Taking on Pig Business

Tracy Worcester's fight against the excesses of industrial pig farming reaches Brussels.

Tracy Worcester has spent years campaigning against intensive pig farming -- see her powerful and disturbing film Pig Business on YouTube here -- and she has now taken her fight to Brussels.

Today, she and an alliance of MEPs are presenting evidence that European taxpayers are subsidising industrial farming -- and squeezing out more responsible, smaller-scale farms -- despite the worries over its effects on our health.

It all makes for grisly reading (put down your bacon buttie/sausage sandwich/lentil and pancetta soup before reading on). First, there's excessive antibiotic use. Flies and cockroaches around pig farms have been found to be resistant to the antibiotics routinely used there and the fear is that transmission to humans is also a possibility.

Then there was the scandal in Germany in January over cancer-causing chemicals (called dioxins) that were found in pig and chicken feed. This caused the closure of 1,000 pig and poultry farms and the destruction of 100,000 eggs, in an effort to stop the dioxins entering the food chain. Somewhat unhelpfully, one of the manufacturers involved was found to have hidden the full list of outlets it supplied, which one minister described as "a scandal within the scandal".

Finally, and perhaps most worryingly to animal welfare campaigners, research by the European Union suggests that 67 per cent of European pigs are housed in substandard, fully slatted systems, without straw in which to root, and up to 90 per cent have their tails docked illegally. Castration without anaesthetic and clipping of teeth also take place.

This (and more) has convinced a group of MEPs to use this summer's scheduled reforms to the Common Agricultural Policy to push for the greater regulation of pig farming and an end to subsidies for intensive farms. They have six "big asks", which include better labelling on pork products, higher welfare standards and a ban on prophylactic antibiotic use. There's also the small but important suggestion that all local and national bodies use only "high-welfare pork".

Pigs might not be the easiest animals to love but they're highly intelligent and therefore highly stressed by being kept in cramped, antisocial conditions. As it stands, farms that have high welfare standards are at a competitive disadvantage because the pork they produce costs more.

And, as Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall says here, that includes all British farms, because our welfare standards are higher than those of other countries. EU subsidies go to less well-regulated farms in places such as Poland and Romania, so we're paying to undermine our own progressive stance on welfare.

The EU has the power to change that. As Tracy Worcester puts it:

Now, lawmakers can decide for themselves if this industry should be allowed to continue to flood the EU with 'cheap', polluting, dangerous, socially and economically destructive and low welfare meat, while EU small farmers, who respect higher environmental, animal welfare and health standards, are struggling to survive.

If you're short of time, there's a ten-minute version of "Pig Business" available here.

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

ANDREY BORODULIN/AFP/GETTY IMAGES
Show Hide image

Letter from Donetsk: ice cream, bustling bars and missiles in eastern Ukraine

In Donetsk, which has been under the control of Russian backed rebels since April 2014, the propaganda has a hermetic, relentless feel to it.

Eighty-eight year-old Nadya Moroz stares through the taped-up window of her flat in Donetsk, blown in by persistent bombing. She wonders why she abandoned her peaceful village for a “better life” in Donetsk with her daughter, just months before war erupted in spring 2014.

Nadya is no stranger to upheaval. She was captured by the Nazis when she was 15 and sent to shovel coal in a mine in Alsace, in eastern France. When the region was liberated by the Americans, she narrowly missed a plane taking refugees to the US, and so returned empty-handed to Ukraine. She never thought that she would see fighting again.

Now she and her daughter Irina shuffle around their dilapidated flat in the front-line district of Tekstilshchik. Both physically impaired, they seldom venture out.

The highlight of the women’s day is the television series Posledniy Yanychar (“The Last Janissary”), about an Ottoman slave soldier and his dangerous love for a free Cossack girl.

They leave the dog-walking to Irina’s daughter, Galya, who comes back just in time. We turn on the TV a few minutes before two o’clock to watch a news report on Channel One, the Russian state broadcaster. It shows a montage of unnerving images: Nato tanks racing in formation across a plain, goose-stepping troops of Pravy Sektor (a right-wing Ukrainian militia) and several implicit warnings that a Western invasion is nigh. I wonder how my hosts can remain so impassive in the face of such blatant propaganda.

In Donetsk, which has been under the control of Russian-backed rebels since April 2014, the propaganda has a hermetic, relentless feel to it. If the TV doesn’t get you, the print media, radio and street hoardings will. Take a walk in the empty central district of the city and you have the creeping sense of being transported back to what it must have been like in the 1940s. Posters of Stalin, with his martial gaze and pomaded moustache, were taboo for decades even under the Soviets but now they grace the near-empty boulevards. Images of veterans of the 1941-45 war are ubiquitous, breast pockets ablaze with medals. Even the checkpoints bear the graffiti: “To Berlin!” It’s all inching closer to a theme-park re-enactment of the Soviet glory years, a weird meeting of propaganda and nostalgia.

So completely is the Donetsk People’s Republic (DPR) in thrall to Russia that even its parliament has passed over its new flag for the tricolour of the Russian Federation, which flutters atop the building. “At least now that the municipal departments have become ministries, everyone has been promoted,” says Galya, wryly. “We’ve got to have something to be pleased about.”

The war in the Donbas – the eastern region of Ukraine that includes Donetsk and Luhansk – can be traced to the street demonstrations of 2013-14. The former president Viktor Yanukovych, a close ally of Vladimir Putin, had refused to sign an agreement that would have heralded closer integration with the EU. In late 2013, protests against his corrupt rule began in Maidan Nezalezhnosti (“Independence Square”) in Kyiv, as well as other cities. In early 2014 Yanukovych’s security forces fired on the crowds in the capital, causing dozens of fatalities, before he fled.

Putin acted swiftly, annexing Crimea and engineering a series of “anti-Maidans” across the east and south of Ukraine, bussing in “volunteers” and thugs to help shore up resistance to the new authority in Kyiv. The Russian-backed rebels consolidated their power base in Donetsk and Luhansk, where they established two “independent” republics, the DPR and its co-statelet, the Luhansk People’s Republic (LPR). Kyiv moved to recover the lost territories, sparking a full-scale war that raged in late 2014 and early 2015.

Despite the so-called “peace” that arrived in autumn 2015 and the beguiling feeling that a certain normality has returned – the prams, the ice creams in the park, the bustling bars – missiles still fly and small-arms fire frequently breaks out. You can’t forget the conflict for long.

One reminder is the large number of dogs roaming the streets, set free when their owners left. Even those with homes have suffered. A Yorkshire terrier in the flat next door to mine started collecting food from its bowl when the war began and storing it in hiding places around the flat. Now, whenever the shelling starts, he goes to his caches and binge-eats in a sort of atavistic canine survival ritual.

Pet shops are another indicator of the state of a society. Master Zoo in the city centre has an overabundance of tropical fish tanks (too clunky to evacuate) and no dogs. In their absence, the kennels have been filled with life-size plastic hounds under a sign strictly forbidding photography, for reasons unknown. I had to share my rented room with a pet chinchilla called Shunya. These furry Andean rodents, fragile to transport but conveniently low-maintenance, had become increasingly fashionable before the war. The city must still be full of them.

The bombing generally began “after the weekends, before holidays, Ukraine’s national days and before major agreements”, Galya had said. A new round of peace talks was about to start, and I should have my emergency bag at the ready. I shuddered back up to the ninth floor of my pitch-dark Tekstilshchik tower block. Shunya was sitting quiet and unruffled in his cage, never betraying any signs of stress. Free from Russian television, we girded ourselves for the night ahead.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war