What does “healthy eating” mean? On occasion I have a conversation that goes something like this: I tell someone I study health issues; they say, “Oh, you probably eat a healthy diet;” they are then surprised to find out that not only am I not a vegetarian, but that I get around 60% of my energy from fat and less than 15% from carbohydrates. Our culture has created an informational smog around what to eat that equates health with a vegetarian, low fat diet. There’s a reason for this: a vast campaign that works continuously on how we think and feel about what’s healthy to eat.
Last week the media carried the results of an ongoing study intended to reveal the healthy effects of a low fat diet. The San Francisco Chronicle was typical: “Low-fat diets not as effective as expected: Study sees little change in cancer, heart risks.” That’s actually misleading because the study found no change, statistically speaking, in heart and cancer risks. I know this seems contrary to my point, but it’s not. There were three specific articles published in the Journal of the American Medical Association about the heart, colorectal cancer, and breast cancer risks faced by post-menopausal women and the effect of adopting a low fat diet. As I said, they found none.
But the researchers really wanted to. Really, really, really wanted to. So much so that in newspaper interviews, the researchers and their supporters in the medical establishment said things like “For those women who are following a low-fat diet, these results should encourage them to continue.” and “We don’t want people to give up their low-fat food choices. This is not what the study said.”
No one was quoted as saying, “Gee. Maybe we had it all wrong.”
I was even more interested in six post-menopausal women who were asked by the Chronicle whether this news would affect the way they eat. One said, “Yippee!” Another was angry about missing 30 years of hot fudge sundaes, years which included a heart attack and lung cancer. The other four stayed committed to low-fat life. I wondered what it would take to change those women’s view of what makes for healthy eating.
And so I come to a feature of the studies that didn’t make it into the media. The low-fat dieters, the so-called intervention group, were put into active support groups facilitated by a nutritionist. The other group of women, the comparison group, received a low-fat nutritional guide. That’s an intervention, too. Both groups were on a low-fat diet. One group had information and ongoing support. The other got information only.
Why didn’t a third group get Dr. Atkins’ Diet Revolution? And a fourth get support groups for a hunter-gatherer diet?
Because the research groups that get the money and headlines are there to create informational smog. The conventional media has trouble seeing through this smog. These are not the only sources of informational smog. In a perverse way, the studies suggest why. Despite ongoing support, low-fat dieters were unable to reach the goal of 20% of calories from fat. Backsliding occurred: the percent of calories from fat crept up over the course of the study.
The dominant theme in these and so many other studies is that “lifestyle choices” increase heart, cancer, and other health risks. “You make bad choices, so you die.” No examination of the other forces at work that negated the effect of the support groups.
The valuable lesson here is that change happens when people support each other. And that support for healthy eating is likely not enough. We need to clear the informational smog. And eat a hunter-gatherer diet.
These issues are discussed further in the Food and other sections of Too Much Medicine, Not Enough Health.
