Juan Loza, who entered and participated in the bracero program multiple times, gave an interview in 2005 about his experiences and time working as a ‘guest-worker.’ He goes into detail about the reasons he became a bracero, as well as the conditions he lived and worked under. His testimony sheds light on the horrible way in which the bracero workers were abused and taken advantage of, when all they wanted was to make money to send back to their families. Loza describes how he was homeless for a time, living a cardboard box on the streets, how the medical examine and decontamination process that workers were forced to undergo was a cruel process, full of mistrust and, at times, dehumanizing practices. His recounting of his time as a bracero provides a glimpse a a world that no longer exists, but that has left it’s mark on society and Latinx migrant laborers.
ML: How did you find out about the Bracero Program?
JL: Well, after my father had a grand fortune—he was one of the richest [men] in El Bajío of Maravillas, municipality of Manuel Doblado—my father began to gamble [on] horse races week after week and he was [eventually] left with nothing. Economically speaking, nothing was left. Only debts were left. So by that time there were eleven of us in the family and my father had to leave the house during the day because when debtors weren’t after him in the morning, they were after him in the afternoon or midday. So then, since I was the oldest, I was faced with the necessity to work—to ask for loans, to ask people to help me so that my brothers at least had tortillas to eat during the day. So, living in deep poverty, I asked the chairman of Manuel Doblado to give me a number—in other words, a space to come as a bracero to the United States. Although I was very young, necessity motivated me to take the initiative to leave my parents, my mother, my brothers and sisters, and, well, to take my chances.
ML: And who was the first person who told you about the program?
JL: Well, my godfather who was named Camilo Loza—my father’s cousin—had been a bracero, and since I had had a very beautiful relationship with my godfather since I was a boy—[I was] a young man at that time—he told me: “Maybe one day you can go to the United States, godson. I ask God a lot [for that] because I know that you will be a help—a [source of] support for my comadre [mother of one’s godchild] and for your brothers and sisters.”
ML: How old were you?
JL: Well, it was 1957 when my godfather began to tell me that, because he saw that there was a strong need and he tried to motivate me [to become a bracero]. And by that time—well I was born in 1939, [so] I was . . . let’s say eleven . . . eighteen years old . . . seventeen [years old].
ML: And did your godfather live on the same ranch [as you]?
JL: No. My godfather lived in Manuel Doblado. We lived on the ranch.
ML: And how was his experience? Did he talk to you about his experience as a bracero?
JL: Well, it’s because the braceros . . . he told me that if one had [a good] body—they would arrange the work according to the physical fitness of your body. If you had [special] abilities, [they would arrange the work] the same way. And if you hadn’t had schooling, and you didn’t have a [good] body, it was logical that you were going to come work, well, [work] hard.
ML: Were you married at that time?
JL: No.
ML: Had you ever thought about the United States prior to that time?
JL: No. Prior to that time, no.
ML: What were your means? [What were] your expectations of the program?
JL: Well, my expectations were only that if I could work in México, I could work in the United States and from there I could give my brothers and my mother a better life. And why not? Well, I was young, my clothes were completely worn, and why shouldn’t I buy myself new clothes?
ML: Did your family influence your decision in any way? Your mother, brothers, sisters . . . what did they think?
JL: Well, my mother did not [influence my decision]. Well, after the chairman who was my father’s compadre [friend], I got all my advice from my grandfather. When I got the number that [the chairman] gave me to come and try my luck at the contracting center in Monterrey, I talked to my dad and he said: “Well, here are three things. I will not stop you; I will not help you; I will not give you money. If you are in a position to do it, [then] do it.” [I answered]: “That’s good. I want your blessing and I want your [good] wishes.” He says: “That, I will give you.” So, in that time five pesos were worthless, not to mention what was needed to come [to the United States] in that time. Well, 1,000 pesos were needed at minimum for passage [to the United States], and you didn’t know if luck was on your side—whether you would be able to be contracted in the United States or not. So one had to at least have 200 extra pesos in case you weren’t contracted for some reason—so that you could return again to your place of origin.
ML: Describe the contracting process. So the chairman helped you get a number, and then what happened?
JL: Well, when I no longer had any alternatives and when I no longer had anyone who would help me economically I turned to my grandfather. My grandfather said: “With happiness! 1,000 pesos for me is nothing and I am going to lend them to you without deadline, without interest, and you pay me when you can.” So I had the 1,000 pesos [and] I felt supported. I went back and told the chairman that I was ready. We came to the contracting center in Monterrey, Nuevo León. In that time 1,500 braceros from the municipality of Manuel Doblado, Guanajuato went [to the contracting center]. We left one night at 10 p.m. About twenty full busses came directly to here. They put about ninety people in them even though the capacity was about forty-five or fifty passengers. We [were so full that we] even had to ride on the bus railing, on top. I think that about twenty of us came on top and it was a long—well, a lot of time. It takes about four and a half hours to get from Manuel Doblado to Monterrey, and we arrived in Monterrey in those conditions. In Monterrey all the lists from the different states arrived, and we had to wait there for almost a month to be contracted. So, I didn’t have any experience. I didn’t know. I came [as if I was] blindfolded, blind. How could I have had a better opportunity? The idea came to me that if I got closer or if I stuck with people who had come before—one, two, three or four times—well, then I would be better oriented. In that way I stayed close to those people and I stayed close to a man who had already come seven times. They called him El Güero [The Light-skinned Man]. He was from a ranch in La Calzada. So, he told me, “Come. Come, young man. I am going to take you to a place where it will be very nice for us.” So, like I told you, we waited in Monterrey about a month.
ML: And what did you all do during that month? What was your life like during that month?
JL: Well, from the first night I arrived in Monterrey, many men left. They went to a hotel; many went to the cabarets. What do I know? . . . to drink beer, to the restaurants, to dance with waitresses or things like that. And since my thoughts and my economic opportunities were very scarce, what I did was that . . . from the second night I got there . . . the first day I slept [in a place] that had cardboard walls and a cardboard roof close to a small restaurant. They sold—there, the lady—[sold] rice with beans and tortillas only. That was all that that lady sold. So she sold me a cardboard box where they [had] packed eggs for one peso [Mexican currency] at that time, and I stayed there the first day, and the second day I asked the woman whether I could help her in some way—that I intended to work because the lists were drawn [only] until noon. The lists were drawn from nine in the morning until twelve in the afternoon. If the list in which you were listed didn’t come, you had to wait until another day to see if list came out—the next day and successively like that, day after day, day after day. So, since I didn’t want to spend the few cents I had (because I couldn’t, but I didn’t owe [anyone]) . . . so I helped the lady clean beans, wash dishes, put aside what she needed for the rice, and things like that in that style—clean a space [for her], take out the trash. And then the lady let me stay there free of charge, but I had to cover myself with cardboard and lay myself down on another piece of cardboard.
ML: And when they finally called you, what happened?
JL: Well, on the day that our list was passed, they gave us a physical examination there. And they checked our documents to make sure that they agreed with the documents that they had gotten from us the first moment we enlisted in Manuel Doblado. So, after we passed the physical examination we were subjected to a liquid and powder disinfection to disinfect our bodies so that we wouldn’t bring germs to the border of the United States and México. So we stayed another week on the border, which was Piedras Negras, because a lot of men leave from the contracting center in Piedras Negras [it was a heavily populated contracting center]. There, they examined [everything], even to the point of examining what we had eaten the month before! A lot—an exam very meticulous with a lot of mistrust and at times even with cruelty—I can tell you that!
ML: Why cruel?
JL: Well, because the doctors examined an average of three thousand people a day. Imagine! If a doctor doesn’t have the patience to examine a patient when he has already examined four, five, six, or ten during the day, [imagine] how it is when he has examined thousands! Of course this doctor is already sick of it. He’s already overloaded with the work and [so] he’s going to do it reluctantly, without paying much attention. So when you pass the physical examination—in the hands of the doctor—they do the same process to you that they did in Monterrey—they do it again. They take off all of your clothes, they bathe you with disinfectants—with powders and a series of things that make me sad to even mention. So they requested 500, 400, 200, 80 [men] . . . whatever the ranchers who were going to contract braceros in Piedras Negras requested. So since I already had that comfort, or that support, with that man who had come many times, I would tell myself: well, if it takes a day, if it takes two, or if it takes a month, I have hope that we will go to a place where we will have a good experience. Because in that time, many braceros were really failures after one month, two months, or three months . . . failures because what they paid them . . . what they paid us . . . . what they paid them was a miserable amount. It was about 25 cents an hour to come and uproot [ourselves]—to come cultivate land from the ground up. So those people never paid [the braceros] for what they had collected [during the day]. They were the unsuccessful braceros. So I didn’t want to be one of those unsuccessful braceros. That’s why I looked for support. I looked for a guiding light. So we stayed for almost a week in Piedras Negras until one day at nine at night they announced via the loudspeaker that they needed 200 irrigators. The man told me: “Come with me. Come. Let’s go.” We went at that time and the next day at six in the morning we left to come work in a little town close to Lubbock, Texas. Lubbock, Texas is next to La Mesa, Abilene, Littlefield, and in that county—of course, it was a dry county in that time in which even a drop of alcohol was illegal in public. But it was a very good place because everything that is produced in that county needs irrigation so there is work at good pay. Since I came especially for irrigation, I made 55 cents an hour, but I worked 24 hours, 7 days a week.
Juan Loza, Mireya Loza, and Mireya Loza, Juan Loza (Chicago, Illinois, 2005), http://braceroarchive.org/items/show/175?view=full.