Food is medicine, and that’s a fact. Why we all need Native American foodways
Within Indigenous communities across North America and beyond, we have long known that food is medicine. This isn’t just theory; it’s fact. We understand that seasonal, regionally specific and culturally relevant foods are vital for nurturing, nourishing and healing both our people and our planet. And it’s high time we all embrace the Native American concept of food as medicine.Our ancestral wisdom has ensured our survival for millennia, even in the face of unthinkable circumstances like colonialism, genocide and ongoing oppression. This ever-relevant knowledge will ensure our collective survival amid today’s unthinkable circumstances here in the United States, such as political instability, climate change and rising health issues.So much of these lessons exist within our foodways, which in a Native worldview we recognize as inherently intertwined with our culture, land and history. Long before European arrival, Native groups across North America established robust, thriving societies undergirded by ecologically sound foodways. In stark contrast with today’s extractive, exploitative food system, these place-based traditions emphasized sustainable, climate-savvy principles – and they’re still being practiced today.I delved deep into that knowledge during my years-long research alongside renowned Oglala Lakota chef Sean Sherman while co-writing the new book Turtle Island: Foods and Traditions of the Indigenous Peoples of North America. He is perhaps best known for his Minneapolis restaurant, Owamni, which serves “decolonized” food made without European-introduced ingredients, such as beef, chicken, pork, dairy, wheat flour and sugar cane. With this book, Sean and I are shining a spotlight on the countless elders, cooks, producers and culture bearers who have helped safeguard centuries-old wisdom that’s been passed from generation to generation.Sean’s bigger-picture mission to revitalize Indigenous foodways is a reintroduction to the ways our communities sustained ourselves for centuries. Before European arrival, we didn’t experience the many colonialism-driven health issues that still plague Native communities – and affect non-Native communities, too – including disproportionate rates of obesity, type 2 diabetes and heart disease. As Sherman often says, if we can control our food, we can control our destiny.That’s not hyperbole. It’s an acknowledgment that, especially within Indigenous communities, food sovereignty is synonymous with food security. To better understand that, we need to rewind a bit.Within Native cultures, we have long hunted, fished and foraged without over-harvesting in order to leave enough bounty for others and to ensure the survival of key animal and plant species. Our ancestors developed sophisticated agricultural techniques that allowed us to cultivate nutrient-rich crops in harmony with the regional climate and circumstance. Prime examples of this include waffle gardens – a pattern of sunken squares of land that collect water developed by the Zuni people in the south-west desert land. There are also chinampas – floating gardens atop small humanmade islands in shallow lakes and swamps, first employed in ancient Mesoamerica by the Aztecs. We stewarded the land using time-honored permaculture traditions, such as controlled burns, that helped us live in harmony with the natural world around us.Navajo churro sheep at the Rio Grande Botanic Garden Heritage Farm, on 14 March 2018. Photograph: Zuma Press Inc/AlamyAs American colonialism swept across this land, our thriving, independent tribal nations proved challenging for the land-hungry nascent United States. To address the so-called “Indian problem”, the budding US government very deliberately targeted our food sources and systems to devastating effect. Those efforts took shape as the “scorched-earth” campaigns that destroyed everything in their path across the south-west, the systematic slaughtering of bison herds in the Great Plains to near eradication and other similarly aggressive tactics designed to starve us into submission. The underlying theory was this: if you can control the peoples’ food, you can control the peoples – a terrible twist on Sean’s aforementioned sentiment.As our Native communities were systematically displaced from our homes and disconnected from our cultures, we adapted. Ours is a story of ever-evolving resilience. Amid forced relocation, our tribal communities identified plants and animals endemic to those new areas and shifted crop-cultivation techniques for new climates. A prime example of this adaptation is the development of the Navajo churro sheep. Descended from the Iberian breeds brought to North America in the 1500s, this animal is now an integral element of Diné lifeways from both a cultural and a culinary standpoint. Generations of families have long tended to their churro herds, weaving their wool into rugs and clothing and incorporating their mutton and milk into both everyday and ceremonial meals.At the same time, as our tribes were relegated to small reservations often situated on land deemed unwanted and unproductive, the introduction of government commodity foods introduced those marked health disparities we still experience. These highly processed, nutrient-devoid foods – think canned beef with juices, blocks of neon-orange cheese and powdered egg mix – bear striking similarities to the foods that make up the modern standard american diet (it’s not a coincidence that that acronym is Sad).But this isn’t just a history lesson. It’s crucial that we reconcile what took place in the past to better understand how we got to the present and where we go from here toward a better future for all. That’s the beauty of Indigenous wisdom; in our worldview, knowledge is not for hoarding. It’s for sharing.In recent years, we’ve seen a long-overdue embracing of traditional ecological knowledge. This Indigenous science, if you will, has long been dismissed in favor of western science, with an emphasis on qualitative data over quantitative data. Native thought leaders like Potawatomi botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer and Binnizá/Zapotec/Maya Ch’orti’ environmental scientist Jessica Hernandez are leading the charge to reshape our understanding of science. Many people are now realizing that the way Indigenous communities have long lived is better for our species and our planet.We’ve also witnessed small yet meaningful land back gains, in which privately and/or publicly owned lands have been returned to once again be stewarded by Native hands. Much like the Native food movement, the land back movement is cause for collective celebration, as it benefits everyone. After all, even though Indigenous peoples make up just 5% of the world’s population, we protect an estimated 80% of our planet’s remaining biodiversity.In a world where food has been weaponized against us time and again – not just Native Americans, but non-Native Americans, too – Indigenous cultures offer a blueprint for a decolonized future – a future where nutritious, sustainably harvested and produced food is recognized as a basic right. Food is medicine, and it is medicine for all.
Ecologically sound farming and land stewardship can change individual, collective and planetary healthWithin Indigenous communities across North America and beyond, we have long known that food is medicine. This isn’t just theory; it’s fact. We understand that seasonal, regionally specific and culturally relevant foods are vital for nurturing, nourishing and healing both our people and our planet. And it’s high time we all embrace the Native American concept of food as medicine.Our ancestral wisdom has ensured our survival for millennia, even in the face of unthinkable circumstances like colonialism, genocide and ongoing oppression. This ever-relevant knowledge will ensure our collective survival amid today’s unthinkable circumstances here in the United States, such as political instability, climate change and rising health issues. Continue reading...
Within Indigenous communities across North America and beyond, we have long known that food is medicine. This isn’t just theory; it’s fact. We understand that seasonal, regionally specific and culturally relevant foods are vital for nurturing, nourishing and healing both our people and our planet. And it’s high time we all embrace the Native American concept of food as medicine.
Our ancestral wisdom has ensured our survival for millennia, even in the face of unthinkable circumstances like colonialism, genocide and ongoing oppression. This ever-relevant knowledge will ensure our collective survival amid today’s unthinkable circumstances here in the United States, such as political instability, climate change and rising health issues.
So much of these lessons exist within our foodways, which in a Native worldview we recognize as inherently intertwined with our culture, land and history. Long before European arrival, Native groups across North America established robust, thriving societies undergirded by ecologically sound foodways. In stark contrast with today’s extractive, exploitative food system, these place-based traditions emphasized sustainable, climate-savvy principles – and they’re still being practiced today.
I delved deep into that knowledge during my years-long research alongside renowned Oglala Lakota chef Sean Sherman while co-writing the new book Turtle Island: Foods and Traditions of the Indigenous Peoples of North America. He is perhaps best known for his Minneapolis restaurant, Owamni, which serves “decolonized” food made without European-introduced ingredients, such as beef, chicken, pork, dairy, wheat flour and sugar cane. With this book, Sean and I are shining a spotlight on the countless elders, cooks, producers and culture bearers who have helped safeguard centuries-old wisdom that’s been passed from generation to generation.
Sean’s bigger-picture mission to revitalize Indigenous foodways is a reintroduction to the ways our communities sustained ourselves for centuries. Before European arrival, we didn’t experience the many colonialism-driven health issues that still plague Native communities – and affect non-Native communities, too – including disproportionate rates of obesity, type 2 diabetes and heart disease. As Sherman often says, if we can control our food, we can control our destiny.
That’s not hyperbole. It’s an acknowledgment that, especially within Indigenous communities, food sovereignty is synonymous with food security. To better understand that, we need to rewind a bit.
Within Native cultures, we have long hunted, fished and foraged without over-harvesting in order to leave enough bounty for others and to ensure the survival of key animal and plant species. Our ancestors developed sophisticated agricultural techniques that allowed us to cultivate nutrient-rich crops in harmony with the regional climate and circumstance. Prime examples of this include waffle gardens – a pattern of sunken squares of land that collect water developed by the Zuni people in the south-west desert land. There are also chinampas – floating gardens atop small humanmade islands in shallow lakes and swamps, first employed in ancient Mesoamerica by the Aztecs. We stewarded the land using time-honored permaculture traditions, such as controlled burns, that helped us live in harmony with the natural world around us.
As American colonialism swept across this land, our thriving, independent tribal nations proved challenging for the land-hungry nascent United States. To address the so-called “Indian problem”, the budding US government very deliberately targeted our food sources and systems to devastating effect. Those efforts took shape as the “scorched-earth” campaigns that destroyed everything in their path across the south-west, the systematic slaughtering of bison herds in the Great Plains to near eradication and other similarly aggressive tactics designed to starve us into submission. The underlying theory was this: if you can control the peoples’ food, you can control the peoples – a terrible twist on Sean’s aforementioned sentiment.
As our Native communities were systematically displaced from our homes and disconnected from our cultures, we adapted. Ours is a story of ever-evolving resilience. Amid forced relocation, our tribal communities identified plants and animals endemic to those new areas and shifted crop-cultivation techniques for new climates. A prime example of this adaptation is the development of the Navajo churro sheep. Descended from the Iberian breeds brought to North America in the 1500s, this animal is now an integral element of Diné lifeways from both a cultural and a culinary standpoint. Generations of families have long tended to their churro herds, weaving their wool into rugs and clothing and incorporating their mutton and milk into both everyday and ceremonial meals.
At the same time, as our tribes were relegated to small reservations often situated on land deemed unwanted and unproductive, the introduction of government commodity foods introduced those marked health disparities we still experience. These highly processed, nutrient-devoid foods – think canned beef with juices, blocks of neon-orange cheese and powdered egg mix – bear striking similarities to the foods that make up the modern standard american diet (it’s not a coincidence that that acronym is Sad).
But this isn’t just a history lesson. It’s crucial that we reconcile what took place in the past to better understand how we got to the present and where we go from here toward a better future for all. That’s the beauty of Indigenous wisdom; in our worldview, knowledge is not for hoarding. It’s for sharing.
In recent years, we’ve seen a long-overdue embracing of traditional ecological knowledge. This Indigenous science, if you will, has long been dismissed in favor of western science, with an emphasis on qualitative data over quantitative data. Native thought leaders like Potawatomi botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer and Binnizá/Zapotec/Maya Ch’orti’ environmental scientist Jessica Hernandez are leading the charge to reshape our understanding of science. Many people are now realizing that the way Indigenous communities have long lived is better for our species and our planet.
We’ve also witnessed small yet meaningful land back gains, in which privately and/or publicly owned lands have been returned to once again be stewarded by Native hands. Much like the Native food movement, the land back movement is cause for collective celebration, as it benefits everyone. After all, even though Indigenous peoples make up just 5% of the world’s population, we protect an estimated 80% of our planet’s remaining biodiversity.
In a world where food has been weaponized against us time and again – not just Native Americans, but non-Native Americans, too – Indigenous cultures offer a blueprint for a decolonized future – a future where nutritious, sustainably harvested and produced food is recognized as a basic right. Food is medicine, and it is medicine for all.