A No to Immigrants is a No to Wine

Hi Wine Friends,

I’ve rewritten this blog post no fewer than four times.

The first draft, written on Monday, was about how much fun I had filming Her Way in Napa and Sonoma. I told stories about the women I interviewed, raved about our incredible all-female crew, and made a heartfelt (if slightly awkward) pitch for fundraising help to complete the season.

But by Tuesday, it didn’t feel right. Something was off. Headlines about the protests in Los Angeles started filling my phone. Suddenly, a cheerful dispatch from wine country didn’t feel like the right move.

So I scrapped it.

I started again, this time with something new. Something Oregon locals could actually go do to take their minds off things: my newly launched Airbnb experience—a weekly Oregon wine tasting, hosted inside Arden on Sunday afternoons. A crash course in local wine, a little joy, a reason to gather.

Then Wednesaday rolled around. The headlines grew more grim. Immigration raids. Marines deployed. And suddenly, that didn’t feel right either.

What about a Willamette Valley travel guide, I thought? Maybe I could send you out into the sunshine to reconnect with nature. Surely that would land right. Summer is here. Tasting season is in full swing. I could give you my list of favorite places to visit.

But I couldn’t focus.

Because Thursday, everything shifted.

I got not one, not two, but close to ten text messages from friends in Oregon’s food and wine community. ICE was on the ground. In our backyard. They’d hit Newberg, Wilsonville, Happy Valley–even Sellwood. Not just agricultural farms, but vineyards, restaurants. ICE even showed up at the elementary school in the town where I grew up. This was hitting very close to home.

Suddenly, asking you to support my TV show—by booking a wine tasting or buying my online course—felt not just unimportant, but tone deaf.

And I fought the internal debate. This newsletter isn’t supposed to be political. It’s supposed to be a little joy in your inbox. Wine is supposed to be an escape. A way to relax and connect.

But here’s the inarguable truth: wine doesn’t exist without immigrant communities.

It truly baffles me that people can support policies that criminalize immigrants—then sit down to a Michelin-starred dinner and sip a $600 bottle of wine over a farm-to-table meal. Where do they think that meal came from? Who farmed the carrots? Who picked the grapes

This is true across the world: in France, in Italy, in Australia. And it’s absolutely true here. In almost all maor wine areas, immigrant populations are the wines farming the vineyards and harvesting the grapes. 

Now that doesn’t mean winemakers don’t care. Most winemakers (at least the ones I’ve encountered) deeply value their vineyard teams and pay them fairly. But there simply aren’t enough hours in the day to do it all yourself. Vineyard work is physically grueling, time-consuming, and starts before sunrise. Even the most conscientious wineries rely on others—usually immigrants—for the bulk of that viticultural labor.

The friends I’ve been getting texts from–winemakers, restaurant owners, tasting room managers—are watching their coworkers—who just happen to be immigrants and who they’ve worked alongside for decades—get traumatized, dehumanized, pulled from their families and sent who knows where until who knows when.

These are people who wake up earlier and work harder than most of us born into privilege have ever had to. Parents who pay the same taxes I do but can’t access healthcare for their children. Who can’t visit their families back home—not because they don’t want to, but because they can’t afford to leave a country they may not be allowed back into.

 Listen, I know not everyone will agree with me saying this. That’s fine. There’s an unsubscribe button below.

But if you do unsubscribe, I suggest you unsubscribe from food and wine altogether. Because to love this industry while turning a blind eye to the people who sustain it—that’s not love. That’s luxury cosplay.

When I was filming *Her Way* these past two weeks, the immigrant story was front and center.

Maya Dalla Valle and her mother Naoko, who came to this country from Japan barely speaking English—and built one of the most iconic wineries in Napa. Priyanka French, who emigrated to attend UC Davis and became the first Indian person, man or woman, to earn a degree in viticulture and enology. Coral Wang, one of Sonoma’s first Chinese-American winemakers, who reminded us that Chinese laborers planted many of Sonoma’s earliest vineyards in the 1850s, clearing the land and shaping the very foundation of the region’s wine history.

If we don’t protect our most vulnerable communities—what happens next? If we discard immigrants, what about our LGBTQ+ communities? What about women?

I also sat down with Corinne Rich and her wife Katie, who co-founded Birdhorse, one of the first openly queer-owned wineries in California.  And Cathy Corison—the first woman in Napa to have her own winery, period.

It wasn’t so long ago that women couldn’t vote, much less make wine. If we give up equity for one group, who’s to say the rest of us are safe? Everyone who’s ever had to fight for their seat at the table should be paying attention right now—because that seat? It’s at risk.

So I’m sorry this newsletter isn’t sunshine and rosé. Believe me, I’d love to be back there. And I know we will be. But that’s going to require us to stand up for what’s right and use our voices for those who can’t.

Yes, I’m still fundraising to complete Her Way. Yes, I’m deeply proud of what we’re creating. And yes, I think these stories are more relevant than ever.

But if I don’t raise the money on the timeline I’d hoped for, I still have the freedom to move through the world without fear. I can go to work in the morning knowing I’ll return safely home at night. I can visit the hospital with the support of health insurance. I can call for help without worrying it will put me—or someone I love—in danger. I can live my life in the open. And that’s more than many people can say right now.

Thank you for being part of a community that values every member—from the strongest to the most vulnerable. Because to truly love wine, you have to love every person who makes it possible.

Cheers to unity–and protecting our community,
Kelsey