i’m enjoying a hot cup of stolen chiapas coffee. i’m enjoying everything this morning. as i was cleaning out my office yesterday i took with me everything that was me, including all hand-written notes, all evidence of my vita and bio, and anything that i wrote from my heart, whether it had to do with the job or not. obviously, i couldn’t take back all of the grants i had written for her, but even as i was walking out the door, more letters were arriving that we’d received the grant i had applied for. why, the day before i was fired we had a conference call with the Universal Unitarian Veatch program who wanted to clarify some organization-related questions, they don’t like to make assumptions about which direction a non-profit is going you know, and the woman said, ‘thank you for submitting this proposal - it’s very well-written this year, we appreciate that.’ my boss, the non-leader as she likes to say, says thank you for a great job and sends me on my way. so the next morning when she sneakily canned me, i sneakily walked out with a pound of this delicious, supposedly fair trade coffee whose proceeds go to the chiapas school, however all of our proceeds go to the boss of non-profit because she can buy cases by suggested donation and then hike up the price. welcome to social justice.
but she got sick of me, and that’s not good for job security. she couldn’t tolerate my pointing out her contradictions one more minute and had the cajones to tell me so. good for her. like david says, i was the crusty scab she couldn’t stop scratching. (that’s sweet, honey, thank you.) she couldn’t give me any specifics, unfortunately, but did let me know that i’m too radical and too smart to work there and that her smokescreen of social justice was being blown away by my breath. aw. she felt the organization was in jeopardy of actually discovering a justice path and because she didn’t understand all that stuff i was talking, she needed to bring it back down to where she was comfortable and did understand what was going on. that’s reasonable. after all, i’ve only been there a year. she’s been around a hundred. and i ran out of “frameworks” and concept-mapping ideas drawn on the dry-erase board from which to explain the difference between bourgouis philanthropy and social justice. what is unreasonable is her EGO and her power-hungry ways of mistreating the masses. i got caught in that net and saw the CRAZY in her shifting eyes, caught a glimpse behind the curtain, and my reaction was priceless.
her: “do you remember the talk we had last week about how you feel frustrated all the time working here? and you said you could train someone so you could transition out of your position? well, there’s no need to transition. you’re terminated.”
it truly was awesome. i felt this shock and pleasure all creep across my skin as my mouth opened into a little uncloseable circle and my eyes got all big.
me: “you mean fired? what? just like that you’re firing me? damn, i hope unemployment benefits are good. just like that? can you at least give me a reason? come on, be cool and give me a reason.”
the complete irony of her self-protection is that everyone in these communities has already formulated strong opinions based on years of experience, so my little twinkle in the twilight of work there didn’t sway entire masses to revolution.
my head is swimming with the politics of place, privileged institutions and power-hungry people, well-meaning yet fully uninformed groups attempting to supply the people with broken systems and half-composed dreams, imposing food systems pathways that further marginalize the people they call “they,” the unnamed and faceless Other, further subalterned at the mercy of the powers that be… because of the scurry to draw down millions of dollars in economic stimulus money from the almighty obama packages and put their names on the map, and of course supply ‘programs’ to the ‘marginalized’ communities of our area and build a regional food system that creates dependency on urban metropoles and money and infrastructure they call sustainable without involving community members who will receive the benefits of services in the very processes that create those services, local authority figures from the institutions of higher education and service state agencies and non-profits are wondering why we aren’t supplying token ‘colonias people’ at the table. what exactly are they asking for? let’s break it down. take two steps back.
i am tasked with targeting ‘colonia people’ (i’m sorry, i can’t get over this disconnected and disenfranchising terminology to save my life) to bring to the meeting with city reps, professors, and service agencies who are creating local food systems pathways to serve the needy and marginalized communities of southern new mexico. the other ‘marginalized’ groups at the table? the homeless community where a community garden and CSA is being built and the senior citizens… pause for thought… so the ‘colonias people’ add that extra benefit of seeing the brown skinned dispossessed puppets around the board room table… and i would be invested in doing that why? so i asked one of the powers that be who exactly these ‘colonias people’ are that they would like to target for this stage presentation, and of course, i got no answer, because there is no specific name and no specific face, just a general understanding that our mexican-national and mexican immigrant ambiguous populations are underserved. okay. so what would ‘they’ get? apparently they would get ‘transported’ 30+ miles from their own communities, their own families, on bus systems from their homes up to the urban metropole to receive trainings and programming of services… still i ask, what would they get? apparently now, at this point, i’m just being caustic and difficult with my questioning because i receive a very defensive and angry response to my innocent (okay, not so innocent) line of questions and then gingerly point out how this system seems to continue the cycle of breaking the family apart, transport already mobile communities even further into a power process that leaves them without connection to the spaces where they live, work, play, learn and worship, without a land or infrastructure base, with childcare dilemmas, and further fear of being stopped and harassed by border patrol who have commenced with a system of marshall law in our lands. so why am i resistant to this painful political positionality? because i felt personally attacked for refusing to take part in this sustainable endeavor, for forwarding instead a local, community based agenda whereby land and water is used within the colonia communities themselves to promote a regional food network and sustainable local economy where ‘people’ won’t have to travel long distances to procure safe, healthy, local foods and services, where one can remain at ‘home’ and partake in the same access to services and infrastructure that affluent communities take for granted. place my neck upon the chopping block.
i fear permanent damage to my calf. it has been suggested that possibly turf shoes and not cleats are the way to go. i worked my calf cramp from last sunday’s practice out, and after ten minutes in the game last night it seized again. how disappointing to watch my sisters from the sidelines and only offer verbal support. i might be consoled with hobbling through date night tonight. it is always very kind of my sister to spend time with grace. yesterday the fourth grade had a fieldtrip to el paso to the water treatment plant there and the school bus was in an accident. the claim was ‘bad judgment’ on both parts, the school bus driver and the driver of the white car, each changing lanes without paying attention. some kids bumped around a little, but mine was fine. today we go to anthony to discuss the viability and funding sources for a sustainable farming institute/demonstration facility. and i will listen to the youth choir sing for the first time during the enchilada supper fund raiser. i’m sure pictures will be in order. david developed a new idea for a graphic novel and has begun. ever so brilliant.
it was recently reported that there have been so many cases of strep throat among our city’s children that several clinic’s and pediatrician’s offices ran out of strep tests. class enrollment was low. grace seemed a little peakish yesterday when i returned home from work, felt a bit warm, and asked, do i have strep throat? i replied, why, does your throat hurt? and she gingerly answered, yes.
you see, this is my main quandary as a mother, the ultimate dilemma. do i lean toward hyper vigilance and call the pediatrician immediately and get her in there today all for the prospects of penicillin, keep her home from school, and stand at the ready to catch this so early it nips out? or do i relax and wait a couple of days to see if it’s really strep, to see if her sore throat just goes away on its own, not feed the un-immunized child antibiotics, and alleviate the stress of taking more time away from work (although deep down i don’t really care about that) and ship her off to the concrete cubicle of curiosity control? (that’s kind of a mean label for her school). does the answer fall somewhere in between?
i bumped into my old, good friend yesterday. quite literally bumped into her. she was standing at the bus station at spirit winds cafe (i was going to stick their website address in here, but it looks like it’s under construction. the text on the “about us” page reads “we are spirit winds” over and over, and then “we sometimes like dogs when they are not pooping” over and over again. weird.) anyway, her son, who during a playdate with grace when they were about 3 years old bit her in the stomach whil lori made spinach and strawberry salad and we laughed that we both enjoyed a good pampered chef party, is now 8 and tall and handsome and being homeschooled by his lovely mother who i was so excited to see. do you know those friendships where, once upon a time in our youth we were the best of friends, inseparable, couldn’t live life without the other, then some time passed, we moved away and came back, had children, attempted to reunite and it just never felt right, so we lost track of each other, lost touch for a time… now, about 5 or 6 years later we stand again face to face, embracing, exchanging phone numbers, and now i wonder whether she will call. i love you lori.
argh, i must prepare for work. it’s one of those jobs that is so difficult i learn massive skills every day just to ride the wave. who thought i’d be a whiz at grantwriting? now i’m planning fundraisers? get out.
i submitted a series of questions to my committee chair, all that i would like to tackle both in my prospectus and over the course of my official fieldwork. yes, i’ve said all along i’m in the field, but there’s that official period where you actually get your research stamped by the human subjects review board, blah blah blah. let’s see what he says, cause i think they’re all pretty pertinent and valid questions. want a sampling?
how do we locate the field and how do we speak truth to power and how do we produce and reproduce ecologies of the self and how do we reimagine our collective relationships to environment and community and SELF and everything? what does identity mean in these shifting spaces? as i explore the shifts in space and place of one rural town going urban in the face of a contested landscape that runs the spectrum of poverty and affluence, arable and lifeless, opportunitied and lacking access to everything, and caught between boundaries and borders that are reinforced from without, shift from all directions and on whims it might seem, i ask what is the nature of change in a place like this? what is the change in nature? when rural begins to urbanize and we’re on the peri-urban brink, where environmental justice is in the forefront of citizens’ minds, where issues of popular discontent are organized by embedded non-profits, where faith sisters and organizations and agencies are the catalysts for social ties when community might be temporary…..
that is all you get. and i meant for it to be like that.
last year grace and i lived in mexico. i was all jumbled up about what it meant to get my phd, what it meant to be human, what it meant to research other people’s lives… you get the picture. part of me thought i would never come back to the US, for obvious reasons if you know anything about my political leanings, and part of me knew that i would return to where i was from, because phenomenon aside, i’m a rootsy kind of girl. the point i’m getting at here is that while i was living in mexico i didn’t want to be a researcher, or a tourist, or anything but a human alive in a place experiencing everything with all of my senses open and all of my pores absorbing the world, so i deliberately adopted a no-camera perspective and my attitude was that i wouldn’t walk around my daily life anywhere else taking pictures of everything, so why there? at the time it served me because i was able to capture my emotion on paper and look at things so long and hard that they are permanently seared into my memory through no other lens but my own, but now, almost a year later, i would like to see some photos. figures, eh? but guess what? my good friend, a wonderful woman i met while living in Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca (i recommend you buying a ticket and heading down to the beach immediately if you’ve never been) just so happens to have a very amazing set of pictures from that time, some of grace that are priceless to me and have me tearing up at the site of the little beach bum all tan with blonde streaks in her dark hair wearing seashells and a bikini and smiling in the sun. thank you for that gift, my friend, it was a walk through wonderland.
and i am shifting my attitude about photos altogether. even last night at the bowling alley i felt it was an imposition for david to take photos of us bowling and having fun. i had to get into my head and have the familiar inner dialogue about it for several minutes before i just let it go. now i am glad he took the pictures, and glad i didn’t say anything out loud, because we can remember that way, too. i still need to explore this piece a little more, i believe, before i can fully understand the inner tension i have with the camera and capturing the everyday. what is it, exactly - is it tied to this idea that i must produce for someone other than myself in order to feel legitimate? wait, that’s a whole ‘nother’ issue that i can delve into another day. exploration continues.
i was wide awake again at 4 am, eyes popped open and my mind was racing instantly about the state and condition of the world and my place in it. i think my brain must process this stuff all night long and then i am forced to consider the questions and frustrations and ideas that were percolating when my mind pushes my body alive again every morning, way too early, while i’m trying to push thoughts aside and let my weary bones rest. this residual existential dilemma stuff is not an intentional space where i wish to lay my mundane normality yet i can not seem to shake the memory of this being the very place i have journeyed for so long. so long. i have learned so many ways of being and understanding by wandering the planet as an existential monster, but i might just want to lay that backpack down for a time while i breathe and work and play and be a mommy and a lover and a friend. i desire to stay present and connected. as the birds are finally waking, filling my backyard with song, and the sun begins to peek above the mountains, these are my intentions. i am connected. i have an appointment with my good friend at Garden-Hers farm at 8 and i will purchase her organic seedlings, every variety of tomato i want, bell pepper, chile, eggplant, herbs, everything that grows so well in our desert, and i will sit in the dirt and begin my garden anew. i am looking forward to today.
last night’s soccer game, though a 3-1 loss, was exhilirating as i was able to handle the ball and sprint and even managed a really good ‘header.’ today i am sore. huila, my wonder dog that i love so dearly, got into the garden and tore up the beds. i plopped right down and cried. i have an appointment at 8 am with Garden-Hers farm to pick up seedlings, and i’ve fixed the fence and had a long not-so-nice conversation with the dog. round two.
speaking truth to power: reimagining our collective relationship to food
talking with my colleague today at work, just before our HUD audit, i really began to consider the divergent threads within the ever-expanding narrative of “food justice.” i made the case for the emergence of the theoretical framework for food justice deriving from the nexus of theoritical interfacing together with praxis research and lived experience during my dissertation coursework at university of washington in seattle. but i remember that other initiatives, especially in NYC, note how food justice starts from the premise that access is the central issue that goes beyond a human rights framework and advocacy to consider systemic gaps in equitable distribution, consumption, and “just” spaces. food justice calls for a community organized response to access inequities - responses that are locally driven and owned. so what is the collective relationship to food and food systems in our communities along the border? is the label ‘food desert’ indicative of how the issues are framed FOR us? are we still determined and delegated and decided upon? how do we own and drive and mobilize our own local food networks, our own culturally, historically, and ecologically appropriate value chains?
a dominant reality is one of small, corner stores selling cheetos and coca-cola to marginally intersted youth who beg for healthy spaces to move around in. despite of, or maybe because of, the landscape of fear cultivated along the border, vandalism and gangs aren’t as prevalent as they are in major urban centers that aren’t surrounded by such ambiguous rural communities spread through vast desert ecological zones where collective action of any sort is impeded if not derailed by sheer distance needed to travel in order to “gang up” on anything - to tag or to change policy.
i would like to take this time to reimagine our collective relationship to food in meaningful ways that go beyond anecdote, rhetoric, generalization, liberal politics, to see what is really happening on the ground. goddess bless our community gardens and our sustainable farming initiatives and our food justice promotora training curricula. light a candle for us.
i am a rogue, activist anthropologist excavating justice opportunities on the border, exposing movement-building, growing sustainable solutions, disrupting the homelands, emancipating the interface between activism and academia, and generally carrying on.
