Skip the veganism lecture today
o citizen of the U.S. shall refrain from turkey on Thanksgiving Day.” When founding father Alexander Hamilton made that remark, he was thinking not of vegetarians but of meat as a symbol of prosperity.
Still, today, to ardent vegetarians — some of whom may be poised to proselytize — we could issue a similar call: “No citizen of the U.S. shall coerce others to refrain from turkey on Thanksgiving Day.”
I make this plea not as a pro-meat scold, but as one who has researched and written extensively about the serious moral, health, environmental and economic implications of consuming animal products.
A frontal attack, especially on this secular-sacred day, might set back, not advance, the movement toward a future in which we all consume less meat.
Yes, it’s true that many studies have linked meat-eating to cancer, heart disease, diabetes. It is also true that those 50 million turkeys that get slaughtered each year for Thanksgiving have likely suffered before their deaths — packed in three square feet of space per bird, their bodies so overgrown they could barely walk.
And it is also true that of all greenhouse gases released by humans, 14.5% are down to our livestock — about the same as emissions from all of transportation combined.
Still, trying to make family members and friends feel guilty about eating a big bird today of all days is bound to backfire. The very good reason is ingrained in our culture.
Meat is a food like no other. Since 2.5 million years ago, when our ancestors started eating it, it’s been stewed in mighty symbolism: of wealth, power and masculinity.
Compared to what the hominids used to dine on (leaves and grass anyone?), meat was loaded with calories and protein, and, as such, became extremely precious. Those who had it had power. Over most of human history, meat was a scarce resource. The more scarce something is, the more we tend to crave it.
And before we invented fridges, meat spoiled fast. Since no hunter can eat a dead zebra quick enough before it rots, it was a good idea to share it with the tribe — and get political points in return.
So, for centuries, meat has been the food for sharing and celebrations from Papua New Guinea to ancient Rome. Even the word “carnival” comes from Italian carnevale, meaning “good bye meat.”
Meat is a powerful pillar of national cultural identity. For a Zambian, mopane caterpillars are vital piece of being Zambian, and so is a Thanksgiving turkey for an American. When sociologist Melanie Wallendorf and anthropologist Eric Arnould conducted extensive research on Thanksgiving, they discovered that this particular holiday is all about togetherness, continuity and simplicity.
If you’re a hardened vegan or vegetarian and your family accepts you already, fine: You’re set. But if you suddenly decide to say no to a Thanksgiving turkey, or inject politics into the dinner conversation and try to convince others to give it up, you are also rejecting the bird’s broader significance.
What’s more, Thanksgiving is also about simplicity. No wonder then that suggestions of swapping stuffed turkey for a Gardein Savory Stuffed Turk’y or Field Roast Celebration Roast are, in general, not met with enthusiasm. Such foods are anything but simple.
By all means, it would be best if we, in the West, cut down considerably on our meat consumption — for the sake of our health and the health of our planet.
But that doesn’t mean we all have to feel guilty about each and every bite of animal muscle, or about maintaining a powerful connection to certain kinds of meat on certain days, like Thanksgiving.
There’s a real reason most people experience something that scientists call a “meat paradox” — loving animals, but loving to eat them, too. This brings unpleasant feelings of cognitive dissonance, which they try to reduce. That often means going against those who bring up vegetarianism. The discussion turns into a nasty fight. On Thanksgiving, when eating turkey symbolizes togetherness, tradition and simplicity, such a fight can be more fierce than ever.
If you are considering going vegetarian, my humble advice is this: Give yourself a “get-out-of-jail” card for Thanksgiving, allowing yourself a bite of that turkey.
People get credit for sorting their recycling even if they don’t always do it 100%. But we don’t give ourselves, or others, nearly enough credit for cutting down on meat, even if we cut down by as much as 99%. I think it’s time we should. For most of us, it’s more doable to change our eating habits if we proceed gradually, starting where and when it’s the easiest. Thanksgiving is simply not the day to feel smug — or guilty — about our diets. It’s also not the day to try to change the food habits of your friends and family. Nov. 24 sounds like a much better date to start.