America cannot eat without immigrant food workers. These are their stories.

Though anti-immigrant rhetoric has been on the rise—sometimes boiling over into acts of tragic violence—and headlines continue to be fluid, and often conflicting, our intention is not to opine on or politicize the facts of our current reality. It is simply to acquaint you again with your fellow human beings—and their human stories—and to remind us all of the human hands connected to what we eat.

Almost everything we put in our mouths was at some point raised, picked, carried, packed, cooked, or served by immigrant hands. Nearly 70 percent of farm laborers in the United States are foreign-born, while about 22 percent of those in food preparation and processing are. In the nation’s large, global cities the proportion of immigrants in restaurant work tend to be even higher—in New York City, roughly 70 percent of cooks and food preparation workers were born in another country.

All this means that food production in the U.S. would cease without immigrants—as, increasingly, it does. An ongoing shortage of agricultural visas, and the Trump administration’s promises to deport more people and raid more farms and businesses has meant that food-related jobs across the country routinely go unfilled. This labor shortage has affected produce, seafood and fish processing, milk and wine, to name just a few; meanwhile, in cities like San Francisco, dishwashers are in short supply. The fact is that native-born Americans simply aren’t willing to do some of the very toughest jobs. It’s brutally hard work—one reason that mental health issues are epidemic among the nation’s farm workers, and the suicide rate is four times higher than in the general population. But when immigrants don’t show up, the work goes undone: harvested fish get wasted, and fruit rots on the vine.

We may not all be able to pick strawberries for a day (though evidence suggests people become more empathetic in their stance towards immigration if they do). But these stories help to affirm just how global America’s food marketplace has become. The narratives start with portraits of people from Mexico, our neighbor to the south, a nation from which more people migrate to the U.S. than any other, whose culinary and agricultural history is closely intertwined with ours—and move from there into the histories of workers from countries like Algeria, Thailand, and Kosovo.

These are the stories of people who risked everything to come to America, living and working alongside us. It’s about the sacrifices they’ve made and the choices they face. And it’s about the way they spend their hours, and how they use their hands, to feed our nation.