Milk

by Mark Kurlansky

  A major BSE outbreak began in Britain in the late 1980s and early 1990s, with cows becoming more aggressive, having difficulty walking and standing up, and producing less milk. It lingers in the minds of the British public how the British government was slow and modest in its response. The Conservative government then in power derived many votes from rural farm communities and so was reluctant to take draconian measures and order the slaughter of cows, which would have been devastating to farmers. In the end, however, many more cattle were slaughtered than would have been necessary if the government had responded more quickly.

  At first, the British government insisted that the disease presented no threat to humans. The grim-faced agriculture minister, John Gummer, who later became a prominent environmentalist, publicly fed his daughter a hamburger in 1990 to show there was no risk. But then house cats and zoo animals began dying from eating food made with beef by-products, and in 1995, the first human victim died of vCJD.

  Finally, in the mid-1990s, the British government prohibited the feeding of meat and bone meal to cows and banned the export of British beef for three and a half years. The British health secretary also publicly admitted for the first time that the disease could be transmitted to humans, and 4.5 million cattle were destroyed. By 2015, the UK human death toll from the disease stood at 177 people, and worldwide, another 56 have died of vCJD, including 4 in the United States. The government also at first failed to compensate farmers for giving up their infected animals for slaughter, and as a result, they were understandably reluctant to do so. Even when the government did start compensating them, the payment was considerably less than they could earn by selling the animals as food. And since initially the government was insisting that there was no threat to humans, the farmers felt no moral obligation to take the loss.

  Today, the mad cow disease outbreak and its mishandling are well remembered, and that may be one of the reasons why the British public leads the world in the global fight against genetically modified organisms (GMOs). Despite an almost complete lack of scientific proof that GMOs are harmful, the cause has become a popular one.

  From the milk perspective, the central GMO issue is that American dairy cows are fed GMO grain, which is grown in the United States. Strangely, the question is if it is all right for genetically modified cows to eat genetically modified food. GMO grain is banned in many other countries, including those belonging to the European Union, although there could be an economic motive behind this, since the banned grain is grown in the United States and if European farmers were to use it they would be buying imported American grain instead of the European product.

  In 1999, at a celebration of the first twenty-five years of biotechnology, James Dewey Watson, a member of the three-person team that won the 1962 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine for revealing the structure of DNA, the double helix, said that the field of GMOs offered “certain promise and uncertain risk.” Watson’s point of view was that to make progress, you had to take risks.

  GMOs are indeed a field full of promise. They could produce food that no one would be allergic to, or food that when eaten prevents tooth decay, even perhaps food that fights certain diseases. Since farmed fish draw sea lice, they could produce lice-rejecting fish. It almost seems that for any problem, there could be a genetic solution.

  Some of the claims of those protesting the use of GMOs appear to have a measure of validity, but one accusation that is easily refuted is that GMOs are forced on farmers against their will. On the contrary, U.S. dairy farmers talk about how GMO grains, less expensive than non-GMO grains as well as insect-resistant, have literally saved the struggling family farm. And today, as the GMO companies are consolidating, farmers are expressing concerns that fewer companies will lead to fewer laboratories and the invention of fewer products. Farmers want GMO products much more than consumers do. In fact, Monsanto, the leading GMO developer, concedes that they made a mistake at the outset of marketing their products by focusing on winning over farmers, not the general public.

  In the early decades of GMO development, scientists discussed the risks, such as new pathogens and the possible evolution of mutant viruses, and believed that experimentation in the field had to be controlled. By the early 1970s, the idea emerged, perhaps never a good one, that the scientists themselves would regulate the process and, when necessary, put the brakes on experimentation. But who were the scientists assigned to the task? Many were the employees of large multinational corporations, so that in the end, the corporations were regulating themselves.

  While there is a lack of scientific evidence to support the claims that GMOs are physically harmful, one sociopolitical claim is irrefutable: If the plans of Monsanto and other GMO companies were to be realized, those few companies would completely control the production of agriculture throughout the world. The plants grown from GMO seeds do not produce GMO seeds, so the only way to maintain GMO crops is to keep going back to the companies and buying more seeds—something that was not foreseen when the GMO crops were first developed. Curiously, the anti-GMO lobby is far more vociferous in denouncing this sociopolitical fact than the farmers themselves, who are the most directly affected.

  Farmers often work from a different economic reality. Most dairy farmers depend on growing or purchasing high-protein grains such as alfalfa and corn to feed their cattle. In the United States, GMO grains dominate this market, and dairy farmers do not want to be forced into buying expensive “GMO free” grain.

  The dispersion of GMO crops, like all crops, is hard to control. In 2000, one GMO corn, StarLink, designed to feed cattle but unfit for humans because it is highly allergenic, unexpectedly started turning up in human corn products. At first it was found only in taco shells, but later it appeared in popcorn and other products, some of which were exported to other countries. StarLink had been planted in only a very small percentage of cornfields, but still got into much of the U.S. corn supply.

  Another GMO crop problem concerns weeds. Early on, Monsanto created crops that were resistant to weeds, eliminating the need for toxic and expensive herbicides. But in time, it was found that the weeds could develop a tolerance for these GMO crops, creating unstoppable superweeds.

  Insect-resistant GMO crops also raise troubling issues, proving James Watson right: There is great promise in GMO crops, but also certain risks. What if a crop keeps away not only unwanted insects, but also wanted ones? Alfalfa reproduces through the pollination of bees. Without bees, there would be no alfalfa. Any other means of alfalfa pollination would be prohibitively expensive. But bees are mysteriously disappearing. Is this attributable to the GMO crops? Scientists have been intensely studying this possibility, but so far they have no certain answers.

  Alfalfa is an important issue for dairy farmers, as it is a leading high-protein grain for milk-producing cows. Alfalfa cattle feed is a $4.7 billion annual business. Why did Idaho, a state with little dairy history, become the nation’s second-largest milk producer? Because irrigation projects created huge expanses of arable land, and much of it was planted with alfalfa. This was possible only because in the 1950s, bee experts learned how to transport alkali bees, a Western species that is particularly adept at pollinating the somewhat tricky alfalfa flower, to Idaho in large numbers. But now that these bees, like the honeybees and other bee species, are disappearing, what happens to the Idaho dairy industry and much of the Western dairy industry?

  There are many theories as to why bees are disappearing, ranging from the proliferation of cellphones to the use of pesticides to the development of GMO crops. A few of these theories, such as the cellphone one, have been disproved, but most have not. However, the problem with the GMO theory is that bees are also disappearing in countries that have banned GMO crops.

  If GMO products are as safe as Monsanto says they are, the GMO companies have made a grave error in not submitting their products to rigorous regulation. And the U.S. government is making the same mistake in not enforcing stricter regulation. GMO scientists
have failed to prove that GMO products are safe, and GMO opponents, scientists included, have failed to convincingly demonstrate that they are not. This leaves a distrustful public with no one to believe. When Qiao Yanping, a longtime bureaucrat in the Chinese state dairy industry, was asked how he felt about GMOs, he answered, “I don’t like to use GMOs. I refuse to import GMO alfalfa. They may not be dangerous, but there is not enough science to assure their safety. Safety now is the big issue.” And many in other countries feel the same way.

  The New York Times conducted a study of GMOs that was published in October 2016. Relying on academic research, independent data, and industry research, the study was most notable for what it didn’t find. It didn’t find scientific support for the claims that GMOs were harmful. By this point that was not surprising news. What was surprising was that the study found no advantage to using GMOs. The American and Canadian GMO crops compared to the European non-GMO crops showed no increase in yield and no reduction in the use of pesticides, and the use of herbicides had actually increased. After twenty years of hard fighting pro- and con-GMOs, nothing has been gained and nothing lost.

  The GMO battle has created an opportunity, however. Small dairies are always looking for ways to make their milk special, because if it is special, they can charge more for it—and survive. Dairies producing special milk, such as milk from cows fed non-GMO crops, are increasingly turning up near New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and other cities. Cities have well-educated, affluent people who are willing, even eager, to pay more money for special milk. Patrick Holden, the zealous organic farmer in Wales, said, “The city dwellers are going to lead the revolution.”

  But most farmers are not trying to lead a revolution, they are just trying to make a profit. Ronnybrook in upstate New York successfully sells hormone-free milk in New York City for almost double the standard milk price. Its owner, Ronny Osofsky, is also trying to become GMO-free. “It’s not easy,” he said. “Ninety percent of soy and eighty percent of corn is GMO.” Asked if he thought the use of GMOs was harmful, he said, “No. I don’t think it’s harmful. I don’t want to use it because of the public reaction to it.” He allows no hormones for the same reason, although he is not convinced that they are harmful either. He just does not want to use what his customers dislike.

  Osofsky has found that his expensive products—milk, yogurt, cheese, and ice cream—are popular in New York City. His milk is special not just because it is hormone free, but also because it comes in glass bottles. “It is more expensive to sell milk in glass bottles but it tastes better,” he said. And it makes it look like a prestigious product—not just another carton of milk.

  Osofsky prides himself on being good to his herd of one hundred Holsteins of a particularly large strain with names such as M&M and Talia. “I treat them gently,” he said. “Cows are like dogs. If you are nice to them, they are nice to you.” And here is an important point: A farmer with a hundred cows can treat them like pets but a farmer with a thousand cannot. When his cows are not out grazing, they are in barns with black-rubber-covered foam rubber mattresses on which to relax. He feeds them mostly grass, but also some grain. He would like to claim that they are entirely grass-fed, but finds that they need a little extra protein to be productive.

  Still, the pressure is relentless. “The truth about dairy prices,” he said, “is that if the price is low you have to sell a lot, and if the price is high you have to sell a lot while the price is high.”

  He has considered becoming organic, but he finds it cruel to refuse antibiotics to a cow with an infection. Once a cow has been treated with antibiotics, her milk can no longer be sold as organic, even long after the drugs are out of her system. Large farms with thousands of cows can establish separate nonorganic herds, but if a farm has only fifty or one hundred cows, it cannot afford to do that. Many other farmers also say that they find the rules of organic farming to be too cruel to cows. Even more say that those rules make it too expensive for a small farm. The New York Times once described Ronnybrook as “beyond organic.”

  In 2002, Dan Gibson, a former New York City business executive, decided he wanted to start a different kind of dairy farm. He had bought a thousand-acre farm in the Hudson Valley, and although at first he allowed its occupant to continue running their dairy, he soon decided he wanted a change. “I realized I hated the dairy business, kicking calves to the curb to get milk,” he said. He started thinking he could turn his dairy into an “animal-friendly farm.” The milk would have to be more expensive, but people in New York City would be willing to pay more because his product would be better and they would like the way he did things. “People want this really badly,” he said. Then he explained, “I learned in marketing that to sell something you have to make it different, better and special. I produce pure Jersey, grass-fed, Animal Welfare Approved milk.”

  The American Welfare Approved (AWA) label, started in 2006, is intended to assure consumers that the meat and dairy products carrying their label are produced on farms that are kind to animals. The animals must be grazed and grass-fed, and the farmer must follow practices that are not harmful to the environment. An AWA-approved farm cannot be organic, however, because one of the requirements is that sick animals get antibiotics when needed.

  On Dan Gibson’s farm, newborn calves stay with their mothers for months. The farm’s emphasis is on quality, and there is no concern about quantity. Eric Ooms, a non-AWA New York farmer, can get as much milk from one of his large Holsteins as Gibson can with his entire herd of fifty small brown Jerseys. One half-gallon glass bottle of Gibson’s milk sells for $7, but even after two years of full production and consistent selling at high prices, his farm has yet to break even, let alone show a profit. Not many farmers can afford to do that.

  Alan Reed in Idaho Falls once thought of going organic. But he did not have enough land. It takes a great deal of land to grow organic feed and meet the extensive organic grazing requirements. But, he added, “I try to buy organic produce for my family.”

  Cory Upson of the Belted Rose Farm in the hill country near Cooperstown, New York, had to completely change his approach to dairy farming in order to survive. In 1998 he had fifty-five Holsteins in a conventional dairy producing grade-A milk at the low minimum price that the government had set—under $10 for a hundredweight, 11.6 gallons, at the time. Then he became an organic dairy farmer. Asked why he switched, his answer was straightforward: “We didn’t make any money.” He had had mostly Holsteins, but had noticed that his two Dutch Belted cows prospered without the grains that his Holsteins seemed to need. So he gradually switched to a herd of twenty-three Dutch Belted cows, which are entirely grass-fed on his hills, and became entirely organic.

  “To make more money,” he explained, “you increase revenue or reduce expenses.” He radically reduced his operating costs by becoming an organic farmer. He no longer buys grain and is now training horses to replace tractors to reduce his fuel expenses. He has fewer than half as many cows as he had before, and his cows are producing less than half as much milk. But organic milk is priced on the assumption that people will pay more for it, and he is selling his milk at a high price to Horizon, the largest organic milk producer in America. “I’m not getting rich, but I am making money now,” he said.

  When Americans buy organic milk, they imagine it coming from a small family farm, but almost all organic milk in America is produced by large corporations like the one to which Cory Upson sells. In other countries, some small-scale organic farms exist, such as Holden’s Welsh farm, but they are rare. In Wiltshire, England, there are some small, eighty-to-one-hundred-cow, organic farms. Their production is low. Chad Cryer said, “You could not feed the world organically.”

  In South Australia, where organic milk sells for twice the price of regular milk, it is still a struggle to make it profitable. Denise Richie of the Hindmarsh Dairy wanted her goat’s milk to be certified organic. “They asked for wild and wacky things,” she complained. She complied
with one wild thing after another, seeing her costs go up and up. Finally she had to give up when they demanded that she replace all of her fencing because the wood had been treated with a chemical.

  In central Idaho’s Magic Valley, farmers have made organic milk work for them. In this region, where irrigation brought alfalfa and alfalfa brought dairy, there is little tradition of small family dairies. It is an area of large farms, including some companies that moved in from California. Here, the Funk family owns a large stretch of flatland in the valley, with jagged, snow-capped mountains called the South Hills on the horizon. Jordan Funk said, “To Easterners they are mountains. To us they are hills.” The Funks have been family farmers here for four generations, and their story is the story of farming in the area. They started with potatoes, a mainstay of Idaho agriculture. Then they switched to sugar beets. But in 1997, when milk was booming in Idaho, they decided to start an organic dairy.

  From the start, they understood that becoming organic entailed a great deal of work and expense. Double Eagle Farm is no longer a family operation. They decided that the best way to defray costs was to manage a large herd of 4,400 cows on 8,500 acres of arable land with seventy-five to one hundred workers. Once they made that decision, they were forced to operate more like a company. Jordan Funk said, “I told my dad, if we are going to be organic, we have to be big enough to hire a secretary for all the paperwork.” Among other things, organic farming requires a lot more paperwork than most farmers are used to.

  To become certified as an organic farm is a long and complex process. It takes three years of using no pesticides, herbicides, or chemical fertilizers just to get the ground certified. Then the feed has to be entirely organic. Organic feed is extremely expensive to buy, and also costly and difficult to grow. No weed-resistant GMOs are allowed, so the Funks have to regularly weed their fields.