I’ve seen this script before. Now I’m living it.
Back in 2016, Waqas Mohammed – a machinist who’d given Cummins decades – hit a breaking point with anxiety and depression. He needed a therapeutic break. Instead of support, he faced a disciplinary hearing and then dismissal. The Employment Tribunal ruled it discrimination “arising from disability” and unfair dismissal, awarding him nearly £30,000, including £10,000 for injury to feelings. But Cummins wasn’t satisfied with that outcome. Not content with the ordeal they’d already subjected him to – dismissing him despite his mental health struggles and suffering a legal loss – they pressed on and appealed. They forced him through the Employment Appeal Tribunal on procedural grounds, making a man with mental health problems endure another draining process even after the Tribunal had found discrimination. The EAT agreed the original Tribunal’s explanation was flawed – on process, not outcome – and remitted the case for rehearing. Another round. Another delay. Another disabled individual compelled to jump through hoops for the same fight.
That wasn’t an isolated glitch. It was a blueprint.
Now it’s my turn.
I’m Lee Thompson, and my EAT pre-hearing looms. The pattern is unmistakable – a disabled claimant seeking justice meets process weaponised. But my case diverges in one key way – they went harder in round one, pouring more resources into winning upfront, to avoid a repeat of their initial loss to Mohammed. In this case I’m the appellant, I faced Cummins’ full arsenal right out of the gate and they successfully used their legal and financial might to overwhelm me and attain what I will argue was a deeply flawed victory. When I faced them at the Tribunal, they marshalled heavy legal hitters, drafted in witnesses from across the country, and successfully constructed a narrative in perfect harmony to vilify me – painting me as a conduct risk – even though I hadn’t set foot in the plant for six months due to health constraints. I observed witnesses travel long distances, only for key local witnesses to be unavailable for cross-examination when it mattered. The courtroom often deliberately packed, an underhand tactic to attack my anxiety. It was a show of force – overwhelm with resources, fragment the story, hope exhaustion wins. And it did. I now proceed to a 3(10) EAT pre-hearing to remedy that.
The tactics speak volumes. They didn’t just follow the playbook – they cranked it up. They invested heavily to frame me as the problem, rather than confront the real issues – how mental health was treated, how reasonable adjustments were ignored, how process became punishment. The emphasis on “conduct issues” rang hollow – after half a year away for documented health reasons, the narrative was spun as if absence equalled guilt. I’ve lived the silence and the spin – I know how they operate when the pressure is on.
Cummins talks “wellbeing” and “inclusion” on canteen screens and posters. They contract out mental health support – Employee Assistance Programmes, helplines with strangers. Yet when an employee actually breaks under the weight, it becomes a battleground. The resources they poured into my first hearing – expensive counsel, scattered witnesses, procedural manoeuvres – were never about truth or care. They were about sending a message – fight this at every turn. That’s the same machine that ground Mr Mohammed through repeat hearings – in my case, they simply intensified the grind.
I’ve read both rulings front to back. I know how the script unfolds – raise a health issue, meet silence or hostility, endure disciplinary framing. In Mohammed’s case, it was an appeal on procedural grounds – in mine, they threw everything at the initial hearing to undermine credibility, hoping to pre-empt a clear finding. Now, as I head back to the EAT, I recognise the pattern but also the escalation – they’re prepared to invest more to break resolve.
They can’t feign ignorance. The record is clear – I stepped away for health reasons; Cummins responded with process, discipline allegations, and a resource-heavy defence. They’ll lean on technicalities, contest every piece of evidence, and press me through another round. But this isn’t blind speculation – it’s drawn from documented steps in Mr Mohammed’s appeal and my Tribunal experience.
This isn’t revenge. It’s memory. It’s accountability.
And for every Cummins colleague silently battling mental health struggles – because statistically there are many – I refuse to go quietly. Not just for me, not just for them, not this time. The pattern demands exposure – it’s not one bad actor or a single bad decision; it’s a culture that defaults to combat when compassion is due. They spun a narrative to vilify a man absent by necessity – now they’ll learn that public accountability can cut deeper than any witness statement.
Cummins, take note – you can marshal all the legal firepower you want, but you can’t rewrite the truth. The same engine that powers trucks and generators should not grind people down. The script is written. Now the world’s reading it. I’m here to ensure they remember it – and to force change before this becomes someone else’s ordeal. Because, as history shows, Cummins thinks it’s above the bad optics of fighting a disabled claimant when he’s down.
Lee Thompson – Founder, The Cummins Accountability Project
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