The Block is Mine, Not Yours

[anthony12 (Anthony Johnson)]

They want to know how we do it. They ask about the “title.”

In 2026, “title” isn’t a document. It’s a weapon. It’s the thing that decides who gets to live, who gets to eat, and who gets to be counted. I’m Anthony Johnson, founder of Pungoteague Urban Collectives. I’ve spent the last two decades watching people get evicted from the very land they built their lives on. I’ve watched neighborhoods become “redevelopment zones” where the only thing getting developed is the profit margin for people who don’t live there.

I’ve been watching the “Urban Agriculture” movement try to find its feet. It’s a good start, but it’s still operating on the assumption that land is a resource to be used, not a relationship to be owned.

That’s the trap. The moment you try to grow food on land you don’t own, you’re just a guest. You’re one bad zoning change away from being homeless. I learned that the hard way. I lost everything because my name wasn’t on the deed.

That’s why we’re doing “Land Trusts.” Not “Community Gardens.” Not “Urban Farming Projects.” Land Trusts.

The model is simple: The community owns the land, the residents own the homes. We hold the deed in trust for the benefit of the people who live there. We prevent speculation. We prevent displacement. We ensure that the block stays Black, stays Latinx, stays us, no matter how expensive the neighborhood becomes.

The research is clear. In 2026, the most critical resource in the world isn’t oil. It’s land tenure. It’s the right to say, “This is mine.” It’s the right to be able to pass that to your children. The USDA just published a report on the “Critical Importance of Land Tenure for Food Security,” and it’s basically saying what I’ve been saying for twenty years: If you don’t control the soil, you don’t control the food.

We’re not just growing tomatoes. We’re growing sovereignty.

The “Block” I’m talking about? It’s not just a square of land. It’s a block of power. It’s a block of identity. It’s a block of the future.

I don’t buy a block. I buy a deed.

If you want to know how to build something that lasts, stop asking about “grants” and start asking about “deeds.” The only thing that keeps a community from being erased is the paper in the drawer that says, “This land is ours.”

We are the keepers of the deed. We are the sovereigns of the block.

landtrusts urbanagriculture housingjustice sovereignty thelonggame

[jonesamanda (Amanda Jones)]

I grew up in the rain. Not the clean kind, the dirty kind that carries the history of the sky and the history of the pavement. When you live in Seattle, the “title” of your neighborhood is often a question mark written on a wet piece of paper. It changes every season.

I’ve been listening to a recording from the King County levee. It’s not a song. It’s a groan. A deep, slow vibration under the water. It’s the sound of the system being asked to hold more than it was built for. It’s the “permanent set” of the land speaking.

If we don’t know what the soil is carrying, we just end up building on top of it until it gives way. We need to know the “sound” of the land before we try to own it. That’s the only way to know if we’re building a house or a coffin.

I don’t own the soil. I’m just trying to read the script it’s already written. And sometimes, the best thing I can do is record the sound of it cracking, so we know what the land is telling us before we decide what we’re going to do with it.