Dispelling the Stereotype and Understanding Its Roots
Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and oftentimes we call a man cold when he is only sad.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I received an email from a young woman several years ago that perfectly illustrates this next stage: anger and disgust on the outside, sorrow and grief on the inside.
The more I learn about the torture, evil, horrors, and unthinkably cruel acts placed upon our companions, the very ones that (I believe) we are supposed to protect, the more I hurt. I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop crying for the momma cow following her newborn baby as workers drag him away by a leg. I can’t stop crying for the baby piglet picked up then smashed on the floor by a frustrated worker. I can’t stop crying for the chicken who is dying because her neck became tangled in a battery cage and she can no longer reach food or water. For the turkeys, goats, sheep, rats, dogs, cats, rabbits, fish, dolphins, seals, bears, and wolves who look at us in their hour of death, fighting until the end. Sometimes I become so angry . . . so angry at my fellow humans and wonder how can we do this? But then I remember that many of us can’t even show compassion to our own species and then I cry for them all . . . all the time. As I type I must stop to clear the tears from my eyes. I cry for the lives I cannot save, I cry for the animals who deserve better, I cry for the beings who will never know the natural human capacity to love and my heart aches for the ones who are in my Nebraskan backyard who I cannot protect. I was so excited to be vegan . . . and now I am struggling to cope. Please tell me . . . will the tears ever stop?
And this one:
I came across your website and podcast just over two months ago, and I am very thankful that I did. Not only do you speak with compassion, eloquence, and wisdom, you have taught me how to deal with the most difficult situations. Instead of simply being frustrated and intolerant of ignorance, I’ve implemented your approach to “plant seeds” of change. As a health professional, I really should know that this is the best way to engage with humans, but during many of the months that followed my awakening, all I felt was anger and disgust. I suppose I was grieving, and I was frustrated and angry at myself for my ignorance. All I wanted to do was to make people wake up by sharing my newfound knowledge. I could not understand how they could not be as outraged as I was by the daily atrocities that nonhuman animals endure, but as you know, people need to come around in their own time. I needed to remember that I, too, was disassociated and ignorant not too long ago—and for far too long.
And another one:
After seeing a clip online about factory farming, I felt horrible. I immediately stopped eating any dairy or eggs and buying anything taken from an animal (I was already vegetarian). I also obsessively researched and read and watched footage. I saw the unimaginable things that were being done to these beautiful living beings. I was so disgusted and angry, and when I spoke about this with family and friends, no one got it. As accepting as they all were about my vegetarianism, they were very critical about my choice to be vegan.
And finally:
After going vegan, I spent a year learning about the horrendous treatment of animals in our society and being angry at the world, unsure of how I would ever fit in it again.
Not surprisingly, hidden within these stories are all the stages we’ve already examined:
“I obsessively researched and read and watched footage.” (voracious consumption of information)
“I spent a year learning about the horrendous treatment of animals in our society.” (voracious consumption of information)
“I was angry at myself for my ignorance.” (remorse)
“When I spoke about this with family and friends, no one got it.” (coming out)
“All I wanted to do was to make people wake up by sharing my newfound knowledge.” (evangelism)
Common threads run through the story of every vegan I’ve ever heard from or spoken to, especially vegans who make the change for ethical reasons; there is anger, sorrow, grief, disenchantment, and despair in almost all of them. This stage is particularly tricky, because the awareness that may have compelled us to make a change in the first place is the very same awareness that can weigh us down—and keep us down. This stage is familiar to most vegans, and although entering it might be inevitable, remaining stuck in it is not. Of course anger is only one aspect of what we feel once we become vegan, and peace is one of the byproducts of living a compassionate life. Many new and veteran vegans describe feeling a profound sense of relief and a deep peace of mind as the result of living in harmony with their values. But, whereas stopping our participation in the institutionalized exploitation of other animals does bring peace of mind, the awareness of so much cruelty and suffering can also have a devastating effect on our psyches. Burnout is common among vegans and animal advocates, and many become jaded, hopeless, self-righteous, and angry.
And why shouldn’t we be angry? Human greed and the desire for convenience and pleasure drive the socially sanctioned use and abuse of billions of nonhuman animals. We live in a world where it’s considered normal to champion this and radical to oppose it. Of course we are angry. But anger is not a dirty word, and to remain a vegan—and a joyful one, in particular—is to understand its roots, which are planted in sorrow and anguish. The earliest meaning of the word anger reflects this: it referred to something being “painfully constricted”—a strangling, a narrowing, a squeezing, a throttling—and our modern word anger comes from an Old Norse word meaning anguish. If we reframe anger to see it in its historical context, we recognize that there isn’t a contradiction between the peace that comes with eating nonviolently and the anger we feel in the face of so much cruelty. In other words, while we may experience anger on the surface, something much more tender is underneath—and I believe that something is sorrow.
In all the years I’ve been listening to people’s experiences, as well as tapping into my own, I’ve come to believe that sorrow is at the core of our emotional reaction to the injustices imposed on animals—but anger is just easier to manifest. It’s familiar, it’s recognizable, and it’s culturally supported. Anger has gravitas. Sorrow and sadness are interpreted as weak and ineffectual; some people, especially men, may even feel ashamed to show sadness at all, since vulnerability implies frailty in a culture that values masculine traits. I hear from both men and women who tell me they don’t know how to talk about animal issues without crying or demonstrating sadness—as if showing such emotions would negate or undermine the seriousness of their message and beliefs. And so either they say nothing at all or they display the more socially acceptable emotion of anger, which—ironically—can have deleterious effects on their message, on their relationships, and on themselves.
Anger is a natural human emotion and certainly shouldn’t be ignored or suppressed, but depending on its frequency, duration, and intensity, anger can be detrimental to our mental, emotional, and physical health. The stress hormones triggered by anger contribute to the fight-or-flight response that protects us from danger; a constant flood of these chemicals and their associated metabolic changes, however, can also strain our cardiovascular, immune, digestive, and central nervous systems. Anger causes an elevated heart rate, increased blood pressure, and high blood glucose levels, which can lead to stroke or heart attack.1 Another side effect of anger, decreased blood flow, can lead to digestive issues, headaches, migraines, and insomnia. Even a short burst of anger can impair the immune system for several hours after,2 and, if sustained, can lead to an increased risk of infection, and possibly even cancer.3 Chronic anger is linked to unhappiness, low self-esteem, self-harm, drug and alcohol addiction, depression, poor peer relationships, and a greater likelihood of abusing others physically or mentally.4
Self-compassion should be reason enough to be wary of chronic anger, but many vegans and animal advocates cling to it as fuel. A popular axiom circulating in many social justice–oriented circles—not just among vegans—says that if you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention. Moral indignation becomes a measure of how much we care. If we’re not cynical about the past and pessimistic about the future, then we’re apathetic, delusional, or willfully ignoring injustice and violence. The world becomes a zero-sum game of offenders and defenders, victims and warriors, sinners and saints. The entire human population becomes an enemy to defeat, a scourge to extinguish. Operating within this framework, it’s no surprise, then, that well-intentioned advocates tell themselves that to let go of anger implies that they’re choosing inertia and inaction; letting go of anger becomes tantamount to betraying the animals who desperately need our intervention. The anger that would be a means for change becomes the end in itself, and being an angry vegan becomes a point of pride, a mark of identity characterized by misanthropy and disgust. What may have been someone’s primary motivating force for change—both their own personal change as well as the change they wish to bring about in the world—becomes the destination. As a result, many become addicted to outrage and mistake it for activism.
Many become addicted to outrage and mistake it for activism.
The problems with this model are manifold: not only does sustained anger not feel good, it’s also not effective or productive. People are always looking for ways to dismiss vegans as radical and animal advocates as crazy, and nothing gives them more opportunity to do so than the presence of the angry vegan. People simply don’t respond well to anger and outrage, which tend to manifest themselves as self-righteousness, martyrdom, indignation, and judgment—all of which corrupt intelligent discourse and turn people off or make them defensive. Not only is prolonged outrage ruinous on one’s state of being, it’s simply not sustainable, which is why the angriest activists are the first ones to burn out. Our anger may be justified, and indignation may make us feel virtuous, but neither changes hearts, minds, or laws on behalf of animals.
Fortunately, it’s not a zero-sum game. We can be passionate, powerful, and productive without being misanthropic or self-destructive. We can be acutely aware, actively engaged, and happier and more effective as a result. We can decide at any given moment whether we want to be an angry vegan or a joyful vegan; the choice is ours. Choosing to lead rather than react, inspire rather than agitate, and guide rather than goad are just a few examples of subtle ways we can direct our passion without losing our purpose. (See the sidebar on page 160 for more.)
Joyful vegans aren’t perfect, and they certainly aren’t saints. They don’t think they’re better than anyone else; they just know they’re better than they were before they became vegan. They see veganism as a manifestation of and means to reflect their highest values rather than as an end in itself, and they aspire to act from integrity and compassion—behind closed doors and in public, online and in person, with vegans and with nonvegans. The joyful vegan has no less determination to end violence against animals than the angry vegan, but she is more willing to find resolution than she is eager to be right; she is more interested in solving the problem than she is determined to claim the moral high-ground.
We can be passionate, powerful, and productive without being misanthropic or self-destructive. We can be acutely aware, actively engaged, and happier and more effective as a result.
As I’ve reiterated a couple of times already, these stages are descriptive rather than prescriptive; I’m not suggesting that you should choose to be angry if it’s not how you feel. If you’ve never experienced anger in the context I’ve discussed, that’s great. I’m also not suggesting that you try to avoid or deny anger if that is what you feel. But I am cautioning against allowing yourself to inhabit chronic anger and treating anger as an end rather than a means.
HOW TO BE A JOYFUL VEGAN
So, how do you go from being an angry vegan to a joyful vegan—or at least move in that direction? I think the first step is owning that you may need to spend a little time mourning the loss of who you once were, the ignorance you once enjoyed, and the feeling of innocence you once had before you became awake. The next step is embracing and expressing the anguish and the sorrow that underpin the anger you may be feeling in the face of that awakening. As I mentioned above, I hear from many people who want to talk to others about animal issues, but when they try to, they just break down and cry. And so out of the desire to be stalwart ambassadors, they suppress their feelings and their tears, hindering their emotional, mental, and physical well-being in the process. My advice: cry. Yes, even while you’re talking to others. Of course, there are appropriate and inappropriate times to cry, but exhibiting emotion when talking about an emotional issue is not only healing (our bodies produce a morphine-like painkiller called leucine enkephalin when we cry), it may very well make us better spokespeople for animals. Evolutionary biologists found that tears may actually make interpersonal relationships stronger. “Crying is a highly evolved behavior,” explains evolutionary biologist Oren Hasson of Tel Aviv University. “Tears can elicit mercy from an antagonistic enemy and . . . enhance attachments and friendships.”5 I’m not suggesting we break down sobbing whenever we talk about animal suffering, but I am suggesting that we not be afraid if our voice shakes or our eyes well up. Hasson’s findings suggest that tears can inspire sympathy and even strategic assistance, which is why sadness is more effective than anger when talking to people about animal issues. I don’t think we should have the expectation that people will respond more sympathetically, but there is no doubt they will respond more positively to vulnerability than to a wall of anger.
The next step in transcending anger is related to something we discussed back in chapter one on the voracious consumption of information: we have to be honest with ourselves about how much suffering we can endure to witness. That might mean avoiding looking at images, watching documentaries, or reading stories that depict violence against animals—at least for a while. It may mean not attending vigils—a relatively new, popular form of activism whereby a group of people bear witness to animals being trucked to slaughter (and sometimes intervene by giving them water). Of course bearing witness is necessary and noble, but it doesn’t mean we have to do it all the time. Just because we look doesn’t mean we have to stare. Some vegans feel they are letting animals down if they don’t perpetually dwell on how bad it is for them—if they don’t take on the same suffering as the animals. That’s not advocacy; that’s martyrdom. And it’s not effective; it’s self-indulgent—and potentially self-destructive. The risks of immersing ourselves in animal cruelty are very high, potentially leading to depression, chronic anger, empathic distress, and even apathy. Self-preservation isn’t selfish. It’s imperative. Animals don’t need us to be as distressed as they are. They need us to transcend our distress so that we can successfully end theirs.
Animals don’t need us to be as distressed as they are. They need us to transcend our distress so that we can successfully end theirs.
Anger and outrage are both cultivated. You have to work to keep them alive. If all we focus on is violence, cruelty, and abuse, we convince ourselves there is nothing else. There is indeed misery and suffering in the world, but that’s not all there is. At any given moment, we can choose to focus on one truth or another, and in doing so form our worldview. We become what we focus on, because we are our thoughts. Don’t underestimate the power of thought; it shapes our perceptions, it determines our actions, and it creates the world we envision. If we believe that cruelty and injustice will prevail, then that’s what we will manifest. If we believe that justice and compassion will prevail, that’s what we will ensure. In any given moment, we can choose despair and anger, or we can choose compassion and hope.
I choose hope—my third prescription for transforming anger.
I honestly could not do this work or call myself a joyful vegan if I did not have hope—or rather, if I did not choose to dwell in hope—and no, my hope is neither delusional nor naïve. It is rooted in facts, science, reason, and statistics. I have hope because there’s much to be hopeful about. History gives you great perspective if you just step back. My hope is not complacent; it’s provisional. I don’t just sit back and want things to change; I take action to facilitate that change because I believe change can happen; I dwell on what I can solve rather than on what I can’t. There are plenty of reasons to be angry at the injustices in the world—there always will be—but there are plenty of reasons to be hopeful because of progress in the world, too. We can decide which we want to focus on, and I choose the latter. I have hope because I choose to. Like anger, hope is also cultivated. You have to work at it to keep it alive.
A fourth way to transform anger into joy is through laughter, which I indulge in every day. Although I do tend to consume books and films of a darker nature, when my husband and I sit down after a long day, we always make a point to watch some of our favorite comedy shows or stand-up comics, some of which we’ve seen multiple times but which never fail to deliver. Humor is incredibly healing, and it is a mandatory prescription for transcending anger. Scientifically proven to benefit our mental and physical health, laughter relieves tension, boosts energy, increases resilience, releases endorphins, reduces stress, reinforces social connections, strengthens the immune system, counteracts feelings of anxiety and sadness, and—simply and unsurprisingly—reduces anger and increases joy. Find your favorite sources of laughter, and luxuriate in it.
My fifth suggestion for alleviating anger (while still remaining engaged) is to connect with others. Being part of a community is vital for us as social creatures, and while having like-minded people in our life helps us feel less alone and part of a united front (see the next stage, Finding Your Tribe), we need to also feel accepted and loved within that community. Being connected also means feeling that you’re part of your larger society—and even your species! After all, how can you transform something you disengage from? Being connected means resisting the “us versus them” mentality—which I address at length in Stage Seven and which can be healed using the Loving-Kindness Meditation on page 81.
In addition to connecting with others, laughing, dwelling in hope rather than despair, and allowing yourself to cry, there are many other strategies for transcending negative emotions:
Create a mindfulness practice.
Meditate.
Keep a journal.
Learn relaxation and breathing techniques.
Consult a therapist.
Devise a self-care plan that includes eating well and exercising.
Outrage doesn’t change the world. Vision and vigilance do.
Remember: outrage doesn’t change the world. Vision and vigilance do—along with the political, technological, economic, and moral forces that drive progress forward. We don’t have to be angry all the time to demonstrate we care. We don’t have to be outraged to show that we’re conscious. We can develop what Buddhist teacher and Zen priest Joan Halifax calls strong back/soft front: “Instead of having a strong back, many of us have a defended front shielding a weak spine . . . and we walk around brittle and defensive. If we strengthen our backs, metaphorically speaking, and develop a spine that’s flexible but sturdy, then we can risk having a front that’s soft and open. It is the strong back that supports the soft front of compassion.”6
Traits of an Angry Vegan Versus a Joyful Vegan
Although I’ve been talking about the detrimental effects of being an angry vegan for decades, I’m not the only one. Fellow writer and advocate Andrew Kirschner has a blog called Kirschner’s Korner, which is filled with insightful, compassionate commentary about vegans and vegan advocates, including one post called “The Angry Vegan,” which inspired the distinctions I’ve created below.
The angry vegan condemns. The joyful vegan supports.
The angry vegan judges. The joyful vegan analyzes.
The angry vegan rants. The joyful vegan informs.
The angry vegan raves. The joyful vegan articulates.
The angry vegan criticizes. The joyful vegan discerns.
The angry vegan demands. The joyful vegan entreats.
The angry vegan shouts. The joyful vegan communicates.
The angry vegan vilifies. The joyful vegan commends.
The angry vegan antagonizes. The joyful vegan attracts.
The angry vegan reacts. The joyful vegan leads.
The angry vegan silences. The joyful vegan listens.
The angry vegan agitates. The joyful vegan inspires.
The angry vegan provides shock. The joyful vegan provokes thought.
The angry vegan polices language. The joyful vegan masters language.
The angry vegan enrages the public. The joyful vegan engages the public.
The angry vegan goads. The joyful vegan guides.
The angry vegan polarizes. The joyful vegan unites.
The angry vegan scowls. The joyful vegan smiles.
The angry vegan insults. The joyful vegan influences.
The angry vegan guilts. The joyful vegan directs.
The angry vegan alienates. The joyful vegan motivates.
The angry vegan forces. The joyful vegan encourages.
The angry vegan intimidates. The joyful vegan persuades.
The angry vegan sees only problems. The joyful vegan finds solutions.
The angry vegan makes enemies. The joyful vegan makes allies.
The angry vegan expels dissenters. The joyful vegan welcomes ideas.
The angry vegan is impatient. The joyful vegan is earnest.
The angry vegan is inflexible. The joyful vegan is adaptable.
The angry vegan is intolerant. The joyful vegan is understanding.
The angry vegan is rigid. The joyful vegan is supple.
The angry vegan is combative. The joyful vegan is provocative.
The angry vegan is irascible. The joyful vegan is passionate.
The angry vegan is impolitic. The joyful vegan is diplomatic.
The angry vegan is dogmatic. The joyful vegan is outspoken.
The angry vegan is arrogant. The joyful vegan is receptive.
The angry vegan is ideological. The joyful vegan is visionary.
The angry vegan is pessimistic. The joyful vegan is hopeful.
The angry vegan sees only one path. The joyful vegan sees many.
The angry vegan speaks condescendingly. The joyful vegan speaks respectfully.
The angry vegan finds fault with imperfections. The joyful vegan knows that being vegan means being imperfect, because vegans are human.
The angry vegan sees evil. The joyful vegan sees fear.
The angry vegan cares nothing for public opinion. The joyful vegan values her role as a public ambassador.
The angry vegan forgets he once ate animal products. The joyful vegan remembers.
The angry vegan demands compassion for nonhuman animals while excoriating human animals. The joyful vegan strives to have compassion for everyone, even for those who are not compassionate.
The angry vegan says, “Do everything” to aspiring vegans. The joyful vegan says, “Don’t do nothing.”