Horse meat: what happened, and what happens next?

International mafia conspiracy, deadly lasagnes, calls for more regulation - rounded up.

Back when we just thought some horse meat had crept (trotted?) into a few supermarket value burgers, it didn't seem to be something you had to take particularly seriously. What's wrong with eating horse, we cried. They do in Europe, and everyone knows their food is better - in fact, my colleague Charlotte Simmonds put together some delicious-sounding Italian recipes, in case any readers felt inspired to give it a go. At worse, it was felt to be a failure of the supermarket to keep people informed about what they were eating - if something says "beef burger" on the label, it's not really on to fill the packet with horse instead, is it? Jokes were made on Twitter, most of them awful, and the story gradually died away.

Now, though, it's back with a vengence. Aldi and Findus have both withdrawn ready meals from sale after it was alleged that its beef lasagne contained only horse meat. The environment secretary, Owen Paterson, is touring the television stations this morning, urging people not to panic but warning of "more bad news" when further test results are published on Friday. Many of the papers have looked into the story in some detail, and lots of different angles are emerging. Here's your handy guide to what's happened so far.

It's an international mafia conspiracy

Sources close to the Department for the Environment, Food and Rural Affairs and the Food Standards Agency (Defra) told the Observer that the whole horse meat furore was the result of fraud that had an "international dimension". Polish and Italian mafia gangs apparently run vast schemes where they substitute horse meat for beef during the food production process. Owen Paterson said: "I'm concerned that this is an international criminal conspiracy here and we've really got to get to the bottom of it." The Independent on Sunday has investigated the complicated pan-Europe supply chain arrangements that have lead to this situation - read their account here.

Could it make you ill?

The Mail reported that food inspectors are concerned that some of the meat that ended up in the "beef" lasanges could contain E.coli. One of the companies that supplied Findus with meat - French firm Spanghero - had previously been investigated for a similar scare.

Observer science editor Robin McKie writes that there's a potential risk from a drug called bute or phenylbutazone that is given to horses to "relieve pain and treat fevers". If still present in the meat, it can have side effects in humans, such as triggering "a serious blood disorder known as aplastic anaemia". According to the Sunday Telegraph, there is also a possibility that some of the horse meat came from Romania, "where a virus called equine infectious anaemia is endemic, and has led to a ban on live exports".

What are we doing about it?

For now, more tests. There are more results due on Friday, which is why Owen Paterson is talking a lot about "more bad news" this morning. After that, more tests, more regularly - the Food Standards Agency should be doing DNA testing every three months, Paterson has said. The BBC's Andy Moore has said that up til now, the food industry has "relied on a system of self-policing", a phrase that has rather loud echoes of the way we talked about banks after the 2008 crash. An Observer editorial calls for more independent regulation and more on-site testing - expect more discussion of this in the next few days.

Is this BSE all over again?

No. But British farmers are angry at any suggestion it could be. National Farmers' Union president, Peter Kendall has said: "Our members are rightly angry and concerned with the recent developments relating to contaminated processed meat products. The contamination took place post farm-gate which farmers have no control over." However, in one regard, it could be similar. As Judith Woods pointed out in the Telegraph,  both the BSE controversy and now this horse meat problem have affected consumers' trust that what they read on a packet is really what's going to be inside.

Have the papers gone horse gag-mad?

Surprisingly, and almost disappointingly, today's front pages feature very few horse jokes (perhaps indicating that this is now A Serious Story.) Only two splashed on it. The Sunday Telegraph:

And the Independent on Sunday:

I, for one, was sad not to see the Racing Post take it on:


 

A Dartmoor pony. Don't worry, there's no suggestion any of those have ended up in a lasagne. Photograph: Getty Images

Caroline Crampton is assistant editor of the New Statesman. She writes a weekly podcast column.

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The decline of the north's sporting powerhouse

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Now, things are different.

On a drive between Sheffield and Barnsley, I spotted a striking painting of the Kes poster. Billy Casper’s two-fingered salute covered the wall of a once-popular pub that is now boarded up.

It is almost 50 years since the late Barry Hines wrote A Kestrel for a Knave, the novel that inspired Ken Loach’s 1969 film, and it seems that the defiant, us-against-the-world, stick-it-to-the-man Yorkshireness he commemorated still resonates here. Almost two-thirds of the people of south Yorkshire voted to leave the EU, flicking two fingers up at what they saw as a London-based establishment, detached from life beyond the capital.

But whatever happened to Billy the unlikely lad, and the myriad other northern characters who were once the stars of stage and screen? Like the pitheads that dominated Casper’s tightly knit neighbourhood, they have disappeared from the landscape. The rot set in during the 1980s, when industries were destroyed and communities collapsed, a point eloquently made in Melvyn Bragg’s excellent radio series The Matter of the North.

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Yet today, we rarely get to hear the voices of Barnsley, Sheffield, Doncaster and Rotherham. And the Yorkshire sporting powerhouse is no more – at least, not as we once knew it.

This should be a matter of national concern. The White Rose county is, after all, the home of the world’s oldest registered football club – Sheffield FC, formed in 1857 – and the first English team to win three successive League titles, Huddersfield Town, in the mid-1920s. Hull City are now Yorkshire’s lone representative in the Premier League.

Howard Wilkinson, the manager of Leeds United when they were crowned champions in 1992, the season before the Premier League was founded, lamented the passing of a less money-obsessed era. “My dad worked at Orgreave,” he said, “the scene of Mrs Thatcher’s greatest hour, bless her. You paid for putting an axe through what is a very strong culture of community and joint responsibility.”

The best-known scene in Loach’s film shows a football match in which Mr Sugden, the PE teacher, played by Brian Glover, comically assumes the role of Bobby Charlton. It was played out on the muddy school fields of Barnsley’s run-down Athersley estate. On a visit to his alma mater a few years ago, David Bradley, who played the scrawny 15-year-old Billy, showed me the goalposts that he had swung from as a reluctant goalkeeper. “You can still see the dint in the crossbar,” he said. When I spoke to him recently, Bradley enthused about his lifelong support for Barnsley FC. “But I’ve not been to the ground over the last season and a half,” he said. “I can’t afford it.”

Bradley is not alone. Many long-standing fans have been priced out. Barnsley is only a Championship side, but for their home encounter with Newcastle last October, their fans had to pay £30 for a ticket.

The English game is rooted in the northern, working-class communities that have borne the brunt of austerity over the past six years. The top leagues – like the EU – are perceived to be out of touch and skewed in favour of the moneyed elites.

Bradley, an ardent Remainer, despaired after the Brexit vote. “They did not know what they were doing. But I can understand why. There’s still a lot of neglect, a lot of deprivation in parts of Barnsley. They feel left behind because they have been left behind.”

It is true that there has been a feel-good factor in Yorkshire following the Rio Olympics; if the county were a country, it would have finished 17th in the international medals table. Yet while millions have been invested in “podium-level athletes”, in the team games that are most relevant to the lives of most Yorkshire folk – football, cricket and rugby league – there is a clear division between sport’s elites and its grass roots. While lucrative TV deals have enriched ruling bodies and top clubs, there has been a large decrease in the number of adults playing any sport in the four years since London staged the Games.

According to figures from Sport England, there are now 67,000 fewer people in Yorkshire involved in sport than there were in 2012. In Doncaster, to take a typical post-industrial White Rose town, there has been a 13 per cent drop in participation – compared with a 0.4 per cent decline nationally.

Attendances at rugby league, the region’s “national sport”, are falling. But cricket, in theory, is thriving, with Yorkshire winning the County Championship in 2014 and 2015. Yet Joe Root, the batsman and poster boy for this renaissance, plays far more games for his country than for his county and was rested from Yorkshire’s 2016 title decider against Middlesex.

“Root’s almost not a Yorkshire player nowadays,” said Stuart Rayner, whose book The War of the White Roses chronicles the club’s fortunes between 1968 and 1986. As a fan back then, I frequently watched Geoffrey Boycott and other local stars at Headingley. My favourite was the England bowler Chris Old, a gritty, defiant, unsung anti-hero in the Billy Casper mould.

When Old made his debut, 13 of the 17-strong Yorkshire squad were registered as working-class professionals. Half a century later, three of the five Yorkshiremen selec­ted for the last Ashes series – Root, Jonny Bairstow and Gary Ballance – were privately educated. “The game of cricket now is played in public schools,” Old told me. “Top players are getting huge amounts of money, but the grass-roots game doesn’t seem to have benefited in any way.”

“In ten years’ time you won’t get a Joe Root,” Rayner said. “If you haven’t seen these top Yorkshire cricketers playing in your backyard and you haven’t got Sky, it will be difficult to get the whole cricket bug. So where is the next generation of Roots going to come from?” Or the next generation of Jessica Ennis-Hills? Three years ago, the Sheffield stadium where she trained and first discovered athletics was closed after cuts to local services.

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era