Andrea Carlo is a British-Italian researcher and journalist living in Rome. His work has been published in various outlets, including TIME, Euronews and the Independent. Last month, UNESCO designated Italian cuisine part of the world’s “intangible cultural heritage.” This wasn’t the first time such an honor was bestowed upon food in some form — French haute cuisine and Korean kimchi fermentation, among others, have been similarly recognized. But it was the first time a nation’s cuisine in its entirety made the list. So, as the U.N. agency acknowledged the country’s “biocultural diversity” and its “blend of culinary traditions […] associated with the use of raw materials and artisanal food preparation techniques,” Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni reacted with expected pride. This is “a victory for Italy,” she said. And prestige aside — Italy already tops UNESCO’s list of World Heritage Sites — it isn’t hard to see the potential benefits this designation might entail. One study even suggests the UNESCO nod alone could boost Italian tourism by up to 8 percent. But behind this evident soft power win also lies a political agenda, which has turned “Italian cuisine” into a powerful weapon for the country’s right-wing government. For Meloni’s government, food is all the rage. It permeates every aspect of political life. From promoting “Made in Italy” products to blocking EU nutrition labelling scores and banning lab-grown meat, Rome has been doing its utmost to regulate what’s on Italian plates. In fact, during Gaza protests in Rome in September, Meloni was sat in front of the Colosseum for a “Sunday lunch” as part of her government’s long-running campaign to make the coveted list. Clearly, the prime minister has made Italian cuisine one of the main courses of her political menu. And all of this can be pinpointed to a phenomenon political scientists call “gastronationalism,” whereby food and its production are used to fuel identitarian narratives — a trend the Italian far right has latched onto with particular gusto. There are two main principles involving Italian gastronationalism: The notion that the country’s culinary traditions must be protected from “foreign contamination,” and that its recipes must be enshrined to prevent any “tinkering.” And the effects of this gastronationalism now stretch from political realm all the way to the world of social media “rage-bait,” with a deluge of TikTok and Instagram content lambasting “culinary sins” like adding cream to carbonara or putting pineapple on pizza. At the crux of this gastronationalism, though, lies the willful disregard of two fundamental truths: First, foreign influence has contributed mightily to what Italian cuisine is today; and second, what is considered to be “Italian cuisine” is neither as old nor as set in stone as gastronationalists would like to admit. Europe, as a continent, is historically poor in its selection of indigenous produce — and Italy is no exception. The remarkable variety of the country’s cuisine isn’t due to some geographic anomaly, rather, it is the byproduct of centuries of foreign influence combined with a largely favorable climate: Citrus fruits imported by Arab settlers in the Middle Ages, basil from the Indian subcontinent through ancient Greek trading routes, pasta-making traditions from East Asia, and tomatoes from the Americas. Lying at the crossroads of the Mediterranean and home to major trading outposts, Italy was a sponge for cultural cross-pollination, which enriched its culinary heritage. To speak of the “purity” of Italian food is inherently ahistorical. This wasn’t the first time such an honor was bestowed upon food in some form — French haute cuisine and Korean kimchi fermentation, among others, have been similarly recognized. | Anthony Wallace/AFP via Getty Images But even more controversial is acknowledging that the concept of “Italian cuisine” is a relatively recent construct — one largely borne from post-World War II efforts to both unite a culturally and politically fragmented country, and to market its international appeal. From north to south, not only is Italy’s cuisine remarkably diverse, but most of its iconic dishes today would have been alien to those living hardly a century ago. Back then, Italy was an agrarian society that largely fed itself with legume-rich foods. Take my great-grandmother from Lake Como — raised on a diet of polenta and lake fish — who had never heard of pizza prior to the 1960s. “The mythology [of gastronationalism] has made complex recipes — recipes which would have bewildered our grandmothers — into an exercise of national pride-building,” said Laura Leuzzi, an Italian historian at Glasgow’s Robert Gordon University. Food historian Alberto Grandi took that argument a step forward, titling his latest book — released to much furor — “Italian cuisine does not exist.” From carbonara to tiramisù, many beloved Italian classics are relatively recent creations, not much older than the culinary “blasphemies” from across the pond, like chicken parmesan or Hawaiian pizza. Even more surprising is the extent of U.S. influence on contemporary Italian food itself. Pizza, for instance, only earned its red stripes when American pizza-makers began adding tomato sauce to the dough, in turn influencing pizzaioli back in Italy. And yet, some Italian politicians, like Minister of Agriculture Francesco Lollobrigida, have called for investigations into brands promoting supposedly misleadingly “Italian sounding” products, such as carbonara sauces using “inauthentic” ingredients like pancetta. Lollobrigida would do well to revisit the original written recipe of carbonara, published in a 1954 cookbook, which actually called for the use of pancetta and Gruyère cheese — quite unlike its current pecorino, guanciale and egg yolk-based sauce. Simply put, Italian cuisine wasn’t just exported by the diaspora — it is also the product of the diaspora. One study even suggests the UNESCO nod alone could boost Italian tourism by up to 8 percent. | Michael Nguyen/NurPhoto via Getty Images What makes it so rich and beloved is that it has continued to evolve through time and place, becoming a source of intergenerational cohesion, as noted by UNESCO. Static “sacredness” is fundamentally antithetical to a cuisine that’s constantly reinventing itself, both at home and abroad. The profound ignorance underpinning Italian gastronationalism could be considered almost comedic if it weren’t so perfidious — a seemingly innocuous tool in a broader arsenal of weaponry, deployed to score cheap political points. Most crucially, it appeals directly to emotion in a country where food has been unwittingly dragged into a culture war. “They’re coming for nonna’s lasagna” content regularly makes the rounds on Facebook, inflaming millions against minorities, foreigners, vegans, the left and more. And the real kicker? Every nonna makes her lasagna differently. Hopefully, UNESCO’s recognition can serve as a moment of reflection in a country where food has increasingly been turned into a source of division. Italian cuisine certainly merits recognition and faces genuine threats — the impact of organized crime and the effects of climate change on crop growth biggest among them. But it shouldn’t become an unwitting participant in an ideological agenda that runs counter to its very spirit. For now, perhaps it’s best if our government kept politics off the dinner table.

Heidi Kingstone is a journalist and author covering human rights issues, conflict and politics. Her most recent book is “Genocide: Personal Stories, Big Questions.” Slavery is alive and thriving, and it’s wrapped inside shiny chocolate bars that promise to be “fair trade,” “child-labor free” and “sustainable.” In West Africa, which produces more than 60 percent of the world’s cocoa, over 1.5 million children still work under hazardous conditions. Kids, some as young as five, use machetes to crack pods open in their hands, carry loads that weigh more than they do and spray toxic pesticides without protection. Meanwhile, of the roughly 2 million metric tons of cocoa the Ivory Coast produces each year, between 20 percent and 30 percent is grown illegally in protected forests. And satellite data from Global Forest Watch shows an increase in deforestation across key cocoa-growing regions as farmers, desperate for income, push deeper into forest reserves. The bitter truth is that despite decades of pledges, certification schemes and packaging glowing with virtue — of forests saved, farmers empowered and consciences soothed — most chocolate companies have failed to eradicate exploitation from their supply chains. Today, many cocoa farmers in the Ivory Coast and Ghana still earn less than a dollar a day, well below the poverty line. According to a 2024 report by the International Cocoa Initiative, the average farmer earns only 40 percent of a living wage. Put starkly, as the global chocolate market swells close to a $150 billion a year in 2025, the average farmer now receives less than 6 percent of the value of a single chocolate bar, whereas in the 1970s they received more than 50 percent. Then there’s the use of child labor, which is essentially woven into the fabric of this economy, where we have been sold the illusion of progress. From the 2001 Harkin-Engel Protocol — a voluntary agreement to end child labor by the world’s chocolate giants — to today’s glossy environmental, social and governance (ESG) reports, every initiative has promised progress and delivered delay. In 2007, the industry quietly redefined “public certification,” shifting it from a commitment to consumer labeling to a vague pledge to compile statistics on labor conditions. It missed the original 2010 deadline to eliminate child labor, as well as a new target to reduce it by 70 percent by 2020. And that year, a study by the University of Chicago’s National Opinion Research Center found that hazardous child labor in cocoa production increased from 2008 to 2019. “We covered a story about a ship carrying trafficked children,” recalled journalist Humphrey Hawksley, who first exposed the issue in the BBC documentary called Slavery: A Global Investigation. “The chocolate companies refused to comment and spoke as one industry. That was their rule. Even now, none of them is slave-free,” he added. As it stands, many of the more than 1.5 million West African children working in cocoa production are trafficked from neighboring Burkina Faso and Mali. Traffickers lure them with false promises or outright abduction, offering children as young as 10 either bicycles or small sums to travel to the Ivory Coast. There, they are sold to farmers for as little as $34 each. And once on these farms, they are trapped. They work up to 14 hours a day, sleep in windowless sheds with no clean water or toilets, and most never see the inside of a classroom. Last but not least, we come to deforestation: Since its independence, more than 90 percent of the Ivory Coast’s forests have disappeared due to cocoa farming. In 2024, deforestation accelerated despite corporate commitments to halt it by 2025, as declining soil fertility and stagnant prices pushed farmers farther into the forest to plant new cocoa trees. But as Reuters Correspondent for West and Central Africa Ange Aboa described them, such labels are “the biggest scam of the century!” | Lena Klimkeit/Picture Alliance via Getty Images Certification labels like “Rainforest Alliance” and “Fairtrade” are supposed to prevent this. But as Reuters Correspondent for West and Central Africa Ange Aboa described them, such labels are “the biggest scam of the century!” Complicit in all of this are the financiers and investors who profit. For example, Norway’s sovereign wealth fund is the world’s largest investor, and Norges Bank Investment Management (NBIM) is a shareholder in 9,000 corporations, including Nestlé, Mondelez, Hershey, Barry Callebaut and Lindt — all part of the direct chocolate cluster. NBIM also has shares in McDonald’s, Starbucks, Unilever, the Dunkin’ parent company and Tim Hortons — the indirect high-volume buyer cluster. “The richest families in cocoa — the Marses, the Ferreros, the Cargills, the Jacobs — are billionaires thanks to the exploitation of the poorest children on earth,” said journalist and human rights campaigner Fernando Morales-de la Cruz, the founder of Cacao for Change. “And countries like Norway, which claim to be ethical, profit from slavery and child labor.” The problem is, few are asking who picks the cocoa. And though the EU’s Corporate Sustainability Due Diligence Directive, which was adopted last year, requires large companies to address human rights and environmental abuses in their supply chains, critics say the directive’s weaknesses, loopholes, and delayed enforcement will blunt its impact. However, all of this could still be fixed. Currently, a metric ton of cocoa sells for about $5,000 on world markets, but Morales-de la Cruz estimates that a fair farm-gate price would be around $7,500 per metric ton. To that end, he advocates for binding international trade standards that enforce living incomes and transparent pricing, modeled on the World Trade Organization’s compliance mechanisms. “Human rights should be as binding in trade as tariffs,” he insisted. The solution isn’t to buy more “ethical” bars but to demand accountability and support legislation that makes exploitation unprofitable. “We can’t shop our way to justice,” he said. So, as the trees in the Ivory Coast’s forests fall, the profits in Europe and North America continue to soar. And two decades after the industry vowed to end child labor, the cocoa supply chain remains one of the world’s most exploitative and least accountable. Moreover, the European Parliament’s vote on the Omnibus simplification package last month laid bare the corporate control and moral blindness still present in EU policymaking, all behind talk of “cutting red tape.” “Yet Europe’s media and EU-funded NGOs stay silent, talking of competitiveness and green transitions, while ignoring the children who harvest its cocoa, coffee and cotton,” said Morales-de la Cruz. “Europe cannot claim to defend human rights while profiting from exploitation.” However, until the industry pays a fair price and governments enforce real accountability, every bar of chocolate remains an unpaid moral debt.

BRUSSELS — When Commission President Ursula von der Leyen presented the conclusions of her Strategic Dialogue on the Future of EU Agriculture last month, it looked like a PR coup. The seven-month forum on agri-food policy had calmed both riotous farmers and outraged NGOs, while yielding an apparently balanced report that she could loot for legislative ideas. Yet that success may be short-lived. Copa-Cogeca — Europe’s largest and most influential agricultural lobby — is hardening its position, POLITICO has learned. The group’s national members were outraged by some of the dialogue’s final recommendations, particularly the need to promote plant-based diets. After a raucous month in which members repeatedly blasted the Copa-Cogeca presidency — at a farm event in Hungary, in emails to its Brussels office and at the Copa presidium on Sept. 26 — the umbrella group wants to beef up its bargaining power at the European Board on Agri-Food (EBAF), the proposed successor to the Strategic Dialogue. “In the Strategic Dialogue, just five out of 29 participants were farmers,” Copa-Cogeca wrote in a Sept. 20 letter to the Commission, obtained by POLITICO. “At least half of the Board should be composed of participants representing the farming world, and Copa and Cogeca … should be granted a stronger presence in comparison to other actors.” The group also called for the inclusion of bodies representing “livestock and crops sectorial organisations, inputs [and] agriculture machinery,” as well as a shift from the fast-paced, confidential and person-to-person talks towards a slower, more transparent, and organization-based format.  “What we really need to focus on is making it work for farmers because that, from my point of view, was the initial objective of the dialogue: it was a reaction to farmers’ protest,” said Jan Doležal, the president of the Czech AKČR agrarian chamber. Looking forward, “we’ll work to improve our negotiation position,” he told POLITICO. That’s going to be a problem as von der Leyen seeks to convert the conclusions of the dialogue into a “Vision” for the future of EU agriculture — one of several action plans she has promised to deliver within 100 days of her new Commission being sworn in. The 29-stakeholder dialogue sought to overcome the extreme polarization of von der Leyen’s first term, encouraging compromise and trust between a motley crew of agricultural associations, food manufacturers and retailers, environmentalists, academics, and financiers. Participants mostly came alone, ate together, and shared stories about themselves and their families. Stacking the EBAF with farmers will likely be seen as a unilateral power grab, breaking the tentative cease-fire and tipping Europe’s agri-food sector into turbulence once more. Likewise, converting the nimble talks into rigid meetings, where envoys run every suggestion through their bulky membership lists, will kill the goose that laid the golden egg.  Factor in grumpy European lawmakers and capitals, both upset at being excluded from the process, and the results of von der Leyen’s unorthodox farm talks could end up having a short shelf life. MEXICAN STANDOFF IN BRUSSELS Since its announcement in January, the Strategic Dialogue had ticked along nicely. With its members sworn to secrecy, it was hard to gauge how things were going, but everyone seemed reasonably satisfied. There were no major leaks and participants praised the constructive atmosphere and optimistic outlooks.   By late August, negotiations had entered the final phase and people started to sweat. The dialogue’s conclusions were meant to be unanimous and Peter Strohschneider, the German historian who moderated the debate, began to apply pressure to reluctant delegates. He told one group of holdouts that he would keep on chairing meetings for as long as it took, recalled one participant. When Commission President Ursula von der Leyen presented the conclusions of her Strategic Dialogue on the Future of EU Agriculture last month, it looked like a PR coup. | Michael M. Santiago/Getty Images When the 100-page report was published on Sept. 4, everyone scrambled to claim victory. NGOs trumpeted how it supported the EU’s recently-adopted nature restoration law. Consumer groups celebrated its food labeling and fair pricing sections. Young, organic and smallholder farmers highlighted the bits on reforming the EU farm budget, the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP). Copa-Cogeca, the traditional behemoth of Brussels agri-food, struggled to sell it across the bloc though. “Really dangerous” is how Coldiretti, Italy’s largest farmer union, judged the recommendation for the CAP to prioritize smaller farmers. “I don’t like that at all,” said the head of the Dutch LTO on the need to decarbonize diets. Overall, the text “falls well short of expectations,” sniffed the president of the German Farmers’ Association (DBV). France’s FNSEA remained silent. Neither the organization nor its outspoken president, Arnaud Rousseau, posted a word about the report on its website or X account. That was despite the fact its former president is Christiane Lambert, one of the three Copa-Cogeca leaders who signed the conclusions and who uploaded a mass of posts about it on social media.  That week, most Copa member representatives were in Budapest for a farm conference. “This was our first chance to discuss it together,” said one participant, granted anonymity to speak freely. “There was unhappiness at part of it, particularly in relation to diets and consideration of alternative diets and plant proteins … anything essentially that would go against our position on livestock.” Two days after the report’s publication, four Copa members from the Visegrad countries — Poland, Czech Republic, Slovakia and Hungary — shot a highly critical letter at the secretariat. It demanded Copa-Cogeca retrospectively reject the report’s conclusions and withdraw from the Strategic Dialogue entirely.  “After 20 years of membership of the European Union and of the Copa-Cogeca family, we thought that our differences would be understood and safeguarded,” the four wrote in the letter obtained by POLITICO. “We expected the Copa-Cogeca Secretariat and Presidents to take a more cautious position and to insist on discussing the very sensitive and often controversial conclusions” with members, they complained: “The process was very non-transparent, especially in the last three days of the negotiations, when we had zero opportunity to intervene.” The group’s leadership tried to smooth things over. At the Copa presidium on Sept. 26, they assured unions the document was just a starting point. Some were assuaged. “I think people have accepted it with caveats, people are willing to move on,” said the participant present in Budapest.    Others were not. POLITICO spoke to one attendee who argued the lobby showed a lack of courage during the dialogue and its endorsement is not easily reversible. Von der Leyen wants the report to guide future legislation and has explicitly tasked her designated agriculture commissioner, Christophe Hansen, with following up on its proposals. WHAT HAPPENS NOW There’s disagreement over whether Copa-Cogeca could still withdraw from future talks. In a statement to POLITICO, the secretariat said that “the Strategic Dialogue is a report, not a legally binding agreement, so the question of a general withdrawal doesn’t apply.”  Both Doležal, the Czech farm boss, and the representative present in Budapest agreed with that idea, though for different reasons. Doležal, one of the four signatories of the Visegrad letter, told POLITICO that “I don’t think this will be on the table actually,” since Copa-Cogeca’s subsequent letter to the Commission has appeased him. The representative from Budapest was more pragmatic. “We’ve got a new secretary-general, Ellie Tsiforou: I don’t think it will be in her interests after her first couple of weeks … to announce that the farmers are” out, and risk immediately alienating von der Leyen, they reflected.  The dialogue’s conclusions were meant to be unanimous and Peter Strohschneider began to apply pressure to reluctant delegates. | Nicolas Tucat Not everyone got the memo though.  Any breach of the principle of consensus — such as signing a trade deal with South America or proposing a new pesticide reduction law — would mean trouble, warned José María Castilla, the head of Spain’s largest farmer union Asaja. “If [the EU] doesn’t comply with the agreement, we will be back on the streets,” he told POLITICO.