. But this incident exposed a deep fragility in the New Kingdom economy. It showed that even the most absolute power, symbolized by Usermaatre Setepenre, depended on the daily cooperation of ordinary people. Luna: It feels like we see Ramses as untouchable, but he relied on these guys so much. Lucas: Exactly. He relied on them to build his legacy. Without the artisans of Deir el-Medina, there are no hieroglyphs on the walls, no reliefs of his battles, no eternal name for him to survive into our time. His immortality was literally in their hands. Lucas: And honestly, if today was worth a coffee to you, that's the link — buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It helps keep these conversations ad-free and allows us to dig deeper into these stories without commercial interruption. Luna: I appreciate that, thanks. Lucas: Now, the aftermath of the strike is where things get really interesting, because the tension didn't just vanish when the grain arrived. The workers stayed organized, forming informal unions, and they began to negotiate more aggressively for better conditions. Lucas: We see this in later documents from the reign of Ramses II and into that of his son, Merenptah. The workmen started complaining not just about food, but about the quality of the tools issued to them, and even about the oversight of the scribes who managed the site. Luna: Complaining about tools? That sounds very familiar. Lucas: It really does. There are records of workers refusing to carve specific sections because the limestone was too soft or the copper chisels were dull. They held the state accountable for providing adequate materials, arguing that poor tools meant poor work, and poor work dishonored the king. Lucas: This shift in power dynamics is subtle but profound. In earlier dynasties, a worker who complained might have been beaten or executed. Here, under Ramses II, their grievances were recorded in official archives. The state felt compelled to respond in writing, creating a paper trail of negotiation. Luna: So the paperwork itself became a shield for them. Lucas: Precisely. The bureaucracy that was designed to control them ended up preserving their voices. When we read the Petition of Paneb, we aren't just hearing about a strike; we're hearing a specific voice insisting on his rights within that system. Lucas: Paneb himself is a fascinating character. Later in his life, he became a troublemaker, involved in theft and violence, but during the strike, he was a leader. He understood the leverage they held. He knew that the sanctity of the tomb depended on the satisfaction of the hands that carved it. Luna: It’s amazing how much agency they had in such a rigid society. Lucas: It challenges the idea that ancient societies were monolithic blocks of oppression. There was room for negotiation, for dialogue, and for collective action. The concept of Ma'at wasn't just about obeying the pharaoh; it was about balance. If the state broke its promise to the workers, the balance was off. Lucas: This episode also highlights the importance of the Vizier. Menkheperura, the vizier at the time, was caught between the pharaoh's endless construction projects and the workers' immediate needs. He had to manage the logistics of the empire while preventing a revolt in the capital. Luna: Being vizier must have been incredibly stressful. Lucas: It was. He had to ensure that the grain from the Nile floods reached the right places at the right time. A delay in the harvest or a mismanagement of the storehouses could trigger events like this strike. It shows how interconnected everything was in Kemet. Lucas: We often think of the Pharaoh as the sole decision-maker, but the reality was a complex web of administrators, priests, and local leaders who had to keep the machine running. The strike of Deir el-Medina was a glitch in that machine that forced everyone to stop and listen. Luna: Did Ramses ever punish them for striking? Lucas: There's no evidence of widespread punishment. In fact, the resolution suggests a compromise. The workers got their grain, and the state acknowledged their legitimacy. This set a precedent for future disputes. It proved that dialogue was possible, even with the gods-king. Lucas: Later, during the reign of Ramses III, similar strikes occurred, and the pattern repeated. The workers knew their value. They knew that without them, the afterlife of the pharaoh would be empty, unadorned, and forgotten. They held the keys to eternity. Luna: That gives a whole new meaning to 'building a legacy.' Lucas: It does. It reminds us that history isn't just made by those who sign the edicts, but by those who carve the stone. The artisans of Deir el-Medina were the unsung architects of Ramses II's image. Lucas: And their story, preserved in the Petition of Paneb, is a testament to the power of collective voice. It’s a reminder that even in the most hierarchical societies, there are moments where the people can say, 'We are here, and we expect to be treated fairly.' Luna: It’s a powerful legacy, far more human than any statue. Lucas: Indeed. And as we look at the ruins of Per-Ramesses today, we should remember the hands that laid those bricks, and the voices that refused to be silenced when the grain ran dry.