***5:30 PM, A bar outside Miramar Free Trade Zone (FTZ), El Salvador
Alex DeLoya looked over the bar of the rundown tienda just in time to see the deputy Undersecretary of the Treasury for international monetary policy appear in the door, Blackberry attached to the ear and a sycophantic tone in his voice, something Alex later realized that he only noted because it was so different from how the man usually sounded. Before he could note anything else though, he realized his exposed position and ducked down behind the bar just as the Undersecretary glanced his way. He strained, but over the low din of the old men playing dominos and drinking Mexican beer, he could only catch snippets of what the man was saying over the phone.
“…no reason for you to call while I am in country….I don’t believe the operation is in jeopardy...absolutely not, the old fool won’t see anything…”
Alex lay low, but he was starting to draw odd looks from some of the patrons, and he really didn’t want to draw attention to himself while the Undersecretary was there. Luckily, as he started to peek over the bar, Alex saw him leaving. Alex stood up and left quickly, putting his sunglasses on as the merciless sun, that same sun worshipped by the ancient Incans, beat down on him. He wanted to hear more of the conversation.
Foreign policy legislative assistant to a prominent US Senator at just 25, a smart, ambitious man with an Ivy League degree and an idealist’s heart coupled with a practical mind, Alex was one of the best his generation had to offer. A Latino of Salvadoran descent, Alex had grown up the 4th of 7 children in the urban ethnic enclave of Woodbridge, Virginia. His father was a bus driver for 30 years, and his mother had worked two jobs, cleaning motel rooms by day and as an ‘independent domestic services provider’, as his mother loved to joke when she would come home at night from cleaning another mansion in McLean. Alex’s was not just the quintessential American Dream story, but the Hollywood version of it. His mother had cleaned for the same Senator that Alex now worked for, a fact he was extremely proud of.
Now he was trying to draw on all the knowledge he ever gleaned from James Bond movies as he tried to stealthily follow the Undersecretary down the street. He caught more bits and pieces of the conversation: “Phil, you know that my team is on board…..….…yes……..no………..under control”
Alex didn’t know what to make of this shift in tone by the Undersecretary, who previously had been very authoritative, as if he was the appointed ambassador from America to the whole world, and not just some careerist government employee. Alex thought he had a particularly cruel mean streak, but the Senator had informed Alex it was just a personal defect.
“Nino won’t like this, Phil…I know, but you have to play these things out carefully…fine, fine. I’ll handle it…”
Down in El Salvador as part of a congressional junket with the Senator, the Undersecretary had been part of the group, along with the Senator’s aides and some prominent businessmen who had dealings with this particular free trade zone and its notorious leader –
Suddenly the Undersecretary whirled around. Alex hadn’t been careful enough and was caught exposed in the open. The man stepped forward with alacrity, grabbed Alex by the shoulders, and pushed him up against a concrete wall. “Just what do you think you are doing, following me around young man?” the Undersecretary asked Alex, acidly. He managed to make “young man” sound like a crime.
Alex hadn’t made it out of the barrio by being slow. He thought fast and came up with, “Sir, uh, Senator Allen just sent me along to find you. He was worried you might have gotten lost and not been able to find your way back….”
“I know my god damn way around here, do you know how many times-!” the Undersecretary shouted, but he stopped short, as if loath to admit some fact he did not have to. He seemed a classic tightwad in that sense, like a government agent or New Yorker. He took a look at his phone. “Its 5:45. The group is not supposed to leave for Señor Sevilla’s hacienda until 7. Well?” he said, expectantly.
Alex hated being mistaken for an intern, or an assistant, or some other job low on the totem pole, but due to his early age and youthful nature, it happened often, and in this case it was not as far from the truth as he would have liked to admit. “Sir, I’m just following orders, I don’t know why…”
“Oh alright, fine. Come on then, let’s get back to the group.” As they walked on dusty back alley paths behind factories and mills, he pushed unmute on his Blackberry, put it to his ear and said, “Mr. Knight, everything’s under control. I’ll text you when we’re feet wet…That’s right. Keep your phone on.” He put the phone in his pocket, and then, as if he hadn’t taken his thoughts off Alex’s silent activity for a second, said out the corner of his mouth, “Besides, Senator Allen will be able to confirm that for me, right?” He turned his head and winked, causing Alex’s stomach to flutter and tie itself in knots, but he tried not to betray that.
“Why of course, Mr. Undersecretary. Hey, was that Phil Knight? CEO of Nike? Don’t they have a bunch of factories here?” Alex had been a solid second baseman for his college baseball team, batting leadoff and getting a lot of singles, but he had no problem swinging for the fences when the situation called for it. He was rewarded with the look on the Undersecretary’s face, one of flush red cheeks and wide eyed surprise, but he managed to get the mask back on quickly.
“Think you’re pretty fucking clever, huh? Mind your own fucking business. Fucking kids, Jesus Christ. Come on, I see the group now. Let’s see what Senator Allen has to say,” said the Undersecretary with a smirk. They approached the group from behind a fancy office building for the gringo businessmen who worked for the big international concerns that did business here. The street here was newly paved and had nice grassy areas with trees and walkways, like a business park or main street back home, Alex thought. “Hey, wait up! Senator, did you know this young man,” shouted the Undersecretary as he strode boldly towards the group (always with the acid “young man”, Alex couldn’t help remembering), drawing the attention of the whole group to Alex, “was wondering around the back alleys of this place?”
The Senator walked with his staff, the other businessmen from the States, bodyguards provided by Miramar security, and a tour guide, one of Señor Sevilla’s personal aides, who Alex hadn’t seen before. There was only one person he was concerned with though – the Senator himself, who could save Alex or condemn him with his next few words. Luckily for Alex, the Senator was a mainstay of the Washington establishment, currently serving his fifth term, and knew how to play the game, despite not always understanding it. The Senator took a hard look at Alex (“please please please” written all over his face), and, without moving his eyes away, replied coldly, “Mr. Undersecretary, we are on a timetable here, and I cannot be everywhere at once. My staff often serves as my eyes and ears where I cannot personally be. Seeing as how we are in a hurry, we can do without any more interruptions, if you please?”
Alex wanted to shout with joy, but he kept quiet. For the second time, he was glad to see an embarrassed look on the Undersecretary’s face. He knew that despite bailing him out in public, Senator Allen would grill him in private later. For now though, the group took this as a cue to continue listening to the tour guide, who resumed his somewhat monotonous information session. “Over here, you’ll see the newest office building, finished 3 months ago, with a recreation center and a gym….” Alex didn’t pay attention though; just fell in behind the rest of the group, alone with his thoughts. He had snuck away from the tour group earlier and seen things he wished he now hadn’t. Stone faced and staring at nothing in particular, he pondered different events in his life that had led him to this point.
*** 6 years earlier, Economics 230, Columbia University
Alex Deloya was a sophomore economics major, taking copious notes. He worked hard in all his classes, but especially in this class. Everyone always told him that economics was the most important major out there right now. How else do you explain history, his friends would often point out. He agreed with them, and spent hours poring over textbooks for his major. He knew that he would have to work hard to make good on his dream of returning to his familial home of El Salvador to help people help themselves. His mother often spoke of her sisters who worked in the new maquiladora in San Marcos, and how her nephew had been sent to the US for an education, thanks to the generosity of the factory owner. He listened as the professor wrapped up for the day.
“…And so we see that on this graph, the marginal rate of demand goes up, decreasing marginal rate of cost. In today’s globalized market, this is a common situation. Free trade has lowered barriers, allowing companies to spread profits around more, which has been a benefit to the global economy,” the professor was saying. “And that’s about all the time we have today, folks. Don’t forget, the Economics department is sponsoring a speaker tonight. He’s a former World Bank official, is on the board of several international corporations, and is Columbia ’61, of course. He’s from El Salvador, a man named Zeferino Jesus de Sevilla. Extra credit for a 1 page write up. If you’re nice, he might even help you with the homework for next class.”
Alex perked up when he heard that name. Of course, that was the man who was paying for his cousin’s education. He would have to go hear this talk, on globalization was it? The man must be fascinating. A group of his classmates were chatting as they walked out. “Isn’t that the guy who owns the factories in El Salvador? The ones that those protestors downtown were talking about?” one girl wanted to know.
“Huh, what protestors? Hey, there’s always people downtown protesting something or another,” a guy responded. “Anyway, you all ready to hit the bar tonight? I can’t wait to get blitzed, school is such a drag.”
They started talking about where they were going that night, but Alex paid no attention. He wanted to go to the talk and learn more about globalization. Maybe he could pick up a few tips from his fellow countryman.
*** 6:45 PM, Back of a Limousine, highway outside Miramar FTZ, El Salvador
Alex sat facing the back of the limousine, next to the Senator’s chief of staff, as the Senator proved true to his demeanor and grilled Alex about the incident earlier. Still stunned over what he had seen earlier, he listened impassively, occasionally throwing out short answers. “…Now look, you know as well as I do that a Senator’s staff is an extension of the Senator himself. I don’t know what you were doing wandering around by yourself, but this can’t happen. I’ve never known you to do something so irresponsible, Alex. I took a big risk in hiring you at so young an age. Don’t disappoint me like that again.”
Alex started to feel personally attacked. Yes, he had snuck off without permission, but was that so bad? After all, his own family worked here, a subject he wanted to bring up…”But sir, some of the things I saw –“
The Senator held up a hand. “Alex, stop. I know where you are going with this. Look, I know a snow job when I see one, and that tour was like the god damn toy factory at the North Pole on Christmas Eve. I’m glad you got to see what you wanted to see, no wait, don’t protest.” Alex had started to speak but stopped. “Maybe you didn’t know you wanted to see it for yourself, maybe you had other reasons, but for whatever reason, you did it. I just hope you have the fortitude to do the right thing when you figure out what it is.”
Now that was a curious remark, and it made Alex stop and think. He had never heard the Senator make a comment like that. As he contemplated this, the limo pulled up to the hacienda. Alex noticed another limo already parked ahead of theirs. A bodyguard rushed to open the door for the Senator, who, in an unusual situation, was not immediately photographed by curious journalists, as there were none around. Zeferino himself, flashing a charming smile, came out to greet the Senator, with the Undersecretary trailing behind him. “Welcome Senator Allen, so nice to see you again. And how are Lily and the kids doing?” “Just fine, Nino, thank you. Let us get down to business, shall we?”
The chief of staff, a surly political animal who had broken many careers in helping his boss to his current position, remarked to Alex, “The Senator was being too nice. You pull a stunt like that, and it makes the news, I’ll fire you myself.” He got out of the limo and left Alex, despite himself, with a half smile on his face. The game takes itself too seriously, Alex thought. But that was a rule of the game, too. Alex slid across the seat and stepped out of the limousine, and found himself face to face with his cousin.
“Jose! What are you doing here?” Alex exclaimed as they embraced.
“¿Su madre no te dijo? I work for the jefe now as an aide. I gave the tour this afternoon, while you were off partying at the barro, no doubt,” his cousin laughed heartily. Alex noticed that the mirth didn’t reach his eyes though.
“Incredible! I haven’t seen you since our college days. Qué increíble that Nino sent you to NYU free of charge.” The two cousins caught up, intermixing English and Spanish as they walked towards the main house where dinner was being served following the meeting. Neither cousin was invited to that meeting, as it was to be a high level exchange between the Senator, and Nino. A thought nagged at Alex though. Why had the Undersecretary been there before the Senator? And why was he not with the rest of the group? He couldn’t be invited to the meeting, could he?
“José, donde está that self important hijo de una perra that was with Nino when we got here? The Undersecretary?” “¿Esa puta? I don’t know, Alex. Want to go look for him? These old guys are kind of boring anyway.” “Yeah, let’s do it. I want to see the grounds anyway.”
They walked out the back of the main house towards the rest of the estate. Alex was impressed- two more houses, plus a stone veranda, overlooking a lake. Alex knew they had been going up the side of a mountain from where the free trade zone was, but he hadn’t realized that they were literally at the top of a dead volcano. The estate boasted a dock with several jet skis tied up, as well as a speedboat.
“Alex, I know where Nino and your boss will be meeting. That might be a good place to start.”
They walked over to one of the houses, and jumped behind a clump of trees as they saw the side door open and Nino step out, angrily talking over a cell phone in rapid fire Spanish. “Sí, the old man knows nothing, but our main contact says he’s not as dumb as he looks…Fucking hell, why do they have to organize while all the important suits are down here? Look, make a concession or two, NOTHING about pay, promise them I’ll send some more of their kids to school. Just wait until this delegation is gone, and then we’ll bust em down…yeah, he said he wants to “save us”…Sí, sí, it is merely an interruption of our plans, but I’ll show him what can be done yet… That’s right. Yes, he will take care o f it. Its extortion, but it’s the price of business…Ok, you know what to do. Get to it,” Nino said, then snapped the phone shut. He looked around to make sure no one was there, and then stepped back inside.
Alex’s head spun. Upon hearing this new side of the conversation, his mind went back to two events. One week ago, Senator Allen had called Alex into his office, and asked him if he wanted to go to El Salvador. Alex had only been once, and he jumped at the opportunity. The reason, Senator Allen said, was that due to recent pressure by human rights groups, as well as a new proposed bill that would radically alter CAFTA, the Central American Free Trade Agreement, various congressmen was flying to countries with free trade agreements with the US in order to show that they were doing something. They would take tours, meet with workers, as well as with bosses, and encourage greater freedoms and liberties. Congress mostly just wanted to prove that they were doing something about so-called “sweat shops”, though Senator Allen disagreed with that characterization, as he made clear to Alex. “Those IMF protestors know less than nothing, they just prove that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” Alex recalled the Senator saying at the time. “Free trade is the solution, not the problem. They’ll see.” Of course, Alex agreed. Everything he had ever learned in his economics courses taught him so.
But right now, at this very moment, Alex wasn’t thinking about macroeconomic theory or trade deficits or anything. He was thinking about what he had seen that afternoon after he had snuck away from the tour group.
Alex had known full what he was doing in sneaking away from the group. Contacted three days earlier by a man claiming to be a member of a group called CISPES, or the Committee in Solidarity with the People of El Salvador, who said that he would show Alex “what the conditions in the free trade zones were REALLY like.” At first, Alex had resisted, wondering how this man even knew about the Senator’s upcoming trip, but when the man promised to show Alex’s own aunt to him, he had agreed to the plan. He was shocked at what he saw.
Hundreds of women worked in these factories, in squalid conditions. Alex couldn’t help remembering pictures from the Industrial Revolution in the US that he had seen in history classes. They worked for an average of less than a dollar per hour, and were allowed only two bathroom breaks for workdays that often stretched twelve hours or longer. The managers were ruthless. Alex witnessed two separate incidents where managers made examples of or harassed workers. His guide told him that attempts to unionize were met with extreme prejudice. One attempt by 400 women to get better pay and conditions had resulted in 400 firings. Other times, just union leadership was fired. Many of the investors, not just from the US but from some Asian countries as well, treated the women as subhuman, and were frequently allowed to set their own work rules. Salvadoran labor laws were rarely enforced. Even the law that required Christmas bonuses was frequently violated.
His guide told him that all the evidence was pointing towards increased state crackdowns, including violence, on social activists who tried to protest these conditions. Instead, the governments attracted more investors with more free trade zones, and increasingly were privatizing industries and forcing workers to turn to the free trade zones as a result.
Now Alex was starting to piece together what exactly the purpose of this trip was. With the CAFTA amendment on the docket, businessmen like Nino and the US guys wanted assurances that their investments weren’t about to dry up. They needed the lax enforcement, the docile workforce, and the low wages, to continue to turn a profit. And from what he had heard from the Undersecretary and now Nino, it sounded like there would be some money changing hands, and an attempt to water down the CAFTA bill in favor of business interests. Alex was dazed. What could he do? The mysterious guide that afternoon had shown him his aunt from afar; let him watch as she toiled under the watchful eye of a Korean manager who had been particularly hostile that day.
“José, why do you work for this man? He perpetuates these horrible conditions that your family and your people suffer through.” Jose looked away at the comment, and then said, “Alex, I have little choice. He promised to reward my family if I did well in school, and then came to work for him. In 5 years, he said he promises to give my family enough money to retire. He uses me and others as PR, to show off the poor brown boy to his rich friends and talk about how progressive they are.”
This comment struck a bit too close to home for Alex. Was he nothing but a showpiece for the Senator? No, the Senator was a kind, decent man. Perhaps extremely political, but he wouldn’t hire Alex just to have a little diversity in his office. Alex was a bit wary for the rest of the night, and couldn’t keep his eyes off Nino and the Undersecretary, who seemed to be the orchestrators of this whole charade, while the Senator just played at being oblivious.
*** Senator Allen’s office, 4 days later, Washington DC
Still, the Senator wasn’t exactly about to throw down the gauntlet over the labor rights of a people that had been “shamelessly exploited by the US for many decades before the Senator came to power, and probably would be for decades after he retired”, as the Senator would point out when Alex tried to engage him in a serious discussion. “Alex, I’ve got to be practical. I have constituents who have real concerns, every day struggles, and they actually control whether I stay in office or not. As much as I would like to help, what can I do?”
Alex summoned his courage, and said, “Sir, I think I understand. I also believe I understand another thing you told me, something about fortitude. Respectfully, sir, you have been incredibly generous to me, but effective immediately, I must resign my position.”
A smile crossed the Senator’s lips. “Son, we might just make something out of you yet. Any plans on where you will go?”
“None.”
“Scared?”
“Shitless.”
“Attaboy. Go get em, kid.”
