anthropology food culture writing essay -1


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Total word count: 650

The writing requirement is post in the attached file, please check it and answer all part 1 and part 2.

For part 1, reading analysis, the first reading "Child MalnutritionandFamine in the NigerienSahel,Catherine Panter-Brick, Rachel Casiday, Katherine Hampshire, and Kate Kilpatrick." I really can't find this article, but I attached the rest of them, please find online for this one. Thanks a lot.

For Part 2: I want to explore about the Japanese food cultures and its influences to USA.

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ANTHROPOLOGY 365 Week 2 DiscussionAssignment Summer 2018 Session 2 CRN 40159 This second assignment covers what would normally be three weeks of work in a fall, winter or spring term, so check grading protocols in the syllabus to find out what constitutes a C, a B or an A. Students on average lose more points for not following directions or not doing all parts of a prompt than for quality and for any other reason, so be sure that you answer each part of the prompt and be sure to follow directions. (It's more fun for us if we can give you the good grade that you probably want.) You can help yourself by looking at the feedback from Hailay on the first assignment and by asking him or Dr. O'Bryan questions if you're not sure. Again, ask Dr. O’Bryan or Hailay if you have questions, especially if the directions are not clear to you. Because this is an online class, emailing us questions is like coming up after class and asking the professor or the GE, so take advantage of our availability. There are 3 parts of this assignment— readings analysis, project assignment and response to one or more of your colleagues’ entries. I. Readings analysis: In 'Food of Sorrow,' Carolyn Dunn discusses Agamben’s concept of “bare life” in her exploration of “the problem of nothingness” for Ossetians. 1. Briefly explain “bare life” and the “problem of nothingness” as discussed in Dunn’s chapter. Then, 2. Summarize all the following readings in relation to the chapter by Dunn. What do the populations in these readings have in common? (All the readings.) In NA: Child Malnutrition and Famine in the Nigerien Sahel, Catherine Panter-Brick, Rachel Casiday, Katherine Hampshire, and Kate Kilpatrick. On Canvas: Want Amid Plenty: from Hunger to Inequality Janet Poppendieck. On Canvas: Airriess, Christopher A., and David L. Clawson. "Vietnamese market gardens in New Orleans." Geographical Review (1994): 16-31. N Canvas: Stephen, Lynn. 2003. Cultural citizenship and farmworkers. Human Organization 62(1):27-38. Week 2 Assignment ANTH 365 p. 2 3. Using examples from these readings, explain how the problem of nothingness is both biological and cultural. Draw also from readings and lectures in other modules for your analysis. (For example, “bare life" looks like a cultural concept at first, but what would "bare life" be in nutritional terms--how might you relate such a concept to Seckler's "small- but -healthy" hypothesis? Is a "bare life" diet nutritionally adequate?) For this exercise, try to put the readings in conversation with each other. How—in what ways—are they responding to the same kinds of questions and what do they say to each other? II. Project Assignment: 1. Interview/observation. If you have not done so already conduct your interview or observation and draft-- DRAFT--a short discussion or summary of it. 2. Put together two narrated—only 2--practice slides for your presentation. (Directions for creating narrated slides are posted under Research Project module.) Don't worry about getting this perfect. Part of the point is for you to think about the presentation early but also for us to debug/troubleshoot any possible problems. You can eliminate the vast majority of problems if you start by using PowerPoint from the beginning. If you are unsure about how to organize your presentation, one suggested (but only suggested) format for the final presentation could be Slide 1. Introduce your topic slide 2. Provide some background to the topic--but only foot is necessary for your students/colleagues to know to understand your project. Slide 3. Summarize and discuss 2-3 main points that you took away from your interview or observation. Slide 4. Analyze how your interview or observation offers some insight into the topic you chose. Typically, and analysis can contain 2-5 points of analysis. Slide 5. Summarize or provide some conclusions about your research. For this exercise, you only need to submit two slides. The idea is simply to find out what works and doesn't work about the process of putting together your presentation, so if you have difficulty incorporating narration or doing any other part of this process, this is important information and is the point of the exercise, so ask for help. III. Respond to 1 or more of your colleagues. As before, respond to at least one of your colleagues’ discussion entries—someone who doesn’t already have some comments. More than one is better because you will see more of your colleagues’ work and get more ideas. Responses should do more than say “awesome” or “amazing.” Offer ideas, observations about what works and what doesn’t, informative links that you know about and so forth. Treat these response requirements as part of workshopping each other’s work as if we were in class together and sharing our work and asking for input about it. The Food of Sorrow: Humanitarian Aid to Displaced People Elizabeth Cullen Dunn This Photo by Unknown Author On a frosty day in January 2009, I first walked into Tsmindatsqali settlement. Composed of hundreds of identical small white cottages lined up along un-paved gravel roads, Tsmindatsqali was one of thirty-six new settlements meant to house more than twenty-eight thousand people, mostly ethnic Georgians, who were driven out of their homes in the breakaway province of South Ossetia during the 2008 war between Georgia and Russia. Once South Ossetia had declared independence and closed the unofficial border between South Ossetia and Georgia proper, Russian and Ossetian forces bombed, looted, burned, and, in some cases, bulldozed the Georgians’ houses to ensure they could never return. The Government of Georgia officially classified these victims of ethnic cleansing as internally displaced people (IDPs), and, with the help of international donors, built the new settlements as a base from which the IDPs could reintegrate into Georgian society and rebuild their lives. Guram, the first person I met in Tsmindatsqali, had been violently ejected from his village during the war. His youngest son and his son’s wife had both been killed during the bombing of Gori, and a photograph of his two sons, the eldest cradling the dead body of the youngest in front of a building in flames, had become the defining image of the war. Guram’s losses were enormous; the grief and emptiness in his life was only temporarily filled by becoming blind drunk, which he did often. Yet, on that first day, it was not the destruction of his family or the loss of his home that seemed to bother him most. It was the food-aid package that had been delivered to him in his new home. “It’s New Year’s! The most important day of the year; the day when we hold our biggest supra [ritual banquet]. But they just gave us some macaroni. That’s it! Macaroni, and beyond that, nothing!” Indeed, the World Food Program gave each IDP—man, woman, or child—one-and-a-half kilograms of macaroni in a food package, along with other staples, throughout the first year of displacement. It was enough for every person to have macaroni every day. Yet in over a year of fieldwork, although I saw macaroni piled up under beds, stacked in boxes, and sold in black markets, I almost never saw anybody eating it. Given that IDPs had lost nearly everything, why wouldn’t they eat free macaroni? How is it that instead of being something, a gift from benevolent donors, macaroni came to symbolize nothing, the wrenching absence of all that had been lost in the war? What can the nothingness symbolized by donated macaroni show about the experience of displacement and the effects of humanitarian aid? These are important questions, despite how trivial Dunn Food of Sorrow p. 2 mere pasta might seem. There are over thirty-five million displaced people in the world today, many of whom live in limbo in camps and settlements and are dependent on humanitarian aid for their survival. Understanding how humanitarian projects make nothing instead of something—foster passivity, highlight absence, and exacerbate loss—is an important means of understanding the barriers that keep displaced people from reintegrating socially, politically, and economically. Macaroni: The Anti-Food In the wake of the war, over $3.7 billion in foreign aid poured into Georgia. Under the auspices of the United Nations’ Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), more than ninety-six nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) began providing relief to the displaced. Within months, most of the IDPs were resettled in one of the hastily constructed new settlements, where each family was given a small cottage or an apartment, furniture, clothing, hygiene kits, food deliveries from the World Food Program, and more. Yet despite this outpouring of aid, nearly every interview I had in the IDP settlements began with the same plaintive litany: “The government is not helping us; they do nothing for us. We are getting nothing from the NGOs, just little things that don’t help much. We are alone, we are abandoned, nobody will help us, and we have nothing.” For IDPs, having nothing obviously stems from the violence of displacement. “Having nothing” was more than “never having had” something. Instead, it was the nostalgia for things they once had, and had lost. Many IDPs described their former homes to me in loving detail, from when each of the furnishings was acquired to the layout of the garden and the orchard. This way of having nothing was encapsulated in a gesture made by Tamuna, a teenager living in one of the cottages near Gori. Making coffee, she reached into a cabinet and her hand closed on nothing. “Oh!” she said, “I was reaching for the green coffee pot. But of course, it’s gone now.” Nothing, here, was really a “having had something.” If the problem of nothing was the fact that people used to have things, and now they didn’t, it would follow that getting new things—including food—would mean they no longer had nothing. But surprisingly, as humanitarian agencies rushed to fill the property void with distributions of material goods, the problem of nothingness became paradoxically more acute. People got houses, but the grids of white, identical cottages seemed stark and bare. Inside, they were minimally furnished with twin beds, a table and backless stools, a television, and little else. All the aid that was given seemed only to point out how much had been lost: plastic washbuckets constantly reminded women of their washing machines now looted by the Ossetians; donated secondhand clothes made people think of their own clothes left behind in closets; backless stools called up images of ornately carved dining chairs gone up in smoke as houses burned. Material humanitarian relief was an anti-artifact, something that didn’t symbolize itself, but instead the lost things it replaced. Donated objects were thus nothing, markers that constantly pointed out what wasn’t there and therefore made it impossible for IDPs to feel they had anything regardless of how much was given. Macaroni soon became the quintessential anti-artifact. As part of humanitarian food packages offered by the World Food Program, the macaroni was not intended to provide essential nutrients, but to ensure that each IDP received 2,240 calories per day, thought to be the minimum for sustaining life. But in the context of Georgian cuisine, which is highly elaborate and full of spices, walnuts, pomegranates, fresh vegetables, and meats, macaroni is hardly food at all. It is not a staple starch, as bread or corn is, and it isn’t served in the beautiful and complex dishes that typify Georgian cuisine. It’s usually just boiled or fried, served in soup or sprinkled with sugar. Macaroni is just calories, something that only the poorest of the poor eat. “Look, it’s UN help; it’s to keep you alive,” said one woman. “But there’s no comfort in it.” Macaroni would have been humiliating to serve to guests, much less at a ritual supra banquet, so the fact that people only had macaroni made it difficult for them to invite friends and relatives to meals. This made it much more difficult to reestablish the all-important relationships of Dunn Food of Sorrow p. 3 extended kinship and neighborliness that define people’s places in Georgian society; without the ability to be hospitable, it was difficult to rebuild the social ties that had been blown apart when people from a single village had been scattered among the settlements. This was one critical way that humanitarian macaroni was thus anti-food: food that existed, materially, that supported the essential functions of physical life, but that actively destroyed social meaning and kept people from reassuming their roles in their own extended families and village society. Food from Nowhere and Nobody Everything about the donated macaroni made it symbolize the nothingness of displacement. In the first place, it was food that came from nowhere. For the people from South Ossetia, like Georgians in general, food usually came with a tie to a distinct landscape. Like the French, Georgians have a concept of terroir, although one that is less well articulated. They believe that the specific environment where a food is grown—the slope of the land, the amount of rainfall, the way the sunshine falls on a particular segment of mountain or gorge, and particularly the unique taste of the water—all endow foods with unique tastes. People from each place in South Ossetia extolled the virtues of their home village: water that was particularly sweet or soil that gave grapes a pleasant mineral taste. Individual families told me even about the food from particular fields. The apples from Merab’s orchard tasted different than those from Nona’s; the bees that feasted on nectar from Dito’s tkemali (sour plum) trees gave honey with an aroma distinct from that of the honey made by Tamuna’s bees, who lived in a peach orchard. Each meal became a kind of ritualized geography, in which food linked the people who were eating it to the places where it was grown. Macaroni was the absolute antithesis of this place-linked food. It came with only the barest of labels: “Made in Turkey,” “World Food Program,” or sometimes “A Gift from the American People.” The labels were written in Latin letters, which most people could not read, and in English, which nobody spoke. Arriving in big plastic bags in unmarked trucks, the macaroni seemed as if it came from nowhere at all. It was the very epitome of displacement, taken in the literal sense of something removed from its place: food from no place for people who had lost their places. Macaroni was also deeply anonymous. In the first place, it was food that came from nobody: It wasn’t made by anybody that the IDPs knew personally, and they did not even know who had donated the food. While much of the feeding program had been financially supported by the United States Agency for International Development, the IDPs had no idea who that was, nor what the World Food Program was. Although the World Food Program had contracted with the NGO World Vision to distribute the food, and World Vision had hired Georgians to manage the distributions, none of the IDPs knew the young Georgians who handed out the food, and the name “World Vision” meant nothing to them. When I asked my friends in the settlement who was giving out the food, they would shrug and say either mtavroba (the government) or gaero (the United Nations). The food arrived as if from another planet, given out by people who ignored the fundamental ways food in Georgian society creates enduring bonds of reciprocity and exchange. This was food made by nobody and given out by nobody, food that arrived without the context of hospitality and which could never be repaid in kind. This was again a strong contrast with the food the IDPs had eaten before the war. Since the demise of the USSR in 1991, most Georgians had come to depend heavily on homepreserved foods. As the Soviet economy collapsed, Georgia’s fruit and vegetable canneries, which had once produced food for the entire Eastern Bloc, shut down. For most Georgians, this meant that few people could acquire industrially canned foods, since all of them had to be imported. Instead, women grew and canned their own food for their families, hundreds of jars per year. Poached pears, adjapsandali (a Georgian version of ratatouille), stuffed peppers, tomatoes preserved in water, tkemali (plum sauce), and every imaginable flavor of jam were all preserved as each fruit or vegetable was harvested. Given the enormous shortage of cash that most rural farming families faced, all this canning Dunn Food of Sorrow p. 4 was economically essential. With little hope of affording the fresh produce grown in greenhouses or imported from Turkey in the winter, most families depended on the jars in their basements to feed them throughout the winter. This dependence had become even more pronounced in the years leading up to the war. In 2006, Georgian President Mikheil Saakashvili shut down the Eredvi bazaar, the main market in South Ossetia. In retaliation, the Russian government banned the import of almost all agricultural goods from Georgia. This stranded farmers in South Ossetia, who depended on selling apples and other fruit in Russia in order to gain the cash to buy Russian imported goods in the Eredvi bazaar. With trade almost shut down, homemade foods became even more economically important. Most of the food that the people in South Ossetian villages ate, then, was food grown and prepared on land they knew, by people they knew. It wasn’t just that people ate food prepared in their own families: Food also circulated along lines of kinship, friendship, and neighborliness. After enjoying meals at somebody’s house, guests almost always left with big bags of fruit, plastic soda bottles full of milk, or jars of tkemali and jam. Mothers, daughters, and sisters varied their families’ food stores by trading products with one another. Because both ethnic Georgians and ethnic Ossetians practiced village exogamy, in which daughters from one village would marry into other villages, food flowed along these bonds of kinship from village to village. In a fundamental way, being a person in the villages of South Ossetia meant being from a place, growing food in that place, exchanging food with people affectionately regarded, and eating food made by specific others in specific places. Food embedded people in a topography not only of gardens and orchards and barns, but in a carefully noted topography of social relations. Lost Labor When the war came in August, it destroyed not only people’s homes, but the harvest. The apple orchards that had provided most of the ethnically Georgian farmers with their only source of cash income were full of unexploded ordnance and stood behind borders zealously guarded by Ossetian militia. Fields full of ripe vegetables were mined, and even those people who dared sneak in past the border guards were too afraid to go into the fields to harvest. Crops died in the August heat, and fruit rotted off the trees for lack of anyone to pick it. Worst of all, many women had already begun preserving fruits and vegetables that had come into season throughout the summer. When the houses were bombed and burned, most of that food was destroyed, or left in basements underneath the charred hulls of brick houses. For the IDPs I knew in the settlements, the loss of the jars was one of the bitterest losses. It symbolized the loss of their homes, and hours of hot, sweaty labor in the fields and in the kitchens gone to waste. The loss of the glass jars themselves was economically significant. With new jars costing 1 to 3 lari each, families living on the government’s subsidy to IDPs, only about 125 lari (roughly eighty dollars) for a ...
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Hey buddy, This is what I have done. I have really tried to search for the article but I did not get it. If you could get it, I will be here to help you with edits. Please get back to me with your insights.

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Anthropology Food Culture
Part I
The concept of “bare life” within the discussion of “The problem of Nothingnes” in In 'Food
of Sorrow' by Carolyn Dunn
“Bare life” is one of the infamous minimalist approaches to human life which aims at
sustaining lives only. In other words, the only concern under the “bare life” concept is to
ensure that the people live to see the next day without having regard to their quality of life.
For instance, the displaced persons after the Georgia and Russia war received macaroni as
food to provide them with enough energy “to sustain life.”
The “problem of nothingness” is an evident theme under Carolyn Dunn’s ‘Food for

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