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Alabama has earned hundreds of millions of dollars from prison labor since 2000. | AP News

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“Many prisoners work 40 hours a week outside their facilities and then get weekend passes, allowing them to go home without any supervision or electronic monitoring. So when prisoners are then told they’re too dangerous to be permanently released, England said, it looks like “another way to create a cheap labor force that is easily exploited and abused.””
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Major Trump donors who complained of immigrant ‘invasion’ used Mexican workers illegally, sources allege

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A company owned by two of Donald Trump’s top mega-donors has routinely brought dozens of its workers from Mexico to staff its warehouses in Wisconsin and other locations even though they do not appear to have permission to work in the US, according to a Guardian investigation.

Uline – a giant Wisconsin-based office and shipping supply company controlled by billionaires Liz and Dick Uihlein – shuttles in its own workers from Mexico, who are using tourist visas and visas meant for employees who are entering the US temporarily to receive professional training, known as B1 visas. But instead of being part of a dedicated training program, the Mexican employees stay for one to six months and – sources with direct knowledge of the matter allege – perform normal work in Uline’s US warehouses.

Lawyers and immigrants’ advocates told the Guardian they believed the alleged practice is likely illegal and could be exploitative of the workers enrolled in the program.

The company has allegedly used employees without proper work permits even as Dick Uihlein’s Super Pac, Restoration Pac, supported Trump’s presidential campaign with a TV advertisement attacking his opponent Kamala Harris for allowing an immigrant “invasion” at the US-Mexico border. The Uihleins have emerged as a major force in rightwing politics, spending tens of millions of dollars supporting candidates, including president-elect Trump and other rightwing politicians, who have called for a mass deportation of immigrants. They were the second-largest political donors in this year’s election, giving more than even Elon Musk, the world’s richest man.

Inside Uline, a privately held company worth an estimated $8bn, the Mexico-US program is called “shuttle support” and was launched about three years ago, sources said.

The Guardian’s reporting is based on interviews with sources who have direct knowledge of shuttle support and spoke on the condition of anonymity because of fear of reprisals, and internal documents seen by the Guardian that referred to the worker program, including rules for family members and other guests who are allowed to visit the workers. Over the course of a months-long investigation, Guardian reporters also observed a dozen Uline workers from Mexico living in a hotel near the company’s Pleasant Prairie headquarters, where the company pays for their lodging, food and rental cars. A staff member at the hotel confirmed that Uline was among the first customers at the hotel to book “blocks” of suites for workers when the hotel opened about three years ago.

A spokesperson for Uline and the Uihleins declined to comment.

Sources who spoke to the Guardian alleged that executives at the highest level of the company, including Liz Uihlein, know about shuttle support. It is not clear why executives have turned to staff that are employed by Uline in Mexico to work at their US warehouses, but sources said it could be connected to the company’s strict and complicated hiring practices, which include follicle drug testing of employees.

“They were not able to staff their warehouses, especially in Pennsylvania. So they looked at Mexico for workforce,” alleged one person with close knowledge of the matter.

The Mexican workers have an implicit understanding that they should tell border officials that they are entering the US to be trained at Uline, sources alleged.

One Uline document seen by the Guardian, which was used by a Uline employee in Mexico to enter the US, said the employee would be receiving training in warehouse safety, understanding how to use vehicle-mounted unit devices, and understanding how to identify warehouse locations. Legal experts said B1 visas are intended to be used for short-term visits – no longer than six months – and that workers are not meant to engage in “productive employment” in that time.

Once the Mexican workers enter the US, sources alleged, they work regular shifts in Uline warehouses alongside their American counterparts.

“They are actually doing work. Not training,” said one person with direct knowledge of the situation. The person added that Uline was “very careful” with the amount of time the Mexican employees stayed in the US.

They are paid their Mexican wages into accounts in Mexico. Although they receive some extra compensation for traveling to the US and staying there, they are paid far less than American counterparts, sources told the Guardian.

“The reason employees want to participate is because they give bonuses to those employees. They are risking their [tourist] visas. If they find out they are working, their visas would be revoked,” said one person with direct knowledge of the matter.

The sources who spoke to the Guardian said Uline pays all the costs for their Mexico-based workers to leave Mexico and fly to warehouse locations in the US, including in Wisconsin and Allentown, Pennsylvania. About 60 to 70 workers from the company’s sites in Mexico may be working in the US at any time, the sources alleged.

One internal Uline document reviewed by the Guardian suggests that at least some Uline workers in Mexico have been hired expressly to take part in the shuttle support program, and that workers understand that their future jobs are dependent on their participation in the program for indefinite periods.

Another internal document shows that requests for Mexican participants came from a senior executive at Uline’s Pleasant Prairie headquarters, where some warehouses are based.

3,000 miles from home

The corporate hotel in Wisconsin where at least a dozen Uline workers from Mexico live is about 3,000 miles (4,800km) from their homes in Mexico. Some are accompanied by their wives for their stay. Most participants in the shuttle support program are men.

The hotel is comfortable, and was designed to meet the needs of long-term guests. The clean and modern suites have kitchenettes, and breakfast is served every morning: a waffle machine, granola, eggs and dry cereal, and salsa, cheese and sour cream. Hotel staff seemed to make an effort for the holidays. The lobby area included a 10ft Christmas tree and other decorations – including four knit stockings, hung over a fake fire off to the side.

Still, the hotel, which the Guardian is not identifying to protect the safety of the workers, is located in a relatively remote location in landscape that would be barren but for the presence of huge warehouses – from Uline to Amazon – along the highway. Uline opened the largest warehouse in Wisconsin here earlier this month, a 1.44m sq ft facility that adds on to the company’s 9.6m sq ft footprint in the Kenosha area.

One Uline worker who spoke to the Guardian but did not provide his name said he had traveled to the US for training, but then proceeded to explain how he was working in the US for a longer period and doing the same kind of work he did in Mexico. He expressed a note of skepticism about the idea that such tasks could be described as “training”. He confirmed he had traveled to the US on his own tourist visa as well as a document that fit the description of a B1 visa, meant for business-related travel – but not wage labor.

‘It really shows the cynicism’

Immigration experts – including lawyers and advocates for immigrant rights – said they believed the shuttle support program appeared to break the law.

The B1 visas that are being used by some of the workers to enter the US are intended for workers to train or briefly attend a seminar or conferences, they said.

“It does not allow them to obtain wages for labor in the United States, it absolutely does not,” said Marc Christopher, a Wisconsin-based immigration lawyer. “If they’re doing warehouse work, especially second or third shift, that’s not a close call.” He added that he believed it was “absolutely 100% not allowed”.

Ira Kurzban, another immigration lawyer, said he believed it was “clearly illegal” for the company to be engaged in a pattern of conduct that possibly involved labor trafficking of people who were coming under “one pretense, but actually coming in for another reason”.

Uline’s alleged use of its Mexican workers to staff warehouses in the US underscored the real difficulties facing some companies, Kurzban said, in being able to secure legal arrangements for workers.

“This is the whole false premise of Trump. I mean, the idea that these people are taking jobs away from Americans. They’re not. We need millions of people to do this kind of work. We’ve always looked away even though we know most people who fulfill these kinds of jobs are not allowed to be working in the US.”

Another immigration lawyer, Mo Goldman from Arizona, said it is a common practice for employers to call him and ask him how to legally employ foreign workers, only to find that the legal processes are “very restrictive and difficult to navigate”.

“It does force employers to look at other ways to get the workers here, because they cannot find the workforce in the United States,” Goldman said.

He added that there have historically been significant civil penalties that have been rendered against companies for doing such things.

Christine Neumann-Ortiz, director of the Wisconsin immigrant and labor rights group Voces de la Frontera, said she believed the program was clearly undermining wages for all workers at the company.

“It is a way for Uline to undercut wages for US workers, while also not paying justly the Mexican workers for what their co-workers are earning here for the exact same work, while also having to sacrifice time away from their families and communities,” Neumann-Ortiz said.

She noted the irony of the Uihleins profiting “off the backs of Mexicans” even as they supported a presidential candidate – and now president-elect – who has vowed to deport immigrants, disparages them and wants to take away birthright citizenship.

“It really shows the cynicism – it’s a model of international labor exploitation, while at the same time really putting money into this propaganda campaign to try to pit workers against each other.”

The anti-immigrant sentiment also contradicts the reality facing American businesses, which is that they are facing severe labor shortages and have depended on the labor of undocumented workers for decades.

“They want to maintain [immigration], but under very oppressed conditions,” she said.

It is not the first time the Uihleins have acted in a way that appears to contradict their rightwing anti-immigration stance. ProPublica reported in 2019 that Uline had sought special visas for foreign workers even as Trump, whom Dick and Liz supported, was implementing his strictest immigration policies. The company even filed suit against the federal government in Illinois after the Trump administration rejected a 2018 petition to hire a full-time software engineer from India. In court testimony in an unrelated case, ProPublica noted, Dick Uihlein, who serves as CEO, was asked if his donations to a group supporting conservative politicians meant he did not just support immigration reform, but a more stringent immigration policy. He said: “I would say that’s correct, yep.”

Election deniers and Maga firebrands

Public records and media reports show the Uihleins became a major force in American politics after the landmark Citizens United decision, which upended campaign finance law and enabled corporations and other special interest groups to spend unlimited sums of money on elections.

Dick and Liz Uihlein have donated millions in support of politicians on the right, including Trump and other election-denying candidates and causes.

The family’s political influence has skyrocketed alongside the growth of their company, which brought in $8bn in revenue in 2024, up from $7bn in 2023 and $6.1bn in 2022. According to Federal Election Commission filings, the Uihleins spent at least $130m during the 2024 election cycle to support Trump and other rightwing Republicans.

Dick Uihlein has, in particular, focused his donations largely on culture-war candidates and Maga firebrands. In 2017, Uihlein was the top funder of Republican Roy Moore’s Senate bid, continuing to run ads in support of Moore even as the Alabama politician faced allegations of sexually assaulting minors. Moore denied any sexual misconduct. In 2022, Dick Uihlein threw his support behind the Pennsylvania gubernatorial candidate Doug Mastriano, a far-right politician who has decried the separation of church and state and peddled conspiracy theories.

In the wake of the January 6 Capitol riots, WBEZ Chicago revealed that Uihlein had bankrolled Tea Party Patriots, a group that helped organize the #StoptheSteal protest that gave way to the insurrectionary violence.

A July investigation by ProPublica and Documented also identified the Uihleins as supporters of Ziklag, a secretive Christian donor network that invested in voter purges, anti-trans activism and pro-Trump electoral infrastructure.

Outside of national politics, Dick Uihlein has demonstrated a particular interest in Wisconsin, where Uline is headquartered, and Illinois politics, where he and his wife live. In 2018, for example, Uihlein poured millions into an Illinois gubernatorial election, supporting the Republican incumbent’s primary challenger with ads blasting LGBTQ+ and abortion rights. During Wisconsin’s 2023 state supreme court race, Restoration Pac and Fair Courts America – groups that Uihlein has bankrolled – spent millions in support of the rightwing candidate Dan Kelly.

One Mexican Uline worker who spoke to the Guardian on the condition of anonymity said he felt the Uihleins’ strong support for Trump was “a little contradictory” given the company’s practice of bringing Mexican workers to the US.

“But I’m here to work, I’m not here in some illegal way,” he added.

  • Do you have a tip on this story? Please email: <a href="mailto:US.Investigations@theguardian.com">US.Investigations@theguardian.com</a>

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“It really shows the cynicism – it’s a model of international labor exploitation, while at the same time really putting money into this propaganda campaign to try to pit workers against each other.”
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Cycling to the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra, year-round | The Narwhal

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This story has been co-published with the Free Press.

Most Friday and Saturday evenings in the dark months of winter, the distinctive whir of tire treads can be heard crossing the pavement and ice outside the Centennial Concert Hall, home of the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra. As the downtown Exchange District buzzes with concertgoers shuffling on icy sidewalks and shielding themselves against the bracing Manitoba cold, Daniel Perry, a double bassist, arrives on his custom-built Osto fat bike. He wears only thin merino-wool base layers, snow pants and a light shell. Ice crystals form on the buff he wears over his face to protect his skin. 

Perry moved to Winnipeg from Indianapolis, Indiana, in 2014. “I had a really shitty Canadian Tire bike I got off Kijiji when I first moved here,” Perry recalls. “I didn’t get very far before I gave up, and I didn’t ride again for a few months.” 

Cycling in Winnipeg can be challenging. Winnipeg is traditionally a car city — not to mention that it is frequently dubbed the coldest city in Canada and is known for its icy winds. In Winnipeg, about 0.5 percent of the population commutes by bike. This is on par with cities like Toronto and Ottawa but behind Montreal, where 1.2 percent of the population cycles. Winter cyclists face myriad challenges beyond cold toes: unplowed bike lanes make for treacherous riding, road salt corrodes bike chains and snow compacted by car tires makes for an especially slippery commute. Despite these challenges, cyclists in Winnipeg persist, though their numbers dwindle substantially in the winter months. 

Chris Baker, the active transportation coordinator for the City of Winnipeg, says the city’s bike network is still in its “teenage years.” It’s come a long way since its infancy, but there’s still a lot of work to do. “Winnipeg has only had a bike policy or a plan since 2015,” he adds. That same year, Perry decided to invest in a decent pair of wheels. For him, cycling in the winter was the antidote to seasonal blues and the anxiety of driving, as well as a way to keep in shape — both mentally and physically.

In 2014, Perry had been excited to land a spot in the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra. It was a prestigious gig: there are only 41 bass spots available across the seven orchestras in Canada that pay above $40,000 per year, and openings are rare. But when he arrived alone on Winnipeg’s distant doorstep, so far from family and friends, Perry felt displaced, anxious and adrift. 

I know how Daniel felt. I also moved from the U.S. to join the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra. When I arrived 15 years ago, I too struggled to adjust to Winnipeg being my new home. 

Being part of the city’s professional symphony orchestra, as Perry puts it, felt like being in a “bubble that’s disconnected from the community.” With erratic work schedules and intense daily practice, newcomers to the symphony often settle into an insular, indoor existence, entrenched in the social circle and culture of the orchestra. In Perry’s small friend group, that culture involved many evenings a week of socializing and heavy drinking, not uncommon among symphony musicians.

After a year stuck indoors, suffering from asthma and allergies caused by dust and pet dander in friends’ homes, Perry committed to changing his habits. He vowed to stop drinking for a few months, start getting outdoors and begin exercising. Perry traded in his used Canadian Tire bike for a new road bike, better suited to longer rides and city streets. 

He began pulling up the Google Maps bike feature and exploring Winnipeg. Suddenly, he found himself seeing things he’d never noticed when driving.

Before long, he was hooked on biking. Within a couple of years, he’d given up his car altogether and relied on his bike as his primary mode of transportation, including riding to work. As a fellow orchestra member, I always felt I could be forgiven for driving to work. My cello — my most precious possession — is, like all stringed instruments, susceptible to extreme cold and heat. It’s also next to impossible to transport by bicycle. 

Perry faces an even bigger barrier to commuting by cycle in a wintry, windy city. He plays the double bass, one of the largest instruments in the orchestra, alongside the harp and piano. Basses are cumbersome and heavy, nearly two metres tall, and extremely delicate. Like all string instruments, they are expensive and can cost as much as buying a car. Perry’s solution: use his second bass to practise at home and avoid transporting his primary bass to and from the concert hall. 

Perry’s relationship with Winnipeg has evolved in tandem with its biking infrastructure. There are now more than 400 kilometres of bike lanes, greenways and multi-use paths. “[I discovered] how [routes] are connected to the riverside paths, they go through neighbourhoods and next to green spaces, and [I] actually got to see that side of the city,” Perry tells me, speaking both scenically and geographically. “I was like, ‘Oh — this is a beautiful place!’ ” 

These days, Perry is a local fixture on Winnipeg’s bike lanes. 

He has also become deeply entrenched in Winnipeg’s cycling community. As local cyclist Leslie Parisien puts it, “You can’t throw a rock around here without finding someone that knows Daniel.” He volunteers with organizations like The Wrench, which uses reclaimed parts to refurbish bikes and offers classes, workshops and community programming with the stated aims of “educating youth, empowering volunteers and providing people with affordable, sustainable active transportation options.”

Perry’s infectious enthusiasm for biking has rubbed off on his colleagues at the orchestra. “I do try to celebrate that since I started, we’ll have winter days where there are between five and ten people riding to work in the middle of winter,” Perry says. “For me, that’s where I have power … even if that’s in the smallest of ways, it’s a change, and that’s what I can do.” The municipal government also appears to be taking notice of the growing cycling community: Baker notes the city has committed to increasing its active transportation budget. (The 2025 city capital budget for the pedestrian and cycling program is $2.2 million, and is forecast to rise to $5.4 million in 2026.) Still, some cyclists feel the current efforts aren’t enough. 

According to Manitoba Public Insurance, every year, an average of four cyclists in Winnipeg are killed in collisions with cars, with an additional 78 injured. Edmonton, by comparison, has an annual budget of $33.3 million for cycling infrastructure and plans to expand its bike network through 2026. On average, there was only one cyclist fatality per year between 2012 and 2022.

Few studies have been done on the impact of infrastructure design on cyclists’ safety. Those have indicated that when dedicated bike-only infrastructure exists, the risk of crashes and injuries is significantly reduced in addition to providing sustainable transportation options and benefits to public health. Perry and others believe well-maintained, dedicated bike lanes are essential to prevent fatalities like one in June this year when long-time cyclist Rob Jenner was killed on an urban street. Patty Wiens is one of those working to ensure city officials make cycling safe. 

“We have to hold them to task,” Wiens, known as the “Bike Mayor of Winnipeg,” says. (Bike Mayor is a title bestowed on 141 people in dozens of countries by Bicycle Citizen Network, an Amsterdam-based organization providing support to community-led cycling initiatives and Bike Mayors across the globe.) When Weins meets with Mayor Scott Gillingham, — she calls him the “Car Mayor” — she pushes for three changes to make roads safer for cyclists: reduce residential speed limits to 30 kilometres per hour, eliminate right turns for cars at red lights and remove all slip lanes. Weins, who rides an e-bike, finds her sense of community enriched by cycling activism: “We’re too isolated. I think that is why the bike community has become so crucial. We find these people who feel the way we do. We bond together, and then we’re outside together. I’ve added probably 200 new friends to my life that I can honestly say are friends.”

While Winnipeg’s punishing winters and fragmented bike routes scare off many cyclists, Perry remains undeterred. And his relationship to the orchestra has changed for the better as well. With a deeper connection to the community, he says, “now for me, this is more of a job than an identity.”

Finding a healthier work-life balance has allowed Perry to explore the world of competitive winter marathon bike races. As he gradually increased his distance, he started to eye the 268-kilometre Toscobia Winter Ultra in Wisconsin. “It sounded kind of ridiculous but also attainable enough that I wanted to go for it.” He thought, “If this is an actual event, and people do this all the time, why can’t I be one of those people?” 

Now, Perry is not only one of those people, but he is incredibly successful. He finished first in the 2023 Tuscobia Ultra, in which he also won a spot to compete in Alaska’s fabled Iditarod Trail Invitational — a behemoth fat bike ultra-marathon which takes place annually each February, covering more than 560 kilometres. Perry, one of only a few rookies on the trail this year, rode to a fourth-place finish. 

Though Perry and I have sat in close quarters on the orchestra stage for ten years, I visited his home for only the second time about a month after the race. I found him sitting cross-legged on his sleek grey sofa, sipping a cup of black coffee. Bella, a small, elderly rescue he was dog-sitting, was curled up like a croissant at the opposite end of the couch. Sporting a mullet and trimmed beard, he was “still processing” the Iditarod experience and seemed philosophical.

“I’m not just obsessed with bikes,” he tells me. “I use it as a tool or an avenue for other things.” 

Perry spends a lot of time on his bike in reflection, he says, doing what he calls his “inner work.” And without his bike, Perry knows his connection to his community in Winnipeg wouldn’t be as rich.

Beyond the physical benefits of cycling year-round, biking has also propelled Perry’s personal development and community activism. Cycling is no longer simply a mode of transportation. 

There are many sub-zero temperature evenings when Perry arrives at the concert hall, rosy-cheeked and refreshed from his commute. He’s already started mentally and physically preparing for his performance on his ride to work. He says, “I like to take time to think about my breathing and my posture and my muscle engagement while I’m riding … this helps me warm up and think about using my entire body to play bass.”

He wheels his bike backstage, past colleagues already in their evening dress. Perry and the other bassists he inspired to ride to work leave their bikes in a large instrument storage room. Fat bikes parked between instrument cases and storage lockers spark conversations about recent rides, road conditions and weather. Layers of sweaty clothing are peeled off and hung on handlebars to dry, as orchestra members change into tuxedos, dresses and other formalwear. 

As the ice melts and drips from his bike tires, Perry sits on stage, just one cog in the wheel of the orchestra, anticipating his ride home after the concert amid the snow falling gently outside. Perry is thankful for the relationship he has cultivated with cycling. “I needed something, that I did on my own terms, that I could have as a passion away from music,” he says. “My world is so much bigger now.”

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