The Hands that Feed Us: Thanking a farm worker
My in was that I wouldn’t ask any difficult questions.
I wasn’t looking for dirt. I just wanted to hear their stories, learn who they are. What do they do for fun? What’s the first thing they do when they get home?
We often hear the horror stories of seasonal agricultural workers who are mistreated by their employers but they’re often told without specifics. No names are used — of the workers treated poorly, for their protection, or the farmers abusing their privileges as an employer.
Those stories need to be reported. But there lies danger when those are the only stories we hear about workers, and it’s impossible to hold anyone accountable because of the need for anonymity. It ultimately paints migrant workers as victims and farmers as evil task masters.
And sadly, the bad employers carry on with no consequence, and give good employers — which most farmers are — an awful name.
So to get people to open up for my Hands that Feed Us series, which profiled a different worker each month of the 2017 growing season, I promised I wouldn’t ask specifically about mistreatment.
I wanted readers to see who these men and women are: people who make great sacrifices — they miss birthdays, graduations, and anniversaries — to do work we don’t want to, and the local economy keeps working as it should.
They’re people with families, and talents beyond the manual labour they put into tending our orchards, vineyards or greenhouses, and harvesting crops for us to eat.
But stories still came out when I set down my pen, though everyone I interviewed only had positive comments about their employers.
Take the Caribbean labourer I met one night while out with a workers’ advocate. The man, whom I didn’t interview, was retiring after spending most of his adult life working on a Niagara farm. He beamed an infectious, face-consuming smile as the advocate wished him well in his next chapter, which was the purpose of our visit.
But in the few minutes I stood in the large house he shared with at least six other men, my lungs started to hurt from thick, damp air in the building. I wondered if there was mould.
I learned workers did air quality readings one summer that showed nighttime temperatures in the building peaking at 54 C and humidity of 84 per cent. At one point, a window had been painted shut, preventing any kind of relief as workers slept. They relied mostly on a tiny vent near the kitchen to clear the air. Requests were made for an air conditioner but the building couldn’t handle the electrical load.
Public health inspectors are required to visit worker lodgings each year to make sure they’re up to snuff. Ventilation and operable windows with screens are requirements in all housing.
A minimum temperature of 20 C must also be maintained, but it says nothing of maximums or moisture. Farmers who don’t provide livable space are at risk of losing out on the workforce they depend upon, and yet here I was with achy lungs after 10 minutes.
The advocate told me about farmers who refused to let their men go to church on their days off. Of workers who had to hide information about post-work social events because their employer would keep them late those days, though they had been dismissed early the day before.
“It’s all about control,” the advocate said.
Farmers found abusing their workers are at risk of losing access to this foreign labour pool. But when I asked Foreign Agricultural Resource Management Services (FARMS) what constitutes abuse and whether any employer has ever been denied workers for mistreatment, the organization that facilitates the Seasonal Agricultural Workers Program in Ontario replied through its PR firm that it’s not responsible for what happens on farms. This despite information about properly accessing workers, providing appropriate housing and wages, and a hotline to report abuse featured prominently on the FARMS website.
Those few questionable employers aren’t the only problem, though. Like I said, everyone I interviewed for this series adored their boss and was grateful for the opportunity to work in Canada.
It was the rest of us that were the issue. The consumers. People who don’t understand why the workers are here. Who see a black man walk into their store on his day off and tail him because they think he’s going to steal something. There were those stories, too.
“I just shove my hands deeper in my pockets and walk a little taller,” one worker I interviewed told me about his response to such treatment. “I have money to spend.”
There were accounts of strangers on the street hurling invectives and racist epithets. And patrons at one farm stand who refused to give a worker I interviewed money for their purchase because they didn’t believe he would give it to his employer.
“I’m sorry you experienced that,” I said.
“Don’t be sorry,” the worker replied. “It’s not your fault. Some white people just don’t like black people.”
So what do we do about it? Just keep telling their stories and hope it changes something? That was my goal when I started this series. I hoped people would be inclined to wave hi to the crew riding a jitney down Lakeshore Road after a day’s work. Maybe they’d recognize a worker in line at the grocery store and strike up a conversation.
I want more than that now. The next time someone buys a basket of Niagara peaches, I want that person to acknowledge who’s selling them, hand over their money without reluctance, and offer thanks.
I want the rushed health inspector to take more time before approving worker lodgings.
I also hope that farmers reading this might consider what they could do to make their workers’ time here better. After all, Ontario’s horticulture industry is worth $5.4 billion because of them.
I’ve staked my career as a journalist in Niagara on championing local food and the people growing it. And when I hear stories of unhealthy living conditions or workers kept from enjoying their scant free time, I can’t help but feel a little taken by select few of the people for whom I’ve advocated.
Thank a farmer is the one-line plot summary of my life’s work thus far.
Now it’s time for all of us to thank a farm worker.