Bodies upon the gears

The years between 1965 and 1974, also known as the long sixties, were a decade in which the U.S. and the world were in great turmoil, witnessing a complete cultural shift led by the “baby boomer generation.” America had just emerged from a Great Depression and two devastating world wars that toppled and reorganized world order. As a result, it arose as the world's foremost economic, political, and military power with a resulting illusion of great prosperity and hope for the future. But things began to unravel slowly. Just a few years prior, the young, charismatic President John F. Kennedy was gunned down in broad daylight in Dallas, Texas. His assassination shocked the nation and ended the optimism and innocence many, especially the youth, felt for the country’s future.

By 1965, the U.S. entrenched itself in what was to be a senseless war in faraway Southeast Asia, where we had very little business engaging in, a commonly held view around the world. Then came more nonsensical assassinations. The first was in 1965, when Malcolm X, an American Muslim minister and human and civil rights activist, was killed while giving a speech in the Washington Heights neighborhood of New York City (where Columbia University’s medical campus now sits). Just three years later, American Baptist minister, one of the most prominent civil rights leaders, Martin Luther King Jr., and a president’s brother and the former U.S. Attorney General, Robert F. Kennedy, were both gunned down in hotels in Memphis and Los Angeles, respectively. Then, from 1972 to 1974, the Watergate scandal plagued the country, leaving citizens wholly untrusting of its government and the lengths it would go to cover up crimes, no matter how inconsequential or considerable. The darkness fully engulfed the country when former president Nixon resigned from office before a certain impeachment because of the scandal.

Times were, to put it lightly, unhinged, and the country was fractured. Protests were an everyday occurrence. Students were being injured or killed on campuses for demonstrating, sometimes by the National Guard, the very institution meant to instill peace and protect citizens. On the other side of the world, young men were sacrificing their lives for a war without cause. Sound familiar? Indeed…

Many young people bucked convention by attempting to create a new future on their terms—an authentic counterculture movement. They took risks—running away from home to protest in the streets, joining a commune, or getting lost in the haze of the Haight. Even before the dark days of ‘68-69, students mobilized in incredible, organized, and purposeful ways. Check out Mario Savio, a student activist and leader of the Berkeley Free Speech movement in the video below making a speech in 1964 on the Berkeley campus named "Bodies Upon the Gears" (also known as the Operation of the Machine). His speech is highly relevant today.

“There is a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart, that you can't take part! You can't even passively take part! And you've got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels ... upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you've got to make it stop! And you've got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it, that unless you're free, the machine will be prevented from working at all!”

Dark days can breed creativity, and these times sparked new ways of thinking and living on this shared planet. Young people fought for a different and new world. A big part of that new world was about food and the beginning of climate and environmental justice movements. Some within the counterculture movement were deeply concerned about the direction of U.S. agriculture, its impacts on health and nature, and how the industrialization of the food system was moving more and more towards unhealthy, processed foods controlled by transnational conglomerates. These large-scale industries also spouted environmental contaminants and pollutants into ecosystems, further damaging the environment. There were also deep concerns about the unfailing violation of civil rights and the systemic social injustices domestically and abroad, much of that revealed through the U.S. food system. Democratizing food was a way to potentially address these myriad challenges and find a new, equitable future better for humans and the planet.

The counterculture movement explicitly used food to ignite a social revolution. They returned to the land and started communes to grow their food in organic, wholesome ways. They opened neighborhood co-operatives to sell and provide these foods to their communities. They (the Black Panthers) started safety net programs to feed children living in impoverished neighborhoods.

Putting the long sixties in the context with our world today, we are once more living in a highly polarized, fractured country, with significant loss of life on the domestic front due to everyday gun violence and shootings, drug and alcohol addiction, and unhealthy lifestyles. Our political position in the world is also uncertain, with increasing animosity and frustration towards America’s tactics to ensure its power and relevancy in a globalized society. At the same time, climate change is barreling down on the world because of powerhouse countries’ inability to commit seriously to mitigating global warming over the last 40 years. Diet and diet-related risk factors are now the top killers of disease and death in the country and the world. The U.S. is in the middle of a public health crisis with obesity and non-communicable diseases. For the first time, Americans’ life expectancy is one of the worst among high-income countries. Our food systems are unsustainable and fraught with fragility. So are the environment and the natural resources that agriculture depends on. The rights of citizens, particularly food system workers, marginalized groups, and women, continue to be violated across food systems and every other system.

They say one should study the past to know the future. In the world of food policy, where I spend my professional days, we keep repeating the past, reinventing the wheel of history, and not learning from what came before. Every so often, debates surface on how to feed a growing world, particularly when extreme weather events or conflicts spur food shortages, food price increases, and famines. Questions arise as to why our global food system is so fragile, why we trust international trade, and why we depend on just a handful of crops to feed the world. In addition, there are questions about tipping points related to population growth and climate change. Whether technology and innovation can keep pace or whether we are headed for a collapse. But on we go, with quick fixes that never entirely repair the problem but instead put band-aids on wounds that never entirely heal. That is why the challenges we face today as a global community are even more difficult. Food systems and a raging, changing climate show how fragile our society is and how much we could lose.

The counterculturalists wanted to transform food systems 60 years ago. Maybe their attempts at a social revolution did not work out as they envisioned. Still, they tried to create the foundation for a new society built on sustainable food systems that benefit human and planetary health, community cohesion, and global citizenry. They gave us enough to learn from, adopt, and adapt about how to better govern food systems and the environment while looking out for each other. They tried. Maybe it’s time to pick up where they left off and move forward.

We tell ourselves stories in order to live

This is the first prose from Joan Didion’s essay White Album. In the essay, Didion describes the moment she could feel the ‘60s “snapping” as she and her husband watched Robert F Kennedy’s funeral on TV from their veranda at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel in Honolulu.

It is uncanny how those times, the late 60s into the 70s, seemed calamitous but inspiring. The counterculture and protest movements were steadfast and resilient. Presidents were still presidential. There was hope for a better tomorrow with a dash of healthy resistance and revolution against “the system.” But Joan felt the tension of the snap. Comparing then to now, depending on what story you are telling yourself, many of us are feeling not only the snap but a full-blown break, and we seem to be sliding down the precipice of the break. The question is, how far down will we go…

In Didion’s essay, she goes further. She writes,

“We look for the sermon in the suicide, for the social or moral lesson in the murder of five. We interpret what we see, select the most workable of the multiple choices. We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images, by the "ideas" with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience.”

We work with what we know, value, and believe within the constructs of our lives. These constructs are very different depending on who you are, where you come from, your skin color, your creed, caste, and gender. Your living and lived experience. Yet, we tell ourselves stories—fiction, non-fiction, fairytales, and horror. But many of the stories we hear and tell are informed by the pods, bubbles, and clusters where we associate and engage — for better or worse.

  • We tell ourselves stories in order to deceive: It won’t be that bad. We have systemic and institutional checks in place.

  • We tell ourselves stories in order to survive: We’ve seen this rodeo before. We just have to wait it out.

  • We tell ourselves stories in order to feel sane: But there is nothing sane about any of this. Something is deeply, deeply wrong.

Dear reader, you may be wondering why I shyly refer to storytelling and self-counseling. Let me enlighten you on The Food Archive’s current storyboard: She lives in the United States and is sensing the country’s political state unraveling. But it isn’t just that. It is world order overall, and the shifting winds towards isolationism. It is climate change and the many extreme events impacting so many people, particularly and disproportionately those least responsible for the warming of our earth. It is the lack of political will and wherewithal for industries to do the right thing beyond profit-mongering. It is the dizzying speed of AI, media, and technology—the mis-, dis-, and malformation that surrounds us and our robotic tendencies to let “it/they/them” manipulate and control our every move. And of course, I am profoundly concerned about people’s food security today, tomorrow, and in 2050.

We are leaving 2024 in a very complex, dizzying state of change. Even if you are gleefully happy about the turns happening in the United States, our planet and our place in it is precarious. This poem by Warsan Shire keeps running through my head:

“later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?

it answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere.”

Joan Didion felt the same way in 1968, but alas, we are still here, plodding along…So there is that. At least, that is the story I am sticking to.