The Story and Strategy of Food Not Bombs
Drew Robert Winter
The name Food Not Bombs states our most fundamental principle: society needs to promote life, not death. Implement the positive and end cooperation with the negative. Live in a world of abundance and stop fearing a future of scarcity. Celebrate with love, not hate; cooperation instead of domination; and compassion, not exploitation.
—Keith McHenry, Food Not Bombs co-founder
Few organizations can do what Food Not Bombs does. Surprising, given that taking excess food from local bakeries and supermarkets and publicly feeding it to the hungry every week requires only a handful of bodies and almost no money. Yet it is not an easy thing to be at once so radical, yet so uncontroversial—or, to make those who find it controversial to feed the hungry, appear ridiculous. In doing so, FNB members were able to turn a police crackdown on their activities in San Francisco—a process that included hundreds of arrests—into a galvanizing moment that saw an intense outpouring of local support and, over time, the rise of hundreds of FNB chapters across the globe, making it one of the most recognizable and palatable anarchist organizations of our time. Of course this success is in part due to the ever-encroaching capitalist machine that is slowly strangling the Earth’s inhabitants—Food Not Bombs is responding to something that demands a response, and its founders would be the first to say so. But few movements against the status quo survive—indeed thrive—with as much resilience.
What follows is the product of a combination of personal experience, traditional research, and interviews with other Food Not Bombs participants—primarily two interviews with FNB’s co-founder and perhaps its chief historian, Keith McHenry, in late January 2014. My own experience with Food Not Bombs occurred with the Norfolk chapter in 2010, and its history is likely as unique as just about every other branch. Although a small group fraught with the complexities and tensions that accompany many an organization, my participation in Virginia left me convinced of the transformative power of FNB’s simple and inclusive program for community building and worldwide solidarity, with both humans and nonhumans.
The set of simple principles, lack of central leadership, and utterly inarguable main goals (to feed the hungry and “promote life, not death” [FNB, a] create ripe grounds for reproduction, and allow a wide cross-section of the public to take part in these potentially revolutionary activities without being forced to adhere to some or other doctrine. Embedded within the group’s simplicity is the ability to maintain a radical organization that promotes community-building, social action, consensus, and earth/animal liberation. The anarchist principles of equality (as opposed to hierarchy), and solidarity (as opposed to charity) have allowed FNB chapters to spring up by the hundreds around the world without a central administration or budget, and the otherwise open-ended nature allows every chapter to articulate itself on its own terms and within their own situated context. This approach has allowed for an organic, bottom-up cultivation of unique but allied ventures, rather than a one-size-fits-all branch dictated from afar by a non-profit administration that is all too often subdued by the whims of its donors, bullied into submission by authorities, and insensitive to the myriad sociocultural forces that must be negotiated on the ground in each case. The result is a process (not an ideology) that unites animal liberation with a host of other issues much more readily championed by the Left—a relationship I believe is necessary, but oftentimes difficult to bridge in North America (Sanbonmatsu, 2011, cited in Kymlicka, 2013). With these unfortunate tensions in mind, the way exploitation and marginalization of many different groups is bound together in the praxis of Food Not Bombs is something to be particularly treasured and examined when developing strategies and campaigns.
The Food Not Bombs process is fairly simple: obtain excess food that would otherwise be thrown out by local stores, cook it with pots and pans donated or purchased with donated money, and serve it to anyone who wants it, while offering free literature and conversation about the problems of the world. It requires no paid staff, no headquarters, almost no monetary donations (minus what’s required to procure cooking supplies and folding tables), and—perhaps most importantly—no particular ideological commitment, except the belief that food shouldn’t be wasted, and hungry people should be fed. Some chapters are more overtly political than others, taking part in more demonstrations and serving up more literature with their meals. Some are more committed to ideas of animal liberation and veganism than others. But all follow the three principles of Food Not Bombs (see Figure 1):
Figure 1: The 3 Principles of Food Not Bombs
1. The food is always vegan or vegetarian and free to everyone without restriction, rich or poor, stoned or sober.
2. Food Not Bombs has no formal leaders or headquarters, and every group is autonomous and makes decisions using the consensus process.
3. Food Not Bombs is dedicated to nonviolent direct action and works for nonviolent social change [See FNB, b].
Food Not Bombs’ history is rich with ties to animal liberation—the founders of the first chapter were entirely vegetarian. Moreover, they counted their four dogs “as equals in the collective.” Prominent animal rights activists, such as Andy Stepanian of the SHAC 7, took part in Food Not Bombs, and after leaving prison for his actions against the vivisectors at Huntington Life Sciences, vowed on the news program Democracy Now! to return to Food Not Bombs as soon as his probation was up. FNB delivers food to the Sea Shepherd crews whenever they come into port. Keith McHenry, a long-time attendee of the Animal Rights National Conference, found that many people in attendance told him they went vegan and became concerned for animals because of Food Not Bombs. Offering free, meatless food to the public brings people together in the act of eating to create community, which opens up the space to have critical conversations about the world, all the while familiarizing the palette with appealing meat-free cuisine. The organization was founded by anarchists and operates on anarchist principles although it does not formally identify as such. Nor does it formally identify as an animal liberation organization even though many of its members do, and it takes a principled stance against violence to animals. This process of doing rather than saying, or showing rather than telling, is a key to FNB’s success as an organization in replicating itself, as well as the ethical ideas behind its founding, even though—and in fact precisely because—those ideas remain unnamed.
McHenry and other co-founders with Food Not Bombs have extensively covered the group’s development in their books Food Not Bombs (2000) and its successor Hungry for Peace: How you Can Help End Poverty and War with Food Not Bombs (2012), which also offer step-by-step instructions on starting and running your own FNB chapter. Interviews and lectures abound on the internet. The majority of factual and historical information that this chapter draws on is based on two phone interviews in early 2014 with McHenry, as well as his writings and recorded talks. McHenry’s accounts differ significantly from the allegations of municipal and police officials (some of which are documented in this essay), but their side has been amply documented in press releases and the popular press. A selection of major events is also available on www.foodnotbombs.net. The autonomous nature of Food Not Bombs chapters and the sheer number of them eliminates any pretense of an exhaustive, authoritative history. What follows is a selected overview of major activities that defined the organization and popularized its concept to reproduce additional chapters across the globe. These events provide necessary context for understanding how FNB has the reputation it has today.
The organization that became Food Not Bombs began from eight residents of Boston and Cambridge, Massachusetts: Jo Swanson, Mira Brown, Susan Eaton, Brian Feigenbaum, C.T. Lawrence Butler, Jessie Constable, Amy Rothstein and Keith McHenry. They would also like to emphasize that their four dog friends—Jasmine, Arrow, Sage, and Yoda—played an important role in bringing the original collective together: Jasmine gave birth to a litter of puppies, cared for by friends who eventually moved in together. The dogs then became crucial to waking members at the appropriate time for their morning walks, which allowed the collective to arrive at bakeries in the early morning to collect food to distribute. Of this initial eight, Keith McHenry is FNB’s most visible advocate today, managing foodnotbombs.net and traveling the country to give the oral history of the group. Although adamantly a non-leader, numerous authorities have persecuted him as such with extensive false charges, wiretapping, and even an undercover Interpol agent who managed to get him removed from FNB San Francisco (personal communication, January 31, 2014). Currently blacklisted from work in the United States, McHenry “works” for Food Not Bombs full time as a coordinator and mentor.
The notion of serving food for a radical cause was initially a fundraising effort to help a friend, Brian Fiegenbaulm, arrested during the May 24, 1980, occupation of the Seabrook Nuclear Power Plant. The group decided to hold a bake sale to raise funds for Fiegenbaulm’s bail. This attempt failed, but the group tried again. This time, using an old banner with the slogan “It will be a great day when our schools get the money they need and the air force has to hold a bake sale to buy a bomber,” the group donned military uniforms purchased from a local army surplus store, and held another bake sale asking patrons to contribute to the purchase of a new warplane. This endeavor fell well short of the $280 million required to purchase a B-1 nuclear bomber, but they were inspired to see their message reach a larger crowd. Over the course of the next year, McHenry was regularly delivering five to six cases of food to a local housing project, salvaged from his job at an organic food co-op called “Bread and Circus.” Across the street from this project was large, glass building. This was the location where the guidance system for new intercontinental ballistic missiles was being developed. One year after their first protest, on March 26, 1981, the group produced pamphlets revealing that the directors of the Bank of Boston, the Public Service Company of New Hampshire, and local building contractors were all the same people. FNB members dressed as “hobos” and handed out food, saying that current government policies would lead to mass homelessness. They were right—although FNB initially fed many middle class, employed people, the 1980s and the Reagan presidency drastically reduced federal funding for social programs and homelessness skyrocketed. The event fed 70 people, rich and poor, and inspired the nascent group to do Food Not Bombs full time.
Driving around town with the excess food they collected, the group supplied Rosie’s Place, a local battered women’s shelter, local soup kitchens, and finally the Boston Commons, where they would set up tables and hand out free meals and literature. Local musicians often played to entertain patrons and servers. From this routine the group expanded their actions to include a variety of creative acts of political theatre and art. They produced their own films about U.S. intervention in El Salvador, where it was funding death squads. When a tent was set up beside them asking locals to take the “Pepsi Challenge,” FNB decided to hold a “tofu smoothie challenge,” proclaiming that “there’s more nutrition in this one cup of smoothie than in all the Pepsi on Earth.” Handing out brochures on Coca-Cola’s hiring of death squads to kill labor organizers in Guatemala was not appreciated, even by their rivals at Pepsi. The corporation sought—unsuccessfully—to have Food Not Bombs removed from the location (McHenry, personal communication, January 31, 2014).
McHenry moved to San Francisco in 1988 and received a grant from American Peace Test, an anti-nuclear weapons group, to serve food to protesters for ten days at a Nevada nuclear testing site. Food was handed out at the site’s main gate, while protesters were arrested for camping out to prevent nuclear bombs from exploding. Here, McHenry met another group that had been inspired by their own work in Boston, but called themselves “Bread Not Bombs” in fear of copyright infringement. This worry was quickly quashed by the FNB team and the group’s second branch was born. They set up at the entrance to Golden Gate Park from noon until 3 p.m. every Monday—the one day per week when food was not served in the Haight-Ashbury district. The feeding was successful, and one day someone suggested to the members that they obtain a permit from the city to continue the feeding. They submitted a request, but repeated inquiries by FNB members seemed to imply no one at the parks department really knew what they were talking about. These attempts were of little concern to the 45 riot police who, on August 15, 1988, emerged from the woods and arrested nine servers. Despite this attack on the organization, they were immediately besieged with calls from excited and concerned citizens saying things like “How can we get arrested with you guys? This is great!” In response to the crackdown, the group called on people to join in a March, and encouraged demonstrators to bang pots and pans. One patron even brought a self-made painting of the Star Trek character Spock—apparently highlighting that police arresting people for feeding the hungry is highly illogical. The march of about 150 people resulted in 29 arrests, with then-nascent news organization CNN capturing footage that spread internationally. Images of the arrests created another, larger surge of support, with people from all over the world calling and writing letters asking how they, too, could get arrested for feeding the hungry. So, the group made a flier—seven steps to starting a Food Not Bombs. The following week, 500 people arrived at the feeding. SFPD public relations officer Jerry Senkir defended the arrests, saying, “There has to be some kind of [police] action. At this point it seems to be a political statement on their [Food Not Bombs] part, not a food give-away issue.” In 1989, following additional arrests, SFPD Captain Dennis Martel echoed Senkir’s sentiments, saying, “They don’t want to feed the hungry, they just want to make an anarchist-type statement and we aren’t going to allow it” (McHenry, personal correspondence, January 31, 2014; FNB, c).
Members object to the demand they abolish their message because, they say, they are not an apolitical charity; Food Not Bombs does not offer charity—they offer solidarity. The following week drew 2,000 people, and the police made 54 arrests before giving up (http://foodnotbombs.net/fnb_time_line.html). Facing this losing battle, then-mayor of San Francisco Arthur Agnos created a permit and offered it to FNB in order to stop the arrests. Serving food in Golden Gate Park went unchallenged until Agnos was succeeded by Francis Jordan in January 1992, but the city’s homeless were still under attack. Servers began hearing of repeated stories of homeless people being woken in the middle of the night by police and forced to move. In response, an occupation began at Civic Center Plaza, near City Hall, calling it “Tenement Square” in reference to the Chinese occupation of Tiananmen Square. A 24-hour vegetarian restaurant was set up by Food Not Bombs in front of City Hall, portable toilets were brought in, and trash pickup became self-managed (the city called off trash pickup). Poetry readings and concerts were held each day as politicians entered and exited the City Hall. Twenty-seven days later, the mayor announced a solution for the homeless: an abandoned jaguar dealership could be their new home. But only two shopping bags worth of belongings were allowed, it was for men only, there were no mattresses or food, and animals could not be kept there but instead had to be surrendered to animal control, likely to be killed. Seeing this “solution” as unsatisfactory, the Food Not Bombs crew returned to Civic Center Plaza and continued to serve lunch, where sixteen people were arrested and food confiscated. Sensing this would happen in the future, the group devised a plan—they would divide their food, and their servers, into thirds. For dinner, one third of the food was brought out for serving, with the police capturing the servers and taking the food as predicted. Once they had gone, more servers brought out another portion of food and began serving. They, too, were arrested. Finally, the remains of the food were handed out to several hundred people without incident—the police either did not know or were too embarrassed by their own inefficacy to continue arresting people.
This routine continued for about a month, with servers dividing the food into thirds and being hauled off by SFPD each day. Facing imminent burnout, the group decided to invite others to join them, calling their campaign “Risk Arrest One Day Per Month With Food Not Bombs.” Nuns and priests came first to be arrested for serving food—awarding the added comedy of seeing cops pat them down for weapons—and were followed by the local carpenters’ union, teachers unions, peace groups, and others. The peaceful coalition continued to be arrested twice a day for the crime of feeding the hungry. That is, until the San Francisco earthquake shut down the city, and the police showed up for several meals in a row because Food Not Bombs was the only reliable food provider in the city. FNB proved able not only to ally itself with a diversity of factions, but showed it had the power to make even its arch-enemies dependent upon it.
In 1992 the U.S. Congress voted San Francisco the site to celebrate 500 years since Columbus landed in the new world. This prompted American Indian and other indigenous groups to call a meeting to take action against the ceremony. On October 9, 1992, Food Not Bombs held its first international gathering, drawing about 75 people from the roughly 30 chapters then in existence. It was at this gathering where the group’s principles—that every chapter would remain autonomous, there would be no leaders, and all food would be vegetarian or vegan—were affirmed by consensus. The following day, the activists served food to American Indian activists who met the ceremonial Columbus’s boat as it approached the shore, and pushed him back out to sea. The Niña, the Pinta, and the Santa María—floats for the parade—were then appropriated by Food Not Bombs members and driven away, much to the ire of the Italian American Association who apparently didn’t like visitors showing up uninvited and taking things from them. The action was yet another inspiration for more chapters to spring up.
Francis Jordan would take mayoral office in 1992. The former chief of police ran on an anti-homeless platform, and police units began fining and arresting the homeless. The longstanding tent encampment in Gold Gate Park was bulldozed (Mac Donald, 1994). He even received an airplane from the Justice Department equipped with thermal imaging devices to fly over San Francisco and identify homeless people to be rounded up (FNB, d). When this happened, FNB was on the scene. Obtaining a video camera from the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), FNB members recorded police ordering homeless people to throw their shoes in garbage trucks, confiscating sleeping bags, and kidnapping their animal companions. One of the most famous scenes caught on tape was an elderly grandmother struggling with police over a photo album, eventually ripping it from her arms to be trashed. This coverage was given to local TV companies and shown on Oakland’s Channel 2, infuriating the mayor for making his “Matrix” program appear inhumane. He immediately obtained an injunction against serving food without a permit and ordered the Parks Department to delete the permit process. Predictably, this did not stop FNB, and organizations again heeded the call to risk arrest to feed the hungry. Food Not Bombs responded to the mayor’s anti-homeless policies with demonstrations, and eventually began a campaign called “Homes Not Jails” to obtain keys to abandoned houses that were given to homeless families. Squats organized from HNJ have housed thousands of homeless people since 1992 (Corr, 1999, p. 36). But repression of the group continued.
In 1994 FNB asked the Clinton Administration’s civil rights division to send federal marshals to protect them from the San Francisco police, who by now were regularly beating them (FNB, e). The request fell on deaf ears, but in 1995, after a mass-arrest during the 50th anniversary of the United Nations near the monument to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, they received support (FNB, f). Amnesty International wrote letters (FNB, g) to the California governor declaring that anyone convicted would be considered prisoners of conscience. McHenry, among others, attempted to hand-deliver the letter to the city after suffering repeated arrests and beatings, each of which also meant criminal charges. Not only did the supervisor refuse the letter, but she slammed the door on McHenry so hard that it broke glass, cutting his hand. At the hospital he was arrested and charged with assault with a deadly weapon—allegedly breaking the glass himself and attempting to cut the supervisor. Fortunately, occupations of the courthouse and political theatre by members made the trial go nowhere. The case was eventually transferred to a new judge, Lucy McCabe, who dropped most of the charges, the three strikes against him, gave him credit for time served in jail, and allowed him to write his own probation (Brazil, 1995). McHenry was symbolically labeled a felon and decided that his probation would be to forbid him from killing anyone or blowing up any buildings for twelve months.
Many magnificent and terrifying events have occurred during and since the span covered above. Food Not Bombs continues to grow engage in diverse, creative activities: in 2003, FNB Zagreb went to McDonald’s and served people with balloons bearing golden arches that read “Eat shit in Croatia,” bringing a freshly-killed cow head to highlight the cruelty behind a McDonald’s burger; FNB Serbia was serving food while U.S. warplanes were dropping bombs on them; St. Petersburg suffered numerous attacks and beatings from neo–Nazi groups, with a pipe bomb going off at their location that only spared human lives because the members arrived late. Food Not Bombs was something of a joke in Iceland, where poverty was extremely low, indeed nonexistent—until the banking collapse that paralyzed the country. Each feed-in was followed by a march to the Parliament. FNB fed rescue workers on 9/11, protesters at the 1999 World Trade Organization protests in Seattle, and at Occupy Wall Street and innumerable other occupations. They fed the Orange Revolution in the Ukraine, striking farmworkers in Sarajevo, and the workers occupying the window and door factory featured in Michael Moore’s “Capitalism: A Love Story.” When Hurricane Katrina hit, Food Not Bombs was one of the only sources of relief food, and the Red Cross was directing people to FNB locations. When Czechoslovakia split, Slovakian FNB activists resolved to mitigate problems with stray animals by opening 20 rescue shelters.
The constant, unremitting challenges to FNB members feeding their communities by the State would have quickly broken a centralized and hierarchized organization. Their funding could have been drained, their leaders jailed, their offices raided and equipment confiscated. Cut off from centralized leadership, local branches formulated on the basis of taking marching orders from a headquarters would be aimless and dissolve instantly. But with autonomous cells operating on consensus, groups can share information and coordinate without suffering from any particular bottleneck for material or ideological resources—every group has their own pots, and they maintain their morale with each other, as a collective.
Reading through the history of Food Not Bombs, the group’s values become readily apparent. Food Not Bombs is not just a group to feed the hungry, although they do that; they are not just a group that fights against unfair trade laws, although they do that; they are not just a group campaigning for an end to poverty, war, environmental disaster, sexism, racism, or speciesism, although they do all of that; they are not just a group of anarchists, although all of their founding members are proudly anarchists and the group is thoroughly anarchist in its structure. There was some debate about whether to identify the group as anarchist, but McHenry said in the end the group decided it would be needlessly alienating. “It’s more important to do anarchism than be called anarchist.” (This is not a universal: FNBs in the Philippines and Indonesia seem especially fond of the circle-A symbol.) FNB is notoriously effective in recruiting new participants and gaining public support precisely because it is not tied down with a lot of politically-charged labels; the egalitarian values and acts of compassion it embodies are able to reach a wide cross-section of the population without bearing the weight of words chained to decades or centuries of smears and propaganda. They are able to construct a discourse about their activities that seems to fit snugly within the realm of common sense: “Why should it be a crime to feed the hungry?” “How come we can spend as much money on the military as the rest of the world combined, but can’t afford to pay our teachers?” “Killing animals is violence.” Rather than attempting to sell the public on an ideology, Food Not Bombs is a practice in which people can participate. Thus, that practice of feeding the hungry is the central axis of a pinwheel that simultaneously is receptive to the whole spectrum of agendas, without itself articulating those agendas and driving off the uninitiated. Accordingly, Food Not Bombs does not itself fight for animal liberation as such—it enacts a prefigurative politics of animal liberation by filling people up without dead animals, and therefore obviates the notion of exploiting nonhumans for revolutionary purposes. The practices, which are not immediately understood as hostile to the status quo, are experienced in concrete form by participants. This experience helps to inoculate them against the poison that has been attached to the labels for these practices by reactionary propagandists. The truths on which Food Not Bombs bases its actions are practiced as if they are too self-evident to require a name, and that mindset is indeed contagious. When the original eight members started the first chapter of Food Not Bombs, they were all vegetarian and more or less vegan, even though none of them were aware of the word “vegan” at the time. In fact, McHenry recounts, they never even had a collective conversation about vegetarianism—it was merely something so obviously appropriate it didn’t require a discussion.
Within this single non-act is a seed of immense power: the act of behaving as if it’s obvious to behave that way. Even the most reactionary rhetoric has not found a way to oppose the central act of FNB—feeding the hungry. It’s a concept that is ubiquitously virtuous throughout history and across religions, advocated by every religious figure who hasn’t been smeared, painted white, and claimed to support the Republican Party. Even today, as the tendrils of unfettered capitalism and its death prayer of myopic self-interest find ever increasing ways to slither out of our computers, televisions, and ear buds, the idea of arresting people for feeding the hungry is anathema to most of our basic assumptions. Humans are mimetic creatures—we look at those around us and adapt our behavior to them, internalizing behavior around us as normal. Seeing people routinely serving free food—and being arrested for it—is a moment for a spark that can inspire action, just as every mass arrest of Food Not Bombs activists has led to more chapters taking root. They’re not preaching an economic system or a philosophical doctrine that may appear affected or arrogant and requires intense study to comprehend; they’re not vandalizing property that requires participants to risk their lives; they’re not peddling a feeble and uninspired consumer solution or asking for money—they’re humbly and selflessly enacting the epitome of preserving life: serving food. A basic human need is being met, and it requires no sacrifice on the part of those who would take advantage of it.
This direct and visible aid to the community not only builds solidarity and saves lives in the moment, but it is a revolutionary tool that has proven crucial in sustaining ruptures in the capitalist fabric; ruptures that have altered the public consciousness, such as Occupy Wall Street and the 1999 shutdown of the WTO that broke open the debate on globalization. Napoleon Bonaparte said an army marches on its stomach. So does a revolution. Tree-sitters blocking loggers need food. Workers occupying a factory or striking need food. Activists marching against police brutality need food. Food is something we all have in common, that makes us all feel better, and that can build a community that is also a coalition to fight the forces arrayed against the oppressed groups of the world. In providing food to a diversity of events, FNB fills a crucial logistical gap, and acquires very real power—the power to dictate the diet of the people they’re serving. And it can be fun. When you give someone food, you are in that moment engaging in the very egalitarian mutualism that every system of ethics—including libertarian socialism—sees as its basis. The recipient of some kale salad or mashed potatoes will reciprocate by offering to take a little piece of you along with it—a conversation, perhaps, in which they will feel obligated to hear your view of the world. This is not to suggest that Food Not Bombs will save the world. Quite the contrary, its strength in decentralized autonomy prevent it from attaining that level of power. But the practice is an inspiration to those around it, it creates community, it serves a common need, and it provides logistical support to countless political acts. Serving food is no grand finale, and there are no roars or fireworks. But sometimes, in order to smash the State, you’ve just got to mash the ‘tate.
Special thanks to Michael A. Webermann and Keith McHenry for their informative interviews, and Kate Brindle and Larry Butz for offering feedback on the initial draft.
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