Thursday, December 11, 2025

photos from the edge 25 - THE VERSATRONEX STRIKE

photos from the edge 25 - THE VERSATRONEX STRIKE
The first strike by production workers in a Silicon Valley factory, 1992-3
Photographs by David Bacon

 


In mid-February of 1993 the last workers at the Versatronex plant in Sunnyvale filed out of the plant's door for the last time, and the factory closed.  But many electronics workers in Silicon Valley remember Versatronex as the first plant where production workers went on strike, and the first plant where a strike won recognition for their union.
    
"It's a little sad, but we said at the beginning that if the company was going to close, let them close," said Sandra Gomez, who lost her job at the end of the Versatronex strike.  "But as long as the plant was open, we were going to fight for our rights."
    
Factories like Versatronex are a startling contrast to the hi-tech public image.  More stable and better-paying production jobs in the valley's large plants practically disappeared, while contractors like Versatronex competed for business from big companies by cutting wages and conditions.

Disclosure:  David Bacon was the lead organizer for the United Electrical Workers during the strike and organizing drive



Part one, the strike begins
October 16, 1992

Workers at Versatronex called in the union after they had already organized themselves to protest their conditions, and as they were preparing to stop work to demand changes.  When the company heard rumors of the stoppage, they held a meeting to head off the planned action.  One of the workers active in the organizing effort, Joselito Muñoz, stood up in the meeting and declared to company supervisors that "Se acabo el tiempo de esclavitud," which translated means "The time of slavery is over."  Muñoz was fired two days later, and on October 16 Verstronex workers went on strike to win his job back. 



 
Part two, workers set up the strike committee and begin picketing
October 17-24, 1992

"I went to every meeting before the strike started," she remembers, "but I was kind of young, and I didn't know what to expect.  Even though I spoke on television after the strike started, I wasn't sure I was doing the right thing.  But I learned a lot in those first days, and now I feel very strongly that we have to stand up for ourselves.  Even if we lose our jobs here, we will keep on fighting for our rights wherever we work." - striker Sandra Gomez




 
Part three, after two weeks the company still won't talk to the workers, but they refuse to give up their demands
October 27, 1992

Conditions at Versatronex gave credence to the accusation  that a high tech image masked a reality of sweatshop conditions.  Sergio Mendoza worked in the "coil room," making electrical coils for IBM computers for seven years.  The work process involved dipping the coils into chemical baths, and drying them off in ovens.  "They never told us the names or the dangers of the chemicals we worked with," he recalls.  "Sometimes the vapors were so strong that our noses would begin to bleed.  Women who cleaned parts with solvents had deep cracks in the skin on the end of their fingers."  The company filed declarations with the Bay Area Air Quality Management District that it discharged 3400 pounds of ethylene dichloride, a known carcinogen, into the atmosphere in 1991.  Nevertheless, Versatronex workers allege that there was no ventilation system or scrubbers for discharges within or outside the plant.




 
Part four, the janitors union and community supporters rally at the plant in protest and try to speak to Versatronex' owners
October 29 and 30, 1992

According to Lenny Siegel, director of the Pacific Studies Center in Mountain View, "there's a pretty clear trend over the long term" in increasing employment in contract assembly plants in Silicon Valley, "especially among companies which make computers.  Major companies like Sun Microsystems and Tandem Computer have contracted out most of their production, and rely on companies like Solectron [a large contract assembly company.]  This leads to deteriorating conditions for assemblers, since contract assemblers certainly don't pay what a company like IBM does." 





 
Part five, strikers brought their children to the picket line every day
October 31, 1992

Strikers were fighting for their families, so it only made sense to show the world the children who were paying the price of the low wages and insecure jobs of their parents.  With virtually no income during the strike, parents had no childcare, and came together at the picket line to share caring for the kids.  The children, seeing their parents acting in this new way, wanted to support them and understood what they were fighting for.







 
Part six, strikers mount a hunger strike in front of Versatronex' biggest customer, Digital Microwave Corp.
November 12 - 20, 1992

Another large customer who had their boards assembled at Versatronex was Digital Microwave Corp., a manufacturer of equipment for telecommunications networks. At the high point of the 6-week Versatronex strike, 10 women strikers went on a hunger strike outside DMC's glittering offices.  For four days they fasted to dramatize their effort to hold that manufacturer responsible for their working conditions.  Male strikers supported them by setting up tents and living around the clock on the sidewalk outside DMC's front door.  Word of their action spread like an electric current through the valley's Mexican and immigrant communities.
    
"We went on a hunger strike against Digital Microwave Corporation because they send work to Versatronex, and then they close their eyes to the conditions we work in," explained hunger striker Margarita Aguilera.  "And after our strike started, DMC sent even more work into the Versatronex plant."  At the end of the fast, DMC made public a letter written to Versatronex management which said that, although it didn't intend to intervene in the labor dispute, "you should be aware that we are actively seeking alternative suppliers to fill our needs.  If we find such suppliers, it may well be that we will transfer our needs to those resources on a permanent basis."








Part seven, workers end the strike, and petition for a union election
December 1, 1992

Versatronex workers ended their strike on November 25, after the National Labor Relations Board issued a formal complaint, the equivalent of an indictment, against the company for illegally firing Muñoz.  The day after they went back to work, workers filed a petition with the NLRB for a union election at the plant.  Then, as the union and the company were negotiating over arrangements for the election and accusations of retaliation against strikers, the company announced that it would close the factory permanently.  The announcement was made the day before Christmas.  Community supporters distributed hams and turkeys to the workers as they left the factory.






 
Part eight, Silicon Valley's immigrant workers march to demand labor rights
December 19, 1992

During the Christmas holidays, workers employed by Versatronex, USM and Litton marched through crowds of shoppers in downtown San Jose.  They noisily protested declining conditions for the immigrants who make up the bulk of the workforce employed by Silicon Valley contractors.  Their protest highlighted a new development in the home of high technology - militant and angry demonstrations by workers from the valley's factories. 

The three groups joined forces because they are all immigrants, and are all employed by contractors who do business with the area's large companies.  USM workers were mostly Korean immigrants, who lost their jobs when the owner suddenly closed the factory's doors, owing workers two months in back wages.  Supported by San Jose's Korean Resource Center, they organized protests against Silicon Valley Bank, whom they held liable for their lost wages because the bank took control of USM's assets.  

Litton janitors, also immigrants, are mostly Mexican.  They worked for a union janitorial contractor, and some had worked in the Litton buildings for over 10 years.  Litton brought in a new, non-union contractor, who employed a new workforce at lower wages and conditions. The janitors were represented by Service Employees Local 1877, and were drawn from the same immigrant workforce employed on the production lines in the electronics plants.  A year ago Local 1877 made an important organizing breakthrough when it forced Apple Computer, and later Hewlett-Packard Corporation, to sign agreements using union janitorial contractors. 










Monday, December 8, 2025

photos from the edge 24 - DOES TRUMP HATE SOMALIS, OR DOES HE FEAR THEM?

photos from the edge 24
DOES TRUMP HATE SOMALIS, OR DOES HE FEAR THEM?
Lewiston, Maine, March 2018
Photos by David Bacon

LEWISTON, MAINE:  It's clear that Trump hates Somalis.  In his first administration he included Somalia as one of his "shithole" countries, and tried to prohibit its people from coming to the U.S. "They come from hell," he said just the other day. "We don't want them in our country."  

Trump singled out courageous Congress Member Ilhan Omar (again) and called her "garbage."  Omar, with great dignity, responded only to say she thought his attention "creepy," as indeed it is.  But his hatred of Somalis is also revealing. 

Trump is afraid, and he has reason to be.  Since they started coming to the U.S. in the wake of the destabilization of their country in the 1990s, Somalis have become one of the most politically engaged immigrant communities in this country.  In Minnesota it's not just Ilhan Omar.  The state now has three members of its legislature who were born in Somalia.

Trump accuses them of "taking over" Minnesota, as though they'd somehow managed to produce votes by magic. But anyone can see that what Trump really has is a bad case of fear.  Given the state's size (5.8 million) and the community's size (43,000), it's clear that far more votes come from non-Somalis than Somalis. 

The other state where Somalis are getting elected is the whitest state in the country - Maine.  Deqa Dhalac was elected to the South Portland City Council in 2018, and in 2021 the other councilors chose her as mayor.  Now she's in the state legislature, along with two other Somalis.  1.4 million people live in Maine; only 6000 of them were either born in Somalia, or have Somali parents.

What scares Trump is that white people are voting for Somalis in large numbers, because they have good political skills.  They speak about the basic class interests that motivate most working class people to the polls.  Dhalac's program includes responding to climate change (Portland is on Maine's coast), affordable housing, and promoting diversity, equity and inclusion.

The experience of Somalis has not been a history of easy acceptance, though.  In nearby Lewiston, another Maine city where many have settled, they organized a mosque when they decided to make the city home.  But in 2006 someone threw a pig's head into it.  

The mayor of Lewiston announced in 2002 that Somalis should stop coming.  That made white supremacy an acceptable attitude, and 32 people demonstrated to support the mayor.  Another 4000 counter-protested, however, and  Dhalac announced to them, "I am a Muslim, Black immigrant woman, and I'm not going anywhere."  Fifteen years later she was on the South Portland City Council.

In Rockland, fifty miles from Lewiston, the city council responded to Trump's anti-immigrant insults and threats by adopting, 4-1, an ordinance telling its police not to cooperate with ICE.  Immigrant rights activists and immigrant communities are fighting for a similar bill, LD 1971, in the state legislature.

But Trump's "garbage" insult is frightening.  During his first term, after he'd demonized and tried to ban immigrants from African and Middle Eastern countries, someone shot into the mosque.  Many Somalis are in the U.S. with Temporary Protected Status, which Trump ended for other nationalities.  They worry they could be next.  Still, the local imam Saleh Mahamud says, "This is my country. My children were born here. And we are not going anywhere else."

These photographs show the old mill buildings of Lewiston's past, the slum apartments where Somalis lived when they first arrived, and a few community members in front of their new stores and businesses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ferduz, a Somali woman, walks down Main Street, where Somali stores have taken the place of boarded-up storefronts.

Fozia Guirreh, a Somali woman, on Main Street,

Charmarke, a Somali woman, and her son Youssouf on Main Street 

  Mohamed Ali Ibrahim is a leader of the Somali community