Collapse of Dignity

by Napoleon Gomez

  In the end, they held María for seven hours. She had been blind-folded, bound at the wrists and knees, and verbally abused for that entire time. Eventually, they set her outside and took off the blindfold and leg bindings. In an instant María was off and running.

  None of us knew what prompted the policemen to release her then, or whether Cárdenas Batel or anyone else had spoken with them, but we were immensely relieved when she reappeared. Yet, it still gives me deep pain to consider the psychic harm inflicted on her and her adolescent son.

  “I’m always thinking about that moment,” María said later, “but I have to find the courage to continue. I love my husband and know he’s working for a good cause. I know he must defend the rights of the union workers, and I will stand by him. When I sleep, I sleep dressed, just in case. And I send my boy to sleep across the street. I know he’s been hurt by this, too, because now, whenever he hears something out in the street, he always stands up to see what’s happening outside. I want to take him to a doctor but he won’t go. He says he’ll get over it.” Miguel was so disturbed by the threats and seeing his mother assaulted in such a way that he lost his ability to speak for quite a while.

  “I’d given up my wife for dead,” Mario told me. “And if she was dead, those fifteen cowards and traitors that we had in custody were going to go with her. We were getting ready to act if they didn’t release her soon, because that was the decision of all the workers in Section 271 of the National Union.” To this day, I am grateful that such terrible events did not come to pass.

  On top of brutal intimidation tactics like these, Grupo México also launched broader and more systematic efforts to undermine the union organization. In late 2006, a new labor union purporting to represent Mexico’s metalworkers had appeared and applied for registro—governmental recognition—from the labor department. Called the “National Union of Workers in the Exploration, Exploitation, and Benefit of Mines” (SUTEEBM), it had been established with the direct involvement of Grupo México. It was a Germán Larrea project, a union set up by a company to put on a front of worker representation while in reality further suppressing the workers. SUTEEBM was headed by Francisco Hernández Gámez, a former Cananea miner who had been expelled from the union in 2006 after attempting to set up his own subcontracting business in the mine. SUTEEBM had received its registro from the Calderón government so easily and quickly that it was hard to take the organization seriously. Clearly, Larrea’s influence—along with that of Alberto Bailleres and Alonso Ancira—put the registro on a fast track through the bureaucracy, just as it had done with Elías Morales’s toma de nota in February 2006. Labor Secretary Lozano, of course, lent his aid.

  In September 2007, the JFCA called for a decision from the miners on which union they preferred—SUTEEBM or Los Mineros. It announced a series of elections to be held at eight Grupo México work sites in the states of San Luis Potosí, Chihuahua, and Coahuila (the sections in Taxco, Sombrerete, and Cananea were not included, since they were already on strike). Leaders of the Miners’ Union were given less than two days’ notice that the elections would take place. Once they were over, Los Mineros—a seventy-year-old organization—had lost several of its sections to an upstart puppet union controlled by Germán Larrea.

  In execution, the elections were little more than campaigns to coerce members of Los Mineros into signing up for the new SUTEEBM. The IMF, the Center for Labor Action and Reflection, and many human rights activists have voiced their opinion that the election was rigged in favor of Grupo México’s union. The irregularities were numerous. Our labor lawyers and executive committee members present at the worksites recorded the efforts used to intimidate the workers.

  First of all, many work sites held the elections in company offices, in the presence of supervisors and the company union. Moreover, the polling stations were surrounded by armed federal, state, and municipal forces sent by Lozano to oversee the election. There were even members of the Mexican army at some stations, brandishing their weapons in front of the workers. Supposedly their mission was to ensure “peaceful elections,” but the polling stations looked like they were in a state of siege.

  Furthering the intimidation, there were two ballot boxes at each station, each clearly marked—one with SUTEEBM’s logo and the other with the logo of Los Mineros. Everyone in the room—including the hovering company men, labor department officials, and the armed troops—could see which box each miner put his ballot into. At the time this was permitted by Mexican labor law—not until the following year would the Supreme Court require secret ballot votes in union elections. The result was a climate of intimidation that made it impossible for workers to freely choose their union, as ILO Convention 87—ratified by Mexico—requires.

  The governor of San Luis Potosí, PAN member Marcelo de los Santos, was especially active in the threats against the miners, and his influence was a big factor in their outcome. De los Santos put his law enforcement resources at the disposal of Grupo México—which has a predominant interest in his metal-rich state. The company used these forces to kidnap several miners before the election so they couldn’t vote. Fifteen other workers in San Luis Potosí were fired just before the vote, both to prevent those fifteen from participating and to intimidate their colleagues.

  During polling at the La Caridad mine in Nacozari, where Reynaldo Hernández had been murdered, the nine hundred recently fired workers were prevented from voting. The new workers brought in to replace them were directly threatened into voting for the puppet union; company officials told them that they would be fired and deported back to southern Mexico if the puppet union didn’t take the election. And just before the election in Nueva Rosita, Coahuila—a few miles away from Pasta de Conchos—several workers were locked in a mine so they couldn’t get to the polls in time. In other cases, the company tried bribes rather than threats; several workers received payments of between $150 and $350 in exchange for supporting SUTEEBM.

  Once this forced voting was done and these sections had “decided” to leave Los Mineros for SUTEEMB, the Department of Labor issued an official news bulletin celebrating the supposedly free decision of the workers to join the new union.

  Grupo México and the JFCA broke the law by holding these sham elections, and they also violated the workers’ universal right to freedom of association. Now, as members of SUTEEBM, many of our former colleagues were entirely at the mercy of the company’s whims. Following the instatement of Larrea’s puppet union, Grupo México increased the Nacozari miners’ workday from eight hours to twelve. This change—supported by SUTEEBM—meant more exploitation and more potential for tragic events like Pasta de Conchos. Today, nearly three-fourths of Nacozari workers are employed by contractors. They don’t even have the benefit of belonging to a company union, much less a free, democratic one.

  Despite this bullying, our former colleagues in the sections that lost to SUTEEBM have expressed their desire to rejoin the union. We are confident that they will do so when conditions are right.

  After the election, the union’s dialogue with the government broke down completely. Labor Secretary Lozano was openly displaying his complete servility to Grupo México through his opposition to the Cananea strike and his help in setting up SUTEEBM. He seemed proud to be Larrea’s “cat,” acting more like a lawyer for the man’s company than a servant of the Mexican people. Our only hope was that we would win a judgment against him soon; we had demanded before the Chamber of Deputies that he be removed from office and barred from ever returning. We also demanded that he be investigated for unlawful gains, obstruction of justice, and abuses of power. Though the Mexican Constitution states that the mines are a state concession, not private property, Lozano—like his predecessor—never compelled Grupo México to honor and respect the law while operating these sites.

  Through all the abuse, we maintained a fierce defense of our right to strike, fighting hard to keep the Taxco, Sombrerete, and Cananea strikes going. We refused to allow the company, thr
ough underhanded legal maneuvering, to have them declared illegal—though they tried hard, and in some cases succeeded.

  On January 11, 2008, the JFCA issued a second resolution against the workers at Cananea, once again declaring the now nearly six-month-long strike illegal. According to the ruling, the workers would have twenty-four hours to return to their jobs before any punitive action would be taken. Yet just a little more than one hour after the union was notified of the ruling, armed state and federal forces numbering around seven hundred descended on the Cananea mine in a caravan of eighty vehicles. They fired rubber bullets and released tear gas, injuring twenty to forty miners. Larrea was again making use of the public forces that were always at his disposal (even though those forces are paid for by the Mexican people—and even though Grupo México doesn’t pay taxes). The supportive PAN government gladly sent the troops to help this businessman protect his greed-fueled exploitation of Mexico’s largest source of copper.

  The workers of Cananea showed the bold resistance of their forefathers, repelling the government forces and hanging on to the facility as best they could. A group of strikers also gathered in front of the mayor’s office, calling for Bours to order the attackers off the work site. The miners called a special assembly the following day, and I spoke to them via videoconference—as I had done about once a month since the strike began. I heard their stories and felt their anger, and then gave a speech encouraging them to take back the facility, to fight hard, out of pride and dignity. Though they were furious at the company’s acts of repression, I ensured them that I, personally, as well as all the members of the executive committee, was with them to the end. That same day, in response to an amparo filed by the union’s defense team, the court changed its ruling and again recognized the strike, forcing Grupo México to withdraw its forces.

  A month later, Grupo México and the PGR filed an appeal against the court’s decision to recognize the strike, but the following month a judge confirmed the constitutional protection granted to the union. Then, on April 23, 2008, the JFCA issued a third decision, fully overruling its earlier position and declaring the strike legal, probably in order to avoid responsibility for violating the previous amparo granted in favor of the union. But our struggle continued: On May 19, 2008, Grupo México filed yet another amparo against the JFCA’s decision. On July 3, 2008, the Fourth District Court in Labor Matters of Mexico City denied the company’s amparo, meaning that the strike would continue with the approval of the courts.

  We had won a battle at Cananea, but there were many more coming. This mine had become the centerpiece in our battle against Grupo México. It was the company’s most important Mexican asset, but it was also a holy ground for union members—in declaring and defending their strike, the Cananea miners were upholding the legacy of their ancestors. Over a century before, in 1906, workers at the very same mine had sacrificed greatly for worker’s rights. During the dictatorial regime of Porfirio Díaz, conditions in the mine were terrible, and the Mexican workers there were making three and a half pesos per day, while the American workers at the same mine were making five pesos. The Cananea miners went on strike, demanding an end to discrimination against Mexican workers in addition to an eight-hour workday, minimum wage, prohibition of child labor, and several other demands. President Díaz called in the Arizona Rangers and local Sonora forces to crush the uprising, leaving twenty-two miners dead, twenty-seven injured, and fifty arrested. The strike ended with this violence, but with the triumph of the Mexican Revolution that began in 1910, the Cananea strikers’ demands were incorporated into the 1917 Constitution as fundamental rights of all workers. It is that heritage that the strikers in modern-day Cananea hoped to uphold as they fought the ongoing aggression of Grupo México.

  *mhssn.igc.org/CananeaOHSReport.PDF

  FOURTEEN

  THE OFFER

  To fall is allowed, to get up is required!

  —RUSSIAN PROVERB

  Since the beginning of the conflict, the union and its executive committee had relied heavily on the aid of our legal advisors. In Mexico, a complicated situation like ours can involve the filing of amparo after amparo: by 2008, in the more than two years that had passed since the Pasta de Conchos tragedy, the courts had gone back and forth on the legality of the Cananea strike, the recognition of me as union leader, and the legitimacy of the fraud charges against me and my colleagues. Although we had received favorable rulings on all these state-level fraud charges, the legal situation remained complicated and painfully sluggish, with the PGR appealing every decision the courts made in our favor.

  Fortunately, since 2006, we’d had the aid of our incredible defense lawyer, Marco del Toro, who to this day is a crucial ally to me and Los Mineros. But del Toro’s partner, Juan Rivero Legarreta, proved himself less of an asset to the union.

  I’d first been put in touch with Rivero by Alonso Ancira of Altos Hornos de Mexico, soon after the conflict began. At the time I was still on fairly good terms with Ancira, and I took his recommendation. In the first stages of the partnership between Rivero and the union, it didn’t seem like a bad decision; with Rivero came his partner, Marco del Toro, and the two won some important victories for the workers and the members of the executive committee. The Supreme Court had forced the labor department to grant me recognition, and, though the state-level banking charges were still in play, they had gotten them consolidated in three courts in Mexico City. Rivero and del Toro had also helped us win amparo trials to keep the Cananea strike legal and ongoing.

  From the start, Rivero had been something of a character. A tall, loud, flashy guy, he came across as someone in love with the high life. When he came to Vancouver, he was always dressed in the most fashionable clothes, and he would stay in the most upscale hotels he could find. Most of these expenses he paid with a corporate credit card given to him by Alonso Ancira. He loved the spotlight, too. Whenever Rivero got a chance to appear on radio or television, he took it. Interviewers usually found it difficult to wrest the microphone from his grip.

  But this somewhat ostentatious demeanor was coupled with increasingly unsettling actions on Rivero’s part. The union’s relationship with Ancira had deteriorated rapidly—the steel magnate had become increasingly close to the business coalition aligned against the union—and Rivero’s close relationship with him was troublesome. Several of the union’s executive committee members complained about Rivero’s manner, as did a few of the Steelworkers who had worked with him. Once, my wife asked him what he thought the time frame would be for our family’s return to Mexico. “I’m not a magician!” he responded, telling her rudely that he didn’t know how much longer it would take before he could straighten out the criminal charges. (Since that incident, all of us in Canada called him “the Magician.”) Another time, he told Oralia that she should just divorce me, because the persecution would never end. A few months later, he told her it was a shame she would never leave me. But despite these unseemly actions, we kept Rivero on, mainly because he was willing to work without much up-front pay. He always told us not to worry about the fees, that his price would be determined by the results he obtained. The union’s accounts still being frozen, we had little choice but to continue using his services.

  Eventually, though, we were pushed to a breaking point. All through 2007, I talked to him nearly every day on the phone, and he visited Vancouver every month, but he was becoming very tight-lipped. He would gloss over important points in our discussions. It almost seemed like he wasn’t trying anymore. At one point he assured me that he had been able to secure my home in Mexico City, but we later found out that he had done no such thing—it was still seized by the government.

  Though he’d been brought on as a criminal defense lawyer, Rivero had also begun inserting himself in the labor side of the union’s business. While he should have been working with Marco del Toro on having arrest warrants struck down, he was busy trying to gently talk me into stepping down as general secretary. At one point, he even advise
d me that if I didn’t relent and give up my leadership, the government would frontally attack the union and harm my family. I was stunned to hear him saying such things after we had placed so much confidence in him. I had trusted him greatly, but now he was acting suspiciously like a double agent. Sometime later, Rivero came to me and proposed a solution that he claimed would end the conflict once and for all. He said he had set up a meeting between himself, a representative of Grupo México, and Labor Secretary Lozano—to take place in Lozano’s office. The three of them, Rivero assured me, would resolve the conflict “freely and without interference”—and without the presence of members of the union. I’m not sure how naïve he thought we were, but with this suggestion it was now fully evident that our own defense lawyer was acting in the service of the union’s prime enemies, Germán Larrea and Javier Lozano. Our response to this “solution” was that we would gladly accept a meeting in Lozano’s office about a resolution to the conflict, but that there would need to be three representatives present from the union’s executive committee, plus our labor lawyer, Nestor de Buen. Naturally, our suggestion was answered with silence.

  The final straw came when several members of the executive committee came to me absolutely enraged over a series of meetings they had had with Rivero over the previous months. In the presence of Labor Secretary Lozano, Rivero had repeatedly tried to convince them to be more acquiescent to the demands of Grupo México and told them that they should stop pushing so hard for wage and benefit increases and accept more of the company’s terms. He had told my colleagues that they needed to be more flexible, and that they should accept that I wasn’t present and feel comfortable making decisions in my absence. Rivero, my colleagues told me, had also adopted a completely submissive attitude to the labor secretary—and none of them liked that dynamic one bit. In fact, he was acting as if he were me. He called the members of Los Mineros his colleagues, his workers, acting as if he had taken on the responsibility of being my personal spokesperson. From the things Rivero had been saying, several leaders within the union were convinced that his goal was to take over control of the union from me and become general secretary himself.