Our defense had become triply difficult. Each one of those charged now had to fight off the same accusation in two different states and in Mexico City—a clear violation of double jeopardy. It was obvious to anyone who looked that the propagation of the rejected fraud charges to three separate states was an underhanded, unconstitutional move.
The plan was outrageous to begin with, but the carelessness with which Grupo México and the PGR tried to pull it off was truly astounding. While Marco del Toro was preparing our defense, he noticed that the warrants signed by the judges from Sonora and San Luis Potosí contained identical paragraphs—even to the point of repeating the same spelling mistakes. These officials simply approved the fully prepared warrants forwarded to them by the PGR, caving to pressure from Los Pinos and simultaneously staining their judicial careers. Rather than reviewing the case in good faith, these lackeys decided to move forward with their copy-paste version of justice.
We immediately went about preparing our defense with the lawyers Juan Rivero Legarreta and Marco del Toro, who had now officially taken over the case from our previous criminal defense lawyer, Maríano Albor. They began work on filing amparos2 to move the warrants issued in San Luis Potosí and Sonora to the Federal District, where they would be consolidated with the warrant already transferred there by the judge from Nuevo León.
Initially, my colleagues and I were not as successful in the courts as another defendant in the case of the $55 million. When the judge from Sonora issued arrest warrants for my colleagues and me, he also issued a warrant for several Scotiabank executives who had acted on behalf of the Mining Trust. Their charges were identical to those made against us. The Scotiabank executives appealed for amparo against the warrant, and a federal court ruled on November 16, 2006, that the appeal was valid, since the actions of which the trustees from Scotiabank were accused are not considered illegal. The judge acquitted the Scotiabank employees of any wrongdoing, granting them the widest form of constitutional protection possible.
Two months later, the exact same Sonoran judge who oversaw the Scotiabank acquittal also ruled on the amparo presented on behalf of Juan Linares Montúfar, against the same warrant. Yet in that case, the judge decided that Linares would only receive limited protection. The warrant against him was valid, this judge said; it just contained a few formal errors made on the part of the prosecution. The case would move forward—quite a change from the day this same judge had declared that an identical warrant was completely invalid because no crime had been committed. Why the change? It can only be because the judge was biased against us, the individuals who so deeply threatened the entanglement of Mexican politicians and businessmen.
In the middle of these injustices, we learned that the PGR, through its organized-crime division (Subprocuraduría de Investigación Especializada en Delincuencia Organizada, or SIEDO), was charging me and the same four colleagues with a new crime at the federal level: lavado de dinero, or money laundering.
In Mexico, money laundering is defined as “operation with funds derived from illicit sources,” and this new charge was based on the exact same facts that had originated the first federal banking fraud charge. SIEDO’s thinking went like this: Since we had allegedly illegally extinguished the Mining Trust (an act that resulted in the banking charge), any use of the resultant funds constituted an operation with funds from an illicit source. Therefore, despite the fact that no crime had been committed, the money-laundering case aimed to take us down for using the money from the trust to compensate miners and their families and to cover union expenses. Because of the personal vendettas of a few immoral businessmen, SIEDO wasted its time and the taxpayers’ money concocting these charges, when it could have devoted those resources to true criminals and real organized crime.
In the summer of 2006, we were relieved to hear that SIEDO’s request for warrants on the money-laundering charges was denied—not once but twice. First, the Ninth District Court on Federal Criminal Procedures of the Federal District refused to issue the requested warrant, and then, on July 31, 2006, the Fifth Unitary Circuit Court in Criminal Matters of the First Circuit confirmed the refusal. In August, a federal judge confirmed the decision and revealed the fraudulent nature of the charges, saying, “Not only were there no indications of an illegal source of the assets, but there is clear proof of their legal origin,” and “In any case . . . we can affirm that from the documents that the assets belong to the Union of Miner, Steel and Related Workers of the Mexican Republic.” It was proof that even in a corruptible system, there were still some honest judges.
From Vancouver, I closely followed every step my defense team took as they fought the arrest warrants issued against the others and me. It was an enormous legal undertaking. Marco del Toro was working tirelessly on our defense, and the tax lawyers José Contreras and José Juan Janeiro and civil law specialists Juan Carlos Hernández and Jesús Hernández persevered in their assistance under very difficult conditions. As the legal battle grew more complicated after 2006, we had to adopt a different strategy, supported by diversifying our sources of income, ensuring international solidarity, and developing extraordinary loyalty, unity, and unprecedented internal cooperation. We devised a coordinated resistance action over more than five years, despite frozen bank accounts, and we continue to progress in the battle with no pause and no opportunity to rest.
Following my departure to Canada, Grupo México and its allies also worked hand in hand with the Departments of Labor, Economy, and the Interior in their efforts to destroy the leaders of Los Mineros. They even collaborated with the Department of Foreign Relations, exerting pressure on the Canadian ambassador to block the visa requests from our union leaders to travel to Vancouver. Fortunately, none of those attempts worked.
The PGR and the Department of Foreign Relations also worked together in the first months after my departure to have me either deported or extradited back to Mexico, where I would undoubtedly be imprisoned indefinitely. As Mexico tends to do, it pushed first on the migration side, hoping Canada would send me back the basis of purely on immigration law. No deportation was ever mentioned or attempted by Canadian officials.
Having failed there, Mexican authorities fabricated documents to use as the basis for extradition, begging Canada to send me back. Any person with the slightest familiarity with extradition processes would see that these accusations are unsupported. Accordingly, Canadian officials were not willing to play such games. They understood that this was a high-profile case that warranted further attention, and they spent time trying to get to the bottom of it.
How does the current Mexican government expect to retain any respect in the global community when it employs such dirty tactics and lies to foreign nations? Their actions should constitute an international scandal, and the truth of their deception and repression will emerge sooner or later.
With weeks turning to months in Canada, my family had begun to adapt to our new life, and the union had adjusted its operations to function with a leader who was permanently abroad. In the face of this separation, my colleagues and I have adopted the use of new forms of communication, and using modern technology I have been able to help organize the resistance and continually share my ideas and my moral support. Despite growing accustomed to the arrangement, I have been propelled in part by outrage at my forced exile. At times I have felt impotent, unable to be physically at my colleagues’ sides at the forefront of the workers’ defense, unable to be physically present as we fought for justice for the lost miners of Pasta de Conchos and their families. On more than one occasion I have tried to return to Mexico, against the advice of my lawyers and my fellow union leaders. The situation has filled me with profound anger at the government, headed by indecent people who would like to put an end to our organization, whatever the cost. The governments of Vicente Fox and Felipe Calderón are stained with miners’ blood, and no one will forget this. No one will erase from the workers’ minds what these unjust leaders did to protect immoral businessmen
who, they knew, had committed criminal acts.
This forced exile has been a major commitment, a great challenge, and a stimulus for fighting harder than ever. When I was driven out of Mexico while my colleagues where in extreme danger, I was not about to abandon the mission or stop fulfilling my duties as general secretary. I committed to holding this role as long as I have the full support of the union’s members.
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2 The concept of amparo (literally “protection” in Spanish) originated in Mexico and has since spread to many other countries. When a person appeals for a “writ of amparo,” he or she is appealing for protection of his or her rights based on the Mexican constitution. One can appeal for a writ of amparo to protect human rights and personal freedom, to prompt a review of the legality of a judicial decision, and to challenge the constitutionality of a law or statute, in addition to several other protections. For the lawyers of Los Mineros, amparo trials would help us protest everything from rulings on the illegality of strikes to false charges like those against the executive committee.
NINE
A GLOBAL WAR
The only one deserving freedom is the one who fights for it every day.
—JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE
In July of 2006, we got news that encouraged us that the rot of Fox’s labor department and the PGR had not penetrated to every branch of the government. Following the Pasta de Conchos explosion, the Mexican Congress had created a special commission to investigate the cause of the explosion, and at the urging of these congressmen, the Mexican National Commission on Human Rights undertook an extensive study of the background of the tragedy and how it was handled by Grupo México and the labor department. On July 17, the Commission on Human Rights released a report on its findings along with a press release. The commission unambiguously attributed the accident to deficient safety and hygiene conditions and laid the bulk of the responsibility on the public officials who should have been inspecting and supervising the mine. It also holds Grupo México and its subcontractor responsible, noting that the company operated the work site with extremely poor safety measures. Finally, it pointed out the sloppy rescue work on Grupo México’s part and detailed the errors and omissions in how the tragedy was handled publicly.
My defense lawyers emailed me the report right away and brought me a copy a few days later when they came to Canada. The commission hadn’t said anything that my union colleagues and I didn’t already know, but getting an official report that attributed the blame where it rightly belonged was a significant step forward. That said, it wasn’t enough. Nowhere did the report call for direct legal action against Germán Larrea, Labor Secretary Salazar, or any company managers or government inspectors, and for many of us the commission’s findings renewed our anger at the entire situation. We were grateful for the truly amazing solidarity of labor leaders around the globe and for the honesty of the commission, but I knew the full story behind the report needed to be told. The families of the men who died—and the Mexican people as a whole—deserved to know the depth of the abuse and collaboration going on in the boardrooms of Grupo México, Grupo Villacero, Grupo Peñoles, and Altos Hornos de Mexico, as well as in the offices of their elected and appointed leaders in the government.
In December of 2006, Jeff Faux, author of The Global Class War, sent a copy of his book to me with an inspiring dedication regarding my fight for a better world. I didn’t know Faux personally, but he has close connections with the leaders of the USW and AFL-CIO and had been following the story of Los Mineros. Faux had given the USW’s Canada director, Ken Neumann, a copy of his book for me, and Ken passed it along at District 3’s Christmas party, organized by my dear friend, Steve Hunt. I appreciated Faux’s gift greatly and devoured it over the following week.
Reading that book was the stimulus I needed to tell my own story and the story behind the men lost at Pasta de Conchos. Like Faux, I wanted to fully flesh out the injustice. I’d given interview after interview to journalists, but only a paltry few were ever published and certainly not in widely read Mexican publications. The public had to know the truth about the people running their country.
This aggression against us must be a warning to all the labor movement’s leaders, in Mexico and in the world. It must also be a warning to the Mexican people, showing them that they are actively threatened by wrongheaded economic policies, rampant corruption, and the desire of some business leaders to accumulate wealth at any cost. Yet our fight is also a warning to the companies in the world that think they can violate the rights of workers and get away with it.
Pure greed was the only reason Germán Larrea had refused to spend the $1 million on the tiro that would have prevented the Pasta de Conchos disaster—in a year when Grupo México pulled in $6 billion in profits. In exhibiting such callous avarice, they forget that Mexico’s natural resources are not the personal riches of Mexican businessmen or whoever happens to be governing the country at a given time. According to the Mexican Constitution, subsoil mineral resources are the property of the nation, and they must be exploited reasonably through concessions that the government grants to companies or individuals, not doled out by politicians so that their friends can make exorbitant profits and keep the money for themselves. All the country’s mineral products—the gas, oil, metals, and other resources obtained from the bowels of the earth—are part of the national heritage, and the profits they bring in should first ensure the well-being of the workers who risk their lives to bring these vital products to the earth’s surface.
The current mineworkers’ movement has deep roots in history. In the decades after 1940, Mexico experienced what is now known as a “stabilizer development,” a period of economic growth and social peace that ended in the 1970s. In many ways, the demands and needs of mine workers were served and the Miners’ Union was highly respected during this time. The “stabilizer development” gradually but steadily ended as Mexico joined the global economy. From 1988 to the turn of the century, under the governments of Carlos Salinas de Gortari and Ernesto Zedillo, the country saw the privatizations of numerous state companies, among them numerous mining, metalworking, and steelworking companies, to the extent that currently there is not a single government-owned mining, metalworking, or steelworking company in Mexico. The state and quasi-governmental sector of the national economy was dismantled in all industries, thus cancelling the mixed-economy model—made up of the private economy working in tandem with the social economy and the state economy—that had prevailed and progressed since the government of Adolfo Lopez Mateos (1958–64). In the 1990s, the number of state companies plummeted from 1,155 to less than two hundred, with most being practically given away in sweetheart deals to investors. The Mexican stock market boom of that decade was enjoyed only by these investors and businessmen; in a USA Today advertisement, the Mexican government admitted this disparity itself: “The number of citizens living below the poverty line has increased from 13 million in 1990 to 24 million in 1994.” Today the estimates are close to 50 million.
The policy of privatization also caused a sharpening of the conditions of exploitation of miners’ labor, as it did in other workers’ sectors, until it exploded in 2006 in the mining conflict. There have been no solutions in sight since 2000, when the pro-business conservative governments took over, headed by Vicente Fox from 2000 to 2006 and by Felipe Calderón from 2006 to 2012. These governments, following the neoliberal route of Salinas and Zedillo, accent the private business side of the economy, to the extent that currently it is unclear who is governing: the government leaders formally elected by the people, or the unelected leaders of the private sector.
Over time, the granting of concessions to extract these resources has become characterized by complicity. In exchange for political and financial support, governing politicians betray the constitution and grant concessions under conditions favorable to private companies and a few individuals. They give the businesses unlimited permits to exploit natural resources, on to
p of tax allowances and authorization to dump toxic wastes and completely relocate indigenous communities. The companies then become monopolies, operating to generate profits at any cost. Meanwhile personal health and safety go out the window. All this is supported by the politicians, who continue granting the abusive companies more concessions.
Pasta de Conchos certainly did not give pause to any of the members of this ruling class—they have continued to shamelessly profit from these concessions. Until 2006, there had not been any concessions to any individual for exploitation of natural gas. But under Calderón and Salazar, shortly after the explosion at Pasta de Conchos, Germán Larrea lobbied the federal government and won the first natural gas concession, in violation of the Article 27 of the Mexican Constitution, which reserves the exploitation of hydrocarbons exclusively for the Mexican government. The company’s argument for getting the concession, which represented an initial value of $600 million per year for the company, was that the Pasta de Conchos tragedy “left it no other choice” but to exploit methane gas rather than coal, to avoid future risk. The National Energy Regulatory Commission, the institution that grants private concessions—incidentally run by Salazar’s son, Francisco Xavier Salazar Diez de Sollano—had no problem with delivering this prize to Grupo México. But before this company earns one more cent from any of its concessions, it should be stripped of all its holdings that violate constitutionality and compelled to recover the sixty-three bodies lying in the darkness of Pasta de Conchos that are still awaiting a dignified burial.
Collapse of Dignity Page 17
