Big Brother Is (Weight) Watching Why would Americans want Uncle Sam to control what they eat?

Friday, December 30, 2005 12:01 a.m. EST

In the 1980 comic classic "Private Benjamin," Goldie Hawn, whose character has been widowed just six hours after her wedding, finds herself in the office of an Army recruiter. If she enlists, he promises her, she'll have access to yachts and beachfront condos--and the chance to be in the best shape of her life.
Lately it's become all the rage to depend on Uncle Sam for a fitness program, or to pretend to do so. In a kind of simulacrum of military rigor, some gyms now offer members the chance to attend "boot camp," where "drill sergeants" bark orders for crunches and pushups. Less strenuously, some Americans are hoping that the government, or its courts, will simply forbid the products that make them fat.
Take soda. The Center for Science in the Public Interest plans to file lawsuits, as early as next month, against Coca-Cola and PepsiCo. Its aim is to ban these companies from selling soda in schools. Doing so is "less egregious, but it is a little like having a cigarette machine in a school," Richard Daynard, a law professor at Northeastern University who will be representing the plaintiffs, told the Atlanta Journal-Constitution last month. Mr. Daynard stands to make millions if the suit is successful.
Indeed, the trial lawyers pressing the case against calorie-rich commodities see the tobacco tort campaign of the 1990s--with its run of lucrative awards--as a perfect model. They portray Americans' love for sugary drinks and fattening foods as a kind of illness brought on by evil corporations seeking to deceive us all but especially, of course, the children.
Trying to stay one step ahead of the lawyers, companies like Kraft foods have curbed their advertising to kids. And Disney has decided to remove Mickey Mouse and Winnie the Pooh from unhealthy products. But no one really believes that plaintiff lawyers are going to stop once children are protected from junk food.
When McDonald's decided a couple of months ago to put nutritional information on its products, its executives probably weren't thinking that, say, a nine-year-old would be studying the label on a quarter-pounder (420 calories) to determine whether the burger would bust his daily nutritional allowance. They were trying to keep an "expert witness" in some future trial from saying that adults don't know how unhealthy fast food can be. You know, the way adults didn't have a clue that smoking a pack of cigarettes a day was a habit at odds with a long life.
At least the effects of smoking are distant; an especially dim smoker might plausibly overlook the damage he is doing to himself. But the effect on the body of certain foods is nearly immediate. It doesn't take a genius to grasp that a diet of chicken nuggets and Oreos will lead to weight gain. Simply ask yourself: Do your pants still fit?
Under normal circumstances, most grown-ups would resent the implication that they are morons. But there seems to be an appeal to blaming one's ballooning weight on a corporate plot rather than on weak self-discipline. And it's easier to leave the solution in someone else's hands, too--the government's or even God's (hence Christian books like "The Maker's Diet").
Every few years we herald another FDA food pyramid or the news that some hitherto overlooked ingredient will be added to the labels on the back of our frozen dinners. (Starting next month, calorie counts must be printed in larger type.) But none of this matters: The poundage is still pachydermical. So tomorrow, when it comes time to make our New Year's weight-loss resolutions, why don't we resolve to leave Uncle Sam out of it?