A Rope of Blackness

As I travel, securing just food becomes more critical and urgent affair. My visit to Bilbao and more specifically my walk through the new part of the city, I was struck by the Monument of the Sacred Heart. That monument is like a big narrow stone with a statue of the image believed to be that of Jesus Christ that stretches up to 131 feet from the ground.

I intentionally used the word believed because no one know how Jesus looked like and it is not even universally agreed whether he existed or not. Everyone is welcome to believe whatever they choose, but one thing that we can all agree upon is that his depictions throughout history has not been consistent over time. In short, the image of Jesus has changed over time to depict his political status of a particular period. The image we currently associate with Jesus is the interpretation of Michelangelo following the acceptance of Christianity as a state religion in Rome.

I looked at the statue from a far in disbelief. I couldn’t believe it’s dominance of the skyline, but even more importantly about the psychological impact of looking at a figure that 131 feet up in the air when so much of the history of the figure is questionable. There is the genocide conducted by men under his burner as the attempted to convert indigenous people into supposedly better people. Millions were killed, turned into slaves, converted into a new religion or permanently injured.

As I looked up at the towering figure with three fingers as though in the process of imitating a pistol, I thought about the dark cloud that followed the expedition of C. Columbus over the global food system. While I suspected that the three fingers mostly likely had to do with the idea of trinity, I opted for a different interpretation. I noted the trail of tears caused by what is known as the Columbus Exchange. Again, the writers of history decided on the interpretation of history. The truth of the matter is our global food system in tainted by that dark history that ties an ever increasing number of people to the curse of that expedition. While many look to the sky for assistance, I eat defensively as act of uncivil disobedience.

As I recovered from my dream-like trance, I realized that we had been walking for a while. I looked back and could vaguely see the chicks of the colossus, I swallowed a load of saliva in my mouth. I could feel my Adam’s Apple dislocate and retract swiftly. As I processed the fact that my body part was associated Adam, I smiled. It was a reminder how Adam, Columbus and Michelangelo had influenced our food. Whatever I might say about Columbus and Eve, Adam and Adam’s Apple seem most practical and useful as a metaphor. Every time we swallow unjust food, we are essentially committing the same error that Adam made by using someone else as an excuse of eating unjust food.