Last year, I hosted a farm tour in Southampton for the Department of Culture. As we travelled between farms, I shared two facts that stop people in their tracks every time:

Bermuda has the equivalent of 228 football fields (402 acres) of inactive Agricultural Reserve.

According to the 2024 Employment Survey, there are only 91 farmers, farm labourers and livestock workers, representing approximately 0.14 per cent of the population.

These two facts are not separate; they are deeply connected.

Over the past century, Bermuda has steadily abandoned the practice of caring for the land. As the economy shifted toward more profit-centric industries such as tourism and international business, thousands of acres of farmland have been lost to industrial activity, the development of golf courses, hotels and housing. What little Agricultural Reserve remains is now under constant pressure to be rezoned and built upon. Meanwhile, we fail to recognise the true value of the land that sustains us.

On that tour, a mother sitting at the back of the bus asked a simple but profound question: why is so much farmland unused and who owns it?

To answer honestly, we must look further back to the very foundation of private land ownership in Bermuda. When British settlers arrived, they divided the land among themselves. Much of it remains in the hands of their descendants today. No land was ever allocated to the enslaved persons from Africa, the Caribbean and the First Nations who were forced to work and care for it.

After Emancipation, injustice deepened. Slave owners across the British Empire were compensated £20 million, equivalent to some £300 billion in 2018, for the loss of their “property” while the formerly enslaved were forced into unpaid “apprenticeships”. Bermuda enslavers were paid £129,000, the equivalent of £16 million today.

The consequences of that history are still with us. Land remains concentrated in private hands, often disconnected from the knowledge and responsibility of stewardship.

Meanwhile, many Black Bermudian families, descendants of those who first cared for this island, have been systematically denied access to land and the resources needed to create thriving communities.

This is not an accident. It is the result of deliberate policy.

The introduction of Portuguese labourers, including my own ancestors, was framed as strengthening agriculture. In reality, it helped suppress wages and further displace newly emancipated Black Bermudians who already possessed deep agricultural knowledge. This history matters as it shapes the inequities we see today.

As a White person of Portuguese descent, I believe it is my responsibility to name these truths and to challenge the systems that continue to benefit people like me while oppressing others.

Today, Bermuda produces less than ten per cent of the food we consume. Even if we brought all remaining Agricultural Reserve land into conventional production, we might reach 20 per cent. This is not food sovereignty. It's continued dependence on imports.

Many families in Bermuda are struggling to access basic nutrition. Children go to school without breakfast. Others rely on highly processed food that fills stomachs but does not nourish bodies. This is food poverty and it is unacceptable.

We must be clear: food sovereignty is not just about farming. It is about power. It is about who controls land, resources and the ability to feed themselves and their community.

If we are serious about change, then we must be willing to have uncomfortable conversations including those about the redistribution of land and wealth.

This does not mean chaos or division. It means reimagining how land is accessed and used so that more people, especially those historically underserved, can participate in growing food. It means supporting new farmers, investing in community-based agriculture and treating land as a sacred shared resource rather than a private commodity to be underutilised or developed.

It also means shifting our culture. Gardening should not be a hobby for a few; it should be a basic life skill taught in every school with the same priority as any other subject. We need training programmes for young people who want to work the land and funding for local agripreneurs ready to build a more resilient food system.

But we do not have to wait for the system to change. We have the power to start now. Try planting a garden in your yard, in a pot or with your neighbours. Support farmstands before supermarkets. Ask your children's schools if they want help with their school garden. This is how we will share knowledge and build more resilient communities.

At the same time, we must demand more from our leaders and from ourselves. Because without addressing the underlying imbalance in land access and wealth, we will never achieve true food sovereignty.

Bermuda has the land. Bermuda has the knowledge. What we lack is the collective will to redistribute access, repair historical harm and listen to and care for the land together.

The time to act is now. This work belongs to all of us. If you are ready to be part of the conversation and help grow a more food sovereign Bermuda, I invite you to join the Food Sovereignty Forum, a space for dialogue, learning and collective action. Reach out at foodforumbda@gmail.com to get involved.

• Chris Faria is founder and managing director of The AgraLiving Institute. He has been working in Bermuda’s horticultural industry since 2006. This is the second articles in a series by members of Bermuda’s Food Sovereignty Forum. To learn more or get involved, e-mail the committee at foodforumbda@gmail.com