{"id":50806,"date":"2022-11-13T19:53:17","date_gmt":"2022-11-13T19:53:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/test.nahtnow.com\/?p=50806"},"modified":"2022-11-13T20:00:58","modified_gmt":"2022-11-13T20:00:58","slug":"black-farmer-challenges-floridas-medical-marijuana-license-process","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/test.nahtnow.com\/en\/black-farmer-challenges-floridas-medical-marijuana-license-process\/","title":{"rendered":"Black Farmer Challenges Florida\u2019s Medical Marijuana License Process"},"content":{"rendered":"

Terry Donnell Gwinn Challenges The Logic Of Florida\u2019s Process To Award A Marijuana License As A Black Farmer
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

By\u00a0Katie Hyson<\/p>\n

\n

When medical marijuana was legalized in Florida five years ago, the legislation promised one license to a class member of Pigford v. Glickman,\u00a0<\/em>the largest civil rights settlement in U.S. history.<\/p>\n

Applying for the license amounted to buying a lottery ticket for Pigford farmers, who claimed the United States Department of Agriculture racially discriminated against them between 1981 and 1996. The license is entry to a state industry\u00a0projected to top<\/a>\u00a0$2.5 billion in the next few years. The license alone can be sold for more\u00a0than $50 million.<\/a><\/p>\n

In September, the Florida Department of Health finally signaled its intent to issue the license to one of the dozen applicants, Terry Donnell Gwinn.\u00a0Nearly all<\/a>\u00a0the others appealed the decision.<\/p>\n

One of those applicants is Frederick Fisher, who still keeps cattle in Jonesville, a community founded by formerly enslaved people between Newberry and Gainesville.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy\u00a0not\u00a0<\/em>me?\u201d Fisher asks on an October day, spreading his hands, eyes questioning under the brim of his veteran\u2019s hat that reads: Time was served. Time to honor.<\/p>\n

Surrounding him are the graves of his ancestors, former sharecroppers and enslaved people.<\/p>\n

The very racial discrimination the set-aside license was meant to redress created obstacles for Fisher obtain it.<\/p>\n

This is Fisher\u2019s story as he told\u00a0oral historians<\/a>\u00a0in 2017, as he swore this year in his application and as he tells it now.<\/p>\n

It highlights a paradox: A person may need to be rich and well-connected to win a license intended to remedy historic inequalities in wealth and access.<\/p>\n

Black Farmer Challenges Florida\u2019s Marijuana License Process\u2018Going up against a brick wall\u2019<\/strong><\/h2>\n

Fisher was born in Jonesville in 1946.<\/p>\n

He said while white farmers were allotted around 1,500 acres by the government for restricted crops, his family was allowed just one and two acres for tobacco and peanuts, respectively.<\/p>\n

They sharecropped to make ends meet, but Fisher said despite assurances, they were never given a share of profits at harvest time: \u201cSharecropping gained us nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

He described an \u201cunspoken undercurrent\u201d that if they spoke up about this injustice, they could \u201csuffer the fate of Mr. Long.\u201d<\/p>\n

A sign commemorating\u00a0Boisey Long and the Newberry lynchings<\/a>\u00a0of 1916 stands in his family graveyard. Accused of stealing hogs, Long was sentenced to death after just seven minutes of deliberation by an all-white jury. During the search for Long, a mob shot and lynched\u00a0other African Americans<\/a>. No one was ever charged with the lynchings.<\/p>\n

To Fisher\u2019s family, Long wasn\u2019t a history lesson or an abstract concept. He was a neighbor. The story of his killing colored the way Fisher perceived bureaucracy and seeking help.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

A sign commemorating Boisey Long and the other victims of the Newberry lynchings of 1916 stands in Frederick Fisher\u2019s family cemetery. \u201cThere was always this unspoken undercurrent that if we spoke up against these abuses or complained publicly,\u201d Fisher said, \u201cwe could suffer the fate of Mr. Long.\u201d (Katie Hyson\/WUFT News)<\/sub><\/p>\n

Over the course of his childhood, his household gained inside plumbing and running water. They grew food and cattle for themselves and a little to sell.<\/p>\n

Most importantly, Fisher said, they had their freedom.<\/p>\n

He attended A.L. Mebane, a school for Black children that inherited outdated textbooks from Gainesville High School. To his eyes, the books were proof that things were separate but not equal.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe might have been created equal,\u201d he said, \u201cbut when we were born that\u2019s when the disparity started happening.\u201d<\/p>\n

He graduated in 1965 and went on to Daytona Beach Junior College, but his parents couldn\u2019t afford to support him and his brother through school at the same time. He dropped out and worked to save money to re-enroll. He\u2019d just pooled enough together, he said, when he \u201cgot the little paperwork from Uncle Sam.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fisher was drafted to serve in Vietnam to fight people he had nothing against.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wasn\u2019t really fighting for a flag,\u201d Fisher said. \u201cI was fighting for my life.\u201d<\/p>\n

He estimates half the males in his class were drafted. With less access to full-time college enrollment, African Americans were drafted by mostly white draft boards at higher rates than white Americans. They were also more likely to be assigned to combat units. In Fisher\u2019s unit, they were given the most dangerous assignments.<\/p>\n

Fisher came home with a Bronze Star, a back injury and \u201cshell shock,\u201d which in later years he would come to understand as post-traumatic stress disorder. Its effects remain a daily battle.<\/p>\n

Fisher started a farm with his youngest brother, the farm he still tends today. He\u2019d get up before dawn to feed the cows and slop the pigs, before heading to grueling work at the railroad, where he labored to outperform white peers who were quickly promoted before him. At night, he returned to assist with the harvest and work on the equipment and buildings. On weekends, he put in another 12 hours or more.<\/p>\n

Their farm wasn\u2019t \u201cbig-time\u201d but it was modern. They both had tractors and Fisher knew about genetics, how to sample the soil and what each plant needed. They grew mostly watermelon and corn. Fisher traveled to teach other Black farmers about new techniques and the proper use of herbicide and insecticide.<\/p>\n

Hurricanes and droughts plagued farmers in the area in the 1980s and early \u201890s, and Fisher\u2019s farm was not spared.<\/p>\n

\"\"Fisher now raises only the minimum number of cattle on his farm to receive an agricultural tax exemption. Like most Black farm operators in the U.S., Fisher was unable to compete with white-owned farms after decades of discrimination by the U.S. Department of Agriculture. (Katie Hyson\/WUFT News<\/sub>)<\/sub><\/p>\n

Black Farmer Challenges Florida\u2019s Medical Marijuana License Process<\/strong><\/p>\n

USDA agents would come out to the white-owned farms to help them file claims for assistance, Fisher said, but never came to Black-owned farms.<\/p>\n

Fisher\u2019s brother put in an application with the USDA for benefits but was denied with no explanation. They had to borrow money from family to keep the farm going.<\/p>\n

Even driving to Gainesville\u2019s USDA office was a risk. On the way to and from, Fisher said, they were harassed by a sheriff\u2019s deputy.<\/p>\n

Fisher had bought a sparkling gold Corvette when he returned home from Vietnam, something he\u2019d dreamed of for years. He said the deputy pulled him over and told him \u201ca n\u2014\u2013r shouldn\u2019t be driving no Corvette.\u201d<\/p>\n

At the office, they were not allowed to speak with an agent. They filed oral claims for benefits and were told as Black farmers there was no way they were going to get assistance; by the time all the larger white-owned farms were taken care of, there\u2019d be no money left. They were given a stack of forms to fill out with no guidance.<\/p>\n

When they tried to check the status of their benefits, Fisher said they were told the application \u201ccouldn\u2019t be found\u201d and it was too late to resubmit.<\/p>\n

He said Black farmers seemed to be the only ones whose applications were lost.<\/p>\n

He made an oral complaint with the USDA about this discrimination and attempted to file a written one, but faced the \u201csame runaround.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fisher wasn\u2019t alone in this experience. It\u2019s a driving force behind the disappearance of Black farm operators in the U.S. \u2013 from almost 1 million in 1900 to fewer than 50,000 today.<\/p>\n

He remembers between 15 and 20 Black-owned farms in the Jonesville area when he was young. Unable to obtain assistance and the credit needed to acquire new innovations like tractors and irrigation, it was impossible to compete with growing white-owned farms. Most Black farmers sold their land and moved away.<\/p>\n

This discrimination is what prompted the class-action Pigford suit, for which Fisher never filed a claim.<\/p>\n

When he wasn\u2019t working on the railroad, he was laboring to save the farm. When would he have time to meet with lawyers and make phone calls?<\/p>\n

Besides, he said, he\u2019d never seen actions by the government result in lasting change or actual benefit to his family.<\/p>\n

As Fisher described it: \u201cIt\u2019s like going up against a brick wall.\u201d<\/p>\n

In 2015, Fisher met a man who would try to break down that wall for him.<\/p>\n

Black Farmer Challenges Florida\u2019s Medical Marijuana License Process<\/strong><\/h2>\n

The cost of playing the game<\/strong><\/h2>\n

Richard Markow\u2019s veteran housing apartment was next door to Fisher\u2019s cousin\u2019s, where Fisher spent time recovering from a surgery. Markow and Fisher would spend hours talking on the porch while Markow\u2019s son played. When Markow began attending the University of Florida Levin College of Law, he helped Fisher and other veterans apply for benefits.<\/p>\n

The two stayed in touch. When Markow heard about the Pigford Black Farmer License, he told Fisher to apply.<\/p>\n

The application, however, presented puzzling barriers for the very group it was intended to benefit.<\/p>\n

It was a rich man\u2019s game inviting the poor and disenfranchised to play.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Pigford farmers were old, many in their 90s by now, and by the very nature of having been discriminated against by the USDA, tended not to be capital-rich. Black-owned farms in the U.S. are about 50 times less profitable today, on average, than white-owned farms.<\/p>\n

The non-refundable application fee alone was $146,000 \u2013 more than double what the previous Florida licensees had been charged and the highest in the country by far \u2013 and it required the operation be vertically integrated. The applicant would have to manage every part of the process from seed to sale. Even if they could find that money to risk, they\u2019d still need to afford attorneys, technical writers and consultants, real estate sourcing and massive start-up costs.<\/p>\n

It was a rich man\u2019s game inviting the poor and disenfranchised to play.<\/p>\n

(It\u2019s not the first paradox of the industry. Black people are\u00a0more than 3.5 times<\/a>\u00a0more likely to be arrested for marijuana possession than white people, despite similar usage rates. But they make up\u00a0less than 2%<\/a>\u00a0of marijuana business owners.)<\/p>\n

Fisher currently keeps only the minimum amount of cattle needed to receive an agricultural tax exemption for his land. His farm doesn\u2019t earn money, and like many Black farmers whose property is in historically Black areas, Markow said Fisher\u2019s land isn\u2019t worth much as collateral.<\/p>\n

Fisher\u2019s luck in sharing a porch with Markow became his entry ticket to the game.<\/p>\n

\"\"Richard Markow and Frederick Fisher became friends while living in veteran housing seven years ago. Now a lawyer, Markow helped Fisher overcome the mountainous financial and administrative barriers to applying for the medical marijuana operation license. (Katie Hyson\/WUFT News)<\/sub><\/p>\n

Markow had access to wealthy investors and retired major league athletes. He gathered the enormous capital backing for Fisher and navigated the extensive paperwork and application hoops. He took a legal eye to the wording of a Pigford class member \u2013 Fisher met the definition of the class, Markow said, even if he never filed a claim.<\/p>\n

Markow said they haven\u2019t yet received the scoring rubric results for Fisher\u2019s application. He\u2019s not yet sure why they lost out to Gwinn, who farms over 1,100 acres in Suwannee County and has \u201cdeep roots in the community.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fisher is now appealing the rejection of his application. Similar efforts were successful in the previous round of Florida marijuana licenses \u2013 all but\u00a0five of the current 22<\/a>\u00a0were issued after lengthy legal and administrative challenges.<\/p>\n

If Fisher is granted a license, he hopes to use some of the proceeds to start a chamber of commerce of sorts for local Black farmers.<\/p>\n

If his appeal is rejected, it would add to his family\u2019s history with bureaucratic brick walls. But his family also has a history of persisting.<\/p>\n

\u201cFrom slavery up even today, the things we have to improvise just to survive sometimes, you know?\u201d he says, surveying the cemetery and making plans to fight back invading brush.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are a resilient people. We are.\u201d<\/p>\n

He gazes at the headstones of his family members, generations who toiled to build America\u2019s wealth without a share of the profits.<\/p>\n

All he wants, he says, is a fair opportunity.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Terry Donnell Gwinn Challenges The Logic Of Florida\u2019s Process To Award A Marijuana License As A Black Farmer By\u00a0Katie Hyson When medical marijuana was legalized in Florida five years ago, the legislation promised one license to a class member of Pigford v. Glickman,\u00a0the largest civil rights settlement in U.S. history. Applying for the license amounted Read More…<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":50817,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[1609,1612,1611,1607,1608,1610],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/test.nahtnow.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50806"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/test.nahtnow.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/test.nahtnow.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/test.nahtnow.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/test.nahtnow.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=50806"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/test.nahtnow.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50806\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":50816,"href":"https:\/\/test.nahtnow.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50806\/revisions\/50816"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/test.nahtnow.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/50817"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/test.nahtnow.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=50806"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/test.nahtnow.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=50806"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/test.nahtnow.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=50806"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}