In a fiery executive order issued just 10 days ago, President Donald J. Trump targeted the so-called “Big Four” meatpackers dominating America’s beef industry, accusing them of forming a cartel that inflates prices for everyday consumers while squeezing family farmers. “These foreign-owned giants are ripping off American ranchers and families alike,” Trump declared in a statement accompanying the directive, which orders the Department of Justice to probe allegations of price-fixing and anticompetitive practices. The move revives long-standing gripes in agricultural circles about market power, but it also spotlights a deeper structural issue: a century-old federal inspection regime that funnels virtually all commercial meat through a handful of massive processors, layering on costs that trickle down to dinner plates. For AgroWars readers on the front lines of farming, this is more than rhetoric. It is a call to examine how government safeguards, intended to protect public health, have inadvertently fortified a system that benefits a few at the expense of many.
The Big Four: Foreign Roots in an American Industry
The “Big Four” packers. JBS, Tyson Foods, Cargill, and National Beef. These names control roughly 85 percent of U.S. beef processing capacity, a level of concentration that has drawn antitrust scrutiny for years. Trump’s order zeroes in on two with significant foreign ties: JBS, a subsidiary of Brazil-based JBS S.A., and National Beef, whose majority owner is Marfrig Global Foods, another Brazilian powerhouse. Cargill and Tyson, both U.S.-headquartered, round out the quartet, though Cargill’s private status and Tyson’s scale have not shielded them from similar accusations.
Brazilian influence is no secret in ag circles. JBS expanded aggressively into the U.S. market starting in the 2000s, acquiring plants and brands through a mix of organic growth and high-profile buys, like the 2007 purchase of Swift & Company. Critics argue this foreign ownership means key decisions, from pricing strategies to supply chain tweaks, are made thousands of miles away, prioritizing global profits over American interests. “U.S. beef production decisions are made overseas,” notes one analysis of the sector’s vulnerabilities. Trump echoed this in his order, framing the packers as “abusers” exploiting American ranchers to drive up domestic prices while exporting cheaper cuts abroad.
The cartel label stems from patterns of alleged collusion. Just last month, Tyson and Cargill settled a class-action lawsuit for $87.5 million combined, accused of coordinating to suppress cattle prices paid to farmers while hiking retail beef costs. The DOJ’s fresh probe, announced November 7, will scrutinize these dynamics, with a focus on the Brazilian duo. Supporters like the Texas Farm Bureau hail the action as overdue, warning that without intervention, “foreign-owned meat packers” will continue “driving up the price of beef.” Yet the industry is split. Some processors decry the probe as political theater, pointing to volatile feed costs and drought as the real culprits behind elevated prices.
The Inspection Chokepoint: Why Farmers Can’t Cut Out the Middlemen
Trump’s rhetoric paints the packers as villains, but the true enforcer of their dominance may be the federal government’s own handiwork: the Federal Meat Inspection Act (FMIA) of 1906. Born from the horrors exposed in Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle, a muckraking novel detailing rat-infested Chicago slaughterhouses and chemical-laced meat, the FMIA mandated USDA oversight for all meat entering interstate commerce. Before then, adulterated products flowed freely, fueling epidemics of foodborne illness. The law required visual inspections of every carcass, sanitation standards, and labeling rules, vesting the USDA with sweeping authority to halt unsafe shipments.
This framework was a public health triumph, slashing contamination risks and professionalizing an industry rife with abuse. But it came with strings attached for small operators. To sell meat commercially, even across state lines or to neighbors, farmers must route animals through USDA-inspected facilities. “Custom exempt” slaughter exists for personal use, where a farmer slaughters for their household, guests, or employees, but the meat cannot be resold. Violate this, and you risk fines or shutdowns. In practice, this means 99 percent of U.S. beef passes through the Big Four’s plants, where economies of scale keep costs low for them but high for everyone else.
The ripple effects hit farmers hardest. Rural processing options are scarce. a problem exacerbated by plant closures during the COVID-19 pandemic. In states like New Hampshire, waitlists for USDA-approved slaughter stretch two years, forcing ranchers to ship cattle hundreds of miles or forgo direct sales altogether. “Federal law makes it illegal to sell local beef without a USDA stamp,” one report laments, trapping producers in a system where packers dictate terms. Each step (transport, inspection, packaging) adds fees: $50 to $100 per head for processing alone, plus trucking costs that can exceed $200 for long hauls. These markups, layered atop packer margins, contribute to the yawning gap between what farmers receive (about $1.50 per pound live weight) and what consumers pay ($7.50-plus for ground beef).
Reform efforts bubble up periodically. The PRIME Act, a bipartisan bill, seeks to lift the federal ban on intrastate sales of custom-slaughtered meat, empowering states to set their own rules. GOP senators recently pushed to expand state-inspected meat sales across borders, arguing current restrictions stifle competition even when standards match federal ones. Detractors warn of safety risks and liability nightmares, but proponents counter that overregulation has bred consolidation: the number of U.S. packing plants plummeted from 1,000 in the 1970s to fewer than 700 today, with the Big Four owning most.
Safety Net or Stranglehold? The Price of Protection
The FMIA’s legacy is double-edged. It curbed the “Beef Trust” of the Gilded Age, a crony cartel that Sinclair’s work helped dismantle, but in doing so, it paved the way for today’s oligopoly. Early regulations favored large firms able to absorb inspection costs, sidelining mom-and-pop butchers and fostering the very concentration Trump now rails against. Prices reflect this: while rancher pay has stagnated, retail beef costs have surged 20 percent since 2020, outpacing general inflation.
Trump’s probe may yield headlines, but lasting relief demands rethinking the inspection bottleneck. Allowing more on-farm or local processing, with robust but flexible oversight, could reconnect farmers to markets, shave costs, and dilute the cartel’s grip. Until then, the system Upton Sinclair decried has evolved into a new beast: safer, yes, but no less extractive for those who raise the cattle. For American agriculture, the fight is on. Will Washington’s latest hunt for a villain dismantle the machine, or just oil its gears? AgroWars will keep watching.