Time to dissect another James McWilliams piece. Like the rest of McWilliams’ repertoire, this one is about how McWilliams doesn’t like any kind of animal product consumption whatsoever.
In “The Myth of Sustainable Meat,” he writes:
“Grass-grazing cows emit considerably more methane than grain-fed cows.”
Okay, now that’s a fair start. Some research suggests that the opposite is true, but most research currently supports McWilliams, I think. What McWilliams doesn’t mention is that grass-fed cows are less carbon- and nitrogen-intensive than grain-fed because growing that grain releases greenhouse gases, even if the cows don’t release as much during digestion. And pasture – unlike feedlots – can serve as a carbon sink.
As for methane, scientists are working on ways to reduce the methane that cows and other ruminants release. For instance, feeding ruminants flax, oregano oil, cashew shell oil and high-sugar rye grasses, or changing cows’ intestinal bacteria could all help reduce animal methane emissions.
And hey, if methane is the problem and methane-emitting animals are the villains, why isn’t McWilliams declaring open season on all methane-emitting wild animals? We should be hunting those methane-emitting menaces to extinction.
McWilliams continues:
“Pastured organic chickens have a 20 percent greater impact on global warming.”
This statistic could also be correct, but organic and pastured aren’t inextricably linked. Makenna Goodman wrote an article arguing that the disadvantages of organic pastured chickens make non-organic pastured chickens a better option for humans and chickens.
Could McWilliams’ statistic apply to pastured non-organic chicken? It’s hard to say without knowing where he got it.
McWilliams persists:
It requires 2 to 20 acres to raise a cow on grass. If we raised all the cows in the United States on grass (all 100 million of them), cattle would require (using the figure of 10 acres per cow) almost half the country’s land (and this figure excludes space needed for pastured chicken and pigs).
If that’s true, then the US wouldn’t raise so many cows. As grass-fed cows gobbled up more and more real estate, land and meat costs would become prohibitively expensive and would put a stop to cows’ manifest destiny schemes.
Enough commenters posted similar points on McWilliams’ article that he tried to refute them on his blog Eatingplantsdotorg.wordpress.com (one of the weirdest URLs I’ve ever seen). There he writes:
The premise that higher priced meat would lead to reduced consumption is, as far as it goes, accurate. In fact, that’s the only way we’re going to achieve sustained reduced consumption–make animal products radically more expensive. The problem, however, is that no matter how many boutique operations emerge, we’re never going to see the price of animal products collectively rise to the point that it mitigates consumption.
The reason is skyrocketing global demand. Normally, increased demand would lead to increased price–and that may happen, but nowhere near to the extent that it would reduce consumption. Here’s why: this demand virtually dictates that no matter how many expensive options arise, industrial operations, by virtue of their efficiency, will always dominate as the leading form of production–a form of production geared to lower the price of animal products.
This is pure equivocation. Commenters on his article said that if the US switched over to grass-fed-cows only, as in McWilliams’ hypothetical, cows wouldn’t overrun the country (despite taking up more land) because they would be too expensive and so people would eat less cow. To address this, McWilliams substitutes a new hypothetical in which intensively raised cattle are now part of the equation. Sure, that’s more a plausible future, but proposing a new hypothetical doesn’t address whether or not his original hypothetical made sense.
Later in the Eatingplantsdotorg.wordpress.com entry, he says:
I’ll concede that to argue that small scale animal farming would “work” if we all just ate less meat makes sense in theory. But the reality–the entrenched nature and growing demand for affordable animal products globally–suggests that we’d be better off fighting to end the production of animals altogether.
If the world is too selfish, thoughtless and greedy to go for grass-fed cows and eating less meat, how are you going to convince the world to go vegan? Pasture-raised animals wouldn’t satisfy the world’s current demand for meat, true, but a purely vegan agriculture is even worse at satisfying that demand.
McWilliams is behind the times on this one. Partially inspired by Jonathan Safran Foer’s Eating Animals, many other vegans are accepting that getting omnivores to eat less meat is a more realistic strategy than convincing everyone to go vegan.
Back to the New York Times entry:
Advocates of small-scale, nonindustrial alternatives say their choice is at least more natural. Again, this is a dubious claim. Many farmers who raise chickens on pasture use industrial breeds that have been bred to do one thing well: fatten quickly in confinement. As a result, they can suffer painful leg injuries after several weeks of living a ‘natural’ life pecking around a large pasture. Free-range pigs are routinely affixed with nose rings to prevent them from rooting, which is one of their most basic instincts. In essence, what we see as natural doesn’t necessarily conform to what is natural from the animals’ perspectives.
This is a trifling point, but I agree with it. It’s difficult to define what natural means and it’s suspect to defend a practice just by slapping that label on it. As vegan haters of “the naturalistic fallacy” say, “natural” isn’t automatically desirable. If it were, everyone would be anti-civilization primitivists. Many people do see certain benefits in whatever might be deemed “natural.” If pasture-raised meats have some of those benefits, it’s more effective to list those benefits rather than say we gotta love it because “it’s natural.”
McWilliams goes on:
The economics of alternative animal systems are similarly problematic. Subsidies notwithstanding, the unfortunate reality of commodifying animals is that confinement pays. If the production of meat and dairy was somehow decentralized into small free-range operations, common economic sense suggests that it wouldn’t last. These businesses — no matter how virtuous in intention — would gradually seek a larger market share, cutting corners, increasing stocking density and aiming to fatten animals faster than competitors could. Barring the strictest regulations, it wouldn’t take long for production systems to scale back up to where they started.
This is quite likely true, but I don’t see his point. We shouldn’t buy meat from farms that treat their animals better because a world where that is the only type of farm is unlikely? Should we not buy vegan take-out because a world with only vegan restaurants is unlikely? If there were somehow a vegan world for a second, pretty soon some people would get a hankering for animal products, would hunt and fish them, and raise them for food again (assuming domesticated animals hadn’t yet been extinguished). Does this mean no one should ever go vegan?
McWilliams says:
All this said, committed advocates of alternative systems make one undeniably important point about the practice called “rotational grazing” or “holistic farming”: the soil absorbs the nutrients from the animals’ manure, allowing grass and other crops to grow without the addition of synthetic fertilizer. As Michael Pollan writes, “It is doubtful you can build a genuinely sustainable agriculture without animals to cycle nutrients.” In other words, raising animals is not only sustainable, but required.
But rotational grazing works better in theory than in practice. Consider Joel Salatin, the guru of nutrient cycling, who employs chickens to enrich his cows’ grazing lands with nutrients. His plan appears to be impressively eco-correct, until we learn that he feeds his chickens with tens of thousands of pounds a year of imported corn and soy feed. This common practice is an economic necessity. Still, if a farmer isn’t growing his own feed, the nutrients going into the soil have been purloined from another, most likely industrial, farm, thereby undermining the benefits of nutrient cycling.
This is true of every form of agriculture that relies on fertility imported from elsewhere, including the agriculture that supplies McWilliams’ vegan food. (Or does McWilliams buy only veganic-organically grown products?)
Still, to the extent that omnivores say that animal farms are always closed, self-sustaining systems whereas vegan agriculture must always import fertility, McWilliams is right to point out that this isn’t true. However, it’s disingenuous of him to reference Joel Salatin as “the guru of nutrient cycling,” with Salatin’s “Polyface” implied as the omnivore’s ideal, when a previous comment discussion on McWilliams’ blog pointed out that not all omnivores see Polyface as an ideal. As Adam Merberg notes, in Meat: A Benign Extravagance, small-scale animal farming advocate Simon Fairlie is skeptical of Polyface. In fact, Fairlie’s skepticism entirely concurs with McWilliams’ own:
Of all the carbon added to Salatin’s pastures over the years, some will have come directly from the atmosphere; but a proportion will have come, directly or indirectly, from another farm in the form of soy, corn or whatever feed Salatin buys in.
However productive Polyface may be, it is in a sense only half a farm, and it doesn’t help to analyse the carbon sequestration on one half, without knowing what is happening on the other. In the case of Polyface if the feed is bought from a responsible organic grower, it may well be that the carbon sequestration on the two farms added together is positive. But in another situation it could well be different. There are plenty of stock farmers who bump up the productivity and (perhaps unwittingly) the organic matter on their farm by buying in feed from a chemical grain farmer who has stripped the carbon content of his fields close to the bottom threshold. (208)
Where Fairlie would disagree with McWilliams is over McWilliams’ implication that Polyface represents the best animal farms can do, and that if Polyface imports fertility, then all aspiring sustainable animal farms must do the same.
McWilliams writes:
Finally, there is no avoiding the fact that the nutrient cycle is interrupted every time a farmer steps in and slaughters a perfectly healthy manure-generating animal, something that is done before animals live a quarter of their natural lives.
As Melissa McEwen points out, this isn’t a problem since new animals are bred, so there are living manure-generators waiting in the wings.
McWilliams continues:
When consumers break the nutrient cycle to eat animals, nutrients leave the system of rotationally grazed plots of land (though of course this happens with plant-based systems as well). They land in sewer systems and septic tanks (in the form of human waste) and in landfills and rendering plants (in the form of animal carcasses).
McWilliams loves to bash animal agriculture with arguments that are just as effective against vegan agriculture. At least this time he admits that’s what he’s doing.
The overarching point of this article seems to be that we shouldn’t support pastured animal agriculture because it impacts the environment and will never realistically supplant factory farming. But then why support vegan agriculture, which also impacts the environment and will never realistically supplant factory farming?
Obviously this is because James McWilliams prefers a theoretical vegan utopia than a theoretical pastured meat utopia.


