Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton has never shied from a fight. But his latest crusade—issuing civil investigative demands to Bayer, PepsiCo, and other corporate giants over trace amounts of glyphosate in food—marks a curious turn. Framed as a defense of “Texans,” particularly children, against “poisoning,” the probe leans heavily on the International Agency for Research on Cancer’s (IARC) 2015 classification of glyphosate as a “probable human carcinogen.” This is precautionary theater, not rigorous enforcement. It risks amplifying junk science, incentivizing litigation, and undermining the very innovation that feeds the world.

IARC’s pronouncements have long been a font of hazard inflation rather than risk assessment. The distinction is important. A hazard is whether a substance could cause cancer at some dose; risk is whether it does so at the doses people actually encounter—and IARC weighs only the first. As Nathan Schachtman detailed in a recent Washington Legal Foundation analysis, the agency excels at identifying theoretical possibilities— “hazards”—while ignoring real-world exposure levels and probabilities. Glyphosate, the active ingredient in Roundup, is a herbicide used on genetically engineered crops. EPA and other regulators have repeatedly found it safe at typical dietary exposures. Yet IARC’s process is opaque, weighs evidence selectively, and is wary of industry scientists while welcoming advocacy-minded participants. It specializes in classifications that sound alarming in headlines but crumble under scrutiny. “Probably carcinogenic” often translates to weak or cherry-picked epidemiology and high-dose animal studies, not a meaningful threat from your morning oatmeal. For example, IARC files glyphosate in the same carcinogenic evidence tier as red meat, and bacon in the same category as tobacco.

Paxton’s press release recites the familiar litany: rising detection rates in Americans, vulnerability of kids via oat-based cereals, endocrine disruption, infertility. These echo plaintiffs’ bar talking points more than settled toxicology. The rise in glyphosate traces since the 1990s tracks expanded agricultural use, but correlation is not causation, and absolute exposures remain low. The EPA actually prohibits pre-harvest glyphosate (and other desiccants) on oats, capping residues at a tolerance of 30 parts per million precisely to manage residues. If that tolerance is too loose, or if imported oat grains evade it, the remedy is the EPA’s pending registration review and tougher import standards—not sweeping CIDs fishing for “misleading” health claims.  By invoking IARC so prominently, Paxton adopts the agency’s precautionary bias: treat every trace as a potential catastrophe, regardless of dose or evidence of actual harm.

This approach doesn’t protect consumers; it manufactures fear and fodder for lawsuits. IARC classifications have fueled “tortogenesis”—the generation of mass litigation on shaky foundations, from glyphosate cancer claims to California’s Prop 65 warning labels that treat everyday exposures like existential threats. Courts and regulators should demand better: transparent systematic reviews, clear hazard-risk distinctions, and accountability for process flaws. Instead, Paxton’s move signals alignment with a regulatory-litigation complex that burdens businesses while delivering little public health gain.

Critics might note the timing and incentives. Paxton’s recent Senate bid drew support from various quarters, including elements of the plaintiffs’ bar eager for fertile litigation fields. While any direct quid pro quo claim lacks ironclad proof, the pattern is now familiar in American politics: ambitious officials cultivate donor bases that reward aggressive stances against deep-pocketed defendants. Glyphosate suits have already extracted billions in settlements; a high-profile state AG probe adds leverage and publicity—and lets Paxton style himself as a crusader against a faceless corporate powerhouse, always a popular way to pander to voters. But Texans deserve attorneys general who emphasize evidence over electoral chemistry.

Sound policy starts with fundamentals. Glyphosate enabled no-till farming, slashing erosion, fuel use, and carbon emissions while boosting yields. Bashing it on IARC’s say-so echoes past panics over coffee, cellphones, and processed meat—all whose hazards were proclaimed and risks overstated. Modern scientific consensus, from bodies applying stricter protocols than IARC, paints a far less dire picture for dietary exposures. If loopholes in sourcing or labeling exist, address them surgically. Don’t launch sweeping investigations that chill legitimate enterprise and invite copycat actions elsewhere.

Paxton styles himself a bulwark against federal overreach and woke excess. Here, he risks mimicking the precautionary mindset he elsewhere decries—substituting narrative for data and hazard for risk. True consumer protection demands regulators and enforcers who weigh tradeoffs, not chase headlines. Glyphosate’s real legacy is feeding billions affordably. Texas should champion science that sustains that progress, not import IARC’s cautionary tales.