Yanira Merino is no stranger to trouble.
So she has made
trouble a kind of
teacher, to refine and strengthen her com-
mitment to justice.
As a highschooler in the 1970s, she helped lead the
Association of Secondary-School Students in her home
town of Santa Tecla, in the department of La Libertad, El
Salvador. Her parents, also politically active, feared for
her safety, so in 1974 they sent her to the United States.
There, she continued organizing among the growing
population of Salvadorans fleeing political violence.
But safety was elusive. In 1987, Merino, using her
married name of Corea, was abducted as she left a
Committee in Solidarity with the People of El Salvador
meeting in Los Angeles. Although almost a decade has
passed, Merino remembers each detail precisely.
“At first, I thought it was a car-jacking, but when the
men started to talk to me in Spanish and accused me of
being a Communist and a guerrilla, I knew it was
something else,” she remembers. “There was no doubt
in my mind that what they did to me was meant to ter-
rorize other Salvadorans and U.S. citizens in Los
Angeles who were working for peace in El Salvador
and convince them not to get involved.” During the
six-hour ordeal, Merino was burned with cigarettes
and raped. The three men, who spoke with Central
American accents, threatened her son, then a year old.
They left her, naked, on an unfamiliar street, where she
Robin Kirk is a North Carolina-based writer who writes frequently on immigration and Latinos in the United States.
collapsed and was
later found by
police.
Less than two
weeks later, a Guat-
emalan woman
who worked with
Central American
refugees was also
briefly abducted, though unharmed. Dozens of Los
Angeles-based activists received calls and written death
threats over the summer, prompting Mayor Tom
Bradley to offer a $10,000 reward for information lead-
ing to the identity of the men calling themselves “Death
Squad” (Escuadr6n de la Muerte), a group that first
made its appearance in El Salvador in the late 1970s.
Both the Los Angeles police’s anti-terrorism squad and
the Federal Bureau of Investigation opened cases, but
no suspects were ever apprehended.
Although Merino, 31, says she will never completely
recover, the experience did teach her a lesson. “Torture
is meant to destroy people’s will, and I can say that they
were not able to do that,” she said from her Los Angeles
home. “That part of me was made stronger by what
happened. The work I do is to empower people to make
a change, and the first thing they have to do is believe
they can do it, as I did.”
Once the peace agreement was signed in El Salvador,
Merino shifted to issues of economic justice in her
adopted country. After moving north, she worked clean-
ing houses, a job flexible enough to fit in with her polit-
ical work. But with a son to raise, she needed benefits,
so took a job at a local shrimp processing plant run by
Ore-Cal Corporation.
“The workers were people like me, mostly Latinas who
were just making ends meet. At first, it was O.K. There
VOL XXX, No 3 Nov/DEc 1996 25 VOL XXX, No 3 Nov/DEC 1996 25REPORT ON LATINO LABOR
“66The workers were people like me, mostly
Latinas who were just making ends meet. At first,
it was O.K. There were benefits and overtime
pay. But after awhile, I heard the managers
calling us stupid, lazy, retarded. They fired
people for no cause or for something they made
up. So we started talking about a union.,9
were benefits and overtime pay. But after awhile, I heard malans were
the managers calling us stupid, lazy, retarded. They fired around them,
people for no cause or for something they made up. So we would go into
started talking about a union.” By the end of 1994, only Latina, an
Merino and other workers had contacted the Laborers On the proc
International Union of North America (LIUNA), an affil- were no breal
iate of the AFL-CIO, and had won the election to union- stood. Trips t(
ize. Within a year, they had a contract for 115 employees. Workers claim
Merino decided to leave Ore-Cal to organize full time ricated infracti
for LIUNA. One of her first assignments, though, sur- impromptu stri
prised her. “A group of Guatemalans in North Carolina Case Farms’
contacted us to come and talk about organizing a union months later,
at Case Farms, a chicken-processing plant,” Merino Farms spokesr
remembered. “I thought, ‘Latinos in North Carolina?’ It’s and proper” ti
impossible.” appealed the N
Although North Carolina is not known for a large to recognize tl
Latino population, it is there and growing rapidly. Fourth Circuit
Particularly in the eastern half of the state, urban Latinos this August to
as well as Mexican and Central American workers fol- have begun.
lowing the tobacco and strawberry harvests have settled Merino belie
in and become permanent fixtures. They work in furni- and remain in
ture factories, meat processing plants, and construction, just have start
where jobs are plentiful. Crime is low and living expens- repair relation
es are cheaper than in many cities with large Latino pop- white and bla
ulations. While some Latinos are drawn by the universi- During the or
ties and high-tech industry, most are working class. One ment that the
small town, Siler City, is considered a Latino mecca, Guatemalans a
with four Latino-run grocery stores, an insurance agency ers. Among b
and even a Latino neighborhood, called “Mill Hill.” Latinos will r
But strings are attached. North Carolina is a right-to- received limit
work state, and in Morganton, the tree-shaded town at American com
the foot of the Blue Ridge mountains where the Case “This has be
Farms plant is located, there is only one other union. As clearly trouble.
Father Ken Whittington, the priest at Morganton’s St. “Perhaps we d
Charles Boromeo Church explains, for several years, the black comic
Case Farms is believed to have purposefully recruited Father Whittin
Guatemalan workers because they are cheap, available, Merino to do j
hard-working-and easily controlled, as big a heart
“Some of the first came to Morganton from Florida, happened, she
where Case Farms recruited them and brought them it’s clear to im
here in vans,” he notes. Two of North Carolina’s largest forming a union
chicken-processors, Perdue Farms and
Townsend Inc., reported this year that
half of their work force is Latino.
Father Whittington estimates that
Morganton’s Guatemalan population is
over 1,500 people, mostly single men
from Huehuetenango province.
“Among them, we have at least five
Mayan dialects. For most, Spanish is
their second language.”
For Merino, the first trip to North
Carolina was a shock. “Not only were
the conditions they worked in worse
than any I had ever seen, but the Guate-
completely isolated from the community
and got no support. I noticed it when I
a store to buy something. I would be the
Id I was noticed.”
:essing line, workers reported that there
ks, forcing them to urinate where they
o get a drink of water were prohibited.
ed they were fired for no cause or for fab-
ons. The organizing drive began after an
ke following the firing of several workers.
450 workers voted to join the union two
on July 12, 1995. In response, a Case
nan vowed to “do everything that is legal
o keep the union out. The company has
rational Labor Relations Board’s decision
he union, and the case is pending at the
Court. Workers held a week-long strike
protest. So far, no contract negotiations
eves the Guatemalan workers will prevail
North Carolina. But the work will only
ed. One of her goals is to find a way to
s between the Guatemalans and the poor
ck workers who also joined the union.
ganizing drive, some expressed resent-
union seemed to concentrate on the
nd ignore the plight of native-born work-
lacks, there is a fear that an influx of
ob them of jobs. So far, the union has
ed support from Morganton’s African-
munity and almost none from whites.
en a big school for me,” Merino admits,
d by Morganton’s multiple racial divides.
Didn’t put enough effort into outreach to
unity, something I plan to remedy.” For
gton, there is no one better equipped than
ust that. “I have rarely met someone with
as Yanira,” he says. “Despite all that has
hasn’t lost her dedication to others, and
e that her plans go far beyond simply
forming a union and leaving. She’ll be back.”
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