Issue No. 6: Food, Nutrition, and Access in Our Communities
Words + Photography - Dawn Henderson

I’ve always considered myself to be something of a counterculturalist. Popular trends were never really my scene, I always had to put my own spin on things. Now, I’ll be the first to admit: my innate sense of rebellion was initially out of necessity. Keeping up with the Joneses, the Smiths, the Browns... that literally was not in my budget! I had quite a few years learning to practice the rejection of fads and ignoring trends. I’d also had quite a few years of patting myself on the back for “sticking it to the man” and not giving into the pressures of unconscious consumerism; I was “woke” before it was a hashtag. It wasn't until later that I realized, despite my best efforts, I was still in the grasp of the government. On food, one of the most necessary and often compromised resources, I couldn't help but be dependent. 

“I don’t want to be a slave to a Big Mac!” I can remember the first time I jokingly said that to someone. Unbeknownst to me, I already was, and had always been, controlled by the modern American food system. I grew up during an era of microwaveable EVERYTHING, an idea the government originally sold as a “convenience” for busy and working moms. With that, the take-off of pre-packaged and processed meals was a major win for the food industry. But ultimately for people of color, becoming more dependent on these pre-made meals led to a major loss in terms of our culinary history, our culture, and our overall health. Coupled with the realities of red-lining and the disappearance of neighborhood grocers in many neighborhoods of color, this shift in food systems also contributed to a loss of dignity for many Americans. 

Food and freedom are closely tied together. The choices that you have about who prepares your food, what goes into your food, and where your food comes from can make you more or less free. Are you forced to travel miles outside of your neighborhood to find decent options, or rely on gas stations, convenience stores, or even vending machines for a meal? Can you afford to purchase the ingredients to make the dishes of your culture or food that meets your dietary preferences? There is a freedom in being able to choose fresh food, food that was grown in your community, food that was prepared in your own home. 

Historically, people of color have grown their own food, but this isn’t as common anymore. There are a myriad of reasons for this, including lack of land access, and negative perceptions around gardening. Ron Finley, aka The Gangsta Gardener, has suggested that Black people specifically can be disinterested in or even resentful towards the idea of growing food, perhaps believing “that’s for white folks.” But our historical relationship with the land and our knowledge of tending it was our original legacy and a coveted skill. The enslavement, colonization, and genocide of Africans and Indigenous peoples has stripped the idea of working the soil of its power and divinity. Can we find freedom in the same activities once used to oppress us? How can traditions that have been repeatedly trifled with, stolen, and appropriated be made sacred again? 

I don’t have all of the answers, but I believe these questions are some that deserve honest reflection and contemplation. Hippocrates likened food to medicine. It stands to reason then, that having little to no control of our food sources and food availability is affecting our overall health. Are our lives ultimately at the whims of our food structures, or lack thereof? 

Finally, is growing one’s own food a way to find liberation from the current cycle of food poverty—which inevitably leads to health poverty, energy poverty, and perpetual dependence? If it’s a step toward regaining our sovereignty in these areas and reawakening that “sticking it to the man” spirit, then dropping a few seeds into the soil might be worth it.