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Read Excerpts from the Book
Chapter One
On Trial: Industrial Agriculture
As we are part of the land, you too are part of the land. This earth
is precious to us. It is also precious to you...
– Seattle, Suquamish (Native American) chief
I grew up in the cotton fields, the son of a sharecropper in southwestern
Oklahoma. Our lives revolved around the cotton plant. It wasn’t the
dreamy television cotton, but in a profound way it did form "the
fabric of our lives." We sowed the cotton seed in May, chopped out
the weeds during the dog days of summer, and pulled off the fluffy white
bolls on brilliant fall days when everything in the flat country seemed
to shimmer. I loved cotton, but probably if we had grown corn, I would
have felt the same way about it. It was farming that I loved, and farming
which formed my character. On our farm I acquired stamina. I learned perseverance
and felt pride in jobs well done. And it was there that I began to learn
the lesson that I am still learning: The good earth will fail us if we
fail her-- but she will sustain us if we treat her right.
Farming is in my blood. I am fifty-three years old: I grew up on a farm
and ever since graduating from college I have raised cattle. I have worked
with farmers or studied the problems of agriculture my entire life. In
doing so, I have been witness to a great drama-- the story of farmers
and farming in the United States in the latter half of the twentieth century.
Sad to say, until recently, it’s been largely a tragedy. I have
seen the farming life disappear piece by piece, have seen families bankrupted
and displaced, rural communities turn into ghost towns, all the while
watching the quality of our soil and water decline and the balance of
nature upset, along with the towns and the lives of the people.
Perhaps because it has been going on for fifty years, the story has lost
its dramatic punch for the public in this age of short news bites. Besides
the occasional news story during the occasional declared "farm crisis,"
the public remains largely uninformed about what I think is a major threat
to all of us. That’s why if I could somehow miraculously be in charge
of some major network, I would have the farm story dominate the news the
way the investigation and impeachment trial of President Clinton or the
trial of O.J. Simpson did. It is a story much more complex than either
of those stories, and ultimately, much more important.
But how to present it? Given our apparent love for a good courtroom drama,
perhaps the tragedy of agriculture would have to be presented as a trial.
The opening day might go something like this:
It is a sunny Monday morning in March. The place: a courthouse in a rural
town. The occasion: a trial that I hope will open some eyes, change some
minds, and right some wrongs.
The hearing is being televised and is about to begin. A farmer walks
to the front of the courtroom, takes his reading glasses out of his pocket,
puts them on, and arranges the papers in his hand. The courtroom hushes.
Behind him on the wall hang the words of Thomas Jefferson: "The small
landholders are the most precious part of the state." The farmer
is one of those small-holders, a middle-aged man wearing blue denim overalls
and a farm cap bearing the name of his hometown grain elevator. He is
not a particularly romantic figure-- he’s got a belly under the overalls
and he’s red-faced from being in the sun a lot and he tends to be
suspicious of urban people and urban style.
He himself is out of fashion, and his problems are, too. He struggles
to keep farming because it is his life: he is bound to the soil by the
toil of his ancestors and his own toil, and by the hope that one day his
children will be able to earn an honest living from that same soil.
The farmer visits the courthouse every year to pay his taxes. Built one
hundred years ago of native sandstone quarried in the hills nearby, it
once sat in the center of a vast prairie. Now the courthouse sits in the
midst of fields and pastures that stretch to the horizon.
During the past week, the farmer has noticed a faint wash of green spread
across his pastures-- new grass for his cows after a long winter of eating
hay. The wild plums in the fence row are budding out. All over the county--
by the courthouse steps and farmhouse doors-- daffodils are blooming.
It’s not quite spring, and not winter anymore either-- it’s
a time of change. The growing season is poised to begin. But first there
is some business to take care of.
The farmer begins to read the document in his hand:
Industrial agriculture-- defined as the current predominant system of
agricultural production and its supporting establishment-- stands accused,
in a three part indictment, to wit: of endangering the essential natural
resources of soil, water, and life, thereby jeopardizing the future productivity
of agriculture and the inheritance of our children;
of hooking farmers on fossil fuels, and the fertilizer and pesticides
made from them, while downplaying the consequences of overusing such products;
of desolating rural America by bankrupting farmers and ignoring the well-being
of rural communities, thus leaving them open to exploitation.
These crimes show a reckless disregard for the life and health of farmers,
rural communities, and the natural world, jeopardizing our ability to
feed an ever-growing population. As a result, the food security of our
nation and our world is threatened.
The words would echo in the courtroom. Who are the defendants? They are
the men and women who have bought the line that we must preserve the agricultural
status quo or the world will starve; the people who believe a farm should
be run like a factory and that bigger is better; the people who sidestep
questions about the health of natural resources and the diminishing number
of farmers. These people work for the corporate giants of agriculture,
in the United States Department of Agriculture, and in the university-based
research and education system. Of course, among them are farmers who buy
their products, sign up for their programs, and listen to their advice.
The institutions represented are entwined and have defined the agricultural
debate for the last fifty years.
As the indictment is read, they look down at their shoes or up angrily
at the farmer. Naturally, they don’t appreciate anyone questioning
what they see as the success and efficiency of industrial agriculture.
Above them float ghosts or guardian angels, if you will-- insiders, staunch
pillars of the ag establishment such as former secretaries of agriculture
Earl Butz and Ezra Taft Benson.
Over on the plaintiff side there is a smaller group: farmers and ranchers,
along with researchers from universities and people from the Department
of Agriculture, a few agribusinessmen, activists from non-profit organizations,
and consumers concerned about the safety of their food and how it is grown.
Their expressions are a mix of sorrow and regret, mixed with a few satisfied
smiles at having their grievances taken seriously at last. The plaintiffs
believe in something called sustainable agriculture. They don’t have
much use for the status quo-- they don’t believe that bigger is necessarily
better, and they don’t believe that a farm should be run like a factory,
They do believe that the health of our natural resources and the environment,
and the physical and financial health of farmers, are questions central
to the future of agriculture. They too have their guardian angels: outsiders,
thorns-in-the-side of the establishment like conservationists Aldo Leopold
and soil researcher Sir Albert Howard.
Glancing at both sides there is not much that distinguishes them, especially
the farmers. Because farming is not for the young anymore, most of them
are over 40. Most are wearing jeans and boots. However, there are a few
farmers who stand out from the rest-- Amish men, bearded, in black coats--
keeping to themselves in the back of the courtroom. They are a link to
our ancestors, those men with solemn faces that stare at us from ancient
brownish photographs, for whom the dream of owning their own land steeled
them to the worst hardships and who sometimes died in their fields, behind
a horse and plow.
The fact is, there are farmers on both sides of the argument because
American farmers have both contributed to the crimes of modern agriculture
and been victimized by them.
Someone calls out-- "Who is the judge?"
The farmer who read the indictment looks straight into the camera:
"You are," he says to the world.
In this t.v. courtroom I sit on the plaintiff’s side, but I know
the men on the other side, too, having spent many years among them. Although
I don’t wear overalls most days of the week, I am a part-time farmer
like most of those who own small farms. My full-time work is being the
leader of a private, non-profit foundation in Oklahoma, the Kerr Center
for Sustainable Agriculture. I have been part of this organization for
more than twenty-five years, first as an agricultural economist and member
of a consultation team that advised farmers in southeastern Oklahoma,
and then as president. My organization and I have changed over the years--
changed sides, in fact, a rarity in agriculture. Once I unquestioningly
supported the industrial side. In this trial I will be a witness for the
plaintiffs and tell what I know.
Ordering Information
Order hard or soft cover copies (up to 5 copies) of the book from the
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and handling is $4 for the first book, $1.50 for each additional. ORDER
To order more than 5 copies contact Haworth Press at 1-800-HAWORTH, email:
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web: http://www.haworthpressinc.com
Examination and review copies are available from Haworth Press. For special
sales or catalog resale contact Margaret Tatich, sales manager at 607-722-5857
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