A generation ago, the residents of the Soma valley supported themselves through subsistence agriculture and peasant smallholding. Now, they mine lignite - a low grade form of coal made up of compressed peat. The population of the district is just over 100,000 people, spread across the town of Soma and a collection of agricultural villages. Of that 100,000, 15% work in the five big mineworks.

The Soma collieries sit amongst the hills of Western Turkey, a few hours’ drive north from the coastal city of İzmir. The valleys around them used to be full of Tobacco plants, but now they are full of smoke. Lignite is the dirtiest form of coal and contains contaminants like Sulphur that cause deadly air pollution when burnt.

The mining industry here was supercharged by the ‘rush for coal’ subsidy programme initiated by Erdogan’s ruling Justice and Development Party (AKP) in 2012.¹Natural gas imports from Iran and Russia led to a major current account deficit, so the AKP government aimed to replace them with domestic alternatives. In 2013, coal made up 25.8% of the Turkish grid’s coal mix, and most of it was imported. In 2023, coal had grown to 36.2% of the fuel mix, and most of it is domestic lignite.² In Soma, the mined lignite is moved just a few miles to be burnt in the two local coal fired power plants before electricity flows into the grid along high voltage power lines towards Istanbul, İzmir and Ankara. This recomposition of the energy infrastructure wasn’t a peaceful transition. The price of coal is death.

In 2014, 301 miners died in the Soma mine disaster. A fire started deep underground in the Eyne mine during a shift change. Despite other miners forming rescue teams and trying to save them, nearly half of the workers who were underground when the fire started never returned to the surface. It was the worst mine disaster in Turkish history, and it was directly caused by the drive to increase production and reduce safety standards that was associated with the rush for coal.³

Despite this, the AKP maintained strong support locally. The combination of neoliberal reform that destroyed state support for agriculture and the massive waves of migration associated with the forced relocation of Kurdish populations and Syrian refugees has produced a new rural proletariat in valleys like this – and it is a proletariat that is entirely reliant on state-backed extractive industries. Without coal, they would have nothing.⁴

But despite this reliance, the deaths of the 301 planted seeds. Ever since then, a new union has been germinating underground, amongst the lignite. This independent union, the Bağımsız Maden İşçileri Sendikası, has grown slowly to become a union capable of taking on the mine bosses and winning.

Notes From Below spoke to two miners from the independent miners’ union who had recently participated in a 54-day strike. The conversation was made possible by Umut-Sen, an independent workers’ project that aims to support the class struggle across a range of industries including mining, warehousing, food delivery and office work. They set up a meeting between NFB and the Soma miners, then acted as translators and facilitators of the discussion that followed.

When they talk about their struggle, Erdinç and Özay always use a particular word: direniş. Our translators render it as ‘resistance’. Rather than joining the union and going on strike, the miners talk about joining the resistance and starting to resist. At the end of the interview, we ask them why they use this specific term. “Direniş is not like a protest,” Erdinç clarifies, “it is active and direct. You use your teeth and your bones.”

Erdinç started working in the mines in 2003. He went deep underground in the lignite seams of Soma as a mechanic. His role was to prevent flooding by maintaining water pumps, checking water levels, and carrying out repairs on any faults in the pumping system. After twenty years in the mines, he had gained a lot of experience. That matters, he says, because experience teaches you how to keep yourself and your colleagues safe.

Özay started working in the mines in 2007. He is a chemical technician. In practice, that means he tried to keep the tunnels sealed, finding the cracks where water was flowing into the mine and plugging them. It is a skilled job - so skilled that even the companies who make the products Özay uses couldn’t repeat what he does, says Erdinç. It’s also a notoriously dangerous role.

Their description of their work doesn’t do justice to what the labour process looks like to the untrained eye. In a video shared by the independent miners’ union (Bağımsız Maden İşçileri Sendikası) that shows the conditions underground, workers wade through tunnels in murky water up to their chests. Streams of water pour in from fault lines on the walls as technicians working by the light of their head torches desperately try to get the situation under control.

In August 2024, Erdinç and Özay were both working for Fernas Mining, a company owned by Ferhat Nasıroğlu, an AKP MP. Fernas is notorious in Soma for its working conditions. “It is full of stress and mobbing [bullying],” Özay says. “We went to work one hour earlier than everyone else and went home two hours later. We wore our own clothes in the mine because we weren’t given any protective equipment. The food they gave us was inedible, and the technicians I worked alongside have not had any of the proper training – they know about geology, not mining. On the weekends we were forced to work extra days for free. The wages are less than other mines, as well.”

“I find it shameful to talk about, because I worked in these conditions for five years before I did anything about it.”

In the Fernas mines there are 4 shifts of 70 production workers. Of that 70, 60 are underground at any one time. In addition to these 280 production workers, there were another 150 office and support workers, making a total of 430.

Given the near total absence of safety regulation, inspection and enforcement, accidents are inevitable. The mines are deadly workplaces, and everyone involved knows it. Özay and Erdinç were both working in 2014 when the 301 died. Özay survived because he wasn’t working underground that day. Erdinç was part of the search and rescue effort that tried to save any fellow workers left alive. The disaster brought attention to the complete failure of safety inspections in the mines and the awful conditions facing the workforce – for a moment, at least. After the disaster, wages rose and working hours fell.

It was after the 301 died that the union formed. 400m underground, a group of workers met to discuss their situation. In the mines, they couldn’t be observed as closely, and they used that freedom to begin to organise. In most collieries they have to struggle against the ‘triangle’ of the state, the company, and the yellow union. Many workplaces have representatives from one of the ‘ideologically compatible’ corporatist union federations who maintain a hold over the workforce through ethnic affinity networks, rigged ballots and physical intimidation.⁵

For years, the independent union had been growing at Fernas, as workers began to organise against the terrible conditions they faced. Erdinç became a shop steward in 2020, after seeing how the independent union fought for the 8,000 miners in Soma who had been promised compensation but never paid it. He was recruited by the late president of the union, Tahir Çetin.⁶ Özay’s conditions as a chemical technician were more comfortable than those of his friends in the mine, but he felt responsible – he had to fight with them. “I joined the resistance. My family were very proud of me for joining, as were my friends. It was honour that made me join.”

Fernas management were increasingly aware of the growing union presence. Unlike other mines, they didn’t have a sweetheart deal with a corporatist union set up to block independent organisation. So, they used another tactic: they victimised two union members, firing them on the spot. But that wasn’t the end of it. The next day, after he had just worked a night shift, HR called Erdinç into a meeting. They sat there with the managers and fired him too.

“I warned them,” he says, “I warned them that my union will stand beside me. But they didn’t care.” He was wearing a smart watch, and quietly began recording the meeting.

The union mobilised rapidly. The union president, lawyer, and other representatives all demanded to speak to management. For ten days, they were ignored. On the 24th of August they started their strike. They set up pickets in front of the mine, and 120 of the 280 production workers joined them. It was a minority strike from the start. From the first day of picketing, the police were a key factor.

“70 people were taken into custody on the first day. The police kept them overnight and released them the next morning. When they were released, they came straight back to the picket line.”

The union understood that they couldn’t win the strike only by picketing the mine, so they did some research and found that Fernas also owns a luxury hotel in the costal town of Bodrum. “We started protesting there, and we gained huge popularity with the people of Bodrum.” But the police repression didn’t let up. “Some of us were detained by the police in Bodrum again, 3 or 4 times, and in Soma there were also 2 more lots of detentions.”

We ask if this was the kind of police repression that they expected at the start of the strike. Our translators clarify, yes, this is the general procedure against any protest. What happened when they were detained?

“They interrogate us, they ask us questions, and we give our side. Sometimes people are beaten. We do health checks. Then we get released. It takes 10-12 hours.”
At this point, the strike had shrunk to 80 people. They had a meeting and decided what to do next. They would divide their forces: 35 people in front of the mine in Soma, 5 people in front of the hotel in Bodrum, 5 people in Istanbul, and 35 people would go to the capital, Ankara.

Erdinç and Özay were both in the Ankara delegation. They went to the Fernas headquarters and protested there for three days. Once again, they were detained. Erdinç himself was detained four times during the strike.
“There wasn’t so much violence,” he says, “some people did receive a beating and they objected – they said we are not terrorists, why are you doing this? The police said, ‘We are only doing our job.’”

After this round of detentions, the strikers headed back to Soma for another meeting. They decided to give the company five days to settle the strike, or else they would begin to march from Soma to Ankara. The company responded by sending the police to detain the union president. He was held for two days. During his detention the rest of the strikers prepared to march. When he was released, they set off.

They marched without shoes, covering 180 miles in seven days. They used buses for any roads which were unsafe to walk along. Finally, they arrived at the edge of Ankara. By this time, the struggle had begun to gain national prominence. Ferhat Nasıroğlu, the owner of Fernas and AKP MP, had been using his platform in parliament to lie about the miners and spread propaganda against them. “He said we had been brainwashed by the far left,” Erdinç says, laughing. So, when they finally arrived in the city, they went straight to the parliament building. Supportive MPs invited them inside, and they marched in, barefoot.

Every night, they camped in Salvation Park, and every day, they protested at parliament. They weren’t making any progress, so they decided to march to the Ministry of Labour, only to be stopped by the police. “We were so angry. When they stopped us, we made a decision: we will go on hunger strike. We sat down then and there, all of us, even the union lawyer.”

The next day the police detained them yet again and tried to force them to eat, but it didn’t work. On the 12th day of hunger strike, they decided to take a collective vow of silence. “We asked the people to speak for us.” 40 spontaneous protests began in 18 different cities across Turkey, with people taking to the street to be their voice against the police and the company.
Then, finally, on the 54th day of the strike, they heard that the company had agreed to begin negotiations. “It was midnight when we heard. We were very happy. We drank soup that night, and everybody was very emotional. The next day we returned to Soma. When we left Ankara, there were many supporters to see us off. Even the police said they were happy that we had won.”

“For 25 days since we left Soma we had not seen our families. We were happy to go home. We spent three hours with them the next morning, then met back in front of the mine to begin negotiations. It took three days.” Fernas folded completely, granting the union 95% of its demands. “We won promotions, bonuses, salaries, better working conditions, health and safety…” Erdinç trails off, seemingly still amazed by the scale of their victory.

What would they say to workers in Britain?

“You must be together. On our way to Ankara, we shared our problems with each other, we united with each other and became one.”
“For workers in Britain – if you go on strike as 30 people, do not think of yourself as 30 people. Not even one person should think about what would happen to them alone. You should all think about what happens to you collectively. What will it be like to win, to win together? To win by fighting? Those are the questions you should ask.”

Erdinç and Özay have not returned to work. They were two of the three people fired by management at the end of the strike. Now they work in an olive oil factory nearby. The union found them these jobs: the other members view it as their responsibility to look after comrades who have been victimised. They spend their days lugging 50kg barrels of oil back and forth and managing the extraction process. It’s hard manual work, but less dangerous than going underground.

Despite their victimisation, they are proud. “We couldn’t go back to our jobs. But we won something big and important for everyone else. It is our pride, our honour to have contributed to such a big victory for our friends.”

“Nobody should be in the hands of the rich.” Özay emphasises this. “If I only looked after my own comfort, I wouldn’t have lost my job. But I am very happy that I did, because my friends have kept their jobs, and they have won. I would rather have been the 302nd to die in the disaster than carry on working in those conditions and do nothing.”

Update from Umut-Sen, 7.12.2024

Something impressive happened today that we wanted to share. At Polonez Gıda (an Istanbul sausage factory) the bosses were uncomfortable with union mobilization and fired 13 workers. In response, the workers who wanted their friends back began a direniş inside the factory, while the union posted a strike decision. The workers’ struggle has been ongoing for about 140 days now.

The workers suffer from problems such as heavy working conditions, long shifts, overtime, and low wages. Yesterday, they made a statement: “We have shared our problems with all state institutions but could not find a solution. We are marching to Ankara as a last resort. We call on everyone to support our Constitutional Rights March.” This scenario is, of course, reminiscent of the Fernas miners. Similarly, and unfortunately, they were attacked and prevented by the police. They stated that they would start a hunger strike today.
The key point we want to emphasize is that workers are carefully observing each other’s experiences, quickly learning and adopting each other’s methods and means of struggle. If Fernas workers had not previously resorted to these struggle tactics, Polonez food workers would probably not have adopted this approach.