SANTOS, Brazil -- South of the equator in the scorching heat of the Brazilian summer at midday, a middle-aged man in orange dungarees is getting some rest between shifts, lying down in his old Volkswagen Beetle.
The radio plays pagode, a traditional kind of samba. Less than an hour from now, officials from the stevedores' trade union will come and pick up a handful of dockworkers, sending them to load and unload vessels at Santos, Latin America's busiest port.
Carlos Gomes -- not his real name -- slowly emerges from his improvised nap and lights up a cigarette. On the car is a sign that says "Sindicato dos Estivadores" -- stevedores' union. Carlos was actually employed by the trade union as a mechanic for three years before he decided to become a longshoreman himself nine years ago. The job is tougher, but it is somewhat rewarding.
"Here, there is no boss. There ain't any messin' around," he says.
The trade union is in charge of giving work to its members, and the members do not want this to change. In a good week, Carlos says he can take as many as 14 shifts, but he feels happy when he gets 10.
"There are some guys who do three shifts a day, but this is a bit crazy. I usually try to do two," he says.
Carlos is one of 11,000 longshoremen who work Santos, Brazil's bustling and expensive engine of trade and commerce. Those longshoremen are angry and are vowing more violence if the government moves ahead with a planned downsizing.
The violence and destruction that took place last November in Santos, resulting in the gutting of administrative buildings and other damages, may only have been a picnic compared with what may be coming.
The rank and file have promised to wreak havoc on the harbor if the right to fix the number of dockworkers is effectively taken away from the unions next March. With modernization under way, port workers have been resisting changes and have warned that they will oppose any attempt to break the union's monopoly on labor.
Since the Port of Santos is now operating round-the-clock, the day has been divided into four six-hour shifts. So, invariably every day, four times a day, dockworkers offer their services in 20 fixed points in the port, where they are called upon by their trade union "masters."
The extraordinary and ancient ritual that follows has a name: workers are said to go to "parede," or the wall. The wall, in fact, is a plank of wood behind which union officials turn up to shout the name of vessels to load and unload.
Dozens of dockworkers gather in front of them and put their hands up to offer their services, as if in an auction. As a matter of fact, scenes are reminiscent of a stock exchange session. Competition may be rife when a good deal comes up. Men shout, push, throw their hands in the air to offer their labor cards to the "master."
When the union official makes up his mind, he picks up one card and gives the dockworker his assignment in exchange.
There are more than 100 workers taking part in the job auction. Only eight of them are being picked up. How come Carlos, who has already been working that day, has received another assignment while most of the others go back home empty-handed?
Dockworkers who "don't have any friends" lose out, he says.
Carlos is more elusive on the issue of money, but he says that he now earns some 1,500 reals a month (about $1,200), which can be considered a conservative estimate.
Somehow, wages used to be much higher. Carlos claims that he has lost some 50% with the change in the wage calculation (structure) that was implemented in 1997. For him -- and many other stevedores -- the union is still the most powerful ally.
The union is a powerful shield for the casual port workers, resisting firings and fighting for generous compensations. It is well-organized and has its own radio station in town. A street has even been called "Rua dos Estivadores."
Not surprisingly, this is where the union's headquarters is based. Not too far away stand the offices of the port administrative agency known by the acronym OGMO. That body is also the human resources agency, which will assume responsibility for the appointment of casual port workers.
The building suffered extensive damage last November after the government issued a decree in order to break the union's monopoly and transfer such powers to the OGMO. Port workers went on the rampage, set up barricades downtown, and they say there will more to come if the government persists in confronting the union. The authorities have bowed to the pressure and signaled a truce.
But negotiations are designed to find a way to break the impasse and implement changes by March 1999. Longshoremen are in no mood for compromise.
"This place is going to be on fire on Feb. 28. Next year will be the year of the revolution. We are ready to invade the harbor and let ships loose (unleash vessels)," Carlos says with a determined voice. "If we (the dockworkers) go on strike, everybody will go on strike. Even the port guards!" he adds, referring to a long history of protest movement in the Port of Santos.
"There will be war," says Claudio Aquino, a union leader who has worked in the port for 23 years. "If they pull out the 'master' from here, it's going to be bad. We don't want to see an OGMO rep' here."
"People will rebel. The city will be set alight!" says Renato Fernandes, whose grandfather helped set up the stevedores' union. Renato, also wearing the union's orange dungarees, has spent more than half of his life working at the port.
"Since I have joined in 1972, I have always heard that stevedoring will be extinct, stevedoring will be extinct.' This is happening now," Mr. Fernandes says.
Labor has been underscored as the key issue by port operators to reduce costs that hamper Brazil's competitiveness in international trade. Brazilian ports are reputed to be among the most expensive in the world. In Santos, the work force could be cut by half in the name of economic efficiency. However, few solutions have been brought forward in order to soften the social impact of mass firings. "We are 11,000 men here. You would have to give us a good pay-off," Mr. Fernandes says.
A landmark agreement has already been reached in the depressed automotive industry recently: A steel workers' union has accepted a shorter work week and a pay cut in order to preserve jobs at Volkswagen. Stevedores in Santos say this kind of deal is very good, but do not believe that port operators nor the government are sincerely willing to reach a compromise with them.
"They want to turn this place into (another) Indonesia! But we are proud to be Brazilians," Mr. Aquino says. "Now, it is capitalism. Our president has sided with the bosses, not with the workers."
President Fernando Henrique Cardoso was re-elected last October, and the trade community has expected him to address the labor issue in Brazilian ports early in his second term. The issue was sidestepped during the battle to change the constitution to allow his re-election.
With prospects of mass layoffs and confrontation, the future may look bleak for most longshoremen in Santos. Nevertheless, Carlos has reasons to remain optimistic. At 41, he said he could retire in about two years' time because he started working at an early age. Then he could devote himself to his great passion: horse races. He already goes to the Jockey Club in Sao Paulo, 50 miles away, whenever he can.
"I am not going to stay here in this dust. The air is much purer there," Carlos says.
