- Author: Julienne Cancio
Saoimanu "Saoi" Sope, UC Agriculture and Natural Resources digital communications specialist, was born on Aunu'u, an island in American Samoa, but raised in Southern California. She attended UC Santa Cruz for her undergraduate degree in film and digital media. While in the program, she felt lost compared to her peers.
“I didn't know what type of stories I wanted to tell through film, especially compared to my other classmates,” Sope said. “For a lot of them, it seemed like they had been planning on being filmmakers their entire life. This major was my backup plan.”
To gain more perspective, she took on a second major in community studies, a unique and interdisciplinary field that prepares students to apply the lessons they learn in the classroom to the real world, through a six-month field study.
Sope completed her field study at the RYSE Youth Center in Richmond, teaching Black and Brown youth how film can be used as a tool to navigate their trauma. Through this experience, Sope learned about public health, which she pursued in her master's program at Columbia University's Mailman School of Public Health.
In 2018, Sope learned about UC ANR as an employee of Driscoll's. Her boss at the time coordinated a field trip to the UC ANR office in Davis to learn more about successful agriculture communications. Four years later, in June 2022, Sope joined the Strategic Communications team.
“It was a full-circle moment,” she said. “When UC ANR posted the job description for the role I have now, I saw it and applied like anyone else. Luckily, I got an interview and now I'm here.”
When talking about her interactions with Southern California researchers and staff as a digital communications specialist, Sope attributes much of her success to her culture and upbringing. “I think one of my superpowers is that I can work with people in a way that makes them feel valued and seen and heard,” she explained.
She talked about her Samoan background, one that emphasizes the importance of hospitality. Known as the “happy people of the Pacific,” Samoans are very big on caring for and hosting others, Sope said. “How we treat others reflects our value of community,” she explained.
Sope brings this into the room with the people she is interviewing and to the impactful stories she is writing. She makes it known to her interviewees that their time is valuable and their story is worth reading.
As she grows older, Sope said, she realizes how much of her culture has influenced her work ethic. She appreciates that May is Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) Heritage Month, an opportunity to celebrate and bring recognition to the beautiful and diverse cultures of marginalized communities in the U.S.
Although AAPI communities are clumped into one phrase, it is important to remember that there are many diverse groups of people within this term that are often overlooked, such as Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders.
When speaking about her Polynesian culture, the saying “it takes a village to raise a child” really speaks to Sope. In Samoan culture, it is common for parents to give legal guardianship of their child to other family members. In the U.S., this is formally known as adoption. This is the case for Sope; she was “gifted” to her adoptive mom by her birth mom.
“But one thing that's really beautiful about the Samoan culture is that we always know where we come from,” she said. “We know who our birth parents are…it's not a secret, and it's not shameful.”
Overall, Sope is most proud of coming from a culture that places such a high value on community. This can be seen through her influential writing, bringing awareness and attention to UC ANR staff and researchers who make great contributions to the academic world and the greater SoCal communities.
In conveying their stories, Sope said she hopes they realize and reflect on their potential and the importance of their own work.
- Author: Saoimanu Sope
Max Fairbee spent his high school years moving around Southern California to cities like Covina, La Verne, Pomona and Apple Valley, hoping that his mother would find stability in the next place they'd call “home.” After attending five different high schools, Fairbee decided to take the California High School Proficiency Exam and earned his diploma that way.
Eventually, he accepted a job at Tower Records in West Covina, working there for six years. “Until my current job, Tower Records was the longest position at a single company I ever held,” said Fairbee. “That's where I began to discover myself and understand diversity and acceptance.”
Fairbee loved the arts and wanted to find a career where he could utilize creativity and share his appreciation of the arts. Attending Orange Coast College and Platt College, he spent time learning typography, photography, fine art and graphic art.
Unsure of what he wanted to do next and struggling to secure employment as a graphic artist, Fairbee took a job at the North Coast Co-Op, a natural foods grocery store in Eureka, after moving to Humboldt County in 2009. Fairbee worked at the co-op for over three years and while he worked in various positions, his most valuable role was conducting food demonstrations.
“My inclination for community service started in that food co-op,” said Fairbee. “I learned about where food comes from, what goes into your food, food sustainability, and all of the lights in my head went off.”
Fairbee began working as a mental health technician, teaching life skills to adults with different levels of learning abilities. “I was teaching them how to do things, like, managing medication and doing laundry,” Fairbee said. “At the same time, I was developing their appreciation for art and music by hosting workshops.”
Teaching becomes a path forward
Channeling his appreciation for healthy living and love for teaching, Fairbee now works in Alameda County, developing and delivering nutrition education classes for older adults, almost half from the Chinese and Vietnamese communities in Oakland and the surrounding area. He teaches them ways to achieve and sustain healthy lifestyles through the Eat Healthy Be Active Community Workshops.
The lessons are centered on understanding what is healthy and why. One of the skills Fairbee teaches his students is how to read a nutrition facts label. At some sites, he also incorporates gardening education using edible plants.
“I told myself that I would never take a job where I didn't go home and like to talk about my work,” Fairbee said.
Naturally, Fairbee went on to describe how proud he feels about his work with older adults in the Bay Area. In mid-April, Fairbee celebrated his recent class of graduates who are all over the age of 60. Students were highly engaged in the lessons about healthy living and Fairbee had 23 students complete the course.
“There's a lot of language barriers, so, I rely on interpreters a lot,” Fairbee explained. “You would think that after six weeks, and with a language barrier you'd have fewer students complete a course like this. But no, not my students.”
Remaining physically active is a recurring topic and activity throughout the six-week course, according to Fairbee, who noticed an association between physical activity and happiness.
“I had a 98-year-old student who invited me to her birthday party at the Oakland Zoo one time,” Fairbee recalled. “Apparently she did that every year and she invited all her friends.”
Community service is ‘paying it forward'
Fairbee said that the friendships he has cultivated over the years have played a significant role in his desire to give back. Born in Indiana, Fairbee said that growing up, he always knew he needed to come to California.
“I watched a lot of Brady Brunch growing up. For some reason, they had this perfect life and I wanted that,” he said. Eventually, Fairbee's parents divorced, and his mother moved to Southern California and took him with her when he was 13.
“When my mom brought me to California, she saved my life,” said Fairbee.
He didn't know why, but he knew that he couldn't stay in that Indiana community. Perhaps it was the blatant racism or xenophobia that he observed within his own family or others. Either way, Fairbee was adamant about moving westward.
“I'm very different from my family,” said Fairbee. “For one, I'm gay. But also, we just have different beliefs in how to treat people,” he explained.
Fairbee said that the people who made his life in California full of “magical moments” were friends and their families. He remembered celebrating Thanksgiving with a friend, and how much more fun and special it was compared to the holiday spent with his own family.
“Over the years, I noticed that since I moved to California in the '80s, important holidays and celebrations were made special because of my friends,” he said.
The opportunity to spread love and kindness is what keeps Fairbee motivated. “Community service comes from the kindness of others. That's what my friends did for me and the work I do now is my way of paying it forward,” he said.
Fairbee says that he cannot describe the feeling of community service, but that when you have done it once or twice, there's no greater reward.
“There's like a million thank you's and at the end of the day, you feel full. And not from food, but of love,” he said. “Honestly, I'll be doing this work until I retire. I can't see myself going anywhere else now.”
- Author: Mike Hsu
When agricultural advisors came to the Cochiti Pueblo in New Mexico during the 1940s, they lined the irrigation ditches with concrete, in the name of boosting efficiency and productivity. But in single-mindedly focusing on water delivery, they neglected to consider how the previously inefficient seepage sustained nearby fruit trees.
Their actions, as well-intentioned as they might have been, disrupted the local ecosystem and killed the trees that had fed many generations, according to A-dae Romero-Briones, who identifies as Cochiti and as a member of the Kiowa Tribe.
“In my language, we call the extension agents ‘the people who kill the fruit trees,'” said Romero-Briones, director of the Food and Agriculture Program for the First Nations Development Institute, a nonprofit that serves Tribal communities across the mainland, Alaska and Hawaii.
The historically tense relationship between Indigenous peoples and government-affiliated programs is one of the many complex dynamics discussed in a six-part webinar series, “Racial Equity in Extension,” facilitated by UC Sustainable Agriculture Research and Education Program.
Making communities of color in the agricultural sector more visible is a priority for Victor Hernandez, a sociologist and outreach coordinator for the USDA's Natural Resources Conservation Service. Hernandez, who has organized “Growing Together” conferences for Latino and Black farmers, is trying to get more farmers of color to participate in the upcoming 2022 Agricultural Census.
“If we cannot quantify the demographic, we cannot justify the need,” emphasized Hernandez, explaining that his office uses the data to direct resources that advance equity in service, program delivery and distribution of funds.
A legacy of mistrust
At the same time, however, Hernandez also acknowledged the challenges in registering growers of color for the census, conducted by the USDA's National Agricultural Statistics Service. (According to Brodt, USDA's most recent agricultural census, dating to 2017, counts approximately 25,000 producers of color among 128,535 total producers in California.)
“Many of us that are considered socially disadvantaged or historically underserved…a lot of times our peoples come from [nations with] oppressive governments,” Hernandez said. “And so when you come to the United States and you begin to build your life here, to go and engage with the federal government is not the first knee-jerk reaction.”
On top of government mistrust and fears of deportation or detention, other immigrant groups have seen mainstream agriculture – borne by the “Green Revolution” wave across the globe – replace deep-rooted cultural practices, said Kristyn Leach of Namu Farm in Winters.
“It just makes these small farmers distrust our own knowledge, the knowledge that's existed for centuries – before the kind of current iteration of agriculture that we're situated within right now,” said Leach, who works to preserve the agricultural heritage of her Korean ancestors, and facilitates a farmers' collaborative called Second Generation that adapts Asian crop varieties to climate change.
According to Romero-Briones, a collective memory of supplanted culture also lingers in Indigenous communities. In the Cochiti Pueblo, “primarily a subsistence agriculture community” with a long history of corn cultivation, their practices are distinct from those in the mainstream – including regenerative and sustainable agriculture.
Building relationships takes commitment
Given that legacy of cultural displacement and appropriation, how do extension professionals and other agricultural advisors slowly rebuild trust with communities of color? For Romero-Briones, it begins with a genuine respect for Indigenous practices, and she urges interested people to contact their local tribal historic preservation officer to begin strengthening those connections and understanding – beyond a couple of phone calls.
“As someone who works with Indigenous people all day, even I need to recognize sometimes I have to meet with people up to 12 times before we actually start talking about the work that I initially wanted to talk to them about,” Romero-Briones said.
In a similar vein, Chanowk Yisrael, chief seed starter of Yisrael Family Farms, encouraged listeners to reach out to members of the California Farmer Justice Collaborative – an organization striving for a fair food system while challenging racism and centering farmers of color.
“To use a farm analogy: we've got this ground, which is the farmers of color who have been neglected for a long period of time,” said Yisrael, who has grown his farm in a historically Black neighborhood of Sacramento into a catalyst for social change. “It's not just going to be as simple as just throwing some seeds and things are going to come up; you're going to have to do more – that means you got to get out and do much more than you would do for any other community.”
Investing time in a community is one thing – and backing it up with tangible resources is another. Technical expertise is only the “tip of the iceberg,” Leach said, as historically marginalized groups are also seeking land access and tenure, more affordable cost of living, and access to capital.
“All of those things are actually much bigger burdens to bear for most communities of color than not having the knowledge of how to grow the crops that we want to grow, and not knowing how to be adaptive and nimble in the face of climate change," Leach explained, highlighting California FarmLink as an essential resource. (“Understanding Disparities in Farmland Ownership” is the next webinar in the SAREP series, set for Nov. 19.)
Bringing diverse voices to the table
Another key is ensuring that farmers and farm workers of color are represented in management and decision-making processes. Samuel Sandoval, a professor in the Department of Land, Air and Water Resources and UC Cooperative Extension specialist in water management, develops outreach programs in English and Spanish for everyone from farm workers to the “boss of the boss of the boss.”
“It has to be changed,” he said, “because at the end, the person who is going to operate the irrigation system and turn on or off the valves, the person who is looking if there's a leak or not – that's the person who's not being informed, or has not been informed on purpose.”
That exclusion of certain groups can lead to a loss of invaluable knowledge. Leach said there is a real danger in ignoring the wisdom of communities that have contributed so much to the foundation of food systems in California and around the globe.
“These really kind of amazing, sophisticated and elegant agroecological systems that we don't often legitimize through the scientific language and perspectives aren't seen as being really technically proficient – but, in many ways, they're more dynamic and more resilient than the things that we're perpetuating right now,” she said.
As a concrete example, Sandoval said that while extension advisors and specialists conduct studies to remedy a plant disease, farm workers might be developing – separately and in parallel – their own solutions by asking for advice from their social networks via WhatsApp, a phone application.
A reimagining of collaboration, Sandoval said, would include (and compensate) people working in the field for sharing their perspectives – bringing together academics and farmers, integrated pest management experts and pesticide applicators, irrigation specialists and those who do the irrigation.
A need to look within
Concerns about inclusion and validating alternate sources of knowledge apply also to the recruitment process in extension. Leach said that she has seen listings for advisor jobs that would require, at a minimum, a master's degree – which would automatically disqualify her, despite her extensive knowledge of Asian heirloom vegetables.
“When you look at a job description and you see ‘Asian crop specialist,' only required qualification is a master's degree, and then somewhere down the long list of sort of secondary desired, recommended things is some knowledge of Asian crops or communities…you know that just says a lot in terms of what has weight,” Leach explained.
Before organizations can authentically connect with communities of color, they should prioritize diversity in their own ranks, said Romero-Briones. First Nations Development Institute had to ensure that they had adequate representation across the many Tribes that they serve.
“Before we start looking out, we have to start looking in,” she explained, “and that means we have to hire Indigenous people who know these communities.”
For extension professionals and other members of the agricultural community in California, the UC SAREP webinar series has helped spark that introspection and a meaningful reevaluation of institutional processes and assumptions.
“These discussions have been tremendously illuminating and eye-opening,” Brodt said. “But hearing and learning is just the start – it's incumbent on us, as an organization and as individuals, to take action to ensure that farmers of color and their foodways are truly respected and valued.”
/h2>/h2>/h2>/h2>- Author: Mike Hsu
When agricultural advisors came to the Cochiti Pueblo in New Mexico during the 1940s, they lined the irrigation ditches with concrete, in the name of boosting efficiency and productivity. But in single-mindedly focusing on water delivery, they neglected to consider how the previously inefficient seepage sustained nearby fruit trees.
Their actions, as well-intentioned as they might have been, disrupted the local ecosystem and killed the trees that had fed many generations, according to A-dae Romero-Briones, who identifies as Cochiti and as a member of the Kiowa Tribe.
“In my language, we call the extension agents ‘the people who kill the fruit trees,'” said Romero-Briones, director of the Food and Agriculture Program for the First Nations Development Institute, a nonprofit that serves Tribal communities across the mainland, Alaska and Hawaii.
The historically tense relationship between Indigenous peoples and government-affiliated programs is one of the many complex dynamics discussed in a six-part webinar series, “Racial Equity in Extension,” facilitated by UC Sustainable Agriculture Research and Education Program.
Making communities of color in the agricultural sector more visible is a priority for Victor Hernandez, a sociologist and outreach coordinator for the USDA's Natural Resources Conservation Service. Hernandez, who has organized “Growing Together” conferences for Latino and Black farmers, is trying to get more farmers of color to participate in the upcoming 2022 Agricultural Census.
“If we cannot quantify the demographic, we cannot justify the need,” emphasized Hernandez, explaining that his office uses the data to direct resources that advance equity in service, program delivery and distribution of funds.
A legacy of mistrust
At the same time, however, Hernandez also acknowledged the challenges in registering growers of color for the census, conducted by the USDA's National Agricultural Statistics Service. (According to Brodt, USDA's most recent agricultural census, dating to 2017, counts approximately 25,000 producers of color among 128,535 total producers in California.)
“Many of us that are considered socially disadvantaged or historically underserved…a lot of times our peoples come from [nations with] oppressive governments,” Hernandez said. “And so when you come to the United States and you begin to build your life here, to go and engage with the federal government is not the first knee-jerk reaction.”
On top of government mistrust and fears of deportation or detention, other immigrant groups have seen mainstream agriculture – borne by the “Green Revolution” wave across the globe – replace deep-rooted cultural practices, said Kristyn Leach of Namu Farm in Winters.
“It just makes these small farmers distrust our own knowledge, the knowledge that's existed for centuries – before the kind of current iteration of agriculture that we're situated within right now,” said Leach, who works to preserve the agricultural heritage of her Korean ancestors, and facilitates a farmers' collaborative called Second Generation that adapts Asian crop varieties to climate change.
According to Romero-Briones, a collective memory of supplanted culture also lingers in Indigenous communities. In the Cochiti Pueblo, “primarily a subsistence agriculture community” with a long history of corn cultivation, their practices are distinct from those in the mainstream – including regenerative and sustainable agriculture.
Building relationships takes commitment
Given that legacy of cultural displacement and appropriation, how do extension professionals and other agricultural advisors slowly rebuild trust with communities of color? For Romero-Briones, it begins with a genuine respect for Indigenous practices, and she urges interested people to contact their local tribal historic preservation officer to begin strengthening those connections and understanding – beyond a couple of phone calls.
“As someone who works with Indigenous people all day, even I need to recognize sometimes I have to meet with people up to 12 times before we actually start talking about the work that I initially wanted to talk to them about,” Romero-Briones said.
In a similar vein, Chanowk Yisrael, chief seed starter of Yisrael Family Farms, encouraged listeners to reach out to members of the California Farmer Justice Collaborative – an organization striving for a fair food system while challenging racism and centering farmers of color.
“To use a farm analogy: we've got this ground, which is the farmers of color who have been neglected for a long period of time,” said Yisrael, who has grown his farm in a historically Black neighborhood of Sacramento into a catalyst for social change. “It's not just going to be as simple as just throwing some seeds and things are going to come up; you're going to have to do more – that means you got to get out and do much more than you would do for any other community.”
Investing time in a community is one thing – and backing it up with tangible resources is another. Technical expertise is only the “tip of the iceberg,” Leach said, as historically marginalized groups are also seeking land access and tenure, more affordable cost of living, and access to capital.
“All of those things are actually much bigger burdens to bear for most communities of color than not having the knowledge of how to grow the crops that we want to grow, and not knowing how to be adaptive and nimble in the face of climate change," Leach explained, highlighting California FarmLink as an essential resource. (The “Understanding Disparities in Farmland Ownership” webinar includes a relevant discussion on this subject.)
Bringing diverse voices to the table
Another key is ensuring that farmers and farm workers of color are represented in management and decision-making processes. Samuel Sandoval, a professor in the UC Davis Department of Land, Air and Water Resources and UC Cooperative Extension specialist in water management, develops outreach programs in English and Spanish for everyone from farm workers to the “boss of the boss of the boss.”
“It has to be changed,” he said, “because at the end, the person who is going to operate the irrigation system and turn on or off the valves, the person who is looking if there's a leak or not – that's the person who's not being informed, or has not been informed on purpose.”
That exclusion of certain groups can lead to a loss of invaluable knowledge. Leach said there is a real danger in ignoring the wisdom of communities that have contributed so much to the foundation of food systems in California and around the globe.
“These really kind of amazing, sophisticated and elegant agroecological systems that we don't often legitimize through the scientific language and perspectives aren't seen as being really technically proficient – but, in many ways, they're more dynamic and more resilient than the things that we're perpetuating right now,” she said.
As a concrete example, Sandoval said that while extension advisors and specialists conduct studies to remedy a plant disease, farm workers might be developing – separately and in parallel – their own solutions by asking for advice from their social networks via WhatsApp, a phone application.
A reimagining of collaboration, Sandoval said, would include (and compensate) people working in the field for sharing their perspectives – bringing together academics and farmers, integrated pest management experts and pesticide applicators, irrigation specialists and those who do the irrigation.
A need to look within
Concerns about inclusion and validating alternate sources of knowledge apply also to the recruitment process in extension. Leach said that she has seen listings for advisor jobs that would require, at a minimum, a master's degree – which would automatically disqualify her, despite her extensive knowledge of Asian heirloom vegetables.
“When you look at a job description and you see ‘Asian crop specialist,' only required qualification is a master's degree, and then somewhere down the long list of sort of secondary desired, recommended things is some knowledge of Asian crops or communities…you know that just says a lot in terms of what has weight,” Leach explained.
Before organizations can authentically connect with communities of color, they should prioritize diversity in their own ranks, said Romero-Briones. First Nations Development Institute had to ensure that they had adequate representation across the many Tribes that they serve.
“Before we start looking out, we have to start looking in,” she explained, “and that means we have to hire Indigenous people who know these communities.”
For extension professionals and other members of the agricultural community in California, the UC SAREP webinar series has helped spark that introspection and a meaningful reevaluation of institutional processes and assumptions.
“These discussions have been tremendously illuminating and eye-opening,” Brodt said. “But hearing and learning is just the start – it's incumbent on us, as an organization and as individuals, to take action to ensure that farmers of color and their foodways are truly respected and valued.”
The “Racial Equity in Extension” series is made possible by professional development funds from Western Sustainable Agricultural Research and Education.
/h2>/h2>/h2>/h2>- Author: Karey Windbiel-Rojas
First thing first: "murder" hornets, or more correctly, the Asian giant hornet, have NOT been found in California.
The term murder hornet is also not quite accurate. It attacks honey bees, which isn't desirable of course, but the important thing to note that this insect's purpose is not to murder humans. Right now in California, we are keeping an eye out for this insect so there is no need to worry, yet.
The news and social media have been filled with stories about the Asian giant hornet (AGH) but here are some facts from credible sources:
- Asian giant hornet (Vespa mandarinia) is the world's largest species of hornet, measuring between 1.5-2 inches.
- The stinger of AGH is longer than that of a honey bee and AGH venom is more toxic.
- Unlike honey bees, the AGH can sting repeatedly without dying.
- They attack and destroy honey bee hives and kill bees by decapitating them. A few hornets can destroy a hive in just a few hours. They take the honey bee brood to feed their own young.
- AGH attack other insects but are not known to destroy entire populations of those insects.
- They do not generally attack people or pets, but can attack when threatened.
- Asian giant hornets can be confused with other insects so proper identification is important.
For more information about the Asian giant hornet, see this resources:
- Washington State Department of Agriculture: https://agr.wa.gov/departments/insects-pests-and-weeds/insects/hornets
- UC Davis Entomology and Nematology blog: https://ucanr.edu/blogs/blogcore/postdetail.cfm?postnum=41390
- Side-by-side comparison of AGH with other wasps, bees, and similar insects from North Carolina State University: https://entomology.ces.ncsu.edu/murder-hornet-comparison/
If the AGH becomes established, this hornet will have negative impacts on the environment, economy, and public health. We will keep you informed about any credible findings of this insect in California.