I am recently back from an incredibly rich two days in Dunedin, New Zealand. (Take a look—it must be among the Southern-most settlements on the globe, and is home to the yellow-banded penguin, an albatross colony, an imposing statue of Queen Victoria and much else besides.) The conference was the 44th Foreign Policy School of Otago University and focused on the global food crisis. The audience was a mix of academics and students, a big crowd of newly joined employees of New Zealand's Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade (dubbed the "baby dips"), with a few journalists, industry representatives, and NGOs alongside.
The list of speakers was extraordinary—grouping some of the most exceptional thinkers in the rich and complex world of food policy. A webcast of the event will be available soon at the Foreign Policy School Web site. Meanwhile, some highlights.
First, for a country that is unusually dependent on agriculture and trade, there was hardly a murmur from the audience as speaker after speaker challenged the neoliberal assumptions that have driven New Zealand trade policy, in agriculture as in most else, during the last twenty years. Speaking from a number of perspectives, the speakers reinforced one another in asserting that trade liberalization was not just relatively powerless in the face of the food crisis, but also part of the problem—part of the long-standing and deep crisis that besets global food systems: worldwide, we produce more than enough food, yet hundreds of millions (and, today, an estimated 1.2 billion people) live in chronic hunger.
Second, the solutions are complex and specific, not general. There is no blueprint that can sort us out. We know that the food systems we have are not sufficiently inclusive (too many cannot access the bounty). We know the systems are not accountable (too many policies are derived without consultation, derived from global negotiations where too few national governments are adequately represented, or are dictated by the interests of private firms with little consideration of the public interest). We know our food systems are environmentally destructive, using our water and soil at wholly unsustainable rates and creating an estimated 30 percent of greenhouse gas emissions, once the energy used for storage, processing, and distribution is counted. We know the systems deliver an unhealthy diet, with obesity rates that have exploded in just one short generation, not just in rich countries but in many poorer countries as well.
Third, there are solutions. The scale of the problem and the lack of a blueprint may be disheartening, but there are solutions. All over the globe, countless experiments and projects testify to the productivity of alternative agriculture, to its ecological healthiness, to its richness in social capital. Comparative advantage seems to have died a death as a compelling narrative (thank the gods). It will take a historian to date the moment, but the tide has turned and the Dunedin conference confirmed it for me. Everyone is asking what next, and some of those with answers are emerging to take a more central role in the debates.
A few highlights: hearing a New Zealander make a plea for agriculture's "special" nature. It was said in the context of climate change, not trade, needless to say, but it was still a bit of a shock. As someone who has argued that agriculture faces special constraints and demands to an audience of deeply skeptical trade and industry officials for 12 long years, to hear the same point from the private sector based in a country that is relentless in its quest to deny the distinct qualities of agriculture in trade circles was precious. Vive la différence!
Another highlight was provided by Alistair Mowat, speaking for
Zespri, the farmer-owned co-operative that has a monopoly on NZ's kiwi fruit exports. In a conversation as we headed to our flight out of Dunedin, Alistair pointed out that while supply chains are generally depicted as linear, with producers as far from the consumers as it is possible to be, he saw the chain more like a horseshoe, with intermediaries at the center that were not really bothered about what it was they were buying and selling, but the two ends actually close in both their private (buyer/seller) and public (citizen) concerns (e.g., managing the natural resource base for the long-term, keeping prices from being too volatile, ensuring a safe product, etc.).
Finally, long-time Green Party activist and food and garden writer,
Christine Dann, in a closing comment to the conference from the floor, reminded everyone that food security starts at home: one central way to respond and deal with the food crisis is to plant a garden. And there it is, encapsulated so neatly: we have a crisis created by a focus on just growing more food. We need instead to also look at who grows the food, where they grow it and who eats it. The garden is the first place that counts—for the poor, because it provides an alternative to a market economy they are priced out of; for the rich, because by buying all our food from supermarkets, we generate demand that creates incredible waste for our already over-stretched planet. A few homegrown veggies from the garden, cultivated with the help of our children, can go a long way to the re-education we need to demand the space for another, better food system for the future.
I had a great couple of days. And I can't wait to get back for another look at the penguins.
