From the Ground Up: Alderwoman Laura Keys on Land, Trust, and Transformation
Sara Bannoura
Inside Our Meeting
We met with Alderwoman Laura Keys of the Elevated 11th Ward on May 15—just one day before a deadly tornado tore through vulnerable neighborhoods in West and North St. Louis City.
The vision she shared with us—full of hope, healing, and long-overdue investment—was met almost immediately with devastation. The storm struck 24 hours later, deepening the very crises she named: disinvestment, fragile infrastructure, and chronic neglect in North St. Louis communities.
With clarity and conviction, she laid out her priorities for the next four years: more development and investment in overlooked neighborhoods, more opportunities for young people, and a future where neighbors feel safe, supported, and seen.
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One of her dreams? A vineyard in North St. Louis, growing native grapes on reclaimed land. “The Elevated 11th Ward Vine,” she smiled. She imagines a community harvest meal—neighbors gathered, sharing food and pouring glasses of North City wine.
That dream traces back to her roots—grounded in land, legacy, and the lessons passed down through generations.
Alderwoman Keys shared that her parents were originally sharecroppers in southern Missouri. After an altercation with a white man, her family had to leave in the middle of the night and resettled in St. Louis.
But every summer, she returned south—to her grandparents, to the garden, to mornings that started with a cup of coffee from her granny.
“Every summer of my upbringing I spent down south with my grandparents in Steele, Missouri, in the Bootheel. We didn’t have a TV, so our grandparents spent time talking to us. They spent time with us in the garden. We took walks in the fields of cotton and soybeans—you get to see life from a different perspective. They taught us how to quilt. You’re going to have coffee in the morning, and in the afternoon, you’re going to have tea.
It’s a different way of life, and the older I get, the more I cherish it. Those were really great times—really great memories—to be able to spend with my grandparents, who lived through some of the worst that our society has gone through, and for them to share some of their stories.”
Alderwoman Keys
It’s this lived experience—of land, care, and generational wisdom—that shapes how she shows up for her ward today.
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Alderwoman Keys is a servant. A child of God. She doesn’t see herself as an out-of-reach politician. “This is the only phone I got,” she said, holding it up. “You don’t call downtown looking for me.” She doesn’t answer to institutions—she answers to her constituents. “I got 23,000 bosses.”
Her ward stretches from Chouteau Avenue in Midtown all the way to the northern edge of O’Fallon Park at Interstate 70—a span that’s as wide as the contrasts it holds. South to North, Grand Boulevard cuts through communities shaped by redlining, displacement, and decades of uneven investment.
The 11th Ward is more than a political boundary—it’s a living archive of St. Louis’ racial and economic divides, stitched together by struggle, survival, and pride.
And she’s clear: the food crisis is real—but it’s rooted in something bigger—a broken trust between people and the systems meant to serve them.
Yes, food and nutrition insecurity are symptoms of segregation—but for Alderwoman Keys, they’re also evidence of a system that has failed on every front: housing, health, safety, education, and land. She doesn’t believe the same systems that created the multitude of crises can be trusted to solve them.
Because before we can talk about food, she reminds us, so much more must be addressed. The basics—like safety, reliability, and dignity—are missing. When delivery drivers refuse to come to certain blocks. When school meal programs fall short. “The systems have been so abused for so long,” she said. Whether it’s land ownership through LRA, lottery money for schools, or promises tied to casino revenue—she’s seen too many good ideas gutted by bureaucracy, politics, and performance.
In her view, food sovereignty can’t be government-led—it must be community-owned, neighbor-built, and rooted in trust. She lifts up the growers already doing the work—tending soil, feeding elders, teaching youth—not because they were appointed, but because they care. Her charge to us was clear: invest in what’s already growing. Strengthen the gardens, kitchens, churches, and networks that are feeding people now. Scale what’s working—without diluting it. Honor the solutions already alive in the city, and build with them, not over them.
As we wrapped up, one thing was clear: Alderwoman Keys’ leadership isn’t about plans. It’s about presence. It’s about memory. It’s about faith. She is showing us that transformation in St. Louis won’t come from the top—it will be grown, block by block, by the neighbors planting new roots and building what they’ve been waiting for.
Food City has long believed in the power of neighborhood growers—and we’ve seen it firsthand in the 11th Ward, through places like George Washington Carver Farms in Fairground and the community garden at Central Baptist Church in Midtown. These aren’t just gardens—they’re lifelines.
The deadly storm brought new layers of uncertainty and instability to neighbors who were already carrying so much. In times like these, community resilience isn’t an abstract goal. It’s about having real, local food on the ground. It’s about neighbors being able to walk down the street and find something fresh, nourishing, and healing—without waiting on a system that may never show up.
That’s the kind of future Alderwoman Keys is fighting for.
This is the future we’re planting toward—rooted in trust, grown by neighbors, and grounded in the belief that food for all isn’t charity. It’s justice.
What We Heard from Alderwoman Keys
Land Stewardship & Community Ownership
Keys is a champion of neighborhood growers. She spoke with deep admiration for residents like Miss Rosie of Fresh Starts Community Garden in JeffVanderLou, who have transformed vacant land into vibrant, nourishing spaces—feeding their neighbors and modeling what’s possible when the community leads.
She’s also a staunch advocate for permanent, low-barrier land ownership, particularly when it comes to LRA properties. For residents who’ve spent years caring for abandoned lots, she believes the path to ownership should be clear, affordable, and fully supported.
“I encourage it, and I write letters of support for that. So when people contact me and they say, ‘Hey, look—I’m tired of this lot next to me. In some cases, I’ve been taking care of this lot for 10 years. Why can’t I have it?’
And I’m like, ‘Why can’t you have it? Let’s write a letter.’
And so, we definitely encourage people to do that. We want them to have those experiences.”
Food Sovereignty as Survival & Culture
Keys sees gardening not as a trend but as a household survival skill and a form of cultural preservation. She views youth disconnection from food as a serious threat.
“We’re encouraging more people—particularly in this economy—to have a garden in their backyard, or windowsill, or however you want to do it. It really is important. And the biggest thing—and I raised four men—we always had a garden, but kids today don’t know how their food makes it to the table.”
Government Skepticism & Strategic Bypass
Keys expressed deep skepticism toward government-led food solutions—not because she doesn’t care, but because she’s seen how bureaucracy erodes trust and undermines community-driven change.
She recommended we not anchor food strategies in government platforms, but instead leverage private and community-led funding, with the government as a secondary player.
“I wouldn’t go the route of trying to do anything with government. I wouldn’t do it.”
From Policy Platform to Place-Based Pilots
She cautioned against sweeping, citywide policies and urged ward-first, block-specific action instead. Her priority is supporting what’s already working—gardens, growers, churches, schools—and investing in those who are already doing the work.
Challenges to Consider
Lack of a Unified Food Strategy: The City of St. Louis has no coordinated food plan grounded in social determinants of health, which leads to scattered efforts, missed opportunities, and inconsistent investment.
Entrenched Political Distrust: Decades of broken promises—from lottery funds to land use—have deeply eroded trust in government, especially in North St. Louis. Even well-intended policies face skepticism without relational trust.
Barriers to Land Access and Ownership: Longtime land stewards face significant obstacles to acquiring LRA lots and other public land, despite years of maintenance and community care.
Understaffed Public Services: Critical city departments like forestry and sanitation are chronically understaffed, slowing redevelopment and harming resident morale.
Safety Concerns That Limit Access: Crime and disinvestment create environments where basic services—like food delivery, school meals, and public gatherings—are disrupted or denied.
Opportunities to Advance
Launch a Land Access Pathway for Growers: Establish a permanent, low-barrier land transfer mechanism for longtime growers and caretakers—especially on LRA lots—with legal support and philanthropic capital behind them.
Build Neighborhood-Based Food Infrastructure: Seed decentralized food infrastructure—like micro-hubs, teaching gardens, church kitchens, and culturally rooted markets—that anchor neighborhoods in resilience and healing.
Pilot a Private-Backed North St. Louis Farmers Fund: Design a flexible, community-controlled farmers fund for North St. Louis growers—backed by philanthropy and private capital, shielded from bureaucratic delays.
Integrate Food Sovereignty into Youth Pathways: Expand school-based garden curriculum and Learn & Earn models to teach food skills as survival, culture, and employment—especially in schools within food apartheid zones.
Move from Platforms to Pilots: Prioritize site-specific, trust-first pilots that build legitimacy through lived impact—not legislative ambition.
Ward-Based Food Organizers: Support hyperlocal food organizers in each ward to document, amplify, and coordinate the patchwork of growers, churches, and kitchens doing food work outside formal systems.
Community-Led Emergency Preparedness: Use trusted growers, churches, and schools as the backbone of hyperlocal emergency food response—pre-positioning supplies and relationships before the next disaster strikes.
Closing Reflection
Alderwoman Keys reminded us that food justice isn’t just about policy—it’s about presence. It’s about who shows up when the systems don’t. It’s about who holds the land, who feeds the block, and who still believes in a future no one’s promised them.
This conversation didn’t point us to a five-year plan or a legislative checklist. It pointed us to the people—growers, elders, youth, neighbors—who are already doing the work with grit, grace, and little to no institutional support.
In the wake of the May 16 tornado, that work matters more than ever. Disaster didn’t just damage buildings—it exposed the fragility of systems we can no longer afford to depend on. What held was community. What held was the garden down the street. What held was the neighbor with extra produce to share.
If we want to build a just food future in St. Louis, we can’t wait for the system to fix itself. We have to grow it—block by block, relationship by relationship, with the people who never stopped believing food is sacred, land is power, and community is the only real infrastructure that doesn’t collapse.
