April, 2007 – Lerdo, California — Ryan Zaninovich is standing in the middle of his vineyard, surrounded by the men and women who pick his grapes and tend his vines. In khaki pants, work boots and his favorite cap, the blond boss has ventured into the fields for the first time in years to talk to workers. Zaninovich is 33 and heir to one of the biggest table grape vineyards in the country. On this early September afternoon, he is sure an organizing campaign by the United Farm Workers is failing. He simply can’t believe a union that has been virtually dormant for years can win over his workers.
Zaninovich knows he’s made some big mistakes. Last summer, he forced workers to take medical exams, then fired those with ailments as common as high blood pressure. I’m here to talk about the physicals, he tells the 60 members of Crew #1.
An older farm worker speaks up, his voice quivering with indignation: People spent most of their lives working for this company, and they were fired after 20 years, just sent away with nothing. Zaninovich tries to explain he was trying to keep down insurance rates that tripled in five years. “I understand that a lot of how we went about the physicals wasn’t fair,” he says. “I apologize.”
He also acknowledges the $7.00-an-hour his workers earn is less than wages paid at nearby vineyards in California’s Central Valley. He reminds workers that minimum wage will go up to $7.50-an-hour on Jan. 1. You didn’t do that, a worker calls out scornfully, the state did.
That’s true, Zaninovich says. “The state is your union,” he tells the crew. “The state takes care of you.”
Zaninovich thinks he can read the eyes, and figures about half the crew is with him. But when the meeting breaks up, he asks a 22-year-old worker who volunteered as translator whether the union has a lot of support. Xavier Gonzales has never met the boss before, but he is blunt: almost everyone in this crew has signed cards supporting the UFW, the first step towards an election. He thinks Zaninovich made some good points. But it’s the first they’ve seen of him. Their contact with management is a supervisor who barks orders. Gonzales doesn’t know his name. Workers call him the Puma.
UFW organizers have visited every day for weeks. They invite workers to Thursday night pep rallies, featuring free food and well-known Mexican musicians. The union promises higher wages, health insurance, pensions and paid holidays, Gonzales says. “Who would you believe?’’ he asks with a rhetorical shrug.
As union membership in the United States has shrunk dramatically, labor organizations have for the most part blamed external forces, often with justification. Unfriendly Republican administrations have thwarted legislation that would aid unions. Employers have honed the art of fighting unions, hiring high-paid consultants, firing and intimidating union supporters. When unions win elections, companies can effectively stall for years without negotiating a contract.
With Democrats now controlling Congress, one of labor’s top priorities is a measure that would allow unions to win recognition by having a majority of employees sign cards. The National Labor Relations Act – which does not cover farm workers – allows employers to insist on a secret ballot election. The House passed a measure this year that would allow so-called “card check” instead.
Each side frames the debate as a question of which system is fairer to workers – which can more accurately be called “free choice.”
Lost in that argument is something more fundamental: To succeed, unions must win workers’ support. To do that, they must offer a convincing rationale.
The Service Employees International Union (SEIU) and UNITE HERE, for example, have bucked the national trend and added members in recent years by devising innovative ways around obstacles as they successfully organize low-wage workers — janitors, security guards, hotel employees.
The campaign last summer in the vineyards of VBZ was a heated, multi-million dollar war that never even made it on to the radar screen outside the fields of central California. But key questions confronting the labor movement were all on trial.
The argument was that a union would help poor, often exploited immigrants. The target was an employer who had made major blunders.
And the rules of the game were set by a California statute often called the most powerful pro-labor law in the country.
At the height of the UFW’s power in 1975, when 17 million Americans were boycotting grapes, California passed the Agricultural Labor Relations Act, the only law in the country that promotes and regulates union activity in the fields.
The UFW won hundreds of elections in the late 1970s. But in recent years, the union has largely coasted on its reputation and exploited the boom in Latino political power. The UFW today has probably fewer than 7,000 members – and not a single contract in the table grape vineyards where its historic quest began.
To a union desperate to stage a splashy comeback, Vincent B. Zaninovich and Sons was an attractive target: A large company with hundreds of underpaid workers, angry over the injustice of a medical exam they dubbed “the smog test,” a physical that forced out family and friends.
Despite the workers’ outrage, the UFW faced major hurdles. Union organizing is about building relationships: Asking a low-paid employee, often without legal papers, to make a leap of faith – to believe the union will improve wages and working conditions, and not put the company out of business; to pay 2% of their salary in exchange for added benefits; to trust that collective action will triumph over potential reprisals.
The UFW team was rusty. Most organizers were on loan from other states and unions; they knew nothing about California farm workers. The UFW had not computerized its organizing records until last summer. More than a decade after Cesar Chavez died, union leaders still talked mostly about the UFW founder. No new generation of leaders had emerged. And the UFW’s recent track record offered few examples the union could showcase.
But the veteran organizer taking on that challenge was used to tough odds. A year before Ryan Zaninovich was born, Scott Washburn began working for the UFW in Arizona, helping organize Cesar Chavez’ 1972 fast that gave birth to the slogan “si se puede” – yes, it can be done.
For Washburn, a law, a contract, a fast — they are all tools. “There are always a million reasons why we can’t organize,” he wrote, discussing what he learned from a decade of work for the UFW. “Our job is to find out and lead people in how to win.”
Now Arizona director for SEIU, Washburn believes deeply in the power of unions to improve the lives of workers. Last year, a chance to help farm workers again arose unexpectedly in the aftermath of a split in the national labor movement. SEIU led seven unions that left the AFL-CIO and formed the Change to Win coalition. With meager membership and a budget that relies more on donations than dues, the tiny UFW asked its new partners for help. Washburn was sent to California on a four-month loan to run a campaign that ultimately cost Change to Win and its members close to $1 million.
The hope was to reinvigorate a union whose name, trademark eagle and “si se puede” slogan mean far more among Hollywood celebrities and Washington politicians than among workers in the fields of California. The plan was to rely on four cardinal rules that Washburn learned decades ago — working in the UFW.
Maria Sanchez was the kind of worker the UFW needed to win over when organizers began showing up in the fields three times a day, taking advantage of access allowed under the California law.
Sanchez worked for a labor contractor who provided crews to VBZ. At 42, she had no health insurance or job security and earned little more than minimum wage. She thought a union might help.
Sanchez listened closely to organizers who came through her crew – many of them young, some on their first campaign – and to the UFW-affiliated radio station. Each day, the radio blared familiar refrains: A UFW contract brings higher wages, medical insurance, paid holidays and a pension plan. The grower’s heart is in his pocketbook. There are only two sides: You are with the company, or with us.
Sanchez focused on the union’s credibility. Lacking many contracts, the UFW was pointing to actions the state had taken, such as increasing the minimum wage. “Suddenly, those are the union’s doing?” Sanchez said skeptically.
The union’s efforts to tout the experience of workers at companies with UFW contracts also backfired.
Maria Guerrero had worked at VBZ for six years and leaned towards supporting the union. But when organizers showed her a check for $800-a-week and said that’s what it was like to work under a union contract, she changed her mind. “That’s not believable,’’ Guerrero said. “What they promised wasn’t real.”
Both sides knew that without the issue of the physical exams, the union would not be there. The UFW assumed a company that imposed draconian physical exams must treat its workers badly; in fact, even strong union supporters in the fields said working conditions for VBZ employees were, in general, fine.
When he first talked to the crews, Zaninovich promised changes in the physical but refused to say more. Actually, he had already decided to cancel the exam. But he didn’t want to give the union credit.
When he realized he faced a serious challenge, Zaninovich switched tactics. He hired labor consultants to bolster his anti-union message. He asked foremen why they weren’t helping; when they pointed out they, too, were underpaid, he gave them a raise. He set up a hotline so workers could find out if bad weather washed out work, without having to show up. He brought in consultants to look at ways to increase the prescription drug coverage for VBZ employees. And on Sept. 12, Zaninovich cancelled the physicals.
His strategy could play out two ways: If the union had built strong support, workers would see the victory as just a taste of their power. But if union support was weak, removing the problem would deflate the UFW campaign. “To me the physicals was the main thing,’’ said Ana Santos, 29, a union supporter. “One of my friends got laid off because she didn’t pass. All I wanted was the physical gone. After that, I didn’t care.’’
On a wall in the room where organizers met each day was a chart showing each VBZ crew, the union staffer assigned to that crew, and the numbers of cards signed. At the end was a column labeled “goal” – the additional number of workers the organizer was supposed to deliver.
The state would call an election if half the workers signed cards. But a card is no guarantee of a vote. Some signed to get organizers to go away. Some were unclear what they signed. Support invariably falters if the company mounts a strong campaign.
Washburn’s first rule of union organizing is to get commitments from 65% to 80% of the workers before filing for an election.
Pressured to produce, some organizers painted a rosier-than-realistic picture. The lead organizers responsible for differentiating real support from wishful thinking were mostly on loan from other unions. They didn’t know the fields or understand the nuances of organizing farm workers. Support was strong among a core group: A handful of workers called the radio show each week and phoned in reports from the fields. But that enthusiasm could prove misleading if it masked a failure to win broad support. Wishful thinking, Washburn often says, is an organizer’s worst enemy.
Still, enthusiasm was clear at the union meetings each Thursday night. Attendance grew tenfold in a few weeks. Workers took the floor to share stories and urge solidarity. They cheered special guests each week — the mayor of Delano, legislators, labor leaders.
Washburn’s strategy was to show workers they had powerful allies, to build a community and to generate “animo” – loosely translated from Spanish as spirit, enthusiasm, excitement. Animo is another of Washburn’s four principles for organizing a successful election.
On Aug. 31st, the crowd sang for all those who had birthdays in August. Then Washburn addressed the group: “We have three rules, because we’re a community. Everybody is welcome in this room. … Everybody is equal in here. Nobody is better than anybody else. And here in this room, you can say what you think.”
Two weeks later, the crowd was even larger. Los Angeles Cardinal Roger Mahony sent a taped message of support. A priest blessed the signed cards.
After the general meeting, Washburn and UFW President Arturo Rodriguez sat down with about 140 VBZ workers. Washburn’s third and fourth rules of union organizing were to have one representative for every 10 workers, and to have reps in every crew. Though they fell short on both counts, the VBZ contingent was large and loyal.
But at this meeting, workers became flustered. Without warning, union leaders floated the idea of invoking a different part of the law: If more than half the workers went out on strike, the state had to hold an election within 48 hours. A risky and seldom used strategy, the advantage was the company had little time to fight back.
Workers were nonplussed. Exploiting the confusion, Zaninovich issued a letter pleading with workers to stay on the job. The UFW ridiculed the letter: Don’t worry, Ryan, mocked the radio host, the workers will be there picking your grapes.
While Washburn was calling the shots, the public face of the campaign was UFW president Rodriguez, Cesar Chavez’s son-in-law, who took over the union when the founder died in 1993.
Rodriguez needed a win — to bolster the union’s sagging membership and finances, to justify the investment by the national labor coalition, and to burnish his own reputation. Rodriguez campaigned hard, from church pews to the fields. To build support among the largely Catholic farm workers, the union distributed a picture of Rodriguez shaking hands with Pope Benedict XVI.
To many workers, he was a cipher.
Xavier Gonzales worked alongside his mother; both were sympathetic to the union but knew nothing about Rodriguez. His visit to their crew did little to impress them. Xavier credited the union for forcing VBZ to address questions Zaninovich would rather avoid. But he said Rodriguez dodged tough questions and offered rote answers.
“I think the union had its use, back in the day. So many changes were made. Now, it’s more of a business,’’ Gonzales said. He sees it as a transactional relationship: the union collects 2% of members’ salaries in dues. “You understand that they don’t care about you, but that’s OK because you’re paying them – you’re paying them for a reason. And the more money you make, the more money they make.”
Rosana Munoz, who had worked at VBZ long enough to remember Ryan Zaninovich running around the fields as a toddler, was similarly unimpressed. “For a good union, you need good leaders,’’ Munoz said. The UFW leaders haven’t united people and have no track record, she said.
Munoz and her sister, a recent immigrant, took particular umbrage at another part of the union’s message: The only reasons not to support the UFW are fear, intimidation, or ignorance. Munoz’s three children are a social worker, a double-major in college, and a star student in high school. Her sister was a teacher in Mexico. “We are not ignorant,’’ she said, with indignation.
On Sunday, Sept. 17, Roman Catholic churches around Delano welcomed UFW organizers, introduced them during mass and encouraged parishioners to sign union cards.
On Tuesday, the union filed for an election at VBZ. The vote would be within seven days. Workers were told the union had a “huge majority” of cards signed. In fact, efforts to get workers to sign an “open letter” of support fell short of organizers’ hopes.
On Thursday, state workers compared cards the union submitted with the employee list submitted by VBZ. The union had fallen far short of the 50% threshold.
Union officials cried foul. They told their staff and the workers that VBZ had submitted a fraudulent list.
In fact, the union had not seen the list.
Late Thursday afternoon, as they prepared for their big weekly meeting, UFW staffers heard Washburn cursing. Then they saw him, livid — carrying a big stack of cards. The cards had been misplaced — and never turned in.
On Friday, the union filed for another election. Rather than admit the mistake, the UFW proclaimed that its lawyers had forced VBZ to correct a fake list. The VBZ attorney was so convinced the union had coerced or forged cards that he delivered boxes of W-4 forms to state officials.
On Saturday evening, the supervisor known as the Puma, aka Antonio Mendez, received a call from Arturo Rodriguez. Mendez agreed to rendezvous with the union president in a Porterville park near his home.
As they walked toward a park bench, Rodriguez made small talk, Mendez recalled, about meeting the Pope, and attending the final game of the World Cup soccer match in Germany. Then he made his pitch: The union would be good for your people. Rodriguez wanted Mendez’s help in identifying foremen – who are not eligible to vote – and in straightening out confusion over workers’ names.
“He said, `This is going to be only me and you, nobody is going to know,’ Mendez recalled. “I told him, `Arturo, I can’t do that. I know all these people for many, many years. You, only 30 minutes.’” Mendez started pushing a wheelbarrow at VBZ in 1981, working his way up to supervisor. “I said, ‘After Cesar Chavez died, the union is not the same.’ He said, ‘Now we’ve started working again, to be the same as before.’ I said, ‘Who is going to guarantee that?’”
“This is the day of liberation,’’ the host on the UFW radio show exulted on election day.
Teams of state officials traveled from crew to crew, setting up polling places. In some crews, the voting took place smoothly. In others, there was confusion and last-minute lobbying. Washburn and Zaninovich had an angry confrontation in the fields. Zaninovich snapped a picture of a state legislator entering his fields with a UFW organizer. Then he took his supervisors to VBZ headquarters, where they played poker.
Eleuteria Gonzales voted for the UFW. “It’s a hope,’’ she said, though she voiced no great confidence the union could deliver. Her son, Xavier, stayed away from work. He did not plan to work many years at VBZ and didn’t feel right making the decision for others. Zaninovich’s apology moved him, as it did many others. “To tell you the truth, the union didn’t show you what they’d done,’’ he said.
Xochitl Hernandez, 22, who worked for a labor contractor, voted for the union, as did her father, who was on the organizing committee. “The salaries are very low,” she said; the union seemed like a way to make change.
Alicia Lopez had signed a card, but voted no. She thought the union promises of $10- to $12-an-hour wages were unbelievable: “You have to keep your feet on the ground.’’
That evening the two camps gathered in a small conference room, where state officials piled up the battered cardboard boxes and pulled out the pink paper ballots one by one, holding each up for the room to see as they called out the vote. Not long after it started, Washburn walked out of the room. The drum beat of “no union .. no union …” was clear. The final count was no union, 793; UFW, 425.
Washburn stood against the wall, silent and sad, as the union supporters filed out, clapping and chanting “si se puede.”
In the end, they had broken all four of his rules.
Like any good politician, Zaninovich went out the next morning to thank the voters. He told workers he was raising the hourly wage a quarter and the per-box bonus from 28 cents to 35 cents. He told them about a new job he created, an assistant who would be his personal liaison to the workers.
In one crew, workers began fighting. Zaninovich told the anti-union workers they should thank their colleagues who went to the UFW: without them there would still have the physicals, and no raise. Then he traded hats with a union supporter, offering his favorite cap in exchange for her red-and-black UFW cap.
On the radio, the union blamed workers who “fell into the trap” and believed the company’s lies; they sold out for 25 cents.
In the fields, there were different theories. Patricia Silva, a strong union supporter, was convinced of fraud. She wrote numbers on the top of the Styrofoam box in which she placed her grapes: 300 people went to the meetings, each had support from 20 people. How could the union have garnered only 425 votes?
Teodoro Gutierrez, another union stalwart and crew representative, was more realistic: “Signing the card and voting aren’t the same thing.’’
Miriam Pawel is writing a book about the UFW and is examining the farmworker labor movement during her fellowship year.
