THRESHOLD CONVERSATIONS

Alfredo Corchado

AMY: Welcome to Threshold Conversations, I’m Amy Martin.

MUSIC

Often the word "environment" is associated with pristine rivers, dramatic mountains, or wild animals living in protected places. But here at Threshold, one of our guiding principles is that environment is everywhere -- in our cities, in our homes, even in our own bodies. And some of the most ordinary and the most important interactions we have with this thing we call the environment is through the food we eat. Whether we're vegans, vegetarians or omnivores, we all depend on other living things to keep ourselves alive -- and we depend on the people who raise, grow, harvest, slaughter, pack, and transport that food to us.

In the United States, a huge number of the people doing that work are undocumented immigrants. The Department of Agriculture estimates that over half of the people working as field hands are undocumented; growers and labor contractors say that percentage is likely a lot higher. And that's just crop work. undocumented people work in dairies, meat packing plants, fisheries, trucking companies and more. They are a crucial link in the food supply chain, but far from being appreciated, they're mostly invisible or villainized. What this means is that the security of the American food system depends on a group of people whose lives are deeply insecure.

Most of the time, Americans try to ignore this fact, but the coronavirus pandemic has punctured the facade. On March 19th, as the country began to face the reality of the pandemic, the Department of Homeland Security issued a memo identifying which jobs were considered "essential critical infrastructure." That list included many agricultural jobs performed mostly by undocumented workers. That means all of those people now carry two completely contradictory labels: authorities have deemed them both "illegal" and "essential."

Journalist Alfredo Corchado wrote eloquently about this hypocrisy for the New York Times, in an essay published in the opinion section in May 2020. For decades, Alfredo has been one of the nation's leading reporters covering the extremely complicated issues playing out at the U.S.-Mexico border. His work has earned him many accolades, including a Nieman Fellowship at Harvard University, and the Cabot Prize from the Columbia Journalism School. In many ways, Alfredo has been covering this border beat since he was a child, when he and his family immigrated from their small town in Mexico to central California. Starting at the age of six, Alfredo worked alongside his family in the San Joaquin Valley, which is part of one of the most productive agricultural regions in the world. According to the U.S. Geological Survey, more than 250 crops are grown in California’s Central Valley, producing one-quarter of the nation’s food. For the New York Times piece, Alfredo Corchado explores immigration issues through the lens of his personal journey from migrant worker to award-winning journalist with the Dallas Morning News. The piece also features stunning photos by Max Whittaker, showing a new generation of laborers at work in the same fields where Alfredo and his family labored decades ago. Alfredo Corchado, thank you for joining me today on Threshold Conversations.

ALFREDO: My pleasure, Amy, thank you for having me.

AMY: So I'm so curious what you thought when you heard the news about that essential worker memo that was issued by DHS on March 19th

ALFREDO: Reminded me what, my parents have always told me that this is a fickle country, that America is a fickle country and that there are times when they need you and they will welcome you. You my father was once a guest worker and, he remembers coming to the United States in the 1950s and ranchers growers, labor contractors would organize barbecues to welcome them, to make them feel welcome. And then they would also remind me of the periods. You know, the vast mass deportations. They don't need you, they pick you up, they take you. And so when I saw that I felt this I'm not, I don't want to say anger, but there was this frustration, especially if you've been covering the border for the last few years and you see the images of, of a wall being built and so forth.

Then as a journalist, you know, you, you, you try to always stay on the sidelines, but I couldn't help feel these feelings that, you know, range from you're enraged to, wow, I need to express this. I need to, you know let people know the other side of the story and I couldn't help, but think of my relatives, many of them who are still undocumented in this country. And so it was, it was a mixture of feelings. And when the opportunity came to put them down on paper, it really took just a weekend, just to sit down. And it was almost a therapy in the sense of that, just to put it down, crank up the music, take me back to the San Joaquin Valley and just let it roll.

AMY: And you're talking about the opinion piece that you published in the New York times a couple of weeks ago,

ALFREDO: Right, right. Exactly.

AMY: Yeah. I, well, it's a, it's a beautiful piece of writing and I think is being widely shared as a, as it should be just to try to understand some of the facts here. How is this, this memo, this designation of farm workers as essential workers being applied at the border can, can people who are trying to get into the country to work, can they use that memo as a way to get in, or did it only apply to people who were already here when the pandemic hit?

ALFREDO: It only applied to people who are, who are here. I mean you have thousands of cleaning ladies, if you will, but who actually do much more than clean. I mean, they basically become nursery care workers for a lot of people who live on the US side and it's been, it's been amazing how, because the US government shut down the border to nonessential travel. A lot of these women remain in Mexico and you have a lot of people in the U S side feeling the impact of that, that they don't have that person to not only take care of their homes, but they reset their children and also take care of them. Yet that this memo only really looked at the people who were already here and particularly people working in the food industry.

AMY: And, and if you, if you were here without papers, and then this memo was issued, does that protect you from deportation? If somebody, if ICE or DHS comes to your place of work and, and, and tries to look for people without documentation, can you say, look, I'm an essential worker. You can't deport me.

ALFREDO: That's the interesting thing. I mean, when I talked to the person I, I interviewed for the New York Times, Tino he sounded kind of, a little, cocky. Like I now have a paper I can now travel. I think he travels about 50 miles from his home to, to the fields where he's, hauling asparagus. And he said, you know, it makes me feel like I can now drive comfortably and not be looking for la migra, the border patrol. He says, but it's just the paper. If, if they're having a bad day or if they feel like they can deport me that day, uh they'll, they'll send me away. Yeah. Think thinking said it was, America, Americans can change their mind tomorrow. You know, they might welcome me in today, but he doesn't feel a total sense of security. I think for him, it felt, it felt more like, it peel away the layers, it peeled away and exposed the hypocrisy in the United States. And that's the thing that he can't, you know, it's, we've been telling Americans for years, you don't want to do this, these jobs, you don't want to be out in the fields. And suddenly, you know, it's, it's a pandemic and a food supply is so critical. So suddenly they're protecting them. And he says, you know, as long as they're building that wall, it tells me that we are not welcome.

AMY: Yeah. You might be needed and wanted, but that's not the same thing as being welcomed and being safe.

ALFREDO: He says,  Americans are very pragmatic. They're very practical. They, they know that they need us now, tomorrow they may change their minds.

AMY: One of the people you spoke with in, for that New York times piece was, Joe Del Bosque. And, and I thought he was a really interesting person to hear from, he owns a big farm that sends organic fruit and vegetables all around the country. And you quote him as saying, sadly, it has taken a pandemic for Americans to realize that the food in their grocery stores on their tables is courtesy of mostly Mexican workers. The majority of them without documents. And I'm curious is, is Joe and outlier, or do many growers and business owners who employ undocumented immigrants want more protections for their workers and are they advocating to change the system?

ALFREDO: Increasingly, Joe is really one of many people in the, in the San Joaquin Valley. I mean one thing Joe said, you know, the average worker, these days picking fields, picking crops is 40 years of age. So he fears that, these people will soon hit retirement age, et cetera. And that they will run out of workers. That's his main concern. And so he's, he's been lobbying, the delegations in California, Republicans and Democrats. Look, if you're not going to pass some comprehensive immigration reform, at least let's take a look at this. Let's make sure because this is critical, for Americans. I mean, they need their food, they need their wines. And Americans, aren't going to stand in line, you know, looking for a job here.

AMY: And I saw that was so interesting that he said, I think it was him who said in that same piece, even with the unemployment rates just skyrocketing, he has no confidence that, that, that US citizens are going to come do that work. It's, it's hard enough that most people just don't want to do it.

ALFREDO: Yeah. He says, you know, sometimes they show up at 5:30 in the morning and they might work today, but he says most of the time by noon, they, they just basically throw their hands up in the air and said, you know, can I get paid for the past six hours? And they just don't come back. He says, you know, we try recruiting Americans, we try going around. And you know, I, and you see this with a lot of the farmers in, in, in California, central California. I mean, they pay not a great wage, but, you know, I think, I think we just started $13.50, and then they, they go up, but they're trying to bring in more Americans because that's always been the argent from Americans is if they pay us more, maybe we, we do these jobs. He doesn't think that's going to happen. And he says, you know, if we keep paying more and more, the consumer's gonna pay more at the grocery store. I mean, it's something they, they, they haven't come to grips with it.

AMY: So the whole system of keeping food at relatively affordable prices is, is kind of on the backs of people who are working for wages that most other people wouldn't accept for that type of work anyway.

ALFREDO: Right. Right. And it's, I mean, having worked in the fields. I mean, I'm telling you, it's not an easy job. It’s you know, this scorching sun hits you. And I mean, you're, you're there from 5:30/6:00 AM till 3:30/4 pm. It's a long day. You have a half an hour of a lunch break and that's about it.

AMY: Yeah. Wow. I want to hear more about your story and just, just a minute, but I also wanted to touch on meat packing plants, which are such a big part of this COVID-19 story.  I grew up on a farm myself in small, outside of a small town in Iowa. And that's one of those States where there have been huge issues with COVID-19. Georgia, Arkansas, Colorado, Texas.  I'm just curious, have you, have you been inside a meatpacking plant? Either, well, I'm assuming not during the pandemic, but just in your life as a reporter.

ALFREDO: Yes. I've been in Colorado and then Nebraska. And if you think the fields are bad,  and, and, and this is interesting because, some of my relatives who worked in the fields in California, after they became legal, they left the fields to go to the, meat, meat plants of Colorado, and some went to Nebraska, not because the conditions were better, but because the pay was better. And that's something that, has, our family at this point, you know, extremely concerned because of what's happening inside these, meatpacking. So we're constantly in touch with them and saying, okay, you know, is there any way you can maybe do something else for, for a while? And no, it's, I mean, it's, again, it's one of these essential workers, essential jobs,

AMY: And it pays better because they wouldn't get anybody to do it if it didn't pay better. It’s that rough.

ALFREDO: Yeah. That's basically, I think, I mean, I, I know my cousins are making significantly more than what they were making in San Joaquin Valley. But I think the risks are much higher. And, in fact, I ended up going to visit one of the plants with them, and I was just blown away by the labor conditions.

AMY: What did you see? What was it like in there? 

ALFREDO: I mean, seeing that, I mean, I'm a reporter. I cover drug violence. So things don't scare me easily, but seeing that, the noise that just, the crowding, you, you couldn't really hear each other. But just seeing the whole thing, I mean was, was, want to say disturbing, I mean, I walked away thinking, I'm glad my parents never took us to meat, meatplants. I mean, you kind of appreciate the fields a lot more.

AMY: What, what is it, what is it like in there that is leading to... at this point, there have been so many COVID outbreaks in so many plants. Like there's clearly something specifically about these situations that are, that are becoming breeding grounds for the, for the virus to spread or combination of factors. And what's your understanding of what's going on there?

ALFREDO: My understanding is, the, the social distancing, you know, while they may try to social distance, I mean, it's next to impossible. And also during the meal breaks, I mean, people are crowded in the same area. It's, you know, everything that the CDC says, the guidelines, I mean, I basically broke in, once you step inside the meatpacking plants or the, or, many other factories. I mean, it’s really hard to maintain these rules and follow these guidelines. 

AMY: Yeah. And, and, and meatpacking, plant workers, like field workers were deemed as central workers. Right, right. 

ALFREDO: Right. Right. Same thing. Yeah.

AMY: And just thinking about that, that also means if you are somebody who is afraid, you know, maybe you live with your elderly mother or something, and you're afraid to, to contract the virus and potentially bring it home to her. If you're deemed an essential worker, you still have to go to work. You're not, if you don't go to work, you're going to get fired.

ALFREDO: You're in the front lines and you're gonna, you know, you're exposing the whole family, the entire family. That's a situation with the people I know in Colorado is they come home and they have children, they have kids. And so, you know, it's, it's, I can only imagine the stress that they're under, you know, at work and then coming home, et cetera.

AMY: And a lot of these families, I'm assuming don't have any health insurance.

ALFREDO: Most of them don't. I mean, most of the workers I've talked to have no health insurance.  so they're, they're basically on their own, along the border, the best kind of healthcare they have is, you know, to cross into Mexico and be able to get, you know, whether it's prescriptions or see doctors at, half the price or even, you know, deeper discounts.

AMY: Well, the fact that immigration is a divisive issue in our country is, like, beyond obvious.  but, it does seem that any reasonable person, no matter where they sit on the, on the political spectrum right now would look at the fact that we're telling people that they're both essential and illegal at the same time and see that at the very least it is just irrational, even if they don't want to call it hypocritical. And I'm curious, do you think this moment actually could provide an opening into a less ideologically driven conversation about immigration and that perhaps we could get some common sense immigration policy reform?

ALFREDO: I'm not confident, that this is the year because it's an election year and somehow some way, you know, politicians will find a way to keep it as a divisive issue. I mean, as we, as we talk, there is a wall that's still going up just miles away from my house. And that's know that tells you the political climate, the political times that we're living in. However, I feel that after November, this pandemic continues, outbreaks continue. I think Americans are going to have to come to terms with, you know, how do we secure a workforce so that, that we have food security. There, there can't be a disconnect between food security and border security. I mean, I think, I think that's, that's something that's gonna, force Congress, force the president, whoever that president is to, to deal with that and to think long-term. I think it's, it's kind of a “come to Jesus” moment for a lot of Americans. You know, that, I mean, what, what exactly are we doing? What, what's our message here? And how do we deal with this in the much more practical sense?

AMY: Yeah. Yeah. I was interested when you said earlier that, I forget who it was you were quoting or referring to, said that, you know, Americans are very practical because I can see that in the sense of, in one sense, but in another sense, the ideological force around immigration question feels so detached from any kind of practical reality sometimes.

ALFREDO: I think all bets are off after November. I, I really believe that, I mean, why are we really building the wall? Who are we trying to keep out? You know, there's a sense that everybody crossing the border or there are criminals. And I think slowly people are beginning to realize, at least that's, that's the sense from the border residents who've been vilified for so many years. I mean, we're, we're, we're treated like piñatas on the border. And I think there's a sense that, maybe this is the moment when you can peel away and, and understand things in a much more rational, practical, pragmatic way.

AMY: We’re going to take a short break, and come back with more of my conversation with journalist Alfredo Corchado.

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AMY: Welcome back to Threshold Conversations, I’m Amy Martin, and my guest today is Alfredo Corchado, Mexico Border Correspondent for the Dallas Morning News. We’re talking about food security and immigration in the wake of a memo issued by the Department of Homeland Security as the coronavirus pandemic took hold in March. The memo declared that thousands of agricultural jobs as “essential critical infrastructure,” even though many of the people who are doing those jobs are undocumented and at risk of deportation. Alfredo’s family immigrated legally in the 1960’s through a post-war labor agreement between Mexico and the United States called the Bracero Program. After a childhood of constant movement and work in the fields of the San Joaquin Valley, Alfredo went to college in El Paso and later, much of his family followed him to Texas. He went on to build an illustrious career in journalism, focused on stories from the border and inside Mexico itself, including some very high-risk reporting on the drug cartels, which led to multiple death threats and other dangers.

AMY: I think it's interesting the way you're talking about not being able to separate out food security from border security and another layer that factors into that is environmental security. Including in your own story, if I understand it correctly, I think when you first came to the US as a young boy, that was your move partly motivated by drought, is that correct?

ALFREDO: Yes. And a lot of people don't really talk about that and how droughts play. I mean, they're, they're, they're in, in, in the people's reasons as to why they come. I mean, why we came, we had the longest drought, people still talk about that drought in Durango, which lasted,  many years and suddenly my father had his own ranch land. My grandfather had had his own land. I mean, he, he basically had a freak accident, and ended up losing his life, out, out in the, in the land in Durango. But that, that with, with the United States going to war, the drought, and World War II, and then the Korean war, it basically emptied out our town of San Luis de Cordero in Durango. I mean, suddenly, most of the men ended up working in the United States, including all my uncles. My father is the youngest of 10 and the majority of them ended up coming to the United States for, for a better living. We see drought playing a role even today in Central America, a lot of Central American families that we talked to. I mean, we, we talk a lot, a lot about violence and gangs and so forth, but drought is always part of the reason for, for leaving the country. And it reminds me of our reasons for leaving Durango. 

AMY: Can you just give us the basic outlines of, of what happened that your dad came first and then, and kind of the story of, of your move?

ALFREDO: Yeah, my father came in the mid-fifties under the Bracero Program, a guest worker program, that was constructed under FDR, Roosevelt in 1942. And it was a way to try to bring Mexicans to the United States to help, with industries, whether it's meat packing, whether it was the fields in California. And so there were 5 million contracts were handed out to Mexicans during that time between 1942 and 1964. My father, started working in Texas and every, every November he would go back to Mexico. And the idea was to go back to Mexico for two, three months. When I was a child, I remember this man coming, and to me, he was like a Santa Claus. You know, he would come during the Christmas season. He would stop by in El Paso and get some Tony Lama boots. It was a Christmas gift, maybe a little hat and I would see him, I said, Oh, that Santa Claus, you know, I didn't call him father. I only call him, Señor, you know, sir.  and so my mom would say, you know, that's your father. And I couldn't understand why this man was never around.

At the age of, five, I can still hear the conversation between my grandmother and my mom and the mom was saying, we have to go North. And I remember I'm the oldest and kind of rebelling,  with my little brothers, you know, we're not going, we're not leaving. This is, this is our community. We love this place. But we ended up going to Ciudad Juarez first for us to get our green cards, that were promised to my dad, if he continued working in the fields. And one of the mistakes he made was he sent us a postcard of a, as a State Capitol at California. And that led me to believe that our home was like the State Capitol. And I remember, you know, being on that Greyhound bus, and my, my, my brothers gave asking me, are we there yet? Are we there yet? And I looked at the homes around us and I looked at the postcard. I said, no, I think we're getting close. We ended up, in a trailer house, surrounded by melon fields. And as a kid, I mean, this man who was Santa Claus, who was El Señor, you know, suddenly he became kind of like the enemy. And I would just, I say, why did you take us from our home? You know, that's just not fair. But that, that was the American Dream, you know, that's how it started. And, and my father believes, and still believes in this country so much, you know, that he would always say, we have a chance here. It's going to get better. It will get better. And that's something that always stayed with us, you know, I mean, the, the sense of this American Dream, et cetera. 

But what I was interested in about that is that we came, I mean, we were the lucky few who came across, who had our green cards and suddenly the, the, ranchers, contractors, they needed more workers, especially after the immigration would do a raid and they would take half the field workers away. And then they come, the grower will come at night, the contractors and say, by the way, do you know of any more people who may want to come? You know, the word started again, back to Durango and suddenly the community that I left behind was now living, in the San Joaquin Valley.

So, you know, it's a phenomena that continues to this day. You know, we need more workers, we need more workers. And the, the strange thing was that all of a sudden my relatives, my cousins, my friends, were illegals. And I couldn't, I couldn't understand why when the vans would show up, they would all scram. I mean, they would all run, hit the canals at the ditches, you know, try to hide from the INS and, and they come and say, you know, we're looking for the mojados, you know, the undocumented and I, I kept thinking, they're my cousins. They're my relatives. And it wasn't until 1986 under President Reagan that they got their opportunity, and then they became legal and suddenly they started leaving California for other industries, whether it was Colorado, Arizona, Oklahoma, et cetera. So, you know, the, the replenishing of America continued.

AMY: And from the impression that I have from, from the research I've done is that your mom is a fascinating person, and, just a huge force in your life. And, I'm curious what you know about her childhood and just how she kind of helped manage everything with you and your brothers when you, when you were making the transition into life in the US?

ALFREDO: My mother talks about her childhood in Mexico as being as a pampered little girl,  the favorite of her father, my grandfather, and it wasn't until my grandfather died in a freak accident,  because of that drought that my mother suddenly, I think she was 10, 11, suddenly started,  working on her own. I mean, she would make, gorditas and mitas,  these delicacies and selling them on the streets. And then she started working as a maid. So her life was, you know, went from,  being the pamper little girl to being the hardworking... she had never been in the fields, didn't know what the fields were and suddenly, you know, she's, she's out picking tomatoes, oranges, melons. The, the, the job that, I still see her doing was, what they call the cortito, the short-hand hoe. Where you had to basically bend over for eight hours. The short-hoe was banned in the 1970s in California, but, that left lasting damage. I mean, to this day, she, she still has a bad back. But my mother, you know, she's, she's the most influential person in our lives. I mean, she's the one that, basically took us out. And when we wanted to go back to Mexico, she, she was the one that would stop us and say, I want to go with you. I want to lead you back, but we're sacrificing everything we knew, because we believe in what you can do in this country. 

And, I mean, I went from, you know, the guy was supposed to set the example for them to the guy who dropped out of high school and in their eyes, I became a failure. I mean their experiment in this country came to an end, because I gave up on education. 

AMY: Yeah. What made you fall out of love with school or maybe you never fell in love with school? Like what, why did you decide you wanted to drop out in high school?

ALFREDO: Because I would see, that the kids would look like me, the kids who sounded like me, they weren’t planning on going to Stanford or Berkeley or UCLA. I mean, more, more often than not, they were back in the fields after graduation. So I didn't see the point of continuing my education when I was going to end up in the fields. And one of my wildest dreams was, you know, maybe I'll, I will marry the daughter of the other grower. And by the time my, my high school buddies graduate, I'll be the boss. You know, I'll be the [inaudible].  and then, you know, I was, I was thinking, I was thinking ahead. (laughter) And when I, when I would tell that to my mom, I mean, she was just shaking her head and said, that's not why we brought you here.

AMY: Yeah.

ALFREDO: But it was my mother, you know in her wisdom was said to me, one day, she said, you know, you have to get back to school. You have to set the example for your brothers and sisters. You have to show them that there is a way. And I said, Mom, I'm never going to go to school again, because my dream is to own a car. And it wasn't just any car. It was a, it was a Camaro, it was a Camaro with a T-top. And, she looked at me and was like her way in. And she said, you know what? Good. I'm glad you have that dream. Here's what I'm going to do. Your father and I are gonna raise money to get you a down payment for that car. But you have to promise three things. One, you have to leave California. Because in California, all we saw were Hispanics were out in the fields. I mean, that was it. I didn't know Hispanics could do anything else, but work the fields. Two, you have to promise to go to school, get back to school. I don't care what it is. If it's high school, if it's community college, if it's a university, but you have to go to school. And three, you can't get married until you have a diploma. And that's how I ended up,  leaving California, moving to El Paso and going to community college. It was very important for her because it meant setting the example for the rest that, that, that, you know, we could, we could do something, that our sacrifice, her sacrifice more than anything, her sacrifice could amount to something.

AMY: Yeah. Had she had the opportunity to get much education? Had she gone to high school or any college?

ALFREDO: No, she ended up going to third grade. That's around the time when her father died. I mean, when her father died, it was all done. It was over, I think her grandfather would've liked her to finish high school, but that, that, that never happened.

AMY: Yeah. And she, it's amazing how much she valued that. Maybe because she didn't have the opportunity. I mean, she, she pushed you hard. You, you could have easily not gotten any education and gone on to become this world famous reporter. If it hadn't, if she hadn't made that happen, it sounds like.

ALFREDO: No. I mean, my mother’ s everything and this is interesting. When I wrote the New York times piece, she said, I don't want you to make it look like we're forcing you to be out in the fields, because our number one goal was to get you education. Our plan was for you to see how difficult it was working the fields so that you could do something else. So I went back to the New York times, I said you have to put a line there, cause I, it wasn’t forced labor. 

AMY: I have a fact correction from my mother.

ALFREDO: That’s exactly what happened.

AMY: I’ll be back with the final segment of my conversation with Alfredo Corchado right after this.

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AMY: Hi again, I just wanted to give you a quick glimpse of our process here inside Threshold headquarters. We are in the process of raising funds for season four of our show, and at the same time, we’re working on developing this new spin-off show, Threshold Conversations, which is what you’re hearing now. The idea is to feature interviews with environmental thought leaders from around the world. We’ve got a bunch more interviews in the hopper for you, and we’re eager to know what you think. If you could take a few minutes to rate us or leave us a review on Apple Podcasts or wherever you get your podcasts it would really help us out. We read every single review and the number of people who are engaging with our work this way can help us get more funding to keep doing it. So thanks!

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AMY: Welcome back to Threshold Conversations, I’m Amy Martin, and my guest today is Alfredo Corchado, an award-winning journalist with the Dallas Morning News. When he was just 6 years old, Alfredo immigrated to central California, where he went to school and worked in the fields with his family. One of the growers his family worked for was Joe Del Bosque, now one of the largest organic melon growers in the country. Del Bosque was one of the people featured in a May 2020 story Alfredo wrote for the New York Times. 

ALFREDO: Joe Del Bosque played a big role in our family. I mean, he hired my uncles. He hired my father at one point. I mean, it's a, it's a history that goes back to the 1950s,

AMY: What kind of work? I mean, six is little, and I'm assuming, I think you were going to school, but then you would do you'd work in the, in the weekends and on the, in the evenings maybe?

ALFREDO: In summertimes it was picking tomatoes. And as a six year old kid. I mean, you're there and you're picking tomatoes and you don't even know you're working, you know, you're just trying to fill up a bucket. But then springtime, we would start hoeing. Sugarbeets, cotton, et cetera, and then you kind of follow the season. The hardest job was really picking oranges. I mean, cause you, you had a sack, you had to climb up a tree and then come down with the sack. I mean, there were many times when I would fall from that ladder. But I mean, it was all kinds of jobs, but it was basically springtime, weekends, and then the entire summer. More than anything, I mean, we were migrant workers. We were constantly moving from one town to the next. 

AMY: You know, one of the things that I think is interesting about farm work is that there just aren't that many people in the United States that are doing jobs anymore, where they're interacting with, with this thing that we call the natural world. And, it makes me wonder if some of the people that are considered illegal in the United States actually understand the land and the water and the animals and the weather in some parts of the United States, then maybe their neighbors who are US citizens, who, who never do manual labor out in the, out in the outdoors. And do you have a sense of that? Like, do you, do you have a feeling of, like, I know, I know that part of San Joaquin Valley better than anybody else could, or as well as anybody can and have like a special connection to those places?

ALFREDO: I mean... for this, this Times article, they sent a photographer to get pictures in and we talked beforehand and I kind of gave him an idea of where I lived and where the fields were, et cetera. And when I saw the photos, it just brought me back. I mean, the, the Yellow Grain mountains that you see, I mean, it just immediately took me back. It took me back to, you know, the Januaries, the Februaries of the year when all you're doing is, is really figuring out what Mother Nature is going to do that year. How much rain will we get? Because that rain would determine how much work we would have. And, and there were times when it didn't rain. I mean, people were just sad. They were glommed. They're like, Oh my God, you know, this is going to be a tough year. And as a kid, I was the only English speaker. So a lot of the people would come and ask me to fill out their unemployment, work, you know, the, the, the, the documents, but you would sit there and you would hear the stories like, it only rained one week, or it's only rained one weekend. This is going to be tough. But when it rained, you know, through February and early into March, it was like, this is going to be one heck of a year. And there was like a sense of excitement. People just, you know, people couldn't wait to get back to the, to, to work.

I mean, the, the mornings, I mean, you always remember the mornings, you know, the, the sunrise you're there at 5:30 and you're just waiting for that first sign of light in order to hit the fields with your hoes and the sound of the shh, shh, shh...You know, it just, it takes you back. And you know, many years later people say, you know, that was the hardest work you guys were probably living in poverty. I never thought of it as poverty. I mean, it was family, it was a, it was being out in the Mother Nature elements, you know. That part was beautiful. That part of it, you know, stays with you. Whenever I go back to California, you know, that you, there's a mountain called Gorman, and after you pass Gorman, all of a sudden you see the beautiful San Joaquin Valley, it just opens up, you know, the fog and everything. And it's just magical. Yeah, I mean, I can't, I can't really romanticize it also. I mean, you know, there, there was a, the scorching sun and the moments when you wish you had an hour long break, so you could rest, or sometimes you didn't have enough toilets, you know, or by two o'clock, three o'clock, the water was so hot, you know, because there wasn't enough ice. So whenever I try to romanticize it, I also remember the bad parts, but I mean, we were so close to Mother Nature, and I think that's the thing that, to this day, you, you miss, but you also appreciate.

AMY: I wonder about just the, the amount of expertise and, and local knowledge that comes from the workers. I mean, I wonder how much the growers rely on the knowledge of the workers who come back year after year to help make decisions. And, keep everything growing. 

ALFREDO: That is, that is so incredible, you know, because, one of the things that, in, in, in talking to Joe del Bosque, Joe said, look, one of the things that Mexicans bring to the fields is their knowledge of Mother Nature, is a knowledge of how the land works and how, the plants work and et cetera. I mean, they can, they can, they can get to a field and immediately know if there's a plague or, or what the problems are. And that's something that you learn growing up in, in these rural towns of Mexico. We had crews, you know, work crews.

And if the crew was from Michoacan, Jalisco,  Zacatecas, Durango, we knew they were the best. I mean, there were the hardest working people because they were used to rural work. Because you, you kind of have to be on the same sort of level, you know, you want to kind of be in the same moment, same moment. So there was, there was a sense of, kind of giddiness. We knew, we knew the persons next to us were from Michoacan, you know, these people know how to work, they know the plants and so forth. Little things you pick up as a kid.

AMY: Oh, it's, it's so fascinating hearing you say that and thinking about that kind of rural pride. That kind of resonates for me among the, just like people that I know and grew up with. And I, in the places where there are more rural farm workers who are coming from Mexico or Central America, do you ever see that happening where like local, you know, American born ranchers and farmers can actually connect with them and find, you know, mutual respect, or at least at least camaraderie?

ALFREDO: Definitely. I mean, I think a lot of small towns in rural America have been revitalized by Mexican migration, and they’ve been given an opportunity by farmers whose, who see them and, and know that they appreciate the land as much as they do. There are small towns in Iowa. There are small towns in Arkansas, you know, same thing. I mean, they're being revitalized by immigrants, whether they're from Mexico or Central America or other countries, but rural America is being revitalized by immigration.

AMY: And a whole lot of the people that are trying to cross the US/Mexico border in the last several years, are not from Mexico. They're from El Salvador, Honduras, Guatemala, and those places that have been highly impacted by climate change. One example I found was it in 2019, it was the fifth straight year that extreme weather led to just huge crop losses in southern Honduras with 72% of the corn, 75% of the beans were lost, and as a whole, Central America is getting hotter and drier. How do you see these environmental issues playing out, in combination with immigration issues in, in common coming decades and with just the, the whole question of food security?

ALFREDO: You know, it's interesting because,  when I started, when the humanitarian crisis began, on the border here in the El Paso-Juarez area, it was easy...you know, as, as reporters, you, sometimes you get into some, a narrative, you know, they're fleeing because of violence and it becomes kind of a black and white issue, but then you really begin to talk to people more in depth, and you realize that it's not black and white. And climate change is always there. I can think of one particular person who I've been following for over a year. Name is Carlos Joaquin from Guatemala, and the very first time I, I sat down with them, you know, he talked about extortion, they talked about kidnappings, et cetera. But then the more I talked and talked to him, the more I realized he was a small farmer who had pigs and, and who had wheat, corn and suddenly the drought just took all that away.

And in talking to him, you know, he made me realize that there was no end to this. That this, this is just the beginning for Central America. He says that that issue of climate change is not gonna, I mean, it's not going to end. And until they address that, until governments help out and address that issue, migration will have no end. It's not, it’s not enough. It's not, I think it's too simple. As a journalist to say, it's because of violence that they're leaving. I mean, it's, it's a combination of factors: violence, the economy, climate change, but it's all tied into one.

AMY: Yeah. And they all end up interrelating, because if you don't, if you have a society or a group of people who don't have enough to eat,  they're much more likely to be violence than other forms of social disruption. And it just also makes me wonder about what responsibility does the business community have in the United States that it's relying on this labor and by extension, all the consumers who, you know, are eating this food at a certain price point because of the sacrifices that so many families are making. I know we're both journalists and we're not here to set policy, but I'm, I also know that, you know a lot about these things and have lived it. I mean, what's a way out of this that is more hane for everyone?

ALFREDO: (laugh)

AMY: (laugh) All you have to do is solve immigration policy. Just easy, easy, last question for you.

ALFREDO: Easy last question. I mean, going back to how I got here in 1966 to the United States, I mean, it was right after LBJ signed the immigration act. You know, by, by giving people a pathway to legalization, you bring in a new network of people and, and you, you, basically guarantee food supply for another 10, 20, 30 years. And you have to continuously do that because again, you are replenishing America. So I think Americans are going to have to be, we think in, in a much more bold way, and also, you know, they need to go back and, and learn their own history of, you know, the last wave of, of immigration. I mean, it's a continuous replenishment of the fields, of the meatpacking, of the dairy plants, the service industry, et cetera.

AMY: You know, I, I listened to your conversation that you had with David Axlerod.  I think it was in 2017 and...I think it wrote it down here... You said, “I think that the Mexicans are the boogeyman, they're the punching bags these days, but I think the day is coming soon where Americans will really miss Mexicans.” And I'm just wondering--and this really is my last question, sorry--I'm wondering how those words, your own words sound to you now. And do you think that maybe that day has come thanks in part to the pandemic that Americans are missing Mexicans and realizing what the country owes to all these immigrant laborers?

ALFREDO: Absolutely. I mean, I think that's a, that's what we see now with this pandemic is,  again, it's, it's pulled away the curtain. It’s like Del Bosque told me recently, he said, all of a sudden, we start seeing, you know, we don't have enough Mexicans. One of, one of the funny things about reporting out in the Midwest in Iowa and Nebraska and Minnesota, when we're on the record,  and how these, growers, rancheros, you know, meatpacking people will say, we really need that wall. We really need to feel secure. We really need, you know, to keep people out, et cetera. And then you put the tape recorder away and notepad away, and you order that first beer. And then they say, no, I hope he doesn't build that wall. We can't really do it without them. And that's when I first started thinking they miss Mexicans, they're beginning to miss Mexicans. In these little towns, I think during that pandemic, you know, it's like Dino, I mean, going back to Dino and Dino was debating whether he would go back to Oaxaca, but he was thinking of his son who was born in the United States and he wants his son to have an education. And it just took me back to my mother.

AMY: She's proud of you now. I'm assuming.

ALFREDO: She's very proud of me. I am her favorite son, My brothers dispute that. And my mom says, I will never say that publicly, but yes, you are my favorite son.

AMY: No, of course she doesn't say the same thing to them at all. 

ALFREDO: No.

AMY: Well, Alfredo Corchado, it's been a complete delight to speak with you. Thank you for taking the time to talk with me today,

ALFREDO: Amy. Thank you so much. A pleasure.

MUSIC

AMY: Threshold Conversations is funded by the Park Foundation, Montana Public Radio, the High Stakes Foundation, and by the International Women’s Media Foundation’s Howard G. Buffett Fund for Women Journalists. And we’re also funded by you, our listeners. If you want to help keep our independent, nonprofit journalism free for everyone, go to thresholdpodcast.org and click donate.

The team behind Threshold Conversations includes Angela Swatek, Caysi Simpson, Eva Kalea, and Nick Mott, with help from Caroline Kurtz, Dan Carreno, Hana Carey, Kara Cromwell, Katie DeFusco, Matt Herlihy and Rachel Klein. Special thanks to Frank Allen, who has done so much throughout his life to support journalists, including Alfredo Corchado, and me. Thank you Frank. Our music is by Travis Yost.