Professional Documents
Culture Documents
List of Illustrations xi
List of Tables, Diagrams and Boxes xv
Acknowledgments xvii
H Prologue h
Setting the Anthropological Table xix
An Anthropological Appetite for Food xx
Social Anthropological Methods and Principles xxi
Cuisines xxvii
Pondering the Imponderabilia: An Autoethnographic Approach xxviii
H chapter One h
Omnivorousness: Classifying Food 1
Introduction 1
Omnivorousness 2
The Omnivore’s Dilemma 5
Food Classifications and Rules 6
Eating for Health: Whose Rules? Whose Authority? 14
Redux Omnivore’s Dilemma: Too Many Rules, Too Much Food? 18
H chapter Two h
Settled Ingredients: Domestic Food Production 27
Introduction 27
Food-Getting Strategies and Cuisines 28
Hunter-Gathering or Foraging 30
Domestication of Plants and Animals 39
Pastoralism 45
Horticulture 48
Agriculture 51
H chapter three h
Mobile Ingredients: Roots, Routes, and Realities of
Industrialized Agriculture 61
Introduction 61
Imagining Global Routes 62
Long-Distance Trade Routes: Spices and Exotic Foods 64
Roots of Industrialized Agricultural: Plentiful Food for All? 68
Retailing Food: Markets to Supermarkets 76
Exporting Industrial Agriculture 83
H chapter four h
cookS And kitchenS 95
Introduction 95
The Origins of Fire Use and Cooking 96
Cooking Techniques 98
Cooking and Food-Getting Strategies 102
Beyond Culinary Triangles: Toward Contextual Meanings 107
Cooking and Gender 110
Men’s Conspicuous Cooking: Public Cuisine 114
Chefs, Celebrity, and the Shaping of National Cuisines 114
Domestic Kitchens: Gender and Home Cooking 119
H chapter five h
Recipes and Dishes 131
Introduction 131
Recipes: Creating Dishes 132
Experiential Cooking: Performing Domestic Recipes 135
Textual Cooking: Reading Commercial Recipes 144
Cookbooks: Codifying National Cuisines 146
British Cuisine: From Cookbooks to Curry 149
H Chapter Six h
Eating In: Commensality and Gastro-Politics 157
Introduction 157
Meals: Patterns of Eating 158
Gastro-Politics 170
Special Meals: Feasting 172
Types of Feasts 174
H Chapter Seven h
Eating Out and Gastronomy 185
Introduction 185
Eating Away from Home: A Risky Business? 186
Street Food: Eating Standing Up 187
Restaurant Food: Eating Sitting Down 191
Characteristics of Restaurants 193
Gastronomy: Cultivating Culinary Taste 199
Types of Restaurants: Gastronomic Foodscapes 201
Ethnic Cuisines: Diaspora Dining 209
Restaurants as “Ethnosites”: Cross-Cultural Encounters 212
H Chapter Eight h
Global Indigestion: Resetting the Agenda
for Food Security 219
Introduction 219
Indigestion: Malnutrition and Global Gastro-Politics 220
From the Top Down: The Gastro-Politics of Food In/Security 222
Four Pillars of Food Security 223
Food Quantity: The FAO ’s Agenda and Challenges 225
Resetting the FAO Agenda: Sustainable Agriculture 230
Food Quality: The WHO ’s Agenda and Challenges 230
Resetting the WHO Agenda: Healthy Diet 238
From the Ground Up: Grassroots Activism 239
Resetting the Menu: Food Security and Healthy Food 245
H Chapter Nine h
Local Digestion: Making the Global at Home 255
Introduction 255
Foodscapes: Materializing Global Foods 257
Local Shopping: Retailing the Meaning of Food 258
Fast and Tasty: Localizing Global Dishes 263
Locavorism: Eating Locally 269
Farmers’ Markets: Local Foods and Faces 276
Brew and Serve: Localizing a Global Beverage 278
Hybrid Consumption: Local and Global Realities 281
H Epilogue h
Leftovers to Takeaway 291
Takeaway Cuisine 293
Takeaway Leftovers 296
Glossary 301
Bibliography 313
Index 341
Prologue
Setting the Anthropological Table
0.1 Cutlery xviii
0.2 Foodscape: Smartphone Food Record xxx
Chapter One
Omnivorousness: Classifying Food
1.1 Olive Oil xxxii
1.2 Muttonbirds for Sale in New Zealand 8
1.3 Piggy Life 10
1.4 Bags of Sugar 13
1.5 Nutrition Facts Label 20
Chapter Two
Settled Ingredients: Domestic Food Production
2.1 Sockeye Salmon Smoking 26
2.2 Bush Tomatoes 32
2.3 Culinary Delights from Haida Gwaii 37
2.4 Packaged Wheat Flour 43
2.5 Rarotongan Garden 49
2.6 Home Canning 52
2.7 Prince Edward Island Potato Field 53
2.8 Backyard Chicken 58
Chapter Three
MOBILE INGREDIENTS : ROOTS , ROUTES , AND REALITIES
OF INDUSTRIALIZED AGRICULTURE
3.1 Guicoyitos Heirloom Squash 60
3.2 Supermarket Spices 63
3.3 Spice Cupboard Cinnamon 65
3.4 Empire Apples at the Halifax Farmers’ Market 69
3.5 Strawberry Fields, Watsonville, California 72
3.6 Rarotongan Market Stall 76
Chapter Four
Cooks and Kitchens
4.1 Guatemalan Women Cooking 94
4.2 Three Ounces of Butter 101
4.3 Traditional Salmon Barbecuing at Old Massett 104
4.4 Men’s Public Cooking 114
4.5 Trainee Chefs in Vancouver 116
4.6 Stylishly Plated Food 119
4.7 Manual Stove 121
4.8 “Nana’s Lamb Roast” 122
4.9 Kitchen Gadgetry 126
Chapter Five
Recipes and Dishes
5.1 Chicken Tikka Masala 130
5.2 Bobo Pulpin Burrata 133
5.3 Making Pastry 136
5.4 Burrata Remade 139
5.5 Cooking from an Online Recipe 143
5.6 Artusi’s Cookbook 147
5.7 Kanpur Gardens Chicken Tikka Masala 150
5.8 Nouvelle Rarotongan Cuisine 154
Chapter Six
Eating In: Commensality and Gastro-Politics
6.1 A Meal is Served 156
6.2 “Who Ate All the Pies?” 164
6.3 “Full English” Proper Meal 166
6.4 Chettinad Dosa Palace Lunch 167
6.5 The Remaining Sushi 170
Chapter Seven
Eating Out and Gastronomy
7.1 Rio Dulce Comedor, Guatemala 184
7.2 Food Wagon, Vancouver 188
7.3 Neopolitan Pizza, Victoria 190
7.4 French Restaurant, Paris 192
7.5 Fresh Fish on the Menu, Guatemala 195
7.6 French Chicken Dish 197
7.7 House of Dumplings, Wellington 200
7.8 Charcoal Lane Restaurant, Melbourne 203
7.9 Fish and Chips, Charlottetown 204
7.10 Chinese Restaurant, Paris 206
7.11 Indian Restaurant Menu, Canada 208
7.12 Chinese Restaurant, San Francisco 211
7.13 Pho Soup, Vancouver 215
Chapter Eight
Global Indigestion: Resetting the Agenda for Food Security
8.1 Nescafé on Guatemalan Supermarket Shelves 218
8.2 Morning Coffee, Panajachel, Guatemala 227
8.3 TV Dinner 231
8.4 Global Food Emojis 233
8.5 Packaged Chicken 234
8.6 Bimbo Bread for Guatemala 239
8.7 Burgers and Fries 243
8.8 Guatemalan Food Seller 249
8.9 Smashed Avocado 251
Chapter Nine
Local Digestion: Making the Global at Home
9.1 Choosing Heirloom Tomatoes, Farmers’ Market 254
9.2 Branded British Industrial Cuisine 260
9.3 Cinco de Mayo Display 261
Epilogue
Leftovers to Takeaway
E .1 Takeaway Bag 290
E.2 Empty Plate 293
E .3 Washing Up 297
Boxes
[blank page]
Acknowledgments
A book, rather like a recipe, requires many ingredients and a method, and produces a consum-
able outcome. Cooking and writing are kindred processes that involve many hands and influ-
ences, and it is important to acknowledge all those who have brought them to fruition. The
major ingredients of this book are derived from the scholarship of so many anthropologists,
geographers, historians, political scientists, sociologists, and others whose work has inspired
these pages. To them I owe a great deal, and I hope I have not misrepresented them by mix-
ing and adding further flavours to their work. My anthropological oven was preheated at
University College, London, and later reached temperature at Cambridge University, with
special “regulo” thanks to Daniel Miller, Paul Sant Cassia, and Jack Goody, who all ignited
my interest in food. The Haida generously taught me so much about indigenous food tradi-
tions, and I thank them for giving me permission to do fieldwork. In my test kitchen are
others of importance who have discussed culinary and gastronomic matters: Neil Crowther,
Maureen Hackett, Paddy Laidley, Ayaka Nomura, Barbara Ormerod, and Lorna and Bob
Troake, together with many Capilano University students, who have sampled, questioned, and
hopefully digested some ideas.
A second rendering of this book has allowed me the opportunity to adjust the recipe, by slow
cooking the ingredients, rebalancing the flavours, and, with some vigorous stirring, adding some
new textures. Toward this second dishing I restocked my larder of academic ingredients, many
purveyed by the library staff at Capilano, and sought out the fine palates of my many colleagues
in the School of Social Sciences, including Nigel Amon, Maureen Bracewell, Sandra Cooper,
Rita Isola, Laura MacKay, Bob Muckle, Sheila Ross, Cheryl Schreader, Judy Te Kanawa, and
Mahak Yaseri. Furthermore, thanks must be extended to the first and second edition anony-
mous reviewers, and Tim Roufs. All offered important constructive criticism that enhanced the
resulting flavours, and added balance and depth. On a practical level of plating up this second
dish, further thanks are due to Don LePan of Broadview Press, and Mat Buntin of UTP, who
encouraged me to submit a proposal. The ever-supportive Anne Brackenbury’s honest insights,
delivered with humour and tact, have kneaded me in the right direction. Similarly, thanks go
to all the UTP staff and designers, such as Beate Schwirtlich and Julia Cadney; The Editing
Company’s Barbara Kamienski, who carefully adjusted the seasonings; and many others whose
names I do not know, but whose hands have helped dish up this book. (Any overflavouring,
or cooking mishaps, however, are my responsibility.) It is my hope that something you read in
these pages will whet your appetite for more anthropological dishes.
SETTING THE
THRthe OLOGICAL TTable
OPAnthropological ABLE
ANSetting
An array of rather formal-looking cutlery can be a daunting sight, and I vividly remember one
occasion when the complexity of my place setting caused me quite a bit of anxiety. A friend’s
parents had invited us out to dinner at a “fancy” restaurant. I did not know them very well,
and I wanted to make a good impression. A menu, a meal of many courses: What should I
choose? My menu had no prices, so I couldn’t weigh up the social niceties of choosing some-
thing reasonably priced. Instead, I carefully listened and watched everyone, taking cues from
them about the selection of dishes and following their choices. When the first course arrived,
I hesitantly selected my cutlery, hoping to pass the etiquette test. I was okay until the bread
was served and I helped myself. I had failed to notice the others subtly pointing to a selected
piece and waiting for the server to place the bread on the side plate. A faux pas: my cover was
blown. I was an interloper at the table, although everyone was far too polite to draw attention
to my discomfort.
I did enjoy the meal, and the company, but it was made memorable by my anxiety over
cutlery and etiquette. Since then I’ve been lucky enough to share meals in many places and
now feel less daunted, but I am still very aware of the unspoken pressure of the norms of
commensality. I now regard cutlery as just a tool, although one surrounded with traditional
rules, that cuts our food into manageable morsels, ferries it into our mouths where we taste,
chew, swallow, and begin to digest its substance. Just like cutlery, the anthropological approach
of this book can be regarded as offering a set of methodological and theoretical tools, not too
daunting, to enable us to select, assess, chew, and mentally digest the significance of meals and
dishes from a variety of cuisines. It aims to provide a guide to the world’s rich diversity of
eating culture and to help explore the similarities, understand the differences, and draw some
general conclusions about our relationship with food.
Social anthropology is the study of the everyday lives of ordinary people anywhere, and
food is a constant—whether locally produced or globally sourced, it will always be eaten
locally, as a member of society. Food, together with air and water, is the stuff of life, and it is
the basic foundation of culture and society. The quest for food has been an essential part of
the evolution of humans through the millennia, accounting for the formation of cooperative
foraging groups and serving as a source of our sociability through cooking and sharing food
( Jones 2007; Wrangham 2009). Food is vital to our health and well-being, and yet human-
ity is still witnessing a struggle to produce, exchange, and eat the food we all need. Food is
our everyday creative and meaningful engagement with nature through culture; indeed, food
becomes cultured nature, an artifact. The designation as “food” underscores the cultural con-
struction of what is determined to be edible and places it in the category of an artifact, made
by human ingenuity, from a series of ingredients and flavours, crafted and aestheticized into a
dish. Humans don’t just randomly feed; we select, fashion, concoct, and make an edible assem-
blage that fits our imagining of food. This is an intimate relationship with an artifact, like no
other; food is the only consumed cultural artifact that quite literally becomes us. Our relation-
ship with it begins in the womb and extends throughout our lives as it shapes our daily habits
and influences our health, defines our personal and group identity, and engages our minds and
hands in the acquisition, preparation, and consumption of it. Yet this is a relationship that can
be relegated to one that is presumed to be ubiquitous, ordinary, or quotidian, and as such its
significance in our lives can easily be overlooked. This happens especially when the provision
of food is made so convenient that we devote ourselves to other activities and stop to eat only
when hunger reminds us we need some fuel. Even so, what we eat is culturally and socially
patterned. This book examines our changing relationship with food based upon its essential,
chosen, patterned, discursive, and dynamic qualities.
Humans have an appetite for food, and anthropology, as the study of human beings, their cul-
ture and society, through time and in any context, has an interest in the role of food. In the
work of two important early anthropologists, Franz Boas in North America and Bronisław
Malinowski in Europe, the presence of food is revealed in their respective writings on the
Kwakiutl (Boas 1921) and Trobriand Islanders (Malinowski [1922] 1966), but its place was often
eclipsed by the content of winter ceremonials, social organization, and the complexities of the
kula ring or magic. Despite this, there were facts about what was deemed to be food—how it was
cooked, and who ate together—that were included as background to the broader ethnographic
narrative. This stands as a testament to both Boas’s and Malinowski’s emphasis upon includ-
ing detailed descriptions of the everyday and the extraordinary occasions of life. For instance,
Anthropology is a very broad discipline, and as such it has divided itself into a series of
subfields, within which scholars concentrate upon specific questions pertaining to human
existence. While this book will make a brief foray into the subfield of biological anthropol-
ogy, it is primarily concerned with the findings from social anthropology. In keeping with the
eclectic interests of social anthropologists, there is considerable overlap between their research
and that of other disciplines addressing food, such as cultural geography, history, women’s
studies, psychology, sociology, philosophy, and economics. This book draws upon the excellent
work of researchers from all these disciplines and incorporates it into an overview guided by
the principles of social anthropology. It will also highlight some of the different theoretical
traditions employed by social anthropologists as they have assessed and made sense of their
research findings. But to begin, it is fieldwork that particularly distinguishes social anthropol-
ogy, although this method’s utility has also appealed to other disciplines over the last decade.
Within the ethnographic method are other anthropological approaches, such as holism and
comparison, and the principle of cultural relativism, as discussed below.
Social anthropologists will conduct fieldwork for a relatively long period of time, and write
an ethnographic account of the culture under study based upon their participant-observation.
Malinowski’s ([1922] 1966) definition of ethnography as the “empirical and descriptive results”
(9) of fieldwork still captures its essence. Fieldwork can be conducted in both unfamiliar and
familiar settings, since the discipline is concerned with human life anywhere, and its approach
encourages cross-cultural comparison. However, the early beginnings of social anthropology
tended to focus on non-Western societies where social anthropologists conducted fieldwork
as part of “comparative sociology,” and while this legacy still lingers, it is not an absolute man-
date. Early ethnographic work produced accounts of all aspects of a specific culture, providing
a holistic record of its traditional lifeways. Many early social anthropologists included details
about how food was acquired and used in particular cultures; for example, John Swanton (1905)
in his material on the Haida, A.R. Radcliffe-Brown ([1922] 1964) in his study of Andaman
Islanders, and Audrey Richards ([1939] 1969; [1932] 1964) in her early work with the Bemba.
Holism recognizes that all aspects of a culture are interconnected and influence one another.
The holistic study of food reveals how its classification, form, and uses are intimately con-
nected to food-getting strategies, the division of labour, exchange, social and political organi-
zation, religion, and intimate ties of kinship and friendship.
The early ethnographies created an illusion of culture as a bounded, timeless, fixed set of
characteristic beliefs, values, norms, traditions, and behaviour that would define its members
into the present day. The use of the ethnographic present has underscored this representation
of culture. The issue of change, and how it occurred, challenged the accuracy of portraying cul-
tures in the present tense, and gradually through many years of subsequent theoretical debates
the representation and understanding of culture became considerably more complex (Clifford
and Marcus 1986; Clifford 1988; Marcus 1995). This shifted the focus of ethnographies away
from somewhat static portraits to become problem focused, addressing specific aspects of peo-
ple’s practices through more specialized theoretical approaches that consider such areas as eco-
nomics, politics, religion, and kinship. These ethnographies are located at a specific time and
place, revealing the changing dynamics of culture and society, and they recognize that people,
ideas, and things have always migrated and influenced each other, eroding the idea of hard and
fast boundaries around isolated cultures (Marcus 1995). The ethnographies of Richard Wilk
(2006), Brad Weiss (2003), Jon Holtzman (2009), and Carole Counihan (2009), for example,
all address food and beverages in single-sited cultural contexts—Belize, Africa, and North
America—and explore the internal and external influences wrought upon these places through
time. Participant-observation is still the main fieldwork method, but the written accounts
bring the voices of community members to the fore while addressing wider current issues and
processes that impinge on people’s daily lives. Culture, in these later ethnographies, becomes
more messy, dynamic, and fraught with contest, disagreements, reconciliations, and strategies,
and is articulated differently by members of society. Today’s ethnographies explore the experi-
ences of the fieldworker in real time, not some timeless ethnographic present, and the voices
of the community members offer a dialogue with the anthropologist, making explicit how the
research questions and findings are formulated. These ethnographies shed light on the daily
experiences of ordinary people, how we make our living, how we make sense of our existence,
and how we see our future. As intimate local stories based upon first-hand experience, they
resonate globally as aspects of the shared human experience.
Participant-observation involves trying to gain an insider’s, or emic, perspective on a cul-
ture and simultaneously apply an outsider’s, or etic, perspective to draw wider conclusions
about how the culture and society works. When working with community members, all social
anthropologists work within a code of ethical practice to ensure that their participants are
not compromised by the research. This involves creating agreements to protect people’s rights
to anonymity; to determine copyright and royalties, and fair return for assistance; and to
actively involve the community in the research (American Anthropological Association 2012).
Ultimately, however, the research will reflect the social anthropologist’s understandings and
interpretation, and will be situated within the discipline’s contribution to knowledge.
Participant-observation involves everyday tasks, such as helping with food getting, prepar-
ing ingredients, cooking, cleaning—anything that is offered and asked of the fieldworker.
These hands-on activities, in relation to food, are essential for learning a culinary tradition,
and call upon all the fieldworker’s senses to truly try to share and understand their outcome.
As will be discussed in a later chapter on cooking, it is the experience of cooking, of learning
the feel, smell, and taste of food that is essential, and similarly it is the experience of fieldwork
that provides a unique opportunity to learn about culture (Adapon 2008). Fieldwork is accom-
panied by a wide range of other research methods, such as interviews (both informal and more
focused) with as broad a cross-section of the community as possible. Part of the interviews can
involve construction of kinship charts, which are helpful to understanding how social roles are
played out through kinship relationships. When researching food sharing, such as meals and
feasting, kinship charts help explain the allocations of tasks and the exercise of gastro-politics.
Life histories constructed around food have proven to be an effective means of tracking how
food traditions are learned and shared across generations, and how new foods are viewed
and incorporated into cuisines. These insightful personal reflections on food usually bring to
life the social life of food and people’s engagement with it, such as memories of cooking and
eating (Counihan 1988, 2009; Macbeth and MacClancy 2004; Miller and Deutsch 2009). In
addition to the commentaries of specific people, the fieldworker also listens to a community’s
public discourses on food. These discourses are the shared conversations broadcast across the
community through intimate conversations, speeches, newspapers, radio, television, and other
forms of public media. By listening to and engaging with them, individuals gain facts and
specialized knowledge, which informs their understanding of the food world. The discourses
surrounding food will involve the fieldworker identifying the many ways people talk about
food: its cultural classification, its religious and scientific meanings, the values assigned to it,
consumption rules, the identity work of social statuses associated with it, and taste preferences.
All reveal how food is interpreted and its relationship to life. It is a challenge for any field-
worker to make sense of these dynamic discourses, which guide food-related decisions and are
simultaneously changing and adapting to new circumstances. Slowly, through the compilation
of the insiders’ perspectives on food, the fieldworker will become aware of the gaps between
what people say they do, the ideal constructs of their culture, and the ways in which knowl-
edge and understanding are put into practice—the messy, lived reality of culture. This is where
the insight into culture and society lies: in the understanding that comes from participating
and observing, stepping within the culture, and stepping back to assess from a wider perspec-
tive. It also involves another aspect of the ethnographic method—comparison—which allows
higher-level generalizations to be drawn and tested or, as Malinowski ([1922] 1966, 9) argued,
brings order to what could be chaos. Comparisons can be made between different members of
society (for instance, by age and gender), between different cultural or ethnic groups, between
different places, and between different times. Comparison allows broader patterns and associa-
tions to be highlighted, and this will be apparent throughout this book.
An abiding principle present in the back of social anthropologists’ minds as they do field-
work, writing, and public engagement is cultural relativism. Its hallmark is objectivity, which
is imperative when trying to understand cultural traditions that can be unfamiliar, and it
demands a suspension of judgment while trying to ascertain what cultural practices mean
to the members of a culture themselves, to understand them in that particular context. The
examination of food requires that cultural relativism be maintained and the range of food-
stuffs, methods of acquisition, preparation, and distribution be understood within the broader
assignment of cultural meanings and values. This extends into addressing people’s relationship
with the environment, and their attitudes toward current and future food sources. While the
act of eating meat, songbirds, sea turtles, genetically modified organisms, chicken nuggets,
insects, and other foodstuffs can be open to the suspension of cultural relativism, depending
upon the observer’s biases, they must first be approached from a culturally relative position.
The examination of any culture’s food traditions will raise questions about access to food,
denial of food, global food insecurity and anxiety, and the future consequences of intensifica-
tion. All of these issues, and more, are a consequence of many processes that have now moved
The most interesting visitor of them all was the American writer and
protégé of Gertrude Stein, Charles Henri Ford, who published a
queer book of adolescence in Paris under the rather puritan title of
The Young and Evil. Young Mr. Ford suddenly dropped in upon me
one day when a group of tribesmen were killing a steer in my
garden. They cooked the liver in the yard and roasted some of the
meat on skewers and invited him to join us in the feast. He was like a
rare lily squatting in among the bearded and bournoused natives,
and he enjoyed it. When he left in the evening I gave him a chunk of
meat from what had been given to me.
He had been in Italy with a Cuban girl. When they came to Madrid
she found a young Spanish lover and the three of them came on to
Tangier. He came to see me soon again and I invited some of the
younger Moors and a few fatmahs to meet him. They all rather liked
him. They said he looked wonderfully like the cinema portraits of
Marlene Dietrich.
He came again and again, evidently liking my little isolated house on
the river. He was likable enough, and we gave a few native parties
for him. The young men brought their lutes and mandolins and sang
Andalusian melodies, and the girls danced. One evening Mr. Ford
came over early and excitedly told me that the young men were
bringing a very beautiful fatmah—prettier than any he had seen at
my place. I said I couldn't think of any pretty girl of that class whom
Mr. Ford knew and I had not seen before. He said he felt certain I
hadn't seen her. So we waited expectantly until the carriages arrived
with the party. When the girl unveiled she turned out to be the first
little one who had worked for me when I arrived in Tangier. We were
both very surprised. She had lost the quaint native freshness of our
earlier acquaintanceship and already she had developed like a fine
and hardened cashew-nut. She was not aware that the joy-makers
were bringing her to my new place. But she was not in the slightest
embarrassed. She established herself as temporary hostess as well
as guest and was just as charming in the rôle as she had been
efficient as a little housekeeper.... Our fiesta lasted two days. The
Moroccans are a magical barbaric people, if one isn't too civilized to
appreciate the subtlety and beauty of their barbaresques. When at
last I decided to return to America, in homage to them I indited: "A
Farewell to Morocco."
Oh wistful and heartrending earth, oh land
Of colors singing symphonies of life!
Myself is like a stone upon my spirit,
Reluctant, passing from your sunny shore.
Oh native colors,
Pure colors aglow
With magic light.
XXIX
On Belonging to a Minority Group
IT was in Africa that I was introduced to Nancy Cunard—an
introduction by mail. Years before, when I saw her at a studio in
Paris, she had been mentioned as a personage, but I had not been
introduced. In Africa I received a pamphlet from Miss Cunard entitled
Black Man and White Ladyship. The interesting pamphlet gave
details about the Cunard daughter establishing a friendship with a
Negro musician, of which the Cunard mother had disapproved.
Miss Cunard wrote that she was making a Negro anthology to
dedicate to her Negro friend, and asked me to be a contributor. I
promised that I would as soon as I found it possible to take time from
the novel I was writing. That started an interesting correspondence
between us.
Although I considered the contents of the Nancy Cunard pamphlet of
absorbing interest and worthy of publication, I did not admire the
style and tone of presentation.
After some months, Miss Cunard informed me that she was traveling
to New York, and from there to the West Indies, including Jamaica.
She asked me if I could introduce her to anybody in Jamaica who
could put her in touch with the natives. I addressed her to my eldest
brother, who is well-placed somewhere between the working masses
and the controlling classes of Jamaica and has an excellent
knowledge of both. From Jamaica Miss Cunard wrote again that she
had landed in paradise after the purgatory of New York, where she
was put in the spotlight by the newspapers, when it was discovered
that she was residing in Harlem among the Negroes. My brother
invited her to his home in the heart of the banana, chocolate, and
ginger region of Jamaica, and she stayed there two weeks with her
Negro secretary. Both she and her secretary wrote extolling my
brother's hospitality and the warmth and kindliness of the peasants.
Miss Cunard said she particularly liked my brother's face, and she
sent me a snapshot of him.
Meanwhile I had come to the point of a breakdown while working on
my novel in Morocco; and besides I was in pecuniary difficulties.
Nevertheless I wrote an article for Miss Cunard's anthology and
forwarded it to her on her return to France. Miss Cunard
extravagantly praised the article and said it was one of the best and
also that I was one of the best, whatever that "best" meant. She said
she would use it with a full-page photograph of myself which was
done by a friend of ours, the photographer, Berenice Abbot.
However, she did not accompany her praise by a check, and I
requested payment. I was in need of money. Miss Cunard replied
that she was not paying contributors and that my article was too long
after all. She was doing the book for the benefit of the Negro race
and she had thought that every Negro would be glad to contribute
something for nothing. She had suffered and sacrificed a fortune for
Negroes, she said.
I comprehended Miss Cunard's way of reasoning. Yet in spite of the
penalty she had to pay for her interest in the Negro, I did not
consider it my bounden duty to write for her without remuneration.
Miss Cunard would have been shocked at the idea of asking the
printers and binders to print and bind her charitable book without
remuneration. But in spite of her ultra-modern attitude toward life,
apparently she still clung to the antiquated and aristocratic and very
British idea that artists should perform for noble and rich people for
prestige instead of remuneration.
I might say that I too have suffered a lot for my knowledge of, and
contact with, the white race. Yet if I were composing an anthology of
the white hell, it never would have occurred to me that all
sympathetic white writers and artists owed me a free contribution. I
suppose it takes a modern white aristocrat to indulge in that kind of
archaic traditional thinking.
As Miss Cunard would not pay for my article, I requested its return.
She said she was going to take extracts from it. I forbade her to
touch it. That made her mad, comme une vache enragée. My brother
also was supposed to do an article on the Jamaica banana industry
for Miss Cunard. He decided not to. And suddenly Miss Cunard did
not like his face any more. She wrote that he was big and fat.
In her pamphlet Black Man and White Ladyship the reader gets the
impression that the Cunard daughter enjoys taking a Negro stick to
beat the Cunard mother. Miss Cunard seemed to have been ultra-
modern in ideas and contacts without alarming Lady Cunard, who
was a little modern herself. Then Miss Cunard became aware of the
Negro by way of jazz in Venice. And soon also she was made aware
that her mother would not accept her friendship with a Negro. Other
white women have come up against that problem. It is not merely a
problem of people of different races; people of different religions and
of different classes know the unreasonableness and the bitterness of
it. The mother Cunard drastically reduced the income of the daughter
Cunard. The daughter replied with the pamphlet Black Man and
White Ladyship, which was not published for sale but probably for
spite. In telling the story of her friendship, Miss Cunard among other
things ridicules her mother's American accent. Yet the American
Negroes she professes to like speak the same language as her
mother, with slight variations.
Writing in her strange, heavy and ineffectual giant of a Negro
anthology, Miss Cunard has this to say of me: "His people [the
characters of my novels] and himself have also that wrong kind of
race-consciousness; they ring themselves in."
The statement is interesting, not so much from the narrow personal
as from the broader social angle of a minority group of people and its
relationship to friends who belong to the majority group. It leaves me
wondering whether it would be altogether such a bad thing if by
ringing itself in closer together, a weak, disunited and suppressed
group of people could thereby develop group pride and strength and
self-respect!
It is hell to belong to a suppressed minority and outcast group. For to
most members of the powerful majority, you are not a person; you
are a problem. And every crusading crank imagines he knows how
to solve your problem. I think I am a rebel mainly from psychological
reasons, which have always been more important to me than
economic. As a member of a weak minority, you are not supposed to
criticize your friends of the strong majority. You will be damned mean
and ungrateful. Therefore you and your group must be content with
lower critical standards.
A Fannie Hurst who is a best seller is interested in Negro literature.
She is nice to Negro writers and artists. She visits among Negroes.
She engages a Negro secretary. And finally she writes a trashy novel
of Negro life. Negro critics do not like the novel. Fannie Hurst thinks
they are ungrateful. I suppose the only way Negro critics could get
around the dilemma would be to judge Fannie Hurst by social and
sentimental instead of artistic standards. But that wouldn't help the
Negro literature that Fannie Hurst desires to promote. I think Negro
writers might benefit more by the forthright criticism of such southern
gentlemen as H.L. Mencken and Joseph Wood Krutch than by the
kindness of a Fannie Hurst.
A southern white woman who is married to a black journalist says, in
a critique entitled, Don'ts for My Daughter, that she would not "want
her to read Home to Harlem, which overemphasizes the carnal side
of the Aframerican." I will confess that I may fall short of that degree
of civilization which perfects the lily-white state of mind of the gentle
southern lady. And that was why as a creative writer I was unable to
make nice distinctions between the carnal and the pure and
happened perhaps to sin on the side of the carnal in Home to
Harlem.
Yet I once read in a Negro magazine some stanzas entitled,
Temptation, by a certain Young Southern White Lady, and attributed
to my pure critic, which sound like a wild jazz page out of Nigger
Heaven. I remember some of those stanzas:
I couldn't forget
The banjo's whang
And the piano's bang
As we strutted the do-do-do's
In Harlem!
I couldn't forget
That black boy's eyes
That black boy's shake
That black boy's size
I couldn't forget
O, snow white me!
Now to the mind of this black sinner this piece of sophisticated lily-
white lyricism is more offensively carnal than the simple primitive
erotic emotions of the characters of Home to Harlem. But I reiterate it
is possible that I am not civilized white enough to appreciate the
purity of the mind which composed the above stanzas and to which
Home to Harlem is carnal.
The white lady is raising her mulatto daughter on a special diet and
periodically the child is featured as a prodigy in the New York Herald
Tribune. But it is possible that when that child has grown up out of
the state of being a prodigy she might prefer a plain fare, including
Home to Harlem. I have not had the time to be an experimentalist
about life, because I have been occupied always with facing hard
facts. And this I know to be a fact: Right here in New York there are
children of mixed parentage, who have actually hated their white
mother after they had grown up to understanding. When they came
up against the full force of the great white city on the outside and
went home to face a helpless white mother (a symbol of that white
prejudice) it was more than their Negroid souls could stand.
I think it would be illuminating to know the real feelings of that white
mother, who was doubtlessly devoted to her colored children.... I
myself have had the experience of a fine friendship with a highly
cultured white woman, when I first arrived in the United States—a
friendship which was turned into a hideous nightmare because of the
taboos of the dominant white community. I still retain a bitter memory
of my black agony, but I can only try to imagine the white crucifixion
of that cultured woman....
I do not think the author of Don'ts for My Daughter, felt personally
antagonistic to me, when she wrote in the leading Negro magazine
that she did not want her child to read my novel. It is possible that
like myself she has faith in literary and artistic truth. Perhaps she
even desires to contribute something to the growing literature of
Negro life. I have read an interesting article by her on "America's
Changing Color Line," which emphasizes the idea that America is
steadily growing darker in complexion, and is informing about the
increasing numbers of white Negroids who are absorbed by the
white group.
Without the slightest feeling of antagonism to my critic, I would
suggest to her that vicarious stories of "passing white" are merely of
slight importance to the great group of fifteen millions who are
obviously Negroes. I would suggest to her that if she really desires to
make a unique contribution to American literature, she has a chance
of doing something that no Negro can—something that might be
worthwhile for her daughter to read: she might write a sincere
account of what it means for an educated and sensitive white woman
to be the wife of a Negro in America.
Gertrude Stein, the high priestess of artless-artful Art, identifies
Negro with Nothingness. When the eternal faddists who exist like
vampires on new phenomena become fed up with Negro art, they
must find a reason for their indifference. From being disappointed in
Paul Robeson, Gertrude Stein concludes that Negroes are suffering
from nothingness. In the ineffable Stein manner she decided to take
Paul Robeson as the representative of Negro culture. Similarly, any
other faddist could arbitrarily make Chaliapin or Al Jolson or Maurice
Chevalier or Greta Garbo the representative of Russian, Jewish,
French and Swedish culture respectively. When Gertrude Stein finds
that Paul Robeson knows American values and American life as only
one in it and not of it could, when she discovers that he is big and
naïve, but not quite naïve enough to please Gertrude Stein, she
declares: "The African is not primitive; he has a very ancient but a
very narrow culture and there it remains. Consequently nothing can
happen." Not long after she published this, something was
happening: Negro Americans were rendering her opera Four Saints
in Three Acts to sophisticated New York audiences.
Well, whatever the white folks do and say, the Negro race will finally
have to face the need to save itself. The whites have done the
blacks some great wrongs, but also they have done some good.
They have brought to them the benefits of modern civilization. They
can still do a lot more, but one thing they cannot do: they cannot give
Negroes the gift of a soul—a group soul.
Wherever I traveled in Europe and Africa I was impressed by the
phenomenon of the emphasis on group life, whether the idea behind
it was Communist co-operative or Fascist collective or regional
autonomy. I lived under a Communist dictatorship in Russia, two
Fascist dictatorships in Europe, and the French colonial dictatorship
in Morocco. I don't like any dictatorship.
It would be altogether too ludicrous to point out that white women are
by far more an indivisible part of this country's population than
Negroes! Yet the advance guard of white women realize that they
have a common and special group interest, different from the
general interests of their fathers and brothers and their husbands
and sons.
It goes without saying that the future of the Negro is bound up with
the future system of world economy. And all progressive social
trends indicate that that system will be based on the principle of
labor for communal instead of private profit. I have no idea how the
new system will finally work out. I have never believed in the
infallibility of the social prophets, even though some of their
predictions and calculations have come true. It is possible that in
some countries some of the captains of capitalist industry might
become labor leaders and prove themselves more efficient than
many reactionary labor leaders. Who knows?
Anyway, it seems to me that if Negroes were organized as a group
and as workers, whatever work they are doing (with or without the
whites), and were thus getting a practical education in the nature and
the meaning of the labor movement, it might even be more important
and worthwhile than for them to become members of radical political
parties.
A West Indian charlatan came to this country, full of antiquated social
ideas; yet within a decade he aroused the social consciousness of
the Negro masses more than any leader ever did. When Negroes
really desire a new group orientation they will create it.
Such is my opinion for all that it may be worth. I suppose I have a
poet's right to imagine a great modern Negro leader. At least I would
like to celebrate him in a monument of verse. For I have nothing to
give but my singing. All my life I have been a troubadour wanderer,
nourishing myself mainly on the poetry of existence. And all I offer
here is the distilled poetry of my experience.
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
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