$1 is Worth More in the Hands of the Food Bank
With the proper resources, connections, and operations, Food Banks turn $1 into $6 or more.
“With 42 million people in the U.S. at risk of facing hunger due to the pandemic, donating your extra or purchased dry and canned goods through a food drive might seem like the best way to help your neighbors need. But, the best way to support your local food bank is actually through donating money.” – Feeding America
Note From the Author
This blog is in no way trying to stop you from donating food. If donating food is what you want to do, do it! At the end of the day, the food bank needs food and your donations of food and/or money are greatly appreciated by the food bank and the people in our community. I only ask that you consider donating money and if you choose to donate food, donate good food!
The Food Bank is Better at Buying Food
The Food Bank has connections with large and/or local supplies and grocers. Larger quantities and better prices are an obvious win for the food banks. Some food banks claim to turn $1 into $6 when purchasing food! Instead if buying and donating a can of Tuna, consider donating the $2. The Food Bank may be able to buy 3 to 5 cans of Tuna with the same amount of money.
Money does not Need to be Sorted and Stored
Food Drives have an obvious appeal of handing over a tangible item. However, a large box of random non-perishable items takes time and money to sort. A large part piece of operating a food bank successfully, is ensuring that the distributed food can be made into a meal. This means that meals plans and nutritional needs are essential when prepping distribution boxes. This is much easier to do with large quantities of the same or similar items, which is not always the case in food drives and small scale food donations.
You Don’t Know What the Food Bank Needs
Along with better pricing, the food bank can use the money to buy the items that they need at the moment. If everyone donated peanut butter, then they can use the monetary donations to ensure everyone gets all the items they need. The Yolo Food Bank keeps nutrition in mind when accepting and prepping donations for distribution. With monetary donations, the food bank can buy the food necessary to ensure a complete nutrition plan.
Things You Can Do to Help the Food Bank
- Plan a monthly donation: this provides a steady flow of income that makes operating easier. Food Banks get a flood of donations during the holidays, which is great but can make it difficult to predict their future funding.
- Host a virtual food drive: this allows people to donate from the comfort and convenience of home while doing good!
- Consider Volunteering: if donating cash is not your thing, consider donating your time. Sorting all the inconsistent and miscellaneous donations is time-consuming!
Living in California, it is impossible to ignore the impact that wildfires have had on our state in recent years. As this blog is being written on 8/18/21, more than 6,500 wildfires have destroyed more than 1.3 million acres across the state so far in 2021, which is a pace that is set to exceed any other year in recorded history. While wildfires are a natural part of California’s landscape, the most prominent “fire season” (not only in California, but across the entire West coast) is starting earlier and ending later every year. Many point to climate change and drought to be the key driver of this trend. The warmer temperatures lead to reduced snowpack and earlier spring snowmelt which create longer and more intense dry seasons. This pattern leads to a drying out of the state’s vegetation and makes forests more susceptible to massive wildfires. While this is an important driving factor to consider, there are other factors at play as well.
When early explorers (or more accurately named, colonizers) began to arrive in California, they noticed smoke from what appeared to be intentionally set fires. The first records of this date as far back as 1542 when Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo of Spain found that “Native Americans set fires in the canyons around the Los Angeles basin to prevent too much buildup of undergrowth and to drive out the game.” As more Europeans like Cabrillo came to the region, these practices would continue to be observed, but never respected. Instead, they brought agricultural practices from their home continent and a concerted effort to erase Indigenous culture.
Prior to European intervention, the Indigenous people of the West were experts in keeping the land in balance. The landscape was a perfect blend of meadows, grasslands, forests and brushland and prescribed burns at calculated intervals made it so that the megafires we see now would not be possible. Additionally, burns with plants such as trees and grasses actually helped them improve their yield on essential crops that provided food and materials for basket weaving. Fire was not only a tangible tool for agriculture and the ecosystem, but also served spiritual purposes as well. However, after centuries of European exploitation and terror towards the Indigenous people of California, the practice of prescribed burns was all but eradicated until recently.
By the late 19th century, the US Forest Service at the time cited an oncoming “Timber Famine” as grounds for becoming even more diligent in the suppression of fires. While scientists and Indigenous tribes at the time had made pleas for them to reconsider, the first head of the USFS, Gifford Pinchot, continued for the pushed demonization of fires. In 1910, the USFS was aided in its campaign by a giant fire that burned through Idaho, Washington, and Montana and engulfed entire towns. And while much of this fire burned through dead and down slash left over from over logging and deforestation, the USFS used this incident to push for full suppression of fire, and they eventually succeeded. In 1911 the Weeks Act was passed, which in part allowed for the Federal Government to issue fines and other penalties to local governments who allowed for unauthorized fire suppression tactics. By 1935, The 10 AM Policy was enacted, which deemed that all wildfires must be extinguished by 10 AM following their day of discovery.
Many trees throughout the West have serotinous cones which means that they only seed with fire. Many native grasses in California depend on fire as well. Fire is regenerative and healthy for many ecosystems and suppressing it for so long knocked everything out of balance. Until the 1970s when small prescribed burns began to be issued again, fires in the west were totally suppressed leaving forests to grow unchecked. And while you may see remnants of prescribed burns in parts of the state today, many fire-dependent ecosystems have not been properly tended and we are still in a mentality of suppression being more important than prevention.
A good example of this in California is a Sequoia grove, which is largely dependent on fire. Usually, these groves burn regularly with ground fire which is why Sequoias don’t have lower branches. But when fire was suppressed, less fire-resistant trees like Douglas Fir and Incense Cedar started occupying the forest grounds. Those same trees, along with other unchecked brush, not only act as tinder for a fire, but also become “ladder fuel,” carrying fire to the upper branches of Sequoias and creating a totally different ecological system. This is one example of how mismanagement of forest lands has led to the perfect conditions for these large-scale fires.
As mentioned, the past 50 years have seen more prescribed burns and preventative measures but the bulk of our efforts have still gone towards fire suppression. When we look at funding, we can see that fire suppression gets the haul of funding, while fire management, or land management, doesn’t. Most fire personnel do not work in our forests outside of May through October, and off-season burning often gets sidelined for lack of personnel. Unless we begin to focus more energy on preventative measures by utilizing more resources for prevention, and also allow for Indigenous tribes to perform the same fire control practices of their ancestors, it is entirely possible that we will continue to see these devastating fires.
We’ve partnered with the National Alliance on Mental Health (NAMI) Yolo County, our current Round Up recipient, to bring members of our community resources for BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) Mental Health Awareness Month. If you belong to the BIPOC/QTBIPOC community, you can find free mental health resources near the end of this blog.
Since 2008, July has been recognized as Bebe Moore Campbell National Minority Mental Health Awareness Month (or BIPOC Mental Health Awareness Month). Bebe Moore Campbell was a Black American author, journalist, teacher, and mental health advocate. She worked tirelessly to bring attention to the mental health needs of the Black community, including those of her daughter who suffered from mental illness. She witnessed the abandonment of her daughter by institutions meant to help, so she founded NAMI Inglewood to create space for Black folks to talk about mental health concerns.
This year’s theme is Strength in Communities. Like Bebe Moore Campbell and her daughter, many BIPOC folks have to find mental health support outside of traditional institutions. A lack of adequate services and a lack of representation have effectively marginalized many BIPOC folks from these traditional avenues of support. This year’s theme recognizes how BIPOC communities have had to overcome this and in the process have become experts in creating alternative support systems built by BIPOC and QTBIPOC (queer and transgender BIPOC) for BIPOC and QTBIPOC. Some of these alternative support systems include:
- Community care refers to ways in which communities of color have provided support to each other. This can include things such as mutual aid, peer support, and healing circles.
- Self-directed care is an innovative practice that emphasizes that people with mental health and substance use conditions, or their representatives if applicable, have decision-making authority over services they receive.
- Cultural care refers to practices that are embedded in cultures that are passed down through generations that naturally provide resiliency and healing.
Not surprisingly, white supremacy has serious negative effects on BIPOC mental health. Racial trauma refers to “ongoing individual and collective harms from repeated exposure to race-based stress.” The mental health effects of racial trauma are similar to post-traumatic stress disorder. However, race-based traumatic stress involves prolonged exposure to the stressor(s), unlike traditional cases of PTSD. According to Mental Health America, while rates of mental illness are slightly lower in BIPOC communities, they often experience a higher burden of disability from mental illness. In fact, Black adults are 20% more likely than white adults to report serious psychological distress and depression is more persistent in BIPOC communities. In the criminal justice system, where BIPOC folks are disproportionately overrepresented, mental health conditions are common. The American Psychiatric Association found that 50-75% of BIPOC youth in the juvenile justice system meet the diagnostic criteria for a mental illness. Finally, Indigenous adults in the U.S. have the highest reported rate of mental illness of any single race identifying group, according to the APA.
Mental Health Resources for BIPOC folks
Loveland Therapy for Black Women and Girls (financial aid for therapy)
For white folks looking for ways to support BIPOC mental health
Learn about Racial Battle Fatigue and its effects on BIPOC mental health
Read this article about using your words, actions, and power to oppose racism
Read this article about how adults can support the mental health of Black Children
Round up at the Register for NAMI Yolo County during July 2021
It’s Plastic Free July and we’re taking the opportunity to talk about environmental racism and the disproportionate effects of plastic pollution on BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Color) communities. While environmental racism refers to the disproportionate effects of environmental hazards on people of color in general, this blog will focus on plastic consumption and pollution in relation to communities of color in the United States.
Greenaction, a grassroots environmental justice organization, defines environmental racism as, “the institutional rules, regulations, policies or government and/or corporate decisions that deliberately target certain communities for locally undesirable land uses and lax enforcement of zoning and environmental laws, resulting in communities being disproportionately exposed to toxic and hazardous waste based upon race.” Environmental racism is caused by intentional neglect, a lack of institutional power, and low land values among low income communities of color.
As we discussed in our blog about the intersection of environmental, social, and economic sustainability, individuals and communities with privilege and power cannot afford to ignore social and economic sustainability in favor of environmental stewardship. It is through environmental, social, and economic justice that our communities will become safe and promote the wellbeing of everyone and especially Black, Indigenous, and people of color, women, folks with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ people, poor people, incarcerated populations, migrant workers, and individuals experiencing homelessness.
Every part of a plastic’s journey from production to consumption to disposal negatively impacts communities of color. Plastics start underground, approximately 1-2 miles below the surface, as fossil fuels like natural gas and oil. In order to get natural gas to the surface, companies drill into the ground and inject a mix of water and chemicals into the rock. This forces the natural gas upward in a process known as fracking.
Fracking sites pose a serious health risk to neighboring communities. In addition to drilling through or near groundwater reserves and improper wastewater disposal, fracking releases dangerous chemicals into the air. A 2016 study from the American Journal of Public Health found a correlation between the proximity of fracking wastewater disposal sites and the proportion of people of color living in that area of Texas. A study from 2018 found that Pennsylvania power plants (coal, oil, and natural gas) are disproportionately located near marginalized communities with lower incomes, lower education levels, higher economic stress, and/or more people of color. In Pennsylvania, the asthma hospitalization rate for Black children is 5 times higher than white children. Latinx children were hospitalized at rates 3 times higher than white children. In fact, Black people across the country are exposed to more air pollution than white folks. According to research from 2019, Black people bear a “pollution burden” of 56% (excess exposure compared to consumption).
Formosa Plastics is currently lobbying to build a refining center on the banks of the Mississippi in St. James Parish in Louisiana where 87% of residents are Black. You can donate to RISE St. James to help the community protect itself.
Oil and natural gas pipelines similarly impact BIPOC communities. Indigenous activists are calling for an end to pipeline projects which threaten water safety and sovereignty. Pipelines can leak slowly over time or rupture, polluting land, air, and water with highly volatile compounds. While the number of these kinds of incidents has decreased since 1996, the number of major incidents has increased. Major incidents involve serious injury, death, fires, and explosions. Cancer, cardiovascular disease, respiratory disease, and childhood leukemia are serious health concerns for communities near pipelines. You can read more about pipelines here.
Once raw materials are turned into plastics, they are aggressively marketed to low income communities of color and sold at disproportionately low prices. This is possible because plastic refining corporations receive billions of dollars in taxpayer subsidies (in fact, plastic production is subsidized every step of the way). Low prices keep demand for plastics high. Non-BIPOC consumption of plastic harms communities of color as well. In addition to endangering communities living near production facilities, buying plastics gives more political power to the fossil fuel industries and does nothing to combat how the industry treats its BIPOC workers or communities that host production facilities.
An April 2021 survey of energy sector employees from across the country found that Latinx and Black folks are underrepresented in the fossil fuels and that 8 out of 10 white employees surveyed described themselves as supervisors or having leadership roles. White energy sector workers also reported higher overall career satisfaction than any other racial or ethnic group. Black employees noted prejudice and racial bias as the biggest challenge in the workplace.
BIPOC communities are also chosen as landfill and incineration sites for plastic disposal, both of which endanger the health of those living nearby. According to Denise Patel, U.S. Program Director at the Global Alliance for Incinerator Alternatives, 79% of municipal solid waste incinerator facilities are located near BIPOC communities. These sites release heavy metals like lead and mercury directly into the air. Water contaminated by landfills leaches into groundwater and runoff can harm local waterways, water sources, and recreation spaces. The Arrowhead Landfill in Uniontown, AL accepts waste from 33 states including toxic coal ash. The neighboring town is 90% Black and residents have reported increases in cancer, respiratory diseases, and mental health issues. Residents filed a Title VI Civil Rights complaint with the EPA, which was dismissed in 2018. State courts, federal agencies, and the company that owns the landfill have repeatedly failed the residents of Uniontown, whose median household income is about $15,000.
When asked how we can improve our waste management systems to mitigate the disproportionate burden BIPOC communities bear, Denise Patel answered, “From a solutions perspective, I think there is an incredible opportunity to allow EJ (environmental justice) and BIPOC communities to lead and inform policy.” Supporting the work of environmental justice organizations with monetary donations is one way to ensure BIPOC voices are leading this conversation. You can also use less plastic! Small changes make a big difference. Thanks to our community’s participation in Plastic Free July, the Co-op sold 7,000 more plastic-free products in July 2020 than July 2019. Here are tips about going plastic free on a budget, plastic free recipes, and tips on shopping plastic free at the Co-op.
Find the full list of organization you can donate to here.
In honor of Pride Month and in solidarity with our LGBTQIA+ and QTPOC community members, the Davis Food Co-op has donated $500 to the Sacramento Gender Health Center, a QTPOC-led nonprofit working to end systematic oppression and pathologization of transgender people and racism while centering the wellness of queer and transgender people of color. The SGHC is currently asking for donations to help cover the cost of their facilities upgrade, which includes moving to a more accessible space and upgrading furniture. We invite our community to join us in supporting the SGHC and our QTPOC family, friends, and community members.
Pride Month wouldn’t exist without queer and transgender people of color (QTPOC). More specifically, it wouldn’t exist without queer and trans people of color fighting back against police brutality. If this is news to you, read about the history of Pride below!
Note that while there are Pride celebrations all over the world, this blog will focus on the history of queer activism in the United States.
Pride is, and always has been, political. If you’re somewhat familiar with the history of Pride, you might know that the riots at the Stonewall Inn, which occurred from June 28th to July 3rd, 1969, are the impetus for the Pride events we know today. But Stonewall was not the first modern queer political action. The Society for Human Rights received its charter on December 24th, 1924 in Chicago, making it the oldest documented gay organization in the country. The organization was led by German activist Henry Gerber and African American clergyman John T. Graves. One of the Society’s goals was to advocate for shorter prison sentences for gay men arrested and convicted under obscenity laws. The Society collapsed just a year later when Gerber was unjustly arrested for “strange doings”. Although the charges were eventually dropped, the Society dismantled as Gerber was unable to support it financially after exhausting his savings to legal fees. Queer organizations like the Society for Human Rights remained a part of public life, but with varying visibility. The Mattachine Society and the Daughters of Bilitis were active throughout the 1950s.
The 1960s were marked by calls to end violence and injustice suffered by marginalized communities throughout the United States. The civil rights movement in combination with fervent efforts to overturn Jim Crow laws are most commonly associated with the decade of reform, but communities fought for women’s rights, the abolishment of police brutality, and an end to the Vietnam War as well. Queer folks were regularly arrested for having consensual sex, kissing in public, gathering at bars, or for simply existing if they looked queer. Moreover, queerness was classified as a mental disorder in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual. “Homosexuality” would remain a diagnosable disorder until 1973 (this history of using the term “homosexual” in conjuction with pathologizing queerness is one of the reasons why we don’t use “homosexual” to describe gays and lesbians anymore). This is the context out of which several key queer political actions were born.
The Cooper Donuts Uprising took place at Cooper Donuts in Los Angeles in 1959, ten years before Stonewall. At the time, it was illegal for a person’s gender expression to differ from the sex listed on their ID, which meant that trans folks were often the target of police harrassment. For this reason many gay bars banned or discouraged trans folks from entering. Cooper Donuts was open to many members of the queer community and was often a target for police raids. Two police officers arrested two drag queens, two male sex workers, and a gay man after asking to see IDs. As they were being arrested, patrons took to throwing whatever they could including coffee, donuts, and trash, to push back against the unjust police harassment. Police fled before making any arrests and returned with backup and a blockade to arrest the folks who were now calling for an end to police harassment in the streets.
In 1966, patrons of Compton’s Cafeteria in San Francisco’s Tenderloin rioted after a police officer attempted to arrest a drag queen for cross dressing. She threw a cup of coffee in his face which sparked the uprising. Leading up to the rebellion, police used any excuse (e.g. obstructing the sidewalk) to arrest Compton’s queer customer base which was largely made up of drag queens, sex workers, and trans women of color. After the riot, Comtpon’s banned trans women from entering, but not without resistance in the form of a pickett line and smashed windows from the Tenderloin’s queer community.
LA’s Black Cat Tavern was a popular bar for Southern California’s queer community and often the target of police raids. On New Year’s in 1967 several undercover officers began beating and arresting patrons celebrating the New Year with kisses. Police arrested fourteen people for assault and public lewdness. On February 11th, 200 people protested the arrests with civil demonstrations in public. The Personal Rights in Defense and Education (PRIDE) group and the Southern California Council on Religion and Homophile organized the effort. No rioting took place, despite armed squadrons of police officers meeting protestors. These instances of queer political action and liberation, largely at the hands of QTPOC, would pave the way for Stonewall and the larger queer liberation movement.
The Stonewall Uprising in New York City is perhaps the most salient example of civil rights era activism and revolutionary tactics influencing the gay liberation movement. There are so many contradictory and inconsistent accounts of the events at the Stonewall Inn in June of 1969, but we do know that police launched a violent raid on the Christohper Street bar targeting drag queens, trans folks, and gay men, the majority of whom were Black or brown. The arrests were met with resistance from Stonewall’s patrons and sparked 6 days of protests against police brutality. Marsha P. Johnson, a Black activist and performer who described herself as “gay,” “transvestite,” and a “drag queen,” is often associated with the uprising. Sylvia Rivera, a brown trans woman, also led protests on Christopher Street. She participated in anti-war and Black liberation marches throughout the latter half of the 60s. Miss Major Griffin Gracy, another Black trans activist, also led actions throughout the riots. Storme DeLarverie, a biracial, lesbian drag performer is believed to have “thrown the first punch” when police first started making arrests. Countless QTPOC were involved in the protests, fighting for their autonomy, personhood, and freedom. Pushing back against unjust systems is the core of all of these uprisings and would remain the core of Pride.
One year after the Stonewall riots, Christopher Street Liberation Day attracted thousands of marchers calling for gay liberation with chants of “gay power!”. That march is considered the first New York City Pride Parade taking place on June 28th, 1970. Queer activism continued, with the Gay Activist’s Alliance, Gay Liberation Front, and Street Transvestive Action Revolutionaries (STAR) forming in the wake of Stonewall. The contributions of QTPOC continue to be minimized in favor of acknowledging the contributions of white activists. We’d like to specifically call attention to a few queer Black folks who pushed the movement forward during this time: Bayard Rustin, a key adviser to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.; writer, poet, and activist Audre Lorde; Ernestine Eckstein, a leader of the Daughters of Bilitis, the first lesbian and civil rights organization in the U.S.; Barbara Jordan, the first Black woman elected to the Texas Senate; writer and scholar Angela Davis; and author James Baldwin.
Changes in recent years
With these deep roots in political action, Pride has grown and spread all over the globe. Unfortunately, so has the influence of capitalism at Pride. The presence of corporate logos at Pride is particularly troublesome since some companies that pour money into Pride events don’t back up that support with any tangible action. For example, Google sponsored a 2020 Pride event in San Francisco, but refused to take action against LGBTQIA+ harassment on its YouTube platform (Google is now banned from that Pride event). As Pride moves away from a political agenda, some communities, like Black trans women, will be particularly vulnerable to violence by the state and the public. Be cautious of brands that adopt a rainbow logo, but don’t walk the walk when it comes to supporting the LGBTQIA+ community. “Rainbow-washing” is ultimately harmful and dangerous, especially for queer and trans communities of color.
It is for similar reasons that the author of this blog, a straight white cisgender woman, asks other straight white cisgender folks to be mindful of queer spaces, especially at Pride. While I absolutely affirm that none of us can afford to not be allies, Pride isn’t a space for us to take center stage. Pride isn’t for us.
How we can support the QTPOC community
Despite diverse leadership and ground-level contributions by QTPOC, it is white cisgender gay men who have benefitted the most from achievements made in recent decades. This is because white supremacy pervades all levels of society and because our identities are inextricably tied to one another (i.e. race and queerness intersect). According to Mapping Violence, Black folks are three times more likely to be killed by police than white people, even though Black folks are 1.3 times less likely to be armed. Moreover, Black transgender women are at an even higher risk of fatal violence. According to the National Center for Transgender Equality, more than one-fifth of transgender people who have interacted with the police reported harassment, and the rates are much higher for Black transgender individuals: 38% reported harassment, and 15% reported assault by officers. The 2015 U.S. Transgender Survey found “that 57% of transgender people are afraid to go to the police for help largely due to the threat of being harassed, physically or sexually assaulted, or misgendered—which is why the deaths of transgender people often go severely unreported.”
Giving to the Sacramento Gender Health Center is one way white folks and allies can serve the QTPOC community. Knowing that our institutions will not protect this community means we must support queer and transgender people of color through collective, community action. Being actively anti-racist by calling out racism when you see and hear it is essential. Supporting the work of the SGHC is something real you can do right now. Volunteering with the Sacramento LGBT Center is something else you can do. You can also read this article about Black queer love and (in)visibility. Patronizing LGBTQIA+ and QTPOC businesses and artists is another way to provide tangible support to the community.
In addition to donating to the SGHC, sponsoring Davis Pride, and collecting Round Up funds for the Davis Phoenix Coalition, the Co-op will continue to work to make our community more accessible and safe for the LGBTQIA+ and QTPOC community. We’re excited to announce the addition of pronouns on staff name tags coming this summer. Stay tuned for our upcoming blog all about why we’re making this change.
On the evening of December 31st, 1862, Black Americans gathered in homes, churches, and community spaces awaiting the New Year which would bring with it the freedom outlined in the Emancipation Proclamation. Black Americans, enslaved and free, called that night “Freedom’s Eve.” Frederick Douglas said, “We shout for joy that we live to record this righteous decree.” Since then, generations of Black Americans have lived and died, existing in a liminality between slave and citizen. While Juneteenth commemorates the end of slavery, white supremacy and systemic racism continue to oppress, disenfranchise, and imprison Black Americans. We affirm, once again, that Black Lives Matter and ask our community to be actively anti-racist and fight for Black citizenship, personhood, and wellbeing on this Juneteenth and always.
The first Juneteenth
On January 1st, 1863, the Emancipation Proclamation freed enslaved folks in Confederate states, at least on paper. About 500,000 of 3.9 million enslaved people were able to liberate themselves by escaping behind Union lines between 1863 and the end of the war in 1865. The rest – the vast majority – remained enslaved. The Emancipation Proclamation also authorized Black men to join the Union army. These men would be crucial to the Union’s war effort, especially as Northern forces swept through Confederate territory liberating enslaved populations. After the Proclamation was issued, slave owners in Mississippi and Louisiana marched more than 150,000 enslaved Black people west to Texas, beyond the reach of Union forces at the time. Texas remained under Confederate control until the spring of 1865, more than two years after the Emancipation Proclamation took effect. On June 19th, 1865 in Galveston, Major General Gordon Granger announced:
“The people of Texas are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of personal rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them becomes that between employer and hired labor. The freedmen are advised to remain quietly at their present homes and work for wages. They are informed that they will not be allowed to collect at military posts and that they will not be supported in idleness either there or elsewhere.”
This is the day we celebrate as Juneteenth (“June” plus “nineteenth”), the day freedom came to those enslaved folks still living under Confederate control in Texas, at least symbolically. Granger’s announcement asks the newly freed people to “remain quietly at their present homes and work for wages,” which exemplifies how ending slavery and upholding white supremacy can completely coexist, almost in the very same sentence.
The freed people of Texas continued to commemorate the ending of slavery each June 19th. They celebrated near lakes and rivers with a large, central barbecue pit and readings of the Emancipation Proclamation. When Black people were barred from celebrating in public spaces, they raised money to buy Emancipation Park in Houston and Booker T. Washington Park in Mexia. Celebrants dressed in their finest clothes, however poor, to push back against racist characterizations by white folks. Juneteenth celebrations endured through times of extreme violence as well. Between 1885 and 1942, Texas lynch mobs brutally murdered at least 339 Black folks, mostly men. While newspapers failed to report the violence and history texts rewrote the story of the Civil War, Juneteenth endured. In Hayes Turner’s words, Juneteenth is “a potent life-giving event … a joyful retort to messages of overt racism … a public counter-demonstration to displays of Confederate glorification and a counter-memory to the valorization of the Lost Cause.”
Between 1916 and 1970, half of the southern Black population, nearly 6 million people, migrated north and west to escape segregation, widespread lynching, and a lack of social and economic opportunities in the Jim Crow South. This movement northward is known as the Great Migration. Black Texans took Junetheenth with them. Starting in the 1920s, Black communities celebrated in Oakland, Los Angeles, and Seattle in the west.
Juneteenth was bolstered once again when civil rights organizers of the Poor People’s March told delegates to take Juneteenth back to their communities. After 1968, Juneteenth took root in the Midwest. From there, it spread to nearly every state. In 1979, Texas made Juneteenth an official holiday (the state government also affirmed its commitment to celebrating June 19th as Confederate Heroes Day). California recognized the holiday in 2003. Today, 45 states and Washington DC recognize Juneteenth.
This week, the Senate unanimously approved a bill making Juneteenth a federal holiday. The House also approved the bill, but with 14 no votes from Republican representatives including two from California. President Biden signed the bill into law on Thursday afternoon, making Juneteenth Independence Day the eleventh federal holiday.
Structural oppression & a joyful retort
The 13th Amendment, officially ending slavery, was ratified on December 6th, 1865, 5 months after Texas’ enslaved population was freed. The full text of section 1 reads, “Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.” Many Black scholars have traced a line from the exception clause (bolded in the text above by the author of this blog) to mass incarceration rates among Black men in the US today (Ava DuVernay’s documentary 13th explores this connection deeply; it’s available on Netflix). Black Americans are incarcerated at more than 5 times the rate of white Americans. That means one out of every three Black boys born today can expect to be sentenced to prison, compared to 1 out 6 Latinx boys and one out of 17 white boys.This is white supremacy at work. Slavery, sharecropping, segregation, lynching, police brutality, and mass incarceration are all iterations of deeply systemic racism upheld at every level of society by white supremacy.
Today, more than one out of every six black men who should be between 25 and 54 years old have disappeared from daily life, according to the NAACP criminal justice fact sheet. Incarceration and early death are the leading causes. For those that are released from incarceration, nearly 50,000 legal restrictions block access to work, housing, and educational opportunities in this country. These barriers to re-entry lead to high recidivism rates, plaguing communities of color. Planting Justice, an organization based in Oakland, works to heal communities suffering from mass incarceration. They’ve built over 550 edible permaculture gardens in the San Francisco Bay Area, worked with five high-schools to develop food justice curricula and created over 40 green jobs in the food justice movement for people transitioning from prison. They have created a movement that centers sovereignty and healing around food, around sticking your hands in the earth and bringing forth life for whole communities.
The Davis Food Co-op is supporting their work with a $500 donation in commemoration of Juneteenth. This donation will support their Holistic Re-Entry program, which provides permaculture garden training to folks inside San Quentin State Prison, offers meaningful work and a living wage when they’re released, and prioritizes the health and wellbeing of formerly incarcerated persons and their communities in the Bay Area. We plan to continue to support organizations like Planting Justice with monetary donations. As mentioned in our Racism and Bigotry blog, redistributing resources, especially money, to organizations for and by the BIPOC community is one way to be actively anti-racist. We invite you to join us in supporting Planting Justice, which continues the project of Juneteenth in our community through building food sovereignty, economic justice, and community healing.
For many of us, Davis is an idyllic California community.
We’re tightknit. We compost and recycle and use renewable energy. We have 37 parks, 65 play areas, 33 tennis courts, and an extensive system of greenbelts. We love live music and local beer. We have food and housing co-ops. We ride our bikes to work and school. We have access to local, organic produce. We consider ourselves lucky to be a part of a thriving and diverse student community. We have restaurants that serve cuisine from nearly everywhere. We celebrate Pride, and Juneteenth, and cover our public spaces with art. We feed our neighbors facing food insecurity. We are a community.
But Davis is not free from bigotry, racism, and white supremacy. And the “we” who enjoy the parks, the art, the friendly smiles on the street are largely white, middle class, able bodied, straight, and cisgender.
It can be easy for us to write off instances of racism (like the one that happened last week when a passing car shouted the N word at a couple of color on a residential sidewalk), as both “horrible” and “not who we are.” Rather, racism happens everyday in our institutions, at community events, in classrooms, overheard at the grocery store, and in conversations with our most beloved family members. Only through acknowledging this reality and holding ourselves accountable can we actually make room in our community for everyone. We have a duty to demonstrate true support for and solidarity with our BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) and LGBTQIA+ community members.
“A note to fellow white folks and white allies from the author of this blog
Be mindful not to take what you learn about the BIPOC experience and reframe it to be about you. For example, you may have a strong reaction to hearing calls to dismantle or divest from institutions whose foundations are rooted in white supremacy (like police departments). Your feelings may range from uncomfortable to indignant. Rather than responding defensively or shutting the conversation down, ask yourself where this discomfort comes from. And, more importantly, do not have loud, emotional reactions in these situations. Be mindful of how exhausting it is for Black folks to have to calm and validate the feelings of white friends and family (or even complete strangers) when we should be listening.
Similarly, the concept of “white tears” and overly emotional reactions from well meaning white folks shift the conversation away from racial justice for people of color back to our feelings. Again, ask yourself why you’re having this reaction. You may realize that you fear being perceived as racist by people of color and reacting emotionally to police brutality is how you communicate that you are not racist. Unfortunately, many of us engage in this kind of performative allyship. Thankfully, you can actually be an ally by not making it about you, by listening to BIPOC folks, and by practicing empathy. Please, check your reactions, defensiveness, indignation, and tears.
“No persons except those of the white Caucasian race”
You may have noticed, Davis is very white. Like many communities across the United States, this can be attributed to a long history of redlining and restrictive covenants. Redlining is a discriminatory practice in which financial institutions deny loans or insurance to certain parts of a community based on the racial makeup of the community and/or applicant. Racially restrictive covenants, which were once legally enforceable contracts, prohibited the purchase, lease, and occupation of a piece of property by a group of people, specifically “non-whites and Jews” in Davis according to a city study commissioned in 2015.
Although the Civil Rights Act of 1866 “prohibits all racial discrimination in the sale or rental of property,” racially restrictive covenants were particularly prevalent in Davis properties built before the 1950s (a 1948 Supreme Court decision made them unenforceable). Many properties in the College Park, Oeste Manor, University Avenue/Rice Lane, Old North Davis, and Old East Davis areas contained racially restrictive covenants. One property deed from the College Park subdivision read, “…nor during such time shall said property or any part thereof or any building or buildings erected thereon be occupied by an person or persons other than those of Caucasian race.” Restrictive covenants in Davis outlined property forfeiture and additional financial penalties (up to $25,000) for those who violated the covenants. Davis is one of the only communities in the country to enforce financial penalties making these restrictive covenants harsher than most. At the same time, Davis encouraged large-lot, single-family home development in the post-WWII housing boom, rather than developing affordable housing options. These practices, predicated on white supremacy, effectively blocked many people of color from living in Davis.
On January 26th, 1940, a group of white store owners asked the city council to bar the opening of a grocery store owned and operated by Asian Americans. The city council responded that while they couldn’t ban the Asian grocers from opening, they could (and did) pass a city ordinance restricting the hours grocery stores could be open. The ordinance responded specifically to the white store owners’ racist fears that Asian Americans would work longer hours for lower wages. In Davis, like most of the United States, there is an inextricable link between white supremacy and the systems and institutions which structure our lives.
Today, racism and bigotry look very similar: swastikas on campus, mock KKK hoods left at the African/African-American Living Learning Community, the LGBT Resource center vandalized, nooses hung at the high school’s Juneteenth celebration, windows broken at a house flying the Palestinian flag, the Islamic center targeted, an elderly woman of color profiled and harassed at the Co-op. Bryn Buchanan wrote a piece on the Black experience at Picnic Day, the annual UCD event which nearly doubles the population of the town. Hearing neighbors and news anchors alike complain of the “mayhem” caused by “outsiders” (read: more Black people than we’re used to) is a poignant example of our community engaging in anti-Blackness. Not surprisingly, it’s in our modern institutions too. According to 2019 police data, 9% of traffic stops involved Black people and 21% involved Latinxs, suggesting disproportionately high policing of our Black and Brown community members. U.S. Census Bureau data shows that Black folks account for 2.2% of the population while Latinxs account for 13.6%, which is out of proportion with traffic stop data.
It has been one year since George Floyd was murdered by police as he called out for his mother. In April, when Derek Chauvin, his murderer, was found guilty, the Solidarity Space in Central Park was vandalized; it’s art, candles, flowers, and writings, which provided community members a public space to grieve, process, heal, and confront police brutality which has killed 62 Black Americans in the first four months of 2021 alone, were removed overnight. Racism and white supremacy are our present as much as our past. The Space, the very embodiment of resilience, has once again been filled with community art, flowers, candles, and calls to end racial violence.
Nothing to be gained but a conscience
Ta-Nehisi Coates calls for white Americans to “Tumble out of the Dream” – the American Dream built on and that which sustains and is sustained by white supremacy. He writes, “very few Americans will directly proclaim that they are in favor of black people being left to the streets. But a very large number of Americans will do all they can to preserve The Dream.” For those of us who do want to tumble out of the dream, understand there is no praise in true allyship – “nothing to be gained but a conscience” writes Brittany Talissa King (her essay on the subject is required reading, find it here). For BIPOC folks, there is nothing short of true and actual citizenship, personhood, and autonomy to be gained – that is what we’re fighting for. Black lives matter, not just Black bodies murdered and martyred by police.
As white folks, we have a duty to educate ourselves, to call out racism within our families, to vote in favor of affordable housing developments in Davis. These are just a few ways we can make our community more equitable.
Something you can do right now
Allocating resources (like time, but especially money) to mutual aid networks is something very tangible that will benefit the BIPOC and LGBTQIA+ communities right now. Mutual aid happens when community members cooperate to help meet each other’s basic survival needs. Unlike “charity,” in which wealthy people give to the “deserving poor” to feel better, participants in a mutual aid network understand that the systems we live under are not going to meet our needs and, in fact, it is the systems which create poverty, crisis, and vulnerability. According to activist Dean Spade, mutual aid “is a form of political participation in which people take responsibility for caring for one another and changing political conditions, not just through symbolic acts or putting pressure on their representatives in government, but by actually building new social relations that are more survivable.” You can find information about local mutual aid projects through the NorCal Resilience Network here.
A community store
The Co-op isn’t just a grocery store. Like all cooperatively owned businesses, we are guided by the Cooperative Principles including Concern for Community and Education, Information, and Training. Our Ends Statement also reminds us that we “exist to serve as a community store.” And, more importantly, the Co-op is owned by more than 10,000 diverse community members who empower and trust us to put these principles into action. This means, in order to carry out our mandate, we must actively work against racism and bigotry in our store and community while prioritizing diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI). Our hope is to be as transparent as possible; and there is a lot of work for us to do. Our DEI Taskforce will continue to educate staff and implement necessary policy changes. We’ll also share more resources, like this blog, with our community. Be on the lookout for our upcoming DEI reading list and efforts to support BIPOC, LGBTQIA+, and women-owned brands.
As we celebrate Pride and Juneteenth this month, take the opportunity to examine how you can make our community more diverse, inclusive and equitable. We’ll do the same. And, most importantly, we are here to affirm that Black lives matter. Black trans lives matter. Black education, dreams, anger, exhaustion, citizenship, silliness, curiosity, comfort, history, contributions, pain, knowledge, and joy unequivocally matter.
More resources from the DFC
The Davis Food Co-op occupies land that belongs to three federally recognized Patwin tribes: Cachil DeHe Band of Wintun Indians of the Colusa Indian Community, Kletsel Dehe Wintun Nation, and Yocha Dehe Wintun Nation.
As we constantly work towards our Cooperative Principles Concern for the Community, and Education, Training, and Information, we have donated to local organizations that support this land acknowledgment such as the Center for Land Based Learning, Cache Creek Conservatory and Yolo Basin Foundation and will continue to do so. We know there is much work to be done to provide the space for Indigenous cultural conservation and education in our region.
We invite you to learn more about whose land you are on here: https://native-land.ca/. You can also learn more about the #landback movement and how you can participate in and support land activism and Indigenous communities here: https://landback.org/.