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By Jim Embry, Slow Food USA delegate, embryjim@gmail.com
An opening invitation I offer this document not as a finished platform, but as an invitation to dialogue. I bring it to the 2026 Slow Food Participants’ Assembly as a Black farmer, an agrarian intellectual activist from Kentucky Appalachia in the USA/Turtle Island, a longtime community organizer, and a member of the Terra Madre family since 2008. This will be my ninth Terra Madre and my third international Slow Food congress and assembly. Across these years, I have learned that the deepest power of our movement does not reside in any office, program, institution, or individual. It lives in the relationships among people, land, water, seed, culture, memory, and future generations.
In 2026, the United States arrives at an extraordinary convergence of history. The nation commemorates the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence while continuing to celebrate Juneteenth, the newest federal holiday, which honors the destruction of slavery and the long-delayed arrival of freedom to the last large community of enslaved Americans in Galveston, Texas. These commemorations are often treated as separate historical events. They are, in fact, inseparable. One celebrates the birth of the Republic. The other commemorates one of its most profound transformations.
Together they invite Americans to ask not simply what happened, but what kind of nation has been unfolding over the past 250 years—and what kind of nation do we hope to become during the next fifty? (continue reading here)
My journey into the global food movement began on a Black family farm in Madison County, Kentucky, located at the foothills of eastern Appalachia. Long before I ever traveled to Italy, met Carlo Petrini, or sat across a table from Edie Mukiibi, I learned lessons about food, land, family, and community from people whose names would never appear in newspapers or history books but who laid the foundation for my work as an agrarian, intellectual activist.
By Jim Embry, May 25, 2026
A few days ago, the world lost one of its great cultural visionaries. Carlo Petrini, founder of the international Slow Food movement and architect of Terra Madre, died in Bra, Italy—the small Piedmont town where a global revolution in food culture quietly began.[1]
For millions around the world, Carlo was a movement leader, philosopher, and advocate for biodiversity, small farmers, Indigenous food traditions, and the dignity of local culture. For me, he was also a dear friend, mentor, teacher, visionary leader, and fellow traveler in the long journey toward a more just and sustainable future.
Ohio carries history beneath its landscapes — stories that cross rivers, forests, towns, and generations. We know Harriet Tubman’s name. We know the broad outline of the Underground Railroad. But too often we overlook the depth of Ohio’s role — from the Appalachian foothills of Athens County to the communities of Springfield and beyond — in shaping one of the most courageous networks of resistance in American history.
The Ohio River formed much of the boundary between slavery and freedom. Yet crossing that river was only the beginning. Once freedom seekers entered Ohio, they moved through vast networks of support — including churches, farms, barns, attics, Black communities, abolitionist households — all part of what historians now recognize as thousands of miles of organized resistance across the state. (continue reading here)
Recorded June 2025: Elder Embry, who served as a funeral marshal at Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s funeral and has been a frontline activist for over 50 years, takes us deep into the meaning, the myths, and the missed truths surrounding Juneteenth.
Many Americans will gather on June 19 to commemorate Juneteenth that is now recognized by our federal government, 28 states and the District of Columbia. The celebration of Juneteenth — which commemorates June 19, 1865, as the end of slavery when General Granger read his General Orders No. 3 in Galveston, Texas — has gained popularity in recent years. But Juneteenth didn’t become important because it became a national holiday, and it didn’t become important in 2020 after the unfortunate murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor. It has long been acknowledged by many African American families and communities.
And for me, since I had two great grand-fathers who as members of the US Colored troops were in Galveston a month before General Granger arrived and who were also at Appomattox Courthouse when General Lee surrendered on April 9, 1865, Juneteenth is deeply personal to me. These ancestors have beseeched me to tell their story which means challenging the predominant narrative and sharing a more inclusive interpretation of Juneteenth that can then provide justice for how we commemorate it. (continue reading here)