Can a cookbook be political? Exploring power in everyday life, food, and community
Politics isn’t just about elections, governments, or party lines – it’s in what we eat, how we feel, and the ways we relate to others. In this interview, Professor Kennan Ferguson of the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, currently a Fulbright Distinguished Scholar at FSV UK, challenges conventional ideas of politics, showing how power shapes everyday life – from cookbooks to concepts of debt.
Professor Ferguson will present a public lecture on the topic of On the Political Ethics of Debt on Monday, April 13, 2026 from 6:30 pm in room C117 at the Jinonice Campus.
Debt, we generally think, is either neutral or bad. For accountants, for example, it merely functions as a relationship of numbers and capital, and is thus just descriptive. For those who oppose indebtedness, at either the personal or nation-state level, it proves onerous and extractive. But what we generally think of as debt—namely, a legally binding, usually institutional, and often long-term but temporally limited liability—is merely one form among many. It is also a specifically recent one. These obligations, such as mortgages, student loans, IMF obligations, and medical bills, often capture and immiserate, and they should not be disregarded. But they are only one form of debt, and confusing them with all debt eliminates the possibility of appreciating debt’s capacities. Other kinds of debt, many of which predate capitalism, actually make possible many aspects of human existence. This lecture argues for understanding debt as a moral and ethical relationship, and examines thinkers, strategies, and representation that allow for a reconceptualization of indebtedness.
Your work suggests that politics exists far beyond institutions and elections. How would you explain the “politics of everyday life” to someone who usually thinks of politics only in terms of governments and parties?
I think that is the common understanding. In the late 20th century, several problems with this view became apparent. One of them was that, especially in racialized and colonial contexts, many people were not counted at all. Postcolonial movements showed that structures of race and geography excluded certain groups from politics. At the same time, what is often called second-wave feminism highlighted that power operates at many different levels. As they famously put it, “the personal is political”. As a result, political philosophers began to focus on the ways power permeates every part of life. That is where my work is situated.
How did you come to this perspective in the first place? Did anyone or anything inspire you?
Each project I work on is usually driven by a different set of questions. My most recent book, Cookbook Politics, explores how the human sensorium—our senses of taste, touch, smell, sight, and hearing—can be political. While others have examined vision and sound, I felt that taste was underdeveloped. I became interested in how taste is used to build community, represent otherness, connect space and time, and even model forms of political authority. Cookbooks, for example, invite participation. People feel free to cross things out, substitute ingredients, or adapt recipes. They are not read from beginning to end but used in a flexible way. In that sense, they offer a model of a deeply democratic form of authority.
Could you give me a particular example of how cookbooks can influence politics?
One thing you notice is that cookbooks often emerge at moments when nations are forming—whether through division, decolonization, or the earlier development of nation-states. They provide a way to talk about differences between people while also unifying them. They can highlight regional, traditional, and geographic diversity while presenting it under the idea of a shared national cookbook.
I was also interested in a phenomenon from the mid-20th century, when groups of women, often connected to churches, created their own cookbooks. They compiled, printed, sold, and distributed them within their communities. These books were passed on to future generations and helped build a sense of belonging. Although they were not seen as political, they clearly were. They defined who “we” are, where we come from, and who is included or excluded. They often contained recipes from travels, reflecting broader connections. These cookbooks are considered ephemeral and are difficult to find in libraries, but they played a significant role in community-building.
Do these examples, in your opinion, challenge the boundaries of what counts as political?
Yes, exactly. The idea that our bodies—our embodied, sensory existence—are political is, I think, correct. When we look at taste, sensation, or nutrition, we see political dynamics that cannot be reduced to voting behavior.
Do you think that political science or philosophy has often ignored everyday practices such as food, family life, or aesthetics?
I think political science tends to rely on a model of science that prioritizes what can be measured. Voting, for example, is relatively easy to quantify, even if there are still debates about representation. Other aspects, such as power within families, aesthetic judgments, or value systems, are much harder to measure. As a result, they are often sidelined.
Philosophy has addressed these issues to some extent. Think of someone like Immanuel Kant, who devoted significant attention to judgment. However, these questions are still not central, as philosophy often focuses more on epistemology—the study of truth—than on aesthetics.
Did anything surprise you during your career—perhaps something you explored that turned out to be unexpected?
One of the great things about being an academic is that, if you remain open, you are constantly surprised. As a PhD student, I was struck by the work of Pierre Bourdieu. Later, while writing other books, I engaged deeply with the American pragmatist William James and was again surprised—both by his ideas and by how others have interpreted him. Currently, I am reading Sylvia Wynter, and I continue to find her work exciting and unexpected. That is one of the joys of intellectual work: learning from fields beyond your own.
In your more recent work, you explore the idea that debt is not only an economic relation but also a social and emotional one. Could you elaborate on this concept? Your public lecture as well will have the title: “On the Political Ethics of Debt”.
I am interested in how political language often replaces moral categories without us noticing. For example, freedom is typically treated as an unquestioned good—it can end an argument simply by being invoked. Debt, by contrast, is usually seen as negative. To be in debt is a bad thing.
And yet, we are always in some form of debt: to our communities, our histories, our ancestors, and our environment—the oxygen we breathe and the water we drink. The idea that we could ever be entirely free of debt is, in my view, a fundamental mistake. Rather than trying to eliminate debt, we should think about how to structure forms of indebtedness that are reciprocal, productive, and supportive of human flourishing.
If you could offer a teaser for your public lecture, what will people learn from it?
People often try to treat debt as a purely economic relationship, separate from ethics. In my lecture, I draw on literature and economics to argue that this is not possible. Debt is always embedded in social relations, and therefore always carries a moral dimension. It is inherently about our relationships with others.
You teach a course called Sexuality, Gender, and Power in Political Theory at FSV UK. What is it about, and what do students learn from it?
Many of the canonical thinkers are men who avoid discussing sexuality altogether. Yet it is impossible to understand the past fifty years of politics without taking these issues seriously. There are political parties defined by their opposition to gender, and public debates about gender identity shape political careers.
The course traces the intellectual history of how sexuality, gender, and sexual difference became sites of political conflict. It brings together contrasting perspectives, and students will not agree with everything they read. The authors themselves disagree on fundamental issues such as identity, sexual violence, and gender roles. The goal is for students to clarify their own views while understanding the historical development of these ideas.
And how do you like Prague and the faculty?
Both are wonderful. I find the history of Charles University and Prague fascinating. It is a remarkable city. I lived here briefly many years ago, so it is interesting to see how it has changed. I am also impressed by the diversity and expertise of the faculty, and I look forward to learning more from my colleagues.
What are you currently working on?
One project continues to explore the relationship between debt and freedom, which I expect will develop into a book. Another line of thought concerns how we understand power. Many assume that power is a human invention that emerged with institutions like the Greek polis and then spread globally. I think that is mistaken.
Politics operates not only among humans but also through relationships involving non-human entities. Questions about nature, history, aesthetics, artificial intelligence, non-human animals, and other forms of life can all be political if we move beyond a strictly human-centered view of politics.
