Reading blog 10

Obviously, my favourite chapter of Hugo Blanco’s book was Chapter 4: Reflections by a child of Pachamama (Mother Nature). In this chapter, Blanco describes the various ways in which the Indigenous peoples of of the Andes adapted to and maintained the fertility of Mother Earth. He describes the arrival of the foreign invaders, the disrespect and destruction of the land that followed, the continual power of foreign interests, and the potential paths forwards from here for Indigenous communities. He argues on page 105 that, “The greatest damage was that done to the structure of society and agricultural production, together with its infrastructure, which were destroyed by the invaders.”

I am, of course, especially interested in the Andes-specific agricultural techniques that Blanco discusses: terraces (andenes), fringes of grass on the hillsides, erosion-reducing canals and furrows, sea bird (wano)/llama/guinea pig manure as fertilizer, qollqas, fallow periods, crop rotation, polyculture (e.g., the paring of crops and the planting of multiple varieties of potato together), and selective breeding of cold/drought/pest resistant varieties. Today, many proponents of sustainable agriculture are looking back to traditional techniques, especially techniques employed by Indigenous groups, who — having thrived on the land for extensive periods of time — have necessarily developed a deep understanding of how to work with the land, rather than force the land to work for them. Blanco says of Andean agricultural culture on page 103, “The child of Andean geography, it was able to understand it and adapt masterfully to it (speaking in European terms, we would say that it knew how to ‘dominate’ nature; in our conception there is no war with Mother nature).” (I oftentimes find researchers presenting these traditional methods as “newly discovered”, and a lack of credit where credit is due, though I also understand that many techniques arose in multiple places separately and simultaneously.) For example, those grass fringes that Blanco described are pretty big in sustainable agricultural research today, as researchers are interested in the benefits of what are called “edge effects” from increasing biodiversity around the perimeter of farm fields. And we cannot forget the wano obsession of the 19th century. Fallow periods (see: the grassland set-asides project in the Fraser Valley initiated by the Delta Farmland and Wildlife Trust), crop rotation, and polyculture are all also huge in Western/global North movements away from conventional, industrial agriculture towards something hopefully kinder to the land. These are not new techniques; we have just collectively forgotten what it means to cultivate, rather than merely use, the land.

On another note, this quote on page 14 of We the Indians, resonates with me on a strangely personal level:

“I left the university and went to work in a factory, because I understood that, due to the latifundismo that reigned supreme at the time in Peru, my options as an agronomist would be to serve a landowner or even become one of them.” (We the Indians, p. 14)

As I’m nearing the end of my undergraduate career, I’m facing the dilemma of what kind of work I want to do afterwards. I think most people with a degree similar to mine either end up working for the government, as the owner of a farm, or as a worker on a farm. While we don’t have a system like the latifundismo system in Peru, all of these options have historically worked to dispossess Indigenous peoples of their lands and prosperity, and in many ways continue to do so. This is not the kind of work I want to do. But at the same time, I need a stable enough job to ensure my parents are comfortable after retirement, and I hope to make enough money to send them to see Machu Picchu one day! So where do I go from here?