Sunday, July 26, 2020

SAN QUENTIN VIGIL SAYS INCARCERATION HAS BECOME A DEATH SENTENCE

SAN QUENTIN VIGIL SAYS INCARCERATION HAS BECOME A DEATH SENTENCE - PHOTOGRAPHS
Photo Essay by David Bacon
San Quentin State Prison, San Rafael, CA 
Capital & Main, 7/27/20
https://capitalandmain.com/demonstrators-call-release-san-quentin-prisoners-amidst-covid-outbreak-0727


Vigil participants hold cardboard tombstones bearing the names of San Quentin prisoners who have died.


On Sunday, July 19, about a hundred people gathered at the gate of San Quentin State Prison in San Rafael, to call for the release of prisoners because of the terrifying spread of COVID-19 inside the facility. On May 30th the state Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation transferred 121 prisoners from the California Institution for Men prison in Chino into San Quentin. At the time there were no known cases of the virus in San Quentin, while Chino was a recognized hot spot.

The coronavirus infection spread rapidly through San Quentin. According to the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation [CDCR], as of the date of the vigil there were 928 active cases and eleven prisoners had died.

Less than half of the prison's current 3,524 population had been tested in the two weeks prior to the vigil. According to the CDCR, the concentration of confirmed cases at San Quentin is 621.9 per 1000. By comparison, for California (a hot spot state) as a whole, the confirmed case rate is 11.1 per 1000. (source:  https://www.cdcr.ca.gov/covid19/population-status-tracking/)

The vigil organizers include the Interfaith Movement for Human Integrity and the Stop San Quentin Outbreak Coalition, which describes itself as "a collective of formerly incarcerated folks, loved ones with direct connections to San Quentin State Prison, community organizers, and currently incarcerated folks at San Quentin State Prison." Other participants came from the Ella Baker Center for Human Rights, Re:Store Justice and the Asian Prisoner Support Committee. The speeches and placards they carried demanded that Governor Newsom come to the prison, that the state grant large-scale releases without categorical exclusions (a 50% reduction in the prison population), and an immediate stop to all transfers between prisons and from prisons to ICE detention centers.

The day following the vigil a twelfth prisoner, Troy Ashmus, died of the coronavirus according to prison authorities. Five more prisoners have died in the past week, bringing the total number of deaths at San Quentin to 17. In just 25 days, the number of incarcerated people at San Quentin with COVID-19 went from zero to over a thousand active cases. As the numbers rise, demonstrations by desperate families have become increasingly frequent. 

According to the CDCR, the state prison system now has 7,672 confirmed cases, of which 1,025 were reported in the last two weeks. Governor Newsom has announced that he will release 8,000 prisoners by the end of August, but over the next six weeks the infected will likely number in the tens of thousands. With a prison population of 104,725 (123% of its designed capacity) there isn't adequate space for isolation.

Laura Mondragon, wife of a prisoner, told the vigil participants that Newsom had to act more quickly to prevent more deaths. "Getting sent to San Quentin shouldn't be an automatic death sentence," she said. "But with the virus there is a terrible risk that it will be for people like my husband."



Armando Nuñez Salgado, a former prisoner, holds a sign he made remembering someone he knew inside.




 While the names of some of the San Quentin prisoners who have died are public, others are not.  Participants held tombstones in their memory nevertheless.




 The vigil called on Governor Gavin Newsom to release prisoners from San Quentin, and some held a banner saying "Release Them All!"  Many speakers denounced what they called a "virtual death sentence" imposed on prisoners because of the COVID contagion.




 Austin Tam. an activist from Buenavista United Methodist Church in Alameda.




 Pastor Allison Tanner leads participants in a prayer ritual outside the San Quentin gates. Rev. Deborah Lee, behind her, told the vigil that over 7,000 people in the state prison system have now tested positive for COVID-19.




 A line of participants stretches out alongside a banner on Sir Francis Drake Blvd.




 A vigil participant




 A vigil participant




 Danny Thongsy, a former prisoner, faced deportation to Laos by Immigration and Customs Enforcement after he was released from San Quentin, but community pressure won his release.




 Participants pray for the prisoners who have died.




 Dr. Art Chen, a doctor at Asian Health Services in Oakland, tells vigil participants, "There is no "safe" way to social distance in overcrowded prisons, operating well above 100% capacity. There is no safe way to transfer incarcerated folks from one prison to another without risking a new hot spot."  He asked Governor Newsom, "How many more incarcerated folks will face death during this pandemic before you begin mass releases?" 




Laura Mondragon is the wife of a prisoner, and talked about the trauma of not knowing what was happening to him.  Phone calls between prisoners and family members were cut off five days before the vigil.




Lillian Galedo, director (ret) of Filipino Advocates for Justice, holds a sign and the banner.




Saabir Lockett, special projects coordinator at East Bay Alliance for a Sustainable Economy, read a passage from the Koran at the vigil.




Dr. Sue Chan, a founder of Asian Health Services, came to support her son, a San Quentin prisoner.


To see a full set of images of the protest, click here:  https://www.flickr.com/photos/56646659@N05/albums/72157715250290036

Monday, July 20, 2020

RENT STRIKE IN OAKLAND IN THE COVID TIMES - PHOTOESSAY

RENT STRIKE IN OAKLAND IN THE COVID TIMES - PHOTOESSAY
Photos by David Bacon
Capital & Main, 7/20/20
https://capitalandmain.com/oakland-tenants-protest-investors-pandemic-inspections-0720

OAKLAND, CA  7/9/20 - Tenants and supporters demonstrated at an Oakland apartment complex where tenants are mounting a rent strike against Mosser Capital, one of several apartment complexes where rent strikes are taking place. During the COVID-19 crisis the landlord is insisting on bringing investors to inspect the apartments despite the danger of contagion.  Mosser bought over 20 buildings in Oakland in 2016, according to the Alliance of Californians for Community Empowerment (ACCE).  Mosser received a Paycheck Protection Program loan between $2 million and $5 million during the pandemic.



The Alliance of Californians for Community Empowerment organized tenants from buildings across Oakland to come to the apartment house, to confront speculators brought by Mosser Capital, the building's owners.  Tenants, especially seniors, expressed fear that letting strangers into their homes during the pandemic would put them at risk for contamination from the coronavirus.  They also believed that the investor tour might result in evictions and rent hikes.



Sharena Diamond Thomas and Sabeena Shah stand at the front of a group of renters determined not to let speculators into the apartment complex.



Sabeena Shah is the leader of the rent strike in the building, and the big "Rent Strike" sign is in the window of her apartment.  She has been living there for 8 years, and pays $1300 a month in rent.  She worked as a special education teacher in Contra Costa County, and has been out of work since the pandemic started.  "Teachers and students are all affected by this crisis," she said.  "I started the strike in solidarity with the other tenants here, because I know that they can't afford to pay more, and have no where to go if they're evicted."



Sabeena Shah stands in the doorway to her apartment.  Mosser Capital tried to raise the rent on her apartment, and that of other tenants, claiming it needed to pay for capital improvements.  No improvements were made to the apartments of existing tenants, however.  "They charged us for a new water heater, but never installed it," she charges.  The strike and support from ACCE seeks to force Mosser to withdraw the increases.



Sharena Diamond Thomas is a renter in another building, where tenants have been on strike since April.  She had a small catering business, and after the pandemic started she couldn't serve food in the community anymore.  "I have a family, and it would put my own kids in danger, and others too.  Now I can't afford the rent, and I have to choose between that and feeding my own family.  My landlord lives in LA, and when I try to talk to her about the pandemic she acts like I'm speaking a foreign language."



Pedro Viramontes and Andrea Bonilla moved in May into one of the apartments that had been renovated, and pay $2500 a month.  Viramontes workes at the East Bay Community Law Office, and Bonilla is a tech worker.  When they found out about the rent strike they supported it immediately.



Rent strikers and supporters from buildings throughout Oakland wait for the arrival of the investor tour organized by the struck landlord, Mosser Capital.



"Our Black seniors are suffering all over Oakland," says Sharena Diamond Thomas.  The largest percentage of tenants are Black, and high rents are terrifying to them.  They can't rest, they're stressed out, they can't move during the pandemic, and all of this makes them vulnerable to the virus."



Carroll Fife, director of the Alliance of Californians for Community Empowerment, spoke to the group of rent strikers and tenants.  "If you can charge the highest price for an item that people actually need to live and thrive, we're always going to have an issue here," she told them.  "And it hits Black and brown folks the most."



Tenants accused Mosser Capital of violating Alameda County public health orders that restrict real estate tours and endanger tenants.  The county is a COVID-19 hotspot, and as of July 16 had 8,499 cases, and 154 deaths.  Infection and death is a danger especially to older people, and most of the tenants in the 34 units of the apartment house are seniors.



The Brass Liberation Orchestra, a Bay Area radical musicians collective, showed up to play and urge tenants to sing, to life the morale of strikers.



"Seniors deserve a secure life and retirement," Sharena Diamond Thomas said as supporters wearing masks looked on.  "They shouldn't have to worry about the rent going up.  Housing is a human right.  Yet Black people are facing a wave of evictions in Oakland, which is as serious a problem for our community as terror from the police."



A striker, with mask on, looks on from her balcony as other tenants below get ready to confront the landlord and the investor group.



The apartment house was eerily quiet after the rally, when it became evident that Mosser Capital had cancelled its plan to bring investors to enter and inspect the apartments.  Tenants called it a victory, but warned that Mosser would simply schedule it for another day, and asked people to be ready to return on a moment's notice.


Editor's Note:  Few of the economic crises spawned by the pandemic are likely to prove more devastating than the one new enveloping California's renters.  Already battered by skyrocketing rents and pressured by gentrification, middle- and low-income tenants are increasingly facing a world without paychecks - and without government assistance, as eviction moratoriums begin to expire and supplemental unemployment benefits run out.  A report by the Aspen Institute predicts an eviction "tsunami" by the end of September. 

Photojournalist David Bacon's images here capture the resistance of one group of Oakland tenants, as they launch a rent strike to challenge the right of their apartment comlex's owner, Mosser Capital, to allow investors into their homes to inspect the units.  (This, when the coronavirus is resurging.)  When asked by KPIX-TV why it felt the need to send investors into the Oakland comlex in the middle of a pandemic, Mosser Capital issued a statement that read, in part:  "Building and apartment inspections are necessary to maintain properties, comply with local laws, and for insurance purposes."

To see the full set of images, click here:  https://www.flickr.com/photos/56646659@N05/albums/72157715176535683

Monday, July 6, 2020

WILL THE NEW NAFTA MAKE THE PANDEMIC WORSE FOR MEXICANS?

WILL THE NEW NAFTA MAKE THE PANDEMIC WORSE FOR MEXICANS?
By David Bacon,
Foreign Policy in Focus,  July 6, 2020
https://fpif.org/will-the-new-nafta-make-the-pandemic-worse-for-mexicans/


 Elva Nora Cruz is the sister of a fired member of the Sindicato Mexicano de Electricistas (SME).  44,000 workers were fired and the state-owned electrical company was dissolved as part of the wave of privatization and economic reforms in the wake of NAFTA.  She sits with Triqui women protesting violence in Oaxaca under a tent in Mexico City's central square, the zocalo (David Bacon, Stanford University Green Library)

For Mexican workers, farmers, and the poor, the pandemic and the new treaty replacing NAFTA are a devastating one-two punch.



In the debate over the U.S. Mexico Canada Agreement, the new trade treaty replacing NAFTA that went into effect on July 1, many promises were made about the effectiveness of its labor protections.  Supposedly, they will protect the labor rights of Mexican workers, which will free them to push for better wages and conditions.

These promises are reminiscent of those made when the original NAFTA was debated over a quarter of a century ago. At the time, its corporate backers insisted it would lead to prosperity for workers and farmers, who would no longer be obligated to leave home to find work in the United States.

Whether the old treaty created better conditions-for workers in the maquiladora factories on the border, for Mexican migrants toiling in U.S. fields, or for farmers in the communities from which the migrants come-is more than an economic issue. In the era of the pandemic, the record of the old treaty must be examined to determine as well its responsibility for life and death. Did the changes it provoked make Mexicans more vulnerable to the virus? And because it continues the same economic regime, the new agreement cannot avoid raising the same questions.

The Impact on Mexico

NAFTA had a devastating impact on Mexican workers, farmers, and the poor, and its labor and environmental side agreements did nothing to protect them. The problem lies in the agreement's purpose-to facilitate the penetration of U.S. capital in Mexico. By taking down barriers to investment and the activity of U.S. corporations, it instituted cataclysmic political and economic changes. The current trade agreement shares NAFTA's purpose and will have the same impact.

The 1990 report by the U.S. Congress' Commission for the Study of International Migration and Cooperative Economic Development recommended that the United States negotiate a free trade agreement with Mexico in order to deter migration. But even this report warned, "It takes many years-even generations-for sustained growth to achieve the desired effect," and in the meantime would create years of "transitional costs in human suffering."

Mexico's "years of sustained growth" turned out to be a tiny 1.2-2 percent, whose benefits were reaped by a billionaire class that multiplied while real income for workers and farmers fell. The consequences were clearest in the displacement that suffering caused. It set millions of Mexicans into motion as migrants, which now exposes them to the virus.

Three million farmers were displaced by corn dumping, to allow U.S. corporations like Cargill and Archer Daniels Midland to take over Mexico's corn market. Mexico lost its CONASUPO stores serving farmers and the poor, and Wal-Mart became the country's largest employer. Waves of privatization, mandated to provide opportunities for banks and investors, cost the jobs of hundreds of thousands as Mexico threw open its economy. As investment increased, the income of Mexicans declined.

Investment had health consequences beyond unemployment. The prelude to COVID came in 2009, with the spread of the H1N1 virus, or swine flu. In Mexico some call it the NAFTA flu, because the agreement provided the vehicle for Smithfield Foods to fill the Perote Valley in Puebla with hog farms. The virus started in a valley town, La Gloria.  Its source was the intense concentration of pigs and their waste. The waste from Smithfield's U.S. operations was so considerable it led to prohibitions even by the conservative government of North Carolina.

By moving south Smithfield did not just escape environmental protections. It became so dominant that one of every four meals of pork eaten in Mexico now comes from this company's farms and its imports from the United States. But 125,000 Mexicans lost jobs in pig farming in the process, and people got sick and died from the virus all over Mexico. NAFTA's environmental side agreement did nothing to help the people of the Perote Valley stop the company's depredations. The new USMCA makes no change in the Perote Valley and would do nothing to prevent a similar situation in the future.

The failure of NAFTA's labor side agreement was even more complete. Not a single independent union won bargaining rights, nor a single fired worker reinstated, because of a NAFTA complaint. That abysmal record continues today. The Mexican miners union has been on strike at the huge Cananea copper mine since 2007. The treaty had no impact on regaining their rights. Instead, NAFTA's freeing of investment to move across borders helped the mine's owner. The wealthy Larrea family bought the ASARCO mines in Arizona, and forced the miners' cross-border allies, the United Steel Workers, out on strike there as well. NAFTA's goal of freeing investment didn't guarantee labor rights; it jeopardized them. The new agreement has precisely the same goal.

Migrants Also Suffer

Complaints of labor violations weren't made just about Mexico. Some were filed over the violation of workers' rights in the United States. A number were filed on behalf of Mexican immigrants, including the massive firing of immigrant workers during organizing drives by Washington apple workers and Maine egg farm workers. Cases were even filed against the U.S. government itself for denying immigrants protections under U.S. labor standards. None resulted in any concrete action. The side agreement's last case was just settled this week, when seafood workers were told that their H-2B visa status did not protect them against discrimination because they are women. According to the Centro de los Derechos de Migrantes, in 2016 "we submitted a complaint under the NAFTA labor side accord, arguing systemic sex-based discrimination in guest worker programs." Four years later, Mexico's National Administrative Office assured the workers they could report any discrimination to ICE or read about their rights in brochures.

The forced migration of these workers, who today are endangered by COVID-19, was a product of NAFTA and its displacing impact in Mexican communities. The number of Mexicans forced to cross the border to find work went from about 4.5 million to 12.5 million in the NAFTA era. The Trump administration now seeks to channel that flow of people. It has cut off visas for family reunification, the achievement of the civil rights movement when it won the end of the bracero program and the passage of the Immigration and Nationalities Act of 1965. As a result of Trump's recent orders, however, displaced people can now only come legally as H-2A guest workers in agriculture. Growers brought a quarter of a million of these workers into U.S. fields last year, and even more are being brought this year, in the middle of the COVID crisis.

The Southern Poverty Law Center called the H-2A program "Close to Slavery" in a report, and its abuses have been widely documented.  NAFTA, while it produced this forced migration, had no impact on protecting the rights of migrants. The current trade agreement has no protection either.  In the era of the pandemic, that can be deadly.

In March, over 70 H-2A guest workers were infected in the barracks of Stemilt Fruit Company in central Washington State because they are housed in crowded barracks, sleeping in bunk beds that make social distancing impossible. Yakima County, one of the main destinations for these H-2A workers, has the highest rate of infection of any county on the west coast. Yet Washington State told growers that putting those migrants into barracks with bunk beds was acceptable. Growers therefore don't have to spend money on building new housing, although workers are paying the price. The old treaty offered no protection for them, and the new treaty will not protect them either.

The lack of effectiveness of either treaty in advancing the interest of workers is tied to the power imbalance between the United States and Mexico. Both NAFTA and the USMCA cement in place the relationship in which U.S. corporations dominate decisions in Mexico affecting Mexican workers. Recent struggles by workers on the border against the virus and poverty wages have made that clear.

AMLO's Response

One of the first acts by Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador (AMLO) after he was inaugurated president in December 2018 was to mandate the doubling of wages in the border factories. In Matamoros, tens of thousands of workers went on strike after their U.S. employers and Mexican partners simply refused to obey the law. The government, however, seemed afraid to use its considerable power to force maquiladora employers to comply.

When the COVID-19 crisis started, the Mexican government ordered U.S.-owned factories to stop production, many of them auto assemblers and plants in the Pentagon's supply chain. Again, companies simply refused to comply until their own workers went on strike and forced them to close the doors. At least twelve people died in the Lear auto parts plant alone. Then the U.S. ambassador, the State Department, and the executives of big U.S. defense and auto corporations leaned on the government in Mexico City. AMLO folded under the pressure and allowed them to restart production, even though workers will get sick and die as a result.

The leverage that the agreements have given the United States is very disturbing. The growth of U.S. production in Mexico has made the Mexican government dependent on keeping that sector operating. This doesn't just affect the past governments that were notoriously pro-corporate. Mexicans elected AMLO because he promised to end this neoliberal dependence and make life in Mexico more attractive for Mexicans. But the U.S. government and companies have been able to use their leverage to pressure him to reverse those promises. Trump threatened to shut the border and forced Mexico to agree to illegally keep applicants for asylum, including women and children, in camps. NAFTA provided no means to stop Trump from doing this, and the new treaty won't do that either.

Now this popularly elected president is going to Washington to greet Trump before the election, hat in hand, desperate to see this new trade agreement implemented. But signing the new treaty and a White House visit are not creating friendship with Mexico. Instead, the celebratory visit is a bitter blow to Mexicans in the United States who have felt the sting of Trump's rhetoric.

"Trump conditioned his support for the USMCA on Mexico keeping quiet and taking in thousands of deported Mexicans, putting their sons and daughters in cages," declared a bitter statement by the Binational Front of Indigenous Organizations. "How is it possible," it asked Lopez Obrador, "that you, who won the election in Mexico on a progressive platform of change for our country, have become a collaborator with Donald Trump, who from the time he was a candidate never hid his racism and hatred towards us?"

Juvencio Rocha Peralta, executive director of the Association of Mexicans in North Carolina, accused Lopez Obrador of "paying homage" to Trump while ignoring the havoc in communities of migrants caused by the virus. "What we need from you are jobs in our home towns, so that our national economy no longer depends on remittances from our labor here."

Abandoning a path of development in its own national interest, Mexico has signed a trade treaty that subordinates its health policies during a pandemic to the needs of U.S. corporations. Mexico's migration policies cater to the labor demands of U.S. growers and the political demands of the U.S. right wing. This dependence is exacting a terrible price, measured in the deaths of maquiladora workers in border factories and migrants in U.S. fields.


Among the Mexicans in the Zocalo, celebrating the inauguration of Mexico's new President, Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador, are workers fired in the privatization of the city's Ruta 100 busline over twenty years earlier, at the beginning of the NAFTA era.  Many workers like these believed AMLO's promise that he would end the neoliberal policies of the NAFTA era.  (David Bacon, Stanford University Green Library)
 
David Bacon is author of Illegal People-How Globalization Creates Migration and Criminalizes Immigrants (2008), and The Right to Stay Home (2013), both from Beacon Press. His latest book is In the Fields of the North / En los campos del norte, University of California Press, Colegio de la Frontera Norte, 2017. This article is based on a presentation given to a webinar organized by Global Exchange and the California Trade Justice Coalition, an affiliate of the Citizens Trade Campaign.

Thursday, July 2, 2020

TRUMP'S IMMIGRATION ORDER: FAST TRACK TO AN ABUSIVE PAST

TRUMP'S IMMIGRATION ORDER: FAST TRACK TO AN ABUSIVE PAST
by David Bacon
The American Prospect, July 2, 2020
https://prospect.org/labor/trump-immigration-order-farmworkers-no-rights/


Bert Corona, father of the modern immigrant rights movement

On June 24, new COVID-19 cases passed 200 in one day in rural Yakima County in central Washington state for the third time this June. That brought the total number of people infected to 6,940, and the number of the dead to 132. The infection toll for Seattle's King County, with a population ten times larger than Yakima's, was 9,453.

COVID numbers are spiking in farmworker communities all over the United States. On June 26, the Imperial Valley, on the California-Mexican border, the source of winter vegetables worth over $1.8 billion per year, registered 5,549 cases and 70 deaths. In California's huge San Joaquin Valley, Fresno County had 3,892 infections and 71 deaths, and Kern County had 4,108 cases and 63 deaths. Collier County in Florida, center of the U.S. tomato crop and headquarters of the Coalition of Immokalee Workers, had 3,778 cases and 70 deaths. Cumberland County, New Jersey's agricultural heartland, had 2,876 cases and 124 deaths, and nearby Chester County, Pennsylvania, where workers labor in Kennett Square's mushroom sheds, had 3,437 cases and 313 deaths. In Arizona's Yuma County, an irrigated desert along the Colorado River, there were 5,323 cases and 76 deaths.

This raging rural infection rate, which tracks those of urban counties many times their size, is not due to a refusal by farmworkers to wear facemasks. It is a function of structural racism-the way immigrants in general, and farmworkers in particular, are treated as disposable labor. People in the fields are viewed as machines, whose ability to work is the only aspect of their human value worth considering.

There is no clearer demonstration of this fact than the immigration order issued by the Trump administration on June 23. President Trump boasted that he would "preserve jobs for American citizens" by stopping the recruitment of guest workers in four visa categories. He failed to mention, however, that he was leaving untouched the country's main guest worker program, under which growers bring farm laborers to the U.S.-the H-2A visa program.

Faced with the need to please agribusiness, Trump made clear that no rhetoric about family values applies to farmworkers. H-2A migrants cannot bring a wife or a child with them (the program notoriously discriminates against hiring women), so they live the lives of lonely men in barracks. And in its most significant impact on families, Trump's order would close down the country's historic path for keeping families together-the family preference system for granting residence visas, or "green cards."

Smoke and Mirrors

There's nothing new about streamlining the labor supply for growers, making it cheaper and more vulnerable, under the cover of anti-immigrant rhetoric.

Trump's order ostensibly stops the issuance of visas for four much smaller guest worker programs, including H-1B for workers in health care and high tech; H-2B for non-agricultural workers, mostly in landscaping, forestry, and food processing; L-1 for corporate executives; and J-1, the visa for students in cultural exchange programs, au pairs, and university researchers.

Nativist anti-immigrant organizations duly praised the order, which a senior administration official claimed to Vox "would open up 525,000 jobs." The anti-immigrant Center for Immigration Studies declared, "Now there is a new sheriff in town. For the first time, a president has stood up for the American people." According to Tom Homan, former acting director of Immigration and Customs Enforcement under Trump, "With record unemployment crushing millions of Americans ... importing more foreign labor ... is simply unacceptable."

Almost all media coverage took Trump's claim at face value. Yet the announcement was clearly a case of smoke and mirrors. According to Mary Bauer, counsel for the Centro de los Derechos de Migrantes (the Center for Migrant Rights), "We can't figure out where these numbers are coming from. This administration just makes things up."

In March, Trump shut down the international division of Citizenship and Immigration Services, the office that processes all visa applications abroad, and effectively closed visa operations at U.S. consulates. Most H-1B and H-2B work visa applications for this year had already been made and approved, however, and will be unaffected by the new order. The impact on employers, therefore, will be small, despite their loud, pro-forma protests. 

In any case, those two visa categories have caps of 65,000 each, making them much smaller than the untouched guest worker program for agribusiness, which has no cap. Last year the administration certified grower applications to fill over a quarter of a million jobs with H-2A workers. And when Trump in March shut down the processing of all other visa applications, growers got the administration to keep their flow of guest workers going.

Adding one more wrinkle, the order allows employers to apply for exceptions to the work visa bans. A blanket exemption has already been made for the food supply and health care industries. Meatpacking companies that use H-2B visas to send workers into COVID-saturated plants will undoubtedly win exemptions, as will hospital corporations that want H-1B nurses to risk their lives in the pandemic's emergency rooms. "But where's the protection from OSHA, or for wages and sick pay, or any reform of the abuses of these guest worker programs?" Bauer asks. "There's nothing here to protect workers, regardless of whether they're guest worker visa holders or citizens."

Resisting the Impact of the Virus

That lack of protection is especially serious for the huge wave of workers recruited by agribusiness. Bringing H-2A workers into the country in the middle of a pandemic is dangerous. Mexico, the country from which over 250,000 were recruited last year, is struggling to contain its own outbreak. There is no testing for these contract workers as they cross the border. Meanwhile, in the U.S. towns where they're put to work, COVID cases are spiking.

COVID infections go back and forth between workers themselves and their surrounding communities. In March and April, the biggest apple grower in Washington, Stemilt Fruit, admitted that over 50 workers it had recruited in Mexico had the virus. Because these workers showed symptoms more than one month after their arrival, it was likely they hadn't brought the illness with them-they were infected here.

In many places, non-H-2A farmworkers and their families have gone on strike to enforce working conditions that would keep the virus from spreading.

On the same day that virus cases reached 3,533 in California's Tulare County, with 118 deaths, sorters went on strike in the sheds of Primex Corporation's 5,000 acres of pistachio groves. Although workers say 61 have tested positive, one worker, Veronica Perez, says the company was selling them facemasks for $8 apiece. Another worker, Ernestina Mejia, charged, "The company told us nothing. We found out workers were getting sick by talking with each other in the bathroom. Now my whole family is infected."

Workers in Yakima Valley apple packinghouses went on strike earlier this month for the same demand-safety from the virus. Knowing the disease was peaking in their county, they wanted hazard pay to compensate for the terrible risk involved in just going to work.

Raising wages, however, is not part of the administration's plan. Instead, Trump has promised to help growers lower the required pay for H-2A workers, who now make up 10 percent of the U.S. farm workforce. Currently, each state has to calculate an Adverse Effect Wage Rate that won't undermine the wages of farmworkers already living here, who are mostly immigrants themselves. The new rule that the administration is proposing would cost workers up to $6 an hour, while saving growers millions.

Lowering wages for H-2A workers would pull the floor from under farmworker wages in general. In Georgia, growers already fill a quarter of all farm labor jobs with H-2A visa holders. Local farmworkers are not in a strong position to insist on higher wages in the face of this forced competition. The income of farmworkers nationally is already below the poverty line, with an average annual family income between $17,500 and $20,000.

Grower pressure to lower costs, even at the risk of the spread of the virus, descends on states as well. In Washington, a state with a Democratic governor and legislature, the department of health was pressured to issue a toothless "guideline" for grower housing that puts workers' lives at risk. In the barracks for H-2A migrants, workers sleep in bunk beds closer to each other than the six-foot distance recommended by the state's own epidemiologists. Prohibiting bunk beds, however, would have required growers to build additional housing or hire local workers instead. Either alternative would increase costs. The "guidelines" therefore gave bunk beds the stamp of approval, and farmworker unions and advocates are now suing the state's Democratic administration.

Undoing What the Civil Rights Era Won

Unsurprisingly, Trump has repeatedly declared his support for the agricultural guest worker program.  In a 2018 Michigan speech he told a grower audience, "We're going to let your guest workers come in, because we have to have strong borders, but we have to let your workers in ... We have to have them."

Agriculture Secretary Sonny Perdue has explained that the administration wants "to separate immigration, which is people wanting to become citizens, [from] a temporary, legal guest-worker program. That's what agriculture needs, and that's what we want."

There's nothing new about streamlining the labor supply for growers, making it cheaper and more vulnerable, under the cover of anti-immigrant rhetoric. Growers' desire for low-wage labor was the justification for the bracero program, which brought up to half a million people per year from Mexico, to harvest U.S. crops between 1942 and 1964. The program was notorious. Braceros were held in labor camps, often behind barbed wire. If they went on strike, they were deported. If local workers went on strike, growers brought in braceros to replace them.

Deportations and anti-immigrant racism were part of the scheme. In one year, 1954, the U.S. deported 1.1 million migrants in "Operation Wetback." Two years later 445,197 braceros were brought to work on U.S. farms, 153,000 in California alone.

People who came as braceros did try to stay in the U.S., even if it meant walking away from those labor camps and living without documents for years.  But bringing family members and setting down roots was out of the question - for both braceros and the undocumented.  During those Cold War years it was very difficult for immigrants to come to the U.S. legally from Latin America, the Philippines and other non-European countries. 

The growing Chicano civil rights movement of the early 1960s, led by Ernesto Galarza, Bert Corona, Cesar Chavez and others, sought to overturn turn this racist system, which prioritized growers' labor needs over the needs of workers and families.  In 1964 their organizing efforts grew strong enough to force Congress to repeal Public Law 78 and end the bracero program.

The following year, the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 set up a system in which people from all nations-not just Western Europe-could come to the U.S., and in which those already in the U.S. could petition for visas for mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, brothers, and sisters. Community demographics changed in the wave of immigration that followed. Migrant workers still followed jobs and crops, and slept in labor camps. But at the same time immigrant families-mostly people of color-sought to reunite themselves and set down roots. Their communities grew, and together with the civil rights and labor movements, began to challenge local rightwing regimes. In time, Los Angeles was no longer governed by the racist Sam Yorty, and slowly, California-once the political home of Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan-became a "sanctuary" state.

Today Latinxs and Asian Americans join Black youth, supported by young white people, in the huge street protests over the police murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and Andy Lopez.  The growth and radicalization of immigrant communities helped make this alliance possible.

Failing to See the Danger

At the federal level, however, many "immigration reform" proposals, including laws passed in the 1980s and 1990s, have sought to reverse this course by establishing new bracero-type programs, criminalizing immigration and militarizing the border. The family preference system has been sabotaged by limits on the available visas. The waiting time for a visa to bring a married son or daughter from Manila or Mexico City is now over 22 years.

Trump's new order makes this course reversal official, at least until it expires in December, by placing no limits on guest workers for growers, and completely ending the issuance of visas for family reunification. That is basically the return of the U.S. immigration policy of the 1950s.

That prospect should make the order an election issue. To be sure, ending the family preference system permanently, in the view of the CDM's Mary Bauer, cannot be accomplished without an act of Congress, rewriting the 1965 law. "Trump has been able to use the pandemic to impose temporary measures, but permanent changes can't be done by executive order," she says.

Nevertheless, should Trump win reelection, it is clear that he would try to extend his order and make it permanent. A Supreme Court majority that upheld the DACA program only a week after giving its blessing to the administration's restrictions on asylum applicants cannot be depended on to save family preferences.

Why, then, is this not a big issue for Democrats? Some Democratic office holders buy the neoliberal idea that immigration policy should be "market based" and serve labor needs. There was significant support in the party for those parts of past comprehensive immigration bills that sought to end some family preferences, using the argument that they weren't serving the needs of the economy.

At the same time mainstream Democrats supported other proposals to tie the qualifications for receiving visas to employable skills and higher education - requirements favored by employers (and Trump) but that would erode, and eventually end, the family preference system.  Some, like California's Sen. Diane Feinstein, support H-2A and guest worker programs and see no problem making alliances with growers to preserve them.

But what about the Democratic left? A class perspective no longer gets a candidate redbaited when it's applied to issues like health care, gentrification, or fighting the banks. But that perspective is strangely absent when it comes to much of U.S. immigration policy.

Part of the problem is historical amnesia. We don't remember the fights it took to get what we have now. We may remember names like Cesar Chavez, Ernesto Galarza, and Bert Corona, but we don't quite remember what it was they fought for, or why.

Amnesia can be costly, though. At a minimum it will keep the Democratic Party from campaigning on an issue the Trump administration has handed to it. And should the election go awry, it would mean a fast track backwards to one of the most abusive periods for immigrants in U.S. history. If the Democrats win, defending family preferences and ending the H-2A program isn't a given either, but fighting for those goals now will build a more powerful movement for them if a new administration takes office.

As COVID-19 sweeps through rural counties and farmworker towns, Trump's immigration order may seem a distant issue. But the administration is using the pandemic to accomplish a goal it might not be able to otherwise, moving while attention is focused on immediate illness and death. To fight the virus's spread, workers and immigrants have to challenge not just the dangerous working and wretched housing conditions but also the entire system of immigration and guest worker policies from which they arise. They have to fight for the same goals that Galarza and Corona fought for more than half a century ago.

"Trump is dismantling all protections for immigrant communities, especially for families and workers," says Alma Maquitico, co-director of the National Network for Immigrant and Refugee Rights. "Our families are the ones risking COVID to harvest crops and care for others. We need real legalization for those without papers, and a working preference system for keeping our families together. Guest worker programs don't do either of these things. They just exploit us."

Monday, June 29, 2020

WORKERS' STRIKES ARE AN IMPORTANT PART OF TODAY'S MOVEMENT

WORKERS' STRIKES ARE AN IMPORTANT PART OF TODAY'S MOVEMENT
By David Bacon
Stansbury Forum, 6/29/20
https://stansburyforum.com/author/davidbacon


Jessica Etheridge, a cocktail waitress and member of Unitehere Local 2, on May Day at the Amazon warehouse in Richmond.

This presentation was made to a webinar organized by the Economics Faculty of the National Autonomous University of Mexico on June 24
 


There have been over 800 strikes since the COVID-19 crisis began, according to Payday Report, with many especially since the murder of George Floyd.  Regardless of the exact number, it is clear that something new is developing among workers.

There's a lot of variation in these actions.  Some have been protests, like those at Amazon, over the death of workers and lack of PPE.  Some, like the strikes in the apple sheds in Washington, have been demands for safe work and compensation.  Some have been protests over racism and in solidarity with Black Lives Matter.

These strikes don't compare in size or number with the outpouring of rage over the murders by police, which have been enormous and ongoing.  But they are very significant for a number of reasons.

They are class-based protests by workers, over the underlying conditions that have brought people into the streets in general.  Overwhelmingly they have been organized by workers themselves, indicating both a deep level of anger over the conditions, and an understanding that striking is an effective form of protest and a means to change them.

In most cases unions have been slow to respond and overly cautious about action at the workplace.  There are important exceptions to this, however.  Familias Unidas por la Justicia, the new farmworkers' union in Washington, immediately sent organizers to support apple shed workers who struck against the virus.  The achievements of those strikes was the result, not just of spontaneous action, but of FUJ's ability to organize support for them.

The longshore union organized a one-day strike and mass demonstration on Juneteenth, using the day celebrating the official end of slavery to mobilize support for dismantling police departments.  Other unions locally and elsewhere have organized labor marches supporting Black Lives Matter as well.  Bus drivers in Minneapolis refused to drive busses to transport police to demonstrations, or people arrested in the protests.

These strikes and actions show an intersection between the impact of the coronavirus and the protests over the murder of George Floyd.  The actions against the virus and its impact, and against police murders, are clearly responses to a deeper social and economic crisis.

All these protests focus on a growing race-based economic inequality, especially impacting Black people.  In the first twelve weeks of the coronavirus crisis, the combined wealth of all U.S. billionaires increased by more than $637 billion.  The top 12 U.S. billionaires have a combined wealth of $921 billion.  The entire value off all the homes owned by Black families, over 17 million households, is less than that.

This inequality isn't a result of bad policies.  It is historically and structrually part of American capitalism itself.  The system has been built on the exploitation of all workers, but the superexploitation of Black workers produced extra surplus value.  Slavery and the exploitation that followed produced U.S. capitalism's extraordinary growth.

That extra exploitation imposed permanent conditions of inequality on Black people - in jobs and wages, services, social benefits, and education.  Today it is the basis for the racist impact of the coronavirus.  The inequality imposed during slavery became the model for social inequality imposed on other racially and nationally oppressed people.

Race more than anything else determines who will live in crowded, segregated neighborhoods, who will be exposed to lead-poisoned water and toxic waste,  and who will live with polluted air and suffer illness from asthma to heart disease.  It is no surprise that when a new disease arrives, COVID-19, these same factors determine who will be the most affected in large numbers.

For every 100,000 African Americans, 62 die of the virus, 36 of every 100,000 native people, 28 of every 100,000 Latinos, and 26 of every 100,000 Asian Americans and every 100,000 white people. 

While 70% of the people who die from COVID-19 in Louisiana are Black, Black people are only 33 percent of the population. In Alabama, 44 percent of the COVID-19 deaths are of Black people, who are 26 percent of the population.

The coronavirus has created a crisis of unemployment for all workers in the U.S., but especially for Black workers, and workers of color generally.  As of late May, 38 million people had lost their jobs during the pandemic, and the overall unemployment rate was 13.3%.  A year earlier it was 3.6%.  But Black unemployment was 16.8% (a year earlier 6.2%) and Latino unemployment was 17.6% (a year earlier 4.2%).  Over 44 percent of Black households have suffered a job or wage loss due to the pandemic, and 61 percent of Latino households.

The government's response to economic crisis has been to create the catagory of essential  industry, and therefore, of the essential workers who labor in it.  It is true that some kinds of production and economic activity are essential for survival.  But the real-life result of calling people essential is that they are forced to work at a time when they are risking their lives. 

Farmworkers are just one example.  Their work is socially necessary.  but calling them essential means that employers can fire them if they don't come to work.  It does not require employers to pay them extra, provide health benefits, or pay them if they get sick and can't work.

Half of all farm workers are undocumented, and were therefore excluded from the Federal CARES Act benefit package, intended to help people survive the crisis.  By denying any alternative means of buying food and paying rent, the Federal legislation was an important pressure forcing them to go to work. 

Trump forced Black and immigrant workers to go to work in meatpacking plants when the virus was everywhere, by denying them unemployment benefits, and using the Defense Production Act to announce that nothing could get in the way of food production to ensure that meat would continue to be available in supermarkets. 

The hypocrisy of this announcement was revealed when meatpacking companies admitted that in April, as the coronavirus crisis was raging, they exported 129,000 tons of pork to China, the highest amount in history. 

About 37.7 percent of Black workers work in essential industries, compared to 26.9 percent of whites. They leave home to go to their jobs because they cannot stay home and work on computers.  In California, over half of essential workers are low wage workers, and are Latino or Black, including farmworkers, healthcare workers, custodians and building cleaners and truck drivers. Half of all immigrant workers are essential workers. 

And because workers of color are concentrated in the essential catagories, they are the ones exposed to the virus.  At least 333 meatpacking and food processing plants and 46 farms have confirmed cases of COVID-19, and at least 32,099 workers have contracted it.  At least 109 have died.

One company, JBS, has had a wave of infected workers and deaths.  A black Haitian immigrant, Enock Benjamin, died in a Philadelphia plant where he was the union steward.  Tin Aye, a Burmese immigrant and grandmother, died after working in a JBS plant in Colorado for ten years.

The impact of the virus is a terrain of social struggle.  Meatpacking alone has seen a wave of protests and strikes.  In mid-June JBS workers and supporters marched in the streets of Logan, Utah, demanding it close its Hyrum plant for cleaning and for pay during the coronavirus outbreak.  Some 287 workers from the plant tested positive for the virus.

In Stearns County, Minnesota, a protest outside a plant was organized by the Greater Minnesota Worker Center and the Council on American-Islamic Relations.  In Springdale, Arkansas, Venceremos, a poultry workers' rights organization, tried to deliver a workers' petition to Tyson managers.

Meatpacking workers protested outside Quality Sausage Co. in Dallas after some died.  The wife of one worker said, "The virus was the gun that killed him but Quality Sausage was the hand that pulled the trigger."

These worker strikes and protests are part of a broader movement led by African American organizations responding to police murder and racial inequality.  One of the most important organizations leading it is the Poor People's Campaign led by Rev. William Barber and Rev. Liz Theoharis.  It has a program with five basic demands:

* Establish Justice and End Systemic Racism - Democracy and Equal Protection Under the Law
* The Right to Welfare and an Adequate Standard of Living
* The Right to Work with Dignity
* The Right to Health and A Healthy Environment
* Cut the military budget

The campaign's statement of principles says, "We know that poor and dispossessed people will not wait to be saved. Instead, people are taking lifesaving action borne out of necessity to demand justice now ... We are demanding voting rights, living wages, guaranteed incomes, health care, clean air and water and peace in this violent world."

These demands help to give a framework of radical reform, on a national level, to the individual demands put forward in the strikes and protests.  In particular, they reiterate the thinking of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King in his speech condeming imperialism and war, when he charged that the bombs dropped on Vietnam were exploding in U.S. cities.

In the language of the Poor People's Campaign, "if we cut military spending, implement fair taxes, cancel the debts of those who cannot pay, and invest our abundant resources in demands of the poor - we could fundamentally revive our economy and transform our society."

Tuesday, June 23, 2020

"LET'S HAVE OUR VOICES COUNT!"

"LET'S HAVE OUR VOICES COUNT!"
Black education unionists call for an avalanche of protests for racial justice
By David Bacon
CFT United, June 10, 2020
https://www.cft.org/article/lets-have-our-voices-count-urge-cft-black-leaders


Calling for justice in a huge demonstration in the Port of Oakland


For weeks, hundreds of thousands of people have filled the streets of 160 cities across the country, even during the coronavirus pandemic, expressing their outrage and grief at the murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis. Two Black leaders of the CFT, with long histories of fighting for racial equity, say they could not help being profoundly moved by the murder itself, and the outpouring of rage in response.

"We have a basic expectation that we won't be murdered by the police, that we have due process," says Angelo Williams, who's taught sociology at Sacramento City College for 13 years. "But when it comes to Black and Brown people, that's not what we get. Every student knows this. We can't continue this way one more day."

Carl Williams (no relation to Angelo Williams), a Lawndale elementary school custodian and president of the CFT Council of Classified Employees, was so deeply moved that "I haven't watched the whole recording of George Floyd to the end. I can't do it. As a Black man, I'm shocked but not shocked. It's not something we should be used to, but we are. So when people say, 'Not one more time!' I say, 'Absolutely!'"

While deeply disturbed by Floyd's death in Minneapolis, in interviews both respond immediately that the deaths of Black men at the hands of the police are a fact of life much closer than Minnesota. "I lived in L.A. when we went into the streets after Rodney King was beaten," Carl Williams recalls. "I'm a lot wiser now than I was then, but some things don't change."

In the national avalanche of people into the streets, people hold signs remembering the murders of Breonna Taylor, Ahmad Arbery, Tony McDade and others in a plague of violence visited on Blacks, not just recently, but since slavery.

Angelo Williams remembers the community grief and rage that met the murder of Stephon Clark two years ago, by Terrence Mercadal and Jared Robinet, two officers of the Sacramento Police Department. He was shot eight times, six in the back, standing in the backyard of his grandmother's house with a phone in his hand.

"We don't have to look at far off places," he reminds us. "We should focus on cases here in California, starting with Stephon Clark. The police officers who murdered him must be fired and tried. We must make them face the music. This was a police murder here, in our state capital."

He also emphasizes that while Black men suffer this violence more than any others, people of color and women in general are targeted. "Latinos are murdered too, like Andy Lopez in Santa Rosa." Lopez, a 13-year old boy, was shot as he was walking with a BB gun, by a deputy sheriff who was never charged.

Both men, however, believe that the massive protests, going on for 14 days;at the time of this writing, show clearly that something has changed, and that stopping police murder is possible. And they also believe that the union has a role to play in making that happen.

Four years ago the two participated with over a dozen other CFT members in the Racial Equity Task Force, set up in response to a resolution passed at the CFT Convention in 2016. The task force hammered out, over the course of a year, "Reclaiming the Promise of Racial Equity for Black Males in California," a pioneering report setting goals for moving towards racial justice in the state educational system, and in the union.

The report warned that while "we can celebrate the progress made toward racial equity by the various historical and new movements for civil rights and racial equity... each key moment of progress was followed by backlash aimed at maintaining the status quo of structural racism."

Key to the report, Angelo Williams explains, is that "we used an equity framework, instead of one seeing Black men as a problem. We have value and knowledge. Black teachers can change the trajectory of students because of their perspective on American culture. We should welcome African American men as teachers. I became a teacher because my father and grandfather were teachers. Black men are valuable to the union."

For Carl Williams, working as a custodian at an elementary school gave him an important presence. "The role of any classified worker is unique," he explains. "We interact with students when they're not in the classroom and governed by classroom rules. We have a connection to African American boys, because they feel comfortable with people who look like them. When they see us, they recognize us as family. Maybe their dad works in a uniform, or they have a mother in food service, who looks like us. Plus, they see us out in the community, because most classified workers live in the district where they work."

How then does the work of Black classified workers and teachers translate into political power that can stop police violence? Both men caution that there are no easy answers. "I don't know if the work we do at school can change police brutality," Carl Williams warns. "We wind up preparing kids for interactions with police, because it's their survival. We shouldn't have to do that, but it's where we are."

Still, he believes in the power of the union to create change. "First, we need to recognize who's being murdered," he says. "I look at what happened to George Floyd and think, how would I feel if he was one of my students? George Floyd was somebody's student. Then we have to let our voices be heard. Let us create opposition. And let us lift up those in our organization who should be heard, and not be afraid to stand up for what's right. We must stand up and be vocal."

Angelo Williams thinks that the power of the union comes from solidarity. "It's built into our DNA. It's the core architecture of the union. From the locals to the national, we need to speak with one voice, and say that this cannot be tolerated. We must hold people accountable, from police officers to the president of the United States."

Getting into the streets is part of it, he says, participating in peaceful protests wherever they are. "We can be the example," he emphasizes. " We need to be there, so these protests are not seen just as fights between protesters and the police. Unions are organized to bring people together. Our union has power, a history of solidarity. We understand how to change laws, how to organize."

Both credit CFT President Jeff Freitas for reaching out in the process of writing the union's first statement about the Minneapolis events. "The murder of George Floyd by a police officer was an unspeakable act of violence, and our communities across the country are responding to his murder with understandable grief and rage," the statement says.

"But we know this is not an isolated incident. Black communities, and especially Black men, are exhausted and terrified because of the omnipresent structural and institutional racism they experience every day that often leads to violence against them. As a union of educators and classified professionals, our work includes taking action to dismantle the systems and structures that uphold anti-Black racism in our schools and our communities."

Carl and Angelo Williams are both thinking about how the union should continue to speak, and beyond speaking, to organize. Carl Williams has been drafted onto an AFT committee, where he'll meet with AFT President Randi Weingarten and several others to consider next steps.

"I'm bringing to it my experience as a Black man living in L.A.," he says, "which has a history of these acts, and Black men and Black students know this. Today social media is bringing tools and knowledge to the fingertips of young people. We should encourage them, while we speak to their fears and tell them how it is for us. Social and racial justice are at the core of what our union is all about. We would be remiss if we stood aside. We can't stand aside or be silent."

Both men look toward November, as well as at the immediate protests. Angelo Williams says that during the period before the election, the country still needs a president who can "demonstrate some heart and soul and human empathy, who can understand that the right to protest is an American right, and allow the voice of the people to be heard. And then the youth in the streets - putting their lives on the line - should bring their ballots with them and put them in the mail. A referendum on this president is coming no matter what."

The most important thing, they believe, is that the union and its members must act, and do so in accord with its history and principles. "Labor unions are social justice organizations," Carl Williams emphasizes. "It's what unions are all about. And that makes it very appropriate for us to take part in protesting. So let our voice be heard."

"Let's get up and get active," Angelo Williams urges. "It's not too late for us to have our voices count."

Monday, June 15, 2020

VIGAN'S PUBLIC MARKET: THE COMMONS IN THE HANDS OF FARMERS AND THE POOR

VIGAN'S PUBLIC MARKET: THE COMMONS IN THE HANDS OF FARMERS AND THE POOR
Text and photographs by David Bacon
Gastronomica, Summer 2020
https://online.ucpress.edu/gastronomica/article/20/2/99/110266/Vigan-s-Public-Market-The-Commons-in-the-Hands-of


 Children of the stall owners often work in the market with their families.


Walking through the public markets of the Philippines, I can see a way that people have been able to institutionalize public markets, keeping their people-serving purpose intact.

Vigan's current public market was rebuilt in the years after the fall of the dictator Ferdinand Marcos. Under Marcos, farm income plummeted as he opened the economy to transna- tional loans and investment. According to the Food and Nutrition Research Institute, by 1982 two-thirds of families consumed less than the recommended minimum daily calorie intake.

In the wake of the 1986 Peoples' Power movement that ended Marcos's rule, rural people expected that the government would act to redistribute land and boost rural income. Rebuilding the market was a visible act by local government to demonstrate changed priorities.

Despite all the changes in how food and clothing are distributed and sold in a modern city, today the Vigan market is still a destination for thousands of people. Its prices are lower than most other places, and the experience of buying something is much more personal. In the interactions between stall owners and their customers, it is clear that in many cases people have known each other for years.

Emil de Guzman, a Filipino American activist from San Francisco, describes the role of the public market in Philippine towns:

"In the Philippines at the heart of any city or town is a plaza. At the center of all activity is the palengke, a huge one-story structure housing the local vendors, shopkeepers, small businesses under one roof, in compartmentalized units buying and selling goods and services.

"The palengke is purposely sectioned to accommodate vendors standing side by side selling the same products: butchers selling meat, sellers of fresh fish and seafoods, rows of newly harvested vegetables. The coconuts vendors are sectioned off nearby other stalls selling the garlic and onions, then tofu, then eggs, then mangos, papayas and dried fish. Then nearby sections on clothes, cosmetics, umbrellas and the list goes on. Thousands come to the palengke to shop and buy/bargain at the lowest prices."

Vigan's public market is just the latest iteration of the city's history as a trading and market center, going back centuries. Vigan is one of the oldest cities in the Philippines and was founded by Chinese traders long before the arrival of the Spaniards. In the language of these migrants from Fujian Province, the name Bi-gan meant Beautiful Shore.

In Vigan they traded gold and beeswax from the Cordilleras, the mountain range that forms the spine of Luzon, for Chinese porcelain and other goods. The status of the Chinese ethnic mi- nority in the Philippines is still controversial. The Chinese com- munity even established a museum in Manila, arguing that their presence was a crucial part of Philippine history and that Chinese workers helped build the country over centuries.

The Spaniards colonized the islands, capturing Vigan in 1572 and making it the administrative capital of northern Luzon, called Nueva Segovia. By then a central market here was long established. It provided a critical function for farm- ers, who brought food into the city, and for the city dwellers who depended on them.

All over the world similar markets exist. While the nature of the economies of individual countries change, these markets exist to fulfill the same function of providing food and goods at low prices to poor people, and to provide a way for farmers to bring agricultural products directly to consumers.

During the last two or three decades, the food sovereignty movement in affluent countries has been reinventing this institution-the farmers' market-that has been an institution in much of the rest of the world for centuries. In part, this is motivated by the search for a more sustainable, less corporate-dominated food system. While public markets are threatened by the growth of supermarkets and corporate systems for food processing and distribution, their continued popularity is due not only to the fact that their food is generally cheaper for consumers but by the very fact that they are an alternative.

Public markets, where local farmers and other small vendors sell to people without much money, are institutions that not only serve an important social purpose but are structures set up by governments in response to popular need and pressure. That makes them part of the public space that people often have to struggle to protect.






An old man and a boy in the window of a colonial building in the old mestizo, or Chinese, section of Vigan. 



 Selling coconuts and other vegetables at a stall in the market. 



 A girl in a world of her own.



 Buying groceries.



Many stalls in the market serve cheap meals. 



 A woman sells rambutans from a table in the hallway of the market. 



Farmers and stall owners have to get up early to arrive when the market opens, and then fall asleep during the day.



 Catching sleep during a lull in the market.




 
Relaxing behind bags of beans and tamarinds. 



 A farmer unpacking bags of calamansi fruit. 



 Kids in the market hallway playing a game where they guess at the cards and then slam them down on the floor. 



 Rice is the staple of the Philippines and is grown and sold in a number of varieties. 



 A girl with her mom at the rice stall.