Heritage is what we inherit and, as such, in some way it evokes the notion of ‘property’. Even when heritage is intangible, immaterial, there is still a sense of ownership. It is from this sense of property that exclusive patrimonies are generated: they delimit, mark, identify, separate and construct stories, policies and even identities, both national and religious.

However, it is also possible to understand heritage in an inclusive way, that is, as something that is not fixed but is in dialogue with its time and context. In this way, heritage is first and foremost the use we make of it, and this use is determined by how we interpret it. In general terms, we can say that the exclusivist vision of heritage tends to petrify it, so that it cannot be manipulated, moulded or interpreted. Rather, it is understood to have a single, continuous and clear meaning. In contrast, the inclusive vision understands all elements of heritage as an opportunity for dialogue and learning, as fragments of the past that continue to be present, as living elements that transform and challenge contemporary society and that help to build bridges that strengthen social coexistence and equity.

One of the issues that we must bear in mind when we think about heritage, and which will largely determine whether our vision is exclusive or inclusive, concerns the notion of ‘origin’. The determination of ‘origin’ modulates our gaze, whether this concerns a nation and its borders, products and their consumption, mythology and art, or religion and science. From mythology and religion to languages, homeland, wine or apples, the need to build a backstory or the ‘certification of origin’ permeates our vision. We can see a recent expression of this need to know the ‘origin’ in the commercial rise of the traceable origins of food. We can also see our obsession with ‘origin’ in more dramatic forms: the humanitarian crisis of refugees and migrants, where geographical origin will determine who ‘matters’ and who does not, conditioned by policies and media narratives.

As the Italian philosopher, Barnaba Maj, points out, the notion of the ‘original’ pertains to metaphysics, whereas the genetic is situated within an historical-evolutionary perspective.^[1] The fundamental difference is that when the genesis of an entity is sought, it is accepted that this is a recounting of a creative transformation in time, while the notion of ‘origin’ implies that there is no before, or nothing behind the fact: the origin sits outside of time.

In a sense, the examples that we have given of certifications of the origin of food and policies on migrants and refugees focus on this timeless notion of origin, because they do not recognize or value historical-evolutionary continuity: they only focus on the metaphysical or symbolic story. Policies that focus on closing borders to migrants and refugees emphasize geographical origin without allowing for the recognition of the historical construction of those borders. This closed narrative avoids a complex understanding of migration, contextualized in ever-changing and intertwined geopolitical relations, and results in the use of a purely symbolic, stagnated idea of geographical origins as a means of othering.

Therefore, reflecting on the idea of origin is crucial in order to avoid the petrification of heritage. The book, Las formas del origen, edited by the anthropologist, Ángel Díaz de Rada, focuses not on the origin of things but on human discourses about ‘origin’ itself. According to Díaz de Rada, both scientific experiment and mystical experience are ‘modalities where suspicion about the status of the authentically real is crucial’.^[2] In other words, in both modalities, ‘the pragmatics of a search for the hidden in relation to what is already visible or evident is decisive’.^[3] Thus, when thinking about heritage, and whether it is exclusive or inclusive, it is crucial to always take into account these notions of the ‘authentically real’, the ‘original’ and the ‘essence’.^[4]

As Díaz de Rada explains, ‘opening the door to understanding the truly real’ is to rush in one way or another towards the infinite chain of causes or towards the irrepressible network of genesis. ‘Any stopping in this rush is an epistemic convention, a conventional cutting of what is authentically pertinent to capture the real’.^[5] Meditating on the origin serves, among other things, to not turn it into a weapon or bait, nor to avoid its complexities.

Understanding that the origin is part of the story is the first and most crucial step towards perceiving heritage in an inclusive way because here the origin itself is not fixed, but is understood to be the result of a process that involves a mixture of elements. From this perspective of the ‘impurity’ of origin, the development of heritage can be seen in itself as a process of mixing and dialogue handed down to us. We can continue to use and relate to it in this way, rather than use it as a tool or a reason for exclusion. One of the many examples of this can be found in gastronomy. We know that many recipes that are identified with the cultural or national heritage of a country are the result of a mixture and the outcome of a process of interconnection and relationships with others. However, many of these recipes are used to construct exclusive stories, whether of a nationalist or religious nature, which serve to create closed and confrontational identities.

In the case of Spain, for example, its gastronomic heritage is deeply marked by a need to elide the plurality of society and unify Spanish identity in the same ‘race’, understood as a single national, cultural and religious identity. In this sense, the omnipresence of pork, the illicit ingredient par excellence for Muslims and Jews, has been the pillar of the Spanish gastronomic heritage since the 15th century, coinciding with the inquisitorial ‘blood cleansing’ and the expulsion, death or forced conversion of the Muslim and Jewish populations of the Iberian Peninsula.

Some ‘typical Spanish’ dishes are versions of common dishes in Muslim and Jewish cuisines to which pork has been added, from vegetable stews to sweets. Frying with olive oil was already suspicious, and the dishes had to be cooked with lard (pork fat). Sweets and pastries were also ‘converted’ by replacing olive oil and butter with lard. Here, we can mention one of the clearest examples that allows us to reflect on exclusive or inclusive heritage. ‘Mantecado’ or ‘polvorón’ is probably the most typical and common Christmas sweet in Spanish gastronomic heritage. The basic ingredients in this recipe are almonds, honey (or sugar), cinnamon and other spices and, finally, lard. The mixture of ingredients, the form they have and the special days on which they are eaten (Christmas) indicate that the ‘mantecados’ and ‘polvorones’ are the ideal candidate for exclusive heritage: whoever refuses to eat pork or does not celebrate Christmas will be excluded from enjoying this social, festive and community sweet.

The issue, therefore, is not to eliminate an element of heritage because it is not inclusive, but to look at it from other perspectives. In the case of the mantecado, if met with critical intent and a broader historical perspective, a heritage element that for centuries served to exclude others and build closed identities can serve to build plural and more inclusive societies.