Recently, when we were doing our daily ritual before dinner, I pictured the workers involved in food production. Many of them are Latin American migrant workers, which makes them the object of derision. They are paid under minimum wage for working in terrible conditions. I pictured them at their workplace. I saw men, women, and youth who have perfectly functioning legs, arms, and hands with which to ensure the provision of the food for us to pay (with Eric’s hard-earned money, I must add).
Unlike me, these workers have fully operating limbs. Yet unlike me, they have to work hard to make ends meet and save enough money to send home. So, my adopted ritual made me rethink my idea of justice.