SALISBURY (Maryland) DAILY TIMES May 17, 2006
Non-profit a pillar to farmworkers' families By Stacia Childers "You are never strong enough that you don't need help." Cesar Chavez, activist, founder, National Farm Workers Association Ivan Deanda always wanted to go to college and play soccer. Ideally, he would like to do both. But after graduating from high school last June, he decided to take a year-long break to earn some money before going to college. He was working as a cashier at Food Lion in Exmore when his life took an unexpected turn. This March, a local office of the non-profit Telamon Corporation helped him get a job at Accomack County Department of Social Services, and is supporting him every step of the way. Now active in 11 states, Telamon was first established in North Carolina in 1965 to serve those in need, including at-risk youth, low-income and elderly residents of rural America, those in poverty, and migrant and seasonal farmworkers. The organization's Belle Haven office is one of seven in Virginia, and has been working predominantly with farmworkers and their families since 1975. Its goal is not handouts (although it does operate an emergency food bank), but to provide assistance towards self-sufficiency. "Our services are designed to help people remove barriers to employment so funds are available to assist customers with those barriers," says Cecily Rodriguez, Telamon Virginia's deputy state director, based in Richmond. "Two of the biggest barriers to employment, of course, are not being able to drive and not having a high school degree," she said in a recent email. Telamon can pay for tuition, daycare, shoes, books, glasses, even hire a driver to taxi those without a license to their classes. Its programs have helped clients learn English, get their driver's license and GED, and train for new careers in nursing, construction and medical translation. They provide crucial pesticide safety training for those in the fields and organize cultural excursions to expose the children of farmworkers to the opportunities waiting for them in the world beyond the camps. But although the organization's name and logo are representative of this core idea of human support -- a telamon is a supporting pillar in the shape of a human used in Roman architecture -- lasting change is dependent on the individual. "I need you to be involved in finding a permanent solution to your situation," regional manager Soraya Buckner recalls telling one potential client, who was asking for rent assistance, but who was not interested in becoming more employable. Buckner and case manager Alma Trevino are constantly networking, hoping to partner with employers on the Eastern Shore to set up placements such as Deanda's. Recent partnerships include a potential job shadowing opportunity at Shore Memorial Hospital, working with the Eastern Shore Literacy Council to provide English language literacy and placing a client with a local contractor for on-the-job training in construction. Once clients are employed in their new positions, a Telamon representative meets with them twice a month to see how they're fitting in, determine if they need any additional training and to help them in any way possible during their first year on new jobs. "We're supposed to be part of their support system, to continue to that point where they are self-sufficient," says Trevino. Another incentive to employers is a refund of the employee's salary of up to 30 percent while the client learns the job, thereby lessening the risk to the employer of hiring someone with an "unproven" work history. Although Mary Parker, director of Accomack's Social Services Department, says that the salary refund did not give Deanda a boost over any other prospects -- they had actually been talking to him about the job before Telamon stepped in -- she allows that it doesn't hurt, either. "We're like everybody else. We have a tight bottom line. Anything that can help in that regard, we're happy to receive." For Deanda, Social Services was a perfect fit. Not only is the pay better, so is the environment, he says. As the youngest employee -- he'll be 19 in June -- he receives some mother hen treatment from veteran employees. But the job answers another call for Deanda, whose compassionate nature is evident in his seemingly endless, genuine, smile and the soft laughter that continually punctuates his conversation. "I like helping people. It's something I've always enjoyed," he says in flawless English, a product of necessity cultivated after he found himself in a fifth-grade Eastern Shore classroom speaking only Spanish. Since he first started learning English, neighbors in his camp have asked for his help translating or filling out forms in English, and has even accompanied them on hospital visits to serve as an interpreter. Now he is getting paid to help people and gaining invaluable real work experience in the process. An early childhood in Guanajuato, a state in central Mexico known for the beauty of its capital city and the mines constructed since colonial times to access the fat vein of silver running underneath it, has engendered in Deanda a deep appreciation for his life in the States. "People ask me how I like it here,"he says. He shakes his head and smiles, laughing. "It's like heaven." In rural Guanajuato, he says, many farmworkers are isolated on ranches. Necessities, which must be purchased on earnings of about $50 a week, are two hours away on dirt roads. Where Deanda grew up, which he describes with little affection as "the middle of nowhere," there is no running water. He lived with his grandparents while his mother traveled, looking for work. "My mom wanted me to become somebody," says Deanda of her efforts to immigrate. She tried living in the United States once before, but eventually returned to Mexico. The second time she ventured north of the border, she stayed. The family -- Deanda, mother Carolina, step-father Valentine Cuevas, and little sisters Samantha, 8, and Vanessa, 2, live in a camp in Painter, where they first put down roots in 1998. It is through Valentine Deanda, the head of the family and an employee of Kuzzen's, that the family qualifies for Telamon's services through the federally funded National Farmworker Jobs Program. To qualify, applicants must provide proof that they are legally eligible to work in the United States, that they have worked in agriculture sometime within the last two years, earned at least $800 and that at least 50 percent of their income comes from farm work. In addition, the family's total annual income cannot exceed the federal poverty guidelines, which vary according to family size. Currently, $16,090 is the maximum that a family of three can earn to become eligible. Assistance also includes access to an emergency food bank with a bilingual staff that is only available to farmworkers and their families. Buckner says that sometimes a crew leader will arrive for the season with 30 to 40 workers who need tiding over until they get their first paycheck. To expose youth to cultural and career opportunities outside the fields, the Barth Foundation Youth Program funds field trips and provides tutoring assistance to children ages eight to 18. Many migrant children don't have the opportunity to travel for learning and pleasure, says Buckner, who is hoping to next organize a trip to Washington D.C. The Environmental Protection Agency requires growers to provide pesticide safety training to its employees, and Telamon's SAFE program brings a bilingual Americorp volunteer to the job site to conduct free, in-depth trainings with visual aids. The visuals are particularly necessary for a new migrant population beginning to appear -- those of native South American Indian descent who speak neither Spanish nor English. The training is interactive with pointed questions to ensure participants fully understand the dangers and proper handling of the poisons. "We emphasize that even if you don't see (pesticide), it's there," Buckner says. "They can have it on their clothes and then hug the children. This program helps protect farmworkers' health and their children's health, too." Even though the majority of its clients are Hispanic, Telamon's programs are available to any farmworker, regardless of race. In the last year, the organization has worked with 28 families on the Eastern Shore -- three Caucasian, 10 African-American and 13 Hispanic. The customer base of the Eastern Shore office "simply mirrors the type of workers in the fields right now," says Rodriguez. The 43-year-old Buckner is no stranger to agriculture, farm work or Hispanic culture. Born in Columbia, she also spent nearly a decade in Italy where she oversaw operations at an Italian winery. She has a Master's degree in agriculture, and after moving to the Eastern Shore nearly seven years ago, she worked with farmers and farmworkers through the Virginia Employment Commission as a farm placement specialist. She apologizes for her heavily accented English, and although her voice is strong and her words forceful and direct, her movements are loose and fluid, a product, perhaps, of her tropical upbringing or of her martial arts practice. She is informal and friendly, casually taking a seat on a cardboard box in the food pantry as she talks. Not all workers wish for freedom from the fields, she explains. Some are content to continue trading relatively low pay, no benefits and erratic work for blocks of time free in the colder months to return to Mexico, Guatemala, or other countries of origin to visit family. "But I can still help his wife, niece or daughters," whoever depends on the worker's paycheck, if they have aspirations of their own, Buckner says. Her office sees a lot of women, many of them mothers who have numerous demands on their time, and who may not receive support for their ambitions at home. "The work is very intense," says Buckner, speaking of the emotional side of her job. Often the first step, she says, is to "help them raise up their self-esteem and confidence." Even though she just officially became a citizen of the United States, she misses the food and culture of Columbia, and hints that she may one day return home, if her American husband will go with her. For now, there is work to do and dreams to fulfill. "It's free," says Buckner of Telamon's services. "The payback is to find a job and keep with it. That is my only requirement." Now both Deanda and his mother are benefiting from the Telamon connection. She is participating in English as a Second Language classes on Monday and Tuesday nights, and Buckner and Trevino will help her find a job when she's ready. Deanda says that few of his neighbors know of Telamon's job services, and when he mentions it, they are initially suspicious. Government intervention and assistance is something of a foreign concept in Latin America. Many of the governments are corrupt, or have been sometime within the recent past, and Buckner says that "when Latin people hear about something free from the government, it is new for them and they cannot trust this easily." Those with green cards may fear that assistance from Telamon may be a barrier to U.S. citizenship or that their eligible worker status may be revoked, although neither is true. So even though the food bank is routinely cleaned out, and hundreds of workers receive valuable information about the agricultural poisons they work with daily, Telamon is only serving a fraction of those eligible for job services. Buckner and her staff have been busy with outreach to publicize their programs and swell their caseload. For his part, Deanda tries to reassure his neighbors. "I tell them not to be scared. They've helped me a lot," he says. Besides more money for college, job training, and invaluable real work experience for his resume, the opportunity at DSS has had another effect. Originally, Deanda planned to major in office administration, or computers. But now, after three months in his new job, Deanda thinks that when it comes time to declare a major, he might choose social work instead.
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