Voices on the Wind Voices of Protest
The Third Horseman of the Apocalypse by Wilda Morris The third seal has been opened. Monsanto mounts the black horse, gallops across the world’s plains, its grasping hands full of seeds for sale, seeds engineered and patented. No one heard the horseman whisper, we’ll corner the market, commodify the seed supply, make the world dependent, leave no way back from the seeds we spread. Too late we heard the voice that said, a day’s wages for a loaf of bread, a bowl of barley soup, or a handful of rice with a few beans. Don’t worry if the price is too high for the laborer bent in the field, the mother with child at her breast. But don’t damage the extra virgin olive oil, don’t damage the wine.