But its appeal and practicality remain contentious. And the new way of doing things comes with profound implications for the farming community.
Money is tight, and the future is scarily uncertain.
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-Essay-
BOGOTA — There was something different about Bogota that morning, and not just because of how unusually comfortable people felt, despite the frosty, pre-dawn wind blowing down across the capital from the mountains to the east.
The time was 2:15 a.m., the appointed hour for preparing another of the open-air naked events that characterize the work of U.S. artist and photographer Spencer Tunick. A group of 6,000 men and women had gathered, tingling with cold on the outside, but feeling warmth inside — and with a sense that this was something they'd waited their entire lives for.
How strange. People turned up without a fuss and stood in line to enter the historic Plaza de Bolívar. Nobody pushed or barged ahead. Strangers felt at ease with each other, chatting freely about the weather, or about "Spencer's" other pictures, like he was one of us.
I had tried to get people I know to come and take part, but nobody, neither relatives nor colleagues, accepted. So I was relieved when I bumped into Roberto, an old friend, father and grandfather, aged 60, whose vitality and sense of humor helped dispel the chill.
Spencer Tunick speaking in Mexico in 2013 — Photo: Adrián Cerón
Everyone went looking for their spot by the cathedral steps, but keeping close together, for warmth. Three hours went by from the moment we arrived to the moment we undressed, ample time to reminisce about how, as a child, I used to run up these same steps and around the same square, holding hands with my parents. We took a picture here, as families always do: right where 7th Avenue reaches the square, and where I was about to stand naked before some of the nation's most historic monuments.
Did anyone register to take part, and then opt out? Quite the contrary: At 3:30 a.m. the square was like a party, without shouting, shoving, offensive stares or territorial scuffles. Yes, a party.
There was coffee and dissolved cane sugar to help people through the wait and cold. I thought for a moment how few women there were in this sea of men, but then realized I was mercifully, beautifully mistaken.
Angel from above
Word came through that it was time for some of the women to disrobe. The order wasn't bellowed, but rather murmured its way through the crowd from somewhere or other. First it was the girl next to me with whom I had talked a bit about Milan Kundera and his novels. Then a housewife and mother of teenagers and her architect husband, who had come to show their children what they were capable of. Then hundreds of other women, thousands, discarding their jackets and ponchos and sweatshirts and leading the fight against prudishness and fear.
The square was filled now with naked angels — from Bogota and Antioquia, from our coasts and valleys, even some foreigners. All naked, making me believe in the possibility of a better Colombia, one that is lively but respectful. I did not see a single incidence of either physical or visual harassment. No man or woman, heterosexual or homosexual, was intimidated. What I saw was Colombians in a state of equality. Finally. Without class, racial or gender differences, all mixed up and mingling as they followed Tunick's instructions.
A grandmother surfed above the sea of people, perched on a board that was held up by the crowd. Then the apotheosis. Thousands of naked women, just them, running and shouting with joy in the direction of the capitol building and the presidential palace. We, the men, were perplexed, in a trance, forgetting for a moment our gender as we observed those who are the origin: our mothers, daughters, sisters and friends. Their power was absolute.
Then I found out they posed there, in this center of political power and corruption, before moving onto the Colón theater where they also posed for Tunick. The organizers took some of the men to the nearby Gabriel García Márquez cultural center where, with Tunick directing us from atop another building, we encircled the building as the sun rose and the magic began to fade.
When we came back to the main square and found nobody had robbed any of our clothes and belongings, I thought: "Colombia could be like this. Peace is possible." Perhaps García Márquez himself, our beloved Nobel laureate, was hovering there thinking we deserve a country at peace, not another hundred years of solitude.
-Essay-
BOGOTA — There was something different about Bogota that morning, and not just because of how unusually comfortable people felt, despite the frosty, pre-dawn wind blowing down across the capital from the mountains to the east.
The time was 2:15 a.m., the appointed hour for preparing another of the open-air naked events that characterize the work of U.S. artist and photographer Spencer Tunick. A group of 6,000 men and women had gathered, tingling with cold on the outside, but feeling warmth inside — and with a sense that this was something they'd waited their entire lives for.
How strange. People turned up without a fuss and stood in line to enter the historic Plaza de Bolívar. Nobody pushed or barged ahead. Strangers felt at ease with each other, chatting freely about the weather, or about "Spencer's" other pictures, like he was one of us.
I had tried to get people I know to come and take part, but nobody, neither relatives nor colleagues, accepted. So I was relieved when I bumped into Roberto, an old friend, father and grandfather, aged 60, whose vitality and sense of humor helped dispel the chill.
Spencer Tunick speaking in Mexico in 2013 — Photo: Adrián Cerón
Everyone went looking for their spot by the cathedral steps, but keeping close together, for warmth. Three hours went by from the moment we arrived to the moment we undressed, ample time to reminisce about how, as a child, I used to run up these same steps and around the same square, holding hands with my parents. We took a picture here, as families always do: right where 7th Avenue reaches the square, and where I was about to stand naked before some of the nation's most historic monuments.
Did anyone register to take part, and then opt out? Quite the contrary: At 3:30 a.m. the square was like a party, without shouting, shoving, offensive stares or territorial scuffles. Yes, a party.
There was coffee and dissolved cane sugar to help people through the wait and cold. I thought for a moment how few women there were in this sea of men, but then realized I was mercifully, beautifully mistaken.
Angel from above
Word came through that it was time for some of the women to disrobe. The order wasn't bellowed, but rather murmured its way through the crowd from somewhere or other. First it was the girl next to me with whom I had talked a bit about Milan Kundera and his novels. Then a housewife and mother of teenagers and her architect husband, who had come to show their children what they were capable of. Then hundreds of other women, thousands, discarding their jackets and ponchos and sweatshirts and leading the fight against prudishness and fear.
The square was filled now with naked angels — from Bogota and Antioquia, from our coasts and valleys, even some foreigners. All naked, making me believe in the possibility of a better Colombia, one that is lively but respectful. I did not see a single incidence of either physical or visual harassment. No man or woman, heterosexual or homosexual, was intimidated. What I saw was Colombians in a state of equality. Finally. Without class, racial or gender differences, all mixed up and mingling as they followed Tunick's instructions.
A grandmother surfed above the sea of people, perched on a board that was held up by the crowd. Then the apotheosis. Thousands of naked women, just them, running and shouting with joy in the direction of the capitol building and the presidential palace. We, the men, were perplexed, in a trance, forgetting for a moment our gender as we observed those who are the origin: our mothers, daughters, sisters and friends. Their power was absolute.
Then I found out they posed there, in this center of political power and corruption, before moving onto the Colón theater where they also posed for Tunick. The organizers took some of the men to the nearby Gabriel García Márquez cultural center where, with Tunick directing us from atop another building, we encircled the building as the sun rose and the magic began to fade.
When we came back to the main square and found nobody had robbed any of our clothes and belongings, I thought: "Colombia could be like this. Peace is possible." Perhaps García Márquez himself, our beloved Nobel laureate, was hovering there thinking we deserve a country at peace, not another hundred years of solitude.
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The UK government wants its farming sector to transition to a more sustainable model. But farmers fear the complex post-Brexit agricultural policy and lack of EU subsidies are threatening their livelihood.
The UK’s farming landscape has changed dramatically since Brexit. Agricultural policy has been adjusted, and EU subsidies, which funded UK farming for decades, are no more.
Before the split, those subsidies helped British farmers to the tune of nearly £3 billion a year, which for some, made up 90% of their annual income. That system is now being phased out, in a move which the UK government claims will be more environmentally sustainable.
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Central to this new approach are “environmental land management schemes”, designed to encourage farmers to produce what are known as “public goods” – things like soil health and wildlife habitats – with financial payment levels dependent on which of these goods are attained. Defra aims for 70% farmer participation by 2028, with 11,000 farmers in England already enrolled.
But its appeal and practicality remain contentious. And the new way of doing things comes with profound implications for the farming community.
Money is tight, and the future is scarily uncertain.
Our work investigates the constraints and challenges facing farmers in the UK and abroad. Recently, we explored the constraints encountered by farmers since Brexit, specifically focusing on upland farms in England. We found that the focus on environmental sustainability, though commendable, overlooks critical economic and social dimensions.
The transition threatens to marginalise traditionally minded farmers, lose cultural heritage and weaken the rural community’s social fabric. And it’s a transition which doesn’t just affect the farmers themselves. The farming and food industries are valued at over £120 billion to the British economy.
Speaking to upland farmers (who work in hilly and mountainous regions) across four English counties (Yorkshire, Lancashire, Cumbria and Devon), we discovered that many are extremely concerned about the future of the farms they look after. Farms that for some, have been in their families for generations.
I don’t even bother with these newer schemes because I don’t understand it.
One 70-year-old farmer from Lancashire commented bluntly about the future of his 250-acre beef and sheep farm: “We’re not going to be viable.”
He added: “I might as well stop farming and diversify into holiday lets.”
Another farmer, aged 50, who keeps Herdwick sheep in the Lake District, highlighted the critical role of EU subsidies, noting that their planned removal by 2027 would severely limit their farm’s finances and their ability to pursue environmental initiatives.
She said: “With that basic payment taken out of the business, it’s really difficult. We can make about £10,000 profit, but our basic payment is more than that. So that’s going to take us into a situation where we’re not making any money.”
There were also concerns expressed about how difficult it is to understand the new farming policy in the UK. Four in ten UK farmers are aged over 65, and information laid out in the 150-page “Sustainable Farming Incentive” document can be overwhelming. Many traditional farmers do not use mobile phones, and are unfamiliar with the online world.
Farmers bring their tractors into London duringa protest organised by Save Briish Farming and Farmers for Fairness.
Cal Ford/ZUMA
One farmer told us: “In my porch I’ve got like a thousand leaflets stacked up that [Defra] just sent me to take out to people because a lot of the farmers that I’m working with are not online. They haven’t heard about a lot of this stuff.”
She added: “I went to a farm last week, which is only accessible with a 4x4. Nobody’s been there to talk to them about schemes and stuff ever.”
Another said farmer, aged 72, said: “All the form filling is too damn difficult. I don’t even bother with these newer schemes because I don’t understand it.”
And while new schemes may be complex, many of the farmers we spoke to were very clear about the risks to the future of British farming. Overall, they seemed worried that farms, skills and knowledge that have been passed down through generations would be lost during this transition to more sustainable farming.
One said: “If farming isn’t going to be supported in the way it has been in the past, we’re going to lose an awful lot of farmers who have been on farms [for generations]. Their skill set and instinct will be gone, and it’ll be enveloped by agribusiness. That’s perhaps what [the government] want.”
The future seems pretty bleak.
Another explained: “If we lose the older generation that’s a massive loss."
"What used to happen with tenancies is people would work together, like me and my son. And then one would gradually step back and the other would gradually take over. It’s a gradual process.”
Overall, we found that for the more traditional farmers we spoke to, the future seemed pretty bleak. There was also a strong sense that while the farms they operated may not be hugely profitable, or provide the strongest environmental benefits, the work they do still had social and cultural value – which risks being lost forever.
And as England navigates the complexities of post-Brexit agricultural policy, the balance between environmental goals and the preservation of traditional farming practices remains precarious. Many of the farmers we met felt that they were being pushed away from their traditional role as producers.
As one farmer put it: “If you’re taking productive land out of production for your tree planting or diversification of whatever kind, then where’s our food coming from?”
*Peter Gittins, Lecturer in Management, University of Leeds and Deema Refai, Associate Professor in Enterprise and Entrepreneurship, University of Leeds
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
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