Nadra Nittle | Civil Eats https://civileats.com/author/nnittle/ Daily News and Commentary About the American Food System Tue, 10 Jun 2025 22:49:31 +0000 en-US hourly 1 This Man Is Feeding California’s Incarcerated Firefighters https://civileats.com/2025/06/10/this-man-is-feeding-californias-incarcerated-firefighters/ https://civileats.com/2025/06/10/this-man-is-feeding-californias-incarcerated-firefighters/#respond Tue, 10 Jun 2025 08:00:44 +0000 https://civileats.com/?p=65102 Incarcerated individuals have been on the fire lines in the Golden State since 1915, but their numbers have increased in recent years as wildfires have intensified. The Anti-Recidivism Coalition (ARC), a Los Angeles-based organization working toward criminal justice reform, supports those firefighters with quality food unavailable in prison, serving more than 800 during the recent […]

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In January, as hurricane-force winds caused wildfires to raze entire neighborhoods in Los Angeles County, more than 7,500 firefighters risked their lives to save people, pets, homes, and communities. Among them were an estimated 1,100 inmates from the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation. This month, as California’s traditional fire season commences with the dry, hot summer, many of those individuals will be back.

Incarcerated individuals have been on the fire lines in the Golden State since 1915, but their numbers have increased in recent years as wildfires have intensified. The Anti-Recidivism Coalition (ARC), a Los Angeles-based organization working toward criminal justice reform, supports those firefighters with quality food unavailable in prison, serving more than 800 during the recent wildfires.

“The goal was to give them different meals based on what they would ask for but also give them the opportunity to experience different kinds of cooking.”

ARC’s executive director, Sam Lewis, himself formerly incarcerated, worked as a butcher in the prison kitchen while serving a 24-year sentence. Now, he and formerly incarcerated prison chefs active in ARC are advocating for incarcerated firefighters—also known as hand crews—and sharing with them a wide range of foods at the fire camps.

Thanks to donations from the public, local restaurants, and food companies, the firefighters battling the L.A. fires were provided pulled pork sandwiches, brisket sandwiches, cheeseburgers, and vegetables. This is a noted departure from the substandard meals people in prison typically receive, meals that often lead to chronic health problems.

ARC will be supporting incarcerated firefighters again this fire season, throughout the state, and Lewis will be there alongside, cooking and putting donations to good use. ARC would also like to see incarcerated firefighters receive significantly higher wages, supporting pending legislation that would allow them to earn a starting hourly pay of $7.25 during active fires and built-in annual wage increases.

These firefighters work long hours, comparable to conventional firefighters, and are vulnerable to suffering serious injuries. Yet most earn meager wages, starting as low as $5.80 per day. The least skilled of the incarcerated firefighters earn about $30 a day for completing 24-hour shifts during active emergencies, a sum critics say is far too little for the risks they take.

Sam Lewis headshot

Sam Lewis, ARC’s executive director. (Photo courtesy of ARC)

Lewis spoke to Civil Eats about why his organization makes food a priority for these firefighters, and how improving their pay could transform their lives.

Why was it important to ensure that the hand crews had a wide range of foods during the fires earlier this year?

The public wanted to know how they could say thank you to these incarcerated individuals that were putting their lives on the line to save people’s property. So we came up with the idea, with the permission of the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation, that we could provide them with different meals across the board. The goal was to give them different meals based on what they would ask for but also give them the opportunity to experience different kinds of cooking.

One chef who prepared meals for the firefighters, Jeff Henderson, has an interesting backstory, one that gives him a personal connection to them. Can you say more about him? 

Yes, Chef Jeff was the only formerly incarcerated chef that I knew of who came and cooked. He purchases the food, cooks it, and then after the meal is cooked, we reimburse him for the cost. He cooked what he calls “correctional chicken” [the fried chicken he learned to make in prison with all-purpose flour and seasonings] and hot link sandwiches with cheese, and then they had a dessert. The dessert was sent by the cookie company Crumbl.

Chef Jeff is self-taught. Cooking was his dream. He came home a long time ago and started his program [Chef Jeff Project]. He’s written a number of books. His food is incredible. He trains a lot of the kids who work in some of the hotels in Las Vegas, where he’s based. So, if you go to those hotels and you have amazing food there, a lot of times that’s the touch of Chef Jeff.

Although you’re not a chef, food service was one of your responsibilities when you were incarcerated. What was it like to be a butcher in prison?

When I was at Soledad [State Prison], I was the lead butcher for about two years. We prepped meals for about 6,000 people, so anything that had to do with meats, any dairy products, like cheese, was our responsibility. We prepped everything—roast beef, spaghetti and meatballs, hamburgers, chicken. It was our job to make sure that it was prepped, properly stored, and then sent out to the main line for people to eat.

Do you feel like food has improved in prisons or do you think there’s still a long way to go?

So, here’s the thing: It depends on the cook. We had a guy over the entire kitchen who was incredible. This guy would go out and sample food and bring it back. He was from Louisiana, so he was serious about what he would purchase. Each institution gets a budget, so his job was to find the food and spend his budget wisely. He really worked hard to make sure that we had great fresh fruit, and he wouldn’t get the processed turkey because his attitude was like, “If I’m not going to eat it, I’m not going to serve it to the people I’m feeding.” He would also make sure you had enough vegetables on your tray.

There has been some serious effort by the Department of Corrections to move to a healthier diet, because on the back end of having people incarcerated, the cost goes up as their health goes down. But if you feed people properly, their health can be maintained at a higher level, which causes the cost on the back end of incarceration to go down.

ARC supported incarcerated firefighters in January by making sure they had access to foods they wouldn’t normally eat and that they were properly hydrated while risking their lives. And you were inundated with donations of sports drinks for the firefighters?

There were just pallet loads of those coming in. We even had some of our ARC members transport some of those drinks to different base camps. There was so much that sometimes, it was like, “Could you stop donating?” [Laughter] It was a beautiful thing because it just shows the unity of Los Angeles.

“We should always believe in the human spirit and resiliency and understand that our job as a society is to help people become the best version of themselves, even when they’ve made bad choices and possibly have hurt people.”

Beyond food, ARC is seeking donations to help improve the lives of incarcerated firefighters overall once they leave prison. Can you describe the needs these funds will meet?

The donations are for scholarships for [incarcerated] firefighters coming home who want to continue to be firefighters. When a person comes home from incarceration and they go into a training center and become a certified firefighter, then they’re deployed. They can be deployed anywhere in the state, and they have to cover the cost of living, of moving. They have to get an apartment, first and last month’s rent, so that’s one thing that the scholarships will cover.

ARC is also advocating for recently introduced legislation to give incarcerated firefighters higher wages. If this bill passes, how might it change their lives?

The legislation, Assembly Bill 247, was introduced by Assemblymember Isaac Bryan. The money would go on the [prisoners’] books, so they could do what they would like to with it. In some instances, [prisoners] may have restitution to pay, so the state would take 55 percent of that. If they don’t have restitution, or if the restitution has been paid, then they can use it for the commissary. They could just save the money until they’re released also. Walking out of prison, normally, you have $200 in gate money. Ask yourself, how far does that take you, especially in today’s economy?

What is your response to members of the public who are concerned that incarcerated firefighters are being exploited?

The firefighter program is a voluntary program. You have to apply to go to the fire camps, and there’s a whole process that you have to go through, including medical clearance, in order to be accepted. The CDCR health care staff have to clear you—physically and mentally. Because if you think about it, it’s hard work.

Incarcerated firefighters also have to be what you call minimum custody status, which is the lowest classification of security. They have to have eight years or less on their sentence. Disqualifying things that can stop them from going to fire camp are convictions like sex offenses, arson, or [prison] escapes. Other things that are disqualifying are active warrants, medical issues, or high-notoriety cases.

If a person goes to a fire camp, it’s voluntary. If they get there and don’t want to continue, they don’t have to. They can go back without being written up. One of my young people that I mentored decided it wasn’t something that he wanted to do, and so he returned to the facility.

How long have you all been supporting incarcerated firefighters?

We helped establish the Ventura Training Center (VTC) in 2018. That’s the program where people come out of incarceration, go through the training, and become certified firefighters. With the passage of additional legislation after the implementation of VTC, people who are coming home now [after having trained to fight fires] can also get their record expunged so they can get their EMT license, which allows them to become municipal firefighters if they can find a job. We have three or four [ARC alums] who are working [as EMTs] in Orange County, and the rest work for CAL FIRE [wilderness fire protection].

Are you hopeful that public perception of the incarcerated community will change in the wake of the wildfires?

I would hope that this tragic event and the attention that’s being given to our incarcerated hand crews that support firefighters help the entire public understand that people change, that redemption is possible. We should always believe in the human spirit and resiliency and understand that our job as a society is to help people become the best version of themselves, even when they’ve made bad choices and possibly have hurt people. That does not necessarily make them bad people. That makes them people that have done bad things that can be corrected.

This interview was lightly edited for length and clarity.

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]]> https://civileats.com/2025/06/10/this-man-is-feeding-californias-incarcerated-firefighters/feed/ 0 With Season 2, ‘High on the Hog’ Deepens the Story of the Nation’s Black Food Traditions https://civileats.com/2023/11/21/with-season-2-high-on-the-hog-deepens-the-story-of-the-nations-black-food-traditions/ Tue, 21 Nov 2023 09:01:05 +0000 https://civileats.com/?p=54353 The first season offered a poignant history of Black American food, linking it to its West African roots and enslavement in the United States. The current season leaps ahead to the 20th century and explores the momentous changes Black Americans experienced during that period and how they informed their relationship with food. These changes include […]

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The Pullman porters. The Nation of Islam. The Black Panther Party. These are just some of the legendary groups that the Netflix docuseries High on the Hog: How African American Cuisine Transformed America explores in its wide-ranging second season, which airs on November 22.

The first season offered a poignant history of Black American food, linking it to its West African roots and enslavement in the United States. The current season leaps ahead to the 20th century and explores the momentous changes Black Americans experienced during that period and how they informed their relationship with food.

These changes include the Great Migration, which took place from roughly 1916 to 1970, and saw over 6 million Black Americans leave the rural South in hopes of better jobs and fairer treatment in the industrialized North. As the Great Migration unfolded, African Americans working for the railroads became unionized for the first time, forming in 1925 the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters and Maids. In the second season’s opening scene, host Stephen Satterfield dines on a train car and speaks with a 99-year-old former railway waiter and the son of a porter to examine food’s role in the Great Migration.

Just as trains took the Pullman Porters all over the country, Satterfield takes viewers across America—stopping in cities including Chicago, Atlanta, New York, and Los Angeles. At times, Dr. Jessica B. Harris, the culinary historian and author of the book from which the series takes its name, joins Satterfield on the journey.

The strength of the second season lies in its exploration of the little-known links between food and Black American progress. Most people know that civil rights activists desegregated lunch counters, but it is lesser known that Black restaurateurs hosted civil rights strategists, while home cooks sold cakes and pies to fund actions such as the Montgomery Bus Boycott. During the Black Power Movement that followed, the Black Panther Party launched their free breakfast program for children, an idea the federal government would later appropriate.

In addition to speaking with activists to uncover the links between food and justice, Satterfield visits Villa Lewaro, the palatial estate of self-made millionaire Madam CJ Walker. Once a cook, the wealthy entrepreneur and her daughter, A’Lelia Walker, entertained the nation’s Black elite before and during the Harlem Renaissance.

Civil Eats spoke with Satterfield and Harris about High on the Hog’s sweeping sophomore effort and how, like the first season, it highlights the ways that Black innovators have left an imprint on the country’s culinary landscape.

This season of High on the Hog mentions that many Black people have avoided agricultural work because of its association with enslavement, but points out that they are increasingly starting urban farms. Are Black Americans’ perceptions of working the land changing?

Jessica Harris: It is changing in the Black community, but we are far from monolithic. A lot of people moved away from the land, and with deliberateness. I think what has happened is many of those folks who migrated to the North lost land that they owned, or their families lost land, so now they have a desire to return to the land. There are people who, like Matthew Raiford—who is not in the episode but he’s a sixth generation farmer who has returned to his land in Georgia—and Karen Washington, who is in the last episode. She has a group for Black urban gardeners, and it’s an enormous group that’s bringing people back to the land in real and productive ways.

Stephen Satterfield: In part of the scene where I have a conversation [with former sharecropper Elvin Shields], I have an expression on my face like I’ve heard something surprising. He is inferring that the plantation . . . is something to be reclaimed. I had frankly not ever thought about that, and I felt challenged by that notion. But I thought it was a perfectly logical position, especially considering his life, what he’s seen, and what he’s fought to protect. I appreciated him for that enlightenment.

Dr. Harris, you mentioned Karen Washington. The fact that she coined the term “food apartheid” is discussed in this season. How much of a game changer is this term and why is it more accurate than “food desert” to describe challenges to food access?

Harris: Apartheid is caused by someone. Deserts are caused by nature. So, I think that’s part of the distinction that Karen may have been making very deliberately. I think the whole notion of where do you go for what you eat is something that merits a considerable amount more discussion than it’s getting, and it gets some of that discussion in episode four. Where do people get their food? What kind of food are they getting? Can they walk to it or do they have to have a car? Is there public transportation?  So, you have all of those questions as well.

I found the interview with the former railway waiter and son of a porter very interesting. Can you discuss the significance of these workers both in terms of food and the labor movement, because Pullman porters really paved the path for other Black workers. 

Harris: The Pullman car porters are important in the foundation of African American wealth and the migration of African American food. [George] Pullman came up with his railroad cars within a decade or two of emancipation. So a lot of people who had been enslaved as house people got jobs on Pullman cars, because they knew something about service.

The Pullman cars then took them all over the country. Anybody who was alive, or who has been alive as long as I have, will never forget A. Philip Randolph, who was the head of the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, and the way that he organized his union. The way that that union advocated for African Americans was of cardinal importance. He was one of the forces behind the 1963 March on Washington. He was galvanizing and that all grew out of that same culture of African Americans on trains in service.

Stephen, your grandfather was a Pullman porter, so this history is personal for you, right?

Satterfield: I never had a chance to meet my grandfather; he died before I was born. But he, like many Black folks, left the South to migrate to Chicago in the mid-20th century, as one of the modern industrial revolutions was underway. My family story is a pretty accurate microcosm for this story that we were telling about migration. Even though I was aware that he was a porter for many decades,  I had never been on trains. There’s, of course, something to be said for the visceral quality of the lived experience. Really being there with someone close to my grandfather’s age, hearing him tell me about the hard parts of the job but, also, the mundane parts, was really a joy and, hopefully, a revelatory story about that part of our history.

Stephen, what was it like visiting Madam CJ Walker’s famous estate?

Satterfield: For A’Lelia [Walker] and Madam CJ Walker—food is at the center of everything. Whether it’s street food, rent parties, or the food in a juke joint, we’re going to get it in. The [Harlem] Renaissance was all about a kind of maximalist creative expression of brilliance from a very specific moment in time, a specific geographic radius in the way that’s like—you had to be there. Of course, for many of us who weren’t there, that lore and that magic still lives on. I think we tried to capture that in our Harlem episode.

Dr. Harris, your book and this series discuss the important connections between restaurants and the Civil Rights movement. Restaurants like Paschal’s in Atlanta served activists returning from demonstrations, for example. They sold desserts like pies and pastries to help fund the Montgomery Bus Boycott. But many of these stories have been  ignored. Why was it important for High on the Hog to highlight these links?

Harris: [The Rev. Martin Luther] King strategized in places like Paschal’s and Deacon’s. The idea of Black restaurants as community hubs was very important to that time period. Places like Dooky Chase’s in New Orleans were safe spaces, some of the few places where African Americans and whites could meet. It was illegal, but they could do it.

Georgia Gilmore and the Club from Nowhere baked pies and sold them in Black beauty shops and  barber shops to fund the bus boycott. All of those things are the hidden underpinnings of the Civil Rights movement that we will hopefully now begin to talk about. Think about the church suppers. Think about the restaurants that fed the Freedom Riders when they returned from jail. Think about all of those things. And when you put all of that together, you somehow manage to get a full picture. Food is a basic part of the human condition. If we don’t eat, we die. Food is connected to all of it.

Stephen, what was it like to meet some of the activists who fought to desegregate lunch counters as Atlanta University Center students?

Satterfield: It was a real highlight for me personally, especially in my hometown. It was extraordinarily humbling. It was one of those moments when I was rather unconcerned with the cameras. I was bearing witness to their detailed, gripping, and inspiring journey in a very historic restaurant, sitting at the same tables where people like Martin Luther King organized and strategized at for Black liberation. I felt a huge amount of pride, and I hope if people take anything away from that scene, it will be to consider how much planning, strategizing, and coordination went into those activations.

I also loved the inclusion of the Nation of Islam and the bean pies they sell. The show referred to it as a sort of “food ministry.” Many people who don’t belong to the NOI are fans of the group’s bean pies, including Meghan Markle and her mother, Doria Ragland. What is the appeal of the bean pie?

Satterfield: I loved [the bean pies] growing up. The one I had on the show was amazing. When something’s really good, there will be a market for it; it will likely be coveted. People will try to replicate it or, maybe, imitate it, but they can’t. I think that’s the larger point. Why is that? We touched on that a little in the scene, but it’s a source of pride in community.

Harris: Most people don’t know that [longtime Nation of Islam leader] Elijah Muhammad actually wrote two food treatises. They are about foods that he felt were digestible and foods that he felt were indigestible and that go beyond the rules of haram in Islam. The bean pie grows out of that. He felt that those beans [in the pie] were the most digestible of beans. I certainly remember it being sold on the streets of Brooklyn, along with what was called Muhammad Speaks.

High on the Hog also includes an interview with a former member of the Black Panther Party that discusses the party’s free breakfast program, which influenced the federal government’s decision to begin providing breakfast to students in schools permanently. In some ways, that is a success story. In other ways, this is a sad story because the government sabotaged the party’s program.

Harris: All history is complicated if you look at the multiple sides of it. I wish they’d been given credit, but I’m glad that kids are eating. Those are my thoughts in a nutshell. I was alive during that point in time, and I didn’t know that [the national school breakfast program] was a result of the Black Panther Party. But, once I did, I appreciated just how extraordinary that was, and I think it is one of those things that will [show] all Americans how our food. . . .influenced and informed the foodways of this country.

Satterfield: One of my favorite stories in U.S. history is about the social programs of the Black Panthers. My favorite is the free breakfast program. It really speaks to an active, vibrant, and flourishing movement that is bringing our people back to the land in urban spaces.

This interview was edited for length and clarity.

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]]> Delta Fresh Foods Is Bringing Food Security to Northern Mississippi https://civileats.com/2021/10/27/delta-fresh-foods-is-bringing-food-security-to-northern-mississippi/ Wed, 27 Oct 2021 08:00:52 +0000 https://civileats.com/?p=44045 Determined to remedy this problem, a group of community stakeholders established the Delta Fresh Foods Initiative in 2010. Delta Fresh uses mobile markets sourced by community farms to expand access to locally grown fresh food, improve diabetes and obesity, and increase economic opportunities for local farmers. In Bolivar County, in northwestern Mississippi, where the organization […]

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Though the Mississippi Delta is home to some of the nation’s most fertile soil, residents of the region have experienced food insecurity and poverty for generations. In fact, an estimated 77 percent of Mississippi’s 82 counties meet the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s (USDA) definition of food deserts, meaning they lack full-service grocery stores and other food retail establishments.

Determined to remedy this problem, a group of community stakeholders established the Delta Fresh Foods Initiative in 2010. Delta Fresh uses mobile markets sourced by community farms to expand access to locally grown fresh food, improve diabetes and obesity, and increase economic opportunities for local farmers. In Bolivar County, in northwestern Mississippi, where the organization has concentrated its efforts, 37.5 percent of adults report an obesity-level body mass index, and 16.5 percent report a diabetes diagnosis. To quash such health problems, Delta Fresh has supplied more than 5,000 North Bolivar County residents with fresh fruits and vegetables.

By tapping into the sustainable community food systems that already exist in the Delta, the organization—made up of growers, funders, health and agriculture educators, food retailers, and community-based organizations—aims to build supply and demand for fresh foods. To that end, Delta Fresh also provides training and technical assistance for sustainable growers, consumers, and advocates, and to young people interested in developing community food systems.

In addition to running farms, the young people Delta Fresh trains surveyed community members in 2017 about the barriers they face to accessing fresh produce and found that 88 percent of respondents would support a mobile market to increase how many locally grown foods they could buy. Now, four years later, the Delta Fresh Foods Mobile Produce Market has provided local fruits and vegetables to thousands of residents, and, if needed, they can use SNAP benefits to make purchases. On the supply side, the local growers who provide fruits and vegetables receive stipends for participating in the mobile market.

While Delta Fresh has focused its work in northern Bolivar County, the organization’s goal is to replicate its efforts statewide, and it has already expanded its outreach to Quitman and Hinds counties. Hinds is home to Jackson, the state’s capital and most populous city; Jackson is 82.2 percent Black, making it one of the nation’s most African American cities as well. At 25.4 percent, the city’s poverty rate is more than double the national poverty rate of 11.4 percent, indicating why food insecurity and other socioeconomic problems persist there. But wherever Delta Fresh’s “Good Food Revolution” goes, its leaders say, the initiative considers the specific needs of the communities it serves.

Julian D. Miller, a co-founder of the organization and a longtime board member, works as an attorney and the director of the Reuben V. Anderson Institute for Social Justice at Tougaloo College in Jackson and as an assistant professor of political science there. He helped Delta Fresh receive more than $1 million in grant funding to develop local community food systems. Civil Eats spoke with Miller about Delta Fresh, as well as food insecurity in Mississippi, the importance of involving young people in food advocacy, and the link between the food justice and civil rights movements.

What’s the origin story behind Delta Fresh?

This is the second-poorest region in the U.S. behind Appalachia. Historically, it has some of the most fertile soil in the world, but the reality is it’s dominated by corporate agro-farming, and local growers capture a [miniscule] amount of the food market in the Delta. Because of the agrarian nature of the area, the legacy of slavery, the level of poverty, [the area] has basically been marked by low-wage jobs and worker exploitation.

Delta Fresh was created with the idea of developing sustainable food systems to address the chronic health issues here—obesity, diabetes, infant mortality. The idea was to develop a sustainable food system in the Delta with a workable, concrete model to address those chronic health issues by providing locally grown fresh foods and creating a sustainable economy.

How did you get involved with this work?

I’m a lifelong fifth-generation Mississippi Delta [resident]. After college, before I went to law school, I did anti-poverty work for an organization, and the goal was to figure out how to build collective action and project approaches that can be leveraged to address long-term chronic issues of economic injustice and poverty in the Delta. Naturally, the idea to develop food system work was really gold, because it hit both economic justice and worker exploitation and issues with wages, as well as preventative health, to deal with chronic illnesses.

Then, I got together with a huge group of farmers and organizers in 2010. One group was engaged in greener agriculture and had already been pioneering organic farming in the ‘90s. They were farmers from the Delta, mostly Bolivar County, led by Dorothy Grady Scarborough, who is a legend and pioneer and who mentored me in this work. So, we had growers, farmers, health practitioners. We had about 125 organizers who got together to form this organization, Delta Fresh Foods.

What did Delta Fresh set out to accomplish when it first started?

In 2010 when we started, we did over 30 community garden projects. We pioneered the Mississippi Farm to School project. We started bringing in school districts so they could have local growers supply their cafeterias with food. But we wanted to figure out how to develop a sustainable food system, community by community, county by county, that will be unique to those particular counties and communities in the Delta, and that way we can have the local citizens take ownership of it.

Then we decided we’re going to focus on Bolivar County, where I’m from and where a big chunk of our co-founders are originally from. It was a good fit, and we had really good partnerships there with local growers. Also, Alcorn State University had a demonstration farm in Mound Bayou, in Bolivar County.

In 2017, through a generous grant from the Bolivar Medical Center Foundation, we started working on our youth-led projects. From there, we developed a mobile market led by the youth in partnership with six growers, and we traveled around selling local produce. Then, we developed our own youth-led six-acre farm. We have a goal to scale this model and to be a model for other counties to replicate food system development.

What work are you doing as director of the Anderson Institute for Social Justice at Tougaloo College?

We developed a sustainable food system project on the campus of historic Tougaloo College, where I’m on the faculty with the pre-law program. We built raised beds and developed our production through raised beds and a high tunnel. The goal is to supply the cafeteria at the school to provide students and faculty access to local, fresh foods and expand out to the greater community.

I’m part of a group called the Mississippi Food Justice Collaborative, which is trying to work with organic farmers, growers, and food justice advocates across the state. They’re trying to develop this model statewide to really build up this industry and basically capture that multibillion-dollar food market for local growers, for the communities, and to create wealth and eliminate poverty in the Delta, and in Mississippi in general.

When you talk to people who aren’t from the Delta, are they surprised by the fact that there are so many food insecure people living in a region with such fertile soil?

Not when you explain to them the legacy of slavery and economic injustice. The land was exploited for the purposes of creating wealth through slave labor. Then, there was sharecropping in the Jim Crow era. After that, farming was mechanized, particularly in the ‘60s, and the land was monopolized. Black farmers who had been able to live on the land essentially lost that opportunity. Now, the land is ultimately used for [commodity] crops. It’s not used for growing local fresh foods, even though the soil is fertile. So, when you explain the history of exploitation through slavery and Jim Crow . . . they understand why [food security here] isn’t an anomaly.

What other factors make it hard for Delta residents to secure the food they need?

The issue in the rural Delta is transportation. In my town, we have to travel 12 miles to get access to groceries and other basic needs, and that’s why we have the mobile market. We come to your communities.

It’s the same here with our urban model. We know for Tougaloo, it’s going to be fairly easy for students to get access, because we provide food through the cafeteria. There’s also a food pantry on campus. With the urban model, there might be a situation where we still do a mobile market. We’re also thinking about doing a grocery store partnership. It just depends, but we want to make sure that the model is tailored to each particular community.

What more can you say about how Delta Fresh Foods is training young people?

We call them our Bolivar County Good Food Youth Ambassadors, and they have been trained in food production, distribution, and in understanding the public health aspects of food. They also get leadership development training as part of the program. They do different modules for these activities, but then they also get hands-on training because they run the farm.

The kids did part of their module in food production with mentor farmers. We had other modules in marketing and consumer education. They did pamphlets on food that we presented as part of our Healthy Food Kitchen Program, where we teach people how to cook the produce and whatnot, so the kids did presentations as part of that. And we had speakers brought in weekly.

How has life changed for residents who take part in the program?

Before, people were not health-conscious and focusing their diet on locally grown fresh produce. So, when this project began, it brought them out to come to the market, purchase this produce, and get access—and to really be engaged. As part of this project, we set up a local food policy and it really engaged the community in a collective way to support this work and, at the same time, to be more health conscious and take advantage of this initiative to change their diet.

What’s next for Delta Fresh Foods?

We’re trying to get more acres to expand our youth farm. The goal is to continue to scale this model in Bolivar County and replicate it in another county. At Tougaloo, and we’re looking into expanding our production and thinking about how we’re going to approach the community with that same mobile market model.

Additionally, we’re working on a public health equity project in Bolivar County to address infant mortality, which is a huge problem in the Delta. There’s a project called Delta Health Partners that does wonderful work in addressing infant mortality, so we want to work with a primary care physician to provide prescriptions for local fresh foods to address chronic illnesses. And we want to look at how that can address the chronic health issues of mothers and babies. Based on that, we want to propose getting Medicaid dollars to support local growers supporting prescriptions for fresh foods.

Do you see a connection between your work and historic Mississippi activists like Fannie Lou Hamer, who fought not just for civil rights but also to create more opportunities for Black farmers and growers?

Absolutely. A lot of people talk about Fannie Lou Hamer, but not a lot of people realize that she started a cooperative pig farm. I just took part in a social justice conference, and one of the topics these prodigious civil rights organizers and legends talked about was that there was this huge push for cooperative farms and how the idea of cooperative economics was a big part of the civil rights movement.

So, that’s kind of full circle, and that was a big part of what I talk about when pointing out how social justice, racial justice, economic justice, [and] food justice are intertwined. Community food system work is so crucial because it brings all these things together as one.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity

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]]> Mayukh Sen Celebrates Immigrant Women Who Revolutionized American Food Culture https://civileats.com/2021/10/21/mayukh-sen-celebrates-the-immigrant-women-who-have-revolutionized-american-food-culture/ Thu, 21 Oct 2021 08:00:01 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=43954 Although readers will likely delight in the stories of the seven women he profiles in the book—including Mexican-born Elena Zelayeta, Italian-born Marcella Hazan, and Jamaican-born Norma Shirley—Sen suggests they should also be appalled at the way American society values the experiences of some immigrants and devalues those of others. Women immigrants, especially those of color, […]

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In Taste Makers: Seven Immigrant Women Who Revolutionized Food in America, award-winning journalist and author Mayukh Sen writes that while he wants to warm readers’ hearts, he also wants to make them squirm.

Although readers will likely delight in the stories of the seven women he profiles in the book—including Mexican-born Elena Zelayeta, Italian-born Marcella Hazan, and Jamaican-born Norma Shirley—Sen suggests they should also be appalled at the way American society values the experiences of some immigrants and devalues those of others.

Women immigrants, especially those of color, have been particularly marginalized, and as a result, Taste Makers is as much a recovery project as it is a group biography. Within its pages, which span from World War II to the present, Sen unearths the history of immigrant women who have left a lasting mark on American food culture, whether or not credited for their contributions in their lifetimes.

He details their entrepreneurship, ethnic pride, and dedication to the culinary craft as well as the xenophobia, racism, and misogyny that often limited the recognition they received. Some of these women did achieve stardom in their day but not posthumously, while others, such as Hazan, are revered today.

Although Taste Makers levels criticism at the American food establishment, the book also highlights how Sen’s subjects persevered in the face of oppressive social constructs. Iranian-born Najmieh Batmanglij is a case in point: She moved to the U.S. in the wake of the Iranian Revolution and faced fierce discrimination as a result; finding the food establishment unwilling to embrace her, she published her culinary writing on her own terms.

A self-described “queer, brown child of immigrants” from India, Sen himself can relate to the challenges endured by the women he chronicles in Taste Makers. “That is crucial to why I have chosen to write this book and tell these stories,” he told Civil Eats. “I have occasionally faced questions, like, ‘Why are you—as a man—writing these stories? What attracts you to these stories?’ The answer is partially due to the fact that I have a very complicated relationship with gender, and I also belong to many marginalized communities.”

The immense empathy Sen has for his subjects pushes readers to reflect on the women, recognized and unrecognized, responsible for shaping the American palette. Civil Eats spoke with Sen about his motivation for writing Taste Makers, his hopes for its influence on the food establishment, and how much progress marginalized people have made in the American culinary world.

In Taste Makers, you profile seven immigrant women. How did you narrow it down?

There are so many brilliant immigrant women throughout American history who have shaped food in various ways—teachers, cookbook authors, chefs, et cetera. What really helped clarify things for me was to ask myself, “What kind of statement do I want to make with this book, especially with regards to assimilation, and whether that is the only pathway for success in America and under American capitalism?”

I tailored my seven subjects with that guiding credo. I wanted to include a mix of more familiar names—Marcella Hazan, for example, is a widely revered figure—alongside lesser-known names, ones who have not been sufficiently honored by the dominant white culture, for lack of a better term. I also wanted to make sure that readers with just a passing interest in food have a reason to pick up the book, and in doing so, they might be able to get to know some figures they think they know, like Marcella, in a deeper, more complex way while also being introduced to a wide variety of other figures whose names they may not have heard before.

And what can you say about the genesis of this book?

Back in 2017, I was a staff writer at Food52. I had been writing a lot of stories about people of color, women of color, immigrants of color, queer people of color—people who have not necessarily been given the appreciation that they deserve.

I had a friend named Shuja Haider, and he floated this idea to me. He said, “I wonder if these essays can amount to some sort of book about the immigrant story.” So, I put that in my back pocket.

Fast forward a year later, and I start to see some troubling narratives in food media pop up, a lot of stories and social media campaigns that basically say, “Immigrants get the job done.” I was really disturbed by these talking points being so prevalent in food media because I knew that they came from publications and folks who probably self-identified as liberal. Yet, these talking points felt so consumer-focused to me in a way that was dehumanizing immigrants but centering this white middle- to upper-middle class consumer.

When you say immigrants get the job done, it’s like, “What’s the job, and who doesn’t want it? Who’s being centered there?” So, my frustration led me to formulate the idea for this book. I told myself, “Well, I think the most quietly radical way to push back against that sort of trope in food media is to tell the stories of various immigrant figures throughout American history who shaped food in the most granular way possible. Make sure that their stories are being centered rather than the perspectives of those middle- to upper-middle class consumers.” That’s where it began.

In the introduction, you discuss Elizabeth Black Kander, born in 1858 to German Jewish immigrant parents in Wisconsin, and her Settlement Cook Book, which included Eastern European and American recipes. You argue that it set the foundation for how immigrant women in the U.S. would write about and engage with food. Can you elaborate on that?

Kander was responsible for putting together the Settlement Cook Book, which was published in the early 20th century and would go on to have many reissues, additions, and expansions over the decades. She herself was the child of German Jewish immigrants who came to America in the 1800s, and they really tried their best to fit in. They adopted the American way of dressing. They got stable jobs. They really absorbed themselves into American capitalism.

In the 1880s, when there’s this new wave of Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe and Russia, Kander worried that they would have a tough time in America, that they would not be able to assimilate in the way that her parents did. As a result, she taught them the American way. And one of those ways was cooking. She taught a bunch of young immigrant girls how to cook American dishes and, through that, they would kind of master how to become American. And I found it so fascinating.

This cookbook, which is still incredibly important to so many people, is also a document of assimilation. There’s a reason it endures, and I think it’s because assimilation is so powerful. It’s such an attractive idea to so many people in the food space—this idea that you can kind of mute your differences and then overcome barriers through food.

Kander was working and compiling this cookbook in a time when assimilation was seen as the only path for immigrants to survive in America. In the 1960s, you start to see the various restrictive immigration laws start to loosen quite a bit, and that coincides with more immigrant authors being able to express themselves in culinary terms without filter. They were not necessarily interested in assimilation or pleasing the dominant white American palette. They wanted to shout their differences as much as possible, so putting Kander’s work into this larger context was essential.

How much progress do you think has been made over the past century or so? Are immigrant women given the credit they deserve for their contributions to the culinary sphere?

I’m sorry to sound cynical here, but I’ve just completely lost faith, especially in the American food establishment and the American food media. The reason I ended the book with the stories of Najmieh Batmanglij and Norma Shirley is because those women forged paths for themselves that were completely independent of that establishment.

Najmieh Batmanglij was born in Iran but fled, first to France and then America. When she came here in the early 1980s, it was just around the time of the Iran hostage crisis and of course the Iranian Revolution was still fresh in many people’s minds. As a result, she faced enormous prejudice, and could not sell her cookbook. So, she and her husband, Mohammad, started their own publishing house, and it still stands strong today. It published her first English language cookbook Food of Life in the mid-1980s and that is an incredibly important title in terms of Iranian cooking in America, but she had to forge this path completely independently; all her books are still independently published.

By a similar token, Norma Shirley, who was born in Jamaica but lived in America for a period in the late ’60, ’70s, and early ’80s. She tried to open her own restaurant in New York that would allow her to express her culinary philosophy, which was Jamaican food filtered through French technique. Yet, she could not find investors, and it was difficult for her in a time when most white Americans, certainly those in the food establishment, did not understand Jamaican food. She had to go back home to Jamaica, and that’s where she opened so many restaurants in her name and became a huge star—but she could only do that after she returned home.

I have become a cynic, though I am actually hopeful that there will be more brilliant folks like Najmieh Batmanglij and Norma Shirley, who are forging their own path, independent of the establishment.

Which of these woman’s stories filled you with the most pride? Which story was the most heartbreaking?

The subject of my third chapter, Madeleine Kamman, is from France, and she made a name for herself as a brilliant cooking teacher, cookbook author, and restaurant owner. Beginning in the ’70s and onwards until her death a few years ago, she also became somewhat unfairly, in my view, notorious for punching up at figures in the food establishment, mainly Julia Child. As a result, what really broke my heart was just how eager the American food media was to overlook the brilliance of her work and her culinary philosophy and instead frame her in terms of this so-called conflict that she had with Child, and the “jealousy” that people perceive her to have had.

To diminish a woman’s brilliance and body of work to some kind of high-school pettiness, is so unfair. As I was researching this book, I came across so many articles about her that could not resist mentioning Child, talking about how “abrasive” Kamman was and a host of other descriptors that many of us now recognize as sexist dog whistles.

Kamman had a lot of frustrations in her career. But what did warm my heart is the fact that about a decade and a half ago, she was reflecting on her career with another author, and to paraphrase her, she said, “I’ve never wanted to become a star, and I resisted that very strongly by saying whatever was on my mind. So what? I didn’t become a star.”

She had no interest in playing the fame game of the American food media. I think that her commitment to making the work as strong as possible and letting that work speak for itself is incredibly inspiring.

What influence do you hope this book has on the American food establishment? What do you hope its legacy will be? 

I hope that this inspires more work of this kind, and even better work of this kind. I don’t want my book to be the only group biography that honors the incredible labor of people from marginalized communities. There are so many other books to be written by the many talented food writers who are working today and will be working for generations to come. I hope that this can just be a contribution to that larger library, not the definitive or end-all, be-all on this subject.

 

This interview was edited for length and clarity.

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]]> Meet the Black Women Driving New Ag Policy https://civileats.com/2021/08/24/meet-the-black-women-driving-new-ag-policy/ https://civileats.com/2021/08/24/meet-the-black-women-driving-new-ag-policy/#comments Tue, 24 Aug 2021 08:00:30 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=43072 “My parents have a tree farm; my grandparents had a farm that we all had to work on. At the time, that did not feel like a good thing in South Carolina, where it’s very, very hot,” she said with a laugh. “My aunt has an organic farm, and so it’s just been a part […]

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When Kim Jackson became a Georgia state senator in January, she didn’t hesitate to stand out. The day after taking office, she joined the state’s Agriculture and Consumer Affairs Committee, becoming one of only two Black women on the committee. And the appointment was a natural fit for Jackson: The 36-year-old hails from a multigenerational farming family in South Carolina and now owns a five-acre farm in Stone Mountain, Georgia, 20 miles east of Atlanta.

“My parents have a tree farm; my grandparents had a farm that we all had to work on. At the time, that did not feel like a good thing in South Carolina, where it’s very, very hot,” she said with a laugh. “My aunt has an organic farm, and so it’s just been a part of our family that we stick closely to the land.”

As an elected official, one who made history as Georgia’s first LGBTQ+ state senator, Jackson aims to leverage her knowledge of agriculture to advocate for food justice and marginalized farmers. During her short tenure in office, Jackson has already secured state funds to support a Black-led community food hub in Albany, Georgia, and she has more plans in store.

Jackson is far from alone in her advocacy: Legislators around the country are fighting to ensure that farmers of color receive the loan forgiveness and debt relief outlined for them in the American Rescue Plan Act of 2021. The rollout of this relief has been delayed by white farmers alleging in court that the legislation’s provisions for farmers of color constitute reverse discrimination. But Black women lawmakers are working to benefit disadvantaged farmers and African Americans in their states by serving on agriculture committees, introducing legislation to promote equity in agriculture, and fighting food insecurity.

A number of these lawmakers, including Jackson, Ohio State Representative Juanita Brent, and Illinois State Representative Sonya Harper also have direct experience growing food. Their first-hand experience with farming has strengthened their ties to the farmers in their communities and uniquely positioned them to lead food and farming activism in the political arena.

While Brent, an urban farmer, is one of two Black women now serving on the Ohio House Agriculture Committee, Harper is the first woman of color to chair the Illinois House Agriculture and Conservation Committee. With a background in urban agriculture, Harper is currently sponsoring two pieces of legislation—the Black Farmer Restoration Act and the Black Farmers in Illinois Resolution—that would direct the Illinois Department of Agriculture to investigate the loss of Black-owned farmland in the state and the impact it has had on Black farmers.

The work of legislators like Harper, Brent, and Jackson is an outgrowth of the long tradition of farmers who have “pursued legislative remedies to dismantle anti-Black racism within the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA), FSA [Farm Service Agency] local offices, and county committee system,” said Tracy Lloyd McCurty, executive director of the Black Belt Justice Center and co-organizer of the Cancel Pigford Debt Campaign.

Their activism culminated in the landmark Pigford v. Glickman class action racial discrimination lawsuit against the USDA, which the government settled in 1999. The suit spotlighted the agency’s ongoing discrimination against Black farmers, paving the way for the debt relief and financial help that the American Rescue Plan designated to farmers of color.

“This historical moment demands the continued leadership of Black farmers—legacy, returning, and landless,” McCurty said. “I am inspired by the Black women farmers who are now carrying the torch to restore Black agrarianism in their legislative efforts nationally and locally.”

Routing Funding to Georgia’s Black Farmers

The Black women legislators advocating for Black farmers share key commonalities. They are mostly Millennials, and none have been in office for longer than six years. In fact, most of them have been elected within the past two years. Their involvement in agricultural advocacy marks a renewed interest in an agrarian way of life that has drawn interest at the policy level as well as in the food sovereignty and land rematriation movements people of color are leading.

“It goes back to a statement that my mom made to me when I was a child: ‘Hopefully, you have a job that will pay you, but at the end of the day, you’ll never be hungry because you know how to grow your own food,’” said Jackson. “Being able to feed yourself—that is liberation, and I think that’s what young Black farmers are seeking. When you are no longer dependent on outside resources to provide sustenance for your family, you are free.”

Georgia State Senator Kim Jackson, riding in a truck with one of her goats. (Photo courtesy of SIX)

Georgia State Senator Kim Jackson. (Photo courtesy of SIX)

She applauds the work of Black women in other states emerging as agricultural leaders. For example, North Carolina State Senator Natalie Murdock in 2020 became the first Black woman under the age of 40 elected to the state legislature, and she’s now working on a reparations bill for Black farmers. Elected in 2019, Delaware State Representative Sherry Dorsey Walker serves on the state’s House Agriculture Committee and has organized discussions with Black farmers, agency officials, and others in food and agriculture to make the industry more equitable.

There’s also Rachel Talbot Ross, who is Assistant Majority Leader of the Maine House of Representatives and a small-scale farmer. She’s interested in making sure all communities in her state, from Somali refugees to Native American tribes, can access healthy and culturally relevant foods.

As for Jackson, who grows a number of fruits and vegetables on her hobby farm and orchard, sitting on her state’s agricultural committee is a way to work for the preservation of Black farmland.

“It’s really important to remind Georgians, and people more broadly, that Black farmers are present,” she said. “Yes, we exist. And I’m really committed to trying to make sure we have justice for Black farmers. One of the fastest ways for Black families to lose their farm is because of not having a will. Georgia has a good heirs’ property law, but I want to make sure that it’s working properly.”

The USDA recently announced a new initiative to make $67 million in loans available to address problems related to heirs’ property.

Immediately after taking office, however, Jackson advocated for the state to appropriate $100,000 in funds to the Southwest Georgia Project (SGP), which serves farmers and works to prevent Black land loss. The change was signed into law in May, and the senator is still elated.

Jackson learned from Shirley Sherrod, the former Georgia state director of Rural Development for the USDA and the head of the SGP, that the allocation marked the first time the 60-year-old service organization received state funding. The fact that it took so long, Jackson said, points to a larger historical pattern of Black farmers being denied resources at the local, state, and national levels. The funds she secured for SGP will serve as seed money to help it create a food-processing hub that will provide Black farmers in southwest Georgia with refrigerated produce-storage space and refrigerated trucks to deliver food to consumers in 14 Georgia counties.

When constituents ask her why she cares about what’s happening in southwest Georgia, Jackson tells them that the farming there feeds the residents of her district, which includes metropolitan Atlanta, providing a direct connection between urban and rural Georgians. Having come from a family that has owned farms of all sizes, she’s also grown familiar with the state’s many agricultural rules, regulations, and practices.

“When I talk about having to mend my fences because my goats keep trying to get at one another, there’s camaraderie that gets built in, and there’s real trust between me and the cattle farmer who sits next to me on the committee,” Jackson said. “And what we know about passing legislation is, if you don’t have relationships with the majority party, nothing’s gonna move. So, that connection point [with rural Republicans] has been really, really important.”

Her farming background is also why she plans to introduce legislation that would promote soil health—a topic that’s gaining urgency around the country.

Raising Soil Health Awareness in Ohio

Serving Ohio’s 12th District, southeast of Cleveland, Representative Juanita Brent did not grow up in a farming family. But her involvement in 4-H, starting at the age of 5, gave her roots in agriculture. Throughout her childhood, she continued to take part in the program, especially enjoying the county fair, which she likens to the “Olympics of farming.” The 4-H program, “developed this network of people that I’ve known since I was a small child and I’m still very much connected with,” said Brent, now 37.

Although her interest in ag sometimes raises eyebrows among people who regard it as an undertaking for “rural, old white men,” Brent said, as a Black woman, she’s interested in the ways that agriculture can lead to food equity.

Ohio State Representative Juanita Brent with dairy cattle. (Photo courtesy of SIX)

Ohio State Representative Juanita Brent. (Photo courtesy of SIX)

When she bought a plot of land in Cleveland six years ago, she initially grew cucumbers, tomatoes, and other produce to relieve stress and practice better eating habits, but she took a more serious interest in growing food when her neighbors said they wanted to garden to combat food insecurity.

“A lot of people want to figure out how they can better use land besides just having [a lawn], and there are a lot of people who live in food deserts and have to literally go outside of their communities if they want some produce,” she explained.

But before urging Ohioans to turn their yard into a garden, Brent tells them about the importance of soil health. Cleveland soils have high lead levels, and Brent plans to introduce statewide soil health legislation in September. “If your soil is not healthy, that will contaminate anything you grow, so it’s vital that people are very much aware of the toxins in the ground.”

She said her initiative would help small-scale farmers who want to go commercial take their first step toward doing so with soil testing. If passed, her legislation would establish a statewide task force on the topic.

The soil health bill will be Brent’s first piece of legislation focused on ag. But as a member of the Ohio House Agriculture Committee, she strives to represent the interests of urban farmers, many of whom are people of color. While politicians have long focused on the needs of rural farms, she said, the challenges of urban farmers are often overlooked. She points to the Ohio House’s recent passage of the first-time farmer tax credit as an example.

“Even though we do have this tax credit, it is not equitable, particularly when it comes to urban farmers, because it is geared toward farms that are on more than five acres of land,” Brent said. “So bringing up the concept of equity is vital; we want everyone to have access to farming.”

Brent has seen African Americans turn to farming as they grow increasingly more health conscious. They no longer want to depend on grocery stores alone to meet their nutritional needs, she said. “People realize you are what you eat.”

Fighting for Illinois’s Rural and Urban Farms

In the predominantly Black and impoverished Chicago neighborhood of West Englewood, the dearth of grocery stores all too often leads residents to go without the fruits and vegetables they need to have a balanced diet, said Illinois State Representative Sonya Harper. A West Englewood resident herself, Harper pointed out that it’s not uncommon for community members to do their food shopping at gas station convenience stores. And she’s seen many people, including her own father, die prematurely from complications related to heart disease, cancer, and diabetes—conditions she believes better nutrition could have prevented.

Before taking office in 2015, Harper had already grown interested in food and farming justice. Over the past decade, she has co-founded a community garden in West Englewood, served as an outreach manager for a local urban farm, and led a food-justice organization called Grow Greater Englewood.

When she became a lawmaker six years ago, Harper prioritized food insecurity and equity in agriculture. But she encountered resistance from fellow ag committee members who ridiculed urban farming or objected to exploring policies to better serve Black farmers, she said. Harper recalled being told, “We can’t support any policies that may favor one group of farmers over the others.” And when she discussed urban farming, “I would get laughed at, even by people who were farmers themselves,” she said. They told her, “Oh, you’re just gardening in your backyard.”

Illinois State Representative Sonya Harper holding a flat of pick-your-own strawberries.

Illinois State Representative Sonya Harper. (Photo courtesy of SIX)

Today, attitudes have changed dramatically. A number of state officials have accompanied her on urban garden tours, and Illinois Governor J.B. Pritzker signed legislation this year directing the state’s Department of Agriculture to study racial disparities in farm ownership. Fewer than 200 of Illinois’s 70,000 farms are Black-owned.

Harper said that Black farmers in Illinois haven’t received the same access to information about grants and government programs as their white counterparts have. And that lack of knowledge and resources has not only resulted in a loss of farmland, she said, but it has also hurt urban Black neighborhoods.

Communities like West Englewood, according to Harper, once relied on Black farmers in rural areas such as Pembroke Township for much of their food. Founded in the 1860s by formerly enslaved African Americans, the township was once the largest Black farming community in the North. Now, a planned natural gas pipeline through the township has sparked controversy, pitting those who believe it will attract jobs and economic resources against others who say it could jeopardize the region’s agricultural future.

Harper hopes to preserve Black farming communities and give them the support they need to thrive once more. She plans to go on a listening tour to hear the concerns of Black farmers, and she wants the state to allocate funding to them. Whether that happens, she said, will largely depend on the results of a disparity study the state will complete by the end of the year.

“We’re trying to restore the historic Black farming communities to create this urban-rural link and support the new up-and-coming urban farmers,” she said.

David Howard, the state policy campaigns director for the National Young Farmers Coalition, said the legislation Harper has successfully sponsored, such as the Farmer Equity Act, pushed the state government to become more progressive.

“The bill took the federal socially disadvantaged definition and applied it at the state level, just to have a baseline within agricultural policy,” he said. “If we’re going to have a set-aside [for disadvantaged farmers], we need the legislative language to build on to really drive resources toward farmers of color. We need to really shift power and leadership resources to the people who are most marginalized.”

Howard added that it’s exciting to see Harper and other women legislators of color become food and agriculture advocates because their lived experiences reflect those of the communities they serve.

Networking for Impact

Like Jackson and Brent, Harper often brainstorms her ideas with other legislators who share her interest in food and farming. She’s part of a cohort of roughly 75 politicians from more than 30 states who share policy proposals through participation in the State Innovation Exchange (SIX), a national policy and research center.

According to Kendra Kimbirauskas, SIX’s Director of Agriculture and Food Systems, the African-American women serving on state ag committees can play a vital role in shaping policy.

“The folks who are leading these conversations at the state level are largely Black women,” she said. “And they’re doing it in an issue space that is dominated by male voices and white voices. You can imagine how difficult that is, particularly in a place like Georgia, to really be a champion for [progressive] policies.”

Kimbirauskas said the fact that these legislators know what it means to dig their hands in the dirt and feed their communities gives them a rare perspective. “They’re not just talking about hypotheticals,” she said. “I think that lends a lot of credibility and authenticity to their policymaking.”

For Jackson, serving on an ag committee helps her to empower the communities that have lacked political influence historically. And, through farming, she is honoring the African Americans of the past.

“For many of us who are descended of enslaved Africans, there is a deep connection to our ancestors and the work that they were forced to do—and also the work they did really, really well,” said Jackson. “That connection matters to me.”

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]]> https://civileats.com/2021/08/24/meet-the-black-women-driving-new-ag-policy/feed/ 1 On Pine Ridge Reservation, a Garden Helps Replace an 80-mile Grocery Trip https://civileats.com/2021/07/19/on-pine-ridge-reservation-a-garden-helps-replace-an-80-mile-grocery-trip/ https://civileats.com/2021/07/19/on-pine-ridge-reservation-a-garden-helps-replace-an-80-mile-grocery-trip/#comments Mon, 19 Jul 2021 08:00:02 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=42541 “It’s frustrating because you have to drive that far just to get your fresh vegetables, and you have to buy [in bulk] because you don’t want to be taking a trip every other day,” said the 43-year-old father of twins. “And it starts to go bad in your refrigerator because it was sitting there too […]

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Buying groceries can take Doug Pourier the better part of a day. A member of the Oglala Lakota Nation, Pourier lives on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in southwest South Dakota, where he says local convenience stores sell limited quantities of expiring produce at inflated prices. For that reason, he spends his weekends driving to and from Rapid City, which is 80 miles away, to purchase a variety of higher-quality foods.

“It’s frustrating because you have to drive that far just to get your fresh vegetables, and you have to buy [in bulk] because you don’t want to be taking a trip every other day,” said the 43-year-old father of twins. “And it starts to go bad in your refrigerator because it was sitting there too long.”

More than 40,000 members make up the Oglala Lakota Nation and the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation spans nearly 3,500 square miles, but the dearth of grocery stores and the high poverty rate put residents in a profound state of food insecurity, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA).

The reopening of a small grocery store in Pine Ridge was cause for a community celebration in 2019, but only large grocery stores that earn millions in annual revenue and have all food departments meet the federal government’s definition of a supermarket. Health inspectors found that its predecessor in the same location had combined and sold packages of rotten and fresh hamburger, among other health violations.

“The quality isn’t that great; it’s hitting the bottom of the barrel,” said Phil Zimiga, a 60-year-old former casino manager, of the food available at stores on the reservation. “It’s old; it’s almost ready to expire by the time it’s available to us here locally.”

In addition, an estimated 95 percent of the food consumed on the reservation is imported, while most of the food produced there is shipped away, according to the Lakota Food Sovereignty Coalition. Food insecurity on the reservation contributes to chronic health problems among the Oglala Lakota, since it’s more convenient for tribal members to load up on processed foods during their trips to the supermarket than on fresh produce with a short shelf life. As a result, a fifth of Oglala Lakota County residents have diabetes, and half of all adults there experience obesity.

“What everybody does is the moment they get their EBT allotments, they pack the Walmarts,” said Tom Cook, founder of the Slim Buttes Agricultural Development Program, a nonprofit that works to combat food insecurity on the reservation. “My wife worked there for five years and was surprised that [her fellow] Lakotas pile up with cornflakes, cookies, pop, bologna, and all this junk food.”

Both Pourier and Zimiga hope to change these outcomes and foster food autonomy among the Oglala Lakota. As students in the Medicine Root Gardening Program on the Pine Ridge reservation, they’ve learned to grow their own food. Part of the Oyate Teca Project, which promotes the well-being of Oglala Lakota children and families, the program teaches participants how to start organic home gardens, supplying them with seeds, soil, and tools along with fencing and irrigation assistance. Offered annually since 2016, the nine-month gardening program has given Pine Ridge residents increased access to fresh fruits and vegetables, and students in the course have produced 20,000 pounds of crops since its launch.

After years of struggling to garden, stay-at-home mother Alice Leftwich now grows onions, tomatoes, jalapeños, and pumpkins at her home. The shift began over the past year when she enrolled in the Medicine Root Program and became a star gardening student. The 30-year-old, who is pursuing an associate’s degree in carpentry, has passed on her new skills to her 11-year-old daughter, a natural at growing strawberry plants.

Gardening interested Leftwich because she worried about pesticides and other harmful chemicals in store-bought foods. Growing her own, she said, “helps us eat better, and it also tastes a lot better, and we know where the food is coming from.”

More than Gardening

As the COVID-19 pandemic heightened food insecurity nationally, home gardens allowed Medicine Root participants to have some control over their food supply and to help community members in need. Located in one of the nation’s most impoverished counties, the unemployment, hunger, and housing instability that have made headlines nationwide during the pandemic have persisted in Pine Ridge for generations due to the legacy of colonization and systemic oppression.

That’s why the program doesn’t just turn participants into skilled gardeners, it also trains them in financial literacy. Students learn how to make seasonal income by canning their crops or selling surplus produce at farmers’ markets, and they receive accounting lessons to equip them to become produce vendors should they want to turn their gardening skills into a full-fledged business. With this multidimensional platform, the program has gone from training eight students per session in 2016 to 65 today.

“I know that people have these garden clubs all around the world, but this is something new for us here,” said Rose Fraser, executive director of the Oyate Teca Project. “It’s new and it’s exciting. I think everybody loves coming to our classes.”

The course also helps to preserve Lakota culture, teaching students Lakota food names and traditional food drying methods. In a community that was struggling long before the COVID-19 pandemic hit, the gardening program has provided participants with at least one path to offset the devastating effects of food and financial insecurity.

“In the beginning of the class, we do a lot of surveys with our students and ask them what they like to eat, because that’s where it all starts,” Fraser said. “You’re not going to plant something you’re not going to eat.”

Many students like to grow what they’ve nicknamed salsa and soup gardens. One focuses on tomatoes, onions, and peppers—the ingredients needed to make salsa—while the other involves growing the cabbages, potatoes, and carrots commonly used in soups. Students can learn growing practices suitable for a row garden, container garden, box garden, no till garden, or a hay bale garden. “We also provide fencing for a standard 40-foot-by-60-foot garden, which is 10 rows,” Fraser said. “We teach them how they can feed a family of four with just those rows.”

Although John Haas, a retired Oglala Lakota educator who lives on the Pine Ridge reservation, has gardened for most of his life, he signed up for the program a few years ago to learn how to grow high-quality produce. He especially enjoyed learning about the Mittleider gardening method, which covers everything from seed selection to irrigation. “It teaches companion planting so that your vegetables complement each other and help each other fight bugs and diseases,” Haas said. “And it goes into how to grow them more effectively and efficiently.”

Haas appreciates the course’s emphasis on accountability and record keeping, which helped him track which of his efforts made his garden thrive. The focus on organization and documentation also made it clear which plants he could expect to pop up in his garden and where. “It’s not just feeding chickens, where you throw seeds on the ground and hope something will come up,” he said.

Connecting with fellow gardeners is one aspect of the course he’s most enjoyed. “I’ve learned quite a bit in talking with other gardeners,” he said. “You learn why they did something a certain way when maybe you were faced with that same dilemma and you didn’t know which way to turn. That camaraderie with other gardeners is really important.”

Slim Butte’s Tom Cook admires the program because of the support participants receive. “It’s continuous over the growing season, so students get the reinforcement and help they need [related to] production, preservation, or sales,” he said. “It’s all integrated there because they’re surrounded with the structure of the program.”

Sharing the Harvest

When Haas harvests vegetables from his garden it’s a group affair. He uses his heirloom tomatoes in a salsa he gives away to community members. He hands out his corn as well. “You cut it, and then you dry it in the sun,” said the 73-year-old. “That’s the traditional Lakota way that we learned so that we could store it. It can be used over the winter in soups and other dishes, and sometimes I put it in quart jars and put a bow on it and give it out for Christmas presents. The old women—older than me—really like that.”

In addition to drying corn the Lakota way, Medicine Root students learn to make jam out of the chokecherries and buffalo berries that are traditionally part of the Lakota diet. “We also do drying of the meat. It’s called papa,” Fraser said. Together, dried meat and dried chokecherries are the foundation of the Lakota food called wasná, and dried corn is called wastunkala.

Students at the Lakota Waldorf School in Pine Ridge are learning a variety of words for traditional foods and gardening methods, according to Fraser. After faculty members took the class, she said, they decided to replicate it for their students.

“They use the vegetables in the school lunch program where their kids are eating better than public school kids because our kids in public schools eat canned vegetables,” Haas added.

Like most gardening programs across the country, Medicine Root has seen a surge of interest over the last year and a half. When the pandemic hit, people worried that fruits and vegetables would become even more scarce in the Pine Ridge region.

“We had people calling us in a panic,” recalled Fraser, who said she’s fielded more calls over the past 18 months than ever before. People were desperate to plant a garden and sign up for the program, although it was too late for these would-be gardeners to enroll. So, Fraser launched a basic gardening class to meet their needs. More than 100 people signed up for the four-week crash course, and then some of those participants signed up for the full nine-month program at the start of this year.

“The other thing that was really good about our gardening program during that time was that we were able to provide produce,” Fraser said. “We did fresh vegetable distributions on a weekly basis. We were able to distribute up to 125 bags of produce some [weeks].”

Brandon Rook, spokesman for Newman’s Own Foundation, a funder of the Medicine Root program, said that the pandemic has put everyone into survival mode. As community members on and off reservations struggle to get their basic needs met, Rook considers the gardening program to be a vital resource.

One in four Native Americans is food insecure, so [the program’s] work is so critical,” he said. “COVID-19 has proven that it’s important to be self-reliant, and that’s what they’re doing—they’re teaching these families how to grow their own food.”

Fostering Entrepreneurship

While Medicine Root students learn the fundamentals of gardening, they also have the opportunity to study financial literacy and business planning, which Fraser said helps them channel their garden expertise into a career. Learning the principles of business is a requirement for course participants interested in applying for microloans for farm equipment from the Lakota Federal Credit Union.

Alumni of the program have gone on to start their own farmers’ markets, meal programs for the elderly, and a garden at a local correctional facility. Others, such as Phil Zimiga, earn extra income selling their produce. He is now considering selling his potatoes full time in a farmers’ market—a turn of events he credits to the knowledge he’s acquired during his four years taking Medicine Root classes.

“I tried to garden for maybe eight years prior to taking the class, and I had no idea what I was doing,” Zimiga said. “Some years, I would have a little bit of success. The next year I’d have no success, so then I wouldn’t garden the next year. But when I got introduced to the class, I started to connect the dots.”

By some estimates, only 4 percent of Pine Ridge land is conducive to agriculture due to the overgrazing of cattle and, as Zimiga notes, the federal government’s history of forcing Native Americans onto inhospitable lands. In the Medicine Root program, he learned about composting techniques. “Each year [my] soil is getting better and better,” he said.

Although Pourier didn’t garden before taking the course, Medicine Root made such a profound impact on him that he now works as the program’s garden manager. He studied construction in college, and that background has proven helpful in building garden beds.

“It’s a lot of fun; I love gardening,” Pourier said. “It takes passion to [manage] a garden.”

He balances his time between construction work and managing the program’s garden, but he also started a farmers’ market with the help of his teenage sons, who have been inspired by their father’s enjoyment of gardening.

“They started loving all the fresh vegetables,” Pourier said. “They got their friends into doing it, too, and now we have a little crew of high schoolers who garden.”

There’s no comparison between growing one’s own food and eating food sold commercially, Fraser contends. “Being able to provide produce within our own families is healthier,” she said. “The taste is different and the quality is a lot different, so I think everybody’s just enjoying providing their own food.”

For Pourier, gardening has proven life-changing. After struggling for years to access fresh produce or paying high gas and grocery store costs to obtain it, he now has too many fresh fruits and vegetables. Turning a profit at the farmers’ market on his excess zucchini is now the norm for him.

“Everything that we have in abundance we sell, sell, sell,” he said of his garden. “You actually make money for something that you fell in love doing.”

The post On Pine Ridge Reservation, a Garden Helps Replace an 80-mile Grocery Trip appeared first on Civil Eats.

]]> https://civileats.com/2021/07/19/on-pine-ridge-reservation-a-garden-helps-replace-an-80-mile-grocery-trip/feed/ 1 Narsiso Martinez is Painting the Plight of Farmworkers https://civileats.com/2021/06/28/narsiso-martinez-is-painting-the-plight-of-farmworkers/ https://civileats.com/2021/06/28/narsiso-martinez-is-painting-the-plight-of-farmworkers/#comments Mon, 28 Jun 2021 11:14:04 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=42329 Filled with mixed media works featuring farmworkers, produce boxes, and agricultural landscapes, Martinez’s portfolio has earned comparisons to the social realism movement of the 1930s. The artist also feels a connection to 19th-century painters such as Vincent van Gogh and Jean-François Millet, both of whom painted peasants and rural landscapes. But Martinez’s biggest influence remains […]

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As a child in Oaxaca, Mexico, Narsiso Martinez loved drawing, but he never dreamed he’d grow up to become a professional artist. And he almost didn’t. The 43-year-old spent years working as a farmworker to pay for his education and pursue an art career. Now, he’s an acclaimed artist based in Long Beach, California, and his striking portraits of agricultural workers have largely propelled him to success.

Filled with mixed media works featuring farmworkers, produce boxes, and agricultural landscapes, Martinez’s portfolio has earned comparisons to the social realism movement of the 1930s. The artist also feels a connection to 19th-century painters such as Vincent van Gogh and Jean-François Millet, both of whom painted peasants and rural landscapes. But Martinez’s biggest influence remains his experience as a farmworker in Washington state, a job that exposed him to the grueling labor farmworkers perform—typically without recognition or labor protections—since so many are undocumented.

Born in 1977 to Zapotec parents, Martinez moved to the United States at age 20 without a high school education. Over the next two decades, he obtained a high school diploma, an associate’s degree, a bachelor’s degree, and, finally, a master’s degree in fine arts from California State University, Long Beach in 2018. That year, he celebrated his first solo show, “Farm Fresh,” held at the Long Beach Museum of Art. The next year, the museum featured his exhibition, “Friends in Freshness,” which included three-dimensional displays of his former colleagues.

Today, Martinez’s work has been exhibited globally by institutions and organizations including the National Immigration Law Center; the Mexican Center for Culture and Cinematic Arts of the Consulate General of Mexico; Art Space Purl gallery in Daegu, South Korea; the Los Angeles Municipal Art Gallery; and the CSULB University Art Museum. Ultimately, he intends to spark a dialogue about the relationship between field workers and the agricultural industry.

Most recently, Martinez’s work was featured in the Billboard Creative’s spring exhibition, which showcased pieces by 30 artists on billboards across Los Angeles. In July, he will participate in an outdoor exhibition organized by the Torrance Art Museum in Southern California.

Martinez spoke with Civil Eats about his art, education, career, and how the COVID-19 pandemic has drawn unprecedented media attention to the contributions of food and farm workers.

Your determination to get an education is incredibly inspiring. What motivated you to keep pursuing your education despite the challenges you faced?

It really was about setting goals. Growing up, I didn’t have role models. My father had a fourth-grade education. I got kicked out of high school in ninth grade for failing too many classes. When I came to the U.S., I wanted to go to school and learn the language, because I wanted to know what the songs were about. In ESL school, my teachers were really encouraging. I realized that I was capable of doing the work, so I signed up for the high school program, and it took a long time because nobody was funding it. I was doing it on my own. and sometimes my schedule would change. But I never stopped, and I graduated from high school in 2006. I wanted to break the cycle in my family. At one point, it became not just for me but for everyone else—my family, my nieces, and nephews.

Three years later, you graduated from Los Angeles City College (LACC). There, you took an art history class where you studied Vincent van Gogh. How did he inspire you to center farmworkers in your art?

When I took an art history class at LACC, I came across these van Gogh paintings. Obviously, the colors were really attractive, but I also learned that he was inspired by Millet, who painted peasants, and it really reminded me of growing up in my community. And I was like, “Okay, I want to go to grad school and do paintings like this.” That was the beginning of it.

The rural environment van Gogh and Millet captured wasn’t just a reminder of your childhood, since as an adult you worked in the fields.

We would work from 1 a.m. to 3 p.m. I was annoyed to get a paycheck at the end of the week that was just a few hundred dollars. I was like, “Really? I don’t think I’m going to make enough to pay for college with his money.”

I read one old interview where you described picking asparagus as a farmworker, and some of the injustices you faced doing so.

I was working very early in the morning when it was very dark. We had spotlights on our heads, and there were certain tricks that the farmworkers used to make sure the asparagus was the right length. If [it wasn’t], the asparagus was counted as trash, and the weight was discounted from the amount we would get paid. But I discovered that [those smaller pieces] were preserved. They put them in jars or something like that, and it would still make a profit for the company, which annoyed me. I didn’t know if they would fire me or retaliate against me if I spoke up, which is traditionally what happens.

Can you give some examples of retaliation farmworkers face?

Based on my experience, if you speak up, they might not fire you on the spot, but they will tell you there is no more work. Because a lot of these people work seasonally, they’ll keep an eye on you, and the next season when it’s time to pick the harvest, they will say, “I’m sorry, we don’t need any more workers.” It’s kind of scary when it is your only source of income.

You’ve sometimes been labeled as “too political.” Given the climate of the country today, has that changed? Are you now celebrated for highlighting farmworkers?

A lot of that would come out in critiques and conversations we had in class when I was an art student. At first, I was trying to defend [my work], like, “This is nothing bad. This is just me and what I experienced.” But I realized [that my art] is political because as a minority, as an immigrant, as a migrant worker, as a foreign worker, work is political. Then, I realized that farmworkers need to be highlighted.  Some people say I’m an art-ivist or an activist, which is cool; I don’t mind those labels. The fact that I now create this work that includes all of these social issues that are embedded in our communities, that makes it, for me, even more valuable.

Your art also incorporates produce boxes. How did that start?

When I was an undergrad, I went to see a show that had a couple of paintings on cardboard, which I thought was pretty interesting and beautifully done. After I graduated, I started doing sketches on cardboard, and it was pretty satisfactory to rub the charcoal in the cardboard. When I came back for the graduate program, I started painting on oil on canvas again. I was trying to paint landscapes, but I would paint farmworkers here and there because I wanted to know how I could address these differences of lifestyle between the orchard owners and the farmworkers. Then, I went to visit my brother, and he sent me to Costco to go get pizza, and there was a pile of boxes lying around. One that really got my attention was a banana box. I took it to my studio, drew on the box, and showed it to my art class, and the response was really positive. I started doing multiple compositions and collages of boxes and sculptural pieces, and that’s how it all started.

Given the long journey you took to become an artist, how did it feel to start taking part in art shows?

I felt a great sense of accomplishment. My first show at a museum felt like a breakthrough. As a person of color, as an Indigenous person, I’ve been struggling throughout my life to even have an education. Breaking those barriers felt like I was doing something not only for myself but sort of setting an example to others.

During the pandemic, food and farmworkers received unprecedented media attention after being ignored for too long. How do you feel about this shift?

I didn’t have to go farther than my social media pages, where people were sharing the news, to realize this was happening. People were cheering the farmworkers and bringing them mariachis and tacos and food, and I think it was great. It’s amazing. One of the things that I questioned, though, is what’s going to happen after the pandemic. Farmworkers are really struggling to survive, so hopefully more people are going to speak up and organize. In many states, people—who are usually afraid of speaking up—are organizing, protesting, and demanding better wages, better protection of women. I’m glad they are taking matters into their own hands to demand change.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

The post Narsiso Martinez is Painting the Plight of Farmworkers appeared first on Civil Eats.

]]> https://civileats.com/2021/06/28/narsiso-martinez-is-painting-the-plight-of-farmworkers/feed/ 2 ‘High on the Hog’ Celebrates Black Contributions to Global Food and Culture https://civileats.com/2021/05/26/high-on-the-hog-celebrates-black-contributions-to-global-food-and-culture/ https://civileats.com/2021/05/26/high-on-the-hog-celebrates-black-contributions-to-global-food-and-culture/#comments Wed, 26 May 2021 08:00:06 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=41814 But this isn’t quite the “we’re not in Kansas anymore” moment you’ll see in most food travel shows. And Satterfield, founder of Whetstone Media (and a Civil Eats alum) isn’t the standard white male host tasked with making the cuisine and culture of a foreign people palatable to Western audiences. Rather, he’s a Black food […]

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In the first episode of Netflix’s new docuseries, High on the Hog, host Stephen Satterfield meets a woman who runs a floating market in the West African nation of Benin. With a straw hat on her head and paddles in her hands, she hawks fresh and packaged foods from her rowboat on Lake Nokoue in the village of Ganvié. It’s Satterfield’s first time in Benin and he takes in the scene from a nearby boat with a look of calm wonderment.

A floating market in the West African nation of Benin

A floating market in the West African nation of Benin.

But this isn’t quite the “we’re not in Kansas anymore” moment you’ll see in most food travel shows. And Satterfield, founder of Whetstone Media (and a Civil Eats alum) isn’t the standard white male host tasked with making the cuisine and culture of a foreign people palatable to Western audiences. Rather, he’s a Black food writer from Georgia exploring the influence of West Africa (the ancestral home of most enslaved African Americans) on Black American foodways. In a television format dominated by white men, with the notable exceptions of Padma Lakshmi, Samin Nosrat, and Marcus Samuelsson, that makes Satterfield an anomaly. The series also stands out because of its virtually all-Black creative team, including executive producers Fabienne Toback, Karis Jagger, and Academy award-winner Roger Ross Williams, who directed most of the episodes as well.

High on the Hog‘s subtitle—How African American Cuisine Transformed America—not only explores African American food, but also frames it as a defining force in the evolution of American cuisine. Based on the book with the same name by food historian Dr. Jessica B. Harris, who appears in the first episode, the four-part docuseries, which premieres tonight, starts in Benin and ends in Texas. In between, there are stops in South Carolina’s Sea Islands, home of the Gullah Geechee people, as well as major cities including Philadelphia, New York, and Los Angeles.

Throughout the series, we learn about African-origin food staples such as collard greens, okra, and yams, and how the agricultural expertise of enslaved African Americans left a permanent imprint on the nation’s rice industry. Black Americans also influenced the country’s catering profession and set cuisine trends as chefs for presidents George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. Additionally, the series emphasizes the resourcefulness of enslaved African Americans, who made use of every part of the animals they cooked. Rarely did they have the opportunity to enjoy the best pork, said to come from the hog’s back and upper legs—the highest parts. But thanks to their innovations and rich culinary traditions, the meals African Americans made often felt like they came from high on the hog, anyway.

I spoke with Satterfield about the journey he made as the host of High on the Hog, the most memorable meals and moments, and how African American food is foundational American cuisine.

Tell me how you became the High on the Hog host. I read that one of the producers reached out to you, and at first you thought they just wanted your help to pitch the series, and then you found out they actually wanted you to host it. You didn’t hesitate to accept the opportunity. Why?

The poster for High on the Hog.

You read the story correctly. The immediacy of me wanting to take the role was contingent on getting the blessing of Dr. J [Jessica B. Harris] because she has already for many years been such an enormous intellectual influence in my life and in my vocation in particular. So, after I talked to her about it and she told me to do it, I said yes right away because it’s a huge honor—not only because the show, subject matter, people, and the content need to be celebrated, and that celebration has been deferred for way too long, but it was like magic to have someone that you so admire and look up to asking you to join them on this historic journey and be the face of it.

Do you remember what initially led you to Dr. Harris’s work?

I was introduced to it probably around 2007. I was a sommelier in my early 20s. I had just moved from Portland, Oregon, where I was working, to my hometown of Atlanta. A big part of that move was because of the disillusionment that I was feeling as a sommelier, because I was in a field that was overwhelmingly homogenous and white. And that experience created a lot of emotional turmoil for me because I loved wine. I really saw myself pursuing it as a career, but there was no way to build a diverse community of sommeliers [because social media was still in its infancy], so I moved to Atlanta to really reimagine my participation in that industry.

I ended up starting a nonprofit that worked with Black vintners in the Western Cape in South Africa, which is where the nation’s wine region is, and helped Black folks in South Africa get their wines distributed to the U.S. I created a lot of media on behalf of those individuals, which is how I got my foot into the world of media, making content that was agrarian-based and had a food justice point of view underlying whatever food or drink we were celebrating.

From that kind of diasporic food and beverage connection, I started to read Dr. Harris, and I was so taken by her anthropological approach to food. I was taken by the fact that she had focused primarily on the foodways of Africa and the diaspora. So, I saw the work that I was doing in wine as an echo of the work that she was doing as a writer and as a scholar.

While discussing the wine industry, you mentioned that it was very white-dominated. Now you’re hosting a food travel docuseries, a TV format that’s also dominated by white men. How does it feel for you to take part in shifting that trend? High on the Hog doesn’t feel like a show that was designed for the white gaze.

I’m overjoyed to hear you say that, and I think at the core of what makes the show special, original, unique, overdue is the creative agency on display throughout the entirety of the process. The level of care and intimacy that is achieved because of the lived experience of a Black author, director, showrunners, executive producers, and host is going to give you a final product that is completely unlike anything that we’ve seen before because of that sensitivity. That’s not something that can be fully understood without the embodied experience of understanding what it means to be a Black person in most cases.

As you say, it’s not a show for the white gaze. It is a show that is very proudly made for Black people around the world to join a celebration of our contributions to the world of food and the world of culture. That is not to say that people of other ethnicities or racial identities are not welcome to watch or enjoy the show. There’s so much to learn and so much beauty to take in, but for Black folks, in particular, there will be a perception of a level of care and intimacy that, “Wow, they really did make this show for us.”

Black creatives just want the space to tell our own stories. It sounds really simple, but it’s so rare that the opportunity is granted, and when it is, I think the results speak for themselves, and they’re powerful and transformational in most cases.

I know this series didn’t just focus on soul food, but when the topic of soul food or Black cuisine comes up in the media, it’s often pathologized. It’s blamed for giving Black people diabetes, making Black people obese, killing us. Can you talk about how High on the Hog stands out for celebrating Black food?

I think that pathology that you’re referencing speaks to an imbalance of power. It speaks directly to how important the role of story is in maintaining power, or, in this case, shifting power. What I mean by that is, as a Black person who grew up in the States, I know that that is not the singular narrative of the culinary tradition of my family.

Because I’m not an editor at the New York Times [or a media outlet of that magnitude], my power to disseminate a more diverse story about the food traditions and food culture of Black people is going to be limited. So, our imagination around what Black people are capable of, just in general, is really limited, and media and story has so much to do with that because it is all about our perceptions through a particular editorial, creative lens, or filter from people who have not had the lived experience of the [individuals] they are trying to portray.

I’m so glad that High on the Hog exists because there’s a new generation of young Black children all over the world who will watch this and be influenced and inspired in ways that I cannot imagine. To have a show like this is really exciting and I’m very, very privileged to be a part of it.

Stephen Satterfield.

Stephen Satterfield

Which of the foods that you ate during the making of this show left the biggest impression on you?

There were a couple of really special dishes. One was actually caught on camera, and that was the collard greens we had in North Carolina at [food preservationist] Gabrielle Etienne’s house. I feel like some people have a particular way of preparing greens where I can just tell that they came from the South. The greens [were grown just] a few miles away from Gabrielle’s house, so I think that Carolina soil matters, too. The snap of the greens—they were just incredible.

I was sitting next to a farmer in that scene, and when he ate the greens, there was a palpable pause. None of that was contrived. It was funny because I was having the same moment, like, “Damn, this tastes like my granny’s greens, like something from my childhood.”

Also, the macaroni and cheese [culinary historian Dr. Leni Sorensen and I prepared from a recipe by Thomas Jefferson’s enslaved chef James Hemings]: It was memorable for me because it was such a cool experience to be surrounded by the heirs of the Hemings family and cooking in a way that Hemings would’ve cooked 250 years ago. It was probably one of the most enlightening but still pleasurable experiences that I had, even though it was shot on a plantation.

That mac and cheese really gets to the crux of the show, which is, we take for granted things that are ubiquitous in our lives that we have not properly investigated. The show is now going to present these stories about things that you fell in love with from a completely new perspective and with a historical context. It’ll be emotional, it will be delicious, and you will learn in the process.

Are you hoping that highlighting the contributions of early Black chefs and caterers teaches viewers that African Americans played a foundational role in shaping U.S. food culture?

Foundational is the right word to use. The mac and cheese was the low-hanging fruit because it’s so much a big part of U.S. food culture, but it really began with the rice trade. The foundational relationship between Black people and what [became] the United States is rooted in exploitation, and that exploitation wasn’t just about the bodies in captivity. The intellectual capital of the enslaved people was exploited because they were very, very skilled rice farmers and growers, and it is incredibly difficult to cultivate rice. So the Carolina Gold rice that was the foundational wealth of the nation [explored in the “Rice Kingdom,” episode 2 of High on the Hog] was made possible by the physical labor as well as the intellectual capital of people coming from the rice coasts of West Africa. It can’t be overstated that the relationship between Black folks and food and the wealth of the nation actually precedes the [founding] of the country itself.

On a lighter note, one minor quibble I have is that in Benin, you all discuss quintessential West African foods like yams, okra, and rice but leave out one regional culinary staple—plantains. While filming, did you all have any plantains, my personal favorite?

Totally. If I’m not mistaken, I think there they call it alloco. There was a lot of food that we didn’t focus on on an individual level, but if it makes you feel better, lots of plantains were had and enjoyed. And, you’re right, it’s a classic staple food. We had them at just about every single meal. I don’t know why it was left out.

That is reassuring. Finally, since the show starts in Benin and ends in Texas, I wanted to ask you about the Northeastern Trailriders, the league of Black cowboys you encountered in the Lone Star State. You’ve said they made a big impact on you. Can you talk about why?

For me that was another massively revelatory moment because I had read so much about Black cowboys, about their role in the origins of the cattle industry in the U.S. The culture of the people themselves and the tradition that they’ve kept alive isn’t one can experience just in reading.

So, it was humbling to be in North Houston with the Northeast Trailriders. During the ride that we took, there were probably 100 beautiful Black people from ages five to 95 years old on horses and in carriages wearing cowboy hats. It was so surreal and beautiful. Seeing how much energy goes into the actual preservation of those traditions and keeping those horses alive and organizing these trail rides—it’s really incredible.

This interview was edited for length and clarity.

High on the Hog premieres today on Netflix.

The post ‘High on the Hog’ Celebrates Black Contributions to Global Food and Culture appeared first on Civil Eats.

]]> https://civileats.com/2021/05/26/high-on-the-hog-celebrates-black-contributions-to-global-food-and-culture/feed/ 2 Why Did It Take So Long for Food Companies to Rebrand their Racist Products? https://civileats.com/2021/05/25/why-did-it-take-so-long-for-food-companies-to-rebrand-their-racist-products/ Tue, 25 May 2021 08:00:28 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=41752 In the wake of the murder of George Floyd, perhaps one of the most-overdue and yet least-expected changes in American culture finally began: the replacement of racist, stereotypical “spokescharacters” on packaged foods, including Uncle Ben, Aunt Jemima, and Mia—the Native American “butter maiden” from Land O’Lakes. While Land O’Lakes announced that it would remove Mia […]

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The Movement for Black Lives has come for your racist food brands.

In the wake of the murder of George Floyd, perhaps one of the most-overdue and yet least-expected changes in American culture finally began: the replacement of racist, stereotypical “spokescharacters” on packaged foods, including Uncle Ben, Aunt Jemima, and Mia—the Native American “butter maiden” from Land O’Lakes.

While Land O’Lakes announced that it would remove Mia from its packaging the month before Floyd’s murder set off a global uprising, in the days and weeks afterward, other brands followed suit. In June, Quaker Oats, the PepsiCo subsidiary that owns the Aunt Jemima brand, announced its intention to rename and rebrand its products. It also acknowledged that the character was based on a racial stereotype. Scholars have said that it represents the Black mammy.

“Over the years, the Quaker Oats Company updated the Aunt Jemima brand image in a manner intended to remove racial stereotypes that dated back to the brand origins, but it had not progressed enough to appropriately reflect the dignity, respect, and warmth that we stand for today,” a Quaker Oats spokesperson explained to Civil Eats. Earlier this year, the company announced that Pearl Milling Company would be the brand’s new name.

For generations, stereotypical imagery of Black and Indigenous people has appeared on food brands. Amid 2020’s “racial reckoning,” Uncle Ben’s, a subsidiary of Mars, Inc., announced that it would modify its name and remove the Black man on its products who was inspired by an African American cook and waiter.

“While never our intent, the picture of the man on the Uncle Ben’s packaging elicits images of servitude for some, and, in the U.S., the word ‘uncle’ was at times a pejorative title for Black men,” Denis Yarotskiy, regional president for Mars Food North America, told Civil Eats. “As a result, we committed to change our name to Ben’s Original and remove the image on our packaging to signal our ambition to create a more inclusive future.”

Similarly, Eskimo Pie, which featured a cartoon Inuit boy in a fur-lined parka on its ice cream, removed that image and name, which had drawn objections from Inuit people. It is now named Edy’s Pie after company co-founder and candymaker Joseph Edy. Cream of Wheat also dropped the character widely known as Rastus, the Black cook long featured on its products.

Eager to show that these rebrands and name changes are more than just performative, some food companies have also committed to making multi-million dollar investments in communities of color. On May 13, Pearl Milling Company announced that it would grant $1 million to nonprofits that empower Black women and girls. And in 2020, the brand’s parent company announced a $400 million, five-year commitment to uplift Black businesses and communities.

“The journey for racial equality is one that calls for big, structural changes, and . . . we have the resources, reach, and responsibility to our people, businesses, and communities to be agents of progress,” PepsiCo said in a statement provided to Civil Eats. “As people around the world demanded justice for the countless lives taken too soon, PepsiCo committed to helping dismantle the systemic racial barriers that for generations have blocked social and economic progress for communities of color in this country, particularly Black and Hispanic communities.”

PepsiCo’s Pearl Milling isn’t alone in its efforts. A spokesperson for Dreyer’s Grand Ice Cream, the parent company of Edy’s Pie, told Civil Eats that it would invest $1.5 million in donations over the next three years to organizations that support marginalized and underrepresented creators. And Ben’s Original this year launched its Seat at the Table scholarship, in partnership with the National Urban League and the United Negro College Fund, to support Black students pursuing food industry careers. The company is also investing $2.5 million over a five-year period to support educational opportunities and fresh food access in Greenville, Mississippi, where Ben’s Original products have been made for 40 years.

“There are significant portions of the Greenville community that can be classified as a food desert, so over the past several months, we have spent time engaging and listening to a variety of partners, including Mayor [Errick D.] Simmons, our associates and several local [non-governmental organizations],” said Yarotskiy. “We are all committed to bringing fresh food to the neighborhoods that need it most through new initiatives that are efficient, modernized and sustainable for the long term.”

The response to the company’s rebrands and their financial commitments to foster racial equity has been mixed. Consumers across the political spectrum have questioned whether these image overhauls were necessary, arguing that characters like the Land O’Lakes maiden weren’t really stereotypes. On the other hand, scholars told Civil Eats that the changes at these food labels were long overdue, and they question why it took a year of unprecedented outcry over racial injustice to usher in these rebrands. It’s also important, they say, that these changes not be surface level but part of a sustained effort toward compensating communities of color for capitalizing on racial caricatures.

“I feel bad that it took George Floyd’s tragic death and protests unfolding in all 50 states and around the world to be the tipping point toward measurable changes—that it’s taken so long,” said Riché Richardson, an associate professor in Cornell University’s Africana Studies and Research Center. “But it’s definitely important for the change not to merely be cosmetic. It’s important to dig deep to grapple with what is at stake in these images and the serious damage they do.”

A Promising Sign

“Can We Please, Finally, Get Rid of ‘Aunt Jemima’?” Richardson asked in a 2015 New York Times essay calling for the shift. She pointed out that the character was inspired by the minstrel song “Old Aunt Jemima” and described Jemima as an outgrowth of Old South plantation nostalgia that romanticized the mammy, “a devoted and submissive servant who eagerly nurtured the children of her white master and mistress while neglecting her own.”

The egregious marketing of such a stereotype in the 21st century—though the company removed Jemima’s kerchief in 1968 and rebranded her as a “young grandmother” in 1989—is why Richardson finds it unsettling that the change took so long. That said, she views the company’s financial commitments to communities of color as a positive development.

“I think it’s important to make investments in the communities most implicated in and damaged by the images,” she said. “Those are, at least, promising signs. And they’re good to see.”

Psyche Williams-Forson, associate professor and chair of the Department of American Studies at University of Maryland–College Park, agrees that these food labels should have been rebranded ages ago. But she sees their decisions to part ways with stereotypical imagery as largely “symbolic.”

The rebrands suggest little more than that these companies “know how to read the room” during a time when Black Lives Matter has become a rallying cry for consumers of all racial backgrounds, and social media gives young people a platform to call out companies that fall short, she added. A viral TikTok video about Aunt Jemima’s minstrel show roots by Millennial singer Kirby Lauryen intensified the calls for the line to rebrand last year.

Although Land O’Lakes decided to remove the butter maiden from its packaging before protests against racial injustice spread worldwide, Williams-Forson doesn’t think the company deserves more credit for making the call a month early.

“People put enough money in your pocket to do the right thing,” she said. “Unless this particular butter is made by Native and Indigenous peoples, why do you have any imagery referencing that on the product? Are you somehow using that product to fund Native people? No. Well, then take it off.” (Land O’Lakes did not respond to a request for comment on this story.)

Rafia Zafar, professor of English, African & African American, and American Culture Studies at Washington University, feels simultaneously optimistic and skeptical about these companies’ commitments. Zafar said that she “wouldn’t look a good reparation in the mouth.” But she also wants to know if the funding will actually make it into communities of color—”to land trusts, community gardening [programs], agricultural education or something like that,” she said. “I think it can do good, particularly if [these companies] weren’t doing anything before.”

Dreyer’s has already made its first donation of $100,000 to the Hillman Grad Productions Mentorship Lab to support underrepresented creators, a spokesperson told Civil Eats. Founded by filmmaker Lena Waithe, the lab helps marginalized storytellers successfully pursue careers in television and film. In addition, applications for the Ben’s Original Seat at the Table scholarships are being accepted through June 30. And Pearl Milling announced on May 13 the P.E.A.R.L. Pledge, the funding initiative aimed at supporting Black women and girls.

Richardson, however, would like to see these companies hire more employees that better reflect the diversity found throughout the country. Mars, which owns Ben’s Original, has said it intends to make its workforce, leadership, and talent pipeline more inclusive. It’s a move that National Urban League President Marc Morial applauds.

“Diversity and inclusion cannot be solved by name and packaging changes alone—real change takes effort, time, and money, which is why it’s critical for companies like Mars to showcase their commitments through meaningful actions,” Morial told Civil Eats. “We’re proud to partner with Ben’s Original to help create these opportunities for those who truly deserve it, as well as support recipients in building successful careers in the food industry through the Seat at the Table Fund [scholarship].”

Cornell’s Riché Richardson said that diversifying the workforce is important because monolithic work cultures give rise to racially insensitive marketing.

“The lack of diversity is intimately linked to how and why these images have circulated for so long in the first place,” she said. “When you have a more diverse workplace, there’s more likely to be ingenuity, and there’s more likely to be observations that, you know, certain things are a problem. You need the person sitting at the table to say that.”

Backlash to the Rebrands

While proponents say these rebrands are long overdue, critics object to the fact that they’ve taken place at all. After learning that Eskimo Pie was changing its name, Donald Trump, Jr. declared “The bullshit never ends”—a tweet that garnered more than 40,000 likes.

“The backlash is all about MAGA [Donald Trump’s presidential campaign slogan, ‘Make America Great Again’],” said Zafar, suggesting that critics of the rebrands long for the days when it was acceptable to depict Black and Indigenous peoples as servile and exotic.

But not everyone who has expressed concern about the changes is an avowed Trump supporter. Robert DesJarlait, whose Ojibwe father, Patrick DesJarlait, redesigned Land O’Lakes’s Mia in 1954, doesn’t find the character offensive. He has pointed to the fact that his father included details, such as culturally specific beadwork on her dress and two points of wooded Minnesota shoreline recognizable “to any Red Lake tribal citizen” that underscored her authenticity

The author of an educational booklet about stereotypes and a critic of sports team mascots that dehumanize Native Americans, DesJarlait argues that Mia does not “fit the parameters of a stereotype,” as her physical features were not caricatured and her cultural heritage was not demeaned.

Similarly, relatives and supporters of the African-American women who portrayed Aunt Jemima in live promotions for the company early in its 132-year history fear that the rebrand erases them. “It’s a gross miscarriage of justice,” Dannez Hunter, great-grandson of Aunt Jemima performer Anna Short Harrington, told Chicago’s ABC7. “Let’s put it in context of what it actually is, a propaganda campaign.”

Richardson is aware of the concerns that these families have expressed as well as the argument that the rebrands stem from cancel culture. But she emphasized the argument that these representations of people of color were never accurate or empowering. The idea that Aunt Jemima, in particular, “represents Black heritage is actually deeply insulting and short-sighted,” she said.

Richardson added that no one is negating the work of the African Americans who historically portrayed Aunt Jemima, as she does not conflate these women with the fictional character. In fact, when the food line rebranded, she felt it missed an opportunity to showcase the work of African-American artists who radicalized Aunt Jemima’s image during the Black Arts Movement of the 1960s and ‘70s. At that time, artists such as Betye Saar pointed to the character’s historic and racist origins and reframed it as a source of Black empowerment.

While Pearl Milling removed Jemima’s name and visage, the new packaging does not look significantly different from the old packaging, nor does it educate consumers about why the Aunt Jemima character was problematic.

“The box looks the same,” Zafar said. “The lettering is the same. Same colors. They have a circular logo that’s probably placed around the same [spot] where there was the circular logo with Jemima in it.”

The company may not have chosen to highlight the more revolutionary images of Aunt Jemima or educate the public about her origins, but Richardson said that “any rational person would conclude” that U.S. consumer culture is in a period of transition. She remains cautiously optimistic about what impact these rebrands and financial pledges will ultimately have on communities of color.

“Let’s hope this is a real paradigm shift,” Richardson said. “We definitely need to see follow up and follow through. The hopes are high that maybe we are getting somewhere.”

The post Why Did It Take So Long for Food Companies to Rebrand their Racist Products? appeared first on Civil Eats.

]]> The Rise of Guaranteed Income Programs Could Offer a Lifeline for Food Workers https://civileats.com/2021/05/04/the-rise-of-guaranteed-income-programs-could-offer-a-lifeline-for-food-workers/ https://civileats.com/2021/05/04/the-rise-of-guaranteed-income-programs-could-offer-a-lifeline-for-food-workers/#comments Tue, 04 May 2021 08:00:19 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=41526 Samra said receiving just $500 in additional income a month would have reduced her mother’s workload and stress load, she said. Instead, the food worker developed hypertension, arthritis, depression, and anxiety before dying suddenly in June after 25 years of low-wage labor. “In the richest country in the world, one job should be more than […]

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Sukhi Samra grew up with a mother who worked up to 80 hours per week to support three children and a husband with a disability. None of her three jobs paid her well enough to make ends meet in Fresno, California, in the late 2000s. So she juggled work as a housecleaner with shifts at a Subway restaurant and a gas station convenience store, and still struggled financially.

Samra said receiving just $500 in additional income a month would have reduced her mother’s workload and stress load, she said. Instead, the food worker developed hypertension, arthritis, depression, and anxiety before dying suddenly in June after 25 years of low-wage labor.

“In the richest country in the world, one job should be more than enough to make sure that you’re able to keep the lights on and feed your children, but that wasn’t the case for her,” said Samra, director of the Stockton Economic Empowerment Demonstration (SEED) project and Mayors for a Guaranteed Income. Both programs were founded in 2020 by former Stockton, California Mayor, Michael Tubbs, and they’re both on a mission to provide low-wage earners, a category that disproportionately includes food workers, with a guaranteed income.

The idea is rapidly gaining traction nationwide. While universal basic income (UBI) initiatives provide no-strings-attached cash payments to all community members whether or not they are economically disadvantaged, guaranteed income projects like SEED aim to reduce income inequality by specifically giving “free money” to financially fragile constituents.

“Guaranteed income is a targeted policy solution to address racial and gender disparities in income insecurity,” Samra said. “Also, guaranteed income comes in a little bit cheaper than universal basic income just by virtue of the fact that you’re not serving the same number of people.”

In recent years, several cities have begun offering a guaranteed income to small groups of economically disadvantaged residents, and a number of others—including Los Angeles—are considering doing so. In February 2019, the SEED project launched a two-year guaranteed income program in Stockton, a racially diverse city of 300,000 on the eastern edge of the Bay Area that has been working to rebound from bankruptcy since 2008. The program provided a $500 monthly allotment to 125 randomly chosen residents in neighborhoods where earnings fall at or below the city’s median household income.

Recently released data from the program’s first year indicates that receiving a guaranteed income allowed participants to pay down their debts, cover unexpected expenses, and improve their mental health. In addition, full-time employment among these residents rose by 12 percent, a finding that flies in the face of the notion that free money disincentivizes low-income people from working. The success of Stockton’s program inspired other California cities, including San Francisco, Oakland, and Compton, to follow suit. Nationwide, Richmond, Virginia; Saint Paul, Minnesota; Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; and the Massachusetts cities of Chelsea and Cambridge have all adopted guaranteed income programs.

While most of these initiatives focus on low-income families, San Francisco’s program stands out in that it will funnel $1,000 to 130 struggling artists for six months starting in May. This could pave the way for other municipalities to target economically specific groups of disadvantaged workers. The effort is being watched closely by food workers’ advocates, who say that monthly cash payments could offer those workers the financial stability to live in dignity.

Madeline Neighly, director of guaranteed income at the Economic Security Project, a funder and partner of SEED, pointed out that many foodservice workers don’t earn a living wage. The Raise the Wage Act of 2021, introduced to the U.S. Senate in January, would increase the federal minimum wage to $15 per hour by June 2025, but has faced pushback from industry groups such as the National Restaurant Association. The proposal also suffered a blow when the Senate opted against including minimum wage legislation in President Joe Biden’s $1.9 trillion COVID-19 stimulus plan.

“We’ve learned a lot over the past year about the ways we rely so heavily on foodservice workers—from the people who pick our food to the people who deliver it and prepare it to everybody in between,” Neighly said. “So, a demonstration that shows how guaranteed income can level some of the economic shocks for those individuals seems like a great idea.”

Fighting to earn a living wage, relying on tips to survive, facing sexual harassment, and often getting paid under the table because of their immigration status, food workers are among the nation’s most exploited group of workers, advocates say. A guaranteed income could be just what many need to transition out of poverty and work in settings where they’re treated with respect.

The Case for a Guaranteed Food Worker Income

Food workers are significantly more likely to live below the poverty line than other workers. Roughly 30 percent of farmworker families live in poverty, as do 16.7 percent of restaurant workers. About 43 percent of restaurant workers earn twice the official poverty level, which suggests that they are barely making ends meet. Overrepresented in low-paying restaurant jobs—cashiers, counter attendants, dishwashers, or cooks—food workers of color, especially women, are among those most prone to poverty. In addition, more than half of the people working for supermarkets and big box stores earn poverty-level wages.

The COVID-19 pandemic only worsened economic conditions for restaurant workers, with nearly 400,000 restaurant jobs lost in December alone. Overall, the coronavirus resulted in the restaurant industry losing almost 2.5 million jobs. Tipped workers were acutely impacted, according to Sekou Siby, president and CEO of Restaurant Opportunities Centers (ROC) United. “It is not a wage,” he said of tips. “It’s a gratuity.”

Because restaurant staff typically worked fewer hours last year, their tips went down proportionally. That is one reason why ROC has been advocating for restaurant workers to earn a federal living wage of at least $15, but Siby said that a guaranteed income could also help. “We should provide targeted outreach toward families still working full-time but not making enough to [get by].”

A guaranteed income could provide some much-needed economic stability to restaurant workers whose wages have fluctuated or stopped entirely over the past year, Neighly said. As restaurants open up to full capacity, she added, it will take time for workers to resume earning their pre-pandemic wages, even if those wages were meager. A guaranteed income could also empower workers in other ways.

According to a recent study from the living-wage advocacy nonprofit One Fair Wage, more than 40 percent of restaurant workers reported “a noticeable change in the frequency of unwanted sexualized comments from customers” during the pandemic. Because they rely on tips, many of these workers feel they have no choice but to endure sexual harassment in the workplace.

Similarly, 58 percent workers said they hesitated to enforce COVID-19 protocols for fear that they would receive smaller tips. In fact, 67 percent of workers said they got unusually small tips after enforcing these protocols.

A guaranteed income would make restaurant workers less dependent on tips. “Cash is freedom, and it’s the freedom to walk away from a situation that’s unsafe,” Neighly said. “It’s the freedom to make decisions about your career that are best for you and your family.” A demonstration focused on food workers would allow researchers and advocates, “to show the power that workers have when they have economic stability to call for better working conditions,” she added.

In addition to leaving unsafe work environments, participants in the Stockton program reported that they left  abusive partners and did not have to rely on financial help from family members with whom they had strained relationships, Samra noted. So, a guaranteed income, “really allows you to shift to situations that you choose to be in,” she said. “It’s giving people their agency back.”

Jose Oliva, campaigns director for HEAL Food Alliance, said a basic income would be “hugely beneficial” to farmworkers. He argues that they are among the most vulnerable, particularly because they work seasonally and perform grueling labor. But he also said such an income would help food workers employed in transportation, logistics, and warehousing roles, since automation and mechanization are increasingly threatening their job security. Their job protections also depend on whether or not they belong to a union. He suspects that a basic income could lead employers to improve the wages and conditions they offer to workers, who would have more leverage.

For this shift to occur, Oliva said, immigration reform is a must. Without it, employers can pay undocumented workers low wages and avoid making substantive changes. But at present, restaurants are struggling to find enough workers as business picks up and more than half of U.S. adults have received the COVID-19 vaccine.

Some experts blame this problem on food workers leaving the industry when restaurants limited their hours of operation during the pandemic. And, in many cases, the alternative work they landed provided higher pay and more job security than their food industry positions did. Others attribute the trend to these workers collecting unemployment benefits and stimulus payments that collectively amount to a higher sum than their restaurant wages did. In any case, the food industry might have to do more to cater to workers to lure them back.

The inaugural SEED study found that a guaranteed income isn’t likely to stop the public from working—but it did give them the resources to explore their options. “People had a lot more brain space and mental capacity to set goals for themselves and envision a different future,” Samra said. “So, you combine the mental capacity with the  tangible ability to take the day off from work—as we know a lot of [low-wage] jobs don’t come with paid time off—and people were taking days off to go to interviews, whereas that just wasn’t possible before.”

Addressing the Critics

Although Stockton’s project saw positive results, guaranteed and basic income programs still face opposition. Critics argue that they would do very little to decrease income inequality. Rather, they say the programs could cause inflation and taxes to increase, landlords to raise rent, and people to lose the will to work. In response to Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti’s recent proposal of a $24 million “basic income guaranteed” pilot program, Jon Coupal, the president of the anti-tax Howard Jarvis Taxpayers Association, told the Los Angeles Times that government initiatives that “give away free money” minimize the importance of hard work and being “a productive member of society.”

Samra said these messages are rooted in damaging stereotypes related to race, gender, and class. They play on stereotypes that suggest “poor people are poor because of their own choices, and that if you give people money, they will spend it on drugs and alcohol or they will stop working,” she said. “None of the data bears out in that way. For us, it was really important to reverse the pattern of not trusting families who are experiencing economic insecurity and show that they’re just like the rest of us. When they’re given $500 a month, they spend it to better take care of themselves and their families.”

Samra also disputed the idea that “free money” would stop people from working, since $500 or $1,000 is not a large enough monthly sum to meet cost-of-living needs. As for the idea that a guaranteed or basic income might depress wages, rather than raise them, Samra said that such initiatives should not exist in a vacuum. A number of policies should be put in place to reduce income inequality and improve living standards—from tenant protections to a living wage.

“These policies are not in competition, and, in fact, they work best in tandem: [workers need] a living wage and guaranteed income,” Neighly said.

The Stockton program not only garnered attention for distributing “free money” but also because it didn’t require participants to take drug tests or spend their cash in a certain way. Compare this to the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP), which restricts what recipients’ purchases, most notably prohibiting hot foods. Moreover, some states have tried to bar recipients from purchasing unhealthy foods, such as candy or sweetened beverages, with SNAP benefits.

Samra said it was important to give Stockton’s guaranteed income recipients autonomy because no government program or policymaker can predict families’ individual needs on a month-to-month basis. In May, they might use the money to pay for a car repair, and in June, they might spend the money entirely on food.

“Cash is something that allows freedom and choice,” Neighly said. “By showing how [guaranteed income programs] work in different communities, we’re seeing how something can be universal in its solution, even though each family, each community, each individual, interacts with it differently.”

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]]> https://civileats.com/2021/05/04/the-rise-of-guaranteed-income-programs-could-offer-a-lifeline-for-food-workers/feed/ 1 This Doctor Is Working to Build Resilience and Land Justice for Communities of Color https://civileats.com/2021/04/22/this-doctor-is-working-to-build-resilience-and-land-justice-for-communities-of-color/ https://civileats.com/2021/04/22/this-doctor-is-working-to-build-resilience-and-land-justice-for-communities-of-color/#comments Thu, 22 Apr 2021 08:01:50 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=41350 A women of color-led organization made up of farmers, healers, activists, and artists, Deep Medicine Circle recently launched its Farming Is Medicine program on a 1-acre rooftop farm in Oakland as well as on a 38-acre Indigenous-run farm on the California coast south of San Francisco. The farmers at both locations will take an agroecological […]

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Dr. Rupa Marya has spent two decades studying how social structures predispose marginalized groups to illness. This year, Marya aims to foster healing in vulnerable communities with a new farm, Ma Da Dil; a new nonprofit, Deep Medicine Circle; and a new book, Inflamed: Deep Medicine and the Anatomy of Injustice, set for publication in August.

A women of color-led organization made up of farmers, healers, activists, and artists, Deep Medicine Circle recently launched its Farming Is Medicine program on a 1-acre rooftop farm in Oakland as well as on a 38-acre Indigenous-run farm on the California coast south of San Francisco. The farmers at both locations will take an agroecological approach to growing organic food that will be distributed for free to institutions—such as the American Indian Cultural District and the Tenderloin Neighborhood Development Corporation—to address food insecurity and hunger in the community. The organization links both of these socioeconomic conditions to colonization. To that end, Deep Medicine Circle will invest in farmers of color to accomplish climate, racial, health, and economic justice goals, including rematriating (or returning) land to Indigenous people, cultivating plant medicines, and supporting food liberation for oppressed groups.

Marya intends for the farm to be a source of healing that confronts the displacement and decimation of Indigenous people. Food, she asserts, can serve as medicine by restoring physical health and vitality and by addressing the historical injustices that have occurred on the land.

In her forthcoming book, coauthored by economist (and Civil Eats advisory board member) Raj Patel, Marya draws a link between systemic inequality, multigenerational trauma, inflammation, and the immune system. A holistic approach to health not only considers a community’s access to food and medical care, she says, but also these underlying factors. The daughter of Punjabi immigrants with Jatt Sikh “farmer-warrior” ancestors, Marya grew up in a household that embraced both Western medicine and traditional Indian medicine.

The farm’s name—Ma Da Dil—is Punjabi for “mother’s heart,” a reference to the earth mother and a way to connect the circle’s efforts to the current farmer revolution in India. “This is about billions of people around the world fighting for control of our material reality,” Marya said. “And in capitalism, which almost the whole world is suffering from, the people who are working the land do not have control of their material reality as they should. We work in solidarity with all those people who are struggling in this way.”

Marya has long been working to decolonize food, land, and medicine. In partnership with Lakota leaders at Standing Rock, she is helping to establish the Mni Wiconi Health Clinic and Farm, an initiative that has raised $1 million, including a grant from Colin Kaepernick. She is also investigating police violence’s impact on health through a landmark research project known as The Justice Study. And through her band, Rupa & the April Fishes, she uses music to raise awareness about social justice and climate change.

Marya, A-dae Romero-Briones of the First Nations Development Institute, and author Anna Lappé will participate in a conversation and webinar about strategies to preserve and maintain Native agroecological traditions after centuries of U.S. government-backed land dispossession and cultural annihilation.

Civil Eats spoke with Marya about her land rematriation activism, the new farm, and the long-term effects of colonization on food and medicine in communities of color.

How does your medical background inform your understanding of land, climate, food, and water?

As a doctor, I think of them as health issues. How are humans supposed to survive when the water is poisoned? When it’s so hot that our seeds won’t start at the right time and the pollinators don’t come at the right time? When we’re running away from wildfires, and we’re breathing that air?

So that’s the lens with which I come to this. It’s from that understanding that we are working with the Ramaytush Ohlone people on a 38-acre rematriation project. These are the original people of the San Francisco peninsula. There are just a handful of Ramaytush people and families who are left, who have survived the genocide of their tribe, and none of them hold land in their ancestral territory. In a year’s time, we’ll have the opportunity to move this land back into their hands.

How will Deep Medicine Circle make this happen? Can you discuss the process?

We’re farming 38 acres through Peninsula Open Space Trust (POST)’s farmland initiative. They put out a proposal request for farmers, and [in October] we proposed a project to farm the land under Indigenous stewardship. That initiative gives the farmers an opportunity to buy the land that they’re stewarding at below-market rates after a year of work. So, we do have the opportunity to buy land, but we are not going to ask our Indigenous partners to lease the land this year. So, this land return is an act of historical reparations.

All of our work and energy will be put toward advancing this model of farming that fits with our Ramaytush Indigenous partners’ stated ancestral responsibilities to both care for the earth and care for the people. We created a model that we’re calling Farming Is Medicine, in which we liberate farmers and the food they make from the market economy, and we focus their work on ecological care. So, while they grow food, their principal work is to care for the soil and the water, and all that food then is going to San Francisco to the American Indian Cultural District and to the Tenderloin Neighborhood Development Corporation to be distributed through their food hubs to offer organic, agroecologically grown food to people who need it most.

As a physician, how did you come to develop your interest in agriculture and decolonizing the land?

I’m a farmer’s wife. It’s a beautiful, amazing life full of hardworking people who should be truly uplifted. When we realize the connection between soil health and human health, especially through the conversations between the microbiome, we understand that farmers are truly the original stewards of our health.

I’ve always had a very broad understanding of health and I’ve always been very interested in agroecology. Now, Benjamin [Fahrer, my husband] is designing rooftop farms on new buildings. One of them is an acre of rooftop farm in Oakland, where we are doing the urban component of the Farming Is Medicine project. We’ve secured that rooftop for a very low lease, and we’ve hired the best farmer we know in the city, Kevin Jefferson, who is a beloved member of the Black urban ag community. He will be growing all that food to give away to the food pharmacy at the pediatric clinic next door. So, all that food will go to food insecure families who come to their appointments.

Top Leaf Farms, our farm design/build business, is also helping to design a rooftop with the Friendship House, an urban Indigenous health project in San Francisco. They’re building a five-story building, and on the roof will be food and medicine that they grow, and we’re helping to design and implement that.

And then the Tenderloin Neighborhood Development Corporation—which provides low-income, affordable housing in San Francisco that services mostly Black and brown community members—Benjamin has been designing and implementing farms on all of their new buildings, so they’ve gone whole-hog, committed to hyper-localizing their food security.

In the face of the [recent] massive wildfires, people couldn’t get the food in from Capay Valley [100 miles northeast of San Francisco], so, it’s like, “What do we have within our 20-mile radius that can increase the food security of people right here?” It is through my beloved husband and his community that I’ve gotten more deeply involved in getting these farms up and running.

Your efforts speak to a larger movement of Black and Indigenous peoples returning to farming, rematriating seeds, and working toward food sovereignty. Do you believe that we’re in a unique cultural moment right now?

We are creating a new culture of the field right now, and it’s extremely exciting. It’s healing. And I wonder, as we are working on these food liberation and land rematriation projects, what the food is going to taste like and how it will nourish people when it is grown in this way that starts with following Indigenous leadership on their own lands.

The human body stores trauma over several generations. That trauma is transmitted and held, and it shapes our health. The soil also remembers what happens here on this land. It knows that the people who are practicing their agricultural practices on the land, are not the same as the people who were tending this land for tens of thousands of years. It knows that the grizzly bear is not here, the salmon, the beaver, and the wolves have all been killed, the mountain lions have been incarcerated. It knows all those things because the soil microbiology changes, the water hydrology changes, and our cycles have completely changed in ways that are destructive to human and other life.

On the farm, there’s a half mile of creek restoration along the San Gregorio Creek, which has been listed as one of the key watersheds in which to reintroduce coho salmon. We’re working with the [Ramaytush Ohlone] tribe on the ecological restoration work that they’re leading on this site to rehabilitate the stream and bring back the salmon. They have aspirations to bring back the beavers, too.

You’ve said that colonization has directly contributed to the ecological disasters that the nation and the planet are currently experiencing.

Climate collapse is here because of the colonial architectures that were brought to these lands 600 years ago. For tens of thousands of years, the water here was drinkable, the ecologies were in balance, the land was not poisoned, hunger was not known, homelessness was not known. But since the arrival of European cosmologies through capitalism, like the privatization of property, there’s been a growth of wide disparities that predispose Black, brown, and Indigenous people to poor health outcomes, which COVID is showing glaringly in our faces. Since the arrival of that cosmology in these lands, everything has been disrupted, and now we’re being told that this fire season will be even worse than the last one.

Yes, California had its worst fire season ever last year, and experts predict that the 2021 season could top that.

During the last one, here in the Bay Area, we were surrounded on all three sides by fire. The air was unbreathable; it was at levels that were hazardous for human health for several consecutive weeks. Even in that context, thousands of people were left languishing outside, unhoused in San Francisco—with the pandemic raging and [under] toxic air, people were left outside. Why is that acceptable and normal? How have we grown accustomed to the violence of looking away, as “Tiny” Gray Garcia, who’s a formerly unhoused poet-activist, says. How have we learned to continue this violent act of looking away?

We are here today because of a very specific mindset. If we want to look at real solutions to the climate change problem, then we have to start looking at when and why it started changing in this way. With that in mind, I do believe that any move toward sanity and safety and health is going to prioritize [rematriating land to] Indigenous people and following their leadership, because we know that they are living in a culturally intact way to steward the greatest amount of the world’s biodiversity.

Indigenous people have had their cultures purposefully robbed from them through the residential boarding schools, through genocide, through cultural erasure. Our duty, as settlers on colonized stolen land, is to provide the opportunity, space, and safety for Indigenous people to reclaim their ancestral knowledge and to guide us to what sanity and health look like.

What does a culture look like where the care of all living entities is prioritized over everything else? Where the dignity of living things is prioritized over everything else? We are not living in a culture that centers that dignity and care, and climate change is providing us with an opportunity to look deeply, diagnostically at how we got here. What is the mentality behind the practices that brought us to this moment?

You mentioned the pandemic. What role do you think that lack of access to ancestral foods has played in the comorbidities—diabetes, hypertension, and obesity—that make Indigenous peoples and African Americans more likely to suffer serious complications from COVID?

I wrote about this a lot with my coauthor Raj Patel in our book. Black and Indigenous people suffer from high rates of diabetes, not only because of the food availability offered to them, but because of the lines of power that restrict their lives to constant trauma and constant inflammation. Diabetes, we now know, is an inflammatory disease, and things that cause inflammation will make diabetes more prevalent, while mitigating inflammation will make it less prevalent.

For example, there was a study that showed that Indigenous people in Canada who had a high level of cultural continuance—they spoke their languages, they had their foods, they had their knowledge—had way lower rates of diabetes than those who didn’t  have that cultural continuance. So, what is it about culture that has a protective effect not only against diabetes but suicide, which is quite high in Indigenous groups in Canada and here too? And how can we address that without taking a pharmaceutical approach to “food as medicine,” [which tells people to] just add red peppers and stir, because it’s not that kind of recipe.

It’s about dismantling a system of oppression. Part of that is by building alternatives that can nurture and uplift us and help us reawaken our own connections to our ancestral dignity, stories, and ways of being—our ways of relating, and our sense of being integrated into the web of life. Those things are much bigger than a food choice. So, when we talk about food sovereignty, it has to be seen in a context of systemic oppression and power.

Can you paint the bigger picture for us?

When you have control of your food system, that’s where your health starts. What did the colonizers do when they came here? They got rid of the food and the medicine of the Indigenous people. They removed them from their land, which is the medicine. So, when you talk about how “the Europeans brought over diseases, and that wiped people out,” my question is, was that it? Or did they [also] remove them from the microbiota that they were surrounded by that supported their health for 30,000 years? And in that removal from that land, were their immune systems then somehow compromised, and how did that impact how they were able to fight off new exposures [to disease]?

COVID is thriving in spaces of incarceration, in spaces where people are chronically oppressed. If you’re going through that trauma, and then you add COVID, you’re going to express it as a hyperinflammatory experience. And that goes back to what Rudolf Virchow, a German physician, said in 1848. He was an amazing doctor who was really pioneering the thought about decolonization from German imperialism in Poland and Czechia and what is called Upper Silesia. Virchow believed that it wasn’t the bacteria that made people sick; it was the conditions around the body that predispose certain bodies to sickness in a certain way. The body’s response is what brings us sickness. And that is how I see the issue of food sovereignty.

If we can adjust the structures around our bodies to allow our bodies to thrive, then we will have health in a deep way. Not health in a, “I do yoga, and I meditate, and I buy the right things” [manner] but health as a possibility for everybody.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

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]]> https://civileats.com/2021/04/22/this-doctor-is-working-to-build-resilience-and-land-justice-for-communities-of-color/feed/ 2 A Path to Citizenship Is on the Horizon for Undocumented Farmworkers https://civileats.com/2021/04/05/a-path-to-citizenship-is-on-the-horizon-for-undocumented-farmworkers/ https://civileats.com/2021/04/05/a-path-to-citizenship-is-on-the-horizon-for-undocumented-farmworkers/#comments Mon, 05 Apr 2021 08:00:55 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=41099 Leydy Rangel knows firsthand the sacrifices farmworkers make and the challenges they face. When she’d wake up to go to school in California’s Coachella Valley, her undocumented parents were already in the fields, and by the time she finished her after-school activities, they were preparing to go to bed. Sometimes, they also worked nights, harvesting […]

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Leydy Rangel knows firsthand the sacrifices farmworkers make and the challenges they face. When she’d wake up to go to school in California’s Coachella Valley, her undocumented parents were already in the fields, and by the time she finished her after-school activities, they were preparing to go to bed. Sometimes, they also worked nights, harvesting onions in the evening and working a second job during the day just to scrape by financially.

“A lot of valuable family time is lost because your parents are always working and chasing the harvest,” said Rangel, who is now the United Farm Workers Foundation’s national communications manager. But even worse was the fear that her parents would abruptly be deported to their native Mexico.

“You know that at any point you could be separated, and you would all go in different ways,” explained Rangel, who was born in the United States. “It’s really challenging knowing that if my parents were gone, I would not be able to see them again. Families deserve to be together.”

Three bills could now put undocumented food and farm workers, and other unauthorized immigrants, on the path to citizenship or legal residency—and each bill faces political challenges. The U.S. Citizenship Act, first proposed by President Joe Biden and introduced to Congress in February, would create an avenue for 11 million undocumented immigrants to become citizens and expedite the process for farmworkers, while also advancing labor protections.

Meanwhile, the Citizenship for Essential Workers Act, introduced in Congress in March, would establish a track to citizenship for 5 million essential workers on non-immigrant visas and their family members. Lastly, the Farm Workforce Modernization Act (FWMA), which recently passed the House, would provide more than 1 million undocumented agricultural workers with an opportunity to eventually receive legal status.

Although experts say the Citizenship Act is the bill that can make the most significant impact on undocumented immigrants, so far the legislation lacks the bipartisan support needed to get enacted, as does the Citizenship for Essential Workers Act. As a result, lawmakers are likely to take a piecemeal approach and fold components of these bills into legislation introduced in subsequent months that could enjoy broad support, whether related to immigration or the nation’s economic recovery from the COVID-19 crisis.

The FWMA, in contrast, has champions on both sides of the aisle—but advocacy groups are not quite as aligned. A previous version of the bill failed to become law two years ago, and some farmworkers and their supporters argue that its provisions create a lengthy and complicated path to legal status for farmworkers. Now in the Senate Committee on the Judiciary, it has a real chance of becoming law.

Rangel belongs to the group rallying for its passage, describing the FWMA as “a bipartisan solution.” The legislation would “provide the men and women who harvest all of the food that we eat with the ability to go to work without that fear of not knowing if they’re going to be returning to their families at the end of the day,” she said. “When we talk about farmworkers, we’re talking about highly skilled professional workers, many of whom have decades of experience and have more than earned the ability to apply for legal status.”

The coronavirus crisis drew unprecedented attention to the contributions these workers make to the food chain. Although advocacy groups differ on the best legislative approach to secure legal status, they agree that farmworkers deserve citizenship because of their essential labor for the country. The bills recently introduced in Congress put these workers a step closer to obtaining long-awaited legal and labor safeguards, but they have deepened the debates on immigration reform during a time when focus on the number of migrants crossing the U.S. border has intensified. Farmworkers and their supporters are weighing which of the proposed laws is most likely to get enacted against which one provides the most direct route to citizenship.

The Debate Over the Farm Workforce Modernization Act

Of the three bills that would create a pathway to legal status for farm workers, the FWMA has sparked the most debate because of how long it would take undocumented workers to earn citizenship. For starters, the act would allow unauthorized immigrants who have worked on a farm for a minimum of 180 days over the past two years to apply for “certified agricultural worker status,” a legal status that would prevent their deportation, and which they could renew every five years. But they would have to remain farmworkers for another eight years just to qualify for permanent legal residency.

“I think that our farmworker members, who have sacrificed so much during this last year, are in a position where they’re saying, ‘We just can’t accept a bill that represents this kind of giveaway to the grower lobby at the expense of workers,’” said Sonia Singh, co-director of the Food Chain Workers Alliance. “It’s not only having to wait up to eight years to not even get citizenship but just basic permanent residency, and that would be eight years tied to the agricultural industry that we know has a very high rate of injury and very low wages.”

Undocumented immigrants who can demonstrate that they’ve been agricultural workers for a decade before the FWMA takes effect would have to work just four more years to request legal status. But many farmworkers lack employment documentation and receive cash wages, so they have no way of proving how long they’ve worked in the industry.

Moreover, advocates have raised concerns that employer recommendations would play an outsized role in the process and that workers who suffer injuries that sideline them from their jobs would be disqualified from applying for legal status.

“We deserve a comprehensive reform that includes a path to citizenship without excluding anyone who deserves to be legally working and contributing to the growth of this country, a country that we consider ours too,” said farmworker Luis Jimenez, president of the New York-based Alianza Agricola, in a statement provided by the Food Chain Workers Alliance. “We have already waited a long time to achieve a change; it is time and we are not going to settle for crumbs.”

Another major concern about the FWMA is that it would broaden the H-2A program that permits farmers to employ immigrants as guest workers. H-2A employers are required to pay temporary workers more than the state or federal minimum wage and to cover basic living necessities for them, but a number of these employers have been accused of stealing wages from workers and providing them with substandard meals, housing, and working environments.

Some farmworkers and their supporters also object to the fact that the FWMA would not raise wages for guest workers until the end of 2022. Afterward, wages could not go up by more than 3.25 percent per year. By linking the guest worker program to this legislation, critics contend that the federal government would make it harder for workers to advocate for themselves while enabling the agriculture industry to take advantage of vulnerable guest workers and avoid hiring their counterparts already in the country.

The FWMA has also drawn criticism because it requires employers to use the E-Verify database system that searches government records to confirm the identities of recent hires, with a goal of preventing undocumented immigrants from seeking work. If E-Verify determines that workers are in the country without documentation, employers are required to fire them, but many companies have found ways to avoid accountability for hiring unauthorized immigrants. And, since E-Verify has been linked to workplace raids, detention, and deportation of undocumented immigrants, farmworker advocates fear that it could jeopardize the safety and well-being of millions of people in the labor force without papers.

“The FWMA affects all of us workers who are in this country with our families,” said Chen Sanchez, a farmworker and member of the Worker Center of Central New York in a statement provided to Civil Eats by the Food Chain Workers Alliance. “Specifically, E-Verify is going to affect workers in many ways, one of them is that it will make us more vulnerable to exploitation and to continue to live inhumanly.”

Vanessa Garcia Polanco, a federal policy associate for the National Young Farmers Coalition, which supports all three bills that could create a path to legal status for farmworkers, said that she respects the viewpoints of those opposed to FWMA. She acknowledged that the bill could be more comprehensive, but argued that it would be helpful overall.

“We don’t think the bill is perfect, but we think it will move the conversation toward more protections for farmworkers and undocumented workers, which is the goal,” she said. “There’s a lot missing [from the bill], but it’s better to move the needle a little forward on expanding protections and rights for workers.”

Rather than settle for flawed legislation, FWMA opponents argue for support of a bill that they feel could radically change the landscape for undocumented farmworkers—the U.S. Citizenship Act of 2021.

Comprehensive Reform with the Citizenship Act

A new national poll of 1,550 voters found that 71 percent of respondents support citizenship for undocumented farmworkers, and the U.S. Citizenship Act of 2021 sets out to achieve that goal and more. Under the legislation, three types of unauthorized immigrants who meet certain criteria would be immediately eligible for green cards. They include Dreamers (individuals brought to the U.S. as children), temporary protected status holders (who fled civil war, the aftermath of a natural disaster, or other impermanent conditions in their home country), and farmworkers. Other undocumented people could apply for temporary legal status and for green cards after five years, as long as they pay their taxes and pass criminal and national security background checks.

“We think that for the farmworker population, the Citizenship Act is definitely the one that will have the most significant impact in our members’ work and who they work with,” said Fabiola Ortiz Valdez, lead organizer with the Food Chain Workers Alliance. “So, we would like to remain hopeful that this will be the one that moves forward.”

The U.S. Citizenship Act also includes labor protections that would particularly benefit undocumented women, according to Maria De Luna, policy and advocacy director for Alianza Nacional de Campesinas, which represents women farmworkers. She pointed out that the legislation would establish a commission made up of labor, employer, and civil rights groups that would cooperate with worker protection agencies and make recommendations about improving the employment verification process and preventing labor violations. The act would also include provisions to protect migrant and seasonal workers as well as victims of workplace retaliation.

“We know these sorts of labor violations disproportionately impact women, and especially women of color in low-wage jobs,” said De Luna. “We see these critical protections as a sort of initial first step. We really do welcome this much broader vision of comprehensive immigration reform, ensuring that the millions of undocumented people who we call our families or friends or neighbors are able to have a pathway to citizenship.”

The legislation could also make it less difficult for female farmworkers to report sexual assault and other forms of violence they’ve endured in their workplaces, homes, or elsewhere. Many victims of abuse fear they will be detained, deported, and separated from their families if they come forward about their experiences.

“So many farmworker women, including migrant guest workers, suffer unimaginable abuses in their workplaces,” De Luna said. “We know that this is a really big concern, and we know that this bill could help alleviate some of that and could help really address some of those worries.”

The U.S. Citizenship Act might lack bipartisan backers, but farmworker advocates say that the coronavirus crisis has boosted public support for this labor force. Singh asserts that a shift in public consciousness has occurred during the pandemic, making Americans more aware of workers who were largely out of sight and out of mind to them before COVID-19. The attention farm and food chain workers garnered during the pandemic makes her hopeful that legislators will give these undocumented workers a path to citizenship.

Consumers would also benefit from this bill, Ortiz Valdez said. Creating a path to citizenship for food and farm workers will allow them to organize for better working conditions that would help keep the food supply safe. Legal status would also enable workers to advocate for themselves without fear that an employer will have them deported or otherwise jeopardize their well-being.

“That is why we think that the Farm Workforce Modernization Act, which proposes to add a path to legalization for up to eight years for some, is way too long to wait,” Ortiz Valdez said. Undocumented people “would be vulnerable to potentially abusive employers and immigration enforcement while waiting for residency.”

Public support for farmworkers might be growing, but De Luna asserts that many decision makers still don’t understand the ins and outs of being a food system worker. She said that it takes an incredible amount of skill, ingenuity, and imagination to cultivate land. But without action to change the legal status of undocumented farmworkers, changing perceptions of the work they do will ultimately mean little.

“There’s so much more to be done to not just change perceptions but to change the . . . protections that farmworkers have or don’t have,” she said. “There’s still much work to be done to ensure that people really recognize the value of that work and what it does for our society.”

Citizenship for a Broadly Defined Group of Essential Workers

The first bill introduced by Senator Alex Padilla (D-California), who now sits in Vice President’s Kamala Harris’s seat, the Citizenship for Essential Workers Act could create a pathway to citizenship for not only undocumented farmworkers but also to other unauthorized immigrants performing essential labor—including as emergency responders, meatpacking plant workers, childcare providers, construction workers, or janitorial staff.

These workers pay roughly $79.7 billion in federal taxes and $41 billion in state and local taxes annually, but their undocumented status barred them from obtaining COVID relief, all while their essential jobs made them more vulnerable to contracting the virus. In addition to current essential workers, the act would cover unauthorized immigrants who lost their essential jobs during the pandemic along with the undocumented relatives of essential workers who died from COVID-19.

“The essential workers that have worked so heroically on the front lines during the pandemic include more than 5 million undocumented immigrants,” said Padilla in a statement. “These heroes have risked their health and their lives to keep our communities safe and our economy moving and they have earned a pathway to citizenship. My parents immigrated to the United States from Mexico. My father worked as a short-order cook, and my mom used to clean houses, jobs that would be considered essential today.”

People labeled essential workers need access to essential protections and supports, according to Alianza Nacional de Campesinas’ De Luna. She’s concerned that, a year into the pandemic, these protections haven’t been extended to food system workers. They deserve more than words of appreciation, she stressed—they deserve a pathway to citizenship.

The National Young Farmers Coalition has endorsed the Citizenship for Essential Workers Act, in part, because it defines essential workers so broadly that it would create a path to citizenship for a number of food and farm workers. Garcia Polanco said that it might seem like an uphill battle to get the legislation passed, but pointed out that France granted citizenship to its immigrant frontline workers in December. If it’s possible there, it should be possible in the U.S., she argues.

“I always like to point that out this [passing this legislation] might seem impossible, but we also thought it was impossible to survive a year of [COVID],” she said. “We should be using this as an opportunity to restructure and to change the things in the system, so it can be better and stronger, so when another crisis happens, we are more prepared. We know that having more immigrants who have citizenship in the food chain can only make our food chain stronger and increase our resilience toward these events.”

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Tracy McCurty Has Worked a Long Time to See Historic Wrongs Righted for Black Farmers https://civileats.com/2021/03/29/tracy-mccurty-has-worked-a-long-time-to-see-historic-wrongs-righted-for-black-farmers/ https://civileats.com/2021/03/29/tracy-mccurty-has-worked-a-long-time-to-see-historic-wrongs-righted-for-black-farmers/#comments Mon, 29 Mar 2021 08:00:52 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=40991 “This is a full-circle moment for me.” That’s how Tracy Lloyd McCurty, executive director of the Black Belt Justice Center (BBJC), describes Congress’s historic decision to approve $5 billion in debt relief and other assistance for farmers of color as part of President Joe Biden’s American Rescue Plan Act of 2021. For decades, McCurty has fought […]

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“This is a full-circle moment for me.”

That’s how Tracy Lloyd McCurty, executive director of the Black Belt Justice Center (BBJC), describes Congress’s historic decision to approve $5 billion in debt relief and other assistance for farmers of color as part of President Joe Biden’s American Rescue Plan Act of 2021.

For decades, McCurty has fought for justice for African American farmers. As a law student at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, she clerked for the North Carolina Association of Black Lawyers’ Land Loss Prevention Project, working on a racial discrimination claim for a Black farmer. In 1997, African American farmers across the country took part in a class action lawsuit alleging that the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) racially discriminated against them by denying them access to farm loans and other support. Settled in 1999, Pigford v. Glickman allocated $50,000 in cash payments to 15,645 Black farmers as part of a $1 billion package.

Because Pigford left out thousands of Black farmers who could not provide the evidence required to participate in the suit or were unaware of the opportunity to take legal action, President Barack Obama signed legislation in 2010 known as “Pigford II” to fund a $1.25 billion settlement for the farmers excluded from the original suit. Then a representative of the Black Farmers Council, McCurty helped to develop recommendations for the Pigford II class counsel. But neither settlement, she said, gave African Americans enough resources and debt relief to recover from decades of discrimination.

These problems continue today. As recently as last year, Black farmers missed out on the federal assistance that white farmers received. Disproportionately small-scale farmers, African Americans obtained just 0.1 percent of former President Donald Trump’s COVID relief, which mostly benefited white-owned and large-scale farm operations.

To give Black farmers much-needed support, McCurty co-founded the BBJC in 2012. A legal nonprofit and advocacy group, the BBJC helps African American farmers and landowners in the South’s Black Belt region retain land, establish sustainable land-based cooperatives and enterprises, and expand community wealth. “We were inspired to launch the center to provide legal support to Black farmers and rural communities and to revivify the Black agricultural land base,” she said.

McCurty is also the co-organizer of the Black Farmers’ Appeal: Cancel Pigford Debt Campaign, the supporters of which include attorneys, researchers, musicians, heritage quilters, and other creatives who have raised awareness about the importance of debt forgiveness for Black farmers.

On March 22, McCurty and Lawrence Lucas, president emeritus of the USDA Coalition of Minority Employees and representative for the Justice for Black Farmers Group, moderated a briefing to discuss the $5 billion in debt relief and other support that the American Rescue Plan will provide for farmers of color. A group of Pigford legacy farmers joined them, as did U.S. Senator Reverend Raphael Warnock (D-Georgia), who wrote the stimulus bill’s debt relief provisions, and Senator Cory Booker (D-New Jersey) and Senator Elizabeth Warren (D-Massachusetts), who co-sponsored this landmark initiative.

During the briefing, the farmers discussed the history of discrimination they’ve faced, while the senators celebrated the American Rescue Plan’s passage. Warnock said the relief would help farmers and residents of rural communities alike. But the lawmakers also stressed the need for sustained action to reverse the effects of historic discrimination against farmers of color.

“This is our first step,” Booker said. “We must provide more access to credit and land for these farmers who have suffered this long history of wretched and painful discrimination.”

What effect will the American Rescue Plan have on Black farmers? Civil Eats spoke with McCurty about her longtime advocacy for these farmers, the systemic racism they’ve suffered, and the impact the legislation might have on their legacies and livelihoods. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

How are you feeling about the $5 billion in debt relief, farmer grants, and other assistance that President Joe Biden’s American Rescue Plan will provide for Black farmers and other disadvantaged farmers?

It just feels really good to be running this victory lap now with our farmers. The big issue now, of course, is implementation. During a BIPOC farmers and ranchers stakeholder call on March 16, USDA Secretary Tom Vilsack said that the implementation of the debt cancellation would be a long, drawn-out process. The following week, several media sources reported that USDA was adopting a tiered approach to implement the debt cancellation provisions. Vilsack also referred to this tiered approach during his remarks at the House Agriculture Committee hearing to review the state of Black farming in the U.S. on March 25.

Our coalition is opposed to the tiered approach because it has not been vetted by Pigford legacy farmers. Given USDA’s reprehensible track record on civil rights, the implementation process must center Pigford legacy farmers and be rooted in transparency and accountability. Our coalition has spoken to several Pigford legacy farmers who have debt in the millions of dollars, and they reject a tiered approach to debt cancellation. The farmers contend that USDA should discharge all of the interest from the debt because it is racially motivated, contested, exorbitant, and cruel. During the 1997 Congressional Black Caucus hearing on USDA loan discrimination, Gladys Todd, a legacy farmer from Zebulon, North Carolina, testified that $20,000 of her $25,000 annual debt was interest. Another farmer from Northumberland County, Virginia, Phillip Haynie, testified that his loan had been growing interest at a rate of $352 a day for 10 years.

You want to challenge the perception that the Pigford settlement actually helped them. Why did this class action lawsuit fall short?

There’s this dominant narrative around Pigford providing restorative land justice to Black farmers, but it did not. The primary objective for the farmers was to receive their land and to receive monetary compensation for the egregious economic harm USDA did against them through racial discrimination, animus, and criminality; and of course, [farmers need] the debt cancellation.

Those were the three primary tenets of the lawsuit with respect to the Black farmer, and we know that it was a $1 billion settlement, and only 4.8 percent went to debt cancellation. There was, at the time, 1.5 million acres of land. Most of that was Black-owned land in USDA [possession], and the Black farmers wanted their land back, but only one farmer received his land back. And, for the last 20 years, Black farmers have not been able to stand fully in their freedom dreams, because they haven’t had access to credit with the USDA, or with any other traditional lending institution. They have not been able to pass on generational wealth, and many of the farmers have been pushed off their land. For example, farmer Eddie Slaughter—he’s a double amputee and blind in one eye—had his disability, his Social Security, and his peanut subsidy offset for nine years, amounting to $41,000 [in lost income].

How did that end up happening to Slaughter and other farmers?

That happened because none of this debt was canceled. So, then [the government recovered] the debt with the Social Security payments, with their farm subsidies, with their federal tax returns, with their disability payments. That’s how it happened, and I think it’s something that we really need to wrestle with. How could Black farmers suffer for over 20 years as a result of class action racial discrimination lawsuits that left the vast majority of them in unconscionable debt, threat of foreclosure, and no legal recourse to save their land? The importance of implementation [of the American Rescue Plan’s debt-relief program] comes in when we look at the disastrous implementation of the Pigford lawsuits, particularly Pigford I.

Can you elaborate on why you believe the Pigford I settlement was disastrous?

With respect to Pigford I, there was rampant attorney malpractice, incompetence and the aggressive posture of the Department of Justice and USDA in challenging the Black farmers’ claims. No one has really focused on this aspect of the lawsuit. The attorneys for the Black farmers, they negotiated away discovery. So the burden, then, was placed on the Black farmer to find a similarly situated white farmer who had not been discriminated against. But you see not only the burden but the equity of putting that on the Black farmer when they don’t have to compel USDA to provide that information.

And if you go back and look in the historical record, class counsel made representations that they would provide this information readily to the Black farmer, but that wasn’t the case. We know that thousands of Black farmers were denied outright on their claims. So, we want to challenge the dominant narrative of Pigford and reeducate the community on the injustices of the lawsuit.

Given the historic discrimination farmers of color have faced, what are your thoughts on politicians such as Senator Lindsey Graham (R-South Carolina), who criticized the American Rescue Plan’s debt relief provision as “reparations,” and called it unfair to white farmers?

It really shows that our politicians don’t have a firm grasp of U.S. history, world history, and federal ag policy, because we know that, with the Homestead Act of 1862, 270 million acres of land were transferred from and stolen from Indigenous nations and provided to mostly white male settlers. We also know that the Southern Homestead Act of 1866 transferred 46 million acres of land from Indigenous nations to, again, mostly white male settlers. Even with that, fewer than 1,000 African American farmers received land titles with the Southern Homestead Act, and then of course, we have a history of decades of well-documented discrimination by the USDA against the Black farmer that has led to over 98 percent of farmland being owned by European Americans.

I also think it’s important to note that Duke University economist William Darity, who has studied reparations, stated that the recovery to restore the Black farmer would need to be between $250 billion and $350 billion. So, it’s not reparations, but debt cancellation is a necessary step in the long journey toward restorative land justice for Black farmers.

Do you think the debt relief will enable Black farmers to recover or acquire more land?

We don’t know. There were 1.5 million acres of land in USDA inventory back in 1999. Most of this was Black farms. The farmers say that, with this debt cancellation, it liberates 1.5 million acres of land from USDA land dispossession through debt. Again, we would have to confirm those numbers. We’re not sure, but the impact is significant. It’s a milestone in Black agrarian history, because we’ve never received federal legislation to undergird or support Black economic wealth creation and land ownership in this country. If anything, it’s been hostility, animus, and criminality against the Black farmer to erode those gains of Black land ownership that came through our own determination and grit.

What about young African Americans and other people of color who would like to become farmers today but lack the land access, generational wealth, and other resources that their white counterparts have? Will the American Rescue Plan help them?

There’s a $1 billion provision in the American Rescue Plan that provides financial funding for land acquisition, technical assistance, legal support, and cooperative development. There is a provision, also, that includes funding for Pigford legacy farmers who were dispossessed of their land due to the discriminatory actions of the USDA but no longer have debt. So, I think that $1 billion provision to support the land base of farmers of color can be utilized by returning-generation farmers.

How important is the Justice for Black Farmers Act introduced by Senator Booker in this effort? If passed, do you expect this legislation to give Black farmers from multiple generations the help they need to succeed?

The Justice for Black Farmers Act includes a provision that provides land to returning-generation farmers, or landless farmers. So, the provision that farmers can obtain up to 160 acres of farmland at no cost and with access to technical support, a farm operating loan, and a USDA single-family home mortgage is important. I’m very hopeful with respect to the Act. Of course, we would need the right political climate. The fact that the vote in the Senate for the American Rescue Plan Act was very close speaks to the war with respect to the moral compass and consciousness of this country when it comes to committing to restorative land justice to Black farmers and farmers of color.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

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What New York City Schools Learned Feeding Millions During the Pandemic https://civileats.com/2021/03/18/what-new-york-city-schools-learned-feeding-millions-during-the-pandemic/ https://civileats.com/2021/03/18/what-new-york-city-schools-learned-feeding-millions-during-the-pandemic/#comments Thu, 18 Mar 2021 08:00:59 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=40811 With 488 public high schools scheduled to reopen in New York City on March 22, food advocates are looking back over the past year, and largely applauding the NYCDOE’s outreach to needy families. During the pandemic, the agency has operated much like a food bank, handing out meals to anyone who requests them—no questions asked. […]

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With 1.1 million students, the New York City Department of Education (NYCDOE) feeds more people every day than almost any other public institution in the country. It earned widespread praise for its decision to provide meals to not only students, but also community members in need during the pandemic. Now, experts say the school system could fine-tune its outreach efforts to ensure that the most vulnerable New Yorkers get enough to eat during an ongoing public health crisis that has given rise to an economic crisis characterized by growing rates of food, housing, and job insecurity.

With 488 public high schools scheduled to reopen in New York City on March 22, food advocates are looking back over the past year, and largely applauding the NYCDOE’s outreach to needy families. During the pandemic, the agency has operated much like a food bank, handing out meals to anyone who requests them—no questions asked. The school system has also received praise for heavily concentrating its grab-and-go meal sites in low-income communities of color—the neighborhoods most prone to food insecurity, and most vulnerable to COVID-19.

In 2020, the NYCDOE even announced plans to improve the quality of its food. And a recent study in the Journal of Urban Health described the school system as a national leader in providing information about meals in multiple languages and accommodating a variety of dietary needs with kosher, halal, and vegetarian food options.

“Preventing hunger and continuing to promote nutritious eating were critical priorities for us from the beginning of this crisis, and, over the last 11 months, we have served nearly 90 million meals to our students, whether they are learning remotely or in person, as well as any New Yorker who is in need,” said Nathaniel Styer, NYCDOE’s deputy press secretary, in a statement provided to Civil Eats.

And the community has needed the help: Food insecurity increased precipitously in the city during the pandemic, with the proportion of New Yorkers obtaining meals from food pantries or soup kitchens nearly doubling from April to November, according to a recent survey by the City University of New York. The poll also found that the percentage of families who received grab-and-go meals and other food from New York City school programs spiked more than 250 percent during the same period—from 13 percent in April to 33 percent in November.

But mingled in with the praise for NYCDOE’s efforts are also concerns: While New York City public schools have served roughly 90 million meals during the pandemic as of February 2021, Los Angeles Unified School District (LAUSD) has served more than 100 million, even though its student population is about 600,000, just over half the size of New York City’s. The Journal study found that New York City had the lowest participation rate in its food distribution programs of the four large public districts studied, which also included LAUSD, Chicago, and Houston.

The researchers suggest that this finding may not be a reflection of the effectiveness of NYCDOE’s school food programs, since New York City was the epicenter of the pandemic when the study was conducted. In subsequent months, however, LAUSD also became a COVID epicenter but still managed to serve more meals over the past year. Advocates blame the discrepancy on a wide range of factors, including a communication gap between NYCDOE and the public, narrow pickup windows to collect meals, weather conditions, and families hesitant to leave their homes or use public transportation during the pandemic.

“Never has food been more at the core of societal ills and possibilities than it is right now,” said Stephen Ritz, an educator who founded Green Bronx Machine, a nonprofit that uses an academic curriculum to teach students to grow vegetables. During the pandemic, the organization has worked to combat food insecurity in the South Bronx and collaborated with the NYCDOE to distribute fresh produce to students and their families.

“I’ve always said the most important school supply in the world is food,” Ritz added. “With supermarkets closing and children shopping out of bulletproof windows in gas stations and the occasional bodega . . . food is the most critical thing that we can provide to families, and most importantly fresh fruits and vegetables, because we know that is the number one thing that helps boost immunity.”

As food insecurity continues to spread in New York City, advocates say that the nation’s largest school system can keep playing a vital role in providing nutritious meals to students and their families. To expand its reach, they recommend that the NYCDOE step up communication with the public, give students and caregivers more flexibility to pick up meals, and explore strategies and partnerships to route food to the city’s most disadvantaged families. What the department does next could be a blueprint for other school districts around the country.

The Successes of NYCDOE’s School Food Programs

When the pandemic forced New York City public schools to close last March, the department of education launched its grab-and-go Meal Hub program to serve students who rely on school food to meet their nutritional needs. By April, the program expanded to include any New Yorker seeking meals during the COVID crisis. Over the summer, the Meal Hub service expanded to offer take-home meal kits, now found at more than 1,100 public schools, to allow families to retrieve food from the campuses closest to them. Take-out meals include items such as baked ravioli, beef burgers, burritos, fish patties, grilled cheese sandwiches, and omelets.

“None of this would be possible without our courageous foodservice employees, who helped the city to immediately open meal hubs at the start of the pandemic,” Styer told Civil Eats.

It’s a sentiment shared by Julia McCarthy, coauthor of the Journal of Urban Health report and interim deputy director of the Tisch Center for Food, Education, & Policy at Columbia University’s Teachers College. McCarthy noted how NYCDOE staff have worked nonstop over the past year to serve food to a population larger than “any entity in the country other than the Department of Defense.”

She’s encouraged that the public school system has chosen to take a no-questions-asked approach to feeding the entire community, as NYCDOE meals are available to the public regardless of income, citizenship, or age. Additionally, McCarthy said that her study found that New York City public schools have done a better job of concentrating its meal pickup sites in high-poverty communities than the Los Angeles, Chicago, or Houston school districts have. Houston stands out, however, for maintaining the highest number of meal distribution centers in neighborhoods where residents live a half-mile or more away from a supermarket.

In New York City’s South Bronx neighborhood, located in the nation’s poorest congressional district, the needs of the community are particularly complex. There, Green Bronx Machine grew 5,000 pounds of food, rescued 10,000 additional pounds, and delivered more than 100,000 pounds of it as well. The nonprofit set up grab-and-go grocery stations near schools and partnered with NYCDOE on grab-and-go meals on school campuses. But some families find it difficult to leave their homes, preventing them from regularly visiting school meal sites, Ritz explained.

“I’m in the middle of public housing—45 buildings, 25 stories up—where little kids haven’t been able to come out more than once a week,” he said. “They are prisoners in their home experiencing a lack of exercise, a lack of activity, a lack of connectivity, and a whole lot of packaged food.”

Liz Accles, executive director of Community Food Advocates, which supports public policy to give New Yorkers access to healthy, affordable, culturally appropriate food, praised the school system’s take-home meals, pointing out that, over the summer, “the pizza meal kits were very popular, and, later the holiday meals were, so we think that’s a very promising move for variety.” And by serving both students and adults in need, NYCDOE has shown an “extraordinary commitment” to the community, Accles contends.

COVID Offers an Opportunity for Healthier Meals

In addition to offering a variety of food to a variety of community members, the department of education has received an opportunity to rid its meals of seven harmful ingredients—trans fats; high-fructose corn syrup; hormones and antibiotics; artificial sweeteners, colors, and preservatives, and bleached flour—thanks to a five-year, $1 million grant from the Life Time Foundation announced in October. Although the school system has already eliminated some of these ingredients, notably securing antibiotic-free meats for its students, the grant will help NYCDOE accelerate the removal effort and adopt made-from-scratch cooking techniques.

Megan Flynn, a registered dietitian with the Life Time Foundation, which partners with more than 25 school districts across the country, is in the process of reviewing NYCDOE’s food labels.

“As I’ve been looking at the labels, I can really tell how much work they’ve put in over the last few years with their manufacturers on getting the product to where they want it, and I think our partnership is going to take them across the finish line concerning ingredients that we want to address,” she said.

The Life Time Foundation has already given the school system $46,000 for its immediate COVID-19 related needs, and once Flynn shares the results of her label review with the district, it can start working with vendors and request ingredient changes in products. Despite the challenges of the pandemic, she said that the effort to provide healthier meals to students continues in large part due to the work of the staff in NYCDOE’s Office of Food and Nutrition Services. “They are still going above and beyond to make sure their students have access to free, high-quality meals every school day.”

McCarthy noted that the school system has also undergone internal changes to efficiently serve meals to students during the pandemic. This includes improving how kitchen staff communicates with the central office. Before the pandemic, she said, it was difficult for the central office and the kitchen staff to directly communicate, but now they do.

“So, they don’t have to be contingent on whispering down the lane through managers who are traveling between a variety of different schools,” McCarthy said. “Another thing is that New York City schools were trying to move to one menu where everyone was served the same food. They’ve given the kitchens control, so the kitchens have a menu of options that they can pick from now, and that used to not be the case. So, there’s a little more control and ability to respond to what students at that site particularly like.”

While New York food advocates agree that there’s plenty to applaud about the department of education’s efforts to serve meals during the pandemic, there is also room for improvement. Communicating better with families is one way experts say NYCDOE can expand its outreach during the crisis.

Improving Meal Access

Alexina Cather, deputy director of the Hunter College New York City Food Policy Center, recognizes that NYCDOE was one of the first public agencies to radically overhaul its institutional meal service, and she calls its effort “commendable.” But Cather would also like the school system to intensify its outreach efforts.

One way the agency can get more families to participate in its food programs is to make sure they can easily access information about the resources available. Cather said that when the schools shut down, even internet-savvy parents struggled to identify where they could get meals. She wants the district to come up with creative ways to get the word out about its offerings, including exactly how many people are accessing meals and the nutritional quality of the items included.

“They did a massive job overhauling this huge city agency to meet a very big need, and that’s incredible,” she said. “But I think communication is a huge reason why people aren’t accessing these meals, and I also think a lot of the low-income families, even if they know that [grab-and-go meals] exist, just can’t get to the site. Other parents are juggling working at home with also homeschooling their kid on Zoom, and they can’t get to the site [during the hours of operation], so there’s a lot of different factors.”

Grab-and-go meals are available during the business day, but school districts such as LAUSD offer food as early as 7 a.m., allowing parents to collect them before they go to work and before their child’s school day begins. Chicago Public Schools offers these meals slightly later, from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m., but earlier than NYCDOE’s starting time of 9 a.m., while Houston Independent School District’s curbside meal pickup times vary by site.

To spread the word about its grab-and-go offerings, the Green Bronx Machine has relied on a network of community elders, faith-based groups, and housing authority leaders, Ritz said. He’s even shouted outside public housing buildings for residents to come and collect the green leafy vegetables, eggplants, tomatoes, cucumbers, and other vegetables his organization grows.

“I can stand outside of a building and scream and talk to 1,000 residents in one shot in a 25-story building, bringing them to their windows,” Ritz said. “That really made a huge difference, and we found in the South Bronx that we are the ones we are waiting for. There were so many of our children, even pre-pandemic, who came into school to get two, sometimes, three meals a day, every day. This [pandemic] was a disruption of epic proportions.”

With volunteers in the community each day of the week and home deliveries, the Green Bronx Machine has helped to provide food to 2,300 families daily, according to its 2020 impact report. Steps like these are necessary because many low-income families lack internet access or have a spotty connection at best, Ritz said. Summer power outages only made it harder for families to get information online. Collectively, these problems worked against the school system’s best efforts to distribute food. They also underscore how important it is to “put humanity back into the community and meet people where they are—in their apartment buildings and in their places of worship,” Ritz asserted.

The sheer amount of fear in the South Bronx likely stymied NYCDOE’s efforts as well. Rising rates of crime, substance abuse, mental illness, and the threat of the coronavirus have made some of the city’s most food-insecure families terrified to leave their homes.

“I do give credit to the New York City Department of Ed for providing meals, and I want to be very clear that by no means am I being critical,” Ritz said. “It’s a very well-intended effort, and it should be lauded and celebrated, but there are so many other mitigating factors in communities like ours that it needs to be more thought out. That’s where Green Bronx Machine got really nimble. We felt that if we were able to use the network of grandmas and grandpas and aunties and uncles and caretakers who would be able to get into buildings, we could really penetrate the impenetrable.”

Community Food Advocates’ Accles would like to see the expansion of a coordinated and sustained communications plan to ensure that everyone knows that food is available. Providing families with several days of meals at once might also increase participation in the program, as some advocates suspect that students and their parents might be accessing food from agencies outside NYCDOE. On some days, they might get school meals, and on others, they might obtain food from an emergency food provider like a soup kitchen. But Accles said that emergency food providers are limited in what they can do for families, while government agencies make a lasting difference, which is why she’d like NYCDOE to devise some flexible and creative ways for more families to get school meals.

She also recognizes that a school district like Los Angeles Unified might be outpacing New York in serving school meals because the city has more of a car culture, making it easier for families to grab and go than their New York City counterparts who rely on public transportation or walking to get to school. Los Angeles’s warm climate also means that even families who travel by foot can do so without worrying about snow, frigid temperatures, and other forms of inclement weather.

Although the infrastructure and climate of New York City is beyond the department of education’s control, without feedback from parents it will be tough for NYCDOE to maximize participation in its school food programs, Cather suspects. She’d like parents to be surveyed about their concerns and to be invited to play a role in the decisions made about school meals—from their contents to how they’re distributed.

“I’d really love to hear community members’ voices be incorporated into the city planning at this point,” she said.

But above all, Cather would like to see schools across the city reopen. As New York City’s public high schools reopen, roughly half of them will have students in class each weekday. The city’s middle schools reopened last month, and the elementary schools resumed in-person classes late last year. She said that some families might be too embarrassed to be seen waiting in line to get a free school meal. They worry what others might think, especially if their economic status worsened during the pandemic.

“New York City is amazing at having free universal breakfast and lunch so that there’s absolutely zero stigma attached,” she said. “There are kids whose parents work on Wall Street or kids living with a single parent who doesn’t have a job—anybody can have lunch. So, getting kids back in school where it doesn’t feel shameful to go wait for a meal is really important.”

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]]> https://civileats.com/2021/03/18/what-new-york-city-schools-learned-feeding-millions-during-the-pandemic/feed/ 1 ‘Minari’ Shines a Spotlight on Asian American Farmers https://civileats.com/2021/02/12/minari-shines-a-spotlight-on-asian-american-farmers/ Fri, 12 Feb 2021 09:00:37 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=40499 David Paeng can’t pick just one part of the new film “Minari” that resonates with him. As a Korean American farmer, he relates to every scene of filmmaker Lee Isaac Chung’s drama about a Korean immigrant who moves his family from California to Arkansas to start a farm. “Culturally, the subtle nuances, the interactions between […]

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David Paeng can’t pick just one part of the new film “Minari” that resonates with him. As a Korean American farmer, he relates to every scene of filmmaker Lee Isaac Chung’s drama about a Korean immigrant who moves his family from California to Arkansas to start a farm.

“Culturally, the subtle nuances, the interactions between the mother-in-law, wife, husband, and kids—it’s all exactly the same [as my experience]” said Paeng, the farmer at Serenity Farm in Lucerne Valley, California. “I totally relate.”

Paeng left Korea for the U.S. as a boy and understands what it’s like to come of age in a “straight-up Korean” family. His parents punished him the same way that the parents in “Minari” discipline their son, David (Alan Kim). And, like the film’s protagonist, Paeng grows a crop (jujubes) popular with immigrants. He also takes the time to teach his child about farming.

“Minari,” he said, “was very well done, very tastefully done.”

Paeng is far from alone in this regard. Produced by Plan B Entertainment and distributed by A24, “Minari”, which opens nationwide today, has racked up nominations from the Golden Globes, Screen Actors Guild, and Critics’ Choice Awards. But Asian Americans say they don’t see it as just another prestige film. Rather, it’s a movie that represents their experiences, which Hollywood has historically marginalized, although a smattering of 21st-century films about Asian Americans—from “Better Luck Tomorrow” and “Saving Face” in the aughts to “Crazy Rich Asians” and “The Farewell” more recently—have won critical acclaim or box office success. Set in the 1980s and inspired by writer-director Chung’s upbringing, “Minari” also points to the nation’s long but often overlooked history of Asian American farmers.

“In terms of visibility and broad Asian American representation, it’s such a big movie,” said Kristyn Leach, a Korean American farmer who oversees Namu Farm north of San Francisco. She hopes audiences leave the film curious about why the history of Asian American farmers has been “discredited” and made invisible. “Especially in California, there are lots of Asian American communities that really built the industry of agriculture and our state to be what it is.” In fact, California is home to a greater share (roughly 28 percent) of Asian American farmers than any other state, which is why the farmers we interviewed for this story all happen to be based there.

A24 recently held a virtual screening of “Minari” with the Asian American Farmer Alliance to center the experiences of immigrant farmers. The National Farmers Union also held a discussion about the movie to highlight the concerns of such farmers. While the film is particular to Asian Americans in some ways, it is a universal farming movie in others, for “Minari” touches on planting methods, technical problems, mental health, and rural life. Ultimately, however, the movie is about family and the sacrifices required to achieve the American dream.

The Film’s Portrayal of Agriculture

“This is the best dirt in America,” declares farmer Jacob (Steven Yeun) in an early scene of “Minari.” Conversations about the quality of dirt in Arkansas, the low cost of acres on the outskirts of town, and how far apart to plant crops signal that the film doesn’t relegate farming to the backdrop but instead treats it as a central character. Jacob’s well becomes the focus of one storyline, and some scenes depict a character dowsing or using divination to find groundwater. The unconventional strategy does not impress the highly rational Jacob, determined to use his mind to solve problems. Paeng said he saw the water diviner as a “quack,” but also noted that water problems trip up every farmer eventually.

Leach said she connected most strongly with the scene in which Jacob broke ground on his farm. She felt the character’s elation and optimism, but she also felt concerned for him.

“The practical farmer side of me was worried for this character,” she said. “The other side [knows] that . . . when you’re starting a farming venture, you’re just like dreaming so much and that aspiration and naivete is really useful. It was such a perfect thing to capture.”

Even small details in the film stood out to Nikiko Masumoto of Masumoto Family Farm in Del Rey, California. A fourth-generation Japanese American farmer, Masumoto said that a scene showing Jacob and his daughter, Anne (Noel Kate Cho), washing up after a long day of toiling on the farm especially moved her. In addition to reminding Masumoto of her father, Mas Masumoto, and grandfather, it “really spoke to the memories of work,” she said. The children in “Minari” are grade-school-aged, much like Masumoto was when she learned how to drive a tractor. One of her first jobs on the farm was to stamp the sides of the wooden crates that her family hand-packed with peaches.

Although she’s neither Korean nor an immigrant, Masumoto said that she felt viscerally connected to her Japanese ancestors while watching the film and often wondered if her great-grandmothers felt as out of place as Jacob’s wife, Monica (Yeri Han), when they arrived in the U.S. as picture brides in search of a better life. She also found herself wondering about the Korean agricultural expertise Jacob brought with him to the U.S. while watching a scene in which his white American assistant Paul (Will Patton) tells him he’s planting crops incorrectly. During the men’s brief debate, Masumoto wondered about the origins of Paul’s agriculture approach.

“Are we talking about the culture of white-dominant farming in the United States, which has historically been about exploitation and extraction?” she asked. “I want to be in his head. What kind of farming knowledge is he coming from because I’ve never been to a farm in South Korea. I found that scene so nuanced in the unresolved questions of what is American agriculture, and what is the ‘right’ way to farm?”

The film suggests that the answer to that question lies with neither Jacob nor Paul but with Jacob’s mother-in-law, Soonja (Yuh-jung Youn), who grows the herb minari by a stream near the farm. She praises the water celery to her grandchildren, noting that it can be used to flavor kimchi, added to stew, or taken as medicine. Relying on her wisdom while choosing a spot to propagate the plant, Soonja’s farming model comes to play a key role in helping her family.

Mai Nguyen, AAFA’s founder and a first-generation Vietnamese American grain farmer in Sonoma County, California, appreciated that the film highlighted the importance of learning from one’s elders. She also appreciated that the movie underscores the many different responsibilities independent farmers juggle. They work as harvesters, cultivators, bookkeepers, and human resources specialists all-in-one, she said. And Nguyen could particularly relate to Jacob’s customer interactions, including one in which a client cancels an order without warning. In November, Nguyen suffered a similar experience when a bakery that had agreed to buy a certain amount of grain ended up taking only part of the order, leaving her confused truck driver with bags of unsold grain.

“This sort of whimsy that customers have around the work we’ve put a year into and planned around,” Nguyen said. “It’s financially challenging and incredibly stressful.”

While the farmers Civil Eats interviewed overwhelmingly enjoyed “Minari,” they would have appreciated seeing more Korean crops in the film, because Jacob sets out to sell Korean produce to a Korean clientele. Instead, butternut squash, eggplant, bell peppers, chili peppers, and napa cabbage appear in the film. In one scene, Jacob packs napa cabbage in a box, “but the spotlight gets cast on this gorgeous little butternut squash,” Leach said.

Leach, who does specialize in growing Korean crops, longed to see perilla leaves and Korean varietals of mustard greens and chili peppers take center stage, though she did enjoy a scene where Monica receives a huge package of kochukaru (red pepper powder) from her mother.

“She has this moment of savoring the kochukaru, the smell,” Leach said.

It’s one of the few scenes in which Monica—who has begrudgingly left behind a Korean immigrant community in California to accompany Jacob to white rural Arkansas—experiences pleasure. Throughout the film, she and Jacob are both under enormous psychological strain, while attempting to make the farm a success.

How ‘Minari’ Takes on Mental Health and Racism

The mental health of farmers and their families is an implicit but important part of the storyline in “Minari.” In the 1980s, when the film takes place, a farm crisis occurred that saddled farmers with unprecedented debt, leading to the loss of tens of thousands of farms and to a spike in suicides. And while suicide is still a serious problem among farmers and farmworkers, and it certainly hasn’t lost its stigma, the public is more willing than ever to discuss it openly. In “Minari,” community members talk about suicide through hushed tones and innuendo, but it’s clear that a local farmer took his own life.

Stress, anxiety, and financial instability all factor into the problem, according to Nguyen, who said that she’s known multiple farmers who’ve died by suicide.

Although Jacob doesn’t contemplate killing himself, the stress he endures is palpable. At times, it’s also unclear if his marriage will survive. Masumoto noted that he appears close to his breaking point in many scenes and that the film’s moments of pure joy are fleeting because there’s so much work to be done—an accurate depiction of farm life.

“Clearly his wife didn’t want to move there,” Paeng said. “She didn’t want to have anything to do with farming.”

These farmers told Civil Eats that their families constantly make sacrifices—from living in isolated areas to weathering wildfires. Farmers of color (and, of course, people of color generally) have also historically faced the threat of racism, the specter of which haunts “Minari.” Aside from the workers they find in a nearby chicken processing plant, Jacob and his family don’t encounter any other people of color in their community. They make an awkward visit to an all-white church, where a little white girl speaks to Anne in offensive gibberish that mocks the Korean language. But the child’s unwitting microaggression is the only one depicted in “Minari.”

In a February Arkansas Times interview, Chung said that he did not experience racial cruelty growing up in Lincoln, Arkansas. “When we’d go play basketball somewhere, I’d get made fun of by the other team and stuff. But in my own town, I was one of them,” he said.

In rural California, Asian American farmers experience their fair share of microaggressions, usually rooted in xenophobia.

“I’m a Korean adoptee, but when people first meet me, there’s always the perception of foreignness,” Leach said. “Like if I work at the farmers’ market, the narrative that’s projected onto me is something always really different from what my life experience is.”

This “perception of foreignness” has even overshadowed “Minari.” Although it was filmed in the U.S. and produced and distributed by American companies, the movie is ineligible for a Golden Globe Best Picture nomination because more than half of the dialogue is in Korean rather than English. Instead of a Best Picture nod, the film received a Best Foreign Language Film nomination.

“This is a perfect example of the continuation of white supremacy in the art sphere,” Masumoto said. “Why on earth in a country as diverse as ours, should there not be films made in multiple languages that qualify for best film. It’s absolutely ludicrous. Shame on them.”

Off-screen, Asian and Asian American farmers have faced a long history of systemic racism. The California Alien Land Law of 1913, for example, denied Asian immigrants the opportunity to purchase farmland or enter into long-term lease contracts. It was then updated as the California Alien Land Law of 1920 and remained in effect until 1952, when the Supreme Court of California overturned the xenophobic legislation. Historians also say that white racial resentment toward Japanese American farmers in the state contributed to the forced evacuation of more than 120,000 Issei and Nisei (newcomers and first generation Japanese Americans) out of their homes and into internment camps during World War II.

“Almost 50 percent of Japanese Americans were involved in agriculture prior to World War II,” Nguyen said. “. . . Asian Americans have been really crucial to U.S. agriculture, even beyond our own communities.”

The AAFA recognizes the fierce discrimination Asian Americans in and out of agriculture have endured. The alliance held a panel discussion to mark the Immigration Act of 1917, which was enacted 104 years ago on February 5. The legislation banned Asian immigrants from the country, and the long shadow of its influence can be felt in recent Trump administration policies such as the so-called “Muslim Ban,” the border wall, family separations at the border, and aggressive deportations, the alliance contends. The members hope that “Minari” leads viewers to think more critically about the people who grow food in this country and about the plight of immigrants.

“We really want people who see this film to deepen empathy and incite action in support of immigrants and independent farmers,” said Nguyen.

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As COVID-19 Ups the Stakes, Advocates Say Prison Food Needs an Overhaul https://civileats.com/2021/01/21/as-covid-19-ups-the-stakes-advocates-say-prison-food-needs-an-overhaul/ https://civileats.com/2021/01/21/as-covid-19-ups-the-stakes-advocates-say-prison-food-needs-an-overhaul/#comments Thu, 21 Jan 2021 09:00:44 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=40133 “I’ve eaten things that may have given me food poisoning,” he said. “I’ve broken out in hives and not known why. I’ve been hospitalized for sharp stomach pains.” Released from San Quentin State Prison in 2018, DeWeaver saw norovirus outbreaks in prison and cooks serve to inmates food that had fallen on the floor. But […]

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The food Emile DeWeaver ate during his two decades incarcerated in the California prison system often made him feel terrible.

“I’ve eaten things that may have given me food poisoning,” he said. “I’ve broken out in hives and not known why. I’ve been hospitalized for sharp stomach pains.”

Released from San Quentin State Prison in 2018, DeWeaver saw norovirus outbreaks in prison and cooks serve to inmates food that had fallen on the floor. But the experience of constant malnourishment is what stands out to him most about doing time. “You basically live in a state where you’re always hungry,” he recalled.

DeWeaver’s story is not unusual, according to a new report from advocacy group Impact Justice. Published in December, the six-part investigation draws from surveys of 250 formerly incarcerated people in 41 states and interviews with 40 current and former correctional staff. Ninety-four percent of survey respondents said they didn’t get enough food to feel full in prison, and 75 percent recalled receiving spoiled food, including moldy bread, sour milk, rotten meat, and slimy salad. The prevalence of this problem factors into why incarcerated people are more than six times as likely as the general population to develop foodborne illnesses.

“The number of anecdotes we got about really unsanitary and disgusting food was horrifying and really sad,” said Mika Weinstein, an Impact Justice program manager. “And we heard from folks that they would receive boxes in the kitchen that said either ‘not fit for human consumption’ or ‘for correctional use only.’ That does something to your head, to read that on a box and prepare that food.”

Spoiled or rotten food isn’t the only concern advocates have raised about prison meals, which on average cost states well under $3 per person daily. With roughly a quarter of the world’s prison population, the United States struggles to cover the costs associated with keeping large swaths of the public incarcerated. To maintain this system, lawmakers in various states have lowered the price of feeding inmates by reducing the number of meals served or hiring private contractors to provide food service. In states such as Pennsylvania, incarcerated people have previously filed federal civil rights lawsuits alleging that they’re not receiving large enough portions even “to fill a 5-year-old child.”

Cost-cutting has not only led to smaller portions but also poorer meal quality. Impact Justice reviewed food service policies affecting 1.3 million people in state prisons nationally and found that prison food lacks vital nutrients and is typically high in salt, sugar, and refined carbohydrates. These ingredients are associated with type 2 diabetes, hypertension, and heart disease—conditions prisoners have at higher rates than the general public. Previous studies have reported that incarceration increases body mass, with some research indicating that women are particularly vulnerable to becoming overweight or obese in prison. The diet of the prison population is implicated in these trends, and the pandemic has intensified calls to improve the health and nutrition of inmates and ensure food isn’t used to punish them.

While one in 20 Americans has contracted COVID-19, one in five prisoners in state and federal penitentiaries have. And meals made up of low-quality foods that suppress the immune system may put incarcerated people at increased risk.

“Prisons are like these closed systems where if someone gets sick, everyone’s going to get it. With coronavirus, food and nutrition are more important than ever,” said 42-year-old DeWeaver, who is now the cofounder of the prison abolition organization Prison Renaissance and an Impact Justice fellow. In December 2017, former California Governor Jerry Brown commuted DeWeaver’s sentence for killing a man as a teen, citing his community service and personal transformation in prison.

Since most prisoners reenter society, often in poor health, and the pandemic is ravaging prisons, Impact Justice asserts that the food justice movement must include the 2.3 million people behind bars in the U.S.

Securing Food in Prison

When COVID-19 forced much of the U.S. into lockdown last March, the pandemic didn’t feel quite real to Johnny Angel Martinez, then incarcerated at the Correctional Training Facility (CTF), a minimum–medium security prison in Soledad, California. But news reports and the view from his window onto a startlingly empty freeway convinced Martinez that the pandemic was now part of life. So, he sewed a mask, washed his hands frequently, and tried to improve his diet.

“I was very fearful. I thought, ‘I’m pretty healthy, but maybe I have an underlying condition,’” said Martinez, who was released from prison in September after spending a decade incarcerated due to his participation in a fatal robbery 20 years earlier. (He confessed to his involvement and legislative changes in California ultimately freed him.) “I remember learning that being overweight or obese actually puts you more at risk, so it motivated me to make sure that my body is at its optimum. I was buying vitamin C daily supplements.”

Martinez, 43, had reason to be scared. He was released before the apex of the outbreak, but by late December, CTF was leading the California prison system in coronavirus infections with nearly 900 active cases. Martinez credits his ability to buy the foods and nutritional supplements needed to lose 40 pounds and maintain his health last year to his wife. Her financial support gave him choices beyond the prison chow hall and allowed him to buy foods like curry, rice, and noodles. He got almost all his protein from canned tuna, mackerel, and oysters.

Three in five former prisoners told Impact Justice they couldn’t afford commissary items, and many reported having to choose between food or toiletries. Some reported being so hungry that they performed sexual or illegal acts to gain access to commissary food.

As a member of his prison’s Indigenous population—Martinez identifies as Mexica, Miwok, and Costanoan—he was the rare U.S. inmate with access to a garden. Located near the sweat lodge and reserved for members of that spiritual community, the garden allowed him to grow and eat fresh tomatoes, squash, and peppers, as well as herbs like mint and mugwort. According to Eating Behind Bars, 62 percent of prisoners surveyed reported rarely or never receiving fresh vegetables, while 55 percent said the same about fresh fruit.

“We didn’t come across any facilities that had fruits or vegetables or other fresh products in the commissary,” said Leslie Soble, the report’s lead author and an Impact Justice research fellow. For instance, the report includes a partial copy of the Kansas Correctional Facility’s commissary list, and the only foods listed under “vegetables” are instant mashed potatoes and jarred jalapeño peppers.

As a practicing Buddhist and vegetarian in prison, DeWeaver would have appreciated access to fresh produce. When his facility refused to accommodate his dietary needs, he filed a complaint.

“I basically just ate beans every day for dinner,” he said. “There was a long stretch of time when I was deeply deficient in protein and iron. Even when I won my legal action, there were times when I would go to dinner, and they would give me a plate of pudding.”

To help incarcerated people meet their daily nutrient needs, a number of prisons provide inmates with fortified powdered beverages. But both DeWeaver and Martinez said they avoided these Kool Aid-like mixes because of the cancer warnings on the packages. Soble noted that many former prisoners complained to Impact Justice about the chemical taste of these drinks and described inmates using them as hair dye.

Working in the kitchen is one way for incarcerated people to obtain a wider variety of foods, but DeWeaver didn’t enjoy the experience. It only heightened his concerns about the safety of prison meals. And Martinez, who never worked in the kitchen but had a cellmate who did, recalled how those in charge would take chunks of chicken out of the stew and create a black market by charging their fellow inmates for bits of meat. Prison kitchens are also notoriously unsanitary. Former inmates told Impact Justice that they frequently spotted rats, roaches, and mold in these spaces, which sometimes even lacked soap and water.

But some correctional facilities have transformed how they feed incarcerated people. They are integrating fresh produce and from-scratch cooking into meals.

Overhauling Prison Food

Impact Justice calls “home cooking” in prison one way to resist a system built on dehumanization. At Mountain Correctional Center in Charleston, Maine—a minimum-medium security prison—meals from scratch have largely become the norm. Fruit and vegetables from the apple orchard and gardens onsite go straight to the prison kitchen.

With a background in organic farming and the hospitality industry, the facility’s foodservice manager, Mark McBrine, has led the effort to transform what prisoners eat. That includes working with local producers to acquire fresh eggs, high-quality meat, dairy, flour, and vegetables. It took work to shift from buying mass quantities of frozen potatoes and chicken patties, but the food handlers have grown to appreciate the process.

“Fresh food takes more time and effort,” McBrine said, “but the incarcerated residents who work in our kitchens were very glad to do it because it means better meals for them and for the other residents.”

McBrine had the support of Maine Department of Corrections Commissioner Randall Liberty, whose father was once incarcerated. In an effort to improve prison meals statewide, Liberty has increased prison gardening programs and the minimum quantity of fresh and whole foods correctional facilities must buy from local producers.

“People think they can’t make these changes [in prisons] because of cost, but I’ve been under budget, more so than any other facility in the state,” McBrine said. “We use more local foods than any other facility, and we provide more home-cooked types of meals.”

Across the country, efforts are also underway to improve the food in California prisons. Impact Justice recently won a California Department of Food and Agriculture (CDFA) grant in partnership with ChangeLab and the University of California Nutrition Policy Institute to increase the use and consumption of local produce in prisons. Another goal of the grant is to conduct nutrition and cooking workshops with people recently released from the California Department of Corrections.

“They’re the largest single food purchaser in the state, so it seems appropriate that that institution would be focused on California-grown produce,” said Wendi Gosliner, who heads research at the Nutrition Policy Institute and teaches at U.C. Berkeley. “We know from what people say and the limited information available that the food quality in prisons certainly needs a lot of work.”

The $439,000 specialty crop block grant offers the partners an opportunity to learn more about food in prison, which Gosliner described as an understudied area. She would like to examine disparities in access and overall food quality, in part, by studying the institutions that have successfully improved their meals.

“We need to know what’s happening,” Gosliner said. “And we need to figure out how we can begin to influence what’s happening in these systems with the larger long-term goal being to correct the problems.”

In January, the board of supervisors in nearby Alameda County signed a resolution to begin working with the Good Food Purchasing Program, a national effort aimed at helping institutions invest in their local food economies.

A Matter of Public Interest

Due to the work of activists who’ve demanded prison abolition and criminal justice reform, public attitudes toward incarcerated people have changed dramatically since the tough-on-crime 1990s. Well before last summer’s response to the killing of George Floyd by Minneapolis police, support for prison reform had already been growing. A 2015 American Civil Liberties Union poll found that 69 percent of voters agreed that the prison population should be reduced. Three years later, a survey conducted for the Vera Institute of Justice revealed that 67 percent of respondents believed that building more jails and prisons would not lower crime rates. And by 2020, a Data for Progress poll indicated that 66 percent of likely voters supported decreasing prison and jail overcrowding amid the coronavirus crisis.

Although attitudes have changed, the shift in thinking has not wholly challenged the idea that people go to “prison as punishment, not to be punished,” which is a common refrain among prison reformers and abolitionists. The adage emphasizes that incarcerated people deserve humane treatment.

After Jacob Anthony Chansley, known as the “QAnon Shaman,” was arrested for his participation in the January 6 attack on the Capitol, social media users widely balked at his request to be fed an organic diet while in federal custody, quipping that he was in prison, “not at Whole Foods.” Television personality Meghan McCain of ABC’s “The View” responded to Chansley’s request with even more scorn. “He’s a criminal. . . . He should have dog food,” she said. (A judge ultimately denied his request.)

While organic food is inaccessible to many outside the system, such responses underscore the notion that prison food should be, in essence, inedible.

As Soble sees it, however, the prison population should have access to a well-balanced diet because “food is a human right” and incarcerated people are “human beings who are parents, siblings, partners, and friends.”

Those questioning why people who have done “bad” things deserve “good food” should keep in mind that 95 percent of the prison population will eventually be released, Soble noted. “So, those people are coming back into the community, which means if we’re not feeding them well, then we’re putting them in potentially worse physical and mental shape when they get out,” she said.

Martinez said taxpayers may not be moved after learning about food insecurity in prison, but they should be concerned about the toll the poor health of current and former prisoners takes on the medical system.

“You’ve got guys going home with diabetes, congestive heart failure . . . all these underlying conditions that they develop in prison,” he said. “And the reason they develop them in prison is because of the eating habits and the traumatic experiences they have faced.”

While a percentage of the public remains indifferent to the horrific conditions people in prison endure, including food that’s hazardous to their health, DeWeaver would rather focus on the growing number of Americans who support prison abolition and criminal justice reform than try to convince those who don’t care why prisoners should be treated humanely.

“People should care because it’s the right thing to do,” he said. “People should care because it’s unethical not to care.”

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]]> https://civileats.com/2021/01/21/as-covid-19-ups-the-stakes-advocates-say-prison-food-needs-an-overhaul/feed/ 1 Should Food and Farm Workers Be Next in Line for the COVID Vaccine? https://civileats.com/2020/12/22/should-food-workers-be-next-in-line-for-the-covid-vaccine/ Tue, 22 Dec 2020 09:00:56 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=39834 January 12, 2021 update: A group of New York state lawmakers have just sent a letter requesting Governor Andrew Cuomo to include gig workers, such as food-delivery platform drivers for Uber Eats and Grubhub, as essential workers in line to receive the next round of COVID-19 vaccinations. Although he has tested negative twice, the 77-year-old […]

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January 12, 2021 update: A group of New York state lawmakers have just sent a letter requesting Governor Andrew Cuomo to include gig workers, such as food-delivery platform drivers for Uber Eats and Grubhub, as essential workers in line to receive the next round of COVID-19 vaccinations.

At the Albertson’s grocery store where Hubert Evans works in the Los Angeles neighborhood of Baldwin Hills, four people tested positive for COVID-19 in one 10-day period in December.

Although he has tested negative twice, the 77-year-old grocery store veteran knows he’s at risk. “It’s kind of scary,” said Evans. “We have thousands of people in and out of that store all the time, so there’s a lot of damage that can be done.”

He’s taking as many precautions as possible, but working in a grocery store puts Evans at risk, and his advanced age makes him more likely to develop life-threatening complications if he becomes infected. That’s why Evans wants food workers to be the next group, after healthcare professionals, to receive the COVID vaccine.

“We in the food industry deal with people and support them every day,” said Evans, who works in the meat department. “We keep the food system going.”

While the federal government has deemed food industry professionals such as grocery store workers, meatpackers, and farmworkers to be essential, it remains to be seen how soon they’ll be immunized.

An advisory group to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) recommended Sunday that essential workers and people 75 and older be vaccinated after healthcare professionals and residents of long-term care facilities. But roughly 49 million people—including food industry workers, first responders, prison guards, and teachers—make up this division of the labor force.

Moreover, states can decide which groups of workers within this broad category line up first during the second wave of vaccinations, or they can deviate from the recommendations of the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices (ACIP) by prioritizing other groups of people, such as the incarcerated or homeless populations.

In California, Los Angeles County Supervisor Janice Hahn recently wrote a letter to Governor Gavin Newsom urging that teachers be placed in the first tier of workers vaccinated during the second phase, which the CDC describes as “Phase 1b.” Meanwhile, the California Latino Legislative Caucus is asking Newsom to prioritize farmworkers for inoculation, and a bill introduced in the state assembly in December aims to secure early immunization for farmworkers and grocery workers. Democratic congressman Josh Harder, who represents part of the agriculture-intensive Central Valley, is also pushing for agricultural workers to be vaccinated early because of the essential role they play in society.

Grocery and Other Food Industry Advocates Mounting Pressure

This advocacy is not isolated. Across the country, the leaders of major industries are pressuring public officials to immunize their workers as soon as possible. But with states receiving 20 to 40 percent fewer doses of the vaccine than anticipated, even the second phase workers who score a spot near the front of the line may have to wait several months for an inoculation. For food workers, this may be too late.

Research on farmworkers in California, the nation’s largest agricultural state, indicates that they are three times more likely to contract the novel coronavirus than workers in other sectors. And according to the United Food and Commercial Workers International Union (UFCW), which represents 1.3 million food and retail workers, at least 350 of its members have died of COVID-19 complications and 48,000 have been infected or exposed to the virus. This includes 19,800 meatpacking workers and 17,400 grocery workers. In Los Angeles, a COVID epicenter, supermarkets have been linked to record outbreaks. For all these reasons, these workers’ advocates and medical professionals assert that they should get the vaccine without delay.

“Protecting our country’s food workers is essential to keeping our communities safe,” said UFCW International President Marc Perrone in a statement. “CDC Director [Robert] Redfield must recognize the vital role these essential workers serve by ensuring that they are among the first to receive access to the COVID-19 vaccine.”

Norma Leiva, a warehouse manager at a Food 4 Less in Panorama City, California, said a chance to receive the vaccine would go a long way toward making her feel less vulnerable. The 51-year-old is particularly afraid of contracting the virus and transmitting it to her grandchild, her elderly mother-in-law, or her husband, who suffers from hypertension. Leiva herself struggles with chronic bronchitis.

“If I could have something that would help me not get sick and bring it home, that would totally make me more at ease at my job,” said Leiva.

Farmworkers are Vulnerable but Wary

For farmworkers, arguably the nation’s most vulnerable food workers, avoiding infection and getting immunized will require overcoming significant barriers. Farmworkers have worked nonstop throughout the pandemic, often after being exposed to COVID-19. This has put them at high risk of infection as the virus infiltrates rural communities, according to a five-month study of nearly 1,100 farmworkers in Salinas Valley, California.

Conducted between July and November by researchers at the University of California, Berkeley’s School of Public Health, the study found that 13 percent of farmworkers have tested positive for coronavirus, compared to 5 percent of the state’s general population. The report also determined that 20 percent of farmworkers have COVID-19 antibodies compared to only 1 percent of the San Francisco Bay Area population as a whole. The impact of coronavirus on their lives has been devastating, farmworkers told researchers who completed the study in partnership with the Clinica de Salud del Valle de Salinas. It has resulted in the deaths of loved ones and in rising rates of food insecurity in the region dubbed the nation’s “salad bowl.”

Given these circumstances, Dr. Maximiliano Cuevas, CEO of Clinica de Salud del Valle de Salinas, contends that farmworkers should be vaccinated immediately. “We’re trying to argue that food production is critical to the safety of the nation, so we need to protect those people who produce food for the rest of us,” he said. “Right now, it’s an uphill climb. Farmworkers are not a priority, and they should be up there with health workers and first responders.”

Inadequate screening, crowded housing, and shared commutes in packed vehicles have led to soaring infection rates among farmworkers. But even major agricultural states like California have not announced plans to vaccinate farmworkers in this first wave. And, yet, Cuevas asserts that their health impacts other industries—from restaurants to supermarkets. “It’s a domino effect,” he said.

Should the vaccine become quickly available to farmworkers, there’s no guarantee that they would all agree to take it, however. The U.C. Berkeley report found that while 52 percent of farmworkers indicated they were extremely likely to get vaccinated, 20 percent weren’t sure if they would, and 11 percent said they were unlikely or very unlikely to do so. Fear of side effects, distrust of the government, and fear that the vaccine itself could cause a COVID-19 infection were the main reasons farmworkers cited for declining the vaccine.

“We know that it’s safe and effective, but people in general don’t trust it,” Cuevas said. “So, I think we have to educate people, let them know what the process is like and that we can say with a pretty high degree of certainty that this thing is effective.”

Farmworkers are one of several groups in the food chain likely to show signs of “vaccine hesitancy,” said Brenda Eskenazi, a U.C. Berkeley School of Public Health graduate school professor. A coauthor of the farmworker study, she added that it’s important that public health outreach is conducted in multiple languages, as farmworkers in the Salinas Valley speak at least 12 different Indigenous dialects, including Mixtec, Zapotec, and Triqui. Language barriers have contributed to confusion among farmworkers about how to get tested for coronavirus, and the same could happen when it’s time to take the vaccine. For one group of farmworkers, just getting the two required doses of the vaccine 28 days apart could be tricky, said Eskenazi.

“We need to consider that we have a mobile population of farmworkers, so how do we ensure that before they move to Yuma, Arizona, they’re getting vaccinated in Salinas, California?” she asked. “We have to consider the mobility issue.”

There’s also the stark reality that as many as half of the country’s 2.4 million farmworkers are undocumented, and a large and growing number are in the U.S. as guest workers. Cuevas said that it would be a mistake to require anyone to provide immigration documentation to receive the vaccine. “Anyone who’s a human being needs to be able to get it,” he said.

But convincing people who are hiding in the shadows to come out and get vaccinated will require effort, Eskenazi said. Community clinics like Clinica de Salud del Valle de Salinas can play a vital role in this endeavor. Because they already serve this population, “they’re going to be more trusted by the people who may be undocumented,” she said.

Meatpacking Workers Have (Some) Industry Support

Immigrants also make up most of the meatpacking and poultry processing labor force, and industry leaders and advocates are lobbying to have them prioritized for vaccination.

The North American Meat Institute (NAMI), made up of representatives from the beef, pork, lamb, and poultry industries, sent letters to both a CDC advisory group and the nation’s governors at the start of December asking them to immunize meatpacking and food processing workers early. Now that a panel of health experts has advised the CDC to inoculate food industry workers and the very elderly in the second wave of vaccinations, NAMI is both applauding the recommendation and indicating that it may offer assistance.

“Priority access to vaccines is a critical step for the long-term safety of the selfless frontline meat and poultry workers who have kept America’s refrigerators full and our farm economy working,” said NAMI CEO Julie Anna Potts in a statement. “Meat and poultry leaders may also be able to aid vaccination for all Americans, for example by offering state-of-the-art cold storage for these precious vaccines” the statement added.

In states like Nebraska, which has more than 26,600 meatpacking workers, making it the top state for that industry, advocates say a vaccine can’t come soon enough. The American Civil Liberties Union filed a federal lawsuit in November alleging that the Noah’s Ark Plant in Hastings, Nebraska has failed to protect its majority Black and Latinx workers and the public. [Update: In early January, Nebraska Governor Pete Ricketts announced that undocumented workers in the state’s meat packing plants would not be eligible for the vaccine and then reversed his position two days later.]

A plaintiff in that lawsuit, known only as “Alma” to protect her from retaliation, said in a statement that workers are terrified of contracting COVID-19, but management downplayed their concerns about the virus, describing their fears as “nonsense.”

“Even when things got more serious, they didn’t care,” Alma said. “We were all worried, because everyone has kids. But if you stopped working, you would lose your job.”

Nebraska State Senator Tony Vargas introduced legislation over the summer to get Governor Pete Ricketts to take steps to protect meatpackers, but to no avail. Now Vargas would like to see these workers become the first in the state, after healthcare professionals and residents of long-term care facilities, to receive the vaccine.

“Our meatpacking plant workers are in conditions where they can’t socially distance, where there have been outbreaks for months,” Vargas said. “The very least that we can do is ensure that these workers have a vaccine so that we’re not putting them in harm’s way.”

The cause is important to Vargas, in part, because he lost his father to coronavirus in April. After going public with that news, he began to field calls from meatpacking workers affected by COVID-19. Those already infected with the virus complained that they faced pressure to return to work as soon as possible.

“People are incentivized to come back to work very quickly, and incentivizing people to come back to work in a pandemic is not what we should be doing,” Vargas said. “We were hearing continued stories of retaliation from people who didn’t come back to work, and we continue to hear stories of individuals being left in the dark on whether or not other individuals around them test positive.”

Vargas concedes that some plants are testing workers more frequently and providing them with more personal protective equipment, but he said that coronavirus outbreaks continue to be traced back to meatpacking facilities. “There’s consistent room for growth,” he said.

This includes public health outreach about the vaccine. It must be culturally inclusive, with trusted leaders, news outlets, and others disseminating accurate information about the immunization process, said Vargas. The senator has heard concerns from Nebraskans of color worried about the risks associated with the vaccine. To allay public fears, he is participating in public information campaigns. But he also went a step farther—he took part in a vaccine trial earlier this year.

“I wanted people to see that, as a person who identifies as Latino, I’ve participated in the trial and I’m okay,” he said. “Everything’s been fine. People are equally afraid of the vaccine as they are of the virus, so we must do more to build that trust and dispel any myths.” Access to healthcare is another important factor, he adds.

Magaly Licolli also wants to see more companies and lawmakers lobby for meat processing workers to get vaccinated. Licolli is executive director of Venceremos, an advocacy group for poultry plant workers in Arkansas, a top state for poultry processing.

Workers are desperate to take it, Licolli said. Those who haven’t been infected live in fear of contracting it, and they see co-workers who survived the virus living with long-term health problems. “I have a worker who has 65 percent lung capacity, and he’s not been able to return to work after five months,” she explained.

Most poultry workers in her state aren’t skeptical about immunization, she asserted, but eager for it to make a major difference in their lives. “There is huge hope,” she said.

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]]> Once Called Naïve for His Focus on Returning Land to Black Farmers, Thomas Mitchell Is Now a MacArthur Genius https://civileats.com/2020/12/09/once-called-naive-for-his-focus-on-returning-land-to-black-farmers-thomas-mitchell-is-now-a-macarthur-genius/ https://civileats.com/2020/12/09/once-called-naive-for-his-focus-on-returning-land-to-black-farmers-thomas-mitchell-is-now-a-macarthur-genius/#comments Wed, 09 Dec 2020 09:00:52 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=39362 The call for African Americans to receive redress for the farmland they’ve lost to systemic racism has snowballed in recent years. One of the people who got it rolling, more than two decades ago, is Thomas W. Mitchell, a Texas A&M University law professor and co-director of its Program in Real Estate and Community Development […]

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The call for African Americans to receive redress for the farmland they’ve lost to systemic racism has snowballed in recent years. One of the people who got it rolling, more than two decades ago, is Thomas W. Mitchell, a Texas A&M University law professor and co-director of its Program in Real Estate and Community Development Law.

Mitchell’s efforts to reform the laws and policies that have stripped African Americans of their land earned him the 2020 MacArthur fellowship—a so-called Genius Grant. Shortly afterward, Senator Cory Booker (D-New Jersey)—along with Senators Elizabeth Warren (D-Massachusetts) and Kirsten Gillibrand (D-New York)—introduced the Justice for Black Farmers Act. The legislation aims to help African Americans recover the farmland they lost due to decades of discriminatory government policies. Mitchell helped to draft the bill, which would permit Black farmers to reclaim as many as 160 acres apiece through a U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) land-grant system.

Mitchell has also spearheaded the overhaul of the heirs’ property laws that go into effect when landowners die without wills. For generations, land that had been purchased or deeded after the Civil War was passed down informally, often leading to a large numbers of owners, each with a fractional interest in the whole property, rather than an individual portion. With each generation, the number of heirs compounds, and any one of them can sell their interest or force a sale of the property—“sometimes for pennies on the dollar,” Mitchell said.

This issue disproportionately affects African Americans because historic barriers to legal services have resulted in about three-quarters of this population dying without wills, resulting in court-ordered sales of heirs’ property for far below market price. In the South, where Black-owned land is concentrated, heirs’ property is worth approximately $28 billion.

To help African Americans keep their land and protect their real estate wealth, Mitchell wrote 2010’s Uniform Partition of Heirs’ Property Act (UPHPA), which includes recommendations for courts about how to approach partition actions, guidelines for co-owner buyouts, and methods to ensure that properties are sold for their fair market value. So far, 17 states and the U.S. Virgin Islands have implemented the UPHPA, and more are likely to follow since the 2018 Farm Bill gives states that haven’t adopted the legislation incentives to do so.

Mitchell spoke to Civil Eats recently about the farm bill, the Justice for Black Farmers Act, and his longtime advocacy for Black landowners.

How did you lend your expertise to the sponsors of the Justice for Black Farmers Act and what makes this legislation stand out?

Texas A&M University law professor Thomas Mitchell. Photo courtesy of Thomas Mitchell.

Photo courtesy of Thomas Mitchell.

The sponsors consulted with me about the bill before finalizing it to get my input. Black farmers and heirs’ property owners often have had a substantial lack of access to affordable legal services, which is why families stay trapped in that form of ownership. A significant part of the cycle of families having heirs’ property from one generation to another is the lack of wills or estate plans, so what’s good about the bill is that it takes the 2018 Farm Bill provisions—which were kind of like a pilot program to provide some legal assistance to Black farmers and landowners who own heirs’ property—and substantially enhanced the provision for legal services.

The Justice for Black Farmers Act is one of the first federal bills that seeks to address the fact that Black farmers have been pushed out of the agricultural industry—going from 1910, 1920, when 14 percent of farm owners in this country were Black to today where it’s less than 1 percent. So, it actually acknowledges that cutoff; it acknowledges that discrimination. It’s not limited to the USDA, but the USDA played a substantial part in driving Black farmers out of farming.

But you also have some concerns about the legislation. What are they?

The land grants that the bill talks about—go to 160 acres. That sounds great, but the average farm size in United States today is 444 acres. Over the last several decades, there’s been a massive consolidation in the farming sector and small family farms are being pushed out. So, 160 acres is great in terms of an acknowledgement. But if you still have the same kind of macroeconomics and federal policy that goes back to President Nixon’s Secretary of Agriculture Earl Butz, famous for saying that farmers needed to “get big or get out,” then, providing African Americans with the opportunity to own a relatively small farm is not going to be sufficient.

You’re going to have to enable a much smaller group of Black farmers to use whatever land grant they have and expand it over time or reject the get-big-or-get-out model. I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, because right now the Justice for Black Farmers Act is just a bill, but if it were actually going to become law, there would have to be some sensitivity to that issue.

Should the Justice for Black Farmers Act become law, what impact do you hope it has?

It’s an incredibly exciting bill. It is far wider and broader in scope in terms of any bill that’s ever been introduced [to address racial injustice in agriculture]. I hope that it’s going to catalyze a conversation about the need for the bill, and even this incredibly ambitious bill doesn’t fully address the amount of the harm.

There is a research team that I’m part of called the Land Loss and Reparations Research Project. We’ve done an initial estimate of the value of agricultural land that African Americans have lost over the last hundred years, and the conservative amount is $350 billion. And what we’re doing now is looking at other variables to generate a figure that’s bigger than $350 billion. It’s going to take into account things such as [the fact that] these families who lost their land also lost the ability to use their land as collateral to finance their children’s college educations. And it will look at the economic ramifications of all these people who could have been provided an education but weren’t. There are a number of variables, but when you look at the magnitude of the harm, it makes the bill seem eminently reasonable, actually.

You wrote 2010’s Uniform Partition of Heirs Property Act, which was given a boost by the 2018 Farm Bill. Can you explain how the farm bill motivated states to reform their heirs’ property laws?

The 2018 Farm Bill actually has a couple of heirs’ property provisions that specifically reference the Uniform Partition of Heirs’ Property Act and give states that have not enacted it into law an incentive to do so. The incentive is that farming and ranching families who own heirs’ properties in those states are entitled to a greater set of USDA benefits. With the 2018 Farm Bill, we were able to flip states that we would have had no chance [with]. Like, we would have had zero chance in Mississippi, but the farm bill gave us that opening. It was the same thing in Florida, Virginia, and Illinois. All of a sudden, heirs have a new ally on our side, and that’s the state farm bureaus.

When you began your career in the 1990s, why did other scholars discourage you from pursuing ways to help African Americans preserve their land?

When I started my work addressing Black land loss through property laws . . . I was considered hopelessly naïve. I was told I was wasting my time. People would say, “It’s not that you have incorrectly diagnosed that there has been racial injustice. What you haven’t factored in is that African Americans and other disadvantaged farmers fundamentally lack political and economic power, and as a result, no legislature is ever going to respond to their needs.” I could have accepted that and then just folded the tent, but over the last 20 years, I’ve been able to defy the cynics and the skeptics.

There were certain things that happened that I couldn’t have counted on. The media took an interest in this issue. The Associated Press 20 years ago did this award-winning series on Black land loss, and that really was the catalyst. It caused this broader awareness; it got some important stakeholders, like the American Bar Association, interested. When the moment came, I was ready with a plan. I have a similar way of looking at the Justice for Black Farmers Act. You don’t know what’s going to happen, but there’s a plan, and it is incredibly comprehensive and incredibly solid.

You’ve been pretty adamant that Black land loss isn’t as dire as it is sometimes made out to be. Explain how you arrived at this conclusion.

In 1910 and 1920, African Americans who owned agricultural land had active farm operations. What has happened over time is that there are a number of African American families who own agricultural land, but the family doesn’t own a farm operation. Those who do have an active farm are theoretically counted in the agricultural census, but if they are renting their land to—in almost every case I’ve seen— a white farmer, that land is not captured by the ag census because the Black family is not the owner. In some cases, the family is letting the land lie fallow, so, nobody’s farming it. That is not captured the agricultural census either. So, there’s substantial loss of African American land in this country, but it’s not a 90 percent loss. And we still have a chance to meaningfully address some of the laws that contributed to this loss.

The Washington Post reported that, in the 19th century, white farmers seized 500 acres of North Carolina land owned by the great-grandfather of George Floyd. Given this context, the loss of Black-owned land is being raised as part of the Black Lives Matter movement. How do you feel about this?

I didn’t know about this history, but it’s a legitimate and important issue for Black Lives Matter and other organizations or government officials committed to social racial justice to address. With this massive loss of land, not only was the land itself lost, which is important in terms of being an economic asset that would help families build wealth across generations, but you also have the loss of culture and history.

At one point, most of the African Americans in the upper middle class were farm owners. And this ownership wasn’t just good for these families, but it had positive benefits for the African American community more generally. During the Civil Rights Movement, you had these gatherings designed to increase the number of African Americans voters held on farms. You had farmers who were able to use their property to organize for the ability of people to participate civically and politically in this country. So, farmland and property ownership within the African American community has tremendous importance if we want to have a more racially just society.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

The post Once Called Naïve for His Focus on Returning Land to Black Farmers, Thomas Mitchell Is Now a MacArthur Genius appeared first on Civil Eats.

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Black Land Matters. But Is Crowdfunding Enough? https://civileats.com/2020/11/17/black-land-matters-but-is-crowdfunding-enough/ https://civileats.com/2020/11/17/black-land-matters-but-is-crowdfunding-enough/#comments Tue, 17 Nov 2020 09:00:13 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=39041 November 19, 2020 update: Today, Democratic senators Cory Booker, Elizabeth Warren, and Kirsten Gillibrand announced the planned introduction of the “Justice for Black Farmers Act,” which would require the U.S. Department of Agriculture to adopt reforms that increase access to land and funds for Black farmers and would-be farmers, including an $8 billion annual fund […]

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November 19, 2020 update: Today, Democratic senators Cory Booker, Elizabeth Warren, and Kirsten Gillibrand announced the planned introduction of the “Justice for Black Farmers Act,” which would require the U.S. Department of Agriculture to adopt reforms that increase access to land and funds for Black farmers and would-be farmers, including an $8 billion annual fund for purchasing land and granting it to Black farmers.

When Adrian Lipscombe, owner of Uptowne Café & Bakery in La Crosse, Wisconsin, set out to use crowdfunding to buy farmland, she named her effort the 40 Acres and a Mule Project.

The name harkens back to the unrealized Reconstruction-era promise of reparations to 3.9 million formerly enslaved African Americans. According to the 1865 order issued by General William T. Sherman, Black Southerners would receive 400,000 acres of land—“a strip of coastline stretching from Charleston, South Carolina to the St. John’s River in Florida, including Georgia’s Sea Islands and the mainland 30 miles in from the coast.”

President Abraham Lincoln approved the order, but after his assassination, President Andrew Johnson reversed it and returned the land to its previous owners. Ever since, African Americans have wondered how different their fate might have been if they had received that land. As Harvard University Professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr. put it in 2014:

“Try to imagine how profoundly different the history of race relations in the United States would have been had this policy been implemented and enforced; had the former slaves actually had access to the ownership of land, of property; if they had had a chance to be self-sufficient economically, to build, accrue, and pass on wealth.”

Lipscombe has pondered the “what ifs” as well. Had African Americans received reparations immediately after the Civil War, she wonders, how many more Black entrepreneurs would exist? There might have been dozens of affluent African American towns, she said, and more historical Black colleges and universities.

A Texas native, Lipscombe’s late great-grandfather taught her that land ownership is important because it gives people a sense of identity. “It allows you to become an entrepreneur, whether you’re a farmer, you decide to rent it, build a house on it, or live on it to raise a family,” she said. “It gives you something. That was always driven into me. When I had my first kid, my husband and I bought a house because I felt that we needed to buy property. It was never about me; it was always about the future generation.”

Adrian Lipscombe. (Photo courtesy @40acresproject)

Adrian Lipscombe. (Photo courtesy @40acresproject)

But Lipscombe didn’t decide to crowdfund for land until June when she started getting checks from strangers with no strings attached. They simply wanted to support her and her business in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic and the widespread outrage over the killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis, which is just two-and-a-half hours away from La Crosse.

At first, Lipscombe wasn’t sure how to put these donations to use, but she eventually decided to use them to buy farmland. None of the local farmers who provide food to her restaurant are African American, she said, and fewer than 1 percent of all Wisconsin farmers are Black; purchasing land could help her support both Black farmers and Black foodways.

“If you look at the numbers, you know that there’s a high percentage of Black farmers who are over the age of 65,” Lipscombe said. “How do we protect their legacy and knowledge for the next generation?”

Lipscombe has raised more than $132,000 to date, and last week she received a $5,000 grant from Black Food Folks. Just last month, she announced that she had purchased 38 acres of land in St. Helena, South Carolina, in partnership with the nonprofit Muloma Heritage Center. In addition to using the land to teach others how to farm, she plans to partner with Muloma to create an archive with the help of chefs such as Mashama Bailey, Micheal Twitty, David Thomas, and Tonya Thomas. The focus will be on “developing a sanctuary to preserve for Black agriculture and foodways,” Lipscombe added.

The chef is also searching for farmland to purchase closer to home. However, finding it will be a challenge because land in the Midwest is much more expensive, she said.

Lipscombe isn’t alone in looking to crowdfunding as a form of reparations when it comes to land ownership. This year has seen several similar efforts, including Brianna Meeks’ effort to buy back her grandparents’ farm in Petersburg, Tennessee, which has been featured in People and has so far raised over $136,000.

The crowdfunding platform GoFundMe has also shined a spotlight on this important work. In July, a post on the company’s blog noted, “Farmers across the country are turning to crowdfunding to buy back the land of their ancestors, generate financial support for their operations, and rejoin the agricultural landscape on behalf of themselves and their communities.”

Leah Penniman’s Soul Fire Farm has also been using an online mapping tool to help potential donors identify BIPOC-led farms to support as a form of reparations since 2018.

Amber Tamm Canty tending a rooftop garden. (Photo credit: Safiyah Chiniere / @safiyahchiniere

Amber Tamm tends her rooftop farm. (Photo credit: Safiyah Chiniere / )

The Black Land Matters movement also includes New Yorker Amber Tamm, who became interested in farming to reconnect with the land. Her family has lived in the city for at least four generations, and has lost touch with the agricultural knowledge their ancestors had. Scores of other Black and brown New Yorkers find themselves in the same situation, said Tamm, and it’s a predicament she hopes to address through her Future Farm Fund, which has raised over $132,000. Having farmed for five years in an array of regions—upstate New York, Northern California, Hawaii, and Florida—Tamm would like to share what she’s learned with other Millennials of color interested in reclaiming their ancestors’ agricultural wisdom.

She decided to crowdfund for land after her Instagram followers repeatedly asked her if she owned a farm. When she told them that she did not, people began to send her Venmo donations earmarked as “reparations.” In June, she decided to launch a formal GoFundMe campaign and the donations came pouring in, a fact she attributes to the country’s current political climate.

“This round of Black Lives Matter [activism] amplified Black voices, including farmers,” said Tamm. “I think once people heard our stories, they felt very inclined to support us, especially because most of us are doing it for the community.”

But Tamm’s traumatic personal history has also compelled people to donate to her campaign. Six years ago, when she was a college student, she lost her parents to murder-suicide. She was left with no financial support and nowhere to go. As she tends to the earth, Tamm believes she is also tending to her mother, whom she buried in the earth after her policeman father took her life. Now she hopes to use any land she buys to grow food—and to provide a safe haven for others who’ve survived trauma and need a place to heal.

“As long as we’re living on other people’s land, in terms of system and government, then we’re not free,” Tamm said.

She’s now contemplating where to invest in land. Tamm would like to remain in New York, but with her end goal of $150,000, she might only be able to buy a few acres. In Alabama, she could buy as many as 240 acres for the same amount. But before she makes a transaction, she plans to apprentice with more experienced farmers—such as Mark Kimball of Essex Farm in New York, Jamila Norman from Patchwork City Farms in Georgia, and Chris Newman from Sylvanaqua Farms in Virginia—to gain a better understanding how to manage a farm and own land.

Ultimately, Tamm would like to see the Black Land Matters movement result in an expansive Black food chain. “We want Black seed keepers,” she said. “We want Black truck drivers, Black farmers, Black chefs, Black composting companies, and Black restaurants. We want a whole Black food chain, so we can support each other first.”

Restitution for Black Landowners

The success that Lipscombe, Tamm, and others have had crowdfunding points to rising awareness among the public about the history and impact of Black land loss, says Texas A&M University law professor and 2020 MacArthur fellow Thomas W. Mitchell. He considers this a positive development, given how little interest there was in the issue at the start of his career in the 1990s, but he also questions whether crowdfunding efforts will produce widespread and lasting change. Crowdfunding for medical expenses, for example, doesn’t address the pervasive inequities in the nation’s healthcare system.

“It’s not going to move the needle in a significant way or really address the magnitude of the problem unless there is a far greater commitment of public resources,” said Mitchell. “Another issue is that more likely than not, the land acquired [through crowdfunding] is going to be small in the grand scheme of things.”

To expand and preserve Black landownership, Mitchell added, legislation designed to help African Americans needs to be passed at both the state and federal level.

Mitchell has worked to reform the laws and policies that have stripped African Americans of their land, particularly for families without written wills. An estimated 75 percent of African Americans die without wills, and court-ordered sales of heirs’ property typically lead to purchases of land for well under market price, further disadvantaging vulnerable Black families. Scholars estimate that in the South alone, heirs’ property is worth about $28 billion.

To help African Americans and other marginalized groups keep their land in their families, Mitchell worked with community stakeholders, attorneys, and scholars to write 2010’s Uniform Partition of Heirs Property Act (UPHPA), which, among other reforms, includes provisions for co-owner buyouts, guidance for courts about resolving partition actions, and a procedure to ensure that sales reflect a property’s fair market value. To date, 17 states and the U.S. Virgin Islands have adopted the UPHPA, and Mitchell is working to see that others enact this legislation to help disadvantaged property owners keep their land and safeguard their real estate wealth.

Since then, agencies within the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA), such as the National Resources Conservation Service (NRCS), have contacted Mitchell about collaborating on ways to better serve heirs’ property owners. But the notion that there’s virtually no Black-owned land left makes it harder to convince policymakers to advocate for African American landowners, he said.

Using figures from the Census of Agriculture, a number of media outlets have reported that African Americans lost 90 percent of their farmland from 1910 to 1997. Mitchell doesn’t dispute this figure; he said, however, that it needs to be qualified because the census doesn’t reflect African Americans who own agricultural land but don’t own or operate commercial farm operations. He argues that the 1999 Agricultural Economics and Land Ownership Survey (AELOS) provides a more complete picture of Black landownership.

That survey found that “despite many decades of land loss,” African Americans own 7.8 million acres of land, significantly more than the 1.5 million acres cited in the 1997 census. According to the most recent count in 2017, Black-operated farms accounted for 4.7 million acres of farmland, but, again, this figure excludes African Americans who own land but don’t operate farms.

“By showing empirically that there actually is more Black-owned agricultural land or land in general than people realize, I’ve been able to develop this model state statute that would provide greater property rights protections to stabilize the ownership of this property for the families,” said Mitchell.

The 2018 Farm Bill also gave the UPHPA a boost because it gives states that have not yet enacted the legislation incentives to do so. Mitchell credits the farm bill with influencing states like Mississippi, Florida, Virginia, and Illinois to adopt the policy. The farm bill, he said, is his newest ally.

To effect long-term change, though, the government will ultimately need to provide restitution to Black families deprived of their land or create a program to enable African Americans to acquire land through grants, low-interest loans, technical assistance, or other methods. And restitution, he asserted, should include an acknowledgement of wrongdoing to the African American community.

“Specifically, it would take into account the long history of complicity of the federal government and state governments in undermining the ability of African Americans to maintain ownership of their property,” said Mitchell.

Adrian Lipscombe also points to extrajudicial violence, such as the 1919 Elaine Massacre of Black Arkansas sharecroppers, as an example of how racism thwarted the progress of African American farmers. She asks herself what Black Americans could have achieved in agriculture without generations of brutality and discrimination.

“Land has been driven into us since before we came here,” she said. “We were in tribes, and we lived off the land. We were brought here to cultivate the land, and after we moved here, we talked to the Indigenous people about the land. So, imagine if we were allowed to work the land without force, without violence.”

The Black Land Matters movement is not just imagining those possibilities but working to make them a reality.

Top photo by Amber Tamm.

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By Switching to a Plant-Based Diet, Eric Adams Is ‘Healthy at Last’ https://civileats.com/2020/10/09/by-switching-to-a-plant-based-diet-eric-adams-is-healthy-at-last/ https://civileats.com/2020/10/09/by-switching-to-a-plant-based-diet-eric-adams-is-healthy-at-last/#comments Fri, 09 Oct 2020 09:00:52 +0000 http://civileats.com/?p=38631 Update: Shortly after this interview ran, Eric Adams announced his candidacy for mayor of New York City. On July 6, 2022, he was declared the winner of the Democratic primary, and extremely likely to be elected the next mayor. Brooklyn Borough President Eric Adams still remembers the terror he felt when he woke up four […]

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Update: Shortly after this interview ran, Eric Adams announced his candidacy for mayor of New York City. On July 6, 2022, he was declared the winner of the Democratic primary, and extremely likely to be elected the next mayor.

Brooklyn Borough President Eric Adams still remembers the terror he felt when he woke up four years ago and couldn’t see well enough to make out the outline of his alarm clock. He stumbled to his mirror and noticed that his right eye was bloodshot and he couldn’t see out of his left eye at all. A visit to his doctor revealed that his trouble seeing stemmed from undiagnosed type 2 diabetes, a condition associated with eye problems ranging from blurry vision to glaucoma.

The cover of Eric Adams's book, Healthy at Last: A Plant-Based Approach to Preventing and Reversing Diabetes and Other Chronic Illnesses.The diagnosis didn’t entirely surprise the then-56-year-old. His mother has diabetes, and, as an African American, he knew that his racial group disproportionately suffers from the condition. But when his doctor told him that he would be living with diabetes for the rest of his life, Adams set out to reverse his diagnosis—and he succeeded over the course of the next few months. He cut out fast food and high-fat soul food to switch to a plant-based diet and has maintained his healthier lifestyle in the years since.

Today, he’s 35 pounds lighter, has restored his eyesight, and has blood sugar levels that put him safely out of the diabetes range. In his new book, Healthy at Last: A Plant-Based Approach to Preventing and Reversing Diabetes and Other Chronic Illnesses, which debuts October 13, Adams recounts how he made the lifestyle shifts necessary to restore his health and offers advice to readers about how they can follow suit.

Although Healthy at Last includes nutrition tips, recipes, and details about Adams’ life, it is far more than a diet guide, cookbook, or memoir. The book cites research comparing the American diet (and related illnesses) to the diets of countries in Africa and Asia. It addresses the realities of living in food swamps—neighborhoods overrun with businesses selling mostly highly processed foods and fast food. It also examines how in West Africa, leafy green vegetables, legumes, and tubers were the primary ingredients of what is known today as soul food. After slavery, however, African Americans increasingly prepared these foods with animal fats, sodium, and sugar—leading to health problems such as diabetes, high blood pressure, and heart disease.

Civil Eats spoke with Adams about his journey to health and the barriers to wellness that his readers, especially those in low-income areas or communities of color, bear the burden of overcoming.

Let’s start at the beginning of your journey. How was your health in 2016?

I was on the traditional American diet, where meat was the center of my diet. I really ate whatever I saw or what tasted good, and for the most part, that was food fried, processed, and filled with sugar, oil, and fat. [In addition to the eye problems] I was experiencing tingling in my hands and feet. I later learned that it was neuropathic nerve damage that can lead to amputation.

And you had no idea that you had diabetes?

The signs of [diabetes] had been there, and I was dismissing them as part of getting older, but the vision loss was just happening so rapidly. At that point, I went to see several doctors and I was told I was going to have to be on insulin for the rest of my life. That just didn’t sit well with me. Every doctor had given me pamphlets about living with diabetes, so I went to my computer and changed one word. Instead of living with diabetes, I searched for “reversing diabetes,” and that sent me down a different path.

What made you try to reverse this medical condition rather than just accept the diagnosis that tens of thousands of Black people get each year?

There was a brief moment where I said to myself, “Well, Eric, you knew this was coming. Your mother is diabetic, and your other family members are experiencing similar issues. You knew this was something that you were going to face.”

But they say there’s always a voice inside you that says something different, and often times, we ignore that voice. This time I listened to that voice, and it told me to go further. I went to see a doctor in Ohio and, for the first time, I heard someone, outside of the internet searches that I was doing, talk about a plant-based diet. That inspired me, and after embracing a plant-based diet, I returned to the doctor three months later, and my diabetes had gone into remission.

You routinely patronized KFC, Pizza Hut, and the omnipresent food carts on the streets of New York City. How did you wean yourself off those foods, which some researchers say contain addictive chemicals?

I felt like I was going through withdrawal. There was this sweating, this uncertainty, this high degree of wanting to taste those foods again. It took a week or two before that started to change. And I remember going from “why me?” to “why not me?”—and I turned my attention from what I couldn’t eat to what I could.

You discuss the need for a good support system while transitioning to a healthier life, but some people may not have that support. What’s your advice for them?

That is so important. The most you can do is have a real conversation with your loved ones and explain what you’re going through. Give them information so they can see the science [behind plant-based eating] because it’s unfortunate that we have embraced sick care as health care. Then, explain the support you need.

You cite research comparing the diet and health of people in countries such as China and South Africa to those in the U.S., pointing out that they don’t suffer from cardiovascular disease and other conditions at the same rates. Did this data surprise you?

It really was shocking. Here, we have the highest standard of living and, they say, the best medical care, but there’s no benefit of living to be 100 if we’re on respirators or dialysis. That is part of why it’s so important to look at what other countries are doing.

And then there’s a common thread that is happening throughout the entire globe, and that’s wherever the American diet goes, people go from being healthy to being ill, and that’s consistent.

The COVID-19 pandemic has highlighted the brokenness of the food system and the health divides that separate those most vulnerable to the virus from the rest of America. Are you hopeful that this pandemic results in change for the better?

Diabetes, heart disease, and other preexisting conditions account for most of the hospitalizations, and they happen in poor communities where people have poor access to food. So, it’s almost a continuation, a pipeline, to not only poor health habits but death rates. That’s why it’s imperative that we find an approach to dealing with the pandemic amidst chronic diseases that includes both intervention and prevention. After someone has it, how do we address it? And then we must have a very active prevention method to prevent people from getting [COVID-19] because it is not sustainable to continue to move in this fashion.

Brooklyn Borough President Eric Adams visits the Farmshelf at the Brooklyn Democracy Academy. (Photo credit: Eugene Resnick, Brooklyn Borough President's office)

Brooklyn Borough President Eric Adams visits the Farmshelf at the Brooklyn Democracy Academy. (Photo credit: Eugene Resnick, Brooklyn Borough President’s office)

Since you live in a food swamp, I wanted to hear your tips for other people who live in similar environments. How can they change their habits in neighborhoods like yours?

I wanted to show people how to look at what we have available to us in local markets. There’s a lot of healthy food in front of us, but it is being hidden between the rows of bad food.

They’re as simple as dried beans and dried lentils. You can eat in a cheap way, but in a healthy way. We need to ensure that people in the inner cities have the access [to healthful foods]. There are some great programs; in the Bronx we have the Green Bronx Machine. They have been growing food in the classroom and teaching students nutritional-based education.

You can go [shopping] right in your own neighborhood and just start in a very inexpensive way to turn your life around.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Top photo credit: Erica Sherman, Brooklyn Borough President’s Office.

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