Shortage of help, food hinders boycott goal
By LESZAITZ
Of the Emerald
Supporters of the United Farm
Workers lettuce boycott say only
a shortage of helpers and food is
keeping them from having a
strong impact on EMU food sales.
The Revolutionary Student
Brigade (RSB) is operating a food
sales table on the EMU terrace on
a 30-day temporary restaurant
license.
Herb Everett, a RSB member,
said the group is selling the food
to protest the EMU lettuce
purchasing procedures and lack
of student control of EMU
policies.
Clear after morning hangover
Richard Reynolds, EMU director,
said the terrace sales so far have
not had a serious impact on food
sales in the EMU restaurant. Last
year, terrace sales in a similar
boycott reduced EMU food sales
40 par cent. Kenneth Larsen, EMU
food manager, said several
organizations are selling food on
the terrace, making it difficult to
determine the impact of the
boycott sales.
Everett said the protest was
initiated this year because the
EMU continues to purchase scab
(Teamster) lettuce. The group
supports a UFW boycott of
Teamster lettuce. The UFW and
Teamsters are involved in a
membership struggle among
California farm workers.
Last year, UFW lettuce was sold
in an off-and-on manner at the
EMU because of an inconsistent
supply A new produce company,
however, has arranged for a
steady supply. Steve Scherrer, a
buyer for J.H.S. Produce Co., said
his firm can provide the EMU with
a consistant supply of UFW
lettuce. “Anytime I need a 1,000
cases of lettuce and I order a day
ahead, I can get the 1,000 cases,"
he said.
Outlining the EMU purchasing
policy, Larsen said he purchases
lettuce in quantity parallel to
consumer demand “If they buy
more UFW lettuce, we'll get more
UFW lettuce," he said.
In a referendum vote last year,
71.4 per cent of the students
voted to request the university
purchase only UFW lettuce. The
university however did not adopt
a policy implementing referendum
results.
Everett said the EMU boycott "is
another step towards putting
economic pressure on them to
stop selling the scab lettuce." He
said, however, "We haven't had
enough food to have that much of
an impact."
He said the boycott also protests
lack of student control of the
EMU. "Students pay for this
building. The State Board of
Higher Education doesn't pay for
this building at all," he said. The
RSB contends students should
have a stronger voice in what
happens at the facility.
The two issues are tied together,
Everett said, by last spring's
referendum vote which showed
students wanted only UFW
lettuce.
Everett said the Brigade needs
help in selling and making food.
“We need all kinds of people to
help. We need people just to
support the cause," he said.
He said if the university adopted
a policy to purchase only UFW
lettuce, the issue would be
resolved.
Life in another
logging town
Editor's note: Chuck Holzhauer [Sr.-journalism] worked this past
summer as an assistant to a forestry technician in Norway, and, on the
way from Eugene to start the job, spent a few weeks in northern Spain.
The Town
The town of Biescas, Spain, nestles into the base of the Pyrenese
Mountains at the head of the Gallego River valley, about 75 kilometers
north from the provincial capital of Huesca.
Steep ridges, forested with oaks, pines and firs, rise to the east and
west. Southwards, the valley flattens into irrigated fields of timothy,
clover and grain. Northwards, the valley becomes too steep for much
cultivation, and the slopes are forested right down to the banks of the
tumbling, milky-clear stream.
In early May the town was cold. The mountainsides were grey — the
oaks had not budded yet — and often at night a fierce wind roared
down the valley, shaking the wooden shutters of my hotel room. Once a
light snow dusted the streets.
The town, terra cotta, was built of brick, stucco and red tile, with
sharply contrasting doors and shutters of rich, varnished pine wood.
Always and everywhere was the not unpleasant smell of animals — of
grain, of damp hay, of manure.
The sawmill owner
Jesus Abos Labadio owns a small sawmill in the city of Zaragoza,
about 145 kilometers away to the southwest. A man who seemed to
consider communication with his fellow beings to be not only a
necessity but an art, Abos could never simply speak, but demanded
that speech be an argument, and when he talked to others whole
legions of expressions would pass over his wrinkled brown face, and his
arms would move in passionate gestures of incredulity, of exasperation,
of supplication. Always though he would end an argument with a shy,
sheepish grin and an offer of another "cafe." He wore the inevitable
black beret, a great sheepskin coat, and drove a flashy new Peugeot.
Abos was in Biescas overseeing the logging and transport of trees
which he had bought as standing timber to supply his mill in Zaragoza.
He had about 10 men logging and driving for him, and he gave me
"permiso” to go along with them for a day.
A day in the woods
We met at 6:30 on a damp morning in front of the hotel and crowded
into a blue, Spanish-built Land Rover. Besides myself there were five
loggers and the driver, Abos' nephew.
After following the main road north for a few hundred meters we
turned off onto a steep dirt track that took us switch-backing up the
west slope of the valley. We went about five kilometers, crossed the
ridge, descended into a smaller, isolated valley and stopped, about a
half hour after we left the hotel, at a silent, damp cluster of houses,
surrounded by newly greening, stone-lined fields. Here we got out and
Abos' nephew, having agreed to meet us at eight o'clock that night,
piloted the rover off down the road and disappeared around a bend,
leaving us alone in the silent misty morning.
By a wall, and unlocked, stood a rusty 25-gallon drum of gasoline.