Collapse of Dignity

by Napoleon Gomez

  In their criticism of me, they spoke as if leadership of the union were an object—something that could be handed down from generation to generation. But the reality is that the union belongs to each one of its thousands of members, and these members freely elect their leader. I stepped into my father’s shoes not because of a nepotistic advantage but because the members knew me, trusted me, and had seen the work I’d done for the union since I was in college. They had confidence in the knowledge I’d accumulated in my experiences with the union, in my academic career, in my time in public office, and as someone who grew up as the son of their well-respected leader. The members of the union’s executive committee knew the dirty interests of Morales and the others who criticized the committee’s decision to elect me general secretary. Everyone knew they were in it for themselves, not for the workers.

  Despite these attacks, the fabric of the union—the rank and file—maintained its support for me, knowing that my intentions were good. As I spoke with workers across Mexico, I emphasized my willingness to fight for them—something many union leaders in Mexico don’t do. The members soon saw that, like my father, I had the courage to confront the companies in negotiations, putting forth strategies and strong arguments, even when the government established roadblocks to increased salaries and benefits.

  I took the responsibility of my new position very seriously. When I wasn’t traveling, I was based in the union’s headquarters in Mexico City. In my third-floor office, which overlooked busy Dr. José María Vértiz Street, I would meet with delegates from local sections of the union who were facing various problems and give them support in their efforts to negotiate collective bargaining agreements and improve working conditions for the members. I also met with government officials and delegates from the Labor Congress, always reinforcing our union’s commitment to fighting for our members and their families. When I had time, I would read about the deep history of the labor movement in Mexico and in the world, in preparation for upcoming speeches and negotiations.

  My days in Mexico City were quite structured and formal, a reflection of the union’s tradition of discipline and respect for leaders. Each morning when I arrived at my office, the twelve members of the executive committee would meet for about an hour to advise me on the most critical issues of the day. When that meeting wrapped up, I would meet with my assistant and then begin my appointments with visitors, whether from companies, the government, or union sections. At the end of the day, the two lines would form again as I exited the building, with no one leaving the offices before I was officially seen off.

  The confidence I built in the union members in my first months as general secretary allowed us to regain lost ground in collective bargaining agreement negotiations and wage discussions. We were able to make up wages lost during strikes—up to 100 percent—, and we significantly increased salaries and benefits in most cases, further building support for me among union members.

  In all this, I worked closely with the other twelve members of the union’s executive committee and was always there to address their concerns. I had total faith in most of them, but in the back of my mind, we all wondered if we were harboring another double-crosser like Elías Morales, someone looking for the opportunity to sell himself to the profit-hungry companies. We used to joke that we were like Jesus and the twelve disciples, and we were always on the lookout for our next Judas.

  It certainly wasn’t surprising to me, particularly after my experience with President Salinas and my own candidacy for governor, that my leadership of the Miners’ Union brought me face-to-face with the increasingly strong ties between corporations and the government in Mexico. Back in 1988, the Mexican left had lost a huge opportunity to create real change in our country. It was in that year that a political alliance broke off from the PRI—the political party that had long been dominant in Mexico—and nominated Cuauhtémoc Cárdenas, a presidential candidate who would support true progressive ideals. This alliance would eventually break off to become the Partido de la Revolución Democrática, or Democratic Revolutionary Party (PRD), but in 1988 it failed to organize itself successfully. The battle between Cárdenas and the PRI’s candidate, Carlos Salinas, was close, and though Salinas claimed victory, many claimed it was a fraud and that Cárdenas had actually won the election. But the PRD proved unable to adequately defend its candidate and claim his probable victory, trading committed political action for fruitless protests and sign-waving. Salinas was propelled to the top of government, and it was on his watch that the era of privatization began in earnest.

  A dozen years later, in 2000, the political landscape changed again, with the advent of President Vicente Fox, who brought to power the aggressively conservative Partido Acción Nacional, or National Action Party (PAN). This has generated even greater social inequality, more corruption, and more repression against the working class of the country. Mexican society now bears witness to the fact that its populace struggles under the weight of a government that manages the nation’s riches for a few.

  Vicente Fox and his wife, Marta Sahagún, began taking advantage of support from the business sector to fuel his ascent to the presidency. In fact, the three presidents who preceded him had already begun imposing neoliberalism on the country. With the PAN in power, it was more of the same abuse, just with even less lip service to leftist ideals.

  Among the corporate behemoths who benefited from a cozy relationship with the newly elected PAN administration were a handful of mining and steel companies who would continue with renewed vigor their attacks on the Miners’ Union. Chief among these is Grupo México, the largest mining company in Mexico. It operates many mines in Mexico and the United States, including work sites where our miners labor. Its owner, Germán Feliciano Larrea Mota Velasco, is one of the five richest men in Mexico. He appears annually on the Forbes list of the richest people in the world, and sits on the board of directors of Banamex, a subsidiary of Citigroup.

  In 1989 and 1990, Grupo México, at the time owned by Germán’s father, Jorge Larrea Ortega, acquired two mining companies—Compañía Mexicana de Cobre and Compañía Mexicana de Cananea. They were put up for sale by President Salinas; previously, they had been the property of the Mexican state. Though they eventually bought them, Grupo México did not participate in the first round of bidding on these companies. In the case of Compañía Mexicana de Cananea, the winning bidder was Grupo Protexa of Monterrey, with an offer of $975 million. Another company, Grupo Peñoles, had been in second place with an offer of around $650 million. However, Grupo Protexa’s tender was declared null and void when, fifteen days later, it was not able to produce the resources necessary to exercise its purchase option.

  Instead of awarding the mining companies to the second-place bidder, the government decided to declare the tender vacated and call a second round of offers. In this second round, Grupo México won, with a proposal of $475 million—less than half of what Grupo Protexa had offered two months before. This amount was deemed sufficient, and Grupo México won the companies. No doubt there were behind-the-scenes deals taking place between Salinas’ administration officials and Grupo México, resulting in this drastically reduced valuation of the companies up for bid. The fire-sale price was a big win for Grupo México, but a loss for the previous owners of the companies—the Mexican people.

  During the process of the shady privatization of Compañía Mexicana de Cobre and Compañía Mexicana de Cananea, the union, under my father’s leadership, negotiated an agreement with Grupo México and the Mexican government in which the company committed 5 percent of the shares of each company—valued at around $18.5 and $11.5 million respectively at the time, or $55 million in 2005 dollars—to a trust controlled by the Miners’ Union, to be used in support of the social and educational programs designed by the union for its members. This was the company’s way of preventing outraged protests at the Salinas administration’s complicity in the privatizations.

  When my father died, it had been almost twelve years
since this agreement, and Grupo México, now under the leadership of Germán Larrea, had failed to deliver the shares. Securing those resources for our members was just one of the many tasks on my plate as incoming general secretary. I also knew it was my responsibility to expand and improve the programs my father had put in place for the workers.

  “Educated Miner” was one of the first programs I implemented, and it immediately brought down on our heads the ire of Mexican businessmen. The program was an alliance between the union and the Monterrey Institute of Technology and Higher Education to authorize grants for mineworkers and their families in sixteen different professional careers, and in just the first year we enrolled a little more than seven hundred union members from all over the country. As the program flourished, I got a notice from Alberto Bailleres and Jaime Lomelín—chairman/non-executive director and CEO/executive director, respectively, of Grupo Peñoles, the second-largest mining company in Mexico. They urged me not educate the workers, since that would make them more expensive. Once they have educations, Bailleres and Lomelín explained, they will start demanding higher salaries and better benefits, and be more equipped to negotiate. They had meant to discourage the program, but I couldn’t think of any better reason to continue it.

  In a later meeting with Bailleres and Lomelín, they argued that if we kept educating miners, they would have more career options and would leave the mining industry. I told them that, first of all, the majority would not leave because most had deep family roots in the industry, but that even if they did, what was the problem? Either way, we were preparing more Mexican workers to be happier and more productive, and giving them new opportunities.

  The condescending, classist attitude shown by the owners of Grupo Peñoles runs rampant in the top tiers of Mexican business and is shared by many of the highest PAN officials. We confronted it in nearly every struggle we had as a union, always having to prove that our miners deserved safety, fair compensation, and hope for a better future.

  Despite the barrage of resistance, I built out several other programs in the first years of the twenty-first century: Miners’ Insurance, which granted collective and individual life insurance on a voluntary basis for the mineworkers and their families, an essential benefit to workers in such a high-risk occupation; Miners with Homes, which provided decent housing for each mineworker, metalworker, and iron and steel worker in the country; and Healthy Miners, which supported safety and hygiene for members.

  The Miners’ Union also began to create opportunities for the members to participate in politics and democratic change. In the first years of my leadership, we created a national political organization called National Democratic Change (“Cambio Democratico Nacional” in Spanish, or CADENA), whose aim was and is to incorporate workers into political life and give them a chance for full political and social participation as citizens of the various regions and states.

  All these programs were in addition to the benefits established in the workers’ collective bargaining agreements. Many of our proposals were rejected, most companies preferring to keep the boot on the neck of the workers, but we made measurable progress. I knew my father would have been proud. In May of 2002, I was elected general secretary of the national Miners’ Union, by the unanimous vote of the delegates to the Ordinary General Convention.

  Part of what drove me in those years was the knowledge of how singular our union really was. Many unions in Mexico (and the world) are what we refer to as company unions: those that exist in name only, and actually generate benefits mostly for those who run the company and the so-called union leaders. (In Canada, they call them “yellow unions” or “rat unions.”)

  Particularly insidious is the use of “protection contracts”—agreements between the union’s leaders and the company in which the union representative receives financial compensation for tamping down the workers’ objections. If the workers demand a 6 percent raise but the company says it can afford only 4 percent, the spurious leader with the protection contract is obligated to convince workers that the company truly can’t afford the increase. If we push the issue, the bought-and-paid-for union leader insists, we could all be out of a job. In exchange for arguing the company’s side of the issue, the union leader is compensated, along with his personal staff and the union members who support his pro-company stances.

  Workers who belong to one of these unions often don’t even know that they have a union, let alone have the ability to read their contract or elect their representatives. Should they try to create or join an authentic union, they face the concerted opposition of the employer, the company union, and the labor authorities. Workers who fight for an independent union face harassment, firing, and often physical violence at the hands of goon squads.

  The Miners’ Union, on the other hand, signs only collective contracts with tangible benefits for its union members throughout the country. It’s part of the reason we’re seen as such a threat. The big mining conglomerates see us as a “bad example” for the other unions in the country that could follow our example of defending and protecting workers’ rights and negotiating wages that provide a better standard of living for the workers.

  That is the great difference and the true reason why we have achieved these wage and benefit increases over a decade, always above the inflation index and very high above the increases imposed by the government in other unions. I have negotiated for Los Mineros wage and benefit increases of 14 percent on average, year after year, versus the national average of 4 percent of other unions. This is the basis for the great support and loyalty for the Miners’ leaders shown by the union members. In addition to defending the workers’ rights and dignity, in many cases the members of our union have doubled their income in five years.

  In the summer of 2003, Germán Larrea of Grupo México called my office to invite me to lunch. As the owner of the largest mining company in Mexico, he had met with me three or four times, and over the phone he said he wanted to talk about a few things that were bothering him. Though I knew Larrea to be bad-humored, egotistical, and unscrupulous, I agreed to have lunch with him, mainly because I wanted to personally chastise him for not turning over the shares he had committed to after the privatizations of the two mining companies back in 1990, and asked him to set the time and place.

  We met a few days later in the restaurant of the Four Seasons Hotel in Mexico City. Larrea, a tall, stocky man with pale skin and light eyes, was seated at a table, wearing his typical gray suit and an arrogant expression. At the start of the meal, he asked if I would like some wine, and I said that sounded fine. He selected a bottle of Chateau Haut-Brion 1981, and I noticed with surprise the number of zeros in the price. It was nothing to Larrea, though: This is a man who owns, according to his collaborators, horses worth more than $50 million, and who’s frequently seen at the Hipódromo de Las Américas, a racetrack in Mexico City, placing bets for staggering amounts of money. And that’s just one example of the excesses of his lifestyle.

  When the young French sommelier brought the wine, Larrea took it in hand and brusquely addressed our server. “It’s very cold,” he said. “Take it and put it in the microwave for twenty seconds—not a second more—or I won’t pay.” The man nervously went to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later, holding the bottle as if it were a newborn. Larrea took it again and said in a self-assured way, “OK, now it’s OK. Uncork the bottle and serve it.” I privately wondered how that special wine had fared in the microwave, but I held my tongue.

  Larrea made a little show of sampling the wine and then said, “Serve my guest a glass.” After smelling the wine’s bouquet and taking a small sip, I said, “This wine is excellent. It would be delicious at any temperature.” Trying not to let too much sarcasm creep into my voice, I asked, “How do you know so much about wine temperatures? Do you have a built-in thermometer in your hands?”

  Larrea began to give me a long explanation. Wines such as that one, according to the year, the region, and I don’t know how man
y other things, must be served at 16 degrees centigrade and not at 14, the temperature of the bottle initially, he asserted. Again, I wondered briefly at how sensitive his hands must be, if he could measure a difference of only two degrees simply by holding the bottle. He went on to explain that his work and his position in Grupo México for many years was as chief of his father’s wine cellar. His father was in the habit of giving entire cases of a good French wine at Christmas to his closest friends, many of them politicians.

  We finished the meal, and the conversation, still civilized despite our differences, turned on my insistence that he acknowledge the debt he owed the union. I explained to him that it was better to acknowledge the debt and avoid having to obtain a legal decision, and I assured him that we would present a lawsuit against him. He haughtily answered that we could take any measures I wished, because he was not going to deliver the shares or pay a corresponding price because our rights had expired. It was a typical response from a man who believes that corruption is the normal state of society. Because it had no benefit to him personally, Larrea had absolutely no interest in fulfilling his moral and legal obligation to turn over the shares. We parted ways tensely, with no conclusion reached.

  On the walk back to my office, I called a friend of mine who was a wine connoisseur to ask him if it was normal to microwave wine. I didn’t explain who I had lunch with, but he told me immediately that of course that was not what one would do with a wine of that type and that the person who did it was naively trying to impress me. I have to admit having a small private laugh at Larrea’s expense, thinking of all the eccentricities and errors committed every day by even those who feel the most powerful among us.

  In January of 2005, over three years after my father’s death, Grupo México at long last acknowledged its debt to the union, incurred during the privatization of Compañía Mexicana de Cobre and Compañía Mexicana de Cananea. That month, it turned over $55 million to the union, creating the Mining Trust that would support our members. In 2005, close to five thousand workers at Cananea and Nacozari mines received payments of $5,000 each on average, and as appropriate to seniority and salaries.