IMMIGRANT WORKERS

(Published in the East Bay Psychiatric Association Newsletter, August 2007)

Looking at my checkbook recently, I noticed that the last three checks I had written were to people named Javier, Geronimo, and Lupe. They are, respectively, a gardener, a house painter, and a domestic. They all speak some English, certainly better than I speak Spanish, and they all are dependable, honest, hardworking, and nice people. I have relied on them to do tasks for me that I no longer am able to do, or no longer want to do.

A lot of the current fuss about immigration escapes me, as I’m not sure where I would find the kind of help that these folks have provided for me of late if they were not living here. Some days when I drive off to work, the block I live on is half lined with cars and trucks of Latino workers who are mowing lawns, installing roofs, laying cement, or providing a myriad of other services for people who have the good fortune to be able to afford to hire help. I have never once heard a complaint or learned of any difficulty that anyone in my neighborhood has experienced from an immigrant worker.

Some Latino workers charge very little for their services. There are probably many reasons for this, but one is that they are more motivated simply to have work than they are to get rich. Making a marginal living is better than making no living at all. But if I sense that someone is vastly undercharging me for his or her services, I make sure to provide additional funds for those services when they are completed satisfactorily.

I don’t ask these workers if they have a “green card” or what their immigration status is, or how they came to be here. But if they are working on my property, I do ask them if they need to use the bathroom, or if they need something to eat or something to drink. I don’t ask if they have health insurance or what kind of a place they live in when they are home, but I do try to make small talk as much as I can, sometimes using my newly acquired basic Spanish: “De donde eres? En qual ciudad vivia?” “Le gustaria algun comer o beber?” My struggle with Spanish brings a smile to their faces, at which point they become the teacher and I the student, and the playing field is somewhat evened. Then we have a chance to experience a more co-equal relationship, and friendliness comes more easily.

If I lived in a country with little economic opportunity, and I needed a way to support my family, I would find some way, any way, to do just that. If I needed to escape my country and find a place somewhere else where I could make money and send some of it home, I would do it. All of us have raw survival skills—we just don’t have a desperate need to use them given our circumstances.

I have had the good fortune to be born in a land of opportunity, but this is only so because my great-grandparents left their countries of origin where they were persecuted, oppressed, and had no opportunity. Taking care of the stranger in one’s midst, which is how I see my role in interacting with immigrant workers, is exactly what I would hope for if I were that stranger, as my ancestors in fact had been.

There are many ways to behave in a community. One is to feel entitled. Another is to feel grateful. I don’t know what it is like to be uneducated, impoverished, and highly dependent on the good auspices of others. But I do know how I should behave if I interact with someone with such a background. Being considerate, thoughtful, and helpful to people is, after all, simply a matter of being a decent human being—nothing more and nothing less.