Here Comes Trouble - Michael Moore [141]
“We are making history here,” one of the speakers announced. “Those of you here tonight will be remembered as the pioneers, the heroes, who helped move America from a manufacturing-based economy to a service economy, a high-tech economy. And you will be able to say that you were here when it all started!” He stopped short of comparing this historical moment to the Wannsee Conference, or the gathering of the family heads by Don Corleone. But the headiness of the moment—the importance of who they were and what they were up to—was not lost on anyone in that room in Acapulco.
I discovered that there were executives from at least ten or so Michigan companies at the conference, including top people from Iroquois Die and Manufacturing, Deco Grand, and Dynacast. I thought it wise to avoid them as they would know I was not running an auto parts company in Flint. But I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to know why these turncoats were planning to sack fellow Michiganders. I wanted to look in their eyes, I wanted to know if they went to Ohio State.
I took off my name tag and sat down at a table where some of them were gathered. Arthur Goodsel was the president of Huron Plastics. He had ten plants around Michigan and the United States. He told me that the move to Mexico he was considering was not voluntary.
“The automakers are moving here, there’s no doubt about that,” he said with the tone of resignation. “They won’t admit that too publicly, but this is where they’re coming. And they’re telling suppliers like me if you want to do business with us, you’d better move here, too, to be close to us. If not, then bye-bye. So what am I supposed to do?”
That was the story I kept hearing from the smaller businesses. They were being coerced and extorted into making this move. From the looks on their faces I could see the invisible gun being held to their heads. They did not look like they were down here on vacation.
“Yeah, me too,” I said. “Don’t you think when people in Michigan find this out they’re gonna tar and feather us on our way outta town?”
“Oh, I don’t even know how I’m gonna break the news to my employees,” a man named “Bill” said sadly. “Some of these guys have been with me for twenty years. They have families. But, I guess they’ll find other jobs. There’s lots of work in Michigan to go around.”
“You got that right,” I added.
Forgoing the parasailing and the jet skis, I attended all the lectures and presentations. They were mesmerizing. Up on the screen they laid it all out, how this or that American governmental agency would help grease the skids for “your move to Mexico”! Little time was spent on trying to justify it (“Think of all the shipping and trucking jobs this will create in the U.S.!”). One speaker after another told the assembled about the fields of gold that awaited them south of the border. And if they did not get in on this gold rush, well, they were just going to be left behind like the buggy whip manufacturers were at the beginning of the twentieth century when they pooh-poohed the new “horseless carriage.”
One nice feature in the presentations was the racism. And the generous plantation mentality that was expressed. Speaker after speaker kept using the generic name “Pancho” whenever they referred to the hypothetical Mexican worker they were so excited about exploiting.
“Pancho will do this for you! Pancho will do that for you!”
“Pancho won’t be joining any unions.”
“Pancho is an obedient worker.”
Pancho, of course, was not present at the gathering, other than those Panchos serving us our filet mignons and flaming fried ice cream.
By the third day, I had, remarkably, not been caught. It was slightly disappointing on some level that I looked that believable in the role of CEO. But I knew my auto parts well enough to talk the talk, and I knew all the appropriate slags to make on the unions and the greedy factory workers. One guy did say he had never heard of my company,