By Blake
Hurst
I haven’t a clue when the
submissions for the Pulitzer Prize are due, but I imagine the judges will gather
soon. Why? Because The Kansas City Star has just finished publishing a series on
the beef industry that can only be seen as the newspaper’s pitch for this year’s
prize. It certainly didn’t contain any news, and the only reason a struggling
paper would devote so many resources to such a nothingburger of a story has to
be vanity. The Star has taken on the beef industry with a passion, but with
almost no new information.
To say this
series is derivative is to practice understatement on the same level Star
journalism practices hyperbole. Michael Pollan should send a bouquet, although I
imagine he would settle for attribution. Forty-year-old heart studies,
five-year-old documentaries and books published a decade ago, all contributed
anonymously to the Star’s mighty effort, but original reporting was sorely
lacking. In fact, only two conclusions can be drawn from original reporting:
beef should be thoroughly cooked and invasive injuries caused by an F5 tornado
are extraordinarily nasty and tragic injuries.
Although, most everyone reading
the articles, if there was anyone who read the whole series, probably knew both
things.
What
else? Nobody can be trusted. Dieticians are bought by beef producers, and the
Federal Drug Administration is a totally owned subsidiary of the drug industry.
The U.S. Department of Agriculture’s dietary recommendations are for sale, or
can at least be rented. The industry can’t be trusted to market a safe product,
and the government can’t be trusted to regulate the industry. The only
institution in society that can be trusted, one supposes, is the press. Except
at Pulitzer time, it seems to me.
We learned that
slaughterhouses smell bad and are nasty places to work—a fact Upton Sinclair
made clear a century ago. Of course, job security at slaughterhouses is better
than at the average newspaper, and who knows what injuries come to journalists
from repetitive cutting and pasting.
The series tells
us more about the state of journalism than it does the meat industry. There is
only one goal of the average journalist, and it isn’t to sell newspapers or
inform readers. No, the only goal of the average reporter is to get a job at The
New York Times. The best way to get noticed by the Times is to win one of those
awards chosen by, well, people who work at the Times. They recognize
journalistic courage, courage that can only be exhibited by attacking local
industry with the kind of “investigative” reporting that resulted in this
article. The fact the series contained little that was original or news doesn’t
matter.
What one might
not know, if one read the series, is that the incidence of most food borne
illnesses has been in decline, particularly illnesses caused by E. coli. The
incidence of listeria, however, is increasing. Listeria is a particularly nasty
bacteria, the leading cause of miscarriages and often occurs in foods that are
normally eaten uncooked. The bacteria is also associated with cats. Now, that
would be true journalistic courage—a series that takes on sprout-eating cat
lovers.
(Blake Hurst, of Westboro,
Mo., is the president of Missouri Farm Bureau, the state’s largest farm
organization.)
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