Like Someone Passing Away

By David McCall
USW International President

Edwin Sanchez had the seniority he needed to bid into a higher-paying position in the control room at the oil refinery in Texas City, Texas, where he’d worked for more than 15 years.

But Sanchez, lighthearted and sociable, seemed to prefer the company of his close-knit, 30-person unit responsible for a range of duties inside and outside the sprawling facility.

Sanchez, a member of United Steelworkers (USW) Local 13-1, showed up for his shifts like clockwork. And then, one day, he didn’t show up at all.

Concerned co-workers ultimately learned that Immigration and Customs Enforcement decided to deport Sanchez, whom local police detained after a traffic stop, even though he had an up-to-date work permit.

His deportation to Honduras—a country he hadn’t seen since leaving as a child nearly four decades earlier—occurred in March. The loss angered fellow union members, who fought to hold open Sanchez’s job during his months-long detention, and it underscored the heavy toll that Donald Trump’s dragnet exacts not only on deportees and their families but on the workplaces and industries they leave behind.

“It just leaves a hole,” observed Brandi Sanders-Lausch, president of Local 13-1, recalling how months of uncertainty about Sanchez’s fate affected about 1,000 union workers at the refinery.

“They were definitely distracted and probably a little uncomfortable,” she said of Sanchez’s co-workers, especially members of his unit who worked most closely with him. “They had questions. They didn’t understand. Everyone still talks about him.”

In all, the nation so far lost more than a million foreign-born workers like Sanchez amid Trump’s mass deportation campaign.

It’s already causing labor shortages that drive up employer costs and delay work, according to new data from the Federal Reserve. It’s ultimately going to balloon the federal deficit, hinder growth and lower Americans’ standard of living, according to a study by researchers at the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School, one of whom explained that “fewer people means a smaller economy.”

The campaign against immigrants puts large swaths of the economy at risk, not merely by decimating the work force but by depriving the nation of people with the skills and knowledge essential for operating key industries and keeping them viable for the long term.

For example, Sanchez held a trusted role at the refinery, a veritable small city, where workers refine up to 631,000 gallons of crude oil a day for gasoline, petrochemicals, fuel oil, propane and other products needed by various kinds of businesses across the country.

Sanchez graduated from a local high school and completed a process technology degree at a community college to prepare for his work as an operator, which involved scaling ladders, monitoring gauges, performing maintenance and checking for leaks, among other responsibilities, Sanders said.

He continued his education on the job. Both the USW and the company invested in Sanchez on an ongoing basis, providing the safety and other training that empowered his work.

In return, Sanchez invested himself in his work and in his colleagues. He was a dependable, conscientious team player, with an upbeat personality that helped to lighten 12-hour shifts and the overtime that often followed, Sanders said, calling him a favorite among his co-workers.

“They all became really good friends,” she said, noting that Sanchez earned respect for his dedication to picket-line duty during the USW’s 2015 unfair labor practice strike against big oil and his commitment to watching others’ backs in a high-risk work environment.

“You can’t replace a person like that,” Sanders said. “You feel that loss. It’s almost like someone passing away.”

In his mid-30s, unmarried, with no children, Sanchez ended up relying on friends to sell his assets so he’d have some means of supporting himself in Honduras. He also accessed his retirement account, providing additional funds.

But co-workers never saw him again.

Instead of helping to meet America’s energy needs, he’s now figuring out his next steps in an unfamiliar country that has no oil industry, let alone a need for skilled refinery workers.

“He doesn’t speak Spanish,” Sanders said. “He still calls and checks in with everybody from time to time. His friends are here.”

Just like Sanchez, José Galo parlayed hard work and a union contract into a good middle-class life.

But it’s all in pieces now. Galo—who made his way to the U.S. on his own at 14, sometimes sleeping on a couch and skipping meals for lack of money—says he has little choice but to return to Honduras following the deportation of his wife, Karla.

Galo, a U.S. citizen and member of USW Local 1693 in Lexington, Ky., accompanied his wife, also a native of Honduras, to a routine check-in with immigration officials in June. Thirty minutes later, a woman returned to the waiting room and told Galo, “She’s no longer here.”

“They took her out the back,” recalled Galo, a manufacturing worker. He made a brief trip to Honduras shortly thereafter, taking the couple’s 6-year-old son, a U.S. citizen, so he could live with his mother.

Galo said he’s done his best to contribute to America, joining the ranks of the manufacturing workers who built the country and standing in solidarity with fellow USW members.

He availed himself of the advantages that the USW and other unions have provided all of their members, including members of various immigrant groups, for decades: good wages, affordable benefits, safe working conditions and a brighter future.

Galo bought a house and a car, willingly paid taxes and started a lawn care business to explore his entrepreneurial side. He liked nothing more than greeting his son when he walked through the door at the end of a long shift.

Now, his hardships cast a pall over the factory floor, where Galo says his co-workers, a second family, try to cheer him up even though they share his grief. He knows he won’t be seeing them much longer, even though he’s daunted by the prospect of starting over in a country as disadvantaged as when he left decades ago.

“This is my home now,” he said.