Thankfully, a few other citizens are called to testify before me, so I get to see the routine. Take your place at the desk facing the lineup of the committee members, hand over the stack of paper to an aide, read your statement into the microphone, and then answer questions. I’m scrolling through Ron’s words on my phone, wondering if I can say them aloud without throwing up, when the guy next to me points at the name on the lanyard around my neck. “I think they’re talking to you.”
Blinking, I take the stand. Words march across the screen and out of my mouth into the microphone. Words that belie everything I learned in school. Words that don’t even make logical sense. When I want to scream that it’s all lies, I remind myself of how proud my grandfather was when I told him about landing this job. He actually patted me on the back, saying that he knew his investment in me would pay off. “Maybe you’ll use that big brain of yours to invent a soybean that’ll make me rich.”
So I keep reading. “The Seed Trade Association would like to remind the assembly that unregulated seed distribution is a potential threat to our state’s–even our country’s–food system. Without regulation, including state-monitored testing, there’s nothing to stop bad actors from infiltrating these groups and introducing contaminants into the food supply.”
Before I can continue, one of the representatives asks, “Let me make sure I’m getting this right, Mr. Lansdowne. Are you saying that there’s a threat of some sort of agroterrorism?”
I’m so shocked at the word that I don’t bother correcting him about my name. Looking at my notes, I continue reading. “Uh, what I’m saying is laws governing the distribution of seeds, like any truth in labeling laws, protect the livelihoods of farmers who need to be able to trust the quality of the seeds they’re working with and prevent unfair competition between seed purveyors.”
A different representative calls for the floor. “Does the Seed Trade Association believe that seed libraries and seed banks are essentially and legally analogous to seed companies like Congento?”
The chair, thankfully, interrupts me. “He’s not here to testify on that subject, Assembly Member Tanner. He’s here to talk about the potential dangers associated with lack of regulation or testing of seeds.”
Just when I think I’m off the hook, another representative is called on. “Would you say, Mr. Lansdowne, that libraries sharing seeds–this agroterrorist scenario–makes our food system vulnerable?” Pulling her microphone closer to her mouth, she adds, “The way we need to control the pornography librarians are selling to our vulnerable children?”
My sister Colleen would kill me if she heard this.
When they run out of follow-up questions, I’m relieved to be dismissed, hoping I did enough to keep my job without completely selling my soul. If you’re going to sacrifice your integrity on the altar of Big Agro, it’d better be worth it.
I gather my things and stumble back to the general seating of the hearing room, wondering how long I have to stick around. Just as I drop into my seat, a familiar voice echoes through the room.
“On behalf of the Hudson Valley Seed Alliance, I thank the chair and committee for inviting me to testify today with my concerns regarding State Bill 345.”
What the actual fuck? The woman who, just hours ago, called out my name in passion is now speaking into the microphone. Just when I hope I’m hallucinating, Diane finds my face in the crowd and sends me a look that guts me. I may not be great at reading people, but that lip curl combined with a slow shake of the head clearly communicates what I deserve: her disgust.
I drop into the nearest seat, heart in my throat, and watch as she turns back to the assembly, straightens the stack of notes in front of her, and then testifies without even glancing at them, as ardent on the stand as she was in my bed. “The only entities seed libraries threaten are conglomerates like those who make up the Seed Trade Association. Farmers and gardeners saving and sharing seeds, doing the work to preserve local varieties, protects our food systems by making us more resilient.”
She continues with a series of well-thought-out arguments regarding the value of seed libraries, all of which I personally agree with—how they can be a center to a rural community, helping those in need to grow their own food and generally contributing to self-sufficiency.
Unfortunately, a few of the representatives won’t stop badgering her about the dangers I brought up.
“I just don’t understand why you’d be against testing and regulating seeds. What are you trying to hide?”
“It’s not a matter of hiding anything,” she replies, an impatient edge sharpening her voice. “It’s a matter of scale. A library or bank is never going to collect enough seeds in a given year to amass the sample size sufficient for proper testing. Not to mention the fact that even if there were a contaminant present, twenty seeds shared from one farmer to another wouldn’t have the impact that ten thousand contaminated seeds sold by a corporation would.”
“So you’re admitting that some sort of infiltration of infected seeds by an agroterrorist is possible?” the representative asks.
Diane’s pale cheeks redden, and her entire torso tenses up. “The vertical integration that the conglomerates running the Seed Trade Association have achieved gives them dangerous control over our nation’s food production.” As her voice rises, the microphone shrieks, making people flinch.
“Please control yourself, miss,” the chairman drones, making me wonder why he calls her miss while he called me Mr. Lansdowne.
She clears her throat and takes a sip of water before continuing. “Laws like the one being proposed would actually make us more vulnerable to the rapid shifts wrought by climate change, whereas seed saving allows us to conserve local and disappearing plant varieties, not be forced to buy them year over year from”—she breaks off to shoot me another lethal glare—“from corporations primarily focused on shareholder profits.”
The chair gives the floor to a different assembly member, who circles back to ask again why Diane’s group is so against regulation. “Don’t you realize that every state in the country requires seed companies to be licensed and to test and label all their products?”
“Of course, I realize that.” At her words, the mic makes the awful sound again, and she shifts to speak around it. “But in many states, those laws only apply if you’re selling seed, not trading or sharing them.”
“Well, who’s to say what selling is? Bartering is an exchange, after all. Just because money isn’t involved… I think it’s a legal gray area.”
Before Diane can rebut this idea, the chair dismisses her. After she thanks them, she uses the walk back to her seat to find my face in the crowd. I begin to stand, but she stops me with a slow shake of her head, like she can’t believe she let me touch her, let alone have sex with her. Like I’m something she just wants to scrape off the bottom of her shoe.
Kind of how I’m feeling about myself right now. I went to Cornell’s ag school because I wanted to learn how to save family farms. I may be making enough money to help support my family farm, but the work I’m doing destroys small farms.
And I just don’t think I can do it anymore. Thinking that I might be able to explain all this to Diane, I scan the room for her face. When I don’t find it, I head for the exit, but she’s not in the hall either. Before I can look further, my phone vibrates. My boss’s name flashes on the screen. Even though I’m not sure what I’ll say, I answer.
“Great job, Sam. You didn’t look nervous at all, while that girl—you really rattled her. She was practically hysterical.”
“She had valid points, Ron.”
“Trust me, it’ll be that sound bite about agroterrorism and her red face that make the news.”
“Like we really need to be squashing seed libraries.”
“Goliath got taken down by David, don’t forget. Meaning: We squash the opposition whenever and however we can.”
David and Goliath. Whose side am I really on? The conglomerate’s or the farmer’s?
“They’re coming for your job, you know,” Ron continues.
“You know what? They can have it. I quit.”
I hang up before I can second-guess myself. My gut tightens, remembering how proud Grandad was when I got the offer from Congento. From his perspective, they're what makes his soybean farm successful.
It’s been nice to have a company car and a big expense budget so I can take clients out to fancy restaurants where I explain Congento’s innovations in layman's terms, innovations that are impressive from a purely scientific standpoint. But Diane articulated the essential truths. Congento is about making money for its shareholders, not about farmers. Or even food.
Determined to find her and ask forgiveness, I search up and down the hallway. I even return to the hearing room and scan every seat, but there’s no sign of her. Back outside, I stare at my phone like it might cough up her number, but I didn’t have a chance to get it.
But I do have Trivia Crush. Opening the app, I search for user Cortland1898. In the past, every time I’ve invited her to play, I’d get a zing of anticipation. Now, there’s a whole new level of excitement. But instead of a message that she’s either ready to play or offline, there’s a big red slash across her avatar.
