This piece is part of the weekly series “Growing Forward: Insights for Building Better Food and Agriculture Systems,” presented by the Global Food Institute at the George Washington University and the nonprofit organization Food Tank. Each installment highlights forward-thinking strategies to address today’s food and agriculture related challenges with innovative solutions. To view more pieces in the series, click here.
Farmer and activist Karen Washington knows that food is more than sustenance—it’s the foundation of strong, healthy, and connected communities. In 1985, she worked with Bronx neighborhoods to turn empty lots into community gardens, advocated for garden protection and preservation, and launched a City Farms Market to bring fresh produce to her neighbors. In 2010, she co-founded Black Urban Growers (BUGS), an organization supporting growers in both urban and rural settings. In 2014, she helped found Rise & Root Farm in Chester, New York, a QT+BIPOC centered farm rooted in social justice. And in 2019 she co-founded Black Farmer Fund to encourage economic wealth. For her achievements, Washington has received numerous awards and accolades, including the James Beard Leadership Award and James Beard Humanitarian Award. In 2024, Washington was named an Emerson Collective Fellow.
In this conversation with Food Tank’s Content Director Elena Seeley, Washington discusses why she’s precise in her language when naming the problem, how she’s working to strengthen regional food and farming systems, and the power of community in times of instability.
The term food apartheid—which you coined and use in place of food desert or food swamp—asks us to examine the systems of oppression in our food and agriculture systems. Can you talk about what it has been like watching the term gain popularity?
I feel great that it’s really being used in more urban areas where people have been fighting for food and social justice. And I’m humbled to see people using food apartheid in workshops, in conversation, and on social media. It’s a term the community can own and it gets people talking about why they’re using it. It’s not a food desert, which is more politicized and academic. People are using the term food apartheid in the hood. For me, it’s validation. We own it, this is ours. We’re using it instead of a term someone else forced us to use—something that was not for us or by us, and did not really hone in on exactly what was happening at the community level.
You have said that the food system doesn’t need to be fixed; it needs to change. Why do you make that distinction?
There are a lot of people who believe that the food system is broken, that it needs to be fixed. This victimizes people. You’re telling people to change the way they eat, to start a community garden, or exercise more. People from the outside come into the community thinking that we are the problem, and they’re going to fix us. But this doesn’t account for the social determinants that reinforce racism in today’s society.
And then there are the ones who say wait a second, it doesn’t need to be fixed, it needs to change. And that change goes back to putting power in the hands of people so they can create their own solutions. We can collectively bring this country down to its knees. Just think about what collective power can look like. Collective power can make change.
In a time of such social and political uncertainty, what is your advice for people who want to make change?
Because we have this new administration, we’re not trying to focus on the big national and global things that are happening. We have to start making change locally in our community.
When food and medical assistance is taken away from people, you can’t expect them to sit back and rely on food pantries and soup kitchens while they watch the elite shopping in grocery stores. People are going to organize. They’ll raid grocery stores or food delivery trucks if they have to. Policymakers are not looking at the consequences of putting millions and millions of people out of work, with no access to food or medication.
Now is the time to think about the strategic things we can do in our community to offset the hardship. Do we have people who are willing to offer childcare or transportation or feed people? We need to look at what is available in our community and make a plan because it’s going to get bad. I’m looking at it this way because I know what hunger looks like in the faces of people. I know what people do when they can’t get food.
Rise & Root Farm, which you helped found, leverages partnerships across New York state to fight hunger and poverty. Can you talk about what this community building looks like?
Time and time again, while working in low-income neighborhoods and neighborhoods of color, we’ve heard people ask: Where are the Black farmers, the farmers of color, the queer farmers who look like us and can supply our community with fresh food? As BIPOC and as queer farmers—we call ourselves the BQE—we wanted to fill this need.
Through my fellowship with Emerson Collective, I was able to look at what food distribution—how to get food to people that need it the most—could look like. I started connecting people in New York City with farmers upstate.
The idea is that we’re not coming in and using the neighboring community to extract their money before leaving. Instead, we’re coming in, getting money, but then that money is going back to the community. And that is so important.
The project from my fellowship started last year and it has taken on a life of its own. It has expanded, bringing in not only the farms that make up the Chester Agricultural Center, a farming community comprising 11 farm businesses, including Rise & Root Farm. Now we’re trying to set up a whole distribution system from Syracuse to the Hudson Valley to New York City. We’re also thinking about how this can be regional to reach people in Philly, Jersey, Connecticut.
Rise & Root also invites visitors to the farm. Why is this so important to your work?
People can come to the farm and say “Wow, you look just like me. I never saw a Black, woman, queer farmer.” You start a conversation. And that’s about more than growing food. It’s about culture and storytelling. So much has come out of this when the community is part of your project and business. It’s about building this community where there’s reciprocity.
Even though we’re a for-profit farm, we also have a nonprofit entity so we can do the educational work that’s so important. It’s easy to give people food. But the educational component is so important for people to understand where food comes from and why soil and climate are important.
Federal funding cuts are making conditions even harder for farmers. As resources become scarcer, where can producers find support?
I think it’s time for people to step up. I’m just one person and I do what I can, but there are people with power and privilege running scared. They’re watching on the sidelines and I don’t know what they’re waiting for. Is it Armageddon?
I’m not asking them to support the large nonprofits. I’m talking about the little farmer who needs US$20,000 to buy supplies. We’re starting to see people, companies, and seed saving organizations doing their best. People are exchanging seeds, there have been offers to farmers to help them purchase land.
The thing is, you’ve got to be very, very careful with obtaining land. It’s great, but if you’re thinking about farming, there are needs you have to consider. Even if you get the land, you need a place to harvest and store your food. You need refrigeration and a greenhouse. You need to think about electricity, running water, and most importantly, a place to live. And I always say you can’t farm by yourself. It’s not happening. And then there’s the question of managing money and credit. Money may be coming in but you have to pay your taxes and bills. There are a lot of conversations we don’t have around finances.
How can we make those conversations easier to have?
Bring it into the open. It’s scary, but you can get help. Instead, it’s closeted. People are ashamed to talk about their debt. But if they don’t talk about it, how can they be helped? I’m seeing so many young people caught in student loan and credit card debt. I know people in their 20s who have US$30,000-40,000 in debt. They can’t get an apartment, a car, nothing. But they want to farm. And people ignore the debt collectors because they’re afraid. There’s guilt behind that. It’s so sad, and no one is talking about it. This is why Black Farmer Fund started. I think it needs to be out in the open. You want to farm but you got debt, let’s talk about it. How do we take away the guilt? By telling people we’re here to help and not those debt relief companies that want to make money off of you.
This goes back to what you were saying about community building.
Yes, because everybody brings something different. Every single day people are asking me for help, whether it’s about seeds, land, transportation, greenhouses, or funding. And I build community. I can connect them to this person or that person. That’s why I go to conferences. I meet people and stay in touch with them.
This is a moment when we need to help each other. If you hate what is happening, then you’ve got to take down your shield and go into communities, roll up your sleeves, and say: I can help, I know how to repair credit, I know how to get infrastructures, I have vans I don’t use, I can work with you. Y’all got power and privilege. You know what is happening. Stop hiding.
Photo courtesy of Ethan Harrison and Michaela Hayes Hodge
