“You get close to doing some silly things when you’ve been off for six or seven months”, says Tim (not his real name), a Linfox worker, who has been stood down without pay. “The worst part is to see your partner come under pressure to pick up the slack. You feel useless, you feel worthless.”
It’s five o’clock in the morning, cloudy and cold. The sun won’t rise over us for a couple of hours. We’re talking to Tim out the front of the Coles Linfox distribution centre in Truganina, a suburb in Melbourne’s west. The National Union of Workers (NUW) has organised a candle-light vigil to commemorate Workers’ Memorial Day, a global day of mourning for dead and injured workers.
Around 20 or so NUW members and some officials mill around talking shop and trading war stories. The mood is sombre and conversation inevitably turns to health and safety. 
Tim tells us that he injured his arm doing the repetitive heavy lifting that is the lot of warehouse workers. In the six months he’s been off he’s used up his sick pay and annual leave to get by. Linfox is forcing injured workers out of the workplace, he says.
“We can’t even get any help from the government because they [Linfox] won’t give us a separation certificate. I went and saw Centrelink and they said they would give me $7.58 per fortnight!”
 “I can’t take the washing out, I can’t move, I can’t do anything”, he says. 
Linfox has become notorious in recent months for meting out this kind of treatment to its workers. In April the Age reported the story of John Russell, 65, who injured his shoulder at work and was stood down without pay. He had worked for Linfox for 37 years. Everyone here knows about John, but he is one of many.
According to an NUW official, the company has raised its pick rate (the number of cartons to be picked per hour) by 50 percent in the last year. This sharp increase led to a spike in workplace injuries, necessitating a merciless approach to the continued employment of older or injured workers, people deemed “liabilities”.
Many claim that Linfox intentionally forces older permanent workers into the most gruelling jobs in order to break them, so they can be replaced by younger casuals.
According to Tim, there can be other reasons too. “The real agenda can be against union delegates and health and safety reps, because they stand up for workers”, he says. “Or it could be against anyone who stands up to management, people that have been in the industry for longer and that know their rights.”
Linfox has made a particularly morbid name for itself in one of the most dangerous industries in Australia, but the other main Coles distribution centres are no better.
The NUW recently conducted a survey across the three largest Coles warehouses in Victoria, run by Linfox, Toll and Polar Fresh. Of the workers surveyed, 90 percent said they experience pressure to achieve pick rates; 75 percent say they are forced to work unsafely; nearly half said that they hadn’t reported an injury because of fear about job security and 86 percent believe that Coles is responsible for conditions in the distribution centres. 
“We know that Coles is pushing pressure down the supply chain”, Susie Allison, assistant secretary of the Victorian branch of the NUW, told the vigil. “That is what is injuring our workers and Coles must be held accountable”, she said. 
As the speeches wind down a middle-aged man cautiously speaks up from the edge of the crowd. “Excuse me ... can I say something?” Everyone turns toward the voice as Brad (not his real name) gathers himself to speak.
“I’d just like to say that we should remember my sister too. She passed away on the operating table after suffering a work-related injury.”
Afterwards we wander over to find out more about his story. Brad tells us that a year ago Linfox pushed the pick rates up to levels that aren’t achievable.
“If you can’t reach the pick rates you won’t get overtime. They keep pushing you and bullying you every time your pick rate is low. I’d try to get them off my shoulders and push myself to achieve the target. That’s how I hurt my back.”
Brad was injured in May last year. He didn’t realise it was three slipped disks until he had scans done months later. Like all the others, he’s been stood down without pay. He’s used up his sick pay, rostered days off and annual leave to survive, but it’s been a month without work and he’s running out of money.
 “I’ve got ten kids and a mortgage”, he says. “I’m struggling to put food on the table. I might lose my house.”
His voice begins to crack and he takes a second to collect himself. In the silence we can hear the distant roar of semi-trucks that are navigating the dark, deserted streets of this city’s vast industrial west.
“Management tried to claim that I injured myself outside of work in order to avoid paying any compensation. And if you speak up, they will send you to sections with a lot of heavy lifting, like dog food, for punishment. Even though they knew I was injured, they sent me to pick dog food for over two weeks as punishment for speaking up.”
“I’m not a bludger,” he insists, as though he’s faced that accusation before, “I want to work. But when you get hurt you become replaceable to them.”
We ask him about his sister. She was injured at another warehouse, he says. The step-ladder she was standing on broke and she fell backward, hurting her back. Eventually she needed surgery to fix it but didn’t survive the operation.
“Now, I’ve hurt my back, but I’m terrified of having an operation”, he says. “I know that I will carry this injury with me for the rest of my life.”

‘When you get hurt you become replaceable’

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