Tamarya Sims makes themself heard above the din of August in western North Carolina, no small feat. Their laughter bursts gleefully across the grinding, metallic whir of crickets and static, and their cat’s ears poke up along the bottom of the screen. “I’m not trying to buy land, I’m trying to attain land without being in debt.” No small feat, either.
Sims (she/they) is a Black farmer, ecologist, and land steward whose dream is to acquire farmland where “folks can come to heal and learn without judgment.” When they’re not helping manage ecosystems at the Southern Appalachian Highlands Conservancy and teaching at their 140-acre Community Farm, Sims stewards their own LLC, Soulfull Simone Farm. In a backyard space smaller than a soccer field, they grow flowers for their local community-supported agriculture program and a formidable collection of herbs that they process and sell for medicinal purposes. Yarrow, motherwort, hibiscus—everything they’ve cultivated has come from a place of reclamation and healing. Right now Sims is leasing their land, but they hope one day to acquire 60 acres. To achieve that goal debt-free, Sims is pursuing alternative methods of raising capital, ones that rely on community and reciprocity, like a GoFundMe.
Even without land to call their own, Sims uses their expertise to create space for people of color to explore land stewardship and community healing, all while nurturing healthy ecosystems. As we talk, we each recall the uneasiness of being the only people of color in environmental spaces, smirk at the askance scrutiny of our Black and Brown bodies doing land work. Far from feeling defeat, Sims draws upon their experiences in a predominantly white field to inform their philosophies on land and ownership. They revel in the ancestral traditions that ground their values and goals as a Black land steward. It’s a noble, laughable pursuit in the era of late capitalism. It renders us both giggly and furious.
“The system or process of owning land is a lot like owning people, and a lot like owning animals, and so is very white supremacist,” Sims says. “And I don’t like the idea of owning land, but at the same time I want my name on a deed so nobody can take it from me in this system that I’m playing in right now. But one day, I don’t want that to be a thing.”
Acquiring land isn’t about possession or profit for Sims. They recognize the ways white concepts of ownership have led to the disenfranchisement of Black farmers, the displacement and erasure of Indigenous nations. It’s clear that they have fielded questions of “why” over and over again when it comes to owning land. Ninety-eight percent of rural land in the United States is owned by white landowners. If this land distribution seems as unlikely as it is unbalanced, it becomes clear after a quick refresher in US history post-Emancipation. Lincoln’s infamous proposal for reparations, “40 acres and a mule,” would redistribute 400,000 acres of southern land for newly freed Black families to pursue self-sufficiency and accrue personal wealth after generations of forced labor. This land did not stay in Black ownership for long. After Lincoln’s assassination, his successor Andrew Johnson repossessed and returned the land to its “original” white owners.
Since then, Black farmers have had to fight for a fair share of fertile land, and have been progressively pushed further and further to the margins by white landowners and corporations. Where a century ago, Black farmers tended 41.4 million acres of land, today Black farmers work 4.7 million acres, a 90 percent loss. The numbers of Black farmers have decreased as well, making up 1.4 percent of all farmers nationwide. Of such a small number, 85 percent of Black farmers own fewer than 180 acres.
Source link : wired