The McDonald’s Corporation also gave Fast Food Nation an unfavorable review. “The real McDonald’s bears no resemblance to anything described in [Schlosser’s] book,” said a company statement. “He’s wrong about our people, wrong about our jobs, and wrong about our food.” Contrary to what McDonald’s executives may believe, a sincere passion for accuracy led me to document every assertion in this book. Although Fast Food Nation has been strongly attacked, thus far its critics have failed to cite any errors in the text. Spokesmen for the meatpacking industry and the fast food industry have shied away from specifics, offering general denouncements of my work and leaving it at that. I am grateful to those readers who’ve taken the time to inform me about typos, misspellings, and other small mistakes. Mike Callicrate — an iconoclastic feedlot owner in Kansas who would make a fine copy editor — pointed out that I’d miscalculated some cattle manure statistics. The error has been corrected.
There is one criticism of Fast Food Nation that needs to be addressed. A number of people have said that I was too hard on the Republican Party, that an anti-Republican bias seems to pervade the book. Fast Food Nation has no hidden partisan agenda; the issues that it addresses transcend party politics. In retrospect, I could have been more critical of the Clinton administration’s ties to agribusiness. Had I devoted more space to the poultry industry, for example, I would have examined the close links between Bill Clinton and the Tyson family. The FDA’s failure to investigate the health risks of biotech foods and its lackadaisical effort to keep cattle remains out of cattle feed also occurred during the Clinton years.
Nevertheless, it is a sad but undeniable fact that for the past two decades the right wing of the Republican Party has worked closely with the fast food industry and the meatpacking industry to oppose food safety laws, worker safety laws, and increases in the minimum wage. One of President George W. Bush’s first acts in office was to rescind a new ergonomics standard, backed by the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA), that would have protected millions of workers from cumulative trauma injuries. The National Restaurant Association and the American Meat Institute applauded Bush’s move. The newly appointed chairman of the House Subcommittee on Workforce Protections, which oversees all legislation pertaining to OSHA, is Representative Charles Norwood, a Republican from Georgia. During the 1990s Norwood sponsored legislation that would have prevented OSHA from inspecting unsafe workplaces or fining negligent employers. He has publicly suggested that some workers may actually be getting their repetitive stress injuries from skiing and playing too much tennis, not from their jobs.
One of the Bush administration’s first food-safety decisions was to stop testing the National School Lunch Program’s ground beef for Salmonella. The meatpacking industry’s lobbyists were delighted; they had worked hard to end the testing, which the industry considered expensive, inconvenient, and unnecessary. But consumer groups were outraged. In the ten months that the USDA had been testing ground beef intended for schoolchildren, roughly 5 million pounds were rejected because of Salmonella contamination. The decision to halt the tests generated a fair amount of bad publicity. Three days after it was announced, Secretary of Agriculture Ann M. Veneman said that she’d never authorized the new policy, reversed course, and promised that the school-lunch program’s Salmonella testing would continue.
Ideally, food safety would be a non-partisan issue. It doesn’t matter if you’re a Democrat or a Republican, Labour or Conservative, Social Democrat or Christian Democrat — you still have to eat. In recent years the Democrats have been far more willing than the Republicans to support tough food-safety legislation in the United States. But that was not always the case. It was a Republican president, Theodore Roosevelt, who had the nerve to condemn dangerous concentrations of economic power, battle the meatpacking industry, and win passage of the nation’s first food-safety law. Should that sort of spirit guide the Republican Party once again, there will be fewer reasons for criticizing its policies.
Of the many reactions to Fast Food Nation, the most surprising were the international events partly set in motion by Chapter 5, “Why the Fries Taste Good.” A couple of months after the book’s publication, Hitesh Shah, a software designer in Los Angeles, contacted McDonald’s to find out if their french fries really did contain animal products. He was a regular customer at McDonald’s, a vegetarian, and a devout Jain. His religion, Jainism, prohibits not just eating animal products but also wearing them. Jainist monks cover their noses and mouths with cloth to avoid inhaling any insects. Hitesh Shah was upset by the e-mail that McDonald’s Home Office Customer Satisfaction Department sent him on March 28. “For flavor enhancement, McDonald’s french fry suppliers use a minuscule amount of beef flavoring as an ingredient in the raw product,” it said. “…(W)e are sorry if this has caused any confusion.” McDonald’s fries did in fact contain some beef; that’s why they taste so good. Shah forwarded the e-mail to Viji Sundaram, a reporter at India-West, a California weekly with a large Hindu readership. Cows are considered sacred animals by Hindus and cannot legally be slaughtered in India. Sundaram briefly conducted her own investigation, confirmed the pertinent details of my french fry chapter and of Hitesh Shah’s e-mail, then wrote an article for India-West (“Where’s the Beef? It’s in Your French Fries”) that outraged Hindus and vegetarians worldwide.
After reading the India-West article, Harish Bharti, a Seattle attorney, filed a class-action lawsuit against the McDonald’s Corporation, alleging that the chain had deliberately misled vegetarians about the true content of its fries, causing great emotional damage and endangering the souls of Hindu consumers. “Eating a cow for a Hindu,” Bharti later explained, “would be like eating your own mother.” When news of the lawsuit reached India, a crowd of five hundred Hindu nationalists marched to a McDonald’s in a suburb of Bombay and ransacked the restaurant. At another McDonald’s in Bombay, an angry crowd smeared cow dung on a statue of Ronald McDonald. In New Delhi, activists from the nationalist Shiv Sena party staged a demonstration in front of McDonald’s Indian headquarters. “We came to warn them to shut down the restaurants,” a Shiv Sena leader said, calling upon the McDonald’s Corporation to leave India immediately. The timing of the protests was unfortunate for the company. McDonald’s was planning to triple the number of restaurants in India over the next few years and had just opened the nation’s first drive-through, near the Taj Mahal.
“If you visit McDonald’s anywhere in the world, the great taste of our world famous French Fries and Big Mac is the same,” a company Web site declared. “At McDonald’s we have a saying, ‘One Taste Worldwide.’” Given such pronouncements, the outrage among Hindus in India seemed justified. The dispute over beef in the fries soon revealed, however, that McDonald’s was in fact using different ingredients in different countries. McDonald’s India assured customers and protesters that its fries were never cooked in oil containing animal products, a fact that Bombay health authorities later confirmed through chemical analysis. Nor was beef added to the fries at McDonald’s in Great Britain, a country with a sizeable Hindu population. The company was quietly adjusting its french fry recipe to suit varying cultural preferences and taboos. In Canada, Japan, Mexico, and Australia, McDonald’s still made fries the macho, old-fashioned way, cooking them in beef tallow.