Livestock have been severely depleting public rangelands for decades. They do so by trampling vegetation, damaging soil, spreading invasive weeds, polluting water, increasing the likelihood of destructive fires, depriving native wildlife of forage and shelter and even contributing to global warming—all of which has been noted in study after study. Global studies. Peer-reviewed studies. Government studies. Lots of studies going back many years.
So why do people get up in arms about drilling for oil in the Arctic national wildlife refuge, demolished forests and polluted streams, but accept cattle trampling wildlife refuges and national parks, forests and grasslands as if that’s a productive use of our nation’s shared landscape?
Why does that damage—amounting to as much as a one billion dollar subsidy to a very small slice of the livestock industry every year—go unmentioned by a media that so eagerly condemns climate change deniers and proponents of fracking? (Read the Daily Pitchfork’s analysis of the destructive economics of public lands ranching here).
Everyone can recognize an oil-soaked sea bird, a clear-cut forest, a stream that’s been ruined by industrial pollutants and extreme drought and other destructive weather. But few Americans visit the nation’s public grass and forest lands; fewer still know what livestock damage actually looks like on them.
Read more here.
Last year Nicholas Kristof published a disturbing column—disturbing even by Nicholas Kristof standards—on an undercover video from the Humane Society of the United States of a Kentucky pig outfit named Iron Maiden Farm (yeah, really). The operation—a typical embodiment of Big Agriculture—was caught feeding a slush of piglet intestines to sows in order to establish immunity against a devastating disease called porcine epidemic diarrhea (PEDv). This technique, “controlled exposure,” is “widely accepted,” according to the Kentucky Livestock Coalition. Lovely.
The virus broke out last May in Iowa and has killed over three million pigs nationwide. As a way to avoid this intestine-based smoothie, Kristof urged consumers to forgo factory-farmed pork in exchange for pork produced by small farms. He sites the well-known Niman Ranch as an example. In other words, just buy your pork from the right places.
This advice seems perfectly sensible—and in many cases involving porcine disease it would be. Swine consolidation can enhance the spread of certain pathogens. However, in the instance of PEDv, the connection between farm size and disease is tenuous at best. Small farms, according to many experts I’ve spoken with, turn out to be every bit at risk of getting hit with an outbreak of PEDv as large ones. “This virus doesn’t discriminate,” says Dr. Russ Daley, a South Dakota State University Extension Veterinarian with whom I spoke the day after the HSUS expose dropped. In fact, Daley had recently spoken with a family farmer with 40-50 pigs who experienced a deadly outbreak of PEDv.
This is precisely the kind of detail that media coverage of factory farming almost never includes. Ever. Too often, it reduces the broad continuum of animal agriculture to “factory farming” and “humane farming.” But agriculture is much more diverse than that. Farms don’t break down into simple categories.
Dirigo Quality Meats, a company that provides pork farms of all sizes with biosecurity plans, draws on sound veterinary science to highlight an important culprit behind the spread of PEDv. It’s not farm size. Rather, it’s birds. DQM writes:
So what farms are at risk? Right now, this virus has been identified at large hog operations, but, that’s where the vets and research money are. Smaller producers who can’t or don’t implement practices are at very high risk. … If there are birds coming in and out of the tractor trailers parked outside, those birds are flying to other farms.
DQM advises pig farmers to “keep birds away from pigs and practice biosecurity,” but tellingly notes, “that’s all well and good for large hog farms with indoor housing and multiple trucks for transportation, but what’s a small diversified farm to do?” (Of course, the answer is hire DQM!)
There are other factors to include when evaluating Kristof’s advice to avoid PEDv-infected farms by sourcing pork from small farms. Many experts suggest that small farms are less likely to report an outbreak of PEDv in the first place
“Undoubtedly, more farms have PEDv than is reported in the official count,” Dr. Ron Plain, an agricultural economist at the University of Missouri, told the PORKNetwork. “I think it is reasonable to estimate that the official count of infected farms is less than half of the actual total. I suspect small farms are less likely to pay for the confirmation test than large ones.”
Other considerations challenge the connection between farm size and PEDv prevalence. Transportation to and from the farm—particularly by the trucks that bring pigs to slaughter—helps spread the disease. Pigs from small and large farms typically go to the same slaughter facilities, according to Daley. Furthermore, PEDv has been linked to commercial feed, which both confined and pastured pigs consume in abundance. In fact, according to Daley, small farmers may be more reliant on externally sourced commercial feed than big farmers, which often produce their own feed on site.
Daley correctly notes that “we have no direct comparisons” on small and large farms. But in one study of PEDv prevalence on North Carolina pig farms, operations that tested positive for PEDv had an average herd size of 4,683. Those that tested negative had a herd size that was almost the same, at 4,035. What mattered when it came to the presence of PEDv wasn’t the size of the farm—they were all pretty big—but the visitation of trucks. Positive sites had double the truck traffic than negative sites. “Site capacity was not significantly associated with PEDv,” the study concluded.
There’s a common assumption among very prominent writers who cover food and farming that size matters when it comes to the spread of disease on animal farms. I wish matters were so simple. While this correlation may sometimes be the case with some diseases in some places, there’s very little to suggest that it’s true for PEDv (and other diseases—see this, this, and this). Consumers would be foolish to trust the old axiom that “humane” small farms are inherently safer than their larger counterparts. Animals raised in low density on pasture might be happier, but not necessarily healthier.
Chipotle is a fast food company that talks a big game about sourcing animal products from responsible farms. The company’s “food with integrity” slogan assures customers that, “when sourcing meat, we work hard to find farmers and ranchers who are doing things the right way.”
But a careful examination of Chipotle’s animal welfare rhetoric quickly confirms the lack of any hard commitment to the welfare ideals it so breezily espouses. Without going into a systematic analysis of Chipotle’s marketing verbiage, it’s quickly apparent that the most common qualifier anchoring Chipotle to factory farming is this: “whenever possible.” Yes, Chipotle will “work hard” to support welfare standards “whenever possible.”
But these qualifiers have proven meaningless for the once McDonald’s-owned company. In 2013, when the supply of antibiotic-free beef dropped, the company allowed factory-farmed antibiotic-laden beef into the supply chain. As this was happening, the company’ co-founder was telling the media—who acted as scribes—things such as “The more consumers understand the benefits of eating food from more sustainable sources, the more they’re going to expect it from everyone.”
A sinister calculation is at work for Chipotle. On the one hand, it waxes rhetorically about its high welfare standards and this rhetoric serves to improve the company’s popularity. On the other, this intensified popularity means that Chipotle’s demand for meat and dairy will outstrip the supply of meat and dairy available from the farmers it earnestly claims to support.
Read more here.
Temple Grandin is perhaps the world’s most-recognized authority on farm-animal welfare. As the subject of an admiring HBO film, she has a lot of fans. Foremost among them are journalists on the agriculture beat. Whenever an animal-welfare perspective is required, it seems the first person tapped for a quote is Temple Grandin.
But Grandin is a paid industry consultant. She profits financially by designing industrial slaughterhouses. She supplements her income by writing books and delivering speeches about those designs. Whatever animal welfare advice she offers should always be framed in the context of her monetary connection to industrial agriculture.
It should also be noted that big agriculture—big beef in particular—adores Grandin. She approaches agricultural “reform” from a compellingly safe perspective, one as much informed by her Ph.D. in animal science as her autism.
The notion that Grandin’s autism provides unique insight into animal perspectives curries considerable favor with the general public, thereby further enhancing her credibility and reputation as a person who cares deeply about animals. Big Ag plays on this association brilliantly. Journalists help them do it.
Grandin’s allegedly unique connection to animal lives is routinely reified through visually arresting images. Here’s Grandin hugging a horse. Here she is surrounded by a brace of cows. Here she is petting a pig. Never do we see Grandin with an animal being slaughtered. That would sully the image.
Obviously, one would think, Grandin’s empathy for these animals runs deep, deep enough at least for us to trust her as a viable source of information on their welfare.
But her real job is to help agribusiness kill them.
The Daily Pitchfork, which I hope you will consider subscribing to, is off to a fantastic start. Our most recent piece is an excellent article by Vickery Eckhoff on the sloppy reporting on wild horses in the American west. It is a careful and somewhat jaw dropping revelation of how extensively journalists twist messages to avoid upsetting the status quo. Enjoy. Subscribe!
Michael Moss’ powerful New York Times’ investigation into the United States Department of Agriculture’s Meat Animal Research Center (“U.S. Research Lab Lets Livestock Suffer In Quest For Profit”) predictably outraged readers. The collective angst came not just because of the center’s ghoulish and inept experimentation; not just because the research animals suffered to boost profits in the livestock industry; but because the public learned that taxpayers had footed the bill — and had been doing so — for fifty years.
Compare that discovery to the recent media attention given to a very similar program, one involving even more animals, conducted to boost livestock industry profits, costing even more taxpayer dollars, and degrading millions of acres of public rangelands in the American West: The Bureau of Land Management’s Wild Horse and Burros Program (WHB).
Read more here.
Noah Berlatsky writes in the Los Angeles Review of Books:
RECENTLY I WROTE a story about Star Wars and science fiction for The Atlantic. The comments section, as these things will, featured a large number of people telling me that I was unqualified to write about the topic because I hadn’t read enough sci-fi books, or hadn’t read enough recent sci-fi books, or hadn’t read the right sci-fi books, or hadn’t seen the right sci-fi movies.
I’m sure this is a familiar experience for anyone who’s published work on culture.
Culture? Try agriculture.
I’ve been writing about the topic for many years and perhaps the biggest blowback question I get is “are you a farmer”?
“No,” I respond, “which is why you should trust me.”
There is a paradox at the core of expertise: those who really know something well, be it sci-fi or growing corn, are often too wrapped up in it economically or emotionally to register opinions that are free of self-interest. Not always, but most of the time.
Critics can say what they will about my thoughts on agriculture but, at the end of the day, I’m a history professor who, although passionate about the topic, has no economic stake in the game one way or another. Zero. I get my paycheck from the state of Texas.
By contrast, take a close look at those who are delivering the most persistent pleas for various forms of agricultural reform, one way or another.
I’m too tired to name names, but when beef ranchers promote the beauties of grass-fed beef, or pig-farmers promote the beauties of pastured pigs, or egg-farmers promote the virtue of Humane Certified eggs, or food writers promote foods that happen to be central to the recipes they write in best-selling cookbooks, I balk.
To be fair, I also balk when—again, without naming names—animal advocates link their activism with their own entrepreneurial product development. I’m not begrudging anyone their quest to make some crumple, but I have no choice but to assume their expertise is compromised as well.
Odd as it may sound, expertise is enhanced with distance from the topic under consideration.
As promised, I will spend more time this year dedicating space to viewpoints that I deeply oppose. This is especially the case for the following excerpt, which comes from a review of my book, The Modern Savage. As will be evident to anyone familiar with basic animal ethics, the author’s reasoning would fail an Ethics 101 class. But it passes for intelligent commentary in the mainstream media. I’ll send your well-reasoned and polite comments to the author in a week.
The full review is here.
Plus, there are some problems with those statements [against eating animals].
Secondly, not everyone buys sustainable livestock primarily for animal rights reasons. In fact, people who choose to eat “sustainable” meat may put animal rights lower on the priority list than, say, antibiotic use, environmental concerns, taste and personal health than those who abstain altogether. Where is the hypocrisy in that?
Third, those who don’t like to cause animal deaths should not support the cultivation of any crop that encroaches on animal habitats. My point being that all agriculture — plant or livestock — predictably kills and displaces sentient animals, every time. So, in the end, we’re just talking degrees and numbers of deaths.
Fourth, McWilliams assumes that absolutely everyone in this world can both survive and thrive on a vegan diet [ACTUALLY I DON'T]. Anecdotally, I’ve known too many people who’ve tried to live a faithful vegan life based on deep conviction. But their health suffered and only returned when they incorporated some animal products back into their lives — often sustainably raised ones. That said, I’ve also known super healthy vegans.
Mark Bittman’s recent column on California’s overturn of the state’s foie gras ban is—for lack of a better term—weird. Really weird. The gist is that Bittman thinks we’re paying too much attention to the cruelty of foie gras—“the most overrated of luxury ingredients”—while ignoring the reality that the vast majority of animal agriculture is cruel. In and of itself, this claim seems sensible. But it’s the way that Bittman makes his case that ultimately turns his column into a (perhaps unintended) defense of foie gras. Read more here.
Oh, and subscribe!
Early last week the animal activist group Direct Action Everywhere released a harrowing video based on an undercover investigation of Petaluma Farms, a Northern California operation that supplies eggs to Whole Foods and Organic Valley. In it, hundreds of chickens are shown crammed into sheds and suffering several obvious ailments, including respiratory distress and being stuck in feces.
Read more here. And subscribe.