Two weeks ago I spent the weekend at a camp-out for rural youth in the sertão (translates to backlands, or hinterlands) of Pernambuco. Around 80 youth from landless settlements, rural communities, and small family farms gathered for this event which was meant to increase solidarity amongst youth in the region and provide a sort of political training. A number of NGOs and individuals that work in rural development, sustainable agriculture and forestry, and the promotion of the agrarian reform gave workshops and talks on everything from agroforestry, bee-keeping and youth-managed tree nurseries to the role of youth in the agrarian reform and the impacts of genetically modified seeds on food sovereignty.
Yes, food sovereignty. I rarely hear the term food security employed here, especially amongst the political groups that naturally opt for a more politicized and direct term. After all, wasn't one of the main lessons of my food security course that access to locally produced food constitutes the most important component of food security? From that perspective the term food sovereignty seems to make more sense.
Youth teaching youth about sustainable forestry in the semi-arid caatinga forests
Yes, food sovereignty. I rarely hear the term food security employed here, especially amongst the political groups that naturally opt for a more politicized and direct term. After all, wasn't one of the main lessons of my food security course that access to locally produced food constitutes the most important component of food security? From that perspective the term food sovereignty seems to make more sense.
The team of oxen that brought water to our camp every morning
The 80 or so youth, their organizers, and I all slept under lona preta for the weekend. Lona preta is the name of the black tarps used to construct camps during the years that landless people squat on unproductive land and battle with the National Institute of Colonization and Agrarian Reform to have that land ceded from its wealthy owner so that rural families can live and produce food on it. The term lona preta often refers to the camps themselves. Camping under lona preta at this event was therefore symbolic, representing our support for the landless movement and the people that suffer and yes, even die, for the cause. I could go on about the many martyrs of the landless movement, but I think I'll save that for another entry. Some of the youth at the camp-out had spent a part of their childhood in landless camps, or their parents or other relatives had. Sleeping on the ground, unprepared for the cold of the dry highlands of the sertão, I got a mini taste of the lona preta lifestyle.
The kids in group discussion; lona preta behind
At the event I attended and participated in the workshops and talks, I sang revolutionary and religious songs (most were a combination of the two- thank you liberation theology!), I answered a million questions about life in the States, including numerous questions about Michael Jackson and his oh so mysterious and tragic death (a few kids asked if I had attended his funeral or if I had ever been to his Never Never Land), and I had long conversations with both youth and adults about the culture and lifestyle of the sertão and the experience of the agrarian reform there.
I even managed to do some informal interviews with small farmers who produce mamona, an oil seed used for biodiesel. These experiences all helped me to understand the bigger picture beyond the sugarcane plantations in the forest region that I have spent most of my time in since arriving in Pernambuco. I learned that while land is highly concentrated everywhere in the state, numerous family farms have managed to survive in the backlands, independent from agribusiness, scraping by and sometimes thriving in spite of difficult conditions including drought, flooding, and a lack of financial resources and infrastructure. Until now, those conditions have largely prevented agribusiness from moving into the sertão and expelling rural families from the land in order to develop large-scale agriculture, such as is the reality of the cane-producing forest region. Still, as in most everywhere in Brazil, available land is hard to come by and costly to either purchase or win through the agrarian reform.
Time to sing!
I even managed to do some informal interviews with small farmers who produce mamona, an oil seed used for biodiesel. These experiences all helped me to understand the bigger picture beyond the sugarcane plantations in the forest region that I have spent most of my time in since arriving in Pernambuco. I learned that while land is highly concentrated everywhere in the state, numerous family farms have managed to survive in the backlands, independent from agribusiness, scraping by and sometimes thriving in spite of difficult conditions including drought, flooding, and a lack of financial resources and infrastructure. Until now, those conditions have largely prevented agribusiness from moving into the sertão and expelling rural families from the land in order to develop large-scale agriculture, such as is the reality of the cane-producing forest region. Still, as in most everywhere in Brazil, available land is hard to come by and costly to either purchase or win through the agrarian reform.
One of our cooks for the weekend preparing a big ol' pot of beans
On Saturday night the camp-out held a cultural night. A generator was brought in along with a band which played forró until 2 am. My new friends taught me the steps and together we danced under stars peeping through the branches of the caatinga forest to the tune of the accordion, triangle, and drum.
Me and the crew enjoying the noite cultural
Upon returning to Recife from the camp-out, I showered, rested, and headed out the next day with my digital voice recorder and lots of sunscreen to the southern forest region. The purpose of this two day trip was to visit numerous sugarcane plantations, accompanied by the local union representative, to conduct interviews with laborers. Needless to say, this experience was intense. On day one I met people living on a plantation in the tiny decrepit row houses built for plantation laborers.
During the centuries of slavery in Brazil, the slaves lived inside the plantations in similar houses. The concentration of land and exploitation of slave labor turned Brazil into the world's largest sugar producer. Today slavery is prohibited, but slave-like conditions on plantations are all too frequent. In 2008, 44% of the thousands of slave laborers freed were working on sugarcane plantations, planting and cutting the sugarcane that would later be turned into sugar and ethanol. The plantation I visited this week was one of those cases in which slave-like labor conditions had existed until only four years ago. In 2005 an NGO promoting and defending rural peoples' rights discovered that dozens of families (men, women, and children) worked clandestinely cutting cane for the plantation owner, from whom they received no pay other than slips of paper that they had no value outside the plantation store. The store sold basic food items at inflated prices. The plantation owner did not allow the people to plant any crops for their subsistence. Armed guards stood at the entrance to the plantation, monitoring who went in and out. When someone suggested that these people go and report their situation to the authorities, they had no money for bus fare to Recife to do any such thing. Due to demands from the NGO, the Public Ministry of Labor eventually put enough pressure on the plantation owner that these practices were ended over 6 months after their discovery. The plantation owner faced no criminal charges.
The plantation has since ceased to function, but the people still live in the middle of the plantation and are now part of the landless movement. They aim to have some of the plantation's now unproductive land ceded to them so that they might each have a parcel of around 30-40 acres upon which to plant crops to sell and consume. For now they sell their labor clandestinely to other plantation owners. As unregistered workers they have no rights and work long hours, without proper equipment, for well below minimum wage. They live in fear of violent eviction from the military police and armed plantation security. They fear planting so much as a few cassava plants, that the plantation owner will send someone to destroy it.
Children living in the middle of a sugarcane plantation, as children have done for over 500 years in Pernambuco
During the centuries of slavery in Brazil, the slaves lived inside the plantations in similar houses. The concentration of land and exploitation of slave labor turned Brazil into the world's largest sugar producer. Today slavery is prohibited, but slave-like conditions on plantations are all too frequent. In 2008, 44% of the thousands of slave laborers freed were working on sugarcane plantations, planting and cutting the sugarcane that would later be turned into sugar and ethanol. The plantation I visited this week was one of those cases in which slave-like labor conditions had existed until only four years ago. In 2005 an NGO promoting and defending rural peoples' rights discovered that dozens of families (men, women, and children) worked clandestinely cutting cane for the plantation owner, from whom they received no pay other than slips of paper that they had no value outside the plantation store. The store sold basic food items at inflated prices. The plantation owner did not allow the people to plant any crops for their subsistence. Armed guards stood at the entrance to the plantation, monitoring who went in and out. When someone suggested that these people go and report their situation to the authorities, they had no money for bus fare to Recife to do any such thing. Due to demands from the NGO, the Public Ministry of Labor eventually put enough pressure on the plantation owner that these practices were ended over 6 months after their discovery. The plantation owner faced no criminal charges.
Homes in the middle of the plantation
The plantation has since ceased to function, but the people still live in the middle of the plantation and are now part of the landless movement. They aim to have some of the plantation's now unproductive land ceded to them so that they might each have a parcel of around 30-40 acres upon which to plant crops to sell and consume. For now they sell their labor clandestinely to other plantation owners. As unregistered workers they have no rights and work long hours, without proper equipment, for well below minimum wage. They live in fear of violent eviction from the military police and armed plantation security. They fear planting so much as a few cassava plants, that the plantation owner will send someone to destroy it.
On the next plantation I visited I interviewed three cane cutters who worked clandestinely. Some of their co-workers had no shoes, much less gloves, protective glasses, or any of the other safety equipment that plantation owners are legally required to provide their workers with. They worked around 10 hours per day, 6-7 days a week, for less than minimum wage. This situation has since been reported to the Public Ministry, who will likely come to investigate 6 months from now when the sugarcane harvest is over and no laborers are to be found. Thus the cycle of abuse continues...
Clandestine workers on the sugarcane plantation
That afternoon we drove on through the seemingly endless sea of sugarcane plantations to a landless settlement inside which we found Dom Pedro's farm. This jolly seventy-something man has established a true oasis inside the monocrop desert. With some technical assistance and financial support from a local NGO, Dom Pedro turned the 12 acre plot of land he received through the agrarian reform into an agroforestry system. When we stepped onto his property the temperature literally dropped by a few degrees and we felt an energy so different from that on those scorching and brutal plantations.
Dom Pedro gave us a tour of his diverse farm, where he grows dozens of varieties of fruits, vegetables, nuts, and flowers in and under the forest canopy, and also raises fish in shaded ponds. For the first time ANYWHERE in the forest region, I saw butterflies. Dozens of them. I also saw birds and bees. While I ate coconut and cashew fruit, mosquitoes feasted on me. I couldn't bring myself to complain because I was too grateful and joy-filled over the sight of LIFE. Simply recalling the scene now is filling me with a touch of that same energy.
Fish pond and forest on Dom Pedro's farm
Dom Pedro gave us a tour of his diverse farm, where he grows dozens of varieties of fruits, vegetables, nuts, and flowers in and under the forest canopy, and also raises fish in shaded ponds. For the first time ANYWHERE in the forest region, I saw butterflies. Dozens of them. I also saw birds and bees. While I ate coconut and cashew fruit, mosquitoes feasted on me. I couldn't bring myself to complain because I was too grateful and joy-filled over the sight of LIFE. Simply recalling the scene now is filling me with a touch of that same energy.
I have met many rural workers and small farmers in Pernambuco's forest region, but Dom Pedro has made by far the greatest positive impact on me as of yet. On this visit to his cool green farm, so full of life, I learned what is possible. In the middle of a monocrop desert here is this oasis with this joy-filled man who loves his life and work. Pedro spoke with such pride and happiness about his farm and about his work. He told me that before joining the landless movement and fighting for this small piece of land, he worked in an illegal sawmill, cutting up trees from the remnants of the Atlantic Forest. Pedro said that before winning this land, he worked in death. Now he works in life, and it is so much better. Those were literally his words. He reminded me somwhat of a born-again Christian; I guess I could call him a born again agro-forestry farmer, going from a life of unhappiness, destruction, and humiliation to one in which he works with nature, is independent of agribusiness, and lives with dignity, pride, and happiness. This was the way he described the change in his life. All with a big old smile on his face. What an amazing man! So it is possible to reverse the homogenizing and degrading trends of agribusiness...
Dom Pedro, smiling as always, on his farm The edge of Pedro's farm, with sugarcane behind it
The next day I woke up at 3 am and headed to the streets of the sugarcane-dependent town of Agua Preta. Accompanied by a union representative and some of my colleagues, I sat at a bus stop with sugarcane cutters who were waiting for the sugar-ethanol factories' buses to pick them up and take them to the plantations for the day's work.
After numerous interviews with them, we headed to some plantations to see the work of registered laborers. While watching the men- and some women- cut through the burnt cane on steep hills, it started to rain, and then the sun came out, and then the most beautiful rainbow appeared. It proceeded to turn into a double rainbow. And that lovely arco iris arched over the burnt hills of sugarcane. The color, the beauty, provided such a contrast to the monotonous burnt landscape and the toil of the laborers.
After numerous interviews with them, we headed to some plantations to see the work of registered laborers. While watching the men- and some women- cut through the burnt cane on steep hills, it started to rain, and then the sun came out, and then the most beautiful rainbow appeared. It proceeded to turn into a double rainbow. And that lovely arco iris arched over the burnt hills of sugarcane. The color, the beauty, provided such a contrast to the monotonous burnt landscape and the toil of the laborers.
Husband and wife having breakfast together before starting in on the day's work; these two work together and she cuts just as much cane as he does.
A few lucky workers who are employed year-round by one of the ethanol-sugar distilleries. These guys are decked out in all of the protective gear that the law requires workers to be provided with.
On Friday evening I arrived back in Recife just in time to shower and head out with my host sister Mariana to a Carnaval preview. The pre-Carnaval festivities have officially begun in Pernambuco. On Friday one of Olinda’s best blocos (groups that parade through the streets with music and dancing) was doing a fundraising performance. Three different samba bands played throughout the night and early morning. We danced samba for a good five hours. It was soooo much fun! I love samba! It is my new favorite music and dance EVER! All I want to do is dance samba and listen to samba. I love it even more than forró, partly because it’s so fast and lively, but mostly because it does not require a partner. This means that I can spend the entire night just enjoying dancing with friends without constantly being approached by men. It's wonderful.
Mariana and I took our tired feet home at 4:30 in the morning and had some breakfast. I went to bed around 5:30, and then got up at 9 to pack my bags and have breakfast number two. Ugh… Two hours later I was on a flight to Brasilia, and a few hours later on a bus to Goiânia. Once again, I was received by wonderful Brazilian hosts. They manage to make me feel so at home anywhere in Brazil. The grey skies and ongoing drizzle help. There is just something so comforting about this Pacific Northwest-like weather. Now I am off to a four day conference with the theme of redefining Brazil’s agrarian reform.
1 comment:
This is so so interesting Lynn. I could totally feel what you were feeling through your words. You are such an enchanting writer! These people are amazing...through all the hardships, trials, & tribulations they still have such a passion for life. You are doing great things w/ your life Lynn -Jen
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