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Sun Mar 27 01:15:07 CET 2016
.com</a>><br>
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[Moderator's Reminder: The last day for comments is Thursday (3/31), af=
ter which Frankie will respond.]<br>
<br>
Menus at fast food restaurants and counters are today as mystifying as the =
'apps' that are to be found crowding the screens of young people=
9;s mobile phones. There are now, in our bigger cities in India, 'apps&=
#39; to buy food with (or through). These seem to be popular with a generat=
ion that is young - usually 20 to 30 years old - and which lives in shared =
rented flats near their places of work, which often is the info-tech indust=
ry, and is otherwise the finance, retail, services, logistics or trading in=
dustries. If there is one aspect common to where these food 'app', =
or menu 'app', users work then it is that they do not work in what =
my generation knew with some familiarity as the manufacturing or the public=
sectors.<br>
<br>
This is uncomfortable, for we have always been a civilisation that counted =
our farmers, rivers, forests, temples and traditions. In Sanskrit there is =
a word used to describe the farmer. It is 'annadaata', which is, th=
e giver of grain. This reverential word is found in every major language sp=
oken and written in India today. The 'annadaata' fed his or her fam=
ily, fed those who needed rice, gave the rice to be used for the ceremonies=
and religious observances in the temples, sold the rice to the dealers in =
grain. For many generations, the forms in which our farmers harvested the c=
rops they cultivated were the forms in which they were bought, stored, cook=
ed and eaten. Even during the formative decades of 'modern' India -=
that is, the years after our Independence and until the time when we began=
to be considered by the Western world as a country becoming a 'market =
economy' - a household rarely owned a refrigerator.<br>
<br>
We bought rice, vegetables and the occasional fish or poultry from the mark=
et, cooked them fresh at home, and ate our meals fresh. A vegetarian meal m=
ay keep overnight to serve as a breakfast for the following morning, and in=
north and parts of central India, where what we call 'roti', the r=
oasted discs of unleavened bread, is made out of wheat or barley, the '=
roti' will also keep overnight. To keep food longer, it had to be proce=
ssed, that is, its nature had to change so that it would not spoil in the c=
limate. Thus, rice was commonly parboiled and stored, or parboiled and flat=
tened to become 'puffed'. Every rice-growing and rice-consuming reg=
ion, from a single valley to a river basin, had its own methods and prefere=
nces of keeping food from spoiling, and finding ways to store that semi-pre=
pared food. This was a kind of processing and most of it was done in our ho=
mes.<br>
<br>
Surely it wasn't that long ago? But memories such as these, so vivid to=
50 and 60 year olds, are today seen as evoking times of hardship, want and=
shortage, are seen as recalling times that an agrarian country suffered &#=
39;hunger' before it became globalised and a 'market' of some k=
ind. Such sharp experiences, for that is what the most vivid memories are m=
ade of, are considered to be uncomfortably close to the era when famines we=
re recorded, one after another, during the 19th century especially (but als=
o the Bengal famine of 1943-44). Those appalling records are presented as t=
he rationale for the set of ideas and practice (technical and economic in a=
pproach and intent) that came to be called self-sufficiency in foodgrain, w=
hich I remember first hearing as a boy, and which much later has come to be=
known as food security. The links were taught to us early - famine, food s=
hortage, hunger - but what was left out was more important, and that was th=
e policies of the colonial occupiers (the<br>
East India Company and then Great Britain, as the country used to be called=
) and the consequences of the Industrial Revolution in Europe and particula=
rly in western Europe.<br>
<br>
Like the devastating famines in India of the 19th century, the Bengal famin=
e of 1943-44 was an artificial shortage of foodgrain, for what had been har=
vested was shipped out instead of being sold or distributed at home. These =
aspects of the relatively recent famines of India, which robbed our ancesto=
rs of parents and children, were hidden until we uncovered them out of curi=
osity about food histories that must have been written (or retold) but were=
scarcely to be found. Even today, after so much research (especially by th=
e last generation) has become available about the effects of colonial polic=
ies on the movements and shortages of food in India, the bogey of food shor=
tage and hunger is still dressed in the garb of technical shortcoming, that=
our farmers do not know how to increase yields because their knowledge is =
deficient, insufficient, inefficient. It is a slander of a collective that =
has supported through its efforts and wisdom a civilisation for centuries.<=
br>
<br>
As it was with the colonial era, so it is with the pervasive apparatus of t=
rade and finance which finds its theatre in globalisation, or the integrate=
d world economy. One of its first tasks was to denigrate and run down a com=
plex and extremely rich tradition of agricultural knowledge - but even to c=
all it 'agricultural knowledge' is misleading, for its diverse stra=
nds of knowledge, awareness and practice encompassed our relationship with =
nature and natural forces, and our duties towards state, for faith and reli=
gion, towards society - while simultaneously promoting a 'scientific=
9; approach that could derive its authority only by first asserting that wh=
at it was replacing was not science.<br>
<br>
This came to be known as a 'development paradigm' which countries l=
ike India and civilisations like the one I belong to were given prescriptio=
ns for. Many of these prescriptions were and continue to be the equivalent =
of chemotherapy and radiation as used for the treatment of cancer - destroy=
in the name of curing. This is why in our regions (they are entirely ecolo=
gical regions, our river valleys and plains, we saw no reason to call them =
anything but the old names they had been given, for words like 'ecology=
' and agro-ecology only now convey similar meaning) which grew rice, mi=
llets, barley, sorghum, wheat, pulses, seasonal fruits and vegetables, a ne=
w identity was announced. This was done early in the 'green revolution&=
#39;, a programme that to our 'annadaatas' is no less devilish than=
the industrial revolution in western Europe was to the very fabric of thos=
e societies. The new identity was 'high yielding variety' and these=
new hybrids were in no way better than what they were given<br>
the power to replace. They neither yielded more than the current varieties,=
nor did they contain more nutritive elements, nor did their plant matter p=
rove to have more uses than what they replaced, nor could they survive duri=
ng inclement phases of a seasonal climate with a cheery hardiness the way o=
ur traditional varieties could. They were inferior in every way=E2=80=94how=
could they not be for they had emerged from a science whose very gears and=
levers were designed by the global market which ruled, paid for and determ=
ined that science?<br>
<br>
Youngsters in the India of the 1970s, whether in cities, towns or villages,=
knew little of these changes and what they portended. Our preoccupations w=
ere study, work and attending to the daily and seasonal chores of family. B=
ut already, the difference between us and them was being introduced into ou=
r quite impressionable lives. Cola, hamburger, popcorn, blue jeans, rock mu=
sic and behavioural accessories that accompanied such produce had appeared =
in our midst, via many illicit routes (in those days the Coca Cola company =
had been expelled). Looking back, such products and behaviours seemed desir=
able because two important factors worked together - the impact of 'wes=
tern' (mainly American) popular culture vehicles and in particular its =
motion picture industry, and the accounts of those Indians, young and old, =
who had left their country to become (mainly) American. It was a time when =
our world was still considered to be dominated by superpowers and lesser po=
wer blocs (we were neither),<br>
but the friendship India had with the Soviet Union, the USSR, at no time be=
came manifest through food and drink, behaviours and attitudes.<br>
<br>
Why did one influence but not the other? Years later, when working with the=
Ministry of Agriculture on a lengthy programme intended to strengthen our =
agricultural extension system, I found a part of the answer. Even in the ea=
rly 1950s, what became our national agricultural research system, under the=
Indian Council of Agricultural Research (itself a nationalised version of =
the Imperial Council of the British colonial era), had been partially desig=
ned and implemented by the US Agency for International Development and faci=
litated by the Rockefeller Foundation. A full decade before the mechanics o=
f the 'green revolution' set to work in the plains of northern Indi=
a, the state agricultural universities and the specific crop institutes the=
y cooperated with were organised along operational lines drawn up by foreig=
n advisers (the early FAO was present too). And that early indoctrination l=
ed to one of the most invisible yet long-running collaborations between =
9;formal' crop science personnel<br>
from India and the American land grant colleges with their extensive networ=
ks of industry interests.<br>
<br>
As a young man in my early twenties, I would often hear about the 'brai=
n drain', which is the term we used to describe those students and scho=
lars who had earned degrees from our Indian Institutes of Management or our=
Indian Institutes of Technology and who had made their way abroad, most of=
them to the USA. These were publicly funded institutes, and the apt questi=
on at the time was: why were we investing in their education only to lose t=
hem? I had been utterly unaware at the time that a similar 'brain drain=
' had taken place in the agricultural sciences, which by the first deca=
de of the 2000s did not require the 'drain' aspect at all, for by t=
hen the mechanisms of globalisation, aided by the wiles of technology and f=
inance, meant that the agendas of industrial agriculture could be followed =
by our national agricultural research system in situ. Of ecology, agro-ecol=
ogy, environment and organic there was barely a mention, so successfully ha=
d the 'food security' threat begun to be spun.<br>
<br>
It is a recent history that has taken shape while our urban and rural socie=
ties have worried themselves about how to escape monetary poverty, to escap=
e hunger, to escape deprivations of every conceivable kind, and to pursue &=
#39;development' of every conceivable kind. While this has happened, th=
e historians that we needed - I call them historians loosely, they needed o=
nly to observe and record and retell, but from the point of view of our joi=
nt families and our villages - to record such a change were very much fewer=
than we needed.<br>
<br>
It may seem inconceivable that in a country of our size and population - wh=
ich crossed one billion about a year before the 2001 Census - we lacked app=
ropriate recordists but this too is a matter of selective exclusion (like t=
he story about the hybrid seeds) for there are essays and tracts aplenty in=
our major languages and in regional scripts that detail the erosion of tra=
dition because of the assaults of modern 'development' on our socie=
ties. But these are not in English, they are not 'formal', they car=
ry no references and citations, they are published in local district towns,=
they are read by farmers, labourers, retired postmasters and assistant sta=
tion masters but not by internationally recognised macro-economists or nati=
onally feted captains of industry; they are not considered chronicles of so=
cial change and of the studied, deliberate, ruthless dismantling from our s=
ocieties their traditions, amongst which is the growing of food.<br>
<br>
Yet, because we are a big country, an ancient civilization, and because we =
have 167 million rural households (out of 246 million altogether), the sour=
ces of tradition (as we first read about in school) are extant, they are ev=
olving and they are still very close to what in Sanskrit we call 'prakr=
uti', that is, nature.<br>
<br>
(1) In the district of Pathanamthitta, Kerala, south India, several sacred =
groves are venerated by the residents of the villages along the river Pamba=
, whose source lies high up in the Western Ghats. Here they maintain sancti=
fied forest reserves (not administratively mandated ones) and have establis=
hed rules and customs to ensure their protection. The socio-cultural norms =
governing the sacred groves prohibit the felling of trees, the collection o=
f any material from the forest floor, the taking of the life of all animals=
. Because of these protective restrictions, faithfully followed over genera=
tions, the sacred groves are now havens of biodiversity and of the wild rel=
atives of crops.<br>
<br>
(2) In the district of Solan, Himachal Pradesh, north India, hill villages =
have noted with worry the trend of climate change and variability which has=
become more unpredictable over the past decade. Spells of heavy rain which=
used to be rare 25 to 30 years ago are now common, plant diseases have app=
eared which were unknown only a generation earlier, and the yields of crop =
staples upon which the village depends - such as 'rajma' (kidney be=
an) and 'urad' (a pulse) - are dropping. Under such circumstances v=
illage administration officials together with women's and self-help gro=
ups hold teaching and practical sessions on water management; have reintrod=
uced organic farming for their habitat including training in the preparatio=
n of different kinds of composts and bio-pesticides; are collecting seeds o=
f the hill millet species endemic to the region in order to widen the crop =
biodiversity they rely upon, for the millet is hardy and nutritious.<br>
<br>
(3) The village of Mendha Lekha in Gadchiroli district, Maharashtra state, =
is well known for its practice of village sovereignty and the community-bas=
ed management of natural resources. All decisions related to the management=
of the forest and the village are taken through the 'gram sabha' (=
village council). The sabha relies on the advice of what are called 'ab=
hyas gats', which are study groups. There are many study groups for dif=
ferent aspects of the collective life of Mendha Lekha and these assemble re=
gularly to discuss village and forest related issues. Notably in recent yea=
rs the sabha has banned the cutting of fruit trees, stopped the use of bamb=
oo by a paper mill, banned the use of chemical poisons for fishing, relies =
on voluntary labour for the construction of gully plugs so that erosion is =
prevented, and rosters a daily forest vigilance committee.<br>
<br>
(4) Changes to the forest - deforestation and new settlement zones - in the=
district of South Sikkim, north-east India, has altered the forest structu=
re, lowering the capacity of the forest to capture runoff water from the su=
rface compared with 30 years earlier when the forest was denser. Supported =
by the state administration, a response that has been instrumental in rever=
sing the degradation relies on methods long held as traditional knowledge -=
multiple small and shallow rectangular trenches dug in the water catchment=
area. These hold water and promote its percolation into the sub-soil of th=
e hills. This community programme has contributed to the transition of Sikk=
im into India's first state that practices only organic cultivation.<br=
>
<br>
Examples such as these are very much more than encouraging: they are genuin=
ely uplifting, and they are to be found not because of the inter-government=
al agencies with their impressive earth system sciences projects bristling =
with (expensive) specialists, not because of the success of even one of the=
many United Nations agencies achieving even one of the many development go=
als they so solemnly (and expensively) have set over the last 30 years, not=
because of the tens of millions of euros and dollars spent (granted, loane=
d, round-tripped) by the multi-lateral development banks or funds (World Ba=
nk, Asian Development Bank and their ilk). These examples, and a large numb=
er like them, are to be found because of local efforts entirely, efforts th=
at shrewd local administrations have sided with and supported, but local ef=
forts that have emerged only because the essential fabric and strength of t=
he societies that bore them have remained considerably intact. And so I see=
the 'agroecology now'<br>
part of Frances Moore Lapp=C3=A9's essay, 'Farming for a Small Plan=
et', as dependent entirely upon the manner in which our villages, their=
households and especially their religious and social institutions, act as =
part of their collective dharma.<br>
<br>
It is an age-old tie, that of the cultivation of the land with the religion=
of a civilisation. We have in the Rig Veda as one amongst a number of vers=
es that concern cultivation, this one: "Harness the ploughs, fit on th=
e yokes, now that the womb of the earth is ready, to sow the seeds therein;=
and our praise to Indra, may there be abundant food, may the grains fall r=
ipe towards the sickle." Likewise from the Yajur Veda: "May the s=
eeds be potent, may the rains be plentiful, and may the grains ripen throug=
h the nights and days, the 'pakshas' of fifteen days, and the month=
of thirty days and the year comprising the seasons in the regular order.&q=
uot; (Two 'pakshas' of 15 days each, one for the waxing moon and th=
e other for the waning.) Rice paddy holds religious significance everywhere=
it is grown in India (and indeed in neighbouring countries, and those of s=
outh-east Asia). The state of Chhattisgarh is one of the centres of diversi=
ty of rice and here the festival called 'akti' reinforces<br>
the many community-based principles of biodiversity conservation.<br>
<br>
In the rice paddy cultivating regions of southern India, rice grains are mi=
xed with turmeric and 'kumkum' (the vermilion powder used to make t=
he women's bindis and men's sectarian markings on the forehead) and=
this is called 'akshata', to be used as a symbol of blessing in ma=
ny ceremonies. Just as it is central to worship and observances, so too are=
our grains and vegetables central to medicine, that is, traditional medici=
ne and ayurveda. In north coastal Maharashtra, villages continue to grow va=
rieties of paddy for medicinal use: one variety ('mahadi') that hel=
ps recovery from wounds and fractures, another for convalescing patients to=
give them strength ('kali khadsi'), another that suits the prepara=
tion of healing gruel (white 'dangi'), still another that encourage=
s lactation for nursing mothers (red 'dangi'), and yet another that=
helps weak mothers recover from delivery ('malghudya'). Often, as =
I have heard during wanderings as a teenager in these coastal tracts, these=
were<br>
originally found growing near an old temple tank, and the seed had been car=
efully preserved.<br>
<br>
With traditions such as these, it should be scarcely conceivable that any c=
ivilisation, any country, any primarily agrarian region proceed towards the=
'development' paradigm, either misled about its meaning or coerced=
towards it. This is nonetheless what has happened and what commenced for m=
any countries in Asia not in the immediate aftermath of winning freedom fro=
m colonial rule but, in many cases, earlier, when the grain, forest, planta=
tion and spice riches of our lands were commodified and shipped out. For su=
ch export to be maintained, entirely new administrations and institutions w=
ere created (state forestry is one such, which brought in barriers between =
forests and agricultural lands that never existed, the resulting havoc of w=
hich is still haunting our historically most agriculturally abundant region=
s, for the forests have with good reason been called the primogenital paren=
t of cultivated varieties, and indeed our medicinal flora).<br>
<br>
Through these new state structures emanated public works - canals, barrages=
, dams, railways, telegraph lines, ports, and the factories and industrial =
estates - because of which for the first time our societies encountered an =
abstract idea called the agricultural gross domestic product. This form of =
enumerating the seasonal wealth of a people deployed, at scales not seen be=
fore, the economic nature of the state and when that happened - aided and a=
betted by the first commodity exchanges, merchant banks, cooperatives movem=
ents and new western-oriented administrative cadres - the shearing away of =
the act of cultivation from the principles of ecology in our civilisations =
occurred: there remained neither the spiritual grounding nor the traditiona=
l communitarian values. 'Modern' education took over from there, th=
e 'development paradigm' I have mentioned earlier, and the speed of=
the new macro-economics was such that the pursuit of products rapidly repl=
aced the time and effort spent on<br>
observances and customs.<br>
<br>
No wonder then that the urban budget menus of today describe substances and=
their treatments unrecognisable to the parents of those of us in what is c=
alled middle age. The very material of our primary crops - the grains and c=
ereals, the pulses and legumes, the vegetables leafy and tuberous, the frui=
t - are treated as raw material in the way that inorganic substances are, a=
nd refashioned according to the dictates of a mechanistic view of everythin=
g that grows tended or untended in nature. This is called 'food' an=
d is anything but, yet our youth and our labouring middle classes are buyin=
g it and eating it, with the consequences to their health and their cogniti=
on, to their endocrinal and hormonal humours only now being recognised, for=
censoring sciences are now being beaten back.<br>
<br>
Our opponents are the urbanisers and the globalisers, the agents of a behav=
ioural homogeneity that has been thrust into practically every country and =
territory by being called economic growth or its twin, development (which h=
as lately spawned a clone called sustainable development). But civilisation=
s, like agricultural villages, do not find meaning through economic growth.=
They have philosophies, they have cultures, they have profound and ancient=
religions, they have spiritual practices rich with depth and meaning, they=
have heritage tangible and intangible, they have craft and art in forms in=
numerable. It is amongst these meanings that agro-ecology finds a place.<br=
>
<br>
With regards, Rahul Goswami<br>
<br>
***************************************<br>
<br>
Tuesday, March 1, 2016<br>
<br>
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