The headline says UPS raised its revenue forecast. The more important sentence is buried at the bottom: nearly 70% of packages will be handled through automated processes this holiday season.
That is not a footnote about peak-season logistics. It is a company telling investors how many fewer people it needs to move the same boxes, and expecting applause.
Look at the numbers. Revenue rose 6.7%. Net income fell, from $1.31 billion to $1.16 billion. Revenue is up and profit is down, so UPS will make the difference up the way large companies usually do, by squeezing labor. Outside this earnings release, the company has said it cut roughly 48,000 jobs this year, operational and management combined, and has been closing buildings. It has also offered buyouts to drivers, a program the Teamsters have contested. Those are people who spent years making this company worth what it is.
The official explanation is the Amazon "glide-down." UPS is deliberately shrinking its business with its largest customer, and fourth-quarter domestic volume will fall as a result. UPS says Amazon volume is low-margin and not worth chasing. Maybe so. But notice who set the terms. A single retailer grew so dominant that UPS built a vast share of its network around serving it, and now the unwinding is being paid for by the people in the hubs and on the routes. When the deal was lucrative, the gains went upstairs. When the deal turns sour, the cost goes downstairs. That is how a lopsided power relationship works.
Automation gets the same treatment. Executives talk about it as weather, something that simply arrives. It doesn't. Every sorting robot is a capital decision, made by people who will decide who captures the savings. At the moment the answer is shareholders and executives, with the displaced getting a buyout offer and a handshake.
The Left should be clear about what it wants here, because "stop the robots" is neither serious nor winning. Sorting packages by hand in a hot warehouse is not a sacred vocation. Nobody should romanticize it. The question is who gets the productivity dividend. If a company can move 70% of its volume with machines, then the workers who built that volume, and who will be asked to run, repair and work alongside those machines, have a claim on the gains. That claim could be shorter weeks at the same pay, real severance, guaranteed retraining on the company's dime, or a hard requirement that attrition rather than layoffs absorb the change. All of it is negotiable. None of it will be offered voluntarily.
The Teamsters won a strong contract in 2023, and it is worth defending. But a contract expires, and the company's strategy does not wait. The next fight will be over exactly this: whether technology adopted during the contract's term is a reason to shrink the workforce or a reason to share the profits. Labor needs to go into that fight demanding more than job protection, because a protected job in a shrinking workforce is a shrinking prize. Democrats who call themselves the party of workers also have a test coming. Talking about a "pro-worker" economy while treating mass automation as an inevitability that Washington can only watch is a contradiction.
Carol Tomé says demand is stable. For shareholders, it is. For the 48,000 people whose jobs were cut, stable demand turns out to mean little. A company can grow revenue, raise guidance, automate its network and still treat its workers as a cost to be minimized. UPS is doing all of it at once, and calling it good news.


