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The Sordid History of U.S. Food Safety Highlights the Importance of Regulation

News Feed
Tuesday, May 21, 2024

It was common in the 1800s for people to consume milk containing formaldehyde, meat preserved with salicylic acid and borax, and “coffee” filled with ground up bones and charred lead.The 19th century was largely unregulated, especially when it came to food. “Medical historians always call that period the century of the great American stomachache,” says Deborah Blum, a Pulitzer Prize–winning science journalist and author of the 2018 book The Poison Squad: One Chemist's Single-Minded Crusade for Food Safety at the Turn of the Twentieth Century.Food adulteration and the use of harmful ingredients were not even illegal because there were no laws around food safety or purity in the U.S. It wasn’t until 1883 that a former Purdue University chemist, who had just become chief chemist of the U.S. Department of Agriculture, started investigating fraud involving foods and drinks: Harvey Washington Wiley and a small group of his colleagues experimented on young men who became known as the “poison squad.” The researchers exposed these men to various questionable foods and observing the effects. Wiley’s methods were somewhat unorthodox—by modern standards, perhaps unethical—but it was the first attempt to gather data for any sort of regulation of an industry that was sickening and killing many people.On supporting science journalismIf you're enjoying this article, consider supporting our award-winning journalism by subscribing. By purchasing a subscription you are helping to ensure the future of impactful stories about the discoveries and ideas shaping our world today.Others aided the crusade for better food safety, including journalist and activist Upton Sinclair, author of the 1905 novel The Jungle, which famously exposed the horrific practices of the U.S. meat industry; food manufacturer Henry Heinz; and cookbook author Fannie Farmer. As a result of these efforts, in 1906 Congress finally passed the Federal Meat Inspection Act and the Pure Food and Drug Act, the latter of which became known as the “Wiley Act” and “Dr. Wiley’s law.” These laws contained strict regulations over the conditions under which meat was produced and eventually laid the groundwork for the creation of the Food and Drug Administration. The laws were not perfect, however, and there have been several attempts to refine these regulatory powers over the decades since.Today the food industry continues to push back against federal regulation. Recently U.S. congressional representatives introduced the Food Traceability Enhancement Act, which would exempt food retailers from many of the rules the FDA uses to track outbreaks of foodborne illness. If the act passes, it could significantly impede the FDA’s ability to find the source of such outbreaks, which can be deadly.Scientific American spoke with Blum about the history of food safety in the U.S. and the way that history continues to inform our relationship with food regulation today.[An edited transcript of the interview follows.]What was the status of food safety in the 19th century?The U.S. was really slow to the food safety game. There were regulations in Europe and in Canada before we actually took this up. There was just an incredible amount of 19th-century U.S. resistance to the idea of the federal government, as someone said, becoming the “policeman” of your stomach. And so that whole American ethos of “nobody tells me what to do,” individual rights, all of those things really played into it, as well as enormous industry resistance.Then along came Harvey Washington Wiley. How did he launch federal oversight of food in this country?I describe him as a “crusading chemist”—I sometimes call him a “Holy Roller chemist”—who was absolutely passionate about the idea that we needed to do something to make the American food supply safer. He had been the first professor of chemistry at Purdue University at a time when it only had six faculty members, including the university’s president. He had studied deceptive food practices when he was in Indiana. And when he came to the federal government, he was head of what was then called the Bureau of Chemistry at the USDA. He launched the federal government, for the first time in its history, into looking at the idea of food safety and food integrity. There were people who did it at the state level, but at the national level, there was no scientist looking at it.In 1883, when my guy Wiley arrives at the USDA, there are fewer than a dozen chemists at the agency. They’re responsible for all the agricultural chemistry issues in the U.S.—everything from pesticides to crop growth to soil quality. He tells them, Now we’re going to test the integrity of the American food supply. And they do it! Starting in the 1880s, this tiny group of chemists starts doing a series of reports that have the very boring title of “Bulletin 13.” And the chemists look at dairy, and they look at canned vegetables, and they look at coffee and tea, and they look at wine and beer and spices and processed meats. And they really take apart the processed, industrialized food system of the U.S. And across the board, they find really, really bad things.What were some examples of the questionable food practices they found?Some of it was just fraud. There was, like, 90 percent adulteration of spices. If you were buying cinnamon, you were buying brick dust. If you were buying pepper, you were buying dirt or charred and ground rope. If you were buying coffee, sometimes you were just buying ground shells. People would grind up bones and charred lead into coffee. If you got flour, you got gypsum. If you got milk, you got chalk or plaster of paris. And actual milk was full of horrible bacteria—there was no pasteurization; there was no refrigeration. People started putting preservatives such as formaldehyde in milk; the milk started killing people around the country. All of this was completely legal. No one could ever be prosecuted for any of this.That’s pretty horrifying. What motivated Wiley to take action?There’s no requirement to honestly label anything [at this time]. So you see Wiley starting to say, There are so many of these additives in food, such as formaldehyde and salicylic acid, which causes the lining of your stomach to bleed, and all these other things. Why can't we just tell people what’s in the food so they know how many times a day they’re eating these products? There’s absolute industry resistance to this. Nothing passes. Wiley goes to Congress. Nothing happens. In the entire 19th century, [hardly any] federal regulation regarding food safety or drink safety or drug safety gets through Congress, which is pretty much owned by industry at this point.So what did Wiley do about it?Wiley ran what the Washington Post called these “poison squad” experiments, in which he experimented with young workers at the USDA and put these different additives in their food and poisoned them, essentially. The whole science of epidemiology, the science of public health, is so in its infancy at this point. His poison squad experiments had a control group—he had two groups that all consumed the same foods and drinks, but one group got these additives, and one of them didn't. It’s super primitive to us today, but it was really forward-looking and kind of methodical. It was a completely illegal experiment by today’s standards; they’d be, like, running you out of town now.But it wasn’t just Wiley and his poison squad, right? Weren’t there other people crusading for the cause of food safety at that time?You have what was called the pure food movement. Wiley did a lot of talking to women’s groups. Women couldn’t vote at that time, but he thought they were very politically organized and powerful. So he went and worked with a lot of women’s groups who crusaded for the cause. He found some friendly manufacturers such as [Ketchup entrepreneur] Henry J. Heinz. And there’s this start of a push toward at least public recognition that food is unsafe. In the cookbooks of the time, you have cookbook writers such as Fannie Farmer saying, Okay, I’m going to tell you to put coffee in this recipe—just be aware that it’s not going to be coffee, or, You should not put milk in the food of sick people because it’s so dangerous.Upton Sinclair, a socialist writer, writes this book, The Jungle. It was first published in the socialist newspaper Appeal to Reason as a call to arms about the plight of the worker. And he finally gets a New York City publisher to agree to publish it. Because he had gone and embedded himself in the stockyards of Chicago, he has all this incredible description about how horrible meat processing is and the mold that’s growing on the meat that still goes into the potted ham and the disease and the rotting animals that go into the sausage. The publisher sends fact-checkers to Chicago to make sure that this isn’t all just bullshit, and the fact-checkers come back, and they say, It’s even worse than he says. A copy was sent to President Theodore Roosevelt. The book becomes this big explosion. Nobody cares about the plight of the worker. There's that famous quote from Upton Sinclair, “I aimed for the public’s heart, and by accident I hit it in the stomach.”So what did Roosevelt do about the situation? How did it lead to Congress passing food safety regulations?There’s such a storm about The Jungle that Roosevelt sends his own fact-checkers to Chicago. And the crazy thing about that visit is that the meat-packers know they’re coming. The meat-packers clean up the stockyards. And these fact-checkers come back, and they also go, “It’s even worse than in the book.” Roosevelt then goes to Congress, which is entirely in the pocket of the meat industry, and says, I want a meat inspection act. If you don't give me a meat inspection act, I’m going to publish this report.He ends up publishing about six to eight pages of this report, which was almost 100 pages. Those six pages are so explosive that every country in Europe cancels its meat contract with the U.S.. And at that point, the packing industry goes, Oh, my God, we’re going to have to have a meat inspection act. And so the Federal Meat Inspection Act goes through Congress.What did the Federal Meat Inspection Act do?The act has got a ton of teeth in it. The meat industry has to actually pay to help inspect the meat; the meat inspectors have real power in the factories. It’s got a lot of funding built in. There’s a powerful recall apparatus built into the meat inspection act. And in this kind of storm of legislative outrage over the food supply, the Pure Food and Drug Act passes, but because it has been a political football for 20 years, it’s a mess, and there’s not a good funding apparatus. It’s got a lot of problems in terms of how you actually measure and enforce toxic substances in food, and that difference haunts our regulatory system today.Even today, under the Federal Meat Inspection Act, the USDA inspects meat-processing factories. It inspects about 10 to 20 percent of the food processing in the U.S., and it has almost the exact same budget that the FDA gets to inspect the other 80 percent of food. And a legacy of the difference between those two acts persists—one act was driven by a huge scandal that was incredibly powerful and had the backing of industry, and one was dragged over the line with industry hostile to it, working almost from the beginning to undo all of its better applications.Bring us back to the present. How does the legacy of these food regulation laws continue to affect us today?The Pure Food and Drug Act was eventually replaced by the 1938 Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act, which created the modern FDA. There have been multiple [attempted] amendments since then to the FDA’s power, such as the Food Traceability Enhancement Act. But the fundamental weakness of the powers of the FDA to enforce safety measures in food, drugs and cosmetics—that still underlies our system in terms of both funding and in terms of some of the enforcement mechanisms we see today.To be fair, the Federal Meat Inspection Act and the Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906 were paradigm-shifting laws. It was the first time in U.S. history that the government said, Yes, we’re in the business of protecting consumers. All of the consumer-protective things that followed—the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, the Environmental Protection Agency, the modern FDA—all of those agencies are built on those two laws. I mean, they made a huge and important difference.So, despite industry pushback, all of these government regulations of our food supply have made Americans safer.There’s no borax or salicylic acid added to our wine and beer. We’re not using arsenic as green food coloring. We’re not using red lead to make cheddar cheese look a little more orange.If I could persuade people not to think of regulation as a pejorative term, my life’s work would be done.

Author and science journalist Deborah Blum describes how an Indiana chemist kicked off the first major food regulation in the U.S.

It was common in the 1800s for people to consume milk containing formaldehyde, meat preserved with salicylic acid and borax, and “coffee” filled with ground up bones and charred lead.

The 19th century was largely unregulated, especially when it came to food. “Medical historians always call that period the century of the great American stomachache,” says Deborah Blum, a Pulitzer Prize–winning science journalist and author of the 2018 book The Poison Squad: One Chemist's Single-Minded Crusade for Food Safety at the Turn of the Twentieth Century.

Food adulteration and the use of harmful ingredients were not even illegal because there were no laws around food safety or purity in the U.S. It wasn’t until 1883 that a former Purdue University chemist, who had just become chief chemist of the U.S. Department of Agriculture, started investigating fraud involving foods and drinks: Harvey Washington Wiley and a small group of his colleagues experimented on young men who became known as the “poison squad.” The researchers exposed these men to various questionable foods and observing the effects. Wiley’s methods were somewhat unorthodox—by modern standards, perhaps unethical—but it was the first attempt to gather data for any sort of regulation of an industry that was sickening and killing many people.

On supporting science journalism

If you're enjoying this article, consider supporting our award-winning journalism by subscribing. By purchasing a subscription you are helping to ensure the future of impactful stories about the discoveries and ideas shaping our world today.

Others aided the crusade for better food safety, including journalist and activist Upton Sinclair, author of the 1905 novel The Jungle, which famously exposed the horrific practices of the U.S. meat industry; food manufacturer Henry Heinz; and cookbook author Fannie Farmer. As a result of these efforts, in 1906 Congress finally passed the Federal Meat Inspection Act and the Pure Food and Drug Act, the latter of which became known as the “Wiley Act” and “Dr. Wiley’s law.” These laws contained strict regulations over the conditions under which meat was produced and eventually laid the groundwork for the creation of the Food and Drug Administration. The laws were not perfect, however, and there have been several attempts to refine these regulatory powers over the decades since.

Today the food industry continues to push back against federal regulation. Recently U.S. congressional representatives introduced the Food Traceability Enhancement Act, which would exempt food retailers from many of the rules the FDA uses to track outbreaks of foodborne illness. If the act passes, it could significantly impede the FDA’s ability to find the source of such outbreaks, which can be deadly.

Scientific American spoke with Blum about the history of food safety in the U.S. and the way that history continues to inform our relationship with food regulation today.

[An edited transcript of the interview follows.]

What was the status of food safety in the 19th century?

The U.S. was really slow to the food safety game. There were regulations in Europe and in Canada before we actually took this up. There was just an incredible amount of 19th-century U.S. resistance to the idea of the federal government, as someone said, becoming the “policeman” of your stomach. And so that whole American ethos of “nobody tells me what to do,” individual rights, all of those things really played into it, as well as enormous industry resistance.

Then along came Harvey Washington Wiley. How did he launch federal oversight of food in this country?

I describe him as a “crusading chemist”—I sometimes call him a “Holy Roller chemist”—who was absolutely passionate about the idea that we needed to do something to make the American food supply safer. He had been the first professor of chemistry at Purdue University at a time when it only had six faculty members, including the university’s president. He had studied deceptive food practices when he was in Indiana. And when he came to the federal government, he was head of what was then called the Bureau of Chemistry at the USDA. He launched the federal government, for the first time in its history, into looking at the idea of food safety and food integrity. There were people who did it at the state level, but at the national level, there was no scientist looking at it.

In 1883, when my guy Wiley arrives at the USDA, there are fewer than a dozen chemists at the agency. They’re responsible for all the agricultural chemistry issues in the U.S.—everything from pesticides to crop growth to soil quality. He tells them, Now we’re going to test the integrity of the American food supply. And they do it! Starting in the 1880s, this tiny group of chemists starts doing a series of reports that have the very boring title of “Bulletin 13.” And the chemists look at dairy, and they look at canned vegetables, and they look at coffee and tea, and they look at wine and beer and spices and processed meats. And they really take apart the processed, industrialized food system of the U.S. And across the board, they find really, really bad things.

What were some examples of the questionable food practices they found?

Some of it was just fraud. There was, like, 90 percent adulteration of spices. If you were buying cinnamon, you were buying brick dust. If you were buying pepper, you were buying dirt or charred and ground rope. If you were buying coffee, sometimes you were just buying ground shells. People would grind up bones and charred lead into coffee. If you got flour, you got gypsum. If you got milk, you got chalk or plaster of paris. And actual milk was full of horrible bacteria—there was no pasteurization; there was no refrigeration. People started putting preservatives such as formaldehyde in milk; the milk started killing people around the country. All of this was completely legal. No one could ever be prosecuted for any of this.

That’s pretty horrifying. What motivated Wiley to take action?

There’s no requirement to honestly label anything [at this time]. So you see Wiley starting to say, There are so many of these additives in food, such as formaldehyde and salicylic acid, which causes the lining of your stomach to bleed, and all these other things. Why can't we just tell people what’s in the food so they know how many times a day they’re eating these products? There’s absolute industry resistance to this. Nothing passes. Wiley goes to Congress. Nothing happens. In the entire 19th century, [hardly any] federal regulation regarding food safety or drink safety or drug safety gets through Congress, which is pretty much owned by industry at this point.

So what did Wiley do about it?

Wiley ran what the Washington Post called these “poison squad” experiments, in which he experimented with young workers at the USDA and put these different additives in their food and poisoned them, essentially. The whole science of epidemiology, the science of public health, is so in its infancy at this point. His poison squad experiments had a control group—he had two groups that all consumed the same foods and drinks, but one group got these additives, and one of them didn't. It’s super primitive to us today, but it was really forward-looking and kind of methodical. It was a completely illegal experiment by today’s standards; they’d be, like, running you out of town now.

But it wasn’t just Wiley and his poison squad, right? Weren’t there other people crusading for the cause of food safety at that time?

You have what was called the pure food movement. Wiley did a lot of talking to women’s groups. Women couldn’t vote at that time, but he thought they were very politically organized and powerful. So he went and worked with a lot of women’s groups who crusaded for the cause. He found some friendly manufacturers such as [Ketchup entrepreneur] Henry J. Heinz. And there’s this start of a push toward at least public recognition that food is unsafe. In the cookbooks of the time, you have cookbook writers such as Fannie Farmer saying, Okay, I’m going to tell you to put coffee in this recipe—just be aware that it’s not going to be coffee, or, You should not put milk in the food of sick people because it’s so dangerous.

Upton Sinclair, a socialist writer, writes this book, The Jungle. It was first published in the socialist newspaper Appeal to Reason as a call to arms about the plight of the worker. And he finally gets a New York City publisher to agree to publish it. Because he had gone and embedded himself in the stockyards of Chicago, he has all this incredible description about how horrible meat processing is and the mold that’s growing on the meat that still goes into the potted ham and the disease and the rotting animals that go into the sausage. The publisher sends fact-checkers to Chicago to make sure that this isn’t all just bullshit, and the fact-checkers come back, and they say, It’s even worse than he says. A copy was sent to President Theodore Roosevelt. The book becomes this big explosion. Nobody cares about the plight of the worker. There's that famous quote from Upton Sinclair, “I aimed for the public’s heart, and by accident I hit it in the stomach.”

So what did Roosevelt do about the situation? How did it lead to Congress passing food safety regulations?

There’s such a storm about The Jungle that Roosevelt sends his own fact-checkers to Chicago. And the crazy thing about that visit is that the meat-packers know they’re coming. The meat-packers clean up the stockyards. And these fact-checkers come back, and they also go, “It’s even worse than in the book.” Roosevelt then goes to Congress, which is entirely in the pocket of the meat industry, and says, I want a meat inspection act. If you don't give me a meat inspection act, I’m going to publish this report.

He ends up publishing about six to eight pages of this report, which was almost 100 pages. Those six pages are so explosive that every country in Europe cancels its meat contract with the U.S.. And at that point, the packing industry goes, Oh, my God, we’re going to have to have a meat inspection act. And so the Federal Meat Inspection Act goes through Congress.

What did the Federal Meat Inspection Act do?

The act has got a ton of teeth in it. The meat industry has to actually pay to help inspect the meat; the meat inspectors have real power in the factories. It’s got a lot of funding built in. There’s a powerful recall apparatus built into the meat inspection act. And in this kind of storm of legislative outrage over the food supply, the Pure Food and Drug Act passes, but because it has been a political football for 20 years, it’s a mess, and there’s not a good funding apparatus. It’s got a lot of problems in terms of how you actually measure and enforce toxic substances in food, and that difference haunts our regulatory system today.

Even today, under the Federal Meat Inspection Act, the USDA inspects meat-processing factories. It inspects about 10 to 20 percent of the food processing in the U.S., and it has almost the exact same budget that the FDA gets to inspect the other 80 percent of food. And a legacy of the difference between those two acts persists—one act was driven by a huge scandal that was incredibly powerful and had the backing of industry, and one was dragged over the line with industry hostile to it, working almost from the beginning to undo all of its better applications.

Bring us back to the present. How does the legacy of these food regulation laws continue to affect us today?

The Pure Food and Drug Act was eventually replaced by the 1938 Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act, which created the modern FDA. There have been multiple [attempted] amendments since then to the FDA’s power, such as the Food Traceability Enhancement Act. But the fundamental weakness of the powers of the FDA to enforce safety measures in food, drugs and cosmetics—that still underlies our system in terms of both funding and in terms of some of the enforcement mechanisms we see today.

To be fair, the Federal Meat Inspection Act and the Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906 were paradigm-shifting laws. It was the first time in U.S. history that the government said, Yes, we’re in the business of protecting consumers. All of the consumer-protective things that followed—the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, the Environmental Protection Agency, the modern FDA—all of those agencies are built on those two laws. I mean, they made a huge and important difference.

So, despite industry pushback, all of these government regulations of our food supply have made Americans safer.

There’s no borax or salicylic acid added to our wine and beer. We’re not using arsenic as green food coloring. We’re not using red lead to make cheddar cheese look a little more orange.

If I could persuade people not to think of regulation as a pejorative term, my life’s work would be done.

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of

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Civil Eats has reported on food justice since we began publishing in 2009. At the time, many people were unaware of the critical connection between race, food, poverty, and equity. As a central tenet of our work, we focus on stories that highlight those issues. A fair and equitable society requires universal access to healthy and sustainable food. It also encompasses environmental factors and climate change, as both disproportionately impact poor communities and communities of color, creating additional challenges for those facing food insecurity. In 2025, the U.S. food system came under increasing pressure, making stories about food justice all the more critical. This year, we reported extensively on how federal budget cuts scaled back the food safety net and eliminated many farming initiatives, including climate and food justice projects. But even with fewer resources, farmers and advocates across the country are still finding ways to feed their communities, support the next generation of producers, and teach sustainable agriculture to urban farmers. Below are our biggest food justice stories from 2025, in chronological order. A 19th-century family in front of their improved homestead in Nicodemus, Kansas. (Photo courtesy of Kansas University Spencer Research Library, Nicodemus Historical Society Collection) Op-ed: Black Producers Have Farmed Sustainably in Kansas for Generations. Let’s Not Erase Our Progress. Increased federal funding for Black farmers—not less—will help US agriculture become more resilient as our climate changes. Brea Baker on the Legacy of Stolen Farmland in America The author of ‘Rooted: The American Legacy of Land Theft and the Modern Movement for Black Land Ownership’ talks about her family’s farming history, the lasting impact of land loss for Black people, and the case for reparations. Despite Cuts to DEI Initiatives, Food and Farm Advocates Say They Will Continue to Fight for Racial Justice People fighting for a fairer food system are worried and exhausted, but remain undeterred. Alien Land Laws, Created to Protect US Farmland, May Be Harming Asian Americans A Q&A with civil rights lawyer and professor Robert Chang about the laws forbidding foreign ownership of agricultural land, and how they could lead to discrimination against Asians and Asian Americans. In Chicago, an Environmental Organization Feeds a Community It took decades for Little Village Environmental Justice Organization to restore the land within its neighborhood. Now areas once considered toxic sites are a wellspring for sharing food, culture, and ancestral knowledge. Photo Essay: Standing in the Gaps With Feed Durham In Durham, North Carolina, a multifaceted mutual aid collective shows us the power of a community caring for its members through food and much more. A New Path for Small Farmers in the Southeast? The Southern Farmers Financial Association, years in the making, could be a lifeline for Black farmers and rural communities, but is in jeopardy now. ‘Dignified Food’ Eases Food Insecurity in Philadelphia The Double Trellis Food Initiative fights hunger in America’s poorest large city—and gives young people a path to employment. This Man Is Feeding California’s Incarcerated Firefighters Sam Lewis of the Anti-Recidivism Coalition discusses why good meals, better pay, and post-release support could transform the future for incarcerated firefighters—and why society should see their humanity. Established in October 2024, the final Solitary Garden is on St. Charles Avenue, a popular tourist destination in New Orleans. (Photo credit: Ben Seal) In New Orleans, ‘Solitary Gardens’ Aims to Transform Thinking About Prisons Artist and activist jackie sumell’s nonprofit, Freedom to Grow, takes a plant-powered approach to encourage radical change. Can This Baltimore Academy Continue to Train Urban Farmers? At Black Butterfly Teaching Farm, locals learn to build a climate-resilient food system with economic potential in the midst of an industrial city. Funding cuts now jeopardize that mission. Op-ed: Through Acts of Solidarity, We Can Support Immigrants in the Food Chain and Beyond Immigrant farmers, food workers, and vendors are a critical part of our food system. Here’s how to help them here in LA and nationwide. The EPA Canceled These 21 Climate Justice Projects From solar-powered greenhouses to wild rice initiatives, the Trump administration cut funding for nearly two dozen farm and food resilience projects. Volunteers Noelle Romero (left) and Corinne Smith (right) pull weeds around a row of tomato plants during a community work day at the Agroecology Commons farm. (Photo credit: Riley Ramirez) A Groundbreaking California Farming Collective Navigates the Loss of Federal Grants Due to cuts by the USDA, Agroecology Commons will offer fewer services to fewer aspiring farmers from underserved communities. Op-ed: We Need a Food Bill of Rights From Oklahoma to D.C., a food activist works to ensure that communities can protect their food systems and their future. Farmers of Color Offer Community Wellness at ‘Healing Farms’ With a focus on trauma recovery and improved health, a new farm model connects neighbors to ancestral practices. Crusading New York Community Garden Group Turns 30 A photo essay of gardens from Bette Midler’s New York Restoration Project, which for three decades has been converting neglected lots into resilient neighborhood green spaces. Op-ed: The Shutdown Threatens SNAP and WIC for the Most Vulnerable One in eight Americans rely on food assistance. For families with complex medical challenges, these programs are non-negotiable lifelines. Community Kitchen Brings Food Justice to the Table In New York City, this ambitious nonprofit restaurant serves healthy, high-quality food to all, regardless of income. Alexina Cather (right) with her brother, Ryan, in 1987 or 1988. (Photo courtesy of Alexina Cather) Op-ed: SNAP Is a Lifeline. I Know Firsthand. SNAP reduces hunger, lifts children out of poverty, improves health outcomes, and supports local economies. It is one of the most effective anti-poverty tools this country has ever created. At 91, Eva Clayton Is Still Fighting for Food Justice and Farmers’ Rights North Carolina’s first Black Congresswoman keeps making her voice heard—on gerrymandering, hunger relief, and more. The post Our Biggest Food Justice Stories of 2025 appeared first on Civil Eats.

Food
Climate
Sustainable

Dunedin’s inner-city greening project shows even small spaces can be wildlife havens

Medium-density housing has limited green spaces, but even small planted patches can provide enough food and habitat to enhance urban biodiversity.

Even small green spaces can bring nature back into cities, as our project in Ōtepoti Dunedin has shown. Over the past two years, Dunedin’s city centre has become greener and more biodiverse thanks to the installation of street-side planters. This change, though modest, proves popular with a range of insects that have moved in even though the city centre remains dominated by grey non-permeable surfaces. This real-world example shows that urban dwellers with limited green spaces can still have a positive impact on urban biodiversity through the use of planters and raised garden beds. Since most New Zealanders live in urban areas, these are the places where people frequently interact with and experience nature. The way we design cities shapes our experience of the natural world, and it should include habitat for our native flora and fauna. As housing pressure rises, stand-alone homes with private gardens are increasingly replaced by medium-density housing with limited greenspace. If we want to keep our living environments green, we have to find ways to enhance biodiversity in increasingly smaller spaces. Opportunities to connect with nature are linked to increased mental and physical wellbeing, sense of place and pro-environmental behaviours. In fact, having a connection to nature was deemed equally important as income in a recent Australian survey that ranked life satisfaction. Planning with biodiversity in mind Amid the growing recognition of biodiversity’s importance, the Dunedin City Council has started weaving it into city planning, despite the absence of national policies for modified urban habitats. The council partnered with local agency Aukaha to incorporate mana whenua values of environmental guardianship into the design of the city’s main shopping street. The native ground-covering bidibid can be used with plants of different heights to create new habitats. Author provided, CC BY-ND The upgrade of Dunedin’s George Street comprises three consecutively installed blocks, each with a slightly different theme. The first block is dominated by native plants, the second features more flowering species, and the third has a mixture of both. In total, the planters include more than 2,500 plants representing close to 60 species, of which more than half are native. These offer a variety of resources for wildlife, from food (pollen, nectar, fruit) to habitat niches created through the plants’ varying heights and physical structures. Each block’s planters have either loose stone or bark as the ground medium. Urban insect colonisation To test whether George Street’s planters actually do enhance biodiversity we conducted a two-year study of insect colonisation. Insects were sampled in traps and by vacuuming leaves. Author provided, CC BY-ND We used pitfall traps buried in the ground and hand-held vacuuming of plants to catch insects and assessed whether the planters act as stepping-stone habitats – small patches that connect fragmented urban landscapes to more natural ones, thus enhancing biodiversity and ecosystem health. Our results are promising. As expected in a harsh, disturbed urban environment, we found the insect communities in the George Street planters differ from those found in more extensive natural areas such as the Town Belt or Ross Creek, which tend to have more specialised species. However, several groups have successfully colonised the planters, including spiders, flies, native wasps, beetles and other insects. Beetles, New Zealand’s largest insect group, are good indicators of ecosystem health. We found a small population of Scopodes fossulatus, a native ground-dwelling carnivorous beetle, also present in the surrounding natural areas. Its presence indicates sufficient food resources (other smaller insects) and a functioning micro-ecosystem. Gardening for wildlife The George Street planters offer practical guidance for urban dwellers on how to enhance biodiversity in their own outdoor spaces, regardless of size. Bark was found to be more successful in attracting insects than loose stone as the planter medium. Planting vegetation of varying heights is one of the best ways to enhance urban biodiversity. This can be achieved by planting a native ground cover such as Aceana microphylla (bidibid), together with a variety of structurally complex plants between 30 centimetres and more than two metres in height. Plants with more leaf surface area and complex shapes and forms, such as Polystichum vestitum (prickly shield fern), are more likely to offer habitat, and thus attract insects, compared to structurally simple plants like Libertia (New Zealand iris) species. While non-native plants add colour, including native plants will attract native insects as they have co-evolved. George Street demonstrates that even in a small space, staggering flowering times throughout the year to provide continuous food resources is achievable: native Veronica (formerly Hebe) “Beverly Hills”, for instance, produces bright purple flowers throughout spring and summer, while non-native Lenten roses flower from late winter to spring. When sourcing native plants for pots, planters or gardens, growers should consider supporting local nurseries. They often offer a greater genetic diversity and in-depth knowledge on local climatic preferences. Most importantly, it’s good to take time to connect with nature, be it on a balcony, backyard or the seats around the George Street planters, and enjoy the species these small but mighty green spaces can attract. Jacqueline Theis receives funding from the Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment. She is affiliated with the Entomological Society of New Zealand. Barbara I.P. Barratt receives funding from the Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment for research on border biosecurity, risk assessment for biological control agents and native grassland ecology; from the Department of Conservation for research on endangered insect species; and from Environment Canterbury for expert advice on terrestrial invertebrates.Connal McLean is affiliated with the Entomological Society of New Zealand and a trustee of the Moths and Butterflies of NZ Trust. Yolanda van Heezik receives funding from the Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment.

Food
Business
Health

At 91, Eva Clayton Is Still Fighting for Food Justice and Farmers’ Rights

As the first Black woman to represent North Carolina in Congress, elected to the House in 1992 to serve the district now under threat, Clayton had broken the racial barrier, and in every election since, constituents there had elected a Black Democrat to represent them. The new maps, developed mid-decade at the urging of Donald […] The post At 91, Eva Clayton Is Still Fighting for Food Justice and Farmers’ Rights appeared first on Civil Eats.

A Life of Purpose• Eva Clayton, the first Black woman to represent North Carolina in Congress, first found her calling during the Civil Rights era, in 1963, organizing farmers. • She went on to serve five sequential terms in Congress, sitting on the Agricultural Committee throughout her tenure. • Clayton paved the way for Pigford vs. USDA, the most consequential decision for Black farmers in history. She also expanded food stamps under the 2002 Farm Bill. • In 2003, at 69, she joined the United Nations in Rome, and for several years led a global anti-hunger effort. • While pursuing her political career, Clayton raised four children with her husband, a lawyer. Eva Clayton was outraged. It was late October, and the North Carolina legislature had just introduced a swiftly moving plan to redraw the congressional map for the First District, where she lived, to dilute Black voting power and favor Republicans. As the first Black woman to represent North Carolina in Congress, elected to the House in 1992 to serve the district now under threat, Clayton had broken the racial barrier, and in every election since, constituents there had elected a Black Democrat to represent them. The new maps, developed mid-decade at the urging of Donald Trump, cut majority-Black counties out of the First District and lumped them into the conservative Third District. This virtually ensured that Clayton’s district could not elect a Democrat, especially a Black Democrat, again. Never one to stay silent, 91-year-old Clayton put on a gray suit, arranged a pink-and-green scarf around her shoulders, and rode an hour and a half south from her home in rural Warren County to Raleigh. Clayton walks with a metal cane, and at five feet, she wasn’t much taller than the wooden podium in the legislative office building’s meeting room. But her tone was fierce as she addressed the lawmakers. While some may not have heard of her, within her home state, Clayton is a towering figure in food politics. “Shame on this General Assembly,” she said, an edge to her deep, smooth voice, “for silencing the will of the people in northeastern North Carolina, a true swing district that reflects the diversity of the state . . . . What you are doing today means you are against democracy.” While some may not have heard of her, within her home state, Clayton is a towering figure in food politics—someone who has transformed people’s lives for the better on the local, regional, national, and international levels. After her Congressional win in the early ’90s, Clayton went on to serve five terms, sitting on the Agriculture Committee her entire tenure and fighting for food access and the rights of small farmers. In 1999, she was instrumental in pushing through the historic Pigford discrimination lawsuit against the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA), which awarded the plaintiffs, all Black farmers, more than $1 billion—the largest civil rights settlement ever awarded at that time. She also expanded food stamps to include documented immigrants in the 2002 Farm Bill, helping strengthen food security for thousands of families. After her political service, Clayton, then 69, took her work to a global level, leading the United Nations in an effort to reduce hunger worldwide. And now, she helps guide the Eva Clayton Rural Food Institute, a regional nonprofit that increases food access for rural families and small farmers in her community. On that October day in Raleigh, as the Assembly moved to dismantle the district she had championed for most of her life, an interviewer for the North Carolina Black Alliance caught up to her in the hallway. “She is a powerful force, but also a gentle force. She has the soul of a great warrior.” Clayton had more to say, now speaking directly to her community, mired in the ongoing government shutdown: “They’re taking so many things away, taking food from hungry people, taking help from people who need help . . . and taking the right to determine who represents you, all at the same time,” she said, sweeping her arm for emphasis. “In spite of that, folks, stand up. Speak up for democracy. We need you.” The following day, despite Clayton’s impassioned argument, the legislature formally approved the new maps, and the First District is predicted to go Republican in the 2026 election. Virginia farmer Michael Carter compares Clayton to leaders before and after the Antebellum Era, motivated not by ego but by doing what was right. “She is a powerful force, but also a gentle force,” he says. “She has the soul of a great warrior.” Finding Her Footing Born in 1934, Clayton was raised in Savannah and Augusta, Georgia, by a charismatic, outgoing father who worked as a life insurance agent (“he could sell life insurance to a tombstone!” says Clayton) and a stern but loving mother who, as a PTA president, organized daily fresh fruit for Clayton’s school, which lacked even a cafeteria. It was Clayton’s first glimpse of food justice, something she came to see later as a foreshadowing of her own hunger relief efforts. Clayton at home in Savannah, Georgia, after her kindergarten graduation. (Photo courtesy of Eva Clayton)
 As she matured, Clayton began questioning the racism of the segregated South, and a spiritual awakening at a bible camp during high school gave her an abiding approach to countering injustice. “I understood Christ was for love, and I could show that,” she said. “I could be a beacon.” Intent on becoming a medical missionary in Africa, Clayton studied biology at Johnson C. Smith University, a historically Black college in Charlotte. There she met her future husband, Theaoseus Theaboyd “T.T.” Clayton, a charming senior from a farming family. Both went on to earn master’s degrees—he in law, she in biology and general science. Between getting her degrees, Clayton traveled to Chicago to intern with the American Friends Service Committee (AFSC), a Quaker peace and social justice organization. Their seminars and forums helped shape her worldview. “They tried to teach me how to speak up against the policy of the person without taking down the person,” she said. “That experience sharpened my insight on how to be engaged with people, not only in terms of presenting [ideas to them] but also listening. The Quakers have a sense of the long view . . . They’re committed not only to peace but to peaceful ways.” Building a Voice for the First District When I met Clayton recently at her Warren County home, a tidy, split-level ranch on the shores of Lake Gaston, she welcomed me in with a broad smile and the same direct gaze I’d seen in her many Congressional portraits. Her once-dark hair was cropped short and mostly white, and she was well put together in a navy striped dress shirt, round silver necklace, and dangly silver earrings. She had been sorting through papers and photographs to make space for her son Martin and his wife, who were about to move in, but the walls of her basement den were still covered in pictures of herself with presidents, dignitaries, and Pope John Paul II. “It’s like spending the night in the Eva Clayton Museum,” her daughter Joanne told me later, chuckling. “I know what MLK’s children must have felt like.” Most of her collection, though, was in her sunroom, packed into file boxes scattered across the floor. Clayton delightedly unearthed an artifact: a newspaper article about a voter registration project she organized in Warren County, back in 1963. That summer changed the course of her life—and the future of her district. Clayton, T.T., and their two young children had moved to the county the year before, when T.T. accepted a law partnership in the town of Warrenton, creating the first integrated firm in the state’s history. Proud to finally have a Black lawyer in town, the community embraced the Clayton family. And Clayton found her small-town neighbors—who sometimes paid her husband in meat from their farms—to be warm and kind. “I fell in love with them, and they showed the love to me too,” she said. The countryside around Warrenton was lush, but poor. Two out of three people were Black, nine out of ten lived on farms, and many were sharecroppers who had to turn over a portion of their monthly income to their white landlords. With the Voting Rights Act of 1965 still a few years from passing and Southern states still employing tactics like literacy tests to suppress votes, few Black people in the area were registered to vote, and none served in government. Farmers harvesting tobacco in the Warren County Hecks Grove community, 1960s. (Photo courtesy of Judith Beil Vaughan)
 In 1963, Clayton helped drive student volunteers to isolated pockets of Warren County to try to convince rural residents, including tenant farmers like the woman in this photo, to register to vote. “Without knowing,” Clayton said recently, “I was teaching myself that I could be engaged with people, I could lead.” (Photo courtesy of Judith Beil Vaughan)
 At 29, Clayton quickly realized that, rather than pursue her dream of being a missionary in Africa, she could help and heal her new community instead. She decided to launch a voter registration project, inviting the Quaker group she had interned with in Chicago to help. Fourteen college students and three leaders—the first integrated group the area had ever seen—moved into a six-room apartment above Brown’s Superette grocery store downtown. Over the summer, the volunteers held workshops at rural churches and community centers throughout the region to educate would-be voters about the Constitution and the voting process, even holding mock elections. Clayton helped the young volunteers understand local customs and took them to buy groceries. When the segregated laundromat kicked them out, she let them do laundry at her house, and when the Klan showed up outside their downtown apartment to intimidate them, she invited them over to sleep on her floor. In her puttery Renault, she drove the volunteers through the tobacco, cotton, and peanut fields of Warren, Franklin, and Vance counties to find unregistered voters recommended by church and community leaders. Meeting tenant farmers in bare-bones wooden houses with no electricity or running water was eye-opening for Clayton—“I didn’t know people lived that way,” she said—and the task was tall: to persuade them to overcome their lack of confidence, fear, or distrust of the political system and take action. A voter education workshop at Brookston Baptist Church, Warren County, 1963. To build familiarity and confidence with the voting process, student volunteers held several mock elections, where they playacted as candidates and participants cast their ballots. (Photo courtesy of Judith Beil Vaughan) That summer, Clayton discovered ways of working with people that she would use throughout her career. She learned that the farmers were most likely to sign up and vote when she used “we,” asking them to join her rather than telling them what to do or doing it for them. “Part of my strategy in life has been [to say] not that I’m doing this for your good, but we’re doing it together,” she said. “People bring their strength when they know they’re needed.” By the summer’s end, the group had conducted more than 30 workshops throughout the region. When the Claytons moved to Warrenton in 1962, the town had a newspaper, a movie theater, two grocery stores, and a department store. (Photo courtesy of Judith Beil Vaughan)
 Like everywhere in the South at the time, segregation was the rule in Warrenton in the 1960s. (Photo courtesy of Judith Beil Vaughan) Clayton then turned her sights to matters in town, organizing a protest against the sandwich shop that her husband’s law partner ran downstairs from their office on Market Street. A favorite spot in town for Black and white people alike, the counter served hot dogs, hamburgers, barbecue, and milk shakes—and everyone knew what the partition along the counter was for. “It needed to go,” Clayton said firmly. “I mean, if you’re integrated upstairs, why couldn’t you be integrated downstairs?” T.T. and his law partner were working upstairs when they looked out the front windows and noticed Clayton in a group of picketers on the sidewalk. “My husband’s partner said, ‘Clayton, is that your wife down there? What’s she doing? Tell her not to do that!’ [And my husband said,] ‘YOU tell her!’” Soon after that, Clayton said, “The partition left—it quietly went away.” It was her first time standing up against injustice. “I thought to myself that I had talent, and I had an obligation to try to make a difference,” she said. “And I still feel that way, if I’m being honest with you.” Clayton Goes to Congress Clayton took her first run at Congress in 1968, purely to encourage people to register to vote. “I ran and lost royally,” Clayton said. “But I registered people all throughout the district, and that was the beauty of it.” Voter registration increased by 25 percent in Warren County—the highest increase until then and since. “I saw, in many small towns where they had a majority, Blacks became mayors.” They began to hold other offices too, she added. “They saw the strength of their constituency.” Clayton dedicated the next couple of decades to working in local and state politics, all while she and T.T. raised a family of now four children. One of her most notable efforts was her support of the landmark Warren County toxic-waste protests in 1982, considered the beginning of the national environmental justice movement. Clayton put up bond for those arrested. Hundreds participated in the protest, and according to Cosmos George, former president of the Warren County NAACP, Clayton’s extensive voter registration work over the years was a big reason why. “To me, the major thing she did was christen Warren County to become politically aware,” he said. “To me, the major thing she did was christen Warren County to become politically aware.” Then, 24 years after her first national run, in 1992, Clayton entered the Democratic primary to represent those neighbors, the people of North Carolina’s First Congressional District. “The Best for the First,” her campaign wrote on T-shirts, plaques, and the sides of their cars. Despite her optimism, racism shadowed the campaign—at one point, a man spat toward her as she shook hands with constituents. Joanne remembers her mother rising above the disrespect and never reacting to it, summing up her attitude with, “You want more [from people], but you’re ready for it.” Ultimately, Clayton prevailed, advancing to the national stage and becoming the first Black woman to represent North Carolina in Congress. “The Lord is good,” she told The Virginian-Pilot as she moved ahead of her Republican rival. A Fierce Advocate for Farmers Soon after Clayton took office, she was elected president of her freshman class—and earned a spot on the Agricultural Committee, the most effective way she saw to serve her constituents. At the time, the Ag Committee was an old-boys club; their dismissive attitude toward her made her angry and indignant. “They tolerated me,” Clayton told a Congressional historian for a recording in 2015, frustration in her voice. “They treated me as an outsider; I had to prove to them I was worthy of negotiating with.” Eva Clayton, top right, on the floor of Congress in the 1990s. (Photo courtesy of Eva Clayton)
 Because the committee during most of her tenure was almost all white and controlled by Republicans, Clayton had to quickly learn how to work with people who didn’t agree with her. “They need you sometimes, and you need them,” she said in an interview with PBS. “You have to begin to understand the value of being able to communicate with a variety of people, not just your friends—and respect their views . . . because you want to persuade them to respect your views.” Saxby Chambliss, a Republican from Georgia who served in the House from 1995 to 2003 before becoming a Senator, worked with Clayton on the Ag Committee and negotiated with her on two farm bills. “Eva is a really nice lady, but she was forceful in her opinion about the issues she cared about,” Chambliss remembered. “Republicans were in control, so when it came to her issues, she knew she was going uphill. But she never wavered.” Ellen Teller, who has worked with the Washington, D.C.–based Food Research and Action Center since 1986 and met with Clayton frequently during her years on the Ag Committee, remembered how Clayton invoked “this air of authority and knowledge tempered with just the right amount of intimidation . . . Being one of the first African American women on the House Ag Committee, she needed to be collaborative and wonderful to work with. But she wasn’t going to let those guys walk all over her.” In her third term, Clayton was essential to advancing one of the most consequential decisions for farmers in U.S. history. In 1997, Timothy Pigford, a Black soybean and corn farmer in Cumberland County, North Carolina, filed a class-action lawsuit charging the USDA with racial discrimination in its lending and assistance programs. The 400 plaintiffs held that the local county commissioners charged with doling out federal money at the beginning of each growing season—which they relied on to purchase seed, fertilizer, and farm equipment—would delay or deny their applications based on their race or apply more restrictions to the money. Many of the plaintiffs faced financial ruin and lost their farms as a result. When Pigford first filed, the plaintiffs ran up against the Equal Credit Opportunity’s statute of limitations, which excluded them from pursuing compensation for discrimination more than two years in the past. The Ag Committee—which was predominantly white—refused to vote on removing the limiting statute, which would have allowed the lawsuit to proceed. Clayton was determined that these farmers have a chance to seek justice. She found a strategy mentor in John Conyers, a Black Democrat from Michigan who was the ranking member of the House Judiciary Committee. He advised her to try introducing the removal of the statute of limitations as an amendment on the floor of the Appropriations Committee. When the agriculture appropriations bill came up, Clayton asked the speaker for permission to introduce the amendment, which he granted her. Not wanting Clayton’s amendment to stand in the way of passing their budget, the members of her committee voted for it. “I thank God for Conyers,” Clayton said. “That’s how we got the statute of limitations removed,” she said, enabling the historic lawsuit to proceed. It grew to include more than 22,700 plaintiffs across the South, seeking restitution for decades of discrimination that had led to massive land loss among Black farming families. In 1999, a federal judge approved a settlement agreement for more than $1 billion. Just over 15,500 claimants have received compensation, most getting $50,000, though the disbursal of funds has been far from perfect and many believe the per-farmer sum is not nearly enough to compensate for the damage. For farmers like Warren County’s Arthur Brown—who was part of the second round of Pigford claims—Clayton was a critical voice in Washington. “Eva Clayton spoke for him,” Brown’s son Patrick said. “She went to the local town halls and got information [from farmers] to carry back to Washington to advocate on their behalf.” Pigford II claims were settled in 2010, for an additional $1.25 billion. Clayton said she made a point of meeting with the people in her district at least six times a year, and more often during extended recesses. Hearing directly from those impacted by policies, she said, helped strengthen her arguments and helped her see, as she put it, “where you’re being effective and where there’s possibility.” She also pushed for qualified Black people to lead at least four USDA agencies in North Carolina, including the Farm Service Agency and the Risk Management Agency, said Archie Hart, a special assistant to the North Carolina commissioner of agriculture. For the first time, this opened the door for Black farmers to participate in programs like crop insurance and environmental incentive programs. Between 1978 and 2000, Black farmers in North Carolina had lost 70 percent of their land, Hart said. Clayton’s efforts to connect farmers to federal assistance, he said, “stopped the bleeding.” Protecting and Expanding Federal Food Assistance Clayton was equally dedicated to food access. The welfare reform law that Republicans passed in 1996 made deep cuts to the food stamp program, lowering the maximum benefit, eliminating eligibility for many documented immigrants, and adding work requirements. In the years that followed, Clayton played a key role in the movement to restore food stamps, said Teller. As the senior Democrat on the Ag subcommittee responsible for nutrition programs, she helped author the 2002 Farm Bill which, among other things, expanded food stamp eligibility to documented immigrants in the U.S. and to their children, providing vital assistance to an additional one million legal immigrants working for a better life. Clayton meets with Newt Gingrich, speaker of the House, in the mid 1990s. “FEED the FOLKS” was her campaign to protect the federal school lunch program from drastic cuts proposed by Republicans. (Photo courtesy of Eva Clayton) Former Rep. Chambliss remembers Clayton sharing the lived experiences of her constituents with the committee. “Because she represented a poor district, she had a lot of anecdotes she could use to back up her position” that the government needed to strengthen its social safety net, he said. As a negotiator, he said, she was very effective: “Just look at the numbers—in the ’02 bill, we bumped up food stamps pretty good.” As Clayton advocated for nutrition assistance, she consistently countered the prevailing stereotypes about Black people, said Hart of North Carolina’s agriculture department. “A lot of other cultures have you down as ‘Black people are just lazy,’” he said. “There are so many prejudices, and she was able to say, ‘Let me explain my culture. People aren’t asking for a handout—they’re asking for their God-given right as citizens.’” Balancing Politics and Motherhood Clayton manages to combine intense focus and determination with grandmotherly warmth and a quick sense of humor. During my visits, she called me “darling,” chatted easily about her grandkids and garden, ribbed me for asking too many questions, and once offered me lunch from her fridge so I wouldn’t drive home on an empty stomach. Throughout her career, she was raising her daughter and three sons in rural Warren County. As they grew, she drove them to piano, dance, karate, and basketball practices in nearby towns, Joanne remembers, and when they got sick, she would put washcloths on their foreheads, rub menthol on their chests, and hum them to sleep. Clayton at her house on Lake Gaston, North Carolina. While pursuing a political career, she and her husband raised four children; she now has six grandchildren, too. (Photo credit: Christina Cooke) While Clayton expressed her love in many ways, cooking was not one of them, Joanne continues. “My mother could not cook with a damn,” she said, laughing. (Her father, on the other hand, was excellent in the kitchen.) “My mother burnt toast so much that my father would order burnt toast in restaurants. You know you’re a good husband when you accept defeat: ‘She can’t cook, and not only do I have burnt toast, I want burnt toast. That’s how much I love you, baby.’” Clayton’s feeling of responsibility to her community often drew her away from her family. She was consistently busy with meetings and functions. And sometimes, her drive to better the world came at the expense of her children’s feelings. In 1963, T.T. filed a lawsuit to desegregate the Warren County Schools, and the Claytons sent Joanne to first grade at the all-white Mariam Boyd Elementary. Joanne simply “got through it,” she said, as the other kids subjected her to spitballs and other insults. “I probably should have been more concerned about my kids, but I thought they could handle it,” said Clayton, who sent Theaoseus Jr. and Martin to the same school later. In preparing her kids beforehand, Clayton focused more on the courage required than the harm they might face. Despite the difficulty, Clayton is exceedingly proud to have played a part in integrating the schools and feels the hardship her kids endured was worth it. “Nobody really harmed them,” she said. “They were isolated, I’m sure of that. But they did all right.” Combatting Hunger Worldwide—and at Home Clayton had long said she would serve in Congress for only 10 years. And when that anniversary arrived in 2002, she stepped aside. A year later, she was appointed the assistant director-general of the UN’s Food and Agriculture Organization, based in Rome—fulfilling, in a way, her childhood dream of helping others abroad. At the FAO, she worked on a coalition to cut world hunger in half by 2015, a goal set at the 1996 World Food Summit. The group did not meet its ambitious goal, but, said Clayton, “we organized alliances and partnerships in 24 countries and got people to see the value of working together. That is one thing I still look back on with great pride.” Clayton met with Pope John Paul II to engage the Catholic church in the United Nations effort to halve world hunger, circa 2004. (Photo courtesy of Eva Clayton) Various international organizations, including Rotary International, signed on to the hunger-reduction effort. Clayton met with the pope to get the Catholic church involved, and groups like Bread for the World, a U.S.-based Christian anti-hunger advocacy organization, enlisted as well. Though she is back in Warren County now, Clayton has not given up on the wish to make a dent in food insecurity. “I’ll go to my grave not having fulfilled the goal,” she said, “but I do want to end my existence still trying.” And that is exactly what she is doing, lending her support to a food-security effort closer to home. In 2023, the Green Rural Redevelopment Organization (GRRO), a nonprofit that tackles poverty, food insecurity, and chronic disease in north-central North Carolina, launched a food justice network and named it the Eva Clayton Rural Food Institute to build on her legacy. Clayton is focusing on food in her own life too. T.T. died in 2019, a blow to her heart and spirit. In his absence, she has started teaching herself to cook. “Now I’m wanting to cook the special things,” she said, “like salmon cakes for breakfast.” A Life of Purpose Clayton, who still speaks publicly on a regular basis, stands in front of the stately red-brick county courthouse in Warrenton in a mid-calf pink and navy dress. The town is celebrating Juneteenth today, and its leaders have requested she speak. “She looks good!” the woman beside me whispers to her friend as Clayton begins. Clayton speaking at the Juneteenth celebration at the Warrenton county courthouse this year. (Photo Credit: Christina Cooke) “This is a day of freedom we are celebrating,” Clayton tells the crowd. “But freedom is really not free.” Citizens are the most vital part of a democracy—more important that elected leaders, she continues. “Citizens elect officials. But we elect them and leave them; we don’t hold them accountable.” Engage with your elected officials, she entreats, pointing her cane in the air. “Freedom requires us collectively to walk forward.” She hands off the mic to a vigorous round of applause and cheers. After mingling and saying goodbye to well-wishers, Clayton heads toward her car parked a few blocks from the courthouse, making her way with care down the uneven sidewalk. On the left, its façade chipped and faded, stands the building that housed T.T.’s law office and his partner’s sandwich shop, where she protested segregation more than 60 years ago. Clayton says she feels grateful to have the desire to still be involved. “At some point, people say, ‘I don’t want to be bothered with certain things,’” she says. “But I do want to be bothered with things. I think that’s a blessing, to live with a purpose.”   The post At 91, Eva Clayton Is Still Fighting for Food Justice and Farmers’ Rights appeared first on Civil Eats.

Food
Agriculture
Education

Mothers' Milk Might Be Key To Avoiding Childhood Food Allergies

By Dennis Thompson HealthDay ReporterMONDAY, Dec. 15, 2025 (HealthDay News) — Farm kids tend to have far fewer allergies than urban children, and a...

By Dennis Thompson HealthDay ReporterMONDAY, Dec. 15, 2025 (HealthDay News) — Farm kids tend to have far fewer allergies than urban children, and a new study offers one possible explanation: The milk provided by breastfeeding moms.Children who grow up in farming communities have immune systems that mature faster, with higher levels of protective antibodies during their first year of life, researchers reported Dec. 10 in Science Translational Medicine.They’re getting these antibodies — and the immune cells that produce them — from their mothers’ milk, researchers say.Researchers came to this conclusion studying infants from Old Order Mennonite farming families in New York’s Finger Lakes region.“We’ve known that Old Order Mennonite children are remarkably protected from allergies,” said senior researcher Dr. Kirsi Järvinen-Seppo, chief of pediatric allergy and immunology at the University of Rochester Medicine’s Golisano Children’s Hospital.“What this study shows is that their B cell and antibody responses are essentially ahead of schedule compared to urban infants,” she continued in a news release. “Their immune systems seem better equipped, earlier in life, to handle foods and other exposures without overreacting.”For the new study, researchers compared 78 mother/child pairs from the Old Order Mennonite community with 79 moms and kids from urban and suburban Rochester. They followed the mothers and children through the first year of life, collecting blood, stool, saliva and human milk samples.Results showed that farm-exposed babies had higher levels of immune cells, suggesting that their immune systems were more mature than those of city kids.The researchers also found higher levels of antibodies in the human milk samples provided by their moms.The research team then took a closer look at egg allergies, one of the most common food allergies in young children.Farm children had higher levels of egg-specific antibodies in their blood, and mothers had higher levels of egg-specific antibodies in their breast milk, the study found.Meanwhile, Rochester babies had varying levels of egg-specific antibodies in their blood, and this was linked to their risk for egg allergy. The more antibodies, the lower their risk of egg allergy.“We saw a continuum: the more egg-specific antibodies in breast milk, the less likely babies were to develop egg allergy,” Järvinen-Seppo said. “We cannot prove causality from this study, but the association is compelling.”Why did Mennonite moms have more of these egg-specific antibodies? Probably diet, researchers said.Old Order Mennonite families typically raise their own chickens and eat a lot of eggs. That repeated exposure seems to boost mothers’ antibody levels against egg proteins, and they pass that protection on to their children through breast milk.“Just as an infection or a vaccine can boost your antibody levels, regularly eating certain foods could do the same,” Järvinen-Seppo said. “Mennonite mothers eat more eggs, and that may help them pass more egg-specific antibodies to their babies through breast milk.”Mennonite infants were also born with higher cord blood levels of antibodies to dust mites and horses, reflecting the environmental allergens to which their moms are regularly exposed, researchers said.But Rochester babies had higher levels of antibodies to peanuts and cats, reflecting the more common allergen exposures of suburban and urban moms.These results show why breastfeeding has not been consistently linked to a lower risk of food allergies, Järvinen-Seppo said, because it all depends on what a mom has been eating.“Our data suggest there may be particular benefit when mothers have high levels of food-specific antibodies in their milk,” she said. “Not every mother does, and that could help explain why results have been mixed on the association between breast feeding and food allergy.”However, mothers’ milk likely isn’t the only reason why farm kids have fewer allergies, Järvinen-Seppo said.Daily exposure to farm animals and germs, drinking well water, less use of antibiotics and distinctly different patterns of gut bacteria all have been previously shown to also help shape the allergy resistance of rural children, researchers said.They’re now conducting a clinical trial involving expecting mothers who will be assigned to either eat or avoid egg and peanut during late pregnancy and early breastfeeding. The team then will compare mothers’ antibody levels and their kids’ development of food allergies.“We already know that introducing peanut and egg directly to babies early in life can lower allergy risk,” Järvinen-Seppo said. “Now we’re asking whether mothers’ diets during pregnancy and breastfeeding can add another layer of protection through the antibodies they pass to their babies. Ultimately, our goal is to translate what we learn from these communities into safe, practical strategies for all families.”The American College of Allergy, Asthma & Immunology has more on food allergies.SOURCES: University of Rochester, news release, Dec. 9, 2025; Science Translational Medicine, Dec. 10, 2025Copyright © 2025 HealthDay. All rights reserved.

Food
Health
Science

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