Review By Karl Saliter
Last night I went to the New York premier of Gary Null’s latest documentary, “Seeds of Death: Unveiling The Lies of GMOs,” at Loews on Broadway and 86th. Grim.
We are all being poisoned. That, and irreparably damaged. Eating a pancake? You are ingesting man-made life forms. Inside you, they self replicate. Cinnamon bun by cinnamon bun, you are becoming a form of life which has never before existed.
Viewed through Gary’s research into the business of modern food production, we are, roughly, hapless dupes to Mobsanto and Big Food. The stuff we are presented with at the market is food like your iphone is a pen and paper.
The late evolutionary biologist Lynn Margulis, the only researcher with the brainpower to really stand Darwin on his head, said that “… most scientific models of reality may be neither so enlightened nor au courant as they assume. Indeed, what is in question is the very possibility of modeling reality at all.” While we’re trafficking in hope, let’s hope she’s right too, folks, because in my current model of reality we are so fucked.
The movie crashes through that shoppers lull we often feel on rolling our cart around. Surely these guys wouldn’t offer us poison, and call it food. In fact they would, but only on the condition that we pay for it. Strict policy. The people who brought the world Agent Orange are now offering patented seeds and the complementary chemical über weed killer strains. The stomaches of insects, on contact with these poisons, are exploding. But you’ll be fine.
An interesting clip shows a way high up Monsanto Exec quoted as saying their business is food production, not food safety. Very telling. Not to put too blunt a point on it but we are being gradually killed.
If you are harboring any secret hopes that Uncle Sam protects you, or even that maybe there is some vestige of decency left in American Govornment, Seeds of Death will disabuse you of them. Everything from Obama re-appointing a Monsanto Exec as head of the FDA to said company buying Universities outright is covered. It’s a frisbee-size plate heaped with eleven kinds of ugly, a side of ugly, and a steaming hot cup of ugly to help wash it down. I don’t even need to tell you about dessert.
None of it is shocking news, except maybe one or two bits depending on how far down the rabbit hole you already are. (If you’re up on ground level looking in, or showing this to Aunt Marge, shock and disbelief will come.) I for one knew that soy was fucked,but not that fully 98 percent of it is now GMO. 98 percent is such a large amount. Remember hearing that 98 percent of the meat you eat is from a factory farm? This is like that, and yeah, they’ve killed wheat, too. And corn. Despair would not be inappropriate, but what else can we think of?
Looking down at the gasping, choking GMO Salmon, twice the size of his unmodified brother, is enough to put you off everything for life. I whispered to my lover, “Let’s starve together.” We held hands in the dark seats.
I’m careful ish, sort of informed. I eat vegan, with gusts of vegetarian. Or is it the other way around. I have a clue. Even from there, though, some “Seeds of Death” footage stunned me. I sure didn’t know the extent to which Tony Blair was Monsanto’s bitch. The story of preeminent research scientist Dr Arpad Pustzai and his vilification at Tony’s hands was well worth the ticket price, especially if you have a taste for irony.
This tale is sadder even than when our own Carly sold out to Heinz, and if you breezed through that one, you are pleasantly young, or made of stone. This song was one of the priceless gems of its era, magic on wheels, and when it was strapped into a harness to pitch ketchup, we all died a little. Guess Carly had bills to pay.
Days after the scientist announced that consuming GMO food was fatal in rats, Blair unceremoniously flushed him. A top brain. A national treasure, funded in crown millions, traded for a seat at the Monsanto table. Blair also must have had bills to pay, but was the state of scientific inquiry his to sell out? How about the scientist’s life?
At least Carly created what she sold.
Where was I? Oh yeah, doom is at hand. Definitely grim: we are on a punctured life raft and the falls are furiously loud. And guess what? I hear thunder.
Drinking in these days before the fall, these last remaining drops of cleanish water, we are newly parched. Doom really is only at hand if you believe in reality. Carly may have been, oddly, prophetic, when she wrote:
“I’m no prophet and I don’t know nature’s ways. So I’ll try and see into your eyes right now. And stay right here ’cause these are the good old days.”
So see the film and fight with everything you have. Make GMO labeling mandatory, there are links here to action groups. But more importantly, breathe deeply.
Watch the documentary, but watch Carly, too. Live large today. We have no real idea of what is going on in our intestinal tracts, and a little thought on that can grant you a deep wisdom. Impermanence is the water we swim in. This moment is all we have. Really.
These are the good old days, as the poet puppet wrote.