While perusing Harper's, I came across this...

[WhiteTara]

This is about the Cuban embargo and the collapse of the Soviet Union and how Cubans came to change their farming methods. I see this as a message of hope that if we make changes (too bad we won't do it easily) we can survive without much oil and it will help the planet too. This is a great read


The Cuba Diet
What will you be eating when the revolution comes?

Posted on Monday, June 6, 2005. Originally from April 2005. By Bill McKibben.
http://harpers.org/TheCubaDiet.html

SNIP
There’s always at least the possibility, however, that larger sections of the world might be in for “Special Periods” of their own. Climate change, or the end of cheap oil, or the depletion of irrigation water, or the chaos of really widespread terrorism, or some other malign force might begin to make us pay more attention to the absolute bottom-line question of how we get our dinner (a question that only a very few people, for a very short period of time, have ever been able to ignore). No one’s predicting a collapse like the one Cuba endured—probably no modern economy has ever undergone such a shock. But if things got gradually harder? After all, our planet is an island, too. It’s somehow useful to know that someone has already run the experiment.

snip
“I came to Havana at the time of the revolution, in 1960, to start university,” said Fernando Funes, who now leads the national Pasture and Forage Research Unit. “We went from 18,000 university students before the revolution to 200,000 after, and a big proportion were in agricultural careers. People specialized in soil fertility, or they specialized in pesticides. They were very specialized. Probably too specialized. But yields were going up.” Yields were going up because of the wildly high-input farming. In the town of Nuevo Gerona, for instance, there is a statue of a cow named White Udder, descended from a line of Canadian Holsteins. In the early 1980s she was the most productive cow on the face of the earth, giving 110 liters of milk a day, 27,000 liters in a single lactation. Guinness certified her geysers of milk. Fidel journeyed out to the countryside to lovingly stroke her hide. She was a paragon of scientific management, with a carefully controlled diet of grain concentrates. Most of that grain, however, came from abroad (“this is too hot to be good grain country,” Funes said). White Udder was a kept woman. To anyone with a ledger book her copious flow was entirely uneconomic, a testimony to the kinky economics of farm subsidies.

“In that old system, it took ten or fifteen or twenty units of energy to produce one unit of food energy,” Funes said. “At first we didn’t care so much about economics—we had to produce no matter what.” Even in the salad days of Soviet-backed agriculture, however, some of the local agronomists were beginning to think the whole system was slightly insane. “We were realizing just how inefficient it was. So a few of us were looking for other ways. In cattle we began to look at things like using legumes to fix nitrogen in the pasture so we could cut down on fertilizer,” Funes said. And Cuba was inefficient in more than its use of energy. Out at the Agrarian University of Havana on the city’s outskirts, agriculture professor Nilda Pérez Consuegra remembers how a few of her colleagues began as early as the 1970s to notice that the massive “calendar spraying” of pesticides was breeding insect resistance. They began working on developing strains of bacteria and experimenting with raising beneficial insects.

snip
There’s clearly something inherently destructive about an authoritarian society—it’s soul-destroying, if nothing else. Although many of the Cubans I met were in some sense proud of having stood up to the Yanquis for four decades, Cuba was not an overwhelmingly happy place. Weary, I’d say. Waiting for a more normal place in the world. And poor, much too poor. Is it also possible, though, that there’s something inherently destructive about a globalized free-market society—that the eternal race for efficiency, when raised to a planetary scale, damages the environment, and perhaps the community, and perhaps even the taste of a carrot? Is it possible that markets, at least for food, may work better when they’re smaller and more isolated? The next few decades may be about answering that question. It’s already been engaged in Europe, where people are really debating subsidies for small farmers, and whether or not they want the next, genetically modified, stage of the Green Revolution, and how much it’s worth paying for Slow Food. It’s been engaged in parts of the Third World, where in India peasants threw out the country’s most aggressive free-marketeers in the last election, sensing that the shape of their lives was under assault. Not everyone is happy with the set of possibilities that the multinational corporate world provides. People are beginning to feel around for other choices. The world isn’t going to look like Cuba—Cuba won’t look like Cuba once Cubans have some say in the matter. But it may not necessarily look like Nebraska either.

* * *

The choices are about values,” Pretty said. Which is true, at least for us, at least for the moment. And when the choices are about values, we generally pick the easiest and cheapest way, the one that requires thinking the least. Inertia is our value above all others. Inertia was the one option the Cubans didn’t have; they needed that meal a day back, and given that Castro was unwilling to let loose the reins, they had a limited number of choices about how to get it. “In some ways the special period was a gift to us,” said Funes, the forage expert, the guy who lost twenty pounds, the guy who went from thinking about White Udder to thinking about oxen teams. “It made it easier because we had no choice. Or we did, but the choice was will we cry or will we work. There was a strong desire to lie down and cry, but we decided to do things instead.”

[Viva_La_Revolution]

1. I am incorporating some of these ideas into my disaster plan...

starting with vegies on the patio this year