by Peter Barclay

I’m pretty sure my mother told me, ‘Don’t play with your food, Peter,’ but she never said anything about not playing politics with it. Of course, at the time, I wouldn’t have understood, but now I realise food was never just food. Politics was always simmering in the background.

And the older I got, the more I realised food isn’t just about nutrition or taste either — it’s tangled up in culture, identity, and yes, politics. From school lunch policies to supermarket pricing, from farming subsidies to climate debates, food is constantly shaped by decisions made far beyond the kitchen. Whether we notice it or not, whether we like it or not, those decisions shape what ends up on our plates.

It didn’t take long for food to become more than just sustenance. Once humans figured out how to grow, store, and trade it, food became a commodity — something to be bought, sold, taxed, and all too often, weaponised.

History is full of examples where food wasn’t just caught up in politics — it was the politics. Take the British Raj, for instance. During colonial rule in India, the East India Company and later the British government controlled vast agricultural systems, not to feed the local population, but to maximise profit.

Hoarding killed millions

Grain was hoarded or exported even as local communities starved. Famines weren’t just natural disasters — they were political choices. The Bengal Famine of 1943 alone led to the deaths of an estimated 3 million people, many of whom would have survived if food distribution hadn’t been manipulated for imperial interests.

It’s a brutal reminder that food, when treated purely as an economic asset, can become a tool of control — or worse, a weapon. And while we might like to think those days are behind us, echoes of that mindset still ripple through today’s global food systems.

Let’s also remember — it wasn’t just humans who suffered. In the founding days of New Zealand as a new nation, the drive for profit and food commodities extended its cruelty to the natural world. Fur seals, once numbering around 2 million across the country, were hunted relentlessly for their meat, pelts, and oil.

Māori communities had long used seals sustainably for food and tools, but things changed dramatically with the arrival of Europeans. From the late 1700s to the mid-1800s, sealing gangs — some backed by firms like Sam Enderby & Sons under license from the East India Company — slaughtered thousands. In just one early expedition to Dusky Sound, sealers collected 4,500 skins in under a year. These were traded for tea in China, used for fashion in England, and burned for light in Sydney.

By the mid-1800s, the seal population had collapsed. Colonies vanished from much of the coastline, and the species teetered on the brink of extinction. It wasn’t until 1978 that fur seals were granted complete protection under the Marine Mammals Protection Act — only then did their numbers begin to recover.

A commodity decision

This chapter in New Zealand’s history is more than just a footnote. It’s a brutal example of how food, when commodified and politicised, can drive not just human suffering — but ecological devastation. When it comes to food, human selfishness, cruelty, and sheer largesse have often known no bounds.

The machinery may be shinier, and the spreadsheets more complex, but the underlying story hasn’t changed much: food remains a battleground for power, profit, and politics. Today’s industrial agriculture systems — vast, mechanised, and profoundly globalised — still echo the colonial patterns of extraction and control.

Just ask America’s soybean farmers. In 2024, they exported $12.6 billion worth of soybeans to China — nearly half of all U.S. soybean exports. But this year, that market collapsed amid escalating trade wars. China stopped buying US soybeans altogether, turning instead to Brazil and Argentina. The result? A 52% drop in export volume, leaving farmers scrambling to find new buyers and facing financial ruin.

“We’re in the middle of the worst economic downturn I’ve seen in my 50 years,” said John Hansen of the Nebraska Farmers Union. With production costs soaring — fertiliser, fuel, and seed prices up nearly 50% — even average yields can’t cover expenses.

Just days ago, this political situation changed due to a new deal with China, but its fine print is yet to be unveiled. China is still likely to hedge against Trump volatility by retaining access to alternative supplies. You don’t need a rocket science degree to figure out what that could do to the price.

Fragile food systems

But this isn’t just about soybeans. It’s about how fragile our food systems become when they’re built on monocultures, global dependencies, and political volatility. Much like the East India Company’s grain hoarding during the British Raj, today’s trade decisions can starve markets, destabilise communities, and devastate ecosystems.

The lesson is clear: when food is treated purely as a commodity, it becomes vulnerable to forces far removed from the soil in which it grows. And whether it’s colonial India or contemporary Nebraska, the human cost is always steep.

Down under, Australia’s industrial agriculture and New Zealand’s Fonterra sell-off last week both reveal how food systems remain deeply entangled with power, profit, and political choices — often at the expense of sustainability and long-term resilience.

Australia’s food production has long mirrored colonial patterns of extraction and commodification. Since European settlement, the country has embraced broad-acre, mechanised farming, focused on high-yield monocultures reliant on synthetic fertilisers, pesticides, and fossil fuels. This model, while debatably efficient in output, has led to:

• Widespread land degradation: Salinisation, soil exhaustion, and biodiversity loss threaten long-term productivity.
• Climate vulnerability: Increased rainfall variability and extreme weather events are reshaping farming viability.
• Disconnection from food origins: Urban consumers are increasingly removed from how food is grown, raising concerns about health, ethics, and ecological awareness.

Colonial logic still rules

In short, Australia’s industrial food system — built for global markets — continues to echo the colonial logic of maximising short-term gain while externalising environmental and social costs.

Meanwhile, back in New Zealand, the country’s largest dairy co-operative, Fonterra, this week approved a $4.22 billion sale of its consumer brands (including Mainland, Anchor, and Kāpiti) to French dairy giant Lactalis.

The deal marks a strategic pivot away from branded consumer goods toward supplying raw ingredients and high-margin food services.

Some key outcomes here are:

• Farmer shareholders will receive an average tax-free payout of $392,000, injecting billions into the rural economy.
• Fonterra will retain supply contracts with Lactalis but cede control of iconic brands, raising concerns about long-term security.
• Critics argue this is a short-term sugar hit that exposes farmers to global commodity volatility, with fewer levers to manage downturns.

While many farmers welcome the windfall, others worry that New Zealand’s dairy legacy is being traded for short-term capital in exchange for long-term uncertainty.

Entrenched in cruelty

Personally, when I consider the misery and human ill-health it causes, I wouldn’t care if the entire industry collapsed tomorrow, but I would be bothered about the hole it would leave in the economy.

New Zealand produces around 30% of the world’s dairy products. The country remains heavily dependent on the industry, which last year accounted for approximately NZ$23 billion in export revenue. Dairy is the country’s largest primary industry export earner, accounting for around 5% of its GDP. It is responsible for approximately 50,000 jobs across both rural and urban areas.

Whether it’s Australia’s industrial monocultures or New Zealand’s dairy divestment, the pattern is familiar: food systems shaped by economic greed are often at odds with ecological and cultural sustainability. These examples remind us that when food becomes just another commodity, human ambition and appetite can stretch far beyond what the land—or legacy—can bear.

The path forward surely lies in embracing science-backed solutions like the EAT–Lancet Commission’s dietary recommendations, fostering political will for climate action, and restoring respect for evidence-based policy — especially in countries like the United States, where science has been sidelined.

A trail of suffering

If history teaches us anything, it’s that food systems shaped by power and profit often leave behind a trail of suffering — human, ecological, and cultural. But it doesn’t have to be this way. The EAT–Lancet Commission offers a science-based roadmap for transforming how we eat and produce food, aiming to nourish both people and the planet.

Their updated Planetary Health Diet emphasises:

• A plant-rich plate: Whole grains, fruits, vegetables, legumes, and nuts form the foundation.
• Moderate animal products: Small amounts of fish, dairy, and poultry are included, with red meat and sugar kept to a minimum.
• Cultural flexibility: The diet is adaptable across regions and traditions, supporting local foodways while promoting global sustainability.
• Science alone isn’t enough: We need political courage to turn these insights into action, and that means:-
• Accepting climate reality: Recognising that agriculture is both a driver and victim of climate change — and adapting accordingly.
• Reimagining food policy: From subsidies to school lunches, governments must align food systems with health, equity, and environmental goals.
• Restoring science to its rightful place: Particularly in the United States, where political polarisation has eroded trust in scientific institutions, it’s time to put evidence back at the heart of decision-making.

More than stories

As the EAT–Lancet report notes, storytelling matters — but real transformation requires policy change, public engagement, and cross-sector collaboration. We need to build food systems that are not only productive, but also just, resilient, and kind.

Because in the end, food isn’t only about what’s on our plate. It’s about the kind of world we want to live in — and the legacy we leave behind.

Food has always been more than fuel. It reflects who we are, how we treat each other, and what kind of world we’re building. From colonial grain hoarding to industrial monocultures, from ecological collapse to trade wars, the story of food is the story of power—and often of neglect.

But it can also be a story of renewal. Science offers us the tools. History offers us lessons. Now we need the political will to act. If we can reimagine our food systems with compassion, sustainability, and evidence at the core, we won’t just change what’s on our plates — we’ll change the future.

Sources referenced

• Department of Conservation – Threats to NZ Fur Seals
• Te Ara – The Rise and Fall of Sealing
• Investopedia – US Soybean Exports to China
• ABC News – Soybean Farmers Caught in Looming Crisis
• Fox Business – China Trade Freeze Squeezes US Soybean Farmers
• EAT–Lancet Commission Summary Report (2025)
• British Nutrition Foundation – EAT–Lancet Conference Highlights
• The Lancet – EAT–Lancet Commission Update
• National Museum of Australia
• RNZ | Scoop | interest.co.nz
• Statista – Dairy Industry in New Zealand
• Ministry for Primary Industries – Transforming the Dairy Value Chain
• DairyNZ – View from the Cowshed 2025