The drivers stuck the name of their employer in large white letters on the blue tarpaulin of one of the trucks parked at the Gräfenhausen service area, with the words “No money” underneath it.
Motorists who take a break at the service area, which has been closed to trucks since Friday, and who look curiously at the mass of blue trucks in the parking lot that is filled to capacity, can see immediately what the drivers are about. They are waiting for outstanding wages from the Polish haulage company, for which they are driving on German autobahns. They haven’t seen any money in months, nor have their families.
“We are Georgians, Kazakhs, Uzbeks, Tajiks here,” says Shukhrat Rarimov, who himself comes from Central Asian Uzbekistan. The man in the dark gray polo shirt presses both palms together.
“But we’re so close here, so united. We won’t let anyone try to divide us.” That’s why they want to stay until everyone has received their money. Vladimer Pilauris, a Georgian, nods in agreement. “Even if they pay me, I’ll stay here until the end.” Rarimov puts an arm around his colleague’s shoulders. “One for all, all for one. That’s how we do it.”
The talks stagnate
Just a week ago it looked as if “Gräfenhausen 2”, the second strike by Eastern European long-distance drivers from the same trucking company within three months, could be over very quickly. The first drivers who stopped in Gräfenhausen on Tuesday and Wednesday of last week and went on strike very quickly came to an agreement with the company in individual negotiations, received their money and then handed over the vehicles and load to company representatives. She no longer attached any importance to staying in the company – they didn’t have that much trust.
But after the first dozen or so drivers, more and more were added. On Friday morning, the police estimated the number of vehicles at 130. The drivers believe that there could now be almost 200 strikers, and drivers have also stopped in other parking lots, thanks to cell phones networked with each other. But Graefenhausen, that’s the place of the first historical strike, for many Russian-speaking drivers a place where colleagues got together and fought for their money and their dignity. Again and again one hears from the drivers: “We have done our job and still only want what is due to us.”
Was the hope that the forwarding company learned from the damage to its image and the consequences of the first strike, which lasted almost six weeks, premature? First of all, Anna Weirich from the “fair mobility” consulting network had positively noted the company’s willingness to talk. But in the meantime she has to state: “There have been no more money transfers since Monday.” The talks are also stagnating. The drivers unanimously report that there are currently no negotiations, not even after they handed over several cars to representatives of the forwarding agent as a sign of goodwill.
Politicians and trade unionists also see no progress since the first strike. On Sunday morning, the Rhineland-Palatinate Minister of Labor and Social Affairs, Alexander Schweitzer (SPD), and the SPD member of parliament and Vice-President of the Hessian state parliament, Heike Hofmann, informed themselves about the situation of the drivers on site. Matthias Körner from the German Trade Union Confederation (DGB) and Tiny Hobbs from the Verdi union are also there. “They all noticed that the situation hasn’t changed since the first strike,” says Anna-Maria Boulnois from the DGB Hesse-Thuringia.
No hope for a quick fix
When Kairat Taganov from Kazakhstan smiles, his mouth glitters with golden metal. But after several days of strike, he finds little reason to laugh. The entrepreneur lives in luxury, the drivers live in their cabins for months, have no bath or shower and have to confine themselves to a very small space. And then there isn’t even any money. “What kind of life is this? We’re human!” the father of four gets excited.
Like his colleagues, he responds with gratitude to the many signs of solidarity they experience – from truck drivers honking their thumbs up when they pass the strikers, to trade unionists, church representatives and private individuals spontaneously bringing canned goods, drinks or groceries.
“We were told to come to Poland, that’s where we get our money,” reports Rarimov. But that would be out of the question for her. “We’ll get a kick at most.” Rarimov and his colleagues are also familiar with the pictures of the martial security force with which Speditioner came to Gräfenhausen on Good Friday to get his truck back.
So how long will it last, the second strike in Gräfenhausen, which is already no longer, but more than twice as big as the first? Hardly anyone dares to hope for a quick solution at the moment. Giorgi, a slim, grey-haired Georgian with a full beard and a thoughtful look, has been with us for more than a week now. He is very calm, unlike many of his often impulsive and spirited compatriots. But he doesn’t have to be loud to show determination: “We’re staying. The strike lasts. Even if it’s to the death.”
