In fact,
there is a growing realization in many professions and disciplines that we need
to approach the world with much more long-term thinking. Perhaps pumping out wetlands
and building cities isn’t the best idea. It might be smart to consider sources
of energy that aren’t going to run out fairly soon. When educating, connection
to long-term curiosity might be better than passing the next test. Social and ecological concerns in market-based economies might trump the need to make a
buck.
I dare say
that medicine is beginning to embrace this trend, too – or at least people are.
People who are interested in real food that may not require contaminating the
water supply to cultivate, and who feel like this food might be better for
their long-term health (though missing the tasty nacho cheese). People who
consider a fever the sign of a healthy reactive response, and watch it for a
bit rather than immediately suppresing it. People who are beginning to think
that diabetes may be connected as much to ubiquitous, unregulated sugar in the
food supply as it is to increased weight, lack of exercise, or “poor
self-control”.
Which brings
me to cinnamon. A recent meta-review found a small but significant effect from
the powdered bark of this fragrant member of the Laurel family in treating the
elevated blood sugar levels associated with Type 2 diabetes. I recommend this
plant to clients concerned about this disease, either as part of breakfast or –
my favorite – mixed with stevia, almond butter and cacao and rolled into “bliss
balls”. It is best to take it regularly, as part of a long-term habit that
includes real, bitter food and lots of movement. In this context it’s
delicious, easy to take (doses are in the teaspoon range), and effective.
The effect
is, indeed, small when observed in isolation and for short periods of time. But
diabetes (at epidemic levels) isn’t a problem that develops overnight, folks. I
doubt anyone in the food industry, somewhere between the middle of the 19th
century and the middle of the 20th, was saying “whoa - wait a sec,
guys. I think that all this tasty sweet stuff (and elimination of all botanical
biodiversity in the diet) might actually lead to epidemic levels of a
sugar-metabolism disease in the next century!” No, that would have required
seriously long-term thinking in matters of public health. And a little more
knowledge of the human body.
Well, today
we have a little more of both. But
research still looks at botanicals for three to four months most of the time –
and this is partly because research is still beginning. When more time and
interest are devoted to certain plants, such as the 2012 analysis that showed
soy food consumption leads to lower recurrence of estrogen-positive breast
cancer, striking results are revealed. But even this research only followed ten
thousand women for seven years. Would that we had multi-generational followup
data for cinnamon, endive, and dandelion roots! We might see a reversal of the
grand experiment in carbohydrate refinement that gave us the current diabetes
epidemic.
Short-term
thinking gives us a need for dramatic, immediate results that might fit within
the constraints of our current research model. This is great for many acute and
chronic diseases, but not as great for matters of public health or for analyzing cultural patterns that lead to the diseases themselves. Often, we learn about these matters from
retrospective studies – discovering a problem after it’s already
well-established. Long-term thinking takes a break and asks “if left alone,
what might this situation look like?” Long-term thinking wonders how the river
might handle a hundred-year flood if we hadn’t intervened to alter its course,
how a population’s blood sugar might look if we hadn’t altered its food supply.
Type 2
diabetes is a long-term effect of short-term thinking (satisfy my hunger now,
and in a way that can be easily produced, stored, transported and packaged!)
Its solution has to be based in long-term thinking, and part of that might very
well include herbs such as cinnamon. The reason they are important is that,
unlike a pharmaceutical solution, they provide an inroad to self-care based on
whole plants and food – elements of life which, along with movement, end up
being the keys to successful prevention of diabetes. If your mother started
making cinnamon bliss balls when you were little, you might grow up eating them
and eventually making them for your friends and family. Who knows what other
bizarre plants you might consume
along the way. Lo and behold, two generations later population levels of
diabetes, obesity and heart disease are lower. I’d give you a rose to
celebrate, but we all know there’s no research showing roses are effective as
mood-lifters.
Some argue
that, since the effect of a botanical such as cinnamon is small compared to
conventional drugs, it should be rejected as part of our approach to diabetes.
Ironically, the argument is that using cinnamon perpetuates a pill-driven, not
lifestyle-driven, mentality for handling the disease. Call me crazy, but I’d
respectfully argue that it’s probably pharmaceuticals that are driving this
mentality, and that the search for a cinnamon capsule as an “alternative” is a
first baby-step towards a different way. In the hands of an herbalist, baby
steps turn into hikes in the forest. That could be a good thing – and a complex,
multi-layered approach to diabetes that includes cinnamon most certainly is.
Say what you
will about an over-reliance on short-term clinical trials to drive therapy (or just read the British Medical Journal). Aside from the caveats (some of which I
mention above), the approach is often a good one. But the offhand rejection of
botanicals such as cinnamon, especially when they show promise, is actually
harmful to public health. It is also a product of very short-term thinking.
This is a problem that we need to resolve if we want to advance the cause of
medicine and improve global quality of life – and herbalists, as those who,
across the world, know what local plants do, are well placed to be part of the
solution. Herbalists know the plants, but they also know that moving your
vegetables over a little and supporting the community of cattail and calamus by
the riverbank might be a better choice than a retaining wall, though it
requires a (small) sacrifice in the short-term. Herbalists know that a bouquet
of flowers makes you happy even though there’s not a single study out there
to prove it. And they are usually inspiring teachers, too – the perfect choice
for a diabetic patient.
All this
requires a change in thinking about medicine. We need to be looking further
over the horizon, at a future where the advancement of our species sometimes
includes a return to older technologies – not because they’re old, but because
they’re damn smart in a long-term context. A future where we observe and mimic nature in designing our
systems not because it’s “natural” but because, in the end, it’s in our own
self-interest (global warming? Hundred year flood?). Herbal medicine fits in
perfectly here. It is the precise modality that offers cultural connection,
self-empowerment, ecological awareness, and effective remedies! It is both a
blueprint for the future and a safety net for the present. As a design element
for the next century of medicine, it can bring long-term thinking into a branch
of science struggling with its own pressing challenges, helping it to harness
the tools of complexity and deep ecology that are driving other industries.
Long-term, complex herbal therapy won’t look as flashy in the short term – but that
does not mean it has no value. Give it time, and skilled hands – a garden takes
a season to come to fruit.
