Throwing watermelon in the fields of southern Alabama

I wish you all could have been there with me. I know that I have seen a lot of you since I went to work in the fields but I do not think I have fully processed everything I saw and felt and experienced. I don't feel like I was able to fully explain to anyone I saw in Tampa everything I experienced.

What scares me the most is that it is hard to believe that it all happened. It is so difficult to believe that I stood out in the sun in southern Alabama for two whole days, rolling and tossing watermelons around a field for your freakin 4th of july BBQ this friday (FYI, I have never been a fan of that holiday).

You can't really care about anything until it's all up in your face.

When it's your back that hurts, when it's your legs giving up on you, when it's your arms that can barely stand to lift anything anymore, when it's your breathing that becomes funny because you have inhaled pesticides all day long, when it's your fingernails that have become covered with dirt, when it's your face that the flies are attacking, when it's your body that is dripping with sweat, when it's you that wakes up several times in the night because your body aches so bad and you can't get comfortable in bed....

...then it can finally kick you out of complacency and really mean something to you. Then it becomes personal.

You can't play it safe anymore when it smacks you in the face.

Very few of us in the world of wealth and privilege have an idea of where all our convenience comes from. For two days, I watched people work their bodies harder than any human being should ever have to for the sake of my convenience and for yours, too. So we could have our goods nice and cheap, just like we feel entitled to them. I watched the Latino immigrants, MY PEOPLE, who are constantly stereotyped, scorned, and bashed in the freakin United States of America work for people like you and me, often deemed "illegals" and "aliens", as if they were not people created in the image of God. So we could have our watermelon for our 4th of July BBQ's this year and never give one thought to where it came from or who's back it came off of.

I watched a strong group of Latino men from Mexico and Guatemala work for their families. I watched them persevere in the midst of 90 degree summer heat, I watched them sacrifice for the sake of their people having a more dignified life back in their motherlands. I watched them as they never once felt sorry for themselves but instead chose to be strong and work together. I watched them encourage each other and push each other to keep working, all day long, all freakin day long. Sun up to sun down. No joke, no exaggeration on that.

Melody and I drove up to work alongside a crew from Immokalee that sticks together when they migrate north during the summer to look for work. What I saw was not common within the agricultural world. I got to work alongside a cooperative, people who were committed to being democratic about everything and making sure that their pay was split evenly amongst all the workers. I met a group of men who had become like a family, in the midst of having to leave their own families.

I already feel so far removed from being in that world. I couldn't even really journal while I was there because my arms hurt so bad. It hurt to use my hands and it hurt to make my arms straight. All I cared about at the end of the day was taking a shower and not being hot anymore and then finally being able to fall into bed, only to wake up several times throughout the night because my back hurt so much, and then my shoulders did too, and so did my legs. The first night a few of us went to swim in a river afterwards and I remember trying to find some comfort for my body in the water. All I could think about was how I did not want to go back the next day. I did not freakin want to put myself through that kind of labor again. To be honest with you, I did not feel like I should have to. I am a woman! I don't believe women should have to do work like that. That is pretty huge for me to say, considering that I am a feminist in many ways and that I am all about empowering women. But my body could not handle that. OK, so you may think, well, Lauren, you're just not strong enough. The truth is that you are probably are not strong enough, either. This work is not just physical, it is also mental and emotional. You have to be strong in spirit to endure monotonous work like this everyday, for weeks and weeks.

There were so many moments when I wanted to stop. I wanted to freakin stop. The first few hours I was there I wanted to cry. I knew that I was slow, I couldn't keep up with the crew, my body was not strong enough. My privilege was slowly nudging me, reminding me of my college degree I recently earned, reminding me that I have choices. It reminded me that just 48 hours later I would be back in Immokalee in my comfortable home and then in Tampa, even more in my comfort zone. I struggled with feeling too good to be there. I struggled with my privilege. I struggled with wondering if anyone would care when I talked to them about this experience. I struggled because I wanted to be good enough to do this work and I was not.

I looked at my Latino hermanos, my brothers, and I thought about how many times I have put them down. How I have stereotyped, assumed, and been angry with Latino men, ones who are related to me, ones I have dated, ones I have been annoyed at for being too flirtacious and sexual. I saw my brothers in a new way those days I spent with them.

My hermanos are strong. They are sacrificial, they are committed, they are caring, they are hard workers, they take their work seriously. They don't stop working because they know there are children to feed, maybe their younger brothers and sisters back home or their sons and daughters. They have wives to take care of and parents, too. They endure this kind of work for the sake of others. They are forced out of their motherland and away from all they know because that's how important their family is to them.

I had to ask God for forgiveness and mercy for the times I have put my brothers down. Then as I rolled watermelons around the fields, I thought about all the people I have met who hate immigrants. People who are so quick to hate my people, people who deem them all as criminals and "illegal" (as if any human being could be "illegal". I'd like to watch someone try and argue God on that one). If you have ever bashed immigrants or Latinos, I urge you to beg God for mercy. Unless you come from this world, we have a very, very limited idea of their struggle.

We bash the people who work for our convenience, who bring us the things we feel entitled to.

It's not just about the watermelons being picked here in the US. It's about the bananas we eat that came from Ecuador, the T-shirt from a maquiladora in El Salvador, the sneakers from India, the cell phone from China.

We just have no idea who's back it came off of.

How can I urge others to care?

How can I urge others out of complacency?

It was not just a farm worker who picked your tomatoes this year (or your strawberries or watermelons).

It was Gerardo, Joaquin, Leonel, Cruz, Manuel,Edwin, "Rocky", and Cande. And for a couple of days, it was ME, too.

It was a human being, who dreams, laughs, cries, and wants to live life, just like you and me.

Do they not deserve a fair wage, just like you feel you do, too? Just like I feel that, too, for myself?

But....

On Thursday we drove away from the fields, back into the world that made a bit more sense to me. On the way back to Immokalee, Melody and I stopped to eat at Panera in Gainesville and I felt like the two previous days may as well have been a dream. If it had not been for my muscles that were still so sore or the dirt that was still stuck underneath my fingernails, I probably would have thought so.

The only way we can truly care is if we stop removing ourselves from the pain of the world.

Jesus never removed Himself from the pain of the world.

Until it becomes personal, it won't ever really matter.

Until you put ourselves into someone else's reality, then we will just remain people who say "Oh man...that sucks, that's so sad" and then we'll be distracted two minutes later by something else.

We desperately need to re-connect ourselves to the pain of this world, ESPECIALLY the people of God, the people who claim to be followers of Jesus. We should be the ones on the front lines if we claim to follow the most loving and radical man who ever walked this earth.

We cannot afford to be the people who just send a monthly check to World Vision and then spend tons of money on unnecessary things for our homes.

I am pretty sure that when Jesus told us that to love God and to love our neighbor as ourselves were the two greatest commandments, that He meant it.

And we are not called to feel sorry for anyone. No one needs our pity.

Another thing that really smacked me in the face was how much the guys I worked with did not feel sorry for themselves. When we waited for the next bus or wagon to come from the farmer to fill up, we were able to take short breaks and hang out in the van we all drove over in (BTW, breaks like this are not common when picking other produce, it was just because we happened to be loading the watermelons, what I learned). The guys would blast music and sing, sometimes they would playfully dance, kicked a soccer ball around and sometimes they would close their eyes and rest for a few minutes. If it hadn't been for them and their high spirits, I think I would have been in a really bad mood because of the pain I was in, along with the heat and the insects who insisted on being around you no matter how much big spray you had put on already.

Agricultural is a scary business. Not only is there a big risk for injury and for eventually developing something like cancer thanks to all the toxic chemicals you constantly inhale, you never know if you are guaranteed work or how much. You never know how much you will earn at the end of the day. You don't know if the crew leader or the grower is going to screw you over with your pay. You are not guaranteed health benefits in case of injury, either.

My challenge to any of you is to step into someone else's reality. Step into the world of someone who is faceless to many yet is someone you depend on for so much. Step in and take their struggle with you.

And have a happy freakin 4th of July.....celebrate "freedom"...........

Freedom for who? Definitely not for all. Definitely not for all who contribute a lot to our country.