From Jeff D. Leach at The New York Times
OVER 7,000 strong and growing, community farmers’ markets are being heralded as a panacea for what ails our sick nation. The smell of fresh, earthy goodness is the reason environmentalists approve of them, locavores can’t live without them, and the first lady has hitched her vegetable cart crusade to them. As health-giving as those bundles of mouthwatering leafy greens and crates of plump tomatoes are, the greatest social contribution of the farmers’ market may be its role as a delivery vehicle for putting dirt back into the American diet and in the process, reacquainting the human immune system with some “old friends.”
Increasing evidence suggests that the alarming rise in allergic and
autoimmune disorders during the past few decades is at least partly
attributable to our lack of exposure to microorganisms that once covered
our food and us. As nature’s blanket, the potentially pathogenic and
benign microorganisms associated with the dirt that once covered every
aspect of our preindustrial day guaranteed a time-honored
co-evolutionary process that established “normal” background levels and
kept our bodies from overreacting to foreign bodies. This research
suggests that reintroducing some of the organisms from the mud and water
of our natural world would help avoid an overreaction of an otherwise
healthy immune response that results in such chronic diseases as Type 1
diabetes, inflammatory bowel disease, multiple sclerosis and a host of
allergic disorders.
In a world of hand sanitizer and wet wipes (not to mention double tall
skinny soy vanilla lattes), we can scarcely imagine the preindustrial
lifestyle that resulted in the daily intake of trillions of helpful
organisms. For nearly all of human history, this began with maternal
transmission of beneficial microbes during passage through the birth
canal — mother to child. However, the alarming increase in the rate of
Caesarean section births means a potential loss of microbiota from one
generation to the next. And for most of us in the industrialized world,
the microbial cleansing continues throughout life. Nature’s dirt floor
has been replaced by tile; our once soiled and sooted bodies and clothes
are cleaned almost daily; our muddy water is filtered and treated; our
rotting and fermenting food has been chilled; and the cowshed has been
neatly tucked out of sight. While these improvements in hygiene and
sanitation deserve applause, they have inadvertently given rise to a set
of truly human-made diseases.
While comforting to the germ-phobic public, the too-shiny produce and
triple-washed and bagged leafy greens in our local grocery aisle are
hardly recognized by our immune system as food. The immune system is
essentially a sensory mechanism for recognizing microbial challenges
from the environment. Just as your tongue and nose are used to sense
suitability for consumption, your immune system has receptors for
sampling the environment, rigorous mechanisms for dealing with friend or
foe, and a memory. Your immune system even has the capacity to learn.
For all of human history, this learning was driven by our
near-continuous exposure from birth and throughout life to organisms as
diverse as mycobacteria from soil and food; helminth, or worm parasites,
from just about everywhere you turned; and daily recognition and
challenges from our very own bacteria. Our ability to regulate our
allergic and inflammatory responses to these co-evolved companions is
further compromised by imbalances in the gut microbiota from overzealous
use of antibiotics (especially in early childhood) and modern dietary
choices.
The suggestion that we embrace some “old friends” does not immediately
imply that we are inviting more food-borne illness — quite the contrary.
Setting aside for the moment the fact that we have the safest food
supply in human history, the Food and Drug Administration, the Centers
for Disease Control and Prevention, and food processing plants and
farmers continue to take the blame for the tainted food that makes us
ill, while our own all-American sick gut may deserve some blame as well.
While the news media and litigators have our attention focused on
farm-to-table food safety and disease surveillance, the biological
question of why we got sick is all but ignored. And by asking why an
individual’s natural defenses failed, we insert personal responsibility
into our national food safety strategy and draw attention to the much
larger public health crisis, of which illness from food-borne pathogens
is but a symptom of our minimally challenged and thus overreactive
immune system.
As humans have evolved, so, too, have our diseases. Autoimmune disease
affects an estimated 50 million people at an annual cost of more than
$100 billion. And the suffering and monetary costs are sure to grow.
Maybe it’s time we talk more about human ecology when we speak of the
broader environmental and ecological concerns of the day. The
destruction of our inner ecosystem surely deserves more attention as
global populations run gut-first into the buzz saw of globalization and
its microbial scrubbing diet. But more important, we should seriously
consider making evolutionary biology a basic science for medicine, or
making its core principles compulsory in secondary education. Currently
they are not.
As we move deeper into a “postmodern” era of squeaky-clean food and hand
sanitizers at every turn, we should probably hug our local farmers’
markets a little tighter. They may represent our only connection with
some “old friends” we cannot afford to ignore.
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