by Sean Croxton

We gave it a shot.

For over a year, hundreds — if not thousands — of brave, passionate organizers and volunteers stepped into the ring with Goliath.

They gathered the requisite signatures, secured a spot on the ballot, and spread the word to any voter who would listen.

Then last night, with our collective fingers and toes crossed, we waited, hoping that a majority of Californians valued their right to know.

They didn’t.

Apparently 55% of my State’s populace doesn’t mind being part of our nationwide food experiment.

The people have spoken. And this time they chose to consume genetically-modified foods.

Congratulations, Goliath.

I can’t say that I was surprised by the result. Certainly disappointed, but not surprised.

The day I saw my first No on Prop 37 television commercial, I knew we were in trouble. The commercial claimed that a Yes vote would increase food prices, that the argument against GM foods was unscientific, that just about every newspaper in the State had endorsed a No vote.

Not once did I a see a pro-37 commercial to counter the above claims. Then again, I don’t watch a whole lot of TV.

Commercials cost money, and Goliath has deep pockets.

According to this SF Gate article…

“Opponents (of Prop 37), raising more than $45 million, had the backing of large agribusiness and chemical companies such as Monsanto and Dow, and food manufacturer giants, including PepsiCo. The Yes campaign raised about $6.7 million and was supported largely by the organic industry, consumer groups and alternative medicine organizations.”

Money talks. Organic cow dung walks.

While $6.7 million bucks is no small sum, Goliath can find likely find that number hidden between his oversized couch cushions. And that’s what I really want to talk about here.

A couple of months ago, while being interviewed for an online magazine, I was asked what it’s going to take to make a significant impact in how our country views food and health. My answer…

Money.

I imagine he was expecting me to say something more hippy-ish, like “we all need to come together and spread the word to the people”. Or something like that.

While I love the idea of grassroots movements, I am equally endeared with greenback support. Because let’s be honest, just one of those No on 37 commercials likely reached more people in thirty seconds than my blogs, podcasts, and videos reached all year.

And although I can understand it (because I’ve been there), the rampant poverty complex going on within our alternative health movement has to stop.

Imagine what kind of impact we would make if just a hundred of the many thousands of real food bloggers, podcasters, speakers, and consultants turned their passions into thriving six-, seven-, or eight-figure businesses. Not by scamming people out of their money, but through serving others by adding value to their lives.

I won’t hide it. My goal is to be filthy rich. I want to be the Shawn Carter (a.k.a. Jay-Z) of the health game. While Mr. Carter gets paid to make your head bob, I have no problem making your heart healthy and skinny jeans fit for a fee.

The business model is the same. My products are my albums. The blogs, podcasts, and videos are my free mix-tapes.

It’s the law of fair exchange — payment is due when products and/or services are rendered.

Bloggers, if you live in fear of your readers and followers leaving you because you asked to be paid, then you’re breaking that law.

They can call you a sellout (been there), or write you nasty emails about how health information should be free (done that), or post smear videos about you on YouTube (there now).

They’ll call you every name in the book. But you’ll also be the one called upon when a worthy cause — like labeling GMOs — needs your financial support.

How cool would it be if a hundred bloggers (at least) could each write substantial checks made out to the Non-GMO project? How much TV time would that buy? How many people would it educate?

It’s time to stop playing small. Time to stop trying to make everyone happy.

Bill Cosby once said, “I don’t know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody.”

Word.

Go to iTunes and read the reviews for Jay-Z’s albums. They’re not all positive — not even close. However, by using his finances to help bring basketball to Brooklyn, he has brought a ton of positivity and spirit to the borough and its businesses.

That’s what I call IMPACT. Sometimes it doesn’t come on the cheap.

If we truly want to beat Goliath, we can’t show up with a slingshot. We must level the battlefield.

I long for the day when…

I see a Joel Salatin commercial while watching The Voice.

Kim and Kloey rock JERF t-shirts.

Dr. Dre says “Kale Yeeeah!”.

And if those don’t get the nation’s attention, I’m not opposed to running ads with hot girls posing all naughty with organic carrots and cucumbers.

Whatever works.

With each defeat there is a lesson to be learned. The defeat of Prop 37 has taught me that the next time around I need to do MORE. I played too small. I didn’t use my connections, voice, and online platforms as effectively as I could have and should have.

I’ll take responsibility for that. There’s no one to blame but myself.

But next time a cause this important comes around — whether in California or elsewhere — I pledge to put my money where my mouth is. And it is my greatest hope that my Real Health counterparts will have the means to do the same.

We need more summits. More ebooks. More webinars. More e-courses. More live conferences.

More courage.

Mo’ money. There’s no way around it, peeps.

Next time, Goliath goes down.

This message has been approved by real foodies worldwide.

Sean Croxton
Author, The Dark Side of Fat Loss

by Sean Croxton

I want my GMO check.

I’m ready to get paid.

Every so often I cop a squat at Whole Foods and flip through a weekly publication called the San Diego Reader. The Reader is the go-to magazine for finding fun stuff to do in SD, and best of all it’s FREE.

In order to make such a widely circulating publication available at no charge, advertiser funding is a must. Crack open this week’s Reader and you’ll surely find the first twenty pages or so crammed with ads for gastric bypass surgeries, anti-aging potions, and a plethora of hair loss cures.

The ads that stand out to me the most are the ones seeking participants for prescription drug trials. You know, the ones that shout out in big letters…

ARE YOU SUFFERING FROM SOCIAL ANXIETY?

GOT THE BLUES?

IS YOUR MEMORY NOT WHAT IT USED TO BE?

If so, you’re asked to dial 1-800-GUINEA-PIG to learn how you can take part in a study testing the efficacy of a new breakthrough drug. In fact, they’ll even pay for your participation. Easy money. It’s the best of both worlds — a company pays you cash to help solve your health challenge with the latest in pharmaceutical technology. In today’s economy, for many people, this is a no-brainer.

Then again, subjecting oneself to a relatively untested drug may come at a cost. To be one of the first to consume a brand new combination of chemicals never before encountered by any human body in the history of Earth is quite the precarious situation to be in. You would not believe the stories I have read about these trials — the unforeseen side effects, the sky-high drop-out rates, the deaths.

Yes, people die.

Subjects are paid in exchange for the data they provide as well as the risks they take. All are informed of the drug’s potential benefits and its side effects, otherwise known as informed consent. There are no guarantees. That’s why these studies are called trials. Who know’s what’s going to happen.

As insane as these trials may seem, I must remind myself that this is America, a country where we are free to choose what we wish to do with our bodies; a place where we can legally end pregnancies (whether you agree with it or not); where you can cover every inch of yourself in piercings and tattoo ink; and where you can willingly sign up to be a pharma company’s guinea pig for a payday.

America is also a place where we are free to choose the foods we wish to put into our own bodies…

Or maybe not.

In a country so perched on the bedrock of choice, it is ironic that a freedom so basic as choosing the foods with which we wish to nourish ourselves has fallen by the wayside.

No, our government does not make us eat anything, rather it has enrolled each and every one of us into its own nationwide food experiment. This uncontrolled trial is known as the genetic modification (GMO) of our food supply. We are guinea pigs consuming foods unfit for guinea pigs.

No ad was posted in the Reader.

No phone number to dial.

No informed consent.

And of course, no payday.

I want my GMO check. Like today.

I want my GMO check for the many years I was clueless about the dangers of GM foods, all because the FDA — and the companies responsible for genetic modification — thought it would better if I did not know.

I want my GMO check for the FDA’s failure to follow its own scientific staff’s conclusion that these foods are not to be presumed safe and may in fact be dangerous. Instead, this evidence was hidden.

I want my GMO check for the possibility that the genetically-modified Bt corn — you know, the one that makes its own pesticide — is breaking open the cells that line my gastrointestinal tract, leading to leaky gut syndrome, food sensitivities, autoimmunity, cancer, and more.

I want my GMO check for the possibility that the Roundup Ready soy I used to frequently consume may be transferring its DNA to my gut bacteria, as reported by a human feeding study. Not good.

I want my GMO check to cover what I paid in taxes to cover what I have contributed to the cleaning up of our waterways polluted by the ever-rising use of chemicals on GM fields.

I want my GMO check because I was intentionally not allowed to choose between GMO and non-GMO foods due to industry’s influence over government. As of now, no labeling is required.

I want my GMO check because I am not a guinea pig. I am an American. Must I remind my own government of the precepts upon which it was founded.

As a participant in this stealth feeding trial, I — and the other 300 million unwitting subjects — request payment for the data I provided, the risks I took, and the side effects I experienced.

Pay me.

And next time let me choose.

Sean Croxton
Author, The Dark Side of Fat Loss