Collapse of Dignity (18 page)

Our drive along Route 66 was an unexpected gift—a time to reflect and renew our spirits. The landscape on the trip to Albuquerque was for the most part austere and desertic, interrupted by patches of farmland. For long stretches of highway, we were alone, passing only the occasional car or trailer. For all three days, the weather was overcast, and we went through a few storms. The tragedy of Pasta de Conchos was still fresh and painful. The whole trip still didn't feel real. I couldn't quite believe it was happening.

Small towns dotted our long, straight path, and driving through them reminded me of my high school days. There were little stores, restaurants, and coffee shops, some looking like they were straight out of the 1960s. I was flooded with memories of rock 'n' roll's heyday, of the music and films of that time—Janis Joplin, Elvis Presley, Bob Dylan, James Dean, Marlon Brando, Paul Newman. We stopped at one place for a burger, fries, and milkshake—it was like reliving the good old days, complete with a jukebox. Elsewhere, in small-town coffee shops and gas stations, we met kind locals. Their quiet rural existence seemed a world away from hectic Mexico City and the conspiracy we were now fleeing. Passing through one small town whose name I no longer recall, I saw a handsome little ballpark and immediately thought of my commitment to return to the union's park at Piedras Negras.

As my colleagues and I traveled along seemingly endless stretches of Texas highway, I gave many press interviews with the Mexican media, mainly by telephone, though it was at times difficult to find points with adequate cell phone reception. At times we had to stop so I could use
phones in hotels and restaurants to make collect calls to reporters. In each interview, I explained the justice of our fight and defended our right to protect the welfare of Mexico's miners and steelworkers, even though some reporters seemed more interested in the superficial aspects of the story, like the spectacle of our journey, than in the underlying truth of the conflict. Some reporters were fair and seemed genuinely interested in my side of the story, while others peppered me with loaded questions designed to get the answers they wanted to hear. Regardless of their bias, all the reporters asked where I was. Many insisted I was on a private ranch somewhere in Coahuila, while others were sure I was in London or Madrid. My answer was always “Closer than you probably imagine.” They pressed me, unsatisfied: “Where, exactly? Can we meet you for a face-to-face interview?”

From the road, I read reports in which press secretary Ruben Aguilar continued to speculate about whether I was in Coahuila, in my hometown of Monterrey, in San Antonio, in London, or in countless other places. (Aguilar, in addition to his own frequent mistakes, was famous for having to explain President Fox's erroneous and misleading statements. “What the president
meant
to say is . . .” was his constant refrain. Without exception, Aguilar said the fault was the media's, for distorting the president's words.) We also read and listened, with great disappointment, to the many biased reports that defamed my peers and me. They had succeeded in portraying the union's leadership as a group of self-serving frauds, though nothing could have been further from the truth.

On the road, I was also in frequent contact with my fellow union members as well as other labor leaders in the United States. I was pleased to find out how relatively easy it was to communicate and coordinate from afar with the use of a cell phone and email, and it gave me new hope that I could be an effective leader, even from afar.

During the trip to Albuquerque, I had time to reassess the life I was leading and the struggle the union was waging against powerful opponents. In the twelve-, fourteen-, and sometimes even sixteen-hour days I was putting in as leader of the union, I rarely paused to take a break and
get perspective on the miners' ongoing struggle. Our trip along Route 66 allowed me to put some distance between myself and the daily grind of leading the union, and I found myself fleshing out new ideas for the modernization of the union. Surrounded by the desolate beauty of New Mexico and the deep history of the landmarks along Route 66, I saw more fully than ever before how the Miners' Union could be a key factor in transforming the economic, political, and social life of Mexico.

Now that I was away from the country of my birth, I began to see Mexico in a new light. I came to the conclusion that Mexico must stop being a country of injustice and exploitation. My passion for transforming Mexico into a modern, educated nation that embraces the majority of the population—including workers, women, and young people—grew stronger. Many Mexicans are eager to live in such a country, one that has transitioned from backwardness to modernity, and I realized that leaders who have an open and progressive mind can be the agents to bring this change, whether they are union leaders, politicians, or even business leaders. Mexico, like other nations, has an increasing need for radical changes and demands a governing class that is prepared to serve every part of the Mexican population. Though I was far from Mexico, I felt closer than ever to my people.

Of course, the trip also gave me time to think about how we could realistically defend ourselves against the constant stream of attacks coming from some of the most powerful men in Mexico. I saw that if we wanted to move our union forward and take the rest of the country with us, we needed to think about not just fighting off the attacks one by one, but about how we could survive in the medium and long term. In a strange way, I felt encouraged by the bull's-eye that had been placed on the Miners' Union. It meant that we were on the right track, and that our honest, committed leadership proved a real threat to the reactionary politicians and businessmen who were intent on raking in money at all costs.

All these travel meditations led me to one rock-solid conclusion: We could not allow Grupo México and its cronies in the PAN to get away with the irresponsibility that cost sixty-five miners their lives that day
at Pasta de Conchos. We had to continue to demand the recovery of our sixty-five fellow miners who were still at the bottom of the mine and insist on punishment for those responsible for the explosion. On top of that, we had to keep demanding fair and adequate compensation for each of the victims' families, so they could rebuild their lives and move on without their husbands, brothers, fathers, or sons.

On the road to New Mexico, we got news from the volunteer rescuers
who had stayed behind at Pasta de Conchos after Salazar and Grupo México had both departed. Weeks after the cave-in, bodies of two our colleagues were found in a diagonal communication tunnel close to the mouth of the mine. That left the number of dead or missing men at sixty-three. The two newly discovered bodies were intact and not damaged by the explosion, lending further credibility to those who believed that some of the miners could have survived the explosion. Even if the miners had initially been knocked unconscious, the layer of oxygen—topped by the lighter methane—could have kept them alive for some time, as it had the nine survivors of the accident.

That wasn't the only news we would receive on the road. On March 6, I got a call from Celso Nájera, a lawyer I knew personally, mainly because we were both from Monterrey. Nájera had agreed to represent the union once the accusation of fraud involving the Mining Trust had emerged. The union had many legal professionals who were experts in labor law, but none who had any experience with banking crimes or fraud; the union had never been in a situation like this. Over the phone, Nájera told me that Morales, along with two accomplices, Miguel Castilleja Mendiola and José Martín Perales, had done precisely what we expected them to, given all the lies they were spreading in the press. The three of them, supposedly on behalf of the union members, had officially presented a complaint with the federal district attorney's office against us, using the lawyers Antonio O'Farrill and his brother Patricio. The attorneys were borrowed from Julio Villarreal of Grupo Villacero, a massive steel company that was, like Grupo México, troubled by the
strength and independence of Los Mineros. (Of course, Morales and his fellow traitors could never have afforded to hire a lawyer on their own; Grupo Villacero and Grupo México gave them unlimited resources to use in this new legal battle against us.)

Nájera explained that I, three other union leaders (Héctor Félix Estrella, Juan Linares Montúfar, and José Angel Rocha Pérez), and Gregorio Pérez Romo, a motorcycle courier who they claimed had been involved in making deliveries of illicit money, were accused of diverting funds from the $55 million Mining Trust. It was a banking law violation completely invented by Grupo México. The company had indeed agreed in 1990 to turn over 5 percent of the shares of each of those companies to a trust controlled by the union for its own social and educational programs, but it was only after years of struggle that we had finally forced them to honor their commitment and turn over the present value of the shares—$55 million—to the union in 2004. Now, we were accused at the federal level of illegally extinguishing the trust and making use of the funds derived from it, all under the false presumption that the “workers”—Elías Morales and his accomplices, who were not even union members—were the owners of the funds, and not the Miners' Union itself. The technical charge was “illegally disposing of the funds of a banking client,” as referred to in Article 113
bis
of the Mexican Credit Institutions Act. In fact, the trust had been legally extinguished; some funds were paid out to the workers of Cananea, some was used to pay legitimate union expenses, and the rest was in the union's rightful possession.

Also named in the complaint were about forty supposed accomplices, among them friends and family. They claimed we had given money to our friends, family, and several company presidents with whom Los Mineros had had good relations at the time, among them Sergio and Raúl Gutiérrez of the steel company Deacero and Alonso Ancira Elizondo of Altos Hornos de México (AHMSA), Mexico's largest steel producer. (Of course, it's no accident that these supposed accomplices head two of Grupo Villacero's biggest competitors.)

We have come to call this first spurious accusation the “mother criminal claim.” For this type of banking charge, the attorney general's office is required to request a review from Mexico's National Banking and Securities Commission (CNBV) through official letter. The request was made on the very same day Morales and his cohort officially filed their complaint.

It took less than a week for the CNBV to come back with its technical opinion. By now we were in Albuquerque, having been warmly received by the representatives of the USW's District 12 section, including Terry Bonds, Robert LaVenture, and Manny Armenta. I was relieved to read the commission's finding: “From the official documents reviewed, and particularly as it refers to the cancellation of the aforementioned Trust agreement, and the transfer of the funds that formed part of the trust, no conduct is established that is consistent with any of the special criminal typical actions referred to in the Credit Institutions Act and specially, that which is referred to in Article 113
Bis
, as stated by the party making the petition.”

This response, issued by the highest banking authority of the country, categorically clears me and the other members of the executive committee of any wrongdoing. The CNBV also requested the opinion of Juan Velásquez, a respected attorney who acted as a counselor to that organization, and after having reviewed the documents pertaining to the extinction of the Mining Trust, he confirmed that no crime had been committed.

At the moment, it seemed that my name and those of my colleagues had been cleared. It seemed like a positive step toward officially stripping Elías Morales of his artificial title, and perhaps toward a return to Mexico. But for the time being, I was still being portrayed as a criminal in Mexican media, and it would take time to reverse the damage.

Fortunately, the USW were gracious and supportive hosts to me and to Oralia, who arrived in New Mexico soon after I did. Marcelo, Hector, and I worked from the District 12 offices in Albuquerque, New Mexico, every day, and I made calls to my union colleagues back
in Mexico and made arrangements with Leo Gerard, Ken Neumann, Steve Hunt, and other leaders in the USW.

Oralia was devastated by the recent events, and I did my best to make life in New Mexico normal for us. The full extent of our situation was setting in, and I saw that we might not return to Mexico for some time. I was determined to not let our family fall apart. Terry Bonds, the USW's director for District 12, and his assistant director, Manny Armenta, took us out to play billiards, and Oralia and I took a quick trip to Santa Fe to have a break and see some of the beautiful Native American art. Even as I strove for normalcy during our time in Albuquerque, Los Mineros and their families were with me every minute. It was my constant priority that they keep their spirits up and continue insisting that Grupo México and the government be held responsible for Pasta de Conchos.

The union held its Extraordinary National Convention on March 16 and 17, 2006, in Monclova, Coahuila. I was able to attend the gathering by videoconference from the USW's District 12 offices, and I opened the initial ceremony and spoke again on the second day, to close the convention. Since the aggression began, the members of Los Mineros had expressed their full loyalty and solidarity toward me, so it never crossed my mind that they would believe the lies of Elías Morales and endorse him as general secretary. Indeed, during the convention the delegates unanimously agreed that I would continue in my role as general secretary of the union. They declared that they would not recognize the unlawful imposition of any other leader, including Morales, and that I would remain the head of the union's national leadership—the position to which they had elected me.