The Reminder is making its archives back to 2003 available on our website. Please note that, due to technical limitations, archive articles are presented without the usual formatting.
Dear Editor,
This is an open letter to the residents of Flin Flon, Creighton, Denare Beach and Snow Lake.
In The Reminder of July 31, Brad Lantz, vice-president of Hudbay's Manitoba operations, went to some length to explain the contentious 'aptitude test' that is currently used in the hiring process. He states that this test was developed in conjunction with the Manitoba government.
However, he fails to mention the role that Hudbay and Vale as well as Tolko played in development of this test. All three depend heavily on contractors, and contractors don't have to write this test. Anyone who writes this test, and many do, is only ever told they have passed or failed. There is no test review for anyone, pass or fail. It would be very easy to dismiss a local hire just by saying, 'you failed, sorry.' No one would ever know the difference. To be fair, a few locals get hired but when 31 out of 35 fail the test, you have to wonder. Of course, no one knows how many tests there are. It is hard to overlook the odour around this aptitude test. As this is being written, there are two dozen transfers in for underground and no one is being taken. Hudbay tells us it takes too long to train people. We have been training our own people for 85 years all over this plant as well as underground. What has changed? Meanwhile, the brand new Northern Manitoba Mining Academy is less than 500 feet from the Main Gate. It has simulators and other teaching tools, state of the art we were told. Hudbay unions were told that employees who wished to transfer underground would be able to receive training at the academy without taking a leave of absence or going on unemployment. However, to date, no one has been able to take advantage of this opportunity. All four local communities and their representatives should be alarmed. We are also told the planned new subdivision in Snow Lake is on hold. Local hires spend their money in one of the four places affected. They buy houses and raise a family. Without these people being hired, they will leave and, make no mistake, what few services we have left will follow. Most contractors take their money and go home _ no ties to this place. Our future and the quality of life we have come to enjoy are at stake here. It would be nice if Hudbay advised these four communities what their plan was for manning Reed and Lalor. Either it is a secret or there is no plan. In conclusion, Mr. Lantz, instead of muddying the water, talking about development as opposed to operations, just tell us the truth: will contractors operate Reed and Lalor? In Solidarity, Unity Committee: Tom Davie, president, USW 7106 Steve Collins, president, USW 9338 Rene Beauchamp, president, IAM 1848 Richard Beck, president, IBEW 1405 Frank Wiegers, president, Carpenters 1614 Aaron Chigol, president, Operating Engineers 828 Jim Quinn, president, Boilermakers 451 **** Dear Editor, If Andy Warhol's one-liner has merit, that anyone once in a lifetime deserves 15 minutes of fame, I have spent my card at the tender of age of 10. We lived in a town close to the Romanian border. The border between the two countries is the River Nera. The river is about 40 to 50 metres wide, murky and slow-flowing. At that time, the river was considered to be a no man's land. From my early days, I was hooked on fishing. Every spare moment was spent on a riverbank, at my favorite spot, with a bamboo rod and a can of nightcrawlers. Across the river, there was a Romanian military border observation tower. Twice a day, three armed Romanian soldiers followed by a Russian officer were changing guards. For a better understanding, Romania was controlled by Russia at that time. A soldier from the tower and I were watching each other all day long. Once, when I caught a decent-sized fish, they fired a shot from the tower to congratulate me. Beside the river, one farmer owned a tomato and green pepper garden, which he irrigated daily from the river. To understand what is going to come, some knowledge of history is needed. My former country was an ally with the Soviet Union, from 1945 until 1948, when Yugoslavia broke ties with Russia and turned their alliance to the West. This move infuriated Stalin, who gradually started to exercise pressure on my country. It came to the point where they were deploying thousands of tanks along our borders. On that fateful day, a farmer, who was about five to six metres downstream from me, rolled up his pants and stepped into the river to cut an overhanging willow branch. Immediately, machine gun fire followed, and the farmer slumped into the river with his face down and started to drift. Maybe I was spared because they liked me. I ran three kilometres on a hot dusty road to a police station, screaming: 'They killed our man, they killed our man!' A bunch of people surrounded me, asking all kinds of questions and taking pictures of me. It was embarrassing, since I wore only underwear and had black, dirty feet. At one point, a uniformed woman brought a glass. It was cold chocolate milk, which I had never tasted before. The next day, two national newspapers, printed anti-Russian headlines, my pictures with a story and messages 'Stalin's bloodthirsty savages killed our innocent man' and 'Regardless of age, we are ready to fight to the last man.' Of course I have never said anything like that. It was my first lesson that anything one reads in papers, doesn't have to be true. They banned me from leaving the home and going to school. The police parked a Willis Jeep in front of our house, and stayed there most of the time. Throughout the country, the government organized street demonstrations in defiance of Russia. In our town, the police gave me a downsized flag and put me in front of several thousand demonstrators, singing patriotic songs. The following day, a shiny, crimson red Desoto arrived at our house. They put me in the backseat. A fellow beside asked me to open a window and wave when we pass chanting crowds. My parents asked my escort to accompany me, since I was scared. He declined, stating that he will take good care of me. In communism, the state comes first, and the family is a distant second. After one week, everything stopped abruptly and life was again as before. For days, I was bragging to my parents about my new found fame. My father finally took me aside and said bluntly that I was used, and everything was only a big show. It was a crushing message. In a communist world, indoctrination starts as soon as one stops peeing in the dust. In my case, they failed miserably. For a while, I was chewing on my experience, counting marbles and looking for a silver lining. For one, I didn't have to go to school for a week, and also had the opportunity to taste that delicious drink called chocolate milk. Yours truly, Dr. Peter Kucparic Flin Flon
