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I wish I videotaped the conversation I had two nights ago. And it wasn't so much a conversation as him talking and me listening on the edge of my seat for what felt like a very long time. English is his second language so he spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. But I learned quickly that if I gave him time and didn't interrupt, he would find the perfect way to express himself, even if his words weren't as succinct as those of a native English speaker.
He grew up in Mexico, growing corn, peppers, onions, and other crops on his family's land. But after NAFTA passed, the corn in the grocery store became cheap. So cheap that it was cheaper than the corn his family produced. He couldn't sell his corn anymore, unless he sold it at a loss. Without a way to support his family, he had to come to America to work.
Others, he said, went to the cities in Mexico to work. But there, in the factories and sweatshops (often owned by foreign corporations), they still couldn't make enough to support their families. So they came to the United States too. None of them wanted to. They didn't want to leave their families, their friends, their culture, their way of life, and everything they knew. They had no choice.
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