Culture appropriation never used to bother me — hummus changed everything
Culture appropriation never used to bother me — hummus changed everything
A Taste of Shock
A display of vibrant, eclectic hummus options—green with avocado, brown infused with chocolate, red laced with harissa, and even Marmite-flavored—left me overwhelmed. The endless array was both captivating and disconcerting, sparking a wave of unease I hadn’t anticipated.
Calling My Mother
I dialed my mother in Jordan, who boasts of crafting the finest hummus. As soon as her voice filled the line, I burst into tears. She noticed my sniffles and, with her usual blend of sternness and care, remarked, “Ah, you must’ve caught a cold from that British weather?”
“Ah, you must’ve caught a cold from that British weather?”
“Yes, Mama,” I stammered. “Just a cold.” I hesitated to explain my turmoil, lacking the words to articulate my feelings. Yet, I now grasp the depth of that moment.
The Cultural Shift
My upbringing in Jordan, where my Palestinian family became refugees in 1948, shaped my early love for hummus. It was more than a meal—it was a family tradition, a Friday ritual where my mother’s homemade batch united us. But when I relocated to the UK in 2013 for a Master’s in Renewable Energy, the humble dip transformed into a symbol of cultural conflict.
In UK supermarkets, I was astounded to see countless “hummus fusions” with no chickpeas. The term “hummus” itself, rooted in Arabic, means chickpea. Without it, the dish became a mere dip, a sign of erasure I hadn’t recognized until then.
Halloween Revelation
During a Halloween party in 2014—a holiday I’d never warmed to—a friend shared how she’d been criticized for wearing a Native American costume. “It’s not just about celebration,” she clarified. “Cultural appropriation occurs when one group adopts elements from another, often without understanding their significance or history, and it usually reflects a power imbalance.”
“Not exactly. Cultural appropriation is when members of one culture — usually a dominant one — adopt elements of another culture, often without permission or any understanding of its significance or history. There’s usually a power imbalance and it often leads to misrepresentation.”
That moment crystallized my realization. The supermarket aisle had become a mirror reflecting my cultural displacement. Hummus, once a shared heritage, now felt diluted by Western reinterpretations. I sought out my Lebanese-Palestinian friend’s mother for her recipe, eager to reclaim the authenticity I’d long taken for granted.
A Mission to Reconnect
Today, I proudly serve my homemade hummus to those who ask. From café baristas in Brighton to activists at pro-Palestine rallies, every recipient leans in to learn its story. They often inquire, “What’s your secret?” and I relish the chance to share.
What began as a single dish has evolved into a global mission. Hummus, in its purest form, is a Levantine staple, a culinary relic from ancient roots. I now embrace the title “Hummus Guy,” determined to preserve its legacy while celebrating its place in shared cultural narratives.
