Labor Research Review, New Tactics for Labor (Labor Research Review)

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Labor Research Review

New Tactics for Labor

midwest

center

f o r l a b o r research

Chicago, lllinois

midwest center for l a b o r research 3411 West Diversey Avenue, Suite 14 Chicago, Illinois 60647 (312) 278-5418

M C L R Board o f Directors J i m Balanoff —Hammond (Indiana) City Councilman & former USWA District 31 Director. Rev. Jesse DeWitt—Bishop, United Methodist Church. Laurie Drake—Allied I n d u s t r i a l Workers (Milwaukee).

Mickey Jarvis—Coordinator, AMNET computer billboard. Nancy Jones—Director, United Citizens Organization of East Chicago, Indiana.

Roberto Maldonado—City of Chicago Commission on Latino Affairs. Jack Metzgar—Roosevelt University. Prexy Nesbitt—Organizer, UAW District 65. Sam Rosenberg—Roosevelt University. Dave Simmons—Chicago Area Committee on Occupational Safety and Health.

Terry Steagull —-USWA Local 1010. D a n Swinney—Executive Director of MCLR, former vice president of USWA Local 8787.

M C L R Associates David Bensman, Bill Boardman, B i l l Bork, Bruce Burek, Bill Carey, Tom Carlson, Elaine Charpentier, Melanie Cloghessy, Jeff D o m a n , T o m

DuBois, Tony Herrera, Mike Hirsch, Rev. Tom Joyce, Tim Kelly, Dorreen Labby, Greg LeRoy, John Lichtenstein, Phil Nyden, Ray Pasnick, Joe Persky, Rev. D i c k Poethig, Dave Ranney, Jack Ross, John Russo, T o m Sullens.

Labor Research Review Managing Editor: Jack Metzgar Associate Editors: David Bensman, Lynn Feekin, Sam Rosenberg

Graphics Editor: Denise Lanton Consulting Editors: Andy Banks, Elaine Charpentier, Mickey Jarvis Circulation Manager: Jacqui Johnson Contributing Editors: Jim Balanoff, Bill Carey, Dorreen Labby, Greg LeRoy, Joe Persky, Dave Simmons, D a n Swinney. MCLR Cartoons by Dino Graphic Design by Russ Stoll, Cover by Larry Smith, Americom. Produced i n Chicago by Americom Type & Design, CTU Local 16, No. 704. Printing by Salsedo Press, Chicago, CTU Local 16, No. 601.

of

Table

o f Contents

In-Plant Strategies The Cement Workers’ Experience . . . . . . . . . . . . .. m Tom Balanoff

‘Running the Plant Backwards” . . . . . . . . . . . .. .. m Jack Metzgar

Economic Conversion Conversion & the Labor Movement . . . . . . . . .. m [,ance Compa

Converting Tanks i n Indiana . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. m Greg LeRoy & Lynn Feekin

Corporate Campaigns Strengths & Limits o f Non-Workplace Strategies. . .69 ®m [Lawrence

Mishel

A Wobbly-Bred Campaign i n Minnesota . . . . . . m K e n Gagala

Time & Timing i n Corporate Campaigns: I B E W 1466 vs. Southern Ohio Electric . . . . . . . . . . ®

Susan Kellock

Quality o f Worklife Q W L from a Labor Perspective . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. A Review Essay o n Inside the Circle m Ruth Needleman

Follow-up H o w B a d a Deal i s Weirton Steel? . . . . . . . m Corey Rosen ® Staughton Lynd

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C.L.G. & A.W. DIV. I.B.B.

Introduction: N e w Tactics for Labor "It's no fun anymore,’ one international staff rep said to another. “Hell, it's just starting to get fun,’ the other replied. "It's an exciting time to be i n the labor movement.”

"Fun may not be exactly the right word, but this exchange reflects the dual character of labor's crisis. The problems—from plant closings and concessions contracts to the hostile political environment and the growing sophistication and boldness o f the

union-busting law firms, backed by an anti-labor NLRB—are deep and dangerous. Labor's blood is in the water and even the most gentle of management fish are being transformed into sharks. The survival of unions in the United States is at stake. But awareness of the depth of the crisis is n o w widespread i n

the labor movement, and this is stimulating a willingness to experiment with n e w ways of doing things. I t is also becoming

clear, both among the leadership and in the ranks, that the only w a y to “protect m y ass’ is to back it u p against a fellow union

member's and stick together. This issue o f Labor Research Review provides a n in-depth look

at a few of the new tactics unions are experimenting with. Each of these tactics is geared to meet particular kinds of situations that not all unions face; each has its advantages and disadvantages. But the common thread that runs through them all is that to b e

effective unions must activate their memberships. Our lead article by Tom Balanoff of the Boilermakers explains a new weapon not widely known in the labor movement yet— what the Boilermakers call "in-plant strategies.” Devised as a shark repellent, a defensive measure against union-busters' use of strikes, in-plant strategies require the virtual rebuilding of local unions from the ground up. By dramatically expanding local leadership and relying on nearly total membership participation, including by family members, the Boilermakers’ cement lodges have created the kind of solidarity that labor's “membership communications'’ experts can only dream about. The cement workers are in the midst of a protracted, industrywide struggle, which as we go to press, does not appear anywhere near over. The tactics they are using, however, have proven themselves in several single-plant efforts in United Autoworkers' Region 5. Jack Metzgar totes up UAW 5's scorecard with what the Autoworkers call "running the plant backwards.” The score is 4-0 favor the union. American unions have just begun to experiment with "economic conversion’ as a response to plant closings, and there are no victories to report yet. Lance Compa explains this new concept, surveys European and American experience with it, and then looks at the United Electrical Workers (UE) 1202's attempt to convert a General Electric plant in South Carolina. Greg LeRoy and Lynn Feekin reflect on a community-labor coalition engaged in a conversion effort in East Chicago, Indiana. While frankly discussing the difficulties involved in saving plants which large corporations are abandoning, our authors argue for conversion as a new direction with lots of potential—if unions activate their membership to take the lead in the complex technical and political process these efforts require.

"Corporate campaigns'’ have attracted more attention than the other tactics we focus on in this issue. That's what they're supposed to do—attract attention to corporate ploys, plots and misdeeds. Larry Mishel surveys current union experience, and

then Ken Gagala and Susan Kellock look at particular cases. These articles make clear that corporate campaigns are going to b e more expensive and less effective i f unions fail to employ their major

resource—the energy and creativity of their memberships. Ruth Needleman provides a detailed review of a pathbreaking n e w book o n "quality of worklife"’ programs b y U A W activist Mike Parker. Needleman endorses Parker's view that Q W L needs to b e

transformed into a union-building process, and tells us how to do it. We end with a spirited exchange between Corey Rosen and

Staughton Lynd on worker ownership, a new tactic to which we devoted our last issue. As any staff rep or shop steward knows, an active involved membership is a contentious, unpredictable force. N o union job is safe when members shed their apathy and cynicism and begin to care passionately about their union and what it's doing. A n active, militant membership scares management and politicians, but it sometimes scares labor leaders too. That's the difference today, and the reason for optimism about labor's future. There's no other way out. If labor is to make a fight for survival under impossibly difficult circumstances, leaders are going to have to rally the ranks, and if they do that effectively there's no telling what might be possible in the years ahead. The second staff rep quoted above had just returned from an in-plant campaign where the membership had never been as active, unified and disciplined as they were after months of in-plant struggle. His voice trembled with excitement as he told one incident after another—incidents exhibiting workers’ courage, ingenuity and the deep sense of solidarity they had forged among themselves. This is what he meant when he said, "It's just starting to get fun.” Despite the desperate situation in which unions find themselves in 1985, the crisis is also generating a new sense of possibility in the labor movement. Some of the evidence of that is provided in this issue of Labor Research Review. li

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Cement workers in Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania.

In-Plant Strategies:

T h e Cement Workers’

Experience ®m T o m

Balanoff

It's 6:30 in the morning as a diverse group of pickets circle the entrance of a cement plant. Cement workers, their spouses and children, retirees from the plant and other supporters carry signs proclaiming contract demands. Inside the administration building, panicky phone calls are made to top management, “They've finally gone o n strike.”

But at 6:50 the cement workers bid good morning to their families and supporters, line-up and march into the plant singing Solidarity Forever. As this scene shows, the cement workers’ effort to win a contract and maintain a n industry standard is not a typical labor struggle. More than 8,000 o f them i n some 50 cement plants throughout

the country have been without a contract since May 1, 1984. In the face of companies’ preparations for an all-out union-busting campaign, the cement workers—represented by the International Brotherhood of Boilermakers—chose not to strike when their contracts expired. Instead, they've engaged in a protracted struggle

which the Boilermakers call "in-plant strategies.’ Though most cement workers have still not w o n a contract, they ® Tom Balanoff is Director of Technical Projects for the International Brotherhood of Boilermakers, Ship Builders, Blacksmiths, Forgers & Helpers.

6

IN-PLANT STRATEGIES

have not accepted a bad contract either. And, the local

lodges are stronger and more vigorous after more than a year of struggle than they were when it began. While working without a contract goes against the best instincts of union workers and while in-plant strategies involve terrain unfamiliar t o most unionists,

this new strategy draws on some of the basic roots of unionism—solidarity, disciplined collective action, and unity in determination and endurance. This article explains the basic elements o f the cement workers’ experience with inplant strategies. Those of us who have witnessed and have been involved in this struggle think other unionists should consider this strategy as a

possible option in the difficult kinds of situations many unions face today. THE STRIKE AS A MANAGEMENT WEAPON A combination of economic and political factors has rendered the strike ineffective

Charles W. Jones [above] became President o f the International Brotherhood o f Boilermakers, Iron Ship

Builders, Blacksmiths, Forgers & Helpers in May of 1983. Announcing that his highest priority was to address the m o u n t i n g difficulties the Boilermakers were experiencing at the bargaining table, Jones assembled a staff with expertise in collective bargaining, economics and labor law, and charged them with developingnew strategies for halting the erosion of union power. The Boilermakers’ use o f ‘ i n - p l a n t strategies'’ is but one of the results of this effort.

i n many situations throughout the 1980s. Chronically depressed

conditions in the manufacturing sector and persistently high general unemployment have created a large reserve of unemployed workers available to replace strikers. These adverse economic conditions have transpired i n a correspondingly

unfavorable political climate. Ronald Reagan's prompt action to bust PATCO was a clear signal that he intended to use the influence o f h i s administration to destroy the basic balance o f power that has existed between labor and management since the end of

Cement Workers' Experience

7

World War I I .

Reagan has advanced his assault on labor by nominating people who share his views to the National Labor Relations Board. Although Reagan has not attempted to legislatively change the NLRA (an effort that would be politically difficult to accomplish), many changes have been made through administrative interpretations of the Act. By relying on technicalities instead of the intent of the law, the Reagan NLRB has successfully denied basic rights to unions and workers. Complementing this development is the continued expansion and growing sophistication of union-busting consultants. The initial growth of union-busting firms took place in the 1970s, when their efforts were concentrated on thwarting organizing drives at non-union workplaces. With an NLRB more sympathetic to their goals, union-busters have broadened their activities to include an assault against organized workplaces. Given the economic and political climate that has existed since the late 1970s, it is not difficult to understand why so few strikes have been successful in the last five years. This has not been the case merely in marginally organized industries; strike-breaking has also occurred in highly organized industries with long-term collective bargaining relationships. In many situations, the strike has actually become the strongest weapon in the employers’ arsenal. If an employer is intent upon busting a union, the strike becomes an integral part of this effort. Union-busters commonly advise employers to create strike situations as a means toward creating a "‘union-free environment.” Typically, employers set o n busting their unions will propose drastic cuts in wages, fringe benefits and working conditions, and

while carefully appearing to bargain, they do not. Actually, management negotiators are trying to position themselves to

declare impasse because once impasse is declared the company can legally implement its final offer. Historically, unions will strike when negotiations reach impasse. Union-busters tell employers that unions “instinctively” will strike u n d e r these circumstances. I n

such situations, strikers are

considered “economic strikers" because they are striking over "wages, hours and terms and conditions of employment.’ Under the law ‘economic strikers cannot be fired, but they can be permanently replaced.” The union strike strategy plays right into the hands o f employers

who are determined to bust the union through permanent replacements. Strikers are doomed to fail i n such situations if employers can find scabs with the skills necessary to run their

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IN-PLANT STRATEGIES

operation. When permanent replacements are introduced, the entire nature of a strike changes. Workers are no longer striking for better wages and conditions, o r t o resist concessions, but are

striking for their jobs. Striking workers are defined as part of the bargaining unit for one year from the date a strike begins. After a strike has lasted one year, employers petition for decertification; as only the replacement employees can vote, the union is usually decertified, the strike is broken and the workers have lost their jobs.

Oftentimes employers set on busting the union will commit unfair labor practices, such as "surface bargaining’ —where a party

enters into negotiations without a sincere desire to adjust the parties’ differences and to reach an agreement. I f the NLRB finds management guilty of this practice, the employer cannot legally implement its final offer. More importantly, if an unfair labor practice (ULP) exists, workers can strike their employer over the practice and be protected from permanent replacement. This is one of the basic differences between economic strikers and ULP strikers. If workers strike over the charge that their employer engaged in surface bargaining and that charge is upheld by the NLRB, they cannot be permanently replaced and they are compensated for lost wages and benefits from the time management implemented its final offer. Unfortunately, under the Reagan NLRB, even the most blatant cases of surface bargaining are routinely dismissed as “hard bargaining’ on the part of employers.

Within this relatively new and discouraging framework, the Boilermakers’ leadership has sought to develop new strategies in collective bargaining. The historic success of strikes was based o n the economic pressure they brought to bear upon companies,

and the union understands the critical importance of developing other strategies that can create effective economic pressure. While the strike weapon has not been abandoned, its use is judiciously employed and only after full examination of the facts important

to determine realistically its likely effectiveness. THE IN-PLANT CONCEPT

The in-plant strategy is based on the premise that organized, conscientious and disciplined workers can have a high degree of control over a workplace. Through a combination of work practice and concerted activity on-the-job, workers can wield great control over a company's ability to run a plant the w a y it would like it to run.

The concept of organized workers in an in-plant strategy has

9

Boilermaker-Blacksmith Reporter

C e m e n t Workers’ Experience

Boilermakers Vice President Richard A. Northrip rallies cement workers at Local D-27 in Missouri.

little to do with the more modern definition of a group of workers with a union contract. In fact, the in-plant strategy involves working without a contract. In most cases it also involves not having the luxury of union security clauses and dues check-off provisions. Organized workers engaged in a n in-plant strategy have

an historical link to the 1930s and 1940s when unionized workers often worked without contracts. The higher the level of understanding workers have of the in-plant strategy, the greater the resulting degree of unity and organization necessary to implement i t . I t is important that

workers understand the basic concepts of the in-plant strategy: 1) The jobs they have are their jobs and the employer is trying to take them away. 2) The employer's actions will, at the very least,

dramatically reduce the workers’ standard of living. 3) Through unity and discipline, workers can stay i n a plant and legally apply pressure from the inside. I f workers d o not understand w h o their enemy is, what their struggle is all about and the power they hold

in the plant, the in-plant strategy cannot be successful. In the plant, pressure is brought to bear on an employer through a combination o f concerted activities, utilization o f outside

agencies, and work practices. I n conducting any of these activities,

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IN-PLANT STRATEGIES

it is necessary to maintain a high level of discipline among the workforce. Regular and, sometimes, regimented acts of resistance

to company actions are necessary. Under the in-plant strategy, workers protect their rights on the job by engaging in concerted activities involving issues of hours, wages and other terms and conditions of employment. When employees w o r k under an expired contract or a company-implemented proposal, grievance and arbitration procedures and no-strike clauses are no longer in force. Without a contract, these provisions d o not exist, as they are legally defined

as creatures of the contract, and as such these procedures cannot be unilaterally implemented. Employers like to have definite rules for handling grievances because such rules minimize disruption of the production process. This is one of the benefits that employers receive by having a contract with their employees. When working under employer-implemented proposals—what cement workers have come to call "imposals'—workers have to rely on their rights under the National Labor Relations Act. Section 8(d) of the NLRA states that an employer must meet at reasonable times and reasonable places and ‘confer in good faith with respect to hours, wages and other terms and other conditions of employment.” The law does not set specific procedures for handling disputes other than that employers must meet at reasonable times and reasonable places. The union can demand to meet at any time of the day o r night with a grievance committee

defined by the union. The union can demand that the company meet with a twenty-person committee; if the employer objected, then they and the union can negotiate a ‘reasonable’ size committee.

The Union also has to rely on the provisions of the NLRA to resolve many disputes. Section 7 of the Act states "Employees shall

have the right. . .to engage in other concerted activities for the purpose of collective bargaining or other mutual aid and protection.’ This means that under certain circumstances it is a

legal and protected activity for a group of workers to leave their jobs in a n orderly manner and to demand that their employer meet

and resolve disputes. Depending on the dispute, this group of workers could expand to include an entire plant. W h e n engaging i n concerted activities, a common concern is

that if a dispute is not resolved, employers will demand that employees either return to work o r leave the plant. I f the employees leave the plant, the question is then raised o f whether their activity protects them from replacement. I f their dispute

involved a unilateral change to terms and conditions by the

Cement Workers’ Experience

11

employer (even if it is off of the company's implemented conditions) it would constitute an unfair labor practice. Striking employees could not be replaced. If the employees’ dispute involved an economic issue (as defined by the law), it would be an economic strike and the employees could be permanently replaced. Generally, when unions strike at the expiration of a contract, they are required to provide advance notice that there will be an orderly shutdown of work. Concerted activities involve no advance notice other than workers informing their foreman that they are leaving the job to meet and confer with management on disputes about terms and conditions of employment. Given the circumstances, concerted activities can occur i n the middle o f a

night shift or in the middle of filling a rush order from a prime customer.

The lesson that employers are taught is that they have an interest

NEW VERSES FOR SOLIDARITY Solidarity Forever is a familiar song in cement plants around the country now. One cement family—Paul and Elizabeth Vance and their 14-year-old daughter Lisa, o fBernallio, N e w Mexico— composed some new verses to the old song to reflect their struggle. We have asked for nothing more than that to u s is fair.

Our safety is of n o concern, only of production do they care. They refuse to meet with us and this is quite unfair. Yes the company is unfair.

(Chorus)

They want to take away all the rights we have gained. They seem to think that we are playing some stupid game. We will keep our course until our dignity we have gained. For the families we do fight. Solidarity forever! Solidarity forever! Solidarity forever! For the union makes us strong.

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IN-PLANT STRATEGIES

in having a contract. Through a contract, employers can have regular and orderly procedures for handling disputes; without a contract, unions have to rely o n every legal means available t o

protect and promote the interests of their members. Another in-plant activity involves the increased utilization of federal and state agencies to police conditions in the plant. The Occupational Safety and Health Administration (or the Mine Safety and Health Administration, as the case may be), the Environmental Protection Agency and many state agencies regulate safety and health conditions in plants. Workers must be educated about their

rights under the law and taught to recognize hazards in the workplace. The union's safety and health activities must be expanded from the safety committee to include every worker in the plant. Workers must constantly police their workplaces and raise all safety and health hazards and violations with management. I f management fails to correct the problems, the union should immediately contact the appropriate federal or state agency. Furthermore, workers should question the contents of all materials they work w i t h and demand from the company documentation that they are not toxic. The in-plant strategy over the long h a u l has a definite impact

on the psychology of both workers and managers. A successful in-plant campaign should build a sense of “movement” and “cause among workers. Managers, however, tend to develop a sense of insecurity and impotence in dealing with the in-plant activities. This sense is often aggravated by demands from higher level management to plant foreman to “take control of the situation.”

To implement a successful in-plant campaign requires a dramatic restructuring o f local unions and the w a y they function i n the plant. I t is critical t o understand that a n in-plant strategy will require a protracted effort. One or two months of in-plant activities will probably not convince a n employer that it is in his best interest to reach a n equitable agreement with his employees. Unions must

be able to sustain the in-plant program for an extended period of time until employers are convinced that the union is neither fleeing from n o r submitting t o their unfair treatment.

One of the most successful in-plant campaigns was conducted b y the United Autoworkers at Moog Automotive in St. Louis. I t took six months before the employer realized i t could not overcome the in-plant strategy. I n that case, the U A W was able t o t u r n a concession bargaining situation into a n agreement that

contained major wage and benefit improvements. The Moog case demonstrates that the in-plant strategy can be successful, at least

Cement Workers' Experience

13

on a single plant basis. The International Brotherhood of Boilermakers, building on the experience of the Moog workers, introduced the in-plant strategy on July 1, 1984, in over 50 cement manufacturing plants throughout the country. To my knowledge this is the first effort to apply this strategy on a multi-plant, multi-company basis. The following details the experience of the cement workers in applying the in-plant strategy, known in the union as the Solidarity and Unity Program. THE CEMENT WORKERS’ EXPERIENCE T h e U n i o n a n d t h e Industry O n April 1, 1984, the United Cement, Lime, Gypsum and Allied

Workers International Union (CLGAW) merged with the International B r o t h e r h o o d o f Boilermakers, I r o n Ship Builders,

Blacksmiths, Forgers & Helpers, becoming a division of the Brotherhood. The C L G A W was born i n the great campaigns to

organize industrial workers in the 1930's. A n industrial union organized by the AFL, the CLGAW's jurisdiction rested primarily on organizing workers involved in the production of building materials. The major group of organized workers in t h e CLGAW were, and remain, cement manufacturing workers. For most of

its history, the CLGAW functioned well as a small but strong international union, based primarily on the fact that they represented 90% of the workers i n a basic industry—cement

manufacturing. The merger between CLGAW and the International Brotherhood of Boilermakers was the result of a realization by both unions that combining resources would yield better services to both unions’ membership. A major factor prompting this merger (as in most union mergers) was a recognition o f the impact that adverse

economic and political conditions have had upon the labor movement i n recent years. The CLGAW steadily lost membership over the last twenty yeas as a result o f automation i n the 1960s

and early 1970s and plant closures in the late 1970s. The recession of 1981/82 took a heavy toll o n CLGAW membership; some cement

plants did not survive, and few have completely recovered from the effect the recession had on the building material industries. The collective bargaining history of the Cement Workers is very similar to that of many unions in basic industries. Through pattern

bargaining, similar to bargaining in the auto and rubber industries, cement workers were able to achieve contracts that could be ranked among the best for industrial workers. Wages and COLA

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IN-PLANTSTRATEGIES

provisions have historically kept cement workers’ earnings at levels comparable to the Autoworkers and Steelworkers. They enjoyed such long-term fringe benefits as ''30-and-out” pension provisions and supplemental unemployment benefits. Cement contracts have also contained strong language to protect workplace rights. For example, cement contracts have for years contained provisions that allowed workers to refuse work they believe to be dangerous. The CLGAW was different from other industrial unions in that many of the contract gains came about with relatively little industrial strife. The last nationwide strike in the cement industry was in 1958, when the CLGAW put its basic program of pattern bargaining into place. Since that time, there have been a few company and regional strikes when companies tried to break from the pattern, but the cement workers have never had the number o r severity o f strikes endured b y other unions i n basic industries.

While pattern bargaining and an historically small number of strikes have benefited the cement worker, they have also benefited

the cement industry. Standardization of wages freed individual cement companies from the threat of other cement companies

gaining a competitive advantage on labor costs. The rarity of strikes also contributed to a cooperative relationship between labor and management, which facilitated the resolution of problems of mutual concern within the industry. The cement industry is one of the few industries which underwent major automation changes w i t h o u t major confrontations with its labor force. Cement employment declined from 37,100 in 1956 to 20,400 in 1983. The impact that automation

had on the labor force was minimized by strong contract language protecting jobs and wage rates. Most of the labor force reductions due to the automation were the result o f attrition. The cement industry is not a labor intensive industry. Depending

upon the scale of operation, 100 to 150 workers can operate a cement plant on a 24-hour continuous basis. Historically productivity levels have steadily increased, and thus unit labor costs have declined. I n 1983, the year before the cement industry began its assault o n the cement workers union, cement workers

recorded their highest level of productivity. Throughout the 1970s and early 1980s a number of factors had an adverse impact on the cement industry. With 40 to 45% of production costs attributable to energy, skyrocketing energy costs

during the 1970's caused fiscal problems for many cement companies. Furthermore, as cement is also a capital-intensive

industry, the persistently high interest rates of the last 10 years

15

Boilermaker-Blacksmith Reporter

Cement Workers' Experience

Boilermakers Cement Division Director Henry Bechtholdt (left, i n suit

and tie] marches with cement worker families during Unfair Labor Practice strike a t General Portland Cement i n Houston, Texas.

placed many cement companies under additional financial pressure. Since the late 1970s, these developments were coupled with an expanding market of imported cement. Imports have tripled since 1982 and now represent 10% of U.S. cement consumption.

To address problems such as these, the CLGAW entered into a number of cooperative efforts with the cement industry. The union worked with cement companies on alternative energy programs; utilized extensive resources i n seeking a legislative remedy t o the cement import problem; and initiated a program

of cost containment to address the rising cost of medical care. Despite such efforts, mounting economic pressures forced major changes in the composition of the industry's ownership. Over the last t e n years, cement has been transformed from a n industry

predominantly owned by companies whose primary business was cement manufacturing to a n industry controlled b y multinational

(often European) cement companies and large conglomerates with diverse business interests. This transformation occurred as the

capital needs of the industry increased. Most cement companies lost millions of dollars in the depressed cement markets of 1982, 1983 and 1984. Only companies with substantial capital reserves could weather the financial pressures of the last few years.

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IN-PLANTSTRATEGIES

The 1984 Negotiations

On May 1, 1984—just a month after the union merger—all of the CLGAW contracts in the domestic cement industry expired. The cement workers approached the 1984 cement negotiations with the understanding that management would be demanding substantial concessions. The union was committed to resisting concessions, but in the initial stage of negotiations it became evident that the cement industry had higher priorities on their agenda than mere contract concessions. While demanding major wage and benefit concessions and contract language revisions, cement companies throughout the country made it clear that they intended to negotiate agreements suited to their individual operations. No longer would they follow a pattern. The presence of known union busting consultants and attorneys gave a clear indication that at least some companies intended not just to break pattern bargaining, but also to break the union. The union selected Lone Star Cement as the company with which they would try to reach a pattern settlement. Lone Star, the largest producer, participated in most cement markets in the country, and it had set the pattern for the previous two contracts. Furthermore, while Lone Star had indicated they needed labor cost relief, they had not assumed the strong anti-union posture adopted by other cement companies. The union was able to negotiate a settlement covering 12 Lone Star Cement plants. The contract contained wage and COLA increases that protected cement workers’ earning power, major improvements i n pensions, and minor improvements i n SUB

benefits. Major concessions were given in insurance and worker transfer provisions, and minor concessions were given in holidays and vacations. From the union's standpoint, the Lone Star settle-

ment provided some relief to the company while maintaining workers’ earnings, basic benefits and most work practices. In early May 1984, shortly after the Lone Star settlement, the cement workers concentrated their efforts o n Lehigh Cement, the

third largest producer. Lehigh, which is owned by a West German company, resisted the union's effort to negotiate to the Lone Star pattern. They insisted that they needed a two-tier wage scale and complete control to subcontract any work they deemed necessary. The union relied on its traditional strategy and struck Lehigh Cement, shutting down 10 plants across the nation. The union had hoped that striking Lehigh Cement while its competitors continued to work would bring pressure on the company to settle

Cement Workers’ Experience

17

o n the pattern. I n the few months that followed the Lone Star settlement, the

union was able to reach a pattern settlement with 10 other cement companies, covering a total of 25 plants (Lone Star included). At the end of the fourth week of the Lehigh strike, fearing that Lehigh was ready to hire permanent replacements, the ten local lodges at Lehigh cement made an unconditional offer to return to work. This meant they were returning to work under the employer's implemented proposal. Later testimony in an NLRB proceeding confirmed the union's fear, as Lehigh Cement had in fact secretly placed newspaper ads to hire permanent replacements. By early July 1984, the cement workers found themselves in a position where 70% of their cement lodges were working without contracts, in several cases under company implemented proposals. The strike had become a weapon of employers anxious to have their employees strike so they could be replaced. The union's alternatives were to strike and risk the possibility of the union being destroyed, or to remain in the plants and apply continual pressure until the employers agreed to an equitable settlement. Thus, the cement workers adopted the slightly tested, but logically sound, in-plant strategy of the International Brotherhood of Boilermakers. The goal of the cement in-plant strategy, which is called "the Solidarity and Unity Program,” is to resist companies’ efforts to bust the union, to hold the line o n concessions, and most

importantly, maintain pattern bargaining and standardization of labor costs. Solidarity a n d U n i t y Program

I n implementing the Solidarity and Unity Program, the union leadership recognized that major educational efforts were necessary to gain membership acceptance. Through a combination of group and total membership meetings, representatives conducted education programs emphasizing the following points: 1. The member's job (and its terms and conditions) is a key factor in all aspects o f his o r her life.

2. The company is unjustly attacking that job and is trying to provoke a strike to accomplish this end.

3. The company feels its attack will be successful because the union and its members are weak and divided. 4. Workers have the power through concerted activity

to protect the terms and conditions of their jobs. The

18

IN-PLANTSTRATEGIES

union is what gives them this power and they are the union. 5. Nothing has been given to workers. Our history shows us that we've had to fight for whatever gains we've made. This program redirected the memberships perspectives on their struggle and built commitment to the Solidarity and Unity Program. Building commitment to fighting the companies’ efforts was relatively easy in light of the extensive contract concessions most companies were proposing. Building commitment to the union was also not difficult, as the companies’ actions added strength to an already strong union membership. Building commitment for the in-plant strategy was not as easy for two reasons. First, workers’ natural instincts when attacked b y their

employer is to strike. A n in-plant strategy requires that workers not make emotional decisions, but try rather to out-think the employer. The second problem is in convincing workers that they do have power in the plant. Involvement in their first protected concerted activity helped workers overcome feelings of powerlessness many initially had about the strategy. The cement workers recognized that applying the in-plant strategy at the local level required certain departures from normal procedure. Lodges were encouraged to expand their traditional bargaining committees to include broader representation from the plant. The cement workers, as did the autoworkers at Moog, refer to these committees as Solidarity Committees. The Solidarity Committees are useful i n creating a good communication system

throughout the plant. More importantly, they are a way to build and expand local leadership by involving more people in the functions of the local and in addressing disputes with the employer. The Solidarity Committee is also useful i n insulating

local lodge leaders from employer discrimination. As the Solidarity Program becomes effective in a plant, management often counters with discharge and discipline of members and local leaders. Union representatives made local union members aware of this possibility right from the start. Thus, when employers did discharge people, the intimidation value was

limited. Most cement lodges set up "Solidarity Funds" to assist discharged members, paying them "victimization benefits.” Weekly contributions to these funds generally have run between $5 and $10 per worker per week. These contributions are voluntary, but

few cement lodges have less than 100% participation. Cement lodges were also encouraged to set up local lodge newsletters as a means of increasing communication t o the

C e m e n t Workers’ E x p e r i e n c e

19

Making Believe One cement lodge designated a couple of days to play "Let's make believe we have a contract.” On those days cement workers cooperate 100%, work the overtime requested and very graciously greet the supervisors. B y this action the local can show the company how nice i t would be to have a contract and at the same time let the company know the Solidarity and Unity program is in effect and working.

membership. Since the inception of the Solidarity Program, the number of local lodge newsletters has doubled, with many lodges issuing a two to three page newsletter every week. Rumors at the local lodge level can be rampant, and are usually initiated by the employer i n a n effort t o create dissension and confusion within

the local. Newsletters and/or regular leafletting have proven to be an effective means of dispelling rumors. Building Local Lodge Discipline

I n attempting to organize any group of individuals to act in concert, group discipline is key. The union promoted various

activities that helped build discipline and at the same time demonstrated to the employer workers’ unity and commitment to the union. When the Solidarity and Unity Program was first initiated, many cement lodges h e l d a series o f daily rallies. Thirty minutes before

a shift began, all workers on that shift would meet for a few words of inspiration from the Solidarity Committee and would then march into the plant en masse singing Solidarity Forever. At lunch, rallies were held in the plant and again would be concluded with the workers singing Solidarity Forever. The day would end with a short rally in the washhouse and workers leaving the plant en masse singing Solidarity Forever. The song became a n integral part of the Solidarity and Unity Program. As many great social and political movements have proven, song can provide real inspiration. The words to Solidarity

20

IN-PLANTSTRATEGIES

Forever definitely brought inspiration to cement workers—so much so that one union family wrote four new verses specific to the cement workers’ struggle. A hundred seasoned industrial workers singing any song constitutes an impressive display of determination. It is not uncommon for cement workers to spontaneously begin singing or whistling Solidarity Forever on the job. Once while workers at a California plant were singing Solidarity Forever in the lunch room, customers in an adjoining room complimented the employer for promoting an employees’ choir. Resistance to management's efforts to destroy their contract was also expressed through workers’ attire. Some local lodges had Solidarity T-shirts designed which their members would wear regularly in the plant; often the entire membership wore their T-shirts on the same day. The International also supplied buttons and stickers to be worn on hard hats. Slogans on the stickers included "We Are Here to Stay,’ “Lone Star or Better” and an X through ""Union-Free Environment.” Local lodges have regularly conducted roadside rallies outside the plant gate, frequently followed by informational picketing. When the rallies and picketing began before the shift started, the employers often believed the workers were striking. Under implemented proposals, no-strike provisions do not exist and workers can strike at any time. Informational picketing proved an excellent means of involving the workers’ families in the Solidarity and Unity Program. It is not uncommon for the spouses and children of cement workers to picket the plant while their family members are inside working. The informational picket also effectively lets all those who do business with the employer (truck drivers, salespeople, and customers) know what the company is attempting to do to its employees. Many retirees have also joined in informational picketing. Besides involving families and retirees in their struggle, the cement workers have used marches and rallies to involve other unions and the local community. Since most cement plants are located in rural communities andsmall towns, a union march often

constitutes a major event and may be the only such activity many of these communities have ever experienced. The cement workers have expressed their resistance in other non-work situations as well. Company Christmas parties, safety-award banquets, retirement dinners and other social functions have been cancelled because workers routinely boycott them. In some instances, local lodges have run counter-parties.

Cement Workers’ Experience

21

One local lodge collected all of the Christmas cards the president of the company sent employees and returned them, stating they would have a “Merry Christmas’ when they had a just and equitable contract. At another plant, not a single worker attended a fully catered Christmas party set up in the plant and on company time.

Employers have attempted to hold captive audience meetings in the plants to "explain their side’ to the employees. These meetings have been met with resistance. In one cement plant in the Southwest, top management personnel from corporate headquarters held a meeting to explain the company's implemented insurance plan; workers sat through the entire meeting but never removed their ear plugs. In another situation, workers sat in complete silence, refraining from asking questions or making comments. Some local lodges have used these meetings to demand resolution of disputes over the implemented

agreements; management promptly adjourned the meetings. There are other acts of resistence to employer implemented agreements.

One company implemented a $90-a-year allowance for safety shoes, replacing the contract provision that required the employer to provide two pair o f safety shoes p e r year. W h e n the employer

Boilermaker-Blacksmith Reporter

issued checks to the workers, they were all collected and returned

pd

2,000 unionists gathered to support cement workers in Victorville, California, a town o f only 20,000 when there is n o union rally.

22 ~~ IN-PLANT STRATEGIES

to the plant manager by the local Solidarity Committee. In one local lodge not a single member bid on jobs when they were posted by the company. I n several plants the workers took home whatever tools they had brought into the plant that were not necessarily required for their job. When the tool was needed the company had to provide it. O n many occasions the repairmen and other skilled tradesmen took all their tools with them when they left the plant at the end of their shift. Employers typically assumed the workers were going to strike.

These are a few examples of resistance to employers’ implemented provisions. As the Solidarity and Unity Program began to grow in the local lodges, workers became very imaginative in developing legal tactics to resist employers’ actions. Sometimes these union tactics were in response to managers’ reactions to the Solidarity and Unity Program.

Grievance Procedures and Concerted Activity When implementing final offers, employers often attempt to implement grievance procedures. The union has taken the position that grievance procedures are ‘creatures of the contract’ and that, in the absence of a contract, no set procedures exist for handling grievances. Most local lodges have replaced all reference to grievances with the term "'disputes.” Without set procedures, the union relies on the NLRA, which provides that employers must meet at reasonable times in reasonable places to confer on disputes regarding hours, wages and other terms and conditions of employment. Given the scope of changes in the employers’ implented proposals and the union's commitment to protect its members’

rights, the cement workers found it necessary to make basic changes in the manner i n which they addressed disputes i n the plant. These changes pertained to the manner i n which disputes are processed and the level of union representation.

Members were trained to recognize disputes and were encouraged to put all disputes into writing. Through this procedure, the union hoped to document company abuses while at the same time forcing the company to address complaints. This process resulted in massive numbers of disputes filed. At one plant, over 4,000 disputes were filed i n two months, A t another,

there were so many disputes filed that the local union set up a desk outside the plant manager's office t o accomodate members’ complaints.

The size and makeup of the grievance committee—or Solidarity

Cement Workers’ Experience

23

Committee, Dispute Committee and/or Representation

Committee, as commonly referred to in cement plants—depends on the nature of the dispute. I f the dispute involved an issue in the pack house, the committee would be composed primarily of workers from that department. However, if the dispute involved shift work the committee might be made up of all the workers o n the second shift. For example, at one midwestern cement plant,

a group of six workers from shipping approached the plant manager requesting a meeting to address problems in their department. The plant manager, believing that this new committee represented a breakdown in the union's approach to disputes, readily agreed to meet. Over the course o f the next two hours,

fifteen different groups of employees requested similar meetings. Through this approach, the local lodge was able to involve almost every worker in the plant in the dispute procedure. It took over three days to conduct all 15 meetings. I n another case at a cement plant o n the west coast, the

“traditional grievance committee’ met with management to demand that all quarry trucks and earth-moving equipment be given safety inspections. Management stated its belief that it wasn't a problem because no truck drivers or equipment operators from the quarry had complained. The committee then had all nine drivers and operators on shift leave their jobs and come to the plant manager's office to register their complaints. After two hours of meetings, the company agreed to the inspections. (As it turned out, one truck had brake damage and another had considerable metal fatigue on the spindles.) The union has taken the position that the size of the dispute

committee should be based on the circumstances of the dispute. I f management objects to the size of a committee, and they usually do, the union negotiates over the issue o f committee size. Many

times the union has spent several hours attempting to resolve the issue o f committee size before ever discussing disputes o n terms

and conditions. I n a cement plant in the Southwest, the union demanded that the company meet with its committee of thirteen people to discuss disputes. The company refused to meet at all, prompting the union t o take further action. A t the time, there were 40 t o 50 workers

on coffee break who refused to return to work until the company agreed to meet. After almost two hours, the company agreed to

meet with a committee of six people and the workers returned to work.

Employees at a Midwestern cement plant demanded that the company meet with a committee of the entire plant. The reason

24

IN-PLANTSTRATEGIES

for this meeting was the company’s refusal to supply the union with information they had requested and which the company had promised to provide. After the entire plant (90 people) waited outside the administration building (chanting and singing Solidarity Forever), the company agreed to meet with a representative committee. The union agreed, but demanded that their International representative be in attendance at the meeting. When the representative arrived at the plant an hour later, the workers returned to their jobs. At another cement plant in the West, a solidarity committee of 20 workers (10 on duty and 10 off) demanded that the company meet to discuss disputes. The company refused to meet with a committee of that size. The union explained that given the nature of the dispute this size committee was reasonable and requested a time and place that the company consider reasonable to meet with this committee. The company refused to meet, so the committee sat in the plant conference room for the entire eight hour shift waiting for the company. The next day they sat in the conference room again for the entire shift. At the end of the second day the incoming shift walked off the job and did not return to work until the next morning. At another plant the “traditional grievance committee'’ met with management to discuss safety matters. After several hours, the

employer refused to resolve any of the issues raised by the union. Because a number o f the safety issues were serious i n nature, the

committee asked all employees to come to the administration building to demand the company protect their safety and health. After spending one half-hour on the telephone (presumably talking to his attorneys), the plant manager agreed to meet with the committee provided workers returned to their jobs. As they had m e t for several hours, the union stated that the safety issues had

already been discussed and that they now wanted resolution. After another 30 minutes, the company finally agreed to resolve the safety problems and the workers returned to their jobs. One cement company had refused to deliver emergency calls to employees in the plant. The next morning all the employees punched in and went directly to the plant manager's office. The workers sat outside the office for the entire shift until management finally agreed to institute a procedure for employees to be immediately informed of emergency calls. At a cement plant in California, the company introduced a black plastic substance to be burned in the cement kilns. Fearing the substance might b e toxic, workers demanded to know the

composition of the substance. When the plant manager stated that

25

ker-Blacksmith Reporter

Cement Workers’ Experience

C e m e n t workers i n California.

the substance was ground battery casings, the union demanded documentation of this claim and stated that all workers would remain at the administration building until documentation was produced. Seven hours later, the company provided the documentation and workers returned to their jobs. The company then sent a letter to each employee stating that actions in the plant had created numerous safety hazards. The union demanded that the company provide them with a list of

the safety hazards. When the company refused, the employees once again left their jobs and gathered at the: administration building, demanding to know about the safety hazards in the plant. After workers sat and waited through four shifts o f work, the

employer finally produced a list of safety hazards and a plan to remedy these hazards. The workers then returned to their jobs. Most of the concerted activities have not necessitated the employees leaving the plant in order to resolve disputes. I n a number of cases, however, the activities have led to strikes. These situations have generally arisen when the employer has presented a n ultimatum to the effect that workers should return to their jobs

or punch out. If, in such situations, the union felt that the dispute involved a n unfair labor practice o n the part o f the employer,

workers punched out and set up picket lines. Since ULP strikers

26 ~~ IN-PLANT STRATEGIES

are protected from replacement, these disputes were usually resolved in a short period of time. When employees work with the protection of a contract, traditional grievance committees adequately allow the union to fairly represent the workers’ interest. When conditions that greatly reduce workers’ rights and benefits are unilaterally implemented by employers, it is necessary for the union to expand worker participation in resolving disputes. It is equally necessary for workers to act in concert in seeking equitable resolutions of disputes. Protecting Health and Safety

I n efforts to protect workers’ safety and health, the union has relied heavily on the protection provided by the Mine Safety and Health Act. Cement workers are defined as ''stone miners’ under the law and as such are covered under MSHA rather than OSHA. Although the union has always taken a strong position with respect to safety and health, under the Solidarity and Unity Program the union has been even more vigilant. Cement workers were given extensive training in the basic provisions of M S H A and their rights under the law. Consequently,

workers regularly insisted on basic MSHA requirements. This included making employers provide workers with training on all new jobs and perform regular inspections of all vehicles. Both of these actions are requirements of the Law. Local leaders and members were also trained extensively in hazard recognition and MSHA safety and health standards. Cement workers have vigilantly policed their workplaces and have overlooked n o violations, even those o f a minor nature. Some

workers became more adept at recognizing hazards and violations o f M S H A standards than some M S H A inspectors. A t one cement plant i n the South, a n M S H A inspector arrived t o perform a mandatory inspection. (MSHA requires that work places be inspected twice a year.) A local union representative accompanied the inspector (allowed under t h e law) and began

pointing out violations of MSHA standards. After inspecting about one tenth of the plant, the union representative had pointed out

25 violations, but the inspector was failing to cite the violations. The union representative confronted the inspector and demanded to know w h y h e was not issuing citations. The inspector stated that since the violations were not serious i n nature, h e d i d not feel i t was necessary t o cite all o f them. The local union

representative informed the inspector that the law required that all violations, nonserious as well as serious, be cited. The inspector

Cement Workers’ Experience

21

T h e Legal Right To Concerted Activity A n important aspect of in-plant strategies is the use of legal rights guaranteed to all employees by the National Labor Relations Act (NLRA) and by safety and health legislation. Exercise of these rights i s dependent o n a number o f factors, however, and the extent o f

legal protection afforded is subject to interpretation—eventually by the Reagan-appointed NLRB. One of the most important legal protections is provided by Section 7 of the NLRA, which grants employees the right to engage i n concerted activities for their mutual aid and protection. Not all concerted activity falls within the rights guaranteed by Section 7, however. I n addition to being ‘concerted,’ employees’ acts must also be "protected,’ which generally means that they must have both a legal objective and a legal means of achieving it. For more information on “protected concerted activities,’ consult with your union's legal department. Section 8(d) of the NLRA requires the employer to bargain with the representative of his employees over wages, hours, terms and conditions of employment. Although bargaining over a new contract may have reached impasse and the emloyer may have implemented his final offer, the employer cannot make subsequent unilateral changes without again bargaining to impasse with the employees’ representative. The employer has a duty to bargain over issues that may formerly have been handled i n a grievance process, but there are limitations on the time, place and subjects of bargaining. Check with legal counsel on the extent of the employer's duty to bargain i n specific situations. The NLRA also proscribes certain types of employer behavior as unfair labor practices (ULPs). ULPs include any interference with employees’ exercise o f rights under the Act, surveillence, intimida-

tion, discrimination against employees because of their union activities, bad faith bargaining, surface bargaining. I f an employer engages in any of these practices, workers can call an unfair labor practice strike. Unlike employees who strike over economic issues, ULP strikers cannot be permanently replaced. Employees can also take advantage of safety and health legislation that protects their right to refuse unsafe work. The amount of protection available varies greatly with the type of workplace, the legislation covering that workplace, and the particular circumstances involved. I t is important to know the full extent of your protections before refusing work. Reliance on legal rights requires consultation with attorneys. Talk with your union's legal counsel before engaging in any of these activities. Elaine Charpentier, MCLR staff attorney

28

IN-PLANTSTRATEGIES

said he would have to confer with his Area Director. The union representative also called the Area Director and demanded that the MSHA inspector perform his job as specified under the Law. The next morning the Area Director and the inspector arrived at the plant and began the inspection anew. At the completion o f the inspection, the 25 violations raised b y the union

representative were cited as well as approximately 100 additional violations, some of a serious nature. I t should b e noted that under

MSHA, as opposed to OSHA, all violations (serious and nonserious) carry monetary penalties.

As the Solidarity and Unity Program has grown, it has taken a greater toll on the mental health of managers than it has on workers. The need to act in concert built a strong unity among workers and brought a sense of cause to their struggle, but the Solidarity and Unity Program tends to create divisiveness among managers. The protracted and unpredictable nature of the Solidarity and Unity Program resulted in insecurity and general uneasiness for managers, particularly front-line foremen. Sometimes this insecurity bordered on paranoia, and foremen would react to imaginary problems. At one Midwestern plant, a supervisor accused a bulldozer operator of engaging in a slowdown on the job because he kept shifting to a lower gear as he moved stone in the quarry. The operator explained that he kept slowing down because there was a slight incline in a section of the quarry floor. The supervisor ordered the operator to keep the dozer at a steady speed. The operator further explained that to do so might possibly result in damage to the bulldozer's undercarriage. The supervisor reiterated his charge that the worker was merely engaging in a slowdown, and again ordered him to keep the dozer in high gear. After bracing himself, the worker drove the bulldozer over the incline in high gear. As a result of the higher speed, four bearings were knocked

out of the bulldozer. At $1,500 per bearing, it was an expensive lesson for the supervisor to learn: that the operator knew what h e was talking about. Unfair Labor Practice Strikes

Part of the Solidarity and Unity Program involves conducting unfair labor practice (ULP) strikes. Because workers are protected from replacement when conducting an ULP strike, the employers cannot use the strike t o bust the union. There have been several U L P strikes over the issue of employers’ refusal t o meet o n

disputes involving hours, wages and other terms and conditions of employment. Generally, these ULP strikes have been of short

C e m e n t Workers’ Experience

29

duration and have usually been resolved with the employer agreeing to meet. One local union in the Midwest struck its employer for more than three weeks over the demand that the employer supply the union with a list of plant rules which a group of workers had been disciplined for allegedly violating. Probably the most notable U L P strike involved the General

Portland Cement Company, the second largest cement producer in the country. Before the Solidarity and Unity Program was instituted, the union conducted a n economic strike at a select number of General Portland plants. After several weeks o n strike,

the union made an unconditional offer to return to work, opting to apply the in-plant strategy. At the time of the unconditional return to work, the employer discharged eight employees for alleged picketline violence at one of its Southern plants. The union filed unfair labor practice charges with the NLRB, which in turn issued a complaint against the employer. When General Portland maintained its refusal to reinstate the eight strikers, the union shut down seven plants throughout the General Portland chain. The demand of this strike was that the employer cease engaging in a n unfair labor practice b y reinstating the eight strikers. The issue

was resolved weeks later when the company agreed to reinstate the strikers. The union has not conducted more ULP strikes because the Reagan NLRB has refused to issue complaints on even the most obvious unfair labor practices. In most situations, companies must blatantly violate the

NLRA before a complaint is issued, and even

then many charges are denied. This situation has not deterred the union from filing charges with the NLRB. The Boilermakers are

committed to trying to force the NLRB to deal with the contradictions between their administrative interpretations and the intent of the law. With respect to the NLRB, the Boilermakers recognize that they must engage in a political battle in order to secure much needed reform and proper administration of the law. Boilermaker lodges have been active in lobbying their senators and representatives and demanding that they address the abuses of the law by the current NLRB. Hopefully, the experience of the cement workers, and the inadequate response of the N L R B to the attack against

their rights as American workers, will help fuel ongoing efforts to reform the NLRB.

Boilermaker-Blacksmith Reporter

Company report card in Lehigh Valley.

Cement Workers' Experience

31

CONCLUSION The Solidarity and Unity Program has been in effect for over a year. More than 8,000 cement workers i n more than 50 cement

plants throughout the country have worked without a contract since May 1, 1984. During that period, there have been a few victories attributable to the Solidarity and Unity Program. I n August of 1984, the Blue Circle Cement Company settled on a contract almost identical to the pattern settlement with Lone Star Cement. This settlement came about in part because of the union's threat to initiate the Solidarity and Unity Program. In 1985, the Giant Cement Company settled with the union after the Solidarity and Unity Program was in effect at the plant for six months. The other cement companies, almost 70% of the industry, have stood fast with their implemented final offers. Cement workers have been equally unrelenting in their resistence to those final offers. The union is winning in its struggle if only because the Solidarity Program provides a tangible way to continue fighting. The commitment that cement workers have to their struggle is stronger

than ever. The protracted nature of the struggle has benefited the union. As the Solidarity Program has grown, so has the level of organization in the local lodges. Unlike protracted strikes which tend to erode worker discipline and organization, the Solidarity and Unity Program has strengthened these critical elements. Workers using an in-plant strategy do not feel the same financial pressures as strikers. The cement membership has made it very clear that their struggle will not be over until they have all cement companies under a standardized agreement. The preservation of

the cement workers’ historical bargaining strength—pattern bargaining—has become the fundamental issue in this struggle. The Solidarity and Unity Program has taken its toll on the cement industry. First o f all, it enabled the union to define both

the tactics and the battleground for struggle. The companies had anticipated the union striking and had developed a program to use the strike to bust the union. The companies’ high-priced consultants and union-busting attorneys never anticipated that the workers would stay i n the plants and resist. The concerted

activities of the Solidarity Program have kept the attorneys’ meters running. The unpredictability of the in-plant tactics have also had a definite effect on the psychology of cement managers. In many plants, first-line foremen secretly side with the workers. Most

foremen realize that if the employer is successful in gutting the workers’ contract, their own wages and benefits will also be vulnerable.

32

IN-PLANT STRATEGIES

The long-term effects of the Solidarity and Unity Program will be beneficial to the union and detrimental to the companies. The program has greatly strengthened local unions. A n aware, organized and committed membership will be increasingly vigilant about protecting their interests in the future. The heightened level of awareness and organization undoubtedly benefits the union's broader agenda, most notably in the political arena. The Solidarity andUnity Program is an answer to the growing failure of the strike strategy. It is a strategy that recognizes the importance of bringing economic pressure on the employer. The in-plant strategy does not preclude other pressure strategies the labor movement has developed. As a matter of fact, in conjunction with the Industrial Union Department of the AFL-CIO, the Boilermakers have been conducting a corporate campaign against Ideal Cement, the fourth largest producer. Also with the assistance of the Industrial Union Department the International has held meetings with European Cement Workers’ Unions to solicit support for the struggle. The difference between the in-plant strategy and other alternative strategies is that it relies on the labor movement's traditional principles and strengths. The basic trade union principles of unity, solidarity and collective action are the cornerstones of the Solidarity and Unity Program. These are the same principles that unions have applied for years in waging strikes. The in-plant strategy can be applied in almost every work situation. The key elements to the strategy’s success are that all levels of the union be committed to the struggle, know their legal rights, and not fear confronting the employer. When the cement workers were shown a concrete and viable strategy to combat management's attacks, they embraced it with solidarity and determination.

As other local lodges have drawn inspiration from the struggle o f their brothers and sisters i n the cement industry, the

commitment to the in-plant strategy has grown throughout the International Brotherhood of Boilermakers. The leadership of the Brotherhood has realized that bold action must b e taken to combat

the harsh political and economic conditions faced by today's workers. They have begun initiating Solidarity and Unity Programs in plants and industries throughout the union. The cement workers’ struggle has convinced the Brotherhood that an in-plant strategy is a viable method for building strong local unions and combatting concession bargaining and union busting. ll

Cement Workers’ Experience

33

U E 610 Finds Another Way to Beat WABCO UE Local 610 attracted a lot of attention in 1982 when in the teeth of the worst recession since the 1930s and as the first wave of concessions contracts was reaching its crest,

it endured a six-month strike to beat concessions at Westinghouse Airbrake Co. (WABCO) in the Pittsburgh area. Three years after the strike, however, the local was still scarred by its ordeal. With savings accounts depleted and with fresh memories of the strains involved in a long strike,

members were in no mood to go at it again. WABCO and its companion plant, Union Switch & Signal, are among the few manufacturing facilities providing steady work in the area, and there are plenty of skilled and unskilled workers around w h o haven't had much work i n the past few years.

The company came at the union with a full array of concessions demands—including a $1.70-an-hour wage cut— and then at the last minute dropped off most of those demands and went for a straight wage freeze and the elimination of COLA. The company knew the membership was divided and weak, and was banking on its "final offer" seeming moderate against the background of its initial demands. Local leadership recommended rejection of the contract and i n one Sunday afternoon membership meeting explained

the basic concept of “in-plant strategies.” The idea caught on among the membership and spread spontaneously beginning with the Monday morning shift. The ban on overtime was complete, and management was thrown off guard. By the third week, production had been cut "by at least half,’ and the company agreed to a no-concessions contract with a modest boost i n wages. According t o union leaders, the local is “more together"

now than at any time since the 1982 strike. Unfortunately, in July WABCO announced it is shutting down part of one plant, eliminating 1,200 o f the local's 2,300 members—a

subject which never came up in negotiations. The fight has n o w moved to different terrain, as the local mobilizes to

contest the shutdown, looking for another way to "'stay in.”

>

IS Q

2 fs} w

Aerospace workers rally behind UAW Local 848’s struggle to win a contract at LTV-Vought in Dallas-Fort Worth.

In-Plant Strategies:

‘Running the Plant Backwards’’ i n U A W Region 5 ®

Jack Metzgar

Besides the Boilermakers, few unions have accumulated m u c h experience with "in-plant strategies.” United Autoworkers Region

5, however, has piled up an impressive record of victories using tactics similar to those described in Tom Balanoff's article. I n fact, the modern use of this strategy (so far as we can determine) begins with UAW Local 282's well-known victory at the Moog auto parts plant i n St. Louis i n 1982. Since then, other

locals in UAW Region 5 have successfully used the strategy to win contracts at a Schwitzer cooling-fan plant in Rolla, Missouri, (1983)

and at Bell Helicopter in Texas (1984). And this summer UAW Local 848 finally w o n a no-concessions contract after 15 months o f in-plant struggle at LTV-Vought's aerospace defense systems plant i n Grand Prairie, Texas. U A W Region 5 covers eight states i n the middle of the country. Regional Director Ken Worley has supported use of this n e w strategy i n carefully chosen situations and Assistant Regional Director Jerry Tucker has been instrumental i n developing what Region 5 has come t o call running the plant backwards.”

The premises of UAW Region 5's use of this concept appear to ®

Jack Metzgar teaches at Roosevelt University in Chicago. H e is managing editor

of Labor Research Review.

36

IN-PLANTSTRATEGIES

be similar to the cement workers: 1) Quality and productivity in a production process depend on the ingenuity, imagination and extra effort of the workers. If workers simply work ‘normally,’ strictly following legitimate management direction but no more, quality and productivity will suffer. In all four situations in UAW 5, for example, the unified refusal to work overtime was key to denying management the "extra effort’ that can be the margin of difference between a successful or a faltering operation. 2) Orderly procedures for processing grievances benefit management. Without a contract, these procedures no longer exist and workers have to police conditions spontaneously on a day-to-day basis, relying on the NLRA's “concerted activity" protection. At Bell Helicopter, for example, referee's whistles were used to summon all workers in an area to the site of a dispute with management. Also, when their union,or contract is under

attack by management, workers are likely to be less tolerant of safety and health violations and less creative in “working around” or "patching over'’ non-serious, but less-than-ideal conditions. 3) Local union leadership can be greatly expanded and membership participation strengthened through the formation of Solidarity Committees (SCs). SCs coordinate activities like informational picketing, break and lunch-time rallies and public marches, and generally keep everybody informed and unified about what the union is doing. These committees can be quite large: At Moog, for example, 100 workers in a workforce of 500 constituted the SC; at LTV-Vought, the SC grew from 300 to 400

as the workforce expanded over a year's time from 3,200 to 4,500.

The Moog & Schwitzer Victories “Running the plant backwards’ was invented at UAW Local 282 at Moog Automotive in St. Louis. In Fall 1981 the local faced concessions demands amounting to $3-an-hour. With high unemployment in the St. Louis area, 3,000 applications on file for Moog's 500 jobs, and known union-busting attorneys advising management—Local 282 started looking for an alternative to striking. Julius Frazer, then Assistant Region 5 Director, remembered a

successful in-plant campaign a UAW local in Kansas City had run against Westinghouse in the mid-1950s. Frazer told local leaders and Jerry Tucker, the local's staff rep at the time, how it had worked, and they devised the ‘new’ strategy.

When the contract expired September 26, 1981, Local 282 had its Solidarity Committee in place and began its in-plant activities.

R u n n i n g the Plant Backwards

37

When Dan Napier, a tool-machine operator (at Moog) received a suspension and written reprimand for allegedly turning offhis machine two minutes before quitting time, he taped his reprimand to the back of his shirt. That angered his supervisor. “He tells me, "You can't do that, "’ Napier says, "but I tell him, ‘it's m y shirt’ ‘I know, says he, ‘but it's company tape.” The next thing I know, 70% of the people in m y department have taped reprimand forms to their shirts. The foreman says he is going to fire me, b u t if he'd have fired me, h e would have

had to fire 70% of the department. Next day, the foreman gets transferred.” —from Solidarity, June 1982

As they experimented with various kinds of activities, many of them similar to those described i n T o m Balanoff's article above,

membership participation and commitment deepened. Over the six months of the campaign, SC and general membership meetings steadily increased in size and frequency. Moog management countered Local 282's concerted-activity

grievance procedures by firing 7 workers, suspending 43 and issuing 231 written reprimands. This merely deepened Moog

workers’ commitment to their struggle. O n several occasions they walked out in mid-shift over health and safety problems, daring management to fire them all. After six months of increasingly unified and disciplined in-plant activity, Moog management agreed to a contract rather different from what they had originally i n mind. I n late March 1982 —as the wave of concessions contracts began to cascade onto unions

throughout the country—Local 282 agreed to a 36% increase in compensation over 40 months. All firings and suspensions were rescinded with full back pay and all reprimands were removed

from workers’ files. Workers at the Schwitzer cooling-fan plant about 90 miles away in Rolla, Missouri, were faced with a similar situation in Fall 1983.

38

IN-PLANT STRATEGIES.

Schwitzer thought it wanted a $2-an-hour cut and when the contract expired September 13, 1983, the company imposed it. Again with the assistance of Jerry Tucker, UAW Local 1760 was ready with its Solidarity Committee on September 14. Production at the plant rapidly plummeted to less than 30% of its pre-September level. I n a workforce of about 160, the company fired 35. But that didn't seem to improve production. According to Jerry Livesay, SC leader then and Local 1760 president now, “ I t was just like an honor to be fired!’ After two months of this, Schwitzer agreed to a contract that preserved COLA and increased wages by 3% a year, among other contract improvements. All those fired were

restored to their jobs with full back pay. According to union leaders, both Local 282 and Local 1760 experienced a revitalization in their local unions that has continued since their in-plant campaigns. Besides increased participation at

regular membership meetings and more and better-attended social events, the local unions are more involved in Community Action programs and legislative concerns. Both locals are also more involved in supporting other unions’ struggles. After winning at Moog, Local 282 voted to give the balance of its Solidarity Fund to a striking UAW local in Massachusetts. Local 1760 has provided food, money and moral support to striking USWA lead miners in nearby Salem, Missouri. " I t just kind of drew us together like a big knot,’ Jerry Livesay says. Aerospace Victories i n Texas

The Bell Helicopter and LTV-Vought plants are both in the DallasFort Worth area, only a few miles apart. Management and workers from the two plants often live nearby and are in constant, informal communication. I t is not unusual, for example, for families to have members working i n both plants. Both plants are i n the aerospace industry, heavily reliant o n defense contracts. For these reasons the struggles t o w i n contracts at the two plants were linked. A t Vought, U A W Local 848's contract expired i n March 1984. A t that time other aerospace companies had already w o n union concessions, a n d U A W L o c a l 1 4 8 w a s i n t h e midst o f a no-win

strike against McDonnell-Douglas in California. The Vought local decided not to go o n strike, but not to accept a concessions contract

either. When bargaining reached impasse, Vought implemented its final offer—which included the elimination o f COLA, drastic

cuts in health insurance and a permanent two-tier wage for new hires in job classifications covering two-thirds of the plant.

Solidarity

UAW President Owen Bieber addresses joint rally of Bell and Vought workers.

40

IN-PLANT STRATEGIES

Other aerospace companies—Boeing, Lockheed and McDonnellDouglas—had tinkered with one o r another o f these three areas,

all three of which were being urged on aerospace companies by Ronald Reagan's Defense Department. LTV-Vought was the first to go for all three at once. In response, Local 848 formed a Solidarity Committee and, with assistance from Jerry Tucker, began to implement its in-plant strategy. On June 30, 1985, Local 848 culminated its 15-month in-plant activities with a strike that lasted less than a day and ended with a settlement that contained none of the onerous provisions the company had tried to impose. Three months into Local 848's fight with Vought, the contracts of UAW Locals 218 (production and maintenance workers) and 317 (technical and office workers) expired at Bell Helicopter. Bell's demands were less radical than Vought's, union leaders believe,

at least in part because it didn't want the kind of trouble Vought was experiencing in its nearby plant. Bell asked "only" for the elimination of COLA. Bell workers began gearing up their Solidarity Committee well before bargaining reached impasse, and it would have been transformed into a "'Strike Action Committee’ if the locals had chosen to strike. As it turned out, the locals decided to work

without a contract and engage in in-plant activities. After nearly a month of such activities, another month during which they were locked out, and a month of n e w negotiations, the Bell workers

won a contract with COLA in early September 1984. Vought fired 65 workers during Local 848's campaign, most of them in the first 6 months after the contract had expired. These workers were paid $100 a week plus health insurance from the International's Strike Fund and another $90 a week from collections at the plant gates. After January 1985 the fired workers were also compensated from donations made in their behalf by other UAW (and some Machinist) aerospace locals. The fired workers were at the forefront of Solidarity actions, with about 25 of them in constant leadership roles. As at Moog and Schwitzer, all 65 were restored to their jobs as part of the final settlement; they received, o n average, about two-thirds of the back pay they

had lost and had full pension and seniority credit restored. At Bell nobody was fired, but the final settlement coincided with the rescinding of all penalties and disciplines the company had doled out during the in-plant actions. The lockout at Bell needs a closer look. It occurred after more than a month of concerted activities and a nearly solid refusal of the workforce o f some 3,400 to work overtime. I n a n attempt to break u p the overtime refusal, management targeted specific

Running the Plant Backwards

4]

individuals and told them they had to work overtime or they would be fired. Solidarity whistles went off all over the plant, and some 3,000 workers gathered to discuss the situation with management. Management responded by telling workers that if they didn't go back to work, they should leave the plant, which about 3,200 then did. Gathering at the union hall about a half-mile away, workers discussed their options with union leadership and

decided to go back to work—which they did by marching fiveabreast back to the plant. Bell refused to let them back i n , and

the union declared they had been locked out. During the four weeks they were locked out, the union held various marches and

rallies which were well covered by the Dallas and Fort Worth media, and workers received U A W lockout assistance benefits from the International Strike Fund. After Bell ended its lockout,

new negotiations were begun which eventually resulted in a contract.

Local 848's struggle at Vought was more protracted and workers experienced various peaks and valleys during their campaign. The firing of 28 workers in May of 1984 for refusing to work overtime chilled the overtime refusal for a time. But the Bell locals’ activities during the summer of 1984 further stiffened Vought workers’ resolve. By Christmas the campaign had weakened again, however. Texas is a Right-to-Work state and the union had lost its dues check-off when the contract expired. The dues collection system relied on union members coming to the union hall, and by late 1984 many members had fallen months behind in their dues. To make matters worse, Vought was expanding production during this period and hiring new workers, few of whom were joining the union, partly because the union did not have a comprehensive system for soliciting them. Fired workers took the lead i n reversing this situation. A computer was obtained and one of the fired workers programm-

ed it to allow the union to keep track of dues collection and new hires in a much more rapid and reliable way. A system of volunteer

dues coordinators was established so that there was a coordinator for each 40 bargaining unit workers. These volunteers collected dues and explained the union to new hires on a regular and systematic basis. After March 1985, dues collection and n e w

memberships improved dramatically. Early in 1985 the union also began to organize external support for its efforts. Through the International, it called a conference o f all U A W aerospace locals, and gained moral and financial

support from them. It also contacted the Steelworkers, who

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represent workers at another L T V subsidiary, L T V Steel, and

informed them of LTV-Vought's behavior; USWA President Lynn Williams issued a strong statement at LTV's May 1985 stockholders’ meeting demanding that Vought go back to the bargaining table in Texas. UAW Local 848 also established communications with UAW Local 5, which represents workers at A M General, another L T V subsidiary, i n South Bend, Indiana.

This external support must have made LTV management nervous because after the May stockholders meeting, they resumed a new set of negotiations. As in-plant activities continued and negotiations dragged on, the union set a June 30 strike deadline to coincide with the expiration of Local 5's contract with A M General. Union research had shown that Vought's Texas plant

and A M General's South Bend facility were the top profit centers in LTV, a company that was losing money in most of its other operations.

By midnight Saturday, June 29, Vought had failed to make an acceptable offer and the union went on strike. Within 5 minutes after the plant was cleared, management came up with a new "final offer’ and three hours later an agreement was reached. Vought got none of the concessions which it had imposed on its workers for 15 months. Conclusion

UAW Region 5's experience shows that in-plant strategies can be an effective weapon against union-busting and concessions contracts. They can work at small plants like Moog and Schwitzer,

and at large ones like Bell and Vought. And as the cement workers have shown, they can be an effective tool in fighting multi-plant, multi-company efforts at whipsawing industry standards and dividing union workers. In-plant strategies provide a n alternative t o striking, not a

substitute. UAW Local 848 culminated its 15-month struggle with a strike. The Boilermakers’ cement lodges have made selective use

of unfair labor practice strikes. And the Bell locals took advantage of management's ill-considered lockout. Like a pitcher adding a change-up to his fast ball and curve, the addition of this strategy to labor's arsenal will strengthen the strike as labor's ultimate weapon. In-plant strategies allow unions to choose when and how they will employ that weapon, and to avoid being trapped between striking under adverse circumstances o r accepting a bad contract. Equally important, in-plant strategies build stronger local unions b y expanding leadership and increasing membership participation. They b u i l d the unity, solidarity and discipline w h i c h are all too

Running the Plant Backwards

43

often absent from unions that haven't been on strike in decades. Workers at Vought had not been on strike for 31 years, for example, and in March 1984 union leaders were not sure they could sustain one. After 15 months of in-plant struggle, however, neither the union nor the company had any doubts. American labor is o n the r u n . There should be n o doubt of that.

But those, like Business Week, who think unions are going the way of the dinosaurs should take a look at what's happening in the Boilermakers’ cement lodges and in UAW Region 5. Union leaders and workers there are forging a weapon that can help p u t

labor back on the offensive. Bl

Solidarity

NOTE: Detailed accounts of these situations have been published in Solidarity, the monthly magazine of the International UAW—June 1982, December 1983 and August 1985. For copies write Solidarity, UAW, 8000 E. Jefferson, Detroit, M I 48214.

UAW Locals 848, 218 and 317 rally outside Vought plant.

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Economic Conversion:

Conversion

& the Labor Movement m [Lance Compa

There is nothing mysterious about economic conversion. Broadly speaking, it is the transformation of a manufacturing process making a certain end product to another activity leading to a different end product, but using the same human and material

resources involved in the earlier process. Corporations undertake economic conversion all the time. The

American Standard Corp. changed one of its bathtub manufacturing plants i n Macon, Georgia, into a n electronics operation producing wire harnesses for rapid transit signaling

systems. There was a two-year hiatus between the end of the porcelain operation and the start-up of wiring production, but the

company rehired many of the former bathtub plant workers. Likewise, a Fremont, California, General Motors plant has

converted from mid-size American car production to joint production with Toyota of a new subcompact model, using the same plant and many o f the same employees.

In recent years the concept of economic conversion has taken o n a more specialized meaning among political activists, trade unionists, disarmament organizers, economists and others Lance Compa i s o n t h e staff o f t h e U n i t e d Electrical, Radio & Machine Workers

of America (UE).

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ECONOMIC CONVERSION

concerned with the direction of U.S. employment policy and foreign policy. Here, economic conversion is seen as a strategy to solve a linchpin problem for advocates of cuts in military spending and of a move away from an interventionist foreign policy: what to do about the many jobs that would be eliminated by such a radical shift in government policies. Conversion planning to move from military to non-military production can tear down the barrier—{fear of job loss—that blocks broad rank-and-file support for disarmament initiatives and a non-interventionist policy in Central America and elsewhere. I n removing the barrier, conversion planning can unite two mass movements with the capacity to transform American political,

economic and social life: the labor movement and the peace movement.

Conversion activists still cannot claim any special insight even with this more pointed definition of conversion. Just as in the commonplace cases of companies that shift from production of widgets to production of thingamajigs in the same facility with the same workforce, there are examples of companies shifting from military to civilian goods manufacture. I n the 1940s and 50s the huge General Electric plant i n Erie,

Pennsylvania, was G.E's center for large appliance manufacturing—refrigerators, ranges and other kitchen units. When G.E. opened its Appliance Park complex in Louisville, Kentucky, all appliance work left Erie. The Erie Works then moved to production of the Polaris missile and other weapons systems, which carried the plant through the 1950s. As those miltary contracts were phased out, G.E. expanded its production of diesel locomotives i n Erie, where i t is n o w the largest U.S. maker o f that product. Thousands o f workers remained o n the j o b throughout this process of civilian-to-military-to-civilian conversion. W h e n Pentagon contracts dried u p after the Vietnam War,

Boeing Corp.'s Vertol Division, a maker of helicopters based south of Philadelphia, sought to convert to the manufacture of rapid transit cars. The experiment failed due to design and engineering flaws—perhaps a generic problem for military contractors—but

at least the experiment showed management's awareness that opportunities outside the military sector could be pursued. Perhaps the purest example of economic conversion from military to civilian production occurred i n a small N e w Jersey plastics plant. This plant produced body bags to transport the corpses of dead Vietnamese and American soldiers. I t operated at full capacity through the late 1960s and early 70s. With the end

of U.S. intervention, workers there faced heavy layoffs. Instead,

Conversion & L a b o r Movement

4'7

the company converted t o a different line o f synthetic fabric

products: condoms and diaphragms for contraceptive uses. Conversion was such a success that the company hired new workers and added a night shift to meet the demand for new products that unarguably satisfy human needs. Need for Labor Involvement

I n these cases a company's move t o alternative use was motivated b y its o w n desires to remain a profitable enterprise.

Unfortunately, such shifts are haphazard exceptions to the usual course of events. More common are the shutdowns and heavy layoffs that usually result from cancelled military contracts or a company's move to abandon a product line. Conservative economists would object that the process is not haphazard at all; it i s guided b y market principles. I f a company

sees an opportunity to meet profit objectives, it will convert facilities to alternative use on its own initiative. If the profit potential is not there, no amount of conversion planning or mobilization of workers and community allies in support of alternative use proposals can make conversion happen. This conversion-will-take-care-of-itself argument credits management with foresight, skills and powers of analysis that all

too many workers have learned, to their misfortune, are sorely lacking. Studies by Seymour Melman and Lloyd Dumas have shown that managers, designers and engineers in the military sector are so conditioned to cost-plus contracts and exotic performance demands that they are unable to adjust to more competitive frameworks and the need for design simplicity i n civilian-oriented production. This i s true even though other

objective conditions such as employee skills, plant facilities, modern equipment, new technology and raw engineering talent would permit successful conversion to alternative use. Indeed, many critics from management's own ranks argue that shortsighted policies—such as milking facilities for short-term profits without reinvesting for long-term growth and the compulsion to grow by merger and acquisition instead of building their core business—have more to do with competitive failures than the dictates of the market. While giving management too much credit, the notion that economic conversion will happen of its o w n accord sells short the

insights and planning capabilities of workers, unions and community supporters. Employees’ experience provides a rich store of ideas for new product lines and new production methods. Union researchers and pro-union marketing, engineering and

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business planning advisors are able to spot opportunities that may not be apparent to some employers, particularly small or single-product companies. Community allies can bring up local needs—a hazardous waste site that needs cleaning, a hospital that requires new equipment, low cost housing or classroom shortages that could be cured by modular construction—that can serve as a basis for start-up production o f alternative products that could

then succeed in wider markets. Some peace activists w h o consider themselves hard-headed

realists develop another argument against conversion. The argument goes like this: dislocation in the form of plant closings, product line transfers and other wrenching changes that lead to job losses goes on all the time in a dynamic, evolving economy. Millions of industrial workers have lost their jobs in recent years in steel, auto and other basic industries. We need a national policy for retraining and re-employing affected workers, but we do not need to expend precious political capital in creating special arrangements for defense workers (who tend to be higher-paid, conservative white males anyway). Let's put our efforts into changing U.S. foreign and military policy and cutting military spending and weapons systems, and let the chips fall where they may—they're preferable to the bombs. For all their claim to be practical, these arguments overlook several realities. U.S. corporations are not indifferent to what they produce. The military sector is different; companies would not just as soon manufacture commercial goods as weapons. Superprofits are derived from Pentagon contracts, so employers bring their own considerable political clout to bear on stopping changes in foreign policy or cuts in military spending. U.S. foreign policy props up right-wing dictatorships abroad that provide havens for runaway shops for many o f the same large firms’

commercial divisions. Corporations can ride out boom-and-bust cycles i n defense work; it i s workers and communities that suffer

the consequences. Finally, precisely because we do not have full employment policies, adequate income maintenence programs and

comprehensive retraining efforts for dislocated workers, conversion can be raised as a job-protecting measure for all workers faced with plant closings and runaways, not just defense workers. The importance of economic conversion as a rallying movement

for trade unionists and peace activists lies in the political conversion it implies: the transformation of workers and their

communities from passive, mute victims of employer decisions to active, shaping creators of new purposes for their skills and

49

Steve Askin/National Catholic Reporter

Conversion & Labor Movement

U E Local plant i n Charleston, South Carolina. Carnell Gather, a t end o f table, is

1202 president.

resources. Turning labor and community allies into actors rather than re-actors can boost political involvement into a countervailing force against employer influence and the efforts of a wellorganized, well-financed right-wing lobby to accelerate the arms race. The movement for economic conversion also has a basic educational thrust, pushing unions and their members to see the connections between high military spending and long-term damage to the economy and to the labor movement.

European Experience

The European conversion experience is about a decade ahead of our own. Advanced conversion initiatives have been underway since the 1970s in Britain, Sweden, Italy, West Germany and other countries. I n Landskrona, Sweden, a shipyard slated for shutdown

was converted into a number of smaller enterprises, many of them producing maritime-related equipment such as oil spill cleanup rigs and industrial fishing systems. The move saved nearly all 2,300 jobs due to be eliminated. The Metalworkers union in West Germany has engaged the help of pro-labor economists, engineers and other consultants to fashion

conversion programs for affiliates faced with cutbacks in military production. Italian metalworkers have made conversion planning a bargaining demand in negotiations with major arms makers.

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ECONOMIC CONVERSION

The long struggle of British workers at Lucas Aerospace, a producer of military aircraft equipment, is probably the richest in lessons for conversion activists, both for its successes and its failures. Moved by signs of impending layoffs in the mid 1970s, a committee of Lucas shop stewards surveyed their co-workers for an inventory of skills and equipment and for ideas for new products. They came up with a list of some 150 products in six major areas: medical equipment, alternative energy systems,

transport equipment, braking mechanisms, oceanic gear and remote control systems. Entitled the "Corporate Plan,’ the Lucas workers’ conversion proposal was presented to company management and to the Labor Party government then in power in 1977. With government funding, prototypes of some of the product ideas were manufactured at Lucas divisions. Mobilization in support of the demands created enough pressure on the company and the government to reverse one major plant closing and to hold off other planned layoffs. Perhaps most important, the Lucas movement spurred local government units—notably the Greater London Council, an activist-led municipal government for the London metropolitan area—to set u p publicly-funded conversion

projects to promote alternative use planning at the local level. The intransigence of Lucas management, combined with the demise of the Labor government and the coming of Thatcherism at the end of the 1970s, blunted the Lucas conversion drive. Big boosts in military spending removed the threat of heavy layoffs before the company accepted any part of the Corporate Plan. Harsh anti-union policies put the labor movement on the defensive, and n e w initiatives moved to the bottom of unions’

priority list. Unfortunately, the Labor government's half-hearted reform policies played to management concerns about maintaining "investor confidence’ in the British economy, and never provided

a credible backing for the Lucas stewards’ Corporate Plan. National union leaders were, at best, ambivalent about the Lucas

conversion effort—seen by many as a threatening rump movement that bypassed established union channels. I n recent years U.S. workers and their unions are also beginning t o move o n conversion issues. A worker and community-based effort called the South Shore Conversion Project has offered alternative use proposals for General Dynamics’ Quincy, Massachusetts, shipyard, seeking t o stabilize the boom-and-bust cycle o f the ship construction industry. A n O i l , Chemical and Atomic Workers local in Portsmouth, Ohio, has formed an Atomic Reclamation Project t o develop n e w uses for a nuclear fuel

Conversion & Labor Movement

51

processing plant due to be phased out of operation. At a McDonnell-Douglas plant in Long Beach, California, the UAW local and advisors from the Center for Economic Conversion cracked the customary stone wall of management resistance to conversion talks. They held serious discussions with plant officials on development of new transportation products and alternative energy systems to take up anticipated production slack as contracts for military aircraft began to wind down. Though local management appeared receptive to the union's ideas, alternative use proposals were killed by top corporate officials in St. Louis. As i n the Lucas experience when the Thatcher government came

to power, new Pentagon contracts under the Reagan administration's military spending spree weakened rank-and-file resoive to pursue conversion planning. Sadly, the prospect of a year or two's steady work obscures the long-range damage to job security and the economy being caused by the Reagan military buildup. U E Local 1202

Another important conversion project has taken place in a non-military setting at General Electric's Charleston, South Carolina, steam turbine plant. In June 1984, GE announced plans to close the plant one year later. Declining orders for steam turbine generators left the company with overcapacity and a need to consolidate steam turbine production at its Schenectady, New York plant. The Charleston facility was built in 1968 at a time of rapidly growing demand for n e w electric power generating stations; it was

outfitted with millions of dollars of modern machining equipment. I n June 1984, 450 employees remained in the plant, down from

a high of 1200 in the mid 1970s. Hourly workers at the GE Charleston plant were represented by Local 1202 of the United Electrical, Radio and Machine Workers of America (UE). Union activists there began organizing soon after the plant opened. They lost two union elections before prevailing b y just three votes in a 1975 election, one of the decade's most significant union breakthroughs in the South. I t was the only major G E manufacturing plant organized b y any union in the 1970s.

The GE plant closing announcement was issued only days before an international economic conversion conference in Boston attended b y hundreds of trade unionists, peace activists, community organizers, sympathtic academics and others, many

of them from Europe who had been directly involved in the

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ECONOMIC CONVERSION

initiatives discussed earlier. Prompted by accounts of European conversion drives, UE officers asked the leaders of Local 1202 if they would try an economic conversion effort in response to GE's shutdown announcement. Bill Niven, a conversion specialist with the Greater London Council i n the U.S. for the Boston conference, flew to

Charleston to meet with Local 1202 and help outline a conversion plan for the union. Niven and the local union leadership drew up a survey form for distribution among the UE membership and among non-union engineers and managers. The survey asked GE workers for summaries of their skills and experience, and for their ideas on alternative use for the plant. Preliminary survey results included ideas far alternative power generating systems such as cogeneration and hydropower; scrubbers and specialized boilers for acid rain prevention; prefabricated bridge and tunnel sections for highway, rail and mass transit construction; modular systems for factories in outer space; laser tool systems; and, i n what i s known as ‘reverse conversion,’ weapons systems such as naval gunnery units o r rocket stages. U E Local 1202 formed a n Alternative Use Committee of six

officers and stewards to sift through the new product ideas and come up with a viable conversion proposal. Three goals guided the committee's work. First, t o the extent possible, alternative

production should involve the same large scale metal fabricating and precision machining operations as steam turbine production, to ensure the preservation of existing workforce skills and jobs. Second, the alternative use should stay as close as possible to the electrical power industry that the plant was already involved with, or other GE product lines. This would preserve the collective bargaining relationship a n d the integrity o f the collective

bargaining agreement, as well as take advantage of GE's substantial resources and ability to move to alternative product areas. Finally, an alternative use proposal should focus on products with long-term growth potential, not those of a boom-or-bust market that could leave workers facing the same shutdown threat

a few years down the road. UE Local 1202's Alternative Use Committee narrowed the union's economic conversion proposal t o two basic product areas: alternative energy systems (cogeneration units, municipal solid waste generating plants, renewable energy sources such as hydro, solar and geothermal power generation) and environmental

protection equipment (acid rain scrubbers, fluidized gas combustion systems, specialized tanks and containers for

53

LE News

Conversion & L a b o r Movement

GE-Charleston workers rally during 1975 organizing drive, one o f the

decade's significant union breakthroughs in the South.

hazardous waste storage, transfer and cleanup). Instead of choosing one particular product line, the UE plan called for creation of an Alternative Energy and Environmental Systems Center. With four different plant buildings on the site, of different dimensions and capable of handling metalworking production of varying size and complexity, the union urged a multipurpose manufacturing center that could shift its product mix depending on changes in market demand. The local union presented its alternative use proposal t o GE's

Charleston plant management in September, 1984, getting a polite

but noncommittal reception. Besides confronting GE, the UE group reached out to other trade unionists, t o local, state and

federal political officials, to area clergy and community leaders

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ECONOMIC CONVERSION

for support. The South Carolina State Development Board, whose purpose in normal times is to lure industry to the state with promises of an anti-union climate, responded favorably to the UE initiative and adopted the union's alternative use plan as its own focus in seeking a new employer to take over the plant. The governor of South Carolina voiced support for the union's proposal and assigned staff to monitor developments. South C a r o l i n a Senator S t r o m T h u r m o n d , a n extreme rightist

Republican, vied with conservative Democrat Ernest Hollings for prominence in backing the conversion effort. Reverend Jesse Jackson, campaigning for the Democratic presidential nomination at the time, led a labor-community rally in support o f the alternative use plan and met with GE chairman John Welch to appeal for a positive response to the union's proposals. The Catholic bishop of Charleston, Rev. Ernest L . Unterkoefler,

declared the GE workers’ conversion campaign a model of approaches urged in the newly-released bishops’ draft pastoral letter on the U.S. economy. Bishop Unterkoefler and other South Carolina clergy, in an impressive display of ecumenical and multiracial unity, sponsored a community forum o n the alternative

use plan, an event that drew wide participation and support in the Charleston area. GE officials declined the Bishop's invitation to appear at the community forum. The company was clearly in a hunkered-down mode, saying publicly only that the union's alternative use plan did not "fit in" with GE's own business strategies. By early 1985 it became clear that the company did not intend to convert the plant. The union then asked GE and the State Development Board to singly or jointly fund a more detailed feasibility study to make the conversion plan attractive to another employer w h o could take over the plant. G E refused, and the Development Board said its

budget did not permit such funding. State officials did offer seed money from a special governor's account for a multi-party study,

but matching funds did not materialize. I n May 1985, GE closed the Charleston plant. By then only a skeleton crew of maintenance workers remained. Despite the closing, U E Local 1202 held a special membership meeting and

a press conference to declare that its economic conversion efforts were not ending. Attempts to find a new employer to adopt the alternative u s e plan would continue, said local union leaders, a n d

any move b y the State Development Board to market the facility must reckon with the union's determination t o see its members’ jobs restored.

Conversion & L a b o r Movement

55

Lessons

The activities and experience of UE's alternative use drive at the Charleston GE plant contain several lessons for conversion activists. The Charleston effort showed the applicability of conversion principles to a non-military setting, widening the scope

of workers and unions that can become active in the conversion movement. The UE conversion drive transformed the sentiment of local union leadership and membership from one of passive resignation when the company first announced the plant closing to an active, organizing, self-educating attitude throughout their push to save the plant. The mostly black leadership of the UE Charleston local and the makeup of the Alternative Use Committee, reflecting the majority

black workforce, demonstrated the importance of conversion planning for minority workers and the potential for minority leadership i n the conversion movement. The local union leadership and Alternative Use Committee included white U E members

as well, displaying the unity that always characterized the Charleston local, which has always had a mix of black and white officers. The UE conversion effort also helped mobilize and educate other forces i n

South Carolina—unions, churches, c o m m u n i t y

organizations, political figures and others—on the job-saving potential of economic conversion. I n a difficult climate for

progressive movements generally, the UE drive accomplished more in a year to move politics foreward in the state than had been done i n a decade. To the extent widespread media coverage spread the Charleston story, the conversion message reached allies around the country, sparking a n e w interest i n conversion.

The problems faced by UE Charleston members must also be analyzed. In contrast to the Lucas example, where design and engineering workers were largely organized and able to contribute to the Corporate Plan, GE salaried and engineering personnel are non-union, tend to b e management-minded and—with some

exceptions—are not inclined to cooperate with hourly workers. Charleston GE workers went as far as possible on their own resources; future conversion campaigns will have to find n e w ways

to involve professional and technical employees and secure top-notch design, engineering, marketing and planning advice. Another problem for the UE conversion leaders in Charleston was the dominant anti-union culture of South Carolina. State officials and State Development Board staffers were always courteous and responsive, but the union leaders who met with

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them always had the nagging feeling that they were reluctant to go all-out for the union's plan. After all, South Carolina seeks to attract new industry by touting its right-to-work law and low rate of unionization. Even when firms can be persuaded to pursue conversion possibilities, they still have to overcome what business analysts call "barriers to entry’—the obstacles to a company's moving into a new product line. Alternative production of socially useful goods is a glowing ideal, but for the foreseeable future conversion victories, if we are to have any, must come in a capitalist economy where profitability will still be decisive. I f a particular product line is economically feasible, other companies are likely already involved in that product or at least have a head start in moving toward it. Capital requirements, economies of scale, marketing and distribution networks, research and development capability, existing competitive conditions, brand name recognition, brand

loyalty, switching costs (the costs incurred by potential customers in switching to a new supplier)—all these factors must be considered in deciding whether to move into a new product line. Conversion proposals can pinpoint a product with promising

growth potential, but other companies might well have impossible-to-overcome advantages in responding to new demand for such products.

The same considerations ruled out pursuit of an employee buyout to prevent the GE Charleston plant closing, an option suggested at one time or another by nearly everyone who became involved in the project. There was no way 450 employees could take over a $35 million plant and compete against General Electric, Westinghouse, Siemens, Phillips, Matsushita, Hitachi and other multinational giants already producing alternative energy and environmental systems.

A further lesson GE Charleston workers have drawn from their effort is that waiting until after a plant closing announcement to try to launch a conversion campaign is probably too late. Once a company makes a plant closing decision, it is not inclined to admit that its workers came up with a plan for saving the plant that the company was unable to see. It is not just a matter of immediate embarrassment. A conversion-based reversal of a plant closing decision raises wider questions: W h o needs management? W h o should run the economy? What i s production for?

In Charleston, even the one year’s advance notice of closing left the union little effective time to turn around a company like GE that thoroughly plans and implements a major closing decision. Unions must instead integrate conversion planning into their

Conversion & L a b o r Movement

57

collective bargaining programs. To draw management into the process, every set o f negotiations, even i n a thriving business,

should include discussions of alternative use. Perhaps the most important lesson in the Charleston experience is that conversion is primarily a political struggle, not an exercise in technical expertise. General Electric had all the expertise needed t o refine and apply the union's alternative use proposals, but even

under enormous pressure the company was not moved. The UE group in Charleston found that the role of government and the need for legislation is paramount. I n a more favorable political climate, with a stronger, growing labor movement and a sympathetic national and state government administration, the U E

local might have brought enough pressure to bear on GE to swing the conversion plan. At the urging of UE Local 1202, South Carolina state senator Herbert Fielding introduced legislation to avert plant closings i n South Carolina by requiring alternative use planning. Under the Fielding bill, South Carolina employers contemplating a plant closing would first have to undertake an "economic feasibility study" of alternative product lines that would preserve the existing workforce. Employers unable to carry out such a study on their own would be assisted by the State Development Board, working with management and employee representatives to devise what the Fielding bill calls "an economic conversion program of alternative use that would, if implemented, maintain employment at the affected facility!’ The UE Alternative Use Committee in Charleston is lobbying the state legislature on the bill. T h e U E leadership i s continuing t o monitor efforts b y the State

Development Board to bring a new employer into the plant. The union still believes that the Alternative Use plan can restore production at the plant and bring back the lost jobs. A fortunate t u r n o f events m a y yet bring a conversion victory i n Charleston. I t would b e a tremendous boost for conversion advocates, b u t i t

would remain a special case without addressing the need for strong programmatic action b y local, state and federal government bodies. Only government has the resources t o d o the necessary studies, a n overview to determine what is socially useful production, a n d the leverage to compel companies to accept conversion plans. The j o b o f the conversion movement, therefore—workers, unions a n d allies i n peace and civil rights and community organizations—is

to mount a political struggle that will advance government action o n conversion.

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Economic Conversion:

Converting Tanks i n Indiana ®

Greg LeRoy & Lynn Feekin

Since the summer of 1984, the Calumet Project for Industrial Jobs has been involved in a public campaign to save the Blaw-Knox plant in the Calumet steel region of Northwest Indiana. The process of organizing the campaign for conversion of the plant has been both difficult and challenging. There is precious little American experience to draw o n for such a n effort, and when the

campaign, to its credit, attracted support from a broad range of concerned parties, it was hard to keep labor and community interests in the forefront. Based o n o u r trials and errors, w e would like t o offer some

practical insights for the benefit of others who m a y become involved in similar campaigns. We highly recommend union and community involvement i n such efforts. I f working people and community groups are to gain power in saving manufacturing jobs and developing this country’s future industrial policy w e need

*Greg LeRoy is research director o f the Midwest Center for Labor Research (MCLR).

Lynn Feekin is director of the Calumet Project for Industrial Jobs. The Calumet Project is a joint effort ofMCLR and the United Citizens Organization (UCO), which is a community group made u p o f churches a n d unions in East Chicago, Indiana.

The Project has been active in the steel and railcar industries, and has initiated a union-based Early WarningNetwork against plant closings in the Calumet region.

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ECONOMIC CONVERSION

to seize every opportunity for involving ourselves in local economic development decision-making. Generating a Conversion Feasibility Study Blaw-Knox Foundry & Mill Machinery Company in East Chicago, Indiana, makes the largest steel castings in the United States. Traditionally one of the country’s few builders of steel mills, the plant also makes vital parts for ships, pipelines, railcars and mining equipment. With over 200 machinists i n the 1970s, it was

one of the largest machine shops in the Midwest. Blaw-Knox was bought in 1968 by White Consolidated Industries, a diversified machinery and appliance conglomerate based i n Cleveland. Through the 1970s and early 1980s, White

diverted much of the profit from Blaw-Knox and other machinery subsidiaries into its high-growth home appliances division. As the demand for steel mills declined, White put all its East Chicago eggs in the Pentagon's basket by tooling up to supply General Dynamics with the armor hulls and turrets for the M-60 military tank. Despite the fact that the Pentagon committed the Army to the new M-1 tank in 1976 and began taking delivery of the new model i n 1980, White kept the East Chicago plant producing the

M-60, relying on foreign orders. At times, the company used the uncertainty of new foreign orders for the M-60 to gain leverage for concessions, but United Steelworkers Local 1026 resisted

givebacks, even during the Basic Steel contract concessions of 1982. Monitoring metal-working trade journals, in Spring 1984 the Calumet Project found that White Consolidated had just announced a new corporate strategy, setting a hurdle rate for profits which none of its heavy machinery divisions could hope t o meet. We immediately alerted Local 1026. Blaw-Knox was for

sale, and the only order then on the books would not carry work past the end of the year. Throughout the summer of 1984, Local 1026 and the Calumet Project sought to find out the plant's prospects; inquiries were made to the Pentagon about future orders, contact was made with t h e U A W a t G e n e r a l D y n a m i c s , a n d White's past investment

strategies and labor practices were researched. White publicly denied that Blaw-Knox was for sale. I n retrospect, the company was doing what the manuals advise when a plant is i n trouble: deny it as long as you can so you don't lose your workforce and

disrupt production. Employment, which only seven years ago was over 2,200, had dropped to 1,200 by January 1984 and by the end of that year was less than 600.

61

Gary Post-Tribune

Converting Tanks

Skeptical steelworkers listen as Arthur D. Little consultant (standing, left) answers charges that the union was being ignored in Little's feasibility study.

Local 1026 President Buck Martin and other executive board members responded cautiously to the news of White's changing strategy, not wanting to alarm their members unless they were sure the trouble was real. It took another jolt to move them to action; i n September 1984 White announced the machine shop would b e closed, claiming that department was unprofitable.

Board members were bitter, alleging that the company had been turning away work for that department; that young, inexperienced

supervisors had alienated the shop's skilled workers; and that White had failed to reinvest in new machinery or adequate maintenance. The union responded quickly, sending out a letter t o local, regional, state and federal officials, detailing the plant's conditions,

the lack of new orders, and White's new corporate strategy. It called for a meeting to plan against a shutdown. The union formed a n internal committee to defend its interests. Under pressure from

the union's charges, White finally announced in October that Blaw-Knox was for sale. The union's letter defined the task at hand: since White had no plans for future production at the plant, a feasibility study was needed to determine what alternative products the plant could

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be converted to make. I n a hectic round of fall meetings, chaired by Steelworkers District 31 Director Jack Parton, the union pulled together a coalition to back such a feasibility study. The coalition included the Development Director of East Chicago, the United Citizens Organization (UCO), representatives from the Congressman and U.S. Senators, the State of Indiana Department of Commerce, the Blaw-Knox plant manager, the regional planning commission, and the local dislocated workers program. A subcommittee made up of the union, UCO, the city, the planning commission and the plant manager was formed to raise funds and draft a Request for Proposals. By Christmas, more than $50,000 had been committed by the state, the city, the company, the local union, the international union, a veteran's lodge, UCO, and the

local economic development commission. Five bids were received and reviewed in January, and a contract was signed between the city and the consulting firm of Arthur D. Little and Company (ADL) in March 1985. The consultants met with various groups to gather information during April and May, and delivered their report in early July. With this basic chronology of the Blaw-Knox feasibility study process, we would like to examine the strengths and weaknesses of the campaign and offer some suggestions for other unions or community groups w h o m a y find themselves in a similar situation.

The Union Must Be Organized First A union "Save Our Jobs” Committee is essential to any conversion effort. The committee at Local 1026 was a vital source of news about the plant's condition, a sounding board and catalyst for ideas and strategies, a voice for the rank and file from the various departments and a vocal ally for the union leadership to b e more aggressive i n both private and public meetings. The committee within Local 1026 was active, but i n retrospect, i t was too small. W h e n w e tried to d o a survey o f workers i n the plant to get their ideas o n alternate uses and products, the response

was poor, partly because no grievers or rank and file had been part of the process of initiating the poll or developing the questionnaire. The "Save O u r Jobs" Committee played a very important role,

however. The presence of members at meetings of the public coalition made a n enormous difference: they were impatient and aggressive, they demanded action for the money the u n i o n had

chipped in, and when they criticized the plant manager's performance to his face, they made it clear the union was not going t o be passive about the process.

Converting Tanks

63

Beware t h e B i d d i n g Process

Developing a Request for Proposals (RFP) and the solicitation and awarding of bids for a community-initiated feasibility study is a delicate process which requires careful attention. It's that critical first step when things get put down in writing that can backfire later if adequate safeguards for labor and community interests are not built in. The scope of services and the way those services will be provided are the crucial points. Since there are only a few labor/community-oriented consulting firms, it's smart to assume that the bid will likely go to a mainstream business consulting firm with no experience working for a grass-roots constituency. That means written protections

should be built into the RFP. We suggest the following safeguards: —A specified role for the union in the research process, including regularly scheduled meetings between the consultants and the union's executive board or the Save Our Jobs Committee, and public meetings with the membership during and at the end of the study. —Guaranteed equal access to all corporate information used by the consultants as a basis for their recommendations. —Guaranteed full participation rights in any meetings with development officials or others involved in the process. —Inclusion of a social cost analysis on the impact of the job loss. —A requirement that reinvestment i n the plant (or lack o f it)

be documented, including an inventory of equipment and machinery which includes ages, and a n itemization, including

value, of all improvements made in the plant over the past ten years. (The ADL report on Blaw-Knox unwittingly supported the union's charge that the plant had been “milked,” when it showed that most of the machinery was so old it had only scrap value.) —A proviso that i f labor costs are t o become a n issue i n the study, management competence and past performance m u s t also

be scrutinized. Interviews with union-designated workers should be a primary source of information. (It was particularly frustrating during the A D L study that wage rates were considered fair game for review, but when union members asked the consultants to look

into major management errors, the ADL staff shrugged their shoulders and said "That's the past, we're just trying to determine what can b e done in the future!’ Never mind that current wages and benefits reflect past good faith bargaining, o r that past management practices affect future prospects.) Labor and community groups should try t o exercise as m u c h

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control as possible over who gets the job. One possible method is to dominate the funding. When that is not possible, the next best move is to solicit as many friendly bidders as possible to increase the odds. While the sub-committee drafted the RFP, w e

contacted three firms with labor/community experience and encouraged them to bid. Unfortunately, only one was able to respond. That really narrowed our chances and gave us little room to maneuver in advocating for a friendly bid. When the bids came in, the Project scrambled to investigate the four mainstream business consulting firms. Thanks to research by Indiana University-Fort Wayne Professor Mark Crouch, we were able to alert some committee members about one o f the bidders,

the Fantus Corporation. Fantus contributes in a big way to the hypermobility of manufacturing capital, by playing both sides of the fence (working for both cities and corporations) in the regional rotation game of industry relocation. Fantus also has an anti-union history. It was difficult gaining access to information about the other consultants’ past relations with unions and communities, and despite fairly extensive checking, we really had no luck in determining if the other three firms had skeletons in their closets.

Committee Structures Influence Knowledge and Power Bringing in so many diverse people and organizations to the feasibility study process was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, the Blaw-Knox effort brought many people to work together who in the past had not cooperated. It also insured very high visibility for the efforts to save the plant, and provided necessary connections and ‘peer pressure’ to raise money for the study. But opening up the process also made it difficult for the local union to maintain control of its own fate. This was especially true when the working subcommittee was formed; it was chaired not b y the

union, but by the business director for the regional planning commission. Even when the whole committee met to hear of the subcommittee’s progress, the power of greatest knowledge was with the planning commission business director, rather than the union. Steelworkers District Director Parton chaired the larger committee, but h e was not close enough t o the tasks at hand to

dominate the proceedings. The Steelworkers staff representative was skeptical of the whole process and never became active. The fact that the USWA International contributed only 10 percent of the funding for the study also possibly diluted its power. The presence o f the plant manager o n the committee was also

a source of tension. O n the one hand, it apparently indicated that White/Blaw-Knox wanted to cooperate in the effort. Still, he came

Converting Tanks

65

from the company which had milked the facility. He claimed he was there not as a representative of White, but rather as an interested party, and he once said he was considering buying the plant himself. The development officials, whose work circles are dominated by business people, saw no conflict in his participation, and routinely deferred to him for information about the plant. This roused the ire o f some unionists, w h o had specific complaints of

mismanagement against the plant manager. Some worried he might seek to cover up his past mistakes by interfering with the feasibility study process. Public Meetings For Education and Coalition-Building The Calumet Project and Local 1026 organized two public meetings on Blaw-Knox, one in December when the study was commissioned and another in May, halfway through the study. The meetings were an attempt to open up the process to both workers and community residents, to help build public support for the effort, and to demystify a process which usually takes place behind closed corporate doors. The first meeting, in early December 1984, drew more than 200 people, including more than half the first shift. After various

officials explained that a study was being sought, workers spoke out: some were angry at White Consolidated; others were scared about losing their jobs. Several criticized the company for denying the plant was in trouble; others argued the plant would surely get new orders. (In fact, a new order from Taiwan was confirmed a few weeks later, keeping the foundry alive until July, 1985). There was an uneasy consensus that the union's new allies were probably doing the right thing, but the idea of a publicly initiated feasibility study was new. Many workers were skeptical, and many continued to deny the plant was in serious danger of closing. The second meeting, in early May 1985, was called to allow the consultants from Arthur D. Little (ADL) to report on their preliminary findings and to allow union members to give input. After a brief presentation in which the ADL men confirmed that the future market for the M-60 was sporadic at best, workers moved to complain about ADL's neglect of the union. "We asked twice that you come out and talk to workers in the plant,’ yelled a union trustee. "To me, it's a one-sided approach.’ Several workers also said that they expected the report to blame the plant's troubles o n high wages and that they refused to discuss large concessions.

Numerous examples of mismanagement were cited. One veteran worker waved his arms fervently, saying, "We've seen everything

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that can b e cast come out o f this plant, from belt buckles to fence

posts to steel mills. We can make anything in there if you'll get management out of the way.” With the union so emphatic about wanting to be involved in the feasibility study, the consultants agreed. For the remaining month of their research, ADL sought out unionists’ expertise. Union board members, rather than foremen, gave the consultants

tours of the machine shop and the roll shop. Learning the Ropes From Community Groups

Compared to most community groups, the average union local’s leadership knows very little about their city's economic development process. This is a result of the traditional estrangement between the development community and the labor movement. When East Chicago's business development director heard that Blaw-Knox was in trouble, she was surprised; the plant stands two blocks from h e r office. But then, she had never asked

the union. Because most community groups have extensive experience working on development issues (based on work around housing, public improvements and jobs), they can provide a bridge for unions to quickly gain an effective voice with development officials. The fact that UCO was at the union's side from the beginning undoubtedly made the city officials more attentive, since UCO has effectively organized on housing, unemployment and school issues for the past four years. With their experience, UCO leaders and staff were the union's most adept allies in both committee and public meetings.

Social Cost Analysis: A Key Research Tool

Social cost analysis is the best way to.dramatize how the community has material links to the plant and the union. UCO leaders were alarmed when the ripple effects of losing 800 jobs at Blaw-Knox were spelled out to them: 534 additional jobs, $30.9 million annually in lost personal income, $12 million in lost tax revenues, and $7.8 million i n higher government payments for

the unemployed. Plus, Blaw-Knox was delinquent in its property and real estate taxes; in 1984, it owed the City of East Chicago over $621,000 i n back taxes needed for school, police, fire and

sanitation services (despite making steady profits estimated between 22 and 29 percent). These figures were only used privately by Local 1026 in the first committee meeting, to underscore the urgency o f acting to save

Converting Tanks

67

the jobs. Had the committee members not been so responsive, the union could have made the figures public, in an effort to pressure the officials into action. Such studies usually get very good press coverage. Conversion Means Different Things to Different People Conversion is popularly viewed as the peace movement's way to gain labor support for reduced military spending. For all but a few members o f USWA Local 1026, however, the issue was

always jobs, not peace. The feasibility study was not a conscious question of conversion; it was a matter of reversion, going back to the varied product mix the plant had before White banked on high profitable but precarious military work. Early on, the Calumet Project sought information on other union campaigns to convert military facilities, much of which is from a disarmament perspective. Materials were gathered on the Lucas Aerospace stewards program in England and the United Electrical Workers campaign in Charleston. We consulted the Highlander Center's book on how to research military contractors, and Joel Yudken of the Center for Economic Conversion gave a seminar for local leaders based on his experience with the UAW at McDonnell-Douglas in California. Some workers at the plant actively advocated the military work. Warm-up jackets with a mighty M-60 emblazoned on the back were sported at the public meetings. Others cynically joked about new trouble in the Middle East because the Arab-Israeli conflicts of the 1970s had produced lots of new tank orders.

Toward a Labor/Community Industrial Agenda Any union or community group which becomes involved in a conversion campaign should expect many such tensions as we experienced between the union, company, development and elected officials, and the consultants. Any broad-based effort will necessarily bring together parties with differing self-interests. That's no reason to avoid getting involved, though. The key is to know what you want and to organize to defend your position. If the thinking of local, state and federal development officials is to be influenced toward more creative, pro-labor and pro-community policies, many more of them need to b e invited out o f the city

hall and out of the company board room to get an earful down at the union hall and the church basement. B

AFL-CIO News

§ LUAKT£LERE BLS

P R I N S 3 958 UNION GUSTING |

PLANT CLOSINGS. RURAWAY SHOPS

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UNION BUSTING

In 1983 several unions coordinated their efforts in an effective corporate campaign against Litton Industries, which had been acting as if labor law did n o t exist.

Corporate Campaigns:

Strengths & Limits o f Non-Workplace Strategies m Lawrence Mishel

Corporate campaigns are increasingly used by unions to fight recalcitrant employers, and campaign tactics—like protests at stockholders meetings—are spreading. With the continuing employer assault on established unions and the tremendous difficulties facing workers attempting to organize, a further increase in corporate campaign activity can b e expected. Recently the AFL-CIO endorsed them, recommending that "unions should develop the research and other capabilities needed

to mount an effective corporate campaign, and organizers should be trained in the various types of corporate campaign tactics.’ This follows the example of several of the Federation's departments and a variety of international unions. The Food & Allied Service Trades (FAST) Department and the Industrial U n i o n Department

(IUD) are already assisting affiliates with corporate campaigns. Unions such as the Carpenters, the Steelworkers, the Auto Workers, t h e U n i t e d Food & Commercial Workers, t h e C l o t h i n g

and Textile Workers and the Service Employees have developed internal corporate campaign expertise. eLawrence Mishel is a financial analyst in t h e UAW Research Department. H e gratefully acknowledges the comments of Sharon Simon, Mark Hardesty, Joe Uehlein and Alice Audi-Figueroa.

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CORPORATE CAMPAIGNS

What can be expected from this increased corporate campaign activity is unclear. It is unlikely, as some proponents seem to suggest, that corporate campaigns will prove a winning strategy

in almost every situation and will single-handedly reverse labor's current woes. I t is equally unlikely that corporate campaigns will replace strikes and erode workplace militancy, as some detractors claim. This article discusses the limitations and possibilities of private sector corporate campaign strategies. What can w e expect from

them? For what purposes and in which situations? What's It All About? A corporate campaign is different from traditional strategies in that it puts pressure on management in ways that are external to the workplace. Strikes, slowdowns, working-to-rule are workplace strategies which directly challenge an employer's ability to produce. Boycotts, shareholder actions, pressure on banks and interlocking corporations are tactics which are part of an external strategy. Both strategies, workplace and non-workplace, are likely to be present in any particular conflict. I n fact, corporate campaigns will have limited success unless they are linked to workplace strategies.

The notion behind any corporate campaign is simple. A corporation is an organization which exists to make money, the more the better. Each corporation relies on its own resources and those of other organizations and individuals. A corporate campaign strategy is based o n an assessment of an employer's links to other organizations (banks, interlocking corporations, government, corporate customers) and individuals (customers, shareholders, neighbors, citizens). A corporate campaign systematically uses the resources available to the union—its membership, its ties to other unions, church and community groups, its political clout—to p u t

pressure on the vulnerable links. The basic elements of a corporate campaign are research, the mobilization o f the union's resources,

coalition building and public outreach. The basic thrust is to broaden the conflict from one which is solely between a limited

group of workers and their employer to one which is between a corporation and all levels of government, community groups, its customers, the entire labor movement.

To view a corporation's links is to reveal the many dependencies o n which labor and its allies can exert pressure.

Financing. Firms frequently obtain financing from banks and insurance companies who, in turn, often have representatives o n

Strengths & Limits

71

the firm's board of directors. A company which depends on bank funds needs to maintain its relationship to its bankers. A company which relies on public financing (industrial revenue bonds) needs to keep in good graces with politicians. Those financing an employer can be asked for their support and, if not provided, can be asked to distance themselves from the target employer. Shareholders/Owners. Most public corporations have a limited number of important shareholders who control a large block of their stock. These can b e investment bankers, pension funds,

insurance companies or wealthy individuals or families. Together they may hold from 20 to 75 percent of the stock, though individual pieces may be no more than 2, 5 or 10 percent. There are also large numbers of small shareholders. Both major and minor shareholders are subject to pressure and appeals for support through face-to-face contacts, annual shareholder meetings, shareholder resolutions and running candidates for the board of directors. Companies want to keep current shareholders happy

and attract new ones. Even a private company has shareholders who can be targeted to obtain their support. Customers. Every corporation has customers. They may be a few large corporations, certain sectors of the public or the public at large. Boycott activities can be aimed at selected groups or the public at large. Other pressures can be put on corporate customers. Unions themselves may be significant customers for some companies, such as insurance companies and banks. Corporate Governance & Community. Each corporation has a board of directors, drawn from the officers of other corporations,

and representatives of banks, insurance companies or wealthy families. Corporations may have their own foundations and may have officers who sit on the boards of various community organizations and charities. Most companies have extensive ties to other corporations and to the community, all o f which are

subject to pressure. Public Image. Most corporations are sensitive to their public image, particularly if they need to sell stock, to obtain government contracts or to sell to the public. It is almost always possible to call attention to a variety of corporate misdeeds—discrimination, environmental abuses, safety and health violations, plant closings,

unfair labor practices, excessive corporate compensation. A corporate campaign will place these misdeeds before the public eye.

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CORPORATE CAMPAIGNS

Government. Corporations have many links to government. There are numerous regulations of the workplace (health and safety and anti-discrimination), of the environment (dumping of toxics or air pollution), of particular industries (health care, defense, energy, communications, transportation) and o f

transactions (selling stock, mergers and acquisitions). Each of these can provide pressure points. The government m a y b e a significant

customer of a particular corporation, whether it is buying weapons for the Pentagon or obtaining items such as furniture. State and local governments are increasingly becoming involved in the financing of corporate expansion through the use of industrial revenue bonds. Zoning and other laws affect a corporation at the community level. Thus, there are many connections between the ongoing life of a company and the many levels of government in our society, all of which can be targeted in a campaign.

International Links. Many large corporations have ties to other countries. They may have production facilities abroad, they may sell abroad or they may themselves be owned by a foreign corporation. Particular connections, such as one to South Africa, can become a campaign focus. Companies based in Western European countries can frequently be pressured by trade unions in their "home" country. Various vulnerabilities have been identified and used in prior campaigns. The Litton campaign focused on a debarment bill which would have prevented government purchases from extensive labor law violators such as Litton. The Equitable Life Insurance campaign used a boycott approach which focused on obtaining support from women's groups, since Equitable was focusing its own marketing on women. Beverly Enterprises, the focus of a joint UFCW and SEIU campaign, depends upon licensing of its nursing homes by state regulatory bodies and upon industrial revenue bond financing for expansion; both of these dependencies were threatened by union documentation of the poor quality of health care at Beverly. The J.P. Stevens campaign relied on a boycott but also involved actions to sever the links between the company, two insurance companies and a bank. The

Carpenters’ campaign against Louisiana-Pacific included a boycott targeted against particular products and the solicitation of shareholder votes. Other campaigns have included running candidates for the board of directors, attendance at the targets’ o r related companies’ shareholder meetings, and withdrawal o f

union funds from related banks.

Strengths & Limits

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The first corporate campaign, conceived and coordinated by Ray Rogers, is credit with bringing|J.P. Stevens & Co. to the bargaining table. Here demonstrators from several unions jam Stevens’ New York headquarters in 1978. T h e Record S o Far

Corporate campaigns have been used i n a variety of circumstances and for a variety of purposes, primarily as a weapon against corporate lawlessness and takeaway demands. But, with

the exception of first contracts, external strategies have not been used to gain traditional bargaining demands such as higher wages, benefits or time off, or to break new ground in collective bargaining. One major use has been to aid the unionizing efforts of unorganized workers and the securing of their first contract. This was the case at Equitable Life Insurance, Litton, Beverly Enterprises and J.P. Stevens.

External strategies also can be used to make life uncomfortable for employers w h o have broken a union or have broken away from a n industry-wide pattern, as i n the Louisiana-Pacific and Phelps Dodge campaigns. B y putting pressure o n the "bad apples,’ it m a y

be possible to deter other employers from following their example. Campaigns have also been employed against employer efforts to close a plant or relocate work. Likewise, they have been part of efforts to resist corporate takeaways, such as at Brown and

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Sharpe, Danly Machine and Capital Cities Communications. Sometimes a corporate campaign has been a last ditch effort in a lengthy strike. In all cases, a corporate campaign is useful in maintaining the morale of strikers or of newly organized workers. Have corporate campaigns been successful? There are many problems in evaluating prior experience. One difficulty is that the results are often secret o r hard to interpret. A campaign's success

must be judged against what would have occurred in its absence and against the actual goals of the union, both of which can be hard to determine. Moreover, most campaigns are accompanied by workplace activities, making it difficult to assess an external strategy’s unique contribution. Yet, there have been many situations where corporate campaigns can be said to have been helpful. For instance, it is acknowledged that ACTWU's success in getting a contract at J.P. Stevens was at least partially due to the union's corporate campaign. Likewise, the campaign at Equitable Life Insurance yielded a first contract, as did the IUD's Litton campaign. The Beverly campaign provided the context for an impressive win rate in organizing drives. The UAW was able to secure an agreement from General Dynamics which ended a lengthy strike at Electric Boat. Another indication of success is that a variety of unions have added staff for operating external strategies. Some Implications Corporate campaigns necessarily imply a reliance on other organizations (minority, feminist, ethnic, environmental, religious,

community) and individuals for support in pressuring employers. The union involved will also require support from other unions. This help is necessary for carrying out boycotts, pressuring financial institutions, demonstrating, obtaining votes for

shareholder resolutions and for most tactics associated with corporate campaigns. I n many instances, it will be useful or necessary to obtain the support of politicians and government officials. Consequently, corporate campaign success will depend

on the state of union solidarity, the strength of labor's ties to other organizations, the standing o f labor i n the community and union

political strength. Although successful campaigns are currently possible, further experience with external strategies will lead unions to increase their community and political involvement and t o strengthen union solidarity.

Resources. A successful corporate campaign requires a sustained effort to challenge the many dimensions of a corporation's

Strengths & Limits

15

existence. This, i n turn, requires the commitment o f substantial

amounts of time and money. A considerable amount of research is necessary to identify the particular linkages which are subject to pressure. This will involve accumulating information from SEC documents, Wall Street analysts, newspapers and private sources. It may involve collecting information on a corporation from its workers. Moreover, it is necessary to have an extensive analysis of the company's interlocking directorate, its financing, its current corporate strategy, and the economics of the industries in which it operates. The financial burden can be minimized to some extent through careful planning and through using the energies of strikers, future bargaining unit members and the union's own staff rather than outside consultants. The cost of any campaign may not be large compared to the cost of other strategies. I n particular, legal strategies can prove very expensive and lengthy. Also, a n external

strategy may shorten a strike with the consequent reduction in members’ financial loses and in the financial drain on the strike fund.

Control. A n external strategy is necessarily a less private struggle thana strike or a typical organizing drive. Extensive campaigns involve coalition efforts, and it can b e difficult for a union to con-

trol the campaign's tempo and perhaps even the terms of its settlement, since its goals will probably be broader than the union's collective bargaining demands. Therefore, it is critical that the coalition adopt clear, achievable goals and settlement terms. Institution Threatening. A corporate campaign m a y threaten

the viability of a corporation. As a result, any union initiating a campaign will need to consult with other unions representing workers in the same corporation. Unions may be hesitant to launch a campaign lest it destroy members’ jobs by irreparably damaging the employer's relationship with customers or in some other way. S o m e Clarifications

The following is an attempt to address some of the common misunderstandings regarding corporate campaigns. There is N o Magic Button. There is no set formula for putting together a successful corporate campaign, and there are many situations where a corporate campaign will not be effective. A corporation may be privately held and it may be hard to get

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information about it. It may be self-financed. It may not have important ties to the community or other business organizations. It may not care about its public image. It may not sell directly to the public or to any customers who are susceptible to a union appeal. Moreover, there will b e instances where the key links with

other organizations (e.g., banks) are such that they cannot be successfully challenged. More than Just Tactics. Corporate campaigns are more than the particular tactics employed in them. Rather, it is a strategy which ties together: (1) the weaknesses of the corporation as an institution;(2) the appropriate tactics that can challenge these weaknesses; and (3) the resources (people, pension power, political clout, publicity, etc.) that are available. A corporate campaign is more than finding out who is on the board of directors and which banks are involved and then finding ways to pressure them. The tactics employed must fit the particular circumstances of the target employer, and the timing of the actions are important. Strikes and Corporate Campaigns. Some trade unionists have raised fears that corporate campaigns will replace strikes and erode shopfloor militancy. This fear is not well-founded. A strike is a more powerful weapon than a corporate campaign. When effective, a strike prevents the production of goods or services, and nothing hurts a company more financially than not being able to produce products for sale. Strikes directly use labor's greatest resource—the power to produce—and d o not require much assistance beyond that o f the workforce. A t its best, a n external

strategy inhibits an employer's ability to make money but hardly as cleanly and directly as a strike. Thus, strikes, when effective, will b e favored over external strategies.

But strikes are not always an effective strategy and sometimes this option is exhausted prior to the initiation of a corporate campaign. I n many situations strikers are likely to be replaced. I n others, the work can b e removed to another location. A large

inventory can blunt a strike's effect. Or, a strike at one among many plants may only inconvenience an employer. External strategies need not b e a substitute for a strike; just as likely, a n external strategy will complement strike activity. I n fact,

it is hard to see how a corporate campaign can be successful in the absence of some form of workplace resistance. After all, the union involved will be appealing for support from others and will need to demonstrate its o w n efforts. It can be expected, therefore,

that workplace activity will accompany an external strategy.

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11

A Technocratic Solution? Some fear that corporate campaigns are a technocratic response to labor's loss of power—that is, a technical solution to a political problem and one that does not require activating the membership. It is certainly true that tactics associated with corporate campaigns require unions to master n e w

technical areas such as utilizing SEC proxy rules, analyzing corporate ownership structures and interlocking directorates, and understanding corporate finance and government regulations. It may be possible to achieve some success through submission of shareholders’ resolutions, mailings to shareholders, shifting pension money, and visits to banks. This success should be welcomed. It is unlikely, however, that a few union staffers o r con-

sultants can overcome a determined corporation without a steadily increasing level of support from other organizations and the public. And, as argued above, a corporate campaign will not have much success without visible support from workers involved in a workplace strategy. A technical approach to corporate campaigns will have only limited success. To make the strategy work requires building union solidarity, creating coalitions with non-labor organizations, and mobilizing union members around corporate pressure points. The technical skills are necessary, but not enough. What Next?

Given the high level of experimentation in this area, it will be another 3 to 5 years before the possibilities of external strategies are fully evident. This section speculates on the future course of corporate campaign activity.

Corporate campaigns will continue to be waged to oppose corporate takeaways and union-busting and to neutralize corporate resistance and lawlessness in organizing drives. Except for first contracts, they will not be used to make collective bargaining advances, and they will not be of use to high-wage union workers except in blatant cases of union-busting and corporate arrogance. Extensive campaigns will b e initiated primarily i n high-profile

conflicts with employers. Due to limited resources and to the limited number of concurrent appeals that can be made to non-labor organizations and the public, there will be only a small number o f campaigns—at most a few dozen—occurring at one time.

The potent use of campaigns will be in neutralizing large antiunion employers in both bargaining and organizing. It will be a major contribution if corporate campaigns can prevent future

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high-profile defeats similar to those which have occurred in recent years. Several factors may limit the application of external strategies. One limitation may be the uncertain legal situation regarding various aspects of corporate campaigns, although experience to date permits optimism in this area. The lack of understanding about corporate campaigns, the difficulties in coalition building, and the potential "loss of control’ problem may inhibit the acceptability o f corporate campaigns as a routine union strategy.

Nevertheless, tactics associated with corporate campaigns can be expected to be used in many more conflicts, even when a comprehensive campaign is not undertaken. For instance, local unions will attend their employers’ shareholders meetings and begin to use SEC proxy machinery for submitting resolutions and sending mailings to shareholders. The greatest hope for the corporate campaign is that it will be a viable strategy for local unions and union staffs in dealing with the tough employers. Success will require local union activists to have the skills to research their employer's business. Local activists will also have to enhance their skills in coalition building and strategic thinking. Success will require union solidarity, political strength and broad alliances with non-labor groups at the local level.

The corporate campaign tool does not operate independently of labor's political strength and standing in the community. But corporate campaigns present the possibility of mobilizing the goodwill that does exist for labor (particularly for low-wage workers, women and minorities), of capitalizing o n labor's still considerable

political strength in many locales, and of activating the union membership against corporate power. li

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Chicago Tribune

Strengths & Limits

USWA 15271 strikers greet scabs during their 10-month strike at Danly Machine i n Cicero, Illinois, i n 1984. Several months i n t o the strike the

Steelworkers hit Danly’s parent, the Ogden Corp., with a corporate

Chicago Tribune

campaign.

Robert Gumpert

In Austin, Minnesota worker from UFCW Local P.9 takes note ofHormel’s recent ‘consistent profitability.”

Corporate Campaigns:

A Wobbly-Br ed Campaign i n Minnesota m Ken Gagala

I n December 1984 Local P-9 of the United Food and Commercial Workers (UFCW) launched a "corporate campaign’ to restore wage

cuts imposed by the George A. Hormel Company. While the campaign continues today, it has not succeeded in restoring the wage cuts. The origin and strategy of the campaign, the obstacles confronting i t , a n d a n assessment o f the campaign are contained i n this article.

Wobbly Bred Austin i s a t o w n o f 2 3 , 0 0 0 o n t h e s o u t h e r n M i n n e s o t a prairie,

amid corn and soybean fields. A quarter of Austin's workforce is employed b y the George A . H o r m e l Company. Started i n 1891 as a meatpacking house employing six men, the company has grown t o b e the 240th largest o n the Fortune 500. With its corporate

headquarters and largest plant in Austin, Hormel is a profitable company in a n industry devastated b y bankruptcies and plant

closings. George A . Hormel and h i s son, Jay C., ran the company, both before and after unionization i n 1933, as a "benevolent dictatorship.” ®Ken Gagala is a professor in the Labor Education Service of the Industrial Relations Center at the University of Minnesota.

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In this environment of enlightened management, an enlightened union movement emerged. A n itinerant butcher named Frank Ellis came to Austin in 1929 and got a j o b as a foreman. I n a position t o hire, Frank chose like-minded m e n o f similar character—

members of the Industrial Workers of the World. Salted throughout the plant, the Wobblies went quietly about the business of organizing workers. I n 1933, the Independent Union of all Workers (IUAW) was formed, with the objective to "enlist all workers and farmers into

one great union.’ The IUAW proceeded to organize other Iowa and Minnesota meatpackers and to assist workers at organizing other businesses in Austin. I n May 1937, the IUAW voted to join the newly formed Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO), and i n 1939, became Local 9 o f the United Packinghouse Workers o f America (UPWA). Today, it is Local P-9 of the United Food and Commercial Workers (UFCW).

I n 1940 Hormel and P-9 negotiated a permanent agreement with no expiration date. When UPWA locals around the country went o n strike, P-9 and Hormel agreed to continue working and to adopt

any improvements gained at other meatpackers. On these occasions, P-9 members assessed themselves 10% o f wages t o

support striking UPWA members. Since 1933, P-9 members have never struck. Hard T i m e s for P-9

P-9's membership fell from a peak of 4,000 i n the early 1950s

to 800 by the mid-1970s. Furthermore, as Hormel expanded its operations elsewhere, the multi-story Austin plant became outmoded. Finally in 1978, Hormel announced it would close its Austin operation unless the local could make conditions right for the company to build a modern facility there. Concessions were made amidst tremendous pressure from the local community. I n return for Hormel's agreement to build a

state-of-the-art pork slaughtering and packing plant in Austin, P-9 agreed to a n eight-year contract which increased production quotas and established a two-tier wage system. Senior employees

were given approximately $120 per week as compensation for agreeing to relinquish a n incentive program, while n e w hires at

the modern plant—the majority of P-9 today—did not receive these payments. But it was the ‘ m e too” clause tying the local’'s wages and benefits to the industry pattern that would later come back to haunt the workers.

In the 1980s, the industry pattern of $10.69 per hour was broken i n a wave of plant closings, bankruptcies, and sales— with many

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Robert Gumpert

A Wobbly-bred Campaign

Jim Guyette, President o f Local P-9, speaks to rally i n December o f 1984.

firms reopening nonunion. I n October 1983, Hormel threatened t o follow the pattern. After P-9 filed for arbitration, a n arbitrator

ruled that Hormel could not cut wages until Oscar Mayer and Company reached agreement with the U F C W at two of its plants.

Ultimately, in October 1984, Hormel imposed a 25% wage cut on P-9, from $10.69 t o $8.25.

I n September 1984, just prior to the October 1984 cut of P-9's wages, Hormel and the U F C W negotiated a contract covering its six other plants, raising wages t o $9 immediately and t o $10 i n

September 1985, the highest rates in the industry. Hormel extended the offer t o P-9, a n d the local's executive board accepted,

but the offer was rejected overwhelmingly b y the membership. I n December, 1984, while workers continued to work under contract, P-9 launched its '‘corporate campaign’ for full restoration

of the cut.

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P-9’s Corporate Campaign

I n order to wage struggle against Hormel, P-9 president Jim Guyette invited Corporate Campaign Inc.'s Ray Rogers t o come

to Austin. Best known for his efforts on behalf of ACTWU's organizing campaign at J.P. Stevens, Rogers came to Austin on December 9, 1984, to unveil a slide show to 2,000 P-9 supporters

and a host of news reporters. Rogers planned to assail the connection between Hormel and First Bank Systems, a Minneapolis-based bank holding company (the U.S! 17th largest), which owns 16.4% of Hormel's stock, has a director on Hormel's board, and "interlocks" by having Hormel managers on the board of two of the corporation's subsidiaries. Proposed tactics included conducting mass demonstrations at forthcoming Hormel and First Bank stockholder meetings, picketing and leafletting at First Bank branches, and urging unions to publicize their displeasure with the Hormel-First Bank connection. A n outright call for a boycott of First Bank was not and could not be made lest Corporate Campaigns Inc. and P-9 be found guilty of a secondary boycott. The cost of the campaign was estimated to be $340,000 for the first six months of 1985. Corporate Campaigns Inc. would receive $160,000 from P-9 directly and the local would incur costs of $180,000 for printing, transportation, and other organizing costs.

If successful at restoring the wage cut, Corporate Campaigns could earn up to $200,000 in performance bonuses in addition to the $160,000 fee. O n January 17, 1985, the membership of P-9 voted a dues assessment of $3 per week to pay for the campaign. Obstacles

P-9's membership could not have anticipated the obstacles its campaign would encounter. Not only did the UFCW fail to support

the campaign, it worked against the effort. UFCW Packinghouse locals, including those at the six other Hormel plants, voted not

to support the campaign. AFL-CIO central bodies and locals in Minnesota were informed that P-9's action was unauthorized. I n

April, UFCW ruled that the vote authorizing P-9's assessment was invalid.

The campaign's greatest support came in Duluth, where the building trade unions informed First Bank of their displeasure over the treatment Hormel had accorded P-9. Support in First Bank's home base, Minneapolis-St. Paul, was negligible, however, and

there is little evidence that unions withdrew funds from First Bank because of the corporate campaign.

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Hormel went o n the offensive to a n unanticipated extent. The

majority stockholder of Hormel (45.7%), is the non-profit, charitable Hormel Foundation. Its by-laws require the foundation to promote company management interested i n the "welfare of this community [Austin].’ Nevertheless, Hormel threatened to move its 530-person corporate headquarters from Austin in response to the union's campaign. Furthermore, for the first time i n 93 years, Hormel moved its

annual stockholders meeting away from Austin. Hormel’s move meant that P-9's plan to demonstrate at the stockholders meeting i n Austin had t o be cancelled. Instead, 30 P-9 members and

supporters had to travel 29 hours by bus to the meeting in Atlanta, Georgia. Because it operates six plants outside of Austin, Hormel could move production and thereby “whipsaw’’ P-9. Furthermore, when Hormel announced plans at its stockholders meeting to link with FDL Foods Inc., an Iowa-based packer, it increased its ability to "whipsaw'' the embattled local. While putting pressure on the union, Hormel took care to cultivate community support. The company bought an hour of prime time on the local ABC-TV affiliate a week before the January annual meeting. A question-and-answer format was used t o

present the company's position that layoffs would occur if the campaign succeeded. By May it was clear that this effort was paying off: the seven-member Austin City Council, which included two members of Local P-9, voted unanimously to call o n the union

to end its campaign. W h e n P-9 had voted to begin its campaign, back i n December of 1984, it had planned a 5,000-car caravan traveling the 125 miles

from Austin to Minneapolis for First Bank's annual stockholders meeting i n April—provided that P-9 was b y then o n strike. But i n March, a n arbitrator ruled that P-9 could not strike before August 1985. As a result, only 150 P-9 members demonstrated at the First Bank meeting.

The fact that P-9 could not strike until August had important implications, for by then UFCW members at Hormel's six other locals were t o receive wage boosts to $10 per hour—just 69 cents

less than what P-9 was demanding. Between Hormel management and the arbitration decision, Local P-9 found itself boxed i n . Nevertheless, o n June 2, local members rejected b y a 4 to 1 margin a proposal to negotiate an agreement similar to that at other

Hormel plants. Eleven days later, the unionists voted 2 to 1 to assess themselves $3 p e r week to continue the corporate campaign.

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Assessment of the Corporate Campaign P-9 might have fared better if the UFCW had supported the campaign and Hormel's opposition had been less aggressive. But even in those circumstances, the union's success was not assured.

P-9 had chosen to try to pressure Hormel through its corporate ties, rather than through a primary boycott, because its members were not on strike, and therefore would have hurt themselves by boycotting. But the tactic of attempting to influence the decision of targets by exerting pressure on the corporations with whom targets have interlocking directorships is limited. John Kenneth Galbraith observes: (I)t is fifty years since the pioneering scholars Adolf A. Berle Jr. and Gardner C. Means concluded that in the majority of the largest two hundred corporations in the United States control had passed to the management, which is to say the managers elected the board of directors, which then, i n a n incestuous way, selected the

management that had selected them. (Anatomy of Power, 1983, p. 133) Since seven of the twelve members of Hormel's board of directors are members of the company's management, the board is a rubber stamp for management actions. Moreover, Hormel is more incestuous than most corporations. The non-profit,

charitable Hormel Foundation, the majority stockholder, also has a contingent of Hormel managers on its board. Therefore, the foundation's failure to intercede on behalf of the P-9 is not surprising, because following the industry pattern is certainly portrayed and accepted as promoting the ‘welfare of this

community.’ First Bank, the second largest stockholder, became the alternative secondary target almost b y default. I n order t o assess the campaign's likelihood o f success, let us

assume that P-9 had been able to sever the Hormel-First Bank connection. Would the campaign then have succeeded? Probably not. Hormel, according to First Bank, has no long-term debt outstanding with the bank. Instead, Hormel issues commercial paper. Moreover, even if First Bank did hold long-term debt of Hormel, it could sell its Hormel loans outstanding to a wide variety of financial institutions, thereby diffusing P-9's efforts t o single out a secondary target—a "“whipsaw'’ o f sorts. Hormel's checking or “current” account with First Bank might be cancelled. But it i s doubtful that the checking account activity

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87

Young supporter at December ‘84 parade and rally.

of a customer with $500 million in assets would have an appreciable effect on a bank with $21 billion in assets. Even then, it is uncertain as to what proportion of Hormel's checking account activity is in fact conducted through First Bank, because First Bank is concentrated i n the Midwest and Hormel operates nationwide. According to First Bank, the 16.4% of Hormel stock to which it holds title is i n pension funds, which it manages for Hormel employees. The bank claims to have a voting interest in 6 % of

the stock, while Hormel employees vote and control the rest. If First Bank owned the Hormel stock outright, it could sell that stock at the going market rate. First Bank might lose the

opportunity of owning part of a company with a bright future, but it could reinvest the sales proceeds elsewhere in assets with perhaps equally bright futures. While Hormel m a y b e the most

profitable firm in the meatpacking industry, its return on stockholder's equity is far from spectacular—about equal to a savings certificate at the local bank. Its return o n equity was 10.6% i n 1983 and 10.4% in 1984. Median return o n equity for the Fortune 500 was 10.7% i n 1983 and 13.6% in 1984.

If, in fact, First Bank is merely the administrator of Hormel p e n s i o n funds, severing the Hormel First B a n k connection would

cost the bank its administrative fee for performing this function.

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But who is the loser in this transaction—First Bank or Hormel? Furthermore, could the lone First Bank representative persuade the seven Hormel managers on the corporate board to rescind the wage cut when the firm's 1984 return on equity was below the median for Fortune 500 firms? Pressuring or forcing secondary targets to sever their ties with primary targets does not always resolve disputes. Severing the Avon Products and Manufacturers Hanover connections did not resolve the J.P. Stevens dispute. Pressure on Stevens' primary financial backer, Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, did. Pirect pressure on important funding sources of primary targets seems t o be the most successful tactic.

I f one looks at the multi-union corporate campaign against Beverly nursing homes, one finds there are other ways to exert financial pressure on target companies. I n that instance, the union's ability to keep Beverly from expanding its operations by challenging the quality of its patient care before government regulatory agencies had an impact. Also, Minnesota building trade unions have had success by challenging before government housing agencies the quality of construction by non-union contractors.

Given the fact that Hormel was not dependent on the Austin plant, that the UFCW did not support Local P-9, and that Hormel was not dependent on one source of funding, it is not surprising that the corporate campaign failed to restore the wage cuts. Nevertheless, other unions can learn much from P-9's experience. The local was correct in planning its actions against Hormel before the company implemented its full attack on the union. I t was also right on the mark in keeping the members at work while the campaign took place. One might also argue that the decision t o hire a union consultant t o conduct the campaign was the right w a y t o go. After all, the $340,000 P-9 spent o n the campaign (assuming n o performance bonuses) works out t o $200 p e r

member. Not a bad investment in an effort to reverse a wage cut costing each member $100 per week.

P-9's strategy does not look bad compared to what other unions have done in similarly dire situations: call a hopeless strike; announce a corporate campaign after a strike is all but lost; or begin a campaign after the employer has reopened a plant nonunion and undercut industry wages (the U F C W was actually forced t o d o this at Armour). Corporate campaigns clearly don't work i n every situation. But for a strong and militant local, like P-9 i n Austin, Minnesota, they

may be worth taking a chance on. B

Editor's Note:

Ken Gagala's article, "A Wobbly-Bred Campaign i n Minnesota,’ covers only the first stage of the corporate campaign UFCW Local P-9 has mounted against the George A. Hormel Company. I n late August, as w e were going t o press, the membership overwhelmingly voted t o strike H o r m e l . With the strike, P-9

intensified and expanded its campaign, with hundreds of P-9 workers carrying their message directly to sister locals and other unionists in several states. As we go to press, they have deepened their struggle against the wage cut Hormel has imposed on them and have established themselves as a lightning rod i n the fight against concessions.

Corporate Campaigns:

Time & Timing i n Corporate Campaigns: I B E W 1466 vs. Southern Ohio Electric ®m Susan

Kellock

Although it has taken almost a decade to gain formal recognition, it has finally happened. In February, 1985 the AFL-CIO announced its endorsement of corporate campaigns, and encouraged affiliates t o consider their use more aggressively and more often. The

endorsement appeared in The Changing Situation of Workers and Their Unions, a report prepared b y AFL-CIO Committee o n the

Evolution of Work. While it is encouraging that the AFL-CIO has endorsed the concept, it also sends off alarms for those w h o have been involved

i n campaigns. The alarm sounds for the issue of timeliness’ in initiating corporate campaigns, and for the understanding of the time, commitment and resources necessary t o assess, develop and

implement them.

Most campaigns have been initiated as a form of strike assistance o r i n response t o a crisis, such as plant closures, runaway shops o r union-busting. While corporate campaigns can b e useful in these situations, their potential is maximized w h e n u s e d t o bolster

organizing drives o r the collective bargaining process. The arguments for initiating a campaign prior to a strike or crisis eSusan Kellock is Director of Corporate Campaigns for The Kamber Group, a laborconsulting firm headquartered in Washington, D.C.

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are logical. A corporate campaign gives unions the power to put a company on the defensive by isolating it from the rest of its business, political and social communities. The sooner this process is set i n motion, the greater the potential for averting the crisis or minimizing the damage. Early intervention of a campaign also provides a greater opportunity to build a firm foundation for the union's future. Timing the initiation of a campaign involves more than assessing the potential for a crisis. I t also requires a n understanding o f the time unions need t o prepare a campaign that can place the union

on the offensive. It takes time to identify the targets and tactics that can accomplish this goal. Thousands of pages of company and government records must be analyzed. The company’s community image must be assessed. The local media's treatment of the union and company must be evaluated. The potential for coalition-building must be determined. And hours upon hours of discussion must take place with workers who know best the working conditions, attitudes and practices of the company. I t is extremely difficult to accomplish these tasks while responding to the immediate needs of a strike, an impasse in negotiations or a plant closure. Campaign Components Most corporate campaigns have three components: research and analysis, campaign design, and campaign implementation. Although the first component is continuous, the best campaign allows sufficient time for the bulk of the research to be completed prior to its formal initiation. The amount of time needed depends upon the complexity of the targeted company, the labor-management relationship, and the strengths and weaknesses of the u n i o n . I n most situations a minimum of three months is

necessary to conduct the basic research and to begin to flush out a possible campaign strategy. The research component is designed to identify the company’s pressure points and determine what vehicles will help the union take advantage of these potential weaknesses. I n addition to analysing corporate and government documents, media files, and other resource materials, research also includes a n examination o f the community where workers live and a n assessment of the

media potential, both locally and nationally. Since most campaigns require participation o f the community, it is necessary t o assess the potential for community support and

involvement. Workers are a critical source of information. The research must examine existing community organizations, church

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groups, labor organizations and coalitions. It is important to know their agenda, their histories, their connections and record with

labor. Campaigns depend a great deal on media coverage. Prior to initiating a campaign, the researchers must examine the media response to the company and to labor. The examination can identify reporters likely to cover campaign events and suggest areas which warrant media preparation, such as meetings with assignment editors to inform them of the purpose and significance of corporate campaigns. Researching the media also gives a union a sense o f the company’s image and power in the community. It

can identify pressure points, such as contracting work outside the state or a history of local tax favoritism. The research stage also requires an assessment of the strengths and weaknesses of the union. If the union leadership is inexperienced in dealing with the media or consistently responds defensively to reporters, it may be necessary to plan media training sessions with union spokespersons. A n evaluation of the union's communications with members should be conducted. If it is sporadic, it may be necessary to institute and formalize regular mailings, handouts or postings. Although this is only a thumbnail sketch of the work involved in the research and analysis stage, it highlights the preparation needed to develop a consistent long-term strategy in which each action is designed to intensify the pressure. In some situations, timely initiation of a campaign may avert the impending crisis. At the least, it will position the union to put management on the defensive from the outset.

IBEW 1466 IN OHIO The International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers (IBEW) Local 1466 recognized the importance of timeliness and initiated the research component of its corporate campaign against

Columbus & Southern Ohio Electric Company/American Electric Power (C & SOE/AEP) approximately 10 weeks prior to the opening o f contract negotiations. T h e local, representing 1,400 workers at C & SOE i n

Southeastern Ohio, anticipated the worst. The company had slickly promoted the 'belt-tightening’’ theme among the workers for several months, preaching that profits were down, and, therefore, that it must turn to the workers for savings. C & SOE wanted cutbacks in safety and training programs, elimination of seniority provisions, company control over work rules, and elimination o f

the union shop. C & SOE did not claim that an open shop would

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be cost-effective. Rather, the company stated that it wanted to give the workers freedom of choice whether or not to belong to the union.

Research revealed that labor costs had gone down in the last five years. I n addition, the workforce had declined and productivity was up. Labor had done its job. O n the other hand, the union discovered that costs due to

management decisions had increased dramatically. For example, due to serious design and safety problems, the federal government ordered the shutdown of a nuclear power plant the company was building with two other utilities. The company stands to lose over $500 million, and the resulting uncertainty sent the company's interest payments on long-term debt skyrocketing. The company’s poor-mouthing about the decline in profits proved to be misleading. The union's research revealed that the workers had turned a healthy profit for the company the year before — approximately $73 million. A close examination of how the company used these profits showed that all proceeds were paid out in dividends: $21 million to preferred stockholders and $66 million to common stockholders. I f you are quick with your math, you have already realized that the total dividend payments equal $87 million, or $14 million more than the company's total reported profit! The extra $14 million had been lifted by the company from its previous earnings. The union rightfully concluded that more than simply failing to reinvest any of the profits, management had actually been actively disinvesting in the company. Such shenanigans made sense after the union examined American Electric's control of C&SOE. The union, through its interlock research, discovered that American Electric owned 100% o f C&SOE’'s common stock. And, eight of the ten C&SOE board

members (who are charged with the responsibility of deciding what to do with the profits) were on American Electric's payroll. In short, research revealed a consistent pattern: labor costs were down, management costs were up, and the company, contrary to its propaganda, was healthy. Armed with these facts, the union began to prepare its strategy for putting C&SOE/AEP o n the defensive. I t determined that the company's vulnerabilities could best b e exposed i n several ways: 1) Activating the public t o protest management's poor decisions which reduced quality service and caused higher utility

bills. 2) Organizing workers to protest costly mistakes made b y management.

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Steelworkers President Lynn Williams addresses rally of Phelps Dodge copper strikers i n 1984. The USWA initiated a corporate campaign against

Phelps after the strike was nearly lost, with the idea of punishing the company as an object lesson to other companies who might be contemplating the use o f Phelps’ ruthless strike-breaking tactics.

3) Educating the media about the company’s financial mismanagement and its insistence that workers pay the cost. 4) Developing a negotiations strategy that incorporated the research and included a cost-cutting proposal directed at management.

To test the waters, the union developed a newsletter and flyer that were distributed b y shop stewards to every worker three days

before negotiations began. The materials presented the theme of the campaign: Labor costs are down, management's costs are up,

the company is healthy — now it's managements turn to tighten its belt. The materials talked specifically about labor costs, but did not reveal the specific costly management decisions uncovered in the research. The union's strategy called for creating a sense of power among the workers who, for the last three months, had been led to believe that they were responsible for a downturn i n profits and, consequently, would have to bear the burden i n the next contract.

The materials also carried an "800" number that workers could call for daily updates o n the campaign and negotiations.

The response was perfect. Workers began to feel more positive about their union, and management was anxiously trying to find out which of its mistakes the union had uncovered. To provoke further response and broaden the base of support,

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the union distributed 2,000 buttons that stated "Workers and

Customers Won't Pay for Management Mistakes.’ After workers flooded the workplace with buttons pinned to their garb, management opened the negotiating session b y announcing that

any worker who failed to remove the button would face disciplinary action. Following the announcement, management moved for adjournment. The union spokesperson responded swiftly and offensively, accusing the company of refusing to go forward with the collective bargaining process due to a harmless button. Management had overreacted. The union had the company right where it wanted it—in a defensive posture. The workers sensed victory, the union negotiating team felt confident, and the media and the community were growing more and more curious. After a week of negotiations, the union announced its plan to hold a press conference to officially launch its corporate campaign. With all local media notified by the union, the company overreacted again. Selected management called the major print media the day before the press conference to say the company was ready to respond. The media's response was ''respond to what?" since the union had no intention of revealing its specific charges of company mismanagement until the hour of the press conference. Having been caught off-guard, the company was not able to prepare a n adequate response to the union's charges. The company

refused to comment on the union's data that wages were down and management costs up. I t called the union's moves '‘public relations pranks’ while, in the same breath, agreeing with the union's charge that the company was healthy. Within two hours of the press conference, the company’s written response was delivered to the media. It was typed on plain white paper and full of typographical errors. As one reporter commented to me, ‘ ' I have never seen this company, the world's largest utility, respond like

this. I ' d say you have them on the r u n As for collective bargaining, the union began to incorporate its research into its negotiations strategy. The plan included questioning management continuously about its previous mistakes and h o w it intended to make u p the cost. When the company tried

to put the union on the defensive by attacking the union shop, the union was prepared to put the heat back o n the company b y

raising other issues such as safety and reduced maintenance expenses. IBEW Local 1466 had the advantage of time. Although an additional month would have been helpful, the union managed to accomplish the basic tasks for preparation of a corporate

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campaign. Having time on its side, the union was able to identify and correct some o f its weaknesses, such as a n unreliable

membership communications system and weak relations with the media, and to develop a strategy which put the union on the offensive prior to negotiations. More and more today, it is at the negotiating table where the real power plays occur, which is where corporate campaigns can demonstrate their most promising use. Conclusion

The most effective and resourceful campaigns leave in place critical mechanisms which further strengthen the union's structure and cohesiveness. For example, an effective campaign will convince the leadership of the importance of consistent communications with members and regular contact with the

media. It will teach the members that regular monitoring of the company, financially and otherwise, is imperative. There is no time like the present to begin to build the case for the next round of negotiations. A quality campaign will enable the union to see issues i n a broader context, instill confidence to go public with its information and concerns, and convince the members of the

importance of solidarity beyond the walls of the union hall. Again, the more time a union allows for campaign preparation the more likely a firm foundation will be built. Obviously I have skimmed over the nuts and bolts of developing and implementing a corporate campaign. M y purpose is to sound the alarm o n the AFL-CIO's endorsement of corporate campaigns

by emphasizing the time and resources that an effective campaign demands and the importance of timeliness to maximize a campaign's potential. I t took years to build the institutions that today house labor. It involved continual struggle to implement often complicated strategies that arose from a n understanding o f power and a determination to obtain i t . Corporate America has also worked

diligently over time. It has taken advantage of labor's weaknesses, strategically undercut its strengths, and cunningly maneuvered

itself into a powerful position of control over the workplace and the public at large.

If the labor movement is committed to maximizing the potential good that corporate campaigns can achieve, then it will have to

accept the fact that they take time. And herein lies the rub. Too often, unions have considered these campaigns as "quick fixes." Yet our o w n history tells us there i s n o such thing.

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