What is real? Slavery (Thursday February 17th--Day 100)

What is real? Slavery. February 17^th-

I forgot that today was my birthday. All the days always mix together when traveling, and this is amplified by the fact that we spend every day working from dawn to dusk. It finally hit me when I was lying in bed that night, trying to fall asleep and clear my mind of the whirlwind of nonstop thoughts. It was at that moment that I realized that today, without knowing it, I had received a birthday present that will last me a lifetime. Another heavy reality check.

Irma, the owner of this farm, tells me time and time again that ´Nadie es un esclave aquì`(No one is a slave here). She says I can eat when I want and rest when I want. But the truth is, that any time I go to sit down from 7:30am to 9pm, there is something else to be done. Irma, who is 76 years old mind you, barely rests. Her daughter, who comes here every day with her two children, runs around all day only to return at night to tend to her own home. They are machines. Worn out, yet completely energized. As for me, a person who loves to work and has a pretty damn good work ethic, I am not about to be out-worked. So I, too, keep going nonstop. There are no free Sundays. There are no afternoon siestas. Those breaks are luxuries these campesinos cannot afford. After taking a week to adapt to this `schedule,` I gave it a lot of thought and did some subtle investigating, and I decided upon something. Actually, Irma, we are all salves here.

I´ll start with Kila Leufu and work my way out. Both Irma and Antonio (the two owners of the farm) grew up in el campo. Irma in a Mapuche village and Antonio in the fields. From a young age, they learned at the hands of their parents to work hard, to tend to the animals and to the land, and to refrain from asking questions. Kila Leufu began as a regular farm—animals, wheat, oatmeal, and two large gardens. They worked the land, raised their animals, lived off of their products, and sold the majority for ´profit.´ Eventually, their kids moved out and Chile became more like its US overseers (industrialized farming and consumer culture). It became nearly impossble for farmers to live a comfortable life, or even a semi-comfortable life for that matter. ´Luckilly,´ tourism—which was just beginning to gain speed in Pucon—provided a way for them to continue their beloved life as a campesino. Antonio built up their property over time and Irma took advantage of her cultural heritage. She marketed her culture, inviting tourists to her home to see the way a Mapuche woman dresses and to taste the food that a Mapuche woman prepares. Eventually, they opened up their home and began to charge people a small price to stay the night. Now, she and her husband work 14 hours a day, 7 days a week. To me, it seems like they are in over their head. But somehow they manage to feed all the animals, to milk all the cows, to collect all the eggs, to water the somewhat neglected garden, and to give their guests really impeccable service (it´s no Mountain Sky, though). They live comfortably in the most basic of ways. A tv with 3 channels. A cell phone for business purposes. Store bought cheese, sugar, and butter. But there´s no health insurance and she has a bad back and her husband has severe diabetes. They need to pay for medical bills (this isn´t Argentina after all) and they need to pay their taxes. Consequently, there´s no sign of them stopping any time soon. Slaves. Stuck. Rather than be free to work the land in order to provide food for their neighbors and for themselves, and rather than have the ability to practice their traditional customs as a daily routine rather than a marketed afternoon activity, they have to share their home with strangers, sell their heritage, and work themselves to death. All of this to live the life in el campo—so it is worth it.

But this is a special case, right? I mean, not all farmers have to resort to these means in order to survive, right? Well here is the image of a farmer who doesn´t have this option. In Chile, as well as in most countries around the world, farmers live in essential poverty (at least in UN terms…but that´s another story). They work all day every day. They have no luxuries, and barely the essentials. If something breaks, they don´t have the savings to get it fixed or buy another. They sell all they have to survive. They are at the whims of nature and of the international market. An uphill battle to say the least. If a farmer wants to live comfortably, they basically need another form of income. They can sell artisan goods and flowers, like Blanca Rosa in El Bolson. They can open up their farm for special events and educational field trips, like the family in San Juan. They can sell handpicked, highly desired rare gems, like a woman I met in Santiago who lives on a self sustainable farm in Australia and travels the world looking and selling jewels (I get the feeling that may be a special case). Or they worked the majority of their life as a white collar worker or doctor and can now afford to escape society and farm for themselves, like Margot in Mendoza. How is it that farmers—the people we rely on to survive—can barely survive solely on that job? Of course, there are a number of ways that we can answer this inquiry. Industrialized farming and the demand for cheep food (Americans alone used to spend 60% of their income on food. Now we only spend 10%. Other, more important, prioritees. $300 jeans and big TVs). International trading terms also play a huge role, as small farmers must now compete with factory farmed products. Culturally, at least in the States, there is definitely a tren of how we prioritize values. Look at the connection between the way we devalue teachers and the way we devalue farmers. Apparently,  investment bankers are handling much more precious cargo than our children and our food. And while we´re on the topic of the United States, let´s talk about our farmers, shall we? As if the typical concerns of weather and insects aren´t enough to keep a farmer on edge, how about the fact that they have no financial, medical, or social security. Land costs a fortune, and most have taken out multiple mortgages to afford their property and their equipment. Thanks to standardization and industry demands, they also have to pay for the latest and greatest equipment, seeds, and fertilizers or else they cannot sell their produce to distributers. Think about the people who have power over our farmers. Clearly there is a connection between the banks who give the loans, the large companies who sell farmers their equipment, and the lawmakers in Washington who make arbitrary strict regulations for the safety of the citizens. And while those three power hungry groups profit, what can a farmer do? They don´t have time to fight Congress or lobby for their rights. Hell, they don´t even have time to take off if they are sick or if a family member dies. What would they even do, if something were to happen? There is no free health insurance, remember? That´s for socialists and commies. They will either work that land until they die or they will be forced to sell their homes to some condo developer so they can afford to die in some hospice center. All this to live in the country—so it is worth it.

Don´t think that you or I are any less enslaved. Your desk job, your corporate employment, your 401K, and our college education doesn´t make us any more free. Our slavery is hidden, and our price for freedom even greater. Let´s say you went to college, because that´s what you are supposed to do, and you took out a huge loan. Now you are in debt for the next 20 years. So rather than take two years off to travel the world and learn a thing or two (like you planned to do after high school, before the counselers convinced you it was smarter to go straight to college), you now have to find a job. The bank is already sending you reminder letters and you get mail every week from new credit card companies. What choice do you have? Or maybe you didn´t go to college or you escaped without debt because you have amazing parents or you were an athlete. You work because you need health benefits for you and your family. You work because you need to save for retirement in 60 zears. You work so you can continue to buy things so you can keep your perfect image and maintain a decent credit rating in the hopes that one day you can own a home. You work because you are a good American who from a young age was told it is immoral and lazy to slack off. So you grin and bear it. You pay your  taxes like a good citizen, and like a better citiyen you don´t ask questions (especially about where that tax money goes). To go on your own, to open your own business, to be an artist, to travel the world…these are high risks to take in a country without any social security, universal health coverage, or safety net. Slaves. We have to work and we have to consume. All of this so we can live the American Dream—so it´s worth it.

Here`s when the reality check hit me hard. Today, I told a stranger that I want to return to the United States to become a farmer. It felt so easy to say. I felt so free to admit this out loud. I was going to be a farmer. But then I spent the next three hours thinking about the logistics, and the situation grew dim and my heart began to sink. Where would I get the money for the land? How could I avoid debt? What would happen if a season went wrong or I got sick? How would I take care of my parents after they have sacrificed so much for me? How could I sell my food in a country where cheap prices are more important than good quality? How could I continue to live in a country who fails to value its farmers and protect its citizens? And if I chose to leave, where would I go? France? Cuba? How would I settle there? And if I change my mind in ten years, like we so often do, is there a way out or will my decision decide the future of me and my children forever? Will they be able to escape the life I chose for them? Will we even live long enough for any of this to develop? Will my decision to be a farmer have any impact on a world that already seems so far gone? And yet, all of this to be a slave in the country over a slave in the city--so it is worth it.