Decolonizing Food: An Antidote to Oppression
Issue No. 6: Food, Nutrition, and Access in Our Communities
Words - Yuri Lee
Illustration - Singha Hon
Browsing a supermarket aisle, a jar of milky white beef bone broth caught my eye. It was not because of the hip minimalist font and bright packaging. Rather, it caught my attention because it was something I never thought I’d see in a mainstream American grocery store, especially outside of the “ethnic” aisle. “Isn’t it just Korean beef bone broth?” I thought to myself. In the past few years, bone broth has emerged as a trendy superfood in North America. People sip it in coffee cups from broth kiosk-cafes, like chef Marco Canora’s Brodo in Manhattan. Something so ancient and fundamental to many cultures around the world has been “discovered” by white tastemakers, much in the fashion of colonizers “discovering” lands that were already occupied by Indigenous peoples.
As a child of Korean immigrants, I had grown up eating Korean variations of beef bone broth. Oxtail soup and beef bone marrow soup along with a healthy dose of kimchi were common dishes. Strong, flavorful, spicy aromas always wafted through the house, making my parents worry about hosting non-Korean guests in our small home.
Korean food was not cool when I was growing up. As a child, I internalized the idea that something wasn’t quite right about our food and our culture. Often, all I wanted was some bland Wonder Bread with butter or a happy meal from McDonalds so I would not have to feel “different.” At the time, I didn’t understand how my perceptions were linked to the racial discrimination we faced. I didn’t realize how nutritious my food was, and how privileged I was to have access to Korean grocers selling affordable and fresh produce, which isn’t the case for many people of color.
Food is a key example of where racism manifests itself at every level of society. On an individual level, racism creates stigma around certain cultural foods, and the people who make and eat them. On a societal level, racism leads to consequences like food gentrification, where previously affordable staple foods like beef bone broth become trendy and are sold at high prices, out of reach for the communities that have cooked with them for generations. My mom now rarely makes oxtail soup because oxtails have become too expensive. Food gentrification affects over 40 million households in the United States, and is closely tied to racist policies in housing, employment, transportation, and agriculture. Food justice activists have coined the term “food apartheid” to describe this intentional systemic inequity.
Food apartheid looks different depending on the community. One area of a city might be characterized by a lack of access to affordable, fresh foods, and an over-abundance of fast food and convenience stores. Another area of that same city might be seeing organic grocery stores pop up that cater to newer, richer residents, replacing the affordable and culturally relevant grocers that served the older, lower-income residents. Rural communities also experience food apartheid, particularly Native American reservations, where traditional, nutritious food sources were cut off generations ago and replaced with U.S. government rations low in nutritional value.
But food can also be an antidote to oppression. Reclaiming our cultural foods and connecting to the land can help us recover from the effects of racial trauma, both physically and emotionally. Food can help counter racial trauma as we find healing in the stories of survival and resistance that each crop, technique, and dish reveals about our ancestors and cultures. These stories show us that no cuisine belongs solely to one culture; they carry the stories of solidarity, identity, and the brilliant exchanges between cultures as people move around the world. The mix of Indian, Chinese, Spanish, and Afro-Caribbean flavors and ingredients in the cuisine of Trinidad and Tobago is an example of this. Food is transnational: a mix of cultures and crossed borders over time, whether forced or voluntary.
In addition, people who work in food justice circles focus on the concepts of “decolonizing the diet” and “decolonizing food systems” as possible solutions.
Decolonizing diets involves the return to using traditional foods. It also recognizes that the loss of our traditions has contributed to many of the chronic illnesses that affect people of color in the United States.
Decolonizing food systems involves changing the way we think about food, agriculture, and nutrition. It involves taking back the way food is grown and prepared, and providing alternative ways to access foods that are beneficial to our environments and bodies. Decolonizing food systems can also mean advocating for policy changes that address the systemic barriers. We each have a role to contribute.
Ultimately, food tells a story of history and power. We must pay attention to what the flavors, ingredients, and heritage of our food can teach us on the journey to creating a more equitable, anti-racist society for the future.
