In the Anthropocene, Food and Wellness Are Always Political

by Sarah Badr

THIS ESSAY WAS FIRST PUBLISHED IN PRINT IN DECEMBER 2020, IN ISSUE TWO

Over the past decade, wellness culture has taken over the mainstream, growing into a multi-trillion dollar industry. Backed heavily by corporate interests and fueled by growing socio-political tensions, economic instability and the degradation of our environment— wellness culture sells the idea that optimal health and happiness can be achieved by following a particular lifestyle. Emphasizing the balance of mind, body and spirit through exercise (to be stronger), a diet (stressing clean eating) and spiritual practices like meditation (to be happier). Somewhere along the line, self care has become self-absorbed. 

We’ve been told that consuming green smoothies, exotic adaptogens, designer vitamins and ancient grains. If we follow a plant-based diet and eat gluten-free, it will make us feel better about ourselves and better yet, increase our productivity, while simultaneously making big businesses richer. While you might believe that adopting these lifestyles has made a difference in your life, doing well doesn’t always mean doing good. As life in the Anthropocene age forces us to face the consequences of humanity’s impact on our planet, a more critical and integral approach to food culture is needed.

Although adopting these lifestyle choices might be driven by a desire to be more conscientious about our consumption, not many of us truly understand the effects of our diets on ourselves, other people and the planet.  

Many of us have yet to realize that partaking in wellness practices does not mean we’re more informed than others, or that we care more about our health, but rather it is a direct reflection of our privilege. At best, we feel empowered about our eating choices; at worst, we reinforce ideas and food practices which reinforce the harm of an unsustainable system. This culture is geared towards those with enough food security to think about things other than simply surviving. A big issue with wellness culture is a moralistic assumption that participation is a choice, instead of a privilege dictated by socio-economic and geographic realities. Our access to food is a direct result of where we live. The ability to enjoy a wide variety of food products, let alone choose to eat organic, or shop at Whole Foods or a farmers’ market is a luxury. 

Believing what we eat is entirely a personal choice, rather than the result of a capitalist system masks the political nature of who gets to eat what, also masks the catastrophic effects of the global food industrial complex. 

Suggesting everyone should engage in veganism as a solution to our climate woes is not only unrealistic, but ignores that different cultural contexts produce different relationships with food. Reducing our consumption of factory-farmed meat and dairy in the West makes sense given the environmental consequences and ethical implications surrounding the farming-industrial complex. However, in less advanced economies, meat may not be as cheaply and abundantly available. In more traditional societies, where the collective good is prioritized, sustainability is built into consumption as a survival mechanism. 

Photo taken by Sarah Badr in Sudan

During a December 2018 to March 2019 trip to Sudan, a sheep was slaughtered to celebrate the arrival of my cousin and I from overseas. As I watched the butcher, trying to minimize my discomfort by thinking about the nice life that sheep had lived, it became clear to me: the issue at hand was not the meat, but the method. The farming-industrial alienates us from the source of our food, the Earth and her resources. This lack of connection we feel ties into the ease with which we consume not just food, especially meat, but everything. 

The structural consequences of the global food-industrial complex also overshadow moralistic arguments for meatless diets. The grain and produce that we typically eat has not only travelled long distances, but was grown and harvested by marginalized people whose labour is undervalued and exploited. The popularity of certain superfoods, in particular, compounds this negative effect.

The demand for quinoa, considered a staple food in Bolivia and Peru, has priced out locals and traditional farmers who have been relying on the grain for centuries. Soy products are often hailed as great alternatives to dairy, but the cultivation of soy in South America, particularly Brazil, the world’s largest exporter of soy (as well as beef and chicken) has been a major factor in accelerating deforestation. The production of almond milk requires an exorbitant amount of freshwater and it is destroying biodiversity. 

Without understanding the culprit is the exploitative, unsustainable industrial food system, and instead focusing on the nitty-gritty of our wellness inspired diets, we will continue to harm people and the planet.

The truth is, the hyper focus on the properties of our food is not just a sleeker iteration of diet culture, but simply a continuation of late-stage capitalism. Taking advantage of a lack of scientific literacy and placing a focus on the self, rather than the collective, mainstream wellness culture has pushed us to focus on the micro properties of our drinks, rather than the macro properties of our world and our place in it.

We don’t need a small population of privileged people diligently following diets which have become increasingly self-indulgent. We need millions of people to become more mindful of their privilege so that they can use it to make informed choices to affect change. 

The onus is on those of us with the resources to make better choices to do so, which include trying to understand where our food is coming from—to eat locally to reduce emissions from food transport, try and reduced packaging, and for those who can, reducing our intake of unsustainable meat and dairy. Other ways to fight for food justice include becoming more involved in our communities, volunteering at a food bank, cultivating a garden, and most importantly, by exercising allyship. As we imagine food secure futures for all, we must remember justice does not begin and end on our plates.