Flashback to my former life

I used to publish and edit a magazine. I had a worldwide readership, and received wonderful contributions internationally as well. I did this for six years, until the demands of my husband's restaurant, then catering business (I'm part owner, but it's really his gig) overtook all of my other endeavors. What a learning experience it has been, almost nine years later! I still love many aspects of it, but I can truly say I'm tired!

While I currently don't anticipate having a print magazine again, I am considering an e-zine. That ought to be fun!

So, here's the "flashback to my former life" - an article I wrote for one of the issues of H.I.C.K.: H.A.G.S. in the Country and Kin. Enjoy! (You may even be inspired to take action!)

A Song for Columbia

"Oh, mama, look at those flowers!" Trina's excitement momentarily caught my attention. I stopped loading the groceries into the car to glance over my shoulder for the source of it. We were parked in front of the florist's that was situated next door to the grocery store. There, row upon row, were blossoms in an array of colors to delight the eye: luscious roses in yellow, red and white, variegated carnations, Gerbera in that luxurious shade of pink, orange brown-freckled tiger lilies whose upward tilting heads made them look like they were laughing at the sky.

“Yes, aren’t they pretty?” I said, trying not to let my own ambivalence creep into my voice as I answered her. I suppose I was hoping to forestall the inevitable next question.

“Can we get some, mama?” There it was; now, how to explain to my four-year old daughter that the beautiful flowers she was hoping to take home were grown in questionable conditions, about which I had enough misgivings to cause my hesitation. I took the easy way out.

“Not today, sweetie,” I replied, hoping to placate. “How about we plant some of the flower seeds that Grandma sent us from her garden.”

“But I want flowers now,” she whined. I told myself it was because she was hungry and turned back to the grocery bags in search of a snack with which to distract her. My hand landed on a fruit snack.

“Here’s a nice fruit leather to tide you over till supper, okay?” I wished it were as easy to distract her as that.

“But why, mama? Why can’t we get the flowers? You like flowers, right?” She was doing her best to reason with me. I was impressed; some kids, even Trina on occasion, would burst into a full-blown tantrum about now. I also realized I’d have to launch into an educational seminar about the “political correctness of the floral culture” when all I wanted to do was flop in an armchair with a warm husband, a bowl of popcorn and a corny movie, no pun intended! I’d already had one heck of a week and it was only Tuesday. Well, one thing about parenting – it’s twenty-four seven. I took Trina out of the shopping cart, fastened her into her car seat with the fruit snack, parked the cart outside the market and slid into the driver’s seat, buying time.

“I like the flowers, too, honey, but I don’t feel good about the things that happen to the people who grow them.” For the rest of the drive home, I tried my best to explain the situation in terms a four-year old would understand.

Most flowers sold in this country come from foreign-owned flower farms located in Columbia, where some 75,000 workers, mostly women, are required to work forty-eight hour weeks but may work up to sixty hours for pay as low as ninety cents an hour. They have to meet daily quotas which often see them skipping or limiting their restroom and lunch breaks in order to hold onto their jobs, at worst, or face reprimands and suspensions. In order to maintain their control over the workers and to keep wages low and unions out, many flower farms only keep workers on for a few months, then hire unskilled replacement staff. Their work includes seed-sowing, picking and packing flowers for shipment, mostly to foreign countries.What bothers me most is that these workers are often faced with the possibility of developing various illnesses, ranging from allergies to cancer, as a result of the toxic products used to ensure a profitable crop, but the most offensive consequence is the high incidence of birth defects in children born to former flower workers, the innocents who suffer as a result of their mothers’ being forced to work in dangerous conditions just to make a living for themselves and their families. Then there is the environmental impact that flower-farming has on the nation’s water supply, which is subjected to over-consumption and DDT as well as other pesticide contamination.

We finally arrived home. Trina forgot about the flowers on seeing her father and Alex, our big, fluffy household guardian cat. However, I couldn’t put our earlier conversation out of my mind. Once Trina had been tucked in for the night after stories and songs, Hal and I collapsed on the couch to spend some “quality time” with each other before turning in ourselves. I told him about the flower incident which had transpired earlier.

“But by not buying the flowers, in effect, you’re punishing the workers,” Hal offered.

“Well, perhaps if those women refused to work on the farms, they’d fold!” I retorted.

“And what should they do then? Honey, the flower farms are already there. The floral companies have taken over land that was once used to grow food for the local people. The locals are forced to do what we’re doing now - buy imported food to feed their families.”

I was too tired to continue the discussion, or perhaps just too frustrated. I wanted the women to stop working for greedy, unfair flower farm companies; I wanted consumers here to stop buying mass-produced, pesticide-laden flowers. I wanted my daughter to grow up in a world that honored the basic rights of human beings and the entire natural world!

All the next day, I found my thoughts wandering back to the flower farm issue. Visions of front yards, flower boxes, lawns and gardens covered in flowers haunted me. “But who has the time?” I asked myself, feeling guilty at the knowledge that we scarcely had time to keep the lawn mowed, let alone cultivate flowers for our own gift-giving. For starters, we’d have to have greenhouses for the winter months……

All I could do was stew and write a few lines while I gulped down my lunchtime soup:

Innocent is

The flower in the field

Nourished on the lifeblood

Of the people….

Hal stopped by my workplace instead of going straight home. He seemed a bit excited about something.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Remember the flower thing you were talking about last night? Well, I found you some information. Looks like you’ll be able to take a more pro-active stance about it.” He grinned widely at me, handing me an article. The headline read “Activists strive for fair flowers.” It spoke about the work of a non-profit organization called Cactus, whose aim is to help create equitable conditions for flower workers. “Fair flowers” are available in Europe, but not here. I felt the seed of an idea begin to sprout……

Note: The organization, Cactus, no longer seems to exist (at least, I couldn’t find it with a pretty good online search), but do check out the up-to-date links below.

For more information about the cut flower industry, visit:

http://www.waronwant.org/past-campaigns/fighting-supermarket-power/cut-flower-industry/watch/14222-video-the-human-cost-of-flowers-

http://www.waronwant.org/overseas-work/sweatshops-and-plantations/colombian-flower-workers

http://www.waronwant.org/past-campaigns/fighting-supermarket-power/cut-flower-industry

http://www.waronwant.org/past-campaigns/fighting-supermarket-power/supermarket-watchdog

Deceptive Beauty, a booklet about the cut flower industry is available for purchase from

http://www.videa.ca/index.php?pageid=135&productid=85

Videa, 1200 Deeks Place, Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, V8P 5S7

(c) 2003, Jessica North-O'Connell