Knowledge systems

I recently edited a special edition of Farming Matters on the subject of the System of Rice Intensification (SRI). This is a new way of growing rice that relies on leaving more space between the individual plants enabling them to create more and stronger tillers and roots and be much more efficient in their uptake of water and nutrients and solar radiation. It also uses using a wet/dry irrigation regime (as opposed to flooding the paddy fields permanently with water). I don’t want to explain the whole agronomic system here – interested readers can read more about it here. The result is a crop that is far more resilient to droughts, pests and diseases. It is also interesting for farmers because it means buying less seed, using less irrigation water and can give higher yields: a doubling to tripling of yields is not uncommon and Sumant Kumar, a peasant farmer in Bihar State, India, recently achieved a world record of 22.4 tons /hectare of paddy yield using the system. Of course there are downsides to it to. It is very labour intensive during the planting season – when the plants have to be individually transplanted from a nursery (instead of broadcasting seed), it’s complicated to learn and it runs against practices that farmers have employed for generations, if not millennia. Farmers need to see the system in practice to be convinced of its value and that means some farmers need to be willing to be pioneers - experimenting with and showing it off on their own farms (or parts of them).

That issue of Farming Matters was full of success stories from around the world – which makes one think that SRI could be highly interesting from the point of view of addressing world hunger. The more so since rice is staple crop in many of the countries with a high level of malnourished people (including India, the country with numerically the most malnourished people). What is interesting to me is the role that knowledge systems have played in this process. SRI was invented by Henri de Laulanié, a French pastor working in Madagascar in the 1960s (some say he might have learnt it somewhere else). It has mostly been disseminated and supported by NGOs and farmers organisations – and is now practiced in most rice producing countries around the world.

The letters page (which is twice as long as usual) in the forthcoming issue of Farming Matters contains a somewhat heated debate about the role that the official agricultural institutes (particular the CGIAR and IRRI) have supported, been indifferent to or actually tried to suppress this new technology. It’s hard as an outsider to know the full facts of the case – but it is impossible to ignore the rivalry between formal and informal knowledge sectors. The latter accuses the former of ignoring or suppressing a system that doesn’t conform with received knowledge and the theoretically understand mechanisms about what promotes plant growth, while some in the formal knowledge system argue that the claims made for SR are insufficiently documented (and by implication perhaps exaggerated).

SRI does not rely on high yielding varieties (hybrids or GMOs and does not require high levels of fertiliser input. These were the factors that were responsible for the high levels of growth in yields during the Green Revolution (until they hit diminishing levels of returns – both in terms of yields and profits – because of the rising costs of inputs). But, years later, these are the factors that the formal agriculture knowledge institutes continue to focus on. SRI seems to work on different principles, though these are still little understood- but the idea is that phenotype characteristics play a bigger role than genotype ones (which have dominated research for more than forty years). This could suggest a need for a fundamental rethink (a ‘paradigm shift’) in the focus of agricultural research. The debate suggests that reluctance to engage in such a paradigm shift could mean that formal knowledge institutes are impeding progress.

Yet this paradigm shift needs not only to be intellectual but also institutional and this for perhaps three reasons. First there is a huge difference between agricultural praxis on research stations and that in farmers’ fields. The former are well equipped with machinery, access to seed, other inputs, credit and are knowledge intensive. Such resources are rarely available in sufficient quantities or at the appropriate time to resource poor farmers in ‘low potential’ areas: the ones who are closest to drifting into poverty and malnutrition in bad years – and thus those who most need support if global hunger is to be effectively addressed. (There is a tendency for knowledge institutes to focus on well-endowed farmers in high potential areas – as it is assumed that these farmers have the highest growth potential and thus can contribute more to the aggregate global food supply).

Second, the priorities of researchers and of farmers are very different. Even the most idealistic researcher dedicated to using his/her knowledge to feeding (or saving in some other way) the world soon learns the reality that career progress is largely (if not exclusively) based on the number (and ‘citation index’) of peer reviewed journal articles. This is what builds their reputation and more pragmatically a large determinant of future funding for them and their departments / institutions future funding. But research has to be repeatable and testable to be credible and it is much easier to repeat and test research in the lab-like conditions of a research station than in the field where all sorts of exogenous factors can disrupt the experiment. In this sense it is less attractive for researchers to engage in devising undertaking the context specific research that development agencies say is necessary to address hunger issues. Different farming communities work in very different ecological, economic and cultural situations. These situations may change from year to year. Also farming communities are rarely homogenous – there are different groups within them: men/women farmers with sufficient/limited access to land water or credit and those who are interested in farming and those who do it as a default occupation as there are few other options. So to work in such situations researchers not only need to know the technical aspects of agronomy – but the anthropological ones concerning the structure and values of the community(ies) they are working with. This takes time and involves a lot of communication and trust building, something that generally can’t be achieved within a 2-3 project funding window.

I’m not sure which of these is the critical factor (if there is one single critical factor). Expanding the training of researchers so it is broader and less focused on technical aspects, revising the criteria for evaluating researchers professional development and having longer funding periods could all help to reduce the large gap that currently exists between knowledge systems and farming praxis. Addressing these issues seems fundamental if we are to make more progress in reducing the hunger and poverty experienced by many marginal farming communities and giving them a chance to lift themselves up by their own bootstraps. It is not just a case of throwing more money at the agricultural knowledge system (however chronically underfunded it may have been in recent years).

Ceremonies of the Horseman

Riding up the A19, grey skies, inner lane full of lorries moving Christmas goods from one city and country to another.  My first trip back to the NL in four months. Has absence made the heart grow fonder?   Maybe. There are two reasons for this trip: to attend a client’s PhD defence (we have not previously met) and to get an APK (a Dutch MOT) for my car.  I left the APK until the last minute (the day before it is legally due) as I had hoped to be further down the road of getting Belgian number plates for my car before Xmas, but it wasn’t to be.   Now I will also have to do a Belgian roadworthiness test in January or whenever that does happen.  I hope that the standards are the same!

It’s my first time going to a PhD defence outside of Wageningen. But the format is almost identical. It’s rite of passage rather than a real exam. But it never fails to make the defendant nervous.  The defendant is dressed up to the nines and backed up by two paranymfs (A Dutch word that has no English equivalent as we don’t have such theatrical defences – they are two close friends or colleagues there to lend support and also to organise the pre and post ceremony events). He does a twenty minute summary of his thesis (i.e. of his last five years work – no easy task) . Then the committee, all elder academic statesmen, dressed in black robes and white collars with floppy black velvet berets, enter. They are led by the Master of Ceremonies, dressed similarly and carrying a metal tipped wooden rod, which he bangs thrice on the floor to announce their arrival. All rise as the committee take their seats and are then introduced.

Then the questions begin. Some relate to the text and the value and validity of the work. Some questions are easy for the defendant to field.  At other times they can hit at the heart of methodological or conceptual flaws or gaps in the thesis. That can really floor the defendant. Sometimes they are plain irrelevant and it is obvious that the academic concerned just likes the sound of his own voice or thinks his ideas haven’t had enough airtime recently.  The whole event is couched in levels of courtesy that one would expect at a court or diplomatic function. The questions all begin with commendations on the excellent piece of work and the defendant addresses each of the members of the committee as ‘my highly esteemed opponent’.    After a strictly defined period of time – marked again by the banging of the rod (rather than a game show buzzer) the committee retire (all rise again) to consider their verdict (a ‘pass’ is given, but a candidate can earn a distinction for the thesis and/or his defence).

 
There then follows the award speech, made by the promoter of the candidate, again full of arcane language, the doctorate is awarded on behalf of the Rector Magnificus and sealed with the Great Seal of the University. Jaap is now a Doctor of Philosophy. In Tilburg, unlike Wageningen, there is a prayer at the end although - in Dutch style of being non-confrontational - the words God or Jesus are curiously absent.  Then its time for everyone to queue up to  congratulate the candidate and present him with a gift and enjoy a drink and a few snacks (always the same style of ‘hapjes’ warm savoury pastry-like parcels with cheese and or meat in them).  The inner circle of friends and family then retire for a meal and/or party.  While I was not in the inner circle it was worthwhile to go and see Jaap get his award  - as I had been working with him on this project for more than a year (on and off).  Unlike most of my PhD clients, I feel Jaap is one that I will continue to work with in the future.

That's me in the spotlight

.....well actually standing in the shadows at the back of a large mob. Tonight I make a surprise guest appearance on Dutch TV! It's a surprise to me. A few years ago much of west Wales was agog (that's a not so subtle word play) when Richard Gere, Sean Connery and the lovely Julie Ormroyd rode into the area to film First Knight. As a doctoral student my timetable was quite 'flexible' so I went and got myself a role as an extra in it for a couple of days. It involved hanging around for ages in a really cold slate mine outside Dolgellau dressed like, and acting the part, one of an impoverished and angry Arthurian mob. This meant wearing poorly fitting and scratchy felt clothing and having wood ash rubbed into my face and hair. It was a bit like going to Glastonbury. Except you got paid (sort of) and spent most of your time trying to get a glimpse of the fair Lady Guinievere.
Funnily enough I never watched it all the way through. Tonight I am going to tape it and find out if I really can see myself at the back of the crowd.
Oh and a bit of a spoiler. The causeway leading to Camelot is real - its part of (the former) Trawnsfynedd nuclear power station. They did some very clever graphic dubbing to transform a concrete bunker into a mythical palace.

Ch-ch-ch- changes

Today I wrote one of the mst difficult letters (e-mails) of my life. A few months ago a leading publishing house invited me (a propos de rien) to submit a proposal for a book (on organic farming –OF). I was deeply, deeply flattered. It was something I had been looking for for seven years or more. But I was also quite perturbed, it would mean a lot of (almost certainly unpaid) solitary work behind a PC and in libraries, unless I could rustle up some substantial funding from somewhere (and I found my track record with funding proposals to be less than re-assuring).

So I have prevaricated for the past several months (probably much to the annoyance of said acquisitions editor – my apologies). Several times I have told friends that I am going to turn the offer down. On other occasions I have sought to enlist the interest of potential co-contributors. Confusion reigned in my head - mostly about what I want to do with my life and how I can create value with it.

One of the main reasons I came to the NL some six years was with the idea of furthering my career as an advocate /researcher for OF in meeting development objectives in the South. The NL (and particularly Wageningen) seemed to offer larger and much more accessible networks for doing this than I was able to access in the UK. The topic is (and remains) an issue that I am passionate about. For the first 2-3 years of my time in the NL being involved in OF research remained an elusive but seemingly attainable goal, providing something like 25-30% of my work / income. The remainder (albeit the majority) I regarded as a platform for building on this work, much as an aspiring actor waits on tables whle waiting for his break..

Over time the balance shifted. I stated to feel exploited in my OF research. The OF projects were always too short – too geared toward justifying some institutional position and always grossly under-funded. It felt like I was always doing good will work at below market rates to secure a good reputation. Time and time again. In the meantime I began to find out how marketable my English language skills were. I started to find myself in the enviable position of people beating a path to my door to offer me work. That’s never happened to me before. I like being in demand. It changed my sense of self worth. Over time, I rented an office space to separate my work from home life, took a company name and a separate business bank account.

The transition from being a researcher to an entrepreneurial language worker was a slow one and involved an almost indiscernible shift in internal and external priorities. Today feels like a watershed. I feel I have made a definitive shift from one camp to the other. Three years ago I would have been prepared to chain myself to a computer for 500-1000 hours over the next year to eighteen months to have a free hand to write a book that might change people’s perceptions about the potential of OF in meeting the development needs of Southern countries. Partly I would have been motivated by a sense of the nobility of being a researcher. My ego would also have played a role: being published, cited, being invited to conferences etc. Nowadays I have become much more instrumental – that doesn’t mean more cynical or less idealistic. I simply want to spend less of my time toiling behind a computer.

Tonight I am asking myself whether my six years in the Netherlands has turned me from an idealist into a pragmatist? And if so, is that a good or a bad thing? Will I regret turning the opportunity to try to change the global development agenda through writing (yet another) book? Or would the personal (opportunity) cost have been too high? If writing and thinking are not the best ways for me to effect change in the world then where can I direct my focus so as to be a force for good?

For the next few days (or maybe even weeks) I am going to have to work hard in grappling with these questions. Even more so I have to embrace my decision – and its implications- rather than regret it. People say that when one door closes another one opens. I’ve generally found that to be true – but every time one closes a door without seeing further down the corridor it involves a big leap of faith. This time more than most.