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The first time I stepped into a South Florida tomato field, it's safe to say I was nervous. It reminded me of an excerpt from James Fenimore Cooper's "The Last of the Mohicans," the scene where Duncan Heyward enters the wilderness fortress of Montcalm. While speaking with the French general, Duncan notices they are surrounded by rustic savages silently watching the exchange. These "savages" were Huron braves in war paint, the likes of which caused European soldiers to tremble.

The tomato pickers were filthy, slimy with sweat, and their searching eyes were filled with what I thought was contempt. They were hefting large baskets on their shoulders and leaping over ditches to dump the produce into wide fiberglass gondolas strapped to flatbed trailers. I stood among white managers in my pressed slacks and a bright, festive polo. It never occurred to me to say hello to the migrants, but I certainly gawked at them for awhile until one caught my eyes at which point I quickly looked away. My mother always told me it's not polite to stare.

Why would these people make me nervous? I think I felt guilty- shocked by what looked like some kind of ancient feudal system. I believe I also had some preconceived notions about people from Mexico.

The United States has always had a tenuous relationship with their southern neighbor.

Col. Stephen Austin once said this about Mexicans: "They want nothing but tails to be more brutes than the apes."

In the early 19th century, it was the United States' intention to purchase Texas from Mexico. Col. Anthony Butler was sent to the Mexican capital to work out a deal. President Jackson ordered Butler to be careful not to engage in any form of bribery.

The Colonel wrote back: "What you advise of being cautious proves how little you know of Mexican character. I can assure you sir, that bribery is not only common and familiar in all ranks and classes but familiarly and freely spoken of."

The attempt to buy Texas failed, but manifest destiny ensured that it would be ours one way or another. The violence that followed was described this way by Ulysses S. Grant: "We were sent to provoke a fight, one of the most unjust ever waged by a stronger against a weaker nation."

Remember the tomato picker who caught me staring at him? We have a lot in common and maybe could have been friends. But it doesn't matter, considering the different classes we represent. Or, perhaps, you could blame God for scattering Babylon.

His name is Pablo Montoya; he's sixteen years old

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