In a powerful display of worker solidarity against a backdrop of looming immigration uncertainty, unionized employees at a JBS beef processing facility in Greeley, Colorado, overwhelmingly voted last week to authorize a strike. This decisive action, taken despite hundreds of thousands of Haitian migrants, many among them, facing the potential revocation of their legal status and deportation by the then-Trump administration, marks a pivotal moment in labor relations and immigrant rights. Should it proceed, this would be the first sanctioned walkout at a major U.S. meatpacking plant in decades, signaling a renewed assertiveness from a workforce long considered vulnerable.

The atmosphere leading up to the vote was charged with both determination and apprehension. On the day preceding the ballot, semis idled along Highway 85 outside the JBS plant, their cattle trailers full, their cargo awaiting processing. Across the highway, representatives from the United Food and Commercial Workers (UFCW) Local 7 union, including Tchelly Moise, a former JBS forklift driver turned union representative, meticulously distributed handbills to workers arriving and departing from their shifts. These flyers, crucially translated into Haitian Creole, Somali, Spanish, Burmese, and other languages reflecting the plant’s diverse workforce, announced the upcoming strike vote scheduled for the following day at a local hotel ballroom. This multilingual outreach underscored the varied origins of the workers united by shared grievances.

These meatpacking workers may be deported. They voted to strike anyway.

For eight months, contentious contract negotiations between the union and JBS, a Brazilian multinational conglomerate and the world’s largest producer of beef, had stalled. Workers had grown increasingly frustrated, demanding a strike vote as talks over pay and working conditions remained gridlocked. The Haitian contingent, who constitute a significant plurality of the plant’s night shift, voiced particular outrage. Many were recruited in 2023 and 2024 under what the union alleges were false pretenses, amounting to human trafficking. While a JBS spokesperson asserted the company’s commitment to employee safety and compliance with all laws, and denied substantiated evidence linking company leadership to the union’s claims, the workers’ experiences painted a starkly different picture.

In December, a group of these workers initiated a class-action lawsuit, detailing allegations of profound exploitation. They claimed promises of free housing upon recruitment were reneged upon, instead finding themselves charged for "overcrowded, uninhabitable housing" at the nearby Rainbow Motel. Furthermore, the lawsuit asserts that those recruited to the B Shift were assigned to the most arduous positions on the production line, forced to work at "dangerously fast speeds." The suit highlights a significant discrepancy in production rates: the daytime A shift typically processes around 300 head of cattle per hour, while the B shift operates at an accelerated pace of 370, at times reaching as high as 440 head per hour. Such speeds place immense physical strain on workers, increasing the risk of injury and making it challenging to maintain quality and safety standards.

Despite the legal action, employees report that conditions have remained largely unchanged, or in some instances, worsened. Several workers confided in the union about their struggles to keep pace with the relentless speed of the line. In recent weeks, spontaneous "wildcat" work stoppages had become more frequent, with workers allowing beef to pass uncut and untrimmed on the conveyor belts, signaling their distress by banging meat hooks against their metal workstations to demand a halt to the line. These unauthorized actions, which carry the risk of disciplinary measures or even termination, made it clear to union officials that formal action was necessary. After months of unfruitful negotiations, the choice became clear: a simple "strike or no strike" vote, rather than a deliberation on the company’s latest contract proposal, would determine the path forward. Tchelly Moise, reflecting on the mood within the plant, expressed certainty about the outcome, stating, "People at the plant, they’re pissed off."

These meatpacking workers may be deported. They voted to strike anyway.

A significant factor weighing on the minds of union leadership and workers alike was the precarious legal status of many Haitian employees. A group of approximately 353,000 migrants nationwide faced the termination of their Temporary Protected Status (TPS) and accompanying work authorization on February 3, the day before the strike vote. TPS is a temporary immigration status granted to eligible nationals of designated countries facing conditions that make it unsafe for their nationals to return home, such as armed conflict or environmental disaster. The status provides protection from deportation and work authorization. However, late on February 2, a crucial intervention occurred: U.S. District Judge Ana C. Reyes of the District of Columbia temporarily halted the termination of TPS for Haitians. Her ruling asserted that the decision to end their legal status was not based on restored order in Haiti, but rather on a "hostility to nonwhite immigrants," citing a social media post by then-Homeland Security secretary Kristi Noem, which referred to immigrants as "foreign invaders," "killers, leeches, and entitlement junkies."

News of Judge Reyes’ ruling sent a wave of relief through the community, instantly igniting Tchelly Moise’s WhatsApp group chat with celebratory messages. While Moise cautioned against complacency, reminding workers that the ruling was not a final decision and did not guarantee permanent TPS, it provided a vital reprieve. He pointed to the precedent of Venezuelan TPS recipients, who had received a similar court-ordered stay only to see the Supreme Court later reinstate the termination of their 2023 TPS designation. Indeed, within hours of Judge Reyes’ ruling, Tricia McLaughlin, assistant secretary of Homeland Security, publicly declared, "Supreme Court, here we come." Nevertheless, the ruling bought the union precious time to conduct the strike vote without the immediate threat of deportation hanging over workers’ heads. "Now we have at least a few days," Moise noted, "We cannot get deported for the next few days."

Despite this temporary reprieve, a palpable sense of apprehension lingered at the DoubleTree Hotel on the day of the vote. As workers from the overnight C shift arrived to cast their ballots shortly after 6 a.m., rumors of unmarked vans circling outside the hotel fueled fears of potential detention by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Many recalled recent events in Minneapolis, where proof of legal status had offered little protection to immigrants. Yet, workers bravely lined up, providing their names to receive a blue slip for their secret ballot, which they then deposited into a traditional wooden ballot box. Later in the day, a group of Latino men from the B shift expressed profound concern about their check-in and registration by the union. They worried about JBS accessing this information, especially given the company’s historical ties to political power. JBS had been a significant donor to former President Donald Trump’s second inauguration. Following this donation, the composition of the National Labor Relations Board (NLRB) was altered, which subsequently led to the dismissal of the union’s formal complaint alleging human trafficking by JBS. Furthermore, months later, JBS CEO Joesley Batista met personally with Trump, successfully lobbying for the lifting of U.S. tariffs on Brazilian beef. These connections stoked fears that a company with such political leverage might influence immigration enforcement against striking workers, under the guise of "saving American jobs." A union representative diligently assured the young men of the vote’s absolute anonymity, emphasizing "cien por ciento," but some remained for hours, grappling with their fear before deciding whether to cast their votes. "The fear of retaliation is very real," Moise acknowledged.

These meatpacking workers may be deported. They voted to strike anyway.

Yet, amidst this fear, acts of profound courage emerged. Carlos Saint Aubin, previously identified as "Auguste" in a report detailing the plight of Haitian workers at the plant, arrived to cast his vote. He had previously described his working conditions at JBS as feeling "like I was being treated as a slave," recounting how months of working with a meat hook had left him unable to fully close his left hand. At that time, fear had prevented him from having his name appear in print. Now, Saint Aubin stands as one of the named lead plaintiffs in the class-action lawsuit against JBS. As he dropped his ballot into the vote box, a wide smile broke across his face, a powerful testament to his transformation from silent suffering to open defiance.

The voting process extended late into the evening. Kim Cordova, president of Local 7, who had traveled from Denver, addressed the contingency planning for a potential Supreme Court reversal of the TPS ruling, akin to what occurred with Venezuelan recipients. While acknowledging the worry that workers might be on picket lines just as the court ruled to allow their apprehension by ICE, Cordova emphasized the practical reality: the JBS plant employs 3,800 workers. Replacing such a large workforce on short notice would be an immense challenge for the company, particularly as "locals aren’t exactly lined up to take these jobs," underscoring the demanding and often undesirable nature of meatpacking work for many domestic laborers.

Precisely at 7 p.m., Mathew Shechter, general counsel for Local 7, concluded the ballot collection. With no remaining votes, the counting commenced. The locked ballot box was opened, and blue slips, marked either "STRIKE / HUELGA" or "NO STRIKE / NO HUELGA," were meticulously sorted into piles. Tchelly Moise stood a respectful distance away with Dahir Omar, another union representative who advocates for the plant’s Somali members. Omar, shaking his head and smiling, remarked, "Democracy." Moise nodded in agreement. Omar then added with a laugh, "This isn’t how we do it in Africa. In Africa, they’re like, ‘Hey, you guys go home, and we’ll count for you,’ you know?" In less than an hour, the tally was complete: nearly 99% of ballots were marked for STRIKE.

These meatpacking workers may be deported. They voted to strike anyway.

The atmosphere among union representatives shifted to one of jubilation. Cordova, informed of the results via text, replied, "The workers have spoken." The union declared it would grant JBS one week to return to the bargaining table and address the workers’ grievances. A subsequent union press release left no ambiguity: "Workers are prepared to take immediate and serious action if JBS continues to violate federal labor law and prevent workers from securing a fair contract." If this strike materializes, it would not only be unprecedented in the Greeley plant’s history but would also mark the first major strike by meatpacking workers since the significant Hormel strike of the 1980s, an event that reshaped labor relations in the industry.

JBS, in a statement issued the following morning, asserted its respect for the collective bargaining process and expressed hope that the local union would choose to move forward with the existing agreement. However, an email sent directly to workers by the company that afternoon, obtained by reporters, revealed a more confrontational stance. Focusing on a 60-cent wage increase and a pension plan, the email stated, "the union has not allowed you to vote on the Company’s Last, Best, and Final offer." It then urged workers to "Demand the union lets you vote on this offer!" JBS did not respond to inquiries regarding whether this email indicated a refusal to resume negotiations. As the day concluded, Moise sat alone in the union office, contemplating the company’s defiant posture. "It looks like they’re willing to see us go on strike for real," he observed, "They’re ready for the consequences." He then let out a quiet laugh, revealing the union’s preparedness: they had already ordered 4,000 picket signs. The stage is set for a high-stakes confrontation that could redefine labor rights for vulnerable immigrant workers in America’s vital, yet often overlooked, food processing industry.