Fight for the future of the PCK refinery in Schwedt: “No vision even after three years”
Three years after the famous Habeck handshake, PCK employees in Schwedt still fear for their future. They seem to have lost faith in politics.
What hope do people still have in politics? This is what one wonders when one sees around 2,000 refinery workers and citizens of the city of Schwedt standing in the central Square of Liberation last Wednesday afternoon. In their green and orange work suits, with their PCK flags ("We move Berlin and Brandenburg!") and BSW posters. They seem strangely lethargic. No music, no slogans, no anger. As if a heavy coat were resting on their shoulders. Restrained laughter at the beer and bratwurst stands. Yet so much is at stake.
The PCK refinery fears for its future. And with it, its employees, the town's residents, and essentially the entire region. Everything here depends on the factory, on the good wages. The refinery is the beacon of theUckermark region , its largest employer. It supplies all of eastern Germany, including the capital, with petrol, heating oil, and kerosene. And it has done so for more than 850 days without Russian oil. That's the crux of the matter.
At the end of 2022, the German government decided to forgo oil from Russia in the future because of the war in Ukraine . The embargo went beyond the EU's sanctions plans. Originally, only oil deliveries by sea were to be banned. But the German government wanted to further increase pressure on Moscow and also banned deliveries by land. The Druzhba pipeline, through which thousands of tons of oil flowed daily from Siberia to Schwedt, was shut down. For the small town of Schwedt on the German-Polish border, high in the north of Brandenburg, a period of uncertainty began.
At the beginning of this year, the works council sounded the alarm. The plant was only operating at 80 percent capacity and was making losses, said chairman Danny Ruthenburg. A hiring freeze and threatened job cuts. 300 to 400 jobs could be lost, a quarter of the workforce. And for every PCK employee, there are three times as many at partner companies. Layoffs have already taken place there.
The people of Schwedt had seen this coming, three years ago. The refinery was designed to process heavy Russian Ural oil. For more than 60 years, it was connected to the Druzhba River like an umbilical cord. Now it has to process crude oil from 30 countries: India, Saudi Arabia, and Kazakhstan. Delivered by ship across the oceans to Rostock and Gdansk, and from there to Schwedt. That costs money. And it puts a strain on production, wears out the equipment, and increases emissions. The state environmental agency recently even had to grant PCK exemptions from pollutant levels so the refinery can continue operating at all.
Schwedt residents protested three years ago, warning of the consequences of the embargo. They booed Economics Minister Robert Habeck and wrested a handshake from him for his promises. Schwedt was promised a lot of money, a job guarantee, and the expansion of the pipeline from the port of Rostock. And even though no one has been laid off at PCK to date, the prevailing sentiment in the city is that it's all been for nothing. They're still waiting here for the pipeline to be expanded. Approval from Brussels is still missing.
That's why they're standing here again today. Waiting for the state governor. Dietmar Woidke is running late. The demo band has already played, and now everyone is standing around, somewhat hesitant. Waiting to the right of the stage is Danny Ruthenburg, the works council chairman. A tall man, with friendly, blue eyes and a soft voice. Not exactly your typical class warrior. And yet something like the refinery's unofficial spokesperson. If any clear words come out of the plant, it's from him. In front of Ruthenburg are a few Brandenburg celebrities: Economics Minister Daniel Keller, the mayor of Schwedt, Annekathrin Hoppe, a former member of the Bundestag from the CDU. All three in jackets. Ruthenburg is wearing his green and orange PCK suit.
Why so quiet today, Mr. Ruthenburg? Perhaps, he says, because Rosneft, the refinery's majority shareholder, has procured more oil from Kazakhstan . 200,000 tons each for May and June. Almost twice as much as in the previous months. "That puts us at about 87 percent capacity utilization." At 85 percent, the plant is economically viable. The emergency is no longer quite as great. At least for the moment.
Safety for the employees, however, looks different. No one knows whether the Kazakh deliveries will continue. And the ownership question remains open. The German Rosneft subsidiary is under trust administration. Shell and Eni also hold shares. Shell has long wanted to withdraw but hasn't found a buyer. The same applies to Rosneft. None of the companies wants to invest in Schwedt anymore. For this reason, Dietmar Woidke warned the federal government in February that action must be taken. But nothing has been done to date. Instead, Woidke's black limousine rolls up. The SPD state premier, wearing a black, tailored suit, warmly greets the mayor, his party colleague, with a hug. And also the city's ophthalmologist, Konstanze Fischer, who is co-organizing the protest. She is the first to take the stage.
Almost everyone here in Schwedt, from the mayor to the BSW representative, is demanding one thing: a return to Russian oil and an end to the sanctions. This has already caused quite a bit of trouble for Schwedt. Schwedt wants to lift the embargo in the middle of a war? In the East, of all places! Typical, some say. For Green Party politician Michael Kellner, it's an expression of an "unfortunate attitude toward Russia."
Konstanze Fischer on stage sees things differently. Since the war, Russia has exported more oil than it has in years, she exclaims. Instead of going to Germany, the oil is now going to China, India, or Turkey. And Europe is buying refined products from those very countries. "Of course, that's a way to destroy its industry." Applause. Murmurs. The topic of war is on people's minds. Those calling for more diplomacy with Russia receive the most applause.
Dietmar Woidke also feels this. While he didn't bring any news, he did have conciliatory words. He calls on the new federal government to keep the refinery, "the heart of the Uckermark," alive. He also hopes that "the federal government will take clear diplomatic initiatives" for a "just peace in Ukraine." And that "good economic relations with Russia will then be restored, at the latest." That resonates with the people here.
After that, many people stop listening. While Mayor Hoppe is speaking, the PCK chairman and Economics Minister Keller begin conversations in the audience. In the middle of it all: Luca Piwodda , 25, Mayor of Gartz, the youngest mayor of Brandenburg. In recent months, Piwodda has gained some media attention for his refreshing political style and his harsh criticism of the parties in the Bundestag. Gartz, too, is loyal to the PCK. Even today, he doesn't hold back with his criticism.
"Anyone who comes here has to bring at least one or two pieces of news," he says. "Or something people can hold on to. Not just repeat what everyone else is already thinking." At the front, Economics Minister Keller mumbles into the microphone. This situation has existed for three years, Piwodda continues. "And there's still no vision." At the end, there's more applause, then the Square of Liberation quickly empties. The rally ends as it began: without much fanfare. The demonstration band sings "Knockin' on Heaven's Door," and there's laughter at the beer stand. Perhaps this is the reason for the strangely weary mood: that the people of Sweden already knew beforehand that nothing would change for the time being. That they would have to continue hanging in limbo. The only expectation that was fulfilled today.
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Berliner-zeitung
