I. Introduction
After about five years spent
vacillating between anxious vegetarianism and frustrated (if not shame-filled) pescetarianism,
I, on May 17, 2012, became vegan. This is a decision that I did not take
lightly, and, despite the well-meaning skepticism of many of my meat-eating
friends and family members, I can confirm here that it was perhaps the greatest
decision of my life (certainly of recent memory). Even though I do not
characterize my choice as the final resolution to the ethical tension of
vegetarianism/pescetarianism (for reasons that I will get into later), it has
greatly increased my happiness.
The only changes to my diet were
to cease partaking of dairy products, eggs, and the occasional extravagance of
fish (easily replacing the protein, vitamins, etc. with other foods/drinks).
After careful inspection, I was happy to discover that no other significant
changes to any other aspect of my daily life were necessary. I am even happier
to report that my decision has not been a significant burden on anyone else,
with the exception of a patient family member who does the grocery shopping and
prepares some of my meals. Though my choices of restaurants are certainly more
limited now, this does not bother me. Dining at public restaurants is a terribly
bourgeois ritual that I try to avoid whenever possible anyway.
[Sidebar: It is a myth, by the
way, that it is difficult to live vegan in a city like Springfield, Missouri,
even though this is an assertion/objection that I have encountered with
surprising frequency from meat-eaters. I realize that it would be infelicitous
and unjust (probably) to call such an assertion a thinly veiled rationalization
for their own eating practices, but I cannot help but wonder why this is such a
common refrain.]
However, even though this
decision has negatively affected no one, I could not simply “get away with it.”
This decision of mine is a private decision that necessarily addresses itself
in public, and it is therefore at the same time a political decision, subject
to the constitutive antagonisms of politics. For this reason, I discovered that
to be vegan presents itself to others as an inherently confrontational choice,
as if, for some unknown reason, my choice infringes on their own sense of dietetic
agency, that it sits in judgment on or is a direct challenge to the validity of
their own lifestyle. Naturally, I do not intend it that way—but what do I know
about my intentions, anyway?
Sometimes, my choice is met with a
variety of hastily generated rationalizations for eating meat. But, more often,
in a mixture of curiosity and disturbance, a reason is demanded of me. The onus is on me, in other words, to
defend myself and my choice, to provide an adequate and convincing (but never
adequate or convincing enough) argument
for veganism. But responding in the way that is expected of me is always something
that I wish to avoid, if at all possible; after all, it seems to me that thinking
only happens when one rejects the framework created by one’s inquisitor and attempts
to found another. Therefore, let me make clear (what I think are) my intentions
in writing this.
I do not wish to produce an
“apology” for veganism. Plenty of literature in this mode already exists, highlighting
everything from the ethical angle to the ecological and personal health
benefits of this choice. While such pre-existing arguments naturally affected
my own decision, I do not wish to rehearse them here. Instead, I want to focus
on one thing that I think is lacking from popular discourse on veganism as a
lifestyle—the limitations of
“veganism” when constructed as an ethical practice, limitations that I
wholeheartedly accept and, I think, allow ethics and veganism to continue to be
practiced. Therefore, my purpose here is not to justify my choice over and
against the objections of an imagined interlocutor, nor (heaven forbid!) to try
to convince an imagined reader that veganism is “right.”
I don’t know what is “right.” That is why I became vegan.
