Certainly there are people who thoroughly enjoy causing others
pain, but the truly sadistic or sociopathic are rather far and
few between. More commonly, meat eaters are people like my grandmother
- a lovely, warm person - who simply felt that serving meat to
her family was the right thing to do because that's what she learned
at her mother's knee and that was a dominant message taught to
her by society. My grandmother was an intelligent woman and progressive
in many ways, she had enormous empathy for others, including animals,
but the idea of a vegetarian existence was never presented to
her as an option; in her world, it simply did not exist. The concept
of providing plant-based meals to her family would have probably
seemed akin to sending them out into the snow without any shoes
on. She wanted the best for her family, and she took the task of providing
them with the most nutritious meals possible very seriously. In
addition to the difficulty of seeing beyond the incredibly pervasive
customs and propaganda of our meat-based society, to Americans
during the 1950s, meat on the table was also a symbol of affluence.
For my grandmother and many of her generation who were also foreign
born, this was very seductive. Potatoes, cabbage, carrots and
grains, mainstays of the Old World, represented hardship and poverty;
meat, wrapped in neat paper packages by the local butcher who
always remembered exactly what cuts our mothers and grandmothers
preferred, meant security. It meant modernity. As long as there
was meat on the table, your family was well-provided for. In the latter part of this century, the consequences of what should
be a very simple aspect of a person's life, one's diet, have become
very complex, and, even, tragic. We in the West can see the aftermath
of our addiction to conspicuous consumption all around us: severe
pollution in our lifeblood, the oceans; fast food wrappers, bags,
and cups filling every available public garbage receptacle and
littering our streets; billions of animals suffering enormously
because of our compulsive dependency on their flesh and their
product. As devastating an effect our diet has on those things
around us, I believe that one of the most heart-rending aspects
of how we live is the impact on individual lives by something
as seemingly simple as what we eat. Every day around me, I see families torn apart: I see people who
should be in the prime of their lives dying slowly from heart
disease, diabetes, cancer. I see others dying more quickly. I
see a seemingly endless variety of diet aids and diet books lining
the shelves of pharmacies and book stores I visit; sometimes it
seems like the shelves are creaking and buckling under the weight
of all these products. I see people throwing these items in their
baskets, desperately hoping that for once all the promises will
be true and long lasting. I see many, many people who are stuck
in an vicious cycle of punishment and supplication with food as
the source of both anger and comfort. I see esteemed scientists
and doctors at a loss for how to prevent largely preventable diseases.
I see a nation of people misinformed, and, ultimately, betrayed.
My grandmother had only the best intentions for her children.
Of her three children, though, two have battled serious weight
problems their entire adult lives. One has spent the last thirty
years gaining and losing the same fifty pounds, and when one fad
diet loses its efficacy or her interest, her weight skyrockets
until she jumps to the next one, ready to begin the cycle again.
She has high blood pressure, the onset of arthritis, and she was
recently diagnosed with lupus. Her brother is in even worse condition:
he has diabetes, high blood pressure, arthritis, kidney disease,
and heart disease. He has had a number of heart surgeries, angioplasties
and "mild" heart attacks. My uncle's body is literally short-circuiting
before his eyes. But he knows what he has to do. He knows that in order to live
a decent lifespan with a modicum of comfort, he needs to make
some major changes. He is not in denial about this. His desire
to consume those things that he knows are killing him is greater
than his will to live, though. This is as serious an addiction
as they come. I watch him with his first grandchild, Samantha, totally besotted
with her. He loves being a grandfather, adoring this little girl,
who in turn worships him. I watch them together, giggling and
playing on the floor, and I think of my own father, who died prematurely
of heart disease. I feel utterly deprived of the opportunity to
watch him grow old, to watch him enjoy his retirement and future
grandchildren. I say to my uncle, full of frustration and anger
at the bologna sandwich in his hands, "How can you eat that?!?
Don't you want to watch Samantha grow up?" He looks at me, his
eyes brimming with understanding and pain, and he says that he
knows, he'll stop. He puts the sandwich down, and I know that
this is temporary. Every time I see him, my arms full of magazines,
articles and books, I want to carve every detail of him deeply
into my memory, because I fear that's what he's becoming: a memory.
The resignation and helplessness I feel is devastating. I'm already
grieving his passing. There are so many families going through this exact crisis: watching
loved ones being wrenched away too young. I really feel compassion
for meat eaters, and empathy for those who can't do much more
than idly stand by and watch their loved ones kill themselves.
Meat eaters are not monsters; they are not callous, sadistic cretins.
They are as interesting, passionate, and beloved as vegetarians;
the difference is that they are addicted, in varying degrees,
to lifestyle that is deadly. Those of us who no longer eat animals and their products should
be deeply grateful that we've been able to break the chains of
tradition and myth. We should also be aware of our responsibility
to others. They don't need our condemnation, or our pity, but
they do need our help. Let others know what you know. Be accessible.
Be generous. And remember that any time someone can't decide between
a long life and a bologna sandwich, that person is addicted to
something fierce.
Meat eaters, parasites every one, have a total lack of compassion, insight, sensitivity and concern for anything other than consuming their disgusting flesh burgers. They are the downfall of society, hellbent on pushing forward their cannibalistic agenda, and eager to plow over anything g or anyone who stands between them and the decaying hunks of meat that they crave. When they savagely rip apart sinew and gnaw on bones, their taste buds sing with delight, grateful for any opportunity to contribute to the demise of another gentle creature. Or not?
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