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Locally
General Motors’ Allen County assembly plant has greatly reduced the number of temporary workers building Chevy Silverado and GMC Sierra pickups, company and union officials said last week.
Rich LeTourneau, United Auto Workers Local 2209 shop chairman, said the union succeeded in getting 737 temporary jobs converted to entry-level, permanent positions since June 2011.
That includes 137 temp jobs that have been converted since the beginning of February.
Mark Gevaart, president of Local 2209, said the union has supported getting more workers on permanent status, which offers more benefits.
The local plant relies on temporary workers to fill assembly line gaps when permanent workers take vacations, said Stephanie Jentgen, GM’s local spokeswoman. The temp pool swells in the summers, when more workers take time off, but a smaller number of temps are on call from September through May, she said.
The number is based on a nationally negotiated percentage of the workforce, Jentgen said. National union contracts also determine how many permanent workers are allowed to take vacation at any one time.
Temporary workers don’t do all the fill-in duties, Jentgen said. Some shifts are covered by full-time, permanent flex workers, who step in when an employee calls in sick, takes leave or is in training.
– Sherry Slater, The Journal Gazette
Bloomberg
Contract, or temporary, workers are a growing trend in the manufacturing sector. Temporary workers typically do not receive the same pay or benefits as full-time, companyemployed workers.

An industry turning tides

Contract workers filling up plants

Bloomberg
Employees inspect aluminum fenders at the Nissan manufacturing facility in Smyrna, Tenn. Nissan employees and contract workers work at the plant, but they receive different pay and benefits.

– Chris Young’s pain is in his wrists. It started about a year ago – at first numbness, and then sharp pains, all the way up to his elbow.

He’d injured the left wrist in a long-ago motorcycle accident, but it acted up again after he spent months moving heavy pieces of metal, again and again, at Nissan’s manufacturing plant in Smyrna, Tenn. Managers moved him off that part of the line. Still, the ache persists.

February was a particularly painful month for Young. Nissan added 10-hour shifts on Saturdays and Sundays in its rush to fill orders before the end of the fiscal year on March 1 – that meant getting up at 3 a.m. for a 45-mile commute to the plant for weeks on end.

A couple of years ago, Young crashed his car after dozing off at the wheel during a similarly intense stretch at work.

“You’re so exhausted from working seven days a week, you’re dependent on some drug to stay awake, or dependent on some drug to sleep, or for pain,” he says from the L-shaped leather couch at the home he rents in Columbia, Tenn. His 37-year-old body is powerful, built like a football player’s, but no longer impervious.

“That’s the most common thing people are addicted to. And everybody I work with has some type of pain, whether it’s hands, fingers, back, feet – something.”

Young doesn’t actually work for Nissan – he works for Yates Services, an in-house contractor that has hired thousands of people during the past few years to ramp up production as U.S. auto sales take off again. It’s a big difference.

Yates is like a company within a company, with separate bulletin boards and rules and procedures. At a plant where workers have resisted unionization, the bona fide Nissan employees are easily recognizable in shirts with logos, which Yates workers don’t receive.

And the disparity isn’t just symbolic. Yates pays $10 to $18 an hour, which is about half what Nissan employees make. Plus, the gap in benefits is wide. At home, Young pulls out a crumpled sheet of paper from the company that lays out the differences.

“I build the same Infiniti SUV that Bob does,” he says, referring to a hypothetical Nissan worker. “Bob is able to lease a vehicle; I cannot. Long-term disability? Bob gets that; I do not. I can provide this much for my family when I die. Bob can double his base. But Bob and I are on the same line, busting our butts.”

On that line, as plant manager Randy Knight sees it: “My managers don’t look at a Nissan person and a contract worker any different. It’s people.”

Working for Yates pays the bills but also puts some hard limits on Young’s life: He can’t get a mortgage, can’t say no to overtime, can’t save for retirement, can’t take a sick day, can’t be confident he’ll have a job next month.

And Nissan, the first of the foreign automakers to set up shop in Tennessee, is leading a trend. Companies such as Amazon, Asurion and Dell have outsourced their warehouses and call centers to hundreds of staffing agencies that have cropped up in the region.

Tennessee went from having 51,867 temporary workers in 2009 to 80,990 in 2012, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics – a 56 percent increase. During the same three-year period, Indiana’s temporary worker employment jumped by 75 percent from 42,352 to 73,962.

As a result of Nissan’s hiring blitz over the past few years, Rutherford County’s unemployment rate is the envy of the South. Tennessee’s political leadership holds it up as a shining success in the global economy – the return of American manufacturing after decades of decline, and the future of work for those left jobless by globalization and technological change.

But to stay competitive with Nissan’s plants all over the world, that work has come at a deep discount. And the communities it creates will be far from the picket fence idyll of decades past. Young’s fiancée takes care of almost everything for the four children they share from previous relationships, while Young builds cars.

She wonders why he has to work seven days a week.

“If you don’t want to do it, you clean out your locker and go somewhere else,” Young says. “It’s ‘You make it work, so-and-so did it, so you can do it.’ And that’s the end of the story.”

Nissan built Smyrna. It was Tennessee’s first major investment by a foreign automaker, and it has since attracted a constellation of suppliers that support thousands more jobs.

Since the plant opened in 1983, the town has grown from an 8,000-person whistlestop to a patchwork of parkways and subdivisions and strip malls, population 41,000. In the plant’s first two decades, getting a Nissan job was like winning the lottery.

“Most of the time, if I have a Nissan shirt on, people think I have a new Nissan parked outside,” Young says. “They think you’re making good money.” (He drives a 2001 Cavalier with 200,000 miles on it.)

Then came Nissan’s brush with bankruptcy in 2001 and a turnaround plan that involved new models and much lower production costs. It started introducing temporary workers in front-office functions, and in 2007 and 2008 held two buyouts in quick succession, reducing its permanent workforce by about a third.

As demand returned, the company started to backfill production jobs with contractors, too – first on the “pick line,” where workers run parts up to assembly, and then throughout the plant. Nissan won’t say what proportion of its 7,000-person workforce is supplied by staffing agencies, but multiple reports from current and former employees indicate that it’s a majority.

It’s hard to tease out the effect of the new temporary employment base from that of the recession generally. But given the low jobless rate, one would expect residents to have more disposable income. Instead, title-loan and check-cashing places have proliferated.

It’s not hard to see why: On his $32,000-a-year salary, Young pays for rent, gas, food and all the things school-age kids need to feel normal – soccer uniforms, dance classes and musical instruments. His fiancée stopped working because day care cost more than what she made as a bartender.

Young knows he could earn more doing maintenance at the plant, but that would mean working odd hours and seeing his family less – it took him three years to work up to a job on first shift, which starts early and ends in the afternoon.

“First shift, it gives you the opportunity to have a life,” Young says. “You get to come home and sleep. You get to come home and put your kids to bed. You get to come home and eat with your family.”

Young has one hope of a better life at Nissan: The company says it used the contractors only to increase its staff quickly after the recession and wants to transition more of them into full-fledged Nissan positions once they prove themselves worthy (executives recoil at the word “temp,” insisting that even the contract jobs are long-term).

“They don’t understand yet the big picture,” Knight, the plant manager, says of community members who are critical of the company. “We don’t go out in the public and say we’re in the process of converting hundreds of people over to Nissan. They don’t know that.”

But the process can seem painfully slow and its promise elusive, requiring near-perfect attendance, a squeaky-clean record and a decent helping of luck. Young figures he may have ruined his chance, having missed work to show up for court dates to fight for custody of his son. When his review came up for a Nissan job, his supervisor warned him that the absences wouldn’t look good.

“What am I supposed to do? That’s my son,” Young says. “If he’s got to let me go, he’s got to let me go. All I got to do is miss that, and it looks like, what type of father am I?”

Besides, even for the few hundred a year who are elevated from Yates to Nissan, it’s not the plum job their parents knew – the benefits are less generous, the top-out pay not as high. That’s the automotive standard now, pressured downward by wages in Mexico and even matched by the Detroit car companies whose unions have conceded to a two-tiered wage system, with newcomers starting out at a lower rate.

Perhaps to compensate, Nissan has done more in recent years to benefit Smyrna in other ways, such as funding a stage for a summer concert that draws thousands of people.

Susan Gulley, a former Nissan temp who left to start an arts venue and cafe in the two-block-long historic downtown – which gets help from Nissan, too – likens the strategy to a family that has cut back on big expenses in favor of smaller, feel-good indulgences.

“You go on picnics, you spend less money, but you spend more quality time together,” she says. “It’s not that expensive to get involved, and they know a little bit of help could go a long way.”

Despite Smyrna’s frustration with outsourcing, Nissan workers have twice rejected one thing that might have been able to slow its rise: a labor union.

The United Auto Workers, weakened by the flow of auto jobs to the unorganized South, held elections at the plant in 1989 and 2001. The last one failed by a 2-1 ratio after an intense company campaign against the union, including a video message from CEO Carlos Ghosn that beamed out to all workers, warning them that the company might invest elsewhere if the plant were to organize.

Ten years later, the UAW renewed its efforts. Unlike with Nissan’s plant in Canton, Miss. – where a community group led by local ministers has organized under the slogan “Lead us not into Temp-nation” – the campaign has gained little traction.

To learn why, talk to Republican state Rep. Mike Sparks. He grew up in town, worked in the Whirlpool and Coca-Cola plants nearby, and was thrilled to land a job on the Nissan assembly line, where he stayed for eight years before starting a used-car business.

He identifies with the working man, and he thinks using temp labor is a betrayal of Nissan’s Kaizen management philosophy of “continuous improvement.”

Sparks says depressed wages are taking their toll on the local economy.

But a union? Gracious no – Sparks is convinced Nissan would pick up stakes and leave, to say nothing of other automakers that might be interested in Tennessee. “If UAW gets a foothold, they’ll go to Alabama, they’ll go to Georgia, they’ll go to Mississippi,” he says.

The likelihood of any legal curbs on Nissan’s outsourcing looks slim. Now it’s just the norm, says Bill Canak, a professor of sociology at Middle Tennessee State University.

“It sets a standard in the labor market if employers can say, ‘Well, Nissan’s only paying that, and they’re a world-class organization,’ ” he says.

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