Deportee from Outsiders by Chris Foster
In 1947 the Mexican and U.S.A. governments signed an agreement that illegal Mexican immigrants could be sent back across the border
and then legally return to the U.S. as temporary contract labourers. Employers often reported their own undocumented employees, who were returned to border cities in Mexico where they signed contracts with these same employers, thus providing Californian farmers with a deportation-proof source of cheap seasonal labour, a process known as drying out wetbacks.
In January 1948, a plane carrying 28 illegal Mexican farm workers crashed at Los Gatos Canyon, 75 miles from Fresno, California. Their
guard and the crew of 3 also died. The migrant workers were buried in a mass grave. Only 12 of them were ever identified.
Deportee was written as a poem by Woody Guthrie, who was angered by radio reports of the crash which named the guard and crew but
referred to the passengers simply as deportees. The poem was given a tune sometime later by Martin Hoffman
Tracklist
| 5. | Deportee | 5:27 |
Lyrics
Well the crops are all in and they need us no longer.
The oranges are stored in their creosote dumps.
They’re sending us back to the Mexican border.
It takes all our money to go back again.
So farewell to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria
You won’t have a name when you ride the big aeroplane.
All they will call you will be deportees.
My father’s own father did wade through the Rio.
You took all the money that he made in his life.
My sisters and brothers they worked in your fruit fields.
Rode on your trucks ’till they laid down and died.
Some of us are illegal and all are not wanted.
Our work contract’s out and we must move on.
The six hundred miles to the Mexican border.
You drive us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
Our sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos canyon.
Like a fire ball of lightening it fell from the sky.
Who are these friends lying there like dead leaves?
The radio say’s “They were just deportees.”
Well we died on your hills and we died in your valleys.
We died on your mountains and we died in your plains.
We still die ’neath your trees and we die ’neath your bushes.
Both sides of your borders, you know we still die just the same.
Credits
Chris Foster - vocal & guitar
Val Regan - fiddle
Trevor Lines - double bass
Laura Fiddaman - cello
License
All rights reserved.
Chris Foster grew up in the south west of England. A master of his trade, he was recently described as “one of the finest singers and most inventive guitar accompanists of English folk songs, meriting legend status.” Over the past 40 years, he has toured throughout the UK, Europe, Canada and the USA. He has recorded six solo albums as well as working on many collaborative projects.