Sammy's Dot

The Toronto Star ran a fascinating article in their Insight section today (albeit one with a baffling sub-header): “From Motown to Hoetown“.

The gist of it: approximately half of Detroit is sitting empty. It’s a food desert in perhaps the bleakest sense of the term: there is not a single chain grocery store left within the city limits. Given the obvious economic depression of the city, I suspect that locally-owned grocers are few and far between; most residents don’t have many options besides convenience stores for food.

Really, the answer is obvious, and both entrepreneurs and local food activists are proposing to turn the empty property into productive farms. (The bafflement of the sub-heading is that the article only very obliquely, if at all, covers conflict between activists and entrepreneurs. One presumes that the entrepreneurs are interested in factory farms?)

I, not surprisingly, am on the side of turning the empty land into community garden-style farms:

His D-Town Farm spans two acres of city parkland on Detroit’s western edge, where little bungalows with rusted awnings still line wide streets and a faded ice cream truck does laps of the yellowing boulevard. The volunteer team running it sells its leafy greens and radishes to local restaurants and farmers markets. Next year, it plans to hire two permanent employees.

“We’re trying to create an economic model, to show how agriculture could contribute to the economic recovery of Detroit,” Malini says, pushing into the brush to reveal a plastic greenhouse where oyster mushrooms will soon grow.

That model doesn’t include agribusiness. Replacing General Motors with Cargill isn’t the answer, he says.

“We’re activists. We’re concerned with the health, vitality and well-being of the black community generally. This is one part of a larger picture. So any proposal that brings in the corporate sector and disempowers community is problematic for us,” says Yakini, who spearheaded the just-formed Detroit Food Policy Council. “We’re much more in favour of smaller scale community-operated projects where people themselves have a vested interest and profit from the sale of the produce.”

Right on. No reason the farms shouldn’t be profitable to the people who operate them – but the profits should stay in the community, and the people who are working the farm should have control over what they grow and where it goes. And it should be accessible to them. Seems to me that the benefits would be much more immediate and tangible, and there would be benefits like this:

A woman up the street started sending her foster kids to help, and a movement was born. Covington erected four white boards to show movies on Saturday nights. He brought in chairs for reading sessions. He started a backpack program and hosted a harvest dinner for 90 neighbours.

Last year, he bought his old teacher’s home and the derelict store next door for $1 from the city, and $4,000 in back taxes. He plans to refurbish it into a community centre.

Looks at least some of the people in Detroit have a fantastic idea for how to rebuild their communities and their city as a whole. The article talks about the idea of planning for shrinking cities in recognition that nothing lasts (or grows) forever, and notes that North America really has no tradition of that kind of planning. I hope that Detroit’s municipal government is willing to get behind this plan.

Besides working on (for which read, procrastinating) my thesis project, I only have one course this semester: “Food, Land, and Culture.” So far, it looks like it will be a fascinating course. I’m not sure what could be better than hanging out for 3 hours a week with 30 or so people to talk about food and politics. But it is a discussion-oriented class, and that means figuring out what my opinions are.

An Agitator thread about Norman Borlaug and this op-ed from the LA Times have both been simmering away at the back of my mind, melding with the first week’s readings, to help shape some of those thoughts.

The op-ed (by Charlotte Allen) blasts Ellen Ruppel Shell’s book Cheap (which, to be fair, I have not read, though I have read a number of the other authors discussed in the article), and much of the article is concerned with food; specifically, the fact that right now in North America, food is cheap and on average, households spend a much lower percentage of their income on their food (though that average is key). However, Allen caricatures her opponents (Alice Waters and Michael Pollan, for example). She notes that they feel that food is under-priced, and then accuses them of wanting others to impoverish themselves, but ignores the rather important question of why they feel food is “too cheap.” By doing so, Allen demolishes a strawman quite nicely, but she certainly hasn’t convinced me that Waters and Pollan – and, presumably, Shell – are a bunch of elitist snobs trying to stomp down the poor in the name of foodie culture.

Meanwhile, Radley Balko posted a bit of a tribute to the late Norman Borlaug, who was one of the innovators of the “green revolution”. For those who don’t know, the green revolution encompasses a number of new developments in agriculture, including synthetic fertilizers, pesticides, and hybrid high-yield crops. This is a significant challenge to the neo-Malthusian perspective; the green revolution makes it very clear that food production will not be inevitably outstripped by population growth.

The story of modern-day cheap food and the green revolution are deeply connected, and as is noted in the Agitator thread (by myself, among others), this is not an entirely bad thing. I’m an environmentalist, and I’m not an optimist of the Julian Simon school of thought; I do believe that the Earth is finite (although the limits are, to some extent, elastic), and I think that the human population will have to be limited in the long run, though I think the only way for that will work is if it’s voluntary. However, in the short run, whether or not we believe that the planet is over-populated, it is not right that people should starve if we can prevent it. And right now, we can, and industrial agriculture made that possible, both by increasing the food supply and lowering food prices. Garrett Hardin’s lifeboat metaphor is one of the foulest ideas I’ve ever heard associated with environmentalism, and criticizing industrial agriculture for enabling population growth without widespread starvation skirts dangerously close to that way of thinking.

That said, industrial agriculture should not be immune to criticism. What Charlotte Allen – and Radley Balko – overlook is that although industrializing agriculture made food prices lower in part through economies of scale and greater productivity, it also created a number of negative externalities. Tegtmeier and Duffy (2004), for example, examined the costs of soil erosion, water and air pollution, biodiversity loss, and human health impacts from conventional agriculture, and suggested that in total, 5 – 16.9 billion dollars are spent annually in the US to pay for the consequences of industrial agriculture. Those numbers are large, but they might be a reasonable price to pay to prevent hunger. However, the problems for which Tegtmeier and Duffy are evaluating costs are not static; for example, erosion imposes an annual cost, but the annual cost will go up as arable land is reduced and soil fertility is lost. When I go to the grocery store and buy a pint of strawberries that were grown on a conventional farm on the other side of the continent, I do not pay those extra costs. Society – and the surrounding environment – does.

We will pay those costs eventually – unless we take a critical look at industrial agriculture. Critical assessment doesn’t mean that we deny that industrial agriculture has helped people; it means we work to assess the unintended consequences to both environmental and human health, and look for alternative practices that can stave off those consequences while retaining the advantages. And there’s my Julian Simon moment – I think that there is plenty of evidence that with enough political will, sustainable agricultural practices can be implemented, and they do not mean either a low-productivity agriculture that will not feed our population, or a return to individual subsistence agriculture. Criticizing industrial agriculture for its well-documented environmental and health consequences does not mean that one must necessarily take an abhorrent moral stance with regard to the human population and our well-being.

Having (finally) slogged through both Risk Society and Ecological Politics in an Age of Risk, I think I’ve settled my thoughts about Ulrich Beck and his contribution to the contemporary environmental movement.

His point, that modernization leads to increased risks as a consequence of modern activity, and that those risks spur ever more attempts to fix the problems through technology, makes sense. One issue I take with Beck’s notion of “risk society” is that he attempts to argue that social problems and upheaval will result from “reflexive modernization”. I don’t find his case that there will be significant societal consequences arising from genetic engineering convincing, due to the lack of data discussed in my previous post on the books.

However, Beck’s belief that the lack of clear responsibility for any harm that may be caused by emitters of chemical and radioactive pollution will allow the world as a whole to become a laboratory for the potential environmental consequences seems to me to be more persuasive. As I understand him, though, Beck is arguing that the scientific, naturalistic worldview has become too powerful and too closely linked with capitalist interests. This means that no matter what problems are caused by the (presumably commercial) application of scientific research, science and industry will be able to profit by the damage they create and society as a whole will pay the price. Naomi Klein makes a very similar point in The Shock Doctrine, writing about the defense and security industries and the degree of political influence their leaders have gained. It is here that I think Beck is slightly off-base in his criticisms of the scientific worldview.

It seems to me that Beck is correct that the application of science has led to significant environmental damage, but I disagree that this is a new phenomenon, and the scientific method, unlike earlier explorations into new technology, as Beck himself argues, gives us the ability to examine our past harms and also to extrapolate our future. What we need is greater understanding of the scientific method among a much wider segment of the population, in order to effectively direct science. Beck criticizes the ultra-specialization of the practice of science and its elitist character, but as I understand him, he then argues that to prevent widespread social and environmental damage by these scientific elites, the practice of science itself should be socially limited without much regard for the actual evidence that certain directions for research are inherently risky.

That would limit potential harm, but it would also deprive us of many potential benefits. Of course, as I read Beck, he does not believe that scientific knowledge has led to social and individual benefits. I do accept that we benefit from science, in many ways beyond the wonder of understanding. I’d rather see that understanding expanded across the population, and have as many people as possible be capable of realistic evaluation of the risks posed by scientific research and its applications. Beck and I agree that science can cause problems, but I see the fact that science also contains the tools to fix problems as its great strength, not a reason for mistrust.

In addition to Risk Society (Ulrich Beck), I’m working on Ecological Politics in an Age of Risk (also by Beck). Both books leave me with the same complaint: give me data!

While Ecological Politics is much more accessible than Risk Society, I think it shows the same method of speculation about the social effects of technology without supporting information. In the first chapter, Beck explores the potential of reproductive technology to fundamentally alter the way humans are born. He is particularly concerned with the way that human embryos (may) become a sort of commodity for researchers, and the results of their research leads to greater and greater levels of medical and scientific intervention into the production of children, and presumably this feeds back into the need to do more genetic research in order to feed this new market.

It’s interesting speculation, but all that it is, is speculation. Beck says that in vitro fertilization is indicated more and more frequently (now that it is possible), but does not offer any statistical information on how many couples are using it (or why!), or how many men are depositing sperm at sperm banks, or how many couples are using ova or sperm from donors because their own is not “good enough”. He certainly does not discuss how many people make use of genetic testing – or why some people might choose to do so, while others do not. In the absence of any data, it seems to me that it is equally, if not more, likely that most couples will continue to produce children in the old-fashioned way, that being easier, cheaper, and usually leading to a perfectly acceptable, if not perfect, baby.

Although there is no doubt that techniques such as sex selection and pre-natal diagnosis for conditions such as Down Syndrome are in use, I do not think that Beck has made the case that they will necessarily lead to more and more deliberate shaping and manipulation of the human species. It is a possibility that should be examined – and in my opinion, applied very cautiously if at all – but Beck has given me no reason to accept that his concerns are valid.

Beck goes on to suggest that the burden of proof of harm has been misplaced, in that scientific researchers are free to explore questions that may impact all of society, while society as a whole, which will have to bear the risks and consequences of that research, does not have the opportunity to question or influence the direction and methodology of the scientific establishment. It’s the precautionary principle, and as an environmental studies geek, I’m sympathetic to the argument. However, though I agree that all scientific research occurs within a social context and certainly effects society, I think that Beck’s argument is undermined by the fact that he complains that we are moving toward an unknown future without stopping to ask what the consequences of our decisions will be, and yet he does not take the opportunity to present data that presumably are already available, if his assertions about the use of reproductive technology are credible.

Perhaps that’s a different book, one devoted to exploring the current and future consequences of scientific research. Nonetheless, I find it hard to accept an argument that there will be fundamental changes to society as a result of applied research without some tangible reasons why. “People will use it because it’s available” or “the medical-economic establishment will market it” is not enough. I think that the precautionary principle should guide research and innovation, but I also think that those of us who advocate it need to use, and encourage everyone to use, existing data to good effect.

And it’s barely even started yet.

I haven’t been writing here much (okay, at all) because – as noted in March – I’ve been concentrating on the writing that somebody else is expected to read and then assign me a letter to indicate the quality of my work. Writing, I believe, is one of those things that one gets out of practice in; so is reading books with a bit more meat to them than, say, Honor Harrington novels. Besides, I’d rather write the literature review for my thesis in the next three months, when I don’t have to do anything else. So, the summer project for Sammy’s Dot will be an ongoing series of reflection on a self-directed reading program.

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The links between agriculture and human health are complex. Anyone who’s read Diamond’s Guns, Germs, and Steel will be familiar with the notion that many devastating diseases – smallpox is perhaps the most obvious – crossed to humans from their livestock. However, those people who lived in close proximity to each other and to their animals eventually developed a degree of resistance.

There is, I think, a powerful tendency to imagine that this interplay between human and non-human is in the past, or at worst, still occurring in some parts of the world (China, Africa), but not North America.

One of my profs has done quite a bit of research into the outbreak of E. Coli O157:H7 in Walkerton, Ontario in 2000, and he would argue that’s certainly not the case. In a paper on the topic, Ali (2004) noted research that suggests that the virulence of that particular strain of E. Coli appears to be at least partly due to its ability to survive extreme environments, including the highly acidic environment of the stomach, and it may have acquired this ability through exposure to acidified soil and water. The acidic soil and water, of course, was the result of acid rain, caused by human activities which emitted sulfur dioxide into the air. Ali (2004) also stressed the fact that while the virulent strain of E. Coli is believed to have emerged first in Argentina, it is now widespread across North America. The human role in the transmission of the disease is better understood than our role in its creation. Many people have pointed out that E. Coli O157:H7 is particularly dangerous because it can survive high heat and freezing, and so poses a risk to anyone who buys meat which is contaminated; Walkerton also proved that a breakdown in the containment systems of intensive livestock operations or a breakdown in a water utility can put people at risk of illness or death.

With all of this in mind, it was interesting to read Nicholas Kristof’s column in The New York Times today:

One of the first clues that pigs could infect people with MRSA came in the Netherlands in 2004, when a young woman tested positive for a new strain of MRSA, called ST398. The family lived on a farm, so public health authorities swept in — and found that three family members, three co-workers and 8 of 10 pigs tested all carried MRSA.

MRSA is methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus, a disease which I at least have always thought of as a disease one is most likely to contract in hospital. Kristof’s article suggests that assumption is a dangerous one. Even if one cannot contract MRSA by eating pork, which is likely as it is typically transmitted by skin contact, many people work in the livestock industry. They can transmit the disease to each other and to their families and friends as well as contract it from contact with their animals. They might also spread it to healthy animals, and in today’s agricultural system, livestock may be sold and transported across a distance, further increasing the number of potential infections.

Kristof’s story is not finished:

So what’s going on here, and where do these antibiotic-resistant infections come from? Probably from the routine use — make that the insane overuse — of antibiotics in livestock feed. This is a system that may help breed virulent “superbugs” that pose a public health threat to us all. That’ll be the focus of my next column, on Sunday.

And his story is raising old questions about the safety of antibiotic use in agriculture. But it’s one that needs to be asked continuously, because we have not yet addressed the potential harms of the way we raise crops and livestock. I don’t think anyone can deny the raise them – we too will be affected.at more food is available at lower cost – at least in North America – than in the past, but there are also unintended consequences, and we cannot escape them.

We need to remember that although we no longer share close quarters with the animals we raise for food, we are still embedded in the same, increasingly complex, ecosystem that they are. When those animals are afflicted by disease – partly because of how we raise them – we too are affected. Until we recognize this in our food policies, this will continue.

Ali, S. Harris. (2004) “A Socio-Ecological Autopsy of the E. coli O157:H7 Outbreak in  Walkerton, Ontario, Canada.” Social Science and Medicine 58(12): 2601-2612

I’ve got approximately ten weeks to hammer a whole lot of vague-ish thoughts about the environment and politics into a proposal for my senior honours thesis. I’m going to be spending some blogging time trying to sort through the questions I most want to try to answer, and theoretical ways that I might answer them. If any readers exist, comment is welcome.

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I’m going to venture a wild guess, here: if you’re a psychologist, or a psychology student, terms like collectivist and individualist are very, very familiar. (So familiar you may be sick of hearing about the explanatory power of these concepts. So familiar that it seems like everything is being divided up into these two categories.) If you’re not into psychology, you can probably still make an accurate stab at what the two terms mean, but might not guess that they actually do seem to be useful ways to categorize (and explain!) our values and beliefs and behaviours. Since I was a psychology student, and I’m very interested in why different people behave in different ways when it comes to environmental problems, I was really fascinated to hear about the work that Donald Braman has been doing, along with Dan Kahan and a number of colleagues. (Kahan looks to be the principal investigator and I’m citing it as such, but I first heard of it listening to an interview with Braman in the course of an Ideas podcast.)

Their paper on the results of the Second National Risk and Culture Study, publicly available (in PDF format) from The Social Science Research Network, reviews several areas of public policy in which people’s willingness to accept seemingly objective facts turned out to be strongly associated with their cultural orientation.

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I’m taking a class called Environment and Health right now. It’s a pretty fascinating class, but we watch a documentary in just about every session that leaves me shaking with rage. A story like this one illustrates why.

The article outlines the case of Ed Abney, who is suffering from Parkinson’s – along with 27 co-workers, all of whom were exposed to trichloroethelyne, which has now been linked to neurological damage similar to that seen in Parkinson’s. However, the conclusive link has only been demonstrated in rats, and it is not possible for researchers to reconstruct a history of Mr. Abney’s exposure to trichloroethelyne and possibly other chemicals over several decades of work.

I think that to most people, looking at the situation, it is obvious that Mr. Abney’s illness was caused by his documented exposure to trichlorothelyne. The clear evidence that it causes Parkinson’s-like symptoms in rats, plus the number of similarly exposed co-workers with similiar symptoms, suggests that trichloroethelyne is a dangerous substance. Mr. Abney and his co-workers should be compensated for the injuries that they suffered on the job, and use of the chemical should be eliminated wherever possible, and strictly controlled if it is too essential in some industries to eliminate immediately.

However, if you’re a scientist – and I have nothing against scientists or the scientific method – it’s not so clear that trichloroethelyne is causing Parkinson’s in humans, especially in humans who have probably been exposed to an entire cocktail of chemicals over many years. The study described in the linked article was a small one, and though the correlation is clear, it’s not unequivocal evidence of causation. It’s probable, but it’s not possible to say for sure.

If you’re a lawyer, particularly a lawyer for the companies that manufacture and use these chemicals, well, perfect: the scientists can’t say that exposure to this chemical definitely caused these symptoms, and in both Canada and the US, most laws follow the principle that a substance is safe until it is proven to be harmful, which is a difficult task.

In the meantime, workers will continue to be exposed to chemicals that are almost certainly harmful, either by themselves or in combination. Air, water, and soil will continue to be polluted with substances that are likely harmful, but not absolutely proven to be so, and humans, animals, and plants far from the industries in question will also be exposed.

Scientific standards are vital, but when it comes to making environmental and workplace policy, the precautionary principle should apply if there is evidence that correlates a substance with harm. That approach can always be reversed at a later date if future research findings do not bear out the correlation, but it is much, much harder to do a reversal if we continue to use chemicals that are probable, but not proven, toxins until the proof rolls in. We are running a very large and uncontrolled experiment on our entire population, and we cannot go back to the way things were if the results turn out not to our liking.

Better safe than sorry, as some like to say.

As soon as I start to think about parks and conservation, I start to get all tangled up in guilt. Just about everything I’ve read this year that has discussed parks has raised this problem.

I suspect – or at least, I hope – that most of the people advocating for greater conservation in Canada are also wrestling with guilt, because setting aside land is not as simple as it sounds on paper.

Economic impact is an important problem, of course, especially in Canada, where there are still many towns based around a single industry, usually an extractive one. However, the questions about who can access designated parks, and what kinds of activity can be permitted in designated parks (leaving aside logging and mining, both of which are permitted in parks across this country), strikes me as more pernicious, because they are more forgettable. Nonetheless, the way we as a society answer those questions can have a major impact on how much land is protected, and where that land is, and how effective the protection is.

For example, I currently have access to a car, and the financial means to go camping a few times a year; it’s easy for me to visit Ontario’s parks (assuming my designated driver feels like roughing it for a bit, at least). I’m all for designating more lands strictly as parks, with restricted access for camping and hiking and no extractive industry. But I’m lucky, and it’s easy for me to forget that it’s a luxury to be able to agitate for more land to be set aside for me to pursue an activity I enjoy. If I didn’t have the financial means to consider leaving town for a weekend, and easy access to transportation, well, I doubt that it would be important to me whether or not there were public parks available.

Part of the answer to this is that we need to encourage people to think about the ecosystems that are around where they live. In this view, the David Dunlop Observatory lands should be understood to be as important as a place like High Park. Spaces that are in the middle of cities are always going to be more significantly impacted by human activity, but they can still serve as habitats and as nodes in a network of wildlife corridors; they can still be places where indigenous ecosystems can be preserved. The only difference between these two parks is that one is an official park and is not under threat, and one is owned by a developer, and the deer and birds do not pay rent.

It’s still important to agitate for strong protection of undeveloped wilderness, but I think that part of the answer to the problem of who is able to enjoy nature is to remember that nature is all around us, if we permit it to be. We need to petition for a policy to encourage large city parks with a range of natural habitats, linked wherever possible by greenbelts.