This has been throbbing in my mind and heart: the faces are changing—and will continue to change. But the work… feels the same. When I think about the conversations I’ve had—with the one who is just beginning, and the one who is thinking of leaving—I start to see something more clearly. Not just individual stories, but a shift. Speaking with other Outreach Community Health Workers across the state, we all agree: “Something is changing.” And at the same time… “Something is not.”
What we are seeing are younger workers arriving with less experience, less connection to what this work has been, less of the informal knowledge that used to pass from one person to another.
They are learning everything in real time—not only the work, but how to live inside it.
At the same time, workers who have been coming for years are beginning to question. Not because they don’t know—on the contrary, because they do. And in between those two realities, the pressure is growing: wages are going down, hours are not necessarily increasing, the cost of living continues to rise—here and back home.
And the balance, at the end… “Is it still worth it?” is becoming harder to sustain.
If we step back and look at the bigger picture, many of the barriers migrant farmworkers face are still the same—access to health services, transportation, language, connectivity… and so many others that don’t always get named. The basic conditions have not changed much either. Housing that is often temporary. Long hours under shifting weather—heat, cold, rain. The ongoing difficulty of securing consistent, healthy food. The higher risk of chronic conditions that build over time. And at the center of it all, the work itself. Still done mostly by hand. Still repetitive. Still physical. Still demanding. In that sense, the work has not changed.
But around that work, something is shifting. Income is becoming less predictable. Some days, there is no work. Some weeks, the pace slows down. And even with contracts in place, stability is not always guaranteed.
At the same time, access to healthcare remains limited. Clinic hours don’t always match work schedules. Subsidies are decreasing. Transportation and language continue to be barriers. And then there is something else—something newer: Connectivity. For all farmworkers, but especially for many of the younger workers, the phone is more than a tool. It is part of their life. A connection to home. Access to information. A way to cope with isolation.
But it also reveals something deeper. The systems around them are still not fully aligned with their reality. Because even with technology, even with programs, even with services— there are still gaps. The kind of gaps that are not always visible in reports. But are felt every day. For me, this is the tension of this moment. Yes, there is progress. There are policies. There are programs. There are more conversations happening. But at the same time— the structural barriers remain: Language, access, work conditions and isolation.
The faces are and will change. The generation is and will shift. But the foundation… is still there. And this is what makes this moment important. Because we are not just witnessing change. We are witnessing a transition.
If we only look at what is visible, we might think things are improving. But if we listen closely, if we stay present in the conversations, we begin to see something more complex: A system that is evolving… but not yet transforming.
And it is there where the question becomes real:
What does change actually mean?