Ok, it won't fulfill the concept all on its own, like some magical snap with your fingers, but it's a powerful kick-start and will go a long way in getting us there; share a meal with somebody you don't know, a complete stranger, your worst enemy.
Food is one of four global languages we all speak, across all language barriers and across all borders of understanding. The others being sex, music and sports. Food, and it's three sisters, is a global unifier.
You want peace on Earth - then share a meal with your enemy, perceived or not, and who knows, food being a proven aphrodisiac, maybe you'll end up humping each other some day and then go to a concert or a soccer game together. Whatever happens, it's a win-win situation. But let's just focus on sharing a meal for now.
Sharing a meal - food in general, as in cooking together, eating together, eliminates fear and paranoia. It nukes hatred through increased understanding, which grows in the unfortunately very fertile soil of lack of communication. And body language will more than make up for the lack of a mutually spoken language. Let me give you an example from real life; my own:
When I was about 14 years old and stuck in Dinkyville, Denmark (which is certainly not the most open minded place on Earth, to say the least), my grandparents took me with them on a holiday to Sousse, Tunisia. My first, but concequently not last trip to Africa. We stayed at Hotel Hill Diar and it completely blew my mind. Not the hotel itself, though an absolutely wonderful hotel, but what happened next, which ultimately changed my life trajectory.
Some people will know that Tunisia is an Arab muslim country with a French colonial history and as soon as I mention "Arab muslim", many people will be stricken by fear and paranoia (and groundless prejudism). But not I.
There was a girl about my own age, working at the hotel as a maid, or what politically correct Canadians would probably call a room attendent, today. This girl had the most gorgeous eyes I have ever seen on planet Earth, so I instantly had a crush on her. Forget the muslim part (who gives a shit? Not I), but she spoke only Arab. But it's amazing what you can say without words, through body language.
So a couple of days after we met, she "abducted" me (I was more than happy to oblige) and took me way, way out of the tourist area, on the bus, down gravel roads no tourist would ever dare travel. I had no idea where I was going but to me it was exciting. Adventure!
It turned out she took me - this complete stranger, to her family's home where Saida, as her name was, introduced me to her mother, Fatima, her sister Sondes and her brother Fouzi. Through body language, they made me understand that the father of the family had died in a traffic accident, years prior. The hospitality and the kindness of Saida and her family, towards this complete stranger, just blew my mind and not for a second did I ever feel anything but a loving, caring enviroment I haven't seen replicated since, with the exception of the Peggy's Cove disaster.
So there I was. I was supposed to be scared, fearful, paranoid, I think. A lot of people would be. And what happend? Mom Fatima brought out her pots and pans and not speaking a word of each other's language, we started cooking togher, me pitcing in the best I could (which was not really a lot), and then we all sat down on the floor, as per tradition, and shared the meal we had just cooked. It was absolutely amazing, almost magical. It was certainly surreal. Different culture, different language, different everything. Like being on Mars and not being able to communicate with anything other than body language, through trust and compassion. I absolutely loved it, and looking back, I now realize that it was probably that particular moment my entire life trajectory took a sharp and permanent turn towards multiculturalism.
Fear and paranoia is your own worst enemy - together with lack of understaning and hatred - and in that moment, I learned that nothing on Earth brings people together like sharing a meal. Especially if you also take part in cooking it.
Hours later, Saida walked me back out to the gravel road, flagged down a taxi and told the driver take me back to Hill Diar. I can only assume that's what she told him, 'cause that's what happened.
Back the the hotel, my grandparents freaked out on me, 'cause they didn't know where I'd been, but when I told them my story and they saw how excited I was and that there was no harm done, they were happy on my behalf.
All of this just to underscore the point, that it doesn't matter one bit if it's chicken harissa with cous-cous or it's a pot of soup with a lump of sourdough bread, but food - both cooking it and eating it together, especially with a complete stranger, is one of the biggest unifiers on Earth and one of the best thing you can do, both for yourself and for other people. If you want peace on Earth, start cooking and sharing a meal with others. Preferably complete strangers.
And I ended up going to Sousse four times, by the way. Each time spending ample time with "my new family of the heart".
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