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.

AOSTA, Italy — The 380,000 wheels of Fontina PDO cheese matured each year are tiny in number compared to the millions churned out by more famous rivals — but that doesn’t make the creamy cheese any less important to producers in Valle d’Aosta, a region nestled in the Italian Alps.  Fontina’s protected designation of origin (PDO) provides consumers at home and abroad a “guarantee of quality and of a short supply chain,” explained Stéphanie Cuaz, of the consortium responsible for protecting the cheese from cheap copycats, as she navigated a hairpin turn on the way to a mountain pasture. With fewer than a hundred cows, a handful of farm hands and a small house where milk is transformed into cheese, the pasture at the end of the winding road feels far away from global trade tussles its flagship product is embroiled in. The EU’s scheme to protect the names of local delicacies from replicas produced elsewhere has proved controversial in international trade negotiations. For instance, in 2023, free trade talks with Australia were swamped by complaints from its cheese producers railing against EU demands that they refrain from using household names like “Mozzarella di Bufala Campana” and “Feta.”  Fontina was caught in the crossfire, having been included in the list of names the EU wants protected Down Under. Fontina DOP Alpeggio is a variant of the cheese produced during the summer months using milk from cows grazing in alpine pastures up to 2,700 meters above sea level | Lucia Mackenzie/POLITICO. No such protections exist in the U.S., where in the state of Wisconsin alone, there are a dozen “fontina” producers, one of which won bronze at the World Cheese Awards in 2022.  Europe’s small-time food producers find themselves in a bind: their protected status is vital for promoting their traditional products abroad, but charges of protectionism have soured some trade negotiations. Nonetheless, many of the bloc’s trading partners clearly see the benefits of the system, baking in similar protections for their own products into trade deals. PROTECTION VS PROTECTIONISM Fontina cheese can only be labeled as such if several strict criteria are met. Cows of certain breeds need to be fed with hay of a certain caliber and, crucially, every step of the cheesemaking process must take place within the region’s borders.   For Cuaz, who grew up on a dairy farm in Doues, a small town of around 500 people perched on the valley side, the protection of the Fontina name is vital to keep farming alive and sufficiently paid in the region. Tucked up against the French and Swiss borders, Valle d’Aosta is Italy’s least populated region, home to just over 120,000 inhabitants speaking a mixture of Italian, French and the local Valdôtain dialect. Fontina — which with its distinctive nutty flavor can be enjoyed on a charcuterie board, in a fondue, or encased in a veal chop — is one of over 3,600 foods, wines, and spirits registered under the EU’s geographical indications (GI) system. This protects the names of products that are uniquely linked to a specific region. The idea is to make them easier to promote and keep small producers competitive. In the EU alone, GI products bring in €75 billion in annual revenue and command a price that’s 2.23 times higher than those without the status, the bloc’s Agriculture Commissioner Christophe Hansen proclaimed earlier this year. He called the scheme a “true EU success story.” The GI system is predominantly used in gastronomic powerhouses like Italy and France, and Hansen hopes to promote uptake in the eastern half of the bloc.  Italy has the most geographical indications in the world, accounting for €20 billion in turnover, the country’s Agriculture Minister Francesco Lollobrigida pointed out, describing the system as an “extraordinary value multiplier.” ‘NOTHING MORE THAN A TRADE BARRIER’ While several trading partners apparently share the enthusiasm of Hansen and Lollobrigida  — the EU’s trade agreements with countries from South Korea to Central America and Canada include protections for selected GIs — others view the protections as, well, protectionist. The U.S. has long been the system’s most vocal critic, with the Trade Representative’s annual report on intellectual property protection calling it out as “highly concerning” and “harmful.” Washington argues that the rules undermine existing trademarks and that product names like “fontina,” “parmesan” and “feta” are common and shouldn’t be reserved for use by certain regions. That reflects the U.S. dairy industry’s resentment towards Europe’s GIs: Krysta Harden, U.S. Dairy Export Council president, argued they are “nothing more than a trade barrier dressed up as intellectual property protection.” Meanwhile, the National Milk Producers’ Federation blames the scheme, at least in part, for the U.S. agri-food trade deficit.  American opposition to the system doesn’t stop at its own trade relationship with the EU. The U.S. Trade Representative’s Office also accused the EU of pressuring trading partners to block certain imports and vowed to combat the bloc’s “aggressive promotion of its exclusionary GI policies.” DOUBLING DOWN Unfazed by the criticism, Hansen continues to tout geographical indications as vital in the EU’s ongoing trade negotiations with other countries.  The EU’s long-awaited trade accord with the Latin American Mercosur bloc is heading toward ratification and includes GI protections for both sides. Speaking in Brazil last month, Hansen went out of his way to praise his hosts for protecting canastra, a highland cheese, and cachaça, a sugarcane liquor, against imitations.  Fifty-eight of the GIs protected under the agreement are Italian, Lollobrigida told POLITICO. This protects Italy’s reputation for high-quality food, he said, and ensures “that Mercosur citizens receive top-quality products.” The EU recently concluded a deal with Indonesia which will protect more than 200 EU products, and a geographical indication agreement is actively being discussed in talks on a free-trade deal with India that both sides hope to wrap up this year. As negotiations with Australia pick up once again, the issue of GI cheeses is expected to return to the spotlight. The U.S. pushback on GIs in other countries has fallen on deaf ears, argued John Clarke, the EU’s former lead agriculture negotiator. He criticized detractors for peddling “specious arguments which bear no relationship to intellectual property rights.” American claims that some terms are universally generic are “illegitimate” and ultimately “very unsuccessful,” in Clarke’s view. “They came too late to the party,” he said, “and their arguments were not very convincing from a legal point of view.” CULTURE AND COMMERCE  The uptake of GIs in other countries demonstrates the additional value the schemes can bring for rural communities and cultural heritage, Clarke posited.  In Valle d’Aosta, the GI system “keeps people and maybe also young farmers linked to this region,” argued Cuaz, adding that young people leaving rural areas in favor of urban centers is a real problem for her region. From tournaments to find the “Queen” of the herd that are a highlight of summer weekends to the “Désarpa” parade marking the end of the season as cows return to the valley from their Alpine pastures, Fontina cheese production keeps traditions alive in the tiny region every year. The dairy industry even plays a role in making use of abandoned copper mines, where thousands of cheese wheels mature annually. Thousands of cheese wheels are matured the Valpelline warehouse, built in the tunnels of a former copper mine. | Lucia Mackenzie/POLITICO. Supporters of the GI scheme also point to the food and wine tourism opportunities it offers. Les Cretes vineyard, winery and tasting room represent one such success story.  The flavors imbued into traditional and native grape varieties by the soil of the Valle d’Aosta’s high-altitude vineyards justify its inclusion as a geographically protected product, explained Monique Salerno, who has worked for the family business for 15 years and is in charge of tastings and events. The premium price on the local wines is vital to keep the producers competitive, given that the steep vines need to be picked by hand, she added. The business expanded in 2017, building a tasting room to draw tourists to Aymavilles, the town with a population of just over 2,000 that houses much of the vineyard. TARIFF TROUBLE While American critics have, in Clarke’s view, “lost the war on terroir,” Europe’s small-time food producers are not immune to the rollercoaster of tit-for-tat tariffs that have dominated recent EU-U.S. trade negotiations.  Like the vast majority of European products heading to the U.S., cheese is subject to a 15 percent blanket tariff. In the meantime, however, organizational mishaps led to some temporary doubling of tariffs on Italian cheeses, angering major producers.  The whole saga has caused uncertainty, said Ermes Fichet, administrative manager of the Milk and Fontina Producers’ Cooperative.  The Les Cretes vineyard on the slopes surrounding Aymavilles. | Lucia Mackenzie/POLITICO The U.S. is Fontina’s largest overseas market, accounting for around 60 percent of direct exports. However, producers aren’t fearing for their livelihoods, yet, as most Fontina cheese isn’t exported at all: an estimated 95 percent of wheels are sent to distributors in Italy. Rather, the impact of U.S. trade policy is long term. The American market would in theory be able to absorb all of Fontina’s production, Fichet explains, but the sale of similar cheeses at lower prices there makes it difficult to expand market share.  According to figures released by the USDA’s statistics service, over 5.1 million kilos of “fontina” cheese was produced in Wisconsin alone in 2024. That comes out to a higher volume than the 3.1 million kilos of GI-certified Fontina originating in Valle d’Aosta annually.  And looking elsewhere isn’t an easy option for the small-time cheese makers, even if future trade agreements include GI recognition. While markets in countries like Saudi Arabia are growing, they would never close the gap left by U.S. producers if trade ties worsen, said Fichet.  Responding to the foreign detractors, he highlighted the benefits from the scheme at home. Fontina DOP “allows us to maintain the agricultural reality of certain places … it’s an extra reason to try to help those who are committed to carrying on with a product that is, let’s say, the little flower of the Valle d’Aosta.”

A controversial ban on calling plant-based patties “burgers” could have an unintended consequence: harming the seafood industry.  As the debate over which proteins can be labeled “hamburger” and “steak” swirls across Brussels, no one is talking about how it would play out in the other 23 languages of the bloc. In Spanish, for example, the translated term for “steak” — a word the ban says can only apply to meat products — is “filete,” often used for cuts of fish. Lawmakers and farm groups in favor of the ban say it will help clarify things for consumers, but it could end up causing confusion.  Terms like “filete de lubina” (sea bass filet) and “lomos de atún” (tuna loin or steak) are common on fish labels, according to Daniel Voces de Onaíndi, managing director of Europêche. The EU seafood industry trade association backs the principle behind the veggie burger ban when it comes to blocking vegetables from using words associated with meat or fish. But ambiguity about non-English terms could ensnare fish, Voces de Onaíndi noted with alarm. He called on EU negotiators to sort out the issue during interinstitutional talks on the broader legislation, which is related to the EU’s common agricultural market. “We hope it could be clarified … that it refers exclusively to meat products, without negatively affecting or excluding traditional seafood packaging in other sectors,” he said. “Attention must be given to ensuring the linguistic consistency across all EU languages.”  French MEP Céline Imart, who proposed European Parliament’s ban, did not respond to requests for comment. A separate proposal from the European Commission bans more specific terms, like “wing” and “drumstick.” In Spanish, for example, the translated term for “steak” — a word the ban says can only apply to meat products — is “filete,” often used for cuts of fish. | Richard Lautens/Getty Images Even in English, some of these “meaty” terms cross sectors. After all, anglophones eat “tuna steaks,” too. Will Nestlé have to update its famous Drumstick ice cream cones? (Unclear.) Will McDonald’s need to rename the Filet-O-Fish? (Probably not. “Filet” in English is still kosher for meat products.) Consumer organizations say linguistic issues aside, the ban should be a nonstarter.  “The term ‘sausage’ or ‘burger’ is about the shape of food, not what’s in there, and it shouldn’t be claimed by one industry alone,” said Olivia Brown, policy officer at Euroconsumers.  She said the goal should be clear labeling that helps consumers understand what they’re eating. So, the `”veggie” part of “veggie burger” is more relevant for consumer clarity than eliminating “burger.” A 2020 BEUC study found that consumers are not confused by the naming of veggie burgers or sausages, as long as they are identifiable as vegetarian.

A non-alcoholic beverage may not be sold as gin, the Court of Justice of the EU ruled today in a case that could have wide-ranging consequences for a growing sector catering to health-conscious consumers. The case involved a drink being sold as Virgin Gin Alkolholfrei. The Luxembourg court ruled that wording violated an EU law that says gin should be produced with ethyl alcohol and juniper berries, with a minimum alcoholic strength by volume of 37.5 percent.  The law is meant to protect gin producers from competition and consumers against confusion, the court said in a statement. The gin judgment comes as plant-based meat products gear up for a potential labeling fight, depending on whether a controversial “veggie burger ban” makes it through inter-institutional negotiations. A German association for combating unfair competition brought the case against PB Vi Goods, which manufactures the gin copycat. A German court referred the case to the Court of Justice, which found a “clear prohibition in EU law” because the beverage does not contain alcohol. The product can be sold, but not as “gin,” regardless of whether or not it uses terms like “non-alcoholic” or “virgin.” The top EU court has upended consumer trends in the past: it ruled against calling plant-based products “milk,” “cream,” “butter,” “cheese” or “yogurt”’” in 2017.

STRASBOURG — Less than 24 hours after the European Parliament voted to ban plant-based foods across the EU from using names like “burger,” “sausage” or “steak” — the institution’s canteen in Strasbourg served up a “vegan burger” as its healthy lunch option. The prohibition was slipped into a wider reform of EU farm rules via an amendment spearheaded by French lawmaker Céline Imart of the conservative European People’s Party. While supporters pitched it as a win for transparency and recognition for livestock producers, NGOs blasted it as “just dumb” and a blow to sustainable diets. The timing of Thursday’s lunch menu was not lost on lawmakers and their aides, several of whom messaged POLITICO in uproar or mockery.  “A day after the highly controversial ban, it seems like the chefs in the canteen have decided upon some civil disobedience,” quipped Dutch Green MEP Anna Strolenberg. “Let’s see what daredevils still order a veggie b***r.” By early afternoon, the burgers were sold out. “They hid them,” joked one Parliament official. A second official said the canteen had simply run out and insisted menus are “established in advance by the contractors in full respect with legislations in place.” Staffers were split on quality. “Wait, is this just veggies on a bun? If they’re taking the piss, then I think it’s hilarious,” said an assistant to a liberal MEP. Lowie Kok, spokesperson for the Greens, was lukewarm on the quality. “For a seasoned vegan, I’m used to waaay worse in the canteen. In Brussels, they can’t do anything properly vegan. So this is … edible,” he said. Another aide, shown a photo, cracked: “EPP was right, all the way.” Despite the lunchtime comedy, the deep-seated political fault lines are evident on the prohibition. Even inside Imart’s own political family, there were dissenters. EPP chief, Manfred Weber, distanced himself from the ban, calling it unnecessary. Herbert Dorfmann, the group’s point person on agriculture, went further and voted against the measure. “I don’t really think there is a danger that somebody wants to buy a meat sausage and gets a veggie sausage,” he told POLITICO. “We should have some trust in the consumer.” Asked if he tried the burger, he replied:  “Not a fan of the canteen.”