By Lena Beck for Modern Farmer.
Broadcast version by Roz Brown for New Mexico News Connection reporting for the Modern Farmer-Public News Service Collaboration.

The thing that Kendra Kimbirauskas hadn't expected were the trucks.

As a small farmer who formerly worked with communities to resist large corporate farms, she knew a lot about how industrial chicken operations could affect a community. She knew about the putrid smell of animal waste, she knew it wasn't safe to drink the local water. But, in April of 2023, as she visited a midwestern farmer whose home was surrounded by dozens of industrial chicken barns producing millions of chickens, it was the sight of the trucks hurtling down the narrow roads, one after the other, that was particularly jarring.

"If you can picture a dusty dirt road with semis barreling down, the amount of dust and dirt and God knows whatever else that comes off these trucks would literally blow into the front yard," says Kimbirauskas. "Thinking about putting your clothes on the line, or having your windows open, that's no longer an option because of these trucks."

Carrying feed, new birds, and finished flocks, these trucks served as a near-constant reminder of the other things these operations bring with them-smells that make it hard to stand outside, air pollution you can feel burning your throat, not being able to trust the water coming out of your tap-the list goes on.

Just three years earlier, Kimbirauskas had gotten wind that Foster Farms was planning to move into her own home of Linn County, Oregon and decided to fight back. After a bit of digging, what she found was staggering: Foster Farms was planning three sites in the county to build concentrated animal feeding operations (CAFOs), which would collectively raise 13 million chickens per year. This visit provided Kimbirauskas with a glimpse into what she was fighting against in her own home community.

"For me that was such an affirmation that [our] community is 100 percent going to be the target of chicken expansion," says Kimbirauskas. "It really made me dig in and stand in my own power and agency of knowing that this is not something that would be good and beneficial for Linn County."

CAFOs are defined by the EPA as intensive feeding operations where many animals are confined and fed for at least 45 days per year-though this is just a minimum-and where the waste from those animals poses a pollution threat to surface water.

There are small, medium and large CAFOs, with the largest of these-housing thousands to tens of thousands of animals-embodying the truest definition of a "factory farm." Many of the issues can be boiled down to the sheer concentration of manure they produce.

As of 2022, there were more than 21,000 large CAFOs in the US. One estimate, informed by USDA data, suggests that 99 percent of livestock grown in the US is raised in a CAFO. Some states have particularly dense concentrations, such as Iowa, North Carolina, and Nebraska. This industry presents itself as a way to produce a lot of food while keeping costs down. But any cost saved by the consumer is a cost borne by the CAFOs' neighboring communities, the environment, local economies, and even the contracted farmers themselves.

Large CAFOs cause myriad problems that are currently being experienced by communities across the country. These issues include environmental pollution, drinking water poisoning, air pollution, and plummeting property values. In drought-ridden states such as New Mexico, CAFOs add insult to injury by contaminating the water and using more water than the dwindling aquifers can handle. In Winona County, Minnesota, more than 1,300 people can't drink their water because of nitrate pollution.

There have been many instances of serious illnesses believed to be linked to living close to CAFOs, such as cancer and miscarriages, and respiratory issues such as asthma and sleep apnea are prolific in CAFO-adjacent communities. In North Carolina, living near a large CAFO has been associated with increased blood pressure. In Iowa, a study found that children raised on swine farms had increased odds of developing asthma.

Large CAFOs are often built in communities of color. This frequency with which polluting industries are built in these communities is evidence of ongoing environmental injustice.

While the industry often associates itself with the picturesque image of American farming, the fact is that industrial agriculture has created the immense consolidation of US farms, driving farmers all over the country out of business. CAFOs are often built in clusters near each other-when a CAFO is built, more will likely follow.

The factory farm industry is expanding all the time, but communities across the country have become advocates to stop this expansion-both at individual sites, and on a systemic level-in the hopes that, one day, no one has to pay the price of factory farming.

Foster Farms is coming to town

Linn County is tucked into the western part of Oregon and home to many family-run farms. But, in 2020, Foster Farms arrived in the county, planning to build CAFOs holding tens of thousands of birds at a time. Foster Farms is a poultry company that sells chicken and chicken products in chain grocery stores across the country.

In Linn County, there was no public announcement of Foster Farms' arrival.

"One of the stories that we hear time and again is people didn't realize or don't realize what's going on until it's too late," says Kimbirauskas. "That is a tactic of the industry because nobody wants to live next to one of these things. So, they're going to be trying to get in as quietly as possible."

It started in 2020, when a woman working at a local feed store noticed a customer come in with Foster Farms company branding on his coat. He was a land scout, and he was in the area to try and determine suitable land for chicken operations.

She asked him some specific questions about the locations they were considering. One, she learned, was right next to her house. The land scout told her they planned to put up a buffer between the site and one of the bigger houses in the area, so they wouldn't get complaints. But, she knew, there was also a smaller house on that road-her house. Would that house get a buffer?

Well, he told her, they don't have enough money to do anything about it.

Foster Farms' behavior aligns with larger trends-data shows that CAFOs are disproportionately built in low-income areas.

After this upsetting conversation, the woman reached out to Kimbirauskas. Kimbirauskas is a bit of an anomaly when it comes to fighting CAFOs, because she's seen similar situations play out all over the country. Growing up in Michigan, the rapid consolidation of dairy farms due to industrialized agriculture led her family to the very difficult decision to sell their dairy. Today, Kimbirauskas is the Senior Director of Agriculture and Food Systems at the State Innovation Exchange (SiX). Before that, as chief executive officer of the Socially Responsible Agriculture Project (SRAP), she had worked with communities across the country who were dealing with health and environmental issues as a result of living next to CAFOs.

Kimbirauskas and other concerned members of the community found that there was no information available at the state level about what was going on, so the first thing Kimbirauskas began doing was submitting public records requests.

"Through those public records requests, we found that there was not two but three sites that were being proposed, which would have totaled roughly 13 million chickens within a 10-mile radius, and that was per year," says Kimbirauskas.

Something had to be done.

Site fights

The battle against factory farms happens at multiple scales. Some of the big-picture advocacy happens at the state and federal level, where advocates are trying to make systemic changes. Other battles happen directly over individual proposed or existing CAFOs-these are known as "site fights."

Site fights aren't easy to win. But it is possible. Barb Kalbach, president of the board of Iowa Citizens for Community Improvement (CCI), has experienced it firsthand. In 2002, Kalbach lived on a small farm in Adair County, Iowa-a rural community that today has a population of less than 8,000. She heard through the grapevine that just 1,970 feet up the road from her property, a massive hog CAFO was being proposed. She called a realtor she knew who lived nearby who confirmed it. The operation would consist of 10 buildings holding 7,200 sows, producing 10 million gallons of liquid manure every year. Kalbach's farm had always been surrounded by other farms. But no regular farm produces that much manure.

Kalbach called the Iowa CCI, which had been fighting social justice issues affecting Iowans since the 1970s.

"I called the office. That was on a Friday, and they sent out on Sunday an organizer. And in that two-day period, I called all the neighbors, anybody I can think of in our community that probably wouldn't like it very well, this confinement, and we all met over at our little local country church."

When organizing against a CAFO, simply not wanting one near you isn't a good enough reason to keep one out. CCI didn't do the work for them, says Kalbach, but advised them on things they could do, such as looking for evidence in their plans that the facility wouldn't be able to meet the environmental regulation requirements. Proof of this kind is easier said than found.

Kalbach and her neighbors went to commissioner meetings, did research, wrote letters to the editor of the local newspaper, created petitions and sought signatures. The actual turning point came to Kalbach as a phone call in the early hours of the day.

"At four o'clock in the morning, one of the guys called me and he said, 'I've got a great idea,'" says Kalbach. To get permitted, this operation would have to create a manure management plan for the 10 million gallons of liquid manure per year. "The guy that called me said, 'let's get all the farmers within a 10-mile radius to sign a document that states they will not accept the manure.'"

The idea was to show the Environmental Protection Commission (EPC) that all of the manure would have to be transported at least 10 miles before anything could be done with it. The CAFO would not be able to claim that nearby farms were going to use the manure as fertilizer.

The CAFO was permitted anyway. The community appealed this decision, and during this period, they brought forth everything they had-including the list of neighboring farmers who agreed to reject the CAFO's manure. And they succeeded. In the end, the vote went in favor of the community.

"[The EPC) voted finally and we won five to four," says Kalbach. "He was smacked down and we did not have a factory farm built by us."

Site fight victories show what's possible. But when denied a site, industry begins looking elsewhere. The danger is that the next community may not be as successful in resisting. And that's why many advocates are also looking for systemic change.

Iowa is densely populated with CAFOs. In the last 25 years, the number of waterways in Iowa that are polluted has increased significantly. Iowa Public Radio reports that Iowa has the second-highest rate of new cancers in the country, and it leads the nation in the highest rate of new cancers. Kalbach says she believes these are connected.

Iowa is known for its sheer density of swine CAFOs, producing one out of every three hogs raised for consumption. As a result, Iowa has to deal with more hog waste than any other state in the country. The impact is felt in both rural and urban communities.

"I think it's a little easier in urban centers, like Iowa City and Des Moines, to feel like things are a little more normal, and that the scale of the problem isn't quite what it is," says Mankel. "But driving through rural Iowa, and visiting small towns, it's really destroyed so much of our state."

There has been a campaign for a moratorium on new or expanding CAFOs in the Iowa state legislature since 2017. It has not been passed.

Despite the lack of success in Iowa, moratoria movements are one way that some other states and counties have prevented new CAFOs being built or expanded. At a federal level, Senator Cory Booker's Farm System Reform Act could make moratoria a reality across the country. While site fights are important, they are not always successful. In states such as Iowa, which is densely saturated with CAFOs, only systemic change will move the needle.

"I think those folks, who are the [majority] of Iowans who are not farmers, are starting to understand why they should care about this," says Jennifer Breon of Food & Water Watch Iowa.

Consolidation and systemic advocacy

Being near a megadairy CAFO is a visceral experience. In Clovis, New Mexico, organizer for Food & Water Watch Alexa Moore said the smell was like that of a normal farm cranked up to 10 times the potency. That smell, caused by the high concentration of manure, is more than just a bad scent; these fumes carry ammonia and hydrogen sulfide, which cause respiratory issues. Just walking through the parking lot of a Walmart, Moore's throat was burning.

Moore's stop in Roswell was part of a roadshow to three towns with a heavy factory farming presence: Clovis, Roswell, and Las Cruces. At each of these communities, Moore and fellow organizer Emily Tucker hosted a showing of the film "Right to Harm," a documentary that demonstrates some of the ways communities are resisting factory farming across the country. This roadshow aimed to build awareness of the issue, and foster conversation around some of the systemic changes that need to be made, and talk about the situations in the surrounding area. Some of these locations are also near airforce and military bases, which have caused pollution as well. They found some residents knew there was water pollution, but they didn't realize how much of it was due to the large CAFOs.

"A lot of people just assumed that all of the water contamination was from those military bases," says Moore.

Along the way, they were cautioned by locals not to drink the water. At a taproom in Roswell, Tucker asked the server for a glass of water.

"I'll just get you a bottle," the server replied.

In a state that experienced a decades-long drought, New Mexico doesn't have much water to spare. But here, factory farms use an estimated 32 million gallons of water every day. This puts a particular squeeze on smaller farmers, who simply can't farm without water.

"What we are seeing is a lot of our smaller farmers aren't able to continue to dig wells. So, we're seeing aquifer levels drop, their wells are going dry, and the small farmers aren't able to compete with these big corporations who can keep drilling and keep drilling," says Moore.

Moore's own family feels the strain directly. "My cousin is a farmer. He lives down in Alamogordo. He's a small family farmer, been in the family for five generations," says Moore. "And just this year, they lost their well water and so he can no longer farm, which is a huge part of his income."

Large-scale dairies also outcompete more sustainable operations on price, driving them out of business. In the past 20 years, New Mexico has lost half of its small-scale dairies. In this context, a small dairy is less than 500 cows. Large dairies can have tens of thousands of cows.

Consolidation isn't just a symptom of the factory farm problem, says Sean Carroll, policy and organizing director for the Land Stewardship Project in Minnesota. It's the root of it.

"Our system is so consolidated," says Carroll. "But that's a system that we created through choices made by policymakers. We can make different policy decisions that actually create a system that is better for farmers [and] better for rural communities."

A member organization of the HEAL Food Alliance, the Land Stewardship Project has had about 40 successful oppositions against CAFOs in just as many years. But it also engages in policy work at the state and federal level. Real change can be affected through a balance of both, says Carroll.

"At the local level, people's voices have a lot of power," says Carroll. "At the same time, so much of the drivers of this system are decisions that are made at the state or the federal level."

One of the greatest ways to battle industrial animal agriculture is by bolstering sustainable farm systems through policy. For example, the USDA is currently re-evaluating its Packers and Stockyards Act. Anyone can contact their legislators to voice their support of policies that can create long-lasting change.

"We can and need to change the language of the law so that farmers have actual legal avenues to challenge price discrimination from consolidation," says Carroll.

Additionally, the Farm Bill is a giant piece of legislation passed once approximately every five years, and it affects everything to do with our food system. One of the Land Stewardship Project's priorities for the Farm Bill is to stop using conservation funding for factory farms. Millions of dollars of this funding goes to large-scale CAFOs instead of helping smaller farmers expand their sustainable practices.

The use of conservation funding for large-scale CAFOs is something that community advocates around the country know all too well. Often, this takes the shape of anaerobic digesters at large CAFOs, which convert animal manure into methane gas, to be used as energy.

Rania Masri, PhD, co-director of the North Carolina Environmental Justice Network, says that biogas gets touted as a clean energy solution when really it's the complete opposite.

"That concept, in and of itself, sounds great, but when we look into the details, we see that in North Carolina, biogas promotion is specifically designed to financially incentivize and increase the profit of industrial agriculture," says Masri. "So, in that way, what it ends up doing is increasing methane production rather than decreasing it, increasing pollution in communities rather than decreasing it, and threatening communities with the possibility of methane explosion."

Organizing against false solutions

In places where clusters of large-scale CAFOs are already established, organizers try to prevent existing CAFOs from expanding. In recent years, this has included advocacy against building anaerobic biogas digesters at large CAFOs.

Federal and state governments have put forth biogas technology as a way to cut down on greenhouse gas emissions from agriculture. But advocates such as SRAP and Friends of the Earth say that biogas production does not erase the environmental impact of CAFOs. Instead, this industry creates a market for the manure systems that are most detrimental to human health.

By incentivizing manure production, biogas encourages mega-dairies to grow in size.

In areas such as California's Central Valley, parts of the midwest, and eastern North Carolina, advocates are speaking up against digesters. In this work, communities have to go up against not just industrial animal production giants, but also Big Oil-which has a direct interest in seeing the biogas market grow.

"It's important that when you're organizing about this stuff, you're super clear with the community members about what you're going up against," says Leslie Martinez, community engagement specialist for Leadership Counsel for Justice and Accountability (LCJA). "You're going up against Goliath."

LCJA addresses systemic injustice, particularly in California's rural and low-income regions, and biogas is one of the issues on which Martinez works closely with community members. Martinez is based in California's San Joaquin Valley, where there is a high concentration of mega-dairies. In the small towns throughout the valley, people may live next to as many as two dozen of these operations. No one knows the negative impacts of living next to mega-dairies better than people who actually do. They experience the air and water pollution firsthand.

"Communities who live next to dairies have a lot of expertise," says Martinez.

And yet, this technology is part of both state and federal plans to decrease greenhouse gas emissions. New Mexico recently passed a bill called the Clean Transportation Fuel Standard, intended to support the development of clean energy in the state.

California has its own Low Carbon Fuel Standard, something that has turned out to bolster mega-dairy CAFOs by supporting the development of anaerobic digesters. To resist the impacts of digesters, it's important to know how the rules surrounding the industry are made.

"If you're an organizer, I think step one is to figure out how decisions get made," says Martinez. "But [it's] also important to talk to someone who has been through this, who has been through a regulation so you can also understand the weird politics about it."

Martinez and LCJA have had individual victories against CAFO expansions, but when it comes to biogas advocacy, it has been difficult to get the California Air Resources Board to take the community's concerns about public health into consideration.

"It's business as usual," says Martinez. "But what about the fact that this business as usual is bad?"

As an organizer, Martinez has experienced how things like this frequently get presented through a narrow lens, such as focusing on creating methane gas without acknowledging community impact. She recommends organizers and communities push for a more holistic approach. A good question to keep coming back to when speaking to industry or government officials is, 'how would that impact community?'

"The other thing I encourage organizers to do is to stop thinking about things in silos. The bureaucracy creates things in silos to make it difficult for communities to make change, and at the end of the day, we know that there needs to be comprehensive reform around how we are doing dairies in California."

Becoming an advocate

When Mary Dougherty first heard of the plan to build a 26,000-hog CAFO in her home of Bayfield County, Wisconsin, she was concerned. Other parts of Minnesota had been through this. In Kewaunee County, there were more cows than people and nitrate pollution made the water unsafe to drink in many private wells. It's still that way, today.

Dougherty knew it was bad news. What she didn't know was what to do about it.

She had never thought of herself as an organizer or an environmentalist. She ran a restaurant. She published a cookbook. She was a mom to five kids. Of all the hats she wore, organizer wasn't one of them.

"I had no idea about any of this stuff," says Dougherty. "Literally zero-less than zero probably. I didn't know what the hell I was doing."

But she had to learn. There are only about 16,000 people in Bayfield County, so the idea of there being more hogs than humans was frightening. The town of Bayfield is perched on the edge of Lake Superior. Even though she didn't think of herself as an environmentalist, many people in Bayfield shared the same love for the lake and the surrounding landscape. The acute threat posed by CAFO pollution had to be addressed.

Now senior regional representative for the Socially Responsible Agriculture Project, Dougherty first got involved with the organization because it was who she reached out to for assistance.

"I got involved with SRAP because I called for help," says Dougherty. "I have such a really deep appreciation for the space [people are] in when they call because I was in that space in 2015."

The impact of this is two-fold-it leads to people supporting large-scale corporate farms because they think they're supporting the family farmer. But it also means that these operations aren't subject to the same regulations and monitoring as manufacturing industries. As agricultural operations, large CAFOs get away with more self-reporting and self-regulation.

Dougherty receives calls about impending CAFOs, and in places where CAFOs are already established, anaerobic digesters for biogas.

For the average person to begin organizing against a CAFO or digester is like going into a whole new world where they don't speak the language, says Dougherty. This new world is filled with things such as public records requests, zoning codes, and manure management plans.

Having been through the situation herself and supported others in similar situations, Dougherty says the most important thing to do first is listen to the community. She calls this a "tell me more" approach.

"What the Community Support program does is ... hold space for folks, as they orient themselves to this huge fight they're gonna find themselves in," says Dougherty.

When things were beginning in Bayfield, these early conversations were like the community's compass rose. They asked themselves questions such as "who are we" and "what do we value?" And only then, says Dougherty, could they move on to "what are we going to do about it?"

Bayfield residents came together on the common ground of wanting to protect Lake Superior and the surrounding landscape. And what they did about it was they started a petition to enact a moratorium on siting CAFOs in Bayfield County.

"This is ground that we all can stand on and agree, yes, this works for us. And once we've defined that ground, then we go on to the work of how we're going to protect this place."

The county board of supervisors passed the moratorium, stopping the clock temporarily. During that time, the board set up a study committee, which ended up recommending two ordinances that would further regulate any future CAFOs in Bayfield County. The 26,000-hog CAFO was not built in Bayfield County-but it did find another home in Burnett County.

Back in Linn County, Oregon, Farmers Against Foster Farms was working towards both-a bill to protect not only its county but give other Oregon counties the ability to defend themselves as well.

In Oregon, the story is not over

Finding out about the planned chicken operation galvanized Linn County residents-many of them farmers themselves-to organize into a group called Farmers Against Foster Farms. They made a website and an email listserv, created yard signs and a Facebook page. The three planned sites were a concern, but they also wanted a way to address the issue more generally, before future sites were even chosen.

Starla Tillinghast, a Linn County farmer and member of Farmers Against Foster Farms, knew that many of the issues they were concerned about, such as environmental pollution and health effects, could be partially addressed with "setbacks." A setback is a legally required distance between a CAFO and a property line. Oregon's was on the lower end-a couple of dozen feet. Tillinghast began looking at other agricultural states to see what their required setbacks were. Other states had greater setbacks, and Tillinghast thought that this information could help Oregon follow suit.

"I went and looked up setbacks all across the nation, and I wrote that out in a table," says Tillinghast. "I brought it to the planner, and I brought it to the county commissioners."

When they went to the Linn County commissioners with their concerns, they were faced with this issue: Oregon counties did not have "local control" or the ability to make decisions about these matters at the county level. When decisions about CAFOs are made at the state level, it makes it easier for industry to get a toehold in desirable areas.

They campaigned in coalition with other groups and, in August 2023, Oregon passed Senate Bill 85. One of the things it did was give counties local control. Another key part of its passing made it illegal for corporate farms to access groundwater without a permit, which Kimbirauskas suspects led two of the three potential Foster Farms sites to pull their permit applications. The third was granted and then paused-to be under review until October 2024.

In December, the county commissioners voted in favor of a one-mile setback for any new or expanding CAFOs-a huge victory for the group.

But after the decision, there was a lot of pushback. The county commissioners, who had passed the decision but had yet to codify it, reopened the topic for public comment and set another meeting for June, wherein the commissioners would either uphold the previous decision or walk it back.

The comments poured in. The Albany Democrat-Herald reports that nearly 200 people wrote in, both supporting and opposing the setback rule, most in opposition being members of a Facebook group called "Families for Affordable Food." This group mischaracterizes what the setback would actually do, implying it would hinder new farms and ranches in the area, when the focus is actually on large livestock operations.

It wasn't just people in Linn County who wrote in, nor even just in Oregon. People wrote in from the Midwest and the East Coast, above Oregon in Washington and below in California, signifying the cross-country nature of the resistance to factory farming.

"The whole nation is watching us," said Commissioner Sherrie Sprenger. "It's a big deal."

In the end, they voted to maintain the one-mile setback, but only for poultry CAFOs. This is a victory for the group, as well as an indication that more work will need to be done to make the case for holding that setback for dairy and hog CAFOs as well.

"I feel uneasy...This story may not be finished," wrote Tillinghast to Modern Farmer in an email. "But probably no [Foster Farms] CAFOs in Linn County for 2024 anyway."


Lena Beck wrote this article for Modern Farmer.


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Mississippi State University Extension launched its annual soybean variety trials last week. It is a way to evaluate crop performance as farmers confront their toughest market conditions in five years.

The 15-year-old program tests maturity groups and herbicide technologies across close to three dozen farms statewide, beginning in Bolivar and Sharkey counties. The trials begin as lingering trade tensions and low commodity prices squeeze growers.

Justin Calhoun, soybean specialist for the Extension Service, said he is advising farmers to conserve resources.

"We're in survival mode," Calhoun explained. "Cut back in every way we can. Try to make sure we're sustaining our yield potential but cut back on the extra unnecessary expenses. Just to try to make it through the next year. And hopefully we have a better market situation going into the '26 season than we do the '25 season."

Mississippi is still the nation's fifth-largest soybean producer, planting more than 2 million acres annually, despite a slight dip this year. Growers face compounding crises, from China's reduced U.S. soybean purchases and the ongoing effects of the Trump tariffs, to the spring floods excluded from federal aid programs.

Calhoun is in his first year leading the program. He assured despite market challenges, the trials will provide critical data for farmers making planting decisions.

"For the most part, we're down in acres but we're still going to be a heavy soybean state," Calhoun emphasized. "It is the number one row crop commodity in the state and it's going to continue to be that by a long shot. But it has our growers asking questions about what inputs can we cut back on."

The soybean trials will continue through the growing season and the results will shape recommendations for 2026, as farmers hope for market recovery. Mississippi's soybean industry contributes nearly $1 billion annually to the state's economy.


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By Seth Millstein for Sentient.
Broadcast version by Suzanne Potter for California News Service reporting for the Sentient-Public News Service Collaboration

The largest pork producer in America is owned by a Chinese company, and a lot of people don’t like that. Critics of the corporate acquisition that took place in 2013 argued that Smithfield Foods’ Chinese ownership was a national security threat. Now, a political action committee is building on that sentiment — warning that Congress is being lobbied by Smithfield and other pork industry groups to slip language into the Farm Bill to gut the animal welfare protections of California’s Proposition 12. If successful, the PAC argues, this Smithfield-supported reversal of Prop 12 could multiply the threat to national security even more. But there are other major problems with the company that long predate any Chinese involvement.

“I hope that everyone will really wake up and realize what a tremendous threat it is right now in 2025 for us,” Marty Irby, the head of Competitive Markets Action, a political action committee devoted to defeating the EATS Act, tells Sentient. Proposed in 2023, the EATS Act contains language that pork industry trade groups are urging Congress to include in the Farm Bill. “It’s very serious, and it’s not something to take lightly,” says Irby, who has previously been a lobbyist for the Humane Society Legislative Fund. 

But does Smithfield’s Chinese ownership really pose a threat to everyday Americans? Let’s jump in.

Smithfield’s Chinese Ownership, Explained

Founded in Virginia in 1936 as a meatpacking company, Smithfield Foods steadily grew over the decades to become one of the biggest meat producers in the country. But in 2013, WH Group, formerly known as Shuanghui International Holding Limited, one of China’s largest meat producers, purchased Smithfield outright for $4.7 billion.

It was the largest-ever Chinese acquisition of an American company, and was highly controversial in America. The central concern among critics has remained largely the same in the years since: that giving China control over such a huge chunk of America’s pork supply represented a threat to American food security.

But what exactly does it mean to say that “China owns Smithfield?” Does the Chinese government itself run the company, as many critics have alleged, or is it just private citizens and businesspeople? 

The answer isn’t straightforward. On the one hand, WH Group is a private company that’s traded on the Hong Kong stock exchange. Smithfield CEO Larry Pope testified to Congress in 2013 that WH Group was not managed or run by the Chinese government, and Smithfield itself is still managed by American executives.

But according to a 2015 investigation by the Center for Investigative Reporting (CIR), WH Group does not operate independently from the Chinese government — at least, not entirely.

To begin with, the state-owned Bank of China facilitated the Smithfield purchase by giving WH Group a $4 billion loan. And although the company operates with a large degree of autonomy, it’s still required to adhere to the general goals outlined in the Chinese government’s five-year plan, and is expected to follow any directives it receives from the government to that effect.

To be sure, this isn’t specific to WH Group. The Chinese government is closely involved with all of its domestic industries, and regularly plays an active role in the running of private enterprises. The real question, at least insofar as Smithfield goes, is what this means for Americans — and Americans’ food supply. 

Why Do People Object to Chinese Ownership of Smithfield?

While Smithfield’s Chinese ownership has drawn controversy for a number of reasons, most criticism focuses on two topics: national security and American workers.

National Security

After purchasing Smithfield in 2013, WH Group owned one-in-four pigs raised in the U.S., according to a 2015 report. Many fear that giving a foreign company this much control over America’s food supply poses a national security risk, as it could imperil Americans’ access to domestically produced food. 

“If we get into some sort of world disaster, or a situation where there’s [food] scarcity — it could even be another COVID-19 — where do you think China’s going to send their pork? They’re going to send it back to China,” Irby says. “I think that’s very detrimental to our own population, as far as having the affordable food that we need to put on the table out there in times of crisis.”

At least one agricultural economist disagrees, however. “Chinese ownership of agricultural land does not threaten our ability to produce food,” agricultural economist David Ortega wrote in an op-ed at The Hill in 2024. “Food insecurity arises in our country not because of production deficits, but because of issues of affordability and access facing consumers.”

The U.S. is the third-largest pork producer in the world, and already exports around one-third of the pork it produces domestically. In an emergency situation, the federal government could simply put a temporary ban on pork exports, which would immediately increase the domestic supply of pork for Americans.

American Workers

Irby also argues that American farmers suffer due to Smithfield’s Chinese ownership, as the company’s profits no longer flow to Americans.

“We have American-owned companies and American producers that are out there that are struggling,” Irby says. “You’re seeing Smithfield and China now making the profits, and the American family farmer breaking even.”

There’s no question that small farms in America have been on the decline for some time now. The agricultural sector is highly concentrated, with the bulk of the profits going to a handful of large producers, and this trend has worsened over time.

Over the last 30 years, the farmer’s share of each retail dollar spent on their products has fallen by 20 percent, according to government data, and many operators of small- and medium-sized farms now earn less than $10,000 a year just from their operations — a figure that’s even lower when taking into account household expenses and debt obligations.

Family farmers have been feeling the economic squeeze for decades now, in other words, due to factors that long predate China’s purchase of Smithfield. The number of hog farms in the U.S. has been steadily declining since at least the 1990s, and so have hog farmers’ profits

Smithfield Foods, Animal Welfare and Proposition 12 

While it hasn’t drawn quite as much attention, China’s ownership of Smithfield Foods has also raised concern for the welfare of the animals under the company’s control.

Although America doesn’t have particularly strong animal protection laws, the parameters of meat production in the U.S. have been restrained, albeit to a small degree, by California’s Proposition 12, which banned the extreme confinement of certain livestock (including pigs) and, crucially, prohibits the in-state sale of meat products that were produced using extreme confinement measures, even if raised in other states or countries outside the U.S. 

Because California is such an enormous market, that second part of the law has resulted in meat producers across the country (and beyond) modifying their production standards to give pigs and other animals more space.

China, on the other hand, doesn’t have any livestock protections at all. There’s no requirement that animals be stunned, anesthetized or rendered unconscious before they’re slaughtered, let alone given enough room to live comfortably. Pigs raised for meat in China are crammed into enormous high-rise buildings, sometimes referred to as “hog hotels,” in which tens of thousands of pigs languish at any given time.

“Those animals are in duress,” Irby says of the pigs raised in Chinese slaughterhouses and other facilities that aren’t Proposition 12-compliant. “We believe that farmers should be able to raise a pig in an open pasture, or at the very least, have enough room for the pig to stand up and turn around,” says Irby. The sentiment does not appear to be shared by industrial pork operations, either in the U.S. or China.

Although Smithfield Foods is owned by a Chinese company, it still has to comply with Proposition 12’s regulations, as the meat it produces is sold in California. 

That’s where the language of the EATS Act comes into play. If passed or, more likely, if its language is included in the next Farm Bill, the move would overturn Proposition 12, as well as over 1,000 other state and local laws that regulate animal husbandry.

The Real Enemies: Pollution and Price Fixing

Although Smithfield’s Chinese ownership has stirred up a good amount of controversy, there are some other glaring problems with the company that have nothing to do with China, and which have received comparatively little press coverage.

Smithfield’s Pollution

Hog farms are responsible for a range of environmental impacts. They pollute the water, release greenhouse gases and stink up the air.

Smithfield is no different, and has been especially prolific in this regard. In 2022, a report by the Socially Responsible Agriculture Project revealed that 21 of the company’s pig farms in Missouri had spilled over 7 million gallons of waste into surrounding communities over the preceding three decades. That same year, a Smithfield farm in the state was fined $18,000 for spilling 300,000 gallons of manure into nearby creeks. 

The company has lost several multi-million dollar lawsuits relating to the degradation of air quality and living conditions in the communities around its farms. In 2018 and 2019, it was fined for water pollution violations at one of its South Dakota facilities, and according to estimates by the Institute for Agricultural and Trade Policy, the company emits around 30 million metric tons of CO2 every year.

Price-Fixing

Smithfield Foods has also been accused of — and paid the price for — price-fixing on more than one occasion.

In 2023, the company agreed to pay $75 million in settlements after a group of purchasers accused it of artificially restricting its supply of pork in order to inflate prices. This was unrelated to the $42 million settlement the company paid the year before to restaurants and caterers, who also accused the company of price-fixing to boost its profits.

It’s worth noting that the purchasers in question accused Smithfield of engaging in this market manipulation since 2009 — long before China had anything to do with the company. The terms of the settlement did not require Smithfield to acknowledge any fault, however.

This intersects with the broader issue of monopolization in the meat industry, and the related issue of consolidation, in which large agricultural conglomerates like Smithfield either acquire smaller farms or put them out of business, resulting in less competition and more concentration of wealth and power in the hands of the largest agricultural companies.

“If they gain more market share, it’s just going to enable them to basically drive up the prices and demand what price they want,” Irby says. “We’ve seen it in so many other areas: The larger share of the market that a company owns, the more that they’re going to go in and drive up the price, because they can.”

The Bottom Line

As the largest-ever acquisition of an American business by a Chinese business, WH Group’s purchase of Smithfield Foods was undoubtedly a landmark moment in American business and agriculture. 

The company’s foreign ownership has made it a lightning rod for criticism. Smithfield has been credibly accused of price-fixing on several occasions, and has paid millions and millions of dollars as a result. But most of the company’s practices are standard for an industrial meat conglomerate, regardless of whether it is owned by a Chinese firm or not.


Seth Millstein wrote this article for Sentient.


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By Lisa Held for Civil Eats.
Broadcast version by Mark Moran for Iowa News Service reporting for the Solutions Journalism Network-Public News Service Collaboration


Like so many people whose lives were upended during the pandemic, Sean Dengler returned to his roots. In 2020, he went back to northern Iowa and joined his father in farming 500 acres of corn and soybeans.

As he learned the ropes, he began engaging with Practical Farmers of Iowa (PFI), a unique organization that attracts out-of-the-box thinkers and tinkerers across a wide spectrum of sustainable agriculture in the Midwest. Soon, he was reading about neonicotinoids—“neonics” for short—now the most common chemicals used to kill bugs in American agriculture.

Farmers can spray them on fields, but these insecticides are also attached to seeds as an outer coating, called a seed treatment. As the seeds germinate and grow, the plant’s tissues become toxic to certain pests.

However, neonics impact beneficial insects, too, like bees and other pollinators. Newer research also shows neonics threaten birds and some mammals, suggesting potential human health impacts. In 2023, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) found that the three most common neonics were each likely to harm more than 1,000 endangered species. Also, neonics move through soil into groundwater, contaminating rivers and streams in the Midwest and beyond. Data from 2015 to 2016 showed about half of Americans over three years old were recently exposed to a neonic.

Dengler suspected he had been planting neonic-treated seed, but he wasn’t sure exactly which chemicals the colorful coating was meant to warn him of. He also had no idea if it would be possible for him to order seeds without the treatment. “The corn is usually either red or purple when it comes,” he said. “That’s how it’s always been. You just get it that way.”

In numerous interviews over the past year, other farmers, researchers, and industry insiders described the same scenario to Civil Eats. While the agrichemical industry claims farmers “carefully select the right pesticide for each pest and crop at issue” and “only use pesticides as a last resort,” when it comes to neonics, that is false in most cases. Nearly all commodity corn farmers receive seed coated with neonics at the start of each season; many cannot identify the chemical that’s in the coating and don’t even know if another option exists.

These findings are significant for a few key reasons.

First, the pesticide industry often calls seed treatment environmentally beneficial because it reduces the amount of insecticide applied per acre compared to spraying. This is true. But research shows that the preemptive coating of seed with neonics has resulted in farmers using insecticides, overall, on significantly more total acres than they were a few decades ago. A 2015 study published by researchers Maggie Douglas and John Tooker at Penn State University found that neonic seed treatments are now used on almost triple the area that had once been sprayed with insecticides, indicating their negative impacts could be more widely distributed.

Second, a significant portion of that use may be for nothing. In corn and soy fields, new research and evidence accumulated over the last few years suggest that widespread use of neonic-treated seeds provide minimal benefit to farmers. One study from Quebec helped convince the Canadian province to change its laws to restrict the use of neonic seed treatments. After five years and a 95 percent drop in the use of neonic-coated seeds, there have been no reported impacts on crop yields.

But based on conversations with farmers and other industry insiders, agrichemical companies that sell seeds and pesticides continue to steer farmers toward using neonics on their seeds—and sometimes, there are no other options available. “They scare the farmers and say that you’re going to lose your yield, that you’re going to have crop failure, and the whole grain sector will just collapse,” said Louis Robert, a Canadian agronomist who previously worked for the Quebec government, where he revealed pesticide-industry meddling in research on neonics’ environmental harms. “They go very far in terms of misleading people.”

At the same time, the industry has engaged in a broad, sophisticated lobbying and public relations effort to block regulation in the U.S., muddy the research waters, and even influence Google search results for neonics, all of which has been documented in depth by The Intercept.

So, while Europe and Canada have been moving away from the widespread use of neonics, the U.S. has barely budged in its approach. Neonic-treated seeds are planted on nearly 90 million acres of corn fields and more than 40 million acres of soybean fields each year. Only New York and Vermont have passed bans that include eliminating them as coatings on corn and soy seeds—and those laws do not go into effect until 2029. (Neonic treatments are common on many other seeds, including wheat, cotton, and vegetables, and farmers’ reliance on them varies across different crops. This investigation focused only on corn and soy, by far the two most widely planted crops in the country.)

Over the course of three weeks in October, Civil Eats sent at least four interview requests and detailed questions to CropLife America, which represents the pesticide industry, but did not receive a response. We also sent emails to press contacts at the companies that make or sell pesticide and seed products mentioned in this story: Corteva (which owns Pioneer) and Winfield United (owned by Land O’Lakes) did not respond. A spokesperson for Syngenta directed Civil Eats to “Growing Matters” and sent a statement that reads, “Planting seeds treated with crop-protection products is a more precise way for farmers to protect their crops from early season pests and diseases. As you can see from our global Seedcare Institute website, Syngenta is a leader in providing treated seeds of the highest quality and committed to helping farmers achieve their yield goals sustainably.”

No Knowledge, No Choice

For many years, Kynetec, a global data company, asked farmers to share which insecticides were on their seeds and then provided the federal government with estimates of how many acres were being planted with the chemicals included. But because farmers were so often unable to name the specific chemicals, it was impossible to warrant a reliable data set. They stopped in 2014.

A few years later, in a 2020 paper, researchers reported in the journal Bioscience that only 65 percent of corn growers and 62 percent of soybean growers could name the seed treatment product they were using. Even if they did know the product, that didn’t mean they knew what was in it. In fact, in 15 to 35 percent of cases, corn growers incorrectly identified the pesticides included in the treatment.

It speaks to why Damon Smith’s colleagues at the University of Wisconsin’s Nutrient and Pest Management Program dreamed up a resource dubbed “What’s on your seed?” When Smith, a biologist who studies field crop diseases, started working on it around 2010, the document was a page or two long, and they updated it every few years. Today, it’s a six-page PDF that the team updates at least once a year to keep up with new seed treatments hitting the market.

Very few of those are new chemicals entirely. Most are new combinations of a neonic (or another insecticide) paired with anywhere from one to four fungicides, and maybe a nematicide, a chemical that targets pests called nematodes.

“There’s quite a few products out there, and it’s gotten increasingly complicated,” Smith said.

Sales agronomists who work for seed companies, farmers said, sell product packages based mainly on their marketed “yield potential” and are unlikely to talk up the names of pesticides included in the coating. And they emphasize the need for seed coatings as insurance against crop loss.

“The way it often gets marketed to [farmers] is, they get one chance a year to get it right,” explained Mac Erhardt, co-owner of Albert Lea Seed, a small, family-owned seed company based in Minnesota and Iowa. “The big chemical companies have been pretty successful at distributing counter-information where they show, ‘Well, if you plant naked seed, you’re giving up five bushels an acre.’” Six or seven years ago, before his company made a full switch to selling non-GMO and organic seeds, Erhardt said his contracts with big seed companies required him to treat corn seed with neonics before selling it.

With soybeans, the system works a little differently, and farmers are able to select seed treatments at the time of sale.

One Iowa farmer, who asked not to be named, compared the process to a car wash. “You can pick what you want on the screen, and then it formulates it and puts it through,” she said. Instead of exterior, interior, and a wax, it’s neonicotinoid, fungicide, and a nematicide.

Still, farmers said they almost always defer to the seed dealers and are often unaware of what the treatments they’re selecting consist of. “From a farmer’s perspective, we want a seed to be protected, so we just trust that whatever potion they put on the seed, it’s going to be okay. They’re not in the business of selling seed that will yield less, so we just put our trust in them,” she said. “If we had real choices, those that know insecticides like neonics are harmful, we’re not going to push that button.”

Fears About Speaking Out Against Treated Seeds

Pesticide companies are so entrenched in the culture of agricultural communities, asking questions about insecticides and their merits or detriments also can feel taboo. One reason this farmer did not want to be named was because she thought, with all of the seed contracts she’d signed over the years, that it was possible she had signed a non-disclosure agreement without realizing it.

For others, it’s much more personal. After Frank Rademacher, who has been farming corn and soybeans with his dad in east-central Illinois since 2018, talked about neonics to a reporter at a farming publication, another farmer yelled at him in public and accused him of hurting agriculture.

Rademacher said that many farmers he encounters have a vague, visceral sense that there may be risks associated with the colorful dust that blows into the air as the high-powered vacuum system shoots seeds into the ground and the tractor shakes and bumps around. But pesticides are so commonplace that at a forum he attended, farmers laughed about which ones cause rashes and which lead to headaches. With neonics, he said, they’re grateful to have insecticides that are not as acutely toxic as the ones their parents handled. If they try not to touch the seeds with their bare hands or breathe too much of the dust in, it feels like enough.

“The products that they were using growing up, they were just horrible,” he said of farmers in their 50s and older like his dad, who might have been exposed to insecticides like DDT, malathion, and chlorpyrifos that have now been banned or phased out. “This is kind of an invisible issue. It takes away a lot of the acute exposure, and what you trade is the long-term personal and environmental low-level exposure.”

Sean Dengler worried that even asking questions about neonics when buying his seed would upset others in his small farming community, some of whom he had known since childhood and considered friends. “My dad’s very conventional, and I don’t wanna make him feel uncomfortable in that way. It’s kind of like a peer pressure type of thing,” he said. But Dengler recognized the power that gave the industry. “It’s a good thing for big business. You get everyone on one side, and you can’t have people think differently.”

With the name of Dengler’s product in hand, Civil Eats tried to find out for him if the soybean treatment he had used contained a neonic. Because it was a newer product and wasn’t yet listed in Damon Smith’s resource, it took significant searching and emailing to track down the chemicals included. The insecticide was thiamethoxam—one of the most common neonics.

Later, Dengler got his chance to ask about what was included in his corn seed treatments. Attending a plot tour hosted by Pioneer, one of the major seed companies, he learned that the corn seed had “seven fungicide treatments and two insecticide treatments on it. That’s the first time during my farming career I heard anything about it,” he explained by email to Civil Eats.

Leaving Neonic-Coated Seeds Behind

For those who do decide to swim upstream, the current encouraging them to stay the usual course is strong.

“Even though there’s data showing that, ‘Hey, with a few tweaks, you can change your farming practices and you don’t need to use insecticides on your seed,’ [farmers] still want that protection. They don’t want that one-out-of-every-10-years problem,” said Erhardt, from Albert Lea Seed.

That rare issue is the sticking point: Neonics are very good at killing some pests that can cause serious damage to crops, and companies are quick to point to that. One industry document created by CropLife to promote neonics on seeds highlights a study that found the number of plants that survived the season increased 18 percent, and crop yield increased by 12 percent, “when neonicotinoid-treated corn seed was planted into corn fields with high wireworm populations.”

In other words, if you use neonics in a field infested with wireworm, it really helps. But using it on every field preventatively is like taking an antibiotic every day in case an infection pops up at some point. “Most of the pests that neonics really work well on are highly sporadic,” said Maggie Douglas, who is now an assistant professor of environmental studies at Dickinson College. “The question is: How many farmers are having a seedcorn maggot infestation in their field in a given year?”

Seedcorn maggots are dreaded for their ability to burrow into seeds and kill a crop off the bat. But in New York, at least, there’s a clear answer. As the campaign to pass a law banning the use of neonicotinoid coatings on corn and soybean seeds heated up, farm groups were concerned, specifically, about how they’d control the pest.

So, researchers at Cornell University’s College of Agriculture and Life Sciences set out to quantify how big the problem was. They set up ten one-year trials in four different locations across the state, comparing neonic-treated fields to fields planted with alternative seed treatments. After they pooled and analyzed the data, their preliminary conclusions were that there were no significant differences and that overall, “seedcorn maggots were not a factor in establishing corn” in any of their trials. (They expect to release final results from three years of trials this winter.) In Quebec, researchers did find seedcorn maggot infestations that caused damage to young corn plants, but at the end of the day, the infestations still didn’t result in yield losses.

Another big hurdle facing farmers who want to move away from neonics is that they would also likely have to switch to non-genetically modified seed, said Rademacher. “I’m not aware of any seed company that that offers untreated seed in a GMO variety,” he said.

If it was available, he would likely know. Not only does Rademacher have a degree in crop science with a focus on pest management, he also has an off-farm job as a conservation agronomist for The Nature Conservancy. In his own fields, he began implementing all kinds of conservation practices and, to ditch neonic coatings on his corn, was able to navigate the accompanying switch to planting non-GMO seed. But even a neonic-skeptical farmer would likely balk at giving up the protection against other pests that genetic modification enables. For example, if corn seed is not genetically modified to withstand glyphosate, the active ingredient in Roundup, farmers would have to stop spraying the widely used weedkiller to avoid killing their corn.

“You’re asking people to make not just one big shift but potentially two or more big shifts,” he said. “It’s all or nothing.”

One compelling reason to make the switch is cost savings. In Quebec, a group of farmers convened by the University of Vermont last spring all said their seed costs $10–$20 less per bag now that they’re not paying for the neonicotinoid coating. In Iowa, the farmer who paid to have her soybeans coated said she was charged $2/acre—or $1,000 extra for a 500-acre field. According to U.S. Department of Agriculture estimates, seed treatment “may account for around 15 percent of the seed price.”

That got Dengler’s attention. With a degree in finance, he was particularly interested in opportunities to cut costs on the farm, and he was intrigued by a PFI farmer who conducted his own field trials on neonics. The results showed that the treatment applied to his soybean seeds might not be necessary: The farmer planted beans without the coating, the plants stayed healthy, and crop yields didn’t drop.

“When you tie in the environmental impact of the seed treatment on the soybeans, I was like, ‘I’ll even take a bushel or two less, just because I believe that I’m doing the right thing,’” he said. While he couldn’t see how to do it with corn, he started opting out of neonic treatments on his soybean seeds.

After harvest ended, he reported that all but one of his soybean fields yielded better than last year. But a clear takeaway on whether his choice to forgo neonics had an impact would be tough, he said. For one, growing conditions were better this season. Both years were dry, and wet conditions are often what precipitate early-season insect issues. So far, based on the lack of a clear difference, he said adding the neonic treatments “doesn’t seem worth the pay or environmental impacts.”

Meanwhile, Rademacher is a few years in. Since planting seeds without neonic coatings, he said his yields might vary a few bushels here or there, but it’s nothing significant.

However, he didn’t just change his seeds and continue farming the same way. Instead, he’s investing in an entirely different method of pest control. “As counterintuitive as it seems, our system is to promote insects. We have no tillage, so we don’t destroy their houses every year, and we provide year-round habitat via cover crops,” he said. Each small change adds up, and now, he and his dad are seeing significant numbers of beneficial insects returning, which keeps the bad guys in check.

In fact, the research that first spurred Douglas’ interest in neonics was on this very topic: In the lab, she accidently discovered that neonics were killing the beneficial beetles that prey on the slugs destroying Pennsylvania farmers’ yields—but not the slugs themselves. The discovery led her to a research trial that ultimately found that in their specific region, neonic treatments could actually reduce yields.

Further north, Quebeçois farmers have the biggest head start. During the University of Vermont panel, one said he had learned a simple trick since ditching neonic seed treatments: He waits to see when his neighbor—an organic farmer—is ready to plant, and he follows his lead. That simple adjustment allows him to sidestep early season pest risks.

For agronomist Louis Robert, the success of the Quebec government’s decision to move away from neonics on corn and soy seeds is apparent not in what’s being said, but in the silence. After five years, farmers aren’t talking about crop failure at their local meeting places, he said, and he hasn’t seen any media coverage of the neonic ban. Farmers can apply to use neonic-treated seed if they document a need, but almost no one’s doing so, he added.

“The most reliable proof is that it’s not even a matter of discussion anymore,” Robert said. “Today, as we speak in 2024 in Quebec, over half of the corn and soy acreage doesn’t carry any insecticide, and we’re going to have a fantastic year in terms of yield. So, the demonstration is right there in front of you.”


Lisa Held wrote this article for Civil Eats.


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