As well, the leads to highly structured hierarchies of ethnicity and reader might wonder why complex systems receive at- citizenship, deepening the suffering of migrant labor- tention as theory when they are identified as conceptual ers who are at the bottom of these hierarchies.
Chapter 4 approaches by philosophers of science. Such a chapter would have made a useful jux- fering of migrant workers because structural violence is taposition of the competing versions of Darwinian theo- considered as natural; 3 political violence that is often ry in archaeology. Readers of this volume are neverthe- targeted physical violence; and 4 everyday violence that less presented with a mix of theorizing on the synchronic Nancy Scheper-Hughes describes as micro-interaction- and diachronic aspects of archaeological practice, so they al expressions of violence.
Chapter 5 describes the pro- have a number of resources available to them. When phy- use it in your class? Monks physical body, they ignore the social and personal reali- ties of the patient, who remain largely silent. Mi- which patients are treated as whole persons, recognizing grant Farmworkers in the United States. Berkeley: Uni- too that larger political, economic, and social forces are versity of California Press, The chapters analyse the social construction of the 'ideal' body in terms of beauty, gender, sexuality, race, ethnicity, class and disability, from a broadly psychoanalytic perspective, and traces the mechanisms which define the role of the physical appearance in the formation of identity and the assumption of social roles.
Body Image and Identity in Contemporary Societies' unique interdisciplinary outlook aims to bridge the current gap between clinical observations and research in semiotic theory. It will be of interest to psychoanalysts, psychotherapists, art therapists, art theorists, academics in the humanities and social sciences, and those interested in an interdisciplinary approach to the issues of body image and identity. She is also engaged in interdisciplinary research on cultural constructs of mental health and illness and curates exhibits of art brut as a vehicle for fighting stigma.
Hans-Otto Thomashoff was born in Germany and lives in Vienna. He is a psychiatrist, psychoanalyst, art historian and author of fiction and non-fiction books. He has been curator of several art exhibitions highlighting the connection between the psyche and art as well as president of the section of Art and Psychiatry of the World Psychiatric Association and advisory committee member of the Sigmund Freud Foundation, Vienna.
If we follow the money, we find the root of the rot. These 66 colorful radio interviews by Flashpoints producer Dennis J. The interviews all occurred under President Obama, who promised hope and change, and they provide the writing on the wall that foreshadowed how we arrived at a Trump presidency. The book gives hope, for it is an encyclopedia of resistance as well as an invaluable reference for the myriad of challenges we face. Foreword by Mumia Abu-Jamal.
This wide-ranging introduction to the anthropology of Latin America and the Caribbean offers broad coverage of culture and society in the region, taking into account historical developments as well as the roles of power and inequality. The chapters address key topics such as colonialism, globalization, violence, religion, race and ethnicity, gender and sexuality, health, and food, and emphasize the impact of Latin American and Caribbean peoples and cultures in the United States.
The text has been thoroughly updated for the second edition, including fresh case studies and new chapters on independence, neoliberalism and immigration, and popular culture and the digital revolution. Students are provided with a solid overview of the major contemporary trends, issues, and debates in the field. In No Alternative, Rosalynn A. Vega uses ethnographic accounts of natural birth practices in Mexico to complicate these narratives about new midwifery and illuminate larger questions of female empowerment, citizenship, and the commodification of indigenous culture, by showing how alternative birth actually reinscribes traditional racial and gender hierarchies.
Vega contrasts the vastly different birthing experiences of upper-class and indigenous Mexican women. Upper-class women often travel to birthing centers to be delivered by professional midwives whose methods are adopted from and represented as indigenous culture, while indigenous women from those same cultures are often forced by lack of resources to use government hospitals regardless of their preferred birthing method.
Beth A. Dixon explores how food justice impacts on human lives. Stories and reports in national media feature on the one hand hunger, famine and food scarcity, and on the other, rising rates of morbid obesity and health issues. Other stories-food justice narratives-illustrate how to correct the ethical damage created by the first type of story. They detail the nature of oppression and structural injustice, and show how these conditions constrain choices, truncate moral agency, and limit opportunities to live well.
Theory, method, and active learning exercises in every chapter constantly encourage the sociological imagination as well as the "doing" of sociology. Ethnography familiarizes readers with ethnographic research and writing traditions through detailed discussions of ethnography's history, exploratory design, representational conventions, and standards of evaluation.
Responding to the proliferation of ethnography both within and outside of academia, in this book, Anthony Kwame Harrison grounds ethnographic practices within the anthropological principles of cultural awareness, thick description, and embodied understanding. At the same time, the book introduces new frameworks for grasping ethnography's simultaneous strategic and improvisational imperatives, as well as for appreciating its experimental conventions of social science and humanistic research reporting.
Central to this process, Ethnography introduces the concept of ethnographic comportment-defined as an historically informed politics of position that impacts ethnographers' conduct and disposition-which serves as a standard for gauging and engaging ethnography throughout the text. Part research primer, writing guide, and assessment handbook, Ethnography provides readers with a comprehensive introduction to one of the richest and most expansive traditions of qualitative research.
Encountering evidence of postmortem examinations - dissection or autopsy in historic skeletal collections is relatively rare, but recently there has been an increase in the number of reported instances. And much of what has been evaluated has been largely descriptive and historical. The Bioarchaeology of Dissection and Autopsy brings together in a single volume the skeletal evidence of postmortem examination in the United States. The authors employ a wide range of perspectives, demonstrating how bioarchaeological evidence can be used to address a wide range of themes including social identity and marginalization, racialization, the nature of the body and fragmentation, and the emergence of medical practice and authority in the United States.
This book uses the concepts of vulnerability and resilience to analyze the situation of individuals and institutions in the context of the employment relationship. It is based on the premise that both employer and employee are vulnerable to various social, economic, and political forces, although differently so. It demonstrates how in responding to those complementary institutional relationships of employer and employee the state unequally and inequitably favors employers over employees.
Several chapters included in this collection also consider how the state shapes, creates and maintains through law the social identities of employer and employee and how that legal regime operates as the allocation of power and privilege. This unique and fundamental role of the state in defining the employment relationship profoundly affects the respective abilities and degree of resiliency of actual employers and employees. Other chapters explore how attention to the respective vulnerability and resilience of those who do and those who direct work in assessing the employment relationship can raise fundamental questions of social justice and suggest new avenues for critical engagement with labor and employment law.
Collectively, these pieces articulate a framework for imaging what would constitute an appropriately "Responsive State" in the employment context and how those interested in social justice might begin to use the concepts of vulnerability and resilience in their arguments. In the years since its enactment, some 20 million uninsured Americans gained access to coverage.
And yet, the law remained unpopular and politically vulnerable. While the ACA extended social protections to some groups, its implementation was troubled and the act itself created new forms of exclusion.
Access to affordable coverage options were highly segmented by state of residence, income, and citizenship status. Unequal Coverage documents the everyday experiences of individuals and families across the U.
It argues that while the Affordable Care Act succeeded in expanding access to care, it did so unevenly, ultimately also generating inequality and stratification.
The volume investigates the outcomes of the ACA in communities throughout the country and provides up-close, intimate portraits of individuals and groups trying to access and provide health care for both the newly insured and those who remain uncovered.
The contributors use the ACA as a lens to examine more broadly how social welfare policies in a multiracial and multiethnic democracy purport to be inclusive while simultaneously embracing certain kinds of exclusions. The book illustrates lessons learned and reveals how the law became a flashpoint for battles over inequality, fairness, and the role of government. An anthropologist and MD in the mold of Paul Farmer and Didier Fassin, Holmes shows how market forces, anti-immigrant sentiment, and racism undermine health and health care.
He trekked with his companions illegally through the desert into Arizona and was jailed with them before they were deported. He lived with indigenous families in the mountains of Oaxaca and in farm labor camps in the U. All of the book award money and royalties from the sales of this book have been donated to farm worker unions, farm worker organizations and farm worker projects in consultation with farm workers who appear in the book.
Not knowing what else to do, I y back to California a few days later. One of my anthropology classmates o ers to throw a fund-raising party for me to help me pay o my ne. The party never happens, but the o er feels supportive. After a week, my Triqui companions arrive in Madera, California.
Instead, he returned to his family in Oaxaca. When Macario and I meet again in Madera the next week, he tells me that he su ered a lot crossing the second time. He brie y speaks of blisters and more rattlesnakes, but he does not want to talk much about it because he is afraid others would make fun of him for not being tougher. He shows me the large, popped blisters on his feet and the holes in his socks.
He tells me that a couple of the guys in the group blamed me for bringing bad luck. He took them back to the station and had them sign a statement in English that they could not read. They were told it said that I was their friend, had lived in their hometown, and was not a coyote. They nally arrived in Mexico well after dark. This strategy demonstrates the everyday joys and su ering involved in migration as well as the bodily experiences of multisited eldwork in transit.
Conversations, interviews, and quotes are based on either tape recordings or my own handwritten and typed notes. Translations are my own unless otherwise noted.
In Chapter 2, I explore the critical signi cance of understanding U. In Chapter 3, I describe rsthand the labor segregation in American agriculture that leads to highly structured hierarchies of ethnicity, citizenship, and su ering.
Here I use ethnicity not as a genetic or biological given but as a somatic and social category. As described by Mary Weismantel and others,13 the social and economic histories of people not only reshape their bodies over time but also shape the perceptions of those bodies in such a way as to establish their ethnicity.
Sickness as the embodiment of violence is the focus of the fourth chapter, drawing on the experiences of three Triqui migrant laborers to show that illness is often the manifestation of structural, symbolic, and political violence, as well as, at times, resistance and rebellion.
Chapter 5 endeavors to make sense of the acontextual lenses through which physicians and nurses see the plights of their migrant patients and, thereby, inadvertently add insult to injury by blaming the victims of structural inequalities.
Chapter 6 considers the crucial issue of how such hierarchies become taken for granted by analyzing the normalization of social and health inequalities as an example of symbolic violence. I attempt to portray and analyze the lives and experiences of Macario and my other Triqui companions in order to understand better the social and symbolic context of su ering among migrant laborers.
I hope that understanding the mechanisms by which certain classes of people become written o and social inequalities become taken for granted will play a part in undoing these very mechanisms and the structures of which they are part. It is my hope that those who read these pages will be moved in mutual humanity,18 such that representations of and policies toward migrant laborers become more humane, just, and responsive to migrant laborers as people themselves.
The American public could begin to see Mexican migrant workers as fellow humans, skilled and hard workers, people treated unfairly with the odds against them. I hope these recognitions will change public opinion and employer and clinical practices, as well as policies related to economics, immigration, and labor. In addition, I hope this book will help anthropologists and other social scientists understand the ways in which perception, social hierarchy, and naturalization work more broadly.
With these hopes in mind, I invite you, the reader, into the journey of migration along with me, Macario, and the other indigenous Mexican farmworkers in these pages.
Because of our will this government survives. Samuel, year-old Triqui Mexican father, speaking with his family and me over tamales in his labor camp shack, rural Washington State, summer The Triqui migrants and I are eld workers. They harvest strawberries and blueberries in the elds of Washington State and grapes and asparagus in the elds of California year after year.
My Triqui companions live far from their extended families and their native lands in the mountains of Oaxaca, Mexico. The time they might have spent learning in school is spent instead working in the elds to earn money to survive.
As a result of their dedication to the U. My eld, though spatially overlapping theirs for some time, involves a di erent kind of labor. During this time, I have dedicated my mind, my body, and my social experiences to the production of eld notes.
Ultimately, I hope that my eld research and writing will work toward ameliorating the social su ering inherent to migrant labor in North America. Broadly, this book explores ethnographically the interrelated hierarchies of ethnicity, labor, and su ering in U. The exploration begins by uncovering the structure of farm labor, describing how agricultural work in the United States is segregated according to an ethnicity-citizenship hierarchy.
The book then shows ethnographically that this pecking order produces correlated su ering and illness, particularly among undocumented, indigenous Mexican pickers. Yet it becomes clear that this injurious hierarchy is neither willed nor planned by the farm executives and managers; rather, it is produced by larger social structures.
In the ethnographic data, we nd that this structure becomes invisible via perceived bodily di erences, including ethnic conceptions of pride. The book concludes with possibilities for pragmatic solidarity and beyond for positive change.
However, anthropology at times seems especially di cult to explain to those outside the discipline.
As I began my eldwork, I found that most people did not know the word anthropologist, or assumed it meant someone who studies bones and ruins somewhere like Egypt. This seemed to make some sense to people and slowed down the barrage of questions as to why I, a gabacho,3 was living in a labor camp.
I was out of place in the farm hierarchy in many ways— social class, ethnicity, citizenship—and this evoked variously respect, laughter, and suspicion from people in di erent social locations on the farm. Of course, the confusion existed outside the farm as well. At that time, Samuel was thirty-one, the father of one young boy. He grew up in the village of San Miguel in the mountains of Oaxaca and had been sending money for the past few years from the United States to his sister, nieces, and father, who remained at home.
While we were unloading our dirty clothes, another Mexican migrant in the laundromat asked Samuel in Spanish why he was doing laundry with his jefe, his boss. Samuel answered that I was not his boss but rather a friend. The other man was not easily convinced. Samuel explained that I lived in the labor camp, picked strawberries on a farm with them, and was learning their indigenous language.
In many ways, this was a clear, brief description of the embodied anthropology of migrant labor I have attempted to perform for this book. This explanation also succeeded in satisfying the curiosity and suspicion of the Triqui, Mixtec, and mestizo Mexican listeners to whom it was directed. By and large, we have failed to consider our bodies in the experiences of eldwork. In my own eldwork, my bodily experiences lent valuable insights into social su ering, power hierarchies, and the implications of eld work relationships.
These were several ways in which my body o ered important eld notes on social su ering. Without paying attention to my bodily experiences, I would have missed out on much of the valuable data about the everyday lives of migrant laborers. Of course, though our living and working conditions were shared, our experiences were not always the same. After living homeless out of cars for a week in Central California, my Triqui companions and I found a slum apartment available to rent to migrant workers without credit histories.
Nineteen of us including four children under ve years old moved into this three-bedroom apartment with thin walls and hollow doors. I asked for permission to sleep in the hall closet of the apartment for privacy instead of in the doorless living room with two adults and an adolescent girl. The closet was just large enough for me to lie down if I did not use a mattress but rather positioned my body diagonally with my feet and my head in opposite corners.
For me, this privacy felt absolutely necessary in order to decompress and remain sane at the end of each full day. However, my Triqui companions were visibly embarrassed and amused by my choice to be so uncomfortable instead of sleeping on a mattress in the living room with the other housemates. My lifetime bodily experiences for example, living in my own bedroom in a semiurban home as a child had accreted into a habitus needing privacy in order to relax.
On the other hand, the habitus of my Triqui companions who grew up in dirt oor huts with several people sharing one room and watching globalized television and movies depicting the physical comforts of wealthy lifestyles could be understood to prioritize the physical comforts of space and a mattress. My body o ered insights not only via experiences of the living and working conditions of migrant laborers but also as I generated particular responses from those around me.
In many circumstances, my light-skinned, tall, student- dressed, English-speaking body was treated very di erently from the bodies of my Triqui companions. The supervisors on the farms never called me deprecatory names like they did the Oaxacan workers.
Instead, they often stopped to talk and joke with me, all the while picking berries and putting them into my bucket to help me make the minimum required weight.
Usually on payday, one or more of the Triqui families I knew went to Burger King for dinner. By the end of my eldwork, I had become an invited guest. On one such day, I went with Samuel and his family of ve in their minivan to the local Burger King. Without thinking about social status, I suggested one of us go and ask for the right fries. Samuel and his wife, Leticia, looked at each other with furrowed brows.
They explained to me that they could never do such a thing because they would not be given di erent fries and would likely get in trouble for asking. Samuel told me to go up to see what they would do to a gabacho.
As I expected, they gave us four large fries and apologized kindly- resentfully. Samuel was amazed. My body was treated as though it had and deserved power, whereas theirs have been treated repeatedly as underlings, undeserving of respect.
All too often similar inequalities of treatment played out in other contexts. Multiple times in the clinics of Washington, California, and Oaxaca, Triqui companions of mine were charged incorrectly, given the inappropriate medicines, or treated generally as inferiors who should obey unquestioningly. After observing or hearing about these events, if I approached a clinic sta member for help, I was greeted with a kind if sometimes insincere apology and a quick recti cation of the situation.
My Triqui friends kept their own cars in perfect shape, every windshield crack lled, every light bulb functioning well, every sticker in its assigned place, and of course the speed always under the limit in order that the police would not pull them over.
I, on the other hand, hardly ever thought of these details. Any minuscule problem with their cars or their driving could become an excuse for pulling them over, which, in turn, could lead to their deportation.
Though the law in Washington State did not allow local police to perform racial pro ling, police o cers sometimes contacted Border Patrol o cers for translation. Once present, the Border Patrol agent could check for documentation and would often deport those without it, breeding distrust of law enforcement o cers in general.
I knew that I would likely never be pulled over for a small crack in my windshield or a brake light out, and if I were I would likely get a simple if authoritarian verbal warning.
In addition to the comprehension of social su ering and strong social hierarchies, my embodied experiences led me to recognize the impossibility of separating research from human relationships. Despite my training in social theory and reading of many ethnographies, I subconsciously assumed I simply would spend a year migrating with Triqui people in order to understand and write about an important and possibly di cult reality.
Unlike the portrayal of the unchanged anthropologist using his body objectively to observe facts, my experience of anthropological eldwork required many levels of personal involvement and changed me in unexpected ways. First, I have become more involved in the social requirements of friendship than I had imagined beforehand. As people slowly allowed me into their lives, homes, and con dences, I became more an odd friend than simply a researcher.
After living together in the same labor camps, picking berries together, going to the same clinics, and sleeping in the back of the same cars, my Triqui companions began to trust me. When I rst moved into the labor camp in Washington State, rumors spread around the camp that I might be a CIA agent or a drug smuggler looking for a good cover.
This increasing trust led me to be invited to meals, births, baptisms, healings, and even a strike. It also led me to be an unwitting part and recipient of alliances, family feuds, hatred, rumors, and possibly sorcery. It brings expectations of cross-country ights for visits and of regular communication. Friendship, of course, has meant that I participate in a version of the gift exchange practices of my companions from the Triqui Zone of Oaxaca.
I also gently and nervously turned down many requests to take cars, vans, and U. These relationships brought not only the foreseeable requirements and bene ts mentioned above but also expectations of solidarity, advocacy, and activism. A body cannot live the reality of another category of people without being changed in some sense. In my case, I see this in my altered experience of the fruit I eat and the rural vistas I encounter, in my remembering the often hidden complexities of the social structures in which I and my living conditions are embedded, as well as in my lingering back and knee pains.
In addition, I have had a growing desire to be involved in actions for local and larger-scale structural change. Every week of my eldwork, I was approached by at least one Triqui companion for assistance in interactions with stores, clinics, tra c police, or state health care programs for U. Without these invitations to extremely micro, local forms of advocacy, I would not have understood the inordinate amount of time and energy spent by my companions negotiating interactions with U.
I would not have understood how poorly migrant workers are treated or how much this treatment might change in the presence of an educated white American. These regular experiences of prejudice and hierarchy fed my desire to work for larger social change. Although most of my Triqui friends took for granted their position in the world the majority of the time, sometimes they questioned the organization of this society and of the world. I have been asked to invite them to speak to other gabachos—and have been shocked how often conferences on migration include no migrants, even though they are presumably experts on the topic.
In the conclusion of this book, I attempt to esh out some suggestions for positive change, from my Triqui companions and from my own analysis.
From experiences of the living and working conditions of migrant laborers to the intricacies of becoming involved in a web of relationships to the corollary expectations and desires for active solidarity, my embodied experiences enriched my eldwork in unexpected ways. In this book, I attempt a critical and re exively embodied anthropology of the context and everyday lives of indigenous Mexican migrant laborers.
The United Nations Population Division estimates conservatively that there are million migrants in the world, nearly 50 percent more than a decade earlier. Of note, the United States deports approximately 4, people a week, mostly to Mexico, and the Board of Immigration Appeals has a backlog of 56, cases.
In addition, the U. In Arizona voters passed the Arizona Taxpayer and Citizen Protection Act, requiring proof of citizenship in order to vote, proof of immigration status in order to receive all public bene ts, and criminal charges against public employees who do not report people suspected of being undocumented. Similar policies have been passed in other states far from the border, such as Colorado.
Despite the importance of these anti-immigrant policies, it is more precisely international economic policies that form the root of contemporary global labor migration. Yet we know relatively little about the everyday lives of this largely hidden population.
According to my farmworker companions, migration is a recent phenomenon for the Triqui people. Ironically, the forceful e orts to keep immigrants out has caused many of them to stay longer. Most have a speci c nancial goal such as saving enough to build a house or to pay a bride-price in order to get married.
It is simply too dangerous and nancially costly to cross the border each year. Everyone in San Miguel knows someone who has died in the deserts of Arizona and someone who was kidnapped or robbed along the way. Some of the migrants in their late teens and early twenties still attempt to return home each year for the patron saint festival in early November and stay through Christmas. Because of this, the population of San Miguel is largest in November and December and then shrinks slowly as winter turns to spring and people take buses north to the border to risk another crossing.
They now make up the majority of farm labor in northwestern Washington and are increasing in number in other parts of the United States, including a few towns in Oregon, a few farms in California, and the rural area near Albany, New York. Their history is de ned by domination from many sides—Spanish conquerors, American Protestant and Mexican Catholic missionaries, and Mexican politicians, as well as neighboring mestizo and indigenous groups. Their present is permeated by a well-known reputation for violence both from outside and from within.
Each of these experiences of domination and violence has led to displacement for the Triqui people, who now have to respond to structural violence and inequality with another form of displacement, migration. Triqui migrants are especially important to understand, due to their relatively recent move into migrant labor, their growing number in various migration circuits, and their position at the bottom of many social hierarchies.
In addition, as Daniel Rothenberg demonstrates, there are intimate connections between migrant farmworkers and the rest of the American public. How might we respect this intimate passing of food between hands? By structural violence, I mean the violence committed by con gurations of social inequalities that, in the end, has injurious e ects on bodies similar to the violence of a stabbing or shooting.
Because of this, our lenses of perception match the social world from which they are produced. Thus, we come to mis recognize the social structures and inequalities inherent to the world as natural. For example, the powerful tend to believe they deserve the successes they have had and that the powerless have brought their problems on themselves. Structural violence—with its pernicious e ects on health —and symbolic violence—with its subtle naturalization of inequalities on the farm, in the clinic, and in the media— form the nexus of violence and su ering through which the phenomenon of migrant labor in North America is produced.
This book attempts to make sense of the lives, labor, and su ering of Triqui migrant laborers in Mexico and the United States through these concepts. Driving north from Seattle into the Skagit Valley, I was struck by the natural beauty of the landscape. The river is located roughly halfway between Seattle, Washington, and Vancouver, British Columbia, about an hour and a half drive from each.
The valley is made up of berry elds, apple orchards, and the dark green evergreen tree stands common in the rainy Paci c Northwest, with the occasional brightly colored tulip eld or brown dirt eld lying fallow. Skagit County uneasily links upriver logging towns in the mountains such as Concrete, railroad towns at the base of the mountains like Burlington, oodplain farming towns including Bow in the ats, coastal upscale villages like La Conner at the mouth of the river, and Native American reservations such as Lumi Island.
As I came to discover during my rst visit to Skagit County, most of the agriculture is found in the low, at oodplain of the Skagit River. This land is protected from the tides of the Puget Sound by a grassy dirt dike some ve feet high that gently curves along the meeting of the valley and the bay. The wide dirt path atop the dike has some of the most stunning three-hundred-sixty-degree views I have ever seen. To the west, the sun sets amid the San Juan Islands.
The coastal mountains of Washington and British Columbia lie nearby to the north. To the east rises the glacier-covered volcano, Mount Baker, surrounded by several other snowcapped mountains. Large, dilapidated wooden barns peep out from patchwork tulip and berry elds to the south.
One might notice as well the exhaust hovering over the ocean near a paper mill in the distance. The valley is made up of several towns lining Interstate 5, with charming turn-of-the-century brick and wood town centers surrounded by ever-expanding strip malls, apartment buildings, and housing developments.
The homes of the local elite boast magni cent views from the wooded hilltops and the coastline at the edges of the valley. Most of the land covered by the uninspiring strip malls was a ower or berry eld in the late s or early s. A few thousand migrate here for the tulip-cutting and apple- and berry-picking seasons in the spring and live several months in squatter shacks made of cardboard, plastic sheets, and broken-down cars or in company-owned labor camps, often in close proximity to the multilevel houses of the local upper class that have picturesque views of the valley.
The migrant camps look like rusted tin-roofed tool sheds lined up within a few feet of each other or small chicken coops in long rows. There is no insulation, and the wind blows easily through holes and cracks, especially at night.
Each unit is elevated a foot o the ground and has two small windows on one side, some of which are broken and most of which are covered by pieces of old cardboard boxes.
The ground around the camps is often deep mud or a dust storm waiting to be triggered by a passing car. At night, the air is damp and cold, reaching below 32 degrees Fahrenheit during the blueberry season in the fall. During the rst and last phases of my eldwork, I lived in a byfoot unit that the farm calls a cabina cabin in the middle of the largest labor camp on the farm.
Mine had one old, damp mattress with rust stains from the springs on which it rested, a tiny sink with orange-colored water from separate hot and cold hoses, an old and smelly refrigerator, and a camping-style dual-burner gas stove. The bathrooms and showers were shared in separate, large, plywood buildings with concrete oors.
Farm labor camp. During the winter, employment dwindles to some fty or so workers. The part of the family with hundreds of acres on Bainbridge Island near Seattle was interned suddenly, and all their land was seized by the government. The part of the family in the Skagit Valley had time to entrust their farm to an Anglo- American family with whom they were friends and thus avoided the same fate.
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