I was dismayed to read in the Washington Post recently that concerns about ultra-processed foods now qualify as “conspiracy thinking,” alongside a belief that vaccines cause autism and Vitamin A prevents measles. Or at least they do for some pollsters. Our Secretary of Health and Human Services deserves much of the credit for these disparate issues clumping together in our collective consciousness. Fortunately, for now, most Americans do not seem to have lost the thread.

Only small minorities of respondents (albeit consistently more Republicans) agreed with what I would identify as “conspiracy theories,” i.e. “getting the measles vaccine is more dangerous than becoming infected with measles,” “Vitamin A can prevent measles infections,” “the COVID-19 vaccine is the deadliest vaccine ever created,” “including fluoride in the water supply reduces children’s IQs,” and “vaccines have been shown to cause autism.” By contrast, 74% of respondents indicated it was “definitely true” or “probably true” that “ultra-processed food is driving the obesity epidemic.”

Needless to say, these questions are subject to interpretation. How much fluoride? Is the infectious dose of measles lower for someone with a Vitamin A deficiency? Should we read “driving” to mean “it’s the primary cause,” or something more like “it significantly contributes to” the obesity epidemic? Nitpicking aside, the ultra-processed food question sticks out like a sore thumb. You do not need a graduate degree in nutritional epidemiology to look at the research on UPFs, and the debates among scientists with relevant expertise, and come to the conclusion that yes, these foods are “driving” the obesity epidemic.

By contrast, the consensus among immunologists, toxicologists and others with relevant expertise suggests the risks associated with the other “conspiracy theories” are, at best, highly exaggerated. That’s not to say that new evidence will never come along and shift the consensus, causing us to say, question whether the levels of fluoride in drinking water are too high. But we would expect those questions to emerge first among the experts in the field. The notion that nearly all the leading experts in a field are wrong about the truth, or worse, hiding it, is the defining characteristic of conspiracy theories.

Conspiracy theories make for bad public policy. Empirically grounded, “data-driven” policies are inherently more effective, predictable, transparent, and fair. However, conspiracy theories tend to garner attention on social media, with wellness influencers using them to great effect to peddle sketchy products. As Secretary Kennedy elevates an influencer driven agenda under the MAHA banner, we run a real risk of science-based public policy reforms getting overrun by empty messaging.

A case in point is Sen. Roger Marshall’s “Food Ingredient Transparency (FIT) Act.” It gives a nod to a real food policy problem—the “Generally Recognized as Safe” loophole that allows food companies to self-determine the safety of certain food ingredients without even notifying FDA. But the FIT Act would change food policy most significantly by preempting state food additive laws, like West Virginia’s ban on food dyes. This is not the kind of “disruption” we need from the MAHA movement.

Fortunately, lawmakers outside of Washington remain committed to pursuing science-based policy. In California, the proposed AB 1264 would target “particularly harmful” ultra-processed foods (UPFs) in school meals. The bill’s approach makes sense given the diversity of products classified as UPFs, and the wide range of harms associated with UPFs. At the same time, it will promote a standardized definition of UPFs that can guide research, raise consumer awareness, and counter industry claims that the UPF classification is just another crackpot conspiracy theory, like so many others promoted by our Secretary of Health and Human Services.