According to a new UK report, dangerous conditions in US industrial meat processing facilities are leading to high rates of contamination and foodborne illness. We suffer from salmonella and other foodborne diseases ten times more often than our British neighbo(u)rs, which raises questions about how the UK will approach foods, such as chlorine-washed chicken, that are currently banned from import under European Union regulations. What is it about American culture and agricultural practices that leads to this shocking disparity?
One explanation, of course, is that we prize cheapness above almost all else when it comes to food production—so we jam animals into miserable, desperately unsanitary conditions, stuff them full of inappropriate foods and antibiotics, and then send them off to slaughter as soon as they grow fat enough. Another, I think, is more subtle, coming down to a naïve and ill-informed faith in simple scientific solutions, coupled with a cultural loathing of frank self-examination.
But this is all quite abstract. Let me illustrate with a bit of locker-room talk.
See, I’m a big fan of relaxing in hot water, and I seek out saunas, hot springs, and other bathing facilities everywhere I go. I’ve been fortunate enough to visit Turkish hamams, Russian banyas, Icelandic hot pots, and German saunas in their native lands, plus Japanese- and Korean-style baths in US cities. Each has its own facilities, customs, and (crucially) characteristic snacks, but they are united by two convictions: first, that relaxing in hot water (and then, usually, plunging briefly into cold water) is very beneficial to the health; and second, that this entire institution will only work out if everyone attends carefully to their personal hygiene. In other words, take a shower before you get in the water.
In Icelandic swimming facilities, there are special signs warning tourists that they really, truly, need to wash their bodies thoroughly before getting in the nice, clean water. These are accompanied by helpful diagrams showing the parts of the body that need the most scrubbing.
As the diagram points out, this scrubbing must be done naked. To an Icelander this is straightforward. You wouldn’t bathe with your clothes on, or wash produce still in its packaging—so why would you dream of not washing properly when you’re about to enter a large, shared body of water?
Likewise, in German saunas (yes, even the co-ed ones) bathing suits are strictly prohibited, on the same grounds. A bathing suit cannot be washed properly by hand in the shower, and a human body cannot be scrubbed down effectively while wearing a swimsuit.
In US swimming pools and saunas, admittedly, there are signs up admonishing guests to shower before entering the water (usually because of “health department regulations,” a peculiar distancing technique that I don’t fully understand). And yet, in American locker rooms, what do I see? People of all ages and sizes showering with their swimsuits on. To my sensibilities, cheerfully molded by Icelandic and German norms, this is both baffling and disgusting. How could you expect to get clean just by standing briefly under the shower head, while still dressed?
As with industrial poultry processing, the American approach to swimming pools is simple: the chlorine will take care of it. In other words, there is no need to uphold high standards of hygiene—or adhere to EU-style animal welfare practices—because we, and our chickens, will soon be chemically sanitized. We maintain a cheerfully naïve conviction in the efficacy of simple scientific solutions, whether chlorine-washing chicken or GMO-based monoculture. And we are horrified by the prospect of being seen naked in public.
Chlorine-washed chicken is currently banned in the EU, not because the chlorine itself is hazardous but because this practice is designed to compensate for diseases caused by overcrowding and poor sanitation throughout the life cycle of the animals being reared for meat. Chlorine washing, in other words, is a band-aid placed over a seeping, pus-filled wound—and, the EU judges, a dangerously ineffective one.
Indeed, according to a recent investigation by the Guardian and the UK’s Bureau of Investigative Journalism, nearly 15% of the US population suffers from foodborne illnesses annually—compared to just 1.5% in the UK. It seems that creating high levels of disease in animals, and then expecting ill-paid, ill-trained factory workers to maintain complicated protocols to counteract these diseases, is not an effective approach.
So, is this the best we can do? Must we settle for a society in which dangerous conditions are rampant, lapses in the hygiene protocols necessary to ameliorate these dangerous conditions are frequent, and we fall violently ill ten times more often than our UK counterparts? Or could we choose, instead, to push for higher animal welfare standards—even if witnessing the truth of how our meat is produced makes us feel as vulnerable as showering naked next to strangers?