Cultural misperceptions are often sown at a distance and cultivated in the dark.
Take, for example, 在Vermillion乡沿着US-52号公路种植蔬菜和鲜花的移民家庭的国内情况,是一些路人想象出来的, just 20 miles northeast of Carleton.
The 155-acre collective, run by the Hmong American Farmer’s Association (HAFA), is populated by two dozen 10-foot-by-10-foot toolsheds. Painted red and designed to look like traditional barns, these picturesque structures are complemented by two greenhouses, a machine shed, a brand-new pack shed (equipped with sinks and tables to clean produce, as well as a refrigerated storage space), 一座破旧但仍能使用的乡间别墅变成了临时办公场所. An aging grain silo towers over it all, unused save for a flowery mural rendered on its northern face by ArtCrop, a St. Paul nonprofit for Hmong creatives.
甚至沿着一段以繁茂的田野和古色古香的牧场房屋而闻名的乡村高速公路, HAFA站点是一个特别田园的场景——一个许多通勤者和一些人都铭记在心的场景, whizzing by before and after work at 60 miles an hour, unconsciously misjudge. “我一直以为这些农民是一个大家庭的成员,”一名当地人顺道说. “这里的很多人都以为他们在那些小谷仓里生活和睡觉.”
Pakou Hang, HAFA’s executive director, is well aware of the stereotypes. 尽管苗族美国农民是明尼苏达州当地食品运动的组成部分,占双城农贸市场蔬菜生产者的50%以上, they were, until recently, largely uncelebrated, unsupported, and misunderstood.
For instance, while Hmong culture is known for its clan-oriented structure, there are currently 19 families each renting one or two five-acre plots from HAFA. All of them have homes in or near St. Paul, and those retro-looking red sheds house only spades and other essential tools, which each farmer owns independently.
“Because of language barriers and unfamiliarity, and probably a little bit of racism, Hmong farmers haven’t had access to land, larger markets, or any of the capital and credit that’s prevalent in agriculture,” says Hang. Until recently, 在美国农业部农业服务局没有人会说苗族语, which is responsible for awarding indispensable federal loans.