Ismael Castellanos isn’t asking for much. He works 12-hour days, 13 days in a row on a dairy farm in Genesee County. An undocumented worker from Vera Cruz, Mexico, Castellanos said he’s already received the opportunity to work by being in the United States.
“I’m not asking for anything,” he told a crowd of 100 through a translator. Except for the ability to drive without fearing he’ll be deported.
Castellanos spoke at a panel discussion Monday night at the University of Rochester about a growing farm worker movement in America. Members of Alianza Agricola, a group founded and led by Rochester-area farmworkers, and the Familias Unidas por la Justica, a union of agricultural workers in Washington state, comprised most of the panel.
Castellanos said before the Twin Towers fell in 2001, immigrants without Social Security numbers could get a New York State license, but Gov. Pataki issued an executive order in 2002 changing that. By 2004, the state revoked the licenses of those who had the old licenses. A year later, a campaign began to change the law so farm workers could drive legally again, but it hasn’t progressed.
With no way to drive legally, Castellanos and others said, farm workers are often isolated on the farms where they work. They cannot spend the money they earn locally, they can’t get needed medical care, and they can’t go to a sporting event or movie like most people can. If they drive illegally and get stopped, they’re subject to deportation.
“It’s a little ironic that we work so hard to produce milk and we can’t go to the store to buy that gallon of milk,” Castellanos said. But he’ll continue the long hours, he said, because it means his mother won’t have to work, his sister can go to a university, and his brothers have shoes.
Panelists urged students in the audience to become allies of groups like Alianza Agricola, helping farm workers to move about and advocate for licenses. They asked medical experts to lend their expertise so more medical care will be available to farm workers, who are often not covered by Federal Occupational Safety and Health Administration regulations. And they urged everyone in the audience to send post cards to legislators to make licenses available to foreign farm workers again.
Victor Cortez, another undocumented worker, came to the United States 14 years ago from Oaxaca, Mexico. The first 10 years were in the shadows, he said through a translator, but his life has changed since Alianza Agricola was started, he said.
Almadelia Salinas Guzman, 18, also from Oaxaca, spoke in English, as she has been in the U.S. since the age of 6. Her father is a farm worker and two of her older brothers are, too, she said. Guzman, who lives in Livingston County, said she applied for protection from deportation under the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals policy, but is not sure how long that will last. “Right now I’m scared, I truly am. I’m scared DACA will be terminated.”
She, too, said the Alianza group had helped her family come out of the shadows, working as advocates for fellow farm worker families.
The Washington labor activists said New York’s situation, lying close to the Canadian border, seems similar to theirs. President of the union Ramon Torres led the group in repeated and spirited chants of “Si se puede!” or “Yes, we can,” the slogan of West Coast farm workers.
Torres said he represented “the people who are feeding you.”
“It takes getting up at 4 a.m., and leaving off our kids at day care for 12 to 14 hours. Nobody assures us we will come back and pick up our kids,” he said, suggesting deportation could prevent that. It’s sad to see a 50-year-old man in the fields, still trying to realize the American dream, but with no access to Social Security or Medicare, he said. “But it’s even harder to see our 12-year-olds kneeling in the mud for you.”
UR hosted the discussion to help build connections between students and the community, said Molly Ball, a history lecturer at the university.
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