Navigating the Divide: Cooperation in the Age of Division

 

I’ve been a member of a co-op most of my adult life, and always admired successful co-ops who seemingly get “it right.” When I founded Forty Acre Co-op in 2020, I believed — perhaps naively — that the cooperative model would serve as an antidote to the isolation and exclusion I encountered as a Black woman farmer. Cooperatives are meant to exemplify shared power, mutual aid, and economic democracy. Yet, in this age characterized by fear — fear of difference, fear of loss, fear of change — cooperation itself has become a contested space, particularly for those of us who do not conform to traditional leadership molds.

The name I chose for this co-op is intentionally an ode to the promise of “Forty Acres and a Mule,” which emerged during the Civil War — a time when hope hung delicately in the air for countless formerly enslaved individuals. Special Field Order No. 15, issued by General William Sherman in January 1865, was a beacon of hope, offering freed families the opportunity to cultivate their own land and build a new life; a chance at agency and dignity that had been denied to them for generations.

Yet months after the first set of families began to settle on their land, the winds of political change swept through the nation — the land was taken back and the families were removed. This historical betrayal is not merely a dusty footnote in our past; it remains a poignant part of the collective memory that shapes our present-day reality.

My journey into cooperative advocacy has been born out of necessity. I grew up understanding that food and farming are not merely economic activities; they are the roots that anchor our communities. However, as a Black woman, I faced barriers at every turn: access to land, equipment, training. Fair markets were regulated by unspoken rules and gatekeepers who rarely looked like me. The cooperative model, with its promise of shared ownership and democratic control, appeared to be the ideal solution.

Convergence in Conflict

Despite challenges, Forty Acre Co-op has experienced growth, gaining 10, then 20, then 30 members — primarily newer women of color who have recently acquired farms. Today, our cooperative stands as the only vertically integrated Black-owned hemp company in the nation, having trained hundreds of new and aspiring farmers, many from historically excluded communities. We achieved this not by awaiting permission, but by insisting that our voices, our history, and our needs matter.

We developed a model wherein farmers are not merely producers but decision-makers. Our “Seed to Wellness Promise” is rooted in regenerative agriculture, fair pricing, and a commitment to healing both the land and the people who cultivate it. This requires more than farming resilience.

We’ve demonstrated that when marginalized communities define cooperation on our own terms, we can create something powerful and deeply hopeful. Unfortunately, we continue to grapple with a lack of resources and the difficulties of farming in unstable climate conditions amidst a legacy of systemic inequality.

Five years after founding the cooperative, I am reminded that true cooperation remains a radical act, especially in the agricultural sector.

For farmers of color, fear is palpable: fear of legal repercussions, exploitation, stigma, and losing the little we’ve gained. In the financial world, I constantly encounter obstacles of restrictive financial options that fail to align with our business needs, as well as extractive investors with ulterior motives. Within these spaces, my leadership is often met with suspicion or outright hostility.

Yet, like a true-to-heart farmer, I persist. To do otherwise would be to allow fear to triumph — to surrender our future to others. For me, cooperation transcends an economic model; it is an act of resistance. It embodies a refusal to be silenced, a commitment to collective empowerment, and a belief that another way is possible. I recognize I must remain flexible and patient to sustain this vision, meaning that the co-op must adapt, find new partnerships, and discern when to part ways with others.

We are expanding our reach to other BIPOC farmer groups to multiply our impact. We have merged programs with the Minnesota Black Farmers Association and collaborated on resource management for our members. We are working with Indigenous farmers to develop tribal co-op ventures, such as the Indigenous Hemp Farmers Cooperative, and partnering with tribal elders to create what will be the state’s first Black-Indigenous woman-owned cannabis venture.

Reclaiming the Cooperative Model

I do not wish to romanticize the struggle. Gaining the trust of marginalized communities in the cooperative model is challenging, messy, and slow. However, I remain critically hopeful. I have witnessed the transformation that occurs when we reclaim cooperation, asserting our right to define it for ourselves. I have seen farmers, once isolated and afraid, evolve into leaders and mentors. I have witnessed land restored, families healed, and possibilities expanded.

In this age of fear, cooperation is more necessary — and more revolutionary — than ever. My hope is that we continue to build cooperatives that are authentically by us and for us, spaces where everyone can thrive, not merely survive. This is the future I am striving toward, one seed and one act of courage at a time.

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