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As anthropologists, we study what we care about, making research an intimate undertaking. In the study of food, we even ingest and incorporate our subject matter into our very bodies. Here, Dr. Mecca Howe and Ariana Gunderson discuss the effects of our food research on our personal relationships with food, while considering the role of our eating choices within the food system and our research for the communities we study.
Dr. Mecca Howe, a research scientist at the Urban Institute at the University of North Carolina, has spent the last 10 years studying food insecurity and nutrition among disadvantaged groups in the U.S. and Costa Rica, and more recently evaluated pesticide exposure and its impacts on children and their families in a rural region of Costa Rica characterized by absentee-owned banana and pineapple plantations. Ariana Gunderson is a PhD student in Anthropology at Indiana University and the Anthropology News Section Editor for SAFN.
Ariana: Something both wonderful and overwhelming about being food anthropologists is that our research material is ubiquitous. This means we can find inspiration everywhere, but it also means that we often know quite a bit about the horrific production conditions of the foods that lie so benign on the grocery store shelf. How do you navigate holding deep knowledge of the pesticides used in fruit production in Costa Rica, where you do your research, when you consider your own food life?
Mecca: Sometimes I think that the more knowledge we have, the more of a burden we feel, in terms of the decisions that we make, because we understand the implications of our decisions. Knowledge sometimes can cause these internal conflicts, and even stress, where we often have to decide between making a choice that we feel is ethical and correct or making a choice that fits our personal food preferences, traditions, lifestyle, bank accounts, and access. It all comes down to who has the privilege to make ethical decisions and who doesn’t, and who has a choice and who doesn’t. But you hear “ignorance is bliss” often. Ignorance can seem like it has its benefits, because the less you know the less you have to worry about, right?
So, the more I was learning about the injustices of the conventional food system the more I pondered this “ignorance is bliss” concept… as my own internal conflicts about food choices were simmering. I remember returning to Indiana for my PhD and looking out at the corn fields with nostalgia for my home and family, while at the same time feeling anger about where the corn goes, what it fuels (literally), and the range of issues and consequences associated with monoculture and agrochemicals. And in Costa Rica, I’ve witnessed similar contention among community members who understand the environmental and health consequences of the intensive quantities of pesticides being sprayed in their towns and consuming those products but have no way to protect themselves and no organic options available to them. “Is ignorance bliss? Are they better off not knowing and not worrying?” I asked myself.
But the more I’ve thought about the “ignorance is bliss” concept, the more I’ve realized that the blissfulness of ignorance is temporary, and it’s at the individual level. And I think that those who are most detached from a given issue, like the people who live furthest from agriculture and pesticide exposure, are the ones who are going to benefit from ignorance, while those who are directly impacted by the issue do not so much benefit from ignorance. So, we could think about farm workers, for example, who are actually living the realities of the implications of an unjust food system. Their ignorance is dangerous. It has no benefit, except possibly reducing the worry and stress of their daily lives. But at the end of the day, not knowing means increasing the risk and the danger for them, while knowledge on the other hand may motivate people to stand up and advocate for themselves. Knowledge can be shared. It can create care and action which can create change. And that’s lasting, while any benefit from ignorance is temporary.
Ariana: How does this affect how you actually eat? Do you eat bananas, having gone through your fieldwork experience?
Mecca: It really impacts what I eat and choose to buy. Rationally, I know my choice not to buy bananas (or pineapple) is so minimal within the issue when you think about the overall systemic structure, complexity, and history of our unjust food system. But I just can’t support those companies. I morally can’t. I’m not going to say I don’t eat bananas because people buy them around me, like my partner still buys them, and my mom always has them in her house. I would never tell people not to buy bananas. But when I talk to people about bananas, I tend to come at it in the direction of “Why is it so cheap?” Because that gets people interested.
It does make me cringe, though, when I see the sticker that says Chiquita, or Del Monte, or Dole… It makes me just so angry. But, these tropical foods like banana and pineapple are not part of my heritage or my culture, so I don’t feel like I’m losing that identity by not consuming those foods.
However, it could go the other way when it is something that I identify with, and that is nostalgic. Then I think there’s a balance that you can find where food is not only part of an unjust system, it’s also about culture and personality and identity.
Ariana: So many students of food anthropology have to reckon with navigating this paradox: coming to grips with the horrors of the food system, and still being in it, not being able to live outside of it. How have you cared for and stewarded your students through that journey?
Mecca: Students always have this initial strong reaction when they learn about these aspects of the food system. “Oh, my God! I’m never eating that again! I’m never shopping there again! I’m never buying that brand!” They always have a very strong reaction in the classroom. However, beyond that, I can’t say if those decisions are lasting or sustainable.
I approach these issues by telling the facts and the stories. And again, I never tell people what to do. I never tell people what to eat. And that includes talking about nutrition. I always come at that at the individual level: each body is different from a human variation perspective. There’s no one best diet for every person, and you have to consider your access, your means, culture, and your preferences. So, I never tell people what to do. I think that just sharing the knowledge and letting them make their decisions is part of growing as a student, as a researcher, as a scholar, and as a citizen.
At the end of the day, the advice I would give students and anyone is to find a balance between making decisions that you feel are correct, ethical, and that support your views, perspectives, etc., while maintaining the small joys and the cultural part of food and the tradition. Not just thinking about food as a decision and a system. Then, I would also say advocate. Advocating for policy is the most important thing that we can do. Applying knowledge, applying the research. Not just writing articles that few people read but sharing the knowledge with communities, policymakers, and organizations that are already doing good work.
And for anthropologists, we can tell people’s stories. I think that’s a big role that we can play in bringing humanity to the issue.
Ariana: Where else do you see care in this internal conflict, between knowledge is power and ignorance is bliss?
Mecca: Well, I think that you can’t talk about care of people or the environment without talking about both, because they go hand in hand. You can’t have one without the other. They’re nested.
You can’t have a healthy, safe diet without eliminating toxic chemicals. You’re not going to have any food that’s commercially produced if we destroy the environment, right? Monoculture is not going to last forever—it’s unsustainable because we’re destroying the system. It’s okay to find your one niche in advocacy because it all comes together at some point.
I’m a proponent of advocacy and policy, and thinking about things at the larger level. But I don’t want us to ignore the power of knowledge and the power that individuals can have when they come together. You and I making one decision is not going to have a big impact. But if we share information with ten people and then they start to care and then they change their behaviors, then that knowledge and care spreads. There are successes. Stories that have come from the bottom up, from grassroots movements. For example, the movement against BPA plastic was completely driven by consumers who learned about BPA and who demanded BPA-free plastic. The companies had to give them what they wanted because they weren’t buying plastic. And The Coalition of Immokalee Workers, starting with tomatoes, and they’ve branched out now to other crops. That was something that started at the grassroots level with farm workers and has made a huge impact on the fair wages of those farm workers, exposure and protections, rights, and awareness. It all goes back to knowledge is power and advocacy.