So, I'll admit, when Chris R. woke me up for the second time (I'd gone back to sleep after Chris S. gave me the first wake-up call) with a proposal that I come out with him to Hamilton so, from there, we could get a ride to search for a Mexican worker in booneyville, I really just wanted to go back to sleep. A few hours later, after coming to my senses a bit more, I called back and agreed to tag along the Justicia mission as a translator.

At 4:15pm (post-physio), I made my way to the GO station. Chris met me in Hamilton (having taken an earlier bus from Missisauga) with Murray, our chauffeur, who works in the occupational health industry. [All relevant names (human and farm) from now on will be changed to protect the identities of those who could be royally $@#*ed over by that.]

We arrived at the FoodMart in _______(I am so bad with proper nouns. Will check with Chris on this later...) at around 8pm. Saw a group of Mexicans sitting outside the convenience/grocery store. I went over and addressed them in Spanish, explaining that we were looking for a worker from [Rich Green] farm. They said they didn't work there or know anyone who does. I approached several more men (surprisingly easily identified as Mexican by their appearance - in contrast to the stark whiteness of the majority of the "natives" of the town and the other migrant workers, Jamaican and Trinidadian, hanging about). After a while, we decided to give up, and try to visit the farm itself - a more risky move, since (*surprise surprise*) farm-owners often don't like it when grassroots justice-seeking types try to talk to their workers about their rights and related themes. A worker from a different farm waiting for the pay-phone sent us on our way with directions akin to "Go about 500 metres, then turn right, go about 300 metres, etc." Needless to say, people guestimate the size of a metre very differently from one another and we got lost.

Back-track/background: Our goal was to contact the cousin of a former migrant farmworker (currently dead - presumably - from pesticide exposure on the job). From the cousin, we were to obtain contact information for the deceased's brother, also a migrant farmworker. From the brother, the intent is to, some time in the near future, acquire forensic evidence and other helpful information for the legal aid lawyer lined up to take on the case. The objective: some kind of renumeration to the family of the victim, following a coroner's inquest and demands for workers' compensation.

So, anyways, back at the farm (which we finally found by following the truck of the "Family Restaurant" owner's son, who kindly volunteered to lead us there upon our wandering in, no questions asked), we knocked on the bunk house and were let in. We asked for [Ricardo Sanchez], and were invited in, out of the rain. He appeared, and I explained why we had come. He offered to call his family and find out his cousin's contact information, since he didn't have it on him.

Several botched cell phone/phone card combo call attempts later, we finally switched from Chris's phone to mine and Ricardo got through. We were then told he would have to wait 15 minutes, while a family member in Mexico biked over to his cousin's house to find out the information. Soon enough, we had the datos.

We were supposed to be stopping into another farm to look into the case of a Trinidadian worker who was supposed to get an important surgery a month ago, but was still waiting for the procedure - so there was a bit of a rush factor. However, as I was stepping away from the porch, Ricardo stopped me and said that he wanted to talk "con mas confienza" about some of the treatments the workers were being subjected to (i.e., in private, away from the others in the bunk). He started asking questions about, for instance, how to make the farmer follow the rules set out in the contract - like giving workers the option as to whether they wanted them to work well into the night and giving them breaks during which they could eat. I couldn't anwer the detailed legal questions, plus the cold rain was coming down heavier, so I invited him to join us in the car.

There we had a long-ish conversation (to be continued on another occasion, since we had to cut it short), where he outlined some of the medical and abuse of power issues that are present on the farm - and how the workers are too scared of losing their jobs to want to speak up. He explained that some of them are simply in bad financial situations and really need the money to support their families. Others are older and have worked their way up to the less demanding jobs; if these were to have to start over with a new employer, they would be "demoted" to more strenuous labour they couldn't handle.

Ricardo acknowledged his gratefulness at having been given the opportunity to work , and reiterated that he has no problem worker hard. However, he would like to create some changes. Despite his strong work ethic, he doesn't appreciate some of the underhanded tactics being employed by his boss. The farm owner capitalises on the vulnerability of the migrant workers by employing divide and conquer methodologies that don't allow for worker solidarity (i.e., rewarding those who work faster), forced overtime and overnight shifts in inclimate weather conditions, and neglecting his workers' medical care needs unless they are very severe or directly work related (for example, Ricardo suffers from gastritis, but has been told he can't eat until he is done his shift, which has exacerbated the problem to the point he is considering not returning next year).

Ricardo is concerned for other workers because he is young and strong and himself has been so affected. He says if someone in his condition is being harmed, he knows that many more are worse off.