Those Who Shaped Me

One of my tasks the next few days is to pull together the long list of the ways Black farmers were discriminated against. I have found myself with a curious block to doing so. The list will be long. It will be torturous. It will be hard to put together. It is especially hard knowing that there are actually people out in the world who got away with treating people badly because of the color of their skin. Yes, the farmers have lost land, property, and livelihood, but those who did the ugly deeds of discrimination got away with it.  Accountability is one thing that must be instituted within the USDA and FSA. Senator Warren has written some things about that.

So, while organizing the files so as to begin to create that list, I ran across some notes that I jotted down from a phone call with a farmer on 2/15/99. I was at Abilene Christian University at the time.  As part of Black history month, I was going to speak in chapel about the plight of Black farmers with implications for students and faculty and staff now.

My instincts said, "Call Mr. Farmer and tell him what's up and ask for his advice." So I did. His sons were interviewed in the documentary, but will withhold his name for now.  We talked for several minutes. He was engaging, forthright, truthful, and encouraging. This man was 76 years of age at the time. He was a graduate of Tuskegee. His time was drawing to a close on this earth. He had prevailed in the administrative hearings with DOJ and USDA. He had paid a huge price for the battle. His health was declining significantly.

He said that he would like for the students to know that there is a struggle, that it is not over, that there are people in offices who are not giving Black farmers a fair shake unless someone is looking over their shoulder. He said that there were people in the Department of Justice who did not want to give.  He encouraged me to tell the students to "join the ranks," "not just in agriculture," that racism is a "part of America," "it's still here," and it's "gonna take everybody," and "young folks are needed."

So, I thanked him for his time and words of wisdom, not knowing that that would be the last time I would ever talk to him. I would talk to his sons some twenty years later, reminisce about that time, and see the home place and the land that he fought so valiantly to save.

The next day, I spoke to the students in the basketball arena at what was called "chapel." I knew from experience that I had a very few seconds to get their attention. I would never have that opportunity again. So, I told them about me, that I was unprepared for what I saw, felt, and heard when interviewing farmers who had been discriminated against. I quoted the farmer with whom I'd talked the day before. It may have been my imagination, but I could have heard a pin drop. The students were quiet, respectful, and engaged. Some talked to me afterwards.

This farmer was one who shaped my naive life. There are others who did the same. I assumed that we were beyond these sorts of things. We had laws, the Civil Rights Movement, leaders who gave their lives for the movement, for the right to vote, to sit anywhere on buses and trains, but little did I know that the law may be colorblind, but people are not.  I learned rather quickly that the county committee system is the best of democracy and the worst of democracy. At that level, we vote our prejudices. White farmers vote for white farmers. They do not vote for Black farmers.

So, as I prepare to create the list of acts of discrimination for the documentary, maybe writing this will help my writers' block. The information is there in those files.  Just write them down. Send them to Shoun.

Yes, I remember talking to Mr. Farmer that evening, February 2, 1999.

Yesterday, Another Pivotal Day

Yesterday was another day in my move toward recovery. I told my internal medicine specialist earlier this week that I was thankful that he was at the center of my treatment. He chuckled and said that he just gets the leftovers.  Since we started this insane medical journey, I seem to have accumulated quite a group of doctors. Want to know the list? It looks like this:  internal medicine, urological oncologist, hematologist, infectious disease specialist, cardiologist, and gastrointerologist, and then there is my urologist who started the whole thing.  It is dizzying to try to keep track of appointments and data, but thanks to the electronics of the EHR system and Charla, it works fairly well.

Yesterday was another pivotal day for a couple of reasons.  One, the cardiologist declared that my heart is healthy and free of disease, and that he'd send the report to the infectious disease specialist. That was a relief. Also, I had a nurse yesterday by the name of Jordan as I woke up from a heavy, sleep induced, over killed of lidocaine and propofol. For the first time ever, anesthesia was being shipped into my muscle and not the vein. That was miserable, but the nurse anesthetist quickly removed it and put it into the back of my hand.

Then, last night, several things came together. Following a good report and competent medical care, I was on the phone with a person from the DC area who reminded me of the notion of "Death by Zip Code." I had never heard of it, though I had heard of it.

It got me thinking once more. Charla and I live in a zip code. Our mail comes to us because of that number. People around us have the same zip code. It is a rather large area. I wonder who is likely to die inside my zip code. What about other zip codes? What about zip codes where the poor live, the under served, the least of these? Though we do not live in the wealthiest of zip codes around here, nevertheless, we are comfortable. I will learn more about death by zip code.

Being in the confines of a hospital continually reminds me of my privilege. In Dallas at UT Southwestern, most of the phlebotomists and techs are people of color. The nurses are a mixture of white and brown. The doctors likewise are a mixture of white and brown. All of them are the best of the best. Likewise at TMC, the doctors are competent.  My MD yesterday was from Pakistan or somewhere, most nurses were white, and one nurse was African American. Curious the differences, or so it seems between smaller town USA and medicine and big city USA and medicine.

At a time when Charla and I comfortable and are taken care of medically by the insurances that we have, congress and the president* are allegedly about to cut back on SNAP insuring that fewer children will have food to eat.  And, there are rumors that cuts to medicaid and medicare are coming. That is happening all against a tax bill that favored the rich and the powerful of our country while marginalizing children and the poor.

Those are going on while the president* is being impeached. We are in a mess. Yes, we are in a mess.

Some zip codes from what I have heard look like war zones.  Other zip codes are low SES and people struggle with all manner of things. They may have three jobs, but none have them covered with insurance. So, they ration their medications because they have to pay out of pocket.  Some do not get the medication they need so they will die.

Think I'm kidding?  Go to the podcast 1619 and listen to the fourth podcast, "How the Bad Blood Started," and listen to the story of Uncle Eddie.  Listen to her describe the events in the life and health of her favorite uncle.  Listen and weep.

We can do better America.  Yes, we can do better, but we cannot do so under the current level of thinking nor under the current administration.  This administration was built and paid for by the rich and the famous.  The Uncle Eddies of our lives will die.

May you, my reader, are an Uncle Eddie.  I hope not.  I pray not.

A Few Reflections on Summit #16 with BFAA

It has been well over a month since we all assembled at the Hilton Garden Inn in Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina for BFAA's 16th National Black Land Loss Summit. After having attended several summits, it is always good to see old friends and to make new friends.  It has been my privilege to speak at several summits. The presentations have centered around the health and well-being of farmers and family members, a research project that I will return to someday soon. Thanks to Heather Hicks for her photography at this event. Here are also a few of her photos. 

Gary Grant, BFAA President, always presides quite ably, welcoming people and introducing speakers and generally keeping us on schedule. He is a legend in my book and in that of many others.

Omari Wilson, senior staff attorney with the North Carolina Association of Black Lawyers' Land Loss Prevention Project in Durham, spoke on the challenging topic of wills and trusts.  Without a doubt the USDA has been responsible for much land loss, but the absence of a will has also been a significant problem.

Lawrence Lucas, president emeritus of the USDA Coalition of Minority Employees was to have spoken on the panel with Lorette but due to a death in the family, he was unable to attend.  On Friday evening, Lawrence was presented with the "A Man Called Matthew Award," an award given on occasion to people who have made a significant contribution to Black farmers and the movement. Thanks to the wonders of technology, we were able to present the award to him via cyberspace and to congratulate him on this award and to thank him for his service.

Lorette Picciano, Executive Director of the RuralCoalition/Coalicion Rural, in Washington DC, and advocacy group that has been working for over 40 years to enhance opportunities for minority farmers. Lorette spoke on "Legal, Political, Legislative Issues Still Impacting Black Farmers." She is always inspiring with her massive knowledge of farm bills and all things congressional.

Shoun Hill and I presented the first half of the documentary and led a discussion around the title of the documentary: "I'm Just a Layman in Pursuit of Justice: The Story of 15 Davids versus Goliath." This documentary was well received. The conversation about the effort was lively and informative. Fifteen farmers fought and prevailed administratively with the USDA and DOJ between 1997 and 1999. These are heroes and legends in my opinion. Without their sacrifices there would have been no Black Farmer Movement.

On Saturday, two speakers addressed "Creative Farming and Urban Gardening." Robert Jones provided useful and interesting information as to how to farm and to well on 17 acres of land. His niche farming effort was amazing and his use of visual aids and his power point showed that he is a teacher and a farmer. Jason Lindsey of Oxford, NC, a member of the Southeast African American Farming Organic Network, spoke on the challenges and opportunities of both organic farming and its advantages and that of teaching and bringing along the next generation of Black farmers.

Nathan Rosenberg and Bryce Stucki, an attorney and a statistician, spoke on the topic of "How the USDA Distorted Data to Conceal Decades of Discrimination Against Black Farmers." Speaking with more detail than allowed in their recent national publication in "New Food Economy," both provided the landscape, stories, statistics, and charts that illustrated how easy it was under Secretary Vilsac, Agriculture Secretary under President Obama, to distort the data to make things look better for Black farmers when things were actually continuing to deteriorate for farmers.

After Shoun and I showed the second half of the documentary and discussed it with the attendees, Michael Stewart, Jr., faculty member at Howard University, spoke on the topic of "What's Next?" His inspiring presentation, full of stories, challenges, and opportunities was more than interesting.  He was able to pull into the presentation information from his doctoral dissertation on the Black Farmer Movement as a movement. His perspective and our connected at several points including the fact that the 15 farmers were pivotal to the beginning of the movement.

Here are some of the folks who helped with details of the workshop.  These include the Board and other key persons. 

Deconstructing the Premier of the Black Farmer Documentary

It's been a while since I last wrote an update for you our followers on this page. As you can see, it was once a fundraising page, but now it is used for updates. The two photos here are with permission from Heather Malaika Hicks who attended her first Summit.

November 8 and 9 were special days in Roanoke Rapids, NC as we prepped for the 16th Annual Land Loss Summit. It was a stellar program with people I'd followed over the last few months and years. So, on Friday afternoon Shoun and I showed the first half of the film and then on Saturday we showed the second half of the film. Each slot included a conversation with the attendees about what they saw in the documentary and what they'd recommend for us.

Even though I had seen it all the way through several times with an eye toward micro changes that I'd suggest to Shoun, I also watched it from two perspectives, one because I was there when we filmed the farmers laughing, crying, and pondering those bitter days of the fight for their land, and second as a viewer as if I were seeing it for the first time. Frankly, both were painful.

Seeing it with both sets of eyes and ears was deeply moving. Despite my familiarity with their stories, those stories brought on laughter and then, surprisingly, the stories brought on tears as moments that caught me off guard.

The audience was very friendly at the Summit. They understood the deeper, underlying message of racism in America, living while Black, and even farming while Black. White people seem to be moved differently than are Black people. White people are stunned and experience the burden of disbelief that people are so brutally mistreated. By and large, African Americans say in different ways, "Of course, that's the way things go." They way things generally go.

So, Shoun and I heard compliments. We heard suggestions. We were validated by words of "you have it all there." "Work on two or three things and you have it," or something like that.

So, we anticipated showing it, we showed it, and we learned from showing it, all with a sense of what needs to be done between now and when we formally put it out in the real world.

That we look forward to finishing it. The farmers and families told us their stories. We want to do well with our obligation to do well with their stories and for those stories and the telling to make a difference in small spaces and places and bigger, larger places and places.

Reflections on Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving has taken on a new complexion this year for those who live at our house. That would be Buddy, Charla, and me. To say that gratitude fills the air would be an understatement. While Charla is the go-to person for getting things done, I am the go-to person for pondering things. She tolerates and most times engages me around things that are deeply meaningful to us both.
At the top of the gratitude list would be Charla. Her "let's just get the job done" mentality has been more than evident for a long time. She drove Shoun and me from Denison, Texas, to Huntsville, AL with stops along the way to interview farmers. That was a lot of hours and a lot of miles. Then, from June 19 until now, she has been faithfully taking care of me. Lest that sound like something goofy, she has been the one who managed the doctor schedule, cleaned out ports, woke up with me during the night, and sat with me and grieved and wept, wondering when wellness would be amongst us again.
She, Buddy, me, and recovery have organized our lives since June 19 around illness. Long ago and far away, I would engage students, especially in the course, Special Topics in Family Therapy, or whatever it was called, in the notion of how illnesses become the organizing principle for families. They tell us what to do, when to do it, how to do it. So, five and a half months later, I am saying thank you to her for keeping me sane, for taking care of me when I could not take care of myself, and nurturing our relationship along the way. As we gently tell illness and surgeries to step back, that we can now handle things, I am simply overwhelmed with thankfulness for her.
On another note, I am thankful for my cancer diagnoses, cancer of the kidney and small cell lymphacytic lymphomena, because they remind me that nobody died and made me king of the universe. I find myself identifying with those who struggle with cancer and with those who are cancer survivors and those who do not know if nor when it will read its ugly head again. I am thankful to a God who heals and who is there with us in the healing. I am thankful to a God who loves, even when healing is not in the cards. I do not know how it is decided who gets well and who gets sick and transitions to the other life. All I know that God is present in the ER and the OR with all of us regardless of the outcome. I am thankful for the marvels of modern medicine. Without MRIs, CT scans, robotic surgical techniques, and those who make those things work, I would have less time on this earth than I actually have now.
No, I do not know how God and modern medicine dance. I am grateful for an attending Father, and I am grateful for attending physicians and their fellows.
In a few minutes five of our grandchildren will burst through the door. Two will travel an hour and a half to get here. Their parents and youngest brother will stay home and nurse their viruses. I am grateful for a son who knows that I do not need what they have. The youngest three will come through the front door. Buddy will greet them as he always does. The oldest grandson is already here. He came in last night and is asleep in the guest bedroom. I am thankful for all seven of them. I want to grow old and to watch them grow up.
I am grateful for an organization, its leaders, and its mission to make the world a better place for those who are farming while Black. BFAA invited Charla and me into its midst in 2005 and we have been there ever since. Gary Grant and his family invited us in and we have become family with them and they with us. I am grateful to be able to write, develop, and advocate for African American farmers. I am grateful for Shoun Hill as we have partnered and developed the documentary of those courageous 15 farmers who faced down the USDA and DOJ back in the late '90s. I am thankful for African American farmers and their families across this country who have trusted me with their stories. I recognize the fact that it's people who look like me who work in positions of power who have harmed them at times irreparably. They trusted me anyway. That trust will be evident when you see the documentary.
My heart weeps for those who died in this battle long before they saw justice arrive at their doorsteps. May God have mercy on their souls and may they rest in power. I am thankful for those hundreds of people who have contributed to the BFAA cause, focused on the documentary. Your support and friendship, frankly, blew me away.
I am thankful for my church, imperfect as it is, and its people who desire to serve the Lord in this region known as Texoma. I long for some things with my fellowship that may not happen in my lifetime.
I am thankful for friends who keep me honest, for other friends who join me in political, social, and justice-oriented things. That fellowship of head and heart keeps my mind moving, my agenda sharpened, and my faith strong.
And, finally, I am grateful for those follow me on Facebook and on this blog. Your encouragement in doing so moves my heart and inspires me to write more.

Stony the Road: Reconstruction, White Supremacy, and the Rise of Jim Crow

For those of you who have followed me on these pages, you know of my interest in African American farmers and their families.  No, I am not a farmer, and, no, I am not African American. Why, you might ask, do you work in this area?  The short verse is that I work in this area because their stories of struggle and resilience when fighting against the USDA and the DOJ are painful to watch, difficult to grasp, and inspiring to see.  Once I began to hear their stories in 1994, their words, expressions, challenges, and pain served to transform the way I see things in the world and the way I try to live my life.

You may have seen an article or two that I've written such as the one co-authored by Edward Robinson, “We Didn’t Get Nothing:” The Plight of Black Farmers, or the most recent one, Land Gains, Land Losses: The Odyssey of African Americans Since Reconstruction. In those articles you would find information about how freed people came to own land, and some even before Freedom, and how against all odds, they became prodigious land owners, coming to own land even faster than white people at the time. There were enormous road blocks toward buying land and then there were enormous road blocks with keeping the land. Two major challenges of land ownership historically have been the heir property challenges, and then for farmers who choose to work with the USDA, the "lender of last resorts," there have been other challenges with keeping the land. It is amazing how people in positions of power can make a decision to do nothing, decide to change the farm/home plan, deny, postpone, foreclose of farmers needlessly, fail to offer disaster relief when white farmers are getting it, fail to offer other services when white farmers are offered the services, and other egregious acts of discrimination.

All of that became more apparent upon reading
Dr. Henry Louis Gates' latest volume, Stony the

Road: Reconstruction, White Supremacy, and the Rise of Jim Crow," released just this year.  The book is a heavy read in places, a painful read in other places, and a smooth, narrative read in still other places. Rather than recount the history of Reconstruction, he goes about exploring the social and intellectual history of a sordid time in American history. White people and white institutions used a plethora of strategies to regain from African Americans all that they had prior to Freedom and Reconstruction. White Supremacy led whites down the road of using "science" to prove that Blacks were less than whites, that they come from different species, and that they could never handle leadership, responsibility, and the obligations of the vote.

Whites used literature and art to characterize and vilify a people who had just a few years prior earned their freedom. Each chapter has its own images that are discussed in each chapter. They are hard to see, images from mocking a people's individual and collective physical appearance via pejorative characterizations, comparison of brain sizes for whites versus Blacks, or images of alligators hunters using Black children for bait, and other egregious types of images.

Once African Americans fully grasped what the white world was attempting to do, a movement toward developing the "New Negro" set in or even the "New New Negro." These were attempts by Black artists, authors, business people, land owners, and others to develop more appropriate images in keeping with how Blacks really looked and lived rather than white supremacy's characterizations.

Of note is the Harlem Renaissance, a short-lived time in Harlem where Black artists, musicians, and writers converged around developing the "New Negro." A curiosity is that some did not consider the blues or jazz to typify this time and intentions.

Under girding it all was the machinations of white supremacy.  Reconstruction for the white world was that of Redemption from the Lost Cause.  State Senates and Houses of Representatives which were led by way too many people of color, those seats and states had to be regained. After all, how could a freed Black person be expected to live and represent an entire state even when that state had a minority of White people? While it is true that a minority of freed people could read since it was against the law to learn how to read and write during slavery, it was an overstatement that freed people had no abilities to lead the county or state in which they resided.

So, as stereotypes fostered fear and incompetence and all manner of other things, all at a societal level for freed persons, the same phenomena played out in the world of farming while Black. The peak of Black land ownership was 1910, and from that time until now, African Americans have lost land at a higher pace that white farmers.  "Maybe they are just bad farmers," I have heard white people say.  No, they were good farmers. They had worked the land during slavery.  They knew how to farm. As some have said, "It is in my DNA." Or, another said, "My blood is on this land." Or as a farmer's wife said in our documentary recently, African Americans were intended to work the land but never to own the land.

In my writings, I assert that African American farmers have lost much of their land to heir property problems, a problem that exists when a distant cousin in another state with no attachment to the land sells his or her portion at an elevated price, forcing the entire land to be sold to the highest bidder. Secondly, I assert that machinations of the USDA with its tentacles into farming at the local level via the FSA work to disenfranchise Black farmers.  The law is color blind but people are not.  The county committee system is the best of democracy and the worst of democracy.

For those who want to feel challenged, read Gates' book and then read my two articles and place them alongside each other. It would be a painful learning journey, but one that America needs to take. White America would do well to learn what our Black sisters and brothers experienced then and now.  Frankly, Black land loss at the hands of discriminating folks did not end with Reconstruction. It is going on now.  That's a post for another day.

Needles, Phobias, and Stories

Long ago and far away I had a needle phobia, a serious needle phobia. It was real, complete with sweating, dreading, and pain far beyond what was really there in those nerve endings.  During my masters internships, I had the opportunity to sort through it. Apparently, there were some unconscious associations that were truly hidden deeply in my unconscious mind, and when those connections were made (that story is for another day), the phobia disappeared.

Now, after five months of two surgeries, multiple blood tests, a bone marrow aspiration, a partial nephrectomy, a gall bladder removal, and a diagnosis of small cell lymphacytic lymphoma, I feel all needled out, but tomorrow there will be at least one more, and there will be more down the road. 

Several people have made those penetrations and procedures bearable including, number one, hands down, is Charla.  She has been my number one supporter, cheerleader, and advocate. Of late we have discussed vicarious PTSD and the suffering of the caregiver. A distant second would be my medical team, those phlebotomists, technicians, nurses, nurse practitioners, and physicians, and the front line staff. 

Tomorrow I will show up for labs.  In that lab will be a large group of phlebotomists and some will recognize me and I will recognize them. I have my story of journeying to their place of work. They have their stories of journeying to their place of work from other countries. 

A goofy thing I do is to say to each person before she or he sticks the needle in my arm is the line, "I like to live in the pain-free zone. Can you help me live in that place?"  They usually say something after a chuckle like, "I don't know. You tell me." It lightens the moment and allows me to engage them and their stories. I will inevitably affirm their use of that needle. 

Tomorrow I hope to see Achal.  She is a very competent phlebotomist and is kind and gracious.  She immigrated to this country from South Sudan. She had wanted to go to college, if I remember her story correctly, and play volleyball. However, she chose to honor the request of her family, or the demands of her family, and thus she became a worker in the medical world.  She has lived in America several years.  When I asked her, "Has American been good to you," she replies with "there is no perfect place" and something about taking the good with the bad. 

I think America is not terribly welcoming these days to immigrants, especially those who are brown skinned. I do not know how much more difficult that it would be for people like her if they were trying to coming to American under the current administration. Check out a few things about the white nationalism that is lurking in the White House and is shaping policy.  It's all over the news these days.  

So, I'll be happy to see Achal or Amir or the guy from the Philippines whose name I cannot remember, the guy who put my blood in something like 17 vials a while back.

They have their stories of struggle and resilience.  Charla and I have our stories of struggle and resilience these last five months.  Our stories overlap and connect. That's what I like about hanging around with humans. We get to swap stories. 

Stories are our habituations.  We live in and through them. They give us meaning and purpose. 

As these good people do their jobs well, they are creating shalom, and some measure of justice, in making the world a better place, one procedure at a time.

Tomorrow is the Day We Have Anticipated

Tomorrow is the day that Shoun Hill and I have been planning for over the last two years. It is with both anticipation and excitement that tomorrow we premier the Black farmer documentary. We will engage the farmers in a discussion of the film and what the interviewees have brought to the film. We will show half of it tomorrow and the second half on Saturday. What do we expect? I am not sure. Some know it is coming, and some have come just to see it. Others do not know it is coming and will see it as well for the first time.

For those of you who have followed this page, you know that it has been over two years in the works. Shoun, Charla and I have traveled from Texas, to New Jersey, to Maryland, and to DC, Georgia, Mississippi, Louisiana, Arkansas, and Alabama.

BFAA funded the initial stages of the work, and you, friends, and family funded a very large sum of money for its completion. Without you and BFAA, this project would not have occurred. Along the way, we faced opposition as some farmers or family members did not want to be interviewed, legal counsel for the DOJ rebuffed us, as did legal counsel for PIgford I and a number of others.

Still, we found extraordinary stories from the farmers who prevailed as David against Goliath between 1997 and 1999. The stories brought their pain to surface. Shoun, Charla, and I walked into sacred spaces in hearing their stories and honoring their stories. It is impossible to get every story and every nuance of a story in a documentary of an hour and forty minutes. That has been Shoun's burden. My burden was to negotiate itineraries, times, and places, and whether or not a farmer and family would engage with us.

With each burden came a huge amount of respect for the lived experiences of these brave people. They believed that their cause was just. They believed that they were fighting for themselves and for the movement.

Therein lies the burden and the challenge for Shoun and me. We believe in their stories. We believe in the movement that they started. We believe that justice is still being denied.

It is for the cause of justice that we have made this documentary.

Black Farmers Still Struggling, But Continue to Survive!

Black Farmers Still Struggling, But Continue to Survive!

16^th National Black Land Loss Summit

November 8 and 9, 2019

Hilton Garden Inn

111 Carolina Crossroads Parkway

Roanoke Rapids, NC 27870

Friday, 1:00 pm to 7:00 pm. Topics include wills and trusts for farmers; legal, political, and legislative issues; Black farmer documentary; and dinner and awards.

Speakers include Omari Wilson, Lawrence Lucas, Lorette Picciano, Waymon Hinson, Shoun Hill, and Gary Grant

Friday, 9:00 to 4:00pm. Topics include niche farming and urban gardening; how the USDA distorted data to the detriment of Black farmers; part two of the documentary; and what the future holds.

Speakers include Nathan Rosenberg, Bryce Wilson Stucki, Michael Stewart, Gary Grant, and others.

Full conference: $150; Friday only $59; and Saturday only $100.

Some scholarships available first come, first serve.

There is vendor space for nominal fee.

Call Gary Grant at 252-826-3017 for more details.

A Word or Two from President Gary Grant, BFAA, Tillery, NC

BLACK FARMERS & AGRICULTURALISTS ASSOCIATION

                                &

      THE LAND LOSS FUND

                            P.O. Box 61

                       Tillery, NC   27887

Phone:  252-826-3017        Fax/Phone: (252) 826-3244          E-mail: tillery@aol.com

            October 1, 2019

                     From:  Gary R. Grant, President, BFAA     
                  To:  BFAA Members & Friends

I hope you are not one of those who thought that BFAA disappeared from the face of the earth. Perhaps you have been wondering about BFAA and its presence in the fight for justice. I can assure you that we are here and we need you to renew your membership with the organization for just $40.00 for twelve months.

 I as president have not been communicating much of late.  I can assure you that BFAA and I both are very busy and very active in our righteous causes. Take a look at the following list:

1. BFAA Serves as a clearing house for those who call in needing guidance on how to save their land by being able to connect them with someone who can talk with them about the issues they are facing and make referrals for assistance.

2. BFAA continues to work with researchers to connect them with farmers, former farmers and landowners in order that the real story of the Black farmers struggle will be accurately documented.  While we know that it is painful in retelling the story, what we realize is that the story is going to be told and who better to tell it than those who actually lived it.

3.  We work with other groups like the Rural Coalition, based in Washington, DC to help impact policies that are being formulated by Congress so that the real issues are kept in front of the legislators in order that Farm Bills that are passed do not overlook the plight of Black farmers and our continued struggle.

4.  There are two major request that we continuously receive.  One is a requests for funds to ward off foreclosure.  The other is for a young person seeking to enter farming.  However, we never have had funds for these two major issues, and we know that the Black farmers still face the same major issues it did prior to Pigford -- access to capital.

5. Currently, BFAA is working with a documentary team that is covering those who got settlements prior to Pigford and just how their lives have been impacted.

6.  We are working with an adjunct professor at Ohio State who is documenting the economic impact of the loss of Black farmers, the impact Black land loss has on communities economically, and how the wealth of Black farming communities is on the downslide because of the disappearance of Black land ownership.

 7.  We worked with farm groups to get PIGFORD II established and assisted a number of farmers in going after their rightful share.

 8.  BFAA has been and is still a strong voice out there, but what we need now is to have memberships restored.

9.  BFAA is planning the 16^th National Black Land Summit for November 8 & 9, 2019.   However due to circumstances beyond our control, the Summit will take place in Roanoke Rapids, NC.  We certainly hope that you will be in attendance and will have renewed your membership with BFAA.  Hopefully we will be able to offer scholarships to cover some of the housing for this Summit.

One thing that all of us should have learned from the Pigford law suit and our struggle is that we cannot depend on anyone to save us except ourselves.

Please take a moment and complete the membership and Summit Registration forms that are enclosed and send  it to us in the enclosed return envelope with your $40.00 membership fee.  

WE NEED YOU AND YOUR MEMBERSHIP!!!!

Yours for the survival of Black Farmers and Landowners,

Gary R. Grant

BFAA President

Update: Black Farmer Documentary

We are currently in the "dogs days" of development of the Black farmer documentary. That simply means that there has been a huge transition going on. The first huge phase was creating contacts, schedules, and traveling on-site to interview the farmers and other principals for the documentary. Over the better part of two years, Shoun and I have traveled (oftentimes with our driver, Charla) to Texas, North Carolina, Virginia, New Jersey, Maryland, DC, Louisiana, Georgia, Mississippi, Arkansas, and Alabama. We interviewed in their homes and Shoun took "b-roll" footage of their farms and portraits of the farmers.

Since then, we have secured some amazing drone footage of two farms that show the up and the downs, the triumphs and the tragedies of farming while Black in America.

Shoun is now doing the creating and likely exhausting work of pulling sound bites from the myriad of interviews and hours that tell the stories of struggle and resilience of those brave farmers who went up against the USDA from 1997-1999 and won their cases. "Won" is a word we'll deconstruct in the film. The USDA and its power structure always has a way of winning despite loosing, thanks to the DOJ and OGC.

My role has been that of fact-checking, contacting specific people whose names came up repeatedly in the interviews, and providing Shoun with information and data as he works on the script.

While we did interview 9 of the 15 farmers/families, we were not able to contact three others as they have died since then. One adult child of a farmer who settled declined to participate with us. Two farmers who prevailed opted not to interview with us due to legal obligations of their own.

So, we are inching toward the 16th Black Land Loss Summit in Roanoke Rapids, NC, on November 8 and 9.

If you are reading this and know that your friends contributed to this effort, please forward to them and/or repost to your own FB page. Will update you all in another few weeks.

Those Who are With Us in That In- Between-Space

It also occurs to me that those of us living in between now and then with chronic conditions, or with conditions that look simple from the outset but then turn into longer term problems, that we are not alone. Sure, we feel the pain as the pain is inside our bodies or inside our hearts as we yearn for relief and respite from the daily struggles just to breathe pain-free. No, we are not alone. Our caretakers are there with us.  They feel our pain in a vicarious way.  They are touched by our suffering.

In my case, it has been my wife. Short of embarrassing her, she has been extraordinarily constant. She learned how to irrigate the ports either prior to leaving the hospital or on a trip back to ER. She counted the pills with great care, created a time line for when the next dose was due, was up with me at those times during the night or those other times betwixt or between when nature called. She provided a steady arm to lean on when I was too weak to walk on my own. She carefully measured output from the various drains that hung like out of place limbs from the trunk of my body. She charted them for the physicians. She prepared meals that she knew would likely help in the transition to new and different ways of eating.  She bought things that she rarely bought before because they would help in the interim.

She wept in the ER at the notion that her beloved was to have one more surgery and so soon after the first. I still hear the thud of her notebook and other things when the physician said, "This is an emergent issue and it must be removed. We are admitting you tonight and putting you on antibiotics immediately."

I saw the fatigue in her face and body, the fatigue that goes with being a caretaker who lives in that in between space.  I knew she was growing weary from that look in her eyes, but she never stopped. On one occasion, as she was collecting fluid from one bag, she emptied it as normal, but she forgot to squeeze the bag. It is a vacuum that works in a vacuum sort of way to help drain. I reminded her as she put the plug in the bag, "You need to squeeze that," and she apologized, and I assured her that that was ok, that she was doing a wonderful job of taking care of me.

That is only one example.  There are more.  The point is simple.  Our beloveds live in that space in between.  They know the healthier person from back then.  They long for that health to return whenever that will be.  If you are fortunate, as I am, they walk with you from now until then.  A curiosity is her prayer, "Lord, please be with us as we walk these days."

Some days living in between is a walk, somedays it is a trudge, and somedays it is dragging ourselves inch by inch.  And, when we wake up in the morning, we oftentimes do not know what that day will bring, a walk, a trudge, or a drag, or maybe just sitting in the recliner and staring at the television screen.

I am mindful of the people whose faces I can still see from yesterday's post.  There are multiple tragedies in that list.  Racism and discrimination are but one level of tragedy, especially as it comes from the people and the institution whose job it is to insure that farmers get their fair share of funds, advice, loans, debt relief and write-off, and the like.  Another level of tragedy is when the pressure is so extreme, when their partners see no hope for a brighter day, when they opt to leave because they see that as the only way out.  I have talked to some of them. Their regret is immense. They can recount the days and the nights of despair when hopelessness set in and would not go away.

Yes, there is a price for caring and for care-taking, long term and short term.

For my wife and me, the battle of the in between has been just a few months. For those in that list, their battles were years and years and years.

There are more stories, but for now, simply put, I am grateful for the helpers, for the caretakers, for those who put their lives on the line to live in that space between, for those who remember back then, live in the now, and yearn for tomorrow and relief. For them, I am truly thankful.

Living in Between

It has occurred to me the last few days that I am living in that in-between space.  Perhaps you know what that looks like and feels like. I do not feel as good as I will some day down the road, but I am not feeling as awful as I did a couple or so weeks ago. Behind feels like yesterday and tomorrow feels like a long way off down the road.

Some people do not get to experience the living in between. Whether it is their health, the loss of a child, or the loss of someone they love, this is as good as it gets.  When we're in that space of it's as good as it gets, we wrestle with how to do life when change is not likely to happen. I have two friends who have experienced amputations.  I admire their courage in recuperating from the surgery, stabilizing, and preparing for the prosthetic and then adjusting to life with the artificial limb. They will never have two legs again, but then, again, living with one is better than a diseased two, so they decided. Or perhaps for all of us who have experienced unspeakable grief, our hope is for a tomorrow that does not have grief and loss in it, and that may just be in eternity.

Another challenge is looking in the mirror or into the mirror of my friends faces, eyes, and words.  "You look great," I hear these days.  So, there is the gap between how I feel and how my friends, and even my family, say that I look. I am learning to pace myself with both OTC meds and with work and other activities. A long day at the desk or out and about must be paid for physically and emotionally tomorrow.

Such it is with living in that space in between what was and what will be.

I am pondering other friends living in between. The farmer who lives in between, knowing that he has a case in court in which he could get clear title to his land, but he must wait, and wait, and wait. A farmer who works the land because he can, and he does not know if nor when they, whoever they are, will come and demand its return to them. Or another farmer who remembers what it was like to farm and to do well at it until the FSA office did its thing, denying loans, waiting forever to approve them, and on and on, and knowing that he'll never farm again.  The farmer who knows that his crops are growing and that they are looking good in the field, knowing that rain, too much rain, is coming.  Then he'll know how much is in the field to be harvested. Or the son of deceased parents who loved the land and died protecting it.  He lives between then and what the future holds, and he does not want to talk about the now looking back to the then and its pain and suffering for him and his parents.

Shoun and I are working hard on the documentary. We want it to make a difference. We have heard stories of unspeakable grief and loss of land, livelihood, and identity.  We want to go to as many places as we can to show the film in the hopes that it will make a difference in how African Americans are treated in the farming bureaucracy. This is now and that is then.  We live in that space in between.

I am by disposition and choice a man with goals and objectives and to-do lists a mile long for each day.

For now, though, my to-do list contains a reminder from family and friends.  That reminder is "slow and steady wins the race even when there is no race."

Living in between means that I feel better than over the past few months as there are no drains coming out of my body.   I sleep in my own bed and am no longer taking narcotics. I just have to get used to the notion that I may look better than I feel. That validation is not painful but there is a little irony in it.

I am waiting for tomorrow. Patience may not be my first option, but I'll surrender to it in order to get there, whenever it arrives.  Maybe I'll be surprised.

I Want America to Be Good For You

As folks who follow me know, I've been in and out of the hospital, ER, medical clinics, and other ancillary offices related to medicine.  Back in the early days, I decided that I was going to engage those who treated me, those who were likely not born in the US. They have been from India, Ethiopia, Nigeria, and all manner of other places.  They have treated me well.

Here is a conversation that reflects a myriad of other conversations.  This one is with Amira, the phebotomist at the end of her shift last week.

Amira:  Have a seat over there, Hon.
Waymon: Do I get to choose which vein you use?
Amira: Sure (tapping my left arm and the big vein there).
Waymon: I like to live in the no pain zone with needles, can you help me out? (Teasing)
Amira: I think so but you get to decide (smiling back)

The needle goes in and the blood flows.

Waymon: I felt no stick on that one.  Nice job.
Amira: You are welcome.
Waymon: Where are you from?
Amira: Ethiopia (she speaks from beneath her lovely wrap around her head and down to her waist).
Waymon: How long have you lived in the states?
Amira: 18 years.
Waymon: Has America been good to you? I want America to be good to you.
Amira: Sometimes.
Waymon: I want America to be good to you.
Amira: Thank you.  It is people like you who make it easy for me.

She gives me a huge, lengthy embrace. I am moved to tears.  I sense that there are many stories that she could tell. A few moments later, as she was taking the vials of blood to the lab, I was able to introduce Charla to her.

This is not a good time for immigrants in our country.  The rhetoric from the WH is startlingly brutal, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, and mean-spirited to people of color, to those who have come to our country.

I am thankful for Amira. I wish her well.  I hope America will be good to her.  I hope we will all be good representatives of our country to those who dress differently, speak with different accents, and the like.

America the Wounded

Oh, beautiful for spacious skies

Except for the ones filled with our childrens’ cries.

This land is your land, this land is my land

One of the 2^nd amendment, lots of guns, and parents' mournful sighs. 

My country ‘tis of thee

With our AK-47s and many rounds 

Let music swell the breeze

Let mothers grieve their dead children, hear those anguished sounds. 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord

And the Supreme Court rules that the right to bear arms is an individual right

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea

And somewhere along the line the NRA has become our nation's blight. 

God Bless America, land that I love

Make weapons of mass destruction easy to obtain

Hurrah for the flag of the free

And fill our airwaves with vitriol and white nationalism, our saddest refrain.

I pledge thee my allegiance, America, the bold

More guns, more violence, more mass shootings, so many lives wasted

Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton

Where the seeds of racism were planted, watered, and harvested.

I’m proud to be an American

Where I can own as many guns and ammunition as I desire

God bless America, My home sweet home

And when the dead are counted, never putting white supremacy on the funeral pyre. 

Give me your tired, your poor

Especially if you are white and educated and wealthy

My native country, thee, land of the noble free

And with the NRA owning our congress as far as I can see. 

Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light

News of more mass killings in El Paso Dayton Uvalde Nashville make for fitful sleep

O beautiful for patriot dream

The caskets all in a row, we offer our thoughts and prayers, words pretty cheap.

Let Justice Ring: Eyes to See, Ears to Hear

Let Justice Ring: Eyes to See, Ears to Hear: There are two Americas. I live in one. It is the white one. My family and many of my friends live in the same white America. I have friends ...

Disparities and My Experience as a White Guy

Nothing feels terribly normal and routine about medical care in this house of late. A post op consult with my surgeon a month following surgery seemed like a good time to dive into some disparity research that I'd been putting on hold. The energy was there is read and think a little.

We arrived at the hospital early, did all of the check in stuff, and settled into a wait. The May-September, 2018 issue of The American Journal of Economics and Sociology provided much depth and breadth. Louis Lee Woods' article, "The Inevitable Products of Racial Segregation," Teron McGrew's "The History of Residential Segregation in the United States," and "Ruqaiijah Yearby's "Racial Disparities in Health Status and Access to Healthcare" all provided useful material that would inform and distract from the consult to come.

In short, health disparities lie within the middle of a confluence of forces that make for life in America. African American's home ownership, wealth, employment status, ability to purchase insurance, availability of medical care, affordability of medical care, and a number of other variables give rise to the notion of systemic racism. Everything is connected to everything else, and all is explained by the fact that the advantage goes to the white person.

And then my surgeon came in. He looked at the two bags, sat down, opened up his computer on the adjacent desk in the corner, and began to ask my wife and me questions. I am an anomaly to him. It is seldom the case that one of his patients wrestle with such  complications. Dr. Caddedu has some decisions to make about my healthcare.

I am struck by what I am experiencing and what I have been reading and what I have heard through the years. I realize that I am a privileged white male. Medical care is readily available to me. No hospitals have been closed in my immediate area.  My wife and I can afford insurance. We can afford for the supplements that cover everything else. So far, my medical bill is $0.00. You do not want to know what has been charged out. Those numbers are truly staggering.  The hospital and physicians are Medicare providers. Whatever the physician prescribes I will take. I have read abstract of some of his publications. I do not have to decide between paying the rent, or food for the week, and medical treatment.

I get in to see the physician or one of his residents or fellows almost immediately. Some have to wait and wait and wait.

My physician seems relatively unhurried, taking his time, exploring options for what to do next.

He sits, rubbing his face, contemplating things of which I could not understand, and lets my wife and me know that it is complicated. How many poor folks have physicians who take time and effort to make decisions? I don't know, but my suspicion is that overworked physicians in some hospitals have a limited amount of time for each patient.

The physician gives us the plan of action. The PA comes in and removes one device. A procedure is scheduled for some time tomorrow and the doctor's team will call with confirmation.

While we drive home, stunned at what we just experienced, the phone rings. It is the urologist's office setting up a time for tomorrow for the procedure. Then another call. It is the anesthesiologist's office setting up details for that person.

Then, and now, I think about my friend in NC whose health is in decline because of his medical condition, and I wonder if he is getting the care that he needs. I think of the farmer I met just recently whose blood sugar is occasionally out of control, something that endangers him. Then I think about the gentleman in Dawson, Georgia several years ago who was dying of cancer and worriation. There are others. Perhaps you know them. Perhaps they are you.

Those are just people I know.

Disparities are for real. In a just world, disparities are not so drastic. We can work for a more just society in which people do not have to decide between rent and medications.

In a just society, people will not die prematurely.