Food is medicine, and that’s a fact. Why we all need Native American foodways | Kate Nelson

WIn indigenous communities across North America and beyond, we have long known that food is medicine. It’s not just theory; it’s a fact. We understand that seasonal, regionally specific and culturally relevant foods are essential to nourishing, nourishing and healing both our people and our planet. And it’s high time we all embrace the Native American concept that food is medicine.

Our ancestral wisdom has ensured our survival for millennia, even in the face of unthinkable circumstances like colonialism, genocide and continued oppression. This ever-relevant knowledge will ensure our collective survival in today’s unthinkable circumstances in the United States, such as political instability, climate change, and growing health concerns.

Much of these lessons exist in our eating habits, which we recognize in an Indigenous worldview as intrinsically linked to our culture, land, and history. Long before the arrival of Europeans, indigenous groups across North America established robust and prosperous societies supported by ecologically sound ways of eating. In stark contrast to today’s extractive and exploitative food system, these local traditions emphasize sustainable and climate-friendly principles – and they are still practiced today.

I expanded on this knowledge during my years of research alongside renowned Oglala Lakota chef Sean Sherman while co-authoring 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” dishes made without ingredients introduced to Europe, such as beef, chicken, pork, dairy, wheat flour and sugar cane. With this book, Sean and I shine a spotlight on the countless elders, cooks, producers, and culture holders who have helped safeguard centuries-old wisdom passed down from generation to generation.

Sean’s overall mission to revitalize Indigenous foodways is a reintroduction to the ways our communities have survived for centuries. Before the arrival of Europeans, we did not experience the many health problems linked to colonialism that still plague Indigenous communities – and affect non-Indigenous communities as well – including disproportionate rates of obesity, type 2 diabetes and heart disease. As Sherman often says, if we can control what we eat, we can control our destiny.

This is not hyperbole. It is a recognition that, especially within indigenous communities, food sovereignty is synonymous with food security. To understand this better, we need to go back a little.

Within indigenous cultures, we have long hunted, fished, and harvested without overharvesting in order to leave enough wealth for others and ensure the survival of major animal and plant species. Our ancestors developed sophisticated agricultural techniques that allowed us to grow nutrient-rich crops in harmony with the region’s climate and circumstances. Waffle gardens, a set of squares of sunken land that collect water, were developed by the Zuni people in the desert lands of the Southwest. There are also chinampas – floating gardens atop small artificial islands in shallow lakes and swamps, first used in ancient Mesoamerica by the Aztecs. We have managed the land using centuries-old permaculture traditions, such as prescribed burning, which have helped us live in harmony with the natural world around us.

As American colonialism swept through this country, our prosperous and independent tribal nations proved a challenge to the nascent, land-hungry United States. To solve the so-called “Indian problem,” the nascent U.S. government deliberately targeted our food sources and systems to devastating effect. These efforts took the form of “scorched earth” campaigns that destroyed everything in their path in the Southwest, from the systematic slaughter of bison herds in the Great Plains to their near eradication and other equally aggressive tactics designed to starve us into submission. The theory behind it was: if you can control people’s food, you can control people’s food – a terrible twist on Sean’s aforementioned sentiment.

As our indigenous communities were systematically displaced from our homes and disconnected from our cultures, we adapted. Our story is one of ever-evolving resilience. Amid forced relocations, our tribal communities identified plants and animals endemic to these new areas and adapted their growing techniques to new climates. A great example of this adaptation is the development of the Navajo churro sheep. A descendant of Iberian breeds introduced to North America in the 1500s, this animal has become an integral part of the Diné way of life, both culturally and culinaryly. Generations of families have long tended to their flocks of churros, weaving their wool into rugs and clothing and incorporating their sheep and milk into daily and ceremonial meals.

At the same time, as our tribes were relegated to small reservations often located on land deemed undesirable and unproductive, the introduction of government food products introduced these stark health disparities that we still experience. These highly processed, nutrient-deprived foods—think canned beef with juice, neon orange blocks of cheese, and powdered egg mixture—bear striking similarities to the foods that make up the modern standard American diet (it’s no coincidence that that acronym is Sad).

But it’s not just a history lesson. It is essential to reconcile what happened in the past in order to better understand how we got to the present and where we are going from here to a better future for all. This is the beauty of indigenous wisdom; in our worldview, knowledge is not meant to be accumulated. It’s for sharing.

In recent years, we have seen a long-overdue adoption of traditional ecological knowledge. This indigenous science, if you will, has long been rejected in favor of Western science, which emphasizes qualitative rather than quantitative data. Indigenous 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 now realize that the way indigenous communities have lived for a long time is better for our species and our planet.

We have also seen small but significant land gains, where private and/or public land has been returned to be managed by indigenous hands again. Much like the indigenous food movement, the land restitution movement is a cause for collective celebration because it benefits everyone. After all, even though indigenous peoples make up only 5% of the world’s population, we protect around 80% of our planet’s remaining biodiversity.

In a world where food has been used repeatedly against us – not just Native Americans, but non-Native Americans as well – indigenous cultures offer a model for a decolonized future – one where nutritious, sustainably harvested and produced food is recognized as a basic right. Food is medicine, and it is medicine for everyone.