Chapter 1: The Public Health Response to Racism

Recently, amidst undeniable protests highlighting state-sponsored violence against Black communities, academia began to acknowledge the reality of racism. Following this awakening, my university held a town hall to address anti-Blackness and police brutality, aiming to integrate antiracism principles into its operations.

I chose not to attend this gathering for several reasons. I felt drained and exhausted, and I was nearly at my limit of advocating for a place at a table that seemed unworthy of the effort. The conversations felt outdated, the emotional toll was high, and honestly, the table itself wasn't worth my time.

Despite my absence, many students of color I trust attended. I felt a wave of embarrassment when a friend shared how much time was spent discussing food deserts. Really? In a moment when there was momentum to tackle the ongoing genocide of Black and brown individuals, the focus was on food deserts?

The public health sector has a fascination with the concept of "food deserts." This term was first introduced by the Scottish Nutrition Task Force in 1995 to describe areas lacking adequate access to fresh, nutritious food. Today, "food deserts" are frequently cited in discussions about population health, especially in relation to the so-called "obesity epidemic," which disproportionately affects marginalized communities with limited food options. My initial exposure to the term came during a high school class where I was told my size was partly due to living in a "food desert."

While the term connects to the unequal distribution of resources, discussions on systemic racism often overlook related concepts like food sovereignty, food justice, and food apartheid. This omission is intentional.

The field of public health, as both an academic discipline and a state apparatus, often shies away from addressing the political implications of food sovereignty and justice. Acknowledging terms like "food apartheid," coined by activist Karen Washington, would require a fundamental shift in how public health addresses health disparities. It’s far simpler to assert that some people have access to healthy food while others do not, rather than confronting the deeper injustices at play.

Chapter 2: The Problematic Nature of "Food Deserts"

The term “food deserts” is also favored in public health due to an underlying disdain for larger individuals. The connection between "food deserts" and rising obesity rates has long been a point of concern within the field. For advocates of "obesity prevention," discussing food deserts offers a way to link fatness with immorality and poor dietary choices. The narrative goes that food deserts are detrimental because they provide an overabundance of unhealthy food and a scarcity of nutritious options, thus contributing to higher obesity rates.

This simplistic view allows for the easy attribution of blame. It diverts attention from the systemic issues that lead to food inequity and instead places the onus on individuals—often Black and brown people—who make choices within their limited options. The prevailing notion in public health suggests that these individuals are at fault for their weight, perpetuating harmful stereotypes.

Public health initiatives often focus on educating individuals about "healthy eating" and "active living," steering clear of a deeper examination of how power dynamics influence food access. This approach fails to recognize body diversity and instead reinforces the idea that fatness is inherently negative.

Fatphobia complicates discussions about racism and anti-Blackness, leading to conversations that miss the mark entirely.

Chapter 3: The Role of Predatory Food Companies

The debate surrounding food access frequently centers on predatory grocery corporations that either exploit low-income, predominantly Black neighborhoods or neglect them altogether until gentrification becomes a possibility.

The prevailing narrative often frames the existence of food deserts as a problem created by these companies, with the common assumption that the unhealthy food they provide is the primary issue. This perspective can inadvertently uphold diet culture and the moralization of food choices.

Challenging the demonization of fatness in these discussions is often misconstrued as a defense of the exploitative practices of these corporations. However, it is possible—and necessary—to advocate for equitable food distribution without resorting to fatphobia or moral judgments about food.

Recently, representatives from a well-known food company sought my input on their impact in low-income communities and the concept of food deserts. After consulting a trusted friend, I agreed to participate in the discussion, driven by the belief that transparency is crucial.

During our conversation, when asked about their company's responsibility toward addressing food access inequities, my co-activist and I bluntly stated that the company has a responsibility to cease its operations altogether.

My response was not rooted in the belief that this company contributes to an "obesity epidemic," nor was it about promoting a "healthy diet." Instead, my assertion stemmed from the recognition that their business practices—land acquisition, exploitation of labor, and commodification of communities—are inherently harmful. Incremental reforms will never adequately address the harm inflicted upon marginalized communities.

Inequitable food access exemplifies how systemic racism, anti-Blackness, and capitalism operate, hindering individuals from living the lives they deserve.

Oppression, in any form, is unacceptable.

In conclusion, if discussions about food access inevitably lead back to "obesity," "good" and "bad" foods, or health, it may reflect an underlying fatphobia that needs to be critically examined.