Race,Four Farms,and a City: Color Blindness and the Austin,TX,Urban Farm Debate

Abstract

Austin, TX, was the site of a three-year debate between urban farmers and their supporters and local community activists about how to rewrite an outdated farm code. There was tremendous animosity between the two groups and, despite efforts at mediation, the two sides were unable to reach compromise. To understand more about how these two groups came into conflict, we interviewed 26 local stakeholders about their views and experiences during the farm code debate and found that issues of race and racial inequality were a key factor in the continuing mistrust. We found that farmers and their supporters attempted to frame the debate and its racial undertones by highlighting their racial–ethnic minority supporters, describing their businesses as reclaiming East Austin’s agricultural past, and arguing that the only issue that should matter in redrawing the farm ordinance should be how to best help farmers provide healthy food to the community. We argue that the farmers’ responses draw from a discourse of whiteness and color blindness that can be harmful to People of Color and link their views to larger critiques that the alternative food movement and individual alternative food projects can be exclusionary.

Keywords

urban farming whiteness color blindness racism gentrification alternative food

Bonilla-Silva’s (2013) concept of “color-blind racism” has been called the primary framework for understanding race in contemporary America (Doane 2014). Analysis of color-blind ideology and discourse has proven to be a powerful tool for understanding how racism and racial inequality continues even in a society that is supposedly “post-racial.” Studies have examined how color blindness is manifested at the individual (Mueller 2017) and group levels (Perry 2012) even among whites who claim to be nonracist (Collins 2012; Trepagnier 2006). Additional research has demonstrated how color blindness is embedded within interactional networks and institutionalized as a political tool that legitimizes racist practices and policies to protect racial privilege (Doane 2006; Hughey, Embrick, and Doane 2015; Turner and Nilsen 2014).

The work of Bonilla-Silva has expanded to new disciplines and avenues of inquiry. One example of this is the rise of critical studies of the food system. Scholars argue that social conditions are woven into the food system, including racial relations that often disadvantage People of Color (Billings and Cabbil 2011; McClintock 2010; Slocum 2011). Even within Alternative Food Movement activities meant to promote environmental and community sustainability with small-scale, local, and organic food production purchased through alternative markets such as community-supported agriculture (CSA) and farmers’ markets, there have been critiques of ignoring, and sometimes perpetuating, racial inequality (Guthman 2008a). For example, recent research has examined how urban agriculture has been used to foster gentrification through “cleaning up” poor neighborhoods, providing food-related goods and services that appeal to potential gentrifiers, and symbolizing that these neighborhoods are ripe for gentrification (Cadji and Alkon 2015; McClintock 2018; Stehlin and Tarr 2017). Yet less research has examined the role of color-blind discourse has played in facilitating the Alternative Food Movement’s and, specifically, urban agriculture’s role in increasing gentrification (McClintock 2018).

In this article, we examine the three-year controversy over updating the urban farm code in Austin, TX. The city was propelled to update the urban farm ordinance after a neighbor made a complaint about one of the farms in 2013. At that time, it was discovered that the farm code did not address all of the activities taking place on some of the farms (such as small-scale chicken processing). Additional concerns involved claims that special events being held on the farms diminished the quality of life for neighbors and helped further gentrification in East Austin. The seemingly straightforward task evolved into a three-yearlong debate over the place of urban agriculture in the city, particularly in the fast-growing “East Side,” and how much attention should be paid to issues of gentrification and racial inequality in the process. As sociologists, we were interested in how urban farmers—often included within the progressive Alternative Food Movement—came into conflict with their neighbors and community activist groups. Our analysis in this article explores one aspect of the debate: The role of race and how urban farmers and their supporters framed issues of race in order to gather support for their position. We explain how the farming community’s inability to recognize the racialized nature of urban policies relates to larger critiques of the Alternative Food Movement and the ways color-blind racism is present within its discourse.

Our work adds to the literature on color blindness by examining how color-blind discourse is used to frame social issues and attempt to influence policy, even by those who espouse progressive values (Doane 2014). We also help identify potential ways through which urban agriculture can serve as a means for facilitating gentrification. In this article, we review the concept of color-blind racism and how it manifests at individual and institutional levels in ways that can harm racial minorities. We examine literature on whiteness and color blindness within the Alternative Food Movement in general, and urban agriculture projects in particular. Subsequently, we discuss the methods of our study involving in-depth interviews with 26 participants who represent various stakeholder groups involved in the Austin urban farm debate. As part of this discussion, we outline the racialized history of the city and provide a short overview of the urban farm debate in Austin. Our findings discuss how urban farmers and their supporters (1) sought to minimize discussions of race (while still highlighting racial–ethnic minority supporters), (2) naturalized the gentrification process and divorced it from race, and (3) attempted to reframe the debate to be about prioritizing good, healthy food for Austinites and reforming the diets of disadvantaged People of Color. We tie these ideas to Bonilla-Silva’s understanding of color blindness. The article concludes with describing the debate’s outcomes and the implications our research has for understanding the linkages between urban agriculture, gentrification, and race.

Color-Blind Racism

Eduardo Bonilla-Silva (2013) coined the term “color-blind racism” to describe the trend in explaining “contemporary racial inequality as the outcome of nonracial dynamics” (p. 2). Bonilla-Silva argues that, in “post-racial” America, there exists a belief among whites that racists are now few and far between and racial inequality can be better explained through elements like market forces and cultural limitations rather than racism. These explanations generally fall under specific frames that Bonilla-Silva refers to as: (1) abstract liberalism, which emphasizes individualism and fairness and, therefore, would not support affirmative action or other programs that would give “unfair” advantages to minorities; (2) naturalization of racism and outcomes like racial segregation because “like goes with like”; (3) cultural arguments that suggest some cultural deficits or deviance keeps minorities from making choices to improve their lives; and (4) minimization, or claiming that outright racism, discrimination, and race-based mistreatment is not as bad as in the past. Frames can relate to how individuals construct and understand the world around them, as well as represent purposive attempts at the individual or collective level to advance a particular worldview or belief system (Doane 2006; McCann 2003). Bonilla-Silva (2013) argues that frames and storytelling are important parts of upholding color-blind racism as they allow white individuals to distance themselves from racism, redefine their actions as not racist, and minimize the role of racism in larger society.

Color blindness is embedded in interactional networks, as well as in discourse, and helps sustain the enduring power of whiteness (Doane 2014; Hughey et al. 2015). Examples of this include frames and racial stories of whites claiming, “I don’t see race” or suggesting that we now live in a “post-racial” age (Bonilla-Silva 2013; Collins 2012). By arguing that race no longer matters, whiteness and its power becomes universalized and invisible (Frankenberg 1993; Slocum 2011) leading to the development of a white habitus. This white racial habitus is “a racialized, uninterrupted socialization process that conditions and creates whites’ racial tastes, perceptions, feelings, and emotions and their views on racial matters that shapes cultural practices, moral standards within groups, and even social spaces” (Bonilla-Silva 2013:152). Because whiteness is seen as the demographic and cultural default, the experiences of racism and its effects on racial–ethnic minorities are minimized and even dismissed (Bonilla-Silva 2013; Lipsitz 2006). Under such conditions, discussing race becomes a racist act, resulting in fewer conversations about race and how to reduce racism (Bonilla-Silva 2013; Collins 2012). Indeed, Bonilla-Silva (2013) even describes whites’ extreme discomfort with talking about race as resulting in a “rhetorical incoherence” that shuts down dialogues and further reduces the importance of race.

Even well-meaning whites can embrace color-blind rhetoric and ideology. Both Bonilla-Silva (2013) and Collins (2012) discuss how color-blind whites often claim to have black friends, which inflates the closeness of these relationships as proof that they could not possibly be racist. Leong (2013) describes this process as engaging in “racial capitalism” and explains how white individuals and institutions use racial minorities to not only protect them from accusations of racism but also accrue social and economic benefits. In her study of white women who self-identified as “nonracist,” Trepagnier (2006) found the women still held stereotypical images of minorities and made paternalistic assumptions about them. They expressed a sense of passivity and detachment about issues of racism and racial justice, which was attributed to a fear of making racial mistakes and confusion about what actions and statements were racist. Collins (2012) is critical of such claims and argues these statements actually recast whites as the more victimized group who live in fear of being accused of racism. Mueller (2017) also sees whites’ orientations toward race and racism as the result of conscious forces relating to their commitment to ignorance. She uses the term “evading” to describe how Whites are able to use ignorance to avoid situations that call on them to confront their privilege, change their own beliefs and actions, and challenge systemic racism. Much like in Pulido’s research (2000), this orientation allows whites to admit that racism does exist in an institutionalized fashion and simultaneously argue that it does not involve them.

Bonilla-Silva and others contend that color-blind racism helps uphold white supremacy and white privilege. Yet, by ignoring the historical underpinnings of racial inequality—what Bobo (2004) refers to as “laissez-faire racism”—and emphasizing equality that does not give minority group members any “special” treatment, color-blind racism can impact how racial inequality is perceived (if at all) and what should be done about it. Simultaneously, color blindness also produces structural inequalities in legal frameworks and institutions where white privilege can be manifested into public policies and laws that reinforce structural racism and benefit whites to the detriment of People of Color (Collins 2012; Harris 1993; Lipsitz 2006; Pulido 2000).

Despite recent research on the concept of color-blind racism, there remains a need for more work on the relationship and specific mechanisms between color blindness and racial inequality (Hughey et al. 2015). Both Doane (2014) and Mueller (2017) call for a closer examination of the habits and routines of whites and how they produce color blindness, including color-blind discourse. As Doane (2014) points out, color blindness, while pervasive, is not monolithic and more work should examine how the discourse around color blindness adapts and changes, including how individuals often hold simultaneous and contradictory positions on race (e.g., claiming to value “diversity” but not supporting policies to help members of these racially “diverse” groups). He argues more work should examine the rhetorical shields, coded words, and other tactics that helps create, and sometimes challenge, color-blind ideology. In our work, we examine how the debate over urban farming in Austin served as a “racial event” or occurrence “whose racialized character triggers extensive public discussion and consideration of racial issues” (Doane 2006:259) and analyze how color-blind discourse was used to frame the debate by Austin urban farmers and their supporters in order to gather more support for their position.

Color Blindness and the Alternative Food Movement

To better understand how color blindness has been manifested in the Alternative Food Movement, it is important to outline the movement’s goals and actions. The Alternative Food Movement aims to transform the current food system through changes to the production, distribution, and consumption models of agriculture. The purpose is to create a more socially, economically, and environmentally sustainable food system. Some characteristics of Alternative Food Movement projects include creating shorter distances between producers and consumers, encouraging smaller farms and more small-scale farming, using organic or holistic farming methods, and increasing access to alternate food purchasing models such as farmers’ markets, CSA, and farm-to-school programs (Jarosz 2008). Urban agriculture is generally considered part of the Alternative Food Movement and it includes diverse activities ranging from nonprofit community gardens to private commercial farms (McClintock 2010). In addition to being proposed as a sustainable and inventive way to provide food for growing urban populations, urban agriculture projects have been cited for promoting community-building, job creation and training, mental and physical health improvements, and increased food access in food deserts (Classens 2015; Horst, McClintock, and Hoey 2017; McClintock 2014; Voigt 2011).

Despite these purported benefits, scholars claim the Alternative Food Movement and various alternative food projects have failed to incorporate a more diverse membership, particularly in terms of race–ethnicity (Alkon and McCullen 2011). Case studies have documented the exclusion of racial–ethnic minorities from farmers’ markets (Guthman 2008b; Kato 2013; Pilgrim 2012), CSAs (Guthman 2008b), community gardens (Ramírez 2015), and community food coalitions (Slocum 2006). These failures to engage with more diverse populations, particularly groups vulnerable to issues of food insecurity and food-related health conditions, can limit the Alternative Food Movement from reaching its full potential, as well as increase its likelihood to replicate some of the same oppressive conditions that exist within the conventional food system (Alkon and McCullen 2011; Busa and Gardner 2015).

Guthman (2008a) writes that a “whitened cultural discourse” pervades alternative food ways (p. 434). This discourse is aided by a white cultural dominance and shaped by an “affluent, liberal habitus of whiteness” (Alkon and McCullen 2011:939). Fueled with a desire to bring “good, healthy food” to racial–ethnic minority neighborhoods, members of the Alternative Food Movement may engage in practices that are guided more by this white ideology than the actual needs of the community (Guthman 2008a). These “white saviors” can have negative impacts as they implement changes to the local food system without considering unintended consequences that affect less privileged groups in the community (Goodman, DuPuis, and Goodman 2012). Among these consequences is gentrification, where neighborhoods are “cleaned up” and made suitable for wealthier new residents through altering local food ways and the environment (Anderson 2014; Anguelovski 2015; Cadji and Alkon 2015; Curran and Hamilton 2012; McClintock 2018). Recent research suggests even more direct linkages between urban agriculture and gentrification as projects like farmers’ markets and community gardens have been co-opted by developers and framed as amenities to gentrifiers interested in healthy, local food (McClintock 2018; Stehlin and Tarr 2017).

Research has found that many food projects in racially disfranchised neighborhoods include health components where a white community of outsiders is placed in the educator role to “reform” or “correct” what are seen as “problematic food behaviors” of local residents (Anguelovski 2015; Bradley and Herrera 2015; Busa and Gardner 2015; Guthman 2008b; Kato 2013). White leaders in alternative food projects sometimes express frustration that more racial–ethnic minorities do not participate in these programs or change their food ways (Guthman 2008b; Ramírez 2015). These attitudes help increase a sense of self-aggrandizement on the part of white food movement members as they are cast as “hard workers” fighting to change the food system who do not consider why minorities do not participate. For example, African Americans’ reluctance to grow food could have roots in their history as slaves forced into agricultural work or even more recent discrimination by the United State Department of Agriculture against African American farmers (Alkon 2014; Brahinsky, Sasser, and Minkoff-Zern 2014). Latino communities may associate growing food with the exploitation of Hispanic farmworkers and opt out of participation (Alkon 2014; Billings and Cabbil 2011). Finally, even if racial and ethnic minorities from low-income neighborhoods are interested in contributing to the Alternative Food Movement, a lack of time and capital (e.g., buying seeds, gardening tools) may result in limited participation.

In our research, we examine how attempts to update the Austin urban farm code to better reflect the reality of urban farming in the city became a racial event (Doane 2006). Additionally, we ask how the fight over how to reform the farming ordinance touched on debates over gentrification and the role of alternative food in the city. We discuss our methods for our study below.

Method

How did the urban farmers and their supporters frame issues of race during the Austin urban farming debate? And how did these frames align with previous research on color blindness in the Alternative Food Movement? For this project, we use Austin, TX, and the discussion over urban farming as a case study to examine how color blindness ultimately shaped the debate and its outcomes. Case studies allow for an investigation into a single phenomenon in a manner that is extremely in-depth and grounded in local context, including local history (Orum, Feagin, and Sjoberg 1991). While there have been several case studies of alternative food projects (Anderson 2014; Irazabal and Punja 2009; Pilgrim 2012; Slocum 2008), many of these studies focus on cities, or neighborhoods in cities, facing population, and economic decline. In contrast, Austin is a fast-growing city that is attempting to capitalize on its developing food scene, which makes it an appropriate case study for examining how race became embedded in debates over urban agricultural projects and the laws that govern them. Additionally, Austin has been experiencing increasing gentrification in recent decades, particularly on the East Side, and this case study allows us to add to the literature on urban farming and its relation to gentrification (Cadji and Alkon 2015; Castillo 2011; McClintock 2018; Petrilli 2012). Our approach allows us to look at how race is an active process that occurs in different spaces, which is especially important as whiteness and its ability to shape social forces often goes unseen and unquestioned until a triggering moment or controversy makes race visible (Doane 2006; Slocum 2008, 2010).

We conducted in-depth interviews with 26 representatives of various stakeholder groups in the city. We identified potential participants by reading accounts of the urban farm debate in local newspapers and online publications and made note of the names and affiliations of those quoted. Subsequently, we contacted potential participants by phone or e-mail. If someone agreed to participate in an interview, we asked them to recommend others we should include in the study. Participants were assigned a pseudonym and we removed or altered identifying characteristics to help ensure confidentiality.

The interviews occurred between May and September 2015. Table 1 includes some basic demographics and the stakeholder group our participants represented. Interviewees included urban farmers whose farms on the East Side of Austin were at the center of the debate (four participants), as well as individuals affiliated with the group, People Organized in Defense of the Earth and Her Resources (PODER), an East Austin environmental justice organization that was most vocal in their criticisms of the farms and their activities (4). We also interviewed farmers in the Austin area whose farms were not part of the contested East Side (4), members of various food-related nonprofits (4), city government employees and neighborhood association representatives (3), owners of food-related businesses (2), and community activists knowledgeable about issues facing the East Side (5).

Table 1.

Description of Participants.

Pseudonym	Gender	Race–Ethnicity	Affiliation Category
Bruce Smith	Male	White	City government
Cameron Fisher	Male	White	City government
Roger Martin	Male	White	City government
Ashley Mudd	Female	White	East Side activist
Beth Terrell	Female	White	East Side activist
Lynn Johnson	Female	White	East Side activist
Scarlett King	Female	African American	East Side activist
Seth Wills	Male	Hispanic	East Side activist
Blas Fernandez	Male	Hispanic	PODER-affiliated activist
Juan Garcia	Male	Hispanic	PODER-affiliated activist
Mary Garcia	Female	Hispanic	PODER-affiliated activist
Sandra Villarreal	Female	Hispanic	PODER-affiliated activist
Claire Allison	Female	White	East Austin farmer
Gary Abbott	Male	White	East Austin farmer
Kate Abbott	Female	White	East Austin farmer
Sharon Miller	Female	White	East Austin farmer
Caroline Fortunato	Female	White	Austin-Area farmer
Cheryl Baskez	Female	White	Austin-Area farmer
Greg Norton	Male	White	Austin-Area farmer
Ken May	Male	White	Austin-Area farmer
Amy Baker	Female	White	Food-related business
Cynthia Greene	Female	White	Food-related business
Colleen Porter	Female	White	Food-related nonprofit
James North	Male	White	Food-related nonprofit
Rose Abernathy	Female	White	Food-related nonprofit
Meredith Fisher	Female	White	Food-related nonprofit

Note. PODER = People Organized in Defense of the Earth and Her Resources.

For each interview, one or both of the authors were present. The interviews lasted between 45 min to almost two hours and took place at farms, participants’ homes or places of business, as well as at local coffee shops or restaurants. We used a semistructured question guide that focused on the participants’ background in either farming or advocacy work, their views of the origins of the urban farm debate, how they came to be involved in the conflict, their thoughts on the mediation process, their opinions on who “won” the debate, and future directions for their organization or business in light of the city council’s ruling on farm zoning.

The interviews were digitally recorded and transcribed. We used NVivo Version 10 to organize and analyze the interviews. To guide our analysis, we applied the concept of frames and focused on how farmers and other stakeholders attempted to frame the conflict. After the first coding, the authors met and discussed initial frames that arose from the interviews. We noted that the majority of participants brought up the concepts of race, racism, and racial tension unprompted during their interviews and that many discussed these issues in specific ways that sought to downplay or co-opt claims of racial inequality. We then revisited our data and performed additional coding based upon the concepts of whiteness and color blindness that have been discussed theoretically (Bonilla-Silva 2013) and in the literature on alternative food practices (Alkon and McCullen 2011; Guthman 2008b; Slocum 2006).

Case Study: Austin’s East Side

Austin’s growth, reputation as a progressive and “foodie” city, and recent trends in gentrification make it a useful case study for understanding the connections between color-blind discourse, urban agriculture, and gentrification. For much of Austin’s history, there has been a fundamental racial, economic, and cultural divide between the East and West sides of the city (Herrick 2008). In the late 1800s through the early 1900s, restrictive covenants prevented African Americans and other minority groups from buying property in all-white neighborhoods. Important city policies furthered segregation, including the city’s 1928 Comprehensive Plan, that created parks and a high school, as well as provided public sewers, for African American neighborhoods on the East Side (Humphrey 2013; Tretter 2013a). Because African American neighborhoods in other parts of the city were left without these important resources, much of the city’s African American population were forced to move east. Over time, poverty and lack of employment opportunities led the East Side to be associated with neglected housing, crime, and cheap lodging for transients. Like many Southern cities, the building of an interstate (I-35) during the 1950s and 1960s further solidified racial separation in Austin by physically dividing the city into the East and West Sides (Connerly 2002).

For decades, the East Side was designated for “unrestricted” industrial use and environmentally degrading activities, which included a gasoline tank farm, a major power plant, and a large chicken processor (Tretter 2013a). With little economic and political clout, battles for environmental justice on the East Side were conducted by grassroots nonprofits, including PODER, which led some of the strongest fights against environmental racism in Austin, resulting in the removal of gasoline storage facilities and power plant located on the East Side (Long 2014; McCann 2003).

In recent years, Austin has had high rates of economic and population growth (Long 2014). Demands for living spaces close to a thriving downtown, public policies following the Smart Growth program, and community advocacy efforts to “clean up” the East Side, have resulted in high-density development (Long 2014; McCann 2003; Tretter 2013a). These efforts were described by city representatives and developers as “redevelopment” of the East Side and were accompanied by major increases in property values in East Austin with median home values and property taxes more than doubling in some neighborhoods in less than a decade (Deng et al. 2005; Long 2014). As a result, growing gentrification has transformed the demographics and culture of East Austin. Between the years 2000 and 2010, the percentage of white residents living in the East Side doubled, while the population of African Americans and Latinos dropped by 40 percent and 9.3 percent, respectively (Castillo 2011; Petrilli 2012). Currently, the zip codes that represent the East Side of Austin are 39 percent white, 37 percent Hispanic, and 22 percent African American. When broken down by Census tracts, there are areas of the East Side that now are over 46 percent white (Statistical Atlas 2018). This transformation of the East Side set the stage for the conflict over urban farms and what it represents in terms of the demographic and cultural future of this area of Austin.

Origins of the Austin Urban Farm Debate

Currently, the East Side is the site of four commercial urban farms—Springdale Farm, HausBar Farm, Boggy Creek Farm, and Rain Lily Farm. While Austin has other commercial urban farms, these four are some of the largest and were founded on the East Side because of the relatively cheap land (at least at the time, the farms were purchased) and rich soil located far enough from environmental hazards to avoid major contamination. White farmers own these main four farms. Boggy Creek Farm has been in operation since 1992, and the owners of the newest farm, HausBar, began transforming the property into a working farm in 2010. These farms are between two and five acres in size and sell their produce at farm stands, through food delivery services, and to local restaurants in Austin’s growing food scene. While a 2015 report stated the city had more “for profit” urban farms than any comparably sized cities and that the local food economy generates over US$4 billion a year in sales and tax revenue, this does not always translate into profits for local farmers (City of Austin 2015). The same report estimated that only one percent of the food consumed in Travis County (in which Austin is mainly located) comes from local sources. Because of this, many of the urban farms require additional revenue streams to stay financially viable. Springdale Farm houses a food trailer that serves brunch and dinner on the weekends and the farm also hosts events such as weddings to bring in additional income. HausBar Farm has an Airbnb rental property on site and Rain Lily Farm combines farming with a landscaping business. These options to supplement farm incomes are determined by zoning. Springdale Farm is the only one of the four East Side urban farms to be commercially zoned, while the others are located within residentially zoned areas.

In 2012, a longtime East Austin resident called the local code enforcement office to report a foul odor coming from HausBar Farm. Officials determined the smell was caused by a malfunctioning compost system related to the farm’s small-scale chicken processing. The farm owners fixed their composting system, but the neighbor had also contacted various local media outlets, as well as PODER, whose members argued before the city council that such activities should not be taking place in a residentially zoned neighborhood. After an investigation, the city council decided that the farm code in place was outdated and needed to be rewritten to better reflect the current state of urban agriculture in Austin.

During this process, PODER claimed that the voices of Latinos and other East Side minority residents were not taken into account when creating recommendations. PODER’s work to ensure that the city recognized the issue of race helped reframe the farm issue as a racial event that demanded serious attention. In response to the claims, the city council decided to create a mediation group to draw new provisions and invited farmers, food system advocates, and community members to serve as representatives. After three contentious mediation meetings, no consensus was reached within the group, forcing the Austin City Council to vote on specific provisions of the farm code.

Once the city council voted to end animal processing, the major source of acrimony for East Austin activists was the hosting of large events on the farms, which was perceived as special treatment granted the farmers by the city. For PODER members and other East Side activists, the farms were seen as businesses that added traffic, increased noise, and reduced the quality of life in residential areas. They argued the farms, who had not been directly involved in environmental efforts to clean up the East Side, benefited from the environmental improvements and drew in gentrifiers, changed the culture of the East Side, and were unwelcoming to many longtime residents who could not afford to purchase food at the farms or tickets to their events. The East Austin urban farmers and their supporters countered by arguing the farms added value to the area by increasing access to healthy, local food, and provided a place for field trips where Austin children could learn about the food system.

In 2015, the council voted to limit the number of large events residentially zoned farms could hold to six per year. Initially, Springdale Farm, which was commercially zoned, was also limited to six large events each year, but the owners appealed this ruling based on their commercial zoning status. The council ultimately agreed to allow 22 events per year that have between 51 and 150 attendees and five events with more than 150 attendees at Springdale Farm. The farm would be able to host unlimited events with 50 or fewer attendees.

Findings

When we asked our participants to reflect on what started the debate and the underlying issues that caused it to be so contentious, 22 of the 26 participants mentioned race as a primary issue. In the following sections, we focus mainly on the ways the farmers and their supporters drew from a color-blind discourse to discuss the farm debate and downplay or redirect discussions of race. As Lipsitz (2006) notes, racism is not just about attitudes but also collective interests. As a result, examining how the farmers and their supporters framed the debates can provide a deeper understanding of how discourse can help reproduce white spaces and support white cultural dominance both in alternative food projects and land use policy. According to Bonilla-Silva (2017), this is important to acknowledge because, while there still exist incidences of “old-fashioned Jim Crow-type prejudice,” it is the “slippery things” like racial stories, stereotypes, and microaggressions that serve as “core practices that maintain the racial monster we face these days” (4). Below, we discuss three themes that emerged regarding how the farmers and their supporters used color-blind discourse to co-opt the discussion of farm zoning and deemphasize issues of race and gentrification.

Denying Racism and Rallying Racial Minority “Friends”

Throughout the interviews, there were several times when farmers and their supporters flatly denied that race was related to the urban farm conflict. Activists like Lynn Johnson and Ashley Mudd labeled attempts to discuss racism and gentrification as “racebaiting” and “playing the race card,” respectively. When asked about this tension, James North, who worked for a food-related nonprofit, stated that racial discussions put many of the urban farmers and their supporters on edge because they felt they were being accused of racism:

I think when you bring up the label “gentrifier” or you bring up the word “white supremacy” and how those are interconnected, people take that personally and say, “Oh, that’s not me. Oh, of course not. I love People of Color,” or “I employ People of Color.”

Amy Baker, who owns a food-related business, provided a similar description of the farmers saying that, “In their minds, racism is just a mean guy calling you names, right?” As Bonilla-Silva (2013) explains, the very existence of color-blind racism rests on the belief that racism is defined by one-on-one, deliberate mistreatment. This description of racial discrimination allows whites who do not engage in personal attacks against racial minorities to retain their self-image as “good” people who “don’t see race” while refusing to engage in any discussions about race.

This diminishment of race was illustrated when we asked Gary Abbott, an East Austin farmer, about what he believed was at the root of the conflict. He replied, “We still haven’t quite figured out what they are so unhappy about, but it’s probably mostly just gentrification and race.” Beth Terrell, an East Side activist, described race in the urban farm debate this way: “There’s also been people that have said that all urban farmers are white, that there’s a race divide, and I guess that they just think urban farmers are white, I don’t know.”

Mueller (2017) uses the term “evading” to describe examples where whites purposefully avoid interrogating issues of race and charges of racism in their own lives. By the time of these interviews, the conflict over urban farming had entered its third year, and, while both acknowledged race was part of their opponents’ complaints, they also claimed to be in the dark about how these claims related to larger issues. Given the time line of the accusations, it seems unlikely that Gary and Beth could not have investigated further if they so desired. These two excerpts also reflect what Bonilla-Silva (2013) terms a “rhetorical incoherence” that represents a discomfort in talking about race, as well as reduces the importance of race. Gary explains groups opposing the farm as merely “unhappy” due to “just gentrification and race” (emphasis added), and Beth has a “guess” that opponents “think urban farmers are white” but admits she has not investigated the truth of these claims.

Paradoxically, while urban farmers and their supporters denied the importance of race in the debates over East Austin zoning laws, this group also sought to highlight connections between urban farmers and People of Color. Beth described a city council meeting where the leader of a local conjunto band (musical ensembles popular in Texas that often play Tejano music) spoke in support of the farms and led his band in a performance:

They played in the background while he spoke passionately in favor of the [farms]. It was the best city council meeting moment ever, ever. They all were there in their red outfits and he’s up on the microphone, “I lived in this neighborhood for 60 years,” and they’re playing their music in the background. It was awesome.

From Beth’s perspective, the involvement of the conjunto band was a wonderful experience that highlighted support for the farms from some longtime East Austin residents. In contrast, Amy described the same city council meeting by presenting a very different picture of who was asked to speak on behalf of the Austin urban farms:

They brought up two African American foster children of a white family who were like five and seven [years old]. That was one of their expert witnesses. There was an African American food critic who came and spoke and accused PODER of being bought off by the real estate developers…. Then there was the conjunto band that came up…. So they came up with their sombreros and with their shirts and with their instruments and made a few jokes about killing roosters and then played some songs. And it was just so tokenizing. It was like anybody Brown or Black who they could get to speak on their behalf [was invited].

Instead of viewing the racial diversity of speakers as a positive expression of support for the farms, Amy believed the use of racial–ethnic minorities as expert witnesses represented a strategic move by the urban farmers and their supporters to increase their “racial capital” by appearing to have more members of the Latino and African American communities on their side (Leong 2013). These actions evoke Bonilla-Silva’s (2013) and Collin’s (2012) discussion of how color-blind whites often claim to have black friends as proof that they could not possibly be racist. In his interview, James also referenced this city council meeting and described the use of People of Color to speak on behalf of the farms was mainly “symbolic” diversity that did not mirror reality because there were so few racial–minority vendors in the local alternative food scene.

Gentrification as Natural and Divorced from Race

Another way, the Austin urban farmers and their supporters drew from a color-blind discourse was by describing the gentrification of East Austin as a natural process of migration. When trying to inject discussions of race into the urban farm debate, East Austin activists highlighted the racialized history of the city and the gentrification that is currently transforming the East Side as an influx of new, wealthier residents has dramatically raised property taxes and forced many longtime Austinites to leave the city. A PODER-affiliated activist, Mary Garcia, referred to this as “colonizing” the East Side.

In contrast, East Austin farmers and their supporters attempted to refocus attention to the agricultural history of Austin. Activist Scarlett King said it was “just the good, good soil” that brought the current farmers to East Austin, ignoring the long history of segregation, city disengagement, and environmental dumping that helped make this soil so inexpensive. Both government representative Cameron Fisher and Austin-area farmer Cheryl Baskez went further into the past, recalling the founding of Austin and the early Swedish population that farmed what is now considered the East Side. Although the Swedes left this area of the growing city, Cheryl linked this demographic transition to the current conditions in East Austin:

I think that whenever a new group moves into a community, you could accuse them of gentrification, right? You know, the Hispanics who are living on the East Side, they displaced the Swedes who were farming there before. The word “Govalle” [a neighborhood in East Austin], do you know what it means? It’s a Swedish word. It means “good grazing.” Okay, so I think that’s one thing that we need to keep in mind is that we’re always displacing each other, right? And that’s the story of immigration, that is the story of the United States, that’s part of it.

Cheryl’s account begins with normalizing gentrification by saying it represents “whenever a new group moves into a community” and simultaneously suggests that labeling any migration pattern “gentrification” is subjective (“you could accuse them of gentrification, right?” emphasis added). Cheryl recasts early Swedish settlers as the original inhabitants of East Austin and “the Hispanics” as early gentrifiers who “displaced” the Swedes. Finally, she links all of these transitions as “immigration” and “the story of the United States” implying that gentrification is an inevitable, historical process without victim or victor.

Claire Allison, an East Austin urban farmer, also described gentrification as part of humanity’s ebb and flow. Claire explained,

But gentrification, really, in the dictionary—the simple explanation of it, is improving a house or neighborhood to meet middle class expectations. That’s what gentrification is, that’s the long-term sign. Now it forces out the poor people, forces out the minorities, get rid of them, raise the taxes, raise the everything. But that’s what happens…. It is like when the Mexicans could afford to buy those houses on River Street, the Black people were evicted…. This movement goes on forever everywhere. That’s just the way it is. We’re all kind of nomadic in giant groups, and so anyway that’s kind of what happened.

Claire begins her comments by giving a “dictionary definition” that links gentrification to neighborhood improvements that brought homes or neighborhoods up to “middle class standards.” Although her definition references socioeconomic status, such class descriptions often are racially coded and serve as “dog whistles” that represent race (Haney-López 2014). For example, many of the media accounts of the urban farm debate mentioned that HausBar Farm was formally the site of a “crack house” inhabited by drug dealers before giving credit to HausBar’s owners for remediating the land and returning it to its “agrarian roots” (Toon 2013). The reference to crack houses has ties to urban African American crime and danger, while citing agrarian roots reframes the East Side as the original home to local food grown by (white) local families.

Both Cheryl and Claire’s accounts make a point to describe the current Latino residents as gentrifiers themselves whom, at some point, displaced both Swedish and African American residents. These comments strategically undercut the claims of East Austin Latino activists who argue they are being harmed through gentrification while leaving out much of the political details and demographic forces of Austin’s racialized past (white flight to better areas of town because of the emergence of Latino communities, the forced migration of African Americans due to the 1928 Plan, etc.). Similarly, Cameron discussed how “it happened to be Anglos” who moved to East Austin and bought the urban farms without referencing how historical differences in wealth and access to capital could impact who was able to start urban farming businesses in the city. Such comments are examples of laissez-faire racism in which whites deny historical inequalities relating to current conditions (Bobo 2004).

Healthy Food Is the Only Issue

Throughout the dispute, farmers and their supporters argued that any discussion of race, structural racism, and gentrification was distracting from the true purpose of rewriting the urban farm ordinance—to encourage more urban agriculture within the city. Sharon Miller, one of the East Austin farmers, described how members of the city council were unable to vote their “conscience” because they were “afraid” to support the farmers due to concerns of being accused of fostering racism and gentrification. One farmer, Cheryl Baskez, became very emotional when describing how she felt race was used to obfuscate the discussion:

I think to accuse, to use urban [farms], to use healthy food to polarize people is bullshit. You know what? Too many Americans are eating crap. They don’t know what fresh, healthy food tastes like, and we should do everything in our power to ensure that people have access to good food. It should be growing on walls, in gardens, in parks, in backyards, in schools. It should be everywhere. And there should be no bullshit about the color of the skin of the person who’s growing it [laughs].

In the first line, Cheryl interrupts herself in discussing urban farms to shift to “healthy food,” suggesting that she sees the farms and healthy food as intricately linked. In Cheryl’s opinion, urban farms were being “used” to polarize people and she quickly moved on to discuss what she believed was the real problem at hand—the low-quality diet of many Americans. While she did not take as strong a stance as Cheryl, Colleen Porter, who worked for a food-related nonprofit in Austin, also believed that discussions of race detracted from larger issues about how the farms could benefit their neighborhoods:

What we were saying [during the debate] was that these farms are doing what they should be doing in this neighborhoods, and hopefully some of them, most of them are, they’re an asset to that community in an inviting way for people within that neighborhood to get involved, not just as employees, but as people who can actually purchase from those farms, who can take their kids on school field trips to those farms.

As previously mentioned, only about one percent of the food consumed in Austin is grown locally (City of Austin 2015). Urban farmers and their supporters argued that increasing the number of agricultural activities and farm events allowed in the city would help expand food access in Austin and improve the health and well-being of its citizens. In similar comments, activist Cynthia Greene admitted that gentrification is a problem for the East Side and its long-term residents. However, she differentiated the farms from other businesses generally associated with gentrification:

I don’t feel the urban farms are a part of that story. I just think the urban farms are for the people. They’re not the bars, the restaurants; they’re not like the ritzy cycling shops and the coffee shops and all of that stuff…the farms are providing food at the cost that they can for the labor they put into it and jobs for people who are helping them…

In all of these accounts, food production is being conflated with food access. The women suggest that, if urban farms and other forms of urban agriculture are supported, the consequences will be healthier food options for local residents (as well as more jobs and education opportunities for children). However, research suggests that the availability of healthy, local food does not necessarily lead to collective adoption of healthier diets and lifestyles, particularly in low-income Communities of Color (Allen and Hinrichs 2007; Angueovski 2015) and that it is unlikely that small urban farms are able to provide many jobs paying a living wage (Horst et al. 2017). Additionally, while some of the East Austin farms do allow school trips, only two of the four urban farms in East Austin (Boggy Creek Farm and Springdale Farm) have a farm stand on site to sell to the public. The remaining two farms sell directly to restaurants or through a CSA program, suggesting that local food access is not a major element of these farms.

Some of our participants did acknowledge that availability did not always lead to consumption. Claire Allison, an East Austin urban farmer, described the challenges she encounters trying to convince customers to buy her seasonal produce rather than what was available at local grocery stores. Claire explained,

…we have some Hispanic people that come [to our food stand], not a lot, but primarily a male will come and walk around and I’ll say, “What are you looking for?” and he’ll say, “Tomatoes” and I’ll say, “It’s January.” [He’ll reply] “They’re at HEB [a local grocery store]” and then he’ll say, “But they don’t taste very good” and I’ll say, “I know, the good ones you have to wait for.” [laughs] and stuff like that. And then in the winter, a Black lady will come in and she’ll kind of be wandering around and I’ll say, “The collards are there, the mustard greens are there, and there won’t be any okra till June.” And she goes, “Gah, that’s what I wanted!” [I’ll say] “I know you do!”

Later in her interview, when asked why more minorities did not visit her farm, she explained, “I’m thinking it’s a cultural thing because all their friends are [shopping at grocery stores]. Their friends aren’t here, their friends are there.”

In both her comments, Claire explicitly and implicitly aligns race with whether or not to buy from her farm stand. In the first excerpt, she gives the example of a Hispanic man and an African American woman who asks her for produce that is not in season. Her response to both of them is to educate them about the seasonality of different produce and explain the superiority of her local, seasonal food. Much like in Guthman’s (2008b) research of CSAs and farmers’ markets, one of the ways whiteness is present in the Alternative Food Movement is through the focus of whites as leaders and educators of minorities. Whiteness, in this case, does not refer only to the disproportionate number of white bodies but also to the dominance of white cultural practices, including those regarding food (Alkon and McCullen 2011). In her later comments, she explains East Side residents’ reluctance to buy from her farm stand as “cultural” because she sees the price of her high quality produce as a bargain compared to the unhealthy, processed foods available at grocery stores. In this context, “culture” serves as proxy for race and ethnicity, again positioning her as needing to convince East Side residents to see the error of their food ways. For these participants, barriers like income and cultural appropriateness are dismissed as problems with culture that can be changed through education and firsthand experience with “real” food. This position neglects issues of income, time (to shop and prepare food), and other barriers to healthy food that often go hand in hand with racial inequality.

Conclusion: Winners, Losers, and Addressing Color Blindness

After the three years of contentious debate over how best to rewrite the Austin urban farm code, the two largest changes were banning much of the small-scale animal processing and capping the number of large events on the residentially zoned farms. When we asked participants about which side they felt “won” the debate, both groups expressed unhappiness with the outcome and there was still bitterness on each side several months later. A number of the East Austin farmers and their supporters were still offended by what they believed to be personal accusations of racism, while activists and local residents felt the city council missed an opportunity to address the rising levels of gentrification and the impacts this has on Austin’s racial–ethnic minorities.

It is unfortunate that the rewriting process ended with so much continuing acrimony. In our discussions with farmers, three of them remarked that, if they had to do things over again, they would have reached out more to their neighbors in the early stages of their businesses to form better relationships. In the changing economic and racial–ethnic landscape of the East Side, both sides face pressure from increasing gentrification and rising property values that threaten long-term low-income residents and urban farmers. If such groups could find ways in the future to communicate and work together, both could benefit. Farmers could find new markets for their produce and East Austin residents could have greater access to fresh, culturally appropriate foods. Perhaps even more importantly, the two groups could join together and become a powerful coalition against the negative impacts of gentrification in their communities.

Reflecting on Bonilla-Silva’s (2013) color-blind frames, we see how color blindness was manifested throughout the debate. Farmers and their supporters attempted to move the discussion away from race by asserting the farm debate was just a matter of city governance and rules regarding their businesses without addressing the long, racialized history of Austin and its policies. They also sought to naturalize gentrification by describing it as just another mobility trend in the city; yet, on the other hand, farmers also turned the label of “gentrifier” back on the activists through citing early Swedish settlement in that area of Austin. Farmers and their supporters also tried to reframe the debate over urban farming to be less about race and gentrification than about access to fresh, healthy food, while describing their efforts to educate local residents about what their values should be. Throughout these discussions were attempts to minimize race claims and reduce racism to overtly hostile acts instead of acknowledging how local policies and interactions helped uphold white privilege. These attempts meant the linkages between racial disadvantage, public polices, and resulting gentrification were ignored.

While our research focuses on only one particular case study of how color blindness became manifested in city planning debates, we feel our findings provide greater evidence that color blindness, and the white habitus it supports, can be as detrimental to the lives of People of Color as outright racism. Color blindness, in fact, can be even more damaging in some respects as its insidiousness and acceptance by those in power means it could more easily make its way into policies and procedures that can further deleterious outcomes for racial–ethnic minorities, such as gentrification.

Further, these orientations have real ramifications for the effectiveness of the Alternative Food Movement. As Ramírez (2015) points out, color-blind racism allows race to be ignored in larger discussions of health, food access, and food justice. More so, positive associations with green space and community gardens can provide somewhat of a halo effect, leading outsiders (including policymakers) to assume a more progressive stance toward community diversity when these alternative food projects actually reinforce racial exclusion and even harm racial–ethnic communities by furthering gentrification through signaling to developers and potential residents that spaces are “safe” and providing amenities catering to white, middle and upper class tastes (Cadji and Alkon 2015; McClintock 2018).

There remains both empirical and applied work to be done in the area of color blindness, food, and gentrification. As Doane (2014) explains, analysis of color-blind racism approaches the concept as if it is one universal monolith when, in reality, it is constantly adapting, changing, and existing in contradictory frames. More research is needed to understand how these color blindness manifests at individual and institutional levels to shape social policies, particularly in the arena of food and gentrification. Future research should also aim to identify truly anti-racist practices within alternative food networks, perhaps in ways that food can be used to challenge color blindness.

As food is one of the most fundamental ways to form connections with others, there remains tremendous potential for groups to use food as a way to “break bread” and come together to discuss problems facing their city, including racism and gentrification. For food organizations, these groups can commit to diversifying alternative food leadership and membership through early outreach to communities, encouraging local leaders to get involved, identifying racial–ethnic minority members for boards and committees, and making a priority to seek out and listen to the voices of minority members and/or residents to ensure that all voices have room at the proverbial table.

Footnotes

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: The authors received grant funding from the Research Enhancement Program from Texas State University.

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