Posts Tagged ‘vegan ethics’
I attended The Seed—”two days of vegan exploration”—in New York City last weekend (I was there not as a speaker but as a talking head in a documentary filmed on the premises). There was a lot a to celebrate.
The line for the event stretched far down Mercer St., in Soho; the crowd was nominally more diverse than most Veg Fests I’ve been to, at least in the conventional measure of diversity; inside, the event had doubled in size from when I’d gone two years earlier; and the structure had improved as well: no more speakers trying to talk in the same room with all the vendors, a distraction for everyone as I recall. Finally, the mood was upbeat and a sense in a better future pervaded the event. All good.
One critical remark I’d make was that (with a couple of exceptions) The Seed did not offer enough for the thinking vegan—that is, the kind of person interested in the philosophical and ethical implications of eating—to sink her teeth into. I make this remark having attended the event for only one day (huge caveat), but my overall impression was that the dominant themes (from the speakers) were about personal health and physical fitness. Cooking demos—which can be great (just witness JL Fields) and are critical for the vegan curious—were ubiquitous alongside talks about how vegans can have muscles. Really big muscles.
Again, I make this observation well-aware that there’s nothing inherently wrong with this choice, especially as the event is geared as an “exploration.” But it’s important to have balance, primarily because people explore for a variety of reasons, many of them headier than we know. If the curious are only exploring to discover new recipes and hopes for a better body and nicer skin, and all you give them are new recipes and a vegan prescription for a better body and nicer skin, then you have not established any sort of baseline for a life-long and permanent decision. At some point, you need to drive home the larger message with something deeper than salad recipes and rippled biceps in order for that to happen.
As I see it, our relationship with the animal world should come first—in fact, animals should come first, or at least ahead of our concerns over our LDL cholesterol levels—while all other factors should play necessary but supporting roles.
But what do I know? As I had a late-afternoon coffee (why is there so much great coffee in New York?!) with a friend who is a vegan academic and teaches classes on animals and activism, I learned that his veganism may not have happened without the help of all the meat replacements and junk food that I had complained about as weighing down the vendors’ tables at the event. (Although I did eat a delicious grilled kale salad and some seed bread with guacamole.) So, as usual, I make my comments well aware that there are many ways for this seed to sprout.
Thing is, speaking for myself, I just left The Seed with my stomach fuller than my head.
When confronting vegans, omnivores will frequently appeal to tolerance. Not tolerance for animals, but tolerance for personal dietary preference. In essence, the omnivore will say something to the effect of “I’ll eat what I want, you eat what you want; I’ll respect you, you respect me.” Every vegan has heard this line. And every vegan has likely been annoyed by it.
Although veiled in a spirit of compromise, this approach is rhetorically insidious. Intentionally or not, it places the ethical vegan on the defensive, casting her in the role of a stubborn dogmatist before the argument even starts. I want to explore (briefly) what this “personal preference” argument means, why it’s so often used, and how vegans should respond to it.
It’s important to understand that this tactic works especially well because the framework in which the herbivore-omnivore conversation occurs has been defined by omnivores. Eating animals is normative behavior. It’s as unquestioned as breathing and as automatic as scratching an itch. And, at this very moment, there’s nothing we can really do to alter this unfortunate reality. An ethical vegan is, therefore, ipso facto an outsider. A radical one at that. We’d best get comfortable in this position.
Of course, being an outsider isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Democratic society not only tends to accommodate outsiders, but at times to root for them. Our culture warms to David and Goliath narratives. However, underdog sympathy wanes when the outsider refuses to endorse the status quo or, even worse, deems it inherently flawed. It’s then that the tyranny of the majority hovers like a guillotine. An ethical vegan is transformed from an outsider into a threat.
Uncomfortable as this stance may be, it’s part of a necessary evolution. Become enough of a threat, get enough people on edge, and soon they’ll roll away the guillotine and start taking your claim seriously, discussing your views in books, forums, documentaries, blogs, and opinion pages. Make some headway in these venues, get some big shot sponsors on board, and in no time you’ll have omnivores engaged, appealing to enlightened open-mindedness, and wondering why we can’t all just get along. Compare the frequency of the word “vegan” today compared to ten years ago.
In this sense, for a vegan to be hit with the omnivore’s claim that “I respect your choice if you respect mine” is something of a victory. It’s an implicit legitimization, an acknowledgement that the vegan stance is a little less peripheral than it once was, a sign of movement in the right direction. Call it progress. (But don’t get too excited about it.)
In the end, though, if vegans wish to honor the ethical foundation of veganism, our ultimate position must be to reject any appeal to dietary relativism. The “you go your way I’ll go mine” plea for tolerance is fine if we’re talking about morally neutral preferences, but when it comes to food, nothing is morally neutral. We’re talking, after all, about the perpetuation of unfathomable and totally unnecessary suffering. In any context that involves the question of eating animals, so-called tolerance is nothing more than a proxy for unspeakable cruelty. Cruelty that no civilized culture should ever allow. On this point there’s no budging. Absolutely none.
Still, vegans must be willing to flex in other ways. The fact that vegans must make an ethical case is undeniable, but how we make it is just as important. There’s no need to be brash or arrogant or self-righteous about our advocacy. It’s important, as we attempt to brawl (metaphorically speaking) our way out of the corner that our inherited culture has packed us into, that we avoid all claims to utopianism, moral perfection, or the elimination of animal suffering altogether (producing food will always cause suffering for animals). Such assertions can undermine the virtue of our cause, alienate potential omnivore converts and, at times, make us look, well, sort of goofy.
By rejecting the neutrality of culinary relativism, vegans need only embrace the common-sensical mantra that we’re doing what we can–realistically speaking–to reduce unnecessary animal suffering. To overstate matters, or to appeal to some unattainable goal, sets a standard against which our own behavior will inevitably fall short. When vegans fail to live up to their own standards, they become less persuasive to potential omnivore converts.
Like it or not, pragmatism and a willingness to see matters from the omnivore’s perspective are thus critical in the collective effort to promote mass veganism. I’m aware that many ethical vegans don’t like these concepts, but two concluding points illustrate (I think) why they matter.
First, in an effort to reduce animal suffering as much as I’m reasonably able to do so, I tell omnivores that I actively avoid eating and wearing animal products, as well as buying goods tested on animals. These choices seem both ethical and pragmatic. However, as I will fully admit, I won’t completely stop driving my car, even though driving will kill animals. As a result, I have no choice but to be pragmatic on the issue of reducing suffering. My sense is that omnivores are more appreciative of this stance (and thus possibly more receptive to veganism) than any trumped-up claim to unachievable ethical purity.
Second, when I discuss veganism with omnivores, I try to start the discussion on a different common ground than the “you do your thing, I’ll do mine” position. One area where a vegan and an omnivore can always agree (unless the omnivore is a psychopath), is that it would be wrong for me to walk outside and kick a dog in the head because, for whatever reason, it gives me a thrill to do so. Get an omnivore to agree on this point and you’ve set the stage not only for rejecting the relativist-tolerance ploy he once used against you, but you’ve taken a critical step in helping that omnivore recognize–both emotionally and intellectually–that if it’s morally abhorrent to kick a dog it’s also morally abhorrent, alas, to eat an animal.
This isn’t to say that the omnivore will connect the dots, but at least the dots will be in place. Call it progress. (But don’t get too excited about it . . . .)