This is the fourth year in a row that I've participated in the Daily Kos blogathon to fight hunger in America. It's also the fourth year in a row that I've focused my efforts specifically on the concept of food justice in Indian Country.
This year, I have the honor of introducing you to a Native-founded, Native-run organization that works specifically to ensure food justice, and food sovereignty, in Native communities.
My predecessors in this year's blogathon have done an excellent job of explaining what we mean by "food justice." I want to expand the understanding of that concept in the context of specific cultural and historical traditions and ethnic health variations. For our peoples, this is nothing less than an existential issue: Traditional Native foods and foodways are inextricably linked with our cultural identities, but also with our very physical survival. Their near-destruction over the past ~200 years has jeopardized our peoples' survival — and for too many, the destruction is already complete. For we who remain, the risk likewise remains, manifested daily in staggering rates of obesity, diabetes, and other means of death.
Over the jump, I'll cover some of the statistics specific to American Indians; explain what we mean by "food sovereignty"; and introduce you to an organization in the vanguard of the Native food sovereignty and sustainability movement. But first, I want to provide some cultural context.
FOOD JUSTICE AS BIMAADIZIWIN, EVEN UNTO THE SEVENTH GENERATION
Last week, I was involved elsewhere in a brief discussion of the so-called "Seven Generations Prophecy." It's a concept that's been appropriated by the dominant culture, particularly in the environmental movement in a way that fundamentally misunderstands its very nature.
For starters, its not really a prophecy.
it's what we would call bimaadiziwin, a guide to conduct for living, a way of walking through life.
Versions of the concept of "seven generations" appear in the teachings of tribal nations all over the country. I've referred to it in the past:
When I was a child, my father used to tell me the old stories and lessons of the Anishinaabeg. No matter how far I wandered from my roots, one that remained with me is found in various versions among Native peoples the continent over, expressed as our responsibility to the future, "even unto the seventh generation."
Nowhere is this more true than with regard to our stewardship of Akii.
Ironically, the colonizers brought their own version of a seventh generation prophecy — flipped, inverted, a mirror image of ours. Where ours focused on doing good for those who come after us, the colonizers' version, predictably, obsessed over the bad: "visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation."
Seeing it as prophecy rather than guide for daily living carries inherent risks: It circumscribes it, bounds it by time, when it's meant to be a cyclical, eternal dynamic. As I
said last week:
[W]hat people don't understand about the "seven generations" thing was that it was never meant to be a defined amount, a one-off, or a "group" thing. It was a proscription, a charge to every single person to behave in such a way that everything s/he does will work to a good result for the next seven generations. And every single person in every single generation was expected to do so. It was an individual charge, meant to create a collective habitual way of living that would ensure a healthy society for eternity.
I'm not explaining this well, I know. If you haven't grown up with the concept, the nuances aren't obvious, and they don't necessarily translate well into the words of another culture entirely — particularly not the words of a colonialist culture that reveres the accumulation of wealth and power.
The dominant culture reads this as saying that if all of society behaves with regard to the sort of Earth it will leave its seventh generation into the future, we'll all be fine, and so will the next 140 years' worth or so of people.
But we all know that people don't — won't — naturally behave that way. Particularly not in this society: frenzied, frenetic, marked by deep political and cultural divisions and insurmountable gaps in resources and access to even the most fundamental things. Like enough food to eat. Healthy food to eat. We live in the culture of the Windigo, and it's a soul-sickness that reaches its cold and grasping fingers into every aspect of life.
The point of the precept of the seven generations is not that some members could be virtuous enough to fix a society-wide sickness. The point is that it must be a cultural manner of walking through life — for each and every person. Every person has an individual responsibility to conduct his or her life in a way that is so physically, socially, and spiritually healthy that those benefits will extend at least seven generations into the future — creating a collective, societal, cultural way of life that ensures that the cycle continues for eternity. In this way, the individual, as part of the collective, ensures that the society and the culture will always benefit from its manner of living. It means that our ancestors would have had all they needed, as would their Earth, and so will all of their — and our — descendants, in perpetuity.
Collectively, American culture has not done a good job of stewardship, unto the seventh generation, on any front. This all too tragically evident in the area of food and nutrition — or, as is the case for too many, hunger. In too much of Indian Country, hunger is less occasional threat than constant companion. Its handmaiden, malnutrition, is present even in hunger's absence.
CURRENT WEAPONS IN THE FIGHT AGAINST HUNGER: FDPIR, SNAP, AND WIC IN INDIAN COUNTRY
The Intertribal Agriculture Council Technical Assistance Program is a nonprofit corporation that partners with the USDA's Office of Tribal Relations "with the sole charge of working to ensure the Indian use of Indian resources." In addition to hands-on technical assistance, the organization also provides resources on its web site. One such resource, particularly valuable in understanding the dynamics involved in Native food sovereignty and food justice, is a monograph entitled Sovereignty Impaired: Tribal Food Security, coauthored by three Native staff members. The piece lays out the problem at the outset, in blunt terms:
When defining "Tribal sovereignty," the dialogue is always focused on the role of the federal government vis-à-vis the role of Tribal governments and how these two sovereign entities engage in the historic dance defined in federal statutory and case law. Despite some recognition of Tribal sovereignty in federal law, people cannot eat the pages of a law. The dialogue now needs to shift to focus on the resurgence of Indigenous food systems.
One would think that it would be obvious, but it's a reality that gets lost in the rhetoric:
Hungry people cannot eat the pages of a law.
The piece details the shameful statistical record. Among the fundamental lowlights:
- One in four American Indian adults is "food-insecure" (i.e., lacking enough food to meet daily nutritional requirements);
- One in three American Indian children is food-insecure; and
- The USDA's "Food Desert Locator" map "places almost all reservation counties in "food deserts."
An aside: I hate the term "food insecurity"; it sanitizes and depersonalizes an ugly and deadly reality. But when discussing hunger and malnutrition in political and policy terms, it's the label we currently have. And since it's used throughout the USDA's report, I'll be using it in this section to amplify the statistics listed above.
It appears that since 1998, the U.S. Census has ceased to break down national statistics on hunger and nutrition by American Indian/Alaska Native [AI/AN] ancestry. However, the USDA has compiled much of the existing contemporary research, and some extrapolations can be made from that work. As noted above, the statistics have been culled from a variety of reports and research, studies that the agency has collated, compiled, and summarized in a concise, understandable format. Those studies show that nearly one-quarter (23%) of all American Indian or Alaska Native households in the country are food-insecure, compared to 15% of the U.S. population as a whole. In households with children, that number jumps to 28% (compared to 16% in the general population). As is clear from the information above, part of this is due to the fact that many reservations are also, in whole or in part, "food deserts." Part of it is due to overwhelming economic poverty — including unemployment rates of up to 93% — in some areas, and attendant reliance on the Food Distribution Program on Indian Reservations [FDPIR], otherwise known to most of us as "commodities distribution," which means refined and processed foods and foods that are not a good fit ethnically.
FDPIR functions in lieu of Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program [SNAP] benefits in many areas where SNAP is not accessible; some households are eligible for both. In 2011, nearly 10% of the households participating in the FDPIR program reported zero income; 33% reported annual income at half the federal poverty level or less; 70% of them had children participating in the National School Lunch Program [NSLP]; 44% in the School Breakfast Program [SBP]; and 17% in the Special Supplemental Program for Women, Infants and Children [WIC]. To put that in numbers instead of percentages, FDPIR served some 80,000 American Indians per month in 2011.
SNAP, however, is the country's largest nutrition assistance program, and the percentages hold for Indian Country, as well:
"AI/ANs in 2008 accounted for nearly 2 percent of all participants in the program and received an estimated $55 million in benefits, making SNAP the largest nutrition program for AI/ANs."
That doesn't begin to tell the whole story — in fact, it makes the situation look far better than it actually is. You see, among the rest of the U.S. population — that is, for non-Indians — 13% are enrolled in SNAP. Among American Indians and Alaska Natives, that percentage jumps a whopping 11%: 24% of the AI/AN population utilizes SNAP.
WIC is worse. The data indicate that, in 2010, more than one million American indian women and children were enrolled in the WIC program. And, again, the ratios are stark:
In 1998, 41.6% of Native American WIC enrollees received food assistance from the SNAP or the Food Distribution Program on Indian Reservations, compared to 26.6% of all non-Indian WIC enrollees. The USDA states in its Nutrition Assistance Program Report: "Those on or near reservations also have greater participation in public assistance programs (24.6 versus 15.2 percent receive TANF; 39.4 versus 29.5 receive food assistance) and more severe poverty (41.4 versus 34.9 are below 50% of the federal poverty level)."
With numbers like that, it's clear that too many households in Indian Country would go hungry without access to such programs.
But as I noted the other day in my blogathon announcement diary, the shutdown's temporary elimination of WIC funding, and the upcoming reduction on November 1 in SNAP funding, are hitting underserved populations like American Indian and Alaska Native children especially hard. add to that the devastation already wrought by the sequester and the damage to food supplies by climate change and extreme weather, and winter in much of Indian Country begins to look terrifying indeed.
Sometimes, the numbers are so demoralizing, the sheer breadth and depth and weight of the problem so vast, that it's difficult to see a way out.
But there is one. And now I'd like to introduce you to the organization that, for nearly a quarter of a century, has been leading the way.
WHITE EARTH LAND RECOVERY PROJECT
The White Earth Land Recovery Project [WELRP] is a Native-founded, Native-run organization that pursues environmental and food justice within its own community, the White Earth Indian Reservation:
The mission of the White Earth Land Recovery Project is to facilitate the recovery of the original land base of the White Earth Indian Reservation while preserving and restoring traditional practices of sound land stewardship, language fluency, community development, and strengthening our spiritual and cultural heritage.
WELRP focuses not merely on food, but on healthy food, sustainably grown and harvested in a manner that preserves the old ways for future generations:
We work to continue, revive, and protect our native seeds, heritage crops, naturally-grown fruits, animals, wild plants, traditions, and knowledge of our Indigenous and land-based communities. We strive to maintain our culture and resist the global, industrialized food system that corrupts our health and freedom through inappropriate food production and genetic engineering.
The organization's founder and executive director is
Anishinaabekwe activist
Winona LaDuke. This woman is a hero, a role model, an example of someone who has dedicated her life to the people and the land. In addition to running WELRP, she's the executive director of
Honor the Earth, another Native organization dedicated to environmental, energy, and food sovereignty and sustainability. You won't find a lot on either site about Ms. LaDuke herself. That's because, unlike a lot of nonprofit efforts that become vehicles for the celebrity of the leadership, she keeps the focus on the work.
I could write diaries for a week and still not cover everything that WELRP and Honor the Earth do. I recommend visiting both Web sites, linked above, and reading extensively. If you're looking for an organization that will put donated funds to good use, either or both will provide a local, on-the-ground return on investment that national and international organizations can never hope to achieve. But today, I want to focus specifically upon WELRP's food sovereignty and food justice projects.
But first, a little background on food sovereignty. I know a lot of folks have never even heard the phrase. So what is it?
The International Planning Committee for Food Sovereignty provides a comprehensive working definition:
Food Sovereignty is the RIGHT of peoples, communities, and countries to define their own agricultural, labor, fishing, food and land policies which are ecologically, socially, economically and culturally appropriate to their unique circumstances. It includes the true right to food and to produce food, which means that all people have the right to safe, nutritious and culturally appropriate food and to food-producing resources and the ability to sustain themselves and their societies.
Food Sovereignty requires:
- Placing priority on food production for domestic and local markets, based on peasant and family farmer diversified and agroecologically based production systems
- Ensuring fair prices for farmers, which means the power to protect internal markets from low-priced, dumped imports
-Access to land, water, forests, fishing areas and other productive resources through genuine redistribution, not by market forces and World Bank sponsored “market-assisted land reforms.”
- Recognition and promotion of women’s role in food production and equitable access and control over productive resources
-Community control over productive resources, as opposed to corporate ownership of land, water, and genetic and other resources
- Protecting seeds, the basis of food and life itself, for the free exchange and use of farmers, which means no patents on life and a moratorium on the genetically modified crops which lead to the genetic pollution of essential genetic diversity of plants and animals.
- Public investment in support for the productive activities of families, and communities, geared toward empowerment, local control and production of food for people and local markets.
Food Sovereignty means the primacy of people’s and community’s rights to food and food production, over trade concerns. This entails the support and promotion of local markets and producers over production for export and food imports.
These are precisely the issues that the White Earth Land Recovery Project works to address.
Founded in 1989, WELRP grew out of the tribal nation's battle for rights to — sovereignty over — its own land. According to the group's Web site, the tribe "controls less than ten percent of [its] reservation land base." That alone is an atrocity. But more, it's contributed to an existential crisis that continues to imperil the health and lives of tribal members on an ongoing basis. In addition to the problem of food deserts and the accessibility of little but unhealthy food options, and the resulting increase in obesity, diabetes, cardiovascular disease, and other manifestations of poor health, it's a fundamental economic issue for the tribe as a whole:
[A] study completed in 2008[] indicated that tribal households and programs spent $8 million a year on access to foods, and that this included over $7 million spent annually in off reservation food vendors. This represents a significant economic drain to our community. As such, this loss of income means that our tribal community continues to seek to earn money and derive income from wage jobs, yet is buying food elsewhere. In order to begin addressing this economic loss to our community, we are interested in building a local food system which will support local farmers, harvesters, and producers to create foods available for sale at local markets farmers markets, stores, and for tribal institutions including tribal schools and programs.
Economic and health concerns are not the only driving forces behind WELRP's work, however.
Climate change is a significant factor — as are its impacts on tribal nations' food sovereignty and traditions:
First foods formed the backbone of many indigenous societies by virtue of their religious, cultural, economic and medicinal importance, in addition to their role in feeding native peoples. First foods nourished indigenous societies in every aspect, helping to create vibrant, healthy native communities [citation omitted].
The relationship between indigenous peoples and first foods is reciprocal. First foods serve the people by providing cultural and physical health, and the indigenous communities reciprocate by maintaining the health of first foods. In this way, both people and food provide and are provided for. Climate change presents a new challenge in this relationship, potentially compromising the ability of first foods to nourish the people, and the ability of native peoples to protect their foods.
To address these threats to the tribe's existence, WELRP has launched multiple projects:
- An Indigenous Seed Library, which includes an ancient type of squash revived from seeds buried in a clay pot for 800 years and recovered in an archaeological dig; ancient strains of traditional Anishinaabe corn varieties; and a dedication to preserving the purity of the strains, uncontaminated by GMOs;
- A Sustainable Communities Initiative, dedicated to the precept of mini bimaadiziwin, or "the good way of living," which includes aggressive efforts to restore old traditional strains of the plants that nourished our people for millennia, while simultaneously providing economic and spiritual nourishment, as well;
- Indigenous Farm to School Curricula, designed to promote food sovereignty, healthy nutrition, and sustainable practices at the k-12 and college levels; and
- Native Harvest, which sells traditional foods and other products to the public to help finance the organization's, and the tribe's, sovereignty and sustainability efforts.
All of the organizations featured in this year's blogathon are doing extraordinarily valuable work. Every one of them deserves our support. But I'd like to make a special plea for support for the work WELRP has been doing for nearly a quarter of a century.
As you know, this is very personal for me. My own family has been ravaged by diabetes and other death-bringers, midwifed by the nutritional and other harms visited upon our peoples for half a millennium. I've spent my life watching daily the progression of these diseases; borne all too personal witness to the lifelong, even generational, effects of childhood malnutrition and deprivation. I've been lucky enough to avoid some of it myself, but even I haven't escaped it. I've had a much more personal childhood relationship with hunger (and a deeply personal one with malnutrition) than I like to recall.
And so I feel a special responsibility to the lessons, the requirements of bimaadiziwin, of how I walk through life, to do what I can to ensure that future generations need never know hunger in any form. Even unto the seventh generation.
If you agree, I'd like to ask you to join us in donating to support the vital, lifesaving work of the White Earth Land Recovery Project.
White Earth Land Recovery Project (info link) ~~~ DONATE LINK
And if you have not had a reason to donate in the name of a loved one, I'd like to ask you to consider making this one in the name of my late sister, the one I call Butterfly Woman.
Chi miigwech.
Butterfly Woman: A Blogathon for Food Justice
On October 23-24, we're focusing our blogging specifically on underserved populations, including those in communities of color, and on local community programs designed to help provide nutritious food raised in sustainable ways.
Our effort this year is named in honor of Aji's late sister:
The causes that mattered to her were the essential things, even if they were not the things that garnered headlines: causes like making sure that no child goes hungry.
We are FUNDRAISING for these projects:
For more detail and guest biographies, see Aji's opening diary. To stream all blogathon diaries, follow the Hunger in America group. Your diary recs, republishes, and social media shares help us, whether you have cash to spare or not! Twitter hashtags: #foodjustice and #hunger.
Schedule (all times Pacific)
Wednesday, October 23rd:
8 am: Will Allen (Growing Power) of Growing Power, Inc.
11 am: Phaedra Ellis-Lampkins of Green For All
1 pm: Nikki Henderson of People's Grocery
3 pm: Mrs. side pocket
5 pm: Patriot Daily News Clearinghouse
Thursday, October 24th:
9 am: Rep. Barbara Lee
11 am: Denise Oliver Velez
1 pm: Aji (rescheduled for Friday, October 25th)
5 pm: rb137
7 pm: Avila
|