Trump Pushes for Real Sugar in US Coca-Cola, Corn Lobby Not Amused

Donald Trump’s fresh demand for “real sugar” in American Coca-Cola could upend urban tastes, upstate farms, and the deep-rooted politics of U.S. sweeteners.

It is not every day that a president runs on a platform of soda reform. Yet, in the headlines this week, Donald Trump’s declaration that American Coca-Cola would soon swap its long-favoured high fructose corn syrup for so-called “real” cane sugar has fizzed with the energy of a Wall Street rumor. With a flourish on Truth Social, Mr. Trump boasted, “I’ve been talking with Coca-Cola about using REAL cane sugar in Coca-Cola in the United States and they have agreed to do so.” The beverage giant, ever the blue-chip in the soft drink firmament, did not confirm this or, crucially, deny it—choosing instead to note their “appreciation for the enthusiasm,” and to whisper of future “innovative offerings.”

The news has set the city abuzz, not least because New Yorkers are, per capita, among America’s most voracious consumers of sweet drinks. But change the secret formula and one alters not merely taste, but economics and identity as well. Since the 1980s, Coca-Cola for American palates has been sweetened with high fructose corn syrup (HFCS), a molecule as American as the Staten Island Ferry, and considerably cheaper than imported sugar due to longstanding quotas and tariffs. In contrast, nostalgic aficionados swear by Mexican Coke, bottled with cane sugar, prompting some bodega owners to stock both with pride.

The fuss is more than matters of taste or culture. For upstate New York, whose farms do not grow sugarcane but supply plenty of corn, a shift away from HFCS is potentially as destabilizing as a blight. John Bode, chief of the Corn Refiners Association, did not mince words: “Sustituir el jarabe de maíz de alta fructosa por azúcar de caña costaría miles de puestos de trabajo… impulsaría las importaciones de azúcar extranjero, todo ello sin ningún beneficio nutricional.” The spectre of lost American jobs, lower farm incomes, and rising sugar imports may strike a chord in the swing districts north of the Bronx.

For the city itself, the proposed sugar switch is laced with irony. The Bloomberg years saw the city attempt, unsuccessfully, to ban jumbo-sized sodas in the name of public health. Now, Trump—never knowingly modest, and with a well-documented penchant for Diet Coke—positions himself as the unlikely champion of “real” sugar. The health consequences, however, remain, at best, ambiguous. A May report from the U.S. Department of Health concluded what food chemists already know: the nutritional gulf between cane sugar and corn syrup is, for all practical purposes, a rounding error.

Economic ripples would extend from the South Bronx to Albany. New York hosts not just consumers but beverage bottlers, food manufacturers, and importers—all embedded in a supply chain optimized for one sweetener, not two. Any large-scale pivot back to sugar would disrupt existing contracts, government quotas, and a latticework of farm subsidies that keep HFCS artificially cheap and imported sugar dear. Consumers would almost certainly pay more for their next can, bodega owners would face sticker shocks, and New York’s urban poor—who already spend more than average on such goods—would bear a disproportionate brunt.

The second-order effects are perhaps even more delectable for political observers. These sugar wars are proxy battles in the multi-billion-dollar skirmishes between the corn and sugar lobbies, two of the more muscular forces on Capitol Hill. Were cane sugar to re-enter Manhattan’s vending machines at scale, both upstate and Middle America would lose out, while tropical exporters—Brazil, the Dominican Republic, even Mexico—could see a windfall. Yet the symbolism matters too: “real sugar” Coke may appeal to the nostalgia of urbanites, but the jobs and livelihoods at stake are far removed from the coffee shops of SoHo or the leafy enclaves of Park Slope.

Public health advocates remain unconvinced. The ostensible push for sugar over syrup has been framed by Mr. Trump and Robert F. Kennedy Jr.—now leading a “Make America Healthy Again” campaign—as a matter of wholesome authenticity, free from industrial artifice. Yet, as the American Chemical Society wearily notes, fructose and glucose are largely indistinguishable, whether squeezed from cane or corn. The “healthier” label, like many before it, may be more a matter of optics than of medicine.

Sweeteners, politics, and transnational trade

This is not merely New York’s issue. The divisions over sweeteners have fueled an international taste schism for decades. In much of Europe and Latin America, cane sugar is king—though often for reasons of subsidy rather than health. American policies dating back to the Cold War shield domestic producers from volatile world prices. In the process, ordinary Americans—urban and rural alike—pay a premium for sweetener, and the competition is restricted by quotas and tariffs so thick they would make a customs agent blush. The carrot of “real sugar,” then, is as much about trade politics and protectionism as about taste.

Companies themselves seem unimpressed by the theatrics. Coca-Cola, in its cautious statement, promised nothing concrete. PepsiCo’s chief, Ramon Laguarta, dismissed the controversy as “an opportunity” but signaled little urgency for fundamental reform. Behind the scenes, the market is already responding: niche “throwback” sodas, sweetened with cane, sell briskly at Whole Foods and in upmarket delis from Williamsburg to Tribeca. For now, purchase at a premium remains a luxury—a neat encapsulation of American consumerism, in which authenticity costs extra.

Might the sweetener swap ever truly arrive? We are skeptical. Any meaningful move would require a goliath renegotiation of agricultural policy—the sort of endeavor that has bested more technocratic presidents than Mr. Trump. Even in New York, with its penchant for culinary experimentation and trend-chasing, we suspect that the enduring demand for affordable refreshment (to say nothing of jobs upstate) would mute most calls for reform once sober-minded legislatures reckon with costs.

And yet, the gesture matters. Mr. Trump’s gambit is less about health or taste than about signaling—a sugary flag planted in the heartland of American food politics. In a city as attuned to symbolism as New York, even a single can can send ripples through culture, commerce, and the news cycle. Whether the formula ever changes, one suspects, is nearly beside the point. ■