Social Change and the Adoption and Adaptation of Knowledge Claims: Whose Truth Do You Trust in Regard to Sustainable Agriculture?

Abstract

This paper examines sustainable agriculture’s steady rise as a legitimate farm management system. In doing this, it offers an account of social change that centers on trust and its intersection with networks of knowledge. The argument to follow is informed by the works of Foucault and Latour but moves beyond this literature in important ways. Guided by and building upon earlier conceptual framework first forwarded by Carolan and Bell (2003, Environmental Values 12: 225–245), sustainable agriculture is examined through the lens of a “phenomenological challenge.” In doing this, analytic emphasis centers on the interpretative resources of everyday life and the artful act of practice – in other words, on “the local.” Research data involving Iowa farmers and agriculture professionals are examined to understand how social relations of trust and knowledge are contested and shaped within and between agricultural social networks and organizational configurations. All of this is meant to further our understanding of what “sustainable agriculture” is and is not, who it is, and how these boundaries change over time.

Full text

Social change and the adoption and adaptation of knowledge claims: Whose
truth do you trust in regard to sustainable agriculture?
Michael S. Carolan
Department of Sociology, Colorado State University, Fort Collins, USA
Accepted in revised form April 29, 2005
Abstract. This pape r examines sustainable agricultureÕs steady rise as a legitimate farm management system. In
doing this, it offers an account of social change that centers on trust and its intersection with networks of
knowledge. The argument to follow is informed by the works of Foucault and Latour but moves beyond this
literature in important ways. Guided by and building upon earlier conceptual framework first forwarded by
Carolan and Bell (2003, Environmental Values 12: 225–245), sustainable agriculture is examined through the lens
of a ‘‘phenomenological challenge.’’ In doing this, analytic emphasis centers on the interpretative resources of
everyday life and the artful act of practice – in other words, on ‘‘the local.’’ Research data involving Iowa
farmers and agriculture professionals are examined to understand how social relations of trust and knowledge
are contested and shaped within and between agricultural social networks and organizational configurations.
All of this is meant to further our understanding of what ‘‘sustainable agriculture’’ is an d is not, who it is, and
how these boundaries change over time.
Key words: Discourse, Identity, Iowa, Knowledge, Phenomenological challenge, Trust, Social change, Sustainable
agriculture
Michael S. Carolan is an Assistant Professor of Sociology at Colorado State University. His areas of specialization
included environmental sociology, sociology of science and knowledge, sociology of food systems and agriculture, and
the sociology of risk. Some of his recent writings have focused on the theorizing of nature–society relations,
epistemological issues related to agriculture (and sustainable agriculture in particular), and the processes by which
knowledge claims are constructed and contested in response to environmental threa ts.
Introduction
In the 1950s, the United States Congress held hearings
on the use of chemicals in agriculture. The sole person to
testify before Congress on behalf of the ‘‘organic
movement’’ was J. I. Rodale, an outspoken publisher,
researcher, and leader of the movement from the 1950s
until his death in 1971. His testim ony was less than
openly received. Instead, his science was questioned as
was his scientific training, turning RodaleÕs testimony
into ‘‘a quasi-prosecution, a sarcastic cross-examination
of his credentials and professional credibility’’ (Peters,
1979: 258). Proponents of an alternative system of
farming gained little headway by way of these hearings;
industrial agriculture, it seemed, was here to stay.
Fast-forward a few decades
In 1980, the US Department of Agriculture released its
Report and Recommendations on Organic Farming in
order to educate policymakers and the scientific com-
munity on organic agricultural systems. With this report
as leverage, proponents of what was then called low-
input sustainable agriculture (i.e., LISA) were able to get
bills introduced into Congress in 1982. Concepts from
the 1982 legislation were then used to give direction to
the 1985 Farm Bill (Hassanein, 1999). One significant
piece of legislation to come from this bill was the allo-
cation of funds for the creation of the LISA program
(now the Sustainable Agriculture Research and Educa-
tion (SARE) program). By the mid-1990s, institutions
dedicated to applied research and education in sustain-
able agriculture began to be established throughout the
country (e.g., the Leopold Center for Sustainable Agri-
culture, at Iowa State University; the Center for Inte-
grated Agricultural Systems, at the University of
Wisconsin–Madison; the Sustainable Agriculture
Research and Education Program, at the University of
California–Davis; the Center for Sustainable Agricul-
ture and Natural Resources, at Washington State
Agriculture and Human Values (2006) Ó Springer 2006
DOI 10.1007/s10460-006-9006-4

University; and the Center for Sustainable Agricultural
Systems at the University of Nebraska–Lincoln). By
2001, Iowa State University began offering advanced
degrees (MS and PhD) in ‘‘Sustainable Agriculture.’’
Today we also find agriculture organizations such as The
National Campaign for Sustainable Agriculture (with
over 80 member organizations), the Community Food
Security Coalition, and the World Sustai nable Agricul-
ture Organization proliferating across the countryside and
around the world. In short, attitudes and practices – and,
as we will see, social networks – within agriculture have
been immensely fluid and dynamic since those Con-
gressional hearings in the 1950s. So what is going on
here?
The theoretical account that follows is an amalgama-
tion of perspectives and analytics. It is informed by the
writings of Foucault and Latour but goes beyond this
influential literature in important ways. The conceptual
linchpin of this synthesis is trust and its intersection with
networks of knowledge. Toward this end, analytic
emphasis centers on ‘‘the local,’’ for it is here where
these networks are contested and negotiated. It is here
that knowledge and trust claims are adopted and adapte d
to the socio-cultural milieu of everyday life.
1
This journey begins by way of an earlier developed
concept, the phenomenological challenge (Carolan and
Bell, 2003). A phenomenological challenge focuses on
the inseparable web of socio-organizational and technical
processes that are part and parcel of how we experience
and evaluate knowledge claims as they come our way.
These social perceptions and everyday evaluations of
knowledge are rooted in concrete social relations. While
this suggests that the evaluation and application of
knowledge is rooted in ‘‘the local,’’ it does not deny the
expertise of agricultural professionals. Rather, it high-
lights their problematic epistemic orientation as it relates
to sustainable agriculture, and the processes by which
those orientations are adapted to local conditions (see
also, Carolan, 2006e).
A phenomenological challenge thus provides a means
to understand the local, socio-relational processes con-
tributing to sust ainable agricultureÕs growing legitimacy.
In detailing these dynamics we find a myriad of actors,
each of whom plays a role in giving shape to the social
body of agriculture – farmers to be sure, but also land
grant universities, the state, agri-businesses, Extension
agents, seed and fertilizer dealers, conservation agents,
farm managers, and the like. In the pages that follow, I
work to map aspects of this interpretative terrain, so as to
gain greater insight into the socio-relational processes
that have led to sustainable agricultureÕs rise as a legiti-
mate farm management system. In doing this, I find the
relationship between knowledge and trust to be particu-
larly important. Stated simply, I argue that the growing
legitimacy of sustainable agriculture can be linked to
continually expanding social networks of knowledge and
trust. In short, more people now trust sust ainable agri-
culture and the proponents of sustainable agriculture to
be speaking the truth. This has done much to move this
model of agricultural production forward.
I begin by developing the concept of the phenome-
nological challenge, placing emphasis on the relationship
among knowledge and trust and that I call ‘‘the local,’’
while orienting this conceptual framework to production
agriculture. I then turn to the empirical case. Drawing
from data gathered from an extensive qualitative research
project focusing on production agriculture in Iowa, I
discuss sustainable agricultureÕs growing legitimacy
through the lens of a phenomenological challenge.
Through this, the social body of agriculture is ‘‘opened’’
to reveal its embedded social relations, particularly as
they relate to trust and knowledge. Here, the ‘‘voices’’ of
numerous individuals, organizations, and institutions,
(e.g., Practical Farmers of Iowa (PFI), Iowa State Uni-
versity) are examined with the goal of understanding how
social relations in agriculture change as knowledge
claims, trust, identities, and socio-organizational config-
urations are contested over time. From here, we can begin
to speak about what sustainable agriculture is and is not,
who it is, and how these boundaries change over time.
Framing the paper conceptually
and methodologically
Before turning to the empirical analysis, two questions –
one conceptual and one methodological – need to be
addressed. First, what is a phenomenological challenge
and how does it relate to issues of trust, knowledge, and
‘‘the local’’? Second, what methods were employed to
generate the data and what was the local context from
which this data emerged?
The phenomenological challenge
To analyze social change through the lens of a phe-
nomenological challenge is to examine how normative
codes are rewritten, challenging what is ‘‘normal’’ and
‘‘abnormal,’’ ‘‘right’’ and ‘‘wrong,’’ ‘‘civil’’ and ‘‘per-
verse.’’ While Foucault (1972, 1979) wrote extensively
on ‘‘sorting’’ codes of discourse, he viewed them as
largely immutable, as existing beyond the realm of
practical action. On this point, Bruno Latour has been
particularly critical of Foucault. According to Latour
(1988), the world does not hang together by a single
Foucaultian episteme, but rather by heterogeneous
‘‘chains of associations.’’ These chains form social net-
works whose strength depends upon the activities that
sustain them. Unlike the single, coherent, immutable
episteme, Latour (see also, Callon, 1986; Callon and
Michael S. Carolan

Latour, 1981; Law, 2002; Mol, 2002) a rgues that net-
works (and the discursive structures they affect and are
themselves effects of) are open, shifting, multiple, and
contestable.
Far from a purely discursive analysis of social change,
a phenomenological challenge thus highlight s the thor-
oughly active, embodied, and embedded processes of
social life, all of which involve people, the state,
organizations, expert systems, and non-human objects
and animals. Through the lens of a phenomenological
challenge, we find social life to be a thoroughly perfor-
mative act – which is to say, it is something that indi-
viduals do. As I detail below, the same can be said of
agriculture.
To refer to either conventional or sustainable (or even
organic) agriculture is to speak, at least in part, of dis-
cursive systems whose boundaries are mutable and
contested. Indeed, the difficulty of clearly delineating
between either of these systems of production is perhaps
the best testament to this fact. A number of critical
examples that have addressed this performative (and
discursive) character of production agriculture can be
found in the literature – from industri alized hog pro-
duction (DeLind, 1995), to the development of ‘‘organic
standards’’ (Allen and Kovach, 2000; Anton-D unn,
1997; DeLind, 2000), and the formation of local, citizen-
based food systems (DeLind, 2002; Hendrickson and
Heffernan, 2002; Lyson, 2004), to the processes involved
in consumer mobilization (Lockie, 2002). All of these
examples highlight the thoroughly socio-organizational
nature of agriculture and how it cannot be reduced to
autonomous rational actors (as argued by neoliberalism).
For what those in agriculture do (from their actual
farming practices, and organizational membership, to
those they trust and the type of ‘‘science’’ they find
truthful) ultimately gives shape to the boundaries that
define what ‘‘sustainable’’ and ‘‘conventional’’ agricul-
ture are as well as what they are not.
Take, for instance, Laura DeLindÕs(1995) analysis of a
grassroots protest against a factory hog farm in Michigan.
In this work, DeLind details a process of contestation that
is active, mutable, and discursive in character. She de-
scribes how initial attempts to zone for the local expan-
sion of ‘‘hog hotels’’ quickly turned into a debate about
the ‘‘right’’ to farm. Thus, what began as an attempt to
protect the environment, family-scale farming, and a
certain quality of life for local residents, soon turned into
an ‘‘attack’’ on an entire industry. This occurred through
protests being (successfully) reframed by agribusiness as
an assault on the ‘‘right to farm’’ for all farmers. In
describing this ‘‘curious relations hip’’ between the state,
hog hotels, and the ‘‘right to farm,’’ DeLind gives atten-
tion not only to discourse, but to how the debate was
framed. Also included in her analysis are the roles that
science, expert systems (e.g., Michigan State Univers ity),
and ‘‘state-of-the-art’’ techniques and technologies played
over the course of the conflict. All of these were mar-
shaled by both ‘‘sides’’ of the debate, at various times, to
lend support and legitimacy to the knowledge claims
made by the various social players and networks
involved.
DeLindÕs article illustrates the broader contestation
that is occurring more generally throughout the social
body of agriculture. In doing this, it vividly highlights
how structures of power can shape social relations –
which, in this case, centered on the collusion between
industrial agriculture and political actors. Thus, when
speaking of agriculture as a discursive, socially contested
system, we must also keep in mind that it is a system
imbued with unequal power relations, involving such
influential actors as the state (e.g., government subsi-
dies), credit/lending agencies (e.g., banks), corporations,
and the like (Carolan 2005a). All these actors have
played important roles in making sustainable agriculture
what it is (and is not) today.
The relationship between trust and knowledge
An important component of this analysis is the focus it
places on perceptions of trust, particularly as they give
shape to networks of knowledge (and conceptions of
truth). In social relations of trust we have a pragmatic
yardstick against which to differentiate fact from fiction
(Porter, 1995). In short, we often find truth in those social
relations we trust. Yet, in focusing our analysis on ‘‘the
local’’ – on the performative fabric of everyday life – we
find trust itself to be a problematic concept, at least on the
surface. For when we speak of ‘‘trusting’’ someone or
something, this does not always imply that we actually
do trust them in a meaningful way. Thus, we have further
cause for placing analytic attention on the locally
co-produced fabric of everyday life.
Philosophers of science and sociologists of knowledge
have argued that knowledge must be placed within an
interpretative context in order for it to have meaning
(e.g., Kuhn, 1962; Latour, 1987; Polanyi, 1962). This
socially mediated character of knowledge is perhaps
most familiar to us when we are first confronted with a
‘‘fact.’’ Upon b eing presented with a knowledge claim,
assuming we are indeed interested in establishing its
validity, we quickly seek to link it to a particular social
network. ‘‘Who told you that ?’’ or ‘‘Where did you hear
that from?’’ are some of the questions we might ask in
order to determine truthfulness. Through this process, we
can begin to assess how the knowledge claim fits with
our personal sense of trustworthiness and, thus, begin to
assess the claimÕs truthworthiness (Bell, 2004; Carolan,
2002; Carolan and Bell, 2003, 2004).
2
As others have detailed, knowledge is made mean-
ingful only after it is placed within a certa in social
Social change and the adoption and adaptation of knowledge claims

network (Collins, 1990; Collins and Pinch, 1998; Jasa-
noff, 1990). Thus, if we believe a social network to be
trustworthy, we will likely feel the same about knowl-
edge that comes from that socia l network – that is, we
will likely consider such knowledge to be true. This point
will weigh heavily in the forthcoming analysis, in our
quest to explain sustainable agricultureÕs steady rise as an
‘‘accepted’’ farm management strategy. Part of the reason
that sustainable agriculture has achieved a degree of
mainstream status is because more people now trust that
its proponents are speaking the truth.
When speaki ng of trust, however, we must be cautious
not to see it as a fixed, stable entity, but rather as mutable
and discursively contested. As documented by Brian
Wynne (1992, 1996), when people express public trust in
institutions for example, such trust may in fact rest upon
a deeper private mistrust. That is, while people may say
they trust a particular entity, deeper probing reveals just
the opposite. Therefore, we must not presume that all
trust statements are the same, for in some cases expres-
sions of trust may prove to be more a condition of con-
venience or convention than something authentically felt
(Wynne et al., 1993). Simply put, sometimes people have
no choice but to trust. For instance, while recognizing
that trusting an institution will likely have no affect on
the behaviors of said institution, individuals may still
express trust toward it so as to retain a perceived degree
of agency, even though that trust is not authentically felt.
There is, as Giddens (1990) notes, a degree of ontolog-
ical securi ty in such unexamined, unreflexive commit-
ment. Wynne (1996) refers to this as ‘‘virtual trust’’ or
‘‘as-if trust,’’ recognizing that individuals are often
compelled to act ‘‘as if’’ they trust experts and/or insti-
tutions because they feel they have no other choice,
keeping any significant doubts to themselves (see also,
Carolan, 2006a).
These findings underscore the need for a contextuali-
zed understanding of how trust relations change over
time. Only by understanding the heterogeneous ‘‘chains’’
that are part and parcel of everyday life – from words to
ideas, institutions, and practices – can we understand the
rationalities, trusts, and thought processes individuals
bring to the task of assessing knowledge claims. The
understandings embedded in the context of broader
social relations are critical for deciphering sustainable
agricultures networks of trust and how they converge and
overlap with those of conventional agriculture. In doing
this, it is possible to learn not only who one trusts (to be
speaking the truth), but also what that trust means and
how that trust is enacted at the local level.
Yet this begs the question: what is trust? If active trust
is indeed more than simply saying ‘‘I trust,’’ what exactly
is it? The writings of Russell Hardin (e.g., 2001, 2002)
and Anthony Giddens (e.g., 1990, 1991) have proven
valuable for answering this question.
Following Hardin (2001), trust is related to the concept
of ‘‘encapsulated interests.’’ ‘‘In modal trust relation-
ships, the trusted party has an incentive to be trustworthy,
an incentive grounded in the value of maintaining the
relationship into the future. That is, my trust of you is
encapsulated in your interest in fulfilling the trust’’
(2001: 3). While some may contest bringing interests
into the trust equation, HardinÕs point is not to reduce
trust relationships to egoistic, rational urges. Trusting
someone is not the same as saying that someone has
an interest in attending to your interests, which can be
either material or nonmaterial in nature. Rather, Har-
ding means that ‘‘trust is relational.’’ Trust depends
upon relationships, both past and presen t, that are borne
out of previous relational experiences. Indeed, this is
frequently how interests becom e encapsulated in the
first place – through the development of ‘‘thick’’ rela-
tionships.
In the end, however, HardinÕs account of trust comes
across as rather formal and sterile. If trust is embedded in
relationships that are marked by an encapsulation of
interests, is that not also a matter of ‘‘the local’’?
3
And as
a matter of the local, is trust not also a performative act –
an amalgamation of performance and practice?
Relying on Giddens (1990), I take this last conceptu-
alization one step further, by grounding trust within the
local, and viewing it as a thoroughly negotiated property
that is sustained through the mutuality of respon se and
involvement. Through trust, according to Giddens, indi-
viduals become re-embedded in the local conditions of
time and place as they reaffirm those trust relations
through their performances as purposeful actors.
4
Thus,
trust is more than merely what people say. It also must be
understood in the context of what people do (which
allows for the differentiation between ‘‘as-if’’ and
‘‘active’’ trust). Thus, we arrive at the following position:
trust is a locally meani ngful performative act, premised
upon the encapsulation of interests.
Research background, setting, and methods
This analys is grew out of earlier research designed to
identify the barriers that prevent Iowa farmers from
adopting sustainable farming practices on rented land
(see e.g., Carolan, 2002, 2005b; Carolan et al., 2004;
Mayerfeld et al., 2003). This was seen as a problem
because of the growing prevalence of land rental in
agricultural today. The underlying assumption guiding
this research was that land tenancy presented additional
barriers to the adoption of sustainable agriculture. Yet,
we had little sense of what these barriers were, other than
anecdotally, given the lack of attention to the issue of
land rental in agriculture by rural scholars.
Data for this project were collected in three stages. In
stage one, the names of prospective respondents were
Michael S. Carolan

obtained using a snowball sampling technique, beginning
with farmers known to myself and others involved in the
project. During this stage of the research (June–December
2000), 29 personal interviews were conducted. Three
farm managers, eight Iowa State University (ISU)
Extension agents, two Department of Nat ural Resources
(DNR) agents, three Natural Resources and Conservation
Service (NRCS) agents, and 13 farmers were interviewed
(seven of whom were members of the PFI).
5
During the second phase of data collection (September
2000–January 2001), focus groups were utilized. Pro-
spective focus group participants were obtained through
a snowball sampling technique. In total, four focus
groups were conducted. Two involved farmers, one of
which was composed of NRCS agents, and one involv-
ing ISU Extension agents and DNR agents. Focus groups
lasted approximately two hours, with conversations tape-
recorded and later transcribed. The size of each focus
group ranged from five to ten participants.
The final phase of research involved a county-wide
study. During this stage of the research, (January–
September 2001), 28 interviews where conducted
involving three ISU Extension agents and 25 farmers.
Again, the snowball sampling method was used to obtain
the sample population. Each interview lasted between
45 minutes and two and a half hours. Out of the 28
interviews, 24 respondents allowed our conversation to
be tape-recorded. In those instances where interviews
were not recorded, extensive field-notes were taken both
during and after the interviews. During this final phase,
participant observation techniques were also employed
while I attended the annual PFI meeting and a number of
‘‘field days’’ organized by PFI, Iowa State University,
and seed companies.
The final phase of data collection took place in Auburn
County, a rural county located in west-central Iowa (see
map). Auburn Cou nty is located approximately half way
between the region Õs two largest urban centers, Des
Moines (IA) and Omaha (NE), and about an hour from
each by car. Its largest town, also its county seat, has
slightly over 2,000 inhabitants. It is thus located quite a
distance from any large urban markets, a condition that
adds another level of difficulty to those interested in di-
rect marketing, attending farmers markets, and partici-
pating in Community Supported Agriculture (CSA).The
county was selected in part due to the pre-existing con-
tacts between the research team and a relatively large
population of PFI members located within its boarders. It
was also viewed as having a relatively ‘‘average’’ agri-
cultural profile.
6
In employing the snowball sampling technique for
each stage of data collection, potential respondents
known to either myself or the research team were first
approached and asked if they would be willing to par-
ticipate in this research. Those respondents were then
asked to provide the names of two to four other farmers
(tenants/landlords) or agricultural professionals who they
thought would be willing to be interviewed. Bey ond this,
no specific concept or objective was used to prompt
additional names. An attempt was also made to develop
numerous heterogeneous ‘‘snowballs’’ for each stage.
Thus, instead of arriving at a sample population through
the formation of a single snowball, and running the risk
of having a relatively homogeneous samp le, our goal was
to seek out individuals at the earliest stages of sample
formation who possessed a variety of characteristics
(e.g., small and large scale ope ration, old and young,
male and female, specialized and diverse commodity
profiles). In doing this, we were able to arrive at a
sample that consisted of conventional and sustain-
able farmers (including both PFI members and non-
members) as well as a diverse array of agricultural pro-
fessionals. The purpose was to minimize the primary
methodological shortcoming of this sampling technique:
namely, that it tends to include only those within a
connected social network (Gilbert, 1995). In each of the
four stages, interviews were conducted until saturati on
was reached and emergent categories were no longer
forthcoming.
The general topics covered in the interviews and focus
groups centered on: perceptions toward sust ainable and
conventional agriculture (past, present, and future);
relationships with past and present landlords/tenants;
relationships with agricultural professionals; the role of
trust in shaping social relationships within agriculture;
and the influence of the government in shaping farm
management practices. Given these broad topics, it
should not be surprising that themes emerged that went
beyond the tenant/landlord relationship. The locally
contested nature of knowledge claims proved to be one
of the more persistent themes. Thus, while the primary goal
of this research was to identify the barriers to adopting
sustainable farming practices on rented land, a personal
interest quickly emerged on how local social relationships
shape broader debates between sustainable and conven-
tional agriculture (with a particular interest on the interre-
lationship between trust and knowledge) (Carolan, 2002).
Social change and the adoption and adaptation of knowledge claims

Before discussing the ‘‘findings’’ of this research, I
would like to say a brief word about the way agric ulture
is generally done in Iowa, in order to further contextu-
alize the forthcoming analysis. The cultural and
geophysical landscape of agriculture in Iowa – and
throughout the Midwest more generally – has tradition-
ally been, and continues to be, highly industrialized and
commodity driven (e.g., producing ‘‘feed’’ versus
‘‘food’’). Here, the soil is black, the summers are hot and
humid (perfect conditions for growing corn), and
John Deere green is nearly ubiquitous. Had this research
been conducted elsewhere – on small organic farms or
conversely on large ranchlands – the relationships
described would likely have been different. As discussed
earlier, what those in agriculture know and trust is in part
an effect of how they do agriculture. Consequently, as
those conditions (e.g., ecolog ical, social, cultural,
economic) change, so too do the corresponding (local)
networks of knowledge and trust that make up the social
body of agriculture.
The social relations of agriculture
The construction and maintenance of discursive
boundaries in agriculture
7
To speak of agriculture as a discursive system is to rec-
ognize the ‘‘work’’ that goes into maintaining the
boundaries of that system. There are no hard and fast
rules that clearly delineate what conventional and sus-
tainable agriculture are. There are, of course, definitions
that seek to establish some boundaries between these
systems of production (e.g., Allen et al., 1991; Allen and
Sachs, 1993; Bird et al., 1995). Yet these definitions
inevitably vary, which only serves to highlight the flu-
idity of these boundaries over time.
‘‘The current model is just not sustainable. Sooner or
later people are going to realize that we need a paradigm
shift in agriculture,’’ remarked one organic beef farmer.
‘‘The way people farm now relies too much on
chemicals and other things to replace labor. But itÕs
replacing labor at the cost of the environment, biodi-
versity, family, and communities. We need to start find-
ing solutions with our minds and not in a can,’’ explained
one farm manager.
In the process of ‘‘boundary work,’’ discourse is
continually being contested, repositioned, and shaped.
Through it, groups and individuals work to continually
define and reposition the discourses of contesting
networks in an attempt to gain advantage. Examples
of this process can be gleaned from the above remarks.
Here, sustainable agriculture proponents are seeking
to (re)define the parameters of what convent ional
agriculture is (as well as what it is not) – namely, a
fundamentally un-sustainable model of agricultural
production.
Importantly, however, manipulation rarely occurs
without resistance. Boundary wor k is a contentious act
and interests and power relations present competing
frames. One form that such resistance may take (as
observed during the course of field work) is degradation
discourse: the use of normative or affectual labels to
weaken the communicative authority of a group and/or
individuals (Carolan and Bell, 2003; see also, DeLind,
1995).
Instances of such discourse are presented below. On
the one hand, terms such as ‘‘radicals,’’ ‘‘hippies,’’ and
‘‘old-fashioned, small-time farmers’’ were used by
proponents of conventional agriculture to weaken the
authority of those associ ated with sustainable agriculture.
Likewise, similar tactics were used by proponents of
sustainable agriculture (when spoken of more conven-
tional operators), who used such terms as ‘‘greedy,’’
‘‘materialistic,’’ ‘‘selfish,’’ and ‘‘closed minde d.’’ Again,
the goal of such discursive acts was to weaken the
authority of opposing actors (and networks) in an attempt
to make them appear untrustworthy and thus untruth-
worthy.
Through this process, lines become drawn in the sand
and in-groups and out-groups become constructed and
reified. In this manner, ‘‘Dan the farmer’’
8
was recog-
nized as one of ‘‘us’’ (as noted by one of DanÕs close
friends), or one of ‘‘them’’ (as noted by an individual less
genial to Dan). Likewise, ‘‘Bill the field specialist’’ was
seen as someone ‘‘whoÕs nice, but of little help’’ (as noted
by one proponent of sustainable agriculture noted), or
‘‘...someone you can turn to for most of your information
needs...’’ (as described by an individual he has helped
repeatedly over the years). Similarly, Monsanto is not
‘‘just another company.’’ It is an organization ‘‘that only
cares about profits and large scale agriculture’’ (as one
organic grower quipped), or ‘‘an important agricultural
innovator’’ (as noted by an Extension agent). Thus, we
can begin to see that sustainable agriculture Õs rise in
legitimacy involves not only the contestation and repo-
sitioning of social relations, but also the (re)positioning
and (re)construction of individual identities as those
relations change over time.
Science, expertise, and the contested relations
of knowledge
To better understand the local complexities associ ated
with sustainable agricultureÕs rise in legitimacy requires a
thorough investigation into how knowledge claims are
contested, validated, and ultimately enacted across the
social body of agriculture. An examination into the per-
ceptions and practices of science among those in pro-
duction agriculture is warranted. In doing this, we find
Michael S. Carolan

differing knowledge systems attached to sustainable and
conventional agriculture.
Many in agriculture long worried about the social and
environmental impacts of the industrial system and
believed there was a better alternative (Hassanein, 1999).
Yet these claims wer e regarded for years as ‘‘unproven,’’
‘‘irrational,’’ ‘‘emotional,’’ ‘‘subjective,’’ and ‘‘unscien-
tific’’ (points Congress repeatedly leveled at J. I. Rodale
in those hearings mentioned at the very beginning of this
article). This, in part, was due to the fact that the
industrial model was perceived to be based upon science,
while the sustainable model, at least then, was not.
9
In
other words, science (or at least ‘‘accepted’’ science) did
not substantiate the know ledge claims of those chal-
lenging the dominant social relations within agriculture.
As ea rlier discussed, ‘‘whose’’ know ledge greatly
influences individualsÕ and groupsÕ abilities to create an
effective challenge to dominant social relations. In a
culture with a deep trust in science and technology, it is
not surprising then that the knowledge and social rela-
tions most trusted are those of scientists. Sustainable
agricultureÕs recent perceived association with science,
however, has changed this discursive disparity. By
drawing on the publicÕs trust of science, it appears that
sustainable agriculture has been able to concomitantly
attain a degree of truthworthiness that previously had
been lacking.
This is not to say that science itself resides outside of
history (see e.g., Carolan, 2004, 2006d; Jasanoff, 1987;
Jasanoff and Wynne, 1998; Wynne, 1992, 1996). As
others have noted, science produces ‘‘immutable
mobiles’’ – homogeneous knowledge claims predicated
on universal applicability across space, place, and time
(Latour, 1987). ‘‘Science,’’ however, is being problema-
tized in agriculture by those ‘‘on the ground.’’ For
example, while attempts are made through the industri-
alization of agriculture to ‘‘force’’ nature to conform to
universals – through, say, the use of chemicals and bio-
technology – many now question whether it should not be
our knowledge that conforms to the nature of geophysical
space and communities of place (Bell, 2004; Feldman and
Welsh, 1995; Kloppenburg, 1991; van der Ploeg, 1993).
The geophysical and cultural landscapes of agriculture are
just too diverse and heterogeneous to ignore. Having
trust, therefore, in the ‘‘scientific’’ is itself a discursive
practice that need to be questioned, and many sustainable
agriculture proponents began doing just that.
The distinction, however, is not that conventional
farmers trust science while sustainabl e farmers do not.
Rather, it was the type of science – or, more accurately,
the view of how science should be done – that was the
point of contention. Specifically, conventional agriculture
proponents tended to have faith in the science of
immutable mobiles, commodified universals, and tech-
nical rationality. Sustainable agriculture proponents, on
the other hand, trusted ‘‘local’’ science – that is, knowl-
edge rooted to geophysical space and communities of
place. I found that during farmer ‘‘field days’’ this dis-
tinction came into sharp relief (see also, Carolan, 2006b).
At the ‘‘conventional’’ field days I attended (sponsored
by seed companies), the knowledge was conveyed in an
objective, universal manne r. Those farmers in attendance
asked a few questions, but usually they just listened to
what the various experts had to say. Farmers were like-
wise free to wander around the fields and inspect the
various crops that had been planted, and most did just
that. Importantly, this occurred either before or after the
various specialists spoke. Thus, the knowledge claims
made by the experts were largely of a disembedded sort.
Rarely were claims associated with any particular illus-
tration but rather were conferred with a universality that
needed no local, p hysical referent.
The lines of demarcation between experts and non-
experts were clearly upheld at these events. Farmers
listened to the benefits of GPS (global positioning
satellite) technology. They were told of all the advanta-
ges that come with raising Bt corn, and they were edu-
cated as to how best to control for the corn borer (or
alfalfa weevil, leafhopper, etc.) using the latest chemical
technologies. Granted, while they listened they also
looked. Yet the knowledge process remained distant,
disembodied, and disembedded. There was little sense of
locality and mutability to the knowledge claims. Rather,
they were presented in a unidirectional (from ‘‘expert’’ to
‘‘non-expert’’), universalistic, and unproblematic fash-
ion. The cognitive authority of science and expertise thus
was upheld as those in atte ndance accepted the frequent
epistemic boundary work going on. This epistemic
boundary work was captured in the farmersÕ use of such
phrases as ‘‘scientific management principles,’’ ‘‘spe-
cialized knowledge,’’ ‘‘the science behind it is sound,’’
and ‘‘I donÕt feel comfortable talking about an area that is
beyond my area of expertise.’’
Another sort of field experience
While the conventional farmers I interviewed talked
about ‘‘trusting’’ expert systems such as Iowa State
University and ISU Cooperative Extension, it is impor-
tant to look deeper. In doing this, we can ask if such trust
is represented by an encapsulation of interests or if it is
better captured through what has been called ‘‘virtual’’ or
‘‘as-if’’ trust. (Again, this more accurately describes
sentiments of un-reflexive confidence than any sort of
hermeneutically meaningful trust (Wynne, 1992, 1996).)
When probed, the trust conveyed by conventional pro-
ponents of ‘‘the science’’ behind the knowledge appeared
to be of the ‘‘as-if’’ variety, rather than embedded in
interests that were encapsulated.
Social change and the adoption and adaptation of knowledge claims

For example, a landlord who recently retired from
production agriculture had this to say: ‘‘IÕd say I trust the
R and D [research and development] that goes into
bettering our agricultural knowledge. ItÕs gotten us this
far. But to be honest, I donÕt really think about it.’’ A
farm manager similarly remarked, ‘‘IÕd like to think I
trust them [Iowa State University]. I mean, when I think
about trust I usually think of it being between two
people. Not between a person and an organization or
university. But I canÕt really think of any other word for
it, so, sure, I guess you could say I trust Iowa State.’’ A
beef producer explained, ‘‘I guess IÕd say I trust Iowa
State to do what they can to help family farmers like
myself. But honestly, theyÕre the only show in town, so
itÕs not like IÕve got a choice. I basically have to trust
them.’’
Respondents associated with the conventional model
thus expressed a certain level of dependency u pon expert
systems (e.g., ‘‘I basically have to trust them’’) as a result of
their lack of engagement in the claims-making process.
Consequently, while they may have expressed trusting the
science, knowledge, and expertise that supported this
model of production agriculture, a deeper analysis reveals
that what they felt was something different.
Let us compare this with how field days were con-
ducted by a prominent state-wide sustainable agriculture
organization, the PFI.
During PFI field days, each event was held at a dif-
ferent memberÕs farm. The knowledge conveyed was
explicitly local in character – specific to each particular
operation. As a result, members seemed to tacitly
embrace the knowledge as a thoroughly embodied and
embedded practice (Bourdieu, 1977). The landscape also
managed to further support the knowledge being con-
veyed. Paths were made and signs displayed to make the
event an active and ecologically embedded experience.
Thus those in attendance did not merely stand idly by
and absorb information. Rather, they listened, touched,
walked through, and discussed the knowledge claims.
They experienced the difference between, say, tofu
soybeans and conventional soybeans. They walked
among strip intercroppings and grass buffer strips, liter-
ally touching the knowledge claims as they were being
discussed. They learned about feedlot management by
viewing rotational grazing ‘‘pens,’’ feeling and pointing
at prairie-oak windbreaks, and eating organic beef.
Through these events, knowledge was made intimate,
mutable, and local (and in some cases consumable) (see
also, Carolan, 2006c; Saldivar-Tanaka and Krasny,
2005).
Yet, the differences between these two types of field
days did not rest purely upon which senses were (or were
not) evoked. While the ecology of the epistemic experi-
ence was imp ortant (how spaces were arranged to sup-
port knowledge dissemination), it also supported social
relationships. By embedding knowledge in place,
through making such knowledge intimate and tact ile, PFI
field days were able to foster locally embedded rela-
tionships of knowledge and trust. In the words of one
participating member, ‘‘This is not just about learning but
about sharing ideas and information. There are no experts
here.’’ Another explained,
Through these events, we remind ourselves that farm-
ing is not just about practices – by that I mean it is not
about having people say ‘do this and youÕll have a
successful operation.Õ ItÕs about the processes of farm-
ing and all that goes with farming. ItÕs about finding out
what works best for you and adapting that knowledge
to your operation.
At PFI field days, individuals were not simply told
‘‘the facts,’’ but they talked about them with people they
knew and who knew them. Given this degree of famil-
iarity, and as a result of repeated interactions, the interests
of many of these individuals were encapsulated. In other
words, knowledge was not the only thing being con-
veyed and nurtured at these field days; so too was trust.
This trust was not the inactive, passive, ‘‘as-if’’ variety,
however. Rather, it was an active trust, built upon the
sustained intimacy of social networks and those indi-
viduals embedded within those networks.
While this analysis of field days highlights the dif-
fering knowledge systems embodied in sustainable and
conventional agriculture, it still begs the question of why
some farmers connect themselves to a local form of
knowledge and knowledge co-production, and others
remain wedded to more orthodox forms. Or, to put it
another way: Why do some farmers trust sustainable
agriculture (and its socio-relational networks), while
others trust conventional agriculture (and its socio-rela-
tional networks)? To answer these questions, we must
now center our discussion more directly on the issue of
trust and how trust gives shape to those broader socio-
organizational networks that sustain it.
Shifting social relations of trust
Through trust, networks are formed and sustained. And
yet, while trust can act as a social glue for holding people
together, it can also be quite divisive (Gambetta, 1988).
By investigating relations of trust, then, we can glean
insight into why sustainable agriculture has been able to
amass the social networks it has, while failing to capture
others.
Dan is a fifty-somethin g tenant who has been renting
land since he began farming in the early 1970s:
Dan: ‘‘People who know me trust me.’’
Interviewer: ‘‘So does that mean everyone you know,
and everyone who knows you, trusts you?’’
Michael S. Carolan

Dan: ‘‘Well, I wouldn Õt say that. But those who don Õt
trust me donÕt know me too well either. And theyÕre not
necessarily people I care to know myself. Now the
people that really know me, they trust me, and thatÕs all
that really matters. Those other people... I could care
less about what they think of me.’’
Here, Dan, who held views typical of the average
respondent, is describing the socio-relational aspects of
trust. Trust both creates and is created through social
affiliation and disaffiliation. As Misztal writes, ‘‘The
people excluded by our boundaries are those whom we
do not trust and those whom we trust are included’’
(1996: 141). In short, we often trust those with whom we
feel an affiliation and, in turn, often feel an affiliation to
those we trust. This is in part a product of our interests
being encapsulated. Yet trust also shapes who we are. It
plays into our sense of self, our identity; it gives us ‘‘in
groups’’ and ‘‘out groups.’’ Dan was very clear about
this. For him, the social networks within which he found
himself embedded were defined, in part, by those he
knew and trusted and who knew and trusted him in re-
turn – in short, by those who had interests that encap-
sulated his own. On the other hand, those who Dan did
not trust – whose interests Dan believed did not encap-
sulate his own – were outside of that social network, and
thus were not critical to his identity. The relationship
between identity and group identity formation and trust
has been scant ly addressed in the social change litera-
ture, however. As David Snow and Doug McAdam ex-
plain, ‘‘to date, relatively littl e attention has been
devoted to the alignment of personal and collective
identities’’ (2000: 46). This conceptual void has resulted
in ‘‘the problem of identity correspondence – that is, the
alignment or linkage of individual and collective iden-
tities and action’’ (ibid: 42). One potential point of
alignment between individual and collective identities
appears to be trust.
Dan, for instance, considers himself a proponent of
sustainable agriculture. On the land he cultivates he has
utilized a number of sustainable management techniques
over the years – organic agriculture, rotational grazing,
late-spring soil nitrogen tests, and no-till, to name a few.
In addition, Dan is a member of the PFI. It is from this
organization that Dan obtains much of his agricultural
knowledge. Yet knowledge is not all Dan acquires from
this group of agriculturally like-minded individuals. He
also obtains part of his identity from them. Dan views the
knowledge provided to him through these networks to be
true, in part due to the trust he atta ches to these networks
and those within them, all of which leads to social
affiliation, social disaffiliation, and identity formation. In
other words, DanÕs relationship to PFI constitutes an
active, heterogeneous chain of association – a social
network whose strength depends upon activities, objects,
and practices. Field days, annual meetings, potlucks,
newsletters, summer camp for his children all work to-
gether to link Dan to this larger social network. No one
thing or act constitutes this chain. Rather, these trust
relations form as a result of the perceived encapsulation
of interests that this chain sustains.
Dan: ‘‘Those are my kind of people (PFI), and I know I
can trust the information they provide.’’
Interviewer: ‘‘Trust the information how?’’
Dan: ‘‘You know, that itÕs correct. That you can trust it
to be true. Sometimes you just canÕt trust the informa-
tion you get from the seed or fertilizer guy because you
just donÕt know if they have your best interests in mind.
But with these folks (PFI members), you know they can
be trusted.’’
That you c an trust it to be true. Here, Dan touches on a
central relationship – that between trust and truth. The
knowledge Dan trusts to be true is due partially to those
with whom Dan affiliates and the social networks
accompanying these affiliations. But it is also due to the
disaffiliation Dan experiences from those ‘‘other’’ net-
works, such as those associated with industrial agricul-
ture. Thus, by locating himself within this particular
social network (whose interests are seen, by Dan, to
encapsulate his own), he concomitantly disconnects
himself from other social networks and those embedded
within those networks.
Interviewer: ‘‘Do you trust the information provided to
you by Iowa State University to be true?’’
Dan: ‘‘No, by all means not all of it.’’
Interviewer: ‘‘What do you mean by that?’’
Dan: ‘‘IÕ m just a little uncomfortable with their rela-
tionship to ‘big business.Õ I mean, Iowa State is a
business, right? And they need money just like any
other institution to survive. And where does that money
come from – from the Monsantos and Pioneers of this
world. Now, can these large corporations make money
from sustainable or organic agriculture? Of course not,
so what type of research do you think these corpora-
tions want to see done at places like ISU – research that
makes the farmer more dependent on them and their
products. Not sustainable agriculture.’’
Dan makes clear from this statement that his social
relations, and those of sustainable agricultural in general,
are at best marginalized from (and at worst external to)
the social relations of Iowa State University. According
to Dan, sustainable agriculture is an unattractive option
for many agric ultural corporations because sustainable
agricultureÕs methods are antithetical to corporate prof-
itability and growth. Yet, these very companies fund
some of the research that takes place at land- grant
institutions such as Iowa State University. DanÕs concern
therefore resides with Iowa State UniversityÕs associa-
Social change and the adoption and adaptation of knowledge claims

tions and the social relations that accompany them. For in
having the perception of associating with ‘‘big business’’
(regardless of the claim Õs actual validity), Iowa State
University is simultaneously disassociating itself from
those opposing ‘‘big business’’ – those who ident ify with
sustainable agriculture and Dan in particular.
In the above case, it is clear that Dan does not feel as
though Iowa State University has an interest in attending
to his own interests. The interests of Iowa State
University, in other words, do not encapsulate DanÕs (in
the eyes of Dan). Rather, at least as Dan sees it, Iowa
State UniversityÕs interests reside in fulfilling a trust to
what he calls ‘‘big business.’’ As he later remarked,
‘‘T hey [Iowa State University] do little for me and I pay
little attention to them; I can get along without them.’’
This is not to say, however, that Iowa State University
has no network connections to sustainable agriculture,
for it most assuredly does, through, for example, its
institutional relationship with PFI, the Leopold Center for
Sustainable Agr iculture, and its graduate program in
‘‘sustainable agriculture.’’
10
Such connections have pro-
ven significant in granting sustainable agriculture an air
of legitimacy. Thus, while the effect is less pronounced
among those already firmly embedded within sustainable
agriculture, Iowa State University remains a significant
agent for conferring trust – and thus truth – for those
outside these social relations. For example, a recent
sustainable agriculture convert remarked, ‘‘[A member of
the Iowa State Extension field staff] showed me the
numbers. ThatÕs when I first saw that rotational grazing [a
sustainable farming technique] might actually work,’’
declared a recent sustainable agriculture convert. Like-
wise, a field specialist, herself a devoted sustainable
agriculture proponent allowed, ‘‘I remember seeing
[a distinguished Iowa State Agriculture Economist] talk
about [sustainable agriculture] at a workshop and I knew
weÕd finally made it.’’
Here, we can begin to understand how sustainable
agriculture and its proponents went from a largely mar-
ginalized group of actors to legitimate discursive con-
tenders. In the process their networks began to include
those who are perceived to be trustworthy by those
within the dominant social networks. In short, they began
to include those who are trusted as speaking the truth by
‘‘mainstream’’ agriculture. And, once ‘‘respected’’ insti-
tutions and people – such as Iowa State University and
distinguished agriculture economists – began connecting
themselves to sustainable agriculture, sustainable agri-
culture began to garner trustworthiness (and truthwor-
thiness) by association.
Yet it is also here that we can see why sustainable
agriculture has not, as yet, fully emerged as the dominant
discursive system. Many of those interviewed who con-
tinued to disassociate themselves from sustainable agri-
culture did so, in part, because they did not yet see the
links sustainable agriculture has to trusted (‘‘main-
stream’’ agriculture) social networks. For example, Jon, a
retired farmer who now rents his land and prefers to farm
it in a more convent ional manner, said ‘‘I just donÕt think
itÕs feasible. I mean, I have concerns about the profit-
ability of sustainable or organic agriculture. And I
havenÕt seen anything from [ISU] Extension or WallaceÕs
Farmer [an agricultural periodical] to really show me
otherwise.’’ Sam, a tenant who prefers to farm conven-
tionally expressed similar concerns. ‘‘I just donÕt know. If
itÕs [sustainable agriculture] as great as some people
make it out to be why arenÕt more people doing it? And
then places like Iowa State – why arenÕt they promoting it
if itÕs so great?’’
Thus, both farmers were largely unaware of sustainable
agricultureÕs associations with Iowa State University,
‘‘respected’’ agriculture economists, and ‘‘science’’ (as
they defined it) more generally. This contributed to their
view that the socio-organizational configuration s of sus-
tainable agriculture were largely untrustworthy (and
untruthworthy), and not yet worthy of their affiliation.
This would suggest a need to more rigorously emphasize
and nurture these relationships and connections. While
those embedded within sustainable agricultureÕs networks
(e.g., PFI) may be less impressed by such associations, it
is clear others give significant legitimizing weight to
them.
The state
The influence of the state cannot be overstated within the
realm of production agriculture. Although the state did
not explicitly tell farmers what to produce, it did influ-
ence their selections. While it did not explicitly preach
conventional agriculture, it did shape the conditions that
made the adoption of more sustainable methods
impractical and in some cases financially unfeasible. In
short, while the state may proclaim to be a neutral
bystander in the formation of social relations within
production agriculture, such neutrality can certainly be
questioned (see e.g., Bonanno et al., 1995; Friedmann
and McMichael, 1989; Kloppenburg, 1988). It is
important, therefore, to see the state as an active partic-
ipant in this socio-relational process through its ability to
foster certain relationships and hamper the formation of
others. This, in turn, allows us to understand who trusts
the state and why some feel that the state does not have
their interests at heart (the stateÕs interest do not encap-
sulate their own).
For instance, direct government payments to Iowa
farms shape not only production practices but also
farmersÕ perceptions of the state (in terms of trust and
encapsulated interests). According to one farmer,
‘‘Conventional methods are only profitable with gov-
ernment subsides. Take those away and suddenly the
Michael S. Carolan

numbers work to the advantage of more sustainable
methods.’’ Another remarked, ‘‘I canÕt really blame
someone who wants to stay with a corn-bean rotation. I
mean, checks from the government are nice. ItÕs a great
way to hedge oneÕs agricultural bets.’’ Yet another farmer
summarized, ‘‘Honestly, without government payments
the conventional model of production wouldnÕt stand a
chance. You take those away and sustainable and organic
agriculture will sweep across the countryside.’’
It is also important to recognize the secondary e ffects
of government subsidies within the context of the case
study. Specifically, respondents spoke of how banks were
more likely to approve loans to lease or purchase land if
the farmer could guarantee that the land was put in a
specific ‘‘rotation’’ (most prominently the ‘‘corn–soy-
bean’’ rotation). This made them eligible for government
programs and thus a more secure ‘‘bet’’ for repaying their
loan. It created a powerful incentive not to diversify oneÕs
(traditional) commodity profile.
In the words of one farm manager: ‘‘Banks donÕt
exactly incite innovation, particularly as weÕre talking
about it here. They like supposedly ‘tried-and-trueÕ
methods in agriculture, which means corn-and-beans,
corn-and-beans, corn-and-bean s.’’
This is not to suggest that the state is devoid of sus-
tainable agriculture proponents and associated network
connections. Proponents of sustainable agriculture can be
found in the halls of Congress and in the US Department
of Agriculture – indeed, throughout the state and federal
levels. Yet more ‘‘bridging’’ work remains to be done. As
things stand now, the state remains firmly committed to
the logic of industrial, commodity driven agriculture and
its associated global food system (Heffernan, 1999;
McMichael, 1995).
Currently, the social relations of trust between the state
and those of sustainable agriculture appear to be tenuous
at best. Given the current structure of farm subsidy
programs and research appropriations, many of those
interviewed who associated with sustainable agriculture
felt as though the state did not trust them, and they, in
turn, did not fully trust the state.
As one farmer remarked, ‘‘You do have to wonder
who theyÕre [the state] ultimately fighting for – the little
guys like me or big business agriculture?’’ In the words
of another respondent, ‘‘There seems to be a disconnect
between what I do, and what others like me do and the
decisions that are made behind closed doors in [gov-
ernmental] agricultural committees and subcommi ttees.’’
This is not to say that all the farmers and agricultu-
ralists interviewed expressed distrust toward the state, but
many did – particularly those who ident ified with the
sustainable model. For these individuals, such sentiments
were evidence that their interests were not being encap-
sulated by the state. And until those interests become
encapsulated, distrust will remain.
Discussion and conclusion
When viewed through the lens of a phenomenological
challenge, we find the social body of agric ulture to be
dynamic and mutable. For instance, even before sus-
tainable agriculture was recognized (by those in ‘‘main-
stream’’ agriculture) as a legitimate and profitable farm
management system, proponents of sustainable agricul-
ture could be found in Congress and at land-grant uni-
versities. These individuals could be said to have been
embedded across social networks. To various degrees,
they had a socio-relational ‘‘foot’’ in the dominant and
contesting discourses.
Over time, however, lines in agricultureÕs socio-rela-
tional sand begin to be redrawn. Reducing oneÕs use of
agricultural chemicals was believed to be a noble goal by
most everyone interviewed. Land-grand universities now
devote considerable energy and funds to better under-
stand sustainable agricultural systems. Organizations
funded by Congress are also slowly beginning to provide
small loans and grants to encourage ‘‘alternative’’ forms
of farming systems with diverse, non-traditional com-
modity profiles. What is occurring in agriculture, in other
words, is network interpenetration. Sustainable agricul-
ture has slowly filtered into conventional agriculture and
conventional agriculture has slowly penetrated sustain-
able agriculture, thus transforming both in the process
(Carolan, 2005b).
For example, profitability is now important for many
who align themselves with sustainable agriculture. As
one farmer admits, ‘‘I do everything I can to reduce my
use of chemicals. I care about wildlife and clean water
and do my part to protect the environment. I see myself
as a steward of the land. And fortunately itÕs profitable. I
donÕt think I Õd do it [referring to reducing chemical in-
puts] if it wasnÕt. So itÕs a win–win scenario – for myself
and the environment.’’ This sentiment is echoed by an
organic beef farmer. ‘‘People donÕt realize this, but thereÕs
good money to be made in niche products – I mean really
good money.’’
Yet, as attention among sustainable agric ulture pro-
ponents shifts toward market-based relationships, one
must ask how this will alter what ‘‘sustainability’’ means
in the context of sustainable agriculture. Will sustain-
ability evolve increasingly into economic sustainability
first and foremost, with social and ecological sustain-
ability remaining important but nevertheless secondary
concerns? As others have noted, due to the penetration of
instrumental, profit-driven rationality, such ‘‘alternative’’
systems risk becoming more ‘‘industrial’’ in character as
they become incorporated into mainstream agriculture
(Allen and Kovach, 2000; Anton-Dunn, 1997; DeLind,
1993, 2002; Kirwan, 2004).
For this reason, it is important to examine these rela-
tions ‘‘on the ground,’’ as they are being played out and
Social change and the adoption and adaptation of knowledge claims

contested. As many note, one thing that separates sus-
tainable from convent ional agriculture is its empha sis on
‘‘local’’ knowledge (Campbell, 2001; Clark and
Murdock, 1997; Feldman and Welsh, 1995; Kloppen-
burg, 1991; Nerbonne and Lentz, 2003; van der Ploeg,
1993). This does not mean, however, that research (with
its immutable mobiles) and extension have no place in
sustainable agriculture. Rather they must be balanced by
the local. In doing this, we find that the social relations
that make up product ion agriculture are dynamic and
ever-changing. Thus, what ‘‘sustainable agriculture’’ is
today is not necessarily what it wi ll be tomorrow. In the
end, the connections it establishes, how it uses ‘‘science’’
(and what ‘‘science’’ it uses) to legitimize its claims, and
the extent to which it turns to economic rationality to
garner support will all shape what ‘‘sustainable agricul-
ture’’ is (and is not) in the future.
In conclusion, through the lens of a phenomenological
challenge this paper has detailed sustainable agricultureÕs
rise in legitimacy by way of its ability to acquire network
relationships with individuals and organizations associ-
ated with ‘‘mainstream’’ agriculture. The success of
sustainable agriculture can thus be linked, in part, to its
ability to present a mode of agricultural production that is
both acti ve and local. Specifically, by constructing net-
works of familiarity individuals come to know one
another through sustained relationships, which result in
their interests becoming (further) encapsulated. From
this, (active) trust associations are forged.
Proponents must be careful, however, not to make
sustainable agriculture too much like its conventional
counterpart when seeki ng to win further legitimacy. For
besides the social and ecological implications, an addi-
tional concern should be the type of socio-relations that
may emerge from such a trend. As things stand now,
sustainable agriculture makes food production more
intimate and local for all those associated with it. By
knowing food production in such a way, those involved
are more likely to trust this system of production and
trust those involved in this system to be speaking the truth
when it comes to issues related to agriculture and food.
Trends toward the ‘‘instrumentalization’’ of sustain-
able agriculture, on the other hand, place such local,
intimate social relationships at risk. This could result in
the devolu tion of trust (e.g., greater amounts of ‘‘as-if’’
versus ‘‘active’’ trust) and the loss of encapsulated
interests. Currently, it appears that sustainable agriculture
(or at least ‘‘sustainable agriculture’’ for PFI) refers to
more than economic, ecological, and social sustainability.
It seems to be premised on sustaining locally embedded
relationships of trust and knowledge as they pertain to
both people and place. In the end, this is perhaps one of
sustainable agricultureÕs most valuable and underappre-
ciated attributes – its focus on local, intimate, and
encapsulated relationships. Without this, we would be
left with yet another faceless, disembedded, and distant
form of agricultural production, which we already h ave
in the conventional model.
Notes
1. This reference to the ‘‘adoption and adaptation’’ of
knowledge claims is an intentional word play off the dif-
fusion of innovation literature (e.g., Rogers, 1995).
Building upon earlier criticisms the concern here regards
the undervaluing of local knowledge (e.g., Downs and
Mohr, 1976; Kremer et al., 2001; Strang and Soule, 1998).
In other words, how is knowledge (as technology, prac-
tices, etc.), adapted to the social, cultural, and biophysical
milieu of the encounter as it diffuses across social net-
works?
2. To be clear, highlighting the relationship between knowl-
edge and trust does not deny the reality of scientific claims.
It simply gives attention to the fact that no one is an expert
on everything. And on those topics on which we are not
experts, we must rely on those who are – or, more spe-
cifically, on those who we trust – if knowledge is to have
any meaning (any truth) for us.
3. I thank Laura DeLind for highlighting this point for me.
4. It is important not to read Giddens as simply juxtaposing
the intimacies of personal life against the impersonality of
abstract systems. His analysis is more complex than that. In
the words of Giddens, ‘‘The disembedding mechanisms lift
social relations and the exchange of information out of
specific time-space contexts, but at the same time provide
new opportunities for their reinsertion’’ (1990: 141, my
emphasis).
5. Practical Farmers of Iowa (PFI) is a non-profit organization
that began in 1985. It now has over 700 members in Iowa
and neighboring states. According to their website, ‘‘Our
mission is to research, develop and promote profitable,
ecologically sound and community-enhancing approaches
to agriculture. We carry out diverse programs to assist
farmers with both production and marketing needs, to raise
public awareness of where food comes from and how it is
grown, and to educate youth about agriculture and the
environment.’’ (http://www.practicalfarmers.org/abou-
tus.asp)
6. According to the 2002 Census of Agriculture, 55% of all
Iowa farms produce corn, compared to 58% in Auburn
County. For cattle, the numbers are 34% and 35%,
respectively. The percentage of farms raising hogs is 14%
and 11%, respectively. For soybeans, the respective figures
are 54% and 54% (USDA, 2004). On the other hand,
operations within the county were slightly larger than the
‘‘average’’ operation for the state. For instance, the average
size farm in Iowa in 2002 was 350 acres. In Audubon
County that figure was 409 acres. Likewise, while the
average estimated market value of land and buildings per
farm for the state as a whole was $707,730, the figure for
Audubon County was $740,445 (USDA, 2004).
7. Before ‘‘opening’’ up the production realm of agriculture
to our sociological gaze, I must make the following
methodological disclaimer: while this paper attempts to
Michael S. Carolan

historically contextualize sustainable agriculture, the nar-
ratives presented are derived from interviews that are
temporally specific. Thus, no claims are made of providing
an analysis of ‘‘the sustainable agriculture movement,’’ if
such a thing even exists. For instance, in the case of Iowa,
there has been a long tradition of agricultural social unrest
– from the ‘‘Sioux City Milk War’’ of 1932, to the Farms
Holiday movement of 1932–34, to the ‘‘Cow Wars’’ in the
winter of 1934. Any exhaustive analysis of sustainable
agriculture as a social movement ultimately would have to
include such events.
8. Names have been changed to protect the identities of those
who participated in this research.
9. Admittedly, sustainable agricultureÕs association with
‘‘science’’ is not recent (see, for instance, the work of Sir
Albert Howard (1940) who wrote extensively on organic
agriculture). However, those links (with the ‘‘scientific’’), I
argue, have only recently been acknowledged and seen as
legitimate by those in mainstream agriculture.
10. Although, in the fall of 2005 the then-director of the
Leopold Center, Fred Kirschenmann, was given 48 hours
to resign and offered instead the position of ‘‘Distinguished
Fellow’’ of the center. While much debate surrounds this
event, proponents of Dr. Kirschenmann claim that the
reasons for his dismissal center on his unwillingness to
appease agribusiness and his continual work on what is
called ‘‘Ag in the Middle.’’
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Address for correspondence: Michael S. Carolan, Department
of Sociology, Colorado State University, B236 Clark, Fort
Collins, Colorado 80523-1784, USA
Phone: +1-970-491-5797; Fax: +1-970-491-2191;
E-mail: mcarolan@lamar.colostate.edu
Social change and the adoption and adaptation of knowledge claims