Food is personal. 

Nothing proves this more than the the latest shitshow courtesy of the Department of Land Reform, Agriculture and Rural Development’s (DALRRD) Food Safety Authority (FSA). In a naming scandal that could rival the proposal to change Cape Town International Airport to Winnie Mandela Airport, the department is targeting the labelling of plant-based meat substitutes. Up until a few days ago they were actually threatening to seize these products using the product names “prescribed for processed meat products in terms of section 8 of the Agricultural Product Standards Act 119 of 1990…” 

There is definitely an agenda here. I’m certain that the issue isn’t that consumers can’t fathom the difference between pork and plant-based sausages. I’m also absolutely sure this isn’t about “safety,” despite the looming presence of the FSA. What it comes down to is naming, and naming issues are always a veritable hotbed of politics. In South Africa renaming and naming things is a bit of a national sport, and boy-oh-boy does it ruffle feathers.

The labelling of plant-based foods is opening a can of plant-based worms. Loose terms such as meatballs, nuggets, ribs, sausages, and even mince (according to some articles) have been flagged, and then there are the more descriptive terms like “chicken-style”. However, nothing is making okes want to moer each other more than disputes over South African specific words like “biltong” and “wors”. These foods are genetically hardwired into any “National Braai Day” stalwart, and no doubt the common or garden red-blooded South African khaki-wearer would rather make wors out of his trusty Jack Russell than braai a plant-only version.

Here’s the thing, food names can be lank complicated– sweetbreads, head cheese, Welsh rarebit/rabbit. In America there’s a famous Southern dish called “chicken fried steak”. Any guesses as to what you’re going to get? Clue, it’s not chicken. In the UK, if you ordered Glamorgan sausages you’d get menu envy if you expected porky treats. These sausages were originally meat based, but the recipe changed during WWII rationing.

Wartime Britain was a tough gig for foodies. Horrible recipes were invented by the Ministry of Food to keep the morale up, and despite their heinous “mock” recipes, no one took the ministry to task. Mock travesties included pork meatloaf masquerading as “mock duck”, and a devastating combo of margarine, milk powder, and sugar dressed up as “mock cream”. And what’s interesting is that while all this mock food might have made people mock charge, no one was bamboozled. No one. 

The world constantly evolves, and language adjusts.

Naming politics comes down to ownership and power. Who owns meaty terms, and who decides what constitutes steak, sausage, mince, milk, or butter?

I remember being horrified the first time I heard about cauliflower steak. But, I got over myself. Things can be more than one thing. If cauliflower wants to have multiple identities and troll us as pizza and bread, I say, “Bravo you cunning beast of a formerly neglected vegetable!” 

Things being more than one thing is great for choice. And, we’re helped to navigate choice because supermarkets are organised in specific ways. This is why we aren’t confused by the ingredients in Baby Oil, and why people aren’t spreading shea butter on their toast. Plant-based foods are found in a very specific section of a supermarket, far away from the butchery. What’s more, the boxes and packaging literally shout “Plant-based!” “Vegan!” “Hug the bunnies!”

My concern is if you battle to navigate a supermarket and are befuddled by “vegetarian”, “plant-based”, or “vegan”, then you’re going to be up shit creek in the chocolate aisle. Speckled eggs, creme eggs, Easter eggs, it’s a minefield. This is made more tricky because I defy anyone to locate eggs in a supermarket they’ve never visited before. I’m convinced there’s a conspiracy. Honestly, it’s not unimaginable to think that poultry eggs could be assigned to the chocolate aisle, especially since I’ve seen them next to the Handy Andy before.

The chocolate aisle is a rogue unit of shapeshifters. Chocolate pasta, chocolate prawns, chocolate cigars, chocolate nuggets, chocolate mushrooms, chocolate salami. It’s a helluva thing.

So don’t insult my intelligence by saying that plant-based labelling is about confusion and safety. The worst case scenario of being “hoodwinked” into buying a box of chicken-style nuggets, thinking they’re actual chicken, is a mistake you’ll make only once. And the consequence? Perhaps pissing off your carnivorous children? That’s literally the worst case scenario and to my knowledge no one has died from the disappointment of eating a chicken-style nugget.

What’s really going on?

Anthony Bourdain spoke a lot about the politics of food, and his food politics were simple, “You eat what you’re given”. This belief informed his views on vegetarians and vegans, he saw them as fussy eaters who must duck. I can let Bourdain’s dogmatic beliefs slide because he absolutely lived his food politics. He ate everything that was served up. I don’t consider myself a particularly fussy eater, but I will pick the onions out of potato salad, and I won’t eat armadillo, warthog anus, fermented shark, or maggot fried rice, no matter who is dishing it up. So I think the new rule should be that if you’re not prepared to eat maggot fried rice then sit in the corner and pipe down about what other people are eating.

There’s a culture of viewing vegetarians and vegans as a nuisance and fussy. From what I’ve seen on comment threads, these beliefs inform a lot of the discourse around this food labelling issue. In fact the attitude is that this food labelling wouldn’t be such an issue if the bunny huggers just stuck to the fruit and veg section and ate the rabbit food they love so much.

Plant-based eating is a lot more nuanced than that though. Veganism started gaining popularity in about 2010. Before this most of us were skeptical of meals that weren’t firmly centred around meat. This was a hummus-free world, a world where frozen veg was just as good as the real thing. Non-meat eaters were an anomaly, usually met with a scowl and a plate of chips. I remember sometime in the early 2000s being on kitchen duty at the Hilton Hotel and I drew the short straw and had to make the “only-option-vegetable-platter” for a vegetarian.

Let me tell you, he did not thank me for it. And to be honest, I don’t blame him. 

Most of us actively avoided vegetables, and most of us still suffer from PTSD because of how our mothers and grandmothers would boil the living shit out of veg. The narrative was “eat your vegetables, they’re good for you” and delicious wasn’t even on the table. It’s unsurprising then, that when people actually opted to eat only vegetables, we labelled them as weirdos from the wrong side of the Lentil Curtain.

People on the other side of the Lentil Curtain have the bad rap of being sanctimonious. Or, they are seen as militant and aggressive. You may remember those radicals who stirred up a culture war at UCT in 2015. That caper didn’t do a great job of shedding the “Veganism is for privileged whities” lark, and the issue became heavily politicised.

But, have you ever noticed that vegans and vegetarians can’t eat a meal without having to justify and argue their food politics? They’re bombarded by incessant terrible jokes– you know the one about chicken and salad being the same thing? Top that off with the disrespectful host who says things like, “They can just pick the feta out of the salad and eat that”.

It feels like a lot of this heckling is generational and it’s as if “oldies” are associating a plant-based diet with wokeness. Well, here’s food for thought, the World War II diet was predominantly plant-based, and it’s widely accepted that at this point in history, Britain had never been healthier.

The generation that followed these plant-based patriots, the “Boomers”, were fuelled by caffeine and cigarettes for the most part. This was also the generation that fed kids tartrazine and frozen food, so it’s a bit rich for them to say they’re experts on what constitutes enough calcium and protein. No judgement here, I’m hardly a paragon of virtue, but I cannot fathom how anyone could look at a plant-based bowl of delicious grains, legumes, and vegetables, and argue that there aren’t enough nutrients? Particularly because a bowl of Fruit Loops is credited with having “everything a growing child needs,” and no one bats an eyelid.

It’s not only generational, there’s also a pervasive gendered element to food. Did you know that it’s way more acceptable for women to be vegan/vegetarian?

Of course you did.

The French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu (1984) boldly stated that men are “the natural meat eaters”. I have him to thank for the time I went to a wedding and was served the dry chicken breast while my partner got the delicious looking sirloin. 9.5 times out of 10 a waitron will assume the man is having the steak and chips and the woman is having the Caesar salad. There are also rules about what “real men” eat and the belief that real men like their meat advertising laden with sexual innuendos and scantily clad women.

A 2011 study by social psychologists showed that meat and masculinity are directly linked. Vegetarians are seen as less masculine and more sensitive, hence more feminine. Research also shows that men are embarrassed to eat vegetarian or vegan food in public.

What’s actually embarrassing is how much meat we’re eating and how bad this is for the environment. I’ve heard all of the counter arguments but the heaps of scientific studies don’t lie. The fact is that in fifty years meat and dairy production has gone up more than four times. Every guideline advises limiting our meat intake yet 84% of the country is going heavily above these recommendations.

For the skeptics among you who’re wondering where I’m “cherry-picking” my facts about the environmental impact of the meat industry from? Here’s the deal – The United Nations, and an Oxford University study published in the highly reputable and aptly named journal, Science. And if you’re worried about the fact that maybe these homies haven’t done their research, in the Oxford study the research covered 40 000 farms in 119 countries. One of their key findings was that plant-based meat is up to 10 times better for the planet than meat.

Should I drop the mic or are you still Googling that one study you like to copy and paste into social media comments from that random journal funded by Meat Eaters Monthly?

The South African government is on board with the research and they wholeheartedly agree that industrialisation and agriculture need reform. This is a small start to paving the way towards “reducetarian” diets. And, although less than 5% of the South African population is vegetarian, about 20% are trying to limit meat intake. Maybe this statistic is at the root of what’s threatening the psyche of the South African meat industry?

Food evolves and so do diets. And the limited view that only vegans and vegetarians eat plant-based products is absurd. Furthermore, the view that if you give up meat you shouldn’t want to eat anything resembling meat is a sign you haven’t engaged with the myriad of reasons why people limit meat or stop eating it altogether.  

Going back to the crux of this… What the meat industry, DALLRD, and the FSA want us to think this about, is naming and confusion. So to bury that logic once and for all, let’s go straight to linguistics. And to drive my point home, I think my favourite scene from The English Patient does this better than I can. Katherine (Kristin Scott-Thomas) is presented to Almásy (Ralph Fiennes) and she says, “Jeffrey gave me your monograph when I was reading up on the desert, very impressive.”

Almásy, a man of very few words says, “Thank you”.

Katherine continues, “I wanted to meet the man who could write such a long paper with so few adjectives.”

Almásy jumps in, “A thing is still a thing no matter what you place in front of it. Big car, slow car, chauffeur driven car…”

At this point Jeffrey, Katherine’s husband, interrupts. “Broken car?”

“Still a car,” says Almasy.

Katherine then chimes in, “Love. Romantic love, plutonic love, filial love… quite different things surely?”

And with that Almasy is stumped, “Now there you have me.” [End]

Things can be more than one thing.

In another dazzling display of what the actual fuckery, it appears your average South African layman/woman isn’t the only person making his/her own homebrew. Minister of Trade and Industry, Ebrahim Patel, seems to have been smashing back the pineapple beer with gay abandon. Patel’s Moonshine is clearly made of stronger stuff than he is.

Tuesday was a momentous day for the common or garden South African shopper, with restrictions being lifted on certain retail arenas. Karens all over Mzansi were literally seen queuing up at Clicks to purchase box dye, to touch up their lockdown regrowth; anticipating these new avenues of retail pleasure to be unmasked. Which reminds me, does Cyril not understand that hairdressers are fucking essential? The oke is bald he clearly just doesn’t get what we’re going through- I mean a hubby with a box of Nutrisse is simply no replacement for Gavin. Anyway, as Karens touched up regrowth, and dusted off black K-Ways, Patel was putting together the Great South African Lockdown Winter Catalogue, fueled by his enigmatic brew.

Makro has nothing on this bad-boy.

It’s fucking great news for the babies and toddlers among us, because they’re going to be fashion forward as fuck at Level Four. All baby and toddler wear is up for grabs, sandals, wife-beaters, sun hats, bikinis, you name it they’ve got it.  Sadly, the older children won’t be able to match up to baby’s dynamism- but as Patrick Swayze says, “no one puts baby in the corner”. Children you’re in the naughty corner, and you’re only allowed outerwear, underwear, sleepwear, school wear (yes, get out of your pajamas and put those snappy school uniforms on), footwear and socks. You can’t go to school kids, but don’t let that stop you from sporting a fucking ravishing gymslip.

So where does that leave us adults? Well good news for those of us who are still finding our partners bangable during lockdown. Patel says we can purchase “all adult underwear”, which leads me to believe that after an evening on the Pineapple Power, Mrs Patel gets to put on her decorative smalls for a bit of Corona-kafoefeling. And hallelujah pregnant bitches, you can now give hubster back his trackie bums and get your ass into some truly gorgeous maternity wear- “of every kind”. The pregnant among us will literally be spoiled for choice.

This season, South Africans will mostly be wearing sensible shoes, as they sob hopelessly into their moonshine.

“Not all shoes are allowed”, and once again that’s excellent news for those of us with foot phobias. Chaps and Chapettes if pedicures aren’t allowed, I don’t see why open-toed footwear should be. I’m with Patel on this one… No one wants to see your lockdown feet Beverley, and FYI open-toe boots can fuck right off, and when they reach NDZ they can continue fucking right off some more. Germans are going to have a bit of a problem, but luckily for the socks and sandals brigade, I have it on good authority that they stockpile sandals and socks. Germans don’t fuck around.

The yoga mums will delight in the fact that they can pair yoga pants with a nice court shoe with a solid box heel. Knitwear is in! Dresses are in! Denim jeans and denim jackets?… Fuck yeah! And I really hope that Patel means that they have to be paired together a la Texas Tuxedo… because I for one will not abide by anyone not buying denim as a set.

Things then start to get a bit weird in the Patel Catalogue, because although there are no specifics about length, or fabric thickness, of pants and skirts, tops and T-shirts get the fluffy end of Patel’s lollipop. Pablo Escobaresque knitted short-sleeve tops have to be “displayed as worn under cardigans and knitwear”. Basically, if you’re a cartel member you need to be vibing a helluva twinset, and you may as well add a pearl necklace for extra effect. You’re worth it.

Short-sleeved T-shirts are for warmth only. Patel must be channeling his inner Kurt Cobain…

Leggings… fuck we’re in for another season of hot to trot camel-toe. But for those of you legging wearing monsters, momsters, and mobsters, you can pair them with some “crop bottoms” if you’re worried about your snatch. Crop bottoms? Take a bow Patel you’ve really channeled the power of the pineapple beer, you’re a demi-god. Actually, fuck that you’re the Emperor and you’re striking back. I’m strongly considering ordering what you’re having. Make it a double.

And headwear, bodysuits, legwarmers, and Jane Fonda videos are back on the menu too.

I’m having a throwback to my favourite Richard Scarry book. “Shop Til You Dop Okes”.

This has been the unwitting soundtrack to this week… a beautiful coincidence brought upon by the shuffle function on my battered and bruised iPod. It’s not dark yet… but it’s fucking close. It feels as if we’re all raging, raging against the machine, the man, and against the dying of the light.   

But with all things, there’s strength in the collective- the fact that we’re all raging, we’re all angry, we’re all hurting. We’re all in this together. Yesterday, as UCT gathered, there was immense comfort in occupying a space with others, and it proved that these are dark and scary times, but we are not alone. It galvanised me, because I’m predisposed to overthinking and cynicism… and at times like this it’s even more difficult not to hate people and humanity.

And then I see yet another manifestation of the hashtag #AmINext, redolent of #MeToo, and I actively try not to roll my eyes back into my head. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, and I need to pause, take a breath, because I know that we’re occupying a space where women* are scared shitless. We’re all watching this horror movie together… except in this scenario there’s no dimbo ignoring the non-diegetic soundtrack and going gangbusters down the stairs towards the eerie basement. Nor is she shouting “Billy!” “Billy!” “Is there anybody there?” as she enters the abandoned locker room. In this scenario the eerie basement is a routinous fucking post office… This is public space. Public space next to a police station. This is broad daylight. This is everywhere.  

So I get it. It’s difficult not to make this shituation about the “me”. It’s hard not to ask “am I next”? It’s really fucking hard. But we need to remember that this is first and foremost about Uyinene Mrwetyana, and the scores of women and children who have died at the hands of men, and only then is it about us. It’s not asking “Am I next”? It’s asking who is next and what can we do to stop it? Because the power of a woman is in her ability to forge community… women are communities of practice. Women do kin work– community is in our collective DNA. This makes us powerful. And asking “am I next” dilutes the message, it isolates us from the group… and women, we need each other.

But surely, as women, this isn’t our problem? We’re not the problem right? And why do I, sorry we, as women, have to take responsibility for the actions of men…? This is not us… this is them…

Well sorry bitches this is us… and it’s them. And we can all do more.

Graca Machel delivered oratorical fireworks at Uyinene’s memorialising gathering on UCT upper campus yesterday. Graca Machel is a woman that I can really get behind… she’s angry, but there’s no populism… there’s no call for bringing back the death penalty.

Instead Machel reads the crowd, and offers a pragmatic measured approach. She’s angry, she’s raging, she’s sad, but she’s behaving like a woman with a solution. Cue the hallelujah bats**. Machel knows her audience and she asks us all to look within our academic disciplines to solve the crisis. She addresses us as a collective of minds… and she lays down the gauntlet. “We need to find out what’s wrong and broken within our society… Anthropologists, Psychologists, Sociologists, Psychiatrists… everyone…”

Machel also advises all women to look after each other, and to support each other. I like this idea because it abandons the “me mindset”- we need to be concerned about all of us. We need to check in with each other, to show concern, to group together, to travel together, to band together. And sure it absolutely sucks that we have to move as a group… but maybe if we frame ourselves as an army it’ll be less “buddy system” and more “bad bitches on the move… fuck with us at your peril…” So gather your army bitches. Move with purpose. Safety is our new community of practice.

So, here’s where I take up the gauntlet, get onto my academic soapbox, and reflect on what my discipline can add to this conversation. And here’s the thing… as Graca Machel says, we need to scrutinise our own families and our own homes (to add credibility to this rant, my research area is the home). I research the home because, 1. I say “fuck you to masculine bias”, 2. the home is primarily the space that women occupy, and 3. because it’s a microcosm. You can learn a lot about the world by looking at homes. I’ve studied a variety of homes and let me tell you it’s not all fucking Woolies schnitzels and Peppa Pig lunchboxes… there’s some dark shit afoot. So humans look at your household structures… look at your families… look at your tribes. And affect change. Because change starts at home.

Secondly, power relations are usually “blackboxed” (I’ve shamelessly plugged my own paper here). And my research in Actor Network Theory shows that blackboxing happens through discourses (that circulate within networks). And language secures discourse. So be careful with your words and be careful of how you represent others through your language, because language is power.

So combining what I know about the home and discourse… here’s where we can all make a start. And you may ask “but what does this have to do with rape and murder?” Well here’s the thing, power manifests in different ways… and gender violence is about power. So we need to learn how to re-navigate how we frame ourselves as men and women. Because all cues lead to women being in positions of inferiority and power is a constant fucking struggle.

1. Women are not second class citizens… I don’t care what your religious text of choice is. Don’t use it to tell us we’re second class. We will fight you. We will rage. Women, if you try to justify being made a second class citizen through your religion then you need to interrogate this. And then you need to rage. We’ve got your back.
2. Respect the women in your homes. All of them. Your domestic worker is not your servant. Don’t tell her she’s “like” family… she either is family or she’s not. If she’s not- fine. But don’t pretend she is to absolve you of guilt. Raise your children to participate in the household chores… it’s not up to a woman to “do everything” for them.
3. In terms of “women’s work”, in Africa housework used to be considered “men’s work”… so men, be fucking grateful that this discourse has shifted… and learn to use the fucking washing machine.
4. Examine your own household power structures. Usually this is dependent on breadwinner status because money is power too… This is where you need to communicate with your children, each other, your peers, etc. because normativity is learnt… and just because he’s bringing home the bacon/macon/vegan alternative doesn’t mean he contributes more. And FYI the man is not the head of the household… unless he’s a single parent.
5. Women can bring home the bacon/macon/vegan alternative too… this doesn’t mean she “wears the pants”… she can wear the pants, skirt, hazmat suit, whatever the fuck she wants.
6. Parents and family members… communicate with your children, and each other, about why you made the choices you made… Parenting is about choice and sacrifice- it’s not about predetermined gender roles.
7. Women are not the sole providers of care work. Raise the men in your house to participate in care work. If he’s not sending his mother a card on her birthday, and if he makes it your job, realise it’s not your job. Guilt is a weapon and women feel it too damn much.
8. Every family has a “creepy uncle so-and-so”. If you don’t have one in your family look closer. Flagging up the “gropey pervy uncle” is not enough. Why do we think it’s OK to just give him the moniker “Creepy” and that absolves him? “Oh it’s OK that’s just what Creepy Uncle What’s His Face does at Christmas… it’s just his vibe”. Everyone in the family needs to tell Creepface to fuck off and stop being pervy and gropey. Everyone.
9. If there’s a man in your family who is abusive or shitty you have to call it. You will save a life.
10. Please refer to those of us who identify as women, as women… we are not girls. You’re happy calling your toddler a “little man” but I must be addressed as “my girly” or a “girl”. Fuck that.
11. Your boy toddler is not a little man. He is a boy and he has a lot to learn. Raise him to respect girls and women. There are no “my little woman” cruising around Top Tots. (Mums feel free to inbox me and tell me I’m overreacting and that I’m an angry feminist… But your son is not a little man. He is a boy child. He’s not bringing home any bacon/macon/vegan alternative.)
12. Television is not a passive medium. Discuss television content with your children and family members. Watch the hard stuff. Have difficult conversations. Discuss sex, violence, nudity, swearing, etc. with your children (within age appropriate reason obviously)… FYI- PG means parental guidance… i.e. you have a role to play. The television is not a babysitter, it is a medium to engage with. Don’t blame it for your children’s kak behaviour (or violence).
    
13. Just because he looks tidy in his uniform and addresses you as “maam” does not make him a lovely polite young man. Look closer.
14. Just because she looks tidy in her uniform and seems like a lovely young lady, doesn’t mean she’s a lady. Look closer.
15. Use the term “lady” with caution. I am not a lady I am a fucking woman. When (gentle)men start behaving more gently I might decide to too.
16. On that note, being polite is awesome and great… and we could all be a lot less dickish. But don’t ever feel guilted into politeness… “I went along with it because I didn’t want to come across as rude”. Never feel like you have to be polite to men… you don’t have to do what you’re told… you don’t have to follow them into the back room. You can refuse them, you can leave. Don’t apologise.
17. And off topic, but because I’m here… teach every family member that the death penalty is not a solution. And if you’re confused about this just think about how many administrative errors you’ve dealt with in the past 6 months. Now imagine your incorrect water bill is someone’s life. And if my analogy is a problem for you then think about how many activists during apartheid were on death row for fighting against the government. It’s a fucking slippery slope and you can’t cherry pick with the law and say “we’ll only kill the real criminals”. Our criminal justice system is fucking broken… but sure add in the death penalty what could go wrong?  

And finally, 18. And this will appall the religious among you… stop with this virginity bullshit. Of course humans should be self-aware and critical about sex… as with everything else, but the virginity narrative needs to duck. I’ve discussed this in class and I’m appalled at how many women were taught (at school) that losing their virginity takes something away from them, that once it’s gone it’ll never return. Being pure is a highly prized commodity in women (as determined by men). Okes, when I’m looking for a shag let me tell you purity is nowhere near the agenda… so why should it be on yours?

Furthermore, girls are taught to hold onto their virginity as long as they possibly can (because hellfire, brimstone, dirty slutbags, no man will want you, you should wait until you’re married, etc. etc.) whereas the narrative around boys is that they should cash in their v-cards as soon as possible. So given that the population is pretty much 50/50 what could go wrong? I mean, on one hand you have 50% of the population (who have been framed as weak and subservient) being told to hold onto their virginity while the other 50% (who have been framed as stronger and dominant) are being told to lose their virginity as soon as possible. Seriously how has no one flagged this up as utter insanity? No wonder we have a fucking crisis.

So folks… it’s time to roll up your sleeves and do some housework.

*I have tackled this article from a very gender binary way… The LGBTQ community has a fucking hard time and suffers from a huge amount of violence, bigotry and assholery. My decision to take this focus is purely because this particular narrative is framed as men and women/children.

**A note on “hallelujah bats” as an agnostic/atheist/don’t do religion I use the bat emoji instead of the raising hands hallelujah emoji.