By Camy Matthay (4/7/06)
organic berry farmer, Brooklyn, WI
Last week, I traveled south to Mississippi and Louisiana with other members of Family Farm Defenders, a national activist organization made up of farmers and consumers concerned with building a safe and sustainable food system. This was the second relief caravan sponsored by Family Farm Defenders to make the trip to the Gulf Coast. Shortly after the aftermath of hurricane Katrina, Family Farm Defenders had organized the first shipment of 10,000 lbs of food and medical aid from their headquarters in Madison,
WI.
The first destination of this relief trip was Petal, Mississippi where we delivered five tractors donated by Wisconsin farmers to the Indian Springs Farmers Cooperative. This co-op is a member of the Mississippi Association of Cooperatives, a coalition of independent farming cooperatives in 11 counties, many of whose members lost homes, equipment and crops to Hurricane Katrina.
Donnie Pen-Travis, a Mississippi farmer whose family has been farming the same plot of land for five generations, said the tractors were sorely needed. In his community, seven farmers, growing crops such as collards, beans, various squashes and melons, had been sharing one tractor since last September.
Darnella Burkett, another local farmer, who hugged nearly everyone of us upon arrival, told us that the donation and support will help independent Mississippi farmers maintain economically viable, high quality operations. We assured her that it was enormously gratifying to promote "not charity, but solidarity" with small farmers in the south, farmers who not only suffer -as small farmers do worldwide- from the ubiquitous and chronic pressures of agribusiness and free trade policies, but sustained such significant
storm damage to their fields, livestock, and equipment.
From Sheeplo, MS our group drove into New Orleans. Major wind damage, like the damage many of us witnessed in Stoughton last fall, was visible on both sides of the highway all the way into the city. It was hard to digest the fact that hundreds of square miles were so badly ravaged.
About an hour out of New Orleans we passed huge lots filled with row after row of white vinyl-sided FEMA trailers all empty, warping in the sun. The price tag on each trailer, including installation fees was $70,000 -money that residents in New Orleans wished to have had to rebuild their neighborhoods.
The word "residents," particularly when referring to neighborhoods, such as the 9th ward which, significantly, is a historic Black neighborhood- is a gross misnomer. The few people who have returned to this area where flooding from the industrial canal stained the facades of buildings upwards of 5 feet, are truly "stakeholders," that is, people who are trying to protect their rights and that of their former neighbors to return and
rebuild their homes and communities. Among the stakeholders we spoke to in this ward, there was consensus that deliberate sabotage had played a role in the break in the levy that flooded their neighborhood. Possible motives include relieving floodwater from the more economically valuable French quarter on the opposite side of the canal.
Nanny Vanita, one of the 9th ward stakeholders, came back "through hell and high water"
to protect her neighborhood. Reminiscing in front of a small yard that had been planted with sunflowers in an effort to decontaminate the soil, she told us a little bit about the pre-Katrina neighborhood. "Over there, there used to be the beauty shop," she said pointing down the street, "and the man who lived behind the shop repaired motorcycles. The elementary school is 3 blocks away. I donıt know if it will ever open again."
Pointing to the closest intersection, she said, "Thatıs where my oldest son was shot. And over theyıre," she said, pointing to an alley littered with scraps of metal, plastic, and twisted tree limbs, "that was where I had my little cart. I used to make snow cones for all kids on the block. I lost my community, my house, all of my belongings, all the poems I wrote in my life."
There is no electricity, no line-based phone service, no public transportation; running water (if it is running) is not potable, and the soil is contaminated with lead and other heavy metals. In the 9th ward alone, itıs been estimated that 90 homes need to be gutted down to the stud walls; the whole 9th ward looked like a cross between Hiroshima (after
it was bombed) and a garbage pit.
Despite these wretched conditions, southern hospitality was still in great evidence. In the Orleans parish, members of a small church, hearing about our relief efforts, invited us in to share their dinner. Over a jerry-rigged outdoor stove one afternoon, Nanny Vanita spent hours preparing an amazing gumbo for us and another crew of volunteers, some of whom had been there for months removing mildewed sheetrock from salvageable homes.
By the time we pulled up our chairs we were eating by firelight in a setting that was ghostly and apocalyptic with only one streetlight lit within blocks.
Not at any moment during our four-day visit did I see any evidence of government relief. No FEMA, no Red Cross -I donıt even recollect ever seeing a police car.
There is no doubt in my mind that the government wants to neglect these neighborhoods (especially those adjacent to the French quarter) long enough so that they can be condemned and rebuilt to suit "better" people. I witnessed two white realtors driving around in their big SUVs looking for opportunities to profit off of the grief of the poor.
The question that continues to haunt me is why Americans who believe themselves to be in possession of some moral agency continue to tolerate the authority of this government.
