Seoul ends 2-year ban on U.S. beef imports
01/15, 2006 18:53
Korea abolished a 2-year ban on imports of U.S. beef. The restrictions wereimposed after mad cow disease was found in the U.S.Under the new agreements, Korea will allow imports of boneless beef fromcattle no older than 30 months, the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestrysaid. Japan also eased its ban on the U.S. beef in December of last year.Imports may resume by the end of March this year.(Lee Hyang-hwi)
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Notes from a fence-sitter
by Mark Dowie
from High Plains Magazine
Though extremists on either side would never admit it, ranchers and greens care about the same things
When I moved to California from Wyoming in 1963, at 24 years of age, the most recent item on my résumé was “cowhand.” My last employer was the Double Spearhead Bar Ranch, a good-sized cow-calf operation about four hours’ north of Cody in Sunlight Basin. I was a Goldwater Republican and I could barely spell “environment.”
One of the first books I read in California was Silent Spring. Rachael Carson introduced me to a world I had been living right next to, utterly blind to its molecular biology, and unaware of the threat I had been to its vitality – mostly by overgrazing cattle and spraying hayfields with chemicals I couldn’t pronounce. I became a penitent though reluctant environmentalist.
“Reluctant” because I knew that Carson’s message would not be well received by my hay-farming neighbors on Heart Mountain. Even a mention of “that bitch,” or, worse, the Sierra Club, which I had secretly joined, would convince them that I had fallen in with the wrong kind.
In the years that followed, I became increasingly active in the environmental movement, mostly at the grassroots level, although in the early 1970s I joined the board of Greenpeace, which soon thereafter became the largest environmental organization in the world.
Later, as a journalist, I found myself publishing articles in national magazines about endangered species, toxic chemicals and lost wilderness, articles that I was sure would prompt the few literate cowboys I’d ridden with to put a bullet through my head.