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  • From: "Tradingpost" <tradingpost@gilanet.com>
  • To: livingontheland@lists.ibiblio.org
  • Subject: [Livingontheland] Terra Madre: astounding world gathering of small food growers
  • Date: Wed, 16 Mar 2005 22:34:12 -0700


http://www.oriononline.org/pages/om/05-2om/Madison.html
Orion Online
Grace Before Dinner

In an Italian city, five thousand farmers, fishermen, ranchers, honey
gatherers, bakers, and cheese makers from around the globe gathered for
the first time.

Text by Deborah Madison
Photographs by Pablo Balbontin Arenas

I FELT A NUDGE AGAINST MY LEG. The bare black foot of a farmer had
crept out from beneath a green and gold caftan; the jet-lagged
Senegalese behind me was stretching in his seat in Turin's cavernous
Palazzo del Lavoro. I looked around me. A cluster of women from Ladakh
walked by in brightly colored dresses, striped aprons, and black hats.
Two women from Russia were wearing suede and beaded clothing reminiscent
of American Plains Indians. I saw reindeer-meat smokers (were they
Lapps?) in red and blue outfits and big soft boots, Peruvians in red
hats and embroidered capes, elegant women from Kenya adorned with finely
beaded neckbands and bracelets. A bevy of Caribbean women flounced by in
pink dresses with silver threads and puffy sleeves; the Bolivians were
dressed in voluminous skirts and tiny hats.

As a cook, I am beside myself when I encounter even ten varieties of
tomatoes at a farmers' market. But to see such diversity among people
was deeply moving; people from everywhere with great rough hands and
fine, weathered faces. Five thousand farmers from 130 countries were
gathering for the first time in history, creating an event called Terra
Madre.

Vandana Shiva, the Indian small-farmer advocate, looked out over this
vast audience and said, "If this were an agribusiness meeting, the faces
would be white and the clothes black. But you are full of beauty and
color, the colors of the earth."

We were gorgeous, but most importantly, we were "we." Perhaps such an
experience is particularly meaningful for us Americans, for we tend to
be isolationist, given our geography and political profile, even when we
don't mean to be. In spite of our bumper stickers that tell us to
"Appreciate Diversity," we simply don't often meet others in a
meaningful way. Terra Madre, this four-day gathering last October of
tillers and keepers of the Earth, gave us the opportunity to correct
that.

TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO I started Greens restaurant in San Francisco,
then left to live in Rome, where I began writing on food and cooking. I
departed Rome just as the Slow Food movement took root there in 1986,
and I didn't become formally involved for another ten years. (Among
other things, I now run Slow Food's Santa Fe chapter). But I was
informally supporting Slow Food concepts all along. My deepest
sympathies have always been with the landscape of food and farming, and
that led me to join the Santa Fe farmers' market, near my new American
home, as a manager and board member. I spent five years visiting markets
and farmers across the country as I researched my 2002 book Local
Flavors. At Terra Madre I reconnected with many of those same food
producers and farmers. I had the chance to introduce a fine honey
producer from Hawai'i to his counterpart in South Texas, and to connect
two growers of Suncrest peaches to each other. Such connections, it
turned out, were the lifeblood of Terra Madre, its raison d'etre.

As Slow Food has evolved, it has come to unite the pleasure of food to
the necessity of recognizing its place in culture, history, and the
environment. Carlo Petrini, Slow Food's founder, says, "It makes no
sense to become connoisseurs of rare delicacies while ignoring the need
to prevent the disappearance of those who actually work the land and
supply the products." Vandana Shiva, describing the shift to chemically
driven systems of farming and food production, said, "We are eating the
leftovers of World War II."

The time was ripe for Terra Madre, where small-scale food producers
could address the homogenizing pressures of globalization; the power of
the World Trade Organization to pursue corporate control and
standardization; the lack of a holistic integrity in industrial food
production; and the concomitant decline of human health, soil fertility,
water quality, and water itself. Add to these the displacement of rural
peoples into overtaxed urban areas, and it becomes clear that those
involved with traditional, small scale, sustainable food production must
meet, grasp the gravity of our situation, and figure out how to help one
another.

Terra Madre was our answer to the WTO, a meeting not of brokers but of
the actual producers of food -- farmers, cheese makers, bakers,
ranchers, poultry people, grain growers, honey gatherers. In all, twelve
hundred communities of food producers were represented, constellations
linked by specific foods or geography. These communities, whether made
up of individuals or co-operatives, produce foods that don't lend
themselves easily to industrial processes and therefore are most
distinctive for their quality. They embody culture, knowledge, practice,
and wisdom that often struggle in isolation but deserve -- even need --
wide appreciation and support to thrive in our globalized world. Their
names paint a picture of diversity: Blue Egg Hen Community (Chile);
Community of Groundfish Fishermen (East Coast of the United States);
Lake Aral Autochthonous Sheep Breeders and Dairy Farmers (Uzbekistan);
Community of Tuber Farmers and Traders (Bolivia).

Michael Straus of Straus Family Creamery in Marshall, California, told
me of a conversation his sister had with a jam and tea producer from
Zimbabwe who said, "We have never seen people like you before. White
people. We've always been seen as 'Poor African Farmers.' Now, here we
are, getting respect." Later, Michael wrote in an e-mail that this
conversation made him realize that "we are here [at Terra Madre] to
support and encourage each other; to realize we are all in the same boat
with our own unique struggles."

This was the power of our gathering: the realization that we, right
here right now, are the body whose common concerns and endeavors in food
and farming relate us to one another and to our communities at home.
Again and again, as we mingled in our national finery, people said,
"It's so good to know we're not alone." (An American farmer, upon
overhearing these very words, turned to me and said, "I don't understand
this thing about people feeling alone. Maybe we're just lucky in
California.")

In these whirlwind days people from all countries took the stage even
when they weren't listed as speakers. We were, it seemed, simply holding
big conversations. On the conference's last day, Massimo Bernacchini, an
Italian fisherman, described to the entire body how members in his
tuna-roe co-op had believed that their success lay in tightly guarding
their secrets -- a common practice among food producers. "But," he said,
"Terra Madre has suggested to us that there's a greater need of sharing
information and developing trust, pooling rather than hoarding
knowledge."

OUTSIDE THE SEMINAR ROOMS, in a corner of the Palazzo del Lavoro, the
proceedings were completely unscripted. Blankets were spread on the
floor, card tables set up; Terra Madre had become a marketplace not only
of ideas, but of things you could pick up, hold, touch, eat -- things
that connected you to others. An Ecuadorian woman sat on the floor with
a display of a dozen different kinds of corn and packages of exotic
potatoes. They were not for sale, but to show and to talk about. An
Algerian stood at a table with his dates, a hastily penciled map of
Algeria pinned to the wall, a star marking his oasis. The ladies from
Ladakh had bags of skinned barley to show, and a few scarves to sell,
while Bolivians were buried in a mountain of little alpaca purses and
Nigerians were busy unfolding indigo-dyed cloths.

At one table Chinese men sat smoking, their handmade sign proclaiming
"organic foods." Mr. Wu, who displayed his organic teas, said, "The
biggest problem in China is honesty. There is such mistrust of the
Chinese government, that even though our food is certified organic, no
one believes it's true, so they won't buy it." Thus, most of their tea
goes to Germany, where its organic pedigree is appreciated.

A Sicilian from the Instituto di Granicoltura showed thirty varieties
of wheat, each used for making particular breads and pastries. Across
the hall were sixty varieties of squashes and gourds grown by the
students in a nearby Italian high school. Dave Fresquez, a New Mexico
farmer who is passionate about cucurbits, was ecstatic. He pointed out
those he had grown and wondered aloud how he could get seeds for the
rest. When I left he was making arrangements to visit the school, where
he would no doubt find just what he was looking for.

An English farmer and his wife mentioned that they had a retail store
on their farm and had, most improbably, just met a young woman from
Burkina Faso who produced the dried mangoes they sold. I, too, found
her, and she described her work in a co-op mostly of women, the Cercle
de Secheurs. (The fruit was delicious, with an intense, pure mango
flavor.) Another woman, from Chad, offered to share her dried
caterpillars (not quite as tasty as the mangoes, and a lot crunchier).

I watched a young man from India unwrap layer upon layer of newspaper,
revealing, at last, cookies. "These are organic cookies from India! Try
one!" Rich and spicy, with a hint of curry, they were possibly not at
their best after their journey and given the fact that they should have
been eaten hot, right out of the oil they were fried in, but they
weren't bad, either. There was butter, cheese, and a kind of "vodka"
made from yak milk, offered by men from Kyrgyzstan. There was a very dry
Tajik cheese in the shape of a marble, also made from yak milk. Meant to
keep for a long time, it had the texture of chalk, and I didn't make
much progress with it. I found it, minus a bite but otherwise intact, in
a pocket when I got home to New Mexico.

Lunch provided another chance to talk, as did waiting in the
considerable lunch line itself. Mas Masamoto, the writer and peach
farmer from California, and I got our bowls of pasta, vegetable salads,
and Parmigianio-Reggiano, then joined a table of Senegalese. We talked
with a half-dozen farmers in their early twenties, members of a large
co-op who grow corn, sesame, rice, and millet. Women from the co-op
joined the table, their trays heaped only with fruit; they raised fish.
We spoke in French about what problems they faced (cricket
infestations); where their food goes (to nearby communities, not
overseas); and asked, if they could have one technology, what would it
be? The men were at a loss for an answer, but the women knew right away:
a refrigerated truck for their fish. Mas asked, "What would you want to
share with us, in America?" This was not an idea they could easily
grasp. What could we possibly want of theirs? After many attempts at
rephrasing the question -- and trying to go beyond their wish to sell us
sesame seeds -- the eldest farmer said, "We would like to have an equal
exchange of ideas."

On the final day, the Native American author Winona LaDuke, a defender
of true wild rice and its place in Native American culture, rose to the
microphone and gave a fierce speech reminding us that "whether wing,
fin, or roots, all life forms are related and sacred; we are all
mutually dependent on each other. Human beings share the world with
thousands of other beings who have an equal right to their lives."

Britain's Prince Charles spoke last. "The one resource the developing
world has in abundance is people, so why are we promoting systems of
agriculture that negate this advantage and seem bound to contribute
directly to further human misery and indignity?" he said. "Left to its
own devices, I fear that globalization will, ironically, sow seeds of
ever-greater poverty, disease and hunger in the cities, and the loss of
viable, self-sufficient rural populations....At the end of the day,
values such as sustainability, community, health, and taste are more
important than pure convenience. We need to have distinctive and varied
places and distinctive and varied food in order to retain, if nothing
else, our sanity."

The prince was loudly cheered. As he sat down, a wildly upbeat Romanian
brass marching band began to pull dancing delegates into its wake.

IN THE WEEKS THAT FOLLOWED Terra Madre, I heard from delegates who
spoke of the profundity of the experience and the work that might come
from it. Ric Gaudet, a former classics scholar who grows heirloom
vegetables in northern New Mexico, e-mailed that "The energy that was
created there is actually a spiritual force each of us carries inside to
share with our own communities. I listened to hundreds of stories with
the same theme: Faced with huge obstacles from the powers that oppress,
individuals and organizations are finding ways to combat those forces,
and to thrive on their farms and in their communities."

Les Harrison-Inglis, home-schooled by his northern New Mexico
cheese-maker parents, came home with a fresh sense of himself as future
artisan cheese maker. "Before this event, I often thought about ways of
growing our family business. Now I am inspired to think in terms of
'Slow Cheese,' meaning to remain small and to work in our local
economy."

Some of my colleagues talk of creating regional meetings of food
communities here in the U.S., and possibly in Canada and Mexico -- our
own NAFTA. As for me, I had been struck by an idea that Carlo Petrini
expressed, that we think of ourselves not as consumers but as
co-producers with small-scale agriculturalists and fishermen -- a twist
that makes us active rather than passive participants. Terra Madre left
me with a sense of urgency to do something that would continue bringing
farmers and producers together with each other and those who buy their
foods. I now know why I've been talking to farmers all these years,
saving the cards of cheese makers, visiting date growers, honey
producers, bison ranchers. Somehow, I'm going to find a way to bring
them together, not in a hall but on paper, where their stories and
products can be known by -- why not? -- millions of co-producers.

~~~~~~~~~~~
DEBORAH MADISON is the author of multiple cookbooks, most recently
Local Flavors, and the winner of the James Beard Award and the Julia
Child Cookbook of the Year prize. She is a Slow Food convivia leader in
Santa Fe and a board advisor to The Center for Sustainable Environments
at Northern Arizona University. She lives in Santa Fe.

PABLO BALBONTIN ARENAS is a photojournalist living in Turin, Italy. His
new book, The Custodians of Biodiversity, was undertaken in
collaboration with many international food and agriculture
organizations, including the International Potato Center in Peru and
Ethio-Organic Seed Action in Ethiopia.

To see photographs and this article on line:
http://www.oriononline.org/pages/om/05-2om/Madison.html

This article has been abridged for the web.
To read the full article, Click Here to receive a Free Trial copy
of the current issue of Orion magazine.

Copyright 2005 The Orion Society. Reprint requests may be directed to
Editors@orionsociety.org





  • [Livingontheland] Terra Madre: astounding world gathering of small food growers, Tradingpost, 03/17/2005

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