This essay critically examines the material conditions faced by immigrants in the United States, emphasizing how poverty, isolation, and systemic neglect shape their survival strategies. Immigrant populations, often forced into abject living conditions with limited resources, adopt dietary practices that reflect both their marginalized status and their resilience. Two central issues frame this analysis: First, the ethical responsibility of the host nation to provide adequate support to immigrants, thus preventing survival strategies reminiscent of historical crises. Second, the political manipulation of immigrant survival practices, with both the political left and right instrumentalizing these conditions—either portraying them as symbols of degradation and victimization, or as existential threats to national identity and cultural norms.

This debate exposes deep hypocrisies within American cultural discourse, particularly among the descendants of earlier immigrant groups. Many who express moral outrage at the idea of consuming pets in times of desperation are themselves descendants of individuals who, in similarly harsh circumstances, engaged in taboo survival practices. These historical parallels offer a critical lens through which to interrogate the contradictions embedded in American cultural identity—a society that outwardly celebrates inclusion and progress, yet continues to reinforce racialized and class-based hierarchies by manipulating survival imagery and stories for political gain.

The essay calls for a fundamental reorientation of the discourse surrounding immigration, food, and cultural identity, urging a shift beyond sensationalist narratives that exploit immigrant suffering for ideological purposes. Instead, it advocates for a rigorous engagement with the material realities faced by both immigrant communities and the local populations morally, though not always voluntarily, tasked with receiving them. Recognizing that such “welcoming” is often forced upon local populations, the analysis underscores the urgency of humane and equitable policies that respect the dignity and survival of all individuals, regardless of their cultural or dietary practices. In doing so, the essay challenges reductive and xenophobic political and media rhetoric, advocating for an ethical recalibration that acknowledges the shared vulnerabilities and resilience of both immigrants and local communities in the face of inadequate systemic support.

Entrée to the Civilized Food of the American Dream

The current American immigration debate is deeply enmeshed in a complex web of food, culture, and body politics, where sensationalist rhetoric often overshadows the material realities of migrant survival. A recent controversy from the Harris versus Trump debate, during which former President Trump made unsubstantiated claims about Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, allegedly consuming pets such as cats and dogs, has reignited cultural anxieties surrounding immigration and survival practices. [1] Although media outlets quickly refuted these claims as baseless [2] the incident speaks to a broader societal unease. The rush to dismiss such claims without fully examining the conditions these communities face highlights a larger, more insidious issue: both sides of the political spectrum exploit immigrant populations and local citizens for ideological gain, while failing to address the real struggles of these marginalized groups. 

The role of the U.S. in the systemic devastation of Haiti since its occupation in 1915 is frequently overlooked, as are the moral obligations for reparations to a country crippled by over a century of predatory capitalism. [3] Haitian immigrants do not come from a ‘shithole country,’ but from a country that has been transformed into one by the exploitative U.S. policies, which favored economic pillage and political control over Haiti and other nations in Central and Latin America and by a media representation of the trauma and alienation of the ‘other’ as ulterior form of exploitation for media and political gaines. [4]

Throughout human history, the consumption of animals traditionally regarded as pets or culturally taboo has emerged as a survival strategy during periods of extreme hardship. This practice is not unique to any specific group of immigrants—whether or not they have engaged in such behaviors—but is a recurring response to conditions of deprivation. The broader anthropological and historical record attests to this phenomenon, which transcends specific cultural or temporal boundaries. For example, during periods of starvation, Native American tribes, such as the Sioux [5] and Pawnee, [6] were known to consume dogs both as part of certain cultural rituals and as a necessary response to environmental stress, exacerbated by  extermination policies aimed at their populations and their food sources. [7] These practices, far from being mere cultural curiosities, are emblematic of the extreme measures taken in response to colonial aggression, conflicts, environmental degradation, and a disrupted ecosystem. Anthropological studies reveal that such acts were often a last resort, deeply tied to cultural and spiritual meanings, and not merely acts of consumption but also of survival and resistance to extermination. 

Similarly, impoverished immigrant groups from Europe to the U.S. have historically resorted to consuming unconventional or non-traditional animals during times of famine or siege, underscoring the lengths to which populations must go when faced with the threat of starvation. A particularly vivid example of such conditions can be observed during the siege of Paris, from September 19, 1870, to January 28, 1871, when Parisians, subjected to intense food shortages, were forced to consume cats, dogs, and even rats. As documented in satirical illustrations of the time, butchers were represented offering pets and rodents as alternatives to the increasingly rare and expensive traditional sources of meat. One such illustration poignantly contrasts the dream of abundance—depicting chefs presenting meat dishes and butter with eggs—with the grim reality of a butcher selling a cat, a dog’s head, a horse’s foot, and a rat, while offering a horseshoe as a reminder that nothing edible remained. This surreal juxtaposition not only highlights the desperation of the besieged population but also points to the resilience and adaptability of communities in times of crisis, where even the most culturally taboo animals became sources of sustenance. This example from Paris parallels survival strategies found among marginalized immigrant populations globally, offering a compelling reflection on the intersection of necessity, culture, and food. [8] Furthermore, what or who is devoured as a survival tactic extends into a broader, more existential dilemma: the fear of becoming the one who is devoured. In such precarious situations, the act of devouring becomes both a literal and symbolic act of identity assimilation—an attempt to resist becoming the vulnerable, consumed ‘other.’ This tension echoes throughout history, where acts of literal consumption intersect with spiritual and ideological conflicts. For example, Jean de Léry’s Histoire d’un voyage draws a parallel between cases of cannibalism in France and the theological battle over transubstantiation. Léry provocatively suggested that Catholics who partook in the Eucharist, consuming the symbolic flesh of Christ, were not dissimilar to those who brutally consumed the bodies of Protestant victims during the religious wars of the time. Such comparisons highlight how acts of devouring are imbued with deeper layers of meaning—intertwining survival, religious identity, and political power. [9]

Image 1: La siège de Paris par Alfred le Petit. Supplément du Journal La Charge N°. 13. Heidelberg University Library.

Image 2: La siège de Paris par Alfred le Petit. Supplément du Journal La Charge N°. 13. Detail. Heidelberg University Library.

The tension between belonging and exclusion in times of crisis often determines the fluidity of food taboos, which are deeply contextual and subject to change based on circumstances. As historical examples from the 20th century illustrate, the consumption of animals typically considered taboo, such as cats, were more common in communities facing severe deprivation, such as during the Spanish Civil War and World War II. Anthropologist F. Xavier Medina explores this phenomenon in his research on survival food practices in Spain, highlighting the uneasy balance between disgust and necessity. As deprivation affected entire communities, the imperative to survive transcended deeply ingrained social taboos, reflecting the uneasy position of ‘others’ within the group—those who suffered most but remained a part of it.

Medina recounts a particularly telling anecdote from a family recipe book, which includes instructions for cooking “Cat Stew.”

“Among the many recipes noted down in the book, of which  there  were  probably  more  than  forty,  one  in  particular  caught  my attention: its title was ‘Cat Stew’. […] Even so, she was not aware of having ever eaten cat meat (the very idea  disgusted  her,  as  she  remarked  on  that  occasion),  neither  prepared according to that recipe nor cooked in any other way, and she did not know how the recipe had ended up in the family cookery book. Yet, when asked whether she knew of any cases of other families or people who had consumed this meat, she gave a different answer: she had heard of people actually eating cat meat, especially during the war years, although she herself had not witnessed it.” [10]

This account corroborates the adaptability of food practices under duress, and how survival can override cultural boundaries and identity markers. Italians, particularly from the northern regions like Vicenza, were known to consume cats and are, even to this day, colloquially referred to as Vicentini magnagati (Vicentine cat-eaters). The Italians have long-standing recipes for cooking cats, often prepared in dishes like gatto alla vicentina, gatto in umido, or gatto in salmì, especially during times of severe scarcity—historically and into the early 20th century. During the World Wars, this practice became widespread throughout Italy, from the northern regions to the southern tip of the peninsula. What might seem shocking to modern audiences or even contemporary Italians was a stark reality in the past, when survival trumped culinary preferences. For instance, in 2010, a prominent Italian TV chef was removed from his program after he casually mentioned the consumption of cats during the 1930s and 1940s—a practice once rooted in necessity but now taboo to the broader Italian public. [11] This incident reveals how perceptions of what constitutes food can shift dramatically over time, influenced by both cultural identity and changing social norms. In some cases, animals that were once eaten for survival can later become untouchable, only to be re-evaluated and even transformed into regional delicacies as their historical context fades. This reflects a broader phenomenon observed in marginalized or struggling communities worldwide, where survival pressures force people to adapt and consume what might otherwise be considered taboo animals. The consumption of such animals illustrates the resilience and adaptability of food cultures, shaped by the demands of extreme economic or environmental circumstances. [12]

In Switzerland, too, cat meat was once considered a meal worthy of local pride, though such food practices have largely disappeared in contemporary times. [13] These examples demonstrate how survival narratives—once framed as pragmatic responses to deprivation— over time have evolved into consolidated gourmet dishes to share with friends. [14] However, they often clash with modern cultural sensibilities, which may label such practices as either primitive or grotesque, depending on political or social agendas. These fading historical survival strategies, in France, Italy, and Switzerland, either as inherited cultural remnants or reflective of the broader reality of marginalized groups, demonstrate the struggles of communities that, abandoned by both the state and society, must rely on available resources for sustenance.

This examination highlights a recurring theme: the boundaries of what is considered acceptable food are often shaped by social, economic, and environmental factors. In many cases, what may be perceived as taboo or grotesque in times of abundance becomes a necessity in periods of scarcity. The examples from Native American tribes and impoverished European communities reveal how survival tactics adapt to the pressures of deprivation, illustrating the fragile line between cultural traditions and the harsh realities of survival.

In this context, it’s essential to consider that food taboos are often culturally constructed and flexible, depending on material conditions. This practice, though nearly vanished today, brings back to the fore the importance of food in forming identity, even in situations of deprivation, and reveals how communities have historically navigated survival through culinary adaptation.

The debate surrounding former President Trump’s claim that Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, were eating pets such as cats or dogs exemplifies a broader issue intersecting food, culture, and body politics within American immigration discourse. The media—and by extension, the social media community—quickly shifted the conversation away from addressing the broader humanitarian crisis at play in Haiti and for the Haitian migrant community to a matter of internal politics focused on outrage. The outrage of the right for the possibility that someone might be devouring the middle class American Dream and the outrage of the left for the possibility that the undermining of the noble savage might undermine the American Dream of whitewashed inclusiveness for different races and identities. This shift also diverted attention from the real and urgent tensions between incoming immigrant populations and already-strained local communities. The problem, then, is not whether such claims can be proven or disproven but how this rhetoric obscures deeper systemic issues. In this framing, immigrants become pawns in a political theater of ideological manipulation, where the focus on sensational claims overshadows their real circumstances and survival strategies, while local communities—also facing resource scarcity—are often left without adequate support.

The logistical challenges of verifying such isolated claims make it unlikely that any concrete evidence could emerge from Springfield to confirm instances of pet consumption, especially given the cultural taboos surrounding such practices. Even if incidents of killing, butchering, and cooking pets did occur, they would likely remain hidden from view. However, this lack of visibility does not serve as definitive proof that these events never happen. Comparable incidents have been documented in other parts of the world, particularly in situations marked by extreme poverty and social marginalization. For instance, a recent video from Italy shows an immigrant from the Ivory Coast, destitute and without access to food, roasting a cat over an open fire near the busy train station of Campiglia Marittima. [15] (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-20B08OEjrQ) The outrage sparked by the video reflects the cultural dissonance between societal norms governing food practices in stable, privileged contexts and the survival strategies employed by marginalized populations facing desperation. This incident compels a reevaluation of how societies perceive food consumption, highlighting the disparity between culturally constructed ideas of what constitutes acceptable food and the harsh realities faced by those on the margins.

For Native American tribes as well as migrants to the U.S., food practices were not merely about survival but were deeply intertwined with the broader context of colonial extermination policies, merging into the mainstream concept of American whiteness, [16] and erasing of original identities as acceptance of the abundance and superiority—superior abundance—of the cornucopia [17] of the American dream. When Benjamin Franklin wrote “why should the Palatine Boors be suffered to swarm into our Settlements, and by herding together establish their Language and Manners to the Exclusion of ours? Why should Pennsylvania, founded by the English, become a Colony of Aliens, who will shortly be so numerous as to Germanize us instead of our Anglifying them, and will never adopt our Language or Customs, any more than they can acquire our Complexion” [18] entire communities, both native and immigrants, had already faced systematic efforts to eradicate their populations and ways of life in order to disappear from or seamlessly blend into the “complexion” of the American Dream. 

In contrast to the Native Americans, for the European settlers and frontiersmen who traversed and colonized the vast expanse of North America—often referred to as pioneers or homesteaders—the act of consuming food and local animals became part of the larger project of conquest. After shaky beginnings in which the surviving people of the colonies had to be forbidden to eat farm animals and dogs, [19] the settlers engaged in the wholesale exploitation of what they perceived to be an inexhaustible supply of animal resources. [20] This consumption was emblematic of their belief in the myth of an endless frontier, where nature was seemingly abundant and available for the taking, reinforcing the ideology of Manifest Destiny. [21]

While in regions around the globe, such as Europe and East Asia, the consumption of taboo foods, like cats and dogs, has been part of longstanding culinary traditions shaped by cultural, historical, and environmental factors, the U.S. settler’s approach to food was distinct in its focus on abundance and expansion. Their consumption patterns reflected a mythology of limitless resources, feeding a narrative of dominion over the land and its creatures. This mythology contrasted sharply with the survival strategies of Indigenous populations, who, facing environmental and economic collapse, had to make use of whatever resources were available, including dogs, as a response to their systemic marginalization. In the settler’s view, the seemingly infinite supply of natural resources validated their right to consume and conquer, casting Indigenous practices as primitive while they themselves engaged in an unsustainable extraction of the land’s bounty.

In Italy, as across the entirety of Europe, over two millennia and during the early 20th century and both World Wars, the focus was never on abundance but resourcefulness in the management of food scarcity. Poverty-stricken communities the world over resorted to incorporating offal [22] and taboo animals into their diets out of sheer necessity. Over time, these survival tactics evolved into culinary preferences, with some dishes becoming regional specialties. Even today, older generations across Italy recall recipes passed down from eras of deprivation. However, as modernization and economic recovery have taken hold, these practices have largely faded away.

Yet, in the process of modernization, Italians have not merely eliminated survival-based practices but uprooted entire culinary traditions: famous are numerous recipes made from the quinto quarto which involves cooking kidneys, liver, tail, snout, ears, brains, tripe, blood, heart, and everything else, including genitalia. [23] These recipes with offals remain foreign to the mainstream American representation of local and international cuisines. [24] The increasing McDonaldization of Italian food culture—driven by mass production, corporate interests, and an American imperialistic homogenization of taste—has replaced these authentic, locally grounded traditions with American standardized fare of mass food production, even if they are considered in Italy disgusting and unethical practices. [25] The food mass production is threatening to reduce the richness of Italy’s culinary heritage to the lows of fast-food culture. There is an entire rustic tradition of agricultural homesteads and food production for household consumption that have been sidelined by American social media representation of food, EU legislation, and local laws which tend to favor large corporate interests and American cultural and food imperialism. This is a shift that I wanted to document with an artwork using an almost forgotten recipe made with chicken blood and entrails.

Image 3: Lanfranco Aceti, Finally, I Got Casted, 2019. From the series Pets or Meat. Photographic print on fine art paper. Dimensions: variable.

Therefore, the cultural history of survival food is not confined to the infinite exploitation of the land, but is also signposted by dramatic economic, social, and geopolitical shifts which, particularly in the U.S., over almost a couple of centuries have thrown off the bandwagon of the American Dream tens of million of people. During the Great Depression in the United States, many impoverished Americans turned to animals like squirrels, opossums, raccoons, and even rats—species not typically considered part of the mainstream diet. Such practices reveal a pattern in which communities on the margins of society, facing systemic neglect and deprivation, adapt their food consumption habits in ways that defy normative cultural expectations. In many cases, the act of consuming what is considered taboo by the dominant culture reflects not just hunger but also a negotiation of cultural identity, belonging, and survival.

The media’s swift dismissal of Trump’s claims as baseless ignores these historical precedents, revealing a deeper reluctance to engage with the uncomfortable realities of poverty and food insecurity that many immigrant communities face, even in the land of the American Dream, and even if they are not migrants but American citizens. It is a weaponization of food which, at this particular moment in time, shows an ever larger divide between the political left and right in the U.S. 

The populist right and moralistic left employ contrasting narratives when addressing the complexities of immigration in the U.S., particularly in relation to the American Dream. On one side, the populist right tends to frame the discourse through fear and protectionism, warning U.S. citizens that their homes, jobs, and way of life—their “American Dream”—are under threat from immigrants, depicted as invaders, barbarians, or pet-eaters. This rhetoric taps into anxieties about cultural and economic displacement, painting immigrants as outsiders who will undermine and consume the prosperity of the native-born population.

In contrast, the moralistic left often speaks to more affluent urban enclaves, offering a vision of multiculturalism that celebrates the success stories of immigrant communities—those who have managed to assimilate or “whitewash” themselves to fit into the dominant cultural norms. However, this approach risks idealizing certain immigrant groups while ignoring the systemic barriers others face. It suggests that the American Dream is attainable, but primarily for those who have navigated the process of conforming to a WASP (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant) ideal, rather than preserving and integrating their own cultural identity. [26] 

The unfolding of the media narrative on the Haitian immigrants in Springfield is a signal of a malaise which should bring attention to the ‘“deplorables” or “pariah” of society, [27] not to deride them but to show them compassion and helping them. The relocation en masse to small, under-resourced towns, where people are left to fend for themselves might generate the conditions where such survival strategies could become necessary. Springfield, with a population of 60,000, suddenly found itself hosting between 12,000 to 20,000 immigrants, [28] many of whom lacked sufficient resources, infrastructure, or social support. This overwhelming influx of people placed a significant burden on a community ill-prepared to manage the humanitarian crisis. Instead of focusing on the very real concerns of migrant neglect and inadequate policy responses together with the crisis of local struggling lower and middle classes, American media diverted attention to the spectacle of Trump’s unverified comments, feeding into a narrative of partisan outrage rather than substantive critique.

The broader question of immigrant survival in America has historical roots in the ways that certain communities are systematically neglected. While the right-wing media often frames immigrants as a threat to American cultural values, the left is not without fault. Policies under Democratic leadership have frequently resulted in the abandonment of large migrant populations with little to no planning for their welcoming, integration, or welfare. Local communities, of earlier migrants, already stretched thin, are left grappling with the influx of people, exacerbating tensions between local populations and newcomers. Rather than addressing these structural failings, both political parties continue to weaponize immigration for their own rhetorical purposes at times even directly pitting one community against the other naming one or the other as better representation of the integration and assimilation into the American Dream.

This narrative is part of a broader cultural hypocrisy in America, where descendants of earlier waves of immigrants—many of whom also faced cultural stigma and food insecurity—now participate in the demonization of more recent arrivals. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Italian and Irish immigrants were often vilified for their dietary habits, which were seen as foreign and unclean by the dominant Anglo-American population. Asian populations suffered the same accusations as dog eaters showing a pattern of political and media demonization which trickled in the social context of everyday representation of migrants. Today, similar cultural anxieties are projected onto Haitians, Central Americans, Latin Americans, and Africans migrants, whose food practices are scrutinized as markers of their supposed incompatibility with American values. This cycle of scapegoating new immigrant groups, while ignoring the structural conditions that produce their food insecurity, reflects a persistent unwillingness to engage with the realities of poverty and survival in America. [29] American society continues to present itself as a land of plenty, when the reality has changed for many existing communities in one of dire living and for many incoming communities as one of labor exploitation.

“[U]nless the New Comers have more Industry and Frugality than the Natives, and then they will provide more Subsistence, and increase in the Country; but they will gradually eat the Natives out” [30] or their family pets.

Ultimately, the fixation on the political theater whether or not immigrants might eat pets serves to distract from the unwillingness of the U.S. government and its political parties to provide adequate support for those it relocates and for the communities that welcome them who are left to fend for themselves in an economically and socially hostile environment, with little access to resources or support. The media’s eagerness to dismiss Trump’s comments, while politically convenient, does little to address the broader humanitarian crisis, but favors the polarization of the citizen themselves divided between rich and poor, commendable and deplorable. [31] By reducing the debate to a matter of debunking unsubstantiated claims, most U.S. media outlets missed an opportunity to engage with the larger systemic problems that leave immigrant communities in a state of precarity, retracing political responsibilities for failed policies towards migrants as well as locals, both sharing and experiencing the crisis of the American Dream. This failure speaks to a larger cultural and political hypocrisy—one that transcends partisan lines and reflects the systemic abandonment of the most vulnerable populations in American society, migrant or local that they may be. The fear of the “Natives” [32] being eaten out, as Benjamin Franklin puts it,  should not be about the incoming waves of migrants, if the mythology of American abundance still holds, but about the conditions of entry into, sub-existence in, and exploitation by the American Dream, which remains unchallenged, despite being the reason why both  the average American citizens and the immigrants are condemned to exist in poverty and to eat each other out.

Image 4: Lanfranco Aceti, Rehearsing, 2019. From the series Pets or Meat. Photographic print on fine art paper. Dimensions: variable.

Eating The Roadkills of the American Dream

Accusations surrounding the consumption of pets, or the denial of such practices within immigrant communities, serve as mechanisms of cultural erasure. In the U.S., immigrants are subjected to external pressures that define their identities through rigid ideological frameworks, confining them to predetermined cultural roles. This process erases the complexities of immigrant identities and denies the fluidity of cultural expression, particularly in food traditions. The lens through which eating taboo foods and committing acts of cannibalism can be acceptable is only through the civilized gaze of American imperialism and its cultural narratives, may they be literary, filmic, theatrical or televised. [33]

Oral histories of discrimination, based on food habits, are passed down through immigrant communities but are often excluded from written documentation, leaving gaps in the historical narrative. These stories, while difficult to trace in formal records, are valid and reflect a nuanced intersection of immigrant experiences with mainstream American culture. The hybridized cuisines born from these intersections challenge notions of cultural purity and reveal a more intricate and localized history of American food culture. Immigrant communities, facing economic hardship, often blended their own traditions with local, inexpensive food sources, creating unique culinary expressions that complicate simplistic binaries of “civilized” versus “barbaric.”

Accusations of eating unusual animals towards migrants meanwhile in the U.S. animals as possums, raccoons, groundhogs, turtles, squirrels, or rats are part of the local cuisine and consumed without fuss—creatures not commonly consumed in other cultures or considered taboo by immigrants—highlight the hypocrisy in American food discourse. While such practices are viewed with disdain by mainstream society, they are rooted in the survival tactics of marginalized communities, both immigrant and native. These traditions persist in local cultures, particularly in regions where economic survival outweighs conformity to cultural norms. Yet, they become stigmatized when associated with immigrant groups, reinforcing xenophobic narratives that mark these communities as other.

In a country that prides itself on individualism and diversity, American food culture remains dominated by the homogenization and standardization of fast food chains. Corporations like McDonald’s and Starbucks, shape the nation’s diet through highly industrialized, replicable, and mass-consumable food products, which obscure local and artisanal food traditions. [34] Even those chains that claim to offer customizable menus or artisanal options maintain a strict corporate structure that prioritizes efficiency, scalability, and profit over genuine culinary diversity. This industrial logic underscores a broader socio-economic pattern of reducing complexity in favor of mass production and food industrialization. [35]

This mass standardization reflects broader socio-economic forces that shape American consumer culture. [36] The proliferation of fast food chains, for example, reflects the capitalist demand for efficiency and predictability in both production and consumption. The drive for expansion, and the need to maintain a consistent brand image across regional and even global markets, prioritizes uniformity over uniqueness. Even as some chains present themselves as purveyors of ‘choice,’ offering slight variations at the counter, the underlying logic remains the same: a relentless pursuit of profit through scalability. Such scalability necessitates the eradication of the very cultural nuances that are celebrated in other, more traditional food cultures.

The pursuit of the American Dream has often been tied to food and as a journey towards abundance, [37] with the early waves of immigrants arriving on U.S. shores in search of a land of plenty. Having fled war, famine, and economic despair, they were lured by promises of abundance. Yet, the reality of life in America was and is far more challenging.  Jobs were difficult to secure, and a vast body of literature documents the fierce competition between immigrant groups, each vying for lower wages to access employment. Historical accounts, such as those documented by Jacob Riis in How the Other Half Lives, reveal the fierce competition among immigrant groups for low-wage jobs in industries that capitalized on labor exploitation. [38] Irish, German, Chinese, and Italian immigrants in the 19th century fought for employment opportunities, often undercutting each other’s wages, while hoping to climb the economic ladder.

This historical pattern wasn’t limited to the 19th century. The Great Migration of African Americans to northern industrial cities during and after World War I saw a similar dynamic, where Black labor was often used as a counterbalance to white labor strikes, creating racial tensions that were as much about labor competition as racial animosity. In more recent decades, the Bracero Program (1942-1964), [39] which brought Mexican laborers into the United States to work on farms, exemplifies the government’s continued reliance on cheap labor to sustain the economic engine of its capitalistic regime.

The U.S. government’s constant search for cheap labor, while emphasizing technological innovation and the golden paved roads of the American Dream, is rooted in this history of wage suppression and has consistently relied on immigrant workers while denying them full legal and economic rights. Waves of immigrants have been forced to undercut each other and the locals, eating out each other’s access to jobs, and devouring each others’ possibility for successful social upwards mobility in the pursuit of the American Dream. The locals’ response has been characterized by identifying immigration and the very notion of multiculturalism as problems to address, as Peter Brimelow argues in Alien Nation, [40] instead of considering the underpinning framework of capitalist exploitation dogmatically supported by both political parties which imprisons migrants and locals in the straitjacket definition of deplorables.

In the agricultural sector, migrant laborers, particularly undocumented workers, continue to endure wage theft, unsafe working conditions, and the absence of healthcare or labor protections. [41] The Economic Policy Institute has shown that undocumented workers are disproportionately vulnerable to these abuses, reflecting a broader pattern of systemic exploitation in the American labor market. This reality contradicts the idealized vision of the American Dream, wherein hard work and perseverance are supposed to lead to economic success and upward mobility.

Meanwhile, the American workforce is increasingly trained to execute tasks rather than organize to protect its own interests. The decline of labor unions since the 1950s, along with a corresponding rise in precarious employment with laws and regulations that immigrants are unable to contest without proper legal and administrative support, [42] has reinforced this structure, ensuring that the American Dream remains attainable for only a select few. As scholars like Howard Zinn have argued in A People’s History of the United States, the real winners of the American Dream have always been the elite, while the rest are left as roadkill—victims of a system that thrives on disposability and exploitation. [43]

Image 5: Lanfranco Aceti, Staring into the Abyss, 2019. From the series Pets or Meat. Photographic print on fine art paper. Dimensions: variable.

The trajectory of U.S. labor and immigrant history reveals a persistent drive toward creating a vast, uncritical, and underpaid workforce, masking the harsh realities of labor exploitation under the guise of opportunity. This veneer of the American Dream, propped up by narratives of individual success and economic growth, has long obscured the systemic inequalities that make it unattainable for the many who continue to seek it.

In the pursuit of the American Dream, the struggle for food survival takes on a deeply symbolic and material role. While mainstream discourse often ignores the economic inequalities embedded in the U.S. system, food becomes a reflection of broader socio-economic structures. Poverty within the U.S., particularly in marginalized and immigrant communities, is a pervasive issue, yet its complex histories and lived realities are rarely conveyed to local and, even less so, to global audiences. These histories include not only the economic deprivation but also the survivalist food practices that have evolved as a response to scarcity while abundance for the few is successfully paraded under the insignia of the American Dream to the benefit of the U.S. imperial strategies. [44]

The exhibition Jacob Riis: Revealing “How the Other Half Lives”, co-hosted by the Library of Congress and the Museum of the City of New York, presents a powerful visual and narrative record of the conditions facing impoverished New Yorkers in the late 19th century aspiring to achieve the American Dream. Among the highlighted works are Riis’s photographs from the winter of 1892, when he visited eleven of the city’s sixteen riverside dumps and documented the harrowing lives of children living and working amid the refuse. Riis wrote, “I found boys who ought to have been at school, picking bones and sorting rags… They said that they slept there, and as the men did, why should they not? It was their home. They were children of the dump, literally.” His observations expose the bleak normalcy of child labor and homelessness in this era, where young lives were consigned to survival in conditions unimaginable today. These were children to whom dietary choices were a foreign concept—sustenance came from what could be had, not selected.

If American cuisine pretends to have historically avoided the consumption of pets like cats and dogs—common in certain stereotypical narratives about immigrant food cultures—it nonetheless includes a wide array of processed and hunted food items that might be considered inedible or taboo in other cultures. From processed foods, laden with preservatives and fillers such as McDonald’s fare, to game such as possums, groundhogs, or even raccoons and rats in rural regions, these consumption practices reflect a history of making do with what is available.

The systemic issues in U.S. infrastructure further complicate this picture of scarcity. The lack of robust public transportation forces individuals to rely on private vehicles to access essential services. This reliance perpetuates a cycle where one’s ability to work, access healthcare, or even buy groceries is directly tied to the capacity to afford a car, fuel, and vehicle maintenance. For low-income communities, including many immigrant populations, this creates additional layers of vulnerability. [45] The American paradox emerges in full view: a country rich in resources and opportunity but riddled with structural barriers that leave many grappling with scarcity amidst supposed abundance.

This paradox is intricately connected to economic inequality. While the U.S. prides itself on being a land of opportunity, the capitalist framework has made wealth accumulation uneven, leading to a large section of the population struggling to make ends meet. For these individuals, the dream of prosperity becomes a distant ideal, overshadowed by the daily challenges of survival. Food, transportation, and housing [46] are not merely commodities but battlegrounds where the socio-economic disparities of American life are played out. [47]

This observation ties into a larger critique of U.S. economic policies, which prioritize privatization and individual responsibility over collective welfare. The minimal investment in public transportation infrastructure—compared to countries with stronger welfare systems—exemplifies the prioritization of the wealthy and the further marginalization of the poor and immigrant populations. These issues underscore the deeply entrenched inequities that persist in contemporary American society veiled with the omnipresent and hypocritical shroud of the American Dream. [48]

Detroit, known as the “Motor City,” offers one of the most visible examples of the devastating consequences of the collapse of U.S. industrial capitalism and of wage suppression between racially and ethnically diverse communities. [49] Once the hub of American automotive production, the city’s decline mirrors the larger story of industrial disinvestment. [50]  The urban prairies that now stretch across much of Detroit are the desolate aftermath of bulldozing burned-out crack houses and abandoned buildings, leaving behind vacant lots where factories and homes once stood. These prairies symbolize the deterioration of the social and economic fabric that sustained the city during its industrial heyday, the attempts and efforts to renaissance, [51] and the aesthetization of poverty and wasteland. [52] 

Efforts to cultivate community gardens and vegetable plots in these spaces, while symbolically powerful, remain insufficient to generate a sustainable, organized movement for food security. Growing one’s own food requires both a stable workforce and financial resources—two commodities that communities ravaged by economic hardship, drug addiction, and social neglect do not possess. For many in Detroit [53] have shown that while these initiatives build community resilience, they lack the capacity to provide the necessary scale for long-term self-sufficiency.

The collapse of Detroit’s industrial base was paralleled by a rapid influx of drugs in the 1980s, contributing to rising rates of alcoholism, depression, and social decay. This multifaceted crisis has left local populations with little to offer immigrants who arrive seeking opportunity, only to find that they represent yet another layer of competition for already dwindling resources. As sociologists like Loïc Wacquant argue, these communities, decimated by deindustrialization and state neglect, perceive immigrants not as fellow victims of neoliberal capitalism but as additional threats to their already precarious existence of belonging and citizenship within a state with clear-cut class and racial social divides. [54]

The consequences of this collapse are not isolated to Detroit. Cities across the Rust Belt and beyond, such as Flint, Michigan, and Gary, Indiana, exhibit similar dynamics: declining job opportunities, crumbling infrastructure, and a populace struggling to adapt in an era of austerity and economic instability. The inability of these cities to support new waves of immigrants underscores the broader failures of U.S. economic policies, which continue to prioritize corporate profit over the well-being of vulnerable populations, both local and immigrant.

The use of non-traditional animals like possums, raccoons, squirrels, and rats in American cuisine is far from new, though it rarely surfaces in mainstream media or popular cooking shows, at home or abroad. Such practices, long a part of American food culture, particularly in rural and impoverished areas, have been essential for survival, dating back to times of economic hardship such as the Great Depression or the or the days of the pioneers. During these periods, and even into the present in regions affected by poverty, the hunting and consumption of “critters” [55] became and is a pragmatic necessity rather than a culinary choice. However, these practices remain largely excluded from the narratives that dominate mainstream cooking shows and food networks, which focus on luxury and abundance and not on economic deprivation and rat-soup for dinnertime.

While the media continues to portray an aspirational lifestyle, characterized by gourmet meals and culinary diversity, these depictions are often reserved for the privileged few. These are the privileged few who fear being devoured by those who themselves have pushed at the margins by cannibalizing their opportunities and possibilities for a better life. [56] It is a vicious circle of eating and being eaten, within which from the Native populations who were ghettoized in reserves to contemporary poors (enslaved or migrants) ghettoized in the definitions of deplorables, everyone is waiting for the opportunity to devour the other. [57]  Americans still fear the primordial fear of the unknown of the first colonial settlements, since they are still people of a frontier and who could disappear and… never be heard from them again. [58] It is in this context that for much of the population, food insecurity remains a stark reality. The rise of the “working poor”—a new phenomenon in which individuals hold multiple jobs but still cannot achieve financial stability—demonstrates how the American dream is inaccessible to many. These individuals, particularly in rural areas, often have little choice but to rely on cheaper processed foods and more unconventional food sources.

This socio-economic disparity highlights the growing chasm between those who can participate in the gourmet culture showcased on TV and those who must resort to survival tactics that involve roadkill and foraging. The media’s depiction of culinary life, much like its portrayal of the American Dream, is often a sanitized version of reality, disconnected from the experiences of the working poor and the mass production of food for lower-end consumers. [59]

In the end migrants and locals are obliged to face up to the realities and contradictions of the American dream. “When you’re in Haiti and you think about going to the U.S., you don’t think that you’d ever be treated this way,” Jean-Baptiste said. “It’s such an awful feeling for people who thought that being in the U.S. was the best thing that could ever happen to them.” [60]

Am I What I Eat? Plucking and Skinning the American Dream

“I hated this country… and if I had a choice, I would have never left. They told us that the roads were paved with gold, but I haven’t seen any gold anywhere, despite all the hard work.” These are the unrecorded words of an Italian woman who migrated to the U.S. in the early 1900s. “When the Depression hit, and the men were without jobs, I ended up plucking songbirds. At night, the men would go into the fields and throw nets, risking being shot, just to catch these birds. The saddest part was that one of them could die for a bunch of stupid little birds. Do you know how long it takes to pluck the feathers out one of those little things? You have to be firm with your fingers but not too forceful, so the feathers don’t rip the meat from the bone. They’re small and scrawny, with very little meat… I spent entire nights doing that. I hated it. There were no jobs and no money… and so I did it.” 

She continued, “One day, I placed a small dish of milk outside the kitchen door. I had already pawned the earrings I brought from Italy—they were part of my dowry. It didn’t take long for two cats to show up. Three nights later, after skinning them and letting the meat ‘spurgare’ (cleanse) in the snow, we had something to eat. It was my grandmother’s recipe that she taught me. I had hidden the cats in the snow, and spent the night awake, constantly checking to make sure no one would steal them. I didn’t eat it myself, but nobody asked what it was. They must have assumed it was rabbit, I suppose. They didn’t ask, and I didn’t tell.”

It took three generations for the family to attain middle-class status by the 1990s, culminating in an American fourth generation child who could be fully considered part of the middle class.

In Italy, the practice of consuming cat meat has historical roots as part of regional culinary traditions. While no longer widely practiced—and certainly not openly—this tradition persists as a cultural memory, like a recipe of black bird breast meat pie in the U.S. [61] Legally, the consumption of cat meat is not explicitly prohibited by Italian law, although there have been attempts to formalize such a ban. [62] These efforts, however, have failed to pass through parliament, leaving the practice indirectly discouraged, criminalized, and punished by animal welfare laws but not outrightly forbidden.

Would Italians have resorted to eating cats in the U.S. if faced with dire circumstances? Most likely, yes. Like other immigrant groups, Italian immigrants brought their cultural traditions and survival strategies with them. In the face of extreme poverty or food scarcity in the U.S., they would have likely turned to familiar practices for sustenance, including eating cats if necessary. However, due to the social stigma surrounding this practice in the U.S., such actions would have been discreet and certainly not publicly acknowledged. 

One particularly vivid example of the cultural clash experienced by immigrants during the Prohibition era can be seen in the story of an Italian immigrant family in Queens, New York. Italians, who traditionally drink a small glass of wine with meals, found themselves at odds with American laws during Prohibition, which criminalized alcohol consumption. The elderly son of one such immigrant shared how his father, who had a few grapevines in his backyard to produce small quantities of wine for personal consumption, was arrested after a neighbor reported him to the police. The sight of a man sipping wine under the shade of his pergola became grounds for legal action, leading to his arrest. From that day until his death, the father drank his wine in a small tin cup, hidden from view, a poignant reminder of how even the most intimate cultural practices could be policed and suppressed. This shift from open enjoyment to secrecy illustrates the larger theme of immigrant communities having to conceal aspects of their identity to avoid persecution or legal consequences.

This narrative speaks to the broader issue of how immigrant communities navigate cultural identity in the face of legal and social pressures. The story is emblematic of a wider pattern in which immigrant groups, particularly those arriving in large numbers in the early 20th century, faced pressure to conform to the dominant American cultural norms. This process of forced adaptation is not just about legal obedience but involves the erasure or suppression of deeply embedded cultural practices, from culinary traditions to religious observances. As in the case of this Italian family, everyday activities, such as enjoying wine with lunch, were criminalized, making the act of preserving one’s cultural heritage an act of defiance.

This incident also highlights the role of social surveillance in immigrant life. Neighbors, often from different ethnic or social backgrounds, could act as enforcers of conformity, reporting perceived violations of the law, as happened here, and how it is increasingly happening now through social media, which, are used as tools of a moralistic decontextualized enforcement of customs and laws. This reflects how immigrant communities were not and are not just shaped by the law but by the broader societal expectations that seek to regulate their behavior and assimilate them into a narrowly defined version of American life. It also hints at the dynamics of exclusion, where immigrant customs were and continue to be framed as foreign or even criminal.

The story of the Italian immigrant in Queens who quietly shifted from drinking wine out of a glass to a tin cup after being arrested for violating Prohibition laws encapsulates the tension between immigrant traditions and the imposition of legal and cultural conformity. Italian families, accustomed to a small glass of wine during meals—a deeply rooted cultural practice—found themselves criminalized by U.S. Prohibition policies. This event speaks to the broader theme of cultural policing, where immigrant communities are pressured to erase or hide their heritage to assimilate into a society that paradoxically celebrates individual freedom while suppressing cultural difference.

“Still eating spaghetti, not yet Americanized.” [63] was the comment of a social worker reported by Erik Amfitheatrof in his book The Children of Columbus. This points out to a high level of surveillance and self-surveillance.  

The act of self-surveillance, hiding one’s cultural practices to avoid legal repercussions, mirrors larger systemic forces that have historically shaped the immigrant experience in the U.S. From the late 19th century through the 20th, immigrant groups were often forced into a process of “whitening” or cultural sanitization to avoid marginalization, as described by historian David Roediger in his analysis of the racialization of European immigrants. [64] The simple act of consuming wine, re-contextualized by Prohibition, became a marker of social deviance, turning a cultural norm into a criminal act. This shift reflects what Michel Foucault describes as the internalization of the “panoptic gaze,” [65] where power is enacted through a state of constant surveillance, pushing individuals to modify their behaviors without direct intervention.

If some individuals may have consumed in Springfield, or elsewhere, dog, cat, or goose meat out of necessity, cultural habit or preference, they would have been highly unlikely to make a public spectacle of it, given the negative perceptions and potential stigma and consequences in the U.S., where social media play a social surveillance role. 

Before provoking a hypocritical reaction from my Anglo-Saxon audience, it might be prudent to explore the history and lesser-known culinary traditions that have shaped the so-called “land of the American Dream.” Food production, preparation, and preservation are deeply intertwined with the rhythms of seasons, the passage of time, and the sheer effort required for survival. The sanitized supermarket version of food—offering choices between organic or grass-fed, skinless chicken breasts, butchered by low-wage immigrant workers—is a far cry from the true complexity of food life on a farm. Those who have lived through it, not just visited for a few weeks as tourists, understand that it entails far more than choosing between convenience foods; it involves the messy, hands-on processes of raising, killing, and butchering animals. Vegetable growing is as complex and arduous. Vegetables need time to grow and are not instantly available. The eating process is faster and cheaper only if one resorts to foraging, stealing someone else’s produce, or picking up road kills. [66]

Image 6: Lanfranco Aceti, I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here!, 2019. From the series Pets or Meat. Photographic print on fine art paper. Dimensions: variable.

Yet, in today’s society, especially among the higher middle class in the U.S., we see a moral dissonance caused by the distancing between food production and consumption: animals, particularly pets, have become more valued than the lives of poor people. While a pet’s death might provoke an outpouring of emotion, the death of a poor person often elicits indifference. This warped moral outlook and untenable ethical stance underscores a deep cultural malaise—one where the lives of vulnerable people are deemed expendable, overshadowed by the sentimental importance placed on animals.

This critique is not about disparaging pets or denying animal rights, but about challenging the contradictions that lie at the heart of contemporary American culture, and consequentially even in Europe, where socioeconomic inequality has rendered certain lives invisible while elevating others to an untouchable status. The historical context of food production reminds us that survival often trumps sentimentality, and in societies experiencing extreme deprivation, moral choices are not as simple as they appear from a position of privilege.

It is for this reason that I find both the politically explosive outrage and the blanket defense of immigrants appalling. The inability to understand their motives—whether dismissing them as “savages” or assuming that certain animals like geese, dogs, or cats (not to mention raccoons, armadillos, squirrels, and rats—staples of some regional American cuisines) have never been consumed—is a stance both culturally racist and woefully ignorant. Such reactions, particularly when they attempt to conceal the underlying poverty caused by social or personal struggles, completely overlook the class factors that drive these behaviors.

In this context, what is truly offensive is not the act of consuming taboo animals, but the unwillingness to confront the brutal realities of poverty. Both the knee-jerk condemnation and oversimplified defense of immigrants ignore the fact that their choices are often dictated by survival, not personal preference or culture. Poverty forces hard decisions, and the moral judgment of those who have never faced such conditions is both ignorant and deeply rooted in privilege. The real issue isn’t who ate what—it’s about acknowledging the harsh conditions that lead to those choices in the first place.

The video I chose of a man from the Ivory Coast, filmed near a train station in Italy, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-20B08OEjrQ, captures a scene that is both arresting and emblematic of the stark divisions in global cultural responses to survival. It reminds me of Riis’s photographs, without the pornographic aestheticization of poverty, and it evokes a challenge to the hypocrisy of the sanitized and glossy representation of American film and media narratives. What is most arresting about the scenes in the video, however, is not the gruesome act of roasting a cat by necessity but rather the intense moral outrage expressed by a bystander, a woman who indignantly screams that cats are not eaten in Italy, where they are viewed as family members, akin to children. Her reaction epitomizes a kind of moral absolutism that transcends national borders, a perspective shaped by cultural imperialism which equates certain taboos about animals with universal ethical standards. It is the same decontextualized moralism that informs the political outrage of the right and of the left in America.

The video vividly exposes a deeper hypocrisy embedded in modern, affluent societies, where the cultural memory of survival by any means necessary has been repressed or conveniently forgotten. In Italy’s own history—particularly during times of war and extreme deprivation—it is well documented that people resorted to eating cats, among other taboo animals, to survive. Yet, in this moment, the woman’s moral indignation reveals an inability to empathize with the man’s circumstances, as well as an alarming ignorance of her own cultural history. In the comments accompanying the video, several individuals remark on the likelihood that her own family, during World War II or earlier periods of hardship, may have partaken in the very practice she now condemns. This dissonance speaks to a broader cultural amnesia and a failure to grasp the realities of survival when confronted with hunger.

In these interactions are at play the broader dynamics of cultural imperialism, wherein certain moral and cultural standards—particularly those surrounding the treatment of animals—are not only privileged but are also exported globally as normative. In the U.S., where the commodification of pets and the prioritization of their well-being often supersedes that of marginalized human communities, this phenomenon has reached its zenith. Scholar Chris Hedges describes this dynamic as part of a larger imperial culture that prioritizes consumerism and sentimentality over the stark realities faced by the impoverished, both domestically and abroad. [67] The Italian woman’s reaction is not isolated but reflects the global exportation of this moral framework, one that divorces itself from the harsh realities of survival in favor of a sanitized, consumer-driven ideal of what life—and indeed, death—should look like.

This incident demands a critical reflection on the socio-economic conditions that force individuals into acts that many in wealthier societies would view as barbaric or uncivilized. The assumption that certain animals are inherently sacred or untouchable reflects not just a cultural bias but also a profound ignorance of the socio-economic pressures that shape behavior. The man from the Ivory Coast, driven by hunger, did not have the luxury of choosing between ethically sourced, grass-fed meat options at a supermarket like Whole Foods spending his Whole Paycheck. [68] Instead, his act was one of sheer necessity, borne out of a struggle that affluent societies are increasingly unable—or unwilling—to comprehend. 

Furthermore, this moment highlights a disturbing trend in contemporary society: the elevation of pets to the status of children, coupled with a corresponding devaluation of the lives of the poor and disenfranchised. In both Italy and the U.S., the cultural narrative surrounding pets has evolved into one where their well-being is often placed above that of human beings in need. This phenomenon can be understood as part of a broader cultural malaise, where consumerist values intersect with moralistic outrage, leaving little room for the empathy or understanding required to address the root causes of poverty and hunger.

The Italian woman’s reaction is not merely a personal expression of outrage; it is symptomatic of a larger societal failure to engage with the complexities of food security, poverty, class divisions, and cultural survival strategies. Rather than confronting the man’s desperate need for food, she resorts to moral condemnation and the threat of arrest, thereby reinforcing the very structures of inequality and ignorance that perpetuate such crises. As the video’s commentators astutely observed, the woman’s family likely engaged in similar practices during times of scarcity, revealing the extent to which cultural memory has been erased or suppressed in favor of an idealized—and ultimately hypocritical—moral stance. We are presented, yet again, with the violence of cultural arrogance that dismisses the survival tactics of the impoverished as barbaric or primitive.

In sum, this video serves as a powerful reminder of the deep chasms that exist between those who can afford to maintain moral absolutes and those who must confront the brutal realities of survival. It challenges us to rethink the ways in which we engage with cultural differences, especially when they intersect with issues of poverty, hunger, and necessity. Rather than reacting with moralistic outrage, societies must strive to develop a more nuanced understanding of the socio-economic forces that shape behavior, particularly in times of crisis.

In the media coverage of the Trump vs. Harris debate, the focus on the claim that “they are eating the dogs” and “they are eating the cats” demonstrates a symptomatic failure of mainstream journalism to address the core issue of migrant hardship and the devouring and cannibalizing nature of American culture towards migrants, towards its poor, and towards the existential fears of the middle class in a state of constant job insecurity and precarity. [69] It is the representation—yet again—of a non-debate, where the celebration of vacuousness has a clear goal: eliminate any hint of class differentiation within the framework of the American Dream between two parties that want to keep in shackles the working and middle class independently of gender, religion, race, and class. [70] Rather than engaging with the underlying socio-economic realities and class conflicts that might have compelled immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, to resort to extreme survival tactics, the media’s immediate priority was to “debunk” the claim. This reductive approach bypasses the urgent questions of what conditions in America might drive such actions and the implications for those forced into desperate measures.

The media’s reflexive debunking prioritized an ideological agenda over the very real struggles of both the immigrant population and the local communities that have been required to bear the brunt of a constantly failing and flailing American Dream. This theatrical response reflects the broader political polarization that has gripped U.S. discourse. [71] Instead of acknowledging that these localities are under-resourced and strained in their efforts to assist migrants, the media opted to perpetuate a binary, oversimplified narrative of victimization, one that ultimately does a disservice to all involved. Moreover, the media’s self-legitimization through fact-checking reveals a more insidious mechanism. [72] While ostensibly presented as a commitment to objectivity, this practice often functions as a superficial display of authority, suggesting that by verifying isolated facts, outlets automatically assume the mantle of truth. Yet, the verification of a single fact—such as the absence of confirmed reports of pet consumption—does not equate to a comprehensive understanding of the issue, nor does it address the broader context in which these incidents are situated. [73]

This media-driven defense did not advocate for immigrants’ human needs or engage with the tangible realities of their precarious situations. Rather, it constructed a defense of ideology—specifically, a romanticized portrayal of the migrant as a version of Rousseau’s noble savage, a figure stripped of the messiness of real human suffering in favor of an idealized representation that suits the political sensibilities of a certain bourgeois left and American middle class. [74] In this sanitized depiction, the immigrant is presented as a passive, virtuous figure who exists in contrast to the more complicated, morally compromised reality of poverty and survival strategies. Such representations reduce the immigrant experience to a rhetorical tool, wielded in service of ideological goals rather than a genuine commitment to understanding or alleviating the underlying suffering. The immigrants and the local poor are used, once more, to support the ideological stances that prop up the crumbling illusions of the American Dream. [75]

The appropriation of Rousseau’s ideas to construct this contemporary image of the noble savage ignores the historical complexities surrounding both migration and local economies. In so doing, the media fails to offer a balanced or informed narrative that includes the struggles of native populations, who often face resource depletion and strained infrastructure in their efforts to support migrant communities. [76] These realities are obscured by the fixation on debunking symbolic issues like pet consumption—issues that serve more to inflame public outrage than to spark meaningful conversations about economic disparity, resource allocation, and social integration. The complexity of social integration, in particular, is a burden shifted often onto the goodwill of locals when instead should be a collective social endeavor and a federal policy priority.

By presenting the situation in Springfield as one of ideological contestation rather than as a multifaceted humanitarian crisis, the media not only diminishes the plight of immigrants but also overlooks the legitimate concerns of local citizens. The result is a debate that traffics in spectacle rather than substance, diverting attention from the systemic failures that create such untenable conditions for all parties involved. It is the media’s inability to “break through the screen of often absurd, sometimes odious projections, that mask the malaise or suffering as much as they express it.” [77]

In sum, the debate around whether or not immigrants were eating pets is a useful political distraction from the more pressing conversation about how both immigrants and local communities are being left to struggle in conditions of deprivation. The focus should not be on defending a sanitized ideological representation of migration, but on addressing the realities of hunger, poverty, and the inadequate support systems that have left entire communities—both immigrant and native—vulnerable and under-resourced.

The under-resourced communities of Middle America, emblematic of a broader national crisis, are starkly represented by the video from Canton, Ohio, depicting a Black American woman consuming a raw cat. [78] This woman, neither of Haitian descent nor a Springfield resident, was clearly in a state of crisis and not fully cognizant (compos mentis). In parallel, the Ivory Coast man in Italy he was videoed while roasting a cat. Though the circumstances differ, both individuals represent the alarming reality of impoverished people committing unusual acts or resorting to extreme measures to survive. In both cases, the state response—arrest and police intervention—was inadequate and unwarranted. What they needed, instead of criminalization, was sustained care through comprehensive social services. [79]

This scenario reveals the deep structural deficiencies in social support systems, both in the U.S. and Italy. These individuals, living on the margins of society, exemplify the abandonment of the poor by the state and society alike, left to endure crises without adequate assistance. The lack of accessible mental health care, homelessness support, and poverty alleviation programs has created conditions where individuals in desperation turn to acts seen as deviant or incomprehensible by mainstream society. Yet, instead of receiving the support they need, they are often further marginalized by law enforcement and social stigmatization. [80]

The deeper issue here extends beyond the immediate horrors of poverty—it lies in the collapse of the welfare state, which should have been designed to protect the most vulnerable. This collapse, driven by decades of violent and unchecked neoliberal policies, started during the Reagan and Thatcher years, has resulted in the systematic impoverishment and marginalization of entire communities. [81] Capitalist plundering, prioritizing profit over social welfare, has not only destroyed safety nets but has also shifted the burden onto individuals. Those now trapped in dismantled, degraded communities are often made to feel as if their poverty is a personal failure, rather than the outcome of political decisions that gutted public resources and created ghettoized zones of deprivation.

This analysis highlights how the erosion of social support structures coincides with the entrenchment of inequalities and the privatization of welfare responsibilities. The result is a societal narrative that blames the impoverished for their own circumstances, despite the systemic failures of governance and the ongoing legacies of wealth extraction that have rendered entire populations vulnerable.

The treatment of the poor in times of crisis follows a familiar and troubling historical pattern: stigmatization, dehumanization, and scapegoating. [82] This phenomenon has persisted through various periods of economic and social distress, [83] most visibly during wars when populations, deprived of food, resorted to consuming animals like cats, which are typically viewed as companions rather than sustenance. [84] The American public’s reaction—shock and dismay at such acts—reveals a deep-seated hypocrisy. [85] People today express horror at the idea of eating animals culturally regarded as domestic, forgetting that under severe deprivation, civilization’s veneer quickly erodes. What’s more, this response exposes a fear not just of physical starvation but of a symbolic invasion—a devouring of the middle class, a coming to pass of the invaders who ate the Natives and are now facing the danger of being eaten out themselves by new waves of invaders. The consumption of domestic animals metaphorically represents the encroachment on their domestic life and security and the devouring of their American Dream. This fear plays into broader cultural anxieties about survival, assimilation, and identity during crises, where the very fabric of society seems vulnerable.

This historical amnesia demonstrates the fragility of modern life, where food security is taken for granted, and the collective shock at these survival strategies reflects the thin boundary that separates stability from catastrophe. The line between civilization and desperation is not as solid as we might imagine, and in moments of crisis, those societal boundaries can easily crumble.

This detachment from the past—both in terms of survival skills and social solidarity—reflects a broader moral and ethical failing in the way modern societies understand poverty, need, and human dignity. The Canton, Springfield, Campiglia Marittima, and Palermo cases are not just isolated events of deviance or lack of deviance; they are symptomatic of larger societal failings, where the impoverished are criminalized instead of cared for, and where the public outcry over animal consumption serves to mask deeper, more uncomfortable truths about the abandonment of the poor and an existential condition that more of assimilation into a multicultural or racialized idea of the American Dream speaks of cannibalization of identities and lives.

In addressing these issues, we must not only advocate for more comprehensive social services but also for a broader cultural shift—one that resists the urge to stigmatize or hide the survival strategies of the poor and instead asks how society can collectively ensure that no one is forced to make such desperate choices.

This section will close with a particular story of the disappearance of geese and ducks, not in Springfield, Ohio, but in Ilford, England. [86] We must situate the anecdote of an immigrant boy attempting to take a duck from a pond to feed his terminally ill mother within a broader analysis of food traditions, animal welfare, and socioeconomic disparities. This particular event, which took place in the UK, highlights the cultural and legal complexities surrounding food sourcing in Western societies. The boy, of Afghan origin, sought to catch a duck from a public pond, driven by desperation to alleviate his mother’s suffering, believing in the curative properties of duck meat a priest from his country had told him, even though such beliefs might not hold scientific validity.

In the UK and across much of the Western world, the regulation of hunting, fishing, and foraging has transformed significantly over time. What was once a necessary skill for survival is now highly regulated, with laws protecting both public and private resources. The enforcement of these regulations has, in many ways, mirrored the old poaching laws of feudal Europe, when access to hunting was restricted to land-owning elites, effectively criminalizing the subsistence activities of the poor. [87] Today, these laws, though framed under the banner of animal welfare and environmental conservation, often ignore the plight of individuals and families struggling with food insecurity.

The case of this young Afghan boy illustrates a clash between deeply held food traditions and the Western legal framework. For many communities, especially those from rural or war-torn regions, the line between public and private resources is blurred. In the boy’s eyes, the duck in the pond was not an aesthetic or environmental entity but a means of survival. His actions underscore the desperate conditions that some immigrants face in host countries, and how the rigid application of Western regulations further marginalizes them. “Parks Constable (PC) Iqbal Sheryar, who speaks fluent Urdu, met with an angry response when he told the boy to buy a bird from a nearby branch of Sainsbury’s instead.This young guy was really upset when we told him he couldn’t take a duck from the pond, and begged us to let him jump in and grab one.”

It is difficult to blame this boy for his attempt to provide for his dying mother. While there is no evidence to support the medicinal properties of duck meat, this episode reveals the need for a profound human empathy that transcends borders and laws. The harsh enforcement of animal welfare regulations, in this case, fails to acknowledge the underlying human suffering. This incident serves as a reminder of the growing alienation between agricultural life, survival skills, and modern society’s priorities.

As societies in the Western world become more removed from subsistence-based living and agrarian religious and cultural customs, empathy for those who still rely on such practices diminishes. The story of this boy illuminates the broader issue of how sanctimonious imperialism—rooted in the commodification of life, particularly of the poor when compared to the lives of the animals of the rich—fails to provide space for nuanced considerations of poverty, migration, and survival. In Russeauian terms, the idealized perception of migrants is at fault as much as their demonization: “The conclusion of the Discourse favours not this purely abstract being, but a state of savagery intermediate between the ‘natural’ and the ‘social’ conditions, in which men may preserve the simplicity and the advantages of nature and at the same time secure the rude comforts and assurances of early society.” [88] Nevertheless, in this new world order, where food has become even more of a privilege than ever was rather than a right, the desperate attempts of the poor to preserve their lives are criminalized rather than understood or addressed.

Ultimately, these anecdotes raise questions about the moral and ethical obligations of societies toward their most vulnerable and the class hierarchies that have been established in which the life of a pet of a rich person stands above that of a poor person. Focusing solely on the conservation of animal life or the maintenance of public property is neither enough or ethically justifiable, there must be a recognition of the socioeconomic contexts in which such actions occur. This is a moment for society to reflect on its failure to extend care and resources to the poor, particularly in an age where wealth is increasingly concentrated, and inequality is more starkly defined and at moment in which the middle class could really also be devoured, not solely by the rich—as it has happened until now—but also by the hordes of poor both at its borders and within America itself who no longer have the hope of an American Dream and, therefore, have nothing to lose.

Eating at the Table of  the American Dream

What does one need to consume in order to fully assimilate into the mythos of the American Dream? Surprisingly, the answer might not lie in the sanitized ideal of hamburgers and apple pie, but in something far more visceral and deeply rooted in the nation’s past: a diet of armadillos, [89] squirrels, [90] raccoons, [91] opossums, [92] beavers, [93] groundhogs, [94] bobcats, [95] muskrats, [96] nutria, [97] and rats.  Just to name a few taboo animals, but the list could be much longer if we were to include turtles, snakes, alligators, and more. In particular, animals killed on the road can be a substantial part of families and communities’ protein intake. [98]

“For the West Virginia essay, I picked rat stew. And there were a lot of folks to whom I spoke in West Virginia who kind of took issue with that choice […] A lot of folks did not want to be painted with that stereotypical brush of ‘here we are, economically depressed and desperate, and so we empty our rodent traps directly into a stock pot in order to eat.’ But even though these issues of economic depression might be glimpsed as a stereotype, these issues were and still are in certain portions of West Virginia very real and very present. The fact that these folks were so conflicted about this particular dish made for a really exciting engagement, because there were other [people] who actually celebrated the eating of rat as a culinary cultural inheritance.” [99]

Historically, many of these animals were consumed out of necessity, particularly in the context of economic depression, rural poverty, and survival. But today, such consumption, rather than representing the struggle for survival, has been repackaged, commercialized, and glamorized for modern audiences—particularly through reality television and online content.

In contemporary media, the consumption of these so-called “non-traditional” animals is often framed as adventurous or exotic, aligning with the rugged individualism that lies at the heart of the American ethos. Shows such as Duck Dynasty, Swamp People, Doomsday Preppers, and Man vs. Wild [100] highlight individuals and communities who maintain these eating practices as part of a performance of resilience and self-reliance. The narrative is not merely about surviving in the wild but about embracing an American tradition that valorizes conquering nature, killing it, and cooking it under the banner of overcoming adversity to reach a state of permanent abundance thanks to hyper-masculinity.

However, this media-driven version of consumption is far removed from the historical and present-day realities of food insecurity. For those facing poverty or displacement, eating these animals is often a matter of necessity, not choice. The contemporary glamorization of such practices ignores the underlying desperation that has historically driven people to rely on these alternative food sources. In many cases, the consumption of these animals was or is a marker of crisis rather than an emblem of cultural identity or American exceptionalism. The glorified presentation of this consumption sanitizes the desperation that often accompanies it and reinforces an exclusionary narrative of what it means to be American.

This stark divide between necessity and spectacle—either for demonization or for the hypocritical exercise of liberal piety in the representation of the downtrodden [101]—raises larger questions about the contradictions inherent in the American Dream itself. At its core, the American Dream promises opportunity, freedom, and the pursuit of happiness, but it often fails to address the systemic barriers that prevent many from accessing basic necessities. The modern romanticization of eating non-conventional animals presents a skewed vision of resilience—one that overlooks the structural issues that make such consumption necessary for marginalized populations. For the economically privileged, eating a squirrel might be a novelty, cultural tourism, or a form of entertainment, but for the economically disenfranchised, it is a sobering reality of limited resources.

The looming fear of uncertainty exposes a grim reality: while resilience is often praised, many are utterly unprepared to practice it. This gap reveals the precarious position of the middle class, especially as the future becomes increasingly unstable. Economic crises, regional wars fueled by U.S. foreign policy in its pursuit of a unipolar world, and environmental catastrophes have already demonstrated the fragility of urban infrastructures. When supply chains collapse, the state’s inadequacies in responding effectively become starkly evident, leaving the precarious American bourgeoisie to fend for itself—reminiscent of the post-apocalyptic scenarios depicted in films such as White Zombie (1932), The Ghost Breakers(1940), King of the Zombies (1941), I Walked with a Zombie (1943), and The Plague of the Zombies (1966). The Haitian tradition of necromancy, once central to these narratives, fades until George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968), which delivers a sharp critique of middle-class hypocrisy, exposing its racism and consumerism. [102]

In this context, food shifts from being a mere necessity to a cultural battleground, revealing the deep-seated tensions simmering within American society. The imagery of pet eating has morphed into a symbol of societal collapse, where media representations of disaster blur indistinguishably with lived reality, creating a state of continuous fear—a simulacrum without end. [103] This blending of reality and representation feeds into the U.S.’s sanctimonious imperialism, which thrives on managing, if not outright creating, crises rather than preventing them while generating a propaganda of righteousness, democratic enlightenment, and superior civility. This dynamic allows corporations—much like the fictional Umbrella Corporation in Resident Evil (2002)—to profit from the chaos, capitalizing on disaster as a commodity.

Those marginalized by economic inequality, race, or migration are forced to navigate a food system that not only devalues their traditional knowledge and survival strategies but appropriates them for media mass consumption generating a pornographic spectacle at the intersection of food and poverty. Meanwhile, the middle class stares anxiously into the abyss, aware that the very system offering them tenuous stability is the same inegalitarian structure that perpetuates marginalization. Should this system falter, they too would be thrust into a race for survival—one visible in the realities that surrounds them [104] and for which they are woefully unprepared. The rituals of consumption in America, far from being neutral or universal, are deeply entrenched in the historical legacies of colonialism, class, and race, reflecting power, privilege, and the consequences of a society built on systemic inequity.

It is also a society built—despite the constant creation of an imperial historical legacy—on the lack of memory. Selective forgetfulness is at the core of American hypocritical engagement with issues related to race and class which may undermine the basis of the American dream. 

“One Jamestown colonist describe the ‘world of miseries’ that ensued in the summer of 1609: ‘Now all of us at James Towne begin to feel the sharp prick of hunger which no man [can] truly describe but he which hathe Tasted the bitterness thereof.’ Colonists turned to their own dogs, casts, and horses for food, and some did ‘those things which seem incredible,’ including digging up corpses out of graves to eat them. One man, so desperate and mad, murdered his pregnant wife and ‘salted her for his food.’” [105]

The media’s role in shaping contemporary narratives of food and immigrants in the context of the American Dream and political partisanship should not be overlooked. Reality shows that feature the consumption of wild animals or showcase survivalist practices often reinforce an idealized version of the American frontier mentality, ignoring the socio-economic realities that lead individuals to eat such animals in the first place. The framing of these practices as adventurous or back to nature sidesteps the critical issue of food insecurity, which has affected and affects millions across the United States, particularly in rural and under-resourced communities, who framed with the label of deplorables are descending a further step of alienation in the social hierarchy from the position of undeserving poor. [106] Instead, the spectacle becomes an entertainment product that distracts from the urgent need for systemic change in how food resources are distributed and who gets to partake in the American Dream.

The cultural and socio-economic factors that shape food practices in America reveal a complex interplay between tradition, survival, and class. The consumption of unconventional animals, alongside historical and contemporary acts of cannibalism, not only underscores the material realities of hunger but also serves as a metaphorical challenge to the ideals of the American Dream. These eating practices disrupt the sanitized myth of universal prosperity, forcing a confrontation with the inequalities that define American society. [107]

Media representations of such practices play a dual role: they simultaneously provoke discomfort and perpetuate systemic inequities by reframing narratives of poverty and survival as sensational or deviant. [108] This approach distracts from addressing deeper structural issues such as food insecurity and economic disenfranchisement. [109] Moreover, the moralistic posturing of both the political left and the populist right on social media amplifies this narrative. These groups often invoke discourses of purity and ethical superiority, reinforcing entrenched class divisions and hierarchies under the guise of virtue. [110] In this sense, the media spectacle surrounding food practices does not merely reflect cultural anxieties but actively shapes societal perceptions of poverty and class. [111]

Ultimately, in America, what one eats transcends individual preference or culinary tradition; it becomes a performative act that signifies one’s position within the socio-economic and cultural landscape. [112] The choices around food, constrained by access and affordability, expose the contradictions inherent in the American Dream. While the rhetoric surrounding the Dream espouses meritocracy and abundance, the stark realities of food practices reveal the persistence of exclusion, inequality, and an unforgiving hierarchy that delineates the boundaries of belonging. [113]

The portrayal of abundant food as a hallmark of a “Golden Era” has been deeply embedded in cultural narratives, fueled by media and celebrity endorsements that glorify opulent consumption. This image, centered around a select cohort of visibly affluent individuals, functions as a potent emblem of modern prosperity, reinforcing societal aspirations toward an idealized vision of success. Within this framework, food abundance becomes a proxy for limitless wealth, suggesting that those unable to access such abundance are victims of personal inadequacy rather than systemic inequities.

This ideological construct perpetuates a powerful myth: that riches and resources are universally attainable, masking the socio-economic barriers and ethical distortions that define the distribution of wealth in contemporary society. It obscures the role of corporate malfeasance, particularly strategies designed to concentrate resources in the hands of a few at the expense of broader societal welfare. These distortions are further exacerbated by the commodification of food as a luxury symbol, transforming sustenance into an instrument of socio-economic stratification.

As a result, the media’s relentless celebration of affluence obfuscates the ethical dilemmas underlying this “Golden Era,” fostering complacency about the structural conditions that maintain inequality. Rather than serving as an aspirational ideal, this glorified abundance functions as a mechanism of exclusion, delineating a hierarchy of access that contradicts the egalitarian rhetoric often associated with contemporary prosperity.

The cornucopia, an ancient symbol of abundance and divine provision, originates in classical mythologies where it represented the benevolence of deities bestowing sustenance and protection upon humankind. [114] In contemporary discourse, however, this symbol has been appropriated to suggest a universal access to wealth and luxury, an egalitarian ideal that rarely reflects reality. [115] The metaphor, stripped of its mythological and communal roots, now serves as a rhetorical device that reinforces neoliberal ideologies. [116] Within this framework, the inability to partake in material abundance is framed as personal inadequacy, effectively obscuring the structural inequities and systemic barriers that perpetuate socio-economic stratification. [117]

This reimagining of the cornucopia aligns seamlessly with neoliberal narratives, which emphasize individual agency while disregarding the broader socio-political structures that shape access to resources. [118] By presenting upward mobility as universally attainable, the ideology shifts the responsibility for economic success entirely onto the individual, absolving institutions of accountability for entrenched disparities. [119] Those who cannot access this abundance are cast as deficient or “unworthy,” their struggles rationalized as mere individual failings within an ostensibly boundless system. This reframing not only sustains the illusion of an egalitarian society but also normalizes exclusion by portraying it as a result of personal failure rather than structural disenfranchisement. [120] The ethical implications of this narrative, compounded by its pervasive influence in media and public policy, demand a critical examination of the mechanisms by which symbols like the cornucopia are deployed to perpetuate inequality. [121] 

The cultural discourse surrounding food abundance in contemporary society reflects a profound dissonance between representation and reality. Framed through media spectacles, celebrity-endorsed lifestyles, and advertising campaigns, the imagery of boundless feasts and culinary indulgence perpetuates a narrative of universal access to luxury. [122] This rhetoric, however, obscures the exploitative labor practices, environmental degradation, and systemic inequities embedded within the production and distribution of food resources. [123] While the rhetoric of abundance is constructed as aspirational and inclusive, it functions to normalize inequality by masking the mechanisms of power that sustain wealth concentration and privilege for a select few. [124] Those who fail to achieve this ideal are often dismissed as lacking personal initiative or resilience, a judgment that further entrenches neoliberal individualism. [125] 

Underlying this discourse is the commodification of food as a status symbol, where conspicuous consumption is equated with success and self-worth. [126] Yet, the realities faced by marginalized groups—those systematically excluded from these displays of excess—underscore the inequities inherent in this system. [127] For instance, agricultural workers, who are indispensable to the food industry, often labor under exploitative conditions that leave them economically vulnerable and socially marginalized. [128] Similarly, global supply chains rely on practices that exacerbate environmental degradation, deforestation, and resource depletion, disproportionately affecting impoverished communities that are least equipped to mitigate these harms. [129]

This juxtaposition between the ostensible universality of abundance and the lived experiences of exclusion highlights the performative nature of modern food culture. [130] The promotion of luxury as an attainable ideal reinforces structural inequalities by perpetuating the illusion of meritocratic access while concealing the systemic barriers that perpetuate exclusion. [131] Addressing these contradictions necessitates a critical interrogation of the power structures that commodify food, marginalize labor, and exploit environmental resources, demanding a shift from superficial narratives of abundance to a deeper recognition of justice and equity.

This ideology not only depoliticizes hunger and inequality but also moralizes them, reinforcing the societal stigma attached to poverty and framing those who “fail” as inherently flawed. In this view, economic disparity is seen not as a consequence of structural deficiencies but as a reflection of personal incompetence. By perpetuating these narratives, media and cultural icons absolve the system of accountability, ensuring that the voices of those marginalized by socio-economic barriers remain unheard. This contrast sharply delineates the “loser” [132] from the powerful body of the “provider” in American cultural narratives. [133] The provider, seated prominently at the head of an imagined American table, embodies a cornucopia of abundance. This abundance serves not only as a literal testament to his success but also as a powerful symbol of dominance and control, reinforcing his position through a phallic display of virility, wealth, and excess. This figure sustains both his own myth of self-sufficiency and the broader societal meta-narratives that equate his achievement with masculine prowess, positioning his success as a result of inherent superiority rather than structural advantage, and framing the failures of others as personal deficiencies rather than byproducts of systemic inequities. 

This mythology of the provider functions as an ideological cornerstone in reinforcing a rigid socioeconomic hierarchy, wherein access to resources is symbolically linked to moral virtue and personal worth. The image of boundless abundance within a competitive framework creates a sociocultural space where wealth serves as both proof of virtue and as a vehicle for social exclusion. Those who “cannot reach the table” are thus not only economically disadvantaged but are symbolically marked as failures in a deeply moralized system of meritocratic mythologies based on a permanent status of desire and pleasure. [134]

“At a time when labor capacity was being systematically ex­ploited, how could this capacity be allowed to dissipate itself in pleasurable pursuits, except in those-reduced to a mini­ mum-that enabled it to reproduce itself?” [135]

In this repressive and exploitative framework, public displays of virility must conform to socially sanctioned norms, where manhood is not flaunted through indulgent sensuality but rather sublimated into patriarchally approved emblems and symbolically legitimized achievements. The “provider” thus occupies the head of the table—a distinctly phallic seat of power—transforming his manhood into a cornucopia of resources. Here, the cornucopia is not merely an image of abundance but a symbol of disciplined, productive masculinity, a performative display of controlled prowess and a socially acceptable embodiment of power and vitality. By claiming his place at this table, and displaying his manhood in the form of a cornucopia of the American Dream, he asserts his status as the ultimate giver, marking success in terms of what he can lay before others to consume. His abundance, carefully constructed within this patriarchal framework, is delivered with a smile [136] and is both proof of his personal success and a testament to a system that equates his triumph with wealth and virtue—winning [137]—and those who cannot compete with moral failure. This tableau, where masculinity and provision are interwoven, reinforces a hierarchy that thrives on controlled desire and the suppression of pleasure outside the bounds of economic productivity.

The American Dream, therefore, must be sustained by an idealized narrative around food that is intrinsically glamourized, often presented through glossy, high-quality media productions that celebrate stories of success, resilience, and personal triumph. This vision eschews any association with poverty or scarcity, elements that would disrupt the carefully crafted mythos of boundless prosperity and opportunity within American culture. Consequently, representations that lack the visual luster of high production values or that center on the everyday struggles of food insecurity are conspicuously absent from the mainstream storytelling of American life. These omissions are crucial to the American Dream’s ongoing appeal, allowing it to persist as a universal symbol of achievement despite stark socio-economic disparities. Without such selective portrayals, the dream’s allure and its supposed attainability would be severely undermined, exposing it as a narrative contingent upon the systematic exclusion of poverty and hardship writing, the spectacle of Hollywood’s celebrity culture endorsing charity campaigns and fundraising efforts further illustrated the disconnect between lived economic realities and the excesses associated with the American Dream. In the context of record inflation and widespread financial insecurity, the performative generosity of the wealthy few appeared to underscore this disparity rather than alleviate it. These campaigns, often accompanied by overtly polished visuals and self-promotional narratives, present a stark contrast to the everyday struggles of the average citizen, obscuring the systemic barriers to financial stability faced by many Americans. This dynamic reveals an underlying paradox: while the American Dream purports to offer everyone the chance to “make it,” it remains largely a privilege of the wealthy and powerful, whose actions frequently underscore the exclusionary nature of this ideal.

For instance, depictions of poverty or food scarcity within the context of American exceptionalism are systematically erased or minimized. By obscuring the visibility of poverty, the dominant media perpetuate a narrative where success and opulence are framed as universally accessible, regardless of structural inequalities that limit access to such abundance. This “masking effect” is, in part the influence of celebrity culture and Hollywood’s role in creating and sustaining the myth of endless opportunity. High-profile endorsements and public charity drives further entrench the idea of boundless generosity while simultaneously maintaining a significant socio-economic divide. In these portrayals, wealth is celebrated not as a form of privilege but as a manifestation of character or inherent worth, reinforcing a the hypocritical façade that everyone is deserving while enforcing a hierarchy that is not meritocratic and presents a spectacularized version of the American Dream as manifestation of one’s exceptional destiny.

The emphasis on spectacle over substance, saturated with sanitized narratives and high-definition visuals, reinforces the cultural mythos of the American Dream as universally attainable by those who simply “work hard enough.” [138] This meticulously curated narrative, however, glosses over the stark realities of poverty and the entrenched systemic barriers that constrain upward mobility for the majority. [139] By obscuring these structural inequities, the American Dream’s promise of prosperity becomes an illusion accessible only to a privileged few, while those excluded are rendered invisible within the dominant discourse. This erasure not only perpetuates the myth but also absolves societal systems of accountability for the economic and social hierarchies they sustain. At the heart of this illusion lies the table of the American Dream, [140] where the cornucopia of abundance is displayed—not as a symbol of collective prosperity, but as a performative affirmation of individual achievement, exclusionary by design and inherently tied to patriarchal power. [141]

Seated at the table of the American Dream, one is not merely expected to partake in abundance but to do so in a manner that signifies control, ownership, and unchallenged dominance. To eat in peace is to affirm that what is consumed has been earned through one’s labor and sanctioned by the patriarchal structures that sustain this dream. [142] The table—an exclusionary site cloaked in the rhetoric of inclusivity—requires a feast on the symbolic manhood of the provider, unthreatened by competition or external encroachments. Consequently, any perceived challenge—particularly from migrants—is framed not simply as an economic or social threat but as an existential assault on the sanctity of this idealized construct. [143] This construct perpetuates itself by consuming, excluding, and subjugating others, reinforcing a cycle of exploitation and fear under the guise of abundance and progress. [144] Ultimately, the table becomes a locus where all participants are conscripted to contribute, directly or indirectly, to the insatiable cornucopia that feeds the fragile, fearful, and perpetually threatened ego of the American man. [145]

We Were Never Invited to the Table of the American Dream

“Jackson’s 1814 treaty with the Creeks started something new and important. It granted Indians individual ownership of land, thus splitting Indian from Indian, breaking up communal landholding, bribing some with land, leaving others out—introducing the competition and conniving that marked the spirit of Western capitalism. It fitted well the old Jeffersonian idea of how to handle the Indians, by bringing them into ‘civilization.’” [146]

Historically, Native American tribes, particularly in the Great Plains, have faced harsh condemnation for consuming dog meat, an act that has been met with disdain and misunderstanding. The adage “you are what you eat” has been weaponized in such contexts to dehumanize Indigenous peoples, reducing their identity to the animals they consume. In the colonial and frontier eras, this logic allowed settlers and other dominant groups to justify treating Native Americans as subhuman, equating the consumption of dog meat with the status of vermin. The implicit reasoning followed a disturbing syllogism: If you eat dog, you are a dog, and therefore, I may treat you as a dog—vermin to be shot and exterminated. Such views reinforced violent colonial policies and justified atrocities against Native populations.

The cultural tradition of eating dog meat among some Native American communities, however, carries much deeper significance than the simplified, derogatory interpretations suggest. In certain tribes, notably the Sioux, [145] the consumption of dog meat was a ritual practice imbued with profound respect, particularly in the context of hospitality.

Image 7: George Catlin, Sioux Dog Feast, 1832-1837. Oil on canvas. Dimensions: 60.9 x 73.7 cm. Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. Joseph Harrison, Jr.

Among the Sioux, for example, dog meat was served as a high honor to guests, symbolizing generosity and reverence. The ritual of offering a dog feast to visitors represented an act of utmost respect, rather than the primitive or uncivilized behavior outsiders often ascribed to it.

“George Catlin participated in a Sioux Indian ceremony of friendship at which a meal of dog meat was the center of the event. He explained the significance of this meal in his journal: ‘This feast was unquestioningly given to us as the most undoubted evidence they could give of their friendship. Knowing the spirit in which it was given, we could not but treat it respectfully, and receive it as anything but a high and marked compliment. The dog feast is truly a religious ceremony. The Indian sees fit to sacrifice his faithful companion to bear testimony to the sacredness of his vows of friendship.’” [148]

Such practices were part of a broader, nuanced relationship with animals and the natural world, where the act of consumption was deeply intertwined with spiritual beliefs, survival practices, and communal identities. [149] “Thus, some Native American dogs in the Northeast were afforded carefully prepared graves and were occasionally placed in human and other burials. Other dogs, even at the same site, were consumed and their remains discarded.” [150]

The critique of indigenous food customs, such as the consumption of dogs among Native American communities, mirrors the broader colonial strategy of undermining non-European cultural practices to assert imperial dominance. Such denunciations are not limited to interactions with indigenous peoples but extend to immigrant culinary traditions, which have been similarly stigmatized. These critiques often reflect the intersection of class, race, and cultural hegemony, where food becomes a marker of identity and otherness. For example, immigrant groups were frequently caricatured for consuming foods deemed “taboo” within Anglo-Saxon norms, much as Native Americans were disparaged for their dietary customs. This dynamic reveals a hierarchy of taste, where dominant cultural groups cast the consumption habits of others as uncivilized or inferior. Even within the colonial metropole, cultural distinctions in food practices were weaponized: the French were derided by the English for their consumption of frogs and horse meat—foods which defy the taboos of much of Anglo-Saxon culinary culture. Such instances underscore how imperialism and cultural superiority were constructed and reinforced through the denigration of dietary practices, using food as a symbolic battleground to distinguish “civilized” from “uncivilized,” insider from outsider. This process reveals how deeply food intersects with power structures, cultural identity, and historical narratives, reflecting broader patterns of marginalization and resistance.

While stereotypes surrounding European dietary habits, such as the consumption of frogs and horses, are pervasive, they fail to account for the profound regional and cultural variability across the continent. Assertions that “Europeans eat frogs and horses” or, conversely, that they universally abstain, oversimplify the intricacies of European food traditions. In reality, these practices reflect localized customs shaped by historical, environmental, and economic factors rather than monolithic cultural norms. For instance, while frog legs (cuisses de grenouilles) are celebrated as a delicacy in parts of France, they remain largely absent or even taboo in much of Northern Europe. Similarly, the consumption of horse meat varies widely, with nations such as Italy, Belgium, and France incorporating it into traditional dishes, whereas it is met with cultural resistance in the United Kingdom and Ireland.

These culinary distinctions are often appropriated into broader narratives of cultural superiority or otherness, particularly within colonial and imperial contexts. During the 19th and early 20th centuries, the denigration of certain European food customs served as a means to reinforce Anglo-Saxon cultural hegemony, positioning “other” European practices as aberrations from an implicitly “civilized” norm. This phenomenon mirrors the ways in which imperial powers framed the dietary habits of colonized peoples as primitive or grotesque to justify cultural and political domination. Such constructions of culinary otherness, both within Europe and beyond, reveal the intersection of food with power, identity, and the politics of exclusion.

In both cases, whether in the context of Native American dog feasts or French frog legs, or any other country’s eating practices food becomes a symbolic marker of identity, shaping social mythologies and serving as a locus for both community and exclusion. [151] Food rituals, the taboos or celebrations associated with them, and the relationship to the animal and the environment, everything functions not just as sustenance but as critical elements of health, wealth, and social existence. [152] They create boundaries between the “civilized” and the “savage,” between the familiar and the foreign, between “us” and “them.” [153]

To accurately understand these practices, a reconstruction of Native American food traditions is necessary, free from the colonial lens that sought to demonize Indigenous peoples for their survival strategies. It is necessary to embrace the notion of historical and contemporary regional variations in food culture, it is essential to recognize and respect the diversity within Native American culinary traditions, as well as their profound connections to cultural identity, ritual, and survival. [154] The Sioux tribe’s dog feast should be understood as a ceremonial gesture of hospitality, a cultural practice that, like all food traditions, carries deep symbolic meaning and reflects the values and priorities of the community.

This reframing of Indigenous food practices highlights the critical need to engage in a more nuanced discussion about how food, culture, and identity are intertwined. Dog meat, in the context of Native American traditions, serves as more than mere sustenance; it is a profound symbol of respect and survival, misunderstood by those outside these cultures. Oversimplifying such traditions into taboos and forms of discrimination not only erases their significance but also perpetuates harmful stereotypes that misrepresent the cultural richness of Native peoples.

Moreover, this narrative sets a troubling precedent. By distinguishing “acceptable” food practices—those performed by the colonizer—from “unacceptable” ones practiced by Indigenous communities or migrants, or by denying their existence, it establishes a hypocritical moral framework. This double standard allows for the romanticization or normalization of European culinary practices that are, in many cases, considered unusual or repulsive elsewhere. The French consumption of horse meat, escargot or frog legs, for example, is often viewed through a lens of cultural sophistication, despite being taboo in neighboring cultures. Yet, when Native Americans engaged in the consumption of dog meat, this practice was cast as primitive or grotesque, reinforcing colonial notions of hierarchy and civilization. This dynamic exposes the arbitrariness of food taboos and the ways in which military power influences cultural narratives establishing imperialistic norms. 

At the core of this issue lies a broader question about how American cultural imperialism constructs identities through food practices or inflicts harm across generations by promoting dangerous dietary norms. [155] Food practices, deeply intertwined with social and political structures, serve as mechanisms of inclusion and exclusion. They delineate who belongs to the cultural mainstream and who is relegated to the margins. Moreover, these practices are often weaponized as ideological tools, demonizing the cultural habits of adversarial groups. [156] This dynamic is vividly illustrated in the controversy surrounding Springfield’s alleged consumption of cats and dogs. The debate, regardless of the veracity of such claims, is not resolved through attempts to debunk specific allegations. [157] Instead, it invites an exploration of the intricate interplay between shared food traditions, cultural histories, and economic realities. [158] As I argue throughout this essay, framing the discussion in moralistic or racially charged terms—rather than addressing the underlying economic inequities and the lack of institutional support—is a deliberate political strategy. [159]

Such moralistic condemnation, disconnected from practical solutions, operates not as a means of resolving systemic issues but as a vehicle for generating social media fervor. [160] This phenomenon becomes particularly potent when deployed as a tool to manipulate public sentiment in the highly polarized context of the U.S. 2024 elections. [161] The uproar over food practices exemplifies the instrumentalization of cultural anxieties, diverting attention from the root causes of the problem—economic disparity, insufficient resource allocation, and structural neglect—while reinforcing existing societal divisions. [162]

The condemnation of Native American and immigrant food traditions reflects not only entrenched culinary biases but also the enduring legacy of colonialism. This project, aimed at devaluing Indigenous and migrant identities, practices, and cosmologies, extends into contemporary frameworks of exclusion. [163] However, the well-intentioned defense of migrants accused of consuming animals like cats and dogs often falls short if it ignores the cultural and economic realities of their lived experiences. [164] These food customs are not isolated phenomena but are deeply embedded in the ritual, survival, and spiritual practices of Native and migrant cultures, persevering through centuries of colonial oppression. [165]

Reconstructing these food traditions transcends the act of historical recovery; it constitutes a critical intervention in addressing the broader cultural and moral hypocrisies that permeate modern U.S. attitudes toward food and survival. [166] By interrogating how Indigenous and migrant food practices have been marginalized and demonized, we can illuminate the broader power structures that shape these culinary customs as markers of inclusion or exclusion. [167] Food thus emerges as a symbolic battleground, a site where Indigenous and migrant communities resist erasure and assert their identities against the colonial and imperialistic frameworks that seek to assimilate or obliterate them. [168]

Indigenous peoples and immigrants were never truly invited to partake at the table of the American Dream. Their exclusion was not a matter of mere oversight or economic status but a deliberate act of marginalization, predicated on their refusal—or inability—to erase their cultural markers and to assimilate. [169] At this table, only those who conformed to the norms of Anglo-Saxon individualism and ruthless competition were granted a seat. Their distinct values and cultural markers presented a direct challenge to the ruthless individualism and relentless competition that form the foundation of the American Dream. [170] The persistence of these cultural norms stood in stark contrast to the ethos of the Anglo-Saxon colonizers, whose imperialist worldview sought to suppress alternative frameworks of existence. [171]

The ritualistic consumption of dog meat, for instance, should not be narrowly interpreted through the lens of colonial prejudice but instead recognized as an essential element of Native American traditions of hospitality and survival. [172] This practice, deeply embedded in cultural specificity, underscores the profound differences between Indigenous worldviews and those of their conquerors. [173] Comparable practices exist globally—in regions across Europe, Africa, and other parts of the world—where consuming animals deemed taboo by imperialist narratives reflects localized traditions tied to survival and hospitality. [174] These acts, far from being aberrations, are manifestations of universal ethical principles of existence and social bonding that transcend cultural boundaries. [175]

These practices—integral to Indigenous and migrant food traditions—are systematically dismissed at the table of the American Dream, which denies them any level of cultural understanding. This rejection is evident not only in overt marginalization but also in the leftist moralistic framing of such practices as embodying a primordial, almost caricatured, innocence. Recent political narratives, particularly those advanced by left-leaning U.S. media in response to Donald Trump’s rhetoric surrounding alleged “pet consumption” by Haitian migrants, exemplify this dynamic. These narratives are not only racially charged and politically motivated, revealing a polarized confrontation between the so-called Alt-Left and Alt-Right, but also reflective of a broader failure in journalism to provide nuanced, contextualized accounts of food traditions within their socio-political frameworks. [176]

By prioritizing ideological alignment over factual rigor—even while presenting debunking and fact-checking as hallmarks of moralistic truth—such reporting paradoxically perpetuates the very colonial and exclusionary structures it claims to critique. [177] In this case, the media’s defense of Democratic party strategies becomes less about advancing an informed public discourse and more about imposing a one-sided narrative. [178] This approach not only distorts the cultural significance of food practices but also perpetuates an odious form of moral grandstanding that precludes genuine understanding of the lived realities of marginalized communities. [179]

Furthermore, the media’s failure to critically analyze the political history of Haiti and its fraught relationship with the United States is striking, particularly given the U.S. government’s historical responsibility towards Haiti. This responsibility extends beyond the realm of humanitarian obligations and is rooted in a legacy of intervention, including the massacre of over 11,500 people during the U.S. occupation of Haiti in 1919 and decades of political manipulation designed to secure American interests. [180] Through policies aimed at maintaining puppet regimes and stifling self-determination, the U.S. has perpetuated a state of limbo in which Haiti remains neither fully sovereign nor integrated into the American political fold. [181] These strategies suggest a deliberate effort to undermine the possibility of effective governance abroad, as such independence would conflict with U.S. economic and geopolitical priorities, potentially transforming Haiti from a subjugated vassal state into a self-sufficient nation free from American control. [182]

The American Dream exists as a distinctly insular construct, confined within the borders of the United States and accessible only to those willing to engage in the ruthless adversarial competition that characterizes the lower classes’ struggle within a patriarchal system. This system inherently marginalizes those who embody or advocate for matriarchal values—whether Indigenous peoples or immigrant communities—by positioning them as cultural outsiders whose philosophies threaten the foundational tenets of individualistic gain. [183]

The metaphorical table of the American Dream, as experienced historically and presently by Native Americans and immigrants, exemplifies a deeply patriarchal and phallocentric ideology. This ideology celebrates abundance through consumption—often at the expense of the creatures of the land and the land itself—and rationalizes this exploitation as a form of personal and collective progress. [184] For Native Americans, the near-extinction of the bison under settler colonialism serves as a stark symbol of this destructive ethos. [185] The bison, once integral to Indigenous economies, ecosystems, and spiritual practices, was systematically annihilated as a deliberate tactic to dismantle Native cultures and assert dominion over the land. [186]

The hypocritical outrage among settler descendants over the perceived threat of immigrants or Indigenous peoples consuming domesticated animals—symbolized as “pets”—stems from an unacknowledged fear of historical retribution. [187] This fear reflects a psychological projection of guilt for the settler colonial practices that destroyed ecosystems and livelihoods in the name of the same unchecked consumption they now condemn. [188] Such anxieties frame immigrants and Indigenous peoples as existential threats, likening them to “zombies” who, dispossessed and marginalized, return to demand restitution for historical and ongoing injustices. [189]

The specter of these “zombies” is emblematic of broader anxieties within settler-colonial societies: fears of displacement by new waves of the dispossessed, who are hungrier, more determined, and driven by the same relentless pursuit of survival that once characterized the settlers themselves. [190] Ultimately, the narrative of the American Dream, with its reliance on exclusion and consumption, perpetuates cycles of exploitation, ensuring that the table remains a site of inequity, exclusion, and eventual reckoning. [191]

This dread—the specter of the “zombies”—speaks to the subconscious within settler-colonial societies. It is not merely the terror of losing control but also the haunting recognition of an impending reckoning. These “zombies” are those who the U.S. has driven from their lands, dispossessed with wars, and marginalized through economic policies. They are ready to return, hungrier and more relentless, knocking at the gates to demand recompense. They come not merely to claim their due but to present the bill for all that was devoured—at the table of the American Dream.

The Bill for the Dinner at the Table of the American Dream

Is it conceivable that the United States will one day pay the bill for the consequences—both intended and unintended—of its pursuit of the American Dream? What form could such reparations take?

In the cacophony of political propaganda generated by the stances of the Alt-Right and Alt-Left, a provocative thought arises: What if reparations for the damage caused by U.S. interventions abroad took the form of the most cherished symbols of middle-class domesticity—pets, specifically cats and dogs? These interventions, ranging from direct military involvement to clandestine operations managed through secret organizations and “soft power” institutions like NGOs, have destabilized regions globally. Such efforts, as Stephen Kinzer notes, are not anomalies but part of a long history of regime changes orchestrated to serve U.S. geopolitical interests. [192] The orchestrated upheavals have often benefited U.S. power structures, leaving destruction in their wake. The metaphorical “bill” for the feast served at the table of the American Dream must eventually come due.

The burden of this reckoning transcends distinctions of race, gender, religion, and political affiliation. Every citizen who has participated in or benefited from the American Dream—whether through direct engagement or the passive acceptance of social and political ignorance—bears some responsibility for the devastation wrought upon others. If citizens in Iraq, Gaza, Vietnam, or Haiti are held accountable for the actions of their governments or are expected to resist war crimes and genocides, then consistency demands the application of this moral standard to all U.S. citizens. Michael Walzer’s exploration of moral complicity underscores that those who passively allow injustices to flourish share responsibility with the perpetrators themselves. [193]

This principle emerged from the post-World War II reckoning with Nazi Germany, where complicity was not confined to those in positions of power but extended to those who enabled atrocities through inaction or ignorance. [194] Noam Chomsky further contextualizes this notion by critiquing the moral exceptionalism that underpins much of U.S. foreign policy. [195] Such exceptionalism perpetuates the illusion of innocence while obscuring the far-reaching consequences of imperial actions.

In this context, I propose an imagined art performance as a symbolic act of restitution. Broadcast across multiple technological platforms and social media channels, this performance would feature beloved pets—cats and dogs—being taken away to be slaughtered, butchered, cooked, and consumed. This visceral spectacle would serve as an inversion of roles: the victims of U.S. expansionism reclaiming agency and confronting the very symbols of American domestic comfort. The act challenges the sanitized narratives of American moral superiority while forcing viewers to grapple with their complicity in a global system of exploitation. As Claire Bishop explains, the power of performance art lies in its ability to disrupt and provoke, creating spaces for critical reflection on entrenched norms. [196]

I define this work within the framework of Alt_Art: a post-postmodern artistic response to the reductionist ideologies of the Alt-Right and Alt-Left. [197] Alt_Art seeks to provoke reflection by subverting cultural norms, exposing hypocrisies, and reframing narratives in ways that defy ideological polarization. Through this lens, the concept forces a confrontation with uncomfortable truths about privilege, complicity, and the commodification of life itself. The performance would embody the very contradictions that Douglas Kellner identifies in media spectacles: the tension between voyeuristic consumption and moral introspection. [198]

The proposal to use pets—cats and dogs—as reparations for the United States’ involvement in the Vietnam War is a radical yet symbolic act designed to underscore the chasm between the nation’s political rhetoric and the consequences of its foreign policies. Such an idea lays bare the ways American cultural imperialism has crushed, co-opted, or erased the narratives of those it has conquered or failed to conquer. [199] The power of this concept lies not in its literal application but in its ability to provoke a confrontation with uncomfortable truths about privilege, responsibility, and commodification. As Edward Said has argued, cultural domination often operates by erasing the voices and histories of the colonized, replacing them with sanitized narratives that perpetuate the oppressor’s superiority. [200]

If individuals were to publicly steal, kill, butcher, cook, and eat pets as a form of political protest, it would constitute one of the most revolutionary acts witnessed in the U.S. since the attacks of September 11, 2001. This act, visceral and transgressive, would force a moral reckoning on a nation largely shielded from the full human cost of its global interventions. Such a performance could expose the disproportionate suffering inflicted upon countries like Haiti or Vietnam, where U.S. actions have led to immense human loss. In Vietnam alone, approximately 3.7 million people—both civilians and soldiers—died as a direct result of the war, a figure that represents not just the scale of the tragedy but the absence of accountability. [201]

Despite the devastation wrought upon Vietnam, the U.S. government has yet to adequately compensate the nation for these atrocities. Instead, its foreign policy has continued to prioritize strategic dominance over reparative justice. [202] The radical proposal to sequester pets from American households and transfer them to Vietnam as a symbolic form of restitution critiques this lack of accountability. With an estimated 86.9 million pet-owning households in the U.S., this imagined exchange juxtaposes the lives of cherished domestic animals with the human lives lost to imperialistic endeavors. [203] 

A satirical framework might even propose equating each human life lost with ten pets sent as reparations. This macabre satire highlights the commodification of life that characterizes much of Western consumer culture. [204] It draws attention to the ethical absurdity of valuing animals over human lives in contexts of war and exploitation. The proposal echoes Judith Butler’s critique of “grievable lives,” where the hierarchy of who is mourned reflects deeply entrenched systems of power and exclusion. [205] In this case, the disproportionate value assigned to American lives—and even American pets—exposes the underlying mechanisms of global inequality perpetuated by U.S. policy.

The ratio of ten pets for every Vietnamese life lost pales in comparison to the grim mathematics of retributive violence seen in contemporary conflicts, such as the ongoing tragedy in Gaza. As of November 5, 2024, the casualties of the September 8, 2023, attacks—2,977 lives lost—stand against the staggering toll of 43,391 Palestinian deaths attributed to retributive actions, yielding a ratio of 14.5 Palestinian victims for each Israeli life lost. [206] If this harrowing calculus were extrapolated to the U.S.–Vietnam context, the cost of retribution for the estimated 3.7 million Vietnamese lives lost during the war would demand the deaths of approximately 53.65 million American citizens to achieve a comparable level of security and reparation for the Vietnamese population. [207]

This exercise in macabre mathematics forces a confrontation with the disparities in how lives are valued, underscoring the stark inequities embedded within global systems of power. It invites the American public to confront not only their nation’s violent history but also the falsified narratives perpetuated by Hollywood and media propaganda about the Vietnam War. These narratives have long insulated the U.S. from accountability by reframing aggression as heroism and failure as triumph. [208] 

A radical proposal of reparation might alternatively suggest monetary compensation for those unwilling to relinquish their pets, redirecting the symbolism into financial terms. Yet even this monetary restitution would require an unprecedented reckoning, challenging the U.S. to assign tangible value to the lives lost under its military interventions.

This speculative framework does not advocate the literal implementation of such policies; rather, it serves as a provocative mechanism to spotlight the moral and ethical debts that remain unpaid. By framing reparations in unsettlingly direct terms—whether through the commodification of pets or through stark comparisons in human lives—it seeks to dismantle the comfortable insulation of American discourse. This radical reimagining underscores the complicity of U.S. media in perpetuating narratives that obscure moral responsibility and highlights the obliviousness of a middle class ensconced in consumer culture. [209]

The moral calculus presented here demands a deeper engagement with the long-term consequences of U.S. military actions and their impact on the global order. It also calls for an interrogation of how societies memorialize violence, mourn loss, and allocate accountability. By forcing these conversations, it opens a pathway toward acknowledging and addressing the broader implications of a nation’s historical and ongoing imperialist endeavors. [210]

Legal Framework for Reparations to Vietnam: A Legislative Proposal

Title: Reparations Act for the Vietnam War – Animal and Monetary Contributions

Section 1: Purpose
This act addresses the enduring moral and ethical debts owed by the United States for its involvement in the Vietnam War and its precursor, the First Indochina War. Recognizing the devastating loss of life, environmental destruction, and long-term societal destabilization caused by U.S. military actions, the act proposes a framework for symbolic and financial reparations. The initiative aims to confront historical injustices and contribute to the rebuilding of Vietnam’s physical and social infrastructure.

Section 2: Reparation Contributions
a. Animal Reparation Quota
Each pet-owning household in the United States shall contribute a minimum of ten pets. These animals will be transferred to Vietnam for allocation, disposal, or consumption as deemed appropriate by the Vietnamese government. The contribution symbolizes the profound imbalance in how human lives were valued during the war.

b. Monetary Reparation Alternative
Households unwilling or unable to provide pets must instead pay financial reparations equivalent to ten times the legal valuation of a lost pet (currently $5,000 per pet, totaling $50,000). The funds generated will be allocated to projects focused on education, healthcare, and infrastructure rebuilding in war-devastated regions of Vietnam.

Section 3: Historical Acknowledgment
This act formally acknowledges the role of the United States in exacerbating conflict in Indochina, first through support of French colonial forces during the First Indochina War and later through direct military engagement during the Vietnam War. The human cost—estimated at 3.7 million Vietnamese lives—is recognized as a profound loss demanding both material restitution and historical accountability.

Section 4: Implementation and Oversight
A Reparations Oversight Committee shall be established to manage and monitor the implementation of the animal and monetary contributions. This committee will work collaboratively with the Vietnamese government to ensure reparations are disbursed effectively and equitably.

Estimating Monetary Reparations

Calculating reparations for the Vietnam War requires an interdisciplinary approach, incorporating ethical, economic, and historical frameworks. Comparable U.S. compensation models—such as the Victims of Terrorism Compensation Program—often assign a monetary value of $250,000 to $500,000 per life lost. Applying this range to the estimated 3.7 million Vietnamese lives lost, the total compensation would range from $925 billion to $1.85 trillion. [211]

However, this figure represents only the human toll. The ecological devastation wrought by chemical defoliants like Agent Orange, which caused widespread deforestation, soil contamination, and severe health impacts, necessitates additional reparations. Conservatively estimating environmental restoration and infrastructure repair at $500 billion brings the total reparations to between $1.425 trillion and $2.35 trillion. [212]

Analysis: A Symbolic and Material Reckoning

This speculative framework highlights the United States’ reluctance to fully confront the consequences of its military interventions. By proposing a reparations model that combines the visceral symbolism of pet contributions with financial accountability, the act exposes the moral and ethical contradictions in U.S. policymaking. American society, particularly its middle class, has long benefited from narratives that obscure the destructive legacies of imperialism while maintaining a veneer of moral superiority. [213]

The provocative nature of these proposals is not intended to trivialize the horrors of war but to provoke an overdue reckoning. Through legislative mechanisms, the Reparations Act for the Vietnam War seeks to dismantle the complacency that surrounds America’s violent history, pushing both policymakers and citizens toward an unflinching engagement with the past. [214]

These estimates, while conservative and intentionally grounded in quantifiable metrics, provide a critical framework for considering the scope of reparations necessary to address the enduring legacy of U.S. involvement in Vietnam and the cost of sitting at the table of the American Dream. Any reparations program of this magnitude would be without precedent, yet it represents a vital step toward achieving a semblance of restorative justice for a nation devastated by war and its aftermath.

Crucially, these calculations fail to account for the persistent health crises caused by the widespread use of defoliants such as Agent Orange, which saturated the Vietnamese landscape with dioxins. These chemicals have left a multi-generational legacy of cancer, birth defects, and other severe health consequences, afflicting thousands of Vietnamese citizens. [215] Despite clear evidence of this toxic legacy, the United States has largely abdicated responsibility, offering only limited acknowledgment and funding insufficient to address the scale of the damage. [216]

The inclusion of “pet reparations” in this proposal is deliberately provocative, serving as a symbolic critique of the United States’ systematic devaluation of human life and exclusion from the table of the American Dream. By juxtaposing the cultural treatment of pets in the U.S. with the human suffering inflicted in Vietnam, the proposal forces a confrontation with the moral dissonance inherent in these histories. Such a thought experiment extends beyond satire, illuminating the broader failures of accountability that continue to pervade U.S. foreign policy and the propaganda of the American Dream.

As a thought experiment, the framework not only challenges entrenched perspectives on reparations but also underscores the necessity of reckoning with the past in ways that disrupt conventional paradigms. Whether through symbolic gestures, direct monetary compensation, or significant policy reform, the United States must eventually confront the profound harm it inflicted in Vietnam. The Agent Orange Museum may represent a way to present and confront the legacy of the United States in Vietnam.

Image 8: Lanfranco Aceti, Agent Orange Museum, 2024. Mixed media and AI.

Furthermore, this reckoning cannot remain isolated to a single instance; it must extend to other contexts, including the historical exploitation of Haiti during and after its U.S. occupation (1915–1934). [217]

The United States’ reluctance to engage in substantive reparative justice reveals a broader unwillingness to reconcile its imperialist actions with its professed democratic values upon which the table of the American Dream rests. Reparations, whether symbolic or material, are not merely acts of financial restitution; they are instruments for historical recognition, moral accountability, and systemic change. Without such efforts, the wounds of war—and the systemic inequalities that enabled them—will continue to fester, undermining the basic tenets of the American Dream.

If a similar reparations framework were applied to Haiti, as has been suggested for Vietnam, the scope of reparations owed to the Haitian people would be staggering. Accounting for over a century of exploitation, forced payments, and systematic harm, the following estimates illustrate the multifaceted dimensions of Haiti’s losses:

Direct Financial Extraction: Haiti was compelled to pay an indemnity to France following its independence in 1804, an amount initially set at 150 million francs. This indemnity, designed to compensate former slave owners for their “losses,” crippled Haiti’s economy for generations. Adjusted for inflation and compounded interest, this sum is now estimated to be valued at between $75 billion and $150 billion. [218] The debt was not fully repaid until 1947, solidifying Haiti’s financial dependence on foreign powers for over a century. [219]

Lost Economic Growth: The extraction of wealth and resources during the indemnity period denied Haiti the opportunity to develop its economy alongside neighboring nations. If Haiti had experienced economic growth at rates comparable to other Caribbean nations, its cumulative losses in potential GDP are estimated to range from $1 trillion to $1.5 trillion. [220] This calculation reflects the profound opportunity costs borne by a nation deprived of autonomy and resources during its formative years.

Environmental Degradation: Haiti’s environmental devastation is a direct result of exploitative colonial and neocolonial practices, including deforestation to meet export demands. This environmental degradation, exacerbated by ongoing foreign interventions and weak infrastructure, has rendered Haiti disproportionately vulnerable to natural disasters, particularly hurricanes and earthquakes. The cumulative environmental and agricultural losses could be valued at an additional $100 billion to $200 billion. [221]

Social and Human Costs: Foreign occupations, including the United States’ military presence from 1915 to 1934, as well as interventions that destabilized Haitian political systems, contributed to severe societal disruptions. Forced labor regimes, systemic violence, and political instability have had enduring effects on Haitian society. Reparations for these social and human costs could range from $500 billion to $1 trillion. [222] The destabilization perpetuated a cycle of poverty, inequality, and emigration that continues to affect Haiti today.

Total Estimate: In total, when aggregating the financial, economic, environmental, and social harms, the reparations owed to Haiti range from $1.675 trillion to $2.85 trillion. This estimate underscores the enduring legacy of imperialism and the scale of restitution required to address these compounded harms. Far from an abstract calculation, these figures represent tangible losses and the unrealized potential of a nation that has faced relentless external exploitation.

The persistent stigmatization of Haitians, whether through their depiction as “barbarians at the gate” or as “noble savages,” often centers on alleged or imagined food practices, such as the consumption of pets. Such portrayals are not only reductive but also absurd when juxtaposed against the $1.675 to $2.85 trillion in reparations that could reasonably be argued as owed by the U.S. government and American people to Haiti. These caricatures obscure deeper historical and structural injustices, deflecting attention from the substantial role the U.S.—building on the foundation of French exploitation—has played in perpetuating Haiti’s economic and political instability. [223]

The true moral and economic “cannibalism” of the American Dream lies not in migrant food practices shaped by survival or cultural preferences, but in the actions of those who benefit from systemic inequities while cloaking themselves in the veneer of middle-class civility. Media narratives amplifying these stigmatizations function as a smokescreen, deflecting scrutiny from the long-standing U.S. policies that have devastated Haiti. From imposing exploitative trade agreements to orchestrating political interventions, these policies have reinforced cycles of poverty and dependence, ensuring Haiti’s subjugation to foreign interests. [224]

This discourse on migrant food practices and their stigmatization also highlights broader cultural and economic hypocrisies. The middle-class pretense of “civility” in food consumption often ignores its own roots in exploitative systems, from industrial agriculture to labor practices reliant on undocumented workers. Such hypocrisy becomes glaring when viewed against the context of Haiti’s enforced economic marginalization and the cultural resilience required for survival . [225]

Rather than deploying food practices as instruments of exclusion within imperialistic and moralistic frameworks, the media ought to focus on juxtaposing these historical injustices with the reparations owed to Haiti. A more nuanced critique would interrogate the contradictions of food politics in the United States, where practices such as industrialized fast food and “roadkill cuisine” are often viewed with equal, if not greater, disdain by much of the global community than the consumption of pets. By framing these debates around power, culture, and survival, a critical lens can reveal the underlying contradictions of the American Dream and its moral rhetoric against the poverty of locals and immigrants alike.

Consider, for example, the stark inequity highlighted by the reparations owed to Haiti. At an estimated $1.675 to $2.85 trillion, this sum surpasses any symbolic narratives of consumption. If pets were valued at $5,000 each—the figure Tennessee courts have assigned for their worth in certain sentencing guidelines—the number of pets required to equal this debt would be staggering: Haitians could ask for 570 million pets to be killed. More poignantly, dividing the full $2.85 trillion equally among Haiti’s 11.58 million citizens would amount to approximately $246,114 per individual. [226]

This exercise underscores the profound disparity between symbolic discourse on consumption and the tangible economic reparations owed for historical exploitation. The irony of such comparisons lies in their exposure of deeper power dynamics: the use of food as a medium to stigmatize marginalized communities contrasts sharply with the absence of accountability for the systemic looting of their resources and labor. The historical extraction from Haiti—economic, environmental, and human—should demand not only reparative justice but also a reevaluation of the narratives used to sustain inequitable global structures. [227]

Image 9: Lanfranco Aceti, The Louvre Haiti, 2024. Mixed media and AI.

As part of a broader reparations framework, Haiti could propose a cultural restitution initiative that underscores the enduring legacy of colonial exploitation. One such measure might involve the construction of the Louvre Haiti, a world-class museum that would house the Mona Lisa for the next 220 years—the exact duration since Haiti’s declaration of independence. This arrangement would serve as a poignant acknowledgment of the centuries of wealth and cultural capital extracted from Haiti during its colonial subjugation, a period marked by relentless economic, social, and environmental exploitation. Laurent Dubois underscores in Haiti: The Aftershocks of History that the French government’s demand for a crippling indemnity in exchange for recognizing Haiti’s independence was a monumental act of economic plunder, the consequences of which reverberate in Haiti’s ongoing struggles with poverty and underdevelopment. [228] By housing the Mona Lisa, Haiti would symbolically invert this historical dynamic, reclaiming a measure of the cultural prominence denied to it over centuries.

The relocation of the Mona Lisa, arguably the epitome of European cultural heritage, to Haiti would carry profound symbolic weight. It would disrupt the entrenched Eurocentric hierarchy of cultural prestige, situating Haiti at the center of a global cultural dialogue. Bénédicte Savoy argues in Africa’s Struggle for Its Art: History of a Postcolonial Defeat that the retention of cultural artifacts in former colonial powers perpetuates inequalities by reinforcing colonial dominance over historical narratives and economic benefits. [229] Transferring a piece as iconic as the Mona Lisa would compel France to confront its colonial legacy while serving as a tangible acknowledgment of the cultural and material wealth extracted from Haiti. For Haiti, this act of restitution would not only restore cultural prominence but also assert its rightful place within global historical narratives, offering a counterpoint to its persistent marginalization in the cultural and political spheres.

The Louvre Haiti could serve as a beacon of cultural renaissance, fostering new avenues for tourism, scholarship, and artistic exchange. Isabelle Anatole-Gabriel et al., in their analysis of the economic impact of cultural heritage in Journal of Cultural Economics, emphasize that iconic artifacts like the Mona Lisa generate immense revenue and international attention. [230] Redirecting these resources to Haiti could catalyze significant economic growth and cultural revitalization. Beyond economic considerations, such a relocation would provoke a reimagining of international cultural heritage policies, challenging the normative practices that continue to prioritize European retention of colonial artifacts and symbols of power.

This proposal is not without its controversies. The Mona Lisa’s status as a linchpin of French national identity and its unparalleled contribution to French cultural tourism—estimated to attract millions annually—would undoubtedly spark resistance from French policymakers and the public. Yet, as Dubois and Savoy collectively argue, these objections only underscore the asymmetries in the cultural and economic power dynamics that reparations seek to address. [231] By envisioning such a radical recalibration of cultural ownership, Haiti asserts its claim to justice and historical recognition, while challenging the global community to engage in deeper reflections on the legacies of colonialism and their contemporary ramifications.

In this context, the hypocrisy behind American outrage over the potential consumption of pets by migrants shifts the discourse from a sensationalized narrative to a more critical question: why could they have been eating them? Was it a matter of cultural tradition or a response to desperate need? The distinction is crucial, as it reframes the discussion from one of moral judgment to an analysis of socio-economic realities and responsibilities that should be equally placed on the political right and left of the U.S. government and its citizens. If pet consumption was a cultural choice, it invites broader discourse on normative food practices in the U.S., where everything from industrial fast food to “roadkill cuisine” holds its place despite external perceptions of them as distasteful or grotesque.

“‘There was a time not too long ago when eating groundhog was fairly common throughout rural America,’ writes William Woys Weaver in As American as Shoofly Pie: The Foodlore and Fakelore of Pennsylvania Dutch Cuisine. Groundhog dinners were once popular fundraisers among Pennsylvania Dutch communities in the 19th and early 20th centuries, with offerings ranging from roast groundhog with bread stuffing to buttermilk-brined groundhog braised with vinegar and wild ramps.

While part of this affinity was born from resourcefulness, Weaver goes on to insist that there was more to it than that. ‘Yet properly dressed, groundhog is indeed an underrated American delicacy, and smoked groundhog is an unsung luxury—I do not exaggerate,’ he writes. Whether you call them groundhogs, woodchucks, or whistle pigs, the varmints have a mild flavor and texture that Weaver says many have likened to veal.” [232]

However, if necessity dictated the consumption, then it is imperative to reexamine the structural failures that have left so many migrants in such desperate conditions. This exposes the real flaw: the myth of participation at the table of the American Dream, which promises opportunity but delivers exploitation, particularly to migrants from countries like Haiti, whose economic conditions are largely shaped by the catastrophic consequences of U.S. foreign policies.

The consumption of pets—if indeed it occurred, as discussed in this essay—is ultimately a distraction from the real issue: the bill that the U.S. should pay in reparations. The focus should be on the human condition of the migrants themselves, and in the case of Haiti, the historical responsibilities of the U.S. government and its citizens. For over a century, U.S. interventions in Haiti have created the very conditions that force its people to migrate in desperation. Yet, while Americans are quick to condemn the survival tactics of migrants, they fail to reckon with their own complicity in the global systems that have devastated countries like Haiti.

Rather than weaponizing food practices as instruments of racial exclusion or exploitative inclusion from the table of the American Dream within pre-established imperialistic frameworks, media narratives should instead have juxtaposed the historical debts owed to Haiti against the trivial moral panic over pet consumption. In fact, American food practices—from the ubiquity of industrial fast food to the normalization of “roadkill cuisine”—with their false claims of superiority, reveal a deep hypocrisy in the outrage over migrant food choices.

Has a Haitian eaten a few pets? So what? Hopefully, they made for good eating.

“‘It will all die down and life will go on. As far as them eating whatever they want to eat, they were probably brought up that way,’ said the farmer, who grew up raising groundhogs to sell for food. ‘There’s people that will pay good money for groundhog, because it’s good eating.’” [233]

Conclusions: The American Dream as a Feast of Illusions

At its heart, the pervasive unease haunting many American communities, particularly the lower middle class, is not rooted in moral outrage over imagined acts of survival like pet consumption. Instead, it emanates from a broader existential fear: the dread of being excluded from the table where the American Dream is served. This metaphorical table has long been the symbolic centerpiece of American life, promising abundance, security, and progress. Yet, for an increasing number of Americans, especially those on the margins, this table offers only scraps—if even that.

This sense of exclusion is amplified by cultural narratives that cast the marginalized not as victims of systemic inequities but as predators threatening the fragile stability of middle-class life. The Hills Have Eyes (1977)—a film emblematic of this trope—portrays the downtrodden as monstrous cannibals lurking on the periphery, ready to exact vengeance on the “innocent” middle-class family. These cinematic fears resonate deeply with a collective American psyche shaped by the nation’s history of conquest and imperialism, both geo-political and environmental. The hills, in this context, become a metaphor for global retribution, with the “eyes” representing the world’s gaze, fixed on the contradictions of American ideals and the collateral damage of its policies that would have every right to exact vengeance. [234]

The fear of these “eyes” watching is not just about potential global reckoning but also about the internal anxieties of a fractured society. The poor, the displaced, and the forgotten are depicted as existential threats to the aspirational middle class. This narrative distracts from the real culprits: the systemic failures of a state that prioritizes imperial ambition and economic hegemony over social cohesion. In this paradigm, the pursuit of the American Dream becomes a zero-sum game, where survival is pitted against solidarity, and fear becomes the mechanism that justifies exclusion. [235]

Rather than addressing these inequities, the American state exacerbates them. Social policies, no matter how urgently needed, are frequently derided as antithetical to the ethos of self-reliance. Even those who would benefit most from such policies often reject them, perceiving assistance as a threat to autonomy or a dilution of national identity. [236] This resistance reflects a deeper paranoia embedded in the national fabric: a reluctance to confront the true costs of maintaining U.S. dominance on the global stage. The burden of this imperial project is disproportionately borne by the vulnerable—migrant communities and impoverished locals aka the deplorables—who are left to endure the fallout of policies that strip away resources while offering little in return. [237]

To reimagine the American Dream as a shared feast rather than a battleground for scraps requires a fundamental shift in narrative. It demands confronting the fear-mongering myths that demonize the other, whether at home or abroad. It also necessitates acknowledging the interconnectedness of global struggles and the domestic consequences of imperial ambitions. Only by dismantling these illusions can the United States begin to reconcile its ideals with its practices, transforming its table of abundance into one of inclusion and equity.

The visceral fear of being consumed—of domestic life being symbolically devoured—taps into a subconscious anxiety not about literal cannibalism but about existential consumption. This fear reflects the collective dread of being overrun by the “hordes at the gates,” a term encompassing not only migrants but also victims of failed economic policies, environmental devastation, and the social decay resulting from decades of dismantling public infrastructure in favor of unregulated capitalism. This systemic unraveling has transformed the United States into an oligarchy that perpetuates inequality by feeding on the illusion of the American Dream. [238] This dream, once a promise of upward mobility, now demands a multimillion-dollar price tag—a cost out of reach for most Americans and one that underscores the hollowness of its promise. [239]

The contemporary migration crisis exemplifies the broader economic machinery that sustains this inequitable system. Migrants are drawn by the same forces that have historically driven the exploitation of cheap labor, propping up an economic model built on extraction and consumption. This cycle mirrors the foundational sins of the United States: the genocide of Native American populations, the enslavement of African peoples, and the systematic displacement of indigenous and hybridized communities, such as the Haitians. Each wave of exploitation has left its mark on the American psyche. The deep-seated anxiety about immigrants consuming pets, or more broadly “taking” from established communities, reflects unresolved historical guilt. American society, built upon the literal and figurative cannibalization of peoples and their lands, remains haunted by the knowledge that these dynamics persist.

The American Dream itself—offered as a beacon of hope—functions as both bait and trap. It entices migrants with the promise of a better life while obscuring the costs borne by those who seek it. For many, the journey is marked by exploitation and disillusionment. The remnants of this dream now resemble scraps, left for the most desperate to fight over. The Fortune report on the modern cost of achieving this ideal reveals its unattainability for all but the wealthiest. [240] This economic barrier underscores how the system relies on perpetuating myths to sustain itself, while the reality of social mobility becomes increasingly elusive.

Thus, the anxiety surrounding immigration is not simply a fear of “the other” but a profound unease with the consequences of historical and ongoing exploitation. This fear is both a projection and an acknowledgment—unspoken but pervasive—that those who once consumed and displaced others may themselves be displaced. The very land, taken through force and conquest, offers no solace; its ownership is illusory in a nation where economic and social systems dictate control. Immigrants, arriving in waves driven by desperation, symbolize a continuation of the historical cycle of devouring. They are both scapegoats and reflections of a society grappling with its fractured ideals.

Ultimately, the American Dream—once the centerpiece of national identity—has become a hollow construct. The consumption of this dream has left behind not prosperity but precarity, with the most vulnerable bearing the weight of systemic failures. This endless cycle of exploitation ensures that the devouring never ceases, leaving scraps not just for migrants but for the broader American public, who cling to the promise of a dream that was never meant to sustain all.

ENDNOTES

[1] “‘In Springfield, they’re eating the dogs, the people that came in, they’re eating the cats,’ said Trump. ‘They’re eating the pets of the people that live there.’” Alice Herman, “‘They’re Eating the Cats’: Trump Rambles Falsely About Immigrants in Debate,” The Guardian, September 11, 2024, https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/article/2024/sep/10/trump-springfield-pets-false-claims. Also: Justine McDaniel, Anumita Kaur, María Luisa Paúl and Samantha Chery, “Trump’s False Claim About Haitian Immigrants Eating Pets Invokes Racist Trope,” The Washington Post, September 14, 2024, https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2024/09/14/trump-immigrants-eating-pets-racist-stereotype/.

[2] Alicia Victoria Lozano, “‘It Just Exploded’: Springfield Woman Claims She Never Meant to Spark False Rumors About Haitians,” NBC News, September 14, 2024, https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/-just-exploded-springfield-woman-says-never-meant-spark-rumors-haitian-rcna171099. 

[3] “As a Marine officer, Butler oversaw American forays into China, Nicaragua, Cuba and Haiti, and this is where he picked up his frequently expressed opinion that he was no more than a bully boy for American corporations.” Adam Parfrey, “How a Military Hero Blew the Whistle on Corporate Malfeasance,” introduction to War Is a Racket by Smedley D. Butler (1935, reprint Los Angeles, CA: Feral House, 2003), 8. Antony Loewenstein, Disaster Capitalism: Making a Killing Out of Catastrophe (London and New York: Verso, 2015), 105-154; and Alex Dupuy, “Disaster Capitalism to the Rescue: The International Community and Haiti After the Earthquake,” NACLA Report on the Americas 43 , no. 4 (2010): 14–19. Also: “In Haiti, a Factory Where Big Money, State Department and the Clintons Meet,” ABC, October 11, 2016, https://abcnews.go.com/Politics/haiti-factory-big-money-state-department-clintons-meet/story?id=42729714; and Jude Sheerin, “Us Election 2016: What Really Happened with the Clintons in Haiti?,” BBC News, November 2, 2016, https://www.bbc.com/news/election-us-2016-37826098.

[4] J. Michael Dash, Culture and Customs of Haiti (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2001), 29-30;  J. Michael Dash, Haiti and the United States: National Stereotypes and the Literary Imagination, 2nd. ed. (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997), 18-19, 24-27; Hannibal Price, “ The Haytian Question,” in The Haiti Reader: History, Culture, Politics, eds. Laurent Dubois, Kaiama L. Glover, Nadève Ménard, Millery Polyné, Chantalle F. Verna, 163-166 (Duke University Press); and Laurent Dubois,  Haiti: The Aftershocks of History (New York, New York: Metropolitan Books, 2012), 204-206. See also: Philippe Girard, Haiti: The Tumultuous History – From Pearl of the Caribbean to Broken Nation (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), 142; Gina Athena Ulysse, Why Haiti Needs New Narratives: A Post-Quake Chronicle (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2015), 3-5; Erica Caple James, Democratic Insecurities: Violence, Trauma, and Intervention in Haiti (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2010), 287-289; Peter Wirzbicki, “Fear of a Black Republic: Haiti and the Birth of Black Internationalism in the United States,” Journal of American History 111, no. 1 (June 2024): 148–149. Also: William Spivey, “How Haiti Became a Shithole Country: Europe and the United States Have Drained it for Over Two Centuries,” Medium, March 19, 2024, https://medium.com/illumination-curated/how-haiti-became-a-shithole-country-4d2d295d1828.

[5] Royal B. Hassrick, The Sioux: Life and Customs of a Warrior Society (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1964), 20. 

[6] John R. Bozell, “Changes in The role Of the Dog in Protohistoric-historic Pawnee culture,” Plains Anthropologist 33, no.119 (1988): 95–111.

[7] “Depending on the tribe, Native American dogs were sources of muscle power pulling travois and sleds, representatives of cosmic forces that were sometimes sacrificed in religious ceremonies, fellow hunters, livestock herders, sources of protein, playmates for the children, and beloved companions. In many Native American groups, dogs occupied multiple and, to modern eyes, contradictory roles simultaneously.” Katherine C. Grier, Pets in America: A History (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2006), 20. Also: David Wishart, An Unspeakable Sadness: The Dispossession of the Nebraska Indians (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1994), 132–34; Kingsley M. Bray, Crazy Horse: A Lakota Life (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2006), 19-20; and James E. Potter, ed. From Our Special Correspondent: Dispatches from the 1875 Black Hills Council at Red Cloud Agency, Nebraska (Lincoln: Nebraska State Historical Society Press, 2016), 13-19.

[8] Irène Fabry-Tehranchi, “Eating Cats and Dogs During a Lockdown: Caricatures of Besieged Paris (September 1870 – January 1871),” Cambridge University Library, June 19, 2020, https://languagecollections-blog.lib.cam.ac.uk/2020/06/19/eating-cats-and-dogs-during-a-lockdown-caricatures-of-besieged-paris-september-1870-january-1871/.

[9] Cathy Yandell, “Cannibalism and Cognition in Jean de Léry’s Histoire d’un voyage,” in Memory and Community in Sixteenth-Century France, eds. David P. LaGuardia and Cathy Yandell, 187-204 (London: Routledge, 2016).

[10] F. Xavier Medina, “Eating Cat in the North of Spain in the Early Twentieth Century,” in Consuming the Inedible: Neglected Dimensions of Food Choice, eds. M. MacClancy, Jeya Henry, and Helen Macbeth, 151-162 (New York, Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2007).

[11] Jim Clancy, “TV Chef Dropped for Cat Recipe Comments,” CNN, February 25, 2010, https://edition.cnn.com/2010/WORLD/europe/02/24/italy.chef.cat/index.html.

[12] Rachel Laudan, Cuisine and Empire: Cooking in World History (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2013), 275–278.

[13] “A Swiss pensioner has admitted to a peculiar culinary preference – cooking and eating cats. Martin Bühlmann, a 72-year-old former hunter and amateur cook, said he liked to eat the food his grandmother would have prepared, also including pig’s ear, tripe, calf’s brain, lungs, heart, fox and badger.” Caroline Mortimer, “Swiss Man Martin Bühlmann Admits to Eating Cats,” Independent, November 2, 2015, https://www.independent.co.uk/news/weird-news/swiss-man-admits-to-killing-and-eating-cats-a6718271.html. Also: Harlan Walker, Disappearing Foods: Studies in Foods and Dishes at Risk (Oxford: Oxford Symposium, 1995), 112–115; and  John Dickie, Delizia! The Epic History of the Italians and Their Food (New York: Free Press, 2008), 215–216.

[14] Adam Withnall, “Italian Man Accused of Eating 15 Adopted Cats,” The Independent, January 28, 2014, https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/europe/italian-man-accused-of-adopting-black-cats-to-eat-them-9091349.html.

[15] “Uccide un Gatto e lo Cucina in Strada,” Rtv38, July 1, 2020, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-20B08OEjrQ. This is the news report of the event: “Livorno, Uccide un Gatto e lo Cucina in Strada per Mangiarlo: Denunciato 21enne. Le Immagini Diffuse sui Social,” Il Fatto Quotidiano, Giugno 30, 2020, https://www.ilfattoquotidiano.it/2020/06/30/livorno-uccide-un-gatto-e-lo-cucina-in-strada-per-mangiarlo-denunciato-21enne-le-immagini-diffuse-sui-social/5852144/. Also, another recorded case in Palermo. “Palermo, Uccide un Gatto, lo Cucina e lo Mangia: Denunciato Immigrato Irregolare,” Giornale di Sicilia, November 22, 2022, https://palermo.gds.it/articoli/cronaca/2022/11/22/palermo-uccide-un-gatto-lo-cucina-e-lo-mangia-denunciato-immigrato-irregolare-1a5899d0-4b07-44e1-9386-d8476241f40e/. 

[16] Jason E. Pierce, Making the White Man’s West: Whiteness and the Creation of the American West (Boulder, CO: University Press of Colorado, 2016), 3-5. 

[17] William M. Robbins, “The Food Industry,” Food, Drug, Cosmetic Law Journal 5, no. 4 (1950): 297–312.

[18] “Observations Concerning the Increase of Mankind, 1751,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Franklin/01-04-02-0080. Original source: The Papers of Benjamin Franklin, vol. 4, July 1, 1750, through June 30, 1753, ed. Leonard W. Labaree (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1961), 225–234.

[19] “[…] found the colony in very bad shape, with only a few dozen colonists left. A new governor, Sir Thomas Dale, set in place a rule forbidding the killing of any cattle, swine, poultry, even dogs.” Sandra L. Oliver, Food in Colonial and Federal America (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2005), 7. 

[20] John Levi Barnard, “The Bison and the Cow: Food, Empire, Extinction,” American Quarterly 72, no. 2 (2020): 377-401.

[21] Mark Joy, American Expansionism, 1783-1860: A Manifest Destiny? (London: Routledge, 2003). Also: Jeffrey J. Malanson, “Manifest Destiny: The Monroe Doctrine and Westward Expansion, 1816–1861,” in The Routledge Handbook of American Military and Diplomatic History, the Colonial Period to 1877, eds. Antonio S. Thompson and Christos G. Frentzos, 215-222 (New York, New York: Routledge, 2015). Daniel J. Burge, A Failed Vision of Empire: The Collapse of Manifest Destiny, 1845-1872 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2022), 109-128.

[22] “Our cooking itinerary included the ‘Gut,’ through which we passed, a section of the city near the water-front fittingly named for the refuse of humanity. It was offaly awful and awfully offal— a place where Heat, Stink, Disease and Dirt were the local genii, a little hell by itself, not even paved with good intentions.” Gulian Lansing Morrill, Sea Sodoms: A Sinical [sic] Survey of Haiti, Santo Domingo, Porto Rico, Curaçao, Venezuela, Guadeloupe, Martinique, Cuba (Minneapolis, MN: Pioneer Printers, 1921), 44.

[23] “Cow Vagina on the Plate: Restaurant in Milan Serves Animals ‘in their Entirety,’” Rio Times Online, February 22, 2023, https://www.riotimesonline.com/brazil-news/miscellaneous/cow-vagina-on-the-plate-restaurant-in-milan-serves-animals-in-their-entirety/. Also: Bambi, Trippa e Lampredotto, “La Conosci la Matrice?,” September 23, 2024, https://https://www.instagram.com/reel/DAQRiJHNk4n/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==.

[24] Jake Young, “The Offal Truth,” Gastronomica 18, no. 1 (2018): 76–82. Also: Mar Llauger, Anna Claret, Ricard Bou, Laura López-Mas, and Luis Guerrero, 2021. “Consumer Attitudes toward Consumption of Meat Products Containing Offal and Offal Extracts,” Foods 10, no. 7 (2021): 1454(1)-1454(17).

[25] “In 2017, Disney, the parent company of ABC News, reportedly paid at least $177 million to settle a lawsuit by Beef Products, Inc., brought under South Dakota’s food-defamation law. At issue, you may recall, was a news report that questioned the safety and nutritional quality of ‘pink slime,’ a low-cost filler used in mass-market ground beef that was officially known as ‘lean finely textured beef.’” Brent Cunningham, “How food became a weapon in America’s culture war,” The FERN, December 12, 2022, https://thefern.org/2022/12/how-food-became-a-weapon-in-americas-culture-war/. Also: Christine Hauser, “ABC’s ‘Pink Slime’ Report Tied to $177 Million in Settlement Costs,” The New York Times, August 10, 2017, https://www.nytimes.com/2017/08/10/business/pink-slime-disney-abc.html.

[26] “And so conservative Protestants, even those disdained as ‘vulgar interlopers’ in the early days of their accumulation of wealth, were eventually co-opted, refined, and incorporated, often through the intermarriage of new money with old.” Michael Gross, Flight of the WASP: The Rise, Fall, and Future of America’s Original Ruling Class (New York: Atlantic Monthly Press, 2023), 25. Also: Eric P. Kaufmann, The Rise and Fall of Anglo-America (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), 12-13; and Eric Kaufmann, “American Exceptionalism Reconsidered: Anglo-Saxon Ethnogenesis in the ‘Universal’ Nation, 1776–1850,” Journal of American Studies 33, no. 3 (1999): 437-457.

[27] Russell Banks, Loïc Wacquant, and Christa Buschendorf, “Casting America’s Outcasts: A Dialogue between Russell Banks and Loïc Wacquant,” Amerikastudien / American Studies 53, no. 2 (2008): 209–19.

[28] There is even confusion surrounding the data on how many Haitian individuals have settled in Springfield, Ohio. Despite advancements in technology and the availability of biometric tools, one would expect more accurate and consistent records. However, estimates vary widely, with figures ranging from 12,000 to 20,000 or 32,000 people. “Why Thousands of Haitians Have Settled in Springfield, Ohio,” The New York Times, September 14, 2024, https://www.nytimes.com/2024/09/14/us/haitian-migrants-springfield-ohio.html#:~:text=How%20many%20Haitians%20live%20in,have%20spoken%20with%20The%20Times.

[29] Helen H. Jensen, “Food Insecurity and the Food Stamp Program,” American Journal of Agricultural Economics 84, no. 5 (2002): 1215–28. Also: Sheila Mammen, Jean W. Bauer, and Leslie Richards, “Understanding Persistent Food Insecurity: A Paradox of Place and Circumstance,” Social Indicators Research 92, no. 1 (2009): 151–68.

[30] “Observations Concerning the Increase of Mankind, 1751,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Franklin/01-04-02-0080. Original source: The Papers of Benjamin Franklin, vol. 4, July 1, 1750, through June 30, 1753, ed. Leonard W. Labaree (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1961), 225–234.

[31] Domenico Montanaro, “Hillary Clinton’s ‘Basket of Deplorables,’ In Full Context of This Ugly Campaign,” NPR, September 10, 2016, https://www.npr.org/2016/09/10/493427601/hillary-clintons-basket-of-deplorables-in-full-context-of-this-ugly-campaign. Also: Roxanne Roberts, “Hillary Clinton’s ‘Deplorables’ Speech Schocked Voters Five Years Ago — but Some Feel It Was Prescient,” Washington Post, August 31, 2021, https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/2021/08/31/deplorables-basket-hillary-clinton/.

[32] In Benjamin Franklin’s discourse, the term “Natives” does not refer to Indigenous American tribes, as one might initially assume. Instead, Franklin redefines “Natives” as the Anglo-Saxon conquerors who, through a combination of violent displacement and cultural dominance, supplanted the Indigenous peoples of North America. This appropriation of nativeness aligns with an emerging colonial identity in the eighteenth century, one that casts Anglo-Saxon heritage as synonymous with the American character.

[33] Jeff Berglund, Cannibal Fictions: American Explorations of Colonialism, Race, Gender, and Sexuality (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 2006), 105-129.

[34] Bonnie M. Miller, “The Evolution of a Fast Food Phenomenon: The Case of American Pizza,” in The Routledge History of Food, ed. Carol Helstosky, 249-269 (London and New York: Routledge, 2015). Also: Josh Ozersky, Colonel Sanders and the American Dream (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2012), 105-106.

[35] Kristin Wartman, “Food Fight: The Politics of the Food Industry,” New Labor Forum 21, no. 3 (2012): 74–79.

[36] Carolyn Dimitri and Stephanie Rogus, “Food Choices, Food Security, and Food Policy,” Journal of International Affairs 67, no. 2 (2014): 19–31.

[37] Jennifer Parker Talwar, Fast Food, Fast Track: Immigrants, Big Business, and the American Dream (New York and London: 2018), 1-2.

[38] Jacob A. Riis, “The Mixed Crowd,” in How the Other Half Lives: Studies among the Tenements of New York, ed. Sam Bass Warner, 22–28 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010).

[39] Lori A. Flores, “A Town Full of Dead Mexicans: The Salinas Valley Bracero Tragedy of 1963, the End of the Bracero Program, and the Evolution of California’s Chicano Movement,” Western Historical Quarterly 44, no. 2 (2013): 124–43.

[40] Peter Brimelow, Alien Nation: Common Sense about America’s Immigration Disaster (New York: Random House, 1995), 271-272.

[41] “In the J-1 visa, nonimmigrant exchange visitors participating in cultural exchange programs have been trafficked for sex work (Mohr, Weiss, and Baker 2010), robbed of wages, charged exorbitant fees, and forced to rely on soup kitchens (Stewart 2014), and gone on strike to protest major U.S. corporations for providing them with poor working and living conditions (Preston 2011; Jordan 2013).” Daniel Costa, “Temporary Migrant Workers or Immigrants? The Question for U.S. Labor Migration,” RSF: The Russell Sage Foundation Journal of the Social Sciences 6, no. 3 (2020): 30.

[42] Barbara Schmitter-Heisler,“Trade Unions and Immigrant Incorporation: The US and Europe Compared,” in Paths of Integration: Migrants in Western Europe (1880-2004), edited by Leo Lucassen, David Feldman, and Jochen Oltmer, 201–221 (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2006).

[43]  “Theodore Roosevelt wrote to a friend in the year 1897: ‘In strict confidence . . . 1 should welcome almost any war, for I think this country needs one.’ […] The severe depression that began in 1893 strengthened an idea developing within the political and financial elite of the country: that overseas markets for American goods might relieve the problem of underconsumption at home and prevent the economic crises that in the 1890s brought class war. And would not a foreign adventure deflect some of the rebellious energy that went into strikes and protest movements toward an external enemy? Would it not unite people with government, with the armed forces, instead of against them?” Howard Zinn, A People’s History of the United States (London and New York: Longman, 1980), 290.

[44] Melanie E. L. Bush and Roderick D. Bush, “Nation: Empire or Liberation,” in Tensions in the American Dream: Rhetoric, Reverie, or Reality, 151–68 (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2015).

[45] Gerard C. Wellman, “The Social Justice (of) Movement: How Public Transportation Administrators Define Social Justice,” Public Administration Quarterly 39, no. 1 (2015): 117–46. Also: George M. Smerk,“Urban Mass Transportation: From Private to Public to Privatization,” Transportation Journal 26, no. 1 (1986): 83–91.

[46] Thomas J. Sugrue,“‘Detroit’s Time Bomb’: Race and Housing in the 1940s,” in The Origins of the Urban Crisis: Race and Inequality in Postwar Detroit, 33–55 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005). Also: John Kimble, “Insuring Inequality: The Role of the Federal Housing Administration in the Urban Ghettoization of African Americans,” Law & Social Inquiry 32, no. 2 (2007): 399–434; and John Archer, “The Resilience of Myth: The Politics of the American Dream,” Traditional Dwellings and Settlements Review 25, no. 2 (2014): 7–21.

[47]  “It pointed to the Lattimer Massacre of September 10, 1897, during a coal strike in Pennsylvania. Miners marching on a highway to the Lattimer mine—Austrians, Hungarians, Italians, Germans—who had originally been imported as strikebreakers but then organized themselves, refused to disperse, whereupon the sheriff and his deputies opened fire, killing nineteen of them, most shot in the back, with no outcry in the press. The labor journal said that the ‘. . . carnival of carnage that takes place every day, month and year in the realm of industry, the thousands of useful lives that are annually sacrificed to the Moloch of greed, the blood tribute paid by labor to capitalism, brings forth no shout for vengeance and reparation. . . . Death comes in thousands of instances in mill and mine, claims his victims, and no popular uproar is heard.’” Howard Zinn, A People’s History of the United States (London and New York: Longman, 1980), 299.

[48] Greg Prieto, “Conclusion: American Dream, American Hypocrisy,” in Immigrants Under Threat: Risk and Resistance in Deportation Nation, 153–170. (New York: New York University Press, 2018).

[49] Matthew D. Lassiter and the Policing and Social Justice HistoryLab, Detroit Under Fire: Police Violence, Crime Politics, and the Struggle for Racial Justice in the Civil Rights Era (University of Michigan Carceral State Project, 2021), https://policing.umhistorylabs.lsa.umich.edu/s/detroitunderfire/page/home. Also: Lawrence Mishel and Josh Bivens, “Identifying the Policy Levers Generating Wage Suppression and Wage Inequality,” Economic Policy Institute, May 13, 2021, https://www.epi.org/unequalpower/publications/wage-suppression-inequality/. Mark Jay and Virginia Leavell, “Material Conditions of Detroit’s Great Rebellion,” Social Justice 44, no. 4 (150) (2017): 27–54; Jordan T. Camp, “Finally Got the News: Urban Insurgency, Counterinsurgency, and the Crisis of Hegemony in Detroit,” in Incarcerating the Crisis: Freedom Struggles and the Rise of the Neoliberal State, 1st ed., 43–67. (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2016); Mark Jay and Virginia Leavell, “Material Conditions of Detroit’s Great Rebellion,” Social Justice 44, no. 4 (150) (2017): 27–54; and William Winkle, “Defending the Divide: Homeowners’ Associations and the Struggle for Integration in Detroit, 1940-1965,” in Detroit 1967: Origins, Impacts, Legacies, ed. Joel Stone, 94-105 (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2017).

[50] Michelle Wilde Anderson, The Fight to Save the Town: Reimagining Discarded America ( New York: Avid Reader Press/Simon & Schuster, 2022), 2-5.

[51] Brian Doucet and Edske Smit, “Building an Urban ‘Renaissance’: Fragmented Services and the Production of Inequality in Greater Downtown Detroit,” Journal of Housing and the Built Environment 31, no. 4 (2016): 635–57.

[52] “Those who have never encountered rural poverty firsthand are so far detached that it is experienced as a foreign entity, far from the rational possibilities of their perceived realities. Conversely, those who grew up in and around rural poverty find the documentary difficult or impossible to watch.” J. A. Soltis, “Rural Poverty Should Be Ugly,” First Class: A Journal of First-Year Composition 2022, no. 1 (2023): 1.

[53] Ashley Atkinson, Naim Edwards, and Michelle Martinez, “The Hidden Plight of Modern Growers,”Sustainable Food Systems Initiative, A Multidisciplinary Initiative at the University of Michigan, February 25, 2020, https://sites.lsa.umich.edu/sustainablefoodsystems/2020/03/02/ashley-atkinson-naim-edwards-michelle-martinez-the-hidden-plight-of-modern-growers/; and Flickers of the American Dream: Rebecca J. Kinney, “Flickers of the American Dream: Filming Possibility in Decline,” in Beautiful Wasteland: The Rise of Detroit as America’s Postindustrial Frontier, 91-120 (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 2016). 

[54] Loïc Wacquant, Urban Outcasts: A Comparative Sociology of Advanced Marginality (Cambridge, MA:: Polity Press, 2008), 34-39.

[55] Vivian Patterson, “Critter Cuisine: An Interview with Al and Mary Ann Clayton.” Gastronomica 5, no. 4 (2005): 82–88.

[56] “At the other end of social space, the dominated dominant, that is, the managers, are experiencing a new form of alienation. They occupy an ambiguous position, equivalent to that of the petty bourgeois at another historical stage in the structure, which leads to forms of organized self-exploitation […] Overworked, stressed, and threatened with dismissal, they are nonetheless chained to the company.” Pierre Bourdieu, Firing Back: Against the Tyranny of the Market 2, trans. Loïc Wacquant (London and New York: Verso, 2003), 31.

[57] Loïc Wacquant, “A Janus-Faced Institution of Ethnoracial Closure: A Sociological Specification of the Ghetto,” in Spaces of the Poor: Perspectives of Cultural Sciences on Urban Slum Areas and Their Inhabitants, ed. Hans-Christian Petersen, 15–46 (Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag, 2013). Also: Loïc Wacquant, “Penal Policy as Social Policy: Imprisoning America’s Poor,” in Prisons of Poverty, 58-86 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2009), 58-86.

[58] Kathleen Donegan, Seasons of Misery: Catastrophe and Colonial Settlement in Early America (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2014), 21-24.

[59] Lisa R. Young and Marion Nestle, “Portion Sizes and Obesity: Responses of Fast-Food Companies,” Journal of Public Health Policy 28, no. 2 (2007): 238–48. Also: Ross Singer, “Anti-Corporate Argument and the Spectacle of the Grotesque Rhetorical Body in Super Size Me,” Critical Studies in Media Communication 28, no. 2 (2011): 135–52; Regina Austin, “Super Size Me and the Conundrum of Race/Ethnicity, Gender, and Class for the Contemporary Law-Genre Documentary Filmmaker,” Loy. LAL Rev. 40 (2006/2007): 687-710; and James Lyons, “The Risk of Obesity: Super Size Me and the Performance of Biopedagogy,” in Documentary, Performance, and Risk, 78-113 (London and New York: Routledge, 2020).

[60] Nathalie Baptiste, “The Trump Campaign’s Lies Are Hurting Haitians Across The Country,” HuffPost, September 28, 2024, https://www.huffpost.com/entry/trump-vance-haitian-immigrants-lies_n_66f7082be4b0c196da9ad222.

[61] “Those were nice recipes for that armadillo. Just goes to show you, that most everything that crawls, walks, flies or swims on this earth, can be, or has been eaten by someone, at sometime or another. You just have to be brave enough, and creative enough, to give it a try. In fact, my grandmother used to make a meat pie out of blackbird breast meat for my grandfather. I thought it was kinda weird and disgusting, but he liked it, and blackbirds were and are still, very plentiful here in Louisiana. And living through the great depression, people learned to feed themselves and their families with whatever they could catch, grow or kill.” @ralph5469 Coyote Trapping School, “Cooking and Eating an Armadillo,” YouTube, Jul 11, 2018, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nkSMBl7jtbs 

[62] Proposal to the Italian parliament for a law banning the consumption of cat meat. “Proposta di Legge d’Iniziativa della Deputata Brambilla,” Atti Parlamentari, Camera dei Deputati 32, Ottobre 13, 2022, https://documenti.camera.it/_dati/leg19/lavori/stampati/pdf/19PDL0001310.pdf. 

[63] Erik Amfitheatrof, The Children of Columbus: An Informal History of the Italians in the New World (Boston: Little, Brown, 1973), 240.

[64] David Roediger, Working Toward Whiteness: How America’s Immigrants Became White: The Strange Journey from Ellis Island to the Suburbs (New York: Basic Books, 2005), 3-6. Also: James R. Barrett and David Roediger, “Inbetween Peoples: Race, Nationality and the ‘New Immigrant’ Working Class,” Journal of American Ethnic History 16, no. 3 (1997): 3–44; and David Roediger, Colored White: Transcending the Racial Past (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2003): 8-10.

[65] Michel Foucault, “‘Panopticism’ from ‘Discipline & Punish: The Birth of the Prison,’” Race/Ethnicity: Multidisciplinary Global Contexts 2, no. 1 (2008): 1–12.

[66] “Eating roadkill in West Virginia,” BBC, October 3, 2016, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-37501036.

[67] Chris Hedges, Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle (New York: Nation Books, 2009).

[68] “Food has become an elite preoccupation in the West, ironically, just as the most effective ways to address hunger in poor countries have fallen out of fashion.” Robert Paarlberg, “Attention Whole Foods Shoppers,” Foreign Policy, no. 179 (2010): 80. Also: Cammie M. Sublette and Jennifer Martin, “Let Them Eat Cake, Caviar, Organic, and Whole Foods: American Elitism, White Trash Dinner Parties, and Diet,” Studies in Popular Culture 36, no. 1 (2013): 21–44.

[69] “The burden of real problems is transformed into fodder for a high-energy pantomime. And the most potent story tonight, the most potent story across North America, is one of financial ruin, desperation, and enslavement of a frightened and abused working class to a heartless, tyrannical, corporate employer. For most, it is only in the illusion of the ring that they are able to rise above their small stations in life and engage in a heroic battle to fight back.” Chris Hedges, Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle (New York: Nation Books, 2009), 8.

[70] “The result of junk politics is that nothing changes—’meaning zero interruption in the processes and practices that strengthen existing, interlocking systems of socioeconomic advantage.’” Chris Hedges, Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle (New York: Nation Books, 2009), 61-63. 

[71] W. Lance Bennett, News: The Politics of Illusion, 10th ed., (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2020), 3-4.

[72] Lucas Graves, Deciding What’s True: The Rise of Political Fact-Checking in American Journalism (New York: Columbia University Press, 2016), 24-27. Also: Robert Y. Shapiro, “Lies, Damned Lies, and American Democracy,” in The Politics of Truth in Polarized America, eds. David C. Barker and Elizabeth Suhay, 39-40 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2021).

[73] Reuters Fact Check, “Fact Check: No Evidence of Haitian Immigrants Stealing and Eating Pets in Ohio,” Reuters, September 11, 2024, https://www.reuters.com/fact-check/no-evidence-haitian-immigrants-stealing-eating-pets-ohio-2024-09-10/; and About Reuters Fact Check, Reuters, https://www.reuters.com/fact-check/about/. Also: Brendan Nyhan and Reifler, Jason, “When Corrections Fail: The Persistence of Political Misperceptions,” Political Behavior, vol. 32, no. 2 (2010): 303-330.

[74] Gita May, Robert N. Bellah, David Bromwich, and Conor Cruise O’Brien, “The Second Discourse: Discourse on the Origin and Foundations of Inequality Among Mankind,” in The Social Contract and The First and Second Discourses, ed. Susan Dunn, 90-91, 106, 137 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2002). Also: Christer Lindberg, “The Noble and Ignoble Savage,” Ethnoscripts 15, no. 1 (2013): 16-32.

[75] Chris Hedges, Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle (New York: Nation Books, 2009), 36.

[76] Elda María Román, “Incorporation and Disruption: What Fictional Narratives Reveal about the Realities of The American Dream,” in The Routledge Handbook on the American Dream, Volume 2, eds. Robert C. Hauhart and Mitja Sardoč, 245-254 (New York: Routledge, 2022).

[77] Bourdieu, P., The Weight of the World: Social Suffering in Contemporary Society, trans. (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1999), 629.

[78] Dominic Yeatman, “Shocking New Bodycam Footage Shows Moment Woman with ‘Fur on her Lips’ Arrested for Eating Cat in Ohio,” Daily Mail, September 13, 2024, https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-13844919/bodycam-eating-cat-Ohio-trup-pets.html?ns_mchannel=rss&ns_campaign=1490&ito=1490.

[79] Loïc Wacquant, “Class, Race & Hyperincarceration in Revanchist America,” Daedalus 139, no. 3 (2010): 74–90.

[80] Loïc Wacquant, “Social Insecurity and the Punitive Upsurge,” in Punishing the Poor: The Neoliberal Government of Social Insecurity, 1–38 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2009).

[81] Nancy Isenberg, “Taking Out the Trash: Waste People in the New World,” in White Trash: The 400-Year Untold History of Class in America (New York, NY: Penguin Books, 2017). Also: Andy Scerri, “Moralizing about Politics: The White Working-Class ‘Problem’ in Appalachia and Beyond,” Journal of Appalachian Studies 25, no. 2 (2019): 202–221.

[82] Michael B. Katz, The Undeserving Poor: America’s Enduring Confrontation with Poverty (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 6-7.

[83] E. P. Thompson, “The Politics of the Black Act,” in Whigs and Hunters: The Origin of the Black Act, 190-219 (London: Penguin, 1975).

[84] Grace Clement, “‘Pets or Meat’? Ethics and Domestic Animals,” Journal of Animal Ethics 1, no. 1 (2011): 46–57.

[85] Stephanie Coontz, The Way We Never Were: American Families and the Nostalgia Trap (New York, NY: Basic Books, 1992), 14.

[86] Sam Adams, “Redbridge Boys Duck Theft Attempt to Save Ill Mum,” Guardian-Series, March 18, 2008, https://www.guardian-series.co.uk/news/2128274.redbridge-boys-duck-theft-attempt-to-save-ill-mum/.

[87] Michael Macilwee,“Poaching Wars,” in The Liverpool Underworld: Crime in the City, 1750-1900, 181–192 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2011). Harriet Ritvo, The Animal Estate: The English and Other Creatures in the Victorian Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1987), 179.

[88] G. D. H. Cole, introduction to The Social Contract & Discourses by Jean Jacques Rousseau, trans. G. D. H. Cole, xii (New York, NY: E. P. Dutton, 1920).

IMAGES

Image Cover: Lanfranco Aceti, Hunger, Love,… and a Cat in the Middle, 2024. Fine art prints. Triptych. Dimensions: variable.