I’ve been drawn into this discussion, in particular, by the exchange 
between Brian and Bob.  Although my production methods are probably in many 
respects in the same vein as Brian’s, I can much sooner sympathize with 
Bob’s argument.

I think there’s definitely something to Bob’s assertion that “it’s all 
about the money,” but I wonder what you do and what you don’t mean by that, 
Bob.  I don’t suppose you expect “organic” wannabes (myself included) to 
ignore the bottom line, to make decisions for their beekeeping businesses 
irrespective of profit.  It seems the only reasonable charge to uncover in 
that statement is that selling the “organic” angle is a way to get more 
money without delivering any more real value, which is to say however 
profitable it might be, you couldn’t pursue that course in good conscience.

I think an easy “field test” for this theory is to ask if the producer 
selling the “organic” sales pitch would buy his own honey?  If he were 
forced to retire and sold his bees to someone that ran his operation 
exactly as he did, would he buy the same honey at the same price?  Does he, 
in fact, sell his own honey at his regular prices to his friends?  Would he 
be glad to know that his widowed mother on a limited budget bought honey 
just like his from a producer local to her?  If the answers to these 
questions aren’t yes, then the “organic” premium is essentially unjust 
exploitation, isn’t it?

Granted, we’re talking about places like America, where exploiting each 
other’s 
ignorance/paranoia/elitism/pride/lust/insecurities/vanity/addictions/vulnera
bility, etc. is a way of life, but if that’s what “organic” is about then 
it’s hardly a noble calling, and the issue with beekeepers is 
not “ignorance of the market potential.”

I think it’s also worth asking whom Brian is selling his honey to.  Are 
other farmers buying your honey?  If farmers aren’t buying your honey, why 
aren’t they?  Is your honey basically going to suburbanites?  If that’s the 
case, what quality do suburbanites possess that farmers lack?  If your own 
neighbors, the ones that make a living getting their hands dirty and their 
backs sore, are willing to pay your “organic” premium, then you’ve got a 
noteworthy marketing plan.

So why do various organic standards have rules against clipping wings?  I 
agree with Herve that that particular provision is rather absurd, but I 
nonetheless think that that kind of thing is necessary to any meaningful 
definition of organic.  Can we really detach organics from a way of 
farming?  I suppose “organic” could merely signify food that wasn’t exposed 
to any risk at all of man-made contamination.  But if it’s clear anywhere, 
it’s clear in beekeeping that this definition is feebly shallow.  My cattle 
breathe the air from your exhaust pipe.  And my tomatoes are watered by 
your acid rain.  And my bees visit land and crops and roadsides and 
watersheds that have seen it all.  So, first of all, there is no food free 
of any risk of man-made contamination, especially not by the time any man 
has had his hands in its production, which makes the “risk-free” standard a 
ridiculous standard.

What I consider the more important failing of the “risk-free” standard, 
though, is its abandonment of the places we live.  If organic agriculture 
is worth anything anywhere, shouldn’t it matter in the places we live?  And 
if it matters in the places we live, it matters in the places where we 
also, incidentally, grow GMO crops and spray fungicides and dispose of 
leaky power line transformers, etc., etc.  What’s the use of an organic 
standard that can’t serve and direct us where we’re at?  Show me an organic 
standard that doesn’t care for the kinds of places where I live, and I’ll 
show you an organic standard that I don’t care about. 

Eric

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