Belching Out the Devil (39 page)

 

When I mention the breakdown in negotiations between the company and Sinaltrainal, Ed Potter takes a breath and realigns the furrows on his brow. ‘All I will say is, and this is a personal opinion - I honestly don't believe they want to resolve this.'

‘You don't think that Sinaltrainal wants to resolve it? Why not?' I say incredulously.

‘That's something I…It's a personal opinion, I frankly…I mean as soon as it goes on that recorder…' He nods at the digital recorder, implying he doesn't want to talk of this publicly. But it seems that Ed Potter thinks a group of people who collect death threats like Nectar points and have been specifically targeted for organising workers in Coca-Cola bottlers want to prolong the situation.

 

Alongside other campaigners, Ray Rogers of Stop Killer Coke has caused the company some considerable discomfort. To Ray, arguing comes as natural as breathing and the idea of just allowing Ed Potter to get past without lambasting him is just too much for Ray to bear so he strides over to us, calling out ‘The ILO investigation is a scam!'

 

Let me explain the back story here. The International Labor Organisation is a UN body that exists to promote labour and human rights. It is made up of representatives from government, employers and trade unions.
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After coming under pressure from the University of Michigan student body (the folk who put pressure on for the TERI report in India) Coca-Cola agreed to approach the ILO with the International
Union of Foodworkers to ask that they conduct an assessment of workplace practices in Coke's bottling plants in Colombia. The ILO announced their intention to do so on 24 March 2006.
⁵

 

The problem with this is that the Company have somewhat used the promised ILO assessment as a fig leaf to hide behind when questions are raised about the assassinations, when in fact the ILO is only assessing
current
labour practices and will not consider the assassinations or any of the allegations of complicity by the bottling plant managers. Which is why Ray is claiming, ‘The ILO investigation is a scam. You know it, I know it, The Coca-Cola Company knows it.'

‘I absolutely disagree' says Ed Potter emphatically.

‘It's a scandal,' decries Ray raising his hands to the heavens, oblivious to the fact that the passing shareholders are turning to stare at him. ‘There is no investigation being done.'

Ed Potter replies, ‘Well we've never represented that the ILO was going to do an investigation.'

 

This is an unfortunate thing to say, as inside the annual meeting, just metres away from where we are standing, staff are issuing a printed company statement on Colombia, in which The Coca-Cola Company describes the ILO assessment as an ‘investigation' on three occasions in five lines of text. This, they claim is ‘fulfilling our commitment to an independent, impartial third-party investigation and evaluation,' though it fails to mention Ed Potter is the US Employer Delegate on the ILO. The body that just happens to be conducting this particular ‘independent and impartial' assessment.
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Unfortunately Ed Potter is also contradicted by his boss the current chairman and former CEO, Neville Isdell, who said at the Company Annual Meeting for shareholders in 2006:

 

 

Just to further clarify matters I talked to the General Secretary of the International Union of Foodworkers , Ron Oswald - this is the person who negotiated with Coke and then the ILO to get the assessment. Ron reacted to Neville Isdell's statement saying, ‘Well, he was wrong, and they know he was wrong, but clearly once that cat's out the bag, that cat's out the bag. Our proposal to the ILO was very clear: we did not ask them to do an investigation into criminal or murderous events in the 1990s…I don't think they've got the competence to do that, frankly.'

 

In case there is any lingering doubt Ron Oswald says ‘there are still calls for Coke to agree to an independent investigation of those incidents and that's something we thought Coke should have agreed to many years ago.' So obviously the ILO assessment is not that ‘independent investigation'.

 

There was never going to be an investigation into past practices of Coke bottling plants in Colombia by the ILO. So I asked Coca-Cola if they would publish or let me see the document Neville Isdell alleges the ILO had given the Company, to see how such a such a prominent captain of industry could be so confused. After all it is probably not a good idea to tell untruths and give false information to shareholders at an annual meeting. To my surprise the Company reacted positively to my question to see the ILO letter and invited me to their HQ in Atlanta providing a
private jet with in-flight entertainment from an acoustic set by Joni Mitchell…OK, I'm making it up, but they started it. They ignored my question.

Mood music is piped into the Hotel du Pont rendering the lobby's grand piano as just a symbol of good taste. But saunter past this soundless wooden box of strings and hammers, past the check-in desk, between the pair of welcoming signs and their attendant police officers, and at the bottom of the carpeted stairs and their polished handrails stands the company fridges in all their glory, lit up like a petrol station at night. These are the new HFC-Free fridges, which the company calls Climate Friendly Coolers. Each is packed with Coca-Cola products in branded blocks and shareholders are invited to enjoy the company's produce. I don't want to take anything out of their fridge, though I do wish I had a bottle of Big Cola to put in there. The meeting hall is cavernous and ornate, with two chandeliers, all brass and glass, hanging from the ceiling. The columned walls are painted with flowers, flutes and fat cherubs dancing and the alcoves house gilt-framed mirrors; around these edges staff and plainclothes police officers stand in an obvious display of authority.

 

Walking into the hall I immediately bump into the friendly smile of B Wardlaw. B Wardlaw dresses in grey tracksuit bottoms, trainers and a driving jacket which, along with his scarecrow grey crop and Southern gentleman-style goatee beard, give him the appearance of Colonel Sanders with a hangover. But despite his appearance B Wardlaw is heir to a large number of Coca-Cola shares which he uses to help finance a homeless shelter in Atlanta: 1,000 people drop by in the day, 600 sleep there at night. The homeless repay this
charity by giving B fashion advice, which he appears to have accepted today. He comes from an old Atlanta family and his grandfather was involved in the financing of The Coca-Cola Company so B knows many of the board and the Atlanta elite.

 

The first time I met B was outside of Washington. I had heard of him through a network of anti-Coca-Cola campaigners, who helped set up our meeting. I had been told to get a train to Tacoma Park and phone his number.

‘Hi is that B Wardlaw?'

‘Mr Thomas?' I heard a Southern gentleman's drawl.

‘Yes.'

‘Walk along the platform. Come down the escalator not the elevator. Walk through the barrier…'

‘And…'

Almost in a parody of southern manners he said, ‘Ah will make myself know to you.' And then he hung up.

 

I did was what I was told and on leaving the station B popped out of a coffeeshop doorway and shot a wave at me. He was dressed much like he always does and was wearing a sweatshirt emblazoned with the slogan ‘Celebrate Freedom: Read a Banned Book!' During that first meeting I asked him what he thought The Coca-Cola Company should do to address the many issues it faced and he had replied in his charming drawl, ‘Stop making Coca-Cola.' He was serious, ‘I don't think it is a good product and we shouldn't be conditioning children to it.'

‘But this is the source of your money which goes to the shelter…'

He shakes his head with a smile, ‘I know it's a paradox,' then with mock seriousness he confides, ‘I call myself the Coca-Cola anarchist.'

‘Seriously, what should the Company do?'

‘Well, when I mentioned the Colombia issue to people involved in the...er, shall we say, upper echelons of the company,' he said with an edge of irony in his voice, ‘they said “we just sell the syrup - it's the bottlers”.'

‘That is the standard line…'

‘Well, we should take responsibility or we should not do business.'

B Wardlaw is here in Delaware to propose a shareholder motion that the company should create a Board Committee on Human Rights, which would consider and advise on the consequences of its actions on these issues, including sponsoring the Olympics in China.

‘Do you mind if I sit next to you?' I ask.

‘I would be honoured,' he says.

 

A company's annual meeting is one of the rare times activists and opponents of a company get the chance to question the board and all they have to do is buy one single share to gain admittance. So the room is beginning to feel like the gathering of the clans, just behind me is an official from Amnesty International who wants to second B's proposal; next to him is a representative from Reporters Without Borders. Ray Rogers has entered with Lew Freidman, though they spilt up and sit in different sections of the room as they stand more chance of both getting called on to speak if they are apart. Behind Ray is a contingent of Tibetans who have just seen the brutal repression of democracy demonstrations by China, the host nation for the Olympics and Coke's most precious emerging market. Teamsters walk into the room smartly dressed but still managing to swagger like they are part of Rocky Balboa's training camp. There are Campaign for Corporate Accountability
folk dotted around, plus the environmental and human rights groups like the Polaris Institute and Canadian water rights campaigners. Amit Srivastava is back from India and looks suitably unimpressed by his surroundings, though he nips over to say hello with a hug. There are even a couple of nuns who have come along to protest Coke's policies.

 

Most meetings of this sort start with a chairman clearing his throat, welcoming the room and calling the session to order. Coke's begins with a hymn, the lights go down and they play one of their adverts - the ultimate song of praise to the product. A video screens the commercial in which enormous inflatable figures from a parade break away from their tow ropes and a cartoon toddler and a superhero dog do battle in the skies for the prize of a large inflatable bottle of Coca-Cola. B Wardlaw tucks a conspiratorial head in my direction and in his Southern lilt chuckles, ‘They would appear to be over-carbonated…too much gas.'

 

The ad finishes, the lights come up with the applause of the room and Neville Isdell, the outgoing CEO, rises to the podium.

 

In the world of CEOs some are born elegant, some achieve elegance and some have elegance thrust upon them. Isdell falls into the latter category. Strip him of the suit and he would look like a balding referee at a Sunday morning football match. ‘Good morning, and welcome to The Coca-Cola Company's 2008 annual meeting...'

 

Isdell is the model of competence, delivering his opening remarks and then introducing the board members who are up for re-election. These folks sit at the front of the meeting in a cordoned-off area for executives with the riff raff kept firmly at bay, a sort of mini Dubai. As Isdell calls out their names in turn they stand and wave to the assembled mass behind
them. There is a director of Delta Air Lines brandishing his hand in the air like it doesn't quite belong to him, the President of Hearst magazines graciously gesturing and a chap touted as the outsider for the vice-president's slot on the Obama ticket grinning like he has messed himself.