The Locavore's Dilemma (5 page)

While superficially compelling, SOLE has drawn fire from a number of critics, such as Missouri conventional farmer Blake Hurst;
¹⁸
journalists Joe Pompeo,
¹⁹
Stephen Budiansky,
²⁰
and Ronald Bailey;
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writers Dave Lowry
²²
and Greg Critser;
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academic economists Thomas R. DeGregori,
²⁴
Art Carden,
²⁵
Steven Landsburg,
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Steven Saxton,
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Edward L. Glaeser,
²⁸
and Jayson L. Lusk, and F. Bailey Northwood;
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political scientist Robert Paarlberg;
³⁰
and private sector agricultural policy analyst Gary Blumenthal.
³¹

As these and other critics see things, locavores belong to an environmentalist sect that makes a moral issue out of where your food is grown and are satisfied with the appearance of green behavior rather than facts and effective results. Oblivious to what life is really like when most food is organic and locally produced, they promote a dire lifestyle now limited to our planet's most destitute locations.

If you want to embrace locally produced organic and nonprocessed food, the political scientist Robert Paarlberg points out, you could move to sub-Saharan rural Africa, where SOLE is a daily reality. There, about
60% of the population is engaged in either farming or herding from dawn to dusk. In addition, because these farmers can't afford modern technologies, they must rely on traditional organic methods, and only about 4% of their cropland is irrigated,
de facto
protecting precious local watersheds and underground aquifers. Because approximately 70% of households live more than a 30 minute walk from the nearest all-weather road, residents must purchase and sell most of their food locally while their primitive cooking technologies and lack of access to processed food ensures that they must devote much time to food preparation. What is the reality of this SOLE dream? Average cereal crop yields that are at best one-fifth as high as in advanced economies, and life as our ancestors pretty much knew it, with average incomes hovering around $1 a day and an approximately one in three probability of being malnourished.
³²

In the end, critics tell us, SOLE is essentially a fad promoted by bicoastal urban “agri-intellectuals” whose knowledge of and practical experience with food production are typically limited to the world of hobby gardening and a once-in-a-lifetime foray into hunting or killing a backyard animal. Among other problems, these fans of the local uncritically champion a few “alternative” operations, such as Joel Salatin's
Polyface
farm, a “family owned, multi-generational, pasture-based, beyond organic, local-market farm, and informational outreach in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley” that is in the business of “healing the land, healing the food, healing the economy, and healing the culture.” Yet, they rarely mention Polyface's low productivity, high prices for common “industrial” livestock breeds, arguably greater health risks in light of their livestock's management practices, and dependence on both conventional producers for livestock and apprenticeship programs for cheap labor. Furthermore, Salatin derives substantial revenues from his numerous (and often distant) engagements as both a speaker and consultant to supplement his farming income, something which could obviously never be duplicated by producers who would adopt his holistic organic farming model.
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Too busy denouncing some imaginary ills of modern farming, agri-intellectuals and proponents of locavorism do not ask why large-scale
agricultural producers—who alone can feed large numbers of people at affordable prices—raise crops and care for livestock the way they do. Enthralled by romantic notions of rural life, they care little about the damage inflicted on unprotected crops by pests and weather, don't consider the real-world consequences of food shortages, and brush aside concerns about the large-scale deforestation that would inevitably ensue from the much less productive methods they promote.

To food writer Dave Lowry, the largely upper middle-class followers of SOLE principles are often “foodiots,” who, already saddled with “anti-capitalist sensitivities,” too much income, and unsubstantiated fears about conventional food quality, further live “in constant fear of being identified with the McRib-gobbling proletariat.”
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Another “benefit” of the SOLE fad, according to health writer Greg Critser, is that it helps reconfirm the elite status of professional chefs and food critics threatened by the ever-increasing abundance and affordability of once scarce and expensive ingredients.
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Farmers' markets have in the meantime evolved into a combination of premium boutiques and environmentalist temples whose main offering is “feel good” value at premium prices. In the end, the real magic of locavorism, Lowry tells us, is that it allows some individuals to achieve the non-negligible feat of being simultaneously snobs and “one of the folks.”
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Locavorism, according to food policy analyst Gary Blumenthal, essentially boils down to “social affinity, a sense of sympathy for David and antagonism toward Goliath due to concerns about tribe, equity, and greed.”
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While one can always find some committed practitioners of the SOLE lifestyle who do make significant economic and personal sacrifices to live up to their ideals, it remains by and large the province of an elite customer base that can afford a residence near a prime and diversified agricultural area in a temperate climatic zone; higher food prices; much spare time devoted to cooking and preserving food; a large and fully equipped kitchen, a second freezer, and significant storage space for canned goods. As acknowledged by Clara Jeffrey and Monika Bauerlein, editors at
Mother Jones
, “by focusing on consumer
choices—always more available to the affluent—the foodie movement has . . . perpetuated a two-class system: pesticide-laden, processed, packaged, irradiated slop for the many, artisanal sheep's milk cheese for a few.”
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Echoing this sentiment, on April 27, 2010, Republican senators John McCain, Saxby Chambliss, and Pat Roberts wrote a letter to the U.S. Department of Agriculture requesting information on the “Know your Farmer, Know your Food” program, in which they opined that this $65 million initiative to promote urban farmers' markets was mostly catering to “small, hobbyist, and organic producers whose customers generally consist of affluent patrons.” These “feelgood measures which are completely detached from the realities of production agriculture,” they added, were depriving suffering rural communities from much needed assistance in order to favor urban consumers who had no real need for it.
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Many committed locavores are also long-time activists who, once organic and fair trade commodities became widely available at Wal-Mart and other large retail stores (often through the good services of food manufacturing giants like PepsiCo), went looking for other ways to stick it to large polluting and profiteering corporations. As the organic farm certifier David Gould put it: “Know your farmer, that was one of the keys of the organic mission that has been lost.”
⁴⁰
For Gould and like-minded individuals, “organic agriculture” should not be simply about the way food is produced, but just as (and perhaps even more) important, about an alternative economic, social, and ecological paradigm that reconnects urban consumers to the land, or at least to small-scale organic producers, and teaches the value of a simpler and less consumption-based lifestyle. But as the leitmotif of for-profit business has long been “when there is a demand, there is a way,” many large chains have in recent years increased their “local food” offering.
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In our view, food activists have yet to answer satisfactorily four fundamental questions:

If our modern food system is so bad for us, why do we now enjoy dramatically longer and healthier lives than our ancestors?

How can less efficient alternatives to current food production methods provide adequate and affordable nutrition to the soon-to-be nine billion human beings, approximately 85% of whom will be living in developing countries, and who, in the coming decades, will need more food than was eaten in the last ten thousand years?

How many million acres of wildlife habitat should be sacrificed to implement local and organic farming methods that, while deemed more sustainable by activists, gobble up a lot more land to produce the same amount of food as more technologically advanced ones?
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If local food production in earlier eras was so great, why did consumers increasingly favor items from ever more remote locations?

The first three issues have already been capably addressed in much detail by other authors, and we will consequently deal with them on an as-needed basis only. The last one, however, is where we hope to make a significant contribution.
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Food production and distribution is a complex business, so let us begin by making the obvious point that not all “local” food is created equal and that some of it is perfectly fine with us. For instance, New Hampshire maple syrup, California strawberries, Alaskan salmon and crabs, Washington apples, Florida oranges, Michigan cherries, and Iowa corn are among the best and most affordable in the world and, as a result, have long been enjoyed by nearby and distant consumers alike. Competitively priced, high-quality seasonal local fruits and vegetables have also long been sought after by nearby grocers and restaurateurs alike. “Hobby” gardening is its own psychic reward and should not be judged by economic criteria. In isolated rural areas where land is cheap, game animals abundant, and economic opportunities limited, it often makes perfect sense to cultivate large vegetable gardens along with fruit and nut trees; to keep animal coops while having a few grass-fed ruminants roam over the surrounding pastureland; and to supply one's pantry, root
cellar, and freezer with the results of hunting, fishing, and harvesting wild food of various kinds. Local food items that might not be the most delicious or economical might also have other redeeming qualities, such as an orchard that survives on “pick-your-own” family outings or an otherwise average vineyard to which a gourmet restaurant has been added. Some overpriced local food might also be sold for charitable purposes.

“Local when sensible” is obviously not our concern, nor do we believe that most committed locavores sincerely promote the cultivation of pineapples or bananas in the American snowbelt; in our experience, they would rather have local residents get by without them. We don't even disagree with their belief that “eating locally means eating seasonally,” which, in turn, results in “deprivation lead[ing] to greater appreciation.”
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In our view, food masochism should be left to the realm of personal preferences. Rather, we draw the line where local food is deemed desirable simply
because of its geographical origin
and is not more affordable, nutritious, safer, or better tasting than alternatives produced further away.

Locavores and people otherwise indifferent to the movement might interject that life is not only about turning a profit and what people do on their own time and with their own dime is their business. Besides, if the current obsessions with small organic homesteads, urban gardens, green roofs, and backyard poultry are nothing but the latest in a long line of pointless food fads, why argue over the issue? The problem is that local food activists are spreading environmental misconceptions, increasingly picking our pockets, and threatening our food security. “Vote with your fork and your consumer dollar!” might be their unofficial slogan, but their campaign material so frequently and so severely distorts the true impact of uncompetitive local agriculture that they could be held liable to prosecution under false advertising statutes. On top of that, many activists have been hard at work to mandate the purchase of pricier local food by public institutions (most prominently government agencies, school boards, hospitals, prisons, universities, and military
bases), prevent the redevelopment of abandoned marginal agricultural land for other useful purposes, prohibit modern agricultural practices, and ultimately close national doors to foreign products.
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For reasons that we will discuss in more detail later on, the outcomes of such initiatives range from bad to utterly disastrous.

To sum up our basic argument: If widely adopted, either voluntarily or through political mandates,
locavorism can only result in higher costs and increased poverty, greater food insecurity, less food safety, and much more significant environmental damage
than is presently the case. Policies should be judged by their results, not their intentions. Consumers who bought into locavorism because they sincerely cared about making our food supply ever more secure, safe, affordable, and sustainable while supporting their local community should reexamine whether the supposed means actually lead to the desired ends.

As we will illustrate in the remainder of this book, our modern food system is an underappreciated wonder that is the culmination of thousands of years of advances in plant cultivation and animal breeding; harvesting, storing, transporting, and processing food; and retailing and home cooking techniques. Only through greater technological advances, economies of scale and international trade can we achieve the locavores' worthy goals of improving nutrition while diminishing the environmental impact of agricultural production.

Our text is structured as follows. We begin with a brief look at the emergence and development of the globalized food supply chain, along with a short discussion of the backlash against it that has ensued at every step of the way. We then offer an in-depth analysis of the five key arguments espoused by locavores and discuss why, if implemented as proposed, such a food system can only ever deliver increased social and economic misery, environmental degradation, greater food insecurity, and poorer nutrition. In the final chapter, we further discuss additional policy steps that would be required to make locavorism a reality and explain why they would again fail to meet their objectives. Our main conclusion is that the best way to achieve the outcomes desired by locavores
is paradoxically to globalize our food supply chain even more than it is at the moment. It is our hope that readers come away from this book with an understanding that buying or abstaining from buying local food should be a
shopping
decision, not a
moral
or
political
one.