Rx firm Teva in throes of crisis
Company’s cuts stir Israeli worry
LONDON — To the rest of the world, Teva Pharmaceutical Industries is simply one of the world’s biggest makers of generic drugs. In Israel, it is the corporate version of a national celebrity.
The first homegrown, global success story and one of Israel’s largest employers, Teva is both a source of pride and a symbol of the country’s financial ambitions. Its place in the Israeli public’s imagination is similar to the one General Motors, in its heyday, occupied in America — but in a nation with a population about the size of New York City’s. The company’s shares are owned by so many pension funds that it is known informally as the people’s stock.
Today, many of those people are furious. Management missteps and tectonic shifts in the pharmaceutical business have battered Teva, which faces declining prices for generic drugs and the loss of a patent on a major branded drug. More than $20 billion has been shorn from the company’s market capitalization since 2017 began, cutting Teva’s value roughly in half.
Everyone in Israel knew that layoffs and plant closings were coming, but what was expected was something akin to painful trims. Instead, on Dec. 14, Teva announced what amounted to an amputation.
Roughly 14,000 jobs will be slashed, about one-fourth of the company’s worldwide workforce, with 1,700 of those jobs based in Israel. Manufacturing plants will close, and parts of the company will be sold. Bonuses were canceled, and the stock’s dividend was
suspended.
About the only positive reaction to this news came from investors, who sent Teva shares up about 14 percent. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said in a statement he would urge the company to “retain its Israeli identity,” words that seemed to mollify no one.
Three days after Teva’s announcement, some workers burned tires outside a Teva plant while others tied up rush-hour traffic with street protests. It went beyond workers, with people across the country taking part in a half-day strike that closed
banks, government institutions, the stock exchange and Ben-Gurion International Airport near Tel Aviv.
Teva employees continued to protest for days. “There is uncertainty, fear,” said Lital Nahum, a 25-year-old lab worker who was sitting on a wall outside a Teva plant in Jerusalem last week, as two dozen other striking workers milled around. “Nobody thought it would come to this.”
With domestic plants targeted for closing, many people argued that Teva factories in India and Ireland should be closed before any in Israel. Netanyahu agreed and said
that the government would use “various means at our disposal” to urge the company to keep its plants in Jerusalem open.
Netanyahu did not specify what those means might be, but a guilt trip appeared to be his only weapon. Teva has enjoyed tax breaks and subsidies worth nearly $6 billion over the past decade.
Whatever approach Netanyahu used, it did not work. A meeting on Dec. 19 with Kare Schultz, Teva’s recently hired chief executive, yielded little more than a curt statement from the prime minister’s office announcing plans for
studying ways to provide fired workers with training and to help them find new jobs.
Schultz, in a statement of his own, sounded like a man ready to carry out the unhappy task he had been hired to perform. “Unfortunately, Teva is unable to consent to the request of the prime minister and ministers and avoid the closure of the plant in Jerusalem,” he said. He described this and other measures as “painful but absolutely vital,” and he added that it was “designed solely to achieve our shared aspirations to sustain Teva as a strong global company, managed out of and