“Second, I have already secured land for the distribution facility and filed information to the County Supervisors for needed assistance in infrastructure, expedited regulatory approval, and negotiation of tax abatements. The USDA and Virginia regulatory bodies have committed to speedy support and required approvals. Finally, King Corn is committed to the success of this cutting-edge business approach to growing and distributing fresh food on a regional basis.” He sits down.
Daniel leans over to me. “That last statement means they expect to take a loss in the start-up to underprice local competitors, while making it clear to national suppliers that they’re taking a non-compete stance.”
I stand up and move to a microphone, feeling like David about to be squashed by Goliath. “I would like to ask if your plans include undercutting current arrangements between schools and local farmers for purchase of food.”
King Corn corporate guy looks totally annoyed at having to answer a question from a kid. “Son, we at King Corn are committed to an efficient business model that offers all our customers, including schools, the best price for quality products. A contracting process is already underway with one local college, and another is anticipated to sign since it is a state-supported college.”
When I return to my seat, fuming, Daniel says, “I researched King Corn’s Board of Directors. One of them is also on the Board of Trustees for Sean’s dad’s college. Bingo!”
The rep drones on for a while longer, and then a few other people speak. After the meeting is over, Sean says, “We should organize the farmers to not sell their land.”
“I think some will see it as their only choice,” I say, shaking my head. “We need to be able to offer another choice.” I can’t muster much enthusiasm after my battering at the microphone.
“Like Mondragon cooperatives?” Sean asks, his eyes opening wider.
“Something like that.” I feel a flicker of hope, but I can only sustain it for a moment before it dies out.
When I come home, angrier than I have ever been, I avoid Dad, who did not go to the meeting, and head straight to bed. No relief emerges; I get more exhausted with every toss and turn. I have to learn to stand on my own. This is my dream, my life.
About midnight I get a text from Cora, “Check Facebook message.”
Her message:
Daniel and I talked after the meeting. I decided to talk with the King Corn corporate representative, using what I’ve learned in conflict resolution training. I told him I wanted to explain the point of view of a significant part of the community he may not have heard. I also said it was to everyone’s advantage that the development he proposes be a positive one.
He said, “I’m creating opportunities for people in a dying former farming area. Farmers can make good money, residents will save money on the cost of food, and new jobs will be created.”
I responded, “In order for farmers to decide to sell their land, they need to feel they can trust you. Now, you are perceived as an outsider. They don’t know you. Perhaps you could spend some time getting to know people and speak to your values beyond money and the values of your corporation.”
He said, “This is a business deal, young lady, not a community social. Farmers will come around because it is the best financial choice they have at the moment.”
I said, “People here think in the long term. They have seen how new businesses coming in work. The cost of food will stay low until all the small farmers and local food businesses are put out of business. Then, with no competition, prices will be raised higher than ever. The good paying jobs created will go to people brought in from out of town, with the hard labor jobs done by low-wage workers, probably many migrants. Meanwhile, you will be promoted and move on to some other community to replicate what happens here.”
He says, “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you? I advise you to focus on schoolwork and go to a good college so you can get a successful job like mine.”
I say, “I don’t want a sell-out white man’s job. If you knew me, saw beyond the presumptions of my appearance, you would understand that. And, you won’t get what you want from this community with your view that money motivates them. They care deeply about the land and their neighbors.”
Laughing, he says, “We’ll see.”
My strategy didn’t work, Jake. It’s like the CIA-identified student who refused to engage in resolving the conflict with Izyan. We have to figure out how to get this corporate guy to pay attention. I’m all in for the struggle!
“I told Sean’s dad about the guy on the Board of Directors of King Corn and Board of Trustees of his college, and he promised to put in some discreet inquiries,” Daniel tells me at school today.
He and Sean’s dad have become very close since Daniel’s group home days, when Sean’s dad visited him every Saturday. I guess not having a father can be as hard as trying to separate out from one to gain independence.
“That’s awesome, thanks for doing that,” I say.
He gives me a slap on the back. “I gotta run, but I’ll catch up to you later,” he says and heads down the hall. Sean walks up just as Daniel is walking away, his brow furrowed.
“Mr. Corporate would pay attention if Chief came out against Fresh Food,” he says, shaking his head, “but he won’t do it. I told him his friend the newspaper editor will write in opposition to King Corn. The school board members are influential, too, and they would back him. Parents would listen to him too. But he said no, it’s not his job to take sides on community issues. ‘I will defend your right to question and take a stand,’ he said, ‘but I advise you not to create enemies, sides, or victims. Stand for yourselves and all in the community.’” Sean kicks the ground. “I feel totally betrayed. Doesn’t he even care?”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, we have to calm down and be smart about this. There’s too much at stake to be hotheads. Let’s go hole up in the library and think this through.”
And we do just that, going over and over every aspect, but we’re making no headway.
“Tell me again what you shouted at your dad at the dinner table,” Sean finally says.
“I’m ashamed for yelling at him.” I look down. “I’ll apologize tonight.”
“No, no, you said King Corn’s plans are realistic—”
“Because they have a lot of money.”
Sean jumps up from his chair and points at me. “Jake, that’s it. Our plan can be realistic with what we’ve got—not money but a whole community that already knows how to cooperate. We don’t have to convince people here about cooperatives like Mondragon, because we already have cooperatives all over the place. It’s one of the first things I noticed when I moved here: the Farmers’ Co-op, the Electric Co-op, the Free Clinic, Stone Creek Conservation Council, Food Co-op, Stone Creek Artists’ Co-op, Volunteer Firefighters, Stone Creek Solar Co-op, and I’m sure more I’m not thinking of. Co-ops where there are member/owners who make decisions about how to operate to provide services as nonprofits. Some of them, like the Farmers’ Co-op, have been around for a hundred years. But they’re out of practice with how to be a real cooperative and not just another version of an Ace Hardware. We have to unlearn the corporate model and go back to self-management, like the principle of our government—which isn’t working all that great now either, but I guess that’s another conversation.” Sean sits down and slaps the table like it’s a done deal.
I pace around. “So we would have a regional distribution center run by a farmers’ cooperative. The co-op would supply grocery stores, restaurants, schools, etc. without making a profit off the farmers or the consumers. The co-op would serve as a direct farm-to-community link. We would have our own USDA-certified slaughterhouse, super fresh fruits and vegetables, and processing equipment to get the food ready for stores and restaurants and so on. We could also distribute items from food artisans like makers of cheese, bread, jams, etc.”
“Should we be writing this all down?” Sean moves to pull out a notebook
.
“Are you kidding me? Now that we have the big picture, the details just pop out easy.” I’m practically bouncing up and down now, I’m so excited. “Anyone who knows farming would get it.”
A huge wave of relief rolls over every part of me, taking away my burden of failure. “If we’d had a working cooperative this past summer, we could have made it financially. Think how much would have been saved on not having an intermediary like the farm stand guy, not to mention a whole company that buys, resells, and ships stuff all over. Then there’s farmer time—not having to sit at a farmers market or drum up contracts to sell the produce. The seed and other supplies would cost less from the Farmers’ Co-op, with an emphasis on non-profit, unlike now, where the co-op is no cheaper than anyplace else.”
“We don’t have to be a big corporation to survive,” Sean says, “we just have to be connected, like Chief’s web.”
I see Daniel walking by the library, and I motion for him to come in.
“You guys missed morning block,” he says. “What’s up?”
We tell him what we came up with, so excited we both are talking a lot at the same time.
Daniel looks just as pumped as we are when we’re through. “You’re right, Jake, once you see the big picture, the rest just flows. Amazing work, guys! I’ll talk with Godfather, my law school friend, to see if he will help us understand how a cooperative non-profit works—legal structure, bylaws and such.” He glances at the clock. “Okay, I gotta go to a newspaper meeting. I’m editor this year; have to set a good example, right?” He winks.
“Don’t tell anyone about this idea until we figure out next steps, okay?” I say.
“Sure thing,” he says before heading out the door.
Cora comes rushing into the library seconds later. “I saw Daniel in the hall and he told me to come see you two.”
After hearing our idea, she, too, thinks it is a great one.
The more we talk about this plan the better it gets, with new details added. Our level of excitement increases each time too.
“When conflict resolution didn’t work the last time, President Sean, we held a ‘talk-in’ for all students who wanted to participate. Why don’t we organize a Chautauqua ‘talk-in’ for the whole community where you can lay out your plan and compare it to the Fresh Food plan?”
“Great,” I say. “I can get the FFA club members to help me flush out the Farmers’ Co-op plans more and then they can be the small group facilitators at the Chautauqua.”
“Meanwhile, you can get Chief to approve putting this on the agenda for the Chautauqua in a few weeks, Sean,” Cora says.
Sean looks miserable, Cora puzzled.
I laugh and explain, “Sean’s not too fond of Chief right now.”
I take off for FFA club meeting to get their help in fleshing out the co-op idea. I’m glad to see Amelio and Jorge there.
“It may take you club members being leaders and convincing your parents and other older farmers that we, the younger generation, are excited about not only continuing the farming tradition but actually expanding the amount of farming,” I tell the group.
“What about farm workers?” someone asks. “We will need a lot of help.”
“What do you think, Jorge and Amelio?” I ask.
Without hesitation, Jorge says, “Build it and they will come. Treat them right and they will stay.”
Amelio nods his head yes.
I see the other FFA members getting excited at the prospect of help working their farms.
“I never thought change like this could happen,” one guy says. “I thought farmers in this country would just become extinct, appearing only in history books.”
I thought I had an individual dream, but with possibility, others stand up.
Publicity for the Chautauqua was easy. In the previous few weeks, the community has talked of little else besides the “offer” letters received by farmers from King Corn. Insult is pretty unanimous, based on the lowball prices offered for the farm land. The letter also reinforces the bully approach that this offer is the highest farmers will receive and if they do not sign on within thirty days, the number will go down dramatically. In a move to divide the colleges from the farmers, King Corn also sent letters to the colleges saying that in exchange for preferential pricing, they would like Fresh Food to be their exclusive provider of local food in the region.
That caused a shift in Sean’s dad from discreet inquiry directed to the Board of Trustee/King Corn Director to all-out advocacy for farmers. Obviously it helps that he can now present our co-op alternative, which would mean lower costs for the college.
Previous Chautauquas have always gone directly to subgroup meetings and activities, but this Chautauqua is scheduled to start with a key note speaker: Sean. Chief spoke with the other group leaders and received their agreement to postpone their agenda until the next Chautauqua, allowing everyone to participate in the local foods issue. Sean claims the key note idea is Chief’s punishment for his acting rude to Chief, but I think it’s because Chief knows he’ll do a great job. I’m speaking too, right after Sean.
From my position on stage, as people file into the auditorium, I see Daniel with his arm around his Mom. She’s beaming with pride. I quickly turn away from the scene before the tears come.
Daniel spoke to all of us seniors in first period a week or so ago. The title of his talk was, “I Learned to Fail at Success, and I’m Glad.” After explaining the events of his life for the last year, he said he believed we all carry shadows with us that are trying to tell us something important about who we are, our true self. He said he felt lucky to have, with a lot of support, become aware that monetary success will not prove his love for his mom, bring his dad back into his life, or make him feel secure. He said, “My life now is a maze of unexpected turns, with no pressure to go in one particular direction, only patience and cheer in the openings in my life.”
As we stand on stage in the auditorium, waiting for the Chautauqua to start, a bunch of community people come up to chat with Sean. When I look at him, puzzled, he says, “They are people I met on my bike rides when I first moved here.” He gestures to a group of seats to our left. “See that guy in the fishing hat, sitting behind Sarah?” he whispers. “He changed my life. People I met on my bike rides taught me what you already knew, Jake, to recognize the importance of having a sense of place and community. I learned mountains and fields can be as grounding as the ocean.”
At this moment, the only thing I can imagine imparting is a sense of fear. I’m terrified. This night means everything to me.
Sean must be able to read my thoughts, because he says, “Jake, you have to know the nature of fear from the inside to be fearless. My experience with overwhelming fear came when a massive wave pulled me under and I somehow knew relaxing and letting the ocean have its way with me was my salvation. You will overcome the fear you face now because you know the stakes from the inside.”
There is no way I can wrap my brain around that statement right now. But Sean’s calm and assuring aura does make me feel a little better. “I’m going to try my best.”
“Yoda said ‘Do. Or do not. There is no try,’” Sean says, grinning.
Star Wars? Really? At the most important moment in my life thus far?
But I don’t have time to respond, because Sean is already walking to the microphone to deliver his speech.
Over the next few minutes, he talks about the value of having a sense of community, and how we can’t just assume it will happen. “We have to be actively involved in directing what we want to happen for our community,” he says. “That involves each person making decisions for what they see as the common good.”
With Sean’s last phrase, I see Ms. Jordan’s big smile. She is listening closely to his words, in rapt attention.
Starting in ninth grade, all of our teachers at Stone Creek require us to speak up constantly, including making prepared speeches. This year’s rhetoric class has been the most poin
ted in terms of how to make a persuasive speech. While we were prepping for tonight, Cora also impressed upon Sean and me the importance of speaking with emotion and appealing to our community’s shared values, not just logic. She got that from Sotomayor’s book.
Hearing Sean’s self-assurance as he speaks, my nervousness subsides. I have practiced speaking on so many occasions, and I have experienced success many times. Realistically, I know I will not have great influence on anyone’s opinions tonight; it’s just that for the sake of my dream to farm, I want to do my very best.
I have an advantage over Sean: the FFA club prepared a handout outlining the idea for a Farmers’ Co-op that’s a true cooperative to accompany my speech. The characteristics listed, which come from the International Cooperative Alliance, are: voluntary, open membership; democratic member control; member economic participation; autonomy and independence; education, training, and information; cooperation among cooperatives; and concern for community.
I talk about the cooperative movement being over a hundred years old in the US, now with 30,000 organizations. In the last twenty years, places like California have revitalized the movement and placed greater emphasis on strong labor policies.
“Farming is not defined by money but an appreciation of the magic of our earth and our desire to share our bountiful harvests with our neighbors, here and around the world,” I conclude before walking off the stage.
After my talk, the audience leaves the auditorium to break into small groups, with an FFA member in each.
Sean’s dad must have been busy recruiting these past couple weeks, because there are a lot of college people here. I see members of the Hardee’s group leaving the auditorium together, all appearing in good humor, even my dad. He always seems more together when he is with his friends.
Daniel interviews people as they leave the auditorium. There is a logjam at the back due to interest in a large, student-produced painting on bulletin board paper with the title “Natural Limits.” The painting shows a field of tears, screams, bug-eyed plants full of fear, animals with elephant heads and donkey behinds, and bodies (plants, animals, and humans) buried under a mound of dollar bills and plastic rulers. A strong, rich man is on top of the mound, while small, distraught people carrying golden rulers walk into a school, backs to the field.
School Tales Page 27