Howdy y’all,
Whew, what a week! I hope you have been energized by our wonderful sunny day and are ready to embark on another transformative week, or surf into the next week on a steady cruise, or however else you might approach your measured intervals of school. It was so emboldening and inspiring to be with Nikki and get a chance to hear her thoughts this past week. In her wake several questions have bubbled to the surface of my mind. Among these is the question of how global cycles of violence are connected to choices about land-use and policy. I got this term, ‘global cycles of violence’ from Lyla June, who uses it to talk about the trauma both within Europe and spread from Europe that was caused by dispossession, forced migration, slavery, and racialization. Both Nikki Silvestri and Lyla June focus on healing that trauma to help promote relational ways of thinking and a widening sense of solidarity. They both do so by talking about land, and food, which I think is helpful. Food is the bridge between the environmental world and the social world; it is a mediator that translates a deficiency in one world into an ill for the other. In other words, if something isn’t so good environmentally the lack becomes understood socially through unhealthy foods and unhealthy people and if something isn’t good socially it can usually be felt environmentally through hastier extractions and non-sustainable land development. Social health can be understood environmentally on a much more basic level as well: the way we organize ourselves has a serious impact on the health of our environment. Thinking about the rise of the nation-state and the globalization of European society through settler colonialism I connect the centralization of power in Europe to the exploitation of the land and the impulse to control as much of it as possible. In 1648 there were 1500 different territorial units in Europe, while in 1850 there were only 30 (Merriman, John. “European Civilization, 1648-1945.” Open Yale Courses. oyc.yale.edu/history/hist-202). In 1648 Europe was just coming out of the Thirty Years’ War, all many people knew was war, and, due to shortages and oppression, the peasants were regularly rising up against their lords to disrupt the status quo. This civil unrest led many lords to swear fealty to larger rulers so that they could gain protection from their own people with a standing army. During this time of political consolidation of power in Europe, Europeans were committing genocide of indigenous and non-indigenous peoples around the world. People were disrupted from their traditional patterns of life and motivated by fear to abandon their old ways of understanding the world in favor of modes of understanding that valued control and mobility rather than relationship and locality. Those who were fully disconnected from the land became the agents of colonial expansion. We can see with the forms of agriculture which were developed during this period, namely mono-crops and plantations, that they are built on exploitation, both of people and the environment. Mono-crops rely on a lot of land being owned by a few people so that those few people can make capital gains by producing commodity crops and plantations were designed to use slave labor. The connections between relationship to the land, internal trauma, and oppression reinvigorate my focus on food because of the need for healing that I witness. I see slow farming as a way of reclaiming particular knowledge of and relationship with a place and other living beings. This is an act of resistance in a world that values efficient exploitation, social mobility, and homogeneity. These values have caused many farmers to abandon their farms, and have caused the farms that remain to be increasingly mechanized. How do you reflect on your ancestor’s migration? If they moved on their own volition what reasons do you think they might have had for moving? How does their movement affect your own self-understanding? How has their movement shaped your relationship with land/places? In light of this ancestral reflection, how do you reflect on slow farming?
In preparation for our discussion I suggest that you listen to Lyla June’s interview, read Nikki Silvestri’s definition of soil and shadow, read chapter 8 from Seeing Like a State, “Taming Nature: An Agriculture of Legibility and Simplicity”, and listen to Lyla June's song, "All Nations Rise".
http://ericgarza.info/episode-53/
https://www.soilandshadow.com/what-we-do
https://libcom.org/files/Seeing%20Like%20a%20State%20-%20James%20C.%20Scott.pdf
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nr2VLI8jKww
I do not know much about my ancestors' migration, but the stories that have been passed down through my family mostly relate to food and farming. My dad's grandmother, for instance, grew an amazing garden of fruit trees and vegetables despite the difference in weather between Detroit, Michigan and Fiumedinisi, Sicily, where she had spent all of her life prior to moving to the US. My dad told me that she taught him how to wrap the fig trees in burlap sacks and bury them before every winter, and then dig them back up in the spring and watch as they readjusted to life above the cold, hard ground. I never had a chance to see this garden, as his grandparents' house was sold when they died, but I have heard so many of his memories that surround the land that his grandmother had cultivated to be her own, planting dandelion greens and garlic front and center even though the neighbors scoffed and held their noses. I really appreciated what Lyla June suggested in the interview about ditching the materialism and individualism that is so prevalent in our current culture and unearthing the connections that our ancestors had to the land (i.e. 'place-based identity'), even if we only focus on one of the threads in our lineages. I thought the discussion about how so many Americans are now turning to Hinduism and Buddhism particularly interesting, since I have been thinking a lot recently about cultural appropriation with the intent of accessing authenticity, which often seems to take the form of 'pick and choose' religion, as one K professor called it. One ERAC/Ce workshop that I attended a couple of years ago talked about the way in which (white, European) colonialists traded in their histories and traditions in exchange for white privilege. The workshop urged people who identify as 'white' to try to connect to their unique cultural and ethnic histories rather than assimilating into 'white culture,' which has come to mean inequality and privileges received even without intent to participate in the system of white supremacy. I think that Lyla June's observation that our ancestors often didn't know how to process their trauma adds another dimension to this thought; connecting to roots that have been buried for so long doubtless requires sorting through a lot of grit and trauma, but it is an important way to access traditional ecological knowledge, in addition to starting to break down a confusingly-portrayed-as-homogenous, not-very-meaningful 'white' culture. I am still processing a lot of this interview, but I am inspired to look more into my own family's history and to try to relearn some of the ecological knowledge that my ancestors passed down.
ReplyDeleteI actually know very little about our family history. On my father's side, much of the family is estranged (whether due to distance or intent), and there is a long history of ugliness which still divides my father and many of his siblings (there were originally 10), mostly centered around my grandfather. In addition, because my grandfather was 53 was my father arrived, and I believe on his 3rd marriage, so my dad doesn't have much in the way of strong connections. On my mother's side, I know the family arrived in Detroit around the early 1900s/late 1800s and were very actively involved with the Polish community in Detroit. I think a good amount of my mother's family culture is based around Americanized polish culture, and almost all of the (rather large) family still lives within an hour of the city. The first polish undertaker in Detroit was an ancestor, and several relatives of mine are still in the business. I also grew up with stories about my great grandfather's bar, and my great-uncles' auto shop (which I think is still around today). However, I think this has pretty much disappeared in my generation; my siblings and I don't have the relationships my mom wishes we did, many of our cousins are moving away, and following the death of my grandmother a lot of feuds have developed or worsened. I think I have a strong drive to leave a lot of this behind and move, not across the country, but far enough away that I can grow new roots, in both a literal and figurative sense, and establish a bond to a new place. I think a slow farming approach naturally goes hand in hand with such a deliberate transplanting of myself.
ReplyDeleteI felt fairly disconnected to your blog post as a first generation immigrant from a non-Eurpoean country. All I know for sure about ancestor's migration is the move out of Africa to Asia... My first reaction to your blog post was frustration because I didn't know where I (or my ancestor's story) fit in.
ReplyDeleteI think slow farming is learning (or re-learning) to listen to the land and plants and animals to grow more holistically and sustainably than mono-crop or industrial farms do.
I do not know much about my ancestor's migration as these are not really topics that we talk about in my family. On my dad's side, I know that my ancestors descend from Africa and that they did not come here by choice. For me, the question of my ancestral roots has always been something I have thought about, however, because my ancestors were forced here, it has made it difficult for me to trace my ancestral lineage and migration. This is all I can really say on my father's side because it is a very difficult question for me to answer and I honestly do not know what else to say.
ReplyDeleteOn my mom's side, I know for sure that I have ancestors from both Ireland and Sweden. I have been given very little information on their migration, but I remember a few things I was told growing up. My great great grandparents on my grandmother's side migrated here from Ireland and my grerat great grandparents on my grandfather's side migrated here from Sweden. According to my grandma, the reasoning for coming here in both cases was because they were in search of a better life. Something I found out just today is that my great great grandparents from Ireland lived and worked on a farm for a while when they first arrived in the U.S., however, due to economic hardships, my great great grandfather was forced to quit farming and instead began to work in a factory in the steel industry. This is interesting to me because I have honestly never heard this story until now, but it shows how farming and those who put work into producing our food is taken for granted. My great great grandparents could not provide for their family as farmers and were pushed into a more mechanizing field where they were then distanced from the land. I think this says something about how my relationship to the land has been formed as well.
My family on my mom's side comes from Poland, while my dad's side comes from Scotland. I know both immigrated to the United States for greater economic opportunity, but I'm not completely sure what the actual driving forces were for them. I know my grandpa on my mom's side comes from a long line of farmers, both in Poland and continuing in the United States. Although he never owned his own farm, he was really into producing his own food for his family in his large yard. I think my grandpa liked to have a unique connection to the land he lived upon and he found it as a way of communication with his Polish ancestors and large family. It kind of seems like this connection to land was about connecting to a part of himself he knew as a little boy in Poland that he may have lost along his journey in the United States. I don't think he ever knew what slow-farming meant, but he probably would've considered himself a slow farmer because of the respect he had for the land and the systems and creatures that inhabit it. On my dad's side, nearly everyone has been an educator of some sorts. I also think this notion of "slow farming" would've really interested my relatives on this side of my family because incorporates educating people to create more sustainable, holistic agricultural practices.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDelete
ReplyDeleteI'll give my respond in class, where a classroom setting is best-suited for conversation about my ancestor’s migration.
I feel similarly to Yajaera, I believe the class setting to be a better place to discuss the many migrations of my ancestors. In respect to the many identities that I hold, slow farming is a connective process to some of those ancestors. I think about the ancestors that had to make so much off of such small and dynamic land. I think of the difficulty for some of them to cultivate life in a desert. The task of carrying their knowledges from their ancestral homes and migrating across oceans. All of them however had one similarity. They all lived by the ocean. They all were connected to the rhythms of the sea. I wish to learn more about how to farm by the sea. What is different than the work we do? What other factors become salient? Who was shepherd to that land?
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing all this, Lee! The "Taming Nature" chapter is a great reflection of the originating mindset behind so many of the issues we've been talking about these past few weeks. And the interview with Lyla June is a great antidote or way of seeing a path forward into a new way of being, which interestingly calls for a looking back to our own origins. Like so many of you all, I don't have much of a sense of connection to my ancestral story, despite knowing that my ancestors have been on this particular piece of land for five generations. I don't even know very much about those five generations past my grandparents. Like Eric Garza, I feel resistance to digging into my ancestral history and I need to think more about why. This question of ancestry and responsibility keeps coming up again and again in my studies and conversations, so I know that I am being called to do work in this area. When I feel into my resistance at this moment, what comes up is simply how and where will I find the time to do that work in the deep way that it needs to be done. I agree with Lyla June that it is not just about tracing my family tree, it is about listening deeply to myself and to the land. It is about visioning and praying to connect with inner knowing as well as historical information. And that takes . . . slowness. How can I create more slow moments in my life to do this work?
ReplyDeleteAfter our discussion in class today it seems that as a predominantly USA nationals we are uniquely divorced from our ancestry and our relation to the Earth given that our ancestors, forcibly or not, chose to remove themselves from their previous homeland and its associated traditions nad history by coming to the United States. Perhaps this is why there is so much existential angst towards our relationship to food in this country and why we have enabled the mechanized production techniques to come into vogue today.
ReplyDeleteIt’s very difficult and personal for me to reflect on my ancestral lineage, so I will leave that out of this post. I will instead reflect on Lyla’s June’s interview and song, both of which to me are incredibly brave and insightful for me. In her interview, Lyla’s honesty about her European ancestry and her resulting internal struggle to reconciliation is so powerful. Baring your soul in this way and on this topic is something I still haven’t been able to do. I thought it was particularly powerful when she described connecting/making peace with her European ancestor spirits. She claimed that other people with European roots can also connect with their ancestors—that there was a time before colonization/imperialism when indigenous European, earth-based cultures thrived. I had never considered the possibility of White people reconnecting with their own ancestors/land/culture, but it is a step Lyla says may begin to heal our consumerist, patriarchal, oppressive culture. Lyla’s reasons that the toxicity and unsustainability of American society are the effects of collective loss of place-based identity. Instead of a punitive approach (hating the people and system), she calls for a restorative approach (find the root of it and try to heal it). I agree with this restorative approach: “We can’t give up on American society—we have to keep nudging them and keep showing them the truth, keep showing them their own flaws gently, lovingly, but persistently.” Often times in my observations, studies, and reflections of this nation and this world, I forget that empathy, compassion, and love are the strongest tools for justice/peace. I remembered this when listening to Lyla’s song, “All Nations Rise” : “Rise up, all you warriors of love…They say that history is written by the victors but how can there be a victor when the war isn't over? The battle has only just begun. And creator is sending his very best warriors. And this time, it isn't Indians verses Cowboys. No, this time it is all the beautiful races of humanity together on the same side. And we are fighting to replace our fear with love. And this time bullets, arrows, and cannonballs won't save us. The only weapons that are useful in this battle are the weapons of truth, faith, and compassion.
ReplyDeleteBeing first generation in the United States it is quite hard for me to related to my ancestors migration. I felt a bit confused when trying to respond to your post due to this, but I will do my best to explain in class discussion.
ReplyDeleteI most likely appreciating each and every bit of it. It is an incredible site and decent impart. I need to much obliged. Great employment! You all do an incredible blog, and have some extraordinary substance. Keep doing awesome. Click Here
ReplyDelete