Whitewash

Since the mid-1990s, one of the largest and loudest public policy debates in the United States and Europe has been over the introduction of genetically engineered crops. Questions about the safety of these crops—for humans, animals, and the environment—have raged across continents, roiling markets and dividing nations and states over how to view this type of tinkering with nature. The debate has led to increasing consumer awareness of, and activism against, the industrialized farming practices that produce our food, and numerous books have documented an array of concerns over genetically modified crops.

For many people, a toasted bagel topped with honey might sound like a healthy breakfast choice. Others might prefer a bowl of oatmeal, cornflakes, or a hot plate of scrambled eggs. Few would likely welcome a dose of weed killer that has been linked to cancer in their morning meal. Yet that is exactly what private laboratory tests in the United States started showing with alarming frequency in 2014: residues of the world’s most widely used herbicide were making their way into American meals.

So just how dangerous is glyphosate? Most people would agree that, as with virtually any pesticide, it’s not a good idea to drink it, bathe in it, or inhale it. Farmworkers are trained to wear protective gear when applying or mixing their farm chemicals and to follow an assortment of guidelines to protect themselves and others from harmful exposures. But the question of exactly how dangerous long-term use of glyphosate might be, especially in formulations such as Roundup, has thus far been hard to answer.

For every scientist who raises a concern about a product, there seems to be a corporation to contradict him (or her). We’ve seen this happen again and again. Tobacco industry executives famously hid research done by their own scientists that showed the hazards of cigarettes, and they misled lawmakers and regulators about the addictive properties of nicotine. Many other corporate powers, including those in the agrochemical industry, have long histories of defending themselves against claims that they covered up the dangers of injury from asbestos, polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs), Agent Orange, or other chemicals.

The Hawaiian Islands have long been a draw for tourists from around the world. But the year-round climate of warm winds, sunshine, and ample moisture has also made the islands a hot spot for multinational agrochemical and seed companies, which see the tropical environment as an ideal testing ground for a range of new seeds and the chemicals used on them. Corn is the big seed crop, in high demand around the globe. And with the introduction of genetic engineering of corn and other seeds in the mid-1990s has come a broad expansion by the seed and chemical companies across Hawaiian farmland and broad use of glyphosate herbicides.

American farmland has long been the largest market for genetically engineered seeds and the glyphosate herbicides used on them, but the United States is by no means the only country to have adopted the new technology with open arms. Farmers in Argentina started using genetically engineered seeds about the same time farmers in the United States did, after regulators in Argentina approved Monsanto Company’s Roundup Ready soybeans in 1996. Soy production soared over the next decade as farmers who previously had been tending to grass-fed cattle, growing rice and potatoes, or running dairy farms shifted their focus to growing soybeans. Many farmers plowed up pastures to become part of what was billed as a biotech revolution. Because the beans tolerated direct sprays of glyphosate herbicide, controlling weeds was easier than ever, and, like the Americans, Argentine farmers quickly became eager buyers of both the specialty seeds and the glyphosate chemicals. The timing was perfect. Rising demand for protein—translation: meat— was fueling strong global demand for soy needed to feed livestock that would end up on dinner plates around the world. Argentina soon became the world’s third-largest soybean supplier, and genetically modified soybeans became Argentina’s most important export. Argentine farmers adopted biotech cotton and corn as well, with roughly 24 million acres of the nation’s farmland planted with biotech seeds by 2014, most of which were designed to be sprayed with glyphosate.

To some, the suggestion seemed more than a little unusual: members of the European Parliament, who were deep into a debate over the risks and rewards of glyphosate in the spring of 2016, should take a close look inside themselves before voting on whether or not to ban the controversial pesticide—literally. The Green Party, whose platform backs environmentally sustainable policies, pushed the idea of a “pee test,” as the press called it, in hopes of demonstrating the pervasiveness of the chemical’s reach and underscoring the very real personal implication of the political decisions being debated. Though some dismissed the idea as a political stunt—a “pissing contest”—48 of the 751 parliament members agreed to submit their urine for scrutiny by researchers at Bio-Check, a diagnostic laboratory located in the German city of Leipzig, Saxony. They handed over their samples in April and awaited the results, though not necessarily with eagerness.

History has shown that proving a specific chemical causes cancer is a long road that can leave countless lives in limbo for decades while the science is sorted out. But when it comes to the impact a certain chemical can have on the environment, often the evidence is easier to see. In fact, sometimes it is impossible to miss.

So where, one might ask, are the regulators? The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) has top authority over glyphosate, just as it does for other chemicals, but the agency has repeatedly discounted concerns about the chemical’s impact on people and the environment, relying on a helping hand from industry to guide its actions. We’ve seen the cozy relationship between Monsanto Company and regulators play out over and over. We saw it in the 1980s, when EPA officials reversed the findings of agency scientists who considered glyphosate to be a possible human carcinogen; when the EPA followed Monsanto’s lead in ignoring concerns about weed resistance until it was too late; when the EPA raised the legal tolerance levels for the amount of glyphosate that could be in our food even as cancer concerns were growing; and again in 2016, when the EPA rearranged its Scientific Advisory Panel on glyphosate at industry demand. And, of course, Monsanto’s connections to, and appearance of assistance from, the EPA’s top cancer assessment official, Jess Rowland, speak volumes about the strength of corporate influence within the agency.

For Stephen Ellis, who grows wheat, barley, corn, and soybeans on 4,200 acres along Chesapeake Bay in Virginia, questions about glyphosate’s safety and effectiveness are part of a broad risk-versus-reward ratio that he and other farmers must calculate as they confront the constant challenges Mother Nature brings.

Teri McCall doesn’t like to talk much about her lawsuit against Monsanto. Even as the litigation slogs forward, as lawyers thumb through millions of documents, studies, memos, and reports, and as expert witnesses prepare their testimonies for the long-winding case that may take years to resolve, McCall is trying to move past her pain. Doing so has been made harder by the fact that she was diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer shortly after losing Jack. She tackled the cancer with aggressive surgery and now considers that fight also part of her past. Still, she has lost weight; the slim blue jeans and soft blouses she favors hang loose on her limbs. Her blue eyes and honey-blond hair still have the brightness of a woman decades younger, but her face has gained shadows of grief that she is not sure will ever be erased.