Tag: reflections

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Unit 5 reflections

I found particularly striking the article on barter markets (Argumedo and Pimbert) for its emphasis on a development strategy that doesn’t rely on a neo-liberal, western-centric approach and respects the sacred practice of reciprocity.

I think there is a common misconception that renders indigeneity as an inherently impoverished condition. Particularly in Latin America, indigenous cultures are still widely seen as backwards and/or simply ignorant. The word “Indian” is still thrown around as a synonym of indigenous, with the implication that something is underdeveloped. While it is a fact that indigenous peoples worldwide experience higher levels of poverty in terms of housing, health care, access to sanitation, etc, it is crucial to make the distinction that these conditions are directly caused by colonization and state violence and/or neglect. We must obliterate the narrative that illustrates their ancestral ways as irreconcilably outdated and ignorant.

Even under these dire conditions, indigenous peoples have made tremendous efforts to conserve their sacred knowledge and thrive as a traditional community in the era of globalization. Recalling the post-development theory from unit 3, to consider indigenous nations as underdeveloped and propose development strategies rooted in eurocentric ideas of modernization, is to engage in the same violence that attempts to strip indigenous peoples of their traditional livelihoods and cultures. Taking this into account, the barter markets are the perfect example of an empowering, non-homogenizing approach that provides food security and economic authority for indigenous peoples.

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Unit 4 Reflections

The line that struck me the most from Chef’s Table was when Enrique recalled the best advice he had gotten as “you have a responsibility as a Mexican cook to do Mexican food.” Along the same lines, it was fascinating to see how Enrique transforms Mexican cuisine into fine dining, which generally carries a Eurocentric bias, and portrays staple ingredients in such refined and dignified fashion. 

I loved the juxtaposition between the scenes showing the traditional cooking process and the “mechanized” production at Pujol. It shows really well that all of Enrique’s lavish creations carry at heart the ancestral Mexican teachings that unite families and generations continuously. This relationship also applies to other Latin American cultures, as we’ve seen with the Garifuna Ereba making process. In particular I found the scene where Enrique is teaching his kids to make tortillas from scratch really special, as it reminded me of the times I’d make arepas for breakfast with my mom, or when I’d sneak out to my neighbor’s apartment and help her make arepas for her daughters to take to work.

Another thing I found really interesting was how Enrique described the creative process behind concocting a new dish, and the sudden feeling of growing tired of his own creations. I think it can be paralleled to Benson and Fischer’s article in the sense that Enrique is always seeking that “algo más” through cuisine. As consumers, we too expect chefs at his level to innovate regularly and provide new exquisite experiences for our palates. In this sense, the article and the movie can be analyzed together to notice the chains of production and consumption and the roles we play within the system, from simple grocery choices to the logistics behind fine dining.

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Mestizaje and Surrealism

Being mestizo is generally something that every mestizo takes pride in. We are the unlikely synthesis of exploration, slavery and resistance. Our nations were forged by our African ancestors, on the land stewarded by our Indigenous ancestors. Our history grants us the privilege of an eclectic culture that embodies the surrealism of the mestizo condition.

Growing up in a Caribbean coastline, my upbringing was very much reflective of this privilege. I attended a German school where on one hand, I grew up celebrating caucasian festivities like Oktoberfest and Martinstag. On the other hand, I was part of an extracurricular club where we performed Afro-Colombian dances, which emerged as a by-product of the slave trade and African labor in the region.  On the weekends you may find in every neighborhood a loudspeaker on a front patio, blasting Congolese soukous for the whole block to enjoy, although I personally prefer our Caribbean cumbia for the melodious tune of the Indigenous gaita. 

The beauty of these juxtapositions is that they are complementary as much as detectable. You can pinpoint their origins but you can’t divide them at their point of intersection. They constitute the genetic code that inextricably binds us to the land and our histories. A downside to this is how often we forget the conditions in which cultural mestizaje sprouted. Listening to the history of the Garinagu and finding unexpected parallels with my own culture reminded me how in Latin America we’re all cut from the same cloth of colonial dispossession and oppression. Thus, any celebration of mestizaje must also render as a celebration of Indigenous and Afro-Latinx resistence.

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Authenticity in Modernity: Reflections on Unit 2 Readings

I think it’s safe to say we all want to experience something authentic. We wander in nature to reconnect with the world and rediscover our essence. In a world saturated with bigotry and tragedy, we seek to be purified from all kinds of afflictions.

More often than not we associate the the idea of purity with ancestral territory; we know that indigenous peoples are the first stewards that have been fighting to protect their land from extractivist governments, climate change, and any influence from the “outside world.” Following this logic, any kind of healing experience must be most effective when experienced within this “aboriginal” environmental. 

I don’t believe people interested in these experiences have ill intentions, on the contrary, it’s easy to innocently believe that one is doing a good deed by supporting and acknowledging indigenous traditions (and simultaneously ignoring all the negative implications). But we must remember, as Smith, Tuck and Yang remind us, that indigenous peoples have no obligation to welcome outsiders into their ancestral lands and introduce them to their customs, as if all this time hey have been waiting to be noticed by mainstream culture. 

In 2018 I went on a short backpacking trip with my sister to the Sierra Nevada of Santa Marta. We stayed at an eco-lodge called Finca La Semilla, located on a natural reserve neighboring the Kogui village. On the first night of the trip our host invited a few members of the community for dinner, one of which was a female healer. She couldn’t communicate in Spanish, but her daughter kindly encouraged me and my sister to perform a pagamento (a ritual to express gratitude to the mother earth) with them. It was very simple: we were handed each a piece of red thread, and were instructed to speak to it anything we wanted to give thanks for. After that the java (female healer) did all the spiritual work by herself. 

I speak about this experience because at the time I felt extremely ashamed that I hadn’t taken the time to research Kogui customs before coming into their territory, yet they welcomed us so warmly without asking for anything in return. The lodge functions in association with the Kogui community in terms of land management and holistic workshops, however, the members aren’t directly profiting from the guests that stay at the privately owned lodge that was constructed on their land. 

At the time, of course, I didn’t question any of this. The host seemed to have a genuinely close relationship with the villagers and they were more than happy to engage with us. Reflecting back on the experience, I know it was authentic in the sense that it was out of spontaneity and genuine interest that they volunteered to share their customs with us. Nevertheless, the ayahuasca readings remind us to always consider the hierarchies of profit that impinge on the authenticity of the experience we’re seeking, not to mention the conditions that enabled us to have access to them in the first place.

Finca La Semilla

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Keywords reflections

The Keyword definition that struck me the most is “food sovereignty.” As someone who has been consuming store-bought food their entire life, I’m almost ashamed to say I never contemplated the idea of being in control of the production process and the ingredients that go into my body. Even now as an “adult” who is responsible for their own well being, I mostly go to the most affordable supermarket and pick out the foods that my mom taught me were good to consume, without considering GMOs, environmental impact, or other factors. 

As the group mentioned, the lack of food sovereignty has historically manifested in a Latin American context in the way of foreign exploitation of farmers, natural capital and monopolization of trade. The so called “Banana Republics” are thus controlled by imperialist foreign fruit companies that terrorize mistreated farmers and generate rampant violence at a national level.

This weekend as I busted out my old copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude for my Spanish literature class, I was reminded of José Arcadio Segundo’s recount of the massacre that obliterates the population of Macondo and unleashes a long-lasting deluge that leaves the town in ruins. This passage is based on a real massacre that occurred in 1928 in Ciénaga, not too far from my hometown in Colombia. 

Workers of the banana plantation owned by United Fruit Company went on strike for weeks demanding dignified working conditions such as: a proper wage (in lieu of payment through coupons), compensation for work accidents, and proper hospital services. After refusing their terms and labelling the movement as communist leaning, the U.S. government threatened to invade the territory if the Colombian government failed to protect their crops. Soon-after, 300 Colombian soldiers were sent to Ciénaga and fired at a crowd of plantain workers, their families and children, as they gathered at the main square after Sunday mass. 

In the novel, José Arcadio Segundo regains consciousness after the massacre in a train wagon, his body bruised and bloody, surrounded by hundreds (he later estimates 3.000 in total) of corpses that were on their way to be discarded at sea. The number of victims of the real massacre has yet to be confirmed—various sources have estimated anywhere between 9 to over 1.000 civilians whose lives were taken in the interest of United Fruit Company. 

Although I had already been aware of this tragedy (and many more atrocities committed by paramilitary groups endorsed by this company), it definitely hits a different nerve now. Enrolling in this class has made me reflect on being separated from the foods that were part of my childhood, and how if I am able to purchase them here, it’s at a much higher price than farmers in my homeland are paid for their work, not to mention the bloodshed of my ancestors. 

My mind keeps coming back to every family road trip we’ve driven by the plantation zones, the abandoned railway and the main square in Ciénaga—the places that have become literal mass graves forgotten in time because “races condemned to one hundred years of solitude [do] not have a second opportunity on earth.” (Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude)

 

 

 

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Reflections on Week 2 materials

“Food reveals our souls”

For most of my life I had never questioned my relationship with the food I consume. One time in high school, I tried going vegetarian for a week simply because I wanted to impose a label on myself that would set me aside from others, something that would make me “cool” and “health conscious.” But the rest of the time when I wasn’t taking on a weight loss diet, I unquestioningly consumed the food my mom cooked for me. Food was never a concern because I never had to provide it for myself, or fend for my own health, thus it wasn’t until I moved out for college that I questioned my previous habits and looked for options that aligned with my moral priorities.

I think it’s important to deconstruct western attitudes towards food consumption, especially the “ready-to-go” aspect of pre-packaged foods that favor capitalist values of productivity and quick satisfaction. Belasco highlights how we’re so disconnected from the farm-to-table process that even talking about foodways, in academia or casual conversation, seems almost ridiculous. The author also notes that in the west, we may consume all imported products in one meal, yet we stay oblivious to the journey that they undergo and the hands that cultivated it.

Belasco’s remarks on this human detachment from food reminded me of the novel “Ravensong” by Sto:lo author, Lee Maracle. Particularly, the main character criticizes how white women discard weeds (such as mint, comfrey root, plantain, dandelion and mullein) from their gardens simply for being “unaesthetic,” while on the other hand, these constitute highly valuable sources of food in her community:

“She knew they harvested weeds more or less indiscriminately, using them as crops to be eaten along with whatever store-bought food they could occasionally afford. […] It struck her as pathetically funny that these people should invest so much time in throwing living creatures away when they were still perfectly good.” 

I personally found this passage very compelling, as it reminds us to be grateful not just for the catalogue of imported foods that we can access at our local stores, but for the rudimentary and almost sacred foods that our ancestors worked so hard to cultivate.

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