The Plowboy Interview: Frances Moore Lappe

Article Tools

Image Gallery

Print

E-mail

Comments

RSS

LAPPE: Yes, most people are so overwhelmed by the horror of world hunger that they feel paralyzed . . . so they have to block the Subject out.

PLOWBOY: But you don't find that the immensity of the issue makes you feel helpless?

LAPPE: My reaction is exactly opposite to that! Understanding world hunger has opened up all sorts of doors in my life, and helped me become more powerful. I began to see parallels between the plight of starving people in the Third World and what was happening in my own country . . . and I was able to see patterns in the jumble of facts. It became possible, then, to figure out what I, as an individual, could do. And my whole life took on new meaning. I've heard from thousands of others around the country, telling me about the positive changes that have taken place in their lives, too, as they've learned more about the politics of food. And that's what the Institute for Food and Development Policy is for: Our work is meaningless unless it frees people to act . . . and it can best do so by removing the paralyzing fears and misinformation that block them.

Of course, I had to grow into that sort of freedom myself. I was brought up in an anti-intellectual culture in Fort Worth, Texas back in the 1950's. I was a high school cheerleader, the one who dated the quarterback. At that stage I didn't much value my own thoughts or think I could make an original contribution to anything. I felt very powerless.

PLOWBOY: And now you're a nationally known author and head of one of the world's most respected food activist groups. What happened?

LAPPE: The year 1966 was the turning point for me. What with the struggle in Vietnam, the civil rights movement, and the war on poverty, our country seemed to be in a terrible state. I had a desperate feeling that something had to be done-right then-to improve the situation, or all hope would be lost. So since I felt a need to help people who were really suffering, I worked for two years in Philadelphia . . . as a social worker with the Welfare Rights Organization.

But that job was totally frustrating. Even when I was able to succeed in a given day's goal of-say-forcing a landlord to make a needed repair, I knew I wasn't doing a thing to combat the causes of the suffering around me. Most evenings I came home in tears.

I next tried attending a graduate school program in community organizing, at Berkeley, in an attempt to learn more about what could be done to change the world around me for the better. But that didn't answer my questions or even address my feeling of helplessness. So I became more miserable and confused.

Finally, I vowed to do whatever I could to figure out how my actions might have some impact on the roots of needless suffering. I dropped out of graduate school-a decision so traumatic it actually made me ill—and tried to start learning for myself. In a quiet basement corridor of the agricultural library at the University of California in Berkeley, I read books that attempted to explain the causes of poverty. After a few months I began to home in on the issue of food, because I felt that if I could just grasp that subject, I would better understand the overwhelming complexities of politics and economics.

RSS | Comments | E-mail | Print