Hello, hello — and welcome back to The Cacao Series.
This corner of my larger podcast is where I sit with the cacao plant — its medicine, its history, its agriculture, its sociology, its ancestry, and my own. It’s where I talk about what makes my cacao blends different (emphasis on blends, because I don’t grow cacao, I don’t own a farm, and I don’t pay farmers in the global South directly).
I do my best to ethically source from Mexico, Ecuador, Peru, and Guatemala — and one day, I hope to collaborate deeply with the people, the farms, and the land. Maybe one day I’ll even have a farm of my own.
But today’s conversation is heavier. Necessary, but heavy.
We’re talking about appropriation. We’re talking about ethics.
We’re talking about culture, power, history, and the invisible threads that shape how we consume, create, and build businesses in 2026.
And we’re talking about cacao — not as a trend, not as a “ceremonial” marketing buzzword, but as a plant with lineage, land, people, and memory.
Why This Conversation Matters (Especially Now)
We’re living in a time of deep division, deep denial, and deep anger. A time of I’m right, you’re wrong rhetoric. A time when people cling to identity as a shield instead of a doorway.
And when we talk about appropriation, discrimination, capitalism — these massive forces that shape entire cultures — it’s easy to collapse everything into individual blame.
But I don’t blame individuals for the entirety of history. I don’t blame my white friends for Jim Crow. I don’t blame every white person for the KKK.
What I do acknowledge is that cultures — not individuals — create patterns.
Cultures create systems. Cultures create the conditions that allow extraction, exploitation, and entitlement to flourish.
And cacao sits right in the middle of that conversation.
Where the Word “Appropriation” Even Comes From
I always start with etymology because the root always grounds hard conversations.
Appropriation comes from the Latin appropriare — to make one’s own.
To own. To possess. Someone sees something.
They like it.
They want it.
They take it.
They reshape it.
They profit from it.
That’s the lineage of the word.
Cultural appropriation, as a term, didn’t even exist until the 1970s, when British historian Kenneth Coutts‑Smith wrote about cultural colonialism. And we’ve been trying to define, refine, and understand it ever since.
Culture is not just food, clothing, music, or rituals. It’s not just what you can taste, touch, see, or hear.
Culture is also:
- values
- mannerisms
- invisible codes
- inherited ways of being
- the things you feel but can’t always name
In Latin America, you greet everyone when you enter a home — with a hug or a kiss on the cheek.
In the U.S., you don’t.
In Europe or the Middle East, it’s two kisses.
Culture is embodied. It’s lived. It’s practiced.
So when we talk about appropriating culture, we’re talking about taking something that is lived and embodied — and removing it from its context, its people, its meaning.
Appreciation vs. Appropriation: The Line Is Commodification
There’s a version of this conversation that says:
Appreciation is fine. Appropriation is not. But the line between them is not “liking something.”
The line is commodification.
I can appreciate Holi — the Indian festival of color — without selling it.
I can practice yoga for my own healing without turning it into a brand.
I can meditate with mala beads without pretending I’m a lineage holder.
The moment you:
- extract
- distort
- profit
- whitewash
- remove context
- erase the people who created it
…you’ve crossed into appropriation.
And that’s where cacao is being mishandled today.
The Yoga Example: When Appreciation Turns Into Industry
Yoga changed my life. It found me when I was a self‑conscious high schooler shelving books in a library. It gave me breath, softness, community — something that wasn’t punishment or diet culture. But when I went deeper, I saw the commodification:
- no national regulation
- Yoga Alliance as a membership badge, not a lineage
- studios selling certifications like products
- white‑washed versions of ancient practices
- people becoming “experts” in traditions they didn’t descend from
And something in me said:
I don’t have the right to teach this.
Not because I’m unworthy — but because I refuse to extract from something that isn’t mine to sell.
That same instinct guides me with cacao.
Because appropriation isn’t just “taking.” It’s stripping.
Stripping the meaning.
Stripping the lineage.
Stripping the people.
Stripping the context.
Stripping the power.
It’s turning something sacred, cultural, or ancestral into a commodity — often for the benefit of people who were never harmed by its history. And that brings me to cacao companies in the U.S. that market cacao as:
- mystical
- magical
- otherworldly
- a spiritual portal
- a euphoric experience
…while hiding the farmers, the wages, the land, the lineage, and the truth.
The NIMBY Effect: Not In My Backyard
There’s a term in environmental justice: NIMBY — Not In My Backyard.
People want:
- the products
- the convenience
- the consumption
…but they don’t want to see the landfill, the factory, the prison, the pollution, the exploitation.
Cacao is the same. People want:
- the “ceremonial” experience
- the spiritual branding
- the aesthetic
- the wellness identity
…but not the reality of:
- farmer poverty
- land extraction
- colonial histories
- racial hierarchies
- Global South labor
That’s NIMBY. And it’s everywhere in the cacao industry.
Argentina, Whiteness, and the Erasure of Blackness
This part is uncomfortable, but necessary. Argentina is a Latin American country, but culturally, it is deeply European.
White‑skinned. Spanish‑speaking. Italian last names. European architecture. And historically, Argentina systematically erased Black people from its population — through policy, census manipulation, and cultural rewriting.
So when I see cacao companies founded by Argentinian siblings selling “spiritual cacao experiences” to white Americans, I have questions.
Not because individuals are bad. But because culture matters. And when a country that erased Blackness profits from Indigenous and Afro‑descendant plant traditions…
I have to talk about it.
Especially when, in 2024, Argentina was one of only three countries — alongside the U.S. and Israel — that voted against the UN resolution condemning the transatlantic slave trade.
History is not the past. It’s the present time, wearing different clothes.
Ethics: From the Greek Ethos — Character, Habit, Way of Being
Ethics isn’t a policy. It’s not a marketing statement. It’s not a sustainability badge.
Ethics is:
- what you do when no one is watching
- how you walk your path
- what you refuse to step on
- what you refuse to exploit
- what you refuse to distort
Ethics is character. And sometimes, ethics means not making something yours. Sometimes ethics is restraint.
Cacao has been part of my life for years — not as a mystical portal, but as a plant I respect, a plant I descend from, a plant that is woven into my ancestry. Half of my lineage — if not more — is Indigenous and specifically Mesoamerican.
Cacao is not a trend for me. It is a return. And because of that, I refuse to:
- use the phrase “ceremonial cacao” (it’s a marketing invention)
- sell euphoric fantasies
- whitewash the plant
- extract from cultures that have already been extracted from for centuries
- pretend cacao is a spiritual awakening tool for people who don’t know its history
My business is not built on mystique. It’s built on relationships.
On ancestry. On ethics. On character.
Questions to Carry With You
As you build your business, drink cacao, or interact with any cultural practice, ask yourself:
- What am I tending to?
- What am I honest about?
- Where am I acting from character, not performance?
- What are my ethics — and how do I practice them?
- Am I appreciating, or am I extracting?
- Am I honoring the lineage, or am I commodifying it?
Because sometimes the most ethical thing you can do is simply: Let things be.
