My Racist Meal
by Anne Loucks
Land O Lakes butter is delicious, but it does have one little problem. The label is rather bizzare. It shows a kneeling native American woman offering a box to the viewer. I find this strange in the extreme, and a little disturbing. She is obsequeously giving a tribute to those of us who stole her land and replaced it with a supermarket. It might be the most racist art I can find in my local grocery store.
Sometimes I hope that her smile is meant to distract us from a large weapon, immediately behind her in the picture. Upon reaching for the box we are to be clubbed, stabbed, shot, or otherwise mutilated. "This land of lakes is mine," she declares, our corpse at her feet. Still, like any lab rat, I reach for the box, MMMMMMmmm butter.
Most other companies have given up the blatantly racist parts of their labels, but a few remain to taunt us. Aunt Jemima, a name strongly associated with happily subsurvient black women, is also a sort of pancake mix and syrup. Rastus, the joyful black man stereotype, still graces one's Cream Of Wheat box. Calumet baking powder has a native American image on it. Even Cracker Jack, with its white sailor has plenty of racist potential.
I can have a breakfast made of black folks when I eat my Cream of Wheat, a lunch made of native Americans when I have deviled Land O Lakes eggs and buttered bread. My dinner will be made of white folks who bring me whitefish fried in Quaker white cornmeal.
When all the gastronomic feats are over, I can clean my teeth with some White Men toothpaste from Taiwan.
