Know My Name

Reflection on Dignity

Unitarian Society of Santa Barbara

August 12, 2012

Deportees, by Woody Guthrie
performed by Arlo Guthrie and Emmylou Harris
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TN3HTdndZec

reflection audio link:

http://www.ussb.org/mp3s/2012/20120812reflectioncbregante.mp3

The song, Deportees, is the story of a 1948 plane crash in Los Gatos Canyon that killed 32 people, four Americans and 28 migrant farm workers who were being deported back to Mexico from California. The farm workers were part of the braceros program of the 1940s through the 1960s, a program designed to bring in temporary, low paid contract workers from Mexico to harvest the fruit fields and orchards of California. Today these workers would be referred to (somewhat ironically I think) as “guest workers”.

During the time of the braceros, it was common to bring workers over the border from Mexico with intentionally flawed contracts (in English) so as to make them legally invalid. Following a season of backbreaking field work in California's orchards and fields, the braceros would ocassionally be rounded up as illegals because of the invalid contracts and deported without being paid at all. I do not know if this was the case for the victims of the crash over Los Gatos Canyon.

Everyone on board that 1948 plane crash died. News coverage of the event gave the names of the four American flight crew members, but referred to the migrant workers only as “deportees.” The Mexican victims were buried in a mass grave at Holy Cross Cemetery in Fresno. Only twelve of the victims were ever identified.

Woody Guthrie was outraged that these people were not identified, that they were robbed of the simplest measure of dignity, their names. He responded by writing Deportee (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos) originally as a poem. And while he did not know the actual names of the victims, it was crucial to him that they have names in this poem. Goodbye to my Juan. Goodbye Rosalita. Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria. 10 years later a schoolteacher named Martin Hoffman set Woody's poem to music, and it became the song we know today, arguably one of Woody's most powerful and relevant songs.

I find this story heartbreaking, both for the individuals who died without their names in this particular incident, and for the fact that we still treat the people who harvest our crops with little dignity and respect.

I could continue this reflection by talking about the abuses and injustices with which we continue to treat our farm workers. And I could feel rightous about speaking out about these injustices. But the truth is, we all rob people of their dignity all the time. We don't always promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person, as our first principle instructs us. Sometimes we forget that this principle applies to every person, not just people we like or agree with. We all rob people of their dignity.

I rob people of their dignity.

Whenever we group a bunch of people under a heading, be it illegal immigrants, gays and lesbians, Republicans, or Unitarians we must be very careful. While these labels provide a short hand for talking about a group of people in similar situations or with similar beliefs, they remove the individual identities of the people who make up those groups, making it too easy to stereotype. The names and faces of the people belonging to any group (with the exception of the most prominent members) are erased.

I do this all the time when I refer to the Religous Right or Republicans. I am quick to laugh at jokes made at their expense and to lump them into narrowly defined groups with little compassion, a people I view as brimming with hatred and self-rightousness. Granted, most members of the Religious Right, and probably even more Republicans, do not suffer the humiliation and cruel injustices faced by migrant farm workers. But that's not the point. What does it say about me when I am quick to crack a joke that might deeply offend someone I know? Someone I love? Because when I talk about the Religious Right, I am talking about people I love.

The Religous Right is my sister-in-law, Mary, who paints beautiful, delicate water colors of Texas wildflowers.

The Religious Right is my dad's wife, Nelda, who grew up playing the piano in her Baptist Church on Sunday mornings.

The Religious Right is my cousin, Rod, his wife Susan, and their four beautiful children who I share Christmas dinner with every year, and enjoy catching up with.

The Religious Right is my late grandmother, Effie, who loved to go camping, who knew how to laugh at herself, and baked the most delicious dinner rolls on the planet.

The Religious Right is my own father who loves me unconditionally, a man I can openly disagree with on politics and religion, but whom I will always love and who will always love me in return. My relationship with my dad is the embodiment of the words we UUs hold so dear: “We don't have to think alike to love alike.”

***

Last week's shooting at a Sikh Temple in Oak Creek Wisconsin made me think of Woody Guthrie. How would he react to this tragedy and the slow response of the media to report on it? What sort of poem or song would he write to remember the people who died? Would he write a song like Deportees that reminds us that Sikhs are not nameless faces, but our brothers and sisters? Would he remind us that we cannot fight hate with hate? As the son of one of the victims said, “My father used to say you could not put out a fire by putting gasoline on it.” Would Woody tell us that if we do not ask hard questions about this event, about race and religion, that we are in danger of losing what is best about America? At it's best this is a country where we can practice our various faiths, celebrate our many cultural heritages, and disagree openly with our politicians. These are things worth protecting.

I don't know what kind of song Woody would write, but we can be sure he would give the victims of this tragedy the dignity of their names. Goodbye Suveg Singh Khattra, Satwant Singh Kaleka, and Paramjit Kaur. Goodbye Ranjit Singh, Sita Singh, and Prakash Singh. May you always have your dignity.