Collapse of Dignity (6 page)

My father still wasn't fully on board with the idea of me becoming second in command, either. “Are you thinking clearly?” he said to the group, repeating his concerns. After we discussed the matter further, he eventually came to a grudging acceptance that this was best for the union. He knew that this was the only sure way to prevent the union from being compromised, but before he agreed, he took me aside to reiterate the heavy burden I would be taking on.

At last Constantino Romero, the union's Secretary of Acts, proposed that we raise our hands to vote on the matter, formalizing my selection as alternate general secretary according to the union's bylaws. Everyone raised a hand, even Morales, who grudgingly voted in my favor, too cowardly to even express his dismay.

When I got home after the meeting, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of responsibility and was excited to take on the challenge of meeting the high standards my father had set as general secretary of the union. Already I was mentally running through how I would build upon the foundation he had built, and transform the union into a modern, efficient organization that would continue to serve the workers. I told Oralia about what the union officials had proposed, and she was surprisingly enthusiastic about the potential change in plans. “I'm with you whatever you decide to do,” she told me. “But how long would this be for?”

“Just a few years,” I replied. “It would just be until I can help place someone at the head of the union whom the people can trust. Once we find the man who will really abide by the will of the people, I can move on.”

I couldn't have known then about the dramatic events that would extend my tenure as general secretary of the Miners' Union, but I was
pleased that I'd have the chance to help continue my father's legacy, especially if it meant saving the union from men who were more on the companies' side than on the workers'—men like Elías Morales and Raúl Hernández. I told the executive committee that I would accept the position. I gave up my responsibilities at the La Ciénega mine to focus on my new responsibilities in Mexico City. It was a difficult decision to make, but once I made it, I spent the next few months working closely with my father to prepare myself to carry out the duties of general secretary.

Morales, in the days after the
pleno
where I had been elected alternate general secretary, abruptly abandoned his duties as a member of the executive committee. He told everyone that his daughter was sick, but he was spotted at the offices of Grupo México—the foremost mining company in Mexico and employer of thousands of union members—and at the Mexican Department of Labor. It was clear what was going on: Morales, incensed at having been passed over, was now conspiring with the business interests who hoped to control the union. No doubt he thought he could gain their backing, take over the union, and then sell out the workers for his own personal gain.

At the national convention of the Miners' Union held in May 2000, Morales was expelled from the union along with two other traitors—Benito Ortiz Elizalde and Armando Martínez Molina—on proven charges of treason, corruption, and spying on behalf of the companies that employed the union's members. Unfortunately, that wasn't the end of Morales's involvement in the Miners' Union. The spurned traitor would be back.

My father passed away in the early morning hours of October 11, 2001.
My sister had called my wife and me a few hours before to warn us that he was having trouble breathing. We rushed over, and he finally took his last breath, quietly and without distress.

That was on a Friday, and on the previous Monday he had told my sister that he'd seen my mother, who had died two years before. He said he saw her near the stairs, that he called to her. “Lochis!” he said. “How are you? I'm coming soon, but I have a few things to take care of.” Over
the following days, he made sure everything was in order, and by Friday night he was ready to go.

I had asked him whether he was afraid of death, and he said no. He told me he was satisfied with his life—he was proud of his family and of dedicating himself to serving others. He had once told me, as I sat with him in Taxco, a picturesque town outside of Mexico City, that he wondered if he had neglected his family by dedicating so much time to the workers of the union. He seemed upset about not leaving a fortune for his family.

I told him that day for the first time how proud I was of him. “I will always see your image in every mine worker,” I said. “I will feel your presence, and I will always give my best to serve them and their families in the same way that you have done throughout your whole life, Dad. You can rest assured that you have been a great man and an extraordinary human being. You have been a very generous man, a great example, a great father.”

As we all mourned the loss of Napoleón Gómez Sada in October 2001, the union held an extraordinary national convention, the union's highest authority, to address the successor. The delegates decided unanimously to elect me interim general secretary of the union until the next ordinary national convention, which would be held in May 2002. At that point, the union would elect its next leader.

Until that date, it was my responsibility to fight for the rights of the 250,000 members of the Miners' Union. I vowed to myself that I would keep my word to my father, and honor his memory with each of my actions.

Work must be given its dignity.

—
JOSÉ MARTI

In my first days as head of the Miners' Union, my father's absence
weighed heavily upon me. I felt grief at his death, and I felt the difficulty and importance of the job he'd done so well for forty years. I immediately set out to follow one of the many pieces of advice he'd given me: that the best way to understand the needs of workers is to talk to them face-to-face. I began arranging a tour of all the mines and steel plants in the country, hoping to hear what was important to the union's members and to build confidence in me as the new general secretary. My goal was to tour the whole country over the next year and visit each of the ninety or so union sections that existed at the time. I decided to begin with the sixteen sections in the state of Coahuila, which contains nearly 95 percent of Mexico's coal reserves and therefore has a high concentration of mines, as well as the biggest steel facility in the country, Altos Hornos de México.

Each week I would leave the union's headquarters in Mexico City for a few days to make these visits. As I toured work sites and held meetings and assemblies to hear the thoughts of the workers, nearly everyone I talked to expressed their appreciation for what my father had done during his life. They would tell me about sons and daughters who had been able to go to college because of a grant he won for them; about wives and parents who were still alive because my father had seen that they got
adequate medical services; and about the homes they still had because he had intervened and provided credit when they were in dire financial straits. At every turn, I heard about something my father had done for someone. I was humbled and overwhelmed. Since that tour, my father has been with me every day, serving as my role model and inspiration—as a man and as a union leader.

Though I felt that the workers—most of whom had known me since childhood—trusted me to continue my father's legacy as an honest leader, my appointment to general secretary of the union was not without some controversy. There were some—like Elías Morales and Benito Ortiz, who had been expelled from the union for their close relationship with the companies—who said I'd simply inherited my role from my father without earning it. Encouraged by companies like Grupo México and Grupo Villacero to challenge my leadership, these men and a small faction who took their side declared to the press that my election was somehow illegitimate. Not one of these traitors had the courage to tell me this to my face, but they were happy to please their corporate backers by spreading lies to reporters behind my back.

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.