A day after the company closed, the place turned into unfamiliar terrain like some B-movie horror film---with the townsfolk all turning zombies. The familiar smiles, greetings and small-talk one encounters as you go inside the factory in the morning were gone. All the cheerfulness, drained. The people just go there to mechanically get their social security certificates, certificate of employment and what-not.
The newly-assigned guards made us sign on logbooks, surrender an ID and wear an ID card that says “GUEST” on it, without even a glance up. For ten years, I saw that place like a home, a stomping ground. And suddenly, I was being treated as a “guest”. Funny, but such treatment never made me really feel like one.
I drag my feet towards the union office. There are a few things the union has to do before it closes shop so the union officers will have to decide and where else could we meet but in the union office which, unfortunately, happens to be located inside Zombie-land.
In the few short years I was a union officer, I bore witness to its exceptional transformation. From being an insular, factory-centered organization, it became more active in regional and national labor concerns (while still maintaining its independent nature). From being a traditional reactionary labor organization that threatens mass action for every perceived labor infraction, the union became mature enough to engage the management in constant dialogue and participative means in dispute resolution thus resulting in industrial peace and having no labor cases nor strike being filed at DOLE. From being dependent on members’ contribution, the union sought alternative means of fund-raising thus enabling it to offer additional services to the union (like memorial assistance) and at the same time raise its fund for the first time in its more than 20 year history to more than a million pesos. The union was also able to form a performance group that sang/performed in big rallies or intimate support mobilizations that lifted the sagging spirits of striking workers.
The union has to audit all its books, disburse the accumulated union funds to all the present members, and dispose of its assets. It was only a few months ago that the management approved the expansion and renovation of the union office. Now it is the union’s job to tear it all down. The union was given 15 days to vacate the premises.
The first two tasks: auditing the books and disbursement is a breeze. The union only had a few accounts and transactions. The photocopies of the passbooks and books of accounts were periodically posted at the union’s bulletin board.
On the disposal of the union assets, I balked at the suggestion that the union officers themselves be given the chance to buy the union office equipments. Some officers reasoned that they don’t have the time to gather the union members for a public auction like what I had suggested. And that even if we can contact some of them we do not have the contact numbers of all of them.
I shot down all their fallacious arguments. Not without small effort, I might add, for it takes an inordinate amount of skill to argue on the floor and, as you catch your breath, still maintain objectivity in writing the minutes of the meeting as it transpires.
It was familiar territory. I was the designated devil’s advocate of the union particularly when it comes to the union’s collective bargaining tactics. Usually, in protracted debates like this one, I am able to convince my closest allies to side with me---the key person being the union president. It was not unusual that my initial apprehensions or disagreement with a proposal becomes the union stand after an exhausting and detailed explanation on my part.
Nobody took my side. At the end of the day (after I have used every trick in the book including delaying the “division of the house”), it was me against everyone else. The union officers shall be allowed to buy the assets (i.e., computer, chairs and cabinets) of the union depending on the salvage price as determined by the audit officers themselves.
I grumbled but could not blame them. It was the union members who first turned their backs to the union officers.
Since the company declared closure, I watched helplessly as the values I hold as a worker, a labor leader, a unionist, all seem to crumble beneath my feet.
Everybody are zombies now. Everyone looks out for number one.
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It was supposed to be a night of thanksgiving.
It was the night when the union will gather all its members in one place to reminisce about the good old times. It was a night for happy moments of remembrances of past union leaders and unforgettable struggles. But it was also the night when the disbursement of the union funds were to happen and as one might expect, that part made rent the other parts asunder.
I picked out a most auspicious place. A turn-of-the-century bahay-na-bato that is a favorite wedding reception venue in Marikina. I used my cooperative network contacts to secure the place for a song. A sumptuous buffet table was laid out, with candle lights for every table, even a karaoke machine at the side.
The union president requested that I become the master of ceremonies right before the ceremonies started. At first, I was hesitant but since nobody among the union officers are willing to stand up and address the crowd, I quixotically agreed . The union president co-hosted the event.
The union president and vice-president recalled the history of the union, paying respect to all the past union leaders, even Mr. Sleaze-bag. But of course, Mr. Sleaze-bag wouldn’t have any of it and wanted to have the last say so he grabbed a microphone and basically told the audience that we were all crooks and we divided all the union assets among ourselves.
This didn’t sit well with the other union officers and a shouting match ensued. Soon other union members and officers joined both sides of the fray and I was caught in the middle. As a dutiful union officer, I have to stand by the decision of the majority. I could not even say that I didn’t take part in it.
My more pressing concern was to regain order in the proceedings and to keep the hotheads at bay---one of which happens to be my co-host. As the evening dragged on, it became apparent that Mr. Sleaze-bag orchestrated the whole attack; even the sequence of speeches of the agitators. It was a trap ostensibly to fight for the rights of the members but in reality designed to malign the current union officers en masse.
In the end, I prevailed upon the union members to accept their fair share according to the union’s explanation.
Mr. Sleaze-bag was one of the first to accept his share. By painting us as the evil culprits, he was at last able to divert attention away from the shady dealings he had at the past. In short, he laughed all the way to the bank.
No thanks came the way of the union, only recriminations as if the union officers had not done anything in the past but the reprehensible bidding of union assets.
Still, I held my head high and thanked everyone for coming, shaking their hands as they leave. One member says that it was a good thing, the two of us---including Mr. C, a union officer---did not take part in the union assets fiasco; that we objected and stood by our principles. But it would have been better, I thought, had Mr. C. actually expressed his objection during the debate and not kept his decision to himself. I just smiled; a pained approximation of a smile.
I tried to drown some of my sorrows later that night in a couple of beer bottles but I found the attempt quite unsuccessful.
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