something for the GWJers

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The American Meat Eater

Over the last 200 years or so, roughly since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution, a curious transition has occurred. The majority of western nations' populations have shifted from being producers to consumers. Along the way, we have lost our utilitarian value. We are no longer necessary for civilization, just people who buy and sell the (mostly unnecessary) items that others create. To subvert a common aphorism, Humanity is expanding to meet the needs of the expanding Humanity.

All this extra baggage has precipitated a change in the way basic necessities are created for distribution to the teeming masses. The assembly line method of production established by Henry Ford for automobiles has spread to all aspects of modern life; everybody wants everything faster, cheaper, and better. In his essay Power Steer, for the New York Times, Michael Pollan explores this method applied to animals, specifically Black Angus cattle. “I started my tour at the feed mill, the yard's thundering hub, where three meals a day for 37,000 animals are designed and mixed by computer. A million pounds of feed passes through the mill each day. Every hour of every day, a tractor-trailer pulls up to disgorge another 25 tons of corn.” He goes on to explain how the rendered pieces of other animals are used to deliver even more protein to the creatures: “F.D.A. rules still permit feedlots to feed nonruminant animal protein to cows. (Feather meal is an accepted cattle feed, as are pig and fish protein and chicken manure.)” The Indians would be proud.

So why do all these unappetizing details matter? Because they are the natural products of the state we have placed ourselves into. According to a study conducted by the American Institute for Caner Research, 72 percent of Americans have meals centered around “animal fats” while only “27 percent were eating the recommended proportion of plant food to animal food.” Put simply, we're addicted to steak. This addiction is fueling a drastic decrease in the quality of the meat.

The problem is that nothing is likely to change. The last successful blow in favor of food quality was Upton Sinclair's The Jungle, a book that was written a century ago and led to the creation of the same FDA which now allows the feeding of chicken manure to cattle. Likely the last time you heard of something regarding these issues was a publicity stunt by PETA, a group which is constantly lambasted for its own arrogance and self righteous quasi-militant mannerisms. Radical extremists (to borrow perhaps a tad boldly from the “War on Terror” word bank) such as these won't force a change on an issue so closely tied to everyday life such as this. And the natural state of the everyday liver seems to be apathy. We won't change things because we don't want our comfortable surroundings to change. Even though familiarity breeds contempt, fear of the unknown is a much more powerful motivator. Take, for instance, myself. After reading Power Steer I sat at the dinner table for a meal of roast beef, while reciting the new facts I had learned about cattle production to my parents. We joked and my mother contested the new found information with what might have been utilitarian philosophy, but we continued eating.

This apathy is exactly what David Foster Wallace describes in Consider the Lobster.

The more important point here, though, is that the whole animal-cruelty and eating issue is not just complex, it’s also uncomfortable. It is, at any rate, uncomfortable for me, and for just about everyone I know who enjoys a variety of foods and yet does not want to see herself as cruel or unfeeling. As far as I can tell, my own main way of dealing with this conflict has been to avoid thinking about the whole unpleasant thing. (62)

At this point the issue begins to blend between food quality and animal rights. Regardless, a lack of interest in dealing with either problem becomes apparent. Wallace has hit the nail on the head with Consider the Lobster. We don’t want to think about what we’re eating, and so we will continue to objectify, obfuscate, and ignore the problems served alongside our dinner until something quite dire happens.

The cost of change in the food industry will be a mass epidemic, or revelations about animal treatment so shocking and undeniable that those who don’t become vegans will at least raise their own meals, or a number of other foreseeable yet unlikely scenarios.

Individually, my position (and yours) on this issue is meaningless. The stalemate between slaughterhouse corporations and animal rights activists will continue, and neither side will gain meaningful ground in this battle. It’s going to take a true groundswell of support from a majority of the population, and those waves are difficult to predict.