Frances Moore Lappé

A Powerful Economic Justice Movement Is Brewing, Even in This Dark Time

In this tumultuous world, one thing seems certain: today’s dire threats to our democracy did not arise out of nowhere. Every culture thrives, or not, on whether its core narrative—the causation story we tell ourselves—enhances mutual gain or spurs division. And, the narrative driving today’s unfolding catastrophe feeds the latter.

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We Saved Net Neutrality Once - We Can Do It Again

Democracy lives or dies on the quality of public conversation. “Were it left to me to decide whether we should have a government without newspapers or newspapers without a government,” Thomas Jefferson wrote, “I should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter.”

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Democracy Is Not a Choice

As we enter 2018, one thing is clear: just as we need it most, Americans’ commitment to democracy seems to be fading. Frightened by President Trump’s lies about the prevalence of voter fraud, a majority of Republicans say they’re open to the idea of postponing the 2020 election. Even more disturbing, one in six of us now say we’d settle for military rule.

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The Power of Words and the War on Democracy

Even single words have enormous power to shape our world. With our democracy in crisis, it’s critical to rethink terms undermining democracy and to take care in choosing words that further the values and interests of most Americans.

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We Are Living in Perilous Times - And Yet There Is a Promising Movement Afoot

“The system is rigged!” is now an angry, bipartisan cry, intensifying as Trump bows to big-donor interests and deepens distrust of government.

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Why Hope Has Power in This Gut-Wrenching Election Year

Hope about American politics is hard to come by. Disapproval ratings of both major-party candidates are higher than we’ve seen in decades. Millions are livid about Donald Trump’s lies and feel let down by Hillary Clinton and the DNC's now-exposed bashing of Bernie Sanders. All these responses seem to reflect the utter disillusionment of people across the political spectrum who feel shut out of a political system dominated by wealthy, special interests.

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Big Ag Is the Biggest Obstacle to Global Food Security: Here's What Can Turn It Around

The primary obstacle to sustainable food security is an economic model and thought system, embodied in industrial agriculture, that views life in disassociated parts, obscuring the destructive impact this approach has on humans, natural resources, and the environment. Industrial agriculture is characterized by waste, pollution, and inefficiency, and is a significant contributor to climate change. Within so-called free market economics, enterprise is driven by the central goal of bringing the highest return to existing wealth. This logic leads inexorably to the concentration of wealth and power, making hunger and ecosystem disruption inevitable. The industrial system does not and cannot meet our food needs. An alternative, relational approach—agroecology—is emerging and has already shown promising success on the ground. By dispersing power and building on farmers’ own knowledge, it offers a viable path to healthy, accessible food; environmental protection; and enhanced human dignity.

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10 of the Most Common Ways World Hunger Is Misunderstood

In troubled times, all of us seek ways to make sense of the world. We grasp for organizing beliefs to help us interpret the endlessly confusing rush of world events. Unfortunately, however, the two of us have come to see that the way people think about hunger is the greatest obstacle to ending it. So in this Backgrounder we encapsulate 40 years of learning and in-depth new research to reframe ten such ways of thinking explored in our latest book World Hunger: 10 Myths. We call them “myths” because they often lead us down blind alleys or simply aren’t true.

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Delicious Food Is Not an Indulgence - It’s a Way to Solve Our Ecological Crises

I grew up in Cow Town. Or make that Fort Worth, Texas. It was the ’50s and supper was canned spinach with either meat loaf or with what my brother and I called “loose meat”—ground beef and canned mushroom soup. Iceberg lettuce and Jell-O rounded it out.

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Could Our Deepest Fears Hold the Key to Ending Violence?

In his book Violence, psychologist James Gilligan asked a Massachusetts prison inmate, “What do you want so badly that you would sacrifice everything in order to get it?”

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The Right to Eat

"If someone can't afford to buy food, they're still a citizen and we're still responsible to them," city official Adriana Aranha in Belo Horizonte, Brazil, told me in 2000. What a concept--and one that had helped her to lift her Workers' Party to victory in municipal elections seven years earlier.

Declaring healthy food a right of citizenship in Brazil's fourth-largest city, the new administration drew together voices from labor, the church and citizen groups. Their innovations, coordinated by a new city office of food security, range from twenty-five fair-price produce stands supplied by local farmers to open-air restaurants serving 12,000 subsidized meals daily to city-sponsored radio broadcasts leading shoppers to the lowest-priced essentials.

These and many more city-led initiatives to end hunger consume only 1 percent of Belo's budget, but they're working. Hard evidence is the city's infant death rate, a widely accepted measure of hunger, which fell an astonishing 56 percent over the first decade of these efforts. Belo's approach has inspired multiple right-to-food initiatives nationwide as part of President Lula's Zero Hunger Program.

Food was first declared a right in the UN's 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and in 1993 at the Vienna Conference on Human Rights, citizen organizations, especially the FoodFirst Information and Action Network, began demanding specific standards for the right to food. By 2004 the UN's Food and Agriculture Organization Council had adopted "voluntary guidelines for the progressive realization of the right to adequate food," with 187 governments signing on.

Today, twenty-two countries have enshrined the right to food in their constitutions, either for all citizens or specifically for children. Nonetheless, after a period of decline, the number of hungry people in the Global South rose from the mid-1990s over the following half-decade by almost 4 million a year.

It's easy to understand why legally establishing the right to food is an appealing strategy. Since most would agree we have a right to live, a right to food--essential to life--doesn't seem like a stretch. Maybe our evolutionary experience sets us up to agree. Except for the last few thousand of our roughly 200,000 years evolving, Homo sapiens lived in hunter-gatherer societies; and studying those remaining today, anthropologists find humans unique in our "pervasive sharing" of food, "especially among unrelated individuals," writes Michael Gurven, a leading authority on hunter-gatherer food transfers. Except in times of extreme privation, when some eat, all eat. And the most productive hunters share the most.

This relational ethic may have been carried even into feudal times, as suggested by the root meaning of "lord"--keeper of the loaf, connoting responsibility to the whole.

Another strength of a "rights" frame is that it carries the presumption of an eventual mechanism for enforcement. In Brazil the country's National Rapporteur on the Human Rights to Food, Water and Rural Land, Flavio Valente, is already investigating what he calls "violations of the right to food."

Yet making a "right to eat" our essential frame for fighting hunger has pitfalls, too. For one, rights and power are too easily uncoupled. Prisoners have a right to food, for instance...but their power? Even a totalitarian state can guarantee the right to food.

Also, hearing "rights," one can quickly slide into passive mode--to assumed provision by somebody else, as in the right to an education or to a jury trial, where it makes perfect sense. The frame doesn't necessarily spur people to envision and build their own power. It can also lead one to imagine an end-point state of being--something settled--not necessarily an unending process of citizen co-creation. So might there be a more basic frame for addressing hunger? Yes, I think so. And it starts with power.

The need for power can run even deeper in human beings than our need to eat. Think of hunger strikes, where refusing to eat becomes a means to power. Philosopher Erich Fromm believed our need for efficacy to be so basic that he turned Descartes around: "I am, because I effect," he wrote.

Seeing the end of hunger from a "power frame" ignites a dynamic and energizing set of connections and actions. These are on most vivid display today in Latin America.

Beyond Belo's leadership, the Americas' largest social movement is Brazil's Landless Workers' Movement (MST), which didn't start with a focus on the legal right to food. It organized among the landless and taught democratic concepts and skills, including group decision-making, civil disobedience and, more recently, gender equity. The result is MST's bottom-up power, with which a third of a million families have created 2,000 settlements with new farms and businesses, as well as 1,800 new schools. It's lifted family wages and cut the infant death rate.

Bolivia's experience teaches similar lessons. There, a 1952 revolution produced a law intended to grant land titles to the country's majority landless. But with little ongoing mobilization by the country's indigenous people--60 percent of the population--a few thousand large-estate owners became the real winners. A 1990s re-reform brought similarly disappointing results.

Then, in 2000, beginning in the southern department of Tarija, where 80 percent of the peasants have no land at all, the landless took a page from their Brazilian brethren's action strategy. It goes like this: Identify unused arable land--Bolivian law and Brazil's Constitution require arable land to serve a social function--then petition the government for title to it. If ignored, occupy and start farming. Despite deadly attacks by landowners, the approach has already given rise to more than a hundred MST settlements, many now granted legal title, across Bolivia.

This broad-based landless movement also helped generate the majority that elected Evo Morales president last December. This past June Morales traveled to the fertile eastern lowlands to award peasants title to government land, the first phase of a plan to transfer to the landless over the next five years 77,000 square miles of public land--an area twice the size of Portugal.

Citizens' power is trickier to measure than reducing hunger, but it may well be even more important. When you "forget how to say 'yes, sir' and learn to say 'I think that'"--that is when a "citizen is born," Brazilian MST leader João Pedro Stédile stressed to me; and, "like riding a bike," you don't forget.

The right to eat is a beautiful and simple concept touching our most natural instinct for life in community. But its realization flows from perhaps an even more foundational right--the right to power--which in turn demands a reframing of democracy itself. Much more than a legal structure, democracy vital enough to end hunger is the living practice of citizen power creating strong communities. And it is happening.

A Market Without Capitalists

A market economy and capitalism are synonymous --- or at least joined at the hip. That's what most Americans grow up assuming. But it is not necessarily so. Capitalism -- control by those supplying the capital in order to return wealth to shareholders -- is only one way to drive a market.

Granted, it is hard to imagine another possibility for how an economy could work in the abstract. It helps to have a real-life example.

And now I do.

In May I spent five days in Emilia Romagna, a region of four million people in northern central Italy. There, over the last 150 years, a network of consumer, farmer and worker-driven cooperatives has come to generate 30 percent to 40 percent of the region's GDP. Two of every three people in Emilia Romagna are members of co-ops.

The region, whose hub city is Bologna, is home to 8,000 co-ops, producing everything from ceramics to fashion to specialty cheese. Their industriousness is woven into networks based on what cooperative leaders like to call "reciprocity." All co-ops return 3 percent of profits to a national fund for cooperative development, and the movement supports centers providing help in finance, marketing, research and technical expertise.

The presumption is that by aiding each other, all gain. And they have. Per person income is 50 percent higher in Emilia Romagna than the national average.

The roots of Emilia Romagna's co-op movement are deep -- and varied.

Here in the United States, many assume that Catholicism and socialism are irreconcilable. In Italy, it's different. Socialist theorist Antonio Gramsci's critiques of capitalism were a major influence on Italy's post-war Left. Although he was imprisoned by Mussolini in 1926 and died still under guard 11 years later at age 46, Gramsci's ideas took hold. Simultaneously, the Church came to appreciate the role of cooperatives in strengthening family and community -- as spelled out by Pope John XXIII's 1961 encyclical.

The shared values of the two traditions -- honoring labor, fairness and cooperation -- made them partners in standing up for co-op friendly public policies and in creating co-op support services.

Of the three main national cooperative alliances, the two largest in Emilia Romagna are the Left's Legacoop, with a million members, and Confcooperative, the Catholic alliance with more than a quarter of a million members.

During the 1920s, the fascists destroyed both the cooperative and the union movements. But after World War II, the movements regrouped to rebuild war-torn Italy. Farmer and worker cooperatives put people back to work. Retail cooperatives helped consumers and housing co-ops build new dwellings. Since 1945, the housing cooperatives affiliated with Legacoop alone have built 50,000 units in Emilia Romagna.

Curious about the differences that remain between the two historical strains, I questioned Davide Pieri, the energetic thirtysomething who heads the agricultural section of Confcooperative.

His response?

"Mainly the history and personalities at the top," he said, grinning as we headed out to see a co-op in action.

It is 7 a.m. when Davide picks up my partner Richard Rowe and me at our hotel in Bologna for a quick trip to a creamery on the outskirts of town that makes Parmigiano-Reggiano -- or Parmesan, to us. Almost 400 small cooperatives in Emilia Romagna make this specialty.

By 8 a.m. we're watching the morning ritual at the Nuova Martignana co-op: intensely focused workers stirring the fermenting milk mixtures in a dozen hot tub-sized copper vats. They are waiting for just the right consistency before using giant cheese cloths to gather the embryonic cheese into rounds.

Davide is distressed by WTO rules seeking to standardize and de-localize such place-based specialties. As we stand watching the cheesemakers testing the mixture, he seems to rebut that approach: "Look!" he exclaims. "These are artists they are tasting with their hands!"

In Bologna we also had the chance to sit down with the scholar of cooperation, professor Stefano Zamagni, whom Davide called "our prophet."

"Labor is an occasion for self-realization, not a mere factor of production," Zamagni, an economist, writes. Cooperation offers a way beyond the dehumanization of capitalism that fully uses the advantages of the market.

Ten years ago he launched a graduate program in civil economies and cooperation within the University of Bologna's economics department. So far it's graduated 250 students.

Another surprising feature of the culture is that, beginning in 1991, responsibility for social services in Emilia Romagna and other regions was transferred almost entirely to "social cooperatives." For those providing services such as job placement, 30 percent of the staff must come from the population served and, if possible, be members of the co-op. Certain tax benefits are provided to these "social co-ops."

The approach seemed another smart way to enhance human dignity, breaking down degrading divisions between the helper and the helped.

Because Davide exuded such passion for his work, I probed what had brought him to it. "Out of the university, I worked for a capitalist firm," he said. "But it wasn't for me. It was dog-eat-dog. So I tried working on my own, as a consultant. But after a year, I realized that wasn't for me either. So I took this job with the cooperatives.

"This is the interpretation of life that I enjoy," he said.

View a slideshow (pdf) of the author's visit to Italian co-ops.

The Sweet Taste of Success

What do a Virgin Islands perfume shop, a Utah dog boutique, and dozens of Dunkin' Donuts have in common? All got help from 9/11 terrorism recovery funds.

And who didn't get help? Workers at what was the Twin Towers' Windows on the World restaurant. Losing 73 colleagues and their jobs on Sept. 11, 34 mostly immigrant workers turned their grief into a new dream: Colors, a tony art-deco restaurant owned by the workers themselves. It opened in January in Greenwich Village -- but not without a lot more grief from their should've-been helpers.

"Everyone kept saying, 'No, no, no' when we went for financing," remembers former Windows on the World employee Feddak Mamdouh, as I waited for my "asparagus with truffle sauce" appetizer in a booth at Colors recently.

"Colors received no assistance from the very organizations created to support recovery from 9/11, like the Lower Manhattan Development Corp. and the NYC Partnership's Investment Fund," said Bruce Herman, executive director of the National Employment Law Project.

Mamdouh, originally from Morocco, is a founder and assistant director of the Restaurant Opportunities Center of New York (ROC-NY) set up to help restaurant workers displaced by 9/11. His chagrin at the resistance they faced boils over: "It's like they didn't think the immigrant workers -- including waiters and dishwashers -- could do it."

The "it" required $2.2 million to renovate and equip 4,000 square feet that, ironically, had most recently been a restaurant locked in a bitter labor dispute, in which ROC-NY had supported the workers. When the place shut down, ROC-NY realized this well-placed site -- beside the Public Theater on Lafayette Street -- was just right for launching what it hopes will be only the first of its worker-owned eateries.

"Restaurants have always been known as places where immigrants go for work, but many of them are abused; there is a lot of discrimination. We want to show that we can improve conditions," Mamdouh told the Associated Press when Colors opened.

Commercial banks weren't interested, Saru Jayaraman, executive director of ROC-NY, told NewYorkBusiness.com, "because no one could provide personal backing for the loans."

In my book, Democracy's Edge, I argue that our thin democracy will continue to fray unless we extend democracy's values of inclusion, mutual accountability and fairness to ever wider circles. In the book, I use the Colors story to help make my case for the democracy-strengthening potential of worker ownership. So what better place than Colors, I thought recently, to celebrate my birthday with friends?

Little did I know that one of my guests, sustainability educator Hilary Baum, was the daughter of Windows on the World founder, Joe Baum. So the royal tour was ours, led by general manager Stefan Mailvaganam. We learned about the wall fixtures from the 1939 World Fair and visited the kitchen, which was designed ergonomically to protect the sous-chefs, runners and dishwashers from the burns and injuries common in the industry.

In the kitchen, a flyer taped to the wall announced: "Today's Mexican Seafood Soup, inspired by Oscar's family recipe." Many of the menus, we learned, were inspired by family favorites of worker/owners who hail from more than 22 countries. On the frequently changing menu, I identified dishes from Bangladesh, Colombia, Peru and Thailand. The staff buys from local farmers and from those using sustainable farming practices.

When my dinner guest, Anne Ferrell (herself a farmer) asked our waiter where the grass-fed beef came from, his response was immediate: "Wolfe Neck Farms, upstate New York." Later, Mailvaganam explained that the workers are learning about ecological and health consequences of how the food they serve is produced.

My entreé, "organic seitan with apricot, basil and yellow split-pea chutney with parsnip frisee salad," was exotic -- and stunningly delicious.

As a worker cooperative, Colors owner/workers make decisions by consensus and provide vacation and overtime. Ultimately, they plan to offer pensions to workers, something rare in the restaurant business. Everyone working the line, serving and dishwashing, makes $13.50 an hour -- double New York's standard minimum wage -- and the wait staff split tips.

ROC-NY hopes to do more with its money than help create one business. Toward that end, it attached a special condition to its $500,000 investment: that Colors' worker/owners put in 100 hours of "sweat equity" teaching other restaurant employees how to build their own worker-owned restaurant.

For another $500,000, Colors' founders had to cross the ocean. Good Italian Food, a consortium of Italian cooperatives anchored by the CIR Food Group, came through. Apparently, Italians find it easier to view worker cooperatives as bankable. In Italy's Emilia-Romagna region alone, more than 80,000 people are employed by cooperatives contributing 20 percent to 35 percent of the GDP.

So that workers at Colors could start out as owners, equity partners contributed 20 percent of their stake to the employees. Over time, the workers are expected to buy out the Good Italian Food shares at their original value and eventually own 51 percent to 60 percent of the equity. ROC-NY will keep 40 percent of the equity to use in creating a multiplier: The goal is that returns will seed other restaurant cooperatives.

The 20-year-old Nonprofit Finance Fund (NFF) provided a $210,500 term loan and put together the remaining $1.2 million needed from 15 lenders, including community development financial institutions, foundations and a credit union. Modest funds came from Roman Catholic nuns in California, Michigan and Ohio.

As I enjoyed my first Colors dining experience, the restaurant's name grew on me. I absorbed the richness around me, from the elegant cartography motif to the luscious chocolate pudding cake, knowing the people serving us were earning dignified wages and that the people who grew our food were caring for the earth. Now, that's dining in full color.

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