Workers: An Archaeology of the Industrial Age 089381525X, 9780893815257

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WORKERS

SEBASTIAO SALGADO AN ARCHAEOLOGY OF THE INDUSTRIAL AGE AN APERTURE BOOK

Copyright © 1993 by EASTMAN KODAK COMPANY and APERTURE FOUNDATION, INC. Photographs, texts, and captions copyright © 1993 by SEBASTIAO SALGADO. Introduction text copyright © 1993 by SEBASTIAO SALGADO and ERIC NEPOMUCENO. Translation by ALAN RIDING. All rights reserved under international and Pan-American copyright conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without written permission from the publisher.

Library of Congress Control Number: 92-73356 Hardcover ISBN: 0-89381-525-X Paperback ISBN: 0-89381-550-0 Museum Catalog ISBN: 0-89381-540-3

Conception and design by LELLA WANICK SALGADO Duotone separations by Offset-Litho JEAN GENOUD SA, Le Mont-Lausanne, Switzerland. Printed by Sing Cheong Printing Co., Ltd., Hong Kong. Composition by DANIELLE WHITESON. Reproduction prints by ISABELLE MENU. The Staff at Aperture for WORKERS MICHAEL REBECCA

is

E. HOFFMAN, Executive Director BUSSELLE, Editor

MICHAEL SAND, Managing Editor WENDY BYRNE, Designer STEVAN BARON, Production Director SANDRA GREVE, Production Associate JENNY ISAACS, Editorial Work-Scholar

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Mr. Salgado’s endeavors on this project and the publication of this book have been underwritten by the Professional Imaging business unit

of Eastman Kodak Company through its continuing support of photography in journalism.

This book is an homage to workers,

a farewell to a world of manual labor that is slowly disappearing anda

tribute to those men and women who still work as they have for centuries. ~ %\

e

hese photographs tell the story of anera. The images offer a visual archaeology of a time that history knows as the Industrial Revolution, a time when men and women at work with their hands provided the central axis of the world. Concepts of production and efficiency are changing, and, with them, the nature of work. The highly industrialized world is racing ahead and stumbling over the future. In reality, this telescoping of time is the result of the work of people throughout the world, although in practice it may benefit few. The developed world produces only for those who can consume—

approximately one-fifth of all people. The remaining four-fifths, who could theoretically benefit from surplus production, have no way of becoming consumers. They have transferred so many of their resources and wealth to the prosperous world that they have no way of achieving equality. So the planet remains divided, the first world in a crisis of excess, the third world in a crisis of need, and, at the end of the century, the second world—that

built on socialism—in ruins. The destiny of men and women is to create a new world, to reveal a new life, to remember that there exists a frontier for everything except dreams. In this way, they adapt, resist, believe, and survive.

History is above all a succession of challenges, of repetitions, of perseverances. It is an endless cycle of oppressions, humiliations, and disasters, but also atestament to man’s ability to survive. In history there are no solitary dreams; one dreamer breathes life into the next.

he worker in the sugarcane fields is a warrior. The machete, his long knife, is his sword. He lives in a hostile world, the cane leafis sharp, he must fight against the leaves, he suffers cuts, he becomes coated in the black

grime of cane burned before it is slashed. I knew warriors of the cane fields in Cuba and in Brazil. They live far from each other, but they think in the same way, play in the same way, talk in the same

way. They are gentle and they are aggressive. They rest, they laugh aloud, they stretch out on the ground.

Yet a fundamental difference exists. The Cuban warrior is a hard-working hero who is proud of his war. He is well treated by his boss, the state. In Brazil, by contrast, trucks that leave the outskirts of small provincial towns at dawn take him to the battlefields. Then, as often as not, he ends up working on land that once be-

longed to him or fellow warriors. Today, Brazil’s warriors are mere day laborers: increased use of sugarcane alcohol as a gasoline substitute led large companies to buy up small farms once dedicated to food production. Brazil’s wild inflation

then eroded the proceeds from the small plots. Now they are virtually slaves of the truckers, who collect them, receive their money, and hand out their meager

wages. The workers are known as boias-frias, meaning “cold lunch.” They take their food in little tin boxes, they eat it silently, unheated. They chew the cold beans that taste of defeat.

alicia is a beautiful land, one of legends and mists. Its estuaries are like

fjords: deep waters, trapped in bays formed by sharp cliffs, emerge from immense forests before tumbling into the sea. Galicia has many estuaries, or rias,

and I worked in several of them. In Vigo, I found the peasant women of the sea. Mothers, usually fishermen’s wives, they work in the canning factories. Yet, as each day passes, more lose their jobs. The fish-freezing plants are putting

the canning industry out of business. Galicia still feels old, but it is experiencing change. Fishing is no longer what it was, the old canning industry is dying, an-

cient factories are in a state of abandonment. They are strong and handsome, even sensual, these peasant women of the

sea who hoe the land at low tide. They are peasants because fishing for almejas, which are like clams, is not fishing but harvesting. The a/meja is cultivated, left to

grow on the bottom of the sea near the coast. Then, with October and the largest tides of the year, the water recedes one or two miles from the shoreline and

women come to pick their crop every day for two to three months. But even this tradition now runs the risk of becoming part of the legends

and mists of Galicia. In Vigo, a few fishing cooperatives still survive. Their boats bouncing gently on the water of the ria are part of the scenery. Vigo Bay is ever more polluted by the waste of the 300,000 people who live around it. The fisherman’s son is no longer a fisherman. Industrial fishing

has replaced family fishing. On the high seas, boats no longer fish for Galicia; they fish for the whole world.

' But the women do not belong to this world. Their feet stand on the muddy flats of the ria, the wind blows in their face.

What can they remember, these

peasant women of the waters, as they pull the fruit of the sea at low tide? Why do they smile? he island stands in the Indian Ocean between Madagascar and Mauritius. It is called Réunion and, since the seventeenth century, ithas beena

French overseas territory. A beautiful volcanic island, it stretches from ten thousand feet below the waves to ten thousand feet above sea level. The island isa curious whim of God: a mountain cut exactly in half by the waterline. It has no continental shelf. A few yards from the shore, the precipice begins. And no fish live in these waters. Itis an island of perfume. From it come the purest essences of geranium, vetiver, and vanilla. Those of geranium and vetiver serve as fixatives in industrial

perfume production. Without them, for example, the scent of rose would evaporate ina few seconds. Réunion’s output is small but its quality serves as a standard. For many years, it was a major world producer. But France’s disastrous

agricultural policies in its overseas territories have resulted in production levels that are 15 percent of what they were thirty years ago.

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The inhabitants of Réunion are French citizens. Those who work in the production of perfumes and essences are special citizens: they are barefoot Frenchmen.

Earning a wage far below the legal minimum in France, they live tucked away on the terraces of that volcanic land. Their work is hard and lonely. Their past is lost in time, perhaps in Corsica, perhaps in Brittany. And now these bare-

foot Frenchmen produce just a few bottles of perfume each year. For days on end, they work in small, smoky copper stills, counting the drops of perfume. Then they walk for hours down the mountains, carrying their pure but scanty treasure.

Far from Réunion, their weeks of work will be trapped in tiny flasks of perfume. These barefoot Frenchman will never be able to buy the result of their labor. But they will never need to buy it: Réunion is impregnated with the purest

of perfumes and nothing can imprison its essence. ocoa has a strange fate. The price of every product that includes it never stops rising, yet the price of cocoa itself never ceases to fall. On the other hand, perhaps it is not so strange. As with so many other commodities, the price is set by those who have never produced it. Many cocoa trees are over one hundred years old, verdant, generous, in ancient shapes, as if they come from other times, phantasmagorical trees of strange designs, unexpected caprices. Yet they are also fragile: cocoa trees are

protected by other enormous fruit trees because the cocoa needs shade and humidity. It cannot face the sun because it carries the sun in its very fruit.

The fruit trees that protect the cocoa trees also shade the cocoa pickers, asphyxiated by heat and humidity, who earn so little that even the fruit falling from

the trees helps to feed them. And from the sweet milk that oozes from the open fruit the cocoa provides pure energy.

The women who collect cocoa wrap turbanlike cloths around their heads to protect them from the cocoa fruit as it falls to the ground. They wear tall boots as a protection against the snakes that live in the trees.

The cocoa people are open, they sing and dance. Much loving goes on in

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the plantations, and the children to be seen wandering in that sensual heat are children of the heat of the cocoa. In the swirl of heat, humidity, and shade, the party in the cocoa fields is intimate. Nothing is sinful. Everything is energy and life. A powerful vigor shines from bodies that reach out to each other among the trees.

\ \ /orking with tobacco is sweet and gentle. It can be compared to making bread: it is ancient, meticulous, exact, unique work. In the fields, the to-

bacco picker wears a hat much like that of a baker: it is made of cloth because a straw hat could harm the delicate tobacco leaves. The leaves are collected almost ceremoniously. The baskets are lined with

cloth like warm cradles, and the leaves are placed inside them like sleeping babies. Everything to do with tobacco is a ritual. ‘The tobacco houses are made of wood, and this wood exhales tobacco.

The leaves are kept there for two or three years. They are rolled into cigars by female hands. And while the hands work, the cigars grow to the sound of poems, words, and songs. The room is large and airy and, in front of the cigar makers, a

person sits whose job it is to read aloud.

He gently scatters words that help the mind travel while fingers and palms gently roll the cigars, the leaves capturing the dreams that will rise in clouds of smoke.

dk hey had all the time in the world to grow old, yet there they are in Sicily, as

if the Middle Ages were just dawning. But now, suddenly, they are also disappearing.

At the end of World War II, more than thirty groups of Sicilian fishermen would, with the punctuality of the tides, participate in the ceremony of La Mattanza, the great annual catch of tuna. Today only two groups sustain the tradition. The Mediterranean is also dying from pollution, and its death has frightened off the tuna. But there is another curse: industrial fishing carried out by many nations, above all Japan, is decimating fish stocks. The old Sicilian Mattanzas were

always carried out with special nets that caught only large tuna, those that leave

the warm waters of the Atlantic at a certain time of the year and head for the Mediterranean to breed. The fishermen stretch huge nets close to the shore, isolating the escape

routes and creating an endless labyrinth. The tuna can never turn back, forced to keep going until trapped in the chamber of death. La Mattanza is a unique spectacle. In charge of it is the raiz, the grand master, the great fisherman, the man who holds the secrets to the fish, the cur-

rents, the tides. Once the tuna are inside the chamber, the men begin to draw in the nets, bringing the tuna toward their death. And the men sing their thanks with

reverence as they slowly close the chamber. Once the nets are pulled up, they bring with them hundreds of tuna, and the sea begins to boil with the thrashing of bodies and tails that sprinkle the light of their silver as they try to escape into the

sky. Then, with great iron hooks, the fishermen pull the wounded tuna aboard. The fish are taken to the tuna factory at San Cusumano. There the Japanese wait with cloths on their heads and sharp knives in their hands. The tuna is bled and its white meat is shipped to Japan. Only the head, the entrails, the tail, and the

smell of blood stay behind in Italy.

le he old weaving mills still used in Bangladesh are like a sound shell, a strange symphony played by the wooden looms, the friction of fiber, swirling soot in the air, and tiny threads dancing and hiding in light. From them come the cloths that wrap around bodies in motion, the delicate weavings of unexpected colors and designs that become saris.

Textile production is part of Bangladesh’s tradition because its main export is jute, the very best in the world. But behind this production hides a cruel irony:

sales rise sharply whenever a war is taking place in some far-off country. There is nothing to match a sack made of jute fiber when it comes to protecting a trench or barricade. When it is struck by a bullet, the fiber does not tear. Rather, it makes a

hole that is quickly sealed by pressure of the sand inside the sack. The textile factories in Bangladesh are old, built by the British at the turn of the century. They are magnificent and noisy. Their workers are cordial and deli-

cate. Even in such an atmosphere, they do not lose their gentle grace. And the

workers of Bangladesh toil twice as hard in times of war.

H acing the shores of Bangladesh, the ship blows its sharp whistle for a last time. It puts its engine on full speed and heads for the land, wailing and groaning as it reaches a speed that it would never have dared risk at sea. Its steel hull scrapes the sand, reaching into the earth from where it came. Then it stops,

grounded, the end of its final charge, its last journey. The demolition soon follows, as if this moment had not always hovered over the ship. There it is, stuck in the sand of the most faraway beach in the world, the same world that it wandered when it sliced smoothly through deep waters.

Now the demolition teams use blowtorches to cut open its belly so that water can at lastinvade its bowels, condemning it to death. It is a coup de grace, a tired and dignified end that will result in new life.

Soon the ship is attacked from all sides. Blowtorches cut through its steel skin, giant hammers break up its iron and wood structure. Everything from that huge animal lying on the beach has a use. Iron and steel will be melted down and given new roles as utensils. The entire ship will be turned into what it once carried: machines, knives and forks, hoes, shovels, screws, things, bits, pieces. In

time, the sea will make sure that the scar left by the ship will disappear under the

sand of that beach in Bangladesh. And the ship itself will be carried away. The huge bronze propellers that guided the ship through the secret paths of the sea will provide the most elegant of items—bracelets, earrings, necklaces,

and rings, which one day will adorn the bodies of working women, as well as pots from which men will pour tea. \ \ /hen I was a boy, I would travel with my mother to Belo Horizonte, the capital of my home state. We would go by train, and we would have to change trains. Then, at a certain moment, we would go through the Vale do

Aco, the Valley of Steel, where the great steel complexes of Minas Gerais were located. And it was then that I would see the spectacle of fire lighting up the night,

chimneys throwing out vast clouds of fire—and nothing impressed me more.

To this day, steel making is for me an almost religious exercise. And the high priest of this institution called production is the steelworker.

For me, the mills are like huge, powerful gods who rule the frightening production of metal that dominates our system. Everything inside is violent, dispro-

portionate, and dangerous. The steelworker knows full well that he works on the frontier of death, between rivers of liquid fire, around caldrons of hell. He also

knows that through steel the world is controlled.

It was in one such factory that I found the ratman: his job is to smell gas, to look for leaks beneath the red-hot caldrons. His job is to find the smell of death. He works in the catacombs of the cathedral of fire. He is furtive, he hides, he es-

capes. The steelworker has an exemplary nobility, a unique posture: he looks at those who come from the outside with a certain condescension. He dominates the industrial world.

When his workday is over, he casts off his asbestos suit and becomes one of us. He loses his mystery, much as a priest loses his power when he takes off his vestment and leaves the sanctuary.

ah ime and technology modernized trains and forever transformed the world of railroads, those same railroads that had once before transformed the

world. The railroads gave dynamism to the first Industrial Revolution: besides coal,

they carried raw materials to factories and food to cities. But today railroads are undergoing rapid change. The best example is to be found in France: in the 1950s, France’s railroads employed 550,000 workers; today

they employ 220,000; by the early twenty-first century, the number will be down to 90,000. Railroad workers retire, but are not replaced. Most French railroad lines still

work with equipment ten to twelve years old. Soon it will be sent to museums. The modern high-speed train, the train a grande vitesse, or TGV, has killed

off the traditional train. It travels at close to two hundred miles per hour. Once, dozens of people working three shifts controlled the signals and lines between

Paris and Lyons; today, just ten people do it from a sophisticated computer control room at the Gare de Lyon in Paris.

Now the system employs specialized technicians, not railroad workers. On the ultramodern trains, the driver is now called the pilot. His main function is to reassure passengers through his physical presence. Computers do the rest.

C

oal lies in the heart of the earth and the heart of the earth is hot and humid.

The miners of Dhanbad work in temperatures of 120 degrees, close to

danger, close to death. The history of mines worldwide is a history of tragedies. In Dhanbad, coal mines give work to 400,000 people. One hundred and five thousand men descend into the mines; until 1950, women also dug for coal,

worked at night, and died in the explosions and landslides set off by the heart of the earth. Since India became independent, a law has protected them from the darkness of tunnels and death. But they still work twelve hours a day, now under

an unforgiving sun. A miner’s face is permanently covered by a tarry dust, all except fora small area around his eyes where the movement of his eyelids keeps away the dust, and

his mouth, which he keeps clean with his lips. He emerges from the mine transformed into a specter of black dust, only eyes and lips shining out. But his eyes also carry a burden of fatalism, a burden shared by coal miners

throughout the world. He lives with the constant threat of death in the heart of the

earth. And he knows that the same fate awaits his son just as it had done his father. These miners are forever tied to coal; they belong to coal. he smell of hell was born in paradise, or at least that corner of paradise that was forgotten, in the volcanic region of Kawah Idjen on the island ofJava. This is the last of a rosary of volcanoes stretching across the island, forming a sur-

prising and marvelous landscape. The volcano is alive, exhaling gas. And this hot gas is channeled into vast

tubes thirty to forty-five feet long. Some of it condenses and eventually drips into wells, becoming red at first, then orange, and eventually, as it solidifies, yellow.

When it is yellow, it has become pure sulfur and is ready to be collected.

Men leave the small town of Licin, just fifteen miles from the crater of the volcano. They climb through rice plantations, through clover trees, througha tropical forest. When they reach the top, they have a perfect view of the entire

plain of Java, which stretches out toward the Pacific Ocean. The men start walking at 1:00 A.M. and seven hours later they reach the mouth of the volcano, seven thousand feet above sea level, where the air is clearer. Then they must climb down to the bottomless lake at the heart of the crater, almost two thousand feet below them.

The men work in clouds of poison. They cover their mouths with thick

cloth, which they bite to give it moisture. This becomes the mask that protects them from the gases. Several times a day, when huge clouds of sulfur spew out, they look for pockets of air. Then they continue, placing pieces of sulfur in their baskets. Men who may weigh only 150 pounds end up carrying 180 pounds or more. With a basket balancing from each end of a bamboo staff, they start the long

climb back to the mouth of the volcano. They descend the crater in just a few minutes; it takes them two hours to go back up. When they reach the top, they stop to rest and eat dry fish and rice. Then finally they head down, this time running to lighten the weight of the baskets. They work one day in the sulfur and rest for two days; they could not repeat the feat daily. Their legs are deformed from the weight they carry—angels mutilat-

ed by the constant trips between paradise and hell. For each day’s work, they earn the equivalent of $3.50. Ten years ago, for the same work, the same sulfur, they earned twice as much.

S wept along by winds that carry the hint of fortune, men come to Serra Pelada. No one is taken there by force, yet once they arrive, all become slaves of the dream of gold and the need to stay alive. And once inside, it becomes impossible to leave.

Every time a section finds gold, the men who carry up the loads of mud and earth have, by law, the right to pick one of the sacks they brought out. And inside they may find fortune and freedom. So their lives are a delirious sequence of

climbs down into the vast hold and climbs out to the edge of the mine, bearing a sack of earth and the hope of gold. Anyone arriving there for the first time confronts an extraordinary and tormented view of the human animal: 50,000 men sculpted by mud and dreams. All

that can be heard are murmurs and silenced shouts, the scrape of shovels driven by human hands, nota

hint of a machine. It is the sound of gold echoing through

the soul of its pursuers. One union leader was also leader of the homosexual miners in Serra Pelada. He was head of a large number of workers who gave and received affection,

the only available source in this vast army of desperate men. He was brave, respected by everyone, and he had but one dream: to find gold and to go to Paris. “There,” he said, “I will get artificial breasts. No one can do this operation as well

as the French. The breasts of Paris are the most beautiful in the world, the very best silicones.” This was his dream, this was his enslavement.

|went to Kuwait after the war against Iraq, when the oil wells were still burning and flowing out of control. There I lived the apocalypse and saw the black

symbol of humanity. The war had ended just thirty days earlier, and the entire region was covered in oil: clouds of burned oil darkening the sky, lakes of oil polluting the land. For the first time, the people of Kuwait were seeing, touching, their own oil. For weeks, teams of specialists from different parts of the world fought the

flames and spills. It was like fighting against the end of the world, a world drenched in black and death. No Kuwaiti was in charge of the work. Only the real owners of Kuwait’s oil were participating, only the companies that control the world’s oil. It took a war to show Kuwaitis what their own treasure looked like.

he Channel Tunnel is much more than an enormous underwater highway linking England to the European continent. It is also a thermometer of cultures, a mirror of history.

On the French side, the workers felt that to build the tunnel was to join an

epic feat. All came from the Channel region and worked on the construction project of the century as if they were recovering part of their memory. Right there, Napoleon had begun to build a tunnel; the remains exist of his premonitory dream. On the English side the workers were hidden, almost fugitives, living in carefully controlled camps. They did not come from the region; they simply came looking for work. They showed no pride, they showed nothing. For hundreds of years invasions of England were meant to begin in that region, Kent. But the English always resisted right there, most recently in World War

II, in the skies above during the Battle of Britain. Local pubs are still decorated with photographs of pilots and propellers of Spitfire fighter planes. In these pubs, the explanation for the English attitude can be found: for the

first time since 1066, the English have been invaded from the Continent—from France, no less. And the tunnel is the invader. Through it will advance the barbarians from the Continent, which is why English workers cannot show pride, why they cannot admit that deep down they feel like accomplices to a frightening defeat.

At the bottom of the English Channel are buried two gigantic machines, two excavators that tore at the earth beneath the seabed. When they finally met, the tunnel was open and they could not return. Like the tuna in the Sicilian Mattanza, they could only move forward to their final end. So one was diverted to the right and walled off; the other was buried beneath the open passageway.

| n India, since 1954, thousands of people have fought incessantly against the desert. Now, five hundred miles of the Rajasthan Canal have finally defeated the absolute aridity of good soil that never received rain. The canal will rescue life hidden in this dried-up land. The works will be completed after the year 2000. The canal is being built by families that for four or five centuries have

been building roads, dams, temples: routes, water, prayers. With the desert rolled back, the new lands will produce food for India and its 850 million inhabitants.

For six months each year, entire villages move as the canal advances, fol-

lowing the line torn in the desert to bring new life. Men have the most desirable jobs; they are stonecutters, they run the machines, drive the camels. The hard work is left for the women. They carry the earth and the stones. As the canal advances, so do water, secondary canals, and newly planted trees. A green carpet appears and life returns.

Rajasthan is a strange desert. Wherever life can be sustained, huge numbers of pheasants appear. The canal workers themselves are no less strange, not least the women—women dressed in colorful dresses and adorned in sparkling bracelets, earrings, necklaces, women with jewelry attached to their bodies al-

most as if soldered to their skin, beautiful warriors of extraordinary dignity attacking the earth. In another part of India, at Gujurat, a dam is being built on the River Narmada that eventually will link up with the Rajasthan Canal. This dam will irrigate an area of 185 million acres and, in place of desert, cotton and grain will grow. A large number of women are working on the dam. They represent a majority of all the workers. And, as ever, in India, Bangladesh, and Pakistan, they do the hardest work. Men only do hard work when sheer physical strength is need-

ed. Then the men become human bulldozers, tearing at the earth with their shoulders, legs, and hands. But the women carry the earth away. They do this for six days a week, carrying soil, stone, mud, tubes, pipes, removing the desert that they are helping to transform. On the seventh day, they do not work at the dam, but they do not rest: they stay home preparing food for the

week ahead. Then they return to the desert for six more days of building life, shelter, and bread.

In October 1992, Sebastido Salgado and writer Eric Nepomuceno met and talked for several days in the home of Maria Thereza and José Solano Bastos in Vila do Riacho, Espirito Santo, Brazil. The result of those days was this text, written by four hands.

PHOTOGRAPHS

I Sugarcane

Brazil and Cuba 23 to 37

Slaughterhouse South Dakota,

United States JIO1ON Zs

Textiles

Bangladesh and

Tea. Rwanda 38 10.55

Tobacco, Cuba 56 to 63

Kazakhstan 123 to 133

Bicycles Shanghai and Tianjin, China 134 to 143

Cocoa, Brazil 64 to 69

scooters . Pune, India 144/145

Motorcycles Perfume, Réunion

Madras Ind

RARE

146 to 153 Automobiles Ukraine, Russia,

if \ . |War, a é jj

Fishing Galicia, Spain

India, and China 154 to 179

79to 89

Shipyards Poland and France

Tuna Fishing Sicily, Italy 90 to 109

180 to 199

Shipbreaking Bangladesh

Gold Serra Pelada,

200 to 219

Brazil

300 to 319 Titanium

and Magnesium Poealateern

Oil, Baku, Azerbaijan

220/221

SAM EY

Lead, Kazakhstan 222 to 229

Oil Wells, Kuwait

Steel

334 to 345

France and Ukraine 230 to 247

.

s

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2

Ba

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a

Railroads, France

248

to259

2 =

Eurotunnel 1

France and England 347

to 363

Iron Ore

Kazakhstan 260/261 The Sandar Sarovar

Dam and Irrigation Canal, India 364 to 377 Coal, India 263 to 283

Rajasthan Canal Rajasthan, India 378 to 395

Sulfur, Indonesia 284 to 299

The captions for the photographs are to be found at the back of the book.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

In 1984, when Sebastido Salgado had finished a major

dustry and Culture, through the Centre National de la

project on the peasants of Latin America, our discussions

Photographie, and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, with

began to focus on an insistent and troubling theme: the

the Prix Villa Medicis.

phasing-out of manual labor ona

Musée de 1’Elysée in Switzerland; Leica Camera; Apple

global scale.

In this same year, Sebastiao was compelled to travel to Africa, where he stayed for fifteen months, in order to show the public that an immense tragedy—famine—was sweeping down on the Sahel. The resulting work is a tes-

USA; and the Comité Central d’Entreprise of the SNCF,

who helped with the story on railway workers. While Sebastiao was still shooting, several magazines participated in the project by publishing photo es-

timony to the devastation of countless human lives.

says: Life magazine (United States), The Sunday Times

This current project began to take shape in the beginning of 1986, after important talks in New York with

Magazine (England), I] Venerdi di Repubblica (italy), El

Robert Danin, then head of the editorial department at

Match and Libération (France).

Pats Semanal (Spain), Stern magazine (Germany), Paris

Magnum USA, and in Paris, with Jimmy Fox, Editor in

After each shoot, Sebastiao developed the contact

Chief of Magnum France, and with Pierre Olivieri, a jour-

this in mind, we set out on an enormous task: to select

sheets and then went on to make work prints. We would make a rough selection, and the final press prints were chosen with the help of Jimmy Fox, who gave himself fully to the project, also translating and enhancing the

the industries and define the geographical range of the

Magnum texts and captions.

nalist, now director of Editions P.O. We knew that we

needed to establish some guidelines for the work. With

In the end, the project comprised many thousand

project.

Kodak believed in the project from the outset, and supported Sebastido from the very beginning. In 1989, with about half the work accomplished, we prepared a preliminary dummy of the book based on our original concept and showed it to Raymond DeMoulin, then Vice President and General Manager of the Professional Photography Division at Kodak, in Rochester, New York. To our great pleasure, he and his staff fully understood the purpose of our efforts, and a wonderful mutual rapport and confidence were established. Kodak thus became our main partner in this project and granted us the necessary subsidies for the achievement of our goals—the creation of this book, and arrangements for exhibitions that we hope will travel around the world. In these early efforts we worked in close collaboration with Rolf Fricke and Charles Styles.

work prints. Robert Delpire, head of the Centre National

de la Photographie, and Michael Rand, artistic director of The

Sunday Times Magazine, worked with us in making

the first selection. With them, and with the gracious help of Suzanne Hodgart, we looked at the complete body of work over a period of two years, each of us making our respective choices. Marcia Navarro Mariano, our assis-

tant, dispatched and compiled all of the photographs. Once that first edit was done, we were left with more

than four thousand images. Much careful reflection was

needed to find the main underlying theme of the book, and to proceed with definitive story selections. When we

started work on the final dummy, the photographer Miguel Rio Branco was most helpful with the initial image sequencing. Wendy Byrne, at Aperture, and Patricia Pericas, who worked as our intern, also participated

Later, when David Biehn became head of the Profession-

in realizing the dummy.

al Imaging business unit, and Keith Boas took on respon-

Sebastiao and I would like to express our gratitude and our appreciation to all those who helped and encouraged us in bringing this book to life. Our special thanks are extended to our publisher, Michael E. Hoff-

sibility for its worldwide sponsorship activities, our association with Kodak was renewed and strengthened. It is

due to their support that this project has achieved the scope and magnitude it has. In our collaboration with Kodak in France and Eu-

Aperture staff; the entire team at Magnum, be they in

rope, we worked with Jean Francheteau, Carl Steinorth,

Paris, London, New York, or Tokyo; and our friend Alan

Claude Genin, and Guy Bourreau, all of whom helped to find solutions to the innumerable challenges that arose.

Riding, Paris bureau chief of the New York Times. We

Many other partners joined us once the project was

standing and patience as they endured Sebastiao’s long absences and my immersion in work. —Lélia Wanick Salgado, Project Director

underway. We would like to thank the following organizations for their participation: the French Ministries of In-

396

Also, Paris Audio Visuel; the

man; our editor, Rebecca Busselle; and the dedicated

also thank our sons, Juliano and Rodrigo, for their under-

SELECTED

MAIN

PHOTOGRAPHIC

ESSAYS

BIOGRAPHY

exhibition

“Other

Americas”

from

the

“Month

of

Photography,” Paris Audiovisuel, France

1978 “4000 Habitations’—photographic essay on the problems of living conditions in the La Courneuve suburb of Paris. Work ordered by the local council in order to set up a major exhibition exposing this problem. 1979 Photographic research on the varying degrees of success of integration by immigrants into European society, specifically in France, Holland, Germany, Por-

tugal, and Italy. 1977-84 Research on the living conditions of peasants, and the cultural resistance of the Indians and their descendants across Latin America, from Mexico to Brazil.

1984-85 Work done in collaboration with the humanitarian aid group, Médecins Sans Frontiéres (Doctors without Borders) exploring the devastating effects of drought in the Sahel region of Africa. 1986-92 Documentary project on the end of large-scale manual labor in twenty-six countries.

1994-99 “Population Movements Around the World,” —thirty-six photographic investigations on migration trends across the globe. 2001 Photographic essay on the global polio eradication campaign by UNICEF and WHO (World Health Organization).

1987 Photographer of the Year Award, American Society of Magazine Photographers, USA; Photographer of the Year Award, Maine Photographic Workshop, USA; Olivier Rebbot Award, Overseas Press Club, USA;

Jounalistenpreis Entwicklungspolitik, West Germany; Prix Villa Médicis, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, France 1988 Erich Salomon Award, West Germany; Premio de

Fotografia Rey de Espafia, Spain; Photojournalist of the Year Award, International Center of Photography, USA; The Gold Award, Art Directors Club, USA 1989 Erna and Victor Hasselblad Award for Life Achieve-

ment, Sweden; The Artist of Merit Josef Sudek Medal, Czechoslovakia

1990 The Maine Photographic Workshop Award for the Best Photography Book, An Uncertain Grace, USA; Visa d’Or Award, International Festival of Photojournalism, Perpignan, France 1991 The Commonwealth

Award, USA; Le Grand Prix de la Ville de Paris, France; The Gold Award, Art Directors Club, USA

1992 Elected Foreign Honorary Member of the Amercian Academy of Arts and Science, USA; Oskar Barnack Prize, Germany; Art Directors Club Award, Germany

1993 Prize for the Best Photography Book of the Year, Workers: An Archaeology of the Industrial Age, Arles International

HONORS

1982 W. Eugene Smith Grant in Humanistic Photography, USA; Award for project on Latin American peasants, Ministry of Culture, France

1984 Kodak/City of Paris Award for Other Americas, France 1985 World Press Photo Award, Holland; Oskar Barnack Prize, for humanitarian story of the year, West Germany

1986 Ibero-American Photography Award, Spain; Photojournalist of the Year Award, The International

Center of Photography, USA; Prix du Livre, for Sahel, l’Homme en Deétresse, Arles International Festival, France; Grand Prix and Prix du Public for the

Festival, France; Trophée Match d’Or France; The World Hunger

for Life Achievement,

Year Harry Chapin Media Award for Photojournalism for Workers: An Archaeology of the Industrial Age, USA 1994 Award for the publication Workers: An Archaeology

of the Industrial Age, International Center of Photography, USA; “Centenary Medal,” The Royal Photographic Society of Great Britain, England; “Honorary Fellowship,” The Royal Photographic Society of Great Britain, England; “Professional Photographer of the Year,” Photographic Manufacturers and

Distributors

Association,

USA;

Grand

Prix

National, Ministry of Culture and Communication, France; Award of Excellence, Society of Newspaper

Design, USA; Silver Award, Society of Newspaper Design, USA

397

1995 Silver

Medal,

Art

Directors

Club,

USA;

Silver

Canon

Photo Gallery, Amsterdam,

The Netherlands,

1986

Medal, Art Directors Club, Germany

Musée de |’Elysée, Lausanne, Switzerland, 1987

1996 Citation America,

for Excellence,

USA;

Overseas

Auszeichnung,

Press Club of

Art

Directors

Club,

Germany

Museu de Arte de Sao Paulo, Brazil, 1988

National Gallery of Art, Beijing, China, 1989 Biennale de Cétinié, Montenegro, Yugoslavia, 1997

1997 Prémio Culture,

Nacional

Funarte,

de

Fotografia,

Brazil; Prémio

Ministry

of

A Luta pela Terra,

Personalidade da reforma agraria, (movement of landless peasants), Brazil 1998 Silver

Medal,

Alfred

Eisenstaedt

magazine,

USA;

Art

Directors

“Life

Prémio

Club,

Legend” Jabuti,

Germany;

Award,

for Terra,

Life Brazil;

“Principe de Asturias” Award for Arts, Spain

1999 Alfred Eisenstaedt Award for Magazine Photography, “The Way We Live,” USA; Prémio Unesco 2000 Medal of “Presidenza della Repubblica Italiana,” International Research Center, Pio Manzu, Italy

2001 “Doctor Honoris Causa,” University of Evora, Portugal; Honorary Doctor of Fine Arts, New School University, New York, USA; Honorary Doctor of Fine

1989-present “Retrospective,” other venues:

including

these

and

Hasselblad Center, Goteborg, Sweden, 1989 Bienal de Cuba, La Havana, Cuba, 1989

Photographer’s Gallery, London, England, 1990 National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo, Japan, 1993 McLellan Galleries, Glasgow, Scotland, 1994 LEspace Photographique de Paris, France, 1996 1989-96 “An Uncertain other venues:

Grace,”

including

these and

San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, USA, 1990

International Center of Photography, New York, USA, LOE Stadtisches Museum, City of Schleswig, Germany, 1996 EFDI, Madrid, Spain, 1999 EFDI, Valencia, Spain, 2000

Arts, The Art Institute of Boston at Lesley University, Boston,

USA;

Prémio

Muriqui

2000,

Nacional

da Reserva da Biosfera da Mata Atlantica,

Brazil; UNICEF Special Representative; Accion” prize, Ayuda en Accion, Spain

MEAS) ORS RCAG Ee UN

Conselho

including

these and other

“Ayuda en

Gehan bb © INES

1982-99 “Other Americas,” including these and other venues: Galeria de Fotografia da Funarte,

1992-present “Workers,” venues:

Rio de Janeiro,

Brazil, 1982

R6misch-Germanisches Museum, Cologne, Germany, 19972 Philadelphia Museum of Art, Pennsylvania, USA, 1993 Palais de Tokyo, Paris, France, 1993 Centro Cultural de Bélem, Lisbon, Portugal, 1993 Biblioteca Nacional, Madrid, Spain, 1993 National Gallery Slovakia, Bratislava, Slovakia, 1993

Royal Festival Hall, London, England, 1993 Palazzo delle Esposicioni, Roma, Italy, 1994 Musée de |’Elysée, Lausanne, Switzerland, 1994 Museu de Arte de Sao Paulo, MASP, Brazil, 1994

Museo de Arte Contemporaneo de Madrid, Spain, 1986

The Bunkamura Museum of Art, Tokyo, Japan, 1994

Maison de |’Amérique Latine, Paris, France, 1986

Arberjdermuseet, Copenhagen, Denmark, 1994 Nederlands Foto Instituut, Rotterdam, Holland, 1994 Palazzo Affari ai Giureconsulti, Milan, Italy, 1994 Kulturhuset, Stockholm, Sweden, 1995 International Center of Photography, New York, USA,

Musée de l'Elysée, Lausanne, Switzerland, 1987

Museum Mishkan Le’Omanut, Israel, 1988 Palace of Youth, Shanghai, China, 1989

Musée Municipal, Dudelange, Luxembourg, 1992 Art Gallery, Inter-American Development Bank, Washington, D.C., USA, 1998 Bayrische Staatsoper, Munich, Germany, 1999

1986-97 “Sahel: |Homme en Détresse,” including these and other venues:

1995 Onomichi

Municipal

Museum

of Art, Hiroshima,

Japan, 1995

The Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney, Australia, es Palais de Beitaddine, Le Chouf, Lebanon, 1995

Hall Victor Hugo, Limpersberg, Luxemburg, 1996 Museo de Belas Artes, Caracas, Venezuela, 1997 Museu de Arte da Pampulha, Belo Horizonte, Brazil, 1997 Instituto Cultural Brasileiro, Berlin, Germany, 1997 Andorran National Commission for UNESCO,

Principality of Andorra, 1998 Museo de Arte Moderno, Mexico City, Mexico, 1998

Contemporary Art Center Zamek Ujazdowski, Warsaw, Poland, 2000

Norsk Industriarbeider Museum, 2000

Rjukan, Norway,

Pelada,”

including

these

and

other

y Museo

Medicos Sin Fronteras (Doctors without Borders), 1988

de Mineria,

An Uncertain Grace. USA: Aperture, 1990 An Uncertain Grace. Japan: SGM, Sygma Union, 1990 Um Incerto Estado de Graca. Portugal: Editorial Caminho,

LD) The Best Photos / As Melhores Fotos. Brazil: Sebastiao Salgado

Cleveland Center for Contemporary Art, Cleveland, Ohio, USA, 1996 Groupe d’ Animation Photographique, Cholet, France, ieee Historico

Otras Americas. Spain: Ediciones ELR, 1986 Outras Américas. Brazil: Companhia das Letras, 1999 Sahel, El Fin del Camino. Spain: Comunidad de Madrid,

SNCF, 1989

Galerie Debret, Paris, France, 1994

Archivo

Sahel: L’Homme en Détresse. France: Prisma Presse and Centre National de la Photographie, Médecins Sans Frontiéres (Doctors without Borders), 1986 Other Americas. USA: Pantheon Books, 1986 Autres Amériques. France: Editions Contrejour, 1986

Les Cheminots. France: Comité Central d’Entreprise de la

Palazzo Cisterna, Biella, Italy, 2001

1994-98 “Serra venues:

BOOKS

Pachuca,

Mexico, 1998

2000-present “Migrations,” including these and other venues: George Eastman House, Rochester, New York, USA,

2000 Maison Européenne de la Photographie, Paris, France, 2000 Parque das Nagoes, Pavilhao de Portugal, Lisbon, Portugal, 2000 Planetdrio-Museu do Universo and Instituto Moreira Salles, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, 2000 Scuderie Papali al Quirinale, Roma, Italy, 2000 Circulo de Bellas Artes, Madrid, Spain, 2000 United Nations Hall, New York, USA, 2000 Arengario and Instituto Martinitt, Milan, Italy, 2000 Fundacién PROA, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2000 Helsinki City Art Museum, Helsinki, Finland, 2001 Le Botanique, Brussells, Belgium, 2001 Manes Gallery, Prague, Czech Republic, 2001 Deutsches Historisches Museum, Berlin, Germany, 2001

Berkeley Art Museum, Berkeley, California, USA, 2002 The Bunkamura Museum of Art, Tokyo, Japan, 2002

Boccato Editores, 1992

Photopoche, Sebastiao Salgado. France: Centre National de la Photographie, 1993 Workers: An Archaeology of the Industrial Age. USA: Aperture, 1993 Workers: An Archaeology of the Industrial Age. England: Phaidon, 1993 La Main de l’Homme. France: Editions de La Martiniére,

Be i0%5) Trabalho. Portugal: Editorial Caminho, 1993 Trabajadores. Spain: Lunwerg Editores, 1993 Arbeiter. Germany: Zweitausendeins, 1993 Workers: An Archaeology ofthe Industrial Age. Japan: Iwanami Shoten, 1993

La Mano dell’Uomo. Italy: Contrasto, 1994 Trabalhadores. Brazil: Companhia das Letras, 1996 Terra. France: Editions de La Martiniére, 1997

Terra. Portugal: Editorial Caminho, 1997 Terra. Germany: Zweitausendeins, 1997 Terra. Italy: Contrasto, 1997 Terra. England: Phaidon, 1997 Terra. Brazil: Companhia das Letras, 1997 Terra. Spain: Alfaguara, 1997 Um Fotégrafo em Abril. Portugal: Editorial Caminho, 1999 Serra Pelada Photopoche Societé. France: Editions Nathan, 109? Exodes. France: Editions-de La Martiniére, 2000

Exodos. Portugal: Editorial Caminho, 2000 Migranten. Germany: Zweitausendeins, 2000 In Cammino. Italy: Contrasto / Leonardo Arte, 2000 Migrations. USA: Aperture, 2000 Exodos. Brazil: Companhia das Letras, 2000 Exodos. Spain: Fundacion Retevision, 2000 Les Enfants de l’Exode. France: Editions de La Martiniere, 2000

399

Retratos de Criancas do Exodo. Portugal: Editorial Caminho,

CATALOGS

2000

Kinder. Germany: Zweitausendeins, 2000 Ritratti. Italy: Contrasto / Leonardo Arte, 2000

Sebastido Salgado: Fotografias. Brazil: Ministério de Educagao

The Children. USA: Aperture, 2000 Retratos de Criangas do Exodo. Brazil: Companhia das Letras,

Sebastido Salgado. France: Galerie Municipale du Chateau

2000

Retratos. Spain: Fundacion Retevision, 2000 Malpensa. Italy: La citta del volo, SEA Aeroporti di Milano, 2000

Salgado. Italy: Contrasto, 2002 Une Certaine Grace. France:

2002

Editiones de la Martiniére,

e Cultura, Funarte, Rio de Janeiro, 1982

d’ Eau, Toulouse, 1986

Otras Américas. Spain: Universidade de Santiago de Compostela, 1992 Sebastido Salgado: La Revelacién Rescatada. Mexico: Museo Casa Diego Rivera, Festival Internacional Cervantino, Guanajuato, 1991

In Human Effort. Japan: The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo, 1993 Trabajadores. Spain: CAM, Fundacion Cultural, Alicante, 1994

Workers. Japan: Asahi Shimbum, Bunkamura, 1994 La mine d'or de Serra Pelada. France: Galerie Debret, 1994 Arbetare. Sweden: Kulturhuset, 1995

100 photos pour défendre la libertédela presse. France: Reporters sans frontiéres, 1996 Portfolio. Germany: Bibliothek der Fotografie, Stern, 1996 La ma de Vhome. Principality of Andorra: Andorran National Commission for Unesco, 1998

— 5 D 5 G fe) ” ® me)tee,a7 5 fe) a a x

“”

AN ARCHAEOLOGY OF THE INDUSTRIAL AGE AN APERTURE BOOK

CONTENTS

IN THE CAPTION

IN THE BOOK

II

Ill

IV

ve

BOOKLET

23 to 37

Sugarcane, Brazil and Cuba

38 to 55

Tea, Rwanda

56 to 63

Tobacco, Cuba

64 to 69

Cocoa, Brazil

70 to 77

Perfume, Réunion

OW RE NN Nm Nn

79 to 89

Fishing, Galicia, Spain

NI

90 to 109

Tuna Fishing, Sicily, Italy

AO gos VAL

Slaughterhouse, South Dakota, United States

123 to 133

Textiles, Bangladesh and Kazakhstan

134 to 143

Bicycles, Shanghai and Tianjin, China

144 / 145

Scooters, Pune, India

146 to 153

Motorcycles, Madras, India

154 to 179

Automobiles, Ukraine, Russia, India, and China

180 to 199

Shipyards, Poland and France

200 to 219

Shipbreaking, Bangladesh

DLO

Titanium and Magnesium, Kazakhstan

AL

222 to 229

Lead, Kazakhstan

230 to 247

Steel, France and Ukraine

248 to 259

Railroads, France

260/261

Iron Ore, Kazakhstan

263 to 283

Coal, India

284 to 299

Sulfur, Indonesia

400 to 319

Gold, Serra Pelada, Brazil

321 to 333

Oil, Baku, Azerbaijan

334 to 345

Oil Wells, Kuwait

347 to 363

Eurotunnel, England and France

364 to 377

The Sandar Sarovar Dam and Irrigation Canal, India

378 to 395

Rajasthan Canal, Rajasthan, India

WLLL UIE

Pages 23 to 37:

SUGARCANE,

BRAZIL AND

CUBA

Brazil is the largest producer of sugarcane and sugar-derived products in the world. The tradition of sugar production goes back to colonial times; initially brought into northeastern Brazil by Portuguese colonists in the sixteenth century, it quickly became a Dutch venture through enormous capital investments. Dutch companies not only financed most sugarcane farming, but also built sugar mills, imported slaves, and eventually took control of the transportation and commercialization of sugar products in Europe. They amassed gigantic fortunes. In 1630 the Dutch West India Company invaded and conquered the northeastern coastal region of Brazil. With full and direct control of the product, they developed sugar production more intensively. As Portuguese pressure to regain control of Brazil’s rich northeastern territories grew, step by step the Dutch moved the sugarcane front toward the Lesser Antilles. Large-scale production started on Barbados, providing the English settlers with a technical knowledge imported from northeastern Brazil, as well as slave labor already trained in sugar production. By the time the Dutch were finally expelled from Brazil in the second half of the seventeenth century, the sugar industry was flourishing in the Caribbean, where soil was fresh and Eu-

ropean markets closer. Gradual ruin overcame the northeastern Brazilian economy. Sugar production spread rapidly to other islands in the Caribbean.

The economies became monoculture (single crop)

based, exhausting lands formerly dedicated to more varied and smaller-scale agriculture, and subject to erratic price variations on the international market. The, pattern was repeated in Cuba after the English invaded Havana in 1762. Within only a few months, the new rulers imported thousands of slaves and began massive production of sugar destined for the international markets. Cuba was soon the largest sugar producer in the area, and huge profits went to the local oligarchy and imperialist interests. The modern sugar era began in Cuba around 1900, facilitated by major expansion of the United States markets. Subsequently, the industry became the victim of violent price fluctuations. An extremely prosperous 1920, called the year of “the dance of the millions,” was followed by a disastrous price slump in 1921: a pattern that has been repeated many times with less intensity. As a result, the sugar industry has always been subject to extensive regulation. After Castro came to power, much of Cuba’s agricultural land was expropriated and a major effort made to establish agricultural cooperatives. Manufacturing raw sugar from cane is the principal in-

dustry in Cuba. Associated with the sugar industry is rum, as well as industrial alcohol made from blackstrap molasses. Sugar accounted for more than 80 percent of Cuba’s annual total exports before the United States banned Cuban-sugar imports in 1960. As a result, the Soviet Union became more important to Cuba’s sugar trade. Because it has devoted so much effort to sugar production and tobacco for export, Cuba has

been dependent on imports to meet many of its food requirements. The sugar-producing areas of Brazil, too far from the European markets, had entered a deep recession after the departure of the Dutch in the seventeenth century. Modernization of the industry took place only after 1870. A new golden age opened in the 1950s when the country entered into accelerated industrialization. Brazil finally gained access to international markets when the United States boycott of Cuba followed the island’s socialist revolution. The northeastern area of Brazil, exhausted by centuries of extensive and irrational farming, was overtaken by the state of

Sao Paulo, the major industrial center, where the sugar industry was stronger and better organized. Alcohol derivatives from sugarcane were developed in the late 1970s, when the nation looked for other combustion fuels to power vehicles during the petroleum shortage. At the time, Brazil was importing 90 percent of its petroleum, depleting the nation’s export profits. PROALCOOL

(Pro-Alcohol), a ministerial agency, was

created to grow more sugarcane for combustion products. This resulted in a vast change in agrarian traditions, and the richest lands and crop-producing regions were again converted from cereal production to sugarcane. The government gave enormous tax incentives to rural capitalistic groups, primarily in the state of S4o Paulo and in Pernambuco in the northeast. Due to structural changes in farm and plantation size, crop-yielding areas that used large numbers of manual laborers were turned to exclusive sugarcane production. Both small proprietors and the laborers left their cradles of production for the cities when the rural regions could no longer supply employment. This new class of migrant labor aquired the name boias-frias (boia meaning food and /ria cold): workers are picked up by truck in the cities in early morning, taken to the fields, eat their cold meal at lunchtime, and are driven back to the cities at night. When the harvest is over, work contracts of boias-frias are terminated; they must find other jobs. 23 Small groups of sugarcane cutters are assembled from each truck that transports them to the fields. At the end of the day the total production is measured, and the truck group will receive an amount to be divided. Pradopolis, Sao Paulo, Brazil,

1987. 24 to 29 Sugar-cutting brigades work in regions and fields where machines are impractical. More than one-third of Cuban production is hand-cut in the fields, and workers come from various regions and professions. They continue to receive half their other salaries—plus a bonus for cutting cane—which provides a good wage. On top of their pay they are awarded “points” toward the purchase of an automobile (normally a Lada), which they may buy after several years at an approximate discount price of $4,000. These cutters work for the plantation of Central Augusto César Sandino. Province of Havana, Cuba, 1988.

30/31 The sugarcane workers return after a day’s work. They live in groups of forty-eight men, in temporary quarters,

Province of Havana, Cuba, 1988.

for five months of the year. Province of Havana, Cuba, 1988.

women are employed as sugarcane workers and age is unimportant; pay is according to production. Pradopolis, Sao Paulo,

32/33 Man cleaning a rum distillery in i the Rum Havana Club plant. Cuba, 1988. 34 Women plant cuttings of sugarcane in trenches made by tractors. Each worker follows a cart from which the stalks are dropped beside the trenches; the women chop them into small pieces for planting, considered one of the hardest sugarcane jobs. Pradopolis, Sao Paulo, Brazil, 1987.

35 and 36 (1 and 2) Women

planting sugarcane.

Pradopolis, S40 Paulo, Brazil, 1987. (3 and 4) After burning the fields, workers

cut the

cane. Pradopolis, Sao Paulo, Brazil, 1987.

(5) Boias

frias, the cold meal consumed during a break in sugar cutting. Pradopolis,

brigade.

(7 and 9) Sugar-cutting

Province of Havana, Cuba, 1988.

(8) Both men and

Brazil, 1987. (10 and 11) A depot in Matanzas harbor, one of

the four principal export centers for Cuban sugar. Matanzas, Cuba, 1988.

(12) A freighter being loaded with bulk sugar in

Mariel harbor, which has a special facility to pump sugar grains from dockside hangars directly into the ship hold. This freighter will take raw sugar to Algeria. Mariel, Cuba, 1988.

37 The Sado Martinho refinery makes combustion fuel from sugar alcohol, producing more than three billion gallons per year, or 200,000 barrels per day. In 1987, 90 percent of the cars in Brazil had either been manufactured or modified to use sugar alcohol as fuel, and the majority of cars on the road today are still alcohol-run. However, only ten percent of new cars sold run on alcohol, due to a reduction in government sugar-al-

Sao Paulo, Brazil, 1987.

cohol subsidies and the lower cost and higher winter efficiency of gasoline. Sugar alcohol continues to be important though, as alcohol, rather than lead, is mixed with gasoline. Pradopolis,

(6) Sugar cutting by hand.

Sao Paulo, Brazil, 1987.

Pages 38 to 55:

TEA, RWANDA The production of tea in Rwanda is a relatively recent activity.

The first plantations were established in an area close to the Uganda and Belgian Congo (Zaire) borders through private investments in the 1940s. The next decade saw the growth of plantations toward the south of Lake Kivu, near the town of Cyangugu.

Tea-growing sites were formed for plantations in the best ecological conditions, above the coffee-growing belt, on the highest hills of the central plateau, and in the foothills of the mountain ridge of the Congo/Nile, as well as in high-altitude marshes. Rwanda is one of the few countries to make use of marshes for tea plantations; the result is greater production, but marshes require more care than other growing regions.

In 1961 the Rwandan government launched a tea-expansion program aided by the European Development Fund. In 1970 more than 6,100 acres were planted and nearly 14,830 acres were in production. By 1980 the total area planted became nearly 22,240 acres, and in 1990 the figure passed 29,650 acres, with dry-tea production surpassing 12,000 tons annually. The Rwanda National Tea Office predicted an increase to 15,000 tons per year by 1993; however, this increase has less to do with additional surface area than with increased efficiency and management. The development of tea production resulted from the need to diversify from coffee to free the country from an export monoculture and to help create jobs for one of the poorest countries in the world. The tea industry employs fifty thousand people. In 1990 Rwanda’s population stood at more than seven million for a surface area of 10,155 square miles, which made

4

the population density one of the highest in the world. No land now remains available for increasing tea planting. Already plantation development has meant the partial loss of one rare high-altitude tropical forest, and with a growing population, subsistence will soon become a large problem for Rwanda. Despite the increased size, productivity, and quality of the tea crop, detrimental effects have been felt by the country. Statistics available in 1990 show a large accumulated deficit: the amount earned by export has been less than the cost of production. Recent major investments for tea-leaf-treatment factories have been made, but loan interests are high. Rwanda is further handicapped by its distance from any shipping port, which drives up export costs. And the main problem remains the low price of tea on the world market. Considered one of the best in the world, Rwandan tea is primarily imported to England, Ireland, Pakistan, the United States, and the Arab Emirates. It is often used for enriching teas sold internationally under other labels—with the highest prices. However, despite its exceptional quality, prices follow those of the market, which continue to fall. Specialists like to explain this by a general increase in worldwide production; others, however, think it is due to speculative action by some of the multinationals involved in tea distribution.

38/39 Tending plants on the edge of an industrial plantation in the mountainous Lake Kivu region. Rwanda, 1991. 40/41 Tea picking at a plantation near brie which grows high-quality tea. Rwanda, 1991.

llvinun N

42 to 45 Tea picking on a village plantation, where villagers receive seedlings that they plant on their own ground. Villagers tend these plantations without government aid and sell the crop to state factories. More than half the tea production of Rwanda is produced by these little, but numerous, plantations. The average land owned is 0.61 acres per family. Rwanda, 1991. 46/47 At the end of a day’s work, a group of laborers awaits their vouchers after their pick of tea leaves is weighed. It has been raining heavily all day. Rwanda, 1991. 48 to 51 Payday for workers on the village plantations in the hills south of Lake Kivu. Rwanda, 1991.

52 Waiting for tea leaves to be weighed and sorted. Rwanda, 1991. 53/54 Activities on a typical day at the Mata tea plantation include picking tea leaves and carrying them in baskets to be weighed; awaiting a voucher for the day’s wages; preparing the seedlings for new plantations; and producing the tea in industrial units. Tea from these mountains is the best in Rwanda,

and certainly one of the best in the world. Rwanda, 1991. 55 Girls covered with plastic to protect against the humidity of tea plants. Rwanda is located near the equator, but in the plantation highlands extreme humidity produces heavy rains. Shagasha Plantation, south of Lake Kivu, 1991.

Pages 56 to 63:

TOBACCO,

CUBA

Explorers who followed Christopher Columbus to Cuba and Central America found the indigenous people smoking a primitive form of cigar—a long, thick bundle of twisted tobacco leaves wrapped in a dried maize or palm frond. Earlier evidence of cigar smoking goes back to a tenth-century Guatemalan pottery vessel that shows the figure of a Maya smoking a roll of tobacco leaves. The Spanish word cigarro was probably an adaptation of sik‘ar, the Mayan term for smoking. By the 1600s the cigar had been introduced in Spain, where it became a conspicuous symbol of wealth. Paper-rolled cigarettes were improvised by the beggars of Seville, who picked up discarded cigar butts and rolled the tobacco into cigarillos. The cigar was slow in spreading from Spain to other European countries, although North American sailors helped make it known in Hamburg and Rome, where it was manufactured on a small scale in the late 1780s. Veterans of the 1814 campaign against Napoleon’s forces in Spain brought the cigar to Britain, where it became an expensive luxury. By 1823 the introduction of an import duty on manufactured tobacco products made them even more expensive. In the United States, the use of cigars in New England probably closely followed the settlement of Connecticut in

56/57 The leaves of these tobacco plants are considered the finest in the world. Workers handle them carefully, picking from the bottom of the stem upward. Overhead a cotton canopy protects the plants from the sun’s strong rays as well as from insects. These fine leaves are used for the best cigars and form the external wrapping. Palm-tree leaves are used for packing tobacco bails, giving the stored leaves breathing space during long storage periods. Pinar del Rio, Cuba, 1988. 58/59

The interior of the Casa de Tabaco, the tobacco-

dry- ing hut on this plantation in the region of San Luis. Nearly all the work of threading the tobacco leaves to wooden stems is done by women. These wooden huts are covered with palm leaves so that the freshly picked leaves can dry in the even temperature provided by wind and ventilation. Pinar del Rio, Cuba, 1988.

60/61 The workbenches at the H. Upmann factory in Havana, which makes the famous Montecristo cigar. Consisting of

three parts—filler, binder, and wrapper leaves—each cigar is hand-rolled, sorted to size in wooden racks, trimmed, and categorized. Havana, Cuba, 1988.

1633. Eighteenth-century cigar production became a cottage

62/63 The best leaves are used as wrapper: they must be even-colored, strong, elastic, and silky in texture. Wrapper leaves receive the greatest care from the time of their picking to

industry, with women peddling the cigars door-to-door.

the moment of their final use. Havana, Cuba, 1988.

Pages 64 to 69:

COCOA,

BRAZIL

The history of cocoa farming is similar to that of tea, coffee, sugar, and cotton: all these monocultures are farmed almost exclusively in third-world countries and are subject to price dictatorships fixed by markets in countries that usually have never produced an ounce of the product. Cocoa is a relatively recent product on the world market.

Only at the end of the nineteenth century did Europeans and North Americans become large-scale consumers. In the 1950s, with total world production at 9,117,000 tons, the average price per arroba (thirty-three pounds) on the New York market was U.S. $42. As world production totals reached 15,202,000 tons in

the 1960s, the average price dropped to U.S. $27 per arroba. In

5

the 1970s, the average price per arroba rose to U.S. $53, with total world production at 16,550,000 tons.

In the 1980s, world

cocoa production rose to 21,553,000 tons, and prices dropped accordingly to U.S. $33 per arroba. Production in the 1990s is up, with 5,273,000 tons harvested from 1990-92, and prices averaging lower than in the decade before. This is the cycle: high earnings by wealthy countries, which makes the survival of im-

poverished countries of the south more difficult. In Bahia, Brazil, in 1991, prices were so low that producers tended to let the fruit rot on the trees, since the proceeds of

the sale would not cover labor costs on the farms. Fortunately, since cocoa plants need shade to grow, the leafy mango and jackfruit trees that provide shade help to feed the workers. It is interesting to note that the price of chocolate in Europe and the United States has never dropped at the same time that cocoa prices on the international market have fallen. On the contrary, prices have risen constantly over the years. Also noteworthy, prices of industrial goods imported into southern countries are regularly adjusted according to inflation, while cocoa prices, which have fluctuated over the decades since

Pages 70 to 77:

PERFUME,

1950, have not been adjusted. The following shows the annual consumption of cocoa per capita (1990-91) in different countries: Switzerland 11.32 pounds; France 6.1 pounds; United States 4.98 pounds; Brazil 1.21 pounds; Mexico 0.99 pounds; Philippines 0.34 pounds; China 0.04 pounds.

64/65 Cocoa fruits are picked by a large number of laborers. A long pole with a cutting blade cuts the stem of the fruit, which falls to the ground. Children collect it and take it to be shelled. Itabuna, State of Bahia, Brazil, 1990.

66/67 When enough fruit is collected, the grains are picked from their shells, then loaded onto mules and transported to fermenting houses. Itabuna, State of Bahia, Brazil, 1990.

68/69 Cocoa grains are stored for several days in wooden bins and left to ferment.

Later, they will be taken outside

and dried on the ground. At the end of the process, each grain will have turned into pure cocoa.

Itabuna, State of Bahia,

Brazil, 1990.

A

REUNION

The island of Réunion, located in the Indian Ocean between the

quality of Réunion’s perfume-industry products—vanilla, gera-

islands of Madagascar and Mauritius, was settled by the French

nium, vetiver—have made them the worldwide standard of excellence.

in the seventeenth century.

A small volcanic island, its base is

nearly 9,850 feet under the sea and its summit 9,850 feet above sea level. Réunion’s subtropical location and its variation in altitude, together with its numerous mountain enclosures, contribute to an exceptional piece of agricultural land. Both tropical farming—sugarcane and vanilla—and high-altitude farming—geraniums and vetiver—suit Réunion’s geography.

Cultivation of geraniums and vetiver was introduced to the island during the last century, mainly to provide the “little whites above”—the name given to whites living in mountain regions—with a crop to grow on small plots. The small bottles of perfume essence were also easily transportable down narrow roadways from mountain settlements to merchants in the port. The quality of both the vetiver and geranium is so exceptional that a market has always existed for them, even through they command high prices on the international market. Production of these plants was enormous during the 1960s, but then followed a period of conflicting Réunion politics that managed to favor both incentives to produce and eradication of plant cultivation. This led to a general reduction in the surface area devoted to planting and a drastic reduction in production, from approximately one hundred tons to only a few tons. Production through 1990 was not expected to rise over ten tons for geranium and five tons for vetiver. Despite production problems caused by inherent contradictions in France’s policy for overseas territories, the high

70/71 Mountains on Réunion Island. Variations in altitude and volcanic mountain enclosures contribute to a great number of microclimates on the island, to which perfume plants have ideally adapted. Réunion Island, French territory, 1989.

72/73 The distilling process of vetiver is very different from that of the geranium. Small quantities of geranium are distilled in several machines all over the island, while large quantities of vetiver are distilled in only one machine, which is rented out each day to different farmers. The farmer heats the six vats and supplies the steam for the ten-hour process. Usually one family uses one vat, which can hold up to 0.9 tons of vetiver root. Each full vat produces approximately twenty pounds of essence, and the owner of the distillery receives 2.2 pounds as rent for the vat. Réunion Island, French territory, 1989.

74/75 Inthe early morning, vetiver roots arrive to be distilled during the day. As the vats are filled, dust is dispersed around the room from earth still attached to the roots. The vetiver roots are compacted with bare feet to allow vat space for 0.9 tons. Réunion Island, French territory, 1989.

76/77 Wedding of a geranium farmer. Réunion Island, French territory, 1989.

a

il |NL NATIONAL

1786 1020

4029

Pages 79 to 89:

FISHING,

GALICIA,

SPAIN

The principal economic activity of Galicia is fishing, and the port of Vigo is the main fishing port in Europe. However, for the past several years small familial and artisanal fishing has declined. Fish that were once found close to the shore—oysters and shellfish—have begun a marked retreat from the Galicia coast, largely due to ever-intensifying pollution in the enormous rias, deep inlets that are rich in all types of marine life. Overfishing may also contribute to the decrease. Although the thousands of fishing families in Galicia are diminishing, fishing on a larger scale has continued to develop, and Vigo is now the base port of an international fleet that extends its fishing waters as far as Greenland. Large-scale fishing, together with smaller family operations, supplies fish for local processing. This section of the industry is also changing as it follows the trend from canned to frozen fish. 79 Upon returning to port, all nets must be checked and repaired for the next trip. Sardine boats leave in the evening and return the next morning. Sardine fishing has suffered a severe reduction in the quantity caught each day, probably from overfishing. The catch is now subject to a quota imposed by the European

Economic

Community

(EEC).

Ria de Vigo,

Spain, 1988.

80/81

A boat returns with octopus—a catch found near

the coast. Boats leave early in the morning and return at dusk. Ria de Vigo, Spain, 1988. 82/83 The mussel industry is an important part of the global fishing industry in Galicia. Hundreds of cords, approximately thirty-three feet long, are attached to bateas—floating islands—of which there are thousands. Tiny mussels will grow on these cords, to be harvested during the next season. Ria de Vigo, Spain, 1988.

84/85 According to the fishermen, who use long poles to rake the bottom of the sea for shellfish,

a marked reduction in

the number of crustaceans has occurred. One reason is that the coastal population (275,600 for Vigo alone) is responsible for large quantities of sewage and polluted water dumped into the ria. Also, authorities cannot control the night fishing during offseason periods when shellfish are not yet fully grown and fishing is forbidden. Ria de Vigo, Spain, 1988. 86 to 89 During the days following the opening of the shellfishing season in October, hundreds of women wade into the Ria de Vigo to harvest the shellfish at low tide. These women are either wives of fishermen or low-income workers. The shellfish are rarely eaten and are sold for industrial purposes. Ria de Vigo, Spain, 1988.

Pages 90 to 109:

TUNA

FISHING,

SICILY, ITALY

La Mattanza is a traditional tuna-fishing method in the Mediterranean, shown by documents, drawings, and paintings to have been in use during the Middle Ages. It is slowly vanishing. After World War II more than twenty-five different Sicilian fishing crews still used this method; now only two crews remain. The recent fall in tuna numbers is undoubtedly linked to the enormous pollution problems in the Mediterranean. Chemicals and fertilizers dumped from the mainland into the sea are gradually transforming it into a heavily polluted inland pool. Intensification of fishing in the region—as elsewhere in the world—is also responsible for the decline in the tuna population. Using modern, sophisticated methods such as sonar, helicopters from fishing ships track and follow tuna shoals. Specialists know that fishing industrialization by armadas of vessels is having a global effect on tuna breeding.

90 to 93 Preparations for the Mattanza coincide every year with the religious festivities of Holy Week, attended by groups of fishermen from Erice and Trapani. They celebrate the patron saints of fishermen during Easter services called I Misteri. Trapani, Sicily, Italy, 1991. 94/95 A fisherman sleeps on a net that will be in use in a few days. Trapani, Sicily, Italy, 1991.

96/97 Fishing crews assemble early in the morning for the start of the Mattanza. They have been waiting for several days for the shoals of tuna to arrive. When the sea currents become favorable, the crews go out in their boats and catch fish in the chambered net system. Trapani, Sicily, Italy, 1991.

98 to 103 Fishermen take boats from covered docks at the end of March in preparation for the Mattanza season, which lasts approximately four months. The tuna shoals enter the Mediterranean to breed in the waters around Sicily. Hundreds of miles of nets are attached to cables lowered into the sea, forming a wall off the Sicilian coast.

The tuna fol-

low the underwater tunnel, slowly moving from chamber to chamber, searching for an exit, unable to turn back.

Each net

chamber becomes a prison cell; a series can condemn more

than eight hundred tuna fish. The final stage is the “chamber of death”—a large, square net forty-four yards long and seventeen yards wide. Once the fish are captured in this section, the chambers leading to it will be cut off by a boat. Three other boats form the outer barrier, and the nets are hoisted. With spiked metal hooks attached to wooden

poles,

teams of men jab each tuna and haul it from the chamber of death. A tuna may weigh over half a ton. The fish are transferred to a container boat, and later to a factory to be cut in 7

pieces and exported to Japan. Trapani, Sicily, Italy, 1991.

104 to 107 Crew members pull up the heavy nets, bringing the tuna catch to the surface. Fish thrash inside the chamber of death, trying to escape. Trapani, Sicily, Italy, 1991. 108/109 For the better-quality fish, Japanese experts tra-

Pages 110to

ditionally cut the tuna and stay for the duration of the Mattanza. Deep-frozen at minus twenty degrees Celsius, tuna is flown by

jet to Japan, where it will be used in sushi and sashimi dishes. Except for small tuna, which the Japanese do not import, only the entrails, heads, and tails are left for local Sicilian con-

sumption. Trapani, Sicily, Italy, 1991.

121:

SLAUGHTERHOUSE,

SOUTH

DAKOTA,

South Dakota, in the western United States, has a small population of 696,000. Located in Sioux Falls, a city of 100,800, is the John Morrell slaughterhouse—the most important industrial employer in the state, with approximately 2,500 workers. The main buildings of the slaughterhouse complex, one of the largest and oldest in the country, were constructed in the 1920s. Construction is solid and well maintained, the areas clean and the productivity high. Approximately one thousand cattle and many thousands of pigs are slaughtered daily.

UNITED

STATES

112/113 Slaughtered pigs are immersed in a large vat, where the skin is cleaned and hair removed. They will then be eviscerated and the heads severed.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota,

United States, 1988. 114/115 Some animals are too fat or have difficulty walking and cannot follow through the corridors to the slaughtering room. They are put down outside by a bullet to the head, then carried by small bulldozer to the meat-production line. Sioux Falls, South Dakota, United States, 1988.

As well as providing for domestic meat markets and fastfood products, the slaughterhouse exports sausage and canned pork fat to Mexico, Europe, and Japan. It also supplies American army troops in the United States and Germany. In 1987 an important and lengthy strike at the slaughterhouse resulted in the layoff of most of the personnel, with the exception of the administrative staff. In May 1988, about 90 percent of the company’s employees were new to their jobs. Most of those laid off were later rehired.

heads washed. Sioux Falls, South Dakota, United States, 1988.

110/111 Most pigs brought to the Sioux Falls stockyards, which are linked to the John Morrell slaughterhouse complex, pass through a tunnel in a walk to their death. They are washed in an enormous room before being brought into the killing

120 and 121 Hot dogs are filled at high speed in soft plastic tubes, which are pinched at regular intervals and sent to be cooked. When the hot dogs leave the cooking process, the plastic will be removed before they are packaged. Sioux Falls,

room. Sioux Falls, South Dakota, United States, 1988.

South Dakota, United States, 1988.

116/117 Pork that has left cold storage waits to reach the ideal temperature for cutting. Sioux Falls, South Dakota, United States, 1988.

118/119 The cattle are killed by a puncture in the head after they have been strung up. A worker slits them with a long knife to bleed them; the animals are then decapitated and the

Pages 123 to 133:

TEXTILES, BANGLADESH

AND

Bangladesh has a strong tradition in textile production. Traditional cotton and silk saris have been manufactured for centuries, principally in the village of Tangail in the center of the country. The traditional garment industry has now found a new international market in America and Europe, where fine local handwork is very much appreciated. Directly employing more than 400,000 workers, the Bangladeshi garment industry has become the fourth largest worldwide, and a major exporter to the United States. Cotton weaving is also very important, although the country produces only a small quantity of cotton. Because the Bangladeshi population is approximately 120 million, huge amounts of cotton must be imported from India and Pakistan to manufacture clothing. Spun cotton is also exported as thread— 8

KAZAKHSTAN an important component for the equilibrium of Bangladesh’s commerce. Jute remains the main industrial fiber, however.

While

Bangladesh is not the world’s largest jute producer, the quality is considered the best. Integration of jute into Bangladesh’s economic activity, from plantation to exportation, has resulted in employment for millions of workers and is said to generate the principal share of the country’s currency. Though up against strong competition from synthetic fibers, jute production has not been seriously threatened. Exports have increased in the past few years, and jute has been rediscovered for transport and conservation of certain cereals. A portion of jute export sales remains, however, a function of war. Jute sandbags are used in trenches. During the

il |iu JATIONAL

8

Korean, Vietnam, and Iran-Iraq wars, Bangladesh’s exports of jute flourished. The textile system in Kazakhstan was created with three industrial-based units: one in Alma-Ata, capital of the republic; another in Kustanai in the north, close to the Russian border; and the third in Ust-Kamenogorsk in the east, near the Siberian

border. These three factories, with the same massive architecture, occupy thirty-five acres and employ 7,500 workers each. The specialty of each factory was determined by geographical proximity of raw material: Alma-Ata exclusively produces cotton textiles, with raw material coming from other nearby Central Asian republics; Kustanai specializes in wool; and Ust-Kamenogorsk produces synthetic textiles. An entire garment industry has developed around each factory, creating a new base of employment and production. This coherent economic model was organized in 1959 by the technicians of economic production and trade exchange in the Soviet Union. Today, the reality is much different from the ideal conditions imagined when the system was created. The complexity of changing from a centrally planned economy to a free-market economy has drastically slowed production. Because of the lack of hard currency, imported machines from Italy, Czechoslovakia, and Germany cannot be replaced or repaired; factories cannot be modernized. But the biggest problem has become the unavailability of raw material. In September 1991, the Ust-Kamenogorsk plant was operating at only 50 percent of capacity and employing only five thousand workers, because Russian synthetic fiber can no longer be obtained. Production was slowed in the Alma-Ata plant because cotton was no longer available in quantity from other

Central Asian republics. Only the factory in Kustanai was operating at full capacity, because wool is produced locally. With the breakdown of the centrally planned system and with no free-market system yet in place, the countries of the former Soviet Union confront a new challenge of economic survival.

123 Raw wool is sorted at the Kustanai textile-processing plant. Kazakhstan, 1991. 124/125

Machine in cotton-treatment plant, used for

heating and moistening cotton so that it can be stretched and spun into thread. Cotton thread is then bundled for export or locally woven into cloth. Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989.

126/127 Giant rollers compact and “iron” jute fabric. Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989. 128/129

In a room with more than five hundred looms,

jute is woven into fabric. Thread is carried by a wooden shuttle that moves from one side of the loom to the other at great speed. The incredible sound made when the shuttle is sent off, multiplied by five hundred, creates tremendous noise in this humid, dusty room. Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989. 130/131 Men complete the jute-manufacturing process, sewing bags for food transportation. Ironically, these bags are also used worldwide in times of war, filled with sand to fortify

trenches. Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989. 132/133 This massive textile plant has more than one thousand wool-weaving looms and produces yarn for the entire Kazakhstan Republic. It employs more than 7,500 workers, the majority of them women. Kustanai, Kazakhstan, 1991.

Pages 134 to 143:

BICYCLES,

SHANGHAI

AND TIANJIN, CHINA

The Chinese bicycle industry exemplifies good sense. Bicycles have allowed China to resolve some of the problems in employment, country and urban transport, and the distribution of merchandise within cities, where bicycles replace courier services used in the West. Bicycles also provide the Chinese population with a continuous form of exercise. Most Chinese bicycle factories are actually spare-parts manufacturers. Ninety-eight percent of all bicycles are sent out in parts to distributors who oversee the assembling, thereby creating employment throughout China. The Forever bicycle company in Shanghai has an annual production of approximately 3 million bicycles and directly employs 7,000 workers, not including the assembly staff across the country. Founded in the 1940s, the company has produced an estimated 50 million of the 400 million bicycles in China. With 8,800 employees and an annual production of 3,600,000, Flying Pigeon, in the northern city of Tianjin, is a slightly larger manufacturer than Forever. Flying Pigeon bicycles are exported to thirty-two countries, as well as allaying the domestic needs of China. The Japanese founded the Flying Pigeon company in 1937 for the manufacture of military goods.

When the nationalists drove out the Japanese, the company continued military production and added bicycles. After the revolution in 1949, the company manufactured bicycles exclu-

sively and named the enterprise Flying Pigeon to symbolize the white dove of peace. 134/135 Ina handlebar-assembly workshop, employees work on important, small details—such as handlebar breaks— that are critical for the bicycle. Shanghai, China, 1989. 136/137

Stacked in various areas inside the factories, bi-

cycle frames are antioxidized and integrated into the production process as the need for them arises. Tianjin, China, 1989. 138/139 The process for manufacturing bicycle wheels begins by pressing a thin band of steel several millimeters thick and four inches wide. The pressed steel is rolled while hot into the circular form and both ends are cut and soldered. A worker makes a second quality check. Tianjin, China, 1989. 140/141

Bar next to the Forever bicycle factory. Shang-

hai, China, 1989.

142/143 Bicycles on a street in Shanghai, immediately after a day’s shift change. Shanghai, China, 1989.

Pages 144 to 145:

SCOOTERS,

PUNE,

INDIA

144/145 Bajaj, one of the best-organized factories in India, produces scooters under the license of the Italian enterprise Vespa. It also manufactures motorcycles under Japanese license, as well as a small three-wheeled car powered by a

Vespa engine that serves as the main taxi throughout India. In 1989, the factory produced in excess of 600,000 vehicles, 20

percent of them for export. It employs more than twelve thousand workers. Pune, India, 1990.

Pages 146to 153:

MOTORCYCLES,

MADRAS,

INDIA

The Enfield motorcycle factory makes one of the most famous motorcycles ever known, the Royal-Enfield. The British sold the factory in the 1950s, when competition from other countries made a handmade motorcycle no longer economically viable. The model manufactured here is exactly the same as that which was constructed forty years ago and is the most powerful, fastest, and sturdiest motorcycle in India. This small factory employs only a few hundred workers. 146/147

After being polished, a gearbox part is cleaned

by blasting pressurized air to remove metallic residue. Madras, India, 1990.

148 to 151 Workers polish engine parts. Madras, India,

1990. 152/153 Parked motorcycles packed in dried grass and jute bags, ready for shipping to lucky consumers—who may have waited more than one year for delivery. Madras, India, 1990.

Pages 154 to 179:

AUTOMOBILES,

UKRAINE,

RUSSIA, INDIA, AND

Four factories in different parts of the world, manufacturing both automobiles and trucks, demonstrate the relationship between workers, the goods they produce, and the manufacturing tools. Each factory pictured has a relatively low technological level, but employs a high number of workers. The final product is the result of each employee working in sequence and communion, the fruit of social labor. In the modern automobile in-

dustry, this interrelationship is vanishing with the arrival of intelligent machines and robots. Located in Zaporozh’ye, the Kommunaar automobile plant—named after the Paris Commune uprising—is one of the oldest in the region. Founded in 1863 when a German capitalist established a nearby machine shop, it was nationalized after the October Revolution. Before producing automobiles, the factory made combine harvesters; in 1960 it was reconstructed as an assembly plant for the first Soviet Zaporozhets minicar. By 1986 it had produced more than two million such automobiles, the most popular in the former Soviet Union. The car is almost completely manually fabricated, with 20,000 workers building more than 150,000 cars per year. These photographs show production at the end of 1987. In 1988 a robotic assembly plant began operation with a new line of cars. The number of workers in the new factory was reduced to 7,500, although production later rose. Zaporozh’ye, Ukraine, 1987. The Lada car factories employ 270,000 workers and are composed of nine units distributed throughout the former Soviet Union. Togliatti is the main factory, made key-ready for the 10

CHINA

Soviets by Fiat in the 1950s. This factory has four big assembly lines, which manufacture small, medium-sized, and four-

wheel-drive cars. One of the largest in the world, the factory occupies an area of 1,360 acres and directly employs 120,000 workers. Production is approximately 725,000 cars per year, 40 percent of them for export, making this plant a primary generator of hard currency for the former Soviet Union. A new town for one million people has been built around the factory. Togliatti, Russia, 1991.

The Hindustan car factory makes the most popular automobile of India, the Ambassador, directly inspired by the British Austin of the 1940s. The first Ambassadors appeared on the streets of India in 1954, and today the model looks about the same. Located in the suburbs of Calcutta, the factory employs 13,000 workers to produce approximately 30,000 cars a year. Calcutta, India, 1989.

In the late 1950s, the Chinese government opened East Wind, a factory for truck manufacture that depends entirely on national technology, reasoning that in the event of an international conflict truck production would not be jeopardized. At that time China’s main industrial zones were situated close to the Soviet border, with which there were conflictual interests. The decision was made to set up production of East Wind trucks in the city of Shih-Yen, in the northwest Hupei province of central China—an area with difficult access. The town was home to only one hundred families during the 1950s; now the region boasts a population of over 300,000.

I

| ti

NATIONAL UNIVERSITY.

1

We

786 10203 40

The truck-manufacturing complex is made up of twentynine centers dispersed over twenty miles. Sixty thousand workers produce approximately 100,000 trucks annually. East Wind has planned to double truck production in the next few years, as well as begin Chinese production of French Citroén cars. Shih-Yen, Hupei Province, China, 1989.

154 Assembling the back suspension and transmission of

tured for trucks as well as for Volkswagen cars assembled in Shanghai and Peugeot cars assembled in Canton. Four thousand workers produce approximately 130,000 engines annually. Shih-Yen Foundry, Hupei Province, China, 1989.

160/161 Because of the high temperature in the factory, workers stand in front of the ventilator to get fresh air and take a break. Calcutta, India, 1989.

the Ambassador. Calcutta, India, 1989.

162/163

155 and 156 (1) Exhaust system section, Lada car factory. (2) Gas-tank fabrication, Kommunaar automobile plant.

Assembly line for the Ambassador.

Calcutta,

India, 1989.

Niva four-wheel drive, La-

164/165 Families of the Lada car factory workers gather for a group baptism. Because newly acquired freedom now allows religious practice, church baptismal services are held for fifty to seventy people at a time, reflecting a familiar, communal

da car factory.

way Of life. Lada car factory, Togliatti, Russia, 1991.

(3) Door storage, Lada car

factory. (4) Assembly line, (5) Rein-

forcing truck cabs, East Wind truck manufacturer.

166/167 This assembly line is almost completely manual, with many women employees. Unlike in other automobileproducing methods, each worker moves along with the individual car being manufactured. Kommunaar, Zaporozh’ye,

(6) Press section for doors, East Wind truck manufacturer.

(7) Gas tanks, Lada car factory.

(8) Exhaust silencers,

Kommunaar automobile plant.

168/169 Painters on the Niva four-wheel-drive assembly

157 and 158 (1) Ambassador assembly line, Hindustan

car factory. (2) Engine assembly line, East Wind truck manufacturer.

(3) Final inspection, East Wind truck manufacturer.

(4) Amoment of pleasure, Kommunaar plant.

Ukraine, 1987.

automobile

(5) Birthday cele-

line. Togliatti, Russia, 1991.

170/171 Rest moments are relatively short, but very frequent. Trade unions assist and protect their workers. Although productivity may not be up to Western standards, the quality of work life is reasonably good. Ukraine, 1987. 172/173

bration, Lada car factory.

Dominoes, chess, and checkers are popular

among automobile workers. Ukraine, 1987.

(6) Workers take twenty-

minute shift breaks ina resting room lined with

174/175

aquariums; soft music plays and soothing poetry is read aloud. Lada car factory. (7) Small-parts fabrication, Kommunaar automobile plant. (8) As-

Province, China, 1989.

sembly line for the Samara automobile, Lada car factory.

Zaporozh’ye,

A special foundry for truck pistons. Shih-Yen,

Hupei Province, China, 1989.

176/177

Kommunaar,

Manufacturing truck doors. Shih-Yen, Hupei

178/179 At foundry number two in the city of Shih-Yen,

159 Workers in the main smelter of the city’s foundry, where engine bodies are produced. Gearboxes are manufac-

axles, transmission parts, and brake pads are cast.

Shih-Yen,

Hupei Province, China, 1989.

Pages 180 to 199:

SHIPYARDS,

POLAND

AND

FRANCE

In the naval industry, the construction of both military and civil ships is quite similar—although the use of the final product is completely different. The military naval industry employs only workers from the civil industry, most of whom are unionized and claim the same social and class rights as other industrial workers. BREST

MILITARY

SHIPYARD,

FRANCE

Construction

on the nuclear-powered aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle began at the scientific, technological, and industrial development base of the French Ministry of Defense (Délégation Générale pour l’Armement) in Brest in 1987. The Brest DGA base is

the principal employer of the region with 7,000 employees, including 6,400 laborers. The site covers an area of several miles from the Penfield River to the city of Brest.

The carrier will be 845 feet long, 105 feet wide at the waterline, and have a full displacement load of 36,000 tons.

It is scheduled to be launched in 1994, with preliminary testing to begin in 1997. It will not be fully operational until 1998, and will replace the Clemenceau, which has been in ser-

vice since 1961. GDANSK

SHIPYARD,

POLAND

During World War II,

most of the German U-boats were constructed at the navy shipyards at Danzig (Gdansk). The shipyard was capable of producing one vessel per week for several years. Following the Soviet occupation of Germany, the German/Polish province of Danzig came under Polish sovereignty and the naval shipyards were transformed into the largest shipbuilding site in the Communist bloc. The majority of the Soviet 11

merchant navy was built here, as well as the vast fishing fleet and fishing factory boats. Today the shipyard has lost much of its prestige and power because of the reduced personnel, which over the past decade has decreased from 15,000 to 7,000 workers.

During

that period Polish Communist authorities had firm control over the principal trade-union leaders. Yet shipbuilding remains an important industry; the former Lenin shipyards are now also linked with ship repair work that employs over 6,000 men and a smaller shipyard for military-vessel construction. Gdansk’s shipyards bred many labor strikes and disputes that led to the creation of the powerful Solidarity trade-union movement. Bitter strikes caused clashes between workers and the Communist authorities, resulting in many deaths and political reprisals. This social unrest gradually found roots in other Communist countries and contributed to the changing ideas that led to the eventual downfall of the Communist regime in the Eastern bloc. After ten years of leading Poland’s fight against Commu-

curve is then easily obtained with an oxygen fire and a hydraulic press. Brest,

France, 1990.

186/187 A very important shipbuilding function is soldering the parts; the ship’s hull is an assembly of shaped metal plates soldered and riveted together. The welding of each part is a special craft. Welders breathe toxic fumes, and many finish their careers suffering from silicosis, the same disease many miners contract. Brest, France, 1990.

188/189 Workers construct a heater unit for a large petrol tanker. These heaters maintain petrol-storage tankers at the correct temperature to facilitate unloading and pumping. Gdansk, Poland, 1990.

190/191 The flanks of the aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle were built in the workshop and transferred by cranes to dry dock for assembling in the ship’s hull. Specially constructed transportation devices must then be cut away. Brest, France, 1990.

nism, Lech Walesa, a Gdansk shipyard electrician, became the

192/193 Construction begins on a Norwegian refrigerator factory ship. It rests in dry dock, on an inclined ramp to fa-

country’s first freely elected president since World War IL.

cilitate its launching. Gdansk, Poland, 1990.

180 Throughout the construction phase of the ship’s basic structure, the welder does most of the work.

At times so

many high-tension cables stretch over the bridge that they resemble the hair of some disheveled demon.

Gdansk, Poland,

1990. 181 Preparing part of the hull assembly. Each part is made in a workshop, then transported to dry dock. Brest, France, 1990. 182/183 After fabricating the ship’s hull, workers erect scaffolding around it for the remaining ship and plate assembly, as well as for painting. Gdansk, Poland, 1990. 184/185 Gigantic ventilation cones are prepared. Special wooden models are made for calculating the curvature. The

194/195 The construction yard during the assembly of a Polish cereal container ship. Gdansk, Poland, 1990.

196 The cleaning, by high-pressure sand spray, of an electronic “fish”—a small submarine filled with sophisticated sonar that is trailed by warships to detect submarine signals. Brest, France, 1990.

197 After launching, a boat is checked for interior and exterior finishing quality. Gdansk, Poland, 1990.

198/199 A ship is launched laterally into the water, where water pressure forces it into an upright position. After many months the ship is now born: when the interior is finished, it will finally become separated from the hundreds of men who helped to make it. Gdansk, Poland, 1990.

Pages 200 to 219:

SHIPBREAKING,

BANGLADESH

After a long life, a good number of ships end their voyage in Bangladesh. A throng of reverse manufacturers convert a ship back into raw materials, which become everyday items such as knives, locks, needles, farming tools, and many more goods. Most of the metal products manufactured in Bangladesh have their source, directly or indirectly, in recycled ships. Even the local iron and steel industries use a mixture of pig iron and coke from shipbreaking for special products.

The most sophisticated tool in this process is the blowtorch, for cutting sheet metal, but its use is limited by the high cost of exygen; most breakup work is done with a large hammer. The hammer breaks blocks of pig iron; sheet metal and other metals are cut using a hammer and chisel. Workers make about U.S. $1.20 per day, which means that an unlimited use of manual labor is possible. Approximately 7,000 people are di12

rectly employed by the shipbreaking yards, but an estimated 100,000 people live off the industry. All ship-demolition yards are found in Chittagong, a coastal city near the Burmese border with a population of more than two million—the country’s main site for heavy industry as well as a principal port. These yards, about eleven miles from the city, occupy almost six miles of shoreline. The price per ton of ships to be wrecked has increased from U.S. $8 per ton in the early 1980s to more than U.S. $250 per ton in 1989. This, of course, has meant a decrease in the

number of ships to be demolished. Several other countries—China, Pakistan, Taiwan, and

India—also have important ship-demolition industries. Today, only Bangladesh and India, however, consider shipbreaking an extreme necessity for their economies.

| LN IAL UN

200/201 One ship is destined for the blowtorch and hammer, while another nears completion of the wrecking process. Steel cables pull large sheet-metal pieces or large blocks to the yard. Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989.

channel near the shipbreaking yards. (7) Masses of metal are ready for transporting by truck or bicycle to all parts of the country. (8) Carrying a metal sheet weighing approximately one and a half tons.

202/203 Men work on breaking up the keel of a ship. Cables and winches pull pieces toward the beach. Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989.

213 and 214 Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989. (7) Rest time on the beach. The sand is covered with a tangle of screws,

204/205 A worker emerges from a smoke-filled hole to breathe fresh air; he will return inside to continue cutting. Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989.

erators. (3) Breaking up a motor engine. (4) Transporting an

206/207

When one man calls out, these men lift the

heavy metal together and set off, singing to help them concentrate. If one man lets go, catastrophe could result; serious accidents can happen this way. Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989.

208/209 Team shift on a nearly dismantled ship. The new shift will have to wait until the tide ebbs—it is rising here— before the ship is on dry ground again. Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989.

210 A specialist wrecker. Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989. 211 and 212 Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989. (1) Ship nearing completion of the demolition process. (2) The Hossain Ahmad shipbreaking yards.

(3) When the tide

ebbs, workers will begin carrying pieces to drier areas.

(4) Nothing will be

left of the ship, wood or metal. All will be removed,

broken down into smaller pieces. Wood is thrown into the sea and transported to the beach. (5) Activity in the yards is always the same: cutting with ~ a blowtorch or hammer and chisel, using cables or shoulders to

remove the metal.

(6) Fishermen with their boats in a water

chains, steel plates, and other metal chunks that seem random

and absurd out of the shipbreaking context. (2) Blowtorch opair-ventilation tube. (5) ———— of copper are considered a noble part of the ship. They -are coveted by foundries that turn them into handsome teapots, which are used in religious ceremonies or important

BIEL ics

family meetings. They also become necklaces to adorn Bengali women. (6) Transporting a heavy jack. (7) A moment of rest for workers.

(8) Large chunks of iron are de-

molished with cleavers and hammers. Constant hammering will eventually fatigue the metal and break it up.

215 When the tide is high, ships steam in at high speed and push themselves deeply onto the shore. When the water recedes, the ships are locked in the dry beach. Holes are immediately made in the hull so destruction can begin. Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989. 216/217 A worker carries a metal piece. Workers’ feet are always in danger because of metal strewn on the ground. Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989.

218/219 A steel-cable-transport team. Blowtorch workers stand on the remains of a ship. Chittagong, Bangladesh, 1989.

Pages 220 to 221:

TITANIUM

AND

MAGNESIUM,

220/221 Ina titanium and magnesium factory, one of the largest in the former Soviet Union, a worker sorts crushed ore. Titanium, a light, strong, noncorroding metal, is used mainly by the aircraft industry; magnesium is used in car and bicycle components and to clean lead. The plant employs an estimated eight thousand workers. Ust-Kamenogorsk, in eastern Kazakhstan, the site of the

KAZAKHSTAN factory, is a city with wide boulevards, many trees, old build-

ings, and a river flowing through it. With a concentration of factories producing everything from nickel, zinc, and lead, to uranium, the city—home of an atomic retreatment plant for the former Soviet army—is among the most polluted in Kazakhstan. This city was closed to foreigners until August 1991. Ust-Kamenogorsk, Kazakhstan, 1991.

Pages 222'to 229:

LEAD, KAZAKHSTAN This lead-processing plant in Chimkent, in southern Kazakhstan, is the largest industry in the city. Created in 1938, it employs more than 5,000 workers. According to local figures, the

plant manufactured more than half the total Soviet production of shells and much of its ammunition during World War II. After raw lead ore is sorted from the combined minerals

13

mined near Chimkent, refining is achieved by smelting raw lead at high temperatures in vast cauldrons. Magnesium or other chemicals are added to the liquid lead, resulting in extremely toxic gases. The factory pollutes the air; discarded liquids pollute the local water supply. The plant staff wears small, thin cotton masks that serve only to sift the dust. The toxic pollutants in some areas of the plant are so high that many employees cannot work more than eight or ten years before retiring. 222/223 Separation of residual impurities in the production of lead using a mixture of chemical products. Chimkent, Kazakhstan, 1991.

224/225

The beginning of the lead-production process,

where the first separation is made. Chimkent, Kazakhstan, 1991. 226/227

At the end of the industrial process, pure lead

will be used for storage batteries and bullets, as a protective coating for iron and steel, but mainly as a highly polluting antiknock agent in gasoline. Chimkent, Kazakhstan, 1991. 228/229

Heroes of Socialist production:

each month,

after a decoration ceremony, the plant displays portraits of workers with the highest productivity. Chimkent, Kazakhstan, 1991.

Pages 230 to 247:

STEEL, FRANCE

AND

UKRAINE

Steel production is the heart of the entire industrial system. A worldwide, irreplaceable metal, steel forms the skeleton of

steel exclusively with a continuous casting technique, operating two oxygen steel mills.

modern construction, transportation, and the majority of all industry; without it national economies sag and collapse. Two

The price paid for this massive modernization, which has made the plant one of Europe’s most competitive, has been a

major steel plants—Sollac in Dunkirk, France, and Zaporozhstal

drastic reduction in the number of workers. At one time, 20,000

Sergo Ordzhonikidze in Ukraine—exemplify this global industry. Each industrial unit has a production capacity of six million tons of steel per year. Although both units belong to economic systems that were radically different in 1987, considering the type and quality of the final product, they had many points in common. Great distance and an ideological wall separated these workers. Yet the dangers they faced and the behaviors they displayed carrying out their tasks were similar. They knew that their product was vital to all other industries; they were gods in their cathedrals of fire, the smelting furnaces. Usinor Aciers in Dunkirk provides a livelihood for 20,000 people and plays a decisive role in the life of the northwestern region of France. With its port of Dunkirk, the plant is in a strategic position for both imports and exports. The coastal location enables it directly to import some ten million tons of raw materials—ore and coal—needed for annual production and to export steel to the

workers were employed at the plant. By 1987 employment had dropped to 12,000, and plans called for the plant to stabilize

United Kingdom, the United States, Canada, Latin America, the

former Soviet Union, and the Far East. New shipping facilities will make possible vessels of 220,000 tons. Three stages have marked the development of this plant. In 1962, the facility started with two blast furnaces, a steel mill, a

strip mill, and a plate plant. A third blast furnace and a coking plant were installed in 1968 and 1969. From 1971 to 1974 production capacity doubled with a second steel mill and a fourth blast furnace, each twice as powerful as its predecessor. In the mid 1980s, further major investments improved product quality. With the introduction of automated equipment, pig-iron production, the first link in the manufacturing chain, has become a high-technology activity. Three of the four blast furnaces are among the most highly computerized in Europe. The number-four blast furnace is one of the world’s most powerful, with a maximum daily capacity of 10,000 tons of pig iron. It also has the first integrated plant in Europe, which manufactures

around 8,000.

The town of Zaporozh’ye grew along the banks of the Dnieper River in Ukraine with the establishment of the hydroelectric power station completed in 1932; more than three hundred different industries are now incorporated in this vast, productive region. The Dnieper Hydropower Station is the largest energy-producing service in Europe, not only providing energy for the industries but, because of its dam, making the river more navigable. Opening the river to cargo ships has made Zaporozh’ye an inland port. It is a toiling town, defined by metallurgists, power engineers, machine builders, and by steel-melting furnaces and rolling mills and the thousands of workers employed there.

Erected as one of the Dnieper industrial plants, the Plant of Sheet Steel, Zaporozh’ye Metallurgical Enterprises began operating in 1933. This plant is the largest of the three plants in Zaporozh’ye, a city that produces more than eleven million tons of steel yearly. Its sintering shops produce iron-ore sinter, which turns into cast iron. Open-hearth furnaces use scrap for producing steel from molten cast iron. Other processes produce, among many other products, cold-rolled automobile sheets, transformer steel, bent profiles, and tinned steel for the food industry and metal toys. The plant employs more than 25,000 workers.

Under Nazi occupation the plant was entirely dismantled and transferred to Magnitogorsk in the distant Urals. The Germans were left with empty warehouses. During the battle to regain control of the city, most of the fighting took place inside the factory, where the enemy, taking advantage of the reinforced concrete walls, had set up a stronghold. It took several years for

the steelworks to be fully productive again, and the rebuilding ended only in the early 1950s.

14

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The plant is now being further reconstructed and the most modern equipment installed.

France.

230/231 Coal is burned for more than twenty hours at one thousand degrees Celsius to allow all gases to evaporate. Cooled coke is mixed with iron ore and transferred to blast furnaces. Working within these coking plants work is perhaps

machinery that controls furnace opening at the coking plant.

hardest for the men, who are constantly faced with toxic fumes and high temperatures. Dunkirk, France, 1987.

232/233 In the basement of the furnaces that fuel energy for the coking plant. Workers supervise the tubes that carry gas to the small furnaces that are used to make coal into coke.

234 A worker maintains pipes—part of the electronic cabling system—around the number-four furnace. Dunkirk, France, 1987. 235

and

Ukraine, 1987.

236

Dunkirk,

France, and Zaporozh’ye,

(1) Heaps of imported ore line the wharves

near the furnaces.

France.

(2) Bulldozers collect and remove

scrap from the steel mills, later converted into by-products such as bricks. France. (3) Thick woolen caps help protect against splinters of molten steel at the smelting furnaces. Ukraine.

France.

(4) Worker spe-

cializing in fusion at furnace number two. France.

France.

(3) Worker checks

(4) Cables stocked in this section will later convey

electricity to the steel plant. Ukraine. (5) A steel plant sometimes resembles an ocean liner more than an industry; workers must continually repaint metal structures rotted from chemical pollution. France. (6) Each furnace produces a different type of steel.

Ukraine.

(7) Work must be carried out even in ex-

treme temperatures inside the cauldrons. A tractor is equipped with a vibrating, spearlike tip that breaks solidified pieces. France.

Dunkirk, France, 1987.

(2) Replacing special ceramic bricks in the converter

in the steelworks’ main section.

(8) Work at the coking plant. France.

(9) The open

top of the coking-plant furnace will receive a load of coal that will burn for twenty hours at one thousand degrees Celsius. France.

(10) A mixture of

ore and coke is melted—an extremely dangerous moment because the process produces gases. Ukraine. (11) A mechanic in a small tractor carries raw material from the smelting furnace to the steelworks. Ukraine. (12) Workers wear eye shields in the furnace plant: most workers are observers in the mainly automated number-four furnace. France. (13) A worker makes his way through miles of pipes near the blast furnace.

(S) Bulldozers removing

France.

scrap.

through a tributary on the furnace floor and drops into waiting

France.

(6) Prepa-

ration of the ceramic mortar used to obstruct the mouth of the smelting furnace while the ore is cooked. The mortar will be inserted with this high-pressure cannon. France. (7) Workers in the coking plant prepare to open a furnace. France. (8) Worker wearing asbestos suit in blast-furnace section of mill. France.

(9) A street between the

smelting furnaces and the steelworks. Ukraine. (70) Cleaning heavy plates to be used in offshore-rig construction. France. (11)

Sauna baths for furnace-unit workers.

Ukraine.

Workers in furnace shops of the sintering section.

(12)

Ukraine.

(13) Workers on the coking plant furnace roof. France.

(14)

Maintenance on the brick lining used in steel-pouring funnels. France. (15) Workers from a smelting plant relax between outpours of magma—molten iron. Ukraine. (16) Worker takes a break. Behind him, space where small magma rivers will flow when poured. Ukraine. 237 and 238 Dunkirk, France, and Zaporozh’ye, Ukraine, 1987. (1) Preparing coal to be thrown into furnaces.

(14 and 15) The magma

trains. Ukraine.

flows from the furnace

(16) Workers’ reflections in the number-four-

furnace control room. France. 239 Worker in the furnace shop of the sintering section. Zaporozh’ye, Ukraine, 1987.

240/241 Panoramic view of the steel plant where special steel will be poured and transported to be rolled into automobile sheets. Zaporozh’ye, Ukraine, 1987.

242/243 Relaxing in the sauna, two young workers still wear their factory leather hats. Zaporozh’ye, Ukraine, 1987. 244/245 Stocks of ore and coal will be carried on the traveling band to the coking plant and smeltering furnace. Dunkirk, France, 1987.

246/247

All flawed steel products, smelting plant rem-

nants, or rejected coils and cables are returned to the smelting

plants. Looking more like cavemen than members of the atomic industrial era, these workers manually cut large lumps of metal with oxyacetylene torches. Dunkirk, France, 1987.

Pages 248 to 259:

RAILROADS,

FRANCE

The “carriage on tracks,” or steam train, was already part of the industrial scene in Europe at the beginning of the 1800s. But it was not until 1823, when King Louis XVIII signed a decree authorizing construction of a railroad to carry coal to the Lorraine region, that the industrial revolution began. By 1831 the first

passengers were crammed into freight cars coal smoke. In 1837 the first 11.5-mile track from Paris to the suburbs at an approximate five miles an hour. In 1842 a French national

amidst clouds of took passengers speed of twentyrailroad-grid sys-

tem was conceived, with Paris at the center of the network and

15

links to major French ports and borders. Steam engines moved rail travel forward; four wheels

now enabled carriages to take curves. The “iron horse” had arrived, puffing clouds of white steam through the countryside and into the ornate iron stations of Europe. The Société Nationale des Chemins de Fer (SNCF) was created in 1938, com-

bining two existing government systems with five private companies. In 1975 the last steam engine was used in France, which had decided to electrify its grid system and extend and modernize its tracks. According to recent records, the network of tracks now

covers 22,755 miles, of which 12,430 are fully electrified.

Each

year 780 million passengers are transported, as well as 170 millions tons of merchandise. Figures indicate that SNCF is one of the leading railroad networks in the world. Nationalized railroads play an important role in the nation’s economy, not only by employing 218,000 workers, but also by providing pensions for 400,000 retired employees and their families. As in all industries, the modernization process is in inverse proportion to the number of jobs created. SNCF was no exception. It employed more than 500,000 workers in the 1950s; today barely 200,000 jobs remain. The entire system is being transformed and automated. Trains do not need inspection as often as in the past; they can run two or three times as far before returning to inspection centers.

When the high-speed train (TGV) arrived, the number of jobs dropped precipitously. The pointsmen’s section practically disappeared because of computers. Two hundred and eighty miles of rail between Paris and Lyon, for example, are now controlled from Paris by no more than ten people, where it once took several hundred workers to accomplish the same work. According to engineers, within a few years it will be possible for a mere 90,000 employees to run the entire SNCF network. 248/249 A rail-traffic cabin at a station in the Massif Central, a region that has not yet been completely electrified or modernized. Here manual switches move trains onto different tracks. Some of the equipment dates back to the beginning of the century. SNCF, France, 1989. 250/251

A worker maintains cables on a platform of

Paris’s Gare St. Lazare—one of five major stations in the capital. Each of these stations not only serves a specific outlying region

but also handles millions of suburban trains and passengers. SNCF, France, 1989.

252 Maintaining railroad tracks. SNCF, France, 1989.

253 and 254 SNCF, France, 1989. (1) Since most of the

line from Paris to Bordeaux is electrified, many trains are capa-

ble of traveling 124 miles an hour. (2) Construction of the electrification system for TGV Atlantique. (3) Men work on tracks near the Gare de Lyon in Paris. Metal structures are wrinkled by the vibrations of the TGV superspeed train as it passes. (4)

Workers install the new TGV track in southwestern France. The train can reach a speed of 186 miles an hour, but since the track requires 1,666 sleepers and 6,437 tons of gravel ballast per mile, the track can only be laid at the speed of 0.65 mile per day. (5) The special maintenance depot for the TGV train at the Villeneuve-Saint-Georges plant in the Paris suburbs. (6) In the main control unit of the Archéres sorting yard, good carriages are tracked to make complete trains. A worker pushes the train with his shoulder.

(7) The main command post for the TGV

trains in the Gare de Lyon supervises up to 130 trains daily. At peak periods twenty-four trains travel in various directions with only a four-minute interval between each train. The optical control board links the rails of 11,185 miles of cables and has

more than nine hundred illuminated signals. The supervisor can alert drivers to any track problems or severe wind and weather conditions.

(8) In the maintenance yards at Archéres,

workers have sublevel stations to check the joints and wheels of each carriage. (9) A worker maintains part of a traditional engine in La Folie Nanterre yards near Paris. Old locomotives have one vast engine; the new,

modern

TGV train runs on twelve small, individual engines. (10) Workers inspect portions of track that are manually controlled.

(11) The maintenance depot of Oullins, near

Lyon, is the largest in France with more than 1,200 workers.

(12) Maintenance yards at Clichy, near Paris, where trains are cleaned and washed.

(13)

At the main control unit of the

Acheres sorting yard, the cabin squeezed between the tracks is so narrow it is impossible to open a newspaper. 255 In the main control unit of the Siblime sorting yard, each carriage is automatically shifted to its appropriate “leader” and hooked onto other trains. A majority of freight trains are devoted to the transportation of new vehicles, which come from assembly plants that have their own rail-sorting system. SNCF, France, 1989.

256/257 A worker at the Oullins depot protects himself from toxic paint fumes. SNCF, France, 1989. 258/259

Along the electrified track between Paris and

Bordeaux, where trains can run at 124 miles per hour.

SNCF,

France, 1989.

Pages 260 to 261:

IRON

ORE, KAZAKHSTAN

260/261

The mines of Sokalrvskiv and Sarbaiskiy at

Roudniy, in northern Kazakhstan, employ more than 19,000 workers. The annual production is twenty million tons of ore

16

with a 32 percent iron content, as well as vast quantities of iron pellets. Ten railroad lines trace the terraces of this mine, one of the largest in the world. Roudniy, Kazakhstan, 1991.

D

(LN| TY LIBRAI

402

Pages 263 to 283:

COAL,

INDIA

Coal mining in the Dhanbad region of Bihar was established by the British in 1780. In 1959, though the British retained technical responsibility, the mines were handed over to capitalist Indians, who ran them for a decade until they were nationalized in 1968 and Coal India was founded—an organization dependent on the Ministry of Mines and responsible for coal activity in the country. Coal India consists of seven large companies, each ac-

countable for coal in a different Indian region; in Dhanbad, Bharat Coking Coal Limited (BCCL) is responsible.

The term

coking coal refers to the special quality of coal that can be burned in coke plants, the product of which can be used for the manufacture of steel. Remaining coal is used domestically, or for power, but not for steel. For nearly two centuries, small British companies in the Dhanbad region were interested in short-term investment and immediate results. Miners drilled a hole in the center of the coal vein and removed only the quantity found in that tunnel, leaving whatever surrounded it. This practice, called “gallery mining,” circumvented the investment needed for extensive tunnels. When the British finally left, nearly 90 percent of Indian coal reserves remained untouched. Though this extraction method had some immediate advantages, the long-term consequences of gallery mining were disastrous. Many of the tunnels had been badly drilled: oxygen circulation caused underground fires that broke out around 1940, not only causing enormous damage to the Dhanbad coal reserves but allowing parts of towns built on ground above the mines to collapse. The fires continue to burn today. The loss is estimated at five billion U.S. dollars, not counting the waste of surface area and the destruction of roads and buildings. In addition, gases emitted from the underground combustion cause heavy pollution. The Dhanbad coal-mining region has a population of about 1.2 million. BCCL employs 130,000 permanent workers (approximately 105,000 miners and 25,000 administrative staff)

and provides jobs for a large number of temporary workers. A great many privately owned trucks transport the coal, which involves a team of workers employed in loading. Some 400,000 people are directly dependent on the mines for their livelihood. BCCL contributes to the local community and has helped set up three central hospitals and a number of clinics, as well as schools and other public institutions. The majority of public investment has to come, however, from the state of Bihar—perhaps the poorest in India. With the help of countries such as France, Poland, the former Soviet Union, England, and Germany, huge investments are being made in the coal industry. This collaboration has been instrumental in the recent development and modernization of some gallery mines; several mines now have a production commensurate with the world’s most important coal mines, even with 95 percent of production using traditional mining methods. The greatest investment in recent years, how-

ever, has come in open-cast mines. The region’s current annual coal production is approximately twenty-eight million tons, with an annual production growth rate of 10 percent—mainly because of open-cut mine development. This level of investment must be upheld until the end of the century, when production is expected to reach sixty-five million tons. Dhanbad will then become the largest open-cast mine in Asia. Currently, India imports a considerable quantity of coal from Australia. By the end of the century India should be entirely coal self-sufficient and have a surplus for export. This modernization process is not without problems, among them the enormous investment needed and the drive for profits. The new goals could be achieved with the exclusive use of machines, but what would become of the hundreds of

thousands of workers who depend on coal employment to stay alive? 263 Once extracted, coal is loaded onto small elevators that run between the different galleries, often hundreds to thou-

sands of feet deep. When it reaches the surface the load is emptied onto these wagons, which are pushed at arm’s strength, to be emptied into trucks. Dhanbad, Bihar State, India,

1989.

264/265 Workers run the steam engine that carries coal from the coking plants to the smelting works. Dhanbad, Bihar State, India, 1989.

266 Going down the elevator into the Mudidih mine—an old mine once worked by the British.

Dhanbad, Bihar State,

India, 1989.

267 and 268 Workers at the bottom of the mines. With the exception of two mines where the French and Polish coal industries have instituted modernization programs, the majority of gallery mines are still worked manually in very difficult conditions. The ventilation is bad, the heat unbearable, and no pro-

tection against dust exists. The worker’s basic monthly salary is eight hundred rupees (U.S. $47) but with production bonuses can reach two thousand rupees (U.S. $118).

Dhanbad, Bihar

State, India, 1989.

269 Activity inside a large BCCL coke plant, where the coke quality is very good. The product is distributed through-

out India. Dhanbad, Bihar State, India, 1989. 270/271

Workers (women and men) under contract to

truck owners load trucks with coal. A dirty and exhausting job, it is badly remunerated with a maximum daily salary of only twenty-two rupees (U.S. $1.30).

Dhanbad, Bihar State, India,

1989. 272/273 Exit of the Layabad mine. In 1954, six hundred miners died at the mine bottom after the walls collapsed. Dhanbad, Bihar State, India, 1989.

274/275 Inside a BCCL coke plant. These plants are very Ly

old, and several are undergoing a complete transformation to be able to cope with the increase in production. Dhanbad, Bihar State, India, 1989.

276 to 279 A large proportion of workers are women. The baskets they carry can weigh as much as sixty-five pounds, and women sometimes work the entire day. Until 1952, women

worked in the mines and—according to veteran miners—also brought their children into the mines, as they do now loading coal onto trucks and trains. In 1952 a law made it illegal to employ women in the mines and at night, though women continue to work from early morning until sunset. Dhanbad, Bihar State, India, 1989.

280/281 At the end of the day, a family leaves an opencut mine with a cart used to bring food to workers. Dhanbad, Bihar State, India, 1989. 282/283 Coal has been unloaded from trucks: workers then reload it by hand onto trains and transport it to coke plants or directly to steel foundries. The manual work is carried out by contractual laborers with a daily wage of twenty-two rupees (a little more than U.S. $1.00). Workers include many women and sometimes families with small children. It is not rare to find a husband working in the mines and his wife loading coal to add to the family income. Dhanbad, Bihar State, India, 1989.

Pages 284 to 299:

SULFUR,

INDONESIA

The Kawah Idjen volcano, located at the extreme point of the island of Java, facing the island of Bali, is the tip of a series of vol-

canic chains that cross the whole of the beautiful Java countryside. Its summit, at 7,545 feet, is a lunar landscape, devoid of

life, surrounded by stone mountains. Milky-green sulfuric waters boil within its crater, forming a lake that according to local legend is several hundred to thousands of feet deep, although it is impossible to penetrate this cauldron. Thousands of years of drifting sulfur vapors have stained the crater edges a poisonous yellow. The naked volcanic summit contrasts with the dense tropical jungle that covers the mountain slopes. From the peak, the vegetation slowly changes into the forests of clove trees and large industrial plantations that surround the village of Licin— the final destination for the porters and workers who leave for the belly of the crater each morning. Sulfur carriers wake each morning at one, and in small groups begin their long ascent toward the volcano summit. Winding tracks of slippery rain-forest moss snake between the plantations. After four hours of their 7.5-mile climb, they arrive at a savanna-like area, where the carriers can rest their long poles and empty bamboo baskets for a short time before continuing their journey. Another hour of climbing and they reach a small hamlet of huts, where teams of about ten workers stay

for two weeks at a stretch, rotating shifts so that workers can visit their families in Licin. Seven hours after leaving Licin, the workers reach the summit of the volcano ridge, then descend another 2,000 feet to

the edge of the sulfuric lake on steep, circling paths where one wrong step could mean a plunge over the ravine edge. Clouds of poisonous sulfuric fumes bubble up from the crater. Large tubes, thirty-three feet long, have been installed to capture the hot fumes, some of which condense as they make

contact with the cool mountain air surrounding the tubes. The now-liquid sulfur drips out in a reddish color and with devaporization changes to orange before reaching its final yellow, solid state. Once the steaming sulfur has been captured, cooled,

18

transformed, and solidified, the team of workers—each carrying a crowbar and gripping an end of sarong between his teeth as a filter against inhaling acidic fumes—starts chiseling blocks of natural volcanic sulfur. Large chunks are then loaded into wicker baskets, equally filled for balance, and each basket placed on the ends of carrying poles. The climb of 2,000 feet to the crater ridge, with a weight of 155 pounds on men who often weigh no more than 130 pounds themselves, is an exercise in suffering. In a small resting shed on this climb, administrators weigh the loads and

give the carriers wage vouchers.

For each load delivered to

Licin, carriers are paid 7,000 rupees, the equivalent of U.S. $3.50.

Ten years ago workers received U.S. $6.70. Around 5:00 P.M., the porters will be back in their village for some rest; the next day, another group will trudge the same paths while the first team takes two days’ rest. Some work on crops in their small fields before resuming the infernal circle. 284/285 Amid clouds of acid sulfur, workers wedge apart sulfur blocks hardened from overnight evaporation. Sulfur is used in, among other things, sugar distillation, food and wine preservation, and many chemical applications. Kawah Idjen, Indonesia, 1991. 286/287

The volcano and its lake-filled crater.

Kawah

Idjen, Indonesia, 1991.

288/289 Clutching a wrap to his mouth, choking and crying from sulfur fumes, this worker’s job is to chisel apart chunks of sulfur. Kawah Idjen, Indonesia, 1991. 290/291 A worker makes his way up the sulfur-smoking slopes. Kawah Idjen, Indonesia, 1991. 292/293 The 2,000-foot climb from the bottom of the vol-

cano crater takes over an hour, in an atmosphere shrouded with sulfur. Kawah Idjen, Indonesia, 1991.

294/295 A worker carrying baskets loaded with 155 pounds of sulfur chunks climbs the inner ledges of the crater. Kawah Idjen, Indonesia, 1991.

nT 296/297 Sulfur fumes have burned all vegetation on parts of the crater; plants begin to grow again at a clearer and higher altitude. Kawah Idjen, Indonesia, 1991.

298/299 The wooded slopes on the outside of the volcano crater are covered in unusual tree formations, often defying the laws of gravity. Kawah Idjen, Indonesia, 1991.

Pages 300 to 319:

GOLD,

SERRA PELADA,

BRAZIL

Not since the building of pyramids by thousands of slaves, or the Klondike gold rush in Alaska, has such an epic-scale human

drama been witnessed: fifty thousand mud-soaked men digging for gold at Serra Pelada in the Brazilian state of Para. In the 1980s, on Tres Barras—a fazenda

(farm) with a

On the mine top, the sacks of soil are emptied and carted away by a trucking service, which heaps them on a man-made mountain. If gold is found, the plot owners are automatically charged a commission of 10 percent by the cooperative for such services as truck hauling.

stream, hacked out of the jungle by a small landowner—a cowhand sifted the waters for gold with his bateia. He was lucky enough to find a nugget. He took it to the nearby town of Mara-

gold. Then the barranco becomes more active; each worker is

ba and sold it; two weeks later the news had spread, and ten

given an identical shirt (often striped) and white sacks in which

thousand garimpeiros, or gold diggers, scrambled to the spot, creating a Brazilian Klondike. One nugget has now become a gold boom, with over 7.3 tons of gold in 1980 rising to over 15.4 tons by 1982. Brazilian gold production went from 28 tons in 1979 to over 53 tons in 1983, making it the sixth largest in world gold production after

to carry his find—a kind of lucky uniform. The controllers now put greater security into practice, giving delivery slips and posting checkpoints through the long haul from shaft to crater edge, making sure no sacks are switched or stolen. Each worker is paid a premium when gold is found: once the sacks have been heaped around the barranco plot, the worker is allowed to take his choice—like roulette.

South Africa, the former Soviet Union, Canada, the United States, and China.

Yet because of Brazil’s huge foreign debts,

the income from gold is barely sufficient to cover a small percentage of the interest payments. Every day fifty thousand garimpeiros enter the Serra Pelada open-top mine, which is the size of a football field. The mine is controlled by the state, which has given concessions to various owners according to order of arrival. Each concession is called a barranco—a small plot of soil no more than sixty-five feet square, forming a vertical land well. The owners are only allowed to dig downward; because of the enormous movement over each plot, the concession is carefully measured each day to check that a neighbor has not encroached on another’s territory. Each plot can yield either powdered gold or nuggets; some nuggets have been known to weigh up to 141 pounds. Each barranco is controlled by a supervisor—usually recognizable by unsoiled clothes. Over his shoulder he wears a leather bag in which he carries wages and the control slips; the barranco owner must pay his workers in cash each day. Usually a team of three men actually dig, while another six carry the sacks outside the mine area. Each sack weighs between 65 and 130 pounds, and the worker is paid an average of twenty cents per sack. Once the earth is dug and put into sacks, he begins the long haul over the top of the other concessions and up a myriad of ladders to the top of the mine. Each porter is given a slip when he leaves the barranco, which he must present to another controller at the crater edge. The men return with empty sacks on this daily haul. The mine is open only during the dry season from September through January; because of the nature of the terrain it is not possible to have machinery do the work. Men who work in the mud and dig for gold are called mud hogs, like pigs who wade in dirt and slime.

Normally this mass of fifty thousand mud men are unrecognizable from one another, except when a barranco strikes

The sacks containing gold have been controlled all the way to the mine edge; in a sifting and sorting area that belongs to the owner, the diggers usually sift their “gift sacks” themselves in small pools of water. Some have been lucky enough to find as much as 6.5 pounds of gold. One worker found a nugget the size of a cabbage, so hope remains for the thousands who trudge each year to this Brazilian Klondike in search of fortune. 300/301 In the open-top mine at Serra Pelada, flat terraces are formed by the cooperative’s bulldozers as routes along which the soil is carried to a top dumping area. Serra Pelada, State of Para, Brazil, 1986. 302/303

Ropes cutting through their wet hands and

under the strain of earth on their backs, the carriers form this

human chain from the concession at the mine bottom to the dumping ground on top—for which they are paid twenty cents (U.S. currency) per sack. Serra Pelada, State of Para, Brazil, 1986.

304/305 Carrying up to 130 pounds takes enormous effort; the legs strain up slippery slopes and wooden ladders to reach the top, some 1,310 feet from the plot to the dumping ground. Serra Pelada, State of Para, Brazil, 1986.

306/307 Carriers. Serra Pelada, State of Para, Brazil, 1986.

308/309 The mines are controlled by state civil guardsmen, known to make lower wages than carriers; often rivalries occur. Uniformed guards are proud of their status but don’t want to be considered lower than mine workers because of their wages. Sometimes fighting and killings result: a guard who had shot a worker was stoned to death by carriers during such a battle. Serra Pelada, State of Para, Brazil, 1986.

19

310/311 The mine is broken into plots called barrancos, about sixty-five feet square each. The workers dig deeper and deeper in search of gold. Serra Pelada, State of Para, Brazil, 1986.

312/313

Carriers must keep their hands as free as possi-

ble to help balance on dangerous ladders in the struggle from the mine bottom to the top. Serra Pelada, State of Para, Brazil, 1986. 314 to 319 The gold mine. Brazil, 1986.

Serra Pelada, State of Para,

Pages 321 to 333:

OIL, BAKU,

AZERBAIJAN

Baku, the capital and political and cultural center of the Republic of Azerbaijan, boasts a major port on the Caspian Sea. With a current population of 1,714,000, the city has a thousand-year history. Playing a critical role in Baku’s development, oil was produced in the eighth century, when it was used for oil lamps, medicinally, and as an incendiary liquid in war.

By the fifteenth century Baku had as many as five hundred wells, which supplied oil for shipping via Astrakhan to Russia, and via Persia to the East. In 1823 the world’s first paraffin plant was built to process Baku oil. Commercial oil production began in the 1870s, and by the end of the century Baku accounted for 75 percent of Russia’s oil output. Three hundred firms, backed by Swedish, French, and British capital, held the

oil fields, although technically oil production was very backward. In the Soviet years the oil industry was completely rebuilt; rotary-and-slant turbo-drilling was introduced to extract oil from hard-access strata. New drilling technologies increased

the drilling depths to 22,966 feet and secondary development methods were introduced. In 1949 a bountiful offshore oil deposit was discovered in the vicinity of the Neftyanye Kamni settlement: soon Soviet oilmen developed and mastered sophisticated methods of offshore oil deposits manufacture. For a period of time Azerbaijan produced most of the oil for the Soviet Union; today it is no longer among the world’s biggest oil producers. In 1986 it extracted about 13.2 million tons. The structural hydrocarbon specificities of Azerbaijani sweet crude oil make it a valuable material for the organic synthesis industry. Today, over 60 percent of oil is produced offshore. Azerbaijan processes most of its crude oil in several refineries in Baku. Three of the largest refineries produce ninety types of products, including forty quality lubricants. The chemical industry has been developed on the basis of oil and gas and is accountable for large amounts of synthetic rubber, tires, mineral fertilizer, insecticide, sulfuric acid, iodine, bromine, house-

hold chemicals, and many other products. Baku’s geographical position as a crossroads of trade routes from Russia, Iran, Central Asia, and the Caucasus makes

these oil fields important. Presently, the scale of open-sea oil exploration and extraction in the Caspian has made it necessary to establish the yard for building deep-sea platforms, each of

20

which weighs twenty thousand tons. Significantly, it is the only such yard in the former Soviet Union. A sea site called Oil Rocks had long been known for the oil and gas that seeped from the seabed to the surface. Centuries ago, maps warned sailors against the oil-covered “black rocks.” Today Oil Rocks is a town at sea; it has 125 miles of streets on platforms and a population of four thousand. Most of the workers do a one-week shift on the platform and a week on the shore. This environment remains unpolluted; wells are hermetically sealed and there are neither gas odors nor oil slicks. One hundred and fifty miles of gas and oil pipelines run along the pier or sea bottom, allowing condensed gas to be pumped from distant Bakhar deposits straight to the shore.

321 to 323 Oil-production workers’ duties on the offshore platforms are limited to performing maintenance, opening valves, and assembling new platforms in the Oil Rocks fields. Weather conditions often make work extremely arduous. Caspian Sea, Baku, Azerbaijan, 1987.

324 to 329 Offshore platforms for deep-sea drilling of over 490 feet are gradually replacing the steel routes that connected rigs on the Caspian Sea. Baku, Azerbaijan, 1987. 330 Sixty-two miles from shore and a four-hour boat trip from Baku, a town with streets has been built over the water.

The first petroleum exploration began here, in Oil Rocks, in 1947. Each platform is connected by a series of metal highways that covers a 186-mile area like a spider’s web. Workers are brought in by helicopter and boat. Caspian Sea, Baku, Azerbaijan, 1987.

331 and 332 Since the beginning of the century oil was known to exist in the Ilych Bay oil fields, but only in the Soviet era were the fields put into production. The bay was filled with rocks and soil; in 1923 the first drilling began, and production peaked during World War II. Presently, it is a forest of rigs. A cemetery of tombstones with portraits of former workers stands

near the oil pumps; a mural of camels on the wall around the rigs serves as a reminder that the workers are mostly Moslems. Baku, Azerbaijan, 1987.

333 A worker doing maintenance tasks under one of the metal highway spans. Caspian Sea, Baku, Azerbaijan, 1987.

il||vin IN,A\

1786 10

Pages 334 to 345:

OIL WELLS,

KUWAIT

After the 1991 Gulf War, the powers of darkness descended on Kuwait. More than five hundred oil wells spun roaring tornadoes of flame into the blackened sky. Experts called them “wild wells”—the best words to describe those uncontrolled gushings, some spilling crude oil, most sending roaring towers of flame sixty-five feet into the air. Workers spent more than one year quelling the flames; among the companies laboring to quench the disaster were Red Adair Company, Boots and Coots, Wild Well Control—all from Texas—and Safety Boss of Calgary, Canada. Taming the wells was difficult and messy. The oil flow had to be stopped. Then dozens of complicated methods were used to put out the fires; some companies cooled the superheated area surrounding the fire with enormous water jets, then placed a cylinder over the flames, through which was pumped liquid nitrogen to vaporize and suffocate the fire. After “killing”

pressure and produces toxic gases; the sound of turbine jet engines at full throttle is deafening. Workers must leave the well area to wash their faces and momentarily breathe less polluted air. Greater Burhan Oil Field, Kuwait, 1991.

336/337 Chemical sprays protect this fire fighter against the extreme flame temperature. Greater Burhan Oil Field, Kuwait, 1991.

338/339 Fire fighter from the Safety Boss team knocked unconscious by a blast of gas from the wellhead. He was pulled clear by three coworkers.

Greater Burhan Oil Field, Kuwait,

1991. 340 Oil evaporates upon contact with hot gases; the vapor rises into the atmosphere and rains down, covering the entire region. Greater Burhan Oil Field, Kuwait, 1991.

341 A worker rests after an exhausting day trying to put

the fire, the workers topped the well with a new valve, then

new heads on the wells. Workers toil in twelve-hour shifts.

forced “mud”—a mixture of water and a claylike powder heavy enough to stop the upward rush of oil—down the hole. Other companies used different techniques, but all faced enormous problems with the lack of backup services in Kuwait.

342/343 Workers place the new wellhead, which will enable the injection of a chemical mud to “kill the old well.” The lower well base had been damaged by Iraqi explosives. When the chemical mud was injected, oil under pressure gushed out from the damaged well area. The workers had to start all over. They worked on this well for one week. Greater Burhan Oil

334/335 Workers struggle to remove bolts from the remains of an old wellhead. Working with metal tools can produce sparks, which threaten to ignite at any time. Workers risk severe burns; their lives are constantly in danger. Working conditions are difficult in the extreme: oil comes out at a very high

Field, Kuwait, 1991. 344/345

Sometimes the sun did not rise over Kuwait.

Nights follow nights, without daylight.

Pages 347 to 363:

EUROTUNNEL In 1993 France and England will be directly linked by a thirtyone-mile tunnel running under the English Channel seabed. It will be the first dry-land passage between the two countries since the Ice Age, and is the twenty-eighth attempt at digging a tunnel since the days of Louis XV, more than 250 years ago. A private Franco-British venture (France-Manche and Channel Tunnel Group), Eurotunnel is privately financed with U.S. $300 billion, without government assistance or guaran-

tees. Constructed at an average depth of 131 feet under the channel, in a rocky layer of blue chalk, Eurotunnel consists of two parallel tunnels, each designed for one-way traffic. These main tunnels are linked every 1,230 feet by a central service tunnel assuring maintenance, ventilation, and security. The drilled tunnels, supported by reinforced concrete rings, will be equipped with the most modern systems for faultless operation and security. Eleven tunneling devices drilled through a total of ninety-three miles of chalk under the channel. Approximately ten thousand workers are directly involved in construction of the tunnels and the terminals, as well as equipping the entire

system. Twenty thousand jobs have been created for the duration of the five-year project. Eurotunnel provides for the Channel crossing of cars and trucks, as well as passenger and freight trains. “Tourist” shuttles with the equivalent capacity for two hundred cars (doubledecker trains for cars and motorbikes; single-story trains for coaches, caravans, and minibuses) operate in a closed-circuit

system between terminals. Trucks have their own shuttles. It takes only thirty minutes to cross from one terminal to the other, at a maximum speed of ninety-nine miles per hour. Twenty trains and shuttles are scheduled to run each hour in both directions, day and night, 365 days a year. 347 Finishing the installation of the air-communication system. These small tunnels are dug out manually and join the two main tunnels to permit an air flow between them. Calais, France, 1990.

348 Workers place the rails on which one of the two train-driven cutting-head machines will cross over to France. Folkestone, England, 1990.

21

349 and 350

Folkestone, England, and Calais, France,

1990. (1) Injecting cement into walls near the tunnel mouth. These sections were bored manually. (2) Production of arches

that will line and uphold the tunnel.

(3) Ground blue chalk is

mixed with water in order

to be ejected from the tunnel. (4) Ventilation system being set up. (5) Celebrating the completion of one tunnel in Folkestone.

in diameter. Folkestone, England, 1990.

356/357 Among the tunnel areas that must be worked on manually is the train exit near Folkestone terminal. Folkestone, England, 1990.

(6) Building the crossover

on

the

English

354/355 Construction at the crossover, located four miles from the English coast. Given the enormous volume to be drilled and the lack of a machine capable of handling this volume, much of the work is carried out manually or with small machines. Shown is the front and main section of the tunnelboring machine, which has a cutting head of twenty-eight feet

side.

358/359

Air-communication branch tunnels allow for

(7) Train loaded with concrete arches arrives in Folkestone.

airflow between tunnels when high-speed trains go through.

(8) Workers’ locker room on the French side of the tunnel.

Calais, France, 1990.

351 To dig the small tunnels linking the service and main

360/361

Passing over the service tunnel and positioned

rail tunnels, Transmanche-Link (TML) employed coal miners

at regular distances, the air-communication branch tunnels

from Calais for the manual labor. Calais, France, 1990.

have an elliptical shape. Calais, France, 1990.

352/353 Working on the cutting head of the boring machine—which scrapes the earth with a circular movement—before pushing through to the outside. Folkestone, England, 1990,

362/363 After digging through more than five miles between Shakespeare Cliff and Folkestone, the cutting-head machine has broken through at the end of the northern rail tunnel. Folkestone, England, 1990.

Pages 364 to 377:

THE SANDAR

SAROVAR

DAM AND IRRIGATION

In 1961, former Prime Minister Nehru laid the foundation stone

for this dam, conceived in 1947. The first project proposal for Sandar Sarovar called for a dam with a full reservoir level of 164 feet. As technically superior contour sheets became available, however, the possibility of raising the dam height for maximum utilization was considered. Advance project planning began in 1979-1980, but large-scale work could not be initiated until 1987.

The current project calls for a dam with a height of 420 feet and an enormous reservoir with a surface area of 91,429

acres, covering approximately 133 miles of the Narmada valley. A 286-mile main irrigation canal is now under construction; canal capacity at the head will be 40,012 cubic feet per second, the largest in the world. The main canal will have thirty-five subsidiaries, with a distribution network of about 46,605 miles

of minor canals. This project will bring many advantages to the Gujarat state, where about 44.5 million acres will come under irrigation each year, as well as 185,329 acres in the state of Rajasthan. The

generating capacity will be 1,400 megawatts.

Besides these

benefits, 4,720 villages and 131 urban centers in Gujarat state

will have a permanent solution for their drinking-water needs. More than 7,000 direct jobs have already been created by construction of the dam and the main body of the canal. Additional funds—with the prospect of more jobs—are being allocated to build new villages to replace those that will disappear under the new lake when the dam is completed. A wave of protest has emerged in the state of Gujarat among communities living in the upper part of the proposed 22

CANAL, INDIA

lake area, and among environmentalists who fear the area’s flora and fauna will be disrupted. Religious communities have also protested; several important temples are slated to be drowned under the lake. 364/365 Women carry mud and stones that have been cleaned from the dam base rocks before pouring concrete. Stonemasons put the final touches on the dam walls. Sandar Sarovar Dam, Gujarat, India, 1990.

366/367 Workers construct bridges and viaducts; the canal will intersect with several other rivers, and in order to avoid disturbing the ecological balance, viaducts are constructed under the canal to channel water through to the other side. Sandar Sarovar Dam, Gujarat, India, 1990.

368/369 Villages and fields have already been transferred to new fertile settlements, where the earth is suitable for planting both grain and cotton. In a few years, harvest uncertainty will end with permanent irrigation. Each family receives compensation and assistance in moving their households. The majority of young men and women farmers also labor on dam and canal construction. Sandar Sarovar Dam, Gujarat, India, 1990.

370/371 People living near the construction site work on the project to supplement their earnings. The average wage is twenty rupees per day (about U.S. $1.15), which is considered a good rate for the region. The project employs an average of seven thousand people for eight months of the year. Sandar Sarovar Dam, Gujarat, India, 1990. 372/373 Women work the entire week to build the dam.

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On Sunday they prepare their families’ food for the week to come and take some time for a well-deserved rest.

Sandar

Sarovar Dam, Gujarat, India, 1990.

374/375 Workers bathe in the Narmada River several hundred yards from the dam site. The river is more than 620 miles long: during the dry season the water dries up considerably, while in the rainy season the volume increases rapidly.

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With the construction of the dam, water—95 percent of which is lost into the sea—will be used for the irrigation of more than 44.5 million acres through the State of Gujarat. Sandar Sarovar Dam, Gujarat, India, 1990. 376/377

Workers construct the irrigation canal, thirty-

seven miles from the dam. India, 1990.

Sandar Sarovar Dam area, Gujarat,

Pages 378 to 395:

RAJASTHAN

CANAL,

RAJASTHAN,

In 1958, when construction began on the Rajasthan canal (now named after former prime minister Indira Gandhi), it was diffi-

cult to comprehend the final completed length—more than 560 miles of primary canal. It was equally difficult to imagine the macroeconomic, social, and environmental consequences the canal would bring. Work has been going on for thirty-four years now, and at least another decade is required for the project to be completed. The canal project uses local technology, from camel-drawn carts to agricultural tractors, and local workers, from laborers to engineers trained in Rajasthan schools. Because of low costs and enormous social benefits, this project can serve as a model for many countries, such as those in Africa

and Latin America. The Harike Dam and Canal has diverted the waters of the Sutlej and Beas rivers, which originate in the Himalayas. In addition to the 560 miles of main canals, approximately 24,856 miles of secondary canals have been constructed in the states of Punjab and Rajasthan. Within these regions, smaller canals distribute water locally; microcanals bring water to the farmers. At the beginning of the project, nearly forty thousand people were employed, but now that the operation is near the end, workers have been reduced to ten thousand. During the summer, when the project is closed due to heat and sandstorms,

INDIA

over the 3.8 million acres that will be irrigated by the end of the canal’s construction.

378/379 It has become a tradition for whole families and sometimes whole villages to participate in canal construction. Many of the same families have worked on the project since its inception. Sometimes children who are born at the canal edge grow up to become laborers on the project. Rajasthan Canal Works, India, 1989.

380/381 Women carry pipes to be used for irrigation. Some trees are already growing at the edge of subsidiary canals. Rajasthan Canal Works, India, 1989.

382/383 Bracelets—part of their dowry—adorn the arms of hard-working women. Their salaries are less than those of men. Rajasthan Canal Works, India, 1989.

384/385 A sheet of plastic waterproofs the canal base and walls after pouring a cement. Another layer of cement will be poured, then a layer of cement bricks laid, and after that a

second layer of cement and bricks.

Rajasthan Canal Works,

India, 1989. 386/387

Moslem women must cover their faces around

the laborers, mostly farmers, work for six months on their farms

nonfamily after marriage.

Mothers are obliged to bring their

and then return to their jobs as part of the canal-construction team. The canal has become a way of life for the employees, some of whom have been associated with the construction for more than twenty years. Often whole families or groups of families are employed, traveling more than 186 miles and settling at the edge of the canal. Men and women dig twenty-foot-deep grooves into the ground, scraping the earth into pans, which women then carry away on their heads. Masons line the canals with bricks. While wages are very low (U.S. $1.50 for men and U.S. $1.20 for women per day), by working seven days a week for six months a whole family can earn a reasonable income for the region. An engineer’s salary varies from U.S. $100 to U.S. $300 per month for a senior engineer. Millions of trees are being planted to protect the canal from sandstorms. These trees also help stop the relentless advance of the desert and help create a balanced environment

small children and babies to work.

Rajasthan Canal Works,

India, 1989.

388/389 Small agricultural tractors level the bottom of the main canal, but women carry out the final stage of earth removal. Rajasthan Canal Works, India, 1989.

390/391 Water arrives for the first time. In a few years this land will be green and lush, replacing the desert forever. Rajasthan Canal Works, India, 1989.

392/393 Women work on concrete bricks in small work-

stations. Bricks must be cured in water to build up their resistance. Rajasthan Canal Works, India, 1989.

394/395 All the bricks are handmade, and wages are ad-

justed according to the production rate. The families who make these bricks are from castes who for generations have built India’s canals, dams, and temples.

Rajasthan Canal Works,

India, 1989.

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Salgado, Sebasti°ao, 1944Workers : an archaeology of the industrial age

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