I’m a Black RD Here’s What I Want You to Know About Food and Racism

Let’s get one thing straight: broccoli doesn’t wake up in the morning and decide to be political. People do that. Policies do that. Budgets, zoning boards, hospital systems, school cafeterias, and a century of “not my problem” decisions do that.

As a Black registered dietitian (RD), I’ve watched the same conversation about “healthy eating” get repeated like a worn-out playlist: Just cook at home. Just choose better. Just stop eating that. And every time I hear it, I want to slide a gentle reminder across the table:

Food choices don’t happen in a vacuum. They happen in neighborhoods, workplaces, schools, clinics, and kitchens shaped by racismsometimes loud and obvious, sometimes quietly baked into the system like sugar in store-bought spaghetti sauce.

Food and racism: it’s not “personal choices,” it’s the system

When people say “food and racism,” they often picture a single rude comment about someone’s lunch. That happens, sure. But the bigger story is structural: the way resources and opportunities are distributed across communities.

In public health, we talk about social determinants of healththings like housing, transportation, income, education, and access to care. Those conditions influence what you can buy, where you can shop, how much time you have to cook, and whether your stress level is permanently set to “high.” And the data consistently show that these adverse conditions are not evenly distributed across racial and ethnic groups in the U.S.

If you’ve ever wondered why nutrition advice can feel like it was written for someone with a Whole Foods five minutes away, a flexible schedule, and a pantry that refills itself… yeah. That’s not an accident.

“Food desert” vs. “food apartheid”: words matter

You’ve probably heard the term food deserta place with limited access to affordable, nutritious food. Here’s the problem: deserts are natural. Nobody “designed” the Sahara.

Many food justice advocates prefer food apartheid because it points to human decisions: disinvestment, segregation, redlining, and unequal infrastructure. In other words, this isn’t a weather event. It’s a policy event.

And even when a neighborhood has food everywherecorner stores, fast food, gas stationshealthy options can be scarce, overpriced, or low quality. That means access isn’t just about distance. It’s about availability, affordability, quality, and dignity.

How the grocery map was drawn: redlining, zoning, and investment

If you want to understand modern food access, you have to understand historical housing policy. Redlining and discriminatory lending shaped where Black families could live, which neighborhoods received investment, and which were systematically deprived of resources.

Over time, those patterns influenced the retail landscape: where supermarkets were built (or not built), where public transportation ran (or didn’t), and which areas were targeted for development versus neglected.

This is one reason you’ll see a familiar pattern in many cities: predominantly Black neighborhoods with fewer full-service grocery stores and more places selling calorie-dense, nutrient-poor foods. It’s not about “preferences.” It’s about what’s available, what’s affordable, and what businesses were encouraged to open in the first place.

A quick reality check on what “low access” can mean

Government tools that map food access often look at distance to supermarkets or large grocery stores and whether an area is also low income. Those measures can be useful for planning, but they’re only part of the story. If the nearest grocery store is technically “close” but prices are high, produce is sad, and you don’t have reliable transportation, access is still limited in real life.

Food insecurity hits harder when wages, housing, and health care are unequal

Food insecurity isn’t just “not having enough food.” It’s also uncertaintyrunning out before payday, cutting portions so kids can eat, skipping meals, or relying on cheaper foods that don’t support long-term health.

And it’s not evenly distributed. For example, national summaries of U.S. food insecurity data have shown Black households experiencing substantially higher rates than the overall national average in recent years. That gap tracks with broader inequities in income, wealth, housing stability, and exposure to discrimination.

Here’s what I want you to hear with your whole chest: food insecurity is not a character flaw. It’s a predictable result of systems that make it easier for some families to build stability and harder for others.

Nutrition advice can carry biassometimes dressed up as “science”

Nutrition and health care are not immune to bias. Sometimes it’s obviousdismissive treatment, assumptions, judgment. Sometimes it’s subtle: what research gets funded, whose diets are labeled “good,” and which bodies are treated as “problems to fix.”

Race is not biology, but racism affects biology

Race is a social construct, not a neat genetic category. But living in a society shaped by racism can affect health through stress, access to care, environmental exposures, and more. When people treat race as a biological explanationwithout naming racismthey often miss the real causes and land on lazy conclusions.

Bias can show up in the counseling room

Research on health professionals has found that bias can influence nutrition-related counseling and communication. Translation: two people can walk in with the same labs and the same diet pattern, and still get treated differently.

And let’s talk about the “healthy eating” scripts that get handed out like flyers:

• “Avoid fried food” (without asking about budget, cooking equipment, time, or cultural context).
• “Cut carbs” (when the person’s affordable staples are rice, oats, beans, tortillas, or grits).
• “Just meal prep” (as if everyone has a big fridge, flexible work hours, and a calm nervous system).

Evidence-based care doesn’t mean culture-free care. It means applying evidence in real lives.

Cultural foods aren’t the problem; the double standard is

One of the most exhausting myths is that Black food culture is automatically “unhealthy.” That story gets told in a very selective way.

Plenty of cuisines use salt, sugar, fats, and starches. Yet some foods get treated as “comforting” and “heritage,” while others get labeled “bad,” “dirty,” or “guilty.” That’s not nutrition science. That’s a double standard wearing a lab coat.

What “respectful nutrition” sounds like

Instead of shaming cultural foods, I focus on:

• Technique over judgment: baking, air-frying, braising, seasoning with herbs and acids, choosing fats intentionally.
• Balance over restriction: adding fiber, protein, and vegetables without banning beloved staples.
• Context over assumptions: asking what’s realistic, what’s available, and what matters to the person.

Collard greens? Greatlet’s talk about the whole plate and cooking methods, not act like greens are suddenly suspicious because they’re seasoned. Beans and rice? A fantastic baselet’s build with veggies, lean proteins, and portion awareness when needed. Sweet potatoes? Nutrient-dense and versatile. The goal is not to erase culture. The goal is to support health within culture.

What I want you to understand about “health equity” in nutrition

Health equity means people have a fair shot at healthnot the same shot, but a fair one. That includes:

• Affordable grocery options and reliable transportation
• Safe housing and neighborhoods where you can walk without stress
• Quality health care that listens instead of lectures
• Nutrition education that respects culture and real budgets
• Policies that reduce poverty and stabilize families

Without those, “eat better” becomes a slogan instead of a solution.

Inside my counseling approach: practical, culturally responsive, and zero shame

Here are a few things I do (and wish every clinic did):

1) I ask about the food environment before I give advice

Where do you shop? What’s nearby? Do you have transportation? What’s your budget like this month? If the nearest store is a corner shop with limited produce, my job is to work with realitynot scold you for it.

2) I treat time and stress like “nutrients”

Chronic stress affects sleep, blood pressure, blood sugar, appetite cues, and energy. When racism is part of that stress load, we have to acknowledge it. Sometimes the most helpful “nutrition” move is a plan that’s simple, consistent, and calmingnot perfect.

3) I build a “good-better-best” ladder

If “best” is cooking from scratch five nights a week, “better” might be frozen veggies, rotisserie chicken, canned beans, and a 15-minute meal. “Good” might be making one small upgrade that helps right now. Progress is not linear, and health is not a moral score.

4) I watch for biasmine, the system’s, everyone’s

Bias isn’t just about hateful people. It’s about patterns. I aim to stay curious, ask better questions, and use language that supports autonomy rather than control.

If you’re not Black, here’s how to help without making it weird

You don’t need a cape. You need consistency.

• Stop using “personal responsibility” as a conversation-ending spell. Ask what barriers exist.
• Support policies that reduce food insecurity (strong nutrition assistance programs, fair wages, affordable housing).
• Invest locally: community gardens, co-ops, farmers markets that accept nutrition benefits, mutual aid fridgeswhatever your community has.
• Check your “healthy food” stereotypes: kale isn’t superior to collards; Greek yogurt isn’t morally better than buttermilk.
• Listen to Black food scholars and advocates and credit them properly. No “I discovered this” energy, please.

Big-picture fixes that actually move the needle

Individual tips matter, but systemic problems need systemic solutions. Options that communities and policymakers often discuss include:

• Strengthening nutrition supports (like SNAP and WIC) and reducing administrative barriers
• Transportation solutions that connect neighborhoods to quality grocery retail
• Incentives for healthy food retail that don’t trigger displacement or price hikes
• Support for Black farmers and food entrepreneurs, including fair access to capital and land
• Health system changes: screening for food insecurity, connecting patients to resources, and funding community health partnerships
• Diversity in dietetics: scholarships, paid internships, mentorship, and removing unnecessary gatekeeping

Because if we keep asking individuals to out-shop, out-cook, and out-hustle structural inequity, we’re basically telling people to win a rigged game by “wanting it more.” That’s not empowering. That’s exhausting.

Closing thoughts

Food is personal. Food is culture. Food is memory. Food is survival. And food is politicalbecause access, affordability, and health outcomes are shaped by policy and power.

So here’s what I want you to know about food and racism, in one sentence:

Healthy eating advice that ignores racism is incomplete advice.

We can do better than blame. We can do better than shame. We can build nutrition careand a food systemthat’s honest about history and serious about equity.

A Black RD’s Notes From the Field (About of Real-World Experience)

Let me paint you a picture I’ve seen more times than I can count: a client sits down, pulls out lab results, and before we’ve even talked about their schedule or budget, they’ve already apologized for their food. Apologized. Like they committed a crime because they eat instant grits, or because dinner was a drive-thru combo three nights this week.

Here’s what I’ve learned: shame is a terrible nutrition intervention. It doesn’t lower A1C. It doesn’t reduce blood pressure. It just makes people avoid appointments.

One client told me a previous provider said, “You people need to stop eating fried food,” and then handed them a printout that might as well have been titled How to Eat Like You Have Unlimited Time and Money. The client wasn’t just offendedthey felt unseen. And that matters, because trust is the foundation of behavior change. If someone thinks you’re judging them, they stop telling you the truth. And if I don’t have the truth, I can’t help.

I’ve also watched cultural foods get treated like a problem to eliminate instead of a starting point to work with. Someone mentions macaroni and cheese at Sunday dinner, and suddenly the conversation turns into a lecture on “good” and “bad” foods. Meanwhile, nobody is asking about the parts of the pattern that could actually shift: sugary drinks, stress eating from a chaotic job schedule, medication side effects, sleep, or the fact that their neighborhood store sells more chips than fresh produce.

In community settings, I’ve seen how access changes everything. When a pop-up market brings affordable produce to a neighborhoodand accepts nutrition benefitspeople don’t need a motivational speech to buy fruit. They need fruit to be there, priced fairly, and sold with respect. I’ve watched grandparents light up when they can grab greens that aren’t wilted and overpriced. I’ve watched parents choose yogurt and eggs when they don’t have to choose between food and gas money.

And yes, I’ve experienced micro-moments too: being mistaken for “the assistant,” being asked if I’m “really” the dietitian, having my recommendations questioned until a white colleague repeats them. Those moments aren’t the whole story, but they stack uplike tiny weights in a backpack you didn’t ask to carry.

Still, there’s joy here. I’ve watched clients reclaim agency with small, realistic wins: switching one daily soda to flavored seltzer, building a “grab-and-go” breakfast that actually fits their morning, adding frozen vegetables to a favorite dish, learning that seasoning is not the enemy. I’ve watched people stop treating food like a moral test and start treating it like what it is: fuel, culture, comfort, and care.

That’s why I keep doing this work. Not to police platesbut to widen the path to health, with honesty about racism and deep respect for the lives people are living.