The Migrants

"The coyotes are all right," Julio said wearily. "They're just capitalissimo. They'll treat you right if they know they can get a good price for you. But these bosses, hmmm..." He paused, staring off into the distance. "They just cut the corazon, the heart, out of you, comprende?"

His companion nodded his assent, gesturing for Julio to continue.

"The bosses know you need the work," Julio went on, "so they know you won't complain. And if you do, they'll get you sent back over the border. So you keep your mouth shut and do whatever they tell you. Maybe someday you'll pay off your debt, and be free."

He paused for a moment, in reflection. "Free," he said with a sigh. "El Norte. Land of the Free. Who ever thought there was esclavitud, um, slavery here in America."

The other man listened intently. An agent of an organization that was part labor union, part human rights group, he was slowly learning the magnitude of the problem which faced him. At first he had thought it was just another difficult labor confrontation. But now he began to see that it was so much more than that.