Untited Farm Workers



Who is the voice for the children? What do they want to be when they grow up? America:Land of Opportunity!!There are high school students who work the fields so they can go to college. Do they have to pay the high tuition to have a better life? These children sometimes die in less then desirable conditions. I am one voice for the children. I pray for these children to have everything that I have and more!! God Bless them! God Bless America!!!!

I read about children, as young as twelve years old that drive tractors and work in the fields. Payment is made to parents of the children. The UFW has tackled these problems by the use of protesting, marches and of the vote. Growers and agribusiness also use the vote to hold on to their way of life which exploit children. Labor organizations for both sides goes way beyond the vote. We do not know about these situations of abuse until there is a march or pickets which has hundreds of people involved. Then it becomes news worthy. To be honest, I myself learned the situation from my English 1A class this past spring. My research took me to the UFW website. I became a member. Active in reading only. I learned of high school students working the fields to save money for college. We are so blessed to have vegetables and fruits all year round. We complain of the prices but, at what cost do the children, who provide  our needs, deal with? There is the story of Maria Jimenez. A seventeen year old, pregnant, who died of heat exhaustion, to provide grapes for us.The struggle continues on both sides: Growers and workers. Big agribusiness and the Labor movement.

  Thirty four years ago, when I was sixteen, I was told I could work only in the fields and not the cannery. How dare they think I was one of them! I was furious. Not because I was not able to work in the cannery but, for them to suggest that I work the fields. I thought I was better than that. My grandmother then lectured me on her life. Growing up in the Great Depression and what she and her family did to survive. I apologized for being unreasonable and eventually found a good job with her help. I worked in the city's  street department. A "mans" job for a sixteen year old. My reaction to the whole farm and working in the fields situation was my non-identity to the workers. I was sheltered from all this by my mother, "God Bless her heart". School in the late 60's and 70's never had lectures on Mexican-Americans. It was not until I became enrolled in college, took a course in English 1A, that I began to have identity. It is knowing where I came from, people who struggled and are still struggling to get ahead. To know that time is always moving. Years go by fast and life goes on and on. Time to stop and think. We can make a difference to all people, if we just stand still and listen to them. Then we can have a choice to go on with our life oblivious to everything around us except in our own world, or sphere of influence or actually do something to change lives. I will vote. That is one way of helping. I have a cause to believe in. I can identify now.