Dear Editor,
Although I’m not a native Californian, I’ve called the Central Valley home since I was sixteen, except for three years spent earning my Spanish degree in Tucson, Arizona. When I first arrived, I had little understanding of migrants, immigration issues, or the socio-cultural realities of the West. But that changed when I taught sixth grade for two years in Tulare, California.
My journey truly began when I started working with migrant children in Earlimart, CA, helping them learn English and develop reading skills. I had no idea that this role would not only define my professional life but also deeply influence my personal values. I came to know remarkable children and families—individuals doing the most difficult and underappreciated jobs in our society, jobs that sustain the comforts many take for granted.
California boasts the fourth-largest economy in the world, fueled in part by its agricultural prowess and enterprises. It is painful to witness how many migrant workers now live in fear—trying to earn a living while constantly feeling the need to hide to avoid being detained or deported.
More than half of my forty-year career was dedicated to working with migrant children and their families across the Central Valley. I’m proud of the mark I’ve left and the lives I’ve helped shape. Teaching children to read, write, and thrive in our society is not just noble—it’s vital. I’ve had the privilege of knowing thousands of selfless teachers throughout the region, colleagues I trained, supervised, and supported. During my final twelve years as a vice principal, I felt a deep responsibility to ensure that every school under my watch was welcoming and safe for all students and their families. Resistance to inclusive education has always existed, but it never deterred me or the many phenomenal educators who believe that every child, no matter their origin, deserves a fair chance.
Farm labor is a noble pursuit—it fills our tables and fuels our economy. Many farmers treat their workers with dignity, though not all. Yet year after year, these workers pay taxes, rent homes, buy goods, and contribute immensely to the communities they live in. The benefits they provide far outweigh the minimal public services they receive, such as emergency care or school lunches.
The recent rise of mass deportations, detainment (concentration) camps, and forced returns to dangerous conditions has created severe consequences. By instilling fear of authority, we’re exposing millions—including those with legal documentation—to exploitation by the worst elements of society. When individuals fear retaliation or deportation for reporting crimes like assault or theft, they become easy targets for abuse.
Beyond human impact, the economic consequences are staggering. Research I plan to share soon reveals that deportation costs reach hundreds of billions of dollars, and labor shortages in agriculture, hospitality, and healthcare threaten to plunge us into a recession worse than the Great Depression. Deporting essential workers may be politically convenient, but economically and ethically, it’s self-defeating.
To be clear, I do not support allowing drug traffickers, cartel members, or violent criminals to roam freely—whether documented or not (incarcerate or deport them). I fully support deportation through a just legal process when necessary. But these individuals represent a fraction of the millions now living under threat. We elect legislators to solve complex issues like immigration. It’s time they fulfilled that responsibility—not with fear, but with fairness.
Anyone who believes we can suddenly eliminate 10 or 11 million workers and replace them with machines is ignoring reality (and smoking something illegal). The Central Valley is one of the world’s premier agricultural regions, hosting international equipment expos and pioneering innovation. I’ve seen these technologies firsthand over 50 years, and while automation has expanded, human labor remains indispensable—from planting and watering to harvesting and packaging.
I speak proudly of our migrant workers and undocumented neighbors. I was born into a missionary family, lived in Cuba for five years, and survived the Cuban Revolution—one and a half of those years under Castro’s communism. I’ve seen authoritarianism up close, and I cherish the democratic freedoms we have in this country. Cuba gave me Spanish, but more importantly, it broadened my worldview. It prepared me to encourage every child and parent I encountered to be bilingual, bicultural, and proud. Those abilities are strengths, assets we must embrace to thrive in a global economy.
Let’s look past political rhetoric. Ask yourself honestly: What are you willing to give up removing every undocumented person from this country? And before answering, consider all the undocumented contributions you rely on every day. Laws matter—but so does perspective. If we’re going to hold others accountable for every technical violation, let us first hold ourselves to the same standard: the fines, the traffic tickets, the overlooked missteps we’d rather forget.
It’s time we elevate the conversation, honor the dignity of those who labor among us, and create pathways to peace, productivity, and shared prosperity.
