Esquisa Omaña: ‘Agroecology Is the Alternative to the Climate and Civilization Collapse’

Esquisa Omaña is a Venezuelan biologist and ecologist, a researcher at the Transdisciplinary Ecology for Human Wellbeing Laboratory at the Venezuelan Institute for Scientific Research (IVIC) and a doctoral candidate in Agrarian Social Studies at the University of Córdoba (Argentina). She is a long-time activist in movements including the GMO-Free Venezuela Campaign and the Pueblo a Pueblo Plan.

In the first part of this interview, Omaña discussed Venezuela’s Seed Law and the challenges surrounding genetically modified organisms (GMO). In this second installment, she talks about the Venezuelan conuco, agroecology and collective answers to counter agribusiness interests in the face of climate change.

Let’s talk about the concepts and adjectives tagged onto agriculture and food production. In recent times, Venezuelan government officials have talked about agroecology, regenerative agriculture, organic agriculture, sometimes indistinguishably. What are the main differences?

I believe, thinking about how Chávez would phrase it, that it’s “agroecology or nothing.” Because it’s not just about finding technological solutions but building a political project that includes the exchange of knowledge, of wisdom and subjectivities. Agroecology is a project to structurally transform the countryside in the modern context but rescuing our practices, our roots and our seeds.

I don’t think Chávez ever talked much about agroecology using the term specifically; this debate was not as relevant at the time. But he did bring it up as a concept, but he declared that Venezuela should be a GMO-free territory in 2004. That is also the time when the alliance with Brazil’s MST began in a clear sign favoring agroecology.

By now, we are fully aware that it is local, campesino agriculture with Indigenous or Afro-descendant roots that is truly resilient against the climate and civilization collapse. Agroecology is the alternative to the collapse, with technologies built on knowledge from the past in order to envision the future. The future is only possible with respect and recognition for our past.

In Venezuela, the conuco is a practice of ancestral Indigenous or Afro-descendant agriculture; it is a territory for the reproduction of life. Not just human life through healthy food, but in harmony with nature, to produce forests, for example. We see them as spaces of dialogue between ecosystems, and those are the roots of agroecology.

The danger of the new vocabulary that emerges in international settings is that it stems from green capitalism. There’s the example of “climate-smart agriculture,” presented as an alternative to adapt and mitigate climate change. It proposes technological solutions that reduce the use of chemicals or the emission of greenhouse gases.

They are solutions built on modern biotechnology, just like GMOs. Regenerative agriculture, centered on regenerating soils, is along the same lines, and it has become more prevalent in our country as an alternative for soil treatment. But if we take a closer look, the ones who benefit from these tech processes are the same countryside agribusiness and corporate interests, only now with a green costume. Agribusiness has identified the need to produce bioinputs and improve soil quality, so it orients part of its investments in this direction. But it has no transformative potential in political, economic, or social terms.

As for organic food, it means that it goes through a certification process, so it is a marketing ploy, a business more than anything else. Products become much more expensive by having this seal.

Should we understand this trend as agribusinesses’ reaction to the exhaustion of their existing model?

Absolutely, think about what I was mentioning about the destruction of soils. This means that the hegemonic model is becoming ever less viable, because nature is “running out.” Corporations have already squeezed out all the surplus value. The idea of a “cheap” nature is vanishing as there is less water, soils get less fertile, etc., and so capitalism seeks alternatives.

But corporate interests often get concealed in these debates. We propose that, instead of climate-smart agriculture, we should talk about climate-resilient agriculture. How do we build resiliency? First of all by reducing vulnerability, which implies a deep economic process.

We’re already living the climate collapse, the ocean is super hot, and this is only going to get worse. We’re no longer before a climate crisis; this is a collapse, we’re already at the point of no return. So with that in mind, how do we organize to face this new reality? Proposals hinging solely on technology, like regenerative agriculture, are not revolutionary. They are merely agribusiness with a new presentation and entail no real transformation.

Just like the hybrids and GMOs before, they are nothing more than technological advances at the service of capital.

When you mention reducing vulnerability, the recent floods in Venezuela immediately come to mind. How is the climate picture in the Global South right now?

There are some absolutely frightening figures on this matter. For instance, if we talk about mortality, the chances of being affected and dying due to climate change consequences are 15 times higher in countries classified as “vulnerable,” which is the great majority in the Global South. This data comes from research by Joern Birkmann in an article titled “Poverty, Livelihoods and Sustainable Development.”

There are 3.3 billion people in high vulnerability countries and another 1.8 billion in low vulnerability ones. And there are estimates that the former might double by 2050.

Multilateral panels on climate change talk about adjusting or adapting, but there are different kinds of adaptation. One is via new technology, which is where this idea of climate-smart agriculture comes in. There are other, more local solutions, like moving farm animals from one area to another, producing risk maps, and growing crops in lower-risk areas, but adaptations do not necessarily reduce vulnerability. Then you have transformative adaptations, which are deeper and that is where agroecology comes in. 

Agroecology is a proposal to join knowledge, to bring together local possibilities. If we ask ourselves, “How do we organize?” in the face of the climate collapse and all these challenges, it is clear that local experiences are more important than ever.

As far as I understand, your doctoral research is precisely centered on local processes and the conuco in Venezuela. Can you tell us a bit about that?

Yes. My research was focused on three communities. The first one was Kavanayén, a Pemón community in the Gran Sabana, Bolívar state. This has historically been a strategic location, close to the heart of mining activities on the Caroní river basin. I also visited Peña Larga, in Barinas state, and Cuyagua, in Aragua state.

Altogether, this combination presents a dialogue between Indigenous (Pemón), Afro-Venezuelan and a third that we could call criolla, though it also carries a lot of indigenous and Afro influence.

In the research, we portray the conuco as Venezuela’s original form of agroecology, as a way to sow in harmony with ecosystems. This is not exclusive to Venezuela. It was developed all across the continent, only with different names. The conuco, or more broadly the experiences I visited, are also traversed by modernity, one way or another. However, these are spaces that safeguard their knowledge systems.

For example, the idea of a rotational agriculture, in different phases. It starts with short-cycle crops, then longer ones, then trees, and eventually we have a forest. After that, the land is left untouched for a few years in a fallow period, before starting over. This entails a soil regeneration process.

In Barinas I saw gorgeous conucos. The people also raised farm animals and used manure to improve the soils. We cannot say that there is a single type of conuco in Venezuela, rather there are different profiles. It varies according to organizational models, geo-cultural history, as well as the gastronomical culture of each location.

Another important feature is pedagogy, how children are raised and how traditions are passed on. And each experience has its own culture and mística, with songs and other rituals. It is not a merely productive vision.

Often times the conuco gets portrayed as an individual, subsistence agriculture solution. But not everyone can have their conuco, so how does it translate to a larger food-producing scale?

Obviously, to feed cities, we need food production on a major scale. The example of Pueblo a Pueblo is relevant here, with the idea of rotating crops in accordance with the season being one of its principles. That in itself already means a different approach to the soils. It is not necessarily a conuco, but certain principles remain.

Even with monoculture, it can be thought of in a better way, with bioinputs. But for me, the main point is that the conuco is not merely a productive model. It goes beyond growing food. It’s about producing and reproducing community, community ties and processes. The reproduction of life, in short.

So the question becomes: what can we rescue for agriculture on a bigger scale? For starters, this rotating principle of alternating crops. Another one is the diversity of production, in a planned fashion, which helps fight off pests naturally. And of course, the communal and social process that surrounds production.

You brought up the example of Pueblo a Pueblo. What are some of the main ideas it has implemented?

I believe the Pueblo a Pueblo Plan is a reference on how to organize production. It is a process that is planned all across the productive chain, with a conscious consumption built on planned production. If it is chayote or eggplant season, we ought to learn how to cook it, which in turn makes us realize the need to address and discuss consumption patterns.

There is a collective spirit that needs to be transversal. So it’s not about building a giant conuco. If we want to have an extensive production of plantains, using lots of urea is not the only alternative. We can sow cocoa or pumpkins nearby and that boosts the soil. So we are talking about conuco or agroecology principles that are independent of scale.

The case of Pueblo a Pueblo can be seen as a basis for transformation, bringing together more and more cells to envision a national policy from the grassroots. Furthermore, their approach is always very pedagogical. And there are plenty of other experiences to be found, like the ones I was mentioning before. The challenge is to identify them and start building ties.

We have talked about soils, climate resilience, and healthy food production. But if we zoom in on a small-scale campesino, how can we get them to change their production methods when the focus is on surviving amidst all the existing pressures?

Obviously we cannot expect producers to spontaneously move over to agroecology because that is what the planet demands. That is where a proposal like Pueblo a Pueblo comes in, to organize at the grassroots level and produce based on what we need. Conceiving of food as a right and not as a commodity.

And when we talk about the transition to agroecology, it is clear that it has to be subsidized. Otherwise, it can’t get off the ground. The production of seeds needs a subsidy, because campesinos have to sow and not sell, but rather wait until the crops produce seeds. In order for them to be able to wait, the process has to be subsidized. But there needs to be a policy.

There’s a “devil’s advocate” counterpoint, which is that in this context of a besieged country, a blind eye should be turned to issues like GMOs in the pragmatic search for producing as much food as possible. How do you respond to that?

This is a common argument, that we are defending a “hippie” and unreasonable stance, and that only agribusiness can provide answers at the big-picture scale. But the data tells a different story. If we talk about Pueblo a Pueblo, by organizing some 450 campesino families, it distributes around 100 tons of food every month directly to schools.

We see that production is not the problem. The problem are trade channels, the hijacking of distribution to convert food into a commodity. That is what needs to be transformed, so we can have seeds and consume products that are healthy, that are not at the service of corporations and subject to market whims.

If in this context of economic struggles we don’t fight for an alternative model, this will just mean that the interests of the market, of landowners, of intermediaries, etc, end up imposing themselves. We have to learn from projects like Pueblo a Pueblo to build hope with local experiences, creating collective responses that we can weave together to get to bigger and bigger scales.