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A painful way to make a living, but for some migrants, little choice
By CORY FROLIK
With mechanical efficiency, the 80 or so workers -- all men, all
Hispanic, all younger than 45 -- begin sifting through the green, bushy
leaves to find shiny, softball-sized peppers, which they pitch into
plastic baskets they carry at their sides.
After the men fill their baskets past the brim, they hoist the 20-pound
bins to their shoulders and shuffle over to the trailer.
The pickers toss the baskets up to a pair of young men who straddle the
crates and dump the peppers inside.
It takes about 45 peppers to fill a basket, and a veteran field worker
can fill one in less than two minutes. Even the slowest pickers take no
longer than a few minutes to fill their bins.
It then takes thousands of the peppers -- about 18 to 20 bushels worth
-- to fill a crate.
It's strenuous work that takes a serious toll on the muscles at the base
of the spine.
Hunched over all day long, the workers often develop excruciating aches
and pains in their lower backs.
"It's so hard on you and so hard on your back," said George Gamboa, who
did the work for years and years. "Eventually, your back just goes numb.
I mean, it all depends on how much you worked the day before, but you'd
usually come back to work still sore."
But through the discomfort, the men push on.
They are all migrant farm workers and understand pain is just part of
the job.
Hard work
Born in
His parents, who crossed into the
His folks still divide their time between the
Gamboa, now 35 with some gray in his beard, also used to hopscotch
between the
As a teenager, Gamboa walked behind celery tractors to make sure none of
the product fell off the wagon.
When it did, it was his job to scoop it up and return it to the trailer
bed.
Although the job was simple, it wasn't easy.
Walking behind the trailer all day meant Gamboa traversed miles and
miles. Sore feet were an almost daily occurrence, and his legs usually
felt no better.
Eager to give his feet a break, he eventually took a job as a cutter,
which means he used rubber bands and a garden knife to bundle together
bunches of greens.
But cutting came with its own hardships. It wears out the lower back
because the task requires workers to be bent over for hours on end.
But all of Gamboa's work paid off when he was promoted four years ago to
crew leader and then two years ago to food safety coordinator at Wiers
Farm.
Although he is seven months away from becoming a certified radiologist,
Gamboa can't see himself giving up farm work entirely.
Gamboa was once a migrant worker and always will be one. It's a large
part of who he is, and the work continues to have enduring appeal.
"I don't think I'll give it up. I think I'll still come back," Gamboa
said. "I love it out here -- it's something I can't get out of myself,
out of my system. It is hard work, but I don't know, when you're born
working like that, it stays in you."
Nothing's easy on the farm
Migrant workers are the sweat and muscle behind the vast and complex
Wiers Farm operation, which reaches from
Although Wiers Farm is one of the largest farming operations in this
region, making it one of the largest employers of migrant farm workers,
there are many others close by.
This region has the heaviest concentration of migrant farm workers in
the state, with 5,320 in 2008, according to a 2008
Aside from Wiers Farm, other big farms and employers of migrant workers
in this region include Buurma Farms in Celeryville, Corso's Nursery in
About 85 percent of the land in
But field work is just one component of getting fruits and vegetables
from the ground to market.
About 180 people also work in the Wiers Farm packaging plant, where the
crops are sent to be cleaned, placed in boxes, refrigerated and then
shipped off to restaurants and retail chains.
Field workers can make significantly more than minimum wage because
their jobs are piece rate -- meaning they make a base rate of $4.25 an
hour, but also are paid based on how many baskets of product they fill.
But the work in the plants is almost all minimum wage.
While sheltered from the elements, workers in the packaging plant, like
field workers, also put in 12- to 16-hour days.
They spend the hours examining an endless stream of produce, and they
are on their feet during the entire shift.
Standing for hours and hours tightens the legs until they hurt.
But migrant farm workers in the fields or plants do not openly complain
about their jobs.
They do the work because they must to support their families or
themselves. They've traveled unbelievable distances through unbelievable
hardships to get here.
Gamboa said he's talked to men and women who endured freezing-cold
nights in the desert surrounded by snakes and scorpions to cross over
into the
He said many workers crossed the unmerciful desert with almost no food
and water.
They worked so hard to get here. They will endure almost anything to
stay here. There's no reason to complain.
Complaining rocks the boat, and no one who values their job wants to
rock the boat.
Don't rock the boat
Sylvia Rodriguez claims she was fired for rocking the boat.
She says she was unwilling to take her supervisor's abuse, which led to
her entire family getting booted from the farm only hours later.
"I got fired yesterday for defending myself," Rodriguez said. "They
don't want you defending yourself. If they yell at you, you'd better
shut up and get back to work."
Rodriguez, 38, from
She moved up to
But only five weeks away from becoming eligible for unemployment,
Rodriguez and her family were sacked, leaving them clueless as to what
to do next.
They had no idea where they would go or how they would pay to get there.
They didn't have enough money saved up to get back to
Rodriguez fought her termination by contacting Advocates for Basic Legal
Equality, which stands up for the rights of migrant workers. With the
agency's help, Rodriguez and her family got their jobs back.
Although the family ultimately reclaimed their jobs, the elder Alejandro
said that does not alter the fact their supervisor was a tyrant.
While bunching onions, Rodriguez claims she was insulted by her boss --
a crew leader -- who was mocking her group's quality of work.
When she defended their output, Rodriguez claims she was first sent home
and then later told she no longer had a job.
Her son and husband were also informed they had two days to pack up and
leave the camp.
"I got fired for talking back to her, and my husband got fired for not
shutting me up," Rodriguez said. "My son, too, was fired."
Although Rodriguez said she thinks her boss -- not her employer -- was
guilty of abuse, she said migrant farm workers are often treated
unfairly because so many are terrified of losing their jobs or being
deported.
Fear keeps them in line. Fear keeps them quiet.
This happens all too often, said Mark Heller, managing attorney for the
migrant farm worker and immigration program with Advocates for Basic
Legal Equality.
He said because so many migrant farm workers are undocumented -- 80
percent or more -- it gives employers a lot of leverage over their work
force.
"Farm worker or agriculture labor is not protected under the National
Labor Relations Act, so there's a different federal law that gives them
some protection in recruitment, housing, terms and conditions of
employment," Heller said. "They don't have the right to form a union,
whereas most employers have to bargain in good faith with a group of
employees who want to unionize."
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