What a sham, to think that we can make a difference in ending world hunger is absurd. It is world hunger, and I am situated as a low individual against what seems to be the corporate cuckold, at least in the United States, of like a half dozen giganto corporations that own like every brand of food under the sun. Like Phillip Morris used to own Kraft! Inversely, Kit-Kats wrappers are emblazoned with the Hershey’s emblem in the States but worldwide, those delicious wafers are a Nestle moneymaker. It is all so confusing and not to mention scary. Who hawks Kit-Kats is not that big-a-deal, but the collusion of companies to do sneaky things and make semi-secret pacts and produce semi-sweet and yet also very, very bitter seeming sweet chocolate that also probably exploits everyone in the capitalist chain save the tertiary industries and heads of production is a big deal. Corporations were not so long ago allowed to trade in macaroni and cheese as well as cigarettes! We have fortunately forbade that kind of business, but the skepticism in me objects to the thought of big business progressing in a fashion any different than it had: to make more money at any cost.
And then one day I snapped. The good snap. Okay, it was not actually one day; the epiphany came somewhere along the line, where I developed a more sensible outlook, if I do say so, on the world of food, and, well, the world in general. Sure, I am still confused and pessimistic about the corporate cuckold on the food system. But in changing myself, rising up from rock bottom, myself as a microcosm, I feel connected to the small acts, the grassroots (literal and figurative), the way that little, seemingly insignificant deeds can make stuff happen in new and totally awesome ways.
Kit-Kat bars make me anxiously wonder about the world and my place in it—small as a pixel on my screen—but I am patient and ready. As a result of the limited number of mega-companies that seem to rule the food system—similar to that of globalization—the world seems reduced to a size that I can, and am ready to, handle. Despite eliciting anxiety, Kit-Kats remind me of my ability to tackle big problems in relatively humble ways. I am not too fond of the word waiting, so I like to say that I am patient for that trigger; that catchy little refrain: “break me off a piece of that Kit-Kat bar,” which to me echoes injustice and makes me hungry to right it; those small encouragements to keep on going and doing and making a difference in ways that I hesitate to look back and say were never possible three years ago, and which I would have been astonished three years ago to see me doing now: working with the Garden, True Greens, Great Kids Farm, youth programs, and exciting food justice discourse and action one little bit at a time, one person at a time. —Thomas