Food Sovereignty: What exactly does it mean? What does it reflect about our world that the fight for food sovereignty is even up for debate; shouldn’t everyone have access/control/power/freedom over their food?
Today’s thoughts are not directly related to Zambia life, but they are always inspired by. We attended a celebration day in a rural farming district this week, and sitting on the travelling bus I was focussed on the sights flashing by me. Huge plots extended as far as the eye could see with imposing gates around and large posters spotted the roads promoting “drought resistant”, or “extra hardy” or “pest free” maize varieties- genetically modified seeds for farmers. Sitting outside the front gates of these large farms were women and children heating cobs of corn over small charcoal fires, attempting to sell their small stacks of bright red tomatoes to passer-by. Women in Africa are 80% of the farming labour, yet their control/access/ownership of the land itself is usually next to nothing, instead deferring to the power of men. I found myself wondering if the women I see daily hawking their produce grew the food themselves, or imported, and whether they feed their families on the same goods they are selling, or whether it is out of their price range for personal consumption.
(Post heavily quoted from: Farmers, Foodies, and First Nations: Getting to Food Sovereignty in Canada- Annette Desmarais and Hannah Wittman)
Food sovereignty goes much further than food security and the right to food because it places questions of what food is produced, where, how, by whom, and at what scale at the centre of public debate and also raises similar questions about food consumption and distribution.
To better understand food sovereignty as an organizing frame for transformative social change, it is useful to conceptualize it as a process involving persistent, diverse and interconnected struggles. Ramon Vera (2010), a long time agrarian activist in Mexico puts it like this: “It is a continual struggle in many areas of the world… it is a struggle that you lose and you win every day, little by little. Food sovereignty means working on the health of something that has been deeply devastated and is in need of great repair… Food sovereignty is about the struggles for autonomy, for territorial control, to build strong people’s assemblies, to recuperate the community; it means building movements to care for the forests, water, recuperate the soil, preservation of ancestral seeds, stopping the entrance of GMOs. These are everyday and permanent struggles.”
This quote shows again why I am so interested but hesitant to delve into my thoughts on the food system, because it is intrinsically linked with all of the other global complexities: climate change and environmental protection/degradation, the displacement and mistreatment of certain social or racial groups, inequality in terms of economic distribution, and the role that feminism plays in development.
Desmarais and Wittman continue: An analysis of food sovereignty also takes into account the different stages of struggle. On the one hand, in many places, communities might not be using the language of food sovereignty but in fact are engaged in initiatives that fit within a food sovereignty framework. When peasants in local communities in Mexico are fighting to keep Canadian mining companies from accessing land because mining will affect the quality and access to the land and water available for producing food, are they not involved in a food sovereignty struggle? Yet, in Canada, many of the issues that prompted the emergence of a food sovereignty alternative are deeply felt: collapsing rural communities as a result of the on-going farm income crisis leading to rural exodus, an aging farming population and a decline in public services; farmers’ loss of power in the marketplace and in policy-development accompanied by the corporatization of agriculture; and growing concerns from both consumers and producers about human and animal health and welfare, and the environmental, social and economic sustainability of industrial agriculture. These are precisely the issues that have broadened the reach of the food sovereignty discourse to other actors in Canada – consumers, urban food organizations, and indigenous peoples.
Focusing Canada, what is some of the history?
On a national scale, the Pan-Canadian People’s Food Policy Project (PFPP), launched in 2009, aimed at developing a food sovereignty policy for Canada (Kneen, 2011). The PFPP organized consultations across the country to involve consumers and urban food systems activists in developing food sovereignty language to redefine food and agricultural policies for Canada. (Think our major producers such as wheat, canola, dairy, etc. rather than small scale community garden plots here). At the same time, highly visible “foodie” organizations focus their effort on voluntarily constructing localized food systems from the bottom up – building farmers’ markets, guerrilla gardening, local food potlucks, community gardens. Nevertheless, the things foodies care about (“geographic specificity, ‘simplicity,’ personal connection, history and tradition, and ethnic connection” (Johnston and Bauman, 2010: 73)) along with environmental and health issues, are shared by the food sovereignty framework.
I see a lot of this occurring in Victoria these days: a huge push for home and community gardens, market sharing of good, potlucks, and connections with farmers. This is absolutely important and is something I love being a part of; Victoria is in a part of the world that can produce a huge variety of amazing products, and these deserve to take center stage on our plates rather than importing lower quality good from thousands of kilometers away, guzzling gas in its transport. But Victoria is a very high-income population. Yes, the university students and the hippies are not necessarily rolling in money, but in comparison to Zambia or other parts of the world, people are tending to shift towards local consumption markets more out of choice, global awareness, and trendiness rather than an inability to afford food from other exporting locations.
forever entranced by the Pacific ocean’s treasures (Christian Tisdale Photography).
When I think food sovereignty, I tend to think more about Indigenous resurgence, revitalization, and reclamation. So how does this fit in?
“While some Indigenous peoples actively participated in the PFPP, several Indigenous organizations also sought to deepen their own indigenous food sovereignty framework, an approach highly critical of a version they view as agriculture- and state-centric. Indigenous food sovereignty activists stress the importance of self-determination and the inclusion of fishing, hunting and gathering as key elements of a food sovereignty approach to sustainable food systems in Canada, and highlight the complexity of issues of sovereignty, authority, individual and collective rights, equity, culture, and (re)distribution of land and other resources.”
As a broad generalization, Indigenous cultures seek to honour, value and protect traditional food practices and networks in the face of ongoing pressures of colonization. Really, our current food system is another form of colonization that Indigenous people have been attempting to manoeuvre since settlers* (*non- Indigenous) first arrived: how much do they hold onto their traditional diet and harvesting methods in the face of so much adversity and discouragement? Colonization, unresolved treaty processes, and systemic racism have resulted in the loss of widespread access to traditional territories and relationships supporting the hunting, gathering, fishing, cultivation, and trading of traditional indigenous foods (Morrison, 2011; N. J. Turner & Loewen, 1998; N. J. Turner & Turner, 2008). Direct interventions such as the potlatch ban and residential school further impeded Indigenous peoples ability to maintain traditional food trade patterns.
“Before European contact First Nations people on Vancouver Island had what we are describing today as both food security and food sovereignty. They had access to a range of food within their hunting and fishing territory, with opportunities for increasing the variety of food through trade and seasonal travel; storage through food processing, gathering and hunting skills and knowledge through trade with both nearby villages and longer treks to the mainland. By approaching the resources of the land and sea as stewards rather than owners they were able to live within the earth’s carrying capacity for thousands of years.” (VICRA & OBCR, 2011).
We see a loss of food security and sovereignty manifesting in a multitude of health problems within Indigenous communities; people are cut off from traditional foods due to a loss of food collection knowledge being passed generationally post-residential schooling, pushed off their traditional land by treaties, have their earthly resources contaminated by industry … it’s no wonder that in Canada Indigenous people are struggling for food sovereignty. Indigenous peoples in Canada have a 5-7 year shorter life expectancy a result of disproportionate access to health, education and other public services, higher poverty rates, and diet-related issues (diabetes, obesity) (Adelson, 2005; Estey, Kmetic, & Reading, 2007). Looking at food prices, especially in northern communities, many Indigenous people are simply trying to find food security. Food insecurity rates for indigenous peoples living off reserve are 33% and in some communities, particularly in the north, reach 75% (Fieldhouse & Thompson, 2012; Thompson et al., 2011). We look at impoverished areas internationally and see serious food insecurity, but with rates at 75% insecurity in Canada, we’re doing worse than many low-income countries.
Amidst intergenerational trauma and continued racism, Indigenous people are resilient, fighting hard in a multitude of ways to reclaim, re-establish, and revitalize their vibrant cultures and communities. It is an exciting time in Canada, and I hope that resurgence continues to strengthen. Many Indigenous laws on the west coast of Canada focus on marine stewardship and Indigenous governance. Within British Columbia, 40-50% of Indigenous peoples still obtain some food locally through harvesting, hunting, fishing, and gathering (FNHC, 2009). On Vancouver Island, traditional foods include herring, small mammals, birds and eggs, fish and eggs (e.g. salmon, halibut, eulachon/oolican [high fat smelt species] grease/oil-), berries (e.g. salal, thimbleberry), bivalves (clam, oyster, etc), seafood (crabs, scallop, shrimp, etc.), seaweed (eelgrass, bullkelp, sea lettuce, etc.), and large mammals (e.g. deer, moose). In these communities, over 200 different types of traditional foods are regularly harvested (Chan et al., 2011); and contemporary food sharing and trading relationships exist among and between distinct First Nations (N.J. Turner and Loewen 1998; Morrison 2011). In several important recent court cases, Indigenous communities have been successful in re-establishing a framework for self-determined access to traditional land, particularly fishing and hunting grounds. Indigenous law needs to be taken for the truth that it is: many nations settled on their traditional lands have been since the beginning of time, and their traditional laws established have not only protected the health of their people but have also maintained ecosystems.
The Tsilhqot’in Nation in 1998, in response to proposed logging that had been authorized in the 1980s, saw the Xeni Gwet’in Band bring an action against the Province of British Columbia and the Government of Canada. The logging was to occur in the Trapline Territory – a region that the Tsilhqot’in claimed lay within the boundaries of their traditional territory. The Supreme Court declared Aboriginal title over 4,380 square kilometers of the region. The five Nuu chah nulth nations Fisheries case (reopened in court in 2009 and 2015 after a decade in court) challenged federal Department of Fisheries and Oceans restrictions on indigenous commercial fisheries, affirming “the nation’s right to implement fishing and harvesting strategies according to its own unique cultural, economic and ecological considerations” (Morrison 2011; Dolha 2009). The Bella Bella Heiltsuk successfully defended their right to herring against commercial gill net fleet fishing and the DFO last March, concerned about herring population numbers due to their impeccable observation and fisheries management strategies. Two Tsartlip men won in the Supreme Court of Canada to defend their use of lights during night hunting, citing an 1852 treaty regarding traditional hunting methods, overriding provincial law for the first time. Many other similar success stories have emerged over the past few decades, and I hope that settler people are paying attention to the prioritization of “conservation biology”, aka respect for the Creator’s gifts of nature that Indigenous people lead a fine example in. Some areas in British Columbia have the last remaining species of vegetation, marine life, and land animals whose livelihoods are also being jeopardized by industrial expansion. Although some Indigenous people wish to avoid all possible interactions with “the state”, inevitably the two parties have had to interact in circumstances regarding rights to traditional lands and the resources derived, which hopefully will contribute to a decolonized system.
“For thousands of years First Nations carefully managed the abundance of natural resources in the sea and on the land by relying on our knowledge of seasonal cycles to harvest a wide variety of resources without harming or depleting them. Many believed the abundance of natural resources on BC’s coast would last forever. They were wrong.” (Coastal First Nations, 2010 in “Indigenous Food Systems on Vancouver Island, VICRA & OBCR)
One interesting point of reflection that I have heard a few people speeches on in the last few months is that now for many environmentalists, they knowingly or unknowingly are eager to partner with Indigenous people- seeing them as “the last remaining “warriors”/barriers” in the protection of nature. Indigenous land claims have been effective in many situations to negate proposals by industry; many (settler) environmentalists hope that a partnership with the effected Indigenous community could result in protection of the special spaces through publicity (using settler privilege) and treaty claims (by Indigenous people). It’s complicated; most settlers are coming from a genuine interest in preserving the natural spaces and people within them in question, but Indigenous people are fairly frustrated that settlers hadn’t stepped up to support them historically or even presently on any other type of issue that doesn’t so heavily influence non-Indigenous communities. I’ve heard many wise Indigenous people express their frustration in feeling only wanted now that it benefits white people…. It’s food for thought (literally). To me, this highlights the need for long-term relationships between non-indigenous and indigenous people in Canada, instead of a starting and stopping whenever it is beneficial for the more privileged party. And it also requires settlers to take a back seat for once, and simply be steady, present, observing, and listening allies to the communities that have known Turtle Island (North America) land and its creatures for thousands of years before anyone else arrived.
What’s my connection to this all? I’m not sure I could identify everything that ties me to the issue- so much has become my identity that I cannot easily tease out any singular moment. In essence, I am starting to now realize this: I grew up on, and through, my connection to the land. Treaty Six land Alberta was my first home, though it is not a place where I have traditional claims to. But I am also trying to learn to forgive myself- that I am allowed to feel fully connected to the natural world even as a settler; I pay my respects and homage to those who came before me and still exist, displaced. I was nourished growing up by food harvested by those who love me: duck, geese, deer, pheasant, quail, and fish were hunted and prayed over by my father, and many afternoons were spent having hands-on biology lessons, sitting together inspecting the deceased animals identifying different organs, or seeing what food was left undigested in their small bodies. To me this isn’t a gross or disrespectful event; this is spirituality- having a direct, humble, grateful connection to the creatures whose life gave our family nourishment. I am proud that we did not have to rely on (often inhumane) factory farm systems that supply grocery stores. Nourishment also came from the garden and natural vegetation in the countryside where we lived: tomatoes, peas, beans, saskatoon berries, raspberries, lettuce, spinach, kale, and herbs. The oven often perfumed the house with warm fragrance as fresh bread baked. Not only was my family raising me to spend the majority of my childhood outdoors, I was also connected to the land through the sustenance coursing through my body.
tomatoes from the garden being dried & preserved for winter.
hand-caught salmon off the coast of prince rupert by my dad. veggies from the garden.
tomatoes & herbs from the garden, eggs from the neighbour 1km away.
For a while I lost track of, or didn’t pay enough respect to, how deeply this connection to land informs everything in my soul. It’s slowly been coming back over a few years as I live for short times in beautiful natural places: mountains, foothills, forests, lakeside, and oceans. The past 10 months for me has been nothing short of transformative in terms of reconnecting to myself through nature. What has gone through my head time and time again is that I feel like I am coming home to myself. Part of this is being surrounded by friends and family who encourage me to delve deeply into nature, and happily accompany me on my adventurous ideas. Part of it is the residual influence and inspirations from an Indigenous man I instantly and irreversibly fell in love with this winter who is headstrong, courageous, humble, and determined to protect and promote his culture and community. Our brief but heart-wrenchingly profound relationship completely awakened me both to aspects of my true self and to social justice issues that I will passionately pursue for the rest of my life. Finally, part of coming home to myself is newfound personal confidence to throw myself headfirst into activities that push my boundaries much beyond what is remotely comfortable, leaving me constantly reeling with newfound knowledge and a multitude of questions.
“If food is sacred, it cannot be treated as a mere commodity, manipulated into junk foods or taken from people’s mouths to feed animals or vehicles. If the ways in which we get food are similarly sacred, Mother Earth cannot be enslaved and forced to produce what we want, when and where we want it, through our technological tools. And of course, if food is sacred, the role of those who provide food is respected and supported.”
WSANEC land (Hannah Butcher Photography)
Ditidaht and Pacheedaht land (Christian Tisdale Photography)
Musqueam land
wondering & wandering. 