Dear Reader,

As the Alliance approached publishing the second iteration of the Land, Food, and Freedom Journal, I considered leaving my role as editor. Not for lack of love. My belief in this work runs deep! But, stewarding editorial projects is a skill I’m still nurturing, and, if I’m being real, one that will take years, if not decades, to hone. In the first issue, there were stumbles, from grammatical slips on the pages, to moments of uncertainty with contributors. Was I truly fit to guide a new cohort for the second issue, to nurture literature rooted in Black food sovereignty and liberation?

Before making my decision, I reached out to Cicely Garrett, executive director of the Alliance and executive editor of the journal. I rehearsed my resignation, convinced that stepping back meant doing right by the work. Cicely reminded me that leadership in movement spaces doesn’t arrive perfect; it’s shaped, refined, and built through practice. Yes, I had opportunities for growth. But alongside them came affirmations, joy, and proof of impact. We handed out copies of the journal at the 2024 Black Farmers and Urban Gardeners Conference. The excitement and warmth we received for our work affirmed our purpose. I chose to continue in my role.

While I engaged with the pieces in this second issue, I again witnessed the winding, non-linear path of movement work. This vivid journey is full of learnings, undoings, and returns to a grounded center. Augustina Boateng urges us to claim Black speculative fiction as a blueprint for organizing and freedom-dreaming. Zakia Elliott offers self-portraits that challenge internalized capitalist patterns, inviting us to rest, reflect, and resist the constant churn of productivity.

In every story and artwork in these pages, I hear echoes of our ancestors. They remind us to walk with their wisdom, to listen closely. For those feeling unmoored from that lineage, these pages offer gentle, powerful ways to reconnect.

This journal remains a work in progress. As a collective, we are crafting something unprecedented. We ask each other often: How do we bridge the vast landscape of our movement and create a platform for those called to speak? How do we lift messages that reimagine Black agrifood systems as functional, sustainable, liberatory? How do we hold space for joy?

These questions shape the art and writing you hold now. They ground us.

And still, when personal doubt surfaces, I remember: we do not build alone. Our ancestors knew this place of uncertainty. In our first issue, Dr. Monica White wrote that when Booker T. Washington founded Tuskegee, he had little to offer George Washington Carver, but he reached out and dared to build anyway. Washington’s courage to begin without certainty guides me still.

May these pages meet you wherever you are. May they offer something to carry with you, something to remind you that your presence in this work matters. Keep going.

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With love and faith,

Ashia Aubourg

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