Dropping bombs at film screenings.

Last night I went to a film screening for the documentary "Fresh," by Ana Sofia Jones, which was a critique of the industrial food system here in the United States and highlighted a number of players in the food system, whether they were vessels of change, business as usual, or somewhere in between.  The film featured the "eat local", sustainable food champions such as the charismatic hog farmer, Joel Salatin, who was made famous in The Omnivore's Dilemma; Michael Pollan himself; and Will Allen, activist, urban gardener, and founder of Growing Power, among others. It also spotlighted a number of farmers on the other side of the table--for example, a couple who raises chickens for a major poultry enterprise and a conventional farmer who sprays pesticides but draws the line at using GMO's. In the end, my take-away message was that the food movement is on the rise and is taking root in different communities in many different forms, but that at the end of the day, it's up to you as the individual to decide how to be a part of this movement.  I was also left feeling unfulfilled.

I hadn't really learned anything new (but, then again, I'm also as choir member-y as you get, so I didn't hold that against the film), but I also experienced the familiar tired, deflated feeling I sometimes get whenever I think about food and social justice (which is often, unfortunately). I looked around the theater and I think every single audience member was white. And if everyone wasn't, the rate was at about 99%. And with regard to the film, it celebrated many food justice advocates, for sure, but once again, very white--in fact, only one interviewee (Allen) was of color, and I was disappointed. The food movement's biggest challenge is overcoming the fact that it's been labeled as elitist and white, and given the fact that this film was coming out a bit later in the game (compared to Fast Food Nation and Food, Inc., for example, which both came out a few years ago), I expected it to represent more than the usual (white) suspects.

I guess I was sort of primed by this article I had read a few weeks ago by Janani Balasubramanian, titled: Sustainable Food and Privilege: Why is Green Always White (and Male and Upper Class). Read it here:  http://www.racialicious.com/2010/05/20/sustainable-food-and-privilege-why-is-green-always-white-and-male-and-upper-class/

Balasubramanian touches upon a lot of controversial but necessary themes within the food movement, namely, that it's still perceived to be a white, upper middle class male-dominated field. I don't agree with with everything she says, however. She argues the the movement is largely a white male-led movement, and that conversations about race and gender have been skirted or lost; I argue that there is plenty being done around these issues, but that the food movement has a serious identity problem. It's perceived as such because the great work that's being led by people and communities of color is not getting the attention that it merits.

However, this doesn't solve the problem. The image issue still exists, and as long as food that's grown without pesticides or hormones is seen as boutique and gourmet (due largely to its higher price tag), we aren't going to get very far. The food movement is so fascinating and important to me because it's so universal--we all need to eat, and we all deserve to eat well. So far, though, we've got only a segment of the movement getting the big-time press, while we're seeing diet-related diseases and lack of access to fresh, healthy food that are unequally distributed among black and latino communities in the United States. Going to back to Fresh the movie, I was left in my seat feeling like the movement was making headway, but not in the cross-cultural, inclusive way that true social movements take.

Luckily for us, Jones was present at the end of the screening, and opened up the floor for a question-and-answer session.  I squirmed in my seat, wondering if I should bring up this complex issue, whether or not it was the appropriate venue, and decided to go for it. I didn't intend to pose the issue in question form, since there really isn't an answer; rather, I talked about how the movie highlighted some really important issues, but that it featured mostly white activists. I asked her to look around and I commented on the fact that all of us in the theater did not respresent the ethnic makeup of the city of Boston, and I asked her what her thoughts were on food access and white privilege.

Woof. After writing it all down here, I realize that I kind of did drop a big bomb there, and might have come off as a dedicated night-ruiner for this poor woman. I assure you that this wasn't the case--I really just felt like someone needed to talk about access, and about the image of the food movement, and wondered if she had thought about it.

The rest of the session essentially turned into a two-person dialogue between Jones and me, despite the many other audience members. She had handled the other questions with eloquence and grace, yet after my comment, she stumbled over her words, and it appeared that I had gotten to her emotional core. Apparently she had been thinking about this issue, and it made her just as uncomfortable as it had made me. She spoke in circles for a couple of minutes until she got her grounding. Her answer wasn't really an answer at all (but my question wasn't really a question, either). She talked a lot about the need for a cultural shift, for the need for the individual to prioritize food over material goods like cable television and electronics. I agreed with her, and yet I didn't. How do you prioritize food when you don't come from a privileged standpoint? How do you prioritize food when you don't have the luxury of time to stop what you're doing, think about the food system, visit the farmers market, and prepare a gorgeous, healthy meal? I agree that we, as Americans, are used to our food being cheap, and that part of this movement is about education and shifting of priorities, but how do we create this cultural shift she's talking about when we don't all start out at the same place?

What I do know is that we need to keep having these conversations, and we need to recognize all of the many players in this movement. Eating well is connected to health, to ecology, to the preservation of cultural traditions, to the creation of community, to our individual rights to choose what we put in our bodies.

I'm brought back to my memories of the farm in Argentina, when the fields were constantly plagued with chipica, the most annoying grass-like weed that grows underground in a tangled, thick mess of grassroots knots and is impossible to eliminate from the field because everytime you rip it out, you always end up leaving a piece of its root, which is connected to ten million other roots. I understood the term "grassroots movement," fittingly, while I was down there. You build a successful movement, you create networks and connect yourself to other networks until the movement can't be quelled by any one superpower, no matter how hard it tries. This is our future--we just need to keep talking. Keep fighting.

Keep asking the hard questions.

It's Complicated with Food

These days, I've been working on a project to involve corner store owners in the movement to increase access to fresh fruits and vegetables in low income neighborhoods. Specifically, I've been walking around the neighborhood in which I work and poking my head into the many, many locally-owned convenience stores that sprinkle the streets, chatting with the owners about the connection between chronic disease and diet, and talking with them about whether or not they'd like to participate in a community-run project that would help promote the fresh items the stores are already selling and, potentially, find ways to get more attractive-looking produce into the stores at a competitive price.

So essentially, I am the Amazonian girl who barrels into your corner store and bee-lines towards the fruits and vegetables, fondling the tomatoes and avocados and pretending to be blind to the fact that any lingering customers at the register who were previously wrapped up in friendly chatter with you have now stopped their banter and have instead focused their attention on the giant (white) elephant in the room in business casual who is now casually perusing the weekly produce offerings.

During my visits, we talk about business, what sells well [phone cards, lottery tickets, ice cream and candy], what doesn't [fruits and vegetables, bummer. this is going to be hard], and why they [the store owners] think that these purchasing patterns exist. Access? Resources? Structural racism? Vast social inequalities? Personal taste? Commercial interest? I think it might be a little bit of all of these things, but they're not necessarily independent of each other. On the contrary: they're all related. Processed food companies advertise mostly high fat / low nutrition products, specifically in lower-income areas on billboards and other high-traffic spaces. Children are targets especially if they fall within the aforementioned socio-economic bracket: this can be seen in the countless ads on the internet and on television [such as this latest abomination by Lunchables: http://www.youtube.com/user/kidspotential#p/u/3/ozE1yaxmjKs].

Anyway, this is not new information, but it's important for me to continue to remind myself that in our modern life, our relationship with the food we eat is complicated, as are the perceptions of those who observe us in our daily routines. Are we really "choosing" to eat bad food? Or are we buying what we've been brainwashed to think is good? Is it our fault that we're overweight; that we're seeing such a rise of diet-related illnesses when the default [that is, the more accessible, affordable option] is probably made out of some super sugary corn/soy derivative? And when I start thinking about all of the complications around food "choice," I am reminded of personal examples.

A few days ago, I took a trip to one of those big warehouse stores to pick up some things my parents needed. Oh god. No matter how many pallets these stores pack into their fork-lift shelves, it always smells exactly the same--cardboard and mass-produced bread and the smell of television static. What an overwhelming place. I saw a 2 pound bag of organic coffee for 10 dollars. Having spent time on an organic farm in Colombia that had coffee trees and therefore knowing how long it must have taken to pick, process, and roast all of those beans, it was disheartening to think that it all amounted to ten dollars. Yet part of me wanted to throw it in the cart. So cheap! And, hey, the workers are probably treated more ethically than the non-organic supplier. Wait, though. When you're qualifying the word ethical, it loses its meaning. I kept walking. 

So I'm probably going to go pay double the price for the exact same thing in a slightly smaller, more aesthetically-pleasing organic cotton satchel and feel warm and fuzzy about my socially-conscious purchasing decision, when in reality the coffee inside the pretty package probably came from the same type of farm. Eco marketing is a huge market, for sure, but that's just it--it's a market. There's a middle person skimming a little bit (or a lotta bit) off the profit. How do you really know what the working conditions were like? I love farmers markets, but there ain't no coffee plantations here in Bah-stan. And I can't afford to import coffee from my Colombian farm mom, Cecilia.

I'm still going to drink coffee. And I'm not a bad person.  It's complicated.

Another complicated food example that came from this trip to the big box store: peanut butter. It was on the shopping list my dad had given me. I was skeptical that there'd be a peanut butter there that I'd actually eat [and I wouldn't buy a product for my family that I myself deemed to be unfit] but I took a look anyway. Just Skippy. Chemicals. Ingredients include Hydrogenated Oils. Read: secret trans fat. I didn't learn this until I took a cooking class at work recently, but anytime you see "hydrogenated oils" on the ingredient list, it means there's a little bit of trans fat in that food. See, since trans fats have been linked to cancer and other health problems, food companies have been moving away from using those chemically-rendered solid vegetable fats. But not entirely. They've just reduced the amount that they use. Legally, companies can put "0 grams" of trans fat on their labels if there is less than 0.5 grams per serving. But, if you're like me, and like to sometimes eat spoonful upon spoonful of peanut butter [maybe alone in your kitchen while playing the soundtrack of Les Miserables on repeat], you're not just gonna eat one serving of peanut butter. And therefore, you're not just getting your little trace of trans. You're getting maybe as much as a few grams. Add that up over a lifetime and the "trans fat-free" food you thought you were eating was not that at all.

So I bought the almond butter. Just almonds, nothing else. Yeah, it's fatty, but it probably won't give me [or my mom and dad] cancer. When I finished shopping and brought the items back to their house, I informed my father of my decision to buy the almond butter and the reasons behind it. He was unaware of the hydrogenated trick [as was I until recently], and I watched him go through the same emotions that I had experienced: first, anger ["are you kidding me?!"], then disappointment and distrust ["how could they legally be allowed to do this?"]. He tore through the snack cabinet and had me read the labels of all the snack bars and treats ["this one? this too? check this one!"]. Then we went to the fridge, and his coffee creamer had it, too. And then, the disillusionment and confusion set in. He looked at me and asked,

"So, I have high cholesterol. I'm supposed to drink this instead of cream to keep it under control, but if I switch back to something more natural, like milk or cream, I risk increasing my cholesterol. And if I keep using this non-dairy creamer, my cholesterol will be okay, but I'll get cancer. So what do I do?"

I didn't even know what to tell him. "Switch to 2 percent milk, maybe?" But honestly, what do we do? When did our relationship with food become so complicated? Why is eating [and drinking] a complex, stressful act, filled with either-or decisions and good food / bad food imagery, especially when it seems like we're being told on Tuesday that Monday's superfood is Wednesday's killerfood? How do we begin to simplify?

This is me, simplifying:

The other day, I went to the farmers market near my house.  

Ok ok, before I lose you due to the apparent grossly out of touch turn this post has taken [REALLY? She's talking about inequality and is going to go solve the problem at her local farmers market?] please keep reading. I don't think it will end the way you think it will.

I walked around the farmers market for a little while, but what with it being early June in New England, there wasn't much yet, and what was there was a little pricey for me. I almost bought a 6 dollar natural, ethically-imported, locally-made chocolate bar, but decided against it. Went home empty handed.

The next day, on my way to work, I passed one of my favorite corner stores [owned by a Colombian, we always have little chats and sometimes I go in there to buy things I don't need necessarily, like a mango or a giant imported bag of yierba mate]. Something familiar flashed in the corner of my eye from the window as I was about to pass the store. "Jumbo." The colossal Colombian chocolate bar. I took a sharp turn into the door, nearly mowing over a mother and her tiny toddling child. I ran up to the cash register, where my friend was stationed, as usual.

"You have JUMBO?!"

"Yes, my love. Just got in a shipment. Only one box. I have a friend up in New York who imported them and he sent me a box. They're almost all gone" [he motioned to a clearly dwindling stack of those beautiful bricks of cocoa, butter, peanuts, and sugar that comprise the Jumbo].

[Maybe he had 8 more boxes in the back. I could have cared less. In that moment, in my moment, there were only 5 Jumbo bars left in the entire country, and I needed to own one. I forked over the nearly four dollars after gushing about how special these chocolate bars were for me when I lived there, how they brought me such deep satisfaction after a long day on the farm, how I would buy two or three during my trips to the city and savor each square over the days until my next city trip. He clasped my hand in his and told me it had been ten years since he had been home, but that he hoped to go soon.

"When you go back, let me know! I'll invite you to my house!"

Te invito a mi casa.

He doesn't even know my name.

This is why I love Colombia(ns).

Why did I spend 4 dollars on this processed chocolate bar all the way from Colombia when I wouldn't spend six on the fancy natural one at the farmers market? And why, of all things, did I decide to buy a candy bar in a store where I've previously led conversations around healthy eating?

Because I spend money on community. I'd rather hold Pablo's hand any day and gush about our common love of a nation (and its chocolate), apparently, than on a fancy, natural, locally-processed chocolate bar, even if I do think that company is amazing and greatly envy their employees. Plus, Pablo is local--local to me.

And, of course, because it's complicated.