Watchdogs Who Bite

You

might not think that pouring your kids a glass of milk is a political act. Yet milk was on the agenda last week when the Physicians Committee for Responsible Medicine--an activist organization concerned about high levels of lactose intolerance among African Americans and other minority groups--sought an injunction to block the release of the U.S. government's new dietary guidelines until they can be rewritten to include alternative sources of calcium, such as collard greens and kale. Not only is the federal menu--the so-called food pyramid--bad medicine, the group argued, but it is racist as well.

The injunction was denied, but the charges of racism were not a complete surprise at the Department of Agriculture--even to Shirley Watkins, the USDA Under Secretary of Food and Nutrition, who happens to be black. In recent years, food activists with a reasonable point to make--whether it be the fatty meals in restaurants, the dangers of genetically modified crops or the risks of a milk-rich diet--have increasingly relied on rhetorical bomb throwing to make sure they get heard. Or, in the case of one antibiotech group, real fire bombs.

Who are these food police who would tell us so forcefully what to eat and drink? Perhaps the best known--and best behaved--is the nonprofit Center for Science in the Public Interest, based in Washington. The CSPI earned its biggest headlines for its 1994 expose of movie-theater popcorn, a study that revealed the supposedly healthy snack to be swollen with calories and swimming in fat. Dieters were stunned, and many movie houses quickly switched to lighter oils in their popping machines--earning the CSPI kudos.

The applause was muted, however, when the CSPI turned from wolf-in-sheep's-clothing snacks like popcorn to such self-evidently fatty fare as Mexican and Italian food. The group's unsurprising findings (tacos and lasagna can be bad for you) seemed less memorable than their breathless sound bites. (Fettuccine Alfredo, for example, was called "a heart attack on a plate.") "A lot of this stuff makes sense," says economist James Bennett, author of The Food and Drink Police. "But sometimes it seems they're just out to grab headlines."

Headlines, in fact, are what food activists say they need if their message is going to cut through the din of the 24-hour news cycle. Michael Jacobson, CSPI's executive director, makes no apologies for crafting his press releases for maximum impact. "These news stories last a day," he says, "but the meals keep coming day after day."

When a press release doesn't work, other groups take to the streets. In Montreal last week, activists opposed to genetically engineered foods demonstrated outside a global biotech conference. In France last year, similarly inclined groups dumped apples and manure in front of many local McDonald's, protesting their use of genetically engineered beef and grain. And last week a radical group that calls itself the Earth Liberation Front took responsibility for setting fire to a biotech lab at Michigan State University on New Year's Eve.

Such lawlessness can get groups noticed, of course, but it can also leave them marginalized. Even Jeremy Rifkin, president of the antibiotech Foundation on Economic Trends and no stranger to street theater, agrees that when it comes to protesting, less can be more. "If you go too far," he says, "nobody pays attention." On the other hand, it's hard to argue with results. Last month the biotech giant Novartis announced that it was washing its hands of agritech--only the latest in a string of companies to do so.

It was that kind of success the physicians' group was aiming for when it targeted the USDA's allegedly racist milk guidelines. For all the exasperation elicited by the allegations, they are not totally unfounded. As many as 70% of African Americans, 50% of Hispanics and 90% of Asian Americans are lactase deficient. The fact that the committee that writes the dietary guidelines may nonetheless recommend a milk-friendly diet is, the activists charge, partly a result of a conflict of interest. The group claims that six of the 10 committee members have had ties to the meat or dairy industries because they serve as consultants or accept research grants or speaking dates.

The USDA does mention such calcium alternatives as kale in its general guidelines, but not in its much touted food pyramid. The antimilk folks charge that when federally sponsored schools or day-care centers go beyond the pyramid, they risk losing funding. Watkins denies this, saying lactose-free milk is available.

Whoever is right, the rhetoric is heating up. Food activists are entitled to a fair hearing, but crying racism or torching labs may not be the best way to get it.