China's first traceable wine

A big step for an industry plagued with scandals.

I have been fortunate enough to be involved with the beverage industry across Asia over the past decade. In particular, China’s evolution into a global economic powerhouse has been nothing less than spectacular. Given the sheer geographic and population spread, China is too big to be considered as one country. For example, Guangdong province alone has a population of over 100m which itself is bigger than the Philippines (the 12th most populated in the world), therefore businesses should treat each province within China as a separate country.

Over the past few years, China’s food & beverage industry has been plagued by a number of scandals. The most famous of which has been the melamine contamination post Beijing Olympics in late 2008. The Associated Press back then reported that over 50,000 babies and children were affected with nearly a thousand being hospitalized as well as several deaths. There was a public and media outcry which resulted in several high profile arrests in the dairy industry as well as open apologies from the leading dairy companies such as Mengniu and Yili. Sales of dairy products declined sharply in the months following the scandal, but have since recovered as the industry continues to prosper and grow.

Despite the promise by the government to tackle and improve food safety in China, further scandals broke out in 2011 as Xinhua News Agency reported unscrupulous businesses collected used cooking oil from sewers and restaurants to process and repackaged as new cooking oil for sale. This type of dishonest practice continues to be the norm as businesses sidelines consumers’ health and safety for a quick profit.

Frustrated by the slow progress taken by the authorities, the industry has taken the matter into their own hands. Star Farm, which is a wholly owned subsidiary of the retailer Metro Group, was established in 2007. The company is committed to food safety and quality through a traceability system along the whole value chain. As of 2010, it has developed over 2,000 products with local producers resulting in RMB 700m (£70m) in retail sales in 2010.

One of the recent developments with Star Farm has been the collaboration with Beijing Summit Wines. The result is a brand called 1421, which is China’s first traceable wine. The cabernet sauvignon and chardonnay grapes are cultivated and grown in Xinjiang province by which Star Farm has maintained full records of the soil, fertilizers used as well as processing, bottling and distribution. Consumers can scan the barcode at the back of the bottle with their mobile phones as it directs them to Star Farm’s website, by which they will be able to access all relevant information about the ingredients and processes along the value chain for the brand.

The initiatives taken by the industry to provide food safety assurance to consumers represents a step in the right direction, but there is still a very long road ahead as consumers are becoming more knowledgeable, with health and safety becoming a key priority for their families. The central government needs to maintain a fine balance between consumers and businesses in order to continue its economic miracle.

Wine, China, Getty images

Phil Chan is Asia director for Canadean, the consumer market experts.

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue