There’s a saying in places like Cummins. They don’t say it out loud, of course. It’s the kind of thing whispered behind vending machines and masked by the hiss of air compressors: “If you can function, you can stay.” Doesn’t matter if your life’s on fire, your mind’s in a ditch, or your bloodstream’s a cocktail of substances – just show up, keep quiet, and keep the line moving.
One of my former colleagues – someone I shared floorspace and pay stubs with – was recently handed his driving license back. Why? Because he lost it. For a full year. After being caught TWICE. Caught by police, on his way to work, with drugs in his system. Not once. Twice. Most places, that’s a wrap. You’re done. Blacklisted. But at Cummins? He kept working. Full time. Day after day, shift after shift, with drugs running the show from the inside out.
And everyone knew. He regularly shares his spoils with other team members.
That’s the bit that sticks. Colleagues knew. But they didn’t care – not really. Because he could lift. He could assemble. He could meet quotas. What you put in your body wasn’t a problem as long as the machine kept humming and the metrics stayed green.
That’s not an anomaly. That’s culture.
This is the same place where mental health is a poster on the wall but not a presence in the room. Where shouting and breakdowns are just “bad days” and sedation’s a better option than support. You don’t raise issues – you self-medicate. You don’t ask for time – you grind through the spiral. You don’t collapse – you shut up and keep moving.
I’m not here to moralise. I’ve walked my own fucked-up roads. I’m not judging him. I’m judging the ecosystem that let him rot in plain sight. That rewarded silence. That valued speed over sanity. That wouldn’t accommodate someone with a diagnosed mental health condition – but would turn a blind eye to chemical impairment because it’s easier to pretend it isn’t there.
Call it efficiency. Call it loyalty. Call it what you want.
I call it rot.
Cummins doesn’t run on diesel. It runs on quiet desperation. On men and women pushing through trauma, addiction, depression, and pain so deep it’s easier to dose it than to name it. And when the system fails them? It doesn’t even flinch. It just keeps moving, like nothing happened. Because to Cummins, nothing did.
If there’s a crisis in this country’s factories, it’s not automation. It’s that the people building your engines are falling apart – and no one’s watching.
Not until someone like me comes along and tells the truth.
Lee Thompson – Founder, The Cummins Accountability Project
https://tcap.blog