In basketball, a field goal is worth two points if a shot swishes through the hoop or bangs between the rim and backboard a few times before falling in. The first is pretty to see, and it even has a distinct sound --“nothing but net” -- as the players like to say. By comparison, the second is ugly to watch and hear. But it’s still worth the same two points.
Imagine a point guard who scores the game-winning basket as time runs out. His teammates slap him on the back in the locker room, but he’s bummed out because his buzzer-beater didn’t “look good”. It simply doesn’t make sense. Basketball players aren’t rated for “artistic impression” as if they were figure skaters.
This thought came to mind after I attended a conference in London, where a Brazilian farmer friend of mine discussed what he called “the conflict between the affluent consumer and the needs of the majority.”
His message was simple: Those of us who live in the West are affluent consumers, and our wealth provides us with choices that aren’t available to the rest of the world. I can brew a plain old cup of coffee in my kitchen for a few cents, or I can pay someone at Starbucks to make me a big toffee nut latte for a few dollars.
People in much of the developing world don’t have this option. They may not even be sure their drinking water is safe, let alone be in a position to contemplate the extravagance of specialty beverages. In basketball terms, they just need to make good use of every possession.
That’s why so many of the debates we have about food in the United States and Europe are irrelevant to billions of people. We have the luxury of choosing the kind of food we eat, and even of dictating how it’s made. Because of our extreme prosperity, we can demand organically grown tomatoes and free range chicken. It doesn’t matter that these products aren’t any different in quality from those grown on commercial farms. We can afford them, and so some of us may choose them--perhaps they make us feel better because they seem somehow more “natural.”
Most of the planet, however, does not live in such material abundance. The developing world’s daily struggle to put food in mouth is one that the bulk of us won’t ever know. And yet we’re constantly imposing our will on them--in ways that don’t affect us much, but hurt them tremendously.
There’s a vivid example of this going on right now in southern Africa, where more than 14 million people face famine. The world has responded by donating huge quantities of food. Because of this generous effort, we’ll probably stave off a humanitarian disaster of nightmarish proportions.
In Zambia, however, a horror story nevertheless may be unfolding. About 3 million Zambians are at risk of starvation. They’ll need thousands of tons of cereals to survive through this spring. Yet Zambian leaders won’t let them have 50,000 tons of donated maize now sitting in local warehouses. The country’s president has even called this food “poison” because it’s been genetically modified.
GM food is of course not poisonous--it’s just as healthy as any other kind of food. And yet the Zambian government won’t permit distribution because it fears this will hurt its ability to export agricultural goods in future years to Europe, where many affluent consumers have decided they want their food produced in certain ways--i.e., not from modern biotechnology.
When you’re hungry, means of production is a distant concern. GM foods are so safe, in fact, that quibbling over the difference between bt corn and non-bt corn is like wondering whether it’s better to eat food harvested by tractor or by oxen. It just doesn’t matter.
Ordinary Zambians themselves seem to know this. In January, villagers overpowered an armed policeman and looted thousands of pounds of GM corn. They would quite sensibly rather be fed than dead.
So turning down GM food is like the pouting basketball player I mentioned earlier. We just have to remember that no matter what, two points is still two points.
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In basketball, a field goal is worth two points if a shot swishes through the hoop or bangs between the rim and backboard a few times before falling in. The first is pretty to see, and it even has a distinct sound --“nothing but net” -- as the players like to say. By comparison, the second is ugly to watch and hear. But it’s still worth the same two points.
