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The stuff about vegetarian diets being superior to those containing meat as a protein source is debatable, and I base that not only on years of self-directed research into the subject but on the findings of such people as Sally Fallon, author of Nourishing Traditions: The Cookbook that Challenges Politically Correct Nutrition and the Diet Dictocrats and Peter D’Adamo, the doctor whose series on eating according to your blood type is being embraced by millions. My own observation is that some people really do, in their present incarnation, for whatever reason, feel better eating meat. Call it an addiction if you will, but for many, many people, the ingestion of animal protein — and the almost immediate sense of well-being that follows — is not something they are going to give up any time soon. Are we doomed? Responsible, solely, for the demise of the planet? Or just, as some Hindus believe, setting the stage for our reentry into this world as a pig or a chicken next time around? There’s no question that the over-consumption of animal products is at fault for many of the ecological catastrophes that plague our world. Take a look at any one of the good books available on the subject of factory farming in America today and you’ll understand why we must radically transform present methods of storing, feeding, medicating, and killing all types of animals used for food. So, yes, if my diet consists largely of animal foods (it does not), then I might be contributing to groundwater contamination, soil erosion, and a host of other environmental ills. Remember: it’s over-consumption we need to watch out for; if the majority of Americans adopted a diet including an occasional meal containing meat, it would not produce these effects. But environmental devastation is not why I don’t want to eat meat. It is, simply, because animals are sentient creatures, not much different from us in that they would rather live than die. Even in the throes of death, a cow will struggle to free itself, a horrifying reality I have witnessed on public television. Like EagleSong, whose New Times column sparked this conversation, I really do believe (shameless hypocrite though I am) that we should be able to “hold” that animal as she passes into death, fully awake to the consequences of our intentions, with nothing but love and thanks in our hearts. It is this very unwillingness to acknowledge the suffering of the creatures we use as food that most disturbs me: how we can go blithely along with what amounts to Auschwitz outside our city borders? And what effect, exactly, does perpetuating such suffering have on our individual and collective karma? By now, perhaps you’re disgusted that I could be such an impassioned protester against the cruelties of a carnivorous lifestyle and still eat the stuff myself. Maybe you heard me once as I laughingly defended myself with the Blood Type Diet (“Meat is good for Os!”) or blamed my parents for bringing me up in Kansas, where every meal centers on flank, shank, or rump. Reasons, you say, but not excuses. I know what you mean. For some time now, I’ve been able to have my hen and eat her, too — thanking her prayerfully for the sacrifice of her life, then chowing down. My guilt, very real, has also become my ruse. When my first article on meat-versus-no-meat appeared in The New Times [“The Spirit Is Willing...," March 2001], I received gentle and insightful criticism from no less than Carol Adams, author of The Sexual Politics of Eating Meat, a landmark but obscure work now in its tenth-anniversary edition. Someone had forwarded my article to her, and she wrote to chide me about my struggle. “Why assume you’re stuck?” she asked me. “Kindness toward others is a main concern for you, I can see. But I think you have accepted ‘sacrifice’ as a notion without really engaging with its complete meaning,” she wrote. She was on to me. With her honesty, Ms. Adams introduced what is probably the only surefire method for transitioning to a meat-free diet that would ever work for all-or-nothing types like me — in other words, the exact opposite: simple, realistic, small steps. She ended her letter reiterating that taking some action, however modest at first, is necessary to effect real change. “Truly,” she said, “I write not to suggest what your next step is, but to suggest that a next step awaits you ... I hope you might consider what that is.” That’s the thing about most real vegetarians: they’re tolerant. I’m not talking about the well-intentioned new converts that aren’t comfortable with their lifestyle unless you either share it or will at least listen to their rant. In my experience, the people who have simply made their choice and live by it day after day and year after year are among the gentlest people walking the earth. And so I realized what a gift Ms. Adams offered me with her letter, rightly calling me on my unconscious behavior in a loving, non-judging way. Truth is, though, I forgot about Ms. Adams and her letter and kept right on with my omnivorous ways until The New Times’ editor asked if I would be interested in interviewing John Robbins. Now, anyone who’s been around a health food store in the last twenty years knows John Robbins. He penned the near-legendary Diet for a New America, which, more than any other book, helped to begin a transformation in the way we think about our food and the environmental devastation our reliance on animal foods perpetuates. Robbins had just published his fourth book, and I was to read it and give him a call. I couldn’t begin the article based on my interview for a long time, nor could I listen to the tape I made of our conversation. I spent my time thinking of all the reasons why “balance” forbade a radical shift to vegetarianism — at least in my case, where others depended on me for sufficient protein. Many a time I’ve walked the market with tired, hungry children, looking deliberately past the salmon that called to me, the bacon that I so dearly loved, the chicken nuggets my kids were begging for. Up and down the aisles I’ve trudged, staring at tofu and wondering which grain to dress it up with tonight, knowing all the while that the dinner I serve will be met with rolling eyes and that, an hour after dinner, the kids will sneak into the kitchen to make peanut butter sandwiches. Again, Mr. Robbins’ message was clearly one of compassion, but I felt that I was outside of his embrace. Ms. Adams also introduced me to an idea I had never before pondered, and one that she explores in her latest book, Living Among Meat Eaters. As she explained in her letter, the main thesis is that meat eaters are blocked vegetarians! What a concept! And, she added tenderly, “Your discussion suggests you fall in that category.” And so I am found out, exposed as the confused, hungry person I really am. But I am comforted by Ms. Adams’ words, and so I seek to discover what the next step is for myself. May you, too, be led not only to question your choices, but also to find peace in the process. Editor’s note: Lori’s article based on her interview with John Robbins will appear in The New Times soon. |
I’ve been reading
with interest the letters to The New Times in the last
few months concerning whether or not to eat animals (at least,
whether or not to eat “old stewing hens”). And perversely,
I am pleased by the brouhaha. Not because it’s refreshing
to exchange ideas and practice tolerance, but because it validates
the complexity of the issue for me. I’m not speaking now
to those of you who’ve made your peace with the issue, but
to those of you who still crave a little meat in your diet and
find it difficult to give up. Like me.