“I hope you aren’t going to miss too much of Spanish 4, ’cause I need your help!” I tell them.
“Not after the summer, man,” Jorge says. “You’re good to go.”
We walk into class and find seats next to Daniel, who just came from a newspaper meeting. As soon as we sit down, he turns to Sean.
“One of your opponents running for class president filed a complaint with the Conflict Resolution Council,” he says. “The student, Izyan, is new at Stone Creek. He moved here over the summer from Turkey because his father teaches at your dad’s college. Apparently some students have been calling him ‘ISIS’ outside of adult hearing range. A few students have tried to intervene on his behalf, but the harassers refuse to stop.”
“That’s awful,” Sean says.
The rest of class, it’s all I can think about.
When I tell Dad about the conflict with Izyan at dinner, he brushes it off, saying, “The new kid needs to toughen up and adjust to where he’s living now.” Then, switching the topic away from politics, he says, “Word on the street”—meaning his Hardee’s friends—“is coaches are ticked off with the school. The football coaches complain the kids are not motivated and aggressive like players in the past. Like winning is not a big deal. Apparently, players are asking the coaches to tone things down and talk to them rather than yell … can you believe that?” He snorts and shakes his head.
“What’s the big deal about that?” I ask.
“Get this,” Dad says, “the guys on the team even want to be able to give more input to the coaches about what plays are working and which aren’t. Can you believe that? Is that the stuff they’re teaching you kids at school?”
I know it’s useless to argue with him, so I say, “We don’t play football at school, Dad.”
He drops it too. I guess both of us are tired of fighting these battles.
I don’t usually think much about sports, but the topic has been on my mind since last night’s conversation with Dad, so today I ask Jorge and Amelio why they don’t play soccer on the competitive team.
“We don’t like to call attention to ourselves,” Amelio says.
Of course, I think. It’s dangerous for them to stand out; it’s a threat to their family, increases their likelihood of being deported. I’m guessing the “we just like to have fun” thing from Jorge is a cover for the pain he feels in having to hold himself back in so many ways.
I’m still thinking about it later, as Cora and I walk to class together. In a different twist on the topic, I ask her, “How do you know how to talk with people over touchy subjects? My dad and I love each other, but we can’t talk about things we disagree on.”
She tells me she’s learning a lot being on the CRC. “It’s about not choosing one thing over another; it’s about trying to see both sides and coming up with not a compromise but a way forward that encompasses what both sides want. We’ve met our biggest challenge yet with this ‘ISIS’ thing. I’ll let you know how that all turns out.”
I don’t get the idea of not choosing one side over the other. Clearly the new kid shouldn’t be hassled.
A few days later, Cora tells me how things are unfolding. First, the CRC couldn’t meet to hear the conflict because only Izyan agreed to the approach. The harassers did not. They said ISIS was a major threat to the United States and has beheaded US citizens, and Izyan has refused to denounce Islamic extremists. Izyan said he was not an extremist and the students had put him in that category based on his religion alone, which has many different groups of followers.
“I told the CRC that was like someone from another country calling me a KKK member because I’m a Christian,” Cora says, rolling her eyes.
I’m impressed. “That’s a good comeback!”
She also tells me one of the American students wants to eventually be in the CIA, and he sees this as a test of his loyalty. His father is retired CIA and supports him.
“What do you think about the guy saying it’s a loyalty test?” I ask her.
“I don’t buy that reasoning. But I’m trying to figure out what the common ground is here.”
The CRC facilitator, one of the oldest members of the faculty, told Cora and the other council members her guess was that many students have questions around this whole issue, just as many people had strong feelings about communism when she was growing up. Also, in college she was involved in various movements, like for women and civil rights, and she said their strategy was to have a “teach-in,” where students would skip classes and come discuss the issue in a “free speech” area.
Cora loved that idea and proposed we try it for this issue at Stone Creek. The CRC agreed and recommended to Chief that a “talk-in” be scheduled during first period. Students can voluntarily, or not, participate in small group discussions about what is going on in the Middle East and how it affects the US. A teacher will be in each group, primarily to listen, but also to provide information when asked. All students will be told we now have a student whose home is Turkey.
A teacher who can provide information to people in a group—I like that part. I have no idea what’s going on in the Middle East.
Cora told me Chief agreed to the “talk-in” and spoke with Izyan about his right to file a complaint with the School Board if he continues to have concerns in the future with how he is being treated. “And get this, Jake, I looked up ‘Izyan’ to see what the name means. It means ‘one who possesses wisdom.’ We’ll see what we can learn from all this Monday first period.”
After first period Monday, I saw Izyan in the hall several times throughout the day, always surrounded by a group of people. It’s like he has become an instant rock star. I’m glad people have opened up to him; besides it meaning that he has new friends, it also means the hasslers are keeping their distance.
Sean was pretty good about not panicking over his election prospects with Izyan’s new popularity. The whole thing forced him to better articulate his qualifications for being president over someone who is new to the school. And today he won the election 59 percent to 41 percent, with the other candidates having dropped out.
Seems to me it’s a win all around. Izyan is now a part of the school, Sean learned to not take his skills for granted, and a lot of people like me now know a whole lot more about what is going on in world politics. Maybe I can get the hang of government class after all.
When I walk into science/math block on Monday, my physics teacher says, “Jake, I know about your passion for farming. What do you think about the Fresh Food news?”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. “What Fresh Food news?” I ask with a frown.
“My wife works for the county planning commission, and she heard a presentation from a large agribusiness, King Corn—they’re a subsidiary of Planet Oil—about plans to come into our area with a spinoff called Fresh Food,” he says. “They’ve already gotten pledges of support from our representatives in the Virginia General Assembly, the current governor, and both the candidates running for governor in November. Based on extensive market research, they plan to develop local agricultural potential by capitalizing on consumer desire for local, fresh food.”
I do some online research during class and find out that King Corn plans to buy up a lot of farm land in this area and grow food for their regional distribution center in the county, yet to be built. They say this will mean an efficient system to replace many national suppliers, as well as the scanty hodgepodge of small farm producers of everything from beef to cheese to apples to honey to corn in the area. The local produce and meats will go from the distribution center straight to local grocery stores, restaurants, schools, hospitals, prisons, etc., eliminating the need for local businesses to deal with national or regional food supply corporations, and for consumers to make special trips to farm stands, farmers’ markets, and food cooperatives.
Armed with this information, I go back to my physics teacher. “Why are they going to the county planning commission?” I ask. I don’t under
stand that part.
“Because King Corn wants all kinds of tax breaks, regulatory exemptions, and government infrastructure, like water, sewer, and utilities for the regional distribution center,” he explains. “In exchange for this local support, King Corn provides economic development opportunities for the county, like jobs.”
I smell a rat. Why should this corporation get tax breaks and exemptions local businesses don’t get? How is this going to help local farmers?
At dinner last night I told Dad about King Corn and their Fresh Food model for here. He scoffed at the whole idea, saying, “That idea doesn’t make a bit of sense.”
But a day goes by, and at tonight’s dinner, Dad has a different tone.
“The guys at Hardee’s say it might be true,” he says. “Some of them are actually thinking they would like to sell their land to someone who would farm it. They’re too old and they don’t want to see a subdivision where their farm used to be. It would also help the community with jobs. Not only for farm workers but for people who could work at the distribution center, which would have a large USDA slaughterhouse and food processing plant.”
How can he do a 180-degree turn in twenty-four hours? Why didn’t he trust what I told him last night and want to discuss it with me?
“What do you think, Dad?” I demand. “What about me and my FFA friends who want to farm?”
“Jake, I’m sorry, but I thought you learned this summer it’s not a realistic idea for your future.”
He’s back to rubbing my nose in failure. I’m fuming now. “But King Corn’s plans are realistic because they have a lot of money?”
I ask this in a shout, unable to hold back. And once the words are out I don’t wait to hear his answer; instead, I retreat to my room, where my anger turns to feeling depressed and very alone. I need to quit exploding at my dad. My dream is destroying my relationship with him. I can’t lose him too. I don’t know how Jorge and Amelio find the inner strength to let things roll off their backs.
This morning I find it impossible to concentrate on school details; my internal rudder feels broken. I gravitate to the only other people in the building who seem as passionate as me about our food future: the cafeteria staff.
“Ms. Goodbar, how are things going?”
She slices a warm piece of fresh bread and hands it to me. “Hey Jake, sorry I missed your hurricane sale. I was out of town, visiting my daughter in Kentucky and meeting my new granddaughter. Things go well for you over the summer, other than the hurricane?”
“Not really. Seems farming for my future comes down to money. I hate that.”
She puts her arm around my shoulders and as we continue talking, she gently rocks me sideways. “Well, I’ve seen people starting to come around,” she says, her voice soothing. “There are a few local farmers taking a risk to meet our requirements. But I agree, it does come down to money. If we have to keep paying the prices farmers want, we’ll have to charge more for lunches, and that’s when the school board will balk.”
“What can I do to help?” I ask.
This conversation feels so different from the one with Dad. Both Ms. Goodbar and I are trying to work out a problem, together. Her always-positive stance helps pep me up too.
“Well, you could try to win over our head of Food Services for the schools. She’s used to the old days, when the school board didn’t care about food and expected her budget to be in the black as top priority. She’s not even a nutritionist, but she does have a business background; she’s the one who deals with budget numbers.”
“Maybe I could find other schools doing more than us and ask their food person to talk with ours.”
“That’s a good idea!”
There’s the encouragement I needed.
Ms. Goodbar continues, “The Food Services lady keeps saying we can’t do this and can’t do that because of Virginia and USDA regulations. If other people are doing things, they could help her see how.”
Chief happens to be walking by, and I call him over. After catching him up on our conversation, I say, “Chief do you know of any other schools buying locally?”
“I’ve talked some with a Harrisonburg high school principal, but I don’t know details,” he says. “I’ll find out who their food services person is and you and ours can make a trip up there. I would like you to focus on state and federal regulations and how Harrisonburg deals with that, because sometime soon somebody on our school board is going to ask me about the issue.”
This is great; two short conversations, and not only am I being listened to, I’m being helped to do something about my worries. And as a side advantage, I now have a government class project. My mood is improving, being able to throw myself into something I care about.
The trip to Harrisonburg is very educational, not only regarding learning regulations and ways to frame farm-to-school issues but also regarding what is required for change.
Despite everything the Harrisonburg food services person is sharing with us about their successes, Stone Creek’s food services person asks every negative question she can think of, mostly about costs and prices. I try to remember Cora’s mantra, “You have to see both sides.” Seems my agenda is to address the cost stumbling block.
One aspect of farm cost must be addressed: wages for farm workers. I find an ally in Daniel, who has chosen to do a big-picture look, journalism style, at US government through a contemporary issue, immigration. Apparently during his time in the group home he built a close friendship with a guy living on the margins as an immigrant.
Daniel’s research presentation to the class involves explaining our complicated government system. He shows us a circular diagram, with points on the circle for “we, the people”; the US Constitution; the legislative, executive, and judicial branches; the fifty state governments; and life decisions outside of government. He tells us an aspect of the issue of immigration, and we tell him where it fits on the circle diagram. Many issues involve multiple points on the circle. Examples he throws out include:
• Requirements to be a US citizen
• Eleven million undocumented people are living in the US. No path to citizenship
• All children, even those without documents certifying them as legal immigrants, are allowed to go to school
• Recent government action to defer deportation against people who arrived in the US as children, as well as their parents
• Despite passage of laws, poor working conditions for immigrants; one large area of work, two million farm workers
Many sub-issues and sub-parts of our government come up under each big topic. Even though I am mainly interested in farm workers, I see how everything ties together. Like, large agricultural employers get away with violating wage and hour laws because penalties are cheaper than abiding by the laws, there’s little active oversight of laws by Congress, and government representatives are pushed by businesses and their money (like for election campaigns) to not take strong actions.
Boiling it down in my head, farm workers need to be paid a decent wage and have a stake in their work beyond money. Can that be done despite the standoff between our representatives in government?
In Spanish class, Sean and I brainstorm about all this.
“Where would the money come from to raise salaries for immigrants?” Sean asks me.
“The small- and even medium-size farmers are barely making it,” I say with a sigh. “The money is in the large agribusinesses, which includes not only corporate farms but also feedlots, slaughterhouses, and suppliers of farm equipment, seeds, pesticides, and stuff like that.”
Our instructor, who is from Spain, overhears our discussion and asks, “Have you guys heard about Mondragon?”
Sean and I immediately start researching it. Short story is Mondragon is an area in the northern region of Spain where in the 1950s they started worker cooperatives. The idea was to stem the negative effects of industrialization on workers. Basically, workers are member/owners of the business, and each membe
r has one vote in how it is run. They even elect their managers. Sounds like the self-government Ms. Jordan talks about, but in the workplace. Mondragon cooperatives have lasted over the years, and now have 147 companies and 80,000 workers.
Sean and I look at each other and say in unison, “Why not here?”
“It will take a lot of researching to figure out how something like that could work here,” I say.
“How about a field trip to Spain?” Sean says.
Worry turns to hope for me.
Word about Fresh Food has gotten around fast. The five elected Supervisors who run Stone Creek County set up a meeting for the corporate representative in charge of Fresh Food to speak, and the community turnout tonight is even larger than it is when the supervisors talk about tax increases. Missing are college people, like Sean’s dad. The meeting is on familiar turf for me, the high school auditorium.
The first interesting thing to me is that the corporate rep is black. Around here you don’t see many minority people in positions of power. I’m sitting next to Cora, and she is visibly squirming in her seat. This must be a real conflict for her between black as good and black as a potential threat to her community. This guy speaks with a Boston, Kennedy-style accent not typical of Midwest agribusiness locations. He’s clearly identifiable as an outsider by his pinstripe suit and silk tie. No warm and fuzzy “glad to be here,” and such.
He starts with an announcement: “King Corn sent letters this morning to landowners with farms in the catchment areas of interest to us. Each letter contains a specific offer amount for the land parcels identified. This initial offer is quite generous and will be the highest offer put on the table. Failure to sign a contract by the date specified will result in subsequent reduction in land price offers.”
So that’s what power looks like in action. Sign or else. No negotiation.
School Tales Page 26