A fine line stands between breaking and wrath.  Day after day, I witness newly arriving migrant farmers hunting for available jobs only to be met with hostility.  They compete with one another to achieve a failed success.  Those that found jobs worked to their bones, only to barely scrape up enough money to provide food for their families.  However, those who did not, suffered even more.  As each day crawled by, I witnessed my children’s clothes growing as they lost weight, their skin becoming dry and scaly, their gums bleeding and swelling, their teeth decaying, their eyes dull from fatigue, their bodies one step towards the grave with each day that passed.  Their torture is mine.  I tried to look past all of that and instead, used it to motivate me to work harder.  I believed it will get better if I worked hard enough.  I couldn’t imagine a life without my children.  I went to such great lengths, however, there was nothing I could do on my own.  I came back from trying to find work, but instead, found small, stone-cold bodies lying on the hard ground.  No words could describe how I felt, but the burning hatred inside of me eventually resided and the question remains.  Who’s next? 
One evening, I joined a group of men seated around the fire in silence.  The orange flames licked the night sky.  They glistened in each of the men’s eyes.  The fire started with strong flames, eager to grow bigger, but by the dawn of the night, the only light that was seen came from a few embers, gasping for air.  Initially, it was a strong, burning flame.  But after a while, it was almost smothered.  The crackles of the fire slowed and seemed to wheeze.  It was on the verge of going out until someone finally fed it wood.  Stick after stick went in, until the fire was even stronger than when it first started.  The tongues of the fire leapt upon the wood hungrily.  More workers arrived, which explained the decline in work and wages today.  As the wages were even lower than usual, there was even less food.  I looked around and noticed the men’s clothes were torn and poorly patched, their hair matted with dried sweat, and creases lined their hard faces with worries of how they will get by the next day.  It had been this way for almost a year.  All of them on the brink of breaking.  In the corner of their eyes, they can see their wives and children searching for a reaction, peering into their souls.  Finally I spoke up.
We’ve got to do somethin’.  If we keep livin’ like this, we’ll all starve to death.  All eyes turned towards me.
Well, what kin we do?  A pause followed.  Everything seemed as though it were out of our hands entirely.
We’ll take charge, that’s what!  We’ll demand a higher wage, else we won’t work.  Some men laughed, the idea seemed far off to them.
You’re speaking in tongues!  They’ll kill us an’ if not, they’ll throw all o’ us in jail.  They can easily find others to replace us.  People that still have families will do ‘bout most everythin’ so long they get jack, no matter the amount.
We’ll all die regardless.  Do you want to die slowly, starvin’ to a lonely death or go down fightin’, showin’ the world how these here people are treatin’ us?  We are underemployed, underpaid, and underfed!  Soon, we will lose our children, wives, brothers, sisters, if not already!  But right now we got each other.  If we stick together, who knows what we will do?  Them government camps are the same as us, but they don’t get pushed around by no cops.  You know why?  It’s because they are together.  What else do we have to lose?  We lost to cats, to cops, and to bosses.  It’s those cynical landowners that have things to lose.  They use their clout to throw us around.  Aren’t you tired of the unfairness?  We ought to deserve better as human beings.
Around the fire, the men absorbed what I said.  I am just so frustrated.  There is a burning fire in my chest ready to burn those who try to stop me.  We all know that we deserve better.  Why not risk everything if we’re going to lose it all anyway?  I look into their faces and can see that they are reflecting on what happened since they arrived to California.  Whenever someone went against the landowners, they were denounced and immediately sent to jail to become lifers.  But it was just one or two men that spoke back.  If everyone stood together, they’d outnumber landowners.  They might have a chance.  A slight one.  The men thought of the landowners, who could own up to 1,000 acres of land and do absolutely nothing with it.  The Californian agricultural system can’t even be without the migrant farmers.  Without us, no work would be done.  So much would go to waste.  They thought back on the lies in the handbills.  The handbills that made them into fools, giving them false hope.  Their dreams of hope came crashing down, becoming a reality of nightmares.  They were told that it was the landowner’s legal shares.  Those “legal shares” cost the workers’ lives, hardships, and they were treated as indentured servants.  And what did the landowners give?  Slowly, the men’s eyes kindled with flames.  They risked everything to move here, in search of opportunities.  And what did they get in return?  Heartache.  They lost everything.  The unfairness lit a spark deep within their hearts.  No.  They are not to be broken.  They will not be pushed around any longer.  With that, only a tiny spark is needed to induce a wildfire. 
The paupers could hardly sit around anymore.  As soon as day broke, those that no longer had families spread like wildfire to recruit more people and join others on strike.  As they went around the state, they saw some of their own, broken.  But it only fueled them more.  In order to take revenge for those who have perished, they will take a stand.  For their children.  For their friends.  For their people.  
The migrant farmers regrouped with one another.  They moved as one and became one.  If the police killed someone, it was just a part of a whole.  Nothing except justice can kill their spirit and destroy their fire.