“There was this kind of depression,” he said. “Everyone was dreaming to come to the U.S.A., but they were not happy. The people were put in apartments, missing activity, community. They were bored.”
From a New York Times article reporting on the availability and importance of familiar foods from homelands devastated by wars and personal sacrifices. All over the United States, immigrants fleeing danger are growing new roots and identifying which strands of humanity are missing. Just because one is safe from being murdered doesn’t mean one is happy. That’s the gist of the background of many who have become farmers in order to reconnect both the physical and the emotional roots of life.
This sense of isolation causing emotional depression isn’t constrained just to immigrants subjected to upheaval. I think it is safe to say that millions of Americans feel a similar depression, but don’t talk about it because they know their experiences don’t compare to those who have literally experienced danger. But depression is depression. Isolation from one’s roots — even roots one or two generations left behind — is real. Memories are not just what we recall; they are what we feel. Hunger for what was past becomes hunger for what binds us together – the social context of food.
Thanksgiving Dinner shouldn’t be once a year — it should be every Sunday. But more importantly, the daily planning of such a day with foods grown and shared by local hands should include all who sit at the table. Changing the terminology of how we describe certain conditions doesn’t catch the history and sometimes a term or phrase sets up a false notion. “Shut ins” sounds secure; someone feeds and checks up on “shut ins”.
We should have named them “shut outs”. Immediately, we know that is not acceptable. A “shut out” suffers isolation and depression…hunger. Let’s change that.
