A week after the announcement of the closure of the Maine-et-Loire and Morbihan sites, around 500 employees of the tire group gathered in front of the parent company to demand accountability from their management.
So he had to wait eighteen years, cross France and drive for seven hours to finally see it in real life. Bibendum, symbol of Michelin, the company for which it was “given everything”sits proudly four or five meters above her. Katia Martin nudges her colleague: “Look, he’s waving hello!” The latter has a completely different version: “Oh no, he's showing us the exit door. Enjoy, first time and last time we see this building. We're out…” It is 2 p.m. this Wednesday, November 13, and the esplanade in front of the headquarters of the famous tire manufacturer in Clermont-Ferrand (Puy-de-Dôme) is filling up.
How many are there? Four hundred, maybe five hundred. Local workers welcome employees from further afield. Those at the Vannes site covered more than 640 kilometers; those of the Cholet site, 500. After the sudden announcement of the upcoming closure of these two factories, the entire “Michelin” family is demanding accountability from its management. The date was not chosen at random: behind the large glass facades of the parent company, an extraordinary meeting of the Central Social and Economic Committee (CSEC) was held at the same time. At stake is the fate of the 1,250 people who are about to find themselves on the floor.
A few projectiles fly through the air. A piece of wood, a smoke bomb, a can of beer, an aluminum can, a cigarette butt… A few insults too. Pierre-Louis Dubourdeau, the industrial director of the group, has ringing ears, treated as “bastard” and of “thug”. An employee, perched on a concrete bench, thunders: “Get out of your office with your friends in your ties and come talk to us! Bibendum, are you with us or not?” No one will come out. No one will ever enter either. It is 2:20 p.m. and the police have even just positioned themselves inside the cozy hall.
In the procession of “Michelin”, “there is bitterness and sadness because there was pride in working for this company”. Sometimes for several decades. Gilles, in his fifties, wears the blue cap that the company gave him when he was hired in 2002. “I have the balls, the balls, the balls”, he repeats over and over again, puffing on his cigarette. The sound system spits out a new slogan: “Fifty years exploited, five minutes to fire us.” Katia no longer wants to believe it. On his sign, everything is said. She wrote it in the past tense: “I was Michelin.” On her cardboard, her neighbor on the left tried humor and this play on words: “Are you flat too?” But no one really wants to laugh.
In the bus that left Vannes, already on the way out, “it wasn't always easy to think about something else”, confides Hélène. The worker for a few more weeks even found the route “interminable”. On the highway, “many said they didn’t know what would become of them. For the moment, I don't think about it, I live in the present, but I know that I will have a hard blow afterwards.”
Gwenn Le Luherne, 24 years of seniority on the Vannes site, is also suffering the blow. “At the factory, everyone has their own story, and it's sometimes very complicated. I think of my colleagues Pauline and Franck, 25 and 26 years old, who have just had a child. To Stéphanie and Cyril, another couple, who will find themselves unemployed Two salaries gone, presto…”
Ludovic Robert's answering machine is saturated with messages. “When I turn on my cell phone in the morning, I get text messages from employees, confides the CFDT delegate from Michelin Cholet. They ask me: 'What will happen now? When are we going to negotiate?' Every time, my answer is: 'I don't know.'” Richard Grangien, his colleague from the CSE, looks up, annoyed. “There are guys who are very angry, others who are very depressed. The other day, a colleague in front of the pallet fire dropped a bomb. He talked to me about suicide. He has children, a family. I'm afraid of the ultimate stupidity.” The other day, Katia Martin's bosses texted her: “Maybe you should go to the shrink.”
Microphone in hand, Serge Allègre, general secretary of the CGT of chemical industries, promises not to let anyone down. “We are going to multiply the actions. Because here, it is the friends of Cholet and Vannes who are thrown like Kleenex in the street. But after that, who will it be? This company in which we work has only worked for the parasites who are the shareholders.”
Tricolor scarf on her back, Mathilde Panot passes through the ranks to greet the workers. The leader of the LFI deputies recalls that her group has requested a commission of inquiry into public aid given to businesses. “We are witnessing a scandal here, insists the parliamentarian. Michelin raked in tens of millions of euros of public money which it used to destroy jobs and gorge shareholders. And what's more, now we have a new Prime Minister who wonders where the public money has gone, even though it's very obvious.” As the gathering begins to disperse and night falls, an employee, looking dejected, passes by: “We still have to believe it, in your opinion, Madam Deputy?”
