Humanist Perspectives: issue 174: Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving
by Yves Saint-Pierre
O
n a recent Thanksgiving weekend, on an invigorating, changeable
day, my brother-in-law Tony and I were mushrooming on a remote back road,
in the upper Mauricie area of Quebec. The environment and the activity had
us talking about our relationship to the earth. Friends since our early
teens, we enjoy each other’s company and we like to talk.
Born in a small town in Sicily, Tony has been in the Montreal
area since he was thirteen years old. Recently and for the first time, now
in his sixties, he returned to Santa Lucia, his hometown. Everywhere he saw
the evidence of a profound change. Only the older generation still speak Sicilian.
The local language and culture have largely given way to a broader, more
standardized Italian culture and language. The town he left had been largely
self-sufficient, a small local economy wherein produce, products and services
were raised, made and offered locally. The butcher sold the meat of locally
raised animals; the market sold locally grown fruits and vegetables; locally
baked breads, buns and cakes were sold by the baker. Everyone’s shoes
were made by the local cobbler, clothes, by the seamstress and tailor. Local
tradesmen built houses from indigenous materials which were then furnished
with locally made furniture and decorated with locally crafted ornaments. The
town priest, notary and teachers were hometown boys and girls who had
gone no further afield than was required for their education.
Now most of the produce and products that stock the shelves
of the markets and shops come from all over the world. They’re the same
items one would find on the shelves of stores in Rome or Milan. Shoes, clothes,
furniture and furnishings all come from other parts of Italy or the world.
Few remember and fewer share local stories, fables and legends. Television
brings in programming from the big centres and the local movie theatre shows
and the video rental place rents DVD’s of dubbed American films. In
a word, little distinguishes the way life is lived in this landscape from
the way life is lived in the vastly different landscapes of Rome or Milan.
Has anything been gained by these dramatic and relatively rapid changes?
What has been lost and why does it matter?
The imperatives of communications technologies and global markets
thrive at the expense of individuals’ sense of belonging and attachment to
the earth.
More and a wider range of products are now available to the
town’s population. Shopping is easier and more practical. Many
articles are cheaper than they might otherwise be. The younger generation particularly
probably feel themselves part of a larger Italian community and in touch with
the “culture” of the broader world. Some probably feel themselves
free from the tyranny of the priests and religious superstitions of their parents.
But do they feel their connection to the earth, to the soil, in the way their
parents probably did, through every-day contact with local products and produce,
with local farmers and food artisans? Do they have the same sense of origin
and community and responsibility for each other their parents probably shared
through pseudo-historic narratives and valued relationships and associations?
I suspect they don’t. I also suspect more has been lost than gained.
What has happened in Santa Lucia has happened or is
happening in communities all over the world, including countless communities
right here in Canada. The imperatives of communications technologies
and global markets thrive at the expense of individuals’ sense of belonging
and attachment to the earth.
Obviously one cannot hope to go back to a former condition
that existed in the context of far different technological, socio-political
and economic realities. Yet one essential reality remains unchanged.
Our dependence on Earth hasn’t changed. The responsibility
each of us bears with regard to that relationship hasn’t changed. While
we cannot return to a former condition, our very survival might depend
on our ability to restore to our communities some of what has been lost.
In the vital struggle to find a way to mitigate the effects
of global warming, pollution and resource depletion, there are broadly
two camps, those who opt for techno fixes and those who support a return to
values and practices closer to and inspired by those of indigenous peoples
and peasants. On one side stand Monsanto and Cargill and lesser players in
the globalized agribusiness. There too stands USAID with its policy of supporting
only techno fixes, and our own Conservative government, as far as one
can discern its policies, given the lack of transparency of the Harper government.
This is the world of huge monocultures, ever more powerful and complex pesticides,
herbicides, chemical fertilizers and genetically modified seed stocks.
On the other side stands the global indigenous and peasant movements
of which La Via Campesina is a good example. This coalition of one-hundred-forty-eight
indigenous and peasant groups from sixty-nine countries around the world stands
for the preservation of land, water, seeds and biodiversity, food sovereignty
and sustainable agricultural production based on small and medium-sized
producers. Navdanaya, based in India but an inspiration and resource to the
world, is another such organization. Founded by brilliant, passionate and tireless
former nuclear physicist, Dr. Vandana Shiva, this organization exists to protect
biodiversity, defend farmers’ rights and promote organic farming. It
should be obvious where I stand. I believe each of us must stand somewhere
on the issue. One thing seems to me a simple matter of fact: the healthy survival
of peoples in every region of every country rests on the health of soil and
water, on biodiversity and on continued production of locally developed
and adapted seed stocks. It is up to each of us to determine what way into
the future is more likely to ensure that. I obviously come down on the side
of small, local farms and healthy farming practices. That’s why I support
La Via Campesina and Navdnaya.
Locally, for me, it begins with getting to know the dedicated
growers and food artisans in my area. There are foods grown, raised in every
province and region and there are small and organic farm associations and food
artisan associations in every region. It is my responsibility to find
them, buy my food from them and join my efforts to theirs for the preservation
of the earth. The work they/we are about, preserving the health of the soil,
water and air that nourish us is the most important work there is because if
we fail here, we fail utterly.
But I also recognize, regrettably, that organic produce
remain too expensive for most families. It seems agribusiness practices have
a place in ensuring that supermarket shelves are stocked with produce that
is affordable for the majority of families. On the international scene, I have
no doubt the same may be true of ensuring that certain populations have access
to affordable food who otherwise would not. I acknowledge that there is no
absolutely ideal situation and that no one has a monopoly on the answer nor
even a right to claim the moral high ground. My instincts, my limited knowledge
of farming practices and my observation of the dynamics of economics
incline me to believe that, in the medium and longer term, the emphasis on
food sovereignty, biodiversity and organic farming practices supported
by the indigenous and peasant movements point a healthier and more sustainable
way to the future.
Walking on earth with an old friend in wildly changing
autumn weather, that’s good. So is picking fragrant wild mushrooms, various
boletes, clustered coral, umbrella polipor. Later, in the cabin, we clean
and prepare them, pan them up, salt and pepper, a handful of minced garlic
and parsley when they’re almost done. Then, my wife, Joanna, sister,
Christiane, brother-in-law and old friend, Tony, we savour our modest harvest
with dinner. I wish I could give you a taste! That evening in the cabin, warmed
by wood fire, delicious food, loving company as, outside, the night calms,
clears and cools to frosty cold, I feel, sometimes, we can come so close…
—Yves Saint-Pierre