An Obvious Lack of Political Courage: An Overview

To tell Black people to wait means never. That's what I'm told. That seems to be the case now for Black farmers. Here are details that I'd like for you to know about. 

In 2020 and 2021, Senators Booker, Warren, Sanders, and others introduced the Justice for Black Farmers Act on the senate floor. Everyone knew that it would go no where under the Trump administration, but at least it was in plain sight. Then, it was re-introduced in 2021, again was going nowhere, but this time there was a new senator in town, Senator Reverend Raphael Warnock. 

Senator Warnock moved several pieces from the JFBA into the new bill, the American  Rescue Plan Act of 2021, and this bill immediately became a flash point for Black farmers. Now "Black farmers" were relanguaged to "Socially Disadvantaged Farmers and Ranchers," consistent with 2501, well known in the USDA. It included a payment of 120%, complete debt relief for those who had suffered discrimination at the hands of the infamous county committee and its malfeasance and 20% for taxes. 

A large number of white farmers and their attorneys, led by the chief wordmeister of some of Trump's efforts, some twelve class action suits were filed across the country, initiated by the lightening rod of an agriculture secretary here in Texas (also known for being a churchman as well as one who uses curse words to describe others with whom he disagrees including at time, Ms. Clinton) who claimed "reverse discrimination. Two district courts with conservative judges agreed with them and put a restraining order on USDA, forbidding USDA from forgiving the debt and paying the taxes of SDFRs. We believe that Vilsack, Secretary of Ag, slow-walked the process that allowed these ridiculous lawsuits to see the light of day. It should never have taken over 100 days for these farmers to have their indebtedness discharged. 

Then, in 2022, President Biden signed the Inflation Reduction Act of 2022. This Bill, with its authors knowing what had happened previously, and knowing that conservative judges were sitting on the bench, many appointed by Trump, changed the language in the debt relief provisions to "distressed borrowers," defined as those farmers and ranchers who are at least two months in arrears of their indebtedness with loans to USDA or banks. The total in that provision of the IRA was $3.1B. Anyone distressed would qualify. Also included in the Bill was $2.2B for "discrimination" and those who could prove it. 

See how wide open this have become? A department of agriculture that has discriminated against Black farmers for centuries, is now allowed to benefit anybody and everybody. 

At this point, we know that Vilsack has released $700M to some 11K distressed borrowers early on. Now, of late, he has released another $193M to another group of borrowers. We have asked, in fact, a wide ranging group of people, have asked for an accounting of debt relief by race. The person in charge of equity efforts for USDA says that they are following the law and are not collecting that information despite the legislation that demanded it in the 2008 farm bill. 

As I have said on several occasions, our efforts reach out across the country, and while it is not precise in our conclusions, we know of only nine Black farmers who have had their debts cancelled partially or totally. NINE. N...I....N...E.....

Here is a real life story of what is going on. More from ABC to come. 

Along with this, the Bill did not contain any provisions for the payment of taxes.  So, whatever the amount is wiped off the books, the farmer is required to pay 30 to 40 percent in taxes on that amount. At the moment, Senator Booker's office has negotiated with the Department of the Treasury and it looks like there will be a wash, and no taxes will be incurred. We are pleased with that. Time will tell if this is correct. 

Our opinion is that Vilsack is doing what Vilsack does, privileging white farmers and tossing some scraps to Black farmers, and perhaps to other socially disadvantaged farmers. 

Our opinion also is that once again, white farmers are benefitting from the pain and suffering of Black farmers. We see racism all over the USDA and from the man in the secretary's position, and the current actions under the latest two bills are evidence of that. 

We know that he left Iowa in the wake of a huge class action suit of 6,000 Black employees of the State of Iowa. 

All of this is why we demonstrated in front of the White House on March 1. Yes, that is the Demonstration that caught the attention of the Secretary who sent one of his employees to watch us and then later to intrude upon us in Senator Booker's office. Scroll down and you'll find two posts about those events. 

Bottom line? Black farmers and advocates, myself included, are sick and tired of the acts of malfeasance on the part of USDA. We are weary of their pitiful efforts. 

What do I observe? "An Obvious Lack of Political Courage," as the title of this post suggests. Who lacks courage? Here is the briefest of lists:  President Biden, Secretary Vilsack, senators, and representatives who know better. 

Bearing Witness as a Concerned Ally, Part II

In part I of a two-part series, done only because there were too many words for one post, here is a quote that explains where I am:

"Bearing witness involves a lot of things from the person of the listener in relationship with the person(s) and woundedness: active listening, acknowledgements, recognitions, naming the wounds and the origins of the wounds, identifying strengths and resilience in the midst of pain and suffering, simply being there when there are no words, understanding that “it’s not about me,” and serving the person(s) with the wounds in overt and often understated ways." 

It was about pain and suffering. It was their pain and their suffering. These were people who loved the land and farming,  who loved the smell of freshly turned dirt, who had their hopes dashed upon the rocky craigs of racism and all of its machinations: insults, lost applications or changed applications, words of “there’s money here but not for your kind,” supervised bank accounts year in and year out, no drought relief or disaster relief like the white friends, operating money coming in too late or not at all or half of what was expected, crops planted late in the season, and then crops not generating enough to pay the loan off when the harvest was made. A lien placed on the farm, wondering when foreclosure would happen, dreading the day and obsessing about it day in and day out while white farmers drive up and down the highway in their new trucks or with their newly bought machinery.

I heard stories of headaches, strokes, heart attacks, blindness, kidney failure, marital conflict, fights over finances and the land, blood sugar levels dangerously out of control, rage and powerlessness at the same time, creditors knocking on the door, trusted allies no longer offering credit, and people driving by, slowing down, to look over their land.

The Demonstration, the speeches, the conversation with the senators and staffer were Black-led and white ally supported. That was the way it was supposed to be.

Now, we were demonstrating in front of the White House, demanding that Biden fire Vilsack and replace him with someone who understood things, someone who would honor their pain and suffering, someone who would cancel their debts, those that had come because of discrimination at the county committee level, and offer them compensatory damages. They just wanted to farm.

We simply attempted to “be there,” to offer support, to identify with them insofar as is possible, one human to another, to recognize their pain, acknowledge their suffering, and to witness their strengths in the midst of the troubling times.

I often wondered how they survived such horrendous circumstances. Many times I asked. Spoken words about loving the land, loving God, being called by God to this work, believing in the goodness of America and its people, were some of the things I heard. And I observed in the relationships in the family, love and affection between marital partners, and respect and love and devotion by family members for each other.

And now, we were in DC. Front of the White House. Calling out the president and his appointed secretary.

I was not overtly conscious of these matters the days before, during, and after the Demonstration on March 1. Being with them the day prior was deeply meaningful for my wife and me. Some farmers and spouses, we had not seen since 2005 and some we had not seen since 2008, and some we had not seen nor talked to since interviewing them for the documentary.

This was a Black farmer led event. Racism at the county committee level and in the halls of USDA and in the seat of the secretary, that was their story. I was there to bear witness to their lived experiences. I was there to affirm the righteousness of their cause. I was there to march, shout, carry signs front and back, chant the words, “No Justice, No Peace,” or “No Check, No Vote!” and other things. I was one of a handful of white people there. All of us were there to support, listen, honor, and validate the truths they were saying. When they spoke of institutional racism and structural racism in their own words from their lived experiences of farming while Black in their county and their state in these United States of America, we were there to affirm and honor. It was their demonstration.

We simply were there to show support, that what they spoke about or described or chanted was indeed true. Our presence simply was an attempt to make the statement that we saw them and we heard them. We attempted to embrace both the pain and the joy of farming while Black. We entered the worlds of Black farmers. We were not Black. We were not farmers. We had actually been recipients of much because of the color of our skin, or at least, if we had things that were difficult, our skin color did not make them worse.

We were there to bear witness.

Personally, politically, and socially, we saw the webs of inner connectivity. Institutional racism, responsibility devolved down to the county level, employees acting out their racist attitudes with impunity upon farmers, and we were determined to use our voices to call out USDA for its malfeasance toward Black farmers. Such misdeeds are unacceptable. They are in fact criminal, though it is obvious in the stories that no one ever had to pay a price for their racist attitudes and behavior. Black farmers lose their land while USDA employees retire with full benefits.

We could not help but be moved by the things we heard, saw, and experienced in individual conversations and on things said and done before, during, and after the march. We would be less than human if we were not touched by pain and suffering.

I hope the same for Senator Warren. I hope that she heard their pain and suffering. I hope that her hearing moves her to act on their behalf in the halls of Congress and in the laws and policies that she promotes.

I just wanted to bear witness.

I hope she wants to do the same wherever she goes.

Bearing Witness as a Concerned Ally, Part I

Several things have been on my mind over the last few weeks. The Demonstration of Black farmers in DC on March 1 along with the expulsion of two Black representatives from the House in Tennessee (along with their reappointments) have set me to thinking.

My thoughts center around “bearing witness” and serving as a supportive white ally. Bearing witness is a notion that finds its roots in working with victims of trauma and allyship involves support but recognizing my own lane and staying in it.

Bearing witness involves a lot of things from the person of the listener in relationship with the person(s) and woundedness: active listening, acknowledgements, recognitions, naming the wounds and the origins of the wounds, identifying strengths and resilience in the midst of pain and suffering, simply being there when there are no words, understanding that “it’s not about me,” and serving the person(s) with the wounds in overt and often understated ways.

Trauma comes in different shapes and sizes. People are traumatized by gun violence, by interpersonal violence, school yard bullying, and many other things. As I reflect upon these things, violence at the hands of racist employees of the USDA/FSA results in trauma to the farmer and family members. When that racist behavior is experienced over a long period of time, those traumatic wounds get deeper and deeper. Some wounds are emotional, others are relational, and still others are physical. And some die young, way too young.

Being a good ally is important to me. Being asked to join the battle for justice for Black farmers, knowing what my skill set is and how those skills can serve the cause of justice, those are important to me as an advocate.

In his autobiography, “Black in Selma: The Uncommon Life of J. L. Chestnut, Jr.,” Chestnut draws vivid pictures of the power of white people in his community and how Black people are made to be subservient to them. His is a riveting narrative. He writes graphically about “bloody Sunday,” and its devastation. He then describes the march to Montgomery two weeks later. His observation is that the event is a Black-led event, with an overwhelming number of Black people prepared to do the 50 miles in five days. He does, however, comment that there is a large group of white supporters. They are there to support. They are not there to lead. Black people are leading. That event, according to attorney Chestnut signifies a turn for the African American population of Selma as they take on a stronger leadership role for themselves.

Those descriptions linger as I ponder events and images of the DC Demonstration. It was Black-led and Black-orchestrated from the get-go. It was, however, attended by a few white people who were there for support as allies in the battle for justice for Black farmers.

The afternoon following the Demonstration marked another important event as some 35 or so of us gathered in Senator Booker’s conference room.

Senator Elizabeth Warren entered the conference room and I could feel the temperature change. We moved from conflict and distrust to trust and engagement. She had come to listen to the stories. I watched carefully from the far end of the conference room, standing behind the gentleman who had prompted the temperature to rise, and now listened to the senator who appeared to focus intently on stories of pain and suffering and misdeeds at the hands of the USDA. This went on for a while. No one seemed to be watching the clock.

At some point, it felt obvious that she needed to leave and return to her other work. As she was preparing to wrap up, I felt an urgency to make a comment or two.

“Senator Warren, thank you for the opportunity to work with your staff on your policy for Black farmers.” Her reply, “Well, they are right here. You can tell them yourself.” And I did.

I continued, “It’s obvious that you are talking with the survivors of the persistent and intense racism that Black farmers experience at the hands of the USDA/FSA. Racism is painful and unrelenting. People die. People die way too soon. We are mindful of those people who are not with us today because of the stress of farming while Black in America. We must remember that. Thank you for coming and listening.” She nodded a knowing nod.

What had I done? What had given me the right to say those things to her? I wondered out loud to a friend as we left the building, and he said that the words were well spoken and needed to be said.

Still, I wondered. There would be more wondering. To be continued.