Genocide Dinner Series

Over the past five years, the shadow of conflict and genocide has darkened the lands of Palestine, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Sudan, Libya, Lebanon, and even the United States, each bearing unique scars yet sharing a common tragedy.

In Palestine, olive groves—symbols of endurance and peace—have been uprooted as ancestral lands are contested, threatening a cornerstone of Palestinian identity. In the Congo, the fertile soils that yield cassava and plantains, staples of local diets, have been soaked in the blood of those caught in cycles of violence fueled by resource exploitation. Sudan has witnessed renewed waves of ethnic cleansing, displacing communities whose lives were intimately tied to the cultivation of sorghum and millet, grains that have long sustained its people. Libya, fractured by war, has seen its date palm oases neglected, their fruits, once symbols of abundance, withering under the weight of instability. Lebanon, grappling with political collapse and sectarian strife, has seen terraces of olive and grape cultivation—pillars of its Mediterranean diet—left vulnerable.

Meanwhile, in the United States, Black Americans continue to face an ongoing genocide through systemic violence, mass incarceration, economic disenfranchisement, and cultural erasure. These atrocities, whether marked by war or the slow grind of institutional racism, share a common thread: the deliberate dismantling of communities and the attempted erasure of histories and identities..

Despite the overwhelming loss and destruction, the world's response to these atrocities has often been marked by hesitation and political caution. In many cases, acts of systematic violence and cultural erasure are not labeled as "genocide" until immense pressure is placed upon global powers and institutions to recognize them as such. This reluctance to name the crimes for what they are delays justice, undermines the dignity of the victims, and allows perpetrators to act with impunity. The failure to call these tragedies by their rightful names serves as a stark reminder of the moral and political failures that allow such atrocities to persist unchecked.

The Genocide Dinner Series seeks to provide a space where cultures, history, hurt, and love can be fostered through food and community, offering hope during times when unity feels impossible. Each dinner highlights the cuisine of an impacted country, with menus designed and prepared by cooks from that country to ensure authenticity and respect for their heritage. Forty percent of all proceeds go directly to local organizations actively working in the featured country, addressing the ongoing needs of affected communities. This model ensures that each meal does more than raise awareness; it provides tangible support to the very people whose stories are being told through their food. By celebrating these cultures in the face of adversity, the series transforms the simple act of dining into a powerful act of solidarity and restoration.

Food is more than sustenance; it is the essence of identity, a repository of memory, and a bridge across generations. The olive oil of Palestine carries the history of a people resilient under occupation, while cassava in the Congo sustains life amid unspeakable hardship. Sorghum and millet in Sudan are not just grains but anchors of cultural heritage, their cultivation an act of resistance against displacement. Dates in Libya and grapes in Lebanon speak of ancient civilizations that thrived long before today’s conflicts. Through initiatives like the Genocide Dinner Series, the act of breaking bread becomes a call to action—a moment of shared humanity where barriers dissolve, and healing begins. Even in the darkest of times, community endures, reminding us that to nurture one another is to reclaim the dignity that conflict seeks to destroy.

Each dinner will close with a gift—a plant, native to the country we’ve celebrated that evening, accompanied by the care instructions it needs to thrive. This plant is not just a token; it is a reminder. A living testament to the earth beneath our feet, it calls us back to the present, urging us to be grounded, to be here, to be aware of the moment. In caring for this gift, we are reminded that we are not separate from the planet we inhabit—we are of it, bound by the same soil, the same breath.