“Blueberries are a great example of agriculture as high-tech industry,” argues Daniel Hulls, the boss of AgDevCo, an investment fund. Driscoll’s, an American agribusiness giant, supplies seeds to farmers in Zimbabwe that are the result of years of cross-pollination. Polyethylene covers protect bushes. Storage rooms have optical sorting machines. To maximise profits, firms time production for the summer, after American supply dwindles but before Peru’s picks up.
According to a recent article in The Economist, quoted above, blueberries are just one of an increasing number of examples of Africa’s “industrialisation of fresh,” a concept developed by Christopher Cramer at SOAS with colleagues John Sender and Jonathan Di John. The article suggests that, if it is implemented properly, “there is huge potential for African agriculture to play the sort of role long envisioned for manufacturing.”
It’s a striking phrase. “Fresh” sounds like the very opposite of industrial. Fresh food is perishable, seasonal and associated with local production. Yet, increasingly, fresh fruit and vegetables are being made to behave like industrial commodities. Agribusiness is using breeding, controlled production, refrigeration, packaging, logistics and retail systems to make perishable foods standardized, predictable and available almost anywhere, anytime.
Think of a supermarket apple. It needs to look right, travel well, resist bruising, ripen predictably and remain edible in storage for months. The tomato needs to survive harvesting, packing and a long journey without losing its appearance. The strawberry needs a shelf life that would have seemed miraculous a generation ago. “Fresh” has become something that can be engineered.
There are obvious benefits. Longer shelf lives can reduce waste, extend markets and make nutritious foods available far beyond their traditional growing seasons. Even foods based on so-called neglected and underutilized species — making them truly “opportunity crops.” That could be good for agrobiodiversity.
But there is a less visible consequence that is not so good: the characteristics that make a crop useful to an industrial fresh-food system can also narrow the range of diversity that gets grown.
Industrialized fresh-produce chains tend to reward uniformity. Grading standards, packing-line specifications, and retailer contracts all push toward a narrow set of varieties that perform consistently — the right size, the right shelf life, the right appearance under fluorescent light. That’s efficient for the production process Cramer et al. and The Economist extol, but it’s also potentially a quiet mechanism of genetic erosion: the traits that make a variety a good fit for industrial handling are not necessarily the traits that make it resilient, nutritious, or adapted to marginal land. A diverse production landscape can narrow disastrously once it’s plugged into export-oriented industrial supply chains.
Uniformity is valuable. Predictability is valuable. Long shelf life is valuable. But genetic diversity is valuable too. And not always for the same reasons.
Genebanks maintain thousands of crop varieties that may not meet the specifications of industrial supply chains. At least now. Some may have unusual flavours or colours; others may be poorly suited to long-distance transport. But they may also contain genes for disease resistance, heat tolerance, drought adaptation, nutritional quality, novel textures or other traits that could become valuable as production conditions and consumer preferences change.
The paradox — or is it the conundrum — is that the more successfully we industrialize “fresh”, the more important it will become to conserve the diversity that industrial systems tend to leave behind.
The fresh food in the supermarket may look reassuringly abundant. The genetic diversity behind it is another matter. The Economist could have pointed out that the industrialisation of fresh selects for what works now. For the system to be sustainable, you need genebanks to preserve what might work next.
