Mark Winne

Testimony Submitted to the New Mexico Water Quality Control Commission by Mark Winne

Starting on April 13 and continuing into May, the New Mexico Water Quality Control Commission is taking testimony on proposed changes to the state’s regulations governing the operation of dairy farms that qualify as concentrated animal feeding operations (CAFOs). National groups like Food and Water Watch and state organizations such as Amigos Bravos and the New Mexico chapter of the Sierra Club have taken a position that is generally supportive of the changes, while the dairy industry and its allied trade and industry groups are strongly opposed. As the nation’s seventh largest milk producing state that is home to 172 factory-scale dairies and 355,000 dairy cows, there is a lot at stake. Jobs, revenues, investments, and even a way of life for the farmers may be at risk. For everyone else, clean air and water, the quality of rural life, and even democratic control over the state’s resources may be in jeopardy. After all, two-thirds of the state’s dairy CAFOs are polluting their groundwater above the levels permitted by the state’s regulatory agencies.

 While it may be overly dramatic to suggest that battle lines between good and evil are being drawn in New Mexico’s hard clay soil, there is something emblematic about this confrontation. For those who care about the direction of the nation’s food system, the continued growth in industrial farm operations will have consequences for the food we eat and the water we drink far into the future, not just in New Mexico but across North America. If factory farms are forced by regulators to pay the true cost of their operations – in other words, not externalize them as they do now – the playing field may be partially leveled. That would help the smaller dairy farms of the Northeast and Midwest compete with the behemoth milk machines of the West. Governmental agencies like New Mexico’s WQCC may be all that stand between healthy food and a clean environment, and a form of food production that, if left unchecked and under-regulated, will one day overrun the carrying capacity of the earth.

 As someone who has reported on New Mexico’s dairy industry and the dairy industry in my former home region of New England, I recently submitted the following testimony to New Mexico’s WQCC.

 Testimony

I strongly support the regulatory changes proposed by the New Mexico Environment Department and urge the Water Quality Control Commission to also accept the proposed amendments offered by Food and Water Watch as well as a host of New Mexico organizations.

 Over the course of reporting on the dairy industry (2005 to 2008) I learned that factory scale dairy farms came to New Mexico because land was cheap. Unfortunately, so were we. We asked little of the industry and got little in return. An underdeveloped state regulatory system could not keep up with the avalanche of groundwater permit applications. Limited funding and staff prevented the responsible agencies from keeping up with demand for new dairies and, as time went on, unable to sustain adequate monitoring and enforcement procedures as well. And while the agencies focused their limited resources on groundwater pollution, they were unable, and usually un-mandated, to look at a variety of public health and community impacts such as air pollution, increased crime rates, inadequate roads, and soaring cost of services resulting from so many large and often disruptive new dairy businesses.

 In this lax regulatory climate – one that was supported by elected officials, economic development interests, and communities hungry for jobs – the dairy industry took full advantage. Traditional family farms and ranches (real family-scale operations, I might add) gave way to enormous CAFOs. Small businesses were supplanted by North America’s largest cheese plant. Once independent rural communities found themselves dependent on a single industry, the vast majority of whose owners were not from New Mexico.

 The dairy industry’s environmental, social, and economic record has been well-documented by others over the course of this hearing. I need not recount it here. What I would like to comment on is the culture of arrogance and entitlement that is so pervasive among dairy owners and their business associations. During the course of my research over the past few years, county public health officials would only talk to me off the record for fear of losing their jobs if they publicly shared information about the industry’s behavior. At least one New Mexico State University researcher was kept from pursuing his early discovery of dairy-related public health problems after he reported his findings in a scientific journal. The dairy industry prevented the release of a publication that I wrote that recommended additional research be done on the economic and social impacts of New Mexico’s dairies. The organization that paid for the publication was told that if the publication was distributed, the industry would block all legislation which that organization proposed; that is legislation that pertained to such benign proposals as increasing market opportunities for small farmers and the consumption of fresh fruits and vegetables by New Mexico’s children. The industry’s influence was enhanced by its orchestrated practice of securing seats on county commissions and other governing bodies in order to block local attempts to restrict dairy operations. And its ability to sabotage virtually any state legislation that might run contrary to its interests is legendary. In partnership with other New Mexico agriculture interests, the dairy industry scuttled attempts in the legislature last year to bring workmen’s compensation insurance coverage to the state’s farm workers. This makes New Mexico one of only seven states to not mandate this most basic form of worker protection.

Like the tobacco industry before it, the dairy industry criticizes the science behind regulations, refers to government entities as “Big Brother,” threatens to move out of state if more regulations are imposed, and does everything in its power to postpone the day of reckoning. Its public relations efforts include billboard advertising that depicts a small number of Holsteins grazing peacefully on very green grass with a New England-style red barn in the background. Anyone who has seen a New Mexico dairy CAFO will know such images are fiction bordering on fraud. Their tag-line in every public presentation is to tell us they’re “just family farms” when everyone knows that who owns a business is not important; its how the business behaves that counts.

 The proposed new regulations and amendments are designed to serve the public interest. They are sensible rules that will protect our health and preserve a legacy of clean air and water for generations of New Mexicans to come. As elected and appointed officials you are required in this way to manage our resources responsibly, and if the dairy industry can’t abide by these rules, if it doesn’t feel that it can operate profitably under these requirements, then it will have to go elsewhere. New Mexico can no longer allow anyone to conduct business in this state without paying the full cost of preventing damage to the environment and human health. If businesses don’t pay now, the citizens of New Mexico and our environment will pay later.

 Thank you.

By Mark Winne

The outstretched limbs of Savannah’s live oaks sent dappled sunlight along a wide promenade separating two rows of farm stalls in Forsyth Park. The Saturday morning farmers market was in full swing, with boxes heaped high with red peppers, collard greens, and bright orange carrots.

Hilton Graham was doing a brisk business in just-picked organic produce from his nearby Telfair County farm. Dressed in an old polo shirt and well-worn jeans, Graham was assisted by two sheepish teenage boys whose baggy shorts and designer sweatshirts gave them a decidedly un-farmer like appearance. While one hand was fluffing up bunches of greens and the other pointing his helpers in the direction of a waiting customer, he told me with a big wide grin that, “It’s a great day for a market, and as crazy as this place gets, it still gives me peace of mind being here.”

But the experience of Graham and other African-Americans farmers selling organic produce in this park at this time is not just another farmers’ market story. Excluded for decades after World War Two from public funds that helped white farmers prosper, black farmers have also been left out of the growing ranks of organic farming, a movement that is giving small farmers across the country a chance at success. Fortunately, that is now changing. By taking matters into their own hands, black farmers formed the Southeast African American Organic Network (SAAFON). And at the same time that they were converting more of their members to organic agriculture, black farmers, with partners in local multiracial organizations, were organizing a farmers’ market in a public space previously denied to them.

Forsyth Park is an idyllic place – Spanish moss drips from the trees; the park’s open space is filled with Frisbee-chasing dogs and laughing children. But as recently as 1963, segregation still ruled the South, and Forsyth Park was for whites only. Today, the park’s weekly farmers’ market is evidence of a slow reversal of history. “When black kids were all grown up they left the farms for the cities to get jobs,” Graham said. That is part of the reason, he explains, why there are only 29,000 African-American farmers left in the United States, down from nearly 1 million in the 1920s. Another reason, which Graham is more reticent to discuss, is the legacy of discrimination and neglect from government agencies like the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

Graham, now 61, stayed behind to secure the heritage of black-owned farmland in the American South. Continuing the work of several generations of Grahams, Hilton raises timber, cattle, and collard greens for wholesale commercial markets, and several acres of organic vegetables for sale at farmers’ markets.

Though nothing comes easily to any farmer, black farmers must add racism to the list of battles they wage, along with droughts, floods, and pests. That’s why Hilton snarls when he thinks about events of the recent past, “We had a Republican world whose mission it was to kill the small farmer. The big farmers were getting $8 a bushel for their soybeans but I was only getting $4. It doesn’t take one long to figure that out.”

While there is no single path to prosperity for farmers today, an increasing number of farmers are going organic. Between 2002 and 2007, the USDA Agricultural Census noted a national increase from 12,000 organic farms to 18,000, by far the most significant growth in any farming category. The USDA organic seal is no guarantee that a farmer will become profitable, but it does give its bearer access to markets that often earn the farmer a premium price, whether it’s from Whole Foods or the neighborhood farmers’ market.

“Customers told us they wanted organic food,” said Cynthia Hayes, who co-founded SAAFON. But she also knew that black farmers were not fully participating in the organic marketplace, and, in an effort to change that, she teamed up with Southern University agriculture professor Owusu Bandele. Out of their shared passion for change was born what is by most accounts the nation’s first black farmer-controlled organic organization. In addition to its advocacy for organic and sustainable farming, SAAFON has also worked hard to develop direct marketing programs for their 120 members.

In the opinion of Hayes, the circumstances facing black farmers were different enough to warrant the development of their own program. This conclusion was fed by the perception that African American farmers couldn’t get culturally sensitive assistance from organic programs because all of those programs were white-led. “We weren’t comfortable with the way that private groups were addressing the need. And this feeling was reinforced by the public sector whose agricultural extension agents were telling black farmers they couldn’t afford to go organic.”

While there is much in the nuance of words relating to the topic of race that perplexes well-intentioned white people, there was another factor that was just as dominant in SAAFON’s decision to go it alone. “Our farmers have a lot of pride,” said Hayes, “and they wanted a chance to do it their way.”

So under the auspices of SAAFON, Hayes and Bandele established a four-day training program. It is designed to teach farmers how to complete the USDA organic producer application, thus helping to transition them from conventional to organic growing methods. For example, teaching farmers to substitute animal manures and approved biological insect control for petro-chemical fertilizers and pesticides is one part of the curriculum. And in an ironic twist, SAAFON’s trainees are given a historical review of African-American farming in the South that reminds them that “organic” was the form of farming they embraced long ago.

While expert trainers and a strong curriculum are essential to the program’s success, Hayes likes to reinforce the importance of peer support and the shared cultural experience of black farming. “It is common for most of the participants from previous trainings to mentor and support the new trainees. A real bond of solidarity develops among all the farmers.”

At their first training session three years ago, 15 farmers showed up—three times the turnout they expected. That training went so well that they were soon invited to South Carolina, where they trained another 15 farmers. Today, 41 SAAFON members are USDA-certified organic, and another 10 will join their ranks shortly after the next training class in March 2010.

Farmers’ markets have become critical for small farmers who need the higher return that comes from retail venues. This is because it doesn’t do a farmer much good to be certified organic without having access to a market that can command a higher price. “The first two years as a certified organic farmer I had no outlets, which meant I had to sell at a conventional price,” Graham said. So SAAFON decided to reach out to Savannah residents of all races, joining forces with others in the city’s “foodie” community. Together, they set their sights on Forsyth Park as a prime site for a farmers’ market.

Teri Schnell, a homeless advocate and founding member of the farmers’ market, said the park “is the place where everyone feels comfortable. It’s our ‘melting pot.’” As Savannah’s geographic center, Forsyth Park is the city’s most accessible physical location, a strong selling point for people like Schell who wanted the farmers’ market to serve everybody, not just elite shoppers.

Though the city is well known for its parks and meticulously restored anti-bellum mansions, Savannah also has a dark side. Like hundreds of urban areas across the country, gentrification has pushed up the city’s housing costs and put a severe crimp in the lives of the city’s low-income community. With a poverty rate that is 23 percent, and more than 28 percent of the city’s children enrolled in the food stamp program, Savannah’s lush Southern veneer has a less visible tattered core.

“SAAFON wants to assure access to local, organic food for everyone,” Hayes said. To that end, she joined forces with Schell and several local food organizations to form the Savannah Food Collaborative. This multiracial coalition set out on a five-month trek to secure approval from the City of Savannah to open the market in Forsyth Park.

Initially, city officials were wary of allowing farmers to sell their fresh produce beneath the shade of the venerable oaks. In their eyes, a farmers’ market was not in keeping with their pristine image of the park. Even though Savannah’s population is over 50 percent black, SAAFON alone was not sufficient to instantly change the city’s mind. But with the intervention of the broad-based food coalition, aided in no small part by Savannah’s Mayor Otis Johnson who has distinguished himself by his promotion of health policies, permission to open the market was eventually granted.

The Wholesome Wave Foundation, a recent creation of celebrity chef Michel Nischan, whose business partner was the late Paul Newman, gave the market a grant to double the amount of fresh produce purchased by lower income families when using food stamps.  This healthy eating incentive has boosted sales for farmers while increasing consumption of fresh produce.

The market’s goal of serving the healthy food needs of the community was further supported by the establishment of the “Health Pavilion.” This bi-weekly event is a creation of the county’s health department and provides a much needed educational complement to the market’s robust offering of fruits and vegetables.

But the heart of the matter still revolves around the revitalization of black agriculture. “What gets me up in the morning,” Hayes said, “is knowing that farmers are returning to their land in the South.” Hayes is of course referring to the farmers who make up the membership of SAAFON, people who left their ancestral lands for jobs as teachers or social workers in the North. Other “returning farmers” are former conventional farmers who had given up because they couldn’t make a living in agriculture. “They are returning,” says Hayes, “because organic farming is allowing them to make money.”

Her long-term challenge, however, is making farming attractive to young African Americans.  Hayes and others are working with the 1890 Land Grants Institutions, better known as Historical Black Colleges and Universities, to provide training and resources to nurture a new generation of African-American farmers. Through the work of one of SAAFON’s partner organizations, the Southeastern Green Network, students at these institutions are learning how they can make their campuses, including their dining halls, more sustainable. Hayes’s hope is that this broader interest in the environment and health will lead young people into farming. “Youth find organic food a little more ‘jazzy’ than conventional food. It just might be the way that more of our young people find their way back to the land.”

At a recent Saturday market, Mary Curley sat at her table, displaying at least two dozen varieties of herbs, fruits, and vegetables. At 70, Mary is the oldest, and her quarter-acre farm the smallest, of these African-American farmers. She grew up in Savannah in the 1940s and ‘50s but left for a long teaching stint on the West coast. The city she returned to in the 1990s was vastly different from the one she left. A beatific smile lights up her face as she ticks off the names of her organic offerings, urging customers to sniff and taste each one: Japanese orange, Thai basil, lemon grass, Cuban oregano, pineapple sage, and Serrano, habanera, and banana peppers. It’s in this delicious present where she prefers to dwell even though the past is only a flicker away. “I grew up during segregation when I wasn’t allowed in this park. Now I’m here and I think that’s wonderful.”