When I was 16, several high school teachers invited me to go with them to Delano to march with Cesar Chavez and Bobby Kennedy. It affected my life in many ways. It was so long ago, but I can still picture it in my mind’s eye. It woke me up.
I became an activist after that experience.
I worked in a Head Start camp with migrant families in Gilroy.
I moved to the arizona border, to a town that was half Hispanic and half Gringo. The people explained that they had lived on both sides of the border for many generations.
A group of us helped shut down the filthiest smelter in the US which was in the next border town to the east. Striking miners joined us. The area is much more pleasant for everyone now. And the air is clean.
To this day, I don’t buy grapes. I grow my own grapes. Or iceberg lettuce.