This New York Times obituary for Warren Anderson, the former chair and chief executive of Union Carbide Corporation, made me reflect on the life and times of his former corporation, some of which is (of course) is related in the obituary.
The obituary goes into considerable detail about the Union Carbide chemical plant disaster in Bhopal, India. The tragedy, in addition to the horrific Indian loss in lives, turned Mr. Anderson effectively into a fugitive from Indian justice for the rest of his life, while the financial toll from the settlement with Indian authorities and the public relations toll from the accusations made by Indian officials, employees and residents eventually took Carbide from the top of the Fortune 500 ranks to its current status as a subsidiary of Dow Chemical.
I can't say that anyone foresaw the Bhopal tragedy. Certainly, I didn't. But I can't say that I was completely shocked by it. By the loss of life, yes. But not by Carbide's evasive manner of dealing with it.
Union Carbide came on my radar (apart from Eveready commercials) during the 1970s, when my fascination with New York City, which began with the World's Fair, led to an obsession with media stories about the city's decline and near-fall. On the economic side, a major part of that decline was the departure of corporate headquarters to the suburbs or the Sunbelt. When Carbide announced, in 1976, that it was moving its world headquarters from New York City to Danbury, Connecticut, it was an especially devastating blow, as 3,500 employees were leaving the city with the headquarters. Pleas from city and state officials were to no avail, as Carbide officials cited "quality of life" considerations (i.e., getting away from the city's soaring crime rate, but also easing the commute for top-ranking executives who lived in the suburbs).
At the time, departures such as Carbide's were considered to exemplify the superior wisdom of nimble private-enterprise management, compared to the bureaucratic, tax-hungry perspective of public officials. But corporate relocations--and the public incentives that often fuel them--have nothing to do with capitalism. If anything, they reflect the laziness of both public and private officials who would rather play games than do the hard work of thinking about new and creative ways to make their companies, cities or states better. Capitalism shouldn't be fueled by public-sector bribes, and governments shouldn't play favorites with their treatment of businesses. Both practices are breeding grounds for corruption.
I'm not saying that, had Union Carbide remained in New York, the Bhopal disaster would never have occurred. I am saying that the basic, looking-out-for-Number-One mentality that fuels these decisions, and the assistance provided in making them by public officials charged with looking out for the public interest, can be seen as the start of a slippery slope that begins in Danbury and ends in Bhopal. If you are treated like a God, over and over again, you will be tempted to think you are infallible. And, because you are not, that mindset makes you an inevitable, if not willing, agent of tragedy.
Perhaps Warren Anderson took to his grave the answer to question of what happened in Bhopal, and why. Maybe it had nothing to do with the mindset that took Carbide to Connecticut. But he was in upper management at the time both decisions were made. It might have been his greatest gift if he could have found a way to share some insights into the Carbide mentality. The corporation began its death spiral on his watch. What he knew, or didn't know, might help other corporations, or public officials, from making the same mistakes.
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