The Next Eco-Warriors (30 page)

At that point, I started looking around. The answer was right in my face: Every day, for seven years, I looked at a half-acre plot of underutilized land owned by the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation called the Fox Playground. The only use it had at that time was as a dumping ground for dogs. Most times, the grass and weeds would get to more than three feet (0.9 meter) high. You could often find garbage strewn around the perimeter. I knew there were plans to renovate this park, and they were short by about one million dollars. I saw this as an opportunity. I wanted to turn this half acre into an urban farm, a safe place that would not only nurture the soil and grow food but also nurture the soul and grow relationships. This place would be a place of liberation. It would be called the Libertad Urban Farm and I was swelling with pride. In my mind, neglected land + community organizing = piece of cake. But that was all before I became introduced to the bureaucracy of the New York City Parks Department.

PHOTO BY FLONIA TELEGRAFI

In the meantime, I did my homework; I read articles and books on urban farming and community gardening. I asked what one did if they wanted to orchestrate a local farming coup. I knew there had to be some science behind it. But the more I learned, the more I realized that there wasn't; you just did it. That was the point, to make a splash, to empower through sheer brashness, but I also wanted to be careful. My community has its fair share of cynicism and apathy. We have long gotten used to being used and exploited and having promises that were never fulfilled. I did not want to create a project that would ultimately end up being torn down by the Parks Department. I would organize guerilla farming, but I would simultaneously engage the Parks Department to get permission to make the farm permanent. I would seek them out to be a viable community partner.

It was spring of 2008, and I was definitely feeling like the little engine that could, and we were chugging along quite nicely. Within a month, donors had donated a boatload of trowels, shovels, hoes, and rakes. My friend Dwaine, who worked in agriculture, and I broke the lock to the plot of land in Fox Playground and started to plant. Stepping into that lot, we felt invincible, we felt bold ... and, well, we felt a little bit scared. But a ragtag team of revolving volunteers supported us. With Dwaine's expertise, we planted hydrangeas, marigolds, butterfly bush, mint, and sunflowers.

PHOTO BY FLONIA TELEGRAFI

People across the street in the senior building helped, little kids playing in the nearby playground helped, and even the winos that sat outside the lot with maltas and dominoes helped. If the dogs tore down our makeshift gate, the very next day someone from the community would put it back up. If the plants needed watering, the winos would do so without being asked, and we often found little girls running through Fox Playground with marigold flowers in their hair. We felt the support from the community, and it was the lifeblood of the project. All materials that were not donated were funded directly from my pocket, and with three kids and a fourth on the way, it was difficult, but the passion and enthusiasm from the community motivated me to keep going.

Every hot day that Dwaine and I were out there, our attitude and passion became contagious. Some of the residents who were unaware of our activities would stop and ask what we were doing, and my being out seemed to make them feel encouraged. Quite a few passersby would even stop and ask if they could help, and they were most certainly welcomed. I was heavily pregnant at the time, and this was no easy task for me. In fact, many of my peers expressed disbelief and admiration for my dedication. But I felt as if I didn't have a choice. I could not let something like being eight months pregnant stop the momentum of this project. When people would spark up conversation about me being pregnant and farming, I always saw this as an opportunity to talk about how urban agriculture can be used as a social benefit, an effective community development tool, or a means to food sovereignty, as well as an opportunity for environmental education.

I once spoke with some students at the University of Vermont, a mostly white, liberal, progressive school in Burlington. One well-meaning and enthusiastic student during the question-and-answer period asked me, “How do we get people in your community to care about the environment?” Too often I have heard environmental activists ponder over or outright ask me the question of how to get people of color, primarily low-income people, to care about the environment, as if somehow they weren't part of this world in peril. My answer is always that it wasn't that they were apathetic toward the environment, but that environmentalism has to be presented in
a way that is relevant to the people of the community. It is certainly hard to think about climate change, deforestation, and Styrofoam cups if you can't pay the light bill or are facing eviction. I have been on that end of the stick, and I would have scoffed at the time at air quality and soil remediation if it had been brought up in conversation. But if you tie these immediate needs in to the everyday lives of people, if you help present them as relevant and illustrate how the lack of attention to them has facilitated the -isms they are currently facing, you will be surprised how many of those people become “environmentalists.”

Dwaine and I shared information with the community on how farming on brownfields and lots in the area could provide soil remediation and improved air quality. We also talked to many parents whose children suffered from asthma, which is not surprising, since there are approximately twelve thousand diesel truck trips a day through our community to the food distribution center. With those parents, we discussed how a project like ours, if replicated, could help offset much of the carbon dioxide that was emitted through the burning of fossil fuels in our community, how green spaces like this would not only feed the community but also filter the air, cleaning it of some of the particle matter that hindered their children from breathing easier.

It just seemed like good sense to us and to the residents of the community to eat good and breathe good. We were passionate about sustainable agriculture and about setting it up to be an ecosystem. This type of farming would help clean water and reduce rainwater runoff by not only absorbing it but also capturing it and using it to feed the plants and crops. This project would reduce waste through composting and by capturing the “waste” from the compost and using it to heat the greenhouse. We even discussed the possibility of farming fish and using the waste of the fish to nourish the soil. The environmental benefits of a sustainable farm are lengthy, and we shared this knowledge in abundance, while also making sure to be receptive to the wisdom of many of the elders in the community who came with a deep tie to the land. A tie they brought with them from their previous country or state.

However, our enthusiasm was not shared by all. Some residents felt that the space was better used as a dumping ground for dog crap; some felt urban agriculture was a conundrum and that a city was no place for growing food. Local environmental organizations expressed concern that the environmental hazards were too risky for growing food. Even a community member said to us, “This community don't need no farm, the people just gone tear it up.” But probably the biggest critic of them all was Bronx borough commissioner Hector Aponte. At one point in a meeting facilitated by Councilwoman Arroyo, he became combative and explicitly stated to me: “As long as I am the Bronx borough commissioner, there will not be any food growing on park lawns, not at St. Mary's, not at Van Cortlandt, and not at Fox Playground!”

Hmph, I guess he told me. I was put off to say the least; I was also appalled at how public officials who have absolutely no investment in the communities they oversee can be so quick to exclude the larger community from the decision-making process. Even with all that said, I was still not prepared for what the Parks Department had in store, which was to ultimately shut me out of the park and try to stop the momentum of this project altogether.

I rang everyone, from the Parks Department commissioner to the Bronx borough president, pleading with them to help me with Aponte's tyranny. I kept getting the same old story: “Your project sounds great, and while I may not necessarily agree with Commissioner Aponte, it's his backyard, so hey ... ” I was all but beat down. But then we decided to fight back, fight back with a block party. We held the Libertad Urban Farm Family Fun Block Party in late September, and man, it was slamming. The day was warm but not too hot, and I had woken up that morning feeling inspired and determined.

People were buzzing around, our promotional posters still present. Our DJ was setting up and our band all the way from Boston was tuning up. There was chicken and fresh corn on the cob on the grill, and the smell wafted all the way down for blocks. Rap music played in the background while kids and women got down on yoga mats in downward dog position. Seniors volunteered from 745 Fox Street helped to sign people in and hand out free donated veggies. All those detractors who said low-income folks didn't care about the Earth should have seen the crowd taking the workshops on urban agriculture and forestry that day. Every elected official was present or represented, and much to my surprise, we even got a call from the outreach coordinator of New York state Senator Chuck Schumer's office. I was flying high—my big mouth, Dwaine's expertise, and our combined dedication had us on the right path—but the high was short-lived.

The Monday following the block party, I received a call from the Parks Department informing me that they were suddenly ready to renovate. After six months of telling everyone involved in the park that they didn't know when they would have the money to break ground, suddenly they got sure. He was nice enough to tell me I could go retrieve our raised beds and plants, but where the hell was I going to put them? I lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment. We hoped our guerilla farming and community organizing would push the Parks Department to legitimize the farm and integrate it into the existing plans. Instead, it only propelled them forward to appease a few restless community members and stop the Libertad Urban Farm.

I felt a sense of panic, as if someone had hit me in the gut and I couldn't breathe. For a week, there was this knot in the pit of my stomach, and when they tore up my plants, I stood across the street and cried. It truly felt as if someone had stolen something special from me personally and, more important, from my community. In a week, we lost everything we had worked so hard for. Community members stopped me and expressed sorrow that our project wasn't going to happen. But I explained that just because it won't happen at the Fox Playground doesn't mean it won't happen.

In our hood and much of the Bronx, there are still many lots that need remediating. Urban farms are ripe for the growing, and we will build them
together as a community. I have kept the concept of the Libertad Urban Farm alive, we hold monthly community meetings where we get feedback from community members, and we are currently in the process of engaging a private landowner to grant us a lease on our next location. I remember that nothing worth having comes easy, and there are pioneers who have struggled longer and harder and watched their dreams and the dreams of their people come to fruition.

In May 2010, we engaged in an act of civil disobedience on Memorial Day, breaking into a neglected lot and cleaning it up. We planted sunflowers, and within a week, unlike the sunflowers at the previous site, they started to bloom quickly and resiliently. In a matter of three weeks, they were tall and proud just like my community. Their brilliant yellow and sunshiney figures give me faith and hope that our little urban farm would grow and blossom just the same.