A silent crisis in Greece’s countryside could soon hit your dinner table – starting with that crumbly, salty feta on your salad. And this is the part most people miss: what looks like a local animal disease problem is rapidly turning into a global food and livelihood issue.
Greek farmers are now slaughtering hundreds of thousands of sheep and goats after an outbreak of a highly contagious viral disease, sheep and goat pox, raising alarms about the future supply and price of Greece’s iconic feta cheese.
A deserted farm and “white gold” at risk
On the outskirts of Karditsa, in the central Greek region of Thessaly, veterinarian and farmer Anastasia Siourtou walks through what used to be a bustling family farm – now eerily quiet.
Where 650 sheep once bleated and jostled in their pens, there is now only silence after officials ordered the entire flock to be killed on 12 November, following the detection of sheep and goat pox.
Siourtou believes the disease reached her herd from another farm a couple of kilometres away that, she says, had pox cases but chose not to report them – a decision that, in her view, sealed the fate of her animals.
The financial damage is devastating: her flock produced sheep’s milk that went into feta cheese, often called Greece’s “white gold” because of its high economic value and deep cultural importance.
Yet for her, the emotional shock cuts even deeper.
She recalls standing by as the animals were culled, describing the process as brutally cruel and feeling as though she had failed in her duty to protect them, both as a vet and as a farmer.
How bad is the outbreak?
Sheep and goat pox is a viral disease that spreads easily among flocks, causing serious illness and forcing authorities to take drastic measures to contain it.
The first cases in this wave were recorded in northern Greece in August 2024, and from there the disease has moved through many parts of the country.
By mid‑November, official figures from the Ministry of Rural Development and Food listed 1,702 separate incidents across Greece.
Because even a single confirmed case on a farm requires the preventive slaughter of the entire herd, about 417,000 sheep and goats have already been destroyed – roughly 4–5% of the national flock.
Every animal lost is not just meat or milk gone; it is years of breeding, experience and genetic stock wiped out in a single visit from veterinary authorities.
For small and medium‑sized family farms, this can mean the difference between hanging on and permanent closure.
Why feta is at the centre of the storm
Here’s where it gets controversial: this isn’t only a veterinary crisis – it is a strategic blow to one of Greece’s most valuable food exports.
Around 80% of all sheep and goat milk produced in Greece goes into making feta cheese, which enjoys protected designation of origin (PDO) status in the European Union.
PDO status means that cheese labelled “feta” must be made in specific Greek regions and produced according to strict rules; similar cheeses made elsewhere in the EU cannot legally use the name.
Even after Brexit, the UK continues to recognise this protection, so “real” feta on British supermarket shelves still has to come from Greece.
Last year, Greek feta exports were worth about €785 million, with roughly €520 million going to EU markets and around €90 million to the UK.
By regulation, feta must contain at least 70% sheep’s milk, with the remaining share coming from goat’s milk – making healthy flocks absolutely essential for maintaining supply.
Small dairies are already warning that sourcing enough sheep’s milk is becoming difficult, and they fear outright shortages of feta if the disease is not brought under control.
So far, retail prices have not surged dramatically, but experts say rising production costs from scarce milk could make higher prices almost inevitable if the outbreak continues.
Professor Dimitris Gougoulis, from the Faculty of Veterinary Medicine at the University of Thessaly, explains that when milk becomes limited, the cost of producing each kilo of feta climbs, making it harder to keep current volumes on the market without charging more.
In simple terms: fewer animals, less milk, same global demand – something has to give, and that “something” is usually either price, availability, or both.
Lives upended: farmers behind the numbers
Statistics only tell part of the story.
In another farm near Karditsa, sheep farmer Tassos Manakas lost all 873 animals in his herd when they were culled on 9 October.
He now spends his days in a small room in his empty barn, saying bitterly that “the shop is closed” as he walks past bare metal feeders and a milking room slowly collecting cobwebs.
He remembers how mornings used to start: the sound of bleating animals, the simple routine of feeding and stroking them – a way of life that vanished in a single day when the cull took place.
Reflecting on that moment, he says that if someone had cut him that day, he would not have bled – a striking way of expressing the shock and numbness that many farmers feel when their herds are suddenly taken away.
While authorities offer compensation, no payment can fully capture the loss of a way of life built up over generations.
Farmers are promised between €132 and €220 per sheep, depending on the animal’s age, as financial compensation.
However, many argue that this does not come close to covering their real losses, which include not just the animal itself but lost future milk, breeding potential, and investment in feed, infrastructure and labour.
Was the response too slow?
And this is the part most people miss: the way the crisis has been managed may be just as controversial as the disease itself.
The Greek government has come under strong criticism for its handling of the outbreak and the pace of its response.
A National Scientific Committee for the Management and Control of Sheep and Goat Pox was not set up until late October – roughly 14 months after the first case was detected.
During that time, no strict lockdown zones were imposed in the initial outbreak areas in late summer 2024, and critics point out that public veterinary services have long suffered from serious understaffing.
At the same time, some farmers have been arrested for illegally moving animals in trucks into areas designated as disease‑free, undermining efforts to contain the virus.
There are also local reports that some infected animals were buried in fields without informing authorities, creating further biosecurity risks and fuelling mistrust between farmers and the state.
Officials at the Ministry of Rural Development and Food insist they followed the eradication plan from the beginning, in line with European protocols.
They argue that by spring 2025, cases had nearly dropped to zero, and that the decision to formally establish the scientific committee in October 2025 came after a surge in cases driven, they say, by widespread failure among farmers to follow basic biosecurity rules.
Greece’s Supreme Court has now ordered prosecutors to investigate possible breaches of these biosecurity measures.
Many critics, however, argue that such legal scrutiny should have started much earlier, before the disease spread so widely through the country’s flocks.
Farms stuck in the past
A deeper structural issue lurks beneath the headlines: not all Greek farms are equipped for modern disease control.
Across the countryside, some operations still function under conditions that look more like the 1960s than a 21st‑century livestock industry.
One farm near Larissa in Thessaly, visited by journalists, consisted of makeshift tin roofs, walls of baked soil or basic cement bricks, and no proper fencing.
On the ground, two dead lambs lay in plain view.
The owner insisted there were no pox cases on his farm and refused to allow photographs, saying that although some animals had lumps on their chests, he was convinced it was not pox – but he felt that no officials would believe him.
His comments highlight a major trust gap: farmers fear being punished or stigmatised, while authorities fear underreporting and hidden disease.
The vaccination dilemma
Here’s where the debate becomes especially heated: should Greece push for mass vaccination or not?
Sheep and goat farmers in regions like Thessaly are demanding permission to vaccinate their entire herds, arguing that neighbouring countries such as Bulgaria and Turkey rely on vaccination as a key tool to manage the disease.
Under EU rules, emergency vaccination is allowed in serious outbreaks, and farmers are urging the Greek government to request vaccines from stocks held by the European Commission.
They see vaccination as a way to protect their livelihoods without being forced to watch their animals slaughtered.
However, the Greek government warns that rolling out mass vaccination could cause Europe to reclassify Greece as an endemic country for sheep and goat pox.
That label could trigger strict limits on the export of sheep and goat milk and, most importantly, on feta – potentially damaging the very market they are desperate to protect.
Authorities also note that there is currently no fully certified, up‑to‑date vaccine specifically approved for sheep pox in Greece.
Older vaccines are available and have long been used in countries where pox is endemic, but experts like Prof Gougoulis stress that these products do not completely prevent infection or stop the virus from circulating within vaccinated herds.
In other words, vaccines might reduce illness but are not a perfect tool for wiping out the disease entirely.
This raises a tough policy question: is it better to accept some ongoing level of infection with vaccination, or to focus solely on eradication through strict culling and movement controls – even at huge economic cost?
Allegations of illegal vaccinations
As if the situation were not complex enough, reports have emerged of farmers taking matters into their own hands.
Members of the National Committee for the Management and Control of Sheep and Goat Pox have told journalists that livestock owners across different regions may have administered up to one million illegal vaccinations.
If true, this would seriously distort the epidemiological picture, making it far harder for scientists and authorities to track how the disease is really spreading.
Vaccinated animals might show milder symptoms or none at all, allowing the virus to move silently while official records suggest a decline.
But many farmers are furious at these claims.
They say such figures are speculative at best, accuse the committee of exaggerating, and warn that talking publicly about “illegal vaccinations” risks undermining international confidence in Greek animal health standards – and, by extension, in feta exports.
This clash lays bare a deeper tension: are farmers being unfairly scapegoated for systemic failures, or are some of them indeed undermining control efforts out of desperation and distrust?
The answer may be uncomfortable for both sides.
Hit twice: disease after floods
For some farmers, the pox outbreak is not the first catastrophe they have faced in recent years.
In the village of Rizomylos near Volos, farmer Haris Seskliotis listens to the ongoing debate with a sense of exhaustion and worry.
An infection detected on his farm led to the preventive culling of 700 sheep.
This was the second time his livelihood was destroyed, coming after devastating floods struck Thessaly in 2023 and ruined his previous operation.
He describes the situation as extremely harsh as he walks through empty pens that once housed his flock.
Around him, stacks of hay bales stand unused and slowly deteriorating in the yard – feed bought for animals that no longer exist.
Yet Seskliotis is not ready to give up on farming altogether.
He is already considering starting a new unit with his son, this time focused on fattening calves, explaining that raising livestock is the only work their family has ever truly known.
A bigger question: who pays the price?
What began as a veterinary health problem has now become a test of resilience for Greek rural communities, the national economy and Europe’s food system.
On one side stand farmers watching a lifetime of work vanish in days; on the other stand consumers around the world who have come to expect affordable, authentic Greek feta on their plates.
Tough questions remain: Did authorities react too slowly, or are farmers partly responsible for spreading the disease by moving animals illegally and possibly vaccinating them under the radar?
Is the refusal to pursue mass vaccination a wise defence of long‑term export potential, or a short‑sighted policy that sacrifices farmers today in the hope of protecting markets tomorrow?
And here’s where it gets controversial for you as a reader: if preserving export status means repeated mass culls, is that an acceptable price – economically, ethically, and emotionally?
Or should Greece and the EU rethink their balance between strict disease‑free standards and the realities facing small family farms on the ground?
What do you think: should Greece prioritise eradicating the disease even if it ruins thousands of farmers, or allow widespread vaccination even if that risks new export restrictions on feta?
Do you side more with the government’s caution or with the farmers’ calls for urgent, flexible solutions – and why?
