By Caitlin Rajan
‘Food colonialism’ refers to the many ways colonial legacies affect how we grow, produce, and distribute food. As a concept, food colonialism highlights how food systems, food consumption, and cultural ideas around food have been and continue to be shaped by colonial and neo-colonial projects. Recognising the enduring colonial relations that characterise what kinds of food are grown, where they are grown and whom they are sent to, and who controls demand also means recognising that we must decolonise our food systems for the sake of both planet and people.
Historical Perspective
Under colonialism, food was an essential tool of control in an economic, cultural, and social sense. Whilst pre-colonialism local farmers would grow a diverse range of crops that served the needs of their communities, regional tastes, and worked in harmony with their land, colonialism disrupted this dynamic. Cultural and religious beliefs around the importance of food not just as a source of sustenance but equally as spiritually and vitally connected to individuals and communities were dismissed by colonisers. Under colonial rule, food was seen centrally as another commodity to exploit and profit from. Colonial profits were generated from the exporting of ‘exotic’ goods which meant colonised farmers were forced to grow what the colonisers deemed valuable – known as ‘cash crops’ – often at the cost of their own land and livelihood. Common cash crops in the colonial period were coffee, tea, and sugar, which quickly became high-demand products, taking up the space that was once destined for the cultivation of agricultural systems formed upon local knowledge and cultural cuisines. Soon, the forced dependence on exporting crops to meet foreign demand became an inescapable dynamic, one that would continue to shape the structures of today’s world food production and distribution system.
Moreover, food was another way by which colonists sought to enforce their domination and supposed superiority. Columbus infamously believed that a lack of availability of the ‘right foods’ in newly colonised territories was responsible for the deaths of Spaniards (rather than illness from migration) and thus the notion that indigenous foods were inferior to the European diet was propagated. It was believed that to consume the local foods of the colonised would cause inferiority in a physical and an ideological sense to ‘contaminate’ the colonisers and make them like they colonised; food thus became another marker of differentiation. What foods were deemed ‘tasteful’ was defined by the coloniser and often referred only to the elite foods of the colonisers home territories. Consequently, the assertion that Western European food was superior to the local cuisine of the colonised resulted in a loss in ancestral knowledge of indigenous recipes and meals.
Food Coloniality in the Present
Colonial trade relations are not figments of the past but still characterise how modern food imports and exports operate. Consider how countries like Ghana, Kenya and Senegal are among some of the most affected by trade relations of economic dependence; that means their agricultural industries are predominantly geared to serve the global North’s demands. Very little attention is paid to the havoc this wrecks on those tasked with growing these crops to supply Western demands. One of the reasons food colonialism endures so strongly is because it has become commonplace – in the global North in particular – to expect all varieties of foods to be available in all seasons, at all times. Consider how ‘trending foods’ play into this equation for instance. One of the United Kingdom’s most popular imported goods, the avocado, has become a staple for many houses, restaurants, and supermarkets across the country. Yet, many of us know little about the global cost of the high demand of avocados. Avocados require a huge volume of water to grow. According to the Food Empowerment Project, avocados on average require seventy litres of water, fourteen times the amount needed to grow a tomato. Moreover, the amount of land needed to make space for avocado trees (particularly to be able to serve the rapid expansion of demand for them in the global North) has meant the deforestation of other natural plants and forests to make room for avocado crops. Not to mention the ways in which heightened demand has brought the need to use agricultural chemicals.
Moreover, the effects are felt at the micro level just as much as the macro. When environmental degradation occurs, it is the communities who live on that very land that have their livelihoods threatened. Contaminated water, pollutants and chemicals in their biosphere, and even changes in their diet consequent to the inability to grow local demand crops all create health effects on local residents. Moreover, agricultural workers in these regions are often the lowest paid or most privy to worker rights abuses in the entire food supply chain. Consider how in 2021 the Ethical Trading Initiative found evidence of labour rights abuses on a Kenyan avocado farm, or how The Wilson Centre found workers in Uruapan reportedly worked twelve hours a day to make only $130 in a week. Whilst avocado farming has provided a ‘boost’ to some of these economies and has been treated as a net positive, to neglect the effects on both the short-term and long-term livelihoods of affected individuals is a sign of food colonialism in action.
When looking at which countries in which the growth of avocados takes place and which countries these crops are exported to, food coloniality becomes evident. For example, the United Kingdom and the United States receive their avocados from countries like Peru, South Africa, and Kenya – to name just a few. Avocados are not the only crop that make evident how the ‘food trends’ of the global North continue to come at the cost of the global South, where historic colonial relations make this possible. So, in a sense, looking deeper into the supply and demand of avocados renders clearly the way food colonialism operates.
A Decolonial Food Future
Whilst the extent of coloniality in modern food industries is just beginning to be fully acknowledged, the efforts to decolonise food systems are already underway. Groups like the Agricultural Justice Project look at how food systems and agriculture can be reconfigured to decentralise profit and overconsumption, and instead focus on people and the planet. A large part of this is advocacy for ‘food sovereignty’, which encourages more localised food systems that take into account the biosphere of the local environment, as well as the needs and quality of living of the local population. Similarly, at a more personal level, some have advocated for the reclaiming of cultural foods as a move to ‘decolonise the diet’ and embrace the possibilities of solidarity, cultural survival, and resistance this encourages. Crucially, amplifying the voices of the affected populations is perhaps the most central step. From farmers to agricultural workers, to those living in farming communities, to truly decolonise food begins with remediating the colonial power dynamics that otherwise silence them.
To decolonise food is to reimagine our relationship with food. It means to break away from understanding food as a mere economic good for consumption, and rescue the plural perspectives that relate to it from a cultural, spiritual, communal standpoint. . As economist Raj Patel suggests, “to emphasise the interconnected elements of the food system is to understand that hunger is not cured by food at all, because hunger is the result of long histories of exploitation and poverty, and so you can’t solve poverty by, you know, giving crumbs from the table”. At its core, a decolonial approach to food entails the struggle to collectively break off from the present ways we think of food, replacing it with an interconnected ecological, agricultural, social, and cultural approach.
Notes
Whilst the extent of coloniality in modern food industries is just beginning to be fully acknowledged, the efforts to decolonise food systems are already underway. Groups like the Agricultural Justice Project look at how food systems and agriculture can be reconfigured to decentralise profit and overconsumption, and instead focus on people and the planet. A large part of this is advocacy for ‘food sovereignty’, which encourages more localised food systems that take into account the biosphere of the local environment, as well as the needs and quality of living of the local population. Similarly, at a more personal level, some have advocated for the reclaiming of cultural foods as a move to ‘decolonise the diet’ and embrace the possibilities of solidarity, cultural survival, and resistance this encourages. Crucially, amplifying the voices of the affected populations is perhaps the most central step. From farmers to agricultural workers, to those living in farming communities, to truly decolonise food begins with remediating the colonial power dynamics that otherwise silence them.
To decolonise food is to reimagine our relationship with food. It means to break away from understanding food as a mere economic good for consumption, and rescue the plural perspectives that relate to it from a cultural, spiritual, communal standpoint. . As economist Raj Patel suggests, “to emphasise the interconnected elements of the food system is to understand that hunger is not cured by food at all, because hunger is the result of long histories of exploitation and poverty, and so you can’t solve poverty by, you know, giving crumbs from the table”. At its core, a decolonial approach to food entails the struggle to collectively break off from the present ways we think of food, replacing it with an interconnected ecological, agricultural, social, and cultural approach.
