What is the status of ethnic/immigrant cuisine in ongoing progressive food movements?

I now wish to briefly address the current state of affairs with regards to ethnic cuisine and cultural identity in progressive food movements. The primary focus of progressive/alternative food movements—at least, the most widely recognized goals of same—has been combatting the total industrialization of the food system. Because such well-meaning efforts arose and are enacted specifically against this system, it follows that some of the industrialized (and specifically, American) food system’s faults are reflected in opposition movements. The food production and consumption infrastructure in the United States is designed to increase the profits of mega-corporations by addressing the demand of the “average” consumer. This “average” typically refers to the white, socio-economically mobile middle class. Though there has been significant scholarship and advocacy with regards to food justice and security for underserved racialized communities, the primary messaging in opposition to the existing system represents a white, privileged perspective. The loudest calls for change come (as discussed above) in efforts to propagate eating local, eating organic, and increased attention to “sustainability.”

Immigrant and/or transnational communities often factor into these conversations only in response to criticisms of prevalent “whiteness” and the socio-economic privilege inherent in “voting with your fork.”  The mere presence of an apparently diverse participation is often touted by white advocates as “proof” that the movement is inclusive. This is dangerous and ultimately detrimental to the cause of transnational inclusion, as Kolavalli points out: “By using visible phenotypic difference as a marker of diversity, inclusion, and equity, this response—whether intentional or unintentional—diverts discussion away from the structural, often invisible ways that racial inequity still exists in the local food system.” (65) In other words, pointing out that a market stand has immigrant regulars is in no way a barometer of cultural inclusivity in the movement. Simply stated, if the change that progressive movements seek is on a systemic level, then the acknowledgement and inclusion of othered identities must be as well.

The unnerving complications in discussions of diversity also play a major role when examining Slow Food. Membership of this global movement advocating local food and visceral pleasure is predominantly white and middle class, much like the independent local food movements and arenas (such as farmer’s markets) discussed above. Due to this similarity, there can also be a tendency with Slow Food’s rhetoric to “fetishize cultural diversity in order to satisfy the appetites of a privileged minority.” (Donati, 229) Even projects within the organization that seek to protect culturally valuable flora and highlight the efforts of individual food producers (Slow Ark, for example) can often become “imperial encounters” where interviewer/nominee relationships display the troubling scars of skewed post-colonial power dynamics. (Donati, 234)

It is important to note that these problematic interactions and forms of rhetoric are not intentional and conscious acts of aggression on the parts of agents within progressive food movements. This acknowledgement, however, only further highlights just how much work must be done to attain true cultural inclusivity in movements such as these. Even in direct responses to criticisms of whitewashing and white privilege, Slow Food’s representatives often inadvertently echo the aforementioned post-colonial scars:

“When I think of unity, I think of all the people unaware of Slow Food’s mission for good, clean, and fair food for all. I think of food deserts and low-income communities—people with rich food narratives who live their lives aligned with Slow Food principles, but do not know about the global movement.” (Hernandez, 2017)

Statements such as these reinforce savior/savage notions, implying a paternalistic relationship between those “doing good” and those whose unfortunate ignorance prevents their moral and social ascension.

              When looking for examples of immigrant and transnational presence in food system reform, it might be more helpful to focus on the realm of food justice. A branch of reform efforts which emphasizes the human element of food production and acknowledges the diversity of challenges facing different groups of people, food justice often finds its heavy lifting carried out by regional organizations. These smaller outfits often gain traction and become national movements, as in the case of the Coalition of Immokalee Workers, which began its farmworker advocacy in small-town Immokalee, Florida—and has since swayed the policies of such big name players in the food chain as Walmart and McDonald’s.

              Organizations like the Food Chain Workers Alliance (Los Angeles), Community to Community Development (Washington State), and the Agricultural Justice Project are among many more groups that work to improve the food system. They focus their efforts on improving conditions and pay for laborers—often new immigrants—which in turns increases equity across the board, from the farmworkers in the fields to truck drivers, to those stocking the shelves at your local grocery store. Soul Fire Farm in New York is dedicated to training underserved communities in food growth and production, slowly eroding the overarching whiteness of the food industry. All of these groups and their efforts deserve praise and support, as each contributes an important piece of the puzzle that my eventually come together to create a more sustainable food future—for the planet and for the people.

              My original question asks how cultural identity—specifically that of transnational communities and immigrant populations—can become a fundamental tenet of progressive food movements. Despite acknowledging the work of the aforementioned organizations, it still feels as though this does not directly address the issue. Fighting for the rights of farmworkers and increasing representation for immigrants and their struggles for food sovereignty is incredibly important work, but how does this connect to those families who upon arrival wish to espouse the values of those fighting for a more equitable and sustainable food system, but feel unfairly excluded?

One of the significant forms this has taken has been in the restaurant industry. Historically, one of the main entry points for immigrants into the U.S. economy has been in food service. This is irrefutably evidenced by the close relationship between Chinese immigrants and the spread of Chinese-American restaurants, and also in the more recent trend of “exotic” foods cropping up in urban food cart pods nationwide, and on the social media feeds of hip “foodies.” As awareness for the necessity of food system reform has grown, consumer demand has increased pressure on restaurateurs to source their ingredients responsibly. In this way, various influences have created an environment in which a transnational identity can truly thrive, creating new cultural hallmarks that enact aspects of the home and host countries.

The intersectional possibilities of a transnational identity can be put on full display in running a restaurant. Restaurateurs seek to address the demands of an increasingly aware customer base, both in terms of cultural identity and food system sustainability. Many businesses now aim to satisfy a growing list of interests: those guests who have never heard of the food, and come seeking education and discovery; first generation immigrants or international visitors who crave the authenticity of their childhood dinner tables; gourmands in search of the next “big thing” in pop culture foodie-ism; and diners steeped in ideals of sustainable/responsible eating and food service. We can conceive that this last grouping often adheres more strongly to these ideals than to their particular nationality, effectively putting “eating identity” on the same level of self-identification as place. This process creates a new node along the food chain; a locale where a variety of identities can come together, learn, and create.

Restaurants like Archipelago in Seattle, Washington exemplify this rich transnationality. Here Amber Manuguid and Aaron Verzosa—Filipinx-Americans from the Pacific Northwest who met at the University of Washington studying their cultural roots—created a space defined by an intriguing combination of tradition, innovation, and sustainability. Manuguid and Verzosa endeavor to revisit familiar Filipinx foods, tweaking recipes to include ingredients that can be produced locally. They might substitute verjus from Washington grapes for vinegar, for example, or use cranberries in place of tamarind. (Hill, 2019) They have also established fruitful relationships with local Filipinx farmers who are producing many ingredients familiar to a Filipinx eater, but are rare in typical northwest groceries.