For all I know, my buddies Joe and Mark may have been the last
white, Anglo-American field laborers in the United States. In their
late teens during the early 1980s, they spoke often of the dozens
of Hispanic migrants they toiled with at a large nursery in rural
Rhode Island.
I can’t recall since having met a single Caucasian whose primary
job responsibility was agricultural. The only non-managerial types
I’ve seen doing that kind of work have been minorities — mostly
Latino, of course.
Maybe Joe and Mark were unique. Joe lost his father to an
automobile accident when he was very young, and was left with his
mom and four sisters: two older, two younger. As the only male he
was highly motivated, known in town as a hard worker and
innovative. A natural leader, he was the high school football
team’s captain and a bulldozer of a running back. He established
his own mini-farm and raised chickens, pigs, turkeys and lambs, and
inspired his friends to join him in his livestock ventures. He was
too busy to concern himself with sun exposure, sweat, or
fatigue.
Mark was an independent thinker and carried the requisite
stubbornness that comes with it. No less diligent than Joe, he was
highly intelligent but instead of pursuing the path of academia, he
became an auto mechanic. I marveled at his frequent discoveries of
new music, so important to teenagers. He had his share of clashes
with his parents, but remained fiercely loyal to them at the same
time. He too played football — a blocker for Joe.
Joe and Mark were much stronger-willed than me, which I admired.
One summer day in my college years another friend, who worked for a
mason, called and asked me if I could help as a day laborer from
time-to-time. My first opportunity was spent sorting used bricks,
keeping the good and tossing the bad, and helping lay out a walkway
around a residential pool. A day in the heat carting heavy blocks
was enough for me, apparently, as I was never asked to return.
I guess that appreciation for my old friends is why I’m
somewhat,
as George Will wrote last week, “melancholy” since I think
highly of those who want “to get to America to do work most
Americans spurn.” At the wage level paid for inglorious
agricultural and construction work immigrants will line up, while
teenagers and kids just out of high school — the other labor pool
most likely to take jobs for that kind of pay — reject it.
Standing around behind a retail counter or taking your fast food
order is more appealing, or at least less unpleasant, I guess.
So what does this speak about most loudly: the kids, their
parents, the culture, or the economy?
The kids, as would most, want the biggest attainable buck for
the amount of effort they are willing to put forth. So the issue
with them and manual labor is that the reward doesn’t inspire the
needed motivation.
And parents for the most part don’t care about a work ethic. As
long as junior is occupied and paying something for car insurance
and maybe college, they appear content.
As for the culture, our prosperity has led to material comforts
even in homes identified as low-income. Why exert yourself to get
ahead when you’re not so far behind and still comfortable?
That leaves the economy, which chugs along despite the behaviors
of its labor resources. But it does reflect what Americans are
willing to pay for goods and services, and the wages they are
prepared to work for.
The problem is we have sailed along, post 9-11-01, with minimal
economic implications on labor costs. Fewer people (compared to
now) cared before the terrorist attacks that immigrants were
working these labor-intensive jobs. Now the dangers of our porous
borders are more obvious, and the cost of fixing them is not only
going to be in building walls and boosting enforcement, but also in
the price for products and services.
The consequences, if the U.S. finally enforces immigration more
strictly, will be addressed by the market. Draining the pool of
low-cost employees will either drive up the costs of building
structures and harvesting produce, or move the production of
materials and food elsewhere to maintain the prices we’re
accustomed to.
Finding guys like Joe and Mark ever again seems unlikely, but
under present circumstances, it’s too bad we couldn’t instead
deport some of those inert teenagers and keep those hard workers
from south of the border.
