The day I became vegan began like any other. I woke up and showered with soap that more than likely contained tallow. After showering, I used lotion that contained lanolin and then I applied cosmetics that contained insect particles, as well as ingredients that had probably been tested on animals. For breakfast, I had eggs and turkey bacon. I dressed in a wool skirt and silk-blend shirt, and then slipped my feet into leather shoes. I drove to work, where I had a cup of coffee with dairy cream and refined sugar. I went to lunch and, although I do not remember what I ate, whatever it was consisted of meat and dairy. I thought nothing of these choices. I certainly did not think of them as having any consequences beyond the nourishment, routine, and convenience they represented for me. And then by happenstance, my world changed.
Later that day, I spent some time with the new girlfriend of a close friend. I liked her immediately. She was friendly, quick to laugh, and engaging in conversation. We spent a long time talking and getting to know each other when somehow the conversation turned to food. My friend's girlfriend said that she was vegan. I'd heard of vegetarians, of course, and had probably heard the word vegan, but I did not know what it meant to be one. I asked her and she was gracious; she even stomached hearing me say “vay-gan” a few times as I tried to wrap my mind around what it meant to avoid not only animal flesh and animal-derived foods, but also not use or wear anything derived from animals or testing on animals.
I was fascinated. The commitment it took for these vegans to adhere to such a strict diet and lifestyle amazed me. I told my friend's girlfriend that I'd dabbled in vegetarianism myself as an adolescent because “I'd always loved animals and didn't think it was right to eat them”! I thought better of mentioning that my childhood vegetarianism forbade me only from eating animals of the cute and cuddly variety, that is, cows, pigs, and lambs. Chicken and fish, however, were on the menu. I disclosed that peer pressure and a single mother who was not about to cook separate meals to sustain my cute-only animal-free diet made my veggie days short-lived. I concealed the fact that, frankly, after a year of dining on chicken and the sides of family meals—canned vegetables, potatoes, beans—I missed hamburgers.
Still, I sought to understand my new friend. I wanted to know the how, and especially the why? In addition to answering my questions, she gave me a list of websites and encouraged me to research these issues on my own. I wasted no time, immediately seeking the answers to my questions. I was pleased to find a wealth of well-researched and documented information on the Internet, the most compelling of which were undercover photographs of animal cruelty, factory farms, and intensely graphic videos, such as PETA's Meet Your Meat. These images pierced my heart and took my breath away. I was filled with despair, disgust, and anger—emotions directed not only at the “civilized” societies that condone this systematic torture and the inevitable, untimely deaths of so many innocent lives, but also at myself for my own complicity.
I was a twenty-something, intelligent, Black woman who was extremely sure in her beliefs. I thought I already stood for and against everything worthy of my convictions. Only a few years prior, I had reigned supreme as the exemplar of young sistahood on my college campus. Whether I was penning articles on racism for the campus paper, holding my own as a speaker on student/faculty panels to address campus diversity, serving as student government secretary and vice president of the campus NAACP, or attending anti-death-penalty vigils at the nearby prison, I was full of ideals that could not, would not, be compromised. After graduation, I'd entered the “real world” with a confidence that resulted from a collegiate career built on knowing that if you didn't stand for something, you'd fall for anything. And yes, at times I was arrogant. I thought I knew it all. Yet, as I continued my research into veganism, I could not fathom how I had been so blind to these issues of oppression, enslavement, torture, and death. All I knew was that I could no longer support it. When I went home that evening, I was vegan.
But I was a far cry from the hippie chick girlfriend of my friend. For one, she was white. She was also a lesbian and an undergraduate at a local university, working part time. Black, heterosexual me had been out of school for two years and was one year into a nine-to-five job. I had recently been promoted to head up a division of the human resources department at a major art museum, and I was often recognized by my colleagues and superiors for my talents. An aspect of my job I loved was that it allowed me frequent contact with older women, whom I hoped to mirror as I carved a place for myself in the world. The women I looked up to were involved in charity work and community activism. They were prominent in African-American organizations like the Links and stood out as the few women of color in local chapters of more mainstream philanthropic organizations, such as the Junior League. They represented all that I, as a young, Black, professional woman, aspired to achieve.
When I became vegan, however, my priorities shifted. My new friend became my mentor and the person I sought to emulate. She gave me her own worn copy of Peter Singer's Animal Liberation, which I still thumb through regularly (but especially when I need to remind myself why I won't be purchasing the Christian Louboutin pumps, fabulous as they are!). Although those first days were occasionally challenging, I was undaunted. I readily accepted that my carefree past—the days when I could order food at any drive-thru window or pluck a shampoo from the shelf, concerning myself only with whether or not it would add moisture to my tresses—was behind me. Nonetheless, having the support of an experienced vegan was encouraging. She not only cooked for me on several occasions, she also showed me where and, more important, how to shop for foods and sundries, as well as which local restaurants were vegan-friendly. Although we have lost contact over the years, I will always be thankful for her inspiration and guidance.
Six years later, I am still astounded by the lack of compassion toward animals. I am aware of the controversial PETA display, “Animal Liberation,” which incited controversy for using images and language that simultaneously address contemporary animal suffering and the human suffering that has occurred during some of the most abominable periods in human history—among them African enslavement, the Jim Crow era, and the Holocaust. Critics of this display believe that there is no comparison to be drawn between these horrific crimes against humanity and the appalling treatment of nonhuman animals today. To them, not only does this comparison diminish the significance of the historic events, it is racist, insulting, and culturally insensitive. After all, haven't the dominant cultures always considered us less than human and compared us to animals as a way of humiliating and dehumanizing us?
Sadly, PETA's critics have missed the point. PETA's intent is not to imply that Black, Jewish, or Native American people are viewed by PETA or should be viewed by anyone as subhuman. The desired result of these images is to evoke compassion, to help people empathize with the experiences of animals as victims of oppression, just as they would, and for some of the same reasons, with the humans depicted in the display. As a Black woman, I am at once angered and deeply saddened by the negative reaction to the “Animal Liberation” project by the African-American community. After all, it is the appalling treatment of nonhuman animals that should offend, not the perceived comparison of people to the animals. Unfortunately, many of those who have taken issue with PETA possess the same type of mentality that enabled the atrocities against their own ancestors and other cultures throughout history. By viewing animals, as with cultures or “races” of people, as less than, it is impossible to empathize with their pain and suffering. This lack of empathy is a pathway to the atrocities committed against the oppressed, and in most instances is a justification for the perpetrators. Cruelty and exploitation enrage when applied to people, but why not nonhuman animals?
The dumbed-down arguments—among them that unlike humans, nonhuman animals cannot talk or reason—distract from the only thing with which we should be concerned, which is the question, Like humans, do animals suffer? Do they feel pain? Perhaps only a prehistoric caveman would have cause to argue otherwise, but in modern times, with our vast resources and diverse options for food and clothing, the continued use of animals is unnecessary. We simply have no need, let alone the right, to eat their flesh or wear their skin. It goes without saying that, as entertainment, their use is even more frivolous. Furthermore, we have no right to use animals as test subjects for consumer products and medical research.
I am the only African-American vegan I know, male or female, who chose this lifestyle for purely ethical reasons. To nonvegan African-Americans, I am an enigma. After all, we are a culture for whom animal-derived foods are dietary staples. Sure, we have learned to accept the occasional Islamic brother or sister who does not eat pork, but for a Black person to shun chicken and fish, leather and wool? And for what? Animal rights? Hell, we're still working on our rights! I've heard it all. I've been mocked with laughter, incredulously stared at, and dismissed with a condescending shake of the head, more times than I care to recall. Still, I remain patient with these reactions because I know better.
Among African-Americans, a great deal of politics is tied up in the foods we eat and the clothes we wear. We created Soul Food out of necessity. We learned to eat, albeit with a large amount of spices and seasoning, what massa didn't want. This is how we survived. We have also come to equate material equality with racial equality. We covet and, if we are lucky, acquire luxury items like fur and exotic skins. These goods say to the world that we are worth something. We are valuable when we can possess things of value. Not to mention, minks and alligator shoes represent wealth, a component of the American dream that we have been denied for so long.
The few Black vegetarians with whom I am acquainted are more concerned with health than with compassion for animals or concern for the environment. Still, their reasoning, though dietary, helps support the case for veganism. Furthermore, it is not important how people come, as long as they come. This is one of the reasons why I am heartened when a new Black-owned health-food store or vegetarian restaurant emerges in the 'hood. As Black vegans and vegetarians, we should particularly educate our own about the benefits of exclusively plant-based diets and holistic health practices. Indeed, we must educate that these diets, and these diets alone, are proven to significantly reduce the risk of getting heart disease, diabetes, kidney disease, hypertension, obesity, and more. It is no secret that these conditions are widespread in the African-American community.
Of course, when presented with evidence of animal abuse and suffering, I wish everyone would have a School Daze “WAKE UP!” moment like I did—one that causes them to immediately “go vegan.” But I accept that even vegetarians, who consume dairy and eggs, wear animal-derived fabrics, go to circuses and rodeos, and don't police the ingredients in their household products, still spare billions of animals from suffering and death. I may advocate for absolute veganism, but I'll take what I can get.
I have been vegan since 2002 and have noticed differences in myself beyond the benefits of my healthy diet. Overall, I am more compassionate. I have more respect for life and care more for the environment. I am at peace, knowing that the everyday decisions I make will do no harm. Still, I possess a small degree of guilt that will probably never go away. A part of me will never forgive myself for the suffering for which, in my vast ignorance, I have been responsible. My only comfort is that I am now armed with knowledge that I cannot ignore. And thus, I am changed.