Guthrie's song is not about limiting immigration but about the shabby treatment given 
migrants after their hyperexploitation by agribusiness.  To effectively limit 
immigration would mean not allowing them into the US labor market in the first place.  
Of course, this would ultimately have a negative impact on agribusiness profits, which 
is why the current compromise exists, of which Woody sings:  first abuse them then 
discard them.  But if effective enforcement were to prevent the migration and/or 
hiring of this low wage labor, it would necessarily bid up the price of labor for 
those onerous tasks, and indigenous unemployed and underemployed would be the only 
resource available.  It would have to meet AMERICAN wage expectations, which would be 
considerably higher.  Though some of this would be cost-push, adding to the price of 
the commodity in question, it would inevitable result in decline of profits for 
agribusiness.  Hence, enforcement against migratory foreign labor is slac!
k -- until, as Woody writes it, the "crops are all in."  Then it's another story.  
When I was up in Maine I learned that Mexican migrant labor is shipped that far 
northward to rake blueberries every year.  And what the Mexicans don't rake, is 
sometimes harvested byed by (believe it or not) Canadian migrant labor.  Yet 
unempoloyment is extraordinarily high in Maine.  Who should be doing this work?  Why 
are the wages of this kind of work kept so low as not to attract them?  For anyonwe 
who knows the fundamentals of capitalism, the question answers itself.  The 
capitalists and the foreign laborors "conspire" together to keep the price down to 
where profits are maximized for the capitalist, and a living wage is unavailable to 
indigenous labor.  I guess it's that old "invisible hand" up to its efficient work 
again . . . 

Peace,
Ken
   
>Date: Sat, 29 Jul 2000 17:45:17 -0500
>From: Carrol Cox <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
>To: "[EMAIL PROTECTED]" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
>Reply-To: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
>
>Tony Abdo wrote:
>
>> Ken, you state the case succintly..... immigrants must be stopped from
>> arriving, otherwise all us US workers are going straight to Hell. And
>> you quote the Book of Marx to do it!
>
>[For anyone who didn't read the original, Tony is being sarcastic]
>
>After making the decision to stop immigration, the next problem is
>how to do it. Guthrie had a suggestion.(He wrote the words after he
>had become too ill to perform. No music by Guthrie himself exists for
>the piece.)
>
>     DEPORTEE
>
>            The crops are all in and the peaches are rotting,
>            The oranges are piled in their creosote dumps.
>            You are flying them back to the Mexican border
>            To pay all their money to wade back again.
>
>                Goodbye my to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita,
>                Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria.
>                You won't have a name when you fly the big airplane
>                And all they will call you will be deportee.
>
>            My father's own father he waded that river,
>            They stole all the money he made in his life.
>            My sisters and brothers come working the fruit trees
>            And rode the truck til they took down and died.
>
>                Goodbye my to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita,
>                Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria.
>                You won't have a name when you fly the big airplane
>                And all they will call you will be deportee.
>
>            Some of us are illegal and some are not wanted.
>            Our work contract's out and we have to move on
>            Six hundred miles to the Mexican border.
>            They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
>
>                Goodbye my to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita,
>                Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria.
>                You won't have a name when you fly the big airplane
>                And all they will call you will be deportee.
>
>            We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
>            We died in your valleys and died on your plains,
>            We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
>            Both sides of the river -- we died just the same.
>
>                Goodbye my to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita,
>                Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria.
>                You won't have a name when you fly the big airplane
>                And all they will call you will be deportee.
>
>            The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon --
>       `    A fireball of lightning which shook all our hills,
>            Who are all these friends all scattered like dry leaves?
>            The radio says they are just . . . deportees.
>
>                Goodbye my to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita,
>                Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria.
>                You won't have a name when you fly the big airplane
>                And all they will call you will be deportee.
>
>            Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
>            Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit --
>            To fall like dry leaves, to rot on my topsoil
>            And be called by no name except deportees?
>
>                Goodbye my to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita,
>                Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria.
>                You won't have a name when you fly the big airplane
>                And all they will call you will be deportee.
>
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