[Marxism] BLUE-COLLAR CRUSADER

["Charles Brown" <cbrown@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

BLUE-COLLAR CRUSADER: Gregg Shotwell rails against Delphi, though only the
workers are listening


February 27, 2006



BY JASON ROBERSON

FREE PRESS BUSINESS WRITER

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=BUSINESS01&ArtNo=602270373&Ref=AR&MaxW=233&Border=1>



Union activist Gregg Shotwell, right, greets coworker and supporter Juanita
Cadman of Coopersville at a Feb. 16 rally outside a Delphi plant in Flint
while protesting the parts supplier's plan to cut jobs and costs. (RASHAUN
RUCKER/Detroit Free Press)

Gregg Shotwell

*       Home: Grand Rapids


        Job: Hourly machine operator at Delphi's fuel-injector plant in
Coopersville, unofficial leader of Soldiers of Solidarity.


        Age: 55


        Family: Wife Sheila Shotwell, three grown children, two grandkids


        Car: 2002 Saturn SL1


        Hobbies: "I like listening to indigenous music, like blues and
Zydeco, not music you pay $50 for a ticket."

Soldiers of Solidarity

*       Soldiers of Solidarity is an organization of members from the United
Auto Workers. They are trying to talk workers into a slowdown of production
at Delphi Corp. and General Motors Corp.


        The workers are angry at Delphi's demand for 24,000 job cuts and
severe reductions in wages and benefits. The group has held several rallies
since the company filed for bankruptcy and periodically hosts strike
preparation meetings near Delphi plants in Michigan, Ohio, Wisconsin,
Indiana and New York.


        For more information go to: www.futureoftheunion.com.

Gregg Shotwell is a hero to a crowd of 150 blue-collar workers packed tight
in a dim, smoke-filled bar in Flint. The 55-year-old hourly Delphi Corp.
worker has just finished a rally from a karaoke stage calling on his
coworkers to slow down production on their assembly lines.

Shotwell, a machine operator at Delphi's fuel-injector plant in
Coopersville, is slender, prefers wearing sweaters and stands at just 5
feet, 6 inches tall, but in this bar he is a giant, working the crowd like a
candidate, slightly squinting as he listens to people talk.

"I was born for conflict," the Grand Rapids native said, slouched in a
chair, grinning with a beer in hand.

To his supporters, Shotwell is fighting for 34,000 hourly Delphi workers
facing the end of the American Dream. He has become the bullhorn-bolstered
voice in their battle against sharp cuts in jobs, pay and benefits that
would dramatically cut their standard of living.

Shotwell's words have stirred a movement ready to strike Delphi: "We're not
biting the hand that feeds us. We're biting the hand that slapped us in the
face, that defeated and robbed us. First we're going to bite the hand and
then we're going to go for the throat."

To his critics, Shotwell is complicating negotiations to help Delphi emerge
from bankruptcy. They say his actions could lead to a strike, starving
Delphi's biggest customer, General Motors Corp., of parts and perhaps
pushing it into bankruptcy, too.

Even if Shotwell is just a gadfly whose efforts will fail, those trying to
bring new investment to Michigan worry that his brash talk is scaring away
companies like Toyota Motor Corp., which is considering the state for an
engine plant it will build in the United States.

Soldiers of Solidarity

Delphi once was GM's parts-making subsidiary and spun off as an independent
company in 1999. But it has never been consistently profitable. It lost $4.8
billion in 2004. After losing another $741 million during the first six
months of 2005, it filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection Oct. 8.

The maker of everything from satellite radio receivers to radiators says it
is burdened with restrictive labor contracts that require it to pay far more
than its competitors -- $27 an hour in wages and $76 an hour when benefits
are added.

The solution Delphi initially presented its workers: Eliminate 24,000 of its
34,000 hourly jobs from the U.S. workforce and reduce the wages to an
average $12.50 an hour, or $35 an hour when benefits are added.

Shotwell was outraged and formed Soldiers of Solidarity, a group of Delphi
workers that has no official membership roles or dues, just a shared desire
to fight for their jobs.

He has thrust himself into the limelight by holding how-to-strike meetings
in hotel conference rooms in Michigan, Wisconsin, Indiana, Ohio and New York
and by writing sharp commentaries criticizing GM, Delphi and the UAW on
blogs and in newsletters.

"You can't put a collar on Soldiers of Solidarity and rein it in and rein it
out," Shotwell said to the lively beer-drinking crowd, some of whom
responded, "Amen, brother."

The silent treatment

It's doubtful the group will sway the UAW's decisions, said Robert
Chiaravalli, a labor lawyer and principal at Strategic Labor and Human
Resources LLC in West Bloomfield.

"They are a voice and I would have to believe the UAW listens," said
Chiaravalli, who has worked for the union and has served on the National
Labor Relations Board. "Does it change any of the broad-brush strategies
they have? I don't think so."

Even if Shotwell does not succeed, his activism scares Toyota about bringing
an engine plant to the region, said David Cole, director of the Center for
Automotive Research in Ann Arbor. He has been assisting Gov. Jennifer
Granholm in her bid to attract Japanese automotive investment.

"The UAW is extremely concerned that this group is getting publicity that
goes way beyond their numbers," Cole said. "With all the complexity of the
negotiations, there's fear that dissidents will gain even more attraction
during the UAW elections" in June.

Companies and union officials said they will not talk about Shotwell on the
record, saying they want to avoid giving him unnecessary attention.

The other side of the tracks

Those who know him best say Shotwell may come across like a pest, but in
reality he has a desire to help others.

Shotwell's parents weren't activists, but they fostered skills he uses
today. His mother stayed at home and his father was a salesman -- and an
alcoholic.

"It was an unhappy home for many reasons," Shotwell said. "But one thing my
father always did was listen to me, and because he listened to me he made me
feel that what I had to say had value. I guess that's why I'm not afraid to
say what needs to be said."

The Shotwells lived near the railroad tracks in segregated Grand Rapids. To
play baseball in the late 1950s, Shotwell had to cross the tracks and play
on an all-black baseball team.

"In that experience I became more acutely sensitive to injustice and
inequality," Shotwell said. "I was taken out of my comfort zone and put in
an experience where I was a minority and had to stand up for myself."

Sheila Shotwell, Gregg Shotwell's wife of 33 years, travels with him to
every rally.

The couple have three kids and two grandkids. Sheila Shotwell had to put her
foot down recently to make sure her husband didn't miss a party for their
5-year-old grandson Jack.

"I can crack the whip when I need to," she said, smiling.

She worries that her husband isn't getting enough rest.

"I have to remind him that a human being needs to sleep," Sheila Shotwell
said, pausing to stare at him across the bar. "He gets hundreds of e-mails
every week. He's always on that cell phone answering questions."

A campaign against harassment

James Jean, a coworker and friend of Gregg Shotwell since meeting him in
1985 at a Delphi employee orientation class, recalled his plant-wide efforts
10 years ago to help a single mother at Delphi's Coopersville plant who was
fired a week before Christmas. She claimed a supervisor harassed her.

Shotwell helped organize workers into rejecting overtime, slowing production
and wearing bright red T-shirts that read "Stop Harassment" on the front and
"Injury to One is Injury to All" on the back. The worker got her job back
and the supervisor was forced to attend sensitivity training, Jean said.

"We were friends before, but when he did that we became pretty close," Jean
said at the bar.

Shotwell fought the UAW leadership during the 2003 contract talks by trying
to convince his coworkers to vote against a plan that instituted a
two-tiered system that gave new workers less pay and pension benefits than
established workers. Many workers were relieved to see any wage increases
and were happy with the $3,000 lump-sum signing bonus.

After Shotwell demanded a copy of the original contract language, he printed
what he called the low-lights of the deal. The contract passed, but Shotwell
said, "Now we can honestly look into the eyes of new hires and say ... we
tried, we honestly tried."

It's not hard to see why Shotwell's in-your-face approach has resulted in
him being escorted out of the Coopersville plant a couple of times, usually
for distributing fiery leaflets.

A growing audience

Not all UAW members who attend Shotwell's strike preparation meetings buy
into the Soldiers of Solidarity's confrontational strategy. Kurt Barikmo, an
hourly Delphi worker from Milwaukee, attended a meeting near his plant but
was not completely impressed. Barikmo instead took the initiative to mail a
letter expressing his frustrations to Delphi's bankruptcy judge.

"I am not a Soldiers of Solidarity member and have some reservations about
the group's approach," Barikmo said.

But Shotwell's burning desire to help workers is clearly reaching a bigger
audience than ever before.

"I am humbled by this experience," Shotwell said to a rowdy standing ovation
of blue jeans and untucked shirts. "I am not the voice of Soldiers of
Solidarity. You are the voice."

Contact JASON ROBERSON at 313-222-8763 or jroberson@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx





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