Food Justice - Nora Berson

For a while now, I've been really interested in learning about and working toward food justice. I've had short-term volunteer stints at places like soup kitchens, community farms or urban gardens in Massachusetts, and a visit to the National Farmers and Ranchers Union in Nicaragua, but I felt I needed to do more critical reflection. I was immensely grateful for the challenging readings on white privilege in food justice movements that Katie assigned us last week for our Identity, Privilege and Social Justice class. The authors discussed case studies of food justice movements whose work was being hindered by unaddressed issues of power and privilege. I will attempt to summarize some of the most salient problems these articles made clear for me, and offer some ideas of how to address them. In case you are interested, I've listed the readings at the end of this post.

One important idea that has emerged is the danger of evangelizing. In international “development” programs, and community food projects within the U.S., there is a tendency for people with white privilege and class power to dictate policies and impose projects. Whenever programs are designed to reflect the ideals of those in power instead of the desires and needs of the communities the programs are supposed to serve, they reproduce dynamics of power and oppression. Although well meaning, programs to teach people to eat healthier by changing their food habits can easily come across as paternalistic. Anytime we make paternalistic assumptions that we know what is best for other people, not only are these assumptions bound to be misguided, but they also insult the intelligence, dignity and autonomy of the people denied a voice in these decisions.

Another shortcoming of the alternative food movement are its very claims to be new, innovative and “alternative.” While it is true that local, chemical-free, polyculture farming may be an alternative to the current system of agribusiness, it is by no means a newfangled invention. Indigenous people have been farming this way for centuries, and it was colonization that violently displaced them and tried to destroy this knowledge. To teach about sustainable agricultural practices without acknowledging the long legacy of these practices among indigenous groups fails to honor this history, and misses an opportunity to learn from people who have roots in this knowledge. In order to nurture a holistic food movement, it is crucial to retain a strong sense of place, and recognize the people with deep ties to that land.



In addition to remembering traditional practices for cultivating food, holistic food movements should celebrate and honor the cultural traditions around eating food. Good food is about so much more than eating the “right” calories. Food should be about sustenance and community. This belief leads me to criticize food aid programs that feed poor people the processed junk that supermarkets overstocked. This reflects a narrow view that food serves merely to prevent starvation. Programs that limit themselves to this goal miss out on seeing food as an important element of culture, and a joyful part of life.

I don't pretend to know the solutions to these issues, but the asking the questions is an important step. I want to challenge myself (and you!) to think critically and inclusively. What is my role? How are societal problems and power dynamics affecting the work of food-related organizations? How can we change these organizations to empower marginalized groups and center their needs and desires? How do we work together to build a food system that works to benefit everyone?

I am grateful that I have had the opportunity to read and talk about these issues, and I want to keep doing so. Leave a comment, email me, and start a conversation. Tell me your ideas, recommend an article, call me out on something. This struggle needs all of us.

Citations for readings:
Guthman, Julie, “Bringing good food to others: investigating the subjects of alternative food practice,” Cultural Geographies 15:431 (2008). http://cgj.sagepub.com/content/15/4/431

Jensen, Derrick, “Forget Shorter Showers: Why personal change does not equal political change.”

Mares, Teresa M. and Devon G. Peña, “Environmental and Food Justice: Toward Local, Slow and Deep Food Systems,” in Cultivating Food Justice: Race, Class and Sustainability, edited by Alison Hope Alkon and Julian Agyeman (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2011).

Slocum, Rachel, “Anti-racist Practice and the Work of Community Food Organizations,” (Oxford: Antipode, 2006).

Autonomy & Resistance - Otis Wortley

Autonomy and resistance were two terms that were reiterated time and time again during our travels in Guatemala and Southern Mexico. These ideas were reinforced both by the goals, actions and beliefs of the people we heard from and conversed with, but also by the trajectory of our program, which advocates these two terms as central to the inspiring work being done by the numerous organizations with which we met. Having heard about autonomy and resistance prior to embarking on our travel seminar, and the continuation of their use in the discourse of our pláticas, I almost began to feel like I was becoming numb and apathetic to their meaning, and their importance in the struggle against the horrors of global capitalism. Soon enough, however, I found myself in deep reflection, considering what it means for communities to be autonomous, and what forms of resistance were manifested in autonomy. Through picking apart the themes of our discussions in Guatemala and Mexico and applying our preliminary explorations and experiences in the borderlands to them, I began to understand more lucidly and concretely what autonomy and resistance actually looked like.

My greatest epiphany came from our visit to CIDECI (Centro Indígena de Capatación Integral), an alternative university at the very edge of San Cristóbal de las Casas. Apart from being aesthetically outstanding—radiating a sense of hope purely through its tasteful and well-coordinated colors, design and architecture—the school was a very blatant example of the two terms I seek to further understand. CIDECI strives to offer education and skills that directly benefit the small, rural and Indigenous communities of Chiapas. The school offers classes and instructions in various subjects and skills that not only benefit the students involved, but serve as catalysts towards building a stronger and more sustainable community. A community upheld by the work of its own members, in fact, is a blaring form of autonomy. Whereas conventional Mexican national history often emphasizes the legacy of a nation-state achieved through invasion, conquest, colonialism and subjugation, a more resistant form of education (like that of CIDECI) examines history from the bottom up.



The impressions left with me after visiting CIDECI helped to explain the congruency of autonomy and resistance with the substance of our previous discussions with people in Guatemala and Chiapas. Maria Elisa Orozco told us of the various “invasions” of Guatemala throughout its history and how each new layer of conquest has contributed to the institutionalized and structured subjugations of the working class, indigenous people and women as well. The history that has been taught, and the history that has materialized in the realities of the various indigenous communities in the places we visited results from the centricity of the state and its power, both relics of a colonial past. However, Maria Elisa’s acknowledgment of Guatemalan history as being constructed by and composed of the layering of oppression and invasion surfaces a very alternative and unconventional perspective. By giving thought to how the women and indigenous communities of Guatemala have been shaped and impacted by these forces, rather than how they formed the nation-state, puts an oft-ignored subject at the center of the story, illustrating an example of how history can be reclaimed.

By understanding the history of people whose voices are often over-looked, it is possible to challenge—and thus resist—the conventional narrative of how things have come to be. However, in order to build upon the autonomy of these communities involved, that history must be considered for shaping the future. The invasions that Maria Elisa mentioned have not ceased to continue. Today’s oppression and subjugation comes from the forces of multinational, capitalistic interests, whose actions seek to amass great quantities of resources and power much to the disadvantage of those on the lowest rungs of the social strata. These interests have initiated the very free trade agreements that have sparked considerable migration from rural areas into the urban cores and the global north, a phenomenon that threatens and obstructs efforts to preserve language, culture and familial and community cohesion. When Willy spoke to us about El Sueño Guatemalteco at DESGUA, he imagined communities upheld by its members, emphasizing the collectivity rather than just the individual. This same notion was apparent at CIDECI, where skills and information can be shared and taught among people from across Chiapas for the purpose of empowering and supporting their communities.



Having now returned to Tucson, I’m interested to consider what I’ve learned about popular education in Guatemala and Southern Mexico and how it relates to relevant issues in the Borderlands. Recently, Tucson has become ground zero of a battle being waged over a ban on Ethnic Studies. In Guatemala and Mexico, I was able to observe how certain organizations of people were striving to reclaim history through their own perspectives, and here in Tucson the Mexican-American Studies program had done just that. Understanding the importance of taking a “bottom up” approach to education and the construction of historical narratives through the examples set by the inspiring individuals we were able to meet in our travel brings to light the dire nature of the attack on Ethnic Studies. It has become clear to me that resistance to oppression, subjugation and marginality for the purpose for obtaining more sustainable and autonomous communities and futures is done in the name of respect and human dignity.

Sharing Stories, Solidarity - Sophia Yapalater

Meeting with NISGUA seemed like a fitting way to start our travel seminar. We were going to meet a former Border Studies student, from Oberlin nonetheless, and see how she was moving forward after college. It was also going to be a look into how one can use their privilege of US citizenship in a potentially productive manner in another country. This was an exciting way to begin after already spending a lot of time questioning my passport privilege and wondering if it is possible to do solidarity work in countries other than my own.

This first platíca was in English, so it took a little while before it hit me: Spanish. I would need much better Spanish to work with NISGUA. What help could I be if I couldn’t even effectively communicate with the people I was trying to work with? This feeling of dread was solidified in our next meeting with HIJOS as I struggled to understand what was happening around me. Afterwards, getting someone to review the points of what had just been talked about felt wrong. I thought back to readings that we had done for Katie’s class that spoke of the importance of hearing people’s experiences first hand. Was getting a translation comparable to hearing the HIJOS members speak? Was this first hand or second hand communication?

This theme of language continued to manifest itself in different ways throughout my time in Guatemala and Mexico. I continued to wonder how much I was missing. I worried that the people we were meeting with could tell that I could not fully understand what they were saying to me; that every time we met eyes they could not see interest and focus, but fear. When people from home asked me in emails about the people that we met, I felt almost guilty telling them about conversations, much of which had been recapped for me. I felt like I was co-opting the experiences of the students who had translated or summarized for me, as if only hearing was enough to make it my own, and that experiencing a person without their words was not. The question still stood: did it still count as a first hand experience if someone had to translate it for or explain it to me? This was complicated by the fact that in some of the communities that we visited, some members did not speak Spanish, but Indigenous languages that were translated into Spanish by others, and that for some reason, I did not question if this was getting a second hand experience. I only did so with English.

Now, back in the United States, I am thinking more about the role that language plays as I navigate sharing my travel experiences with others. I have questioned whether or not, even if my Spanish were stronger and I had gathered the majority of our platícas on my own, it be truly accurate to now convey that story to others who had not been there in English. Through this thought process, I have begun to see that my discomfort is not with having people translate things that I do not understand for me, but with the English language, one that is so associated with the power relations we have been studying. The real question is not of translation but of what an effective and appropriate way is to share the stories of people effected by issues of power and oppression in a language that presidential candidate Rick Santorum said Puerto Ricans need to learn if they want statehood.

In both Spanish and English, I have heard stories from individuals in the migrant shelters we have spent time in, from women deported to Nogales, from the many activists and community leaders we spoke with, and from people that I have worked with here in Tucson. And I have not quite known what to do with them. I now think back, once again, to a pre-travel seminar reading that spoke of the importance of speaking with someone rather than for them. I still am not sure how to do this, particularly when that someone is not there to speak for themselves. Especially when I am not speaking their language. I hope to spend my last month in Tucson learning how to share these stories of the people that I have met in a way that is appropriate, effective, and in solidarity with their work. Even if it means I need some help doing so.

At the Zapatista Caracol - Nasim Chatha

A part of the travel seminar that I keep coming back to mentally was the visit to the Zapatista Caracol, the location of their Junta de Buen Gobierno in Morelia. Like much of the things we did we just piled in to the vans and went, unsure what to expect. We had studied Zapatistas but were unsure how to actually talk to them, unsure what daily life as a Zapatista could be like.

When we arrived we started to write a list of questions for the Zapatistas. In general they were very theoretical and about international capitalism, militarism, Women In the Movement, or the future of the movement. There were about twenty of these, things I really in fact thought would be nice to know. I didn't know how to engage with the Zapatistas in any other way, either, because all of our prior experience was from reading documents and articles. I thought that the Zapatistas talked the way the articles were written. With a heavy hint from our teacher we came to understand that the Zapatistas would really not want to authoritatively answer these things, and that they probably did not spend lots of time thinking about them. This didn't mean that they were not the experts of their experiences, or that they were not theorizing about the movement. We moved to asking more questions about life. How has the life of the Zapatista woman changed since 1994? How does the school system work? What kinds of questions mostly come up in the junta?

When we sent these questions to them, they took 3 hours to decide collectively how to answer. I was very honored that they took so long. For me it's a rare experience to have someone deliver very carefully considered and collective words to me. The collective nature of the messages they delivered was especially interesting- nobody was the sole representative, they were all speaking for each other. This turned simple speech into a serious and worthwhile act of communication. Through their answers, I also began to understand more about what daily life in a movement is like. The common denominators seem to be simply staying nonhierarchical and peaceful, eating, and holding territory. They also talked a lot about problem solving- which was their particular area of expertise as the junta.

For me, the most beautiful and strange part of the platica was when the tables were turned on us. We offered to answer their questions, and when they asked us what we had learned from them, we glanced at each other unsure what to say. They gave us overnight to decide how to answer collectively, and a couple more questions. We wanted to answer them as well and honestly as possible, and so we spent time talking about our ideas, then dividing responsibility, and then the speakers practiced. The end result was some combination of collective effort and spontaneity. The Zapatistas didn't speak perfect Spanish and neither did most of us. The whole thing came to be about slowness and reciprocation for me. Slowness, in particular. Julio Cesar, our guide, told us the story of the snail, or caracol. The snail used to be a messenger, because he was so speedy. He ran to and fro, without any chance to look to either side. When he finally stopped, he saw the whole world had changed. Now the snail is slow, as are the Zapatistas, so he really pays attention to what is happening around him.

Infographics - Sarah Fox

I made these "infografics" after hearing a talk from Gene Lefebvre, visiting Border Patrol in Nogales, and visiting Operation Streamline in Tucson. I wanted a way to present some of what I learned visually, possibly to be included in future zines or made into posters to be distributed at Earlham or in other places. My hope is that they function as ways for people to quickly absorb information while also being able to make visual connections. For me, they were a good way to represent and reproduce the connections I am making during this semester. More to come...

These are 5 connections I learned about when visiting the Border Patrol facilities in Nogales, AZ.

1. Reading is FUNdamental

http://www.nogalesinternational.com/community/bp-agents-take-time-to-read-to-rd-graders/article_a6f50452-46a2-11e1-a40f-001871e3ce6c.html

Why would Border Patrol agents participate in Reading is FUNdamental? I was told by my tour guide that they don’t want kids to be afraid of them. It’s also obviously community service as a publicity stunt.

Should Border Patrol be allowed into school when in uniform? Most Border Patrol agents consider themselves agents even when they are off duty or plain-clothes. It is illegal for schools to inquire into children’s immigration status. The tour guide told me that one child at a school told him “You deported my uncle.” Schools are not safe spaces if Border Patrol is visiting in my opinion, even if they would not inquire into a child’s status.

2. McDonalds…or Burger King…(both tour guides said something different) brings in a truckload of lunches for the young people being detained at the facilities. I don’t know if Border Patrol thinks that we will think that is some kind of special treat for the children but I see it as nutritional torture techniques. These children have most likely gone weeks without a full meal, are not used to eating greasy, fatty fast food burgers in their places of origin, and their stomachs will probably not be able to handle these lunches. Part of degrading someone can be deteriorating their health.

3. Fords makes many of the vehicles used by Border Patrol.

4.Border Patrol uses Google Earth for training and in their surveillance facilities. They have a contract with Google Earth.

5. AT&T is called for an interpreter when someone who is being detained cannot speak English or Spanish. If a Border Patrol agent can't speak a language other than English or Spanish, such as Chinese, then they are constantly being called to do interpretations. Also, detainees are sorted by Mexican and OTMS=Other than Mexicans, and then are sorted by country.



Many people I have met in Tucson say “as goes the border…so goes the rest of the country” and that the border can be seen as a laboratory. For example, SB1070 was passed in AZ, then what happened? The same legislation popped up in Indiana, Georgia, and Alabama.

Read more on Operation Streamline:
http://www.borderbybicycle.blogspot.com/2011/11/operation-streamline.html



Read more:
http://www.southsidepresbyterian.org/
http://www.nomoredeaths.org/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sanctuary_movement
http://www.tucsonsamaritans.org/
http://www.nomoredeaths.org/Information/civilinitiative.html

The BSP Loves Bikes!!!

The local tv news came and did a piece on our students and their bikes. Check it out.

http://www.kvoa.com/news/2-wheelin-in-tucson-taking-school-outside-of-the-classroom/#!prettyPhoto[gallery]/0/

The Virtual Border - Otis Wortley

So far this semester, I’ve found myself often pondering and citing the idea of the “virtual border,” given to us by the author David Spener in his book Clandestine Crossings. In this writing he goes on to explain how this virtual border is characterized by a “social space of illegality,” becoming a boundary between migrants and American society that follows them even into the furthest depths of U.S. territory. By labeling migrants as “illegals” or “aliens” this border is reinforced by suggesting criminality or otherness, stigmas already deeply embedded in the American social thought process. The reality of this discriminatory, segregating and all too real concept has been increasing apparent in my day to day experiences here in Tucson, but I have also come to realize that social space occupied by migrants, their families and the generations to come have implications that must be both considered and challenged.

This virtual border is an instant reflection of identity. No doubt that recent legislation like Arizona’s LB 1070 and the ban on ethnic studies (HB 2281) not only condone blatant racism, but also target the legacy of Mexican-American families and their heritage as some sort of threat to national security, virtually militarized to mock the real international border. Sure, Arizona is a border state; we call it the Borderlands, and “border issues” ripple out from the border itself. But Spener’s virtual border has permeated even beyond the Borderlands buffer region, as evidenced by the immigration enforcement that has spread throughout the country. Alabama’s HB 56 and the prevalence of ICE activity are examples of ways both State and Federal officials employ their power to expose this invisible social border and enact fear into the US’s 10-12 million undocumented migrants, their “legal” family members and friends, and even those of us who consider ourselves advocates or allies.

Nonetheless, even I am to blame. I can call myself an advocate or an ally, if it helps to settle my conscious about the realities facing our nation. But I am as guilty as most for allowing a sort of normalization to occur, where we engage in the discourse of illegality concerning the migrant population, and speculate on the legality of others. When Yendi Castillo-Reina spoke to us the other day, she made clear the thought-process of many Americans: “As long as it is not us, it’s ok.” We may not condone structural violence or militarization of the border, but our silence says otherwise. I grew up nearly 3,000 miles from the U.S.-Mexican border. The Hispanic population of the State of Maine is negligible, especially in comparison with most other states in the nation. Before Border Studies, I had little consciousness as to how the larger structural issues contributing to international migration and the response by the American government might affect me. And I suspect a lot of people feel the same way, even some of those who live as close to the “actual” border as I do now. Ignorance doesn’t afflict those who are physically distant from the border, but those to decide to remain distant consciously.

For me the virtual border emulates the way in which a cellular membrane absorbs nutritious particles and deposits waste through a process known as endocytosis. The border, or the membrane, folds in on itself, encasing the particle. Elements of that particle may diffuse through the border for the benefit of the cell function. Migration is necessary, and migrants contribute to the U.S.’s necessary low-wage workforce. Border militarization and the response by the U.S. government generate revenue for private industries, ensuring, at least for some, capital gain. Then the heathen cell spits out the remains—the unwanted—or the men and women tried inhumanely through Operation Streamline.

The permeability of this virtual border is debatable, however. While the system seems to want to control what goes in and what goes out, it would be ignorant to say that has been widely successful. From my perspective, on the ground, riding down 6th Avenue in South Tucson, or eating dinner with my host mother, the imprint of the region’s various ethnic heritages cannot be denied. Our historic attempts toward Anglo-centrism have been resisted by swaths of vibrantly painted murals, taco shops, and the Sonoran corruption of the American classic—the hot dog.