Although the electronics industry is generally thought of as relatively non-polluting, it does face a continuing problem with disposing of solvents used in manufacture. The problem was brought into focus dramatically by a Filipino immigrant worker who barely survived a near-fatal accident. His case, now a legend, prompted a lawsuit that will be heard early next year. PNS associate editor David Bacon writes widely on labor and immigration issues.

EAST PALO ALTO, CA -- The railroad tank car sat for days on a siding at Romic Corporation's waste transfer station in Redwood City, California. It had once been filled with used solvents, effluent from the area's electronics plants, but these had long since been pumped away, leaving a knee-deep layer of toxic sludge.

The company decided to have someone climb into the tank and push the sludge down to the drain. The first worker tapped for the job refused, aware that the breathing apparatus required for work in the tank had been setting off alarms for dangerous concentrations of carbon monoxide.

Then the supervisor called Rodrigo Cruz.

At 6:15 a.m. on February 15, 1995, Cruz, a Filipino immigrant, reported to work. When he saw duct tape wrapped around the coupling connecting the hose to the breathing apparatus he hesitated -- he'd never been trained to use it, or to clean rail cars. Nevertheless, he put on the apparatus and went in.

After pushing sludge toward the drain for a couple of hours, Cruz began to have trouble breathing. He came out for a break, complaining that he wasn't getting enough air. As soon as he went back in, his breathing problems increased until he felt he was getting no air at all.

Cruz remembers a terrible smell and taste in his mouth. He tried pulling on the escape cord but nothing happened. Somehow, he avoided falling into the sludge, and managed to stagger toward the entrance hatch and catch the attention of someone who hauled him out.

Cruz didn't die, but the effects of that morning will last the rest of his life. He has excruciating headaches, his reflexes are shot, and he has so little sense of balance he cannot drive or ride a bike. He also has trouble remembering things.

Doctors concluded that Cruz had suffered from carbon monoxide poisoning and oxygen deprivation. The sludge contained xylene, benzene, methyl ethyl ketone and trichloroethane -- all dangerous but commonly-used solvents. Long-term exposure to these compounds is thought to cause cancer and liver damage. There is no way to know what Cruz may suffer years from now as a result of this one heavy exposure.

Cruz' nightmare has become a legend for thousands of Silicon Valley's immigrant Filipino workers.

"We recognize ourselves in Rodrigo's case," explains Romie Manan, a Filipino worker with a long history of pressing companies on health and safety conditions. "We understand why he went into the tank when he could see the danger -- he was thinking of his family, of all the people he had to feed."

The Romic Corporation fought Cruz's workers compensation claim, and for three months he ran a gauntlet of Silicon Valley lawyers and social service agencies, seeking help. Then, at the Santa Clara Center for Occupational Safety and Health (SCCOSH) in San Jose, he found Manan and Raquel Sancho, both veteran organizers with roots stretching back to the anti-Marcos movement in the Philippines.

The two had put together a network of Filipino electronics workers called Health WATCH (Workers Against Toxic Chemical Hazards). Sancho had organized in karaoke bars and malls, at picnics and family gatherings. "I used to sell Saladmaster pots and pans," she explains, "going from friend to friend like people sell Amway or Tupperware. I used the same style to meet workers."

"Rodrigo's case gave us the chance to overcome some problems of organizing our community," Manan says. He points out that although Filipinos generally favor unions -- a much bigger percentage of workers are unionized in the Philippines than in the U.S. -- Filipinos in Silicon Valley get jobs for many family members, often in the same plant, making them reluctant to rock the boat.

Cruz's experience helped convince workers that they owed no debt of gratitude to electronics companies for hiring them. "To them we're just cheap labor," Manan says bitterly. "They don't have to spend money on the right equipment, and if there's an accident, we pay the price."

Workers took the case into the plants. Some wore buttons and ribbons to show solidarity with Cruz. WATCH also made friends in East Palo Alto with the people living around Romic's main plant. With the Ujima Security Council, a group of residents concerned about living next to a toxic waste disposal site, they organized demonstrations against Romic's expansion plans.

Their activity helped keep Cruz's case alive and led to a larger investigation by California Occupational Safety and Health Administration. Inspectors found numerous health and safety violations, and issued 22 citations against Romic in 1996 for failing to label or store chemicals properly or to have an emergency response plan. Ujima became a complaining party in the proceedings, an unusual step for a community organization.

Cruz's case will not be heard until February. One count alone would fine the company $62,500 for failing to give him an adequate breathing apparatus, and another $37,500 for failing to have a way to rescue him.

Romic spokesperson Chris Stampoulis would not answer questions about the Cruz incident. He referred to the contents of the rail car as an "alternative fuel residue," because it is burned as fuel in a cement plant.