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Rethinking the food on the table
Pesticide poisoning of farm workers may be improving--slowly
By Moryt Milo
A few years ago I was driving down a tucked-away road in Watsonville. It was a street that simply dead-ended at the beach. On each side I was surrounded by fields of strawberries to the right and broccoli to the left.
As I admired the lush fields, I noticed trucks strategically stationed along the way. Enormous vats rested on these flatbeds, while men in colored bandanas and cowboy hats stood along side readying them for use. At first I was naive enough to think it was an irrigation system, but then I realized these huge monstrosities were pesticide sprayers.
Once I grasped the scope of what I saw, and how much poison was routinely sprayed onto the crops I turned to my husband and said, "Oh my God, look at the size of those pesticide containers! All that's going on our food. I'm never buying anything but organic again."
I knew our food was sprayed to produce better crops, but until I actually saw the volume of usage I had no idea as to the magnitude of what we were ingesting. Of course, at that time I only saw it from a narcissistic viewpoint, focusing on the health of my family. I never really took the time to think of it from the other side, the side of those who labored in the fields.
Then I read a report by the advocacy group, Human Rights Watch, entitled Fingers to the Bone. Immediately that day's memory resurfaced. But this time I saw it from a completely different vantage.
I read interviews from children who talked about suffering nosebleeds, dizziness and nausea from pesticide "drift." Yet no gloves or masks were provided. I read how these children--many ages 13 to 15--often re-entered wet fields and began working only a half-hour after the fields were sprayed. How the lack of sanitary conditions afforded them no opportunity to wash their hands, guaranteeing that when they ate lunch they'd unwillingly contaminate their own food.
I cried when I read about a 17-year-old youth, who never understood about the dangers of pesticide poisoning. How he continued working in the peach orchard after being sprayed several times by a passing tractor. How this same youth went to sleep in pesticide soaked clothes and then, the next day, collapsed and died while riding his bike.
I felt anger and disgust when I read that supervisors didn't bring enough water out to the fields. Rather, they further exploited the workers by bringing ice chests filled with cokes and beers and selling them to the workers for $1 to $1.50 a bottle.
I thought about the greedy mentality of these large corporate farms and saw that, to them, the fields represented one big outdoor sweatshop. It amazed me to think that a child, age 12, was legally permitted to work a 14-hour day chopping broccoli, but not to work at McDonalds.
I had no idea that agricultural employment was considered one of the three most dangerous occupations in this country next to construction and mining.
And I couldn't get it out of my head that the food on my table was coming from the hands of children who, as adults, might not live past age 49.
So I called Lois Whitman, the Executive Director of the Children's Rights Division of Human Rights Watch and asked her what's happened since the report was released.
"Remarkable," she said. "I just received a call from Jo Becker [Advocacy Director], who was attending the Child Labor Coalition Conference, and she said that the Secretary of Labor and the Clinton Administration are going to back legislation being proposed by Tom Harkin (D-Iowa), which incorporates our recommendations."
They're sensible recommendations: to limit the number of hours a child can work in the fields; to prohibit children, 13 or younger, from agricultural employment unless it's a family-owned farm; and to raise to 18 the minimum age for farm employees working with hazardous materials or equipment.
Still, the report sat heavy on my heart. As I steamed vegetables and made a salad, I wrestled with my conscience and wondered what I could do. It was the sign at the intersection of Bascom and Campbell avenues that gave me an answer: I could commit to visiting the Farmer's Market on Sundays and supporting the "little guy." I could buy from those trying to make an honest living. And I could enjoy the sweeter taste.
Please contact Moryt Milo at morytb@aol.com.
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Willow Glen, California Since 1992
