How to Fight Cultural Appropriation

Although cultural exchange has resulted in some of our favourite dishes, including biryani, cultural appropriation is an issue with real consequences. Developmental economist Nivedita Rao Kommineni looks at how we can fight cultural appropriation. 

For all the enthusiasm with which we speak of food and its ability to bring people together, it is equally true that the question of ownership over ingredients and dishes often provokes strong emotional responses. Which begs the questions: What part of our foods and food histories are we willing to share, and how do we choose to share it?

Intellectual Property (IP) provides an interesting tool to examine the subject of cultural appropriation.

Over the last several years, we have witnessed outrage across several incidents on this same issue: when chicken tikka masala was nominated as the UK’s national dish; when turmeric latte was first listed on a Starbucks menu; when Basmati rice was in the running for a patent in the US; and more recently at home, over which state can lay claim to the rosogolla. But this exchange is a two-way street, as food writer Vikram Doctor eloquently notes in an episode of the podcast The Seen and the Unseen. Samosas, seen as largely as an Indian dish, originated in Turkey, and kappa (tapioca) popular in Kerala cuisine is a result of cassava being brought here from South America.

Japanese curry rice | Image credit: Serious Eats

As a catchall, cultural appropriation is best explained as attempts by ‘outsiders’ at replicating local traditions (including food) without adequate acknowledgement of its origins. But, would each of these incidents qualify as the same kind of cultural appropriation? Not quite.

The truth is, the concept of cultural appropriation is blurry, and we often tend to rally behind the kind of appropriation that suits our beliefs and interests.

Take for instance, the case of turmeric latte at Starbucks. If there is a market for it, why not celebrate the spread of haldi doodh? One could argue that to be able to appreciate the medicinal effects of indigenous foods like turmeric (and preserve these traditions), commercialisation is one of the many ways to reach the masses. But, the real question to ask is: Who is taking these products to the world, and who makes economic gains from it? This is why a patent face-off with the US on turmeric assumes importance.

Another example would be India’s protest against the claim by private US firm, RiceTec, to patent the term Basmati: The Indian government demanded instead that this term be reserved for rice grown within a specific region in India. What happens when economic value, such as that from a patent, prevents a people from calling indigenous goods their own, leading to potential impact on livelihoods in the process? This is the real bone of contention.

Appropriation of food attracts outrage typically when a certain dish or ingredient or technique is tagged as IP. This means that the cultivation or sale of certain foods is protected by law – because this directly affects the livelihoods of groups who have historically been connected with such indigenous produce all their lives. Many countries already practice this kind of IP protection. Think of Champagne in France, or Scotch whiskey in Scotland, or Parmigiano Reggiano in Italy, or Peruvian Pisco in Peru.

Turmeric milk | Image credit Foolproof Living

Of course, there is immense value in cultural exchange and borrowing, but we must remember to ask if the source is being acknowledged. Otherwise, hijacking the narrative completely, especially when there is a power imbalance, is inevitable.

For example, when a Scotsman tried to procure the patent for chicken tikka masala, or when it became the national dish of the UK, Indians scoffed. “Curry is not singular,” they said. There are no economic repercussions here in the true sense, but a similar discourse that took place in Japan was met with disastrous consequences. In ’99, a Japanese company wanted to patent the term ‘curry’. If the patent had worked out, there would have been a monopoly over marketing ‘curry’ in Japan, preventing the sale of any other ‘curry’ coming into country. Following international uproar, the Japanese company (House Food Corporation), which filed for the said patent, rushed in to clarify that it was a Japanese style curry they were seeking to patent, and not the Indian one.

Fundamentally, any extreme form of cultural appropriation aims at cultural ownership. In this case, outrage is not just triggered by conversations on ownership, but on potential commercial payoffs that get diverted and can potentially affect the livelihoods of indigenous communities.

A key element in battling cultural appropriation on a larger, more structural scale is, to be organised. Geographical Indication (GI) tagging, for example, has been a preliminary step in this pursuit. As the name suggests, GI tags the geographical origin of the products, and is recognized under the Geographical Indications of Goods (Registration and Protection) Act which came into effect in 2003. A study conducted by the UNCTAD in 2008 in India revealed that GI-registered agricultural products and non-agricultural products can actually lead to higher price premiums for producers.

Basmati rice & chicken tikka masala | Image credit Pinch of Yum

So ‘thinking local’ is not just a wholesome exercise for consumers and restaurateurs when it comes to shopping for produce, but also a way to take stock of what we have as a community and educate ourselves about the real value of our assets. States across the country have been competitively doing this recently, with the most public tussle being the one over the rosogolla between West Bengal and Odissa. But, if this competitive tagging helps recognise and value more and more foods in the process, it bears well for the cause of indigenous foods in India in general.

GI tags for Basmati, Dharwad pedha, Coorg orange, Nanjanagud banana, Pokkali rice, and others, are amongst 300-odd tags present, of which one-third pertain to agricultural goods and food stuffs. The details associated with each of these is vast, and is an internal R&D exercise which helps protect the rights of Indian producers, and helps the general public stay informed and educated if there is a foreign claimant for what is actually indigenous to India. The next step to understanding GI protection is to familiarise ourselves with finer nuances. Prashant Reddy, co-author of Create, Copy, Disrupt: India’s Intellectual Property Dilemmas, points out that most of the GI applicants are "not necessarily producers but local governments.” He goes on to mention how the use of a law depends on the extent of litigation around it -- at this point, he doesn’t see so much activity around the GI law, say in comparison to the trademarks law reflecting a sub-par usage of the GI law at present.

Tania Singla, a lawyer who has done extensive research on GI, also raises issues about ownership. For example, if the ownership of a GI tag rests with producer collectives, it may prevent the entry of other producers who may not be a part of such a collective. In this case, the GI tag may act as a tool of exclusion. She also emphasises that “quality control is not an aspect in this conversation at all,” and more often, applications are submitted only to establish “regional pride”.

However, GI tagging has been instrumental in initiating conversations about ownership, and is covered as an element of intellectual property rights under the WTO’s Trade Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS) agreement. With this, there is a greater chance of shaping the conversation globally about what is not on offer on the table to be claimed as cultural ownership, making way for fairer, more just systems of exchange.

Nivedita Rao Kommineni is a macroeconomist that specialises in developmental economics.

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