A college student in Seattle, WA confronts food in its many forms - in restaurants, the quick bites in between classes and work, and, perhaps most importantly, she confronts the great puzzle of how to feed herself now that her mother doesn't make dinner...

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

"The Future of Food" - a rant*

So I watched the film The Future of Food today for Anth class. Well, I watched most of it. After being unable to check the reserved copy out of the media centre, I streamed about an hour and 20 minutes of the film before I had to go to work. But upon attempting to finish the film over my home computer's somewhat slower connection, I found myself frustrated and without closure - so if any of the following questions or remarks might be answered in the film's last 20 minutes, I'm sorry! I'm ill-informed.

I found that a large part of the film echoed the information and sentiments presented in Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma, which we are also reading for this class. But one thing that I found truly interesting and disturbing that was not presented in Pollan's account was the issue of seed patents.

The ability to patent "life" in any form has been historically restricted in the U.S. on moral grounds. Now, normally I'm not big on pressing my morals on anyone, nor am I a big supporter of the U.S. limiting what its citizens can and cannot do. However. The film made me feel that there is perhaps some logic to the argument in this particular instance. With the advent of GMOs in the 1970s, the issue of patents for some "life products" (aka seeds) began to seem reasonable. So the U.S. patent office made it possible to obtain a patent for your seeds if you could prove that they were effectively different from others available. Now I get a little fuzzy with the logistics here, but I think that this phrase was interpreted loosely, in a manner that allowed one to patent any type of seed, as long as it did not already have a patent. So this big herbicide/seed company, Monsanto (which I keep wanting to call Montesano, like the WA county,) raided the U.S. stores of seeds, which are kept for biodiversity reasons. And they patented them. All of them. So much so that some wierd figure (I want to say 90%, but I really am not sure) of the varieties of seeds in the U.S. now "belong" to Monsanto.

And here's the kicker! Monsanto can basically go into any farmer's field, test it, and sue them if any of the seed found is identical to their patented "product." Which is absurd, because seeds are the most uncontainable product - it's like patenting hydrogen. "Oh, my, you have hydrogen in your immediate atmosphere, and I hold the patent. Pay me $100,000, and never have hydrogen in your proximity ever again!" I mean, how are the farmers supposed to stop stray seed from entering their fields when it is carried by the wind or animals? Is every farmer who doesn't use Monsanto seed expected to erect a fine-guage mesh structure around their property? Basically, Monsanto (and the U.S. Supreme Court, thanks to their ruling) are telling small farmers that they have no choice but to purchase seed from this large company, because no matter what they do, they will inevitably be in violation of patent laws.

After viewing the film and being thrown by this, I asked my roommate, Kim, what she thought. Kim is in her first year of Law School at the UW and is interested in intellectual property law... so of course she would know more about this issue! And she basically told me that yes, under the structure of patent laws, the Supreme Court's decision makes perfect (but unjust) sense. Because if you designed a toaster, but found out later that it was unintentionally the same one that had already been patented, you would be in the wrong. You would have to pay a fine, and would no longer be allowed to make a profit off of that kind of toaster by selling it. And that makes sense. But when applied to seeds, this logic falls to pieces... because, as previously described, nothing short of a latex bubble around your property will keep the patented seeds out.

My question is, couldn't someone have given the Supreme Court a lesson in plant biology? And what's more, could the court not take into consideration the framers' intent of patent laws, and conclude that they were not meant for application to biological products? I guess I cannot expect a bunch of gruff old men to change their minds concerning a process that has been working more or less problem free for two-hundred years or so... but I'd like to see these guys living in a bubble to make sure their flower gardens don't infringe on Monsanto's patents.

I am officially conflicted

I'm becoming one of those people that I claim to hate... well, not hate, that's rather a strong word. But I can't stand going into a place like World Market and seeing all of these people playing with and purchasing objects that they know nothing about. Many of the objects have no labels on them except something obscure about the origin, like "Flute: East Africa." Nothing about the country or village its from or the person who made it or how it is meant to be used. And that irritates me, when people just take those objects and use them without any understanding of their context, because it is "beautiful" and "exotic," and because their economic privilege gives them that access.
Photo courtesy of: SugarCharms.com

But I confess... I want a bento box! After all of our talk about them in class, and our experiences making obento both in class and at the Anthropology Open House, I now have an acute desire to possess a bento box.

Am I like one of these culture-mongerers I so detest? I know what it is that I'm buying, and I know its origin, purpose, and traditions behind it. So why is it that I feel a little weird and uncomfortable about purchasing a bento box? Am I worried that people will look at me oddly - a grown woman of 22 who doesn't look even remotely Asian, eating her lunch out of a bento box adorned with colorful cartoon characters or sparkly cherry blossoms? Or is it that I still feel this twinge of - what is the word - impropriety. I feel almost as if I'm trespassing on the institution of obento by purchasing a box for myself. Because I'm not Japanese, and I won't be packing the lunch for a small child, and often that lunch will consist of such American things as a sandwich and a bunch of grapes. Because my desire for a bento box stems from my desire for utility (realizing that the compact, portion-controlled container makes a lot more sense than several large tupperwares and a plastic grocery bag) and my desire for the exotic.

Photo courtesy of: SugarCharms.com


So should I get one? I think I will go the route of the cautious shopper. I will hold off on a purchase for awhile. Should my desire linger, I will know that I want the item enough to invest the time and money in obtaining it. However, I will likely still wonder at the appropriateness of my purchase... I suppose it cannot be avoided.