why your AFL-CIO fought against NAFTA in the first place The AFL-CIO fought, but by 1993 the labor federation had become a toothless old lion. The share of the U. S workforce that its unions represent had fallen by half since World War II, to one worker in ix. The best the AFL-CIO and its allies could secure were all-but-unenforceable "side agreements on labor and the environment. But proponents of better-regulated world commerce are gaining strength. The protests at the Seattle WTO meeting, in which the AFL-CIO was a key participant, not only disrupted the meeting but also so frightened the world's captains of finance and industry that their following meeting, in Switzerland in January, was almost entirely occupied with Seattle The day ends for David on an upbeat note. First, he finds something he recognizes on the hotel restaurant's dinner menu chicken tacos. Then, as he rises to walk outside for a cigarette a waiter hands him an ashtray You can smoke in a restaurant here? he asks, gratefully lighting up and exhaling luxuriously Well, thats one good thing about Mexico Manuel finishes eating and rises to go. So what about the guy who has Davids old job? We ask him Tomorrow, he says with a courtly bow. Tomorrow we will find him In the morning, David is unusually talkative. He saw a rock band on tv the night before that he really liked- Los Estramboticos- and he wants to find their CD. and talking yesterday about the weakness of the AFL-Cio has got him thinking about his old union We once had a vote on whether we entry-level guys should get a raise, and fifty guys voted no, he says, sipping his breakfast Coke. You had to vote before your shift started, which means these guys ot out of bed a half-hour early to vote against their fellow union members getting a raise! He shudders and lights a cigarette. David doesnt use foul language, but the memory makes him made enough to come close. " F-ing a-holes, he mutters. " Union guys getting out of bed early to burn other union guys. No wonder the AFL-CIo is weak Finding Davids old job is a slow process in a world with few phones and much suspicion. Manuel is Iching us closer, but it's clear that an American journalist interested in the plight of Mexican workers is an unusual thing, so he's making the most of it. He has assembled a small group of people who used to work in a Breed steering-wheel plant. They're waiting for us in a musty print shop crowded around a cast-iron press that looks old enough to have crossed the ocean with cortez Martha Ojeda of the Coalition for Justice in the Maquiladoras, which is an ally of Manuels organization, runs the meeting like an orchestra conductor, pointing to each worker in turn to elicit his or her story. Sitting among the lead slabs of type, we hear in detail from Sylvia, who was bullied back to work by her own union when she tried to complain about being sick from chemicals; from Mathias and Christina, a young couple whose baby lived only two days and from Ezekiel, whose baby was born without a brain David lets out a sigh like a locomotive clearing its brakes, and everybody turns to look at him Sorry, he says, though it isn't clear whether he's apologizing for the interruption or for being awhy your AFL-CIO fought against NAFTA in the first place.” The AFL-CIO fought, but by 1993 the labor federation had become a toothless old lion. The share of the U.S. workforce that its unions represent had fallen by half since World War II, to one worker in six. The best the AFL-CIO and its allies could secure were all-but-unenforceable “side agreements” on labor and the environment. But proponents of better-regulated world commerce are gaining strength. The protests at the Seattle WTO meeting, in which the AFL-CIO was a key participant, not only disrupted the meeting but also so frightened the world’s captains of finance and industry that their following meeting, in Switzerland in January, was almost entirely occupied with Seattle. The day ends for David on an upbeat note. First, he finds something he recognizes on the hotel restaurant’s dinner menu: chicken tacos. Then, as he rises to walk outside for a cigarette, a waiter hands him an ashtray. “You can smoke in a restaurant here?” he asks, gratefully lighting up and exhaling luxuriously. “Well, that’s one good thing about Mexico.” Manuel finishes eating and rises to go. So what about the guy who has David’s old job? We ask him. “Tomorrow,” he says with a courtly bow. “Tomorrow we will find him.” In the morning, David is unusually talkative. He saw a rock band on TV the night before that he really liked – Los Estrambóticos – and he wants to find their CD. And talking yesterday about the weakness of the AFL-CIO has got him thinking about his old union. “We once had a vote on whether we entry-level guys should get a raise, and fifty guys voted no,” he says, sipping his breakfast Coke. “You had to vote before your shift started, which means these guys got out of bed a half-hour early to vote against their fellow union members getting a raise!” He shudders and lights a cigarette. David doesn’t use foul language, but the memory makes him made enough to come close. “F-ing a-holes,” he mutters. “Union guys getting out of bed early to burn other union guys. No wonder the AFL-CIO is weak.” Finding David’s old job is a slow process in a world with few phones and much suspicion. Manuel is inching us closer, but it’s clear that an American journalist interested in the plight of Mexican workers is an unusual thing, so he’s making the most of it. He has assembled a small group of people who used to work in a Breed steering-wheel plant. They’re waiting for us in a musty print shop, crowded around a cast-iron press that looks old enough to have crossed the ocean with Cortéz. Martha Ojeda of the Coalition for Justice in the Maquiladoras, which is an ally of Manuel’s organization, runs the meeting like an orchestra conductor, pointing to each worker in turn to elicit his or her story. Sitting among the lead slabs of type, we hear in detail from Sylvia, who was bullied back to work by her own union when she tried to complain about being sick from chemicals; from Mathias and Christina, a young couple whose baby lived only two days’ and from Ezekiel, whose baby was born without a brain. David lets out a sigh like a locomotive clearing its brakes, and everybody turns to look at him. “Sorry,” he says, though it isn’t clear whether he’s apologizing for the interruption or for being a