The curtain opens on San Quentin
The setting is one of the harshest in the country: the agricultural fields of San Quintín, Baja California. There, thousands of hands—many of them indigenous—harvest berries under conditions that, frankly, should make us all ashamed. Today, the federal government takes the stage with what it calls a Justice Plan. It sounds epic. It sounds necessary. But will it be enough to change a decades-old script?
The Secretary of Welfare, Ariadna Montiel Reyes, broke down the plan from Tijuana. They are not just nice words. There are nine specific axes that range from the obvious—decent work and social security—to the urgent: addressing specific violence against women day laborers.
“When our President took office, she established in commitment 63 that we would have to work for the social security of agricultural laborers… And the Justice Plan seeks to fulfill this commitment,” expressed Montiel Reyes.
There is the key. This didn’t come out of nowhere. It is a campaign promise that now seeks to become a reality. To substantiate it, they did something smart: a house-by-house census between July and September. It is not a diagnosis from a desktop in CDMX; It is a detailed map of real pain and needs.
Beyond the salary: your entire life at stake
What strikes me is the scope. The plan is not limited to the biweekly check. He talks about housing, urban infrastructure, health and controlling the urban sprawl. They recognize something fundamental: labor injustice is just the tip of the iceberg. Behind them are entire communities living in precariousness.
San Quentin is not just any place. It is the producing heart of strawberries and blackberries that reach our table. And those who plant and harvest are mostly indigenous people from Oaxaca, Guerrero and Veracruz. The staging is perfect for an act of historical justice.
Officials from several ministries have already visited the area. The SEP, Sedatu, Bienestar… It is a coordinated effort. But I wonder, as always: who wins from this? Beyond the humanitarian discourse, there is a clear political move: consolidate support in a key region and send a national message about who defends the most vulnerable.
My father, who was a worker, told me: “Promises are measured by what they change in the kitchen.” This plan sounds good on paper—very good—but its true drama will be written day by day, in every respected contract, in every woman who can report without fear, in every family that has a decent roof over their heads.
The curtain is already up. Now it’s time to see if the play fulfills its epic promise or if it remains just another act of the great Mexican political theater.
