Hope's Edge: The Next Diet for a Small Planet (4 page)

By the 1980s, the view of nature as machine for our tinkering set the stage for genetic manipulation of a new order. Scientists at the U.S. Department of Agriculture spliced a human growth hormone gene into swine. They were delighted with their success: hogs that gain weight faster and are leaner. Never mind that the animals are arthritic and cross-eyed. These problems, as the Land Institute’s Wes Jackson puts it, are just aspects of “fine-tuning” the hog.
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If, on the one hand, we condemn modern agriculture because it involves the killing of life to sustain life, do we run the risk of furthering the fundamental fallacy: that we human beings are not really
part of
nature; we stand outside and redesign nature by human-made rules? On the other hand, outrage at the cruel treatment of farm animals by “agribusiness” can lead us to question the whole notion of human beings as outside nature. When we reconnect with our place
in
nature, we may well rediscover respectful patterns of interacting with, and even consuming, animals that have long been sources of human sustenance. For many people, the relationship of indigenous North American peoples to the animals they hunted suggests the possibility that human beings can develop humility, awe, and awareness of ourselves within the ever-renewing chain of life and death. Others, discovering as I have that human beings need eat no flesh to be healthy, understandably arrive at a different point. Why inflict any death that is unnecessary to sustaining life?

My own hope is that as we center the critique of modern agriculture in a critique of the machine model of nature, we will move away from the notion of the rights of animals
versus
the rights of humans. We can begin instead to reconceive an organic whole in which a mutuality of interests can be found. Animals re-integrated into mixed farmsteads, with a rich variety of both animal and plant species, can begin to re-attune human beings to our place in nature alongside other animals, rather than over them, outside nature.

This shift allows activists to move away from a morally self-righteous, self-sacrificial tone and to call others toward a positive vision. A “correct diet,” one centered in the plant world, one based in less processed and nonchemically treated foods, is not a “should” as much as a freeing step. It helps us find our place in nature. In so doing, we are reminded of the primary fact of our being—that we are defined by relationships.

Toward a Politics of Hope

But, as we all know, it’s one thing to have a vision; it’s quite another to know how to manifest it. What could be a process for replacing the mechanistic and atomistic worldview with a relational, ecological vision? By the late 1980s, that was the question that pressed itself on me. What did this new worldview mean for our
real-life, everyday existence
in our complex world?

We human beings can come into harmony with the rest of the natural world, and free ourselves from life-stunting hunger and poverty, only as we together make different public choices—not only in agriculture but also across the full range of concerns. For me, however, suggesting what those different choices
should
be was inadequate—almost suspect—if I couldn’t also suggest how we might go about arriving at a broad consensus on those choices and actually putting them into practice in our lives.

Surely we need a process for choosing our future that is consistent with our social nature and reflective of the high stakes we now acknowledge. So, to me a most urgent question was no longer “What is the correct policy?” or “What is my vision of the future?” but rather: “What social processes for arriving at public choices best build on our little-tapped but innate capacities for relatedness inherent in the relational worldview?”

To begin to answer that question means to probe, in order to transform, the very
meaning of democracy itself
. For democracy in this culture is the term we use to describe the process of coming together to make public choices.

In other words, I had to stop describing the problem and start developing a philosophy of change. If we are in the midst of an historic shift in understanding, the death of the old worldview and the birth of the new, I believe we can each become conscious midwives to the birth. But not unless we are actively envisioning practical alternatives to our modern, alienating notion of politics.

The word “politics” itself has become debased. In polls of today’s young people, public officials are typically characterized as unprincipled. Words like “dishonest,” “corrupt,” “liars,” and “puppets” are common descriptions. Clearly we need a richer, stronger, more active vision of democracy to replace the dominant one, which is increasingly alienating, even insulting, to many Americans.

By mid-1990 I was ready to take the next big leap. I was determined to take on this challenge more directly. Food First, the organization I had founded in 1975 with Joseph Collins, was in good hands. It has thrived and had a major impact in part because of support from members who were readers of
Diet for a Small Planet
. It continues to have a powerful role to play. But I needed a vehicle that would allow me to devote all of my energies to these “how” questions.

But I knew I couldn’t do it alone. Were there others ready to take the leap with me? Then, in mid-1990 I received a letter of support for my new direction that also offered a brilliant critique. It came from Paul Du Bois, a person about my age with a remarkable career in community organizing and academic and nonprofit leadership posts. Within minutes, I had Paul on the phone. And in less than two months of intense brainstorming and planning, we made the decision: we would throw in our lots together. We would devote ourselves to creating a vehicle for the thousands of people we sensed were—like us—ready to move from complaint or mere protest to positive work for what Paul and I came to call “citizen democracy.” Our goal is nothing less than helping citizens transform the very meaning of democracy.

The year 1990 was a heady time for us. In the fall, we incorporated as the Institute for the Arts of Democracy and began a journey worthy of the rest of our lives. By the end of the year we had volunteers on board and several thousand people who’d expressed interest in our work.

In this work, we are, of course, hardly starting from scratch! Worldwide, people are searching for democracy—democracy that
works
. And here at home, in communities all across the nation, people are experimenting with new, more sustainable, effective ways of engaging citizens in public life. The role of our new center is naming, catalyzing, and further developing a search already under way. By “naming” we mean that we see our role in part as articulating an emergent philosophy—giving conceptual shape to what many are already experiencing. This process is itself empowering.

Here I’ll just try to give you a taste of what we mean. Please use the coupon at the end of this book to get in touch with us to learn more.

First we acknowledge that anyone searching for real democracy must start with an admission: There exists no functioning model. No current concept of the social order legitimates the central role of
citizens
—their responsibility, their capacities for common problem solving. All inherited models share the mechanistic assumptions. In the now discredited state-socialist model, the
producer
is central—and who makes decisions? The Party. In the capitalist system, the
consumer
is all important—and who makes decisions? Owners of capital. In welfare capitalism a new role is added: the
client
—and who makes decisions? The professional, the “expert” service provider.

In other words, there is no vision of public life that puts citizen responsibility at its center. Thus, none of our inherited models takes seriously the task of creating capable citizens. In fact, “activists” are oddballs. (I recall judging a debate last year for my daughter’s high school. All one debater had to do to discredit an opponent was to label her source an “activist”!)

Here in the United States, democracy’s become a thin, weak notion, buttressing social atomism. Democracy and government are conflated. Democratic government is viewed as a necessary evil to sort out collisions of competing “social atoms.” Government is traffic cop—or, at best, protector of individual rights. Democracy’s only economic job is to keep the market functioning smoothly.

Government and politics are something done
for
us—or, more frequently,
to
us. We feel disconnected, far removed, from the decision makers. On the “Phil Donahue Show” last year, an irate member of the audience challenged funding of the Savings and Loan bailout. Leaping to his feet, he exclaimed: “I don’t understand why taxpayers have to pay for the bailout, why can’t the
government
pay for it!”

Government is
them
. Not us.

This notion reflects our view of democracy itself. Sitting on a long flight last week I chatted with my seat-mates. One was a Marine major; the other an engineer with General Electric. Because they were curious about my work, we started talking about the meaning of democracy. The engineer began quite certain about his views on the subject: “Democracy is the laws we have. It’s like they’re written in stone. They’re fixed. So democracy is protected.” In other words, democracy is what we inherited. We were lucky enough to be born into a democracy—there is little left for us to do.

With this perspective, citizenship becomes simply the defensive posture a prudent person assumes to protect her or his solitary self-interest. A recent poll conducted for People for the American Way found that young people hold a markedly passive notion of citizenship. It means not causing trouble. Eighty-eight percent of the teenagers polled thought that getting involved in politics has nothing to do with being good citizens.
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While these views dominate, I sense a profoundly different understanding emerging. I think more and more Americans are realizing that the problems we face are simply too great—too deeply rooted, too widespread, and too complex—to be met without our active engagement. Solutions require the ingenuity of those most affected, the creativity that emerges from diverse perspectives, and the commitment that comes only when people know they have a real stake in the outcome. It takes an active citizenry to create public decision making that works—decision making that is accountable and creative enough to address the root causes of today’s crises.

In the emerging alternative, democracy becomes no longer a set of static institutions, but a
way of life
. Democracy as a way of life means we each share responsibility for making the whole work. Democracy is not as much structures or laws as
relationships
.

Democracy as a way of life is what the term “citizen democracy” suggests to us. We see its potential emerging in several distinct themes:

   
Citizen democracy re-dignifies the public realm
. It challenges today’s privatization of meaning. The 1980s celebrated only private reward—money, career, family. Such was the good life. Neglected was the deep human need for purpose larger than one’s self.

Public life is the larger stage—all our relationships in the workplace, school, religious group, social concern organization, or formal political process. It is on this stage that we express our values—including our commitments to our family’s future—and develop distinct human capacities that can only be cultivated in public life. It is on this stage that we express our need to “make a difference.”

Thus, the most successful community-based citizen organizing today sees itself as preparing people for effective, sustainable public life—not just achieving victory on a given issue. Ernesto Cortes, a founding force in creating the successful Communities Organized for Community Service in San Antonio, calls citizen groups “universities where people learn the arts of public discourse and public action.”
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For we’re not born citizens, as Cortes’ words frankly acknowledge. We
learn
the arts of citizenship. That’s why the Institute for the Arts of Democracy is an appropriate name for an organization promoting citizen democracy. These arts include active listening, storytelling, dialogue, critical thinking, mediation, creative controversy, the disciplined expression of anger, and reflection.

In a recent speech, Ralph Nader asked: While one can go to an Arthur Murray dance studio to learn how to dance, where do we go to learn the practice of citizenship? Our answer is that every public encounter—in school, at work, in the community or social group, can become an opportunity for learning.

I’ll return to this key theme. Now let me suggest other aspects of citizen democracy coming to life throughout American society.

Citizen democracy is about empowerment through action
. Most of us have learned to submerge our common sense, even our own values and tastes, and turn to the “experts”—whether in child rearing, making workplace decisions, or even in decorating our homes. (I recall a few years ago sitting in a café and overhearing a conversation that summed up our sad predicament. One woman confessed to her friend that she felt so intimidated by her interior decorator that she had had to hire a psychotherapist to help her cope!)

We learn at every turn to defer to others “better qualified.” But that’s changing. Bertha Gilkey, a woman living in the housing projects in St. Louis, got fed up. She wanted to get rid of rampant drugs and crime but was told, she recalls, that “we couldn’t do nothing because we were poor folks and not experts.” She thought that over for a moment and then responded: “Experts got us into trouble in the first place.” Her confidence sparked changes within the project that have transformed it into a desirable place to live and raise a family.
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