What is most surprising is not all of Mississippi is poor, or last in every development category. There are regions in Mississippi that rank on par with the richest state in America (Connecticut), and there are regions that rank on par with the least developed countries in the world.
This study illuminates the sharp disparities in opportunity between regions and between races within the state. The report forces us to acknowledge who is thriving, and who is being shut out. It is clear that we cannot forge ahead while leaving so many people behind.
"In Mississippi, where we work with 13 state and local organizations such as the NAACP, this report clearly illustrates the conditions residents were struggling with even prior to the hurricanes of 2005—limited access to education, lower incomes, and shorter lives—and argues for a comprehensive solution for recovery," said Raymond C. Offenheiser, president of Oxfam America.
Given the profound economic and social challenges facing Mississippi, and more broadly working families in the US today, this report comes at a crucial time to help policy makers use precious resources to ensure all Mississippians have access to the American Dream.
]]>They were featured speakers on a week-long Oxfam America tour, which passed through five US cities on its way from New Mexico to Missouri. Inspired by Oxfam's Sisters on the Planet initiative—and supported by groups like CARE and the League of Women Voters—the tour focused on the human face of climate change here and abroad, with an emphasis the ways the US can help vulnerable communities survive the crisis.
"Pollution, greenhouse gases, they don't respect boundaries," said Voré Gana Seck, the speaker from Senegal. "This is a global problem that needs global solutions."
Sharon Hanshaw, executive director of Coastal Women for Change and one of Oxfam's Sisters on the Planet, spoke about her personal losses from Hurricane Katrina, as well as the storm's lasting effects on her home town of Biloxi, Mississippi.
Speaking at the Kansas City, Missouri, public library, Hanshaw explained that it's not just past hurricanes that concern her community, but the ones ahead, which are predicted to intensify. "This year we've had four hurricanes in the last six months," she said. "Gustav was called a dud, but it still flooded our houses."
In Biloxi, she said, hurricanes not only wreak physical damage, but also add to the burdens of people already among America's poorest.
"Times were hard pre-Katrina, and now it's even worse; prices have gone up," said Hanshaw. "We still have people living in trailers, no healthcare, no childcare, no public library. We don't need a handout from the government. We need infrastructure to help our community live again."
Seck, Executive Director of Green Senegal and president of the international NGO coalition CONGAD, highlighted the common ground between Senegal and the Gulf Coast. In both places, she said, the poorest families are the ones to bear the burden.
At an event at the Omaha, Nebraska, public library, Seck compared the effects of climate change to those of a war: "You can't produce enough food, you can't harvest. You don't have enough money. You can't send your kids to school."
For local farming families, she said, a decrease in rainfall means that staple crops like rice, millet, and vegetables often fail to reach maturity, leaving families with less food to eat and fewer extra crops to sell. To earn a better living, some of these farmers migrate to already-crowded cities like Dakar, where floods and poor sanitation are leading to an increase in water-borne diseases like cholera.
Others join the ranks of the "climate refugees": teens and young adults who leave their villages for Spain or the Canary Islands, looking to earn money to send to their families back home. Hundreds of these young people have died while attempting ocean crossings in small, fragile boats.
"In Algeciras, Spain, there is a burial ground called the "Cemetery of the Unknown People," said Seck. "These are our environmental refugees. They are the unknown."
Despite these hardships, both speakers' organizations are leading efforts to help their communities survive the crisis.
"The first thing we have to do is be resilient," said Hanshaw, whose group distributes hurricane preparedness kits—containing fresh water, food, insurance papers, and flashlights—to Biloxi seniors and families. They're also offering affordable child care options to help women in the community return to work.
Hanshaw's organization also trains local women to go to Washington, DC, and "tell the stories that are not being told." Their message to legislators: "We're still here. We're going to be here. And climate change affects all of us."
Seck's group teaches Senegalese farmers new techniques that help crops grow in a drier climate, like drip irrigation systems and faster-maturing seeds. Seck showed photos of the successful projects in action: first a riot of green seedlings, then tall plants in orderly rows, flourishing beneath a wide blue sky.
So far, she said, these innovative methods are only in place in a few villages. But with the support of wealthier countries like the US, projects like these could help farmers throughout the region.
Many audience members at these events signed up for Oxfam's online climate change action team, which provides ways to directly influence US legislators on the issue.
For some, the speakers' words brought a change in perspective. "I came here expecting to hear about Africa, but I didn't expect to hear Sharon's story, right in our backyard," said Lillian Pardo, a retired physician who attended the Kansas City speaking event. "You don't see this on the news."
Andrew Jameton, a professor at the University of Nebraska Medical Center, was the last to speak in a question and answer session in Omaha. "I want to fight this, and a lot of people feel the same way, but it will be a tough century," he said, adding that, because of the speakers' words, "I'm not optimistic—but I'm hopeful."
]]>"Yes, these are oils on canvas," she says. "But I hardly ever create anything without a story behind it."
Cecil, a 27-year-old resident of Louisville, Kentucky, graduated from the University of Dayton in 2003 with a degree in fine arts and an ongoing passion for volunteering in her community. Three years later, she began combining these two interests, using each of her paintings to document a social issue like women and children's rights, education, and the environment. And as the artist for Oxfam America's "Climate Change on Canvas" project, she's now using her skills to depict the human face of climate change.
With clear, expressive brushstrokes, Cecil has portrayed domestic violence survivors, refugees, foster parents, and homeless kids. She's painted endangered fish, sustainable gardens, and sweeping New York skylines. And the paintings aren't just for show: when each is sold, Cecil donates a portion of the proceeds to a local or national nonprofit organization.
She also promotes these nonprofit groups on her website, The Painting Activist, which functions as an important showcase for her work. Part personal journal, part virtual artist's studio, Cecil's site hosts a faithful community of online readers. She says the website has helped not only to draw attention to the issues she works on, but also to identify new painting opportunities.
It was through this website that Oxfam America staff first contacted Cecil and asked her to submit a proposal for Climate Change on Canvas. Though juggling many other commitments—including her day job as a program manager at the Louisville Visual Arts Association—Cecil says she quickly threw together a sketch for the project, wanting to seize the opportunity even if the chances of selection were slim.
It came as a surprise, then, when Oxfam contacted her a few weeks later to tell her that her proposal had been selected out of a national pool of submissions. Cecil's canvas will be displayed alongside those of other emerging global artists at the next big UN climate change meeting in Poznan, Poland.
"I was flattered and honored, but I also thought, oh my gosh, now I have to find a way to do this!" Cecil recalls with a laugh. "But it turned out that it fit into my schedule after all... And some [website] subscribers even said it's the best piece I've ever done."
To begin her painting of two brightly robed women in a barren landscape, Cecil first juxtaposed several different visual elements. "It's like putting a puzzle together," she explains. "I make a collage of photos and sketches, and I glance at it while I'm painting. For this piece, I had everything from swatches of fabric, to women's profiles, to women holding bowls, to my favorite sunsets."
She also researched the effects of climate change on agriculture in poor communities. "I realized that farming is hard these days because of changing temperatures, but it's often the sole survival for people in rural areas," says Cecil. "It's hard to feed a family when you can't farm."
This struggle inspired one of the painting's most striking elements: the long trail of dust that streams from one woman's empty bowl. "I wanted to show that the women are not harvesting crops the way they had hoped," Cecil explains. "They're holding a bowl of dust, because this is what they're left with—burnt, dry dust, dry branches... In other words, what we'd expect to see is not there." (To learn more about Cecil's techniques, view a slideshow of the painting in progress.)
Cecil says she considers climate change one of the most pressing problems of our time. "The [US presidential] elections are bringing attention to it right now—the urgency is absolutely critical," she says. "And for people in developing countries, it is devastating."
She believes that Americans need to do more to tackle the crisis, even if it's just by making small changes to their lifestyle. "The first piece is education," she says. "Whether it's though statistics, words, or images—whatever turns on that light bulb for someone, and makes them act."
]]>This tree once shaded Hanshaw's driveway and mailbox—but now it marks the place where her house used to stand, before Hurricane Katrina struck Biloxi, MS.
As cars rumble past, Hanshaw maps out the landscape of memory. "That's where we found my daughter's bed, afterward," she says, indicating a red SUV a few rows away. "This was my backyard. This was the front porch."
Hanshaw was out of town on August 29, 2005, when Katrina's winds drove the Gulf of Mexico into her neighborhood. Thirteen feet of water crashed through the streets that day, filling her house with mud, scattering her belongings, tearing the bumper off her car. The waters swept inland to downtown Biloxi, flooding the hairdressing business she'd run for 21 years. Months later, all the homes on her block were bulldozed to build this parking lot for the Imperial Palace casino.
Hanshaw says the storm brought her not just destruction, however, but also transformation. As executive director of Oxfam America partner organization Coastal Women for Change (CWC), she has turned her losses into strength—by becoming an advocate and role model for others, her fellow survivors.
"This is a left-behind community," Hanshaw says emphatically of East Biloxi, the close-knit, predominantly African-American and Vietnamese neighborhood where she was born and raised.
You only have to walk the streets here to see what she means. Many houses in this once-vibrant neighborhood now stand abandoned, their boarded-up windows turning a blank face to the street. Some damaged homes, like Hanshaw's, were razed after the storm, leaving behind only vacant lots. Others are flanked by boxy white trailers, where families live cramped together as they await government grants, insurance settlements, or other resources they need to finish rebuilding.
A few restored houses gleam with new paint, "For Rent" signs propped up on the lawn. But rents have nearly doubled since the storm, and good jobs are hard to come by—so many displaced residents can't afford to move back home.
"We need affordable housing—not projects, but homes that people can pay for on a living wage in Mississippi," says Hanshaw. "But the message right now is, "if you're not rich, get back."
Hanshaw points out that Biloxi's beachfront casinos and wealthier neighborhoods began rebuilding soon after the waters receded. But somehow those funds never reached this mostly low- and middle-income neighborhood.
Today, she can recite a litany of things lost and not yet replaced: The public library. Funds for small businesses. Elder care programs. Playgrounds for low-income kids.
By training women, people of color, and low-income people to make their voices heard in the Gulf Coast recovery process, CWC aims to give people the means to speak out about these and other pressing community needs.
The group has convened a public forum to discuss rebuilding efforts with Biloxi's mayor and city councilors. Several CWC members have since been appointed to the mayor's planning commission. CWC has also sent delegations to Jackson, MS, and Washington, DC, to urge legislators to provide more affordable housing for people left homeless by the hurricanes.
Until they see results, Hanshaw says, they will continue to push for change at the local, state, and federal levels. "This is our community," she says. "We want it back the way it was&mdsah;or better."
Hanshaw's personal transformation—"from cosmetologist to activist," as she calls it—began three months after Katrina. She was shuttling between relatives' houses and a FEMA trailer, which gave off formaldehyde fumes that made it hard to breathe. Though more people fled Biloxi every day, she says she couldn't abandon her lifelong home.
Then a friend asked her to join local women who were meeting together wherever they could: a funeral home, the local NAACP headquarters, a church. The women talked about rebuilding, both their community and their lives. "Those meetings were part of our recovery, emotionally," says Hanshaw.
Among the women was Oxfam's Safiya Daniels, who encouraged them to voice their concerns about the pace of recovery in East Biloxi. Equipped with training and startup funds from Oxfam's Gulf Coast recovery program, the women formed CWC in early 2006. Soon after, Hanshaw was appointed the group's executive director.
These days, about 20 core CWC members still come together at regular evening meetings. They still borrow space—a beige cinderblock room in the Church of the Redeemer, a few blocks from the waterfront—but their discussions now center on community outreach and upcoming advocacy opportunities. Members of Oxfam's Gulf Coast staff often join in to provide advice.
Hanshaw believes that all women in the community should be able to attend the meetings. With prices rising at the pump, and few options for public transit, she'll even buy members gas cards so they can afford to drive over.
"I'm going to train you if it kills me," she says, explaining her passion to empower those around her. "You're all going to be powerful women."
Advocacy remains at the heart of CWC's activities. But as the group evolved, members realized that in addition to advocating solutions, they had to create their own.
"We find ourselves still doing direct service," Hanshaw says. "That's not our mission, but we see there's no housing going up here that's affordable, no library, no activity center, or anything for the children. ... So I have to do what's in my face right now."
Among other activities, CWC founded its own in-home child care program to address a shortage of affordable day care. It sponsors senior appreciation dinners and computer training for East Biloxi's elderly residents. And it's taking steps to help locals prepare for the next, inevitable storm.
Meanwhile, Hanshaw speaks out about the fight against climate change in Oxfam's Sisters on the Planet and served as an official timekeeper at the 2008 Democratic National Convention. But if you ask her what she's most proud of about her work, she'll say that it's "women stepping up," whether in Biloxi city council meetings or on the national stage.
"Throughout this whole process," she notes, "we've created more leaders."
With additional reporting by Steve Greene.
]]>Its danger—splashed across satellite images in spirals of angry red and yellow—could not be discounted. But still. They had all just returned from one grueling evacuation. Could they turn around and leave home again?
That's the question that haunts so many of the preparedness meetings Whitney attends in her role as a community organizer and executive assistant for one of Oxfam America's local partners, Bayou Interfaith Shared Community Organizing, Inc., or BISCO. And it's the question for which there is no real answer.
"A lot of people took the money they use to pay bills and used it for evacuation costs," said Whitney. "Now they're back home and their bills are due and they don't know what to do and they hear they have to leave again? Not in this life time."
It's hard to say which worry is worse for Louisiana residents: the possibility of a second storm or the evacuation that may precede it. Evacuations are costly, exhausting, and disruptive on many levels.
With Gustav, Whitney was lucky. She and her teen-aged son, who has Down syndrome, got an early start—to avoid getting stuck on the highway—and found a welcome refuge in the home of Whitney's sister in Tallahassee, Florida. They stayed about a week, avoiding the hotel bills that many other families have to swallow.
On average, what does it cost a family of four to evacuate?
"$250 a day, easy," said Whitney. "They're going to burn at least one tank of gas to get there and one to get back—so about $120 for fuel. And $125 to $130 a day for a hotel. Plus three meals a day. That's about $100 dollars. And those are the bare necessities."
Add it all up, and you've taken a big bite out of any family's budget. Factor in the disruptions—the missed days of school, the lost income from work—and the dread of multiple evacuations becomes clear.
"People don't have the wherewithal—financial, emotional—to get out," said Whitney. "Back-to-back storms, people say ugh. They're not going to leave. It's too hard."
Convincing some people to join even the first evacuation of the season can be a challenge, said Whitney. And that's particularly true for old-timers who have weathered other storms, even severe ones such as Hurricane Betsy in 1965. That storm, with gusts reported up to 160 miles per hour, left 75 people in the US dead.
But Whitney pointed out that some of the natural defenses that once helped to keep people safe—the coastal islands and marshlands that absorbed some of the energy from earlier storms—have eroded. And waterways built by oil companies in recent decades now funnel dangerous amounts of water inland during violent storms.
"The elderly don't realize those things," said Whitney, adding that it took the graphic details from a study on storm surge to convince her own mother about the wisdom of evacuating in advance of Gustav. Public awareness programs that BISCO is promoting feature work done by the Louisiana State University Agriculture Center and the LA Sea Grant Program. It shows what could have happened to Thibodaux if Hurricane Rita, which struck three years ago, had hit just a little west of where Gustav did. Despite being the highest part of Lafourche parish, a large portion of the city would have been under water, some of it five or six feet deep, Whitney said. Lafourche Parish would have had extensive flooding and most of neighboring Terrebonne Parish would also have been flooded. BISCO has been working hard to educate the public about the danger of storm surges—and to pay attention to more than just the wind speed of top-category storms.
What's the solution to all of this?
Improving the safety of communities would help, said Whitney, and that way perhaps fewer evacuations would be necessary. Healthy marshes along the coastline are one of keys to that safety, she added.
"Man has destroyed that protection and now we're forced to get out to survive," Whitney said. "Before, people could prepare. They could board up, stock up on supplies. They knew how to protect themselves from the furor of nature because nature itself provided protection."
Restoring the marshland would restore some of that security, said Whitney.
"The technology is there, but the political will is not," she said. And that's where BISCO comes in. Grounded by generations of families who have made southern Louisiana their home, the organization is determined to change the political landscape.
"Our goal is to work with communities and networks across the country to help build the will to save the coastline," said Whitney.
]]>Velasquez is president of the Farm Labor Organizing Committee, or FLOC, which is both a social movement and a labor union focusing on migrant farm workers. What he learned during those five and half days in the field is now fueling a campaign to bring justice to farm workers across the South's tobacco farms. Its target is RJ Reynolds, one of the major buyers of the product. Launched by FLOC and funded, in part, by Oxfam America, the campaign's aim is to convince the cigarette giant to come to the negotiating table to work out an agreement that will offer union representation to tobacco workers, providing them with better wages and improved working conditions.
"It ranks up there with the hardest work I've ever done," said Velasquez a few weeks after returning from North Carolina. "It's very hard and it's dirty. Add in the heat and humidity, and it's as bad as anything you get. The stalks grow over your head and block the breeze. It's like an oven."
Farm workers in the United States are among the lowest paid in the nation. The majority earn less than $7,500 a year. For tobacco pickers, the work is not only grueling, it can also be dangerous, especially if their employers fail to take basic safety precautions to protect workers' health. Summer heat in the south combined with poor air circulation among the shoulder-high plants create hazardous working conditions if there are few breaks in the picking pace and not enough drinking water available. Those conditions took a toll during the 2005 and 2006 harvests: Seven farm workers died from heat stroke.
"Those tragedies could have been prevented if there had been adequate scrutiny of conditions and compliance with safety requirements," said Guadalupe Gamboa, an Oxfam America program officer focusing on workers' rights. "RJ Reynolds has the money and buying power to improve those conditions. We see this campaign as a way to begin righting some of the severe inequities that leave marginalized workers with little control over their lives and livelihoods."
Before July, Velasquez, who has an undergraduate degree in sociology and an advanced one in practical theology, had a gap in his education: the tobacco fields. He knew about picking potatoes; it's some of the hardest farm work there is. He has harvested more than his share of tomatoes. He has picked cotton and oranges and berries of all kinds. And as the founder of the Farm Labor Organizing Committee, he can speak from experience about the hardships of each task. What he didn't know was tobacco.
"I represent tobacco workers. I've got to know what I'm talking about," Velasquez said. "It's a principle I have: Never ask someone to do something I wouldn't do first."
So, in late July, he joined a crew of hard-working men for a week of "topping and suckering"—a method of lopping flowers from the tops of tobacco plants and snapping off the new shoots before they become flowers to allow the leaves to grow as fat and green as possible.
But it was those lush green leaves that Velasquez worried about the most: Coated with nicotine that easily soaks through clothing and gloves, they are the source of "the green monster,"—a temporary sickness that strikes many workers laboring in the hot sun.
"Like poison ivy, you catch it through the skin. It's like a serious flu. You start vomiting," said Velasquez, adding that pesticides sprayed on the leaves can compound the effects of the illness. Farm workers wear long sleeves and pants to protect themselves as best they can. But when the leaves are wet with rain or dew, the nicotine sinks through quickly. On those days, workers will often don makeshift rain coats fashioned from garbage bags for a bit of extra protection. But there's a personal cost to that, too: They're sweltering.
"Even by 8 in the morning it's hot and humid," said Velasquez. "You're in that black plastic bag and within an hour you're soaked from sweat."
Velasquez was spared the misery of the green monster, but on the third day of work, his hands began to bother him. They felt tingly and numb.
"I asked the workers about it," he said. "They said all our hands are like that. By Saturday, after working all week, I couldn't close one of my hands without a lot of pain." Repetitive stress from the topping and suckering had caused the problem.
The day-and-night camaraderie of companions—with nicknames like Chemo, El Caballo (The Horse), Panza (because of his belly)—helped ease the exhaustion of the long days. But when the week came to an end, Velasquez was left with one overriding thought: "Surely there must be a way to grow our crops in a more just manner."
That's where the collective bargaining agreement comes in.
With tobacco being the number one crop in North Carolina, tens of thousands of workers are employed in harvesting and cultivating it. Many of them are immigrants whose undocumented status leaves them exposed to exploitation, including near servitude to crew leaders. But others have come to the state under the US Department of Labor's H2A guest worker program—and most of those workers are contracted through the North Carolina Growers Association.
However, Velasquez says that many farmers in North Carolina won't hire the H2A workers because of the expenses associated with their employment. Not only are there paperwork costs that can add up to $900 per worker, there is also the obligation to pay the H2A employees the prevailing wage, which can often be $3 or $4 an hour more than federal minimum wage. Instead, farmers opt for the undocumented workers. Changing that scenario—making it affordable for farmers to hire H2A workers—is going to cost money.
"There's an economic reality to all of this, and that is who's going to pay for the improvements? My feeling is RJ Reynolds needs to do that," says Velasquez. "The first challenge is going to be to negotiate with them to offer a subsidy to the growers through a union contract that will cover the cost of bringing these workers in legally."
This will not be the first time FLOC has negotiated contracts between large companies and farm workers at the bottom of the supply chain. With the support of Oxfam America, the organization won an historic collective bargaining agreement with Mt. Olive and the growers association in 2004 that brought about 8,000 guest workers under the protection of a union contract. Prior to that the workers had had few labor rights.
Now, FLOC wants to see the same kinds of benefits—better wages, improved working conditions—extended to migrant tobacco pickers. And the participation of RJ Reynolds, with the tight control it helps to exert on the prices growers can get for their crops, is the key to that plan.
FLOC is employing a number of tactics to achieve its goal—starting with requests to meet with the company. FLOC also secured enough votes at a recent meeting of RJ Reynolds shareholders to keep alive a resolution calling on the company to improve conditions for workers in the field. It has enlisted the support of more than 190 religious leaders around the country to sign a letter to the company's CEO. And, to put some extra pressure on RJ Reynolds, FLOC is planning to launch a country-wide boycott of a product—yet to be decided—owned by company shareholders.
"What's important is fighting the good fight for the rights of people,"" says Velasquez.
]]>"At least a third of the houses we've seen have sustained wind damage," says Oxfam's Kenny Rae, who has visited many of the towns south of Thibodaux, Louisiana.
If Hurricane Gustav visited our home towns, most of us would consider it a major disaster, but in coastal Louisiana, Katrina set the bar of dread so high that this level of destruction is a huge relief.
Yet, when it comes to questions of poverty and vulnerability, Gustav picked up where Katrina left off. An Oxfam assessment team touring the most troubled areas is finding that solid homes held up relatively well in this storm, and that the worst destruction was visited on trailers and more vulnerable houses.
The Native American community of Isle de Jean Charles, which is located in what may be the most exposed location in the hard-hit parish of Terrebonne, has experienced "terrible damage," according to Oxfam's Kenny Rae. "Houses have been ripped off their foundations. We saw one leaning on a levee."
Since the hurricanes of 2005, Oxfam America has been working with a network of local partners on the Gulf Coast, focusing on poor communities whose needs have fallen through the gaps in the government response. Hurricane Gustav is a new chapter in the same story.
"Oxfam will work with our partners in the area to ensure that these communities receive the federal funds they need to rebuild their homes and their communities," said Minor Sinclair, who directs Oxfam America's development programs in the United States.
"We'll work on ensuring that temporary housing assistance gets to those who need it most—and quickly. And that rebuilding dollars prioritize low-income communities."
But first, the short-term needs. Damaged roofs, for example, need to be covered quickly with tarps before rain destroys home interiors. And community aid providers have their own problems: many have to repair their offices immediately or find new ones. As partner organizations begin to gear up their work, Oxfam is standing by to support them for projects that can't wait.
"Thousands of Louisiana families are returning home today to find their homes damaged by Gustav," says Sinclair. "I hope that this country's generous spirit—whether through FEMA or through private donations—continues to stand with these families in their time of need."
]]>Although the force of the storms was an act of nature, what the American people have since witnessed—an uneven and often incompetent recovery effort—is the result of deliberate human acts. If we refuse to address this as a nation, it will go down in history not only as a failure of leadership, but also as a failure to hold our government accountable.
Two fundamental indicators, housing and jobs, provide stark proof of the stalled recovery. Full recovery is possible only when affordable homes are coupled with secure, decent jobs. Without quality jobs and affordable housing, low- and moderate income families are unable to return to their former lives. Decent wages allow people to return home and recreate vibrant communities by providing the necessary workforce to rebuild the region.
The situation grows increasingly critical, but despite challenges, there is a way forward. We face a historic election; the next president of the US must guarantee a just, equitable, and complete recovery. America must take immediate action to ensure that people struggling to rebuild their communities get the support that their hard work and innovation demand.
]]>But with fuel prices rocketing and dock amenities still in short supply, making a living from the ocean has become next to impossible for the couple. They depend on their social security checks and Geneva's schoolteacher's pension.
"I ain't made a profit in three years," said Joseph. "The boat supports itself, but that's it. It's so hard to make a living."
Disaster has compounded that challenge for the Rosses and countless others on the Gulf Coast. But they are not alone. Millions of Americans face similar struggles trying to earn a living, to stay healthy, and to educate their children in a country where the American dream has become more myth than reality for many people.
That truth emerges—sharp and stunning—from the pages of a new report that, for the first time, provides a human development rank for each state, congressional district, and ethnic group in the US. Called "The Measure of America," and supported by Oxfam America, the report takes tools long used to analyze the complexities of developing countries and applies them to one of the richest nations in the world. The report was written by Sarah Burd-Sharps, Kristen Lewis, and Eduardo Borges Martsin. Its goal is to deliver a clear picture of what life is really like for many of the 305 million Americans in a country where the average income among the top fifth of US households in 2006 was almost 15 times that of those in the lowest fifth—or $168,170 versus $11,352.
"The American Dream has drifted beyond the each of many, while fading from view among others," say the authors in their executive summary. "To reinvigorate it, to make it real for millions of middle-class and poor Americans, the stagnation and decline of middle and low incomes must be reversed, and opportunity must once again reach down to the lowest rungs of society."
That mission—to give poor people a fair shot at opportunity; to ensure their basic rights and dignity—lies at the heart of Oxfam America's US regional programs in the southeast. One of them is concentrating on helping the Gulf Coast recover from the devastation caused by back-to-back hurricanes in 2005.The second program seeks to reform the food system so that those who produce the food that feeds our nation—the low-wage farm and meat-processing workers—can secure their rights to decent work and improved conditions in their communities.
When Katrina and Rita barreled into the Gulf Coast, the damage they left was enormous—and indiscriminate. Regardless of their means, everyone in the paths of the storms got slammed. But not everyone has benefitted from the multi-billion-dollar recovery—funded by American taxpayers—that slowly has been restoring what the wind and water swept away.
In Mississippi and Louisiana, many of the region's poorest residents continue to struggle toward recovery. The persistent inattention of state and federal policy makers to meeting the needs of the most vulnerable people has compounded the storms' destruction.
Walk through storm-battered Biloxi, Mississippi, and the disparities in the recovery become clear. Remodeled hotels glimmer and luxury condominiums have sprouted just blocks from narrow streets where many people still live in temporary trailers.
"We need affordable housing: not projects, but homes that people can pay for on a living wage in Mississippi," says Sharon Hanshaw, a lifelong resident of the city who longs for the old neighborhoods to come alive again. She's executive director of Coastal Women for Change, an Oxfam partner organization founded following the disaster. Its goal is to empower local women to participate in the recovery. "New houses mean new life."
After the hurricanes hit, Oxfam's first response was to work with its local partners and provide emergency assistance to people. That response has now grown into a five-year, $12-million program focused on Mississippi and Louisiana. Working through local organizations, the program's goal is two-fold. The first is to ensure that the regio's most vulnerable people have access to safe and affordable housing. And the second objective is to ensure that workers in the hospitality industry—including those employed by restaurants, hotels, and casinos, as well as the construction workers now rebuilding those facilities—can land jobs that will allow them to achieve a decent standard of living.
By working with local communities to understand, demand, and ensure their rights, Oxfam's objective is to influence the outcome of the recovery and to help bring equity to the country's poorest states.
To the authors of "The Measure of America," it's a job that will require an investment of both will and financial resources on the scale of the Marshall Plan—a multi-billion-dollar reconstruction effort that helped to rebuild Western Europe following World War II. According to the report, about 12 million people live in Alabama, Louisiana, and Mississippi, and together their three states have the lowest human development index scores of any region in the country—and that was before the consequences of the storm were factored in.
"On key measures of human development, the region today is at the level of development the country as a whole experienced 18 years ago. It has the nation's lowest levels of educational attainment, shortest life expectancy, and lowest incomes," say the authors.
"A Gulf Coast Reconstruction Plan, encompassing far-reaching humanitarian, social, political, and economic aims would expand choice and opportunity for the people of Alabama, Louisiana, and Mississippi."
Expanding choice and opportunity for farm and meat processing workers is also going to require some far-reaching change. Oxfam America's program to improve conditions for some of the country's lowest-paid workers in the rural southeast employs a number of tactics including consumer campaigns that pressure employers to offer workers better pay.
"By working at multiple levels, the program addresses the issues of declining wages, low union density, gender and racial discrimination, high rates of occupational injury, and abuse due to the immigration status of workers," said Guadalupe Gamboa, Oxfam's worker rights program officer.
Farm workers, of whom there are an estimated three million, are among the poorest laborers in the country. Half of all individuals earn less than $7,500 a year, and half of farm worker families earn less than $10,000 a year—wages that are well below the US poverty threshold. Most workers get paid on a piece-rate basis, and because of their poverty they often live in overcrowded and substandard housing that routinely violates federal regulations. Food processing workers—there are about 800,000 of them in the US—face similar stressful economic and social conditions.
Besides poverty wages, both groups of laborers face dangerous working environments. Accidents and exposure to toxic pesticides are among the regular risks for farm workers. Meat packers are often forced to work at blinding speeds using razor-sharp knives, risking accidents and cumulative stress injuries.
But momentum for change is building. Oxfam-supported campaigns against some of the biggest names in the food industry—Yum! Brands (owner of Taco Bell), McDonald's, Burger King—have coincided with the public's increasing concern about food safety, motivating people to mobilize in support of farm workers. All three companies have agreed to pay some of the field hands in their supply chain a higher wage.
Building on those successes, Oxfam is now supporting a major campaign to organize 5,000 workers at Smithfield's Tar Heel, North Carolina pork processing plant—the largest of its kind in the country.
"Low-wage workers in the rural southeast, particularly people of color, immigrants, and women working in agriculture and food systems have a right to decent work and improved conditions," said Gamboa. "And we'll know they've secured that right when we see their increased power through collective bargaining, fair compensation, and worker leadership."
]]>Almost a year after the Coalition of Immokalee Workers, or CIW, launched its campaign to get the fast food giant to join McDonald's and Yum! Brands in paying field hands in their supply chain a penny more for every pound of tomatoes they picked, Burger King relented.
On Friday—along with an apology for negative statements its employees made about CIW—the restaurant chain announced its plan to work with the coalition to improve wages and working conditions for Florida tomato harvesters.
For Burger King, a multi-billion-dollar corporation, the deal reportedly costs it just $300,000 a year. But for farm workers, who earn an average of 45 cents for every 32-pound bucket of tomatoes they pick, that penny represents a near doubling of their wages.
"Today we are one step closer to building a world where we, as farm workers, can enjoy a fair wage and humane working conditions in exchange for the hard and essential work we do every day," said CIW's Lucas Benitez in a press statement. "We are not there yet but we are getting there and this agreement should send a strong message to the rest of the restaurant and supermarket industry: Now is the time to join Yum! Brands, McDonald's, and Burger King in righting the wrongs that have been allowed to linger in Florida's fields for far too long."
For Oxfam America, which has long partnered with CIW and launched an on-line petition on its behalf, the agreement is proof that consumer pressure can bring about positive change. More than 37,000 people signed the petition calling on Burger King to work with CIW to improve the wages of farm laborers and enforce a code of conduct for human rights in the field.
"It once again proves these seemingly almighty corporations have to respond to consumer pressure," said Guadalupe Gamboa, and Oxfam program officer working with CIW. "Consumers want farm workers treated fairly and getting a just wage. And they want global corporations held responsible for acts of injustice in the supply chain."
Burger King got that message loud and clear—not only from fast food fans, but from an array of global activists concerned about the conditions in the hot Florida fields.
"We engaged Burger King at the highest levels," said Gamboa. "Oxfam America's president, Ray Offenheiser, sent a series of letters to the CEO of Burger King. The company also started to get letters from Oxfam affiliates in other countries. And Oxfam partner organizations in Mexico started to get active around the issue, too."
The agreement Burger King has endorsed goes beyond the penny-per-pound increase CIW and consumer activists around the country sought. It also aims to encourage the broad participation of growers by paying them a half cent extra per pound of tomatoes. That money will help them cover the additional payroll taxes and administrative costs associated with the wage hike.
"Today, we turn a new page in our relationship and begin a new chapter of real progress for Florida farm workers," said John Chidsey, Burger King's chief executive officer, in a prepared statement. "We also encourage other purchases and growers of Florida tomatoes to engage in a dialogue."
Whether that will happen is still unclear. In November, the Florida Growers Exchange, which represents producers who grow about 90 percent of the state's tomatoes, announced that its members had chosen not to participate in any pact in which a third party set wages for their employees. Reggie Brown, the executive vice president of the exchange, said he was concerned about the legality of the arrangement and its potential for violating anti-trust and racketeering laws. According to CIW, the exchange even threatened to fine members $100,000 if they participated in the penny-per-pound plan.
Brown was out of the country and not available for comment following Burger King's announcement. But maintaining its earlier position on the wage hike will likely be difficult for the exchange.
"We're sure the Florida tomato growers are decent, hardworking people who want to see the industry prosper," said Gamboa. "I think it's going to be harder for the exchange to hold the growers in line because the extra money they will get—the half cent which averages out to 16 cents for each buck of tomatoes—will allow them to participate in the wage hike without incurring extra costs."
And it's not just the growers—exchange that might find it hard to hold back the rising tide of justice. It could start to improve the conditions for workers at the bottom of every food supply chain.
"We are exuberant about this," said Gamboa. "We're probably at the tipping point. When you get three major fast food companies agreeing to accept responsibility for improving wages and working conditions, it sets a very important precedent that other food buyers and retailers will have to follow. It says that getting decent pay and respect on the job is a basic human right."
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