Why do most people find us vegans so annoying?
The vegans are at it again. 2019 – much like every year – has been a difficult one for us greencollared criminals. While supermarkets across Australia have seen overwhelming expansions in their plant-based offerings, public perceptions of our lifestyle remain as low as our feared B12 count.
Recently a comrade from Western Australia took her neighbours to the supreme court (silly) due to smells of barbecued fish wafting into her backyard. The court rejected her complaints (smart). Social media did what social media does best and feigned outrage, creating a Facebook event for a community barbecue outside the Perth home of the vegan. The catch? “BYO hotdog buns, p.s. NO VEGANS.” Burn.
In April we faced a similar onslaught. A group of organised vegans closed down Melbourne’s CBD in protest of animal abuse and the broader alienation from our industrialised agriculture sector. Responses were predictable: agitation and aggression – how inconsiderate of those damn vegans to close down Melbourne at peak hour!? This, of course, spoke more to the public’s unfamiliarity with how protests work and what they’re meant to achieve.
It’s therefore a truth universally acknowledged that coming out as a vegan isn’t always a savoury experience. Eyes tend to glaze over like all those donuts we refuse to eat at the office morning tea. Then, the question: “Why are you vegan?” But the truth is you really don’t care. You know all
too well why we’re vegan, you’re simply waiting for us to stop talking so you can wash your hands of any residual guilt when telling us how you could never do it, it’s just too hard, cheese tastes too good. And the real truth here is that we, in turn, really don’t care.
What is it about us vegans that makes people just so damn uncomfortable?
The caution around our dietary requirements is arguably warranted. Many assert that veganism just isn’t an option to a large chunk of the population. The labour and cost of sifting through nutritional requirements, alongside inflated pricing for plantbased meat alternatives, is often too great. It’s additionally false to claim that food accessibility is in any way democratic. Many live in areas – popularly termed “food deserts” – where access to fresh produce or even supermarkets is difficult. Meat, dairy and other animal products are also staples to a variety of cultural and religious groups. In Australia, for example, our overtly masculine and sunburnt culture has a real appetite for red meat, namely beef, as per the annual promotional campaigns. The intersections of class, race, culture and veganism makes for a recipe that’s pretty damn hard to swallow.
Other arguments against veganism swerve to the climate crisis, mandating that individual choices (veganism) shouldn’t take priority over real structure “top-down” changes to how carbon emissions are managed.
All these arguments are fair and reasonable, but they’re just not good enough. Most of the people arguing about food deserts and cultural food artefacts live in urban centres with no real cultural connection to their beef souvlaki. Citing that my Lord of the Fries fix isn’t as important as government policies and priorities is understandable – if you’re also ready to forgo recycling and other eco-friendly measures.
No, I’d argue that most people find vegans annoying because it’s one of the only social justice causes whose point of entry is entirely negotiated by real, quantifiable, fundamental behaviour change.
Everyone thinks of themselves as a good person. But it’s much easier to slap “Feminist as Fuck” on your T-shirt and #BlackLivesMatter in your Twitter bio than it is to actively support animal welfare and the climate through an upheaval of your current lifestyle.
Everyone says they care about all these issues, but the mental gymnastics of saying you care about the Amazon burning while simultaneously ordering that beef souvlaki is perhaps just far too laboursome. Instead, it’s much easier to reroute your frustrations at those pesky vegans.
Yet it’s also true that we’re constantly splashing around in our own hypocrisy – and we shouldn’t shame others for it. Because shame typically leads to denial, frustration and inaction.
What we need to do instead is look internally and reconsider what it means to care. I can, for example, say that I care about labour exploitation around the world, but it’s obviously not bountiful enough considering my current purchasing habits. Saying that we care for absolutely everything – because we want to be deemed as fundamentally good – just isn’t sustainable or done with any real integrity. It can often be read as a fast way of earning social clout and moral righteousness. We need to start framing our care, not in what we say, but in what we do.
Next time you spot a vegan in the wild, don’t ask them why they’re a plant-muncher; maybe ask yourself – really truly ask yourself – why you’re not.
• Dejan Jotanovic is a freelance writer based in Melbourne