They also had some of the best jobs in the facility, running the computerized treatment operations. The employees continue in their new positions at the same pay, each a little less than nine dollars per hour. But new men already are being trained for their old jobs, and the new jobs are uninteresting, they say. Worse, they've been humiliated. "I'm going from a position of having to use my mind to standing eight hours a day with a little hammer, classifying wood," says 38-year-old Leon, a plainspoken Cuban-born transplant from New York who has worked at Aljoma for three years. Lumber has to be classified by appearance, density, and defects so it can be priced accordingly.
"Two days ago the machine that spits out the lumber [for classification] broke down, and they sent me outside to make bundles [of wood]," Leon recalls. He's wearing a black UBC T-shirt on his wiry frame. He gestures quickly, watching his listeners intently. "Everyone was saying, “Look at him. He went on strike, and now he's out there.' I'm not going back out there again, period."
Steve Satterwhite
Back in October the Aljoma workers began a three-day strike that ended up lasting six days
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The union has filed complaints with the NLRB, alleging that the transfers were in retaliation for the employees' union activities, a practice prohibited by the National Labor Relations Act. Fleming, however, explains that Aljoma took the action because the three men actually had been doing the work of supervisors, positions not included in the union bargaining unit. In fact the three had been offered the title of supervisor (doing the same jobs) but had refused, seeing the offer as a move to undercut the union.
"The transfers had nothing to do with the union," Fleming contends. However, an October 26 memo to Leon from Aljoma's chief financial officer, David Flinn, states, "Because of issues raised during the strike as to the treating plant, we are going to reassign you." The memo doesn't specify what the issues were. Fleming says, "It was a partial cessation of operations, but I can't say the company lost money. I don't think a strike of that duration created major problems. But the company hasn't rewarded people for striking, that's for sure."
The three transferred treatment plant operators are aware that labor laws will be of dubious help in their quest to get their old jobs back. Even union members who are fired wait three, five, or more years for the NLRB to order their reinstatements, and by then the employer simply may not comply, or the employees have other jobs they don't want to leave.
Guzman, Leon, and Santiago know things will never be the same for them at work; if they feel regret, they don't admit to it. It's probably too late for that, anyway. If they hadn't stood up for the union, if they hadn't stood outside with the rest of the strikers, they believe, they'd still be doing the jobs they were proud of. Now they've lost pride in their work and a lot of their friends. And they don't harbor hope they can get much of that back.
"People are scared to talk to us," Santiago said recently. He started at Aljoma eight years ago at the age of nineteen. "We had influence; we were leaders. Now they think the same thing will happen to them if they associate with us."
During Thanksgiving week Santiago was offered a job closer to his home in Fort Lauderdale, with benefits and at the same pay. He couldn't pass it up. "Some guys are saying he hurt the cause," says Leon, "he didn't stand firm. But I'm not going to criticize him. He had to look out for his better interests. We're hurting here. You wear out."
