David is unruffled. He walks straight into a grubby little store and, in lumpy but serviceable Spanish buys himself a pack of Marlboro Lights and a 500-milliliter Coke "I liked Spanish class he First stop is Pastoral Juvenil Obrera, or Pastoral Working Youth, a Catholic group organizing to improve conditions in the foreign-owned factories. Its"office" is actually a tiny, windowless room in he back of a squat cement house, where portraits of Jesus Christ share a wall with pictures of Che Guevara and Salma Hayek Redheaded Maricela Rodriguez, whom everybody calls Gorda(Fatty), not only knows Breed workers. she used to be one I was there six months, sewing leather covers on steering wheels. Was that your job? she asks David David shakes his head. Tell her I operated a mold, he says Here's what I did all day, Gorda says, demonstrating three quick stitches and then a jerk of the threads to tighten them. I ended up hurting the nerves in my arm, got bad tendonitis. She does the stitch-stitch-stitch-yank again. Fifteen wheels a day. Thats 1, 600 repetitive motions. We did a tudy In walks Manuel Mondragon, looking like a Mexican revolutionary from a hollywood movie, with a akish beard and the yes of a panther. Manuel can t work in the maquiladoras anymore, he says, because the factory owners blacklisted him as a troublemaker now he works for pjo, his salary paid by the New York State Labor-Religion Coalition, which supports worker-justice programs in the U.S and Mexico. When asked whether he can help find a breed worker making plastic steering wheels like David used to, Manuel pushes his hands deep into the pockets of an old tweed sport coat and looks us up and down, as though deciding whether were worth the risk. After a long, frowning moment, he says, Lets go see Erick and Maribel It takes forty minutes to go six miles- not because of traffic but because any of the million potholes we skirt could total Manuels sprung-shot 1986 Buick. Once it's too late to turn back, he says that neither Erick nor Maribel has actually worked for Breed. But Maribel used to work in a different [American-owned] steering-wheel factory, he adds. " So she can describe the work. and mayb she 'll know somebody Maribel and erick turn out to be a well-dressed and handsome young couple who live with their eight-year-old son in a ten-by ten-foot plywood cube. With the growth of the maquiladora industry since NAFTA, the number of factories in and around Matamoros has expanded by a third but almost no additional housing has been built. Erick and Maribel's shack, which isn't much bigger than their double bed, is one of several slapped together in the garden of a dilapidated house that has another sprawling family crammed into it-and the only bathroom in the compound Maribel's job was to receive the plastic steering wheels hot from moldsmen like David. She enunciates carefully the chemicals she handled: Sicomet, toluene, Varsol and Lokweld. "I learned their names after leaving the job, she says. While I was working, the company refused to tell us what they were or what health effects to watch for. " They are associated with a horrifying list ofDavid is unruffled. He walks straight into a grubby little store and, in lumpy but serviceable Spanish, buys himself a pack of Marlboro Lights and a 500-milliliter Coke. “I liked Spanish class,” he says. First stop is Pastoral Juvenil Obrera, or Pastoral Working Youth, a Catholic group organizing to improve conditions in the foreign-owned factories. Its “office” is actually a tiny, windowless room in the back of a squat cement house, where portraits of Jesus Christ share a wall with pictures of Che Guevara and Salma Hayek. Redheaded Maricela Rodriguez, whom everybody calls Gorda (Fatty), not only knows Breed workers, she used to be one. “I was there six months, sewing leather covers on steering wheels. Was that your job?” she asks David. David shakes his head. “Tell her I operated a mold,” he says. “Here’s what I did all day,” Gorda says, demonstrating three quick stitches and then a jerk of the threads to tighten them. “I ended up hurting the nerves in my arm, got bad tendonitis.” She does the stitch-stitch-stitch-yank again. “Fifteen wheels a day. That’s 1,600 repetitive motions. We did a study.” In walks Manuel Mondragon, looking like a Mexican revolutionary from a Hollywood movie, with a rakish beard and the yes of a panther. Manuel can’t work in the maquiladoras anymore, he says, because the factory owners blacklisted him as a troublemaker. Now he works for PJO, his salary paid by the New York State Labor-Religion Coalition, which supports worker-justice programs in the U.S. and Mexico. When asked whether he can help find a Breed worker making plastic steering wheels like David used to, Manuel pushes his hands deep into the pockets of an old tweed sport coat and looks us up and down, as though deciding whether we’re worth the risk. After a long, frowning moment, he says, “Let’s go see Erick and Maribel.” It takes forty minutes to go six miles – not because of traffic but because any of the million potholes we skirt could total Manuel’s sprung-shot 1986 Buick. Once it’s too late to turn back, he says that neither Erick nor Maribel has actually worked for Breed. “But Maribel used to work in a different [American-owned] steering-wheel factory,” he adds. “So she can describe the work. And maybe she’ll know somebody.” Maribel and Erick turn out to be a well-dressed and handsome young couple who live with their eight-year-old son in a ten-by ten-foot plywood cube. With the growth of the maquiladora industry since NAFTA, the number of factories in and around Matamoros has expanded by a third, but almost no additional housing has been built. Erick and Maribel’s shack, which isn’t much bigger than their double bed, is one of several slapped together in the garden of a dilapidated house that has another sprawling family crammed into it – and the only bathroom in the compound. Maribel’s job was to receive the plastic steering wheels hot from moldsmen like David. She enunciates carefully the chemicals she handled: Sicomet, toluene, Varsol and Lokweld. “I learned their names after leaving the job,” she says. “While I was working, the company refused to tell us what they were or what health effects to watch for.” They are associated with a horrifying list of