I recently received an email from a
North Shore Oahu woman, who wrote:
I've been reading your blog for a while
and today I read your "Seed of Doubt" article. It struck me
as being anti-GMO, but your recent writings seem to support GMO.
I'm pro GMO, or more specifically, pro
ALL Ag in a state where it seems we're losing the battle to try to
have DIVERSIFIED Ag. I grew up on Waialua Plantation on Oahu and am
trying to preserve our agrarian way of life. May be a losing battle.
We have many of same issues as North Shore, Kauai.
My question is this: Am I correct in my
assessment that you started out anti-GMO and have now become pro-GMO?
What changed your mind?
It seems an apt time to publicly
respond to her inquiry, since today I'm on the beautiful campus of
Cornell University, a visit that represents the culmination, in many
ways, of my transition from an anti to an advocate.
And by that I mean an advocate of
science-based decision-making, of giving farmers a choice, of
retaining access to every tool in the box to respond to the challenge
of feeding billions of people in a changing climate. For Hawaii
specifically, it means an advocate of agriculture Because despite all the idealism about feeding ourselves, the reality is this: the
seed companies are the core of ag in the Islands.
When I wrote “Seed of Doubt” in
April 2009, I thought I knew a lot about biotechology. I was proud to
be the first Hawaii writer to cover the topic in any depth, starting
with “Who Grows There?” — which included a cringe-worthy
(editor-selected) image of a tomato being injected with a syringe —
in Honolulu magazine. I thought the anti-GMO sources I quoted were
credible people with the best interests of the Islands at heart.
But in 2013, everything began to
change. Vandana Shiva and Andrew Kimbrell came to Kauai to call for
the expulsion of the seed companies, and I saw a large crowd of
mostly North Shore haoles transfixed by the revivalist rhetoric into
a stuporous state.
Councilman Gary Hooser introduced his
pesticide/GMO regulatory Bill 2491, telling me it didn't matter if
the bill was ever enforced, only that it passed.
As a beekeeper, I
participated in a tense panel discussion that was supposed to be
about the impacts on pollinators, but was clearly intended to be a
takedown of the seed companies. And I experienced my first pummeling
on social media when I demanded that panel organizer Jimmy Trujillo
honor his promise to other panelists not to videotape the event.
In the course of just a few short
months, I saw the social and political climate on Kauai dramatically
shift. Hooser had begun the year calling for a “million little fists” to start pounding, and people seemed only too happy to
oblige, disrupting meetings, shouting down state officials,
aggressively bullying non-believers on social media, stifling debate
and discussion through an atmosphere of intimidation and fear.
Over the years I'd attended hundreds of
meetings, on all the islands, and I'd never seen or experienced
anything like it. It felt like everything I'd ever read about the
brown shirts, the Red Guard. It felt creepy, and sinister, like the
birthing of a mob mentality, the kind of mindset that had led to
pogroms in Germany. It felt nothing like civility, nothing like
aloha.
Who are these people? I often wondered.
Some were new faces, newcomers; others were people I'd known for
years showing an intolerant, ignorant, self-righteous side.
I recall one Kauai County Council
meeting, where the red shirts — the anti-GMO advocates supporting
Bill 2491 — were on one side of the county building lawn and the
blue shirts — the seed company and ag workers who opposed the bill
— were on the other. I was absolutely stunned by my visceral
reaction to the scene. The red shirt side felt, frankly, repellent:
grasping, sanctimonious, unsmiling. The blue shirt side felt,
frankly, welcoming: warm, laughing, smiling. And yes, one side was
almost entirely white, and the other side almost entirely local.
But what really shifted me emotionally
was reading letters to the editor and listening to testimony that
portrayed the seed workers as uncaring monsters, defilers, people to
be avoided in grocery stores because they might be contaminating
others with poisons on their clothes. They were repeatedly
characterized as folks who had no aloha for their neighbors or the
aina, and either cared only for money, or were duped by their bosses.
It was shocking and deeply disturbing
to watch the primarily haole anti-GMO movement turn locals and
immigrants into The Other.
My heart went out to them. And once my
empathy was aroused, I began to question what I thought I knew about
biotechnology and the people who so vigorously opposed it. I began to
read and study. I also began to delve into the anti-GMO movement —
its funding, its MO, its players, its agenda.
As I learned more, I gained a greater
grasp of the complexity of the subject — scientifically,
politically and socially. I discovered the so-called good guys
weren't so noble as they pretended, and the so-called bad guys
weren't as evil as they 'd been portrayed.
Mostly, I began to understand that in
Hawaii, support for the seed companies doesn't mean blanket support
for Monsanto, Syngenta, BASF, DOW, DuPont Pioneer and all their
business practices all over the world. It means support for the
perpetuation of agriculture. Period.
The seed fields are keeping the
irrigation systems open, the ag workers employed, the land in
production. One day they may leave; one day Hawaii may grow more of
its own food. But until then, they're far and away the most
productive aspect of agriculture in the Islands, and despite all the
claims to the contrary, we've seen no evidence that their practices
are any more harmful than the other industries that support Hawaii's
economy.
I also learned that biotechnology isn't
just Monsanto and Roundup Ready soy and corn. There's a whole other
world in the public sector that is working to improve the
disease-resistance and productivity of small, indigenous crops that
are crucial to farmers in the developing world. Other public
researchers are striving to improve animal welfare, and reduce the
environmental impact of livestock and crop production.
I've met many of them, and I've
invariably found them to be good, caring, conscientious people who
are earnestly striving to make the world a better place. They're
typically bewildered by the antipathy that so often greets their work
— antipathy generated by those who either do not understand the
science, or are trying to distort it to achieve their own political
and social objectives.
Along the way, distraught and
distressed by what's happened — and is still happening — around
biotech in Hawaii, I heard about the Cornell Alliance for Science,
which was founded just last year. Funded with a $5.6 million grant
from the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, it's dedicated to
improving science communications, ensuring that farmers have access
to agricultural technology and depolarizing the biotech debate.
I reached out to its director, Sarah
Davidson Evanega, seeking tips on how to heal Hawaii. I found a
sympathetic ear in someone who had seen a similar steamroller smash
biotech in Thailand, leaving the populace polarized, confused, shaken
and afraid. Just like what happened in Hawaii.
For the last nine months I've been
doing communications contract work for the Alliance, which has
deepened my understanding of both the science and the movement that
opposes it. I've also gained an awareness of the international
implications of this struggle, and they're huge.
That awareness was heightened by my
interaction with the 25 Alliance for Science Global Fellows, most of
whom come from nations that are struggling to feed their populace.
Their stories of poverty, hunger, crop disease, subsistence farms and
the reality of food insecurity moved me, and caused me to ponder more
deeply the morality of an anti-GMO movement grounded in affluence and
privilege.
Two Fellows from the U.S. summarized my
own views when they said:
We're not just talking about American
consumers here that have plenty to eat. We're talking about people in
food insecure regions who have nothing to eat but a small handful of
rice every day.
Access to biotechnology is really a
social justice issue. It shouldn't be an issue of white people in
the west making public policy for other nations.
The Fellows are graduating from their
12-week course tonight, and I'm here to offer my congratulations and
support as they return home, armed with solid knowledge about
science, biotechnology and effective communications that will help
them guide and inform this ongoing debate.
One of them is Joni Kamiya Rose, the
Hawaii Farmers Daughter who was one of the first to raise her voice
in opposition to the anti-GMO movement in the Islands. She's a local
girl who saw her family farm escape ruin thanks to the papaya that
was genetically engineered at Cornell, by Big Islander Dennis
Gonsalves, to resist the devastation of the ringspot virus. As Joni
quips, “And it all started because I got mad.”
For me, it all started because I got mad and sad — about the fear-mongering, the celebration of ignorance,
the bullying, the rending of my community, the polarization that
still lingers.
But now, I'm neither mad nor sad, just excited about all the doors that have opened, the horizons that have broadened, simply because I was willing to open my mind and question some deeply-held, and ultimately false, beliefs. This process of reflection and correction feels good, and right — integral to being a thinking, caring being.