The Coke Machine Part 10

But the two proposed investigations were good enough to buy the company time. The University of Michigan reinstated its contract just three months after cutting it, pending the outcomes of the ILO and TERI reports. The campaigns at other colleges, meanwhile, lost momentum as administrators adopted a wait-and-see att.i.tude. By August 2006, Potter insisted that the student campaign had "stalled," something virtually inconceivable when NYU and Michigan had dumped c.o.ke months earlier. Now he and Isdell sought to press the advantage to get rid of Killer c.o.ke back where the fight began-in court.

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The three years since Judge Martinez had dismissed c.o.ke from the ATCA case in 2003 had not been kind to Terry Collingsworth and Dan Kovalik. Martinez's indifference, if not contempt, for the case was apparent from the get-go. He seemed to take pride in getting details wrong, at points referring to Uraba as "Bogota or Medellin or wherever the heck it was" and to Isidro Gil as "Joe Blow." His spontaneous style might seem refreshing to someone without a case before him, but to SINALTRAINAL's lawyers it was downright infuriating. Each June, he dismissed all pending motions, allowing them to be resubmitted the following year. Finally at a hearing in June 2006, Panamco's lawyer was reciting the judge's history of dismissals when Martinez broke in. "If you didn't know any better," he said, "you would think that I didn't want to have anything to do with this case, wouldn't you?" since Judge Martinez had dismissed c.o.ke from the ATCA case in 2003 had not been kind to Terry Collingsworth and Dan Kovalik. Martinez's indifference, if not contempt, for the case was apparent from the get-go. He seemed to take pride in getting details wrong, at points referring to Uraba as "Bogota or Medellin or wherever the heck it was" and to Isidro Gil as "Joe Blow." His spontaneous style might seem refreshing to someone without a case before him, but to SINALTRAINAL's lawyers it was downright infuriating. Each June, he dismissed all pending motions, allowing them to be resubmitted the following year. Finally at a hearing in June 2006, Panamco's lawyer was reciting the judge's history of dismissals when Martinez broke in. "If you didn't know any better," he said, "you would think that I didn't want to have anything to do with this case, wouldn't you?"

Collingsworth and Kovalik were flabbergasted to hear such disdain expressed openly by a United States judge. A few months later, Martinez proved the point in a ruling that finally dismissed all the bottlers from the case as well. The evidence provided by Collingsworth and Kovalik was just too vague to link plant managers to the paramilitaries, wrote Martinez, adding that it was the duty of the courts to guard against "unwarranted international fishing expeditions against corporate ent.i.ties." Coca-Cola Company spokeswoman Kerry Kerr swiftly responded, saying, "We hope this decision will now enable us to put this case behind us." It wouldn't, of course. Collingsworth and Kovalik filed a right to appeal, arguing that the case was wrongly decided when the judge allowed the sample bottling agreement rather than the actual one, thereby denying the union proper discovery to prove its case. "Put aside Colombia, Coca-Cola, murders, anything. This appeal is about fundamental, inflexible, never can violate legal procedures," says Collingsworth.

Before the lawyers could file, Collingsworth received a call from Ed Potter, whom he knew through D.C. labor law circles. Now just a year into his position, Potter asked if perhaps there was a way they could work out a settlement. At his insistence, the two sides engaged a retired judge in San Francisco, Daniel Weinstein, to act as a formal mediator in their talks. The two sides drew up a "term sheet" on August 17, 2006, agreeing they would use their "best efforts" to finalize a settlement within six weeks. In broad terms, the settlement would include cash compensation for the victims in Colombia along with a new workers' rights policy by the company to prevent future violations. In exchange, the lawyers would call off the dogs, including Ray Rogers's campaign maligning c.o.ke.

Collingsworth told Potter that while he wouldn't be able to curtail campaigning by Rogers while negotiations ensued-or USAS or Srivastava for that matter-he could promise that as an act of good faith SINALTRAINAL would suspend its campaign and refrain from publicly criticizing c.o.ke as they talked out a settlement. That promise was a hasty one-and in the end, a fatal one for the union's case.

Instead of the promised six weeks, the negotiations dragged on for the next eighteen months. And once the union's biggest weapon-its voice in the campaign-was taken away, it lost the leverage to make strong demands of the company. The negotiations unfolded under a strict cloak of confidentiality, and both sides' lawyers are still prohibited from revealing what was discussed. Doc.u.ments from the settlement talks, however, reveal the extent of the gap between the union's and c.o.ke's goals-and how aggressively c.o.ke was willing to protect its image.

Whether through misunderstanding or willful disregard for the agreement, SINALTRAINAL resumed criticizing c.o.ke on its website. After all, c.o.ke was destroying the union with its increasing use of contract workers, union leaders reasoned, and the death threats continued to appear at their union halls. If c.o.ke wasn't going to stop the paramilitaries from threatening them, why should they keep their mouths shut? Immediately, c.o.ke's lawyers protested to Judge Weinstein, who blasted back from his BlackBerry that both sides refrain from public statements until he had a draft of the settlement on his desk by the first week of October 2006. Despite a flurry of conference calls and e-mails among Collingsworth, Kovalik, and c.o.ke's lawyers, SINALTRAINAL continued to distribute flyers and post messages to its site about its ongoing campaign, and c.o.ke trolled Web and newspaper reports for even the slightest notice of disparagement that it could use to hold over the union's head with the judge.

As the two sides pushed closer to agreement in October, c.o.ke made clear its goal was to stop the bad publicity against the company, refusing any admission of liability in the torture or murder cases. Furthermore, it insisted SINALTRAINAL agree to never campaign internationally against c.o.ke again. In fact, in a draft of the settlement, it required that the union scrub Internet search engines and archives to get rid of any mention of Killer c.o.ke-as if the campaign never existed. For its part, c.o.ke would pay just over $12 million to the union, including $1 million for Isidro Gil's heirs, and $4 million to be divided among Correa, Galvis, Flores, Garcia, and Gonzalez. The bulk of the rest would go into a $6 million fund for victims of trade union violence, jointly administered by c.o.ke's foundation and the union representatives; Collingsworth and Kovalik would receive $2 million in escrow to cover "administrative fees" for their part in managing the fund. Finally, the company would agree to a new workers' rights policy-but only for full-time workers, not contract workers-and a confidential "global forum" four times a year in which c.o.ke would meet to discuss ongoing labor issues.

And then there was one more thing, added by c.o.ke's lawyers: In order for the employees to get their money, they would have to resign from the union.

When the agreement arrived in Colombia, it was met with disbelief by Javier Correa and the rest of SINALTRAINAL's leadership. If c.o.ke wanted them to stop talking about past cases such as Gil's murder, that was fine, but how could they refrain from criticizing the company for abuses that hadn't occurred yet? And resigning from the union? In their minds, the court case, the campaign, the negotiations-all of it-was an attempt to arrived in Colombia, it was met with disbelief by Javier Correa and the rest of SINALTRAINAL's leadership. If c.o.ke wanted them to stop talking about past cases such as Gil's murder, that was fine, but how could they refrain from criticizing the company for abuses that hadn't occurred yet? And resigning from the union? In their minds, the court case, the campaign, the negotiations-all of it-was an attempt to save save the union. That requirement would defeat the entire purpose of the agreement. the union. That requirement would defeat the entire purpose of the agreement.

Frustrated with the stalled talks, SINALTRAINAL went on the offensive, sending representatives to partic.i.p.ate in a tour in Germany called, without subtlety, "c.o.ke Kills." c.o.ke's lawyers. .h.i.t the roof. "Every request we made for . . . the immediate cessation of anti-c.o.ke hostilities-was met with an att.i.tude that borders on 'who cares,'" c.o.ke's outside lawyer Faith Gay wrote to Collingsworth in November. "Obviously this is the primary issue that we do we do care about. Non-disparagement is why we are paying money to your clients." As far as the company was concerned, she accused the union of not negotiating in good faith. "To be frank, we believe that plaintiffs are unwilling to disarm for internal political reasons and because they know no other means of interacting with their employer(s)." care about. Non-disparagement is why we are paying money to your clients." As far as the company was concerned, she accused the union of not negotiating in good faith. "To be frank, we believe that plaintiffs are unwilling to disarm for internal political reasons and because they know no other means of interacting with their employer(s)."

To prove they meant business, c.o.ke's lawyers filed a motion with Weinstein demanding he fine SINALTRAINAL $150,000 for breach of the term sheet. Furthermore, it demanded he force Rogers to end his campaign as well. Weinstein didn't go for it, but he did order the union to pay $120,000 in penalties. As frustrated as c.o.ke was getting with the union, Collingsworth was getting just as frustrated. "Look, don't waste my time," he told his clients. "If there is an internal political reason why there's not ever going to be a deal, tell me now." Correa responded that the union was willing to negotiate-if c.o.ke would give it some a.s.surances that it could stop eroding the union both through use of contract workers and through threats by paramilitaries.

In April 2007, the negotiating team headed to Atlanta to try one last time to strike an agreement. Serving as a translator for the group, Camilo Romero admits to feeling intimidated as he headed down with Collingsworth and Kovalik into the "lions' den": the penthouse suite of Atlanta's King & Spalding Building. Accompanying them was the union's team of negotiators: president Javier Correa, international relations head Edgar Paez, and secretary/treasurer Duban Velez. And also along for the ride was Ray Rogers.

Even as the union had begun its protracted talks with c.o.ke, Rogers had not been idle. He was hot on the trail of a contract at the 35,000-student University of Alberta when Collingsworth called to tell him he'd eventually have to end his campaign if negotiations went according to plan. Rogers was fine with that, he said. "But first, tell me, what did we win?" As he caught wind of the details, he, too, was incredulous. No admission of guilt, no a.s.surances the union would continue, no promise of dealing with subcontracting, and a comparatively minuscule dollar amount by corporate standards. (By comparison, Exxon agreed to pay $5 billion for the Valdez Valdez spill.) Rogers told the lawyer he'd go along with whatever the union leaders decided-but he wanted a chance to talk with them first. spill.) Rogers told the lawyer he'd go along with whatever the union leaders decided-but he wanted a chance to talk with them first.

The night before negotiations started in Atlanta, Romero was put in the awkward position of translating for Rogers as he addressed the Colombians in their hotel room. c.o.ke spent $20 million for a few minutes of advertising during the Super Bowl, he told them. Surely they could afford more than that to compensate victims of torture and murder. "We don't intend to give up our fight against the company," answered Correa. "Nor will we accept that people make money on us as victims"-implying that Rogers was looking for his own cut. Privately, Romero also interpreted Rogers's plea as a personal money grab.

Despite their past clashes over Rogers's campaign tactics, Romero was on the same page in thinking c.o.ke was offering a b.u.m deal that didn't ultimately address any of SINALTRAINAL's key demands. Sitting around the heavy wood conference table overlooking downtown Atlanta, the two groups went over the main points of contention without progress-c.o.ke holding fast to the basic agreement-that SINALTRAINAL and Killer c.o.ke be muzzled in exchange for money, with no other enforceable obligations. Finally Kovalik walked out, followed soon by the Colombian team.

But Collingsworth proposed that he try one last time to personally negotiate with Ed Potter. Early the next morning, Collingsworth called to say he'd had a breakthrough-the company would pay settlement money to end the lawsuit and Rogers's campaign, but SINALTRAINAL would be free to say whatever it wanted in the future.

The Colombians delayed their flight home to meet with c.o.ke's representatives for a handshake, even taking pictures with the Atlanta skyline in the background. They flew back to Bogota thrilled about bringing the arrogant multinational to its knees, even as the union lived to fight another day. When the translation of the agreement finally arrived, their elation turned to dismay as they saw that all of the old language forbidding the union from denouncing the company had remained.

The union went back on the attack, with renewed calls for a boycott, and c.o.ke again protested the breach in the cease-fire. A frustrated Potter wrote Collingsworth to say, "It may be time to move on and conclude no agreement is possible and that we were just wasting our time for the last fourteen months." Twisting the knife, he added: "We are in a much better position to deal with this dissipating campaign than we were in 2005." As reluctant as the lawyers were to admit it, Potter was right. Despite continued campaigning by Rogers and Srivastava, the student campaign had peaked with the victories at NYU and Michigan. Since then, the lack of active campaigning by the Colombian workers had thrown the campaign into disarray. For all of c.o.ke's complaints about SINALTRAINAL breaking their agreement, in fact, the union had substantially reduced its public comments and appearances, especially at the schools that formed the backbone of the campaign. When Srivastava went up against the largest Coca-Cola contract in the country-a ten-year, $38 million contract at the University of Minnesota-he learned too late that SINALTRAINAL wouldn't appear to make its case to the administration. c.o.ke, of course, did show up, and the contract was renewed.

The more he saw the campaign slip away, the more livid Rogers became about the botch that the lawyers had made of the negotiations. In the same way the anti-obesity lawyers had given c.o.ke the upper hand when it agreed to hold off bringing a lawsuit, SINALTRAINAL's agreement to suspend campaigning had taken all the fire out of Killer c.o.ke. "When you do something like that, you're playing into their hands and undermining your own power," says Rogers. "When they are feeling the heat, that's when you need to pick up a bigger club." he saw the campaign slip away, the more livid Rogers became about the botch that the lawyers had made of the negotiations. In the same way the anti-obesity lawyers had given c.o.ke the upper hand when it agreed to hold off bringing a lawsuit, SINALTRAINAL's agreement to suspend campaigning had taken all the fire out of Killer c.o.ke. "When you do something like that, you're playing into their hands and undermining your own power," says Rogers. "When they are feeling the heat, that's when you need to pick up a bigger club."

It's that att.i.tude that made Rogers the biggest threat to c.o.ke-and the company knew it. In the last draft of the settlement agreement from October 2007, "Killer c.o.ke" is mentioned repeatedly throughout the text, which spells out in heartless detail exactly what issues can be raised by whom and when. In return for the leniency granted the union in the face of their breach of negotiation terms, SINALTRAINAL was offered even less money-$8 million. And of that, $3 million would go to the lawyers for a "discretionary fund" to cover their fees and "ensur[e] that the Killer c.o.ke Campaign is dismantled." In other words, c.o.ke would get rid of its biggest adversary, all for less money than the $10 million it had paid a year before to establish its Colombian foundation.

Even before the final draft was inked, Correa and his colleagues in Bogota had made up their minds not to go along with it. "Ladies and Gentlemen of The Coca-Cola Company," Correa began in a letter sent in September. "It is not right that . . . SINALTRAINAL remains unprotected and silent, while the company has no restrictions, deactivates the campaign and does not adopt policies which respect the rights of its workers. . . . Given this situation, we have decided to tie ourselves again to the campaign."

The union demonstrated that in a big way with its next move: filing a complaint with the International Labour Organization alleging paramilitaries were carrying out violent attacks against workers at the same time the company was implementing policies to suppress union representation. c.o.ke demanded the complaint be withdrawn, saying it would "cause irreparable damage both to [the Coca-Cola Company] itself and to the chances of successfully negotiating an end to the Killerc.o.ke [sic] campaign." It was a strange att.i.tude to take from a company that had already committed itself to an independent investigation of the very same claims by the very same agency. When the union refused to withdraw it, c.o.ke again appealed to Weinstein for another fine. Collingsworth gave up-faced with a client who had already pulled out of negotiations, in action if not in word, and an adversary ready to pounce on any infraction, he made it official and told Weinstein that the union was pulling out of negotiations and canceling its obligations under the term sheet.

A year and a half after entering negotiations, he and Kovalik had to admit they had little to show for the effort. All the union stood to gain was money-and without promises of protection, even that was a double-edged sword in Colombia, opening them up to the possibility of heightened violence. Meanwhile, whether or not c.o.ke was bargaining in good faith, the delay only helped the company.

Even as the negotiations foundered, Rogers was ready to go back on the attack at the many universities ripe for the picking. At most of them, however, the key student activists who had started the campaigns had graduated. And now, c.o.ke was about to unveil a one-two punch to ensure that no new activists would take their places.

While Colombia and the negotiations with SINALTRAINAL occupied the forefront of c.o.ke's attention, the villagers in India had pressed on with their battle against the company. In Uttar Pradesh, Nandlal and Srivastava released a devastating report about pollution at a second bottling plant one hundred miles from Mehdiganj, complete with pictures of bags of sludge strewn around the property. Three months later, the franchisee Brindavan Brothers announced it was shuttering its doors because of "unbearable financial losses." and the negotiations with SINALTRAINAL occupied the forefront of c.o.ke's attention, the villagers in India had pressed on with their battle against the company. In Uttar Pradesh, Nandlal and Srivastava released a devastating report about pollution at a second bottling plant one hundred miles from Mehdiganj, complete with pictures of bags of sludge strewn around the property. Three months later, the franchisee Brindavan Brothers announced it was shuttering its doors because of "unbearable financial losses."

While Coca-Cola was seemingly losing ground, it was planning to outflank activists with the TERI report-the investigation done at the behest of the University of Michigan-which it finally released in January 2008. Surprisingly, given TERI's ties to c.o.ke, the environmental group appeared to support the campaign's demand to close the plant at Kala Dera, saying that "it is obvious that the area is overexploited and it is highly unlikely that the water situation would improve." Unless the company could transport water from another location or store it during the rainy season, TERI wrote, the company should shut it down. The report went on to contradict c.o.ke's claims of water neutrality by finding that "water tables have been depleting in Mehdiganj," even while it stopped short of recommending that the plant there close.

By contrast, on the issue of pollution, the report supported c.o.ke, saying it "generally meets the government regulatory standards," even while it occasionally fell short of the company's own, more stringent, standards. TERI declined to offer an opinion, however, on whether c.o.ke was responsible for groundwater contamination around the plants, saying it was beyond the scope of the report. Finally, on the issue of pesticides, the report concluded they were totally absent in the water used for production, even as it declined to test the actual beverages c.o.ke produced.

Both sides rushed to spin it in a favorable light. "Enough is enough. Now even Coca-Cola's ally in India has found the company to not be up to the mark," said Srivastava. c.o.ke soft-pedaled, promising in a letter to the University of Michigan to use the findings to create a new "community engagement framework" to "engage with stakeholders" and inst.i.tute new "global guidelines for operating plants" by early 2008. As for Kala Dera, the company announced it wouldn't be shutting the plant-but would instead step up its rainwater harvesting to help the surrounding community. "The easiest thing would be to shut down, but the solution is not to run away," said Atul Singh, CEO of Coca-Cola India. "If we shut down, Rajasthan is still going to have a water problem." Even TERI, however, expressed skepticism about the efficacy of rainwater harvesting, upholding the activists' claims that many of the rainwater-harvesting structures were in "dilapidated condition."

When the report landed on the desk of administrators in Michigan, however, virtually none of that mattered. It took university vice president Tim Slottow only three days to declare that the university would retain its contract with c.o.ke, for the surprising reason that TERI found no pesticides in the water c.o.ke used for production. Incredibly, that's what the fine print of the Michigan's dispute resolution board had declared would be the standard for decision-making. Groundwater depletion and pollution would be too difficult to accurately measure, the board concluded, despite being the main points of contention in the student activist campaign. And yet TERI didn't even measure whether pesticides were present in c.o.ke beverages.

Even as c.o.ke was able to use the TERI report to blunt the attack from India, the full brilliance of its strategy wasn't revealed until another report landed on a desk at another university.

After the breakdown in negotiations on Colombia, Collingsworth and Kovalik filed their appeal of the ATCA case on March 31, 2008. As they waited for their day in court, everyone else was waiting, too-for the release of c.o.ke's much-vaunted ILO report into the Colombian bottling plants. In fact, the UN agency had slowly made good on its promise to investigate, with six "senior officials" from Geneva setting up shop in Bogota over the summer of 2008 and meeting with company managers, touring plants, and interviewing workers. In all, they were there twelve days. in negotiations on Colombia, Collingsworth and Kovalik filed their appeal of the ATCA case on March 31, 2008. As they waited for their day in court, everyone else was waiting, too-for the release of c.o.ke's much-vaunted ILO report into the Colombian bottling plants. In fact, the UN agency had slowly made good on its promise to investigate, with six "senior officials" from Geneva setting up shop in Bogota over the summer of 2008 and meeting with company managers, touring plants, and interviewing workers. In all, they were there twelve days.

The ILO finally released its report on October 3, 2008, and like the TERI report it was a mixed bag for c.o.ke. The agency criticized the bottler for hostility toward unionization, with managers threatening workers against joining unions, and punishing them with withheld pay, repeated dismissals, and even a.s.saults if they did. The ILO reserved its highest criticism for the practice of subcontracting, noting that at some plants up to 75 or 80 percent of workers now worked on a temporary or contract basis. Those workers, it found, received lower wages and worked far longer hours than the full-time workers-in some cases even required to work twenty-four-hour shifts.

Despite the harsh a.s.sessment, at no point did the ILO investigate the company's alleged past contact with paramilitaries, or their history of murder, threats, and intimidation. The Killer c.o.ke campaign pounced, throwing back Neville Isdell's comments from the shareholder meetings in which he promised to investigate "past practices." But sure enough, that was never what the IUF had asked c.o.ke to do, says Ron Oswald, the general secretary of the international union that formally requested the a.s.sessment. He confirms all along that the a.s.sessment was intended to look only into current working conditions, despite c.o.ke's clearly positioning the report as a response to the student protests at NYU and Michigan. "We told them very clearly they should not do that," he says. "It was never intended to be the response that a number of people continue to ask for and what I think is a legitimate request."

In fact, such an investigation was beyond the scope of the ILO committee that led the inquiry, says Kari Tapiola, the head of the ILO's Committee on Standards and Fundamental Principles and Rights at Work. "We said right from the beginning that we can only look into what the situation is currently," he says, "we would not start going into an area that is covered by the complaint section of the freedom of a.s.sociation." The what? "A separate committee to which trade unions or employers can complain." As it happens, that's the very ILO committee to which SINALTRAINAL filed its complaint after ending negotiations with c.o.ke, sending the company immediately running to Judge Weinstein for sanctions.

Virtually the only interview granted by the Coca-Cola Company for this book was a forty-minute phone interview with Ed Potter. Asked when the company first discovered that the ILO wouldn't be looking into past practices, Potter equivocates. "I think there is a little dancing on the head of a pin here," he says, "because when you are looking into the present presumptively you are also looking into the past." But clearly the company "would never have agreed" to looking into acts of violence that were already subject to court proceedings, he says. "It was never going to happen." As with the TERI report, the scope of the report had been seemingly predetermined to support c.o.ke; in no case would it answer the question that NYU had presumably asked it to-whether the company had colluded with paramilitaries to perpetrate violence against its workers.

The question now was whether the university would accept the ILO a.s.sessment as fulfillment of its call for an independent investigation. The university senate held off the vote until February 5, 2009-by coincidence the day after SINALTRAINAL was finally scheduled to get its hearing in Miami on the appeal of the ATCA case. That morning, Collingsworth headed to the twentieth floor of Miami's federal building. Waiting there for him was a panel of three judges, each with a scowl deeper than the last. Collingsworth launched into an argument he'd been rehearsing for the better part of three years-that the case had been wrongly decided when Judge Martinez allowed the sample bottling agreement as the sole item of discovery.

"Who at Coca-Cola wanted Gil murdered-who?" interrupted Judge Bernard Tjoflat. Collingsworth began to answer, "On an aiding-and-abetting theory . . ."

"Who?" barked Tjoflat.

"We don't know that information yet," Collingsworth admitted. But the names of plant managers listed in the complaint, he continues, should at least be enough to get them a copy of the actual bottler agreement and a list of those responsible for implementing it.

"Here is the fishing in this area of the law," said Tjoflat, referring to Judge Martinez's earlier warning against "international fishing expeditions."

If there was any doubt the hearing was turning into a disaster, the relatively easy reception given to c.o.ke's lawyer Faith Gay clinched it. After the hearing, Collingsworth walked down to the courthouse cafeteria with Bill Scherer, a well-known Republican lawyer in Florida whom he'd brought with him to help make his case. Scherer rea.s.sured him, "I thought you did great." After all, he said, isn't c.o.ke dealing in contradiction? In its public announcements, the company touts its workplace policies for bottlers, and yet in court it argues it has no control over them. "So which is it?" he asks. "How is Coca-Cola going to enforce their rights policy if they don't have control. Ask Ed Potter about that."

Posed exactly that question, Potter responds in great detail about the series of audits and worker complaint mechanisms that have been put in place to enforce c.o.ke's new workplace policies, including its "guiding principles" for bottlers since 2006. For the big bottlers, he says, the Coca-Cola Company gets directly involved when violations of labor or environmental policies occur. "We really do not let go of these conversations until there is a resolution," he says. "Believe me, in my whole time here, I have never had a bottler that said we are not going to play here. It's never happened."

In other words, Potter is saying the company does have control over its bottlers-if nothing else, through the power of influence. So does that mean the bottling agreements have changed since the days of Gil's murder? "My sense is the language of the franchise agreements hasn't changed for a long, long time," he says. "But the understanding of what people need to be responsible for, accountable for, has evolved over time." If the Gil case had happened today, he says, "It's not something that would linger and fester. There would be people on the ground, and it would be a different degree of attention to the issues that were raised." It's hard to believe Potter is actually saying this, basically admitting that c.o.ke had everything it needed to deal with the violence at bottlers in Colombia from the moment it happened, as early as the first murder in Carepa in 1994. And yet c.o.ke failed in its responsibility to stop or investigate the crimes.

Now, more than twelve years later, the company was still shirking that responsibility. The night of the Miami hearing, Adolfo "El Diablo" Cardona stood in front of a blackboard in a small room in NYU's Vanderbilt Hall. With Romero translating, he retold for perhaps the hundredth time the story of Gil's murder, his attempted abduction, the destruction of the union. The next day, Romero sat in the hearing room of the NYU senate as its members deliberated their ban on c.o.ke. The chair, Arthur Tannenbaum, began the meeting arguing that the ILO a.s.sessment, while not perfect, is the best the university could hope to achieve. At this point, an investigation into the murders would be impossible. Hearing those words, Romero felt his heart sink. When the vote came down, it was a close defeat, twenty-eight to twenty-two, in favor of lifting the ban. The last bright spot of the Campaign to Stop Killer c.o.ke had dimmed.

Even as the campaign watched its two biggest victories s.n.a.t.c.hed away, one would think they could take solace in the new framework the company had put in place to control its bottlers. After all, Ed Potter himself promised that if a situation similar to the violence in Colombia occurred today it would be handled much differently. That hasn't necessarily been borne out, however. In fact, a similar case the campaign watched its two biggest victories s.n.a.t.c.hed away, one would think they could take solace in the new framework the company had put in place to control its bottlers. After all, Ed Potter himself promised that if a situation similar to the violence in Colombia occurred today it would be handled much differently. That hasn't necessarily been borne out, however. In fact, a similar case did did occur. It happened in Guatemala, and it happened on Potter's watch. occur. It happened in Guatemala, and it happened on Potter's watch.

Jose Armando Palacios was spared the violence that infected c.o.ke's bottling plants in Guatemala in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Though he began to work for c.o.ke in 1979, it was at a separate plant not owned by anti-union John Trotter, but by another company named INCASA. He joined the union early, soon becoming a leader. In 1991, he took a job as an in-house security guard, a position that had been forbidden by management to unionize. Palacios had a secret plan to organize the security guards anyway-arguing that they would be a valuable a.s.set to the union, able to tip off union leaders to visits by authorities when they engaged in work stoppages or slowdowns.

He quickly succeeded in persuading the other five guards to join. But at the time, union leaders thought the idea too risky, so Palacios bided his time for more than a decade until 2004 when new leaders were willing to risk it. As soon as they made their intentions clear, though, Palacios says he started receiving threats from the plant's personnel manager, Eduardo Garcia, who allegedly told him he'd have to abandon the effort, or else he'd use his connections in the army to have him disappeared. (Palacios reported the incident to the Public Prosecutor's Office, which set up a meeting with Garcia, in which he denied making any threats but did sign a statement with Palacios promising to continue woking with "mutual respect" in the future.) A few months later, in June 2004, Palacios was working the graveyard shift when he heard shouts at one-thirty in the morning saying, "You are going to die, you son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h unionist!" Palacios threw himself to the ground just as shots rang out. He crawled under a truck, heart pounding and breathing heavily as he waited to be killed.

He survived, as several private security guards arrived to rescue him and his a.s.sailants fled. Those same guards later showed him a copy of a memo they had received from Garcia to the head of their company, a retired army colonel, saying Palacios was "totally damaging" to the company, and listing the hours he worked at night. If anything, the shooting strengthened Palacios's resolve to unionize, with memories of the bravery of the bottling plant leaders in the 1980s still in his mind. "If our movement didn't have martyrs, capitalism would have swallowed us long ago," he says.

After the shooting, the bottler offered to pay him severance and fly him to the United States if he resigned. Soon after he refused, men burst into his house while he was out shopping, threatening his wife and son at gunpoint before leaving-an incident Palacios sees as a direct reprisal for his intransigence. Finally, in May 2005, the bottler fired him, just two months after Ed Potter had arrived at c.o.ke, and even as he was promoting c.o.ke's new zero-tolerance policy for anti-union violence. The union protested the firing as illegal, and fought to reinstate him at the company. After several more attempts on his life, however, Palacios went into hiding, eventually reaching out through a nonprofit to the Coca-Cola Company in Atlanta.

In December, he received an e-mail from Ron Oswald, head of the IUF-the international union that had supported the organizing effort in Guatemala in the 1980s, but had more recently been critical of SINALTRAINAL's fight in Colombia. Oswald told him that he'd been in contact with Ed Potter, and the Coca-Cola Company was offering to "make resources available to improve security" for him-if he agreed to leave the bottling company. "They recognize that this cannot be done through the bottler since there is at least some ground for our suspicions that the threats are instigated by the local bottler," he wrote. (In an interview, Oswald says that he was not involved in the details of the negotiations with c.o.ke, though he does feel that the bottling company in Guatemala has long been hostile to union organizing.) But Palacios didn't want to leave the bottler, he told Oswald, as e-mails flew between intermediaries with the company. In January 2006, he received another offer from a c.o.ke representative, repeating the offer that c.o.ke Atlanta would fund a hefty "protection package" if Palacios would only leave the bottling company. Once again, Palacios refused. The very next day, he headed home briefly to pick up a few things, parking his red pickup truck on the street. As he got out of the car, another man in a red car pulled up on the same street and got out at virtually the same time. A man standing on the corner pulled out a revolver and shot that man three times in the chest, killing him right in front of Palacios, who believes the shots were actually intended for him.

From that point on, Palacios lost faith in talking with c.o.ke. Oswald still wrote e-mails a.s.suring him he was in "almost daily contact" with Potter about the case, but there might be a complication should Palacios happen to be "approached by a certain D.C.-based lawyer with promises of significant sums of 'settlement' money"-a clear allusion to Collingsworth and the Colombia ATCA case. Around the same time, a Costa Rican lawyer for the Coca-Cola Company named Rodrigo Romero arranged a meeting at a hotel in Guatemala City. According to Palacios, he offered him $15,000 and a plane ticket to the United States, if only he would sign a blank piece of paper, which he was told was a confidentiality agreement requiring him never to badmouth INCASA or Coca-Cola again. Palacios's struggled to control his anger. Thinking of his family, he told the lawyer calmly that he'd consider the offer. A few days later, Romero sent Palacios an e-mail, cc'ing Potter, to confirm he offered money to Palacios, whom he says "agreed to let me know the sum over the weekend."

Palacios intended nothing of the sort. "He thought I was some fool," says Palacios, "to sign some doc.u.ment I would later regret for the rest of his life." Finally after realizing that neither the bottling company nor the Coca-Cola Company would protect him, he reluctantly took a severance package (without a confidentiality agreement) and fled to the United States. It took another two years for his family to be able to join him on asylum there. Now living in Detroit, Palacios started talking with "a certain D.C.-based lawyer" about bringing a lawsuit, which Collingsworth eventually filed in New York Supreme Court in February 2010.

On the face of it, the case for c.o.ke's culpability was even stronger than the SINALTRAINAL case in Colombia. After all, Potter and c.o.ke's lawyer had directly inserted themselves into the situation, telling Palacios they could a.s.sure his security in exchange for his resignation and his silence. When he refused, they left him and his family unprotected from attack. "I think Coca-Cola could have stopped INCASA from doing what it was doing at any time," says Palacios. "If they didn't stop it, it's because they didn't want to."

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The parallels between Colombia and Guatemala are too strong to ignore. In one sense at least, Potter is right: The company was all over the case from the beginning. But it was not to protect the workers, but to protect the company. In fact, at the very same time c.o.ke was negotiating with SINALTRAINAL's leaders to make them leave the union and stop disparaging c.o.ke, it was following the same script with Palacios. To be fair, in both cases the company was dealing with avowed troublemakers with an active anticorporate, even anticapitalist mind-set. Asked what he thinks is really going on with the Colombia case, Potter answers indirectly, but his response speaks volumes. between Colombia and Guatemala are too strong to ignore. In one sense at least, Potter is right: The company was all over the case from the beginning. But it was not to protect the workers, but to protect the company. In fact, at the very same time c.o.ke was negotiating with SINALTRAINAL's leaders to make them leave the union and stop disparaging c.o.ke, it was following the same script with Palacios. To be fair, in both cases the company was dealing with avowed troublemakers with an active anticorporate, even anticapitalist mind-set. Asked what he thinks is really going on with the Colombia case, Potter answers indirectly, but his response speaks volumes.

A few years ago, he says, he read a book about the investigation of the murder of a Catholic priest in Guatemala. "The author describes how trade unionists have learned to protect themselves by making themselves martyrs," he says. "By drawing attention to themselves, they protect themselves." In that view, c.o.ke is the scapegoat, exploited by workers for their own self-preservation. In such a scenario, it makes sense that the company should fight tooth and nail against making concessions. No matter how lamentable the violence in some Third World country, it doesn't justify ransoming the company's brand.

"I've had lots of discussions with some of the oil companies we've sued," says Collingsworth. "Basically the way they put it is: 'Look, Colombia or Indonesia or Burma, that's a rough country. We're there to create jobs and to make the best of a bad situation, but we didn't start that war. We're not going to end that war.' But you can't say you are an innocent bystander if you are part of the support network for one of the actors in a violent exchange."

It's hard to believe that a company like Coca-Cola doesn't care about the safety of its workers or the health of its customers or the environment at least on some level. If there is a larger lesson to be drawn from the various attempts to hold c.o.ke accountable, it's that a corporation will never willingly box itself into a corner with any legally binding ties that force it to improve the lot of the communities where it operates-at least not when they cut into its ability to make a profit. That includes binding collective bargaining agreements with unions as much as binding regulations on water use or on how it can advertise and sell it products.

Just as Asa Candler and Robert Woodruff were happy to give millions for philanthropic causes but resented paying thousands in taxes, today's generation of leaders at c.o.ke have done real good in the world-building schools, sponsoring physical education, spurring recycling, stewarding water-when their programs are both voluntary and in support of the larger goals of the company. In a perfect world, the free market would ensure it more broadly took health and environmental issues through pressure from consumers in buying products that supported their moral viewpoint. The amount of money and advertising c.o.ke has put into creating its brand, however, distorts the ability of consumer actions to hold it accountable.

The actions against c.o.ke show that changing a corporation against its will requires two things: binding legal consequences that threaten its bottom line and a sustained public campaign that threatens its brand image. In places where activists have been most successful against c.o.ke-for example, in the closure of the Hindustan Coca-Cola plant in Kerala-both elements have been present. In places where neither is there-look no farther than Chiapas-a campaign can barely get off the ground. And of the two elements, it is ultimately the threat to brand image that has proved more important in c.o.ke's case-that's why the campaigners against soda in schools were able to eke out an agreement without the threat of a lawsuit, while the Colombian union leaders foundered once they took away the public pressure of a campaign.

In each of these cases, the tactics by the company have been the same-to remove the threat to its brand without agreeing to any enforceable requirements that might hold it accountable down the line. To fight back the various threats, the company has allayed public pressure by promising increasingly strict but still voluntary solutions-guidelines on soda sales it could oversee, workplace policies that applied only to direct employees, independent investigations that didn't actually investigate the most controversial accusations-until it found ones that the general public would accept.

In the case of the murder of Isidro Gil and the other Colombian union members, that was enough. When the decision came down on the ATCA appeal on August 11, 2009, it surprised no one. In a thirty-page opinion, the three-judge panel essentially called the allegations "too vague and conclusory" to warrant further discovery. Barring some sensational testimony from a demobilized paramilitary commander, it's unlikely we'll ever know what connections, if any, c.o.ke's Colombian bottlers-much less c.o.ke Atlanta-had to the murders. In point of fact, though, we'll also never know with any certainty whether c.o.ke is innocent. After all, if the company honestly had no involvement in the violence, then why have company executives so long resisted an investigation into the murders, as their own general counsel urged them to conduct more than five years ago?

In at least one regard, Potter and Collingsworth agree-the union members do look to the lawsuit and the Killer c.o.ke campaign as the reason they are still alive. Despite its missteps during negotiations, the campaign did show how an activist campaign could support a court case and lead a company to change its policies, if not its practices. And however confident the Coca-Cola Company may be that Neville Isdell's combination of socially responsible marketing, penthouse negotiations, and predetermined investigations has dispensed with the activist campaign, his final appearance as CEO of the Coca-Cola Company showed the activists against c.o.ke are not through yet.

It was a diminished crew that arrived for c.o.ke's annual shareholder meeting in April 2009. Unlike past years when the meeting had been held in Wilmington, this year c.o.ke had called it home to Atlanta, ostensibly as a tribute to outgoing CEO Neville Isdell. But the company must surely have considered the fact that Atlanta is much farther to travel for activists from Boston, New York, and San Francisco. The dozen or so who did make the trip included Ray Rogers, of course, as well as Camilo Romero, Amit Srivastava, and CAI's Gigi Kellett. Hoping to still make a splash in spite of the low numbers, Rogers brought what he called his "secret weapon," a giant mobile billboard attached to a truck cab with the slogan, "Don't Drink Killer c.o.ke Zero-Zero Ethics! Zero Justice! Zero Health!" on the side and pictures of murdered union workers Isidro Gil and Adolfo de Jesus Munera on the back. a diminished crew that arrived for c.o.ke's annual shareholder meeting in April 2009. Unlike past years when the meeting had been held in Wilmington, this year c.o.ke had called it home to Atlanta, ostensibly as a tribute to outgoing CEO Neville Isdell. But the company must surely have considered the fact that Atlanta is much farther to travel for activists from Boston, New York, and San Francisco. The dozen or so who did make the trip included Ray Rogers, of course, as well as Camilo Romero, Amit Srivastava, and CAI's Gigi Kellett. Hoping to still make a splash in spite of the low numbers, Rogers brought what he called his "secret weapon," a giant mobile billboard attached to a truck cab with the slogan, "Don't Drink Killer c.o.ke Zero-Zero Ethics! Zero Justice! Zero Health!" on the side and pictures of murdered union workers Isidro Gil and Adolfo de Jesus Munera on the back.

A warm, southern breeze was blowing as shareholders walked up the ramp to the Gwinnett Convention Center, a half-hour north of the city where c.o.ke was born. By coincidence, the day chosen for the meeting happened to be Earth Day, a fact underscored by the environmental showcase c.o.ke set up in the lobby with displays touting new soda bottles and T-shirts made from recycled PET and a video loop of the Spartanburg recycling plant.

Inside the convention hall, a high ceiling full of metal panels in geometrical shapes created the feeling of being inside a giant erector set. "We'd like to start with a little bit of happiness from Coca-Cola," began Isdell, taking the stage to launch c.o.ke's newest advertising campaign, "Open Happiness," with a new music video. "I think the song really captures the positivity, the optimism, and the real fun of Brand c.o.ke," he said. "This is a business about people, a business about belief. If we want to have a sustainable business, then the communities we serve need to be sustainable in and of themselves."

Standing before the crowd, Isdell had a lot to be happy about. He was handing over a stronger and more secure company than the one he'd inherited, having navigated c.o.ke over the rocky shoals of childhood obesity and Colombian murder trials, the bottled water backlash and controversy over water pollution and depletion in India. He turned over the meeting to Muhtar Kent, a Turkish businessman who rose from head of international relations to become c.o.ke's newly minted CEO. Immediately, Kent dispensed with the happiness talk to address what mattered most: growth. Every day, he said, the world had "multiple hydration occasions," and the increasing trends of urbanization and a growing middle cla.s.s around the world perfectly positioned c.o.ke to take advantage of them. Putting up a PowerPoint chart, he showed that Mexico consumed some six hundred cups of c.o.ke products per person per year, and the United States had four hundred, while the global average languished at one hundred. "What an amazing opportunity!" he concluded.

Kent handed the meeting back to Isdell for questions. True to form, Rogers was first out of his seat, launching into a rant about the illegitimacy of the ILO and TERI investigations into Colombia and India. "I wish you had updated your facts from the last time you were here," said Isdell, before turning to another questioner, who asked a more innocuous question about the old age of the board of directors. "I want to start a youth movement," the questioner said.

Suddenly a student with the Killer c.o.ke campaign leaped up, yelling, "I am part of the youth movement, and we are not on your side."

"If you want to ask your question, I must ask you return to your seat," responded Isdell. "If not you'll be evicted." The youth kept yelling, red-faced, as security guards in black jackets came up and put their hands on his shoulders, leading him out of the room in a reminder of Rogers's own ejection five years earlier.

It was pure political theater-but it started a roll for the activists in the crowd. With floodlights in Isdell's eyes, he had no control over whom he called on, and one by one the forces of Killer c.o.ke took the mic. Srivastava stood up to blast operations in India, warning investors that c.o.ke may be forced to pay hefty fines in India. Next Camilo Romero blamed c.o.ke for failing to bargain in good faith with the Colombians. Then it was Kellett, describing c.o.ke's newly announced global "water neutrality" policy as just a big Ponzi scheme, sucking down water in one part of the world while conserving it in another.

And so it went. Emerging into the bright Georgia sunshine, Rogers was elated. "If Neville Isdell thought it was his swan song, that he was going to end on a high note, then he was wrong," he said. In real terms, of course, the meeting achieved nothing. But symbolically, it put c.o.ke on notice that however hobbled, the campaign against it wasn't finished.

After the meeting, Rogers's mobile billboard led an activist caravan back down the highway to Atlanta as cars honked and people waved. Like bees drawn to an open bottle of pop, the caravan ended up arriving downtown at the World of Coca-Cola. Few people were in Pemberton Park to see the billboard truck as it drove around blaring an original folk song called "c.o.ke Is the Drink of the Death Squads." But Rogers would never miss an opportunity to educate one more person about c.o.ke's misdeeds. Jumping out with a clutch of "Drink That Represses" flyers in his hand, he ran up to a bus of schoolkids on a field trip to the Georgia Aquarium.

"Hey, kids, look here!" he shouted, jumping aboard the bus and gesticulating wildly at the billboard as it drove past. Before the chaperone could react, he jumped back out, while the billboard truck circled back around the World of Coca-Cola. For a moment a s.n.a.t.c.h of muzak floated across the park from the entrance to the museum. It took a second to place the tune before it became clear: "I'd like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony . . ."

Acknowledgments.

Obviously, to write a book of this scope, I have a great many people to thank. First and foremost, I want to thank my agent, Elisabeth Weed, who believed in this book from the beginning, encouraged me through two years of proposal revisions and pitch meetings before it had become a reality, and then through another two years of writing after it had. A huge thanks, as well, to my incredible editor, Rachel Holtzman, who was a calm in the storm throughout the writing and editing process, and offered just the right combination of prodding and trust to see me through multiple stages of rewriting, cutting, and framing the ma.n.u.script. Thanks, as well, to her a.s.sistant, Travers Johnson, and the excellent team at Avery for the behind-the-scenes work they did in making the book the best it could be.

I'd also like to express a measure of debt to the authors who have previously tackled the rich subject of Coca-Cola, on whose work I drew from heavily (and in some cases, shamelessly) in order to tell various aspects of the history and current practices of the company. For the first chapters dealing with the history of the company, Mark Pendergrast's For G.o.d, Country, and Coca-Cola For G.o.d, Country, and Coca-Cola was enormously helpful, as was was enormously helpful, as was Secret Formula Secret Formula by Fred Allen. I was also helped immensely by the collections of doc.u.ments that Pendergrast and Allen left at the rare book library at Emory University, as well as other collections there, from which most of the historical doc.u.ments I relied on are drawn. For the later history of the company, I relied on Constance Hays's by Fred Allen. I was also helped immensely by the collections of doc.u.ments that Pendergrast and Allen left at the rare book library at Emory University, as well as other collections there, from which most of the historical doc.u.ments I relied on are drawn. For the later history of the company, I relied on Constance Hays's The Real Thing The Real Thing and Thomas Oliver's and Thomas Oliver's The Real c.o.ke, The Real Story The Real c.o.ke, The Real Story. In the chapter detailing the fight to get soda out of schools, I was greatly a.s.sisted by Michele Simon's Appet.i.te for Profit Appet.i.te for Profit (and by Simon herself, who freely shared information with me from the beginning stages of the ma.n.u.script). And on international affairs, I relied on Laura Jordan's excellent thesis on c.o.ke in Mexico, and on Nantoo Banerjee's book-also called (and by Simon herself, who freely shared information with me from the beginning stages of the ma.n.u.script). And on international affairs, I relied on Laura Jordan's excellent thesis on c.o.ke in Mexico, and on Nantoo Banerjee's book-also called The Real Thing The Real Thing-to elucidate c.o.ke's problems in India.

In addition to those written sources, I'd like to acknowledge all of the patient time and effort granted to me by those struggling to keep c.o.ke accountable, including: Ray Rogers, Lew Friedman, Terry Collingsworth, Dan Kovalik, Camilo Romero, Amit Srivastava, Jackie Domac, Ross Getman, Michael Jacobson, Stephen Gardner, d.i.c.k Daynard, Gigi Kellett, and Javier Correa and all of the other union leaders in Colombia. On the other side, I'd like to thank the executives of Coca-Cola India, especially Kalyan Ranjan, who, quite unlike their counterparts in the United States or Mexico, granted me the access I asked for and shared with me their perspective; their openness and candor have made this a better book.

I'd also like to acknowledge the Herculean efforts of my research a.s.sistants, David Mashburn, Tony D'Ovidio, Alexis Hauk, Hannah Martin, and Maddy Schricker, without whom I quite literally could not have written this book (especially David and Tony, who helped draft some early sections of Chapters 3 and 4); and the translators who helped me understand foreign perspectives along with foreign words, including Arup Chanda and Nandan Upadhyay in India; Paco Vasquez and Erin Araujo in Mexico; and my translator in Colombia, whose name I must unfortunately withhold for safety reasons. Many thanks to Laura Bravo Melguizo, who spent countless hours translating Spanish-language doc.u.ments with me and correcting multiple facts and translations in the text. I'd be remiss, as well, if I didn't give a shout-out to Ula Cafe, whose strong coffee and friendly baristas sustained me through many long hours of writing.

Last but absolutely not least, I must thank my wife, Alexandra, who not only came up with the t.i.tle for this book, but also suffered through interminable conversations about soft drinks and corporate accountability, working "vacations" in Atlanta and Chiapas, and babysitting two unruly toddlers during my long nights of writing and revising at the office. I can't thank you enough, sangsai sangsai, and only hope I can do the same for you with your next book.

Notes.